Moral Philosophy from Montaigne to Kant

Moral Philosophy from Montaigne to Kant This anthology contains excerpts from some thirty-two important seventeenth- and eighteenth-century moral philosophers. Including a substantial introductioh and extensive bibliographies, the anthology facilitates the study and teaching of early modern moral philosophy in its crucial formative period. In addition to well-known thinkers such as Hobbes, Hume, and Kant, there are excerpts from a wide range of philosophers never previously assembled in one text, such as Grotius, Pufendorf, Nicole, Clarke, Leibniz, Malebranche, Holbach, and Paley. Some of the writers, such as Crusius and Wolff, have never appeared in English before. Originally issued as a two-volume edition in 1990, the anthology is now reissued, with a new foreword by Professor Schneewind, as a one-volume anthology to serve as a companion to his highly successful history of modern ethics, The Invention of Autonomy. The anthology provides many of the sources discussed in The Invention of Autonomy, and taken together the two volumes will be an invaluable resource for the teaching of the history of modern moral philosophy. J. B. Schneewind is Professor of Philosophy at the Johns Hopkins University.

Moral Philosophy from Montaigne to Kant

Edited by

J. B. SCHNEEWIND Johns Hopkins University

10,M46).72

CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS

CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS

Cambridge, New York, Melbourne, Madrid, Cape Town, Singapore, SAO Paulo Cambridge University Press 40 West 20th Street, New York, NY 10011-4211, USA www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9780521802598 © Cambridge University Press 2003 This book is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press. First published 2003 Reprinted 2005 Printed in the United States of America A catalog record for this publication is available from the British Library. Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data

Moral philosophy from Montaigne to Kant / edited by J. B. Schneewind. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0-521-80259-8 — ISBN 0-521-00304-0 (pbk.) 1. Philosophy, Modern. I. Schneewind, J. B. (Jerome B.), 1930— BJ301.M67 2002 170—dc21 2002067615 ISBN-13 978-0-521-80259-8 hardback ISBN-10 0-521-80259-8 hardback ISBN-13 978-0-521-00304-9 paperback ISBN-10 0-521-00304-0 paperback Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Web sites referred to in this book and does not guarantee that any content on such Web sites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

Contents

page xiii

Preface Acknowledgments Foreword to the One-Volume Reprint

Introduction Aims of the Anthology European Religious Controversies Saint Augustine and Saint Thomas Luther and Calvin Stoicism and Epicureanism Skepticism The Classical Republic Montaigne's Two Attitudes General Problems for Moral Philosophy Reworking Natural Law Intellect and Morality Epicureans and Egoists Autonomy and Responsibility Conclusion Notes Bibliography

xvii xix

1 1 3 4 7 10 13 14 16 18 21 23 24 26 29 30 32

PROLEGOMENA: SOME QUESTIONS RAISED

Michel de Montaigne

37

Introduction Apology for Raymond Sebond Of Repentance

37 38 45

Contents

vi

Of Vanity Of Physiognomy Of Experience Editor's Notes Further Reading

55 56 59 62 62

PART I. REWORKING NATURAL LAW

Francisco Suarez

67

Introduction On Law and God the Lawgiver Editor's Notes Further Reading

67 68 86 86

Hugo Grotius

88

Introduction On the Law of War and Peace Editor's Notes Further Reading

88 90 109 110

Thomas Hobbes

111

Introduction Philosophical Rudiments Concerning Government and Society Editor's Notes Further Reading

111 112 136 136

Richard Cumberland

138

Introduction A Treatise of the Laws of Nature Editor's Notes Further Reading

138 140 154 155

Samuel Pufendorf

156

Introduction On the Duty of Man and Citizen The Law of Nature and of Nations Editor's Notes Further Reading

156 158 170 181 182

Contents

vii

John Locke

183

Introduction An Essay Concerning Human Understanding The Reasonableness of Christianity Editor's Notes Further Reading

183 184 194 197 197

PART II. INTELLECT AND MORALITY

Guillaume Du Vair

201

Introduction The Moral Philosophy of the Stoics Editor's Notes Further Reading

201 202 215 215

Rene Descartes

216

Introduction Discourse on Method Principles of Philosophy Correspondence with Princess Elizabeth and Queen Christina Replies to Objections Editor's Notes Further Reading

216 218 221 224 233 235 235

Benedict de Spinoza

237

Introduction A Treatise on Religion and Politics Ethics Editor's Notes Further Reading

237 239 246 254 255

Nicholas Malebranche

256

Introduction Treatise of Morality Editor's Notes Further Reading

256 258 273 273

Contents

viii

Ralph Cudworth

275

Introduction A Treatise Concerning Eternal and Immutable Morality Editor's Notes Further Reading

275 277 290 291

Samuel Clarke

293

Introduction A Discourse Concerning the Unchangeable Obligations of Natural Religion Editor's Notes Further Reading

293

Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz

313

Introduction The Principles of Nature and of Grace, Based on Reason On Wisdom Felicity Meditation on the Common Concept of Justice The Principles of Pufendorf Editor's Notes Further Reading

313 315 318 320 322 324 327 329 330

Christian Wolff

331

Introduction Reasonable Thoughts About the Actions of Men, for the Promotion of Their Happiness Editor's Notes Further Reading

331

Codex iuris gentium (Praefatio)

295 311 312

333 348 350

PART III. EPICUREANS AND EGOISTS

Pierre Gassendi

353

Introduction Three Discourses of Happiness, Virtue, and Liberty Editor's Notes Further Reading

353 355 366 367

Contents

ix

Pierre Nicole

369

Introduction Of Charity and Self-Love Editor's Notes Further Reading

369 370 387 387

Bernard Mandeville

388

Introduction The Fable of the Bees An Enquiry into the Origin of Honour Editor's Notes Further Reading

388 390 396 398 398

John Gay

399

Introduction Concerning the Fundamental Principle of Virtue or Morality Editor's Notes Further Reading

399 400 413 413

Claude Adrien Helvetius

414

Introduction On the Mind Editor's Notes Further Reading

414 416 429 430

Paul Henri Thiry, Baron d'Holbach

431

Introduction Universal Morality; or, The Duties of Man, Founded on Nature System of Nature Editor's Note Further Reading

431 432 437 445 445

William Paley

446

Introduction Moral and Political Philosophy Editor's Notes Further Reading

446 447 458 458

Jeremy Bentham

460

Introduction An Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation

460 462

x

Contents

Theory of Legislation Editor's Notes Further Reading

475 479 479

PART IV. AUTONOMY AND RESPONSIBILITY

The Earl of Shaftesbury

483

Introduction An Essay on the Freedom of Wit and Humour Soliloquy; or, Advice to an Author An Inquiry Concerning Virtue or Merit Editor's Notes Further Reading

483 485 486 488 501 501

Francis Hutcheson

503

Introduction An Inquiry into the Original of Our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue Editor's Notes Further Reading

503 505 523 524

Joseph Butler

525

Introduction Sermons Dissertation on Virtue Editor's Notes Further Reading

525 527 542 543 544

David Hume

545

Introduction An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals Editor's Notes Further Reading

545 547 566 566

Christian August Crusius

568

Introduction Guide to Rational Living Editor's Notes Further Reading

568 569 585 585

Sensus communis:

Contents

xi

Richard Price

586

Introduction A Review of the Principal Questions in Morals Editor's Notes Further Reading

586 588 603 603

Jean-Jacques Rousseau

605

Introduction Discourse on the Origin and the Foundations of Inequality Among Men On the Social Contract Emile Editor's Notes Further Reading

605

Thomas Reid

630

Introduction Essays on the Active Powers of the Human Mind Editor's Notes Further Reading

630 632 640 650

Immanuel Kant

651

Introduction Lectures of Mr. Kant on the Metaphysics of Morals Editor's Notes Further Reading

651 653 662 664

Supplemental Bibliography

665

607 615 623 628 629

Preface

This anthology grew out of the frustration I came increasingly to feel because of the unavailability of texts I wanted to use in teaching the history of modern moral philosophy. Of course, the ethical writings of Hobbes, Butler, Hume, Bentham, and Kant are and have been regularly available, and it is easy to fill a term with discussions of their work. From time to time I taught the history of ethics doing just that. But I quickly came to realize that analysis and criticism of the arguments of these five philosophers did not give students a real picture of the development of moral philosophy in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. The philosophers' writings alone could not convey a sense of the alternatives already available to each of them, nor could they give the students a sense of what besides technical considerations might have motivated their authors to accept, alter, or go entirely beyond existing views. I came to think that if I did not include some of the less frequently studied writers from the period and did not get beyond critical analysis of the arguments, I could not be sure that I was not using my canonical subjects simply as starting points for discussing problems I happened to find important at the moment. And however valuable such a course might be, it would not be a course in the history of the field. When I tried to move beyond this way of teaching, however, I was blocked by the difficulty of providing source material. There was the old anthology by L. A. Selby-Bigge, The British Moralists, which is sporadically in print, and there was its excellent, more recent successor with the same title, edited by D. D. Raphael, which I used many times. Each has its own drawbacks. SelbyBigge did not aim to cover the seventeenth century, although he included a little Hobbes and some Locke and Cudworth. Raphael, more comprehensive, likewise made Hobbes his earliest writer. But I was coming to think it a mistake to treat Hobbes as the starting point of modern moral philosophy. And as I learned more about the work of the authors whom these editors included, I came to think also that both anthologists were oversimplifying in treating "the British moralists" as a proper unit of study. The British philosophers were indeed carrying on a lively and interesting conversation among themselves. But they were talking about as much to writers from across the English Channel Although I had taken for granted the influence of British moral philosophy on France and Germany, it now began to seem to me that

xiv

Preface

the influence was reciprocal. If so, then the students needed to learn something of the Continental writers in order to understand the British discussion. But the works of these other participants are even less accessible than those of the British writers would be without the existing anthologies. As I came to use more varied material in class — beginning with lengthy assignments from Montaigne's Essays and only gradually getting to actual scissors-and-paste handouts — I found that my interests were changing. Much as I was still tempted to linger on the question of the validity of a specific argument or the soundness of an objection, I found more and more that I needed to trace patterns of development, the ways in which a thought introduced by one philosopher was taken up and altered by others or was dropped altogether. I could not, indeed, understand or explain why such changes were made unless I was clear about the philosophical strengths and weaknesses of the earlier position, and this, of course, required critical assessment. But I found equally that many aspects of a later position remained inexplicable until I knew what the earlier views were from which the philosopher had actually started his reflections. A satisfactory answer to the question "Why did he say that?" required a philosophical story, not just a philosophical analysis. And to be able to tell the story, I had to examine a variety of texts that were generally ignored. The "story" part of what I was saying took me, moreover, beyond purely philosophical considerations into remarks about the philosophers' social, political, economic, and religious situations and about the reasons they might have had or were known to have had for writing the kinds of things they did. Historical considerations of this kind shed light on the general orientation of a theory and helped the students appreciate the cultural importance of a philosopher's work. They did not, however, suffice to explain the structure and inner workings of what the philosopher was saying. For that, philosophical discussion remained indispensable. It turned out that the different approaches to the texts could be combined in one course, but it was a different kind of course from the one I had initially taught. In trying to learn enough to teach the history of ethics in this new way, I made another discovery: that there is surprisingly little secondary literature on many of the moral philosophers of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. This is particularly noticeable if one is looking for help in gaining a historical perspective on them. Among the innumerable studies of the ethics of Hobbes or Hume or Kant, few indeed make serious attempts to locate them in the controversies in which they took themselves to be engaging, and there are not even many critical studies of lesser figures — sometimes none at all. I came to think, therefore, that an anthology of primary material might help stimulate interest in a neglected but quite important part of the history of philosophy. In the bibliographies I give here I have usually omitted German and French writings; but even had I included them, many lists would have remained very short. The present anthology obviously contains much more material than one

Preface

xv

could teach in a term or even in a year. The excess is deliberate. It makes it possible for the instructor to give the same basic course several times while varying at least some of the readings. It also enables the instructor to assign several of the authors in each main section while lecturing on only one or two and to assign papers or ask examination questions in which the student is expected to show knowledge of more material than has been covered in class. Students will gain as much from finding out how to do a careful comparative study as from learning how to analyze in detail one philosopher's arguments. Finally, the quantity of material allows the instructor to refer to some of the less familiar philosophical works that constitute the intellectual context of the canonical great writings, knowing that the interested student can read selections from them in the course textbook. Some of the material included here is so simple as hardly to call for assistance from an instructor, and some is quite difficult. The harder excerpts are, however, no more difficult than those we conventionally expect students to master in a survey course in the history of modern epistemology and metaphysics from Descartes to Kant. Like that course, an introductory course on the history of modern ethics would be accessible to students with little or no preparation in philosophy. The material assembled here can also be used for more advanced courses, including graduate seminars. I need hardly say that it is not suitable for intensive study of any of the individual authors represented. To anthologize is to mutilate. The period as a whole is only partly represented, because I have not been able to include every philosophical writer who is entitled to a place. Pierre Bayle and Christian Thomasius are the omissions I regret most; readers will readily create their own lists of unfortunate absences. The individual writers suffer as well, with the mutilation more apparent in some cases than in others. The lecturer will, therefore, often need to supplement as well as to comment on what I have included, but I have tried to give enough in each case to ensure that the text presents at least the main points of each author's moral philosophy. I hope the availability of these texts will enable the development of modern moral philosophy to find its place in the curriculum alongside the history of modern epistemology and metaphysics. The subject is at least as important, and it does not presuppose knowledge of the latter. If the biases in my story of the development of moral philosophy, and their consequences for the selections, turn out to provoke the reader to investigate the history of ethics more fully than the anthology itself makes possible, then my second hope for the book will be realized. The anthology was designed as an aid to teaching and learning. If it leads to more research in a neglected field, so much the better.

Acknowledgments

At the end of the job it is a pleasure to thank the people who helped me create this anthology. Jonathan Sinclair-Wilson first encouraged me to present a proposal for it to Cambridge University Press. Terence Moore made important suggestions about its final form and provided thoughtful comments about many of its details. I am grateful to both of them. I thank the anonymous referee who wrote a thoroughly informed and very valuable report on a draft table of contents. My thanks also go to Knud Haakonssen, who commented on a first attempt to abridge Grotius and Pufendorf, and to Onora O'Neill, who read over the Kant selections. I am particularly indebted to Elborg Forster, who delivered an excellent translation of the selection from Nicole in what seemed like no time at all. I am deeply indebted to Edna Ford, who transposed into the computer endless amounts of more or less unreadable seventeenth- and eighteenthcentury text. Her skill is remarkable, and her willingness to tackle "just one more" — and then another — seems to be inexhaustible. Without her assistance it would have been much more difficult to make accessible many of these texts. My greatest debt is to the students who have taken the courses out of which the anthology grew, listening patiently to my efforts to construct a sensible narrative and, in more recent years, offering their views of the usefulness of tentative selections. Much of the work on this anthology was done during a sabbatical leave from Johns Hopkins University, whose administration in this as in many other ways has been understanding and helpful in fostering research. Acknowledgments to publishers who granted permission to use excerpts to which they hold copyright are given in the introductions to the individual authors.

xvii

Foreword to the One-Volume Reprint

In the Introduction to the original printing of this anthology I said that a proper account of the readings it contains would require a substantial volume on the history of modern moral philosophy. My attempt to provide such an account is contained in The Invention of Autonomy, published about nine years after the anthology was finished.' Not surprisingly, as I worked on the book I changed my mind about some of the views I held while preparing the anthology. In this Foreword I first try to supplement the original Introduction by discussing one major theme — the significance of religious voluntarism for moral philosophy — that I think I have come to understand more fully than I did. I then make some comments about how moral philosophers may benefit from the study of the history of their subject. I have added a brief bibliography, listing some of the work on the history of early modern moral philosophy that has appeared since the anthology was completed. In the body of the reprint I have been able only to correct a few minor errors and typographical mistakes.

I Contemporary moral philosophy outside the Roman Catholic tradition arose from debates about three views that had been developed by the end of the eighteenth century: utilitarianism, intuitionism, and Kantianism. These alternatives were not among the theories available to thinkers of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The texts reprinted here enable the reader to see how and why the newer positions emerged from discussions of moral philosophy in early modern Europe. To interpret the readings is to link them in a narrative that makes sense of them. Any interpretation highlights some aspects of the historical material and gives less weight to other aspects. No single interpretation is the sole correct one, but some ways of linking the readings are better than others. One interpretation is better than another if it is more comprehensive and more accurate in its use of sources, links more of what they say together, and does a better job of enabling us to find and understand the reasons that led intelligent people to hold the conflicting views that were under discussion. xix

xx

Foreword to the One-Volume Reprint

Other ways of comprehending such disagreements might come from explanations of them in terms of economic or sociological or psychological causes. As philosophers, however, we are interested in the debates insofar as they involved reasoned responses to the arguments and positions that were in question. And when we look at the debates historically we need to be sure that we are considering arguments and views that were known to the participants at the time. Otherwise we run the risk of substituting our own concerns for theirs. In what follows I sketch a problem that was very much on the minds of philosophers — and many others — in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. My interpretive suggestion is that the three main kinds of theory that came to be debated in the following two centuries emerged as attempts to solve this problem. Much of the evidence to support this interpretation is contained in the texts I have assembled here. In the early modern period it was impossible to think philosophically about morality without considering what God had to do with it. Of course there were doubters and atheists, and some of them, like David Hume, tried to work out ways of understanding morality that made no reference to God. 2 But most moral philosophers worked on the assumption that God was indispensable for morality. For them the main question was: Just how is God involved? At least two main kinds of answer were available. One was the straightforward view taught by Martin Luther. Morality is centrally concerned with our obedience to laws that bind all human beings alike. God makes those laws simply by willing that his creatures are to behave in the specific ways that he dictates. In instituting moral law his will is not governed by anything external to itself. In particular there are no values or laws that God must observe. Some of Luther's statements of that view are given in the Introduction (p. 8). John Calvin had a similar position. "God's will," he said, "is so much the highest rule of righteousness that whatever he wills, by the very fact that he wills it, must be considered righteous." We cannot ask why God has willed as he has: To ask that is to suppose something higher than God, which Calvin took to be absurd.' Nineteenth-century scholars labeled this kind of view voluntarism. Nowadays moral philosophers and theologians think of it as divine command ethics.' Descartes held a version of voluntarism, and more importantly for the history of ethics so did the Lutherans Pufendorf and Crusius. Many other writers on the Continent and in Britain also adhered to it. Thus William Law, an influential eighteenth-century English minister, insisted that "Nothing has a sufficient moral reason or fitness to be done, but because it is the will of God that it should be done." Law went further. God must continually will the rightness of certain acts if they are to continue to be right, just as his will must sustain the existence of the physical universe from moment to moment.5 Voluntarism brought together many aspects of Christian teaching. It gave a central place to God's total omnipotence. Indeed some thinkers held that

Foreword to the One-Volume Reprint

xxi

it was the view required by the admission of his omnipotence. Voluntarism seemed to make the foundation of morality clear. It fostered awe and humble obedience, the attitudes proper for human beings to have toward God. And it showed exactly how and why God is essential to morality. There would be no morality at all if God had not willed that we obey specific commands. We are obligated to obey his commands because they are his commands and he can back them with force. The sinfulness of our flawed human nature means that we will usually not obey out of love of God or out of gratitude to him. But we can be made to obey out of fear of punishment and hope of reward. This overall picture appealed to many deeply religious Christians. It appalled others. It seemed to them to make God into a tyrant. His commands seem wholly arbitrary because they do not have to be guided by independent standards of goodness or rightness. We cannot know whether he loves us or not because we cannot understand his will. How can we love a being like this? This is no loving father caring for his children, but an unprincipled despot. Yet the scripture tells us that Christ commanded us to love God above all else. He also taught us to act with love toward other people, and not just from fear of punishment or selfish hope of reward. Voluntarism, its critics said, makes Christian love impossible. It was morally unacceptable and had to be rejected for that reason. What, then, is the alternative? Two problems had to be solved to work out a satisfactory answer. First, the anti-voluntarist had to show how we can be sure that morality applies both to God and to humans. This required that the basis or foundation for morality — whatever makes it binding on us — be shown to make it binding on God as well. Second, the anti-voluntarist had to explain how it is that God is essential to morality. The second question was as important during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries as the first. A view that made morality wholly independent of God was taken to amount to atheism, which for the vast majority was unthinkable. But any adequate solution to the first problem seemed to make the second problem much more difficult than it was for the voluntarists. We can see why if we see that the anti-voluntarists had to produce a basic principle or set of principles that met four conditions. First, the basic principles had to be necessarily tied to what makes anyone capable of acting for reasons. Otherwise the anti-voluntarists could not argue that such principles must be common to humans and to God. Second, the principles had to be able to answer all moral questions. Otherwise room would be left for God to make arbitrary moral decisions. Third, moral principles had to be accessible to us without any help from revelation. Otherwise we would be left without assurance of the ultimate justifiability of God's communications to us. And finally there had to be a tie between motivation to act morally and awareness of moral principles. Only then could we be sure that we would not be forced to rely on divine threats and offers to get most people to act as the principles direct — and that God, who cannot be threatened, would also act on them. Each of the three kinds of theory that emerged by the end of the eighteenth century tries to meet these conditions, in different ways. Consider first the

xxii

Foreword to the One-Volume Reprint

view that right acts are those that produce the best consequences. Reasonable agents expect good to result from their actions and would not do them if only bad resulted, or if there were other acts that would bring about more good. This seems to be so obvious that it is easy to think that it is a simple definition of rational action. And we get started on a complete theory when the philosopher fills in the notion of the good that rationality requires us to maximize Is the good taken to be pleasure? We get various forms of utilitarianism. Is the good human perfection? Then we get different perfectionist views. From this point on the philosopher's task is to show how all of morality follows once it is specified what constitutes the good. Intuitionism starts from what was then a generally accepted view. Reasoning in every field starts with self-evident principles. After all, we cannot prove everything we say. We have to start from claims that can be seen to be true without argument. That is how geometry starts, and there seem to be moral principles that are every bit as obvious as the axioms of geometry. The mental ability to grasp self-evident truths is intuition. At least some of the basic principles of morals seem self-evident to any reasonable agent. The philosopher's job is then to show that there are enough such principles to cover the whole of morality. And finally Kantianism. Kant presented his principle as articulating the core requirement of practical reason itself. All reasoning requires the avoidance of self-contradiction. As rational agents, we act not just from impulse or blind desire but for reasons. And if we have a reason to act in a certain way in a specific case, we have a similar reason to act in the same way in cases that are just like the first one. Kant argued that respecting this practical principle is a matter of respecting rational agency as such, and he claimed he could develop the whole of morality from these considerations. Once philosophers found principles that met these conditions for responding to voluntarism, they were faced with the second problem. Any principle that meets all the conditions would seem to leave no part for God to play in morality. If we can by ourselves know what we ought to do in every case, at least in principle, and if we can always be moved to do it from within ourselves, what need have we of the divinity? The anti-voluntarists seemed to be moving toward atheism or, as we would now say, toward secularism. Most of them did not intend to do so. What, then, could they say of God's role? What is there left for him to do? The general answer was that God is needed to assure us that the universe is friendly to morality. The morality that reason shows us engages us in a cooperative endeavor with others. Much of what it requires makes sense only if other people are trying to do their part along with us and if most people succeed most of the time. Otherwise the sacrifices called for by morality would be senseless. And of course it cannot be reasonable to engage in senseless activity. How can we be sure that doing what is required by a reasonable morality has any chance of resulting in a decent and livable world? Modern science was no help here. It presented a world that was completely indiffer-

Foreword to the One-Volume Reprint

xxiii

ent to the values that guide our lives and our societies. Nature neither helps nor hinders us. We need a God — a "divine superintendent," as Adam Smith called him — to assure us that we live in a universe that is friendly to morality. The passage from Cumberland in the Introduction to this volume (p. 22) shows one way in which this point was expressed at the time. The anti-voluntarists were moved by an intense feeling that voluntarism presented a morally degrading picture both of human beings and of God. They saw the view as fundamentally at odds with the Christian moral teaching that centered on love. They also saw it as having dangerous political implications. If God ruled us as a despot, why might not earthly rulers do the same? The political analog of God's absolute will was never far from the minds of the anti-voluntarists. II

The controversy about voluntarism illustrates two important points about the history of ethics. First, modern thought about our moral convictions and about the psychology and metaphysics presupposed by them was profoundly shaped by moral and political concerns. Philosophers did not simply apply to morality the theoretical views they worked out in response to problems posed by skepticism and the new science. Moral and political beliefs helped shape the epistemologies they developed to explain our awareness of how we ought to behave. Second, the issues that shaped the development of early modern moral philosophy arose largely from problems specific to the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. They were different from both the problems faced by ancient philosophers and our own problems. The point can be illustrated by looking at a kind of argument that anti-voluntarists repeatedly used against the voluntarists. "It is agreed," Leibniz wrote, "that whatever God wills is good and just. But there remains the question whether it is good and just because God wills it or whether God wills it because it is good and just." To take the first position, the voluntarist position, is to "destroy the justice of God. For why praise him because he acts according to justice, if the notion of justice, in his case, adds nothing to that of action?" (Leibniz, this volume p. 322; see also pp. 327-9). On the voluntarist view, saying that God acts justly is saying only that God acts as he wills to act. But we mean to praise God when we say he acts justly. The voluntarist makes this impossible. Now this looks very much like the argument that Plato has Socrates bring to bear in the Euthyphro. Euthyphro claimed that bringing a law suit against his father would be right because the gods would approve it. Socrates asked him whether it would be right because the gods approved, or whether the gods approved because it was right. The former answer would yield something like a voluntarist view, and it seemed (so Plato suggests) so obviously wrong that Euthyphro would hesitate to accept it. The strength of the argument is clear.

xxiv

Foreword to the One-Volume Reprint

Some of the anti-voluntarists explicitly appealed to this Platonic dialogue. But what they were doing in using arguments of the Socratic kind was confronting a widely accepted interpretation of the dominant ideology of Europe. It was an interpretation of Christianity that insisted on a humbling and deprecatory vision of human capacities, to which the anti-voluntarists were strongly opposed. Against the Augustinian view as restated by Luther and Calvin the early modern anti-voluntarists were creating and defending a new moral vision of human dignity. All of this was plainly not something that Socrates or Plato could even have imagined doing. They did not have the Christian conceptions of God and original sin and so could not have been trying to work out alternative interpretations of them. We will therefore miss a great deal if we think that the point of the Euthyphro-like argument used by Leibniz and others was simply to get straight on the analysis of moral terms or to correct a conceptual error made by predecessors. The point was much larger. The philosophers' debates arose from problems that were vitally important within the culture in which they occurred. We must look outside of the purely philosophical debates to see why the issues were urgent. And we need the same frame of reference in order to understand the precise shape the problem took and the constraints on what could count as an adequate answer. In our own time arguments against naturalistic accounts of morality often remind us of the Euthyphro argument. It can thus easily seem as if there is a recurrent problem, first noticed by Plato, with defining moral concepts in terms of non-moral ones (what the gods want, what the Christian God commands, what evolution leads to, what is pleasant). And we might take this as a model of the concerns of moral philosophy. We might think that philosophical problems arise simply from reflection on ideas that are always involved in morality. We can of course confine our philosophy within these limits We get some useful analyses and arguments by doing so. But we miss the larger significance that moral philosophy has had and can continue to have if it remains as responsive to issues outside of itself as it has been in the past. Histories of moral philosophy written in the last century and a half have not on the whole helped us to understand the way in which the works they study have been connected with the problems of the societies in which they were written. Such histories — the most influential early example is the Outlines of the History of Ethics by Henry Sidgwick (1886) — tend to confine themselves to discussion of issues internal to systematic philosophical thought about morality. They thus reinforce the image of the subject created by the academic study of it. They treat moral philosophy as if it had always been a self-enclosed discipline to be taught and advanced by scholars who are credentialed and evaluated by others in the same profession. They have often taken the problems and methods of the moral philosophy of their time as the way the subject has to be. They have not asked how and why those problems came to be discussed and those methods used. They assumed, that is, that the

Foreword to the One-Volume Reprint

xxv

answer to the question "What is the moral philosopher doing?" is always the same: trying to solve philosophical problems. Much valuable history of philosophy has been written in this style. But it would now be useful to realize that there can be many answers to the question of what the philosopher is doing. Philosophy can be and has been used to address problems that begin outside of philosophy and are of significance to the society generally. For example, in addressing the question of whether moral concepts can be defined in terms of non-moral concepts the early modern anti-voluntarists were attacking what they took to be a degrading view of human beings, criticizing a source of support for political despotism, and trying to free their societies from certain kinds of dictation by the clergy. If we see that in the past moral philosophers have used their philosophy for purposes like these we may feel freer to ask whether our own philosophical activity can help with the problems of our own times. English-language moral philosophy during the last three decades of the previous century has increasingly turned toward such issues. Moral philosophers began to ask how their abstract theories might be of use in addressing the problems of fairness in the distribution of wealth and income, racial justice, peace, the equality of women, and new issues created by science and technology in medicine and elsewhere. They did less in asking how those problems might contribute to the reshaping of abstract philosophical theories. Recovery of past thought, its social contexts, and its purposes, is valuable in its own right. But in addition, a fuller and more varied historiography of moral philosophy might help to enrich the subject itself.

Notes 1. J. B. Schneewind, The Invention of Autonomy 2.

3. 4.

5.

(Cambridge University Press, 1998). Some philosophers who did not present themselves as atheists were widely taken to be unbelievers nonetheless. Spinoza is a prime example. See Jonathan I. Israel, Radical Enlightenment (Oxford University Press, 2001), chs. 12-17, for an important study of his thought and its influence. John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, ed. John T. McNeill. Trans. Ford Lewis Battles. 2 vols. (London: 1941), III.xxiii.2. For a brief account of contemporary discussions, with useful references, see "Divine Command Ethics" by Janine Marie Idziak, in A Companion to Philosophy of Religion, ed. Philip L. Quinn and Charles Taliaferro (Blackwell Publishers, 1997), pp. 453-9. William Law, The Case of Reason, or Natural Religion (London, 1731), reprinted in The Works of the Reverend William Law (Brockenhurst, Hampshire: G. Moreton, 1892), vol. 2, pp. 86-7, cf. p. 68. Voluntarism continued to be defended in Britain in the nineteenth century. John Stuart Mill took it seriously enough to write a scathing diatribe against it, one that echoes many of the earlier objections made to it. See Mill's Examination of Sir William Hamilton's Philosophy (1865), ch. VII.

Introduction

The development of modern science from the sixteenth century onward altered the European culture that was its home, and the philosophies that arose from the effort to comprehend and to aid or halt the growth of scientific understanding have occupied a central place in our thinking and teaching ever since. A second change in European culture during this period, no less momentous, was equally intertwined with philosophy. The view people had of themselves as moral agents changed, and with it their view of their responsibilities and their possibilities. The philosophy involved in this change, resisting it or helping create and understand it, was moral philosophy. Its history has not been as carefully studied and as regularly taught as has the history of epistemology and metaphysics. Yet the problems that engaged moral philosophers during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries have their own distinctive motivations and are at least as significant as those of epistemology and metaphysics. It is not necessary that our work on the history of modern philosophy be mainly concentrated — as it conventionally has been — on the latter issues. The history of ethics is an equally significant field of study. Aims of the Anthology The readings gathered in this anthology were chosen to show what the issues regarding morality were and how philosophical thought about them developed during this period. I have, of course, included the well-known philosophers to whose work we commonly trace the origins of our current problems and options in philosophical ethics: Hobbes, Butler, Hume, Bentham, Kant. I have set their writings amid selections from some of the now lesser-known writers who were their predecessors and contemporaries. The views of those who have become the canonical great thinkers emerged from protracted interchange with these writers, as well as with such writers from classical antiquity as Cicero, Seneca, and Sextus Empiricus. But reading only the famous figures is like hearing only one or two voices in a complex discussion. Unless we catch something of what the others had to say, we will not understand what the philosophical problems were or why the discussions took the turns they did. We will also fail to see just why we now understand the problems of moral philosophy as we do. 1

2

Introduction

Many other kinds of writing about morality might have been included. Commentaries on Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics, books of both Roman Catholic and Protestant casuistry,' political and moral tracts, polemics against theorists and their theories, exhortations to the virtuous life, demonstrations of the truth of Christianity and its morality, volumes on the way to true happiness, and popular moralizing journals like the Spectator and its innumerable imitations — all contributed to public debate about morality and to the changing understanding of it. An ideal anthology showing the growth of thought about morality would represent writings of all these kinds. But the ideal anthology would demand more time for the subject than most readers are likely to have. In choosing and organizing the selections, I have had to adjust the past. One of the adjustments was necessary because the very subject of this anthology, moral philosophy, was not always understood as we understand it today. We distinguish the subject from both political theory and religious ethics, and we do not think it includes discussion of how to be successful, polite, and happy. The seventeenth- and eighteenth-century writings in which we find the material we think of as part of ethics did not generally have so narrow a focus. Rather, moral philosophy was simply the study of the whole of human action, undertaken with the hope of improving practice. In selecting material for studying the history of thought about morality, I have frequently had to be anachronistic in deciding that some parts of a book were moral philosophy and other parts were not. I have further adjusted the past in organizing the selections topically rather than chronologically. The organization that I have imposed comes from my own view of the historical development of modern moral philosophy. Other views of its development would naturally result in somewhat different selections and in other ways of grouping them. Indeed, even in the light of my own outlook, my groupings are to some extent arbitrary. Some of the philosophers I have put in one section might have gone into another one. Hobbes, for instance, is placed among the natural lawyers, although he might have gone in with the Epicureans. I hope, however, that there is enough in these excerpts to enable to reader to judge whether my way of organizing the material is helpful and to improve on it or to ignore it where called for. A full introduction to the readings I have assembled would require a substantial volume interpreting the course of modern moral philosophy. In the comments I prefix to each of the selections, therefore, I try only to relate the specific contribution of the writer to the kind of view he represents and to the issues he addresses. As an introduction to the readings generally, I first outline some of the earlier views of morality that formed the intellectual context within which modern moral philosophy began its course. I then explain the categories into which I have divided the moral philosophy of the period, by discussing briefly some of the themes and problems running through its development.

European Religious Controversies

3

European Religious Controversies

Modern moral philosophy originated in the need to rethink the inherited ways in which European culture defined proper conduct and good character. There was a certain amount, of general agreement about how civilized people were to behave, but there was increasing disarray in the ways in which the accepted demands on action were explained. The new natural science, by its challenge to the authority of received opinion rather than by any direct assault on religion, was slowly beginning to carouse questions. Europeans were also perplexed by the stories that travelers brought back from remote parts of the world — reports about people living peacefully and happily in ways quite different from those that were known at home. Yet neither of these sources of disquiet raised problems as difficult as those that came from within the Christian framework of Western culture. The reformation of religion begun by Martin Luther in 1517 and carried forward by John Calvin had broken up the seeming agreement of the Western world about the truth of the Christian faith as taught by the Roman Catholic church. Many versions of the Protestants' new theology offered interpretations of the faith, and traditional Catholic teaching was reiterated and developed to answer the Reformers and to resolve new social and political problems. Demands for loyalty and service to one's sovereign were often made in the name of the truth of one or another variety of Christianity, and the savage and brutal wars that devastated Europe during much of the sixteenth and the first half of the seventeenth centuries were usually explained and justified in religious terms. Until the middle of the seventeenth century the warfare must have seemed interminable. The continuing slaughter reinforced the conclusion that the endless controversies of theologians made inescapable: that religion could no longer provide a commonly acceptable account of the ways in which we should live. Christian visions of the virtuous life and the decent society were not the only ones available. More significant than the travelers' tales were the works of the pagan writers of classical antiquity. New editions and translations were making them more accessible to a wide readership than ever before. Stoicism and Epicureanism had long been known, and the teachings of Pyrrhonic skepticism were rediscovered during the sixteenth century as well. These philosophies were taken as doctrines concerning how to live and were understood to be more or less in competition with Christianity. It was natural for thoughtful people to ask what one was to make of all this and what bearing it had on one's behavior. There was an evident dilemma. It was dangerous if not impossible to appeal to specifically Christian doctrine to justify proposals for settling disputes about political and social issues, because such appeals rapidly degenerated into the standard unresolvable arguments about religion. Yet for most people a wholly secular morality was not a genuine option. Christian Europe might

4

Introduction

be divided into warring factions, but it was Christian still. Open doubt about religion was rarely expressed; a declaration of atheism could be dangerous even in the later eighteenth century. For a small elite, a private life lived in terms provided by pagan writers might be acceptable, although even such views were usually "Christianized" to a greater or lesser extent. But the language of statecraft, like the language most people used in thinking of personal relations, was religious. An acceptable public morality thus would have to present itself as a reconstruction of Christian morality, however that might be understood. A bare minimum of Christian morality would be taken in the seventeenth century as the Decalogue interpreted in the light of the summary Christ gave of the law: Love God above all else and your neighbor as yourself. (Matt. 22:37-40). 2 The teaching of Saint Paul added two dimensions to these precepts. First, he declared that knowledge of God's requirements is not restricted to those who have a written revelation of them. For "when the Gentiles, which have not the law, do by nature the things contained in the law, these, having not the law, are a law unto themselves" (Rom. 2:14). 3 At the same time Paul stressed the sinfulness of fallen man and the general decay of human nature that is its outcome. These biblical texts made it necessary for Christian theologians and moral philosophers to explain the relations between law and love and between natural awareness of what morality requires and sinful temptations to ignore that awareness. Two earlier explanations of how all these things fit together were essential to our period: those proposed by Saint Augustine and by Saint Thomas Aquinas. Augustinianism was a major source of the distinctive views of Luther and Calvin, as well as of the Catholic Jansenist movement in seventeenth-century France; Thomism shaped the positions of numerous Protestants as well as of Catholics. I offer here only the most compressed reminders of the main pertinent aspects of the two positions. Saint Augustine and Saint Thomas

Augustine (353-430 c.E.) began by interpreting the creation in Neoplatonic terms, as the overflowing of God's infinite being into an ordered hierarchy of entities that exist or possess being in lesser degrees than God does. 4 For Augustine, being and goodness were essentially the same, so that whatever God made is good. What we take to be evil, Augustine held, is only an absence of good, an absence we notice when we see something to be less good than others of its kind or of some other kind. Things of even the least degree of being or goodness have a role and a place in declaring God's glory, and the world would be less perfect without them. Admitting that we see things as ugly, as destructive, or in other ways as suffering from defects, Augustine insisted that all of this is unavoidably part of the infinite variety that expresses God's essence. We, of course, with our limited minds, do not see this. "We cannot observe the whole design, in which these small parts, which are to us

Saint Augustine and Saint Thomas

5

so disagreeable, fit together to make an ordered scheme of beauty." 5 And so we think that there is evil. The one kind of evil whose existence Augustine admitted is the kind that humans do. We were created, he held, loving the good, and we were meant to pursue different things in accordance with the degree of goodness embodied in them. Because we are finite beings, we have needs and desires, and there is nothing wrong with satisfying them, nor is there anything evil about the things and actions needed for our sustenance and enjoyment. Rather, what is evil is the love that loves things more than they deserve. God, being infinitely good, is our true final end. Only in union with him can we find satisfaction and final peace. But our desires tempt us to want things regardless of their true place in the hierarchy of being. We want worldly wealth, for example, as if it were our final good. And because we were created with a free will, which enables us to choose among the various goods that are presented to us, we can choose to act for the sake of a wrong love. When we do so, we are acting evilly. The good person is one who chooses what he or she knows, through reason or faith, to be truly good; the evil person is one who chooses to follow desire even when it leads to the pursuit of overvalued ends. Adam's decision to follow Eve rather than to obey God — to choose the lesser rather than the greater good — was not only the prototype of all bad willing; it was also the cause of a disaster to the human species. Since Adam's Fall our nature has been spoiled, and the second nature we have acquired is a sinful one. We are no longer able to choose freely between true good and merely apparent good. We are able to choose freely only to do evil, for we can no longer choose freely to do all things for the love of God. We act always for the gratification of our own desires, and even when these are relatively decent, as they were in many of the fabled pagan heroes, they still are sinful because they are the expression of the pride and self-will of their possessors. And pride — reliance on himself rather than on God — was the sin of the chief of the fallen angels, the devil. The consequence of the Fall was that although God has let us know what he expects us to do, we do not have the moral capacity to do it, at least not as we should. No effort of ours will enable us to be what God commands us to be. We will be lost eternally if he does not aid us. And of course, through the coming of Christ, God told us that he will aid us. Augustine held that God's aid must come to us without any merit on our part. It is "prevenient," or coming before we deserve it. From our point of view, therefore, it looks arbitrary. God saves whom he will, and according to Augustine, he saves very few indeed. To those whom he saves he gives right love; they constitute the members of the City of God, and they will see him after death. The others, members of the earthly city, remain cumbered with wrong love, condemned even after death to exile from God's presence. In his own time Augustine's position was challenged by an Irish monk named Pelagius (c. 360-431 c.E.), who denied that the Fall had ruined anyone besides Adam himself. God would not be so unjust, Pelagius believed, as to

6

Introduction

command us to do what he himself had made it impossible for us to do, and he was not so ignorant of our abilities as to misjudge theta. Our freedom remains with us and, with it, the sole responsibility for our condition. We can at any time cease to live sinfully and begin to live righteously, and if we do so, we can come to deserve an eternal reward. Augustine was appalled by this view, however: It presumed that humans could make God into their debtor. It seemed to make the coming of Christ superfluous. It offended Augustine's sense of the majesty of God and the littleness of humanity, and he wrote tract after tract to refute it. 6 Augustine was a mighty dialectician and a convincing writer. Pelagianism became a heresy, but the position did not die. Indeed, some see traces of it in the highly orthodox position of Saint Thomas. Thomas accepted the Augustinian vision of the world as a hierarchy of creatures possessing different degrees of being and goodness. His own explanation of this ordered whole was given in terms of laws and Aristotelian ends or goals natural to each kind of thing, God's eternal wisdom is contained in the eternal law, which leads each kind of thing to work for the common good as it strives to attain its own natural end. We humans are unique among the visible created beings in that we participate in the eternal law through our reason. The natural law is what results from our sharing in the divine reason, and it is what Saint Paul alluded to in his dictum about our being a law unto ourselves. The dictum, Thomas made clear, does not mean that we are independent of God's rule: ,

Law is present not only in the ruling principle but derivatively as well in the subject ruled. In this last manner each is a law unto himself, in so far as he enters into the plan of the governing authority. So St. Paul goes on to say that people show the work of the law written in their hearts. 7

In addition to the natural law, which directs our striving for our natural end — earthly happiness — there is another law, the divine law, which shows us how to attain our supernatural end, union with God. The natural law is given to reason, by being imprinted in the special part of conscience that Thomas occasionally called the "synteresis," or repository of principles.' The divine law, however, can be known only by revelation. For Saint Thomas, all knowledge starts with self-evident principles, and practical knowledge is no exception. The Decalogue contains some of the laws of nature but does not itself spell out the most basic axioms. They are contained in it only as its presupposed principles. Of these the first is that good is to be sought and evil avoided. This tells us that the main features of our nature are to be turned to good. Although we can come to know the laws of nature directly from the synteresis, we can explain them by seeing that they instruct beings with our nature about their proper good. Some precepts of natural law pertain to not killing and to honoring parents, for example, because as animals we all desire life and offspring. We are rational as well as animal beings, and the natural law tells us that it is for the good of such beings not only to seek the knowledge of God through which we can be united with

Luther and Calvin

7

him but also to live with others of their kind. Hence we must worship God and do whatever facilitates life in a community of rational beings. The other precepts of the Decalogue, and all the rest of the natural law, can be given similar explanations. Everyone can grasp at least the most basic principles, although only few can see everything they. entail. Although all of these laws may be carried out in many different ways — as there are many ways of paying a debt or of honoring God — the basic moral precepts are always valid "because they belong of themselves to the nature of virtue." 9 Thomas's doctrine of natural law is at heart a doctrine not of natural rights but of natural responsibilities. "The good of the part is for the good of the whole," Thomas asserted, "hence everything, by its natural appetite and love, loves its own proper good because of the common good of the whole universe, which is God." 1° The laws of nature show us what we are to do as our proper work for the common good, and other people should allow us to do those things. In this way we might have rights arising from our responsibilities in the cosmic venture. But the responsibilities come before the rights, and both belong to us only as members 01 a community. Only the laws of nature, and not rights as such, can place any restraints on the laws that humans can pass. Within this vision of entities of every kind striving for their natural ends or goods and thereby working to create a common universe that declares God's glory, what place is there for sin and grace? Thomas's doctrine is too complex for adequate summary here but in outline is roughly as follows: Even Adam unfallen had need of God's grace to enable him to win salvation, and we now, damaged by his Fall, need it more. For us it is harder than it was for Adam to know our duty and to do it as we ought, from love. Yet a first grace is offered to all of us, and although it comes without our deserving it, our active participation through our natural power of free choice is required if it is to be effective within us. That power was not destroyed by the Fall, and the grace that is offered to everyone does not remove it. We can and must continue to cooperate in the acceptance of grace in order ultimately to merit salvation; and if we do so, we are cooperating in a work that does not replace our nature but restores and perfects it." Luther and Calvin

If Thomas is not a Pelagian, he at least sees us as able to contribute voluntarily to our salvation. Martin Luther (1483-1546) revolutionized Christianity as an organized institution and did so in part because he held views of our moral and religious capacities that were considerably grimmer than Thomas's. Luther accepted the belief that God had created an ordered cosmos to express his glory. He agreed that the cosmos was governed by laws, the natural laws for humanity among them. Like all his predecessors, Luther saw God as humanity's final end, and people as mistakenly and fruitlessly seeking for the highest good among earthly possessions and pleasures. But he followed Saint Augustine rather than Thomas in stressing the disorder introduced by human

8

Introduction

sin, and our inability to address it adequately by institutional actions. It was in part because Luther felt that the Catholic church was underestimating the seriousness of that disorder that he thought reform was needed: Saint Thomas tried everywhere to remove the mystery of the Christian teaching and to make it as reasonable as possible. Luther insisted that God surpasses human understanding and that consequently his actions must often be incomprehensible. Why does a just and loving God create beings who, as he knows, will inevitably sin and thereby come to deserve eternal punishment? This question, Luther declared, touches on the secrets of His Majesty. . . . It is not for us to inquire into these mysteries, but to adore them . . . God is He for Whose will no cause or ground may be laid down as its rule or standard; for nothing is on a level with it or above it, but it is itself the rule for all things. . . . What God wills is not right because He ought, or was, bound, so to will; on the contrary, what takes place must be right, because he so wills it . 12

Here Luther is in the company of the voluntarist thinkers who from Duns Scotus (c. 1265-1308) to William of Ockham (1285-1349) and Gabriel Biel (c. 1410-95) opposed the intellectualism of Saint Thomas and his followers. They all denied that God wills things to exist because there are independent and eternal standards of goodness or rightness to which his willing must conform. Any such standards, they thought, would impose a limit to God's omnipotence, and such limits cannot be accepted. Although they allowed that God could not contradict himself, they did not see any problem in supposing that God might have willed laws for human conduct other than those enshrined in the Decalogue. Had he done so, those other laws would now be as binding on us as the Ten Commandments currently are." John Calvin agreed on this matter with Luther: God's will, he said, is, and rightly ought to be, the cause of all things that are. For if it has any cause, something must precede it, to which it is, as it were, bound; this is unlawful to imagine. For God's will is so much the highest rule of righteousness that whatever he wills, by the very fact that he wills it, must be considered righteous. °

The most important way in which the sovereignty of God's will shows itself in our lives is in the distribution of salvation. Both of these Reformers held that we can do nothing to deserve God's saving grace. He chooses — arbitrarily as it must seem to us — some to be saved and most to be cut off forever from the contact with him that is our only enduring good. To ask why just these people are saved and all others damned, why so few are saved and so many lost, is to display the pride characteristic of our fallen condition. Like Saint Augustine, Luther and Calvin saw unredeemed humanity as utterly selfish. The sinner, Luther observed, does not seek God. . . . he seeks his own riches, and glory and works, and wisdom, and power, and sovereignty in everything, and wants to enjoy it in peace. If anyone stands in his way . . . he is moved with the same perverted desire that moves him to seek them, and is outraged and furious with his opponent. He can no more restrain his fury than he can stop his self-seeking.'5

Luther and Calvin

9

Although Luther takes us to be free on one level — we can control much of our publicly observable behavior such as eating or accepting an offer of help — we are not inwardly free to reject our selfish motives and act from loving ones. Only grace enables us to do that, and grace comes only to the few. The saved must live in society with those who are not saved, and the latter would be like wild savage beasts 16 if they were not restrained by laws and magistrates with power to enforce them. Hence there is justification for earthly power and earthly law, and earthly law must conform to God's laws for humankind. But God's laws have a function more important than that of showing how the wicked must be constrained so that people can live in peaceful societies. The first function of the law — Luther is thinking of the Ten Commandments — is to show us that without God's aid we are hopelessly sinful and weak. It shows us what we ought to do, or what it would be good to do, in order to show us first of all that we cannot do what it directs. Although the commandments teach things that are good, the things taught are not done as soon as they are taught, for the commandments show us what we ought to do but do not give us the power to do it. They are intended to teach man to know himself, that through them he may recognize his inability to do good and may despair of his own ability. 17

This view of the old or Mosaic law was anticipated by Saint Thomas. The new law, he stated, is the law of grace. It could only function after man had been "left to himself under the state of the Old Law," which taught him to "realize his weakness, and acknowledge his need of grace." I8 Luther was far more emphatic: The law is . . . to reveal unto a man his sin, his blindness, his misery, his impiety, ignorance, hatred and contempt of God, death, hell, the judgment and deserved wrath of God. . . . This . . . is the proper and principal use of the law . . . and also the most necessary. . . . For as long as the opinion of righteousness abideth in man, so long there abideth also in him incomprehensible pride, presumption, security, hatred of God, contempt of his grace and mercy. 19

Calvin agreed that the first use of the law was to strike down pride and presumption and to convict us of our sinfulness by increasing our transgressions. He, along with Luther, saw the law's second use as restraining the wicked, through threats of punishment. And Calvin added a third use, which Luther did not admit: "The Lord instructs by their reading of [the law] those whom he inwardly instills with a readiness to obey." He took Saint Paul's dictum in Romans 2:14-15 to be saying that we understand the laws needed for sociable living — the precepts of the second table of the Decalogue — better than we do the precepts of the first table ordering our relations with God. Reason alone can hardly grasp the latter, and even with the former, Calvin insisted, we persistently fail to see everything that is required. Without divine assistance we would be not only unable to act in the appropriate loving spirit but also ignorant of much that we should do. 2° Luther and Calvin divided human concerns into the worldly and the other-

10

Introduction

worldly.2I The scope of the former was whatever pertains to peaceable social life on earth; and of the latter, all that affects our attainment of salvation. For the most part our worldly affairs are matters of the way we act and usually not matters of the spirit in which we act. According to the Reformers we are able to develop habits of acting in ways that conform to the requirements of law, but our sinful nature would not permit us, without divine assistance, to go beyond that to genuine loving motives. In all our worldly affairs we need to be ruled by the magistrate; and in all our other-worldly ones, by God. There is no realm in which we govern ourselves both inwardly and outwardly. We do not have the capacity to do so. Stoicism and Epicureanism

Along with their Christian heritage — however it was to be interpreted — educated Europeans of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries knew a good deal of the culture of classical antiquity. Aristotle was still a presence, although the acceptance of many of his views by Catholic theologians made him suspect in the minds of some (though not all) Protestants, and the new science had done much to shake his authority generally. Plato, despite the efforts of Renaissance scholars and admirers, was not as widely read or taught as Aristotle was. And in the development of moral thought neither of them was as significant as Cicero and Seneca were!' These Roman writers were far more universally read and did more to provide the topics and starting points for discussions of morals in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries than did either Plato or Aristotle. Not everyone studied Greek, but everyone learned Latin: What Cicero and Seneca had written for grave Roman gentlemen was taught as lessons for schoolchildren and was not forgotten. 23 Neither Cicero (106-43 B.c.E.) nor Seneca (4 B.c.D.-65 c.E.) was a philosopher of any originality; in all their writings they drew heavily on the work of earlier Greek philosophers. They wrote consolatory or exhortative essays on topics to which a "philosophical attitude" — a vaguely Stoic refusal to feel distressed by the difficulties of life — was appropriate. Among other things they reflected on old age, death, pain, grief, the shortness of life, and the loss of friends. They examined more thoroughly special points of personal life and politics. For example, Cicero's essay on friendship explores not only one's duties to one's friends but also the limits a virtuous man will place on what one friend will do for another. Seneca explained the importance of the virtue of clemency for rulers as a means of remaining loved by their subjects. Seneca also wrote a lengthy treatise, De beneficiis, on the importance of generosity or liberality and gratitude in holding society together. He discussed the importance for one's character of a genuine concern for the well-being of one's beneficiary, the proprieties of giving (to whom should one give? from whom may one receive?), the difference between what is truly given and what can be demanded by law, the ways in which everyone in society — slaves as well as free men — must be involved in exchanges of benefits, and many related sub-

Stoicism and Epicureanism

11

jects. In these essays Cicero and Seneca are moralists rather than moral philosophers. They advise and exhort, but although they refer to theories, they do not systematically expound or argue for them. It was Cicero rather than Seneca who served as the major transmitter of the ancients' philosophical ethics to the modern world. His long philosophical writings (composed in the last two or three years of his life) are devoted to bringing the main Greek theories to the attention of the Romans and to giving Cicero's own assessment of them. In order to summarize the Greek philosophers, Cicero had to invent or assign Latin words to carry the meanings of their technical terms. By doing so he became the originator of much of the Latin vocabulary for moral philosophy which during our period had to be translated into various vernaculars. His De finibus bonorum et malorum, concerning our ultimate ends or goods, is a dialogue in which Cicero had a number of figures, drawn from life, debate the merits of different moral theories. In De officiis, concerning our duties, Cicero presented a fairly comprehensive outline of what he took to be our main obligations and responsibilities and how they are related to our own good and that of others. Through these works in particular, the systematic ethical theories of pagan antiquity found their way into the thinking of the period that concerns us. Cicero devoted one of his philosophical works, De natura deorum, to a discussion of the gods, arguments for their existence, and an investigation of their connection with human affairs. In his two main treatises on ethics, although he occasionally mentions the deities, there is no thought that their wishes or commands are especially relevant to morality. To those raised in a Christian culture, particularly in a Protestant culture that encouraged intense concern about the individual's daily relations with a single deity, the absence of reference to divine will or divine punishments and rewards would necessarily stand out. But Cicero assumed that reasonable people, with no resources other than their own intelligence, could come up with generally acceptable answers to questions about how to live and what to do. The only sources of authority, for Cicero as for the interlocutors in his dialogues, are men who may be recognized as wiser than the speakers themselves but who are different in no other way. Their claims to wisdom are always open to challenge. The speakers' own experience of life and their reflections on it are all that is available and all that is needed to construct a morally acceptable way of living. Cicero presented himself and the participants in his discussions as agreeing that the part of philosophy that matters most is ethics, rather than logic or physics, which were the other conventionally accepted divisions of the subject. Ethics is the study of how to attain the good life, and the good life, it is agreed, must be a life with which its possessor is happy or contented, a life that suffices. The principal question, then, is, What sort of life gives us that outcome? The followers of Epicurus say that the chief good is pleasure. We are urged to seek it by nature, as is shown by the fact that we voluntarily undergo something painful only because we expect a greater pleasure for ourselves as a

12

Introduction

result. The greatest pleasure comes not from sensuous enjoyment or animal gratification but from the absence of pain. This is itself the most reliable and enduring pleasure and is therefore what the wise man seeks. Wisdom teaches us how to attain it; temperance gives us a pleasing harmony within the soul; courage keeps us free from fear of death and other perturbations; and our own justice not only keeps us from harming others but also assures us of tranquillity because the just man knows that others will have no cause to harm him, whereas the unjust man must always be fearful that his wrong actions will become known and make him subject to reprisal. All the virtues are therefore valuable as means to the tranquil and enjoyable condition that is the highest good. Stoics, in direct opposition to Epicureans, saw the honorable or virtuous life as itself the good life. The honestum they defined as "that which, though devoid of all utility [utilitatem] can justly be commended in and for itself, apart from any reward or profit." 24 The life of honestas springs not from our desires but from reason, which separates us from the beasts, makes us sociable, and enables us to lift ourselves above the blows of fortune so that we can achieve a good that cannot be taken from us. Reason makes us wish to contemplate truth and so leads us to wisdom; it keeps us truthful in all things and thereby renders us just; it is intrinsically superior to all other things and hence makes us courageous; and in ordering these aspects of virtue — of honestum — it generates temperance. The virtues are simply aspects of the life worth living for its own sake, and we need no ulterior motive for striving for them. Cicero, plainly more sympathetic to the Stoic than to the Epicurean outlook, presented many objections to the latter. But he asked whether the Stoics were not excessive in claiming to be wholly independent of external goods and in holding that there was no intermediate condition between being a perfect sage, indifferent to all feeling, and being a complete fool. Although the later Stoics were prepared to emend the system so as to grant that there are some natural goods that even wise people may enjoy and some proper actions that even those who are not sages can do, 25 Cicero allowed himself to enter the dialogue expounding a different view. It is one that he traced back to the "ancients" — the Peripatetics and the Old Academy — who, admitting that reason is the highest part of man, reminded us that it is not the only part. Hence, although a life of virtue is surely part of our end, it cannot be the whole of it. The satisfaction of the natural desires must be allowed as well if our good is to be the good for the whole person. 26 Other variations on these themes were pursued, and Cicero ended the dialogues without claiming to have obtained a conclusive result. In the De officiis he was more assertive. Adopting an essentially Stoic position, he told his young son, to whom he was writing, that the good offices we must perform if we would be morally worthy fall into the four traditional categories of wisdom, justice, courage, and temperance. The honestum, Cicero explained, is concerned

Skepticism

13

either with the full perception and intelligent development of the true; or with the conservation of organized society, with rendering every man his due and with the faithful discharge of obligations assumed [rerum contractarum]; or with the greatness and strength of a noble and invincible spirit; or with the orderliness and moderation of everything that is said and done. 27 In Cicero's elaboration of the various more specific duties that fall under these four traditional headings, two points in particular stand out. One is his insistence that both justice and beneficence or liberality are needed to hold society together and that both are indispensable aspects of individual virtue. 28 Justicenvol,frdghamtoersnd,kpigo' promises. Liberality takes one beyond this and aids others. In being generous, however, one must respect the bounds set by justice and also consider whether the objects of one's bounty are deserving of it. 29 The second point is that although Cicero stressed throughout De officiis the importance of honestas, he held that what is virtuous (honeste) must always coincide with what is useful (utile). The notion of what is expedient, he explained, had been perverted to such a point that "separating moral rectitude from expediency [honestatem ab utilitate], it is accepted that a thing may be morally right without being expedient. No more pernicious doctrine than this could be introduced into human life." 30 Both of these teachings were to have long lives. Skepticism

One other school of philosophy from classical antiquity came to be of great importance during the sixteenth century and attracted followers well beyond then: the skeptical school.' The most influential version of skepticism, which claimed Pyrrho (c. 360-270 B.c.E.) as its founder, became available to Europe when a new edition of Sextus Empiricus's Outlines of Pyrrhonism was published in 1562. Sextus was a reporter of the doctrines of others rather than a philosopher himself, but he gave a full report, thereby preserving views that otherwise would have been lost to us. Some skeptics taught that although we cannot attain knowledge, some opinions are more probable than others are, and so we should seek the more probable view and live accordingly. The Pyrrhonic skepticism that Sextus presented was more radical. According to him, these skeptics held that for every way in which things appear to be to one person, there is someone at some time to whom they have appeared to be different. To each person the way things appear is utterly convincing: how are we to choose between differing appearances? In order to do so reasonably, we would need a criterion for telling true appearances from false. But for any proposition that anyone has taken to be the right criterion, there is a different and opposed proposition that has seemed the right criterion to someone else. And to choose between these we would need yet another criterion. Consistent Pyrrhonic skeptics did not teach that we never know anything, nor did they say that we ought to refuse to believe anything. But each time they found an appearance convincing, they would find another, opposed ap-

14

Introduction

pearance that was equally so; and because the two canceled out each other, they found themselves with no beliefs. The skeptical writings consisted largely of arguments to show that a belief of any sort could be counterposed with a conflicting belief of the same sort. Reading their work, the skeptical philosophers thought, would induce suspension of belief. And suspension of belief, the reader would find, brought in its wake the kind of tranquillity and satisfaction with life that the Epicurean and the Stoic sought in vain. One would no longer be convinced that what appears good really is so. One could consequently be indifferent to attaining it or failing to attain it. One would still be moved by natural impulses to eat, or to avoid danger, or to propagate. But one would not do so in the belief that these activities brought good. One would simply be the vehicle of one's impulses, maintaining all the while an indifference to the outcome of one's behavior. Thus skepticism, like its rivals, was a way of life. It was, to be sure, a way of life that could, so to speak, only be backed into. It could not be pursued out of the belief that it was the best way of life. But it had the same kind of appeal as did the more positive approaches of the other classical views, and much of the skeptics' argumentation was directed against the claims to knowledge that both Epicureans and Stoics had to make if their teaching was to be viable. The Classical Republic

The historians of classical antiquity, as well as its theorists of the good life, provided resources for the thought of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries and thereby contributed indirectly to the development of modern moral philosophy. Machiavelli, 32 widely feared and condemned as the devilish teacher of a radical amoralism regarding politics, drew on his understanding of Roman history to offer advice about how a political society could best struggle against the adversities that fortune is bound to send its way. He believed that under the right circumstances a republican form of government would give a society the strength it needed to defend itself against external aggression and the ability to become a successful aggressor itself. The key to successful government was the citizens' active participation in the tasks of ruling and their willingness to take turns ruling and being ruled. Machiavelli did not think everyone, not even every adult male, was called on to do the same things. Rather, he accepted a realistic distinction between nobles and populace and assigned different functions to each group. If the republic is to survive, some people must be willing and able to lead and to fight for their society. Only those could do so who had sufficient wealth to afford the costs of arms, the training to use them, and the time required for governing and fighting. These noblemen would be the natural rulers, chosen in rotation by the populace and submitting their political decisions to the populace for approval. The nobles would naturally tend to try to aggrandize themselves at the expense of the populace and of other nobles not actually in

1

The Classical Republic

15

office. The populace, under the right conditions, would be wise enough to prevent all such moves, which would threaten their own liberty. But the populace would not be wise enough to lead in wartime or to devise the various possible strategies the republic might use in coping with its internal difficulties and its external enemies, which the learning and experience of the nobles would, ideally, enable them to do. For the republic to turn to advantage the inevitable tensions between nobles and populace and to survive despite them and the attacks of enemies, the essential condition, Machiavelli held, was that its citizens possess the proper character. He used the term virtu for this, and there has been considerable debate about what he meant by it. He did not mean simply "virtue" in any moralistic sense. On the contrary: he meant roughly the wholehearted willingness as well as the ability to do whatever is needed for the good of the republic. In its leaders this is a readiness to do things most people would think immoral, such as murdering a subordinate who is alienating the populace. To the populace as well as the leaders, it means dedication to the common good. Such dedication usually shows itself in the commonly recognized virtues, but not always. It leads one to care little for material prosperity — Machiavelli admired those Roman heroes who farmed their own small plots when they were not leading great armies to victory — and it means that the populace as well as the nobles find their own well-being in the prosperity and glory of their country rather than in private enjoyments or attainments. Machiavelli paid no attention to Christianity in his analyses of what is required to set up and maintain a successful political society. If the prince must have someone murdered, so be it: Machiavelli said nothing at all about the possible eternal damnation of his soul. The populace can be molded into the right kind of character only by means of good laws, and it takes an exceptional statesman to know what these are and to seize the fortuitous opportunity to bring them into play. But Machiavelli did not talk of laws of nature as setting the limits to what the statesman may do, nor indeed of any limits except those set by the resources that his country and its inhabitants could provide. Rome had shown, Machiavelli argued, that a republic governed by tenets such as those he was recommending could actually achieve lasting greatness, and he hoped his own Florence would do the same. Machiavelli made a claim about what men can do without any divine guidance or divine aid. He thought it possible that we could live with one another in a society in which through participation in governing ourselves the liberty of each of us would be assured. Machiavelli's name became a byword for immorality and ruthlessness, and it seems odd to cite him as a precursor of those later theorists of morality who contended that we all are capable of moral self-governance. Yet in fact Machiavelli had followers who, without being moral philosophers themselves, nonetheless influenced those who were. For example, James Harrington (1611-77) 33 tried to show what a classical republic would look like if established in England, and the model of an ideal state sketched by Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1712-78) owed debts not only to his

16

Introduction

recollections of the Geneva of his childhood but to his knowledge of the classical republican tradition as well. Harrington and those influenced by him — among them, Shaftesbury and Hutcheson — were important to the development of the opposition of Hobbes's political and moral views in England. Rousseau was responsible for some radical changes in Kant's thought. Machiavelli would have been quite surprised at the directions in which his ideas were taken. Montaigne's Two Attitudes I have used selections from the Essais of Michel de Montaigne (1533-92) as the "Prolegomena," or preliminary readings, for this anthology because his work seems to me to be the first self-conscious and comprehensive attempt to ask the entire European heritage, What can you tell me about how to live? Montaigne is usually classified as a skeptic, and although he is much more than that, the skeptical aspect of his thought is certainly important. He declared himself a devout Catholic and submitted his judgment in matters of faith to the church, but there was nothing in the human realm, including the practices of Christians, that he did not look at afresh. Montaigne's skepticism was not skepticism of the kind Descartes invented half a century later. It was not derived from a few sweeping arguments denying foundations to all knowledge, and it could not be cured by finding a new and unshakable foundation. Rather, Montaigne's skepticism was much more Pyrrhonic. It arose from the contrarieties that Montaigne found — and delighted in — between one opinion and another, between customs in one country and those in another, between his own opinions when young and his opinions when old, and, not least, between firm declarations on the subject of how to live and vacillating practice by those who made them. If things appeared at one time or place in one way, then they appeared differently at other times and places, and who was in a position to judge which was right? Not Montaigne. He took as his motto the question, What do I know? No theories, not even any general attitudes survived Montaigne's scrutiny, but he was not without convictions. He found no plausible opinion to counterbalance his hatred of cruelty and deceit, or his abhorrence of torture and the burning of witches. About the hideousness of these things he had no doubts. Eventually he arrived also at some firm convictions about what was, at least for him, the best way to live. He could recommend it to others as a cupbearer can recommend the wine. He had tried it, and it tasted good to him. Beyond that, however, he would not go. In public matters, Montaigne held, there is only this to be said: obey the laws of your country. They may not be good, but they are the nearest thing to stability you will ever find in this shaky world. You will try to improve on them only at the great risk of making everything worse. And if the laws bid you act in ways your private convictions make abhorrent to you? On this Montaigne was silent.

Montaigne's Two Attitudes

17

Everyone read Montaigne, and if few could fail to feel the charm of his writing, few could be content with the limited answers he gave to the questions he raised. The life of skeptical tranquillity could be available, at most, to the privileged few, and it is not clear how many of them tried to live it. Skepticism could not make much sense of the lives of those involved in the turmoil of daily life, commercial rivalry, legal struggles, the tensions of married life, international diplomacy, and trade. It was more likely to seem a threat to everything they most deeply believed than a relief from anxiety. There was also a general fear about the effects of skepticism. Montaigne was not the only serious writer spreading such views, 34 and there was in addition a notorious literature by so-called libertines — poets and others who were freethinkers concerning God and who earned thereby a reputation (sometimes deserved) for loose living. Their prose as well as their verse was witty and readable; it won a large audience and drew a number of earnest and weighty attacks. 35 Many people regarded their work as a sign that skepticism was endangering society. If nothing but custom and the laws of the state existed to restrain us, if we could know nothing of eternal laws, would we not begin to live sensuously and selfishly, if we thought we could get away with it? If we could know of nothing outside ourselves to check us, and if we were as weak and as easily swayed by passion as the Christian tradition said we were, then there would seem to be no prop for personal virtue and nothing we could count on to enable us to sustain social order. Although Montaigne eloquently expressed his doubt about our ability to discover how God intended us all to live, or to find in external nature a common guide to the good life, he also offered another point of view. In his late writings he revealed his confidence that we have within ourselves the capacity to develop an orderly life in accordance with demands arising from our own inner nature. Socrates showed us, Montaigne said, how much human nature can do without divine aid — how much it can do by itself. In this mood Montaigne held that we are stronger than the wretched beings he himself portrayed in his earlier, despairing essays. He suggested that we all may have the potential he saw realized in Socrates, because he eventually discovered some of it within himself. And if this is so, then we may not need to look beyond ourselves to find a source of order that would enable us to live virtuously and to form a decent and honorable society. Montaigne thus gave voice, in varying degrees, to two attitudes toward human moral capacity. One leads us to think that we are so constituted that we can be gotten to live together decently only if there is something outside us, whether it be God or nature, that both shows us what we are to do and induces or requires us to do it. The other suggests that we are so constituted that the expression of our own nature, without external directives, will lead us to live decent private lives; and this opens the possibility, which Montaigne did not broach, that the same self-expression would enable us to constitute a morally satisfactory society.

18

Introduction

General Problems for Moral Philosophy Both of Montaigne's outlooks found exponents as moral philosophy developed through the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. At one extreme it was held that we cannot learn the laws to which we must conform except through God's revelation, that only some of us are capable of knowing what those laws direct, so that the many must be instructed by the few, and that we must be brought to obey them by threats of punishment for failing to do so. At the other extreme there emerged the view that morality is itself a creation or prdjection of our inmost nature and that consequently we are naturally both aware of what it tells us to do and motivated to do it. Modern moral philosophy in the two formative centuries covered by this anthology was the attempt to show where human moral capacities should be located on the scale marked out by these extremes. We can make clearer the general issues of moral philosophy in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries by keeping in mind three questions. First, is the moral order that is required in our behavior and our character patterned after some external source, or does it come from within us, expressing ourselves rather than requiring us to conform to a model that is authoritative for us? Second, is the knowledge or awareness of how we should behave directly available only to some among us, or is it equally available to everyone? Third, must we be induced or compelled to bring ourselves and our actions into line with the requirements of morality by some motivation arranged to bring us into compliance, or are we so constituted that we have within ourselves motives that lead us to morality without regard for external inducements? These three questions lead to epistemological issues; yet an epistemology suitable for understanding claims to theoretical knowledge cannot alone provide the answers. Those who held that we can have virtue in our lives only by being brought into conformity with a moral order existing independently of us had, of course, to explain how we can know the values by which we are meant to live. Although they did not need to take on the whole of the skeptical challenge to human claims to knowledge, they had to remove any doubt about whether we can, even in principle, know what morality in particular requires. Moral knowledge presumably matters because people must have it in order to act decently, but everyone (or almost everyone) must act decently if social life is to be possible. So there is a problem for the epistemology of morals that does not arise in the same way for the epistemology of theoretical knowledge. If even one person at one time knows some truth, Cartesian skepticism is mistaken,. Of course, if one person at one time knows a practical principle, moral skepticism is also mistaken, but that by itself would hardly allay the fears of those who thought that if skepticism spread, libertinism would be rampant and society would disintegrate. A response to skepticism about morality needed to specify, therefore, whether everyone is able to know the requirements of morality and, if not, then to

4

General Problems for Moral Philosophy

19

indicate how the moral knowledge that some people can possess could be made effective among the others. This leads to another matter on which theorists of morality had to move beyond epistemology as such. They had to consider the connection between the knowledge of what one ought to do and one's willingness to do it. Moral knowledge is important because it answers practical questions by showing us what to do. Theoretical knowledge may or may not move us to action, but no one ever doubted that moral knowledge is somehow supposed to influence our behavior. A full reply to the moral skeptic would have to show what it is about moral knowledge, or about us, that moves us to act at its behest. The problem of moral motivation was at least as important to the development of modern moral philosophy as was the problem of moral knowledge. Philosophical argument was not the only determinant of answers to these questions. Luther and Calvin, following Saint Augustine, had religious reasons for attributing to us a very low degree of moral capacity. There were many who accepted something like their view and worked out a moral philosophy to accord with it. Roman Catholicism, however, did not give so negative an estimate of our ability to follow the laws written in our consciences, though it found ample room for the guidance of one's confessor. And many Protestants thought that Calvinism's low estimate of human potential, and its portrayal of God as harsh and arbitrary, was not an acceptable interpretation of their faith. Political as well as religious concerns were duly pondered. Those who supported a strong central government would not be apt to portray everyone as having a considerable capacity for self-governance. But if they opposed the theory of the divine right of kings, they might be forced to grant to individuals sufficient moral capacity at least to make a binding contract to obey the magistrate. And if our capacity for self-mastery could take us that far, why not farther? When overtly antireligious writers eventually tried to show how a wholly secular morality is possible, their differences among themselves about how far up or down on the scale of autonomy our capacities would entitle us to be placed were due in part to their different views about what kind of politics their secular ethics should warrant. Moral philosophy owed much of its vitality and its public recognition to the social, political, and religious forces pulling toward or away from these opposed views of the extent to which we are able to govern ourselves. Those who disagreed on these issues held remarkably similar views on many of the details of morality. No one doubted that both law and love, both justice and beneficence, had to be incorporated into any acceptable system of morality. No one thought that ruthless and overt self-seeking could be allowed, or defiance of the laws of the land encouraged. There were indeed disagreements about more specific important issues, such as whether or not slavery is permissible or whether there are limits to the sanctity of private property. But these differences were small in comparison with the extent of agreement. No

20

Introduction

one doubted that there ought to be general respect for property, fidelity to promises, truthfulness, honoring of contracts, supremacy of the husband within the family, obedience to parents, avoidance of offensive and arrogant behavior, and charity to those needier than oneself. Moral philosophers tried to connect these undoubted requirements with their understanding of morality as a whole and of ourselves as moral agents. In so doing they sometimes proposed revisions of accepted morality, but it was not these suggested alterations that gave their work its importance. The importance of moral philosophy, furthermore, was not dependent on its ability to provide epistemologically indubitable foundations for moral principles. The philosophers often promised such foundations, but although some were more convincing than others, no one came up with an uncontestable theory. If their work nonetheless attracted attention, it was, I suggest, because it served another purpose, which, briefly, is as follows: Human beings may not be swayed a great deal by purely rational argument, but human identity requires a vocabulary, and a coherent vocabulary involves a coherent outlook. In everything beyond the most elementary physical and biological life, we can be only what we can think and say we are. If we are to think of ourselves in more than sectarian or local terms, we need a view that enables us to explain who and what we are in addition to being members of some special group, and how this aspect of our identity enables and requires us to act. Every culture provides such modes of understanding and explaining ourselves. But when circumstances change drastically, old modes of selfunderstanding may become too cumbersome, too much weighed down by outmoded assumptions, too much out of kilter with the problems people face. Then a new way of looking at things may simply strike people as better, even if it has not been "proved" in any strong sense. The moral philosophy of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries was that culture's attempt to articulate the merits and drawbacks of old modes of self-understanding and to invent and assess possible new ones. For centuries the theologians of Christianity had been expected to perform the cultural task of restating and improving the comprehensive doctrine from which a common moral vocabulary was drawn to provide a shared selfunderstanding. In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries clerical thinkers were joined, usually to their dismay, by nonclerical philosophers who took it upon themselves to provide comprehensive views that would improve on the ideas of the theologians — or that even would replace them. Religious, political, social, and economic changes increasingly forced philosophers to face the question of the extent to which human beings are capable of moral selfgovernance. The development of moral philosophy in our period is best understood by seeing the complex problem of autonomy at its core. This, at least, is the assumption on which I have assembled the readings in this anthology. I have divided the moral philosophers of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries into four categories: those who reworked ideas of natural law, those

21

Reworking Natural Law

who appealed basically to knowledge of the good to structure morality, those who saw self-interested motivation as the key to moral order, and those who with increasing clarity argued for moral autonomy. The categories are built around philosophical differences of view that I shall explain briefly. Chronology is not, however, wholly ignored. Within each of the four categories it is respected, and the order of the categories reflects chronology as well. All of the natural law writers presented here immediately after Montaigne are seventeenth-century thinkers. Those whom I have placed in the next two divisions, the rationalists and the egoists, come from the eighteenth as well as the seventeenth century, and the section on the egoists ends with the most influential of late eighteenth-century representatives of this line of thought, Jeremy Bentham. All of the writers in the fourth division are eighteenthcentury philosophers, and the section ends with two — Thomas Reid and Immanuel Kant — from the latter part of the century whose work profoundly influenced the f011owing century. The actual sequence of philosophical change is thus roughly mirrored in the topical divisions. Any attempt to divide into tidy groupings as diverse an assemblage of philosophers as I have collected here is bound to involve some simplification. But if there is some artifice in the divisions I use, there are also some grounds for them in the writings that they include. I shall explain these in the following four sections. Reworking Natural Law

In Part I, "Reworking Natural Law," I have brought together writers who have a common ancestry in the Stoic and Christian traditions synthesized by Saint Thomas. Although their differences from one another are considerable, there are two reasons for considering them as a group. One is historical. During the later seventeenth century and the eighteenth century, these writers were usually considered to constitute a group. Pufendorf, the most widely read of these theorists, and undoubtedly the most widely read of anyone who wrote on moral philosophy during the entire period, claimed that he was Grotius's successor and that Hobbes was the great intervening figure. This self-portrayal was accepted by a number of historians of natural law theory and became the prevailing view of the past. 36 The second reason is more systematic. All the natural law writers stressed our need to cooperate with one another in creating and preserving a decent society that will provide us with the things we need and the security to enjoy them. They also held that we are by nature strongly and unalterably moved to seek our own good. Competition and controversy are therefore inevitable and cannot be eliminated even in a well-organized society. Our unsocial sociability therefore requires the control of laws imposing obligations. And such laws, so the thinkers of this school held, are in place in the "state of nature," the condition in which people must be considered to live prior to the formation of the actual governments that are now in place. The laws of nature can there,

22

Introduction

fore serve as the framework within which people can construct and evaluate various forms of social organization. The natural law philosopher Richard Cumberland used an image that clearly reveals the problem that people have in understanding how morality functions. He attempted to explain why political authority is needed, by reminding us of the common experience of all in those things which respect the care of a family or the building a house or the production of any other effect, to which the different services of several persons are required; where we perceive that all our labor is bestowed in vain except some command and others obey. For it is evident that the procuring the greatest good the whole society of rational beings is capable of is an effect more complicated and intricate than any of these now mentioned, and that it depends necessarily upon the concurrent assistance of everyone, by mutual services of very different kinds; and that it is therefore impossible to obtain such effect, though foreseen and designed, with certainty and steadiness, except a subordination of rational beings be established, and all obey God as the supreme and most rational agent by observing those natural laws, common to all nations, which I have explained. 3

The natural lawyers saw the laws of nature as providing the only viable solution to an unavoidable problem: how beings with natures like ours are to succeed in living together, as we must, in ways that we all will find acceptable. They believed — the reader will see that they offered many different theories about this — that compliance with those laws would always be for the good of the individual as well as the good of society. But they did not suppose that most people most of the time could fully see that both of these goods would be achieved by means of obedience. The solution given by the laws of nature to the problem of common life is simply too complex for most people to grasp. And even if all of us equally could understand it, our primary concern with our own individual good would always tempt us to disobedience. There is only one way to obtain compliance from us: by offering sanctions. If there is a reliable threat of punishment or a promise of reward backing up the requirement that we obey the laws of nature, anyone will be able to understand it and so will be moved to act appropriately. Through the notion of sanctions the natural lawyers explained the concept of obligation, which they took to be the most salient feature of morality. To be obligated, according to most of them, was to be given a powerful motive by someone to do something. As the civil sovereign obligates us to obey his laws through threats of punishment for disobedience, so God obligates us in a similar way to obey the laws of nature. Unlike our earthly rulers, God always aims at the common good and obligates us to act in ways that will in fact bring it about. The obligation of morality arises, then, not simply from the good that compliance will bring for humankind at large but from the good it will bring to the dutiful agent. Thus the natural lawyers agreed in seeing us as needing to be ruled by some intelligence or power external to and greater than that of the individual. Although morality suits our nature, it must nonetheless be imposed on us.

Intellect and Morality

23

Intellect and Morality

The natural lawyers used a law-enforcement model of morality. Some of them, as the reader will see, began to attenuate it, but it remained as the animating spirit or metaphor of their thinking. Powerful opposition to this model arose among thinkers who held that its religious implications were untenable. The model allowed too little to humanity and made God too much a distant ruler rather than a loving father. The natural lawyers thereby underestimated our ability to recognize what we ought to do to bring about the common good, as well as our inner motivation to act accordingly. In Part II, "Intellect and Morality," I have assembled philosophers who tried, in different ways, to break with the law-enforcement model of the natural lawyers and to find other accounts of the laws of morality. The natural lawyers held that we must study human nature empirically in order to learn from it the ways in which God commands us to behave. In opposition to them, the view developed that the knowledge we need is not empirical knowledge at all. Rather, it is knowledge of the eternal relations of things in the universe. It may be knowledge enabling us to compare degrees of the essential perfections of things, or knowledge of laws stating relations of fitness between things, comparable to mathematical relations, or knowledge of the necessary connections of things. The mind thus has the power to see that one kind of action is better than another, or more perfect than another, or more appropriate than another, and through these insights we learn what morality requires. We are, moreover, capable of being moved as a result of our insights, because what we pursue when we act voluntarily is what we take to be good. It is only ignorance or error that leads us astray. When our knowledge is clear we do not need sanctions, appealing to self-interest, to move us to act virtuously. We can display the kind of love that Christ urged upon us. Knowledge of the eternal fitnesses of things, if only it is clear enough, can in effect transform us from shortsighted seekers of our own good into wise seekers of the common good. According to this view, is there then no place for obligation? Obligation of the sort that the natural lawyers explained would always be needed for at least some people — the sinful, who willfully refuse to see where the good lies and who therefore must be controlled by sanctions — but the rudiments of a distinction began to be drawn. Perhaps the kind of obligation arising from sanctions is not really the kind that is central to morality. It is, after all, merely an external sort of obligation, and morality is an inner matter. And of the inner obligation, a definite account emerged. We are obliged, these philosophers held, to do what we believe will bring about more good or more perfection than will any other action open to us. The essential nature of things entails that different degrees of perfections are attained through different actions, and we can learn what these are. It is thus the very nature of things that obliges us morally to act in some ways and not in others. The model of laws of

24

Introduction

nature that the lawyers used is thus misleading. We are not ruled by some conscious external power who needs to induce us to obey by deliberately attaching sanctions to edicts. Instead, our innate ability to know and respond with love to the perfections inherent in the nature of things explains moral obligation quite satisfactorily. And does this kind of view not show that we are a law unto ourselves, as Saint Paul had said, in a fuller sense than the natural lawyers could allow? According to this view, perhaps some of us approach autonomy, but not all. The rationalists did not hold that the knowledge essential to virtue is equally available to everyone. I shall quote here a passage I have included in the selections, simply to emphasize how untroubled such philosophers were about the implication of their doctrine that only an elite could possess firsthand moral knowledge. Christian Wolff, after summarizing the difficult thinking needed in order to know how to act, raised the following question: Perhaps someone will wonder how it will go with the pursuit of good if so much is required in order to distinguish good from bad. Here it will do to respond that we are now speaking only of those who are to generate from their own reflections the rules . . . that belong to a doctrine of morals. But it is not necessary that all men be discoverers. It is enough if some among the learned devote themselves to discovery, whose findings the others can afterwards learn, which is much easier. 38

Epicureans and Egoists The psychology of the rationalists offered a major target for criticism. In Part III, "Epicureans and Egoists," I have assembled philosophers who worked from a different psychological view. It might have been true of humans as God first created them that they pursued whatever they took to be good, for no matter whom. But fallen humans — and surely the evidence for this is overwhelming? — look out for themselves not merely at first, as many of the rationalists would have admitted, but always. The similarity between the visions of humanity given by Augustine, Luther, Calvin, and the atheist (as he was thought to be) Hobbes suggested that this was a point on which believer and unbeliever would agree. 39 If so, the basic point about morality is quite straightforward. Each of us knows or has beliefs about what we ourselves want, and it is easy enough to let others know what that is. Our actions will be steered, of course, always and only by our knowledge or belief about what enables us to attain our aim. So the moralist who wishes to show us that we are obligated to act justly or generously to others will have to show us that such action pays. And surely it does! For we need the help of others, and we will obtain it only if we show ourselves prepared to help them; and besides (some added), it is simply enjoyable to help others. If only we each knew where our own true good was, everyone would act, out of self-interest, in ways that would in fact bring about the general good. It is important to see that the egoists were not simply selfish thinkers seeking to excuse their unpleasant proclivities by appealing to an implausible

Epicureans and Egoists

25

theory. Rather, the egoists were saying that morality must accommodate our essential nature as agents. Because we are by nature unalterably self-seeking, only a morality that pays will be effective in guiding us. Theories of this kind could spring from the belief that our nature is fundamen6lly flawed, but they could be — and they became — affirmations of the self as it is. For the later, secular, theorists of self-interest, we are not required to repent for being what we are and to try to become something fundamentally different. Consciously or not, they repeat the burden of one, of Montaigne's greatest essays. Some of the egoists were in many ways more conventional than Montaigne was. They accepted the main commonplaces of morality. They argued, rather complacently, that with God in his heaven, all is well, because God has so arranged things that when we each act for our own (enlightened) self-interest, we are doing as much as we can for others. But some philosophers, less at ease in the world, took a different view. An unprejudiced look at society might convince one that it was not in fact in each person's own interest to act in morally acceptable ways. Society might be so structured that some were exploited by others, kept in ignorance and superstition, and thereby led to believe that nonetheless all was well. In a corrupt society, immorality and crime might be the result of accurate knowledge of one's interests. Hence some thinkers were led to conclude that if God or nature failed to arrange things so that we could find our own good in bringing about the good of others, we ourselves would have to construct a society in which this was possible. It was no accident that Bentham's version of utilitarianism developed out of a line of thought dominated by egoistic psychology. Nor was there any incongruity in his combining an egoistic psychology with the thesis that right action always is action that aims at the greatest good for the greatest number. To enable us to do what we ought to do, Bentham held, we need to reform society. The theory that led him to this conclusion did more, he thought, than simply explain morality. It gave him a criterion by which to judge the existing situation and to make decisions about where it needed to be changed. Psychological egoism put its exponents in a position to claim that moral order must be something we create, not something to which we merely conform, and to argue that we possess within ourselves the resources needed for this task. Even so, the egoists could not say that our moral capacities make us all completely autonomous. They were, for one thing, blocked from making this claim by the problem of access to relevant knowledge. Only enlightened self-interest can lead one to act in ways that benefit others as well as oneself, and the amount of knowledge needed for this enlightenment — an understanding of the social system so complete that we can see that each of our possible actions benefiting others will benefit us as well — is so considerable that it is hard to suppose realistically that everyone could have it. Nor, indeed, did most egoists think everyone could: they tended to share Christian Wolff's attitude. There is, moreover, another way in' which psychological egoism blocks autonomy. Even an enlightened agent can be virtuous only in a well-

26

Introduction

ordered society. Otherwise, as I have noted, enlightenment must necessarily lead to vice. Virtue as the psychological egoists can understand it — action that in fact benefits others, regardless of its self-interested motive — is not ours to command; it emerges only when society evokes it. Autonomy and Responsibility

Two kinds of interests led some philosophers to argue that we are capable of fuller or more deeply rooted autonomy than had been allowed by any of the thinkers considered thus far. One interest was political. The idea of a classical republic, reinvigorated by Machiavai, was the idea of a society governed by its citizens, who are able to govern themselves and others because of their dedication to the common good. The citizens are free under their laws because they themselves make the laws. What must we be like as individuals if we can have such a political system, opposed to rule by interest-driven majorities no less than to monarchical governance? The effort to answer this question initiated lines of thought that moved toward the conclusion that we must be morally autonomous. The second interest was religious. The thought behind it was expressed as early as 1706 by Jean Barbeyrac, the scholar who translated into French Grotius, Pufendorf, and Cumberland. In the history of moral philosophy that he prefixed to his translation of Pufendorf, Barbeyrac remarked that because God had made us capable of understanding a "vast number of mathematical truths," he must surely have made us even more capable of "knowing and establishing with the same evidence the maxims of morality, in which are contained those duties he indispensably requires of us." God's goodness "will not permit us to doubt" the point, Barbeyrac stated, for how could a good deity hold us responsible for obeying laws we cannot know? 4° Implicit in the question is the assumption that we can do what we know we ought to do, and so again there was a reason for taking a less restricted view of human moral capacities than earlier thinkers had taken. In Part IV, "Autonomy and Responsibility," I have assembled selections from the diverse group of philosophers who contributed to this rehabilitation of human nature. They were very much at odds with one another. Yet their controversies can perhaps be organized usefully around two now-familiar themes: the problem of motivation and the problem of the accessibility of awareness of what morality requires. Two main ways of coping with the latter issue emerged during the eighteenth century. One was to deny that awareness of the requirements of morality is primarily a matter of knowing something. Instead, it was taken to be a matter of feeling. Not everyone can grasp complicated sets of rules, or the endless unfolding of the consequences of actions throughout all of society. But everyone has feelings. Feelings respond much more quickly to situations calling for action than calculation does; feelings move us to action, whereas we often are indifferent to rules or results; and through feelings we car00 associated with our

Autonomy and Responsibility

27

fellows, whereas we tend to disagree with them when we must reason and dispute. Suppose, then, that moral judgments express not knowledge of eternal laws or ontological perfections or calculable consequences but feelings of approval and disapproval that spring forth spontaneously from a special moral faculty, a moral sense existing within every human being. Will this not enable us to explain at one stroke how it is that awareness of what morality requires is equally accessible to everyone alike? The sentimentalists — as these thinkers were known to their contemporaries 41 — believed that it would, and they contended, moreover, that the feelings arising from a moral sense alone could explain the very meanings of moral terms. In opposition to the sentimentalists, there developed a new effort to show exactly why awareness of the requirements of morality had to be understaood as a matter of knowing what one ought to do. The arguments between these two groups are still of interest, but what we should notice in particular here is that the champions of moral knowledge went out of their way to offer accounts of how that knowledge could be available to everyone alike. Most of them claimed, in one way or another, that moral truths are simply self-evident and that they are known by "intuition" — the ability to grasp truths that cannot themselves be proved but that are the sources of any truths that can be. Everyone alike, it was assumed, has the ability to intuit; and if there are some situations in which it is difficult to see how the intuitively evident truths of morality apply, such difficulties will similarly arise for everyone. Those taking this line of thought sometimes reinterpreted conscience as the ability to grasp immediately what morality requires in each case. Others believed that intuitions are required in all knowledge and that morality is no different in this respect from geometry or the sciences or even a commonsense knowledge of physical objects. The appeal to intuition, however, had its drawbacks, as Bentham pointed out in a scathing footnote. 42 Like the sentimentalist doctrine of the moral sense, the appeal to intuition cut off debate and served as an authoritative way to impose one's will on others. It did not — unlike the utilitarian calculus that Bentham proposed — permit rational discussion of basic moral issues. One version of the belief that morality involves distinctive moral knowledge tried to avoid this kind of objection. Immanuel Kant argued that there is a rational formula for morality capable of showing us what we ought to do and that it is so simple that anyone, even an uneducated worker, could use it. Hence he held that even without intuition there could be equal access to awareness of the requirements of morality. Wolff's instructions would not be needed. The new views of the accessibility of awareness of morality's requirements, in turn, called for new views of motivation. All of the thinkers in Part IV were opposed to the egoistic position, with some of them, particularly Butler, mounting effective attacks on it. Human motivation is simply more complex, they held, than the egoists had realized. We have both self-interested and disinterested motives. On this basis the sentimentalists, beginning with Shaftesbury, took another important step. They held that the immediate objects of the

28

Introduction

feelings of moral approval and disapproval are themselves human motives. Assuming that it is not difficult to know either our own motives or those of others, they believed that moral feeling responds not to mere bodily motion but to whatever in the agent gives human meaning to such motions — to the passions and desires from which the agent acts. When we find ourselves or others acting from desires for the good of others, we also find ourselves approving them. To have strong and firm dispositions to act for the sake of the good of others is in fact to be virtuous. And it is happily true that having such dispositions is the surest route to enjoying life oneself. Thus virtue and interest coincide, but only if the good of others is disinterestedly pursued. The claim that the possession of reliable benevolent motives is the core of virtue raised a number of problems. Butler argued tellingly that we have obligations other than to act benevolently in this life, such as the obligation to act justly. Hume replied by contending that even the claims of justice move us because they appeal to our concern for the good of all alike. What was at stake in this debate went beyond the important matter of the correct analysis of justice; it involved the most basic understanding of the psychology of action. The standard view of human motivation, going back to Plato, was that insofar as we act voluntarily and rationally, we act to obtain what we believe to be the greatest good we can get. If we act otherwise, we are ignorant, or irrational, or acting out of deliberate wickedness. Locke voiced his dissent from this accepted view, asserting that we are moved not by the greatest good in prospect but by the greatest uneasiness felt at the moment of action. He did not say what this uneasiness might be. Later thinkers, Richard Price among them, argued that among the many motives capable of affecting us, one is a concern to do what we see to be right or obligatory, simply because it is so. In one way this was not a new idea. The Stoics had held that the wise man chooses virtue for its own sake. But now the idea was disconnected from the Stoic belief that living in accordance with virtue — acting as duty requires — for its own sake constitutes the whole of the good life. Doing what we see to be right, just because we see it to be so, could be considered rational because the principles of duty are themselves rational. We might know that in doing our duty we are not bringing about the greatest good that we might, and nonetheless be acting as reason requires. And given that we have an inner motive to respond to what we see to be our duty, we can be fully autonomous in our moral lives. Sentimentalists and cognitivists alike, then, were contending that we all are capable of being aware of what morality asks of us and that we all possess our own inner motivation to accede. They were arguing, in short, that morality comes from and expresses our own nature and is not imposed on us from without. Rationalists like Price and Reid, however — rejecting the sentimentalist claim that it is our feelings that project moral distinctions into the world — still left us complying with eternal truths whose nature and origin had not been explained. And in this compliance, they held in the end, we were still obeying God.

Conclusion

29

Jean-Jacques Rousseau was led to a bold move beyond this view, by his desire to subvert the theories of Grotius and Pufendorf. Their understanding of natural law, he believed, justified political tyranny as well as personal slavery, both of which Rousseau abhorred. He admired the classical republic, a version of which he thought he saw realized in the city of Geneva, where he had been raised. And he asked what we must be like if such a republic is to be possible. We must be fully capable of self-governance, and our lives must be self-governed at all times. Yet this need not exclude our submission to law — if the law is one we make ourselves. In a famous sentence, Rousseau asserted that "the impulse of appetite alone is slavery, and obedience to the law one has prescribed for oneself is freedom." 43 Could this view be used to understand not only politics but also individual morality, treating morality as at its core a matter of self-legislation? Rousseau did not try to work out a detailed answer. Immanuel Kant did. Although Kant sided with the rationalists in claiming that morality must be a matter of reason, he nonetheless agreed with the sentimentalists in two respects. Like them he held that morality comes into the physical world as an expression of ourselves, but, he argued, it is constructed not by our sentiments but by our own imposition of a requirement of the rational will on our action. The law that we impose requires us to examine not the consequences of our action or the eternal perfections of things but, in line with the sentimentalists' view, our own plans of action. If our intentions pass the test the moral law requires them to pass, we may act on them; if they do not, we may not. And we can always be sure that we can do as morality requires, Kant believed, because even if we must reject intentions springing from our natural motives, the moral law will create in us a special moral motive — respect for the law — which is as universal in humankind as is awareness of the law itself. Whether Kant succeeded in making this theory of morality coherent and plausible has been a matter of debate ever since he first published it. In any event, it is clear that his position offers an astonishingly high estimate of the extent of human moral autonomy. Kant is as far as one can get from the belief that only a few people can truly know what morality imposes on us and that all or most people must be brought to comply with it by means of sanctions. Conclusion

At the beginning of the period covered by this anthology, the general question underlying thought about morality was something like this: how can people be taught and brought to act in ways that will make virtue and a decent society possible? By the end of the period, the question was more nearly something like this: what enables us all to be aware of what morality requires and to move ourselves to act accordingly? The second question and its assumptions are today still at the root of our inquiries concerning morals. The history of moral philosophy in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries is the history of the transformation of the basic question of moral philosophy. It is at the same

30

Introduction

time the history of the transformation of our basic understanding of ourselves as moral agents. Notes

1. See Albert R. Jonsen and Stephen Toulmin, The Abuse of Casuistry (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1988). 2. From Christ's summary of the law, moral philosophers derived the widely used division of morality into duties to God, duties to self, and duties to neighbor. Another text frequently used to justify this division was Titus 2:12: "Teaching us that, denying ungodliness and worldly lusts, we should live soberly [duties to self], righteously [duties to neighbor], and godly, in this present world." Innumerable treatises and textbooks were organized along these lines, well into the nineteenth century. 3. Saint Paul's dictum was the great text authorizing and supporting the belief that there is a natural law discoverable by reason. And because in the next verse Paul explained his dictum by saying that the Gentiles "show the work of the law in their hearts, their conscience also bearing witness" (Rom. 2:15), it was generally accepted that the natural law was taught to all through the conscience. The reader will see how differently rationalists and empiricists interpreted conscience and the ability of all people to know the law. 4. Saint Augustine, The City of God, trans. Henry Bettenson (London: Penguin, 1972), bk. XII.2, p. 473. 5. Ibid., bk. XII.4, p. 475. 6. For a useful brief selection of texts from both Pelagius and Augustine, see Henry Bettenson, Documents of the Christian Church (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1947), pp. 74-87. There is a good discussion in Peter Brown, Augustine of Hippo (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1967), chaps. 29-31. 7. Summa Theologiae, Ia IIae 90.3; abbreviated hereafter as ST. I use the translation given in Anton Pegis, ed., Basic Writings of St. Thomas Aquinas, 2 vols. (New York: Random House, 1945). 8. The term is also spelled "synderesis." For a good discussion, see M. B. Crowe, The Changing Profile of Natural Law (The Hague: Nijhoff, 1972), pp. 123-41. Conscience involves, in addition, the ability to apply principles to cases. 9. ST, Ia IIae 108.3 r3. 10. ST Ia IIae 109.3. 11. ST, Ia IIa 109-14. 12. Martin Luther, The Bondage of the Will, 1525, in John Dillenberger, ed., Martin Luther (New York: Doubleday, 1961), pp. 195-6. 13. Scotus thought God could not will that he himself not be loved, and concluded that therefore the first table of the Decalogue contained natural law in a strong sense, whereas the second table contained what is now natural law but might be otherwise. See Allan B. Wolter, Duns Scotus on the Will and Morality (Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 1986), p. 277. For Biel's similar view, see Heiko A. Oberman, The Harvest of Late Mediaeval Theology (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1963), pp. 100-2. 14. John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, trans. Ford Lewis Battles (London: SCM Press, 1961), III.xxiii.2, p. 949. 15. Luther, The Bondage of the Will, in Dillenberger, Martin Luther, p. 192. 16. Luther, Secular Authority: To What Extent It Ought to Be Obeyed, in Dillenberger, Martin Luther, p. 370. 17. Luther, The Freedom of a Christian (1520), in Dillenberger, Martin Luther, p. 57. 18. ST Ia IIae 106.3.

Notes

31

19. Luther, A Commentary on St. Paul's Epistle to the Galatians (1531), in Dillenberger, Martin Luther, pp. 140-1. 20. Institutes, II.ii.22, pp. 280-2, and II. ii.24, pp. 283-4. 21. See Luther, Secular Authority, in Dillenberger, Martin Luther, pp. 370 ff.; Calvin, Institutes, II.ii.13, p. 272, and III.xix.15, p. 847. 22. For an excellent collection of philosophically relevant texts, not only from Cicero and Seneca but also from other important sources of the philosophical thought of late antiquity, see A. A. Long and D. N. Sedly, The Hellenistic Philosophers, vol. 1: Translations of the Principal Sources (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1987). This is the best place to begin studying the ethics of the Stoics, the Epicureans, and the Skeptics. 23. Plutarch's Moralia was also widely read, especially after its translation into French by Amyot in 1572 and into English by Holland in 1603. 24. De finibus, trans. H. Rackham (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1914), II.xiv, p. 133. 25. See De finibus, III. xv-xviii. 26. De finibus, IV.xiv-xv. 27. De officiis, trans. Walter Miller (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1913), I.v, p. 16. 28. De officiis, I.vii, pp. 21ff. 29. De officiis, I.xiv-xv; see also II.xvff. 30 ') De officiis, II. iii, p. 177; also cf. III.iii, p. 279: "It is beyond question that expediency can never conflict with moral rectitude." 31. For this development, see Julia Annas and Jonathan Barnes, The Modes of Scepticism (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1985); Myles Burnyeat, ed., The Skeptical Tradition (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California, 1983); and Richard Popkin, The History of Scepticism from Erasmus to Spinoza (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1979). 32. For the best short introduction to Machiavelli, see Quentin Skinner, Machiavelli (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1981). Isaiah Berlin, "The Originality of Machiavelli," in Isaiah Berlin, Against the Current (New York: Viking, 1980), is a brilliant essay with an extensive discussion of the literature. For classical republicanism as a historical movement, see J. G. A. Pocock, The Machiavellian Moment (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1975). 33. See J. G. A. Pocock, ed., The Political Works of James Harrington (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1977). 34. Pierre Charron, author of De la sagesse (1601, translated into English before 1612 as Of Wisdome) was one of the most widely read of the others. 35. On the libertines see J. S. Spink, French Free Thought from Gassendi to Voltaire (London: Athlone, 1960); Leroy E. Loemker, Struggle for Synthesis: The Seventeenth Century Background of Leibniz's Synthesis of Order and Freedom (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1972); and for a good selection of texts, Antoine Adam, Les libertins au XVIle siecle (Paris: Editions Buchet/Chastel, 1964). 36. For an excellent brief discussion of this, see Richard Tuck, Hobbes (Oxford: • Oxford University Press, 1989), pp. 92-100, which gives further references. 37. Richard Cumberland, Treatise of the Laws of Nature, 1672, chap. 9, §V, p. 348. 38. Wolff, Reasonable Thoughts About the Actions of Men, §150; see the selections in Part II of this anthology. 39. Of course the Christian thinkers held that our selfishness was a sinful result of sin, and Hobbes was careful to point out that he held no such opinion of our inevitable self-interest. 40. Jean Barbeyrac, Prefatory Discourse, in S. Pufendorf, Of the Law of Nature and of Nations, trans. B. Kennett, London, 4th ed., 1729, sec. II, p. 3.

32

Introduction

41. Some scholars believe that Hutcheson was not a "sentimentalist" in morals but a "moral realist" and that Hume, influenced by him, resembled him in this respect. I give references to the literature on this issue in the Further Reading section for Hutcheson, in Part IV of Volume II. Historically, readers have assumed that these writers were sentimentalists. I agree with that assumption and find it appropriate to present them as such in a historical anthology. 42. See the Bentham selections in Part III of Volume II. 43. Social Contract, I.viii §4, in the Rousseau selections in Part IV of Volume II. Bibliography

What follows is not intended as a full bibliography of the history of ethics. Rather, it is a list of some of the standard works on the subject, together with other books I have found useful in preparing the Introduction to this anthology. The "Further Reading" section for each philosopher is an additional bibliography. Adam, Antoine. Les libertins au XVIle siecle. Paris: Editions Buchet/Chastel, 1964. Albee, Ernest. A History of English Utilitarianism. London: Allen & Unwin, 1901. Annas, Julia, and Jonathan Barnes. The Modes of Scepticism. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1985. Berlin, Isaiah. Against the Current. New York: Viking, 1980. Bettenson, Henry. Documents of the Christian Church. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1947. Bourke, V. J. History of Ethics. 2 vols. New York: Image Books, 1968. Brown, Peter. Augustine of Hippo. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1967. Burnyeat, Myles, ed. The Skeptical Tradition. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1983. Cassirer, E. The Platonic Renaissance in England. Translated by James Pettegrove. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1953. Crocker, Lester. Nature and Culture: Ethical Thought in the French Enlightenment. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1963. Crowe, M. B. The Changing Profile of Natural Law. The Hague: Nijhoff, 1972. Deane, Herbert A. The Political and Social Ideas of St. Augustine. New York: Columbia University Press, 1963. Douglas, A. E. "Cicero the Philosopher." In T. A. Dorey, ed., Cicero. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1965. Forbes, Duncan. Hume's Philosophical Politics. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1975. Gierke, Otto. Natural Law and the Theory of Society 1500 to 1800. 2 vols. Translated by Ernest Barker. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1934. Haakonssen, Knud. "Natural Law and Moral Realism: The Scottish Synthesis." In M. A. Stewart, ed., The Philosophy of the Scottish Enlightenment. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989. Hitschman, Albert 0. The Passions and the Interests. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1977. Hope, Vincent, ed. Philosophers of the Scottish Enlightenment. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1984. Ilting, Karl-Heinz. Naturrecht and Sittlichkeit. Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 1983.

Bibliography

33

Job!, Friedrich. Geschichte der Ethik. 2 vols. 2nd. ed. Stuttgart, 1906. Jonsen, Albert R., and Stephen Toulmin. The Abuse of Casuistry. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1988. Keohane, Nannerl 0. Philosophy and the State in France. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1980. Kirk, Kenneth E. The Vision of God. London: Longmans Green, 1932. Knox, Ronald. Enthusiasm. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1950. Kors, Alan C. D'Holbach's Coterie. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1976. Leites, Edmund, ed. Conscience and Casuistry in Early Modern Europe. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1988. Levi, Anthony. French Moralists: The Theory of the Passions 1585-1659. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1964. Loemker, Leroy E. Struggle for Synthesis: The Seventeenth Century Background of Leibniz's Synthesis of Order and Freedom. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1972. Long, A. A. Hellenistic Philosophy. 2nd ed. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1986. Long, A. A., and D. N. Sedley. The Hellenistic Philosophers. Vol. 1: Translations of the Principal Sources. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1987. Lovejoy, Arthur 0. Reflections on Human Nature. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1961. Maclntyre, Alasdair. A Short History of Ethics. New York: Macmillan, 1966. Norton, David Fate. David Hume, Common-Sense Moralist, Sceptical Metaphysician. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1982. Oberman, Heiko A. The Harvest of Late Mediaeval Theology. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1963. Passerin d'Entreves, A. Natural Law. London: Hutchinson, 1951. Passmore, J. A. Ralph Cudworth. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1951. Perelman, Chaim. Introduction historique a la philosophie morale. Brussels: Editions de 1 'University de Bruxelles, 1980. Pocock, J. G. A. The Machiavellian Moment. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1975. ed. The Political Works of James Harrington. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1977. Popkin, Richard. The History of Scepticism from Erasmus to Spinoza. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1979. Rommen, H. A. The Natural Law. Translated by Thomas R. Hanley. St. Louis: Herder, 1947. Rupp, Gordon. The Righteousness of God: Luther Studies. London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1953. Schmucker, Josef. Die Urspriinge der Ethik Kants. Meisenheim, West Germany: Verlag Anton Hain KG, 1961. Schneiders, Werner. Naturrech and Liebesethik. Hildesheim, West Germany: Olms Verlag, 1971. Shklar, Judith. Montesquieu. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987. Sidgwick, Henry. Outlines of the History of Ethics. London: Macmillan, 1896.

34

Introduction

Skinner, Quentin. The Foundations of Modern Political Thought. 2 vols. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1978. Machiavelli. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1981. Spink, J. S. French Free Thought from Gassendi to Voltaire. London: Athlone, 1960. Stephen, Sir Leslie. History of English Thought in the Eighteenth Century. 2 vols. London, 1876. Tuck, Richard. Natural Rights Theories. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1979. Viner, Jacob. The Role of Providence in the Social Order. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1972. Wendel, Francois. Calvin. Translated by Philip Mairet. London: Collins, 1963. Wolter, Allan B. Duns Scotus on the Will and Morality. Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 1986. Wood, Neal. Cicero's Social and Political Thought. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1988. Wundt, Max. Die Deutsche Schulphilosophie im Zeitalter der Aufklarung. Hildesheim, West Germany: Olms Verlag, 1964.

Prolegomena: Some Questions Raised

Michel de Montaigne

Introduction Michel de Montaigne is discussed in a section of the Introduction to this anthology, and little need be added here. He was born in 1533, in a family mansion near Bordeaux, France. His father had him educated at home, where he spoke only Latin until he was six, learning French thereafter. His family was noble and well connected. For thirteen years, from 1557 on, Montaigne served in the local parliament. He married in 1565 and a few years later, on the death of his father, became the owner of an ample estate. With leisure at his command, Montaigne left politics and devoted himself to writing, completing the first edition of his Essais for publication in 1580. After extensive travels he returned to become the mayor of Bordeaux, in reluctant but dutiful obedience to the king. Although Montaigne spent four years in office, he continued to work on his book, adding new essays and revising — without omitting what was already written — the earlier ones. An enlarged edition was published in 1588, but Montaigne continued revising until his death, in 1592. In good editions of Montaigne's works, the writings from the different periods are marked accordingly, with "A" indicating the earliest material, "B" the additions made in the 1588 version, and "C" the insertions made during Montaigne's last years. The Essais are anything but systematic philosophy, and moral concerns are not their sole focus. If they have any central theme, it is Montaigne's project of writing his life as he lived and perceived it, suppressing nothing, altering nothing, leaving nothing untouched by his own way of articulating it. Questions about how to live and what to live for were among his interests. So was almost everything else. In the following selections I have had to ignore most of the variety of the Essais in order to give the reader some sense of Montaigne's way of thinking about the ethical questions that had engaged the classical moralists, which were to be dealt with in very different ways by later writers. Montaigne adorned his writings with so many references to and quotations (or misquotations) from classical authors that he suspected, he said, that others might think he was doing no more than collecting other men's flowers. But even if his quotations add grace to his prose and indicate something of the range of his learning, they are not used to give authority to his views. In the end Montaigne tested every view against his own experience, his own reactions, and his own capacity to absorb what is said and make it truly a part of his life. He did not proselytize, but his manner of thought is contagious. Careful reading of Montaigne will not leave the reader untouched. I have included five selections: "Of Repentance" (Book 111.2) is given in its entirety. 37

38

Michel de Montaigne

It is preceded by parts of the longest and most skeptical of the essays, the "Apology for Raymond Sebond" (Book 11.12), and followed by shorter excerpts from "Of Vanity" (Book 111.9), "Of Physiognomy" (Book 111.12), and "Of Experience" (Book 111.13), the last of the essays. In the notes I have indicated the sources of a few of the quotations and identified some of the people to whom he referred. Because the significance of most of Montaigne's references is clear from their use in the text, it did not seem necessary to annotate each one. The translation is by Donald Frame, reprinted from The Complete Essays of Montaigne, with permission of the publishers, Stanford University Press, © 1958. The translator has kept the marks indicating the edition from which the passages come and has identified the sources of quotations. He has also broken the text into paragraphs, which were not used in the original. Apology for Raymond Sebond . . . Yet must I see at last whether it is in the power of man to find what he seeks, and whether that quest that he has been making for so many centuries has enriched him with any new power and any solid truth. I think he will confess to me, if he speaks in all conscience, that all the profit he has gained from so long a pursuit is to have learned to acknowledge his weakness. The ignorance that was naturally in us we have by long study confirmed and verified. To really learned men has happened what happens to ears of wheat: they rise high and lofty, heads erect and proud, as long as they are empty; but when they are full and swollen with grain in their ripeness, they begin to grow humble and lower their horns. Similarly, men who have tried everything and sounded everything, having found in that pile of knowledge and store of so many various things nothing solid and firm, and nothing but vanity, have renounced their presumption and recognized their natural condition. cit is what Velleius reproaches Cotta and Cicero for, that they learned from Philo that they had learned nothing.' Pherecydes, one of the Seven Sages, writing to Thales as he was dying, said: "I have ordered my friends, after they have buried me, to bring you my writings. If they satisfy you and the other sages, publish them; if not, suppress them: they contain no certainty that satisfies myself. Nor do I profess to know the truth and to attain it. I uncover things more than I discover them." 2 AThe wisest man that ever was, when they asked him what he knew, answered that he knew this much, that he knew nothing.' He was verifying what they say, that the greatest part of what we know is the least of those parts that we do not know; that is to say that the very thing we think we know is a part, and a very small part, of our ignorance. . . . I wish to take man in his highest estate. Let us consider him in that small number of excellent and select men who, having been endowed with fine and particular natural ability, have further strengthened and sharpened it by care, by study, and by art, and have raised it to the highest pitch cof wisdom Athat it

Apology for Raymond Sebond

39

can attain. They have fashioned their soul to all directions and all angles, supported and propped it with all the outside assistance that was fit for it, and enriched and adorned it with all they could borrow, for its advantage, from the inside and the outside of the world; it is in them that the utmost height of human nature is found. They have regulated the world with governments and laws; they have instructed it with arts and sciences, and instructed it further by the example of their admirable conduct. I shall take into account only these people, their testimony, and their experience. Let us see how far they have gone and where they have halted. The infirmities and defects that we shall find in this assembly the world may well boldly acknowledge as its own. Whoever seeks anything comes to this point: he says either that he has found it, or that it cannot be found, or that he is still in quest of it. All philosophy is divided into these three types. Its purpose is to seek out truth, knowledge, and certainty. The Peripatetics, Epicureans, Stoics, and others thought they had found it. These established the sciences that we have, and treated them as certain knowledge. Clitomachus, Carneades, and the Academics despaired of their quest, and judged that truth could not be conceived by our powers. The conclusion of these men was man's weakness and ignorance. This school had the greatest following and the noblest adherents. 4 Pyrrho and other Skeptics or Epechists 5 cwhose doctrines, many of the ancients maintained, were derived from Homer, the Seven Sages, Archilochus, and Euripides, and were held by Zeno, Democritus, Xenophanes — Asay that they are still in search of the truth. These men judge that those who think they have found it are infinitely mistaken; and that there is also an overbold vanity in that second class that assures us that human powers are not capable of attaining it. For this matter of establishing the measure of our power, of knowing and judging the difficulty of things, is a great and supreme knowledge, of which they doubt that man is capable: Whoever thinks that we know nothing does not know Whether we know enough to say that this is so. Lucretius Ignorance that knows itself, that judges itself and condemns itself, is not complete ignorance: to be that, it must be ignorant of itself. So that the profession of the Pyrrhonians is to waver, doubt, and inquire, to be sure of nothing, to answer for nothing. Of the three functions of the soul, the imaginative, the appetitive, and the consenting, they accept the first two; the last they suspend and keep it ambiguous, without inclination or approbation, however slight, in one direction or the other. cZen° pictured in a gesture his conception of this division of the faculties of the soul: the hand spread and open was appearance; the hand half shut and

40

Michel de Montaigne

the fingers a little hooked, consent; the closed fist, comprehension; when with his left hand he closed his fist still tighter, knowledge. ANow this attitude of their judgment, straight and inflexible, taking all things in without adherence or consent, leads them to their Ataraxy, 6 which is a peaceful and sedate condition of life, exempt from the agitations we receive through the impression of the opinion and knowledge we think we have of things. Whence are born fear, avarice, envy, immoderate desires, ambition, pride, superstition, love of novelty, rebellion, disobedience, obstinacy, and most bodily ills. Indeed, they free themselves thereby from jealousy on behalf of their doctrine. For they dispute in a very mild manner. They do not fear contradiction in their discussion. When they say that heavy things go down, they would be very sorry to have anyone take their word for it; and they seek to be contradicted, so as to create doubt and suspension of judgment, which is their goal. They advance their propositions only to combat those they think we believe in. . . . The Pyrrhonians have kept themselves a wonderful advantage in combat, having rid themselves of the need to cover up. It does not matter to them that they are struck, provided they strike; and they do their work with everything. If they win, your proposition is lame; if you win, theirs is. If they lose, they confirm ignorance; if you lose, you confirm it. If they prove that nothing is known, well and good; if they do not know how to prove it, just as good. cSo that, since equal reasons are found on both sides of the same subject, it may be the easier to suspend judgment on each side [Cicero].

And they set store by the fact that they can find much more easily why a thing is false than that it is true; and what is not than what its; and what they do not believe than what they believe. ATheir expressions are: "I establish nothing; it is no more thus than thus, or than neither way; I do not understand it; the appearances are equal on all sides; it is equally legitimate to speak for and against. cNothing seems true, which may not seem false." ATheir sacramental word is i 7texo.), 7 that is to say, "I hold back, I do not budge." Those are their refrains, and others of similar substance. Their effect is a pure, complete and very perfect postponement and suspension of judgment. They use their reason to inquire and debate, but not to conclude and choose. Whoever will imagine a perpetual confession of ignorance, a judgment without leaning or inclination, on any occasion whatever, he has a conception of Pyrrhonism. I express this point of view as well as I can, because many find it difficult to conceive; and its authors themselves represent it rather obscurely and diversely. . . . AThere is nothing in man's invention that has so much verisimilitude and usefulness. 8 It presents man naked and empty, acknowledging his natural weakness, fit to receive from above some outside power; stripped of human knowledge, and all the more apt to lodge divine knowledge in himself, Bannihilating his judgment to make more room for faith; cneither disbelieving Anor setting up any doctrine Bagainst the common observances; humble, obedient, teachable,

Apology for Raymond Sebond

41

zealous; a sworn enemy of heresy, Aand consequently free from the vain and irreligious opinions introduced by the false sects. BHe is a blank tablet prepared to take from the finger of God such forms as he shall be pleased to engrave on it. The more we cast ourselves back on God and commit ourselves to him, and renounce ourselves, the better we are. A"Receive things thankfully," says the Preacher, "in the aspect and taste that they are offered to thee, from day to day; the rest is beyond thy knowledge." cThe Lord knoweth the thoughts of man, that they are vanity [Psalms]. AThat is how, of three general sects of philosophy, two make express profession of doubt and ignorance; and in that of the dogmatists, which is the third, it is easy to discover that most of them have put on the mask of assurance only to look better. They have not thought so much of establishing any certainty for us as of showing us how far they had gone in this pursuit of the truth: cwhich the learned suppose rather than know [Livy]. . . . AIf nature enfolds within the bounds of her ordinary progress, like all other things, also the beliefs, judgments, and opinions of men; if they have their rotation, their season, their birth, their death, like cabbages; if heaven moves and rolls them at its will, what magisterial and permanent authority are we attributing to them? BIf we feel palpably by experience that the form of our being depends on the air, the climate, and the soil where we are born — not only the complexion, the stature, the constitution and countenance, but also the faculties of the soul: cthe climate affects not only the vigor of the body, but also that of the soul, says Vegetius — and if the goddess who founded the city of Athens chose for its situation a climate which made men prudent, as the priests of Egypt taught Solon: the air of Athens is thin, whereby the Atticans are reputed more acute; that of Thebes is thick, wherefore the Thebans are reputed gross and solid [Cicero]; Bso that just as fruits are born different, and animals, men too are born more or less bellicose, just, temperate, and docile — here subject to wine, elsewhere to theft or lechery; here inclined to superstition, elsewhere to unbelief; there to freedom, here to servitude; Bcapable of one science or of one art, dull or ingenious, obedient or rebellious, good or bad, according to the influence of the place where they are situated — and take on a new disposition if you change their place, like trees; which was the reason why Cyrus would not allow the Persians to abandon their rugged and hilly country to move into another that was mild and flat, csaying that fat, soft lands make men soft, and fertile lands infertile minds; Bif we see flourishing now one art, one opinion, now another, by some celestial influence; suchand-such a century produce such-and-such natures, and incline the human race to such-and-such a bent; the minds of men now lusty, now lean, like our fields; what becomes of all those fine prerogatives on which we flatter ourselves? Since a wise man can be mistaken, and a .hundred men, and many nations, yes, and human nature according to us is mistaken for many centuries about this or that, what assurance have we that sometimes it stops being mistaken, sand that in this century it is not making a mistake? AAmong other tokens of our imbecility, it seems to me that this does not

42

Michel de Montaigne

deserve to be forgotten: that even through desire, man does not know how to find what he needs; that not by enjoyment, not even by imagination and wish, can we agree about what we need for our contentment. Let our thought cut out and sew at its pleasure, it will not even be able to desire what is fit for it, sand satisfy itself: 'Tor what by reason do we want or fear? What plan so happily do you conceive But its successful trial makes you grieve? Juvenal . . . AThere is no combat so violent among the philosophers, and so bitter, as that which arises over the question of the sovereign good of man, cout of which, by Varro's reckoning, two hundred and eighty-eight sects were born. 9 But he who disagrees about the supreme good, disagrees about the whole principle of philosophy [Cicero]. AThree guests of mine differ on what is good; Their various palates call for various food. What shall I serve? What not? What makes one glad, You don't enjoy; what you like, they find bad. Horace Nature should reply thus to their arguments and disputes. Some say that our good' lies in virtue, others in sensual pleasure, others in conforming to nature; one man in knowledge, cone in having no pain, Aone in not letting ourselves be carried away by appearances. And this notion seems to resemble this other, Bof the ancient Pythagoras: AWonder at nothing: that is all I know To make men happy and to keep them so; Horace which is the goal of the Pyrrhonian school. cAristotle attributes wondering at nothing to greatness of soul?' AAnd Arcesilaus used to say that to suspend the judgment and keep it upright and inflexible is a good thing, but to consent and incline it is a vice and a bad thing. It is true that by establishing this by a certain axiom, he was departing from Pyrrhonism. The Pyrrhonians, when they say that the sovereign good is Ataraxy, which is the immobility of the judgment, do not mean to say it in an affirmative way; but the same impulse of their soul that makes them avoid precipices and take cover in the cool of the evening, itself offers them this fancy and makes them refuse any other. . . . AMoreover, if it is from ourselves that we derive the ruling of our conduct, into what confusion do we cast ourselves! For the most plausible advice that our reason gives us in the matter is generally for each man to obey the laws of his country, Bwhich is the advice of Socrates, inspired, he says, by divine counsel. AAnd what does reason mean by that, unless that our duty has no rule but an accidental one?

Apology for Raymond Sebond

43

Truth must have one face, the same and universal. If man knew any rectitude and justice that had body and real existence, he would not tie it down to the condition of the customs of this country or that. It would not be from the fancy of the Persians or the Indians that virtue would take its form. There is nothing subject to more continual agitation than the laws. Since I was born I have seen those of our neighbors the English change three or four times; not only in political matters, in which people want to dispense with constancy, but in the most important subject that can be, to wit, religion. At which I am shamed and vexed, the more so because that is a nation with which the people of my region formerly had such intimate acquaintance that there still remain in my house some traces of our old cousinship. cAnd here at home I have seen things which were capital offenses among us become legitimate; and we who consider other things legitimate are liable, according to the uncertainty of the fortunes of war, to be one day guilty of human and divine high treason, when our justice falls into the mercy of injustice, and, after a few years of captivity, assumes a contrary character. How could that ancient god" more clearly accuse human knowledge of ignorance of the divine being, and teach men that religion was only a creature of their own invention, suitable to bind their society together, than by declaring, as he did, to those who sought instruction therein at his tripod, that the true cult for each man was that which he found observed according to the practice of the place he was in? O God, what an obligation do we not have to the benignity of our sovereign creator for having freed our belief from the folly of those vagabond and arbitrary devotions, and having based it on the eternal foundation of his holy word? AWhat then will philosophy tell us in this our need? To follow the laws of our country — that is to say, the undulating sea of the opinions of a people or a prince, which will paint me justice in as many colors, and refashion it into as many faces, as there are changes of passion in those men? I cannot have my judgment so flexible. What am I to make of a virtue that I saw in credit yesterday, that will be discredited tomorrow, cand that becomes a crime on the other side of the river? What of a truth that is bounded by these mountains and is falsehood to the world that lives beyond? ABut they are funny when, to give some certainty to the laws, they say that there are some which are firm, perpetual, and immutable, which they call natural, which are imprinted on the human race by the condition of their very being. And of those one man says the number is three, one man four, one more, one less: a sign that the mark of them is as doubtful as the rest. Now they are so unfortunate (for what else can I call it but misfortune, that out of such an infinite number of laws not even one is found that fortune cand the heedlessness of chance Ahave allowed to be universally accepted by the consent of all nations?), they are, I say, so wretched that of these three or four selected laws there is not a single one that is not contradicted and disavowed,

44

Michel de Montaigne

not by one nation but by many. Now the only likely sign by which they can argue certain laws to be natural is universality of approval. For what nature had truly ordered for us we would without doubt follow by common consent. And not only every nation, but every individual, would resent the force and violence used on him by anyone who tried to impel him to oppose that law. Let them show me just one law of that sort — I'd like to see it. Protagoras and Aristo assigned no other essence to the justice of the laws than the authority and judgment of the lawgiver; and said that apart from that, the good and the honest lost their qualities and remained empty names of indifferent things. Thrasymachus, in Plato," thinks that there is no other right than the advantage of the superior. There is nothing in which the world is so varied as in customs and laws. A given thing is abominable here, which bring commendation elsewhere: as in Lacedaemon cleverness in stealing. Marriages between close relatives are capital offenses among us, elsewhere they are in honor: There are some nations, it is said, Where mothers sons, and fathers daughters wed; And thus affection grows, doubled by love. Ovid The murder of infants, the murder of fathers, sharing of wives, traffic in robberies, license for all sorts of sensual pleasures, nothing in short is so extreme that it is not accepted by the usage of some nation. BIt is credible that there are natural laws, as may be seen in other creatures; but in us they are lost; that fine human reason butts in everywhere, domineering and commanding, muddling and confusing the face of things in accordance with its vanity and inconsistency. clslothing is ours any more; what I call ours is a product of art [Cicero]. . . . Finally, there is no existence that is constant, either of our being or of that of objects. And we, and our judgment, and all mortal things go on flowing and rolling unceasingly. Thus nothing certain can be established about one thing by another, both the judging and the judged being in continual change and motion. We have no communication with being," because every human nature is always midway between birth and death, offering only a dim semblance and shadow of itself, and an uncertain and feeble opinion. And if by chance you fix your thought on trying to grasp its essence, it will be neither more nor less than if someone tried to grasp water: for the more he squeezes and presses what by its nature flows all over, the more he will lose what he was trying to hold and grasp. Thus, all things being subject to pass from one change to another, reason, seeking a real stability in them, is baffled, being unable to apprehend anything stable and permanent; because everything is either coming into being and not yet fully existent, or beginning to die before it is born. . . . we must conclude that God alone is — not at all according to any measure of time, but according to an eternity immutable and immobile, not

Of Repentance

45

measured by time or subject to any decline; before whom there is nothing, nor will there be after, nor is there anything more new or more recent; but one who really is — who by one single now fills the ever; and there is nothing that really is but he alone — nor can we say "He has been," or "He will be" — without beginning and without end. To this most religious conclusion of a pagan I want to add only this remark of a witness of the same condition,' for an ending to this long and boring discourse, which would give me material without end: "0 what a vile and abject thing is man," he says, "if he does not raise himself above humanity!" That is a good statement and a useful desire, but equally absurd. For Ato make the handful bigger than the hand, the armful bigger than the arm, and to hope to straddle more than the reach of our legs; is impossible and unnatural. Nor can man raise himself above himself and humanity; for he can see only with his own eyes, and seize only with his own grasp. He will rise, if God by exception lends him a hand; he will rise by abandoning and renouncing his own means, and letting himself be raised and uplifted by purely celestial means. CR is for our Christian faith, not for his Stoical virtue, to aspire to that divine and miraculous metamorphosis. Of Repentance

BOthers form man; I tell of him, and portray a particular one, very ill-formed, whom I should really make very different from what he is if I had to fashion him over again. But now it is done. Now the lines of my painting do not go astray, though they change and vary. The world is but a perennial movement. All things in it are in constant motion — the earth, the rocks of the Caucasus, the pyramids of Egypt — both with the common motion and with their own. Stability itself is nothing but a more languid motion. I cannot keep my subject still. It goes along befuddled and staggering, with a natural drunkenness. I take it in this condition, just as it is at the moment I gave my attention to it. I do not portray being: I portray passing. Not the passing from one age to another, or, as the people say, from seven years to seven years, but from day to day, from minute to minute. My history needs to be adapted to the moment. I may presently change, not only by chance, but also by intention. This is a record of various and changeable occurrences, and of irresolute and, when it so befalls, contradictory ideas: whether I am different myself, or whether I take hold of my subjects in different circumstances and aspects. So, all in all, I may indeed contradict' myself now and then; but truth, as Demades said, I do not contradict. If my mind could gain a firm footing, I would not make essays, I would make decisions; but it is always in apprenticeship and on trial. I set forth a humble and inglorious life; that does not matter. You can tie up all moral philosophy with a common and private life just as well as with a life of richer stuff. Each man bears the entire form of man's estate.

46

Michel de Montaigne

cAuthors communicate with the people by some special extrinsic mark; I am the first to do so by my entire being, as Michel de Montaigne, not as a grammarian or a poet or a jurist. If the world complains that I speak too much of myself, I complain that it does not even think of itself. BBut is it reasonable that I, so fond of privacy in actual life, should aspire to publicity in the knowledge of me? Is it reasonable too that I should set forth to the world, where fashioning and art have so much credit and authority, some crude and simple products of nature, and of a very feeble nature at that? Is it not making a wall without stone, or something like that, to construct books without knowledge and without art? Musical fancies are guided by art, mine by chance. At least I have one thing according to the rules: that no man ever treated a subject he knew and understood better than I do the subject I have undertaken; and that in this I am the most learned man alive. Secondly, that no man ever cpenetrated more deeply into his material, or plucked its limbs and consequences cleaner, or Breached more accurately and fully the goal he had set for his work. To accomplish it, I need only bring it to fidelity; and that is in it, as sincere and pure as can be found. I speak the truth, not my fill of it, but as much as I dare speak; and I dare to do so a little more as I grow old, for it seems that custom allows old age more freedom to prate and more indiscretion in talking about oneself. It cannot happen here as I see it happening often, that the craftsman and his work contradict each other: "Has a man whose conversation is so good written such a stupid book?" or "Have such learned writings come from a man whose conversation is so feeble?" cIf a man is commonplace in conversation and rare in writing, that means that his capacity is in the place from which he borrows it, and not in himself. A learned man is not learned in all matters; but the capable man is capable in all matters, even in ignorance. BIn this case we go hand in hand and at the same pace, my book and I. In other cases one may commend or blame the work apart from the workman; not so here; he who touches the one, touches the other. He who judges it without knowing it will injure himself more than me; he who has known it will completely satisfy me. Happy beyond my deserts if I have just this share of public approval, that I make men of understanding feel that I was capable of profiting by knowledge, if I had had any, and that I deserved better assistance from my memory. Let me here excuse what I often say, that I rarely repent sand that my conscience is content with itself — not as the conscience of an angel or a horse, but as the conscience of a man; Balways adding this refrain, not perfunctorily but in sincere and complete submission: that I speak as an ignorant inquirer, referring the decision purely and simply to the common and authorized beliefs. I do not teach, I tell. There is no vice truly a vice which is not offensive, and which a sound judgment does not condemn; for its ugliness and painfulness is so apparent that perhaps the people are right who say it is chiefly produced by stupid-

Of Repentance

47

ity and ignorance. So hard it is to imagine anyone knowing it without hating it. cMalice sucks up the greater part of its own venom, and poisons itself with it. BVice leaves repentance in the soul, like an ulcer in the flesh, which is always scratching itself and drawing blood. For reason effaces other griefs and sorrows; but it engenders that of repentance, which is all the more grievous because it springs from within, as the cold and heat of fevers is sharper than that which comes from outside. I consider as vices (but each one according to its measure) not only those that reason and nature condemn, but also those that man's opinion has created, even false and erroneous opinion, if it is authorized by laws and customs. There is likewise no good deed that does not rejoice a wellborn nature. Indeed there is a sort of gratification in doing good which makes us rejoice in ourselves, and a generous pride that accompanies a good conscience. A boldly vicious soul may perhaps arm itself with security, but with this complacency and satisfaction it cannot provide itself. It is no slight pleasure to feel oneself preserved from the contagion of so depraved an age, and to say to oneself: "If anyone should see right into my soul, still he would not find me guilty either of anyone's affliction or ruin, or of vengeance or envy, or of public offense against the laws, or of innovation and disturbance, or of failing in my word; and in spite of what the license of the times allows and teaches each man, still I have not put my hand either upon the property or into the purse of any Frenchman, and have lived only on my own, both in war and peace; nor have I used any man's work without paying his wages." These testimonies of conscience give us pleasure; and this natural rejoicing is a great boon to us, and the only payment that never fails us. To found the reward for virtuous actions on the approval of others is to choose too uncertain and shaky a foundation. cEspecially in an age as corrupt and ignorant as this, the good opinion of the people is a dishonor. Whom can you trust to see what is praiseworthy? God keep me from being a worthy man according to the descriptions I see people every, day giving of themselves in their own honor. What were vices now are moral acts [Seneca]. Certain of my friends have sometimes undertaken to call me on the carpet and lecture me unreservedly, either of their own accord or at my invitation, as a service which, to a well-formed soul, surpasses all the services of friendship, not only in usefulness, but also in pleasantness. I have always welcomed it with the wide-open arms of courtesy and gratitude. But to speak of it now in all conscience, I have often found in their reproach or praise such false measure that I would hardly have erred to err rather than to do good in their fashion. BThose of us especially who live a private life that is on display only to ourselves must have a pattern established within us by which to test our actions, and, according to this pattern, now pat ourselves on the back, now punish ourselves. I have my own laws and court to judge me, and I address myself to them more than anywhere else. To be sure, I restrain my actions

48

Michel de Montaigne

according to others, but I extend them only according to myself. There is no one but yourself who knows whether you are cowardly and cruel, or loyal and devout. Others do not see you, they guess at you by uncertain conjectures; they see not so much your nature as your art. Therefore do not cling to their judgment; cling to your own. cYou must use your own judgment. . . . With regard to virtues and vices, your own conscience has great weight: take that away, and everything falls [Cicero].

BBut the saying that repentance follows close upon sin does not seem to consider the sin that is in robes of state, that dwells in us as in its own home. We can disown and retract the vices that take us by surprisp, and toward which we are swept by passion; but those which by long habit are rooted and anchored in a strong and vigorous will cannot be denied. Repentance is nothing but a disavowal of our will and an opposition to our fancies, which leads us about in all directions. It makes this man disown his past virtue and his continence: Why had I not in youth the mind I have today? Or why, with old desires, have red cheeks flown away? Horace

It is a rare life that remains well ordered even in private. Any man can play his part in the side show and represent a worthy man on the boards; but to be disciplined within, in his own bosom, where all is permissible, where all is concealed — that's the point. The next step to that is to be so in our own house, in our ordinary actions, for which we need render account to no one, where nothing is studied or artificial. And therefore Bias, depicting an excellent state of family life, says it is one in which the master is the same within, by his own volition, as he is outside for fear of the law and of what people will say. And it was a worthy remark of Julius Drusus to the workmen who offered, for three thousand crowns, to arrange his house so that his neighbors would no longer be able to look into it as they could before. "I will give you six thousand," he said; "make it so that everyone can see in from all sides." The practice of Agesilaus is noted with honor, of taking lodging in the churches when traveling, so that the people and the gods themselves might see into his private actions. Men have seemed miraculous to the world, in whom their wives and valets have never seen anything even worth noticing. Few men have been admired by their own households. cNo man has been a prophet, not merely in his own house, but in his own country, says the experience of history. Likewise in things of no importance. And in this humble example you may see an image of greater ones. In my region of Gascony they think it a joke to see me in print. The farther from my lair the knowledge of me spreads, the more I am valued. I buy printers in Guienne, elsewhere they buy me. On this phenomenon those people base their hopes who hide themselves while alive and present, to gain favor when dead and gone. I would rather have less of it. And I cast myself on the world only for the share of favor I get now. When I leave it, I shall hold it quits.

Of Repentance

49

BThe people escort this man back to his door, with awe, from a public function. He drops his part with his gown; the higher he has hoisted himself, the lower he falls back; inside, in his home, everything is tumultuous and vile. Even if there is order there, it takes a keen and select judgment to perceive it in these humble private actions. Besides, order is a dull and somber virtue. To win through a breach, to conduct an embassy, to govern a people, these are dazzling actions. To scold, to laugh, to sell, to pay, to love, to hate, and to deal pleasantly and justly with our household and ourselves, not to let ourselves go, not to be false to ourselves, that is a rarer matter, more difficult and less noticeable. Therefore retired lives, whatever people may say, accomplish duties as harsh and strenuous as other lives, or more so. cAnd private persons, says Aristotle, render higher and more difficult service to virtue than those who are in authority. BWe prepare ourselves for eminent occasions more for glory than for conscience. The shortest way to attain glory would be to do for conscience what we do for glory. BAnd Alexander's virtue seems to me to represent much less vigor in his theater than does that of Socrates in his lowly and obscure activity. I can easily imagine Socrates in Alexander's place; Alexander in that of Socrates, I cannot. If you ask the former what he knows how to do, he will answer, "Subdue the world"; if you ask the latter, he will say, "Lead the life of man in conformity with its natural condition"; a knowledge much more general, more weighty, and more legitimate. The value of the soul consists not in flying high, but in an orderly pace. cIts greatness is exercised not in greatness, but in mediocrity: 5 As those who judge and touch us inwardly make little account of the brilliance of our public acts, and see that these are only thin streams and jets of water spurting from a bottom otherwise muddy and thick; so likewise those who judge us by this brave outward appearance draw similar conclusions about our inner constitution, and cannot associate common faculties, just like their own, with these other faculties that astonish them and are so far beyond their scope. So we give demons wild shapes. And who does not give Tamerlane raised eyebrows, open nostrils, a dreadful face, and immense size, like the size of the imaginary picture of him we have formed from the renown of his name? If I had been able to see Erasmus" in other days, it would have been hard for me not to take for adages and apophthegms everything he said to his valet and his hostess. We imagine much more appropriately an artisan on the toilet seat or on his wife than a great president, venerable by his demeanor and his ability. It seems to us that they do not stoop from their lofty thrones even to live. BAs vicious souls are often incited to do good by some extraneous impulse, so are virtuous souls to do evil. Thus we must judge them by their settled state, when they are at home, if ever they are; or at least when they are closest to repose and their natural position. Natural inclinations gain assistance and strength from education; but they are scarcely to be changed and overcome. A thousand natures, in my time,

50

Michel de Montaigne

have escaped toward virtue or toward vice through the lines of a contrary training: As when wild beasts grow tame, shut in a cage, Forget the woods, and lose their look of rage, And learn to suffer man; but if they taste Hot blood, their rage and fury is replaced, Their reminiscent jaws distend, they burn, And for their trembling keeper's blood they yearn. Lucan We do not root out these original qualities, we cover them up, we conceal them. Latin is like a native tongue to me; I understand it better than French; but for forty years I have not used it at all for speaking or writing. Yet in sudden and extreme emotions, into which I have fallen two or three times in my life — one of them when I saw my father, in perfect health, fall back into my arms in a faint — I have always poured out my first words from the depths of my entrails in Latin; cNature surging forth and expressing herself by force, in the face of long habit. BAnd this experience is told of many others. Those who in my time have tried to correct the world's morals by new ideas, reform the superficial vices; the essential ones they leave as they were, if they do not increase them; and increase is to be feared. People are as likely to rest from all other well-doing on the strength of these external, arbitrary reforms, which cost us less and bring greater acclaim; and thereby they satisfy at little expense the other natural, consubstantial, and internal vices. Just consider the evidence of this in our own experience. There is no one who, if he listens to himself, does not discover in himself a pattern all his own, a ruling pattern, which struggles against education and against the tempest of the passions that oppose it. For my part, I do not feel much sudden agitation; I am nearly always in place, like heavy and inert bodies. If I am not at home, I am always very near it. My excesses do not carry me very far away. There is nothing extreme or strange about them. And besides I have periods of vigorous and healthy reaction. The real condemnation, which applies to the common run of men of today, is that even their retirement is full of corruption and filth; their idea of reformation, blurred; their penitence, diseased and guilty, almost as much as their sin. Some, either from being glued to vice by a natural attachment, or from long habit, no longer recognize its ugliness. On others (in whose regiment I belong) vice weighs heavily, but they counterbalance it with pleasure or some other consideration, and endure it and lend themselves to it for a certain price; viciously, however, and basely. Yet it might be possible to imagine a disproportion so extreme that the pleasure might justly excuse the sin, as we say utility does; not only if the pleasure was incidental and not a part of the sin, as in theft, but if it was in the very exercise of the sin, as in intercourse with women, where the impulse is violent, and, they say, sometimes invincible. The other day when I was at Armagnac, on the estate of a kinsman of mine, I saw a country fellow whom everyone nicknames the Thief. He gave this

Of Repentance

51

account of his life: that born a beggar, and finding that by earning is bread by the toil of his hands he would never protect himself enough against want, he had decided to become a thief; and he had spent all his youth at this trade in security, by virtue of his bodily strength. For he reaped his harvest and vintage from other people's lands, but so far away and in such great loads that it was inconceivable that one man could have carried off so much on his shoulders in one night. And he was careful besides to equalize and spread out the damage he did, so that the loss was less insupportable for each individual. He is now, in his old age, rich for a man in his station, thanks to this traffic, which he openly confesses. And to make his peace with God for his acquisitions, he says that he spends his days compensating, by good deeds, the successors of the people he robbed; and that if he does not finish this task (for he cannot do it all at once), he will charge his heirs with it, according to the knowledge, which he alone has, of the amount of wrong he did to each. Judging by this description, whether it is true or false, this man regards theft as a dishonorable action and hates it, but hates it less than poverty; he indeed repents of it in itself, but in so far as it was thus counterbalanced and compensated, he does not repent of it. This is not that habit that incorporates us with vice and brings even our understanding into conformity with it; nor is it that impetuous wind that comes in gusts to confuse and blind our soul, and hurls us for the moment headlong, judgment and all, into the power of vice. I customarily do wholeheartedly whatever I do, and go my way all in one piece. I scarcely make a motion that is hidden and out of sight of my reason, and that is not guided by the consent of nearly all parts of me, without division, without internal sedition. My judgment takes all the blame or all the praise for it; and the blame it once takes, it always keeps, for virtually since its birth it has been one; the same inclination, the same road, the same strength. And in the matter of general opinions, in childhood I established myself in the position where I was to remain. There are some impetuous, prompt, and sudden sins: let us leave them aside. But as for these other sins so many times repeated, planned, and premeditated, constitutional sins, cor even professional or vocational sins, BI cannot imagine that they can be implanted so long in one and the same heart, without the reason and conscience of their possessor constantly willing and intending it to be so. And the repentance which he claims comes to him at a certain prescribed moment is a little hard for me to imagine and conceive. CI do not follow the belief of the sect of Pythagoras, that man take on a new soul when they approach the images of the gods to receive their oracles. Unless he meant just this, that the soul must indeed be foreign, new, and loaned for the occasion, since their own showed so little sign of any purification and cleanness worthy of this office. BThey do just the opposite of the Stoic precepts, which indeed order us to correct the imperfections and vices that we recognize in us, but forbid us to be repentant and glum about them. These men make us believe that they feel great regret and remorse within; but of amendment and correction, cor inter-

52

Michel de Montaigne

ruption, Bthey show us no sign. Yet it is no cure if the disease is not thrown off. If repentance were weighing in the scale of the balance, it would outweigh the sin. I know of no quality so easy to counterfeit as piety, if conduct and life are not made to conform with it. Its essence is abstruse and occult; its semblance, easy and showy. As for me, I may desire in a general way to be different; I may condemn and dislike my nature as a whole, and implore God to reform me completely and to pardon my natural weakness. But this I ought not to call repentance, it seems to me, any more than my displeasure at being neither an angel nor Cato. 18 My actions are in order and conformity with what I am and with my condition. I can do no better. And repentance does not properly apply to the things that are not in our power; rather does regret. I imagine numberless natures loftier and better regulated than mine, but for all that, I do not amend by faculties; just as neither my arm nor my mind becomes more vigorous by imagining another that is so. If imagining and desiring a nobler conduct than ours produced repentance of our own, we should have to repent of our most innocent actions, inasmuch as we rightly judge that in a more excellent nature they would have been performed with greater perfection and dignity, and we should wish to do likewise. When I consider the behavior of my youth in comparison with that of my old age, I find that I have generally conducted myself in orderly fashion, according to my lights; that is all my resistance can accomplish. I do not flatter myself; in similar circumstances I should always be the same. It is not a spot, it is rather a tincture with which I am stained all over. I know no superficial, halfway, and perfunctory repentance. It must affect me in every part before I will call it so, and must grip me by the vitals and afflict them as deeply and as completely as God sees into me. In business matters, several good opportunities have escaped me for want of successful management. However, my counsels have been good, according to the circumstances they were faced with; their way is always to take the easiest and surest course. I find that in my past deliberations, according to my rule, I have proceeded wisely, considering the state of the matter proposed to me, and I should do the same a thousand years from now in similar situations. I am not considering what it is at this moment, but what it was when I was deliberating about it. cThe soundness of any plan depends on the time; circumstances and things roll about and change incessantly. I have fallen into some serious and important mistakes in my life, not for lack of good counsel but for lack of good luck. There are secret parts in the matters we handle which cannot be guessed, especially in human nature — mute factors that do not show, factors sometimes unknown to their possessor himself, which are brought forth and aroused by unexpected occasions. If my prudence has been unable to see into them and predict them, I bear it no ill will; its responsibility is restricted within its limitations. It is the outcome that beats me; and Bif it favors the course I

Of Repentance

53

have refused, there is no help for it; I do not blame myself; I accuse my luck, not my work. That is not to be called repentance. Phocion had given the Athenians some advice that was not followed. When however the affair came out prosperously against his opinion, someone said to him: "Well, Phocion, are you glad that the thing is going so well?" "Indeed I am glad," he said, "that it has turned out this way, but I do not repent of having advised that way." When my friends apply to me for advice, I give it freely and clearly, and without hesitating as nearly everyone else does because, the affair being hazardous, it may come out contrary to my expectations, wherefore they may have cause to reproach me for my advice; that does not worry me. For they will be wrong, and I should not have refused them this service. CI have scarcely any occasion to blame my mistakes or mishaps on anyone but myself. For in practice I rarely ask other people's advice, unless as a compliment and out of politeness, except when I need scientific information or knowledge of the facts. But in things where I have only my judgment to employ, other people's reasons can serve to support me, but seldom to change my course. I listen to them all favorably and decently; but so far as I can remember, I have never up to this moment followed any but my own. If you ask me, they are nothing but flies and atoms that distract my will. I set little value on my own opinions, but I set just as little on those of others. Fortune pays me properly. If I do not take advice, I give still less. Mine is seldom asked, but it is followed even less; and I know of no public or private enterprise that my advice restored to its feet and to the right path. Even the people whom fortune has made somewhat dependent on it have let themselves be managed more readily by anyone else's brains. Being a man who is quite as jealous of the rights of my repose as of the rights of my authority, I prefer it so; by leaving me alone, they treat me according to my professed principle, which is to be wholly contained and established within myself. To me it is a pleasure not to be concerned in other people's affairs and to be free of responsibility for them. BIn all affairs, when they are past, however they have turned out, I have little regret. For this idea takes away the pain: that they were bound to happen thus, and now they are in the great stream of the universe and in the chain of Stoical causes. Your fancy, by wish or imagination, cannot change a single point without overturning the whole order of things, and the past and the future. For the rest, I hate that accidental repentance that age brings. The man ° whosaidfltebgdohyarsfvingdmoesuality had a different viewpoint from mine; I shall never be grateful to impotence for any good it may do me. cNor will Providence ever be so hostile to her own work that debility should be ranked among the best things [Quintilian]. BOur appetites are few in old age; a profound satiety seizes us after the act. In that I see nothing of conscience; sourness and weakness imprint on us a sluggish and

54

Michel de Montaigne

rheumatic virtue. We must not let ourselves be so carried away by natural changes as to let our judgment degenerate. Youth and pleasure in other ways did not make me fail to recognize the face of vice in voluptuousness; nor does the distaste that the years bring me make me fail to recognize the face of voluptuousness in vice. Now that I am no longer in that state, I judge it as though I were in it. CI who shake up my reason sharply and attentively, find that Bit is the very same I had in my more licentious years, except perhaps in so far as it has grown weaker and worse as it has grown old. cAnd I find that even if it refuses, out of consideration for the interests of my bodily health, to put me in the furnace of this pleasure, it would not refuse to do so, any more than formerly, for my spiritual health. BI do not consider it any more valiant for seeing it hors de combat. My temptations are so broken and mortified that they are not worth its opposition. By merely stretching out my hands to them, I exorcise them. If my reason were confronted with my former lust, I fear that it would have less strength to resist than it used to have. I do not see that of itself it judges anything differently than it did then, nor that it has gained any new light. Wherefore, if there is any convalescence, it is a deformed convalescence. cMiserable sort of remedy, to owe our health to disease! It is not for our misfortune to do us this service, it is for the good fortune of our judgment. You cannot make me do anything by ills and afflictions except curse them. They are for people who are only awakened by whipping. My reason runs a much freer course in prosperity. It is much more distracted and busy digesting pains than pleasures. I see much more clearly in fair weather. Health admonishes me more cheerfully and so more usefully than sickness. I advanced as far as I could toward reform and a regulated life when I had health to enjoy. I should be ashamed and resentful if the misery and misfortune of my decrepitude were to be thought better than my good, healthy, lively, vigorous years, and if people were to esteem me not for what I have been, but for ceasing to be that. In my opinion it is living happily, not, as Antisthenes said, dying happily, that constitutes human felicity. I have made no effort to attach, monstrously, the tail of a philosopher to the head and body of a dissipated man: or that this sickly remainder of my life should disavow and belie its fairest, longest, and most complete part. I want to present and show myself uniformly throughout. If I had to live over again, I would live as I have lived. I have neither tears for the past nor fears for the future. And unless I am fooling myself, it has gone about the same way within me as without. It is one of the chief obligations I have to my fortune that my bodily state has run its course with each thing in due season. I have seen the grass, the flower, and the fruit; now I see the dryness — happily, since it is naturally. I bear the ills I have much more easily because they are properly timed, and also because they make me remember more pleasantly the long felicity of my past life. Likewise my wisdom may well have been of the same proportions in one age as in the other; but it was much more potent and graceful when green,

Of Vanity

55

gay, and natural, than it is now, being broken down, peevish, and labored. Therefore I renounce these casual and painful reformations. BGod must touch our hearts. Our conscience must reform by itself through the strengthening of our reason, not through the weakening of our appetites. Sensual pleasure is neither pale nor colorless in itself for being seen through dim and bleary eyes. We should love temperance for itself and out of reverence toward God, who has commanded it, and also chastity; what catarrh lends us, and what I owe to the favor of my colic, is neither chastity nor temperance. We cannot boast of despising and fighting sensual pleasure, if we do not see or know it, and its charms, its powers, and its most alluring beauty. I know them both; I have a right to speak; but it seems to me that in old age our souls are subject to more troublesome ailments and imperfections than in our youth. I used to say so when I was young; then they taunted me with my beardless chin. I still say so now that my cgray Bhair gives me authority to speak. We call "wisdom" the difficulty of our humors, our distaste for present things. But in truth we do not so much abandon our vices as change them, and, in my opinion, for the worse. Besides a silly and decrepit. pride, a tedious prattle, prickly and unsociable humors, superstition, and a ridiculous concern for riches when we have lost the use of them, I find there more envy, injustice, and malice. Old age puts more wrinkles in our minds than on our faces; and we never, or rarely, see a soul that in growing old does not come to smell sour and musty. Man grows and dwindles in his entirety. cSeeing the wisdom of Socrates and several circumstances of his condemnation, I should venture to believe that he lent himself to it to some extent, purposely, by prevarication, being seventy, and having so soon to suffer an increasing torpor of the rich activity of his mind, and the dimming of its accustomed brightness. BWhat metamorphoses I see old age producing every day in many of my acquaintances! It is a powerful malady, and it creeps up on us naturally and imperceptibly. We need a great provision of study, and great precaution, to avoid the imperfections it loads upon us, or at least to slow up their progress. I feel that, notwithstanding all my retrenchments, it gains on me foot by foot. I stand fast as well as I can. But I do not know where it will lead even me in the end. In any event, I am glad to have people know whence I shall have fallen. Of Vanity . . . human society holds and is knit together at any cost whatever. Whatever position you set men in, they pile up and arrange themselves by moving and crowding together, just as ill-matched objects, put in a bag without order, find of themselves a way to unite and fall into place together, often better than they could have been arranged by art. King Philip collected the most wicked and incorrigible men he could find, and settled them all in a city he had built for them, which bore their name. I judge that from their very vices they set up a political system among themselves and a workable and regular society.

56

Michel de Montaigne

I see not one action, or three, or a hundred, but morals in common and accepted practice, so monstrous, especially in inhumanity and treachery, that I have not the heart to think of them without horror; and I marvel at them almost as much as I detest them. The practice of these arrant villainies bears the mark of vigor and strength of soul as much as of error and disorder. Necessity reconciles men and brings them together. This accidental link afterward takes the form of laws; for there have been some as savage as any human opinion can produce, which have nevertheless maintained their bodily health and long life as well as those of Plato and Aristotle could do. And indeed all those imaginary, artificial descriptions of a government prove ridiculous and unfit to put into practice. These great, lengthy altercations about the best form of society and the rules most suitable to bind us, are altercations fit only for the exercise of our minds; as in the liberal arts there are several subjects whose essence is controversy and dispute, and which have no life apart from that. Such a description of a government would be applicable in a new world, but we take men already bound and formed to certain customs; we do not create them, like Pyrrha or Cadmus. 2° By whatever means we may have power to correct and reform them, we can hardly twist them out of their accustomed bent without breaking up everything. Solon was asked whether he had established the best laws he could for the Athenians. "Yes indeed," he answered, "the best they would have accepted." Warr° excuses himself in the same way, saying that if he had to write about religion as something new, he would say what he thinks of it; but since it is already formed and accepted, he will speak of it more according to custom than according to nature. BNot in theory, but in truth, the best and most excellent government for each nation is the one under which it has preserved its existence. Its form and essential fitness depend on habit. We are prone to be discontented with the present state of things. But I maintain, nevertheless, that to wish for the government of a few in a democratic state, or another type of government in a monarchy, is foolish and wrong. Of Physiognomy BAlmost all of the opinions we have are taken on authority and on credit. There is no harm in this: we could not make a worse choice than our own in so feeble an age. The version of the sayings of Socrates that his friends have left us we approve only out of respect for the universal approval these sayings enjoy, not by our own knowledge. They are beyond our experience. If anything of the kind were brought forth at this time, there are few men who would prize it. We perceive no charms that are not sharpened, puffed out, and inflated by artifice. Those which glide along naturally and simply easily escape a sight so gross as ours. They have a delicate and hidden beauty; we need a clear and

Of Physiognomy

57

well-purged sight to discover their secret light. Is not naturalness, according to us, akin to stupidity and a matter for reproach? Socrates makes his soul move with a natural and common motion. So says a peasant, so says a woman. cHis mouth is full of nothing but carters, joiners, cobblers, and masons. BHis are inductions and similes drawn from the commonest and best-known actions of men; everyone understands him. Under so mean a form we should never have picked out the nobility and splendor of his admirable ideas, we cwho consider flat and low all ideas that are not raised up by learning, and Bwho perceive richness only in pomp and show. Our world is formed only for ostentation; men inflate themselves only with wind, and go bouncing around like balls. This man did not propose to himself any idle fancies: his aim was to furnish us with things and precepts that serve life really and more closely: To keep the mean, to hold our aim in view, And follow nature. Lucan

He was also always one and the same, and raised himself not by sallies but by disposition, to the utmost point of vigor. Or, to speak more exactly, he raised nothing, but rather brought vigor, hardships, and difficulties down and back to his own natural and original level, and subjected them to it. For in Cato we see very clearly that his is a pace strained far above the ordinary; in the brave exploits of his life and in his death we feel that he is always mounted on his high horse. The other walks close to the ground, and at a gentle and ordinary pace treats the most useful subjects; and behaves, both in the face of death and in the thorniest trials that can confront us, in the ordinary way of human life. It happened fortunately that the man most worthy to be known and to be presented to the world as an example should be the one of whom we have most certain knowledge. We have light on him from the most clear-sighted men who ever lived; the witnesses we have of him are wonderful in fidelity and competence. It is a great thing to have been able to impart such order to the pure and simple notions of a child that, without altering or stretching them, he produced from them the most beautiful achievements of our soul. He shows it as neither elevated nor rich; he shows it only as healthy, but assuredly with a very blithe and clear health. By these vulgar and natural motives, by these ordinary and common ideas, without excitement or fuss, he constructed not only the best regulated but the loftiest and most vigorous beliefs, actions, and morals that ever were. cIt is he who brought human wisdom back down from heaven, where she was wasting her time, and restored her to man, with whom lies her most proper and laborious and useful business. BSee him plead before his judges, see by what reasonings he rouses his courage in the hazards of war, what arguments fortify his patience against calumny, tyranny, death, and his wife's bad temper. There is nothing borrowed from art and the sciences; even

58

Michel de Montaigne

the simplest can recognize in him their means and their strength; it is impossible to go back further and lower. He did a great favor to human nature by showing how much it can do by itself. We are each richer than we think, but we are trained to borrow and beg; we are taught to use the resources of others more than our own. In nothing does man know how to stop at the limit of his need; of pleasure, riches, power, he embraces more than he can hold; his greed is incapable of moderation. I find that it is the same with the curiosity for knowledge. Man cuts out for himself much more work than he can do or has any reason to do, ctrying to stretch the usefulness of knowledge as wide as its matter. In learning, as in all other things, we suffer from intemperance [Seneca]. And Tacitus is right to praise Agricola's mother for having curbed in her son too boiling an appetite for learning. Looked at steadily, it is like men's other goods; it has in it much intrinsic and natural vanity and weakness, and it costs dear. It is far more hazardous to acquire than any other food or drink. For with other things, what we have bought we carry home in some vessel, and there we have a chance to examine its value and how much we shall take of it and when. But learning we can at the outset put into no other vessel than our mind; we swallow it as we buy it, and leave the market place already either infected or improved. There is some of it that only hampers and burdens us instead of feeding us, and also some which, under color of curing us, poisons us. BI once took pleasure in seeing men in some place, through piety, take a vow of ignorance, as one might of chastity, poverty, penitence. It is also castrating our disorderly appetites, to blunt that cupidity that pricks us on to the study of books, and to deprive the soul of that voluptuous complacency which tickles us with the notion of being learned. cAnd it is accomplishing richly the vow of poverty to add to it also that of the mind. BWe need hardly any learning to live at ease. And Socrates teaches us that it is in us, and the way to find it and help ourselves with it. All this ability of ours that is beyond the natural is as good as vain and superfluous. It is a lot if it does not load us down and bother us more than it serves us. cLittle learning is needed for a good mind [Seneca]. BThese are feverish excesses of our mind, a meddlesome and restless instrument. . . . They may boast about it all they please. The whole life of a philosopher is a meditation on death [Cicero]. But it seems to me that death is indeed the end, but not therefore the goal, of life; it is its finish, its extremity, but not therefore its object. Life should be an aim unto itself, a purpose unto itself; its rightful study is to regulate, conduct, and suffer itself. Among the many other duties comprised in this general and principal chapter on knowing how to live is this article on knowing how to die; and it is one of the lightest, if our fear did not give it weight. BTo judge by utility and natural truth, the lessons of simplicity yield little to those which learning preaches to us to the contrary. Men are diverse in inclination and strength; they must be led to their own good according to

Of Experience

59

their nature and by diverse routes. c Wherever the tempest drives me, there I land [Horace]. . . . As I have said elsewhere, I have very simply and crudely adopted for my own sake this ancient precept: that we cannot go wrong by following Nature, that the sovereign precept is to conform to her. I have not, like Socrates, corrected my natural disposition by force of reason, and have not troubled my inclination at all by art. I let myself go as I have come. I combat nothing. My two ruling parts, of their own volition, live in peace and good accord. But my nurse's milk, thank God, was moderately healthy and temperate. cShall I say this in passing: that I see held in greater price than it is worth a certain idea of scholastic probity, almost the only one practiced among us, a slave to precepts, held down beneath fear and hope? What I like is the virtue that laws and religions do not make but perfect and authorize, that feels in itself enough to sustain itself without help, born in us from its own roots, from the seed of universal reason that is implanted in every man who is not denatured. This reason, which straightens Socrates from his inclination to vice, makes him obedient to the men and gods who command in his city, courageous in death not because his soul is immortal but because he is mortal. It is a ruinous teaching for any society, and much more harmful than ingenious and subtle, which persuades the people that religious belief is enough, by itself and without morals, to satisfy divine justice. Practice makes us see an enormous distinction between devoutness and conscience. Of Experience . . . As for me, then, I love life and cultivate it just as God has been pleased to grant it to us. I do not go about wishing that it should lack the need to eat and drink, cand it would seem to me no less excusable a failing to wish that need to be doubled. The wise man is the keenest searcher for natural treasures [Seneca]. Nor do I wish Bthat we should sustain ourselves by merely putting into our mouths a little of that drug by which Epimenides took away his appetite and kept himself alive; nor that we should beget children insensibly with our fingers or our heels, cbut rather, with due respect, that we could also beget them voluptuously with our fingers and heels; nor Bthat the body should be without desire and without titillation. Those are ungrateful cand unfair Bcomplaints. I accept with all my heart c and with gratitude Bwhat nature has done for me, and I am pleased with myself and proud of myself that I do. We wrong that great and all-powerful Giver by refusing his gift, nullifying it, and disfiguring it. cHimself all good, he has made all things good. All things that are according to nature are worthy of esteem [Cicero]. BOf opinions of philosophy I most gladly embrace those that are most solid, that is to say, most human and most our own; my opinions, in conformity with my conduct, are low and humble. cPhilosophy is very childish, to my mind, when she gets up on her hind legs and preaches to us that it is a barbarous alliance to marry the divine with the earthly, the reasonable with the unreason-

60

Michel de Montaigne

able, the severe with the indulgent, the honorable with the dishonorable; that sensual pleasure is a brutish thing unworthy of being enjoyed by the wise man; that the only pleasure he derives from the enjoyment of a beautiful young wife is the pleasure of his consciousness of doing the right thing, like putting on his boots for a useful ride. May her followers have no more right and sinews and sap in deflowering their wives than her lessons have! That is not what Socrates says, her tutor and ours. He prizes bodily pleasure as he should, but he prefers that of the mind, as having more power, constancy, ease, variety, and dignity. The latter by no means goes alone, according to him — he is not so fanciful — but only comes first. For him temperance is the moderator, not the adversary, of pleasures. BNature is a gentle guide, but no more gentle than wise and just. cWe must penetrate into the nature of things and clearly see exactly what it demands

[Cicero]. BI seek her footprints everywhere. We have confused them with artificial tracks, sand for that reason the sovereign good of the Academics and the Peripatetics, which is "to live according to nature," becomes hard to limit and express; also that of the Stoics, a neighbor to the other, which is "to consent to nature." BIs it not an error to consider some actions less worthy because they are necessary? No, they will not knock it out of my head that the marriage of pleasure with necessity, cwith whom, says an ancient, the gods always conspire, Bis a very suitable one. To what purpose do we dismember by divorce a structure made up of such close and brotherly correspondence? On the contrary, let us bind it together again by mutual services. Let the mind arouse and quicken the heaviness of the body, and the body check and make fast the lightness of the mind. c He who praises the nature of the soul as the sovereign good and condemns the nature of the flesh as evil, truly both carnally desires the soul and carnally shuns the flesh; for his feeling is inspired by human vanity, not by divine truth [Saint Augustine].

BThere is no part unworthy of our care in this gift that God has given us; we are accountable for it even to a single hair. And it is not a perfunctory charge to man to guide man according to his nature; it is express, simple, cand of prime importance, Band the creator has given it to us seriously and sternly. cAuthority alone has power over common intelligences, and has more weight in a foreign language. Let us renew the charge here. Who would not say that it is the essence of folly to do lazily and rebelliously what has to be done, to impel the body one way and the soul another, to be split between the most conflicting motions? [Seneca].

BCome on now, just to see, some day get some man to tell you the absorbing thoughts and fancies that he takes into his head, and for the sake of which he turns his mind from a good meal and laments the time he spends on feeding himself. You will find there is nothing so insipid in all the dishes on your table as this fine entertainment of his mind (most of the time we should do better to go to sleep completely than to stay awake for what we do stay awake for); and you will find that his ideas and aspirations are not worth your stew. Even if

tOf Experience

61

they were the transports of Archimedes himself, what of it? I am not here touching on, or mixing up with that brattish rabble of men that we are, or with the vanity of the desires and musings that distract us, those venerable souls, exalted by ardent piety and religion to constant and conscientious meditation on divine things, cwho, anticipating, by dint of keen and vehement hope, the enjoyment of eternal food, final goal and ultimate limit of Christian desires, sole constant and incorruptible pleasure, scorn to give their attention to our beggarly, waterly, and ambiguous comforts, and readily resign to the body the concern and enjoyment of sensual and temporal fodder. BThat is a privileged study. cBetween ourselves, these are two things that I have always observed to be in singular accord: supercelestial thoughts and subterranean conduct. BAesop, cthat great man, Bsaw his master pissing as he walked. "What next?" he said. "Shall we have to shit as we run?" Let us manage our time; we shall still have a lot left idle and ill spent. Our mind likes to think it has not enough leisure hours to do its own business unless it dissociates itself from the body for the little time that the body really needs it. They want to get out of themselves and escape from the man. That is madness: instead of changing into angels, they change into beasts; instead of raising themselves, they lower themselves. cThese transcendental humors frighten me, like lofty and inaccessible places; and nothing is so hard for me to stomach in the life of Socrates as his ecstasies and possessions by his daemon, nothing is so human in Plato as the qualities for which they say he is called divine. BAnd of our sciences, those seem to me most terrestrial and low which have risen the highest. And I find nothing so humble and so mortal in the life of Alexander as his fancies about his immortalization. Philotas stung him wittily by his answer. He congratulated him by letter on the oracle of Jupiter Ammon which had lodged him among the gods: "As far as you are concerned, I am very glad of it; but there is reason to pity the men who will have to live with and obey a man who exceeds cand is not content with Ba man's proportions." cSince you obey the gods, you rule the world. Horace BThe nice inscription with which the Athenians honored the entry of Pompey into their city is in accord with my meaning. You are as much a god as you will own That you are nothing but a man alone. Amyot's Plutarch It is an absolute perfection and virtually divine to know how to enjoy our being rightfully. We seek other conditions because we do not understand the use of our own, and go outside of ourselves because we do not know what it is like inside. cYet there is no use our mounting on stilts, for on stilts we must still walk on our own legs. And on the loftiest throne in the world we are still sitting only on our own rump. BThe most beautiful lives, to my mind, are those that conform to the com-

Part I. Reworking Natural Law

Francisco Suarez

Introduction

Francisco Suarez (1548-1617) was one of a number of Spanish scholastic thinkers who transmitted and elaborated the views of Saint Thomas Aquinas (1224-74). Unpromising as a student, he was eventually accepted into the Jesuit order and became a priest. Suarez taught at a number of Spanish universities and in Rome, attaining great fame and wide influence. He was very prolific, writing on many metaphysical and theological topics and on the political problems of his time, such as the treatment of Catholics in England, as well as on natural law. His works tend to be lengthy. He generally gives careful consideration of the views of many others who have written on his subject, discussing their arguments and their biblical and other citations in detail, and only slowly coming to the presentation of his own final position. Drastic cutting was needed to obtain selections that might convey some of the main points of Suarez's theory within a reasonable number of pages. But even in abridged form there are a bewildering number of distinctions and claims to keep in mind if Suarez's theory is to be seen as a coherent whole. Suarez accepted the general theses of classical natural law theory as it was developed by Saint Thomas Aquinas. Like Saint Thomas he presented a universe created and governed by God in ways designed to benefit each thing in it and to work for the common good of the whole creation. The pattern of governance is set by the eternal law, which is timeless and expresses God's nature; natural law is the special way in which humans "participate in" the eternal law. God directs the movements of stones and animals, but he does not do so, Suarez believed, by law properly so called. Law in the full sense pertains only to free and rational beings. We differ from the lower creatures because we can guide our actions by knowledge of the ways in which God means us to act. The natural law, unlike the law revealed in the Scriptures, can be discovered by reason, without the aid of special grace or revelation. Its first principles are self-evident; its other precepts can be derived from them — some with ease, others only with difficulty. Suarez did not elaborate on how the laws are to be derived from the basic principles, nor did he give an exhaustive and careful list of the laws, divided according to degrees of evidence. Nonetheless, his general view is reasonably clear. He followed Saint Thomas in holding that one of the basic self-evident laws is that good is to be pursued and evil is to be avoided. Suarez did not suppose that other laws — such as those contained in the Decalogue — are simply deduced from this empty-sounding premise alone. Rather, we are to look at human nature and to apply the basic principle by seeing how each of the main characteristics that all of us have in common as humans 67

68

Francisco Suarez

can be used for good instead of for evil. God means all things, including the distinguishing features of our nature, to work for good, and the laws of nature spell out the ways in which this is to be done. Suarez did not seem to think there can be any controversy about what constitutes the good we are to work for — the special kind of happiness appropriate to us — nor did he treat as doubtful the content of the law of nature. His aim was not so much to instruct his reader about what kinds of actions are appropriate or required as it was to lay out the structure of natural law and to explain the main concepts involved in understanding it. In some of his explanations Suarez went into considerably more detail than Saint Thomas did. One of the most important of his elaborations concerns the concept of obligation. Suarez tried to accommodate within a basically Thomistic framework the voluntarist theologians Scotus and Ockham (discussed briefly in the section "Luther and Calvin" in the Introduction to this anthology), who argued that morality arises solely from God's will. The voluntarists were strongly opposed by those who, following Thomas, held that God's legislation reflects or expresses his intellectual nature and therefore complies with the eternal truths of logic and morality. Suarez developed a position that would take account of both of these views. He argued, on the one hand, that God's legislative activity is guided by the goods and evils that are connected to the unalterable natures of created things, but he insisted also that moral obligation arises solely from God's command and that without command there is no law. His theory raised, more acutely than Thomas's did, a number of questions about how moral obligation binds the will, how human freedom is compatible with the will's being bound, and the relation between goodness and rightness as sources of human action generally. Voluntarism was not merely an issue from the past or for Catholics. The Reformers Luther and Calvin, as I indicated in the Introduction, subscribed to versions of it; Descartes proposed his own variety of it; and the great natural lawyer Pufendorf opened his major work with a restatement of it. Conversely, innumerable writers during the period tried to refute voluntarism and to present alternatives to it. Suarez's mediating position was influential among philosophers and clergymen, including Protestants as well as Catholics. His work, therefore, not only shows one way in which classical natural law doctrine was carried forward into a new era; it also represents an early phase in the development of some of the issues that would become central to modern moral philosophy. All of the following selections are taken from Suarez's treatise On Law and God the Lawgiver, as translated from De legibus ac Deo legislatore (1612) by Gwladys Williams, Ammi Brown, and John Waldron (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1944), reprinted by permission of the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace. I have included the book, chapter, and section numbers, which are useful for giving references. On Law and God the Lawgiver

Preface It need not surprise anyone that it should occur to a professional theologian to take up the discussion of laws. For the eminence of theology, derived as it is from its most eminent subject-matter, precludes all reason for wonder. Surely,

On Law and God the Lawgiver

69

if the question is rightly examined, it will be evident that a treatise on laws is so included within the range of theology, that the theologian cannot exhaust his subject unless he tarries for a time in the study of laws. For just as theologians should contemplate God on many other grounds, so also should they contemplate Him on this ground: that He is the last end towards Whom rational creatures tend and in Whom their sole felicity consists. It follows, then, that the sacred science has this last end in view, and that it also sets forth the way to attain that end; since God is not only the end, and (as it were) the goal, towards which all intellectual creatures tend, but also the cause of that goal's attainment. For He directs His creatures, and, having shown the way, leads them to Himself. Moreover, He checks them with admonitions, that they may not stray from the path of righteousness, and when they do stray from it, by His ineffable providence He recalls them and shepherds them back, enlightening them by His teaching, admonishing them with His counsels, impelling them by His laws and, above all, succoring them with the aid of His grace. . . . Since, then, the way of this salvation lies in free actions and in moral rectitude — which rectitude depends to a great extent upon law as the rule of human actions — it follows thence that the study of laws becomes a large division of theology; and when the sacred science treats of law, that science surely regards no other object than God Himself as Lawgiver. . . . BOOK I: CONCERNING LAW IN GENERAL; AND CONCERNING ITS NATURE, CAUSES, AND EFFECTS

Chapter I: The Meaning of the Term "Law" (Lex) 1. St. Thomas defines the term "law" (lex) as follows: "Law is a certain rule and measure in accordance with which one is induced to act or is restrained from acting."' This definition would appear to be too broad and general. For law would in that case be applicable not only to men, or rational creatures, since everything has its own rule and measure. . . . 5. . . . accordingly, we should narrow the description given by St. Thomas, so that it runs as follows: law is a certain measure of moral acts, in the sense that such acts are characterized by moral rectitude through their conformity to law, and by perversity, if they are out of harmony with law. 6. Hence, although unrighteous precepts or rules are frequently designated by the term "law" . . . nevertheless, strictly and absolutely speaking, only that which is a measure of rectitude, viewed absolutely, and consequently that which is a right and virtuous rule, can be called law. Chapter II: What lus means and How It Is to Be compared with Lex 4. . . . the word ius has two principal meanings. . . . ius has the same meaning as iustum (that which is just), and aeguum (that which is equitable),

70

Francisco Suarez

these being the objects of iustitia (justice). Yet one must take into consideration the fact that the word iustitia has [also] two acceptations. In the first place, this word may stand for every virtue, since every virtue in some wise is directed toward and brings about equity. In the second place, it may signify a special virtue which renders to another that which is his due.' Accordingly, the word ius conforms, in due proportion, to each of these two meanings [of iustitia]. For, in the first sense, ius may refer to whatever is fair and in harmony with reason, this being, as it were, the general objective of virtue in the abstract. In the second sense, ius may refer to the equity which is due to each individual as a matter of justice. This latter acceptation is more common, since ius so taken is most particularly wont to be related to justice in the strict sense. Thus St. Thomas has said3 that such justice constitutes the primary basis and significance of ius. And in consequence he well concludes that ius is not lex, but is rather that which is prescribed or measured by lex. . . . 5. According to the latter and strict acceptation of ius, this name is properly wont to be bestowed upon a certain moral power which every man has, either over his own property or with respect to that which is due to him. For it is thus that the owner of a thing is said to have a right (ius) in that thing, and the labourer is said to have that right to his wages by reason of which he is declared worthy of his hire. . . . Accordingly, this right to claim (actio), or moral power, which every man possesses with respect to his own property or with respect to a thing which in some way pertains to him, is called ius, and appears to be the true object of justice. . . .

Chapter III: The Extent of the Necessity for Laws, and of Their Variety 1. Having treated of the terms ius and lex, we must first demonstrate, before we inquire into the nature of lex, that it actually exists. This demonstration will best be effected by explaining the necessity for lex. . . . Necessity, however, is usually divided into two kinds. One is the absolute necessity in accordance with which a given thing is said to be necessary of itself and for itself, in an absolute sense. Thus, there is attributed to God a necessity for His existence in accordance with His actual existence; and it is of this necessity that we are now speaking. The second kind is a relative necessity, having respect to some particular end or effect. This kind is subdied into two phases: one phase is that of simple necessity; the other, that of • for the attainment of the better state, this latter phase being, in ante, utility. rdingly, two134ns seem, generally speaking, to be certain. st point is this solute necessity does not pertain to law as such. of of this assertion Is as follows: such necessity is an attribute proper d, Who alone is a Being existent per se and necessary in an absolute e; whereaRevery law is either a created thing or at least one which supposes the exiser ---C-1. some creature on whose account it is estab-

n Law and God the Lawgiver C

71

lished; for God cannot be subjected to law; and therefore, inasmuch as a created thing is not absolutely necessary, law in like manner lacks the attribute of absolute necessity. In addition, I shall state that, if one is speaking of law in the strict sense of the term (as we are now doing) it can [be considered to] exist only in view of some rational creature; for law is imposed only upon a nature that is free, and has for its subject-matter free acts alone . . . ; accordingly law cannot be more necessary than a rational or intellectual creature; and rational creatures are not characterized by an absolute necessity for their existence; therefore, neither is law itself characterized by this necessity. . . . 3. Secondly, I make the following assertion: if the creation of rational creatures is assumed to have taken place, law, both absolutely and with a view to attaining the better state, has become necessary in the necessity of its purpose. This truth is (so to speak) . . . a self-evident principle. Moreover, in so far as concerns the first part [of the assertion] — the part relating to absolute necessity — one may adduce the argument that an intellectual creature, by virtue of the very fact that he is a created being, has a superior to whose providence and control he is subject; while, for the very reason that he is intellectual, he is capable of being subjected to moral government, which is effected through command; and therefore, it is connatural 4 to such a creature, and necessary to him, that he be made subject to some superior who will govern him through command, that is, through law. Furthermore, this creature, because of the very fact that he has been made out of nothing, may be bent to good or to evil. . . . Consequently, not only is he capable of being subjected to law, whereby he may be directed towards the good and held back from the evil, but furthermore, some such law is absolutely necessary for him, that he may live as becomes his nature. . . . The second part of our assertion — that which relates to utility — is clearly proved on the basis of the first part. For necessity pertaining to an end must include utility. . . . 6. . . . a rational principle existing in the mind of God [is] recognized by the theologians, who . . . call it the eternal law. . . . it as certainly exists in God, as does His providence over the universe; for the term refers simply to the essential principle of this providence, a principle dwelling in God, or to some element of that providence. . . . just as it would be impossible for the universe to continue in existence apart from divine providence, so would it be impossible apart from this divine and eternal law; and furthermore, all utility and benefit flowing forth to this universe from divine providence should also be ascribed to this same divine law. 8. . . . "law" is to be attributed to insensate things, not in its strict sense, but metaphorically. . . . Not even brute animals are capable of [participating in] law in a strict sense, since they have the use neither of reason nor of liberty. . . . 9. Natural law, then, in the proper sense of the term — the natural law which pertains to moral doctrine and to theology — is that form of law which dwells

72

Francisco Suarez

within the human mind, in order that the righteous may be distinguished from the evil. . . . 17. It remains to discuss positive human law, which is so named because of the proximate source from which it flows . . . it was devised and established proximately by men . . . because the original derivation of every human law is in a certain sense traced back to the eternal law. . . . 18. . . . the necessity, or the utility, of this human law is also readily to be seen. For as St Thomas has noted, 5 its necessity springs from the fact that the natural, or the divine law, is of a general nature, and includes only certain selfevident principles of conduct, extending, at most, to those points which follow necessarily and by a process of obvious inference from the said principles; whereas, in addition to such points, many others are necessarily involved in the case of a human commonwealth in order that it may be preserved and rightly governed. . . . 19. . . . man is a social animal, requiring by his very nature a civil life and intercourse with other men; therefore, it is necessary that he should live rightly, not only as a private person, but also as a part of a community; and this is a matter which depends to a large extent upon the laws of the individual community. . . . Again, it is necessary that those points which relate to the common good of men, or of the state, should be accorded particular care and observance; yet, men as individuals have difficulty in ascertaining what is expedient for the common good, and moreover, rarely strive for that good as a primary object; so that, in consequence, there was a necessity for human laws. . . . Chapter IV: What Acts in the Mind of the Lawmaker Are Necessary for the Making of a Law? 2. . . . law is a thing which pertains to the intellectual nature as such, and accordingly, to the mind thereof; both intellect and will being included. . . . 3. Secondly, I assume that law . . . is based upon a concrete act, and not upon a habit or power. This is clearly true, because that which is called law has the virtue of proximately moving its subjects and imposing an obligation upon them; but this virtue does not exist in potency or habit. . . . 6. In the first place, law, in so far as it is externally imposed upon the subjects, is a species of means for securing their welfare and peace or happiness. And therefore, one may assume first of all that the will of the lawmaker includes the purpose of promoting the common welfare. . . . From this purpose there follows forthwith in the intellect a consideration of this or that [possible] law, as to which of them is just, or suitable for the commonwealth. . . . 7. Secondly, it is certain that there is required, in addition to this act of judgment, an act on the part of the will, by which the prince agrees, chooses, and wills that his subjects shall be obedient to that which his intellect has judged expedient. 6 . . . the reason . . . is, briefly, this: law does not merely

On Law and God the Lawgiver

73

enlighten, but also provides motive force and impels; and, in intellectual processes, the primary faculty for moving to action is the will. . . . Chapter VI: Is it Inherent in the Nature of Law That It Should Be Instituted for Some Community?

8. . . . it is inherent in the nature of law, as signified by this name, that it be a common precept; that is to say, a precept imposed upon the community, or upon a multitude of men. . . . Chapter VII: Is It Inherent in the Nature of Law That It Be Enacted for the Sake of the Common Good? 1. . . . With respect, then, to the question above set forth, there is no dispute among the various authorities; on the contrary, this axiom is common to them all: it is inherent in the nature and essence of law, that it shall be enacted for the sake of the common good; that is to say, that it shall be formulated particularly with reference to that good. . . . 3. This truth is indeed self-evident in the case of divine laws; so that it does not call for demonstration. For though the said laws are necessarily directed to the honouring of God (since He cannot will anything apart from Himself, or act save for His own sake), nevertheless in those laws He seeks not His own profit, but the good and happiness of humanity. Wherefore, since the divine works are superlatively perfect, and of a finely proportioned suitability, divine laws, in so far as they are given to a particular community, are accordingly given with a view to the common good and felicity of that community; a fact which becomes easily evident through a process of induction, with respect both to natural law and to the positive divine laws.' Chapter IX: Is It Inherent in the Nature of Law That It Be Just?

2. . . . it is inherent in the nature and essence of law that it shall prescribe just things. This assertion is not only indubitably true by the light of faith, but is also manifest by the light of natural reason. . . . "justice" sometimes signifies a special virtue; while at other times it refers to all the virtues. But in the present case, our assertion that law should be just must be taken in a general sense, as meaning that whatever the law prescribes should be such that it may be executed justly and virtuously, that is, righteously. . . . 4. . . . a human legislator does not have a perfect will, as God has; and therefore, of himself and with respect to the deed [prescribed], such a legislator may sometimes prescribe unjust things, a fact which is manifestly true; but he has not the power to bind through unjust .laws, and consequently, even though he may indeed prescribe that which is unjust, such a precept is not law,

74

Francisco Suarez

inasmuch as it lacks the force or validity to impose a binding obligation. To be sure, I am speaking of unjust deeds which are opposed to natural or divine law. . . . no inferior can impose an obligation that is contrary to the law and the will of his superior; but a law prescribing a wrongful act is contrary to the law of God, Who prohibits that act; therefore [the former law] cannot be binding, for it is not possible that men should be bound, at one and the same time, to do and to abstain from doing a given thing. . . . 11. . . . However, all the Doctors indicate that the evidence of injustice in the law must be such as to constitute a moral certainty. For if the matter is doubtful, a presumption must be made in favour of the lawgiver. . . . the subjects, if this presumption in his favour did not exist, would assume an excessive licence to disregard the laws. . . . 17. . . . it is inherent in the nature of the law that it shall be practicable. This assertion, interpreted in a general sense, is applicable to every law. However, in order that it may be proved and expounded, we should note that the term possibilis [practicable] admits of two distinct interpretations: first, as opposed, absolutely, to impossibilis; secondly, as opposed to what is difficult, oppressive, and burdensome. Taken in the first sense, this property of practicability is a self-evident [requirement of law], whatsoever the evasive arguments heretics may employ. 8 For that which does not fall within the realm of freedom does not fall within that of law; but what is absolutely impossible does not come within the realm of freedom, since the latter of its very nature demands power to choose either of two alternatives; and therefore [what is impossible] cannot be the subject-matter of law. Similarly, in cases of transgression or omission which cannot be reckoned as involving guilt or calling for punishment, it is impossible for law to intervene. For it is a part of the intrinsic nature of law that it shall contain some intrinsic element of obligation; but the omission to perform impossible deeds cannot be accounted guilt . . . and therefore laws cannot be concerned with matters of this sort. Chapter XII: What Definition of Law flex] Is Derived from the Conditions of Law Above Set Forth? 3. . . . that deduced by St. Thomas 9 has more frequently been adopted, namely: "Law is an ordinace of reason for the common good, promulgated by one who is charged with the care of the community." .. . 4. A question indeed may arise owing to the fact that the said definition contains no limitation whereby counsel is excluded from law. I therefore reply that counsel is excluded in a twofold manner. . . . For counsel, as such, is not of its very nature derived from a superior in so far as he possesses power over and charge of his subjects. . . . Counsel . . . passes essentially between equals. . . . Furthermore, the kind of ordinance in question should be interpreted as being an efficacious ordinance that has compulsory force. . . . For the word promulgation implies an order for the purpose

On Law and God the Lawgiver

75

of creating an obligation, and it is in this respect most of all that counsel differs from law. 5. . . . Therefore, law may perhaps be more briefly defined as follows: law is "a common, just, and stable precept which has been sufficiently promulgated." BOOK II: ON THE ETERNAL LAW, THE NATURAL LAW, AND THE

IUS

GENTIUM

Chapter IV: Is the Eternal Law the Cause of All Laws? 2. . . . the eternal law . . . contains in itself a binding force, if it is sufficiently promulgated and applied. The proof is that otherwise it would not be law in the true and proper sense, since it is of the essence of law to have binding force. . . . 4. . . . in some way, every law is derived from the eternal law, and receives binding force from the same. Chapter V: Is the Natural Law Natural Right Reason? 9. . . . two aspects of rational nature are distinguishable: one being that nature itself, in so far as it is (so to speak) the basis of the conformity or nonconformity of human acts with itself; the other consisting in a certain power which this nature possesses, to discriminate between the actions in harmony with it and those discordant with it, a power to which we give the name of natural reason. With regard to the first aspect, rational nature is said to be the basis of natural rectitude; but with regard to the second, it is said to be the very precept [lex] of nature which lays commands or prohibitions upon the human will regarding what must be done [or left undone], as a matter of natural law [ius]. . . . 10. The opinion in question may also find a basis in the words of Paul (Rom. 2: [14-15]), who, after saying: "For when the Gentiles who have not the law, do by nature those things that are of the law, these having not the law, are a law to themselves," adds, as if to indicate the way in which the Gentiles are a law unto themgelves and the nature of that law: "Who show the work of the law written in their hearts, their conscience bearing witness to them." For conscience is an exercise of the reason, as is evident; and conscience bears witness to and reveals the work of the law written in the hearts of men, since it testifies that a man does ill or well, when he resists or obeys the natural dictates of right reason, revealing also, in consequence, the fact that such dictates have the force of law over man, even though, they may not be externally clothed in the form of written law. Therefore, these dictates constitute natural law; and, accordingly, the man who is guided by them, is said to be a law unto himself, since he bears law written within himself through the medium of the dictates of natural reason. St.

