actions have by far the greatest influence, and determine all the great
lines of our duty. There are, however, instances, in cases of less
moment, wherein this immediate taste or sentiment produces our
approbation. Wit, and a certain easy and disengaged behaviour, are
qualities immediately agreeable to others, and command their love
and esteem. Some of these qualities produce satisfaction in others
by particular original principles of human nature, which cannot be
accounted for: Others may be resolved into principles, which are more
general. This will best appear upon a particular enquiry.
As some qualities acquire their merit from their being immediately
agreeable to others, without any tendency to public interest; so some
are denominated virtuous from their being immediately agreeable to the
person himself, who possesses them. Each of the passions and operations
of the mind has a particular feeling, which must be either agreeable or
disagreeable. The first is virtuous, the second vicious.
This particular
feeling constitutes the very nature of the passion; and therefore needs
not be accounted for.
But however directly the distinction of vice and virtue may seem to flow
from the immediate pleasure or uneasiness, which particular qualities
cause to ourselves or others; it is easy to observe, that it has also a
considerable dependence on the principle of sympathy so often insisted
on. We approve of a person, who is possessed of qualities immediately
agreeable to those, with whom he has any commerce; though perhaps we
ourselves never reaped any pleasure from them. We also approve of
one, who is possessed of qualities, that are immediately agreeable to
himself; though they be of no service to any mortal. To account for this
we must have recourse to the foregoing principles.
Thus, to take a general review of the present hypothesis: Every quality
of the mind is denominated virtuous, which gives pleasure by the mere
survey; as every quality, which produces pain, is called vicious. This
pleasure and this pain may arise from four different sources. For we
reap a pleasure from the view of a character, which is naturally fitted
to be useful to others, or to the person himself, or which is agreeable
to others, or to the person himself. One may, perhaps, be surprized.
that amidst all these interests and pleasures, we should forget our own,
which touch us so nearly on every other occasion. But we shall easily
satisfy ourselves on this head, when we consider, that every particular
person s pleasure and interest being different, it is impossible men
coued ever agree in their sentiments and judgments, unless they chose
some common point of view, from which they might survey their object,
and which might cause it to appear the same to all of them. Now in
judging of characters, the only interest or pleasure, which appears the
same to every spectator, is that of the person himself, whose character
is examined; or that of persons, who have a connexion with him. And
though such interests and pleasures touch us more faintly than our own,
yet being more constant and universal, they counter-ballance the latter
even in practice, and are alone admitted in speculation as the standard
of virtue and morality. They alone produce that particular feeling or
sentiment, on which moral distinctions depend.
As to the good or ill desert of virtue or vice, it is an evident
consequence of the sentiments of pleasure or uneasiness.
These
sentiments produce love or hatred; and love or hatred, by the original
constitution of human passion, is attended with benevolence or anger;
that is, with a desire of making happy the person we love, and miserable
the person we hate. We have treated of this more fully on another
occasion.
SECT. II OF GREATNESS OF MIND
It may now be proper to illustrate this general system of morals, by
applying it to particular instances of virtue and vice, and shewing how
their merit or demerit arises from the four sources here explained. We
shall begin with examining the passions of pride and humility, and
shall consider the vice or virtue that lies in their excesses or just
proportion. An excessive pride or overweaning conceit of ourselves is
always esteemed vicious, and is universally hated; as modesty, or a just
sense of our weakness, is esteemed virtuous, and procures the good-will
of every-one. Of the four sources of moral distinctions, this is to
be ascribed to the third; viz, the immediate agreeableness and
disagreeableness of a quality to others, without any reflections on the
tendency of that quality.
In order to prove this, we must have recourse to two principles,
which are very conspicuous in human nature. The first of these is the
sympathy, and communication of sentiments and passions above-mentioned.
So close and intimate is the correspondence of human souls, that
no sooner any person approaches me, than he diffuses on me all his
opinions, and draws along my judgment in a greater or lesser degree.
And though, on many occasions, my sympathy with him goes not so far as
entirely to change my sentiments, and way of thinking; yet it seldom
is so weak as not to disturb the easy course of my thought, and give an
authority to that opinion, which is recommended to me by his assent
and approbation. Nor is it any way material upon what subject he and I
employ our thoughts. Whether we judge of an indifferent person, or of my
own character, my sympathy gives equal force to his decision: And even
his sentiments of his own merit make me consider him in the same light,
in which he regards himself.
This principle of sympathy is of so powerful and insinuating a nature,
that it enters into most of our sentiments and passions, and often takes
place under the appearance of its contrary. For it is remarkable, that
when a person opposes me in any thing, which I am strongly bent upon,
and rouzes up my passion by contradiction, I have always a degree of
sympathy with him, nor does my commotion proceed from any other origin.
