,,the  ,,essays  ,,of  ,,adam ,,smith   
,,essays  ,,on ,i4 ,,moral ,,sentiments2
 ,,ii4 ,,astronomical ,,inquiries2      
,,iii4 ,,formation ,,of ,,languages2    
,,iv4 ,,history ,,of ,,ancient          
,,physics2 ,v4 ,,ancient ,,logic ,,and  
,,metaphysics2 ,,vi4 ,,the ,,imitative  
,,arts2 ,,vii4 ,,music1 ,,dancing1      
,,poetry2 ,,viii4 ,,the ,,external      
,,senses2 ,,ix4 ,,english ,,and         
,,italian ,,verses4   ,,by ,,adam       
,,smith1 ,,ll4,d4 ,f4,r4,s41  ,author of
 the ',inquiry into the ,nature and     
,causes of the ,wealth of ,nations4'    
-----  ,,london3 ,,alex4 ,,murray       
,,co41 #cj1 ,,queen ,,square1 ,w4,c4    
#ahgb4   ,,london3 ,,bradbury1 ,,evans1 
,,and ,,co41 ,,printers1 ,,whitefriars4 
,,biographical ,,notice4  -----  ,,adam 
,,smith1 the author of these ,essays and
 of the ',inquiry into the ,nature and  
,causes of the ,wealth of ,nations1' was
 born at ,kirkaldy1 ,june #e1 #agbc1 a  
few months after the death of his       
father4 ,he was a sickly child1 and     

indulged by his mother1 who was the     
object of his filial gratitude for sixty
 years4 ,when about three years old1 and
 at the house of ,douglass of           
,strathenry1 his mother's brother1 he   
was carried off by tinkers or gipsies1  
but soon recovered from them4 ,at the   
burgh school of his native town he made 
rapid progress1 and soon attracted      
notice by his passion for books1 and by 
the extraordinary powers of his memory4 
,his weakness of body prevented him     
joining in athletic sports1 but his     
generous and friendly temperament made  
him a favourite with his schoolmates2   
and he was noted then1 as through after 
life1 for absence in company and a habit
 of speaking to himself when alone4     
,from the grammar school of ,kirkaldy1  
he was sent1 in #agcg1 to the           
,university of ,glasgow1 whence1 in     
#agdj1 he went to ,baliol ,college1     
,oxford1 enjoying an exhibition on the  
,snell foundation4 ,when at ,glasgow    
,college1 his favourite studies were    

mathematics and natural philosophy1 but 
that did not long divert his mind from  
pursuits more congenial to him1 more    
particularly the political history of   
mankind1 which gave scope to the power  
of his comprehensive genius1 and        
gratified his ruling passion of         
contributing to the happiness and the   
improvement of society4 ,to his early   
taste for ,greek generally1 may be due  
the clearness and fulness with which he 
states his political reasonings4 ,at    
,oxford he employed himself frequently  
in the practice of translation1 with a  
view to the improvement of his own      
style1 and used to commend such         
exercises to all who cultivate the art  
of composition4 ,he also cultivated with
 the greatest care the study of         
languages2 and his knowledge of them led
 him to a peculiar experience in        
everything that could illustrate the    
institutions1 the manners1 and the ideas
 of different ages and nations4  ,after 
a residence at ,oxford of seven years1  

he returned to ,kirkaldy1 and lived two 
years with his mother1 engaged in       
studies1 but without any fixed plan for 
his future life4 ,he had been originally
 destined for the ,church of ,england2  
but not finding the ecclesiastical      
profession suitable to his taste1 he    
took chance of obtaining some of those  
moderate preferments1 to which literary 
attainments lead in ,scotland4 ,removing
 to ,edinburgh in #agdh1 he read        
lectures on rhetoric and belles lettres1
 under the patronage of ,lord ,kames2   
and when in ,edinburgh became intimate  
with ,david ,hume4  ,in #agea he was    
elected ,professor of ,logic in the     
,university of ,glasgow2 and1 the year  
following1 he became ,professor of      
,moral ,philosophy there2 a situation he
 held for thirteen years1 and used to   
look back on as the most useful and     
happy of his life2 and1 though but a    
narrow scene for his ambition1 may have 
led to the future eminence of his       
literary character4 ,in delivering his  

lectures1 ,mr4 ,smith trusted #b almost 
entirely to extemporary elocution4 ,his 
manner1 though not graceful1 was plain  
and unaffected1 and he never failed to  
interest his hearers4 ,each discourse   
consisted commonly of several distinct  
propositions1 which he successively     
endeavoured to prove and illustrate4 ,at
 first he often appeared to speak with  
hesitation2 but1 as he advanced1 the    
matter seemed to crowd upon him1 his    
manner became warm and animated1 and his
 expression easy and fluent4 ,his       
reputation as a philosopher attracted a 
multitude of students from a great      
distance to the ,university2 and those  
branches of science which he taught     
became fashionable1 and his opinions    
were the chief topics of discussion in  
the clubs and literary societies of     
,glasgow4 ,while ,adam ,smith became    
thus eminent as a public lecturer1 he   
was gradually laying the foundation of a
 more extensive reputation by preparing 
for the press his ,system of ,morals2   

and the first edition of his ,essays    
appeared in 9999#agei1 under the title  
of ,,the ,,theory ,,of ,,moral          
,,sentiments4  ,of this essay1 ,dugald  
,stewart remarks1 'that whatever opinion
 we may entertain of the justness of its
 conclusions1 it must be allowed to be a
 singular effort of invention1          
ingenuity1 and subtilty2 that it        
contains a large mixture of important   
truth1 and has had the merit of         
directing the attention of philosophers 
to a view of human nature1 which had    
formerly in a great measure escaped     
their notice2 and no work1 undoubtedly1 
can be mentioned1 ancient or modern1    
which exhibits so complete a view of    
those facts with respect to our moral   
perceptions1 which it is one great      
object of this branch of science to     
refer to their general laws2 and well   
deserves the careful study of all whose 
taste leads them to prosecute similar   
enquiries4 ,these facts are presented in
 the most happy and beautiful lights2   

and when the subject leads him to       
address the imagination and the heart1  
the variety and felicity of his         
illustrations1 the richness and fluency 
of his eloquence2 and the skill with    
which he wins the attention and commands
 the passions of his readers1 leave him1
 among our ,english moralists1 without a
 rival4 ,towards the close of #agfc1    
,mr4 ,smith arranged to visit the       
continent with the ,duke of ,buccleugh1 
returning to ,london in #agff4 ,for the 
next ten years he lived quietly with his
 mother at ,kirkaldy2 and in #aggf1     
accounted to the world for his long     
retreat1 by the publication of his      
',,inquiry ,,into ,,the ,,nature ,,and  
,,causes ,,of ,,the ,,wealth ,,of       
,,nations4' ,in #aggh1 ,mr4 ,smith was  
appointed a ,commissioner of ,customs in
 ,scotland1 the pecuniary emoluments of 
which were considerable4 ,in #aghd1 he  
lost his mother4 ,in #aghh1 his cousin1 
,miss ,douglass1 died1 to whom he had   
been strongly attached2 and in ,july1   

#agij1 he died1 having1 a short while   
before1 in conversation with his friend 
,riddell1 regretted that ',,he ,,had    
,,done ,,so ,,little4'  ,above          
biographic notes and literary opinions  
have been abridged from a paper on ',the
 ,life and ,writings of ,adam ,smith1'  
by ,professor ,dugald ,stewart1 of      
,edinburgh1 #agic--;,a4 ,m4             
,,advertisement ,,to ,,the ,,sixth      
,,edition4  -----  ,,since the first    
publication of the ,,theory ,,of ,,moral
 ,,sentiments1 which was in the         
beginning of the year #agei1 several    
corrections1 and a good many            
illustrations of the doctrines contained
 in it1 have occurred to me4 ,but the   
various occupations in which the        
different accidents of my life          
necessarily involved me1 have till now  
prevented me from revising this work    
with the care and attention which ,i    
always intended4 ,the reader will find  
the principal alterations which ,i have 
made in this ,new ,edition1 in the last 

,chapter of the third ,section of ,part 
,first2 and in the four first ,chapters 
of ,part ,third4 ,part ,sixth1 as it    
stands in this ,new ,edition1 is        
altogether new4 ,in ,part ,seventh1 ,i  
have brought together the greater part  
of the different passages concerning the
 ,stoical ,philosophy1 which1 in the    
former ,editions1 had been scattered    
about in different parts of the work4 ,i
 have likewise endeavoured to explain   
more fully1 and examine more distinctly1
 some of the doctrines of that famous   
sect4 ,in the fourth and last ,section  
of the same ,part1 ,i have thrown       
together a few additional observations  
concerning the duty and the principle of
 veracity4 ,there are1 besides1 in other
 parts of the work1 a few other         
alterations and corrections of no great 
moment4  ,in the last paragraph of the  
first ,edition of the present work1 ,i  
said that ,i should in another discourse
 endeavour to give an account of the    
general principles of law and           

government1 and of the different        
revolutions which they had undergone in 
the different ages and periods of       
society2 not only in what concerns      
justice1 but in what concerns police1   
revenue1 and arms1 and whatever else is 
the object of law4 ,in the ,inquiry     
concerning the ,nature and ,causes of   
the ,wealth of ,nations1 ,i have partly 
executed this promise2 at least so far  
as concerns police1 revenue1 and arms4  
,what remains1 the theory of            
jurisprudence1 which ,i have long       
projected1 ,i have hitherto been        
hindered from executing1 by the same    
occupations which had till now prevented
 me from revising the present work4     
,though my very advanced age leaves me1 
,i acknowledge1 very little expectation 
of ever being able to execute this great
 work to my own satisfaction2 yet1 as ,i
 have not altogether abandoned the      
design1 and as ,i wish still to continue
 under the obligation of doing what ,i  
can1 ,i have allowed the paragraph to   

remain as it was published more than    
thirty years ago1 when ,i entertained no
 doubt of being able to execute every   
thing which it announced4   ,,essays    
,,by ,,adam ,,smith  ,,on               
,,philosophical ,,subjects  -----       
,,advertisement ,,by ,,the ,,editors4   
,,the much lamented author of these     
,essays left them in the hands of his   
friends to be disposed of as they       
thought proper1 having immediately      
before his death destroyed many other   
manuscripts which he thought unfit for  
being made public4 ,when these were     
inspected1 the greater number of them   
appeared to be parts of a plan he once  
had formed1 for giving a connected      
history of the liberal sciences and     
elegant arts4 ,it is long since he found
 it necessary to abandon that plan as   
far too extensive2 and these parts of it
 lay beside him neglected until his     
death4 ,his friends are persuaded1      
however1 that the reader will find in   
them that happy connection1 that full   

and accurate expression1 and that clear 
illustration which are conspicuous in   
the rest of his works2 and that though  
it is difficult to add much to the great
 fame he so justly acquired by his other
 writings1 these will be read with      
satisfaction and pleasure4  ,,joseph    
,,black4 ,,james ,,hutton4   ,,contents4
  -----  ,,the ,,theory ,,of ,,moral    
,,sentiments4  ,,part ,i4  ,,of ,,the   
,,propriety ,,of ,,actions4             
,,page ,,sec4 ,i4 ,of the ,sense of     
,propriety 4     4     4     4        #i
    ,,ch4 ,i4 ,of ,sympathy  4     4    
4     4     4     4     #i-ac   ,,ch4   
,,ii4 ,of the ,pleasure of ,mutual      
,sympathy  4     4    #ac-af   ,,ch4    
,,iii41 ,,iv4 ,of the manner in which we
 judge of the       ,propriety or       
,impropriety of the ,affections of      
other ,men1 by their ,concord or        
,dissonance with       our own   4     4
     4     4     4     4     4    #af-bc
   ,,ch4 ,v4 ,of the amiable and        
respectable ,virtues     4    #bc-bf    