76

Francisco Suarez

Thomas confirms this view l° in his comment on the passage from Psalms 4: 6-7: "[Many say,] Who sheweth us good things? The light of thy countenance 0 Lord, is signed upon us"; for these words, [according to St. Thomas], mean that man participates by the light of reason in the eternal law, which dictates what must be done or left undone. This [rational illumination], then, is the natural law; for the latter is nothing other than a natural participation (so to speak) in the eternal law. 12. The opinion above set forth may be briefly supported by reasoning, in accordance with what has been said. First, [we may argue] by means of an adequate discrimination: for natural law resides in man, since it does not reside in God, being temporal and created, nor is it external to man, since it is written not upon tablets but in the heart; neither does it dwell immediately within human nature itself, since we have proved that it does not do so; nor is it in the will, since it does not depend upon the will of man, but, on the contrary, binds and (as it were) coerces his will; hence, this natural law must necessarily reside in the reason. Secondly, one may adduce the argument that the legal effects which may be thought of in the case of natural law, proceed immediately from a dictate of the reason, for that dictate directs and binds and is a rule of conscience which censures or approves what is done, so that law of the kind in question consists in the said dictate. Thirdly, the exercise of dominion and the function of ruling are characteristic of law; and in man, these functions are to be attributed to right reason, that he may be rightly governed in accordance with nature; therefore, the natural law must be constituted in the reason, as in the immediate and intrinsic rule of human actions. 15. . . . "conscience" is a broader term than "natural law" since it puts into application, not only the law of nature, but also every other law, whether divine or human. Indeed, conscience is wont to apply not merely true law, but even reputed law, in which sense it sometimes occurs that conscience is in error. [True] law, on the other hand, can never be in error, for, by the very fact that it was erroneous, it would fail to be law, an assertion which is especially true with respect to the natural law, of which God is the Author. Finally, law is properly concerned with acts which are to be performed; while conscience deals also with things which have already been done, and consequently is endowed not only with the attribute of imposing obligations, but also with those of accusing, bearing witness, and defending. . . . Chapter VI: Is Natural Law in Truth Preceptive Divine Law? 5. . . . My first proposition, then, is as follows: Not only does the natural law indicate what is good or evil, but furthermore, it contains its own prohibition of evil and command of good. 6. This proposition may be proved, first, on the basis of the peculiar nature of law. For the natural law is truly law, inasmuch as all the Fathers, theolo-

On Law and God the Lawgiver

77

gians, and philosophers so speak and think of it; but the mere knowledge or conception of anything existing in the mind cannot be called law, a fact which is self-evident and which follows also from the definition of law given above; therefore, .. . A second argument may be drawn from those actions which are evil, in that they are prohibited by human law. For in the case of such acts, also, if a man is to be guilty of sin, it is necessary that there be a preceding mental judgment indicating that the thing in question is evil; yet that judgment has not the nature of a law or prohibition, since it merely indicates [a quality] existing within that thing, whatever the source of the quality may be; hence, by the same reasoning, although in those matters which fall within the province of the natural law as it relates to good or evil actions, a judgment pointing out the good or evil involved in a particular thing or act must necessarily precede [that act]; nevertheless, such a judgment has not the character of a law or of a prohibition, but is merely a recognition of some fact already assumed to be true. Accordingly, the act which is recognized as evil by the said judgment, is not evil for the reason that it is thus considered, but because it actually is evil, and is, in consequence, truly adjudged to be so; therefore, that judgment is not a rule of evil or of good; and consequently, neither is it a law nor a prohibition. Thirdly, if the assertion in question were not true, God Himself would be subject to a natural law relating to His will; since even in God, an intellectual act of judgment logically precedes an act of His will, a judgment indicating that lying is wicked, that to keep one's promises is wholly right and necessary [and so forth]; and therefore, if such an act of the intellect is sufficient to constitute the essence of law, then there will be a true natural law, even with respect to God Himself. Finally, a judgment showing the nature of a given action is not the act of a superior, but may, on the contrary, be that of an equal or of an inferior who has no binding power; and consequently, it is impossible for that judgment to have the nature of a law or of a prohibition. Otherwise, a teacher when he points out what is good and what is evil, would be imposing a law, an assertion which cannot [truthfully] be made. Law, then, is that sort of authority which can impose a binding obligation; whereas the judgment in question does not impose an obligation, but [simply] points out what obligation should be assumed to exist. Therefore, if this judgment is to have the nature of law, it must indicate some sort of authority as the source of such obligation. 11. My second assertion is as follows: this divine volition, in the form of a prohibition or in that of an [affirmative] command, is not the whole reason for the good or evil involved in the observance of transgression of the natural law; on the contrary, it necessarily presupposes the existence of a certain righteousness or turpitude in these actions, and attaches to them a special obligation derived from divine law. This second assertion is drawn from the words of St. Thomas, in the passages above cited. The first part of the proposition may be deduced from an axiom common to

78

Francisco Suarez

the theologians, that certain evils are prohibited, because they are evil. For if they are forbidden on that very ground, they cannot derive the primary reason for their evil quality from the fact that they are prohibited, since an effect is not the reason for its cause. . . . 12. As for the latter half of this second proposition, its truth may be inferred from what we have already said in connection with the former conclusion. For the natural law prohibits those things which are bad in themselves; and this law is true divine law and a true prohibition; hence it must necessarily result in some sort of additional obligation to avoid an evil which is already evil of itself and by its very nature. Neither is it irrational to suppose that one may add to an act which is of itself righteous, the obligation to perform it; or that one may add to an act of itself evil, the obligation to avoid it. In fact, even when one obligation already exists, another may be added thereto, especially if it be of a different character, as is clearly true of a vow, a human law, and similar matters. Therefore, the law of nature, as it is true divine law, may also superimpose its own moral obligation, derived from a precept, over and above what may be called the natural evil or virtue inherent in the subjecter in regard to which such a precept is imposed. This point will presently expounded, when we reply to the contrary argument. oregoing, then, I conclude and state as my third proposition law is truly and properly divine law, of which God is the 23. There e, I hold with Cajetan (on I.—II, q. 100, art. 8)," that although the divine will is absolutely free in its external actions, nevertheless, if it be assumed that this will elicit one free act, then it may be necessarily bound, in consequence, to the performance of another action. For example, if through the divine will an unconditional promise is made, that will is obliged to fulfil the promise; and if it be the divine will to speak, or to make a revelation, that will must of necessity reveal what is true. In like manner, if it is the divine will to create the world, and to preserve the same in such a way as to fulfil a certain end, then there cannot fail to exist a providential care over that world; and assuming the existence of the will to exercise such providential care, there cannot but be a perfect providence, in harmony with the goodness and wisdom of the divine will. Accordingly, assuming the existence of the will to create rational nature [in such fashion that it shall be endowed] with sufficient knowledge for the doing of good and evil, and with sufficient divine cooperation for the performance of both, God could not have refrained from willing to forbid that a creature so endowed should commit acts intrinsically evil, nor could He have willed not to prescribe [for performance by the creature] the necessary righteous acts. For just as God cannot lie, neither can He govern unwisely or unjustly; and it would be a form of providence in the highest degree foreign to the divine wisdom and goodness, to refrain from forbidding or prescribing to those who were subject to that providence, such things as are [respectively] intrinsically evil, or necessary and righteous. Therefore, in the [alleged] argument, we must make a distinction as to the minor premiss. For, absolutely speaking, God could have refrained from

On Law and God the Lawgiver

79

laying down any command or prohibition; yet, assuming that He has willed to have subjects endowed with the use of reason, He could not have failed to be their lawgiver — in those matters, at least, which are necessary to natural moral rectitude. In like manner, the arguments suggested above are sufficiently cogent, since God cannot fail to hate that evil which is opposed to right reason, and since, moreover, He entertains this hatred, not merely as a private individual, but also as Supreme Governor; therefore, because of this hatred, He wills to bind His subjects lest they commit such evil. 24. Secondly, however, the objection is raised, that the will of the lawgiver does not suffice for the completeness of law, unless a publication, or declaration, of that will also takes place; and there is no reason which makes it obligatory that God should declare His will; hence, it is possible that He may refrain from making such a declaration, since He is free to refrain; and, therefore, it is possible that He may not establish the law in question, nor create any binding obligation through it, inasmuch as no obligation exists, independently of the declaration. To this second objection I shall reply, in the first place, that if that volition on the part of God is essential to a fitting and prudent providence and government over mankind, it is in consequence necessary that, by virtue of this same providence, that divine volition shall be capable of being made known to men; and this process is sufficient for the nature of a precept and of law, nor is any other form of declaration necessary. Wherefore, it may further be stated that this very faculty of judgment which is contained in right reason and bestowed by nature upon men, is of itself a sufficient sign of such divine volition, no other notification being necessary. The proof of the foregoing is as follows: the faculty of judgment contained in reason, of itself indicates the existence of a divine providence befitting God, and morally necessary for His complete dominion and for the due subjection of mankind to Him, within which providence the legislation in question is comprehended. Moreover, for this same cause, it is revealed by the light of natural understanding, that God is offended by sins committed in contravention of the natural law, and that the judgment and the punishment of those sins pertain to Him. Hence, this natural light is of itself a sufficient promulgation of the natural law, not only because it makes clearly manifest the intrinsic conformity or non-conformity of actions [with respect to that law] a conformity and non-conformity which are indicated by the increate light of God; but also because it makes known to man the fact that actions contrary [to the law so revealed] are displeasing to the Author of nature, as Supreme Lord, Guardian and Governor of that same nature. This, then, suffices for the promulgation of the law under discussion. . . .

Chapter VII: What Is the Subject-Matter Dealt with by Natural Law; or, What Are the Precepts of That Law? 1. We assume from the foregoing discussion that the subject-matter of natural law consists in the good which is essentially righteous, or necessary to

80

Francisco Suarez

righteousness, and the evil which is opposed to that good; in the one, as something to be prescribed, in the other, as something to be forbidden. The proof of this assumption is as follows: since the law in question is true law and God is its Author, it cannot be other than righteous; and, therefore, it cannot prescribe anything save that which is righteous, neither can it prohibit anything which is not opposed to righteousness. Morover, this law prescribes that which is in harmony with rational nature as such, and prohibits the contrary; and it is evident that the former is not otherwise than righteous. Indeed, the natural law differs from other laws in this very respect, namely, that the latter render evil what they prohibit, while they render necessary, or righteous, what they prescribe; whereas the natural law assumes the existence in a given act or object, of the rectitude which it prescribes, or the depravity which it prohibits. Accordingly, it is usual to say that this law forbids a thing because that thing is evil, or prescribes a thing because it is good. We have already touched on this point, in the preceding Chapter. 4. Nevertheless, we must assert that the natural law embraces all precepts or moral principles which are plainly characterized by the goodness necessary to rectitude of conduct, just as the opposite precepts clearly involve moral irregularity or wickedness. 5. The assertion in question may also be demonstrated by reasoning. For those things which are recognized by means of natural reason, may be divided into three classes. First, some of them are primary and general principles of morality, such principles as: "one must do good, and shun evil," "do not to another that which you would not wish done to yourself," and the like. There is no doubt but that these principles pertain to the natural law. Again, there are certain others, more definite and specific, which, nevertheless, are also self-evident truths by their very terminology. Examples [of the second group] are these principles: "justice must be observed"; "God must be worshipped"; "one must live temperately"; and so forth. Neither is there any doubt concerning [the fact that] this group [comes under the natural law], a point which will become evident, a fortiori, as a result of the discussion that is to follow. In the third class, we place those conclusions which are deduced from natural principles by an evident inference, and which cannot become known save through rational reflection. Of these conclusions, some are recognized more easily than others, and by a greater number of persons; as, for example, the inferences that adultery, theft, and similar acts are wrong. Other conclusions require more reflection, of a sort not easily within the capacity of all, as is the case with the inferences that fornication is intrinsically evil, that usury is unjust, that lying can never be justified, and the like. The assertion set forth above may, then, be understood as applicable to all these [principles and conclusions]; for all of them pertain to the natural law. And if this truth is established with regard even to the conclusions of any one of these classes, then, the same truth will, a fortiori, be established with regard to the other conclusions mentioned, provided only that a degree of evidence involving certainty is reached.

On Law and God the Lawgiver

81

6. Therefore, the proof follows; first, by a process of induction. For the precepts of the Decalogue are precepts of natural law, a fact accepted by all. Yet they do not all embody self-evident principles. On the contrary, some of them require reflection, as is also evident. This point is still more clear with regard to many natural precepts which are included within those of the Decalogue; as, for example, the prohibitions against simple fornication, against usury and against vengeance inflicted upon an enemy by one's own authority, all of which according to Catholic doctrine, indubitably pertain to natural law. In like manner, the affirmative commands to keep vows and promises, to give alms out of one's superfluous possessions, to honour one's parents, are natural precepts, not only according to the faith, but also according to the philosophers and all right-thinking persons. Yet the conclusions [leading to these precepts] are not reached without reflection and, in some cases, a great deal of elaborate reasoning. 7. Thirdly, no one is doubtful as to the primary and general principles; hence, neither can there be doubt as to the specific principles, since these, also, in themselves and by virtue of their very terminology, harmonize with rational nature as such; and, therefore, there should be no doubt with respect to the conclusions clearly derived from these principles, inasmuch as the truth of the principle is contained in the conclusion, and he who prescribes or forbids the one, necessarily prescribes or forbids that which is bound up in it, or without which it could not exist. Indeed, strictly speaking, the natural law. works more through these proximate principles or conclusions than through universal principles; for a law is a proximate rule of operation, and the general principles mentioned above are not rules save in so far as they are definitely applied by specific rules to the individual sorts of acts or virtues. Finally, all these precepts proceed, by a certain necessity, from nature, and from God as the Author of nature, and all tend to the same end, which is undoubtedly the due preservation and natural perfection or felicity of human nature; therefore, they all pertain to the natural law. 12. A difficulty arises, however, with regard to the first part of the explanation, a difficulty as to whether there exists in connection with every virtue, a natural precept requiring the exercise of that virtue at one time or another. For, as a general rule, it is a sufficiently self-evident fact that this is the case; but the rule does not seem to hold with regard to certain virtues, such as liberality, which by its very nature would seem to exclude an attendant obligation, or eutrapelia (urbanity) which also appears to be in large measure a matter of choice. An exact treatment of this difficulty, indeed, would necessitate an examination of all the virtues. Consequently, I shall state briefly that if the term "precept" is taken in its rigorous meaning, as involving obligation under pain of mortal guilt, then precepts are to be applied not to every sort of virtue, but only to the more important ones, a fact which is proved by the argument set forth above. With regard to truth [for example], many persons hold that this virtue is never in itself obligatory under pain of mortal guilt, unless there is , 12

82

Francisco Suarez

attached to it an obligation of justice or of some other similar virtue which is involved in it; [otherwise, truth] is not prescribed under penalty of mortal guilt. If, however, we are speaking more broadly, so as to include obligations under pain of venial guilt, there is probably, in that sense, no virtue the practice of which is not at one time or another obligatory. For, in view of the fact that the perfect rectitude of an individual man, his proper behaviour, both relatively to himself and in his relations with others, results from the possession of all the virtues collectively, it is probable that there are for each of the virtues respectively occasions on which it ought to be practised, owing to a special obligation attaching to each, with respect to which neither liberality nor any other virtue is an exception. Chapter VIII: Is the Natural Law One Unified Whole?

1. Three questions may be asked at this point. First, with respect to a single individual, is the natural law one unified whole? Secondly, with respect to all men and in all places, is it one unified whole? Thirdly, is it also such a unified whole with respect to all time and every condition of human nature? 2. Turning to the first question, then, we must state that with respect to any one individual, there are many natural precepts; but that from all of these there is formed one unified body of natural law. . . . The basis of this unity, apart from the common manner of speaking, consists, according to St. Thomas, in the fact that all natural precepts may be reduced to one first principle in which these precepts are (as it were) united; for where there is union, there is also a certain unity. . . . it may be added that all natural precepts are united in one end; in one author or lawgiver, also; and in the one characteristic of avoiding evil because it is evil, and of prescribing good because it is right and necessary; so that these facts suffice to constitute a moral unity. 3. However, in order that the multitude of precepts may be reduced to some kind of order, they may be distinguished from one another under various heads. For example, they may be distinguished with reference to the persons for whom they are — objectively, so to speak — ordained. Thus, certain precepts relate to God; certain others to one's neighbour; and still others, to the individual himself. Or, the precepts in question may be distinguished according to the virtues [which they prescribe]. For some relate to justice; others to charity or natural love; and so on. Or, again, they may be distinguished according to their respective relations to the intellect. It is thus that natural precepts are classified by St. Thomas, Cajetan, and others, even as propositions necessarily true are classified by the philosophers. For certain of these precepts are manifest in and of themselves, and with respect to all men, as is the case with the most universal precepts. Others are manifest in and of themselves, and in an immediate sense, but not in so far as relates to our apprehension, although they may have this character in so far as relates to the wise. As examples of this group, we have certain precepts regarding individ-

On Law and God the Lawgiver

83

ual virtues, and the Commandments of the Decalogue. However, there are still other precepts, which call for reflection [in order that they may be known], and this group, in turn, admits of gradations; for certain of these precepts are recognized easily, others with difficulty. The distinctions above set forth will be useful in examining the matter of ignorance in regard to natural law, a point which we shall presently discuss. 4. Lastly, St. Thomas, u followed by Cajetan and others, traces this variety in the natural precepts to the varied natural inclinations of mankind. For man is (as it were) an individual entity and as such has an inclination to preserve his own being, and to safeguard his own welfare; he is also a being corruptible — that is to say, mortal — and as such is inclined towards the preservation of the species, and towards the actions necessary to that end; and finally, he is a rational being and as such is inclined towards the preservation of the species, and towards the actions necessary to that end; and finally, he is a rational being and as such is suited for immortality, for spiritual perfection, and for communication with God and social intercourse with rational creatures. Hence, the natural law brings man to perfection, with regard to every one of his tendencies and, in this capacity, it contains various precepts — for example, precepts of temperance and of fortitude, relating to the first tendency mentioned above; those of chastity and prudence, relating to the third tendency. For all these propensities in man must be viewed as being in some way determined and elevated by a process of rational gradation. For, if these propensities are considered merely in their natural aspect, or as animal propensities, they must be bridled, that virtue may be attained and on the other hand, if the same propensities are considered with respect to their capacity for being regulated by right reason, then proper and suitable precepts apply to each of them. 5. In answer to the second question, the statement must be made that this natural law is a unified whole with respect to all men and in all places. The rational basis of this position is that the law in question is (so to speak) a peculiar quality accompanying not the particular rational faculty of any given individual, but rather that characteristic nature which is the same in all men. Furthermore, synteresis 14 is one and the same in all men; and, absolutely speaking, the recognition of the truth of conclusions might be one and the same; therefore, the law of nature is also one and the same [in all men]. At this point, one encounters the objection that various nations have followed laws contrary to natural precepts; and that consequently, the natural law is not the same in all nations. To this objection, following St. Thomas (ibid.), I shall reply briefly that the natural law in so far as relates to its substance is one and the same among all men, but that, in so far as concerns the knowledge of it, that law is not complete (so to speak) among all. 6. I shall expound this statement briefly. For, as I have previously remarked, the natural law may be considered in its first act, and as such, it may be regarded as the intellectual understanding itself; so that it is therefore evident that in this sense, the natural law is one and the same in all men.

84

Francisco Suarez

Furthermore, it may be the same with respect to the second act, that is, in actual cognition and judgment, or again, in a proximate habit induced by such act; and in this sense, the natural law is in part [the same] in all who have the use of reason. For in so far, at least, as regards the primary and most universal principles — no one can be ignorant of this law, inasmuch as those principles are by the very terms defining them completely known and to such a degree in harmony with and (as it were) fitted to the natural bent of the reason and will, that it is not possible to evade them. . . . On the other hand, one may [less reprehensibly] be ignorant of particular precepts; and, assuming the existence of such ignorance, some nations may have introduced rules contrary to the natural law, although these rules were never regarded by them as natural, but were considered as positive human rules. 7. In this connexion, however, a question arises as to whether such ignorance of natural precepts can be invincible. . . . my opinion shall be briefly stated here, as follows: it is not possible that one should in any way be ignorant of the primary principles of the natural law, much less invincibly ignorant of them; one may, however, be ignorant of the particular precepts, whether of those which are self-evident, or of those which are deduced with great ease from the self-evident precepts. Yet such ignorance cannot exist without guilt; not, at least, for any great length of time; for knowledge of these precepts may be acquired by very little diligence; and nature itself, and conscience, are so insistent in the case of the acts relating to those [precepts] as to permit no inculpable ignorance of them. . . . However, with respect to other precepts, which require greater reflection, invincible ignorance is possible, especially on the part of the multitude. Chapter IX: Is the Natural Law Binding in Conscience?

1. Thus far, we have expounded the nature and causes, that is to say, the subject-matter, of the natural law. Next in order we must treat of the effects of that law, of which the chief, or very nearly the sole effect, is its binding force, for if the natural law does have other effects, they too may be reduced to this one. Its binding obligation then, and the mode in which it so binds, must be discussed. 2. In the first place, we must establish the fact that the natural law is binding in conscience. This conclusion is unquestionably true, being a matter of faith, according to the theologians. It may be deduced, moreover, from the words of Paul (Rom. 2: [12]): "For whosoever have sinned without the law," — the written law, undoubtedly — "shall perish with the law"; that is [they shall perish] because they have violated the natural law. With regard to the latter, Paul adds [1415]: "The Gentiles, who have not the law, do by nature those things that are of the law [ . . . ], their conscience bearing witness to them." As for the reasons in favour of the above proposition, however, the first is

On Law and God the Lawgiver

85

that the natural law is the law of God, as has been shown. Secondly, this law is the proximate rule of moral goodness; and therefore, moral evil is wont to result from defiance of this law, so that sin is defined as an act contrary to God's law. . . . 3. As against this truthful assertion, however, it may in the first place be urged that the natural law is a dictate of natural reason; but natural reason knows nothing of eternal punishment; hence, this law cannot be binding under pain of eternal punishment; and consequently, it cannot bind under pain of mortal guilt. The truth of the latter consequent is evident, because that sin is mortal which leads to eternal punishment. And the truth of the former consequent is proved, since a law cannot be binding with the sanction of a punishment which it can neither indicate nor inflict. For the present, we simply assert that, according to the faith, it cannot be denied that a transgression of the natural law suffices for the incurring of eternal punishment, even if the transgressor be ignorant of every supernatural law. For this fact is convincingly established by the testimony of Paul, and by the arguments already adduced. Neither is it to be controverted by the objection set forth above, for even though, in us, the natural law is reason itself, nevertheless in God, it is the Divine reason or will, and therefore it suffices that God Himself should know the penalty due to transgressors of that law. For in order that the subject and transgressor of the law may incur a given penalty, it is not necessary that he himself shall be aware of the penalty attaching to his transgression; on the contrary, it suffices if he commits an act that deserves such punishment.

Chapter XIV: Is Natural Law Subject to Human Power? 7. . . . among the precepts of natural law, there are certain precepts — dealing with pacts, agreements, obligations — which are introduced through the will of men: for example, the laws relating to the observance of vows and of human promises, whether these be made in simple form or confirmed by oath; and the same is true of other contracts, according to the particular characteristics of each; and true, also, of rights, natural and legal, arising therefrom. There are other natural laws, however, which are directly binding, in their very subject-matter and independently of any prior consent by human will: for example, the positive precepts of religion in relation to God, of filial piety, of mercy, and of almsgiving to one's neighbour; and the negative precepts against killing, those against slander, and similar prohibitions. In both kinds of precepts there is involved the same necessity in so far as concerns the formal character of law, and consequently, there are the same uniformity and immutability; but with respect to the subject-matter, the second group of precepts possesses a greater degree of immutability, since they have not for their subject-matter (so to speak) human free will, which is exceedingly changeable and frequently requires correction and alteration.

86

Francisco Suarez Editor's Notes

1. Saint Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, Ia IIae 90.1; hereafter referred to simply as ST. 2. Suarez here follows Aristotle and Saint Thomas in distinguishing between justice in a broad sense, which is the whole of virtue insofar as virtue affects others besides the agent, and justice in a more specific sense, in which it is the virtue that renders to each his or her due. The latter is closer to the modern sense of the term. 3. ST IIa IIae 57.1. 4. That is, not part of the created being's nature but always accompanying it, as regularly as if it were part of that nature. 5. ST Ia IIae 91.3. 6. Although Suarez talks of a prince in this paragraph, his point is meant to apply to God's legislation as well. 7. Positive divine laws are laws God has given to particular communities, for example, to the Jews, whereas natural laws are laws God has laid down for all people. 8. Suarez is referring to Martin Luther, who, as indicated in the section "Luther and Calvin" in the Introduction, held that the moral commandments were laid down by God in order to show us both what we absolutely ought to do and what we cannot do, at least not by our own unaided efforts. In this way, "the Law is a schoolmaster unto Christ," showing us our desperate need for grace. Suarez followed Saint Thomas's theory of grace, touched on in the section "Saint Augustine and Saint Thomas" in the Introduction, which is very different. 9. ST Ia IIae 90.4. 10. ST Ia Iae 91.2. 11. The reference is the Commentary on Saint Thomas's Summa by Thomas de Vio, Cardinal Cajetan (1468-1534). 12. Aristotle uses the term to mean "ready wit" (Rhetoric 1389b11, Nicomachean Ethics 1108a24) — plainly not something that includes obligation. (I owe this information to Prof. Russell M. Dancy.) 13. ST, Ia IIae 94.2. 14. A technical term, discussed briefly in the section "Saint Augustine and Saint Thomas" in the Introduction to this volume, referring to the aspect of conscience in which it is a "repository of principles"; that is, it is in possession of general precepts for guiding and judging action. Its other main aspect is its ability to subsume particular cases under these principles. Further Reading

The translation from which the selections in this volume were taken does not include the whole of On Law and God the Lawgiver, but it is the fullest source available in English for the study of Suarez's views on morality. Parts of some of his political and metaphysical works have been translated as well. The neglect of Suarez by English-language scholars of natural law is reflected in the scarcity of works on him written in English. J. H. Fichter, Man of Spain: Francisco Suarez (New York: Macmillan, 1940), is a general study. There is a useful monograph by Reijo Wilenius, The Social and Political Theory of Francisco Suarez, in Acta Philosophica Fennica, vol. 15 (Helsinki: Philosophical Society of Finland, 1963), which contains a bibliography. Henrich Rommen examined Suarez in his The Natural Law, trans. Thomas R. Hanley (St. Louis: Herder, 1947). Suarez's political views are the

Further Reading

87

focus of an excellent discussion in Quentin Skinner, The Foundations of Modern Political Thought (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1978), vol. 2, chap. 5, which also looks at some of the other Thomists of the period. For further background, consult Bernice Hamilton, Political Thought in Sixteenth Century Spain (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1963).

Hugo Grotius

Introduction

In 1788 Thomas Reid praised the "immortal Hugo Grotius" as the author of the first noteworthy attempt to systematize the commonsense morality of the human race with the aid of the civil law's technical apparatus. Eighty years earlier Jean Barbeyrac, who translated Grotius's main work into French, claimed that Grotius was the "first who broke the ice" in the modern history of the "science of morality." It was Grotius who left behind the sterile debates of the Aristotelian scholastics and opened the way for the modern development of moral philosophy, and it was Grotius's position, Barbeyrac added, and not that of the brilliant but dangerous Hobbes, that was continued by Pufendorf and Locke. Nineteenth- and twentieth-century surveys of the history of moral philosophy do not give Grotius so important a place, but if we wish to see the subject as it looked in early modern Europe, we cannot ignore him. Hugo Grotius was born in the Netherlands in 1583. A brilliant and precocious scholar, he was part of a diplomatic mission to France when he was only fifteen. He practiced law, held several high public offices, and wrote Latin dramas as well as treatises on maritime law and a history of his country. Much against his will Grotius became involved in the fierce religious controversies then dividing the Protestants of Holland, which were connected with continuing struggles for political power. As a result he was sentenced in 1619 to life imprisonment. A daring escape engineered by his wife enabled him to flee to France, where he wrote his main work, De jure belli ac pacis (On the Law of War and Peace), first published in 1625. After serving as the Swedish ambassador to France and writing works on theology and other subjects, he died in 1645. Grotius is often described as the first "modern" natural law thinker. The title is meant to distinguish him from the Thomistic thinkers who, like Suarez, continued to write and be read well into and beyond Grotius's lifetime. The reader will find several reasons for thinking of Grotius as an innovator, but what is usually taken to entitle Grotius to special recognition is the passage in §11 of the "Prolegomena" to On the Law of War and Peace in which he claimed that there would be binding laws of nature even if God did not exist. This statement is central to Grotius's aims of freeing natural law theory from religious controversy and of making the study of natural law a discipline that could be pursued without regard to sectarian religious differences. If Grotius had claimed only that there are goods and ills independent of the existence of God, his view would not have been particularly original. Such claims had been made in one form or another by various earlier thinkers. They were what Suarez had in mind when he asserted that goods and ills alone do not give rise to obligation and that a sanction

88

Introduction

89

imposed by a lawgiver must be added if there are to be obligations. Grotius's innovation was his assertion that there would be obligations, and not simply goods and ills, even if God did not exist. Grotius did not offer any abstract proof that Suarez was mistaken on this point. What gave weight to his view was his use of it in developing an explicit statement of a body of law that was both acceptable to people of all religious confessions and capable of guiding the most important aspects of international relations, in peace as well as war. In order to do this Grotius set out the principles he thought were behind the institutions of private property, promise and contract, and marriage. His proposals on all these matters continued to influence actual legislation in Germany and elsewhere in Europe well into the eighteenth century. To open the way for his system, Grotius found it necessary to assert that it is possible to have definite knowledge of laws that bind all people alike. This involved him in an attempt to confront the skepticism that had been expressed by writers such as Montaigne. In taking on this issue, Grotius ventured into matters that were not addressed by the traditional natural lawyers, who simply did not see skepticism as a problem. Theorists like Suarez took themselves to be expounding and improving the work of their authoritative sources — Aristotle, the church fathers, or Saint Thomas himself. Grotius cited many authorities, among them writers from classical antiquity, theologians, and scholastic natural lawyers, but his aim was not to explain or even to accommodate their views. It was simply to call them as witnesses to the fact that everyone — or at least the wisest men in the civilized nations — had always agreed on the basic principles of natural law. Grotius was contending that there was far less•disagreement about the laws of nature than there was said to be by the skeptics of his time, who were, of course, his real targets, rather than the ancient skeptic, Carneades, whom he named. Grotius also offered a theory about the sources of this agreement, a theory about our basic desires. We are self-interested, but we also are sociable. We look out for ourselves — a point Hobbes later stressed — but we enjoy one another's company for its own sake. Society therefore must be organized to take account of our ineradicable tendency to engage in controversies as well as our inherent sociability, and natural law shows us how to do it. Grotius's point seems to be that no one can deny these claims about human beings; so if it can be shown that these are the facts on which the laws of nature depend, the skeptic will be overcome. This is not an epistemological argument about the nature of knowledge, and even if it is effective, it does not establish certainty about anything but the foundations of morals. If Grotius was breaking new ground in taking on skepticism, he was also innovating by introducing a new understanding of rights. He treated rights as attributes that each individual possesses independently of membership in any group or society and prior to being under any law. He also held that any or all of an individual's rights could be given away, a point he took to be shown by the possibility of agreeing to be a slave if one is given the choice of slavery or death when one is captured during wartime. In asserting that rights are qualities of individuals as such, Grotius was breaking with older views and initiating a way of understanding the sphere of control belonging to individuals that is still important. Against the skeptic it would seem less effective to claim that all humans possess rights than to hold that all are moved to some extent by self-interest. Yet both claims are important to Grotius's theory. Because Grotius wrote as a lawyer rather than as a philosopher, the philosophically important parts of his text, after the "Prolegomena," are widely scattered. He opened

90

Hugo Grotius

with a bewildering array of definitions of law and of kinds of rights, none of which he put to immediate use. It was only later, when Grotius discussed more specific issues such as the origins of political power or of property, that he began to apply the notions. I have therefore included some of these specific discussions, although they bear more directly on political than on moral philosophy. The reader will see in some of these selections that while writing at length of rights and laws, Grotius also referred occasionally to love as an important part of our relations with one another. If he did not elaborate a complete theory of the relations between law and love, he did include enough about it to lead his successors to say more. The following selections are taken from On the Law of War and Peace, trans. Francis W. Kelsey (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1925). On the Law of War and Peace PROLE GOMENA

1. The Municipal law of Rome and of other states has been treated by many, who have undertaken to elucidate it by means of commentaries or to reduce it to a convenient digest. That body of law, however, which is concerned with the mutual relations among states or rulers of states, whether derived from nature, or established by divine ordinances, or having its origin in custom and tacit agreement, few have touched upon. Up to the present time no one has treated it in a comprehensive and systematic manner; yet the welfare of mankind demands that this task be accomplished. 5. Since our discussion concerning law will have been undertaken in vain if there is no law, in order to open the way for a favourable reception of our work and at the same time to fortify it against attacks, this very serious error must be briefly refuted. In order that we may not be obliged to deal with a crowd of opponents, let us assign to them a pleader. And whom should we choose in preference to Carneades?' For he had attained to so perfect a mastery of the peculiar tenet of his Academy that he was able to devote the power of his eloquence to the service of falsehood not less readily than to that of truth. Carneades, then, having undertaken to hold a brief against justice, in particular against the phase of justice with which we are concerned, was able to muster no argument stronger than this, that for reasons of expediency, men imposed upon themselves laws, which vary according to customs, and among the same peoples often undergo changes as times change; moreover that there is no law of nature, because all creatures, men as well as animals, are impelled by nature towards ends advantageous to themselves; that, consequently, there is no justice, or, if such there be; it is supreme folly, since one does violence to his own interests if he consults the advantage of others. 6. What the philosopher here says . . . must not for one moment be admitted. Man is, to be sure, an animal, but an animal of a superior kind, much farther removed from all other animals than the different kinds of animals are

On the Law of War and Peace

91

from one another; evidence on this point may be found in the many traits peculiar to the human species. But among the traits characteristic of man is an impelling desire for society, that is, for the social life — not of any and every sort, but peaceful, and organized according to the measure of his intelligence, with those who are of his own kind; this social trend the Stoics called "sociableness." Stated as a universal truth, therefore the assertion that every animal is impelled by nature to seek only its own good cannot be conceded. 7. Some of the other animals, in fact, do in a way restrain the appetency for that which is good for themselves alone, to the advantage, now of their offspring, now of other animals of the same species. This aspect of their behaviour has its origin, we believe, in some extrinsic intelligent principle, because with regard to other actions, which involve no more difficulty than those referred to, a like degree of intelligence is not manifest in them. The same thing must be said of children. In children, even before their training has begun, some disposition to do good to others appears . . . ; thus sympathy for others comes out spontaneously at that age. The mature man in fact has knowledge which prompts him to similar actions under similar conditions, together with an impelling desire for society, for the gratification of which he alone among animals possesses a special instrument, speech. He has also been endowed with the faculty of knowing and of acting in accordance with general principles. Whatever accords with that faculty is not common to all animals, but peculiar to the nature of man. 8. This maintenance of the social order, which we have roughly sketched, and which is consonant with human intelligence, is the source of law properly so called. To this sphere of law belong the abstaining from that which is another's, the restoration to another of anything of his which we may have, together with any gain which we may have received from it; the obligation to fulfil promises, the making good of a loss incurred through our fault, and the inflicting of penalties upon men according to their deserts. 9. From this signification of the word law there has flowed another and more extended meaning. Since over other animals man has the advantage of possessing not only a strong bent towards social life, of which we have spoken, but also a power of discrimination which enables him to decide what things are agreeable or harmful (as to both things present and things to come), and what can lead to either alternative: in such things it is meet for the nature of man, within the limitations of human intelligence, to follow the direction of a well-tempered judgement, being neither led astray by fear or the allurement of immediate pleasure, nor carried away by rash impulse. Whatever is clearly at variance with such judgement is understood to be contrary also to the law of nature, that is, to the nature of man. 10. To this exercise of judgement belongs moreover the rational allotment to each man, or to each social group, of those things which are properly theirs, in such a way as to give the preference now to him who is more wise over the less wise, now to a kinsman rather than to a stranger, now to a poor man rather than to a man of means, as the conduct of each or the nature of the thing suggests.

92

Hugo Grotius

Long ago the view came to be held by many, that this discriminating allotment is a part of law, properly and strictly so called; nevertheless law, properly defined, has a far different nature, because its essence lies in leaving to another that which belongs to him or in fulfilling our obligations to him. 11. What we have been saying would have a degree of validity even if we should concede that which cannot be conceded without the utmost wickedness, that there is no God, or that the affairs of men are of no concern to Him. 2 The very opposite of this view has been implanted in us partly by reason, partly by unbroken tradition, and confirmed by many proofs as well as by miracles attested by all ages. Hence it follows that we must without exception render obedience to God as our Creator, to Whom we owe all that we are and have; especially since in manifold ways, He has shown Himself supremely good and supremely powerful, so that to those who obey Him He is able to give supremely great rewards, even rewards that are eternal, since He Himself is eternal. We ought, moreover, to believe that He was willed to give rewards, and all the more should we cherish such a belief if He has so promised in plain words; that He has done this, we Christians believe, convinced by the indubitable assurance of testimonies. 12. Herein, then, is another source of law besides the source in nature, that is, the free will of God, to which beyond all cavil our reason tells us we must render obedience. But the law of nature of which we have spoken, comprising alike that which relates to the social life of man and that which is so called in a larger sense, proceeding as it does from the essential traits implanted in man, can nevertheless rightly be attributed to God, because of His having willed that such traits exist in us. 13. There is an additional consideration in that, by means of the laws which He has given, God has made those fundamental traits more manifest, even to those who possess feebler reasoning powers; and He has forbidden us to yield to impulses drawing us in opposite directions — affecting now our own interest, now the interest of others — in an effort to control more effectively our more violent impulses and to restrain them within proper limits. 15. Again, since it is a rule of the law of nature to abide by pacts (for it was necessary that among men there be some method of obligating themselves one to another, and no other natural method can be imagined), out of this source the bodies of municipal law have arisen. For those who had associated themselves with some group, or had subjected themselves to a man or to men, had either expressly promised, or from the nature of the transaction must be understood impliedly to have promised, that they would conform to that which should have been determined, in the one case by the majority, in the other by those upon whom authority had been conferred. 16. What is said, therefore, in accordance with the view not only of Carneades but also of others, that Expediency is, as it were, the mother Of what is just and fair,3

On the Law of War and Peace

93

is not true, if we wish to speak accurately. For the very nature of man, which even if we had no lack of anything would lead us into the mutual relations of society, is the mother of the law of nature. But the mother of municipal law is that obligation which arises from mutual consent; and since this obligation derives its force from the law of nature, nature may be considered, so to say, the great-grandmother of municipal law. The law of nature nevertheless has the reinforcement of expediency; for the Author of nature willed that as individuals we should be weak, and should lack many things needed in order to live properly, to the end that we might be the more constrained to cultivate the social life. But expediency afforded an opportunity also for municipal law, since that kind of association of which we have spoken, and subjection to authority, have their roots in expediency. From this it follows that those who prescribe laws for others in so doing are accustomed to have, or ought to have, some advantage in view. 18. Wrongly, moreover, does Carneades ridicule justice as folly. For since, by his own admission, the national who in his own country obeys its laws is not foolish, even though, out of regard for that law, he may be obliged to forgo certain advantages for himself, so that nation is not foolish which does not press its own advantage to the point of disregarding the laws common to nations. The reason in either case is the same. For just as the national, who violates the law of his country in order to obtain an immediate advantage,* breaks down that by which the advantages of himself and his posterity are for all future time assured, so the state which transgresses the laws of nature and of nations cuts away also the bulwarks which safeguard its own future peace. Even if no advantage were to be contemplated from the keeping of the law, it would be a mark of wisdom, not of folly, to allow ourselves to be drawn towards that to which we feel that our nature leads. 19. Wherefore, in general, it is by no means true that

You must confess that laws were framed From fear of the unjust, 4 a thought which in Plato some one explains thus, that laws were invented from fear of receiving injury, and that men are constrained by a kind of force to cultivate justice. For that relates only to the institutions and laws which have been devised to facilitate the enforcement of right; as when many persons in themselves weak, in order that they might not be overwhelmed by the more powerful, leagued themselves together to establish tribunals and by combined force to maintain these, that as a united whole they might prevail against those with whom as individuals they could not cope. And in this sense we may readily admit also the truth of the saying that right is that which is acceptable to the stronger; so that we may understand that law fails of its outward effect unless it has a sanction behind it. . . . 20. Nevertheless law, even though without a sanction, is not entirely void of * . . . Marcus Aurelius . . . says: "What is advantageous to the swarm is advantageous to the bee."

94

Hugo Grotius

effect. For justice brings peace of conscience, while injustice causes torments and anguish, such as Plato describes, in the breast of tyrants. Justice is approved, and injustice condemned, by the common agreement of good men. But, most important of all, in God injustice finds an enemy, justice a protector. He reserves His judgements for the life after this, yet in such a way that He often causes their effects to become manifest even in this life, as history teaches by numerous examples. 25. Least of all should that be admitted which some people imagine, that in war all laws are in abeyance. On the contrary war ought not to be undertaken except for the enforcement of rights; when once undertaken, it should be carried on only within the bounds of law and good faith. . . . 39. . . . I have made it my concern to refer the proofs of things touching the law of nature to certain fundamental conceptions which are beyond question, so that no one can deny them without doing violence to himself. For the principles of that law, if only you pay strict heed to them, are in themselves manifest and clear, almost as evident as are those things which we perceive by the external senses; and the senses do not err if the organs of perception are properly formed and if the other conditions requisite to perception are present. . . . 40. In order to prove the existence of this law of nature, I have furthermore, availed myself of the testimony of philosophers, historians, poets, finally also of orators. Not that confidence is to be reposed in them without discrimination; for they were accustomed to serve the interests of their sect, their subject, or their cause. But when many at different times, and in different places, affirm the same thing as certain, that ought to be referred to a universal cause; and this cause, in the lines of inquiry which we are following, must be either a correct conclusion drawn from the principles of nature, or common consent. The former points to the law of nature; the latter, to the law of nations. The distinction between these kinds of law is not to be drawn from the testimonies themselves (for writers everywhere confuse the terms law of nature and law of nations), but from the character of the matter. For whatever cannot be deduced from certain principles by a sure process of reasoning, and yet is clearly observed everywhere, must have its origin in the free will of man. 43. . . . it seems to me that not without reason some of the Platonists and early Christians departed from the teachings of Aristotle in this, that he considered the very nature of virtue as a mean in passions and actions. 5 That principle, once adopted, led him to unite distinct virtues, as generosity and frugality, into one; to assign to truth extremes between which, on any fair premiss, there is no possible co-ordination, boastfulness, and dissimulation; and to apply the designation of vice to certain things which either do not exist, or are not in themselves vices, such as contempt for pleasure and for honours, and freedom from anger against men. 44. That this basic principle, when broadly stated, is unsound, becomes clear even from the case of justice. For, being unable to find in passions and acts resulting therefrom the too much and the too little opposed to that virtue,

On the Law of War and Peace

95

Aristotle sought each extreme in the things themselves with which justice is concerned. 6 Now in the first place this is simply to leap from one class of things over into another class, a fault which he rightly censures in others; then, for a person to accept less than belongs to him may in fact under unusual conditions constitute a fault, in view of that which, according to the circumstances, he owes to himself and to those dependent on him; but in any case the act cannot be a variance with justice, the essence of which lies in abstaining from that which belongs to another. By equally faulty reasoning Aristotle tries to make out that adultery committed in a burst of passion, or a murder due to anger, is not properly an injustice. Whereas nevertheless injustice has no other essential quality than the unlawful seizure of that which belongs to another; and it does not matter whether injustice arises from avarice, from lust, from anger, or from illadvised compassion; or from an overmastering desire to achieve eminence, out of which instances of the gravest injustice constantly arise. For to disparage such incitements, with the sole purpose in view that human society may not receive injury, is in truth the concern of justice. 45. To return to the point whence I started, the truth is that some virtues do tend to keep passions under control; but that is not because such control is a proper and essential characteristic of every virtue. Rather it is because right reason, which virtue everywhere follows, in some things prescribes the pursuing of a middle course, in others stimulates to the utmost degree. We cannot, for example, worship God too much; for superstition errs not by worshipping God too much, but by worshipping in a perverse way. Neither can we too much seek after the blessings that shall abide for ever, nor fear too much the everlasting evils, nor have too great hatred for sin. . . . 48. I frequently appeal to the authority of the books which men inspired by God have either written or approved, nevertheless with a distinction between the Old Testament and the New. There are some who urge that the Old Testament sets forth the law of nature. Without doubt they are in error, for many of its rules come from the free will of God. And yet this is never in conflict with the true law of nature; and up to this point the Old Testament can be used as a source of the law of nature, provided we carefully distinguish between the law of God, which God sometimes executes through men, and the law of men in their relations with one another. This error we have, so far as possible, avoided, and also another opposed to it, which supposes that after the coming of the New Testament the Old Testament in this respect was no longer of use. We believe the contrary, partly for the reasons which we have already given, partly because the character of the New Testament is such that in its teachings respecting the moral virtues it enjoins the same as the Old Testament or even enjoins greater precepts. In this way we see that the early Christian writers used the witnesses of the Old Testament. . . . 50. The New Testament I use in order to explain — and this cannot be learned from any other source — what is permissible to Christians. This,

96

Hugo Grotius

however — contrary to the practice of most men — I have distinguished from the law of nature, considering it as certain that in that most holy law a greater degree of moral perfection is enjoined upon us than the law of nature, alone and by itself, would require. And nevertheless I have not omitted to note the things that are recommended to us rather than enjoined, that we may know that, while the turning aside from what has been enjoined is wrong and involves the risk of punishment, a striving for the highest excellence implies a noble purpose and will not fail of its reward. . . . 58. If any one thinks that I have had in view any controversies of our own times, either those that have arisen or those which can be foreseen as likely to arise, he will do me an injustice. With all truthfulness I aver that, just as mathematicians treat their figures as abstracted from bodies, so in treating law I have withdrawn my mind from every particular fact. BOOK I Chapter I: What Is War? What Is Law? I. Scope of the treatise

Controversies among those who are not held together by a common bond of municipal law are related either to time of war or to times of peace. Such controversies may arise among those who have not yet united to form a nation, and those who belong to different nations, both private persons and kings; also those who have the same body of rights that kings have, whether members of a ruling aristocracy, or free peoples. War, however, is undertaken in order to secure peace, and there is no controversy which may not give rise to war. In undertaking to treat the law of war, therefore, it will be in order to treat such controversies, of any and every kind, as are likely to arise. War itself will finally conduct us to peace as its ultimate goal. III. Law is considered as a rule of action .. .

1. In giving to our treatise the title "The Law of War," we mean first of all, as already stated, to inquire whether any war can be just, and then, what is just in war. For law in our use of the term here means nothing else than what is just, and that, too, rather in a negative than in an affirmative sense, that being lawful which is not unjust. Now that is unjust which is in conflict with the nature of society of beings endowed with reason. . . . IV. A body of rights in respect to quality is divided into faculties and aptitudes

There is another meaning of law viewed as a body of rights, different from the one just defined but growing out of it, which has reference to the person.

On the Law of War and Peace

97

In this sense a right becomes a moral quality of a person, making it possible to have or to do something lawfully. Such a right attaches to a person, even if sometimes it may follow a thing, as in the case of servitudes over lands, which are called real rights, in contrast with other rights purely personal; not because such rights do not also attach to a person, but because they do not attach to any other person than the one who is entitled to a certain thing. When the moral quality is perfect' we call it facultas, "faculty"; when it is not perfect, aptitudo, "aptitude." To the former, in the range of natural things, "act" corresponds; to the latter, "potency."

V Faculties, or legal rights strictly so called, are divided into powers, property rights, and contractual rights A legal right (facultas) is called by the jurists the right to one's own (suum); after this we shall call it a legal right properly or strictly so called. Under it are included power, now over oneself, which is called freedom, now over other, as that of the father (patria potestas) and that of the master over slaves; ownership, either absolute, or less than absolute, as usufruct' and the right of pledge; and contractual rights, to which on the opposite side contractual obligations correspond. VIII. On expletive justice and attributive justice .. . 1. Legal rights are the concern of expletive justice (iustitia expletrix), which is entitled to the name of justice properly or strictly so called. This is called "contractual" justice by Aristotle, with too narrow a use of the term; for though the possessor of something belonging to me may give it back to me, that does not result "from a contract," and nevertheless the act falls within the purview of this type of justice; and so the same philosopher has more aptly termed it "restorative" justice. Aptitudes are the concern of attributive justice (iustitia attributrix). This Aristotle called "distributive" justice. It is associated with those virtues which have as their purpose to do good to others, as generosity, compassion, and foresight in matters of government. . . . IX. Law is defined as a rule, and divided into the law of nature and volitional law 1. There is a third meaning of the word law, which has the same force as statute whenever this work is taken in the broadest sense as a rule of moral actions imposing obligation to what is right. We have need of an obligation; for counsels and instructions of every sort, which enjoin what is honourable indeed but do not impose an obligation, do not come under the term statute or law. Permission, again, is not, strictly speaking, an operation of law, but a negation of operation, except in so far as it obligates another not to put any hindrance in the way of him to whom permission is given. We said, moreover, "imposing obligation to what is right," not merely to what is lawful, because

98

Hugo Grotius

law in our use of the term here stands related to the matter not only of justice, as we have set it forth, but also of other virtues. Nevertheless that which, in accordance with this law, is right, in a broader sense is called just. 2. The best division of law thus conceived is found in Aristotle, that is, into natural law and volitional law, to which he applies the term statutory, with a rather strict use of the word statute; sometimes he calls it established law. . . .

X. Definition of the law of nature, division, and distinction from things which are not properly so called 1. The law of nature is a dictate of right reason, which points out that an act, according as it is or is not in conformity with rational nature, has in it a quality of moral baseness or moral necessity; and that in consequence, such an act is either forbidden or enjoined by the author of nature, God. 2. The acts in regard to which such a dictate exists are, in themselves, either obligatory or not permissible, and so it is understood that necessarily they are enjoined or forbidden by God. In this characteristic the law of nature differs not only from human law, but also from volitional divine law; for volitional divine law does not enjoin or forbid those things which in themselves and by their own nature are obligatory or not permissible, but by forbidding things it makes them unlawful, and by commanding things it makes them obligatory. 3. For the understanding of the law of nature, again, we must note that certain things are said to be according to this law not in a proper sense but — as the Schoolmen love to say — by reduction, the law of nature not being in conflict with them; just as we said above that things are called just which are free from injustice. Sometimes, also, by misuse of the term, things which reason declares are honourable, or better than their opposites, are said to be according to the law of nature, although not obligatory. 4. It is necessary to understand, further, that the law of nature deals not only with things which are outside the domain of the human will, but with many things also which result from an act of the human will. Thus ownership, such as now obtains, was introduced by the will of man; but, once introduced, the law of nature points out that it is wrong for me, against your will, to take away that which is subject to your ownership. . . . 5. The law of nature, again, is unchangeable — even in the sense that it cannot be changed by God. Measureless as is the power of God, nevertheless it can be said that there are certain things over which that power does not extend; for things of which this is said are spoken only, having no sense corresponding with reality and being mutually contradictory. Just as even God, then, cannot cause that two times two should not make four, so he cannot cause that that which is intrinsically evil be not evil. XI. That the instinct common to other animals, or that peculiar to man, does not constitute another kind of law 1. The distinction, which appears in the books of Roman law, between an unchangeable law common to animals and man, which the Roman legal writ-

On the Law of War and Peace

99

ers9 call the law of nature in a more restricted sense, and a law peculiar to man, which they frequently call the law of nations, is of hardly any value. For, strictly speaking, only a being that applies general principles is capable of law. . . . XIL In what way the existence of the law of nature is proved 1. In two ways men are wont to prove that something is according to the law of nature, from that which is antecedent and from that which is consequent. Of the two lines of proof the former is more subtle, the latter more familiar. Proof a priori consists in demonstrating the necessary agreement or disagreement of anything with a rational and social nature; proof a posteriori, in concluding, if not with absolute assurance, at least with every probability, that that is according to the law of nature which is believed to be such among all nations, or among all those that are more advanced in civilization. For an effect that is universal demands a universal cause; and the cause of such an opinion can hardly be anything else than the feeling which is called the common sense of mankind. Chapter II: Whether It Is Ever Lawful to Wage War I. That war is not in conflict with the law of nature is proved by several considerations 1. Having seen what the sources of law are, let us come to the first and most general question, which is this: whether any war is lawful, or whether it is ever permissible to wage war. This question, as also the others which will follow, must first be taken up from the point of view of the law of nature. Marcus Tullius Cicero, both in the third book of his treatise On Ends' and in other places, following Stoic writings learnedly argues that there are certain first principles of nature — "first according to nature," as the Greeks phrased it — and certain other principles which are later manifest but which are to have the preference over those first principles. He calls first principles of nature those in accordance with which every animal from the moment of its birth has regard for itself and is impelled to preserve itself, to have zealous consideration for its own condition and for those things which tend to preserve it, and also shrinks from destruction and things which appear likely to cause destruction. Hence also it happens, he says, that there is no one who, if the choice were presented to him, would not prefer to have all the parts of his body in proper order and whole rather than dwarfed or deformed; and that it is one's first duty to keep oneself in the condition which nature gave to him, then to reject those things that are contrary thereto. 2. But after these things have received due consideration [Cicero continues], there follows a notion of the conformity of things with reason, which is superior to the body. Now this conformity, in which moral goodness becomes the paramount object, ought to be accounted of higher import than the

100

Hugo Grotius

things to which alone instinct first directed itself, because the first principles of nature commend us to right reason, and right reason ought to be more dear to us than those things through whose instrumentality we have been brought to it. Since this is true and without other demonstration would easily receive the assent of all who are endowed with sound judgement, it follows that in investigating the law of nature it is necessary first to see what is consistent with those fundamental principles of nature, and then to come to that which, though of later origin, is nevertheless more worthy — that which ought not only to be grasped, if it appear, but to be sought out by every effort. . . . 4. In the first principles of nature there is nothing which is opposed to war; rather, all points are in its favour. The end and aim of war being the preservation of life and limb, and the keeping or acquiring of things useful to life, war is in perfect accord with those first principles of nature. If in order to achieve these ends it is necessary to use force, no inconsistency with the first principles of nature is involved, since nature has given to each animal strength sufficient for self-defence and self-assistance. 5. Right reason, moreover, and the nature of society, which must be studied in the second place and are of even greater importance, do not prohibit all use of force, but only that use of force which is in conflict with society, that is which attempts to take away the rights of another. For society has in view this object, that through community of resource and effort each individual be safeguarded in the possession of what belongs to him. 6. It is not, then, contrary to the nature of society to look out for oneself and advance one's own interests, provided the rights of others are not infringed; and consequently the use of force which does not violate the rights of others is not unjust. . . . VI. Preliminary considerations bearing upon the question whether war is in conflict with the law of the Gospel

9. The third argument" is wont to be taken from the passage which follows in Matthew [v. 43]: "Ye have heard that it was said, Thou shalt love thy neighbour and hate thine enemy; but I say unto you, love your enemies, bless them that curse you, pray for them that despitefully use you and persecute you." For there are men who think that with such love and well-doing towards enemies and them that despitefully use us, both capital punishment and wars are irreconcilable. The argument, however, is easily refuted if we take into consideration the precise provision of the Hebraic law. It was enjoined upon the Jews to love their neighbour, that is a Jew; . . . But magistrates were none the less commanded to put to death murderers and others guilty of heinous crimes; the eleven tribes none the less attacked the tribe of Benjamin in a just war on account of a monstrous crime (Judg., v. 21); none the less did David, who "fought the battles of the Lord," undertake to wrest from Ishbosheth by arms, and rightly, the kingdom which had been promised to him.

On the Law of War and Peace

101

10. Let us concede, then, a broader signification of the word "neighbour," to include all men — for all men have now been received into a common dispensation, there are no peoples doomed by God to destruction — nevertheless that will be permitted with respect to all men which was then permitted with respect to the Israelites; they were bidden to love one another, just as now all men are. And if you wish to believe also that a greater degree of love is commanded in the law of the Gospel, let this too be granted, provided also the fact is recognized that love is not due to all in the same degree, but that a greater love is due to a father than to a stranger. In like manner also, in accordance with the law of a well-ordered love, the good of an innocent person should receive consideration before the good of one who is guilty, and the public good before that of the individual. Now it is in the love of innocent men that both capital punishment and just wars have their origin. . . . The teachings of Christ in regard to loving and helping men ought, therefore, to be carried into effect unless a greater and more just love stand in the way. Chapter III: On the Distinction Between Public and Private War VII. What sovereignty is 1. That power is called sovereign whose actions are not subject to the legal control of another, so that they cannot be rendered void by the operation of another human will. When I say "of another," I exclude from consideration him who exercises the sovereign power, who has the right to change his determinations; I exclude also his successor, who enjoys the same right, and therefore has the same power, not a different power. Let us, then, see who is the subject of sovereignty. The subject of a power is either common or special. Just as the body is a common, the eye a special subject of the power of sight, so the state, which we have defined above as a perfect 12 association, is the common subject of sovereignty. . . . VIII. The opinion that sovereignty always resides in the people is rejected, and arguments are answered 1. At this point first of all the opinion of those must be rejected who hold that everywhere and without exception sovereignty resides in the people, so that it is permissible for the people to restrain and punish kings whenever they make a bad use of their power. How many evils this opinion has given rise to, and can even now give rise to if it sinks deep into men's minds, no wise person fails to see. We refute it by means of the following arguments. To every man it is permitted to enslave himself to any one he pleases for private ownership, as is evident both from the Hebraic and from the Roman Law. 13 Why, then, would it not be permitted to a people having legal competence to submit itself to some one person, or to several persons, in such a way

102

Hugo Grotius

as plainly to transfer to him the legal right to govern, retaining no vestige of that right for itself? And you should not say that such a presumption is not admissible; for we are not trying to ascertain what the presumption should be in case of doubt, but what can legally be done. It is idle, too, to bring up the inconveniences which result, or may result, from such a procedure; for no matter what form of government you may devise, you will never be free from difficulties and dangers. . . . 2. Just as, in fact, there are many ways of living, one being better than another, and out of so many ways of living each is free to select that which he prefers, so also a people can select the form of government which it wishes; and the extent of its legal right in the matter is not to be measured by the superior excellence of this or that form of government, in regard to which different men hold different views, but by its free choice. 3. In truth it is possible to find not a few causes which may impel a people wholly to renounce the right to govern itself and to vest this in another, as, for example, if a people threatened with destruction cannot induce anyone to defend it on any other condition; again, if a people pinched by want can in no other way obtain the supplies needed to sustain life. . . . Chapter IV: War of Subjects Against Superiors I. State of the question

2. The question to be considered here is simply this, whether it is permissible for either private or official persons to wage war against those under whose authority they are, whether this authority be sovereign or subordinate. . . . 3. Among all good men one principle at any rate is established beyond controversy, that if the authorities issue any order that is contrary to the law of nature or to the commandments of God, the order should not be carried out. For when the Apostles said that obedience should be rendered to God rather than men, they appealed to an infallible rule of action, which is written in the hearts of all men, and which you may find in Plate expressed in about as many words. But if from any such cause, or under other conditions as a result of caprice on the part of him who holds the sovereign power, unjust treatment be inflicted on us, we ought to endure it rather than resist by force. . . . VII. What view is to be taken in case of extreme and in other respects unavoidable necessity

1. More serious is the question whether the law of nonresistance should bind us in case of extreme and imminent peril. Even some laws of God, although stated in general terms, carry a tacit exception in case of extreme necessity. . . . 2. I do not deny that even according to human law certain acts of a moral nature can be ordered which expose one to a sure danger of death; an example is the order not to leave one's post. We are not, however, rashly to assume

On the Law of War and Peace

103

that such was the purpose of him who laid down the law; and it is apparent that men would not have received so drastic a law applying to themselves and others except as constrained by extreme necessity. For laws are formulated by men and ought to be formulated with an appreciation of human frailty. Now this law which we are discussing — the law of nonresistance — seems to draw its validity from the will of those who associate themselves together in the first place to form a civil society; from the same source, furthermore, derives the right which passes into the hands of those who govern. If these men could be asked whether they purposed to impose upon all persons the obligation to prefer death rather than under any circumstances to take up arms in order to ward off the violence of those having superior authority, I do not know whether they would answer in the affirmative, unless, perhaps, with this qualification, in case resistance could not be made without a very great disturbance in the state, and without the destruction of a great many innocent people. I do not doubt that to human law also there can be applied what love under such circumstances would commend. . . . BOOK II

Chapter I: The Causes of War — First, Defence of Self and Property I. What causes of war may be called justifiable 1. Let us proceed to the causes of war — I mean justifiable causes; for there are also other causes which influence men through regard for what is expedient and differ from those that influence men through regard for what is right. . . . IX. Defence is sometimes not permissible against a person useful to the state because at variance with the law of love 1. On the other hand, it may happen that, since the life of the assailant is useful to many, he cannot be killed without wrong. And this is true, not only according to divine law, whether of the old or the new dispensation — this we treated above, when we showed that the person of a king is sacred — but also by the law of nature. For the law of nature, in so far as it has the force of a law, holds in view not only the dictates of expletive justice, as we have called it, but also actions exemplifying other virtues, such as self-mastery, bravery, and prudence, as under certain circumstances not merely honourable, but even obligatory. And to such actions we are constrained by regard for others. Chapter II: Of Things Which Belong to Men in Common I. The division of that which is our own Next in order among the causes of war 15 is an injury actually received; and first, an injury to that which belongs to us. Some things belong to us by a right common to mankind, others by our individual right.

104

Hugo Grotius

Let us begin with the right which is common to all men. This right holds good directly over a corporeal thing, or over certain actions. Corporeal things free from private ownership are either such as cannot become subject to private ownership, or such as can. In order to understand the distinction fully, it will be necessary to know the origin of proprietorship, which jurists call the right of ownership. II. The origin and development of the right of private ownership

1. Soon after the creation of the world, and a second time after the Flood, God conferred upon the human race a general right over things of a lower nature.'6 "All things," as Justin says, "were the common and undivided possession of all men, as if all possessed a common inheritance."" In consequence, each man could at once take whatever he wished for his own needs, and could consume whatever was capable of being consumed. The enjoyment of this universal right then served the purpose of private ownership; for whatever each had thus taken for his own needs another could not take from him except by an unjust act. This can be understood from the comparison used by Cicero in his third book On Ends.' "Although the theatre is a public place, yet it is correct to say that the seat which a man has taken belongs to him." This primitive state might have lasted if men had continued in great simplicity, or had lived on terms of mutual affection such as rarely appears. . . . 2. Men did not, however, continue to live this simple and innocent life, but turned their thoughts to various kinds of knowledge, the symbol for which was the tree of knowledge of good and evil, that is a knowledge of the things of which it is possible to make at times a good use, at times a bad use. . . . The most ancient arts, agriculture and grazing, were pursued by the first brothers, not without some interchange of commodities. From the difference in pursuits arose rivalry, and even murder; and at length, since the good were corrupted by contact with the wicked, there came the kind of life ascribed to the giants, that is given over to violence, like the life of those whom the Greeks characterized as "men that cultivate justice with the fist." After the world had been cleansed by the Deluge, that brutish life was succeeded by a passion for pleasure, to which wine ministered; whence came also unlawful loves. 3. Harmony, however, was destroyed chiefly by a less ignoble vice, ambition, of which the symbol was the tower of Babel. 4. From these sources we learn what was the cause on account of which the primitive common ownership, first of movable objects, later also of immovable property, was abandoned. The reason was that men were not content to feed on the spontaneous products of the earth, to dwell in caves, to have the body either naked or clothed with the bark of trees or skins of wild animals, but chose a more refined mode of life; this gave rise to industry, which some applied to one thing, others to another. Moreover, the gathering of the products of the soil into a common store was hindered first by the remoteness of the places to which men had made their

On the Law of War and Peace

105

way, then by the lack of justice and kindness; in consequence of such a lack the proper fairness in making division was not observed, either in respect to labour or in the consumption of the fruits. 5. At the same time we learn how things became subject to private ownership. This happened not by a mere act of will, for one could not know what things another wished to have, in order to abstain from them — and besides several might desire the same thing — but rather by a kind of agreement, either expressed, as by a division, or implied, as by occupation. In fact, as soon as community ownership was abandoned, and as yet no division had been made, it is to be supposed that all agreed, that whatever each one had taken possession of should be his property. . . . VI. That in case of necessity men have the right to use things which have become the property of another, and whence this right comes 1. Now let us see whether men in general possess any right over things which have already become the property of another. Some perchance may think it strange that this question should be raised, since the right of private ownership seems completely to have absorbed the right which had its origin in a state of community of property. Such, however, is not the case. We must, in fact, consider what the intention was of those who first introduced individual ownership; and we are forced to believe that it was their intention to depart as little as possible from natural equity. For as in this sense even written laws are to be interpreted, much more should such a point of view prevail in the interpretation of usages which are not held to exact statement by the limitations of a written form. 2. Hence it follows, first, that in direst need the primitive right of user revives, as if community of ownership had remained, since in respect to all human laws — the law of ownership included — supreme necessity seems to have been excepted. 3. Hence it follows, again, that on a voyage, if provisions fail, whatever each person has ought to be contributed to the common stock. Thus, again, if fire has broken out, in order to protect a building belonging to me I can destroy a building of my neighbour. I can, furthermore, cut the ropes or nets in which my ship has been caught, if it cannot otherwise be freed. None of these rules was introduced by the civil law, but they have all come into existence through interpretations of it. 4. Even among the theologians the principle has been accepted that, if a man under stress of such necessity takes from the property of another what is necessary to preserve his own life, he does not commit a theft. The reason which lies back of this principle is not, as some allege, that the owner of a thing is bound by the rule of love to give to him who lacks; it is, rather, that all things seem to have been distributed to individual owners with the benign reservation in favour of the primitive right. For if those who made the original distribution had been asked what they thought about this matter they would have given the same answer that we do. . . .

106

Hugo Grotius Chapter XII: On Contracts

VII. What acts are called contracts

Now all acts of benefits to others, except mere acts of kindness, are called contracts. VIII. That equality is required in contracts; and first, equality as regards preceding acts

The law of nature enjoins that there be equality in contracts, and in such a way that the party who receives less acquires a right of action from the inequality. IX. That equality is required in contracts as regards knowledge of the facts

1. To the preceding acts the consideration pertains that the person who is making a contract with any one ought to point out to him the faults of the thing concerned in the transaction which are known to himself. This is not only prevailingly established by the civil laws but is also consistent with the nature of the act. For between the contracting parties there is a closer union than ordinarily obtains in human society. 2. The same thing, however, should not be said in regard to circumstances which have no direct connexion with the thing contracted for; as if any one should know that many ships were in route bringing grain. The giving of such information is, in fact, a part of one's duty, and praiseworthy, so that often it cannot be omitted without violating the rule of love. Yet such omission is not unjust, that is, it is not inconsistent with the right of the one with whom the contract is made. ° X. That equality is required in contracts as regards freedom of choice

Not only in the knowledge of facts but also in the freedom of choice there ought to be a kind of equality between the contracting parties. Not indeed that any preceding fear, if justly inspired, ought to be removed, for that is outside of the contract; but that no fear should be unjustly inspired for the sake of making the contract, or, if such fear has been inspired, that it should be removed. Chapter XX: On Punishments XLI. The law of nature must be distinguished from widely current national customs

But at this point certain precautions need to be stated. First, national customs are not to be taken for the law of nature, although they have been received on reasonable grounds among many peoples.

On the Law of War and Peace

107

XLII. The law of nature must be distinguished also from the Divine law that is not voluntarily recognized by all Second, we should not hastily class with the things forbidden by nature those with regard to which this point is not sufficiently clear, and which are rather prohibited by the law of the Divine Will. In this class we may perhaps place unions not classed as marriages and those which are called incestuous, as well as usury. XLIII. In the law of nature we must distinguish between what is evident and what is not evident ' 1. Third, we should carefully distinguish between general principles, as, for example, that one must live honourably, that is according to reason, and certain principles akin to these, but so evident that they do not admit of doubt, as that one must not seize what belongs to another, and inferences; such inferences in some cases easily gain recognition, as that, for example, accepting marriage we cannot admit adultery, but in other cases are not so easily accepted, as the inference that vengeance which is satisfied with the pain of another is wicked. Here we have almost the same thing as in mathematics, where there are certain primary notions, or notions akin to those that are primary, certain proofs which are at once recognized and admitted, and certain others which are true indeed but not evident to all. 2. Therefore, just as in the case of municipal laws we excuse those who lack knowledge or understanding of the laws, so also with regard to the laws of nature it is right to pardon those who are hampered by weakness of their powers of reasoning or deficient education. For as ignorance of the law, if it is unavoidable, cancels the sin, so also, when it is combined with a certain degree of negligence, it lessens the offence. Chapter XXIII: On Doubtful Causes of War I. On the source of the causes of doubt in moral questions What Aristotle wrote 2° is perfectly true, that certainty is not to be found in moral questions in the same degree as in mathematical science. This comes from the fact that mathematical science completely separates forms from substance, and that the forms themselves are generally such that between two of them there is no intermediate form, just as there is no mean between a straight and a curved line. In moral questions, on the contrary, even trifling circumstances alter the substance, and the forms, which are the subject of inquiry, are wont to have something intermediate, which is of such scope that it approaches now more closely to this, now to that extreme. Thus it comes about that between what should be done and what it is wrong to do there is a mean, that which is permissible; and this is now closer to the former, now to the latter. Hence there often comes a moment of doubt, just as

108

Hugo Grotius

when day passes into night, or when cold water slowly becomes warm. This is what Aristotle means when he says: "Oftentimes it is hard to decide what choice one should make." .. . II. Nothing is to be done contrary to the dictates of one's mind, however erroneous they may be

1. First of all we must hold to the principle that, even if something is in itself just, when it is done by one who, taking everything into consideration, considers it unjust, the act is vicious. This in fact is what the Apostle Paul meant by saying, "Whatsoever is not of faith, is sin," 21 where "faith" signifies the judgement of the mind on the matter. For God has given the power of judgement as a guide for human actions, and if this is treated with contempt the mind becomes brutish. 2. Nevertheless, it often happens that the judgement presents no certainty, but is undecided. If this indecision cannot be dissipated by careful consideration, we must follow the precept of Cicero: 22 "That is a good rule which they lay down who bid you not to do a thing when you are in doubt whether it is right or wrong." .. . This course, however, cannot be pursued where one really must do one of two things, and yet is in doubt whether either is right. In that case he will be allowed to choose that which appears to him to be less wrong. For always, when a choice cannot be avoided, the lesser evil assumes the aspect of the good. . . . Chapter XXV: On the Causes of Undertaking War on Behalf of Others III. Whether an innocent subject may be surrendered to an enemy, in order that danger may be avoided

1. Thus if one citizen, although innocent, is demanded by an enemy, to be made away with, there is no doubt that he may be abandoned to them if it appears that the state is by no means a match for the power of the enemy. This view is opposed by Fernando Vazquez; 23 but, if you consider his purpose rather than his words, he seems to be making this point, that such a citizen is not to be hastily abandoned, where there is hope that he may be defended. For he also cites the story of the Italian infantry who deserted Pompey when his cause was not yet clearly desperate, but when they had been assured of their safety by Caesar. This conduct he deservedly censures. 2. Still the learned do discuss the question whether an innocent citizen may be delivered into the hands of the enemy, in order to prevent the ruin otherwise threatening the state; and the same question was debated long ago, as when Demosthenes brought forward the notable fable of the dogs, which the wolves demanded should be surrendered to them by the sheep for the sake of peace. That such a surrender may be made is denied not merely by Vazquez but also by Soto, whose opinion is attacked by Vazquez as bordering on

Editor's Notes

109

treachery. Nevertheless, Soto holds that such a citizen is bound to surrender himself to the enemy; but this also is denied by Vazquez, on the ground that the nature of political society, which each enters for his own advantage, does not require it. 3. But from this nothing more follows than that a citizen is not bound to surrender himself by law properly so called; it does not follow also that love permits him to do otherwise. For there are many duties which are not in the domain of justice properly speaking, but in that of affection, which are not only discharged amid praise (this Vazquez does not recognize) but cannot even be omitted without blame. Such a duty seems quite clearly to be this, that a person should value the lives of a very large number of innocent persons above his own life. Editor's Notes

1. Carneades (c. 213-128 a.c.E.), head of the Platonic Academy, who developed skeptical arguments against the Epicureans and the Stoics. None of his writings has survived intact. Cicero's De republica contains some discussion of his views, in Book III.vff. Cicero's own work survives only in fragmentary form and does not contain much that came directly from Carneades. More fragments of Carneades' work were quoted in a treatise, the Divine Institutes, by the third-century Christian apologist Lactantius. Grotius could have known of Carneades from both these sources. The accuracy of Grotius's presentation of Carneades does not matter much, because his real concern, as I have indicated, was with contemporary skepticism. 2. The Latin etiamsi daremus, translated as "even if we should concede," is often taken as a shorthand way to identify this important statement. Denial that God is concerned about humans, or that he exercises providential care over his creation, was interpreted by many writers during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries as amounting to a denial that God exists. 3. Horace, Satires, I.iii.98. 4. Horace, Satires, I. iii.111. 5. Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics 11.6-11.9. 6. Aristotle treats justice in Nicomachean Ethics, V. 7. The Latin perfectus means "complete." A perfect right is a complete right, with all the attributes of a right, including enforceability at law. An imperfect right is less complete. Creditors have a perfect right to be paid what is owed them; beggars have an imperfect right to be given alms Grotius said little about this distinction, which nonetheless came to be of considerable significance to later writers. 8. A Roman legal term, meaning the right to enjoy the use of something such as land and what comes from using it, when it is owned by someone else. 9. The early codifier of Roman law, Ulpian, is said to have written a passage found near the opening of Justinian's Digest and the Institutes: "Natural law is that which nature has taught all animals. For it is not peculiar to the human race but belongs to all animals. From this law comes the union of male and female, which we call marriage, and the begetting and education of children. For we see that all other animals are likewise governed by a knowledge of this law." Quoted in Barry Nicholas, An Introduction to Roman Law (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1984), pp. 55-56. 10. Cicero, De finibus, III.v.17; vi.20.

110

Hugo Grotius

11. This is the third argument against the permissibility of war that is drawn from the gospel. 12. "Perfect" again in the sense of "complete": a state can be self-sufficient in a way that any lesser human association like the family or a club cannot be. 13. Grotius was referring to Exod. 21:6 and to various provisions of the Roman law. 14. In the Apology. 15. The first cause of war is preventing injury. 16. Gen. 1:29, 30. 17. Institutes XLIII [i.3]. 18. De finibus III.xx.67.

19. This is one of the places where Grotius expands on his distinction between perfect and imperfect rights and shows its use in making important distinctions for legal transactions. 20. Nicomachean Ethics 1.3. 21. Rom. 14:23. 22. De officiis I.ix.30. 23. Vazquez and de Soto, referred to a few lines later, were Catholic theologians of the sixteenth century. The case seems to have been widely discussed. Further Reading

Although the secondary literature on Grotius is large, there is little that is relevant to the bearing of his work on moral philosophy. Usually it is Grotius's legal and political doctrines that are discussed, and he is accordingly treated at greater or lesser length in all the standard histories of political thought. For older Catholic views of Grotius, the reader should consult Heinrich A. Rommen, The Natural Law, trans. Thomas R. Hanley (St. Louis: Herder, 1946), and Anton-Hermann Chroust, "Hugo Grotius and the Scholastic Natural Law Tradition," The New Scholasticism 17(2)(1943). More recently, M. B. Crowe challenged Grotius's originality in asserting the validity of law even if God does not exist, in The Changing Profile of Natural Law (The Hague: Nijhoff, 1972). Charles Edwards, Hugo Grotius (Chicago: Nelson-Hall, 1981), is a readable general study of Grotius's life and his work on natural and international law, although it is not always accurate on details. Knud Haakonssen, "Hugo Grotius and the History of Political Thought," Political Theory 13(2)(1985):239-65, is an excellent overview, helpful on some matters of philosophical importance. Richard Tuck, Natural Rights Theories (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1979), is a pioneering study of the origins of modern ideas of natural rights; Chapter 3, on Grotius, is indispensable. Tuck has also written three articles bearing on Grotius: "Grotius, Carneades, and Hobbes," in Grotiana, n.s. 4 (1983):43-62; "The 'Modern' Theory of Natural Law," in Anthony Pagden, ed., The Languages of Political Theory in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1987); and "Optics and Sceptics: The Philosophical Foundations of Hobbes' Political Thought," in Edmund Leites, ed., Conscience and Casuistry in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1988).

Thomas Hobbes

Introduction

The moral philosophy of Thomas Hobbes has been more frequently discussed in the past half century than has that of any other seventeenth-century thinker. There have been a number of different interpretations of what he meant both in general and on specific issues. And many philosophers have tried to show that his basic theory can be understood in a way that shows him to have been essentially right. Indeed, Hobbes transcends his age as few moral and political thinkers ever have. Hobbes was born in 1588 and died in 1679, a long life at any time and especially in the seventeenth century. He studied at Oxford for five years, becoming acquainted there with Aristotelian philosophy and with extreme Puritan opinions. His rejection of both of these colored much of his later thought. When he was twenty he became a tutor for the Cavendish family, with which he remained closely associated for the rest of his life. The connection enabled Hobbes to travel to the Continent and to meet many scientific and literary leaders of the period, including Bacon and Descartes. He spent much of his time giving himself a humanistic education — his first work was a translation of Thucydides into English — and he did not learn geometry until he was forty. Hobbes's fascination with the demonstrative powers of geometric proof lasted the rest of his life, and he was equally impressed by the physical laws that the new science was revealing to the world. Hobbes lived in extremely turbulent times. Protracted religious, political, and military struggles for the control of England took place while he was at the height of his powers, and he viewed his philosophy as a doctrine — as indeed the only doctrine — that could bring peace and stability back into his world. In 1640 he completed Elements of Law, which contained a sketch of his views but which he did not publish until 1650. His moral and political theory first appeared in De cive in 1642, and the fullest account of it came out in 1651, in Leviathan. Between 1640 and 1651 Hobbes lived in Paris; he returned thereafter to England, wrote new accounts of various parts of his system, engaged in sometimes-heated controversies over his views, and, toward the end of his life, translated Homer into English. Hobbes had some followers, but for the most part those who read him hated and feared his views. He came to rival Niccolo Machiavelli in the popular mind as an exponent of dangerous and immoral doctrines. His critics took it as obvious that he was an atheist and that as a materialist he denied the existence of the soul. He was universally held to teach that iftweiseriateastaal"in their voluntary actioils. Because he did not believe that people have free will, he was thought to deny 111

112

Thomas Hobbes

that we could be held accountable for our actions. Hobbes was generally considered an Epicurean, a proponent of the doctrine that pleasure alone is the good for man — and only the coarser pleasures at that. He taught, it was believed, that there are no universal standards of morality and that because only what the sovereign requires is obligatory, morality varies from country to country. In political matters, Hobbes was assumed to have provided justification for tyrannical or despotical rule. No doubt many of these doctrines are unappealing: the reader must decide whether or not Hobbes held them, or something close enough to them to warrant the condemnations to which he was subjected. Whether or not he did, it was because such views were attributed to him that he was the main object of criticism for generations of philosophers who succeeded him. Many of these criticisms were uninteresting, resting on gross misreadings of what Hobbes said or taking for granted much that he thought false or irrelevant. But the better critics — such as Hutcheson and Butler — were able not only to make telling objections to what they took him to expound but to do so in ways that advanced our philosophical understanding of human motivation and of morality. For the value of the opposition he generated as well as for the depth and originality of his own thought, Hobbes is an indispensable central figure in the history of ethics. The following selections are from the English translation of De cive published in 1651 under the title Philosophical Rudiments Concerning Government and Society. It is possible that this translation was written by Hobbes himself, although the evidence is not conclusive. I have taken the text from the nineteenth-century edition by Sir William Molesworth, who modernized to some extent the spelling and punctuation. Philosophical Rudiments Concerning Government and Society The Epistle Dedicatory . . . Now look, how many sorts of things there are, which properly fall within the cognizance of human reason; into so many branches does the tree of philosophy divide itself. And from the diversity of the matter about which they are conversant, there hath been given to those branches a diversity of names too. For treating of figures, it is called geometry; of motion, physic; of natural right, morals; put altogether, and they make up philosophy. Just as the British, the Atlantic, and the Indian seas, being diversely christened from the diversity of their shores, do notwithstanding all together make up the ocean. And truly the geometricians have very admirably performed their part. For whatsoever assistance doth accrue to the life of man, whether from the observation of the heavens or from the description of the earth, from the notation of times, or from the remotest experiments of navigation; finally, whatsoever things they are in which this present age doth differ from the rude simpleness of antiquity, we must acknowledge to be a debt which we owe merely to geometry. If the moral philosophers had as happily discharged their duty, I know not what could have been added by human industry to the completion of that happiness, which is consistent with human life. For were the nature of human actions as distinctly known as the nature of quantity in geometrical figures, the strength of avarice and ambition, which is sustained by the erroneous opinions of the vulgar as touching the nature of right and wrong, would presently faint and languish; and mankind should enjoy such an immortal

Philosophical Rudiments

113

peace, that unless it were for habitation, on supposition that the earth should grow too narrow for her inhabitants, there would hardly be left any pretence for war. But now on the contrary, that neither the sword nor the pen should be allowed any cessation; that the knowledge of the law of nature should lose its growth, not advancing a whit beyond its ancient stature; that there should still be such siding with the several factions of philosophers, that the very same action should be decried by some, and as much elevated by others; that the very same man should at several times embrace his several opinions, and esteem has own actions far otherwise in himself than he does in others: these, I say, are so many signs, so many manifest arguments, that what hath hitherto been written by moral philosophers, hath not made any progress in the knowledge of the truth; but yet hath took with the world, not so much by giving any light to the understanding as entertainment to the affections, whilst by the successful rhetorications of their speech they have confirmed them in their rashly received opinions. . . . when I applied my thoughts to the investigation of natural justice, I was presently advertised from the very word justice, (which signifies a steady will of giving every one his own),' that my first enquiry was to be, from whence it proceeded that any man should call anything rather his own, than another man's. And when I found that this proceeded not from nature, but consent; (for what nature at first laid forth in common, men did afterwards distribute into several impropriations);2 I was conducted from thence to another inquiry; namely, to what end and upon what impulsives, when all was equally every man's in common, men did rather think it fitting that every man should have his inclosure. And I found the reason was, that from a community of goods there must needs arise contention, whose enjoyment should be greatest. And from that contention all kind of calamities must unavoidably ensue, which by the instinct of nature every man is taught to shun. Having therefore thus arrived at two maxims of human nature; the one arising from the concupiscible part, which desires to appropriate to itself the use of those things in which all others have a joint interest; the other proceeding from the rational, which teaches every man to fly a contra-natural dissolution, as the greatest mischief that can arrive to nature: which principles being laid down, I seem from them to have demonstrated by a most evident connexion, in this little work of mine, first, the absolute necessity of leagues and contracts, and thence the rudiments both of moral and of civil prudence. That appendage which is added concerning the regiment of God, 3 hath been done with this intent; that the dictates of God Almighty in the law of nature, might not seem repugnant to the written law, revealed to us in his word. I have also been very wary in the whole tenour of my discourse, not to meddle with the civil laws of any particular nation whatsoever. . . . The Preface to the Reader . . . The benefit of it ,4 when rightly delivered, that is, when derived from true principles by evident connection, we shall then best discern, when we shall but

114

Thomas Hobbes

well have considered the mischiefs that have befallen mankind from its counterfeit and babbling form. For in matters wherein we speculate for the exercise of our wits, if any error escape us, it is without hurt; neither is there any loss, but of time only. But in those things which every man ought to meditate for the steerage of his life, it necessarily happens that not only from errors, but even from ignorance itself, there arise offences, contentions, nay, even slaughter itself. Look now, how great a prejudice these are; such and so great is the benefit arising from this doctrine of morality truly declared. How many kings, and those good men too, hath this one error, that a tyrant king might lawfully be put to death, been the slaughter of! How many throats hath this false position cut, that a prince for some causes may by some certain men be deposed! And what bloodshed hath not this erroneous doctrine caused, that kings are not superiors to, but administrators for the multitude! Lastly, how many rebellions hath this opinion been the cause of, which teacheth that the knowledge whether the commands of kings be just or unjust, belongs to private men; and that before they yield obedience, they not only may, but ought to dispute them! .. . Since therefore such opinions are daily seen to arise, if any man now shall dispel those clouds, and by most firm reasons demonstrate that there are no authentical doctrines concerning right and wrong, good and evil, besides the constituted laws in each realm and government; and that the question whether any future action will prove just or unjust, good or ill, is to be demanded of none but those to whom the supreme' hath committed the interpretation of his laws: surely he will not only show us the highway to peace, but will also teach us how to avoid the close, dark, and dangerous by-paths of faction and sedition; than which I know not what can be thought more profitable. Concerning my method, I thought it not sufficient to use a plain and evident style in what I have to deliver, except I took my beginning from the very matter of civil government, and thence proceeded to its generation and form, and the first beginning of justice. For everything is best understood by its constitutive causes. For as in a watch, or some such small engine, the matter, figure, and motion of the wheels cannot well be known, except it be taken insunder and viewed in parts; so to make a more curious search into the rights of states and duties of subjects, it is necessary, I say, not to take them insunder, but yet that they be so considered as if they were dissolved; that is, that we rightly understand what the quality of human nature is, in what matters it is, in what not, fit to make up a civil government, and how men must be agreed amongst themselves that intend to grow up into a wellgrounded state. Having therefore followed this kind of method, in the first place I set down for a principle, by experience known to all men and denied by none, to wit, that the dispositions of men are naturally such, that except they be restrained through fear of some coercive power, every man will distrust and dread each other; and as by natural right he may, so by necessity he will be forced to make use of the strength he hath, toward the preservation of himself. . . .

Philosophical Rudiments

115

Some object that this principle being admitted, it would needs follow, not only that all men were wicked, (which perhaps though it seem hard, yet we must yield to, since it is so clearly declared by holy writ), but also wicked by nature, which cannot be granted without impiety: But this, that men are evil by nature, follows not from this principle. For though the wicked were fewer than the righteous, yet because we cannot distinguish them, there is a necessity of suspecting, heeding, anticipating, subjugating, self-defending, ever incident to the most honest and fairest conditioned. Much less does it follow, that those who are wicked, are so by nature. For though from nature, that is, from their first birth, as they are merely sensible creatures, they have this disposition, that immediately as much as in them lies they desire and do whatsoever is best pleasing to them, and that either through fear they fly from, or through hardness repel those dangers which approach them; yet are they not for this reason to be accounted wicked. For the affections of the mind, which arise only from the lower parts of the soul, are not wicked themselves; but the actions thence proceeding may be so sometimes, as when they are either offensive or against duty... . . . . The foundation therefore which I have laid, standing firm, I demonstrate, in the first place, that the state of men without civil society, which state we may properly call the state of nature, is nothing else but a mere war of all against all; and in that war all men have equal right unto all thing. Next, that ailswasus soon as they arrive to understanding of this hateful condition, d9 desire, even nature itself compelling them, to be freed from this misery. But that this cannot be done, except by compact, they all quit that right they have to all things. Furthermore, I declare and confirm what the nature of compact is; how and by what means the right of one might be transferred unto another to make their compacts valid; also what rights, and to whom they must necessarily be granted, for the establishing of peace; I mean, what those dictates of reason are, which may properly be termed the laws of nature. And all these are contained in that part of this book which I entitle Liberty. These grounds thus laid, I show further what civil government, and the supreme power in it, and the divers kinds of it are; by what means it becomes so; and what rights particular men, who intend to constitute the civil government, must so necessarily transfer from themselves on the supreme power, whether it be one man or an assembly of men, that, except they do so, it will evidently appear to be no civil government, but the rights which all men have to all things, that is, the rights of war will still remain. . . . PHILOSOPHICAL ELEMENTS OF A TRUE CITIZEN

Liberty Chapter I: Of the State of Men Without Civil Society

1. The Introduction. 2. That the beginning of civil society is from mutual fear. 3. That men by nature are all equal. 4. Whence the will of mischieving each other ariseth.

116

Thomas Hobbes

5. The discord arising from comparison of wits. 6. From the appetite many have to the same thing. 7. The definition of right. 8. A right to the end, gives a right to the means necessary to that end. 9. By the right of nature, every man is judge of the means which tend to his own preservation. 10. By nature all men have equal right to all things. 11. This right which all men have to all things, is unprofitable. 12. The state of men without civil society, is a mere state of war: the definitions of peace and war. 13. War is an adversary to man's preservation. 14. It is lawful for any man, by material right, to compel another whom he hath gotten in his power, to give caution of his future obedience. 15. Nature dictates the seeking after peace. The faculties of human nature may be reduced unto four kinds; bodily strength, experience, reason, passion. Taking the beginning of this following doctrine from these, we will declare, in the first place, what manner of inclinations men who are endued with these faculties bear towards each other, and whether, and by what faculty they are born apt for society, and to preserve themselves against mutual violence; then proceeding, we will shew what advice was necessary to be taken for this business, and what are the conditions of society, or of human peace; that is to say, (changing the words only), what are the fundamental laws of nature. 2. The greatest part of those men who have written aught concerning commonwealths, either suppose, or require us or beg of us to believe, that man is a creature born fit* for society. The Greeks call him Wov nokLuxov; 6 and on this foundation they so build up the doctrine of civil society, as if for the preservation of peace, and the government of mankind, there were nothing else necessary than that men should agree to make certain covenants and conditions together, which themselves should then call laws. Which axiom, though received by most, is yet certainly false; and an error proceeding from our too slight contemplation of human nature. For they who shall more narrowly look into the causes for which men come together, and delight in each other's company, shall easily find that this happens not because naturally it Since we now see actually a constituted society among men, and none living out of it, since we discern all desirous of congress and mutual correspondence, it may seem a wonderful kind of stupidity, to lay in the very threshold of this doctrine such a stumbling block before the reader, as to deny man to be born fit for society. Therefore I must more plainly say, that it is true indeed, that to man by nature, or as man, that is, as soon as he is born, solitude is an enemy; for infants have need of others to help them to live, and those of riper years to help them to live well. Wherefore I deny not that men (even nature compelling) desire to come together. But civil societies are not mere meetings, but bonds, to the making whereof faith and compacts are necessary; the virtue whereof to children and fools, and the profit whereof to those who have not yet tasted the miseries which accompany its defects, is altogether unknown; whence it happens, that those, because they know not what society is, cannot enter into it; these, because ignorant of the benefit it brings, care not for it. Manifest therefore it is, that all men, because they are born in infancy, are born unapt for society. Many also, perhaps most men, either through defect of mind or want of education, remain unfit during the whole course of their lives; yet have they, infants as well as those of riper years, a human nature. Wherefore man is made fit for society not by nature, but by education. Furthermore, although man were born in such a condition as to desire it, it follows not, that he therefore were born fit to enter into it. For it is one thing to desire, another to be in capacity fit for what we desire; for even they, who through their pride, will not stoop to equal conditions, without which there can be no society, do yet desire it.

* Born fit.]

Philosophical Rudiments

117

could happen no otherwise, but by accident. For if by nature one man should love another, that is, as man, there could no reason be returned why every man should not equally love every man, as being equally man; or why he should rather frequent those, whose society affords him honour or profit. We do not therefore by nature seek society for its own sake, but that we may receive some honour or profit from it; these we desire primarily, that secondarily. The same is also collected by reason out of the definitions themselves of will, good, honour, profitable. For when we voluntarily contract society, in all manner of society we look after the object of the will, that is, that which every one of those who gather together, propounds to himself for good. Now whatsoever seems good, is pleasant, and relates either to the senses, or the mind. But all the mind's pleasure is either glory, (or to have a good opinion of one's self), or refers to glory in the end; the rest are sensual, or conducing to sensuality, which may be all comprehended under the word conveniences. All society therefore is either for gain, or for glory; that is, not so much for love of our fellows, as for the love of ourselves. But no society can be great or lasting, which begins from vain glory. Because that glory is like honour; if all men have it no man hath it, for they consist in comparison and precellence. 7 Neithrdoscyfeadvnwhitcuseofmyglrn in myself; for every man must account himself, such as he can make himself without the help of others. But though the benefits of this life may be much furthered by mutual help; since yet those may be better attained to by dominion than by the society of others, I hope no body will doubt, but that men would much more greedily be carried by nature, if all fear were removed, to obtain dominion, than to gain society. We must therefore resolve, that the original of all great and lasting societies consisted not in the mutual good will men had towards each other, but in the mutual fear they had of each other. 3. The ittiouLmutual fear consists partly in the natural equality of men, opiftly in their mutual will of hurting: whence it comes to pass, that we can neither expect from others, nor promise to ourselves the least security. For if we look on men full-grown, and consider how brittle the frame of our human body is, which perishing, all its strength, vigour, and wisdom itself perisheth with it; and how easy a matter it is, even for the weakest man to kill the strongest: there is no, reason why any man, trusting to his own strength, , uguauldueneeive himself made by nature above others. They are equals, whp c40 49 equal things one against the other; but they who can do the greatest things, namely, kill, can do equal things. All men therefore among themselves are by nature equal; the inequality we now discern, hath its spring from the civil law. 4. 4°A-If -in the state of =nature have a desireantkwill,to hurt, but not proceeding from the same cause, neither equally to be condemned. For one man, according to that natural equality which is among us, permits as much to others as he assumes to himself; which is an argument of a temperate man, and one that rightly values his power. Another, supposing himself above others, will have a license to do what he lists, and challenges respect and ,

,

118

Thomas Hobbes

honour, as due to him before others; which is an argument of a fiery spirit. This man's will to hurt ariseth from vain glory, and the false esteem he hath of his own strength; the other's from the necessity of defending himself, his liberty, and his goods, against this man's violence. 5. Furthermore, since the combat of wits is the fiercest, the greatest discords which are, must necessarily arise from this contention. For in this case it is not only odious to contend against, but also not to consent. For not to approve of what a man saith, is no less than tacitly to accuse him of an error in that thing which he speaketh: as in very many things to dissent, is as much as if you accounted him a fool whom you dissent from. Which may appear hence, that there are no wars so sharply waged as between sects of the same religion, and factions of the same commonweal, where the contestation is either concerning doctrines or politic prudence. And since all the pleasure and jollity of the mind consists in this, even to get some, with whom comparing, it may find somewhat wherein to triumph and vaunt itself; it is impossible but men must declare sometimes some mutual scorn and contempt, either by laughter, or by words, or by gesture, or some sign or other; than which there is no greater vexation of mind, and than from which there cannot possibly arise a greater desire to do hurt. 6. Mit the most frequent reason why men desire to hurt each other, ariseth hence, that many men at the same time have an appetite to the same thing; which yet very often they can neither enjoy in common, nor yet divide it; whence it follows that the strongest must have it, and who is strongest must be decided by the sword. 7. Among so many dangers therefore, as the natural lusts of men do daily threaten each other withal, to have a care of one's self is so far from being a matter scornfully to be looked upon, that one has neither the power nor wish to have done otherwise. For every man is desirous of what is good for him, and shuns what is evil, but chiefly the chiefest of natural evils, which is death; and this he doth by a certain impulsion of nature, no less than that whereby a stone moves downward. It is therefore neither absurd nor reprehensible, neither against the dictates of true reason, for a man to use all his endeavours to preserve and defend his body and the members thereof from death and sorrows. But that which is not contrary to right reason, that all men account to be done justly, and with right. Neither by the word right is anything elie signified, than that liberty which every man hath to make use of his natural faculties according to right reasons Therefore the first foundation of natural right is this, that every man as much as in him lies endeavour to protect his * and members!

8. But because it is in vain for a man to have a right to the end, if the right to the necessary means be denied him, it follows, that since every man hath a right to preserve himself, he must also be allowed a right to use all the means, and do all the actions, without which he cannot preserve himself

9. Now whether the means which he is about to use, and the action he is performing, be necessary to the preservation of his life and members or not,

Philosophical Rudiments

119

he himself, by the right of nature, must be judge. For if it be contrary to right reason that I should judge of mine own peril, say, that another man is judge. Why now, because he judgeth of what concerns me, by the same reason, because we are equal by nature, will I judge also of things which do belong to him. Therefore it agrees with right reason, that is, it is the right of nature that I judge of his opinion, that is, whether it conduce to my preservation or not. 10..-,Nature hath given to every one a right to all; that's; it was lawful for every man, in the bare state of nature, , or before such time as men had engaged themselves by any covenants or bonds, to do what he would, and against whom he thought fit, and to possess, use, and enjoy all what he would, or could get. Now because whatsoever a man would, it therefore seems good to him because he wills it, and either it really doth, or at least seems to him to contribute towards his preservation, (but we have already allowed him to be judge, in the foregoing article, whether it doth or not, insomuch as we are to hold all for necessary whatsoever he shall esteem so), and by the 7th article it appears that by the right of nature those things may be done, and must be had, which necessarily conduce to the protection of life and members, it follows, that in the state of nature, to have all, and do all, is lawful for all. And this is that which is meant by that common saying, nature hath given all to all. From whence we understand likewise, that in the state of nature profit is the measure of right. 11. But it was the least benefit for men thus to have a common right to all things. For the effects of this right are the same, almost, as if there had been no right at all. For although any man might say of every thing, this is mine, yet could he not enjoy it, by reason of his neighbour, who having equal right and equal power, would pretend the same thing to be his. 12. If now to this natural proclivity of men, to hurt each other, which they derive from their passions, but chiefly from a vain esteem of themselves, you add, the right of all to all, wherewith one by right invades, the other by right resists, and whence arise perpetual jealousies and suspicions on all hands, and In the bare state of nature.] This is thus to be understood: what any man does in the bare state of

nature, is injurious to no man; not that in such a state he cannot offend God, or break the laws of nature; for injustice against men presupposeth human laws, such as in the state of nature there are none. Now the truth of this proposition thus conceived, is sufficiently demonstrated to the mindful reader in the articles immediately foregoing; but because in certain eases the difficulty of the conclusion makes us forget the premises, I will contract this argument, and make it most evident to a single view. Every man hath right to protect himself, as appears by the seventh article. The same man therefore hath a right to use all the means which necessarily conduce to this end, by the eighth article. But those are the necessary means which he shall judge to be such, by the ninth article. He therefore hath a right to make use of, and to do all whatsoever he shall judge requisite for his preservation; wherefore by the judgment of him that doth it, the thing done is either right Qr wrong, and therefore right. True it is therefore in the bare state of nature, &c. But if any man pretend somewhat to tend necessarily to his preservation, which yet he himself doth not confidently believe so, he may offend against the laws of nature, as in the third chapter of this book is more at large declared. It hath been objected by some: if a son kill his father, doth he him no injury? I have answered, that a son cannot be understood to be at any time in the state of nature, as being under the power and command of them to whom he owes his protection as soon as ever he is born, namely, either his father's or his mother's, or him that nourished him; as is demonstrated in the ninth chapter.

120

Thomas Hobbes

how hard a thing it is to provide against an enemy invading us with an intention to oppress and ruin, though he come with a small number, and no great provision; it cannot be denied but that the natural state of men, before they entered into society, was a mere war, and that not simply, but a war of all men against all men. For what is WAR, but that same time in which the will of contesting by force is fully declared, either by words or deeds? The time remaining is termed PEACE. 13. But it is easily judged how disagreeable a thing to the preservation either of mankind, or of each single man, a perpetual war is. But it is perpetual in its own nature; because in regard of the equality of those that strive, it cannot be ended by victory. For in this state the conqueror is subject to so much danger, as it were to be accounted a miracle, if any, even the most strong, should close up his life with many years and old age. They of America are examples hereof, even in this present age: other nations have been in former ages; which now indeed are become civil and flourishing, but were then few, fierce, short-lived, poor, nasty, and deprived of all that pleasure and beauty of life, which peace and society are wont to bring with them. Whosoever therefore holds, that it had been best to have continued in that state in which all things were lawful for all men, he contradicts himself. For every man by natural necessity desires that which is good for him: nor is there any that esteems a war of all against all, which necessarily adheres to such a state, to be good for him. And so it happens, that through fear of each other we think it fit to rid ourselves of this condition, and to get some fellows; that if there needs must be war, it may not yet be against all men, nor without some helps. 14. Fellows are gotten either by constraint, or by consent; by constraint, when after fight the conqueror makes the conquered serve him, either through fear of death, or by laying fetters on him: by consent, when men enter into society to help each other, both parties consenting without any constraint. But the conqueror may by right compel the conquered, or the strongest the weaker, (as a man in health may one that is sick, or he that is of riper years a child), unless he will choose to die, to give caution of his future obedience. For since the right of protecting ourselves according to our own wills, proceeded from our danger, and our danger from our equality, it is more consonant to reason, and more certain for our conservation, using the present advantage to secure ourselves by taking caution, than when they shall be full grown and strong, and got out of our power, to endeavour to recover that power again by doubtful fight. And on the other side, nothing can be thought more absurd, than by discharging whom you already have weak in your power, to make him at once both an enemy and a strong one. From whence we may understand likewise as a corollary in the natural state of men, that a sure and irresistible power confers the right of dominion and ruling over those who cannot resist; insomuch, as the right of all things that can be done,

adheres essentially and immediately unto this omnipotence hence arising. 15. Yet cannot men expect any lasting preservation, continuing thus in the state of nature, that is, of war, by reason of that equality of power, and other

Philosophical Rudiments

121

human faculties they are endued withal. Wherefore to seek peace, where there is any hopes of obtaining it, and where there is none, to enquire out for auxiliaries of war, is the dictate of right reason, that is, the law of nature; as shall be showed in the next chapter. Chapter II: Of the Law of Nature Concerning Contracts

1. That the law of nature is not an agreement of men, but the dictate of reason. 2. That the fundamental law of nature, is to seek peace, where it may be had, and where not, to defend ourselves. 3. That the first special law of nature, is not to retain our right to all things. 4. What it is to quit our right: what to transfer it. 5. That in the transferring of our right, the will of him that receives it is necessarily required. 6. No words but those of the present tense, transfer any right. 7. Words of the future, if there be some other tokens to signify the will, are valid in the translation of right. 8. In matters of free gift, our right passeth not from us through any words of the future. 9. The definition of contract and compact. 10. In compacts, our right passeth from us through words of the future. 11. Compacts of mutual faith, in the state of nature are of no effect and vain; but not so in civil government. 12. That no man can make compacts with beasts, nor yet with God without revelation. 13. Nor yet make a vow to God. 14. That compacts oblige not beyond our utmost endeavour. 15. By what means we are freed from our compacts. 16. That promises extorted through fear of death, in the state of nature are valid. 17. A later compact contradicting the former, is invalid. 18. A compact not to resist him that shall prejudice my body, is invalid. 19. A compact to accuse one's self, is invalid. 20. The definition of swearing. 21. That swearing is to be conceived in that form which he useth that takes the oath. 22. An oath superadds nothing to the obligation which is made by compact. 23. An oath ought not to be pressed, but where the breach of compacts may be kept private, or cannot be punished but from God himself. 1. All authors agree not concerning the definition of the natural law, who notwithstanding do very often make use of this term in their writings. The method therefore wherein we begin from definitions and exclusion of all equivocation, is only proper to them who leave no place for contrary disputes. For the rest, if any man say that somewhat is done against the law of nature, one proves it hence; because it was done against the general agreement of all the most wise and learned nations: but this declares not who shall be the judge of the wisdom and learning of all nations. Another hence, that it was done against the general consent of all mankind; which definition is by no means to be admitted. For then it were impossible for any but children and fools, to offend against such a law; for sure, under the notion of mankind, they comprehend all men actually endued with reason. These therefore either do nought against it, or if they do aught, it is without their own consent, and therefore ought to be excused. But to receive the laws of nature from the consents of them who oftener break than observe them, is in truth unreasonable. Besides, men condemn the same things in others, which they approve in themselves; on the other side, they publicly commend what they privately condemn; and they deliver their opinions more by hearsay, than any speculation of their own; and they accord more through hatred of some object, through fear, hope, love, or some other perturbation of mind, than true reason. And therefore it comes to pass, that whole bodies of people often do those things with

122

Thomas Hobbes

the greatest unanimity and earnestness, which those writers most willingly acknowledge to be against the law of nature. But since all do grant, that is done by right, which is not done against reason, we ought to judge those actions only wrong, which are repugnant to right reason, that is, which contradict some certain truth collected by right reasoning from true principles. But that which is done wrong, we say it is done against some law. Therefore true reason is a certain law; which, since it is no less a part of human nature, than any other faculty or affection of the mind, is also termed natural. Therefore the law' of nature, that I may define it, is the dictate of right reasod,t conversant about those things which are either to be done or omitted for the constant preservation of life and members, as much as in us lies. 2. But the first and fundamental law of nature is, that peace is to be sought after, where it may be found; and where not, there to provide ourselves for helps of war. For we showed in the last article of the foregoing chapter, that

this precept is the dictate of right reason; but that the dictates of right reason are natural laws, that hath been newly proved above. But this is the first, because the rest are derived from this, and they direct the ways either to peace or self-defence. 3. But one of the natural laws derived from this fundamental one is this: that the right of all men to all things ought not to be retained; but that some certain Ottiwidrettaitti* rights ought to be transferred or relinquished. Er if s me y right migkkinya41e, 'Eight -t9 all things, it must necessarily follow, .

and others, by the same right, might defend themselves against them. For every man by natural necessity endeavours to defend his body, and the things which he judgeth necessary towards the protection of his body. Therefore wariivouita follow. He therefore acts against the reason of peace, that is, against the law of nature, whosoever he be, that doth not part with his right to all things. 4. But he is said to part with his right, who either absolutely renounceth it, or conveys it to another. He absolutely renounceth it, who by some sufficient sign or meet tokens declares, that he is willing that it shall never be lawful for him to do that again, which before by right he might have done. But he conveys it to another, who by some sufficient sign or meet tokens declares to that other, that he is willing it should be unlawful for him to resist him, in going about to do somewhat in the performance whereof he might before with By right reason in the natural state of men, I understand not, as many do, an infallible faculty, but the act of reasoning, that is, the peculiar and true ratiocination of every man concerning those actions of his, which may either redound to the damage or benefit of his neighbours. I call it peculiar, because although in a civil government the reason of the supreme, that is, the civil law, is to be received by each single subject for the right; gOONtritsitttntrt thn civit government, in which state no man can know right reason from fake, but by comparing it with his own, every man's own reason is to be accounted, otikt rule of his own•actin which are done at his own peril, but also for the measure ci ano er man's reasoii, in suc things as do concern him. I call it true, that is, concluding from true principles rightly framed, because that the whole breach of the 14ws of nature consists in the false reasoning, or rather folly of those men, who see not those duties they are necessarily to perform towards others in order to their own conservation. But the principles of right reasoning about such like duties, are those which are explained in the second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh articles of the first chapter.

Right reason.]

Philosophical Rudiments

123

right have resisted him. But that the conveyance of right consists merely in not

resisting, is understood by this, that before it was conveyed, he to whom he conveyed it, had even then also a right to all; whence he could not give any new right; but the resisting right he had before he gave it, by reason whereof the other could not freely enjoy his rights, is utterly abolished. Whosoever therefore acquires some right in the natural state of men, he only procures himself security and freedom from just molestation in the enjoyment of his primitive right. As for example, if any man shall sell or give away a farm, he utterly deprives himself only from all right to this farm; but he does not so others also. 5. But in the conveyance of right, the will is requisite not only of him that conveys, but of him also that accepts it. If either be wanting, the right remains. For if I would have given what was mine to one who refused to accept of it, I have not therefore either simply renounced my right, or conveyed it to any man. For the cause which moved me to part with it to this man, was in him only, not in others too. 6. But if there be no other token extant of our will either to quit or convey our right, but only words; those words must either relate to the present or tiswitast; for if ,they be of the future only, they convey nothing. For example, he that speaks thus of the time to come, I will give to-morrow, declares openly that yet he hath not given it. So that all this day his right remains, and abides tomorrow too, unless in the interim he actually bestows it ftist4tuttatiWinine, INNIONAGICIdetbkve partiedmitb it But if I shall speak of the time present, suppose thus; I do give or have given you this to be received to-morrow: by these words is signified that I have already given it, and that his right to receive it to-morrow is conveyed to him by me to-day. 7. Nevertheless, although words alone are not sufficient tokens to declare the will; if yet towords relating to the future there shall some other signs be added, they may become as valid as if they had been spoken of the present. If therefore, as by reason of those other signs, it appear that he that speaks of the future, intends those words should be effectual toward the perfect transferring of his right, they ought to be valid. For the conveyance of right depends not on words, but, as hath been instanced in the fourth article, on the declaration of the will. 8. If any man convey some part of his right to another, and doth not this for some certain benefit received, or for some compact, a conveyance in this kind is called a gift or free donation. But in free donation, those words only oblige us, which signify the present or the time past; for if they respect the future, they oblige not as words, for the reason given in the foregoing article. It must needs therefore be, that the obligation arise from some other tokens of the will. But, because whatsoever is voluntarily done, is done for some good to him that wills it; there can no other token be assigned of the will to give it, except some benefit either already received, or to be acquired. But it is supposed that no such benefit is acquired, nor any compact in being; for if so, it would cease to be a free gift. It remains therefore, that a mutual good turn

124

Thomas Hobbes

without agreement be expected. But no sign can be given, that he, who used future words toward him who was in no sort engaged to return a benefit, should desire to have his words so understood as to oblige himself thereby. Not k Stsitabte 40 reason, that_those.who ,etre inctilied tertkriVelFf4 others, should be obliged by every promise, testifying their present good affection. And for this cause, a promiser in this kind must be understood to have time to deliberate, and power to change that affection, as well as he to whom he made that promise, may alter his desert. But he that deliberates, is so far forth free, nor can be said to have already given. But if he promise often, and yet give seldom, he ought to be condemned of levity. . . . 9. But the act of two, or more, mutually conveying their rights, is called a contract. But in every contract, either both parties instantly perform what they contract for, insomuch as there is no trust had from either to other; or the one performs, the other is trusted; or neither perform. Where both parties perform presently, there the contract is ended as soon as it is performed. But where there is credit given, either to one or both, there the party trusted promiseth after-performance; and this kind of promise is called a covenant. 10. But the covenant made by the party trusted with him who hath already performed, although the promise be made by words pointing at the future, doth no less transfer the right of future time, than if it had been made by words signifying the present or time past. For the other's performance is a most manifest sign that he so understood the speech of him whom he trusted, as that he would certainly make performance also at the appointed time; and by this sign the party trusted knew himself to be thus understood; which because he hindered not, was an evident token of his will to perform. The promises therefore which are made for some benefit received, which are also covenants, are tokens of the will; that is, as in the foregoing section hath been declared, of the last act of deliberating, whereby the liberty of non-performance is abolished, and by consequence are obligatory. For where liberty ceaseth, there beginneth obligation. 11. But the covenants which are made in contract of mutual trust, neither party performing out of hand, if there arisel a just suspicion in either of them, are in the state of nature invalid. For he that first performs, by reason of the wicked disposition of the greatest part of men studying their own advantage either by right or wrong, exposeth himself to the perverse will of him with whom he hath contracted. For it suits not with reason, that any man should perform first, if it be not likely that the other will make good his promise after; which, whether it be probable or not, he that doubts it must be judge of, as hath been showed in the foregoing chapter in the ninth article. Thus, I say, things stand in the state of nature. But in a civil state, when there is a power which can compel both parties, he that hath contracted to perform first, must I

Arise.] For, except there appear some new cause of fear, either from somewhat done, or some other token of the will not to perform from the other part, it cannot be judged to be a just fear; for the cause which was not sufficient to keep him from making compact, must not suffice to authorize the breach of it, being made.

Philosophical Rudiments

first perform; because, that since the other may be compelled, t which made him fear the other's non-performance, ceaseth. 12. But from this reason, that in all free gifts and compacts there is a.. acceptance of the conveyance of right required: it follows that no man can compact with him who doth not declare his acceptance. And therefore we cannot compact with beasts, neither can we give or take from them any manner of right, by reason of their want of speech and understanding. Neither can any man covenant with God, or be obliged to him by vow; except so far forth as it appears to him by Holy Scriptures, that he hath substituted certain men who have authority to accept of such-like vows and covenants, as being in God's stead. 13. Those therefore do vow in vain, who are in the state of nature, where they are not tied by any civil law, except, by most certain revelation, the will of God to accept their vow or pact, be made known to them. For if what they vow be contrary to the law of nature, they are not tied by their vow; for no man is tied to perform an unlawful act. But if what is vowed, be commanded by some law of nature, it is not their vow, but the law itself which ties them. But if he were free, before his vow, either to do it or not do it, his liberty remains; because that the openly declared will of the obliger is requisite to make an obligation by vow; which, in the case propounded, is supposed not to be. Now I call him the obliger, to whom any one is tied; and the obliged, him who is tied. 14. Covenants are made of such things only as fall under our deliberation. For it can be no covenant without the will of the contractor. But the will is the last act of him who deliberates; 8 wherefore they only concern things possible and to come. No man, therefore, by his compact obligeth himself to an impossibility. But yet, though we often covenant to do such things as then seemed possible when we promised them, which yet afterward appear to be impossible, are we not therefore freed from all obligation. The reason whereof is, that he who promiseth a future, in certainty receives a present benefit, on condition that he return another for it. For his will, who performs the present benefit, hath simply before it for its object a certain good, equally valuable with the thing promised; but the thing itself not simply, but with condition if it could be done. But if it should so happen, that even this should prove impossible, why then he must perform as much as he can. Covenants, therefore, oblige us not to perform just the thing itself covenanted for, but our utmost endeavour; for this only is, the things themselves are not in our power. 15. We are freed from covenents two ways, either by performing, or by being forgiven. By performing, for beyond that we obliged not ourselves. By being forgiven, because he whom we obliged ourselves to, by forgiving is conceived to return us that right which we passed over to him. For forgiving implies giving, that is, by the fourth article of this chapter, a conveyance of right to him to whom the gift is made. 16. It is a usual question, whether compacts extorted from us through fear, do oblige or not. For example, if, to redeem my life from the power of a

i26

Thomas Hobbes

robber, I promise to pay him 1001. next day, and that I will do no act whereby to apprehend and bring him to justice: whether I am tied to keep promise or not. But though such a promise must sometimes be judged to be of no effect, yet it is not to be accounted so because it proceedeth from fear. For then it would follow, that those promises which reduced men to a civil life, and by which laws were made, might likewise be of none effect; (for it proceeds from fear of mutual slaughter, that one man submits himself to the dominion of another); and he should play the fool finely, who should trust his captive covenanting with the price of his redemption. It holds universally true, that promises do oblige, when there is some benefit received, and when the promise, and the thing promised, be lawful. But it is lawful, for the redemption of my life, both to promise and to give what I will of mine own to any man, even to a thief. We are obliged, therefore, by promises proceeding from fear, except the civil law forbid them; by virtue whereof, that which is promised becomes unlawful. 17. Whosoever shall contract with one to do or omit somewhat, and shall after covenant the contrary with another, he maketh not the former, but the latter contract unlawful. For he hath no longer right to do or to omit aught, who by former contracts hath conveyed it to another. Wherefore he can convey no right by latter contracts, and what is promised is promised without right. He is therefore tied only to his first contract, to break which is unlawful. 18. No man is obliged by any contracts whatsoever not to resist him who shall offer to kill, wound, or any other way hurt his body. For there is in every man a certain high degree of fear, through which he apprehends that evil which is done to him to be the greatest; and therefore by natural necessity he shuns it all he can, and it is supposed he can do no otherwise. When a man is arrived to this degree of fear, we cannot expect but he will provide for himself either by flight or fight. Since therefore no man is tied to impossibilities, they who are threatened either with death, (which is the greatest evil to nature), or wounds, or some other bodily hurts, and are not stout enough to bear them, are not obliged to endure them. Furthermore, he that is tied by contract is trusted; for faith only is the bond of contracts; but they who are brought to punishment, either capital or more gentle, are fettered or strongly guarded; which is a most certain sign that they seemed not sufficiently bound from nonresistance by their contracts. It is one thing, if I promise thus: if I do it not at the day appointed, kill me. Another thing, if thus: if I do it not, though you should offer to kill me, I will not resist. All men, if need be, contract the first way, and there is need sometimes. This second way, none; neither is it ever needful. For in the mere state of nature, if you have a mind to kill, that state itself affords you a right; insomuch as you need not first trust him, if for breach of trust you will afterwards kill him. But in a civil state, where the right of life and death and of all corporal punishment is with the supreme, 9 that same right of killing cannot be granted to any private person. Neither need the supreme himself contract with any man patiently to yield to his punishment; but only this, that no man offer to defend others from him. If in the state of

Philosophical Rudiments

127

nature, as between two realms, there should a contract be made on condition of killing if it were not performed, we must presuppose another contract of not killing before the appointed day. Wherefore on that day, if there be no performance, the right of war returns, that is a hostile state, in which all things are lawful, and therefore resistance also. Lastly, by the contract of not resisting, we are obliged, of two evils to make choice of that which seems the greater. For certain death is a greater evil than fighting. But of two evils it is impossible not to choose the least. By such a compact, therefore, we should be tied to impossibilities; which is contrary to the very nature of compacts. 19. Likewise no man is tied by any compacts whatsoever to accuse himself, or any other, by whose damage he is like to procure himself a bitter life. Wherefore neither is a father obliged to bear witness against his son, nor a husband against his wife, nor a son against his father, nor any man against any one by whose means he hath his subsistence; for in vain is that testimony which is presumed to be corrupted from nature. But although no man be tied to accuse himself by any compact, yet in a public trial he may by torture be forced to make answer. But such answers are no testimony of the fact, but helps for the searching out of truth; so that whether the party tortured his answer be true or false, or whether he answer not at all, whatsoever he doth, he doth it by right. Chapter III: Of the Other Laws of Nature

1. The second law of nature, is to perform contracts. 2. That trust is to be held with all men without exception. 3. What injury is. zkiniury cut', be done to;none but those, onitis,u*Rin we eotitract. 5. The distinction of justice into that of men, and that of actions. 6. The distinction of commutative and distributive justice examined. 73010 . 8. The third law of nature, concerning ingratitude. 9. The fourth law of nature, that every man render himself useful. 10. The fifth law, of mercy. 11. The sixth law, that punishments regard the future only. 12. The seventh law, against reproach. 13. The eighth law, against pride. 14. The ninth law, of humility. 15. The tenth, of equity, or against acceptance of persons. 16. The eleventh, of things to be had in common. 17. The twelfth, of things to be divided by lot. 18. The thirteenth, of birthright and first possession. 19. The fourteenth, of the safeguard of them who are mediators for peace. 20. The fifteenth, of constituting an umpire. 21. The sixteenth, that no man is judge in his own cause. 22. The seventeenth, that umpires must be without all hope of reward from those whose cause is to be judged. 23. The eighteenth, of witnesses. 24. The nineteenth, that there can no contract be made with the umpire. 25. The twentieth, against gluttony, and all such things as hinder the use of reason. 26. The rule by which we may presently know, whether what we are doing be against the law of nature or not. 27. The laws of nature oblige only in the court of conscience. 28. The laws of nature are sometimes broke by doing things agreeable to those laws. 29. The laws of nature are unchangeable. 30. Whosoever endeavours to fulfil the laws of nature, is a just man. 31. The natural and moral law are one. 32. How it comes to pass, that what hath been said of the laws of nature, is not the same with what philosophers have delivered concerning the virtues. 33. The law of nature is not properly a law, but as it is delivered in Holy Writ.

agaimmoommewaimpammem

1. Another of the laws of nature is, to perform contracts, or to keep trust. For it hath been showed in the foregoing chapter, that the law of nature

128

Thomas Hobbes

commands every man, as a thing necessary, to obtain peace, to convey certain rights from each to other; and that this, as often as it shall happen to be done, is called a contract. But this is so far forth only conducible to peace, as we shall perform ourselves what we contract with others shall be done or omitted; and in vain would contacts be made, unless we stood to them. Because therefore to stand to our covenants, or to keep faith, is a thing necessary for the obtaining of peace; it will prove, by the second article of the second chapter, to be a precept of the natural law. 2. Neither is there in this matter any exception of the persons with whom we contract; as if they keep no faith with others, or hold that none ought to be kept, or are guilty of any other kind of vice. For he that contracts, in that he doth contract, denies that action to be in vain; and it is against reason for a knowing man to do a thing in vain: Ippommilialikriethia WOW tri tee* thinking so he affirms the contract to be made in wen. He therefore who contracts with one with whom he thinks he is not bound to keep faith, he doth at once think a contract to be a thing done in vain, and not in vain; which is absurd. AM& therefo re we *Mt hoid ItItSt With ith

either there must be a declared war, or * i/eaCe. 3Yrberbroaking of a bargain, as also the taking back of a gift, (which ever consists in some action or omission), is called an injury. But that action or omission is called unjust; insomuch as an injury, and an unjust action or omission, signify the same thing, and both are the same with breach of contract and trust. And it seerns the word injury came to be given to any actionos emission, because they were without rights he that acted or omitted, having before conveyed his right to some other. And there is some likeness between_ that which in the common course of life we call injury, and that which in the Schools is usually called absurd. For even as he who by arguments is driven to deny the assertion which he first maintained, is said to be brought to an absurdity; in like manner, he who through weakness of mind does or omits that which before he had by contract promised not to do or omit, commits an injury, and falls into no less contradiction than he who in the Schools is reduced to an absurdity. For by contracting for some future action, he wills it Migatt4illetirlitilit is,

done; by not doing it, he wills it not done: sidia****awiiiii thinvitomandfieto fclone at the same time, which is a contradiction! An injury therefore is a kind of absurdity in conversation, as an absurdity is a kind of injury in disputation. 4. From these grounds it follows, that an injury can be done to no mania but Injury can be done to no man, &c.] The word injustice relates to some law: injury, to some person, as well as some law. For what is unjust, is unjust to all; but there may an injury be done, and yet not against me, nor thee, but some other; and sometimes against no private person, but the magistrate only; sometimes also neither against the magistrate, nor any private man, but only against God. For through contract and conveyance of right, we say, that an injury is done against this or that man. Hence it is, which we see in all kind of government, that what private men contract between themselves by word or writing, is released again at the will of the obliger. But those mischiefs which are done against the laws of the land, as theft, homicide, and the like, are punished, not as he wills to whom the hurt is done, but according to the will of the magistrate; that is, the constituted laws.

Philosophical Rudiments

129

him with whom we enter covenant, or to whom somewhat is made over by deed of gift, or to whom somewhat is promised by way of bargain. And therefore damaging and injuring are often disjoined. For if a master command his servant, who hath promised to obey him, to pay a sum of money, or carry some present to a third man; the servant, if he do it not, hath indeed damaged this third party, but he injured his master only.liwidso4n* civil government, iff offtlid another with whom he hath made no contract, he damages kin! to whom the evil is done; Not.lao injures none but him to whom the/0596er N9fogovetritifiritIZTOngs. For if he who receives the hurt should expostulate the mischief, he that did it should answer thus: what art thou to me; why should I rather do according to your than mine own will, since I do not hinder but you may do your own, and not my mind? In which speech, where there hath no

manner of pre-contract passed, I see not, I confess, what is reprehensible. 5. These words, just and unjust, as also justice and injustice, are equivocal; for they signify one thing when they are attributed to persons, another when to actions. When they are attributed to actions, just signifies as much as what is done with right, and unjust, as what is done with injury. He who hath done some just thing, is not therefore said to be a just person, but guiltless; and he that hath done some unjust thing, we do not therefore say he is an unjust, but guilty man. But when the words are applied to persons, to be just signifies as much as to be delighted in just dealing, to study how to do righteousness, or to endeavour in all things to do that which is just; and to be unjust is to neglect righteous dealing, or to think it is to be measured not according to my contract, but some present benefit. So as the justice or injustice of the mind, the intention, or the man, is one thing, that of an action or omission another; and innumerable actions of a just man may be unjust, and of an unjust man, just. But that man is to be accounted just, who doth just things because the law commands it, unjust things only by reason of his infirmity; and he is properly said to be unjust, who doth righteousness for fear of the punishment annexed unto the law, and unrighteousness by reason of the iniquity of his mind. 7. a* so 0101,saying, voienti non fit injuria, the willing man receives no Awl; yet the truth of it may be derived from our principles. For grant that a man be willing that that should be done which he conceives to be an injury to him; why then, that is done by his will, which by contract was not lawful to be done. But he being willing that should be done which was not lawful by contract, the contract itself (by the fifteenth article of the foregoing chapter) becomes void. The right therefore of doing it returns; therefore it is done by right; wherefore it is no injury. 8. The third precept of the natural law is, Wriit you suffer Met Mm to' be the vtagatioP you, who, out of the confidenee he had in you, first did you a good orthatyati.occept not agift4totavith a mind to endeavour that the giver cif AMMO itatocatsion wrepetithho of his gift. For without this, he should act without reason, that would confer a benefit where he sees it would be lost; and by this means all beneficence and trust, together with all kind of benevolence, would be taken from among men, neither would there be aught of

130

Thomas Hobbes

mutual assistance among them, nor any commencement of gaining grace and favour; 11,ttleaboit whereof the state of war would necessarily remain, youtrary to the fundamental law of nature. But because the breach of this law is not a breach of trust or contract, (for we suppose no contracts to have passed among them), therefore is it not usually termed an injury; but because good turns and thanks have a mutual eye to each other, it is called ingratitude. 9. The fourth precept of nature is, that every man render himself useful unto others: which that we may rightly understand, we must remember that there is in men a diversity of dispositions to enter into society, arising from the diversity of their affections, not unlike that which is found in stones, brought together in the building, by reason of the diversity of their matter and figure. For as a stone, which in regard of its sharp and angular form takes up more room from other stones than it fills up itself, neither because of the hardness of its matter can it well be pressed together, or easily cut, and would hinder the building from being fitly compacted, is cast away, as not fit for use: so a man, for the harshness of his disposition in retaining superfluities for himself, and detaining of necessaries from others, and being incorrigible by reason of the stubbornness of his affections, is commonly said to be useless and troublesome unto others. Now, because each one not by right only, but even by natural necessity, is supposed with all his main might to intend the procurement of those things which are necessary to his own preservation; if any man will contend on the other side for superfluities, by his default there will arise a war; because that on him alone there lay no necessity of contending; he therefore acts against the fundamental law of nature. Whence it follows, (which we were to show), that it is a precept of nature, that every man accommodate himself to others. But he who breaks this law may be called useless and troublesome. Yet Cicero opposeth inhumanity to this usefulness,

as having regard to this very law. 10. The fifth precept of the law of nature is, that we must forgive him who repents and asks pardon for what is past, having first taken caution for the time to come. The pardon of what is past, or the remission of an offence, is nothing

else but the granting of peace to him that asketh it, after he hath warred against us, and now is become penitent. But peace granted to him that repents not, that is, to him that retains a hostile mind, or that gives not caution for the future, that is, seeks not peace, but opportunity; is not properly peace, but fear, and therefore is not commanded by nature. Now to him that will not pardon the penitent and that gives future caution, peace itself it seems is not pleasing: which is contrary to the natural law. 11.The sixth precept of the natural law is, that in revenge and punishments we must have our eye not at the evil past, but the future good: that is, it is not lawful to inflict punishment for any other end, but that the offender may be corrected, or that others warned by his punishment may become better. But this is confirmed chiefly from hence, that each man is bound by the law of nature to forgive one another, provided he give caution for the future, as hath been showed in the foregoing article. Furthermore, because revenge, if the

Philosophical Rudiments

131

time past be only considered, is nothing else but a certain triumph and glory of mind, which points at no end; for it contemplates only what is past, but the end is a thing to come; but that which is directed to no end, is vain: that revenge therefore which regards not the future, proceeds from vain glory, and is therefore without reason. Sin to hurt another without reason, introduces a Ater, and is contrary to the fundamental law of nature. It is therefore a precept of the law of nature, that in revenge we look not backwards, but forward. Now the breach of this law is commonly called cruelty. 12. But because all signs of hatred and contempt provoke most of all to brawling and fighting, insomuch as most men would rather lose their lives (that I say not, their peace) than suffer slander; it follows in the seventh place, that it is prescribed by the law of nature, that no man, either by deeds or words, countenance or laughter, do declare himself to hate or scorn another. The breach of which law is called reproach. But although nothing be more frequent than the scoffs and jeers of the powerful against the weak, and namely, of judges against guilty persons, which neither relate to the offence of the guilty, nor the duty of the judges; yet these kind of men do act against the law of nature, and are to be esteemed for contumelious. 13. The question whether of two men be the more worthy, belongs not to the natural, but civil state. For it hath been showed before (Chap. 1. Art. 3) Oat all men by nature are equal; And therefore the inequality which now is, suppose from riches, power, nobility of kindred, is come from the civil law. I know that Aristotle, in his first book of Politics, affirms as a foundation of the whole political science, that some men by nature are made worthy to command, others only to serve; as if lord and servant were distinguished not by consent of men, but by an aptness, that is, a certain kind of natural knowledge or ignorance. Which foundation is not only against reason, (as but now hath been showed), but also against experience. For neither almost is any man so dull of understanding as not to judge it better to be ruled by himself, than to yield himself to the government of another; neither if the wiser and stronger do contest, have these always or often the upper hand of those. Whether therefore men be equal by nature, the equality is to be acknowledged; or whether unequal, because they are like to contest for dominion, it is necessary for the obtaining of peace, that they be esteemed as equal; and therefore it is in the eighth place a precept of the law of nature, that every man be accounted by nature equal to another; the contrary to which law is pride. 26. Perhaps some man, who sees all these precepts of nature derived by a certain artifice from the single dictate of reason advising us to look to the preservation and safeguard of ourselves, will say that the deduction of these laws is so hard, that it is not to be expected they will be vulgarly known, and therefore neither will they prove obliging: for laws, if they be not known, oblige not, nay indeed, are not laws. To this I answer, it is true, that hope, fear, anger, ambition, covetousness, vain glory, and other perturbations of mind, do hinder a man, so as he cannot attain to the knowledge of these laws whilst those passions prevail in him: but there is no man who is not sometimes

132

Thomas Hobbes

in a quiet mind. At that time therefore there is nothing easier for him to know,

though he be never so rude and unlearned, than this only rule, that when he doubts whether what he is now doing to another may be done by the law of nature or not, he conceive himself to be in that other's stead. Here instantly those perturbations which persuaded him to the fact, being now cast into the other scale, dissuade him as much. And this rule is not only easy, but is anciently celebrated in these words, quod tibi fieri non vis, alteri ne feceris: do not that to others, you would not have done to yourself

27. But because most men, by reason of their perverse desire of present profit, are very unapt to observe these laws, although acknowledged by them; if perhaps some, more humble than the rest, should exercise that equity and usefulness which reason dictates, the others not practising the same, surely they would not follow reason in so doing: nor would they hereby procure themselves peace, but a more certain quick destruction, and the keepers of the law become a mere prey to the breakers of it. It is not therefore to be imagined, that by nature, that is, by reason, men are obliged to the exercise of all these laws* in that state of men wherein they are not practised by others. We are obliged yet, in the interim, to a readiness of mind to observe them, whensoever their observation shall seem to conduce to the end for which they were ordained. We must therefore conclude, that the law of nature doth always and everywhere oblige in the internal court, or that of conscience; but not always in the external court, but then only when it may be done with safety. 28. But the laws which oblige conscience, may be broken by an act not only contrary to them, but also agreeable with them; if so be that he who does it, be of another opinion. For though the act itself be answerable to the laws, yet his conscience is against them. 29. The laws of nature are immutable and eternal: what they forbid, can never be lawful; what they command, can never be unlawful. For pride, ingratitude, breach of contracts (or injury), inhumanity, contumely, will never be lawful, nor the contrary virtues to these ever unlawful, as we take them for dispositions of the mind, that is, as they are considered in the court of conscience, where only they oblige and are laws. Yet actions may be so diversified by circumstances and the civil law, that what is done with equity at one time, is guilty of iniquity at another; and what suits with reason at one time, is con* The exercise of all these laws.] Nay, among these laws some things there are, the omission whereof, provided it be done for peace or self-preservation, seems rather to be the fulfilling, than breach of the natural law. For he that doth all things against those that do all things, and plunders plunderers, doth equity. But on the contrary, to do that which in peace is a handsome action, and becoming an honest man, is dejectedness and poorness of spirit, and a betraying of one's self, in the time of war. But there are certain natural laws, whose exercise ceaseth not even in the time of war itself. For I cannot understand what drunkenness or cruelty, that is, revenge which respects not the future good, can advance toward peace, or the preservation of any man. Briefly, in the state of nature, what is just and unjust, is not to be esteemed by the actions but by the counsel and conscience of the actor. That which is done out of necessity, out of endeavour for peace, for the preservation of ourselves, is done with right, otherwise every damage done to a man would be a breach of the natural law, and an injury against God.

Philosophical Rudiments

133

trary to it another. Yet reason is still the same, and changeth not her end, which is peace and defence, nor the means to attain them, to wit, those virtues of the mind which we have declared above, and which cannot be abrogated by any custom or law whatsoever. 30. It is evident by what hath hitherto been said, how easily the laws of nature are to be observed, because they require the endeavour only, (but that must be true and constant); which whoso shall perform, we may rightly call him just. For he who tends to this with his whole might, namely, that his actions be squared according to the precepts of nature, he shows clearly that he hath a mind to fulfil all those laws; which is all we are obliged to by rational nature. Now he that hath done all he is obliged to, is a just man. 31. All writers do agree, that the natural law is the same with the moral. Let us see wherefore this is true. We must know, therefore, that good and evil are names given to things to signify the inclination or aversion of them, by whom they were given. But the inclinations of men are diverse, according to their diverse constitutions, customs, opinions; as we may see in those things we apprehend by sense, as by tasting, touching, smelling; but much more in those which pertain to the common actions of life, where what this man commends, that is to say, calls good, the other undervalues, as being evil. Nay, very often the same man at diverse times praises and dispraises the same thing. Whilst thus they do, necessary it is there should be discord and strife. They are, therefore, so long in the state of war, as by reason of the diversity of the present appetite, they mete good and evil by diverse measures. All men easily acknowledge this state, as long as they are in it, to be evil, and by consequence that peace is good. They therefore who could not agree concerning a present, do agree concerning a future good; which indeed is a work of reason; for things present are obvious to the sense, things to come to our reason only. Reason declaring peace to be good, it follows by the same reason, that all the necessary means to peace be good also; and therefore that modesty, equity, trust, humanity, mercy, (which we have demonstrated to be necessary to peace), are good manners or habits, that is, virtues. Vile law therefore, in the mans to peace, commands also good manners, or the practice of virtue; and therefore it is called moral. 32. But because men cannot put off this same irrational appetite, whereby they greedily prefer the present good (to which, by strict consequence, many unforseen evils do adhere) before the future; it happens, that though all men do agree in the commendation of the foresaid virtues, yet they disagree still concerning their nature, to wit, in what each of them doth consist. For as oft as another's good action displeaseth any man, that action hath the name given of some neighbouring vice; likewise the bad actions which please them, are ever intituled to some virtue. Whence it comes to pass that the same action is praised by these, and called virtue, and dispraised by those, and termed vice. Neither is there as yet any remedy found by philosophers for this matter. For since they could not observe the goodness of actions to consist in this, that it was in order to peace, and the evil in this, that it related to discord, they built

134

Thomas Hobbes

a moral philosophy wholly estranged from the moral law, and unconstant to itself. For they would have the nature of virtues seated in a certain kind of mediocrity between two extremes, and the vices in the extremes themselves; which is apparently false. For to dare is commended, and, under the name of fortitude is taken for a virtue, although it be an extreme, if the cause be approved. Also the quantity of a thing given, whether it be great or little, or between both, makes not liberality, but the cause of giving it. Neither is it injustice, if I give any man more of what is mine own than I owe him. The laws of nature, therefore, are the sum of moral philosophy; whereof I have only delivered such precepts in this place, as appertain to the preservation of ourselves against those dangers which arise from discord. But there are other precepts of rational nature, from whence spring other virtues; for temperance, also, is a precept of reason, because intemperance tends to sickness and death. And so fortitude too, that is, that same faculty of resisting stoutly in present dangers, and which are more hardly declined than overcome; because it is a means tending to the preservation of him that resists. 33. But those which we call the laws of nature, (since they are nothing else but certain conclusions, understood by reason, of things to be done and omitted; but a law, to speak properly and accurately, is the speech of him who by right commands somewhat to others to be done or omitted), are not in propriety of speech laws, as they proceed from nature. Yet, as they are delivered by God in holy Scriptures, as we shall see in the chapter following, they are most properly called by the name of laws. For the sacred Scripture is the speech of God commanding over all things by greatest right. Chapter IV: That the Law of Nature Is a Divine Law 1. The same law which is natural and moral, is also wont to be called divine,

nor undeservedly; as well because reason, which is the law of nature, is given by God to every man for the rule of his actions; as because the precepts of living which are thence derived, are the same with those which have been delivered from the divine Majesty for the laws of his heavenly kingdom, by our Lord Jesus Christ, and his holy prophets and apostles. What therefore by reasoning we have understood above concerning the law of nature, we will endeavour to confirm the same in this chapter by holy writ. Chapter V: Of the Causes and First Beginning of Civil Government 1. It is of itself manifest, that the actions of men proceed from the will, and

the will from hope and fear, insomuch as when they shall see a greater good, or less evil, likely to happen to them by the breach, than observation of the laws, they will wittingly violate them. The hope therefore which each man hath of his security and self-preservation, consists in this, that by force or craft he may disappoint his neighbour, either openly, or by stratagem. Whence we may understand, that the natural laws, though well understood, do not instantly secure any man in their practice, and consequently, that as long as there is no caution had from the invasion of others, ‘11%i‘remains to every

Philosophical Rudiments

135

Ira that same primitive right of self-defence, by.such means as either he can or will make use of, that is, a right to all things, or the right of war. And it is sufficient for the fulfilling of the natural law, that a man be prepared in mind to embrace peace when it may be had. 3. Since therefore the exercise of the natural law is necessary for the preservation of peace, and that for the exercise of the natural law security is no less necessary, it is worth the considering what that is which affords such a security. For this matter nothing else can be imagined, but that each man provide himself of such meet helps, as the invasion of one on the other may be rendered so dangerous, as either of them may think it better to refrain, than to meddle. But first, it is plain, that the consent of two or three cannot make good such a security; because that the addition but of one, or some few on the other side, is sufficient to make the victory undoubtedly sure, and heartens the enemy to attack us. It is therefore necessary, to the end the security sought for may be obtained, that the number of them who conspire in a mutual assistance be so great, that the accession of some few to the enemy's party may not prove to them a matter of moment sufficient to assure the victory. 4. Furthermore, how great soever the number of them is who meet on selfdefence, if yet they agree not among themselves of some excellent means whereby to compass this, but every man after his own manner shall make use of his endeavours, nothing will be done. . . . 6. Since therefore the conspiring of many wills to the same end doth not suffice to preserve peace, and to make a lasting defence, it is requisite that, in those necessary matters which concern peace and self-defence, there be but one will of all men. But this cannot be done, unless every man will so subject his will to some other one, to wit, either man or council, that whatsoever his will is in those things which are necessary to the common peace, it be received for the wills of all men in general, and of every one in particular. Now the gathering together of many men who deliberate of what is to be done, or not to be done, for the common good of all men, is that which I call a council. 7. This submission of the wills of all those men to the will of one man, or one council, is then made, when each one of them obligeth himself by contract to every one of the rest, not to resist the will of that one man, or council, to which he hath submitted himself; that is, that he refuse him not the use of his wealth and strength against any others whatsoever (for he is supposed still to retain a right of defending himself against violence) and this is called union. But we understand that to be the will of the council, which is the will of the major part of those men of whom the council consists. 8. But though the will itself be not voluntary, but only the beginning of voluntary actions (for we will not to will, but to act) and therefore falls least of all under deliberation and compact; yet he who submits his will to the will of another, conveys to that other the right of his strength and faculties; insomuch as when the rest have done the same, he to whom they have submitted hath so much power, as by the terror of it he can conform the wills of particular men unto unity and concord. 9. Now union thus made is called a city, or civil society. . . .

136

Thomas Hobbes Editor's Notes

1. The traditional definition, first given by the Roman jurist Ulpian in the second century c.E. 2. To impropriate is to take as one's own property. 3. God's general rule or regime. 4. "Civil science," that is, the true science of government. 5. God. 6. Political animal. 7. Superior excellence or precedence. 8. In Leviathan, chap. 6, Hobbes stated: "When in the mind of man, appetites, and aversions, hopes, and fears, concerning one and the same thing, arise alternately; and divers good and evil consequences of the doing, or omitting the thing propounded, come successively into our thoughts; so that sometimes we have an appetite to it; sometimes an aversion from it; sometimes hope to be able to do it; sometimes despair, or fear to attempt it; the whole sum of desires, aversions, hopes and fears continued till the thing be either done, or thought impossible, is that we call deliberation. . . . "In deliberation, the last appetite, or aversion, immediately adhering to the action, or to the omission thereof, is that we call the will; the act, not the faculty, of willing. And beasts that have deliberation, must necessarily also have will. . . ." 9. That is, the supreme civil power, the sovereign. Further Reading The only complete edition of Hobbes's works is that compiled by Sir William Molesworth, dated 1839-45, in which the English works take up eleven volumes and the Latin five. Howard Warrender edited both De cive and its English translation, Philosophical Rudiments Concerning Government and Society (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1983), for the Clarendon Edition of Hobbes's works, but Warrender's death has halted that edition at least for the near future. The reader will find Warrender's "Introduction" to De cive most helpful. The secondary literature on Hobbes is enormous and shows no signs of ceasing to grow. The best brief introduction is by Richard Tuck, Hobbes (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989), which includes a discussion of various interpretations of Hobbes. Both Richard Peters, Hobbes (London: Penguin, 1956), and J. W. N. Watkins, Hobbes's System of Ideas (London: Hutchinson University Library, 1965), give good general introductions to Hobbes's philosophy, including his views of meaning, method, and knowledge. In Keith Brown, ed., Hobbes Studies (Oxford: Blackwell Publisher, 1965), the reader will find a number of useful essays on different aspects of Hobbes's views and their historical setting. Another collection of valuable essays is by G. A. J. Rogers and Alan Ryan, Perspectives on Thomas Hobbes (New York: Oxford University Press, 1989). There are several systematic studies, among which the most useful are David Gauthier, The Logic of Leviathan (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1969); Jean Hampton, Hobbes and the Social Contract Tradition (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1986); and Gregory S. Kavka, Hobbesian Moral and Political Theory (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1986). Each offers a systematic reconstruction of Hobbesian doctrine. Hampton has an extensive bibliography. Howard Warrender, The

Further Reading

137

Political Philosophy of Hobbes (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1957), offers an acute but controversial reading of Hobbes's theory. On the reception of Hobbes, see John Bowie, Hobbes and His Critics (London: Jonathan Cape, 1951); Samuel I. Mintz, The Hunting of Leviathan (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1969); and Quentin Skinner, "Thomas Hobbes and His Disciples in France and England," Comparative Studies in Society and History 8 (1965): 153-67. There are many editions of Hobbes's major work, Leviathan: the "Introduction" to the one by Michael Oakeshott (Oxford: Blackwell Publisher, n.d.), is particularly interesting.

Richard Cumberland

Introduction

Born in 1631 in London, Cumberland studied at Cambridge University and was elected a fellow of Magdalene College there in 1656. His career was in the Church of England, of which, after serving in several different parishes, he was made a bishop in 1691. He had been a loyal Protestant through the troubled years when Catholicism threatened England under James II. If the bishopric of Peterborough was a reward, it was one Cumberland had not sought, and he was diligent in carrying out the duties of his office. His only philosophical work was De legibus naturae (Treatise of the Laws of Nature), published in 1672 and translated into English twice during the eighteenth century and also into French, by Barbeyrac, the translator of Grotius and Pufendorf. Cumberland's other interest was history. He loved antiquarian research into Jewish history and wrote several volumes on various aspects of it, some published posthumously. He died in 1718. The Treatise of the Laws of Nature is a rambling, badly organized work, in which Cumberland tried to replace Hobbes's views with an outlook that is at once philosophically defensible and substantively Christian. He spent many pages arguing against Hobbes — against his method, against his psychology, against the moral conclusions he drew, against his atheism, and against his politics. Cumberland tried to argue as rigorously as possible, drawing on science for assistance (there is a long section on human physiology, complete with a foldout diagram of the nerves in the backbone) but abstaining from the kind of humanistic citation of classical authors that Grotius used. Cumberland offered extensive mathematical formulations or analogies for some of his ideas. Though aware that he had anti-Hobbesian allies among the Cambridge philosophers, he refrained from joining with them in an appeal to a Platonic idea of the good, because he knew such an appeal would carry no weight against Hobbes. Yet although Cumberland tried to be scientific and up to date, there is no question that his message is that love is the fulfillment of the law (Rom. 13:10, cited on his title page). Love, for Cumberland, is benevolence, and benevolence, as he understood it, moves us to increase the happiness of all rational beings. In his work we can see natural law theory being moved decisively in one of the directions inherent in it, the utilitarian. According to the utilitarian view, the basic principle of morality is that we are to bring about the greatest good we can, and other moral concepts are defined in terms of the good. All the natural lawyers, whether Thomistic or "modern," would have agreed that one function of the laws of nature is to direct us to attain something good. For Hobbes they show each individual the way to attain his or her own good, but for the

138

Introduction

139

other lawyers they direct our actions toward the common good as well as toward our own. For the natural lawyers, however, the laws of nature do more than teach us how to attain the good. They show us what God wills us to do, and they bind or obligate us as well. Furthermore, the concept of obligation is not defined simply in terms of the good. Now Cumberland did not deny that the law shows us God's will and also carries obligation with it, but he takes the fact that the laws direct us to the common good as their central feature and tries to show that the other functions of law derive solely from it. He moved natural law theory in the direction of utilitarianism because he believed that the single basic law of nature is that we are to increase the good of all rational beings and also because he wanted to explain how obligation is itself a function of that requirement. Did Cumberland manage•to achieve all his aims — to defeat Hobbes, to argue in scientific terms, and to preserve Christian teaching — in a consistent and coherent way? One problem he faced was that as a Christian he had to demonstrate that God matters for morality. God matters because the laws of nature are proper laws; proper laws require a sanction; and God is the source of the sanction. Cumberland was a moderate in the Church of England and rejected the extreme voluntarism of the Calvinists, as well as, of course, the variant of voluntarism in Hobbes. Hence he wanted to say that the good is not made by will but is eternal. We perceive it and are moved by it, and this, somehow, must explain how there is a law of nature. Cumberland also rejected the idea of a wrathful deity moving us only by threats. He accordingly treated the sanctions of the laws of nature as coming from the way we naturally respond to the world. Just as we find that temperance benefits us personally, so we find that being benevolent is enjoyable and that being selfish is, in the long run, self-defeating. Sanctions become the pleasures and pains that naturally attend various courses of action, not rewards and punishments in addition to them. One then wants to ask why God is really needed. Admitting that God made the world with this helpful structure, what more is left for him to do? Cumberland came close to believing that the world can run on its own and that we, as part of it, can direct our own lives. There are other ways in which Cumberland revealed this position. One of the points of Hobbes's doctrine that his critics disliked most was his denial that there is anything properly called free will. Actions can be free, Hobbes held, but not the will as such. We simply are part of the mechanism of nature, and natural forces are as effectively at work in determining the course of our desires and aversions as they are in the external world. Although Cumberland made an effort to distance himself from the egoism he found in Hobbes's psychology, he evaded the issue of free will, stating that he was not interested in metaphysical subtleties. He did not accept Hobbesian materialism, but he did not try to show that our mode of action differs in principle from the behavior of nonhuman beings. This comes out most strikingly in Cumberland's refusal to distinguish between stating the law of nature in terms of what does in fact occur and stating it in terms of what ought to occur. It is as if Cumberland were saying, I shall tackle Hobbes on his own terms, showing that as parts of nature we are moved to obtain not our own personal greatest good but the greatest good for all rational beings. The reader may wish to ask whether this is an adequate reply or simply a confusion. The following selections are from Cumberland's Treatise of the Laws of Nature, translated by John Maxwell, London, 1727. I have used fewer capital letters and italics than the translator did and have simplified some of the punctuation.

140

Richard Cumberland

A Treatise of the Laws of Nature THE INTRODUCTION

§I. It concerns us both, friendly reader, that you should be briefly acquainted with the design and method of this treatise; for thence you will immediately perceive what I have performed, or at least attempted; and what is further to be supplied from your own understanding of the writings of others. The laws of nature are the foundations of all moral and civil knowledge, as in the following work will at large appear. But these, as all other conclusions discoverable by the light of nature, may be deduced two ways: either from those manifest effects which flow from them or from the causes whence they themselves arise. I have endeavoured to discover them in this latter method, by arguing from the cause to the effect. To the former method of proving their obligation (by arguing from the effect to the cause) belongs what has been written by Hugo Grotius . . . the work of Hugo Grotius, which was the first of the kind, I think worthy both of the author and of immortality. . . . §IV. Wherefore, that the conclusions of reason in moral matters might more evidently appear to be laws, laws of God, I have thought it proper to make a philosophical inquiry into their causes, as well internal as external, the nearer and the more remote; for by this method we shall at last arrive at their first author or efficient cause, from whose essential perfections and internal sanction of them by rewards and punishments . . . their authority arises. Most others have been satisfied with saying in general terms that these conclusions, or actions conformable to them, are taught by nature; but to me it seems necessary, especially at this time, to trace more distinctly after what manner the powers of things, as well without as within us, conspire to imprint these conclusions upon our minds and to give a sanction to them. §V. The Platonists,' indeed, clear up this difficulty in an easier manner, by the supposition of innate ideas, as well of the laws of nature themselves as of those matters about which they are conversant; but, truly, I have not been so happy as to learn the laws of nature in so short a way. Nor seems it to me well advised to build the doctrine of natural religion and morality upon an hypothesis which has been rejected by the generality of philosophers, as well heathen as Christian, and can never be proved against the Epicureans, 2 with whom is our chief controversy. I was resolved, however, not to oppose this opinion, because it is my earnest desire that whatever looks with a friendly aspect upon piety and morality might have its due weight (and I look upon these Platonists to be favourers of their cause) and because it is not impossible that such ideas might be both born with us and afterwards impressed upon us from without. §VI. Moreover, the same reasons which hindered us from supposing innate ideas of the laws of nature in our minds hinder us likewise from supposing without proof that these laws have existed from eternity in the divine mind. 3 I have therefore thought it necessary to remove the difficulty, and assert and prove the authority and eternal existence of these conclusions in the divine

A Treatise of the Laws of Nature

141

mind, in the following method; assuming those notices which we have from sense and daily experience, I demonstrate that the nature of things, which subsists and is continually governed by its first cause, does necessarily imprint on our minds some practical propositions (which must be always true, and cannot without a contradiction be supposed otherwise) concerning the study of promoting the joint felicity of all rationals: and that the terms of these propositions do immediately and directly signify that the first cause, in his original constitution of things, has annexed the greatest rewards and punishments to the observance and neglect of these truths. Whence it manifestly follows that they are laws, laws being nothing but practical propositions, with rewards and punishments annexed, promulged4 by competent authority. Having hence shewn that the knowledge and practice of these laws is the natural perfection or most happy state of our rational nature, I infer that there must be in the first cause (from whom proceed both this our perfection, and that most wise disposition which we see, every day, of effects without us, for the common preservation and perfection of the whole system) a perfection correspondent but infinitely superior to this knowledge and practice of the laws of nature. For I look upon it as most evident that we must first know what justice is and from whence those laws are derived in the observance whereof it wholly consists, before we can distinctly know that justice is to be attributed to God, and that we ought to propose his justice as our example. For we come not at the knowledge of God by immediate intuition of his perfections, but from his effects first known by sense and experience; nor can we safely ascribe to him attributes which from other considerations we do not sufficiently comprehend. §IX. Lastly, upon a diligent consideration of all those propositions which deserve to be ranked amongst the general laws of nature, I have observed they may be reduced to one universal one, from the just explication whereof all the particular laws may be both dul limited and illustrated. This general proposition may be thus expressed: "The endeavour, to the utmost of our power, of promoting the common goo of the whole system of rational agents conduces, as far as in us lies, to the ood of every part, in which our own happiness as that of a part is containe But contrary actions produce contrary effects, and consequently our own misery, among that of others." §XV. That the summary of all the precepts and sanctions of the law of nature is contained in our proposition and its corollary concerning the opposite behaviour, I thus briefly shew. The subject (to borrow a school-term) of the proposition is "an endeavour, according to our ability, to promote the common good of the whole system of rationals." This includes our love of God and of all mankind, who are the parts of this system. God, indeed, is the principal part; men, the subordinate: a benevolence toward both includes piety and humanity, that is, both tables of the law of nature. 5 The predicate of the proposition (to borrow another phrase from the schools) is "conducing to the good of every part, in which our own happiness, as of a part, is contained." In which, as all those good things we can procure to all are said to be the effect of this endeavour, so among the rest is not omitted that collection of

142

Richard Cumberland

good things whence our own happiness arises, which is the greatest reward of obedience; as misery arising from actions of a contrary kind is the greatest punishment of wickedness. But the natural connexion of the predicate with the subject is both the foundation of the truth of the proposition and the proof of the natural connexion between obedience and rewards, transgression and punishments. Hence the reader will easily observe the true reason why this practical proposition, and all those which may be deduced from thence, oblige all rational beings who understand them; whilst other practical propositions (suppose geometrical ones) equally impressed by nature and consequently by God upon the mind of man do not oblige him to conform his practice to them; but may safely be neglected by most, to whom the practice of geometry is not necessary: which is wholly owing to the nature of the effects arising from the one and the other practice. The effects of the practice of geometry are such as most people may want 6 without prejudice. But the effects of a care of the common good do so nearly concern all, of whom we ourselves are a part, and upon whose pleasure the happiness of each individual does in some measure depend, that such care cannot be rejected without the hazard of losing that happiness or the hope thereof: and this God has manifested to us by the very nature of things, and thereby he has sufficiently promulged that he himself is the author of the connexion of rewards and punishments with our actions; whence this proposition and all others which flow from thence commence laws by his authority. §XVI. From the very terms of our proposition, it is manifest that the adequate and immediate effect of that practice which this law establishes is that which is acceptable to God and beneficial to all men; which is the natural good of the whole system of rationals, even the greatest of all those good things which can be procured for them, as being greater than the like good of any part of the same system. Moreover, it sufficiently implies that the happiness of each individual (from the prospect of enjoying which, or being deprived of it, the whole sanction is taken) is derived from the best state of the whole system, as the nourishment of each member of an animal depends upon the nourishment of the whole mass of blood diffused through the whole. Hence it is manifest, that this greatest effect (not any small portion thereof, the private happiness suppose, of any single person) is the principal end of the lawgiver and of everyone who truly obeys his will. It is likewise hence evident that those human actions which from their own natural force or efficacy are apt to promote the common good are called naturally good, and indeed better than those actions which are subservient to the private good of any individual, in proportion as the public good is greater than a private. In like manner, such actions as take the shortest way to this effect as to their end, are naturally right, because of their natural resemblance to a right line, which is the shortest that can be drawn between any two given points. Nevertheless, the same actions, afterward, when they are compared with the law, whether natural or positive, which is the rule of morality, and they are found

A Treatise of the Laws of Nature

143

conformable to it, are called morally good, as also right, that is, agreeing with the rule; but the rule itself is called right, as pointing out the shortest way to the end. §XVII. But because the connexion of rewards and punishments with such actions as promote the public good, or the contrary, is somewhat obscured by those evil things which happen to the good and those good things which happen to the evil, it seems necessary to our purpose more carefully to shew that (notwithstanding these) that connexion is sufficiently constant and manifest in human nature so that thence may with certainty be inferred the sanction of the law of nature, commanding these actions, and forbidding those. §XVIII. The causes of human actions are the powers of the mind and body of man. Wherefore, because I have observed it to be manifest that happiness, or the highest reward, is necessarily connected with the most full and constant exercise of all our powers about the best and greatest objects and effects which are adequate and proportionable to them; I hence collect, that men endowed with these faculties are naturally bound, under the penalty of forfeiting their happiness, to employ or exercise them about the noblest objects in nature, viz. God, and man his image. Nor can it be long a question whether our faculties may be more properly employed in cultivating friendship or enmity with these, in engaging with them in a state of peace or war. For it is plain that there can be no neutral state, in which God and men shall be neither loved nor hated and irritated, or in which we shall act neither acceptably nor unacceptably to either, especially when we make use of things without us. For of necessity we must either take care not to deprive others of things necessary to their happiness, which without benevolence cannot be supposed; or we shall willingly take them away, which is a sure indication of a malicious mind. But if it be acknowledged that there is an evident necessity in order to happiness of cultivating friendship with God and man, the sanction of that most general law of nature, which alone we are here tracing, is of course granted. For that alone establishes both all natural religion and everything that is necessary to the happiness of mankind. §XXIII. I have thus briefly laid down the method by which I have deduced the sanction of the laws of nature; in which I have considered the happiness which naturally flows from good actions as the reward annexed to them by the author of nature; and the loss thereof as a punishment not less naturally connected with evil actions. For whatever good or evil is the necessary consequence of human actions must necessarily be contained in such practical propositions as truly declare the consequences of those actions. And God himself is supposed to declare those practical propositions which are necessarily suggested to our minds by the nature, as well of our own actions, as of those of other rational beings, and which truly foretell what consequences will follow. But those advantages and disadvantages which God himself pronounces annexed to human actions, and by which we are admonished to pursue those and avoid these, are really and truly rewards and punishments. §XXIV. Moreover, this method, by which I have reduced all the precepts of

144

Richard Cumberland

the law of nature to one, seems useful, because the proof of this one proposition is more easy and expeditious than that of those many which are usually proposed by philosophers; and the ease of the memory is better consulted, to which daily calling to mind a single sentence is not a burden; and (which is the greatest advantage of all) from the very nature of the common good, which in this proposition we are directed to promote, a certain rule or measure is afforded to the prudent man's judgment by the help whereof he may ascertain that just measure in his actions and affections in which virtue consists. This task Aristotle has assigned to the judgment of the prudent, in his definition of virtue, but has not pointed out the rule by which such judgment is to be formed. Our proposition shews that the rule is to be taken from the nature of the best and greatest end, respect being had to all the parts of the whole system of rationals, or of that society of which God is the head, the members, all God's subjects. CHAPTER 1: OF THE NATURE OF THINGS

§IV. . . . although there are innumerable things which, in the knowledge of the universe, may be made use of for the matter of particular propositions which are to form our manners, I have nevertheless thought proper to select only a few, and those the most general, which might in some measure explain that general description of the laws of nature which I at first proposed, and are a little more manifestly contained in one proposition, the fountain of all nature's laws. Which general proposition is this, "the greatest benevolence of every rational agent towards all, forms the happiest state of every, and of all the benevolent, as far as is in their power, and is necessarily requisite to the happiest state which they can attain, and therefore the common good is the supreme law." §XV. The things now proposed concerning human happiness appear so plain by common experience or obvious reasoning that I know nothing belonging to human nature more evident; and they have the same respect to the direction of our practice in morality which the postulates of geometricians have to the construction of problems; such are for plain problems that we can draw a right line from any one point to any other, or that we can describe a circle with any center and radius, and other more difficult ones, for the construction of solid and linear problems. In all these cases are supposed actions depending upon the free powers of men; yet geometry does not become uncertain by any disputes arising from the explanation of free will. The like may be said of arithmetical operations; for it is sufficient for the truth of these sciences that the connexion is inseparable between such acts (which it supposes may be done and which we find placed in our power when we go about the practice of geometry), and the effects desired. And either the pleasure arising from such contemplations or the manifold uses in life are sufficient to invite men to search after such effects. By a like reasoning, the truth of moral philosophy is founded in the necessary connexion between the

A Treatise of the Laws of Nature

145

greatest happiness human powers can reach, and those acts of universal benevolence, or of love towards God and men, which is branched out into all the moral virtues. But in the mean time these things are supposed as postulates: that the greatest happiness they can attain is sought by men; and, that they can exercise love not only towards themselves but also towards God and [towards] men partaking of the same rational nature with themselves. §XXII. Secondly. If men or other things do, or afford, any thing for the use of men, such service or benefit is naturally and necessarily limited to certain persons, times, and places. Therefore, if right reason enjoins that the use of things or the services of men should be useful to all men, it necessarily enjoins that for a certain time and place that use of things and of human services should be limited to certain persons. The consequence is manifest because that is right reason in commanding which commands that to be done which is possible to be done according to the nature of things. The consequence tends to prove that a division of things and of human services, at least for the time they may be of use to others, is necessary for the advantage of all. And certainly that necessary limitation of the use of one thing to one man for the time it benefits any person is a natural division, that is, separation from the use of any other person for the same time. It is manifest that I here call those things one that are necessarily wholly employed in one use at one time. For other things are likewise called one which at the same time may be of use to many, as one island, one wood, etc. concerning whose division I have yet affirmed nothing. From the above-mentioned natural division of things and its necessity to the preservation of all, is derived that primitive right to things by first occupancy (which is so frequently mentioned by philosophers and lawyers, and which they teach is to take place supposing all things common). For right is the liberty of acting any thing granted by a law. But in that supposed state there is no other law but the conclusions of right reason, concerning actions necessary to the common good, promulgated by God. . . . §XXIII. Nor, upon these suppositions, will there be any right to do anything except what right reason declares to be necessary to the common good or at least consistent with it; of which the first is therefore commanded by reason, the last permitted. . . . This, however, I thought proper here carefully to inculcate, that all right, even to the use of those things which are absolutely necessary to every one's preservation (as it is distinguished from the mere force of seizing those things, in which sense only its original is here inquired into) is founded in the command, or at least in the permission, of the law of nature, that is, of right reason pronouncing concerning those things which are necessary to the common good according to the nature of things; and that therefore it cannot be known that any one has a right to preserve himself, unless it be known that this will contribute to the common good or that it is at least consistent with it. But if this be the rise of our right to our own preservation, our powers will be hereby so limited that we may not invade the equal rights of others, nor break forth into a war against all; that is, make an attempt towards the destruction of all.

146

Richard Cumberland CHAPTER

2:

OF HUMAN NATURE AND RIGHT REASON

§VII. I think it proper to observe here, by the way, that by the dictates of practical reason I understand propositions which point out either the end or the means thereto in every man's power. For all practice is resolved into these; and that practical reason is then called right when it determines truly, or as the thing is in itself, in propositions declaring what is every man's best and most necessary end and what are the most proper means of obtaining it; or (which comes to the same thing) which pronounces according to truth what effects of our own counsel and will will render our selves and others happy, and how we shall with the greatest certainty produce them; just as in geometry that speculative reason is right which affirms a quantity which is really in its own nature greater to be greater than another. And that practical proposition is right, which teaches that method of constructing problems which if we pursue, we shall really produce the effect proposed. Nor is an opinion or proposition of this kind truer when affirmed by a king than when by a subject. Since then all right reason is conformable to those things about which we have formed a judgment, since each thing is in its nature but one and uniform with it self; it follows that right reason in one [person] cannot dictate that which contradicts right reason concerning the same things in any other person. From this principle follows that precept of universal use concerning the actions of all men, that human actions ought to be uniform and consistent with themselves, through the whole course of every man's life; .. . It is included in the notion of a true proposition (a practical one, for instance) and is consequently a necessary perfection of a man forming a right judgment in that affair, that it should agree with other true propositions framed about a like subject, though that like case should happen at another time or belong to another man. And therefore, if any one judge that his act of taking to himself the necessaries of life not yet possessed by any other would promote the common happiness, it is necessary that the judgment that the like action of another in like circumstances would equally conduce to the same end, must be undoubtedly right. Whoever therefore judges truly, must judge the same things which he thinks truly are lawful to himself to be lawful to others in a like case. In the same manner, whatever assistance any man rightly and truly believes he may or ought to demand according to right reason, it is equitable and consequently a dictate of right reason that he should think that any other in like circumstances justly may or ought to demand the like help from him. §XII. Shall I not reckon among the perfections of the human understanding that it can reflect upon itself? Consider its habits as dispositions arising from past actions? Judge which way the mind inclines? And direct itself to the pursuit of what seems fittest to be done? Our mind is conscious to itself of all its own actions, and both can and often does observe what counsels produced them; it naturally sits a judge upon its own actions, and thence procures to itself either tranquillity and joy, or anxiety and sorrow. In this power of the

A Treatise of the Laws of Nature

147

mind, and the actions thence arising consists the whole force of conscience, by which it proposes laws to itself, examines its past and regulates its future conduct. Nor appear any traces in other animals of so noble a faculty. Great are the powers of this principle, both to the formation and increase of virtue, to the erecting and preserving civil societies, both among those who are not subject to the same civil power, and among fellow-subjects. And, indeed, the principal design of this treatise is to shew how this power of our mind, either of itself, or excited by external objects, forms certain universal practical propositions which give us a more distinct idea of the utmost possible happiness of mankind and pronounce by what actions of ours, in all variety of circumstances, that happiness may most effectually be obtained. For these are the rules of action, these are the laws of nature. CHAPTER

3:

OF NATURAL GOOD

§I. Good is that which preserves or enlarges and perfects the faculties of any one thing or of several. For in these effects is discovered that particular agreement of one thing with another which is requisite to denominate anything good to the nature of this thing rather than of others. In the definition of "good" I chose to avoid the word "agreement" because of its very uncertain signification. Nevertheless, those things whose actions or motions conduce to the preservation or increase of the powers of other things consistently with the nature of the individual may justly be said to agree with them. . . . So that is good to man which preserves or enlarges the powers of the mind and body, or of either, without prejudice to the other. . . . Good of this kind, of which we form an idea without the consideration of any laws whatsoever, I call natural good. . . . It is distinguished by its greater extensiveness from that good which is called "moral," which is ascribed only to such actions and habits of rational agents as are agreeable to laws, whether natural or civil, and is ultimately resolved into the natural common good, to the preservation and increase of which alone all the laws of nature and all just civil laws do direct use. . . . §II. I own, therefore, that to be called "good" which agrees with another and consequently that the term is relative. But it is not always referred to the desire, nor always to that one person only who desires it. In these two points Hobbes' has often erred grossly (though he sometimes comes out with the truth, in contradiction to himself) and on these fundamental mistakes is supported most of what he has writ amiss concerning the right of war of all against all in a state of nature, and a right of exercising arbitrary power in a state of society. . . . I . . . am of opinion that things are first judged to be good and that they are afterwards desired only so far as they seem good; that anything is therefore truly judged good because its effect or force truly helps nature; that a private good is that which profits one, public, which is of advantage to many; not because it is desired from opinion whether true or false or delights for this or

148

Richard Cumberland

that moment of time. . . . And it is the part of brutes only to measure the goodness of things or of actions by affection only, without the guidance of reason. . . . §IV. There is another error of Hobbes concerning good, which is, that "the object of the" human "will is that, which every man thinks good for himself."* Which he thus expresses elsewhere, "every one is presumed to pursue his own good naturally; that which is just, for peace only, and by accident." , What is just, respects the good of others, which he does not think any man seeks unless from a fear of those evils which arise from a state of war. Of a piece with these passages are the places above quoted out of him; and numberless others, scattered through his writings, insinuate the same thing. Upon this is grounded that passage, "whatever is done voluntarily, is done for some good to him who wills it. "t .. . But if we examine what led him into an opinion so contrary to that of all philosophers, I can see nothing but that one hint which he affords, by the bye, in the same section, where he explains "nature" by "the affections planted in every animal, till by inconvenient consequences or by precepts it is effected, that the desire of things present is checked by the remembrance of things past."V e judges of human nature and the adequate object of the will from those a ections, which are previous to the use of reason, to experience, and asee his Preface to his to discipline, such as are found in children and madmen treatise De cive. But I, as well as all other philosoph hat I know of, think that we are to take an estimate of the nature of man rather from reason (and that therefore the will may extend it self to those things which reason dictates to be agreeable to the nature of any person) since such irrational affections are to be looked on rather as perturbations of the mind and consequently as preternatural; which even Hobbes himself, since the publishing his book De cive, confesses in his treatise De homine. 8 Nor see I any thing to hinder but that what I judge agreeable to any nature I may desire should happen to it; nay, that I should endeavour, as far as in me lies, that it should be effected. Nay, this may be demonstrated a priori to those who acknowledge the nature of the will to consist in the consent of the mind with the judgment of the understanding concerning things agreeing among themselves. For it is certain that the understanding is capable of judging what promotes the good of others as well as what promotes our own; nor is there any reason why we cannot will those same things which we have judged to be good. (Nay, it is hardly possible that we should not will those things which we have judged to be good.) But it is to be observed that, whatever a man can will, he can also resolve to effect the same as far as it is in his power. Good thus willed by us is said to be intended, and, by virtue of this intention, it assumes the complete * Hobbes, De cive, 1.2. (The passage in the English version is as follows: "For when we voluntarily contract society, in all manner of society we look after the object of the will, that is, that which every one of those who gather together propounds to himself for good.") t Ibid., 111.21. : Ibid., 11.8. § Ibid.

A Treatise of the Laws of Nature

149

nature of an end: therefore the common good of the universe may be an end proposed by men. CHAPTER

4:

OF THE PRACTICAL DICTATES OF REASON

§I. . . . A practical proposition is sometimes thus expressed: "This possible human action (universal benevolence, for instance) will chiefly, beyond any other action at the same time possible, conduce to my happiness and that of all others, either as an essential part thereof or as a cause which will, some time or other, effect a principal essential part thereof." It is sometimes expressed, in the form of a command: "Let that action, which is in thy power, and which will most effectually, of all those which thou can'st exert, promote the common good in the present circumstances, be exerted"; often also, in the form of a gerund: "such an action ought to be done." In my opinion, these several forms of speech relating to the law of nature mean the same thing, whether the understanding judges this best to be done, or commands it, or tells me, in the form of a gerund, that I am bound to do it. For the understanding (which in this affair is called conscience) sufficiently hints the natural obligation when it says, "this is best to be done, both for your self and others." For, in omitting what is declared best for me it is thence evident that I bring mischief (which may be called punishment) upon my self. If the dictate be considered under the form of a command, the same thing is inculcated by representing every man's own understanding as a magistrate deputed and authorized to make laws: Which, because it sounds somewhat metaphorically is therefore less philosophical. It is useful however, because the comparison has a very just foundation in nature. The form of a gerund teaches the same thing; but as an inferior judge or counsellor admonishing concerning a law already made and requiring a conformity of the future action therewith. The first manner is most becoming a philosopher, which, if we consider the form, appears a speculative proposition; if the force, a practical, as teaching the natural foundation of obligation. The second best becomes a sovereign prince; the third, a divine. But they may all be used promiscuously, provided we retain in mind the distinction, such as it is, between these forms. The nature of things represents to the mind what is best to be done. The mind, considering the government of things, does, from the idea of God, conclude, that he wills or commands them to be done and in his name imposes the command on itself, in the second form. In the third, it reflects upon the two former, and pronounces that an action agreeable to that command will be just; the contrary, unjust. §IV. But before we consider these laws more particularly, it will be worth while to insist somewhat longer on treating of the nature of practical propositions, and first to shew their great affinity or agreement in meaning, whether they be absolute or conditional, with speculative propositions. Secondly, that in them all the effect is looked upon as the end; actions in our power, as the means.

150

Richard Cumberland

In order to which we are first to observe that those are properly called practical propositions which declare the origin of an effect from human actions, which definition I think proper to illustrate by examples. Such is this in arithmetic, "the addition of numbers forms the sum," or "the subtraction of one number from another leaves their difference." Yet farther: the science of morality and politics both can and ought to imitate the analytic art (in which I comprehend not only the extraction of roots, but also the whole doctrine of specious arithmetic or algebra) as the noblest pattern of science. 1. By delivering the rules of its practice and the whole substance of its art in a few universal theorems. Where I think proper to observe that its certainty is no more weakened or usefulness lessened because we cannot exactly determine what is fit to be done in our external actions with relation to a subject involved in a vast variety of circumstances, than the truth or usefulness of geometrical principles about measuring lines, surfaces, or solids is overthrown because neither our senses nor instruments will enable us to form without us a line exactly straight, or a surface perfectly plane or spherical or a body in all respects regular. It is sufficient that we approach so near to exactness that what we want of it is of no consequence in practice. 2. . . . moral philosophy begins with contemplating an end very intricate, and means variously involved. For the end is a collection of all those good things within our power which are capable of adorning the kingdom of God, the whole system of intelligent agents, and its several parts. The means, by which this end is to be obtained, are all our possible free actions, about what object soever. And, from an equality supposed between these two ideas, as between the powers of the cause and their adequate effect are to be drawn all moral rules and all virtuous actions enjoined by them. It is evident that these things are equal because the end is the entire effect to be produced, and all our possible actions make up the entire efficient cause. 3. As algebra supposes the quantity unknown and yet sought after in some sort already known, by a certain anticipation of the mind, and expresses it by a proper character, and is thus enabled to exhibit its given relation to the known quantities, by means whereof itself at last becomes known: so ethics, also, forms some kind of idea of the end or effect proposed; by the help of those relations which it bears to our operations in some measure known (at least in general) it distinguishes it by the name of the chief good, or of happiness, from other objects, although it knows that it does not yet exist, and although it does not distinctly know what shall at last be the effect of our operations, and of the concurrence of things without us; whence it may justly be called unknown: but by the help of those actions and faculties to which it is related as the effect to its causes, and on which consequently it most certainly entirely depends, it at last gradually becomes known. Hither also is to be referred that, whereas the end proposed by every one is that entire and greatest good which he can procure to the universe and to himself in his station, it follows that the end is to be conceived as the greatest aggregate or

A Treatise of the Laws of Nature

151

sum of good effects, most acceptable to God and men, which can be effected by the greatest industry of all our future actions. It often happens (and we ought to endeavour that it should happen as often as may be) that the good effects of our power increase in a geometrical progression (as in increase arising from interest upon interest, or in husbandry, or merchandizing, when every year the increase of the former is added to the main stock) whence arises a vast increase, both of public and private happiness beyond what can be distinctly foreseen. CHAPTER

5:

OF THE LAW OF NATURE, AND ITS OBLIGATION

§I. Having prepared the way for all that is to follow, I shall begin this chapter with the definition of the law of nature. The law of nature is a proposi-

tion proposed to the observation of, or impressed upon, the mind with sufficient clearness by the nature of things, from the will of the first cause which points out that possible action of a rational agent which will chiefly promote the common good and by which only the entire happiness of particular persons can be obtained. The former part of this definition contains the precept, the latter,

the sanction; and the mind receives the impression of both, from the nature of things. §XXII. The second method 9 of knowing that God wills that actions conducing to the common good of rational agents should be performed by men or that he wills that such actions should be honoured with rewards, or the contrary restrained by punishments, is taken from the effects of this will, that is, from the rewards and punishments themselves, which, by means of the inward constitution of all men and of this whole system of the world, framed by the appointment of the divine will, are the natural and ordinary consequences of human actions; and do render men either miserable by evil or happy by good. For it is not to be doubted but that God, who has so established the natural order of all things that the consequences of human actions with respect to the actors themselves should be such; and who has caused that these ordinary consequences may be foreknown or expected with the highest probability by them, willed that before they prepared for action they should consider these things, and be determined by them, as by arguments contained in the sanction of the laws. Such kind of effects are those internal pleasures of mind, which accompany every noble action intended for the publick good; and, on the contrary, those fears and anxieties of mind, which, like furies, pursue the wicked: and also those external rewards and punishments by which other rational agents, according to the dictates of right reason concerning the best end and means, preserve mankind from destruction and promote the common happiness. I thought it proper to insist the longer upon this argument in this treatise, because I hoped my antagonists, who are so intent upon their own preservation, would the more willingly acknowledge its force; and because the nature of things seemed to propose many proofs of this matter, which required a very

152

Richard Cumberland

particular explication. I therefore resolve moral obligation (which is the immediate effect of nature's laws) into their first and principal cause which is the will and counsel of God promoting the common good; and therefore by rewards and punishments enacting into laws the practical propositions which tend thereto. Men's care of their own happiness, which causes them to consider and be moved by rewards and punishments, is no cause of obligation; that proceeds wholly from the law and the lawgiver. It is only a necessary disposition in the subject, without which the rewards and penalties of the law would be of no force to induce men to the performance of their duty. As contact is necessary in the communication of motion from body to body, though force impressed be the only cause of that motion. It ought also in confirmation of this point to be considered that the obligation lies upon them too whose mind is so stupid that they wholly neglect the divine will and the sanction thereby annexed to the law. I must add that the care of preserving and perfecting ourselves, which is natural and inseparable from man, and that which is superinduced by right reason and which I acknowledge has some place among the motives to good actions, tho' not a cause of our obligation to them, are both wholly from God. From thence it follows, that the force of this care detracts nothing from his authority or honour, and that it ought to have its due influence. §XXVII. Here, lest I should be thought to use words in a sense different from what is usual, I shall briefly shew that what I have said is implied in the received definition of obligation. There is nothing which can superinduce a necessity of doing or forbearing any thing upon a human mind deliberating upon a thing future except thoughts or propositions promising good or evil to our selves or others, consequent upon what we are about to do. But because we are determined by some sort of natural necessity to pursue good foreseen, especially the greatest, and to avoid evils; hence those dictates of reason which discover to us that these things will follow from certain of our actions are said to lay upon us some kind of necessity of performing or omitting those actions, and to oblige us; because those advantages are necessarily connected with our happiness, which we naturally desire, and our actions are evidently necessary to the attainment of them. I therefore think that moral obligation may be thus universally and properly defined: "Obligation is that act of a legislator by which he declares that actions conformable to his law are necessary to those for whom the law is made." An action is then understood to be necessary to a rational agent when it is certainly one of the causes necessarily required to that happiness which he naturally and consequently necessarily desires. Thus we are obliged to pursue the common good when the nature of things (especially of rational causes) exposed to our observation discovers to our minds that this action is a cause necessarily requisite to complete our happiness; which, therefore, naturally depends upon the pursuit of the common good of all rational agents; as the soundness of a member depends upon the soundness and life of the whole

A Treatise of the Laws of Nature

153

animated body. It amounts to the same thing when we say that the obligation is an act of the legislator or of the first cause, as if in this place we had called it an act of the law of nature. For the legislator obliges by the law sufficiently promulged, and he sufficiently promulges it when he discovers to our minds that the prosecution of the common good is the cause necessarily requisite to that happiness which every one necessarily desires. Upon discovering this all men are obliged, whether it be of so great weight with them as perfectly to incline their minds to what it persuades, or whether what is alleged in favour of the contrary opinion weigh more. Those bodies which, through a fault in the balance, are raised by a smaller weight in the opposite scale are yet in themselves heavier or have a greater tendency towards the center of the earth. It is to be observed that those arguments which prove our obligation in this case would certainly prevail, unless the ignorance, turbulent affections, or rashness of men, like the fault in the balance, opposed their efficacy; as discovering, beside rewards and punishments manifested or expressed, that others greater (if there be occasion) will be added at the pleasure of the supreme governour of the world. . . . the entire happiness of every particular nan naturally depends upon the benevolence of God and of other men; but neither can the benevolence of God towards any one be separated from his regard to his own honour; nor the favourable inclination of others towards us, be disjoined from their care of their own happiness. Nay, we must needs acknowledge this to be stronger in them than their affection towards us. Wherefore it is impossible that he who duly considers the nature of rational beings should desire that they should assist us, except their own preservation were at the same time taken care of; and, therefore he cannot propose to himself his own happiness separately from that of others as his adequate end. CHAPTER

7:

OF THE ORIGINAL OF DOMINION, AND THE MORAL VIRTUES

§XII. . . . Moreover; these general laws of nature concerning' the care of the publick good and the settling and preserving dominion require that both God and men take care, whenever they please to enact any positive law, to give sufficient evidence of their doing so; for such discovery is necessary to the promulgation thereof, without which no one can be obliged. Hence it is necessary that if God would command anything by a revelation, it must first appear plain that the command is perfectly consistent with his unchangeable laws known from nature. For it is certain, that the divine reason cannot contradict itself. And it is farther required that his will to enforce this new law be discovered to those for whom it is enacted by enabling his messengers to fortell future contingencies without mistake or deceit, or else to work true miracles. Hence also human legislators, when they enact laws, do in the first place declare that they tend to the publick good and therefore have the same

Richard Cumberland

154

view with the laws of nature; and then add some signs, or testimonies, to make it known that they have been actually promulged by their authority. CHAPTER

8:

OF THE MORAL VIRTUES IN PARTICULAR

§I. . . . First, then, we are to observe that as universal justice is a moral perfection to which we are therefore obliged because such a will, or inclination of mind, is commanded by the universal law of nature, enjoining the settling and preserving to every one his rights; so we ought to possess all particular virtues, or we are therefore obliged by them because they are commanded by some particular law of nature, which is contained in that universal one which I have mentioned. They are indeed, in their own nature good though there were no law, because they conduce to the good state of the universe. But moral obligation and the nature of a debt thence arising is unintelligible without a respect to a law, at least, of nature. Nay, farther: the very honour from which actions are distinguished by the title of (honestas) laudable practice, or are called honourable, seems wholly to come from this, that they are praised by the law of the supreme ruler, discovered by the light of nature, and honoured with the greatest rewards, among which is to be reckoned the concurring praise of good men. And justly they are called naturally lawful and honourable, because the law, which makes them such does not depend upon the pleasure of the civil power but arises necessarily, in the manner already explained, from the very nature of things, and is altogether unchangeable whilst nature remains unchanged. §II. The special laws of the moral virtues may after this manner be deduced from the law of universal justice. There being a law given which fixes and preserves the rights of particular persons, for this end only, that the common good of all be promoted by every one, all will be laid under these two obligations, in order to that end: (1) To contribute to others such a share of those things which are committed to their trust as may not destroy that part which is necessary to themselves for the same end: (2) To reserve to themselves that use of what is their own as may be most advantageous to, or at least consistent with, the good of others. §IV. Having explained the measure of that mediocrity m which is usually required in moral virtues, it is easy to describe them separately, because their essence consists in the inclination of the will to obey the laws deduced from the general law of justice. Editor's Notes 1. Cumberland refers not to the followers of Plato in antiquity but to the group of his contemporaries at Cambridge, known as the Cambridge Platonists. This book includes selections from one of these Platonists, Ralph Cudworth. Cudworth's writings on moral philosophy, however, were not published until the eighteenth century. Cumberland would have known of the — rather vague and diffuse — Platonism of this group from the works of Benjamin Whichcote, Henry More, and

Further Reading

155

John Smith. There is a good selection from these writers in C. A. Patrides, ed., The Cambridge Platonists (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1980). 2. Cumberland had in mind chiefly Hobbes. 3. Cumberland here is declaring his opposition to voluntarism. 4. Promulgated. 5. Cumberland is referring to the first and second tables or parts of the Decalogue, the first covering our duties to God and the second those to our neighbor. He followed Saint Thomas in treating these as parts of the law of nature. 6. To lack, to be without. 7. In Leviathan, 1.6 Hobbes stated: "Whatsoever is the object of any man's appetite, that is it which he for his part calleth good: and the object of his hate and aversion, evil. . . . For these words of good, evil, . . . are ever used with relation to the person that useth them; there being nothing simply and absolutely so; nor any common rule of good and evil to be taken from the nature of the objects themselves. . . ." 8. Hobbes's De cive — from which excerpts were presented earlier — was published in Latin in 1642 and in English translation in 1651. His De homine appeared in 1658; the sections most pertinent to ethics are available in English in Bernard Gert, ed., Man and Citizen (New York: Peter Smith, 1972). 9. In V.xix Cumberland observed that the will of God can be known a priori by arguing from his known attributes or the causes of his willing as he does, or it can be known from the effects of his willing as he does. Cumberland preferred the latter kind of argument, which he is discussing here. The argument from God's attributes is, he believed, less effective against his opponents. 10. The reference is to the Aristotelian mean, the middle amount between too little and too much, which is the measure of virtue. Further Reading

There is no modern edition of Cumberland, and little has been written about his philosophy. Ernest Albee, A History of English Utilitarianism (London: Allen & Unwin, 1901) devotes two chapters to him. Linda Kirk, Richard Cumberland and Natural Law (Cambridge, England: James Clark, 1987), sketches Cumberland's life and his involvement in the politics of his time and analyzes his particular theory of natural law. Murray Forsyth, "The Place of Richard Cumberland in the History of Natural Law Doctrine," Journal of the History of Philosophy 20 (1982), also is helpful.