We may here observe an evident conflict or rencounter of opposite
principles and passions. On the one side there is that passion or
sentiment, which is natural to me; and it is observable, that the
stronger this passion is, the greater is the commotion.
There must also
be some passion or sentiment on the other side; and this passion can
proceed from nothing but sympathy. The sentiments of others can never
affect us, but by becoming, in some measure, our own; in which case they
operate upon us, by opposing and encreasing our passions, in the very
same manner, as if they had been originally derived from our own temper
and disposition. While they remain concealed in the minds of others,
they can never have an influence upon us: And even when they are known,
if they went no farther than the imagination, or conception; that
faculty is so accustomed to objects of every different kind, that a mere
idea, though contrary to our sentiments and inclinations, would never
alone be able to affect us.
The second principle I shall take notice of is that of comparison, or
the variation of our judgments concerning ob jects, according to the
proportion they bear to those with which we compare them. We judge more,
of objects by comparison, than by their intrinsic worth and value; and
regard every thing as mean, when set in opposition to what is superior
of the same kind. But no comparison is more obvious than that with
ourselves; and hence it is that on all occasions it takes place, and
mixes with most of our passions. This kind of comparison is directly
contrary to sympathy in its operation, as we have observed in treating
of com passion and malice. [Book II. Part II. Sect.
VIII.] IN ALL KINDS
OF COMPARISON AN OBJECT MAKES US ALWAYS RECEIVE FROM
ANOTHER, TO WHICH
IT IS COMPARED, A SENSATION CONTRARY TO WHAT ARISES FROM
ITSELF IN ITS
DIRECT AND IMMEDIATE SURVEY. THE DIRECT SURVEY OF
ANOTHER'S PLEASURE
NATURALLY GIVES US PLEASURE; AND THEREFORE PRODUCES
PAIN, WHEN COMPARed
WITH OUR OWN. HIS PAIN, CONSIDERED IN ITSELF, IS PAIN
FUL; BUT AUGMENTS
THE IDEA OF OUR OWN HAPPINESS, AND GIVES US PLEASURE.
Since then those principles of sympathy, and a comparison with
ourselves, are directly contrary, it may be worth while to consider,
what general rules can be formed, beside the particular temper of the
person, for the prevalence of the one or the other.
Suppose I am now
in safety at land, and would willingly reap some pleasure from this
consideration: I must think on the miserable condition of those who are
at sea in a storm, and must endeavour to render this idea as strong
and lively as possible, in order to make me more sensible of my own
happiness. But whatever pains I may take, the comparison will never have
an equal efficacy, as if I were really on the shore
[Footnote 26], and
saw a ship at a distance tossed by a tempest, and in danger every moment
of perishing on a rock or sand-bank. But suppose this idea to become
still more lively. Suppose the ship to be driven so near me, that I can
perceive distinctly the horror, painted on the countenance of the seamen
and passengers, hear their lamentable cries, see the dearest friends
give their last adieu, or embrace with a resolution to perish in each
others arms: No man has so savage a heart as to reap any pleasure from
such a spectacle, or withstand the motions of the tenderest compassion
and sympathy. It is evident, therefore, there is a medium in this case;
and that if the idea be too feint, it has no influence by comparison;
and on the other hand, if it be too strong, it operates on us entirely
by sympathy, which is the contrary to comparison.
Sympathy being the
conversion of an idea into an impression, demands a greater force and
vivacity in the idea than is requisite to comparison.
[Footnote 26. Suave mari magno turbantibus aequora ventis E
terra magnum alterius spectare laborem; Non quia vexari
quenquam eat jucunda voluptas, Sed quibus ipse malls caress
qula cernere sauv' est. LUCRET.
(There is something pleasant in watching, from dry land, the
great difficulties another man is undergoing out on the high
sea, with the winds lashing the waters. This is not because
one derives delight from any man's distress, but because it
is pleasurable to perceive from what troubles one is oneself
free.)]
All this is easily applied to the present subject. We sink very much in
our own eyes, when in the presence of a great man, or one of a superior
genius; and this humility makes a considerable ingredient in that
respect, which we pay our superiors, according to our foregoing
reasonings on that passion [Book II. Part II. Sect. X.].