,,sec4 ,,ii4 ,of the ,degrees of the    
different ,passions       which are     
consistent with ,propriety    4      4  
#bf    ,,ch4 ,i4 ,of the ,passions which
 take their ,origin from       the ,body
  4     4     4     4     4    4      4 
#bf-cj   ,,ch4 ,,ii4 ,of those ,passions
 which take their ,origin       from a  
particular ,turn or ,habit of the       
,imagination     4     4     4     4    
4      4    #cj-cb   ,,ch4 ,,iii4 ,of   
the unsocial ,passions     4    4      4
    #cb-cg   ,,ch4 ,,iv4 ,of the social 
,passions  4     4    4      4    #cg-ci
   ,,ch4 ,v4 ,of the selfish ,passions  
4     4    4      4    #ci-da  ,,sec4   
,,iii4 ,of the ,effects of ,prosperity  
and ,adversity       upon the ,judgment 
of ,mankind with regard to the          
,propriety of ,action2 and why it is    
more easy to       obtain their         
,approbation in the one ,state than     
in the other    4     4     4     4    4
      4       #db    ,,ch4 ,i4 ,that    
though our ,sympathy with ,sorrow is    

generally a more lively ,sensation than 
our       ,sympathy with ,joy1 it       
commonly falls much more       short of 
the ,violence of what is naturally felt 
by the ,person principally concerned    
4      4    #db-dg   ,,ch4 ,,ii4 ,of the
 ,origin of ,ambition1 and of the       
,distinction of ,ranks       4      4   
4      4    #dg-ef   ,,ch4 ,,iii4 ,of   
the ,corruption of our ,moral           
,sentiments1       which is occasioned  
by this ,disposition to admire       the
 ,rich and the ,great1 and to despise or
 neglect       ,persons of poor and mean
 ,condition     4      4    #ef-fj      
-----  ,,part ,,ii4  ,,of ,,merit ,,and 
,,demerit2 ,,or1 ,,of ,,the ,,objects   
,,of ,,reward ,,and ,,punishment4       
,,sec4 ,i4 ,of the ,sense of ,merit and 
,demerit--,introduction     #fa    ,,ch4
 ,i4 ,that whatever appears to be the   
proper ,object       of ,gratitude1     
appears to deserve ,reward2 and that1   
in the same ,manner1 whatever appears to
 be the       proper ,object of         

,resentment1 appears to deserve         
,punishment      4     4     4     4    
4      4    #fa-fc #f   ,,ch4 ,,ii4 ,of 
the proper ,objects of ,gratitude and   
,resentment      4     4     4     4    
4      4    #fc-fe   ,,ch4 ,,iii4 ,that 
where there is no ,approbation of the   
,conduct of the ,person who confers the 
,benefit1       there is little         
,sympathy with the ,gratitude of        
him who receives it3 and that1 on the   
contrary1       where there is no       
,disapprobation of the ,motives       of
 the ,person who does the ,mischief1    
there is       no sort of ,sympathy with
 the ,resentment of him       who       
suffers it  4     4     4    4    4     
4    #fe-fg   ,,ch4 ,,iv4               
,recapitulation of the foregoing        
,chapters  4    #fg-fh   ,,ch4 ,v4 ,the 
,analysis of the ,sense of ,merit and   
,demerit  #fh-gj  ,,sec4 ,,ii4 ,of      
,justice and ,beneficence    ,,ch4 ,i4  
,comparison of those two ,virtues    4  
4    #gj-ge   ,,ch4 ,,ii4 ,of the sense 

of ,justice1 of ,remorse1 and of        
the ,consciousness of ,merit  4    4    
4       4    #ge-gh   ,,ch4 ,,iii4 ,of  
the ,utility of this ,constitution of   
,nature #gh-hd  ,,sec4 ,,iii4 ,of the   
,influence of ,fortune upon the         
,sentiments       of ,mankind1 with     
regard to the ,merit or ,demerit        
of ,actions--,introduction    4    4    
4       4    #hd-he    ,,ch4 ,i4 ,of the
 ,causes of this ,influence of ,fortune 
4    #he-hh   ,,ch4 ,,ii4 ,of the       
,extent of this ,influence of ,fortune  
#hh-ie   ,,ch4 ,,iii4 ,of the final     
,cause of this ,irregularity of         
,sentiments      4     4     4    4    4
       4    #if-ii  -----  ,,part ,,iii4
  ,,of ,,the ,,foundation ,,of ,,our    
,,judgments ,,concerning ,,our ,,own    
,,sentiments ,,and ,,conduct1 ,,and ,,of
 ,,the ,,sense ,,of ,,duty4    ,,ch4 ,i4
 ,of the ,principle of ,self-approbation
 and of       ,self-disapprobation   4  
4    4    4      4    #ii-ajb   ,,ch4   
,,ii4 ,of the ,love of ,praise1 and of  

that of       ,praise-worthiness2 and of
 the ,dread of ,blame1       and of that
 of ,blame-worthiness4 4    4      4    
#ajb-aah   ,,ch4 ,,iii4 ,of the         
,influence and ,authority of            
,conscience      4     4     4    4    4
      4   #aah-acg   ,,ch4 ,,iv4 ,of the
 ,nature of ,self-deceit1 and of the    
,origin and ,use of general ,rules  4   
4      4   #acg-adb   ,,ch4 ,v4 ,of the 
,influence and ,authority of the general
       ,rules of ,morality1 and that    
they are justly       regarded as the   
,laws of the ,deity     4      4        
#adb-aej   ,,ch4 ,,vi4 ,in what ,cases  
the ,sense of ,duty ought to be         
the sole ,principle of our ,conduct2 and
 in what       ,cases it ought to concur
 with other ,motives  4   #aej-aeh      
-----  ,,part ,,iv4  ,,of ,,the ,,effect
 ,,of ,,utility ,,upon ,,the ,,sentiment
 ,,of ,,approbation4    ,,ch4 ,i4 ,of   
the ,beauty which the ,appearance of    
,utility       bestows upon all the     
,productions of ,art1 and of       the  

extensive ,influence of this ,species   
of ,beauty       4     4     4     4   4
      4   #aeh-afe   ,,ch4 ,,ii4 ,of the
 ,beauty which the ,appearance of       
,utility bestows upon the ,characters   
and ,actions       of ,men2 and how far 
the ,perception of this       ,beauty   
may be regarded as one of the original  
,principles of ,approbation   4     4   
4      4   #afe-aga #g  -----  ,,part   
,v4  ,,of ,,the ,,influence ,,of        
,,custom ,,and ,,fashion ,,upon ,,the   
,,sentiments ,,of ,,moral ,,approbation 
,,and ,,disapprobation4    ,,ch4 ,i4 ,of
 the ,influence of ,custom and ,fashion 
upon       our ,notions of ,beauty and  
,deformity    4     4   #aga-agf   ,,ch4
 ,,ii4 ,of the ,influence of ,custom and
 ,fashion upon       ,moral ,sentiments 
4    4      4    4     4   #agf-ahg     
-----  ,,part ,,vi4  ,,of ,,the         
,,character ,,of                        
,,virtue4--,,introduction1 #ahg4  ,,sec4
 ,i4 ,of the ,character of the          
,individual1 so far as      it affects  

his own ,happiness2 or of ,prudence  4  
#ahg-aib  ,,sec4 ,,ii4 ,of the          
,character of the ,individual1 so far as
      it can affect the ,happiness of   
other      ,people--,introduction     4 
4      4      4   #aib-aic    ,,ch4 ,i4 
,of the ,order in which ,individuals are
      recommended by ,nature to our     
,care and ,attention   #aic-bja   ,,ch4 
,,ii4 ,of the ,order in which ,societies
 are by      ,nature recommended to our 
,beneficence  4      4   #bja-bjh       
,,ch4 ,,iii4 ,of universal ,benevolence 
4      4      4   #bjh-baj  ,,sec4      
,,iii4 ,of ,self-command    4       4   
4      4   #baj-bcc  ,conclusion of the 
,sixth ,part 4       4      4      4    
#bcc-bcf  -----  ,,part ,,vii4  ,,of    
,,systems ,,of ,,moral ,,philosophy4    
,,sec4 ,i4 ,of the ,questions which     
ought to be examined      in a ,theory  
of ,moral ,sentiments 4      4      4   
#bcf-bcg  ,,sec4 ,,ii4 ,of the different
 ,accounts which have been      given of
 the ,nature of ,virtue--,introduction  

4       #bcg    ,,ch4 ,i4 ,of those     
,systems which make ,virtue consist     
in ,propriety   4       4       4      4
       4   #bcg-bfj   ,,ch4 ,,ii4 ,of   
those ,systems which make ,virtue       
consist      in ,prudence    4       4  
4      4       4   #bfj-bfe   ,,ch4     
,,iii4 ,of those ,systems which make    
,virtue consist      in ,benevolence 4  
4       4      4       4   #bfe-bga     
,,ch4 ,,iv4 ,of licentious ,systems     
4      4       4   #bga-bgh  ,,sec4     
,,iii4 ,of the different ,systems which 
have been      formed concerning the    
,principle of                           
,approbation--,introduction      4      
4       4       #bgi    ,,ch4 ,i4 ,of   
those ,systems which deduce the         
,principle      of ,approbation from    
,self-love  4      4       4   #bgi-bha 
,,ch4 ,,ii4 ,of those ,systems which    
make ,reason      the ,principle of     
,approbation   4      4       4         
#bhb-bhd   ,,ch4 ,,iii4 ,of those       
,systems which make ,sentiment      the 

,principle of ,approbation   4      4   
4   #bhe-bij  ,,sec4 ,,iv4 ,of the      
,manner in which different ,authors     
have treated of the practical ,rules of 
,morality   #bij-cjd #h  -----          
,,considerations ,,concerning ,,the     
,,formation ,,of ,,languages4  #cje-cbe 
-----  ,,essays ,,on ,,philosophical    
,,subjects4   ,,the ,,principles ,,which
 ,,lead ,,and ,,direct ,,philosophical  
,,inquiries1 ,,as ,,illustrated ,,by    
,,the ,,history ,,of ,,astronomy        
#cbe-cbf    ,,sec4 ,i4 ,of the ,effects 
of ,unexpectedness1 or of     ,surprise 
4       4       4      4       4        
#cbf-cbi   ,,sec4 ,,ii4 ,of ,wonder1 or 
the ,effects of ,novelty    4   #cbi-ccg
   ,,sec4 ,,iii4 ,of the ,origin of     
,philosophy    4       4   #cch-cdb     
,,sec4 ,,iv4 ,the ,history of ,astronomy
 4      4       4   #cdb-chd  -----     
,,the ,,principles ,,which ,,lead ,,and 
,,direct ,,philosophical ,,inquiries1   
,,illustrated ,,by ,,the ,,history ,,of 
,,the ,,ancient ,,physics             4 