Samuel Pufendorf

Introduction

Samuel Pufendorf, son of a Lutheran pastor, was born in 1632 in Saxony. After receiving a conventional education at Leipzig, he went to Jena for further work. There he studied mathematics and first read Grotius and Hobbes. In 1658, while serving as a tutor for a Swedish family during a war between Sweden and Denmark, he was arrested and imprisoned. In prison he wrote his first work, Elementorum jurisprudentiae universalis (Elements of Universal Jurisprudence), published in 1660. He returned to Germany to accept the first professorship in natural and international law at Heidelberg. Pufendorf's interest in contemporary affairs led him to publish in 1667 an analysis of the constitution of the Holy Roman Empire, which, he argued, was not helpfully explained by any known model. He then moved to a professorship in Sweden, where he wrote his great De jure naturae et gentium (On the Law of Nature and of Nations), which was published in 1672. In the next year he published a compact summary of this work, De officio hominis et civis (On the Duty of Man and Citizen). These two works had an amazing reception. Despite its enormous length, the Law of Nature went through many Latin editions and was translated into every major European language, and the Duty of Man, in Latin or in modern languages, became the textbook with which students in much of Europe and in many of the American colonies studied natural law until well into the eighteenth century. No other modern natural law theorist had so wide and enduring a readership as did Pufendorf. In addition, several commentaries on his works were written to help students. And although orthodox Lutherans as well as lawyers and philosophers wrote frequent, sometimes vicious attacks on Pufendorf (to which he often replied), his portrayal of himself as the successor to the founder of modern natural law — the great and admittedly devout Grotius — was generally accepted. Pufendorf spent much of his later life as court historian for the king of Sweden. He then accepted a similar post with the ruler of Prussia and died in 1688 as a result of a winter trip to Sweden to try to retrieve his manuscripts from his disgruntled former employer. More systematic than Grotius and more inclined to spell out every detail of his view, Pufendorf produced as complete a "system" of natural law as Europe has ever seen. It has its philosophical underpinnings and a host of definitions of key terms; it relates these key terms to one another, and it then applies all this apparatus first to the construction of a fundamental law of nature, then to proximate implications of the fundamental law, and finally, in more detail, to every area of human activity but especially commercial relations, politics, and international affairs. Indeed, a contempo-

156

Introduction

157

rary reviewer said that The Law of Nature would be valuable to everyone: the merchant, the lawyer, and the businessman as well as the teacher. Although Pufendorf quoted far less often than Grotius did from the authors of antiquity, he frequently discussed those of his contemporaries whom he thought important, signaling his agreement or disagreement with them and sometimes engaging in meticulous arguments over fine points. Hobbes, in particular, was vital to Pufendorf's thinking. He agreed with many of Hobbes's assumptions but tried to avoid being associated with not only Hobbes's atheism but also many of his moral and political conclusions. Cumberland's treatise on the law of nature was published in the same year as was Pufendorf's own large work, and Cumberland, a severe critic of Hobbes, is frequently cited favorably in Pufendorf's second edition. Pufendorf also discussed many other writers, most of them wholly ignored at present. He plainly relished such encounters, enjoying showing his readers that he was right on these important matters and rooting out the errors spread by wrongheaded thinkers. I have begun the following selections with excerpts from Pufendorf's own summary of his doctrine, The Duty of Man and Citizen, to enable the reader to see the main outlines of Pufendorf's understanding of natural law. After stressing the independence of the study of natural law from the study of theology, Pufendorf showed how the laws of nature are tailored to the facts about the human constitution. Our self-interested nature combines with our weakness to make sociability — a disposition toward life in common — a primary need for all of us, and from the basic law of sociability all other laws are derived. Some of our duties arise from laws to which we are obligated by virtue of being human. Pufendorf began with negative duties, such as not harming others, but considered certain positive duties no less important. Thus we are to treat others as equals, and we are to be helpful, even generous, to one another. These basic duties do not, however, encompass as wide and detailed a field as do the derivative duties and rights arising from the various agreements we make with one another. Property rights belong here, as do contractual rights, including those of marriage, and political rights. Much of Pufendorf's work is concerned with derivative duties, but I have had to omit his treatment of them here. The next selections come from The Law of Nature and of Nations, in which Pufendorf presented philosophical matters in more detail than he did in the student compendium. Particularly important instances can be found in the opening chapters of The Law of Nature, which develop a voluntaristic position, criticize Grotius for not holding such a view, and discuss the possibility of attaining certainty in moral matters. Pufendorf's account of free will and his elaborations on the difference between perfect and imperfect duties, as well as on the relation between duties and rights, should help the reader get a better grasp of his account of obligation and of the general structure of morality. Natural law, Pufendorf believed, can be studied without appeal to revealed religion or theology, but he did not think religious truth irrelevant to the subject. Reasoning from our experience of the world leads us to understand that there is an all-powerful and benevolent creator who has definite plans for the way in which his creation is to operate. The purely physical things God has created carry out his will automatically, but the human part is under a special kind of direction, which Pufendorf explained in his discussion of moral entities. God imposes certain directives on us so that human life may have an order and a decorum lacking among animals and not be taken up entirely with the pursuit of goods that animals also pursue. God imposes obligations by legislating for us, and from his laws arise natural duties and rights. We can legislate as well

158

Samuel Pufendorf

and, by enacting laws, can create positions and titles that everyone should respect. Our legislation should be directed to benefit everyone, and God's certainly is so directed. But moral attributes are not the same as natural attributes, nor can they be explained in terms of them. The voluntarism that Pufendorf articulated in his doctrine of moral entities has been variously interpreted. Some commentators have seen it as an indication of Pufendorf's belief that human culture has a unique status in the universe and therefore must be studied in a special way. They claim him as a forerunner of those who declare the methodological independence of the social sciences from the natural sciences. Others see the voluntarism as making Pufendorf the first to assert that there is no way of deriving conclusions about how people ought to act from premises concerning how in fact they do act. But however we read him on these points, his voluntarism is certainly a way of making clear that without God's will there would be no such thing as morality. Pufendorf thus distanced himself from Grotius, Hobbes, and Cumberland, who all offered theories that in one way or another imply that morality is independent of divine volition. Pufendorf was in some matters extremely audacious. For instance, he rejected without argument the age-old equation of "good" with "being" and offered a new account of what goodness is. Yet in making God indispensable to morality he was holding on to one of the oldest strands of Christian thought. The following excerpts are modern translations: The Duty of Man and Citizen, trans. Frank Gardner Moore (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1927), and The Law of Nature and of Nations, trans. C. H. Oldfather and W. A. Oldfather (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1934). The reader may also wish to consult the eighteenth-century English translation of the latter work by Basil Kennet, which includes useful annotations by Jean Barbeyrac, who added them to his own French translation. On the Duty of Man and Citizen To

THE BENEVOLENT READER, GREETING!

is manifest that from three founts, so to speak, men derive the knowledge of their duty and what in this life they must do, as being morally good, and what not to do, as being morally bad: namely the light of reason, the civil laws and the particular revelation of the divine authority. From the first flow the commonest duties of man, especially those which make him sociable with other men; from the second, the duties of man in so far as he lives subject to a particular and definite State; from the third, the duties of a man who is a Christian. From this three separate studies arise, the first of which is the natural law, common to all nations; the second, the civil law of the single individual States, into which the human race departed. The third is called moral theology in contradistinction to that part of theology which explains what is to be believed [that is, dogmatic theology]. Each of these studies uses a method of proving its dogmas corresponding to its principle. In the natural law it is asserted that something must be done because the same is gathered by right reason as necessary for sociability between men. The last analysis of the precepts of the civil law is that the lawgiver so established. The moral theologian acquiesces in that ultimate proposition, because God has so ordered in the Holy Scriptures. . . . . . . it

On the Duty of Man and Citizen

159

The first distinction therefore, whereby those studies are mutually separated, results from the different source from which each derives its dogmas, and upon this point we have just touched. Consequently, if there be some actions which we are bid by divine literature to perform or not to perform, yet whose necessity can not be grasped by reason left to itself, those actions fall outside the natural law and properly look toward moral theology. Moreover in theology law is considered proportionately as it has annexed a divine promise and a certain sort of pact between God and man. From this consideration the natural law abstracts, obviously since that which reason alone can not discover proceeds from the particular revelation of God. Furthermore, that is by far the most important distinction whereby the end and aim of the natural law is included only in the circuit of this life, and therefore it moulds man accordingly as he ought to lead this life in society with others. But moral theology moulds a man into a Christian, who should not only have the purpose of passing honorably through this life, but who especially hopes for the fruit of piety after this life and who on this account has his nokixeuRa l in heaven, while here he lives merely as a wayfarer or sojourner. For although the mind of man not only with a glowing desire leans, as it were, towards immortality and vigorously shrinks from self-destruction, and hence among many of the Gentiles the persuasion has become inveterate that the soul remains after its separation from the body and that then it will go well with the good and ill with the bad; nevertheless a persuasion of this sort on such matters, in which the mind of man might plainly and firmly acquiesce, is drawn only from the word of God. Hence the decrees of the natural law are adapted only to the human forum, 2 which does not extend beyond this life, and they are wrongly applied in many places to the divine forum, which is the especial care of theology. From this also it follows that, because the human forum is busied with only the external actions of man, while to those which lie concealed within the breast and produce no effect or sign outside it does not penetrate and consequently is not disturbed about them, the natural law likewise is concerned to a great extent with the directing of the external actions of man. But for moral theology it is not sufficient that the external customs of men have been made in some way or another in keeping with decorum; but it is concerned chiefly with this, that the mind and its internal movements be fashioned after the will of the deity; and it reprobates those very actions which extrinsically indeed appear to be proper, but nevertheless emanate from an impure mind. . . . BOOK I Chapter II: On the Norm of Human Action, or Law in General

1. Because human actions depend upon the will, but the wills of individuals are not always consistent, and those of different men generally tend toward different things, therefore, in order to establish order and seemliness among

160

Samuel Pufendorf

the human race, it was necessary that some norm should come into being, to which actions might be conformed. For otherwise, if with such freedom of the will, and such diversity of inclinations and tastes, each should do whatever came into his head, without reference to a fixed norm, nothing but the greatest confusion could arise among men. 2. That norm is called law, that is, a decree by which a superior obliges a subject to conform his acts to his own prescription. 3. That this definition may be better understood, we must develop the meaning of obligation, whence it arises, who can undertake an obligation, and who impose it upon another. Obligation, then, is commonly defined as a legal bond, by which we are of necessity bound to perform something. That is, a kind of bridle is thereby put upon our freedom, so that, though in actual fact the will can have a different aim, still it finds itself imbued with an inward sentiment due to the obligation, with the result that, if the action performed is not in conformity with the prescribed norm, the will is forced to acknowledge that it has not done what is right. And so if any ill should befall a man on that account, he would judge that it befalls him not undeservedly; since by following the norm, as was proper, he might have avoided it. 4. For the fact that man is fitted to undertake an obligation there are two reasons: one, because he has a will which can turn in different directions, and so also conform to the rule: the other, since man is not free from the power of a superior. For where an agent's powers have been bound by nature to a uniform mode of action, there we look in vain for free action; and it is vain to prescribe a rule for a man who cannot understand it nor conform to the same. Again, assuming that a man does not recognize a superior, there is for that reason no one who can rightfully impose a necessity upon him. And if he be ever so strict in observing a certain method of action, and consistently abstain from certain acts, still he is understood to do this not from any obligation, but from his own good pleasure. It follows then that he is capable of an obligation who not only has a superior, but also can recognize a prescribed rule, and further has a will flexible in different directions, but conscious of the fact that, when the rule has been prescribed by a superior, it does wrong to depart from the same. Such is evidently the nature with which man is endowed. 5. Obligation is properly introduced into the mind of a man by a superior, that is, a person who has not only the power to bring some harm at once upon those who resist, but also just grounds for his claim that the freedom of our will should be limited at his discretion. For when these conditions are found in anyone, he has only to intimate his wish, and there must arise in men's minds a fear that is tempered with respect, the former in view of his power, the latter in consideration of the reasons, which, were there no fear, must still induce one to embrace his will. For whoever is unable to assign any other reason why he wishes to impose an obligation upon me against my will, except mere power, can indeed frighten me into thinking it better for a time to obey him, to avoid a greater evil; but, once that fear is removed, nothing further remains to prevent my acting according to my will rather than his. Conversely, if he has

On the Duty of Man and Citizen

161

indeed the reasons which make it my duty to obey him, but lacks the power of inflicting any harm upon me, I may with impunity neglect his commands, unless a more powerful person comes to assert the authority upon which I have trampled. Now the reasons why one may rightly demand that another obey him are: in case some conspicuous benefits have come to the latter from the former; or if it be proved that he wishes the other well, and is also better able than the man himself to provide for him, and at the same time actually claims control over the other; and finally if a man has willingly subjected himself to another and agreed to his control. . . . 16. With respect to its author, the law is divided into divine and human, the one enacted by God, the other by men. But if law be considered according as it has a necessary and universal adaptation to men or not, it is divided into the natural and the positive. The former is so adapted to the rational and social nature of man, that an honorable and peaceful society cannot exist for mankind without it. Consequently it can be investigated and learned as a whole, by the light of man's inborn reason and a consideration of human nature. The latter kind of justice by no means flows from the common condition of human nature, but proceeds from the decision of the lawgiver alone. And yet it ought not to lack its own reason, and the utility which it effects for certain men or a particular society. But while the divine law is now natural and now positive, human law is, in the strict sense, altogether positive. Chapter III: On Natural Law

1. What is the character of the natural law, what its necessity, and of what precepts it consists in the present state of mankind, are most clearly seen, after one has thoroughly examined the nature and disposition of man. For, just as for an accurate knowledge of civil laws, it is very important to have a clear understanding of the condition of the state, and of the habits and interests of its citizens, so if we have examined the common disposition of men and their condition, it will be readily apparent upon what laws their welfare depends. 2. Now man shares with all the animals that have consciousness the fact that he holds nothing dearer than himself, and is eager in every way to preserve himself; that he strives to gain what seem to him good things, and to reject the evil. This feeling is regularly so strong that all the others give way to it. And one cannot but resent it, if any man make an attack upon one's life, so much so that, even after the threatened danger had been averted, hatred usually still remains, and a desire for vengeance. 3. But in one respect man seems to be in a worse state even than the brutes — that scarcely any other animal is attended from birth by such weakness. Hence it would be a miracle, if anyone reached mature years, if he have not the aid of other men, since, as it is, among all the helps which have been invented for human needs, careful training for a number of years is required, to enable a man to gain his food and clothing by his own efforts. Let us imagine a man brought to maturity without any care and training bestowed

162

Samuel Pufendorf

upon him by others, having no knowledge except what sprang up of itself in his own mind, and in a desert, deprived of all help and society of other men. Certainly a more miserable animal it will be hard to find. Speechless and naked, he has nothing left him but to pluck herbs and roots, or gather wild fruits, to slake his thirst from spring or river, or the first marsh he encountered, to seek shelter in a cave from the violence of the weather, or to cover his body somehow with moss or grass, to pass his time most tediously in idleness, to shudder at any noise or the encounter with another creature, finally to perish by hunger or cold or some wild beast. On the other hand, whatever advantages now attend human life have flowed entirely from the mutual help of men. It follows that, after God, there is nothing in this world from which greater advantage can come to man than from man himself. 4. Yet this animal, though so useful to his kind, suffers from not a few faults, and is endowed with no less power to injure; which facts make contact with him rather uncertain, and call for great caution, that one may not receive evil from him instead of good. First of all, there is generally a greater tendency to injure found in man than in any of the brutes. For the brutes are usually excited by the desire for food and for love, both of which, however, they can themselves easily satisfy. But having stilled that craving, they are not readily roused to anger or to injure people, unless someone provokes them. But man is an animal at no time disinclined to lust, and by its goad he is excited much more frequently than would seem necessary for the conservation'of the race. And his belly desires not merely to be satisfied, but also to be tickled, and often craves more than nature is able to digest. That the brutes should not need clothing nature has provided. But man delights to clothe himself, not for necessity only, but also for display. Many more passions and desires unknown to the brutes are found in man, as the desire to have superfluities, avarice, the love of glory and eminence, envy, emulation, and rivalry of wits. Witness the fact that most wars, in which men clash with men, are waged for reasons unknown to the brutes. And all these things can, and usually do, incite men to desire to injure one another. Then too there is in many a notable insolence and passion for insulting their fellows, at which the rest, modest though they be by nature, cannot fail to take offense, and gird themselves to resist, from the desire to maintain and defend themselves and their freedom. At times also men are driven to mutual injury by want, and the fact that their present resources are insufficient for their desires or their need. 5. Moreover men have in them great power for the infliction of mutual injuries. For though not formidable because of teeth or claws or horns, as are many of the brutes, still manual dexterity can prove a most effective means of injury; and shrewdness gives a man the opportunity to attack by cunning and in ambush, where the enemy cannot be reached by open force. Hence it is very easy for man to inflict upon man the worst of natural evils, namely death. 6. Finally, we must also consider in mankind such a remarkable variety of gifts as is not observed in single species of animals, which, in fact, generally have like inclinations, and are led by the same passion and desire. But among

On the Duty of Man and Citizen

163

men there are as many emotions as there are heads, and each has his own idea of the attractive. Nor are all stirred by a single and uniform desire, but by one that is manifold and variously intermixed. Even one and the same man often appears unlike himself, and if he has eagerly sought a thing at one time, at another he is very averse to it. And there is no legs variety in the tastes and habits, the inclinations to exert mental powers — a variety which we see now in the almost countless modes of life. That men may not thus be brought into collision, there is need of careful regulation and control. 7. Thus then man is indeed an animal most bent upon self-preservation, helpless in himself, unable to save himself without the aid of his fellows, highly adapted to promote mutual interests; but on the other hand no less malicious, insolent, and easily provoked, also as able as he is prone to inflict injury upon another. Whence it follows that, in order to be safe, he must be sociable, that is, must be united with men like himself, and so conduct himself toward them that they may have no good cause to injure him, but rather may be ready to maintain and promote his interests. 8. The laws then of this sociability, or those which teach how a man should conduct himself, to become a good member of human society, are called natural laws. 9. So much settled, it is clear that the fundamental natural law is this: that every man must cherish and maintain sociability, so far as in him lies. From this it follows that, as he who wishes an end, wishes also the means, without which the end cannot be obtained, all things which necessarily and universally make for that sociability are understood to be ordained by natural law, and all that confuse or destroy it forbidden. The remaining precepts are mere corollaries, so to speak, under this general law, and the natural light given to mankind declares that they are evident. 10. Again, although those precepts have manifest utility, still, if they are to have the force of law, it is necessary to presuppose that God exists, and by His providence rules all things; also that He has enjoined upon the human race that they observe those dictates of the reason, as laws promulgated by Himself by means of our natural light. For otherwise they might, to be sure, be observed perhaps, in view of their utility, like the prescriptions of physicians for the regimen of health, but not as laws; since these of necessity presuppose a superior, and in fact one who has actually undertaken the direction of another. 11. But that God is the author of the natural law, is proved by the natural reason, if only we limit ourselves strictly to the present condition of humanity, disregarding the question whether his primitive condition was different from the present, or whence that change has come about. 3 The nature of man is so constituted that the race cannot be preserved without the social life, and man's mind is found to be capable of all the notions which serve that end. And it is in fact clear, not only that the human race owes its origin, as do the other creatures, to God, but also that, whatever be its present state, God includes the race in the government of His providence. It follows from these arguments

164

Samuel Pufendorf

that God wills that man use for the conservation of his own nature those special powers which he knows are peculiarly his own, as compared with the brutes, and thus that man's life be distinguished from the lawless life of the brutes. And as this cannot be secured except by observing the natural law, we understand too that man has been obliged to God to keep the same, as a means not devised by will of man, and changeable at their discretion, but expressly ordained by God Himself, in order to insure this end. For whoever binds a man to an end, is considered to have bound him also to employ the means necessary to that end. And besides, we have evidence that the social life has been enjoined upon men by God's authority, in the fact that in no other creature do we find the religious sentiment or fear of the Deity — a feeling which seems inconceivable in a lawless animal. Hence in the minds of men not entirely corrupt a very delicate sense is born, which convinces them that by sin against the natural law they offend Him who holds sway over the minds of men, and is to be feared even when the fear of men does not impend. 12. The common saying that the law is known by nature, should not be understood, it seems, as though actual and distinct propositions concerning things to be done or to be avoided were inherent in men's minds at the hour of their birth. But it means in part that the law can be investigated by the light of reason, in part that at least the common and important provisions of the natural law are so plain and clear that they at once find assent, and grow up in our minds, so that they can never again be destroyed, no matter how the impious man, in order to still the twinges of conscience, may endeavor to blot out the consciousness of those precepts. For this reason in Scripture too the law is said to be "written in the hearts" of men. 4 Hence, since we are imbued from childhood with a consciousness of those maxims, in accordance with our social training, and cannot remember the time when we first imbibed them, we think of this knowledge exactly as if we had had it already at birth. Everyone has the same experience with his mother tongue. 13. Of the duties incumbent upon man in accordance with natural law the most convenient division seems to be according to the objects in regard to which they are to be practiced. From this standpoint they are classified under three main heads: the first of which instructs us how, according to the dictate of sound reason alone, a man should conduct himself toward God, the second, how toward himself, the third, how toward other men. Although those precepts of natural law which concern other men may be derived primarily and directly from sociability, which we have laid down as a foundation, indirectly also the duties of man to God as creator can be derived from the same, since the ultimate confirmation of duties toward other men comes from religion and fear of the Deity, so that man would not be sociable either, if not imbued with religion; and since reason alone cannot go further in religion than in so far as the latter subserves the promotion of peace and sociability in this life. For, in so far as religion promotes the salvation of souls, it proceeds from a special divine revelation. But duties of man to himself spring from religion and sociability conjointly. For the reason why he cannot determine

On the Duty of Man and Citizen

165

certain acts concerning himself in accordance with his own free will, is partly that he may be a fit worshiper of the Deity, and partly that he may be a good and useful member of human society. Chapter VI: On Mutual Duties, and First, That of Not Injuring Others

1. Next come the duties which a man must practice toward other men. Some of them spring from the common obligation, by which the Creator willed that all men as such should be bound together. But some flow from a definite institution, introduced or received by men, or from a certain adventitious status of men. The first are to be practiced by every man toward every other; the second only toward certain persons, a certain condition or status being assumed. Hence one may call the former absolute duties, the latter conditional. 2. Among the absolute duties, i.e., of anybody to anybody, the first place belongs to this one: let no one injure another. For this is the broadest of all duties, embracing all men as such. It is also the easiest, as consisting in mere refraining from action, unless the passions that resist reason have somehow to be checked at times. Again, it is likewise the most necessary duty, because without it the social life could in no way exist. For with the man who confers no benefit upon me, who makes no interchange even of the common duties with me, I can still live at peace, provided he injure me in no way. In fact, from the vast majority of men we desire nothing more than that. Benefits are generally exchanged by the few. But with the man who injures me, I cannot by any means live peaceably. For nature has implanted in each man so sensitive a love of self and one's own possessions, that one cannot help repelling by every means the man who essays to injure them. 3. Moreover, this same duty is a bulwark not only to what a man has by nature itself, for instance, life, body, members, chastity, freedom, but also to all that has been acquired through some institution and convention of men. Hence by this precept it is forbidden to carry off, spoil, injure, or withdraw from our use, in whole or in part, anything that by any legitimate title is ours. Consequently the same duty is understood to interdict any crimes by which injury is inflicted upon others, as bloodshed, wounding, beating, robbery, theft, fraud, violence, directly or indirectly, mediately or immediately, and the like. . . . Chapter VII: On Recognition of the Natural Equality of Men 1. Man is an animal not only most devoted to self-preservation, but one in which has been implanted a sensitive self-esteem. And if this be in any way slighted, he is in general no less perturbed, than if an injury has been inflicted upon his person or property. Even the word man is thought to contain a certain dignity, so that the last and most effective argument in repelling the insolent contempt of others is this: "I am certainly not a dog, but a man as well as you." Inasmuch then as human nature is the same for all alike, and no one

166

Samuel Pufendorf

is perfectly willing or able to be associated with another, who does not esteem him as at least equally a man and a sharer in the common nature; therefore, among the mutual duties the second place is given to this: that each esteem and treat the other as naturally his equal, that is, as a man just as much as himself. 2. But this equality of men consists not only in the fact that adult men are about equal in strength, in so far as the weaker can inflict death upon the stronger by ambush, or with the help of dexterity, or an effective weapon; but also in this, that, although one has been fitted out by nature with various gifts of mind and body beyond the other, he must none the less practice the precepts of natural law toward other men, and himself expects the same treatment from others; and in the fact that no more freedom is given the man to injure others on that account. So, conversely too, niggardliness of nature or straitened circumstances do not of themselves condemn a man to a lot inferior to that of others as regards the enjoyment of the common right. But what one can demand or expect from another, that others too must demand of him, other things being equal. And it is eminently proper that one should himself practice the law which he has set up for others. For the obligation to cultivate the social life with others binds all men equally, and one is no more permitted than another to violate the natural laws in their dealings with each other. And yet popular arguments are not lacking to illustrate that equality; for example, that we all descend from the same stock, and are born, fed, and die in the same manner; and that God has given no man assurance of a stable and unshaken fortune. So also the injunctions of the Christian religion do not commend nobility, power, or wealth, as a means of gaining the favor of God, but sincere piety, which can be found in the humble, just as well as in the great. 3. Moreover, it follows from this equality that he who wishes to use the services of others for his own advantage, is bound in turn to spend himself, that their wants may be satisfied. For the man who demands that others serve him, but on the other hand desires to be always immune himself, is certainly considering others not equal to himself. Hence, as those who readily allow the same permission to all as to themselves, are the best adapted to society, so those are plainly unsociable who, thinking themselves superior to others, wish to have all things permitted to themselves alone, and arrogate honor to themselves above the rest, and the lion's share of the things common to all, to which they have no better right than the others. Accordingly this too is one of the common duties of the natural law: that no one, who has not acquired a peculiar right, arrogate more to himself than the rest have, but permit others to enjoy the same right as himself. 4. The same equality shows how a man should conduct himself, when he must assign their various rights to others, viz., that he must treat them as equals, and not indulge the one as against the other, except on the merits of the case. For if this is not done, the man not favored is affronted as well as injured, and the esteem Nature gave him is taken away. It follows then that a

On the Duty of Man and Citizen

167

common thing must be duly divided in equal portions among equals. When it does not admit of division, those who have an equal right ought to use it in common, and this as much as each shall please, if the amount permits. But if this is impracticable, they should then use the thing after a manner prescribed, and in proportion to the number of the users. For no other method of respecting equality can be devised. But if the thing can neither be divided nor held in common, let the enjoyment of it be alternate; or if this also fails, or no equivalent can be furnished the rest, the thing must be awarded to one by lot. For in cases of this kind no better remedy than the lot can be found, since this takes away the sense of a slight, and if it fails to favor a man, it does not detract from his esteem. . . . Chapter VIII: On the Common Duties of Humanity

1. Among the duties of men in general to others in general, and those which are to be practiced for the sake of the common sociability, the third place is taken by this: that every man promote the advantage of another, so far as he conveniently can. For since Nature has established a kind of kinship among men, it would not be enough to have refrained from injuring or despising others; but we must also bestow such attentions upon others — or mutually exchange them — that thus mutual benevolence may be fostered among men. Now we benefit others either definitely or indefinitely, and that with a loss, or else without loss, to ourselves. 2. A man tends to promote the advantage of others indefinitely, if he thoroughly cultivates his own soul and body, so that useful actions may emanate from him to others; or if by ingenuity he finds the means of making human life better equipped. Hence it is against this duty that they are to be thought sinners, who learn no honorable art, pass their life in silence, and have a soul "only as so much salt, to keep the body from decay"' — "mere numbers," and "born to consume the fruits of earth." 6 Also those who, content with the riches left by their ancestors, think they may with impunity offer sacrifice to indolence, since the industry of others has already gained for them means to live upon. . . . 3. But to those who endeavor to be benefactors of the human race, the rest owe this in return, that they be not envious, throw no obstacle in the way of their noble efforts. Also that, if there be no other way of compensating them, they at least promote their fame and memory, this being the chief reward of labors. 4. But especially is it regarded as contemptible malignity and inhumanity, not to bestow willingly upon others those blessings which can be accorded without loss, trouble, or labor to ourselves. These are usually called mere favors, that is, benefiting the recipient, and not burdening the giver. Examples are: not to exclude from running water, to allow taking fire from our fire, to give honest advice to one in doubt, to point out the way kindly to him who has lost it. . . .

168

Samuel Pufendorf

5. A higher form of humanity is bestowing freely upon another, and out of rare benevolence, something costing money or painful effort, designed to meet his needs, or win for him some signal advantage. These are called benefits par excellence, and they offer the best opportunity to gain praise, if only nobility of spirit and prudence duly control them. The dispensing of these and their proper limits are governed generally by the situation of the giver and that of the recipient. And here we must take special care that our generosity do not injure both those to whom we think we are doing a kind turn, and the others too; also that the generosity be not greater than our means; and again that we give to each in proportion to his worth, and above all to those who have deserved well; also in proportion to their need of our help, and with regard also to the different degrees of closeness in the relations of men. We must also consider what each needs most, and what he can accomplish or not, with or without us. The manner of giving too adds much to the acceptability of favors, if we give with cheerful face, readily, and with assurance of our good-will. 6. In return there must be gratitude in the mind of the recipient. Thus he shows that the gift was acceptable to him, and for that reason he favors the giver, and seeks an occasion to make an equal or larger return, in so far as he can. For it is not necessary to return precisely the amount of the gift; but often zeal and endeavor satisfy the obligation. However there must be no reasonable exception which we can take, as against the man who claims to have done us a favor. For example, I owe nothing to the man who has pulled me out of the water, if he first threw me in. Chapter IX: On the Duties of Contracting Parties in General

1. From the absolute duties we pass to the conditional, by way of agreements as a transition; since all the duties not already enumerated seem to presuppose an express or tacit agreement. We have then to treat here of the nature of agreements, and what is to be observed by those who enter into them. 2. Now it is sufficiently clear that it was necessary for men to enter into agreements. For, although the duties of humanity are widely diffused throughout human life, it is still impossible to deduce from that one source all that men were entitled to receive to advantage from one another. For not all have such natural goodness, that they are willing, out of mere humanity, to do all the things by means of which they may benefit others, without an assured hope of receiving the like in return. Often, too, favors which can come to us from others, are of a sort to make us unable to demand without a blush that they be done for us for nothing. And frequently it is unbecoming to our station or person to owe such a favor to another. And in fact, as the other is unable to give much, so we are often unwilling to accept, unless he receives an equivalent from us. Finally, not uncommonly others are in the dark as to how

On the Duty of Man and Citizen

169

they may serve our interests. Therefore, in order that the mutual duties of men (the fruit, that is of sociability) may be discharged more frequently and according to certain rules, it was necessary for men to agree among themselves, as to the mutual performance of all that they could not certainly promise themselves from others, on the basis of the law of humanity alone. And indeed it was necessary to determine in advance, what one was bound to perform for another, and what the latter should in turn expect and exact as his right from the former. And this is done by promises and agreements. 3. In regard to these, the general duty which we owe under natural law is, that a man keep his plighted word, that is, fulfill his promises and agreements. For, but for this, we should lose the greatest part of the advantage which is apt to arise for the race from the interchange of services and property. And were there not the necessity of keeping promises, one could not build one's calculations firmly upon the support of others. And also from a breach of faith there are apt to arise entirely just causes for quarrels and war. For when I have performed something in accordance with an agreement, if the other defaults his promise, I have lost my property, or my services, for nothing. But if, on the other hand, I have not yet performed anything, it is still an annoyance to have my calculations and plans disturbed, since I could have made other provision for my affairs, if he had not presented himself. And it is a shame to be mocked because I believed the other a prudent and honest man. 4. We must observe also, that what we owe under the mere duty of humanity differs from what is owed by virtue of a compact or perfect promise especially in this respect, viz., the things of the former class are properly asked, and honorably performed; but when the other has failed of his own motion to perform, I can complain merely of his inhumanity, barbarity, or harshness; but I cannot compel him to perform, by my own force or that of my superior. This is my privilege, however, when he does not of himself perform what is due in acordance with a perfect promise or a compact. Hence we are said in the former case to have an imperfect right, in the latter, a perfect right, as also to be obligated imperfectly in the one case, and perfectly in the other. 8. Moreover, that promises and compacts may bind us to give or do something not formerly required of us, or to omit what we previously had a right to do, our voluntary consent is most essential. For, since the fulfillment of any promise and agreement is associated with some burden, there is no better reason to prevent our justly complaining about it, than the fact that we voluntarily consented to what it was evidently in our own power to avoid. 22. Such are the absolute duties of man, as also those which serve as a transition to the other kind. The rest presuppose either some human institution, based upon a universal convention, and introduced among men, or else some particular form of government. Of such institutions we observe in particular three: language, ownership and value, and human government. We must next explain each of these, together with the resulting duties.

170

Samuel Pufendorf

The Law of Nature and of Nations BOOK I

Chapter 1: On the Origin and Variety of Moral Entities

1. The task of prime philosophy [metaphysics], if it was to fulfil the calling of its own very nature, was to give the most comprehensive definitions of things and to divide them appropriately into distinct classes, giving in addition the general nature and condition of every kind of thing. Now the classification of natural things seems to have been sufficiently treated by those who have so far undertaken the consideration of that science, but it is perfectly clear that they have not been as much concerned with moral entities as the dignity of these requires. Many, indeed, have not considered them at all; others have but lightly touched upon them, as if they were unimportant or figments of no moment. And yet their nature should by all means be known by man, to whom has been given the power to produce them, and whose life is deeply penetrated by their influence. This consideration impels us to give by way of preface, in so far as shall seem necessary for our undertaking, a discussion of this field of knowledge which has been neglected so far by most writers. . . . 2. According as all things which this universe embraces consist of their own principles, which the Great and Good Creator has apportioned and assigned to the constitution of their essence, so each several thing is observed to have its own properties, which arise from the disposition and aptitude of its substance, and to exert itself in distinct actions according to the measure of strength imparted it by the Creator. These properties we usually call natural, since by the term "nature" has generally been designated not merely the entire sum of created things, but also their modes and acts which follow from that innate strength which produces those infinite varieties of motion, whereby, as we observe, all things in this universe are stirred. Now those things which act with no perception at all, or with mere downright perception, or with perception but slightly aided by reflection, are led solely by the instinct of nature, and can in no way temper their actions by any measures that are taken of themselves. But to man there has been given, not merely beauty and adaptability of body, but also the distinctive light of intelligence, by the aid of which he can understand things more accurately, compare them with one another, judge the unknown by the known, and decide how things agree among themselves; so that, as it would seem, not only is he freed from the necessity of confining his actions to any one mode, but he can even exert, suspend, or moderate them. Furthermore, to the same being, man, there has been granted the power to invent or apply certain aids to each faculty, whereby it is signally assisted and directed in its functioning. It is the task of others to set forth all that in the way of concepts has been discovered to help save the intellect from being confused by the infinite variety of things. It is for us to observe, how, chiefly for the direction of the acts of the will, a specific kind of attribute has been given to

The Law of Nature and of Nations

171

things and their natural motions, from which there has arisen a certain propriety in the actions of man, and that outstanding seemliness and order which adorn the life of men. Now these attributes are called Moral Entities, because by them the morals and actions of men are judged and tempered, so that they may attain a character and appearance different from the rude simplicity of dumb animals. 3. We seem able, accordingly, to define moral ideas most conveniently as certain modes [qualities], added to physical things or motions, by intelligent beings, primarily to direct and temper the freedom of the voluntary acts of man, and thereby to secure a certain orderliness and decorum in civilized life. We use the term modes, for the term entity seems more fittingly to be divisible into the two great subdivisions of substance and mode, than into those of substance and accident. Furthermore, as mode is distinguished from substance, so moral ideas clearly do not exist of themselves, but have their basis only in substances and in their motions, which they can affect only to a limited extent. Now some modes flow, as it were, from the very nature of the thing itself, while others are superadded by intelligent agency to physical things and modes. For whatever has been endowed with intellect is able, by means of reflection and a comparison of one thing with another, to form concepts, which are suitable to be the guides of a consistent faculty. Moral entities also are of the same kind. You may justly call the Great and Good God their maker, who surely did not will that men should spend their lives like beasts without civilization and moral law, but that their life and actions should be tempered by a fixed mode of conduct, which was impossible without moral entities. Nevertheless, the majority of them have been superadded later at the pleasure of men themselves, according as they felt that the introduction of them would help to develop the life of man and to reduce it to order. And so of these latter the purpose is clear: It is not the perfection of this world of nature, as is the case with physical entities, but it is the perfection in a distinctive way of the life of man, in so far as it was capable of a certain beauty of order above that in the life of beasts, as also the production of a pleasing harmony in a thing so changeable as the human mind. 4. Now as the original way of producing physical entities is creation, so the way in which moral entities are produced can scarcely be better expressed than by the word imposition. For they do not arise out of the intrinsic nature of the physical properties of things, but they are superadded, at the will of intelligent entities, to things already existent and physically complete, and to their natural effects, and, indeed, come into existence only by the determination of their authors. And these authors give them also certain effects, which they can also remove at their own pleasure without any accompanying change in the object to which they had been added. Hence the active force which lies in them does not consist in their ability directly to produce any physical motion or change in any thing, but only in this, that it is made clear to men along what line they should govern their liberty of action, and that in a special way men are made capable of receiving some good or evil and of directing

172

Samuel Pufendorf

certain actions towards other persons with a particular effect. Also the efficacy of moral entities instituted by God flows from the fact, that, as man's creator, He has the right to set certain limits to the liberty of will which He has designed to vouchsafe man, and to turn that will, when reluctant, by the threat of some evil to whatever course He wishes. Nay, even men themselves have been able to give a force to their own inventions, by threatening some evil that lay within their power, on him who refused to conform to their dictates. . . . 12. Moral entities, regarded on the analogy of substances, are termed moral persons. These are either individual men, or men united by a moral bond into one system, considered together with their status, or the function which they perform in common life. Now moral persons are either simple or composite. Simple persons, on the basis of a difference in their status or functions, are either public or private, as their function is directly for the use of a civil group, or for the advantage of individuals as such. In the usage of Christian peoples public persons are divided into civil and ecclesiastical. The former are either principal, or inferior. Some among them rule a commonwealth with supreme authority; some, by virtue of the power given them from the supreme authority, have charge of a certain part of the administration and are properly called magistrates, or aid in the proper administration of the state by their counsels. Inferior persons render a less important service to the state and to the magistrates as such. In war the superior and inferior officers correspond to the magistrates, and are in command of the common soldiers, who, in this respect, may be considered public persons, because they are authorized, directly or indirectly, by the highest civil power, to bear arms in behalf of the state. . . . 15. . . . the imposition which produces real moral persons is not at all a free thing, but it should presuppose such qualities as are appropriate, so that some real benefit may thereby accrue to mankind; and he who has no respect for this consideration in constituting persons, should be regarded as insulting mankind with his recklessness and folly. . . . 18. A conspicuous place among moral attributes is occupied by titles, which are designations for the distinctions, made in the civil life of persons, upon the basis of their esteem and status. They are in the main of two kinds. Some, indeed, denote the degree of the esteem of individuals in civil life, or the qualities peculiar to them, but they only connote and hint more or less clearly at the status, according as such and such a title is ordinarily applied to few or many statuses. Such are those honorary titles which are commonly appended to the names of persons of distinction, as "most serene," "most eminent," "most illustrious," &c., the implications of which is greater or less according to the force of the substantives to which they are attached. Other titles directly signify some status or some seat or peculiar place in a status, while they indirectly connote a degree of the esteem which commonly attaches to that status or position. Such are the names of moral persons, at least of those who occupy any post of honour. . . .

The Law of Nature and of Nations

173

19. Moral operative qualities are either active or passive. Of the former the most noble species are power, right, and obligation. Power is that by which a man is able to do something legally and with a moral effect. This effect is that an obligation is laid upon another to perform some task, or to admit as valid some of his actions, or not to hinder them, or that he shall be able to confer upon another a power of action or possession, which the latter did not formerly possess. For this quality is, indeed, to a very high degree diffusive, as it were, of itself. On the side of its efficacy, power is divided into perfect and imperfect.' The former is that which can be exercised by force against those who unlawfully endeavour to oppose it (force being chiefly exercised inside the boundaries of a state by an action at law; outside the boundaries, by war). In the case of the latter, if any one be prohibited unlawfully from its exercise, he is being treated inhumanely, indeed, and yet he has no right to defend it either by a legal action or by war, unless it so happen that necessity has supplied what it lacks in efficacy. 8 On the side of its subject, power is divided into personal and communicable. The former is that which one cannot lawfully transmit to another. But in this there are several differences, for some powers are so intimately connected with a person that the acts belonging to them cannot rightly be exercised at all through the instrumentality of another. Such is the power of a husband over the body of his wife, the exercise of which by another no laws would admit. Such are also the powers the possession of which cannot be transferred by us to another, although the commission of the acts proper to them can be delegated to others; provided, however, that the acts derive all their authority from him to whom those powers inherently belong. Of this nature is the power of kings who have been constituted as such by the will of the people. For they cannot transfer to any one else the right to rule, and yet they can employ the services of ministers for the exercise of the acts that belong to such a right. Communicable power is such as can properly be transferred from one person to another, whether that be at his own pleasure, or by the authority or consent of a superior. Finally, with regard to objects, most kinds of power can be classified into four groups. For powers concern either persons or things, and both these according as they are one's own or another's. Power over one's own person and actions is called liberty (although the ambiguities under which this word labours will have to be set forth elsewhere). Liberty is not to be understood as a principle distinct from him who enjoys it, or as a right of forcing oneself to an abhorrent task . . . but rather as a man's faculty to dispose of himself and his actions in accordance with his own desires; which faculty of itself involves a negation of any hindrance arising from a superior power. Power over one's own possessions is called ownership. Power over the persons of other men is properly command; power over another's possessions is easement. 9 20. The word "right" (ius) is highly ambiguous. For in addition to the meanings where it is used for law, and for a body or system of homogeneous

174

Samuel Pufendorf

laws, as well as for the decision rendered by a judge, it very frequently happens that it is taken as the moral quality by which we legally either command persons, or possess things, or by virtue of which something is owed us. This difference, however, seems to exist between the words power and right, namely, that the former tends more to introduce into things or persons the actual presence of the quality mentioned, and less expressly connotes the mode by which one has secured it. Right, however, directly and clearly indicates that a thing has been lawfully acquired and is lawfully now retained. Because, however, most kinds of power have a distinguishing name, which that quality, whereby something is understood to be owed us, lacks, it is convenient to designate this quality in a special way by the word "right," although we have not seen fit to avoid the other meanings of this word, because of customary usage. Now we class right among active qualities, since by virtue of it something can be demanded of another. But it is also placed among passive moral qualities, since it enables a man lawfully to receive something. For passive qualities are those by which one can lawfully have, suffer, admit, or receive something. Of these there are three kinds: The first is that whereby we properly receive something, in such a way, however, that we have no power to demand it, nor is there any obligation on another to render it. Such is the ability to receive a gift that is purely gratuitous. And that such a quality is not an absolute fiction, may be ascertained from the consideration, that, for example, a judge may be forbidden to receive under any consideration a gift from parties to a suit. The second is that whereby we are capacitated to receive something from another, not in such a way that it can be extorted from him against his will, unless a chance necessity requires it, but only in so far as he is obliged by some moral virtue to give it. This is called by Grotius an "aptitude." 1° The third is that whereby we are able to force a man, even against his will, to the performance of something, and he himself is fully obligated to such performance by a specific law that prescribes a definite penalty. . . . 21. An obligation is that whereby one is required under moral necessity to do, or admit, or suffer something; its divisions will be treated more in detail below. There are also moral "sensible" qualities which are understood to affect the judgement of men in a particular manner, just as among physical qualities this term is used for those which affect the faculty of sensation; such are honour, disgrace, authority, dignity, fame, obscurity, and the like. 23. In conclusion, as moral entities owe their origin to imposition, so from this they obtain their stability, as well as their variations, and when it has ceased to operate, as it were, they simultaneously disappear, just as a shadow disappears the instant a light is extinguished. Moreover, those which are of divine imposition are removed again only at the divine pleasure. Those which have been established by the will of men are abolished again by the same, even though the physical substance of the persons or things remain unchanged. . . .

The Law of Nature and of Nations

175

Chapter II: On the Certainty of the Moral Sciences

1. The majority of scholars have for long firmly held, that moral science lacks that certitude, which is so characteristic of other knowledge, and especially of mathematics, because it has no place for demonstrations, from which alone is derived knowledge that is pure and free from fear of error; and because what is known of it rests on probability alone. This feeling has worked an immense injury to sciences most noble and most necessary to the life of man. . . . 4. . . . Now that knowledge, which considers what is upright and what base in human actions, the principal portion of which we have undertaken to present, rests entirely upon grounds so secure, that from it can be deduced genuine demonstrations which are capable of producing a solid science. So certainly can its conclusions be derived from distinct principles, that no further ground is left for doubt. 5. Some there are who maintain that things moral are always uncertain and changing, and that no greater certitude can attach to any science than to the objects with which it deals. The reply is, that, although moral entities owe their origin to imposition, and for that reason are not in an absolute sense necessary, yet they have not arisen in such a loose and general manner, that scientific knowledge about them is on that account utterly uncertain. For the very condition of man demanded the institution of most of them, a condition assigned him by the most Good and Great Creator out of His goodness and wisdom; hence such entities can by no means be uncertain and weak. . . . 6. Now in order that this knowledge of natural law with which we are now concerned, and which includes all moral and civil knowledge that is genuine and solid, may meet the full requirements of a science, we feel that we need not declare, with certain writers," that some things are noble or base of themselves without any imposition, and that these form the object of natural and perpetual law, while those, the good repute or baseness of which depends upon the will of a legislator, fall under the head of positive laws. For since good repute, or moral necessity, and turpitude, are affections of human actions arising from their conformity or non-conformity to some norm or law, and law is the bidding of a superior, it does not appear that good repute or turpitude can be conceived to exist before law, and without the imposition of a superior. . . . And, indeed, they who set up an eternal rule for the morality of human actions, beyond the imposition of God, seem to me to do nothing other than to join to God some co-eternal extrinsic principle which He Himself had to follow in the assignment of forms of things [at the moment of creation]. All, furthermore, admit that God created all things, man included, of His free will; it must follow, then, that it lay within His own pleasure to assign whatever nature He wished to this creature whom He was about to create. How, then, can an action of man be accorded any quality, if it takes its rise from an extrinsic and absolute necessity, without the imposition and pleasure of God?

176

Samuel Pufendorf

On this argument, in very truth, all the movements and actions of man, if every law both divine and human be removed, are indifferent; while some of them are termed naturally reputable or base, because the condition of nature, which the Creator freely bestowed upon man, most rigorously requires either their execution or avoidance; it does not follow, however, that any morality can exist of itself, without any law, in its own motion and the application of physical power. . . . Here it should be carefully noted that this indifference of physical motion in the actions of men is maintained by us only in respect to morality. For otherwise actions prescribed by the law of nature have, through the determination of the first cause, the native power to produce an effect good and useful to mankind, while actions similarly forbidden produce a contrary effect. But this natural goodness and evil does by no means constitute an action in the field of morals. For there are many things which contribute to the happiness and convenience of man and yet are not morally good, since they are not voluntary actions, nor are they enjoined by any law; while many acts which tend to the welfare of man have the same natural effect among beasts, although among the latter they possess no moral quality. . . . The reason why many men cannot understand such an indifference in actions, is because from childhood on we have been imbued with a hatred of such vices; and this hatred, impressed on a mind still simple, appears to have grown to have the strength of a moral judgment, the result being that few have thought of distinguishing between the material and the formal in such actions. Hence it is patent that Grotius, On the Law of War and Peace, Bk. I, chap. i, § 10, had not considered this matter thoroughly, when he refers the wickedness of some human actions to the class of things to which the power of God Himself does not extend, because they involve a contradiction. Twice two, indeed, can only be four, because twice two and four are one and the same thing, differing only in name and in the point of view. It is, however, a contradiction for something simultaneously to be and not to be the same thing. But surely such a contradiction does not appear in the case of actions which are opposed to natural law. For the same reason Grotius shortly thereafter undertakes to derive this wickedness from a comparison with nature when following sound reason. And yet in the words sound reason, as attributed to man, there is involved a reference to the law of society as given to man by the Creator. Again in § 12, he says that the absolute existence of any natural law is tested by its necessary agreement or non-agreement with rational and social nature. And yet man received this social nature not from any immutable necessity, but from the pleasure of God. Therefore, the morality of actions as well, whether they do or do not suit him as a social being, must be derived from the same source. And so morality is fittingly attributed to these actions, not of an absolute necessity, but of a hypothetical necessity, since such a position is posited for man as God freely assigned him above all other creatures. . . . 10. But, as a matter of fact, a certain latitude is found in moral quantities, and principally for that reason mathematical knowledge is generally held to surpass

• The Law of Nature and of Nations

177

moral in the delicacy of its processes. That is due to the different nature of physical and moral quantity. For physical quantities can be exactly compared with one another, and measured and divided into distinct parts, because they are in a material way objects of our senses. Hence one can determine accurately what relation or proportion they have to one another, especially since with numbers, which we use, all such relations are most exactly set forth. And besides, those quantities are a product of nature, and hence unmoved and eternal. But moral quantities arise from imposition, and the judgement of intelligent and free agents, whose judgement and pleasure is in no way subject to physical measurement; and so the quantity which they conceive and determine by their imposition, cannot be referred to a like measure, but retains the liberty and laxness of its origin. Neither did the end, for which moral quantities were introduced, require such a measure of exactness, and such straining after details, but it was enough for the purpose of man's life that persons, things, and actions be roughly rated and compared. . . .

Chapter IV: On the Will of Man as It Concurs in Moral Actions 1. Since the most wise Creator wished to make man an animal to be governed by laws, He implanted in his soul a will, as an internal director of his actions, so that after objects were proposed and understood, he might be able to move himself to them by an intrinsic principle apart from any physical necessity, and be able to choose what seemed to him the most fitting; as well as turn from those which did not seem agreeable to him. . . . 2. Freedom, men call a faculty of the will, whereby, given all things requisite for acting, it is able, from among many objects before it, to choose one, or some, and to reject the rest; or, if but one object be presented, it may admit or not admit it, do or not do it. Requisites for acting are sometimes summed up under the single word "occasion," from which requisites the final determination of the agent is considered to be a separate thing; and when determination is added to the other requisites, action at once follows. Now the requisites connected with liberty are distinguished from that aid to actions which is furnished by the man himself. But more particularly the faculty of choosing, from among many objects, one or several, is called liberty of specification or contrariety; the faculty which is concerned with the choice or rejection of but one object, is called liberty of contradiction or of exercise. Now liberty is supposed to add to spontaneity, firstly, an indifference as to the exercise of its acts, so that the will is under no necessity to exert one of its acts, that is, to will or to refuse, but, touching a particular object before it (for in general it cannot help but turn to that which is good as such, or renounce evil as such), it may choose whatever action it please, although chance may incline it more to one than to another. Liberty also adds a free determination, so that the will by an internal impulse may choose here and now either of its acts, that is, to will or to refuse. It should, however, be added, that, even though it may seem to a man that

178

Samuel Pufendorf

something should be desired or avoided, this is not dependent on the will but on the state of the object, according as it presents an appearance of good or evil; although that desire or aversion, which thus follows the appearance of the object, is not so strong but that there still remains to the will the liberty to shape itself to some outward action upon the object; especially since the appearance of an evil thing can seem desirable only so long as another evil is at its side. . . . 3. But the chief affection of the will, which seems to rise immediately from its very nature, is that it is not restrained intrinsically to a definite, fixed, and invariable mode of acting, which affection we shall denominate indifference, and that this intrinsic indifference cannot be entirely destroyed by an extraneous means. And this must be maintained all the more firmly because upon its removal the morality of human actions is at once entirely destroyed. 4. But some preliminary remarks should be made concerning the nature of good, so that the indifference of the will may be correctly apprehended. Now good is considered in an absolute way by some philosophers, so that every entity, actually existing, may be considered good; but we pay no attention to such a meaning, and consider a thing as good only in so far as it has a respect to others, and it is understood to be good for some person, or on his behalf. Taken in this sense the nature of good seems to consist in an aptitude whereby one thing is fitted to help, preserve, or complete another. And . since this aptitude depends on the very nature of things, whether this nature be native or adapted by some contrivance, that good which we can call natural, is firm and uniform, and in no way dependent on the erroneous or changeable opinions of men. . . . From what has been said it is clear that it belongs to the nature of the will always to seek what is inherently good, and to avoid what is inherently evil. For it implies a clear contradiction that you should not incline to what you see is agreeable to you, and should incline to what you feel is not agreeable. And so this general inclination of the will can admit no indifference, as though the will might seek good and evil by an appetite of simple approbation. But the will of individuals exerts the force of its indifference on particular good and evils, as men incline to different things at particular times. And this is so because scarcely any things good or evil appear to a man uncontaminated and distinct, but intermixed, evil with good and good with evil. . . . Chapter VII: On the Qualities of Moral Actions 7 . . . . It should be observed, in conclusion, that some things are due us by a perfect, others by an imperfect right. When what is due us on the former score is not voluntarily given, it is the right of those in enjoyment of natural liberty to resort to violence and war in forcing another to furnish it, or, if we live within the same state, an action against him at law is allowed; but what is due on the latter score cannot be claimed by war or extorted by a threat of the

The Law of Nature and of Nations

179

law. Writers frequently designate a perfect right by the additional words, "his own," as they say, for example, a man demands this by his own [suo] right. But the reason why some things are due us perfectly and others imperfectly, is because among those who live in a state of mutual natural law there is a diversity in the rules of this law, some of which conduce to the mere existence of society, others to an improved existence. And since it is less necessary that the latter be observed towards another than the former, it is, therefore, reasonable that the former can be exacted more rigorously than the latter, for it is foolish to prescribe a medicine far more troublesome and dangerous than the disease. There is, furthermore, in the case of the former usually an agreement, but not in the latter, and so, since the latter are left to a man's sense of decency and conscience, it would be inconsistent to extort them from another by force, unless a grave necessity happens to arise. In civil states this distinction arises from their civil laws, which either allow or deny an action, although in most instances states have followed in the footsteps of natural law, except where their own reasons persuaded them to take another course. 8. When, therefore, actions or things are extended to another, which are due him only by an imperfect right, or when actions are performed for another which have no relation to business, it is usually said that universal justice is observed; as when one comes to the aid of a man with counsel, goods, or personal assistance, and performs a service of piety, respect, gratitude, kindness, or generosity, for those to whom he was obligated to perform the same. The only concern of this kind of justice is that one should furnish what is due another, without observing whether the service furnished is equal to, or less than, that which was the reason for the obligation. Thus an office of gratitude is fulfilled if as much is shown as one's faculties permit, although the kindness done may have far surpassed that measure. But when acts which concern business relations are performed for another, or acts by which something is transferred to another to which he had a perfect right, that is called particular justice. Boot( III

Chapter IV: On Keeping Faith and on the Divisions of Obligations 6. We may well discuss the division of obligations into natural and civil, not so much on the ground that such a division explains the origin of obligations, as that it suggests the basis of their force in common life. And so a natural obligation is that which binds only by the force of natural law; a civil obligation that which is reinforced by civil laws and authority. The efficacy of each is considered, either in him in whom it resides as the subject of the obligation, or in the other person, who is its object. From the point of view of the subject, the efficacy of a natural obligation consists principally in the fact that it binds the conscience of a man, or that a man realizes, when he has not fulfilled it,

180

Samuel Pufendorf

that he is disobeying the will of God, whose law all men recognize that they should obey, just as they are indebted to Him for their very existence. And although penal sanctions are not to be found so expressly defined in natural law, there is no reason to feel that it lacks every kind of sanction, and that the man who breaks its obligation should expect no greater punishment from the hands of its author than he who fulfils the same. Among other arguments for this fact are those bitings of conscience with which the wicked are seized, even when they have hope of deceiving men and escaping human punishment; and that such a fear springs from no higher principle, from no realization of the divine sovereignty, but can be traced to mere simplicity, habit, or the fear of human punishment, no pious man is convinced. . . . . . . Nor can I believe that any man has ever found for himself in the impiety of atheism a final relief from such terrors, but that his fear of God has at times got the upper hand, and shaken his impious mind in the end with even greater tumults. . . . Now although the binding of a man's conscience is the most characteristic feature of a natural obligation, the same efficacy is found as well in a civil obligation, provided the latter is concerned with an object not repugnant to the former. And so civil laws also, which are not repugnant to natural law, have an influence on the conscience. Furthermore, both obligations agree in this respect, that a man should do, of his own accord and by an intrinsic motive, the things which they demand of him. This forms the main difference between obligation and compulsion, since in the latter the mind is forced to something by mere external violence contrary to its intrinsic inclination, while whatever we do from an obligation is understood to come from an intrinsic impulse of the mind, and with the full approbation of its own judgment. But when these obligations are viewed from the effect which they produce on the person who is owed something by reason of them, they have this feature in common, namely, that whatever is furnished as a debt on this account may be rightfully received and kept. But when a man neglects or refuses to meet an obligation, there arises a distinction, in the manner of requiring its fulfilment, between natural and civil obligations, according as one lives in natural liberty, or in a civil state. Among those who live in natural liberty there obtains, from the precepts of natural law, an inequality of obligation. For such things as natural law commands one man to show another, before any agreement has passed between them, such as the duties of charity and humanity, can be required only by peaceful means, as by persuasion, admonition, request, or entreaty. But it will not be allowable to use force against a person who persists in his refusal, unless it happen that extreme necessity impels us. The reason for this seems to lie in the fact that, without such duties, the intercourse of men cannot be sufficiently peaceful, and so nature is understood to have put them to one side, as a means by which men may bind others to themselves by a special exhibition of good will; since things which may be extorted by force have no such power to win the hearts of others, as those which may be denied without

Editor's Notes

181

fear. But if what is owed by an agreement is not forthcoming, force may be used to extort it. In the same way we may defend any of our possessions by force, when another man inflicts injury upon them. Now civil obligations, or such as secure authority from civil law, open the way for action in a civil court. . . . Chapter V: On the Nature of Promises and Pacts in General

3. . . . not every natural faculty to do something is properly a right, but only that which concerns some moral effect, in the case of those who have the same nature as I. Thus, as in the fables . . . the horse had a natural faculty to graze in the meadow, and so had the stag as well, yet neither of them had a right to this, because their respective faculties did not concern the other. In the same way, when a man takes inanimate objects or animals for his use, he exercises only a purely natural faculty, if it is considered simply with regard to the objects and animals which he uses, without respect to other men. But this faculty takes on the nature of a real right, at the moment when this moral effect is produced in the rest of mankind, that other men may not hinder him, or compete with him, against his will, in using such objects or animals. Of course it is absurd to try to designate as a right that faculty which all other men have an equal right to prevent one from exercising. Now we admit that man has by nature a faculty to take for his use all inanimate objects and animals. But that faculty, thus exactly defined, cannot properly be called a right, both because such things are under no obligation to present themselves for man's use, and because, by virtue of the natural equality of all men, one man cannot rightfully exclude the rest from such things, unless their consent, expressed or presumed, has let him have them as his very own. Only when this has been done, can he say that he has a proper right to the thing. To state it more concisely: A right to all things, previous to every human deed, must be understood not exclusively, but only indefinitely, that is, not that one man may claim everything for himself to the exclusion of the rest of mankind, but that nature does not define what particular things belong to one man, and what to another, before they agree among themselves on their divison and allocation. And even less does the same equality of men allow one man to claim that he has by nature a right over every other man. Nay rather, no man would ever have a right to rule over another, had he not acquired it in some special way from the other's consent, or from some other antecedent act of his, as is shown at greater length in its proper place. Editor's Notes

1. "Polity," that is, city or abiding home. 2. The human court of judgment. The term inner forum was often used to refer to the conscience. 3. In a work on natural law Pufendorf did not discuss human origins or touch on matters of original sin.

182

Samuel Pufendorf

4. Rom. 2:14-15. 5. Cicero De natura deorum 11.160, attributed to Chrysippus, who was speaking of the function of the pig's soul. 6. Horace, Epistulae 1.2.27. 7. That is, complete or incomplete. 8. In dire emergencies — cases of necessity — a sufferer may use force to obtain what is needed to sustain life, even though such force would not normally be legitimate. For example, a beggar may not ordinarily use force to get what he requests; but a starving man, to prevent his own death, may take food that is not his. 9. An easement now is a legal permission to use another's property, for example, to allow my porch to extend over to your plot of ground. 10. Law of War and Peace, I.I.iv.

11. As Pufendorf soon made clear, he had in mind at least Grotius. Further Reading

In addition to the translations of Pufendorf's major works on natural law mentioned in the Introduction, another essay of his is available in English, in Michael Seidler, trans., Samuel Pufendorf's "On the Natural State of Men" (New York: Mellen Press, 1990); Seidler has provided a substantial and useful introduction. The only book on Pufendorf in English is by Leonard Krieger, The Politics of Discretion: Pufendorf and the Acceptance of Natural Law (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1965). For a brief study of the main points of Pufendorf's moral philosophy, see J. B. Schneewind, "Pufendorf's Place in the History of Ethics," Synthese 72 (1987):123-55, which contains references to some of the important literature on Pufendorf in German and in French. Richard Tuck discusses Pufendorf on several points in Natural Rights Theories (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1979). The same author, in "The `Modern' Theory of Natural Law," in Anthony Pagden, ed., The Languages of Political Theory in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1987), presents an important examination of the distinguishing features of Grotian and post-Grotian natural law. The Pagden volume also includes an essay by Istvan Hont, "The Language of Sociability and Commerce: Samuel Pufendorf and the Theoretical Foundations of the 'Four States Theory,' " which reviews Pufendorf's role in the rise of a developmental view of human history that is important to the economic work of Adam Smith. Michael Nutkiewicz, "Samuel Pufendorf: Obligation As the Basis of the State," Journal of the History of Philosophy 21 (1983):15-29, illuminates Pufendorf's ethics as well as his political thought.

John Locke

Introduction Locke claimed that a deductive science of moral principles could be produced, although he himself never produced one. His epistemological and political views were so influential, however, that they gave considerable weight to the ideas about morality that Locke expressed in his various works. Those interested in the history of ethics should therefore have some acquaintance with Locke's views. Locke was born in 1632 and educated at Oxford, where he taught for a period and then studied medicine, eventually obtaining a degree in 1674. In 1667 he took a post as physician to Lord Ashley (after 1672 the earl of Shaftesbury), whom he served in many capacities until the earl's death in 1683. Shaftesbury was a major figure in the party opposing absolutist monarchy and working to keep the throne in Protestant hands. Indeed, his intrigues led to his being tried for treason. Although he was acquitted, Shaftesbury fled England, and after the earl's death, Locke, thinking that he also was in some danger, left Oxford for Holland. He stayed there until 1689, returning when William and Mary — to whom he had been an adviser in Holland — came to the English throne. When Locke was a student, philosophy at Oxford was still scholastic, and he was not interested in it. He studied Descartes only after he had finished his formal education. Then, during a stay in Paris Locke met a number of leading philosophical figures, among them Gassendi's disciple Bernier, who encouraged him in following an empiricist line of thought. During his exile in Holland, Locke worked on his Essay Concerning Human Understanding, which was published in 1690. The Two Treatises on Civil Government, though also dated 1690, had appeared shortly before the Essay. Locke's health was poor, and after his return to England he lived much of the time with friends in the country, although he also held a position in the new government. His Reasonableness of Christianity was published anonymously in 1695. In his later years Locke revised the Essay, engaged in controversy about it, and wrote on many other subjects. He died in 1704. In the final chapter of the Essay, Locke divided the objects of understanding into three classes: the nature of things as they are in themselves, those things that man ought to do, and the ways by which he is to attain these two kinds of knowledge. The second kind of knowledge, Locke stated, is the skill of right applying our own powers and actions for the attainment of things good and useful. The most considerable under this head is Ethics, which is the seeking out those rules and measures of human actions which lead to happiness, and the means to practice them.

The point of this sort of knowledge, Locke explained, is not "bare speculation"; rather, it is the improvement of practice. 183

184

John Locke

Locke had a long-standing interest in morals and politics. When he was about thirty, he wrote two tracts on political affairs and a set of essays or disputations on the law of nature, and the discussions with friends that stimulated Locke to write the Essay probably initially concerned ethics. In the Essay itself Locke treated morality almost entirely as part of his general effort to work out accounts of how our ideas are derived from experience, of the way language is built on our experientially based ideas, and of the roles of reason and experience in combining these ideas into the different kinds of knowledge we possess. Thus he argued against innate moral ideas as part of his wider argument against innate ideas of any sort, and his account of moral relations was included as part of the discussion of relational ideas generally. Some aspects of Locke's own position regarding morality emerge during these primarily epistemological discussions. He made apparent his hedonism: good and evil are defined in terms of pleasure and pain, and happiness is the presence of the one and the absence of the other. We all pursue happiness, although we do not always pursue what seems to us at the moment the greatest attainable good. We can place our happiness in different things, Locke believed, and so, even if I know that something would give me pleasure, I need not pursue it, because I need not think of that particular good or pleasure as contributing to my happiness. Locke stressed the variety of goods that people pursue and concluded, in a Hobbesian way, that the philosophers of old did in vain inquire whether summum bonum [highest good] consisted in riches, or bodily delights, or virtue or contemplation; and they might have as reasonably disputed whether the best relish were to be found in apples, plums, or nuts. (Essay, II. xxi.55)

If moral principles are somehow meant to show us how to attain happiness, it will not be easy to figure out what those principles are. Another feature of morality, in Locke's view, is that God is central to it. God has given us a law to live by, and he enforces it by means of sanctions. No law without a lawgiver, no lawgiver without the power to enforce. Here Locke distanced himself from Grotius and aligned himself with Pufendorf, whom he admired and whose books he recommended for the education of gentlemen. God is needed not only to lay down the law but also to instruct us in it, and not by roundabout means such as reason. Revelation was originally necessary because reason was too weak to inform us of what God requires of us — although Locke firmly believed that once the requirements were revealed, reason could show us that they were reasonable. Locke did not publish his early writings on natural law, and he refused later requests to publish them, made by the few people who knew of them. They must be studied for a full understanding of Locke's views on morality, but because they did not become available until this century, the following selections are drawn from his published works. The first excerpts are from the Essay Concerning Human Understanding and the second from The Reasonableness of Christianity. The texts are from Locke's Works, 3rd ed., 3 vols. (London, 1727). I have modernized the spelling and some of the punctuation. An Essay Concerning Human Understanding BOOK I

Chapter III

1. If those speculative maxims whereof we discoursed in the foregoing chapter have not an actual universal assent from all mankind, as we there

An Essay Concerning Human Understanding

185

proved, it is much more visible concerning practical principles, that they come short of an universal reception; and I think it will be hard to instance any one moral rule which can pretend to so general and ready an assent as "What is, is" or to be so manifest a truth as this, "that it is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be." Whereby it is evident that they are farther removed from a title to be innate; and the doubt of their being native impressions on the mind is stronger against these moral principles than the other. Not that it brings their truth at all in question. They are equally true, though not equally evident. Those speculative maxims carry their own evidence with them. But moral principles require reasoning and discourse, and some exercise of the mind, to discover the certainty of their truth. They lie not open as natural characters ingraven on the mind; which if any such were, they must needs be visible by themselves, and by their own light be certain and known to everybody. But this is no derogation to their truth and certainty . . . these moral rules are capable of demonstration: and therefore it is our own faults, if we come not to a certain knowledge of them. But the ignorance wherein many men are of them, and the slowness of assent wherewith others receive them, are manifest proofs that they are not innate. . . . 2. Whether there be any such moral principles wherein all men do agree, I appeal to any who have been but moderately conversant in the history of mankind and looked abroad beyond the smoke of their own chimneys. Where is that practical truth that is universally received without doubt or question, as it must be if innate? Justice, and keeping contracts, is that which most men seem to agree in. This is a principle which is thought to extend itself to the dens of thieves, and the confederacies of the greatest villains; and they who have gone farthest towards the putting off of humanity itself keep faith and rules of justice one with another. I grant that outlaws themselves do this one amongst another, but 'tis without receiving these as the innate laws of nature. They practise them as rules of convenience within their own communities. But it is impossible to conceive that he embraces justice as a practical principle who acts fairly with his fellow highwaymen, and at the same time plunders or kills the next honest man he meets with. Justice and truth are the common ties of society; and therefore even outlaws and robbers, who break with all the world besides, must keep faith and rules of equity amongst themselves, or else they cannot hold together. But will any one say that those that live by fraud and rapine have innate principles of truth and justice which they allow and assent to? 4. Another reason that makes me doubt of any innate practical principles is that I think there cannot any one moral rule be proposed whereof a man may not justly demand a reason, which would be perfectly ridiculous and absurd if they were innate, or so much as self-evident; which every innate principle must needs be, and not need any proof to ascertain its truth, nor want any reason to gain it approbation. He would be thought void of common sense who asked on the one side or on the other side went . about to give a reason why it is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be. It carries its own light and evidence with it and needs no other proof. He that understands the terms assents to it for its own sake, or else nothing will ever be able to prevail

186

John Locke

with him to do it. But should that most unshaken rule of morality and founda-

tion of all social virtue, that one should do as he would be done unto, be proposed to one who never heard it before, but yet is of capacity to understand its meaning, might he not without any absurdity ask a reason why? And were not he that proposed it bound to make out the truth and reasonableness of it to him? Which plainly shews it not to be innate, for if it were, it could neither want nor receive any proof. . . . 6. Hence naturally flows the great variety of opinions concerning moral rules which are to be found amongst men, according to the different sorts of happiness they have a prospect of or propose to themselves; which could not be if practical principles were innate and imprinted in our minds immediately by the hand of God. I grant the existence of God is so many ways manifest, and the obedience we owe him so congruous to the light of reason, that a great part of mankind give testimony to the law of nature. But yet I think it must be allowed that several moral rules may receive from mankind a very general approbation, without either knowing or admitting the true ground of morality; which can only be the will and law of a God who sees men in the dark, has in his hand rewards and punishments, and power enough to call to account the proudest offender. . . . BOOK II

Chapter XXI

31. To return then to the enquiry, what is it that determines the will in regard to our actions? And that upon second thoughts' I am apt to imagine is not, as is generally supposed, the greater good in view, but some (and for the most part the most pressing) uneasiness a man is at present under. This is that which successively determines the will and sets us upon those actions we perform. This uneasiness we may call, as it is, desire; which is an uneasiness of the mind for want of some absent good. . . . 35. It seems so established and settled a maxim by the general consent of all mankind that good, the greater good, determines the will, that I do not at all wonder that when I first published my thoughts on this subject I took it for granted; and I imagine that by a great many I shall be thought more excusable for having then done so, than that now I have ventured to recede from so received an opinion. But yet upon a stricter enquiry, I am forced to conclude that good, the greater good, though apprehended and acknowledged to be so, does not determine the will until our desire, raised proportionably to it, makes us uneasy in the want of it. Convince a man never so much that plenty has its advantages over poverty; make him see and own that the handsome conveniences of life are better than nasty penury: yet as long as he is content with the latter and finds no uneasiness in it, he moves not; his will never is determined to any action that shall bring him out of it. Let a man be never so well persuaded of the advantages of virtue, that it is as necessary to a man who has

An Essay Concerning Human Understanding

187

any great aims in this world or hopes in the next as food to life: yet till he hungers and thirsts after righteousness, till he feels an uneasiness in the want of it, his will will not be determined to any action in pursuit of this confessed greater good; but any other uneasiness he feels in himself shall take place and carry his will to other actions. . . . 38. Were the will determined by the views of good, as it appears in contemplation greater or less to the understanding, which is the state of all absent good and that which in the received opinion the will is supposed to move to and to be moved by, I do not see how it could ever get loose from the infinite eternal joys of Heaven, once proposed and considered as possible. For all absent good, by which alone-barely proposed and coming in view the will is thought to be determined and so to set us on action, being only possible, but not infallibly certain, 'tis unavoidable that the infinitely greater possible good should regularly and constantly determine the will in all the successive actions it directs; and then we should keep constantly and steadily in our course towards Heaven. . . . This would be the state of the mind and regular tendency of the will in all its determinations, were it determined by that which is considered and in view the greater good; but that it is not so is visible in experience. . . . 41. If it be farther asked, what 'tis moves desire? I answer happiness and that alone. Happiness and misery are the names of two extremes, the utmost bounds whereof we know not; 'tis what eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard, nor hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive. 2 But of some degrees of both we have very lively impressions, made by several instances of delight and joy on the one side, and torment and sorrow on the other; which, for shortness sake, I shall comprehend under the names of pleasure and pain, there being pleasure and pain of the mind as well as the body. With him is fullness of joy, and pleasure for evermore. 3 Or to speak truly, they are all of the mind, though some have their rise in the mind from thought, others in the body from certain modifications of motion. 42. Happiness then in its full extent is the utmost pleasure we are capable of, and misery the utmost pain. And the lowest degree of what can be called happiness is so much ease from all pain, and so much present pleasure, as without which any one cannot be content. Now because pleasure and pain are produced in us by operation of certain objects, either on our minds or our bodies, and in different degrees, therefore what has an aptness to produce pleasure in us is that we call good, and what is apt to produce pain in us we call evil, for no other reason but for its aptness to produce pleasure and pain in us, wherein consists our happiness and misery. . . . 43. Though this be that which is called good and evil, and all good be the proper object of desire in general; yet all good, even seen and confessed to be so, does not necessarily move every particular man's desire, but only that part, or so much of it, as is considered and taken to make a necessary part of his happiness. All other good, however great in reality or appearance, excites not a man's desires, who looks not on it to make a part of that happiness

188

John Locke

wherewith he, in his present thought, can satisfy himself. Happiness, under this view, every one constantly pursues and desires what makes any part of it. Other things acknowledged to be good he can look upon without desire, pass by, and be content without. . . . 44. This, I think, anyone may observe in himself and others, that the greater visible good does not always raise men's desires in proportion to the greatness it appears and is acknowledged to have, though every little trouble moves us and sets us on work to get rid of it. The reason whereof is evident from the nature of our happiness and misery itself. All present pain, whatever it be, makes a part of our present misery. But all absent good does not at any time make a necessary part of our present happiness, nor the absence of it make a part of our misery. If it did, we should be constantly and infinitely miserable, there being infinite degrees of happiness, which are not in our possession. All uneasiness therefore being removed, a moderate portion of good serves at present to content men. . . . 47. There being in us a great many uneasinesses always soliciting and ready to determine the will, it is natural, as I have said, that the greatest and most pressing should determine the will to the next action; and so it does for the most part, but not always. For the mind having in most cases, as is evident in experience, a power to suspend the execution and satisfaction of any of its desires, and so all one after another, is at liberty to consider the objects of them, examine them on all sides, and weigh them with others. In this lies the liberty man has; and from the not using of it right comes all that variety of mistakes, errors, and faults which we run into in the conduct of our lives and our endeavours after happiness; whilst we precipitate the determination of our wills and engage too soon before due examination. To prevent this we have a power to suspend the prosecution of this or that desire, as every one daily may experiment in himself. This seems to me the source of all liberty; in this seems to consist that which is (as I think improperly) called free will. For during this suspension of any desire, before the will be determined to action, and the action (which follows that determination) done, we have opportunity to examine, view, and judge of the good or evil of what we are going to do: and when upon due examination we have judged, we have done our duty, all that we can or ought to do in pursuit of our happiness; and 'tis not a fault but a perfection of our nature to desire, will, and act according to the last result of a fair examination. 48. This is so far from being a restraint or diminution of freedom that it is the very improvement and benefit of it; 'tis not an abridgement, 'tis the end and use of our liberty. And the farther we are removed from such a determination, the nearer we are to misery and slavery. . . . 52. This is the hinge on which turns the liberty of intellectual beings in their constant endeavours after and a steady prosecution of true felicity, that they can suspend this prosecution in particular cases till they have looked before them and informed themselves whether that particular thing which is then proposed or desired lie in the way to their main end and make a real part of

An Essay Concerning Human Understanding

189

that which is their greatest good. For the inclination and tendency of their nature to happiness is an obligation and motive to them to take care not to mistake or miss it; and so necessarily puts them upon caution, deliberation and wariness in the direction of their particular actions, which are the means to obtain it. Whatever necessity determines to the pursuit of real bliss, the same necessity with the same force establishes suspense, deliberation and scrutiny of each successive desire, whether the satisfaction of it does not interfere with our true happiness and mislead us from it. This as seems to me is the great privilege of finite intellectual Beings; and I desire it may be well considered whether the great inlet and exercise of all the liberty men have, are capable of, or can be useful to them, and that whereon depends the turn of their actions, does not lie in this. . . . 54. From what has been said, it is easy to give an account, how it comes to pass that though all men desire happiness, yet their wills carry them so contrarily, and consequently some of them to what is evil. And to this I say that the various and contrary choices that men make in the world do not argue that they do not all pursue good; but that the same thing is not good to every man alike. This variety of pursuits shows that every one does not place his happiness in the same thing or choose the same way to it. Were all the concerns of man terminated in this life, why one followed study and knowledge and another hawking and hunting; why one chose luxury and debauchery, and another sobriety and riches, would not be, because every one of these did not aim at his own happiness; but because their happiness was placed in different things. And therefore 'twas a right answer of the physician to his patient, that had sore eyes: if you have more pleasure in the taste of wine than in the use of your sight, wine is good for you; but if the pleasure of seeing be greater to you than that of drinking, wine is naught. Chapter XXVIII 4. Fourthly, there is another sort of relation, which is the conformity or disagreement men's voluntary actions have to a rule to which they are referred, and by which they are judged of: which I think may be called moral relations, as being that which denominates our moral actions, and deserves well to be examined, there being no part of knowledge wherein we should be more careful to get determined ideas and avoid, as much as may be, obscurity and confusion. 5. Good and evil, as hath been shown (bk. II, chap. XX, sec. 2, and chap. XXI, sec. 42) are nothing but pleasure or pain, or that which occasions or procures pleasure or pain to us. Moral good and evil then is only the conformity or disagreement of our voluntary actions to some law whereby good or evil is drawn on us from the will and power of the law-maker; which good and evil, pleasure or pain, attending our observance or breach of the law by the decree of the law-maker, is that we call reward and punishment. 6. Of these moral rules, or laws, to which men generally refer and by which

190

John Locke

they judge of the rectitude or pravity4 of their actions, there seem to me to be three sorts, with their three different enforcements, or rewards and punishments. For since it would be utterly in vain to suppose a rule set to the free actions of man without annexing to it some enforcement of good and evil to determine his will, we must, wherever we suppose a law, suppose also some reward or punishment annexed to that law. It would be in vain for one intelligent being to set a rule to the action of another if he had it not in his power to reward the compliance with, and punish deviation from his rule by some good and evil that is not the natural product and consequence of the action itself. For that being a natural convenience or inconvenience would operate of itself without a law. This, if I mistake not, is the true nature of all law properly so called. 7. The laws that men generally refer their actions to, to judge of their rectitude or obliquity, seem to me to be these three: (1) the divine law; (2) the civil law; (3) the law of opinion or reputation, if I may so call it. By the relation they bear to the first of these, men judge whether their actions are sins or duties; by the second, whether they be criminal or innocent; and by the third, whether they be virtues or vices. 8. First, the divine law, whereby I mean that law which God has set to the actions of men, whether promulgated to them by the light of nature or the voice of revelation. That God has given a rule whereby men should govern themselves, I think there is nobody so brutish as to deny. He has a right to do it; we are his creatures. He has goodness and wisdom to direct our actions to that which is best, and he has power to enforce it by rewards and punishments of infinite weight and duration, in another life, for nobody can take us out of his hands. This is the only true touchstone of moral rectitude; and by comparing them to this law it is, that men judge of the most considerable moral good or evil of their actions; that is, whether as duties or sins they are like to procure them happiness or misery from the hand of the ALMIGHTY. 9. Secondly, the civil law, the rule set by the commonwealth to the actions of those who belong to it, is another rule to which men refer their actions to judge whether they be criminal, or no. This law nobody overlooks, the rewards and punishments that enforce it being ready at hand and suitable to the power that makes it, which is the force of the commonwealth engaged to protect the lives, liberties and possessions of those who live according to its laws, and has power to take away life, liberty or goods from him who disobeys; which is the punishment of offences committed against this Law. 10. Thirdly, the law of opinion or reputation. Virtue and vice are names pretended and supposed everywhere to stand for actions in their own nature right and wrong. And as far as they really are so applied, they so far are coincident with the divine law above-mentioned. But yet, whatever is pretended, this is visible, that these names, virtue and vice, in the particular instances of their application, through the several nations and societies of men in the world, are constantly attributed only to such actions as in each country and society are in reputation or discredit. Nor is it to be thought strange that

An Essay Concerning Human Understanding

191

men everywhere should give the name of virtue to those actions which amongst them are judged praiseworthy, and call that vice which they account blamable, since otherwise they would condemn themselves if they should think any thing right to which they allowed not commendation; anything wrong, which they let pass without blame. Thus the measure of what is everywhere called and esteemed virtue and vice is this approbation or dislike, praise or blame, which by a secret and tacit consent establishes itself in the several societies, tribes and clubs of men in the world, whereby several actions come to find credit or disgrace amongst them according to the judgment, maxims or fashions of that place. For though men, uniting into politic societies, have resigned up to the public the disposing of all their force so that they cannot employ it against any fellow-citizen any farther than the law of the country directs, yet they retain still the power of thinking well or ill, approving or disapproving of the actions of those whom they live amongst and converse with. And by this approbation and dislike they establish amongst themselves what they will call virtue and vice. 11. That this is the common measure of virtue and vice will appear to anyone who considers that though that passes for vice in one country which is counted a virtue or at least not vice in another, yet everywhere virtue and praise, vice and blame, go together. Virtue is everywhere that which is thought praiseworthy, and nothing else but that which has the allowance of public esteem is called virtue. . . . 12. If any one shall imagine that I have forgot my own notion of a law when I make the law whereby men judge of virtue and vice to be nothing else but the consent of private men, who have not authority enough to make a law, especially wanting that which is so necessary and essential to a law, a power to inforce it, I think I may say that he who imagines commendation and disgrace not to be strong motives on men to accommodate themselves to the opinions and rules of those with whom they converse seems little skilled in the nature or history of mankind; the greatest part whereof he shall find to govern themselves chiefly, if not solely, by this law of fashion; and, so they do that which keeps them in reputation with their company, little regard the laws of God or the magistrate. The penalties that attend the breach of God's laws, some, nay, perhaps most men seldom seriously reflect on. And amongst those that do many, whilst they break the law, entertain thoughts of future reconciliation and making their peace for such breaches. And as to the punishments due from the laws of the commonwealth, they frequently flatter themselves with the hopes of impunity. But no man escapes the punishment of their censure and dislike who offends against the fashion and opinion of the company he keeps, and would recommend himself to. 13. These three then: first, the law of God; secondly, the law of politic societies; thirdly, the law of fashion, or private censure, are those to which men variously compare their actions. And 'tis by their conformity to one of these laws that they take their measures when they would judge of their moral rectitude and denominate their actions good or bad.

192

John Locke

14. Whether the rule to which, as to a touchstone, we bring our voluntary actions to examine them by and try their goodness, and accordingly to name them, which is, as it were, the mark of the value we set upon them, whether, I say, we take that rule from the fashion of the country or the will of a lawmaker, the mind is easily able to observe the relation any action hath to it, and to judge whether the action agrees or disagrees with the Rule; and so hath a notion of moral goodness or evil which is either conformity or not conformity of any action to that rule, and therefore is often called moral rectitude. This rule being nothing but a collection of several simple ideas, the conformity thereto is but so ordering the action that the simple ideas belonging to it may correspond to those which the law requires. And thus we see how moral beings and notions are founded on and terminated in these simple ideas we have received from sensation or reflections. . . . 15.To conceive rightly of moral actions, we must take notice of them under this two-fold consideration. First, as they are in themselves each made up of such a collection of simple ideas. Thus "drunkenness" or "lying" signify such or such a collection of simple ideas which I call mixed modes.' And in this sense they are as much positive absolute ideas as the drinking of a horse or speaking of a parrot. Secondly, our actions are considered as good, bad, or indifferent; and in this respect they are relative, it being their conformity to or disagreement with 'some rule that makes them to be regular or irregular, good or bad. And so as far as they are compared with a rule and thereupon denominated, they come under relation. Thus the challenging and fighting with a man, as it is a certain positive mode or particular sort of action, by particular ideas distinguished from all others, is called duelling; which, when considered in relation to the law of God, will deserve the name sin; to the law of fashion in some countries, valour and virtue; and to the municipal laws of some governments, a capital crime. In this case, when the positive mode has one name and another name as it stands in relation to the law, the distinction may as easily be observed as it is in substances, where one name, e.g. man, is used to signify the thing, another, e.g. father, to signify the relation. Boot( IV Chapter III

18. As to the third sort of our knowledge, viz. the agreement or disagreement of any of our ideas in any other relation, this, as it is the largest field of our knowledge, so it is hard to determine how far it may extend, because the advances that are made in this part of knowledge, depending on our sagacity in finding intermediate ideas that may shew the relations and habitudes of ideas whose co-existence is not considered, 'tis a hard matter to tell when we are at an end of such discoveries, and when reason has all the helps it is capable of for the finding of proofs or examining the agreement or disagreement of remote ideas. They that are ignorant of algebra cannot imagine the

An Essay Concerning Human Understanding

193

wonders in this kind are to be done by it: and what farther improvements and helps advantageous to other parts of knowledge the sagacious mind of man may yet find out, 'tis not easy to determine. This at least I believe, that the ideas of quantity are not those alone that are capable of demonstration and knowledge; and that other and perhaps more useful parts of contemplation would afford us certainty, if vices, passions, and domineering interest did not oppose or menace such endeavours. The idea of a supreme Being, infinite in power, goodness, and wisdom, whose workmanship we are and on whom we depend, and the idea of ourselves, as understanding, rational beings, being such as are clear in us, would, I suppose, if duly considered and pursued, afford such foundations of our duty and rules of action, as might place morality amongst the sciences capable of demonstration; wherein I doubt not but from self-evident propositions, by necessary consequences as incontestable as those in mathematics, the measures of right and wrong might be made out to any one that will apply himself with the same indifferency and attention to the one as he does to the other of these sciences. The relation of other modes may certainly be perceived as well as those of number and extension. And I cannot see why they should not also be capable of demonstration, if due methods were thought on to examine or pursue their agreement or disagreement. "Where there is no property there is no injustice" is a proposition as certain as any demonstration in Euclid. For the idea of property being a right to any thing, and the idea to which the name "injustice" is given being the invasion or violation of that right, it is evident that these ideas being thus established and these names annexed to them, I can as certainly know this proposition to be true as that a triangle has three angles equal to two right ones. Again, "No government allows absolute liberty": the idea of government being the establishment of society upon certain rules or laws which require conformity to them, and the idea of absolute liberty being for any one to do whatever he pleases, I am as capable of being certain of the truth of this proposition as of any in mathematics. 19. That which in this respect has given the advantage to the ideas of quantity and made them thought more capable of certainty and demonstration, is, First, that they can be set down and represented by sensible marks which have a greater and nearer correspondence with them than any words or sounds whatsoever. Diagrams drawn on paper are copies of the ideas in the mind, and not liable to the uncertainty that words carry in their signification. An angle, circle, or square, drawn in lines, lies open to the view and cannot be mistaken. It remains unchangeable and may at leisure be considered and examined, and the demonstration be revised, and all the parts of it may be gone over more than once without any danger of the least change in the ideas. This cannot be thus done in moral Ideas. We have no sensible marks that resemble them whereby we can set them down. We have nothing but words to express them by, which though when written they remain the same, yet the

194

John Locke

ideas they stand for may change in the same man, and 'tis very seldom that they are not different in different persons. Secondly, another thing that makes the greater difficulty in ethics is that moral ideas are commonly more complex than those of the figures ordinarily considered in mathematics. From whence these two inconveniences follow. First, that their names are of more uncertain signification, the precise collection of simple ideas they stand for not being so easily agreed on, and so the sign that is used for them in communication always and in thinking often does not steadily carry with it the same idea. Upon which the same disorder, confusion, and error follows as would if a man going to demonstrate something of an heptagon should in the diagram he took to do it leave out one of the angles, or by oversight make the figure with one angle more than the name ordinarily imported, or he intended it should, when at first he thought of his demonstration. This often happens and is hardly avoidable in very complex moral ideas, where the same name being retained, one angle, i.e. one simple idea is left out or put in, in the complex one (still called by the same name) more at one time than another. Secondly, from the complexedness of these moral ideas there follows another inconvenience, viz. that the mind cannot easily retain those precise combinations so exactly and perfectly as is necessary in the examination of the habitudes and correspondencies, agreements or disagreements, of several of them one with another; especially where it is to be judged of by long deductions and the intervention of several other complex ideas to shew the agreement or disagreement of two remote ones. 20. One part of these disadvantages in moral ideas which has made them be thought not capable of demonstration may in a good measure be remedied by definitions, setting down that collection of simple ideas which every term shall stand for; and then using the terms steadily and constantly for that precise collection. And what methods algebra or something of that kind may hereafter suggest to remove the other difficulties is not easy to foretell. Confident I am that if men would in the same method and with the same indifferency search after moral as they do mathematical truths, they would find them to have a stronger connection one with another, and a more necessary consequence from our clear and distinct ideas, and to come nearer perfect demonstration, than is commonly imagined. The Reasonableness of Christianity

It will possibly here be asked . . . What need was there of a Saviour? What advantage have we by Jesus Christ? .. . 2. Next to the knowledge of one God, maker of all things, a clear knowledge of their duty was wanting to mankind. . . . It should seem by the little that has hitherto been done in it that 'tis too hard a task for unassisted reason to establish morality in all its parts upon its true foundation, with a clear and convincing light. And 'tis at least a surer and shorter way to the apprehensions

The Reasonableness of Christianity

195

of the vulgar and mass of mankind that one manifestly sent from God and coming with visible authority from him should as a king and law-maker tell them their duties, and require their obedience, than leave it to the long and sometimes intricate deductions of reason to be made out to them. Such trains of reasonings the greatest part of mankind have neither leisure to weigh nor, for want of education and use, skill to judge of. We see how unsuccessful in this the attempts of philosophers were before our Saviour's time. How short their several systems came of the perfection of a true and complete morality is very visible. And if, since that, the Christian philosophers have much outdone them, yet we may observe that the first knowledge of the truths they have added [is] owing to revelation, though as soon as they are heard and considered they are found to be agreeable to reason, and such as can by no means be contradicted. . . . 'tis plain in fact that human reason unassisted failed men in its great and proper business of morality. It never from unquestionable principles, by clear deductions, made out an entire body of the Law of Nature. And he that shall collect all the moral rules of the philosophers and compare them with those contained in the New Testament shall find them to come short of the morality delivered by our Saviour. . . . Though yet if any one should think that out of the sayings of the wise heathens, before our Saviour's time, there might be a collection made of all those rules of morality which are to be found in the Christian religion, yet this would not at all hinder but that the world nevertheless stood as much in need of our Saviour and the morality delivered by him. Let it be granted (though not true) that all the moral precepts of the Gospel were known by somebody or other amongst mankind before. But where or how or of what use is not considered. Suppose they may be picked up here and there. . . . What will all this do to give the world a complete morality that may be to mankind the unquestionable rule of life and manners? . . . What would this amount to towards being a steady rule, a certain transcript of a law that we are under? . . .Was Zeno 6 a law-giver to mankind? If not, what he or any other philosopher delivered was but a saying of his. . . . `Tis not enough that there were up and down scattered sayings of wise men, conformable to right reason. The law of nature is the law of convenience too, and 'tis no wonder that those men of parts, and studious of virtue . . . should by meditation light on the right, even from the observable convenience and beauty of it, without making out its obligation from the true principles of the law of nature and foundations of morality. . . . 'Tis not every writer of morals, or compiler of it from others, that can thereby be erected into a law-giver to mankind, and a dictator of rules which are therefore valid because they are to be found in his books. . . . He that anyone will pretend to set up in this kind, and have his rules pass for authentic directions, must show that either he builds his doctrine upon principles of reason, self-evident in themselves, or that he deduces all the parts of it from thence, by clear and evident demonstration, or must show his commission from heaven, that he comes with authority from God to deliver his will and commands to the world. In the former way nobody that I know before our Saviour's time ever did or

196

John Locke

went about to give us a morality. 'Tis true there is a law of nature; but who is there that ever did or undertook to give it us all entire, as a law, no more nor no less than what was contained in and had the obligation of law? Who ever made out all the parts of it, put them together, and showed the world their obligation? Where was there any such code that mankind might have recourse to as their unerring rule, before our Saviour's time? If there was not, 'tis plain there was need of one to give us such a morality. . . . . . . A great many things which we have been bred up in the belief of from our cradles (and are notions grown familiar and as it were natural to us, under the Gospel) we take for unquestionable obvious truths, and easily demonstrable, without considering how long we might have been in doubt or ignorance of them had revelation been silent. And many are beholden to revelation who do not acknowledge it. 'Tis no diminishing to revelation that reason gives its suffrage too to the truths revelation has discovered. But 'tis our mistake to think that because reason confirms them to us, we had the first certain knowledge of them from thence, and in that clear evidence we now possess them. The contrary is manifest in the defective morality of the Gentiles before our Saviour's time; and the want of reformation in the principles and measures of it as well as practice. Philosophy seemed to have spent its strength and done its utmost; or if it should have gone further, as we see it did not, and from undeniable principles given us ethics in a science like mathematics, in every part demonstrable, this yet would not have been so effectual to man in this imperfect state, nor proper for the cure. The greatest part of mankind want leisure or capacity for demonstration, nor can carry a train of proofs, which in that way they must always depend upon for conviction, and cannot be required to assent to till they see the demonstration. Wherever they stick, the teachers are always put upon proof and must clear the doubt by a threat of coherent deductions from the first principle, how long or how intricate soever that be. And you may as soon hope to have all the day-laborers and tradesmen, the spinsters and dairy maids perfect mathematicians, as to have them perfect in ethics this way. Hearing plain commands is the sure and only course to bring them to obedience and practice. The greatest part cannot know and therefore they must believe. And I ask whether one coming from Heaven in the power of God, in full and clear evidence and demonstration of miracles, giving plain and direct rules of morality and obedience be not likelier to enlighten the bulk of mankind, and set them right in their duties, and bring them to do them, than by reasoning with them from general notions and principles of human reason? And were all the duties of human life clearly demonstrated, yet I conclude, when well considered, that method of teaching men their duties would be thought proper only for a few, who had much leisure, improved understandings, and were used to abstract reasonings. But the instruction of the people were best still to be left to the precepts and principles of the Gospel. . . . 4. Another great advantage received by our Saviour is the great encouragement he brought to a virtuous and pious life. . . . The portion of the righteous

Further Reading

197

has been in all ages taken notice of to be pretty scanty in this world. Virtue and prosperity do not often accompany one another, and therefore virtue seldom had many followers. . . . Mankind, who are and must be allowed to pursue their happiness, nay, cannot be hindered, could not but think themselves excused from a strict observation of rules which appeared so little to consist with their chief end, happiness, whilst they kept them from the enjoyments of this life; and they had little evidence and security of another. 'Tis true, they might have argued the other way and concluded that, because the good were most of them ill treated here, there was another place where they should meet with better usage; but 'tis plain they did not. Their thoughts of another life were at best obscure, and their expectations uncertain. . . . Before our Saviour's time the doctrine of a future state, though it were not wholly hid, yet it was not clearly known in the world. . . . How hath this one truth changed the nature of things in the world, and given advantage to piety over all that could tempt or deter men from it? The philosophers, indeed, showed the beauty of virtue; . . . but leaving her unendowed, very few were willing to espouse her. . . . But now there being put into the scales, on her side, an exceeding and immortal weight of glory, interest is come about to her, and virtue now is visible to most enriching purchase and by much the best bargain. . . . The view of heaven and hell will cast a slight upon the short pleasures and pains of the present state, and give attractions and encouragements to virtue which reason and interest and the care of our selves cannot but allow and prefer. Upon this foundation, and upon this only, morality stands firm and may defy all competition. This makes it more than a name, a substantial good, worth all our aims and endeavors; and thus the Gospel of Jesus Christ has delivered it to us. Editor's Notes

1. Second thoughts, because Locke changed his mind on this matter after the first edition. In the first edition he said that "good . . . the greater good is that alone which determines the will" (11.29). In section 35 (immediately following), he rejected this view. 2. 1 Cor. 2:9. 3. Ps. 16:11. 4. That is, depravity. 5. Locke explained mixed modes in II.xxii. The mind actively assembles several of the ideas that it has passively received and considers them together as forming a single idea. It marks the unity of the collection by using a single word as its name. Locke offered "obligation," "sacrilege," "murder," and "parricide" as examples, but evaluative terms are not the only terms standing for mixed modes. 6. Zeno of Citium (c. 336-265 B.c.E.), the founder of Stoicism. Further Reading

Locke's early writings on the law of nature and on politics are available in W. von Leyden, ed., John Locke: Essays on the Law of Nature (Oxford: Clarendon Press,

198

John Locke

1954), and Philip Abrams, ed., John Locke: livo Tracts on Government (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1967). The best edition of Locke's Two Treatises of Government is that by Peter Laslett (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1988). For an overview of Locke's philosophy, the reader may wish to consult Richard Aaron, John Locke, 3rd ed. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971); D. J. O'Connor, John Locke (London: Penguin, 1952); R. S. Woolhouse, Locke (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1983); or John W. Yolton, Locke, an Introduction (Oxford: Blackwell Publisher, 1985), which opens with discussion of Locke's moral views. John Colman, John Locke's Moral Philosophy (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1983) — the only book in English on the subject — is an excellent study with a good bibliography. For a discussion of Locke's religious views and their connection with his ethics, see W. M. Spellman, John Locke and the Problem of Depravity (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1988). John Dunn, The Political Thought of John Locke (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1969), is an important study of the way Locke understood his own political thought. James Tully, A Discourse on Property (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1980), though largely concerned with Locke's political views, sheds considerable light on his ethics.

Part II. Intellect and Morality

Guillaume Du Vair

Introduction

Guillaume Du Vair was born into an old family in France in 1556. After receiving a good education, he toured Italy and later served for a time as a courtier. He then turned to reflecting on life and published in 1584 a book that combined Stoic and Christian themes, the Sainte philosophie (Holy Philosophy). Du Vair then began a more intensive study of Epictetus, whose Encheiridion or Manual he translated into French, and in 1585 he published his own rewriting of Epictetus, the short Philosophie morale des Stoiques (The Moral Philosophy of the Stoics). Thereafter he became active in politics, rising to high provincial office. In 1603 he was made a bishop, and in 1615 he was required to return to the service of the king. He died in 1621 while on a military campaign. Of Du Vair's several writings, The Moral Philosophy of the Stoics was the most widely read. Its philosophy, as Du Vair himself pointed out, comes directly from Epictetus, with several passages, such as the advice about how to respond to the death of one's own child, being little more than paraphrases. In general, Du Vair recommended that we follow nature, live according to reason, concern ourselves only with what is within our power and remain unmoved by whatever we cannot control, recognize that reason is the highest part of the self, and see that the good is virtue. He was not interested in spelling out these teachings in detail, much less in proving them. Rather, his aim was to expound them briefly and attractively, providing thereby a manual that would be more accessible to his contemporaries than Epictetus's classic work was. Only in one regard did Du Vair depart somewhat from his model — and then in a way that made Stoicism more acceptable to modern readers attracted to its austere teaching. Toward the end of his book, Du Vair managed to insert a distinctly Christian interpretation of the Stoic teachings. He urged the reader to practice Christian piety, thereby transforming Stoic aloofness from one's feelings into Christian acceptance of whatever God providentially sends, even though one cannot see the good that will come of it. The neo-Stoicism that was so influential in the seventeenth century thus was usually Christianized, to varying degrees. Another effort to rewrite Stoicism for modern times was made by the Dutch scholar and political thinker Justus Lipsius, who in 1584 published De constantia (On Constancy), an exposition of the proper Stoic attitude toward political misfortune and personal hardship, which went through innumerable editions and was translated into several languages. The religious warfare of the period made it a time of great insecurity for everyone, not least for those serving their country as soldiers or in positions of 201

202

Guillaume Du Vair

command. A Christianized Stoicism, therefore, was a fit doctrine for both armies and those whose political fortunes might radically change overnight. Although Lipsius was a distinguished scholar who worked carefully on the ancient sources of our knowledge of Stoicism, his On Constancy was not meant to be an academic treatise. Like Du Vair's book, it paid no attention to the elaborate distinctions worked into the expositions of Stoicism preserved in Cicero. Both authors were writing for an unscholarly audience that needed a doctrine to live by, and the popularity of both of their works showed that they were meeting this need. As Du Vair made clear at the beginning of his book, the Stoic believes that knowledge of the good is sufficient to achieve the good life. If we see clearly what is good, we will infallibly pursue it, because will follows the guidance of intellect. It is only when we "do not know wherein consisteth our good" that we "shoot wide from our general mark and intention." Du Vair did not argue for the trustworthiness of intellect as Descartes later did, but Descartes, like the rationalists who succeeded him, held the view that we need only know the constitution of things in the fullest sense to be moved to act for the good, an aspect of Stoicism that lived on well into the eighteenth century. The following selections are from the English translation of Du Vair by Thomas James, published in 1598 and reprinted with an introduction and notes by Rudolf Kirk (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, 1951). I have modernized the spelling and punctuation somewhat but have left James's English otherwise intact. The Moral Philosophy of the Stoics

There is nothing in the world which tendeth not to one end or other: yea, even things insensible do advance themselves (as it seemeth) and make themselves fit for that use unto which they do properly belong: and being applied thereunto do shew forth a kind of joy, and seem to have a feeling of the perfection and happiness of their estates. Things that have action in them move of themselves in such sort as we see; all creatures in general, and every one severally in his kind, with great vehemence and contention, followeth and pursueth after that for which they are born and bred, and do most certainly rejoice and exult in the fruition of that which they seek, when they have found it out. What then ought man to do, whom nature, besides this inclination and motion which dead things do partake with him, hath endowed with sense, and over and besides sense, which is common to him and other creatures, hath given the benefit of discourse and reason, to be able to discern and choose the best things of all things which present themselves unto his consideration, and that which is most fit and proper to his use? May we not safely conclude that man also has his end, as well as all other creatures; which is set before him as the furthermost mark and butt, whereto all his actions should be directed: and since the happiness of all things is their perfection, and their perfection the fruition of their end, shall not the happiness and felicity of man consist in the full obtaining and attaining unto that which is proposed unto him, and whereunto all his actions are to be referred? Now the end of man and of all his thoughts and meditations is good. And

The Moral Philosophy of the Stoics

203

truly, there is not one among many, so diverse in nature and condition of life, which desireth not that which is good, and escheweth not that which is evil: and being demanded wherefore he does this or that, answereth not, but that he doth it or thinks that he doth it for his good and welfare. And albeit in our actions a man may find a great many more bad than good; yet the general intention whereby we are directed and guided is to come unto that which is good. But as it fareth many times with him which aims at a mark, if his sight be hindered, either by some disease of the eye or fault in the air, or if he take one thing for another, although he desire to hit the mark, so that he covet nothing more, yet it is impossible but he should be wide from it: so likewise we, because we do not know wherein consisteth our good, but oftentimes take that which is about it, for it, do therefore in our particular actions take our aim amiss, and shoot wide from our general mark and intention. Good, in good truth, is not so placed that all the world may see and perceive it; nature has sowed and scattered here beneath amongst us certain weak and feeble sparklings of that heat, which notwithstanding' being rightly applied unto our minds, are able to kindle a pure light in them, and cause us to see good as it is and not as it seems. So then, we must seek it, and we shall find it; and having found it, we must acknowledge it; acknowledging it, we cannot choose but love it; and loving it, we shall fasten all our desires thereunto, and enjoy it with great happiness. For even as truth presenting itself unto our understanding is there entertained with great joy and contentedness: even so good offering itself unto our will, is received by her with great pleasure, as being her natural object. And therefore I think that if a man would properly define good, he must affirm it to be nothing else but the essence and usage of a thing according unto his nature.' For this same nature is so prudent and provident a mistress that she always disposeth all things unto their greatest good, and therefore hath given them a first motion unto that which is good, and unto that end which they should seek and search after: in such sort, that he that will follow after it cannot choose but compass and obtain it. Now by the rules of nature, man should be so composed and fashioned that that which is most excellent in him should bear rule and command, and that reason should use all that which is presented unto her as best beseemeth her, and shall most serve for her purpose. Well then, the good and happiness of man consists in the right use of reason, and what is that but virtue, which is nothing else but a constant disposition of will to follow that which is honest and convenient.' There is no man, as I suppose, but will avow this to be good: but yet for all that there will be a great many found out which will affirm that herein only consisteth not man's good and happiness, but that he must have a sound and well disposed body, and a hundred more commodities, without the which it is not possible for man's life to be, much less to be happy and fortunate. But if our position which we have set down unto you at the first be true (as

204

Guillaume Du Vair

true it is), that the end of every thing is his good, and his good is his end, and that these two are so reciprocable and convertible the one with the other, that the one cannot be without the other, then may we not justly say that health, or riches, are man's good, seeing that they are not his end which he regardeth. For he cannot possess or use them but to some other end. And so too, that the greatest part of his time, while he enjoys them, he cannot joy in them, but is with them unfortunate and unhappy: unless peradventure some man will say that they are happy which make their riches and health serve them (as they do full many in the world) to nourish their vices, and cherish them up in their wicked passions and affections. But happily will some man say, they do serve as means and instruments disposed unto the attainment of this good, without which it is not possible that a man should get it, and therefore by a necessary consequent they are to be accounted necessary to the obtaining thereof, and therefore good. Truly it is a harsh and improper kind of speech to call that good which serves to the procurement and obtaining of that which is good; or that which is the subject and matter of good. For virtue, which we have proved before to be the true good, is of such a nature that she can make her benefit indifferently of things contrary in nature; she profits and helps her self as well by poverty as by riches, by sickness as by health. For we do as much commend him that can patiently endure his poverty, and constantly bear his griefs of disease, as we do him that liberally bestoweth his goods, and being in health, honestly laboureth in his vocation. So that if you will needs call riches good, because they serve to the obtaining and getting of virtue, why may you not as well call poverty by the same name, seeing that it serves to the self same use, and that more profitable also? Now to call things so contrary and repugnant as riches and poverty are by the same name hath not so much as any show or appearance of any truth. Wherefore, let all these things remain indifferent, as being made good or evil by the mind of man which knoweth how to use them rightly, which if he want, yet will he not want the means of attaining unto his end, which is to be fashioned and framed rightly according unto reason, and to make use and benefit of all things which shall happen whatsoever, and consequently to purchase his chief good and felicity. If we will truly know wherein consisteth this good, let us consider within ourselves what that is which seeks it: for it must needs be the good of that part. Nothing seeks after that [good] which is another's, unless it be coupled and joined with his own. Now then there is no doubt but that the beginning and first motion of all our actions cometh from the understanding and will, and therefore the good which we seek after must needs be the perfection, rest and contentment of the same. But if we place riches and health in this account, and esteem them for things good, and by a consequent repute all things contrary unto them evil; what do we else but testify unto all men that there is no true felicity in this world, and that our minds are here held in perpetual torment? For a man must needs have death and grief continually before his eyes, both which are esteemed evils, and whereof one is oftentimes present

The Moral Philosophy of the Stoics

205

with him, the other never ceaseth to threaten and menace him. If then they be things evil, the fear of them is just, and if he be always in fear, how can he be at any time happy? Let us therefore confess that either man hath no good ordained and prepared for him in this world which he may compass and attain unto, or else ackilowledge that his good doth wholly and entirely consist in virtue. For it must needs be that the end of every thing should be proportionable unto the strength and nature of the thing itself: for otherwise, if the end were impossible to be achieved, instead of being man's good it would turn to be man's further torment. And so he should nothing but labour and travail in vain, as the daughters of Danaue are said to do in hell, striving to fill certain bottomless vessels with water, which can hold no water at all. Again, if there be no science nor art in the world, which hath not one end or other which they may come unto by keeping certain precepts and rules, shall we think that nature, the mother of Arts and Sciences, hath proposed unto man (which is her chief work) an end which it is impossible for him to come unto because it is out of his power? Will (as we say) is that which seeketh after our good: now a ruled and well governed will never coveteth (as indeed it ought not to do) but that which she may, and which it is in her power to procure. She busieth not herself about having of that which it is not in her power to have when she will; as health, riches, and honours. For if our good did consist and depend of them, we should not need to employ reason or will to the procurement of them, but we might as well compass them by prayers and wishes: for it is a thing which is subject unto a thousand casualties, which cannot be prevented or foreseen, as not being in our hands to dispose of them as we list, but subject unto the rule of Fortune, their good Lady and mistress. What show or probability of reason is there I pray you in this, that Nature should so create man, the perfection of all other creatures, that his good, which is his perfection, should depend not only upon other matters, but upon so many things that a man hath not hope to have them all favourable unto him; but that he should here beneath with Tantalus' lie miserably thirsting and crying after water. Nay doubtless Nature doth offer you so much to the getting of this good as a mind well disposed and fit to use anything which shall be laid before it, and to pass over those things which do far pass his reach and capacity. Will you then rather choose to run unto Fortune, and wait at her deceitful hands for that good which you may give unto yourself if you will? For this is a divine and inviolable law, which hath been made since the beginning of the world, that if we will have any good, we must purchase and get it our selves, by our own labour and industry. For nature hath provided a rich storehouse of all good things, and inclosed it in our minds: let us then but stretch forth the hands of our will, and we shall take as much as we will. For if the will of man be well guided and ordered, it will turn all things to her good, as Midas turned all things that he touched into gold. There is no accident so grievous, which can befall a man either in body or riches, whence a man may not reap some rest and comfort of mind: so that if we can here rest content our selves, we have already found out our end. For though we should remit so much of the

206

Guillaume Du [pair

severity of this sect, 6 as to confess that the body or goods, which are but instruments of man's life, were a part of man's substance and might by their qualities alter the quality of the soul; yet may we not avouch this for good, that loss either in goods or body is unable to hinder the felicity and happiness of man, if his mind enjoy quiet rest and content. In things which are compounded of many parts, the most noble part giveth both name and laws unto the rest, and they take their denomination from her: what doubt then can there be, but that man should be wholly happy, if his mind enjoyeth his happiness. And so we say that a Commonwealth is happy after a great victory, although there be many citizens lost, because the happiness thereof is measured by the person of the Prince, or else of the state, to the good and service of whom all the rest must be obedient. Hence is it that particular men do even glory in their wounds, do even brag and boast of them, if they have received them in the defence of either Prince or country. Shall we then assign unto the body any other motion or desire than that by which it referreth all things that come unto him, unto the joy and happiness of the mind? Shall we, I say, be so foolish as to link and knit the soul so fast unto the body that the good thereof should remain as a slave within his members, and so far forth depend on them that accordingly as the body should be well or ill disposed, the mind should be altered, and accounted either happy or unhappy? Truly, if so be that nature would have had man's happiness and perfection to have depended on his body, or consisted in his goods, she would have given unto all men like bodies and like measure and quantity of goods: for so she should not have been partial, but equal unto all, and so have passed from the general unto every particular of that kind. But on the contrary side, she having made all men of very diverse natures and conditions, both in respect of their bodies as also in regard of their goods, hath notwithstanding granted unto all men like power and ability of well using their bodies or riches of what sort soever they be, in such sort that the action of the mind may be as honourable and glorious in one sort as in another: yea, the excellency thereof doth appear and shine forth more gloriously and merit more praise then, when being destitute of means and instruments he cometh of himself unto his wished end. For so in my opinion we are to judge him to be the skilfuller pilot in a ship, which can in a great tempest, amidst the raging floods, guide an old sea-beaten ship full of holes, whose sails are rent and ropes broken, than he which can tell how to govern a new ship well rigged and furnished with all necessaries, having wind at will and seas favourable. Therefore we will here conclude this point thus: seeing that the happiness of man doth lie in procuring of his good, and that his good is to live according unto nature; and to live according unto nature, is not to be troubled with any passions or perturbations of the mind, but so to behave himself, happen what happen may, as that he do not exceed patience, or pass the bounds of reason; that if we will be truly happy, we must purge our minds of all manner of passions, and learn how to be affected in mind towards all things which shall happen. Now there is nothing which can so soon set us in this way and learn us how

The Moral Philosophy of the Stoics

207

to obtain the right course of ordering our affections, minds and wills according unto reason, as Wisdom, which is (in my simple opinion) both the beginning and end of all virtues. For causing us to have an exact and true knowledge of the condition and quality of things which come into our considerations and views, she teacheth and telleth us what is according unto nature, and what not, and likewise what is to be desired and followed, or shunned and avoided. She removes all false opinions out of our heads which trouble our brains, makes our affections kind and natural, and finally upon her wait all other virtues, as being their mother, nurse, and keeper. 0 how happy would man's life be, if it were always led and guided by her direction? But alas, as this virtue is most fair and excellent, so she is most rare and hard to be found: For she is so hidden in the bottom of our minds, as the veins of gold lie secret in the bowels of the earth, and are found but in few places. . . . we must go to school to Philosophy to know the right use of wisdom. And if we will hearken unto her, she will tell us, that wisdom hath two properties and uses, the one to prick us forward to that which is good, the other to pull us back from following that which is evil. Now because when we come unto Philosophy, we do not bring with us a mind pure and neat, but already distempered, evilly disposed, and possessed with filthy humours, and such as are incident unto the common sort of people; because, I say, we come unto her as unto a skilfull leech' or cunning physician: therefore if we will be cured, we must do as surgeons do which have to do with sores and wounds, who before they apply any medicine or salve to cure them do first draw out all the bad humours and dead flesh: and so must we also in like manner begin first of all to purge our minds of all such passions as do arise in them, and with the smoke of them darken and obscure the eye of reason: for otherwise precepts of manners and wholesome instructions would profit our souls as little as plenty of meat doth a corrupted body, which the more you feed the more you offend. Now to know what these passions are, you must understand that we do term them a violent or vehement motion of the soul in the sensitive part, which is caused in the following or eschewing of that which seemeth to be either good or evil. For albeit there be but one soul in every one of us, which is the cause of life, and fountain of all our actions, and is all in all, and all in every part: yet there be many faculties in the soul, which it is strange to see how diverse, yea how contrary they be many times one towards another, according unto the diversity of instruments and vessels where it is kept, and variety of objects which are offered unto her. In one place she causeth vegetation, 8 in another motion, in another sense, in another desire or appetite, in another imagination, in another remembrance, in another reason and discourse: even as the Sun, which though he be all in his own essence, yet dividing and parting his beams in diverse places, he bringeth heat to one place, and light to another, softeneth wax and hardens clay, scattereth the clouds, and drieth up standing pools and lakes. And when the parts where the soul lieth inclosed do retain and use her but in a proportion of their capacities, and as far forth as it is necessary for their convenient use, then she bringeth forth gentle, sweet, and

208

Guillaume Du Vair

orderly effects: but contrariwise, if her parts do take more heat and motion then is requisite and convenient, you shall have clean contrary operations, and such as will prove very hurtful and prejudicial unto the soul. . . . Now it hath pleased nature to grant unto sense this power and strength which cometh from the soul, to apply itself unto things and extract their forms, 9 and afterwards either to choose or refuse them, as they shall best please or displease him, and agree or disagree with his nature. And this is done for two reasons: one because they should be instead of sentinels unto the body still watching and warding for his good: the other, which is a principal cause indeed, because they should be messengers and vant-couriers m from the sovereign and chiefest part of the soul, and also serve for ministers and instruments of bettering our discourse and reason. But as she hath allotted them this power and authority: so she doth most straitly will and command them to content themselves with their office, which is to call to mind things past, and thereupon to advise themselves what is best to be done: not presuming or daring to disquiet the higher and stronger faculties, or breed any further uproar or confusion. For so it falleth out many times in an army, that the watch, because they know not the purpose of the General whose direction they should follow, may be deceived and take the enemy coming unto them disguised for friends, and their friends which come in good will to succour and relieve them for enemies: and even so the senses, because they cannot throughly conceive and comprehend things appertaining unto reason, as being above their reach, are beguiled with show and appearance of things, and do oft time judge that for a friend unto us, which is our greatest adversary. And so while they presently rush forward without staying, or looking for any commandment from reason, they provoke and stir up that part of the soul where concupiscence and anger doth lodge, whereby springeth such a tumult and hurly burly in the mind, that reason during this fury cannot be heard, nor understanding obeyed, no more then laws or Magistrates are regarded in a state rent and torn with evil dissention. But in this trouble, the passions which do wax most mutinous and troublesome unto the quiet rest of the spirit, do first arise in the appetible or concupiscible part, that is to say, in that place where the soul doth exercise this faculty of desiring or rejecting things presented unto her, as being things proper or contrary unto her welfare and preservation. So then, their first moving and springing is upon a show and appearance or imagination of some good or evil. Now if it be of some present good which she doth already begin to possess, we call this motion by the name of pleasure: but if it be of some good to come, which is as yet far estranged from us, we call it desire: if it be of a present evil, the inconvenience and grief whereof we do already feel, being moved and incensed against another, we call it hatred or horror: and being moved within our selves, discontentedness, which if it happen upon occasion of anything which concerns us, we call it sorrow: if by reason of another man's evil, pity: if by occasion of an apparent good where we pretend a part, jealousy: if otherwise, envy. Again, to fall back unto the second part of our

The Moral Philosophy of the Stoics

209

second general division: if it be of some after ensuing evil, it is rightly termed by the name of fear. See here the first band of these seditious passions, which so much trouble the quiet rest of our soul, which are accompanied with most dangerous effects, and yet nothing like so dangerous as are those which follow after. For why? These first motions being bred and formed in that part, by means of the object which presents itself, do pass forth incontinently unto the irascible part of the mind, that is to say, to the place where the soul seeks all means possible of obtaining or avoiding that which seemeth unto her good or evil. And then, forthwith as a wheel which is already moved being to receive a fresh motion is carried about with greater swiftness: so the mind being moved with the first apprehension, having a second strength added unto the former, is whirled about with greater violence than before, and stirs up more strong and untameable passions, because they are doubled and coupled with the former, and so being joined together do stay and strengthen one another with mutual help and consent. For the first passions, which are formed from some imagined or seeming good, considering with themselves of the means how to obtain and acquire it, do stir up in us either hope or despair: but those affections which are made of the object of some seeming evil, do bring forth fear and anger: which four passions are wonderfully strong and violent, and do wholly overturn the frame of reason which they find already tottering. Here behold and mark the four winds (as I verily suppose) from whence spring the cruel tempests of our souls. Their den from whence they come, is nothing else (as hath been already showed you) but a false imagination which we have that those things which are presented unto us are either good or evil. For by this means attributing that quality unto them, which indeed is not in them, we fly or follow after them with vehemence: and this is the very original and spring of these passions. Well then to stop this den, assure the rest of our souls, and provide that they be not otherwise moved then it is meet for them to be, let us call to mind that which was proved unto us in the very beginning and entrance into this discourse. To wit, that the good of a man, and the perfection of his nature, consisteth in the disposing and fashioning of his will to the right use of things according unto reason: and contrariwise, that his evil cometh from a disordered or unskilful using, or rather abusing of them. For by the first he shall reap much profit, receive much content and quietness, and chance what chance, nay he may set up his rest, and remain as stable and immoveable as a rock in the midst of the sea: by the second, every small thing that chanceth will trouble him and turn to his great grief and disadvantage. Now this disposition of our will lieth wholly in our power, and consequently our good and evil. Wherefore, if at any time there be presented unto us any object, to the end that we may not be troubled at all as with some good or evil which doth follow us, let us consider whether the thing which happeneth be in our power or no. If it be in our power well and good, it may be good or ill unto us. And yet in this case too, we must not be too passionately affected in any

210

Guillaume Du Vair

sort: for if we can but moderate and guide our wills aright, we shall make it good, and so continue it still. If it be out of our power, then it is neither good nor evil, and consequently we ought not to seek or provide it. Now the things which are in our power are these; to approve, undertake, desire, and eschew a matter, and in a word, all our actions. For our will hath authority and power to rule and govern them according unto reason, till they come unto the place from whence our good and happiness must come. As, for example's sake, she is able to dispose our opinion, so that it yield not consent but to that which it is meet it should, and which shall be examined either by sense or reason, that she shall cleave fast unto things which are evidently true of themselves, and keep her self in suspense in things doubtful, and utterly reject things which are of themselves plainly untrue and false. Besides, she can so rule our desire, that it shall follow after nothing but that which is agreeable with nature, and eschew the contrary. The things which are out of our power are these; our riches, reputation, and briefly, that which doth no way depend of our wills: and here, if anything do happen, we may not say that it is contrary to our natures: because it happeneth either by the universal and continual order of things, and ordinary continuance of causes, and therefore should not seem strange unto us: or else cometh to pass by some particular providence so ordering it, and then we must know that nature hath made us subject thereunto. Furthermore, she hath given us a power and ability in the soul of well using and applying ourselves to all that which shall happen unto us from without; which showeth that she hath not made us fit and proper to one thing, but to every thing which shall come unto us whatsoever: in such sort that we may not desire or fly any such external thing which is not in our power, as well for that is a very foolish and vain affection to will that which it is not in our power to have, as also because that howsoever it happen, it may prove good unto us, and be the subject of many worthy and laudable actions. Now then if we can so command ourselves and our minds as not to desire or fly anything which is out of our powers, but with a sober and moderate affection receive and entertain it when it cometh, we shall be altogether exempted from all troubles and perturbations of the mind, we shall be free and happy, and never frustrated of our expectations, or hindered in our affairs and enterprises: we shall not need to hate any man, to complain of any man, to fear any man, or to be angry with any man: for no man shall be able to do us harm. On the other side, if we desire and labour to avoid that which is out of our powers, we shall oftentimes fall from our hopes and wished ends, and miss of our purposes, and light upon that which we so much abhor, we shall trouble ourselves, vex and torment ourselves, and all to no purpose or end in the world. . . . Therefore when anything doth use to trouble us, let us consider two things: the one, the nature of that which hath chanced unto us: the other, the nature of that which is in us: and then let us learn to use everything according unto his nature, and so we shall be sure never to receive any loathing or discontentment at all. For discontent being a disease of the soul is contrary unto nature,

The Moral Philosophy of the Stoics

211

and therefore we may not suffer it to take deep root within us. Now there is nothing that causeth more offence or discontentment than the newness or strangeness of a thing when it happeneth. And this appeareth most evidently in that the things which displease us most are made pleasant and sweet by custom and continuance. The galley slaves when they go to sea weep at first shipping, but after three or four months they sing as merrily as birds. So that you see custom is all: for they which have not been accustomed to the sea are afraid and look pale when they see them weigh anchors and launch forth into the sea, though it be in a calm: where contrarily the old and tried mariners laugh and are merry in a tempest. And look what good custom bringeth unto the common sort of people, the same meditation bringeth unto a Philosopher: for by often thinking and meditation upon things, he maketh them seem most familiar and ordinary unto him. Let us therefore exactly consider and ruminate with ourselves the nature of each thing that may molest and trouble us, and let us cast beforehand the worst that may happen; as sickness, poverty, banishment and injuries, and let us sift them narrowly to find out the nature of them, or else that which is most contrary unto their natures. It so falleth out that some of us are diseased in body: well, it is not we that are offended but our bodies; for the offence being taken, many times hindereth the excellency and perfection of the thing: whereas otherwise the disease may happen to be a great deal fitter subject and occasion to exercise our patience with praise and commendation than health: now where there is most occasion of praise, is there least good to be gotten? As much as the mind is more to be accounted of than the body, so much the goods of the mind are more to be valued and esteemed of then the goods of the body. If then the body be the instrument of the mind, who will be so foolish as to complain, when he seeth the instrument applied unto that use for which it is ordained? A man's body is sick and diseased: no great marvel, for seeing it is a compound thing, therefore it is subject unto alteration. Yea sir, it is true, as you say: but yet for all that the grief of the disease is felt so violently that it makes us cry out in spite of our teeth. I grant indeed that it is felt, I must needs confess that, but it is felt only in body, and it makes us cry too and if we will be so foolish. Grief is not intolerable but unto them which think that it is so: for there be which can endure and suffer it when it is at the sharpest. Posidonius the philosopher" discoursing at large of certain matters in the presence of Pompey, 12 was sorely troubled with the gout, and when the disease pained him most, he said no more but this: Sir grief, you have attempted your worst against me, what remedy but patience: you think to make me curse and speak ill of you: no, no, far be it from me that ever I should say that you are evil: and so he went forward with his discourse, and made as if he had never felt it. Now I pray tell me and if you can, what new remedies had this Philosopher found out against this grief? What plasters and ointments had he stored up against the gout? Truly these two, the knowledge of things, and courage of mind. For he was thoroughly resolved, that the body was made to serve the soul, and that if so be the soul should be grieved for that which

212

Guillaume Du Vair

happened unto the body, that then it must of force be subject to the body. Now if it ought not to be troubled for that which happeneth unto the body, how much less ought she be grieved for the loss of goods? For the loss of a man's goods doth not touch a man so near as the want of his health. Indeed both of them are things merely without us, yet of the two the body is nearer unto us than goods. . . . Do you know how to suffer loss of things so that it shall not trouble you? It is quickly learned, there is no more in it but this, not to accustom your self to love anything otherwise then it is, or better than it deserveth. If a man have an earthen vessel, let him love it as a vessel of earth, which may be broken, and so if it chance to be broken, the matter will never trouble him much. Let us pass from smaller things to greater things, from vile and baser things to things of greater value and more account, and let us do the like. If we love our children, let us love them as men, that is to say, as men subject unto infinite casualties of death, and then afterwards when they happen to die their deaths will be neither strange nor grievous unto us. Indeed it is an imagination and opinion that vexeth and tormenteth us more then the things themselves, which is formed of those words which a man useth when he is surprised with such accidents: for we call one thing by the name of another, and imagine it to be like unto that other, and the image and idea thereof remaineth so in our minds. And therefore let us mollify and sweeten our words as well as we can: for if one of our children chance to die, say not I have lost one of my children: but this, I have restored one of my children to God, of whom I borrowed them. And likewise if we lose any other of our goods, let us use the like words. If a naughty fellow take away our goods from us, and it grieves us at the very heart, say no more but this: Was it not meet that God should have that again which he had lent me for a time? For the rest, remember your own opinion of the like mishaps when they did happen unto others, and consider with your self how then you were not much moved, but rather how you did blame them, and neglect their frivolous and vain complaints. Suppose that the judgement which you give of them is a prejudice against yourself which cannot be avoided. For our judgements in another man's behalf are always more just and favourable than in a man's own cause. If a servant of your neighbour's chance to break a glass, you say, there is no great harm done, it was but a glass broken. If his son die, you say, he was of estate mortal, not born to live ever: and I pray why can you not say as much when your own son dieth, without crying out, tormenting your self, or accusing God and men for the loss of that which is so ordinary? .. . O that we could be once fully persuaded in this point not to fear death, good God how happy should we then be? For in this one thing more than in any other, opinion taketh occasion to band herself against reason, that so she might terrify us by wearing the ugly vizar of death. And albeit there be but one death in all the world, yet she painteth him forth unto us after an infinite kind of fashions. Believe me there is nothing in death which is to be feared: But here is the mischief, she sendeth forth certain fearful and cowardly spies

The Moral Philosophy of the Stoics

213

abroad, to spy what is done, which report not the truth what they have seen, but what they have heard men say, and which they themselves fear is likely for to happen. Indeed we trust too much unto the sayings of the vulgar sort of people, which are most inconsiderate, affirming it to be a great evil, and yield no credit unto Philosophy, which teacheth us that it is the haven of man's life. If Socrates be to be believed, death is not to be feared. If Cato ° have any credit with us, he will persuade us to run and meet her coming unto us. . . . Let us therefore accustom ourselves to forgive all the whole world. Let not the greatness or grievousness of the injury withhold us from pardoning them: but on the contrary side let us think that the greater the injury is the better it deserveth to be pardoned, and that the more just our revenge is, the more our gentleness is to be praised. But especially such as are seated by fortune in the highest degree of honour, should take heed to their motions that they be remiss and temperate: for as their actions are of greater importance, so their faults are harder to be cured. The heaven itself presenteth them daily with an example and doctrine of avoiding all manner of haste and precipitation, in shewing them that Saturn the very highest of all the planets is most remiss and slowest in his course. And astronomers say that Jupiter alone by himself is able to shoot forth profitable and pleasing lightnings and good auguries; but when there is a question or sending forth hurtful and revenging storms and lightnings, then he cannot do this of his own authority, but is to crave the counsel and assistance of twelve other gods. And is it not a very strange case, that he that is the greatest of all the gods, that can do good unto all the whole world, is not able to hurt one person, but after a solemn counsel and deliberation? So that Jupiter himself, though that he be very wise, yet is he afraid lest he should overshoot himself in a matter of revenge, and therefore thinketh he had need of good counsel to advise him. Wherefore if at any time we happen to have feeling of this passion within us, let us repair unto our friends, and ripen our cholers with their pleasant discourses. For take the best man that is in the world when he is moved, and you shall see whether he be able to do anything as he ought to do. For reason being hindered with passions, stands a man in as much stead as wings do birds when they are caught with lime-twigs fast by the feet. And this is the reason why we should study to lift up our hearts from the earth, and place them in a quiet and peaceable estate, if we desire to make our souls capable of all good and virtuous actions. We must never leave til we have brought our minds to be of such a disposition, as the highest region of the air is, which is never darkened with clouds, nor shaken with thunderbolts, but enjoyeth a continual fairness: for so the mind should never be darkened with sorrow, nor moved with choler. And if once a man could bring his mind unto this pass, he should very easily rule his other actions, and bring them unto their wished end: for then doubtless he would follow nature hard by the heels, tread altogether in her steps, and join himself by a pleasant and temperate affection unto those other parts of the world, of which man is the knot, the marriage knot which linketh heavenly and earthly things together.

214

Guillaume Du Vair

The effects of this soft and temperate affection which man beareth towards other things of the world, are called duties," as if they did shew us our duties 15 andbehviourstw ng.Therfoiwuldantre moderate this duty, and to be informed in the right use thereof, we cannot have a better mistress then Nature to teach and inform us. For she hath established an order and disposition in everything, by virtue whereof she committeth things one under another, and yet chaineth them altogether with the links of mutual respect which they owe one to another, which she hath engraven in the forehead of each thing, as Princes stamp their images in their coin, to show that they are good and lawful money. Let us therefore in every thing consider the order and course of nature, and we shall straightways know the value of it, whether it be current or no, and how much will be given for it. Good being the object of man's will, where perfect and true good is to be found, there our will ought to be moved. This being granted, it must needs follow that the strongest and chiefest affection of man ought to be accounted that which joineth us together with the author and fountain of all good, to wit, godliness: for by it a man is reunited and substantially engrafted in his first cause, as being the root which keepeth him (as long as he abideth and dwelleth in it) in his full perfection: but contrarily, being separated from it withereth and drieth away incontinently. Now the principal effect of piety is to teach us how to know God: For the honour and respect which we bear unto anything proceedeth from the true knowledge of it. Therefore first of all we must believe that there is a God: secondly, that he hath created the world by his mighty power, bounty and wisdom, and by them governeth it: then, that his providence watcheth over all things, yea the smallest things in the world. Again, that whatsoever he sendeth unto us is for our good and that our evil cometh not but from our selves. For if we esteem those chances evil which God sendeth unto us, we shall oftentimes take occasion to blaspheme him; because that naturally we honour them which seek our good, and hate them which procure us any evil. And therefore we must resolve with our selves to be obedient unto him, and take in good part whatsoever cometh from his hands. And seeing that his knowledge is most perfect, his power thrice infinite, and his will most loving and charitable: what resteth then, but that we should conclude that God sendeth nothing unto us, but tendeth to our great good? and albeit we for our parts cannot conceive the good which we ought to receive of that which he sendeth us; yet nevertheless we hope all is for the best: supposing, that as the physician doth oftentimes many things for the safety of the body, which may seem at the beginning to hurt it: so God in the guiding of our lives doth save us by means which may seem grievous and hurtful. The physician diverse times pricketh the eye to recover a man's sight: and oftentime God almighty useth to prick and wound our hearts with sharp afflictions to restore our minds unto their brightness. Under the seal of this assurance we ought to commit and submit ourselves unto him, confessing that

Further Reading

215

we come into the world not to command, but to obey, finding laws already made which we ought to follow. . . . Editor's Notes 1. That is, even though the sparklings are weak and feeble. 2. More accurately, "to be and to act according to nature" — the fundamental Stoic principle. 3. Convenable, that is, suitable. 4. In Greek mythology, Danaus ordered his fifty daughters to slay the husbands to whom he had been forced to give them. All but one obeyed him, and for punishment they were condemned to try to fill with water a jar with holes in the bottom. 5. Tantalus, a Greek mythological figure, was punished by the gods by being left beside a pool that receded whenever he tried to drink from it. 6. That is, of the Stoics. 7. One who lets blood. 8. That is, simple bodily growth. 9. Du Vair assumed that sense perception is explained by saying that perceptible forms enter the senses, thereby conveying information about the things whose forms they are. 10. Advance runners. 11. Lived around 135-151 B.C.E., head of the Stoic school in Rhodes. 12. Roman general, 106-48 B.C.E. 13. Roman soldier and official, 234-149 B.C.E., taken as a model of the Stoic sage. 14. Du Vair used the term offices. 15. Here Du Vair used le devoir. Further Reading Aside from Rudolf Kirk's helpful introduction to his edition of The Moral Philosophie of the Stoicks, there is not much to recommend to the reader anxious to know more about Du Vair. He is discussed in some histories of French literature but is lucky to get even a mention in histories of philosophy. Hiram Haydn, The Counter-Renaissance (New York: Harcourt Brace & World, 1950), talks about neo-Stoicism in various passages and often mentions Du Vair. The reader wishing to know more about neo-Stoicism will also want to consult Rudolf Kirk's edition of Justus Lipsius, Two Bookes of Constancie (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, 1939). Lipsius is also the focus of an important study of the political significance of neo-Stoicism in early modern Europe by Gerhard Oestreich, Neostoicism and the Early Modern State (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1982).

Rene Descartes

Introduction

Descartes was born in 1596. He attended the Jesuit school at La Fleche from 1606 to 1614 and then obtained a law degree at Poitiers. While spending some time learning military skills and traveling, Descartes began to work on mathematics and physics, and on the night of November 10, 1619, he had three dreams that he took as indications that he should devote his life to developing some of the new ideas about science that he had been considering. During the next few years Descartes traveled and spent time in Paris, in contact with many of the leading scientists and other thinkers of the time. In 1628 Descartes moved to Holland, where he lived for most of the rest of his life. He was upset enough by the condemnation of Galileo in 1633 to drop his plan for publishing a scientific treatise he had written. It thus was not until 1637 that he published his first book, Discourse on Method, which was accompanied by three scientific essays illustrating how successfully the method he advocated could be used. In 1641 he published his Meditations on First Philosophy, which also contained six sets of objections to Descartes's views, by some philosophers and theologians to whom the Meditations had been sent in manuscript, and his own replies. A systematic exposition of his views, the Principles of Philosophy appeared in 1644. In 1649 Descartes went to Sweden at the invitation of Queen Christina, with whom he had corresponded and who wanted him to teach her philosophy. Shortly after he arrived he published his psychology, the Passions of the Soul. Then, during the winter, he caught pneumonia, from which he died in 1650. Descartes's views were extremely controversial, and his efforts to placate the established educational and religious powers did not succeed. In 1663 his works were put on the Roman Catholic index of prohibited books; but whatever the orthodox thought of him, his philosophy captured educated Europe. Descartes offered a comprehensive alternative to the then-dominant Aristotelian understanding of the world. Moreover, he submitted examples to show in detail how his program worked. As he was a master of the new science (including its mathematics, to which he made major contributions), he could integrate what we now distinguish as his specifically philosophical theory with the work of Galileo, Harvey, and other discoverers of the time, to produce a synthesis more convincing than anything hitherto available. It was not until Isaac Newton produced an alternative that the hold of Cartesian physics was broken. The Cartesian system had some omissions. Most notably, perhaps, Descartes did not develop the hints he dropped here and there about morality. Why not? In a letter dated November 20, 1647, to Chanut, the French ambassador to Sweden, Descartes stated: 216

Introduction

217

It is true that I am accustomed to refuse to write down my thoughts concerning morality, and that for two reasons: first, that there is no subject from which malicious people can more easily draw pretexts for slandering one; second, that I believe it is proper only for sovereigns, or for those who are authorized by them, to busy themselves with regulating the morals [les moeurs] of others.

In Part Six of the Discourse Descartes again noted the role of authority in establishing morality: "As regards conduct," he observed, everyone is so full of his own wisdom that we might find as many reformers as heads if permission to institute change in these matters were granted to anyone other than those whom God has set up as sovereigns over his people or those on whom he has bestowed sufficient grace and zeal to be prophets.

Descartes here seems to be thinking of morality as centering on laws that must come either from God through his prophets or from secular authority, thus leaving no room for private reflection on it. In other places Descartes made quite different suggestions. Morality, he wrote, is part of the tree of knowledge. Along with medicine and mechanics, it is one of the fruit-bearing twigs that grow on a trunk firmly rooted in the first principles of metaphysical truth, which Descartes had established. These principles give rise to or warrant our knowledge of the physical world, and in due time they will enable us to explain both human psychology and the mechanisms of the human body. If this much of the tree is independent of religious or political authority, why should not moral knowledge be so as well? It all depends on what moral knowledge is. When Descartes reached that issue, he did not tell us that we must know the rules or laws that we are commanded to obey. Instead, he discussed the sovereign good. Does wisdom constitute the supreme good, and is it composed of the knowledge of physics and the other sciences? At one point Descartes suggested that this was so, but at his most explicit, in his letters, he took a different approach. He mentioned contentment, happiness, and the satisfaction of desire, which come, he asserted, from attaining the perfections of body and soul. Reason can tell us what the perfections are, and we can then pursue what will bring us the greatest perfection, and with it the greatest pleasure — at least if we control the passions that make us distort the values of things. Descartes did not explain what he meant by the perfections of body and soul. Not, surely, what the Aristotelians meant: he rejected the natural teleology on which their notions of perfection rested. But he offered no alternative account, nor did he tell his correspondents how his emphasis on personal virtue as being what makes its possessor happy fits in with the morality that God or the sovereign imposes on us. He thus left a problem for later philosophers who wanted to understand — more fully than Descartes cared to — the place of morality in the new world picture he had done so much to create. Descartes left another problem as well, or rather he gave an old problem new life. In letters and in published work he let it be known, without going into much detail, that he accepted a voluntarist view of the principles that underlie knowledge and morality. They are as they are, he confirmed, because God willed them to be so, and he could have willed them to be otherwise. This reversion to voluntarism (see the section "Luther and Calvin" in the Introduction to this anthology) caused his contemporaries — as it causes his present commentators — no end of headache. For recent commentators, the problem is one of interpreting Descartes on the status of logic and mathematics. For his contemporaries, it raised serious issues about religion and morality. Many Catholics regarded voluntarism as a specifically Protestant view, and to thinkers of both confessions

218

Rene Descartes

Hobbesianism was its ultimate implication. But Descartes himself did not discuss the bearing of his voluntarist view on his moral outlook. On Cartesian principles a provable morality and a science of medicine can someday be obtained. Descartes allowed that he could not produce either of them. In his Discourse, however, he told us what code he proposed to live by until the true morality is proved. In other places as well, particularly in The Passions of the Soul, we can catch glimpses of Descartes's own moral outlook, which is often described as Stoic or neoStoic. Change oneself rather than the world; control one's passions by means of virtue; do not be upset by what is beyond one's control — all this, indeed, sounds rather Stoic. But other passages sound less so. For instance, as Descartes pointed out in Part Six of the Discourse, through his philosophy we can attain sufficient knowledge of the physical world to make ourselves "lords and masters of nature." We shall be able to invent innumerable devices to make life more convenient and enjoyable, and when medicine is perfected we shall be able to use it even to improve the condition of our minds, as bodily health greatly affects the mind. These are hardly Stoic sentiments, and passages in his letters defending the enjoyment of life also sound somewhat less than Stoic. The reader will need, therefore, to consider whether Descartes was simply wavering at these points or whether a deeper outlook unified all his attitudes. The following selections are from three sources. The first is from the Discourse on Method, in John Cottingham, Robert Stoothof, and Dugald Murdoch, trans., The Philosophical Writings of Descartes, vol. 1 (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1985). The third is from the "Replies" to the Sixth Set of Objections, in the second volume of the same translation. Both are reprinted by permission of the Cambridge University Press. The second set of excerpts is from Anthony Kenny, trans., Descartes: Philosophical Letters (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1970), reprinted by permission of Anthony Kenny.

Discourse on Method PART THREE

Now, before starting to rebuild your house, it is not enough simply to pull it down, to make provision for materials and architects (or else train yourself in architecture), and to have carefully drawn up the plans; you must also provide yourself with some other place where you can live comfortably while building is in progress. Likewise, lest I should remain indecisive in my actions while reason obliged me to be so in my judgements, and in order to live as happily as I could during this time, I formed for myself a provisional moral code consisting of just three or four maxims, which I should like to tell you about. The first was to obey the laws and customs of my country, holding constantly to the religion in which by God's grace I had been instructed from my childhood, and governing myself in all other matters according to the most moderate and least extreme opinions — the opinions commonly accepted in practice by the most sensible of those with whom I should have to live. For I had begun at this time to count my own opinions as worthless, because I wished to submit them all to examination, and so I was sure I could do no better than follow those of the most sensible men. And although there may be

Discourse on Method

219

men as sensible among the Persians or Chinese as among ourselves, I thought it would be most useful for me to be guided by those with whom I should have to live. I thought too that in order to discover what opinions they really held I had to attend to what they did rather than what they said. For with our declining standards of behaviour, few people are willing to say everything that they believe; and besides, many people do not know what they believe, since believing something and knowing that one believes it are different acts of thinking, and the one often occurs without the other. Where many opinions were equally well accepted, I chose only the most moderate, both because these are always the easiest to act upon and probably the best (excess being usually bad), and also so that if I made a mistake, I should depart less from the right path than I would if I chose one extreme when I ought to have pursued the other. In particular, I counted as excessive all promises by which we give up some of our freedom. It was not that I disapproved of laws which remedy the inconstancy of weak minds by allowing us to make vows or contracts that oblige perseverance in some worthy project (or even, for the security of commerce, in some indifferent one). But I saw nothing in the world which remained always in the same state, and for my part I was determined to make my judgements more and more perfect, rather than worse. For these reasons I thought I would be sinning against good sense if I were to take my previous approval of something as obliging me to regard it as good later on, when it had perhaps ceased to be good or I no longer regarded it as such. My second maxim was to be as firm and decisive in my actions as I could, and to follow even the most doubtful opinions, once I had adopted them, with no less constancy than if they had been quite certain. In this respect I would be imitating a traveller who, upon finding himself lost in a forest, should not wander about turning this way and that, and still less stay in one place, but should keep walking as straight as he can in one direction, never changing it for slight reasons even if mere chance made him choose it in the first place; for in this way, even if he does not go exactly where he wishes, he will at least end up in a place where he is likely to be better off than in the middle of a forest. Similarly, since in everyday life we must often act without delay, it is a most certain truth that when it is not in our power to discern the truest opinions, we must follow the most probable. Even when no opinions appear more probable than any others, we must still adopt some; and having done so we must then regard them not as doubtful, from a practical point of view, but as most true and certain, on the grounds that the reason which made us adopt them is itself true and certain. By following this maxim I could free myself from all the regrets and remorse which usually trouble the consciences of those weak and faltering spirits who allow themselves to set out on some supposedly good course of action which later, in their inconstancy, they judge to be bad. My third maxim was to try always to master myself rather than fortune, and change my desires rather than the order of the world. In general I would become accustomed to believing that nothing lies entirely within our power except our thoughts, so that after doing our best in dealing with matters

220

Rene Descartes

external to us, whatever we fail to achieve is absolutely impossible so far as we are concerned. This alone, I thought, would be sufficient to prevent me from desiring in future something I could not get, and so to make me content. For our will naturally tends to desire only what our intellect represents to it as somehow possible; and so it is certain that if we consider all external goods as equally beyond our power, we shall not regret the absence of goods which seem to be our birthright when we are deprived of them through no fault of our own, any more than we regret not possessing the kingdom of China or of Mexico. Making a virtue of necessity, as they say, we shall not desire to be healthy when ill or free when imprisoned, any more than we now desire to have bodies of a material as indestructible as diamond or wings to fly like the birds. But I admit that it takes long practice and repeated meditation to become accustomed to seeing everything in this light. In this, I believe, lay the secret of those philosophers who in earlier times were able to escape from the dominion of fortune and, despite suffering and poverty, rival their gods in happiness. Through constant reflection upon the limits prescribed for them by nature, they became perfectly convinced that nothing was in their power but their thoughts, and this alone was sufficient to prevent them from being attracted to other things. Their mastery over their thoughts was so absolute that they had reason to count themselves richer, more powerful, freer and happier than other men who, because they lack this philosophy, never achieve such mastery over all their desires, however favoured by nature and fortune they may be. 1 Finally, to conclude this moral code, I decided to review the various occupations which men have in this life, in order to try to choose the best. Without wishing to say anything about the occupations of others, I thought I could do no better than to continue with the very one I was engaged in, and devote my whole life to cultivating my reason and advancing as far as I could in the knowledge of the truth, following the method I had prescribed for myself. Since beginning to use this method I had felt such extreme contentment that I did not think one could enjoy any sweeter or purer one in this life. Every day I discovered by its means truths which, it seemed to me, were quite important and were generally unknown by other men; and the satisfaction they gave me so filled my mind that nothing else mattered to me. Besides, the sole basis of the foregoing three maxims was the plan I had to continue my self-instruction. For since God has given each of us a light to distinguish truth from falsehood, I should not have thought myself obliged to rest content with the opinions of others for a single moment if I had not intended in due course to examine them using my own judgement; and I could not have avoided having scruples about following these opinions, if I had not hoped to lose no opportunity to discover better ones, in case there were any. Lastly, I could not have limited my desires, or been happy, had I not been following a path by which I thought I was sure to acquire all the knowledge of which I was capable, and in this way all the true goods within my reach. For since our will tends to pursue or avoid only what our intellect represents as good or bad, we need only to judge well

Principles of Philosophy

221

in order to act well, and to judge as well as we can in order to do our best — that is to say, in order to acquire all the virtues and in general all the other goods we can acquire. And when we are certain of this, we cannot fail to be happy. Once I had established these maxims and set them on one side together with the truths of faith, which have always been foremost among my beliefs, I judged that I could freely undertake to rid myself of all the rest of my opinions . 2 .. . Principles of Philosophy PREFACE TO THE FRENCH EDITION

Author's Letter to the Translator of the Book Which May Here Serve as a Preface

First of all, I would have wished to explain what philosophy is, beginning with the most commonplace points. For example, the word "philosophy" means the study of wisdom, and by "wisdom" is meant not only prudence in our everyday affairs but also a perfect knowledge of all things that mankind is capable of knowing, both for the conduct of life and for the preservation of health and the discovery of all manner of skills. In order for this kind of knowledge to be perfect it must be deduced from first causes; thus, in order to set about acquiring it — and it is this activity to which the term "to philosophize" strictly refers — we must start with the search for first causes or principles. These principles must satisfy two conditions. First, they must be so clear and so evident that the human mind cannot doubt their truth when it attentively concentrates on them; and, secondly, the knowledge of other things must depend on them, in the sense that the principles must be capable of being known without knowledge of these other matters, but not vice versa. Next, in deducing from these principles the knowledge of things which depend on them, we must try to ensure that everything in the entire chain of deductions which we draw is very manifest. In truth it is only God who is perfectly wise, that is to say, who possesses complete knowledge of the truth of all things; but men can be said to possess more or less wisdom depending on how much knowledge they possess of the most important truths. I think that everything I have just said would be accepted by all people of learning. Next, I would have looked at the benefits of this philosophy and shown that it encompasses everything which the human mind is capable of knowing. Thus we should consider that it is this philosophy alone which distinguishes us from the most savage and barbarous peoples, and that a nation's civilization and refinement depends on the superiority of the philosophy which is practised there. Hence the greatest good that a state can enjoy is to possess true philosophers. As for the individual, it is not only beneficial to live with those who apply themselves to this study; it is incomparably better to undertake it oneself. For

222

Rene Descartes

by the same token it is undoubtedly much better to use one's own eyes to get about, and also to enjoy the beauty of colours and light, than to close one's eyes and be led around by someone else. Yet even the latter is much better than keeping one's eyes closed and having no guide but oneself. Living without philosophizing is exactly like having one's eyes closed without ever trying to open them; and the pleasure of seeing everything which our sight reveals is in no way comparable to the satisfaction accorded by knowledge of the things which philosophy enables us to discover. Lastly, the study of philosophy is more necessary for the regulation of our morals and our conduct in this life than is the use of our eyes to guide our steps. The brute beasts, who have only their bodies to preserve, are continually occupied in looking for food to nourish them; but human beings, whose most important part is the mind, should devote their main efforts to the search for wisdom, which is the true food of the mind. And I am sure that there are many people who would not fail to make the search if they had some hope of success and knew how much they were capable of. No soul, however base, is so strongly attached to the objects of the senses that it does not sometimes turn aside and desire some other, greater good, even though it may often not know what this good consists in. Those who are most favoured by fortune and possess health, honour and riches in abundance are no more exempt from this desire than anyone else. On the contrary, I am convinced that it is just such people who long most ardently for another good — a higher good than all those that they already possess. Now this supreme good, considered by natural reason without the light of faith, is nothing other than the knowledge of the truth through its first causes, that is to say wisdom, of which philosophy is the study. Since all these points are absolutely true, they would easily carry conviction if they were properly argued. What prevents these points being accepted is the widespread experience that those who profess to be philosophers are often less wise and less reasonable than those who have never applied themselves to philosophy. And so at this point I would have explained briefly what all the knowledge which we now possess consists in and the levels of wisdom that have so far been attained. The first level contains only notions which are so clear in themselves that they can be acquired without meditation. The second comprises everything we are acquainted with through sensory experience. The third comprises what we learn by conversing with other people. And one may add a fourth category, namely what is learned by reading books — not all books, but those which have been written by people who are capable of instructing as well; for in such cases we hold a kind of conversation with the authors. I think that all the wisdom which is generally possessed is acquired in these four ways. I am not including divine revelation in the list, because it does not lead us on by degrees but raises us at a stroke to infallible faith. Now in all ages there have been great men who have tried to find a fifth way of reaching wisdom — a way which is incomparably more elevated and more sure than the other four. This consists in the search for the first causes and the true principles which enable us to deduce the reasons for everything we are capable of knowing; and it is above all those who have laboured to this end who have been called philoso-

Principles of Philosophy

223

phers. I am not sure, however, that there has been anyone up till now who has succeeded in this project. . . . After fully explaining these matters, I would have wanted next to put down the reasons which serve to prove that the true principles, enabling one to reach the highest degree of wisdom which constitutes the supreme good of human life, are the principles which I have set down in this book. Just two reasons are enough to prove the point: the first is that the principles are very clear, and the second is that they enable all other things to be deduced from them. These are the only two conditions that such principles must meet. Now I can easily prove that the principles are very clear. This is shown by the way in which I discovered them, namely by rejecting everything in which I could discover the least occasion for doubt; for it is certain that principles which it was impossible to reject in this way, when one attentively considered them, are the clearest and most evident that the human mind can know. Thus I considered that someone who wishes to doubt everything cannot, for all that, doubt that he exists while he is doubting; and that what reasons in this way, being unable to doubt itself while doubting everything else, is not what we call our body but what we call our soul or our thought. Accordingly I took the being or existence of this thought as my first principle, and from it I deduced very clearly the following principles. There is a God who is the author of everything there is in the world; further, since he is the source of all truth, he certainly did not create in us an understanding of the kind which would be capable of making a mistake in its judgements concerning the things of which it possesses a very clear and very distinct perception. These are all the principles that I make use of with regard to immaterial or metaphysical things, and from them I deduce very clearly the principles of corporeal or physical things, namely that there are bodies which are extended in length, breadth and depth, and which have various shapes and move in various ways. Here, in total, are all the principles which I use to deduce the truth of other things. The other reason which proves the clarity of these principles is that they have been known for all time and indeed accepted as true and indubitable by everyone, with the sole exception of the existence of God, which some people have called into doubt because they have attributed too much to sensory perceptions, and God cannot be seen or touched. Yet although all the truths which I include among my principles have been known for all time by everyone, there has, so far as I know, been no one up till now who has recognized them as the principles of philosophy, that is to say, as the principles which enable us to deduce the knowledge of all the other things to be found in the world. This is why it remains for me here to prove that they do indeed qualify as principles of this sort; and I think that the best way of doing this is to get people to see by experience that this is so, that is to say, to invite my readers to read this book. Admittedly, I have not dealt with all things, for this would be impossible. But I think I have explained all the things I have had occasion to deal with in such a way that those who read the book attentively will be convinced that in order to arrive at the highest knowledge of which the human mind is capable there is no need to look for any principles other than those I have provided. . . .

224

Rene Descartes

Following on from this, in order to get people to see the purpose I had in publishing my work, I would wish to explain here the order which I think we should follow when we aim to instruct ourselves. First of all, a man who still possesses only the ordinary and imperfect knowledge that can be acquired in the four ways explained above should try before anything else to devise for himself a code of morals which is sufficient to regulate the actions of his life. For this is something which permits no delay, since we should endeavour above all else to live well. After that, he should study logic. I do not mean the logic of the Schools, for this is strictly speaking nothing but a dialectic which teaches ways of expounding to others what one already knows or even of holding forth without judgement about things one does not know. Such logic corrupts good sense rather than increasing it. I mean instead the kind of logic which teaches us to direct our reason with a view to discovering the truths of which we are ignorant. Since this depends to a great extent on practice, it is good for the student to work for a long time at practising the rules on very easy and simple questions like those of mathematics. Then, when he has acquired some skill in finding the truth on these questions, he should begin to tackle true philosophy in earnest. The first part of philosophy is metaphysics, which contains the principles of knowledge, including the explanation of the principal attributes of God, the non-material nature of our souls and all the clear and distinct notions which are in us. The second part is physics, where, after discovering the true principles of material things, we examine the general composition of the entire universe and then, in particular, the nature of this earth and all the bodies which are most commonly found upon it, such as air, water, fire, magnetic ore and other minerals. Next we need to examine individually the nature of plants, of animals and, above all, of man, so that we may be capable later on of discovering the other sciences which are beneficial to man. Thus the whole of philosophy is like a tree. The roots are metaphysics, the trunk is physics, and the branches emerging from the trunk are all the other sciences, which may be reduced to three principal ones, namely medicine, mechanics and morals. By "morals" I understand the highest and most perfect moral system, which presupposes a complete knowledge of the other sciences and is the ultimate level of wisdom. Now just as it is not the roots or the trunk of a tree from which one gathers the fruit, but only the ends of the branches, so the principal benefit of philosophy depends on those parts of it which can only be learnt last of all. I am ignorant of almost all of these. . . . Correspondence with Princess Elizabeth and Queen Christina DESCARTES TO ELIZABETH,

4 AUGUST 1645 3

Madame, When I chose Seneca's de vita beata4 to suggest to your Highness as an agreeable topic of discussion, I took account only of the reputation of the

Correspondence

225

author and the importance of his topic, without thinking of his manner of treating it. I have since given some thought to this and find it not sufficiently accurate to deserve to be followed. To assist your Highness to make a judgement on the topic, I will try to explain how I think the topic should have been treated by such a philosopher, unenlightened by faith, with only natural reason to guide him. At the beginning he says very well that all men want to live happily (vivere beate), but not all see clearly what makes a life happy. But first we must know what vivere beate means; I would translate it into French vivre heureusement, if there were not a difference between heur5 and beatitude. The former depends only on outward things: a man is thought more fortunate (heureux) than wise if some good happens to him without his own effort; but happiness (beatitude) consists, it seems to me, in a perfect contentment of mind and inner satisfaction, which is not commonly possessed by those who are most favoured by fortune, and which is acquired by the wise without fortune's favour. So vivere beate, to live happily, is to have a perfectly content and satisfied mind. Next we must consider what makes a life happy, i.e. what are the things which can give us this supreme contentment. Such things, I observe, can be divided into two classes: those which depend on us, like virtue and wisdom, and those which do not, like honours, riches, and health. For it is certain that a man of good birth who is not ill, and who lacks nothing can enjoy a more perfect contentment than another who is poor, unhealthy and deformed provided that the two are equally wise and virtuous. None the less a small vessel may be just as full as a large one, although it contains less liquid; and similarly if we regard each man's contentment as the full satisfaction of all his reasonable desires, I do not doubt that the poorest man, least blest by nature and fortune, can be entirely content and satisfied just as much as every one else, although he does not enjoy as many good things. It is only this sort of contentment which is here in question; to seek the other sort would be a waste of time, since it is not in our own power. It seems to me that every man can make himself content without any external assistance, provided that he respects three conditions, which are related to the three rules of morality which I put in the Discourse on Method. ° The first is always to employ his mind as well as he can to discover what he should or should not do in all the circumstances of life. The second is to have a firm and constant resolution to carry out whatever reason recommends without being diverted by passion or appetite. Virtue, I believe, consists precisely in firmness in this resolution; though I do not know that anyone has ever so described it. Instead, they have divided it into different species to which they have given various names, because of the various objects to which it applies. The third is to bear in mind that while one thus guides oneself, as far as one can, by reason, all the good things which one does not possess are all equally outside one's power. In this way one will accustom oneself not to

226

Rene Descartes

desire them. Nothing can impede our contentment except desire, regret, and repentance; but if we always do what reason tells us, even if events show us afterwards that we were mistaken, we will never have any grounds for repentance, because it was not our own fault. We do not desire to have more arms or more tongues than we have, and yet we do desire to have more health or more riches. The reason is simply that we imagine that the latter, unlike the former, can be acquired by our exertions, or are due to our nature. We can rid ourselves of that opinion by bearing in mind that since we have always followed the advice of our reason, we have left undone nothing that was in our power; and that sickness and misfortune are no less natural to man than prosperity and health. Of course not every kind of desire is incompatible with happiness: only those which are accompanied with impatience and sadness. It is also not necessary that our reason should be free from error; it is sufficient if our conscience testifies that we have never lacked resolution and virtue to carry out whatever we judge the best course. So virtue by itself is sufficient to make us happy in this life. But virtue unenlightened by intellect can be false: that is to say, the will and resolution to do well can carry us to evil courses, if we think them good; and in such a case the contentment which virtue brings is not solid. Moreover, such virtue is commonly set in opposition to pleasure, appetite and passion, and is accordingly very difficult to practise. The right use of reason on the other hand, by giving a true knowledge of good, prevents virtue from being false; by accommodating it to licit pleasures makes it easy to practise; and by making us realize the condition of our nature sets bounds to our desires. So we must conclude that the greatest felicity of man depends on the right use of reason; and consequently the study which leads to its acquisition is the most useful occupation one can take up. Certainly it is the most agreeable and delightful. After this, it seems to me, Seneca should have taught us all the principal truths whose knowledge is necessary to facilitate the practice of virtue and to regulate our desires and passions, and thus to enjoy natural happiness. That would have made his book the finest and most useful that a pagan philosopher could have written. . . . DESCARTES TO ELIZABETH, 1 SEPTEMBER

1645

Madame, When last I wrote I was uncertain whether your Highness was at the Hague or at Rhenen, so I addressed my letter via Leyden; and the one you condescended to write me was only delivered to me after the departure of the messenger who had brought it to Alkmaar. So I have been unable to tell you earlier how proud I am that my judgement of the book you read is no different from yours, and that my manner of reasoning seems natural to you. I am sure that if you had had as much leisure as I have had to think about these topics, I could not write anything which you would not have observed better than I;

Correspondence

227

but because your Highness' age, birth, and business have not permitted this, perhaps what I write can save you time. Even my faults will give you opportunities for observing the truth. For instance, I spoke of a happiness which depends entirely on our free will, which all men can acquire without assistance from without. You observe very truly that there are diseases which take away the power of reasoning and with it the power of enjoying the satisfaction proper to a rational mind. This shows me that what I said about all men without exception applies only to those who have the free use of their reason, and in addition know the way to reach such happiness. For everybody wants to make himself happy; but most people do not know how to, and often a bodily indisposition prevents their will from being free. This happens too when we are asleep; because nobody, however philosophical, can prevent himself having bad dreams when his temperament so disposes him. However, experience shows that if one has often had a certain thought while one's mind was at liberty, it returns again however indisposed one's body may be. Thus I can boast that my own dreams never portray anything distressing, and there is no doubt that it is a great advantage to have long accustomed oneself to drive away sad thoughts. But we cannot altogether answer for ourselves except when we are in our own power. It is better to lose one's life than to lose the use of reason, because even without the teachings of faith, natural philosophy by itself makes us hope that our soul will be in a happier state after death than now; and makes us fear nothing more than being attached to a body which altogether takes away its liberty. There are other indispositions which do no harm to one's reason but which merely alter the humours, and make a man unusually inclined to sadness, or anger, or some other passion. These certainly cause distress, but they can be overcome; and the harder they are to conquer, the more satisfaction the soul can take in doing so. The same is true of all exterior handicaps, such as the splendour of high birth, the flatteries of courts, the adversities of fortune, and also great prosperity, which commonly does more than misfortune to hamper the would-be philosopher. When everything goes according to our wishes we forget to think of ourselves; when fortune changes we are the more surprised the more we trusted it. Altogether, we can say, nothing can completely take away our power of making ourselves happy provided that it does not trouble our reason. It is not always the things which seem the most distressing which do the most harm. But in order to discover what contribution each thing can make to our contentment, we must consider what are its possible causes. This information is also most valuable in making it easy to practise virtue; because all actions of our soul that acquire us some perfection are virtuous, and all our contentment consists in our interior awareness of possessing some perfection. Thus whenever we practise any virtue — that is to say, do what reason tells us we should do — we automatically receive satisfaction and pleasure from so doing. But pleasures are of two kinds: those that belong to the mind by itself, and those that belong to the whole human being, that is to say to the mind as joined to

228

Rene Descartes

the body. These last present themselves in a confused manner to the imagination and often appear much greater than they are, especially before we possess them; and this is the source of all the evils and all the errors of life. For according to the rule of reason, each pleasure should be measured by the size of the perfection which produces it; it is thus that we measure those whose causes are clearly known to us. But often passion makes us believe certain things to be much better and more desirable than they are; then, when we have taken much trouble to acquire them, and in the process lost the chance of possessing other more genuine goods, possession of them brings home to us their defects; and thence arises dissatisfaction, regret, and remorse. And so the true function of reason is to examine the just value of all the goods whose acquisition seems to depend in some way on our conduct, so that we always devote our efforts to obtaining those which are in truth the most desirable. If, in such cases, fortune opposes our plans and makes them fail, we shall at least have the satisfaction that our loss was not our fault; and despite our failure we shall enjoy all the natural happiness whose acquisition was really within our power. Anger, for instance, can sometimes excite in us such violent desires for vengeance that it makes us imagine more pleasure in chastising our enemy than in preserving our honour or our life, and makes us risk both imprudently in the attempt. Whereas, if reason examines what is the good or perfection on which the pleasure derived from vengeance is based, it will find — unless the vengeance serves to prevent future offences — that there is nothing except our imagination that we have some superiority and advantage over the person on whom we are taking vengeance. And this is often only a vain imagination, which is worthless in comparison with honour or life, or even the satisfaction to be had from seeing one's own mastery of one's anger when one abstains from revenge. The same is true of the other passions. They all represent the goods to which they tend with greater splendour than they deserve, and before we experience pleasures they make them seem greater than experience shows them to be. This is why pleasure is commonly dispraised, because the word is used to mean only the pleasures which frequently deceive us by their appearance, and make us neglect other much solider pleasures, such as the pleasures of the mind commonly are, which are not so impressive in anticipation. I say "commonly" because not all pleasures of the mind are praiseworthy: they can be founded on some false opinion. An instance is the pleasure we take in slander, which is based only on the belief that the worse others are esteemed, the better esteemed we shall be ourselves. Also, they can deceive us by their appearance, when some strong passion accompanies them, as can be seen in the pleasure arising from ambition. But the main difference between the pleasures of the body and those of the mind is the following. The body is subject to perpetual change, and indeed its preservation and well-being depend on change; so the pleasures proper to it last a very short time, since they arise from the acquisition of something useful

229

Correspondence

to the body at the moment of reception, and cease as soon as it stops being useful. The pleasures of the soul, on the other hand, can be as immortal as the soul itself, provided they are so solidly founded that neither the knowledge of truth nor any false persuasion can destroy them. The true function of reason, then, in the conduct of life is to examine and consider without passion the value of all perfections of body and soul that can be acquired by our conduct, so that since we are commonly obliged to deprive ourselves of some goods in order to acquire others, we shall always choose the better. Because the pleasures of the body are minor, it can be said in general that it is possible to make oneself happy without them. However, I do not think that they should be altogether despised, nor even that one should free oneself altogether from passion. It is enough to subject one's passions to reason; and once they are thus tamed they are sometimes useful precisely to the degree that they tend to excess. I will never have a more excessive passion than that which impels me to the respect and veneration which I owe you and makes me, etc. DESCARTES TO ELIZABETH,

15

SEPTEMBER

1645

Madame, Your Highness has so accurately observed all the reasons which prevented Seneca from expounding clearly his opinion on the supreme good, and you have read his book so carefully, that I would fear to be tedious if I continued examining his chapters one by one. Moreover, I do not want to put off replying to your question how to fortify one's understanding so as to discern what is the best in all the actions of life. And so, without following Seneca any further, I will try simply to explain my own opinion on the topic. In order to be always disposed to judge well only two things seem to me necessary. One is the knowledge of truth, the other is practice in remembering and assenting to this knowledge whenever the occasion demands. But because nobody except God knows everything perfectly, we have to content ourselves with knowing the truths most useful to us. The first and chief of these is that there is a God on whom all things depend, whose perfections are infinite, whose power is immense, and whose decrees are infallible. This teaches us to accept calmly all the things which happen to us as expressly sent by God. Moreover, since the true object of love is perfection, when we lift up our minds to consider Him as He is, we find ourselves naturally so inclined to love Him, that we even rejoice in our afflictions at the thought that they are an expression of His will. The second thing we must know is the nature of our soul. We must know that it is a substance independent of, and nobler than, the body, and that it is capable of enjoying many satisfactions not to be found in this life. This prevents us from fearing death, and so detaches our affections from the things of this world that we scorn whatever is in the power of fortune. Here it is important to judge worthily of the works of God and to have a

230

Rene Descartes

vast idea of the extent of the universe, such as I tried to convey in the third book of my Principles.' For if we imagine that beyond the heavens there is nothing but imaginary spaces, and that all the heavens are made only for the service of the earth, and the earth only for man, we will be inclined to think that this earth is our principal abode and this life our best. Instead of discovering the perfections that are truly within us, we will attribute to other creatures imperfections which they do not have, so as to raise ourselves above them. We will be so absurdly presumptuous as to wish to belong to God's council and assist Him in the government of the world; and this will bring us a mass of vain anxiety and distress. After acknowledging the goodness of God, the immortality of our souls, and the immensity of the universe, there is yet another truth that is, in my opinion, most useful to know. That is, that though each of us is a person distinct from others, whose interests are accordingly in some way different from those of the rest of the world, we must still think that none of us could subsist alone and each one of us is really one of the many parts of the universe, and more particularly a part of the earth, the State, the society, and the family to which we belong by our domicile, our oath of allegiance, and our birth. And the interests of the whole, of which each of us is a part, must always be preferred to those of our individual personality — with measure, of course, and discretion, because it would be wrong to expose ourselves to a great evil to produce only a slight benefit to our kinsfolk or our country. (Indeed if a man were worth more, by himself, than all his fellow citizens he would have no reason to destroy himself to save his city.) But if a man saw everything in relation to himself, he would not hesitate to injure others greatly when he thought he could draw some slight advantage; and he would have no true friendship, no fidelity, no virtue at all. On the other hand, if a man considers himself a part of the community he delights in doing good to everyone, and does not hesitate even to risk his life in the service of others, when the occasion demands. If he could, he would even be willing to lose his soul to save others. So that this consideration is the source and origin of all the most heroic actions done by men. A man seems to me more pitiful than admirable if he risks death from vanity, in the hope of praise, or through stupidity, because he does not apprehend the danger. But when a man risks death because he believes it to be his duty, or when he suffers some other evil to bring good to others, then he acts in virtue of the consideration that he owes more to the community of which he is a part than to himself as an individual, though this thought may be only confusedly in his mind without his reflecting upon it. Once a man knows and loves God as he should he has a natural impulse to think in this way; because, abandoning himself altogether to God's will, he strips himself of his own interests, and has no other passion than to do what he thinks pleasing to Him. Thus he acquires a mental satisfaction and contentment incomparably more valuable than all the passing joys which depend upon the senses. In addition to these truths which concern all our actions in general, others ,

Correspondence

231

must be known which concern more particularly each individual action. The chief of these, in my view, are those I mentioned in my last letter: namely, that all our passions represent to us the goods to whose pursuit they impel us as being much greater than they really are; and that the pleasures of the body are never as lasting as those of the soul, nor as great in possession as they appear in anticipation. We must pay great attention to this, so that when we feel ourselves moved by some passion we should suspend our judgement until it is calmed, and not let ourselves easily be deceived by the false appearance of the goods of this world. I have only this to add, that one must also examine minutely all the customs of one's place of abode to see how far they should be followed. Though we cannot have certain proofs of everything, still we must take sides, and in matters of custom embrace the opinions that seem the most probable, so that we may never be irresolute when we need to act. For nothing causes regret and remorse except irresolution. I said above that besides the knowledge of truth, practice also is required if one is to be always disposed to judge well. We cannot continually pay attention to the same thing; and so however clear and evident the reasons may have been that persuaded us of some truth in the past, we can later be turned away from believing it by some false appearances unless we have so imprinted it on our mind by long and frequent meditation that it has become a settled disposition with us. In this sense the scholastics are right when they say that virtues are habitus; because our failings are rarely due to the lack of theoretical knowledge of what one should do, but to lack of knowledge in practice, that is for lack of a firm habit of belief. And since in examining these truths I am also increasing in myself the corresponding habit, I am particularly obliged to your Highness for allowing me to correspond with her about them. There is no activity in which I think my leisure better spent than one in which I can prove that I am, etc. DESCARTES TO CHRISTINE OF SWEDEN,

20

NOVEMBER

1647 8

Madame, I learn from M. Chanut 9 that it pleases your Majesty that I should have the honour to expound to you my view of the supreme good understood in the sense of the ancient philosophers. I count this command such a great favour that my desire to obey it turns away all other thoughts; so without making excuses for my insufficiency I will put in a few words all that I have been able to discover on the topic. The goodness of each thing can be considered in itself without reference to anything else, and in this sense it is evident that God is the supreme good, since He is incomparably more perfect than any creature. But goodness can also be considered in relation to ourselves, and in this sense I do not see anything which we can esteem good unless it somehow belongs to us and makes us more perfect. Thus, the ancient philosophers, unenlightened by the

232

Rene Descartes

light of faith and knowing nothing about supernatural beatitude, considered only the goods we can possess in this life; and what they were trying to discover was which of these is the supreme, that is, the chief and greatest good. In trying to decide this, my first observation is that we should not consider as good, in relation to ourselves, anything which we do not possess and is not in our power to acquire. Once this is agreed, it seems to me that the supreme good of all men together is the total or aggregate of all the goods, of soul, of body and of fortune, which can belong to any human being; but that the supreme good of each individual is quite a different thing, and consists only in a firm will to do well and the contentment which this produces. My reason for this is that I can discover no other good which seems so great or so entirely within each man's power. For the goods of the body and of fortune do not depend absolutely upon us; and those of the soul can be all reduced to two heads, the one being to know, and the other to will, what is good. But knowledge is often beyond our powers, and so there remains only our will of which we can dispose outright. I do not see that it is possible to dispose it better than by a regular and constant resolution to carry out to the letter whatever one judges best, and to employ all the powers of one's mind in informing this judgement. This by itself constitutes all the virtues; this alone really deserves praise and glory; this alone, finally, produces the greatest and most solid contentment of life. So I conclude that it is this which constitutes the supreme good. In this way I think I can reconcile the most opposed and famous opinions of the ancient philosophers, that of Zeno' ) who thought virtue or honour the supreme good, and that of Epicurus," who thought the supreme good was contentment, to which he gave the name of pleasure. All vices arise only from the uncertainty and weakness consequent on ignorance — and virtue consists only in the resolution and vigour with which a man is inclined to do the things which he thinks good — this vigour, of course, must not stem from stubbornness, but from the consciousness of having examined the matter as well as one morally can. What a man does after such examination may be bad, but none the less he can be sure of having done his duty; whereas, if he does a virtuous action thinking he is doing wrong, or takes no trouble to find out whether he is doing right or wrong, he is not acting like a virtuous man. As for honour and praise, these are often awarded to the other goods of fortune; but because I am sure that your Majesty values virtue more than her crown, I shall not hesitate to express my opinion that nothing except virtue really deserves praise. All other goods deserve only to be esteemed and not to be honoured or praised, except in so far as they are supposed to have been acquired or obtained from God by the good use of free will. For honour and praise is a kind of reward, and only what depends on the will provides grounds for reward or punishment. I still have to show that the good use of free will is what produces the greatest

Replies to Objections

233

and most solid happiness in life. This does not seem difficult if we consider carefully what constitutes pleasure, or delight, and in general all the happinesses we can have. I observe first that all of them are entirely within the soul, though many of them depend on the body; just as it is the soul that sees, though through the medium of the eyes. Next I observe that there is nothing that can content the soul except its belief that it possesses some good, and that often this belief is only a very confused representation in the soul. Moreover, the soul's union with the body causes it commonly to represent certain goods to itself as being incomparably greater than they are; but if it knew distinctly their just value, its contentment would always be in proportion to the greatness of the good from which it proceeded. I observe also that the greatness of a good, in relation to us, should not be measured only by the value of the thing which constitutes it but principally also by the manner in which it is related to us. Now free will is in itself the noblest thing we can have because it makes us in a certain manner equal to God and exempts us from being his subjects; and so its rightful use is the greatest of all the goods we possess, and further there is nothing that is more our own or that matters more to us. From all this it follows that nothing but free will can produce our greatest contentments. Thus we see that the repose of mind and interior satisfaction felt by those who know they never fail to do their best is a pleasure incomparably sweeter, more lasting and more solid than all those which come from elsewhere. I omit here many other things, because when I call to mind how much business is involved in ruling a great Kingdom, and how much of it your Majesty attends to in person, I do not dare to ask for longer audience. But I am sending to M. Chanut some papers in which I have expressed my sentiments on the matter at greater length. 12 If it pleases your Majesty to look at them, he will oblige me by presenting them to her, and show that I am etc.

Replies to Objections SIXTH SET OF REPLIES

6. As for the freedom of the will, the way in which it exists in God is quite different from the way in which it exists in us. It is self-contradictory to suppose that the will of God was not indifferent from eternity with respect to everything which has happened or will ever happen; for it is impossible to imagine that anything is thought of in the divine intellect as good or true, or worthy of belief or action or omission, prior to the decision of the divine will to make it so. I am not speaking here of temporal priority: I mean that there is not even any priority of order, or nature, or of "rationally determined reason" as they call it, such that God's idea of the good impelled him to choose one thing rather than another. For example, God did not will the creation of the world in time because he saw that it would be better this way than if he had created it from eternity; nor did he will that the three angles of a triangle

234

Rene Descartes

should be equal to two right angles because he recognized that it could not be otherwise, and so on. On the contrary, it is because he willed to create the world in time that it is better this way than if he had created it from eternity; and it is because he willed that the three angles of a triangle should necessarily equal two right angles that this is true and cannot be otherwise; and so on in other cases. There is no problem in the fact that the merit of the saints may be said to be the cause of their obtaining eternal life; for it is not the cause of this reward in the sense that it determines God to will anything, but is merely the cause of an effect of which God willed from eternity that it should be the cause. Thus the supreme indifference to be found in God is the supreme indication of his omnipotence. But as for man, since he finds that the nature of all goodness and truth is already determined by God, and his will cannot tend towards anything else, it is evident that he will embrace what is good and true all the more willingly, and hence more freely, in proportion as he sees it more clearly. He is never indifferent except when he does not know which of the two alternatives is the better or truer, or at least when he does not see this clearly enough to rule out any possibility of doubt. Hence the indifference which belongs to human freedom is very different from that which belongs to divine freedom. 8. If anyone attends to the immeasurable greatness of God he will find it manifestly clear that there can be nothing whatsoever which does not depend on him. This applies not just to everything that subsists, but to all order, every law, and every reason for anything's being true or good. If this were not so, then, as noted a little earlier, God would not have been completely indifferent with respect to the creation of what he did in fact create. If some reason for something's being good had existed prior to his preordination, this would have determined God to prefer those things which it was best to do. But on the contrary, just because he resolved to prefer those things which are now to be done, for this very reason, in the words of Genesis, "they are very good"; in other words, the reason for their goodness depends on the fact that he exercised his will to make them so. There is no need to ask what category of causality is applicable to the dependence of this goodness upon God, or to the dependence on him of other truths, both mathematical and metaphysical. For since the various kinds of cause were enumerated by thinkers who did not, perhaps, attend to this type of causality, it is hardly surprising that they gave no name to it. But in fact they did give it a name, for it can be called efficient causality, in the sense that a king may be called the efficient cause of a law, although the law itself is not a thing which has physical existence, but is merely what they call a "moral entity." Again, there is no need to ask how God could have brought it about from eternity that it was not true that twice four make eight, and so on; for I admit this is unintelligible to us. Yet on the other hand I do understand, quite correctly, that there cannot be any class of entity that does not depend on God; I also understand that it would have been easy for God to ordain certain things such that we men cannot understand the possibility of their being otherwise than they are. And therefore it would be

Further Reading

235

irrational for us to doubt what we do understand correctly just because there is something which we do not understand and which, so far as we can see, there is no reason why we should understand. Hence we should not suppose that eternal truths "depend on the human intellect or on other existing things"; they depend on God alone, who, as the supreme legislator, has ordained them from eternity. Editor's Notes 1. This is a portrait of the Stoic wise man. 2. Descartes gives, in the fourth section of the Discourse, a brief account of how he rid himself of all his opinions; the main account is in the first of the Meditations on First Philosophy.

3. Princess Elizabeth (1618-88) was one of thirteen children of King Frederick V of Bohemia and Elizabeth Stuart of England. She lived in exile, devoting herself to intellectual endeavors. 4. Seneca's essay "On the Happy Life," written in the latter half of the first century C. E., is a short treatment, Stoic in tone, of what constitutes the happy life and how to attain it. According to Seneca, the happy life is one in harmony with nature, and it can be obtained by studying philosophy. See Seneca, Moral Essays II, trans. John Basore (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1932), for the text and a translation. 5. The French heur means "chance" or "luck." 6. Given in the previous selection. 7. Part III of the Principles of Philosophy gives a scientific account of the visible universe, including the stars, the solar system, and the principles of their movements. 8. Queen Christine (or Christina) of Sweden (1626-89), daughter of Gustavus Adolphus, reigned from 1632 until her abdication in 1654. 9. Chanut was the French ambassador at the Swedish court. 10. Zeno of Citium, fl. c. 300 B.C.E., was the founder of Stoicism. 11. The founder of Epicureanism, lived from 341 to 270 B.C.E. 12. Copies of his letters to Elizabeth. Further Reading The best translation of Descartes's works is that by John Cottingham, Robert Stoothof, and Dugald Murdoch, The Philosophical Writings of Descartes, 2 vols. (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1985). John J. Blom, in Descartes: His Moral Philosophy and Psychology (New York: New York University Press, 1978), translated more of the letters pertinent to ethics than did Anthony Kenny in the volume from which the present excerpts from the correspondence were taken. Several good general studies of Descartes's philosophy are available. Among them are Tom Sorrell, Descartes (New York: Oxford University Press, 1987), which is very brief; Margaret Wilson, Descartes (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1978); Anthony Kenny, Descartes (New York: Random House, 1968); Jonathan Ree, Descartes (London: Lane, 1974); and E. M. Curley, Descartes Against the Skeptics (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1978). These, however, do not discuss Descartes's ethics. A. Boyce Gibson, The Philosophy of Descartes (London: Methuen, 1932), chap. 10,

236

Rene Descartes

"Free Will and the Moral Life," is helpful regarding Descartes and ethics. The great French scholar Martial Gueroult discussed Descartes's moral philosophy in chapters 19 and 20 of his Descartes' Philosophy Interpreted According to the Order of Reasons, trans. Roger Ariew, 2 vols. (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1984). See also Robert Cumming, "Descartes' Provisional Morality," Review of Metaphysics 9 (1955): 208-35.

Benedict de Spinoza

Introduction Spinoza was born in Amsterdam in 1632, a descendant of Portuguese Jews who had fled persecution. ("Benedict" was the conventional Latin equivalent of his given name, Baruch.) Spinoza received a traditional Hebrew education and learned several modern languages. As he grew up, he found it more and more difficult to reconcile the Bible with the new sciences. His skepticism increased, and as he would not keep it to himself, he was excommunicated and thus cut off from the Jewish community. Determined to be independent, he learned the highly skilled craft of grinding lenses for the optical instruments that scientists needed, and he maintained himself by this work. Spinoza lived in Amsterdam until 1660 and then moved to a quiet village close to Leyden, where he wrote his first book, the Short Treatise on the Improvement of the Understanding, which was not published until more than a century later. He also wrote an exposition of Descartes's philosophy, presenting it in geometrical order, and began work on what eventually became his masterpiece, the Ethics. Spinoza's account of Descartes was published in 1663 under his name, with a preface explaining that he did not accept all of Descartes's views. Spinoza let some of his own views be known in correspondence with friends and with scientists with whom he worked, and gradually he acquired a wide reputation as an important philosopher. Leibniz corresponded with him and even came to the Netherlands to talk with him. When Spinoza was asked to become the professor of philosophy at Heidelberg, he refused in order to maintain his independence. Although he lived quietly, he was concerned enough about Dutch political affairs to have tried once or twice to become active in them. Spinoza's political interests and protracted investigation of the Bible as a book written by human beings and calling for purely rational study culminated in an important work on politics and biblical interpretation, the Tractatus theologico-politicus (Treatise on Religion and Politics), published anonymously in 1670. When Spinoza died in 1677 of lung disease, probably aggravated by the constant inhalation of glass particles while grinding lenses, he left behind an unfinished treatise on politics, as well as his Ethics. His works were published posthumously and were generally ignored. Spinoza had the reputation of being an atheist, and insofar as the Ethics was read, it was initially dismissed as an irreligious tract. Not until the latter part of the eighteenth century was more careful and more favorable attention paid to his work. Everyone agrees that the theory Spinoza presented in the Ethics is difficult. Part of the difficulty comes from the geometrical form into which he cast his thought, and part

237

238

Benedict de Spinoza

of it from having to grasp the whole system in order to understand its parts. The interconnection of parts within his theory corresponds to his belief that none of the things we usually assume to be individual entities can be understood by itself. For Spinoza each such thing is a part or aspect of the one substance that exists, and each expresses that substance's being in a special way. We can understand things only by seeing how they are connected to the one substance, which may be called indifferently God or Nature, and we can understand Spinoza's thought only when we grasp the connections of all its parts through the idea of God or Nature. Like Hobbes and unlike Descartes, Spinoza tried to show that human life is completely contained within the natural order. "Most of those who have written about the Affects, and men's way of living," he stated at the beginning of Part III of the Ethics, "seem to treat, not of natural things, which follow the common laws of nature, but of things which are outside nature. Indeed they seem to conceive man in nature as a dominion within a dominion." Spinoza's system, by contrast, shows us a wholly deterministic nature, which includes thoughts and desires no less than the motions of bodies. Like Descartes, we may think we are free to control our feelings and our actions, Spinoza pointed out, but this is because we are aware only of our present ideas and emotions and not of their causes. But if we had adequate knowledge of the world, we would see that everything has to be as it is. The implications of this thesis for the moral life are considerable. As the reader will see, Spinoza believed that a drastic revision of our understanding of the whole moral vocabulary was needed. When speaking of what one ought to do, or of what would be better than the way things now are, we seem to suppose that things might be other than they are. If we were completely informed about the world, would we not think such talk mistaken? There is a sense in which Spinoza thinks we would. But for us, who have far less than adequate knowledge of the world, such language does have uses. Spinoza's political and ethical writings explain what these uses are. They also go well beyond that topic to provide substantive views on how to live. In his political works Spinoza argued in favor of a limited democracy, extending, as far as possible, freedom and toleration of diversity of opinion. Parts IV and V of the Ethics offer a deeply felt and moving portrait of the wise or virtuous man, which we can use as a model in our own search for the good. The usefulness of the model is based on a fundamental point about human psychology. In Proposition 6 (P6) or Part III of the Ethics Spinoza stated that "each thing, as far as it can by its own power, strives to persevere in its being." The conatus, or striving to persevere, is displayed at one level in the adhesion of a stone's parts to one another, and at another level in human efforts to satisfy desires. Spinoza used his proposition to imply that each of us always seeks to advance his or her own interests. But we, unlike stones, can modify the direction of our striving. Hence reason is not, as it was for Hobbes, only a tool by which we can find out how to get what we want; it also can change our aims. We need not be narrowly selfish, as Hobbesian men in a state of nature seem to be. The transformation is effected by knowledge — but knowledge of what? The knowledge that a wise man possesses is not specifically moral knowledge, for according to Spinoza, there is really no such thing. God does not command, and there are no eternal and immutable laws of morality, only the laws that determine how everything in the universe actually and necessarily behaves. Neither is the good something built into the nature of things, waiting there for us to discover and pursue it. The good, to both Spinoza and Hobbes, is always relative to our conative response to

A Treatise on Religion and Politics

239

things. What virtuous agents know, then, is the necessary connections of all things. The more clearly and distinctly they know the metaphysical and physical workings of the universe, the freer and more blessed they will be. Because Spinoza thought that skepticism was a mistake, he was sure that this kind of knowledge was available in principle. But he would have admitted — or, rather, insisted — that most people would never acquire it. The excerpts in the first section are from A Treatise on Religion and Politics, in Benedict de Spinoza, The Political Works, ed. and trans. A. G. Wernham (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1958), reprinted by permission of Oxford University Press. Those in the second section are from the Ethics, in Edwin Curley, ed. and trans., The Collected Works of Spinoza, vol. 1 (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1985). Copyright © 1985 by Princeton University Press and reprinted by permission of Princeton University Press. In structuring the Ethics, Spinoza used the format of the Euclidean geometry of his day. Each of its "parts" is, therefore, divided into numbered "propositions," with accompanying "demonstrations," and these are sometimes accompanied by "corollaries" (further propositions following from or easily shown in conjunction with a main proposition) and by "scholia" (explanatory notes appended to propositions). In the translation used here, these labels are abbreviated as "P" (Proposition), "Dem" (Demonstration), "Cor" (Corollary), and "Schol" (Scholium). In the references, the part from which a proposition comes is indicated by a roman numeral before the letter "P." The general direction of Spinoza's thought can often be gathered from the propositions, corollaries, and scholia without working through the demonstrations, some of which I have accordingly omitted. A Treatise on Religion and Politics CHAPTER IV: OF THE DIVINE LAW

The word "law" in the widest sense means a rule in accordance with which all individual things, or all things of the same species, or some of them, act in one and the same fixed and determinate way; and this either by natural necessity or by the will of men. A law based on natural necessity is one which follows necessarily from the actual nature or definition of the thing in question; while a law based on the will of men — more properly called an ordinance — is one which men prescribe for themselves and others in order to live in greater security and comfort, or for some other purpose. E.g. that any body impinging on a smaller body loses as much of its own motion as it imparts to the other is a law which is common to all bodies and depends on natural necessity. Similarly, that on thinking of one thing a man immediately thinks of something else like it, or associated with it in his previous experience, is a law which follows necessarily from human nature. But that men should surrender, or be forced to surrender, the right which they hold from nature, and should bind themselves to follow a definite rule of life, depends on human volition. . . . But the application of the word "law" to natural things seems to be metaphorical, and the ordinary meaning of law is simply a command which men can either obey or disobey, since it confines human power within definite

240

Benedict de Spinoza

bounds which are narrower than its natural limits, and requires nothing that is beyond man's strength. This makes it advisable, I think, to restrict the word to its second meaning, and to define law as a rule of life which man prescribes to himself or to others for some object. Yet the real object of law is seldom obvious to more than a few; most men are practically incapable of seeing it, and do anything but live by reason's guidance. Thus in order to bind all men equally legislators have wisely introduced another motive for obedience — very different from the one which follows necessarily from the nature of law — by holding out the sort of reward for active support, and the sort of penalty for transgression, that appeals most strongly to the hopes and fears of the masses; and in this way they have tried to keep them on the tightest possible rein. In consequence, law is apt to be regarded as a rule of life prescribed for men by the command of others; accordingly, those who obey law are said to live under law, and are thought to be slaves. Now it is true that he who gives every man his own because he fears the gallows acts by the command of another and under compulsion of evil, so that he cannot be called just; still, he who gives every man his own because he knows the real reason and necessity for law acts with constancy of purpose and of his own volition, not another's, and hence is rightly called just. . . . Law, then, is simply a rule of living which men prescribe to themselves or to others for some object; and since this is so, it seems necessary to divide it into two categories, human and divine. By human law I mean a rule of living which serves no other purpose than to preserve life and the state; while by divine law I mean one whose sole object is the supreme good, i.e. true knowledge and love of God. I call the latter divine because of the nature of the supreme good, which I shall now explain as briefly and as clearly as possible. Since the better part of us is our understanding, it follows that, if we really wish to seek our own good, our primary aim must be to make our understanding as perfect as possible; for it is in its perfection that our supreme good must lie. Now since all our knowledge, and the certainty which really removes all doubt, depends wholly on our knowledge of God — not only because nothing can either be or be conceived without God, but also because complete scepticism is possible as long as we have no clear and distinct idea of God — our supreme good and perfection is wholly dependent on our knowledge of God and the consequences of that knowledge. Again, since nothing can either be or be conceived without God it necessarily follows that everything in nature involves and expresses the concept of God in proportion to its essence and perfection; so that the more we learn of things in nature, the greater and more perfect is the knowledge of God we acquire: or (since to understand an effect through its cause is simply to understand a particular property of the cause) the more we learn of things in nature the more perfect becomes our knowledge of God's essence, which is the cause of all things. Hence all our knowledge, i.e. our supreme good, not only depends upon, but wholly consists in our knowledge of God. This also follows from the fact that a man is more perfect as the main object of his love is more perfect, and vice versa; so

A Treatise on Religion and Politics

241

that the man whose main love and chief delight is the intellectual knowledge of the most perfect being, God, is necessarily most perfect, and shares most fully in supreme blessedness. Our highest good and blessedness, then, is summed up in this — knowledge and love of God. Accordingly, the means required by this object of all human actions, i.e. by God himself in so far as we have the idea of him in our minds, can be called the commands of God, since they are, so to speak, prescribed to us by God himself in so far as he exists in our minds; and so the rule of living which has this object in view is well named the divine law. What these means are, what rule of living this object requires, and how the principles of the best state, and the best way of living among men, are derived from it, are questions for a comprehensive treatise on ethics. Here I shall confine myself to discussing the divine law in general terms. Since love of God is the supreme happiness and blessedness of man, and the highest object and aim of all human actions, the only man who fulfils the divine law is he who seeks to love God, not from fear of punishment, or through love for other things like pleasure, fame, and so forth, but simply because he knows God, or knows that knowledge and love of God is the supreme good. Hence the sum of the divine law, and its fundamental precept, is to love God as the supreme good; that is — to repeat what I have said already — not from fear of any punishment or penalty, or through love of anything else which we desire to enjoy. For what the idea of God teaches us is that God is our supreme good, i.e. that knowledge and love of God is the ultimate object to which all our actions should be directed. The sensual man cannot understand this, and to him it seems empty talk, because he has too slight a knowledge of God, and also because in the supreme good, which consists entirely in contemplation and purity of spirit, he has found nothing to fondle or eat, nothing, in short, to appeal to the carnal nature which is his chief source of pleasure. But those who know that they have no possessions more precious than understanding and soundness of mind will doubtless regard these blessings as pretty substantial. I have thus explained the main content of the divine law, and shown which laws are human; they are all that have a different aim. . . . If we now consider the nature of natural divine law in the sense just explained, we shall see: I. That it is universal, i.e. common to all men; for I have deduced it from human nature in general. II. That it requires no belief in historical narratives' of any kind; for since reflection on human nature is all that is needed to understand it, this law can certainly be conceived in Adam as easily as in any other man, in a solitary as easily as in a social being. In any case, belief in historical narratives, however well-grounded, cannot give us knowledge of God, and hence cannot give us love for him either. For love of God arises from knowledge of him, and knowledge of him must be derived from common notions which are selfvalidating and self-evident; hence it is quite untrue that belief in historical narratives is a necessary condition of our attaining our supreme good. Nevertheless, although belief in historical narratives cannot give us knowledge and

242

Benedict de Spinoza

love of God, I do not deny that a perusal of them gives very useful guidance for living in society; for the more we have observed, and the better we know, men's characters and dispositions — which are best discovered from their actions — the more we shall be able to live discreetly among them, and to make reasonable allowances for their nature in the conduct of our lives. III. We see that this natural divine law does not require ceremonies, i.e. actions which are indifferent in themselves and are called good only by convention, or symbolize some good necessary for salvation, or, if you like, have a justification which is beyond human understanding. For the light of nature requires nothing that is beyond its own compass, but only what it can clearly show us to be good, i.e. a means to our blessedness. Actions whose only claim to goodness is the fact that they are prescribed by convention, or that they symbolize some good, can do nothing to perfect our understanding, but are simply empty forms, and no part of conduct which is the product or fruit of understanding and sound sense. But there is no need to show this more fully here. IV. Finally, we see that the supreme reward of the divine law is the law itself, i.e. to know God and love him in true freedom with a pure and constant mind; while its penalty is lack of these blessings and slavery to the flesh, or a troubled and inconstant mind. Having noted these points we must now inquire: I. Whether the light of nature allows us to conceive God as a legislator or king who lays down laws for men. II. What Holy Writ teaches regarding the light of nature and this natural law. . . . The answer we must give to the first is easily deduced from the nature of God's will, which is distinguished from his understanding only from the viewpoint of our reason; that is to say, God's will and God's understanding are in themselves really one and the same, and the distinction between them has no basis but our different ways of conceiving God's understanding. For example, when we confine our attention to the fact that the nature of a triangle is eternally contained in the divine nature as an eternal truth, we say that God has an idea of the triangle, or understands the nature of the triangle. But when we afterwards consider that it is only through the necessity of the divine nature that the triangle's nature is thus contained in it, and not through the necessity of the essence and nature of the triangle, indeed, that the necessity of the essence and properties of the triangle, again in so far as they are conceived as eternal truths, depends wholly on the necessity of the divine nature and understanding, and not on the nature of the triangle; then what we called God's understanding we now call God's will or decree. Hence we make one and the same assertion about God in saying that he has eternally decreed and willed the three angles of the triangle to be equal to two right angles, and in saying that he has understood this to be so. It follows that God's affirmations and negations always involve eternal necessity or truth. Thus if God, for example, had told Adam that he willed him not to eat of the tree of the

A Treatise on Religion and Politics

243

knowledge of good and evil, it would have involved a contradiction for Adam to be able to eat of that tree, and so it would have been impossible that Adam should eat of it; for that divine decree would necessarily have involved eternal necessity and truth. But since Scripture nevertheless relates that Adam did eat of the tree in spite of what God had told him, we must hold that God only revealed to Adam the evil which would befall him if he ate of it, and did not reveal the necessity with which that evil would follow. In consequence, Adam did not regard the revelation as an eternal and necessary truth, but as a law, i.e. as an ordinance involving rewards and penalties which do not follow necessarily from the nature of the action performed, but are wholly dependent on the whim and absolute authority of some king. Hence that revelation was a law, and God a legislator or king, only in Adam's eyes, and only because of his lack of knowledge did he conceive them in this way. Similarly, the Decalogue was a law only in the eyes of the Jews; and this for the same reason, lack of knowledge. For since they did not apprehend God's existence as an eternal truth, they had to regard what was revealed to them in the Decalogue, i.e. that God exists and that God alone must be worshipped, as a law: whereas if God had spoken to them directly, without using any physical means, they would have understood this revelation as an eternal truth, and not as a law. What I have just said about the Israelites and Adam applies with equal force to all the prophets who wrote laws in God's name; none of them understood God's decrees adequately, as eternal truths. It applies even to Moses himself. For through revelation, or the fundamental laws revealed to him, Moses merely saw how the people of Israel could be united in a particular strip of territory, could form an independent community, i.e. establish a state, and could be compelled to obedience; he did not see or have revealed to him that the means prescribed were the best, and that the general obedience of the people in such a strip of territory would necessarily lead to the end they sought. He thus conceived all his discoveries, not as eternal truths, but as precepts and ordinances, and commanded them as God's laws; accordingly, he imagined God as a ruler, a legislator, a king, as merciful, just, and so on; although all such characteristics belong to human nature only, and must be eliminated completely from our conception of the divine nature. . . . I conclude then that the stupidity of the masses, and their failure to think, is the only reason why God is described as a legislator or king, and called just, merciful, and so on; that in fact God acts and directs everything by the necessity of his own nature and perfection alone; and, finally, that his decrees and volitions are eternal truths, and always involve necessity. This was the first point which I proposed to explain and prove. Let us therefore pass to the second question, and run through the pages of Holy Writ to see what it teaches about the light of nature and this divine law. The first thing we find is the story of the first man, which tells how God commanded Adam not to eat the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. This seems to mean that God told Adam to do and pursue good as good, and not as the opposite of evil, i.e. to pursue good from love of good,

244

Benedict de Spinoza

and not from fear of evil. For, as I have already shown, he who does good from true knowledge and love of good acts with freedom and constancy of purpose; while he who does good from fear of evil acts under compulsion of evil, like a slave, and lives under the control of another. Thus this single command laid by God upon Adam comprehends the whole of the natural divine law, and is in complete agreement with the dictate of the light of nature. . . . CHAPTER XVI: THE BASIS OF THE STATE; THE RIGHT OF THE INDIVIDUAL, BOTH NATURAL AND CIVIL; AND THE RIGHT OF THE SOVEREIGN

. . . we must discuss the basis of the state; and we must begin with the natural right of the individual, paying no attention for the present to either state or religion. By the right and law of nature I simply mean the rules of each individual thing's nature, the rules whereby we conceive it as naturally determined to exist and act in a definite way. Fish, for example, are determined by nature to swim, and the large to eat the smaller; so fish occupy the water, and the large eat the smaller, with perfect natural right. For there is no doubt that nature in the absolute sense has a perfect right to do everything in its power, i.e. that the right of nature extends as far as its power; the power of nature being nothing but the power of God, who has a perfect right to do everything. But the universal power of nature as a whole is simply the power of all individual things combined; hence each individual thing has a perfect right to do everything it can, in other words, its right extends to the limit of its power. And since the supreme law of nature is that everything does its utmost to preserve its own condition, and this without regard to anything but itself, everything has a perfect right to do this, i.e. (as I said) to exist and act as nature has determined it to do. Nor do I recognize any difference in this respect between men and other individual things in nature, or between men endowed with reason and others to whom true reason is unknown, or between the foolish, the mad, and the sane: for whatever anything does by the laws of its nature it does with perfect right, simply because it acts as it has been determined by nature to act, and can do nothing else. Hence as long as men are regarded as living under the sway of nature alone, he who is still blind to reason, or has still to acquire a virtuous disposition, lives wholly by the laws of appetite with as perfect a right as he who guides his life by the laws of reason. In other words, just as an enlightened man has a perfect right to do everything which reason dictates, or to live by the laws of reason, so too an unenlightened and weak-minded man has a perfect right to do everything that appetite suggests, or to live by the laws of appetite. . . . Thus man's natural right is not determined by sound reason, but by his desire and his power. For men are not all determined by nature to act in accordance with the rules and laws of reason; on the contrary, all men are born in complete

A Treatise on Religion and Politics

245

ignorance, and, even although they are well brought up, much of their life must pass before they can discover the true way of living and acquire a virtuous disposition. Yet meanwhile they have to live and preserve themselves as best they can; that is, by the prompting of appetite alone, since nature has given them nothing else, and has denied them the effective power to live by sound reason. Hence they are no more bound to live by the laws of a sound understanding than a cat is bound to live by the laws of a lion's nature. Anything, then, that an individual who is considered as subject only to nature judges to be useful to himself — either through the guidance of sound reason or through the impetus of passion — he has a perfect natural right to desire and indeed to appropriate by any means in his power — by force, fraud, entreaty, or however he finds it easiest; and hence a perfect natural right to regard as an enemy anyone who wishes to prevent him from satisfying his desire. It follows that the right and law of nature, under which all are born and for the most part live, forbids nothing save what nobody desires and nobody can do: it forbids neither strife, nor hatred, nor anger, nor deceit; in short, it is opposed to nothing that appetite can suggest. Nor is this surprising; for nature is not bounded by the laws of human reason, which aim only at men's true interest and preservation, but by other laws of infinite scope governing the eternal order of the whole of nature, in which man is a tiny part: and it is by the necessity of this order alone that all individual things are determined to exist and act in a definite way. Hence if anything in nature seems to us ridiculous, absurd, or bad, this is because we know things only in part, being almost entirely ignorant of how they are linked together in the universal system of nature; and because we wish everything to be directed in conformity with our own reason. Yet what reason declares to be bad is not bad in relation to the order and laws of nature as a whole, but only in relation to the laws of our nature in particular. Still, nobody can doubt that it is much more advantageous for men to live by the laws and sure dictates of our reason, which, as I said, aim at nothing but the true interest of men. Moreover everyone desires to enjoy the maximum safety and security (which is impossible as long as each may do anything he pleases, and reason is allowed no more influence than hatred and anger); for everyone lives a life of anxiety when surrounded by hostility, hatred, anger, and treachery, and so does his utmost to escape such things. If we also reflect . . . that without mutual help men live in utter wretchedness, and are inevitably debarred from the cultivation of reason, we shall see very clearly that to live safely and well men had necessarily to join together. They therefore arranged that the right to do everything which each had by nature should be held collectively, and should be determined no longer by the force and appetite of each but by the power and will of all together. But they would not have succeeded in this had they been willing to follow nothing but the prompting of appetite (for by the laws of appetite individuals are drawn in different ways); so each must have firmly resolved and contracted to direct everything by the dictate of reason alone (which no one dares to oppose openly lest he

246

Benedict de Spinoza

appear to lack understanding), to bridle his appetite when it suggested anything harmful to another, to do to nobody what he would not wish done to himself, and, finally, to defend his neighbour's right as if it were his own. But we must now inquire how this contract must be made if it is to be permanently binding: for it is a universal law of human nature that no one forgoes anything he thinks good save from hope of a greater good or fear of a greater loss, or tolerates any evil save to avoid a greater, or from hope of a greater good. In other words, of two goods everyone will choose the one which he thinks the greater, and of two evils the one which he thinks the lesser. I say expressly "which he (the chooser) thinks the greater or lesser"; not that his judgement is necessarily correct. Now this law is graven so deeply upon human nature that it must be set among the eternal truths which everyone must know. . . . Ethics FOURTH PART OF THE ETHICS: ON HUMAN BONDAGE, OR THE POWERS OF THE AFFECTS

Preface Man's lack of power to moderate and restrain the affects' I call Bondage. For the man who is subject to affects is under the control, not of himself, but of fortune, in whose power he so greatly is that often, though he sees the better for himself, he is still forced to follow the worse.' In this Part, I have undertaken to demonstrate the cause of this, and what there is of good and evil in the affects. But before I begin, I choose to say a few words first on perfection and imperfection, good and evil. If someone has decided to make something, and has finished it, then he will call his thing perfect4 — and so will anyone who rightly knows, or thinks he knows, the mind and purpose of the Author of the work. For example, if someone sees a work (which I suppose to be not yet completed), and knows that the purpose of the Author of that work is to build a house, he will say that it is imperfect. On the other hand, he will call it perfect as soon as he sees that the work has been carried through to the end which its Author has decided to give it. But if someone sees a work whose like he has never seen, and does not know the mind of its maker, he will, of course, not be able to know whether that work is perfect or imperfect. And this seems to have been the first meaning of these words. But after men began to form universal ideas, and devise models of houses, buildings, towers, etc., and to prefer some models of things to others, it came about that each one called perfect what he saw agreed with the universal idea he had formed of this kind of thing, and imperfect, what he saw agreed less with the model he had conceived, even though its maker thought he had entirely finished it.