Sometimes even
envy and hatred arise from the comparison; but in the greatest part of
men, it rests at respect and esteem. As sympathy has such a powerful
influence on the human mind, it causes pride to have, in some measure,
the same effect as merit; and by making us enter into those elevated
sentiments, which the proud man entertains of himself, presents that
comparison, which is so mortifying and disagreeable. Our judgment
does not entirely accompany him in the flattering conceit, in which
he pleases himself; but still is so shaken as to receive the idea it
presents, and to give it an influence above the loose conceptions of
the imagination. A man, who, in an idle humour, would form a notion of a
person of a merit very much superior to his own, would not be mortified
by that fiction: But when a man, whom we are really persuaded to be
of inferior merit, is presented to us; if we observe in him any
extraordinary degree of pride and self-conceit; the firm persuasion he
has of his own merit, takes hold of the imagination, and diminishes us
in our own eyes, in the same manner, as if he were really possessed of
all the good qualities which he so liberally attributes to himself. Our
idea is here precisely in that medium, which is requisite to make it
operate on us by comparison. Were it accompanied with belief, and did
the person appear to have the same merit, which he assumes to himself,
it would have a contrary effect, and would operate on us by sympathy.
The influence of that principle would then be superior to that of
comparison, contrary to what happens where the person's merit seems
below his pretensions.
The necessary consequence of these principles is, that pride, or an
over-weaning conceit of ourselves, must be vicious; since it
causes uneasiness in all men, and presents them every moment with a
disagreeable comparison. It is a trite observation in philosophy, and
even in common life and conversation, that it is our own pride, which
makes us so much displeased with the pride of other people; and that
vanity becomes insupportable to us merely because we are vain. The gay
naturally associate themselves with the gay, and the amorous with the
amorous: But the proud never can endure the proud, and rather seek the
company of those who are of an opposite disposition. As we are, all of
us, proud in some degree, pride is universally blamed and condemned by
all mankind; as having a natural tendency to cause uneasiness in others
by means of comparison. And this effect must follow the more naturally,
that those, who have an ill-grounded conceit of themselves, are for ever
making those comparisons, nor have they any other method of supporting
their vanity. A man of sense and merit is pleased with himself,
independent of all foreign considerations: But a fool must always find
some person, that is more foolish, in order to keep himself in good
humour with his own parts and understanding.
But though an over-weaning conceit of our own merit be vicious and
disagreeable, nothing can be more laudable, than to have a value for
ourselves, where we really have qualities that are valuable. The utility
and advantage of any quality to ourselves is a source of virtue, as well
as its agreeableness to others; and it is certain, that nothing is more
useful to us in the conduct of life, than a due degree of pride, which
makes us sensible of our own merit, and gives us a confidence and
assurance in all our projects and enterprizes. Whatever capacity any
one may be endowed with, it is entirely useless to him, if he be not
acquainted with it, and form not designs suitable to it.
It is requisite
on all occasions to know our own force; and were it allowable to err on
either side, it would be more advantageous to over-rate our merit, than
to form ideas of it, below its just standard. Fortune commonly favours
the bold and enterprizing; and nothing inspires us with more boldness
than a good opinion of ourselves.
Add to this, that though pride, or self-applause, be sometimes
disagreeable to others, it is always agreeable to ourselves; as on the
other hand, modesty, though it gives pleasure to every one, who observes
it, produces often uneasiness in the person endowed with it. Now it has
been observed, that our own sensations determine the vice and virtue of
any quality, as well as those sensations, which it may excite in others.
Thus self-satisfaction and vanity may not only be allowable, but
requisite in a character. It is, however, certain, that good-breeding
and decency require that we should avoid all signs and expressions,
which tend directly to show that passion. We have, all of us, a
wonderful partiality for ourselves, and were we always to give vent to
our sentiments in this particular, we should mutually cause the greatest
indignation in each other, not only by the immediate presence of so
disagreeable a subject of comparison, but also by the contrariety of
our judgments. In like manner, therefore, as we establish the laws
of nature, in order to secure property in society, and prevent the
opposition of self-interest; we establish the rules of good-breeding, in
order to prevent the opposition of men's pride, and render conversation
agreeable and inoffensive. Nothing is more disagreeable than a
man's over-weaning conceit of himself: Every one almost has a strong
propensity to this vice: No one can well distinguish in himself betwixt
the vice and virtue, or be certain, that his esteem of his own merit is
well-founded: For these reasons, all direct expressions of this passion
are condemned; nor do we make any exception to this rule in favour of
men of sense and merit. They are not allowed to do themselves justice
openly, in words, no more than other people; and even if they show
a reserve and secret doubt in doing themselves justice in their own
thoughts, they will be more applauded. That impertinent, and almost
universal propensity of men, to over-value themselves, has given us such
a prejudice against self-applause, that we are apt to condemn it, by a
general rule, wherever we meet with it; and it is with some difficulty
we give a privilege to men of sense, even in their most secret thoughts.