4       4      4       4   #che-cie     
-----  ,,the ,,principles ,,which ,,lead
 ,,and ,,direct ,,philosophical         
,,inquiries1 ,,illustrated ,,by ,,the   
,,history ,,of ,,ancient ,,logics ,,and 
,,metaphysics      4       4      4     
4   #cie-dje  -----  ,,of ,,the ,,nature
 ,,of ,,that ,,imitation ,,which ,,takes
 ,,place ,,in ,,what ,,are ,,called     
,,the ,,imitative ,,arts  4      4      
4        #dje  ,part ,i41 #dje-dae4     
,part ,,ii41 #dae-dcb4 ,part ,,iii     4
    #dcb-dcd  -----  ,,of ,,the         
,,affinity ,,between ,,music1 ,,dancing1
 ,,and ,,poetry     #dce-dch  -----     
,,of ,,the ,,external ,,senses       4  
4      4     4    #dch-dci    ,of the   
,sense of ,touching1 #dci-ddd4 ,of the  
,sense of   ,tasting1 #ddd-dde4 ,of the 
,sense of ,smelling1 #dde4   ,of the    
,sense of ,hearing1 #dde-dej4 ,of the   
,sense of   ,seeing     4       4       
4      4       4     4    #dej-dfh      
-----  ,,of ,,the ,,affinity ,,between  
,,certain ,,english ,,and ,,italian     

,,verses       4       4       4      4 
4     4    #dfh-dgc     ,,the  ,,theory 
,,of  ,,moral ,,sentiments  -----  ,part
 ,i4--,of the ,propriety of ,action4    
,,sec4 ,i4--,,of ,,the ,,sense ,,of     
,,propriety4  ,,chap4 ,i4--,of          
,sympathy4   ,,how selfish soever man   
may be supposed1 there are evidently    
some principles in his nature1 which    
interest him in the fortune of others1  
and render their happiness necessary to 
him1 though he derives nothing from it  
except the pleasure of seeing it4 ,of   
this kind is pity or compassion1 the    
emotion which we feel for the misery of 
others1 when we either see it1 or are   
made to conceive it in a very lively    
manner4 ,that we often derive sorrow    
from the sorrow of others1 is a matter  
of fact too obvious to require any      
instances to prove it2 for this         
sentiment1 like all the other original  
passions of human nature1 is by no means
 confined to the virtuous and humane1   
though they perhaps may feel it with the

 most exquisite sensibility4 ,the       
greatest ruffian1 the most hardened     
violator of the laws of society1 is not 
altogether without it4  ,as we have no  
immediate experience of what other men  
feel1 we can form no idea of the manner 
in which they are affected1 but by      
conceiving what we ourselves should feel
 in the like situation4 ,though our     
brother is upon the rack1 as long as we 
ourselves are at our ease1 our senses   
will never inform us of what he suffers4
 ,they never did1 and never can1 carry  
us beyond our own person1 and it is by  
the imagination only that we can form   
any conception of what are his          
sensations4 ,neither can that faculty   
help us to this any other way1 than by  
representing to us what would be our    
own1 if we were in his case4 ,it is the 
impressions of our own senses only1 not 
those of his1 which our imaginations    
copy4 ,by the imagination we place      
ourselves in his situation1 we conceive 
ourselves enduring all the same         

torments1 we enter as it were into his  
body1 and become in some measure the    
same person with him1 and thence form   
some idea of his sensations1 and even   
feel something which1 though weaker in  
degree1 is not altogether unlike them4  
,his agonies1 when they are thus brought
 home to ourselves1 when we have thus   
adopted and made them our own1 begin at 
last to affect us1 #aj and we then      
tremble and shudder at the thought of   
what he feels4 ,for as to be in pain or 
distress of any kind excites the most   
excessive sorrow1 so to conceive or to  
imagine that we are in it1 excites some 
degree of the same emotion1 in          
proportion to the vivacity or dulness of
 the conception4  ,that this is the     
source of our fellow-feeling for the    
misery of others1 that it is by changing
 places in fancy with the sufferer1 that
 we come either to conceive or to be    
affected by what he feels1 may be       
demonstrated by many obvious            
observations1 if it should not be       

thought sufficiently evident of itself4 
,when we see a stroke aimed and just    
ready to fall upon the leg or arm of    
another person1 we naturally shrink and 
draw back our own leg or our own arm2   
and when it does fall1 we feel it in    
some measure1 and are hurt by it as well
 as the sufferer4 ,the mob1 when they   
are gazing at a dancer on the slack     
rope1 naturally writhe and twist and    
balance their own bodies1 as they see   
him do1 and as they feel that they      
themselves must do if in his situation4 
,persons of delicate fibres and a weak  
constitution of body complain1 that in  
looking on the sores and ulcers which   
are exposed by beggars in the streets1  
they are apt to feel an itching or      
uneasy sensation in the corresponding   
part of their own bodies4 ,the horror   
which they conceive at the misery of    
those wretches affects that particular  
part in themselves more than any other2 
because that horror arises from         
conceiving what they themselves would   

suffer1 if they really were the wretches
 whom they are looking upon1 and if that
 particular part in themselves was      
actually affected in the same miserable 
manner4 ,the very force of this         
conception is sufficient1 in their      
feeble frames1 to produce that itching  
or uneasy sensation complained of4 ,men 
of the most robust make1 observe that in
 looking upon sore eyes they often feel 
a very sensible soreness in their own1  
which proceeds from the same reason2    
that organ being in the strongest man   
more delicate1 than any other part of   
the body is in the weakest4  ,neither is
 it those circumstances only1 which     
create pain or sorrow1 that call forth  
our fellow-feeling4 ,whatever is the    
passion which arises from any object in 
the person principally concerned1 an    
analogous emotion springs up1 at the    
thought of his situation1 in the breast 
of every attentive spectator4 ,our joy  
for the deliverance of those heroes of  
tragedy or romance who interest us1 is  

as sincere as our grief for their       
distress1 and our fellow-feeling with   
their misery is not more real than that 
with their happiness4 ,we enter into    
their gratitude towards those faithful  
friends who did not desert them in their
 difficulties2 and we heartily go along 
with their resentment against those     
perfidious traitors who injured1        
abandoned1 or deceived them4 ,in every  
passion of which the mind of man is     
susceptible1 the emotions of the        
by-stander always correspond to what1 by
 bringing the case home to himself1 he  
imagines should be the sentiments of the
 sufferer4  #aa ,pity and compassion are
 words appropriated to signify our      
fellow-feeling with the sorrow of       
others4 ,sympathy1 though its meaning   
was1 perhaps1 originally the same1 may  
now1 however1 without much impropriety1 
be made use of to denote our            
fellow-feeling with any passion         
whatever4  ,upon some occasions sympathy
 may seem to arise merely from the view 

of a certain emotion in another person4 
,the passions1 upon some occasions1 may 
seem to be transfused from one man to   
another1 instantaneously1 and antecedent
 to any knowledge of what excited them  
in the person principally concerned4    
,grief and joy1 for example1 strongly   
expressed in the look and gestures of   
any one1 at once affect the spectator   
with some degree of a like painful or   
agreeable emotion4 ,a smiling face is1  
to everybody that sees it1 a cheerful   
object2 as a sorrowful countenance1 on  
the other hand1 is a melancholy one4    
,this1 however1 does not hold           
universally1 or with regard to every    
passion4 ,there are some passions of    
which the expressions excite no sort of 
sympathy1 but before we are acquainted  
with what gave occasion to them1 serve  
rather to disgust and provoke us against
 them4 ,the furious behaviour of an     
angry man is more likely to exasperate  
us against himself than against his     
enemies4 ,as we are unacquainted with   

his provocation1 we cannot bring his    
case home to ourselves1 nor conceive    
anything like the passions which it     
excites4 ,but we plainly see what is the
 situation of those with whom he is     
angry1 and to what violence they may be 
exposed from so enraged an adversary4   
,we readily1 therefore1 sympathise with 
their fear or resentment1 and are       
immediately disposed to take part       
against the man from whom they appear to
 be in so much danger4  ,if the very    
appearances of grief and joy inspire us 
with some degree of the like emotions1  
it is because they suggest to us the    
general idea of some good or bad fortune
 that has befallen the person in whom we
 observe them3 and in these passions    
this is sufficient to have some little  
influence upon us4 ,the effects of grief
 and joy terminate in the person who    
feels those emotions1 of which the      
expressions do not1 like those of       
resentment1 suggest to us the idea of   
any other person for whom we are        

concerned1 and whose interests are      
opposite to his4 ,the general idea of   
good or bad fortune1 therefore1 creates 
some concern for the person who has met 
with it1 but the general idea of        
provocation excites no sympathy with the
 anger of the man who has received it4  
,nature1 it seems1 teaches us to be more
 averse to enter into this passion1 and1
 till informed of its cause1 to be      
disposed rather to take part against it4
  ,even our sympathy with the grief or  
joy of another1 before we are informed  
of the cause of either1 is always       
extremely imperfect4 ,general           
lamentations1 which express nothing but 
the anguish of the sufferer1 create     
rather a curiosity to inquire into his  
situation1 along with some #ab          
disposition to sympathize with him1 than
 any actual sympathy that is very       
sensible4 ,the first question which we  
ask is1 ,what has befallen you8 ,till   
this be answered1 though we are uneasy  
both from the vague idea of his         

misfortune1 and still more from         
torturing ourselves with conjectures    
about what it may be1 yet our           
fellow-feeling is not very considerable4
  ,sympathy1 therefore1 does not arise  
so much from the view of the passion1 as
 from that of the situation which       
excites it4 ,we sometimes feel for      
another1 a passion of which he himself  
seems to be altogether incapable2       
because1 when we put ourselves in his   
case1 that passion arises in our breast 
from the imagination1 though it does not
 in his from the reality4 ,we blush for 
the impudence and rudeness of another1  
though he himself appears to have no    
sense of the impropriety of his own     
behaviour2 because we cannot help       
feeling with what confusion we ourselves
 should be covered1 had we behaved in so
 absurd a manner4  ,of all the          
calamities to which the condition of    
mortality exposes mankind1 the loss of  
reason appears1 to those who have the   
least spark of humanity1 by far the most

 dreadful1 and they behold that last    
stage of human wretchedness1 with deeper
 commiseration than any other4 ,but the 
poor wretch1 who is in it1 laughs and   
sings perhaps1 and is altogether        
insensible of his own misery4 ,the      
anguish which humanity feels1 therefore1
 at the sight of such an object cannot  
be the reflection of any sentiment of   
the sufferer4 ,the compassion of the    
spectator must arise altogether from the
 consideration of what he himself would 
feel if he was reduced to the same      
unhappy situation1 and1 what perhaps is 
impossible1 was at the same time able to
 regard it with his present reason and  
judgment4  ,what are the pangs of a     
mother1 when she hears the moanings of  
her infant that during the agony of     
disease cannot express what it feels8   
,in her idea of what it suffers1 she    
joins1 to its real helplessness1 her own
 consciousness of that helplessness1 and
 her own terrors for the unknown        
consequences of its disorder2 and out of

 all these1 forms1 for her own sorrow1  
the most complete image of misery and   
distress4 ,the infant1 however1 feels   
only the uneasiness of the present      
instant1 which can never be great4 ,with
 regard to the future1 it is perfectly  
secure1 and in its thoughtlessness and  
want of foresight1 possesses an antidote
 against fear and anxiety1 the great    
tormentors of the human breast1 from    
which1 reason and philosophy will1 in   
vain1 attempt to defend it when it grows
 up to a man4  ,we sympathize even with 
the dead1 and overlooking what is of    
real importance in their situation1 that
 awful futurity which awaits them1 we   
are chiefly affected by those           
circumstances which strike our senses1  
but can have no influence upon their    
happiness4 ,it is miserable1 we think1  
to be deprived of the light of the sun2 
to be shut out from life and #ac        
conversation2 to be laid in the cold    
grave1 a prey to corruption and the     
reptiles of the earth2 to be no more    