Ethics

247

Nor does there seem to be any other reason why men also commonly call perfect or imperfect natural things, which have not been made by human hand. For they are accustomed to form universal ideas of natural things as much as they do of artificial ones. They regard these universal ideas as models of things, and believe that nature (which they think does nothing except for the sake of some end) looks to them, and sets them before itself as models. So when they see something happen in nature which does not agree with the model they have conceived of this kind of thing, they believe that Nature itself has failed or sinned, and left the thing imperfect. We see, therefore, that men are accustomed to call natural things perfect or imperfect more from prejudice than from true knowledge of those things. For we have shown in the Appendix of Part I, that Nature does nothing on account of an end. That eternal and infinite being we call God, or Nature, acts from the same necessity from which he exists. For we have shown (IP16) that the necessity of nature from which he acts is the same as that from which he exists. The reason, therefore, or cause, why God, or Nature, acts, and the reason why he exists, are one and the same. As he exists for the sake of no end, he also acts for the sake of no end. Rather, as he has no principle or end of existing, so he also has none of acting. What is called a final cause is nothing but a human appetite insofar as it is considered as a principle, or primary cause, of some thing. For example, when we say that habitation was the final cause of this or that house, surely we understand nothing but that a man, because he imagined the conveniences of domestic life, had an appetite to build a house. So habitation, insofar as it is considered as a final cause, is nothing more than this singular appetite. It is really an efficient cause, which is considered as a first cause, because men are commonly ignorant of the causes of their appetites. For as I have often said before, they are conscious of their actions and appetites, but not aware of the causes by which they are determined to want something. As for what they commonly say — that Nature sometimes fails or sins, and produces imperfect things — I number this among the fictions I treated in the Appendix of Part I. Perfection and imperfection, therefore, are only modes of thinking, i.e., notions we are accustomed to feign because we compare individuals of the same species or genus to one another. This is why I said above (IID6) that by reality and perfection I understand the same thing. For we are accustomed to refer all individuals in Nature to one genus, which is called the most general, i.e., to the notion of being, which pertains absolutely to all individuals in Nature. So insofar as we refer all individuals in Nature to this genus, compare them to one another, and find that some have more being, or reality, than others, we say that some are more perfect than others. And insofar as we attribute something to them that involves negation, like a limit, an end, lack of power, etc., we call them imperfect, because they do not affect our Mind as much as those we call perfect, and not because something is lacking in them which is theirs, or because Nature has sinned. For nothing belongs to the

248

Benedict de Spinoza

nature of anything except what follows from the necessity of the nature of the efficient cause. And whatever follows from the necessity of the nature of the efficient cause happens necessarily. As far as good and evil are concerned, they also indicate nothing positive in things, considered in themselves, nor are they anything other than modes of thinking, or notions we form because we compare things to one another. For one and the same thing can, at the same time, be good, and bad, and also indifferent. For example, Music is good for one who is Melancholy, bad for one who is mourning, and neither good nor bad to one who is deaf. But though this is so, still we must retain these words. For because we desire to form an idea of man, as a model of human nature which we may look to, it will be useful to us to retain these same words with the meaning I have indicated. In what follows, therefore, I shall understand by good what we know certainly is a means by which we may approach nearer and nearer to the model of human nature that we set before ourselves. By evil, what we certainly know prevents us from becoming like that model. Next, we shall say that men are more perfect or imperfect, insofar as they approach more or less near to this model. . . . P36: The greatest good of those who seek virtue is common to all, and can be enjoyed by all equally. . . .

Schol.: But suppose someone should ask: what if the greatest good of those who seek virtue were not common to all? Would it not follow from that, as above (see P34), that men who live according to the guidance of reason, i.e. (by P35), men, insofar as they agree in nature, would be contrary to one another? To this the answer is that it is not by accident that man's greatest good is common to all; rather, it arises from the very nature of reason, because it is deduced from the very essence of man, insofar as [that essence] is defined by reason, and because man could neither be nor be conceived if he did not have the power to enjoy this greatest good. For it pertains to the essence of the human Mind (by IIP47) to have an adequate knowledge of God's eternal and infinite essence. P37: The good which everyone who seeks virtue wants for himself he also desires for other men; and this Desire is greater as his knowledge of God is greater. . . .

Schol. 1: He who strives, only because of an affect, that others should love what he loves, and live according to his temperament, acts only from impulse and is hateful — especially to those to whom other things are pleasing, and who also, therefore, strive eagerly, from the same impulse, to have other men live according to their own temperament. And since the greatest good men seek from an affect is often such that only one can possess it fully, those who love are not of one mind in their love — while they rejoice to sing the praises of the thing they love, they fear to be believed. But he who strives from

Ethics

249

reason to guide others acts not by impulse, but kindly, generously, and with the greatest steadfastness of mind. Again, whatever we desire and do of which we are the cause insofar as we have the idea of God, or insofar as we know God, I relate to Religion. The Desire to do good generated in us by our living according to the guidance of reason, I call Morality. The Desire by which a man who lives according to the guidance of reason is bound to join others to himself in friendship, I call Being Honorable,' and I call that honorable which men who live according to the guidance of reason praise; on the other hand, what is contrary to the formation of friendship, I call dishonorable. . . . P50: Pity, in a man who lives according to the guidance of reason, is evil of itself and useless:

Cor.: From this it follows that man who lives according to the dictate of reason, strives, as far as he can, not to be touched by pity. Schol.: He who rightly knows that all things follow from the necessity of the divine nature, and happen according to the eternal laws and rules of nature, will surely find nothing worthy of Hate, Mockery or Disdain, nor anyone whom he will pity. Instead he will strive, as far as human virtue allows, to act well, as they say, and rejoice. To this we may add that he who is easily touched by the affect of Pity, and moved by another's suffering or tears, often does something he later repents — both because, from an affect, we do nothing which we certainly know to be good, and because we are easily deceived by false tears. Here I am speaking expressly of a man who lives according to the guidance of reason. For one who is moved to aid others neither by reason nor by pity is rightly called inhuman. For (by II1P27) he seems to be unlike a man. P53: Humility is not a virtue, or does not arise from reason. P54: Repentance is not a virtue, or does not arise from reason; instead, he who repents what he has done is twice wretched, or lacking in power.

Schol.: Because men rarely live from the dictate of reason, these two affects, Humility and Repentance, and in addition, Hope and Fear, bring more advantage than disadvantage. So since men must sin, they ought rather to sin in that direction. If weak-minded men were all equally proud, ashamed of nothing, and afraid of nothing, how could they be united or restrained by any bonds? The mob is terrifying, if unafraid. So it is no wonder that the Prophets, who considered the common advantage, not that of the few, commended Humility, Repentance, and Reverence so greatly. Really, those who are subject to these affects can be guided far more easily than others, so that in the end they may live from the guidance of reason, i.e., may be free and enjoy the life of the blessed.

250

Benedict de Spinoza

P64: Knowledge of evil is an inadequate knowledge. Cor.: From this it follows that if the human Mind had only adequate ideas, it would form no notion of evil. P66: From the guidance of reason we want a greater future good in preference to a lesser present one, and a lesser present evil in preference to a greater future one.

Schol.: If these things are compared with those we have shown in this Part up to P18, concerning the powers of the affects, we shall easily see what the difference is between a man who is led only by an affect, or by opinion, and one who is led by reason. For the former, whether he will or no, does those things he is most ignorant of, whereas the latter complies with no one's wishes but his own, and does only those things he knows to be the most important in life, and therefore desires very greatly. Hence, I call the former a slave, but the latter, a free man. I wish now to note a few more things concerning the free man's temperament and manner of living. P67: A free man thinks of nothing less than of death, and his wisdom is a meditation on life, not on death. Dem.: A free man, i.e., one who lives according to the dictate of reason alone, is not led by Fear (by P63), but desires the good directly (by P63C), i.e. (by P24), acts, lives, and preserves his being from the foundation of seeking his own advantage. And so he thinks of nothing less than of death. Instead his wisdom is a meditation on life, q.e.d. P68: If men were born free, they would form no concept of good and evil so long as they remained free.

Dem.: I call him free who is led by reason alone. Therefore, he who is born free, and remains free, has only adequate ideas, and so has no concept of evil (by P64C). And since good and evil are correlates, he also has no concept of good, q.e.d. P72: A free man always acts honestly, not deceptively. Dem.: If a free man, insofar as he is free, did anything by deception, he would do it from the dictate of reason (for so far only do we call him free). And so it would be a virtue to act deceptively (by P24), and hence (by the same Prop.), everyone would be better advised to act deceptively to preserve his being. I.e. (as is known through itself), men would be better advised to agree only in words, and be contrary to one another in fact. But this is absurd (by P31C). Therefore, a free man etc., q.e.d. Schol.: Suppose someone now asks: what if a man could save himself from the present danger of death by treachery? Would not the principle of preserving his own being recommend, without qualification, that he be treacherous? The reply to this is the same. If reason should recommend that, it would

Ethics

251

recommend it to all men. And so reason would recommend, without qualification, that men make agreements, join forces, and have common rights only by deception — i.e., that really they have no common rights. This is absurd. P73: A man who is guided by reason is more free in a state, where he lives according to a common decision, than in solitude, where he obeys only himself

Dem.: A man who is guided by reason is not led to obey by Fear (by P63), but insofar as he strives to preserve his being from the dictate of reason, i.e. (by P66S), insofar as he strives to live freely, desires to maintain the principle of common life and common advantage (by P37). Consequently (as we have shown in P37S2), he desires to live according to the common decision of the state. Therefore, a man who is guided by reason desires, in order to live more freely, to keep the common laws of the state, q.e.d. Schol.: These and similar things which we have shown concerning the true freedom of man are related to Strength of Character, 6 i.e. (by II1P59S), to Tenacity' and Nobility. 8 I do not consider it worthwhile to demonstrate separately here all the properties of Strength of Character, much less that a man strong in character hates no one, is angry with no one, envies no one, is indignant with no one, scorns no one, and is not at all proud. For these and all things which relate to true life and Religion are easily proven from P37 and P46, viz. that Hate is to be conquered by returning Love, and that everyone who is led by reason desires for others also the good he wants for himself. To this we may add what we have noted in P5OS and in other places: a man strong in character considers this most of all, that all things follow from the necessity of the divine nature, and hence, that whatever he thinks is troublesome and evil, and moreover, whatever seems immoral, dreadful, unjust, and dishonorable, arises from the fact that he conceives the things themselves in a way that is disordered, mutilated, and confused. For this reason, he strives most of all to conceive things as they are in themselves, and to remove the obstacles to true knowledge, like Hate, Anger, Envy, Mockery, Pride, and the rest of the things we have noted in the preceding pages. - And so, as we have said [II/47/21], he strives, as far as he can, to act well and rejoice. In the following Part I shall demonstrate how far human virtue can go in the attainment of these things, and what it is capable of. FIFTH PART OF THE ETHICS: ON THE POWER OF THE INTELLECT, OR ON HUMAN FREEDOM

Preface I pass, finally, to the remaining Part of the Ethics, which concerns the means, or way, leading to Freedom. Here, then, I shall treat of the power of reason, showing what it can do against the affects, and what Freedom of Mind, or blessedness, is. From this we shall see how much more the wise man can do than the ignorant. . . .

252

Benedict de Spinoza

P6: Insofar as the Mind understands all things as necessary, it has a greater power over the affects, or is less acted on by them. Dem.: The Mind understands all things to be necessary (by IP29), and to be determined by an infinite connection of causes to exist and produce effects (by IP28). And so (by P5) to that extent [the mind] brings it about that it is less acted on by the affects springing from these things, and (by 111P48) is less affected toward them, q.e .d. Schol.: The more this knowledge that things are necessary is concerned with singular things, which we imagine more distinctly and vividly, the greater is this power of the Mind over the affects, as experience itself also testifies. For we see that Sadness over some good which has perished is lessened as soon as the man who has lost it realizes that this good could not, in any way, have been kept. Similarly, we see that no one pities infants because of their inability to speak, to walk, or to reason, or because they live so many years, as it were, unconscious of themselves. But if most people were born grown up, and only one or two were born infants, then everyone would pity the infants, because they would regard infancy itself, not as a natural and necessary thing, but as a vice of nature, or a sin. We could point out many other things along this line. P20: This love toward God cannot be tainted by an affect of Envy or Jealousy

Schol.: . . . the power of the Mind over the affects consists: I. In the knowledge itself of the affects (see P4S); II. In the fact that it separates the affects from the thought of an external cause, which we imagine confusedly (see P2 and P4S); III. In the time by which the affections related to things we understand surpass those related to things we conceive confusedly, or in a mutilated way (see P7); IV. In the multiplicity of causes by which affections related to common properties or to God are encouraged (see P9 and P11); V.Finally, in the order by which the Mind can order its affects and connect them to one another (see P10, and in addition, P12, P13, and P14). But to understand better this power of the Mind over the affects, the most important thing to note is that we call affects great when we compare the affect of one man with that of another, and see that the same affect troubles one more than the other, or when we compare the affects of one and the same man with each other, and find that he is affected, or moved, more by one affect than by another. For (by IVP5) the force of each affect is defined by the power of the external cause compared with our own. But the power of the Mind is defined by knowledge alone, whereas lack of power, or passion, is judged solely by the privation of knowledge, i.e., by that through which ideas are called inadequate. From this it follows that that Mind is most acted on, of which inadequate ideas constitute the greatest part, so that it is distinguished more by what it

Ethics

253

undergoes than by what it does. On the other hand, that Mind acts most, of which adequate ideas constitute the greatest part, so that though it may have as many inadequate ideas as the other, it is still distinguished more by those which are attributed to human virtue than by those which betray man's lack of power. Next, it should be noted that sickness of the mind and misfortunes take their origin especially from too much Love toward a thing which is liable to many variations and which we can never fully possess. For no one is disturbed or anxious concerning anything unless he loves it, nor do wrongs, suspicions, and enmities arise except from Love for a thing which no one can really fully possess. From what we have said, we easily conceive what clear and distinct knowledge — and especially that third kind of knowledge (see IIP47S), whose foundation is the knowledge of God itself — can accomplish against the affects. Insofar as the affects are passions, if clear and distinct knowledge does not absolutely remove them (see P3 and P4S), at least it brings it about that they constitute the smallest part of the Mind (see P14). And then it begets a Love toward a thing immutable and eternal (see P15), which we really fully possess (see IIP45), and which therefore cannot be tainted by any of the vices which are in ordinary Love, but can always be greater and greater (by P15), and occupy the greatest part of the Mind (by P16), and affect it extensively. . . . P41: Even if we did not know that our Mind is eternal, we would still regard as of the first importance Morality, Religion, and absolutely all the things we have shown (in Part IV) to be related to Tenacity and Nobility. Dem.: The first and only foundation of virtue, or of the method of living rightly (by IVP22C and P24) is the seeking of our own advantage. But to determine what reason prescribes as useful, we took no account of the eternity of the Mind, which we only came to know in the Fifth Part. Therefore, though we did not know then that the Mind is eternal, we still regarded as of the first importance the things we showed to be related to Tenacity and Nobility. And so, even if we also did not know this now, we would still regard as of the first importance the same rules of reason, q.e.d. Schol.: The usual conviction of the multitude seems to be different. For most people apparently believe that they are free to the extent that they are permitted to yield to their lust, and that they give up their right to the extent that they are bound to live according to the rule of the divine law. Morality, then, and Religion, and absolutely everything related to Strength of Character, they believe to be burdens, which they hope to put down after death, when they also hope to receive a reward for their bondage, that is, for their Morality and Religion. They are induced to live according to the rule of the divine law (as far as their weakness and lack of character allows) not only by this hope, but also, and especially, by the fear that they may be punished horribly after death. If men did not have this Hope and Fear, but believed instead that minds die with the body, and that the wretched, exhausted with

254

Benedict de Spinoza

the burden of Morality, cannot look foward to a life to come, they would return to their natural disposition, and would prefer to govern all their actions according to lust, and to obey fortune rather than themselves. These opinions seem no less absurd to me than if someone, because he does not believe he can nourish his body with good food to eternity, should prefer to fill himself with poisons and other deadly things, or because he sees that the Mind is not eternal, or immortal, should prefer to be mindless, and to live without reason. These [common beliefs] are so absurd they are hardly worth mentioning. P42: Blessedness is not the reward of virtue, but virtue itself; nor do we enjoy it because we restrain our lusts; on the contrary, because we enjoy it, we are able to restrain them. Dem.: Blessedness consists in Love of God (by P36 and P36S), a Love which arises from the third kind of knowledge (by P32C). So this Love (by II1P59 and P3) must be related to the Mind insofar as it acts. Therefore (by IVD8), it is virtue itself. This was the first point. Next, the more the Mind enjoys this divine Love, or blessedness, the more it understands (by P32), i.e. (by P3C), the greater the power it has over the affects, and (by P38) the less it is acted on by evil affects. So because the Mind enjoys this divine Love or blessedness, it has the power of restraining lusts. And because human power to restrain the affects consists only in the intellect, no one enjoys blessedness because he has restrained the affects. Instead, the power to restrain lusts arises from blessedness itself, q.e.d. Schol.: With this I have finished all the things I wished to show concerning the Mind's power over the affects and its Freedom. From what has been shown, it is clear how much the Wise man is capable of, and how much more powerful he is than one who is ignorant and is driven only by lust. For not only is the ignorant man troubled in many ways by external causes, and unable ever to possess true peace of mind, but he also lives as if he knew neither himself, nor God, nor things; and as soon as he ceases to be acted on, he ceases to be. On the other hand, the wise man, insofar as he is considered as such, is hardly troubled in spirit, but being, by a certain eternal necessity, conscious of himself, and of God, and of things, he never ceases to be, but always possesses true peace of mind. If the way I have shown to lead to these things now seems very hard, still, it can be found. And of course, what is found so rarely must be hard. For if salvation were at hand, and could be found without great effort, how could nearly everyone neglect it? But all things excellent are as difficult as they are rare. Editor's Notes 1. Spinoza is referring to biblical narratives. 2. "Affect" is a somewhat technical term, translating the Latin affectus. It refers to emotions, feelings, desires, and other mental states leading us to act, but because

Further Reading

255

for Spinoza the mental and the physical were always strictly correlated, the affects are bodily conditions as well. 3. Spinoza was echoing an often-quoted passage from Ovid's Metamorphoses VII.2021: Medea is torn between reason, telling her to obey her father, and passion, urging her to yield to her desire for her beloved: One way desire, another reason calls; The better course I see and do approve — The worse I follow . . . (Melville translation)

4. Spinoza was relying on the Latin sense of perfectus, which means "completed or fully made." 5. This translates the Latin honestas. 6. This translates the Latin fortitudo. 7. This translates the Latin animositas, which another translator rendered as "strength of mind." 8. This translates the Latin generositas. Further Reading Stuart Hampshire, Spinoza (London: Penguin, 1951) provides a good general introduction to Spinoza's thought, as does Henry E. Allison, Benedict de Spinoza (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1986). Edwin Curley, Behind the Geometrical Method (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1988), is an excellent brief treatment of the main themes in the Ethics. Alan Donagan, Spinoza (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1989), is a comprehensive study. For analytical commentary, see Jonathan Bennett, A Study of Spinoza's Ethics (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1984); and R. J. Delahunty, Spinoza (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1985). Stuart Hampshire's Two Theories of Morality (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1977), reprinted in Hampshire's Morality and Conflict (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1983), is an insightful comparison of Aristotle's and Spinoza's moral outlooks. Hampshire's views are discussed in Bennett, A Study, pp. 347-55. David Bidney, The Psychology and Ethics of Spinoza, 2nd ed. (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1940), is one of the few books concentrating on Spinoza's moral psychology and morality. Eugene Freeman and Maurice Mandelbaum, Spinoza, Essays in Interpretation (LaSalle, Ill.: Open Court, 1975), contains a number of essays concerning Spinoza's moral philosophy, as well as an extensive bibliography.

Nicholas Malebranche

Introduction

Born in Paris in 1638 into a prosperous and well-connected family, Malebranche studied theology at the Sorbonne and entered the religious order of the Oratory in 1660. It was a reading of Descartes's treatise On Man in 1664 that awoke his philosophical interests. His first, and in many ways his most important, book, De la recherche de la verite (The Search for Truth), published in two volumes in 1674 and 1675, showed the intermingling of religious concern with philosophical argument that was characteristic of all of Malebranche's thought. In later books he presented arguments for the truth of Christianity, discussed the relations between nature and grace, and explained his theory in graceful dialogues. The Traite de morale (Treatise of Morality) was published in 1684. Malebranche lived during a period of stormy religious controversy and spent much time replying to his critics and criticizing others in turn. Leibniz, his slightly younger contemporary, and Antoine Arnauld, the logician and controversialist of the Port Royal Jansenists, were among his antagonists. Eventually the religious authorities decided that Malebranche's views were dangerous, and two of his works — the Search for Truth and the Treatise on Nature and Grace — were put on the index of books forbidden by the Catholic church. Malebranche was widely read in his lifetime, and his major works were translated into English. Admired by Berkeley and Hume, he exercised a not inconsiderable influence on British thought. He died in 1715. Malebranche held two remarkable basic views. The first concerned perception. Starting from the accepted theory of his time, that we do not perceive external objects directly but only through the mediation of something in our minds, Malebranche argued to the conclusion that what we perceive directly is always ideas in the mind of God. We perceive these ideas sometimes clearly and distinctly but more often confusedly, and in the latter case they come to us as sensations or feelings. Malebranche did not deny the existence of physical objects but simply insisted that all our knowledge of them is mediated through our awareness of ideas of them in the divine mind. Malebranche's second unusual view concerned causation. He denied that either physical objects or our own thoughts have the power to influence or act on one another. There certainly are regular sequences of events, and we can learn what these are by observation. But we cannot form any clear idea of what it would be for one body or one thought to have sufficient power or force to alter another. No matter how much we learn about any single entity, we can never infer what changes it will bring about in any other entity. Hence there cannot be what our idea of cause supposes there is — a necessary connection between one entity and another. 256

Introduction

257

The only conceivable causal power capable of affecting anything is God, and so we must believe that all the actions of things — and the continuity of things — depend on God as their cause. Physical objects and souls or minds have no more power to sustain themselves over time than they have to affect other things. Thus, instead of speaking of one event's causing another, Malebranche believed that we should say that one event is the occasion for God to produce another. Malebranche's view of causation is therefore called occasionalism. According to Malebranche, then, philosophy proves that it is in God that we live and move and have our being. This rational support may be a boon to religion, but it is clear that Malebranche's view raises serious problems for the understanding of Christianity. Is God, who alone can cause anything to happen, then responsible for all the evil in the world? Malebranche believed that we have a power of free choice and can make choices that God does not make for us. But if my mind cannot cause my body to move and God causes it to move on the occasion of my choosing (say) to shoot someone, will it not really be God who pulls the trigger? Malebranche wrestled with this problem, as well as with the problem of explaining how, in his view, God's ordinary actions could differ from his special action of bestowing grace on us. Is not every happening in the universe as miraculous and specially caused by God as is the gift of grace to an individual? Much of the reply rests on Malebranche's thesis that God acts by means of general laws and does not make exceptions. (Miracles pose another problem for Malebranche.) Natural evil, such as the ravaging of a forest by a flood, is due to the complex interactions of particular things working under general laws. Humans too must cope with the generality of God's laws. God will not stop a roof tile from falling toward you, but you will not be disobeying him if you step out of its way, because we are meant to use our power of free choice in directing our lives (admittedly with God making our bodies move). Likewise, for the evil we occasion through our choices, we, and not God, are responsible. Malebranche's resolution of the problem of evil is very much in the spirit of Saint Augustine, and much of Malebranche's ethic is also Augustinian. (See the section "Saint Augustine and Saint Thomas" in the Introduction to this anthology.) Like Augustine, Malebranche made central to morality his ideas of right love and wrong love. And like him also, he made the rightness or wrongness of a love depend on its relation to its object. The different things in the world possess different degrees of perfection. We can see what these are when we perceive the ideas of things in the mind of God. When our love of the more perfect is greater than our love of the less perfect, we love with a right love. And a habitual right love — a habitual love of the order of things according to their perfections — is what constitutes virtue. Malebranche thought that humans were always tempted to pursue their own good rather than to follow the immutable order of perfection. There is a good that is proper to us, and we would realize — if only we could see the order of perfection clearly and distinctly — that our own good is best attained by developing the habit of conforming to that order. This sounds like one more reiteration of the old assertion that virtue is the best means to happiness, and in a way it is. But what is interesting about Malebranche's way of developing the idea is that the order of perfection is conceptually quite distinct from the good proper to a finite being. Malebranche did not, as many other writers did, conceptually tie virtue to what brings good to the agent. Rather, he defined virtue in terms of conformity to order. The knowledge we need if we are to be virtuous is not knowledge of a deeper truth than we usually have about how to attain

258

Nicholas Malebranche

our own good. We can nonetheless be moved by a love of order as such, and in being so moved we are not motivated by a desire for our own good, not even our own longrange good. Prudence and morality were thus distinguished more sharply by Malebranche than by his predecessors, and there are other ways in which Malebranche made morality a special realm of knowledge. The knowledge we need in order to be virtuous is not knowledge of God's commands, not even of those he imposes on everyone alike, as it is for the natural lawyers. It is not scientific or metaphysical knowledge of the interconnection of everything in nature, as it is for Spinoza. Instead, it is knowledge of a unique kind of relationship, and it is practical knowledge, knowledge essentially tied to the guidance of action. Moral philosophy for the first time had a subject matter of its own, capable of rational study. The following readings are from the Treatise of Morality, translated by James Shipton, London, 1699. I have modernized the spelling and punctuation and silently corrected the translation itself at a few points. Treatise of Morality PART I

Chapter I I. The reason of man is the word or the wisdom of God himself; for every creature is a particular being, but the reason of a man is universal. II. If my own particular mind were my reason and my light, my mind would also be the reason for all intelligent beings; for I am certain that my reason enlightens all intelligent beings. No one can feel my pain but myself, but everyone may see the truth which I contemplate; so that the pain which I feel is a modification of my own proper substance, but truth is a possession common to all spiritual beings. III. Thus by the means of reason I have or may have some society with God and all other intelligent beings, because they all possess a good or a law in common with me, to wit, reason. IV. This spiritual society consists in a participation of the same intellectual substance of the word, from which all spiritual beings may receive their nourishment. In contemplating this divine substance I am able to see some part of what God thinks; for God sees all truths, and there are some which I can see. I can also discover something of the will of God, for God wills nothing but according to a certain order, and this order is not altogether unknown to me. It is certain that God loves things according as they are worthy of love; and I can discover that there are some things more perfect, more valuable, and consequently more worthy of love than others. V. It is true, indeed, that I cannot by contemplating the word or consulting reason be assured whether God doth actually produce anything out of his own being or no. For none of the creatures proceed naturally from the word, nor is the world a necessary emanation of the deity. God is fully sufficient for

Treatise of Morality

259

himself, and the idea of a being infinitely perfect can be conceived to subsist alone.' The creatures then suppose in God free and arbitrary decrees which give them their being. 2 So that the word as such not containing in it the existence of the creatures, we cannot by the contemplation of it be assured of the action of God; but supposing that God doth act, I am able to know something of the manner in which he acts, and may be certain that he doth not act in such and such a manner; for that which regulates his manner of acting, the law which he inviolably observes, is the word, the eternal wisdom, the universal reason which makes me rational and which I can in part contemplate according to my own desires. VI. If we suppose man to be a rational creature, we cannot certainly deny him the knowledge of something that God thinks and of the manner in which he acts. For by contemplating the intelligible substance of the word, which alone makes me and all other intelligent beings rational, I can clearly discover the relations or proportions of greatness that are between the intellectual ideas comprehended in it; and these relations are the same eternal truths which God himself sees. For God sees as well as I that twice two is four and that triangles which have the same base and are between the same parallels are equal. I can also discover, at least confusedly, the relations of perfection, which are the immutable order which God consults when he acts and which ought also to regulate the esteem and love of all intelligent beings.' VII. From hence it is evident that there are such things as true and false, just and unjust, and that too in respect of all intelligent beings; that whatsoever is true in respect of man is true also in respect of angels and of God himself; that what is injustice or disorder with relation to man is so also with relation to God. For all spiritual beings contemplating the same intellectual substance necessarily discover in it the same relations of greatness or the same speculative truths. They discover also the same practical truths, the same laws, and the same order when they see the relations of perfection that are between those intellectual beings comprehended in the substance of the word, which alone is the immediate object of all our knowledge. VIII. I say, when they see these relations of perfection or greatness, and not when they judge of them; for only truth or the real relations of things are visible, and we ought to judge of nothing but what we see. When we judge before we see or of more things than we see, we are deceived in our judgment, or at least we judge ill, though we may happen by chance not to be deceived. For when we judge of things by chance, as well as when we judge by passion or interest, we judge ill. This is judging by our selves and not by reason, or according to the laws of universal reason; that reason, I say, which alone is superior to spirits and hath a right to judge of those judgments which are pronounced by them. IX. The mind of man being finite cannot see all the relations that the objects of its knowledge bear to one another. So it may be deceived when it judges of relations which it does not see. But if it judged of nothing but just what it saw, which without doubt it may do, certainly though it be a finite

260

Nicholas Malebranche

spirit, though it be ignorant and in its own nature subject to error, it would never be deceived; for then the judgments framed by it would proceed not so much from itself as from the universal reason pronouncing the same judgments in it. XIII. . . . that a beast is more valuable than a stone and less valuable than a man, is true, because a beast bears a greater proportion or relation of perfection to a stone than a stone doth to a beast; and a beast has less proportion of perfection compared to a man than a man hath compared to a beast. And he that sees these relations sees such truths as ought to regulate his esteem and consequently that sort of love which is determined by esteem. But he that esteems his horse more than his coachman or thinks a stone is in itself more valuable than a fly or than the very least of organized bodies doth not see that which perhaps he thinks he doth. It is not universal reason but his own particular reason that makes him judge after that manner. It is not the love of order but self-love [1'anzour-propre] which inclines him to love as he doth. That which he thinks he sees is neither visible nor intelligible; 'tis a false and imaginary relation; and he that governs his esteem or love by this or the like relation must necessarily fall into error and irregularity. XIV. Since truth and order are relations of greatness and perfection, real immutable and necessary relations, relations comprehended in the substance of the divine word, he that sees these relations sees that which God sees. He that regulates his love according to these relations observes a law which God invincibly loves. So that there is a perfect conformity of mind and will between God and him. In a word, seeing he knows that which God knows and loves that which God loves, he is like God as far as he is capable of being so. So likewise since God invincibly loves himself, he cannot but esteem and love his own image. And as he loves things in proportion to their being amiable, he cannot but prefer it before all those beings which either by their nature or corruption are far from resembling him. XV. Man is a free agent, and I suppose him to have all necessary assistances. In respect of truth, he is capable of searching after it notwithstanding the difficulty he finds in meditation; and in respect of order, he is able to follow it in spite of all the efforts of concupiscence. He can sacrifice his ease to truth and his pleasures to order. On the other side he can prefer his actual and present happiness before his duties, and fall into error and disorder. In a word, he can be deserving or not. Now God is just; he loves his creatures as they are loveable or as they resemble him His will therefore is that every good action should be rewarded and every evil one punished; that he who hath made a good use of his liberty, and by that means hath rendered himself in part perfect and like God, should be in part happy as he is, and, on the contrary, etc. XVII. He therefore that labors for his perfection and endeavors to make himself like God labors for his happiness and advancement. If he doth that which in some sort depends upon himself, that is to say, if he deserves well by making himself perfect, God will do that which in no sort depends upon him,

Treatise of Morality

261

in making him happy. . . . He that incessantly consults his reason and loves order, having a share in the perfection of God shall have also a share in his happiness, glory, and greatness. XIX. This then is the first and greatest duty, that for which God hath created us, the love of which is the mother of all virtue, the universal, the fundamental virtue, the virtue which makes us just and which will one day make us happy. We are rational creatures; our virtue and perfection is to love reason or rather to love order. For the knowledge of speculative truths, or relations of greatness, doth not regulate our duties. It is principally the knowledge and love of the relations of perfection, or practical truths, wherein consist our perfection. Let us apply ourselves then to know, to love and follow order. . . . VC. The obedience which we pay to order and submission to the law of God is virtue in all senses. Submission to the divine decrees or to the power of God is rather necessity than virtue. . . . XXI. If all the motions of bodies were caused by particular acts of the will of God, it would be a sin to avoid the ruins of a falling house by flight, for we cannot without injustice refuse to render back to God that life which he hath given us when he requires it again. At this rate it would be an affront to the wisdom of God to alter the course of rivers and to turn them to places that want water; we should follow the order of nature and be quiet. But since God acts in consequence of certain general laws, we correct his work without injuring his wisdom. We resist his action without opposing his will, because he doth not will positively and directly every thing that he doth. For example, he doth not directly will unjust actions, though he alone gives motion to those that commit them. And though it be only he who sends rain, yet every man hath a liberty to shelter himself when it rains For God doth not send rain but by a necessary consequence of general laws, laws which he hath established not that such or such a man should be wet through but for greater ends. . . . Chapter II

I. The love of order is not only the chief of all moral virtues but the only virtue. It is the mother virtue, the fundamental, universal virtue, the virtue which alone makes the habits or dispositions of the mind virtuous. He that bestows his goods on the poor out of vanity or natural compassion is not libera1,4 because it is not reason that guides him, nor order that governs him, it is nothing but pride or mechanism. . . . The same may be said of all the other virtues. If the love of order be not the foundation of them, they are false and vain and altogether unbecoming a reasonable nature which bears the image of God himself and hath a communication with him. They derive their original from the body only . . . whatever the rebellious imagination may think, it is not mean and servile to submit to the law of God himself. Nothing is more just than to be conformable to order. Nothing is more brave and generous than to follow the party of reason with an unshaken constancy and inviolable fidelity, not only when one may follow it with honor, but then more

262

Nicholas Malebranche

especially when the circumstances of times and places are such that one cannot do it without the greatest shame and disgrace. For he that passes for a fool in following reason loves reason more than himself, but he that follows order only when it shines and sparkles in the eyes of the world seeks only glory; and though he may be very glorious in the eyes of men, he is an abomination in the sight of God. II. I know not whether I may be mistaken or no, but I believe there are abundance of people that do not rightly know what true virtue is, and even those that have writ of morality do not always speak very clearly and exactly of it. It is certain that all those great names which they give to virtues and vices produce rather confused sensations in the mind than clear ideas. But because the sensations affect the soul, and abstracted ideas, though clear in themselves, do not diffuse their light but in attentive minds, men most commonly rest satisfied with these words which please the senses but leave the mind in the dark. . . . IV. One of the greatest defects observable in the moral writings of some philosophers is that they confound duties with virtues, or that they give the name of virtues to simple duties, so that though properly there be but one virtue, to wit the love of order, they make an infinite number of them. This is it which causes such confusion and so perplexes that science, that it is very hard to understand thoroughly what a man must do to be perfectly good and virtuous. VII. It is certain that universal reason is always the same. Order is immutable, and yet morality changes according to places and times. It is a virtue among the Germans to drink hard, and a man can have no conversation with them if he be not drunk. It is not reason but wine that unites their societies. . . . Duelling was for a long time a lawful action amongst the French, and as if reason was not worthy to determine their differences, they decided them by force. . . . VIII. . . . From whence can this diversity proceed, if the reason of man be always the same? From hence, no doubt, that they leave off consulting reason and suffer themselves to be guided by imagination, its enemy. Instead of observing the immutable order as their inviolable and natural law, they frame to themselves ideas of virtue conformable at least in some things to their own inclinations. . . . X. I must confess that the immutable order is not easy to be found. It dwells within us, but we are always roving abroad. Our senses unite our soul to all the parts of the body, our imagination and passions extend it to all the objects which surround us and often carry it into a world that hath no more reality than imaginary spaces. This is undeniably so. But then we should endeavor to silence our sense, imagination and passions, and not fancy that we can be reasonable without consulting reason. . . . XII. I grant then that those who have not light enough to guide themselves may attain to virtue as well as those who retire into themselves to consult reason and contemplate the beauty of order, because the grace of sense or

Treatise of Morality

263

prevenient delectation s may supply the want of light and keep them firm and steadfast in their duty. But that which I maintain is, first, that supposing all other things equal, he that enters farthest into himself and harkens to the truth within him in the greatest silence of his sense, imagination and passions is the most solidly virtuous. Secondly, that such a love of order as hath for its foundation more of reason than of faith, that is, more of light than of pleasure, is more solid, meritorious and valuable than another love which I suppose equal. For indeed the true good, the good of the soul, should be loved by reason and not by the instinct of pleasure. But the condition to which sin hath reduced us makes the grace of delight necessary to counterpoise the continual endeavors of our concupiscence. Lastly I assert that if a man should never, I say, never retire into himself, his imaginary faith would be wholly useless to him. For the word became sensible only to render truth intelligible. Reason was made incarnate for no other end but to guide men to reason by their senses; and he that should do and suffer all that Jesus Christ did and suffered would be neither reasonable nor a Christian if he did it not in the spirit of Christ, the spirit of order and reason. . . .

Chapter III I. Though I have not expressed the principal or mother virtue by the authentic name of charity, I would not have anyone imagine that I pretend to deliver to men any other virtue than that which Christ himself hath established in these words: "All the law and the prophets depend on these two commandments: thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart and with all thy strength, and thy neighbor as thyself." .. . II. These words are clear, but it is chiefly to those who are inwardly taught by the unction of the spirit. For as to others, they are more obscure than is commonly imagined. To "love" is an equivocal term. It signifies two things among many others: first, to unite ourselves by the will to any object as to our good or the cause of our happiness; and secondly to wish well to anyone. We may love God in the first sense and our neighbor in the second. But it would be impiety or at least stupidity to love God in the latter sense, and a kind of idolatry to love our neighbor in the former. IV. . . . Our Saviour tells us in the parable of the Samaritan that all mankind is our neighbor. . . . Certainly there are none but those that love the true and real good who fulfil this commandment in loving their neighbor as themselves. For a father who loves his son with great tenderness and carefully procures for him all sensible good things, what love soever he may have for him, is very far from loving him as God commands us to love our neighbor. VI. I think then I may say that justifying charity, or that virtue which renders the possessors of it truly just and virtuous, is properly a ruling love of the immutable order. But that I may clear those obscurities which ordinarily attend abstract ideas, I must explain these terms a little more at large. VII. I have already said that the immutable order consists in nothing else

264

Nicholas Malebranche

but in those proportions or relations of perfection which are between the intellectual ideas comprehended in the substance of the eternal word. Now we ought to esteem and love nothing but perfection. And therefore our esteem and love should be conformable to order. I mean there should be the same proportion between two degrees of love as there is between the perfection or reality or the objects which cause them. For if there be not, they are not conformable to order. From hence it is evident that charity or the love of God is a consequence of the love of order, and that we ought to esteem and love God not only more, but infinitely more, than all other things. For there can be no finite relation between infinite and finite. VIII. There are two principal kinds of love, a love of benevolence and a love which may be called love of union. A sensual man loves the object of his passion with a love of union, because he looks upon that object as the cause of his happiness, and therefore he desires to be united to it that it may act upon him and make him happy. He is carried towards it as well by the motion of his heart or by his affections as by the motion of his body. The love which we bear to persons of worth and merit is a love of benevolence. For we love them even when they are not in a condition to do us any good. We love them because they have more perfection and virtue than other men. So that the power to do us good, or that kind of perfection which relates to our happiness, in one word, goodness, excites in us a love of union, and all other perfections a love of benevolence. Now God only is good. He alone hath the power of acting on us. 6 He does not really communicate that perfection to his creatures, but only makes them occasional causes for the producing of some effects. For real and true power is incommunicable. Therefore all our love of union ought to tend toward God. IX. We may, for instance, bring our body to the fire, because fire is the occasional cause of heat, which is necessary for it. But we cannot love it with a love of union without offending against order, because fire is so far from having any power over that part of us which is capable of loving that it hath no power at all. The same may be said of all other creatures, even angels and demons. . . . When I speak of loving, I mean also fearing and hating . . . the soul should remain unmoved in their presence. . . . X. But the case is not the same with the love of benevolence as with the love of union. God is infinitely more amiable with this sort of love than all his creatures together. But as he hath really communicated to them some perfection, as they are capable of happiness, they really deserve our love and esteem. Order itself requires that we should esteem and love them according to the measure of perfection which they enjoy, or rather according to that which we know to be in them. For to esteem and love them exactly in proportion to their being amiable is utterly impossible, because many times their perfections are unknown to us, and we can never know exactly the proportions that are between perfections; for we cannot express them either by numbers or by incommensurable lines. Nevertheless faith takes away a great many difficulties in this matter. For since a finite being, by the relation it hath to infinity, acquires an infinite value, it is evident that we ought to love those creatures

Treatise of Morality

265

which have or may have a great relation to God infinitely more than those which do not bear his image. . . . XII. Self-love, the irreconcilable enemy of virtue, or a ruling love of the immutable order, may agree with the love of union which is referred to and honors a power capable of acting on us. For it is sufficient for that purpose that this self-love be enlightened. Man invincibly desires to be happy, and he sees clearly that God alone is able to make him so. This being supposed and all the rest excluded, of which I do not speak, it is evident that he may desire to be united to God. For to take away everything that may be equivocal, I do not speak of a man who knows that God rewards only merit and who finds none in himself; but I speak of one who considers only the power and goodness of God, or one to whom the testimony of his conscience and his faith give a free access, as I may so say, to draw near to God and join himself with him. XIII. But the case is different with the love of esteem or benevolence which a man ought to bear to himself. Self-love makes it always irregular. Order requires that the reward should be proportionable to the merit and the happiness to the perfection of the soul, which it hath gained by a good use of its liberty. But self-love can endure no bounds to its happiness and glory. Though it be never so much enlightened, yet if it be not just it must of necessity be contrary to order; and it cannot be just without diminishing or destroying itself. Nevertheless, when self-love is both enlightened and just, whether it be destroyed by, or confounded with, the love of order, a man hath then the greatest perfection that he is capable of. For certainly he that always places himself in the rank that belongs to him, who desires to be happy no farther than he deserves to be so and seeks his happiness in the justice which he expects from the righteous judge, who lives by faith and rests contented, steadfast and patient in the hope of foretaste of the true good; he, I say, is really a good man, though the love he bears to himself, reformed indeed and corrected by grace, be the natural foundation of his love of order above all things. XVI. . . . to obtain the possession of virtue, it is not sufficient that we love order with a natural love but we must also love it with a free, enlightened and reasonable love. It is not sufficient to love it when it agrees with our self-love. We must sacrifice everything to it, our actual happiness and if it should require it of us our very being. . . . Chapter IV I. That I may give a clear explication of the means of acquiring or preserving the ruling love of the immutable order, I shall lay down two fundamental truths belonging to the first part of this treatise. First, that virtues are generally acquired and fortified by acts. Secondly, that when we act we do not always produce the acts of the ruling virtue. What I say of virtue must be also understood of all habits good or bad, and even of the passions which are natural to us. XVI. All then that we have to do to acquire and preserve the ruling love of

266

Nicholas Malebranche

immutable order . . . consists in searching diligently what are the things that excite this love and make it produce its proper acts, and what those are that can stop the actual motion of self-love. Now I know but two principles which determine the natural motion of the will and stir up the habits, to wit, light and sense. Without one of these principles no habit is formed naturally, and those which are formed remain unactive. If anyone will take the pains to consult what he finds within himself, he will easily be satisfied that the will never actually loves any good except the light discovers it or pleasure renders it present to the soul. And if we consult reason we shall be convinced that it must be so, for otherwise the author of nature would imprint useless motions on the will. XVII. There is nothing then but light and pleasure which can produce any motion in the soul. Light discovers to it the good which it loves by an irresistible impression, and pleasure assures it that the good is actually present. For the soul is never more fully convinced of its good than when it makes itself actually touched with the pleasure which makes it happy. Let us therefore enquire into the means by which we may cause the light to diffuse itself in our minds, and make our hearts be touched with such sensations as are suitable to our design, which is to produce in us the acts of the love of order, or to hinder us from forming those of self-love. For it is evident that all the precepts of morality absolutely depend on these means. Chapter V XII. The only rule which I would have carefully observed is to meditate only on clear ideas and undeniable experiences. To meditate on confused sensations and doubtful experiences is lost labor. This is to contemplate nothing but chimeras and to follow error. The immutable and necessary order, the divine law, is also our law. This ought to be the principal subject of our meditations. Now there is nothing more abstracted and less subject to sense than this order. I grant that we may also be guided by order made sensible and visible by the actions and precepts of Jesus Christ. Yet that is because that sensible order raises the mind to the knowledge of the intellectual order, for the word made flesh is our model only to conform us to reason, the indispensable model of all intelligent beings. . . . XV. By clear ideas, which I make the principal object of those who would know and love order, I mean not only those between which the mind can discover the precise and exact relations such as are all those which are the object of mathematical knowledge and may be expressed by numbers or represented by lines. But I understand in general by clear ideas all such as produce any light in the mind of those who contemplate them, and from which one may draw certain consequences. So that I reckon among clear ideas not only simple ideas but also those truths which contain the relations that are between ideas. I comprehend also in this number common notions and principles of morality and in a word all clear truths which are evident either of

Treatise of Morality

267

themselves, or by demonstration, or by an infallible authority, though to speak more nicely these last are rather certain than clear and evident. XVI. By undeniable experiences I mean chiefly those matters of fact which faith informs us of and those of which we are convinced by the inward sense we have of what passes within ourselves. . . . XIX. The knowledge of order, which is our indispensable law, is compounded of both these, clear ideas and inward sensations. Every man knows that it is better to be good, than rich, a prince, or a conqueror; but every man doth not see it by a clear idea. Children and ignorant people know well enough when they do ill; but 'tis because the secret check of reason reproves them for it, and not always because the light discovers it to them. For order considered speculatively and precisely, only as it contains the relations of perfection, enlightens the mind without moving it; if it be taken only for the law of God, the law of all spiritual beings, and considered only so far as it hath the force of a law (for God loves order himself and irresistibly wills that we should love it or that we should love everything in proportion to its being amiable); order, I say, as it is the natural and necessary principle and rule of all the motions of the soul touches, penetrates and convinces the mind without enlightening it. So that we may discover order by a clear idea, but we know it also by a sensation. For since God loves order and continually imprints on us a love and motion like his own, we must necessarily be informed by the sure and compendious way of sensations when we follow or forsake the immutable order. XX. But we must observe that this way of discovering order by sensation or instinct is often rendered uncertain by sin, which hath introduced concupiscence, because the secret influences of the passions are of the same nature with that inward sensation. For when we act contrary to opinion and custom we often feel such inward checks as very much resemble those of reason and order. Before sin entered the world, the sense of inward reproof was a sign that could not be mistaken . . . but since that time the secret inspirations of our passions are not subject to our wills, so that they are easily confounded with the inspirations of inward truth when the mind is not enlightened. Hence it is that there are so many people who seriously and in good earnest maintain abominable errors. A false idea of religion and morality which agrees with their interests and passions appears truth itself to them. . . . XXI. There is nothing then more certain and secure than light. We cannot fix our attention too long on clear ideas, and though we may suffer ourselves to be animated by the inward sense yet we must never be guided by it. We must contemplate order in itself and permit this sensation only to keep up our attention by the motion which it excites in us. Otherwise our meditations will never be rewarded with a clear prospect of truth. . . . Chapter VI

I. We cannot discover truth without the labor of attention, because this labor alone is rewarded with light. Before a man can support and continue the

268

Nicholas Malebranche

labor of attention, he must have attained some strength of mind. . . .to keep [a man] from falling into error it is not sufficient to have a strong mind to endure labor, but he must also have another virtue which I cannot better express than by the equivocal name of liberty of mind, by which a man withholds his assent until he be irresistibly forced to give it. II. When we examine any very compounded question and our mind finds itself surrounded on all sides with very great difficulties, reason permits us to give over our labor, but it indispensably requires us to suspend our assent and to judge of nothing when nothing is evident. To make use of our liberty as much as we can is an essential and indispensable precept both of logic and of morality. For we ought never to believe till evidence obliges us to it; we ought never to love that which we may without remorse hinder ourselves from loving. . . . IV. . . . he that loves nothing but what he evidently knows to be the true good, nothing but what he cannot help loving, is not irregular in his love. He loves nothing but God, for there is nothing else which we cannot without remorse hinder ourselves from loving. There is nothing but God which we clearly and evidently know to be really good. . . . V. Strength and liberty of mind then are two virtues which we may call general or to use the common term cardinal virtues. For since we ought never to love anything nor do any action without good consideration, we must make use of the strength and liberty of our mind every moment. . . . XV. That we may clearly comprehend the necessity of endeavoring to gain some liberty of mind, or some facility of suspending the assent of the will, we must know that when two or more goods are actually present to the mind and the mind determines its choice in relation to them, it never fails to choose that which at that instant appears to be the best, supposing equality in everything else. For the soul being capable of loving only by the natural tendency which it hath toward good must of necessity love that which hath the greatest conformity with what it loves irresistibly. XVI. But we must observe that the soul may still suspend its assent and not determine itself finally, even when it doth determine itself . . . we may withhold our assent till evidence obliges us to yield it. Now we can never evidently see that false goods are true ones because we can never evidently see that which is not. So that though we cannot hinder ourselves from determining in favor of the most apparent goods, yet by suspending our assent we may love none but those that are most solid. . . . There is nothing then more necessary than the liberty of the mind to make us love none but the true good, live according to order, inviolably obey reason, and procure us true and solid virtue. . . . Chapter VII

I. The facility of rendering the mind attentive and of withholding its assent till evidence obliges it are habits necessary for such as would be substantially virtuous. But solid virtue, virtue every way complete, doth not consist only in

Treatise of Morality

269

those two noble and extraordinary dispositions of the mind. There is required besides an exact obedience to the law of God, general nicety in all our duties, a firm and governing disposition of regulating all the motions of our hearts by the known order, in a word the love of order. . . . II. But how must we gain this fixed and ruling disposition of governing all the motions of our heart and all the actions of our lives by the known order? . . . Habits are formed by acts. We must therefore frequently make firm and constant resolutions of obeying order and sacrificing everything to it. For by often repeating these actual resolutions and pursuing them at least in part, we may by degrees form some kind of habitual disposition. This is easy enough to be conceived, but it is by no means easy to be practiced. For which way can we frame this heroic resolution of sacrificing even our predominant passion to the divine law? Certainly it is not possible to be done without grace. . . . the desire of happiness is invincible and irresistible. And therefore without a firm faith and the hope of enjoying a happiness more solid than that which we part with, self-love, though never so much enlightened, cannot beget in us a bare resolution of sacrificing our predominant passion. This is without dispute. III. Now . . . this faith and hope are the gifts of God. . . . Chapter VIII II. But when our faith is not lively nor our hope strong enough to make us resolve to sacrifice a passion which hath got such a dominion over our heart that it corrupts our mind every moment and draws it to its party, the only thing we ought to do, and perhaps the only thing we can do in this case, is to seek for that in the fear of Hell and the just indignation of an avenging God which we cannot find in the hope of an eternal happiness. . . . XIV. I know very well that many people condemn the fear of hell as a motive of self-love. Notwithstanding I have made use of it as being the most lively and the most common motive to excite us to do those things which may contribute to our justification. . . . to desire to be happy or to desire not to be miserable is the same thing. . . . The fear of pain and the desire of pleasure are both of them but motions of self-love. Now self-love in itself is not evil. God continually produces it in us. He irresistibly inclines us to good and by the same motion irresistibly diverts us from evil. We cannot hinder ourselves from desiring to be happy and consequently from desiring not to be miserable. So then the fear of Hell and the hope of Heaven are two motives equally good: only that of fear hath this advantage over the other, that it is more lively, strong and efficacious, because generally, supposing all other things equal, we fear pain more than we desire pleasure. . . . besides it hath this advantage, that it is proper to awaken the most drowsy and stupid; and for this reason it is that the Scripture and the Fathers make use of this motive* * By motive I understand that which excites in the soul an actual motion of that kind of love which I called before the love of union.

270

Nicholas Malebranche

upon all occasions. For after all, it is not properly the motive which regulates the heart but the love of order. Every motive is grounded on self-love. . . . XV. . . . There is a difference between the motives and the end. We are excited by the motives to act for the end. It is the greatest crime imaginable to place our end in ourselves. We should do everything for God. All our actions should be referred to him from whom alone we have the power to do them. Otherwise we violate order, we offend God and are guilty of injustice. This is undeniable. But we should seek for the motives which may make us love order in that invincible love which God hath given us for happiness. For since God is just, we cannot be happy if we are not subservient to order. It matters not whether those motives be of fear or of hope, if they do but animate and support us. . . . PART II

Chapter I

II. So then, though it be sufficient to make us just and acceptable to God that the love of order be our predominant habit, yet if we would be perfect and complete, we must be able to govern this love by an exact knowledge of our duties. Nay, I would say that he who neglects or slights this knowledge, what zeal soever he may find within himself for order, his heart is by no means rightly disposed. . . . III. Indeed those whose mind is so weak and their passions so strong that they are not capable of giving counsel to themselves, or rather of taking counsel of him who enlightens all men, are excusable before God if they sincerely desire and follow the advice of such as they believe to be the best and wisest of men. . . . V. But since it is impossible for a man that is not versed in the science of morality to discover the order of his duties in sudden and unexpected occasions, though he have never so great strength and liberty of mind, it is necessary for him to provide against those occasions which leave him no time for examination, and by a prudent foresight to inform himself of his duties in general, or of some certain and undeniable principles to govern his actions by in particular cases. This study of a man's duties ought without doubt to be preferred before all others. Its end and reward is eternity. . . . Chapter IV

VII. Now that the natural love which God continually imprints on us may still continue love and not be turned into hatred, that the love of happiness may make us happy, that it may carry us toward good and unite us to him .. . our love must always be conformable to or resembling the divine love. We must love perfection as well as happiness. We must remain united to the wisdom of God as well as to his power. For God when he created man gave

Treatise of Morality

271

him . . . as it were two sorts of love, one of happiness and the other of perfection. By the love of happiness he united him to his power, which alone can make him happy; and by the love of perfection he united him to his wisdom, by which alone as his inviolable law he ought to be governed. . . . VIII. For we must observe that in the condition we are now in, our happiness and our perfection often clash, and we cannot avoid engaging on one side or the other. . . . when we sacrifice our happiness to our perfection, or our pleasure to the love of order, we merit, for then we obey the divine law, though we suffer by it, and thereby we give honor to the wisdom of God. . . . God is certainly just and faithful. He will give us all the happiness we deserve; our patience shall not be fruitless. . . . Chapter VI

I. Having explained in general the duties which we owe to God, we must now examine those which we owe to other men. . . . II. We are capable of forming two sorts of society with other men: a society for some years, and an eternal society; a society of commerce and a society of religion. . . . III. The great, or indeed the only, design of God is the holy city, the heavenly Jerusalem, where truth and justice inhabit. All other societies shall perish. . . . V. So when our savior bids us love one another, we must not imagine that he absolutely commands us any other thing than to procure one another the true and spiritual goods. . . . We must assist our neighbor and preserve his life as we are obliged to preserve our own, but we must prefer the salvation of our neighbor before his and our own life. VII. . . . we may and ought to love [our neighbor] with a love of benevolence. We must love him in that sense of the word which signifies to desire his happiness and perfection, and . . . use all our endeavors to procure him solid virtue that he may merit the true goods which are the reward of it. X. There is this difference between the duties which religion obliges us to pay to God and those which society requires us to pay to men: that the principal duties of religion are inward and spiritual, because God searches the hearts and absolutely speaking hath no need of his creatures; whereas the duties of society are almost all external. . . . XI. Therefore to expect from other men inward and spiritual duties which are due to God alone . . . is a diabolical pride. . . . If they faithfully perform what we desire of them, what can we complain of? Chapter VII

I. The three general heads to which all the particular duties that we owe to other men may be reduced are . . . simple esteem, which ought to be proportioned to the excellence or perfection of every being; respect, or a relative

272

Nicholas Malebranche

submission of the mind proportionable to the subordinate power of intelligent occasional causes;' and the love of benevolence. . . . II. Simple esteem is a duty which we owe to all mankind. Contempt is an injury, and the greatest of injuries. There is nothing contemptible but nothing, for every real being deserves esteem. And as man is the noblest of creatures, it is a false judgment and an irregular motion to despise any man, let him be what he will. . . . VII. As to our enemies and persecutors, it is certain that esteem is a duty more general than benevolence. There are some goods which we are not bound to wish our enemies. . . . But the persecution of our enemies ought not of itself to diminish the esteem that is due to them. . . .

Chapter XIV I. The duties which we owe to ourselves as well as those which we owe to our neighbors may be reduced to this general head, of laboring for our happiness and perfection: our perfection, which consists chiefly in a perfect conformity of our will with the immutable order; and our happiness, which consists wholly in the enjoyment of pleasure. . . . II. The perfection of the mind consists chiefly in the conformity of the will to order. For he that loves order above all things hath virtue. He that obeys order in all things fulfils his duty. And he that sacrifices his present pleasure to order, that suffers pain and despises himself out of respect to the divine law, merits a solid happiness, the genuine and suitable reward of a tried and approved virtue. That almighty and all-righteous law shall judge his cause and shall reward him to all eternity. III. To seek after happiness is not virtue but necessity. For virtue is free and voluntary but the desire of happiness is not in our own choice. Self-love, properly speaking, is not a quality which may be increased or diminished. We cannot cease to love ourselves, though we may cease to love ourselves amiss. We cannot stop the motion of self-love, but we may regulate it according to the divine law. We may by the motion of self-love enlightened, supported by faith and hope, and governed by charity, we may, I say, sacrifice present for future pleasures and make ourselves miserable for a time to escape the eternal vengeance of the righteous judge. For grace doth not destroy nature. The motion which God continually imprints on us toward good in general never stops. The wicked and the righteous equally desire to be happy. They equally tend toward the source of their felicity. Only the righteous doth not suffer himself to be deceived and corrupted by pleasing appearances. The foretaste of the true good supports him in his course. But the sinner, being blinded by his passions, forgets God, his rewards and punishments, and employs all the motion which God gives him for the true good in the pursuit of phantoms and illusions. IV. Self-love therefore or the desire of being happy is neither virtue nor vice. But it is the natural motive to virtue and in wicked men becomes the

Further Reading

273

motive to vice. God alone is our end; he alone is our good; reason alone is our law; and self-love . . . is the motive which should make us love God, unite ourselves to him, and submit to his law. For we are not our own good nor our own law. . . . V. Our self-love then is the motive which being assisted by grace unites us to God as our good or the cause of our happiness, and subjects us to reason as our law or the model of our perfection. But we must not make the motive our End or our law. We must truly and sincerely love order and unite ourselves to God by reason. . . . Editor's Notes

1. And consequently, following the Cartesian principle that what can be conceived can be, such a being can exist all alone, without creating other beings. 2. Particular beings must be created by God's volition, but not the eternal order itself or the essences of things, which determine their degrees of perfection. Malebranche was opposed to Descartes's voluntarism. See the tenth "Clarification" of the Search for Truth. 3. For Malebranche, relations of greatness hold between ideas of the same nature, as between a fathom and a foot, whereas relations of perfection hold between ideas of different natures, as between body and spirit or mind. 4. "Liberal" in the sense of displaying the virtue of liberality or generosity. 5. Malebranche was arguing here that unenlightened religious faith may do something to lead men to virtue because it may facilitate the acquisition of a grace that comes before merit, a prevenient grace, and this may show itself by one's taking pleasure in virtue. But, as he continued, virtue arising from the love of clearly seen order is firmer and much better. 6. This is the core of Malebranche's occasionalism, here turned to show that we ought to love God above all else. 7. Malebranche considered all human actions (like every other motion) as only occasional causes, that is, as not having any real power to do anything. Only God has such power. Within this metaphysical framework, Malebranche was telling us we must respect what are commonly thought to be earthly superior powers. Further Reading

Volume 11 of Andre Robinet, ed., Oeuvres completes de Malebranche (Paris: Vrin, 1966), is a modern edition of the Traite de morale. Malebranche's major philosophical work, De la recherche de la verite, was translated into English by Thomas M. Lennon and Paul Olscamp as The Search After Truth (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1980). Another of his works available in English, Dialogues on Metaphysics, trans. M. Ginsberg (London: Allen & Unwin, 1923), is a good introduction to Malebranche's epistemological and metaphysical views. Although Malebranche has been much studied by the French, there is little about him in English, no recent general review of his philosophy, and only one book on his ethics: Craig Walton, De la Recherche du Bien, A Study of Malebranche's Science of Ethics (The Hague: Nijhoff, 1972). Michael E. Hobart, Science and Religion in the Thought of Nicholas Malebranche (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1982), does not discuss the ethics. Patrick Riley discusses the political bearing of

274

Nicholas Malebranche

Malebranche's metaphysical, religious, and moral views — particularly the thesis that God always acts by general laws — in The General Will Before Rousseau (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1986). For the political context of Malebranche's work, see Nannerl 0. Keohane, Philosophy and the State in France (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1980), pp. 308-10. Ira 0. Wade, Intellectual Origins of the French Enlightenment (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1971), esp. pp. 418-36, explains Malebranche's importance to later French thought. Charles McCracken, Malebranche and British Philosophy (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1983), is a good study of the influence of Malebranche's views on British thought.

Ralph Cudworth

Introduction

Cudworth was born in 1617 and died in 1688, thus living through the troubled years of rebellion and restoration in England. It was a time during which the Puritans' Calvinist views attained and then lost dominance. Conflicting philosophies and theologies moved rapidly from the bookshelf to the battlefield, and ecclesiastical and academic positions were given and taken away on doctrinal grounds; never before had public life been so divided by ideology. The concurrent growth of scientific knowledge was proving as unsettling to some thinkers as was Hobbes's powerful secular vision of morals and politics. Cudworth attended Emmanuel College, Cambridge, and was elected a fellow in 1639. While a student, he came under the influence of Benjamin Whichcote, a leading figure among the opponents of strongly Calvinistic versions of Christianity. Cudworth was sympathetic enough to the Puritans, however, to be appointed by them to the mastership of Clare College and to serve on committees for the Parliament they controlled. Nonetheless, in the sermon he gave at the invitation of Parliament in 1647, Cudworth spoke as a follower of Whichcote's. He argued eloquently against making matters of doctrine and ritual central to the Christian life, defended the independence of standards of good and evil from God's will, and stressed the importance of a moral life that all people could lead regardless of their differences regarding religious doctrines. After a few years away from Cambridge, Cudworth returned in 1654 as master of Christ's College. He wrote a great deal but hesitated to publish anything. In 1678, however, his massive treatise The True Intellectual System of the Universe was issued, but it was not until 1731 that his Treatise Concerning Eternal and Immutable Morality appeared, and his incomplete Treatise of Freewill was not published until 1838. Cudworth's influence, however, may have been greater than this publication record suggests, as his manuscripts were available to a few people before their publication, and his daughter, Damaris Lady Masham, who was a close friend of John Locke's, did much to disseminate her father's thought. Cudworth's substantial extant manuscripts are now being studied by scholars, but until more work is done on them, our knowledge of his views will remain incomplete. Cudworth served as professor of Hebrew at Cambridge and was a man of enormous erudition. His True Intellectual System is so crammed with learning and quotations that it was long considered valuable mainly for the historical lessons offered. Yet Cudworth was an acute philosopher, with a far greater ability to work out a systematic view than that of any of the other Cambridge thinkers with whom he was allied. Centered at Emmanuel College and known as the Cambridge Platonists, this group was united by a

275

276

Ralph Cudworth

desire to present Christianity as teaching that morality matters more than dogma does and that morality is chiefly a matter of love, of showing to one another God's love to us. The Platonists were strongly opposed to Puritan interpretations of their religion, and they welcomed the advances of the new science, seeing in them nothing to threaten the core of faith. For they held that religion is wholly reasonable and that reason cannot conflict with itself. "In the use of reason and the exercise of virtue, we enjoy God," stated Benjamin Whichcote, summing up two key points of the Platonists' view. And in one of his most famous aphorisms, he observed, "There are but two things in religion: morals and institutions. Morals may be known by the reason of the thing; morals are owned [i.e., accepted] as soon as spoken, and they are nineteen parts in twenty of all religion." Against the voluntarism of the Puritans — and with the belief that Hobbes was also a voluntarist — Whichcote remarked, "The moral part of religion never alters. Moral laws are laws of themselves, without sanction by will; and the necessity of them arises from the things themselves." He approached this also from another angle: "The spirit of God in us is a living law, informing the soul; not constrained by a law without, that enlivens not; but we act in the power of an inward principle of life, which enables, inclines, facilitates, determines." We can be moved by this lad within Ili, Whichcote believed with his colleagues, because lire are free. The Pietentsts dust obbOted the predestinarianism of the Puritans and the determinism of Hobbts. They wore equally opposed to materialistic doctrines, as these cut at the root of their belief that it is in our communion with God, through reason, that we acquire the living knowledge of morality that is indispensable to salvation. Some of the Platonists, like Henry More, wrote philosophical treatises; others, like Whichcote and John Smith, confined themselves to sermons and tracts. Even More found it difficult to write a convincing philosophical articulation and defense of the Platonists' position. If anyone provided a philosophy for the Platonists, it was Cudworth. Cudworth's Mee Intellectual System is an attempt to refute deterministit . It begins by attacking atheism, which Cudworth assumed was implied by materialism. Hence he attacked Hobbes's materialisln and also the more complex materialism attributing to matter its own kind of soul — an ancient doctrine that, Cudworth thought, was being revived by Spinoza. Cudworth tried to replace these views with a dualism of active arid passive entities, of which the active ones are like the human mind, although there are other kinds of active entities as well. The view that the human mind is active is central to Cudworth's ethics, but unfortunately in the published work the details are not spelled out. In the treatise on morality, however, Cudworth argued on epistemologiesl grounds that the mind cannot only be a passive recipient of sensation it must also contribute substantially from its own resourcest. in for us to have the knowledge we have. This holds for both scientific and moral knowledge. The mind brings to the world its innate understanding of God's mind, of which we can have a rational, if only a partial, grasp. This knowledge is gathered from outside the self and is also involved in its central identity. Hence it can provide us with reason to act as it directs: external inducements, punishments and rewards, are unnecessary. Cudworth's opposition to voluntarism is evident throughout the Treatise Concerning Eternal and Immutable Morality. He vadat to oppose both the voluntarist view of the

ultimate unintelligibility of God's direction of our lives and the model of morality as laws backed by sanctions. In the published work Cudworth offered little or nothing of an alternative vision of morality. But it would be consonant with the general views of

Concerning Eternal and Immutable Morality

277

the Platonists to assume that, Ilor Wm, morality was an expression of proper love turd laisioraiity was excessive self-love,. What is perhaps less evident in the Treatise is Cudworth's insistence that although morality requires no punishment-wielding legislator, God is nonetheless indispensable to the moral life. In knowing what morality requires, we are knowing God's mind, without which we would be able to know only our own, separate minds. Because we would then have no common moral knowledge, it is plain that the human community is held together through God. Cudworth's Trea4ise is essentially a work of moral epistemology. It shows us the subject emerging as part of an overall defense of a Christian view. The following selections are from A Treatise Concerning Eternal and Immutable Morality, London, 1731. I have modernized some of the spelling, capitalization, italics, and punctuation. A Treatise Concerning Eternal and Immutable Morality BOOK I

Chapter I I. As the vulgar generally look no higher for the original of moral good and evil, just and unjust, than the codes and pandects, the tables and laws of their country and religion; so there have not wanted pretended philosophers in all ages who have asserted nothing to be good and evil, just and unjust, naturally and immutably; but that all these things were positive, arbitrary and factitious only. . . . Of this sort is that late writer of ethics and politics' who asserts "that there are no authentic doctrines concerning just and unjust, good and evil, except the laws which are established in every city; and that it concerns none to inquire whether an action shall be reputed just or unjust, good or evil, except such only whom the community have appointed to be the interpreters of their laws." And again, "even a Christian government hath power to determine what is righteous, and what is the transgression of it." And he gives us the same over again in English: "In the state of nature nothing can be unjust; the notions of right and wrong, justice and injustice have there no place; where there is no common power, there is no law; where no law, no transgression. No law, can be unjust." Nay, temperance is no more naturally according to this civil (or rather uncivil) philosopher, than justice. "Sensuality in that sense in which it is condemned, hath no place till there be laws." 5. But whatsoever was the true meaning of these philosophers, that affirm justice and injustice to be only by law and not by nature (of which I shall discourse afterwards,) certain it is that divers modern theologers do not only seriously but zealously contend in like manner that there is nothing absolutely, intrinsically and naturally good and evil, just and unjust antecedently to any positive command or prohibition of God; but that the arbitrary will and

278

Ralph Cudworth

pleasure of God (that is, an omnipotent being devoid of all essential and natural justice), by its commands and prohibitions, is the first and only rule and measure thereof. Whence it follows unavoidably that nothing can be imagined so grossly wicked or so foully unjust or dishonest but if it were supposed to be commanded by this omnipotent deity, must needs upon that hypothesis forthwith become holy, just and righteous. For though the ancient fathers of the Christian church were very abhorrent from this doctrine (as shall be shewed hereafter) yet it crept up afterward in the scholastic age, Ockham2 being among the first that maintained that there is no act evil but as it is prohibited by God, and which cannot be made good if it be commanded by God. And so on the other hand as to good. . . . But this doctrine hath been since chiefly promoted and advanced by such as think nothing so essential to the deity as uncontrollable power and arbitrary will, and therefore that God could not be God if there should be anything evil in its own nature which he could not do; and who impute such dark counsels and dismal actions unto God, as cannot be justified otherwise than by saying that whatsoever God can be supposed to do or will, will be for that reason good or just, because he wills it. Now the necessary and unavoidable consequences of this opinion are such as these, that to love God is by nature an indifferent thing, and is morally good only because it is commanded by God; that to prohibit the love of God, or command the hatred of God, is not inconsistent with the nature of God, but only with his free will; 3 that it is not inconsistent with the natural equity of God to command blasphemy, perjury, lying, etc. That God may command what is contrary, as to all the precepts of the decalogue, so especially to the first, second, third; that holiness is not a conformity with the nature of God; that God may oblige man to what is impossible; 4 that God hath no natural inclination to the good of the creatures; that God can justly doom an innocent creature to eternal torment.' All which propositions with others of like kind are word for word asserted by some late authors. . . . And yet [none of these writers] are to be thought any more blame-worthy herein, than many others that holding the same premises have either dissembled or disowned those conclusions which unavoidably follow therefrom, but rather to be commended for their openness, simplicity and ingenuity, 6 in representing their opinion nakedly to the world, such as indeed it is, without any veil or mask. Wherefore since there are so many, Both philosophers and theologers, that seemingly and verbally acknowledge such things as moral good and evil, just and unjust, that contend notwithstanding that these are not by nature but institution,' and that there is nothing naturally or immutably just or unjust, I shall from hence fetch the rise of this ethical discourse or inquiry concerning things good and evil, just and unjust, laudable and shameful (for so I find these words frequently used as synonymous in Plato and other ancient authors) demonstrating in the first place that if there be anything at all good or evil, just or unjust, there must of necessity be something naturally and immutable good and just. And from thence I shall proceed afterward to shew what

Concerning Eternal and Immutable Morality

279

this natural, immutable, and eternal justice is, with the branches and species of it. Chapter II 1. Wherefore in the first place, it is a thing which we shall very easily demonstrate that moral good and evil, just and unjust, honest and dishonest (if they be not mere names without any signification, or names for nothing else, but willed and commanded, but have a reality in respect of the persons obliged to do and avoid them) cannot possibly be arbitrary things, made by will without nature; because it is universally true that things are what they are, not by will but by nature. As for example, things are white by whiteness, and black by blackness, triangular by triangularity, and round by rotundity, like by likeness, and equal by equality, that is, by such certain natures of their own. Neither can omnipotence itself (to speak with reverence) by mere will make a thing white or black without whiteness or blackness; that is, without such certain natures, whether we consider them as qualities in the objects without us according to the peripatetical philosophy, or as certain dispositions of parts in respect of magnitude, figure, site and motion, which beget those sensations or phantasms of white and black in us. 8 Or, for instance in geometrical figures, omnipotence itself cannot by mere will make a body triangular, without having the nature and properties of a triangle in it; that is, without having three angles equal to two right ones, nor circular without the nature of a circle; that is, without having a circumference equidistant everywhere from the center or middle point. Or lastly, to instance in things relative only; omnipotent will cannot make things like or equal one to another, without the natures of likeness and equality. The reason whereof is plain, because all these things imply a manifest contradiction; that things should be what they are not. And this is truth fundamentally necessary to all knowledge, that contradictories cannot be true: For otherwise, nothing would be certainly true or false. Now things may as well be made white or black by mere will, without whiteness or blackness, equal and unequal, without equality and inequality, as morally good and evil, just and unjust, honest and dishonest, debita and illicita, 9 by mere will, without any nature of goodness, justice, honesty. For though the will of God be the supreme efficient cause of all things and can produce into being or existence or reduce into nothing what it pleaseth, yet it is not the formal cause of anything besides itself, as the schoolmen have determined in these words, that God himself cannot supply the place of a formal cause. w Andtherfoicasuplythermcaonufjstiertice, honestly or dishonestly. Now all that we have hitherto said amounts to no more than this, that it is impossible anything should be by will only, that is, without a nature or entity, or that the nature and essence of any thing should be arbitrary. 2. And since a thing cannot be made anything by mere will without a being i.or nature, everything must be necessarily and immutably determined by its

280

Ralph Cudworth

own nature, and the nature of things be that which it is, and nothing else. For though the will and power of God have an absolute, infinite and unlimited command upon the existences of all created things to make them to be, or not to be at pleasure; yet when things exist, they are what they are, this or that, absolutely or relatively, not by will or arbitrary command, but by the necessity of their own nature. . . . 3. Now the necessary consequence of that which we have hitherto said is this, that it is so far from being true that all moral good and evil, just and unjust are mere arbitrary and factitious things that are created wholly by will, that (if we would speak properly) we must needs say that nothing is morally good or evil, just or unjust by mere will without nature, because everything is what it is by nature, and not by will. For though it will be objected here that when God or civil powers command a thing to be done that was not before obligatory or unlawful, the thing willed or commanded doth forthwith become obligatory; that which ought to be done by creatures and subjects respectively; in which the nature of moral good or evil is commonly conceived to consist. And therefore if all good and evil, just and unjust be not the creatures of mere will (as many assert) yet at least positive things must needs owe all their morality, their good and evil to mere will without nature. Yet notwithstanding, if we well consider it we shall find that oven in positive commands themselves, mere will doth not make the thing commanded just or obligatory, or beget and create any obligation to obedience; but that it is natural justice or equity, which gives to one the right or authority of commanding, and begets in another duty and obligation to obedience. Therefore it is observable that laws and commands do not run thus, to will that this or that thing shall become just or unjust, obligatory or unlawful; or that men shall be obliged or bound to obey; but only to require that something be done or not done, or otherwise to menace punishment to the transgressors thereof. For it was never heard of that any one founded all his authority of commanding others and others' obligation or duty to obey his commands in a law of his own making, that men should be required, obliged, or bound to obey him. Wherefore since the thing willed in all laws is not that men should be bound or obliged to obey, this thing cannot be the product of the mere will of the commander, but it must proceed from something else; namely, the right or authority of the commander, which is founded in natural justice and equity, and an antecedent obligation to obedience in the subjects; which things are not made by laws but presupposed before all laws to make them valid. And if it should be imagined that anyone should make a positive law to require that others should be obliged or bound to obey him, everyone would think such a law ridiculous and absurd; for if they were obliged before, then this law would be in vain, and to no purpose; and if they were not before obliged, then they could not be obliged by any positive law, because they were not previously bound to obey such a person's commands. So that obligation to obey all positive laws is older than all laws, and previous or antecedent to them. Neither is it a thing that is arbitrarily made by will or can be the object of command, but that which either is or is

Concerning Eternal and Immutable Morality

281

not by nature. And if this were not morally good and just in its own nature before any positive command of God, that God should be obeyed by his creatures, the bare will of God himself could not beget an obligation upon any to do what he willed and commanded, because the natures of things do not depend upon will, being not things that are arbitrarily made, but things that are. To conclude therefore, even in positive laws and commands it is not mere will that obligeth, but the natures of good and evil, just and unjust, really existing in the world. 4. Wherefore that common distinction betwixt things, things naturally and positively good and evil, or (as others express it) betwixt things that are therefore commanded because they are good and just, and things that are therefore good and just, because they are commanded," stands in need of a right explication, that we be not led into a mistake thereby, as if the obligation to do those thetical 12 and positive things did arise wholly from will without nature, whereas it is not the mere will and pleasure of him that commandeth that obligeth to do positive things commanded, but the intellectual nature of him that is commanded. Wherefore the difference of these things lies wholly in this, that there are some things which the intellectual nature obligeth to of itself, and directly, absolutely and perpetually, and these things are called naturally good and evil; other things there are which the same intellectual nature obligeth to by accident only, and hypothetically, upon condition of some voluntary action either of our own or some other persons, by means whereof those things which were in their own nature indifferent, falling under something that is absolutely good or evil and thereby acquiring a new relation to the intellectual nature do for the time become such things as ought to be done or omitted, being made such not by will but by nature. As for example, to keep faith and perform covenants is that which natural justice obligeth to absolutely; therefore upon the supposition that any one maketh a promise, which is a voluntary act of his own, to do something which he was not before obliged to by natural justice, upon the intervention of this voluntary act of his own, that indifferent thing promised falling now under something absolutely good, and becoming the matter of promise and covenant, standeth for the present in a new relation to the rational nature of the promiser, and becometh for the time a thing which ought to be done by him, or which he is obliged to do. Not as if the mere will of words and breath of him that covenanteth had any power to change the moral natures of things, or any ethical virtue of obliging; but because natural justice and equity obligeth to keep faith and perform covenants. In like manner natural justice, that is, the rational or intellectual nature, obligeth not only to obey God, but also civil powers, that have lawful authority of commanding, and to observe political order amongst men; and therefore if God or civil powers command any thing to be done that is not unlawful in itself, upon the intervention of this voluntary act of theirs those things that were before indifferent become by accident for the time obligatory, such things as ought to be done by us, not for their own sakes, but for the sake of that which natural justice absolutely obligeth to.

282

Ralph Cudworth

And these are the things that are commonly called positively good and evil, just or unjust, such as though they are adiaphorous 13 or indifferent in themselves, yet natural justice obligeth to accidentally on supposition of the voluntary action of some other person rightly qualified in commanding, whereby they fall into something absolutely good. Which things are not made good or due by the mere will or pleasure of the commander, but by that natural justice which gives him right and authority of commanding, and obligeth others to obey him; without which natural justice, neither covenants nor commands could possibly oblige any one. For the will of another does no more oblige in commands, than our own will in promises and covenants. To conclude therefore, things called naturally good and due are such things as the intellectual nature obliges to immediately, absolutely and perpetually, and upon no condition of any voluntary action that may be done or omitted intervening; but those things that are called positively good and due are such as natural justice or the intellectual nature obligeth to accidentally and hypothetically, upon condition of some voluntary act of another person invested with lawful authority in commanding. And that it is not the mere will of the commander that makes these positive things to oblige or become due, but the nature of things, appears evidently from hence, because it is not the volition of everyone that obligeth, but of a person rightly qualified and invested with lawful authority; and because the liberty of commanding is circumscribed within certain bounds and limits, so that if any commander go beyond the sphere and bounds that nature sets him, which are indifferent things, his commands will not at all oblige. Chapter III

1. But some there are that will still contend that though it should be granted that moral good and evil, just and unjust do not depend upon any created will, yet notwithstanding they must needs depend upon the arbitrary will of God because the natures and essences of all things, and consequently all verities and falsities, depend upon the same. For if the natures and essences of things should not depend upon the will of God, it would follow from hence that something that was not God was independent upon God. 2. And this is plainly asserted by that ingenious philosopher Renatus Des Cartes.. . 14 . . . whether Cartesius were in jest or earnest in this business it matters not, for his bare authority ought to be no more valued by us than the authority of Aristotle and other ancient philosophers was by him, whom he so freely dissents from. 4. For thougliihe names of things may be changed b an ne at pleasure, as that a square may be called a circle, or a cube a sphere ye that the nature of a square should not be necessarily what it is, but be arbitrarily convertible into the nature of a circle, and so the essence of a circle into the essence of a sphere, or that the self-same body, which is perfectly cubical, without any

Concerning Eternal and Immutable Morality

283

physical alteration made in it, should by this metaphysical way of transformation of essences by mere will and command be made spherical or cylindrical; this doth most plainly imply a contradiction, and the compossibility of contradictions destroys all knowledge and the definite natures or notions of things. Nay, that which implies a contradiction is a non-entity and therefore cannot be the object of divine power. And the reason is the same for all other things, as just and unjust; for everything is what it is immutably by the necessity of its own nature; neither is it any derogation at all from the power of God to say that he cannot make a thing to be that which it is not. Then there might be no such thing as knowledge in God himself. God might will that there should be no such thing as knowledge. 5. And as to the being or not being of particular essences, as that God might if he pleased have willed that there should be no such thing as a triangle or circle and therefore nothing demonstrable or knowable of either of them, which is likewise asserted by Cartesius, and those that make the essences of things dependent upon an arbitrary will in God: This is all one as if one should say that God could have willed, if he had pleased, that neither his own power nor knowledge should be infinite. 6. Now it is certain that if the natures and essences of all things, as to their being such or such, do depend upon a will of God that is essentially arbitrary, there can be no such thing as science or demonstration nor the truth of any mathematical or metaphysical proposition be known any otherwise than by some revelation of the will of God concerning it, and by a certain enthusiastic or fanatic faith and persuasion thereupon that God would have such a thing to be true or false at such a time or for so long. And so nothing would be true or false naturally but positively only, all truth and science being mere arbitrary things. Truth and falsehood would be only names. Neither would there be any more certainty in the knowledge of God himself, since it must wholly depend upon the mutability of a will in him essentially indifferent and undetermined; and if we would speak properly according to this hypothesis, God himself would not know or be wise by knowledge or by wisdom, but by will. 7. Wherefore as for that argument that unless the essences of things and all verities and falsities depend upon the arbitrary will of God, there would be something that was not God, independent upon God; if it be well considered, it will prove a mere bugbear, and nothing so terrible and formidable as Cartesius seemed to think it. For there is no other genuine consequence deducible from this assertion that the essences and verities of things are independent upon the will of God, but that there is an eternal and immutable wisdom in the mind of God, and thence participated by created beings independent upon the will of God. Now the Wisdom of God is as much God as the Will of God; and whether of these two things in God, that is, will or wisdom, should depend upon the other, will be best determined from the several natures of them. For wisdom in itself hath the nature of a rule and measure, it being a most determinate and inflexible thing; but will being not only a blind and dark thing, as considered in itself, but also indefinite and indeterminate,

284

Ralph Cudworth

hath therefore the nature of a thing regulable and measurable. Wherefore it is the perfection of will, as such, to be guided and determined by wisdom and truth; but to make wisdom, knowledge and truth to be arbitrarily determined by will and to be regulated by such a plumbean 15 and flexible rule as that is, is quite to destroy the nature of it; for science or knowledge is the comprehension of that which necessarily is, and there can be nothing more contradictory than truth and falsehood arbitrary. Now all the knowledge and wisdom that is in creatures, whether angels or men, is nothing else but a participation of that one eternal, immutable and increased wisdom of God, or several signatures of that one archetypal seal, or like so many multiplied reflections of one and the same face, made in several glasses, whereof some are clearer, some obscurer, some standing nearer, some further off. 8. Moreover, it was the opinion of the wisest of the philosophers (as we shall show afterward) that there is also in the scale of being a nature of goodness superior to wisdom, which therefore measures and determines the wisdom of God, as his wisdom measures and determines his will. . . . Wherefore although some noveliste make a contracted idea of God consisting of nothing else but will and power, yet his nature is better expressed by some in this mystical or enigmatical representation of an infinite circle, whose inmost center is simple goodness, the rays and expanded plat" thereof, all comprehending and immutable wisdom, the exterior periphery or interminate circumference, omnipotent will or activity, by which everything without God is brought forth into existence. Wherefore the will and power of God have no command inwardly either upon the wisdom and knowledge of God, or upon the ethical and moral disposition of his nature, which is his essential goodness; but the sphere of its activity is without God, where it hath an absolute command upon the existences of things; and is always free, though not always indifferent, since it is its greatest perfection to be determined by infinite wisdom and infinite goodness. But this is to anticipate what according to the laws of method should follow afterward in another place. BOOK IV Chapter I

7. Wherefore it is evident from what we have declared that there are two kinds of perceptive cogitations in the soul, the one passive, when the soul perceives by suffering from its body, and the objects without; the other active, when it perceives by exerting its own native vigour from within itself. The passive perceptions of the soul have two several names given unto them; for when the soul, by sympathizing with the body, seems to perceive corporeal things as present and really existing without it, then they are called sensations. But when the passive affections of the soul are looked upon not as things really existing without the mind, but only as pictures of sensible things in the mind, or more crass or corporeal cogitations, then they are called phantasms

Concerning Eternal and Immutable Morality

285

or imaginations. But these phantasms and sensations being really the same things, as we said before, both of them being passions or affections in the soul, caused by some local motions in the body, and the difference between them being only accidental, insomuch that phantasms may be changed into sensations, and sometimes also sensations into phantasms, therefore all these passive perceptions of the soul may be called in general phantasms. But the active perceptions which rise from the mind itself without the body are commonly called conceptions of the mind; and so we have the two species of perceptive cogitations; the one phantasms, and the other conceptions of the mind. 8. Now that all our perceptive cogitations are not phantasms, as many contend, but that there is another species of perceptive cogitations distinct from them, arising from the active vigour of the mind itself, which we therefore call conceptions of the mind, is demonstrably evident from hence; because phantasms are nothing else but sensible ideas, images or pictures of outward objects, such as are caused in the soul by sense; whence it follows that nothing is the object of fancy but what is also the object of sense, nothing can be fancied by the soul but what is perceptible by sense. But there are many objects of our mind which we can neither see, hear, feel, smell nor taste, and which did never enter into it by any sense; and therefore we can have no sensible pictures or ideas of them, drawn by the pencil of that inward limner or painter which borrows all his colours from sense, which we call fancy; and if we reflect on our own cogitations of these things we shall sensibly perceive that they are not phantastical, but noematical. 18 As, for example, justice, equity, duty and obligation, cogitation, opinion, intellection, volition, memory, verity, falsity, cause, effect, genus, species, nullity, contingency, possibility, impossibility, and innumerable more such there are that will occur to any one that shall turn over the vocabularies of any language, none of which can have any sensible picture drawn by the pencil of the fancy. And there are many whole propositions likewise in which there is not any one work or notion that we can have any genuine phantasm of, much less can fancy reach to an apprehension of the necessity of the connexion of the terms. As for example, nothing can be and not be at the same time. What proper and genuine phantasms can any perceive in his mind either of nothing, or can, or be, or and, or not be, or at the same, or time. . . . Chapter II 10. There are many other such ideas of the mind, of certain wholes made up of several corporeal parts, which, though sometimes locally discontinued, yet are joined together by relations, and habitudes to one another (founded in some actions of them, as they are cogitative beings) and by order all conspiring into one thing; which, though they are altogether imperceptible by sense, and therefore were never stamped or impressed upon the mind from the objects without; yet, notwithstanding, are not mere figments or beings of reason but things of the greatest reality, founded in certain actions of thinking

286

Ralph Cudworth

and cogitative beings; which are altogether imperceptible by sense and therefore could not possibly be outwardly stamped upon the mind; as for example, a polity or commonwealth, called an artificial man, which is a company of many united together by consent or contract under one government, to be regulated by some certain laws as it were by one will for the good of the whole; where, though the eye may see the particular persons (or at least their outsides) that are the respective members thereof, yet it can neither see the bond which unites them together, which is nothing but relation, nor comprehend the whole that is made up of them, that is, a polity or commonwealth according to the formal nature of it, which is an idea that proceeds merely from the unitive power and activity of the mind itself. . . . 13. Just in the same manner it happens many times in the contemplation of that great self-mover of the material universe which is the artifice of God, the artifice of the best mechanist, though there be no more passively impressed upon us from it than there is upon the diaphanous air or liquid ether contiguous to all solid bodies by local motion, of which only sensitive beings have conscious perception; yet there is a wonderful scene of various thoughts and motions raised in the mind thereupon, which are only occasionally invited by those stamps and impressions made from the material fabric and its various furniture without, but owe their true original and efficiency to nothing else but the innate vigour and activity of the mind itself. Some of which we have already instanced in the ideas of those relative considerations of corporeal things themselves and their parts to one another, by means of which the intellect rises up to that comprehensive view of the natures of particular corporeal things and the universal mundane system within itself all at once; which sense perceiving only by little and little, and taking in as it were point after point, cannot sum up its partial perceptions into the entire idea of any one whole. But the intellect doth not rest here, but upon occasion of those corporeal things thus comprehended in themselves naturally rises higher to the framing and exciting of certain ideas from within itself of other things not existing in those sensible objects but absolutely incorporeal. For being ravished with the contemplation of this admirable mechanism and artificial contrivance of the material universe, forthwith it naturally conceives it to be nothing else but the passive stamp, print and signature of some living art and wisdom as the pattern, archetype and seal of it, and so excites from within itself an idea of that divine art and wisdom. Nay, considering further how all things in this great mundane machine or animal (as the ancients would have it) are contrived not only for the beauty of the whole but also for the good of every part of it that is endued with life and sense, it exerts another idea, viz. of goodness and benignity from within itself, besides that of art and wisdom, as the queen regent and empress of art whereby art is employed, regulated and determined; now both these things, whereof the first is art, wisdom and knowledge; the second, goodness, benignity and morality, being looked upon as modes of some intellectual being or mind in which they exist, it from hence presently makes up an idea of God, as the author or architect of this great and

Concerning Eternal and Immutable Morality

287

boundless machine; a mind infinitely good and wise; and so as it were resounds and re-echoes back the great creator's name, which from those visible characters impressed upon the material universe had pierced loudly into its ears, but in such an indiscernible manner, that sense listening never so attentively could not perceive the least murmur or whisper of it. And this is the most natural scale by which the intellectual mind in the contemplation of corporeal things ascends to God; from the passive prints and signatures of that one art and wisdom that appears in the universe, by taking notice from thence of the exemplary or archetypal cause, one infinite and eternal mind setting his seal upon all. For as he that hears a consort of musicians playing a lesson consisting of six or eight several parts, all conspiring to make up one harmony, will immediately conclude that there was some other cause of that harmony besides those several particular efficients 19 that struck the several instruments; for every one of them could be but a cause of his own part which he played. But the unity of the whole harmony into which all the several parts conspire must needs proceed from the art and musical skill of some one mind, the exemplary and archetypal cause of that vocal harmony which was but a passive print or stamp of it. So though the atheist might possibly persuade himself that every particular creature was the first author or efficient of that part which it played in the universe by a certain innate power of its own; yet all the parts of the mundane system conspiring into one perfect harmony, there must of necessity be some one universal mind, the archetypal and exemplary cause thereof, containing the plot of the whole mundane music as one entire thing made up of so many several parts within himself. . . . Chapter V

5. But probably it may be here demanded how a man shall know when his conceptions are conformed to the absolute and immutable natures of essences of things and their unchangeable relations to one another? Since the immediate objects of intellection exist in the mind itself, we must not go about to look for the criterion of truth without ourselves by consulting individual sensibles as the exemplars of our ideas and measuring our conceptions by them. And how is it possible to know by measuring of sensible squares that the diameter of every square is incommensurable with the sides? Nay, as was observed before, the necessary truth of no geometrical theorem can ever be examined, proved, or determined by sensible things mechanically. And though the eternal divine intellect be the archetypal rule of truth, we cannot consult that, neither, to see whether our conceptions be commensurate with it. I answer therefore, that the criterion of true knowledge is not to be looked for anywhere abroad without our own minds, neither in the heighth above nor in the depth beneath, but only in our knowledge and conceptions themselves.r Itterentity of all theoretical truth is nothing else but clear intelligibility, and whatever is clearly conceived is an entity and a truth; but that which is false, divine power itself cannot make it to be clearly and distinctly understood,

288

Ralph Cudworth

because falsehood is a non-entity, and a clear conception is an entity: and omnipotence itself cannot make a non-entity to be an entity. Wherefore no man ever was or can be deceived in taking that for an epistemonica1 2° truth which he clearly and distinctly apprehends, but only in assenting to things not clearly apprehended by him, which is the only true original of all error. . . . 11. It is a fond imagination for any to suppose that it is derogatory to the glory of God to bestow or import any such gift upon his creatures as knowledge is, which hath an intrinsical evidence within itself, or that creatures should have a certainty of the first principles which all men are conscious that they do so clearly understand that they cannot doubt of them, as that Nihili nulla est affectio. Aequalia addita aequalibus efficient aequalia;21 without which they can know nothing at all; though they be notwithstanding ignorant, doubting, and erring in many things, and slowly proceed in their ratiocinations from one thing to another; whereas on the contrary it is plainly derogatory to it22 t osuppose that God cannot make any creature that can possibly have any certain knowledge of God's own existence or anything more than a bare credulity of the same. 12.Wherefore since it cannot be denied but every clear apprehension is an entity and the essence of truth is nothing but clear intelligibility, those philosophers must lay the stress of their cause here, that intellectual faculties may be so made as that men can never certainly tell when they have clear apprehensions, but may think they have them when they have not. And it cannot be denied but that men are oftentimes deceived and think they clearly comprehend what they do not. But it does not follow from hence, because men sometimes think that they clearly comprehend what they do not, that therefore they can never be certain that they do clearly comprehend anything; which is just as if we should argue that because in our dreams we think we have clear sensations, we cannot therefore be ever sure when we are awake that we see things that really are. . . . Chapter VI

1. We have now abundantly consumed the Protagorean philosophy 23 which, that it might be sure to destroy the immutable natures of just and unjust, would destroy all science or knowledge and make it relative and phantastical. Having shewed that this tenet is not only most absurd and contradictory in itself but also manifestly repugnant to that very atomical physiology on which Protagoras endeavored to found it, and than which nothing can more effectually confute and destroy it; and also largely demonstrated that though sense be indeed a mere relative and phantastical perception, as Protagoras thus far rightly supposed; yet notwithstanding there is a superior power of intellection and knowledge of a different nature from sense, which is not terminated in mere seeming and appearance only, but in the truth and reality of things, and reaches to the comprehension of that which really and absolutely is, whose

Concerning Eternal and Immutable Morality

289

objects are the eternal and immutable essences and natures of things, and their unchangeable relations to one another. . . . 4. But I have not taken all this pain only to confute scepticism or phantasticism, or merely to defend and corroborate our argument for the immutable natures of just and unjust, but also for some other weighty purposes that are very much conducing to the business that we have in hand. And first of all, that the soul is not a mere rasa tabula,24 a naked and passive thing which has no innate furniture of activity of its own nor anything at all in it but what was impressed upon it without; for if it were so then there could not possibly be any such thing as moral good and evil, just and unjust; forasmuch as these differences do not arise merely from the outward objects or from the impresses which they make upon us by sense, there being no such thing in them; in which sense it is truly affirmed by the author of the Leviathan, page 24, that "there is no common rule of good and evil to be taken from the nature of the objects themselves," 25 that is, either considered absolutely in themselves or relatively to external sense only, but according to some other interior analogy which things have to a certain inward determination in the soul itself, from whence the foundation of all this difference must need raise, as I shall shew afterwards; not that the anticipations of morality spring merely from intellecNal forms and notional ideas of the mind or from certain rules or propositions, arbitrarily printed upon the soul as upon a book, but from some other more inward and vital principle in intellectual beings as such, whereby they have a natural determination in them to do some things and to avoid others, which could not be if they were mere naked passive things. . . . 5. Again, I have the rather insisted upon this argument also because that which makes men so inclinable to think that justice, honesty and morality are but thin, airy and phantastical things that have little or no entity or reality in them besides sensuality is a certain opinion in philosophy which does usually accompany it, that matter and body are the first original and source of all things; that there is no incorporeal substance superior to matter and independent upon it; and therefore that sensible things are the only real and substantial things in nature; but souls and minds springing secondarily out of body, that intellectuality and morality which belong unto them are but thin and evanid6 shadows of sensible and corporeal things and not natural but artificial and factitious things that do as it were border upon the confines of non-entity. . . . 13. Lastly, I have insisted the rather so largely upon this argument for this further reason also, because it is not possible that there should be any such thing as morality unless there be a God, that is, an infinite eternal mind that is the first original and source of all things, whose nature is the first rule and exemplar of morality; for otherwise it is not conceivable whence any such thing should be derived to particular intellectual beings. Now there can be no such thing as God if stupid and senseless matter be the first original of all things; and if all being and perfection that is found in the world, may spring up and arise out of the dark womb of unthinking matter; but if knowledge and understanding, if soul, mind and wisdom may result and emerge out of it, then

290

Ralph Cudworth

doubtless everything that appears in the world may; and so night, matter and chaos must needs be the first and only original of all things. 15. Wherefore we have not only shewed that all intellection and knowledge does not emerge or emane out of sense, but also that sense itself is not a mere passion or reception of corporeal impresses without, but that it is an active energy and vigour, though sympathetical in the sentient. And it is no more possible that this should arise out of senseless matter and atoms by reason of any peculiar contemperation or contexture of them in respect of figure, site, and motion, than that which all atheists stoutly deny, that something should arise out of nothing. And here we can never sufficiently applaud that ancient atomical philosophy so successfully revived of late by Cartesius, in that it shews distinctly what matter is and what it can amount unto, namely nothing else but what may be produced from mere magnitude, figure, site, local motion, and rest; from whence it is demonstrably evident and mathematically certain that no cogitation can possibly arise out of the power of matter; whereas that other philosophy which brings in a dark unintelligible matter that is nothing and everything, out of whose potentiality not only innumerable qualities, but also substantial forms and sensitive souls (and therefore why not rational also, since all reason emerges out of sense) may be educed, must of necessity perpetually brood and hatch atheism. Whereas we cannot but extremely admire that monstrous dotage and sottishness of Epicurus, and some other spurious pretenders to this atomical philosophy, that notwithstanding they acknowledge nothing else in matter besides magnitude, figure, site, and motion, yet would make not only the power of sensation, but also of intellection and ratiocination and therefore all human souls to arise from the mere contexture of corporeal atoms and utterly explode all incorporeal substances; than which two assertions nothing can be more contradictious. And this is far more absurd, to make reason and intellection to arise from magnitude, figure and motion, than to attribute those unintelligible qualities to matter which they explode. Editor's Notes

1. Hobbes: Cudworth was citing both De cive and Leviathan, without giving references and without quoting them exactly. 2. William of Ockham (1285-1349), the best known of the medieval voluntarists. 3. Among the medieval voluntarists it was a matter of debate whether God could command creatures to hate him. 4. Here Cudworth was aiming at the Lutheran and Calvinist teaching about the functions of the moral law. See the section "Luther and Calvin" in the Introduction to this anthology. 5. The target here is the doctrine of predestination: God chooses to give some people grace and so to save them but does not give it to others equally undeserving. Of course, the Calvinist reply would be that all are undeserving, rather than innocent, because of Adam's sinfulness which we have inherited. 6. Not their cleverness — the modern sense — but their ingenuousness, candor, or freedom from reserve.

Further Reading

291

7. That is, by positive enactment that institutes them. 8. Cudworth was contrasting the older Aristotelian view of perception with the modern Lockean theory. 9. Cudworth elsewhere treated debita as meaning "obligatory or just" and illicita as meaning "unjust." 10. Although he himself was favorably inclined toward Cartesian science, Cudworth here used the Aristotelian scholastic terminology to say that although God can cause something to come into existence (be the efficient cause), he cannot cause a formal set of properties to have the content and structure they do (be the cause of a form or essence, what makes a thing the kind of thing it is). 11. A common distinction in natural law theory: things commanded because they are good and just are the subjects of natural law; things good and just because commanded are the subjects of God's positive laws, such as those given to the Jews concerning diet or to the Christians concerning worship. 12. Laid down by arbitrary institution. 13. Neither required nor forbidden. 14. Cudworth here was citing a passage from the "Replies" to the Sixth Set of Objections, given in the Descartes selections. 15. Made of lead and therefore malleable. 16. Innovators. 17. Area. 18. Pertaining not to the power of one's ability to fantasize or imagine but to the power to think. 19. Efficient causes, that is, the players. 20. Capable of becoming an object of knowledge. The Oxford English Dictionary cites only this passage as an example of the use of the term. 21. Nothing is caused by nothing; equals added to equals make e quals. 22. That is, God's glory. 23. Cudworth was referring to Protagoras of Abdera (490?-421? B.C.E.), the Sophist who held that "man is the measure of all things," a relativism that Cudworth used as a prototype of everything to which he objected. 24. Blank tablet. 25. Hobbes, Leviathan, chap. 6; in Oakeshott's edition, p. 32. 26. Evanescent, vanishing. 27. Emanate. Further Reading Two excellent anthologies of the Cambridge Platonists' writings, both with good bibliographies, provide source material supplementing the Cudworth selections given here: C. A. Patrides, ed., The Cambridge Platonists (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1980), and Gerald R. Cragg, ed., The Cambridge Platonists (New York: Oxford University Press, 1968). Both of them contain selections from Whichcote's "Aphorisms" and Cudworth's "Sermon to the House of Commons." There is no modern edition of Cudworth's works. The second volume of John Tulloch, Rational Theology and Christian Philosophy in England in the Seventeenth Century, 2nd ed. (Edinburgh: William Blackwood, 1874), is still one of the best general studies of the Cambridge Platonists; chapter 4 is on Cudworth. See also J. H. Muirhead, The Platonic Tradition in Anglo-Saxon Philosophy (London: Allen & Unwin, 1931), of which pp. 33-71 discuss Cudworth; Ernst Cassirer, The Platonic Renaissance in England, trans. James P. Pettegrove (Austin:

292

Ralph Cudworth

University of Texas Press, 1953); and Gordon R. Cragg, From Puritanism to the Age of Reason: A Study of Religious Thought in the Church of England 1660-1770 (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1950). John Redwood, Reason, Ridicule and Religion (London: Thames & Hudson, 1976), chap. 2, discusses Cudworth's attack on atheism. Cudworth is usually discussed in connection with the Cambridge Platonists, but there are some special studies of him. Of these, by far the best is J. A. Passmore, Ralph Cudworth: An Interpretation (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1951). Lydia Gysi, Platonism and Cartesianism in the Philosophy of Ralph Cudworth (Bern: H. Lang, 1962), is less reliable. James Martineau, Types of Ethical Theory, 3rd ed. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1891), discusses Cudworth's ethics in vol. 2, pp. 42759. Arthur N. Prior examines Cudworth in Logic and the Basis of Ethics (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1949), chap. 2. Finally, Cudworth's opposition to Hobbes's materialism and determinism is considered in Samuel Mintz, The Hunting of Leviathan (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1962), chaps. 5 and 6.

Samuel Clarke

Introduction Samuel Clarke was not only a moral philosopher, he was also a theologian, a defender and popularizer of Newton, and a successful Anglican minister whose sermons were much admired. Born in 1675, he studied at Cambridge, where he had to learn Newton's Principia by himself because no one on the faculty understood it well enough to help him. Clarke translated a textbook of Cartesian physics into Latin, inserting Newtonian doctrines into the footnotes to contradict the author he was translating. This textbook was used at Cambridge as late as 1730. When he graduated, Clarke entered the Church of England and eventually became chaplain to Queen Anne, who appointed him to a prosperous London church, where he remained until his death in 1729. Clarke was suspected of Unitarian leanings, however, and this lack of orthodoxy regarding the doctrine of the Trinity lost him his chaplaincy and kept him from further advancement. Clarke's most enduring works were the lectures he gave in the series established by the scientist Robert Boyle, who was eager to encourage up-to-date defenses of the truth of Christianity. Clarke's Boyle lectures, A Discourse Concerning the Being and Attributes of God (1704) and A Discourse Concerning the Unchangeable Obligations of Natural Religion (1705), made him one of the most influential and frequently reprinted philosophers of the early eighteenth century. A decade after giving these lectures, Clarke began a correspondence with Leibniz, answering Leibniz's criticisms of Newton's views of space, time, and gravity. He and Leibniz each wrote five letters, which were published in 1717. The first set of Boyle lectures was intended to confute atheism. An atheist, Clarke thought, must be one of three things: stupid, debauched, or misled by bad philosophy. He attempted to cope with the third source of atheism, bad philosophy, by proving that God not only exists but exists necessarily. He also argued that although we do not comprehend God's substance, we can understand some of his attributes. Having shown that the necessary being is eternal, infinite, and omnipresent, Clarke then tried to show that God is intelligent, infinitely powerful, wise, and good and that he acts freely. Clarke proved the necessity of God's existence a priori and the truth about God's other attributes a posteriori from our experience of the causal order in which we live and from the many perfections we find in it. Clarke ended with a point that led to his views of morality. He argued that although God necessarily always chooses what he sees to be eternally best and most fitting, his freedom of action is in no way impaired. There is a moral necessity that he do what is most fitting, but this is not a "necessity of fate." Moral necessity is consistent with

293

294

Samuel Clarke

perfect liberty; to think otherwise is to confuse moral motives with efficient causes, such as those treated in Newton's physics. Because God freely chooses to make it his rule to comply with the eternal fitnesses of things, he expects us to do so as well. Hence if we act differently, Clarke asserted, we not only flout the eternal fitnesses of things that reason reveals to us, we also affront God directly. In the second set of lectures, Clarke defended the assumption that there are eternal fitnesses of things that should guide our actions. He also claimed that we can be moved, by being aware of these fitnesses, to do as they direct. These views, which Clarke put forward in the first three of the fifteen propositions defended in these lectures, are at the core of his ethics. He thus presented a theory asserting the independence of morality from God's will. In so doing, his purpose was not to argue for human autonomy but, rather, to provide the basis for his arguments in support of Christianity. Assuming that he had refuted atheism, Clarke in these lectures attacked the deists, those who admit there is an intelligent creator but who either deny that he concerns himself with the world he made or believe that only what reason can show about him need be accepted. His aim was to lead the deists beyond deism to Christianity. The argument Clarke used to bring the deists to this point rested on an appeal to our moral knowledge, which is independent of anything we think about Christianity. The argument, briefly, is as follows: We know that to act virtuously is to act piously, justly, benevolently, and prudently. But ordinary experience shows that even if we are virtuous, we may nevertheless not be happy. It is evident, however, that the virtuous deserve to be happy, and because God acts according to the principles we see to be eternally true, we have reason to believe that the virtuous will get what they deserve. Thus we have reason to believe in a future life. Most people cannot come to believe in a future life by means of reasoning, and even the philosophers among the heathens cannot obtain a full and clear grasp of the eternal moral truths. Without such knowledge, however, it is not reasonable to expect people to be virtuous; yet they are required to be so. This shows that a revelation is needed, and because God is benevolent, it follows that there is reason to suppose that there has been a revelation. Furthermore, only the Christian revelation has the features we could reasonably expect in a revelation from a just and benevolent God, and Christian doctrine also has the features one would expect in a divinely revealed truth. It teaches a morality consonant with natural reason and human happiness, and its specifically religious tenets are reasonable and lead to improved morals. In addition, it has the support of miracles. Anyone not convinced by these evidences of Christianity would not, Clarke concluded, be convinced of its truth by any evidence whatsoever, and so it is no use talking with such people. Clarke's ethics must be understood, then, within this larger religious framework. He was trying to show how we can reject voluntarism while keeping God indispensable to morality. Indeed, to show that disregarding morality is offensive to God and will be punished was as important to Clarke as it was to demonstrate that morality is not constituted by God's will alone. Clarke's main innovation was to propose a model of the laws of nature that the natural lawyers never used, by comparing moral laws with laws of geometry or arithmetic. It plainly makes sense to talk of such laws, and just as plainly, these laws do not seem, as a sovereign's laws do, to need a legislator. At the same time Clarke tried to avoid the Platonism of his rationalist predecessors. Without using any metaphysical doctrine or appealing to innate ideas, he presented principles that he thought his readers would see as so evidently true that no one could deny them. He also attempted to explain how the knowledge of these principles generates a motive

The Unchangeable Obligations of Natural Religion

295

for acting as they direct, thus making ambitious claims for the powers of reason in practical matters. These claims were widely debated during the following decades; the present-day reader may find it profitable to engage in this debate as well. The following selections are from the tenth edition of A Discourse Concerning the Unchangeable Obligations of Natural Religion. I have somewhat modernized the spelling and the use of capitals and italics and simplified some of the punctuation. A Discourse Concerning the Unchangeable Obligations of Natural Religion I. The same necessary and eternal different relations that different things bear one to another and the same consequent fitness or unfitness of the application of different things or different relations one to another, with regard to which the will of God always and necessarily does determine itself to choose to act only what is agreeable to justice, equity, goodness and truth, in order to the welfare of the whole universe; ought likewise constantly to determine the wills of all subordinate rational beings to govern all their actions by the same rules, for the good of the public, in their respective stations. That is; these eternal and necessary differences of things make it fit and reasonable for creatures so to act; they cause it to be their duty or lay an obligation upon them so to do, even separate from the consideration of these rules being the positive will or command of God; and also antecedent to any respect or regard, expectation or apprehension, of any particular private and personal advantage or disadvantage, reward or punishment, either present or future; annexed either by natural consequence or by positive appointment to the practicing or neglecting of those rules. The several parts of this proposition may be proved distinctly in the following manner. 1. That there are differences of things, and different relations, respects or proportions, of some things towards others, is as evident and undeniable as that one magnitude or number is greater, equal to, or smaller than another. That from these different relations of different things there necessarily arises an agreement or disagreement of some things with others, or a fitness or unfitness of the application of different things or different relations one to another, is likewise as plain as that there is any such thing as proportion or disproportion in geometry and arithmetic, or uniformity or disformity in comparing together the respective figures of bodies. Further, that there is a fitness or suitableness of certain circumstances to certain persons, and an unsuitableness of others founded in the nature of things and the qualifications of persons, antecedent to all positive appointment whatsoever; also that from the different relations of different persons one to another there necessarily arises a fitness or unfitness of certain manners of behaviour of some persons towards others, is as manifest as that the properties which flow from the essences of different mathematical figures have different congruities or incongruities between themselves; or that in

296

Samuel Clarke

mechanics certain weights or powers have very different forces and different effects one upon another, according to their different distances or different positions and situations in respect of each other. For instance: that God is infinitely superior to men is as clear as that infinity is larger than a point, or eternity longer than a moment. And 'tis as certainly fit that men should honour and worship, obey and imitate God, rather than on the contrary in all their actions endeavour to dishonour and disobey him, as 'tis certainly true, that they have an entire dependence on him, and he on the contrary can in no respect receive any advantage from them; and not only so, but also that his will is as certainly and unalterably just and equitable in giving his commands as his power is irresistible in requiring submission to it. Again, 'tis a thing absolutely and necessarily fitter in itself that the supreme author and creator of the universe should govern, order and direct all things to certain and constant regular ends, than that every thing should be permitted to go on at adventures and produce uncertain effects merely by chance and in the utmost confusion, without any determinate view or design at all. 'Tis a thing manifestly fitter in itself, that the all-powerful governour of the world should do always what is best in the whole and what tends most to the universal good of the whole creation, than that he should make the whole continually miserable or that, to satisfy the unreasonable desires of any particular depraved natures, he should at any time suffer the order of the whole to be altered and perverted. Lastly, 'tis a thing evidently and infinitely more fit that any one particular innocent and good being should by the supreme ruler and disposer of all things be placed and preserved in an easy and happy estate, than that, without any fault or demerit of its own, it should be made extremely, remedilessly, and endlessly miserable. In like manner, in men's dealing and conversing one with another 'tis undeniably more fit, absolutely and in the nature of the thing itself, that all men should endeavour to promote the universal good and welfare of all, than that all men should be continually contriving the ruin and destruction of all. 'Tis evidently more fit, even before all positive bargains and compacts, that men should deal one with another according to the known rules of justice and equity than that every man for his own present advantage should without scruple disappoint the most reasonable and equitable expectations of his neighbours, and cheat and defraud or spoil by violence all others without restraint. Lastly, 'tis without dispute more fit and reasonable in itself that I should preserve the life of an innocent man that happens at any time to be in my power, or deliver him from any imminent danger, though I have never made any promise so to do, than that I should suffer him to perish or take away his life without any reason or provocation at all. These things are so notoriously plain and self-evident that nothing but the extremest stupidity of mind, corruption of manners, or perverseness of spirit can possibly make any man entertain the least doubt concerning them. For a man endued with reason to deny the truth of these things is the very same thing as if a man that has the use of his sight should at the same time that he

The Unchangeable Obligations of Natural Religion

297

beholds the sun deny that there is any such thing as light in the world. . . . Any man of ordinary capacity and unbiased judgment, plainness and simplicity who had never read and had never been told that there were men and philosophers who had in earnest asserted and attempted to prove that there is no natural and unalterable difference between good and evil would at the first hearing be as hardly persuaded to believe that it could ever really enter into the heart of any intelligent man to deny all natural difference between right and wrong, as he would be to believe that ever there could be any geometer who would seriously and in good earnest lay it down as a first principle that a crooked line is as straight as a right one. So that indeed it might justly seem altogether a needless undertaking to attempt to prove and establish the eternal difference of good and evil, had there not appeared certain men, as Mr. Hobbes and some few others, who have presumed, contrary to the plainest and most obvious reason of mankind, to assert, and not without some subtlety endeavoured to prove that there is no such real difference originally, necessarily, and absolutely in the nature of things; but that all obligation of duty to God arises merely from his absolute irresistible power; and all duty towards men merely from positive compact: 1 Andhavefoutirwlschemofptunaio. Wherein as they have contradicted the judgment of all the wisest and soberest part of mankind, so they have not been able to avoid contradicting themselves also. For (not to mention now, that they have no way to show how compacts themselves come to be obligatory, but by inconsistently owning an eternal original fitness in the thing itself . . .) if there be naturally and absolutely in things themselves no difference between good and evil, just and unjust; then in the state of nature, before any compact be made, 'tis equally as good, just and reasonable, for one man to destroy the life of another, not only when 'tis necessary for his own preservation, but also arbitrarily and without any provocation at all, or any appearance of advantage to himself; as to preserve or have another man's life when he may do it without any hazard of his own. The consequence of which is that not only the first and most obvious way for every particular man to secure himself effectually would be (as Mr. Hobbes teaches) to endeavour to prevent and cut off all others, but also that men might destroy one another upon every foolish and peevish or arbitrary humour, even when they did not think any such thing necessary for their own preservation. And the effect of this practice must needs be, that it would terminate in the destruction of all mankind. Which being undeniably a great and unsufferable evil, Mr. Hobbes himself confesses it reasonable that, to prevent this evil, men should enter into certain compacts to preserve one another. Now if the destruction of mankind by each other's hands, be such an evil that, to prevent it, it was fit and reasonable that men should enter into compacts to preserve each other, then before any such compacts it was manifestly a thing unfit and unreasonable in itself that mankind should all destroy one another. And if so, then for the same reason it was also unfit and unrea-

298

Samuel Clarke

sonable, antecedent to all compacts, that any one man should destroy another arbitrarily and without any provocation, or at any time when it was not absolutely and immediately necessary for the preservation of himself. Which is directly contradictory to Mr. Hobbes's first supposition, of there being no natural and absolute difference between good and evil, just and unjust, antecedent to positive compact. . . . The true state therefore of this case is plainly this. Some things are in their own nature good and reasonable and fit to be done, such as keeping faith and performing equitable compacts, and the like; and these receive not their obligatory power from any law or authority, but are only declared, confirmed, and enforced by penalties, upon such as would not perhaps be governed by right reason only. Other things are in their own nature absolutely evil, such as breaking faith, refusing to perform equitable compacts, cruelly destroying those who have neither directly nor indirectly given any occasion for any such treatment, and the like; and these cannot by any law or authority whatsoever be made fit and reasonable or excusable to be practiced. Lastly, other things are in their own nature indifferent. . . . The principal thing that can, with any colour of reason, seem to countenance the opinion of those who deny the natural and eternal difference of good and evil . . . is the difficulty there may sometimes be to define exactly the bounds of right and wrong: the variety of opinions that have obtained even among understanding and learned men concerning certain questions of just and unjust, especially in political matters: and the many contrary laws that have been made in diverse ages and in different countries concerning these matters. . . . it may perhaps be very difficult in some nice and perplexed cases (which yet are very far from occurring frequently) to define exactly the bounds of right and wrong, just and unjust; and there may be some latitude in the judgment of different men, and the laws of diverse nations; yet right and wrong are nevertheless in themselves totally and essentially different; even altogether as much as white and black, light and darkness. . . . Now if in the flagrant cases the natural and essential difference between good and evil, right and wrong cannot but be confessed to be plainly and undeniably evident, the difference between them must be also essential and unalterable in all even the smallest and nicest and most intricate cases, though it be not so easy to be discerned and accurately distinguished. For if from the difficulty of determining exactly the bounds of right and wrong in many perplexed cases it could truly be concluded that just and unjust were not essentially different by nature but only by positive constitution and custom; it would follow equally, that they were not really, essentially, and unalterably different, even in the most flagrant cases that can be supposed. Which is an assertion so very absurd, that Mr. Hobbes himself could hardly vent it without blushing, and discovering plainly, by his shifting expressions, his secret self-condemnation. There are therefore certain necessary and eternal differences of things, and certain consequent fitnesses or unfitnesses of the application of different things or different relations one to another; not depending on any positive

The Unchangeable Obligations of Natural Religion

299

constitutions, but founded unchangeably in the nature and reason of things and unavoidably arising from the differences of the things themselves. Which is the first branch of the general proposition I proposed to prove. 2. Now what these eternal and unalterable relations, respects, or proportions of things, with their consequent agreements or disagreements, fitnesses or unfitnesses, absolutely and necessarily are in themselves; that also they appear to be, to the understandings of all intelligent beings, except those only who understand things to be what they are not, that is, whose understandings are either very imperfect or very much depraved. And by this understanding or knowledge of the natural and necessary relations, fitnesses, and proportions of things, the wills likewise of all intelligent beings are constantly directed and must needs be determined to act accordingly, excepting those only who will things to be what they are not and cannot be; that is, whose wills are corrupted by particular interest or affection, or swayed by some unreasonable and prevailing passion. Wherefore since the natural attributes of God, his infinite knowledge, wisdom and power, set him infinitely above all possibility of being deceived by any errour or of being influenced by any wrong affection, 'tis manifest his divine will cannot but always and necessarily determine itself to choose to do what in the whole is absolutely best and fittest to be done; that is, to act constantly according to the eternal rules of infinite goodness, justice, and truth. . . . 3. And now, that the same reason of things, with regard to which the will of God always and necessarily does determine itself to act in constant conformity to the eternal rules of justice, equity, goodness, and truth, ought also constantly to determine the wills of all subordinate rational beings, to govern all their actions by the same rules, is very evident. For, as 'tis absolutely impossible in nature that God should be deceived by any errour or influenced by any wrong affection: So 'tis very unreasonable and blameworthy in practice that any intelligent creatures, whom God has made so far like unto himself as to endow them with those excellent faculties of reason and will whereby they are enabled to distinguish good from evil, and to choose the one and refuse the other; should either negligently suffer themselves to be imposed upon and deceived in matters of good and evil, right and wrong; or wilfully and perversely allow themselves to be over-ruled by absurd passions, and corrupt or partial affections, to act contrary to what they know is fit to be done. Which two things, viz. negligent misunderstanding and wilful passions or lusts, are, as I said, the only causes which can make a reasonable creature act contrary to reason, that is, contrary to the eternal rules of justice, equity, righteousness and truth. For was it not for these inexcusable corruptions and depravations, 'tis impossible but the same proportions and fitnesses of things which have so much weight and so much excellency and beauty in them, that the all-powerful creator and governour of the universe, . . . thinks it no diminution of his power to make this reason of things the unalterable rule and law of his own actions in the government of the world, and does nothing by mere will and arbitrariness; . . . must much more have weight enough to determine

300

Samuel Clarke

constantly the wills and actions of all subordinate, finite, dependent and accountable beings. For originally and in reality, 'tis as natural and (morally speaking) necessary that the will should be determined in every action by the reason of the thing and the right of the case as 'tis natural and (absolutely speaking) necessary that the understanding should submit to a demonstrated truth. And 'tis as absurd and blameworthy to mistake negligently plain right and wrong, that is, to understand the proportions of things in morality to be what they are not; or wilfully to act contrary to known justice and equity, that is, to will things to be what they are not; or wilfully to act contrary to known justice and equity, that is, to will things to be what they are not and cannot be; as it would be absurd and ridiculous for a man in arithmetical matters, ignorantly to believe that twice two is not equal to four; or wilfully and obstinately to contend, against his own clear knowledge, that the whole is not equal to all its parts. The only difference is, that assent to a plain speculative truth is not in a man's power to withhold; but to act according to the plain right and reason of things, this he may, by the natural liberty of his will, forbear. But the one he ought to do and 'tis as much his plain and indispensable duty, as the other he cannot but do, and 'tis the necessity of his nature to do it. He that wilfully refuses to honour and obey God, from whom he received his being, and to whom he continually owes his preservation is really guilty of an equal absurdity and inconsistency in practice as he that in speculation denies the effect to owe any thing to its cause, or the whole to be bigger than its part. He that refuses to deal with all men equitably, and with every man as he desires they should deal with him is guilty of the very same unreasonableness and contradiction in one case as he that in another case should affirm one number or quantity to be equal to another, and yet that other at the same time not to be equal to the first. . . . In a word; all wilful wickedness and perversion of right is the very same insolence and absurdity in moral matters as it would be in natural things for a man to pretend to alter the certain proportions of numbers, to take away the demonstrable relations and properties of mathematical figures, to make light darkness, and darkness light, or to call sweet bitter, and bitter sweet. Further: As it appears thus from the abstract and absolute reason and nature of things that all rational creatures ought, that is, are obliged to take care that their wills and actions be constantly determined and governed by the eternal rule of right and equity: So the certainty and universality of that obligation is plainly confirmed and the force of it particularly discovered and applied to every man by this, that in like manner as no one who is instructed in mathematics can forbear giving his assent to every geometrical demonstration, of which he understands the terms, either by his own study or by having had them explained to him by others; so no man who either has patience and opportunities to examine and consider things himself or has the means of being taught and instructed in any tolerable manner by others, concerning the necessary relations and dependencies of things; can avoid giving his assent to

The Unchangeable Obligations of Natural Religion

301

the fitness and reasonableness of his governing all his actions by the law or rule before mentioned, even though his practice, through the prevalence of brutish lusts, be most absurdly contradictory to that assent. That is to say: by the reason of his mind, he cannot but be compelled to own and acknowledge that there is really such an obligation indispensably incumbent upon him; even at the same time that in the actions of his life he is endeavouring to throw it off and despise it. For the judgment and conscience of a man's own mind concerning the reasonableness and fitness of the thing, that his actions should be conformed to such or such a rule or law, is the truest and formallest obligation; even more properly and strictly so than any opinion whatsoever of the authority of the giver of a law, or any regard he may have to its sanction by rewards and punishments. For whoever acts contrary to this sense and conscience of his own mind, is necessarily self-condemned; and the greatest and strongest of all obligations is that, which a man cannot break through without condemning himself. The dread of superiour power and authority, and the sanction of rewards and punishments, however indeed absolutely necessary to the government of frail and fallible creatures, and truly the most effectual means of keeping them in their duty, is yet really in itself only a secondary and additional obligation or enforcement of the first. The original obligation of all (the ambiguous use of which word as a term of art has caused some perplexity and confusion in this matter) is the eternal reason of things; that reason, which God himself who has no superiour to direct him, and to whose happiness nothing can be added nor anything diminished from it, yet constantly obliges himself to govern the world by. And the more excellent and perfect (or the freer from corruption and depravation) any creatures are, the more cheerfully and steadily are their wills always determined by this supreme obligation, in conformity to the nature and in imitation of the most perfect will of God. So far therefore as men are conscious of what is right and wrong, so far they are under an obligation to act accordingly; and consequently that eternal rule of right, which I have been hitherto describing, 'tis evident ought as indispensably to govern men's actions, as it cannot but necessarily determine their assent. Now that the case is truly thus; that the eternal differences of good and evil, the unalterable rule of right and equity, do necessarily and unavoidably determine the judgment and force the assent of all men that use any consideration, is undeniably manifest from the universal experience of mankind. For no man willingly and deliberately transgresses this rule in any great and considerable instance, but he acts contrary to the judgment and reason of his own mind, and secretly reproaches himself for so doing. And no man observes and obeys it steadily, especially in cases of difficulty and temptation, when it interferes with any present interest, pleasure or passion, but his own mind commends and applauds him for him for his resolution, in executing what his conscience could not forbear giving its assent to, as just and right. And this is what Saint Paul means when he says (Rom. 2: 14, 15) that "when the Gentiles which have

302

Samuel Clarke

not the law do by nature the things contained in the law, these having not the law, are a law unto themselves; which shew the work of the law written in their hearts, their conscience also bearing witness, and their thoughts the mean while accusing, or else excusing one another." .. . Some men indeed, who, by means of a very evil and vicious education, or through a long habit of wickedness and debauchery, have extremely corrupted the principles of their nature, and have long accustomed themselves to bear down their own reason by the force of prejudice, lust, and passion; that they may not be forced to confess themselves self-condemned, will confidently and absolutely contend that they do not really see any natural and necessary difference between what we call right and wrong, just and unjust; that the reason and judgment of their own mind does not tell them they are under any such indispensable obligations as we would endeavour to persuade them; and that they are not sensible they ought to be governed by any other rule than their own will and pleasure. But even these men, the most abandoned of all mankind, however industriously they endeavour to conceal and deny their self-condemnation, yet they cannot avoid making a discovery of it sometimes when they are not aware of it. For example, there is no man so vile and desperate, who commits at any time a murder and robbery with the most unrelenting mind, but would choose, if such a thing could be proposed to him, to obtain all the same profit or advantage, whatsoever it be that he aims at, without committing the crime, rather than with it; even though he was sure to go unpunished for committing the crime. . . . But the truth of this, that the mind of man naturally and necessarily assents to the eternal law of righteousness, may still better and more clearly and more universally appear from the judgment that men pass upon each other's actions than from what we can discern concerning their consciousness of their own. For men may dissemble and conceal from the world the judgment of their own conscience; nay, by a strange partiality, they may even impose upon and deceive themselves; . . . But men's judgments concerning the actions of others, especially where they have no relation to themselves or repugnance to their interest, are commonly impartial; and from this we may judge what sense men naturally have of the unalterable difference of right and wrong. Now the observation which everyone cannot but make in this matter, is this: that virtue and true goodness, righteousness and equity, are things so truly noble and excellent, so lovely and venerable in themselves, and do so necessarily approve themselves to the reason and consciences of men, that even those very persons who by the prevailing power of some interest or lust, are themselves drawn aside out of the paths of virtue, can yet hardly ever forbear to give it its true character and commendation in others. . . . There is but one thing that I am sensible of which can here with any colour be objected against what has been hitherto said concerning the necessity of the mind's giving its assent to the eternal law of righteousness; and that is the total ignorance, which some whole nations are reported to lie under, of the

The Unchangeable Obligations of Natural Religion

303

nature and force of these moral obligations. I am not satisfied the matter of fact is true. But if it was, yet mere ignorance affords no just objection against the certainty of any truth. Were there upon earth a nation of rational and considerate persons, whose notions concerning moral obligations and concerning the nature and force of them, were universally and directly contrary to what I have hitherto represented, this would be indeed a weighty objection. But ignorance and stupidity are no arguments against the certainty of anything. There are many nations and people almost totally ignorant of the plainest mathematical truths; as of the proportion, for example, of a square to a triangle of the same base and height. And yet these truths are such, to which the mind cannot but give its assent necessarily and unavoidably as soon as they are distinctly proposed to it. All that this objection proves therefore .. . [is] that men have great need to be taught and instructed in some very plain and easy as well as certain truths; and, if they be important truths, that then men have need also to have them frequently inculcated and strongly enforced upon them. Which is very true, and is . . . one good argument for the reasonableness of expecting a revelation. 4. Thus it appears in general that the mind of man cannot avoid giving its assent to the eternal law of righteousness; that is, cannot but acknowledge the reasonableness and fitness of men's governing all their actions by the rule of right or equity: And also that this assent is a formal obligation upon every man, actually and constantly to conform himself to that rule. I might now from hence deduce in particular all the several duties of morality or natural religion. But because this would take up too large a portion of my intended discourse and may easily be supplied abundantly out of several late excellent writers, I shall only mention the three great and principal branches from which all the other and smaller instances of duty do naturally flow or may without difficulty be derived. First then, in respect of God, the rule of righteousness is that we keep up constantly in our minds, the highest possible honour, esteem, and veneration for him, which must express itself in proper and respective influences upon all our passions, and in the suitable direction of all our actions. . . . Secondly. In respect of our fellow-creatures, the rule of righteousness is that in particular we deal with every man as in like circumstances we could reasonably expect he should deal with us; and that in general we endeavour, by an universal benevolence, to promote the welfare and happiness of all men. The former branch of this rule, is equity; the latter, is love. As to the former, viz. equity: the reason which obliges every man in practice so to deal always with another as he would reasonably expect that others should in like circumstances deal with him, is the very same as that which forces him in speculation to affirm that if one line or number be equal to another, that other is reciprocally equal to it. Iniquity is the very same in action as falsity or contradiction in theory; and the same cause which makes the one absurd makes the other unreasonable. Whatever relation or proportion one man in any case bears to another, the same that other, when put in

304

Samuel Clarke

like circumstances, bears to him. Whatever I judge reasonable or unreasonable for another to do for me, that, by the same judgment, I declare reasonable or unreasonable, that I in the like case should do for him. And to deny this either in work or action is as if a man should contend that, though two and three are equal to five, yet five are not equal to two and three. Wherefore were not men strangely and most unnaturally corrupted by perverse and unaccountably false opinions, and monstrous evil customs and habits prevailing against the clearest and plainest reason in the world, it would be impossible that universal equity should not be practiced by all mankind; and especially among equals, where the proportion of equity is simple and obvious, and every man's own case is already the same with all others, without any nice comparing or transposing of circumstances. . . . In considering indeed the duties of superiours and inferiours in various relations, the proportion of equity is somewhat more complex; but still it may always be deduced from the same rule of doing as we would be done by, if careful regard be had at the same time to the difference of relation. That is, if in considering what is fit for you to do to another, you always take into the account, not only every circumstance of the action, but also every circumstance wherein the person differs from you; and in judging what you would desire that another, if your circumstances were transposed, should do to you, you always consider not what any unreasonable passion or private interest would prompt you, but what impartial reason would dictate to you to desire. For example: A magistrate, in order to deal equitably with a criminal, is not to consider what fear or self-love could cause him, in the criminal's case, to desire; but what reason and the public good would oblige him to acknowledge was fit and just for him to expect. And the same proportion is to be observed in deducing the duties of parents and children, of matters and servants, of governours and subjects, of citizens and foreigners. . . . In the regular and uniform practice of all which duties among all mankind, in their several and respective relations, through the whole earth, consists that universal justice which is the top and perfection of all virtues: . . . The second branch of the rule of righteousness with respect to our fellowcreatures, I said, was universal love or benevolence; that is, not only the doing barely what is just and right, in our dealings with every man; but also a constant endeavouring to promote in general, to the utmost of our power, the welfare and happiness of all men. The obligation to which duty also may easily be deduced from what has been already laid down. For if (as has been before proved) there be a natural and necessary difference between good and evil, and that which is good is fit and reasonable, and that which is evil is unreasonable to be done; and that which is the greatest good, is always the most fit and reasonable to be chosen: then, as the goodness of God extends itself universally over all works through the whole creation, by doing always what is absolutely best in the whole, so every rational creature ought in its sphere and station, according to its respective powers and faculties, to do all the good it can to all its fellow-creatures. To

The Unchangeable Obligations of Natural Religion

305

which end universal love and benevolence is as plainly the most direct, certain, and effectual means; as in mathematics the flowing of a point is, to produce a line; or in arithmetic, the addition of numbers to produce a sum; or in physics, certain kinds of motions to preserve certain bodies, which other kinds of motions tend to corrupt. Of all which the mind of man is so naturally sensible that, except in such men whose affections are prodigiously corrupted by most unnatural and habitual vicious practices, there is no duty whatsoever, the performance whereof affords a man so ample pleasure and satisfaction, and fills his mind with so comfortable a sense of his having done the greatest good he was capable to do, of his having best answered the ends of his creation and nearliest imitated the perfections of his creator, and consequently of his having fully complied with the highest and principal obligations of his nature; as the performance of this one duty, of universal love and benevolence, naturally affords. But further: the obligation to this great duty may also otherwise be deduced from the nature of man in the following manner. Next to that natural self-love or care of his own preservation, which everyone necessarily has in the first place for himself, there is in all men a certain natural affection for their children and posterity, who have a dependence upon them; and for their near relations and friends, who have an intimacy with them. And because the nature of man is such that they cannot live comfortably in independent families, without still further society and commerce with each other; therefore they naturally desire to increase their dependencies by multiplying affinities, and to enlarge their friendships by mutual good offices, and to establish societies by a communication of arts and labour; till by degrees the affection of single persons becomes a friendship of families; and this enlarges itself to society of towns and cities and nations; and terminates in the agreeing community of all mankind. The foundation, preservation, and perfection of which universal friendship or society, is mutual love and benevolence. And nothing hinders the world from being actually put into so happy a state, but perverse iniquity, and unreasonable want of mutual charity. Wherefore since men are plainly so constituted by nature, that they stand in need of each other's assistance to make themselves easy in the world, and are fitted to live in communities, and society is absolutely necessary for them; and mutual love and benevolence is the only possible means to establish this society in any tolerable and durable manner; and in this respect all men stand upon the same level, and have the same natural wants and desires, and are in the same need of each other's help, and are equally capable of enjoying the benefit and advantage of society: 'Tis evident every man is bound by the law of his nature, as he is also prompted by the inclination of his uncorrupted affections, to look upon himself as a part and member of that one universal body or community, which is made up of all mankind; to think himself born to promote the public good and welfare of all his fellow-creatures; and consequently obliged, as the necessary and only effectual means to that end, to embrace them all with universal love and benevolence. . . .

306

Samuel Clarke

Thirdly, with respect to ourselves, the rule of righteousness is that every man preserve his own being, as long as he is able, and take care to keep himself at all times in such temper and disposition both of body and mind as may best fit and enable him to perform his duty in all other instances. That is: he ought to bridle his appetites, with temperance; to govern his passions, with moderation; and to apply himself to the business of his present station in the world, whatsoever it be, with attention and contentment. That every man ought to preserve his own being as long as he is able, is evident; because what he is not himself the author and giver of, he can never of himself have just power or authority to take away. He that sent us into the world, and alone knows for how long time he appointed us our station here, and when we have finished all the business he intended we should do, can alone judge when 'tis fit for us to be taken hence and has alone authority to dismiss and discharge us. . . . Lastly: For the same reason that a man is obliged not to depart wilfully out of this life, which is the general station that God has appointed him, he is obliged likewise to attend the duties of that particular station or condition of life, whatsoever it be, wherein providence has at present placed him, with diligence and contentment, without being uneasy and discontented, that others are placed by providence in different and superiour stations in the world; or so extremely and unreasonably solicitous to change his state for the future as thereby to neglect his present duty. From these three great and general branches, all the smaller and more particular instances of moral obligations, may (as I said) easily be deduced. 5. And now this (this eternal rule of equity, which I have been hitherto describing) is that right reason which makes the principal distinction between man and beasts. This is the law of nature. . . . 6. Further yet: as this law of nature is infinitely superiour to all authority of men and independent upon it; so its obligation, primarily and originally, is antecedent also even to this consideration, of its being the positive will or command of God himself. For as the addition of certain numbers necessarily produces a certain sum, and certain geometrical or mechanical operations give a constant and unalterable solution of certain problems or propositions: So in moral matters, there are certain necessary and unalterable respects or relations of things, which have not their original from arbitrary and positive constitution, but are of eternal necessity in their own nature. . . . The existence indeed of the things themselves, whose proportions and relations we consider, depends entirely on the mere arbitrary will and good pleasure of God; who can create things when he pleases, and destroy them again whenever he thinks fit. But when things are created, and so long as it pleases God to continue them in being, their proportions, which are abstractly of eternal necessity, are also in the things themselves absolutely unalterable. Hence God himself, though he has no superiour from whose will to receive any law of his actions yet disdains not to observe the rule of equity and goodness, as the law of all his actions in the government of the world; and condescends to appeal even to men for the equity and righteousness of his

The Unchangeable Obligations of Natural Religion

307

judgments. To this law, the infinite perfections of his divine nature make it necessary for him (as has been before proved) to have constant regard. And . . . not barely his infinite power, but the rules of this eternal law, are the true foundation and the measure of his dominion over his creatures. (For if infinite power was the rule and measure of right, 'tis evident that goodness and mercy and all other divine perfections would be empty words without any signification at all.) .. . 7. Lastly, this law of nature has its full obligatory power, antecedent to all consideration of any particular private and personal reward or punishment, annexed either by natural consequence or by positive appointment to the observance or neglect of it. This also is very evident, because, if good and evil, right and wrong, fitness and unfitness of being practiced, be (as has been shown originally) eternally and necessarily in the nature of the things themselves, 'tis plain that the view of particular rewards or punishments, which is only an after-consideration and does not at all alter the nature of things, cannot be the original cause of the obligation of the law, but is only an additional weight to enforce the practice of what men were before obliged to by right reason. There is no man who has any just sense of the difference between good and evil but must needs acknowledge that virtue and goodness are truly amiable, and to be chosen for their own sakes and intrinsic worth; though a man had no prospect of gaining any particular advantage to himself, by the practice of them; and that, on the contrary, cruelty, violence and oppression, fraud, injustice, and all manner of wickedness are of themselves hateful and by all means to be avoided, even though a man had absolute assurance that he should bring no manner of inconvenience upon himself by the commission of any or all of these crimes. . . . Thus far is clear. But now from hence it does not at all follow either that a good man ought to have no respect to rewards and punishments or that rewards and punishments are not absolutely necessary to maintain the practice of virtue and righteousness in this present world. 'Tis certain indeed, that virtue and vice are eternally and necessarily different, and that the one truly deserves to be chosen for its own sake, and the other ought by all means to be avoided, though a man was sure for his own particular neither to gain nor lose anything by the practice of either. And if this was truly the state of things in the world, certainly that man must have a very corrupt mind indeed who could in the least doubt, or so much as once deliberate with himself, which he would choose. But the case does not stand thus. The question now in the general practice of the world, supposing all expectation of rewards and punishments set aside, will not be whether a man would choose virtue for its own sake, and avoid vice; but the practice of vice is accompanied with great temptations and allurements of pleasure and profit; and the practice of virtue is often threatened with great calamities, losses, and sometimes even with death itself. And this alters the question and destroys the practice of that which appears so reasonable in the whole speculation, and introduces a necessity of rewards and punishments. For though virtue is unquestionably worthy to be chosen for

308

Samuel Clarke

its own sake, even without any expectation of reward; yet it does not follow that it is therefore entirely self-sufficient and able to support a man under all kinds of sufferings, and even death itself, for its sake, without any prospect of future recompence. Here therefore began the error of the Stoics, who taught that the bare practice of virtue was itself the chief good and able of itself to make a man happy, under all the calamities in the world. 2 Their defence indeed of the cause of virtue was very brave. They saw well that its excellency was intrinsic and founded in the nature of things themselves, and could not be altered by any outward circumstances; that therefore virtue must needs be desirable for its own sake and not merely for the advantage it might bring along with it; and if so, then consequently neither could any external disadvantage which it might happen to be attended with change the intrinsic worth of the thing itself, or ever make it cease to be truly desirable. Wherefore, in the case of sufferings and death for the sake of virtue, not having any certain knowledge of a future state of reward . . . they were forced, that they might be consistent with their own principles, to suppose the practice of virtue a sufficient reward to itself in all cases, and a full compensation for all the sufferings in the world. And accordingly they very bravely indeed taught that the practice of virtue was not only infinitely to be preferred before all the sinful pleasures in the world, but also that a man ought without scruple to choose, if the case was proposed to him, rather to undergo all possible sufferings with virtue, than to obtain all possible worldly happiness by sin. . . . But yet, after all this, 'tis plain that the general practice of virtue in the world can never be supported upon this foot. The discourse is admirable, but it seldom goes further than mere words. And the practice of those few who have acted accordingly has not been imitated by the rest of the world. Men never will generally, and indeed 'tis not very reasonably to be expected they should, part with all the comforts of life and even life itself without expectation of any future recompence. So that if we suppose no future state of rewards, it will follow that God has endowed men with such faculties as put them under a necessity of approving and choosing virtue in the judgment of their own minds; and yet has not given them wherewith to support themselves in the suitable and constant practice of it. The consideration of which inexplicable difficulty ought to have led the philosophers to a firm belief and expectation of a future state of rewards and punishments, without which their whole scheme of morality cannot be supported. . . . Thus have I endeavoured to deduce the original obligations of morality from the necessary and eternal reason and proportions of things. Some have chosen to found all difference of good and evil in the mere positive will and power of God. But the absurdity of this, I have shown elsewhere. Others have contended that all difference of good and evil and all obligations of morality ought to be founded originally upon considerations of public utility. And true indeed it is, in the whole, that the good of the universal creation does always coincide with the necessary truth and reason of things. But otherwise (and separate from this consideration that God will certainly cause truth and right

The Unchangeable Obligations of Natural Religion

309

to terminate in happiness) what is for the good of the whole creation, in very many cases, none but an infinite understanding can possibly judge. Public utility is one thing to one nation, and the contrary to another: And the governours of every nation will and must be judges of the public good. And by public good they will generally mean the private good of that particular nation. But truth and right (whether public or private) founded in the eternal and necessary reason of things is what every man can judge of, when laid before him. 'Tis necessarily one and the same, to every man's understanding; just as light is the same, to every man's eyes. . . . And now, from what has been said upon this head, 'tis easy to see the falsity and weakness of Mr. Hobbes's doctrines that there is no such thing as just and unjust, right and wrong, originally in the nature of things; that men in their natural state, antecedent to all compacts, are not obliged to universal benevolence, nor to any moral duty whatsoever; but are in a state of war, and have every one a right to do whatever he has power to do; and that, in civil societies, it depends wholly upon positive laws or the will of governours to define what shall be just or unjust. The contrary to all which, having been already fully demonstrated, there is no need of being large in further disproving and confuting particularly these assertions themselves. . . . II. Though these eternal moral obligations are indeed of themselves incumbent on all rational beings, even antecedent to the consideration of their being the positive will and command of God, yet that which most strongly confirms and in practice most effectually and indispensably enforces them upon us, is this: that both from the perfections of God and the nature of things, and from several other collateral considerations, it appears that as God is himself necessarily just and good in the exercise of his infinite power in the government of the whole world, so he cannot but likewise positively require that all his rational creatures should in their proportion be so too, in the exercise of each of their powers in their several and respective spheres. . . . This proposition is very evident, and has little need of being particularly proved. For first, the same reasons which prove to us that God must of necessity be himself infinitely holy, and just, and good manifestly prove, that it must also be his will that all his creatures should be so likewise, according to the proportions and capacities of their several natures. . . . 3. The same thing may likewise further appear from the following consideration. Whatever tends directly and certainly to promote the good and happiness of the whole and (as far as is consistent with that chief end) to promote also the good and welfare of every particular part of the creation must needs be agreeable to the will of God; .. . Now that the exact observance of all those moral obligations which have before been proved to arise necessarily from the nature and relations of things . . . is the certainest and directest means to promote the welfare and happiness as well of every man in particular, both in body and mind, as of all men in general considered with respect to society, is so very manifest, that

310

Samuel Clarke

even the greatest enemies of all religion, who suppose it to be nothing more than a worldly or state policy, do yet by that very supposition confess thus much concerning it. . . . III. Though the fore-mentioned eternal moral obligations are incumbent indeed on all rational creatures, antecedent to any respect of particular reward or punishment, yet they must certainly and necessarily be attended with rewards and punishments. Because the same reasons which prove God himself to be necessarily just and good, and the rules of justice, equity, and goodness, to be his unalterable will, law, and command, to all created beings, prove also that he cannot but be pleased with and approve such creatures as imitate and obey him by observing those rules, and be displeased with such as act contrary thereto; and consequently that he cannot but some way or other, make a suitable difference in his dealings with them. . . . This proposition also is in a manner self-evident. [VII. On the need for a revelation] 1. There was plainly wanting a divine revelation to recover mankind out of their universal corruption and degeneracy; and without such a revelation, it was not possible that the world should ever be effectually reformed. For if (as has been before particularly shown) the gross and stupid ignorance, the innumerable prejudices and vain opinions, the strong passions and appetites of sense, and the many vicious customs and habits which the generality of mankind continually labour under make it undeniably too difficult a work for men of all capacities to discover every one for himself, by the bare light of nature, all the particular branches of their duty; but most men, in the present state of things, have manifestly need of much teaching and particular instruction; if those who were best able to discover the truth and instruct others therein, namely the wisest and best of the philosophers, were themselves unavoidably altogether ignorant of some doctrines, and very doubtful and uncertain of others, absolutely necessary to the bringing about that great end, the reformation of mankind; if those truths which they were themselves very certain of they were not yet able to prove and explain clearly enough to vulgar understandings; if even those things which they proved sufficiently and explained with all clearness, they had not yet authority enough to enforce and inculcate upon men's minds with so strong an impression as to influence and govern the general practice of the world, nor pretended to afford men any supernatural assistance, which yet was very necessary to so great a work; and if, after all, in the discovery of such matters as are the great motives of religion, men are apt to be more easily worked upon and more strongly affected by good testimony, than by the strictest abstract argument, so that, upon the whole, 'tis plain the philosophers were never by any means well qualified to reform mankind with any considerable success; Then there was evidently wanting some particular revelation, which might supply all these defects. . . .

Editor's Notes

311

It may here perhaps be pretended by modern deists that the great ignorance and undeniable corruptness of the whole heathen world has always been owing, not to any absolute insufficiency of the light of nature itself, but merely to the fault of the several particular persons in not sufficiently improving that light; and that deists now, in places where learning and right reason are cultivated, are well able to discover and explain all the obligations and motives of morality without believing anything of revelation. But this, even though it were true . . . that all the obligations and motives of morality could possibly be discovered and explained clearly by the mere light of nature alone, yet even this would not at all prove that there is no need of revelation. For whatever the bare natural possibility was, 'tis certain in fact the wisest philosophers of old never were able to do it to any effectual purpose, but always willingly acknowledged that they still wanted some higher assistance. . . . the clearness of moral reasonings was much improved, and the regard to a future state very much increased, even in heathen writers, after the coming of Christ. And almost all the things that are said wisely and truly by modern deists, are plainly borrowed from that revelation which they refuse to embrace; and without which they could never have been able to have said the same things. Now, indeed, when our whole duty with its true motives is clearly revealed to us, its precepts appear plainly agreeable to reason; and conscience readily approves what is good, as it condemns what is evil. Nay, after our duty is thus made known to us, 'tis easy not only to see its agreement with reason, but also to begin and deduce its obligation from reason. But had we been utterly destitute of all revealed light, then to have discovered our duty in all points, with the true motives of it, merely by the help of natural reason, would have been a work of nicety, pains and labour; like groping for an unknown way in the obscure twilight. . . . 'Tis one thing to see that those rules of life which are beforehand plainly and particularly laid before us are perfectly agreeable to reason; and another thing to find out those rules merely by the light of reason, without their having first been any otherwise made known. We see that even many of those who profess to govern their lives by the plain written rule of an instituted and revealed religion are yet most miserably ignorant of their duty; and how can any man be sure he should have made so good improvement of his reason as to have understood it perfectly in all its parts, without any such help? Editor's Notes

1. In Leviathan, chap. 31, Hobbes said, "The right of nature, whereby God reigneth over men . . . is to be derived, not from his creating them, as if he required obedience as of gratitude for his benefits, but from his irresistible power." The reader will be able to see Hobbes's view of duties toward men in the selections from Hobbes in Part I. 2. See the section on "Stoicism and Epicureanism" in the introduction to this anthology.

312

Samuel Clarke Further Reading

There is no modern edition of Clarke's complete works or of the lectures containing his moral philosophy. His exchange with Leibniz is available in H. G. Alexander, ed., The Leibniz—Clarke Correspondence (Manchester, England: Manchester University Press, 1956). On this topic, also see A. Rupert Hall, Philosophers at War: The Quarrel Between Newton and Leibniz (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1980). Relatively little has been written about Clarke, and even less about his ethics. James P. Ferguson, Dr. Samuel Clarke: An Eighteenth Century Heretic (Kineton, England: Roundwood Press, 1976), is a general study of Clarke's life and religious controversies. Ferguson also wrote The Philosophy of Dr. Samuel Clarke and Its Critics (New York: Vantage, 1974). John H. Gay, "Matter and Freedom in the Thought of Samuel Clarke," Journal of the History of Ideas 24 (1963), bears on Clarke's ethics indirectly. Howard M. Ducharme, "Personal Identity in Samuel Clarke," Journal of the History of Philosophy 24 (1986): 359-83, examines some of Clarke's less widely read works that pertain to his ethics. Clarke is discussed briefly at several points in Norman Fiering, Jonathan Edwards's Moral Thought and Its British Context (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1981); consult the index. There also is an attack on Clarke's moral philosophy in John Finnis, Natural Law and Natural Rights (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1980), pp. 36-42. Otherwise, despite his considerable importance in his own time and despite Sidgwick's admiration of him, Clarke remains well known but little discussed.

Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz

Introduction

Leibniz, born in 1646 in Leipzig, was a child of an academic family. During his early years he read widely, and although he studied law, he never confined his interests to any single subject. After finishing his formal education, he spent some time carrying out diplomatic and legal functions for a minor German prince. Leibniz then spent four years in Paris and in 1676 attached himself to the ruling family of Hanover. He spent the rest of his life in the service of successive Hanoverian rulers. The last one he served, Georg Ludwig, became the king of England in 1714. Leibniz, deeply interested in European unity and harmony, saw the reunification of Protestant and Catholic confessions as necessary for that accomplishment. He hoped his own philosophical work might help, by producing a generally acceptable religious view. He carried out extensive historical research for his masters, worked on increasing cooperation of scientists of all nations, kept up with advances in technology, and, in addition to all this, did fundamentally important work in mathematics, logic, and metaphysics. Leibniz published a variety of papers but only one book, the Theodicy (1710), which was an attempt to resolve the problem of evil. When he died in 1716, he left behind a vast mass of manuscripts from which selections have gradually been published and of which no complete edition yet exists. A man of astonishing versatility, intellectual power, and originality, Leibniz was also in many respects quite conservative. His desire to harmonize and unify the warring nations and sects of Europe found a counterpart in his philosophy, which aimed to show that the new science was not at odds with religion, that explanations involving mechanical or efficient causes did not exclude explanations involving purposes or final causes, and that a better understanding of physics would lead to a better understanding of God. To achieve all this, Leibniz propounded an ingenious metaphysical theory. The created world, Leibniz held, consists of indivisible substances that are essentially centers of force or activity. Each of the indefinitely large number of these centers, which Leibniz called monads, is created by God and has built into its nature all its properties, including what we think of as its relations to others. Hence, whatever occurs during the history of a monad is always present in it. It follows that monads do not really interact. What looks like interaction to us is the correlation that God has set up among the unfolding inner natures of each monad. Leibniz called this correlation the "preestablished harmony of the monads." When I am programmed to shove, you are programmed to fall; so it will look as if my shove made you fall, when in fact God had arranged from the very beginning that at the time of my shove .you would topple. Leibniz opposed materialism and held that all monads perceive. But perception 313

314

Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz

occurs on a continuum, from the extremely obscure and confused to the very clear and distinct. Inanimate objects are composed of monads with the most confused perceptions; animals have clearer perceptions; and humans, who have perceptions ranging from the most obscure to the very clear, also have perceptions of themselves as having perceptions; hence we are self-conscious. The perceptions of each monad contain counterparts of the perceptions of every other, Leibniz claimed, so that a change anywhere in the universe has its echo, however obscure, in every other part. We all thus are parts of a single community ruled by its creator, God. When God created the universe, he was faced, so to speak, with a choice. He could see, before anything was actual, what combinations of what kinds of beings were possible. Some possible combinations would contain more kinds of things, some fewer; some would organize them by simple laws, some by complex laws. God created the world as an expression of himself, and so he chose to make real the possible world that best expressed his nature. It contains the largest possible variety of kinds of being organized in the simplest way and (because God is good) enjoying their existence as much as possible. It is — in the phrase Voltaire made famous with his satire on it in Candide — the best of all possible worlds. An all-powerful, perfectly just, all-knowing, and benevolent God could choose no other. In action, on Leibniz's view, we strive for perfection, and our feeling pleasure is a sign to us of the attainment of some perfection, which we may not clearly and distinctly understand. Each of us is necessarily moved to strive for his or her own perfection, and in that sense voluntary action is always self-interested. For Leibniz, however, selfinterest did not entail selfishness. Through love we can find pleasure in increasing the perfection of others. Because we obtain pleasure for ourselves in this way, the more perfection we can bring to others, the more we ourselves will benefit. What virtuous Leibnizian agents must know, then, is the various amounts of perfection that might be brought about by the actions among which they must choose. Choosing what is more perfect is choosing in accordance with the degree of perfection that God built into the universe. And to know what those degrees of perfection are, the agents should, ideally, understand not only the details of the laws of physics and psychology and their implications but also their metaphysical presuppositions. A perfectly virtuous agent would know Leibniz's system and see all of its entailments. Leibniz did not tell us much about how everyone is to attain this knowledge or how those who lack it are to be guided. He was more interested in explaining the basic concepts of morality, particularly those needed to develop a system of law. These thoughts he presented in various manuscript notes and in a number of published papers. Leibniz's own reputation among the learned added weight to his often acute criticisms of other theorists, and enough of his own theory was known to enable those who found it attractive to develop it further. It was mainly through a systematic development of his various suggestions — worked out by the German philosopher Christian Wolff — that Leibnizian ideas on morality came to be widely known. The following selections come from several different sources. The first is from "The Principles of Nature and of Grace," written in 1714 for a prince who wanted a general introduction to Leibniz's metaphysical views. Next comes a paper, "On Wisdom," probably written in the last decade of the seventeenth century. Both selections are from Leroy E. Loemker, ed. and trans., Leibniz: Philosophical Papers and Letters (Dordrecht: Reidel, 1969), copyright © 1969, D. Reidel Co, Dordrecht, The Netherlands. Reproduced by permission of Kluwer Academic Publishers. The short paper "Felicity" was written in the early 1690s, and the "Meditation on the Common Con-

The Principles of Nature and Grace

315

cept of Justice" was written later, in 1702-3. The next excerpt is from the preface Leibniz wrote for a large collection of medieval legal documents pertaining to contemporary politics, published in 1693. Finally, Leibniz's criticism of Pufendorf, originally written in 1706 as a letter, was translated into French by Barbeyrac and appended in 1718 to an edition of his translation of Pufendorf's short handbook The Duty of Man and Citizen. All of these selections are from Patrick Riley, trans. and ed., The Political Writings of Leibniz (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1988), reprinted by permission of the Cambridge University Press. The Principles of Nature and of Grace, Based on Reason 7. So far we have been speaking simply as natural scientists; now we must rise to metaphysics and make use of the great, but not commonly used, principle that nothing takes place without a sufficient reason; in other words, that nothing occurs for which it would be impossible for someone who has enough knowledge of things to give a reason adequate to determine why the thing is as it is and not otherwise. This principle having been stated, the first question which we have a right to ask will be, "Why is there something rather than nothing?" For nothing is simpler and easier than something. Further, assuming that things must exist, it must be possible to give a reason why they should exist as they do and not otherwise. 8. Now this sufficient reason for the existence of the universe cannot be found in the series of contingent things, that is to say, of bodies and their representations in souls. For since matter is in itself indifferent to motion or rest, and to one motion rather than to another, one cannot find in it a reason for motion and still less for some particular motion. Although the present motion in matter arises from preceding motion, and that in turn from motion which preceded it, we do not get further however far we may go, for the same question always remains. The sufficient reason, therefore, which needs no further reason, must be outside of this series of contingent things and is found in a substance which is the cause of this series or which is a necessary being bearing the reason for its existence within itself; otherwise we should not yet have a sufficient reason with which to stop. This final reason for things is called God. 9. This simple primary substance must include eminently' the perfections contained in the derivative substances which are its effects. Thus it will have perfect power, knowledge, and will; that is to say, it will have omnipotence, omniscience, and sovereign goodness. And since justice, taken in its most general sense is nothing but goodness conforming with wisdom, there is also necessarily a sovereign justice in God. The reason which has made things exist through him has also made them depend on him for their existence and operation, and they are continually receiving from him that which causes them to have some perfection. But whatever imperfection remains with them comes from the essential and original limitation of the created beings. 10. It follows from the supreme perfection of God that he has chosen the

316

Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz

best possible plan in producing the universe, a plan which combines the greatest variety together with the greatest order; with situation, place, and time arranged in the best way possible; with the greatest effect produced by the simplest means; with the most power, the most knowledge, the greatest happiness and goodness in created things which the universe could allow. For as all possible things have a claim to existence in God's understanding in proportion to their perfections, the result of all these claims must be the most perfect actual world which is possible. Without this it would be impossible to give a reason why things have gone as they have rather than otherwise. 11. The supreme wisdom of God has made him choose especially those laws of motion which are best adjusted and most fitted to abstract or metaphysical reasons. There is conserved the same quantity of total and absolute force or of action, also the same quantity of relative force or of reaction, and finally, the same quantity of directive force. Furthermore, action is always equal to reaction, and the entire effect is always equal to its full cause. It is surprising that no reason can be given for the laws of motion which have been discovered in our own time, and part of which I myself have discovered by a consideration of efficient causes or of matter alone. For I have found that we must have recourse to final causes and that these laws do not depend upon the principle of necessity as do the truths of logic, arithmetic, and geometry, but upon the principle of fitness, that is to say, upon the choice of wisdom. This is one of the most effective and obvious proofs of the existence of God for those who can probe into these matters thoroughly. 12. It follows also from the perfection of the supreme Author, not only that the order of the entire universe is the most perfect possible, but also that each living mirror which represents the universe according to its own point of view, that is, each monad or each substantial center, must have its perceptions and its appetites regulated in the best way compatible with all the rest. From this it also follows that souls, that is to say, the most dominant monads, or rather animals themselves, cannot fail to awake from the state of stupor into which death or some other accident may place them. 13. For everything has been regulated in things, once for all, with as much order and agreement as possible; the supreme wisdom and goodness cannot act except with perfect harmony. The present is great with the future; the future could be read in the past; the distant is expressed in the near. One could learn the beauty of the universe in each soul if one could unravel all that is rolled up in it but that develops perceptibly only with time. But since each distant perception of the soul includes an infinity of confused perceptions which envelop the entire universe, the soul itself does not know the things which it perceives until it has perceptions which are distinct and heightened. And it has perfection in proportion to the distinctness of its perceptions. Each soul knows the infinite, knows everything, but confusedly. Thus when I walk along the seashore and hear the great noise of the sea, I hear the separate sounds of each wave but do not distinguish them; our confused perceptions are the result of the impressions made on us by the whole uni,2

The Principles of Nature and Grace

317

verse. It is the same with each monad. Only God has a distinct knowledge of everything, for he is the source of everything. It has been very well said that he is everywhere as a center but that his circumference is nowhere, since everything is immediately present to him without being withdrawn at all from this center. 14. As for the reasonable soul or spirit, there is something more in it than in monads or even in simple souls. It is not only a mirror of the universe of creatures but also an image of divinity. The spirit not only has a perception of the works of God but is even capable of producing something which resembles them, though in miniature. For not to mention the wonders of dreams in which we invent, without effort but also without will, things which we should have to think a long time to discover when awake, our soul is architectonic also in its voluntary actions and in discovering the sciences according to which God has regulated things (by weight, measure, number, etc.). In its own realm and in the small world in which it is allowed to act, the soul imitates what God performs in the great world. 15. For this reason all spirits, whether of men or of higher beings [genies], enter by virtue of reason and the eternal truths into a kind of society with God and are members of the City of God, that is to say, the most perfect state, formed and governed by the greatest and best of monarchs. Here there is no crime without punishment, no good action without a proportionate reward, and finally, as much virtue and happiness as is possible. And this takes place, not by a dislocation of nature, as if what God has planned for souls could disturb the laws of bodies, but by the very order of natural things itself, by virtue of the harmony pre-established from all time between the realms of nature and of grace, between God as architect and God as monarch, in such a way that nature leads to grace, and grace perfects nature by using it. 16. Thus, though reason cannot teach us the details of the great future, these being reserved for revelation, we can be assured by this same reason that things are arranged in a way which surpasses our desires. God being also the most perfect, the happiest, and therefore the most lovable of substances, and true pure love consisting in the state which causes pleasure to be taken in the perfections and the felicity of the beloved, this love must give us the greatest pleasure of which one is capable, since God is its object. 17. And it is easy to love him as we ought if we know him as I have said. For though God is not visible to our external senses, he is nonetheless most loveworthy and gives very great pleasure. We see how much pleasure honors give to men, although they do not consist of qualities which appear to the external senses. Martyrs and fanatics, though the affection of the latter is not well ordered, show what power the pleasure of the spirit has. What is more, even the pleasures of sense are reducible to intellectual pleasures, known confusedly. Music charms us, although its beauty consists only in the agreement of numbers and in the counting, which we do not perceive but which the soul nevertheless continues to carry out, of the beats or vibrations of sounding bodies which coincide at certain intervals. The pleasures which the eye finds

318

Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz

in proportions are of the same nature, and those caused by other senses amount to something similar, although we may not be able to explain them so distinctly. 18. It may even be said that the love of God already gives us, here and now, a foretaste of future felicity. And although it is disinterested, by itself it constitutes our greatest good and interest, even when we do not seek these in it and when we consider only the pleasure it gives and disregard the utility it produces. For it gives us a perfect confidence in the goodness of our Author and Master, and this produces a true tranquillity of spirit, not such as the Stoics have who resolutely force themselves to be patient, but by a present contentment which itself assures us of future happiness. And apart from the present pleasure, nothing could be more useful for the future, for the love of God also fulfils our hopes and leads us in the way of supreme happiness, since, by virtue of the perfect order established in the universe, everything is done in the best possible way, as much for the general good as for the greatest particular good of those who are convinced of it and are satisfied by the divine government. This cannot fail to be true of those who know how to love the source of all good. It is true that the supreme happiness (with whatever beatific vision or knowledge of God it may be accompanied) cannot ever be full, because God, being infinite, cannot ever be known entirely. Thus our happiness will never consist, and ought never to consist, in complete joy, which leaves nothing to be desired and which would stupefy our spirit, but in a perpetual progress to new pleasures and new perfections. On Wisdom

Wisdom is merely the science of happiness or that science which teaches us to achieve happiness. Happiness is a state of permanent joy. The happy man does not, it is true, feel this joy at every instant, for he sometimes rests from his contemplation, and usually also turns his thoughts to practical affairs. But it is enough that he is in a state to feel joy whenever he wishes to think of it and that at other times there is a joyousness in his actions and his nature which arises from this. Present joy does not make happy if it has no permanence; indeed, he is rather unhappy who falls into a long wretchedness for the sake of a brief joy. Joy is a pleasure which the soul feels in itself. Pleasure is the feeling of a perfection or an excellence, whether in ourselves or in something else. For the perfection of other beings also is agreeable, such as understanding, courage, and especially beauty in another human being, or in an animal or even in a lifeless creation, a painting or a work of craftsmanship, as well. For the image of such perfection in others, impressed upon us, causes some of this perfection to be implanted and aroused within ourselves. Thus there is no doubt that he who consorts much with excellent people or things becomes himself more excellent. Although the perfections of others sometimes displease us — as for exam-

On Wisdom

319

ple, the understanding or the courage of any enemy, the beauty of a rival, or the luster of another's virtue which overshadows or shames us — this is not because of the perfection itself but because of the circumstance which makes it inopportune for us, so that the sweetness of our first perception of this perfection in someone else is exceeded and spoiled by the consequent bitterness of our afterthoughts. We do not always observe wherein the perfection of pleasing things consists, or what kind of perfection within ourselves they serve, yet our feelings [Gemuth] perceive it, even though our understanding does not. We commonly say, "There is something, I know not what, that pleases me in the matter." This we call "sympathy." But those who seek the causes of things will usually find a ground for this and understand that there is something at the bottom of the matter which, though unnoticed, really appeals to us. Music is a beautiful example of this. Everything that emits a sound contains a vibration or a transverse motion such as we see in strings; thus everything that emits sounds gives off invisible impulses. When these are not confused, but proceed together in order but with a certain variation, they are pleasing; in the same way, we also notice certain changes from long to short syllables, and a coincidence of rhymes in poetry, which contain a silent music, as it were, and when correctly constructed are pleasant even without being sung. Drum beats, the beat and cadence of the dance, and other motions of ,this kind in measure and rule derive their pleasurableness from their order, for all order is an aid to the emotions. And a regular though invisible order is found also in the artfully created beats and motions of vibrating strings, pipes, bells, and indeed, even of the air itself, which these bring into uniform motion. Through our hearing, this creates a sympathetic echo in us, to which our animal spirits respond. This is why music is so well adapted to move our minds, even though this main purpose is not usually sufficiently noticed or sought after. There can be no doubt that even in touch, taste, and smell, sweetness consists in a definite though insensible order and perfection or a fitness, which nature has put there to stimulate us and the animals to that which is otherwise needed, so that the right use of all pleasurable things is really brought about in us, even though these things may give rise to a far greater harm through abuse and intemperance. I call any elevation of being a perfection. Just as illness is a debasement, as it were, and a decline from health, so perfection is something which rises above health. But health itself stands balanced in the middle and lays the foundation for perfection. Now illness comes from an injury to action, as medical men rightly observe. Just so perfection shows itself in great freedom and power of action; since all being consists in a kind of power; and the greater the power, the higher and freer the being. The greater any power is, moreover, the more there is found in it the many revealed through the one and in the one, in that the one rules many outside of itself and represents them in itself. Now unity in plurality is nothing but harmony [Ubereinstimmung], and since any particular being agrees with one

320

Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz

rather than another being, there flows from this harmony the order from which beauty arises, and beauty awakens love. Thus we see that happiness, pleasure, love, perfection, being, power, freedom, harmony, order, and beauty are all tied to each other, a truth which is rightly perceived by few. Now when the soul feels within itself a great harmony, order, freedom, power, or perfection, and hence feels pleasure in this, the result is joy, as these explanations show. Such joy is permanent and cannot deceive, nor can it cause a future unhappiness if it arises from knowledge and is accompanied by a light which kindles an inclination to the good in the will, that is, virtue. But when pleasure and joy are directed toward satisfying the senses rather than the understanding, they can as easily lead us to unhappiness as to bliss, just as a food which tastes good can be unwholesome. So the enjoyment of the senses must be used according to the rules of reason, like a food, medicine, or exercise. But the pleasure which the soul finds in itself through understanding is a present joy such as can conserve our joy for the future as well. It follows from this that nothing serves our happiness better than the illumination of our understanding and the exercise of our will to act always according to our understanding, and that this illumination is to be sought especially in the knowledge of such things as can bring our, understanding ever further into a higher light. For there springs from such knowledge an enduring progress in wisdom and virtue, and therefore also in perfection and joy, the advantage of which remains with the soul even after this life. . . . Felicity

1. Virtue is the habit of acting according to wisdom. It is necessary that practice accompany knowledge. 2. Wisdom is the science of felicity, [and] is what must be studied above all other things. 3. Felicity is a lasting state of pleasure. Thus it is good to abandon or moderate pleasures which can be injurious by causing misfortunes or by blocking [the attainment of] better and more lasting pleasures. 4. Pleasure is a knowledge or feeling of perfection, not only in ourselves, but also in others, for in this way some further perfection is aroused in us. 5. To love is to find pleasure in the perfection of another. 6. Justice is charity or a habit of loving conformed to wisdom. Thus when one is inclined to justice, one tries to procure good for everybody, so far as one can, reasonably, but in proportion to the needs and merits of each: and even if one is obliged sometimes to punish evil persons, it is for the general good. 6a. Now it is necessary to explain the feeling or the knowledge of perfection. The confused perception of some perfection constitutes the pleasure of sense, but this pleasure can be [productive] of greater imperfections which are born of it, as a fruit with a good taste and a good odor can conceal a poison.

Felicity

321

This is why one must shun the pleasures of sense, as one shuns a stranger, or, sooner, a flattering enemy. 7. Knowledge is of two kinds, that of facts and that of reasons. That of facts is perception, that of reasons is intelligence. 8. Knowledge of reasons perfects us because it teaches us universal and eternal truths, which are manifested in the perfect Being. But knowledge of facts is like that of the streets of a town, which serves us while we stay there, [but] after [leaving] which we don't wish to burden our memory any longer. 8a. The pleasures of sense which most closely approach pleasures of the mind, and are the most pure and the most certain, are that of music and that of symmetry, the former [being pleasure] of the ears, the latter of the eyes; for it is easy to understand the principles [raisons] of harmony, this perfection which gives us pleasure. The sole thing to be feared in this respect is to use it too often. 9. One need not shun at all pleasures which are born of intelligence or of reasons, as one penetrates the reason of the reason of perfections, that is to say as one sees them flow from their source, which is the absolutely perfect Being. 10. The perfect Being is called God. He is the ultimate reason of things, and the cause of causes. Being the sovereign wisdom and the sovereign power, he has always chosen the best and acts always in an orderly way. 11. One is happy when he loves God, and God, who has done everything perfectly, cannot fail to arrange everything thus, to elevate created beings to the perfection of which they are capable through union with him, which can subsist only through the spirit. 12. But one cannot love God without knowing his perfections, or his beauty. And since we can know him only in his emanations, these are two means of seeing his beauty, namely in the knowledge of eternal truths (which explain [their own] reasons in themselves), and in the knowledge of the Harmony of the Universe (in applying reasons to facts). That is to say, one must know the marvels of reason and the marvels of nature. 13. The marvels of reason and of eternal truths which our mind discovers in itself [are essential] in the sciences of reasoning about numbers, about figures, about good and evil, about justice and injustice. 14. The marvels of physical nature are the system of the universe, the structure of the bodies of animals, the causes of the rainbow, of magnetism, of the ebb and flow [of the tides], and a thousand other similar things. 15. One must hold as certain that the more a mind desires to know order, reason, the beauty of things which God has produced, and the more he is moved to imitate this order in the things which God has left to his direction, the happier he will be. 16. It is most true, as a result, that one cannot know God without loving one's brother, that one cannot have wisdom without having charity (which is the real touchstone of virtue), and that one even advances one's own good in

322

Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz

working for that of others: for it is an eternal law of reason and of the harmony of things that the works of each [person] will follow it. Thus the sovereign wisdom has so well regulated all things that our duty must also be our happiness, that all virtue produces its [own] reward, and that all crime punishes itself, sooner or later. Meditation on the Common Concept of Justice

I It is agreed that whatever God wills is good and just. But there remains the question whether it is good and just because God wills it or whether God wills it because it is good and just: in other words, whether justice and goodness are arbitrary or whether they belong to the necessary and eternal truths about the nature of things, as do numbers and proportions. The former opinion has been followed by some philosophers, and by some Roman [Catholic] and Reformed theologians: but present-day Reformed [theologians] usually reject this doctrine, as do all of our theologians and most of those of the Roman Church. Indeed it [this view] would destroy the justice of God. For why praise him because he acts according to justice, if the notion of justice, in his case, adds nothing to that of action? And to say stat pro ratione voluntas, my will takes the place of reason, is properly the motto of a tyrant. Moreover this opinion would not sufficiently distinguish God from the devil. For if the devil, that is to say an intelligent, invisible, very great and very evil power, were the master of the world, this devil or this God would still be evil, even if it were necessary to honor him by force, as some peoples honor such imaginary gods in the hope of bringing them thereby to do less evil. . . . It is a question, then, of determining the formal reason of justice and the measure by which we should measure actions to know whether they are just or not. After what has been said one can already foresee what this will be. Justice is nothing else than that which conforms to wisdom and goodness joined together: the end of goodness is the greatest good, but to recognize it wisdom is needed, which is nothing else than knowledge of the good. Goodness is simply the inclination to do good to everyone, and to arrest evil, at least when it is not necessary for a greater good or to arrest a greater evil. Thus wisdom is in the understanding and goodness in the will. And justice, as a consequence, is in both. Power is a different matter, but if it is used it makes right become fact, and makes what ought to be also really exist, in so far as the nature of things permits. And this is what God does in the world. But since justice tends to the good, and [since] wisdom and goodness, which together form justice, relate to the good, one may ask what the true good is. I answer that it is nothing else than that which serves in the perfection of intelligent substances: from which it is clear that order, contentment, joy,

Meditation on the Common Concept of Justice

323

wisdom, goodness and virtue are good things essentially and can never be evil; that power is naturally a good, that is to say in itself, because, everything being equal, it is better to have it than not to have it: but it does not become a certain good until it is joined with wisdom and goodness: for the power of an evil person serves only to plunge him farther into unhappiness sooner or later, because it gives him the means to be more evil, and to merit a greater punishment, from which he will not escape, since there is a perfectly just monarch of the universe whose infinite penetration and sovereign power one cannot avoid. And since experience shows us that God permits, for reasons unknown to us but doubtless very wise, and founded in a greater good, that there be many evil [persons who are] happy in this life, and many good [persons who are] unhappy, which would not conform to the rules of a perfect government such as God's if it were not redressed, it follows necessarily that there will be another life, and that souls do not perish at all with the visible body; otherwise there would be unpunished crimes, and good actions without recompense, which is contrary to order. There are, besides, demonstrative proofs of the immortality of the soul, because the principle of action and of consciousness could not come from a purely passive extended thing indifferent to all movement, such as matter is: thus action and consciousness must come from something simple or immaterial [and] without extension and without parts; which is called soul: now everything which is simple or without parts, is not subject to dissolution, and as a consequence cannot be destroyed. There are people who imagine that we are too small a thing in the sight of an infinite God, for him to be concerned with us; it is conceived that we are to God that which worms, which we crush without thinking, are in relation to us. But this is to imagine that God is like a man, and cannot think of everything. God, by the very fact that he is infinite, does things without working by a species of result of his will, as it results from my will and that of my friend, that we are in agreement, without needing a new action to produce the accord after our resolutions are made. But if the human race were not well governed, the universe would not be either, for the whole consists of its parts. . . . the beauty and the justice of the divine government have been partly concealed from our eyes, not only because it could not be otherwise, without changing the whole harmony of the world, but also because it is proper in order that there be more exercise of free virtue, of wisdom and of a nonmercenary love of God, since rewards and punishments are still outwardly invisible and appear only to the eyes of our reason or faith: which I take here for the same thing, since true faith is founded in reason. And since the marvels of nature make us find that the operations of God are admirably beautiful, whenever we can envisage a whole in its natural context, though this beauty is not apparent in looking at things detached or torn from their wholes, we must conclude that everything which we cannot yet disentangle or envisage as a whole with all its parts must have no less of justice and of beauty. . . .