At least, it must be owned, that some disguise in this particular is
absolutely requisite; and that if we harbour pride in our breasts, we
must carry a fair outside, and have the appearance of modesty and mutual
deference in all our conduct and behaviour. We must, on every occasion,
be ready to prefer others to ourselves; to treat them with a kind of
deference, even though they be our equals; to seem always the lowest
and least in the company, where we are not very much distinguished above
them: And if we observe these rules in our conduct, men will have
more indulgence for our secret sentiments, when we discover them in an
oblique manner.
I believe no one, who has any practice of the world, and can penetrate
into the inward sentiments of men, will assert, that the humility, which
good-breeding and decency require of us, goes beyond the outside, or
that a thorough sincerity in this particular is esteemed a real part
of our duty. On the contrary, we may observe, that a genuine and hearty
pride, or self-esteem, if well concealed and well founded, is essential
to the character of a man of honour, and that there is no quality of the
mind, which is more indispensibly requisite to procure the esteem
and approbation of mankind. There are certain deferences and mutual
submissions, which custom requires of the different ranks of men towards
each other; and whoever exceeds in this particular, if through interest,
is accused of meanness; if through ignorance, of simplicity. It is
necessary, therefore, to know our rank and station in the world, whether
it be fixed by our birth, fortune, employments, talents or reputation.
It is necessary to feel the sentiment and passion of pride in conformity
to it, and to regulate our actions accordingly. And should it be said,
that prudence may suffice to regulate our actions in this particular,
without any real pride, I would observe, that here the object of
prudence is to conform our actions to the general usage and custom; and,
that it is impossible those tacit airs of superiority should ever have
been established and authorized by custom, unless men were generally
proud, and unless that passion were generally approved, when
well-grounded.
If we pass from common life and conversation to history, this reasoning
acquires new force, when we observe, that all those great actions and
sentiments, which have become the admiration of mankind, are founded on
nothing but pride and self-esteem. Go, says Alexander the Great to his
soldiers, when they refused to follow him to the Indies, go tell your
countrymen, that you left Alexander corn pleating the conquest of the
world. This passage was always particularly admired by the prince of
Conde, as we learn from St Evremond.
"ALEXANDER," said that prince, "abandoned by his soldiers, among
barbarians, not yet fully subdued, felt in himself such a dignity of
right and of empire, that he coued not believe it possible any one
coued refuse to obey him. Whether in Europe or in Asia, among Greeks or
Persians, all was indifferent to him: Wherever he found men, he fancied
he found subjects."
In general we may observe, that whatever we call heroic virtue, and
admire under the character of greatness and elevation of mind, is either
nothing but a steady and wellestablished pride and self-esteem, or
partakes largely of that passion. Courage, intrepidity, ambition, love
of glory, magnanimity, and all the other shining virtues of that kind,
have plainly a strong mixture of self-esteem in them, and derive a great
part of their merit from that origin. Accordingly we find, that many
religious declaimers decry those virtues as purely pagan and natural,
and represent to us the excellency of the Christian religion, which
places humility in the rank of virtues, and corrects the judgment of the
world, and even of philosophers, who so generally admire all the efforts
of pride and ambition. Whether this virtue of humility has been rightly
understood, I shall not pretend to determine. I am content with the
concession, that the world naturally esteems a well-regulated pride,
which secretly animates our conduct, without breaking out into such
indecent expressions of vanity, as many offend the vanity of others.
The merit of pride or self-esteem is derived from two circumstances,
viz, its utility and its agreeableness to ourselves; by which it
capacitates us for business, and, at the same time, gives us an
immediate satisfaction. When it goes beyond its just bounds, it loses
the first advantage, and even becomes prejudicial; which is the reason
why we condemn an extravagant pride and ambition, however regulated by
the decorums of good-breeding and politeness. But as such a passion is
still agreeable, and conveys an elevated and sublime sensation to the
person, who is actuated by it, the sympathy with that satisfaction
diminishes considerably the blame, which naturally attends its dangerous
influence on his conduct and behaviour. Accordingly we may observe, that
an excessive courage and magnanimity, especially when it displays itself
under the frowns of fortune, contributes in a great measure, to
the character of a hero, and will render a person the admiration of
posterity; at the same time, that it ruins his affairs, and leads him
into dangers and difficulties, with which otherwise he would never have
been acquainted.
Heroism, or military glory, is much admired by the generality of
mankind. They consider it as the most sublime kind of merit. Men of
cool reflection are not so sanguine in their praises of it. The infinite
confusions and disorder, which it has caused in the world, diminish much
of its merit in their eyes. When they would oppose the popular notions
on this head, they always paint out the evils, which this supposed
virtue has produced in human society; the subversion of empires, the
devastation of provinces, the sack of cities. As long as these are
present to us, we are more inclined to hate than admire the ambition
of heroes. But when we fix our view on the person himself, who is the
author of all this mischief, there is something so dazzling in his
character, the mere contemplation of it so elev