thought of in this world1 but to be     
obliterated1 in a little time1 from the 
affections1 and almost from the memory1 
of their dearest friends and relations4 
,surely1 we imagine1 we can never feel  
too much for those who have suffered so 
dreadful a calamity4 ,the tribute of our
 fellow-feeling seems doubly due to them
 now1 when they are in danger of being  
forgot by every body2 and1 by the vain  
honours which we pay to their memory1 we
 endeavour1 for our own misery1         
artificially to keep alive our          
melancholy remembrance of their         
misfortune4 ,that our sympathy can      
afford them no consolation seems to be  
an addition to their calamity2 and to   
think that all we can do is unavailing1 
and that1 what alleviates all other     
distress1 the regret1 the love1 and the 
lamentations of their friends1 can yield
 no comfort to them1 serves only to     
exasperate our sense of their misery4   
,the happiness of the dead1 however1    
most assuredly1 is affected by none of  

these circumstances2 nor is it the      
thought of these things which can ever  
disturb the profound security of their  
repose4 ,the idea of that dreary and    
endless melancholy1 which the fancy     
naturally ascribes to their condition1  
arises altogether from our joining to   
the change which has been produced upon 
them1 our own consciousness of that     
change1 from our putting ourselves in   
their situation1 and from our lodging1  
if ,i may be allowed to say so1 our own 
living souls in their inanimated bodies1
 and thence conceiving what would be our
 emotions in this case4 ,it is from this
 very illusion of the imagination1 that 
the foresight of our own dissolution is 
so terrible to us1 and that the idea of 
those circumstances1 which undoubtedly  
can give us no pain when we are dead1   
makes us miserable while we are alive4  
,and from thence arises one of the most 
important principles in human nature1   
the dread of death1 the great poison to 
the happiness1 but the great restraint  

upon the injustice of mankind1 which1   
while it afflicts and mortifies the     
individual1 guards and protects the     
society4  -----  ,,chap4 ,,ii4--,of the 
,pleasure of mutual ,sympathy4   ,,but  
whatever may be the cause of sympathy1  
or however it may be excited1 nothing   
pleases us more than to observe in other
 men a fellow-feeling with all the      
emotions of our own breast2 nor are we  
ever so much shocked as by the          
appearance of the contrary4 ,those who  
are fond of deducing all our sentiments 
from certain refinements of self-love1  
think themselves at no loss to account1 
according to their own principles1 both 
for this pleasure and this pain4 ,man1  
say they1 conscious of his own weakness1
 and of the need which he has for the   
assistance of others1 rejoices whenever 
he observes that they adopt his own     
passions1 because he is then assured of 
that assistance2 and #ad grieves        
whenever he observes the contrary1      
because he is then assured of their     

opposition4 ,but both the pleasure and  
the pain are always felt so             
instantaneously1 and often upon such    
frivolous occasions1 that it seems      
evident that neither of them can be     
derived from any such self-interested   
consideration4 ,a man is mortified when1
 after having endeavoured to divert the 
company1 he looks round and sees that   
nobody laughs at his jests but himself4 
,on the contrary1 the mirth of the      
company is highly agreeable to him1 and 
he regards this correspondence of their 
sentiments with his own as the greatest 
applause4  ,neither does his pleasure   
seem to arise altogether from the       
additional vivacity which his mirth may 
receive from sympathy with theirs1 nor  
his pain from the disappointment he     
meets with when he misses this pleasure2
 though both the one and the other1 no  
doubt1 do in some measure4 ,when we have
 read a book or poem so often that we   
can no longer find any amusement in     
reading it by ourselves1 we can still   

take pleasure in reading it to a        
companion4 ,to him it has all the graces
 of novelty2 we enter into the surprise 
and admiration which it naturally       
excites in him1 but which it is no      
longer capable of exciting in us2 we    
consider all the ideas which it presents
 rather in the light in which they      
appear to him1 than in that in which    
they appear to ourselves1 and we are    
amused by sympathy with his amusement   
which thus enlivens our own4 ,on the    
contrary1 we should be vexed if he did  
not seem to be entertained with it1 and 
we could no longer take any pleasure in 
reading it to him4 ,it is the same case 
here4 ,the mirth of the company1 no     
doubt1 enlivens our own mirth1 and their
 silence1 no doubt1 disappoints us4 ,but
 though this may contribute both to the 
pleasure which we derive from the one1  
and to the pain which we feel from the  
other1 it is by no means the sole cause 
of either2 and this correspondence of   
the sentiments of others with our own   

appears to be a cause of pleasure1 and  
the want of it a cause of pain1 which   
cannot be accounted for in this manner4 
,the sympathy1 which my friends express 
with my joy1 might1 indeed1 give me     
pleasure by enlivening that joy3 but    
that which they express with my grief   
could give me none1 if it served only to
 enliven that grief4 ,sympathy1 however1
 enlivens joy and alleviates grief4 ,it 
enlivens joy by presenting another      
source of satisfaction2 and it          
alleviates grief by insinuating into the
 heart almost the only agreeable        
sensation which it is at that time      
capable of receiving4  ,it is to be     
observed accordingly1 that we are still 
more anxious to communicate to our      
friends our disagreeable than our       
agreeable passions1 that we derive still
 more satisfaction from their sympathy  
with the former than from that with the 
latter1 and that we are still more      
shocked by the want of it4  ,how are the
 unfortunate relieved when they have    

found out a person to whom they can     
communicate the cause of their sorrow8  
,upon his sympathy they seem to         
disburthen themselves of a part of their
 #ae distress3 he is not improperly said
 to share it with them4 ,he not only    
feels a sorrow of the same kind with    
that which they feel1 but1 as if he had 
derived a part of it to himself1 what he
 feels seems to alleviate the weight of 
what they feel4 ,yet by relating their  
misfortunes they in some measure renew  
their grief4 ,they awaken in their      
memory the remembrance of those         
circumstances which occasion their      
affliction4 ,their tears accordingly    
flow faster than before1 and they are   
apt to abandon themselves to all the    
weakness of sorrow4 ,they take pleasure1
 however1 in all this1 and1 it is       
evident1 are sensibly relieved by it2   
because the sweetness of his sympathy   
more than compensates the bitterness of 
that sorrow1 which1 in order to excite  
this sympathy1 they had thus enlivened  

and renewed4 ,the cruellest insult1 on  
the contrary1 which can be offered to   
the unfortunate1 is to appear to make   
light of their calamities4 ,to seem not 
to be affected with the joy of our      
companions is but want of politeness2   
but not to wear a serious countenance   
when they tell us their afflictions1 is 
real and gross inhumanity4  ,love is an 
agreeable1 resentment a disagreeable1   
passion2 and accordingly we are not half
 so anxious that our friends should     
adopt our friendships1 as that they     
should enter into our resentments4 ,we  
can forgive them though they seem to be 
little affected with the favours which  
we may have received1 but lose all      
patience if they seem indifferent about 
the injuries which may have been done to
 us3 nor are we half so angry with them 
for not entering into our gratitude1 as 
for not sympathizing with our           
resentment4 ,they can easily avoid being
 friends to our friends1 but can hardly 
avoid being enemies to those with whom  

we are at variance4 ,we seldom resent   
their being at enmity with the first1   
though upon that account we may         
sometimes affect to make an awkward     
quarrel with them2 but we quarrel with  
them in good earnest if they live in    
friendship with the last4 ,the agreeable
 passions of love and joy can satisfy   
and support the heart without any       
auxiliary pleasure4 ,the bitter and     
painful emotions of grief and resentment
 more strongly require the healing      
consolation of sympathy4  ,as the person
 who is principally interested in any   
event is pleased with our sympathy1 and 
hurt by the want of it1 so we1 too1 seem
 to be pleased when we are able to      
sympathize with him1 and to be hurt when
 we are unable to do so4 ,we run not    
only to congratulate the successful1 but
 to condole with the afflicted2 and the 
pleasure which we find in the           
conversation of one whom in all the     
passions of his heart we can entirely   
sympathize with1 seems to do more than  

compensate the painfulness of that      
sorrow with which the view of his       
situation affects us4 ,on the contrary1 
it is always disagreeable to feel that  
we cannot sympathize with him1 and      
instead of being pleased with this      
exemption from sympathetic pain1 it     
hurts us to find that we cannot share   
his uneasiness4 ,if we hear a person    
loudly lamenting his misfortunes1 which 
however1 upon bringing the case home to 
ourselves1 we feel1 can produce #af no  
such violent effect upon us1 we are     
shocked at his grief2 and1 because we   
cannot enter into it1 call it           
pusillanimity and weakness4 ,it gives us
 the spleen1 on the other hand1 to see  
another too happy or too much elevated1 
as we call it1 with any little piece of 
good fortune4 ,we are disobliged even   
with his joy2 and1 because we cannot go 
along with it1 call it levity and folly4
 ,we are even put out of humour if our  
companion laughs louder or longer at a  
joke than we think it deserves2 that is1

 than we feel that we ourselves could   
laugh at it4  -----  ,,chap4 ,,iii4--,of
 the ,manner in which we judge of the   
,propriety or ,impropriety of the       
,affections of other ,men1 by their     
,concord or ,dissonance with our own4   
,,when the original passions of the     
person principally concerned are in     
perfect concord with the sympathetic    
emotions of the spectator1 they         
necessarily appear to this last just and
 proper1 and suitable to their objects2 
and1 on the contrary1 when1 upon        
bringing the case home to himself1 he   
finds that they do not coincide with    
what he feels1 they necessarily appear  
to him unjust and improper1 and         
unsuitable to the causes which excite   
them4 ,to approve of the passions of    
another1 therefore1 as suitable to their
 objects1 is the same thing as to       
observe that we entirely sympathize with
 them2 and not to approve of them as    
such1 is the same thing as to observe   
that we do not entirely sympathize with 

them4 ,the man who resents the injuries 
that have been done to me1 and observes 
that ,i resent them precisely as he     
does1 necessarily approves of my        
resentment4 ,the man whose sympathy     
keeps time to my grief1 cannot but admit
 the reasonableness of my sorrow4 ,he   
who admires the same poem1 or the same  
picture1 and admires them exactly as ,i 
do1 must surely allow the justness of my
 admiration4 ,he who laughs at the same 
joke1 and laughs along with me1 cannot  
well deny the propriety of my laughter4 
,on the contrary1 the person who1 upon  
these different occasions1 either feels 
no such emotion as that which ,i feel1  
or feels none that bears any proportion 
to mine1 cannot avoid disapproving my   
sentiments on account of their          
dissonance with his own4 ,if my         
animosity goes beyond what the          
indignation of my friend can correspond 
to2 if my grief exceeds what his most   
tender compassion can go along with2 if 
my admiration is either too high or too 

low to tally with his own2 if ,i laugh  
loud and heartily when he only smiles1  
or1 on the contrary1 only smile when he 
laughs loud and heartily2 in all these  
cases1 as soon as he comes from         
considering the object1 to observe how  
,i am affected by it1 according as there
 is more or less disproportion between  
his sentiments and mine1 ,i must incur a
 greater or less degree of his          
disapprobation3 and upon all occasions  
his own sentiments are the standards and
 measures by which he judges of mine4   
#ag ,to approve of another man's        
opinions is to adopt those opinions1 and
 to adopt them is to approve of them4   
,if the same arguments which convince   
you convince me likewise1 ,i necessarily
 approve of your conviction2 and if they
 do not1 ,i necessarily disapprove of   
it3 neither can ,i possibly conceive    
that ,i should do the one without the   
other4 ,to approve or disapprove1       
therefore1 of the opinions of others is 
acknowledged1 by every body1 to mean no 