324

Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz Codex iuris gentium (Praefatio)

XI. . . . The doctrine of law, taken from nature's strict confines, presents an immense field for human study. But the notions of law and of justice, even after having been treated by so many illustrious authors, have not been made sufficiently clear. Right is a kind of moral possibility, and obligation a moral necessity. By moral I mean that which is equivalent to "natural" for a good man: for as a Roman jurisconsult has well said, we ought to believe that we are incapable of doing things which are contrary to good morals.' A good man is one who loves everybody, in so far as reason permits. Justice, then, which is the virtue [that] regulates that affection which the Greeks call 4likavec•orcCa [philanthropy], will be most conveniently defined, if I am not in error, as the charity of the wise man, that is, charity which follows the dictates of wisdom. So that assertion which is attributed to Carneades, that justice is supreme folly, because it commands us to consider the interests of others while we neglect our own, is born of ignorance of the definition of justice. 4 Charity is a universal benevolence, and benevolence the habit of loving or of willing the good. Love then signifies rejoicing in the happiness of another, or, what is the same thing, converting the happiness of another into one's own. With this is resolved a difficult question, of great moment in theology as well: in what way disinterested love is possible, independent of hope, of fear, and of regard for any question of utility.' In truth, the happiness of those whose happiness pleases us turns into our own happiness, since things which please us are desired for their own sake. And since the contemplation of the beautiful is pleasant in itself, and a painting of Raphael affects a sensitive person who understands it, although it brings him no [material] gain, so that he keeps it in his [mind's] eye, as the image of a thing which is loved; when the beautiful thing is itself capable of happiness, this affection passes over into pure love. But the divine love excels all other loves, because God can be loved with the greatest result [Deus cum maximo successu amari potest], since nothing is happier than God, and nothing more beautiful or more worthy of happiness can be conceived. And since he possesses supreme power and supreme wisdom, his happiness does not simply become ours (if we are wise: that is, if we love him), but even creates ours. But since wisdom ought to guide charity, it will be necessary to define it [wisdom]. I believe that we can best render the concept that men have of it, if we say that wisdom is nothing but the science of happiness itself. Once again we return to the concept of happiness, which this is not the place to explain. XII. Now from this source flows natural right [ius naturae], of which there are three degrees: strict right [ius strictum] in commutative justice; equity (or, in the narrower sense of the term, charity) in distributive justice; and, finally, piety (or probity) in universal justice: hence come the most general and commonly accepted principles of right — to injure no one, to give to each his due, and to live honestly (or rather piously); . . . The precept of mere or strict right is that no one is to be injured, so that he will not be given a motive for a

Codex iuris gentium (Praefatio)

325

legal action within the state, nor outside the state a right of war. From this arises the justice which philosophers call commutative, 6 and the right which Grotius calls a legal claim [facultas].7 The higher degree I call equity or, if you prefer, charity (that is, in the narrower sense), and this I extend beyond the rigor of strict right to [include] those obligations which give to those whom they affect no ground for [legal] action in compelling us to fulfill them, such as gratitude and alms-giving — to which, as Grotius says, we have a moral claim [aptitudo], not a legal claim [facultas]. And as [the principle of] the lowest degree of right is to harm no one, so [that of] the middle degree is to do good to everybody; but only so far as befits each one or as much as he deserves; for it is impossible to favor everyone. It is, then, here that distributive justice belongs, and the precept of the law which commands us to give to each his due. And it is here that the political laws of a state belong, which assure the happiness of its subjects and make it possible that those who had a merely moral claim acquire a legal claim; that is, that they become able to demand what it is equitable for others to perform. In the lowest degree of right, one does not take account of differences among men, except those which arise from each particular case, and all men are considered equal; but now on the higher level merits are weighed, and thus privileges, rewards and punishment have their place. This difference between the two degrees of right was nicely suggested by Xenophon, 8 in his example of the boy Cyrus, who was chosen to judge between two boys, the stronger of whom had forcibly exchanged garments with the other because he found that the other's coat fitted him and his own fitted the other better. Cyrus pronounced in favor of the robber; but he was admonished by his teacher that in this case it was not a question of deciding whom the coat fitted better, but only to whom it belonged, and that the other manner of judging might more properly be used only when he himself had coats to distribute. Equity itself demands strict right, or the equality of men, in our dealings, except when an important consideration of a greater good makes us depart from it. What is called respect of persons, however, has its place, not in exchanging goods with others, but in distributing our own or the public goods. XIII. The highest degree of right I have called probity, or rather piety. What I have said thus far can be interpreted as limited to the relations within mortal life. Simple or strict right is born of the principle of the conservation of peace; equity or charity strives for something higher — [namely] that while each benefits others as much as he can, he may increase his own happiness in that of the other. And, to say it in a word, strict right avoids misery, while the higher right tends toward happiness, but only such as is possible in this life. But that we ought to hold this life itself and everything that makes it desirable inferior to the great advantage of others, and that we should bear the greatest pains for the sake of those near us: all this is [merely] taught with noble words by philosophers, rather than proved by solid demonstration. For the dignity and glory, and our mind's sense of joy on account of virtue, to which they appeal under the name of honor [honestas], are certainly goods of thought or of the

326

Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz

mind and are, indeed, great ones, but not such as to prevail with all [men], nor to overcome all the bitterness of evils, since not all men are equally moved by the imagination; especially those who have not become accustomed to the thought of virtue or to the appreciation of the goods of the mind, whether through a liberal education or a noble way of living, or the discipline of life or of a sect. In order really to establish by a universal demonstration that everything honorable is useful and everything base is damned, one must assume the immortality of the soul, and God as ruler of the universe. In this way we can think of all men as living in the most perfect state, under a monarch who can neither be deceived in his wisdom nor eluded in his power; and who is also so worthy of love that it is happiness [itself] to serve such a master. Thus whoever expends his soul in the service of Christ will regain it. 9 The divine providence and power cause all right to become fact, and [assure that] no one is injured except by himself, that no good action goes unrewarded, and no sin unpunished. Because, as we are divinely taught by Christ, all our hairs are numbered, 19 and not even a drink of water is given to the thirsty in vain;" nothing is neglected in the state of the universe. It is on this ground that justice is called universal, and includes all the other virtues; for duties that do not seem to concern others, as, for example, not to abuse our own bodies or our own property, though they are beyond [the power of] human laws, are still prohibited by natural law, that is, by the eternal laws of the divine monarchy, since we owe ourselves and everything we have to God. Now, if it is of interest to the state, of how much more interest is it to the universe that no one use badly what is his? So it is from this that the highest precept of the law receives its force, which commands us to live honorably (that is, piously). It is in this sense that learned men have rightly held, among things to be desired, that the law of nature and of the nations [ius naturae et gentium] should follow the teachings of Christianity, that is, the sublime things, the divine things of the wise, according to the teaching of Christ. Thus I think that I have interpreted the three precepts of the [Roman] law, 12 or the three degrees of justice, in the most fitting way, and have indicated the sources of the natural law. XIV. Besides the eternal right [or law] of rational nature, flowing from the divine source, there is also held to be voluntary right, derived from custom or made by a superior. And in the state the civil law [ius civile] indeed receives its force from him who has the supreme power; outside of the state, or among those who participate in the supreme power (of whom there may be more than one, even in the same state), is the sphere of the voluntary law of nations, originating in the tacit consent of peoples. It is not necessary that this be the agreement of all peoples or for all times; for there have been many cases in which one thing was considered right in India and another in Europe, and even among us it has changed with the passage of centuries, as this very work will show. . . . XV. But Christians have yet another common tie, the divine positive law contained in the sacred Scriptures. To these can be added the sacred canons accepted in the whole Church and, later, in the West, the pontifical legisla-

The Principles of Pufendorf

327

tion, to which kings and peoples submit themselves. And in general before the schism of the last century, it seems to have been accepted for a long time (and not without reason) that a kind of common republic of Christian nations must be thought of, the heads of which were the Pope in sacred matters, and the Emperor in temporal matters, who preserved as much of the power of the ancient Roman emperors as was necessary for the common good of Christendom, saving [without prejudicing] the rights of kings and the liberty of princes. . . . The Principles of Pufendorf IV So much for what regards the end and the object [of natural law]; it remains now to treat the efficient cause of this law, which our author does not correctly establish. He, indeed, does not find it in the nature of things and in the precepts of right reason which conform to it, which emanate from the divine understanding, but (what will appear to be strange and contradictory) in the command of a superior. Indeed, Book I, chapter I, part I, defines duty as "the human action exactly conforming to the prescriptions of the laws in virtue of an obligation." And soon chapter II, part 2, defines law as "a command by which the superior obliges the subject to conform his actions to what the law itself prescribes." 13 If we admit this, no one will do his duty spontaneously; also, there will be no duty when there is no superior to compel its observance; nor will there be any duties for those who do not have a superior. And since, according to the author, duty and acts prescribed by justice coincide (because his whole natural jurisprudence is contained in the doctrine of duty), it follows that all law is prescribed by a superior. This paradox, brought out by Hobbes above all, who seemed to deny to the state of nature, that is [a condition] in which there are no superiors, all binding justice whatsoever (although even he is inconsistent), is a view to which I am astonished that anyone could have adhered. Now, then, will he who is invested with the supreme power do nothing against justice if he proceeds tyrannically against his subjects; who arbitrarily despoils his subjects, torments them, and kills them under torture; who makes war on others without cause? .. . It is without doubt most true, that God is by nature superior to all; all the same the doctrine itself, which makes all law derivative from the command of a superior, is not freed of scandal and errors, however one justifies it. Indeed, not to mention that which Grotius justly observed, namely that there would be a natural obligation even on the hypothesis — which is impossible — that God does not exist," or if one but left the divine existence out of consideration; since care for one's own preservation and well-being certainly lays on men many requirements about taking care of others, as even Hobbes perceives in part (and this obligatory tie bands of brigands confirm by their example, who, while they are enemies of others, are obliged to respect certain

328

Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz

duties among themselves — although, as I have observed, a natural law based on this source alone would be very imperfect); to pass over all this, one must pay attention to this fact: that God is praised because he is just. There must be, then, a certain justice — or rather a supreme justice — in God, even though no one is superior to him, and he, by the spontaneity of his excellent nature, accomplishes all things well, such that no one can reasonably complain of him. Neither the norm of conduct itself, nor the essence of the just, depends on his free decision, but rather on eternal truths, objects of the divine intellect, which constitute, so to speak, the essence of divinity itself; and it is right that our author is reproached by theologians when he maintains the contrary; because, I believe, he had not seen the wicked consequences which arise from it. Justice, indeed, would not be an essential attribute of God, if he himself established justice and law by his free will. And, indeed, justice follows certain rules of equality and of proportion [which are] no less founded in the immutable nature of things, and in the divine ideas, than are the principles of arithmetic and of geometry. So that no one will maintain that justice and goodness originate in the divine will, without at the same time maintaining that truth originates in it as well: an unheard-of paradox by which Descartes'' showed how great can be the errors of great men. . . . V . . . Nor do I see how the author, acute as he is, could easily be absolved of the contradiction into which he falls, when he makes all juridical obligations derivative from the command of a superior (which we have shown through citations of him), while afterwards in Book I, chapter II, part 5, he states that in order that one have a superior it is necessary that they [superiors] possess not only the force [necessary] to exercise coercion, but also that they have a just cause to justify their power over my person. Consequently the justice of the cause is antecedent to this same superior, contrary to what had been asserted. Well, then, if the source of law is the will of a superior and, inversely a justifying cause of law is necessary in order to have a superior, a circle is created, than which none was ever more manifest. From what will the justice of the cause derive, if there is not yet a superior, from whom, supposedly, the law may emanate? And it would be strange that so acute a person could take such measures against himself, if we did not know that to those who undertake to maintain paradoxes it happens easily that, when good sense prevails in them, they forget their own doctrines. . . . But whoever examines carefully what he says, will not fail to notice that he is neither consistent, nor resolves the difficulty. Indeed, if neither coercion without reasons, nor the latter without force is sufficient, why — I ask — when force ceases and reason alone remains, shall I not return to that liberty which it is said I had when, before the application of force, reason alone was present? What the author says, in fact — that, failing fear, no one can stop me from behaving according to my own will rather than according to someone else's —

Editor's Notes

329

would be valid even if reasons existed. On the other hand, if reasons restrain even by themselves, why did they not already restrain by themselves, before fear arose? And what force, I pray you, can fear give to reasons, except itself — which it would not itself provide even without reasons? Or will this not very durable sentiment impress some indelible character on unwilling minds? Suppose that a man who owes obedience to another solely in virtue of reasons, is afterwards also constrained by force on the part of the other, and that he persists nonetheless in his soul's original disposition, by which he does not want to obey any more than he is constrained [to do]; I do not see why, once constrained, he ought to remain in submission in perpetuity. Supposing, for example, that a Christian who is ill falls into the power of a Turkish doctor, by whom he is made to practice hygienic precepts that he already knew [to be efficacious] for some time, but which are now imposed on him coercively; when, afterwards, he is offered an occasion to escape, would he be obliged to [observe] temperance more than he had before his imprisonment? One or the other, then: either reasons oblige prior to force, or they do not obligate any longer when force fails. The things [which I have indicated] show sufficiently that the author is lacking sound principles on which to found the true reasons for laws, about which he himself has arbitrarily supposed principles which cannot be maintained. For the rest, the foundations of jurisprudence, whether common to all law (even to that which is derived solely from equity), or proper to law in a narrow sense (which involves a superior), have been indicated by us elsewhere. To summarize, we shall say in general that: the end of natural law is the good of those who observe it; its object, all that which concerns others and is in our power; finally, its efficient cause in us is the light of eternal reason, kindled in our minds by the divinity. Editor's Notes

1. What is contained "eminently" in God is analogous to what is contained "formally" in created beings, but it exists in a fuller and more perfect way. 2. Leibniz and Newton were rivals for the honor of discovering the infinitesimal calculus. Leibniz was also critical of various aspects of Newton's physics. For an account of their controversies, see A. Rupert Hall, Philosophers at War (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1980). 3. Leibniz was referring to the Roman jurist Papinian. 4. Grotius attacked Carneades (c. 213-128 B.C.E.), a leader of the Platonic Academy and a major skeptical thinker, on the same point. See the "Prolegomena," §5, in the Grotius selections in Part I of this anthology. 5. The possibility of totally disinterested love was a topic of heated theological debate in France during the late seventeenth century. 6. Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, 1130b. 7. Or perfect right. See Grotius, Law of War and Peace, I.i.4, in the selections in Part I of this anthology. 8. The story is told in Xenophon, Cyropaedia, 1.3. 17; Grotius used it to illustrate the difference between perfect and imperfect rights. 9. Matt. 10:39.

330

Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz

10. Luke 12:7. 11. Matt. 10:42. 12. That is, to injure no one, to give each his due, and to live honestly (or piously) — precepts summarizing justice as given at the beginning of Justinian's Institutes. 13. For these views of Pufendorf and those to which Leibniz later referred, see the selections from Pufendorf's Law of Nature and of Nations in Part I of this anthology. 14. See the selections from Grotius in Part I of this anthology. Leibniz was referring to the "Prolegomena" to the Law of War and Peace, §11. 15. For Descartes's voluntarism, see the selections from the "Replies to Objections" in Part II of this anthology.

Further Reading More of Leibniz's work on1. oral 1 and political issues is contained in the two volumes from which the selectionsgiven here were taken. The reader may also wish to consult Leibniz's chapter-by-chapter commentary on John Locke, New Essays on Human Understanding, trans. and ed. Peter Remnant and Jonathan Bennett (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1982). For every passage in which Locke said something about ethics, there is a corresponding passage in Leibniz, and in some but not all of them he developed positive views of his own. G. MacDonald Ross, Leibniz (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1984), is a brief introduction to Leibniz's thought, with a helpful bibliography. Other general studies of Leibniz are H. W. B. Joseph, Lectures on the Philosophy of Leibniz, ed. J. L. Austin (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1947); Nicholas Rescher, Leibniz: An Introduction to His Philosophy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1979); and Stuart Brown, Leibniz (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1984). There is one book in English on Leibniz's ethics: John Hostler, Leibniz's Moral Philosophy (London: Duckworth, 1975). G. H. R. Parkinson's monograph Leibniz on Human Freedom (Wiesbaden, West Germany: Franz Steiner Verlag, 1970) (Studia Leibnitiana Sonderheft 2) is a helpful analysis of a topic important to his ethics. For a general study of Leibniz in the context of seventeenth-century thought, see Leroy E. Loemker, Struggle for Synthesis: The Seventeenth Century Background of Leibniz's Synthesis of Order and Freedom (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1972), which examines the moral issues of that time. R. W. Meyer, Leibnitz and the Seventeenth Century Revolution, trans. J. P. Stern (Cambridge, England: Bowes & Bowes, 1952), also relates Leibniz's thought to the general problems of his era.

Christian Wolff

Introduction

Christian Wolff was born in Breslau, Germany, in 1679. He studied theology and mathematics and in 1706 was appointed professor of mathematics and natural science at the University of Halle. An early essay of his on the application of mathematical method to practical philosophy won Leibniz's admiration. Leibniz thereafter corresponded with him and sponsored him for various positions, and the philosophy Wolff developed became known as the "Leibniz—Wolff" philosophy. In 1713, while Latin was still the dominant language of the learned world, Wolff began to publish philosophical works in German. The first concerned the powers of the human understanding; it was followed by volumes explaining metaphysics, ethics, politics, cosmology, and teleology (the study of the ends or reasons for the existence of different kinds of things). With these early German works, Wolff established his reputation as an important systematic thinker, and he also introduced into the German language many philosophical terms that are still in use. Having developed his system in German, Wolff then proceeded to expand and refine it, publishing Latin expositions six or seven volumes long on each of the subjects that he had covered in German in only one volume. He wrote on many other subjects as well. Even in his own lifetime Wolff was reproached for his verbosity, but his Latin works were nonetheless widely read and gave Wolff an international reputation. Indeed, the fact that a long French summary of his work was written especially for women suggests that it was important in fashionable circles, and not only at the universities, to know something about his views. In 1721 as rector of the University of Halle, Wolff gave an address in which he argued that Chinese morals and European morals were so similar that it could be concluded that morality can be learned from reason alone and, consequently, that religion is not necessary for happiness and decent living. He had already aroused a good deal of opposition among the Pietistic members of the university faculty, who were less rationalistic and more orthodox than he was. Wolff's speech led to a movement that resulted in the Prussian king's ordering him in 1723 to leave Halle within forty-eight hours. One account states that the king was finally moved to give this order by the claim that, according to Wolff, soldiers who ran away from battle could not help themselves and therefore could not be held responsible. When Frederick the Great came to the throne in 1740, he recalled Wolff, who from then until his death in 1754 continued to teach and write in Halle. The aim of philosophy, Wolff held, is to give a definitive account of the abstract possibilities of things. What is actual must be learned from experience, but whatever is actual must be possible, and the philosopher's task is to explain why there are the

331

332

Christian Wolff

possibilities there are and no others. The philosopher must do this for all subjects. Wolff started with the basic concept of being and worked through the concepts involved in the constitution of the natural world and human psychology to the most detailed expositions of the proper arrangement of political and personal life, showing how the concepts needed to structure these fields arise from or are made possible by the principle of sufficient reason and the principle of identity. God is the sole being whose existence is necessary, but although the existence of every other kind of entity is contingent, the essences that those entities exemplify are necessarily connected through an intricate web of possibilities and impossibilities. Wolff divided philosophy into two parts. Theoretical philosophy relates to our capacity for knowledge as such. Practical philosophy relates to our appetitive faculty, giving scientific direction to our capacity for choosing good and avoiding evil. Practical philosophy itself has three main parts. Ethics deals with people before the existence of any political organization. It considers people as they live in the company of others but not under any political superior. Economics explains the management of life in small societies or groups in which there is some authority, such as the family, regarding which Wolff demonstrated that the father is naturally the head. Politics refers to the direction of life in political society, which has a supreme authority all must obey. Although there are principles for each of these subdivisions, there also are universal principles of practical philosophy. These universal principles direct all free action in pursuit of good (or avoidance of evil, as Wolff always insisted on adding), and the principles within each of the more specialized realms only exemplify the universal directives. Although Wolff's basic ideas about the essence of humanity and about human action are Leibnizian, their elaboration into a full and coherent system is his own. On a number of important matters, such as the nature of obligation, Wolff gave more detail than Leibniz did, thereby raising the question of whether Leibniz would have agreed with him on all these points. And in other respects, the social and political aims that provided some of Wolff's motivation led him to positions that we cannot clearly identify in Leibniz. Wolff was eager to spread the Enlightenment to the general population, and it was no accident that he believed the human good to lie in the constant increase of knowledge. To enable people to be happier and better, he held, we must educate them. He approved of the many German magazines that imitated the English Spectator of the early eighteenth century and that were extremely popular in Wolff's Germany. The "middle brow" culture and the models of politeness they were spreading were an improvement over what merchants and shopkeepers and wealthier artisans had previously had available. They made known an alternative to the style of the courtier, which had been the dominant pattern of manners for those who had enough money and leisure to improve themselves. Wolff believed that the systematic knowledge contained in his universal practical philosophy would do more to help people become cultivated, polite, and thoughtful than would unsystematic moral instruction. As he demonstrated, he felt that he owed it to his fellows to help them improve themselves; and if we bear in mind the generally backward state of culture and economy in Germany at that time, we can see past the elitism of his remarks to a genuine concern for human betterment. Evident in Wolff's work, moreover, is a strong interest in human self-direction. In his view, we can learn what to do by reason alone, without revelation; God himself cannot order us to do anything except what the rational laws of nature bid us do; we do

Reasonable Thoughts About the Actions of Men

333

not need to be bribed or coerced into obedience by threats of punishment or offers of reward. We are, in short, autonomous moral agents — or we can be if we are sufficiently educated. The difficulty Wolff faced was that it did not seem obvious that everyone could be sufficiently educated to reach the stage of perceiving clearly and distinctly that happiness is to be attained only through virtue. And those who did not see this could be brought to a decent course of behavior only by the threat of punishment. Wolff's intellectualist theory of the good did not allow him to underwrite the kind of universal ascription of self-directive capacities that he wanted to support. If he showed us how far a Leibnizian view can go in this direction, he also made clear just where it must stop. I have translated the following selections from Wolff's Verniinftige Gedancken von der Menschen Tun und Lassen zu Beforderung ihrer Gluckseeligkeit, first published in 1720. I have used the text of the Olms reprint of the fourth edition of 1733. In the notes I have added some passages from the "German metaphysics," Verniinftige Gedancken von Gott, der Welt, und der Seele des Menschen (Reasonable thoughts about God, the world, and the human soul), also first published in 1720, to help explain some of the terms Wolff used in his ethics. Reasonable Thoughts About the Actions of Men, for the Promotion of Their Happiness Foreword to Second Edition

. . . I treat here a part of philosophy,' namely, that which explains the acts and omissions of man. Whoever does not want these words to mean other than what the subject calls for must, in such an endeavor, show what is possible through man's will and how it is possible that a man can determine himself to do certain actions and omit others. A philosopher shows the reason from which one can see that something is possible rather than impossible and explains accordingly in any given case why one determines oneself to this rather than that act. . . . I have accordingly investigated for all cases how actions must be constituted so that one can will them and how they must be if one is averse to them, once one fully sees their constitution. And thereby I have shown conceptually that human actions are in themselves necessarily good or evil and that in no way do they become good or evil only through the command or prohibition of a superior. . . . I have further shown how it is possible to obligate a man to do or omit something, and especially I have placed natural obligation in an unexpected light, which previously could more easily be named than explained. And precisely from this it follows that virtue can exist with natural obligation alone; everything beyond that works simply as an outer compulsion. Because in ethics [in der Moral] it should be shown how man arrives at virtue, what matters most is to show how to begin to satisfy one's natural obligations. In this kind of obligation, man remains wholly free in his actions, and he is never freer than when he acts in accordance with it. In all other obligation, on the contrary, a sort of force is encountered, which is necessary for those who are

334

Christian Wolff

not able to see correctly the properties of their actions. Men of understanding and reason need no obligation beyond the natural. But dull and unreasonable men are in need of another. The servile fear of the force and might of a superior must restrain them from doing what they would like to do. Accordingly, if one wishes to guide man, one can do it in two ways: one guides him either through compulsion, like a beast, or through the aid of reason, like a reasonable creature. With the former I have, in ethics, nothing to do; for through it no one is brought to virtue but only to an outer habit of goodness, or even to a sham being in which there is no truth. Only the other is my work, as I have allowed myself to take on the task of making virtue more acceptable among men. . . . PART I: OF HUMAN ACTION AND OMISSION IN GENERAL

Chapter 1: Of the Universal Rule of Human Action and the Law of Nature 1. We find from experience that some thoughts of the soul as well as movements of the body are originated by the will of the soul; others, however, are not subordinated to it. . . . Now because what our will originates has its ground in the will, and therefore in ourself' — whereas the movements of the body that are subordinated to the will have their ground in the condition of the body — both the thoughts of the mind and the movements of the body that depend on the will belong to our actions. And because the will is free to choose from among the possible things the one that pleases us most, this action of man is free and [so] is called free action.' 2. . . . The inner and outer conditions of the soul and the body, which are sustained with the aid of our free actions, either agree with the essence of the soul and the body and with their previous condition or are contrary to them. Because the proof of this goes too deeply into the most subtle truths . . . I will here content myself by merely calling on experience and a few examples to explain the proposition. Man is suited by nature to know truth. 4 The more truth he recognizes, the more fit he is to know it. So the condition of soul in which it is kept aware of truth through its free actions, that is, its manifold strivings for knowledge, agrees with its natural condition and in no way opposes it. Suppose there is a man in good bodily condition without pain: if he eats and drinks a great deal, he will find himself dull and have pains in his head and perhaps in other parts of his body. The present condition of his body is contrary to the previous one; even his soul is at odds with the previous condition. For although his soul was previously capable of thinking over a subject with pleasure and contemplating what it chose, now it is vexed and cannot keep its thoughts together for long. Earlier it was peaceful and joyful; now through pain and other disagreeable feelings it is restless and disturbed. . . . Now, if the present condition agrees with the previous and the following

Reasonable Thoughts About the Actions of Men

335

conditions, and all of them together agree with the essence and nature of man, then the condition of man is perfect; and the greater the agreement is, the more perfect the condition will be. 5 By contrast, if the past condition disagrees with the present, or the present with the future . . . then the condition of man is imperfect. In this way, man's free actions promote either the perfection or the imperfection of his inner and outer condition. 3. What makes our inner and outer conditions perfect is good; by contrast, what makes them less perfect is bad. Hence man's free actions are either good or bad. 5. Man's free actions become good or bad through their consequences .. . and what follows from them must necessarily follow and cannot remain unrealized. They are therefore in and of themselves good or bad and are not first made so by God's will. Thus if it were possible that there were no God and the present connection of things still subsisted, the free acts of man would remain good or bad. . . . 6. The knowledge of good is a motive [Bewegungsgrund] of the will. 6 Whoever distinctly conceives' those free acts of man that are good in and of themselves will recognize that they are good. And therefore the good w perceive in them is a motive for us to will them. Now, because it is not possible for something to be a motive both to will and not to will, it cannot happen th4t one does not will an inherently good act if one distinctly conceives it. . . . So if we do not will [such acts], there is no other cause than that we do not recognize them [as good]. To have an aversion to them we must represent them as different from what they are. 7. In the same way, the knowledge of evil is a motive for not willing or for aversion from a thing. . . . 8. To obligate [verbinden] someone to do or omit something is only to connect a motive of willing or not willing to it.' For example, the magistrate obligates a subordinate to omit thievery through the penalty of the noose attached to it. Because through his power and force this punishment is attached to thievery and it will certainly follow that whoever is caught stealing will hang, anyone who wants to steal will know that stealing is bad because it brings the gallows, and from this he will acquire an aversion to theft. . . . Whatever gives a motive to will or not to will an act obligates us to do or not do it. How from this concept all obligation in all cases can be shown, and how fruitful it is for the derivation of other truths, will be explained fully not only in this book but also in the next, on the social life of man. 9. Now, because whatever follows from human actions and makes them either good or bad arises from their essence and from nature and because the good and bad that we meet in actions are the ground of willing or not willing them, it follows that nature has connected motives with men's inherently good and bad actions. And in this way the nature of things and of ourselves obligates us to do the inherently good and omit the inherently bad. 12. . . . Because good actions make our inner and outer conditions more

336

Christian Wolff

perfect, and wicked ones make them less perfect, nature obligates us to do what makes us and our condition, or (what is the same thing) our inner and outer conditions, more perfect. . . . And therefore we have a rule by which we should direct the free actions that we have in our power, namely, Do what makes you and your condition, or that of others, more perfect; omit what makes it less perfect.

16. A rule according to which we are obligated to direct our free actions is called a law. Hence, because we are obligated to act according to the universal rule of free action, this rule is a law. 17. A rule is specifically called a law of nature if nature obligates us to direct our free actions according to it, just as we call a divine law a rule according to which God obligates us to direct our free actions, and again, a human law is a rule according to which men obligate us to direct our actions. 19. Because nature obligates us to do what makes us and our condition more perfect . . . the rule "Do what makes you and your condition more perfect, and omit what makes you and your condition less perfect" is a law of nature. Because this rule covers all free human actions, there is no need of any other law of nature, but all special laws must be derived from it. . . . So this rule is the entire ground of all natural laws. 20. Again, because this rule is a law because it obligates, and the obligation comes from nature, the law of nature is validated by nature itself and would hold even if man had no superior who could obligate him to it. In fact it would hold even if there were no God. 21. And so those are in error who imagine that an atheist may live as he will . . . this holds only if the atheist is uncomprehending and does not rightly see the properties of actions. . . . 23. Because our free actions are good or bad because of what necessarily follows from them, either simply or under certain conditions, to judge them we need insight into the connections of things. Now, insight into the connections of things is reason. So good and bad are known through reason. Accordingly, reason teaches us what we should and should not do; that is, reason is the schoolmistress of the law of nature. 24. He who directs his action according to reason, that is, acts reasonably, lives according to the law of nature, and insofar as he is reasonable, he cannot act against the law of nature. Because we know through reason what the law of nature requires, a reasonable man needs no further law, for because of his reason he is a law unto himself. 9 25. Because inherently good acts are necessarily good and inherently bad ones are necessarily bad, neither can be altered. The law of nature requires that we do the one and do not do the other, and therefore it is unalterable. 26. Moreover, what is necessary is eternal; because the law of nature is necessary, it is also an eternal law. 27. This eternal law extends to all actions of man in all cases. . . . 29. Because the divine understanding makes all things possible and through

Reasonable Thoughts About the Actions of Men

337

[God's] will brings the possible to reality, so it has also become possible through the understanding of God that the free actions of men can affect the perfection or imperfection of themselves and their condition, and through [God's] counsel it is so in reality. Because the representation of this perfection is the motive for doing the acts . . . it follows that God has connected the motives with the actions, and accordingly he obligates men to do what the law of nature requires. . . . In this way simultaneously, natural obligation is divine obligation, and the law of nature is a divine law. It follows at once from this that God can give men no other law than the law of nature, and never a law that conflicts with the law of nature. 34. Because God obligates men to just what nature obligates them to .. . whoever directs his life according to the law of nature directs it also according to God's will and lives according to his will. . . . 38. Because a reasonable man is a law unto himself and, besides natural obligation, needs no other, neither rewards nor punishments are, for him, motives to do good acts and avoid bad ones. So the reasonable man does good acts because they are good and does not do wicked ones because they are wicked. In this case he becomes like God, who has no superior who can obligate him to do what is good or not do what is wicked, but does the one and not the other simply because of the perfection of his nature. 39. An unreasonable man, on the other hand, will need, besides natural obligation, another if he is to live according to the law of nature. For him, rewards and punishments are motives for doing good actions. . . . Hence the unreasonable man does the good and omits the evil out of fear of punishment and hope of reward; in this he is like a child. . . . 40. Because through our actions we preserve the perfection of ourselves and our condition, the perfection of ourselves and our condition is the aim of our action, or the actions are the means through which we achieve our aims. Hence, because all free acts are directed at this aim, it is the final aim of all our free acts and the main aim of our whole life. 42. I shall not here explain that the perfection of our nature and our own condition is radically different from self-interest (Eigen-nutz], but I shall recall only this, which will be made clear as the sun in what follows, that included in the perfection of our nature are the honoring of God and the service of the common good. . . . 43. And therefore we do not approve the opinions of those who make selfinterest the basis of the law of nature. Whoever is selfish looks only to himself and seeks his own benefit, even at the expense of others . . . by contrast, whoever seeks to make himself as perfect as possible seeks also what others seek and desires nothing at their expense. . . . 44. Because the greatest perfection is really God and no creature can partake of it, it is also not possible that a man, even if he daily uses all his strength, should ever attain it. He can therefore achieve no more than to progress from one perfection to another and, increasingly, to avoid imperfec-

338

Christian Wolff

tion. And this is the highest good he can attain, so that the highest good of man or his blessedness is rightly explained as an unhindered progress to greater perfections. 45. Because man will progress to always greater perfection if he directs his acts according to the law of nature, it is through observation of the law of nature that the highest good or blessedness is attained; hence its observation is the means through which we attain the highest good or blessedness of which we are capable on earth. 49. He who progresses unhampered from one perfection to another and avoids imperfection, and is aware of this, has an intuitive awareness of perfection. Intuitive knowledge of perfection affords pleasure or enjoyment; so he has a continuous pleasure. So the highest good or blessedness of man is connected with continuous pleasure. 52. The condition of continuous pleasure constitutes happiness. Now, because the highest good or blessedness is connected with continuous pleasure, the man who possesses it is in the condition of continuous pleasure. And therefore the highest good is connected with happiness. 56. It is certainly true that a man can be displeased by a true good, just as he can be pleased by a specious good, if he does not recognize either of them or harbors some other error about them. . . . But because both the displeasure and the pleasure come from our error, I cannot say that the true good displeases me and the specious good pleases me, so that the one makes me unhappy and the other makes me happy. For I cannot attribute to things that I do not recognize and about which I harbor errors what comes from my ignorance and error. . . . 57. Because true goods rest on a true perfection in man or his condition but specious goods do not, only that can make man happy that rests on a true perfection. . . . Hence because we preserve the perfection of ourselves and our outer condition through observation of the law of nature, the law of nature is the means to preserve our happiness. 64. Readiness to direct one's actions according to the law of nature is what we usually call virtue. . . . Human weakness is the natural inability to act in accordance with the law of nature. I say: natural inability. For whoever owes the inability to himself cannot attribute his failings to natural weakness. . . . 65. Because the law of nature is required for the perfection of ourselves and others, virtue is a readiness to perfect oneself and others as much as possible. 66. The observation of the law of nature is what makes man happy. Because readiness to live in accordance with the law of nature is virtue, virtue makes man happy. And accordingly, one cannot call happy anyone without virtue. Chapter 2: Of Conscience

73. The judgment of whether our actions are good or bad is called conscience. Insofar as man is capable of judging the consequences of his actions

Reasonable Thoughts About the Actions of Men

339

as to whether his inner or outer condition or the inner or outer condition of another is more perfect, so far he has a conscience. 77. The judgment of an action made befo\ce it is done is called the antecedent conscience, and that made when it has bOn done is called the consequent conscience. 78. If we judge an action before it is done or omitted, then we judge only whether it is good or bad or whether we ought to do it or not. . . . In the first case I call the conscience a "theoretical conscience"; in the second, a "practical conscience." 1° For in the first case, conscience merely gives us information about the constitution of the action. In the second, however, it moves us to do the action. 81. The pleasure and pain that we anticipate or receive from something usually mix in with motives, as do the feelings that either affect us or will affect us because of it. 11 If we do not rely on clear knowledge, we will become accustomed to distinguish the good through the pleasure it offers us. . . . But then man is in the condition of slavery, and so he is not really free. 12 Therefore one must distinguish whether the last judgment on which one relies occurs in the condition of complete freedom or, instead, in a condition of slavery. In the first case we call the conscience free, in the second, hampered. 83. If we note an action without the particular circumstances that can occur in special cases in which there is an opportunity to do or omit it, the consequences of the act can not only seem but also be different from what they would be if these circumstances did not have to be taken into account. Because we have to judge from the consequences whether acts are good or bad, better or worse, it can happen that under certain circumstances we have to recognize an act as bad that otherwise we would see to be good. . . . Now in such a case the practical conscience differs from the theoretical conscience, but we act according to the practical conscience. Then we act against the theoretical conscience. And so it is clear that and when one can act against the theoretical conscience. We recognize the good, but when the opportunity comes to do it, we fail to do it. . . . Cause: because of special circumstances, we take the good for bad. 13 90. Conscience is man's judgment of whether acts are good or bad. Whether acts are good or bad is judged by what consequences they bring concerning what is changeable in our or another's inner or outer circumstances. To know this, we need insight into the connection of truths. Because reason consists of insight into the connection of truths, it follows that conscience comes from reason. Man has a conscience because he has reason. 94. If we wish to be certain that our judgment agrees with other truths, nothing more will be needed than our putting the proof into rational form and earnestly investigating whether the matter and the form are correct. And in case some propositions are accepted from experience, when reason is not competent, we must assure ourselves of the experience. So demonstration is the means to decide whether or not conscience is right.

340

Christian Wolff

96. Thus it is possible to settle the question as to whose conscience is right, although this is difficult, as it is not an easy thing to obtain facility in demonstration. One can see immediately that this will not work for all people. For whoever cannot understand demonstrations will not be convinced by them. One can see also how necessary it is that those who should judge matters of conscience attain facility in demonstration. . . . If one reflects on the misery that erring consciences cause today, one will find what I say confirmed by experience. 97. Admittedly it is true that no one can get so far as to be able to judge good and bad in all cases, particularly under special circumstances; so occasionally probability will have to be enough. Only now do we recognize that up to this time no one has a right conscience in these matters. So as long as we cannot determine the degree of probability more precisely, without having a rational art of the probable, we must leave each to his own conscience. And because it is often a question of probability when we have to judge human actions, particularly under special circumstances, we can see how important it is to peace of conscience that the rational art of probability be brought into good condition. 112. Pangs of conscience are the unease that the consequent conscience gives us. The consequent conscience cannot make us uneasy except when it contradicts the antecedent conscience. But it cannot contradict except when the antecedent conscience is erroneous and uncertain. To avoid pangs of conscience, therefore, we must strive to act according to a right and certain conscience, or at least to one so attentive to probability that conscience excuses us. 136. Because conscience gives us considerable pain when we have done something bad and gives us pleasure and peace when we have done something good, and because pleasure and pain are among the motives, our conscience connects motives to good and bad actions. Consequently, it obliges us to do good acts and omit bad ones, that is, to do what makes us and our condition more perfect. 137. Now, because the law of nature also demands that we do what makes us and our condition more perfect, our conscience obligates us to direct our actions according to the law of nature. And so we can call the law of nature a law of conscience. But because conscience comes from reason, this law of conscience — and consequently the law of nature — is what our reason teaches. Hence the law of nature is called an expression of reason. Chapter 3: Of the Way in Which Man Can Attain the Highest Good or His Blessedness on Earth

139. The law of nature is the means by which man attains the happiness of which he is capable through his natural powers in this life. Now, because the law of nature requires the perfection of us and our condition and because this perfection is the final goal of all free action, man, wanting the happiness he

Reasonable Thoughts About the Actions of Men

341

can achieve through his natural powers in this life, must set as the final goal of all his free actions the perfection of his inner and outer conditions. Hence he must not undertake anything but what leads immediately or mediately to this end, that is, what is a means to this goal. 140. In order not to undertake anything but what leads immediately or mediately to his final goal, he not only must have a certain goal in all his actions but must also connect all his special goals so that one is always a means to another and all together are a means to the main goal. 141. Because this knowledge is wisdom, 14 the man who connects his goals in the way described, plans wisely. . . . 146. Now, because man must direct his action so that everything can be seen as a means serving the perfection of his inner and outer conditions, he must be able to judge in every case whether or not his action serves this perfection. To be fit for this, it is necessary that he put all the perfections of man, that is, of soul and body, including his outer condition, into orderly classes, dividing them into genera and species. Similarly, all free actions, whether thoughts of the soul or motions of the body, and all outer things that man needs must be classified into genera and species. Moreover, he must investigate — from clear concepts of perfections and of acts and things for which he strives — those acts and things that forward the perfection of man. And finally, he must commit to memory the rules arising from this. . . . 148. If one is to derive rules from these grounds, one must have an aptitude for drawing unknown truths from known ones. The art of discovery is needed to do this, and because that art cannot operate without wit and understanding and especially ability at inference, all these also are needed. 150. Perhaps someone will wonder how it will go with the pursuit of good and the omission of bad if so much is required in order to distinguish good from bad. Here it will do to respond that we are now speaking only of those who are to generate from their own reflections the rules according to which men are to judge their free actions in the different conditions of life, that is, of the discoverers of the truths that belong to a doctrine of morals. But it is not necessary that all men be discoverers. It is enough if some among the learned devote themselves to discovery, whose findings the others can afterward learn, which is much easier. The ingenuity necessary for discovery need not be all in one man but can be divided among different discoverers who live in quite different ages. This happens in all sorts of discoveries. In fact, if we in our time discover something new, it does not happen only through our ingenuity. Rather, the ingenuity of those who preceded us and discovered other things, on which our discoveries are based, also has a part in our discoveries and often a larger part than we ourselves have. We shall, however, to the extent the present circumstances allow, permit ourselves to be directed to this work. 164. . . . The highest good is attained through observation of the law of nature. Consequently, whoever wants to attain it must have a powerful

348

Christian Wolff

agreements and contracts we make with them, we must be just and also show ourselves to be good and wise. And thus it will no longer be hard, as it may appear to be if we consider goodness alone. Goodness also will not mislead us so that we deny someone something that belongs to him. This is because love, from which goodness comes, makes us bestow all good on each person, but wisdom makes us give good to those to whom it belongs and forget neither ourselves for others nor others for ourselves. Thus justice gives to each what is his and is his due, regardless of the person. From this one can see that justice is nothing but goodness directing itself according to wisdom. For everyone recognizes that it is proper to justice that each should keep his own. 19 But this cannot occur through man's free will without external force, including the fear of punishment, except when man is good with wisdom, as I have shown. 1024. We see, accordingly, that he who wants to be just must act not only according to upright love but also according to wisdom and so according to knowledge. The more that love and wisdom come together, the greater will be the justice. The two must exist together. When love exists alone, much often happens that is unjust. Those we love obtain good and also what is properly others'. Love also leads us to do what is not proper and to omit what should be done. When wisdom is added, we no longer act through the mere drive of love, but we attend to the grounds for each act. We look at the constitution of things and not elsewhere for the grounds for our having this or that attitude toward people. Because I have shown throughout this work what sorts of grounds the actions of man have, and have thereby pointed toward an upright love, I do not doubt that through it one may achieve justice, which I wish to everyone from my heart! Editor's Notes 1. Wolff's term is Weltweisheit ("worldly wisdom"), which he usually contrasts with Gottesgelehrtheit ("learning about God," or "theology"). Wolff's work appeals only to natural reason, not to revelation. It is for theologians to show how this treatment of morality is to be interpreted by Christians. 2. In the Metaphysics §197 Wolff explained that whatever belongs to thought belongs to the self and that nothing else does. For Wolff, thought includes confused as well as clear ideas, and perceptions and feelings are confused ideas. 3. Wolff explained freedom in the Metaphysics. Several conditions combine to make an action free: "§514 . . . 1. that we understand or distinctly conceive the constitution of the action. . . . §515. . . . 2. that the actions that we call free are not simply necessary, because what is contrary to them is equally possible. . . §518 . . . 3. that the soul has within itself the ground of actions that we usually called voluntary. For the representations that it needs as motives are contained in it and come from it, and it inclines itself through its own power toward the thing that pleases §519. If we take all this together, it will be clear that freedom is nothing but it the power of the soul through its will to choose what most pleases it, from two equally possible things, to neither of which it is determined by either its own nature or by something external." Wolff added in §521 that "it is not to be denied that a man who recognizes something as better cannot possibly prefer the worse;

Editor's Notes

349

so it necessarily occurs that he chooses the better. But this necessity does not oppose freedom. For the man is not forced by it to choose the better, because he could choose the worse if he wished, as both are possible in themselves. . . . And from my Thoughts About the Actions of Men . . . it can be seen that without this sort of necessity (which has been called moral necessity) there would be no hope for certainty in morality." 4. What lies behind this claim is Wolff's Leibnizian belief that all of the contents of the mind are ideas, of varying degrees of clarity and distinctness. Even feelings and desires are ideas; they are indistinct representations of good and bad. The will is also ideational. Because the soul or mind is what is distinctive about man, and the soul can do nothing but know — more or less clearly — a teleological argument assuming that our distinctive features show us what God meant us to do leads to the conclusion that our function is to know. 5. In Metaphysics §157 Wolff defined perfection: "The agreement of the manifold constitutes perfection. For example, we judge the perfection of a watch by its ability to show correctly the hour and its divisions. It [the watch] is made of many parts assembled together, and these as well as the assembly are aimed at enabling the hands to tell correctly the hour and its divisions. Thus in a watch we find a multitude of things all of which agree with one another. . . . The conduct of man consists of many actions, and if these all agree with one another, so that they all are finally grounded in one general goal, then the conduct of man will be perfect." 6. In Metaphysics §496 Wolff observed that there must be a sufficient reason for anything to occur or fail to occur. In the case of an act of will the reason, or ground, is the perception of good or evil. Hence such perceptions are what move the will. 7. A technical notion. Wolff explained it in the Metaphysics §206 ff.: We have a distinct idea of something when we can distinguish its parts, so that if asked we can explain them to another. The more parts within parts that we discover, the higher the degree of distinctness our idea will have. 8. One could also say that a motive binds someone to do something or that through a motive one is bound to do it, but for consistency I use the word "obligate" throughout this translation. 9. Wolff here refers to Rom. 2:14-15. 10. In German, these would be a "teaching" and a "moving" conscience, but Wolff gives Latin equivalents for his German in an appendix, and I have followed the Latin. 11. Pleasure, pain, and feelings are confused ideas. Wolff here is showing how con- fused ideas come into our motivation, along with clear ideas of the constitution of an action. 12. In the Metaphysics §491 Wolff stated: "In emotion man does not think what he is doing, and so he does not have his actions in his control. He is, as it were, forced to do what he otherwise would not do. Because the emotions come from the senses and imagination, the mastery of the senses, imagination, and emotions is the slavery of man. And one calls slaves those who let their emotions rule and who remain with the unclear knowledge of the senses and imagination." 13. Wolff went on to spell out several other ways in which one can act against conscience in its various aspects. 14. Wolff is referring us to his Metaphysics, §914, where he defined wisdom as the knowledge of how to connect goals so that one serves as means to another, and of how to choose means so that they lead to our ends. 15. Having earlier discussed the difficulties of obtaining precise rules that will cover widely varying circumstances, in the rest of this chapter Wolff talks about ways of keeping one's desire clear and strong for the ultimate goal.

350

Christian Wolff

16. Wolff is referring us to the Metaphysics §337, where he explained that we form rules about classes of cases, by generalizing from one case and then seeing that we can apply the generalization to another. 17. Love is defined in the Metaphysics §449 as "readiness to receive pleasure from another's happiness." 18. Wolff is referring here to §9: his thought is that because we should bring about good, we should do so regardless of our promise to bring about the good. 19. Wolff gives here his account of the commonplace that justice is the constant will to give each his own (suum cuique tribuere), a formula derived from Roman law.

Further Reading To the best of my knowledge there is nothing in English on Wolff's practical philosophy or his ethics. There is, indeed, relatively little in English about any of Wolff's thought. The best general review of his philosophy is that by Lewis White Beck, Early German Philosophy (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1969), which contains a bibliography of secondary material. Wolff is treated briefly in John Herman Randall, The Career of Philosophy, vol. 2 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1965), and in Frederick Coplestone S.J., A History of Philosophy, vol. 6 (New York: Doubleday, 1964). Richard J. Blackwell translated Wolff's Preliminary Discourse on Philosophy in General (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1963), which will give the reader a good idea of Wolff's vision of the way in which philosophy should be systematic and of the place in his system for practical philosophy. Blackwell also wrote a useful article on this subject: "The Structure of Wolffian Philosophy," The Modern Schoolman, 38 (1961):203-18.

Part III. Epicureans and Egoists

Pierre Gassendi

Introduction

To most contemporary philosophers Pierre Gassendi is known, if at all, as the author of the "Fifth Set of Objections" to Descartes's Meditations. In his own time he was considered a major intellectual figure: philosopher, scientist, historian, and moralist, a leader around whom the opposition to Descartes gathered. Gassendi was born in 1592 in a little town in the south of France. He took a doctorate in theology at Aix in 1614 and was ordained two years earlier. Instead of becoming a parish priest, however, he obtained a chair at the local university and taught philosophy there until 1622. His dissatisfaction with the Aristotelian views he was forced to teach eventually led him to write his first major book. Dissertations in the Form of Paradoxes Against the Aristotelians, of which part was published in 1624. Gassendi then added scientific work to his philosophical inquiries, publishing a number of essays on astronomy as well as some polemical writings in philosophy. He also worked on a study of the philosophy of Epicurus, which he had become determined to discuss and defend as a whole. Some of his Epicurean views were published in 1647 as Eight Books on the Life and Character of Epicurus. In 1649 appeared the Commentary on the Tenth Book of Diogenes Laertius, a massive discussion of Diogenes Laertius's summary of Epicurus's doctrines. All this was preliminary to Gassendi's crowning work, the Syntagma philosophicum (Philosophical Synopsis), which was still unfinished when he died in 1655. It was completed from his drafts and notes by his friends and was published in his Complete Works in 1658. Gassendi published only in Latin; his major works were extremely long and not exactly lively; his scientific achievements were minor; and unlike later thinkers who accepted atomism as a scientific hypothesis, he did not use mathematics to develop his view in a fruitful way. He played an important part in winning acceptance of atomism and was a significant advocate of empiricism before Locke, possibly influencing him. The later elaboration of views similar to his made his own cumbersome and often hesitant formulations unhelpful, and by the eighteenth century Gassendi no longer seemed a philosopher worth discussing. Yet he cannot be ignored if we wish to understand the development of thought in the seventeenth century. The Syntagma philosophicum contains Gassendi's Epiciirean systematization of the domain of human knowledge: logic, natural science generally, and morals. It provides canons for reasoning intended to mitigate skepticism, systematizes all knowledge on the basis of an empiricist atomism, and propounds an ethics of self-interested pleasure seeking as a guide to life. Why was Gassendi so attracted to the Epicurean outlook? He was, after all, a Catholic priest and in all probability a serious believer, and 353

354

Pierre Gassendi

Epicurus's views are hardly Christian. Epicurus did believe that there are gods, but he thought that they are indifferent to our affairs and do not intervene in them. The world as we live in it arose from a chance erratic motion among the atoms that compose it. Life is thus a pattern of moving atoms, and when the atoms that compose us cease to move in that pattern, we are no more. Hence death is not to be feared. It is nothing but the dark after the candle goes out. Pleasure is the only thing we seek, and the only good there is. Why would a good Christian take up such views? Gassendi was one of a group of advanced thinkers known as "libertines." Although this term carried implications of sexual license and loose living entirely inappropriate to Gassendi and his friends, at the time it referred primarily to those who wished to free themselves from conventional thinking, particularly conventional Christian thinking. Gassendi was strongly inclined toward philosophical skepticism, and this, combined with his interest in the new science and his dislike of the schools' Aristotelianism, made him acceptable to others seeking a new way of understanding the world and themselves. Epicurus, furthermore, was no Aristotelian. He did not appeal to final causes or combinations of form and matter to explain the world. Instead, he believed matter in motion could explain everything. To Gassendi, who corresponded on warm terms with the elderly Galileo, this theory must have been welcome. If one could treat atomism as a hypothesis rather than as a certainty and if one could consider experience as showing us only how things appear and then investigate the appearances, then science might proceed even if Pyrrhonian skepticism seemed unanswerable. The problem, therefore, was to reconcile Epicureanism with Christian doctrine. In ethics the matter was particularly pressing. Epicurus had been said even by some Romans to advocate a pig's philosophy; Christian thinkers had criticized him for centuries; and his name had become a popular byword for anyone who lived selfishly and for bodily pleasure alone. Gassendi set out to rectify this image, making part of his strategy a scholarly one. On page after page he proclaimed (quite accurately) that Epicurus did not recommend beastly pleasures, did not live loosely, and was not a monster of impiety. A second part of Gassendi's strategy was to confine himself to secular matters, not to appeal to revelation, and to claim that in such matters Epicurus's views could be a reliable guide to life. But he added that Epicureanism teaches us to practice all the virtues and so would be compatible with those that religion requires of us. Finally, Gassendi simply dropped certain Epicurean views. We are immortal, he announced — though not the part of us that desires and feels and is dependent on the body. God does look after the world, and he has made pleasurable everything he wants us to do, so that he can achieve his ends through natural means. There will no doubt be a Last Judgment, but we are not to fear death. Modified Epicureanism turned out to be compatible with Christianity — of a sort. Gassendi's presentation of an Epicurean ethics in the third division of the Syntagma philosophicum is in three books: Of Happiness; Of Virtue; and Of Freedom, Fortune, Fate, and Divination. They repeat the vindication of Epicurus that Gassendi had given in his two earlier works on the subject and also discuss a number of other issues. Gassendi assumed that all pleasures and pains are comparable, so that we can figure out how to attain the greatest preponderance of the one over the other. He tried to explain the value we place on "honesty" — he used the term in the broad Latin sense to mean a constant regard for principle — which we seem to think is independent of any pleasure the agent will get from being honest. Gassendi offered an Epicurean account of justice, adding to it a concern for individual rights that is not in his classical sources.

Three Discourses of Happiness, Virtue, and Liberty

355

And he ended with an effort to show how the maxim of doing to others as you would have done to yourself fits in with his doctrine. In teaching that a life of self-interested, moderate enjoyment is perfectly acceptable. Gassendi made plain his belief that we can think about moral matters without concerning ourselves with religion. He suggested that laypersons can answer moral questions as well as, or better than, clergy. Because he did not draw from his egoistic psychology the authoritarian implications that Hobbes drew, Gassendi presented an Epicureanism that might lead to politically acceptable conclusions. In all this he brought into the modern conversation about morality several questions that later writers would answer with more care. The following selections are from an abridgment of the Syntagma philosophicum made by Gassendi's faithful disciple Francois Bernier, who between 1674 and 1678 summarized the work in French in several volumes. Bernier's final volume, on the ethics, was translated into English and published in 1699. The translator's name is not given. I have altered the capitalization and some spelling and punctuation.

Three Discourses of Happiness, Virtue, and Liberty OF MORAL PHILOSOPHY IN GENERAL

Mankind having a natural inclination to be happy, the main bent and design of all his actions and endeavors tend chiefly that way. It is therefore an undeniable truth that happiness, or a life free from pain and misery, are such things as influence and direct all our actions and purposes to the obtaining of them. And though several persons who want neither the necessities nor conveniences of life, possessing great riches, promoted to dignities and honors, blessed with a beautiful and hopeful offspring, in a word who want nothing that may seem requisite to their present happiness; though, I say, we find many who have all these advantages, yet they lead an anxious and uneasy life, disquieted with cares, troubles, and perpetual disturbances. From whence the wiser sort of mankind have concluded that the source of this evil proceeds from ignorance of the cause wherein our true happiness consists, and of the last end which everyone should propose to himself in all his actions, which being neglected we are led blindfold by our passions, and forsake honesty, virtue, and good manners, without which it is impossible to live happily. For this reason they have undertaken to instruct us wherein true happiness consists; and to propose such useful precepts for the due regulation of our passions, whereby our minds may be less liable to be disturbed. This collection of precepts, reflections and reasonings they name "the art of living" or "the art of leading an happy life." And which they commonly call "Moral Philosophy," because it comprehends such doctrines as relate to the manners' of men; that is to say, the accustomed and habitual actions of life. From whence we may understand that this part of philosophy is not only speculative and rests in the bare contemplation of its object, but proceeds to action, and that [it] is, as we usually say, active and practical; for it directs and

356

Pierre Gassendi

governs our manners, rendering them regular and agreeable with the rules of justice and honesty. So that in this respect, it may be said to be the science, or if this term be scrupled at, the art of doing well. . . . . . . Democritus, Epicurus, 2 and divers others of no small eminence have had so high an esteem for moral philosophy that they have judged the natural [philosophy] to be no further regarded, than only as it was found useful in freeing us from certain errors and mistakes in our understanding which might disturb the repose and tranquillity of our life and wherein it might be serviceable to moral philosophy, or to the better obtaining of that knowledge which teaches us to live happily and comfortably.' .. . THE FIRST BOOK, CONCERNING HAPPINESS Chapter I: What Happiness Is

Though felicity or happiness be properly the enjoyment of the sovereign or chief good and therefore the most blessed estate that can be desired, yet because this estate of enjoyment comprehends this sovereign good, it is for that reason called by this name. It is also termed the chief or ultimate happiness, the end of all ends, or The End, for its excellency, because all other things are sought for its sake. And lastly, that it is desired alone for its own sake. . . . But here we may make two considerable remarks. The first is that we don't concern ourselves here with that happiness mentioned by the sacred penmen when they tell us how happy that man is who being assisted with the divine influences betakes himself entirely to the service of God, and being filled with faith and hope, and inflamed with charity, spends his life in peace and tranquillity. . . . The second is that by this natural felicity that we here treat of is not to be understood such a state of life as we can't imagine a better, a more pleasant and desirable; in the which we cannot comprehend any evil nor think of any good thing which we shall not possess, nor of anything that we have a desire to do but we shall be able to accomplish it, and that it shall remain fixed and unchangeable. But we understand such a certain state of life in which we may be as happy as is possible, in which there are abundance of good things and very few of any sort evil, and in which consequently we may lead as easy, quiet, and undisturbed a life as the condition of the country, the society we converse with, the constitution of our bodies, the manner of our life, our age and other circumstances will permit. For to propose to ourselves more than this, or to affect during the course of our natural life the highest felicity is not to acknowledge but rather forget ourselves to be men, that is to say, weak and feeble animals who by the laws of nature are subject to an infinite number of mischiefs and evils. . . . As to Epicurus we shall speak more at large, that he makes happiness to consist in the ease of the body and the tranquillity of mind. . . . Therefore designing to treat afterwards of happiness, he earnestly exhorts to consider

Three Discourses of Happiness, Virtue, and Liberty

357

thoroughly of the things that conduce to it. And because amongst those things the chief is that the mind may be disengaged from certain mistakes which cause continual disturbances and vain fears, he mentions several particulars, which he believes to be of that importance, that when well examined will settle the mind and procure to it a real and solid happiness. The first particular is the knowledge and fear of God. . . . though Epicurus delivers some notions that are very just and reasonable, yet he hath others that are not to be entertained by pious men . . . when he denies Providence . . . and when he thinks that it is not consisting with the highest felicity, as if God had no particular care of men; 4 that the just are to expect nothing from his goodness and the wicked are not to dread his justice, are such opinions that our reason and religion will not permit us to entertain. The second particular relates to death. For as Aristotle observes, death is looked upon as the most dreadful evil because none is exempted, [itj being unavoidable. Therefore Epicurus judges that we ought to accustom ourselves to think upon it, that we might learn by that means as much as is possible to free ourselves from such fears of death as might disturb our tranquillity and consequently the happiness of our life.' And for that reason he endeavors to persuade us that it is so far from being the most dreadful of evils that in itself it is no evil at all. . . . Epicurus hath very good reason to say that in death there is nothing to be feared that may injure the sight, the hearing, the smell, the taste, or the sense of feeling; for all these senses cannot be without the body and then the body ceases to be or is dissolved. But that which we are not to allow is what he affirms elsewhere, that death is also the privation or extinction of the spirit or understanding.' . . . Therefore that we may not be hindered by this impiety . . . let us proceed to give a check to the extraordinary apprehensions of death and to those fears that frequently disturb all the peace and quiet of our lives.' .. . Chapter II: What Sort of Pleasure It Is That Epicurus Recommends as the End of a Happy Life 'Tis strange that the word "pleasure" should have blasted the reputation of Epicurus . . . for it is certain that this word comprehends the honest pleasures as well as the loose and debauched. I say it is certain; for Plato, Aristotle, and all other ancient philosophers as well as their disciples speak in express words that amongst the pleasures some are innocent, others impure; some are of the mind, others are of the body; some true, others false. . . . I mention this only because some imagine that this word "pleasure" cannot nor ought not to be taken but in an ill sense. Therefore when Epicurus says that pleasure is the chief end, they fancy that he cannot and ought not to be understood but of sordid and forbidden pleasures. . . But let us examine this business from the bottom, and first let us begin with the accusation which they bring against him. And as amongst those who allow other pleasures than of the body there are some that will have what he says to

358

Pierre Gassendi

be understood only of bodily pleasures, let us weigh his own words as they are found in Laertius. 8 . . . "The end of a happy life," says he, "is nothing else but the health of the body and the tranquillity of the soul. Because all our actions aim and tend to this end, that we may be free from pain and trouble." And because this end he styles by the name of pleasure, some took occasion from thence to scandalize him, saying that hereby he understood the mean and sordid pleasures of the body. Therefore he makes his own apology and clears himself from this calumny by declaring plainly what kind of pleasure he means and what not. For after having made it his main business to recommend a sober life, which is satisfied with plain food and easy to be got, you shall hear what he says next. When we say that pleasure is the main end, we mean neither the pleasure of debauchery, nor the other sensual delights which terminate in the very moment of enjoyment and by which the senses are only gratified and pleased. . . . But we understand this, to feel no pain in the body and to have no trouble in the soul. For 'tis not the pleasure of continual eating and drinking, nor the pleasure of love . . . that make a pleasant life; but a sound judgment assisted by sobriety and consequently by a serenity and tranquillity of mind which thoroughly inquires into the causes why we ought to embrace or avoid anything and that drives away all mistaken opinion or false notions of things which might raise much perplexity in the sou1. 9 .. .

But this ingenuous and plain declaration is sufficient to justify him from the slanderous accusations of his enemies. . . . What shall we say then to those who charge him with a contrary opinion? Nothing else but . . . that the Stoics who very much hated him . . . have not only misunderstood his opinion, but they have also forged and published in his name scandalous books, whereof they themselves were the authors, that they might the more easily gain credit to their malicious insinuations, and fasten upon him their calumnies without suspicion. Now one of the causes of their hatred against him was that Zeno, their principal leader, was naturally melancholy, austere, rude and severe, and his disciples following their guide affected the same air, and a severe mien. This has caused the virtue of the Stoics or their wisdom to be represented as some very austere and reserved thing; and in regard that caused them to be admired and respected by the common people, and that we suffer ourselves willingly to be carried away to vainglory and to be puffed up with pride if we don't take heed to prevent it, they fancied themselves to be the only possessors of wisdom. And therefore they boasted that he alone was the wise man whose soul was strengthened and fortified with the virtue of the Stoics, that he alone was fit to be a king, a captain. . . . And that such a one never repents, is not touched with remorse, cannot receive affronts, is ignorant of nothing, never doubts of anything, is free from passion, is always at liberty, full of joy and content like God himself. . . . But Epicurus on the contrary was of a sweeter and more candid temper, and as he acted with sincerity and plain-dealing he could not endure this vanity and ostentation. So that when he considered besides the weaknesses of our human nature and what it was capable of undergoing and what

Three Discourses of Happiness, Virtue, and Liberty

359

not, he quickly understood that all those great boastings which made such noise in the schools of the Stoics were but vain fictions when the glory and the pride of their words were removed. Therefore he proposed to himself a virtue that he knew our human nature capable of. And because he observed that men in all their proceedings were naturally carried to some pleasure, and after he had well inquired into all the several kinds of pleasure, there was none more universal, more firm, more constant and more desirable than that which consists in the health of the body and the tranquillity of the mind. He therefore declared that to be the chief end of all delights, and that virtue alone was the best means to obtain it, and consequently that a wise or a virtuous man did by his sobriety and chastity — that is to say, by the virtue of temperance — preserve the health of his body, as far as his natural constitution would permit; and that being assisted by moral virtues, by which he appeases the passions of lust, gluttony, covetousness and ambition he endeavors chiefly to preserve likewise as much as he is able the tranquillity of his thoughts. . . . Now Zeno and the Stoics, understanding this simplicity of manners and doctrine and seeing that many men of parts were undeceived and made no account of their great and glorious words and promises, conceived so great a prejudice against him that they sought always how to defame him, taking occasion from the word "pleasure," and affirming that he thereby understood sensual and debauched pleasure and excess. We are not therefore too easily to assent to what they say, nor too readily give credit to the report of others, who being imposed upon by their mistakes have exclaimed against him. . . . . . . we have plainly made it appear that the pleasure meant by Epicurus is not that soft, sensual and debauched pleasure . . . but that which he intends is quite contrary, pure and undefiled, viz., an indolency 1° of the body and the tranquillity of the mind, but chiefly the latter. So that this kind of pleasure cannot hinder any from seeking after virtue, seeing that it is in this only that felicity or happiness of life consists; and that Epicurus proposes no more than the Stoics themselves do who affirm that virtue is sufficient to procure a pleasant and a happy life. And truly this maxim alone does sufficiently evince that what shift or excuse soever they may seem to frame, yet they suppose virtue designed for no other end but to live well and happily. So that a happy life is desirable for itself, but virtue is not so much desirable for itself as for an happy life. Chapter III: Wherein a Happy Life Consists What we have already discoursed of tends to little else than to make a plain discovery of Epicurus's opinion. But now we must come closer to the matter and strictly examine whether he had sufficient ground to say that pleasure is the main end. Here we must weigh two of his chief maxims, first, that all pleasure is of

360

Pierre Gassendi

itself and of its own nature a real good; and on the contrary that all grief and pain is an evil. The second is that notwithstanding sometimes we must prefer some sort of pains before some sort of pleasures."

Whether all pleasure be good of itself? In respect of the first maxim, it is not without ground that Epicurus asserts that all pleasure is of itself good, . . . for all creatures are of themselves so inclinable to pleasure and delight that it is the first and chief thing that they naturally covet; nor do they willingly reject any pleasure that is offered them, unless it chance to be accompanied by some evil that may after procure a pain and so cause us to repent of its first acceptance. And truly as it is the nature of good to invite and persuade the appetite to love and embrace it, so we can give no reason why all pleasure should not be of itself lovely and to be desired, seeing there is none but in itself is pleasing and desirable, and which does of itself incline our appetites. So that if we refuse any, we refuse them not as pleasures, but because of some inconveniences that are annexed. . . . Now to illustrate this more plainly by an example, there is no person but will allow honey to be naturally sweet. Yet if poison happens to be mixed with it, whereby the poison doth also become sweet, we shall then have a real aversion for the sweetness of the honey. But this is by accident, for the honey is naturally sweet and pleasing to our taste. . . . Now adjust any pleasure whatsoever to this example, and you will easily perceive it to be never otherwise. For we shall always eschew the evil but not the pleasure itself. . . . . . . Is it not manifest that all pain in general is of itself evil and hurtful and by consequence every animal hath naturally an aversion against it? So that if at any time it is called good it is only by accident, in regard it hath some good thing that is joined to it which obliges us to love and desire it. But if you remove from pain all hopes or expectation of obtaining any good thing, either honest or profitable or pleasant, there is no man so foolish as to wish for it or seek after it. As this is undeniable so it is apparent that if all pain be of itself evil . . . all pleasure being contrary to pain is of itself good and an evil by accident. Whether at any time pain ought to be preferred before pleasure . . . if any pleasure offer itself which might hinder us from obtaining a greater, or which will be attended by a pain that may cause us to repent the suffering ourselves to be drawn to it, or if a pain offer itself which may turn away a greater, or which may be followed by a pleasure very great, there is no reason can persuade us against the shunning such a pleasure and embracing such a pain. . . . Any wise man will decline pleasure and embrace pain if he sees that repentance will follow [the pleasure] or that by admitting a little pain he may avoid a greater. Of the first good that nature has in its view . . . let us examine if this pleasure understood in a general sense be really . . . the first and chief good that Nature goes in quest of, for it remains a

Three Discourses of Happiness, Virtue, and Liberty

361

great question among the philosophers. And it seems [that] as in the order of good things that are desirable, there is one thing that is the ultimate and chief, so ought there to be one thing first, which may be the beginning of all our desires. Some, says Cicero, "conceive pleasure or delight to be the first good, others an exemption or a freedom from pain; for as soon as any creature is born it naturally desires and labors after an indolence or freedom from pain." 2 Others place the first good things of nature amongst those which they call our being, life, perfection, the preservation of all our'members entire and in health, our senses, strength, beauty, and such like. Now among these opinions the first and second are included in that of Epicurus, for he places our exemption from pain among those things we call pleasures. The third opinion, being that of the Stoics, is less probable. For though we may say that every creature desires to have its being, life, health, perfection and preservation of its several parts, etc., nevertheless we must observe that all these things are desired because it is pleasant to enjoy them. And therefore if these things are desirable for being pleasant, doubtless pleasure is the first good thing or holds the chief place among those things that are desired. This plainly discovers to us two things. First, that though we commonly reckon three sorts of good things, viz., the honest, the profitable, and the pleasant, the pleasant or pleasurable, which is nothing else but pleasure itself, is so intermixed with the rest that it doesn't seem to be a distinct species of itself but part of the common stock which renders the others good and desirable; as if that which is honest and useful were only to be desired because it is pleasing and agreeable. Secondly, that pleasure being common unto all sensible creatures and so fixed and settled in our very first desires, that we have not a liberty of refusing it, seems verily that this should be the first good that we wish for or desire. . . . From hence therefore we may infer that "good" and "pleasant" are but different names for the same thing, and that good is good, and described to be what all creatures desire, only because it is grateful and pleasing; and by consequence that that good which is pleasing is desired for the pleasure it affords.

That things profitable and useful are sought after for the sake of pleasure Now there is no difficulty to prove that things profitable and useful relate to what is grateful or to the pleasure which we receive from them. For it is manifest that things useful are not desired merely because they are useful but for something else, which is either pleasure itself or what relates to pleasure. . . . That those good things which we call honest have the nearest relation to pleasure This seems a little more difficult to be made out. Bonum honestum, or honest good, seems to carry its own intrinsic worth and to be desired only for itself. . . . The word "honest" among the Latins is said to be so from the

362

Pierre Gassendi

honor that action deserves . . . for if you please you may interpret it not only "honest" but also "beautiful," "honorable," and "praiseworthy," etc. And you will find that it is not so in respect of itself but in respect of men who allow it to be so, and consequently it appears to them beautiful and honorable and of whom it is and ought to be praised. . . . Epicurus will agree . . . that honest men don't propose to themselves any profit or advantage, such as money and the like low mean things; but they propose to themselves some other benefits, as praise, glory, honor, renown, etc. . . . But in conclusion, to speak one word to the purpose in reference to that honesty which relates to pleasure, we must observe that this relation hinders not but that honesty in one sense may be said to be desired for itself or for its own sake, because it is desired . . . all profit being laid aside. . . . For some may desire honor, learning and virtue, not because they may thereby advance gain or increase wealth, but for the renown and satisfaction that will arise from the enjoyment of a clear and enlightened understanding . . . and all this nevertheless because it is pleasant to be honored, learned and virtuous and to enjoy a soul calm and serene. Chapter IV: What Advantage Moral Virtue Procures . . . it is not without great reason that we compare virtue to a plant whose root is bitter but the fruit very sweet . . . nor is that story without ground, where pleasure and virtue are supposed to meet in a double way and each of them to use the strongest motives to incline Hercules ° to follow them in their different paths. For that confirms the truth of the rules that are before alleged, when we took notice that we ought to shun that pleasure which is attended with a greater mischief, as we ought to embrace those labors and toils which will procure us greater advantages and delights. I know very well how they have represented Hercules rejecting pleasure, that is to say an easy and effeminate life, to pursue virtue, which is a life full of labor and difficulty. Nevertheless Maximus of Tyre says very well that "when he was under the greatest labors, he felt or had a prospect of wonderful pleasures. You see," says he, "in Hercules extraordinary labors, but you see not the incredible pleasures that either attend or succeed them." Whosoever takes away pleasure from virtue takes from it all strength and efficacy; for were it not for pleasure men would never undertake any great matter . . . we are apt to give divers names to the cause that first moves us to undertake . . . great things; as for instance that which put Achilles upon dying voluntarily for Patrocles' 4 we call friendship; that which inclined Agamemnon' s

toenriadcywrithsomucaendfigwsthcareo preserving his kingdom. . . . All these several terms are but other names for pleasure. . . . . . . the philosophers themselves who have declared open war with pleasure ° . . . don't differ so much from Epicurus in the thing, as in the name. . . . And truly these are their own expressions, so often celebrated among them, "that virtue is sufficient of itself to make us happy." Or as Cicero

Three Discourses of Happiness, Virtue, and Liberty

363

says, that to live happily, we need only be virtuous. Now if we rightly understand this maxim we must necessarily perceive thereby that virtue itself is not the chief good but a means that contributes in such a manner to obtain it, that it is alone sufficient for that purpose. . . . . . . notwithstanding some do so much talk and glory of acting by principles out of love to virtue, yet upon a strict inquiry we shall find that pleasure is their chief motive. For they that expose themselves to hazards and dangers for the sake of a friend or for the deliverance of their country, and that defy even death itself, which they know to be unavoidable, do all this in expectation of some pleasure or satisfaction which they shall enjoy after death. But still it is present pleasure which excites and animates them when they think that the actions which they are going about shall procure liberty to their relations, friends or countrymen, or perpetuate their memory and make their generations famous in after ages. It is, I say, the thoughts of being rendered famous to posterity that thus animates and transports them. Chapter V: Of Life and Active Felicity . . . there are two kinds of life, and likewise two kinds of felicities, the one in contemplation, the other in action. Wise men have still preferred a contemplative before an active life. However this does not hinder those whom either their birth, genius or necessity of affairs have engaged in business from enjoying tranquillity of mind. For whosoever undertakes this does not go blindfold to work, but after he hath for some time seriously considered and taken a due prospect of the state of human affairs, not as from the midst of the crowd but as from a higher station, and understands that in the active course of life there may happen many accidents that all the wisdom of man cannot foresee; .. . such a one is always upon his guard, ready to take advice upon all sudden emergencies. He knows that he can command what is in himself but cannot govern what depends not on his free will. He acts according to his power and does what becomes the duty of an honest man; and afterwards, whatever happens, he thinks he ought to be content and satisfied. . . . But after all that can be said in commendation of an active felicity, Aristotle had reason to prefer a speculative. For contemplation exerts the most excellent and divine part of our selves, and besides this sort of action is the most noble, innocent and lasting, and the most easily set on work. . . . BOOK II

Chapter 1: Of Virtue in General Now to speak something concerning the mutual relation of moral virtues, it is to be collected from two particulars. First, that they are all united with prudence, as all the members with the body, the streams of water with the fountain from whence they run. Secondly, that prudence and all the rest are

364

Pierre Gassendi

inseparable from a pleasant life, for life cannot be pleasant without virtue, and wherever virtue resides there life must needs be pleasant. From hence it appears that the consequence of this mutual conjunction of the virtues is grounded upon this maxim, "that things that are united in any third thing are united among themselves." Now 'tis not needful to speak of the second particular, for we shall understand this matter sufficiently hereafter when we consider the saying of Epicurus, "that virtue is not desirable for its own sake but for the sake of pleasure."

Chapter VIII: Of Justice, Equity, and the Laws There remains yet the fourth virtue" for us to discourse of, namely, justice, which consists in rendering to everyone that which belongs to him. Therefore 'tis of a very large extent and esteemed as the source and root of all other duties. . . . Justice is a kind of goodness, or an inclination full of sincerity and desire of doing right in all the world. For that reason there is nothing men respect, reverence and love more than justice. For this cause men have always given to it the name of a most precious possession, and in all times it is acknowledged to be the ligament of societies, as Cicero calls it, that is to say, that tie without which society cannot possibly subsist. . . . But this virtue is sometimes taken more generally, sometimes more strictly. For there be many that look upon it as the complexion of all the other virtues, because there is no virtue but justice prescribes its functions and offices. As for instance, in the practice of fortitude, when we are in a fight, it orders us to keep our rank and forbids us to run away or throw away our weapons. In the practice of temperance it prohibits adultery; in that of gentleness it commands us to strike nobody nor so much as speak evil of them; and so of the rest. But not to insist too long upon this, it is not to be questioned but that the two chief offices or general duties of justice consist in hurting or doing wrong to nobody and in giving or rendering to everyone that which he may lawfully claim. . . . This hath given occasion to the lawyers'" to define justice [as) "a constant and perpetual will or resolution to give or restore to everyone his right," that is to say, what justly belongs to him. This definition causes us to make two observations. First, that 'tis not without reason that it is named a will or resolution. . . . For to deserve commendation for this virtue, 'tis not sufficient to perform some just acts, seeing that he who may do them without knowledge, or for fear or for a friend's sake or for gain . . . cannot therefore be just nor be said to do justly, because the end ceasing, he would act otherwise. But to be just he must proceed willingly of his own accord for the sake of justice. . . . Secondly, that 'tis also not without reason that they add "to render everyone his right," because these words comprehend the function and the proper act of justice. . . . As this part of the definition . . . obliges us to understand and seek more at large what this right is and from whence derives its original, let us consider

Three Discourses of Happiness, Virtue, and Liberty

365

first that this word being taken in several senses, its primitive signification is that right is a faculty to do something, to have something, to enjoy and to do oneself right in something. . . . 'Tis also from hence that the law by a metaphor is called "right," because it declares and prescribes what belongs to everyone as his right, what authority, power and command everyone hath over anything. . . . . . . Right seems by consequence to be originally more ancient than justice. For as justice is the same thing with that affection or habitual desire or inclination which we have to wrong nobody and that everyone may enjoy their right as we enjoy ours, 'tis certain that this justice supposes that there is in other men a right not depending on it and which nevertheless would be, though itself were not in being. . . . But because Epicurus, whom both many of the ancient and modern authors have followed, hath derived the very beginning of right and whatever is agreeable with equity from utility or profit, let us listen to what he says' 9 .. . As justice is a virtue by which we render unto everyone that which is his due and by which we take heed not to wrong anybody, 'tis certain that in this respect it relates to and respects other men, and that it is convenient for man as he is a member and lives in society, it being the common tie, without which 'tis impossible a society should subsist. It hath this also in common with other virtues, viz., prudence, temperance, and fortitude, that 'tis not to be separated from pleasure, not only because it injures nobody but also because it settles the mind at rest. . . . As justice hath been contrived and appointed for the public good. it must needs follow that the right and equity which it chiefly respects is good for each individual person that constitutes a society. And because everyone desires naturally that which is good for himself, it must needs be that what is right or just is according to nature and by consequence must be styled natural. Now 'tis not without reason that I mention this, because it sometimes happens that in the government of societies some things are ordered as right and just which nevertheless are not good, nor the true interest of a society; and consequently not being natural, but against nature, ought not to be reputed just, but only nominally so. or by mistake:" . . . Therefore to speak properly, right or natural equity is nothing else but what is marked out by utility or profit which by common agreement hath been appointed that men might not injure one another nor receive any wrong, but live in security, which is a real good and therefore naturally desired of everyone. I suppose therefore that which is profitable and that which is good to be but one and the same thing. And therefore to the making up of what is just and right, two things are prerequisite. The first, that it be useful or that it hath usefulness on its side. The second, that it be prescribed and ordained by the common consent of the society. For there is nothing perfectly just but what the society by common agreement or approbation hath thought fit to be observed. -I . . . the laws according to Epicurus's judgment being established for the public benefit of mankind, that everyone might enjoy his right, might live peaceably and securely; and seeing there is nothing more agreeable to Nature than this, I think none has reason to upbraid him that he separated from Nature the laws and right, seeing that he had rather joined them inseparably together by the tie of common interest, which is the firmest bond according to the rules of Nature. Nor does there seem any reason to blame him because he

366

Pierre Gassendi

hath rather derived the laws and right from profit than from Nature, seeing he could never have derived them from profit but at the same time he must needs derive them from Nature. Nay, let us go further. What cause have we to reprove him, seeing there is no person but will allow that both the primitive and modern legislators had always this thing of profit or public advantage still in their eye, and that no laws can be just and useful but what tend to the public benefit and advantage? .. . . . . though from what has been said we may conclude that to speak properly there is no law of nations and subsequently no right of nations, because there never hath been any covenant or agreement between all nations, nevertheless we may say that this common precept, "Thou shalt not do to another what thou wilt not that another should do to thee," ought to be esteemed as the first natural law, or according to nature; not only because there is nothing more natural or more according to nature than society, and society being not able to subsist without this precept it ought also to be esteemed natural; but also because God seems to have imprinted it in the hearts of all men, and that this law contains in such a full manner all the other laws of society that no man can invade the right of another but he must violate this law. Therefore this law alone ought to be looked upon as the rule of all our actions that concern our neighbor. And truly as everyone desires that his right may be religiously preserved to him, so that no man may attempt upon it, he need but think the same thing of others and to put himself in their place and condition to understand what he ought or what he ought not to do. Therefore as there is nothing nearer at hand and more ready nor more infallible than our own conscience, everyone may consult himself and he alone may be his own proper and true casuist. . . . Editor's Notes 1. Gassendi used the Latin mores, meaning "customs" or "usages," the etymological root of "moral," to point to its true meaning. 2. Democritus (c. 460-370 B.c.E.) is associated with Epicurus (341-270 B.c.E.) because both adhered to an atomistic and materialistic theory of the ultimate constituents of reality. What little we know of Democritus's ethical views suggests that he advocated a position similar to that of Epicurus. In particular he denied any important role to religious sanctions. Even in his systematic account of Epicurean ethics, Gassendi drew heavily on the Greek writer Diogenes Laertius (third century c.E.), who inserted into his account of the life and thought of Epicurus the longest writings by him to have survived. They include his "Letter to Menoeceus." the chief statement of his ethical views. Diogenes Laertius's Lives of the Eminent Philosophers is available in English translation by R. D. Hicks, in the Loeb Classical Library, London and New York, 1925. Book X, the life of Epicurus, is in the second volume. Further references to Epicurus will be to this edition, abbreviated DL. For more material on Epicureanism, see A. A. Long and D. N. Sedley, The

Further Reading

367

Hellenistic Philosophers, vol. 1 (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1987), pp. 102-39. 3. DL X.85-86, p. 615. 4. DL X.76-77, p. 607; 97-98, p. 625; 123, p. 649. 5. DL X.124-5, p. 651; 139, p. 665. 6. Gassendi distinguished two aspects of the soul. One, which animals also share, operates only through the images of things. The other, not shared with animals, enables us to think without images. although the materials for our thought come from images. It is through this second aspect of the soul that we are immortal. 7. Gassendi goes on to provide a number of commonplace reflections designed to decrease the fear of death. 8. That is, Diogenes Laertius. The following quotation is fairly close to the text: DL X.128, pp. 653-5. 9. DL X.131-2, p. 657. 10. Absence of pain. 11. DL X.129-30, p. 655. 12. Cicero, De finibus (Of ends), trans. H. Rackham, Loeb Classical Library, 1971, 1.29.30, p. 33. 13. The story of "the choice of Hercules," between the life of pleasure and the life of virtue, goes back to Xenophon, Socratic Memorabilia, 11.1.21-34. It was discussed by many of the ancients, one of whom Gassendi cited, and provided a theme for much art and literature well into the eighteenth century. 14. In the Iliad, the favorite companion of Achilles. 15. Leader of the Greeks in the Trojan War. 16. The Stoics. 17. Gassendi discussed prudence, fortitude, and temperance at length, arguing that these virtues are desirable only because they lead to pleasure. 18. The codifiers of Roman law and the lawyers who worked from the materials they provided. 19. The following is a considerable expansion of material in DL X.150-3, pp. 675-7. 20. DL X.152, pp. 675-7. 21. In DL X.151, p. 675, Epicurus spoke of the social compact and asserted that justice exists only because of such a compact or agreement among men.

Further Reading The only readily accessible work by Gassendi is his criticism of Descartes, the "Fifth Set of Objections," available in John Cottingham et al., trans., The Philosophical Writings of Descartes (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press. 1984), vol. 2. pp. 179-240, and elsewhere. Craig Brush translated some of Gassendi's writings, but nothing concerning ethics, in Selected Works of Pierre Gassendi (New York: Johnson Reprint, 1972). There is no modern edition of the parts of Gassendi's work that concern ethics, nor have they been translated into English. Studies of Gassendi have generally concerned his atomism, his work in science and its history, and his philosophy's epistemological aspects. Howard Jones, Pierre Gassendi 1592-1655 (Nieuwkoop, Netherlands: B. deGraaf, 1981), gives a useful biography of its subject, followed by helpful accounts of the development of Gassendi's thought and an overview of his major works insofar as they discuss logic and physics, but Jones says nothing about Gassendi's ethics. The excellent study by Lynn Sumida Joy. Gassendi the Atomist (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1987), gives the reader a good idea of a number of Gassendi's ideas and activities and of his

368

Pierre Gassendi

general historical approach to philosophy. Richard Popkin discussed Gassendi at several places in his History of Scepticism, 2nd ed. (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1979); see especially pp. 99-109 and 141-6. Gassendi's view of morality is discussed in J. S. Spink, French Free Thought from Gassendi to Voltaire (London: Athlone, 1960). There are two good articles on Gassendi by Lisa T. Sarasohn: "The Ethical and Political Thought of Pierre Gassendi," Journal of the History of Philosophy 20 (1982): 239-60; and "Motion and Morality: Pierre Gassendi, Thomas Hobbes, and the Mechanical World-View," Journal of the History of Ideas 46 (1985): 363-70.

Pierre Nicole

Introduction Pierre Nicole (1625-95) was a French essayist, religious controversialist, and educator. His whole adult life was bound up with a French religious group known as the Jansenists and with the passionate theological controversies in which its members engaged. Although he spent much of his time teaching in and organizing Jansenist schools for the children of pious members of the aristocracy, it was his marked talents as a scholar and a polemical writer that made him indispensable to the movement. Nicole helped the great mathematician and religious thinker Blaise Pascal prepare the Provincial Letters (1656-7), a series of attacks on Jesuit casuistry that did more to destroy the credibility of that form of moral counseling than did any other single piece of work. With the Jansenist apologist Antoine Arnauld, Nicole composed the PortRoyal Logic (1662), a textbook used for generations. He also helped Arnauld prepare many defenses of Jansenism and himself against attacks by Jesuits and other defenders of orthodoxy. And from 1675 on, Nicole published ever-growing editions of his Moral Essays, a series of writings exhortative, analytical, or polemical by turn, some long, some short, dealing with innumerable aspects of people's relations with God and with one another. The religious movement that so engrossed Nicole was named after Cornelis Jansen, the bishop of Ypres (1585-1638) who expounded his views on grace and salvation in a lengthy book entitled Augustinus, published in 1640 after his early death from the plague. The book presents extreme versions of Saint Augustine's doctrines of grace and predestination. (See the section "Saint Augustine and Saint Thomas" in the Introduction to this anthology.) Although the Augustinian belief that no one can do anything to merit salvation and that therefore grace must come from God before one deserves it was common in Protestant groups, it was opposed by the Catholic Church. Indeed, in 1653 four of five propositions said to characterize Jansenism were declared heretical, and the fifth was declared false. This controversy extended beyond abstract theological matters. On the basis of their views, Jansen and his followers attacked the less rigorous views held by the Jesuits. Pascal's critique of casuistry was only the most famous of many devastating assaults on the beliefs of that order, which was then the dominant teaching order in France. The Jesuits considered Jansenism to be not only false but also harmful to efforts to convert unbelievers and discouraging to those attempting to improve their lives. Because the Jesuits were actively involved in politics, they had many friends and at least as many enemies. Jansen himself had been deeply involved in controversies with the Jesuits, and his views had been shaped by these battles. His legacy remained a central issue in

369

370

Pierre Nicole

complex struggles for power in the French church and around the French throne that lasted well into the eighteenth century. Pascal and Arnauld were thus Jansenism's intellectual leaders, and Nicole was their closest collaborator. This was hardly the kind of situation that breeds abstract philosophical analysis — and Nicole did not write his essays as a philosopher. Yet while attempting to defend Jansenism, often by softening its positions and then asserting that it was itself the orthodoxy that its opponents claimed to be defending, he produced some extremely interesting ideas, not the least interesting of which are those spelled out in the essay excerpted here. Nicole had read Hobbes and had seen how very Augustinian Hobbes's view of human motivation is. Hobbes, he might have thought, regarded Augustine's vision of fallen man as a simple description of what everyone would be like if there were no political authority able to make men repress their vicious desires. But Hobbes had no vision of what a man might be if he were given grace. Well, if in fact most men are not given grace, as Jansenius claimed, will we not be forced to accept Hobbes's political conclusions? But these were unacceptable to Nicole, because they placed the church and its teachings wholly under the control of the person who happens to be the sovereign. And not only was this contrary to Catholic teaching, but it also put the Jansenists at great risk in France, as the favor of the throne was anything but certain. What Nicole argued, therefore, is that Hobbes failed to see everything that followed from his thesis of the dominance of self-love in our psychology. He did not see that — because of a providence that is benevolent, no matter how few souls are actually saved — self-love mimics the work of grace-given charity so perfectly that we are never in a position to say from which motive an action springs, not even an action of our own. But if selfishness is nearly the same as Christian love, in regard to observable behavior, then forms of government less authoritarian than Hobbes would allow can be sufficient to guarantee public order and civic decency. In presenting his case, Nicole relied — he was one of the first to do so — on the unintended consequences of actions. My intention may be to become rich and powerful, no matter what the cost to others. But to do so, I realize, I must accommodate myself to others in innumerable ways. Unintentionally, then, while pursuing my selfish ends, I contribute to others' well-being. The idea was used by many later theorists. The following excerpts are from one of the Moral Essays, "De la charity et de l'amour-propre," translated especially for this volume by Elborg Forster from the text in C. Jourdain, ed., Oeuvres philosophiques et morales de Nicole, Paris, 1845. Of Charity and Self-Love CHAPTER I

Charity and self-love similar in their effects. What we must understand by the word self-love. That it is hatred for the self-love of others that obliges it to disguise itself Nothing is more different from charity, which relates everything to God, than self-love, which relates everything to itself; yet nothing is so similar to the effects of charity as those of self-love, which follows the same paths so closely that there is virtually no better means to ascertain where charity should lead us than to uncover the paths taken by an enlightened self-love that

Of Charity and Self-Love

371

knows how to recognize its true interests and pursues the goals it has set for itself by reason. This conformity of effects springing from such different principles will not seem strange to anyone who has properly understood the nature of self-love. But if we are to know it, we must first examine self-love as to its essence and its original tendencies, so that we can subsequently see how it disguises itself in order to avoid attracting the world's attention. The word self-love is not sufficient to make us understand its nature, for one can love itself in many different ways. We must add other characteristics in order to form a true idea of it. These are that corrupt man not only loves himself but loves himself beyond measure, loves only himself, and relates everything to himself. He wants every kind of property, honor, and pleasure, and he wants them only for himself. Placing himself at the center of everything, he would like to rule over everything and wishes that all creatures were occupied with nothing but pleasing him, praising him, and admiring him. This tyrannical disposition, being firmly implanted deep in the hearts of all men, makes them violent, unjust, cruel, ambitious, obsequious, envious, insolent, and quarrelsome. In a word, it carries within it the seeds of all man's crimes and profligacies, from the slightest to the most heinous. This is the monster we carry in our bosom; it lives and reigns absolutely within us, unless God has destroyed its reign by filling our hearts with a different kind of love. It is the principle of all actions that are untouched by anything but corrupt nature; and we, far from being horrified by it, love and hate all things outside ourselves only according to whether they conform to or contradict these inclinations. Yet if we love this principle in ourselves, we are not about to treat it in the same way when we perceive it in others. In that case, on the contrary, it appears to us in its natural shape, and indeed the more we love ourselves the more we hate it, because the self-love of others thwarts all the desires of our own. We would like all others to love us, to admire us, to submit to us, to be occupied only with trying to please us. And yet they not only have no desire to do so; they even find us ridiculous for thinking that this is our due and are ready to do their utmost, not only to prevent us from succeeding in our desires, but indeed to subject us to theirs and demand the same submission from us. This is why we see all men at loggerheads with one another; and if the person' who said that men are born in a state of war and that every man is by nature the enemy of all others had said this only to show the disposition of men's hearts toward one another, without claiming that this was legitimate and just, what he said would correspond to truth and experience as much as his actual contention is contrary to reason and justice. CHAPTER II

How self-love has been able to unite men in one society. Description of these societies formed through self-love. One does not immediately understand how it has been possible to form

372

Pierre Nicole

societies, republics, and kingdoms out of this mass of people so full of passions that do not allow unity and only strive to destroy one another; but the very self-love that is the cause of that war will also find the means to make people live in peace. It loves to dominate; it loves to subjugate everyone; but even more it loves life and possessions; and more than domination it loves the comforts of life; furthermore, it sees clearly that the rest of the world, far from being willing to let itself be dominated, is ready to take away from every individual's self-love what it loves most. Everyone thus realizes that he is unable to attain by force the goals suggested by his ambition and indeed has reason to fear that the violence of others will cause him to lose his most essential possessions. It is therefore necessary, first and foremost, to concentrate on one's own preservation, and the only means to achieve that is to unite with other men in order to fight off those who would attempt to rob [people] of life or property. And in order to consolidate this union, laws are made and punishments are ordered for those who break them. In this manner torture wheels and gibbets set up by the community serve to repress the schemes and the tyrannical designs of each individual's self-love. The fear of death is thus the first tie that binds together civil society and the first check on self-love; this is what forces men, whatever they may say, to obey the law and makes them forget those grand schemes of domination to the point that in most people they almost cease to arise, as it is obvious that they cannot possibly succeed. Open violence being thus out of the question, men have no choice but to search for other means and to use artifice instead of force; and all they can do is to attempt to satisfy the self-love of those whom they need, instead of tyrannizing it. Some try to serve [self-love's] interests; others use flattery to win it over. One gives in order to be given. This is the mainspring and foundation of all business transacted among men, which is now taking a thousand forms; for trade is not only a matter of merchandise given for other merchandise or for money but also one of labor, services, attentions, and civilities; all of this is exchanged either for things of the same nature or for more concrete goods, as, for instance, when one obtains actual advantages through mere friendly words. By means of this trade, then, all of life's needs are somehow met without involving charity. Hence there is no reason that in states that have no place for charity because the true religion is banished from them one would not live as peacefully, safely, and comfortably as if one were in a republic of saints. Not that this tyrannical inclination, which makes them wish to dominate others by force, is not always alive in men's hearts; but realizing that they are powerless to satisfy this desire, they are compelled to dissimulate it until, having won over other men through acts of kindness, they have become strong enough to subject yet others by force. Everyone therefore immediately aims to occupy the highest positions of the society to which he belongs; and if he cannot reach them, he tries for the next-lower ones. In a word, everyone

Of Charity and Self-Love

373

rises as high as he can and humbles himself only under constraint. Whatever one's estate or condition, one always tries to acquire some kind of preeminence, authority, supervisory capacity, consideration, and jurisdiction and to extend one's power as far as possible. . . . Nothing is more apt to represent this spiritual world shaped by concupiscence than the material world shaped by nature, that is, the assembly of bodies that make up the universe; for there too one sees that every part of matter naturally tends to move, to expand, and to break out of its place but that, being pressed upon by other bodies, it is reduced to a kind of prison, from which it will escape as soon as it has become stronger than the surrounding matter. This is the very image of the constraint imposed on the self-love of every individual by that of others, which does not allow him to take up as much room as he would like to have. . . . CHAPTER III

That the most widespread impulse to arise from self-love is the desire to be loved. In its quest for domination, two things self-love craves particularly are that we be considered great and powerful by others and that we provoke in their hearts feelings of respect and humility in keeping with these notions; but although these are the impressions most pleasing to self-love, they are not the only ones on which it feeds. It loves all feelings that are favorable to it, such as admiration, respect, trust, and, above all, love. There are many people who make little effort to do what it takes to be loved, but there is no one who is not happy to be loved and who does not take pleasure in seeing the inclination of others' hearts toward himself, which is what we call love. Whenever it appears that someone does not make an effort to attract this kind of love, it is because he likes even more to use his grandeur to impart feelings of fear and lowliness or else because, trying too passionately to please some people, he takes less care to please others. Yet this does not mean that even those who, carried away by stronger passions, behave in a manner unlikely to arouse love, do not wish to be loved, and do not feel ill at ease when they perceive in the minds of others stirrings of hatred and aversion. There are even many people in whom the inclination to make themselves loved is stronger than the desire to dominate, and who fear the hatred and aversion of men and the judgments that produce them more than they love to be rich and powerful and great. And finally, whereas few are powerful, and indeed not many can even aspire to power, making oneself loved is within everyone's reach. If the desire to be loved is thus not the strongest passion to be born from self-love, it is at least the most common. Considerations of self-interest, ambition, and pleasure often attenuate its effects, but they never stifle it altogether; it always remains alive in the depths of our hearts, and as soon as it is given free rein it will not fail to act and to prompt us to do our utmost to

374

Pierre Nicole

attract the love of our fellow men, just as it causes us to avoid those things that we imagine will bring us their aversion. It is true that one can make mistakes in ascertaining the things that will attract love or hate and that in this matter some people have much better judgment than others do. But regardless of whether or not one is mistaken, the same passion is always at work and makes us avoid or seek certain things. Indeed, to some degree there is a discernment common to all men; that is, up to some point everyone knows that certain actions provoke hatred and others love. CHAPTER IV

That self-love imitates charity in several respects, particularly in hiding itself Wherein consists human honnetete. 2 There is no need to go further in the description of the ways of self-love to make it clear how closely it imitates charity. Suffice it to say that self-love, which prevents us from breaking the law through fear of punishment, thereby removes from us the external appearance of all crime, making us look outwardly like those who avoid crime out of charity; that just as charity ministers to the needs of others according to the commands of God, who wants us to acknowledge his kindness by serving our fellow man, so self-love ministers to them according to the commands of its own interest; and finally that there is virtually no deed inspired by charity for the sake of pleasing God that self-love could not prompt us to perform for the sake of pleasing men. Self-love thus tends by means of these three endeavors to ape charity; yet it must be granted that the last of these comes closest and that it is much more widespread than the two others are, for there are many occasions in which neither fear nor self-interest is involved, and it is often quite easy to distinguish what is being done out of fear of other men or out of vulgar self-interest from what is done out of charitable impulse; but this is not the case when it comes to the pursuit of men's love and esteem. This inclination is so cunning and so subtle, and at the same time so pervasive, that there is no action into which it cannot creep; and it knows so well how to assume the appearances of charity that it is almost impossible to know clearly what distinguishes the two; for by pursuing the same course and producing the same effects it obliterates with marvelous canniness all traces and all marks of the self-love that has given rise to it, knowing full well that it would not obtain any of the things it desires if they were noticed. The reason is that nothing attracts as much aversion as self-love does and that it could not possibly show itself without arousing it. We ourselves feel aversion for the self-love of others. We will not tolerate it whenever we uncover it, and this makes it easy for us to judge that others will not be more favorably disposed toward our own self-love when they uncover it. This is what prompts those who are sensitive to the hatred of others and do not like to expose themselves to it to try their very best to hide their self-love from the sight of others, to disguise it, never to show it in its natural form, and

Of Charity and Self-Love

375

to imitate the conduct of those who would be entirely free from it, that is, people who, inspired by the spirit of charity, would act only out of charity. It is this suppression of self-love that in fact creates human honnetete, which consists of just that; this is also what caused a great mind of our century' to say that Christian virtue destroys and annihilates self-love and that human honnetete hides and suppresses it. This honnetete, then, which the pagan sages idolized, is actually just a more intelligent and more adroit self-love than that of the world at large. Steering clear of what might harm its designs, it pursues its aims, which is the esteem and the love of men, by following a more direct and reasonable route. It is easy to make everyone see this by showing how self-love imitates the principal actions of charity. CHAPTER V

How self-love imitates humility. It is not difficult to understand in which manner charity makes us humble; for by making us love justice, which is God himself, it makes us hate injustice, which offends him. Now of course it is a most obvious injustice that, being as full of faults and guilty of as many sins as we are, we yet want to be honored by men and that we claim to deserve their praise, either because of our human — and hence vain and frivolous — qualities or because of talents we have received from God, which do not belong to us at all. Not only is it not just that the sinner be honored, it is also just that he be brought low and humbled. Thus it is ordained by the eternal law, and charity not only accepts this law but loves it and, because of this love, joyfully embraces every humiliation and every abasement; it makes us hate everything that smacks of pride and vanity, and just as it condemns these impulses when they arise in our hearts, so it prevents them from showing outwardly in our words and deeds, thus reducing them to a decent modesty. But there is nothing in this that self-love does not imitate perfectly; for seeing every man's heart turned entirely toward himself, and naturally hostile to the elevation of others, it is very careful not to incur their annoyance or spite. Anyone who praises himself and displays to the world what he believes to be his good points thereby hopes to attach others to himself; this almost amounts to asking them outright to give him praise and look upon him with esteem and love. But in truth, few demands seem as improper and as troublesome to men's self-love as this one. It reacts with irritation and is most unlikely to respond with anything other than mockery and contempt. Those who are cunning enough to know the ways of self-love therefore avoid making such demands; that is, they usually steer clear of anything that smacks of vanity, anything liable to attract attention and display.their advantages, trying, on the contrary, to appear indifferent to them and unaware that they possess them. This, then, is the kind of modesty that honnetete can provide.

376

Pierre Nicole

Honnetete not only causes us to avoid indulging in base and coarse vanity and openly praising ourselves; it also, knowing that the self-love of others is admirably cunning in uncovering the detours we might take to show off the thing we would like the world to know, relinquishes these little artifices and earnestly endeavors to avoid them. Indeed, honnetete would rather have us speak of ourselves plainly and openly than make us use these paltry tricks, for it is always in fear of being caught in them and knows that if they are found out the world will take even greater pleasure in holding them up to ridicule. Therefore nothing is simpler or more humble than its speech. It does not dramatize itself or show off in any manner and makes it a rule that we must never speak of ourselves or do so with more coldness and indifference than we show in speaking of others. . . . But beyond the fear of honnetete that it might bring upon itself the natural aversion all men have for the vanity of others, there may also be in its conduct a subtler and more delicate conception of the pride that is born with man and never forsakes him. Those people whom we see so obsessed with the few occasions on which they have distinguished themselves that they continually harp on them, as Cicero used to do with his consulate, show by doing so that virtue is not natural to them and that great efforts were required to hoist up their souls to the state where they are so happy to show themselves. Yet it is much grander not to mention one's greatest accomplishments, thereby making it seem that we have forgotten about them and that they arise so naturally from the disposition of our soul that it is not even aware of them. This degree of virtue is surely much more heroic, and human honnetete at its highest point may, without explicitly trying to do so, convey the same idea, or else it may imitate it with skill and calculation because it is not perfect, fashioned by reason rather than by nature. CHAPTER VI

Both honnetete and charity make us eschew affectation, above all with respect to things that do not befit our condition. Who could fail to love the honnete homme whom a great man of our century has painted so beautifully: Society, he says, does not consider us knowledgeable about verses unless we have hung out a poet's shingle, nor clever in mathematics unless we display that of the mathematician. But the true honnetes gens do not like shingles and make little distinction between the craft of the poet and that of the embroiderer. They are not called poets or geometers, but they can judge all of these. One cannot guess what they are. They will speak of the things that were being discussed when they entered the room. One does not notice in them one quality more than another, unless they are called upon to use it but then one does realize it, for it is also part of this characterization that one does not say of them that they speak well if language is not being discussed and that one does say so when it is being discussed. It is therefore false praise if one says of a man as he enters the room that he knows all about poetry, and it is a bad sign if one calls upon him only when verses are to be judged. Man is full of needs. He loves only those who

Of Charity and Self-Love

377

can satisfy them. "He is a good mathematician," it will be said. "Yes, but I don't need mathematics." "He is a man who knows about war"; "yes, but I don't want to go to war against anyone." What we need, therefore, is an honnete homme who can meet all of our needs. °

It is impossible not to love a man of this kind, but why do we love him? It is because he seems made for others and not for himself. He does not upset our self-love by a tiresome affectation. He does not mean to force us to praise him by showing off qualities in him that we do not want to see. If he does show us his good points, it is for our benefit, not for his. In this manner honnetete, by making us aware of these judgments and of the favorable impressions left by such conduct in the minds of others, will endeavor to deserve them by adopting it. Now if honnetete generally eschews all forms of affectation, it is even more careful to shun what tends to attract attention by qualities or manners that do not befit our condition or our profession, knowing that the self-love of other men, which is always offended by it, will not fail to turn it into ridicule and will be proud indeed if, having reason on its side, it can use it to curb a misplaced vanity. . . . There is no need to prove that charity is even farther from affectation than is simple honnetete; for because charity loves others and does not love itself, it need only follow its natural impulses to act with perfect honnetete. And it does so all the better because it is more sincere and because there is nothing within it to contradict its actions, whereas honnetete, being impelled by self-love, is not usually as unmixed. If it represses self-love in one place, it may well crop up in another and thus leave those who watch it very carefully somewhat disgusted with themselves. But because this happens involuntarily, self-love is ashamed when it becomes aware of it or, rather, when it senses that others become aware of it. CHAPTER VII That self-love gives the same answer as charity does to most questions we can ask of it. Prompted by reason to seek the esteem and affection of men, self-love so perfectly imitates charity that if we consult it on how to conduct our outward actions, it will give us the same advice as charity will and launch us on the same course. For if we ask charity what attitude we should adopt, for instance, toward our own faults, it will tell us that we must be extremely wary concerning our understanding of even those we do not believe we have and that we need a general awareness of our blindness on this point so that we will be ready to give more credence to the views of others than to our own; but that concerning the faults of which we are certain, it would be utterly wrong to try to deny and destroy, as it were, the understanding of God himself by attempting to justify what it condemns and that therefore the least we can do to avoid such

378

Pierre Nicole

criminal pride is to admit our faults sincerely and to acknowledge them humbly before God and man. Now if we ask the same question of self-love, we will see that although it does not speak the same language deep in its heart, it nonetheless gives the same answer. Although it is painful, it will say, to acknowledge one's faults and even though one would wish to efface them from the memory of others as well as one's own, it is nonetheless clear that it is impossible to hide them. The harder one tries to conceal them from others, the more ingenious they will be in uncovering them and the more malicious in pointing them out. The very desire to hide them will be considered the greatest of our faults, and trying to conceal or to justify them will bring us nothing but the world's aversion and contempt. 'One must therefore by necessity take a completely different route. . . . It is on such considerations that honnetete models its conduct, and it is this that prompts a man to state openly that he sincerely seeks to acknowledge all of his faults and does not object to others' noticing them. In this manner the honnete homme acquires the reputation of an amiable impartiality that enables him to judge himself without blindness and passion, of being someone who knows how to do justice to himself and with whom one can agree without having to provide outward testimony of approval for something of which one does not approve. From this it is easy to judge that charity and self-love must be exactly alike in their manner of receiving blame and reprimands and that very different considerations and motives must be at the root of the same outward conduct. We know very well what charity will lead us to do; for because it looks on these reprimands as a great benefit and as a useful means of delivering us from our faults, it receives them not only with joy but truly with eagerness. It welcomes the very bitterness that comes with them, as it procures us the blessing of humility and weakens our self-love, which charity considers its greatest foe. Far from treating those who procure us this blessing with loathing and acrimony, charity will therefore make every effort to show them gratitude, to allay their fear that they have offended us, to encourage them to do us this favor often, and to relieve them of all fears that might render them reluctant and create a lingering sense of embarrassment and constraint. Deep down, to be sure, self-love is always very far from this attitude. It certainly does not want others to notice our faults, and even less to be reprimanded for them. But for all that, it acts outwardly as charity does; for as soon as it learns from the reprimands we receive that we make a bad impression on others, reason leads it to conclude that it must make an effort to mitigate that impression, or at least not to strengthen it. By watching the attitude of others in order to find out how this can be achieved, self-love easily realizes that nothing annoys people more than the pride of those who cannot tolerate being reprimanded for any of their faults, revolt against the truth however clear it may be, and would want the rest of the world to close its eyes to their faults or to repress all but its favorable feelings about them. . . .

Of Charity and Self-Love

379

It is obvious that such conduct directly fosters the aim of self-love, which is to win the esteem and friendship of men. That is why human honnetete never fails to adopt it and, indeed, often adheres to it more closely than true piety does when it is not perfect; for because charity is often less effectual than selflove is, it can happen that pious persons appear more sensitive and touchier than worldly people do when reprimanded for faults that others find in their conduct or in their works, the reason being that charity has little part in such matters and that pious people lack the enlightened self-love that shapes outward actions in its absence. CHAPTER VIII

That self-love adopts the same conduct as charity does regarding unjust suspicion and enemies. The conduct that charity causes righteous people to pursue when they are subject to false suspicions and unreasonable impressions is not to engage in reproaches or to express displeasure and acrimony but, rather, to justify themselves modestly by indicating that, being human, they are not surprised that they have been suspected of human faults. In a word, instead of complaining about these suspicions, honorable people do their best to remedy them, because unjust suspicions must be regarded as dangerous ills for those who have conceived them and because the means of delivering such people is not to reproach them before they are persuaded that they are wrong but gently to show them the falseness of their suspicions and thereby oblige them to condemn them of their own accord. If on such occasions we follow the first impulses of our self-love, we will, to be sure, be very far from such moderation, for it will bring nothing but outbursts of resentment and anger. But if we consult reason, determined as we are to follow it in order to reach our stated goal, which is to efface these harmful suspicions and to restore our reputation in the minds of those who have conceived them, we must take the same route; for anything that smacks of outbursts and passion can only strengthen the bad notions that others have conceived against us; and whereas this suspicion often affects only people's minds, outbursts and passion will bring acrimony to the will itself and prompt it to second the impressions of the mind. Foreseeing this bad effect, self-love therefore has no choice but to imitate as best it can the gentle and moderate conduct prescribed by charity. But who could ever believe that self-love, even if it is intended to discredit its enemies, to render them hateful, and to make everyone condemn them for baseness and injustice, could find no better means to succeed than to follow in the footsteps of charity? Yet this is very often the case. For usually there is no better way to expose base and dishonorable proceedings used against us than to meet them with moderation and honnetete. In doing so, one exposes the difference between these opposite forms of conduct and sheds a brighter light on both of them. Honnetete will appear more beautiful, on the one hand; and

380

Pierre Nicole

the lack of it, more disgraceful, on the other. And in this manner self-love obtains exactly what it seeks, which is a means to elevate ourselves and to abase those who have troubled us. . . . CHAPTER IX That self-love adopts the same attitude as charity does toward the good and bad qualities of others. It is not difficult to judge from all that has been said so far, that the attitude of honnetete toward the good and bad qualities of others cannot be different from that of self-love. It is easy to see where charity leads us with respect to the good it notices in others. Rejoicing about it inwardly, it will display that joy outwardly in every manner it can find and, far from tending to obscure it, will do its very best to find and give it all its due. The good that is in others is its own because of the love it has for them, and it will dwell on it even more happily than on its own, because in doing so it does not have to fear complacency and vanity. Self-love, on the contrary, far from having such kindness and such tender feelings for others, is by nature malicious, jealous, envious, full of venom and bile; what elevates others incommodes and chagrins it, and one would never see it sincerely pleased with praise given to others, unless it could extract some advantage from it or use it as a stepping-stone to elevate itself; nonetheless anyone who considers the impression he would make on the minds of others by openly showing these impulses will immediately conclude that he must hide them. It is obvious that to show them would cause him to be considered a public enemy, to become the object of everyone's hatred and loathing, and that he would be hateful not only to those against whom he had directed his malice but even to those whom he had spared, for no one could be assured of receiving justice from someone who had exhibited this evil disposition, and everyone would be justifiably fearful of becoming the next object of his jealousy. Honnetete therefore makes us adopt precisely the opposite stance, prompting us to display to the world a show of extreme impartiality, to praise willingly what deserves to be praised, to give every possible due to all the good qualities of others, and not to deny even our enemies the marks of esteem they deserve; and in this manner one can succeed in making oneself loved, acquiring friends, mollifying one's enemies, and being on terms with all and sundry. It is from these same considerations that self-love exhibits extreme indulgence for the faults of others. . . . CHAPTER X Resemblance between charity and self-love with respect to other virtues. One only has to go through the other virtues to discover several additional resemblances between charity and self-love; for if charity patiently endures

Of Charity and Self-Love

381

offenses, thereby hoping to soften the acrimony of those who insult us, if it makes us suffer with joy all kinds of bad treatment in order to satisfy God's justice, and if it convinces us that we deserve even harsher treatment, selflove also has a patience born of self-interest and vanity that outwardly produces the same effects. It prevents us from wanting to appear proud and presumptuous, teaches us that it is always best not to render people more acrimonious than they already are, and, for these reasons, makes us resolve not to acknowledge the offenses we receive. If charity is beneficent from a sincere desire to serve others, self-love too wants us to act in this manner in order to win them over and to profit from the impulses that kindness arouses in them. If charity tries to be secretive about doing good to others so as not to attribute anything to itself, self-love does the same thing in order to render those whom it obliges even more indebted, for one feels all the more obliged if those who have done us good have not drawn attention to their acts. If charity extends its kindness to those from whom it has nothing to expect, and indeed to its very enemies because it looks only to their advantage and not to its own interest, self-love acts likewise, knowing that the more its kindnesses appear disinterested and free of all self-seeking, the more they will attract the attention of the world, as they afford everyone the hope of receiving similar kindnesses. If charity is grateful to everyone because its gratitude to God extends to all the instruments he uses to bestow his gifts upon us, self-love prompts us to feign gratitude so as not to displease the self-love of others, which takes offense when we fail to show it. Finally, if charity makes us loyal to everyone from a sincere love of righteousness, self-love makes us practice the same loyalty in order to attract men's confidence. Charity, as the apostle says,' is not ambitious, for those who are filled with it have little use for the human honors and the temporal grandeurs that ambition seeks; indeed, they fear them more than they seek them and are always content in the place where God has placed them. The same cannot be said of honnetete and to judge it by its essence, it is not only not free from ambition, it is altogether nothing but a subtle and delicate ambition. Nonetheless, here too, honnetete outwardly imitates the conduct of charity; for it knows so well how to hide its ambitious desires, fearful that they might be thwarted by the always-watchful self-love of others, that one might believe that it has no ends of its own, thinks only of others, and is oblivious of itself. If it plans to rise in the world, it does so without eagerness and without baseness, creating the impression that good fortune has come to it of its own accord and that there was no need for initiatives or self-promotion designed to attract it. In some people, self-love goes even further, actually removing them from great fortune and great positions, even though they could have risen to them. The repose of a restful and tranquil life in which one enjoys the company of many illustrious friends — and one does render services to people of quality

382

Pierre Nicole

and merit if, unprompted by self-interest and without being dependent, one settles for being known in society as a civil, obliging, disinterested person and a good friend — such a life, I say, has charms that may make a man prefer it to all the grandeurs of the world by dint of a wise and enlightened self-love that knows how to compare the disadvantages of the various estates. . . . It is easy to see as well that because charity removes us from sensuous pleasures because it is in command of the soul and does not permit it to attach itself to anything but God alone, honnetete must act in the same manner, because subservience to the pleasures of the body always has about it something base and contemptible that cheapens and disfigures the idea of ourselves that our self-love would like to impress upon the mind of others. There is even good reason not to trust those who are dominated by their pleasures and to expect every kind of baseness and injustice from them; for what assurance do we have that their passion will not gain the upper hand when it comes into conflict with their duty toward men, seeing that it so often gains the upper hand over what they owe to God? Honnetete, which above all wants to preserve its reputation for inviolable loyalty and unassailable firmness, therefore makes it a point to appear exempt from this passion for pleasure, which is the cause of such justifiable distrust. But I do not wish to pursue this conformity between charity and self-love to the point of tedious detail and will therefore merely add to what I have said that self-love can indeed imitate all the actions of charity, sometimes even creeping into those in which one would hardly expect it to be involved, namely, those designed to mortify and destroy it. Self-love sometimes can make members of religious communities fast, or at least alleviate some of the pain of their fasting. Sackcloth, hair shirts, and scourging are sometimes put to its use, and there is almost no act of humiliation that it is not capable of performing. And although there is less room for it in solitude, silence, and secret austerities than anywhere else, there are nonetheless certain hidden conduits, certain subterranean channels by which it might find its way even into these. Indeed, it is even capable of making us suffer death joyfully. . . . Yet there is a difference between virtuous actions that are hard, painful, and humiliating and those that are all ostentation without being painful, and it lies in the fact that if self-love inspires people to humility, patience, and suffering, it has fallen into a kind of extravagance and derangement; for it is quite obvious, for instance, that the way to attain the natural ends that self-love pursues is not to hide away in solitude where one does not converse with anyone or hears only about one's sins and faults. It is therefore rather unlikely that there will be people who embrace and persist in these ways of living that are so contrary to their natural inclinations for motives other than their salvation, but this is not true for most of the virtuous deeds one can carry out in the sight of the world. Self-love can only further its aims by performing them. It cannot forgo them without straying from its end and therefore would have to

Of Charity and Self-Love

383

be carried away by some unreasonable passion against its own interest to take any different course. CHAPTER XI Enlightened self-love could correct all the outward faults of the world and make for a very well regulated society. That it would be useful to keep this in mind when educating the powerful. One can conclude from everything that has been said that what would be needed to reform the world entirely, that is, to banish from it all the vices and all the most glaring disorders and to make humans happy even in this life, would be nothing more than to instill in all of them, in the absence of charity, an enlightened self-love that would know how to discern its true interests and pursue them in the ways pointed out by right reason. However corrupt this society might be inwardly and in the eyes of God, outwardly nothing would be more orderly, courteous, just, peaceful, honorable, and generous; moreover, it would be an excellent thing that, everything being inspired and driven only by self-love, self-love would not show itself and that, society being entirely without charity, what one would see everywhere would be only the forms and the outward marks of charity. It might not be useless for those who are charged with the education of the powerful to keep this firmly in mind so that, if they should be unable to inspire in them the sense of charity they would like to develop, they will try at least to shape their self-love and to teach them that most of the routes they take to satisfy it are quite wrong, inappropriate, and contrary to their true interests and that they could very easily take different routes that would lead them without effort to honor and glory and afford them the affection, esteem, and admiration of the world. By such means they would not succeed, to be sure, in rendering their pupils useful to themselves, but at least they would render them useful to others and also help them enter a path closer, at any rate, to the road to heaven than that on which they are engaged, as they would have to do little more than change their ends and their intentions to become as pleasing to God for their truly Christian virtue as they would be to men for the luster of the human honnetete that would have been imparted to them. CHAPTER XII That it is very difficult to discern in ourselves whether we act from charity or from self-love. Three reasons for this difficulty. It would not matter much that these two entirely different principles, one of which bears the fruits of life and the other the fruits of death, meld together in outward actions, if at least it were easy for each individual to discern which one makes him act, so that he would be in a position to judge his own actions and the state of his soul. Moreover, it is strange that this melding and this

384

Pierre Nicole

confusion often begin in our very hearts, so that we are unable to distinguish whether we are acting from charity or from self-love, whether it is God or ourselves that we seek, whether it is for heaven or for hell that we work. ° This obscurity has various causes, and I shall expose the three principal ones. The first is that the attention given to men's judgment and to turning their hearts toward us, which is the very measure, mainspring, and object of human honnetete, is not always accompanied by precise and explicit reflections and that the impulses it produces in us are often not yet perceptible. The mind sometimes needs only a quick glance and certain passing thoughts to steer it almost surreptitiously toward the judgment that others will form of us; as for the heart, it will need only certain hidden inclinations to turn it gently into this direction; which is to say that one does not expressly reflect on either this inclination or the thought that produces it, even though this is what sets our outward actions in motion and is the principle that informs them. The second cause is that in many cases, even when one is in fact stirred by the fear of displeasing men or by the desire to please them, one has absolutely no awareness or distinct understanding of either one or the other motivation, the reason being that one often acts without distinct knowledge and from mere habit, which is guided only by a confused understanding. By dint of constantly regarding certain actions as capable of bringing us public infamy and the aversion of good people, we form in our mind a confused notion representing them to us as hateful, although the mind fails to unravel why it should be so, and this notion is sufficient to arouse in the heart an impulse of aversion and avoidance. Yet these confused notions and the impulses to which they give rise are so close to the true considerations of charity, which make us hate evil actions because of the injustice they contain, that there is almost no one but God who is able to discriminate between them. The third cause, finally, is that even when we have charity in our hearts and even when it directs us toward goals that are in keeping with it, it may nevertheless happen that because cupidity often walks the same paths and toward the same goals, albeit from different motives, we find our hearts and minds subjected to a mixture of these two kinds of considerations and impulses, without being able to find out with certainty which of them has gained the upper hand and is the true principle of our actions. We seek God and the world by the same action; the heart is happy to please both, not knowing whether it is God that it means by God,' for this is a judgment that can be made only by delving into a certain depth within the heart that is known clearly to no one but God alone. CHAPTER XIII

That our ignorance as to whether we act from charity or from self-love is useful to us in several respects. This, then, is the ordinary condition of humans in this life, even if they are God's own. Self-love acts more crudely in some than in others, but it lives and

Of Charity and Self-Love

385

acts in all of them to some degree; and they can rarely be assured that any specific action will be entirely free of all self-seeking. But even though this situation is a great cause of sorrow and fear to them, it can also afford them great comfort if they think about why God permits them to remain in it and does not elevate them to a higher degree of virtue. It is obvious, first of all, that God's design to hide the heavenly kingdom that he came to establish in this world demands that the righteous be outwardly indistinguishable from the wicked and that they not be set apart by clear and perceptible signs; for if the faithful whom he inspires and in whom he dwells as in a temple were a certain species of humanity separated from all others, and like a nation set apart that the world could recognize by actions never to be found in others, they all would become public, continual, and lasting miracles, which would destroy the practice of the faith through which God intends to save humankind. The wicked who would find themselves incapable of following their example would thereby clearly understand that nature can never attain the state of the righteous. It is therefore necessary that there be purely human actions that so closely resemble supernatural and divine ones that the difference between them is imperceptible. And because the righteous do not commit crimes and hence cannot be confused with the wicked, it is necessary that the wicked be in a position to imitate the virtuous actions of the righteous and indeed perform some that outwardly resemble the former so closely that no one can detect the difference between them. But it is not only by an effect of God's justice that he has hidden the treasures of grace that he has placed into the righteous from the sight of the wicked; it is also through his mercy toward the righteous themselves. It is useful to them not to know themselves and not to see the righteousness that is in them. This sight would be capable of causing them to backslide, for man is so weak even in his strength that he would be unable to carry this great weight; and owing to a strange reversal that springs from the corruption of his heart, it is more dangerous to him to know his virtues than his faults, even though his happiness consists in possessing the virtues and his suffering, in being full of faults. The knowledge that he is humble makes him proud, and the knowledge that he is proud makes him humble. He is strong when he realizes that he is weak, and he is weak when he believes that he is strong. In the same manner, the obscurity that prevents him from discerning clearly whether he acts from charity or from self-love, far from harming him, is salutary, for it does not take away his virtues but only prevents him from losing them by keeping him always in a state of humility and fear and by causing him to distrust all of his works and to rely on God's mercy alone. This is the great utility of the outward resemblance between actions prompted by self-love and those prompted by charity. Yet several of its other aspects are of considerable value as well. It often happens that charity is weak in certain souls, and in this state of weakness it would be easily extinguished by violent temptations if God did not permit these to be weakened and counterbalanced, as it were, by certain human

386

Pierre Nicole

motives that curb their impetus and allow the soul to follow its instinctive craving for grace. The fear of men's judgments is one of these motives, and few others make a more powerful impression on the mind. By itself, to be sure, this fear is not sufficient to overcome temptations in a Christian manner, considering that it springs from vanity alone; but it does suspend the temptations, and if by chance the soul has as much as one spark of true charity, it will thereby be enabled to follow its commands. It is for this reason that the saintly legislators of religious orders have not disdained such human means and have sanctioned certain transgressions with punishments that cause embarrassment before men, intending that the fear of human embarrassment should render the members of the community more careful to avoid them. This was not, of course, meant to be the only means; the intention was to provide it as a defense against negligence in the expectation that this human fear would serve as a weapon and a tool to charity in the effort to resist the inclinations of nature. It is therefore not useless for men, considering their state of weakness, to be kept away from vice not only by charity but also by the kind of self-love that is called honnetete, so that whenever charity languishes, this honnetete can sustain the spirit and prevent it from falling into dangerous excesses. . . . And is it not also a considerable advantage for the righteous to be able to hide from others by means of the obscurity that prevents the world from distinguishing true piety from self-love and allows certain actions of charity to pass in the opinion of the world as prompted by simple honnetete? Would it not be most dangerous and troublesome for them if all their good deeds were noticed and if they were immediately rewarded by the praise they would attract? If this were the case, they would be obliged to withdraw altogether from human intercourse, whereas under the cover of this obscurity they have a little more liberty for dealing with the world and following the impulses of their charity, secure in the thought that they will be taken for mere civility. Thus it can be said that just as honnetete is delighted to be taken for charity and does its utmost to borrow its form and its qualities, so charity in turn is happy to pass for honnetete; and even though it does not directly contribute to that impression, it also makes no effort to undo it, both because it is not absolutely certain that it is not partially true and because it is to its advantage that others believe it to be so. Lastly, is it not a powerful incentive to practice the virtues to tell ourselves that it would be a wretched thing to stray from the path to which both charity and self-interest have directed us and in doing so make ourselves hateful to both God and man? Is it not cause for praising God that he has wanted most of the profligate acts that he prohibits to be contrary to human righteousness even in this life and that we will avoid them for reasons of purely human selfinterest? And finally, does it not afford us a better understanding of the strange corruption of nature and the violence of our passions to see that they make us forget not only what we owe to God but also what we owe to ourselves and that they make us wretched in both this world and the next? For if there is less glory and less merit in serving God when doing so serves our

Further Reading

387

self-interest, surely there is greater profligacy and disorder in not serving him if by doing so we also deprive ourselves of what our very interest prompts us to desire and pursue for our own advantage. Editor's Notes 1. Hobbes. 2. The French term honnetete has no exact English equivalent. As a rendition of the Latin honestas, it may be taken to mean "decent," as when we say that someone is a thoroughly decent person. In the latter half of the seventeenth century, the ideal of the honnete homme came to be important in court and aristocratic circles in France. Such a person was polite, observing the proprieties and pleasing others in his own search for an enjoyable life. Thus the term can mean, as Nicole intended it to mean, a merely superficial or behavioral decency without genuine inner worth. The meaning of this term was much discussed among French writers of the time, and the translator here has appropriately left the term untranslated. 3. Nicole did not report the remark exactly as it is attributed to Pascal. See Blaise Pascal, Pensees, trans. A. J. Krailsheimer (London: Penguin, 1966), p. 356: "Christian piety annihilates the human self, and human civility conceals and suppresses it." This is number 1006 in the Lafuma numbering. 4. Pascal, Pensees; Nicole quoted together two sections which in modern editions are given separately, Lafuma number 587 and number 605, which begins with "Man is full of needs." See Krailsheimer, trans., Pensies, pp. 227, 232. 5. Saint Paul, 1 Cor. 13, the famous "hymn" to charity or Christian love, which should be read in conjunction with the whole of Nicole's essay and particularly with this chapter. 6. Nicole here took a stand against those Protestant sects that held that one could have full assurance about one's own salvation and that one could form a church composed only of the elect. 7. That is, not knowing whether it seeks God or an image of God made to suit earthly interests.

Further Reading There is nothing in English discussing Nicole specifically in relation to the traditions or problems of moral philosophy. E. D. James, Pierre Nicole: Jansenist and Humanist (The Hague: Nijhoff, 1972), is a general study. Nigel Abercrombie, Origins of Jansenism (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1936), is the best introduction to the thought of the religious party for which Nicole wrote much of his work. There are two interesting chapters on Jansenism in Paul Benichou, Man and Ethics, trans. E. Hughes (New York: Doubleday, 1971). The treatment of Nicole's political views in Nannerl 0. Keohane, Philosophy and the State in France (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1980), is most useful, as is the book generally for those interested in the context of French moral thought. A. W. S. Baird, Studies in Pascal's Ethics (The Hague: Nijhoff, 1975), is informative regarding the thought of the great figure in whose shadow Nicole worked. The Port Royal Logic, which Nicole wrote with Antoine Arnauld, has been translated by James Dickoff and Patricia James as The Art of Thinking (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1964). J. S. Spink, French Free-Thought from Gassendi to Voltaire (London: Athlone, 1960), reviews the various skeptical, Epicurean, Stoic, and antireligious movements of thought in France of which Nicole would have been well aware.

Bernard Mandeville

Introduction Born in Rotterdam in 1670, Bernard de Mandeville (he dropped the "de" in later life) studied philosophy at Leyden and then turned to medicine, which he practiced for some years. Travels took him to England. He liked that country, stayed, learned the language, married, and made his reputation there. Although his books were extremely successful and his fame considerable, little is known about the details of his life, but he seems to have had some connections with the nobility and to have been good company. He died in 1733. Mandeville is best known for one work, The Fable of the Bees. The book began as a poem called "The Grumbling Hive: or, Knaves Turned Honest," which was first peddled in the streets in 1705 as a little pamphlet. The poem tells of a prosperous beehive, with a government neither tyrannical nor democratic, with developed sciences, industries, armies, and arts. Vast numbers thronged the fruitful hive. Yet those vast numbers made them thrive: Millions endeavoring to supply Each other's lust and vanity .. .

Some of the bees were openly crooked — the forgers, pimps, thieves, and quacks — but there were cheats secretly at work in every trade, calling, and profession. Justice herself, famed for fair dealing By blindness had not lost her feeling. Her left hand, which the scales should hold. Had often dropped them, bribed with gold .. .

Although everyone was similarly trying to make as much money and have as much enjoyment as possible, the result was that everyone was busy. productive, and more or less contented: Thus every part was full of vice. Yet the whole mass a paradise .. .

Mandeville went on to show what happened to the hive when Jove suddenly got tired of hearing the endless grumbling among the bees about the wickedness of avarice, luxuriousness, sexual indulgence, and gambling. For punishment he made all of them honest, and disaster struck. They all gave up their vices. There was no more demand for luxury goods, fancy food, or alcoholic drinks. The merchants who imported or sold these and the workers who made them sank into poverty. There was nothing for the

388

Introduction

389

lawyers, the courts, and the jails to do, and so they closed down, putting many more out of work. Physicians admitted their inability to cure, and the manufacturers of quack medicines gave up. Throughout the hive, the standard of living sank. No one could pay taxes, and so there was hardly any army to defend against foreigners. When they invaded, what army there was fought valiantly, driving out the enemy, but at great cost to life. The few remaining bees went off to live in a hollow tree. Mandeville drew the moral of his fable quite clearly: Then leave complaints: fools only strive To make a great an honest hive To enjoy the world's conveniences. Be famed in war yet live in ease Without great vices, is a vain Utopia seated in the brain .. . Bare virtue can't make nations live In splendor: they that would revive A golden age must be as free For acorns as for honesty.

In 1714 Mandeville reissued the poem, accompanied by a commentary in prose and a substantial number of footnotes, calling it all The Fable of the Bees: or, Private Vices, Public Benefits. More editions, further expanded, followed. The Fable's popularity led a grand jury to denounce it as a public nuisance in 1723 — and in later editions Mandeville included his defense as well as other material. The edition of 1725, the last for which Mandeville made significant changes, was a substantial two-volume treatise, introduced by the original poem. What began as a mild joke became a work that was translated into French and German and that eventually stimulated a great deal of serious and illuminating discussion of morality, economics, and the sociology of historical change. Mandeville's work began to be noticed widely when the edition of 1723 was published, winning thereafter considerable international renown. But the response was overwhelmingly hostile. Mandeville was read as a cynical reincarnation of Hobbes, discarding faith in God and undermining our confidence in our fellow humans. He was understood as praising vice and condemning virtue, as obviously a paradoxer, a frivolous vain posturer, anything but a serious thinker. Readers living in a society in which the importance of doing good was increasingly being preached found it difficult to know what to make of him. Was he saying that what Christianity stigmatized as vices really were not vices? Because good results came from them at least as much as from the traditional virtues and because good results were the test of virtue, could we withhold approval from the traditional vices? Or was Mandeville a more austere Christian than most, seeing depravity and corruption caused by original sin where most people averted their eyes from it and holding firm to the Christian insistence that virtue comes only from unadulterated love of others? His contemporaries also raised the issue of the accuracy of his views. Must there not be something wrong with a portrayal of social processes that led to his paradoxical results? Was his depiction of human selfishness and corruption correct? Replies to Mandeville filled the press with optimistic portrayals of human beings as kindly, sympathetic. generous. in a word benevolent — everything that he had doubted we are. Refuting Mandeville — and the Hobbes who, though unnamed, lurked behind him — became a small industry. And yet Mandeville's views would not disappear. Despite his flippant phraseology, he was seriously proposing a model of social order that made God superfluous and that

390

Bernard Mandeville

attributed the constitution of society to human ingenuity, capitalizing on human traits undeniably present in everyone or nearly everyone. He did not have to place political reliance on generous attributes that in a tough, rapidly changing commercial society it would be difficult to suppose dominant in everyone's behavior. At the heart of this model was the thought that out of actions performed by people, each of whom intends only his or her own crassest private benefit, there can flow results that benefit everyone in the society, and that the unintended consequences of intentional actions can diverge markedly and in highly significant ways from the intended consequences. Society may benefit more from our selfish behavior than people have been willing to admit. The first selections here come from The Fable of the Bees. 1 have used the fourth edition, published in 1725, modernizing the text somewhat. Next are a few pages from the Enquiry into the Origin of Honour, of 1732 (again with minor changes in orthography), in which Mandeville indicated a little about the standpoint from which he was able to condemn our selfish motives as vices.

The Fable of the Bees THE PREFACE

Laws and government are to the political bodies of civil societies what the vital spirits and life itself are to the natural bodies of animated creatures; and as those that study the anatomy of dead carcasses may see that the chief organs and nicest springs more immediately required to continue the motion of our machine are not hard bones, strong muscles and nerves, nor the smooth white skin that so beautifully covers them, but small trifling films and little pipes that are either overlooked, or else seem inconsiderable to vulgar eyes; so they that examine into the nature of man, abstract from art and education, may observe that what renders him a sociable animal consists not in his desire of company, good nature, pity, affability, and other graces of a fair outside; but that his vilest and most hateful qualities are the most necessary accomplishments to fit him for the largest, and, according to the world, the happiest and most flourishing societies. . . . THE INTRODUCTION One of the greatest reasons why so few people understand themselves is that most writers are always teaching men what they should be, and hardly ever trouble their heads with telling them what they really are. As for my part, without any compliment to the courteous reader or myself I believe man (besides skin, flesh, bones, etc. that are obvious to the eye) to be a compound of various passions, that all of them, as they are provoked and come uppermost, govern him by terms whether he will or no. To show that these qualifications, which we all pretend to be ashamed of, are the great support of a flourishing society, has been the subject of the foregoing poem.' But there being some passages in it seemingly paradoxical, I have in the Preface prom-

The Fable of the Bees

391

ised some explanatory remarks on it; which to render more useful, I have thought fit to enquire how man, no better qualified, might yet by his own imperfections be taught to distinguish between virtue and vice. And here I must desire the reader once for all to take notice that when I say men, I mean neither Jews nor Christians; but mere man, in the state of nature and ignorance of the true deity. AN ENQUIRY INTO THE ORIGIN OF MORAL VIRTUE

All untaught animals are only solicitous of pleasing themselves, and naturally follow the bent of their own inclinations without considering the good or harm that from their being pleased will accrue to others. This is the reason that in the wild state of nature those creatures are fittest to live peaceably together in great numbers that discover the least of understanding and have the fewest appetites to gratify; and consequently no species of animals is, without the curb of government, less capable of agreeing long together in multitudes than that of man; yet such are his qualities, whether good or bad I shall not determine, that no creature besides himself can ever be made sociable. But being an extraordinarily selfish and headstrong as well as cunning animal, however he may be subdued by superior strength, it is impossible by force alone to make him tractable, and receive the improvements he is capable of. The chief thing, therefore, which lawgivers and other wise men, that have laboured for the establishment of society, have endeavoured has been to make the people they were to govern believe that it was more beneficial for everybody to conquer than indulge his appetites, and much better to mind the public than what seemed his private interest. As this has always been a very difficult task, so no wit or eloquence has been left untried to compass it; and the moralists and philosophers of all ages employed their utmost skill to prove the truth of so useful an assertion. But whether mankind would have ever believed it or not, it is not likely that anybody could have persuaded them to disapprove of their natural inclinations, or prefer the good of others to their own, if at the same time he had not shewed them an equivalent to be enjoyed as a reward for the violence which by so doing they of necessity must commit upon themselves. Those that have undertaken to civilize mankind were not ignorant of this; but being unable to give so many real rewards as would satisfy all persons for every individual action, they were forced to contrive an imaginary one that as a general equivalent for the trouble of self-denial should serve on all occasions, and without costing anything either to themselves or others be yet a most acceptable recompence to the receivers. They thoroughly examined all the strength and frailties of our nature, and observing that none were either so savage as not to be charmed with praise, or so despicable as patiently to bear contempt, justly concluded that flattery must be the most powerful argument that could be used to human creatures. Making use of this bewitching engine, they extolled the excellency of our nature above other animals, and setting forth with unbounded praises the

392

Bernard Mandeville

wonders of our sagacity and vastness of understanding bestowed a thousand encomiums on the rationality of our souls, by the help of which we were capable of performing the most noble achievement. Having by this artful way of flattery insinuated themselves into the hearts of men, they began to instruct them in the notions of honour and shame; representing the one as the worst of all evils, and the other as the highest good to which mortals could aspire: Which being done, they laid before them how unbecoming it was the dignity of such sublime creatures to be solicitous about gratifying those appetites, which they had in common with brutes, and at the same time unmindful of those higher qualities that gave them the pre-eminence over all visible beings. They indeed confessed that those impulses of nature were very pressing; that it was troublesome to resist, and very difficult wholly to subdue them. But this they only used as an argument to demonstrate how glorious the conquest of them was on the one hand, and how scandalous on the other not to attempt it. To introduce moreover an emulation amongst men, they divided the whole species into two classes, vastly differing from one another. The one consisted of abject, low-minded people, that always hunting after immediate enjoyment, were wholly incapable of self-denial, and without regard to the good of others, had no higher aim than their private advantage; such as being enslaved by voluptuousness, yielded without resistance to every gross desire, and made no use of their rational faculties but to heighten their sensual pleasure. These vile grovelling wretches, they said, were the dross of their kind, and having only the shape of men, differed from brutes in nothing but their outward figure. But the other class was made up of lofty high-spirited creatures, that free from sordid selfishness, esteemed the improvement of the mind to be their fairest possessions; and setting a true value upon themselves, took no delight but in embellishing that part in which their excellency consisted; such as despising whatever they had in common with irrational creatures, opposed by the help of reason their most violent inclinations; and making a continual war with themselves, to promote the peace of others aimed at no less than the public welfare and the conquest of their own passions. . . . These they called the true representatives of their sublime species, exceeding in worth the first class by more degrees than that itself was superior to the beasts of the field. As in all animals that are not too imperfect to discover pride we find that the finest and such as are the most beautiful and valuable of their kind have generally the greatest share of it, so in man, the most perfect of animals, it is so inseparable from his very essence (how cunningly soever some may learn to hide or disguise it) that without it the compound he is made of would want one of the chiefest ingredients: Which, if we consider, it is hardly to be doubted but lessons and remonstrances, so skillfully adapted to the good opinion man has of himself as those I have mentioned must, if scattered amongst a multitude, not only gain the assent of most of them as to the speculative part, but likewise induce several, especially the fiercest, most resolute, and best among them, to endure a thousand inconveniences and undergo as many hardships, that they may have the pleasure of counting themselves men of the second

The Fable of the Bees

393

class and consequently appropriating to themselves all the excellencies they have heard of it. From what has been said we ought to expect in the first place that the heroes who took such extraordinary pains to master some of their natural appetites and preferred the good of others to any visible interest of their own would not recede an inch from the fine notions they had received concerning the dignity of rational creatures; and having ever the authority of the government on their side, with all imaginable vigour assert the esteem that was due to those of the second class, as well as their superiority over the rest of their kind. In the second, that those who wanted a sufficient stock of either pride or resolution to buoy them up in mortifying of what was dearest to them, [and who] followed the sensual dictates of nature, would yet be ashamed of confessing themselves to be those despicable wretches that belonged to the inferior class and were generally reckoned to be so little removed from brutes; and that therefore in their own defence they would say as others did, and hiding their own imperfections as well as they could, cry up self-denial and public-spiritedness as much as any. For it is highly probable, that some of them, convinced by the real proofs of fortitude and self-conquest they had seen, would admire in others what they found wanting in themselves; others be afraid of the resolution and prowess of those of the second class; and that all of them were kept in awe by the power of their rulers, wherefore it is reasonable to think that none of them (whatever they thought in themselves) would dare openly contradict what by everybody else was thought criminal to doubt of. This was (or at least might have been) the manner after which savage man was broke; from whence it is evident that the first rudiments of morality broached by skilful politicians to render men useful to each other as well as tractable were chiefly contrived that the ambitious might reap the more benefit from, and govern, vast numbers of them with the greater ease and security. This foundation of politics being once laid, it is impossible that man should long remain uncivilized. For even those who strove to gratify their appetites, being continually crossed by others of the same stamp, could not but observe that whenever they checked their inclinations or but followed them with more circumspection, they avoided a world of troubles and often escaped many of the calamities that generally attended the too eager pursuit after pleasure. First, they received, as well as others, the benefit of those actions that were done for the good of the whole society, and consequently could not forbear wishing well to those of the superior class that performed them. Secondly, the more intent they were in seeking their own advantage, without regard to others, the more they were hourly convinced, that none stood so much in their way as those that were most like themselves. It being the interest then of the very worst of them, more than any, to preach up public-spiritedness, that they might reap the fruits of the labour and self-denial of others, and at the same time indulge their own appetites with less disturbance, they agreed with the rest to call everything, which, without

394

Bernard Mandeville

regard to the public, man should commit to gratify any of his appetites, Vice; if in that action there could be observed the least prospect, that it might either be injurious to any of the society, or ever render himself less serviceable to others: And to give the name of Virtue to every performance by which man, contrary to the impulse of nature, should endeavour the benefit of others or the conquest of his own passions out of a rational ambition of being good. It shall be objected, that no society was ever any ways civilized before the major part had agreed upon some worship or other of an over-ruling power, and consequently that the notions of good and evil, and the distinction between Virtue and Vice, were never the contrivance of politicians, but the pure effect of religion. Before I answer this objection, I must repeat what I have said already, that in this Enquiry into the Origin of Moral Virtue, I speak neither of Jews or Christians, but man in his state of nature and ignorance of the true deity; and then I affirm, that the idolatrous superstitions of all other nations, and the pitiful notions they had of the supreme being, were incapable of exciting man to virtue, and good for nothing but to awe and amuse a rude and unthinking multitude. It is evident from history that in all considerable societies, how stupid or ridiculous soever people's received notions have been as to the deities they worshipped, human nature has ever exerted itself in all its branches, and that there is no earthly wisdom or moral virtue, but at one time or other men have excelled in it in all monarchies and commonwealths that for riches and power have been any ways remarkable. The Egyptians, not satisfied with having deified all the ugly monsters they could think on, were so silly as to adore the onions of their own sowing; yet at the same time their country was the most famous nursery of arts and sciences in the world, and themselves more eminently skilled in the deepest mysteries of nature than any nation has been since. No states or kingdoms under heaven have yielded more or greater patterns in all sorts of moral virtues than the Greek and Roman empires, more especially the latter; and yet how loose, absurd and ridiculous were their sentiments as to sacred matters? For without reflecting on the extravagant number of their deities, if we only consider the infamous stories they fathered upon them, it is not to be denied but that their religion, far from teaching men the conquest of their passions and the way to virtue seemed rather contrived to justify their appetites and encourage their vices. But if we would know what made them excel in fortitude, courage and magnanimity, we must cast our eyes on the pomp of their triumphs, the magnificence of their monuments and arches; their trophies, statues, and inscriptions; the variety of their military crowns, their honours decreed to the dead, public encomiums on the living, and other imaginary rewards they bestowed on men of merit; and we shall find that what carried so many of them to the utmost pitch of self-denial was nothing but their policy in making use of the most effectual means that human pride could be flattered with. It is visible then that it was not any heathen religion or other idolatrous superstition that first put man upon crossing his appetites and subduing his

The Fable of the Bees

395

dearest inclinations, but the skilful management of wary politicians; and the nearer we search into human nature, the more we shall be convinced that the moral virtues are the political offspring which flattery begot upon pride. There is no man of what capacity of penetration soever that is wholly proof against the witchcraft of flattery, if artfully performed and suited to his abilities. Children and fools will swallow personal praise, but those that are more cunning must be managed with greater circumspection; and the more general the flattery is, the less it is suspected by those it is levelled at. What you say in commendation of a whole town is received with pleasure by all the inhabitants. Speak in commendation of letters in general, and every man of learning will think himself in particular obliged to you. You may safely praise the employment a man is of, or the country he was born in; because you give him an opportunity of screening the joy he feels upon his own account under the esteem which he pretends to have for others. It is common among cunning men that understand the power which flattery has upon pride, when they are afraid that shall be imposed upon, to enlarge though much against their conscience upon the honour, fair dealing and integrity of the family, country, or sometimes the profession of him they suspect; because they know that men often will change their resolution and act against their inclination, that they may have the pleasure of continuing to appear in the opinion of some what they are conscious not to be in reality. Thus sagacious moralists draw men like angels, in hopes that the pride at least of some will put them upon copying after the beautiful originals which they are represented to be. . . . But here I shall be told that besides the noisy toils of war and public bustle of the ambitious, there are noble and generous actions that are performed in silence; that virtue being its own reward, those who are really good have a satisfaction in their consciousness of being so, which is all the recompense they expect from the most worthy performances; that among the heathens there have been men who, when they did good to others, were so far from coveting thanks and applause that they took all imaginable care to be for ever concealed from those on whom they bestowed their benefits, and consequently that pride has no hand in spurring man on to the highest pitch of self-denial. In answer to this I say that it is impossible to judge of a man's performance, unless we are thoroughly acquainted with the principle and motive from which he acts. Pity, though it is the most gentle and the least mischievous of all our passions, is yet as much a frailty of our nature as anger, pride, or fear. The weakest minds have generally the greatest share of it, for which reason none are more compassionate than women and children. It must be owned that of all our weaknesses it is the most amiable, and bears the greatest resemblance to virtue; nay, without a considerable mixture of it the society could hardly subsist. But as it is an impulse of nature that consults neither the public interest nor our own reason, it may produce evil as well as good. It has helped to destroy the honour of virgins, and corrupted the integrity of judges; and

396

Bernard Mandeville

whoever acts from it as a principle, what good soever he may bring to the society, has nothing to boast of but that he has indulged a passion that has happened to be beneficial to the public. There is no merit in saving an innocent babe ready to drop into the fire. The action is neither good nor bad, and what benefit soever the infant received, we only obliged ourselves; for to have seen it fall, and not strove to hinder it, would have caused a pain which selfpreservation compelled us to prevent: Nor has a rich prodigal, that happens to be of a commiserating temper and loves to gratify his passions, greater virtue to boast of when he relieves an object of compassion with what to himself is a trifle. But such men as without complying with any weakness of their own can part from what they value themselves, and from no other motive but their love of goodness perform a worthy action in silence; such men, I confess, have acquired more refined notions of virtue than those I have hitherto spoke of; yet even in these (with which the world has yet never swarmed) we may discover no small symptoms of pride, and the humblest man alive must confess, that the reward of a virtuous action, which is the satisfaction that ensues upon it, consists in a certain pleasure he procures to himself by contemplating on his own worth: Which pleasure, together with the occasion of it, are as certain signs of pride, as looking pale and trembling at any imminent danger, are the symptoms of fear. If the too scrupulous Reader should at first view condemn these notions concerning the origin of moral virtue, and think them perhaps offensive to Christianity, I hope he'll forbear his censures, when he shall consider that nothing can render the unsearchable depth of the divine wisdom more conspicuous than that man, whom providence had designed for society, should not only by his own frailties and imperfections be led into the road to temporal happiness, but likewise receive, from a seeming necessity of natural causes, a tincture of the knowledge in which he was afterwards to be made perfect by the true religion, to his eternal welfare. An Enquiry into the Origin of Honour THE PREFACE

It is taken for granted that a Christian is not bound to believe anything to have been of divine institution 2 that has not been declared to be such in Holy Writ. Yet great offence has been taken at an essay in the First Part of The Fable of the Bees, called "An Enquiry into the Origin of Moral Virtue"; notwithstanding the great caution it is wrote with. Since then, it is thought criminal to surmise that even heathen virtue was of human invention, and the reader, in the following dialogues, will find me to persist in the opinion that it was. I beg his patience to peruse what I have to say for myself on this head, which is all I shall trouble him with here. The word "morality" is either synonymous with "virtue" or signifies that

.

An Enquiry into the Origin of Honour

397

part of philosophy which treats of it and teaches the regulation of manners; and by the words "moral virtue" I mean the same thing which I believe everybody else does. I am likewise fully persuaded that to govern ourselves according to the dictates of reason is far better than to indulge the passions without stop or control, and consequently that virtue is more beneficial than vice, not only for the peace and real happiness of society but likewise for the temporal felicity of every individual member of it, abstract from the consideration of a future state, I am moreover convinced that all wise men ever were and ever will be of this opinion; and I shall never oppose anybody who shall be pleased to call this an eternal truth. . . . . . . But to call virtue itself eternal cannot be done without a strangely figurative way of speaking. There is no doubt but all mathematical truths are eternal, yet they are taught; and some of them are very abstruse, and the knowledge of them was never acquired without great labor and depth of thought. Euclid had his merit, and it does not appear that the doctrine of fluxions3 was known before Sir Isaac Newton invented that concise way of computation; and it is not impossible that there should be another method as yet unknown, still more compendious, that may not be found out these thousand years. All propositions not confined to time or place that are once true are always true, must be always so, even in the silliest and most abject things in the world; as for example, "It is wrong to underroast mutton for people who love to have their meat well done." The truth of this, which is the most trifling thing I can readily think on, is as much eternal as that of the sublimest virtue. If you ask me where this truth was before there was mutton or people to dress or eat it, I answer, in the same place where chastity was before there were any creatures that had an appetite to procreate their species. . . . There is no virtue that has a name but it curbs, regulates, or subdues some passion that is peculiar to human nature; and therefore to say that God has all the virtues in the highest perfection wants as much the apology that it is an expression accommodated to vulgar capacities as that he has hands and feet and is angry. For as God has not a body nor anything that is corporeal belonging to his essence, so he is entirely free from passions and frailties. With what propriety then can we attribute anything to him that was invented, or least signifies a strength or ability, to conquer or govern passions and frailties? The holiness of God and all his perfections, as well as the beatitude he exists in, belong to his nature, and there is no virtue but what is acquired. It signifies nothing to add that God has those virtues in the highest perfection. Let them be what they will as to perfection, they must still be virtues, which, for the aforesaid reasons it is impertinent to ascribe to the deity. . . . I recommend the foregoing paragraph to the consideration of the advocates for the eternity and divine original of virtue, assuring them that if I am mistaken it is not owing to any perverseness of my will but want of understanding. The opinion that there can be virtue without self-denial is more advantageous to society than the contrary doctrine, which is a vast inlet to hypoc-

398

Bernard Mandeville

risy. . . . Yet I am willing to allow that men may contract a habit of virtue so as to practise it without being sensible of self-denial, and even that they may take pleasure in actions that would be impracticable to the vicious. But then it is manifest that this habit is the work of art, education and custom, and it never was acquired where the conquest over the passions had not already been made. There is no virtuous man of forty years but he may remember the conflict he had with some natural appetites before he was twenty. How natural seem all civilities to be to a gentleman! Yet time was that he would not have made his bow if he had not been bid. . . . Editor's Notes 1. "The Grumbling Hive," on which the present essay is a commentary. 2. That is, commanded or initiated by God. 3. The calculus, which Newton invented. Further Reading The modern edition of Mandeville's Fable of the Bees is by F. B. Kaye, 2 vols. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1924). It has an extensive commentary and contains all of Mandeville's writings directly related to the Fable. There is also a modern edition of An Enquiry into the Origin of Honour, by M. M. Goldsmith (London: Cass, 1971). M. M. Goldsmith, Private Vices, Public Benefits: Bernard Mandeville's Social and Political Thought (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1985), is an excellent study, with a full bibliography of both Mandeville's works and the literature concerning him. Irwin Primer, ed., Mandeville Studies (The Hague: Nijhoff, 1975), contains essays on many aspects of Mandeville's thought, its context, and its influence, including some bearing directly on his ethics. D. H. Monro, The Ambivalence of Mandeville (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1975), is a valuable study. John Colman, "Bernard Mandeville and the Reality of Virtue," Philosophy 47 (1972): 125-39, offers a careful philosophical discussion of the ethics. F. A. Hayek, "Dr. Bernard Mandeville," Proceedings of the British Academy 52 (1967), is informed by deep knowledge of the history of thought and of economics. Mandeville is treated in passing in the fascinating book by Albert 0. Hirschman, The Passions and the Interests: Political Arguments for Capitalism Before Its Triumph (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1977). Finally, a distinguished anthropologist, Louis Dumont, considers Mandeville in his From Mandeville to Marx (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1977), chap. 5.

John Gay

Introduction John Gay was born in 1699 and died in 1745. He taught briefly at Cambridge and spent most of his life as pastor in a country parish. His dissertation "Concerning the Fundamental Principle of Virtue or Morality" was published in 1731 as a preface to a translation of a Latin treatise on the problem of evil. Although Gay wrote one other philosophical essay, it is for the dissertation that he is remembered. Gay's essay is an attempt to solve a problem concerning morality and our motivation to act as morality requires. Like Gassendi, Hobbes (in some of his statements), Mandeville, and many others, Gay thought that all voluntary actions are undertaken for the sake of some benefit to the agent. With Hutcheson, however, he believed that virtue requires us to act for the sake of the good of others. He also accepted Hutcheson's antiegoistic claim about the way our motivation at least seems to us: that we do in fact sometimes act for the sake of bringing good to others. Thus Gay's psychology apparently makes virtue impossible and contradicts the plain facts about human motivation. Would it not be reasonable, then, to abandon the theory? Gay, however, did something more interesting. He agreed with Hutcheson's data regarding how our motivation seems to us but denied that they were ultimate. Our apparently disinterested motivation therefore can be analyzed into self-interest as it is affected by special circumstances leading us to associate the idea of helping others with the idea of attaining our own good. Because we can see that it pays us to help others, we find ourselves constantly thinking of our own good when we think of helping others. In time the two ideas become associated and then blended. Then we think that we are immediately desirous of helping others. It is like the miser's love of money. He loves it initially for what it can buy, but then the love becomes associated directly with the thought of the money, the idea of purchasing drops out, and the love is transformed into love of the money itself. For empiricists working with the Lockean distinction between simple and complex ideas, Gay's version of associationism seemed to open the way to a more fully scientific psychology than Locke alone enabled them to produce. In Gay's view, the distinction between simple and complex ideas did not have to be an introspectively obvious one. Moreover, complex ideas might have some features that the simple ideas of which they consist do not have and that are produced by the blending of the simple constituents. We could explain these emergent and apparently simple features of complex ideas by tracing their genesis through time. Gay's essay was remarkably influential in the development of both psychological and ethical theory. A full associationist psychology was first developed by David

399

400

John Gay

Hartley (1705-57), who, after acknowledging a great debt to Gay, tried to show that association can explain a whole range of ideas that seemed to philosophers to be simple but that reveal themselves as complex once their genesis is studied. The moral theories of both Paley and Bentham also have points in common with Gay's view. James Mill worked out his own psychology along associationist lines; John Stuart Mill accepted essentially the same kind of theory; and both of the Mills used their psychology to defend and support their utilitarian moral theories. The tie between utilitarianism and associationism became so common that in the nineteenth century they seemed to be inseparable. It was not until the work of Henry Sidgwick in the last quarter of the century that British utilitarianism broke definitively with Gay's model. The following is almost the whole of Gay's dissertation. The text is that of the fifth edition, 1781, with some changes in the spelling, capitalization, and punctuation.

Concerning the Fundamental Principle of Virtue or Morality Though all writers of morality have in the main agreed what particular actions are virtuous and what otherwise, yet they have, or at least seem to have differed very much, both concerning the criterion of virtue, viz., what it is which denominates any action virtuous; or, to speak more properly, what it is by which we must try any action to know whether it be virtuous or no; and also concerning the principle, or motive, by which men are induced to pursue virtue. As to the former, some have placed it in acting agreeably to nature, or reason; others in the fitness of things; others in a conformity with truth; others in promoting the common good; others in the will of God, etc. This disagreement of moralists concerning the rule or criterion of virtue in general, and at the same time their almost perfect agreement concerning the particular branches of it, would be apt to make one suspect, either that they had a different criterion (though they did not know or attend to it) from what they professed; or (which perhaps is the true as well as the more favorable opinion) that they only talk a different language, and that all of them have the same criterion in reality, only they have expressed it in different words. And there will appear the more room for this conjecture, if we consider the ideas themselves about which morality is chiefly conversant, viz., that they are all mixed modes, or compound ideas, arbitrarily put together, having at first no archetype or original existing, and afterwards no other than that which exists in other men's minds. Now since men, unless they have these their compound ideas, which are signified by the same name, made up precisely of the same simple ones, must necessarily talk a different language; and since this difference is so difficult, and in some cases impossible to be avoided, it follows that greater allowance and indulgence ought to be given to these writers than any other: and that (if we have a mind to understand them) we should not always take their words in the common acceptation. but in the sense in which we find that particular author which we are reading used them. And if a man interpret the writers of morality with this due candor, I believe their seeming inconsistencies and disagreements about the criterion of virtue,

The Fundamental Principle of Virtue or Morality

401

would in a great measure vanish; and he would find that acting agreeably to nature, or reason, (when rightly understood) would perfectly coincide with the fitness of things; the fitness of things (as far as these words have any meaning) with truth; truth with the common good; and the common good with the will of God. But whether this difference be real, or only verbal, a man can scarce avoid observing from it, that mankind have the ideas of most particular virtues, and also a confused notion of virtue in general, before they have any notion of the criterion of it; or ever did, neither perhaps can they, deduce all or any of those virtues from their idea of virtue in general, or upon any rational grounds shew how those actions (which the world call moral, and most, if not all men evidently have ideas of) are distinguished from other actions, or why they approve of those actions called moral ones, more than others. However, since the idea of virtue among all men (notwithstanding their difference in other respects) includes either tacitly or expressly, not only the idea of approbation as the consequence of it; but also that it is to everyone, and in all circumstances, an object of choice; it is incumbent on all writers of morality, to shew that [that] in which they place virtue, whatever it be, not only always will or ought to meet with approbation, but also that it is always an object of choice; which is the other great dispute among moralists, viz., what is the principle or motive by which men are induced to pursue virtue. For some have imagined that that is the only object of choice to a rational creature, which upon the whole will produce more happiness than misery to the chooser; and that men are, and ought to be guided wholly by this principle; and farther, that virtue will produce more happiness than misery, and therefore is always an object of choice: and whatever is an object of choice, that we approve of. But this, however true in theory, is insufficient to account for matter of fact, i.e., that the generality of mankind do approve of virtue, or rather virtuous actions, without being able to give any reason for their approbation; and also, that some pursue it without knowing that it tends to their own private happiness; nay even when it appears to be inconsistent with and destructive of their happiness. And that this is a matter of fact, the ingenious author of the Enquiry into the Original of Our Idea of Virtue' has so evidently made appear by a great variety of instances, that a man must either be very little acquainted with the world, or a mere Hobbist in his temper, to deny it. And therefore to solve these two difficulties, this excellent author has supposed (without proving, unless by shewing the insufficiency of all other schemes) a moral sense to account for the former, and a public or benevolent affection for the latter: And these, viz., the moral sense and public affection, he supposes to be implanted in us like instincts, independent of reason, and previous to any instruction; and therefore his opinion is, that no account can be given, or ought to be expected of them, any more than we pretend to

402

John Gay

account for the pleasure or pain which arises from sensation; i.e., why any particular motion produced in our bodies should be accompanied with pain rather than pleasure, and vice versa. But this account seems still insufficient, rather cutting the knot than untying it; and if it is not akin to the doctrine of innate ideas, yet I think it relishes too much of that of occult qualities. This ingenious author is certainly in the right in his observations upon the insufficiency of the common methods of accounting for both our election and approbation of moral actions, and rightly infers the necessity of supposing a moral sense (i.e., a power or faculty whereby we may perceive any action to be an object of approbation, and the agent of love) and public affections, to account for the principal actions of human life. But then by calling these instincts, I think he stops too soon, imagining himself at the fountain-head, when he might have traced them much higher even to the true principle of all our actions, our own happiness. And this will appear by shewing that our approbation of morality, and all affections whatsoever, are finally resolved into reason pointing out private happiness, and are conversant only about things apprehended to be means tending to this end; and that whenever this end is not perceived, they are to be accounted for from the association of ideas and may properly enough be called habits. For if this be clearly made out, the necessity of supposing a moral sense or public affections to be implanted in us, since it ariseth only from the insufficiency of all other schemes to account for human actions, will immediately vanish. . . . SECTION I: CONCERNING THE CRITERION OF VIRTUE The criterion of anything is a rule or measure by a conformity with which anything is known to be of this or that sort, or of this or that degree. And in order to determine the criterion of anything, we must first know the thing whose criterion we are seeking after. For a measure presupposes the idea of the thing to be measured, otherwise it could not be known, whether it was fit to measure it or no (since what is the proper measure of one thing is not so of another). Liquids, cloth, and flesh have all different measures; gold and silver different touchstones. This is very intelligible and the method of doing it generally clear, when either the quantity, or kind of any particular substance is thus ascertained. But when we extend our inquiries after a criterion for abstract, mixed modes,2 which have no existence but in our minds, and are so very different in different men; we are apt to be confounded, and search after a measure for we know not what. For unless we are first agreed concerning the thing to be measured, we shall in vain expect to agree in our criterion of it, or even to understand one another. But it may be said, if we are exactly agreed in any mixed mode, what need of any criterion? Or what can we want farther? What we want farther, and what

The Fundamental Principle of Virtue or Morality

403

we mean by the criterion of it, is this; viz., to know whether any particular thing do belong to this mixed mode or no. And this is a very proper inquiry. For let a man learn the idea of intemperance from you never so clearly, and if you please let this be the idea, viz., the eating or drinking to that degree as to injure his understanding or health; and let him also be never so much convinced of the obligation to avoid it; yet it is a very pertinent question in him to ask you, how shall I know when I am guilty of intemperance? And if we examine this thoroughly, we shall find that every little difference in the definition of a mixed mode will require a different criterion, e.g., if murder is defined the willful taking away the life of another, it is evident, that to inquire after the criterion of murder, is to inquire how we shall know when the life of another is taken away willfully; i.e., when one who takes away the life of another does it with that malicious design which is implied by willfulness. But if murder be defined the guilty taking away the life of another, then to inquire after the criterion of murder, is to inquire how it shall be known when guilt is contracted in the willful taking away the life of another. So that the criterion of murder, according to one or other of these definitions, will be different. For willfulness perhaps will be made the criterion of guilt; but willfulness itself, if it want any, must have some farther criterion; it being evident that nothing can be the measure of itself. If the criterion is contained in the idea itself, then it is merely nominal, e.g., if virtue is defined, the acting agreeably to the will of God: to say the will of God is the criterion of virtue, is only to say, what is agreeable to the will of God is called virtue. But the real criterion, which is of some use, is this, how shall I know what the will of God is in this respect? From hence it is evident, that the criterion of a mixed mode is neither the definition of it, nor contained in it. For, as has been shewn, the general idea is necessarily to be fixed; and if the particulars comprehended under it are fixed or known also, there remains nothing to be measured; because we measure only things unknown. The general idea then being fixed, the criterion which is to measure or determine inferiors, must be found out and proved to be a proper rule or measure, by comparing it with the general idea only, independent of the inferior things to which it is to be applied. For the truth of the measure must be proved independently of the particulars to be measured, otherwise we shall prove in a circle. To apply what has been said in general to the case in hand. Great inquiry is made after the criterion of virtue; but it is to be feared that few know distinctly what it is they are inquiring after; and therefore this must be clearly stated. And in order to this, we must (as has been shewn) first fix our idea of virtue, and that exactly; and then our inquiry will be, how we shall know this or that less general or particular action to be comprehended under virtue. For unless our idea of virtue is fixed, we inquire after the criterion of we know not what. And this our idea of virtue, to give any satisfaction, ought to be so general, as to be conformable to that which all or most men are supposed to have. And this general idea, I think, may be thus expressed.

404

John Gay

Virtue is the conformity to a rule of life, directing the actions of all rational creatures with respect to each other's happiness; to which conformity everyone in all cases is obliged: and everyone that does so conform, is or ought to be approved of, esteemed and loved for so doing. What is here expressed, I believe most men put into their idea of virtue. For virtue generally does imply some relation to others: where self is only concerned, a man is called prudent (not virtuous) and an action which relates immediately to God, is styled religious. I think also that all men, whatever they make virtue to consist in, yet always make it to imply obligation and approbation. The idea of virtue being thus fixed, to inquire after the criterion of it, is to inquire what that rule of life is to which we are obliged to conform; or how that rule is to be found out which is to direct me in my behavior towards others, which ought always to be pursued, and which, if pursued, will or ought to procure me approbation, esteem, and love. But before I can answer this inquiry I must first see what is meant by obligation. SECTION II: CONCERNING OBLIGATION

Obligation is the necessity of doing or omitting any action in order to be happy: i.e., when there is such a relation between an agent and an action that the agent cannot be happy without doing or omitting that action, then the agent is said to be obliged to do or omit that action. So that obligation is evidently founded upon the prospect of happiness, and arises from that necessary influence which any action has upon present or future happiness or misery. And no greater obligation can be supposed to be laid upon any free agent without an express contradiction. This obligation may be considered four ways, according to the four different manners in which it is induced: First, that obligation which ariseth from perceiving the natural consequences of things, i.e. the consequences of things acting according to the fixed laws of nature, may be called natural. Secondly, that arising from merit or demerit, as producing the esteem and favor of our fellow creatures, or the contrary, is usually styled virtuous. Thirdly, that arising from the authority of the civil magistrate, civil. Fourthly, that from the authority of God, religious. Now from the consideration of these four sorts of obligation (which are the only ones) it is evident that a full and complete obligation which will extend to all cases, can only be that arising from the authority of God; because God only can in all cases make a man happy or miserable: and therefore, since we are always obliged to that conformity called virtue, it is evident that the immediate rule or criterion of it, is the will of God. The next inquiry, therefore, is, what that will of God in this particular is, or what it directs me to do? Now it is evident from the nature of God, viz. His being infinitely happy in

The Fundamental Principle of Virtue or Morality

405

Himself from all eternity, and from His goodness manifested in His works, that He could have no other design in creating mankind than their happiness; and therefore He wills their happiness; therefore the means of their happiness; therefore that my behavior, as far as it may be a means of the happiness of mankind, should be such. Here then we are got one step farther, or to a new criterion: not to a new criterion of virtue immediately, but to a criterion of the will of God. For it is an answer to the inquiry, how shall I know what the will of God in this particular is? Thus the will of God is the immediate criterion of virtue, and the happiness of mankind the criterion of the will of God; and therefore the happiness of mankind may be said to be the criterion of virtue, but once removed. And since I am to do whatever lies in my power towards promoting the happiness of mankind, the next inquiry is, what is the criterion of happiness, i.e. how shall I know what in my power is, or is not, for the happiness of mankind? Now this is to be known only from the relations of things, (which relations, with respect to our present inquiry some have called their fitness and unfitness). For some things and actions are apt to produce pleasure, others pain; some are convenient, others inconvenient for a society; some are for the good of mankind; others tend to the detriment of it; therefore those are to be chosen which tend to the good of mankind, the others to be avoided. Thus then we are got one step farther, viz. to the criterion of the happiness of mankind. And from this criterion we deduce all particular virtues and vices. The next inquiry is, how shall I know that there is this fitness and unfitness in things? or if there be, how shall I discover it in particular cases? And the answer is, either from experience or reason. You either perceive the inconveniences of some things and actions when they happen; or you foresee them by contemplating the nature of the things and actions. Thus the criterion of the fitness or unfitness of things may in general be said to be reason: which reason, when exactly conformable to the things existing, i.e. when it judges of things as they are, is called right reason. And hence also we sometimes talk of the reason of things, i.e. properly speaking, that relation which we should find out by our reason, if our reason was right. And from hence we may perceive the reason of what I suggested in the beginning of this treatise, viz. that the dispute between moralists about the criterion of virtue is more in words than meaning; and that this difference between them has been occasioned by their dropping the immediate criterion, and choosing some a more remote, some a less remote one. And from hence we may see also the inconvenience of defining any mixed mode by its criterion. For that in a great measure has occasioned all this confusion; as may easily be made Ito] appear in all the pretended criteria of virtue above mentioned. Thus those who either expressly exclude, or don't mention the will of God, making the immediate criterion of virtue to be the good of mankind, must either allow that virtue is not in all cases obligatory (contrary to the idea which

406

John Gay

all or most men have of it) or they must say that the good of mankind is a sufficient obligation. But how can the good of mankind be any obligation to me, when perhaps in particular cases, such as laying down my life, or the like, it is contrary to my happiness? .. . What has been said concerning the criterion of virtue as including our constant obligation to it, may perhaps be allowed to be true; but still it will be urged, that it is insufficient to account for matter of fact, viz. that most persons, who are either ignorant of, or never considered these deductions, do however pursue virtue themselves, and approve of it in others. I shall in the next place therefore give some account of our approbations and affections. SECTION III: CONCERNING APPROBATION AND AFFECTION Man is not only a sensible creature; not only capable of pleasure and pain, but capable also of foreseeing this pleasure and pain in the future consequences of things and actions; and as he is capable of knowing, so also of governing or directing the causes of them, and thereby in a great measure enabled to avoid the one and to procure the other: whence the principle of all action. And therefore, as pleasure and pain are not indifferent to him, nor out of his power, he pursues the former and avoids the latter; and therefore also those things which are causes of them are not indifferent, but he pursues or avoids them also, according to their different tendency. That which he pursues for its own sake, which is only pleasure, is called an end; that which he apprehends to be apt to produce pleasure, he calls good, and approves of, i.e., judges a proper means to attain his end, and therefore looks upon it as an object of choice; and that which is pregnant with misery he disapproves of and styles evil. And this good and evil are not only barely approved of, or the contrary; but whenever viewed in imagination (since man considers himself as existing hereafter, and is concerned for his welfare then as well as now) they have a present pleasure or pain annexed to them, proportionable to what is apprehended to follow them in real existence; which pleasure or pain arising from the prospect of future pleasure or pain is properly called passion, and the desire consequent thereupon, affection. And as by reflecting upon pleasure there arises in our minds a desire of it; and on pain, an aversion from it (which necessarily follows from supposing us to be sensible creatures, and is no more than saying, that all things are not physically indifferent to us) so also by reflecting upon good or evil, the same desires and aversions are excited, and are distinguished into love and hatred. And from love and hatred variously modified, arise all those other desires and aversions which are promiscuously styled passions or affections; and are generally thought to be implanted in our nature originally, like the power of receiving sensitive pleasure or pain. And when placed on inanimate objects, are these following: hope, fear, despair and its opposite, for which we want a name.

The Fundamental Principle of Virtue or Morality

407

SECTION IV: APPROBATION AND AFFECTION CONSIDERED WITH REGARD TO MERIT, OR THE LAW OF ESTEEM If a man in the pursuit of pleasure or happiness (by which is meant the sum total of pleasure) had to do only with inanimate creatures, his approbation and affections would be as described in the foregoing section. But, since he is dependent with respect to his happiness, not only on these, but also on all rational agents, creatures like himself, which have the power of governing or directing good and evil, and of acting for an end; there will arise different means of happiness, and consequently different pursuits, though tending to the same end, happiness; and therefore different approbations and affections, and the contrary; which deserve particularly to be considered. That there will arise different means of happiness, is evident from hence, viz. that rational agents, in being subservient to our happiness, are not passive, but voluntary. And therefore since we are in pursuit of that, to obtain which we apprehend the concurrence of their wills necessary, we cannot but approve of whatever is apt to procure this concurrence. And that can be only the pleasure or pain expected from it by them. And therefore as I perceive that my happiness is dependent on others, I cannot but judge whatever I apprehend to be proper to excite them to endeavor to promote my happiness, to be a means of happiness, i.e. I cannot but approve it. And since the annexing pleasure to their endeavors to promote my happiness is the only thing in my power to this end, I cannot but approve of the annexing pleasure to such actions of theirs as are undertaken upon my account. Hence to approve of a rational agent as a means of happiness, is different from the approbation of any other means; because it implies an approbation also of an endeavor to promote the happiness of that agent, in order to excite him and others to the same concern for my happiness for the future. And because what we approve of we also desire (as has been shewn above) hence also we desire the happiness of any agent that has done us good. And therefore love or hatred, when placed on a rational object, has this difference from the love and hatred of other things, that it implies a desire of, and consequently a pleasure in the happiness of the object beloved; or if hated, the contrary. The foundation of this approbation and love (which, as we have seen, consists in this voluntary contributing to our happiness) is called the merit of the agent so contributing, i.e. that whereby he is entitled (upon supposition that we act like rational, sociable creatures; like creatures, whose happiness is dependent on each other's behavior) to our approbation and love: demerit the contrary. And this affection or quality of any action which we call merit, is very consistent with a man's acting ultimately for his own private happiness. For any particular action that is undertaken for the sake of another, is meritorious, i.e. deserves esteem, favor, and approbation from him for whose sake it

408

John Gay

was undertaken, towards the doer of it. Since the presumption of such esteem, etc. was the only motive to that action; and if such esteem, etc. does not follow, or is presumed not to follow it, such a person is reckoned unworthy of any favor, because he shews by his actions that he is incapable of being obliged by favors. The mistake which some have run into, viz. that merit is inconsistent with acting upon private happiness, as an ultimate end, seems to have arisen from hence, viz. that they have not carefully enough distinguished between an inferior, and ultimate end; the end of a particular action, and the end of action in general: which may be explained thus. Though happiness, private happiness, is the proper or ultimate end of all our actions whatever, yet this particular means of happiness which any particular action is chiefly adapted to procure, or the thing chiefly aimed at by that action; the thing which, if possessed, we would not undertake that action, may [bet and generally is called the end of that action. As therefore happiness is the general end of all actions, so each particular action may be said to have its proper and peculiar end: thus the end of a beau' is to please by his dress; the end of study, knowledge. But neither pleasing by dress, nor knowledge, are ultimate ends, they still tend or ought to tend to something farther; as is evident from hence, viz. that a man may ask and expect a reason why either of them are pursued: now to ask the reason of any action or pursuit, is only to inquire into the end of it: but to expect a reason, i.e. an end, to be assigned for an ultimate end, is absurd. To ask why I pursue happiness, will admit of no other answer than an explanation of the terms. Why inferior ends, which in reality are only means, are too often looked upon and acquiesced in as ultimate, shall be accounted for hereafter. Whenever therefore the particular end of any action is the happiness of another (though the agent designed thereby to procure to himself esteem and favor, and looked upon that esteem and favor as a means of private happiness) that action is meritorious. And the same may be said, though we design to please God, by endeavoring to promote the happiness of others. But when an agent has a view in any particular action distinct from my happiness, and that view is his only motive to that action, though that action promote my happiness to never so great a degree, yet that agent acquires no merit, i.e. he is not thereby entitled to any favor or esteem. . . . But it is far otherwise when my happiness is the sole end of that particular action, i.e. (as I have explained myself above) when the agent endeavors to promote my happiness as a means to procure my favor, i.e. to make me subservient to his happiness as his ultimate end: though I know he aims at my happiness only a means of his own, yet this lessens not the obligation. Now from the various combinations of this which we call merit, and its contrary, arise all those various approbations and aversions; all those likings and dislikings which we call moral. As therefore from considering those beings which are the involuntary means of our happiness or misery, there were produced in us the passions or affections of love, hatred, hope, fear, despair and its contrary: so from consid-

The Fundamental Principle of Virtue or Morality

409

ering those beings which voluntarily contribute to our happiness or misery, there arise the following. Love and hatred (which are different from that love or hatred placed on involuntary beings; that placed on involuntary beings being only a desire to possess or avoid the thing beloved or hated; but this on voluntary agents being a desire to give pleasure or pain to the agent beloved or hated), gratitude, anger, (sometimes called by one name, resentment) generosity, ambition, honor, shame, envy, benevolence: and if there be any other, they are only, as these are, different modifications of love and hatred. Love and hatred, and the foundation of them (viz. the agent beloved or hated being apprehended to be instrumental in our happiness) I have explained above. Gratitude is that desire of promoting the happiness of another upon account of some former kindness received. Anger, that desire of thwarting the happiness of another, on account of some former diskindness or injury received. Both these take place, though we hope for, or fear nothing farther from the objects of either of them, and this is still consistent with acting upon a principle of private happiness. For though we neither hope for, nor fear anything farther from these particular beings; yet the disposition shewn upon these occasions is apprehended to influence the behavior of other beings towards us; i.e. other beings will be moved to promote our happiness or otherwise, as they observe how we resent favors or injuries. Ambition is a desire of being esteemed. Hence a desire of being thought an object of esteem; hence of being an object of esteem; hence of doing laudable, i.e. useful actions. Generosity and benevolence are species of it. Ambition in too great a degree is called pride, of which there are several species. The title to the esteem of others, which ariseth from any meritorious action, is called honor. The pleasure arising from honor being paid to us, i.e. from others acknowledging that we are entitled to their esteem, is without a name. Modesty is the fear of losing esteem. The uneasiness or passion which ariseth from a sense that we have lost it, is called shame. So that ambition, and all those other passions and affections belonging to it, together with shame, arise from the esteem of others: which is the reason why this tribe of affections operate more strongly on us than any other, viz. because we perceive that as our happiness is chiefly dependent on the behavior of others, so we perceive also that this behavior is dependent on the esteem which others have conceived of us; and consequently that our acquiring or losing esteem, is in effect acquiring or losing happiness, and in the highest degree. And the same may be said concerning all our other affections and passions, to enumerate which, what for want of names to them, and what by the confusion of language about them, is almost impossible. Envy will be accounted for hereafter, for a reason which will then be obvious. Thus having explained what I mean by obligation and approbation; and shewn that they are founded on and terminate in happiness: having also pointed out that the difference between our approbations and affections as

410

John Gay

placed on involuntary and voluntary means of happiness; and farther proved that these approbations and affections are not innate or implanted in us by way of instinct, but are all acquired, being fairly deducible from supposing only sensible and rational creatures dependent on each other for their happiness, as explained above: I shall in the next place endeavor to answer a grand objection to what has here been said concerning approbations and affections arising from a prospect of private happiness. The objection is this. The reason or end of every action is always known to the agent; for nothing can move a man but what is perceived; but the generality of mankind love and hate, approve and disapprove, immediately, as soon as any moral character either occurs in life, or is proposed to them, without considering whether their private happiness is affected with it or not: or if they do consider any moral character in relation to their own happiness, and find themselves, as to their private happiness, unconcerned in it; or even find their private happiness lessened by it in some particular instance, yet they still approve the moral character, and love the agent: nay they cannot do otherwise. Whatever reason may be assigned by speculative men why we should be grateful to a benefactor, or pity the distressed; yet if the grateful or compassionate mind never thought of that reason, it is no reason to him. The inquiry is not why he ought to be grateful, but why he is so. These after-reasons therefore rather shew the wisdom and providence of our Maker, in implanting the immediate powers of these approbations (i.e. in Mr. Hutcheson's language, a moral sense) and these public affections in us, than give any satisfactory account of their origin. And therefore these public affections, and this moral sense, are quite independent on private happiness, and in reality act upon us as mere instincts. Answer. The matter of fact contained in this argument, in my opinion, is not to be contested; and therefore it remains either that we make the matter of fact consistent with what we have before laid down, or give up the cause. Now, in order to shew this consistency, I beg leave to observe, that as in the pursuit of truth we do not always trace every proposition whose truth we are examining, to a first principle or axiom, but acquiesce, as soon as we perceive it deducible from some known or presumed truth; so in our conduct we do not always travel to the ultimate end of our actions, happiness: but rest contented, as soon as we perceive any action subservient to a known or presumed means of happiness. And these presumed truths and means of happiness, whether real or otherwise, always influence us after the same manner as if they were real. The undeniable consequences of mere prejudices are as firmly adhered to as the consequences of real truths or arguments; and what is subservient to a false (but imagined) means of happiness, is as industriously pursued as what is subservient to a true one. Now every man, both in his pursuit after truth, and in his conduct, has settled and fixed a great many of these in his mind, which he always acts upon, as upon principles, without examining. And this is occasioned by the narrow-

The Fundamental Principle of Virtue or Morality

411

ness of our understandings: we can consider but a few things at once; and therefore, to run everything to the fountainhead would be tedious, through a long series of consequences: to avoid this we choose out certain truths and means of happiness, which we look upon as resting places, in which we may safely acquiesce, in the conduct both of our understanding and practice; in relation to the one, regarding them as axioms; in the other, as ends. And we are more easily inclined to this, by imagining that we may safely rely upon what we call habitual knowledge, thinking it needless to examine what we are already satisfied in. And hence it is that prejudices, both speculative and practical, are difficult to be rooted out, viz. few will examine them. These resting places are so often used as principles, that at last, letting that slip out of our minds which first inclined us to embrace them, we are apt to imagine them, not as they really are, the substitutes of principles, but, principles themselves. And from hence, as some men have imagined innate ideas, because they forget how they came by them; so others have set up almost as many distinct instincts as there are acquired principles of acting. And I cannot but wonder why the pecuniary sense, a sense of power and party, etc. were not mentioned, as well as the moral, that of honor, order, and some others. The case is really this. We first perceive or imagine some real good, i.e. fitness to promote our natural happiness, in those things which we love and approve of. Hence (as was above explained) we annex pleasure to those things. Hence those things and pleasure are so tied together and associated in our minds, that one cannot present itself, but the other will also occur. And the association remains even after that which at first gave them the connection is quite forgot, or perhaps does not exist; but the contrary. An instance or two may perhaps make this clear. How many men are there in the world who have as strong a taste for money as others have for virtue; who count so much money, so much happiness; nay, even sell their happiness for money; or to speak more properly, make the having money, without any design or thought of using it, their ultimate end? But was this propensity to money, born with them, or rather, did not they at first perceive a great many advantages from being possessed of money, and from thence conceive a pleasure of having it, thence desire it, thence endeavor to obtain it, thence receive an actual pleasure in obtaining it, thence desire to preserve the possession of it? Hence by dropping the intermediate steps between money and happiness, they join money and happiness immediately together, and content themselves with the fantastical pleasure of having it, and make that which was at first pursued only as a means, be to them a real end, and what their real happiness or misery consists in. Thus the connection between money and happiness remains in the mind; though it has long since ceased between the things themselves. The same might be observed concerning the thirst after knowledge, fame, etc., the delight in reading, building, planting, and most of the various exercises and entertainments of life. These were at first entered on with a view to some farther end, but at length became habitual amusements; the idea of

412

John Gay

pleasure is associated with them, and leads us on still in the same eager pursuit of them, when the first reason is quite vanished, or at least out of our minds. Nay, we find this power of association so great as not only to transport our passions and affections beyond their proper bounds, both as to intenseness and duration; as is evident from daily instances of avarice, ambition, love, revenge, etc., but also that it is able to transfer them to improper objects, and such as are of a quite different nature from those to which our reason had at first directed them. Thus being accustomed to resent an injury done to our body by a retaliation of the like to him that offered it, we are apt to conceive the same kind of resentment, and often express it in the same manner, upon receiving hurt from a stock or a stone; whereby the hatred which we are used to place on voluntary beings, is substituted in the room of that aversion which belongs to involuntary ones. The like may be observed in most of the other passions above mentioned. From hence also, viz. from the continuance of this association of ideas in our minds, we may be enabled to account for that (almost diabolical) passion called envy, which we promised to consider. Mr. Locke observes,' and I believe very justly, that there are some men entirely unacquainted with this passion. For most men that are used to reflection, may remember the very time when they were first under the dominion of it. Envy is generally defined to be that pain which arises in the mind from observing the prosperity of others: not of all others indefinitely, but only of some particular persons. Now the examining who those particular persons whom we are apt to envy are, will lead us to the true origin of this passion. And if a man will be at the pains to consult his mind, or to look into the world, he'll find that these particular persons are always such as upon some account or other he has had a rivalship with. For when two or more are competitors for the same thing, the success of the one must necessarily tend to the detriment of the other, or others: hence the success of my rival and misery or pain are joined together in my mind; and this connection or association remaining in my mind, even after the rivalship ceases, makes me always affected with pain whenever I hear of his success, though in affairs which have no manner of relation to the rivalship; much more in those that bring that to my remembrance, and put me in mind of what I might have enjoyed had it not been for him. Thus also we are apt to envy those persons that refuse to be guided by our judgments, and persuaded by us. For this is nothing else than a rivalship about the superiority of judgment; and we take a secret pride, both to let the world see, and in imagining ourselves, that we are in the right. There is one thing more to be observed in answer to this objection, and that is, that we do not always (and perhaps not for the most part) make this association ourselves, but learn it from others, i.e., that we annex pleasure or pain to certain actions because we see others do it, and acquire principles of action by imitating those whom we admire, or whose esteem we would pro-

Further Reading

413

cure: Hence the son too often inherits both the vices and the party of his father, as well as his estate: Hence national virtues and vices, dispositions and opinions: and from hence we may observe how easy it is to account for what is generally called the prejudice of education; how soon we catch the temper and affections of those whom we daily converse with; how almost insensibly we are taught to live, admire or hate; to be grateful, generous, compassionate or cruel, etc. What I say then in answer to the forementioned objection is this: That though it be necessary in order to solve the principal actions of human life to suppose a moral sense (or what is signified by that name) and also public affections; yet I deny that this moral sense, or these public affections, are innate or implanted in us. They are acquired either from our own observation or the imitation of others. Editor's Notes 1. Francis Hutcheson; for selections, see Part IV. 2. A Lockean notion, mixed modes are complex ideas formed by the mind itself by actively assembling several simple ideas it has passively received from experience. The unity of an idea that is a mixed mode comes only from the act of the mind and is generally signified by giving one name to the complex. As instances. Locke gives obligation, drunkenness, and hypocrisy. See John Locke. An Essay Concerning Human Understanding, bk. II, chap. XXII. 3. A fop or dandy. one who loves to show off his fine clothing. 4. In the Essay, bk. II. chap. XX, §14.

Further Reading There is a brief discussion of Gay in Ernest Albee, A History of English Utilitarianism (London: Allen & Unwin, 1901). Otherwise there seems to be no extended discussion of him. Gay is mentioned in Elie Halevy, The Growth of Philosophical Radicalism, trans. Mary Morris (London: Faber & Faber, 1928), and he receives passing notice in histories of psychology.

Claude Adrien Helvetius

Introduction Helvetius was born in 1715 into a family of physicians. His grandfather had become wealthy through a Parisian practice, and his father had treated Louis XIV and Louis XV and was physician to the queen. In 1738 family connections enabled Helvetius to obtain a lucrative post as tax collector. He acquired a small fortune within a decade and thereupon retired to devote himself to writing and to companionship with the advanced intellectuals of the day. From about 1750 until 1757 he worked painstakingly on De l'Esprit (On the Mind), which was published in 1758. The book caused a storm of criticism. Personal, philosophical, religious, and political attacks were launched against Helvetius, and it was only thanks to his official and family connections that he escaped prison or worse. He thought for a time of abandoning his writing, but returned to it after a while, eventually completing a second work, De l'Homme (On Man), which was published in 1772, a year after his death. On the Mind is divided into four sections: the first lays out a general psychology and epistemology; the second concerns ethics and politics; the third explains Helvetius's ideas on education; and the final section offers a miscellany of thoughts. largely about aesthetics. In his psychology, which he learned from a number of French contemporaries who drew much of their inspiration from Locke, Helvetius held that all our ideas come from bodily sensations. Judgment, or combining of ideas, is the act of comparing remembered sensations; the emotions spring from our reactions of pleasure or pain to what we perceive or think. Because he regarded sensation as bodily feeling, Helvetius tacitly implied that there is no need for any notion of a separate soul or mind. Other views of his that were offensive to established religious opinion were slipped in (in Chapter VII of Essay I), on the excuse that he was showing how misleading language can be. Thus Helvetius criticized la Rochefoucauld's Augustinian attack on self-love as "pride and vanity," by noting that the term "self-love" means "nothing more than a sentiment implanted in us by nature" that, depending on the circumstances, can produce either pride or modesty. And he dismissed discussion of free will by saying that the idea of liberty is easy to explain. "A man at liberty," he observed, "is a person neither in chains, under confinement, nor intimidated like a slave by the fear of punishment." But the term has no other meaning. In particular, "no idea can be formed of the word Liberty, when applied to the will." The theory behind this is Hobbesian, but Hobbes would not have agreed that the fear of punishment limits freedom. If these were not particularly original ideas, neither were the elements of what Helvetius had to say about morality. He presented an egoistic psychology, wavering a 414

Introduction

415

little about whether all voluntary action is necessarily self-interested or whether there might be some extraordinary people who are genuinely disinterested. And he offered an egoistic morality. Agents pursue what they take to be good for themselves, and no other good is a reasonable object of individual pursuit. Hence what we praise as virtue or moral goodness is always what we think is useful to us. Nicole had said as much, and similar conclusions can be drawn from Mandeville. But Helvetius had something new to add. This novelty hinges first on Helvetius's view of what we take to be in our own interest. People tend to think of themselves not as isolated individuals but as members of groups. Initially we identify with small groups, but we can come to identify ourselves through our membership in larger groups and can even see ourselves mainly as members of our nation. If we reach this point, what we take to be good for ourselves will be whatever is good for the whole nation. (Helvetius thought it impossible to identify with a group comprising everyone in the world.) On the basis of his sensationist psychology, Helvetius argued that all people are equal in innate mental ability, differing only as a result of their experiences. Education in a broad sense is the most important of these formative experiences, and Helvetius contended that it is possible to educate people so that everyone identifies with the nation and knows what is useful to the nation as a whole. In this way education can form people who would act virtuously, that is, in a way that, because it benefits everyone else in the country as well as themselves, would be praised by everyone. What stands in the way of increasing human happiness without limit, then, is ignorance and identification with small groups. Helvetius was particularly concerned with the small groups that already have power. They find it in their own interest to prevent the masses from being given a proper education, as such a system would ultimately deprive them of the group power in which they could find their own good. Those who already identify with the good of the whole nation must therefore break the hold of these narrower groups and institute a new mode of education. As Helvetius did not hesitate to make clear — and in a Catholic country like France, where the Jesuits dominated the educational system, it could hardly have been overlooked had he not done so — the church was the prime culprit. But the nobility was not far behind. These ideas were not likely to win Helvetius much favor with his highly placed erstwhile friends, and in the climate of the time they seemed much more dangerous than he perhaps intended them to be. In January 1757 there had been an attempt to assassinate Louis XV, and in the aftermath it was proclaimed that anyone who was convicted of having written anything critical of religion or of the state would be punished with death. Accordingly, Helvetius managed to publish his book only after complicated maneuvers with the censors, and the outraged response to it from those in power affected others besides himself. Because he was closely associated with Diderot and the other enlightened philosophes who were producing the great Encyclopedia —whicasdegntoprcifknwledgaup-toscilhg everyone — publication of the Encyclopedia was halted, persecution and prosecution of its editors and their friends ran rampant, and on both sides everyone was furious at Helvetius. After all, the philosophes asserted, we all publish anonymously and secretly; why couldn't Helvetius have done so as well? The uproar passed without having any lasting effect, but this was not true of Helvetius's ideas. His view that people could be made virtuous only by political changes — not by the church, not by grace — and that political changes would have to augment the happiness people experience here and now if they were to be effective in

416

Claude Adrien Helvitius

increasing virtue was taken up three decades later by Jeremy Bentham, a lawyer and philosopher who was also a practical reformer. If Helvetius's moral theory did not survive in the form in which he proposed it, it nonetheless lived on in a theory that is still influential. The following selections are from De /'Esprit or Essays on the Mind, an anonymous translation originally issued in 1759 and republished in 1810.

On the Mind PREFACE

The subject I propose to examine in this work is new and interesting. People have hitherto considered the Mind only under some of its views: for great writers have no more than cast a rapid glance over it; and this has emboldened me to treat of the subject. The knowledge of the Mind, when we consider it in its utmost extent, is so closely connected with the knowledge of the heart, and of the passions of men, that it was impossible to write on this subject, without treating of that part of morality at least, which is common to men of all nations, and which in all governments can have no other object in view than the public advantage. The principles I establish on this subject are, I think, conformable to the general interest, and to experience. It is by facts that I have ascended to causes. I imagined that morality ought to be treated like all the other sciences, and founded on experiment, as well as natural philosophy. I have adhered to this idea, from the persuasion that all morality, where its principles are of use to the public, is necessarily conformable to the morals of religion, which are only the perfection of human morals. For the rest, if I am deceived, and if, contrary to my expectation, some of my principles are not conformable to the general interest, this proceeds from an error of my judgment, and not of my heart; and I declare, beforehand, that I disown them. ESSAY 11

Chapter II: Of Probity Relatively to an Individual It is not real Probity; that is Probity, with regard to the public, that I consider in this chapter; but merely Probity, considered relatively to each individual.' In this point of view, I say, that each individual calls Probity in another only the habitude of actions which are useful to him: I say habitude, because it is not one single honest action, more than one single ingenious idea, that will gain us the title of virtuous and witty. There is not that penurious wretch on earth which has not once behaved with generosity; nor a liberal person who has not once been parsimonious; no villain who has not done a good action; no person so stupid who has not uttered one smart sentence; and, in fine, no

.