more than to observe their agreement or 
disagreement with our own4 ,but this is 
equally the case with regard to our     
approbation or disapprobation of the    
sentiments or passions of others4       
,there are1 indeed1 some cases in which 
we seem to approve without any sympathy 
or correspondence of sentiments1 and in 
which1 consequently1 the sentiment of   
approbation would seem to be different  
from the perception of this coincidence4
 ,a little attention1 however1 will     
convince us that even in these cases our
 approbation is ultimately founded upon 
a sympathy or correspondence of this    
kind4 ,i shall give an instance in      
things of a very frivolous nature1      
because in them the judgments of mankind
 are less apt to be perverted by wrong  
systems4 ,we may often approve of a     
jest1 and think the laughter of the     
company quite just and proper1 though we
 ourselves do not laugh1 because1       
perhaps1 we are in a grave humour1 or   
happen to have our attention engaged    

with other objects4 ,we have learned1   
however1 from experience1 what sort of  
pleasantry is upon most occasions       
capable of making us laugh1 and we      
observe that this is one of that kind4  
,we approve1 therefore1 of the laughter 
of the company1 and feel that it is     
natural and suitable to its object2     
because1 though in our present mode we  
cannot easily enter into it1 we are     
sensible that upon most occasions we    
should very heartily join in it4  ,the  
same thing often happens with regard to 
all the other passions4 ,a stranger     
passes by us in the street with all the 
marks of the deepest affliction2 and we 
are immediately told that he has just   
received the news of the death of his   
father4 ,it is impossible that1 in this 
case1 we should not approve of his      
grief4 ,yet it may often happen1 without
 any defect of humanity on our part1    
that1 so far from entering into the     
violence of his sorrow1 we should scarce
 conceive the first movements of concern

 upon his account4 ,both he and his     
father1 perhaps1 are entirely unknown to
 us1 or we happen to be employed about  
other things1 and do not take time to   
picture out in our imagination the      
different circumstances of distress     
which must occur to him4 ,we have       
learned1 however1 from experience1 that 
such a misfortune naturally excites such
 a degree of sorrow1 and we know that if
 we took time to consider his situation1
 fully in all its parts1 we should1     
without doubt1 most sincerely sympathize
 with him4 ,it is upon the consciousness
 of this conditional sympathy1 that our 
approbation of his sorrow is founded1   
even in those cases in which that       
sympathy does not actually take place2  
#ah and the general rules derived from  
our preceding experience of what our    
sentiments would commonly correspond    
with1 correct upon this1 as upon many   
other occasions1 the impropriety of our 
present emotions4  ,the sentiment or    
affection of the heart from which any   

action proceeds1 and upon which its     
whole virtue or vice must ultimately    
depend1 may be considered under two     
different aspects1 or in two different  
relations2 first1 in relation to the    
cause which excites it1 or the motive   
which gives occasion to it2 and         
secondly1 in relation to the end which  
it proposes1 or the effect which it     
tends to produce4  ,in the suitableness 
or unsuitableness1 in the proportion or 
disproportion which the affection seems 
to bear to the cause or object which    
excites it1 consists the propriety or   
impropriety1 the decency or             
ungracefulness of the consequent action4
  ,in the beneficial or hurtful nature  
of the effects which the affection aims 
at1 or tends to produce1 consists the   
merit or demerit of the action1 the     
qualities by which it is entitled to    
reward1 or is deserving of punishment4  
,philosophers have1 of late years1      
considered chiefly the tendency of      
affections1 and have given little       

attention to the relation which they    
stand in to the cause which excites     
them4 ,in common life1 however1 when we 
judge of any person's conduct1 and of   
the sentiments which directed it1 we    
constantly consider them under both     
these aspects4 ,when we blame in another
 man the excesses of love1 of grief1 of 
resentment1 we not only consider the    
ruinous effect which they tend to       
produce1 but the little occasion which  
was given for them4 ,the merit of his   
favourite1 we say1 is not so great1 his 
misfortune is not so dreadful1 his      
provocation is not so extraordinary1 as 
to justify so violent a passion4 ,we    
should have indulged1 we say1 perhaps1  
have approved of the violence of his    
emotion1 had the cause been in any      
respect proportioned to it4  ,when we   
judge in this manner of any affection as
 proportioned or disproportioned to the 
cause which excites it1 it is scarce    
possible that we should make use of any 
other rule or canon but the             

correspondent affection in ourselves4   
,if1 upon bringing the case home to our 
own breast1 we find that the sentiments 
which it gives occasion to1 coincide and
 tally with our own1 we necessarily     
approve of them as proportioned and     
suitable to their objects2 if otherwise1
 we necessarily disapprove of them1 as  
extravagant and out of proportion4      
,every faculty in one man is the measure
 by which he judges of the like faculty 
in another4 ,i judge of your sight by my
 sight1 of your ear by my ear1 of your  
reason by my reason1 of your resentment 
by my resentment1 of your love by my    
love4 ,i neither have1 nor can have1 any
 other way of judging about them4  #ai  
,,chap4 ,,iv4--,the same ,subject       
continued4   ,,we may judge of the      
propriety or impropriety of the         
sentiments of another person by their   
correspondence or disagreement with our 
own1 upon two different occasions2      
either1 first1 when the objects which   
excite them are considered without any  

peculiar relation1 either to ourselves  
or to the person whose sentiments we    
judge of2 or1 secondly1 when they are   
considered as peculiarly affecting one  
or other of us4  #a4 ,with regard to    
those objects which are considered      
without any peculiar relation either to 
ourselves or to the person whose        
sentiments we judge of2 wherever his    
sentiments entirely correspond with our 
own1 we ascribe to him the qualities of 
taste and good judgment4 ,the beauty of 
a plain1 the greatness of a mountain1   
the ornaments of a building1 the        
expression of a picture1 the composition
 of a discourse1 the conduct of a third 
person1 the proportions of different    
quantities and numbers1 the various     
appearances which the great machine of  
the universe is perpetually exhibiting1 
with the secret wheels and springs which
 produce them2 all the general subjects 
of science and taste1 are what we and   
our companions regard as having no      
peculiar relation to either of us4 ,we  

both look at them from the same point of
 view1 and we have no occasion for      
sympathy1 or for that imaginary change  
of situations from which it arises1 in  
order to produce1 with regard to these1 
the most perfect harmony of sentiments  
and affections4 ,if1 notwithstanding1 we
 are often differently affected1 it     
arises either from the different degrees
 of attention1 which our different      
habits of life allow us to give easily  
to the several parts of those complex   
objects1 or from the different degrees  
of natural acuteness in the faculty of  
the mind to which they are addressed4   
,when the sentiments of our companion   
coincide with our own in things of this 
kind1 which are obvious and easy1 and in
 which1 perhaps1 we never found a single
 person who differed from us1 though we1
 no doubt1 must approve of them1 yet he 
seems to deserve no praise or admiration
 on account of them4 ,but when they not 
only coincide with our own1 but lead and
 direct our own2 when in forming them he

 appears to have attended to many things
 which we had overlooked1 and to have   
adjusted them to all the various        
circumstances of their objects2 we not  
only approve of them1 but wonder and are
 surprised at their uncommon and        
unexpected acuteness and                
comprehensiveness1 and he appears to    
deserve a very high degree of admiration
 and applause4 ,for approbation         
heightened by wonder and surprise1      
constitutes the sentiment which is      
properly called admiration1 and of which
 applause is the natural expression4    
,the decision of the man who judges that
 exquisite beauty is preferable to the  
grossest deformity1 or that twice two   
are equal to four1 must certainly be    
approved of by #bj all the world1 but   
will not1 surely1 be much admired4 ,it  
is the acute and delicate discernment of
 the man of taste1 who distinguishes the
 minute1 and scarce perceptible         
differences of beauty and deformity2 it 
is the comprehensive accuracy of the    

experienced mathematician1 who unravels1
 with ease1 the most intricate and      
perplexed proportions2 it is the great  
leader in science and taste1 the man who
 directs and conducts our own           
sentiments1 the extent and superior     
justness of whose talents astonish us   
with wonder and surprise1 who excites   
our admiration1 and seems to deserve our
 applause2 and upon this foundation is  
grounded the greater part of the praise 
which is bestowed upon what are called  
the intellectual virtues4  ,the utility 
of those qualities1 it may be thought1  
is what first recommends them to us2    
and1 no doubt1 the consideration of     
this1 when we come to attend to it1     
gives them a new value4 ,originally1    
however1 we approve of another man's    
judgment1 not as something useful1 but  
as right1 as accurate1 as agreeable to  
truth and reality3 and it is evident we 
attribute those qualities to it for no  
other reason but because we find that it
 agrees with our own4 ,taste1 in the    

same manner1 is originally approved of1 
not as useful1 but as just1 as delicate1
 and as precisely suited to its object4 
,the idea of the utility of all         
qualities of this kind1 is plainly an   
afterthought1 and not what first        
recommends them to our approbation4  #b4
 ,with regard to those objects1 which   
affect in a particular manner either    
ourselves or the person whose sentiments
 we judge of1 it is at once more        
difficult to preserve this harmony and  
correspondence1 and at the same time1   
vastly more important4 ,my companion    
does not naturally look at the          
misfortune that has befallen me1 or the 
injury that has been done me1 from the  
same point of view in which ,i consider 
them4 ,they affect me much more nearly4 
,we do not view them from the same      
station1 as we do a picture1 or a poem1 
or a system of philosophy1 and are1     
therefore1 apt to be very differently   
affected by them4 ,but ,i can much more 
easily overlook the want of this        

correspondence of sentiments with regard
 to such indifferent objects as concern 
neither me nor my companion1 than with  
regard to what interests me so much as  
the misfortune that has befallen me1 or 
the injury that has been done me4       
,though you despise that picture1 or    
that poem1 or even that system of       
philosophy1 which ,i admire1 there is   
little danger of our quarrelling upon   
that account4 ,neither of us can        
reasonably be much interested about     
them4 ,they ought all of them to be     
matters of great indifference to us     
both2 so that1 though our opinions may  
be opposite1 our affections may still be
 very nearly the same4 ,but it is quite 
otherwise with regard to those objects  
by which either you or ,i are           
particularly affected4 ,though your     
judgments in matters of speculation1    
though your sentiments in matters of    
taste1 are quite opposite to mine1 ,i   
can easily overlook this opposition2 and
 if ,i #ba have any degree of temper1 ,i

 may still find some entertainment in   
your conversation1 even upon those very 
subjects4 ,but if you have either no    
fellow-feeling for the misfortunes ,i   
have met with1 or none that bears any   
proportion to the grief which distracts 
me2 or if you have either no indignation
 at the injuries ,i have suffered1 or   
none that bears any proportion to the   
resentment which transports me1 we can  
no longer converse upon these subjects4 
,we become intolerable to one another4  
,i can neither support your company1 nor
 you mine4 ,you are confounded at my    
violence and passion1 and ,i am enraged 
at your cold insensibility and want of  
feeling4  ,in all such cases1 that there
 may be some correspondence of          
sentiments between the spectator and the
 person principally concerned1 the      
spectator must1 first of all1 endeavour1
 as much as he can1 to put himself in   
the situation of the other1 and to bring
 home to himself every little           
circumstance of distress which can      

possibly occur to the sufferer4 ,he must
 adopt the whole case of his companion  
with all its minutest incidents2 and    
strive to render as perfect as possible1
 that imaginary change of situation upon
 which his sympathy is founded4  ,after 
all this1 however1 the emotions of the  
spectator will still be very apt to fall
 short of the violence of what is felt  
by the sufferer4 ,mankind1 though       
naturally sympathetic1 never conceive1  
for what has befallen another1 that     
degree of passion which naturally       
animates the person principally         
concerned4 ,that imaginary change of    
situation1 upon which their sympathy is 
founded1 is but momentary4 ,the thought 
of their own safety1 the thought that   
they themselves are not really the      
sufferers1 continually intrudes itself  
upon them2 and though it does not hinder
 them from conceiving a passion somewhat
 analogous to what is felt by the       
sufferer1 hinders them from conceiving  
any thing that approaches to the same   

degree of violence4 ,the person         
principally concerned is sensible of    
this1 and at the same time passionately 
desires a more complete sympathy4 ,he   
longs for that relief which nothing can 
afford him but the entire concord of the
 affections of the spectators with his  
own4 ,to see the emotions of their      
hearts1 in every respect1 beat time to  
his own1 in the violent and disagreeable
 passions1 constitutes his sole         
consolation4 ,but he can only hope to   
obtain this by lowering his passion to  
that pitch1 in which the spectators are 
capable of going along with him4 ,he    
must flatten1 if ,i may be allowed to   
say so1 the sharpness of its natural    
tone1 in order to reduce it to harmony  
and concord with the emotions of those  
who are about him4 ,what they feel1     
will1 indeed1 always be1 in some        
respects1 different from what he feels1 
and compassion can never be exactly the 
same with original sorrow2 because the  
secret consciousness that the change of 

situations1 from which the sympathetic  
sentiment arises1 is but imaginary1 not 
only lowers it in degree1 but1 in some  
measure1 varies it in kind1 and gives it
 a quite different modification4 ,these 
two #bb sentiments1 however1 may1 it is 
evident1 have such a correspondence with
 one another1 as is sufficient for the  
harmony of society4 ,though they will   
never be unisons1 they may be concords1 
and this is all that is wanted or       
required4  ,in order to produce this    
concord1 as nature teaches the          
spectators to assume the circumstance of
 the person principally concerned1 so   
she teaches this last in some measure to
 assume those of the spectators4 ,as    
they are continually placing themselves 
in his situation1 and thence conceiving 
emotions similar to what he feels2 so he
 is as constantly placing himself in    
theirs1 and thence conceiving some      
degree of that coolness about his own   
fortune1 with which he is sensible that 
they will view it4 ,as they are         

constantly considering what they        
themselves would feel1 if they actually 
were the sufferers1 so he is as         
constantly led to imagine in what manner
 he would be affected if he was only one
 of the spectators of his own situation4
 ,as their sympathy makes them look at  
it1 in some measure1 with his eyes1 so  
his sympathy makes him look at it1 in   
some measure1 with theirs1 especially   
when in their presence and acting under 
their observation3 and as the reflected 
passion1 which he thus conceives1 is    
much weaker than the original one1 it   
necessarily abates the violence of what 
he felt before he came into their       
presence1 before he began to recollect  
in what manner they would be affected by
 it1 and to view his situation in this  
candid and impartial light4  ,the mind1 
therefore1 is rarely so disturbed1 but  
that the company of a friend will       
restore it to some degree of            
tranquillity and sedateness4 ,the breast
 is1 in some measure1 calmed and        

composed the moment we come into his    
presence4 ,we are immediately put in    
mind of the light in which he will view 
our situation1 and we begin to view it  
ourselves in the same light2 for the    
effect of sympathy is instantaneous4 ,we
 expect less sympathy from a common     
acquaintance than from a friend3 we     
cannot open to the former all those     
little circumstances which we can unfold
 to the latter3 we assume1 therefore1   
more tranquillity before him1 and       
endeavour to fix our thoughts upon those
 general outlines of our situation which
 he is willing to consider4 ,we expect  
still less sympathy from an assembly of 
strangers1 and we assume1 therefore1    
still more tranquillity before them1 and
 always endeavour to bring down our     
passion to that pitch1 which the        
particular company we are in may be     
expected to go along with4 ,nor is this 
only an assumed appearance3 for if we   
are at all masters of ourselves1 the    
presence of a mere acquaintance will    

really compose us1 still more than that 
of a friend2 and that of an assembly of 
strangers still more than that of an    
acquaintance4  ,society and             
conversation1 therefore1 are the most   
powerful remedies for restoring the mind
 to its tranquillity1 if1 at any time1  
it has unfortunately lost it2 as well as
 the best preservatives of that equal   
and #bc happy temper1 which is so       
necessary to self-satisfaction and      
enjoyment4 ,men of retirement and       
speculation1 who are apt to sit brooding
 at home over either grief or           
resentment1 though they may often have  
more humanity1 more generosity1 and a   
nicer sense of honour1 yet seldom       
possess that equality of temper which is
 so common among men of the world4      
-----  ,,chap4 ,v4--,of the amiable and 
respectable ,virtues4   ,,upon these two
 different efforts1 upon that of the    
spectator to enter into the sentiments  
of the person principally concerned1 and
 upon that of the person principally    

concerned to bring down his emotions to 
what the spectator can go along with1   
are founded two different sets of       
virtues4 ,the soft1 the gentle1 the     
amiable virtues1 the virtues of candid  
condescension and indulgent humanity1   
are founded upon the one3 the great1 the
 awful and respectable1 the virtues of  
self-denial1 of self-government1 of that
 command of the passions which subjects 
all the movements of our nature to what 
our own dignity and honour1 and the     
propriety of our own conduct require1   
take their origin from the other4  ,how 
amiable does he appear to be1 whose     
sympathetic heart seems to re-echo all  
the sentiments of those with whom he    
converses1 who grieves for their        
calamities1 who resents their injuries1 
and who rejoices at their good fortune6 
,when we bring home to ourselves the    
situation of his companions1 we enter   
into their gratitude1 and feel what     
consolation they must derive from the   
tender sympathy of so affectionate a    

friend4 ,and for a contrary reason1 how 
disagreeable does he appear to be1 whose
 hard and obdurate heart feels for      
himself only1 but is altogether         
insensible to the happiness or misery of
 others6 ,we enter1 in this case1 too1  
into the pain which his presence must   
give to every mortal with whom he       
converses1 to those especially with whom
 we are most apt to sympathize1 the     
unfortunate and the injured4  ,on the   
other hand1 what noble propriety and    
grace do we feel in the conduct of those
 who1 in their own case1 exert that     
recollection and self-command which     
constitute the dignity of every passion1
 and which bring it down to what others 
can enter into8 ,we are disgusted with  
that clamorous grief1 which1 without any
 delicacy1 calls upon our compassion    
with sighs and tears and importunate    
lamentations4 ,but we reverence that    
reserved1 that silent and majestic      
sorrow1 which discovers itself only in  
the swelling of the eyes1 in the        

quivering of the lips and cheeks1 and in
 the distant1 but affecting1 coldness of
 the whole behaviour4 ,it imposes the   
like silence upon us4 ,we regard it with
 respectful attention1 and watch with   
anxious concern over our whole          
behaviour1 lest by any impropriety we   
should disturb that concerted           
tranquillity1 which it requires so great
 an effort to support4  ,the insolence  
and brutality of anger1 in the same     
manner1 when we #bd indulge its fury    
without check or restraint1 is of all   
objects the most detestable4 ,but we    
admire that noble and generous          
resentment which governs its pursuit of 
the greatest injuries1 not by the rage  
which they are apt to excite in the     
breast of the sufferer1 but by the      
indignation which they naturally call   
forth in that part of the impartial     
spectator2 which allows no word1 no     
gesture1 to escape it beyond what this  
more equitable sentiment would dictate2 
which never1 even in thought1 attempts  

any greater vengeance1 nor desires to   
inflict any greater punishment1 than    
what every indifferent person would     
rejoice to see executed4  ,and hence it 
is1 that to feel much for others and    
little for ourselves1 that to restrain  
our selfish1 and to indulge our         
benevolent affections1 constitutes the  
perfection of human nature2 and can     
alone produce among mankind that harmony
 of sentiments and passions in which    
consists their whole grace and          
propriety4 ,as to love our neighbour as 
we love ourselves is the great law of   
,christianity1 so it is the great       
precept of nature to love ourselves only
 as we love our neighbour1 or what comes
 to the same thing1 as our neighbour is 
found capable of loving us4  ,as taste  
and good judgment1 when they are        
considered as qualities which deserve   
praise and admiration1 are supposed to  
imply a delicacy of sentiment and an    
acuteness of understanding not commonly 
to be met with2 so the virtues of       

sensibility and self-command are not    
apprehended to consist in the ordinary1 
but in the uncommon degrees of those    
qualities4 ,the amiable virtue of       
humanity requires1 surely1 a sensibility
 much beyond what is possessed by the   
rude vulgar of mankind4 ,the great and  
exalted virtue of magnanimity           
undoubtedly demands much more than that 
degree of self-command1 which the       
weakest of mortals is capable of        
exerting4 ,as in the common degree of   
the intellectual qualities1 there is no 
ability2 so in the common degree of the 
moral1 there is no virtue4 ,virtue is   
excellence1 something uncommonly great  
and beautiful1 which rises far above    
what is vulgar and ordinary4 ,the       
amiable virtues consist in that degree  
of sensibility which surprises by its   
exquisite and unexpected delicacy and   
tenderness4 ,the awful and respectable1 
in that degree of self-command which    
astonishes by its amazing superiority   
over the most ungovernable passions of  

human nature4  ,there is1 in this       
respect1 a considerable difference      
between virtue and mere propriety2      
between those qualities and actions     
which deserve to be admired and         
celebrated1 and those which simply      
deserve to be approved of4 ,upon many   
occasions1 to act with the most perfect 
propriety1 requires no more than that   
common and ordinary degree of           
sensibility or self-command which the   
most worthless of mankind are possest   
of1 and sometimes even that degree is   
not necessary4 ,thus1 to give a very low
 instance1 to eat when we are hungry1 is
 certainly1 upon #be ordinary occasions1
 perfectly right and proper1 and cannot 
miss being approved of as such by every 
body4 ,nothing1 however1 could be more  
absurd than to say it was virtuous4  ,on
 the contrary1 there may frequently be a
 considerable degree of virtue in those 
actions which fall short of the most    
perfect propriety2 because they may     
still approach nearer to perfection than

 could well be expected upon occasions  
in which it was so extremely difficult  
to attain it3 and this is very often the
 case upon those occasions which require
 the greatest exertions of self-command4
 ,there are some situations which bear  
so hard upon human nature1 that the     
greatest degree of self-government1     
which can belong to so imperfect a      
creature as man1 is not able to stifle  
altogether the voice of human weakness1 
or reduce the violence of the passions  
to that pitch of moderation1 in which   
the impartial spectator can entirely    
enter into them4 ,though in those cases1
 therefore1 the behaviour of the        
sufferer fall short of the most perfect 
propriety1 it may still deserve some    
applause1 and even in a certain sense   
may be denominated virtuous4 ,it may    
still manifest an effort of generosity  
and magnanimity of which the greater    
part of men are wholly incapable2 and   
though it fails of absolute perfection1 
it may be a much nearer approximation   

towards perfection1 than what1 upon such
 trying occasions1 is commonly either to
 be found or to be expected4  ,in cases 
of this kind1 when we are determining   
the degree of blame or applause which   
seems due to any action1 we very        
frequently make use of two different    
standards4 ,the first is the idea of    
complete propriety and perfection1      
which1 in those difficult situations1 no
 human conduct ever did1 or ever can    
come up to2 and in comparison with which
 the actions of all men must for ever   
appear blamable and imperfect4 ,the     
second is the idea of that degree of    
proximity or distance from this complete
 perfection1 which the actions of the   
greater part of men commonly arrive at4 
,whatever goes beyond this degree1 how  
far soever it may be removed from       
absolute perfection1 seems to deserve   
applause2 and whatever falls short of   
it1 to deserve blame4  ,it is in the    
same manner that we judge of the        
productions of all the arts which       

address themselves to the imagination4  
,when a critic examines the work of any 
of the great masters in poetry or       
painting1 he may sometimes examine it by
 an idea of perfection1 in his own mind1
 which neither that nor any other human 
work will ever come up to2 and as long  
as he compares it with this standard1 he
 can see nothing in it but faults and   
imperfections4 ,but when he comes to    
consider the rank which it ought to hold
 among other works of the same kind1 he 
necessarily compares it with a very     
different standard1 the common degree of
 excellence which is usually attained in
 this particular art2 and when he judges
 of it by this new measure1 it may often
 appear to deserve the highest applause1
 upon account of its approaching #bf    
much nearer to perfection than the      
greater part of those works which can be
 brought into competition with it4      
-----  ,,sec4 ,,ii4--,,of ,,the         
,,degrees ,,of ,,the ,,different        
,,passions ,,which ,,are ,,consistent   