On the Mind

417

man who, on inspecting certain actions of his life, will not seem possessed of all the opposite virtues and vices. A greater uniformity in the behaviour of men would suppose in them a continuity of attention which they are incapable of; differing from one another only more or less. The man of absolute uniformity has no existence; for that no perfection, either with regard to vice or virtue, is to be found on the earth. It is therefore to the habitude of actions advantageous to him, that an individual gives the name of Probity: I say of actions, because we cannot judge of intentions. How is it possible? It is seldom or never that action is the effect of a sentiment; we ourselves are often ignorant of the motives by which we are determined. A rich man bestows a comfortable subsistence on a worthy man reduced to poverty. Doubtless he does a good action; but is this action simply the effect of a desire of rendering a man happy? Pity, the hopes of gratitude, vanity itself, all these different motives, separately or aggregately, may they not, unknown to himself, have determined him to that commendable action? Now if a man be, in general, ignorant himself of the motives of his generous action, how can the public be acquainted with them? Thus it is only from the actions of men, that the public can judge of their probity. A man, for instance, has twenty degrees of passion for virtue; but he has thirty degrees of love for a woman; and this woman would instigate him to be guilty of murder. Upon this supposition, it is certain, that this person is nearer guilt than he, who, with only ten degrees of passion for virtue, has only five degrees of love for so wicked a woman. Hence I conclude, that of two men, the more honest in his actions has sometimes the less passion for virtue. Every philosopher also agrees, that the virtue of men greatly depends on the circumstances in which they are placed. Virtuous men have too often sunk under a strange series of unhappy events. He who will warrant his virtue in every possible situation, is either an impostor or a fool; characters equally to be mistrusted. After determining the idea I affix to this word Probity, considered in relation to every individual, we must, to assure ourselves of the propriety of this definition, have recourse to observation; and this will inform us, that there are men whom a happy disposition, a strong desire of glory and esteem, inspire with the same love for justice and virtue, which men in general have for riches and honours. The actions personally advantageous to these virtuous men are so truly just, that they tend to promote the general welfare, or, at least, not to lessen it. But the number of these men is so small, that I only mention them in honour of humanity. And the most numerous class, which alone comprehends the far greater part of mankind, is that of men so entirely devoted to their own interest, that they never consider the welfare of the whole. Concentrated, if I may be allowed the expression, in their own happiness; these men call those actions only honest, which are advantageous to themselves. A judge acquits a criminal, a minister prefers an unworthy person; yet both are just, if those

418

Claude Adrien Helvetius

they have favoured may be credited. But should the judge punish, and the minister refuse, the criminal, and the party denied, will always consider them as unjust. . . . In effect, what man, if he sacrifices the pride of stiling himself more virtuous than others, to the pride of being more sincere; and if, with a scrupulous attention, he searches all the recesses of his soul; will not perceive that his virtues and vices are wholly owing to the different modifications of personal interest;* that all equally tend to their happiness; that it is the diversity of the passions and tastes, of which some are agreeable, and others contrary to the public interest, which terms our actions either virtues or vices? Instead of despising the vicious man, we should pity him, rejoice in our own happy disposition, thank heaven for not having given us any of those tastes and passions, which would have forced us to have sought our happiness in the misery of another. For, after all, interest is always obeyed; hence the injustice of all our judgments, and the appellations of just and unjust are lavished on the same actions, according to the advantage resulting from them to particulars. If the physical universe be subject to the laws of motion, the moral universe is equally so to those of interest. Interest is, on earth, the mighty magician, which to the eyes of every creature changes the appearance of all objects. . . . This principle is so agreeable to experience, that, without entering into a farther discussion, I think myself warranted to conclude, that personal interest is the only and universal estimator of the merit of human actions; and therefore, that Probity, with regard to an individual is, according to my definition, nothing more than the habitude of actions personally advantageous to this individual. Chapter V: Of Probity in Relation to Private Societies

Under this point of view, I say, that probity is only a more or less distinguished habit of performing actions particularly useful to this little society. Certain virtuous societies indeed frequently appear to lay aside their own interest to judge the actions of men, in conformity to the interest of the public; but in this they only gratify the passion which an enlightened pride gives them for virtue; and consequently, like all other societies, obey the law of personal interest. What other motive can determine men to generous actions? It is as impossible to love virtue for the sake of virtue as to love vice for the sake of vice.* • The humane man is he to whom the sight of another's misfortunes is insupportable, and who, to remove this afflicting spectacle, is, as it were, forced to relieve the wretched. The cruel man, on the contrary, is he to whom the sight of another's misfortunes gives a secret pleasure; and it is to prolong that pleasure, that he refuses all relief to the wretched. Now these two persons, so very opposite, both equally tend to their pleasures, and are actuated by the same spring. . . . The continual declamations of moralists against the malignity of mankind are a proof of their knowing but little of human nature. Men are not cruel and perfidious, but carried away by their own interest. The declamations of the moralist will certainly make no change in this moral spring of the universe. They ought not therefore to complain of the wickedness of mankind, but of the ignorance of the legislators, who have always placed private interest in opposition to the general interest. . . .

On the Mind

419

Chapter VI: Of the Means of Securing Virtue A man is just when all his actions tend to the public welfare. Doing well is not all that is requisite to merit the title of virtuous. A prince has a thousand places to bestow; he must fill them up; and he cannot avoid rendering a thousand people happy. Here then his virtue depends only on the justice and injustice of his choice. If, when a place of importance is vacant, he gives it from friendship, from weakness, from solicitation, or from indolence, to a man of moderate abilities, in preference to another of superior talents, he ought to be considered as unjust, whatever praises others may bestow on his probity. In the affair of probity, he ought only to consult and listen to the public interest, and not to the men by whom he is surrounded; for personal interest too often leads him into an illusion. We ought then, in order to be virtuous, to blend the light of knowledge with greatness of soul. Whoever assembles within himself these different gifts of nature, always directs his course by the compass of the public utility. This utility is the principle on which all human virtues are founded, and the basis of all legislations. It ought to inspire the legislator with the resolution to force the people to submit to his laws; to this principle, in short, he ought to sacrifice all his sentiments, and even those of humanity itself. Public humanity is sometimes void of pity for individuals. When a vessel is surprised by long calms, and famine has, with an imperious voice, commanded the mariners to draw lots for the unfortunate victim who is to serve as a repast to his companions, they kill him without remorse: this vessel is the emblem of a nation; every thing becomes lawful, and even virtuous, that procures the public safety. The conclusion of what I have just said is, that in the case of probity counsel is not to be taken from private connections, but only from the interest of the public: he who constantly consults it will have all his actions directed either immediately to the public utility, or to the advantage of individuals, without their being detrimental to the state. Chapter XI: Of Probity in Relation to the Public I shall not in this chapter treat of Probity, with respect to a particular person, or a private society; but of true probity; of probity considered in relation to the public. This kind of probity is the only one that really merits, and has in general obtained the name. It is only considering it in this point of view, that we can form clear ideas of honesty, and discover a guide to virtue. Now, under this aspect, I say that the public, like particular societies, is only determined in its judgments by motives of interest; that it does not give the name of noble to great and heroic actions, but to those that are of public use; and that the esteem of the public, for such and such an action, is not proportioned to the degree of strength, courage, or generosity, necessary to execute it, but to the importance of that action, and the public advantage derived from it.

420

Claude Adrien Helvetius

In fact, when encouraged by the presence of an army, one man alone fights three men who are wounded: this is doubtless a brave action; but it is what a thousand of our grenadiers are capable of, and for which they will never be mentioned in history; but when the safety of an empire formed to subdue the universe, depends on the success of this battle, Horatius is an hero,'' he is the admiration of his fellow-citizens, and his name, celebrated in history, is handed down to the most distant ages. Two persons threw themselves into a gulf; this was an action common to Sappho' and Curtius; 4 but the first did it to put an end to the torments of love, and the other to save Rome; Sappho was therefore a fool, and Curtius a hero. In vain have some philosophers given the name of folly to each of these actions; the public sees clearer than they, and never gives the name of fool to those from whom it receives advantage.

Chapter XIII: Of Probity in Relation to Various Ages and Nations In all ages and nations, probity can be only an habit of performing actions that are of use to our country. However certain this proposition may be, to render this truth the more evident, I shall endeavor to give a clear and full idea of this virtue. To this purpose, I shall examine two sentiments on this subject, that have hitherto divided the moralists. Some maintain, that we have an idea of virtue absolutely independent of different ages and governments; and that virtue is always one and the same. The others maintain, on the contrary, that every nation forms a different idea of it. The first bring, in proof of their opinions, the ingenious, but unintelligible dreams of the Platonists. Virtue, according to them, is nothing but the idea of order, harmony, and essential beauty. But this beauty is a mystery of which they can convey no fixed ideas: they therefore do not establish their system on the knowledge which history affords us of the human heart, and the powers of the mind. The second, and amongst them Montaigne, 5 with arms more strangely tempered than those of reasoning, that is, with facts, attack the opinion of the first; prove that an action virtuous in the north, is vicious in the south; and from thence conclude, that the idea of virtue is merely arbitrary. Such are the opinions of these two sects of philosophers. Those, from their not having consulted history err, in a metaphysical labyrinth of words: these, from their not having examined with sufficient depth the facts presented by history, have thought that caprice alone decided the goodness or turpitude of human actions. These two philosophical sects are deceived; but they would both have escaped error, had they, with an attentive eye, considered the history of the world. They would then have perceived, that time must necessarily produce, in the physical and moral world, revolutions that change the face of empires; that, in the great catastrophes of kindgoms, the people always

On the Mind

421

experience great changes; that the same actions may successively become useful and prejudicial, and consequently, by turns, assume the name of virtuous and vicious. If, in consequence of this observation, they would have been willing to form a mere abstract idea of virtue, independent of practice, they would have acknowledged, that, by the word Virtue can only be understood, a desire of general happiness; that, consequently, the public welfare is the object of virtue; and that the actions it enjoins, are the means it makes use of to accomplish that end; that, therefore, the idea of virtue is not arbitrary; that, in different ages and countries, all men, at least those who live in society, ought to form the same idea of it; and, in short, if the people represent it under different forms, it is because they take for virtue the various means they employ to accomplish the end. This definition of virtue, I think, gives an idea of it that is at once clear, simple, and conformable to experience; a conformity that alone can establish the truth of an opinion. . . . However stupid we suppose mankind, it is certain that, enlightened by their own interest, they have not, without motives, adopted the ridiculous customs we find estabished amongst some of them; the fantasticalness of these customs proceed, then, from the diversity of the interests of different nations; and, in fact, if they have always, though confusedly, understood by the word virtue the desire of the public happiness; if they have consequently given the name of honesty only to actions useful to the nation; and if the idea of utilty has always been secretly connected with the idea of virtue, we may assert, that the most ridiculous, and even the most cruel customs, have always had, for their foundation, as I am going to shew by some examples, either a real or apparent utility with respect to the public welfare.

Chapter XV: Of the Use Accruing to Morality, from the Knowledge of the Principles Laid Down in the Preceding Chapters If morality hitherto has little contributed to the happiness of mankind, it is not owing to any want of perspicuity or beauty of stile, or propriety and loftiness of sentiment, in the moralists: but amidst all their superior talents, it must be owned, that they have not often enough considered the different vices of nations as necessarily resulting from the different form of their government; yet, it is only by considering morality in this point of light, that it can become of any real use to men. What have hitherto been the effects of all the splendid maxims of morality? If some individuals have been corrected by them of faults which perhaps they reproached themselves with, no change in the manners of nations have been produced. What is this to be imputed to? It is because the vices of a people, if I may presume to say so, always lie at the bottom of its legislation. There he must search, who would pluck up the root whence its vices arise. He who wants either penetration, or courage, for such an undertaking, is, in this respect, of little or no use to the universe. To attempt

422

Claude Adrien Helvetius

extinguishing the vices annexed to the legislation of a people, without making any change in this legislation, is no less than rejecting the just consequences after admitting the principles. . . . From what I have said, it follows that no change in the ideas of a people is to be hoped for, till after a change in its legislation; that the reformation of manners is to be begun by the reformation of laws, and declamations against a vice useful in the present form of government, would politically be detrimental, were they not found fruitless. But so they will always be, for it is only the force of the laws that can ever act on the bulk of a nation. Besides, let me be allowed cursorily to observe, that, among the moralists there are very few who, by setting our passions at variance, know how to avail themselves of them, so as to procure their opinions to be adopted. Most of their admonitions are too dogmatical and imperious; yet they should be sensible that invectives will never prevail against sentiments; that it is only a passion which can get the better of a passion. . . . By thus substituting the soft language of interest, instead of the peremptory clamour of invective, the moralists may establish their maxims. I shall not enlarge farther on this head, but return to my subject; and I say, that all men tend only towards their happiness; that it is a tendency from which they cannot be diverted; that the attempt would be fruitless, and even the success dangerous; consequently, it is only by incorporating personal and general interest, that they can be rendered virtuous. This being granted, morality is evidently no more than a frivolous science, unless blended with policy and legislation: whence I conclude that, if philosophers would be of use to the world, they should survey objects from the same point of view as the legislator. Though not invested with the same power, they are to be actuated by the same principle. The moralist is to indicate the laws, of which the legislator insures the execution, by stamping them with the seal of his authority. Among the moralists, there are doubtless but few duly impressed with this truth, even of those whose minds are capable of the most exalted ideas; many in the study of morality and the portraits of vices are animated only by personal interest and private contentions; consequently they confine themselves only to the representations of such vices as molest society; and their mind gradually contracting itself within the narrow circle of their interest, soon loses the force necessary for soaring to sublime ideas. In the science of morality, the elevation of the thought often depends on the elevation of the soul. To fix on such moral truths as are of real advantage to men, there must be a warm passion for the general good; and unhappily morality, like religion, is not without hypocrites. Chapter XVII: Of the Advantages That Result from the Principles Above Established I pass with rapidity over the advantages that would be obtained by individuals; these would consist in their having clear ideas of morality; the principles

On the Mind

423

of which have been hitherto so ambiguous and contradictory, that they permitted the most senseless persons constantly to justify the folly of their conduct by some of its maxims. Besides, the individual being better informed of his duties, would be less dependent on the opinion of his friends. Sheltered from the injustice wherein, unknown to himself, he might be frequently involved by those with whom he converses, he would be freed from the puerile fear of ridicule; a phantom that banishes reason, and is the terror of those timid and ignorant souls who sacrifice their inclinations, their pleasures, their repose, and sometimes even their virtues, to the humour and caprice of those splenetic mortals whose criticism we cannot escape, when we have the misfortune to be known. A person solely subject to reason and virtue might then brave every prejudice, and arm himself with those manly and courageous sentiments that form the distinguishing character of a virtuous man; sentiments desirable in every citizen, and which we have a right to expect from the great. How shall the person, raised to the highest posts, remove the obstacles to the general welfare, which certain prejudices raise against it, and resist the menaces and cabals of men in power, often interested in the public misfortune, if his soul is not inaccessible to all kinds of solicitations, fears, and prejudices? It appears then that the knowledge of the above principles procures at least these advantages to the individual; it gives him a clear and certain idea of honesty; saves him from all inquietude on this subject, secures the peace of his conscience, and consequently procures him the inward secret pleasure blended with the practice of virtue. As to the advantages the public would derive from it, they would doubtless be more considerable. In consequence of these principles, we might, if I may venture to use the expression, compose a catechism of probity, the maxims of which being simple, true, and level to all understandings, would teach the people that virtue, though invariable in the object it proposes, is not so in the means it makes use of; that, consequently, we ought to consider actions as indifferent in themselves; to be sensible, that it is the business of the state to determine those that are worthy of esteem or contempt; and, in fine, that it is the office of the legislator to fix, from his knowledge of the public interest, the instant when an action ceases to be virtuous, and becomes vicious. These principles being once received, with what facility would the legislator extinguish the torches of fanaticism and superstition, suppress abuses, reform barbarous customs, perhaps useful at their establishment, but since become fatal to the world? Customs that subsist only from the fear of not being able to abolish them, without causing an insurrection among people, who are always accustomed to take the practice of certain actions for virtue itself, without kindling long and bloody wars; and in short, without occasioning those seditions which are always dangerous to the common people, and can really be neither foreseen nor subdued but by men of firmness and great abilities. It is then by weakening the stupid veneration of the people for ancient laws and customs, that sovereigns would be enabled to purge the earth of most of

424

Claude Adrien Helvitius

the evils that lay it waste, and be furnished with the means of securing the possession of their crowns. Chapter XXIII: Of the Causes That Have Hitherto Retarded the Progress of Morality

If poetry, geometry, astronomy, and, in general, all the sciences, advance more or less rapidly towards perfection, while morality seems scarcely to have left its cradle, it is because men, being forced to unite in society, and to give themselves laws, were obliged to form a system of morality before they had learnt, from observation, its true principles. The system being formed, no farther notice was taken of it; thus we have, in a manner, the morals of the world in its infancy, and how shall it be brought to perfection? The progress of a science does not solely depend on its being of use to the public: every citizen of which a nation is composed ought to reap some advantage from its improvement. Now in the revolutions that have taken place among all the nations of the earth, the public interest, which is that of the majority, among whom the principles of sound morality ought to find its support, not being always agreeable to the interest of those most in power, the latter being indifferent with respect to the progress of all sciences, must effectually oppose that of morality. The ambitious man, who is raised above his fellow-citizens; the tyrant who tramples them under his feet; and the fanatic, who keeps them prostrate; all these several scourges of the human race, all these different kinds of flagitious men, forced by their private interest to establish laws contrary to the general good, have been very sensible, that their power had no other foundation than the ignorance and weakness of mankind: they have therefore imposed silence on whosoever, by discovering to the people the true principles of morality, would have opened their eyes with respect to their misfortunes and their rights, and have armed them against injustice. But, it is replied, if in the first ages of the world, when despotic princes held the nations in subjection, and ruled them with a rod of iron, it was then their interest to conceal from the people the true principles of morality; principles, which by animating them against tyrants, would have made revenge the duty of each citizen; yet now, when the sceptre is not purchased with guilt, but placed by unanimous consent in the hand of a prince, and supported by the love of the people; when the glory and happiness of a nation, reflecting on the sovereign, adds to his grandeur and felicity; what enemies of the human race are there still to oppose the progress of morality? This is no longer done by kings, but by two other sorts of men in power. The first are the fanatics, whom I shall not confound with the men truly pious. These last support the maxims of religion, and the others are their destroyers: the one are the friends of humanity; the other, who are outwardly mild but within barbarous, have the voice of Jacob and the hands of Esau: they are indifferent with respect to worthy actions; they judge virtuous not what is

On the Mind

425

done, but what is believed; and the credulity of men is, according to them, the only standard of their probity. They mortally hate, said queen Christina,' all who are not their dupes; and to this they are led by their interest. Being ambitious, hypocritical, and artful, they imagine that, to enslave the people they ought to put out their eyes: thus, these impious wretches are incessantly setting up the cry of impiety against every man born to enlighten the nations: every new truth is suspected by them, and they resemble infants that are terrified at every thing in the dark. The second species of men in power who oppose the progress of morality are the half-politicians.• Among these are some naturally disposed to truth, who are enemies to newly discovered truths only from their indolence, and their being unwilling to apply the attention necessary to examine them. There are others animated by dangerous motives, and these are most to be feared. These are the men whose minds are without abilities, and whose souls are destitute of virtues; they want not the courage of being greatly wicked; and, incapable of new and elevated views, they believe that their importance demands a weak or dissembled respect for all the received opinions and errors countenanced by them. Furious against every man who would stagger the empire, they arm against him even those passions and prejudices which they despise; and, without ceasing, terrify weak minds with the cry of novelty. But may we not make the nations sensible of the advantages they would obtain from an excellent system of morality? and might we not hasten the progress of that science, by conferring greater honours on those who improve it? Considering the importance of this subject, I shall run the hazard of a digression, in order to treat it more fully. Chapter XXIV: Of the Mewis of Perfecting Morality It would be sufficient for this purpose to remove the obstacles placed against its progress by the two kinds of men I have mentioned. The only means of succeeding in this, is to pull off their masks, and to shew that the protectors of ignorance are the most cruel enemies of human beings; to shew the nations, that men are in general more stupid than wicked; that, in curing them of their errors, we should cure them of most of their vices; and that opposing their cure is committing the crime of treason against human nature. Every man, who considers the picture of public miseries exhibited in history, soon perceives that ignorance, which is still more barbarous than selflove, has caused most of the calamities that have overflowed the earth. Struck with this truth, we are ready to cry out, Happy the nation where the citizens are permitted to perpetrate only the crimes that flow from self-love! How are they multiplied by ignorance, and what blood has been spilt on its altars! However, man is made to be virtuous; and, in fact, if force essentially reside in the greater number, and justice consist in the practice of actions useful to the greater number, it is evident that justice is in its own nature always armed with

426

Claude Adrien Helvedus

a power sufficient to suppress vice, and place men under the necessity of being virtuous. If audacious and powerful wickedness so often puts justice and virtue in chains, and oppresses the nations, this is only done by the assistance of ignorance, which conceals from every nation its true interest, hinders the action and union of its strength, and by that means shields the guilty from the sword of justice. To what contempt ought he to be condemned, who would hold the people in the darkness of ignorance? This truth has not hitherto been insisted upon with sufficient force: no, all the altars of error must one day be overthrown. I know with what precaution we ought to advance a new opinion. I know, that in destroying prejudices, we ought to treat them with respect; and that, before we attack an error generally received, we ought to send, like the doves from the ark, some truths on the discovery, to see if the deluge of prejudices does not yet cover the face of the earth; if error begins to subside, and if there can be perceived here and there some isles where virtue and truth may find rest for their feet, and communicate themselves to mankind. But so many precautions are only to be taken with those prejudices that are not very dangerous. What respect do we owe to the man who, jealous of dominion, would besot the people, in order to tyrannize over them? We must with a bold hand break the talisman of imbecility, to which is attached the power of these malevolent genii; to discover to nations the true principles of morality; to teach them that, being insensibly drawn towards happiness, either apparent or real, grief and pleasure are the only movers of the moral universe; and that the sensation of self-love is the only basis on which we can place the foundations of an useful morality. . . . It is then only by good laws that we can form virtuous men. All the art therefore of the legislator consists in forcing them by self-love to be always just to each other. Now, in order to compose such laws, it is necessary that the human heart should be known, and in the first place, that we should be convinced that men having sensibility for themselves, and indifference with respect to others, are neither good nor bad, but ready to be either, according as a common interest unites or divides them; that self-love, a sensation necessary to the preservation of the species, is engraven by Nature in a manner not to be erased; that a physical sensibility has produced in us a love of pleasure and a hatred of pain; that pleasure and pain have at length produced and opened in all hearts the buds of self-love, which by unfolding themselves give birth to the passions, whence spring all our virtues and vices. By contemplating these preliminary ideas, we learn why the passions, of which the forbidden tree is, according to some, only an ingenious image, bear equally on it branches of good and evil fruit; we perceive the mechanism employed by them in the production of our virtues and vices; and, in short, a legislator discovers the means of laying men under a necessity of being virtuous, and causing the passions to bear no other fruit than probity and wisdom. Now, if the examination of these ideas, so proper to render men virtuous,

On the Mind

427

be forbidden by the two species of men in power above-mentioned, the only means of hastening the progress of morality will be, as I have already said, to shew that these protectors of stupidity are the most cruel enemies of human nature, and to snatch from their hands the sceptre of ignorance, by which they are authorized to command a stupid people. Upon which I shall observe, that this, simple and easy as it appears in speculation, is extremely difficult in the execution. Indeed, there are men who have great and judicious minds, united to the virtue and strength of soul: there are men, who, being persuaded that a citizen without courage is also without virtue, are sensible that the fortune, and even the life of every individual is not his own, but is in a manner a deposit, which he ought always to be ready to deliver up when the safety of the public makes it necessary; but the number of such men is always too few for them to enlighten the public: besides, virtue must ever be of little weight, when the manners of an age fix upon it the rust of ridicule. Thus morality and the legislation, which I consider as one and the same science, can only make an insensible progress. ESSAY III

Chapter XVI: To What Cause Ought We to Attribute the Indifference of Certain Nations with Regard to Virtue? . . . The most exalted virtue, as well as the most shameful vice, is the effect of the greater or less intenseness of the pleasure it affords us. Thus we can form no exact idea of the degree of our virtue, till we have discovered, by a scrupulous examination, the number and degrees of those pains which a passion, as for instance, the love of justice or of glory, may enable us to support. The person to whom esteem is every thing, and life nothing, will, like Socrates, submit rather to suffer death, than meanly to beg for life. He who is become the soul of a republican state, in which pride and glory render him passionately desirous of the public welfare, will, like Cato,' prefer death to the mortification of seeing himself and his country submit to the yoke of arbitrary power. But such actions are the effect of the greatest love of glory. This is the highest pitch to which the strongest passions can attain, and here nature has fixed the bounds of human virtue. In vain would we deceive ourselves; we necessarily become the enemies of men, when we can no otherwise be happy than by their misfortunes. It is the pleasing conformity we find between our own interest and that of the public, a conformity generally produced by the desire of esteem, that gives us those tender sentiments that are rewarded by their affection. He who to be virtuous must always conquer his inclinations, must necessarily be a wicked man. The meritorious virtues are never certain and infallible virtues. It is impossible in practice for a man to deliver himself up, in a manner, daily to a war with the passions, without losing many battles. Being always forced to yield to the most powerful interest some of that love

428

Claude Adrien Helvetius

for esteem, we never sacrifice any great pleasure to it, but those it procures. If, on certain occasions, sacred personages have sometimes exposed themselves to the contempt of the public, it is because they would not sacrifice their salvation to their glory; and if some women resist the solicitations of a prince, it is because they believe, that his conquest would not recompence them for the loss of their esteem: thus, there are few insensible to the love of a king, who is young and charming; and none who resist such beneficent, amiable, and powerful, beings as we paint the sylphs and genii, who, by a thousand allurements, can at once intoxicate all the senses of a mortal. This truth, founded on self-love, is not only known, but even acknowledged, by the legislators. Convinced that self-love is, in general, the strongest passion of mankind, the legislators have never pronounced it criminal, for a man to kill another in his own defence, nor blamed a citizen for not devoting himself to death, like Decius8 for the preservation of his country. The virtuous man is not then he who sacrifices his pleasures, habits, and strongest passions, to the public welfare, since it is impossible that such a man should exist; but he whose strongest passion is so conformable to the general interest, that he is almost constantly necessitated to be virtuous. For this reason, he approaches nearer to perfection, and has a greater claim to the name of being a virtuous man, who requires stronger motives of pleasure, and a more powerful interest, in order to determine him to do a bad action, than are necessary to his performing a good one, and consequently supposes that he has a greater passion for virtue than for vice. . . . We are on the contrary less virtuous, as less powerful motives lead us to the commission of a crime. . . . This is what distinguishes the virtuous from the vicious man, in a manner the most clear, precise, and conformable, to experience; on this plan the public might make an exact thermometer, which would shew the various degrees of virtue and vice in each citizen, if, by penetrating to the bottom of the heart, we could discover there the value that each sets on his virtue. But the impossibility of arriving at this knowledge forces us to judge of men only by their actions — a judgment extremely faulty in every particular, but on the whole sufficiently conformable to the general interest, and almost as useful as if it were just. After having inquired into the influence of the passions, and explained the cause of that mixture of virtue and vice observable in all men; having stated the limits of virtue, and at length fixed the idea that belongs to the word virtuous; we are now at liberty to judge, if we ought to attribute the indifference of certain nations for virtue to nature, or to a particular legislation. If pleasure be the only object of man's pursuit, we need only imitate nature, in order to inspire a love of virtue. Pleasure informs us of what she would have done, and pain what she forbids, and man will readily obey her mandates. Why may not the legislature, armed with the same power, produce the same

Editor's Notes

429

effects? Were men without passions, there would be no means of producing a reformation; but the love of pleasure, against which men, possessed of a probity more venerable than enlightened, have constantly exclaimed, is a bridle by which the passions of the individuals might always be directed to the public good. The hatred most men have for virtue is not then the effect of the corruption of their nature, but of the imperfection of the legislation. It is the legislation, if I may venture to say so, that excites us to vice, by mingling it with pleasure; the great art of the legislator is that of separating them, and making no proportion between the advantage the villain can receive from his crime, and the pain to which he exposes himself. If among the rich men, who are often less virtuous than the indigent, we see few robbers and assassins, it is because the profit obtained by robbery is never to a rich man proportionable to the hazard of a capital punishment: but this is not the case with respect to the indigent; for the disproportion falling infinitely short of being so great with respect to him, virtue and vice are in a manner placed in an equilibrium. Not that 1 would here pretend to insinuate, that men ought to be driven as with a rod of iron. In an excellent legislation, and among a virtuous people, contempt, which deprives man of all consolation, and leaves him desolate in the midst of his native country, is a motive sufficient to form virtuous minds. Every other kind of punishment renders men timid, inactive, and stupid. The kind of virtue produced by the fear of punishment resembles its origin; this virtue is pusillanimous, and without knowledge; or rather fear, which only smothers vice, but produces no virtues. True virtue is founded on the love of esteem and glory, and the fear of contempt, which is more terrible than death itself. Editor's Notes I. Helvetius uses the term probite, meaning "integrity." as a general term for a morally praiseworthy disposition. 2. Horatius is the hero of a Roman legend. During the Roman struggle against the Etruscans, toward the end of the sixth century H.C.E.. Horatius single-handedly held a bridge against the Etruscan army. 3. The Greek poetess, who according to one legend threw herself off a rock into the sea because of thwarted love. 4. The soldier Marcus Curtius, according to Roman legend. leapt with his horse and all his weapons into a chasm that opened in the Roman forum, in order to do what the soothsayers indicated was needed to save Rome. 5. Montaigne's skeptical outlook is most folly expressed in his "Apology for Raymond Sebond." selections from which are given in the Prolegomena in Volume 1 of this anthology. 6. Queen Christina of Sweden (1626-89), regarded as an enlightened ruler: she corresponded with Descartes and brought him to Sweden to teach her philosophy. 7. Cato of Utica (95-46 B.c.E.), often held up as embodying the ideal of the Stoic sage, took his own life on seeing that his political cause was lost. 8. Roman emperor (c. 200-51) who died after valiantly defending his country against invaders.

430

Claude Adrien Helvetius Further Reading

There are no recent translations of Helvetius, but the old translations of On the Mind and of On Man are adequate. Two books by Lester Crocker discuss Helvetius in the general context of French Enlightenment thought: An Age of Crisis, Man and World in Eighteenth Century French Thought (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1959); and Nature and Culture: Ethical Thought in the French Enlightenment (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1963). The former examines metaphysical issues including free will, and the latter looks at moral issues; mention of Helvetius is scattered throughout both. Ira 0. Wade comments on Helvetius at various places in his two-volume study The Structure and Form of the French Enlightenment (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1977); see especially vol. 2, pp. 262-97, which summarizes Helvetius's main work and Diderot's criticism. Ian Cumming, Helvetius: His Life and Place in the History of Educational Thought (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1955), studies an issue of considerable importance to Helvetius but does not give adequate attention to his ethics. Irving L. Horowitz, Claude Helvetius: Philosopher of Democracy and Enlightenment (New York: Paine— Whitman, 1954), is a more general treatment from a Marxist perspective. There is an excellent study of the background of, and response to, On Man in D. W. Smith, Helvetius, a Study in Persecution (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1965). which also covers the philosophy.

Paul Henri Thiry, Baron d'Holbach

Introduction Holbach was born in 1723 in a small town in Germany and named Paul Heinrich Dietrich. A wealthy uncle provided for his education, brought him to Paris. and left him a fortune and the title under which he became famous — or notorious — as the most persistent and outspoken opponent of religion among the Enlightenment writers. Educated as a chemist and fluent in several languages, Holbach was brought into contact with the advanced thinkers of Paris by Diderot. who wanted him to write scientific articles for the Encyclopedia. Holbach wrote several hundred of them and then branched out into other fields. His views were so radical for his times that they could not be published openly. Consequently, he had many of his manuscripts published in Holland, either anonymously or under assumed names. Holbach translated numerous anti-Christian books from English, wrote many others, and supported the authors of still other works that, like his, supported materialism, atheism, and hedonism and attacked the power of organized religion. No one is quite sure exactly what or how much Holbach wrote himself, but a number of works are commonly assumed to be his. One of the earliest is Christianity Unveiled (1761). It was followed by, among others, The Sacred Contagion; or Natural History of Superstition (1768) and Critical History of Jesus Christ (1770). In 1770 Holbach also published his major philosophical work, the System of Nature; or On the Laws of the Physical World and the Moral World. He ended this book with a moral exhortation to man, the general message of which was expanded in a series of volumes including The Social System; or Natural Principles of Morality and Politics (1773) and Universal Morality; or The Duties of Man, Founded on His Nature (1776). Many of these volumes were immediately translated into English. Holbach was not only an indefatigable writer and organizer of propagandistic writings by others; he was also the center of a group of intellectuals who met regularly at his house for dinner and discussion. Diderot, Rousseau, Grimm, Helvetius, Condorcet, Turgot, and d'Alembert were among those who attended regularly, and among the many foreigners who came were Gibbon, Hume. Adam Smith. Laurence Sterne, Beccaria, and Benjamin Franklin. If the group was not a consciously controlled secret society of advanced thinkers, it certainly was a forum for exchange of radical ideas and for untrammeled criticism of existing institutions. For all his radicalism, Holbach was happily married, fond of his children, comfortable with his great wealth, and happy to be a generous patron to those in need. Although his books aroused considerable outcry. he managed to escape punishment

431

432

Paul Henri Thiry, Baron d'Holbach

and busily continued undermining the credibility of established French institutions until his death in 1789. The moral philosophy Holbach propagated was simple and unoriginal. We are selfinterested in all our actions; the best means to achieve our own good is to work for the good of everyone; but ignorance keeps us from doing so, and ignorance is itself sustained by those in power. who fear losing their superiority over others. This view is built on naturalism. Matter in motion is all that exists; humans are simply a part of nature; their bodies are machines; and their thoughts are determined by their movements. For these ideas Holbach drew not only on Hobbes. Spinoza. and Hume but also on several French writers, such as Diderot and La Mettrie, who held similar views. Although Holbach was perhaps more systematic in his exposition of some of these themes than others were, he was also more repetitive and far more rhetorical. He was animated by an inexhaustible passion against religion — Christianity first and foremost. but by no means exclusively — and he saw his ideas and his systems as providing the secular standpoint that must replace it if human happiness is ever to be achieved. I have included Holbach in this anthology so that the reader can see at first hand something of the anger that religion could inspire in its Enlightenment enemies. In turn, this anger helps us understand the meaning of the appeals to nature and to selfinterest that pervade so much of the writing of this period. Nature is what is not supernatural. Self-interest is what does not postpone human happiness to another life: for these writers it was not, as it was for some, what enables us to defer our reward until we reach another world. Materialism is the refusal to believe in a self divided in ways that would warrant both the postponement of happiness and the hegemony of a privileged spiritual elite entitled to direct us in the meantime. In his preface to the System of Nature Holbach observed that -the most important of our duties is to seek means by which we may destroy delusions that can never do more than mislead us." To a greater extent than his enlightened French allies. Holbach believed that philosophical ideas systematically organized and disseminated to as large an audience as possible provide those means. It is worth seeing just how he tried to work this out. For the first selection here I have translated parts of Holbach's Universal Morality, which outlines his moral philosophy with — for him — unusual concision. The second selection is from Chapter IX of the System of Nature, showing Holbach's attitude toward religion. The writer to whom the book was attributed on its first publication was M. de Mirabaud," a member of the French Academy who had been dead for a decade. The translation is by Samuel Wilkinson.

Universal Morality; or, The Duties of Man, Founded on Nature FIRST SECTION: GENERAL PRINCIPLES AND DEFINITIONS

Chapter I: Of Morality,

Duties, Moral Obligation

Morality [la morale] is the science of the relations among men and of the duties that flow from these relations. Or, if you wish, morality is the knowledge of what must necessarily be done or avoided by intelligent and reasonable beings who wish to preserve themselves and to live happily in society. To be universal, morality should be formed according to the nature of man

Universal Morality

433

in general, that is, founded on his essence, on the properties and qualities constantly found in all beings of the species and by which it is distinguished from other animals. From this we see that morality presupposes the science of human nature. Science can only be the fruit of experience. To know something is to have experienced the effects it produces, the manner in which it acts, and the different points of view from which one may envisage it. The science of manners [des moeursj, in order to be certain, should be nothing but the consequence of constant, reiterated, invariable experiences, which alone can provide true knowledge of the relations among beings of the human species. The relations among men are the different ways in which they act on one another or by which they influence their reciprocal well-being. The duties of morality are the means that a being who is intelligent and susceptible to experience should use in order to gain the happiness toward which his nature ceaselessly forces him to move. Walking is a duty for whoever wishes to go from one place to another; to be useful is a duty for whoever wishes to deserve the affection and esteem of his fellowmen; to abstain from doing ill is a duty for whoever fears to draw on himself the hatred and resentment of those whom he knows can contribute to his own happiness. In a word, duty is the fitness of means to the end that one proposes for oneself; wisdom consists in proportioning the means to this end, that is, employing them usefully to obtain the happiness that man is made to desire. Moral obligation is the necessity of doing or avoiding certain actions for the sake of the well-being that we seek in social life. He who wills the end should will the means. Every being who wants to make himself happy is obliged to follow the route best suited to lead him to happiness and to avoid the one that leads away from his goal, on pain of being unhappy. Knowledge of that route or of the means is the fruit of experience, which alone can let us know the goal we should set ourselves and the surest ways of arriving there. The bonds that unite men to one another are nothing but the obligations and the duties to which they are submitted in accordance with the relations among them. These obligations and duties are the conditions without which they cannot reciprocally make themselves happy. Such are the bonds that unite fathers and children, sovereigns and subjects, society and its members, and so forth. These principles suffice to convince us that man does not bring with him from birth the knowledge of the duties of morality and that nothing is more chimerical than the opinion of those who attribute innate moral sentiments to man. The ideas he has of good and ill, of pleasure and pain, of the objects he should seek or flee, desire or fear, can only be the consequence of experience, and he cannot rely on his experiences except when they are constant, reiterated, and accompanied by judgment, reflection, and reason. On entering the world, man brings with him only the faculty of sensing [de sentirj, and from his sensibility there flow all the faculties called intellectual. To say that we have moral ideas anterior to experience of the good or ill that

434

Paul Henri Thiry, Baron d'Holbach

objects make us experience is to say that we know the causes without having felt their effects.

Chapter 11: Of Man and His Nature Man is a sensible, intelligent, reasonable, sociable being who at every instant of his life seems uninterruptedly to preserve his existence and render it agreeable. However prodigious the variety found among individuals of the human species, they have a common nature that never deceives. There is no man who does not propose some good at every moment of his life, none who, using the means he thinks most appropriate, does not seek happiness for himself and to secure himself against pain. We deceive ourselves often about both the goal and the means, because we either lack experience or are not in a condition to use what we have learned. Ignorance and error are the true causes of men's wanderings and of the unhappiness that they draw on themselves. . . . Chapter IV: Of Pleasure and Pain; of Happiness . . . Among the impressions or sensations that man receives from the objects that impinge on him, some please him by their conformity with the nature of his machine,' and others displease him by the trouble and disarray that they convey to it. As a result, he approves of the one and wishes it would continue or renew itself in him, whereas he disapproves of the other and wishes it to vanish. . . . To love an object is to desire its presence, to want it to continue to produce on our senses impressions suitable to our nature. . . . We love a friend because his presence, his conversation, his estimable qualities cause us pleasure. . . . Every agreeable sensation or movement excited in us that we want to persist is called "good" or "pleasure," and the object producing that impression in us is called "good," "useful," or "agreeable." Every sensation that we desire to end because it troubles and disturbs the order of our machine is called "bad" or "pain," and the object that excites it is called "bad," "harmful," "wicked," or "disagreeable." Durable and continued pleasure is called "happiness," "wellbeing, or "felicity"; continued pain is called "unhappiness" or "misfortune." Happiness is thus a state of continued acquiescence in modes of feeling and being that we find agreeable or conforming to our nature. Man by his nature must necessarily love pleasure and hate pain. . . . Pleasure ceases to be a good and becomes an evil as soon as it produces in us, either immediately or by its consequences, effects harmful to conservation and contrary to our permanent well-being. . . . Only experience can teach us to distinguish the pleasures to which we may yield ourselves without fear or that we should prefer from those that have dangerous consequences for us. . . .

Universal Morality

435

Chapter VI: Of. Interest, or of Love of Self Our desires, excited by real or imaginary needs, constitute interest, a term that designates in general what each man desires because he believes it useful or necessary for his own well-being — in a word, the object in the enjoyment of which each takes his pleasure or happiness to consist. The interest of the voluptuary is in sensual pleasure; the miser places his in the possession of his treasures; . . . the interest of the man of letters consists in deserving glory. . . . It is thus indubitable that every individual of the human species acts and can only act out of interest. The word "interest," like the word "pleasure," presents to the mind only the love of good, the desire of happiness. One cannot blame men for being interested (which means only having needs and passions) except when they have interests, passion, or needs that are harmful either to themselves or to beings with interests with which theirs do not accord. It is according to their interests that men are good or evil. . . . If sometimes love of self seems to have no part in our actions, it is when the heart is troubled, enthusiasm intoxicates, one does not reason, one does not calculate; and in the disorder in which he finds himself he is capable of sacrificing himself for the object with which he was taken only because he found his happiness there. That is how a sincere friend can be brought sometimes to wish to perish for his friend. . . .

Chapter VII: Of the Usefulness of the Passions . . . Nothing is more useless than to declaim against the passions; nothing, more impractical than the project of destroying them. The moralist should explain the advantages of virtue and the unsuitability of vice. The task of the legislator is to invite, to interest, to compel each individual, out of his own interest, to contribute to the general interest. . . . Chapter XII: Of Habit, Instruction, Education . . . Man, becoming what he is only with the aid of his own experience or of that with which others furnish him, education can modify him. From a mass that only senses and an almost inactive machine, he becomes, little by little, with the aid of culture, an experimenting being who knows truth and who, depending on how his first matter is altered, shows in the event more or less reason. . . . Men's opinions are only the true or false associations of ideas that become habitual by being reiterated in their brains. If from infancy onward the idea of virtue is presented only as joined with ideas of pleasure, happiness, esteem, and veneration; if sad examples do not upset this association of ideas, there is every reason to believe that a child educated in this manner will become a man of good deeds, an estimable citizen. . . . Reason is only the acquired habit of judging things healthily and of separat-

436

Paul Henri Thiry, Baron d'Holbach

ing promptly what is fitting or harmful to our happiness. What is called moral instinct is the faculty of judging promptly and without hesitation, without reflection making part of our judgment. That instinct or that promptness in judging is due to a habit acquired by frequent exercise. In physical matters we behave instinctively toward objects that can give pleasure to our senses; in moral matters we experience a prompt sentiment of esteem, admiration, love toward virtuous actions, and horror of criminal acts whose tendency and goal we see in an instant. The quickness with which this instinct or moral tact is exercised by enlightened and virtuous persons has made many moralists believe that the faculty is inherent in man from birth. It is the fruit, however, of reflection, of habituation, of culture. . . . In morality, as in the arts, the taste or aptitude for judging human actions well is a faculty acquired by exercise; it does not exist in the majority of men. The man without cultivation, the savage, and the man of the people have neither the instinct nor the moral taste of which we speak; on the contrary, they commonly judge very badly. . . . These reflections make us feel the importance of a good education. It alone can form reasonable beings, virtuous by habituation, capable of making themselves happy and of contributing to the happiness of others. . . .

Chapter XIII: Of Conscience . . . An enlightened conscience is the guide of the moral man. It can only be the fruit of extensive experience, perfect knowledge of truth, cultivated reason, and an education that has suitably modified a temperament suited to receive cultivation. A conscience of that stamp, far from being the effect in man of an inherent moral sense, far from being common to all the members of our species, is infinitely rare and is found only in a small number of select men, well born, provided with a lively imagination or a sensible heart, and fittingly modified. . . . In most men, one finds only erroneous conscience, that is, one that judges in a manner little in accord with the nature of things or with truth. This comes from the false opinions one has formed or received from others, which make one attach the idea of goodness to actions one would find harmful if one examined them more thoroughly. Many people do ill and even commit crimes with assurance of conscience, because their conscience is falsified by prejudices. . . . SECOND SECTION: THE DUTIES OF MAN IN THE STATE OF NATURE AND IN THE STATE OF SOCIETY; OF THE SOCIAL VIRTUES

Chapter III: Of Virtue in General Virtue in general is a disposition or habitual and permanent will to contribute to the constant happiness of the beings with whom we live in society. This

System of Nature

437

disposition can be solidly founded only on experience, reflection, and truth, with the help of which we know our true interests and the interests of those with whom we have relations. . . .

Chapter IV: Of Justice Morality, properly speaking, has only one virtue to propose to men. The unique duty of a sociable being is to be just. Justice is the paradigmatic virtue. It serves as the basis of all the others. It may be defined as a habitual and permanent will or disposition to maintain men in the enjoyment of their rights and to do for them all that we wish they would do for us. The rights of men consist in the free use of their wills and their faculties to procure the objects necessary for their own happiness. In the state of nature, isolated man has the right to take all the means he judges suitable to conserve and procure his well-being. . . . In society, the rights of men, or the liberty of acting, are limited by justice, which shows them that they should act only in a manner suiting the well-being of the society, which is constructed to interest them because they are members of it. Everyone living in society would be unjust if the exercise of his own rights or his liberty were harmful to the rights, liberty, and well-being of those with whom he finds himself associated. Thus the rights of man in society consist in the use of his liberty in conformity with the justice he owes his associates. . . . System of Nature

Chapter IX: Theological Notions Cannot Be the Basis of Morality — Comparison Between Theological Ethics and Natural Morality — Theology Prejudicial to the Human Mind . . . Let us examine, without prejudice, if the theological ideas of the Divinity have ever given the solution to any one difficulty. Has the human understanding progressed a single step by the assistance of this metaphysical science? Has it not, on the contrary, had a tendency to obscure the more certain science of morals? Has it not, in many instances, rendered the most essential duties of our nature problematical? Has it not in a great measure confounded the notions of virtue and vice, of justice and injustice? Indeed, what is virtue, in the eyes of the generality of theologians? They will instantly reply, "that which is conformable to the will of the incomprehensible beings who govern nature." But may it not be asked, without offence to the individual opinions of any one, what are these beings, of whom they are unceasingly talking, without having the capacity to comprehend them? How can we acquire a knowledge of their will? They will forthwith reply, with a confidence that is meant to strike conviction on uninformed minds, by recounting what they are not, without even attempting to inform us what they are. If they do undertake to furnish an idea of them, they will heap upon their hypothetical beings a

438

Paul Henri Thiry, Baron d'Holbach

multitude of contradictory, incompatible attributes, with which they will form a whole, at once impossible for the human mind to conceive; or else they will refer to oracles, by which they insist their intentions have been promulgated to mankind. If, however, they are requested to prove the authenticity of these oracles, which are at such variance with each other, they will refer to miracles in support of what they assert: these miracles, independent of the difficulty there must exist to repose in them our faith, when, as we have seen, they are admitted even by the theologians themselves to be contrary to the intelligence, the immutability, to the omnipotency of their immaterial substances, are, moreover, warmly disputed by each particular sect, as being impositions, practised by the others for their own individual advantage. As a last resource, then, it will be necessary to accredit the integrity, to rely on the veracity, to rest on the good faith of the priests, who announce these oracles. On this again, there arise two almost insuperable difficulties: in the first place, who shall assure us of their actual mission? are we quite certain none of them may be mistaken? how shall we be justified in giving credence to their powers? are they not these priests themselves, who announce to us that they are the infallible interpreters of a being whom they acknowledge they do not at all know? In the second place, which set of these oracular developments are we to adopt? For to give currency to the whole, would, in point of fact, annihilate them entirely; seeing that no two of them run in unison with each other. This granted, the priests, that is to say, men extremely suspicious, but little in harmony with each other, will be the arbiters of morality; they will decide (according to their own uncertain knowledge, after their various passions, in conformity to the different perspectives under which they view these things) on the whole system of ethics; upon which absolutely rests the repose of the world — the sterling happiness of each individual. Would this be a desirable state? .. . No! Arbitrary, inconclusive, contradictory notions, abstract, unintelligible speculations, can never be the sterling bases of the ethical science! They must be evident, demonstrable principles, deduced from the nature of man, founded upon his wants, inspired by rational education, rendered familiar by habit, made sacred by wholesome laws, that will flash conviction on our mind, render systems useful to mankind, make virtue dear to us — that will people nations with honest men — fill up the ranks with faithful subjects — crowd them with intrepid citizens. Incomprehensible beings can present nothing to our imagination, save vague ideas, which will never embrace any common point of union amongst those who shall contemplate them. . . . It must be concluded from this, that however these systems are viewed, in whatever manner they are considered, they cannot serve for the basis of morality, which in its very nature is formed to be invariably the same. Irascible systems are only useful to those who find an interest in terrifying the ignorance of mankind, that they may advantage themselves of his fears — profit by his expiations. The nobles of the earth, who are frequently men not gifted with the most exemplary morals — who do not on all occasions exhibit the

System of Nature

439

most perfect specimens of self-denial — who would not, perhaps, be at all times held up as mirrors of virtue, will not see these formidable systems, when they shall be inclined to listen to their passions; to lend themselves to the indulgence of their unruly desires: they will, however, feel no repugnance to make use of them to frighten others, to the end that they may preserve unimpaired their superiority; that they may keep entire their prerogatives; that they may more effectually bind them to servitude. Like the rest of mankind, they will see their God under the traits of his benevolence; they will always believe him indulgent to those outrages they may commit against their fellows, provided they shew due respect for him themselves; superstition will furnish them with easy means to turn aside his wrath; its ministers seldom omit a profitable opportunity, to expiate the crimes of human nature. Morality is not made to follow the caprices of the imagination, the fury of the passions, the fluctuating interests of men: it ought to possess stability; to be at all times the same, for all the individuals of the human race; it ought neither to vary in one country, nor in one age from another: neither superstition, nor religion, has a privilege to make its immutability subservient to the changeable laws of their systems. There is but one method to give ethics this solidity; it has been more than once pointed out in the course of this work; it is only to be founded upon the nature of man, bottomed upon his duties, rested upon the relations subsisting between intelligent beings, who are in love with their happiness, who are occupied with their own preservation, who live together in society that they may with greater facility ascertain these ends. In short, we must take for the basis of morality the necessity of things. In weighing these principles, which are self-evident, confirmed by constant experience, approved by reason, drawn from nature herself, we shall have an undeviating tone of conduct; a sure system of morality, that will never be in contradiction with itself. Man will have no occasion to recur to theological speculations to regulate his conduct in the visible world. We shall then be capacitated to reply to those who pretend that without them there can be no morality. If we reflect upon the long tissue of errors, upon the immense chain of wanderings, that flow from the obscure notions these various systems hold forth — of the sinister ideas which superstition in all countries inculcates; it would be much more conformable to truth to say, that all sound ethics, all morality, either useful to individuals or beneficial to society, is totally incompatible with systems which never represent their gods but under the form of absolute monarchs, whose good qualities are continually eclipsed by dangerous caprices. Consequently, we shall be obliged to acknowledge, that to establish morality upon a steady foundation, we must necessarily commence by at least quitting those chimerical systems upon which the ruinous edifice of supernatural morality has hitherto been constructed, which during such a number of ages, has been so uselessly preached up to a great portion of the inhabitants of the earth. Whatever may have been the cause that placed man in his present abode, that gave him the faculties he possesses; whether the human species be consid-

440

Paul Henri Thiry, Baron d'Holbach

ered as the work of nature, or whether it be supposed that he owes his existence to an intelligent being, distinguished from nature; the existence of man, such as he is, is a fact; we behold in him a being who thinks, who feels, who has intelligence, who loves himself, who tends to his own conservation, who in every moment of his duration strives to render his existence agreeable; who, the more easily to satisfy his wants and to procure himself pleasure, congregates in society with beings similar to himself; of whom his conduct can either conciliate the favour, or draw upon him the disaffection. it is, then, upon these general sentiments, inherent in his nature, which will subsist as long as his race shall endure, that we ought to found morality; which is only a science embracing the duties of men living together in society. These duties have their spring in our nature, they are founded upon our necessities, because we cannot reach the goal of happiness, if we do not employ the requisite means: these means constitute the moral science. To be permanently felicitous, we must so comport ourselves as to merit the affection, so act as to secure the assistance of those beings with whom we are associated; these will only accord us their love, lend us their esteem, aid us in our projects, labour to our peculiar happiness, but in proportion as our own exertions shall be employed for their advantage. It is this necessity. flowing naturally out of the relations of mankind, that is called MORAL OBLIGATION. It is founded upon reflection, rested upon those motives competent to determine sensible, intelligent beings to pursue that line of conduct which is best calculated to achieve that happiness towards which they are continually verging. These motives in the human species, never can be other than the desire, always regenerating, of procuring good and avoiding evil. Pleasure and pain, the hope of happiness, or the fear of misery, are the only motives suitable to have an efficacious influence on the volition of sensible beings. To impel them towards this end, it is sufficient these motives exist and be understood; to have a knowledge of them, it is only requisite to consider our own constitution: according to this, we shall find we can only love those actions, approve that conduct, from whence result actual and reciprocal utility; this constitutes VIRTUE. In consequence, to conserve ourselves, to make our own happiness, to enjoy security, we are compelled to follow the routine which conducts to this end; to interest others in our own preservation, we are obliged to display an interest in theirs; we must do nothing that can have a tendency to interrupt that mutual co-operation which alone can lead to the felicity desired. Such is the true establishment of moral obligation. Whenever it is attempted to give any other basis to morality than the nature of man, we shall always deceive ourselves. . . . The morality of nature is clear, it is evident even to those who outrage it. It is not thus with superstitious morality; this is as obscure as the systems which prescribe it; or rather as fluctuating as the passions, as changeable as the temperaments, of those who expound them; if it was left to the theologians, ethics ought to be considered as the science of all others the most problematical, the most unsteady, the most difficult to bring to a point; it would require the

System of Nature

441

most profound, penetrating genius, the most active, vigorous mind, to discover the principles of those duties man owes to himself, that he ought to exercise towards others; this would render the sources of the moral system attainable by a very small number of individuals; would effectually lock them up in the cabinets of the metaphysicians; place them under the treacherous guardianship of priests: to derive it from those systems, which are in themselves undefinable, with the foundations of which no one is actually acquainted, which each contemplates after his own mode, modifies after his own peculiar ideas, is at once to submit it to the caprice of every individual; it is completely to acknowledge, we know not from whence it is derived, nor whence it has its principles. Whatever may be the agent upon whom they make nature, or the beings she contains, to depend; with whatever power they may suppose him invested, it is very certain that man either does, or does not exist; but as soon as his existence is acknowledged, as soon as it is admitted to be what it actually is, when he shall be allowed to be a sensible being living in society. in love with his own felicity, they cannot without either annihilating him, or new modelling him, cause him to exist otherwise than he does. Therefore, according to his actual essence, agreeable to his absolute qualities, conformable to these modifications which constitute him a being of the human species, morality becomes necessary to him, and the desire of conserving himself will make him prefer virtue to vice, by the same necessity that he prefers pleasure to pain. If, following up the doctrine of the theologians. "that man hath occasion for supernatural grace to enable him to do good," it must be very injurious to sound principles of morality; because he will always wait for "the call from above," to exercise that virtue, which is indispensable to his welfare. . . . Every thing that has been advanced evidently proves, that superstitious morality is an infinite loser when compared with the morality of nature, with which, indeed, it is found in perpetual contradiction. Nature invites man to love himself, to preserve his existence, to incessantly augment the sum of his happiness: superstition teaches him to be in love only with formidable doctrines, calculated to generate his dislike; to detest himself; to sacrifice to his idols his most pleasing sensations — the most legitimate pleasures of his heart. Nature counsels man to consult reason, to adopt it for his guide: superstition portrays this reason as corrupted, as a treacherous director, that will infallibly lead him astray. Nature warns him to enlighten his understanding, to search after truth, to inform himself of his duties; superstition enjoins him not to examine any thing, to remain in ignorance, to fear truth; it persuades him there are no relations so important to his interest, as those which subsist between himself and systems which he can never understand. Nature tells the being who is in love with his welfare, to moderate his passions. to resist them when they are found destructive to himself, to counteract them by substantive motives collected from experience; superstition desires a sensible being to have no passions, to he an insensible mass, or else to combat his propensities by motives borrowed from the imagination, which arc as variable as itself. Nature exhorts man to be sociable, to love his fellow creatures, to be just,

442

Paul Henri Thiry, Baron d'Holbach

peaceable, indulgent, benevolent, to permit his associates to freely enjoy their opinions; superstition admonishes him to fly society, to detach himself from his fellow mortals, to hate them when their imagination does not procure them dreams conformable to his own; to break through the most sacred bonds, to maintain his own opinions, or to frustrate those of his neighbour; to torment, to persecute, to massacre, those who will not be mad after his own peculiar manner. Nature exacts that man in society should cherish glory, labour to render himself estimable, endeavour to establish an imperishable name, to be active, courageous, industrious; superstition tells him to be abject, pusillanimous, to live in obscurity, to occupy himself with ceremonies; it says to him, be useless to thyself, and do nothing for others. Nature proposes to the citizen, for his model, men endued with honest, noble, energetic souls, who have usefully served their fellow citizens; superstition recommends to his imitation mean, cringing sycophants; extols pious enthusiasts, frantic penitents, zealous fanatics, who for the most ridiculous opinions have disturbed the tranquility of empires. . . . Superstition corrupts princes; these corrupt the law, which, like themselves, becomes unjust; from thence institutions are perverted; education only forms men who are worthless, blinded with prejudice, smitten with vain objects, enamoured of wealth, devoted to pleasures, which they must obtain by iniquitous means: thus nature, mistaken, is disdained; virtue is only a shadow quickly sacrificed to the slightest interest, while superstition, far from remedying these evils to which it has given birth, does nothing more than render them still more inveterate; or else engenders sterile regrets which it presently effaces: thus, by its operation, man is obliged to yield to the force of habit, to the general example, to the stream of those propensities, to those causes of confusion, which conspire to hurry all his species, who are not willing to renounce their own welfare, on to the commission of crime. Here is the mode by which superstition, united with politics, exert their efforts to pervert, abuse, and poison the heart of man; the generality of human institutions appear to have only for their object to abase the human character, to render it more flagitiously wicked. Do not then let us be at all astonished if morality is almost every where a barren speculation, from which every one is obliged to deviate in practice, if he will not risk the rendering himself unhappy. Man can only have sound morals, when, renouncing his prejudices, he consults his nature; but the continued impulse which his soul is every moment receiving, on the part of more powerful motives, quickly compels him to forget those ethical rules which nature points out to him. He is continually floating between vice and virtue; we behold him unceasingly in contradiction with himself; if, sometimes, he justly appreciates the value of an honest, upright conduct, experience very soon shews him, that this cannot lead him to any thing which he has been taught to desire; on the contrary, that it may be an invincible obstacle to the happiness which his heart never ceases for an instant to search after. In corrupt societies it is necessary to become corrupt, in order to become happy.

System of Nature

443

Citizens, led astray at the same time both by their spiritual and temporal guides, neither knew reason nor virtue. The slaves both of their superstitious systems, and of men like themselves, they had all the vices attached to a slavery; kept in a perpetual state of infancy, they had neither knowledge nor principles; those who preached virtue to them, knew nothing of it themselves, and could not undeceive them with respect to those baubles in which they had learned to make their happiness consist. In vain they cried out to them to stifle those passions which every thing conspired to unloose: in vain they made the thunder of the gods roll to intimidate men whose tumultuous passions rendered them deaf. It was soon discovered that the gods of the heavens were much less feared than those of the earth; that the favour of the latter procured a much more substantive welfare than the promises of the former; that the riches of this world were more tangible than the treasures reserved for favorites in the next; that it was much more advantageous for men to conform themselves to the views of visible powers than to those of powers who were not within the compass of their visual faculties. Thus society, corrupted by its priests, guided by their caprice, could only bring forth a corrupt offspring. It gave birth to avaricious, ambitious, jealous, dissolute citizens, who never saw any thing happy but crime; who beheld meanness rewarded; incapacity honoured; wealth adored; debauchery held in esteem; who almost every where found talents discouraged; virtue neglected; truth proscribed; elevation of soul crushed; justice trodden under foot; moderation languishing in misery; liberality of mind obligated to groan under the ponderous bulk of haughty injustice. . . . If the nature of man was consulted in his politics, which supernatural ideas have so woefully depraved, it would completely rectify those false notions that are entertained equally by sovereigns and by subjects; it would contribute more amply than all the superstitions existing, to render society happy, powerful, and flourishing under rational authority. Nature would teach man, it is for the purpose of enjoying a greater portion of happiness, that mortals live together in society; that it is its own preservation, its own immediate felicity, that society should have for its determinate, unchangeable object: that without equity, a nation only resembles a congregation of enemies; that his most cruel foe, is the man who deceives him in order that he may enslave him; that the scourges most to be feared, are those priests who corrupt his chiefs, who, in the name of the gods assure them of impunity for their crimes: she would prove to him that association is a misfortune under unjust, negligent, destructive governments. . . . It is, then, I repeat it, only by re-conducting man to nature, that we can procure him distinct notions, evident opinions, certain knowledge; it is only by shewing him his true relations with his fellows, that we can place him on the road to happiness. The human mind, blinded by theology, has scarcely advanced a single step. Man's superstitious systems have rendered him sceptical on the most demonstrable truths. Superstition, while it pervaded every thing, while it had an universal influence, served to corrupt the whole:

444

Paul Henri Thiry, Baron d'Holbach

philosophy, dragged in its train, although it swelled its triumphant procession, was no longer any thing but an imaginary science: it quitted the real world to plunge into the sinuosities of the ideal, inconceivable labyrinths of metaphysics; it neglected nature, who spontaneously opened her book to its examination, to occupy itself with systems filled with spirits, with invisible powers, which only served to render all questions more obscure; which, the more they were probed, the more inexplicable they became: which took delight in promulgating that which no one was competent to understand. In all difficulties it introduced the Divinity; from thence things only became more and more perplexed, until nothing could be explained. Theological notions appear only to have been invented to put man's reason to flight; to confound his judgment; to deceive his mind; to overturn his clearest ideas in every science. In the hands of the theologian, logic, or the art of reasoning, was nothing more than an unintelligible jargon, calculated to support sophism, to countenance falsehood, to attempt to prove the most palpable contradictions. Morality, as we have seen, became wavering and uncertain, because it was founded on ideal systems, never in harmony with themselves, which, on the contrary, were continually contradicting their own most positive assertions. Politics, as we have elsewhere said, were cruelly perverted by the fallacious ideas given to sovereigns of their actual rights. Jurisprudence was determinately submitted to the caprices of superstition, which shackled labour, chained down human industry, controlled activity, and fettered the commerce of nations. Every thing, in short, was sacrificed to the immediate interests of these theologians: in the place of every rational science, they taught nothing but an obscure, quarrelsome metaphysics, which but too often caused the blood of those unhappy people to flow copiously who were incapable of understanding its hallucinations. . . . Let us then conclude, that theology with its notions, far from being useful to the human species, is the true source of all those sorrows which afflict the earth; of all those errors by which man is blinded; of those prejudices which benumb mankind; of that ignorance which renders him credulous; of those vices which torment him; of those governments which oppress him. Let us be fully persuaded that those theological, supernatural ideas, with which man is inspired from his infancy, are the actual causes of his habitual folly; are the springs of his superstitious quarrels; of his sacred dissensions; of his inhuman persecutions. Let us, at length, acknowledge, that they are these fatal ideas which have obscured morality; corrupted politics; retarded the progress of the sciences; annihilated happiness; banished peace from the bosom of mankind. Then let it be no longer dissimulated, that all those calamities, for which man turns his eyes towards heaven, bathed in tears, have their spring in the imaginary systems he has adopted; let him, therefore, cease to expect relief from them; let him seek in nature, let him search in his own energies, those resources, which superstition, deaf to his cries, will never procure for him. Let him consult the legitimate desires of his heart, and he will find that which he oweth to himself, also that which he oweth to others; let him examine his own

Further Reading

445

essence, let him dive into the aim of society, from thence he will no longer be a slave; let him consult experience, he will find truth, and he will discover, that

error can never possibly render him happy. Editor's Note I. That is. his body.

Further Reading There are no recent editions or translations of Holbach's works, and the secondary literature on him is scanty. Virgil W. Topazio, D'Holbach's Moral Philosophy (Geneva: Institut et Musee Voltaire. 1956), summarizes English and French writers who influenced Holbach and reviews his antireligious and moral thought. The two volumes by Lester Crocker. An Age of Crisis: Man and World in Eighteenth Century French Thought (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1959) and Nature and Culture: Ethical Thought in the French Enlightenment (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1963). contain discussions of Holbach's views on metaphysical and moral issues. Ira 0. Wade, The Structure and Form of the French Enlightenment (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1977), also examines Holbach; see especially vol. 2. pp. 298-320. A. C. Kors, D'Holbach's Coterie (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1976). provides a good study of Holbach's group of friends and their regular discussions.

William Paley

Introduction William Paley was not a very original thinker. The philosophical part of his treatise on ethics is an assemblage of ideas developed by others and is presented to be learned by students rather than to be debated by colleagues. But this lack of originality did not stand in the way of Paley's success. His Principles of Moral and Political Philosophy (1785) was a required text at Cambridge University until the 1830s and was widely taught elsewhere in Britain and in the United States. Most of the book is taken up by detailed discussion of our duties to God, ourselves, and others. The opening part gives the fullest account available of the position generally known as theological utilitarianism, and as such it is still worthy of study. Paley was born in 1743 and died in 1805. He studied at Cambridge, graduating in 1763 with great distinction. He taught at a small school near London until he was called back to Cambridge, where for some years he gave instruction in moral philosophy, divinity, and the Greek testament. Through personal connections Paley obtained various positions in the Church of England, the highest of which was that of archdeacon of Carlisle. His Moral and Political Philosophy was based on lectures he had given at Cambridge, and his later works were defenses of Christianity. The View of the Evidences of Christianity (1794) defended the credibility of miracles. The Natural Theology (1802) is an elaborate restatement of the argument from design, the claim that empirically observable features of the world in which we live show so many marks of having been designed for a purpose that we cannot resist the conclusion that the universe must have been created by a superior intelligence. Hume had written a devastating attack on all such arguments many years before Paley published, but Paley did not try to reply to it. His theological books, however, were popular with the clergy, were widely read and taught, and brought him further profitable positions in the church. It is worth noting that Paley's Moral and Political Philosophy was published before Bentham's Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation. Indeed, Paley's success is said to have finally stirred Bentham to publish his book, which had been written some years earlier. For decades, moreover, Bentham's work went unnoticed and Paley was accepted as the orthodox representative of utilitarianism. The Moral and Political Philosophy opens with the declaration that "Moral Philosophy, Morality, Ethics, Casuistry, Natural Law, all mean the same thing; namely, that science which teaches men their duty and the reasons of it." As this suggests, and as the reader will see, Paley was not much interested in the subtleties of the science. But he did make some noteworthy points. His attack on all possible positions other than

446

Moral and Political Philosophy

447

utilitarianism is similar in outline to a kind of criticism that Bentham worked out more fully and that is still used by contemporary utilitarians, and Paley paid considerable attention to the importance of rules in a utilitarian ethic — a matter concerning which he seems to have had more sophisticated views than Bentham did. Paley based his moral principle on theological considerations that Bentham did not use. And there are differences in addition to this one in the versions of utilitarianism that the two developed. Most notably, Paley did not share Bentham's total rejection of the language of rights. Rather, he simply adopted the natural law vocabulary, attributing a wide variety of rights to humankind but making no attempt to show that this attribution was directed by his utilitarian principle. Paley's acceptance of rights did not lead him to political and social views that were consistently reformist. He was strongly opposed to the slave trade and argued — before it was fashionable to do so — that it should be abolished. Paley also produced a oncenotorious image of property that sounds as if it should have caused him to be quite radical in his thoughts on ownership. In the chapter entitled "Of Property," which opens Book HI of his Moral and Political Philosophy, he wrote: If you should see a flock of pigeons in a field of corn; and if (instead of each picking where and what it liked . . . ) you should see ninety-nine of them gathering all they got into a heap, reserving nothing for themselves but the chaff and refuse; keeping this heap for one, and that the weakest, perhaps the worst, pigeon of the flock; sitting round, and looking on, all the winter, whilst this one was devouring, throwing about, and wasting it; and if a pigeon more hardy or hungry than the rest, touched a grain of the hoard, all the others flying upon it, and tearing it to pieces; if you should see this, you would see nothing more than is every day practised and established among men.

Nonetheless, Paley drew no radical conclusions. He gave utilitarian reasons for holding that the distribution of property must simply accord with the positive laws of each country, and he wrote a pamphlet during the French Revolution entitled "Reasons for Contentment, Addressed to the Labouring Part of the British Public," urging British working-class pigeons not to emulate their French counterparts. The reader may wish to ask what, if anything, this shows about the usefulness of the principle of utility for morals and politics. The following selections are from the Moral and Political Philosophy.

Moral and Political Philosophy BOOK I: PRELIMINARY CONSIDERATIONS

Chapter V: The Moral Sense Upon the whole, it seems to me, either that there exist no such instincts as compose what is called the moral sense, or that they are not now to be distinguished from prejudices and habits; on which account they cannot be depended upon in moral reasoning: I mean that it is not a safe way of arguing, to assume certain principles as so many dictates, impulses, and instincts of nature, and then to draw conclusions from these principles, as to the rectitude or wrongness of actions, independent of the tendency of such actions, or of any other consideration whatever.

448

William Paley

Aristotle lays down, as a fundamental and self-evident maxim, that nature intended barbarians to be slaves;' and proceeds to deduce from this maxim a train of conclusions, calculated to justify the policy which then prevailed. And I question whether the same maxim be not still self-evident to the company of merchants trading to the coast of Africa. Nothing is so soon made as a maxim; and it appears from the example of Aristotle, that authority and convenience, education, prejudice, and general practice, have no small share in the making of them; and that the laws of custom are very apt to be mistaken for the order of nature. For which reason, I suspect, that a system of morality, built upon instincts, will only find out reasons and excuses for opinions and practices already established, — will seldom correct or reform either. But further, suppose we admit the existence of these instincts; what, it may be asked, is their authority? No man, you say, can act in deliberate opposition to them, without a secret remorse of conscience. But this remorse may be borne with: and if the sinner chuse to bear with it, for the sake of the pleasure or the profit which he expects from his wickedness; or finds the pleasure of the sin to exceed the remorse of conscience, of which he alone is the judge, and concerning which, when he feels them both together, he can hardly be mistaken, the moral-instinct man, so far as I can understand, has nothing more to offer. For if he allege that these instincts are so many indications of the will of God, and consequently presages of what we are to look for hereafter; this, I answer, is to resort to a rule and a motive ulterior to the instincts themselves, and at which rule and motive we shall by-and-by arrive by a surer road: — I say surer, so long as there remains a controversy whether there be any instinctive maxims at all; or any difficulty in ascertaining what maxims are instinctive. The celebrated question therefore becomes in our system a question of pure curiosity; and as such, we dismiss it to the determination of those who are more inquisitive, than we are concerned to be, about the natural history and constitution of the human species.

Chapter VII: Virtue Virtue is "the doing good to mankind, in obedience to the will of God, and for the sake of everlasting happiness." According to which definition, "the good of mankind" is the subject; the "will of God," the rule; and "everlasting happiness," the motive, of human virtue. Virtue has been divided by some moralists into benevolence, prudence, fortitude, and temperance. Benevolence proposes good ends; prudence suggests the best means of attaining them; fortitude enables us to encounter the difficulties, danger, and discouragements, which stand in our way in the pursuit of these ends; temperance repels and overcomes the passions that obstruct it. Benevolence, for instance, prompts us to undertake the cause of an op-

Moral and Political Philosophy

449

pressed orphan; prudence suggests the best means of going about it; fortitude enables us to confront the danger, and bear up against the loss, disgrace, or repulse, that may attend our undertaking; and temperance keeps under the love of money, of ease, or amusement, which might divert us from it. Virtue is distinguished by others into two branches only, prudence and benevolence: prudence, attentive to our own interest; benevolence, to that of our fellow-creatures: both directed to the same end, the increase of happiness in nature; and taking equal concern in the future as in the present. The four CARDINAL virtues are, prudence, fortitude, temperance, and justice. But the division of virtue, to which we are in modern times most accustomed, is into duties: — Towards God; as piety, reverence, resignation, gratitude, &c. Towards other men (or relative duties); as justice, charity, fidelity, loyalty, &c. Towards ourselves; as chastity, sobriety, temperance, preservation of life, care of health, &c. More of these distinctions have been proposed, which it is not worth while to set down. BOOK II: MORAL OBLIGATION

Chapter 1: The Question, "Why Am I Obliged to Keep My Word?" Considered Why am I obliged to keep my word? Because it is right, says one. — Because it is agreeable to the fitness of things, says another. — Because it is conformable to reason and nature, says a third. — Because it is conformable to truth, says a fourth. — Because it promotes the public good, says a fifth. — Because it is required by the will of God, concludes a sixth. Upon which different accounts, two things are observable: — First, that they all ultimately coincide. The fitness of things means their fitness to produce happiness; the nature of things means that actual constitution of the world, by which some things, as such and such actions, for example, produce happiness, and others misery. Reason is the principle, by which we discover or judge of this constitution: truth is this judgment expressed or drawn out into propositions. So that it necessarily comes to pass, that what promotes the public happiness, or happiness on the whole, is agreeable to the fitness of things, to nature, to reason, and to truth: and such (as will appear by and by) is the divine character, that what promotes the general happiness is required by the will of God, and what has all the above properties must needs be right; for right means no more than conformity to the rule we go by, whatever that rule be. And this is the reason that moralists, from whatever different principles they set out, commonly meet in their conclusions; that is, they enjoin the

450

William Paley

same conduct, prescribe the same rules of duty, and, with a few exceptions, deliver upon dubious cases the same determinations. Secondly, it is to be observed, that these answers all leave the matter short; for the inquirer may turn round upon his teacher with a second question, in which he will expect to be satisfied, namely, Why am I obliged to do what is right; to act agreeably to the fitness of things; to conform to reason, nature, or truth; to promote the public good, or to obey the will of God? The proper method of conducting the inquiry is, First, to examine what we mean, when we say a man is obliged to do anything; and then to show why he is obliged to do the thing which we have proposed as an example, namely, "to keep his word." Chapter II: What We Mean When We Say a Man Is "Obliged" to Do a Thing A man is said to be obliged, "when he is urged by a violent motive resulting from the command of another." I. "The motive must be violent." If a person, who has done me some little service, or has a small place in his disposal, ask me upon some occasion for my vote, I may possibly give it to him, from a motive of gratitude or expectation: but I should hardly say that I was obliged to give it him; because the inducement does not rise high enough. Whereas if a father or a master, any great benefactor, or one on whom my fortune depends, require my vote, I give it him of course: and my answer to all who ask me why I voted so and so is, that my father or my master obliged me; that I had received so many favours from, or had so great a dependence upon, such a one, that I was obliged to vote as he directed me. Secondly, "It must result from the command of another." Offer a man a gratuity for doing anything, for seizing, for example, an offender, he is not obliged by your offer to do it; nor would he say he is; though he may be If a magistrate or the man's induced, persuaded, prevailed upon, tempted. immediate superior command it, he considers himself as obliged to comply, though possibly he would lose less by a refusal in this case than in the former. will not undertake to say that the words obligation and obliged are used uniformly in this sense, or always with this distinction: nor is it possible to tie down popular phrases to any constant signification: but wherever the motive is violent enough, and coupled with the idea of command, authority, law, or the will of a superior, there, 1 take it, we always reckon ourselves to be obliged. And from this account of obligation it follows, that we can be obliged to nothing, but what we ourselves are to gain or lose something by; for nothing else can be a "violent motive" to us. As we should not be obliged to obey the laws, or the magistrate, unless rewards or punishments, pleasure or pain, somehow or other, depended upon our obedience; so neither should we,

Moral and Political Philosophy

451

without the same reason, be obliged to do what is right, to practise virtue, or to obey the commands of God. Chapter III: The Question, "Why Am I Obliged to Keep My Word?" Resumed Let it be remembered, that to be obliged, is "to be urged by a violent motive, resulting from the command of another." And then let it be asked, Why am I obliged to keep my word? and the answer will be, "because I am urged to do so by a violent motive" (namely the expectation of being after this life rewarded, if I do, or punished for it if I do not), "resulting from the command of another" (namely of God). This solution goes to the bottom of the subject, as no further question can reasonably be asked. Therefore, private happiness is our motive, and the will of God our rule. When I first turned my thoughts to moral speculations, an air of mystery seemed to hang over the whole subject; which arose, I believe, from hence, — that I supposed, with many authors whom I read, that to be obliged to do a thing, was very different from being induced only to do it; and that the obligation to practise virtue, to do what is right, just, &c., was quite another thing, and of another kind, than the obligation which a soldier is under to obey his officer, a servant his master; or any of the civil and ordinary obligations of human life. Whereas, from what has been said it appears, that moral obligation is like all other obligations; and that obligation is nothing more than an inducement of sufficient strength, and resulting, in some way, from the command of another. There is always understood to be a difference between an act of prudence and an act of duty. Thus, if I distrust a man who owed me a sum of money, I should reckon it an act of prudence to get another person bound with him; but I should hardly call it an act of duty. On the other hand, it would be thought a very unusual and loose kind of language to say, that, as I had made such a promise, it was prudent to perform it; or that, as my friend, when he went abroad, placed a box of jewels in my hands, it would be prudent in me to preserve it for him till he returned. Now in what, you will ask, does the difference consist? inasmuch as, according to our account of the matter, both in the one case and the other, — in acts of duty as well as acts of prudence, — we consider solely what we ourselves shall gain or lose by the act. The difference, and the only difference, is this; that in the one case, we consider what we shall gain or lose in the present world: in the other case, we consider also what we shall gain or lose in the world to come. They who establish a system of morality, independent of a future state, must look out for some different idea of moral obligation, unless they can show that virtue conducts the possessor to certain happiness in this life, or to a much greater share of it than he could attain by a different behaviour.

452

William Paley

To us there are two great questions: I. Will there be after this life any distribution of rewards and punishments at all? II. If there be, what actions will be rewarded, and what will be punished? The first question comprises the credibility of the Christian religion, together with the presumptive proofs of a future retribution from the light of nature. The second question comprises the province of morality. Both questions are too much for one work. The affirmative therefore of the first, although we confess that it is the foundation upon which the whole fabric rests, must in this treatise be taken for granted. Chapter IV: The Will of God

As the will of God is our rule; to inquire what is our duty, or what we are obliged to do, in any instance, is, in effect, to inquire what is the will of God in that instance? which consequently becomes the whole business of morality. Now there are two methods of coming at the will of God on any point: I. By his express declarations, when they are to be had, and which must be sought for in Scripture. II. By what we can discover of his designs and disposition from his works; or, as we usually call it, the light of nature. And here we may observe the absurdity of separating natural and revealed religion from each other. The object of both is the same, — to discover the will of God, — and, provided we do but discover it, it matters nothing by what means. An ambassador, judging by what he knows of his sovereign's disposition, and arguing from what he has observed of his conduct, or is acquainted with of his designs, may take his measures in many cases with safety, and presume with great probability how his master would have him act on most occasions that arise: but if he have his commission and instructions in his pocket, it would be strange not to look into them. He will be directed by both rules: when his instructions are clear and positive, there is an end to all further deliberation (unless indeed he suspect their authenticity); where his instructions are silent or dubious, he will endeavour to supply or explain them, by what he has been able to collect from other quarters, of his master's general inclination or intentions. Mr. Hume, in his fourth Appendix to his Principles of Morals,'- has been pleased to complain of the modern scheme of uniting Ethics with the christian Theology. They who find themselves disposed to join in this complaint, will do well to observe what Mr. Hume himself has been able to make of morality without this union. And for that purpose, let them read the second part of the ninth section of the above essay; which part contains the practical application of the whole treatise, — a treatise which Mr. Hume declares to be "incompara-

Moral and Political Philosophy

453

bly the best he ever wrote." When they have read it over, let them consider, whether any motives there proposed are likely to be found sufficient to withhold men from the gratification of lust, revenge, envy, ambition, avarice; or to prevent the existence of these passions. Unless they rise up from this celebrated essay with stronger impressions upon their minds than it ever left upon mine, they will acknowledge the necessity of additional sanctions. But the necessity of these sanctions is not now the question. If they be in fact established, if the rewards and punishments held forth in the Gospel will actually come to pass, they must be considered. Such as reject the christian Religion, are to make the best shift they can to build up a system, and lay the foundation of morality, without it. But it appears to me a great inconsistency in those who receive Christianity, and expect something to come out of it, to endeavour to keep all such expectations out of sight in their reasonings concerning human duty. The method of coming at the will of God concerning any action, by the light of nature, is to inquire into "the tendency of the action to promote or diminish the general happiness." This rule proceeds upon the presumption, that God Almighty wills and wishes the happiness of his creatures; and, consequently, that those actions, which promote that will and wish, must be agreeable to him; and the contrary. As this presumption is the foundation of our whole system, it becomes necessary to explain the reasons upon which it rests. Chapter V: The Divine Benevolence When God created the human species, either He wished their happiness, or He wished their misery, or He was indifferent and unconcerned about both. If He had wished our misery, He might have made sure of his purpose, by forming our senses to be so many sores and pains to us, as they are now instruments of gratification and enjoyment; or by placing us amidst objects so ill-suited to our perceptions, as to have continually offended us, instead of ministering to our refreshment and delight. He might have made, for example, everything we tasted, bitter; everything we saw, loathsome; everything we touched, a sting; every smell, a stench; and every sound, a discord. If He had been indifferent about our happiness or misery, we must impute to our good fortune (as all design by this supposition is excluded) both the capacity of our senses to receive pleasure, and the supply of external objects fitted to produce it. But either of these (and still more both of them) being too much to be attributed to accident, nothing remains but the first supposition, that God, when He created the human species, wished their happiness; and made for them the provision which He has made, with that view, and for that purpose. The same argument may be proposed in different terms, thus: Contrivance proves design; and the predominant tendency of the contrivance indicates the disposition of the designer. The world abounds with contrivances: and all the

454

William Paley

contrivances which we are acquainted with, are directed to beneficial purposes. Evil, no doubt, exists; but is never, that we can perceive, the object of contrivance. Teeth are contrived to eat, not to ache; their aching now and then, is incidental to the contrivance, perhaps inseparable from it: or even, if you will, let it be called a defect in the contrivance; but it is not the object of it. This is a distinction which well deserves to be attended to. In describing implements of husbandry, you would hardly say of the sickle, that it is made to cut the reaper's fingers, though from the construction of the instrument, and the manner of using it, this mischief often happens. But if you had occasion to describe instruments of torture or execution, this engine, you would say, is to extend the sinews; this to dislocate the joints; this to break the bones; this to scorch the soles of the feet. Here, pain and misery are the very objects of the contrivance. Now, nothing of this sort is to be found in the works of nature. We never discover a train of contrivance to bring about an evil purpose. No anatomist ever discovered a system of organization calculated to produce pain and disease; or, in explaining the parts of the human body, ever said, this is to irritate; this to inflame; this duct is to convey the gravel to the kidneys; this gland to secrete the humour which forms the gout: if by chance he come at a part of which he knows not the use, the most he can say is, that it is useless: no one ever suspects that it is put there to incommode, to annoy, or to torment. Since then God hath called forth his consummate wisdom to contrive and provide for our happiness, and the world appears to have been constituted with this design at first; so long as this constitution is upholden by Him, we must in reason suppose the same design to continue. The contemplation of universal nature rather bewilders the mind than affects it. There is always a bright spot in the prospect, upon which the eye rests; a single example, perhaps, by which each man finds himself more convinced than by all others put together. I seem, for my own part, to see the benevolence of the Deity more clearly in the pleasures of very young children, than in anything in the world. The pleasures of grown persons may be reckoned partly of their own procuring; especially if there has been any industry, or contrivance, or pursuit, to come at them; or if they are founded, like music, painting, &c. upon any qualification of their own acquiring. But the pleasures of a healthy infant are so manifestly provided for it by another, and the benevolence of the provision is so unquestionable, that every child I see at its sport, affords to my mind a kind of sensible evidence of the finger of God, and of the disposition which directs it. But the example, which strikes each man most strongly, is the true example for him: and hardly two minds hit upon the same; which shows the abundance of such examples about us. We conclude, therefore, that God wills and wishes the happiness of his creatures. And this conclusion being once established, we are at liberty to go on with the rule built upon it, namely, "that the method of coming at the will of God, concerning any action by the light of nature, is to inquire into the tendency of that action to promote or diminish the general happiness."

Moral and Political Philosophy

455

Chapter VI: Utility

So then actions are to be estimated by their tendency.* Whatever is expedient, is right. It is the utility of any moral rule alone, which constitutes the obligation of it. But to all this there seems a plain objection, viz. that many actions are useful, which no man in his senses will allow to be right. There are occasions, in which the hand of the assassin would be very useful. The present possessor of some great estate employs his influence and fortune, to annoy, corrupt, or oppress, all about him. His estate would devolve, by his death, to a successor of an opposite character. It is useful, therefore, to dispatch such a one as soon as possible out of the way; as the neighbourhood will exchange thereby a pernicious tyrant for a wise and generous benefactor. It might be useful to rob a miser, and give the money to the poor: as the money, no doubt, would produce more happiness, by being laid out in food and clothing for half a dozen distressed families, than by continuing locked up in a miser's chest. It may be useful to get possession of a place, a piece of preferment, or of a seat in parliament, by bribery or false swearing: as by means of them we may serve the public more effectually than in our private station. What then shall we say? Must we admit these actions to be right, which would be to justify assassination, plunder, and perjury; or must we give up our principle, that the criterion of right is utility? It is not necessary to do either. The true answer is this; that these actions, after all, are not useful, and for that reason, and that alone, are not right. To see this point perfectly, it must be observed that the bad consequences of actions are twofold, particular and general. The particular bad consequence of an action, is the mischief which that single action directly and immediately occasions. The general bad consequence is, the violation of some necessary or useful general rule. Thus, the particular bad consequence of the assassination above described, is the fright and pain which the deceased underwent; the loss he suffered of life, which is as valuable to a bad man, as to a good one, or more so; the prejudice and affliction, of which his death was the occasion, to his family, friends, and dependents. The general bad consequence is the violation of this necessary general rule, that no man be put to death for his crimes but by public authority. Although, therefore, such an action have no particular bad consequences, or greater particular good consequences, yet it is not useful, by reason of the gen* Actions in the abstract are right or wrong, according to their tendency; the agent is virtuous or vicious, according to his design. Thus, if the question be. Whether relieving common beggars he right or wrong? we inquire into the tendency of such a conduct to the public advantage or inconvenience. If the question be. Whether a man remarkable for this sort of bounty is to he esteemed virtuous for that reason? we inquire into his design, whether his liberality sprang from charity or from ostentation? It is evident that our concern is with actions in the abstract.

456

William Paley

eral consequence, which is of more importance, and which is evil. And the same of the other two instances, and of a million more which might be mentioned. But as this solution supposes, that the moral government of the world must proceed by general rules, it remains that we show the necessity of this. Chapter VII: The Necessity of General Rules

You cannot permit one action and forbid another, without showing a difference between them. Consequently, the same sort of actions must be generally permitted or generally forbidden. Where, therefore, the general permission of them would be pernicious, it becomes necessary to lay down and support the rule which generally forbids them. Thus, to return once more to the case of the assassin. The assassin knocked the rich villain on the head, because he thought him better out of the way than in it. If you allow this excuse in the present instance, you must allow it to all who act in the same manner, and from the said motive; that is, you must allow every man to kill any one he meets, whom he thinks noxious or useless; which, in the event, would be to commit every man's life and safety to the spleen, fury, and fanaticism, of his neighbour; — a disposition of affairs which would soon fill the world with misery and confusion; and ere long put an end to human society, if not to the human species. The necessity of general rules in human government is apparent: but whether the same necessity subsist in the divine economy, — in that distribution of rewards and punishments to which a moralist looks forward, — may be doubted. I answer, that general rules are necessary to every moral government: and by moral government I mean any dispensation, whose object is to influence the conduct of reasonable creatures. For if, of two actions perfectly similar, one be punished, and the other be rewarded or forgiven, which is the consequence of rejecting general rules, the subjects of such a dispensation would no longer know either what to expect or how to act. Rewards and punishments would cease to be such, — would become accidents. Like the stroke of a thunderbolt, or the discovery of a mine, like a blank or a benefit-ticket in a lottery, they would occasion pain or pleasure when they happened; but, following in no known order, from any particular course of action, they could have no previous influence or effect upon the conduct. An attention to general rules, therefore, is included in the very idea of reward and punishment. Consequently, whatever reason there is to expect future reward and punishment at the hand of God, there is the same reason to believe, that He will proceed in the distribution of it by general rules. Before we prosecute the consideration of general consequences any further, it may be proper to anticipate a reflection, which will be apt enough to suggest itself, in the progress of our argument.

Moral and Political Philosophy

457

As the general consequence of an action, upon which so much of the guilt of a bad action depends, consists in the example; it should seem, that if the action be done with perfect secrecy, so as to furnish no bad example, that part of the guilt drops off. In the case of suicide, for instance, if a man can so manage matters, as to take away his own life, without being known or suspected to have done so, he is not chargeable with any mischief from the example; nor does his punishment seem necessary, in order to save the authority of any general rule. In the first place, those who reason in this manner do not observe, that they ire setting up a general rule, of all others the least to be endured; namely, that ecrecy, whenever secrecy is.practicable, will justify any action. Were such a rule admitted, for instance, in the case above produced; is there not reason to fear that people would be disappearing perpetually? In the next place, I would wish them to be well satisfied about the points proposed in the following queries: 1. Whether the Scriptures do not teach us to expect that, at the general judgment of the world, the most secret actions will be brought to light. 2. For what purpose can this be, but to make them the objects of reward and punishment? 3. Whether, being so brought to light, they will not fall under the operation of those equal and impartial rules, by which God will deal with his creatures? They will then become examples, whatever they be now; and require the same treatment from the judge and governor of the moral world, as if they had been detected from the first. Chapter IX: Of Right

Right and obligation are reciprocal; that is, wherever there is a right in one person, there is a corresponding obligation upon others. If one man has a "right" to an estate; others are "obliged" to abstain from it: — If parents have a "right" to reverence from their children; children are "obliged" to reverence their parents: — and so in all other instances. Now, because moral obligation depends, as we have seen, upon the will of God; right, which is correlative to it, must depend upon the same. Right therefore signifies, consistency with the will of God. But if the divine will determine the distinction of right and wrong, what else is it but an identical proposition to say of God, that He acts right? or how is it possible to conceive even that He should act wrong? Yet these assertions are intelligible and significant. The case is this: By virtue of the two principles, that God wills the happiness of his creatures, and that the will of God is the measure of right and wrong, we arrive at certain conclusions; which conclusions become rules; and we soon learn to pronounce actions right or wrong, according as they agree or disagree with our rules, without looking any further: and when the habit is once established of stopping at the rules, we can go back and compare with these rules even the divine conduct itself: and yet it

458

William Paley

may be true (only not observed by us at the time) that the rules themselves are deduced from the divine will. Right is a quality of persons or of actions. Of persons; as when we say, such a one has a "right" to this estate; parents have a "right" to reverence from their children; the king to allegiance from his subjects; masters have a "right" to their servants' labour; a man has not a "right" over his own life. Of actions; as in such expressions as the following: it is "right" to punish murder with death; his behaviour on that occasion was "right"; it is not "right" to send an unfortunate debtor to gaol; he did or acted "right," who gave up his place rather than vote against his judgment. In this latter set of expressions, you may substitute the definition of right above given, for the term itself: e.g. it is "consistent with the will of God" to punish murder with death; — his behaviour on that occasion was "consistent with the will of God" — it is not "consistent with the will of God" to send an unfortunate debtor to gaol; — he did, or acted, "consistently with the will of God," who gave up his place rather than vote against his judgment. In the former set, you must vary the construction a little, when you introduce the definition instead of the term. Such a one has a "right" to this estate, that is, it is "consistent with the will of God" that such a one should have it; — parents have a "right" to reverence from their children, that is, it is "consistent with the will of God" that children should reverence their parents; — and the same of the rest.

Editor's Notes 1. In the Politics 1.5, Aristotle stated that it is not difficult to answer the question whether some men are intended by nature to be slaves. Just as there is a natural and expedient rule of the soul over the body, and of the male over the female, so when one man is as superior to another as the soul is to the body, "the lower sort are by nature slaves, and it is better for them as for all inferiors that they should be under the rule of a master" (1254b20-21, Jowett translation). 2. David Hume, Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals, app. IV, in which Hume debated whether talents and moral virtues are to be sharply distinguished. He held that the distinction is merely verbal, that theological ethics, with its insistence on rewards and punishments, made more of a distinction between talent and virtue than was warranted.

Further Reading Paley's works, though reprinted innumerable times in the nineteenth century, have not been dignified with a modern edition, and relatively little has been written about him. M. L. Clark, Paley (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1974), is a good general study of his philosophy and theology. D. L. LeMahieu, The Mind of William Paley (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1976), concentrates on his natural theology. His moral theory figures here and there in Elie HaItvy, The Growth of Philosophic Radicalism, trans. Mary Morris (London: Faber & Faber, 1928). and Paley shares a

Further Reading

459

chapter with Bentham in Ernest Albee, A History of English Utilitarianism (London: Allen & Unwin, 1902). Somewhat more attention is paid to Paley's ethics in J. B. Schneewind, Sidgwick's Ethics and Victorian Moral Philosophy (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1977); consult the index. Sir Ernest Barker has a chapter. "Paley and His Political Philosophy," in Traditions of Civility (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1948).

Jeremy Bentham

Introduction Born in 1748 into a prosperous middle-class family, Jeremy Bentham was sent to Oxford when he was only twelve (he never got over his dislike of, and contempt for, the mindless life there), and by the time he was twenty-one he was a full-fledged lawyer. Bentham did not intend to practice law; rather, he intended to provide a rational basis for law as a whole. He had a small private income and so was able to devote himself to his chosen task. In 1776 he published A Fragment on Government. which brought him to the attention of political leaders. Thereafter he mixed political activity with incessant writing, publishing much but writing so much more that neither he nor his many disciples and followers could prepare it all for the press during his lifetime. Books assembled from his manuscripts were translated into many languages, earning him honors abroad, and his practical projects and those of the Benthamites who worked with him earned him notoriety at home. One of his most devoted and most influential followers was James Mill, whose son John Stuart Mill was trained to be a Benthamite and at the age of seventeen edited a massive treatise by Bentham on constitutional law. Bentham died in 1832. Bentham was a reformer, proposing changes in the laws of England, the courts, the colonial system, the Church of England, the schools, the banks, the prisons, and innumerable matters of daily life, ranging from grammar to sewage. To support his proposals he used a clear and simple test by which ordinary people as well as politicians could judge whether an action was right or an institution or law justified. The test was what Bentham called "utility," which meant usefulness. Usefulness, then, for what? For human happiness: whatever hinders human happiness more than it advances it is wrong; whatever advances it more than it hinders it is right. With this simple test Bentham thought he could justify the reforms that he quite correctly believed were needed in much of English life. His moral philosophy was thus his attempt to explain and support this principle and to spell out its bearing on reform. Many of Bentham's ideas led to significant changes, thanks in large part to the energetic, intelligent, and devoted group of followers who developed and carried out his suggestions. His philosophy also attracted followers, who, like John Austin and James Mill, wanted to extend and improve it. The controversies caused by his practical reforms have long since died down. The controversies aroused by his philosophy are still with us. The problem with England, Bentham held, was that too many of its institutions and customs were unreasonable. Humans aim at happiness; laws, courts, and social institutions generally therefore should serve to bring about happiness, but too often they do 460

Introduction

461

not. Most people would not accept these unreasonable arrangements if they clearly understood how detrimental they were. Moreover, rationality serves everyone alike, whereas custom and superstition serve only the hidden interests of powerful minorities. Bentham wanted to make society rational. He thought a philosophy would help him do this, because he believed that the irrationality of vested interests masked itself behind philosophical as well as religious slogans. To clear the philosophical way for his reforms, Bentham developed a way of undermining the claims of his opponents. He attacked their positions using a theory of meaning. Like Hobbes before him and the logical positivists after him, Bentham thought that much damage was done by failure to pay attention to language. Language, he held, can be used to mystify and sanctify legal and political institutions. We must be able to see them for what they are if we are to make them serve the interests of everyone alike. A method of analyzing words to see what they really mean is therefore needed, and Bentham had one. His method was not a new one. It had originated with John Locke. When you want to know what a word means, Bentham held, find out what in our experience it refers to. Whatever is real is something we can experience with our senses, and the names for such things are those of realities. Our immediate perceptions — the images, tastes, and feelings we receive through our senses, and our inner sensations such as pain or pleasure — have the best claim to be called "real." Everything else we can mean must somehow relate to them. We need to talk about much else besides these perceptions. But anything we wish to talk or think about in addition to what we directly experience should be considered a fictitious entity. It is in fact made up of some combination of sensory experiences. But it is given a name that makes it seem to be an existing entity all by itself, and then we are puzzled, as we cannot tell just what sort of entity it is. To clarify the name of a fictitious entity, therefore, what we must do is find the perceptions to which it refers. If there are none, the name is nonsense. Bentham applied this method to clarifying the fictions central to the discussion of law and morals. Among the central ones are "good" and "obligation." If we clarify them, we will see that moral language is really about pleasure and pain. We all want whatever is good. But "good" can mean only "pleasure and the absence of pain," and this is all that "happiness" can mean as well. The fictional name "obligation" can refer only to some act we are directed to do, under the condition that if we fail to do it we will suffer some pain. So pleasure and pain are the realities underlying both "obligation" and "good," and the pursuit of pleasure must thus be the core of morality. Bentham applied his reductive technique to all the traditional theories that disagreed with his view, thereby attempting to show that none of them can provide a rational way of settling moral issues. His own principle, he asserted, offers just such a procedure. It tells us to maximize pleasure and minimize pain for as many people as possible, that is, to bring about the greatest happiness for the greatest number. Bentham believed his principle to have an advantage lacking in any other. Because everyone wants happiness and because Bentham's principle directs us to maximize it, he held that we all have a motive for doing what his principle directs. He could not see how we could be motivated to follow any other principle. And because a principle that no one can follow is entirely pointless, he thought that the confluence of his motivational theory with his moral principle was yet another argument for the thorough rationality of his position. Philosophers before Bentham had offered to explain morality in terms of its conduciveness to happiness. Bentham himself saw David Hume as the first to make utility

462

Jeremy Bentham

the basic notion in an account of morality, and Helvetius, Hartley, and Priestley as other forerunners. But Bentham clearly made the principle of utility into a directive to be used in conscious deliberation about what to do, and this was a radical departure from Hume. In fact, what distinguishes Bentham's moral outlook is precisely its unremitting insistence on testing every act and every institution by the principle of utility, together with its assurance that a quantitatively based answer to any moral question can always be attained. The claim that we can deliberately direct all our moral decisions by methodically using a formula had not previously been made so powerfully. At about the time Bentham was working out his views, Kant in Germany was developing his. Like Bentham, Kant thought he had found a directive that anyone could use to make moral decisions and that each of us always has a motive to obey. Kant's views were constructed independently of Bentham's and were antithetical to his. But the radical difference of their principles accompanies an underlying commonality of belief, that it is the task of moral philosophy to show that there is a method that each person can use to arrive at justified moral decisions, and to show how we are motivated to act accordingly. They were arguing, albeit in quite different ways, that it is possible for humans to be autonomous moral agents. The first set of selections given here is from Bentham's Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation, set in type in 1781 but not published until 1789. I have omitted some of the footnotes; those I have left contain some important points. The second set of selections comes from Bentham's Theory of Legislation (London, 1864), a work assembled and translated into French from Bentham's own manuscripts by a Genevan disciple, Etienne Dumont, and translated back into English by an American follower, Richard Hildreth. In the first part of the book, "Principles of Legislation," Bentham repeats, sometimes word for word, much of the material published in the earlier Introduction, but he gives a better and sometimes fuller exposition of certain moral aspects of his theory.

An Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation CHAPTER 1: OF THE PRINCIPLE OF UTILITY

I. Nature has placed mankind under the governance of two sovereign masters, pain and pleasure. It is for them alone to point out what we ought to do, as well as to determine what we shall do. On the one hand the standard of right and wrong, on the other the chain of causes and effects, are fastened to their throne. They govern us in all we do, in all we say, in all we think: every effort we can make to throw off our subjection, will serve but to demonstrate and confirm it. In words a man may pretend to abjure their empire: but in reality he will remain subject to it all the while. The principle of utility recognises this subjection, and assumes it for the foundation of that system, the object of which is to rear the fabric of felicity by the hands of reason and of law. Systems which attempt to question it, deal in sounds instead of sense, in caprice instead of reason, in darkness instead of light. But enough of metaphor and declamation: it is not by such means that moral science is to be improved.

The Principles of Morals and Legislation

463

H. The principle of utility is the foundation of the present work: it will be proper therefore at the outset to give an explicit and determinate account of what is meant by it. By the principle of utility is meant that principle which approves or disapproves of every action whatsoever, according to the tendency which it appears to have to augment or diminish the happiness of the party whose interest is in question: or, what is the same thing in other words, to promote or to oppose that happiness. I say of every action whatsoever; and therefore not only of every action of a private individual, but of every measure of government. III. By utility is meant that property in any object, whereby it tends to produce benefit, advantage, pleasure, good, or happiness, (all this in the present case comes to the same thing) or (what comes again to the same thing) to prevent the happening of mischief, pain, evil, or unhappiness to the party whose interest is considered: if that party be the community in general, then the happiness of the community: if a particular individual, then the happiness of that individual. IV. The interest of the community is one of the most general expressions that can occur in the phraseology of morals: no wonder that the meaning of it is often lost. When it has a meaning, it is this. The community is a fictitious body,' composed of the individual persons who are considered as constituting as it were its members. The interest of the community then is, what? — the sum of the interests of the several members who compose it. V. It is in vain to talk of the interest of the community, without understanding what is the interest of the individual. * A thing is said to promote the interest, or to be for the interest, of an individual, when it tends to add to the sum total of his pleasures: or, what comes to the same thing, to diminish the sum total of his pains. VI. An action then may be said to be conformable to the principle of utility, or, for shortness sake, to utility, (meaning with respect to the community at large) when the tendency it has to augment the happiness of the community is greater than any it has to diminish it. VII. A measure of government (which is but a particular kind of action, performed by a particular person or persons) -' may be said to be conformable to or dictated by the principle of utility, when in like manner the tendency which it has to augment the happiness of the community is greater than any which it has to diminish it. VIII. When an action, or in particular a measure of government, is supposed by a man to be conformable to the principle of utility, it may be convenient, for the purposes of discourse, to imagine a kind of law or dictate, called a law or dictate of utility: and to speak of the action in question, as being conformable to such law or dictate. IX. A man may be said to be a partizan of the principle of utility, when the approbation or disapprobation he annexes to any action, or to any measure, is * Interest is one of those words. which not having any superior genus, cannot in the ordinary way he defined.

464

Jeremy Bentham

determined by and proportioned to the tendency which he conceives it to have to augment or to diminish the happiness of the community: or in other words, to its conformity or unconformity to the laws or dictates of utility. X. Of an action that is conformable to the principle of utility one may always say either that it is one that ought to be done, or at least that it is not one that ought not to be done. One may say also, that it is right it should be done; at least that it is not wrong it should be done: that it is a right action; at least that it is not a wrong action. When thus interpreted, the words ought, and right and wrong, and others of that stamp, have a meaning: when otherwise, they have none. XI. Has the rectitude of this principle been ever formally contested? It should seem that it had, by those who have not known what they have been meaning. Is it susceptible of any direct proof? it should seem not: for that which is used to prove every thing else, cannot itself be proved: a chain of proofs must have their commencement somewhere. To give such proof is as impossible as it is needless. XII. Not that there is or ever has been that human creature breathing, however stupid or perverse, who has not on many, perhaps on most occasions of his life, deferred to it. By the natural constitution of the human frame. on most occasions of their lives men in general embrace the principle, without thinking of it: if not for the ordering of their own actions, yet for the trying of their own actions, as well as of those of other men. There have been, at the same time, not many, perhaps, even of the most intelligent, who have been disposed to embrace it purely and without reserve. There are even few who have not taken some occasion or other to quarrel with it, either on account of their not understanding always how to apply it, or on account of some prejudice or other which they were afraid to examine into, or could not bear to part with. For such is the stuff that man is made of: in principle and in practice, in a right track and in a wrong one, the rarest of all human qualities is consistency. XIII. When a man attempts to combat the principle of utility, it is with reasons drawn, without his being aware of it, from that very principle itself. His arguments, if they prove any thing, prove not that the principle is wrong, but that, according to the applications he supposes to be made of it, it is misapplied. Is it possible for a man to move the earth? Yes; but he must first find out another earth to stand upon. XIV. To disprove the propriety of it by arguments is impossible; but, from the causes that have been mentioned, or from some confused or partial view of it, a man may happen to be disposed not to relish it. Where this is the case, if he thinks the settling of his opinions on such a subject worth the trouble, let him take the following steps, and at length, perhaps, he may come to reconcile himself to it. 1. Let him settle with himself, whether he would wish to discard this principle altogether; if so, let him consider what it is that all his reasonings (in matters of politics especially) can amount to?

The Principles of Morals and Legislation

465

2. If he would, let him settle with himself, whether he would judge and act without any principle, or whether there is any other he would judge and act by? 3. If there be, let him examine and satisfy himself whether the principle he thinks he has found is really any separate intelligible principle; or whether it be not a mere principle in words, a kind of phrase, which at bottom expresses neither more nor less than the mere averment of his own unfounded sentiments; that is, what in another person he might be apt to call caprice? 4. If he is inclined to think that his own approbation or disapprobation, annexed to the idea of an act, without any regard to its consequences, is a sufficient foundation for him to judge and act upon, let him ask himself whether his sentiment is to be a standard of right and wrong, with respect to every other man, or whether every man's sentiment has the same privilege of being a standard to itself? 5. In the first case, let him ask himself whether his principle is not despotical, and hostile to all the rest of [the] human race? 6. In the second case, whether it is not anarchial, and whether at this rate there are not as many different standards of right and wrong as there are men? and whether even to the same man, the same thing, which is right to-day, may not (without the least change in its nature) be wrong to-morrow? and whether the same thing is not right and wrong in the same place at the same time? and in either case, whether all argument is not at an end? and whether, when two men have said, "I like this," and "I don't like it," they can (upon such a principle) have any thing more to say? 7. If he should have said to himself, No: for that the sentiment which he proposes as a standard must be grounded on reflection, let him say on what particulars the reflection is to turn? if on particulars having relation to the utility of the act, then let him say whether this is not deserting his own principle, and borrowing assistance from that very one in opposition to which he sets it up: or if not on those particulars, on what other particulars? 8. If he should be for compounding the matter, and adopting his own principle in part, and the principle of utility in part, let him say how far he will adopt it? 9. When he has settled with himself where he will stop, then let him ask himself how he justifies to himself the adopting it so far? and why he will not adopt it any farther? 10. Admitting any other principle than the principle of utility to be a right principle, a principle that it is right for a man to pursue; admitting (what is not true) that the word right can have a meaning without reference to utility, let him say whether there is any such thing as a motive that a man can have to pursue the dictates of it: if there is, let him say what that motive is, and how it is to be distinguished from those which enforce the dictates of utility: if not, then lastly let him say what it is this other principle can be good for?

466

Jeremy Bentham CHAPTER II: OF PRINCIPLES ADVERSE TO THAT OF UTILITY

I. If the principle of utility be a right principle to be governed by, and that in all cases, it follows from what has been just observed, that whatever principle differs from it in any case must necessarily be a wrong one. To prove any other principle, therefore, to be a wrong one, there needs no more than just to show it to be what it is, a principle of which the dictates are in some point or other different from those of the principle of utility: to state it is to confute it. II. A principle may be different from that of utility in two ways: 1. By being constantly opposed to it: this is the case with a principle which may be termed the principle of asceticism.' 2. By being sometimes opposed to it, and sometimes not, as it may happen: this is the case with another, which may be termed the principle of sympathy and antipathy. III. By the principle of asceticism I mean that principle, which, like the principle of utility, approves or disapproves of any action, according to the tendency which it appears to have to augment or diminish the happiness of the party whose interest is in question; but in an inverse manner: approving of actions in as far as they tend to diminish his happiness; disapproving of them in as far as they tend to augment it. IV. It is evident that any one who reprobates any the least particle of pleasure, as such, from whatever source derived, is pro tanto a partizan of the principle of asceticism. It is only upon that principle, and not from the principle of utility, that the most abominable pleasure which the vilest of malefactors ever reaped from his crime would be to be reprobated, if it stood alone. The case is, that it never does stand alone; but is necessarily followed by such a quantity of pain (or, what comes to the same thing, such a chance for a certain quantity of pain) that the pleasure in comparison of it, is as nothing: and this is the true and sole, but perfectly sufficient, reason for making it a ground for punishment. V. There are two classes of men of very different complexions, by whom the principle of asceticism appears to have been embraced; the one a set of moralists, the other a set of religionists. Different accordingly have been the motives which appear to have recommended it to the notice of these different parties. Hope, that is the prospect of pleasure, seems to have animated the former: hope, the aliment of philosophic pride: the hope of honour and reputation at the hands of men. Fear, that is the prospect of pain, the latter: fear, the offspring of superstitious fancy: the fear of future punishment at the hands of a splenetic and revengeful Deity. I say in this case fear: for of the invisible future, fear is more powerful than hope. These circumstances characterize the two different parties among the partizans of the principle of asceticism; the parties and their motives different, the principle the same. . . . VIII. The principle of asceticism, however, with whatever warmth it may have been embraced by its partizans as a rule of private conduct, seems not to have been carried to any considerable length, when applied to the business of

The Principles of Morals and Legislation

467

government. In a few instances it has been carried a little way by the philosophical party: witness the Spartan regimen. Though then, perhaps, it may be considered as having been a measure of security: and an application, though a precipitate and perverse application, of the principle of utility. Scarcely in any instances, to any considerable length, by the religious: for the various monastic orders, and the societies of the Quakers, Dumplers, Moravians, 4 and other religionists, have been free societies, whose regimen no man has been astricted to without the intervention of his own consent. Whatever merit a man may have thought there would be in making himself miserable, no such notion seems ever to have occurred to any of them, that it may be a merit, much less a duty, to make others miserable: although it should seem, that if a certain quantity of misery were a thing so desirable, it would not matter much whether it were brought by each man upon himself, or by one man upon another. IX. The principle of asceticism seems originally to have been the reverie of certain hasty speculators, who having perceived, or fancied, that certain pleasures, when reaped in certain circumstances, have, at the long run, been attended with pains more than equivalent to them, took occasion to quarrel with every thing that offered itself under the name of pleasure. Having then got thus far, and having forgot the point which they set out from, they pushed on, and went so much further as to think it meritorious to fall in love with pain. Even this, we see, is at bottom but the principle of utility misapplied. X. The principle of utility is capable of being consistently pursued; and it is but tautology to say, that the more consistently it is pursued, the better it must ever be for humankind. The principle of asceticism never was, nor ever can be, consistently pursued by any living creature. Let but one tenth part of the inhabitants of this earth pursue it consistently, and in a day's time they will have turned it into a hell. XI. Among principles adverse to that of utility, that which at this day seems to have most influence in matters of government, is what may be called the principle of sympathy and antipathy. By the principle of sympathy and antipathy, I mean that principle which approves or disapproves of certain actions, not on account of their tending to augment the happiness, nor yet on account of their tending to diminish the happiness of the party whose interest is in question, but merely because a man finds himself disposed to approve or disapprove of them: holding up that approbation or disapprobation as a sufficient reason for itself, and disclaiming the necessity of looking out for any extrinsic ground. Thus far in the general department of morals: and in the particular department of politics, measuring out the quantum (as well as determining the ground) of punishment, by the degree of the disapprobation. XII. It is manifest, that this is rather a principle in name than in reality: it is not a positive principle of itself, so much as a term employed to signify the negation of all principle. What one expects to find in a principle is something that points out some external consideration, as a means of warranting and

468

Jeremy Bentham

guiding the internal sentiments of approbation and disapprobation: this expectation is but ill fulfilled by a proposition, which does neither more nor less than hold up each of those sentiments as a ground and standard for itself. XIII. In looking over the catalogue of human actions (says a partizan of this principle) in order to determine which of them are to be marked with the seal of disapprobation, you need but to take counsel of your own feelings: whatever you find in yourself a propensity to condemn, is wrong for that very reason. For the same reason it is also meet for punishment: in what proportion it is adverse to utility, or whether it be adverse to utility at all, is a matter that makes no difference. In that same proportion also is it meet for punishment: if you hate much, punish much: if you hate little, punish little: punish as you hate. If you hate not at all, punish not at all: the fine feelings of the soul are not to be overborne and tyrannized by the harsh and rugged dictates of political utility. XIV.The various systems that have been formed concerning the standard of right and wrong, may all be reduced to the principle of sympathy and antipathy.' One account may serve for all of them. They consist all of them in so many contrivances for avoiding the obligation of appealing to any external standard, and for prevailing upon the reader to accept of the author's sentiment or opinion as a reason for itself. The phrases different, but the principle the same.* It is curious enough to observe the variety of inventions men have hit upon. and the variety of phrases they have brought forward, in order to conceal from the world, and, if possible. from themselves, this very general and therefore very pardonable self-sufficiency. 1. One man says, he has a thing made on purpose to tell him what is right and what is wrong; and that it is called a moral sense: and then he goes to work at his ease, and says, such a thing is right, and such a thing is wrong - why? - because my moral sense tells me it is." 2. Another man comes and alters the phrase: leaving out moral, and putting in common, in the room of it. He then tells you, that his common sense teaches him what is right and wrong. as surely as the other's moral sense did: meaning by common sense, a sense of some kind or other, which, he says. is possessed by all mankind: the sense of those, whose sense is not the same as the author's, being struck out of the account as not worth taking. This contrivance does better than the other; for a moral sense, being a new thing, a man may feel about him a good while without being able to find it out: but common sense is as old as the creation: and there is no man but would be ashamed to be thought not to have as much of it as his neighbours. It has another great advantage: by appearing to share power, it lessens envy: for when a man gets up upon this ground, in order to anathematize those who differ from him, it is not by a sic volo sic jubeo, but by a velitis jubeatis. 3. Another man comes, and says, that as to a moral sense indeed, he cannot find that he has any such thing: that however he has an understanding, which will do quite as well. This understanding, he says, is the standard of right and wrong: it tells him so and so. All good and wise men understand as he does: if other men's understandings differ in any point from him, so much the worse for them: it is a sure sign they are either defective or corrupt. 4. Another man says, that there is an eternal and immutable Rule of Right: that that rule of right dictates so and so: and then he begins giving you his sentiments upon any thing that comes uppermost: and these sentiments (you are to take for granted) are so many branches of the eternal rule of right. 5. Another man, or perhaps the same man (it's no matter) says. that there are certain practices conformable, and others repugnant, to the Fitness of Things; and then he tells you, at his leisure, what practices are conformable and what repugnant: just as he happens to like a practice or dislike it. 6. A great multitude of people are continually talking of the Law of Nature; and then they go

The Principles of Morals and Legislation

469

XV. It is manifest, that the dictates of this principle will frequently coincide with those of utility, though perhaps without intending any such thing. Probably more frequently than not: and hence it is that the business of penal justice is carried on upon that tolerable sort of footing upon which we see it carried on in common at this day. For what more natural or more general ground of hatred to a practice can there be, than the mischievousness of such practice? What all men are exposed to suffer by, all men will be disposed to hate. It is far yet, however, from being a constant ground: for when a man suffers, it is not always that he knows what it is he suffers by. A man may suffer grievously, for instance, by a new tax, without being able to trace up the cause of his sufferings to the injustice of some neighbour, who has eluded the payment of an old one. XVI. The principle of sympathy and antipathy is most apt to err on the side of severity. It is for applying punishment in many cases which deserve none: in many cases which deserve some, it is for applying more than they deserve. There is no incident imaginable, be it ever so trivial, and so remote from mischief, from which this principle may not extract a ground of punishment. Any difference in taste: any difference in opinion: upon one subject as well as upon another. No disagreement so trifling which perseverance and altercation will not render serious. Each becomes in the other's eyes an enemy, and, if laws permit, a criminal. This is one of the circumstances by on giving you their sentiments about what is right and what is wrong: and these sentiments. you are to understand, are so many chapters and sections of the Law of Nature. . . . The mischief common to all these ways of thinking and arguing (which, in truth, as we have seen, are but one and the same method, couched in different forms of words) is their serving as a cloke, and pretence, and aliment, to despotism: if not a despotism in practice. a despotism however in disposition: which is but too apt. when pretence and power offer, to show itself in practice. The consequence is, that with intentions very commonly of the purest kind, a man becomes a torment either to himself or his fellow-creatures. If he he of the melancholy cast, he sits in silent grief, bewailing their blindness and depravity: if of the irascible, he declaims with fury and virulence against all who differ from him: blowing up the coals of fanaticism, and branding with the charge of corruption and insincerity, every man who does not think, or profess to think, as he does. If such a man happens to possess the advantages of style. his book may do a considerable deal of mischief before the nothingness of it is understood. These principles, if such they can be called, it is more frequent to see applied to morals than to politics: but their influence extends itself to both. In politics, as well as morals. a man will he at least equally glad of a pretence for deciding any question in the manner that best pleases him, without the trouble of inquiry. If a man is an infallible judge of what is right and wrong in the actions of private individuals, why not in the measures to he observed by public men in the direction of those actions? accordingly (not to mention other chimeras) I have more than once known the pretended law of nature set up in legislative debates, in opposition to arguments derived from the principle of utility. - But is it never, then, from any other considerations than those of utility, that we derive our notions of right and wrong?" I do not know: I do not care. Whether a moral sentiment can he originally conceived from any other source than a view of utility, is one question: whether upon examination and reflection it can, in point of fact, be actually persisted in and justified on any other ground, by a person reflecting within himself, is another: whether in point of right it can properly be justified on any other ground. by a person addressing himself to the community, is a third. The two first are questions of speculation: it matters not, comparatively speaking, how they are decided. The last is a question of practice: the decision of it is of as much importance as that of any can be. . .

470

Jeremy Bentham

which the human race is distinguished (not much indeed to its advantage) from the brute creation. XVII. It is not, however, by any means unexampled for this principle to err on the side of lenity. A near and perceptible mischief moves antipathy. A remote and imperceptible mischief, though not less real, has no effect. . . . XVIII. It may be wondered, perhaps, that in all this while no mention has been made of the theological principle; meaning that principle which professes to recur for the standard of right and wrong to the will of God. But the case is, this is not in fact a distinct principle. It is never any thing more or less than one or other of the three before-mentioned principles presenting itself under another shape. The will of God here meant cannot be his revealed will, as contained in the sacred writings: for that is a system which nobody ever thinks of recurring to at this time of day, for the details of political administration: and even before it can be applied to the details of private conduct, it is universally allowed, by the most eminent divines of all persuasions, to stand in need of pretty ample interpretations; else to what use are the works of those divines? And for the guidance of these interpretations, it is also allowed, that some other standard must be assumed. The will then which is meant on this occasion, is that which may be called the presumptive will: that is to say, that which is presumed to be his will on account of the conformity of its dictates to those of some other principle. What then may be this other principle? it must be one or other of the three mentioned above: for there cannot, as we have seen, be any more. It is plain, therefore, that, setting revelation out of the question, no light can ever be thrown upon the standard of right and wrong, by any thing that can be said upon the question, what is God's will. We may be perfectly sure, indeed, that whatever is right is conformable to the will of God: but so far is that from answering the purpose of showing us what is right, that it is necessary to know first whether a thing is right, in order to know from thence whether it be conformable to the will of God.* XIX. There are two things which are very apt to be confounded, but which it imports us carefully to distinguish: — the motive or cause, which, by operating on the mind of an individual, is productive of any act: and the ground or reason which warrants a legislator, or other by-stander, in regarding that act * The principle of theology refers every thing to God's pleasure. But what is God's pleasure? God does not, he confessedly does not now, either speak or write to us. How then are we to know what is his pleasure? By observing what is our own pleasure. and pronouncing it to be his. Accordingly, what is called the pleasure of God. is and must necessarily be (revelation apart) neither more nor less than the good pleasure of the person. whoever he be, who is pronouncing what he believes, or pretends, to be God's pleasure. How know you it to be God's pleasure that such or such an act should be abstained from? whence come you even to suppose as much? "Because the engaging in it would. I imagine. be prejudicial upon the whole to the happiness of mankind"; says the partizan of the principle of utility: "Because the commission of it is attended with a gross and sensual, or at least with a trifling and transient satisfaction"; says the partizan of the principle of asceticism: "Because I detest the thoughts of it; and I cannot, neither ought I to be called upon to tell why"; says he who proceeds upon the principle of antipathy. In the words of one or other of these must that person necessarily answer (revelation apart) who professes to take for his standard the will of God.

The Principles of Morals and Legislation

471

with an eye of approbation. When the acts happens, in the particular instance in question, to be productive of effects which we approve of, much more if we happen to observe that the same motive may frequently be productive, in other instances, of the like effects, we are apt to transfer our approbation to the motive itself, and to assume, as the just ground for the approbation we bestow on the act, the circumstance of its originating from that motive. It is in this way that the sentiment of antipathy has often been considered as a just ground of action. Antipathy, for instance, in such or such a case, is the cause of an action which is attended with good effects: but this does not make it a right ground of action in that case, any more than in any other. Still farther. Not only the effects are good, but the agent sees beforehand that they will be so. This may make the action indeed a perfectly right action: but it does not make antipathy a right ground of action. For the same sentiment of antipathy, if implicitly deferred to, may be, and very frequently is, productive of the very worst effects. Antipathy, therefore, can never be a right ground of action. No more, therefore, can resentment, which, as will be seen more particularly hereafter, is but a modification of antipathy. The only right ground of action, that can possibly subsist, is, after all, the consideration of utility, which, if it is a right principle of action, and of approbation, in any one case, is so in every other. Other principles in abundance, that is, other motives, may be the reasons why such and such an act has been done: that is, the reasons or causes of its being done: but it is this alone that can be the reason why it might or ought to have been done. Antipathy or resentment requires always to be regulated, to prevent its doing mischief: to be regulated by what? always by the principle of utility. The principle of utility neither requires nor admits of any other regulator than itself.

CHAPTER III: OF THE FOUR SANCTIONS OR SOURCES OF PAIN AND PLEASURE

I. It has been shown that the happiness of the individuals, of whom a community is composed, that is their pleasures and their security, is the end and the sole end which the legislator ought to have in view: the sole standard, in conformity to which each individual ought, as far as depends upon the legislator, to be made to fashion his behaviour. But whether it be this or any thing else that is to be done, there is nothing by which a man can ultimately be made to do it, but either pain or pleasure. Having taken a general view of these two grand objects (viz. pleasure, and what comes to the same thing, immunity from pain) in the character of final causes; it will be necessary to take a view of pleasure and pain itself, in the character of efficient causes or means. II. There are four distinguishable sources from which pleasure and pain are in use to flow: considered separately, they may be termed the physical, the political, the moral, and the religious: and inasmuch as the pleasures and pains

472

Jeremy Bentham

belonging to each of them are capable of giving a binding force to any law or rule of conduct, they may all of them be termed sanctions.* III. If it be in the present life, and from the ordinary course of nature, not purposely modified by the interposition of the will of any human being, nor by any extraordinary interposition of any superior invisible being, that the pleasure or the pain takes place or is expected, it may be said to issue from or to belong to the physical sanction. IV. If at the hands of a particular person or set of persons in the community, who under names correspondent to that of judge, are chosen for the particular purpose of dispensing it, according to the will of the sovereign or supreme ruling power in the state, it may be said to issue from the political sanction. V. If at the hands of such chance persons in the community, as the party in question may happen in the course of his life to have concerns with, according to each man's spontaneous disposition, and not according to any settled or concerted rule, it may be said to issue from the moral or popular sanction. VI. If from the immediate hand of a superior invisible being, either in the present life, or in a future, it may be said to issue from the religious sanction. VII. Pleasures or pains which may be expected to issue from the physical, political, or moral sanctions, must all of them be expected to be experienced, if ever, in the present life: those which may be expected to issue from the religious sanction, may be expected to be experienced either in the present life or in a future. VIII. Those which can be experienced in the present life, can of course be no others than such as human nature in the course of the present life is susceptible of: and from each of these sources may flow all the pleasures or pains of which, in the course of the present life, human nature is susceptible. With regard to these then (with which alone we have in this place any concern) those of them which belong to any one of those sanctions, differ not ultimately in kind from those which belong to any one of the other three: the only difference there is among them lies in the circumstances that accompany their production. A suffering which befalls a man in the natural and spontaneous course of things, shall be styled, for instance, a calamity; in which case, if it be supposed to befall him through any imprudence of his, it may be styled a punishment issuing from the physical sanction. Now this same suffering, if * Sancti°, in Latin, was used to signify the act of binding, and, by a common grammatical transition, any thing which serves to bind a man: to wit, to the observance of such or such a mode of conduct. According to a Latin grammarian, the import of the word is derived by rather a far-fetched process (such as those commonly are, and in a great measure indeed must be, by which intellectual ideas are derived from sensible ones) from the word sanguis, blood: because, among the Romans, with a view to inculcate into the people a persuasion that such or such a mode of conduct would be rendered obligatory upon a man by the force of what I call the religious sanction (that is. that he would be made to suffer by the extraordinary interpolation of some superior being. if he failed to observe the mode of conduct in question) certain ceremonies were contrived by the priests: in the course of which ceremonies the blood of victims was made use of. A Sanction then is a source of obligatory powers or motives that is. of pains and pleasures; which. according as they are connected with such or such modes of conduct, operate. and are indeed the only things which can operate, as motives. . . .

The Principles of Morals and Legislation

473

inflicted by the law, will be what is commonly called a punishment; if incurred for want of any friendly assistance, which the misconduct, or supposed misconduct, of the sufferer has occasioned to be withholden, a punishment issuing from the moral sanction; if through the immediate interposition of a particular providence, a punishment issuing from the religious sanction. . . . XI. Of these four sanctions the physical is altogether, we may observe, the ground-work of the political and the moral: so is it also of the religious, in as far as the latter bears relation to the present life. It is included in each of those other three. This may operate in any case, (that is, any of the pains or pleasures belonging to it may operate) independently of them: none of them can operate but by means of this. In a word, the powers of nature may operate of themselves; but neither the magistrate, nor men at large, can operate, nor is God in the case in question supposed to operate, but through the powers of nature. XII. For these four objects, which in their nature have so much in common, it seemed of use to find a common name. It seemed of use, in the first place, for the convenience of giving a name to certain pleasures and pains, for which a name equally characteristic could hardly otherwise have been found: in the second place, for the sake of holding up the efficacy of certain moral forces, the influence of which is apt not to be sufficiently attended to. Does the political sanction exert an influence over the conduct of mankind? The moral, the religious sanctions do so too. In every inch of his career are the operations of the political magistrate liable to be aided or impeded by these two foreign powers: who, one or other of them, or both, are sure to be either his rivals or his allies. Does it happen to him to leave them out in his calculations? he will be sure almost to find himself mistaken in the result. Of all this we shall find abundant proofs in the sequel of this work. It behoves him, therefore, to have them continually before his eyes; and that under such a name as exhibits the relation they bear to his own purposes and designs. CHAPTER IV: VALUE OF A LOT OF PLEASURE OR PAIN, How TO BE MEASURED I. Pleasures then, and the avoidance of pains, are the ends which the legislator has in view: it behoves him therefore to understand their value. Pleasures and pains are the instruments he has to work with: it behoves him therefore to understand their force, which is again, in other words, their value. II. To a person considered by himself the value of a pleasure or pain considered by itself, will be greater or less, according to the four following circumstances: 1. Its intensity. 2. Its duration. 3. Its certainty or uncertainty. 4. Its propinquity or remoteness. III. These are the circumstances which are to be considered in estimating a pleasure or a pain considered each of them by itself. But when the value of

474

Jeremy Bentham

any pleasure or pain is considered for the purpose of estimating the tendency of any act by which it is produced, there are two other circumstances to be taken into the account; these are, 5. Its fecundity, or the chance it has of being followed by sensations of the same kind: that is, pleasures, if it be a pleasure: pains, if it be a pain. 6. Its purity, or the chance it has of not being followed by sensations of the opposite kind: that is, pains, if it be a pleasure: pleasures, if it be a pain. These two last, however, are in strictness scarcely to be deemed properties of the pleasure or the pain itself; they are not, therefore, in strictness to be taken into the account of the value of that pleasure or that pain. They are in strictness to be deemed properties only of the act, or other event, by which such pleasure or pain has been produced; and accordingly are only to be taken into the account of the tendency of such act or such event. IV. To a number of persons, with reference to each of whom the value of a pleasure or a pain is considered, it will be greater or less, according to seven circumstances: to wit, the six preceding ones; viz. 1. Its intensity. 2. Its duration. 3. Its certainty or uncertainty. 4. Its propinquity or remoteness. 5. Its fecundity. 6. Its purity. And one other; to wit: 7. Its extent; that is, the number of persons to whom it extends; or (in other words) who are affected by it. V. To take an exact account then of the general tendency of any act, by which the interests of a community are affected, proceed as follows. Begin with any one person of those whose interests seem most immediately to be affected by it: and take an account, 1. Of the value of each distinguishable pleasure which appears to be produced by it in the first instance. 2. Of the value of each pain which appears to be produced by it in the first instance. 3. Of the value of each pleasure which appears to be produced by it after the first. This constitutes the fecundity of the first pleasure and the impurity of the first pain. 4. Of the value of each pain which appears to be produced by it after the first. This constitutes the fecundity of the first pain, and the impurity of the first pleasure. 5. Sum up all the values of all the pleasures on the one side, and those of all the pains on the other. The balance, if it be on the side of pleasure, will give the good tendency of the act upon the whole, with respect to the interests of that individual person; if on the side of pain, the bad tendency of it upon the whole. 6. Take an account of the number of persons whose interests appear to be concerned; and repeat the above process with respect to each. Sum up the number expressive of the degrees of good tendency, which the act has, with

Theory of Legislation

475

respect to each individual, in regard to whom the tendency of it is good upon the whole: do this again with respect to each individual, in regard to whom the tendency of it is good upon the whole: do this again with respect to each individual, in regard to whom the tendency of it is bad upon the whole. Take the balance; which, if on the side of pleasure, will give the general good tendency of the act, with respect to the total number or community of individuals concerned; if on the side of pain, the general evil tendency, with respect to the same community. VI. It is not to be expected that this process should be strictly pursued previously to every moral judgment, or to every legislative or judicial operation. It may, however, be always kept in view: and as near as the process actually pursued on these occasions approaches to it, so near will such process approach to the character of an exact one. VII. The same process is alike applicable to pleasure and pain, in whatever shape they appear: and by whatever denomination they are distinguished: to pleasure, whether it be called good (which is properly the cause or instrument of pleasure) or profit (which is distant pleasure, or the cause or instrument of distant pleasure,) or convenience, or advantage, benefit, emolument, happiness, and so forth: to pain, whether it be called evil, (which corresponds to good) or mischief or inconvenience, or disadvantage, or loss, or unhappiness, and so forth. VIII. Nor is this a novel and unwarranted, any more than it is a useless theory. In all this there is nothing but what the practice of mankind, wheresoever they have a clear view of their own interest, is perfectly conformable to. An article of property, an estate in land, for instance, is valuable, on what account? On account of the pleasures of all kinds which it enables a man to produce, and what comes to the same thing the pains of all kinds which it enables him to avert. But the value of such an article of property is universally understood to rise or fall according to the length or shortness of the time which a man has in it: the certainty or uncertainty of its coming into possession: and the nearness or remoteness of the time at which, if at all, it is to come into possession. As to the intensity of the pleasures which a man may derive from it, this is never thought of, because it depends upon the use which each particular person may come to make of it; which cannot be estimated till the particular pleasures he may come to derive from it, or the particular pains he may come to exclude by means of it, are brought to view. For the same reason, neither does he think of the fecundity or purity of those pleasures. . . .

Theory of Legislation CHAPTER XII: THE LIMITS WHICH SEPARATE MORALS FROM LEGISLATION

Morality in general is the art of directing the actions of men in such a way as to produce the greatest possible sum of good.

476

Jeremy Bentham

Legislation ought to have precisely the same object. But although these two arts, or rather sciences, have the same end, they differ greatly in extent. All actions, whether public or private, fall under the jurisdiction of morals. It is a guide which leads the individual, as it were, by the hand through all the details of his life, all his relations with his fellows. Legislation cannot do this; and, if it could, it ought not to exercise a continual interference and dictation over the conduct of men. Morality commands each individual to do all that is advantageous to the community, his own personal advantage included. But there are many acts useful to the community which legislation ought not to command. There are also many injurious actions which it ought not to forbid, although morality does so. In a word, legislation has the same centre with morals, but it has not the same circumference. There are two reasons for this difference: 1st. Legislation can have no direct influence upon the conduct of men, except by punishments. Now these punishments are so many evils, which are not justifiable except so far as there results from them a greater sum of good. But, in many cases in which we might desire to strengthen a moral precept by a punishment, the evil of the punishment would be greater than the evil of the offence. The means necessary to carry the law into execution would be of a nature to spread through society a degree of alarm more injurious than the evil intended to be prevented. 2nd. Legislation is often arrested by the danger of overwhelming the innocent in seeking to punish the guilty. Whence comes this danger? From the difficulty of defining an offence, and giving a clear and precise idea of it. For example, hard-heartedness, ingratitude, perfidy, and other vices which the popular sanction punishes, cannot come under the power of the law, unless they are defined as exactly as theft, homicide, or perjury. But, the better to distinguish the true limits of morals and legislation, it will be well to refer to the common classification of moral duties. Private morality regulates the actions of men, either in that part of their conduct in which they alone are interested, or in that which may affect the interests of others. The actions which affect a man's individual interest compose a class called, perhaps improperly, duties to ourselves; and the quality or disposition manifested in the accomplishment of those duties receives the name of prudence. That part of conduct which relates to others composes a class of actions called duties to others. Now there are two ways of consulting the happiness of others: the one negative, abstaining from diminishing it; the other positive, labouring to augment it. The first constitutes probity; the second is beneficence. Morality upon these three points needs the aid of the law; but not in the same degree, nor in the same manner. I. The rules of prudence are almost always sufficient of themselves. If a man fails in what regards his particular private interest, it is not his will which is in fault, it is his understanding. If he does wrong, it can only be through mistake.

Theory of Legislation

477

The fear of hurting himself is a motive of repression sufficiently strong; it would be useless to add to it the fear of an artificial pain. Does any one object, that facts show the contrary? That excesses of play, those of intemperance, the illicit intercourse between the sexes, attended so often by the greatest dangers, are enough to prove that individuals have not always sufficient prudence to abstain from what hurts them? Confining myself to a general reply, I answer, in the first place, that, in the greater part of these cases, punishment would be so easily eluded, that it would be inefficacious; secondly, that the evil produced by the penal law would be much beyond the evil of the offence. . . . As a general rule, the greatest possible latitude should be left to individuals, in all cases in which they can injure none but themselves, for they are the best judges of their own interests. If they deceive themselves, it is to be supposed that the moment they discover their error they will alter their conduct. The power of the law need interfere only to prevent them from injuring each other. It is there that restraint is necessary; it is there that the application of punishments is truly useful, because the rigour exercised upon an individual becomes in such a case the security of all. II. It is true that there is a natural connection between prudence and probity; for our own interest, well understood, will never leave us without motives to abstain from injuring our fellows. Let us stop a moment at this point. I say that, independently of religion and the laws, we always have some natural motives — that is, motives derived from our own interest for consulting the happiness of others. 1st. The motive of pure benevolence, a sweet and calm sentiment which we delight to experience, and which inspires us with a repugnance to be the cause of suffering. 2nd. The motives of private affection, which exercise their empire in domestic life, and within the particular circle of our intimacies. 3rd. The desire of good repute, and the fear of blame. This is a sort of calculation of trade. It is paying, to have credit; speaking truth, to obtain confidence; serving, to be served. It is thus we must understand that saying of a wit, that, if there were no such thing as honesty, it would be a good speculation to invent it, as a means of making one's fortune. A man enlightened as to his own interest will not indulge himself in a secret offence through fear of contracting a shameful habit, which sooner or later will betray him; and because the having secrets to conceal from the prying curiosity of mankind leaves in the heart a sediment of disquiet, which corrupts every pleasure. All he can acquire at the expense of security cannot make up for the loss of that; and, if he desires a good reputation, the best guarantee he can have for it is his own esteem. But, in order that an individual should perceive this connection between the interests of others and his own, he needs an enlightened spirit and a heart free from seductive passions. The greater part of men have neither sufficient light, sufficient strength of mind, nor sufficient moral sensibility to place their honesty above the aid of the laws. The legislator must supply the feebleness of this

478

Jeremy Bentham

natural interest by adding to it an artificial interest, more steady and more easily perceived. More yet. In many cases morality derives its existence from the law; that is, to decide whether the action is morally good or bad, it is necessary to know whether the laws permit or forbid it. It is so of what concerns property. A manner of selling or acquiring, esteemed dishonest in one country, would be irreproachable in another. It is the same with offences against the state. The state exists only by law, and it is impossible to say what conduct in this behalf morality requires of us before knowing what the legislator has decreed. There are countries where it is an offence to enlist into the service of a foreign power, and others in which such a service is lawful and honourable.* HI. As to beneficence some distinctions are necessary. The law may be extended to general objects, such as the care of the poor; but, for details, it is necessary to depend upon private morality. Beneficence has its mysteries, and loves best to employ itself upon evils so unforeseen or so secret that the law cannot reach them. Besides, it is to individual free-will that benevolence owes its energy. If the same acts were commanded, they would no longer be benefits, they would lose their attraction and their essence. It is morality, and especially religion, which here form the necessary complement to legislation, and the sweetest tie of humanity. However, instead of having done too much in this respect, legislators have not done enough. They ought to erect into an offence the refusal or the omission of a service of humanity when it would be easy to render it, and when some distinct ill clearly results from the refusal; such, for example, as abandoning a wounded man in a solitary road without seeking any assistance for him; not giving information to a man who is ignorantly meddling with poisons; not reaching out the hand to one who has fallen into a ditch from which he cannot extricate himself; in these, and other similar cases, could any fault be found with a punishment, exposing the delinquent to a certain degree of shame, or subjecting him to a pecuniary responsibility for the evil which he might have prevented? I will add, that legislation might be extended further than it is in relation to the interests of the inferior animals. I do not approve the laws of the Hindus on this subject. There are good reasons why animals should serve for the nourishment of man, and for destroying those which incommode us. We are the better for it, and they are not the worse; for they have not, as we have, long and cruel anticipations of the future; and the death which they receive at our hands may always be rendered less painful than that which awaits them in the inevitable course of nature. But what can be said to justify the useless torments they are made to suffer; the cruel caprices which are exercised upon • Here we touch upon one of the most difficult of questions. If the law is not what it ought to be if it openly combats the principle of utility; ought we to obey it? Ought we to violate it? Ought we to remain neuter between the law which commands an evil. and morality which forbids it? The solution of this question involves considerations both of prudence and benevolence. We ought to examine if it is more dangerous to violate the law than to obey it; we ought to consider whether the probable evils of obedience are less or greater than the probable evils of disobedience.

Further Reading

479

them? Among the many reasons which might be given for making criminal such gratuitous cruelties, I confine myself to that which relates to my subject. It is a means of cultivating a general sentiment of benevolence, and of rendering men more mild; or at least of preventing that brutal depravity, which, after fleshing itself upon animals, presently demands human suffering to satiate its appetite. Editor's Notes 1. Bentham thought that the word "community" stood for a fiction because it may mislead us into thinking that there is some existing entity called the "community" which is other than the group of perceptible people who really are all that there is to a community. 2. Here "measure of government" is treated as a fiction. 3. An ascetic is one who practices severe self-denial, denying satisfaction of desires and needs. Bentham added a polemical footnote about monks who live ascetically in the hope of being rewarded many times over in heaven. 4. Bentham treated these sects as if they were Protestant counterparts of the Catholic monks he so disliked. 5. In the next footnote, Bentham dismissed the bulk of previous Western moral philosophy as resting on the objectionable principle of sympathy and antipathy. Most of the views he rejected are represented in these volumes, although Bentham's description does not always identify a specific author. Further Reading Modern editions of Bentham's writings are appearing in J. H. Burns, John Dinwiddy. and F. Rosen, eds., The Collected Works of Jeremy Bentham (Oxford: Oxford University Press 1968— ). The only previous attempt at a complete edition is the unsatisfactory Works edited by John Bowring, 1843. Bentham elaborated his views on morality in a late work, the Deontology, now available in Amnon Goldworth, ed., Collected Works (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1983). This book contains Bentham's thoughts on virtue and his ideas on other topics not covered in the Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation, but it is a frustrating and rather eccentric work. For Bentham's views of language, the best work to consult is C. K. Ogden. ed., Bentham's Theory of Fictions (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. 1932). The literature on Bentham, Benthamism, and utilitarianism is immense. One of the best places to begin is the brilliant essay "Bentham" by his sometime disciple John Stuart Mill, in Mill's Collected Works, vol. 10, ed. John M. Robson (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1969). The first volume of Sir Leslie Stephen, The English Utilitarians (London: Duckworth, 1900), devoted to Bentham, is still worth reading. For the development of Bentham's thought, the great work by Elie Halevy, The Growth of Philosophical Radicalism, trans. Mary Morris (London: Faber & Faber. 1928), is indispensable. John Dinwiddy, Bentham (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989), gives a concise survey, taking advantage of recent research. Ross Harrison, Bentham (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1983), is especially good on Bentham's theory of meaning. David Lyons, In the Interest of the Governed (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1973), proposes an interesting but controversial reading. David Baumgardt, Bentham and the Ethics of

480

Jeremy Bentham

Today (Princeton N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1952), is a long and diffuse study that draws on much manuscript material. H. L. A. Hart's Essays on Bentham (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1982) — though primarily about Bentham on jurisprudence and political theory — is of great value to the student of Bentham's ethics. Gerald J. Postema, Bentham and the Common Law Thadition (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986), studies Bentham's legal theory in its jurisprudential context. James Steintrager. Bentham (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1977), is helpful on Bentham's political thought. Finally, the journal Utilitas publishes studies of Bentham and of the utilitarian tradition generally.

Part IV. Autonomy and Responsibility

The Earl of Shaftesbury

Introduction Anthony Ashley Cooper, who became the third earl of Shaftesbury upon the death of his father in 1699, was born in 1671. His grandfather. the first earl, was a central figure in the Whig party during the seventeenth century. The first earl took charge of his grandson's education, placing him under the tutelage of John Locke. who was the household physician and adviser to the whole family. As a young man, Cooper traveled on the Continent for several years. and in 1695 he was elected to a seat in Parliament. He served for three years and continued to attend sessions when he was elevated to the House of Lords, but his poor health made it necessary for him to stay away from London as much as possible. Eventually he was forced to move to Italy in the hope that he could survive in the warmer climate. But in 1713 he died in Naples, leaving behind a widow and one son. His chief work is a series of essays, collected first in three volumes under the title Characteristics of Men, Manners, Opinions, Times (1711). The most overtly philosophical of these essays is the one of most significance in the history of ethics, the Inquiry Concerning Virtue or Merit. The other essays deal with art, morals, religion, literature, politics, and the proper manner of living. In an elaborate style, often playful, often mocking, sometimes exhortative, sometimes biting and trenchant, they expose the reader not so much to a system as to a personality. Their influence was enormous. They made Shaftesbury the founder of a distinctive school of ethical thought. the moral sense, or sentimentalist, school. And in art and literature the essays. translated into French and German, were a major factor in forming subsequent sensibilities on the Continent as well as in Britain. The problems of politics, inseparable from religious issues during the seventeenth century, were a part of Shaftesbury's life from its beginning. In addition to this family inheritance, a number of other influences helped shape his mind. Shaftesbury was educated after childhood by John Locke. Although Shaftesbury admired Locke personally, he came to dislike profoundly his views of morality, in particular Locke's voluntarism, his belief that God is perfectly free to establish for us any moral laws he pleases, as there is no measure of morality other than God's will. Hobbes, Shaftesbury thought, had held similar views, but he had had too low a character to exercise any real influence, whereas Locke had to be taken seriously and opposed. This opposition is evident in much of Shaftesbury's work. In Amsterdam in 1698 Shaftesbury met the great skeptical writer Pierre Bayle. Bayle, a Huguenot refugee living in Holland, was one of the first to argue that a society of atheists could be as virtuous as a society of religious believers. Our actions are

483

484

The Earl of Shaftesbury

determined by our feelings rather than by our opinions, Bayle believed, and feelings left to themselves would not divide us as opinion does. Hence there are no practical grounds for persecuting those who do not accept orthodox views. And because we have no absolute knowledge of religious truth, we have no theoretical basis for suppressing what we believe are mistaken opinions. Consequently, we should be tolerant of diversity of belief, in the assurance that religious beliefs by themselves make little or no real difference to morality. Shaftesbury himself later championed religious tolerance and developed a moral psychology in which feelings play a major role. Shaftesbury was associated with a group of politically influential noblemen who advocated the theories that Harrington had proposed in his Oceana in 1656. One of Shaftesbury's closest friends was Robert Viscount Molesworth, a leader of the group trying to make the ideas of classical republicanism into an effective political program. (See the section "The Classical Republic" in the Introduction to this anthology.) Shaftesbury was also connected with a free-lance political writer and pamphleteer named John Toland, who edited Harrington's works and was responsible for the first publication of a draft of Shaftesbury's first long essay on morals. It appeared in 1699 under the title An Inquiry Concerning Virtue, without naming its author — but possibly with his assent. The classical republic could be a reality only if its citizens were concerned about sustaining the common good. Shaftesbury's interest in showing how people can have this concern may have one of its roots here. Finally, Shaftesbury knew the work of the Cambridge Platonists. (For a brief sketch of their views, see the introduction to the selections from Ralph Cudworth in Part II of this anthology.) In fact, Shaftesbury's first publication was an edition of sermons by their most admired member, Benjamin Whichcote, from a manuscript that Shaftesbury owned. Shaftesbury's preface makes clear his detestation of Hobbes and his contempt for those who, as he put it, portray humans as mean and selfish in order to show that there is need for a religious revelation to set them straight. Whichcote, he commented, saw that men are naturally sociable and loving, that Christianity is preeminently the religion in which love is enjoined, not one whose basis of morality is law backed by terror. Views like these occupied a central place in Shaftesbury's own mature thinking. Shaftesbury did not, however, express his views in a Christian vocabulary. Rather, he looked back to classical antiquity for his language — not to Epicureanism, which was too close to Hobbes's position to be acceptable. but to Stoicism, a suitable outlook for the politically active man of integrity, the citizen of a classical republic. Virtue will lead one to act for the general good; virtue is sufficient as an end, as it consists in having one's inner life in proper order, and happiness itself is no more than such order. One can therefore act as one sees fit, regardless of the political consequences for oneself. There is a God, for Shaftesbury, but he is rather aloof, not a God from whom to expect miraculous help but a God who simply ensures the good order of the universe and who does not need to intervene to make things go well. People can be left to run their lives by themselves. Shaftesbury used the phrase "moral sense" to identify the mental ability that guides us, but he did not use it often; still less did he worry about exactly how that sense functions — whether it gives us knowledge or provides us with a feeling. He was more concerned with showing that the object of the moral faculty is itself something inner, that is, our own feelings and desires or motives. Shaftesbury was a sentimentalist in morals not simply because of the presence of a moral sense in his theory but also because he trusted human sentiments to move us to act appropriately and relied on our

An Essay on the Freedom of Wit and Humour

485

reflexive awareness of those sentiments as a sufficient guide to what is or is not appropriate. Inner order, for him, is not constituted by conformity to what external laws or perfections require. It exists when our active principles are in an harmonious relation to one another, as judged by the moral faculty. Bringing oneself into moral order is like composing a work of art; each of us must he an independent artist. In the following selections I have given most of the space to excerpts from the Inquiry Concerning Virtue or Merit, which Shaftesbury first published under his own name and in its present form in the 1711 edition of the Characteristics. These selections are preceded by short excerpts from two other essays, "Sensus communis: An Essay on the Freedom of Wit and Humour" (1709) and "Soliloquy; or, Advice to an Author" (1710). These passages indicate, however inadequately, something of Shaftesbury's broader aims and interests. The texts are from John M. Robertson's edition of the Characteristics, 2 vols., London. 19(X).

Sensus communis: An Essay on the Freedom of Wit and Humour

A public spirit can come only from a social feeling or sense of partnership with human kind. Now there are none so far from being partners in this sense, or sharers in this common affection, as they who scarcely know an equal, nor consider themselves as subject to any law of fellowship or community. And thus morality and good government go together. There is no real love of virtue, without the knowledge of public good. And where absolute power is, there is no public. They who live under a tyranny, and have learnt to admire its power as sacred and divine, are debauched as much in their religion as in their morals. Public good, according to their apprehension, is as little the measure or rule of government in the universe as in the State. They have scarce a notion of what is good or just, other than as mere will and power have determined. Omnipotence, they think, would hardly be itself, were it not at liberty to dispense with the laws of equity, and change at pleasure the standard of moral rectitude.' But notwithstanding the prejudices and corruptions of this kind, 'tis plain there is something still of a public principle, even where it is most perverted and depressed. The worst of magistracies, the mere despotic kind, can show sufficient instances of zeal and affection towards it. Where no other government is known, it seldom fails of having that allegiance and duty paid it which is owing to a better form. The Eastern countries, and many barbarous nations, have been and still are examples of this kind. The personal love they bear their prince, however severe towards them, may show how natural an affection there is towards government and order among mankind. If men have really no public parent, no magistrate in common to cherish and protect them, they will still imagine they have such a one; and, like new-born creatures who have never seen their dam, will fancy one for themselves, and apply (as by Nature prompted) to some like form, for favour and protection. In the room of a true foster-father and chief, they will take after a false one; and in the room of a legal government and just prince, obey even a tyrant, and endure a whole lineage and succession of such.

486

The Earl of Shaftesbury

As for us Britons, thank Heaven, we have a better sense of government delivered to us from our ancestors. We have the notion of a public, and a constitution; how a legislative and how an executive is modelled. We understand weight and measure in this kind, and can reason justly on the balance of power and property. The maxims we draw from hence, are as evident as those in mathematics. Our increasing knowledge shows us every day, more and more, what common sense is in politics; and this must of necessity lead us to understand a like sense in morals, which is the foundation.

Soliloquy; or, Advice to an Author Thus is every one convinced of the reality of a better self, and of the cult or homage which is due to it. The misfortune is, we are seldom taught to comprehend this self by placing it in a distinct view from its representative or counterfeit. In our holy religion, which for the greatest part is adapted to the very meanest capacities, 'tis not to be expected that a speculation of this kind should be openly advanced. 'Tis enough that we have hints given us of a nobler self than that which is commonly supposed the basis and foundation of our actions. Self-interest is there taken as it is vulgarly conceived. Though on the other side there are, in the most sacred characters, examples given us of the highest contempt of all such interested views, of a willingness to suffer without recompense for the sake of others, and of a desire to part even with life and being itself on account of what is generous and worthy. But in the same manner as the celestial phenomena are in the sacred volumes generally treated according to common imagination and the then current system of Astronomy and Natural Science, so the moral appearances are in many places preserved without alteration, according to vulgar prejudice and the general conception of interest and self-good. Our real and genuine self is sometimes supposed that ambitious one which is fond of power and glory, sometimes that childish one which is taken with vain show, and is to be invited to obedience by promise of finer habitations, precious stones and metals, shining garments, crowns, and other such dazzling beauties, by which another earth or material city is represented. . . . But whatever may be the proper effect or operation of religion, 'tis the known province of philosophy to teach us ourselves, keep us the self-same persons, and so regulate our governing fancies, passions, and humours, as to make us comprehensible to ourselves, and knowable by other features than those of a bare countenance. For 'tis not certainly by virtue of our face merely that we are ourselves. 'Tis not we who change when our complexion or shape changes. But there is that, which being wholly metamorphosed and converted, we are thereby in reality transformed and lost. . . . When from a noted liberality we change perhaps to as remarkable a parsimony; when from indolence and love of rest we plunge into business, or from a busy and severe character, abhorrent from the tender converse of the fair sex, we turn on a sudden to a contrary passion, and become amorous or

Soliloquy; or, Advice to an Author

487

uxorious; we acknowledge the weakness, and charging our defect on the general want of philosophy we say (sighing) "that, indeed, we none of us truly know ourselves." And thus we recognise the authority and proper object of philosophy; so far at least, that though we pretend not to be complete philosophers, we confess "that as we have more or less of this intelligence or comprehension of ourselves we are accordingly more or less truly men, and either more or less to be depended on in friendship, society, and the commerce of life." The fruits of this science are indeed the fairest imaginable, and upon due trial are found to be as well relished and of as good favour with mankind. . . . This is the philosophy which by Nature has the pre-eminence above all other science or knowledge. Nor can this surely be of the sort called vain or deceitful, since it is the only means by which I can discover vanity and deceit.' This is not of that kind which depends on genealogies or traditions,' and ministers questions and vain jangling.' It has not its name, as other philosophies, from the mere subtlety and nicety of the speculation, but by way of excellence, from its being superior to all other speculations, from its presiding over all other sciences and occupations, teaching the measure of each, and assigning the just value of everything in life. By this science religion itself is judged, spirits are searched, prophecies proved, miracles distinguished: the sole measure and standard being taken from moral rectitude, and from the discernment of what is sound and just in the affections. For if the tree is known only by its fruits, my first endeavour must be to distinguish the true taste of fruits, refine my palate, and establish a just relish in the kind. So that to bid me judge authority by morals, whilst the rule of morals is supposed dependent on mere authority and will, is the same in reality as to bid me see with my eyes shut, measure without a standard, and count without arithmetic. And thus Philosophy, which judges both of herself and of everything besides, discovers her own province and chief command, teaches me to distinguish between her person and her likeness, and shows me her immediate and real self, by that sole privilege of teaching me to know myself and what belongs to me. She gives to every inferior science its just rank; leaves some to measure sounds, others to scan syllables, others to weigh vacuums, and define spaces and extensions; but reserves to herself her due authority and majesty, keeps her state and ancient title of vitae dux, virtutis indagatrix,' .. . Should a writer upon music, addressing himself to the students and lovers of the art, declare to them "that the measure or rule of harmony was caprice or will, humour or fashion," 'tis not very likely he should be heard with great attention or treated with real gravity. For harmony is harmony by nature, let men judge ever so ridiculously of music. So is symmetry and proportion founded still in nature, let men's fancy prove ever so barbarous, or their fashions ever so Gothic in their architecture, sculpture, or whatever other designing art. 'Tis the same case where life and manners arc concerned. Virtue has the same fixed standard. The same numbers, harmony, and propor-

488

The Earl of Shaftesbury

tion will have place in morals, and are discoverable in the characters and affections of mankind; in which are laid the just foundations of an art and science superior to every other of human practice and comprehension. This, I suppose therefore, is highly necessary that a writer should comprehend. For things are stubborn and will not be as we fancy them, or as the fashion varies, but as they stand in nature. Now whether the writer be poet, philosopher, or of whatever kind, he is in truth no other than a copyist after nature.

An Inquiry Concerning Virtue or Merit BOOK I Part II Section I

When we reflect on any ordinary frame or constitution either of Art or Nature, and consider how hard it is to give the least account of a particular part without a competent knowledge of the whole, we need not wonder to find ourselves at a loss in many things relating to the constitution and frame of Nature herself. For to what end in Nature many things, even whole species of creatures, refer, or to what purpose they serve, will be hard for any one justly to determine; but to what end the many proportions and various shapes of parts in many creatures actually serve, we are able, by the help of study and observation, to demonstrate with great exactness. We know that every creature has a private good and interest of his own, which Nature has compelled him to seek, by all the advantages afforded him within the compass of his make. We know that there is in reality a right and a wrong state of every creature, and that his right one is by nature forwarded and by himself affectionately sought. There being therefore in every creature a certain interest or good, there must be also a certain end to which everything in his constitution must naturally refer. To this end if anything, either in his appetites, passions, or affections, be not conducing but the contrary, we must of necessity own it ill to him. And in this manner he is ill with respect to himself, as he certainly is with respect to others of his kind, when any such appetites or passions make him anyway injurious to them. Now, if by the natural constitution of any rational creature, the same irregularities of appetite which make him ill to others, make him ill also to himself, and if the same regularity of affections which causes him to be good in one sense, causes him to be good also in the other, then is that goodness by which he is thus useful to others a real good and advantage to himself. And thus virtue and interest may be found at last to agree. If therefore in the structure of this or any other animal, there he anything which points beyond himself, and by which he is plainly discovered to have

An Inquiry Concerning Virtue or Merit

489

relation to some other being or nature besides his own, then will this animal undoubtedly be esteemed a part of some other system. For instance, if an animal has the proportions of a male, it shows he has relation to a female. And the respective proportions both of the male and female will be allowed, doubtless, to have a joint relation to another existence and order of things beyond themselves. So that the creatures are both of them to be considered as parts of another system, which is that of a particular race or species of living creatures, who have some one common nature, or are provided for by some one order or constitution of things subsisting together, and co-operating towards their conservation and support. In the same manner, if a whole species of animals contribute to the existence or well-being of some other, then is that whole species, in general, a part only of some other system. . . . Now, if the whole system of animals, together with that of vegetables, and all other things in this inferior world, be properly comprehended in one system of a globe or earth, and if, again, this globe or earth itself appears to have a real dependence on something still beyond, as, for example, either on its sun, the galaxy, or its fellow-planets, then is it in reality a part only of some other system. And if it be allowed that there is in like manner a system of all things, and a universal nature, there can be no particular being or system which is not either good or ill in that general one of the universe; for if it be insignificant and of no use, it is a fault or imperfection, and consequently ill in the general system. Therefore if any being be wholly and really ill, it must be ill with respect to the universal system; and then the system of the universe is ill or imperfect. But if the ill of one private system be the good of others; if it makes still to the good of the general system (as when one creature lives by the destruction of another; one thing is generated from the corruption of another; or one planetary system or vortex may swallow up another), then is the ill of that private system no real ill in itself, any more than the pain of breeding teeth is ill in a system or body which is so constituted that, without this occasion of pain, it would suffer worse by being defective. So that we cannot say of any being that it is wholly and absolutely ill, unless we can positively show and ascertain that what we call ill is nowhere good besides, in any other system, or with respect to any other order or economy whatsoever. But were there in the world any entire species of animals destructive to every other, it may be justly called an ill species, as being ill in the animal system. And if in any species of animals (as in men, for example) one man is of a nature pernicious to the rest, he is in this respect justly styled an ill man. We do not, however, say of any one that he is an ill man because he has the plague-spots upon him, or because he has convulsive fits which make him strike and wound such as approach him. Nor do we say on the other side that he is a good man when, having his hands tied up, he is hindered from doing the mischief he designs; or (which is in a manner the same) when he abstains

490

The Earl of Shaftesbury

from executing his ill purpose through a fear of some impending punishment, or through the allurement of some exterior reward. So that in a sensible creature that which is not done through any affection at all makes neither good nor ill in the nature of that creature, who then only is supposed good when the good or ill of the system to which he has relation is the immediate object of some passion or affection moving him. Since it is therefore by affection merely that a creature is esteemed good or ill, natural or unnatural, our business will be to examine which are the good and natural, and which the ill and unnatural affections. Section III

But to proceed from what is esteemed mere goodness. and lies within the reach and capacity of all sensible creatures, to that which is called virtue or merit, and is allowed to man only. In a creature capable of forming general notions of things, not only the outward beings which offer themselves to the sense are the objects of the affection, but the very actions themselves, and the affections of pity, kindness, gratitude, and their contraries, being brought into the mind by reflection, become objects. So that, by means of this reflected sense, there arises another kind of affection towards those very affections themselves, which have been already felt, and are now become the subject of a new liking or dislike. The case is the same in the mental or moral subjects as in the ordinary bodies or common subjects of sense. The shapes, motions, colours, and proportions of these latter being presented to our eye, there necessarily results a beauty or deformity, according to the different measure, arrangement, and disposition of their several parts. So in behaviour and actions, when presented to our understanding, there must be found, of necessity, an apparent difference, according to the regularity or irregularity of the subjects. The mind, which is spectator or auditor of other minds, cannot be without its eye and ear, so as to discern proportion, distinguish sound, and scan each sentiment or thought which comes before it. It can let nothing escape its censure. It feels the soft and harsh, the agreeable and disagreeable in the affections; and finds a foul and fair, a harmonious and a dissonant, as really and truly here as in any musical numbers or in the outward forms or representations of sensible things. Nor can it withhold its admiration and ecstasy, its aversion and scorn, any more in what relates to one than to the other of these subjects. So that to deny the common and natural sense of a sublime and beautiful in things, will appear an affectation merely, to any one who considers duly of this affair. Now as in the sensible kind of objects the species or images of bodies, colours, and sounds are perpetually moving before our eyes, and acting on our senses even when we sleep; so in the moral and intellectual kind, the forms and images of things are no less active and incumbent on the mind, at all seasons, and even when the real objects themselves arc absent. In these vagrant characters or pictures of manners, which the mind of

An Inquiry Concerning Virtue or Merit

491

necessity figures to itself and carries still about with it, the heart cannot possibly remain neutral; but constantly takes part one way or other. However false or corrupt it be within itself, it finds the difference, as to beauty and comeliness, between one heart and another, one turn of affection, one behaviour, one sentiment and another; and accordingly, in all disinterested cases, must approve in some measure of what is natural and honest, and disapprove what is dishonest and corrupt. Thus the several motions, inclinations, passions, dispositions, and consequent carriage and behaviour of creatures in the various parts of life, being in several views or perspectives represented to the mind, which readily discerns the good and ill towards the species or public, there arises a new trial or exercise of the heart, which must either rightly and soundly affect what is just and right, and disaffect what is contrary, or corruptly affect what is ill and disaffect what is worthy and good. And in this case alone it is we call any creature worthy or virtuous, when it can have the notion of a public interest, and can attain the speculation or science of what is morally good or ill, admirable or blamable, right or wrong. For though we may vulgarly call an ill horse vicious, yet we never say of a good one, nor of any mere beast, idiot, or changeling, 6 though ever so goodnatured, that he is worthy or virtuous. So that if a creature be generous, kind, constant, compassionate, yet if he cannot reflect on what he himself does, or sees others do, so as to take notice of what is worthy or honest, and make that notice or conception of worth and honesty to be an object of his affection, he has not the character of being virtuous; for thus, and no otherwise, he is capable of having a sense of right or wrong, a sentiment or judgment of what is done through just, equal, and good affection, or the contrary. Whatsoever is done through any unequal affection is iniquitous, wicked, and wrong. If the affection be equal, sound, and good, and the subject of the affection such as may with advantage to society be ever in the same manner prosecuted or affected, this must necessarily constitute what we call equity and right in any action. For wrong is not such action as is barely the cause of harm (since at this rate a dutiful son aiming at an enemy, but by mistake or ill chance happening to kill his father, would do a wrong), but when anything is done through insufficient or unequal affection (as when a son shows no concern for the safety of a father; or, where there is need of succour, prefers an indifferent person to him) this is of the nature of wrong. Neither can any weakness or imperfection in the senses be the occasion of iniquity or wrong; if the object of the mind itself be not at any time absurdly framed, nor any way improper, but suitable, just, and worthy of the opinion and affection applied to it. For if we will suppose a man who, being sound and entire both in his reason and affection, has nevertheless so depraved a constitution or frame of body that the natural objects are, through his organs of sense, as through ill glasses, falsely conveyed and misrepresented, 'twill be soon observed, in such a person's case, that since his failure is not in his

492

The Earl of Shaftesbury

principal or leading part, he cannot in himself be esteemed iniquitous or unjust. Tis otherwise in what relates to opinion, belief, or speculation. For as the extravagance of judgment or belief is such that in some countries even monkeys, cats, crocodiles, and other vile or destructive animals have been esteemed holy, and worshipped even as deities; should it appear to any one of the religion or belief of those countries that to save such a creature as a cat, preferably to a parent, was right, and that other men who had not the same religious opinion were to be treated as enemies till converted; this would be certainly wrong and wicked in the believer; and every action, grounded on this belief, would be an iniquitous, wicked, and vicious action. And thus whatsoever causes a misconception or misapprehension of the worth or value of any object, so as to diminish a due, or raise any undue, irregular or unsocial affection, must necessarily be the occasion of wrong. . . . A mistake therefore, in fact, being no cause or sign of ill affection, can be no cause of vice. But a mistake of right being the cause of unequal affection, must of necessity be the cause of vicious action in every intelligent or rational being. But as there are many occasions where the matter of right may even to the most discerning part of mankind appear difficult, and of doubtful decision, 'tis not a slight mistake of this kind which can destroy the character of a virtuous or worthy man. But when, either through superstition or ill custom, there come to be very gross mistakes in the assignment or application of the affection; when the mistakes are either in their nature so gross, or so complicated and frequent, that a creature cannot well live in a natural state, nor with due affections, compatible with human society and civil life; then is the character of virtue forfeited. And thus we find how far worth and virtue depend on a knowledge of right and wrong, and on a use of reason, sufficient to secure a right application of the affections; that nothing horrid or unnatural, nothing unexemplary, nothing destructive of that natural affection by which the species or society is upheld, may on any account, or through any principle or notion of honour or religion, be at any time affected or prosecuted as a good and proper object of esteem. For such a principle as this must be wholly vicious; and whatsoever is acted upon it can be no other than vice and immorality. And thus if there be anything which teaches men either treachery, ingratitude, or cruelty, by divine warrant or under colour and pretence of any present or future good to mankind; if there be anything which teaches men to persecute their friends through love, or to torment captives of war in sport, or to offer human sacrifice, or to torment, macerate, or mangle themselves in a religious zeal before their God, or to commit any sort of barbarity or brutality as amiable or becoming; be it custom which gives applause, or religion which gives a sanction; this is not, nor ever can be, virtue of any kind, or in any sense, but must remain still horrid depravity, notwithstanding any fashion, law, custom or religion which may be ill and vicious itself, but can never alter the eternal measures and immutable independent nature of worth and virtue.

An Inquiry Concerning Virtue or Merit

493

Section IV Upon the whole. As to those creatures who are only capable of being moved by sensible objects, they are accordingly good or vicious as the sensible affections stand with them. 'Tis otherwise in creatures capable of framing rational objects of moral good. For in one of this kind, should the sensible affections stand ever so much amiss, yet if they prevail not, because of those other rational affections spoken of, 'tis evident the temper still holds good in the main, and the person is with justice esteemed virtuous by all men. . . . Part II! Section 1 . . . 'Tis impossible to suppose a mere sensible creature originally so illconstituted and unnatural as that, from the moment he comes to be tried by sensible objects, he should have no one good passion towards his kind, no foundation either of pity, love, kindness, or social affection. 'Tis full as impossible to conceive that a rational creature coming first to be tried by rational objects, and receiving into his mind the images or representations of justice, generosity, gratitude, or other virtue, should have no liking of these or dislike of their contraries, but be found absolutely indifferent towards whatsoever is presented to him of this sort. A soul, indeed, may as well be without sense as without admiration in the things of which it has any knowledge. Coming therefore to a capacity of seeing and admiring in this new way, it must needs find a beauty and a deformity as well in actions, minds, and tempers, as in figures, sounds, or colours. If there be no real amiableness or deformity in moral acts, there is at least an imaginary one of full force. Though perhaps the thing itself should not be allowed in Nature, the imagination or fancy of it must be allowed to be from Nature alone. Nor can anything besides art and strong endeavour, with long practice and meditation, overcome such a natural prevention' or prepossession of the mind in favour of this moral distinction. Sense of right and wrong therefore being as natural to us as natural affection itself, and being a first principle in our constitution and make, there is no speculative opinion, persuasion, or belief, which is capable immediately or directly to exclude or destroy it. That which is of original and pure nature, nothing beside contrary habit and custom (a second nature) is able to displace. And this affection being an original one of earliest rise in the soul or affectionate part, nothing beside contrary affection, by frequent check and control, can operate upon it, so as either to diminish it in part or destroy it in the whole. . . . Section II . . . For whoever thinks there is a God, and pretends formally to believe that he is just and good, must suppose that there is independently such a thing as justice and injustice, truth and falsehood, right and wrong, according to

494

The Earl of Shaftesbury

which he pronounces that God is just, righteous, and true. If the mere will, decree, or law of God he said absolutely to constitute right and wrong, then are these latter words of no significancy at all. For thus, if each part of a contradiction were affirmed for truth by the Supreme Power, they would consequently become true. Thus if one person were decreed to suffer for another's fault, the sentence would be just and equitable. And thus, in the same manner, if arbitrarily and without reason some beings were destined to endure perpetual ill, and others as constantly to enjoy good, this also would pass under the same denomination. But to say of anything that it is just or unjust on such a foundation as this, is to say nothing, or to speak without a meaning. And thus it appears that where a real devotion and hearty worship is paid to a Supreme Being, who in his history or character is represented otherwise than as really and truly just and good, there must ensue a loss of rectitude, a disturbance of thought, and a corruption of temper and manners in the believer. His honesty will of necessity be supplanted by his zeal, whilst he is thus unnaturally influenced, and rendered thus immorally devout. To this we need only add, that as the ill character of a God does injury to the affections of men, and disturbs and impairs the natural sense of right and wrong, so, on the other hand, nothing can more highly contribute to the fixing of right apprehensions, and a sound judgment or sense of right and wrong, than to believe a God who is ever and on all accounts represented such as to be actually a true model and example of the most exact justice and highest goodness and worth. Such a view of divine providence and bounty extended to all, and expressed in a constant good affection towards the whole, must of necessity engage us, within our compass and sphere, to act by a like principle and affection. And having once the good of our species or public in view, as our end or aim, 'tis impossible we should be misguided by any means to a false apprehension or sense of right or wrong. . . . Section III . . . That it is possible for a creature capable of using reflection to have a liking or dislike of moral actions, and consequently a sense of right and wrong, before such time as he may have any settled notion of a God, is what will hardly be questioned; it being a thing not expected, or any way possible, that a creature such as man, arising from his childhood slowly and gradually to several degrees of reason and reflection, should at the very first be taken up with those speculations or more refined sort of reflections, about the subject of God's existence. Let us suppose a creature who, wanting reason and being unable to reflect, has notwithstanding many good qualities and affections, as love to his kind, courage, gratitude, or pity. 'Tis certain that if you give to this creature a reflecting faculty, it will at the same instant approve of gratitude, kindness, and pity; be taken with any show or representation of the social passion, and think nothing more amiable than this, or more odious than the contrary.

An Inquiry Concerning Virtue or Merit

495

And this is to be capable of virtue, and to have a sense of right and wrong. . . . BOOK II

Part I Section 1 We have considered what virtue is and to whom the character belongs. It remains to inquire, what obligation there is to virtue, or what reason to embrace it. We have found that, to deserve the name of good or virtuous, a creature must have all his inclinations and affections, his dispositions of mind and temper, suitable, and agreeing with the good of his kind, or of that system in which he is included, and of which he constitutes a part. To stand thus well affected, and to have one's affections right and entire, not only in respect of oneself but of society and the public, this is rectitude, integrity, or virtue. And to be wanting in any of these, or to have their contraries, is depravity, corruption, and vice. . . . There being allowed therefore in a creature such affections as these towards the common nature or system of the kind, together with those other which regard the private nature or self-system, it will appear that in following the first of these affections, the creature must on many occasions contradict and go against the latter. How else should the species be preserved? Or what would signify that implanted natural affection, by which a creature through so many difficulties and hazards preserves its offspring and supports its kind? .. . Now that this is in reality quite otherwise, we shall endeavour to demonstrate, so as to make appear that what men represent as an ill order and constitution in the universe, by making moral rectitude appear the ill, and depravity the good or advantage of a creature, is in Nature just the contrary. That to be well affected towards the public interest and one's own is not only consistent but inseparable; and that moral rectitude or virtue must accordingly be the advantage, and vice the injury and disadvantage of every creature. Section III It has been shown before, that no animal can be said properly to act otherwise than through affections or passions, such as are proper to an animal. For in convulsive fits, where a creature strikes either himself or others, 'tis a simple mechanism, an engine, or piece of clockwork, which acts, and not the animal. Whatsoever therefore is done or acted by any animal as such, is done only through some affection or passion, as of fear, love, or hatred moving him. And as it is impossible that a weaker affection should overcome a stronger,

496

The Earl of Shaftesbury

so it is impossible but that where the affections or passions are strongest in the main, and form in general the most considerable party, either by their force or number, thither the animal must incline: and according to this balance he must be governed and led to action. The affections or passions which must influence and govern the animal are either — 1. The natural affections, which lead to the good of the public. 2. Or the self affections, which lead only to the good of the private. 3. Or such as are neither of these, nor tending either to any good of the public or private, but contrariwise; and which may therefore be justly styled unnatural affections. So that according as these affections stand, a creature must be virtuous or vicious, good or ill. The latter sort of these affections, 'tis evident, are wholly vicious. The two former may be vicious or virtuous according to their degree. It may seem strange, perhaps, to speak of natural affections as too strong, or of self affections as too weak. But to clear this difficulty we must call to mind what has been already explained, "That natural affection may, in particular cases, be excessive, and in an unnatural degree." As when pity is so overcoming as to destroy its own end, and prevent the succour and relief required; or as when love to the offspring proves such a fondness as destroys the parent, and consequently the offspring itself. . . . And thus the affections towards private good become necessary and essential to goodness. For though no creature can be called good or virtuous merely for possessing these affections, yet since it is impossible that the public good or good of the system can be preserved without them, it follows that a creature really wanting in them is in reality wanting in some degree to goodness and natural rectitude, and may thus be esteemed vicious and defective. . . . But having shown what is meant by a passion's being in too high or in too low a degree; and that to have any natural affection too high, or any self affection too low, though it be often approved as virtue, is yet, strictly speaking, a vice and imperfection; we come now to the plainer and more essential part of vice, and which alone deserves to be considered as such; that is to say — 1. When either the public affections are weak or deficient. 2. Or the private and self affections too strong. 3. Or that such affections arise as are neither of these, nor in any degree tending to the support either of the public or private system. Otherwise than thus, it is impossible any creature can be such as we call ill or vicious. So that if once we prove that it is really not the creature's interest to be thus viciously affected, but contrariwise, we shall then have proved that it is his interest to be wholly good and virtuous, since in a wholesome and sound state of his affections, such as we have described, he cannot possibly be other than sound, good, and virtuous in his action and behaviour. Our business, therefore, will be to prove — 1. That to have the natural, kindly, or generous affections strong and power-

An Inquiry Concerning Virtue or Merit

497

ful towards the good of the public, is to have the chief means and power of self-enjoyment; and that to want them, is certain misery and ill. 2. That to have the private or self affections too strong, or beyond their degree of subordinacy to the kindly and natural, is also miserable. 3. And that to have the unnatural affections (viz. such as are neither founded on the interest of the kind or public, nor of the private person or creature himself) is to be miserable in the highest degree. Part II Section I

To begin therefore with this proof, That to have the natural affections (such as are founded in love, complacency, good-will, and in a sympathy with the kind or species) is to have the chief means and power of self-enjoyment; and that to want them is certain misery and ill. . . . How much the social pleasures are superior to any other may be known by visible tokens and effects. The very outward features, the marks and signs which attend this sort of joy, are expressive of a more intense, clear, and undisturbed pleasure than those which attend the satisfaction of thirst, hunger, and other ardent appetites. But more particularly still may this superiority be known from the actual prevalence and ascendency of this sort of affection over all besides. Wherever it presents itself with any advantage, it silences and appeases every other motion of pleasure. No joy, merely of sense, can be a match for it. Whoever is judge of both the pleasures will ever give the preference to the former. But to be able to judge of both, 'tis necessary to have a sense of each. The honest man indeed can judge of sensual pleasure, and knows its utmost force. For neither is his taste or sense the duller; but, on the contrary, the more intense and clear on the account of his temperance and a moderate use of appetite. But the immoral and profligate man can by no means be allowed a good judge of social pleasure, to which he is so mere a stranger by his nature. . . . It may be considered, withal, as a thing impossible, that they who esteem or love by any other rule than that of virtue, should place their affection on such subjects as they can long esteem or love. 'Twill be hard for them, in the number of their so beloved friends, to find any in whom they can heartily rejoice, or whose reciprocal love or esteem they can sincerely prize and enjoy. Nor can those pleasures be sound or lasting which are gathered from a selfflattery and false persuasion of the esteem and love of others who are incapable of any sound esteem or love. It appears therefore how much the men of narrow or partial affection must be losers in this sense, and of necessity fall short in this second principal part of mental enjoyment. Meanwhile entire affection has all the opposite advantages. It is equal, constant, accountable to itself, ever satisfactory and pleasing. It gains applause and love from the best, and in all disinterested cases from the very

498

The Earl of Shaftesbury

worst of men. We may say of it with justice, that it carries with it a consciousness of merited love and approbation from all society, from all intelligent creatures, and from whatever is original to all other intelligence. And if there be in Nature any such original, we may add that the satisfaction which attends entire affection is full and noble in proportion to its final object, which contains all perfection, according to the sense of theism above noted.' For this, as has been shown, is the result of virtue. And to have this entire affection or integrity of mind is to live according to Nature, and the dictates and rules of supreme wisdom. This is morality, justice, piety, and natural religion. . . . There are two things which to a rational creature must be horridly offensive and grievous, viz. to have the reflection in his mind of any unjust action or behaviour which he knows to be naturally odious and ill-deserving; or of any foolish action or behaviour which he knows to be prejudicial to his own interest or happiness. The former of these is alone properly called Conscience, whether in a moral or religious sense. For to have awe and terror of the Deity does not, of itself, imply conscience. No one is esteemed the more conscientious for the fear of evil spirits, conjurations, enchantments, or whatever may proceed from any unjust, capricious, or devilish nature. Now to fear God any otherwise than as in consequence of some justly blamable and imputable act, is to fear a devilish nature, not a divine one. Nor does the fear of hell or a thousand terrors of the Deity imply conscience, unless where there is an apprehension of what is wrong, odious, morally deformed, and ill-deserving. And where this is the case, there conscience must have effect, and punishment of necessity be apprehended, even though it be not expressly threatened. And thus religious conscience supposes moral or natural conscience. And though the former be understood to carry with it the fear of divine punishment, it has its force however from the apprehended moral deformity and odiousness of any act with respect purely to the Divine Presence, and the natural veneration due to such a supposed being. For in such a presence the shame of villainy or vice must have its force, independently on that further apprehension of the magisterial capacity of such a being, and his dispensation of particular rewards or punishments in a future state. It has been already said, that no creature can maliciously and intentionally do ill without being sensible at the same time that he deserves ill. And in this respect, every sensible creature may be said to have conscience. For with all mankind, and all intelligent creatures, this must ever hold, that what they know they deserve from every one, that they necessarily must fear and expect from all. And thus suspicious and ill apprehensions must arise, with terror both of men and of the Deity. But besides this, there must in every rational creature be yet farther conscience, viz. from sense of deformity in what is thus ill-deserving and unnatural, and from a consequent shame or regret of incurring what is odious and moves aversion. There scarcely is, or can be, any creature whom consciousness of villainy, as such merely, does not at all offend; nor anything opprobrious or heinously

An Inquiry Concerning Virtue or Merit

499

imputable move or affect. If there be such a one, 'tis evident he must be absolutely indifferent towards moral good or ill. If this indeed be his case, 'twill be allowed he can be no way capable of natural affection; if not of that, then neither of any social pleasure or mental enjoyment as shown above, but on the contrary, he must be subject to all manner of horrid, unnatural, and ill affection. So that to want conscience, or natural sense of the odiousness of crime and injustice, is to be most of all miserable in life; but where conscience or sense of this sort remains, there, consequently, whatever is committed against it must of necessity, by means of reflection, as we have shown, be continually shameful, grievous, and offensive. . . . And thus we have demonstrated that as, on one side, to have the natural and good affections is to have the chief means and power of self-enjoyment; so, on the other side, to want them is certain misery and ill.

Section II We are now to prove, that by having the self-passions too intense or strong, a creature becomes miserable. In order to [do] this we must, according to method, enumerate those homeaffections which relate to the private interest or separate economy of the creature, such as love of life; resentment of injury; pleasure, or appetite towards nourishment and the means of generation; interest, or desire of those conveniences by which we are well provided for and maintained; emulation, or love of praise and honour; indolence, or love of ease and rest. These are the affections which relate to the private system, and constitute whatever we call interestedness or self-love. Now these affections, if they are moderate and within certain bounds, are neither injurious to social life nor a hindrance to virtue; but being in an extreme degree, they become cowardice, revengefulness, luxury, avarice, vanity and ambition, sloth; and as such are owned vicious and ill with respect to human society. How they are ill also with respect to the private person, and are to his own disadvantage as well as that of the public, we may consider as we severally examine them. . . . Conclusion Thus have we endeavoured to prove what was proposed in the beginning. And since in the common and known sense of vice and illness, no one can be vicious or ill except either — 1. By the deficiency or weakness of natural affections; Or, 2. By the violence of the selfish; Or, 3. By such as are plainly unnatural; It must follow that, if each of these are pernicious and destructive to the creature, insomuch that his completest state of misery is made from hence, to be wicked or vicious is to be miserable and unhappy. And since every vicious action must in proportion, more or less, help to-

500

The Earl of Shaftesbury

wards this mischief and self-ill, it must follow that every vicious action must be self-injurious and ill. On the other side, the happiness and good of virtue has been proved from the contrary effect of other affections, such as are according to Nature and the economy of the species or kind. We have cast up all those particulars from whence (as by way of addition and subtraction) the main sum or general account of happiness is either augmented or diminished. And if there be no article exceptionable in this scheme of moral arithmetic, the subject treated may be said to have an evidence as great as that which is found in numbers or mathematics. For let us carry scepticism ever so far, let us doubt, if we can, of everything about us, we cannot doubt of what passes within ourselves. Our passions and affections are known to us. They are certain, whatever the objects may be on which they are employed. Nor is it of any concern to our argument how these exterior objects stand: whether they are realities or mere illusions; whether we wake or dream. For ill dreams will be equally disturbing; and a good dream (if life be nothing else) will be easily and happily passed. In this dream of life, therefore, our demonstrations have the same force; our balance and economy hold good, and our obligation to virtue is in every respect the same. Upon the whole there is not, I presume, the least degree of certainty wanting in what has been said concerning the preferableness of the mental pleasures to the sensual; and even of the sensual, accompanied with good affection, and under a temperate and right use, to those which are no ways restrained, nor supported by anything social or affectionate. Nor is there less evidence in what has been said of the united structure and fabric of the mind, and of those passions which constitute the temper or soul, and on which its happiness or misery so immediately depend. It has been shown that in this constitution the impairing of any one part must instantly tend to the disorder and ruin of other parts, and of the whole itself, through the necessary connection and balance of the affections; that those very passions through which men are vicious are of themselves a torment and disease; and that whatsoever is done which is knowingly ill must be of ill consciousness; and in proportion as the act is ill must impair and corrupt social enjoyment, and destroy both the capacity of kind affection and the consciousness of meriting any such. So that neither can we participate thus in joy or happiness with others, nor receive satisfaction from the mutual kindness or imagined love of others, on which, however, the greatest of all our pleasures are founded. If this be the case of moral delinquency, and if the state which is consequent to this defection from Nature be of all other the most horrid, oppressive, and miserable, 'twill appear that to yield or consent to anything ill or immoral is a breach of interest, and leads to the greatest ills, and that on the other side, everything which is an improvement of virtue, or an establishment of right affection and integrity, is an advancement of interest, and leads to the greatest and most solid happiness and enjoyment.

Further Reading

501

Thus the wisdom of what rules, and is first and chief in Nature, has made it to be according to the private interest and good of every one to work towards the general good, which if a creature ceases to promote, he is actually so far wanting to himself, and ceases to promote his own happiness and welfare. He is on this account directly his own enemy, nor can he any otherwise be good or useful to himself than as he continues good to society, and to that whole of which he is himself a part. So that virtue, which of all excellences and beauties is the chief and most amiable; that which is the prop and ornament of human affairs; which upholds communities, maintains union, friendship, and correspondence amongst men; that by which countries, as well as private families, flourish and are happy, and for want of which everything comely, conspicuous, great, and worthy, must perish and go to ruin; that single quality, thus beneficial to all society, and to mankind in general, is found equally a happiness and good to each creature in particular, and is that by which alone man can be happy, and without which he must be miserable. And thus the virtue is the good, and vice the ill of every one. Editor's Notes

1. Shaftesbury here is taking a slap at voluntarist theories of the divine origin of morality. 2. Col. 2:8 — "Beware lest any man spoil you through philosophy and vain deceit." 3. Titus 3:9. 4. 1 Tim. 1:4, 6. 5. Guide to life, investigator of virtue; a tag from Cicero. 6. Here in an archaic sense, meaning not a child substituted for another but an imbecile or half-wit. 7. Here in the sense of "prejudice," an opinion coming before "art and strong endeavour." 8. In Part lli, Section II, Shaftesbury distinguished between an arbitrary and unjust deity and a just and lovable one. The latter must be an object of love to the virtuous person, and the latter, not the former, conforms to the theist's idea of God. Further Reading

A new edition of the works of Shaftesbury is in progress, edited by Gerd Hemmerich, Wolfram Benda, and Ulrich SchOdlbauer. The volume containing the Inquiry Concerning Virtue or Merit (giving the 1699 text as well as the later text) and several others are published by Frommann-Holzboog, Stuttgart. Robert Voitle, The Third Earl of Shaftesbury, 1671-1713 (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1983), is an excellent biography. For a brief survey of Bayle's thought, see Elizabeth Labrousse, Bayle (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1983). Bayle's main book in defense of toleration, the Philosophical Commentary, was translated by Arnie Goodman Tannenbaum (Bern: Peter Lang, 1987). Ernst Cassirer, The Platonic Renaissance in England, trans. James Pettegrove (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1953), accompanies a valuable study of the Cambridge

502

The Earl of Shaftesbury

Platonists with some discussion of Shaftesbury. Stanley Grean, Shaftesbury's Philosophy of Religion and Ethics (Athens: Ohio University Press. 1967), has a good bibliography up to its date. The first chapter of John Andrew Bernstein, Shaftesbury, Rousseau, and Kant (London: Associated University Presses, 1980), is directly relevant. Two articles by Ernest Tuveson help place Shaftesbury in his times: "The Origin of the Moral Sense," Huntington Library Quarterly 11 (1947-8):241-59; and "The Importance of Shaftesbury," Journal of English Literary History 20 (1953): 267-79. There is a brilliant discussion of Shaftesbury. shedding light on his ethics, in David Marshall, The Figure of Theater (New York: Columbia University Press, 1986). See also John A. Dussinger, " 'The Lovely System of Lord Shaftesbury': An Answer to Locke . . . ?" Journal of the History of Ideas 62 (1981); Bernard Peach, "Shaftesbury's Moral Arithmeticks," The Personalist 39 (1958); Irwin Primer, "Mandeville and Shaftesbury: Some Facts and Problems," in Irwin Primer, ed., Mandeville Studies (The Hague: Nijhoff, 1975); and Gregory Trianosky, "On the Obligation to Be Virtuous: Shaftesbury and the Question, Why Be Moral?" Journal of the History of Philosophy 16 (1978).