,,with ,,propriety4                     
,,introduction4--,the propriety of every
 passion excited by objects peculiarly  
related to ourselves1 the pitch which   
the spectator can go along with1 must   
lie1 it is evident1 in a certain        
mediocrity4 ,if the passion is too high1
 or if it is too low1 he cannot enter   
into it4 ,grief and resentment for      
private misfortunes and injuries may    
easily1 for example1 be too high1 and in
 the greater part of mankind they are   
so4 ,they may likewise1 though this more
 rarely happens1 be too low4 ,we        
denominate the excess weakness and fury3
 and we call the defect stupidity1      
insensibility1 and want of spirit4 ,we  
can enter into neither of them1 but are 
astonished and confounded to see them4  
,this mediocrity1 however1 in which the 
point of propriety consists1 is         
different in different passions4 ,it is 
high in some1 and low in others4 ,there 
are some passions which it is indecent  
to express very strongly1 even upon     

those occasions1 in which it is         
acknowledged that we cannot avoid       
feeling them in the highest degree4 ,and
 there are others of which the strongest
 expressions are upon many occasions    
extremely graceful1 even though the     
passions themselves do not1 perhaps1    
arise so necessarily4 ,the first are    
those passions with which1 for certain  
reasons1 there is little or no sympathy3
 the second are those with which1 for   
other reasons1 there is the greatest4   
,and if we consider all the different   
passions of human nature1 we shall find 
that they are regarded as decent1 or    
indecent1 just in proportion as mankind 
are more or less disposed to sympathize 
with them4  -----  ,,chap4 ,i4--,of the 
,passions which take their ,origin from 
the ,body4   #a4 ,,it is indecent to    
express any strong degree of those      
passions which arise from a certain     
situation or disposition of the body2   
because the company1 not being in the   
same disposition1 cannot be expected to 

sympathize with them4 ,violent hunger1  
for example1 though upon many occasions 
not only natural1 but unavoidable1 is   
always indecent1 and to eat voraciously 
is universally regarded as a piece of   
ill manners4 ,there is1 however1 some   
degree of sympathy1 even with hunger4   
,it is agreeable to see our companions  
eat with a good appetite1 and all       
expressions of loathing are offensive4  
,the disposition of body which is       
habitual to a man in health1 makes his  
stomach easily keep time1 if ,i may be  
allowed so coarse an expression1 with   
the one1 and not with the other4 #bg ,we
 can sympathize with the distress which 
excessive hunger occasions when we read 
the description of it in the journal of 
a siege1 or of a sea voyage4 ,we imagine
 ourselves in the situation of the      
sufferers1 and thence readily conceive  
the grief1 the fear1 and consternation1 
which must necessarily distract them4   
,we feel1 ourselves1 some degree of     
those passions1 and therefore sympathize

 with them3 but as we do not grow hungry
 by reading the description1 we cannot  
properly1 even in this case1 be said to 
sympathize with their hunger4  ,it is   
the same case with the passion by which 
,nature unites the two sexes4 ,though   
naturally the most furious of all the   
passions1 all strong expressions of it  
are upon every occasion indecent1 even  
between persons in whom its most        
complete indulgence is acknowledged by  
all laws1 both human and divine1 to be  
perfectly innocent4 ,there seems1       
however1 to be some degree of sympathy  
even with this passion4 ,to talk to a   
woman as we should to a man is improper3
 it is expected that their company      
should inspire us with more gaiety1 more
 pleasantry1 and more attention2 and an 
entire insensibility to the fair sex1   
renders a man contemptible in some      
measure even to the men4  ,such is our  
aversion for all the appetites which    
take their origin from the body2 all    
strong expressions of them are loathsome

 and disagreeable4 ,according to some   
ancient philosophers1 these are the     
passions which we share in common with  
the brutes1 and which1 having no        
connexion with the characteristical     
qualities of human nature1 are upon that
 account beneath its dignity4 ,but there
 are many other passions which we share 
in common with the brutes1 such as      
resentment1 natural affection1 even     
gratitude1 which do not1 upon that      
account1 appear to be so brutal4 ,the   
true cause of the peculiar disgust which
 we conceive for the appetites of the   
body when we see them in other men1 is  
that we cannot enter into them4 ,to the 
person himself who feels them1 as soon  
as they are gratified1 the object that  
excited them ceases to be agreeable3    
even its presence often becomes         
offensive to him2 he looks round to no  
purpose for the charm which transported 
him the moment before1 and he can now as
 little enter into his own passion as   
another person4 ,when we have dined1 we 

order the covers to be removed2 and we  
should treat in the same manner the     
objects of the most ardent and          
passionate desires1 if they were the    
objects of no other passions but those  
which take their origin from the body4  
,in the command of those appetites of   
the body consists that virtue which is  
properly called temperance4 ,to restrain
 them within those bounds which regard  
to health and fortune prescribes1 is the
 part of prudence4 ,but to confine them 
within those limits which grace1 which  
propriety1 which delicacy1 and which    
modesty1 require1 is the office of      
temperance4  #b4 ,it is for the same    
reason that to cry out with bodily pain1
 how intolerable soever1 appears always 
unmanly and unbecoming4 ,there #bh is1  
however1 a good deal of sympathy even   
with bodily pain4 ,if1 as has already   
been observed1 ,i see a stroke aimed1   
and just ready to fall upon the leg1 or 
arm1 of another person1 ,i naturally    
shrink and draw back my own leg1 or my  

own arm3 and when it does fall1 ,i feel 
it in some measure1 and am hurt by it as
 well as the sufferer4 ,my hurt1        
however1 is1 no doubt1 excessively      
slight1 and1 upon that account1 if he   
makes any violent outcry1 as ,i cannot  
go along with him1 ,i never fail to     
despise him4 ,and this is the case of   
all the passions which take their origin
 from the body3 they excite either no   
sympathy at all1 or such a degree of it1
 as is altogether disproportioned to the
 violence of what is felt by the        
sufferer4  ,it is quite otherwise with  
those passions which take their origin  
from the imagination4 ,the frame of my  
body can be but little affected by the  
alterations which are brought about upon
 that of my companion3 but my           
imagination is more ductile1 and more   
readily assumes1 if ,i may say so1 the  
shape and configuration of the          
imaginations of those with whom ,i am   
familiar4 ,a disappointment in love1 or 
ambition1 will1 upon this account1 call 

forth more sympathy than the greatest   
bodily evil4 ,those passions arise      
altogether from the imagination4 ,the   
person who has lost his whole fortune1  
if he is in health1 feels nothing in his
 body4 ,what he suffers is from the     
imagination only1 which represents to   
him the loss of his dignity1 neglect    
from his friends1 contempt from his     
enemies1 dependence1 want1 and misery1  
coming fast upon him2 and we sympathize 
with him the more strongly upon this    
account1 because our imaginations can   
the more readily mould themselves upon  
his imagination1 than our bodies can    
mould themselves upon his body4  ,the   
loss of a leg may generally be regarded 
as a more real calamity than the loss of
 a mistress4 ,it would be a ridiculous  
tragedy1 however1 of which the          
catastrophe was to turn upon a loss of  
that kind4 ,a misfortune of the other   
kind1 how frivolous soever it may appear
 to be1 has given occasion to many a    
fine one4  ,nothing is so soon forgot as

 pain4 ,the moment it is gone the whole 
agony of it is over1 and the thought of 
it can no longer give us any sort of    
disturbance4 ,we ourselves cannot then  
enter into the anxiety and anguish which
 we had before conceived4 ,an unguarded 
word from a friend will occasion a more 
durable uneasiness4 ,the agony which    
this creates is by no means over with   
the word4 ,what at first disturbs us is 
not the object of the senses1 but the   
idea of the imagination4 ,as it is an   
idea1 therefore1 which occasions our    
uneasiness1 till time and other         
accidents have in some measure effaced  
it from our memory1 the imagination     
continues to fret and rankle within1    
from the thought of it4  ,pain never    
calls forth any very lively sympathy    
unless it is accompanied with danger4   
,we sympathize with the fear1 though not
 with the agony of the sufferer4 ,fear1 
however1 is a passion derived altogether
 #bi from the imagination1 which        
represents1 with an uncertainty and     

fluctuation that increases our anxiety1 
not what we really feel1 but what we may
 hereafter possibly suffer4 ,the gout or
 the tooth-ache1 though exquisitely     
painful1 excite very little sympathy2   
more dangerous diseases1 though         
accompanied with very little pain1      
excite the highest4  ,some people faint 
and grow sick at the sight of a         
chirurgical operation1 and that bodily  
pain which is occasioned by tearing the 
flesh1 seems1 in them1 to excite the    
most excessive sympathy4 ,we conceive in
 a much more lively and distinct manner 
the pain which proceeds from an external
 cause1 than we do that which arises    
from an internal disorder4 ,i can scarce
 form an idea of the agonies of my      
neighbour when he is tortured with the  
gout1 or the stone2 but ,i have the     
clearest conception of what he must     
suffer from an incision1 a wound1 or a  
fracture4 ,the chief cause1 however1 why
 such objects produce such violent      
effects upon us1 is their novelty4 ,one 

who has been witness to a dozen         
dissections1 and as many amputations1   
sees1 ever after1 all operations of this
 kind with great indifference1 and often
 with perfect insensibility4 ,though we 
have read or seen represented more than 
five hundred tragedies1 we shall seldom 
feel so entire an abatement of our      
sensibility to the objects which they   
represent to us4  ,in some of the ,greek
 tragedies there is an attempt to excite
 compassion1 by the representation of   
the agonies of bodily pain4 ,philoctetes
 cries out and faints from the extremity
 of his sufferings4 ,hippolytus and     
,hercules are both introduced as        
expiring under the severest tortures1   
which1 it seems1 even the fortitude of  
,hercules was incapable of supporting4  
,in all these cases1 however1 it is not 
the pain which interests us1 but some   
other circumstance4 ,it is not the sore 
foot1 but the solitude1 of ,philoctetes 
which affects us1 and diffuses over that
 charming tragedy1 that romantic        

wildness1 which is so agreeable to the  
imagination4 ,the agonies of ,hercules  
and ,hippolytus are interesting only    
because we foresee that death is to be  
the consequence4 ,if those heroes were  
to recover1 we should think the         
representation of their sufferings      
perfectly ridiculous4 ,what a tragedy   
would that be of which the distress     
consisted in a colic6 ,yet no pain is   
more exquisite4 ,these attempts to      
excite compassion by the representation 
of bodily pain1 may be regarded as among
 the greatest breaches of decorum of    
which the ,greek theatre has set the    
example4  ,the little sympathy which we 
feel with bodily pain1 is the foundation
 of the propriety of constancy and      
patience in enduring it4 ,the man1 who  
under the severest tortures allows no   
weakness to escape him1 vents no groan1 
gives way to no passion which we do not 
entirely enter into1 commands our       
highest admiration4 ,his firmness       
enables him to keep time with our       