Francis Hutcheson

Introduction Francis Hutcheson was born in 1694 into a family of Scottish emigres in northern Ireland. Educated first in Ireland, he then studied theology in Glasgow and, like his grandfather and father, became a Presbyterian minister. Hutcheson subsequently returned to Ireland, where he spent some years in Dublin teaching in a Presbyterian academy. He soon attracted the attention of several leaders of opinion, in particular Robert Viscount Molesworth, one of the foremost advocates of classical republicanism as a guide to current politics. (See the section "The Classical Republic" in the Introduction to this anthology.) Hutcheson spent much time in the Molesworth circle, and Molesworth encouraged him to publish his first book, the Inquiry into the Original of Our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue (1725). In two later short works, published together in 1728 as An Essay on the Nature and Conduct of the Passions, with Illustrations on the Moral Sense, Hutcheson elaborated on his moral psychology, defended his views, and attacked opposing positions with considerable acuity. He was then called to the professorship of philosophy at the University of Glasgow, where he remained until his death in 1746. Hutcheson's early preaching in Ireland had drawn protests against its unorthodoxy; more formal accusations of heresy were made while he was at Glasgow, but he was not officially censured. He belonged to the moderate group in the Scottish church, taking a more lenient view of grace and predestination than had been traditional and showing less concern about abstruse points of the theology of the trinity. Hutcheson's moral philosophy reflects both his departure from the sterner Calvinism of his forebears and his abiding commitment to Christianity. It also shows the marks of his philosophical education, which took place under the aegis of Gershom Carmichael, one of Hutcheson's predecessors in the chair at Glasgow. Carmichael had produced an annotated edition of Pufendorf's short version of his system of natural law, the Duty of Man and Citizen, and had taught his students Locke. Both of these philosophers were important to shaping Hutcheson's thought, as were the writings of the third earl of Shaftesbury, who, like Hutcheson, had enjoyed a close friendship with Molesworth. Widely read in Britain during his lifetime, Hutcheson attracted a number of philosophical followers and admirers. Not the least of these was David Hume, whose ethics was much influenced by Hutcheson's. Adam Smith was a student of Hutcheson's at the university, and Thomas Reid discussed him in his early work. Hutcheson's first book was translated into French in 1749; his posthumous System of Moral Philosophy (1755) was promptly translated into German by the great literary critic Lessing, and both his 503

504

Francis Hutcheson

earlier books appeared in German a few years later. Kant also read and admired Hutcheson, referring to him regularly in his lectures as the most notable representative of the moral sense school. In the British colonies in North America Hutcheson exercised considerable influence, especially as a political thinker. Although Shaftesbury spoke occasionally of a "moral sense," he gave no careful account of what he meant by the phrase. Hutcheson, by contrast, made an account of the moral sense one of the main points of his ethical theory. Locke's theory of the origins of our ideas underlies Hutcheson's view. The Lockean holds that ideas must ultimately be derived from experience, each kind of idea arising from a separate kind of experience. Hutcheson argued at length that moral ideas are unique and irreducible and concluded that there must be a special source of the experience from which the ideas arise: our ideas of colors, sounds, and so on are attributed to the various external senses; Locke attributed our ideas of mental operations and of feelings to reflexive senses; and Hutcheson added a moral sense to be the source of our moral ideas. What sort of idea do we get from the moral sense? The usual answer is that Hutcheson was a "sentimentalist" in morals, one who held, as Shaftesbury was taken to believe, that morality is ultimately a matter of feeling rather than of knowledge. What we obtain from the moral sense is feelings of approval and disapproval, which are special feelings of love for some people and of dislike for others. Morality is thus fundamentally one of the ways that we feel about one another, rather than one of the ways the mind obtains knowledge of the world. The task of the scientific student of morals is, then, to say just what gives rise to our feelings of approval and disapproval. Like Shaftesbury, Hutcheson took the answer to be that it is, in the first instance, inner feelings and dispositions. He devoted much argument to showing, against Hobbes and Mandeville, that we are moved by disinterested benevolent feelings and not only by desires for our own good. Approval is aroused by desires and dispositions that lead us to do good to others; disapproval, by motives that lead us to harm others. Self-interested motives are considered by themselves to be morally indifferent. Because benevolent concern for the good of others is real, there also is a real foundation in our nature for morality. Hence, in Hutcheson's view, there is no place for moral skepticism. Although moral approval is an affective response to the world rather than itself a cognition of the world, it arises from cognition and is built into our own nature. We are not left doubting what in general is amiable or odious in behavior, nor are we without motives to do the one and avoid the other. The Calvinists taught that original sin has so badly flawed our nature that we can hope to act rightly only if grace transforms us, enabling us to escape the domination of our feelings. Hutcheson rejected this doctrine and defended our natural passions, instincts, and affections as sources of virtuous action. Reason shows us the way to attain certain ends, but if the ends are not attractive to us, we will not act to obtain them. A benevolent instinct is what makes the good of others attractive. Why should not action from that instinct be counted as virtuous? In insisting that the appropriate final end of human action must be something we are motivated to attain. Hutcheson was repudiating the older Protestant notion that the law was established to show us what we ought to do and at the same time to show us that we cannot do it. (See the section "Luther and Calvin" in the Introduction to this anthology.) Both in making benevolence the sole motive we approve and in construing approval as a form of love, Hutcheson provided a philosophical equivalent of the gospel teaching that the law is summed up in the commandment to love God above all else and one's neighbor as oneself.

The Original of Our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue

505

Hutcheson has long been considered to be a forerunner of utilitarianism. He was the first to use a phrase that Bentham later made famous: "That action is best," Hutcheson stated, "which procures the greatest happiness for the greatest numbers" (Inquiry 3.viii). But he held that the moral judgment of motives is prior to the moral judgment of actions or results, and he used the "greatest happiness" principle to explain our approvals and disapprovals rather than to give us a procedure for making decisions. On both these points his view is crucially different from the utilitarianism of Bentham and his followers. Recently, some scholars have argued that it is a mistake to regard Hutcheson as a sentimentalist. Rather, they think, he was a moral realist, carrying on a natural law tradition that goes back beyond Pufendorf to Hooker and ultimately to Saint Thomas. And it is certainly true that Hutcheson tried to incorporate some natural law concepts into his own view. He considered laws, obligations, and rights to be important to the moral life, and in the Inquiry he offered accounts of them, in terms of the ideas furnished us by the moral sense. Whether or not the realist and natural law readings of Hutcheson can be sustained, they deserve serious attention (references to the main sources are given in the list of further readings). They show at least that for a full understanding of Hutcheson's views, and of the views of those whom he influenced, knowledge of the Continental natural law tradition is indispensable. The following selections are from Hutcheson's Inquiry into the Original of Our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue, in Two Treatises . . . II. Concerning Moral Good and Evil, 4th ed., 1737. I have modernized some of the spelling and punctuation.

An Inquiry into the Original of Our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue II.

CONCERNING MORAL GOOD AND EVIL

The Preface . . . In reflecting upon our external senses, we plainly see that our perceptions' of pleasure or pain do not depend directly on our will. Objects do not please us according as we incline they should. The presence of some objects necessarily pleases us, the presence of others as necessarily displeases us. Nor can we, by our will, any otherwise procure pleasure or avoid pain than by procuring the former kind of objects and avoiding the latter. By the very frame of our nature the one is made the occasion of delight and the other of dissatisfaction. The same observation will hold in all our other pleasures and pains. For there are many other sorts of objects which please or displease us as necessarily as material objects do when they operate upon our organs of sense. There is scarcely any object which our minds are employed about which is not thus constituted the necessary occasion of some pleasure or pain. Thus we find ourselves pleased with a regular form, a piece of architecture or painting, a composition of notes, a theorem, an action, an affection, a character. And we are conscious that this pleasure necessarily arises from the contemplation of the idea which is then present to our minds, with all its circumstances, al-

506

Francis Hutcheson

though some of these ideas have nothing of what we commonly call sensible perception in them; and in those which have, the pleasure arises from some uniformity, order, arrangement, imitation; and not from the simple ideas of colour, or sound, or mode of extension separately considered. These determinations to be pleased with any forms or ideas which occur to our observation, the author2 chooses to call senses; distinguishing them from the powers which commonly go by that name by calling our power of perceiving the beauty of regularity, order, harmony, an internal sense; and that determination to apprOve affections, actions, or characters of rational agents, which we call virtuous, he marks by the name of a moral sense. His principal design is to shew that human nature was not left quite indifferent in the affair of virtue, to form to itself observations concerning the advantage or disadvantage of actions and accordingly to regulate its conduct. The weakness of our reason, and the avocations arising from the infirmities and necessities of our nature are so great that very few men could ever have formed those long deductions of reason which shew some actions to be in the whole advantageous to the agent, and their contraries pernicious. The author of nature has much better furnished us for a virtuous conduct than our moralists seem to imagine, by almost as quick and powerful instructions as we have for the preservation of our bodies. He has given us strong affections to be the springs of each virtuous action; and made virtue a lovely form, that we might easily distinguish it from its contrary, and be made happy by the pursuit of it. . . .

Introduction The word moral goodness, in this treatise, denotes our idea of some quality apprehended in actions which procures approbation attended with desire of the agent's happiness. Moral evil denotes our idea of a contrary quality, which excites condemnation or dislike. Approbation and condemnation are probably simple ideas, which cannot be farther explained. We must be contented with these imperfect descriptions until we discover whether we really have such ideas, and what general foundation there is in nature for this difference of actions as morally good or evil. These descriptions seem to contain an universally acknowledged difference of moral good and evil, from natural. All men who speak of moral good acknowledge that it procures approbation and good-will toward those we apprehend possessed of it; whereas natural good does not. In this matter men must consult their own breasts. How differently are they affected toward these they suppose possessed of honesty, faith, generosity, kindness; and those who are possessed of the natural goods, such as houses, lands, gardens, vineyards, health, strength, sagacity? We shall find that we necessarily love and approve the possessors of the former; but the possession of the latter procures no approbation or good-will at all toward the possessor, but often contrary affections of envy and hatred. In the same manner, whatever quality we apprehend to be morally evil raises our dislike

The Original of Our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue

507

toward the person in whom we observe it, such as treachery, cruelty, ingratitude; whereas we heartily love, esteem, and pity many who are exposed to natural evils, such as pain, poverty, hunger, sickness, death. Now the first question on this subject is, whence arise these different ideas of actions? .. .

Section I: Of the Moral Sense by Which We Perceive Virtue and Vice, and Approve or Disapprove Them in Others 1. That the perceptions of moral good and evil are perfectly different from those of natural good or advantage, every one must convince himself by reflecting upon the different manner in which he finds himself affected when these objects occur to him. Had we no sense of good distinct from the advantage or interest arising from the external senses and the perceptions of beauty and harmony, the sensations and affections toward a fruitful field or commodious habitation would be much the same with what we have toward a generous friend or any noble character; for both are or may be advantageous to us. And we should no more admire any action or love any person in a distant country or age, whose influence could not extend to us, than we love the mountains of Peru while we are unconcerned in the Spanish trade. We should have the same sentiments and affections toward inanimate beings which we have toward rational agents, which yet every one knows to be false. Upon comparison, we say, "Why should we approve or love inanimate beings? They have no intention of good to us, or to any other person; their nature makes them fit for our uses, which they neither know nor study to serve. But it is not so with rational agents: they study the interest and desire the happiness of other beings with whom they converse." We are all then conscious of the difference between that approbation or perception of moral excellence which benevolence excites toward the person in whom we observe it, and that opinion of natural goodness which only raises desire of possession toward the good object. Now what should make this difference, if all approbation or sense of good be from prospect of advantage? Do not inanimate objects promote our advantage as well as benevolent persons who do us offices of kindness and friendship? Should we not then have the same endearing approbation of both? or only the same cold opinion of advantage in both? The reason why it is not so must be this, that we have a distinct perception of beauty or excellence in the kind affections of rational agents, whence we are determined to admire and love such characters and persons. Suppose we reap the same advantage from two men, one of whom serves us from an ultimate desire of our happiness or good-will toward us, the other from views of self-interest, or by constraint. Both are in this case equally beneficial or advantageous to us, and yet we shall have quite different sentiments of them. We must then certainly have other perceptions of moral actions than those of advantage. And that power of receiving these perceptions

508

Francis Hutcheson

may be called a moral sense since the definition agrees to it, viz. a determination of the mind to receive any idea from the presence of an object which occurs to us independent on our will. . . . II. In our sentiments of actions which affect ourselves, there is indeed a mixture of the ideas of natural and moral good which require some attention to separate them. But when we reflect upon the actions which affect other persons only, we may observe the moral ideas unmixed with those of natural good or evil. For let it be here observed that those senses by which we perceive pleasure in natural objects whence they are constituted advantageous could never raise in us any desire of public good, but only of what was good to ourselves in particular. Nor could they ever make us approve an action merely because of its promoting the happiness of others. And yet as soon as any action is represented to us as flowing from love, humanity, gratitude, compassion, a study of the good of others, and an ultimate desire of their happiness, although it were in the most distant part of the world or in some past age, we feel joy within us, admire the lovely action, and praise its author. And on the contrary, every action represented as flowing from desire of the misery of others without view to any prevalent good to the public, or ingratitude, raises abhorrence and aversion. It is true indeed that the actions we approve in others are generally imagined to tend to the natural good of mankind or of some parts of it. But whence this secret chain between each person and mankind? How is my interest connected with the most distant parts of it? And yet I must admire actions which show good-will toward them, and love the author. Whence this love, compassion, indignation and hatred toward even feigned characters in the most distant ages, and nations, according as they appear kind, faithful, compassionate, or of the opposite disposition, toward their imaginary contemporaries? If there is no moral sense which makes benevolent actions appear beautiful; if all approbation be from the interest of the approver, What's Hecuba to us, or we to Hecuba? 3 .. .

IV. Some moralists, who will rather twist self-love into a thousand shapes than allow any other principle of approbation than interest, may tell us that whatever profits one part without detriment to another profits the whole, and then some small share will resound to each individual; that those actions which tend to the good of the whole, if universally performed, would most effectually secure to each individual his own happiness; and that consequently we may approve such actions, from the opinion of their tending ultimately to our own advantage. We need not trouble these gentlemen to show by their nice train of consequences and influences of actions by way of precedent in particular instances that we in this age reap any advantage from Orestes' killing the treacherous Aegysthus,4 or from the actions of Codrus5 or Decius.' Allow their reasonings to be perfectly good, they only prove that after long reflection and reasoning we may find out some ground to judge certain actions advantageous to us

The Original of Our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue

509

which every man admires as soon as he hears of them; and that too under a quite different conception. Should any of our travellers find some old Grecian treasure, the miser who hid it certainly performed an action more to the traveller's advantage, than Codrus or Orestes; for he must have but a small share of benefit from their actions, whose influence is so dispersed and lost in various ages and nations. Surely then this miser must appear to the traveller a prodigious hero in virtue! For self-interest will recommend men to us only according to the good they do to our selves, and not give us high ideas of public good but in proportion to our share of it. But must a man have the reflection of Cumberland or Pufendorr to admire generosity, faith, humanity, gratitude? Or reason so nicely to apprehend the evil in cruelty, treachery, ingratitude? Do not the former excite our admiration and love and study of imitation, where-ever we see them, almost at first view, without any such reflection, and the latter, our contempt and abhorrence? Unhappy would it be for mankind if a sense of virtue was of as narrow an extent, as a capacity for such metaphysics. . . . It may perhaps be alleged that in those actions of our own which we call good, there is this constant advantage, superior to all others, which is the ground of our approbation, and the motive to them from self-love, viz. that we suppose the deity will reward them. . . . At present it is enough to observe that many have high notions of honour, faith, generosity, justice, who have scarce any opinions about the deity or any thoughts of future regards; and abhor any thing which is treacherous, cruel, or unjust, without any regard to future punishments. . . . This is the second thing to be considered: whether our sense of the moral good or evil in the•actions of others can be overbalanced or bribed by views of interest. Now I may indeed easily be capable of wishing that another would do an action I abhor as morally evil, if it were very advantageous to me. Interest in that case may overbalance my desire of virtue in another. But no interest to myself will make me approve an action as morally good which without that interest to myself would have appeared morally evil, if upon computing its whole effects it appears to produce as great a moment of good in the whole, when it is not beneficial to me, as it did before, when it was. In our sense of moral good or evil, our own private advantage or loss is of no more moment than the advantage or loss of a third person to make an action appear good or evil. This sense therefore cannot be overbalanced by interest. How ridiculous an attempt would it be to engage a man by rewards or threatenings into a good opinion of an action which was contrary to his moral notions? We may procure dissimulation by such means, and that is all. . . . VII. If what is said makes it appear that we have some other amiable idea of actions than that of advantageous to ourselves, we may conclude that this perception of moral good is not derived from custom, education, example, or study. These give us no new ideas. They might make us see private advantage in actions whose usefulness did not at first appear, or give us opinions of some tendency of actions to our detriment, by some nice deductions of reason or by

510

Francis Hutcheson

a rash prejudice, when upon the first view of the action we should have observed no such thing: but they never could have made us apprehend actions as amiable or odious without any consideration of our own advantage. VIII. It remains then that as the Author of Nature has determined us to receive, by our external senses, pleasant or disagreeable ideas of objects according as they are useful or hurtful to our bodies, and to receive from uniform objects the pleasures of beauty and harmony, to excite us to the pursuit of knowledge and to reward us for it, or to be an argument to us of his goodness, as the uniformity itself proves his existence, whether we had a sense of beauty in uniformity or not; in the same manner he has given us a moral sense to direct our actions, and to give us still nobler pleasures. So that while we are only intending the good of others, we undesignedly promote our own greatest private good. We are not to imagine this moral sense, more than the other senses, supposes any innate ideas, knowledge, or practical proposition. We mean by it only a determination of our minds to receive the simple ideas of approbation or condemnation from actions observed antecedent to any opinions of advantage or loss to redound to ourselves from them; even as we are pleased with a regular form or an harmonious composition without having any knowledge of mathematics, or seeing any advantage in that form or composition, different from the immediate pleasure. . . .

Section II: Concerning the Immediate Motive to Virtuous Actions The motives of human actions, or their immediate causes, would be best understood after considering the passions and affections; but here we shall only consider the springs of the actions which we call virtuous, as far as it is necessary to settle the general foundation of the moral sense. I. Every action which we apprehend as either morally good or evil is always supposed to flow from some affection toward sensitive natures; and whatever we call virtue or vice is either some such affection or some action consequent upon it. Or it may perhaps be enough to make an action or omission appear vicious if it argues the want of such affection toward rational agents as we expect in characters counted morally good. All the actions counted religious in any country are supposed, by those who count them so, to flow from some affections toward the deity; and whatever we call social virtue we still suppose to flow from affections toward our fellow-creatures. For in this all seem to agree, that external motions, when accompanied with no affections toward God or man, or evidencing no want of the expected affections toward either, can have no moral good or evil in them. Ask, for instance, the most abstemious hermit if temperance of itself would be morally good, supposing it showed no obedience toward the deity, made us no fitter for devotion, or the service of mankind, or the search after truth, than luxury; and he will easily grant that it would be no moral good, though still it might be naturally good or advantageous to health. And mere courage

The Original of Our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue

511

or contempt of danger, if we conceive it to have no regard to the defence of the innocent, or repairing of wrongs or self-interest, would only entitle its possessor to Bedlam." When such sort of courage is sometimes admired it is upon some secret apprehension of a good intention in the use of it or as a natural ability capable of an useful application. Prudence, if it was only employed in promoting private interest, is never imagined to be a virtue. And justice, or observing a strict equality, if it has no regard to the good of mankind, the preservation of rights and securing peace, is a quality properer for its ordinary gestamen, 9 a beam and scales, than for a rational agent. So that these four qualities, commonly called cardinal virtues, obtain that name because they are dispositions universally necessary to promote public good, and denote affections toward rational agents; otherwise there would appear no virtue in them. H. Now, if it can be made appear that none of these affections which we approve as virtuous are either self-love, or desire or private interest; since all virtue is either some such affections, or actions consequent upon them; it must necessarily follow that virtue springs from some other affection than self-love, or desire of private advantage. And where self-interest excites to the same action, the approbation is given only to the disinterested principle. The affections which are of most importance in morals are commonly included under the names love and hatred. Now in discoursing of love, we need not be cautioned not to include that love between the sexes, which, when no other affections accompany it, is only desire of pleasure and is never counted a virtue. Love toward rational agents is subdivided into love of complacence' or esteem, and love of benevolence: And hatred is subdivided into hatred of displicence ll or contempt, and hatred of malice. Complacence denotes approbation of any person by our moral sense; and is rather a perception than an affection; tho' the affection of good-will is ordinarily subsequent to it. Benevolence is the desire of the happiness of another. Their opposites are called dislike and malice. Concerning each of these separately we shall consider whether they can be influenced by motives of self-interest. . . . III. As to the love of benevolence, the very name excludes self-interest. We never call that man benevolent who is in fact useful to others, but at the same time only intends his own interest without any ultimate desire of the good of others. If there be any benevolence at all, it must be disinterested; for the most useful action imaginable loses all appearance of benevolence as soon as we discern that it only flowed from self-love or interest. . . . But it must be here observed that as all men have self-love, as well as benevolence, these two principles may jointly excite a man to the same action; and then they are to be considered as two forces impelling the same body to motion; sometimes they conspire, sometimes are indifferent to each other, and sometimes are in some degree opposite. Thus, if a man have such strong benevolence as would have produced an action without any views of selfinterest, that such a man has also in view private advantage along with public good as the effect of his action does no way diminish the benevolence of the

512

Francis Hutcheson

action. When he would not have produced so much public good, had it not been for prospect of self-interest, then the effect of self-love is to be deducted, and his benevolence is proportioned to the remainder of good which pure benevolence would have produced. When a man's benevolence is hurtful to himself then self-love is opposite to benevolence, and the benevolence is proportioned to the sum of the good produced, added to the resistance of selflove surmounted by it. In most cases it is impossible for men to know how far their fellows are influenced by the one or other of these principles; but yet the general truth is sufficiently certain, that this is the way in which the benevolence of actions is to be computed. . . . VI. If anyone should ask: . . . to what purpose serves our moral sense, our sense of pleasure from the happiness of others? To what purpose serves the wise order of nature, by which virtue is even made generally advantageous in this life? To what end are eternal rewards appointed and revealed? The answer to these questions was given partly already: all these motives may make us desire to have benevolent affections, and consequently turn our attention to those qualities in objects which excite them; they may overbalance all apparent contrary motives and all temptations to vice. But farther, I hope it will be still thought an end worthy of the deity to make the virtuous happy, by a wise constitution of nature, whether the virtues were in every action intending to obtain this happiness or not. Beneficent actions tend to the public good; it is therefore good and kind to give all possible additional motives to them, and to excite men who have some weak degrees of good affection to promote the public good more vigorously by motives of self-interest; or even to excite those who have no virtue at all to external acts of beneficence, and to restrain them from vice. From the whole it may appear that there is in human nature a disinterested ultimate desire of the happiness of others, and that our moral sense determines us to approve actions as virtuous which are apprehended to proceed partly at least from such desire. . . . X. Having removed these false springs of virtuous actions, let us next establish the true one, viz. some determination of our nature to study the good of others or some instinct, antecedent to all reason from interest, which influences us to the love of others; even as the moral sense, above explained, determines us to approve the actions which flow from this love in ourselves or others. This disinterested affection may appear strange to men impressed with notions of self-love as the sole spring of action, from the pulpit, the schools, the systems, and conversations regulated by them: but let us consider it in its strongest and simplest kinds, and when we see the possibility of it in these instances, we may easily discover its universal extent. An honest farmer will tell you that he studies the preservation and happiness of his children, and loves them without any design of good to himself. But, say some of our philosophers, "The happiness of their children gives • . . . Whoever would appeal to the general strain of the Christian exhortation will find disinterested love more inculcated and motives of gratitude more frequently suggested than any others.

The Original of Our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue

513

parents pleasure, and their misery gives them pain; and therefore to obtain the former and avoid the latter, they study, from self-love, the good of their children." Suppose several merchants joined in partnership of their whole effects. One of them is employed abroad in managing the stock of the company; his prosperity occasions gain to all, and his losses give them pain for their share in the loss. Is this then the same kind of affection with that of parents to their children? Is there the same tender, personal regard? I fancy no parent will say so. In this case of merchants there is a plain conjunction of interest; but whence the conjunction of interest between the parent and child? Do the child's sensations give pleasure or pain to the parent? Is the parent hungry, thirsty, sick, when his children are so? No; but his naturally implanted desire of their good and aversion to their misery makes him be affected with joy or sorrow from their pleasures or pains. This desire then is antecedent to the conjunction of interest, and the cause of it, not the effect. It then must be disinterested. "No," says another sophist, "children are parts of ourselves, and in loving them we but love ourselves in them." A very good answer! Let us carry it as far as it will go. How are they parts of ourselves? Not as a leg or an arm: We are not conscious of their sensations. "But their bodies were formed from parts of ours." So is a fly, or a maggot, which may breed in any discharged blood or humour — very dear insects surely! There must be something else then which makes children parts of ourselves; and what is this but that affection which nature determines us to have toward them? This love makes them parts of ourselves, and therefore does not flow from their being so before. This is indeed a good metaphor; and wherever we find a determination among several rational agents to mutual love, let each individual be looked upon as a part of a great whole, or system, and concern himself in the public good of it. . . .

Section III: The Sense of Virtue, and the Various Opinions About It, Reducible to One General Foundation. The Manner of Computing the Morality of Actions I. If we examine all the actions which are counted amiable anywhere, and inquire into the grounds upon which they are approved, we shall find that in the opinion of the person who approves them they always appear as benevolent, or flowing from good-will to others and a study of their happiness, whether the approver be one of the persons beloved or profited or not, so that all those kind affections which incline us to make others happy and all actions supposed to flow from such affections appear morally good, if, while they are benevolent towards some persons, they be not pernicious to others. Nor shall we find any thing amiable in any action whatsoever where there is no benevolence imagined; nor in any disposition, or capacity which is not supposed applicable to, and designed for, benevolent purposes. Nay, as was before observed, the actions which in fact are exceedingly useful shall appear void of moral beauty if we know they proceeded from no kind intentions towards

514

Francis Hutcheson

others; and yet an unsuccessful attempt of kindness, or of promoting public good, shall appear as amiable as the most successful if it flowed from as strong benevolence. II. Hence those affections which would lead us to do good to our benefactor shall appear amiable, and the contrary affections odious, even when our actions cannot possibly be of any advantage or hurt to him. Thus a sincere love and gratitude toward our benefactor, a cheerful readiness to do whatever he shall require, how burdensome soever, a hearty inclination to comply with his intentions and contentment with the state he has placed us in, are the strongest evidences of benevolence we can show to such a person; and therefore they must appear exceedingly amiable. And under these is included all the rational devotion or religion toward a deity apprehended as good which we can possibly perform. . . . As to external performances of religion, they are no doubt very various in different nations and ages; and education may give men opinions that certain actions are pleasing and others displeasing to the deity. But then wherever any external rite of worship is approved there also it is looked upon to proceed from love toward the deity or some other affection necessarily joined with love, as reverence, repentance, or sorrow to have offended. So that the general principle of love is the foundation of all the apparent moral excellence, even in the most fantastic rites of worship which were ever approved. For as to rites designed only to appease a furious being, no mortal, I fancy, apprehends there is any virtue or excellence in them, but that they are chosen only as the dishonourable means of avoiding a greater evil. Now as there are various speculative opinions about what is acceptable to the deity, it necessarily follows that, accordingly, practices and approbation must be various, though all the moral goodness of actions is still presumed to flow from love. III. Again, that we may see how benevolence is the foundation of all apprehended excellence in social virtues, let us only observe that amidst the diversity of sentiments on this head among various sects, this is still allowed to be the way of deciding the controversy about any disputed practice, viz. to inquire whether this conduct or the contrary will most effectually promote the public good. The morality is immediately adjusted when the natural tendency or influence of the action upon the universal natural good of mankind is agreed upon. That which produces more good than evil in the whole is acknowledged good; and what does not is counted evil. In this case we no other way regard the good of the actor, or that of those who are thus inquiring, than as they make a part of the great system. . . . V. The actions which flow solely from self-love and yet evidence no want of benevolence, having no hurtful effects upon others, seem perfectly indifferent in a moral sense and neither raise the love or hatred of the observer. Our reason can indeed discover certain bounds within which we may not only act from self-love, consistently with the good of the whole; but every mortal's acting thus within these bounds for his own good is absolutely necessary for the good of the whole; and the want of such self-love would be universally

The Original of Our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue

515

pernicious. Hence, he who pursues his own private good, with an intention also to concur with that constitution which tends to the good of the whole, and much more he who promotes his own good with a direct view of making himself more capable of serving God, or doing good to mankind, acts not only innocently but also honourably and virtuously. For in both these cases benevolence concurs with self-love to excite him to the action. And thus a neglect of our own good may be morally evil and argue a want of benevolence toward the whole. But when self-love breaks over the bounds above-mentioned and leads us into actions detrimental to others and to the whole, or makes us insensible of the generous kind affections, then it appears vicious and is disapproved. So also, when upon small injuries or sudden resentment or any weak superstitious suggestions, our benevolence becomes so faint as to let us entertain odious conceptions of men or any part of them without just ground, as if they were wholly evil or malicious, or as if they were a worse sort of beings than they really are, these conceptions must lead us into malevolent affections or at least weaken our good ones and makes us really vicious. VI. Here we must also observe that every moral agent justly considers himself as a part of this rational system which may be useful to the whole; so that he may be, in part, an object of his own benevolence. Nay, farther, as was hinted above, he may see that the preservation of the system requires every one to be innocently solicitous about himself. Hence he may conclude that an action which brings greater evil to the agent than good to others, however it may evidence strong benevolence or a virtuous disposition in the agent, yet it must be founded upon a mistaken opinion of its tendency to public good, when it has no such tendency: so that a man who reasoned justly and considered the whole would not be led into it, were his benevolence ever so strong. . . . VIII. In comparing the moral qualities of actions in order to regulate our election among various actions proposed, or to find which of them has the greatest moral excellency, we are led by our moral sense of virtue to judge thus: that in equal degrees of happiness expected to proceed from the action the virtue is in proportion to the number of persons to whom the happiness shall extend (and here the dignity, or moral importance of persons, may compensate numbers); and in equal numbers, the virtue is as the quantity of the happiness or natural good; or that the virtue is in a compound ratio of the quantity of good and number of enjoyers. In the same manner, the moral evil or vice is as the degree of misery and number of sufferers; so that that action is best, which procures the greatest happiness for the greatest numbers; and that worst, which in like manner occasions misery. Again, when the consequences of actions are of a mixed nature, partly advantageous and partly pernicious, that action is good whose good effects preponderate" the evil by being useful to many, and pernicious to few, and that evil, which is otherwise. Here also the moral importance of characters, or dignity of persons may compensate numbers," as may also the degrees of happiness or misery. For to procure an inconsiderable good to many, but an

516

Francis Hutcheson

immense evil to few, may be evil; and an immense good to few may preponderate a small evil to many. But the consequences which affect the morality of actions are not only the direct and natural effects of the actions themselves, but also all those events which otherwise would not have happened. For many actions which have no immediate or natural evil effects, nay, which actually produce good effects, may be evil, if a man foresees that the evil consequences which will probably flow from the folly of others upon his doing of such actions are so great as to overbalance all the good produced by those actions, or all the evils which would flow from the omission of them. And in such cases the probability is to be computed on both sides. Thus if an action of mine will probably, through the mistake or corruption of others, be made a precedent in unlike cases to very evil actions, or when my action, though good in itself, will probably provoke men to very evil actions, upon some mistaken notion of their right; any of these considerations foreseen by me may make such an action of mine evil, whenever the evils which will probably be occasioned by the action are greater than the evils occasioned by the omission. And this is the reason that many laws prohibit actions in general even when some particular instances of those actions would be very useful; because an universal allowance of them, considering the mistakes men would probably fall into, would be more pernicious than an universal prohibition; nor could there be any more special boundaries fixed between the right and wrong cases. In such cases, it is the duty of persons to comply with the generally useful constitution; or if in some very important instances the violation of the law would be of less evil consequence than obedience to it, they must patiently resolve to undergo those penalties which the state has, for valuable ends to the whole, appointed. And this disobedience will have nothing criminal in it. . . . XI. To find a universal rule to compute the morality of any actions, with all their circumstances, when we judge of the actions done by ourselves or by others, we must observe the following propositions or axioms. 1. The moral importance of any agent, or the quantity of public good he produces, is in a compound proportion of his benevolence and abilities. For 'tis plain that his good offices depend upon these two jointly. In like manner, the quantity of private good which any agent obtains for himself is in a like compound proportion of his selfish principles and his abilities. We speak here only of the external goods of this world, which one pursues from some selfish principles. For as to internal goods of the mind, these are most effectually obtained by the exercise of other affections than those called selfish, even those which carry the agent beyond himself toward the good of others. 2. In comparing the virtues of different agents, when the abilities are equal. the moments of public good are proportioned to the goodness of the temper or the benevolence; and when the tempers are equal, the quantities of good are as the abilities. 3. The virtue then or goodness of temper is directly as the moment of good

The Original of Our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue

517

when other circumstances are equal, and inversely as the abilities. That is to say, where the abilities are greatest, there is less virtue evidenced in any given moment of good produced. 4. But as the natural consequences of our actions are various, some good to ourselves and evil to the public, and others evil to ourselves and good to the public, or either useful both to ourselves and others, or pernicious to both; the entire spring of good actions is not always benevolence alone; or of evil, malice alone (nay, sedate malice is rarely found); but in most actions we must look upon self-love as another force, sometimes conspiring with benevolence and assisting it, when we are excited by views of private interest as well as public good; and sometimes opposing benevolence when the good action is any way difficult or painful in the performance or detrimental in its consequences to the agent. These selfish motives . . . we may in general denote . . . by the word interest, which when it concurs with benevolence in any action capable of increase or diminution must produce a greater quantity of good than benevolence alone in the same abilities; and therefore when the moment of good in an action partly intended for the good is but equal to the moment of good in the action of another agent influenced only by benevolence, the former is less virtuous; and in this case the interest must be deducted to find the true effect of the benevolence or virtue. In the same manner, when interest is opposite to benevolence and yet is surmounted by it, this interest must be added to the moment to increase the virtue of the action, or the strength of the benevolence. By interest, in this last case, is understood all the advantage which the agent might have obtained by omitting the action, which is a negative motive to it; and this, when subtracted, becomes positive. . . . The sixth axiom only explains the external marks by which men must judge, who do not see into each other's hearts; for it may really happen in many cases that men may have benevolence sufficient to surmount any difficulty and yet they may meet with none at all. And in that case it is certain there is as much virtue in the agent, though he does not give such proof of it to his fellowcreatures, as if he had surmounted difficulties in his kind actions. And this too must be the case with the deity, to whom nothing is difficult. Since then in judging of the goodness of temper in any agent, the abilities must come into computation, as is above-mentioned, and none can act beyond their natural abilities; that must be the perfection of virtue where the moment of good produced equals the ability, or when the being acts to the utmost of his power for the public good; and hence the perfection of virtue, in this case, is as unity. . . . From the preceding reasonings we shall only draw this one inference, which seems the most joyful imaginable, even to the lowest rank of mankind, viz. that no external circumstances of fortune, no involuntary disadvantages, can exclude any mortal from the most heroic virtue. For how small soever the moment of public good be which any one can accomplish, yet if his abilities are proportionably small, the virtue may be as great as any whatsoever. Thus,

518

Francis Hutcheson

not only the prince, the statesman, the general, are capable of true heroism, though these are the chief characters whose fame is diffused through various nations and ages, but when we find in an honest trader, the kind friend, the faithful prudent adviser, the charitable and hospitable neighbour, the tender husband and affectionate parent, the sedate yet cheerful companion, the generous assistant of merit, the cautious allayer of contention and debate, the promoter of love and good understanding among acquaintances; if we consider that these were all the good offices which his station in the world gave him an opportunity of performing to mankind, we must judge this character really as amiable as those whose external splendor dazzles an injudicious world into an opinion that they are the only heroes in virtue. . . . Section VI: Concerning the Importance of This Moral Sense to the Present Happiness of Mankind, and Its Influence on Human Affairs I. It may now probably appear that notwithstanding the corruption of manners so justly complained of everywhere, this moral sense has a greater influence on mankind than is generally imagined, although it is often directed by very partial imperfect views of public good, and often overcome by self-love. But we shall offer some farther considerations to prove that it gives us more pleasure and pain than all our other faculties. And to prevent repetitions, let us observe that wherever any morally good quality gives pleasure from reflection, or from honour, the contrary evil one will give proportionable pain, from remorse and shame. Now we shall consider the moral pleasures, not only separately but as they are the most delightful ingredient in the ordinary pleasures of life.

All men seem persuaded of some excellency in the possession of good morals which is superior to all other enjoyments; and on the contrary look upon a state of moral evil as worse and more wretched than any other whatsoever. We must not form our judgment in this matter from the actions of men; for however they may be influenced by moral sentiments, yet it is certain that self-interested passions frequently overcome them, and partial views of the tendency of actions make us do what is really morally evil, apprehending it to be good. But let us examine the sentiments which men universally form of the state of others when they are no way immediately concerned; for in these sentiments human nature is calm and undisturbed and shows its true face. Now should we imagine a rational creature in a sufficiently happy state, whose mind was without interruption wholly occupied with pleasant sensations of smell, taste, touch, etc. if at the same time all other ideas were excluded? Should we not think the state low, mean, and sordid, if there were no society, no love or friendship, no good offices? What then must that state be wherein there are no pleasures but those of the external senses, with such long intervals as human nature at present must have? Do these short fits of pleasure make the luxurious happy? How insipid and joyless are the reflec-

The Original of Our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue

519

tions on past pleasure! And how poor a recompense is the return of the transient sensation for the nauseous satieties, and languors in the intervals! This frame of our nature, so incapable of long enjoyments of the external senses, points out to us that there must be some other more durable pleasure, without such tedious interruptions, and nauseous reflections. . . . II. Let us in the same manner examine our sentiments of the happiness of others in common life. Wealth and external pleasures bear no small bulk in our imaginations; but does there not always accompany this opinion of happiness in wealth some supposed beneficent intention of doing good offices to persons dear to us, at least to our families or kinsmen? And in our imagined happiness from external pleasure, are not some ideas always included of some moral enjoyments of society, some communication of pleasure, something of love, of friendship, of esteem, of gratitude? Who ever pretended to a taste of these pleasures without society? Or if any seem violent in pursuit of them, how base and contemptible do they appear to all persons, even to those who could have no expectation of advantage from their having a more generous notion of pleasure? Now, were there no moral sense, no happiness in benevolence, and did we act from no other principle than self-love, sure there is no pleasure of the external senses which we could not enjoy alone with less trouble and expense than in society. But a mixture of the moral pleasures is what gives the alluring relish; 'tis some appearance of friendship, of love, of communicating pleasure to others, which preserves the pleasures of the luxurious from being nauseous and insipid. And this partial imagination of some good morals, some benevolence, in actions which have many cruel, inhuman, and destructive consequences toward others, is what has kept vice more in countenance than any other consideration. But to convince us farther wherein the happiness of wealth and external pleasure lies, let us but suppose malice, wrath, revenge, or only solitude, absence of friendship, of love, of society, of esteem, joined with the possession of them; and all the happiness vanishes like a dream. And yet love, friendship, society, humanity, though accompanied with poverty and toil, nay even with smaller degrees of pain, such as do not wholly occupy the mind, are not only the object of love from others but even of a sort of emulation; which plainly shows that virtue is the chief happiness in the judgment of all mankind. . . .

Section VII: A Deduction of Some Complex Moral Ideas; Viz. of Obligation, and Right, Perfect, Imperfect, and External, Alienable, and Unalienable, from This Moral Sense I. To conclude this subject, we may, from what has been said, see the true original of moral ideas, viz. this moral sense of excellence in every appearance or evidence of benevolence. It remains to be explained how we acquire more particular ideas of virtue and vice, abstracting from any law, human, or divine.

520

Francis Hutcheson

If anyone ask, can we have any sense of obligation, abstracting from the laws of a superior? We must answer according to the various senses of the word obligation. If by obligation we understand a determination, without regard to our own interest to approve actions and to perform them, which determination shall also make us displeased with ourselves and uneasy upon having acted contrary to it; in this meaning of the word obligation there is naturally an obligation upon all men to benevolence; and they are still under its influence even when by false or partial opinions of the natural tendency of their actions, this moral sense leads them to evil; unless by long inveterate habits it be exceedingly weakened; for it scarce seems possible wholly to extinguish it. Or, which is to the same purpose, this internal sense and instinct of benevolence will either influence our actions or make us very uneasy and dissatisfied; and we shall be conscious that we are in a base unhappy state even without considering any law whatsoever, or any external advantages lost, or disadvantages impending from its sanctions. And farther, there are still such indications given us of what is in the whole beneficent, and what not, as may probably discover to us the true tendency of every action, and let us see, some time or other, the evil tendency of what upon a partial view appeared good. Or if we have no friends so faithful as to admonish us, the persons injured will not fail to upbraid us. So that no mortal can secure to himself a perpetual serenity, satisfaction, and self-approbation, but by a serious inquiry into the tendency of his actions and a perpetual study of universal good according to the justest notions of it. But if, by obligation, we understand a motive from self-interest sufficient to determine all those who duly consider it and pursue their own advantage wisely to a certain course of actions; we may have a sense of such an obligation, by reflecting on this determination of our nature to approve virtue, to be pleased and happy when we reflect upon our having done virtuous actions, and to be uneasy when we are conscious of having acted otherwise; and also by considering how much superior we esteem the happiness of virtue to any other enjoyment. We may likewise have a sense of this sort of obligation by considering those reasons which prove a constant course of benevolent and social actions to be the most probable means of promoting the natural good of every individual, as Cumberland and Pufendorf have proved. And all this without relation to a law. But farther, if our moral sense be supposed exceedingly weakened and the selfish passions grown strong, either through some general corruption of nature or inveterate habits; if our understanding be weak and we be often in danger of being hurried by our passions into precipitate and rash judgments that malicious actions shall promote our advantage more than beneficence; in such a case, if it be inquired what is necessary to engage men to beneficent actions or induce a steady sense of an obligation to act for the public good; then, no doubt, a law with sanctions, given by a superior being of sufficient power to make us happy or miserable, must be necessary to counterbalance those apparent motives of interest, to calm our passions, and give

The Original of Our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue

521

room for the recovery of our moral sense, or at least for a just view of our interest. II. Now the principal business of the moral philosopher is to shew, from solid reasons, that universal benevolence tends to the happiness of the benevolent, either from the pleasures of reflection, honour, natural tendency to engage the good offices of men, upon whose aid we must depend for our happiness in this world, or from the sanctions of divine laws discovered to us by the constitution of the universe; that so no apparent views of interest may counteract this natural inclination; but not to attempt proving that prospects of our own advantage of any kind can raise in us the virtuous benevolence toward others. Let the obstacles from self-love be only removed, and Nature itself will incline us to benevolence. Let the misery of excessive selfishness be only removed and all its passions be but once explained so that self-love may cease to counteract our natural propensity to benevolence; and when this noble disposition gets loose from these bonds of ignorance and false views of interest, it shall be assisted even by self-love and grow strong enough to make a noble virtuous character. Then he is to inquire by reflection upon human affairs what course of action does most effectually promote the universal good, what universal rules or maxims are to be observed, and in what circumstances the reason of them alters, so as to admit exceptions; that so our good inclinations may be directed by reason and a just knowledge of the interests of mankind. But virtue itself, or good dispositions of mind, are not directly taught or produced by instruction; they must be originally implanted in our nature by its great Author, and afterwards strengthened and confirmed by our own cultivation. HI. We are often told that there is no need of supposing such a sense of morality given to men, since reflection and instruction would recommend the same actions from arguments of self-interest, and engage us from the acknowledged principle of self-love to the practice of them, without this unintelligible determination to benevolence or the occult quality of a moral sense. It is perhaps true that reflection and reason might lead us to approve the same actions as advantageous. But would not the same reflection and reason likewise generally recommend the same meats to us which our taste represents as pleasant? And shall we thence conclude that we have no sense of tasting, or that such a sense is useless? No, the use is plain in both cases. Notwithstanding the mighty reason we boast of above other animals, its processes are too slow, too full of doubt and hesitation, to serve us in every exigency, either for our own preservation, without the external senses, or to influence our actions for the good of the whole, without this moral sense. Nor could we be so strongly determined at all times to what is most conducive to either of these ends without these expeditious monitors and importunate solicitors; nor so nobly rewarded when we act vigorously in pursuit of these ends by the calm dull reflections of self-interest, as by those delightful sensations. . . . V. But that our first ideas of moral good depend not on laws may plainly appear from our constant inquiries into the justice of laws themselves; and

522

Francis Hutcheson

that not only of human laws but of the divine. What else can be the meaning of that universal opinion that the laws of God are just, and holy, and good? Human laws may be called good because of their conformity to the divine. But to call the laws of the supreme deity good, or holy, or just, if all goodness, holiness, and justice be constituted by laws, or the will of a superior any way revealed, must be an insignficant tautology, amounting to no more than this, that God wills what he wills. It must then first be supposed that there is something in actions which is apprehended absolutely good; and this is benevolence, or desire of the public natural happiness of rational agents; and that our moral sense perceives this excellence. And then we call the laws of the deity good when we imagine that they are contrived to promote the public good in the most effectual and impartial manner. And the deity is called good, in a moral sense, when we apprehend that his whole providence tends to the universal happiness of his creatures; whence we conclude his benevolence, and desire [for] their happiness. Some tell us that the goodness of the divine laws consists in their conformity to some essential rectitude of his nature. But they must excuse us from assenting to this, till they make us understand the meaning of this metaphor, essential rectitude; and till we discern whether any thing more is meant by it than a perfectly wise, uniform, impartial benevolence. Hence we may see the difference between constraint and obligation. There is indeed no difference between constraint and the second sense of the word obligation, viz. a constitution which makes an action eligible from self-interest, if we only mean external interest distinct from the delightful consciousness which arises from the moral sense. The reader need scarcely be told that by constraint we do not understand an external force moving our limbs without our consent; for in that case we are not agents at all; but that constraint which arises from the threatening and presenting some evil in order to make us act in a certain manner. And yet there seems an universally acknowledged difference between even this sort of constraint and obligation. We never say we are obliged to do an action which we count base, but we may be constrained to it. We never say that the divine laws, by their sanctions, constrain us, but oblige us; nor do we call obedience to the deity constraint, unless by a metaphor, though many own they are influenced by fear of punishments. And yet supposing an almighty evil being should require, under grievous penalties, treachery, cruelty, ingratitude, we would call this constraint. The difference is plainly this. When any sanctions co-operate with our moral sense in exciting us to actions which we count morally good, we say we are obliged; but when sanctions of rewards or punishments oppose our moral sense, then we say we are bribed or constrained. In the former case we call the lawgiver good, as designing the public happiness; in the latter we call him evil, or unjust, for the supposed contrary intention. But were all our ideas of moral good or evil derived solely from opinions of private advantage or loss in actions, I see no possible difference which could be made in the meaning of these words. VI. From this sense too we derive our ideas of rights. Whenever it appears

Editor's Notes

523

to us that a faculty of doing, demanding, or possessing any thing, universally allowed in certain circumstances, would in the whole tend to the general good, we say that one in such circumstances has a right to do, possess, or demand that thing. And according as this tendency to the public good is greater or less, the right is greater or less. . . . XII. If it be here inquired, "Could not the deity have given us a different or contrary determination of mind, viz. to approve actions upon another foundation than benevolence?" There seems nothing in this surpassing the natural power of the deity. But, as in the first treatise," we resolved the constitution of our present sense of beauty into the divine goodness, so with much more obvious reason may we ascribe the present constitution of our moral sense to his goodness. For if the deity be really benevolent, and desires the happiness of others, he could not rationally act otherwise or give us a moral sense upon another foundation without counteracting his own benevolent intentions. . . . Editor's Notes 1. Hutcheson uses the term "perception" in a very broad sense, meaning by it roughly what Locke meant by idea, that is, whatever is before the mind when the mind thinks. Pleasure and pains are therefore perceptions, as are ideas of the qualities of external objects and of the operations of our own minds, including feeling, thinking, remembering, and the like. 2. Hutcheson here was speaking of himself in the third person. 3. A slight misquotation of Shakespeare's Hamlet, act 2, sc. 2. An actor has given a passionate speech at Hamlet's request concerning Hecuba, who has lost a daughter; Hamlet wonders at the actor's ability to feign such passion. 4. Orestes, helped by his sister Electra, slew Aegysthus, who had seduced their mother, Clytemnestra. while their father, Agamemnon, was leading the Greek armies at Troy and then had joined Clytemnestra in murdering Agamemnon on his return. 5. A legendary king of Athens, reputed to have sacrificed himself for his country in order to save it from an invasion. 6. A Roman consul who saved his city by leading his troops to battle at the cost of his own life. 7. For Cumberland and Pufendorf, see the selections in Part I of this anthology. 8. An asylum for the insane, originally called "Bethlehem," of which the word "Bedlam" is a corruption. 9. Latin, "that which carries," as the balance — the "beam and scales" — symbolically carries justice. 10. Its ordinary meaning was "satisfaction or pleasure in one's own condition," but Hutcheson is giving it a broader sense, "satisfaction or pleasure in anyone's condition." 11. Its usual meaning was "dissatisfaction or displeasure with one's condition," but, as with "complacence," Hutcheson gives it a broader meaning. 12. Outweigh. 13. Hutcheson is saying that good done or evil avoided in regard to a very small number of persons whose activity is important to a society (e.g.. a group of military leaders in time of war) may outweigh good or evil involving larger numbers of persons of less importance to the society. 14. That is, the Inquiry Concerning the Original of Our Idea of Beauty, bound with this treatise.

524

Francis Hutcheson Further Reading

There is no good modern edition of Hutcheson's collected works, although eighteenthcentury copies of his writings have been reprinted. His important Illustrations on the Moral Sense, 1728, was edited by Bernard Peach (Cambridge. Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1971), with a good introduction. For his life, the study by W. R. Scott, Francis Hutcheson (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press. 1900). is still indispensable. For Hutcheson and the classical republican tradition. see Caroline Robbins, The Eighteenth Century Commonwealthman (Cambridge. Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1959). For Gershom Carmichael, Hutcheson's teacher, see James Moore and Michael Silverthorne, "Gershom Carmichael and the Natural Jurisprudence Tradition in Eighteenth Century Scotland," in Istvan Hont and Michael Ignatieff, eds., Wealth and Virtue (Cambridge. England: Cambridge University Press, 1983). There are several essays pertaining to Hutcheson in R. H. Campbell and Andrew S. Skinner. eds., The Origin and Nature of the Scottish Enlightenment (Edinburgh: John Donald, 1982). William Frankena's important article "Hutcheson's Moral Sense Theory," Journal of the History of Ideas 16 (1955), stimulated much of the recent discussion of the proper interpretation of Hutcheson. William T. Blackstone, Francis Hutcheson and Contemporary Moral Theory (Athens: University of Georgia Press. 1965), is analytical rather than historical. Henning Jensen, Motivation and the Moral Sense in Francis Hutcheson's Ethical Theory (The Hague: Nijhoff, 1971), contains some very controversial interpretations. David Fate Norton initiated the reading of Hutcheson as a moral realist. The second chapter of his book, David Hume (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1982), argues for this position, drawing on his earlier publications. "Hutcheson's Moral Sense Theory Reconsidered," Dialogue 13 (1974), and "Hutcheson on Perception and Moral Perception," Archly far Geschichte der Philosophie 59 (1977). Norton argued in part against Frankena and in part against the influential reading of Hutcheson given by Norman Kemp Smith in his Philosophy of David Hume (London: Macmillan, 1941), chap. 2. Kenneth P. Winkler criticized Norton's position in "Hutcheson's Alleged Realism," Journal of the History of Philosophy 23 (1985). and Norton replied in a later issue of the same journal during the same year. See also Joel J. Kupperman, "Francis Hutcheson: Morality and Nature," History of Philosophy Quarterly 2 (1985). In a series of important papers, Knud Haakonssen discussed the thesis of Hutcheson's moral realism and built it into an impressive interpretation of the course of moral and political thought from Pufendorf through Reid. See especially his "Moral Philosophy and Natural Law: From the Cambridge Platonists to the Scottish Enlightenment," Political Science 40 (1988), and "Natural Law and Moral Realism: The Scottish Synthesis," in M. A. Stewart, ed., Oxford Studies in the History of Philosophy, vol. 1: The Philosophy of the Scottish Enlightenment (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989). Hutcheson figures importantly in both these essays, which will steer the interested reader to additional secondary material. There is a chapter on Hutcheson in Alasdair Maclntyre, Whose Justice? Which Rationality? (Notre Dame. Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 1988). The best book on Hutcheson is Wolfgang Leidhold, Ethik and Politik bei Francis Hutcheson (Munich: Verlag Karl Alber, 1985). which contains a good bibliography.

Joseph Butler

Introduction Joseph Butler, born in 1692 into a family of Dissenters — Protestants who were not members of the Church of England — studied at a Dissenting academy until 1714. During this time he corresponded with Samuel Clarke about the latter's proofs of the existence of God; Clarke admired the letters enough to publish the exchange in later editions of his own work. Butler then went to Oxford to prepare for ordination in the Church of England. He became a priest soon after he graduated in 1718 and was appointed preacher at the Rolls Chapel in London. It was here that he delivered the Fifteen Sermons (1726) on which his importance as a moral philosopher rests. In 1736 he wrote a lengthy attack on deism, the view that a fully adequate religion can be developed by natural reason without the aid of any revelation and that faith in the distinctive doctrines of Christianity is not essential to religion. Butler's work The Analogy of Religion, Natural and Revealed, to the Constitution and the Course of Nature (1736) was used in the education of Church of England clergy through the

remainder of the eighteenth century and much of the nineteenth. It was generally thought to have destroyed the deistic position and stopped it from gathering adherents. Butler devoted the rest of his life to his work in the church. He was the bishop first of Bristol and then, late in life, of Durham. He died in 1752. The Sermons are among the most influential English writings on ethics. Although they did not receive much acclaim when they were published, by mid-century they had begun to be more widely noticed, and some of the most powerful of later moral philosophers — in particular, Richard Price and Thomas Reid, in the eighteenth century, and William Whewell and Henry Sidgwick. in the nineteenth — considered themselves to be, in one way or another, Butlerians. Densely written, the Sermons repay the careful study they require. It was characteristic of Butler to stress the complexity of human nature and the moral life. Against Hobbes (and others of the period) he developed classic arguments to show that human motivation cannot be reduced to any single desire or principle. Egoistic psychology was his target because he supposed, rightly or wrongly, that Hobbes held that all voluntary human actions are self-interested and because Mandeville had proposed a variant of that view. But Butler's arguments would apply to any alleged reduction of all desires and impulses to a single motivation. Butler also emphasized the complexities of the principles that guide us in deciding which of our desires and passions to act on. He noted two kinds of complexity. The first is that some practical principles are superior to others not simply in strength but also in what Butler called "authority." Some principles claim the right to govern

525

526

Joseph Butler

others. For example. if fear prompts us to refuse to go the dentist, self-interest will prompt us to go, and we will all agree, Butler thought, that we ought to go. It is only reasonable to do so, even if the desire to stay away is stronger than the desire to go. This illustrates the idea of authority, and Butler believed that we could then see that conscience has a similar authority over all the other practical principles. Principles are complex in another way. There ' no single rule or principle from which we can obtain all the guidance we need. In fact, Butler asserted, no honest person needs a rule (Sermon 111.4). Conscience gives us sufficient direction in each case as it comes. But conscience ay be led astray, owing to personal failings, and if it is. no abstract rule will set it right Butler particularly attacked the idea — proposed by Hutcheson — that virtue might wholly contained in benevolence, so that the directive "Do as much good as possible" would suffice. A principle like that, Butler allowed, might express the mode in which God works, but it cannot be our principle. In resisting the Hutchesonian view, Butler presented some of the more incisive criticisms of what much later came to be known as utilitarianism. Conscience must thus be our final arbiter. Yet Butler did not give us a detailed analysis of conscience. He ignored the Thomistic account of conscience as a synderesis, or repository of rules, together with the power of applying the rules to instances, although this account had been accepted by most of his predecessors in the Church of England. And he put nothing definite in its place. Butler used a perplexing variety of terms to refer to conscience, and consequently there has been considerable discussion of whether he thought of it as a feeling or as an instrument of knowledge. The fact is that he was not interested in theories about such matters. His concern was to remind us that we all are aware of this source of inner guidance and its authority, however we describe it. For practical purposes, we do not need any theory about it. Yet another complexity in the moral life is emphasized in the Sermons. Butler held that it is as appropriate to be concerned for one's own long-range good as it is to be concerned for the good of others. Both self-interest and benevolence are reasonable principles of action, but Butler declined to rank them in relation to each other or to justice or veracity. The ordinary person is perfectly capable of seeing, in specific contexts, what is to be done, and no more is needed. In one of the first histories of moral philosophy in English. William Whewell said that Butler had done more to make us aware of the facts of the moral life than had any of his predecessors but that he had not developed an adequate theory to explain the complex data he uncovered. Whewell plainly thought this a defect. But in refusing to suppose that theory must play a practical part in daily life, Butler was making a strongly Protestant reaffirmation of the immediate responsibility of all individuals for their own actions and for the condition of their own character. His understanding of morality grew from his religious beliefs. God, in Butler's view, has given each of us a conscience that is adequate for our practical needs. Advice from a minister or confessor is not necessary for ordinary people to live decent lives, and neither is philosophy. Butler's strong assertion of our capacity for self-direction inevitably raises a question: if we are capable of living decently without the guidance of other people, might not conscience be adequate even without God? The reader will wish to consider how important religious assumptions are to Butler's general outlook. The selections from the Sermons reprinted here are from J. H. Bernard, ed., The Works of Joseph Butler, London, 1900, vol. 1, which gives the text of the second edition of 1729. The best way of referring to Butler's works is by sermon number and paragraph number, and so I have included Bernard's numbering in brackets. The brief

Sermons

527

excerpt from the "Dissertation on Virtue," published as an appendix to the Analogy of Religion, is from the second volume of the same edition.

Sermons SERMON I: UPON HUMAN NATURE

For as we have many members in one body, and all members have not the same office: so we, being many, are one body in Christ, and every one members one of another. (Rom. 12:4, 5)

[4.] The relation which the several parts or members of the natural body have to each other and to the whole body, is here compared to the relation which each particular person in society has to other particular persons and to the whole society; and the latter is intended to be illustrated by the former. And if there be a likeness between these two relations, the consequence is obvious: that the latter shows us we were intended to do good to others, as the former shews us that the several members of the natural body were intended to be instruments of good to each other and to the whole body. . . . [5.] From this review and comparison of the nature of man as respecting self, and as respecting society, it will plainly appear, that there are as real and the same kind of indications in human nature, that we were made for society and to do good to our fellow-creatures; as that we were intended to take care of our own life and health and private good: and that the same objections lie against one of these assertions, as against the other. For, [6.] First, There is a natural principle of benevolence* in man; which is in * Suppose a man of learning to be writing a grave book upon human nature, and to chew in several parts of it that he had an insight into the subject he was considering; amongst other things. the following one would require to be accounted for; the appearance of benevolence or good-will in men towards each other in the instances of natural relation, and in others (Hobbes, Of Human Nature, c. ix. I) 7). Cautious of being deceived with outward show, he retires within himself to see exactly, what that is in the mind of man from whence this appearance proceeds; and, upon deep reflection, asserts the principle in the mind to be only the love of power. and delight in the exercise of it. Would not every body think here was a mistake of one word for another? that the philosopher was contemplating and accounting for some other human actions, some other behaviour of man to man? And could any one be thoroughly satisfied, that what is commonly called benevolence or good-will was really the affection meant, but only by being made to understand that this learned person had a general hypothesis, to which the appearance of good-will could no otherwise be reconciled? That what has this appearance is often nothing but ambition; that delight in superiority often (suppose always) mixes itself with benevolence, only makes it more specious to call it ambition than hunger, of the two: but in reality that passion does no more account for the whole appearances of good-will, than this appetite does. Is there not often the appearance of one man's wishing that good to another, which he knows himself unable to procure him; and rejoicing in it, though bestowed by a third person? And can love of power any way possibly come in to account for this desire or delight? Is there not often the appearance of men's distinguishing between two or more persons, preferring one before another, to do good to, in cases where love of power cannot in the least account for the distinction and preference? For this principle can no otherwise distinguish between objects, than as it is a greater instance and exertion of power to do good to one rather than to another. Again, suppose good-will in the mind of man to be nothing but delight in the exercise of power: men might indeed be restrained by distant and accidental considerations; but these restraints being removed, they would have a disposition to, and delight in mischief as

528

iYA

Joseph Butler

some degree to society, what self-love is to the individual. And if there be in mankind any disposition to friendship; if there be any such thing as compassion, for compassion is momentary love; if there be any such thing as the paternal or filial affections; if there be any affection in human nature, the object and end of which is the good of another; this is itself benevolence, or the love of another:fly it ever so short, be it in ever so low a degree, or ever so unhappily confined; it proves the assertion, and points out what we were de' ned for, as really as though it were in a higher degree and more extensive. I must however remind you that though benevolence and self-love are different; though the former tends most directly to public good, and the latter to private{yet they are so perfectly coincident, that the greatest satisfactions to ourselves depend upon our having benevolence in a due degree, and that self-love is one chief security of our right behaviour towards society. It may be added, that their mutual coinciding, so that we can scarce promote one without the other, is equally a proof that we were made for botfit [7.] Secondly, This will further appear, from observing that the several passions and affections, which are distinct* both from benevolence and selfan exercise and proof of power: and this disposition and delight would arise from, or be the same principle in the mind, as a disposition to, and delight in charity. Thus cruelty, as distinct from envy and resentment, would be exactly the same in the mind of man as good-will: that one tends to the happiness, the other to the misery of our fellow-creatures, is, it seems, merely an accidental circumstance, which the mind has not the least regard to. These are the absurdities which even men of capacity run into, when they have occasion to belie their nature, and will perversely disclaim that image of God which was originally stamped upon it, the traces of which, however faint, are plainly discernible upon the mind of man. If any person can in earnest doubt, whether there be such a thing as good-will in one man towards another; (for the question is not concerning either the degree or extensiveness of it. but concerning the affection itself:) let it be observed, that whether man be thus, or otherwise constituted, what is the inward frame in this particular, is a mere question of fact or natural history, not provable immediately by reason. It is therefore to be judged of and determined in the same way other facts or matters of natural history are: by appealing to the external senses, or inward perceptions, respectively, as the matter under consideration is cognizable by one or the other: by arguing from acknowledged facts and actions; for a great number of actions in the same kind, in different circumstances, and respecting different objects. will prove, to a certainty what principles they do not, and, to the greatest probability, what principles they do proceed from: and lastly, by the testimony of mankind. Now that there is some degree of benevolence amongst men. may be as strongly and plainly proved in all these ways, as it could possibly be proved. supposing there was this affection in our nature. And should any one think fit to assert, that resentment in the mind of man was absolutely nothing but reasonable concern for our own safety. the falsity of this, and what is the real nature of that passion, could be shewn in no other ways than those in which it may be shewn, that there is such a thing in some degree as real good-will in man towards man. It is sufficient that the seeds of it be implanted in our nature by God. There is. it is owned, much left for us to do upon our own heart and temper; to cultivate. to improve, to call it forth, to exercise it in a steady. uniform manner. This is our work: this is virtue and religion. • Every body makes a distinction between self-love, and the several particular passions, appetites, and affections; and yet they are often confounded again. That they are totally different, will be seen by any one who will distinguish between the passions and appetites themselves, and endeavouring after the means of their gratification. Consider the appetite of hunger, and the desire of esteem: these being the occasion both of pleasure and pain, the coolest self-love, as well as the appetites and passions themselves. may put us upon making use of the proper methods of obtaining that pleasure, and avoiding that pain; but the feelings themselves, the pain of hunger and shame, and the delight from esteem. are no more self-love than they are anything in the world. Though a man hated himself, he would as much feel the pain of hunger

Sermons

529

love, do in general contribute and lead us to public good as really as to private. It might be thought too minute and particular, and would carry us too great a length, to distinguish between and compare together the several passions or appetites distinct from benevolence, whose primary use and intention is the security and good of society; and the passions distinct from self-love, w se primary intention and design is the security and good of the individual. t It is enough to the present argument, that desire of esteem from others, contempt and esteem of them, love of socie as distinct from affection to the good of it, indignation against successful vice, that these are public affections or passions; have an immediate respec others, naturally lead us to regulate our behaviour in such a manner as will be of service to our fellow-creatures. If any or all of these may be considered likewise as private affections, as tending to private good; this does not hinder them from being public affections too, or destroy the good influence of them upon society, and their tendency to public good. . . . The sum is, men have various appetites, passions, and particular affections, quite distinct both from self-love and from benevolence: all of these have a tendency to promote both public and private good, and may be considered as respecting others and ourselves equally and in common: but some of them seem most immediately to respect others, or tend to public good; hers of them most immediately to respect self, or tend to private good: as the former are not benevolence, so the latter are not -love: neither sor are instances of our love either to ourselves or other ut only instances of our Maker's care and love both of the individual an pecies, and proofs that He intended we should be ls ' trum nts of good to each other, as well as that we should be so to ourselves.

awe

as he would that of the gout: and it is plainly supposable there may be creatures with self-love in them to the highest degree, who may be quite insensible and indifferent (as men in some cases are) to the contempt and esteem of those, upon whom their happiness does not in some further respects depend. And as self-love and the several particular passions and appetites are in themselves totally different; so, that some actions proceed from one, and some from the other, will be manifest to any one who will observe the two following very supposable cases. One man rushes upon certain ruin for the gratification of a present desire: nobody will call the principle of this action self-love. Suppose another man to go through some laborious work upon promise of a great reward, without any distinct knowledge what the reward will be: this course of action cannot be ascribed to any particular passion. The former of these actions is plainly to be imputed to some particular passion or affection, the latter as plainly to the general affection or principle of self-love. That there are some particular pursuits or actions concerning which we cannot determine how far they are owing to one, and how far to the other, proceeds from this. that the two principles are frequently mixed together, and run up into each other. This distinction is further explained in the eleventh sermon. t If any desire to see this distinction and comparison made in a particular instance, the appetite and passion now mentioned may serve for one. Hunger is to be considered as a private appetite; because the end for which it was given us is the preservation of the individual. Desire of esteem is a public passion; because the end for which it was given us is to regulate our behaviour towards society. The respect which this has to private good is as remote as the respect that has to public good: and the appetite is no more self-love, than the passion is benevolence. The object and end of the former is merely food; the object and end of the latter is merely esteem: but the latter can no more be gratified, without contributing to the good of society; than the former can be gratified, without contributing to the preservation of the individual.

530

Joseph Butler

[8.] Thirdly, There is a principle of reflection' in men, by which they distinguish between, approve and disapprove their own actions. We are plainly constituted such sort of creatures as to reflect upon our own nature. The mind can take a view of what passes within itself, its propensions, aversions, passions, affections, as respecting such objects, and in such degrees; and of the several actions consequent thereupon. In this survey it approves of one, disaptowards a third is affected in neither of these ways, but proves of another, is quite indifferent. This principle in man, by which he approves or disapproves his heart, to er, and actions, is conscience for this is the strict sense e in more. And that this of the word, though sometimes it is used so as to faculty tends to restrain men from doing mischief to each other, and leads them to do good, is too manifest to need being insisted upon. . . . It cannot possibly be denied, that there is this principle of reflection or conscience in human nature. Suppose a man to relieve an innocent person in great distress; suppose the same man afterwards, in the fury of anger, to do the greatest mischief to a person who had given no just cause of offence; to aggravate the injury, add the circumstances of former friendship, and obligation from the injured person; let the man who is supposed to have done these two different actions, coolly reflect upon them afterwards, without regard to their consequences to himself: to assert that any common man would be affected in the same way towards these different actionshat he would make no distinction between them, but appro e or disapprove them equally, is too glaring a falsity to need being confuted. There is therefore this principle of reflection or t is needless to compare the respect it has to private conscience in mankin good, with the respect it has to public since it plainly tends as much to e latter as to the former, and is common y thought to tend chiefly to the latte This faculty is now mentioned merely as another part in the inward fran e of man, pointing out to us in some degree what we are intended for, and as what will naturally and of course have some influence. The particular place assigned to it by nature, what authority it has, and how great influence it ought to have, shall be hereafter considered. [9.] From this comparison of benevolence and self-love, of our public and private affections, of the courses of life they lead to, and of the principle of reflection or conscience as respecting each of them, it is as manifest, that we were made for society, and to promote the happiness of it; as that we were intended to take care of our own life, and health, and private good. SERMON II: UPON HUMAN NATURE For when the Gentiles, which have not the law, do by nature the things contained in the law, these, having not the law, are a law unto themselves. (Rom. 2:14) [3.] But it may be said, "What is all this, though true, to the purpose of virtue and religion? these require, not only that we do good to others, when we are led this way, by benevolence or reflection, happening to be stronger

Sermons

531

than other principles, passions, or appetites; but likewise that the whole character be formed upon thought and reflection; that every action be directed by some determinate rule, some other rule than the strength and prevalency of any principle or passion. What sign is there in our nature (for the inquiry is only about what is to be collected from thence) that this was intended by its Author? Or how does so various and fickle a temper as that of man appear adapted thereto? It may indeed be absurd and unnatural for men to act without any reflection; nay, without regard to that particular kind of reflection which you call conscience; because this does belong to our nature. For as there never was a man but who approved one place, prospect, building, before another: so it does not appear that there ever was a man who would not have approved an action of humanity rather than of cruelty; interest and passion being quite out of the case. But interest and passion do come in, and are often too strong for and prevail over reflection and conscience. Now as brutes have various instincts, by which they are carried on to the end the Author of their nature intended them for: is not man in the same condition; with this difference only, that to his instincts (i.e., appetites and passions) is added the principle of reflection or conscience? And as brutes act agreeably to their nature, in following that principle or particular instinct which for the present is strongest in them: does not man likewise act agreeably to his nature, or obey the law of his creation, by following that principle, be it passion or conscience, which for the present happens to be strongest in him? .. . [4.J Now all this licentious talk entirely goes upon a supposition, that men follow their nature in the same sense, in violating the known rules of justice and honesty for the sake of a present gratification, as they do in following those rules when they have no temptation to the contrary. And if this were true, that could not be so which St. Paul asserts, that men are "by nature a law to themselves." . . . the objection will be fully answered, and the text before us explained, by observing that nature is considered in different views, and the words used in different senses; and by shewing in what view it is considered, and in what sense the word is used, when intended to express and signify that which is the guide of life, that by which men are a law to themselves. I say, the explanation of the term will be sufficient, because from thence it will appear, that in some senses of the word nature cannot be, but that in another sense it manifestly is, a law to us. [5.1 I. By nature is often meant no more than some principle in man, without regard either to the kind or degree of it. Thus the passion of anger, and the affection of parents to their children, would be called equally natural. And as the same person hath often contrary principles, which at the same time draw contrary ways, he may by the same action both follow and contradict his nature in this sense of the word; he may follow one passion and contradict another. [6.J II. Nature is frequently spoken of as consisting in those passions which are strongest, and most influence the actions; which being vicious ones, mankind is in this sense naturally vicious, or vicious by nature. Thus St. Paul says

532

Joseph Butler

of the Gentiles, "who were dead in trespasses and sins, and walked according to the spirit of disobedience, that they were by nature the children of wrath."' They could be no otherwise children of wrath by nature, than they were vicious by nature. [7.] Here then are two different senses of the word nature, in neither of which men can at all be said to be a law to themselves. They are mentioned only to be excluded; to prevent their being confounded, as the latter is in the objection, with another sense of it, which is now to be inquired after and explained. [8.] HI. . . . What that is in man by which he is naturally a law to himself is explained in the following words: "which chew the work of the law written in their hearts, their conscience also bearing witness, and their thoughts the meanwhile accusing or else excusing one another."' If there be a distinction to be made between the works written in their hearts, and the witness of conscience; by the former must be meant the natural disposition to kindness and compassion, to do what is of good report, to which this apostle often refers: that part of the nature of man, treated of in the foregoing discourse, which with very little reflection and of course leads him to society, and by means of which he naturally acts a just and good part in it, unless other passions or interest lead him astray. Yet since other passions, and regards to private interest, which lead us (though indirectly, yet they lead us) astray, are themselves in a degree equally natural, and often most prevalent; and since we have no method of seeing the particular degrees in which one or the other is placed in us by nature; it is plain the former, considered merely as natural, good and right as they are, can no more be a law to us than the latter. But there is a superior principle of reflection or conscience in every man, which distinguishes between the internal principles of his heart, as well as his external actions: which passes judgment upon himself and them; pronounces determinately some actions to be in themselves just, right, good; others to be in themselves evil, wrong, unjust; which, without being consulted, without being advised with, magisterially exerts itself, and approves or condemns him the doer of them accordingly: and which, if not forcibly stopped, naturally and always of course goes on to anticipate a higher and more effectual sentence, which shall hereafter second and affirm its own. 4 But this part of the office of conscience is beyond my present design explicitly to consider. It is by this faculty, natural to man, that he is a moral agent, that he is a law to himself: by this faculty, I say, not to be considered merely as a principle in his heart, which is to have some influence as well as others; but considered as a faculty in kind and in nature supreme over all others, and which bears its own authority of being so. [91 This prerogative, this natural supremacy, of the faculty which surveys, approves or disapproves the several affections of our mind and actions of our lives, being that by which men are a law to themselves, their conformity or disobedience to which law of our nature renders their actions, in the highest and most proper sense, natural or unnatural; it is fit it be further explained to you: and I hope it will be so, if you will attend to the following reflections.

Sermons

533

[10.1 Man may act according to that principle or inclination which for the present happens to be strongest, and yet act in a way disproportionate to, and violate his real proper nature. Suppose a brute creature by any bait to be allured into a snare, by which he is destroyed. He plainly followed the bent of his nature, leading him to gratify his appetite: there is an entire correspondence between his whole nature and such an action: such action therefore is natural. But suppose a man, foreseeing the same danger of certain ruin, should rush into it for the sake of a present gratification; he in this instance would follow his strongest desire, as did the brute creature: but there would be as manifest a disproportion, between the nature of a man and such an action, as between the meanest work of art and the skill of the greatest master in that art: which disproportion arises, not from considering the action singly in itself or in its consequences; but from comparison of it with the nature of the agent. And since such an action is utterly disproportionate to the nature of man, it is in the strictest and most proper sense unnatural; this word expressing that disproportion. Therefore instead of the words disproportionate to his nature, the word unnatural may now be put; this being more familiar to us: but let it be observed, that it stands for the same thing precisely. [11.1 Now what is it which renders such a rash action unnatural? Is it that he went against the principle of reasonable and cool self-love, considered merely as a part of his nature? No: for if he had acted the contrary way, he would equally have gone against a principle, or part of its nature, namely, passion or appetite. But to deny a present appetite, from foresight that the gratification of it would end in immediate ruin or extreme misery, is by no means an unnatural action: whereas to contradict or go against cool self-love for the sake of such gratification, is so in the instance before us. Such an action then being unnatural; and its being so not arising from a man's going against a principle or desire barely, nor in going against that principle or desire which happens for the present to be strongest; it necessarily follows, that there must be some other difference or distinction to be made between these two principles, passion and cool self-love, than what I have yet taken notice of. And this difference, not being a difference in strength or degree, I call a difference in nature and in kind. And since, in the instance still before us, if passion prevails over self-love, the consequent action is unnatural; but if self-love prevails over passion, the action is natural: it is manifest that selflove is in human nature a superior principle to passion. This may be contradicted without violating that nature; but the former cannot. So that, if we will act conformably to the economy of man's nature, reasonable self-love must govern. Thus, without particular consideration of conscience, we may have a clear conception of the superior nature of one inward principle to another; and see that there really is this natural superiority, quite distinct from degrees of strength and prevalency. [13.1 Passion or appetite implies a direct simple tendency towards such and such objects, without distinction of the means by which they are to be obtained. Consequently it will often happen there will be a desire of particular

534

Joseph Butler

objects, in cases where they cannot be obtained without manifest injury to others. Reflection or conscience comes in, and disapproves the pursuit of them in these circumstances; but the desire remains. Which is to be obeyed, appetite or reflection? Cannot this question be answered, from the economy and constitution of human nature merely, without saying which is strongest? Or need this at all come into consideration? Would not the question be intelligibly and fully answered by saying, that the principle of reflection or conscience being compared with the various appetites, passions, and affections in men, the former is manifestly superior and chief, without regard to strength? And how often soever the latter happens to prevail, it is mere usurpation: the former remains in nature and in kind its superior; and every instance of such prevalence of the latter is an instance of breaking in upon and violation of the constitution of man. [14.] All this is no more than the distinction, which everybody is acquainted with, between mere power and authority: only instead of being intended to express the difference between what is possible, and what is lawful in civil government; here it has been shewn applicable to the several principles in the mind of man. Thus that principle, by which we survey, and either approve or disapprove our own heart, temper, and actions, is not only to be considered as what is in its turn to have some influence; which may be said of every passion, of the lowest appetites: but likewise as being superior; as from its very nature manifestly claiming superiority over all others: insomuch that you cannot form a notion of this faculty, conscience, without taking in judgment, direction, superintendency. This is a constituent part of the idea, that is, of the faculty itself: and to preside and govern, from the very economy and constitution of man, belongs to it. Had it strength, as it has right; had it power, as it has manifest authority, it would absolutely govern the world.

SERMON III: UPON HUMAN NATURE For when the Gentiles, which have not the law, do by nature the things contained in the law, these, having not the law, are a law unto themselves. (Rom. 2:14)

[1.] The natural supremacy of reflection or conscience being thus established; we may from it form a distinct notion of what is meant by human nature, when virtue is said to consist in following it, and vice in deviating from it. [2.] As the idea of a civil constitution implies in it united strength, various subordinations, under one direction, that of the supreme authority; the different strength of each particular member of the society not coming into the idea; whereas, if you leave out the subordination, the union, and the one direction, you destroy and lose it: so reason, several appetites, passions, and affections, prevailing in different degrees of strength, is not that idea or notion of human nature; but that nature consists in these several principles considered as having a natural respect to each other, in the several passions being natu-

Sermons

535

rally subordinate to the one superior principle of reflection or conscience. Every bias, instinct, propension within, is a real part of our nature, but not the whole: add to these the superior faculty, whose office it is to adjust, manage, and preside over them, and take in this its natural superiority, and you complete the idea of human nature. And as in civil government the constitution is broken in upon, and violated by power and strength prevailing over authority; so the constitution of man is broken in upon and violated by the lower faculties or principles within prevailing over that which is in its nature supreme over them all. Thus, when it is said by ancient writers, that tortures and death are not so contrary to human nature as injustice; 5 by this to be sure is not meant, that the aversion to the former in mankind is less strong and prevalent than their aversion to the latter; but that the former is only contrary to our nature considered in a partial view, and which takes in only the lowest part of it, that which we have in common with the brutes; whereas the latter is contrary to our nature, considered in a higher sense, as a system and constitution contrary to the whole economy of man. [3.] And from all these things put together, nothing can be more evident, than that, exclusive of revelation, man cannot be considered as a creature left by his Maker to act at random, and live at large up to the extent of his natural power, as passion, humour, wilfulness, happen to carry him; which is the condition brute creatures are in: but that from his make, constitution, or nature, he is in the strictest and most proper sense a law to himself. He hath the rule of right within: what is wanting is only that he honestly attend to it. [4.] The inquiries which have been made by men of leisure, after some general rule, the conformity to, or disagreement from which, should denominate our actions good or evil, are in many respects of great service. Yet let any plain honest man, before he engages in any course of action, ask himself, Is this I am going about right, or is it wrong? Is it good, or is it evil? I do not in the least doubt, but that this question would be answered agreeably to truth and virtue, by almost any fair man in almost any circumstance. Neither do there appear any cases which look like exceptions to this; but those of superstition, and of partiality to ourselves. Superstition may perhaps be somewhat of an exception: but partiality to ourselves is not; this being itself dishonesty. For a man to judge that to be the equitable, the moderate, the right part for him to act, which he would see to be hard, unjust, oppressive in another; this is plain vice, and can proceed only from great unfairness of mind. [5.] But allowing that mankind hath the rule of right within himself, yet it may be asked, "What obligations are we under to attend to and follow it?" I answer: it has been proved that man by his nature is a law to himself, without the particular distinct consideration of the positive sanctions of that law; the rewards and punishments which we feel, and those which from the light of reason we have ground to believe are annexed to it. The question then carries its own answer along with it. Your obligation to obey this law, is its being the law of your nature. That your conscience approves of and attests to such a course of action, is itself alone an obligation. Conscience does not only offer

536

Joseph Butler

itself to shew us the way we should walk in, but it likewise carries its own authority with it, that it is our natural guide; the guide assigned us by the Author of our nature: it therefore belongs to our condition of being, it is our duty to walk in that path, and follow this guide, without looking about to see whether we may not possibly forsake them with impunity.

SERMON XI: UPON THE LOVE OF OUR NEIGHBOUR

And if there be any other commandment, it is briefly comprehended in this saying, namely, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself. (Rom. 13:9) PI Every man hath a general desire of his own happiness; and likewise a variety of particular affections, passions, and appetites to particular external objects. The former proceeds from, or is self-love; and seems inseparable from all sensible creatures, who can reflect upon themselves and their own interest or happiness, so as to have that interest an object to their minds: what is to be said of the latter is, that they proceed from, or together make up that particular nature, according to which man is made. The object the former pursues is somewhat internal, our own happiness, enjoyment, satisfaction; whether we have, or have not, a distinct particular perception what it is, or wherein it consists: the objects of the latter are this or that particular external thing, which the affections tend towards, and of which it hath always a particular idea or perception. The principle we call self-love never seeks anything external for the sake of the thing, but only as a means of happiness or good: particular affections rest in the external things themselves. One belongs to man as a reasonable creature reflecting upon his own interest or happiness. The other, though quite distinct from reason, are as much a part of human nature. [6.] That all particular appetites and passions are towards external things themselves, distinct from the pleasure arising from them, is manifested from hence; that there could not be this pleasure, were it not for that prior suitableness between the object and the passion: there could be no enjoyment or delight from one thing more than another, from eating food more than from swallowing a stone, if there were not an affection or appetite to one thing more than another. [7.] Every particular affection, even the love of our neighbour, is as really our own affection, as self-love; and the pleasure arising from its gratification is as much my own pleasure, as the pleasure self-love would have, from knowing I myself should be happy some time hence, would be my own pleasure. And if, because every particular affection is a man's own, and the pleasure arising from its gratification his own pleasure, or pleasure to himself, such particular affection must be called self-love; according to this way of speaking, no creature whatever can possibly act but merely from self-love; and every action and every affection whatever is to be resolved up into this one principle. But then this is not the language of mankind: or if it were, we should want words to

Sermons

537

express the difference, between the principle of an action, proceeding from cool consideration that it will be to my own advantage; and an action, suppose of revenge, or of friendship, by which a man runs upon certain ruin, to do evil or good to another. It is manifest the principles of these actions are totally different, and so want different words to be distinguished by: all that they agree in is, that they both proceed from, and are done to gratify an inclination in a man's self. But the principle or inclination in one case is self-love; in the other, hatred or love of another. There is then a distinction between the cool principle of self-love, or general desire of our happiness, as one part of our nature, and one principle of action; and the particular affections towards particular external objects, as another part of our nature, and another principle of action. How much soever therefore is to be allowed to self-love, yet it cannot be allowed to be the whole of our inward constitution; because, you see, there are other parts or principles which come into it. [8.] Further, private happiness or good is all which self-love can make us desire, or be concerned about: in having this consists its gratification: it is an affection to ourselves; a regard to our own interest, happiness, and private good: and in the proportion a man hath this, he is interested, or a lover of himself. Let this be kept in mind; because there is commonly, as I shall presently have occasion to observe, another sense put upon these words. On the other hand, particular affections tend towards particular external things: these are their objects; having these is their end: in this consists their gratification: no matter whether it be, or be not, upon the whole, our interest or happiness. An action done from the former of these principles is called an interested action. An action proceeding from any of the latter has its denomination of passionate, ambitious, friendly, revengeful, or any other, from the particular appetite or affection from which it proceeds. Thus self-love as one part of human nature, and the several particular principles as the other part, are, themselves, their objects and ends, stated and shewn. [11.] Self-love and interestedness was stated to consist in or be an affection to ourselves, a regard to our own private good: it is therefore distinct from benevolence, which is an affection to the good of our fellow-creatures. But that benevolence is distinct from, that is, not the same thing with self-love, is no reason for its being looked upon with any peculiar suspicion; because every principle whatever, by means of which self-love is gratified, is distinct from it; and all things which are distinct from each other are equally so. A man has an affection or aversion to another: that one of these tends to, and is gratified by doing good, that the other tends to, and is gratified by doing harm, does not in the least alter the respect which either one or the other of these inward feelings has to self-love. We use the word property so as to exclude any other persons having an interest in that of which we say a particular man has the property. And we often use the word selfish so as to exclude in the same manner all regards to the good of others. But the cases are not parallel: for though that exclusion is really part of the idea of property; yet such positive exclusion, or bringing this peculiar disregard to the good of others into the

538

Joseph Butler

idea of self-love, is in reality adding to the idea, or changing it from what it was before stated to consist in, namely, in an affection to ourselves. This being the whole idea of self-love, it can no otherwise exclude good-will or love of others, than merely by not including it, no otherwise, than it excludes love of arts or reputation, or of anything else. Neither on the other hand does benevolence, any more than love of arts or of reputation, exclude self-love. Love of our neighbour then has just the same respect to, is no more distant from, selflove, than hatred of our neighbour, or than love or hatred of anything else. . . . [12.] Thus it appears that there is no peculiar contrariety between self-love and benevolence; no greater competition between these, than between any other particular affections and self-love. This relates to the affections themselves. Let us now see whether there be any peculiar contrariety between the respective courses of life which these affections lead to; whether there be any greater competition between the pursuit of private and of public good, than between any other particular pursuits and that of private good. [16.] The short of the matter is no more than this. Happiness consists in the gratification of certain affections, appetites, passions, with objects which are by nature adapted to them. Self-love may indeed set us on work to gratify these: but happiness or enjoyment has no immediate connexion with selflove, but arises from such gratification alone. Love of our neighbour is one of those affections. This, considered as a virtuous principle, is gratified by a consciousness of endeavouring to promote the good of others; but considered as a natural affection, its gratification consists in the actual accomplishment of this endeavour. Now indulgence or gratification of this affection, whether in that consciousness, or this accomplishment, has the same respect to interest, as indulgence of any other affection; they equally proceed from or do not proceed from self-love, they equally include or equally exclude this principle. Thus it appears, that benevolence and the pursuit of public good hath at least as great respect to self-love and the pursuit of private good, as any other particular passions, and their respective pursuits. [20.] And to all these things may be added, that religion, from whence arises our strongest obligation to benevolence, is so far from disowning the principle of self-love, that it often addresses itself to that very principle, and always to the mind in that state when reason presides; and there can no access be had to the understanding, but by convincing men, that the course of life we would persuade them to is not contrary to their interest. It may be allowed, without any prejudice to the cause of virtue and religion, that our ideas of happiness and misery are of all our ideas the nearest and most important to us; that they will, nay, if you please, that they ought to prevail over those of order, and beauty, and harmony, and proportion, if there should ever be, as it is impossible there ever should be, any inconsistence between them: though these last too, as expressing the fitness of actions, are real as truth itself. Let it be allowed, though virtue or moral rectitude does indeed consist in affection to and pursuit of what is right and good as such; yet, that when we sit down in

Sermons

539

a cool hour, we can neither justify to ourselves this or any other pursuit, till we are convinced that it will be for our happiness, or at least not contrary to it. SERMON XII: UPON THE LOVE OF OUR NEIGHBOUR And if there be any other commandment, it is briefly comprehended in this saying, namely, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself. (Rom. 13:9)

[1.] Having already removed the prejudices against public spirit, or the love of our neighbour, on the side of private interest and self-love; I proceed to the particular explanation of the precept before us, by shewing, Who is our neighbour: In what sense we are required to love him as ourselves: The influence such love would have upon our behaviour in life: and lastly, How this commandment comprehends in it all others. [2.] I. The objects and due extent of this affection will be understood by attending to the nature of it, and to the nature and circumstances of mankind in this world. The love of our neighbour is the same with charity, benevolence, or good-will: it is an affection to the good and happiness of our fellow creatures. This implies in it a disposition to produce happiness: and this is the simple notion of goodness, which appears so amiable wherever we meet with it. From hence it is easy to see, that the perfection of goodness consists in love to the whole universe. This is the perfection of Almighty God. [3.] But as man is so much limited in his capacity, as so small a part of the creation comes under his notice and influence, and as we are not used to consider things in so general a way; it is not to be thought of, that the universe should be the object of benevolence to such creatures as we are. . . . For this reason moral writers also have substituted a less general object for our benevolence, mankind. But this likewise is an object too general, and very much out of our view. Therefore persons more practical have, instead of mankind, put our country; and made the principle of virtue, of human virtue, to consist in the entire uniform love of our country: and this is what we call a public spirit; which in men of public stations is the character of a patriot. But this is speaking to the upper part of the world. Kingdoms and governments are large; and the sphere of action of far the greatest part of mankind is much narrower than the government they live under: or however, common men do not consider their actions as affecting the whole community of which they are members. There plainly is wanting a less general and nearer object of benevolence for the bulk of men, than that of their country. Therefore the Scripture, not being a book of theory and speculation, but a plain rule of life for mankind, has with the utmost possible propriety put the principle of virtue upon the love of our neighbour; which is that part of the universe, that part of mankind, that part of our country, which comes under our immediate notice, acquaintance, and influence, and with which we have to do. [4.] This is plainly the true account or reason, why our Saviour places the principle of virtue in the love of our neighbour; and the account itself shews who are comprehended under that relation. . . .

540

Joseph Butler

[25.] IV. I proceed to consider lastly, what is affirmed of the precept now explained, that it comprehends in it all others; i.e., that to love our neighbour as ourselves includes in it all virtues. [26.1 Now the way in which every maxim of conduct, or general speculative assertion, when it is to be explained at large, should be treated, is, to shew what are the particular truths which were designed to be comprehended under such a general observation, how far it is strictly true; and then the limitations, restrictions, and exceptions, if there be exceptions, with which it is to be understood. But it is only the former of these; namely, how far the assertion in the text holds, and the ground of the preeminence assigned to the precept of it, which in strictness comes into our present consideration. [271 However, in almost everything that is said, there is somewhat to be understood beyond what is explicitly laid down, and which we of course supply; somewhat, I mean, which would not be commonly called a restriction, or limitation. Thus, when benevolence is said to be the sum of virtue, it is not spoken of as a blind propension, but as a principle in reasonable creatures, and so to be directed by their reason: for reason and reflection comes into our notion of a moral agent. And that will lead us to consider distant consequences, as well as the immediate tendency of an action: it will teach us, that the care of some persons, suppose children and families, is particularly committed to our charge by Nature and Providence; as also that there are other circumstances, suppose friendship or former obligations, which require that we do good to some, preferably to others. Reason, considered merely as subservient to benevolence, as assisting to produce the greatest good, will teach us to have particular regard to these relations and circumstances; because it is plainly for the good of the world that they should be regarded. And as there are numberless cases, in which, notwithstanding appearances, we are not competent judges, whether a particular action will upon the whole do good or harm; reason in the same way will teach us to be cautious how we act in these cases of uncertainty. It will suggest to our consideration, which is the safer side; how liable we are to be led wrong by passion and private interest; and what regard is due to laws, and the judgment of mankind. All these things must come into consideration, were it only in order to determine which way of acting is likely to produce the greatest good. Thus, upon supposition that it were in the strictest sense true, without limitation, that benevolence includes in it all virtues; yet reason must come in as its guide and director, in order to attain its own end, the end of benevolence, the greatest public good. Reason then being thus included, let us now consider the truth of the assertion itself. [28.] First, It is manifest that nothing can be of consequence to mankind or any creature, but happiness. This then is all which any person can, in strictness of speaking, be said to have a right to. We can therefore "owe no man anything,"6 but only further and promote his happiness, according to our abilities. And therefore a disposition and endeavour to do good to all with whom we have to do, in the degree and manner which the different relations

Sermons

541

we stand in to them require, is a discharge of all the obligations we are under to them. [29.] As human nature is not one simple uniform thing, but a composition of various parts, body, spirit, appetites, particular passions, and affections; for each of which reasonable self-love would lead men to have due regard, and make suitable provision: so society consists of various parts, to which we stand in different respects and relations; and just benevolence would as surely lead us to have due regard to each of these, and behave as the respective relations require. Reasonable good-will, and right behaviour towards our fellowcreatures, are in a manner the same: only that the former expresseth the principle as it is in the mind; the latter, the principle as it were become external, i.e., exerted in actions. [30.] And so far as temperance, sobriety, and moderation in sensual pleasures, and the contrary vices, have any respect to our fellow-creatures, any influence upon their quiet, welfare, and happiness; as they always have a real, and often a near influence upon it; so far it is manifest those virtues may be produced by the love of our neighbour, and that the contrary vices would be prevented by it. Indeed if men's regard to themselves will not restrain them from excess; it may be thought little probable, that their love to others will be sufficient: but the reason is, that their love to others is not, any more than their regard to themselves, just, and in its due degree. There are however manifest instances of persons kept sober and temperate from regard to their affairs, and the welfare of those who depend upon them. And it is obvious to every one, that habitual excess, a dissolute course of life, implies a general neglect of the duties we owe towards our friends, our families, and our country. [31.] From hence it is manifest that the common virtues, and the common vices of mankind, may be traced up to benevolence, or the want of it. And this entitles the precept, "Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself," to the preeminence given to it; and is a justification of the Apostle's assertion, that all other commandments are comprehended in it; whatever cautions and restrictions§ * For instance: as we are not competent judges. what is upon the whole for the good of the world, there may be other immediate ends appointed us to pursue, besides that one of doing good. or producing happiness. Though the good of the creation be the only end of the Author of it, yet He may have laid us under particular obligations, which we may discern and feel ourselves under, quite distinct from a perception, that the observance or violation of them is for the happiness or misery of our fellow-creatures. And this is in fact the case. For there are certain dispositions of mind, and certain actions, which are in themselves approved or disapproved by mankind, abstracted from the consideration of their tendency to the happiness or misery of the world; approved or disapproved by reflection, by that principle within, which is the guide of life, the judge of right and wrong. Numberless instances of this kind might be mentioned. There are pieces of treachery, which in themselves appear base and detestable to every one. There are actions, which perhaps can scarce have any other general name given them than indecencies. which yet are odious and shocking to human nature. There is such a thing as meanness, a little mind; which, as it is quite distinct from incapacity, so it raises a dislike and disapprobation quite different from that contempt, which men are too apt to have, of mere folly. On the other hand: what we call greatness of mind is the object of another sort of approbation. than superior understanding. Fidelity, honour, strict justice, are themselves approved in the highest degree, abstracted from the consideration of their tendency. Now, whether it be thought that each of

542

Joseph Butler

there are, which might require to be considered, if we were to state particularly and at length what is virtue and right behaviour in mankind. But, [32.] Secondly, it might be added, that in a higher and more general way of consideration, leaving out the particular nature of creatures, and the particular circumstances in which they are placed, benevolence seems in the strictest sense to include in it all that is good and worthy; all that is good, which we have any distinct particular notion of. We have no clear conception of any positive moral attribute in the Supreme Being, but what may be resolved up into goodness. And, if we consider a reasonable creature or moral agent, without regard to the particular relations and circumstances in which he is placed; we cannot conceive anything else to come in towards determining whether he is to be ranked in an higher or lower class of virtuous beings, but the higher or lower degree in which that principle, and what is manifestly connected with it, prevail in him. [33.] That which we more strictly call piety, or the love of God, and which is an essential part of a right temper, some may perhaps imagine no way connected with benevolence: yet surely they must be connected, if there be indeed in being an object infinitely good. Human nature is so constituted, that every good affection implies the love of itself; i.e., becomes the object of a new affection in the same person. Thus, to be righteous, implies in it the love of righteousness; to be benevolent, the love of benevolence; to be good, the love of goodness; whether this righteousness, benevolence, or goodness, be viewed as in our own mind, or in another's: and the love of God as being perfectly good, is the love of perfect goodness contemplated in a being or person. Thus morality and religion, virtue and piety, will at last necessarily coincide, run up into one and the same point, and love will be in all senses "the end of the commandment."' Dissertation on Virtue OF THE NATURE OF VIRTUE [8.] Fifthly, Without inquiring how far, and in what sense, virtue is resolvable into benevolence, and vice into the want of it; it may be proper to observe, that benevolence, and the want of it, singly considered, are in no sort the whole of virtue and vice. For if this were the case, in the review of one's own character, or that of others, our moral understanding and moral sense would be indifferent to everything, but the degrees in which benevolence prevailed, and the degrees in which it was wanting. That is, we should neither approve of these are connected with benevolence in our nature, and so may be considered as the same thing with it; or whether some of them be thought an inferior kind of virtues and vices. somewhat like natural beauties and deformities; or lastly, plain exceptions to the general rule; thus much however is certain, that the things now instanced in. and numberless others, are approved or disapproved by mankind in general; in quite another view than as conducive to the happiness or misery of the world.

Editor's Notes

543

benevolence to some persons rather than to others, nor disapprove injustice and falsehood upon any other account, than merely as an overbalance of happiness was foreseen likely to be produced by the first, and of misery by the second. But now, on the contrary, suppose two men competitors for anything whatever, which would be of equal advantage to each of them; though nothing indeed would be more impertinent, than for a stranger to busy himself to get one of them preferred to the other; yet such endeavour would be virtue, in behalf of a friend or benefactor, abstracted from all consideration of distant consequences: as that examples of gratitude, and the cultivation of friendship, would be of general good to the world. Again, suppose one man should, by fraud or violence, take from another the fruit of his labour, with intent to give it to a third, who he thought would have as much pleasure from it as would balance the pleasure which the first possessor would have had in the enjoyment, and his vexation in the loss of it; suppose also that no bad consequences would follow: yet such an action would surely be vicious. Nay further, were treachery, violence and injustice, no otherwise vicious, than as foreseen likely to produce an overbalance of misery to society; then, if in any case a man could procure to himself as great advantage by an act of injustice, as the whole foreseen inconvenience, likely to be brought upon others by it, would amount to; such a piece of injustice would not be faulty or vicious at all: because it would be no more than, in any other case, for a man to prefer his own satisfaction to another's in equal degrees. The fact then appears to be, that we are constituted so as to condemn falsehood, unprovoked violence, injustice, and to approve of benevolence to some preferably to others, abstracted from all consideration, which conduct is likeliest to produce an overbalance of happiness or misery. And therefore, were the Author of Nature to propose nothing to Himself as an end but the production of happiness, were His moral character merely that of benevolence; yet ours is not so. Upon that supposition indeed the only reason of His giving us the above-mentioned approbation of benevolence to some persons rather than others, and disapprobation of falsehood, unprovoked violence, and injustice, must be, that He foresaw this constitution of our nature would produce more happiness, than forming us with a temper of mere general benevolence. But still, since this is our constitution; falsehood, violence, injustice, must be vice in us, and benevolence to some, preferably to others, virtue; abstracted from all consideration of the overbalance of evil or good, which they may appear likely to produce. Editor's Notes 1. "Reflection" is a Lockean term; it refers to an act of mind that presupposes the presence in the mind of ideas or feelings and operates upon them. Ideas of perception, by contrast, comezdirectly from the senses or from inner bodily stimuli and do not presuppose other ideas. For Butler, reflection presupposes the various desires and passes judgment on them. 2. Eph. 2:3.

544

Joseph Butler

3. Rom. 2:15. 4. Butler here was hinting that conscience naturally tends to anticipate rewards and punishments in a life after death. 5. For example, Cicero, De officiis111.v. 21: "Well then, for a man to take something from his neighbour and to profit by his neighbour's loss is more contrary to Nature than is death or poverty or pain or anything else that can affect either our person or our property." This is standard Stoic teaching, but Butler gives his own meaning to "nature." 6. Rom. 13:8. 7. I Tim. 1:5. Further Reading There is a substantial literature on Butler. E. C. Mossner, Bishop Butler and the Age of Reason (New York: B. Blom, 1971), is a general study. The best philosophical book on Butler is that by Terence Penelhum, Butler (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1985), which has a good bibliography. Penelhum's work is unusual in that it gives an extended account of Butler's religious thought as well as of his ethics. C. D. Broad, in Five Types of Ethical Theory (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1930), and more reliably Austin Duncan-Jones, in Butler's Moral Philosophy (London: Penguin, 1952). present analytical studies of Butler's ethics. T. A. Roberts, The Concept of Benevolence (London: Macmillan, 1973), compares Butler's views on benevolence with those of Hutcheson and Hume. Butler provokes continued discussion. Of the many articles on Butler, the following are noteworthy: Jackson, R. "Bishop Butler's Refutation of Psychological Egoism." Philosophy 18 (1943). Raphael, D. D. "Butler's View of Conscience." Philosophy 24 (1949). Rorty. Amelie. "Butler on Benevolence and Conscience." Philosophy 53 (1978). Scott-Taggart, M. J. "Butler on Disinterested Actions." Philosophical Quarterly 18 (1968). Sturgeon, Nicholas. "Nature and Conscience in Butler's Ethics." Philosophical Review 85 (1976).

David Hume

Introduction Hume was born in Edinburgh in 1711. Educated at home and at the University of Edinburgh, he came early to the decision that he wanted a career as a man of letters, and not in a profession like the law. At the age of eighteen he became convinced that he had an idea for a major philosophical work. He brooded constantly on this idea and its ramifications, eventually moving to France in 1734 because there he could live on his small independent income and devote himself to writing down his thoughts. Hume returned to Scotland in 1737 with his book essentially complete. It was published in three volumes in 1739-40 as A Treatise of Human Nature. Hume's hope that it would bring him recognition in the literary world was disappointed, however. His book received little attention, and of that most was unfavorable. As a result. Hume rewrote his book, recasting the first part. which covered epistemology. into the Philosophical Essays Concerning Human Understanding (later entitled An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding), published in 1748, and the third part, on ethics, into An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals (1751). He also wrote a number of essays on politics, history. economics, aesthetics, and other topics. These, with the rewritten versions of his philosophy, finally brought him literary recognition. During the 1750s Hume wrote his other major philosophical work, the Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion, which was not published until 1779, after his death. Its companion piece, the Natural History of Religion, was published in 1757. Hume twice tried to get academic appointments but failed. From 1746 to 1749 he served on a diplomatic mission to France. In 1752 he was appointed to direct a library in Edinburgh; while in this post he began writing a many-volumed history of Britain, completed in 1762, which was the most widely read of all his writings. He served in several other political positions after leaving the library in 1757 and in his later years spent much time revising his published works. After a brief illness he died in 1776. The general aim of Hume's philosophical work was to show that we can explain every facet of human existence without appealing to anything beyond the realm of ordinary natural events related to one another in ways that can be discovered by means of scientific investigation. At a time when the biblical narrative was still accepted as literal history and when many people believed in divine intervention in individual lives. this was a bolder venture than it would be now. Hume tried to explain not only our political and social institutions but even our most basic thought processes and our scientific, moral, and religious beliefs without calling on God, or soul, or any unique mental substance different in kind from material substance. Hobbes had had a similar

545

546

David Hume

naturalistic ambition, but Hume carried out the program much more thoroughly and with more sophistication. Hume was long considered to be primarily a skeptic who aimed at demolishing our confidence in all our ordinary beliefs. Certainly, skepticism is prominent in his major philosophical works. In the first part of the Treatise he argued at length that ordinary convictions, such as that the sun will rise tomorrow or that hitting a window with a rock will make it break, cannot be proved. He concluded that reason is not the source of these convictions, because if it were, we could give conclusive rational grounds for them. In the Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion Hume examined all the main arguments to show that God exists and offered devastating criticisms of them. Once again he concluded that reason is not the source of belief. Skeptical demonstrations that we do not hold our factual or religious beliefs because we have good reasons for them are not the end of the matter, however. They open the way to the question, What makes us feel so certain of our convictions in these matters? In answering this question Hume went beyond skepticism, offering a naturalistic account of human belief. In the domain of facts, he held that regular patterns in our experience of objects and the sequences in which they appear to us induce habits of expectation. For example, as it gets less dark, we expect to see the sun; as the rock nears the window, we expect to see shattered glass. These habits of expectation are strongly reinforced by repeated experience, and they are at the core of our factual beliefs. Religious beliefs, by contrast, Hume contended, arise not so much from the observation, in experience, of constant conjunctions and sequences as from the desires and fears that come when we do not have the settled beliefs about the future that we usually call knowledge. We then try to control the future about which we are uncertain, by treating the world and things in it as full of hopes and fears, that is, as animated. We think that things about us will respond as people do to prayers and offerings, and eventually we come to worship the beings that our imagination originally created in order to give us some way of diminishing our fears. What science does, in Hume's view, is show us which beliefs about sequences of events are reliable. As science shows us more and more of these, our certainties about the world we live in will increase, and our need to make up for lack of them by invoking spirits outside ourselves will diminish. Religious beliefs, in other words, will be replaced by the much firmer factual beliefs that science provides. Religious beliefs can no more be refuted than they can be proved, but in common with many thinkers of the time who thought of themselves as forwarding the enlightenment of mankind, Hume expected that they would slowly disappear. Where, then, does this leave morality? Does it have a firm basis in experience, like the ordinary factual convictions that we all share because we perceive the same patterns of coexistence and sequence? Is it destined to vanish, like the different religious beliefs that arise from widely varying hopes and fears? Or is it perhaps a matter of rational knowledge? As the reader will see, Hume began his discussion of morals with arguments to show that we do not have moral knowledge in any strict sense and that morality is, as he put it in the Treatise, "more properly felt than judged of." He then proceeded to ask — as Hutcheson before him had asked — just what it is that explains our having the moral feelings we have. Why do we approve and disapprove as we do? The answer constitutes the rest of his ethical theory. Like Hutcheson, Hume answered that we approve of what is useful or agreeable to people — what increases the amount of good, of what people enjoy. He then tried to

An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals

547

make this answer more convincing than Hutcheson did, by going into considerable detail about exactly how it explains our ordinary moral convictions. His treatment of our beliefs about justice — which Hume took to center on our ideas about property — is a prime example. Butler had argued that justice cannot rest on the principle of doing good, because there are many cases in which justice requires us to act in a way that does less good instead of more. One might give as an example that justice requires us to restore money to a wealthy miser instead of leaving it with the worthy poor worker who found it. In working out an answer to this objection, Hume developed a theory of the nature and social function of justice that has not ceased to stimulate both critical and creative thought. He offered similarly insightful and provocative accounts of many of our other common moral beliefs. The reader must decide whether, by doing so, he made his explanation satisfactory. In a letter to Hutcheson dated March 16, 1740, Hume relayed a view he was about to publish in the third volume of his Treatise, that "when you pronounce any action or character to be vicious, you mean nothing but that from the particular constitution of your nature you have a feeling or sentiment of blame from the contemplation of it," and commented: "I wish from my heart I could avoid concluding that, since morality, according to your opinion as well as mine, is determined merely by sentiment, it regards only human nature and human life." Hutcheson might have regretted this implication of their shared opinion; it is doubtful that Hume did. Early in his life he abandoned the religion in which he had been brought up. It was not a disappointment to him that we must give up all claim to know that we are guided by external or divine laws that hold for God and the angels as well as for human beings. It was a liberation from what he took to be the stifling superstitions of the past. The following selections are from An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals, using the 1777 edition — the last one Hume revised — as that is given in Hume's Works, edited by T. H. Green and T. H. Grose, London, 1874.

An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals SECTION 1: OF THE GENERAL PRINCIPLES OF MORALS

Disputes with men, pertinaciously obstinate in their principles, are, of all others, the most irksome; except, perhaps, those with persons, entirely disingenuous, who really do not believe the opinions they defend, but engage in controversy, from affectation, from a spirit of opposition, or from a desire of showing wit and ingenuity, superior to the rest of mankind. The same blind adherence to their own arguments is to be expected in both; the same contempt of their antagonists; and the same passionate vehemence, in inforcing sophistry and falsehood. And as reasoning is not the source, whence either disputant derives his tenets; it is in vain to expect, that any logic, which speaks not to the affections, will ever engage him to embrace sounder principles. Those who have denied the reality of moral distinctions, may be ranked among the disingenuous disputants; nor is it conceivable, that any human creature could ever seriously believe, that all characters and actions were alike entitled to the affection and regard of every one. The difference, which nature has placed between one man and another, is so wide, and this differ-

548

David Hume

ence is still so much farther widened, by education, example, and habit, that, where the opposite extremes come at once under our apprehension, there is no scepticism so scrupulous, and scarce any assurance so determined, as absolutely to deny all distinction between them. Let a man's insensibility be ever so great, he must often be touched with the images of RIGHT and WRONG; and let his prejudices be ever so obstinate, he must observe, that others are susceptible of like impressions. The only way, therefore, of converting an antagonist of this kind, is to leave him to himself. For, finding that no body keeps up the controversy with him, it is probable he will, at last, of himself, from mere weariness, come over to the side of common sense and reason. There has been a controversy started of late, much better worth examination, concerning the general foundation of MORALS; whether they be derived from REASON, or from SENTIMENT; whether we attain the knowledge of them by a chain of argument and induction, or by an immediate feeling and finer internal sense; whether, like all sound judgment of truth and falsehood, they should be the same to every rational intelligent being; or whether, like the perception of beauty and deformity, they be founded entirely on the particular fabric and constitution of the human species. . . . It must be acknowledged, that both sides of the question are susceptible of specious arguments. Moral distinctions, it may be said, are discernible by pure reason: Else, whence the many disputes that reign in common life, as well as in philosophy, with regard to this subject: The long chain of proofs often produced on both sides; the examples cited, the authorities appealed to, the analogies employed, the fallacies detected, the inferences drawn, and the several conclusions adjusted to their proper principles. Truth is disputable; not taste: What exists in the nature of things is the standard of our judgment; what each man feels within himself is the standard of sentiment. Propositions in geometry may be proved, systems in physics may be controverted; but the harmony of verse, the tenderness of passion, the brilliancy of wit, must give immediate pleasure. No man reasons concerning another's beauty; but frequently concerning the justice or injustice of his actions. In every criminal trial the first object of the prisoner is to disprove the facts alleged, and deny the actions imputed to him: The second to prove, that, even if these actions were real, they might be justified, as innocent and lawful. It is confessedly by deductions of the understanding, that the first point is ascertained: How can we suppose that a different faculty of the mind is employed in fixing the other? On the other hand, those who would resolve all moral determinations into sentiment, may endeavour to show, that it is impossible for reason ever to draw conclusions of this nature. To virtue, say they, it belongs to be amiable, and vice odious. This forms their very nature or essence. But can reason or argumentation distribute these different epithets to any subjects, and pronounce before-hand, that this must produce love, and that hatred? Or what other reason can we ever assign for these affections, but the original fabric and formation of the human mind, which is naturally adapted to receive them?

An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals

549

The end of all moral speculations is to teach us our duty; and, by proper representations of the deformity of vice and beauty of virtue, beget correspondent habits, and engage us to avoid the one, and embrace the other. But is this ever to be expected from inferences and conclusions of the understanding, which of themselves have no hold of the affections or set in motion the active powers of men? They discover truths: But where the truths which they discover are indifferent, and beget no desire or aversion, they can have no influence on conduct and behaviour. What is honourable, what is fair, what is becoming, what is noble, what is generous, takes possession of the heart, and animates us to embrace and maintain it. What is intelligible, what is evident, what is probable, what is true, procures only the cool assent of the understanding; and gratifying a speculative curiosity, puts an end to our researches. Extinguish all the warm feelings and prepossessions in favour of virtue, and all disgust or aversion to vice: Render men totally indifferent towards these distinctions; and morality is no longer a practical study, nor has any tendency to regulate our lives and actions. These arguments on each side (and many more might be produced) are so plausible, that I am apt to suspect, they may, the one as well as the other, be solid and satisfactory, and that reason and sentiment concur in almost all moral determinations and conclusions. The final sentence, it is probable, which pronounces characters and actions amiable or odious, praise-worthy or blameable; that which stamps on them the mark of honour or infamy, approbation or censure; that which renders morality an active principle, and constitutes virtue our happiness, and vice our misery: It is probable, I say, that this final sentence depends on some internal sense or feeling, which nature has made universal in the whole species. For what else can have an influence of this nature? But in order to pave the way for such a sentiment, and give a proper discernment of its object, it is often necessary, we find, that much reasoning should precede, that nice distinctions be made, just conclusions drawn, distant comparisons formed, complicated relations examined, and general facts fixed and ascertained. Some species of beauty, especially the natural kinds, on their first appearance, command our affection and approbation; and where they fail of this effect, it is impossible for any reasoning to redress their influence, or adapt them better to our taste and sentiment. But in many orders of beauty, particularly those of the finer arts, it is requisite to employ much reasoning, in order to feel the proper sentiment; and a false relish may frequently be corrected by argument and reflection. There are just grounds to conclude, that moral beauty partakes much of this latter species, and demands the assistance of our intellectual faculties, in order to give it a suitable influence on the human mind. But though this question, concerning the general principles of morals, be curious and important, it is needless for us, at present, to employ farther care in our researches concerning it. For if we can be so happy, in the course of this enquiry, as to discover the true origin of morals, it will then easily appear how far either sentiment or reason enters into all determinations of

David Hume

550

this nature.* In order to attain this purpose, we shall endeavour to follow a very simple method: We shall analyse that complication of mental qualities, which form what, in common life, we call PERSONAL MERIT: We shall consider every attribute of the mind, which renders a man an object either of esteem and affection, or of hatred and contempt; every habit or sentiment or faculty, which, if ascribed to any person, implies either praise or blame, and may enter into any panegyric or satire of his character and manners. The quick sensibility, which, on this head is so universal among mankind, gives a philosopher sufficient assurance, that he can never be considerably mistaken in framing the catalogue, or incur any danger of misplacing the objects of his contemplation: He needs only enter into his own breast for a moment, and consider whether or not he should desire to have this or that quality ascribed to him, and whether such or such an imputation would proceed from a friend or an enemy. The very nature of language guides us almost infallibly in forming a judgment of this nature; and as every tongue possesses one set of words which are taken in a good sense, and another in the opposite, the least acquaintance with the idiom suffices, without any reasoning, to direct us in collecting and arranging the estimable or blameable qualities of men. The only object of reasoning is to discover the circumstances on both sides, which are common to these qualities; to observe that particular in which the estimable qualities agree on the one hand, and the blameable on the other; and thence to reach the foundation of ethics, and find those universal principles, from which all censure or approbation is ultimately derived. As this is a question of fact, not of abstract science, we can only expect success, by following the experimental method, and deducing general maxims from a comparison of particular instances. The other scientific method, where a general abstract principle is first established, and is afterwards branched out into a variety of inferences and conclusions, may be more perfect in itself, but suits less the imperfection of human nature, and is a common source of illusion and mistake in this as well as in other subjects. Men are now cured of their passion for hypotheses and systems in natural philosophy, and will hearken to no arguments but those which are derived from experience. It is full time they should attempt a like reformation in all moral disquisitions; and reject every system of ethics, however subtile or ingenious, which is not founded on fact and observation. We shall begin our enquiry on this head by the consideration of social virtues, benevolence and justice. The explication of them will probably give us an opening by which others may be accounted for. SECTION

OF BENEVOLENCE

Part 1 It may be esteemed, perhaps, a superfluous task to prove, that the benevolent or softer affections are ESTIMABLE; and wherever they appear, engage * See Appendix I. "Concerning Moral Sentiment."

An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals

551

the approbation, and good-will of mankind. The epithets sociable, goodor their natured, humane, merciful, grateful, friendly, generous, beneficent, equivalents, are known in all languages, and universally express the highest merit, which human nature is capable of attaining. Where these amiable qualities are attended with birth and power and eminent abilities, and display themselves in the good government or useful instruction of mankind, they seem even to raise the possessors of them above the rank of human nature, and make them approach in some measure to the divine. Exalted capacity, undaunted courage, prosperous success; these may only expose a hero or politician to the envy or of the public: But as soon as the praises are added of humane and beneficent; when instances are displayed of lenity, tenderness, or friendship: envy itself is silent, or joins the general voice of approbation and applause. . . . our object here being more the speculative, than the practical part of morals, it will suffice to remark, (what will readily, I believe, be allowed) that no qualities are more intitled to the general good-will and approbation of mankind than benevolence and humanity, friendship and gratitude, natural affection and public spirit, or whatever proceeds from a tender sympathy with others, and a generous concern for our kind and species. These, wherever they appear, seem to transfuse themselves, in a manner, into each beholder, and to call forth, in their own behalf, the same favourable and affectionate sentiments, which they exert on all around.

Part II We may observe, that, in displaying the praises of any humane, beneficent man, there is one circumstance which never fails to be amply insisted on, namely, the happiness and satisfaction, derived to society from his intercourse and good offices. To his parents, we are apt to say, he endears himself by his pious attachment and duteous care, still more than by the connexions of nature. His children never feel his authority, but when employed for their advantage. With him, the ties of love are consolidated by beneficence and friendship. The ties of friendship approach, in a fond observance of each obliging office, to those of love and inclination. His domestics and dependants have in him a sure resource; and no longer dread the power of fortune, but so far as she exercises it over him. From him the hungry receive food, the naked cloathing, the ignorant and slothful skill and industry. Like the sun, an inferior minister of providence, he cheers, invigorates, and sustains the surrounding world. If confined to private life, the sphere of his activity is narrower; but his influence is all benign and gentle. If exalted into a higher station, mankind and posterity reap the fruit of his labours. As these topics of praise never fail to be employed, and with success, where we would inspire esteem for any one; may it not thence be concluded, that the UTILITY, resulting from the social virtues, forms, at least, a part of their merit.

552

David Hume

and is one source of that approbation and regard so universally paid to them? .. . In all determinations of morality, this circumstance of public utility is ever principally in view; and wherever disputes arise, either in philosophy or common life, concerning the bounds of duty, the question cannot, by any means, be decided with greater certainty, than by ascertaining, on any side, the true interests of mankind. If any false opinion, embraced from appearances, has been found to prevail; as soon as farther experience and sounder reasoning have given us juster notions of human affairs; we retract our first sentiment, and adjust anew the boundaries of moral good and evil. Giving alms to common beggars is naturally praised; because it seems to carry relief to the distressed and indigent: But when we observe the encouragement thence arising to idleness and debauchery, we regard that species of charity rather as a weakness than a virtue. Tyrannicide, or the assassination of usurpers and oppressive princes, was highly extolled in ancient times; because it both freed mankind from many of these monsters, and seemed to keep the others in awe, whom the sword or poinard could not reach. But history and experience having since convinced us, that this practice encreases the jealousy and cruelty of princes, a TIMOLEON and a BRUTUS,' though treated with indulgence on account of the prejudices of their times, are now considered as very improper models for imitation. . . . Upon the whole, then, it seems undeniable, that nothing can bestow more merit on any human creature than the sentiment of benevolence in an eminent degree; and that a part, at least, of its merit arises from its tendency to promote the interests of our species, and bestow happiness on human society. We carry our view into the salutary consequences of such a character and disposition; and whatever has so benign an influence, and forwards so desirable an end, is beheld with complacency and pleasure. The social virtues are never regarded without their beneficial tendencies, nor viewed as barren and unfruitful. The happiness of mankind, the order of society, the harmony of families, the mutual support of friends, are always considered as the result of their gentle dominion over the breasts of men. How considerable a part of their merit we ought to ascribe to their utility, will better appear from future disquisitions,* as well as the reason, why this circumstance has such a command over our esteem and approbation.$ SECTION III: OF JUSTICE

Part I That Justice is useful to society, and consequently that part of its merit, at least, must arise from that consideration, it would be a superfluous undertaking to prove. That public utility is the sole origin of justice, and that reflections * Scct. 3d and 4th. "Of Justice" and Of Political Society." t Sect. 5th. "Why Utility Pleases."

An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals

553

on the beneficial consequences of this virtue are the sole foundation of its merit; this proposition, being more curious and important, will better deserve our examination and enquiry. Let us suppose, that nature has bestowed on the human race such profuse abundance of all external conveniences, that, without any uncertainty in the event, without any care or industry on our part, every individual finds himself fully provided with whatever his most voracious appetites can want, or luxurious imagination wish or desire. His natural beauty, we shall suppose, surpasses all acquired ornaments: The perpetual clemency of the seasons renders useless all cloaths or covering: The raw herbage affords him the most delicious fare; the clear fountain, the richest beverage. No laborious occupation required: No tillage: No navigation. Music, poetry, and contemplation, form his sole business: Conservation, mirth, and friendship his sole amusement. It seems evident, that, in such a happy state, every other social virtue would flourish, and receive tenfold encrease; but the cautious, jealous virtue of justice would never once have been dreamed of. For what purpose make a partition of goods, where every one has already more than enough? Why give rise to property, where there cannot possibly be any injury? Why call this object mine, when, upon the seizing of it by another, I need but stretch out my hand to possess myself of what is equally valuable? Justice, in that case, being totally USELESS, would be an idle ceremonial, and could never possibly have place in the catalogue of virtues. We see, even in the present necessitous condition of mankind, that, wherever any benefit is bestowed by nature in an unlimited abundance, we leave it always in common among the whole human race, and make no subdivisions of right and property. Water and air, though the most necessary of all objects, are not challenged as the property of individuals; nor can any man commit injustice by the most lavish use and enjoyment of these blessings. In fertile extensive countries, with few inhabitants, land is regarded on the same footing. And no topic is so much insisted on by those, who defend the liberty of the seas, as the unexhausted use of them in navigation. Were the advantages, procured by navigation, as inexhaustible, these reasoners had never had any adversaries to refute; nor had any claims ever been advanced of a separate, exclusive dominion over the ocean. It may happen, in some countries, at some periods, that there be established a property in water, none in land; if the latter be in greater abundance than can be used by the inhabitants, and the former be found, with difficulty, and in very small quantities. Again; suppose, that, though the necessities of human race continue the same as at present, yet the mind is so enlarged, and so replete with friendship and generosity, that every man has the utmost tenderness for every man, and feels no more concern for his own interest than for that of his fellows: It seems evident, that the USE of justice would, in this case, be suspended by such an extensive benevolence, nor would the divisions and barriers of property and

554

David Hume

obligation have ever been thought of. Why should I bind another, by a deed or promise, to do me any good office, when I know that he is already prompted, by the strongest inclination, to seek my happiness, and would, of himself, perform the desired service; except the hurt, he thereby receives, be greater than the benefit accruing to me? in which case, he knows, that, from my innate humanity and friendship, I should be the first to oppose myself to his imprudent generosity. Why raise land-marks between my neighbour's field and mine, when my heart has made no division between our interests; but shares all his joys and sorrows with the same force and vivacity as if originally my own? Every man, upon this supposition, being a second self to another, would trust all his interests to the discretion of every man; without jealousy, without partition, without distinction. And the whole human race would form only one family; where all would lie in common, and be used freely, without regard to property; but cautiously too, with as entire regard to the necessities of each individual, as if our own interests were most intimately concerned. In the present disposition of the human heart, it would, perhaps, be difficult to find compleat instances of such enlarged affections; but still we may observe, that the case of families approaches towards it; and the stronger the mutual benevolence is among the individuals, the nearer it approaches; till all distinction of property be, in a great measure, lost and confounded among them. Between married persons, the cement of friendship is by the laws supposed so strong as to abolish all division of possessions; and has often, in reality, the force ascribed to it. And it is observable, that, during the ardour of new enthusiasms, when every principle is inflamed into extravagance, the community of goods has frequently been attempted: and nothing but experience of its inconveniences, from the returning or disguised selfishness of men, could make the imprudent fanatics adopt anew the ideas of justice and of separate property. So true is it, that this virtue derives its existence entirely from its necessary use to the intercourse and social state of mankind. To make this truth more evident, let us reverse the foregoing suppositions; and carrying every thing to the opposite extreme, consider what would be the effect of these new situations. Suppose a society to fall into such want of all common necessaries, that the utmost frugality and industry cannot preserve the greater number from perishing, and the whole from extreme misery: It will readily, I believe, be admitted, that the strict laws of justice are suspended, in such a pressing emergence, and give place to the stronger motives of necessity and self-preservation. Is it any crime, after a shipwreck, to seize whatever means or instrument of safety one can lay hold of, without regard to former limitations of property? Or if a city besieged were perishing with hunger; can we imagine, that men will see any means of preservation before them, and lose their lives, from a scrupulous regard to what, in other situations, would be the rules of equity and justice? The USE and TENDENCY of that virtue is to procure happiness and security, by preserving order in society: But where the society is ready to perish from extreme necessity, no greater evil can be dreaded from violence and injustice; and every man may now provide for

An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals

555

himself by all the means, which prudence can dictate, or humanity permit. The public, even in less urgent necessities, opens granaries, without the consent of proprietors; as justly supposing, that the authority of magistracy may, consistent with equity, extend so far: But were any number of men to assemble, without the tye of laws or civil jurisdiction; would an equal partition of bread in a famine, though effected by power and even violence, be regarded as criminal or injurious? Suppose likewise, that it should be a virtuous man's fate to fall into the society of ruffians, remote from the protection of laws and government; what conduct must he embrace in that melancholy situation? He sees such a desperate rapaciousness prevail; such a disregard to equity, such contempt of order, such stupid blindness to future consequences, as must immediately have the most tragical conclusion, and must terminate in destruction to the greater number, and in a total dissolution of society to the rest. He, mean while, can have no other expedient than to arm himself, to whomever the sword he seizes, or the buckler, may belong: To make provision of all means of defence and security: And his particular regard to justice being no longer of USE to his own safety or that of others, he must consult the dictates of selfpreservation alone, without concern for those who no longer merit his care and attention. . . . Thus, the rules of equity or justice depend entirely on the particular state and condition, in which men are placed, and owe their origin and existence to that UTILITY, which results to the public from their strict and regular observance. Reverse, in any considerable circumstance, the condition of men: Produce extreme abundance or extreme necessity: Implant in the human breast perfect moderation and humanity, or perfect rapaciousness and malice: By rendering justice totally useless, you thereby totally destroy its essence, and suspend its obligation upon mankind. The common situation of society is a medium amidst all these extremes. We are naturally partial to ourselves, and to our friends; but are capable of learning the advantage resulting from a more equitable conduct. Few enjoyments are given us from the open and liberal hand of nature; but by art, labour, and industry, we can extract them in great abundance. Hence the ideas of property become necessary in all civil society: Hence justice derives its usefulness to the public: And hence alone arises its merit and moral obligation. . . .

Part II If we examine the particular laws, by which justice is directed, and property determined; we shall still be presented with the same conclusion. The good of mankind is the only object of all these laws and regulations. Not only it is requisite, for the peace and interest of society, that men's possessions should be separated; but the rules, which we follow, in making the separation, are such as can best be contrived to serve farther the interests of society. . . .

556

David Hume

Thus we seem, upon the whole, to have attained a knowledge of the force of that principle here insisted on, and can determine what degree of esteem or moral approbation may result from reflections on public interest and utility. The necessity of justice to the support of society is the SOLE foundation of that virtue; and since no moral excellence is more highly esteemed, we may conclude, that this circumstance of usefulness has, in general, the strongest energy, and most entire command over our sentiments. It must, therefore, be the source of a considerable part of the merit ascribed to humanity, benevolence, friendship, public spirit, and other social virtues of that stamp; as it is the SOLE source of the moral approbation paid to fidelity, justice, veracity, integrity, and those other estimable and useful qualities and principles. It is entirely agreeable to the rules of philosophy, and even of common reason; where any principle has been found to have a great force and energy 41 one instance, to ascribe to it a like energy in all similar instances. This indeed is NEWTON'S chief rule of philosophizing. 2 SECTION V: WHY UTILITY PLEASES Part I It seems so natural a thought to ascribe to their utility the praise, which we bestow on the social virtues, that one would expect to meet with this principle every where in moral writers, as the chief foundation of their reasoning and enquiry. In common life, we may observe, that the circumstance of utility is always appealed to; nor is it supposed, that a greater eulogy can be given to any man, than to display his usefulness to the public, and enumerate the services, which he has performed to mankind and society. What praise, even of an inanimate form, if the regularity and elegance of its parts destroy not its fitness for any useful purpose! And how satisfactory an apology for any disproportion or seeming deformity, if we can show the necessity of that particular construction for the use intended! .. . From the apparent usefulness of the social virtues, it has readily been inferred by sceptics, both ancient and modern, that all moral distinctions arise from education, and were, at first, invented, and afterwards encouraged, by the art of politicians, in order to render men tractable, and subdue their natural ferocity and selfishness, which incapacitated them for society. This principle, indeed, of precept and education, must so far be owned to have a powerful influence, that it may frequently encrease or diminish, beyond their natural standard, the sentiments of approbation or dislike; and may even, in particular instances, create, without any natural principle, a new sentiment of this kind; as is evident in all superstitious practices and observances: But that all moral affection or dislike arises from this origin, will never surely be allowed by any judicious enquirer. Had nature made no such distinction, founded on the original constitution of the mind, the words, honourable and shameful, lovely and odious, noble and despicable, had never had place in any

An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals

557

language; nor could politicians, had they invented these tems, ever have been able to render them intelligible, or make them convey any idea to the audience. So that nothing can be more superficial than this paradox of the sceptics; and it were well, if, in the abstruser studies of logic and metaphysics, we could as easily obviate the cavils of that sect, as in the practical and more intelligible sciences of politics and morals. The social virtues must, therefore, be allowed to have a natural beauty and amiableness, which, at first, antecedent to all precept or education, recommends them to the esteem of uninstructed mankind, and engages their affections. And as the public utility of these virtues is the chief circumstance, whence they derive their merit, it follows, that the end, which they have a tendency to promote, must be some way agreeable to us, and take hold of some natural affection. It must please, either from considerations of selfinterest, or from more generous motives and regards. It has often been asserted, that, as every man has a strong connexion with society, and perceives the impossibility of his solitary subsistence, he becomes, on that account, favourable to all those habits or principles, which promote order in society, and insure to him the quiet possession of so inestimable a blessing. As much as we value our own happiness and welfare, as much must we applaud the practice of justice and humanity, by which alone the social confederacy can be maintained, and every man reap the fruits of mutual protection and assistance. This deduction of morals from self-love, or a regard to private interest, is an obvious thought, and has not arisen wholly from the wanton sallies and sportive assaults of the sceptics. . . . yet . . . the voice of nature and experience seems plainly to oppose the selfish theory. We frequently bestow praise on virtuous actions, performed in very distant ages and remote countries; where the utmost subtilty of imagination would not discover any appearance of self-interest, or find any connexion of our present happiness and security with events so widely separated from us. A generous, a brave, a noble deed, performed by an adversary, commands our approbation; while in its consequences it may be acknowledged prejudicial to our particular interest. . . . It is but a weak subterfuge, when pressed by these facts and arguments, to say, that we transport ourselves, by the force of imagination, into distant ages and countries, and consider the advantage, which we should have reaped from these characters, had we been contemporaries, and had any commerce with the persons. It is not conceivable, how a real sentiment or passion can ever arise from a known imaginary interest; especially when our real interest is still kept in view, and is often acknowledged to be entirely distinct from the imaginary, and even sometimes opposite to it. . . . Usefulness is agreeable, and engages our approbation. This is a matter of fact, confirmed by daily observation. But, useful? For what? For some body's interest, surely. Whose interest then? Not our own only: For our approbation frequently extends farther. It must, therefore, be the interest of those, who

558

David Hume

are served by the character or action approved of; and these we may conclude, however remote, are not totally indifferent to us. By opening up this principle, we shall discover one great source of moral distinctions.

Part 11 Self-love is a principle in human nature of such extensive energy, and the interest of each individual is, in general, so closely connected with that of the community, that those philosophers were excusable, who fancied, that all our concern for the public might be resolved into a concern for our own happiness and preservation. They saw every moment, instances of approbation or blame, satisfaction or displeasure towards characters and actions; they denominated the objects of these sentiments, virtues, or vices; they observed, that the former had a tendency to encrease the happiness, and the latter the misery of mankind; they asked, whether it were possible that we could have any general concern for society, or any disinterested resentment of the welfare or injury of others; they found it simpler to consider all these sentiments as modifications of self-love; and they discovered a pretence, at least, for this unity of principle, in that close union of interest, which is so observable between the public and each individual. But notwithstanding this frequent confusion of interests, it is easy to attain what natural philosophers, after lord BACON have affected to call the experimentum crucis, or that experiment, which points out the right way in any doubt or ambiguity. We have found instances, in which private interest was separate from public; in which it was even contrary: And yet we observed the moral sentiment to continue, notwithstanding this disjunction of interests. And wherever these distinct interests sensibly concurred, we always found a sensible encrease of the sentiment, and a more warm affection to virtue, and detestation of vice, or what we properly call, gratitude and revenge. Compelled by these instances, we must renounce the theory, which accounts for every moral sentiment by the principle of self-love. We must adopt a more public affection, and allow, that the interests of society are not, even on their own account, entirely indifferent to us. Usefulness is only a tendency to a certain end; and it is a contradiction in terms, that any thing pleases as means to an end, where the end itself no wise affects us. If usefulness, therefore, be a source of moral sentiment, and if this usefulness be not always considered with a reference to self; it follows, that every thing, which contributes to the happiness of society, recommends itself directly to our approbation and goodwill. Here is a principle, which accounts, in great part, for the origin of morality: And what need we seek for abstruse and remote systems, when there occurs one so obvious and natural?' ,`

* It is needless to push our researches so far as to ask, why we have humanity or a fellow-feeling with others. It is sufficient, that this is experienced to be a principle in human nature. We must stop somewhere in our examination of causes; and there are, in every science. some general principles, beyond which we cannot hope to find any principle more general. No man is

An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals

559

Have we any difficulty to comprehend the force of humanity and benevolence? Or to conceive, that the very aspect of happiness, joy, prosperity, gives pleasure; that of pain, suffering, sorrow, communicates uneasiness? .. . A statesman or patriot, who serves our own country, in our own time, has always a more passionate regard paid to him, than one whose beneficial influence operated on distant ages or remote nations; where the good, resulting from his generous humanity, being less connected with us, seems more obscure, and affects us with a less lively sympathy. We may own the merit to be equally great, though our sentiments are not raised to an equal height, in both cases. The judgment here corrects the inequalities of our internal emotions and perceptions; in like manner, as it preserves us from error, in the several variations of images, presented to our external senses. The same object, at a double distance, really throws on the eye a picture of but half the bulk; yet we imagine that it appears of the same size in both situations; because we know, that, on our approach to it, its image would expand on the eye, and that the difference consists not in the object itself, but in our position with regard to it. And, indeed, without such a correction of appearances, both in internal and external sentiment, men could never think or talk steadily on any subject; while their fluctuating situations produce a continual variation on objects, and throw them into such different and contrary lights and positions." The more we converse with mankind, and the greater social intercourse we maintain, the more shall we be familiarized to these general preferences and distinctions, without which our conversation and discourse could scarcely be rendered intelligible to each other. Every man's interest is peculiar to himself, and the aversions and desires, which result from it, cannot be supposed to affect others in a like degree. General language, therefore, being formed for general use, must be moulded on some more general views, and must affix the epithets of praise or blame, in conformity to sentiments, which arise from the general interests of the community. And if these sentiments, in most men, be not so strong as those, which have a reference to private good; yet still they absolutely indifferent to the happiness and misery of others. The first has a natural tendency to give pleasure; the second, pain. This every one may find in himself. It is not probable. that these principles can be resolved into principles more simple and universal, whatever attempts may have been made to that purpose. But if it were possible. it belongs not to the present subject; and we may here safely consider these principles as original: Happy. if we can render all the consequences sufficiently plain and perspicuous! For a like reason, the tendencies of actions and characters, not their real accidental consequences, are alone regarded in our determinations or general judgments; though in our real feeling or sentiment, we cannot help paying greater regard to one whose station, joined to virtue, renders him really useful to society, than to one, who exerts the social virtues only in good intentions and benevolent affections. Separating the character from the fortune, by an easy and necessary effort of thought. we pronounce these persons alike, and give them the same general praise. The judgment corrects or endeavours to correct the appearance: But is not able entirely to prevail over sentiment. Why is this peach-tree said to be better than that other; but because it produces more or better fruit? And would not the same praise be given it, though snails or vermin had destroyed the peaches. before they came to full maturity? In morals too. is not the tree known by the fruit? And cannot we easily distinguish between nature and accident, in the one case as well as in the other?

560

David Hume

must make some distinction, even in persons the most depraved and selfish; and must attach the notion of good to a beneficent conduct, and of evil to the contrary. Sympathy, we shall allow, is much fainter than our concern for ourselves, and sympathy with persons remote from us, much fainter than that with persons near and contiguous; but for this very reason, it is necessary for us, in our calm judgments and discourse concerning the characters of men, to neglect all these differences, and render our sentiments more public and social. Besides, that we ourselves often change our situation in this particular, we every day meet with persons, who are in a situation different from us, and who could never converse with us, were we to remain constantly in that position and point of view, which is peculiar to ourselves. The intercourse of sentiments, therefore, in society and conversation, makes us form some general unalterable standard, by which we may approve or disapprove of characters and manners. And though the heart takes not part with those general notions, nor regulates all its love and hatred, by the universal, abstract differences of vice and virtue, without regard to self, or the persons with whom we are more intimately connected; yet have these moral differences a considerable influence, and being sufficient, at least, for discourse, serve all our purposes in company, in the pulpit, on the theatre, and in the schools. Thus, in whatever light we take this subject, the merit, ascribed to the social virtues, appears still uniform, and arises chiefly from that regard, which the natural sentiment of benevolence engages us to pay to the interests of mankind and society. . . . SECTION VI: OF QUALITIES USEFUL TO OURSELVES

Part I It seems evident, that where a quality or habit is subjected to our examination, if it appear, in any respect, prejudicial to the person possessed of it, or such as incapacitates him for business and action, it is instantly blamed, and ranked among his faults and imperfections. Indolence, negligence, want of order and method, obstinacy, fickleness, rashness, credulity; these qualities were never esteemed by any one indifferent to a character; much less, extolled as accomplishments or virtues. The prejudice, resulting from them, immediately strikes our eye, and gives us the sentiment of pain and disapprobation. No quality, it is allowed, is absolutely either blameable or praiseworthy. It is all according to its degree. A due medium, say the PERIPATETICS, 4 is the characteristic of virtue. But this medium is chiefly determined by utility. A proper celerity, for instance, and dispatch in business, is commendable. When defective, no progress is ever made in the execution of any purpose: When excessive, it engages us in precipitate and ill-concerted measures and enterprises: By such reasons, we fix the proper and commendable mediocrity in all moral and prudential disquisitions; and never lose view of the advantages, which result from any character or habit.

An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals

561

Now as these advantages are enjoyed by the person possessed of the character, it can never be self-love which renders the prospect of them ageeable to us, the spectators, and prompts our esteem and approbation... .

SECTION IX: CONCLUSION

Part I It may justly appear surprising, that any man, in so late an age, should find it requisite to prove, by elaborate reasoning, that PERSONAL MERIT consists altogether in the possession of mental qualities, useful or agreeable to the person himself or to others. It might be expected, that this principle would have occurred even to the first rude, unpractised enquirers concerning morals, and been received from its own evidence, without any argument or disputation. Whatever is valuable in any kind, so naturally classes itself under the division of useful or agreeable, the utile or the dulce, that it is not easy to imagine, why we should ever seek farther, or consider the question as a matter of nice research or enquiry. And as every thing useful or agreeable must possess these qualities with regard either to the person himself or to others, the compleat delineation or description of merit seems to be performed as naturally as a shadow is cast by the sun, or an image is reflected upon water. If the ground, on which the shadow is cast, be not broken and uneven; nor the surface, from which the image is reflected, disturbed and confused; a just figure is immediately presented, without any art or attention. And it seems a reasonable presumption, that systems and hypotheses have perverted our natural understanding; when a theory, so simple and obvious, could so long have escaped the most elaborate examination. But however the case may have fared with philosophy; in common life, these principles are still implicitly maintained, nor is any other topic of praise or blame ever recurred to, when we employ any panegyric or satire, any applause or censure of human action and behaviour. If we observe men, in every intercourse of business or pleasure, in every discourse and conversation; we shall find them no where, except in the schools, at any loss upon this subject. . . . And as every quality, which is useful or agreeable to ourselves or others, is, in common life, allowed to be a part of personal merit; so no other will ever be received, where men judge of things by their natural, unprejudiced reason, without the delusive glosses of superstition and false religion. Celibacy, fasting, penance, mortification, self-denial, humility, silence, solitude, and the whole train of monkish virtues; for what reason are they every where rejected by men of sense, but because they serve to no manner of purpose; neither advance a man's fortune in the world, nor render him a more valuable member of society; neither qualify him for the entertainment of company, nor increase his power of self-enjoyment? We observe, on the contrary, that they

562

David Hume

cross all these desirable ends; stupify the understanding and harden the heart, obscure the fancy and sour the temper. We justly, therefore, transfer them to the opposite column, and place them in the catalogue of vices; nor has any superstition force sufficient among men of the world, to pervert entirely these natural sentiments. A gloomy, harebrained enthusiast, after his death, may have a place in the calendar; but will scarcely ever be admitted, when alive, into intimacy and society, except by those who are as delirious and dismal as himself. It seems a happiness in the present theory, that it enters not into that vulgar dispute concerning the degrees of benevolence or self-love, which prevail in human nature; a dispute which is never likely to have any issue, both because men, who have taken part, are not easily convinced, and because the phenomena, which can be produced on either side, are so dispersed, so uncertain, and subject to so many interpretations, that it is scarcely possible accurately to compare them, or draw from them any determinate inference or conclusion. It is sufficient for our present purpose, if it be allowed, what surely, without the greatest absurdity, cannot be disputed, that there is some benevolence, however small, infused into our bosom; some spark of friendship for human kind; some particle of the dove, kneaded into our frame, along with the elements of the wolf and serpent. Let these generous sentiments be supposed ever so weak; let them be insufficient to move even a hand or finger of our body; they must still direct the determinations of our mind, and where every thing else is equal, produce a cool preference of what is useful and serviceable to mankind, above what is pernicious and dangerous. A moral distinction; therefore, immediately arises; a general sentiment of blame and approbation; a tendency, however faint, to the objects of the one, and a proportionable aversion to those of the other. . . . APPENDIX I: CONCERNING MORAL SENTIMENT If the foregoing hypothesis 5 be received, it will now be easy for us to determine the question first started, concerning the general principles of morals; and though we postponed the decision of that question, lest it should then involve us in intricate speculations, which are unfit for moral discourses, we may resume it at present, and examine how far either reason or sentiment enters into all decisions of praise or censure. One principal foundation of moral praise being supposed to lie in the usefulness of any quality or action; it is evident, that reason must enter for a considerable share in all decisions of this kind; since nothing but that faculty can instruct us in the tendency of qualities and actions, and point out their beneficial consequences to society and to their possessor. In many cases, this is an affair liable to great controversy: Doubts may arise; opposite interests may occur; and a preference must be given to one side, from very nice views, and a small overbalance of utility. This is particularly remarkable in questions with regard to justice; as is, indeed, natural to suppose, from that species of

An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals

563

utility, which attends this virtue. Were every single instance of justice, like that of benevolence, useful to society; this would be a more simple state of the case, and seldom liable to great controversy. But as single instances of justice are often pernicious in their first and immediate tendency, and as the advantage to society results only from the observance of the general rule, and from the concurrence and combination of several persons in the same equitable conduct; the case here becomes more intricate and involved. The various circumstances of society; the various consequences of any practice; the various interests, which may be proposed: These, on many occasions, are doubtful, and subject to great discussion and enquiry. The object of municipal laws is to fix all the questions with regard to justice: The debates of civilians; the reflections of politicians; the precedents of history and public records, are all directed to the same purpose. And a very accurate reason or judgment is often requisite, to give the true determination, amidst such intricate doubts arising from obscure or opposite utilities. But though reason, when fully assisted and improved, be sufficient to instruct us in the pernicious or useful tendency of qualities and actions; it is not alone sufficient to produce any moral blame or approbation. Utility is only a tendency to a certain end; and were the end totally indifferent to us, we should feel the same indifference towards the means. It is requisite a sentiment should here display itself, in order to give a preference to the useful above the pernicious tendencies. This sentiment can be no other than a feeling for the happiness of mankind, and a resentment of their misery; since these are the different ends which virtue and vice have a tendency to promote. Here, therefore, reason instructs us in the several tendencies of actions, and humanity makes a distinction in favour to those which are useful and beneficial. . . . I. It is easy for a false hypothesis to maintain some appearance of truth, while it keeps wholly in generals, makes use of undefined terms, and employs comparisons, instead of instances. This is particularly remarkable in that philosophy, which ascribes the discernment of all moral distinctions to reason alone, without the concurrence of sentiment. It is impossible that, in any particular instance, this hypothesis can so much as be rendered intelligible; whatever specious figure it may make in general declamations and discourses. Examine the crime of ingratitude, for instance; which has place, wherever we observe good-will, expressed and known, together with good-offices performed, on the one side, and a return of or indifference, with ill-offices or neglect on the other: Anatomize all these circumstances, and examine, by your reason alone, in what consists the demerit or blame: You never will come to any issue or conclusion. Reason judges either of matter of fact or of relations. Enquire then, first, where is that matter of fact, which we here call crime; point it out; determine the time of its existence; describe its essence or nature; explain the sense of faculty, to which it discovers itself. It resides in the mind of the person, who is ungrateful. He must, therefore, feel it, and be conscious of it. But nothing is there, except the passion of or absolute indifference. You cannot say,

564

David Hume

that these, of themselves, always, and in all circumstances, are crimes. No: They are only crimes, when directed towards persons, who have before expressed and displayed good-will towards us. Consequently, we may infer, that the crime of ingratitude is not any particular individual fact; but arises from a complication of circumstances, which, being presented to the spectator, excites the sentiment of blame, by the particular structure and fabric of his mind. This representation, you say, is false. Crime, indeed, consists not in a particular fact, of whose reality we are assured by reason: But it consists in certain moral relations, discovered by reason, in the same manner as we discover, by reason, the truths of geometry or algebra. But what are the relations, I ask, of which you here talk? In the case stated above, I see first good-will and good-offices in one person; then and ill-offices in the other. Between these, there is the relation of contrariety. Does the crime consist in that relation? But suppose a person bore me or did me illoffices; and I, in return, were indifferent towards him, or did him goodoffices: Here is the same relation of contrariety; and yet my conduct is often highly laudable. Twist and turn this matter as much as you will, you can never rest the morality on relation; but must have recourse to the decisions of sentiment. When it is affirmed, that two and three are equal to the half of ten; this relation of equality, I understand perfectly. I conceive, that if ten be divided into two parts, of which one has as many units as the other; and if any of these parts be compared to two added to three, it will contain as many units as that compound number. But when you draw thence a comparison to moral relations, I own that I am altogether at a loss to understand you. A moral action, a crime, such as ingratitude, is a complicated object. Does morality consist in the relation of its parts to each other? How? After what manner? Specify the relation: Be more particular and explicit in your propositions; and you will easily see their falsehood. No, say you, the morality consists in the relation of actions to the rule of right; and they are denominated good or ill, according as they agree or disagree with it. What then is this rule of right? In what does it consist? How is it determined? By reason, you say, which examines the moral relations of actions. So that moral relations are determined by the comparison of actions to a rule. And that rule is determined by considering the moral relations of objects. Is not this fine reasoning? All this is metaphysics, you cry: That is enough: There needs nothing more to give a strong presumption of falsehood. Yes, reply I: Here are metaphysics surely: But they are all on your side, who advance an abstruse hypothesis, which can never be made intelligible, nor quadrate with any particular instance or illustration. The hypothesis which we embrace is plain. It maintains, that morality is determined by sentiment. It defines virtue to be whatever

mental action or quality gives to a spectator the pleasing sentiment of approbation; and vice the contrary. We then proceed to examine a plain matter of fact, to wit, what actions have this influence: We consider all the circumstances, in

An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals

565

which these actions agree: And hence endeavour to extract some general observations with regard to these sentiments. If you call this metaphysics, and find any thing abstruse here, you need only conclude, that your turn of mind is not suited to the moral sciences. V. It appears evident, that the ultimate ends of human actions can never, in any case, be accounted for by reason, but recommend themselves entirely to the sentiments and affections of mankind, without any dependance on the intellectual faculties. Ask a man, why he uses exercise; he will answer, because he desires to keep his health. If you then enquire, why he desires health, he will readily reply, because sickness is painful. If you push your enquiries farther, and desire a reason, why he hates pain, it is impossible he can ever give any. This is an ultimate end, and is never referred to any other object. Perhaps, to your second question, why he desires health, he may also reply, that it is necessary for the exercise of his calling. If you ask, why he is anxious on that head, he will answer, because he desires to get money. If you demand Why? It is the instrument of pleasure, says he. And beyond this it is an absurdity to ask for a reason. It is impossible there can be a progress in infinitum; and that one thing can always be a reason, why another is desired. Something must be desirable on its own account, and because of its immediate accord or agreement with human sentiment and affection. Now as virtue is an end, and is desirable on its own account, without fee or reward, merely, for the immediate satisfaction which it conveys; it is requisite that there should be some sentiment, which it touches; some internal taste or feeling, or whatever you please to call it, which distinguishes moral good and evil, and which embraces the one and rejects the other. Thus the distinct boundaries and offices of reason and of taste are easily ascertained. The former conveys the knowledge of truth and falsehood: The latter gives the sentiment of beauty and deformity, vice and virtue. The one discovers objects, as they really stand in nature, without addition or diminution: The other has a productive faculty, and gilding or staining all natural objects with the colours, borrowed from internal sentiment, raises, in a manner, a new creation. Reason, being cool and disengaged, is no motive to action, and directs only the impulse received from appetite or inclination, by showing us the means of attaining happiness or avoiding the misery: Taste, as it gives pleasure or pain, and thereby constitutes happiness or misery, becomes a motive to action, and is the first spring or impulse to desire and volition. From circumstances and relations, known or supposed, the former leads us to the discovery of the concealed and unknown: After all circumstances and relations are laid before us, the latter makes us feel from the whole a new sentiment of blame or approbation. The standard of the one, being founded on the nature of things, is eternal and inflexible, even by the will of the Supreme Being: The standard of the other, arising from the internal frame and constitution of animals, is ultimately derived from that Supreme Will, which bestowed on each being its peculiar nature, and arranged the several classes and orders of existence.

566

David Hume Editor's Notes

1. Timoleon helped other citizens of Corinth assassinate his own brother in about 365 e.c.E. when his brother attempted to become a tyrant. Marcus Junius Brutus joined in the conspiracy to kill his benefactor Julius Caesar in 44 B.c.E. when it was felt that Caesar was becoming tyrannical. 2. In Book III of his Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy, Newton gave four rules for philosophizing, that is. for proceeding in a scientific treatment of any subject. The first is that "we are to admit no more causes of natural things than such as are both true and sufficient to explain their appearances." The second is that "to the same effects we must, as far as possible, assign the same causes." I quote from the Motte translation of 1729, in the edition by Florian Cajori (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1947), p. 398. 3. Sir Francis Bacon, Novum Organum II.xxxvi, discussed at length the use in science of data of experience that enable one to decide to take one road or another at a crossroads of thought. Such cases are called "instances of the fingerpost." 4. The Aristotelians, who place virtue in a "mean" between two extremes. 5. That is, the hypothesis that we feel moral approval when we perceive a useful trait or disposition in someone.

Further Reading The standard biography of Hume is that by Ernest C. Mossner, The Life of David Hume, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1980). His correspondence is available in J. Y. T. Greig, The Letters of David Hume (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1932); and in Raymond Klibansky and Ernest C. Mossner, New Letters of David Hume (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1954). A.. J. Ayer, Hume (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1980), is a brisk and very brief overview of Hume's entire philosophy. Terence Penelhum, Hume (New York: St. Martin's Press, 1975), gives a more detailed study, as does Barry Stroud, Hume (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1977). The starting point for modern Hume studies is Norman Kemp Smith, The Philosophy of David Hume (London: Macmillan, 1941). Some of Kemp Smith's views are controverted in David Fate Norton, David Hume: Common-sense Moralist, Sceptical Metaphysician (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1982), which is itself a controversial study. Discussion of Hume's philosophy tends to concentrate on the account given in the Treatise of Human Nature. There are no separate commentaries on the Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals, but examination of the ethics presented in the Treatise illuminates the later version of the theory. J. L. Mackie, Hume's Moral Theory (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1980), is a sympathetic discussion of the main points of Hume's moral psychology and ethics, set in context by brief reviews of his predecessors and successors. Pall Ardal, Passion and Value in Hume's Treatise (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1966) is a valuable study of the connection between Hume's psychology and his ethics. Jonathan Harrison has written two books on the ethics, both very analytical, frequently to the point of anachronism: Hume's Moral Epistemology (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1976). and Hume's Theory of Justice (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1981). Chapters 9 and 10 of Robert J. Fogelin, Hume's Skepticism in the Treatise of Human Nature (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1985), are concerned with his moral psychology and his ethics. For the historical setting of Hume's moral philosophy, Duncan Forbes, Hume's Philosophical Politics (Cambridge,

Further Reading

567

England: Cambridge University Press, 1975), is most valuable. The reader interested in knowing more about the Scottish Enlightenment as the context for Hume should look at two volumes: R. H. Campbell and Andrews S. Skinner, eds., The Origins and Nature of the Scottish Enlightenment (Edinburgh: John Donald, 1982); and Istvan Hont and Michael Ignatieff, eds., Wealth and Virtue (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1983). The periodical literature on Hume's ethics is very large. Here is a selective list of articles: Ardal, Pall. "Another Look at Hume's Account of Moral Evaluation." Journal of the History of Philosophy 15 (1977). Baier, Annette. "Frankena and Hume on Points of View." The Monist 64 (1981); reprinted in her Postures of the Mind (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1985). "Good Men's Women: Hume on Chastity and Trust." Hume Studies 5 (1979). "Hume on Resentment." Hume Studies 6 (1980). "Hume's Account of Our Absurd Passions." Journal of Philosophy 79 (1982). Bricke, John. "Emotion and Thought in Hume's Treatise." Canadian Journal of Philosophy 1 (supp.) (1974). Cottle, Charles F. "Justice as an Artificial Virtue in Hume's Treatise." Journal of the History of Ideas 40 (1979). Davidson, Donald. "Hume's Cognitive Theory of Pride." In his Essays on Action and Events (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1980). Falk, W. D., "Hume on Is and Ought." Canadian Journal of Philosophy 11 (1976). "Flume on Practical Reason." Philosophical Studies 27 (1975). Gauthier, David. "David Hume, Contractarian." Philosophical Review 88 (1979). Maclntyre, Alasdair. "Hume on Is and Ought." Philosophical Review 67 (1959). Norton. David F. "Hume's Moral Ontology." Hume Studies, 1985 supplement. Snare, Frank. "The Argument from Motivation." Mind 84 (1975).

Christian August Crusius

Introduction Christian August Crusius was born in 1715. He studied theology. philosophy, and other subjects at Leipzig, one of the more advanced of the enlightened German universities, and in 1740 began to teach philosophy there. Between 1744 and 1749 he published his main philosophical works. Among them are Anweisung, vernunftig zu leben (Guide to Rational Living) (1744), Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten (Sketch of Necessary Rational Truths) (1745), and Weg zur Gewissheit and Zuverlassigkeit der

menschlichen Erkenntniss (Way to the Certainty and Adequacy of Human Knowledge) (1747). Thereafter he wrote only on religious and theological topics. Crusius moved to the theological faculty while keeping a position in the philosophical faculty. A popular teacher, he had a successful university career and achieved substantial recognition outside the university. He died in 1775. The dominant philosophy in Protestant Germany during Crusius's lifetime was that of Christian Wolff. Crusius, a strongly Pietist Lutheran, was opposed to it on religious grounds and came to be known as its most acute and effective critic. As a Pietist he saw personal religious experience and feeling as more important than institutional practices and rituals, and he held that simple and uneducated people could have a richer religious life than could those who were sophisticated and learned. Against Wolff's intellectualism, therefore, which taught that humans are autonomous and which held that the human good consists of the endless increase of knowledge, Crusius stressed the importance of deliberate obedience to God's laws, of which everyone could be aware through feeling, and of reliance on God to look after one's well-being. In developing these themes Crusius did more than point out problems with Wolff's own position. He began to push in new directions the conventional vocabulary of obligation and moral necessity. established since the time of Pufendorf. One of his aims was to show that each person is wholly responsible to God for his or her own actions. Because Crusius thought Wolff's account of free will an utter failure, he tried to develop a much more radical notion of freedom, and he connected it with the important thought that the will has its own innate structure of laws. He also went beyond previous thinkers in disconnecting moral obligation from the agent's concern with his or her own good and in disconnecting it even from a concern with any good at all. For Crusius, moral obligation — he called it the obligation of virtue — arises simply from our awareness that there are laws that bind us as such, and we can comply with them simply because they are valid laws for us. Crusius's more general philosophical views stressed the limitations of human knowledge, and the ways in which beliefs that we cannot give up we must accept as true even 568

Guide to Rational Living

569

if we have no proof of them. Crusius was far more aware of the importance of probable empirical evidence than the Wolffians were, and more appreciative of the advances of the mechanistic understanding of the world than his Pietist philosophical forerunners were. Crusius's ethics, in particular, is a vital part of the transition from the philosophy of the earlier German enlightenment to the work of Kant. For in trying to explain how we could be wholly dependent on God and also wholly responsible for our own actions, he worked out some of the conceptual apparatus that Kant was to use for a much stronger assertion of human autonomy than Wolff had presented. If Crusius is now remembered mainly for his influence on Kant (who in his early years admired Crusius), his work is worth reading for an understanding of the development of the modern vocabulary of morality as well as for insight into the most important of the philosophical controversies in German during the first half of the eighteenth century. I have translated selections from the Anweisung verniinftig zu Leben, using the reprint edition by Giorgio Tonelli (Hildesheim: Olms, 1969). Like Wolff's - German Ethics," this was a book intended for students. It was written in a compact and undecorated style, full of cross-references to earlier and later paragraphs. Although I have kept Crusius's paragraph numbers, I have omitted most of the cross-references and eliminated most of the italicizations and capitalizations.

Guide to Rational Living PSYCHOLOGY

Chapter I: Of Goals and of the Human Will §2 By -will" I understand the power of a mind to act according to its ideas. I mean that the will is the efficient cause, whereas the ideas are the model or exemplary cause. One acts according to them when one makes represented things real or tries to do so. . . . my explanation includes everything that belongs to will according to ordinary language. For desire and aversion, including all doing and omitting that come from them, are ascribed to will. In all these cases it is clear that an act of the mind according to ideas comes first. . . . §4 All minds must have wills. If they had none, they could not act according to their ideas, and these would then be useful neither to them nor to others but quite in vain. But it is altogether contrary to God's perfection to create something wholly useless and in vain. §6. . . the will, in all finite beings, is a separate basic power, distinguished from the understanding or, to speak more precisely, the essential part of separate basic powers that on account of their common essence are conceived together and called will. . . . §9 A willing, through which we are moved to make something real that does not yet exist or to bring about its union with ourselves, insofar as the willing is considered an action within the willing mind, is called a desire. . . . §13 Whatever a mind wants can be called a goal or end in the widest sense.

570

Christian August Crusius

In the narrower meaning, however, we understand by end only something that one wants consciously and with clear knowledge. Whenever a mind strives for an end, three aspects are to be distinguished in the striving. First of all, there must be an effective willing, which is the efficient power moving us toward something. I will call this the subjective end. . . . Further, a particular thing must be conceived toward which one strives, which is called the objective end. Finally, we must think of a certain relation of that thing to the willing mind seeking to bring it about and for the sake of which the action is undertaken, which is called the formal end. For example, when Alexander went to war against the Persians, the Persian Empire was his objective end. The formal end was that he bring it under his control and rule it. Alexander's desire for mastery was the subjective end. . . . §22 A willing that one could omit or direct to something else even in identical circumstances is called a free willing, and the power involved is called freedom. The application of freedom to an existing situation, by which one really wills, is called a resolution or decision. . . . §24 The condition of our soul that arises from the satisfaction of a willing is called pleasant and, if we recognize this consciously, enjoyment. . . . §26 Whatever accords with the will of a mind we call to that extent good, and likewise what is contrary to it we call to that extent an evil. Accordingly, the goodnesses of things consist in their relation to a will with which they are compared, just as truth rests in a relation to the understanding. If by contrast we call something good that is in accordance with perfection, it is undeniable that this happens because rational minds generally desire perfection in themselves and in other things and insofar as they desire it, as otherwise there would be no reason that one should not also call the imperfect good. . . . The perfection of a thing consists only in the relation of its condition to the sum of the effects for which it is fit; and the more it is fit for and the more fit it is for them, the more perfect it is. So goodness and perfection are not the same. This concept of good can easily be fitted into the categories of good that philosophers recognize. Insofar as something is found to agree with the natural goals of God — that is, insofar as it is found suited to those effects that God has willed to make possible through the thing's created essence — so far it is metaphysically good. So far as something agrees with the will of created beings, it is physically good. . . . The morally good, however, is what is in accordance with the moral designs of God, that is, those that he wills to have forwarded through the reason and free wills of created minds or, to put it otherwise, the morally good is what agrees with his laws.

Chapter 111: Of the Freedom of the Human Will §38. . . According to ordinary notions, a free will is a will not outwardly compelled and also not inwardly necessary. It should make man capable of responsibility for his activity, so that one does not only ascribe it to him as the efficient cause but also can think him open to praise or blame or to charges of

Guide to Rational Living

571

guilt and can hold him worthy of punishment or reward because he acted this way rather than that. Freedom must be what makes us fit to be subordinated to a law and to obligation and fit for giving a reckoning of the direction of our behavior. If we take together these presupposed properties, then a free being can be nothing but a being who at one time and in one set of circumstances can either do or omit something or in place of it do something else. The power by means of which it is capable of this is called freedom. . . . §39 Consequently, one may express the essence of freedom also through this concept, that it is a power to determine oneself to an action, without being determined by anything else, whether internal or external. . . . §40 If one does not include this concept, there would never be an act done without necessity. For even if one indicated an act to which the efficient substance were determined through its own ideas and desires, which one calls spontaneity or spiritual self-activity, still the act would not cease to be necessary, because everything determined, insofar as it is determined, is necessary. It makes no difference through what sort of ideas the effective mind is determined, not even whether or not the determining motives in its understanding are clearly conceived. In such a case, all our virtue would be turned into a mere piece of luck, as it would come about if one had a good nature or were put in such relations to things that one were determined to do actions according with perfection. Vice would be mere misfortune, for which no true guilt could arise, as it would not be up to the agent to improve the situation, but everything would depend on the nature that the creator had given him. . . . Praise and blame sometimes mean only judgments about whether or not certain properties of a thing agree with perfection. Still, there are two sorts of praise and blame, first the nonmoral, which is nothing but a judgment of the perfection or imperfection of the thing, and [second] the moral, when we hold someone to be the free cause of a characteristic that we recognize as worthy of praise or blame. I will show in what follows that many things that do not now occur completely freely, or even that occur without freedom, can be awarded truly moral praise or blame, because we have earlier brought about their causes. Thus one can admittedly praise a naturally good property. But we must not on that account deny that we are able to praise it on account of voluntarily occasioned acts or properties, and we must not confuse the praiseworthy qualities with one another. . . . §41 If we reflect on how such a power as freedom, according to this concept of it, is possible, it becomes clear that it must consist in a perfect inner activity. It is a point to be shown in metaphysics that an action or activity must come between an effect and its efficient cause but that the series cannot extend to infinity. Consequently, one must come to first actions or basic activities, for which it is not necessary that another activity of an efficient cause precede but that arise immediately out of the essence of an active basic power. . . . The freedom of the human will must be of this category. So we can determine its concept more fully thus: freedom is the highest degree of activity in a will, by

572

Christian August Crusius

virtue of which it can itself begin, direct, and then break off its effectiveness, regardless of all the necessary conditions, which only make it possible. . . . §42 You will be convinced by the following that the same freedom that I have explained from the use of language . . . is really present in our soul. We are, first, conscious in many cases that in the same circumstances we can omit an action or direct it otherwise. Therefore we really possess the power. For example, I find within myself that while I write this I could stop and take up another task or walk up and down in the room. . . . It is further necessary that free minds must exist in any world whatever. Otherwise God could not create any world, because he could have no end, on his side, in doing so. For otherwise it would be as if God did everything himself, and created beings would obtain through their reality no other relation to God than what they already had in the mere condition of possibility, namely, that their being and essence depended on him. He would therefore have had to make them real without the slightest formal end, which contradicts the divine perfection. Now, because divine perfection is necessary, a world without free minds is just as impossible as a four-sided circle or wooden iron is. Finally, whoever admits that true divine laws exist, whose certainty I will show in its place, must admit also on that account that there is true freedom in us, because that is the sole possible cause that puts us in the condition to be subordinated to a law and to live according to it. §43 Whenever we freely will something, we decide to do something for which one or several desires already exist in us, and accordingly, the formal end always consists of the relation that a thing has to one or several of our drives. . . . herewith we discover the complete idea of freedom. Freedom consists in an inner perfect activity of will, which is capable of connecting its efficacy with one of the currently activated drives of the will, or of omitting this connection and remaining inactive, or of connecting it with another drive instead of the first one. §46 . . . From what has been said, we can easily see the goal for whose sake God gave freedom to humans. It should be the ruling power that directs the other powers of soul, which are subordinated to it and are to serve it. Through this the capacities of the soul are transformed into abilities that can be ascribed to the efficacious substance. And thereby the many desires are subordinated to one another and are brought without compulsion or necessity into a system in which exists the perfection that God intended. How much store God sets on such a constitution of rational creatures can be inferred from this, that otherwise he cannot create any world at all. . . . Chapter V: Of Basic Desires

§89 A desire always has its ground in one or several other desires. But because this series cannot continue to infinity, we must finally come to first desires, which are not due to others and are the ground of all the rest.

Guide to Rational Living

573

§92 Every act of will is an action according to ideas. But a desire is a continuous striving to act in certain ways according to certain ideas. So if there are basic desires, there are also innate ideas that belong to them and that must be assumed to be presupposed and inseparable conditions of them. . . . §93 The marks of a basic desire are accordingly the following: First, it must not be wicked in and of itself, that is, conflict with divine or human perfection, because otherwise God would not have built it into the human essence. . . . Next, it must be universal. The proof of universality is drawn from experience. . . . Finally, it must not be derivable from any other. . . . Chapter VI: Of Universal Properties of Desires That Are Themselves Desires §97 Every desire is a striving to bring certain ideas to reality. If this is to happen, the idea of the desired object must be held vividly in mind. . . . Consequently, all desires include a desire for the clear idea of the object and an inclination to take pleasure in it. §101 If we are to achieve what we wish, we must ourselves exist and live. . . . Accordingly, all our drives include the desire for our own existence or reality. . . . §102 Every desire in a rational mind strives also for the assurance of its object and thus is also a desire for the future. . . . §106 When our desires are satisfied, pleasure ensues. We therefore desire pleasure because we want the satisfaction of our desires. If our desires are not satisfied, pain will ensue, which we therefore avoid. There thus arises out of all desires taken together a longing to see them all satisfied with pleasure and to be free from all pain, and this is called the drive for happiness. Now, we have a desire to live and a desire for perfect assurance of the wanted object, whose satisfaction is also the aim of the drive for happiness. Consequently, the drive for happiness, taken comprehensively, is a drive for an endless life in which all our wishes will continuously be pleasantly satisfied . . . and in which no unhappiness is possible. We see from this that the drive toward happiness is in fact directed toward an infinite object, that is, toward one that will infinitely satisfy. Now, because the achievement of this is not possible except through the will and power of our creator, it is clear that the drive to happiness is always in error if man strives for his happiness in any order other than that in which he seeks to make himself pleasing to his creator in every part and is assured of grace. Thus the drive to human happiness, rightly understood, always leads to God. . . . Chapter VII: Of Basic Human Desires §111 . . . The first basic human desire is the drive for our own perfection, or the urge to see our condition in its appropriate perfection and to make it always more perfect. . . .

574

Christian August Crusius

§122 The next of the basic human desires is the urge for union with objects in which we perceive perfection, or think we perceive it. It is distinguished from the preceding desire, in that through the former we seek our own perfection, but by means of this we seek union with perfection without any view to ourselves or to the use that we could expect from it. . . . §132 Finally, the third of the basic human drives is the natural drive to recognize a divine moral law, that is, to believe a rule for human action in which it is determined what God wants done or not done out of obedience because of our dependence and otherwise will punish us. It is one of the natural basic laws of human nature . . . that we compare the concepts of the understanding with our desires to become aware of what in their objects is or is not in conformity with the ideas. From this arises an inclination to judge the morality of our acts, that is, their justice or injustice and, when they are not in accordance with the law, to fear God's wrath and punishment on that account. We call the judgment of the morality of our acts "conscience." So we shall call the basic drive to recognize the divine moral law that is its ground the "drive of conscience." That conscience is no mere theoretical judgment of the understanding — but must have its ground in a drive of the will — can be seen from the fact that it rejoices us and terrifies us. One should not confuse conscience with consciousness in general or with the awareness of the perfection or imperfection of one's actions in general. For it is one thing to make something a matter of conscience, another to be aware of an imperfection in action and therefore to regret what one did because one is aware that it was in vain or contrary to one's goal. . . . § 133 The motive of conscience is therefore merely a motive to recognize certain indebtednesses [Schuldigkeiten], that is, such universal obligations [Verbindlichkeiten]` as one must observe even if one does not wish to consider the advantages and disadvantages deriving from them, whose transgression God will punish and, if his law is not to be in vain, must punish. . . . Here I shall . . . add that to the word indebtedness we attach, by the guidance of nature, the concept I have given. This I shall make clear as follows: We distinguish what lays an indebtedness on us from motives in general. If we are inclined toward something through motives or are even fully determined to do it, it still does not follow that on that account we have an indebtedness to do it. For there also are motives for evil and for indifferent things. Further, indebtedness is to be distinguished from all inner and outer compulsions. For whatever we are compelled to do, we have on that account no indebtedness to do. We distinguish indebtedness further from what one does out of fear or hope. For how much does one do from fear, to which one is not obligated [verbunden], and how often do we say that this or that would be for our own benefit, but it is also our indebtedness? Finally, indebtedness is not identical with what is done out of love. For all men agree on this: that an indebtedness may not be the sort of thing in which it depends on our own preference whether or not we are to do it; I mean, so

Guide to Rational Living

575

that the essence of indebtedness might disappear through just a change in our will. There remains no alternative, therefore, but that an indebtedness is such an act or omission as we should do out of obedience to God as our highest lord, creator, and sustainer, for the sake of his will. There exists, therefore, in the motive of conscience the genuine basic essence of legal obligation [Verbindlichkeit]. For the obligation of law should be what moves the subordinate to obey the commands of his lord. This, however, can be nothing else but the idea of his dependence on the other. By dependence, among minds, nothing else is to be understood than such a relation of one to the other, that the one has certain goods from the will of the other in such a way that if the will of the other ceased, the goods would also cease. From this it is clear that we depend in all things on God. How could the idea of dependence, all by itself, bring us to execute the commands of our lord, if there were not a natural basic motive existing in us, leading us to act in accordance with our dependence on God? §134 It is thus not specially necessary to show that the drive of conscience is distinct from the previously distinguished basic drives, as its object is so very different from those of the other drives. It is just as superfluous to try to show its goodness, as it is self-evident that nothing can be good without agreement with divine law. . . . §135 The universality of the drive of conscience does, however, need a special proof, because owing to its many hindrances and suppressions, it may look as if it is missing in many people. If one first assumes the reality of divine law, which we shall prove later, then one will easily see an a priori reason that there must be an innate drive of conscience. For because God has created basic drives for many lesser ends, which usually serve their ends with considerable certainty, should he not have cared for virtue as his main end but have left men in a condition in which it would be possible to eradicate any idea of a true law of God? Second, coming to know God and his will through proofs, and judging what is told us by means of clear arguments, is for most people much too roundabout. Most scholars do not get far in doing so, and [so] how could the unlearned get things completely right? But because all men are subordinated to the divine law and will be judged by it hereafter, it is easy to infer that God would create a shorter path to knowledge of it and would make his will evident in such a way that it could come to everyone's knowledge. §136 Experience agrees with this. All men recognize certain things as right or wrong, proper or improper, under which words nothing but a dark idea of a universal law lies buried. A man of moderate understanding will soon become aware in the hardest and most confused actions of what would be right or wrong, even without being able to give clearly any sufficient grounds for his judgment or even to defend it. From this it is evident that there is a natural sensation of justice and propriety in us that has something more than a mere judgment of the understanding as its ground. The majority who believe in a divine law can give no correct and unobjec-

576

Christian August Crusius

tionable proof of it. Indeed, few teachers of morals prove it thoroughly, and it is a common but well-based complaint that one gets nowhere worse proofs than in moral writings. The natural law is something that is contrary to our common inclinations and directs their limitation and improvement. Now, I would like to know whence it comes that whereas men laugh at and reject other unproved claims running against our natural inclinations, nonetheless all decent people approve the law of nature and do not reject it because of the bad proofs of it that they find but, rather, feel themselves required to find better ones. Do we not see here evidently a testimony that the truth of the law is hidden within ourselves? Scholars are still not agreed on the principle on which we must build natural duties. About the most important duties, however, they all agree. . . . I am convinced that philosophers mostly do not seek basic principles in order that they may learn from them what is right or wrong. Their effort is, rather, only this: to structure into an orderly theory the duties that nature teaches humankind.. . §137 Now, if there is a drive in us to recognize a divine law and to act according to it, then there must also be in us an innate idea of the natural law, which is the pattern according to which the drive of conscience strives to direct human action. This need not be taken to imply that the concept of every single duty is implanted in us. It suffices if God has given us a universal rule of action from which the individual cases can be judged. If we pay attention a posteriori to the material duties that conscience teaches, it will become clear that most of them, at least, can be collected in this rule: do what is in accordance with the perfection of God and your relations to him and further what accords with the essential perfection of human nature, and omit the opposite. The acts of a mind are said to be in accordance with perfection when one can see from their direction that they recognize mind and keep an eye on it. Accordingly, we can state the express concept of the drive of conscience thus: the drive of conscience is a natural, basic drive that moves us to do what conforms with divine and human perfection — out of obedience to God's will because of our dependence on him — and, in the contrary case, to fear his anger and punishment. We see here immediately that there must be an innate idea of God. ETHICS

Chapter 1: Of Virtue in General §156 If we ask how the will should be constituted and wish to answer merely according to the prescriptions of reason . . . we are asking either how the human will should be constituted with a view to divine natural laws, which we see as the ends of the creator, or how it should be constituted with a view to the ends of humans, which they all desire, that is, with a view to the advancement of their perfection and happiness.

Guide to Rational Living

577

§157 I have deliberately linked the condition of perfection with that of happiness. These two concepts speak of one and the same thing. For the perfection of man exists when his condition agrees with all of his ends. Consequently, all his desires must be satisfied as fully as possible. . . . §159 Now, if we determine the idea of ethics first by saying that it is the science of the rules that show the way to human happiness, we still will have to investigate whether there really are divine laws. Suppose there were; then we would fail to reach happiness if we did not concern ourselves with them. . . . I can, accordingly, give a fuller description of the Guide to Rational Living by saying that it is a science that explains rationally both the divine laws and the rest of the general rules for the achievement of good ends and thus shows the way as far as possible to attain human perfection and happiness. §160 A "duty" [Pflicht], in the broad sense, is an act or omission in which a moral necessity exists. A "moral necessity" is a relation of an act or omission to certain ends such that a rational mind can understand that it should or should not be done. The condition in which a moral necessity for something exists is, in a broad sense, called "obligation" [ Verbindlichkeit]. Accordingly, morals encompass duties and obligations. §161 By "prudence" we understand the skill of choosing and applying good means to one's ends. "Virtue," however, is the agreement of the moral condition of a mind with the divine laws. Hence we call each single part of it a virtue. I do not overlook that at times the word "virtue" is used in a broader sense for any praiseworthy property. But this meaning is not serviceable for my purpose, as I want to keep apart essentially different things. I call moral all that brings about its effect by means of a free will. . . . §162 Now I can indicate the kinds of duties and obligations. . . . To wit, that on which the moral necessity of an act or omission is grounded — I mean from which it should be understood — is either to be sought only in certain ends already desired by us; because we then have to look only at the ends that according to the psychology are essential to human nature, which otherwise one would not be able to achieve; then I will name the duty, insofar as it is grounded on this, a duty of prudence, and similarly I can call the obligation arising out of it the obligation of prudence. Or else the ground of the moral necessity lies in a law and in our owing fulfillment of it; then I will name that duty a duty of virtue. The obligation arising from it, however, can be called legal obligation, or the obligation of virtue, or true obligation in a narrower sense. Accordingly, the obligation of prudence, in ethics, is the relation of an act or omission to certain goals that we desire because of our nature . . . such that if we do not behave in certain ways we will not be able to attain our goal. The obligation of virtue is the relation of an act or omission to a divine law, such that if we do not behave in certain ways the law will be violated. A duty of prudence exists where there is an obligation of prudence. A duty of virtue exists where there is an obligation of virtue. Where an obligation of virtue exists, one may also speak of an indebtedness. §163 Although I have carefully distinguished duties and obligations of vir-

578

Christian August Crusius

tue and prudence, it should not be thought that in virtue itself both sorts of obligation are not present, so that a duty of virtue is not also always a duty of prudence. For because. as we shall see, the divine law orders the truest means to our well-being, the essential desires of our soul will be fulfilled when we obey the divine law. [Virtue and prudence) are, however, to be distinguished, so that true legal obligation and the essence of virtue will not be destroyed by the assumption that there is only the obligation of prudence — which, regrettably, seems to occur all too often. §165 A law is a universal will of a more powerful being who does not have another more powerful being over him, through which an indebtedness springing from this will is imposed on those subordinate to him to do or omit something. The more powerful being who gives the law is called a superior. . . . If one does the will of a superior because one is indebted to do so, this is called obedience. Now all indebtedness is grounded on dependence. . . . §166 . . . we can see how true moral dependence differs from the merely overwhelming power of one over another, and thus what the difference is between a superior whose will has an obligating power and a more powerful being who can only compel to fulfillment of his will. For example, a highwayman can compel us to give him our money, but no obligation to do so follows from his will, which by contrast does take place with a true lawgiver. For we have to thank a lawgiver for certain goods, which come merely from his will because he has no superior over him. So not only does our benefit bid us obey him, in order not to lose the goods and also our perfection, because resistance would be in vain, which together make an obligation of prudence; but also because of the drive of conscience, we feel an indebtedness to obedience and naturally approve it, from which a legal obligation arises. § 168 . . . I presuppose here the existence and properties of God as demonstrated by natural theology. [I similarly assume that man depends wholly on God.) §169 We can prove the certainty of divine natural laws first a posteriori from the drive of conscience, which also shows their content. Because all other basic drives have an existing object, likewise this drive must have one. Indeed, it must have an object; otherwise God has put it into the soul in vain, only to frighten men. . . . §171 The necessity of divine laws and also their content can further be proved a priori. I assume that God wills the necessary perfections of things. . . . It follows from this that as soon as free beings are posited, God must necessarily will that their free actions and what follows from them be in accordance with the essential perfections of things. . . . §172 . . . Now the natural relation in which we and all creatures stand to God is that we depend on him alone and necessarily for all things. That is the sole condition that is simply essential. All the rest are contingent. . . . Accordingly, God necessarily wills that all free actions by rational creatures, and what follows from them, be so directed that one can see from their direction that they recognize full and necessary dependence on God. . . .

Guide to Rational Living

579

§173 . . . it is not enough that we do what God wills, as his will, just out of love. . . . For from the fact that a soul tries to make itself pleasing to another out of love, it cannot be understood that the one recognizes his dependence on the other . . . we must do everything that God wills to be done . . . out of obedience to him as our creator, sustainer, and lawfully commanding superior and lawgiver. For only from such a direction of our deeds can it be understood that we recognize a dependence on God and have it in view. . . . Now, because God necessarily wills that we should act out of a sense of our dependence on him, there is also necessarily a divine natural law, whose content is here evident. And just this necessary will of God is the ground of the morally good, from which we see that the morally good, like all other goods, has its ground in a will. Whether or not one could say that something might be in accordance with perfection without attention to the will of God, one can certainly not allow that without attention to it something could be morally good or bad. To say this would be to contradict oneself or to alter unnecessarily the ordinary notion of good and bad. Yet the morally good is not at all arbitrary, because the will of God, in which the highest laws of nature have their ground, is not a free but a necessary will. §174 Here I have derived the highest natural law a priori, which previously, in §137, I obtained only from experience and which is this: do out of obedience toward the command of your creator as your natural and necessary superior everything that is in conformity with the perfection of God and the essential perfection of your own nature and of all other creatures and the relations of things to one another, and omit the opposite. §176 The point is that obedience to God should be our unconditionally highest subjective end, God himself the highest objective end, and compliance with his will and command the highest formal end. . . . Then our happiness will follow of itself from virtue and in the condition of virtue; which we desire . . . but must not make the goal, because if we do, obedience will lose its essence. In order that it may be possible for us to make the desire to act in accordance with our dependence into our main end, the drive of conscience is implanted in us, by means of which the sense of our dependence leads us to obedience. . . . If the drive of conscience did not exist in us, then admittedly neither obedience nor virtue would be possible, for because of our other essential drives we would always make our own utility or pleasure our end or at least would act only out of love, which is not yet obedience. *177 . . . What a rational being does in conformity with the essential perfection of things becomes virtue only when it is done out of obedience. Consequently, we can call the intention of being obedient to God the form of virtue. But an act or omission that taken in itself is in accordance with divine or human perfection and is distinguished from obedience constitutes the matter of virtue. . . . §178 From what has been shown, we can now obtain the natural principia cognoscendi2 of the divine law, that is, the way to determine exactly how we

580

Christian August Crusius

come to know it. The first is a posteriori, namely, the natural drive of conscience, when we attend to what — if our desires and feelings do not prevent — it teaches us about good or evil, honorable or shameful, approvable or disapprovable. From this source of knowledge not only the common people but also the learned obtain the greatest part of their knowledge of duty, but the latter look afterwards for clear proofs. § 179 There is indeed an erring and doubtful conscience. But the difficulties must not be thought to be so great that on their account it is not possible for the conscience to be able to be a sure source of a posteriori knowledge of duty. . . . It is the same with sensation. Who would say that this is an uncertain or unsuitable principium for obtaining truth, even though many alleged experiences deceive? .. . §181 The second way to come to knowledge of divine natural laws through reason is the way of clear knowledge, in which one derives duties from the nature of divine and human essential perfection by clear and valid arguments, when one shows that something is in accordance with, or is opposed to, the concept of the perfection of God or a thing in general, or that the intention of God for the things of this world otherwise cannot be attained at all, or not surely attained, and especially that the essentially human basic desires cannot otherwise be satisfied. . . . §184 A law is either a commanding law, saying that something is to happen, or a forbidding law, saying that something is to be omitted. For what conflicts with the essential perfection of things is forbidden, whereas what accords with it is commanded. A forbidding law thus must always be followed. A commanding law, however, can speak of something that needs to happen only under certain circumstances. §185 What is neither commanded nor forbidden is permitted. We know a posteriori that there are certain things that are merely permitted because when omitting certain things we feel no pangs of conscience. . . . §194 We should guard against the mistaken belief that divine punishments and rewards are necessary so that the law may be obligatory, in that fear of the former and hope of the latter would drive man to obedience and must be the goal of obedience. For through this, all true legal obligation and also all true obedience would be destroyed. Divine perfection demands that observance of his laws be sustained in this way. Obligation under them, however, arises from our dependence on him. . . . §203 The core idea of all duties, of virtue discoverable by reason taken together is called, in a broad sense, the law of nature. Now, because all duties of virtue have their obligation from God, and must be done out of obedience to divine command, the law of nature is in essence nothing but the practical part of natural theology. §204 . . . natural moral theology deals with immediate duties to God; the law of nature, in the narrow sense, with the duties and authorizations of men toward other men; and ethics, with the duties that immediately concern the virtuous constitution of our own mind and condition, usually called duties to

Guide to Rational Living

581

oneself. . . . There are indeed still other duties recognized by reason, namely, duties in relation to nonrational and lifeless creatures. Because they are easily understood from the universal basic law of virtue . . . they do not call for a special part of the law of nature. §205 One of the ethical duties is, as will be shown, the obligation to prudence. Now, universal and useful rules of prudence can be given, which can be used with all other ends, even those to which one has no obligation. These must also be treated in moral theory. They do not, however, belong to the law of nature. . . . Chapter II: Of the End of Human Life §208 The end of the world, as far as it concerns humans, is this: through their common free efforts they increase the virtue in their souls, exercise it and strengthen it, and consequently have permission to use the goods of the world, with no detriment to virtue, for satisfaction and pleasure, whereupon they shall be translated into another life in which the virtuous will be completely happy but the disobedient will be punished and in which the punishments as well as the rewards will be in proportion to the virtue or vice. . . . §210 We ask now about God's final objective ends. These must be made so that they can know the world and enjoy it, because otherwise many goods that could be enjoyed would exist in vain. Now only rational enjoyment counts as true enjoyment. Hence the world must be made for rational minds, among which humans belong. . . . A posteriori we find no others except humans on earth. . . . So humans are God's final objective ends, and at least the earth was created for their sake. §211 . . . God's formal end for humans must be something served through their free acts. We understand this a posteriori because God made men with free will. The necessity thereof can be inferred a priori because otherwise the world would be pointless in God's view. For it would be as if God himself did everything. . . . §212 We learn further a posteriori that God's end for humans must be something that should be reached through their common efforts. For God made men sociable, so that one always needs the help of another. . . . §213 God's main goal in this life is virtue. . . . For in any world there must be free acts. Further, God necessarily wills that these be directed in accordance with virtue, upon which reward or punishment follows. Because of his goodness, however, God wants rational minds to be happy. These assertions fit together only if God first puts rational minds in the world in conditions in which they can exercise free virtue, and afterward distributes happiness in proportion to virtue. . . . §216 . . . If virtue were not the end, it would have to be knowledge of truth, or happiness. But knowledge cannot be the main goal. For the understanding, in accordance with its nature, can only be for the sake of the will, that is, for an active being to be enabled through it to achieve certain ends.

582

Christian August Crusius

Happiness in this life also cannot be God's goal. For the arrangement of the world is quite unsuited to this end. We are born with mere capacities. Nature brings us the things we need raw and not manufactured; she hides her treasures and mysteries from us. We can do nothing without sour toil and work. What can we conclude except that the creator's aim is that we should make ourselves toil and that humans should possess only as much readiness of wit and as much satisfaction in worldly goods as they acquire through their own strivings? And because God must desire that these strivings be directed in accordance with perfection, we see that virtue is the goal of human life. And anyone, in any walk of life, no matter what sort of work he does, can strive toward this and serve it. . . . §218 The divine end for humans goes further than this present life, and the soul of man is immortal. [This is proved as follows:] §220 We have shown, moreover, that God must reward all goodness in proportion to its amount and punish all wickedness in due proportion. Experience shows that this happens not at all or only rarely in the present life; so there must be another, which he has destined for the revelation of his rewarding and punishing justice. Because the rewards and punishments must be endless, the other life must be a condition of real immortality. . . . §221 . . . Do not be surprised that I have derived [immortality] from purely moral grounds. These are the only ones fit for such a proof. Immortality cannot be derived from the essence of the soul. For because our soul once did not live, we see that life is contingent in it. . . . ,

Chapter III: On the Virtuous Direction of the Spirit §239 We have the capacity to love God and . . . we owe him the highest possible love. . . . §240 Accordingly, the love of God above all things is the main virtue from which all others must flow. Obedience considered in itself is still an indeterminate duty, merely the formal aspect of virtue. Where virtue is really to exist, there must also be a material aspect. The highest material virtue is thus the love of God, which belongs to obedience as its first determination and, taken with it, constitutes the determinate basic essence of virtue. The love of God makes obedience voluntary, as obedience makes the love of God into a true virtue. We can thus grasp the determinate concept of virtue as a disposition to love God as our highest ruler above all things and to recognize ourselves as bound to this. THE LAW OF NATURE

Chapter 1: Of the Law of Nature in General §362 We speak now of the law of nature in the narrower sense, which is the core of natural duties of men toward other men. . . . The readiness to observe one's duties toward other men is called justice in the narrower sense.

Guide to Rational Living

583

§363 That there is a law of nature . . . is clear from this. God wills that we always should do what is in accordance with the perfection of God, our own being, and all other creatures, including also the connections he has made among them, and do it out of obedience to his will. Consequently, we have to follow this rule also in our acts and omissions concerning other humans. §364 From this we see from what grounds we must derive the law of nature. . . . we must consider the connection God has made among humans. This consists first of sociability, that is, of that constitution of their condition because of which their ends must be reached by common effort. . . . The natural connection of men consists further in their having a natural love of mankind and in their being unable to live satisfactorily outside human society. There is finally another natural connection . . . by means of which humans must take their origin from other humans through birth. §365 From this there comes immediately the following basic law: We are obligated [schuldig] (1) because of the love we owe to God, truly to love all men, because they are loved by God and are seen as the final end. For because we owe God the greatest possible love, we must also love those who are loved by him, simply because they are loved by him. Otherwise there would be no striving in love to make the ends of the beloved our own and to become as much as possible like the beloved, which would contradict love. To just this duty there is also an obligation [ Verbindlichkeit] of prudence, because we make our own lives pleasant in this way and make others inclined to serve us. All men are (2) obligated to live socially. . . . From these two it follows (3) that men are obligated to provide comradely services to one another out of upright love, indeed, from a love grounded on love of, and obedience to, God, as all men are God's final end. Hence it comes with their perfection that we should not view their welfare merely as a means for us but that we should will it as a final end, and also that we should love them. . . . For if love is not the motive for comradely services, they become uncertain. . . . Finally, .. . we are (4) obligated to observe everything else that is in accordance with the connection of men and their physical dependence on one another, from which the duties of parents and children to one another will follow. §366 If all men were virtuous and had the same earnestness in striving, all would be equally loved by God. Then we would have to love all equally. Because this is not so, even though the love of man that we owe is grounded on love to God, we must love each by so much more as each is loved by God for his virtue. Yet this much remains in addition, that we should see all as absolute ends of God and really love them, and we should accord natural rights to all equally; that is, we should conduct ourselves toward all as we — if we put ourselves in their places — would think we could demand with right. For these duties do not arise from the character of men but from their essence. And that is the meaning of the saying that one should love all humans as oneself. Love is taken, then, in a broader sense, as a mere "inclination to serve the well-being of those we love, in which sense there is also a love of oneself. We are then in two senses bound to love all as ourselves. First, it

584

Christian August Crusius

should happen that -- with just the same sort of inclination to serve their greatest good as we have to forward our own — we should view their welfare not as a mere means but as itself an end, because we want our own welfare in the same way. . . . Second, we should accord all men certain rights, those to which we would think ourselves justified if we were now in their position, under the condition that we judge this rightly and impartially. . . . §368 We have up to now shown how the main duties of natural law can be derived from grounds through clear arguments. But because not all men have the acuteness for this and the disunity among scholars is itself very great .. . on this account the drive of conscience has been implanted in us as a ground of knowledge of natural law a posteriori. We have, as a result, a natural sensation of what is right and proper, which does us good service with its quickness in judging moral matters. But because the conscience, like other basic drives, can err, we must transform its feelings, as far as possible, into clear conclusions or at least beware lest self-love or other corrupt inclinations make us partial. §372 I know well that some think that the law of nature need not rest on the will of God, but only on the social nature of man and his perfection and happiness. This would have the advantage that it would bind the atheist as well as the believer. But if one tries to do this, one must ground the obligatoriness of the rules of the law of nature on their being the sole or best means to our own welfare and the continuing increase of our perfection. Now this is indeed true. They are the sole means for the universal welfare of humankind, and they are also the surest means for the welfare of individuals separately. And to that extent an atheist must admit such rules as the nature of things themselves and his own essential ends make binding. But one must not on that account leave God and the obligatoriness of his will out of the law of nature. We may indeed always note the obligation to which mere prudence would put us under the rules of natural law. But if one were to give this out as the sole obligation to them, the rules would cease to be true laws. And as soon as they cease to be so, even the obligation of prudence will not block all the loopholes in particular cases. I noted earlier that one might allow that it would be for the best if all men observed the rules of natural law but that because few 3 do so, one must go with the times, and as the saying is, a single swallow does not make a summer. One can often bring this objection against the duties of justice and honesty to others, and through special individual circumstances it can often really seem as if by practicing certain injustices one would take the certain [good] instead of the uncertain. . . . Admittedly, things do not always go well for vicious people, but they are not always good for the virtuous either. And one would probably find more examples of people making good through falsehood and injustice than through strict virtue. At worst, one can only lose one's life, and if that is really the end of everything, one will not mind much. Loopholes like these cannot be blocked except through the certainty of divine command, and our obligation toward it, and through the unalterable justice of God, which will be revealed in due time. . . .

Further Reading

585

Editor's Notes 1. Crusius could not rely on an established vocabulary for the moral notions he is trying to elaborate. For example, Crusius's paragraph here would read more colloquially if the word "obligation" were substituted for "indebtedness," but I have tried to give the reader some sense of Crusius's own problems by carefully distinguishing "indebtedness" from "obligation." 2. Principle through which we can come to know. 3. Die wenigsten. literally "the fewest."

Further Reading Crusius has not been studied much, and most of what has been written about him is in German. Lewis White Beck, Early German Philosophy (Cambridge. Mass.: Harvard University Press. 1969), chap. 16, discusses his epistemological and metaphysical views. Crusius's importance to the development of Kant's ethics is analyzed in Josef Schmucker, Die Urspriinge der Ethik Kants (Meisenheim am Glan, West Germany: Verlag Anton Hain KG, 1961). The only full study of Crusius's own ethics of which 1 know is Magdelene Benden, Christian August Crusius: Wille and Verstand als Prinzipien des Handelns (Bonn: Bouvier Verlag, 1972), which has a good bibliography.

Richard Price

Introduction

Richard Price was a Welsh Dissenting minister who, after writing a major work in moral philosophy, made important contributions to understanding of the statistics involved in life insurance, was active in the political and economic debates of his time, and returned to philosophy to carry on a debate with Joseph Priestley about free will. He was born in 1723, and he died in 1791. One of his last works was a defense of the French Revolution, which prompted Edmund Burke's impassioned attack on it, the Reflections on the Revolution in France. Price had earlier written in favor of the American colonies in the dispute between them and Great Britain. His political defense of the rights of individuals to determine the course of their own lives is of a piece with his philosophical defense of free will and individual agency and with his religious sense of the importance of each person's responsibility for his or her own actions. Price's Review of the Principal Questions in Morals, first published in 1758 and revised for later editions in 1769 and 1787, is one of the most remarkable of British eighteenth-century treatises on ethics, bringing to some of the major controversies of the time a new degree of sophistication and insight. It opens with a long attack on Locke's claim that all ideas must come from sensation or reflection, contending that the mind can be the source of ideas not derived from experience. The epistemological involvement was forced on Price by the moral and religious positions he aimed to defend. He believed that if we grant Locke's epistemology, there may be no way to avoid the Lockean conclusion that morality is simply the result of God's arbitrary command. And this, Price held, destroys the possibility of considering that God has any comprehensible moral character, thereby ruling out any justification of God's ways of treating us. An opposition to voluntarism by means of an appeal to a rationalist epistemology was not new. Price had read Cudworth and Clarke as well as the sentimentalist opposition to them. He added some new arguments in favor of the rationalist claim that morality derives from reason rather than from feeling, and he spelled out more fully than his predecessors did a way in which rationalists could understand the motivation to act as our moral knowledge tells us we should. Price did not deny feeling a role in morality. Like Shaftesbury he held that we all take right action to be morally beautiful, and he interpreted this response as emotional. But, he argued, moral feeling is based on cognitive awareness of the rightness of an action. It is a feeling that necessarily arises when we see that an act is one that ought to be done. It is not simply an arbitrary response due to our animal nature, which might have been otherwise. And although the feeling of the beauty of an action helps move us to do it, moral knowledge taken by

586

Introduction

587

itself is capable of giving us a sufficient motive for action. No additional motive, and certainly no appeal to sanctions, is required. Our intellectual nature is active, not simply contemplative. God gave us the capacity for moral feeling to assist reason, not to be a substitute for it. The intellectualist is always in danger of making morality so independent of God that God's very existence becomes a matter of little moment to morality. Price's view of the relations between virtue and happiness enabled him to guard against that danger. Virtue, he insisted, cannot be reduced to following a single rule or principle. "How unreasonable," Price exclaimed in a Butlerian vein, "is that love of uniformity and simplicity which inclines men thus to seek them where it is so difficult to find them" (Review, chap. 7). According to Price, there are many intuitively evident principles that we are to obey. Benevolence is one of them, but so are truthfulness, piety, justice, and others. Hence "it is not to be conceived, that promoting the happiness of others should comprehend the whole of our duty." If virtue tends to produce happiness in general, it has other tendencies as well. And if virtue need not make others happy in every case, still less is it guaranteed to make its possessor happy in this life. But there is a God, and we know something of his character. He sees the very same moral truths that we see, and he has no temptation to act against them. Hence God is benevolent, and our happiness is the reason he created the world. But God is also just, and so we may infer that he rewards those who are deserving. Because he does not do so on earth, we can be assured that he will do so elsewhere. If this does not suffice to prove immortality, it at least opens the way to the revealed truth of the matter. And this enables us to reflect with joy, Price stated, "that as certainly as God exists, all is well." Who, then, are the deserving? They are those who do as they ought simply because it is what they ought to do. Sensation and feeling are as incapable of explaining all of morality as they are of accounting for all of knowledge. Moral action must originate from us as free, self-determining rational agents. It must show that we see what is right and choose to do it because it is so. Action from feeling cannot have this character. Price did not suppose that people are born ready to act virtuously. For him the moral life is a life of education and discipline, a painful process in which we may either develop virtue within ourselves or fail to do so. Our eternal happiness is at stake, but we can attain it only if we become devoted to duty. Price's philosophical version of Christian morality is as stern in its way as was the older Calvinist version of his forebears. Obedience to law because it is the law is what is required. The eternal law is an expression of God's nature, as God's will is, and so in doing our duty as such, we are obeying God, albeit not in the way that Locke and the Calvinists thought we could do so. Price's views of the unanalyzability of obligation and of the psychology of dutiful action are thus as much an articulation of a fundamental moral and religious outlook as is his rejection of empiricist moral epistemology. They take Price further than his rationalist predecessors had gone in showing what is involved in a morality of duty that insists on the full responsibility of moral agents for their own character and actions. In effect, Price worked out a striking account of what a morality looks like that in itself has no need of a deity. His aim in doing so, however, was to show how we can be independent, self-governing agents while acknowledging our dependence on a just and loving God. The following selections are from the edition of Price's Review of the Principal Questions of Morals edited by D. D. Raphael (Oxford: Oxford University Press.

588

Richard Price

1948), reprinted by permission of the Oxford University Press. The text is that of the third edition, 1787.

A Review of the Principal Questions in Morals CHAPTER I: OF THE ORIGIN OF OUR IDEAS OF RIGHT AND WRONG

Section 1: The Question Stated Concerning the Foundation of Morals Some actions we all feel ourselves irresistibly determined to approve, and others to disapprove. Some actions we cannot but think right, and others wrong, and of all actions we are led to form some opinion, as either fit to be performed or unfit; or neither fit nor unfit to be performed; that is, indifferent. What the power within us is, which thus determines, is the question to be considered. A late very distinguished writer, Dr. Hutcheson,' deduces our moral ideas from a moral sense; meaning by this sense, a power within us, different from reason, which renders certain actions pleasing and others displeasing to us. As we are so made, that certain impressions on our bodily organs shall excite certain ideas in our minds, and that certain outward forms, when presented to us, shall be the necessary occasions of pleasure or pain. In like manner, according to Dr. Hutcheson, we are so made, that certain affections and actions of moral agents shall be the necessary occasions of agreeable or disagreeable sensations in us, and procure our love or dislike of them. He has indeed well shewn, that we have a faculty determining us immediately to approve or disapprove actions, abstracted from all views of private advantage; and that the highest pleasures of life depend upon this faculty. Had he proceeded no farther, and intended nothing more by the moral sense, than our moral faculty in general, little room would have been left for any objections: But then he would have meant by it nothing new, and he could not have been considered as the discoverer of it. From the term sense, which he applies to it, from his rejection of all the arguments that have been used to prove it to be an intellectual power, and from the whole of his language on this subject; it is evident, he considered it as the effect of a positive constitution of our minds, or as an implanted and arbitrary principle by which a relish is given us for certain moral objects and forms and aversion to others, similar to the relishes and aversions created by any of our other senses. In other words; our ideas of morality, if this account is right, have the same origin with our ideas of the sensible qualities of bodies, the harmony of sounds, or the beauties of painting or sculpture; that is, the mere good pleasure of our Maker adapting the mind and its organs in a particular manner to certain objects. Virtue (as those who embrace this scheme say) is an affair of taste. Moral right and wrong, signify nothing in the objects themselves to which they are applied, any more than agreeable and harsh; sweet and bitter; pleasant and painful; but only

A Review of the Principal Questions in Morals

589

certain effects in us. Our perception of right, or moral good, in actions, is that agreeable emotion, or feeling, which certain actions produce in us; and of wrong, or moral evil, the contrary. They are particular modifications of our minds, or impressions which they are made to receive from the contemplation of certain actions, which the contrary actions might have occasioned, had the Author of nature so pleased; and which to suppose to belong to these actions themselves, is as absurd as to ascribe the pleasure or uneasiness, which the observation of a particular form gives us, to the form itself. 'Tis therefore, by this account, improper to say of an action, that it is right, in much the same sense that it is improper to say of an object of taste, that it is sweet; or of pain, that it is in fire. The present enquiry therefore is: whether this be a true account of virtue or not; whether it has or has not a foundation in the nature of its object; whether right and wrong are real characters of actions, or only qualities of our minds; whether, in short, they denote what actions are, or only sensations derived from the particular frame and structure of our natures. Section III: Of the Origin of Our Ideas of Moral Right and Wrong Let us now return to our first enquiry, and apply the foregoing observations to our ideas of right and wrong in particular. 'Tis a very necessary previous observation, that our ideas of right and wrong are simple ideas,' and must therefore be ascribed to some power of immediate perception in the human mind. He that doubts this, need only try to give definitions of them, which shall amount to more than synonymous expressions. Most of the confusion in which the question concerning the foundation of morals has been involved has proceeded from inattention to this remark. There are, undoubtedly, some actions that are ultimately approved, and for justifying which no reason can be assigned; as there are some ends, which are ultimately desired, and for chusing which no reason can be given. Were not this true; there would be an infinite progression of reasons and ends, and therefore nothing could be at all approved or desired. Supposing then, that we have a power immediately perceiving right and wrong: the point I am now to endeavour to prove, is, that this power is the Understanding, agreeably to the assertion at the end of the first section. I cannot but flatter myself, that the main obstacle to the acknowledgment of this, has been already removed, by the observations made in the preceding section, to shew that the understanding is a power of immediate perception, which gives rise to new original ideas; nor do I think it possible that there should have been many disputes on this subject had this been properly considered. But, in order more explicitly and distinctly to evince what I have asserted (in the only way the nature of the question seems capable of) let me, First, Observe, that it implies no absurdity, but evidently may be true. It is undeniable, that many of our ideas are derived from our INTUITION' of truth, or the discernment of the natures of things by the understanding. This there-

590

Richard Price

fore may be the source of our moral ideas. It is at least possible, that right and wrong may denote what we understand and know concerning certain objects, in like manner with proportion and disproportion, connexion and repugnancy, contingency and necessity, and the other ideas before-mentioned. — I will add, that nothing has been offered which has any tendency to prove the contrary. All that can appear, from the objections and reasonings of the Author of the Enquiry into the Original of Our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue, 4 is only, what has been already observed, and what does not in the least affect the point in debate: Namely, that the words right and wrong, fit and unfit, express simple and undeniable ideas. But that the power perceiving them is properly a sense and not reason; that these ideas denote nothing true of actions, nothing in the nature of actions; this, he has left entirely without proof. He appears, indeed, to have taken for granted, that if virtue and vice are immediately perceived, they must be perceptions of an implanted sense. But no conclusion could have been more hasty. For will any one take upon him to say, that all powers of immediate perception must be arbitrary and implanted; or that there can be no simple ideas denoting any thing besides the qualities and passions of the mind? — In short. Whatever some writers have said to the contrary, it is certainly a point not yet decided, that virtue is wholly factitious, and to be felt not understood. As there are some propositions, which, when attended to, necessarily determine all minds to believe them: And as (which will be shewn hereafter) there are some ends, whose natures are such, that, when perceived, all beings immediately and necessarily desire them: So is it very credible, that, in like manner, there are some actions whose natures are such, that, when observed, all rational beings immediately and necessarily approve them. I do not at all care what follows from Mr. Hume's assertion, that all our ideas are either impressions, or copies of impressions; or from Mr. Locke's assertion that they are all deducible from SENSATION and REFLEXION. 3 The first of these assertions is, I think, destitute of all proof; supposes, when applied in this as well as many other cases, the point in question; and, when pursued to its consequences, ends in the destruction of all truth and the subversion of our intellectual faculties. — The other wants much explication to render it consistent with any tolerable account of the original of our moral ideas: Nor does there seem to be any thing necessary to convince a person, that all our ideas are not deducible from sensation and reflexion, except taken in a very large and comprehensive sense, besides considering how Mr. Locke derives from them our moral ideas. He places them among our ideas of relations, and represents rectitude as signifying the conformity of actions to some rules or laws; which rules or laws, he says, are either the will of God, the decrees of the magistrate, or the fashion of the country: From whence it follows, that it is an absurdity to apply rectitude to rules and laws themselves; to suppose the divine will to be directed by it; or to consider it as itself a rule and law. But, it is undoubted, that this great man would have detested these -

A Review of the Principal Questions in Morals

591

consequences; and, indeed, it is sufficiently evident, that he was strangely embarrassed in his notions on this, as well as some other subjects. But, Secondly, I know of no better way of determining this point, than by referring those who doubt it to common sense, and putting them upon considering the nature of their own perceptions. — Could we suppose a person, who, when he perceived an external object, was at a loss to determine whether he perceived it by means of his organs of sight or touch; what better method could be taken to satisfy him? There is no possibility of doubting in any such cases. And it seems not more difficult to determine in the present case. . . . It is true, some impressions of pleasure or pain, satisfaction or disgust, generally attend our perceptions of virtue and vice. But these are merely their effects and concomitants, and not the perceptions themselves, which ought no more to be confounded with them, than a particular truth (like that for which Pythagoras offered a Hecatomb)`' ought to be confounded with the pleasure that may attend the discovery of it. Some emotion or other accompanies, perhaps, all our perceptions; but more remarkably our perceptions of right and wrong. And this, as will be again observed in the next chapter, is what has led to the mistake of making them to signify nothing but impressions, which error some have extended to all objects and knowledge; and thus have been led into an extravagant and monstrous scepticism. . . . if right and wrong denote effects of sensation, it must imply the greatest absurdity to suppose them applicable to actions: That is; the ideas of right and wrong and of action, must in this case be incompatible; as much so, as the idea of pleasure and a regular form, or of pain and the collisions of bodies. — All sensations, as such, are modes of consciousness, or feelings of a sentient being, which must be of a nature totally different from the particular causes which produce them. A coloured body, if we speak accurately, is the same absurdity with a square sound. We need no experiments to prove that heat, cold, colours, tastes, &c. are not real qualities of bodies; because the ideas of matter and of these qualities, are imcompatible. — But is there indeed any such incompatibility between actions and right? Or any such absurdity in affirming the one of the other? — Are the ideas of them as different as the idea of a sensation, and its cause? On the contrary; the more we enquire, the more indisputable, I imagine, it will appear to us, that we express necessary truth, when we say of some actions, they are right; and of others, they are wrong. . . . In the last place; let it be considered, that all actions, undoubtedly, have a nature. That is, some character certainly belongs to them, and somewhat there is to be truly affirmed of them. This may be, that some of them are right, others wrong. But if this is not allowed; if no actions are, in themselves, either right or wrong, or any thing of a moral and obligatory nature, which can be an object to the understanding; it follows, that, in themselves, they are all indifferent. This is what is essentially true of them, and this is what all understandings, that perceive right, must perceive them to be. But are we not conscious, that we

592

Richard Price

perceive the contrary? And have we not as much reason to believe the contrary, as to believe or trust at all our own discernment? .. . The following important corollary arises from these arguments: That morality is eternal and immutable. Right and wrong, it appears, denote what actions are. Now whatever any thing is, that it is, not by will, or decree, or power, but by nature and necessity. Whatever a triangle or circle is, that it is unchangeably and eternally. It depends upon no will or power, whether the three angles of a triangle and two right ones shall be equal; whether the periphery of a circle and its diameter shall be incommensurable; or whether matter shall be divisible, moveable, passive, and inert. Every object of the understanding has an indivisible and invariable essence; from whence arise its properties, and numberless truths concerning it. Omnipotence does not consist in a power to alter the nature of things, and to destroy necessary truth (for this is contradictory, and would infer the destruction of all wisdom, and knowledge) but in an absolute command over all particular, external existences, to create or destroy them, or produce any possible changes among them. — The natures of things then being immutable; whatever we suppose the natures of actions to be, they must be immutably. If they are indifferent, this indifference is itself immutable, and there neither is nor can be any one thing that, in reality, we ought to do rather than another. The same is to be said of right and wrong, of moral good and evil, as far as they express real characters of actions. They must immutably and necessarily belong to those actions of which they are truly affirmed. No will, therefore, can render any thing good and obligatory, which was not so antecedently, and from eternity; or any action right, that is not so in itself; meaning by action, not the bare external effect produced, but the ultimate principle of conduct, or the determination of a reasonable being, considered as arising from the perception of some motives and reasons and intended for some end. According to this sense of the word action, whenever the principle from which we act is different, the action is different, though the external effects produced, may be the same. If we attend to this, the meaning and truth of what I have just observed, will be easily seen. CHAPTER II: OF OUR IDEAS OF THE BEAUTY AND DEFORMITY OF ACTIONS . . . Our intellectual faculties are in their infancy. The lowest degrees of reason are sufficient to discover moral distinctions in general; because these are self-evident, and included in the ideas of certain actions and characters. They must, therefore, appear to all who are capable of making actions the objects of their reflexion. But the extent to which they appear, and the accuracy and force with which they are discerned; and, consequently, their influence, must, so far as they are the objects of pure intelligence, be in proportion to the strength and improvement of the rational faculties of beings and their acquaintance with truth and the natures of things.

A Review of the Principal Questions in Morals

593

From hence, it must appear, that in men it is necessary that the rational principle, or the intellectual discernment of right and wrong, should be aided by instinctive determinations. — The dictates of mere reason, being slow, and deliberate, would be otherwise much too weak. The condition in which we are placed, renders many urgent passions necessary for us; and these cannot but often interfere with our sentiments of rectitude. Reason alone, (imperfect as it is in us) is by no means sufficient to defend us against the danger to which, in such circumstances, we are exposed. Our Maker has, therefore, wisely provided remedies for its imperfections; and established a due balance in our frame by annexing to our intellectual perceptions sensations and instincts, which give them greater weight and force. In short. The truth seems to be that, "in contemplating the actions of moral agents, we have both a perception of the understanding, and a feeling of the heart; and that the latter, or the effects in us accompanying our moral perceptions, depend on two causes. Partly, on the positive constitution of our natures: But principally on the essential congruity or incongruity between moral ideas and our intellectual faculties." It may be difficult to determine the precise limits between these two sources of our mental feelings; and to say, how far the effects of the one are blended with those of the other. It is undoubted, that we should have felt and acted otherwise than we now do, if the decisions of reason had been left entirely without support; nor is it easy to imagine how pernicious to us this would have proved. On this account it cannot be doubted, but that both the causes I have mentioned unite their influence: And the great question in morality is, not whether we owe much to implanted senses and determinations; but whether we owe all to them. It was, probably, in consequence of not duly considering the difference I have now insisted on between the honestum and pulchrum (the oixaiov and xotkOv); 7 or of not carefully distinguishing between the discernment of the mind, and the sensations attending it in our moral perceptions; that the Author of the Enquiry into the Original of Our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue, was led to derive all our ideas of virtue from an implanted sense. Moral good and evil, he every where describes, by the effects accompanying the perception of them. The rectitude of an action is, with him, the same with its gratefulness to the observer; and wrong, the contrary. But what can be more evident, than that right and pleasure, wrong and pain, are as different as a cause and its effect; what is understood, and what is felt; absolute truth, and its agreeableness to the mind. — Let it be granted, as undoubtedly it must, that some degree of pleasure is inseparable from the observation of virtuous actions: It is just as unreasonable to infer from hence, that the discernment of virtue is nothing distinct from the reception of this pleasure; as it would be to infer, as some have done, that solidity, extension, and figure are only particular modes of sensation; because attended, whenever they are perceived, with some sensations of sight or touch, and impossible to be conceived by the imagination without them. . . .

Richard Price

594 CHAPTER

OF THE ORIGIN OF OUR DESIRES AND AFFECTIONS

. . . Each of our affections has its particular end. SELF-LOVE leads us to desire and pursue private, and BENEVOLENCE, public happiness. AMBITION is the love of fame, and distinction; and CURIOSITY is the love of what is new and uncommon. The objects of these and all our other . affections, are desired for their own sakes; and constitute so many distinct principles of action. What is not at all desired for itself, but only as a means of something else, cannot, with any propriety, be called the object of an affection. If, for example, according to the opinion of some, we desire every thing merely as the means of our own good, and with an ultimate view to it, then in reality we desire nothing but our own good, and have only the one single affection of self-love. As all moral approbation and disapprobation, and our ideas of beauty and deformity, have been ascribed to an INTERNAL SENSE; meaning by this, not "any inward power of perception," but "an implanted power, different from reason"; so, all our desires and affections have, in like manner, been ascribed to INSTINCT, meaning by instinct, not merely "the immediate desire of an object," but "the reason of this desire; or an implanted propension." — The former opinion I have already at large examined. I am now to examine the latter. "Is then all desire to be considered as wholly instinctive? Is it, in particular, owing to nothing but an original bias given our natures, which they might have either wanted or have received in a contrary direction; that we are at all concerned for our own good, or for the good of others?" As far as this enquiry relates to private good, we may without hesitation answer in the negative. The desire of happiness for ourselves, certainly arises not from INSTINCT. The full and adequate account of it, is, the nature of happiness. It is impossible, but that creatures capable of pleasant and painful sensations, should love and chuse the one, and dislike and avoid the other. No being, who knows what happiness and misery are, can be supposed indifferent to them, without a plain contradiction. Pain is not a possible object of desire; nor happiness, of aversion. No power whatsoever can cause a creature, in the agonies of torture and misery, to be pleased with his state, to like it for itself, or to wish to remain so. Nor can any power cause a creature rejoicing in bliss to dislike his state, or be afraid of its continuance. Then only can this happen, when pain can be agreeable, and pleasure disagreeable; that is, when pain can be pleasure; and pleasure, pain. From hence I infer, that it is by no means, in general, an absurd method of explaining our affections, to derive them from the natures of things and of beings. For thus without doubt we are to account for one of the most important and active of all our affections. To the preference and desire of private happiness by all beings, nothing more is requisite than to know what it is. public happiness? May not benevo-—"Andmaynothisbetru,likews,of lence be essential to intelligent beings, as well as self-love to sensible beings?"

A Review of the Principal Questions in Morals

595

But to enter a little more minutely into the discussion of this point. Let us, again, put the case of a being purely reasonable. It is evident, that (though by supposition void of implanted byasses) he would not want all principles of action, and all inclinations. It has been shown he would perceive VIRTUE, and possess affection to it, in proportion to the degree of his knowledge. The nature of happiness also would engage him to chuse and desire it for himself. And is it credible that, at the same time, he would be necessarily indifferent about it for others? Can it be supposed to have that in it, which would determine him to seek it for himself; and yet to have nothing in it, which could engage him to approve of it for others? Would the nature of things, upon this supposition, be consistent? Would he not be capable of seeing, that the happiness of others is to them as important as his is to him; and that it is in itself equally valuable and desirable, whoever possesses it? Let us again enquire; would not this being assent to this proposition; "happiness is better than misery?" — A definition has been asked of the word better here. With equal reason might a definition be asked of the word greater, when the whole is affirmed to be greater than a part. Both denote simple ideas, and both truth. The one, what happiness is, compared with misery; and the other, what the whole is, compared with a part. And a mind that should think happiness not to be better than misery, would mistake as grossly, as a mind that should believe the whole not to be greater than a part. It cannot therefore be reasonably doubted, but that such a being, upon a comparison of happiness and misery, would as unavoidably as he perceives their difference, prefer the one to the other; and chuse the one rather than the other, for his fellow-beings. . . . I cannot help, in this place, stepping aside a little to take notice of an opinion already referred to; I mean, the opinion of those who will allow of no ultimate object of desire besides private good. What has led to this opinion has been inattention to the difference between desire, and the pleasure implied in the gratification of it. The latter is subsequent to the former, and founded in it: That is, an object, such as fame, knowledge, or the welfare of a friend, is desired, not because we foresee that when obtained, it will give us pleasure; but, vice versa; obtaining it gives us pleasure, because we previously desired it or had an affection carrying us to it and resting in it. And, were there no such affections, the very foundations of happiness would be destroyed. It cannot be conceived, that obtaining what we do not desire, should be the cause of pleasure to us; or that what we are perfectly indifferent to, and is not the end of any affection, should, upon being possessed, be the means of any kind of gratification. Besides; if every object of desire is considered — merely as the cause of pleasure; one would think, that, antecedently to experience, no one object could be desired more than another; and that the first time we contemplated fame, knowledge, or the happiness of others; or had any of the objects of our natural passions and desires proposed to us, we must have been absolutely indifferent to them, and remained so, till, by some means, we were convinced of the connexion between them and pleasure.

596

Richard Price

For farther satisfaction on this point, nothing can be more proper than to consider; whether, supposing we could enjoy the same pleasure without the object of our desire, we should be indifferent to it. Could we enjoy pleasures equivalent to those attending knowledge, or the approbation of others, without them, or with infamy and ignorance, would we no longer wish for the one or be averse to the other? Would a person lose all curiosity, and be indifferent whether he stirred a step to gratify it, were he assured he should receive equal sensations of pleasure by staying where he is? Did you believe, that the prosperity of your nearest kindred, your friends or your country, would be the means of no greater happiness to you, than their misery; would you lose all love to them, and all desires of their good? — Would you not chuse to enjoy the same quantity of pleasure with virtue, rather than without it? — An unbiassed mind must spurn at such enquiries; and any one, who would, in this manner, examine himself, might easily find, that all his affections and appetites (self-love itself excepted) are, in their nature, disinterested; and that, though the seat of them be self and the effect of them the gratification of self their direct tendency is always to some particular object different from private pleasure, beyond which they carry not our view. So far is it from being true, that, in following their impulses, we aim at nothing but our own interest; that we continually feel them drawing us astray from what we know to be our interest; and may observe men every day carried by them to actions and pursuits, which they acknowledge to be ruinous to them. CHAPTER V: OF THE RELATION OF MORALITY TO THE DIVINE NATURE . . . I shall conclude this chapter with a few observations on the general grounds of belief and assent. These may be all comprehended under the three following heads. The first is immediate consciousness or FEELING. It is absurd to ask a reason for our believing what we feel, or are inwardly conscious of. A thinking being must necessarily have a capacity of discovering some things in this way. It is from hence particularly we acquire the knowledge of our own existence, and of the several operations, passions, and sensations of our minds. And it is also under this head I would comprehend the information we derive from our powers of recollection or memory. The second ground of belief is INTUITION; by which I mean the mind's survey of its own ideas, and the relations between them, and the notice it takes of what is or is not true and false, consistent and inconsistent, possible and impossible in the natures of things. It is to this, as has been explained at large in the first chapter, we owe our belief of all self-evident truths; our ideas of the general, abstract affections and relations of things; our moral ideas, and whatsoever else we discover, without making use of any process of reasoning. — It is on this power of intuition, essential, in some degree or other, to all rational minds, that the whole possibility of all reasoning is founded. To it the last

A Review of the Principal Questions in Morals

597

appeal is ever made. Many of its perceptions are capable, by attention, of being rendered more clear; and many of the truths discovered by it, may be illustrated by an advantageous representation of them, or by being viewed in particular lights; but seldom will admit of proper proof. — Some truths there must be, which can appear only by their own light, and which are incapable of proof; otherwise nothing could be proved, or known; in the same manner as, if there were no letters, there could be no words, or if there were no simple and undefinable ideas, there could be no complex ideas. — I might mention many instances of truths discernible no other way than intuitively, which learned men have strangely confounded and obscured, by supposing them subjects of reasoning and deduction. One of the most important instances, the subject of this treatise affords us; and another we have, in our notions of the necessity of a cause of whatever begins to exist, and our general ideas of power and connexion: And, sometimes, reason has been ridiculously employed to prove even our own existence.' .. . CHAPTER VI: OF FITNESS, AND MORAL OBLIGATION, AND THE VARIOUS FORMS OF EXPRESSION, WHICH HAVE BEEN USED BY DIFFERENT WRITERS IN EXPLAINING MORALITY

After the account that has been given of the nature and origin of our ideas of morality; it will be easy to perceive the meaning of several terms and phrases, which are commonly used in speaking on this subject. Fitness and unfitness most frequently denote the congruity or incongruity, aptitude or inaptitude of any means to accomplish an end. But when applied to actions, they generally signify the same with right and wrong; nor is it often hard to determine in which of these senses these words are to be understood. It is worth observing, that fitness, in the former sense, is equally undefinable with fitness in the latter; or, that it is as impossible to express, in any other than synonymous words, what we mean, when we say of certain objects, "that they have a fitness to one another; or are fit to answer certain purposes," as it is when we say, "reverencing the Deity is fit, or beneficence is fit to be practised." In the first of these instances, none can avoid owning the absurdity of making an arbitrary sense the source of the idea of fitness, and of concluding that it signifies nothing real in objects, and that no one thing can be properly the means of another. In both cases the term fit, signifies a simple perception of the understanding. Morally good and evil, reasonable and unreasonable, are epithets also commonly applied to actions, evidently meaning the same with right and wrong, fit and unfit. Approving an action is the same with discerning it to be right; as assenting to a proposition is the same with discerning it to be true. But Obligation is the term most necessary to be here considered; and to the explication of it, the best part of this chapter shall be devoted. Obligation to action, and rightness of action, are plainly coincident and

598

Richard Price

identical; so far so, that we cannot form a notion of the one, without taking in the other. This may appear to any one upon considering, whether he can point out any difference between what is right, meet or fit to be done, and what ought to be done. It is not indeed plainer, that figure implies something figured, solidity resistance, or an effect a cause, than it is that rightness implies oughtness (if I may be allowed this word) or obligatoriness. And as easily can we conceive of figure without extension, or motion without a change of place, as that it can be fit for us to do an action, and yet that it may not be what we should do, what it is our duty to do, or what we are under an obligation to do. — Right, fit, ought, should, duty, obligation, convey, then, ideas necessarily including one another. From hence it follows, First, That virtue, as such, has a real obligatory power antecedently to all positive laws, and independently of all will; for obligation, we see, is involved in the very nature of it. To affirm, that the performance of that, which, to omit, would be wrong, is not obligatory, unless conducive to private good or enjoined by a superior power, is a manifest contradiction. It is to say, that it is not true, that a thing is what it is; or that we are obliged to do what we ought to do; unless it be the object of a command, or, in some manner, privately useful. — If there are any actions fit to be done by an agent, besides such as tend to his own happiness, those actions, by the terms, are obligatory, independently of their influence on his happiness. — Whatever it is wrong to do, that it is our duty not to do, whether enjoined or not by any positive law. — I cannot conceive of any thing much more evident than this. — It appears, therefore, that those who maintain that all obligation is to be deduced from positive laws, the Divine will, or self-love, assert what (if they mean any thing contrary to what is here said) implies, that the words right and just stand for no real and distinct characters of actions; but signify merely what is willed and commanded, or conducive to private advantage, whatever that be; so that any thing may be both right and wrong, morally good and evil, at the same time and in any circumstances, as it may be commanded or forbidden by different laws and wills; and any the most pernicious effects will become just, and fit to be produced by any being, if but the smallest degree of clear advantage or pleasure may result to him from them. Those who say, nothing can oblige but the will of God, generally resolve the power of this to oblige to the annexed rewards and punishments. And thus, in reality, they subvert entirely the independent natures of moral good and evil; and are forced to maintain, that nothing can oblige, but the prospect of pleasure to be obtained, or pain to be avoided. If this be true, it follows that vice is, properly, no more than imprudence; that nothing is right or wrong, just or unjust, any farther than it affects self-interest; and that a being, independently and completely happy, cannot have any moral perceptions. The justness of these inferences cannot be denied by one, who will attend to the coincidence here insisted on between obligation and virtue. But to pursue this point farther; let me ask, would a person who either believes there is no God, or that he does not concern himself with human

A Review of the Principal Questions in Morals

599

affairs, feel no moral obligations, and therefore not be at all accountable? Would one, who should happen not to be convinced, that virtue tends to his happiness here or hereafter, be released from every bond of duty and morality? Or, would he, if he believed no future state, and that, in any instance, virtue was against his present interest, be truly obliged, in these instances, to be wicked? — These consequences must follow, if obligation depends entirely on the knowledge of the will of a superior, or on the connexion between actions and private interest. — Another observation worthy our notice in this place, is, that rewards and punishments suppose, in the very idea of them, moral obligation, and are founded upon it. They do not make it, but enforce it. They are the sanctions of virtue, and not its efficients. A reward supposes something done to deserve it, or a conformity to obligation subsisting previously to it; and punishment is always inflicted on account of some breach of obligation. Were we under no obligations, antecedently to the proposal of rewards and punishments, it would be a contradiction to suppose us subjects capable of them. — A person without any light besides that of nature, and supposed ignorant of a future state of rewards and punishments and the will of the Deity, might discover these by reasoning from his natural notions of morality and duty. But were the latter dependent on the former, and not vice versa; this could not be said, nor should we have any principles left, from which to learn the will of the Deity, and the conditions of his favour to us. Secondly, From the account given of obligation, it follows that rectitude is a law as well as a rule to us; that it not only directs, but binds all, as far as it is perceived. — With respect to its being a rule, we may observe, that a rule of action signifying some measure or standard to which we are to conform our actions, or some information we possess concerning what we ought to do, there can, in this sense, be no other rule of action; all besides, to which this name can be properly given, implying it, or signifying only helps to the discovery of it. To perceive or to be informed how it is right to act, is the very notion of a direction to act. And it must be added, that it is such a direction as implies authority, and which we cannot disregard or neglect without remorse and pain. Reason is the guide, the natural and authoritative guide of a rational being. Where he has no discernment of right and wrong, there, and there only, is he (morally speaking) free. But where he has this discernment, where moral good appears to him, and he cannot avoid pronouncing concerning an action, that it is fit to be done, and evil to omit it; here he is tied in the most strict and absolute manner, in bonds that no power in nature can dissolve, and from which he can at no time, or in any single instance, break loose, without offering the most unnatural violence to himself; without making an inroad into his own soul, and immediately pronouncing his own sentence. Thirdly, From the account given of obligation, it appears how absurd it is to enquire, what obliges us to practise virtue? as if obligation was no part of the idea of virtue, but something adventitious and foreign to it; that is, as if what was due, might not be our duty, or what was wrong, unlawful; or as if it might

600

Richard Price

not be true, that what it is fit to do we ought to do, and that what we ought to do, we are obliged to do. — To ask, why are we obliged to practise virtue, to abstain from what is wicked, or perform what is just, is the very same as to ask, why we are obliged to do what we are obliged to do? — It is not possible to avoid wondering at those, who have so unaccountably embarrassed themselves, on a subject that one would think was attended with no difficulty; and who, because they cannot find any thing in virtue and duty themselves, which can induce us to pay a regard to them in our practice, fly to self-love, and maintain that from hence alone are derived all inducement and obligation. Fourthly, From what has been observed, it may appear, in what sense obligation is ascribed to God. It is no more than ascribing to him the perception of rectitude, or saying, that there are certain ends, and certain measures in the administration of the world, which he approves, and which are better to be pursued than others. — Great care, however, should be taken, what language we here use. Obligation is a word to which many persons have affixed several ideas, which should by no means be retained when we speak of God. Our language and our conceptions, whenever he is the subject of them, are always extremely defective and inadequate, and often very erroneous. — There are many who think it absurd and shocking to attribute any thing of obligation or law to a being who is necessarily sufficient and independent, and to whom nothing can be prior or superior. How, I conceive, we are to frame our apprehensions on this subject, has already, in some measure, appeared. It should, methinks, be enough to satisfy such persons, that the obligations ascribed to the Deity arise entirely from and exist in his own nature; and that the eternal, unchangeable LAW, by which it has been said, he is directed in all his actions, is no other than HIMSELF; his own infinite, eternal, all perfect understanding. Fifthly, What has been said also shews us, on what the obligations of religion and the Divine will are founded. They are plainly branches of universal rectitude. Our obligation to obey God's will means nothing, but that obedience is due to it, or that it is right and fit to comply with it. What an absurdity is it then, to make obligation subsequent to the Divine will, and the creature of it? For why, upon this supposition, does not all will oblige equally? If there be any thing which gives the preference to one will above another; that, by the terms, is moral rectitude. CHAPTER VIII: OF THE PRINCIPLE OF ACTION IN A VIRTUOUS AGENT

In further explaining and proving what I have now in view, it will be proper to shew, "that the perception of right and wrong does excite to action, and is alone a sufficient principle of action"; after which we shall be better prepared for judging, "how far, without it, there can be practical virtue." Experience, and the reason of the thing, will, if we attentively consult them, soon satisfy us about the first of these points. All men continually feel, that

A Review of the Principal Questions in Morals

601

the perception of right and wrong excites to action; and it is so much their natural and unavoidable sense that this is true, that there are few or none, who, upon having it at first proposed to them, would not wonder at its being questioned. There are many supposable cases and circumstances, in which it is impossible to assign any other reason of action. Why would we, all circumstances on both sides being the same, help a benefactor rather than a stranger; or one to whom we had given promises, and made professions of kindness, rather than one to whom we were under no engagements? Why would any good being chuse such methods to accomplish his end as were consistent with faithfulness and veracity, -rather than such as implied deceit and falsehood; though he knew the latter to be equally safe, or, in a great degree, even more safe, more easy and expeditious? — Is it only for our own sakes, or out of a view to public utility, that we obey and honour the Deity? — How are we to account for a man's refraining from secret fraud, or his practising truth, sincerity, equity, justice, and honour, in many particular instances of their interfering, or seeming to interfere, with private and publick good, as well as with his strongest natural desires? — Let any one, for example, try what reasons he can find from benevolence or self-interest, why an honest man, though in want, though sure of being never suspected, would not secure a good estate, ease and plenty to himself, and relief and aid to his neighbours, by secreting or interpolating a will by which it of right devolved on a worthless person, already sufficiently provided for, and who, in all likelihood, would use it only to make himself and others miserable? What could influence, in such and many other like circumstances, besides a sense of duty and honesty? Or what other universal motive can there be to the practice of justice? But further, it seems extremely evident, that excitement belongs to the very ideas of moral right and wrong, and is essentially inseparable from the apprehension of them. The account in a former chapter of obligation, is enough to shew this. — When we are conscious that an action is fit to be done, or that it ought to be done, it is not conceivable that we can remain uninfluenced, or want a motive to action. It would be to little purpose to argue much with a person, who would deny this; or who would maintain, that the becomingness or reasonableness of an action is no reason for doing it; and the immorality or unreasonableness of an action, no reason against doing it. An affection or inclination to rectitude cannot be separated from the view of it.* The knowl* Those who own, that an action may not be less right, though certain to produce no overbalance of private pleasure; and yet assert that nothing, but the prospect of this to be obtained, can influence the will, must also maintain, that the mere rightness of an action, or the consideration that it is tit to he done, apart from the consideration of the pleasure attending or following it, would leave us quite uninclined, and indifferent to the performance or omission of it. This is so inconceivable, that those whose principles oblige them to admit it. cannot, one would think. really mean by right and wrong the same with the rest of mankind. That, supposing virtue to denote any thing distinct from pleasure and independent of it. it is possible to conceive, that a virtuous action may not produce an overbalance of private pleasure; or. which answers the purpose as well, that an agent may believe this of an action to he done by him, which yet he does not the less consider as virtuous, it would be trifling to say any thing to prove: But this it is necessary those, whose opinion I have now in view, should deny.

602

Richard Price

edge of what is right, without any approbation of it, or concern to practise it, is not conceivable or possible. And this knowledge will certainly be attended with correspondent, actual practice, whenever there is nothing to oppose it. Why a reasonable being acts reasonably; why he has a disposition to follow reason, and is not without aversion to wrong; why he chuses to do what he knows he should do, and cannot be wholly indifferent, whether he abstains from that which he knows is evil and criminal, and not to be done, are questions which need not, and which deserve not to be answered. Instincts, therefore, as before observed in other instances, are not necessary to the choice of ends. The intellectual nature is its own law. It has, within itself, a spring and guide of action which it cannot suppress or reject. Rectitude is itself an end, an ultimate end, an end superior to all other ends, governing, directing and limiting them, and whose existence and influence depend on nothing arbitrary. It presides over all. Every appetite and faculty, every instinct and will, and all nature are subjected to it. To act from affection to it, is to act with light, and conviction, and knowledge. But acting from instinct is so far acting in the dark, and following a blind guide. Instinct drives and precipitates; but reason commands. The impulses of instinct we may resist, without doing any violence to ourselves. Our highest merit and perfection often consist in this. The dictates of reason we can, in no instance, contradict, without a sense of shame, and giving our beings a wound in their most essential and sensible part. The experience we have of the operations of the former, is an argument of our imperfection, and meanness, and low rank. The other prevails most in the higher ranks of beings. It is the chief glory of God, that he is removed infinitely from the possibility of any other principle of action. It being therefore apparent that the determination of our minds concerning the nature of actions as morally good or bad, suggests a motive to do or avoid them; it being also plain that this determination or judgment, though often not the prevailing, yet is always the first, the proper, and most natural and intimate spring and guide of the actions of reasonable beings: Let us now enquire, whether it be not further the only spring of action in a reasonable being, as far as he can be deemed morally good and worthy; whether it be not the only principle from which all actions flow which engage our esteem of the agents; or, in other words, whether virtue be not itself the end of a virtuous agent as such. If we consider that alone as most properly done by an agent, which he designs to do, and that what was no way an object of his design is not strictly imputable to him, or at least cannot give him any claim to merit or praise, it will follow that he cannot be properly said to practise virtue who does not design to practise it, to whom it is no object of regard, or who has it not at all in his view. It seems indeed as evident as we can wish any thing to be, that an action which is under no influence or direction from a moral judgment, cannot be in the practical sense moral; that when virtue is not pursued or intended, there is no virtue in the agent. Morally good intention, without any idea of

Further Reading

603

moral good, is a contradiction. To act virtuously is to obey or follow reason: But can this be done without knowing and designing it? But it may be asked, "is not Benevolence a virtuous principle? And do we not approve all actions proceeding from it?" — I answer, Benevolence, it has been shewn, is of two kinds, rational and instinctive. Rational benevolence entirely coincides with rectitude, and the actions proceeding from it, with the actions proceeding from a regard to rectitude. And the same is to be said of all those affections and desires, which would arise in a nature as intelligent. It is not possible that endeavours to obtain an end which, as reasonable, we cannot but love and chuse, should not be by reason approved; or that what is necessarily desirable to all beings, should not be also necessarily right to be pursued. But instinctive benevolence is no principle of virtue, nor are any actions flowing merely from it virtuous. As far as this influences, so far something else than reason and goodness influences, and so much I think is to be subtracted from the moral worth of any action or character. This observation agrees perfectly with the common sentiments and determinations of mankind. Wherever the influence of mere natural temper or inclination appears, and a particular conduct is known to proceed from hence, we may, it is true, love the person, as we commonly do the inferior creatures when they discover mildness and tractableness of disposition; but no regard to him as a virtuous agent will arise within us. Editor's Notes 1. Much of Price's argument is directed against the moral philosophy of Francis Hutcheson, whose work is represented in selections earlier in this book. 2. Like Hutcheson, Price distinguished between simple and complex ideas, without arguing for or explaining the distinction. 3. Price explained what he meant by "intuition" in Chapter V. 4. Francis Hutcheson. 5. Hume, A Treatise of Human Nature, I.I.i.; Locke, An Essay Concerning Human Understanding, 11.1.2. 6. A hecatomb is a sacrifice to the gods of a hundred cattle, or any similarly large offering of living animals. Pythagoras is traditionally said to have offered a hecatomb in thanks for his discovery that the square of the hypotenuse of a right triangle equals the sum of the squares of the two sides. 7. The just or decent and the beautiful or lovely. Price claimed that the Romans and Greeks made the distinction he is making in this chapter. 8. The third ground of belief is argument, which Price thought we use when intuition fails us, a very Cartesian view.

Further Reading The only collected edition of Price's works is the one edited by William Morgan in 1815-16. Price's correspondence is now being edited by W. Bernard Peach and D. 0. Thomas. D. D. Raphael's "Introduction" to his edition of the Review of the Principal Questions of Morals, from which the selections here are taken, is a good survey of the main

604

Richard Price

points of Price's ethics. Three books offer analytic studies of Price's moral philosophy: Lennart Aquist, The Moral Philosophy of Richard Price (Lund and Copenhagen: CWK Gleerup and Ejnar Munksgaard, 1960); A. S. Cua, Reason and Virtue (Athens: University of Ohio Press, 1966); and W. D. Hudson, Reason and Right (San Francisco: Freeman, 1970). Price is briefly discussed in the final chapter of Arthur Prior, Logic and the Basis of Ethics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1949); the entire volume is useful in providing some of the context of Price's work. D. 0. Thomas, The Honest Mind: The Thought and Work of Richard Price (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1977), provides a survey of the whole of Price's thought and contains a good bibliography. Carl B. Cone, Torchbearer of Freedom: The Influence of Richard Price on the Eighteenth Century (Lexington: University of Kentucky Press, 1952), discusses Price in relation to his times.

Jean-Jacques Rousseau

Introduction In his later years Rousseau was proud of having been born a citizen of Geneva, but his childhood there was unhappy. His mother died almost immediately after his birth on June 28, 1712, and when he was sixteen he ran away from the home in which he had not been given much attention. He was befriended by an older woman, Mme. de Warens, through whose influence he converted to Roman Catholicism. While living with her he read a great deal and studied music, at which he hoped to earn a living. In 1742 Rousseau made his way to Paris, where he eventually obtained a post as secretary to the French ambassador to Venice. After losing his job because of a quarrel, he returned to Paris. There he established a liaison with an uneducated woman by whom he had five children, all of whom he sent to be raised in a home for foundlings. In 1750 Rousseau won first prize in a contest with his Discourse on the Arts and Sciences. An opera he had written was performed with great success as well. He had been enlisted to write on music for the Encyclopedia, the repository of advanced thinking and up-to-date science that became one of the principal vehicles of enlightened throught, and he developed friendships with many of the other encyclopedists. In 1754 he rejoined his original Protestant church. The next years were a period of intense creative activity. In 1755 Rousseau published a second discourse, On the Origin of inequality; in 1761 his novel. Julie; or, The New Heloise, was published, winning immense popular acclaim; and in 1762 there appeared both his book on education, Emile, and his main political work, The Social Contract. Emile was condemned for the dangerous religious views it contained, and consequently Rousseau decided to flee Paris. For some years he led a restless life, haunted by fears of persecution. He went to England at David Hume's invitation, only to decide that Hume was part of a plot against him. He returned to France, finally settling in Paris again. Isolated from the encyclopedists by his anxieties as well as by his theories and protected by various wealthy patrons, Rousseau wrote an extraordinary autobiography, Confessions (published posthumously), as well as autobiographical and apologetic essays. After his death in 1778 he became a cult figure and popular hero, and his works inspired many of those who instigated the French Revolution. Was Rousseau a philosopher? It hardly seems to matter. He had carefully studied the writers of modern natural law, and he knew much of the philosophy of his time. If his own theories did not always appear in the form of philosophical treatises, they nevertheless exerted a major influence on the philosophy that followed them. including that of Kant. Rousseau had metaphysical and epistemological views, but his interests in moral personality and in politics were at the center of his thinking. In his fiction

605

606

Jean-Jacques Rousseau

as well as his more abstract writings, he presented a new vision of the self and its changing relations to other individuals and to society. It is this vision that makes him a significant figure for the history of moral thought. Rousseau rejected the idea that the self exists and can be understood without taking into account its social relations. Grotius, Hobbes, and Pufendorf all assumed that the isolated individual in a state of nature has all the attributes needed to explain the fundamentals of morality. But Rousseau found this absurd. Individuals in a state of nature would be much more like animals than the natural lawyers supposed. Moved by a form of love of self, which Rousseau called amour de soi, a concern for one's own survival, such individuals would be mainly indifferent to the well-being of others and would live without more than animal dependence on one another. In society as it now is, people are, in addition, moved by another form of self-love, which Rousseau called amour propre, a concern for recognition and esteem by others. Amour propre requires moral relations, and until it develops, people are not ready for morality. Yet amour propre may also lead to destructive forms of reliance on, and subordination to, others. In the narrative Rousseau constructed of the passage from the state of nature to the civilized state, he portrayed a transition to the kind of society he thought he saw around him in France, in which the many are oppressed and miserable and the few are powerful and contemptible. The question he raised is whether it is possible for there to be any other kind of society. The individual in the state of nature is good, Rousseau held; it is society that corrupts, and only in society can we be corrupt. Yet he was not recommending a return to the woods. The sexual relations through which the species is perpetuated are not the only acceptable relations. What is needed is a form of society without involuntary domination, a society that provides law and security and in which, therefore, authority exists, yet in which authority does not involve the denial that everyone equally needs and is entitled to recognition and esteem as a human being. In the Social Contract Rousseau proposed his solution to this problem. He believed that there can be a society in which everyone is free because everyone is subjected only to laws that are self-imposed. The ruler would be someone we had ourselves willed to rule. In obeying, therefore, we would be obeying only ourselves. Rousseau admired the ancient classical republic and thought he saw its modern counterpart in his own Geneva. (See the section "The Classical Republic" in the Introduction to this anthology.) His moral psychology serves, among other things, the purpose of showing how this form of government answers our need for society without subservience. Whether Rousseau meant the narrative of the transformation from animallike amour de soi to full-blown amour propre as a genuine historical report or as an analytical device is less important than is his claim that morality comes into human existence only when the material and social environment has brought human nature into a condition that needs and can sustain it. Rousseau was interested in, and perplexed by, the relation between the physical aspect of our existence and the moral aspect, and he did not profess to have a full account of their relations. Like Pufendorf, he saw that morality is not something that can be directly derived from our physical being or from anything else physical. Yet he did not think morality unnatural. On the contrary, he insisted, as in Book IV of Emile, with a slap at Pufendorf's "moral entities," that the first voices of conscience arise out of the first movements of the heart . . . the first notions of good and bad are born of the sentiments of love and hate. . . . justice and goodness are not

The Origin and the Foundations of Inequality

607

merely abstract words — pure moral beings formed by the understanding — but are true affections of the soul enlightened by reason, are hence only an ordered development of our primitive affections.

The famous speech in Emile that Rousseau put in the mouth of a vicar from the Swiss province of Savoy makes it clear that conscience is an essential part of our nature. But Rousseau was not content with reasserting that ancient view. He wanted to show as well how personal and social conditions must be structured in order that conscience may speak to us effectively. What is needed is not individual book learning; the simplest peasant can have a fully adequate conscience. What is needed is social transformation. Rousseau's assumption is that it is at least possible for us to replace our present corrupt society with one in which freedom and morality can be pervasive. The following selections come from three different works: the first, from the Discourse on the Origin of Inequality; the second, from The Social Contract; and the third, which is part of the speech by the Savoyard vicar, from Emile. For the first I have used the translation in Jean-Jacques Rousseau, the First and Second Discourses, edited, translated, and annotated by Victor Gourevitch. Copyright 1986 by Victor Gourevitch and reprinted by permission of Harper and Row, Publishers, Inc. The translation of the second selection comes from Jean-Jacques Rousseau's On the Social Contract, edited by Roger D. Masters and translated by Judith R. Masters (New York: St. Martin's Press, and London: Macmillan). Copyright © 1978 by St. Martin's Press and reprinted by permission of St. Martin's Press, Inc. The translation for the third selection is from Emile, or On Education, by Jean-Jacques Rousseau, introduction, translation, and notes by Allan Bloom. Foreword, introduction, English translation, and notes, copyright 1979 by Basic Books, Inc. Reprinted by permission of Basic Books, Inc., Publishers.

Discourse on the Origin and the Foundations of Inequality Among Men [2] I conceive of two sorts of inequality in the human Species: one, which I call natural or Physical, because it is established by Nature, and which consist in differences of age, health, strengths of Body, and qualities of Mind or of Soul; the other, which may be called moral, or political inequality because i depends on a sort of convention and is established, or at least authorized by Men's consent. It consists in the different Privileges which some enjoy to the prejudice of the others, such as to be more wealthy, more honored, more Powerful than they, or even to get themselves obeyed by them. [4] What, precisely, then, is at issue in this Discourse? To mark, in the progress of things, the moment when, Right replacing Violence, Nature was subjected to Law; to explain by what succession of wonders the strong could resolve to serve the weak, and the People to purchase the idea of repose at the price of real felicity. [5] The Philosophers who have examined the foundations of society have all felt the necessity of going back as far as the state of Nature, but none of them has reached it. Some have not hesitated to ascribe to Man in that state the notion of the Just and the Unjust, without bothering to show that he had to have that notion, or even that it would have been useful to him; Others have

608

Jean-Jacques Rousseau

spoken of everyone's Natural Right to keep what belongs to him, without explaining what they understood by belong; Others still, after first granting to the stronger authority over the weaker, had Government arise straightway, without giving thought to the time that must have elapsed before the language of authority and of government could have meaning among Men: Finally, all of them, continually speaking of need, greed, oppression, desires, and pride transferred to the state of Nature ideas they had taken from society; they spoke of Savage Man and depicted Civil man. It did not even enter the mind of most of our philosophers to doubt that the state of Nature had existed, whereas it is evident, from reading the Holy Scriptures, that the first Man, having received some lights and Precepts immediately from God, was not himself in that state, and that, if the Writings of Moses are granted the credence owed them by every Christian Philosopher, it has to be denied that, even before the Flood, Men were ever in the pure state of Nature, unless they by some extraordinary Occurrence relapsed into it: a Paradox most embarrassing to defend, and altogether impossible to prove. PART I

[15] I see in any animal nothing but an ingenious machine to which nature has given senses in order to wind itself up and, to a point, protect itself against everything that tends to destroy or to disturb it. I perceive precisely the same thing in the human machine, with this difference that Nature alone ks does everything in the operations of the Beast, whereas man contributes to i*.\) , his operations in his capacity as a free agent. The one chooses or rejects by instinct, the other by an act of freedom; as a result the Beast cannot deviate from the Rule prescribed to it even when it would be to its advantage to do so, while man often deviates from it to his detriment. Thus a Pigeon would starve to death next to a Bowl filled with the choicest meats, and a Cat atop heaps of fruit or of grain, although each could very well have found nourishment in the food it disdains if it had occurred to it to try some; thus dissolute men abandon themselves to excesses which bring them fever and death; because the Mind depraves the senses, and the will continues to speak when Nature is silent. [16]Every animal has ideas, since it has senses; up to a point it even combines its ideas, and in this respect man differs from the Beast only as more does from less: Some Philosophers have even suggested that there is a greater difference between one given man and another than there is between a given man and a given beast; it is, then, not so much the understanding that constitutes the specific difference between man and the other animals, as it is his property of being a free agent. Nature commands every animal, and the Beast obeys. Man experiences the same impression, but recognizes himself free to acquiesce or to resist; and it is mainly in the consciousness of this freedom that the spirituality of his soul exhibits itself: for Physics in a way explains the mechanism of the senses and the formation of ideas; but in the power of willing, or rather of

The Origin and the Foundations of Inequality

609

choosing, and in the sentiment of this power are found purely spiritual acts about which nothing is explained by the Laws of Mechanics. [17] But even if the difficulties surrounding all these questions left some room for disagreement about this difference between man and animal, there is another very specific property that distinguishes between them and about which there can be no argument, namely the faculty of perfecting oneself; a faculty which, with the aid of circumstances, successively develops all the others, and resides in us in the species as well as in the individual, whereas an animal is at the end of several months what it will be for the rest of its life and its species is after a thousand years what it was in the first year of those thousand. Why is man alone liable to become an imbecile? Is it not that he thus returns to his primitive state and that, whereas the Beast, which has acquired nothing and also has nothing to lose, always keeps its instinct, man, losing through old age or other accidents all that his perfectibility had made him acquire, thus relapses lower than the Beast itself? It would be sad for us to be forced to agree that this distinctive and almost unlimited faculty is the source of all of man's miseries; that it is the faculty which, by dint of time, draws him out of that original condition in which he would spend calm and innocent days; that it is the faculty which, over the centuries, causes his enlightenment and his errors, his vices and his virtues to arise, and eventually makes him his own and Nature's tyrant. It would be frightful to be obliged to praise as a beneficent being him who first suggested to the inhabitant of the Banks of the Orinoco the use of the Slats he ties to his Children's temples, and which insure at least a measure of their imbecility and of their original happiness. [35] Above all, let us not conclude with Hobbes' that because he has no idea of goodness, man is naturally wicked, that he is vicious because he does not know virtue, that he always refuses to those of his kind services which he does not believe he owes them, or that by virtue of the right which he with reason assigns himself to the things he needs, he insanely imagines himself to be the sole owner of the entire Universe. Hobbes very clearly saw the defect of all modern definitions of Natural right: but the conclusions he draws from his own definition show that he understands it in a sense that is no less false. By reasoning on the basis of the principles he established, this Author should have said that, since the state of Nature is the state in which the care for our own preservation is least prejudicial to the self-preservation of others, it follows that this state was the most conducive to Peace and the best suited to Mankind. He says precisely the contrary because he improperly included in Savage man's care for his preservation the need to satisfy a multitude of passions that are the product of Society and have made Laws necessary. A wicked man is, he says a sturdy Child; it remains to be seen whether Savage Man is a sturdy Child. Even if it were granted him that it is, what would he conclude? That if this man were as dependent on others when he is sturdy as he is dependent on them when weak, he would not stop at any kind of excess, that he would strike his Mother if she were slow to give him the breast, that he would strangle one of his young brothers if he inconvenienced him, that he

610

Jean-Jacques Rousseau

would bite another brother's leg if he hurt or bothered him; but being sturdy and being dependent are two contradictory assumptions in the state of Nature; Man in weak when he is dependent, and he is emancipated before he is sturdy. Hobbes did not see that the same cause that prevents the Savages from using their reason, as our Jurists claim they do, at the same time prevents them from abusing their faculties, as he himself claims they do; so that one might say that Savages are not wicked precisely because they do not know what it is to be good; for it is neither the growth of enlightenment nor the curb of the Law, but the calm of the passions and the ignorance of vice that keep them from evil-doing; so much more does the ignorance of vice profit these than the knowledge of virtue profits those. There is, besides, another Principle which Hobbes did not notice and which, having been given to man in order under certain circumstances to soften the ferociousness of his vanity or of the desire for self-preservation prior to the birth of vanity, tempers his ardor for well-being with an innate repugnance to see his kind suffer. I do not believe I need fear any contradiction in granting to man the only Natural virtue which the most extreme Detractor of human virtues was forced to acknowledge. I speak of Pity, a disposition suited to beings as weak and as subject to so many ills as we are; a virtue all the more universal and useful to man as it precedes the exercise of all reflection in him, and so Natural that the Beasts themselves sometimes show evident signs of it. . . . [371 Mandeville2 sensed clearly that for all their morality, men would never • shave been anything but monsters if Nature had not given them pity in support of reason: but he did not see that from this single attribute flow all the social virtues he wants to deny men. Indeed, what are generosity, Clemency, Humanity, if not Pity applied to the weak, the guilty, or the species in general? Even Benevolence and friendship, properly understood, are the products of a steady pity focused on a particular object; for what else is it to wish that someone not suffer, than to wish that he be happy? Even if it were true that commiseration is nothing but a sentiment that puts us in the place of him who suffers, a sentiment that is obscure and lively in Savage man, developed but weak in Civil man., what difference could this idea make to the truth of what I say, except to give it additional force? Indeed commiseration will be all the more energetic in proportion as the Onlooking animal identifies more intimately with the suffering animal: Now this identification must, clearly, have been infinitely closer in the state of Nature than in the state of reasoning. It is reason that engenders vanity, and reflection that reinforces it; It is what turns man back upon himself; it is what separates him from everything that troubles and afflicts him: It is Philosophy that isolates him; it is by means of Philosophy that he secretly says at the sight of a suffering man, perish if you wish, I am safe. Only dangers that threaten the entire society still disturb the Philosopher's tranquil slumber, and rouse him from his bed. One of his kind can with impunity be murdered beneath his window; he only has to put his hands over his ears and to argue with himself a little in order to prevent Nature, which rebels within him, from letting him identify with the man being assassinated.

\

The Origin and the Foundatio s lneg ali

611

Savage man has not this admirable talent; and for want of wisdom and of reason he is always seen to yield impetuously to the first sentiment of Humanity. In Riots, in Street-brawls, the Populace gathers, the prudent man withdraws; it is the rabble, it is the Marketwomen who separate the combatants and keep honest folk from murdering each other. [38] It is therefore quite certain that pity is a natural sentiment which, by moderating in every individual the activity of self-love, contributes to the mutual preservation of the entire species. It is pity which carries us without reflection to the assistance of those we see suffer; it is pity which, in the state of Nature, takes the place of Laws, morals, and virtue, with the advantage that no one is tempted to disobey its gentle voice; it is pity which will keep any sturdy Savage from robbing a weak child or an infirm old man of his hard-won subsistence if he hopes he can find his own elsewhere: It is pity which instead of the sublime maxim of reasoned justice Do unto others as you would have them do unto you inspires all Men with this other maxim of natural goodness, much less perfect but perhaps more useful than the first: Do your good with the least possible harm to others. It is, in a word, in this Natural sentiment rather than in subtle arguments that one has to seek the cause of the repugnance to evil-doing which every human being would feel even independently of the maxims of education. Although Socrates and Minds of his stamp may be capable of acquiring virtue through reason, Mankind would long ago have ceased to be if its preservation had depended solely on the reasonings of those who make it up. [39] With such sluggish passions and such a salutary curb, fierce rather than wicked, and more intent on protecting themselves from the harm they might suffer than tempted to do any to others, men were not prone to very dangerous quarrels: since they had no dealings of any kind with one another; since they therefore knew neither vanity, nor consideration, nor esteem, nor contempt; since they had not the slightest notion of thine and mine, or any genuine idea of justice; since they looked on any violence they might suffer as an easily repaired harm rather than as a punishable injury, and since they did not even dream of vengeance except perhaps mechanically and on the spot like the dog that bites the stone thrown at him; their disputes would seldom have led to bloodshed if they had had no more urgent object than Food: but I see one that is more dangerous, which it remains for me to discuss.' .. . [46] Let us conclude that, wandering in the forests without industry, without speech, without settled abode, without war, and without ties, without any need of others of his kind and without any desire to harm them, perhaps even without ever recognizing any one of them individually, subject to few passions and self-sufficient, Savage man had only the sentiments and the enlightenment suited to this state, that he sensed only his true needs, looked only at what he believed it to be in his interest to see, and that his intelligence made no more progress than his vanity. If he by chance made some discovery, he was all the less in a position to communicate it as he did not recognize even his Children. The art perished with the inventor; there was neither education nor

612

Jean-Jacques Rousseau

progress, generations multiplied uselessly; and as each one of them always started at the same point, Centuries went by in all the crudeness of the first ages. the species had already grown old, and man remained ever a child. PART II

[1] The first man who, having enclosed a piece of ground, to whom it occurred to say this is mine and found people sufficiently simple to believe him, was the true founder of civil society. How many crimes, wars, murders, how many miseries and horrors Mankind would have been spared by him who, pulling up the stakes or filling in the ditch, had cried out to his kind: Beware of listening to this impostor; you are lost if you forget that the fruits are everyone's and the Earth no one's: But in all likelihood things had by then reached a point where they could not continue as they were; for this idea of property, depending as it does on many prior ideas which could only arise successively, did not take shape all at once in man's mind: Much progress had to have been made, industry and enlightenment acquired, transmitted, and increased from one age to the next, before this last stage of the state of Nature was reached. Let us therefore take up the thread earlier, and try to fit this slow succession of events and of knowledge together from a single point of view, and in their most natural order. [18] But it must be noted that beginning Society and the already established relations among men, required in them qualities different from those they derived from their primitive constitution; that, since morality was beginning to enter into human Actions and since, before there were Laws, everyone was sole judge and avenger of the offenses he had received, the goodness suited to the pure state of Nature was no longer the goodness suited to nascent Society; that punishments had to become more severe in proportion as the opportunities to offend became more frequent, and that the terror of vengeance had to take the place of the Laws' restraint. Thus, although men now had less endurance, and natural pity had already undergone some modification, this period in the development of human faculties, occupying a just mean between the indolence of the primitive state and the petulant activity of our vanity, must have been the happiest and the longest-lasting epoch. The more one reflects on it, the more one finds that this state was the least subject to revolutions, the best for man, and that he must have left it only by some fatal accident which, for the sake of the common utility, should never have occurred. The example of the Savages, almost all of whom have been found at this point, seems to confirm that Mankind was made always to remain in it, that this state is the genuine youth of the World, and that all subsequent progress has been so many steps in appearance toward the perfection of the individual, and in effect toward the decrepitude of the species. [24] From the cultivation of land, its division necessarily followed; and from property, once recognized, the first rules of justice necessarily followed: for in order to render to each his own, it has to be possible for each to have some-

The Origin and the Foundations of Inequality

613

thing; moreover, as men began to extend their views to the future and all saw that they had some goods to lose, there was no one who did not have to fear reprisals against himself for wrongs he might do to another. This origin is all the more natural as it is impossible to conceive the idea of nascent property in any other way than in terms of manual labor: for it is not clear what more than his labor man can put into things he has not made, in order to appropriate them. It is labor alone which, by giving the Cultivator the right to the product of the land he has tilled, therefore also gives him a right to the land, at least until the harvest, and so from one year to the next, which, as it makes for continuous possession, is easily transformed into property. . . . 1271 Here, then, are all our faculties developed, memory and imagination brought into play, vanity interested, reason become active, and the mind almost at the limit of the perfection of which it is capable. Here are all natural qualities set in action, each man's rank and fate set, not only in terms of the quantity of goods and the power to benefit or harm, but also in terms of mind, beauty, strength or skill, in terms of merit or talents, and, since these are the only qualities that could attract regard, one soon had to have them or to affect them; for one's own advantage one had to seem other than one in fact was. To be and to appear became two entirely different things, and from this distinction arose ostentatious display, deceitful cunning, and all the vices that follow in their train. Looked at in another way, man, who had previously been free and independent, is now so to speak subjugated by a multitude of new needs to the whole of Nature, and especially to those of his kind, whose slave he in a sense becomes even by becoming their master; rich, he needs their services; poor, he needs their help, and moderate means do not enable him to do without them. He therefore constantly has to try to interest them in his fate and to make them find their own profit, in deed or in appearance, in working for his: which makes him knavish and artful with some, imperious and harsh with the rest, and places him under the necessity of abusing all those he needs if he cannot get them to fear him and does not find it in his interest to serve them usefully. Finally, consuming ambition, the ardent desire to raise one's relative fortune less out of genuine need than in order to place oneself above others, instills in all men a black inclination to harm one another, a secret jealousy which is all the more dangerous as it often assumes the mask of benevolence in order to strike its blow in greater safety: in a word, competition and rivalry on the one hand, conflict of interests on the other, and alway the hidden desire to profit at another's expense; all these evils are the first effect of property, and the inseparable train of nascent inequality. [29] Thus, as the most powerful or the most miserable claimed, on the basis of their strength or of their needs, a kind of right to another's goods, equivalent, according to them, to the right of property, the breakdown of equality was followed by the most frightful disorder: thus the usurpations of the rich, the Banditry of the Poor, the unbridled passions of all, stifling natural pity and the still-weak voice of justice, made men greedy, ambitious, and wicked. A perpetual conflict arose between the right of the stronger and the right of the

614

Jean-Jacques Rousseau

first occupant, which ended only in fights and murders. Nascent Society gave way to the most horrible state of war: Mankind, debased and devastated, no longer able to turn back or to renounce its wretched acquisitions, and working only to its shame by the abuse of the faculties that do it honor, brought itself to the brink of ruin. Shocked by the novelty of the evil, at once rich and miserable, He seeks to escape his wealth, and hates what he had just prayed for.'

[30] It is not possible that men should not at last have reflected on such a miserable situation and the calamities besetting them. The rich, above all, must soon have sensed how disadvantageous to them was a perpetual war of which they alone bore the full cost, and in which everyone risked his life while only some also risked goods. Besides, regardless of the color they might lend to their usurpations, they realized well enough that they were only based on a precarious and abusive right, and that since they had been acquired solely by force, force could deprive them of them without their having any reason for complaint. Even those whom industriousness alone had enriched could scarcely base their property on better titles. No matter if they said: It is I who built this wall; I earned this plot by my labor. Who set its boundaries for you, they could be answered; and by virtue of what do you lay claim to being paid at our expense for labor we did not impose on you? Do you not know that a great many of your brothers perish or suffer from need for what you have in excess, and that you required the express and unanimous consent of Mankind to appropriate for yourself anything from the common subsistence above and beyond your own? Lacking valid reasons to justify and sufficient strength to defend himself; easily crushing an individual, but himself crushed by troops of bandits; alone against all, and unable, because of their mutual jealousies, to unite with his equals against enemies united by the common hope of plunder, the rich, under the pressure of necessity, at last conceived the most wellconsidered project ever to enter man's mind; to use even his attackers' forces in his favor, to make his adversaries his defenders, to instill in them other maxims and to give them different institutions, as favorable to himself as natural Right was contrary to him. [31] To this end, after exhibiting to his neighbors the horror of a situation which armed all of them against one another, made their possessions as burdensome to them as their needs, and in which no one found safety in either poverty or wealth, he easily invented specious reasons to bring them over to his purpose: "Let us unite," he told them, "to protect the weak from oppression, restrain the ambitious, and secure for everyone the possession of what belongs to him: Let us institute regulations of Justice and of peace to which all are obliged to conform, which favor no one, and which in a way make up for the vagaries of fortune by subjecting the powerful and the weak alike to mutual duties. In a word, instead of turning our forces against ourselves, let us

On the Social Contract

615

gather them into a supreme power that might govern us according to wise Laws, protect and defend all the members of the association, repulse common enemies, and keep us in eternal concord." [32] Much less than the equivalent of this Discourse was needed to sway crude, easily seduced men who, in any event, had too much business to sort out among themselves to be able to do without arbiters, and too much gree and ambition to be able to do for long without Masters. All ran toward thei chains in the belief that they were securing their freedom; for while they had enough reason to sense the advantages of a political establishment, they had not enough experience to foresee its dangers; those most capable of anticipating the abuses were precisely those who counted on profiting from them, and even the wise saw that they had to make up their mind to sacrifice one part of their freedom to preserve the other, as a wounded man has his arm cut off to save the rest of his Body. [33] Such was, or must have been, the origin of Society and of Laws, which gave the weak new fetters and the rich new forces, irreversibly destroyed natural freedom, forever fixed the Law of property and inequality, transformed a skillful usurpation into an irrevocable right, and for the profit of a few ambitious men henceforth subjugated the whole of Mankind to labor, servitude and misery. . . .

On the Social Contract CHAPTER 1: SUBJECT OF THIS FIRST BOOK

Man was/is born free, and everywhere he is in chains.` One who believes himself the master of others is nonetheless a greater slave than they. How did this change occur? I do not know. What can make it legitimate? I believe I can answer this question. If I were to consider only force and the effect it produces, I would say that as long as a people is constrained to obey and does so, it does well; as soon as it can shake off the yoke and does so, it does even better. For in recovering its freedom by means of the same right used to steal it, either the people is justified in taking it back, or those who took it away were not justified in doing so. But the social order is a sacred right that serves as a basis for all the others. However, this right does not come from nature; it is therefore based on conventions. The problem is to know what these conventions are. Before coming to that, I should establish what I have just asserted.

CHAPTER II: ON THE FIRST SOCIETIES

The most ancient of all societies, and the only natural one, is that of the family. Yet children remain bound to the father only as long as they need him for self-preservation. As soon as this need ceases, the natural bond dissolves. The children, exempt from the obedience they owed the father, and the

616

Jean-Jacques Rousseau

father, exempt from the care he owed the children, all return equally to independence. If they continue to remain united, it is no longer naturally but voluntarily, and the family itself is maintained only by convention. This common freedom is a consequence of man's nature. His first law is to attend to his own preservation, his first cares are those he owes himself; and as soon as he has reached the age of reason, as he alone is the judge of the proper means of preserving himself, he thus becomes his own master. The family is therefore, so to speak, the prototype of political societies. The leader is like the father, the people are like the children; and since all are born equal and free, they only alienate their freedom for their utility. The entire difference is that in the family, the father's love for his children rewards him for the care he provides; whereas in the State, the pleasure of commanding substitutes for this love, which the leader does not have for his people. Grotiusb denies that all human power is established for the benefit of those who are governed. He cites slavery as an example. His most persistent mode of reasoning is always to establish right by fact. One could use a more rational method, but not one more favorable to tyrants. It is therefore doubtful, according to Grotius, whether the human race belongs to a hundred men, or whether these hundred men belong to the human race; and throughout his book he appears to lean toward the former view. This is Hobbes's sentiment as well. Thus the human species is divided into herds of livestock, each with its leader, who tends it in order to devour it. . . . Before any of them, Aristotle too had said that men are not naturally equal, but that some are born for slavery and others for domination.' Aristotle was right, but he mistook the effect for the cause. Every man born in slavery is born for slavery; nothing could be more certain. Slaves lose everything in their chains, even the desire to be rid of them. They love their servitude as the companions of Ulysses loved their brutishness." If there are slaves by nature, therefore, it is because there have been slaves contrary to nature. Force made the first slaves; their cowardice perpetuated them. . . . CHAPTER III: ON THE RIGHT OF THE STRONGEST The strongest is never strong enough to be the master forever unless he transforms his force into right and obedience into duty. This leads to the right of the strongest, a right that is in appearance taken ironically and in principle really established. But won't anyone ever explain this word to us? Force is a physical power. I do not see what morality can result from its effects. Yielding to force is an act of necessity, not of will. At most, it is an act of prudence. In what sense could it be a duty? Let us suppose this alleged right for a moment. I say that what comes of it is nothing but inexplicable confusion. For as soon as force makes right, the effect changes along with the cause. Any force that overcomes the first one succeeds to its right. As soon as one can disobey without punishment, one can do so legitimately, and since the strongest is always right, the only thing to do is to

On the Social Contract

617

make oneself the strongest. But what is a right that perishes when force ceases? If it is necessary to obey by force, one need not obey by duty, and if one is no longer forced to obey, one is no longer obligated to do so. It is apparent, then, that this word right adds nothing to force. It is meaningless here. Obey those in power. If that means yield to force, the precept is good, but superfluous; I reply that it will never be violated. All power comes from God, I admit, but so does all illness. Does this mean it is forbidden to call the doctor? If a brigand takes me by surprise at the edge of a woods, must I not only give up my purse by force; am I obligated by conscience to give it even if I could keep it away? After all, the pistol he holds is also a power. Let us agree, therefore, that might does not make right, and that one is only obligated to obey legitimate powers. Thus my original question still remains. CHAPTER IV: ON SLAVERY

Since no man has any natural authority over his fellow man, and since force produces no right, there remain only conventions as the basis of all legitimate authority among men. If a private individual, says Grotius, can alienate his freedom and enslave himself to a master, why can't a whole people alienate its freedom and subject itself to a king? There are many equivocal words in this that need explaining, but let us limit ourselves to the word alienate. To alienate is to give or to sell. Now a man who makes himself another's slave does not give himself, he sells himself, at the least for his subsistence. But why does a people sell itself? Far from furnishing the subsistence of his subjects, a king derives his own only from them, and according to Rabelais a king does not live cheaply. Do the subjects give their persons, then, on condition that their goods will be taken too? I do not see what remains for them to preserve. It will be said that the despot guarantees civil tranquillity to his subjects. Perhaps so, but what have they gained if the wars that his ambition brings on them, if his insatiable greed, if the harassment of his ministers are a greater torment than their dissensions would be? What have they gained, if this tranquillity is one of their miseries? Life is tranquil in jail cells, too. Is that reason enough to like them? The Greeks lived tranquilly shut up in the Cyclops' cave as they awaited their turn to be devoured. To say that a man gives himself gratuitously is to say something absurd and inconceivable. Such an act is illegitimate and null, if only because he who does so is not in his right mind. To say the same thing about an entire people is to suppose a people of madmen. Madness does not make right. Even if everyone could alienate himself, he could not alienate his children. They are born men and free. Their freedom belongs to them; no one but themselves has a right to dispose of it. Before they have reached the age of reason, their father can, in their name, stipulate conditions for their preservation, for their well-being; but he cannot give them irrevocably and unconditionally, because such a gift is contrary to the ends of nature and exceeds the rights

Jean-Jacques Rousseau

618

of paternity. For an arbitrary government to be legitimate, it would therefore be necessary for the people in each generation to be master of its acceptance or rejection. But then this government would no longer be arbitrary. To renounce one's freedom is to renounce one's status as a man, the rights of humanity and even its duties. There is no possible compensation for anyone who renounces everything. Such a renunciation is incompatible with the nature of man, and taking away all his freedom of will is taking away all morality from his actions. Finally, it is a vain and contradictory convention to stipulate absolute authority on one side and on the other unlimited obedience. Isn't it clear that one is in no way engaged toward a person from whom one has the right to demand everything, and doesn't this condition alone — without equivalent and without exchange — entail the nullification of the act? For what right would my slave have against me, since all he has belongs to me, and his right being mine, my right against myself is a meaningless word? With regard to the right of conquest, it has no basis other than the law of the strongest. If war does not give the victor the right to massacre the vanquished peoples, this right he does not have cannot establish the right to enslave them. One only has the right to kill the enemy when he cannot be made a slave. The right to make him a slave does not come, then, from the right to kill him. It is therefore an iniquitous exchange to make him buy his life, over which one has no right, at the cost of his freedom. By establishing the right of life and death on the right of slavery, and the right of slavery on the right of life and death, isn't it clear that one falls into a vicious circle? Even assuming this terrible right to kill everyone, I say that a man enslaved in war or a conquered people is in no way obligated toward his master, except to obey for as long as he is forced to do so. In taking the equivalent of his life, the victor has not spared it; rather than to kill him purposelessly, he has killed him usefully. Therefore, far from the victor having acquired any authority over him in addition to force, the state of war subsists between them as before; their relation itself is its effect, and the customs of the right of war suppose that there has not been a peace treaty. They made a convention, true; but that convention, far from destroying the state of war, assumes its continuation. Thus, from every vantage point, the right of slavery is null, not merely because it is illegitimate, but because it is absurd and meaningless. These words slavery and right are contradictory; they are mutually exclusive. Whether it is said by one man to another or by a man to a people, the following speech will always be equally senseless: 1 make a convention with

you that is entirely at your expense and entirely for my benefit; that 1 shall observe for as long as 1 want, and that you shall observe for as long as 1 want. CHAPTER

V:

THAT IT IS ALWAYS NECESSARY TO

Go

BACK

TO A FIRST CONVENTION

Even if I were to grant everything I have thus far refuted, the proponents of despotism would be no better off. There will always be a great difference

On the Social Contract

619

between subjugating a multitude and governing a society. If scattered men, however many there may be, are successively enslaved by one individual, I see only a master and slaves; I do not see a people and its leader. It is an aggregation, if you wish, but not an association. It has neither public good nor body politic. That man, even if he had enslaved half the world, is nothing but a private individual. His interest, separate from that of the others, is still nothing but a private interest. If this same man dies, thereafter his empire is left scattered and without bonds, just as an oak tree disintegrates and falls into a heap of ashes after fire has consumed it. A people, says Grotius, can give itself to a king. According to Grotius, a people is therefore a people before it gives itself to a king. This gift itself is a civil act; it presupposes a public deliberation. Therefore, before examining the act by which a people elects a king, it would be well to examine the act by which a people becomes a people. For this act, being necessarily prior to the other, is the true basis of society. Indeed, if there were no prior convention, what would become of the obligation for the minority to submit to the choice of the majority, unless the election were unanimous; and where do one hundred who want a master get the right to vote for ten who do not? The law of majority rule is itself an established convention, and presupposes unanimity at least once. CHAPTER VI: ON THE SOCIAL COMPACT

I assume that men have reached the point where obstacles to their selfpreservation in the state of nature prevail by their resistance over the forces each individual can use to maintain himself in that state. Then that primitive state can no longer subsist and the human race would perish if it did not change its way of life. Now since men cannot engender new forces, but merely unite and direct existing ones, they have no other means of self-preservation except to form, by aggregation, a sum of forces that can prevail over the resistance; set them to work by a single motivation; and make them act in concert. This sum of forces can arise only from the cooperation of many. But since each man's force and freedom are the primary instruments of his selfpreservation, how is he to engage them without harming himself and without neglecting the cares he owes to himself? In the context of my subject, this difficulty can be stated in these terms: "Find a form of association that defends and protects the person and goods of each associate with all the common force, and by means of which each one, uniting with all, nevertheless obeys only himself and remains as free as before." This is the fundamental problem which is solved by the social contract. The clauses of this contract are so completely determined by the nature of the act that the slightest modification would render them null and void. So that although they may never have been formally pronounced. they are everywhere the same, everywhere tacitly accepted and recognized, until the social

620

Jean-Jacques Rousseau

compact is violated, at which point each man recovers his original rights and resumes his natural freedom, thereby losing the conventional freedom for which he renounced it. Properly understood, all of these clauses come down to a single one, namely the total alienation of each associate, with all his rights, to the whole community. For first of all, since each one gives his entire self, the condition is equal for everyone, and since the condition is equal for everyone, no one has an interest in making it burdensome for the others. Furthermore, as the alienation is made without reservation, the union is as perfect as it can be, and no associate has anything further to claim. For if some rights were left to private individuals, there would be no common superior who could judge between them and the public. Each man being his own judge on some point would soon claim to be so on all; the state of nature would subsist and the association would necessarily become tyrannical or ineffectual. Finally, as each gives himself to all, he gives himself to no one; and since there is no associate over whom one does not acquire the same right one grants him over oneself, one gains the equivalent of everything one loses, and more force to preserve what one has. If, then, everything that is not of the essence of the social compact is set aside, one will find that it can be reduced to the following terms. Each of us

puts his person and all his power in common under the supreme direction of the general will; and in a body we receive each member as an indivisible part of the whole. Instantly, in place of the private person of each contracting party, this act of association produces a moral and collective body, composed of as many members as there are voices in the assembly, which receives from this same act its unity, its common self, its life, and its will. This public person, formed thus by the union of all the others, formerly took the name City, and now takes that of Republic or body politic, which its members call State when it is passive, Sovereign when active, Power when comparing it to similar bodies. As for the associates, they collectively take the name people; and individually are called Citizens as participants in the sovereign authority, and Subjects as subject to the laws of the State. But these terms are often mixed up and mistaken for one another. It is enough to know how to distinguish them when they are used with complete precision. CHAPTER VII: ON THE SOVEREIGN

This formula shows that the act of association includes a reciprocal engagement between the public and private individuals, and that each individual, contracting with himself so to speak, finds that he is doubly engaged, namely toward private individuals as a member of the sovereign and toward the sovereign as a member of the State. But the maxim of civil right that no one can be held responsible for engagements toward himself cannot be applied

On the Social Contract

621

here, because there is a great difference between being obligated to oneself, or to a whole of which one is a part. It must further be noted that the public deliberation that can obligate all of the subjects to the sovereign — due to the two different relationships in which each of them is considered — cannot for the opposite reason obligate the sovereign toward itself; and that consequently it is contrary to the nature of the body politic for the sovereign to impose on itself a law it cannot break. Since the sovereign can only be considered in a single relationship, it is then in the situation of a private individual contracting with himself. It is apparent from this that there is not, nor can there be, any kind of fundamental law that is obligatory for the body of the people, not even the social contract. This does not mean that this body cannot perfectly well enter an engagement toward another with respect to things that do not violate this contract. For with reference to the foreigner, it becomes a simple being or individual. But the body politic or the sovereign, deriving its being solely from the sanctity of the contract, can never obligate itself, even toward another, to do anything that violates that original act, such as to alienate some part of itself or to subject itself to another sovereign. To violate the act by which it exists would be to destroy itself, and whatever is nothing, produces nothing. As soon as this multitude is thus united in a body, one cannot harm one of the members without attacking the body, and it is even less possible to harm the body without the members feeling the effects. Thus duty and interest equally obligate the two contracting parties to mutual assistance, and the same men should seek to combine in this double relationship all the advantages that are dependent on it. Now the sovereign, formed solely by the private individuals composing it, does not and cannot have any interest contrary to theirs. Consequently, the sovereign power has no need of a guarantee toward the subjects, because it is impossible for the body ever to want to harm all its members, and we shall see later that it cannot harm any one of them as an individual. The sovereign, by the sole fact of being, is always what it ought to be. But the same is not true of the subjects in relation to the sovereign, which, despite the common interest, would have no guarantee of the subjects' engagements if it did not find ways to be assured of their fidelity. Indeed, each individual can, as a man, have a private will contrary to or differing from the general will he has as a citizen. His private interest can speak to him quite differently from the common interest. His absolute and naturally independent existence can bring him to view what he owes the common cause as a free contribution, the loss of which will harm others less than its payment burdens him. And considering the moral person of the State as an imaginary being because it is not a man, he might wish to enjoy the rights of the citizen without wanting to fulfill the duties of a subject, an injustice whose spread would cause the ruin of the body politic. Therefore, in order for the social compact not to be an ineffectual formula,

622

Jean-Jacques Rousseau

it tacitly includes the following engagement, which alone can give force to the others: that whoever refuses to obey the general will shall be constrained to do so by the entire body; which means only that he will be forced to be free. For this is the condition that, by giving each citizen to the homeland, guarantees him against all personal dependence; a condition that creates the ingenuity and functioning of the political machine, and alone gives legitimacy to civil engagements which without it would be absurd, tyrannical, and subject to the most enormous abuses. CHAPTER VIII: ON THE CIVIL STATE This passage from the state of nature to the civil state produces a remarkable change in man, by substituting justice for instinct in his behavior and giving his actions the morality they previously lacked. Only then, when the voice of duty replaces physical impulse and right replaces appetite, does man, who until that time only considered himself, find himself forced to act upon other principles and to consult his reason before heeding his inclinations. Although in this state he deprives himself of several advantages given him by nature, he gains such great ones, his faculties are exercised and developed, his ideas broadened, his feelings ennobled, and his whole soul elevated to such a point that if the abuses of this new condition did not often degrade him beneath the condition he left, he ought ceaselessly to bless the happy moment that tore him away from it forever, and that changed him from a stupid, limited animal into an intelligent being and a man. Let us reduce the pros and cons to easily compared terms. What man loses by the social contract is his natural freedom and an unlimited right to everything that tempts him and that he can get; what he gains is civil freedom and the proprietorship of everything he possesses. In order not to be mistaken about these compensations, one must distinguish carefully between natural freedom, which is limited only by the force of the individual, and civil freedom, which is limited by the general will; and between possession, which is only the effect of force or the right of the first occupant, and property, which can only be based on a positive title. To the foregoing acquisitions of the civil state could be added moral freedom, which alone makes man truly the master of himself. For the impulse of appetite alone is slavery, and obedience to the law one has prescribed for oneself is freedom. But I have already said too much about this topic, and the philosophic meaning of the word freedom is not my subject here. CHAPTER IX: ON REAL ESTATE . . . I shall end this chapter and this book with a comment that ought to serve as the basis of the whole social system. It is that rather than destroying natural equality, the fundamental compact on the contrary substitutes a moral and legitimate equality for whatever physical inequality nature may have placed

Emile

623

between men, and that although they may be unequal in force or in genius, they all become equal through convention and by right.

Emile After having thus deduced the principal truths that it mattered for me to know from the impression of sensible objects and from the inner sentiment that leads me to judge of causes according to my natural lights, I still must investigate what manner of conduct I ought to draw from these truths and what rules I ought to prescribe for myself in order to fulfill my destiny on earth according to the intention of Him who put me there. In continuing to follow my method, I do not draw these rules from the principles of a high philosophy, but find them written by nature with ineffaceable characters in the depth of my heart. I have only to consult myself about what I want to do. Everything I sense to be good is good; everything I sense to be bad is bad. The best of all casuists is the conscience; and it is only when one haggles with it that one has recourse to the subtleties of reasoning. The first of all cares is the care for oneself. Nevertheless how many times does the inner voice tell us that, in doing our good at another's expense, we do wrong! We believe we are following the impulse of nature, but we are resisting it. In listening to what it says to our senses, we despise what it says to our hearts; the active being obeys, the passive being commands. Conscience is the voice of the soul; the passions are the voice of the body. Is it surprising that these two languages often are contradictory? And then which should be listened to? Too often reason deceives us. We have acquired only too much right to challenge it. But conscience never deceives; it is man's true guide. It is to the soul what instinct is to the body; he who follows conscience obeys nature and does not fear being led astray. This point is important [continued my benefactor, seeing that I was going to interrupt him]. Allow me to tarry a bit to clarify it. All the morality of our actions is in the judgment we ourselves make of them. If it is true that the good is good, it must be so in the depths of our hearts as it is in our works, and the primary reward for justice is to sense that one practices it. If moral goodness is in conformity with our nature, man could be healthy of spirit or well constituted only to the extent that he is good. If it is not and man is naturally wicked, he cannot cease to be so without being corrupted, and goodness in him is only a vice contrary to nature. If he were made to do harm to his kind, as a wolf is made to slaughter his prey, a humane man would be an animal as depraved as a pitying wolf, and only virtue would leave us with remorse. Let us return to ourselves, my young friend! Let us examine, all personal interest aside, where our inclinations lead us. Which spectacle gratifies us more — that of others' torments or that of their happiness? Which is sweeter to do and leaves us with a more agreeable impression after having done it — a beneficent act or a wicked act? In whom do you take an interest in your theaters? Is it in heinous crimes that you take pleasure? Is it to their authors

624

Jean-Jacques Rousseau

when they are punished that you give your tears? It is said that we are indifferent to everything outside of our interest; but, all to the contrary, the sweetness of friendship and of humanity consoles us in our suffering; even in our pleasures we would be too alone, too miserable, if we had no one with whom to share them. If there is nothing moral in the heart of man, what is the source of these transports of admiration for heroic actions, these raptures of love for great souls? What relation does this enthusiasm for virtue have to our private interest? Why would I want to be Cato, 9 who disembowels himself, rather than Caesar triumphant? Take this love of the beautiful from our hearts, and you take all the charm from life. He whose vile passions have stifled these delicious sentiments in his narrow soul, and who, by dint of selfcenteredness, succeeds in loving only himself, has no more transports. His icy heart no longer palpitates with joy; a sweet tenderness never moistens his eyes; he has no more joy in anything. This unfortunate man no longer feels, no longer lives. He is already dead. But however numerous the wicked are on the earth, there are few of these cadaverous souls who have become insensitive, except where their own interest is at stake, to everything which is just and good. Iniquity pleases only to the extent one profits from it; in all the rest one wants the innocent to be protected. One sees some act of violence and injustice in the street or on the road. Instantly an emotion of anger and indignation is aroused in the depths of the heart, and it leads us to take up the defense of the oppressed; but a more powerful duty restrains us, and the laws take from us the right of protecting innocence. On the other hand, if some act of clemency or generosity strikes our eyes, what admiration, what love it inspires in us! Who does not say to himself, "I would like to have done the same"? It is surely of very little importance to us that a man was wicked or just two thousand years ago; nevertheless, we take an interest in ancient history just as if it all had taken place in our day. What do Catiline's crimes"' do to me? Am I afraid of being his victim? Why, then, am I as horrified by him as if he were my contemporary? We do not hate the wicked only because they do us harm, but because they are wicked. Not only do we want to be happy; we also wish for the happiness of others. And when this happiness does not come at the expense of our own, it increases it. Finally, in spite of oneself, one pities the unfortunate; when we are witness to their ills, we suffer from them. The most perverse are unable to lose this inclination entirely. Often it puts them in contradiction with themselves. The robber who plunders passers-by still covers the nakedness of the poor, and the most ferocious killer supports a fainting man. We speak of the cry of remorse which in secret punishes hidden crimes and so often brings them to light. Alas, who of us has never heard this importunate voice? We speak from experience, and we would like to stifle this tyrannical sentiment that gives us so much torment. Let us obey nature. We shall know with what gentleness it reigns, and what charm one finds, after having hearkened to it, in giving favorable testimony on our own behalf. The wicked man fears and flees himself. He cheers himself up by rushing outside of

Emile

625

himself. His restless eyes rove around him and seek an object that is entertaining to him. Without bitter satire, without insulting banter, he would always be sad. The mocking laugh is his only pleasure. By contrast, the serenity of the just man is internal. His is not a malignant laugh but a joyous one; he bears its source in himself. He is as gay alone as in the midst of a circle. He does not draw his contentment from those who come near him; he communicates it to them. Cast your eyes on all the nations of the world, go through all the histories. Among so many inhuman and bizarre cults, among this prodigious diversity of morals and characters, you will find everywhere the same ideas of justice and decency, everywhere the same notions of good and bad. Ancient paganism gave birth to abominable gods who would have been punished on earth as villains and who presented a picture of supreme happiness consisting only of heinous crimes to commit and passions to satisfy. But vice, armed with a sacred authority, descended in vain from the eternal abode; moral instinct repulsed it from the heart of human beings. While celebrating Jupiter's debauches, they admired Xenocrates' continence." The chaste Lucretia ° worshiped the lewd Venus. The intrepid Roman sacrificed to fear. He invoked the god who mutilated his father, and he himself died without a murmur at his own father's hand. The most contemptible divinities were served by the greatest men. The holy voice of nature, stronger than that of the gods, made itself respected on earth and seemed to relegate crime, along with the guilty, to heaven. There is in the depths of souls, then, an innate principle of justice and virtue according to which, in spite of our own maxims, we judge our actions and those of others as good or bad. It is to this principle that I give the name

conscience. But at this word I hear the clamor of those who are allegedly wise rising on all sides: errors of childhood, prejudices of education, they all cry in a chorus. Nothing exists in the human mind other than what is introduced by experience, and we judge a thing on no ground other than that of acquired ideas. They go farther. They dare to reject this evident and universal accord of all nations. And in the face of this striking uniformity in men's judgment, they go and look in the shadows for some obscure example known to them alone — as if all the inclinations of nature were annihilated by the depravity of a single people, and the species were no longer anything as soon as there are monsters. But what is the use of the torments to which the skeptic Montaigne" subjects himself in order to unearth in some corner of the world a custom opposed to the notions of justice? Of what use is it to him to give to the most suspect travelers the authority he refuses to give to the most celebrated writers? Will some uncertain and bizarre practices, based on local causes unknown to us, destroy the general induction drawn from the concurrence of all peoples, who disagree about everything else and agree on this point alone? 0 Montaigne, you who pride yourself on frankness and truth, be sincere and true, if a philosopher can be, and tell me whether there is some country on earth where it is a crime to

626

Jean-Jacques Rousseau

keep one's faith, to be clement, beneficent, and generous, where the good man is contemptible and the perfidious one honored? It is said that everyone contributes to the public good for his own interest. But what then is the source of the just man's contributing to it to his prejudice? What is going to one's death for one's interest? No doubt, no one acts for anything other than for his good; but if there is not a moral good which must be taken into account, one will never explain by private interest anything but the action of the wicked. It is not even likely that anyone will attempt to go farther. This would be too abominable a philosophy — one which is embarrassed by virtuous actions, which could get around the difficulty only by fabricating base intentions and motives without virtue, which would be forced to vilify Socrates and calumniate Regulus." If ever such doctrines could spring up among us, the voice of nature as well as that of reason would immediately be raised against them and would never leave a single one of their partisans the excuse that he is of good faith. It is not my design here to enter into metaphysical discussions which are out of my reach and yours, and which, at bottom, lead to nothing. I have already told you that I wanted not to philosophize with you but to help you consult your heart. Were all the philosophers to prove that I am wrong, if you sense that I am right, I do not wish for more. For that purpose I need only to make you distinguish our acquired ideas from our natural sentiments; for we sense before knowing, and since we do not learn to want what is good for us and to flee what is bad for us but rather get this will from nature, by that very fact love of the good and hatred of the bad are as natural as the love of ourselves. The acts of the conscience are not judgments but sentiments. Although all our ideas come to us from outside, the sentiments evaluating them are within us, and it is by them alone that we know the compatibility or incompatibility between us and the things we ought to seek or flee. To exist, for us, is to sense; our sensibility is incontestably anterior to our intelligence, and we had sentiments before ideas. Whatever the cause of our being, it has provided for our preservation by giving us sentiments suitable to our nature, and it could not be denied that these, at least, are innate. These sentiments, as far as the individual is concerned, are the love of self, the fear of pain, the horror of death, the desire of well-being. But if, as cannot be doubted, man is by his nature sociable, or at least made to become so, he can be so only by means of other innate sentiments relative to his species; for if we consider only physical need, it ought certainly to disperse men instead of bringing them together. It is from the moral system formed by this double relation to oneself and to one's fellows that the impulse of conscience is born. To know the good is not to love it; man does not have innate knowledge of it, but as soon as his reason makes him know it, his conscience leads him to love it. It is this sentiment which is innate. Thus I do not believe, my friend, that it is impossible to explain, by the consequences of our nature, the immediate principle of the conscience inde-

Emile

627

pendently of reason itself. And were that impossible, it would moreover not be necessary; for, those who deny this principle, admitted and recognized by all mankind, do not prove that it does not exist but are satisfied by affirming that it does not; so when we affirm that it does exist, we are just as well founded as they are, and we have in addition the inner witness and the voice of conscience, which testifies on its own behalf. If the first glimmers of judgment dazzle us and at first make a blur of objects in our sight, let us wait for our weak eyes to open up again and steady themselves, and soon we shall see these same objects again in the light of reason as nature first showed them to us. Or, rather, let us be more simple and less vain. Let us limit ourselves to the first sentiments that we find in ourselves, since study always leads us back to them when it has not led us astray. Conscience, conscience! Divine instinct, immortal and celestial voice, certain guide of a being that is ignorant and limited but intelligent and free; infallible judge of good and bad which makes man like unto God; it is you who make the excellence of his nature and the morality of his actions. Without you I sense nothing in me that raises me above the beasts, other than the sad privilege of leading myself astray from error to error with the aid of an understanding without rule and a reason without principle. Thank heaven, we are delivered from all that terrifying apparatus of philosophy. We can be men without being scholars. Dispensed from consuming our life in the study of morality, we have at less expense a more certain guide in this immense maze of human opinions. But it is not enough that this guide exists; one must know how to recognize it and to follow it. If it speaks to all hearts, then why are there so few of them who hear it? Well, this is because it speaks to us in nature's language, which everything has made us forget. Conscience is timid; it likes refuge and peace. The world and noise scare it; the prejudices from which they claim it is born are its cruelest enemies. It flees or keeps quiet before them. Their noisy voices stifle its voice and prevent it from making itself heard. Fanaticism dares to counterfeit it and to dictate crime in its name. It finally gives up as a result of being dismissed. It no longer speaks to us. It no longer responds to us. And after such long contempt for it, to recall it costs as much as banishing it did. How many times in my researches have I grown weary as a result of the coldness I felt within me! How many times have sadness and boredom, spreading their poison over my first meditations, made them unbearable for me! My arid heart provided only a languid and lukewarm zeal to the love of truth. I said to myself, "Why torment myself in seeking what is not? Moral good is only a chimera. There is nothing good but the pleasures of the senses." 0, when one has once lost the taste for the pleasures of the soul, how difficult it is to regain it! How much more difficult gaining it is when one has never had it! If there existed a man miserable enough to be unable to recall anything he had done in all his life which made him satisfied with himself and glad to have lived, that man would be incapable of ever knowing himself; and for want of feeling the goodness suitable to his nature, he would necessarily remain

628

Jean-Jacques Rousseau

wicked and be eternally unhappy. But do you believe there is a single man on the whole earth depraved enough never to have yielded in his heart to the temptation of doing good? This temptation is so natural and so sweet that it is impossible always to resist it, and the memory of the pleasure that it once produced suffices to recall it constantly. Unfortunately it is at first hard to satisfy. One has countless reasons to reject the inclination of one's heart. False prudence confines it within the limits of the human 1; countless efforts of courage are needed to dare to cross those limits. To enjoy doing good is the reward for having done good, and this reward is obtained only after having deserved it. Nothing is more lovable than virtue, but one must possess it to find it so. Virtue is similar to Proteus in the fable: when one wants to embrace it, it at first takes on countless terrifying forms and finally reveals itself in its own form only to those who did not let go. . . . I shall never be able to conceive that what every man is obliged to know is confined to books, and that someone who does not have access to these books, or to those who understand them, is punished for an ignorance which is involuntary. Always books! What a mania. Because Europe is full of books, Europeans regard them as indispensable, without thinking that in threequarters of the earth they have never been seen. Were not all books written by men? Why, then, would man need them to know his duties, and what means had he of knowing them before these books were written? Either he will learn these duties by himself, or he is excused from knowing them.

Editor's Notes 1. For Hobbes, see Part I of this anthology. Hobbes did not draw the conclusion that Rousseau here attributes to him. 2. For Mandeville, see Part III of this anthology. 3. Rousseau here turned to a discussion of sexuality, distinguishing the physical from the moral in the feeling of love. Physical desire is common to us all; the moral aspect of love is a cultural artifact that functions to focus physical desire on one person. It uses notions of beauty that the savage does not have; hence imagination does not stir him, and his passions are much cooler than those of civilized men. It is only in society that love or sexual desire leads men to fight. The fact that male animals fight over females is due to biological facts about their breeding cycles that do not apply to humans. Hence sexuality does not disprove Rousseau's thesis concerning the state of nature. 4. Ovid, Metamorphoses, XI, pp. 127ff. 5. The original French can be translated as either "Man is born free" or "Man was born free," and the translator signals this important ambiguity in the translation. 6. For Grotius, see Part I of this anthology. Grotius did not think that slavery is prohibited by the laws of nature. 7. Aristotle, Politics, 1.i i, 1252a; I.v—vi, 1254a-1255b. 8. Rousseau was referring to a dialogue by Plutarch, in which one of Ulysses' companions, turned into an animal by Circe, argues that animals' souls are more disposed to virtue than human souls are. 9. Cato of Utica (95-46 a.c.E.), often held up as a model of how the Stoic sage should live, committed suicide when faced with political defeat.

Further Reading

629

10. Catiline, in the first century B.C.E., tried to start a revolution in order to save his own fortunes. 11. Xenocrates was a philosopher, a late leader of the Platonic Academy in Athens. 12. Lucretia, wife of a Roman leader, was raped, told her husband, and then committed suicide. 13. For Montaigne, see the Prolegomena to this anthology. 14. Captured by Rome's enemies, Regulus was allowed to go to Rome to seek the city's surrender. He went, advised the Romans to continue to fight, returned to his captors, and was put to death.

Further Reading Rousseau's works are readily available in many translations. The best edition in French is that edited by Bernard Gagnebin and Marcel Reymond, Oeuvres Completes (Paris: Bibliotheque de la Pleiade), four volumes of which have been published. Several good biographical studies of Rousseau are available, among them F. C. Green, J. J. Rousseau (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1955); and James Miller, Rousseau, Dreamer of Democracy (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1984). There is much difference of opinion about the proper interpretation of Rousseau's thought. A good place to begin is N. J. H. Dent, Rousseau (Oxford: Blackwell Publisher, 1988), which concentrates on making philosophical sense of the texts from which excerpts are given in this book. David Gauthier, "The Politics of Redemption," in J. MacAdam, M. Neumann, and G. Lafrance, Trent Rousseau Papers, Revue de l'Universite de Ottawa 49 (1980), also gives a convincing systematic reconstruction of Rousseau's philosophy, which the reader may wish to compare with Dent's. Ronald Grimsley, The Philosophy of Rousseau (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1973), is a good introduction. Judith Shklar, Men and Citizens: A Study of Rousseau's Social Theory (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1969), is a fine study with a chapter on Rousseau's moral psychology. John Charvet, The Social Problem in the Philosophy of Rousseau (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1974). is brief and rather critical of Rousseau, Roger D. Masters, The Political Philosophy of Rousseau (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1968), is a comprehensive review of its subject, and C. W. Hendel, Jean-Jacques Rousseau: Moralist, 2nd ed. (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1962), a study of Rousseau's development, covers all of his work concerning the individual and society. Patrick Riley, The General Will Before Rousseau (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1986), discusses the prehistory of one of Rousseau's central ideas. Rousseau figures largely in two volumes by Lester Crocker: An Age of Crisis, Man and World in Eighteenth Century French Thought (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1959), and Nature and Culture, Ethical Thought in the French Enlightenment (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1963). The reader will need to consult the index in each volume to find the specific places where Rousseau is discussed.

Thomas Reid

Introduction Reid was one of the creators of the Scottish Enlightenment. Born in 1710. he was a younger contemporary of Hutcheson's, a year older than Hume and a dozen years older than Adam Smith, but he outlived them all. We are apt to forget his close intellectual and personal connections with many of these figures, because he published his major works very late in his life. Reid studied in Aberdeen, was ordained in the Presbyterian church in 1731, and from 1737 until 1751 served as parish minister in the small town of New Machar. Thereafter he was a university professor, first at King's College, Aberdeen, and from 1764 on at Glasgow. His Inquiry into the Human Mind on the Principles of Common Sense (1764) is an epistemological study, directed against Hume, of the nature of sensation and its role in our perception of the external world. Throughout his career Reid was actively involved in various societies of intellectuals and literary men trying to cope with Scotland's economic and social problems. An effective and conscientious teacher, he published after his retirement in 1780 much of the material from one course that he regularly gave as Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man in 1785 and material from another as Essays on the Active Powers of the Human Mind in 1788. He died in 1796. Unlike any of the other philosophers of the Scottish Enlightenment, Reid became the founder of a school. A number of Scottish thinkers from the end of the eighteenth until the middle of the nineteenth century carried forward Reid's views in Britain. For several decades after his death, he had enthusiastic disciples in France. And in the United States his philosophy of common sense became almost an orthodoxy in eastern universities, holding sway for half a century or more. It was as a critic of Hume (admired by Hume himself) that Reid made his first major appearance in print, and it was as a critic of Hume that he was chiefly remembered for a long time. Hume's fatal misstep in epistemology, Reid held, was one he was not alone in taking. It had been taken by Descartes and by just about every other philosopher since then. The error lay in believing that in perception we are immediately aware only of something — sensations, impressions, or. as Reid usually said, ideas — in our own mind. Ideas are supposed to "represent" external objects, but that thesis cannot be defended, for we cannot get outside or beyond the ideas to compare them with what they are supposed to represent. Consequently, we cannot support any claim to knowledge of what is past, future, or even present, beyond the content of our immediate awareness. Hume, Reid thought, was the first to see the full consequences of this theory of perception, though Berkeley had drawn some of the drastic conclusions it entails. In his Intellectual Powers, accordingly, Reid went to great lengths to attack the 630

Introduction

631

representative theory of perception and to replace it with a view according to which, although sensation does indeed play a role in giving us knowledge of the external world, so does a rational faculty of judgment. The judgments involved are themselves direct and untaught. Sensations serve as natural signs. Our ability to understand them reflects our possession of principles that enable us to know what the signs mean and thereby to acquire knowledge of the external world. These are the principles of common sense concerning matters of fact. They can be stated with more or less precision, but the only defense they need or can be given is to show that attacks on them, such as Hume's, rest on untenable presuppositions. Because they are first or ultimate principles, all reasoned argument rests on them, and no positive proof is to be expected. One of Hume's errors regarding morals, Reid believed, was akin to his basic error regarding knowledge: He reduced moral judgments to feelings within the agent, thus denying them any objective standing. In reply, Reid produced the earliest version of some now well-known arguments against the "subjectivist" interpretation of the meaning of moral language. He also went beyond criticizing Hume on the meaning of moral terms. Avowedly an admirer of Bishop Butler's, Reid gave a far fuller exposition of the kind of position Butler sketched, filling in details about the standing and the content of moral principles as well as about the moral psychology needed to sustain the position. Butler had not made a decisive response to the question of whether or not morality lies within the domain of knowledge, but Reid, like Price, clearly opted for a positive answer. The first principles of morals, he claimed, are self-evident, as are the first principles of theoretical knowledge. Ordinary people know them and are able to apply them. Like Butler, Reid did not think they could be reduced to any single principle. He offered a list of them, not because his readers need the list as moral agents but because spelling out what everyone will find obvious is part of the defense of the claim that the principles really are self-evident. Butler had said little about free will and moral motivation; in Essay IV of his Essays on the Active Powers, Reid gave a defense (which there is insufficient space to include here) of the commonsense belief in free will and sketched a psychology according to which we can be moved to act simply by recognizing the validity of moral principles. Reid abandoned the age-old view that if we are not moved to pursue what seems to us to be good, we are either perverse or irrational. He held that we can be moved to act as moral principles require, simply because we see them to be binding on us as rational agents and not because we see the good that complying with them will bring about or because we fear punishment if we fail to comply. Reid thus believed that it is consonant with common sense to portray us as fully capable of self-direction and self-motivation in morality. He did not think this was in any way incompatible with the teachings of Christianity. (Reid was a devout Christian.) Although the point is not stressed in his writings, the belief that we were made by the Christian God lies behind Reid's general reliance on human cognitive capacities. His confidence that there can be no conflict between the principle that one ought to be concerned for one's own good on the whole and the principles requiring us to be concerned for justice and the good of others rests in the end on the belief that God made the moral world as harmonious as he made the physical world. And Reid's belief in our competence as moral agents was also in keeping with his understanding of his faith. God will hold us each accountable for acting as morality requires. Reid observed that God must therefore have made it possible for us each to know, without any theory, what those requirements are and to act accordingly. In his view we are being respon-

632

Thomas Reid

sive to God's highest demand on us when we choose freely to do what we see for ourselves to be right. Reid worked out one of the clearest and most influential portrayals of moral autonomy to emerge in the eighteenth century, in order to show how it is that we can be what God wishes us to be. The following excerpts are from the Essays on the Active Powers of the Human Mind. I have eliminated some of the italicization of the early editions.

Essays on the Active Powers of the Human Mind ESSAY II: OF THE WILL

Chapter II: Of the Influence of Incitements and Motives upon the Will Thus, I think, it appears, that the common sense of men, which, in matters of common life, ought to have great authority, has led them to distinguish two parts in the human constitution, which have influence upon our voluntary determinations. There is an irrational part, common to us with brute animals, consisting of appetites, affections, and passions; and there is a cool and rational part. The first, in many cases, gives a strong impulse, but without judgment, and without authority. The second is always accompanied with authority. All wisdom and virtue consist in following its dictates; all vice and folly in disobeying them. We may resist the impulses of appetite and passion, not only without regret, but with self-applause and triumph; but the calls of reason and duty can never be resisted, without remorse and self-condemnation. . . . The reason of explaining this distinction here is, that these two principles influence the will in different ways. Their influence differs, not in degree only, but in kind. This difference we feel, though it may be difficult to find words to express it. We may perhaps more easily form a notion of it by a similitude. It is one thing to push a man from one part of the room to another; it is a thing of a very different nature to use arguments to persuade him to leave his place, and go to another. He may yield to the force which pushes him, without any exercise of his rational faculties; nay, he must yield to it, if he do not oppose an equal or a greater force. His liberty is impaired in some degree; and, if he has not power sufficient to oppose, his liberty is quite taken away, and the motion cannot be imputed to him at all. The influence of appetite or passion seems to me to be very like to this. If the passion be supposed irresistible, we impute the action to it solely, and not to the man. If he had power to resist, but yields after a struggle, we impute the action, partly to the man, and partly to the passion. If we attend to the other case, when the man is only urged by arguments to leave his place, this resembles 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 act, and is entirely to be imputed to him. Arguments, whatever be the degree of their strength, diminish not a man's liberty; they may produce a cool conviction of what we ought to do, and they can do no

Essays on the Active Powers of the Human Mind

633

more. But appetite and passion give an impulse to act and impair liberty, in proportion to their strength. With most men, the impulse of passion is more effectual than bare conviction; and, on this account, orators, who would persuade, find it necessary to address the passions, as well as to convince the understanding; and, in all systems of rhetoric, these two have been considered as different intentions of the orator, and to be accomplished by different means. ESSAY

OF THE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION

Part III: Of the Rational Principles of Action Chapter I: There are rational principles of action in man . . . Whatever we believe, we think agreeable to reason, and, on that account, yield our assent to it. Whatever we disbelieve, we think contrary to reason, and, on that account, dissent from it. Reason therefore is allowed to be the principle by which our belief and opinions ought to be regulated. But reason has been no less universally conceived to be a principle, by which our actions ought to be regulated. To act reasonably, is a phrase no less common in all languages, than to judge reasonably. We immediately approve of a man's conduct, when it appears that he had good reason for what he did. And every action we disapprove, we think unreasonable, or contrary to reason. A way of speaking so universal among men, common to the learned and the unlearned in all nations, and in all languages, must have a meaning. To suppose it to be words without meaning, is to treat, with undue contempt, the common sense of mankind. Suppose this phrase to have a meaning, we may consider in what way reason may serve to regulate human conduct, so that some actions of men are to be denominated reasonable, and others unreasonable. I take it for granted, that there can be no exercise of reason without judgment, nor, on the other hand, any judgment of things abstract and general, without some degree of reason. If, therefore, there be any principles of action in the human constitution, which, in their nature, necessarily imply such judgment, they are the principles which we may call rational, to distinguish them from animal principles, which imply desire, and will, but not judgment. Every deliberate human action must be done either as the means, or as an end; as the means to some end, to which it is subservient, or as an end, for its own sake, and without regard to any thing beyond it. That it is a part of the office of reason to determine, what are the proper means to any end which we desire, no man ever denied. But some philosophers, particularly Mr. Hume, think that it is no part of the office of reason to determine the ends we ought to pursue, or the preference due to one end

634

Thomas Reid

above another. This, he thinks, is not the office of reason, but of taste or feeling. If this be so, reason cannot, with any propriety, be called a principle of action. Its office can only be to minister to the principles of action, by discovering the means of their gratification. Accordingly, Mr. Hume maintains, that reason is no principle of action; but that it is, and ought to be, the servant of the passions.' I shall endeavour to show, that, among the various ends of human actions, there are some, of which, without reason, we could not even form a conception; and that, as soon as they are conceived, a regard to them is, by our constitution, not only a principle of action, but a leading and governing principle, to which all our animal principles are subordinate, and to which they ought to be subject. These I shall call rational principles; because they can exist only in beings endowed with reason, and because, to act from these principles, is what has always been meant by acting according to reason. The ends of human actions 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 strictly connected, lead to the same course of conduct, and co-operate with each other; and, on that account, have commonly been comprehended under one name, that of reason. But as they may be disjoined, and are really distinct principles of action, I shall consider them separately. Chapter .11: Of regard to our good on the whole It will not be denied, that man, when he comes to years of understanding, is led by his rational nature, to form the conception 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 most general and abstract notions we form. Whatever makes a man more happy, or more perfect, is good, and is an object of desire as soon as we are capable of forming the conception of it. The contrary is ill, and is an object of aversion. . . . That which, taken with all its discoverable connections and consequences, brings more good than ill, I call good upon the whole. That brute animals have any conception of this good, I see no reason to believe. And it is evident, that man cannot have the conception of it, till reason be so far advanced, that he can seriously reflect upon the past, and take a prospect of the future part of his existence. It appears therefore, that the very conception of what is good or ill for us upon the whole, is the offspring of reason, and can be only in beings endowed with reason. And if this conception give rise to any principle of action in man, which he had not before, that principle may very properly be called a rational principle of action. . . . I observe, in the next place, that as soon as we have the conception of what

Essays on the Active Powers of the Human Mind

635

is good or ill for us upon the whole, we are led, by our constitution, to seek the good and avoid the ill; and this becomes, not only a principle of action, but a leading or governing principle, to which all our animal principles ought to be subordinate. . . . To prefer a greater good, though distant, to a less that is present; to choose a present evil, in order to avoid a greater evil, or to obtain a greater good, is, in the judgment of all men, wise and reasonable conduct; and, when a man acts the contrary part, all men will acknowledge, that he acts foolishly and unreasonably. . . . Thus, I think, it appears, that to pursue what is good upon the whole, and to avoid what is ill upon the whole, is a rational principle of action, grounded upon our constitution as reasonable creatures. . . . Chapter V: Of the notion of duty, rectitude, moral obligation A being endowed with the animal principles of action only, may be capable of being trained to certain purposes by discipline, as we see many brute animals are, but would be altogether incapable of being governed by law. The subject of law must have the conception of a general rule of conduct, which, without some degree of reason, he cannot have. He must likewise have a sufficient inducement to obey the law, even when his strongest animal desires draw him the contrary way. This inducement may be a sense of interest, or a sense of duty, or both concurring. These are the only principles I am able to conceive which can reasonably induce a man to regulate all his actions according to a certain general rule, or law. They may therefore be justly called the rational principles of action, since they can have no place but in a being endowed with reason, and since it is by them only, that man is capable either of political or of moral government. . . . there is a nobler principle 2 in the constitution of man, which, in many cases, gives a clearer and more certain rule of conduct, than a regard merely to interest would give, and a principle, without which man would not be a moral agent. A man is prudent when he consults his real interest, but he cannot be virtuous, if he has no regard to duty. I proceed now to consider this regard to duty as a rational principle of action in man, and as that principle alone by which he is capable either of virtue or vice. I shall first offer some observations with regard to the general notion of duty, and its contrary, or of right and wrong in human conduct; and then consider how we come to judge and determine certain things in human conduct to be right, and others to be wrong. With regard to the notion or conception of duty, I take it to be too simple to admit of a logical definition. We can define it only by synonymous words or phrases, or by its properties and necessary concomitants; as when we say that it is what we ought to do,

636

Thomas Reid

what is fair and honest, what is approvable, what every man professes to be the rule of his conduct, what all men praise, and what is in itself laudable, though no man should praise it. I observe, in the next place, that the notion of duty cannot be resolved into that of interest, or what is most for our happiness. Every man may be satisfied of this who attends to his own conceptions, and the language of all mankind shows it. When I say this is my interest, I mean one thing; when I say it is my duty, I mean another thing. And though the same course of action, when rightly understood, may be both my duty and my interest, the conceptions are very different. Both are reasonable motives to action, but quite distinct in their nature. I presume it will be granted, that in every man of real worth, there is a principle of honor, a regard to what is honorable or dishonorable, very distinct from a regard to his interest. It is folly in a man to disregard his interest, but to do what is dishonorable is baseness. The first may move our pity, or, in some cases, our contempt, but the last provokes our indignation. As these two principles are different in their nature, and not resolvable into one, so the principle of honor is evidently superior in dignity to that of interest. No man would allow him to be a man of honor, who should plead his interest to justify what he acknowledged to be dishonorable; but to sacrifice interest to honor never costs a blush. It likewise will be allowed by every man of honor, that this principle is not to be resolved into a regard to our reputation among men, otherwise the man of honor would not deserve to be trusted in the dark. He would have no aversion to lie, or cheat, or play the coward, when he had no dread of being discovered. I take it for granted, therefore, that every man of real honor feels an abhorrence of certain actions, because they are in themselves base, and feels an obligation to certain other actions, because they are in themselves what honor requires, and this, independently of any consideration of interest or reputation. This is an immediate moral obligation. This principle of honor, which is acknowledged by all men who pretend to character, is only another name for what we call a regard to duty, to rectitude, to propriety of conduct.' It is a moral obligation which obliges a man to do certain things because they are right, and not to do other things because they are wrong. Ask the man of honor, why he thinks himself obliged to pay a debt of honor? The very question shocks him. To suppose that he needs any other inducement to do it but the principle of honor, is to suppose that he has no honor, no worth, and deserves no esteem. There is therefore a principle in man, which, when he acts according to it, gives him a consciousness of worth, and when he acts contrary to it, a sense of demerit. From the varieties of education, of fashion, of prejudices, and of habits,

Essays on the Active Powers of the Human Mind

637

men may differ much in opinion with regard to the extent of this principle, and of what it commands and forbids; but the notion of it, as far as it is carried, is the same in all. It is that which gives a man real worth, and is the object of moral approbation. . . . All the ancient sects, except the Epicureans, distinguished the honestum from the utile,' as we distinguish what is a man's duty from what is his interest. . . . This division of our active principles can hardly indeed be accounted a discovery of philosophy, because it has been common to the unlearned in all ages of the world, and seems to be dictated by the common sense of mankind. What I would now observe concerning this common division of our active powers, is, that the leading principle, which is called reason, comprehends both a regard to what is right and honorable, and a regard to our happiness upon the whole. Although these be really two distinct principles of action, it is very natural to comprehend them under one name, because both are leading principles, both suppose the use of reason, and, when rightly understood, both lead to the same course of life. They are like two fountains whose streams unite and run in the same channel. When a man, on one occasion, consults his real happiness in things not inconsistent with his duty, though in opposition to the solicitation of appetite or passion; and when, on another occasion, without any selfish consideration, he does what is right and honorable, because it is so; in both these cases he acts reasonably; every man approves of his conduct, and calls it reasonable, or according to reason. So that, when we speak of reason as a principle of action in man, it includes a regard both to the honestum and to the utile. . . . If we examine the abstract notion of duty, or moral obligation, it appears to be neither any real quality of the action considered by itself, nor of the agent considered without respect to the action, but a certain relation between the one and the other. When we say a man ought to do such a thing, the ought, which expresses the moral obligation, has a respect, on the one hand, to the person who ought, and, on the other, to the action which he ought to do. Those two correlates are essential to every moral obligation; take away either, and it has no existence. So that, if we seek the place of moral obligation among the categories, it belongs to the category of relation. There are many relations of things, of which we have the most distinct conception, without being able to define them logically. Equality and proportion are relations between quantities, which every man understands, but no man can define. Moral obligation is a relation of its own kind, which every man understands, but is perhaps too simple to admit of logical definition. Like all other relations, it may be changed or annihilated by a change in any of the two related things, I mean the agent or the action. . . .

638

Thomas Reid

Chapter VI: Of the sense of duty We are next to consider, how we learn to judge and determine, that this is right, and that is wrong. The abstract notion of moral good and ill would be of no use to direct our life, if we had not the power of applying it to particular actions, and determining what is morally good, and what is morally ill. Some philosophers, with whom I agree, ascribe this to an original power or faculty in man, which they call the moral sense, the moral faculty, conscience. Others think, that our moral sentiments may be accounted for without supposing any original sense or faculty appropriated to that purpose, and go into very different systems to account for them. I am not, at present, to take any notice of those systems, because the opinion first mentioned seems to me to be the truth, to wit, that, by an original power of the mind, when we come to years of understanding and reflection, we not only have the notions of right and wrong in conduct, but perceive certain things to be right, and others to be wrong. The name of the moral sense, though more frequently given to conscience since lord Shaftesbury and Dr. Hutcheson wrote, is not new. The sensus recti et honesti is a phrase not unfrequent among the ancients, neither is the sense of duty among us. It has got this name of sense, no doubt, from some analogy which it is conceived to bear to the external senses. And if we have just notions of the office of the external senses, the analogy is very evident, and I see no reason to take offence, as some have done, at the name of the moral sense. The offence taken at this name seems to be owing to this, that philosophers have degraded the senses too much, and deprived them of the most important part of their office. We are taught, that by the senses, we have only certain ideas which we could not have otherwise. They are represented as powers by which we have sensations and ideas, not as powers by which we judge. This notion of the senses I take to be very lame, and to contradict what nature and accurate reflection teach concerning them! A man who has totally lost the sense of seeing, may retain very distinct notions of the various colours; but he cannot judge of colours, because he has lost the sense by which alone he could judge. By my eyes I not only have the ideas of a square and a circle, but I perceive this surface to be a square, that to be a circle. By my ear, I not only have the idea of sounds, loud and soft, acute and grave, but I immediately perceive and judge this sound to be loud, that to be soft, this to be acute, that to be grave. lIvo or more synchronous sounds I perceive to be concordant, others to be discordant. These are judgments of the senses. They have always been called and accounted such, by those whose minds are not tinctured by philosophical theories. They are the immediate testimony of nature by our senses; and we are so constituted by nature, that we must receive their testimony, for no other reason but because it is given by our senses.

Essays on the Active Powers of the Human Mind

639

In vain do skeptics endeavour to overturn this evidence by metaphysical reasoning. Though we should not be able to answer their arguments, we believe our senses still, and rest our most important concerns upon their testimony. If this be a just notion of our external senses, as I conceive it is, our moral faculty may, I think, without impropriety, be called the moral sense. In its dignity it is, without doubt, far superior to every other power of the mind; but there is this analogy between it and the external senses, that, as by them we have not only the original conceptions of the various qualities of bodies, but the original judgments that this body has such a quality, that such another; so by our moral faculty, we have both the original conceptions of right and wrong in conduct, of merit and demerit, and the original judgments that this conduct is right, that is wrong; that this character has worth, that, demerit. The testimony of our moral faculty, like that of the external senses, is the testimony of nature, and we have the same reason to rely upon it. The truths immediately testified by the external senses are the first principles from which we reason, with regard to the material world, and from which all our knowledge of it is deduced. The truths immediately testified by our moral faculty, are the first principles of all moral reasoning, from which all our knowledge of our duty must be deduced. . . . All reasoning must be grounded on first principles. This holds in moral reasoning, as in all other kinds. There must therefore be in morals, as in all other sciences, first or self-evident principles, on which all moral reasoning is grounded, and on which it ultimately rests. From such self-evident principles, conclusions may be drawn synthetically with regard to the moral conduct of life; and particular duties or virtues may be traced back to such principles, analytically. But, without such principles, we can no more establish any conclusions in morals, than we can build a castle in the air, without any foundation. An example or two will serve to illustrate this. It is a first principle in morals, that we ought not to do to another, what we should think wrong to be done to us in like circumstances. If a man is not capable of perceiving this in his cool moments, when he reflects seriously, he is not a moral agent, nor is he capable of being convinced of it by reasoning. From what topic can you reason with such a man? You may possibly convince him by reasoning, that it is his interest to observe this rule; but this is not to convince him that it is his duty. To reason about justice with a man who sees nothing to be just or unjust; or about benevolence with a man who sees nothing in benevolence preferable to malice, is like reasoning with a blind man about colour, or with a deaf man about sound. . . . Thus we shall find that all moral reasonings rest upon one or more first principles of morals, whose truth is immediately perceived without reasoning, by all men come to years of understanding. And this indeed is common to every branch of human knowledge that

640

Thomas Reid

deserves the name of science. There must be first principles proper to that science, by which the whole superstructure is supported. The first principles of all the sciences, must be the immediate dictates of our natural faculties; nor is it possible that we should have any other evidence of their truth. And in different sciences the faculties which dictate their first principles are very different. . . . The faculties which nature has given us, are the only engines we can use to find out the truth. We cannot indeed prove that those faculties are not fallacious, unless God should give us new faculties to sit in judgment upon the old. But we are born under a necessity of trusting them. Every man in his senses believes his eyes, his ears, and his other senses. He believes his consciousness, with respect to his own thoughts and purposes, his memory, with regard to what is past, his understanding, with regard to abstract relations of things, and his taste, with regard to what is elegant and beautiful. And he has the same reason, and, indeed, is under the same necessity of believing the clear and unbiassed dictates of his conscience, with regard to what is honorable and what is base. . . .

Chapter VII: Of moral approbation and disapprobation Our moral judgments are not, like those we form in speculative matters, dry and unaffecting, but from their nature, are necessarily accompanied with affections and feelings; which we are now to consider. It was before observed, that every human action, considered in a moral view, appears to us good, or bad, or indifferent. When we judge the action to be indifferent, neither good nor bad, though this be a moral judgment, it produces no affection nor feeling, any more than our judgments in speculative matters. But we approve of good actions, and disapprove of bad; and this approbation and disapprobation, when we analyze it, appears to include, not only a moral judgment of the action, but some affection, favourable or unfavourable, toward the agent, and some feeling in ourselves. Nothing is more evident than this, that moral worth, even in a stranger, with whom we have not the least connection, never fails to produce some degree of esteem mixed with good will. The esteem which we have for a man on account of his moral worth, is different from that which is grounded upon his intellectual accomplishments, his birth, fortune, and connection with us. Moral worth, when it is not set off by eminent abilities, and external advantages, is like a diamond in the mine, which is rough and unpolished, and perhaps crusted over with some baser material that takes away its lustre. But, when it is attended with these advantages, it is like a diamond cut, polished, and set. Then its lustre attracts every eye. Yet these things which add so much to its appearance, add but little to its real value. We must further observe, that esteem and benevolent regard, not only accompany real worth by the constitution of our nature, but are perceived to

Essays on the Active Powers of the Human Mind

641

be really and properly due to it; and that, on the contrary, unworthy conduct really merits dislike and indignation. There is no judgment of the heart of man more clear, or more irresistible, than this, that esteem and regard are really due to good conduct, and the contrary to base and unworthy conduct. Nor can we conceive a greater depravity in the heart of man, than it would be to see and acknowledge worth without feeling any respect to it; or to see and acknowledge the highest worthlessness without any degree of dislike and indignation. ESSAY IV: OF THE LIBERTY OF MORAL AGENTS Chapter XI: Of the Permission of Evil The defenders of necessity,' to reconcile it to the principles of theism, find themselves obliged to give up all the moral attributes of God, excepting that of goodness, or a desire to produce happiness. This they hold to be the sole motive of his making and governing the universe. Justice, veracity, faithfulness, are only modifications of goodness, the means of promoting its purposes, and are exercised only so far as they serve that end. Virtue is acceptable to him, and vice displeasing, only as the first tends to produce happiness and the last misery. He is the proper cause and agent of all moral evil as well as good; but it is for a good end, to produce the greater happiness to his creatures. He does evil that good may come; and this end sanctifies the worst actions that contribute to it. All the wickedness of men being the work of God, he must, when he surveys it, pronounce it, as well as all his other works, to be very good. . . . If we form our notions of the moral attributes of the Deity from what we see of his government of the world, from the dictates of reason and conscience, or from the doctrine of revelation; justice, veracity, faithfulness, the love of virtue and dislike of vice, appear to be no less essential attributes of his nature than goodness. In man, who is made after the image of God, goodness, or benevolence, is indeed an essential part of virtue, but it is not the whole. I am at a loss what arguments can be brought to prove goodness to be essential to the Deity, which will not, with equal force, prove other moral attributes to be so; or what objections can be brought against the latter, which have not equal strength against the former, unless it be admitted to be an objection against other moral attributes, that they do not accord with the doctrine of necessity. ESSAY V: OF MORALS Chapter 1: Of the first principles of morals Morals, like all other sciences, must have first principles, on which all moral reasoning is grounded. . . .

642

Thomas Reid

I propose, therefore, in this chapter, to point out some of the first principles of morals, without pretending to a complete enumeration. The principles I am to mention, relate either to virtue in general, or to the different particular branches of virtue, or to the comparison of virtues where they seem to interfere. 1st, There are some things in human conduct, that merit approbation and praise, others that merit blame and punishment; and different degrees either of approbation or of blame, are due to different actions. 2ndly, What is in no degree voluntary, can neither deserve moral approbation nor blame. 3dly, What is done from unavoidable necessity may be agreeable or disagreeable, useful or hurtful, but cannot be the object either of blame or of moral approbation. 4thly, Men may be highly culpable in omitting what they ought to have done, as well as in doing what they ought not. 5thly, We ought to use the best means we can to be well informed of our duty, by serious attention to moral instruction; by observing what we approve, and what we disapprove, in other men, whether our acquaintance, or those whose actions are recorded in history; by reflecting often, in a calm and dispassionate hour, on our own past conduct, that we may discern what was wrong, what was right, and what might have been better; by deliberating cooly and impartially upon our future conduct, as far as we can foresee the opportunities we may have of doing good, or the temptations to do wrong; and by having this principle deeply fixed in our minds, that as moral excellence is the true worth and glory of a man, so that knowledge of our duty is to every man, in every station of life, the most important of all knowledge. 6thly, It ought to be our most serious concern to do our duty as far as we know it, and to fortify our minds against every temptation to deviate from it; by maintaining a lively sense of the beauty of right conduct, and of its present and future reward, of the turpitude of vice, and of its bad consequences here and hereafter; by having always in our eye the noblest examples; by the habit of subjecting our passions to the government of reason; by firm purposes and resolutions with regard to our conduct; by avoiding occasions of temptation when we can; and by imploring the aid of him who made us, in every hour of temptation. These principles concerning virtue and vice in general, must appear selfevident to every man who has a conscience, and who has taken pains to exercise this natural power of his mind. I proceed to others that are more particular. 1st, We ought to prefer a greater good, though more distant, to a less; and a less evil to a greater. . . . 2dly, As far as the intention of nature appears in the constitution of man, we ought to comply with that intention, and to act agreeably to it. The Author of our being has given us not only the power of acting within a

Essays on the Active Powers of the Human Mind

643

limited sphere, but various principles or springs of action, of different nature and dignity, to direct us in the exercise of our active power. From the constitution of every species of the inferior animals, and especially from the active principles which nature has given them, we easily perceive the manner of life for which nature intended them; and they uniformly act the part to which they are led by their constitution, without any reflection upon it, or intention of obeying its dictates. Man only, of the inhabitants of this world, is made capable of observing his own constitution, what kind of life it is made for, and of acting according to that intention, or contrary to it. He only is capable of yielding an intentional obedience to the dictates of his nature, or of rebelling against them. . . . The intention of nature, in the various active principles of man, in the desires of power, of knowledge, and of esteem, in the affection to children, to near relations, and to the communities to which we belong, in gratitude, in compassion, and even in resentment and emulation, is very obvious, and has been pointed out in treating of those principles. Nor is it less evident, that reason and conscience are given us to regulate the inferior principles, so that they may conspire, in a regular and consistent plan of life, in pursuit of some worthy end. 3dly, No man is born for himself only. Every man, therefore, ought to consider himself as a member of the common society of mankind, and of those subordinate societies to which he belongs, such as family, friends, neighbourhood, country, and to do as much good as he can, and as little hurt to the societies of which he is a part. This axiom leads directly to the practice of every social virtue, and indirectly to the virtues of self-government, by which only we can be qualified for discharging the duty we owe to society. 4thly, In every case, we ought to act that part toward another, which we would judge to be right in him to act toward us, if we were in his circumstances and he in ours; or, more generally, what we approve in others, that we ought to practise in like circumstances, and what we condemn in others we ought not to do. If there be any such thing as right and wrong in the conduct of moral agents, it must be the same to all in the same circumstances. We stand all in the same relation to Him who made us, and will call us to account for our conduct: for with him there is no respect of persons. We stand in the same relation to one another as members of the great community of mankind. The duties consequent upon the different ranks, and offices, and relations of men, are the same to all in the same circumstances. . . . As the equity and obligation of this rule of conduct is self-evident to every man who has a conscience; so it is, of all the rules of morality, the most comprehensive, and truly deserves the encomium given it by the highest authority, that it is the law and the prophets. It comprehends every rule of justice without exception. It comprehends all the relative duties, arising either from the more permanent relations of parent

644

Thomas Reid

and child, of master and servant, of magistrate and subject, of husband and wife; or from the more transient relations of rich and poor, of buyer and seller, of debtor and creditor, of benefactor and beneficiary, of friend and enemy. It comprehends every duty of charity and humanity, and even of courtesy and good manners. Nay, I think, that, without any force or straining, it extends even to the duties of self-government. For, as every man approves in others the virtues of prudence, temperance, self-command and fortitude, he must perceive, that what is right in others must be right in himself in like circumstances. . . . It may be observed, that this axiom supposes a faculty in man by which he can distinguish right conduct from wrong. It supposes also, that, by this faculty, we easily perceive the right and the wrong in other men that are indifferent to us; but are very apt to be blinded by the partiality of selfish passions when the case concerns ourselves. Every claim we have against others is apt to be magnified by self-love, when viewed directly. A change of persons removes this prejudice, and brings the claim to appear in its just magnitude. 5thly, To every man who believes the existence, the perfections, and the providence of God, the veneration and submission we owe to him is selfevident. Right sentiments of the Deity and of his works, not only make the duty we owe to him obvious to every intelligent being, but likewise add the authority of a divine law to every rule of right conduct. There is another class of axioms in morals, by which, when there seems to be an opposition between the actions that different virtues lead to, we determine to which the preference is due. Between the several virtues, as they are dispositions of mind, or determinations of will to act according to a certain general rule, there can be no opposition. They dwell together most amicably, and give mutual aid and ornament, without the possibility of hostility or opposition, and, taken altogether, make one uniform and consistent rule of conduct. But, between particular external actions, which different virtues would lead to, there may be an opposition. Thus, the same man may be in his heart, generous, grateful, and just. These dispositions strengthen, but never can weaken one another. Yet it may happen, that an external action which generosity or gratitude solicits, justice may forbid. That in all such cases, unmerited generosity should yield to gratitude, and both to justice, is self-evident. Nor is it less so, that unmerited beneficence to those who are at ease should yield to compassion to the miserable, and external acts of piety to works of mercy, because God loves mercy more than sacrifice. At the same time, we perceive, that those acts of virtue which ought to yield in the case of a competition, have most intrinsic worth when there is no competition. Thus, it is evident that there is more worth in pure and unmerited benevolence than in compassion, more in compassion than in gratitude, and more in gratitude than in justice. I call these first principles, because they appear to me to have in themselves

Essays on the Active Powers of the Human Mind

645

an intuitive evidence which I cannot resist. I find I can express them in other words. I can illustrate them by examples and authorities, and perhaps can deduce one of them from another; but I am not able to deduce them from other principles that are more evident. And I find the best moral reasonings of authors I am acquainted with, ancient and modern, heathen and christian, to be grounded upon one or more of them. The evidence of mathematical axioms is not discerned till men come to a certain degree of maturity of understanding. A boy must have formed the general conception of quantity, and of more, and less, and equal; of sum, and difference; and he must have been accustomed to judge of these relations in matters of common life, before he can perceive the evidence of the mathematical axiom, that equal quantities, added to equal quantities, make equal sums. In like manner, our moral judgment, or conscience, grows to maturity from an imperceptible seed, planted by our Creator. When we are capable of contemplating the actions of other men, or of reflecting upon our own calmly and dispassionately, we begin to perceive in them the qualities of honest and dishonest, of honorable and base, of right and wrong, and to feel the sentiments of moral approbation and disapprobation. . . . From the principles above mentioned, the whole system of moral conduct follows so easily, and with so little aid of reasoning, that every man of common understanding, who wishes to know his duty, may know it. The path of duty is a plain path, which the upright in heart can rarely mistake. Such it must be, since every man is bound to walk in it. There are some intricate cases in morals which admit of disputation; but these seldom occur in practice; and, when they do, the learned disputant has no great advantage: for the unlearned man, who uses the best means in his power to know his duty, and acts according to his knowledge, is inculpable in the sight of God and man. He may err, but he is not guilty of immorality. Chapter IV: Whether an action deserving moral approbation, must be done with the belief of its being morally good There is no part of philosophy more subtile and intricate than that which is called the Theory of Morals. Nor is there any more plain and level to the apprehension of man than the practical part of morals. In the former, the Epicurean, the Peripatetic and the Stoic, had each his different system of old; and almost every modern author of reputation has a system of his own. At the same time, there is no branch of human knowledge in which there is so general an agreement among ancients and moderns, learned and unlearned, as in the practical rules of morals. From this discord in the theory, and harmony in the practical part, we may judge, that the rules of morality stand upon another and a firmer foundation than the theory. And of this it is easy to perceive the reason. For in order to know what is right and what is wrong in human conduct, we need only listen to the dictates of our conscience, when the mind is calm and unruffled, or attend to the judgment we form of others in like circumstances.

646

Thomas Reid

But, to judge of the various theories of morals, we must be able to analyze and dissect, as it were, the active powers of the human mind, and especially to analyze accurately that conscience or moral power, by which we discern right from wrong. . . . From this remarkable disparity between our decisions in the theory of morals and in the rules of morality, we may, I think, draw this conclusion, that where-ever we find any disagreement between the practical rules of morality, which have been received in all ages, and the principles of any of the theories advanced upon this subject, the practical rules ought to be the standard by which the theory is to be corrected; and that it is both unsafe and unphilosophical to warp the practical rules, in order to make them tally with a favourite theory. Chapter VII: That moral approbation implies a real judgment The approbation of good actions, and disapprobation of bad, are so familiar to every man come to years of understanding, that it seems strange there should be any dispute about their nature.' Whether we reflect upon our own conduct, or attend to the conduct of others with whom we live, or of whom we hear or read, we cannot help approving of some things, disapproving of others, and regarding many with perfect indifference. These operations of our minds we are conscious of every day, and almost every hour we live. Men of ripe understanding are capable of reflecting upon them, and of attending to what passes in their own thoughts on such occasions; yet, for half a century, it has been a serious dispute among philosophers, what this approbation and disapprobation is, whether there be a real judgment included in it, which, like all other judgments, must be true or false; or, whether it include no more but some agreeable or uneasy feeling, in the person who approves or disapproves. . . . When I exercise my moral faculty about my own actions or those of other men, I am conscious that I judge as well as feel. I accuse and excuse, I acquit and condemn, I assent and dissent, I believe, and disbelieve, and doubt. These are acts of judgment, and not feelings. Every determination of the understanding, with regard to what is true or false, is judgment. That I ought not to steal, or to kill, or to bear false witness, are propositions, of the truth of which I am as well convinced as of any proposition in Euclid. I am conscious that I judge them to be true propositions; and my consciousness makes all other arguments unnecessary, with regard to the operations of my own mind. That other men judge, as well as feel, in such cases, I am convinced, because they understand me when I express my moral judgment, and express theirs by the same terms and phrases. Suppose that, in a case well known to both, my friend says, Such a man did well and worthily; his conduct is highly approvable. This speech according to all rules of interpretation, expresses my friend's judgment of the man's con-

Essays on the Active Powers of the Human Mind

647

duct. This judgment may be true or false, and I may agree in opinion with him, or I may dissent from him without offence, as we may differ in other matters of judgment. Suppose, again, that in relation to the same case, my friend says, The man's conduct gave me a very agreeable feeling. This speech, if approbation be nothing but an agreeable feeling, must have the very same meaning with the first, and express neither more nor less. But this cannot be, for two reasons. 1st, Because there is no rule in grammar or rhetoric, nor any usage in language, by which these two speeches can be construed, so as to have the same meaning. The first expresses plainly an opinion or judgment of the conduct of the man, but says nothing of the speaker. The second only testifies a fact concerning the speaker; to wit, that he had such a feeling. Another reason why these two speeches cannot mean the same thing is, that the first may be contradicted without any ground of offence, such contradiction being only a difference of opinion, which, to a reasonable man, gives no offence. But the second speech cannot be contradicted without an affront; for, as every man must know his own feelings, to deny that a man had a feeling which he affirms he had, is to charge him with falsehood. If moral approbation be a real judgment, which produces an agreeable feeling in the mind of him who judges, both speeches are perfectly intelligible, in the most obvious and literal sense. Their meaning is different, but they are related, so that the one may be inferred from the other, as we infer the effect from the cause, or the cause from the effect. I know, that what a man judges to be a very worthy action, he contemplates with pleasure; and what he contemplates with pleasure, must, in his judgment, have worth. But the judgment and the feeling are different acts of his mind, though connected as cause and effect. He can express either the one or the other with perfect propriety; but the speech which expresses his feeling is altogether improper and inept to express his judgment, for this evident reason, that judgment and feeling, though in some cases connected, are things in their nature different. If we suppose, on the other hand, that moral approbation is nothing more than an agreeable feeling, occasioned by the contemplation of an action, the second speech above mentioned has a distinct meaning, and expresses all that is meant by moral approbation. But the first speech either means the very same thing, which cannot be, for the reasons already mentioned, or it has no meaning. Now, we may appeal to the reader, whether, in conversation upon human characters, such speeches as the first are not as frequent, as familiar, and as well understood, as any thing in language; and whether they have not been common in all ages that we can trace, and in all languages? This doctrine, therefore, that moral approbation is merely a feeling without judgment, necessarily carries along with it this consequence, that a form of speech, upon one of the most common topics of discourse, which either has no meaning, or a meaning irreconcileable to all rules of grammar or rhetoric, is

648

Thomas Reid

found to be common and familiar in all languages, and in all ages of the world, while every man knows how to express the meaning, if it have any, in plain and proper language. Such a consequence I think sufficient to sink any philosophical opinion on which it hangs. . . . All the words most commonly used, both by philosophers and by the vulgar, to express the operations of our moral faculty, such as decision, determination, sentence, approbation, disapprobation, applause, censure, praise, blame, necessarily imply judgment in their meaning. When, therefore, they are used by Mr. Hume, and others who hold his opinion, to signify feelings only, this is an abuse of words. If these philosophers wish to speak plainly and properly, they must, in discoursing of morals, discard these words altogether, because their established signification in the language, is contrary to what they would express by them. They must likewise discard from morals the words ought and ought not, which very properly express judgment, but cannot be applied to mere feelings. Upon these words Mr. Hume has made a particular observation in the conclusion of his first section above mentioned. I shall give it in his own words, and make some remarks upon it. "I cannot forbear adding to these reasonings, an observation which may, perhaps, be found of some importance. In every system of morality which I have hitherto met with, I have always remarked, that the author proceeds for some time in the ordinary way of reasoning, and establishes the being of a God, or makes observations concerning human affairs; when, of a sudden, I am surprised to find, that, instead of the usual copulations of propositions, is, and is not, I meet with no proposition that is not connected with an ought, or an ought not. This change is imperceptible, but is, however, of the last consequence. For as this ought or ought not expresses some new relation or affirmation, it is necessary that it should be observed and explained; and, at the same time, that a reason should be given for what seems altogether inconceivable; how this new relation can be a deduction from others which are entirely different from it. But as authors do not commonly use this precaution, I shall presume to recommend it to the readers; and I am persuaded that this small attention would subvert all the vulgar systems of morality, and let us see, that the distinction of vice and virtue, is not founded merely on the relations of objects, nor is perceived by reason."' We may here observe, that it is acknowledged, that the words ought and ought not express some relation or affirmation; but a relation or affirmation which Mr. Hume thought inexplicable, or, at least, inconsistent with his system of morals. He must, therefore, have thought, that they ought not to be used in treating of that subject. He likewise makes two demands, and, taking it for granted that they cannot be satisfied, is persuaded, that an attention to this is sufficient to subvert all the vulgar systems of morals.

Editor's Notes

649

The first demand is, that ought and ought not be explained. To a man that understands English, there are surely no words that require explanation less. Are not all men taught, from their early years, that they ought not to lie, nor steal, nor swear falsely? But Mr. Hume thinks, that men never understood what these precepts mean, or rather that they are unintelligible. If this be so, I think indeed it will follow, that all the vulgar systems of morals are subverted. Dr. Johnson, in his Dictionary, explains the word ought to signify, being obliged by duty; and I know no better explication that can be given of it. The reader will see what I thought necessary to say concerning the moral relation expressed by this word, in Essay III. part 3. chap. 5. The second demand is that a reason should be given why this relation should be a deduction from others, which are entirely different from it. This is to demand a reason for what does not exist. The first principles of morals are not deductions. They are self-evident; and their truth, like that of other axioms, is perceived without reasoning or deduction. And moral truths, that are not self-evident, are deduced not from relations quite different from them, but from the first principles of morals. In a matter so interesting to mankind, and so frequently the subject of conversation among the learned and the unlearned as morals is, it may surely be expected that men will express both their judgments and their feelings with propriety, and consistently with the rules of language. An opinion, therefore, which makes the language of all ages and nations, upon this subject, to be improper, contrary to all rules of language, and fit to be discarded, needs no other refutation. Editor's Notes 1. Hume's most striking presentation of his position occurs in the Treatise of Human Nature, bk. II, part III, sec. III, where he says, "Reason is, and ought only to be, the slave of the passions, and can never pretend to any other office than to serve and obey them." 2. Than the principle of self-interest. 3. Reid seems here to take the term "honor" as having the broad meaning of the Latin honestum. 4. The decent or honorable or proper, as contrasted with the useful or profitable. 5. In his Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man, Reid argued at length for the epistemological position sketched here. 6. Reid was discussing here the problem of evil, in particular the question of why God permits evil in the world. 7. Reid was attacking here Hume's theory that morality "is more properly felt than judged of," for which Hume argued in the Treatise, bk. III, sec. I—II. The version of this doctrine that Hume presented in the later Essay Concerning the Principles of Morals (excerpts from which are given earlier in this section of the anthology) is stated in a more conciliatory fashion, without giving up the main point of the earlier version. 8. This is the final paragraph of Hume's Treatise, bk. HI, part I, sec. I.

650

Thomas Reid Further Reading

The only complete edition of Reid's works is that edited in the nineteenth century by Sir William Hamilton, in two volumes. For general background, see Nicholas Phillipson, "The Scottish Enlightenment," in Roy Porter and Mikulas Teich, eds., The Enlightenment in National Context (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1981). The volume of essays, R. H. Campbell and Andrew S. Skinner, eds., The Origins and Nature of the Scottish Enlightenment (Edinburgh: John Donald, 1982), provides valuable insights into the context of Reid's work, although Reid himself is not extensively discussed. For a careful analytic study, see Keith Lehrer, Thomas Reid (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1989). The literature on Reid's ethics is scanty. S. A. Grave, The Scottish Philosophy of Common Sense (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1960), discusses the epistemology of commonsense philosophy, paying a great deal of attention to Reid, but only Chapter 7 concerns morality. J. B. Schneewind, Sidgwick's Ethics and Victorian Moral Philosophy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1977), examines Reid's ethics and the theories of the nineteenth-century Scottish commonsense philosophers who followed him. Knud Haakonssen, Thomas Reid: Practical Ethics (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1990), includes important manuscripts drawn from courses that Reid taught,, giving us much insight into the importance of natural law thinking for Reid's own views. Haakonssen also wrote a valuable introduction covering Reid's life and philosophy. The following essays also will be helpful: Ardal, Pall S. "Hume and Reid on Promise, Intention, and Obligation." In V. Hope, ed., Philosophers of the Scottish Enlightenment. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1984. Dalgarno, Melvin T. "Reid's Natural Jurisprudence: The Language of Rights and Duties." In V. Hope, ed., Philosophers of the Scottish Enlightenment. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1984. Duggan, Timothy. "Active Power and the Liberty of Moral Agents." In Stephen F. Barker and Tom L. Beauchamp, eds., Thomas Reid: Critical Interpretations. Philadelphia: University City Science Center, 1976. Haakonssen, Knud. "Reid's Politics: A Natural Law Theory." Reid Studies 1 (1986-7). Jensen, Henning. "Common Sense and Common Language in Thomas Reid's Ethical Theory." The Monist 61 (1978):299-310. Pritchard, Michael. "Reason and Passion: Reid's Reply to Hume." The Monist 61 (1978):283-98. Weinstock, Jerome. "Reid's Definition of Freedom." In Stephen F. Barker and Tom L. Beauchamp, eds., Thomas Reid: Critical Interpretations. Philadelphia: University City Science Center, 1976.

Immanuel Kant

Introduction Immanuel Kant was born in 1724 in K6nigsberg (now called Kaliningrad) in the eastern part of Prussia. A child of poor parents, he received scholarships that enabled him to go to school and to the small university in his hometown. After graduation he served as a tutor for wealthy local families and then obtained a position at the university. There he taught until almost the end of his life, never traveling and never marrying. He lectured on a wide variety of subjects (including the art of fortification, which he taught to Russian officers when Konigsberg was occupied by Catherine the Great's troops during the 1750s), generally attracting a large number of students. Kant kept up with developments in science, literature, and world affairs; was one of the founders of the discipline of physical geography; introduced a course on anthropology; and made contributions to our understanding of the movement of the weather. His main work, however, was in philosophy, and there, it is generally agreed, what he wrote was epoch making. Though Kant published several books and essays while he was young, his major writings began to appear only when he was in his middle years. In 1781 he published the Critique of Pure Reason, announcing a radical break with the epistemology and metaphysics of the entire philosophical past. He then proceeded to elaborate the implications of his new outlook for history, ethics, aesthetics, religion, and politics in a series of books and articles that he continued to write until a year or two before his death in 1804. His work was quickly seen to be of the utmost importance. It was widely discussed during his lifetime, winning followers and arousing criticism, and has been indispensable to philosophy ever since. Kant's ethical theory was the most original contribution to moral philosophy to be made during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. The topics on which he wrote were standard topics of the time, and some of the views he developed had been anticipated by earlier writers, but no one had proposed a systematic ethic as fully and radically at odds with all previous views as Kant did. He claimed that the central principle of morality is one that makes the rightness or wrongness of actions altogether independent of the goodness or badness of their consequences. He held that everyone equally can apply this principle and that everyone can be motivated by knowledge of its requirements. We can therefore be moved by a concern that is not a concern for good or bad but is still rational. Only by accepting these points, he held, can we understand how all human beings can be fully self-governing, or autonomous, subjected to the rule of no one other than themselves in the most important choices we

651

652

Immanuel Kant

need to make and yet still bound by strict obligations. And he believed that only this view of humanity was commensurate with our intrinsic dignity. Morality and metaphysics are complexly blended in Kant's ethics. He considered the categorical imperative — the basic principle of morality as we understand it — capable of providing better moral guidance than any other principle ever proposed, and he gave examples designed to show that its guidance accords more closely with moral convictions that we all already have than does any alternative view. His principle also requires, so Kant believed, that we think of ourselves as possessing free will in a very strong sense of the term and that we regard our actions as wholly undetermined by antecedent events. In order to defend this view, Kant appealed to the elaborate theory about the limits of knowledge that he presented first in the Critique of Pure Reason. Many people have thought that the categorical imperative or something like it must be at the heart of morality but have resisted the metaphysical entanglements that it entails in Kant's presentations. Critical questions must therefore be asked not only about the moral adequacy of Kant's principle, which to many readers from his own time to ours has seemed deeply misguided, but also about the extent to which the principle can be detached from the rest of his philosophical system and used simply as a test of the morality of our behavior. Kant presented the classic exposition of the basic principle of his ethics in the Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals (1785). He elaborated the metaphysical bearings of the principle in the Critique of Practical Reason (1788); in Religion Within the Limits of Reason Alone (1794), he discussed the ways in which the principle leads us to reasonable religious beliefs and practices; and in the Metaphysics of Morals (1797) he spelled out some of its more detailed practical implications for politics and for personal life. From 1756 until 1794, Kant lectured on ethics quite regularly. Several sets of student notes on these lectures have survived and been published, and it is generally agreed that they give us a reasonably accurate account of what Kant said in class. What he taught before the publication of the Groundwork was in many respects different from what he said in the book, although he did expound some of the book's leading ideas. We have one set of notes from lectures Kant gave after the Groundwork appeared that contains an account of its ideas. But the fullest classroom exposition of his mature moral philosophy was given the last time he taught the subject. The following selections are from the notes on these late lectures, delivered in 1793-4, on the subject of metaphysics of morals. The notes were taken not by an undergraduate but by an older man, a lawyer named Vigilantius who knew Kant personally. Kant spent most of his time during this course on the applications of the categorical imperative, introducing this subject by reviewing the main points contained in the Groundwork and in the second Critique. These parts of the lectures, therefore, provide an adequate if sketchy overview of the distinctive features of Kant's positions on the central topics of moral philosophy. The reader will find the lectures difficult to understand. But none of Kant's work is easy. The Groundwork is one of the most difficult books ever written, and in the excerpts presented here Kant is covering everything it covers and more besides. Only by studying the published works on moral philosophy and by using the commentators will the reader be able to grasp Kant's ethics fully, but I hope that these excerpts will help by providing a first glimpse of his remarkable theory. The text I have translated here is the Metaphysik der Sitten Vigilantius, in Kant's Gesammelte Schriften, vol. XXVII.2.1 (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1975). I give in

The Metaphysics of Morals

653

square brackets the page numbers of this edition, the so-called Akademie edition, as they are the page numbers used in scholarly works on Kant.

Lectures of Mr. Kant on the Metaphysics of Morals (1793-4) [479] DETERMINATION OF THE OBJECT §1. Philosophical, and indeed systematic, knowledge coming from rational concepts either concerns the form of thought (or logic) as the formal part of philosophy or it relates to the objects [of thought] themselves and the laws under which they stand. The latter constitutes the material part of philosophy, whose objects must be reduced simply to nature and freedom, and their laws and which divides thus into a. the philosophy of laws of nature, or physics b. the philosophy of laws of morality. . . . The latter really concerns itself with developing the idea of freedom. . . . Both [parts of philosophy] are grounded on pure or rational concepts.' Moreover, the natural as well as the moral laws that are basic here are built on a priori principles and thus make up the two objects of the part of philosophy called metaphysics, as this judges objects according to pure (independent of all experience) basic propositions, in contrast with historical disciplines judged according to empirical, conditioned, basic propositions given in experience. . . . [481] §2(c). The laws of freedom are now either 1. simply necessary or objective. . . . These occur only in God

or 2. necessitating. These occur in humans and are objectively necessary but subjectively contingent. For man has a drive to transgress these laws, even when he recognizes them, and so the legality and morality 2 of his actions are merely contingent. The necessitation through the moral law to act in accordance with it is obligation. The action itself in accord with the moral law is duty, and moral philosophy or theory of ethics is grounded on the theory of duty. . . . [485] §5. Morality has the rules of duty as its object. These rules are never theoretical [rules] that contain only the conditions under which something is but are always just practical [rules] that give only the conditions under which something ought to occur, that is, those laws of reason that contain the sufficient grounds determining to action and would move action to conform to the laws of reason if reason had sufficient free strength to be effective. The distinction in the rules is that some are laws of nature' and others [are laws] of morality. The former never show that something ought to occur and what [ought to occur] but show only the conditions under which something does occur. Moral laws, by contrast, are always concerned with the will and its freedom. Essentially these laws are presented by reason in such a way that if it alone had influence and it alone contained the ground of the reality of action,

654

Immanuel Kant

there would never be a deviation from these laws. For instance, everyone would, without admonition, pay his debts. Now man is obstructed from giving the laws of reason free and unobstructed obedience, insofar as inclinations opposed to them, sensuous drives, and ends aroused in connection with his actions incline him toward transgression. Therefore, it is necessary that practical rules always be imperatives for humans — that is, rules to which their will must be subordinated in order to determine what ought to happen. Consequently, because men are indeed subordinated to the laws of reason but man does not unconditionally follow reason, the moral actions of men are said to be objectively necessary and subjectively contingent. It is therefore necessary that man be necessitated to take morally free action. This necessitation is the determination of the human will, by means of which the action becomes necessary, and it is a moral necessitation because it comes about through moral rules. This moral necessitation, which [486] is always expressed through an imperative, is thus what is called "obligation." .. . Now all imperatives are either 1. conditioned; and these are a. problematic, that is, imperatives of skill; b. pragmatic, that is, imperatives of prudence or 2. unconditioned or categorical, that is, imperatives of morality, of duty. Categorical imperatives are distinguished from problematic and pragmatic [imperatives] essentially by the fact that the ground for determination of action lies only in the law of moral freedom; but in the latter, by contrast, the ends connected with them bring the action into being and are therefore the condition of action. Problematic [imperatives] are further distinguished from the pragmatic in that the ends in the former are possible and contingent whereas in the latter they are determinate. Problematic imperatives are [imperatives yielding the solution of] all mathematical problems, in which the laws for solving the problem constitute the imperatives, as they prescribe what you must do if you want to solve the problem, for example, to divide a straight line into two parts. . . . [487] Pragmatic imperatives, by contrast, have only the universal happiness of all humans as their object and indicate the means to help other men in the service of their happiness. The goal is thus universally determined, namely, to bring about the greatest sum of well-being, and the rules of skill necessary for this are the pragmatic imperatives. But they are conditional, because one needs these imperatives only if one wants to achieve this well-being in human life, and so they will drop out if one abstracts from it. 5 In contrast, there are, finally, human actions that are necessary without any end and to whose existence no goal or end is the motive [Tilebfeder]. These are the moral actions, whose imperative thus attends to neither skill, wisdom, happiness, nor any other end that could set the activity into motion; rather, the necessitation to the action lies simply in the imperative alone. These are

The Metaphysics of Morals

655

the categorically unconditioned imperatives, for example, to keep your promise, to speak the truth. A witness who in giving his testimony is counseled on the one side by the duty of friendship and on the other by fear of punishment and of revenge, decides on his deposition in a way contrary to duty. For instead of determining himself through the imperative of duty, he merely directs himself according to the consequence that his future condition will have for his happiness, which certainly should have no influence on the categorical imperative. Therefore, those philosophers who thought that in order to bring about moral action, the happiness of mankind is the necessary goal and driving force have false views. The rule of my will must, all by itself, also be the determining ground [Bestimmungsgrund] of the will. The action must rest only on this unconditional imperative, without [4881 any end tied to it — whether profit or loss, gain or sacrifice. Material grounds for a will of that sort simply do not belong to the (so-named) formal determining grounds of moral actions. . . . [489] Every "ought" expresses an objective necessity that nonetheless is at the same time subjectively contingent. . . . These conflicting qualities of the action contain together, under the expression "ought," the necessitation to action. . . . Now, if this necessitation occurs through the moral law, that is, if the action that would not be done from one's own desires is made necessary by the moral law and the subject is necessitated to follow the law, it is obligation or being duty bound, and the action to which the subject is necessitated through the moral law is duty. Necessitation is thus thinkable only when contravention of the moral law is possible. Therefore, something can be morally necessary without being a duty. This is the case if the subject, without necessitation, would always act according to the moral law. Then there would be no duty or obligation to do it. So these do not hold for a morally perfect being. . . . If there is no necessitation, there also is no moral imperative, no obligation, duty, virtue, or ought. Because the moral laws presuppose a subject subordinated to natural impulses, they are called laws of duty. We can think of God, in contrast, as a being who alone is holy, that is, who has the property that the moral laws are followed by him without necessitation and whose will is already conformed to the moral law; as alone blessed, that is, who finds himself in complete possession and satisfied enjoyment of all goods; as alone wise, that is, who not only sees the relation of his acts to the final goal but also makes the goal the determining ground for his actions. . . . [4911 It would be good if men were so perfect that they did their duty out of free drives, without force and laws, but this is beyond the horizon of human nature. 6 All conditioned or hypothetical imperatives are technical—practical imperatives. . . . they say only what I should do if I want this or that. They are distinguished only according to the kind of end connected with them. . . . To the technical—pragmatic imperatives are opposed the moral—practical or the imperatives of morality, which determine simply what one must do, without reference to the ends. . . .

656

Immanuel Kant

[493] §10. The determining ground of the power of choice is the causa impulsiva of action, the cause of movements. . . . The cause of movement is called either motive or stimulus, a distinction that is noteworthy because of the dual nature of man: man has a natural being and a free being. 1. A motive [motivum] is always a moral causa impulsiva or determining ground, which determines his will according to the laws of freedom and so addresses man as a free being. In contrast, the stimulus is the cause that determines the will of men according to laws of nature and of the sensuous drive. Natural cause, inclination, exists when, for example, someone is brought to obedience to his parents or to industriousness through hunger or physical suffering. Even with animals, these determining causes leading to possible ends — to taming — can occur, and man in this is like them. . . . [494]2. As a natural being, man can be affected by stimuli. In contrast, as a free being, this means is quite fruitless. Insofar as sensuous drives affect man, he is only passive: he must suffer these drives, as he cannot elude them. Motives, by contrast, occur only when man is thought of as a free being. They contain his activity and are therefore totally opposed to the condition that depends on inclinations. They are grounded in the spontaneity of the human will, which is led by representations of reason and thus merely by the moral law, quite independently of all determining causes of nature. 3. Through stimuli, man can only be affected but never determined to action. It is possible for him as a free being to omit all actions to which natural drives tempt him and that he as a natural being would undertake. 4. So we can name the stimuli the "animal will" and the motives the "free will." This distinction leads now §11. to the concept of freedom, which consists negatively of the independence of the power of choice from all determination by stimuli . . . positively in spontaneity or the power to determine itself through reason, without needing motives from nature. The proof that the actions of man should occur only according to the law of freedom will be given farther on. §12. Now, because understanding and reason should determine the imperative of moral action, we ask, What is the determining ground of action, insofar as it [495] lies in reason, from which arises a moral necessitation as the ground of obligation? The basic categorical imperative is a morally practical [imperative], that is, a law of freedom, and the determining cause, causa moralis. The latter therefore cannot lead man passively to action, as the laws of nature can; rather, he must determine himself and his power of choice through his reason. Now if in his action he took account of ends or means to reach them and were the imperative to prescribe these, then the material of the law that the imperative expresses, and the object of the law that is given for action, would be the determining ground of action. For the end or the means in the action constitute the material of the action. . . .

The Metaphysics of Morals

657

This is impossible because the categorical imperative carries with it an unconditioned moral necessitation, without having the end and goal of the action as ground. There remains therefore only the form, which is the determining ground of free action. That is, moral actions must be carried out according to the form of lawfulness, to which condition they are subordinated in this way: their maxim' must accord with lawfulness. The maxim of action differs from an objective principle in that the latter occurs only when the possibility of the action according to certain grounds of reason is thought; the former, however, in general includes all subjective grounds for action in itself insofar as these are considered real. . . . The formula of the universal imperative would thus be: You ought to act according to the maxim that is qualified for universal lawgiving; that is, you ought to act so that [496] the maxim of your action may become a universal law, would have to be universally recognized as a universal law, or act so that you can present yourself through the maxim of your action as universally lawgiving, that is, so that the maxim of your action is fit for universal lawgiving. In this form of moral action lies the determining ground of being bound by duty, through which it attains lawful force. The qualification of the maxim for universal legislation rests, however, on the agreement of the action with the imperative of reason. For example: "You should always tell the truth" is an imperative of reason and, in application, a maxim that reason makes into a universal law. Suppose that someone followed the maxim that he might tell a lie if thereby he could acquire a big profit. Then ask whether this maxim could exist as a universal law. It is then to be assumed that no one would tell the truth to his own loss, and in that case no one would trust [anyone] anymore. The liar in that case could not come to be in a position to deceive through his lie. The law would thus defeat itself by itself. That is how it is with all perfect duties. 8 If the opposite [maxims] existed, they would so determine action that it would contradict itself, which could never be a universal law. This lies in the nature of the unconditioned necessitation of the law, which — without end, goal, and [thought of] profit and loss — commands fulfillment of duty. Thus every action is forbidden whose maxim is not qualified for universal legislation. It is quite different with the so-called imperfect duties. Here the action does not immediately defeat itself through its contradictory law by itself. . . . But it can never be the will of a person that the action become a universal law. For example, [consider] the duty of love of mankind through beneficence toward the suffering. If one wanted to act on a maxim that had indifference to the necessities and needs of other humans as its basis, one could not say that such a law would contradict the moral freedom of men. A human could attain all his goals; only he could not make claims to the assistance of others. But this latter — because every subject can come to be in a [497] similarly needy situation — is the reason no one will be able to make this maxim into a universal law.

658

Immanuel Kant

If, then, the determining ground of moral action lies not in the material part of the law, namely, the end of the law, but in its form of universal lawfulness, then it is quite wrong to put the ground in the following: a. in the individual happiness of men; for then 1. the categorical imperative would be conditioned and hypothetical, for it would have to pay attention to the end of universal happiness and to the means to attain it. But then it would be an imperative of prudence and artfulness. But then it would not say that something ought to occur, entirely unconditionally and simply, without attending to an end. And this is what the categorical imperative should [say] if it is to convey to it duty and obligation and necessitation. It cannot therefore be enunciated in the conditioned way. 2. Under this principle is really meant the principle of self-love, which regards acquired skills as the means to make oneself — as the end connected with them — happy through them. The condition of happiness consists of the consciousness of satisfaction and of the possession of means to acquire any ends, even merely possible ones, and through this to satisfy all [one's] wishes. It is natural that because the ends may be different, the practical rules may be different as well, that is, as inclination, sensibility, and personal bent require. A universality of principle cannot, as such, be even thought of — but that is what is sought. 3. To be happy is the universal will of man. But the decision whether someone will be pleased or happy depends first of all on merely his resolution and will. The ground of duty — moral necessitation — is lacking here, as is an unconditioned imperative. Here the constraint that commands immediate obligation is not thinkable. The imperative itself can relate only to the means to bring oneself happiness. b. The relation of our will to our moral feeling can just as little be the ground of duty. Rather, the feeling presupposes this ground. Man is supposed to be drawn to a certain material of the law, namely, complacency, 9 which [498] is not happiness and not duty but is nonetheless moral. Now, the will is affected by the feeling of pleasure and pain, and especially here, where the act is to be moral, [it is affected] by the moral law. It should therefore feel pleasure or pain after the law is satisfied or transgressed by it. This effect cannot be conceived without assuming an idea of the concept of duty as its ground. It must therefore have knowledge of the law and its obligation before it can be filled with pleasure or pain because of following or transgressing it and before it connects its action with self-satisfaction or dissatisfaction (for the latter is the feeling of pleasure or pain). The moral feeling or the consciousness that one has acquired self-satisfaction through following the moral law is thus the end but not the ground of duty. . . . c. Finally, not even the divine will can be considered the highest principle of morality. Rather, it presupposes knowledge of our duty. . . . N.B., and this would remain the case if it [the principle] were not the principle of happiness or of moral feeling and also not the form of lawfulness of action.

The Metaphysics of Morals

659

One cannot think the will of God otherwise than as one that binds us. If it is to make us duty bound, the idea of duty must already be available, so that we can recognize that something is in accord with the will of God. N.B., and we can really only conclude that something is in accord with the will of God by recognizing it as a duty. . . . [499] §13. Now if moral actions ought to be grounded in the form of lawfulness, then the moral laws must have their basic determination in a lawgiving force that [said Kant] constitutes the legislation. Moral lawgiving is the lawgiving of human reason, which is the lawgiver for all laws and is so simply through itself. This is the autonomy of reason, according to which it determines the laws of the free power of choice through its own independent legislation, independent of all influence. The principle of autonomy is thus the self-possessed legislation of the power of choice through reason. The opposite would be heteronomy, that is, legislation resting on grounds other than the freedom of reason. If, for example, the principle of universal happiness were at the basis of the determination of moral laws, then what would matter would be how far, by following the laws, the entire sum of our needs would be satisfied. But the laws of nature are involved in this, and the moral laws would have to be subordinated to them. Moreover, reason would have to be obedient — and necessarily so (for, according to our physical constitution, reason is so anyhow) — to the laws of nature and sensibility. But this would plainly be an abandonment of the autonomy of reason, and therefore heteronomy. But that the determining grounds of the laws of duty cannot be built on natural laws is already shown in the quality of these laws [of duty], that they must be necessarily and universally valid. Now [500] natural laws as bases would carry necessary consequences and effects with them, but they would never be universally valid and thus not objectively necessary and unconditioned. For the determination of the means that will bring us happiness and the satisfaction of our needs is plainly grounded in experience. The principle derived from it would therefore be empirical. And because no empirical basic proposition can yield more than the natural quality of things — though not the basic determinations under which they are possible — they would never become universal laws of moral duty. Experience itself contradicts this. For example, the means to happiness are too different to allow us to determine them before we have agreed on the way in which someone wants to be happy. So different methods would be needed, for example, for the greedy, restless businessman and for the peaceful, phlegmatic person. Still less is the moral feeling or the principle of divine will qualified for the universal lawgiving of morality, but this principle is grounded only in reason. It is the autonomy of reason. All autonomy of reason must therefore be independent of (a) all empirical principles, that is, the principle of one's own happiness . . . (b) the aesthetic principle or that of moral feeling, (c) all external will (theological [principle)). §14. How, then, is a categorical necessitation to duty possible, and how can

660

Immanuel Kant

it be demonstrated? Not as easily as the conditioned imperatives and their principles. For whether these are problematic or pragmatic, the necessitation always rests on the end to be achieved, to which the imperative prescribes means. Then, as soon as it is determined that I want this or that bit of culture or that I seek my happiness in this or that manner, it follows of itself that I must use the means leading to it. But the categorical imperative is unconditioned. . . . It can in no way be proved or illustrated, 10 but it must be thought by every being that is aware of his freedom that he necessitates himself to duty through the autonomy of his reason. Where this comes from and how it occurs [501] cannot be determined, but that it is so can be exemplified in the following manner: 1. If we suppose that a being has freedom of will or a free power of choice, then this power of choice must be able to be determined by the mere form of the lawfulness of its actions. From what has been said, one cannot assume that the principle of the power of choice that is to be determined lies in an object of purposive activity, sensibility, or an external will, without incurring heteronomy. It [the principle] should be independent of all objects of the will; it must therefore lie in the autonomy of the will. This, however, determines itself categorically. Therefore, the principle of duty is connected with this freedom through a categorical principle, and the necessitation to duty follows entirely and unconditionally through the autonomy of reason. But freedom must also be determined through existing grounds. These, however, cannot be natural laws, as they contain the material of the laws, to which the free power of choice pays no attention. They must be determined without an object and thus through themselves, and this determination must rest on form alone. 2. Conversely, if man is under moral law, that is, if the mere form of lawfulness is the determining ground of his actions and his will, he must be entirely free, for the moral law involves a categorical imperative. It is thus not like any material law, which would be a natural law; it is therefore independent of natural laws in its relation to the determination of its morality. Its determinations of duty follow, therefore, through reason, and thus through itself, and so freely. §15. Man, however, is simultaneously a natural being and subordinated to the determining grounds of nature. In his actions he is thus entwined with the grounds of nature, which, as a natural man, he must follow. For example, his needs demand ends and actions in accordance with them. . . . This relation in which man is tied to the means, effects, and causes of nature is mechanism, natural necessity. In this connection his actions are directed through natural determining grounds; his actions emerge from him as natural man in a necessary way because each action [502] here follows only as an effect that, like everything in nature, must have its causes . . . finally, all actions that he undertakes as natural man are predetermined; that is, they are to be viewed as effects of past causes. . . . [504] §16. All actions fall under the principle of determinism; one can call them predetermined only if the grounds of an action are to be found in

The Metaphysics of Morals

661

preceding time. One must assume the opposite if the grounds of the action are not predetermined but the agent is the source and complete cause of his act. In the former case, the action is not in his power; in the latter case, the agent determines himself to action all alone, without the addition of external causes. Now, in the actions of man, both [sorts of] determining grounds are to be found. Hence, in order for man to be thought of as free," he must be considered either a. as a being of sense. Here he does not notice himself as he is but as he appears. We call this side "phenomenon." He is taken into account here insofar as he is aware of his existence and actions through his outer senses as well as through his inner sense. The conditions of his sensibility [505] and the constitution of his inner sense here provide the measure of his action. b. as an intelligible being, that is, as a being who is made independent of all influence of sensibility and who must be considered in this way. We call this side "noumenal." In this quality the determining grounds of his action are independent of all time and space, and the causality of his actions is given simply through reason. In this quality alone man can be free, for then and only then he has absolute spontaneity; his actions are grounded on the autonomy of reason, and their determination is categorical. . . . There seems to be a clear contradiction in saying that a man determines himself through himself and yet is already predetermined. This could not be resolved if we were not compelled to consider man from two sides, namely [506], as phenomenon, that is, as an appearance through his inner sense, and as noumenon, that is, insofar as he is aware of himself through the moral law itself. The question is whether we can be taught that we are free through empirical psychology or only through morally practical principles and our consciousness [of them]. From principles of the first [empirical] sort, we would know ourselves only in the world of sense. Moreover, if we had no moral laws, if there were in us no categorical imperative of duty, if instead our actions fell only under natural conditions and our grounds of determination were only hypothetical, then there would be no obligation, and all actions would rest on technical, practical laws. Morality is therefore the sole means for becoming aware of our freedom. . . . You ought to act in such-and-such a way: this presupposes that I recognize the duty and obligation according to which I must act. The duty is, by its nature, absolute, unconditional, and necessary. But what is necessary must also be possible. The consciousness of the dutiful execution of an action must therefore not be immediate but be inferred from a moral imperative of freedom. . . . To become conscious of freedom without being aware of duty would be impossible. One would hold freedom to be absurd . . . for example, consider a case in which I should tell the truth. Consider also, on the other side, the loss to my friend, bodily pains, profits I could make. Regardless of all evil [and] of all physical force, there is a necessitation to truthful testimony, even though all the physical motives draw me to the opposite. I determine myself now through my reason. This is freedom. But my reason determines

662

Immanuel Kant

itself according to a [507] moral law — precisely the one that necessitates me to overcome the drives of nature. If what I say follows accordingly, then I act freely, not out of immediate consciousness but because I have concluded from the categorical imperative how I ought to act. There is therefore in me a power to resist all sensuous motives as soon as a categorical imperative speaks. Here we have freedom known through an inference (from the moral law) and not immediately felt. . . . For no man is in a position to say ahead of time that in a given case he would simply tell the truth, ignoring all physical evil. He knows only that he ought to obey the categorical imperative. Therefore he must be able to do so, and for this, a ground must be present, not an immediate consciousness. Therefore, it is not possible to know freedom in a psychological way; it is possible [to know itj only through the moral law. So it is not worth the trouble to reply to all the objections to freedom. With this determination of the consciousness of freedom, that is, through the categorical imperative, the already noted main question is, How is such a categorical imperative possible? This is the most difficult [point], as it can be neither proved nor made conceivable.' The possibility rests only on the presupposition of freedom. If man is free, he is not dependent on nature. Nonetheless, there must be a ground for determining his moral actions. This must be a law of reason that immediately commands and is therefore categorical. For if outside freedom or the power of reason another end or the sum of all ends were to be the ground, then the imperative would lie in an object of sensibility and so be sensuously conditioned. But that is the opposite of the moral imperative. The latter is the only thing that can have the possibility of freedom as its consequence. So the latter must be a categorical imperative that necessitates man to action. And this follows necessarily from it, that if in action one assumes a categorical imperative, then man must be free. [512] §20 Viewed as free actions, the actions of men stand under moral laws. . . . [513] It follows that actions must be specially compared with the moral laws but not that they must also be moral actions. For the laws do not determine something about all human actions, and it would be, moreover, a horrible limitation if for every act a command or prohibition were basic in determining what I ought to do. For example, it is morally indifferent what I eat, if it simply suits me. I might not even know whether it will harm me. . . . Editor's Notes 1. The distinction between "pure" concepts and "empirical" concepts is central to Kant's philosophical enterprises. Whereas most ordinary concepts are, he believes, derived from experience, some concepts are imposed by the mind on experience. They are "prior" to it and give it its form. Philosophy does not concern itself with empirical concepts, which are the business of the sciences and of history. Instead, philosophy must explore the a priori concepts, explaining how it is possible for such concepts to be valid and showing their connections with one another. Thus philosophy does not deal with the specific details of physics, but it

Editor's Notes

2. 3. 4.

5. 6.

7.

8. 9. 10.

11.

12.

663

must explain how there can be laws of physics showing necessary connections between events. And philosophy does not provide the empirical information needed to apply the moral law in particular cases. But it does have to show how there can be a moral law, a law imposing necessity on our free actions. Kant's examples are intended to help one grasp this law, but strictly speaking, they are not part of philosophy. The "legality" of action is its behavioral conformity to what the moral law requires. Its "morality" lies in its motivation. If it is motivated by respect for the law, then it possesses morality as well as legality. Here Kant was using this phrase in its contemporary sense; he did not mean by it the kind of directive command that the natural law theorists had used it to mean. Kant called both these kinds of imperative "hypothetical imperatives" because they command only on the hypothesis that the agent desires the end to which they indicate the means. Categorical imperatives, by contrast, command regardless of the agent's ends. Everyone, in fact, wants happiness, Kant held; hence pragmatic imperatives do in fact hold for everyone. But not everyone wants to solve mathematical problems, and so rules showing how to solve them do not hold for everyone. Humans have obligations simply because by nature we are not only rational but also needy beings, dependent, as God is not, on things outside ourselves for our lives, and consequently driven by desire. Because everyone has needs and desires, everyone can be tempted to transgress the moral law, and therefore morality comes in the form of obligation for everyone. There is disagreement over exactly what Kant meant by this term, but he did mean at least this much: My maxim contains the reasons I have for acting as I am about to (or did), so far as I am honestly aware of them. Of course, my reasons relate to the actual circumstances in which I find myself, as well as to my needs and desires and to my beliefs about the consequences of my action. Thus the categorical imperative brings the form of law to the material contained in my maxim. Kant here took up the distinction between perfect and imperfect duties that the natural lawyers, especially Grotius and Pufendorf, had introduced and shows how he can account for it. That is, self-satisfaction because one is pleased with one's moral performance. Kant cannot mean that the application of the categorical imperative cannot be illustrated, as he has given some examples of its application. He did, however, think that we can never be certain that we have acted solely for the sake of the lawful form of our maxim, or solely out of respect for the law; nor can we ever be certain that anyone else has done so. Our reasons for action are obscure to us, Kant believed, and we like to deceive ourselves into thinking we are better than we perhaps are. It is because we cannot point to a clear historical example of pure moral motivation that the determination of action by the form of law cannot be illustrated. Here Kant is drawing on the distinction he elaborated in the Critique of Pure Reason between the "phenomenal" world, or the world as we perceive it through our senses in space and time, and the "noumenal" world, or the world as it is in itself, regardless of anyone's perceiving or thinking about it. Because Kant held that space and time are themselves modes in which human beings perceive the world, the noumenal world is the world considered as not being in time or space. We cannot, Kant believed, explain how freedom is possible for beings who, in addition to having a rational nature, are also part of a determined physical world. Because the categorical imperative is binding only for free beings, and is binding just because they are free, we cannot explain how the categorical imperative is possible. In general, however, Kant argued, we can understand why it is impossi-

664

Immanuel Kant

ble to have knowledge of any aspect of the noumenal world. Briefly, knowledge requires empirical perception as well as categories to organize the perceptions, and the noumenal world is the world as it is, independent of perception. Because there can be no knowledge of noumena, and freedom belongs to us as noumena, we can understand why we cannot have knowledge of freedom and therefore why we cannot demonstrate exactly how the categorical imperative is possible. But this is the limit beyond which we cannot go. Further Reading

There are good translations of all of Kant's major works and many of his essays. H. J. Paton translated the Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals in The Moral Law (London: Hutchinson, 1948), with a brief commentary. Lewis White Beck's translation of the Critique of Practical Reason (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1958), and the translation of Religion Within the Limits of Reason Alone by Theodore M. Greene and Hoyt H. Hudson (New York: Harper Bros., 1960), are widely used. Translations of the Metaphysics of Morals by John Ladd, by James Ellington, and by Mary Gregor also are available. The reader should consult Kant's other works as well as the writings directly concerned with morality. Several general introductions are helpful guides. Ralph C. S. Walker, Kant (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1978), is brisk and analytic, with a good bibliography. 1Wo less demanding introductions, which, like Walker's, treat the ethics only briefly, are S. Korner, Kant (London: Penguin, 1955), and John Kemp, The Philosophy of Kant (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1968). A brief introduction to the ethical theory is provided in H. B. Acton, Kant's Moral Philosophy (London: Macmillan, 1970). For more detailed discussion of Kant's moral philosophy, the reader may wish to consult some of the following books: For an extensive commentary on Kant's Groundwork, see H. J. Paton, The Categorical Imperative (London: Hutchinson, 1946). Lewis White Beck has written a most helpful Commentary on Kant's Critique of Practical Reason (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1960). Mary Gregor, Laws of Freedom (Oxford: Blackwell, 1963), is a study of Kant's late Doctrine of Virtue. Onora Nell, Acting on Principle (New York: Columbia University Press, 1975), is the best study of the problems involved in applying the categorical imperative to cases. T. C. Williams studies Kant's principle generally in The Concept of the Categorical Imperative (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1968). Robert Paul Wolf, The Autonomy of Reason (New York, Harper & Row, 1973), is a critical study of the Groundwork. Bruce Aune, Kant's Theory of Morals (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1979), covers a wide range of topics and offers a number of criticisms. Roger J. Sullivan, Immanuel Kant's Moral Theory (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1989), is a systematic presentation summarizing every aspect of Kant's moral thought. In Eckhart FOrster, ed., Kant's Transcendental Deductions (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1988), are three valuable discussions of Kant's ethics, by John Rawls, Henry E. Allison, and Barbara Herman. The periodical literature on Kant is enormous and constantly growing. A special journal, Kant-Studien, is devoted to Kant, publishing articles in English as well as other languages and frequently giving extensive bibliographic reviews.

Supplemental Bibliography

Brett, Annabel S. Liberty, Right and Nature. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1997. Buckle, Stephen. Natural Law and the Theory of Property: Grotius to Hume. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1991. Burns, J. H., ed. The Cambridge History of Political Thought 1450-1700. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1991. Darwall, Stephen. The British Moralists and the Internal 'Ought.' Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1995. Gallie, Roger D. Thomas Reid: Ethics, aesthetics, and the anatomy of the self Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers, 1998. Garber, Daniel, and Michael Ayers, eds. The Cambridge History of SeventeenthCentury Philosophy. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1998. Vol. II, Part VII. Garrett, Don. "Spinoza's Ethical Theory." In Don Garrett, ed., The Cambridge Companion to Spinoza. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press,1996, pp. 267-314. Garrett, Don. Cognition and Commitment in Hume's Philosophy. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997. Haakonssen, Knud, ed. The Cambridge History of Eighteenth-Century Philosophy. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 2002. Haakonssen, Knud. Natural Law and Moral Philosophy. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1996. Herman, Barbara. The Practice of Moral Judgment. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1993. Hochstrasser, T J. Natural Law Theories in the Early Enlightenment. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 2000. Hundert, E.J. The Enlightenment's Fable. Bernard Mandeville and the Discovery of Society. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1994. Hunter, Ian. Rival Enlightenments. Civil and Metaphysical. Philosophy in Early Modern Germany. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 2001. Israel, Jonathan I. Radical Enlightenment. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001. Jolley, Nicholas. The Cambridge Companion to Leibniz. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1995. Klein, Lawrence E. Shaftesbury and the Culture of Politeness. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1994. Korsgaard, Christine. Creating the Kingdom of Ends. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1996. Marshall, John. John Locke: Resistance, Religion and Responsibility. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1994. Part II. Marshall, John. Descartes' Moral Theory. Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1998.

665

666

Supplemental Bibliography

Mautner, Thomas, ed. Francis Hutcheson. Two texts on human nature. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1993. Morgan, Vance. Foundations of Cartesian Ethics. Atlantic Highlands: Humanities Press, 1994. Neiman, Susan. The Unity of Reason. Rereading Kant. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994. Norton, David Fate, ed. The Cambridge Companion to Hume. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1993. Rawls, John. Lectures on the History of Moral Philosophy, ed. Barbara Herman. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2000. Reath, Andrews, Barbara Herman, and Christine Korsgaard, eds. Reclaiming the History of Ethics. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1997. Riley, Patrick. Leibniz' Universal Jurisprudence. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1996. Riley, Patrick. "Malebranche's Moral Philosophy: Divine and Human Justice." In Steven Nadler, ed., The Cambridge Companion to Malebranche. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 2000, pp. 220-61. Rosenblatt, Helena. Rousseau and Geneva. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1997. Sarasohn, Lisa T. Gassendi's Ethics. Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1996. Schneewind, J. B. The Invention of Autonomy. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1998. Tuck, Richard. Philosophy and Government 1572-1651. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1993.