indifference and insensibility4 ,we     
admire and entirely go along with the   
magnanimous effort which he makes for   
this purpose4 ,we approve of his        
behaviour1 and from our experience of   
the common #cj weakness of human nature1
 we are surprised1 and wonder how he    
should be able to act so as to deserve  
approbation4 ,approbation1 mixed and    
animated by wonder and surprise1        
constitutes the sentiment which is      
properly called admiration1 of which1   
applause is the natural expression1 as  
has already been observed4  -----       
,,chap4 ,,ii4--,of those ,passions which
 take their ,origin from a particular   
,turn or ,habit of the ,imagination4    
,,even of the passions derived from the 
imagination1 those which take their     
origin from a peculiar turn or habit it 
has acquired1 though they may be        
acknowledged to be perfectly natural1   
are1 however1 but little sympathized    
with4 ,the imaginations of mankind1 not 
having acquired that particular turn1   

cannot enter into them2 and such        
passions1 though they may be allowed to 
be almost unavoidable in some part of   
life1 are always1 in some measure1      
ridiculous4 ,this is the case with that 
strong attachment which naturally grows 
up between two persons of different     
sexes1 who have long fixed their        
thoughts upon one another4 ,our         
imagination not having run in the same  
channel with that of the lover1 we      
cannot enter into the eagerness of his  
emotions4 ,if our friend has been       
injured1 we readily sympathize with his 
resentment1 and grow angry with the very
 person with whom he is angry4 ,if he   
has received a benefit1 we readily enter
 into his gratitude1 and have a very    
high sense of the merit of his          
benefactor4 ,but if he is in love1      
though we may think his passion just as 
reasonable as any of the kind1 yet we   
never think ourselves bound to conceive 
a passion of the same kind1 and for the 
same person for whom he has conceived   

it4 ,the passion appears to every body1 
but the man who feels it1 entirely      
disproportioned to the value of the     
object2 and love1 though it is pardoned 
in a certain age because we know it is  
natural1 is always laughed at1 because  
we cannot enter into it4 ,all serious   
and strong expressions of it appear     
ridiculous to a third person2 and though
 a lover may be good company to his     
mistress1 he is so to nobody else4 ,he  
himself is sensible of this2 and as long
 as he continues in his sober senses1   
endeavours to treat his own passion with
 raillery and ridicule4 ,it is the only 
style in which we care to hear of it2   
because it is the only style in which we
 ourselves are disposed to talk of it4  
,we grow weary of the grave1 pedantic1  
and long-sentenced love of ,cowley and  
,petrarca1 who never have done with     
exaggerating the violence of their      
attachments2 but the gaiety of ,ovid1   
and the gallantry of ,horace1 are always
 agreeable4  ,but though we feel no     

proper sympathy with an attachment of   
this kind1 though we never approach even
 in imagination towards conceiving a    
passion for that particular person1 yet 
as we either have conceived1 or may be  
disposed to conceive1 passions of the   
same kind1 we readily #ca enter into    
those high hopes of happiness which are 
proposed from its gratification1 as well
 as into that exquisite distress which  
is feared from its disappointment4 ,it  
interests us not as a passion1 but as a 
situation that gives occasion to other  
passions which interest us2 to hope1 to 
fear1 and to distress of every kind3 in 
the same manner as in a description of a
 sea voyage1 it is not the hunger which 
interests us1 but the distress which    
that hunger occasions4 ,though we do not
 properly enter into the attachment of  
the lover1 we readily go along with     
those expectations of romantic happiness
 which he derives from it4 ,we feel how 
natural it is for the mind1 in a certain
 situation1 relaxed with indolence1 and 

fatigued with the violence of desire1 to
 long for serenity and quiet1 to hope to
 find them in the gratification of that 
passion which distracts it1 and to frame
 to itself the idea of that life of     
pastoral tranquillity and retirement    
which the elegant1 the tender1 and the  
passionate ,tibullus takes so much      
pleasure in describing2 a life like what
 the poets describe in the ,fortunate   
,islands1 a life of friendship1 liberty1
 and repose2 free from labour1 and from 
care1 and from all the turbulent        
passions which attend them4 ,even scenes
 of this kind interest us most1 when    
they are painted rather as what is      
hoped1 than as what is enjoyed4 ,the    
grossness of that passion1 which mixes  
with1 and is1 perhaps1 the foundation of
 love1 disappears when its gratification
 is far off and at a distance2 but      
renders the whole offensive1 when       
described as what is immediately        
possessed4 ,the happy passion1 upon this
 account1 interests us much less than   

the fearful and the melancholy4 ,we     
tremble for whatever can disappoint such
 natural and agreeable hopes3 and thus  
enter into all the anxiety1 and concern1
 and distress of the lover4  ,hence it  
is1 that1 in some modern tragedies and  
romances1 this passion appears so       
wonderfully interesting4 ,it is not so  
much the love of ,castalio and ,monimia 
which attaches us in the orphan1 as the 
distress which that love occasions4 ,the
 author who should introduce two lovers1
 in a scene of perfect security1        
expressing their mutual fondness for one
 another1 would excite laughter1 and not
 sympathy4 ,if a scene of this kind is  
ever admitted into a tragedy1 it is     
always1 in some measure1 improper1 and  
is endured1 not from any sympathy with  
the passion that is expressed in it1 but
 from concern for the dangers and       
difficulties with which the audience    
foresee that its gratification is likely
 to be attended4  ,the reserve which the
 laws of society impose upon the fair   

sex1 with regard to this weakness1      
renders it more peculiarly distressful  
in them1 and1 upon that very account1   
more deeply interesting4 ,we are charmed
 with the love of ,phdra1 as it is      
expressed in the ,french tragedy of that
 name1 notwithstanding all the          
extravagance and guilt which attend it4 
,that very extravagance and guilt may be
 said1 in some measure1 to recommend it 
to us4 ,her fear1 her shame1 her        
remorse1 her horror1 her despair1 become
 thereby more natural and interesting4  
,all the #cb secondary passions1 if ,i  
may be allowed to call them so1 which   
arise from the situation of love1 become
 necessarily more furious and violent2  
and it is with these secondary passions 
only that we can properly be said to    
sympathize4  ,of all the passions1      
however1 which are so extravagantly     
disproportioned to the value of their   
objects1 love is the only one that      
appears1 even to the weakest minds1 to  
have any thing in it that is either     

graceful or agreeable4 ,in itself1 first
 of all1 though it may be ridiculous1 it
 is not naturally odious2 and though its
 consequences are often fatal and       
dreadful1 its intentions are seldom     
mischievous4 ,and then1 though there is 
little propriety in the passion itself1 
there is a good deal in some of those   
which always accompany it4 ,there is in 
love a strong mixture of humanity1      
generosity1 kindness1 friendship1       
esteem2 passions with which1 of all     
others1 for reasons which shall be      
explained immediately1 we have the      
greatest propensity to sympathize1 even 
notwithstanding we are sensible that    
they are1 in some measure1 excessive4   
,the sympathy which we feel with them1  
renders the passion which they accompany
 less disagreeable1 and supports it in  
our imagination1 notwithstanding all the
 vices which commonly go along with it2 
though in the one sex it necessarily    
leads to the last ruin and infamy2 and  
though in the other1 where it is        

apprehended to be least fatal1 it is    
almost always attended with an          
incapacity for labour1 a neglect of     
duty1 a contempt of fame1 and even of   
common reputation4 ,notwithstanding all 
this1 the degree of sensibility and     
generosity with which it is supposed to 
be accompanied1 renders it to many the  
object of vanity2 and they are fond of  
appearing capable of feeling what would 
do them no honour if they had really    
felt it4  ,it is for a reason of the    
same kind1 that a certain reserve is    
necessary when we talk of our own       
friends1 our own studies1 our own       
professions4 ,all these are objects     
which we cannot expect should interest  
our companions in the same degree in    
which they interest us4 ,and it is for  
want of this reserve1 that the one half 
of mankind make bad company to the      
other4 ,a philosopher is company to a   
philosopher only2 the member of a club1 
to his own little knot of companions4   
-----  ,,chap4 ,,iii4--,of the unsocial 

,passions4   ,,there is another set of  
passions1 which1 though derived from the
 imagination1 yet before we can enter   
into them1 or regard them as graceful or
 becoming1 must always be brought down  
to a pitch much lower than that to which
 undisciplined nature would raise them4 
,these are1 hatred and resentment1 with 
all their different modifications4 ,with
 regard to all such passions1 our       
sympathy is divided between the person  
who feels them1 and the person who is   
the object of them4 ,the #cc interests  
of these two are directly opposite4     
,what our sympathy with the person who  
feels them would prompt us to wish for1 
our fellow-feeling with the other would 
lead us to fear4 ,as they are both men1 
we are concerned for both1 and our fear 
for what the one may suffer1 damps our  
resentment for what the other has       
suffered4 ,our sympathy1 therefore1 with
 the man who has received the           
provocation1 necessarily falls short of 
the passion which naturally animates    

him1 not only upon account of those     
general causes which render all         
sympathetic passions inferior to the    
original ones1 but upon account of that 
particular cause which is peculiar to   
itself1 our opposite sympathy with      
another person4 ,before resentment1     
therefore1 can become graceful and      
agreeable1 it must be more humbled and  
brought down below that pitch to which  
it would naturally rise1 than almost any
 other passion4  ,mankind1 at the same  
time1 have a very strong sense of the   
injuries that are done to another4 ,the 
villain1 in a tragedy or romance1 is as 
much the object of our indignation1 as  
the hero is that of our sympathy and    
affection4 ,we detest ,iago as much as  
we esteem ,othello2 and delight as much 
in the punishment of the one1 as we are 
grieved at the distress of the other4   
,but though mankind have so strong a    
fellow-feeling with the injuries that   
are done to their brethren1 they do not 
always resent them the more that the    

sufferer appears to resent them4 ,upon  
most occasions1 the greater his         
patience1 his mildness1 his humanity1   
provided it does not appear that he     
wants spirit1 or that fear was the      
motive of his forbearance1 the higher   
the resentment against the person who   
injured him4 ,the amiableness of the    
character exasperates their sense of the
 atrocity of the injury4  ,these        
passions1 however1 are regarded as      
necessary parts of the character of     
human nature4 ,a person becomes         
contemptible who tamely sits still1 and 
submits to insults1 without attempting  
either to repel or to revenge them4 ,we 
cannot enter into his indifference and  
insensibility3 we call his behaviour    
mean-spiritedness1 and are as really    
provoked by it as by the insolence of   
his adversary4 ,even the mob are enraged
 to see any man submit patiently to     
affronts and ill usage4 ,they desire to 
see this insolence resented1 and        
resented by the person who suffers from 

it4 ,they cry to him with fury1 to      
defend or to revenge himself4 ,if his   
indignation rouses at last1 they        
heartily applaud1 and sympathize with   
it4 ,it enlivens their own indignation  
against his enemy1 whom they rejoice to 
see him attack in turn1 and are as      
really gratified by his revenge1        
provided it is not immoderate1 as if the
 injury had been done to themselves4    
,but though the utility of those        
passions to the individual1 by rendering
 it dangerous to insult or to injure    
him1 be acknowledged2 and though their  
utility to the public1 as the guardians 
of justice1 and of the equality of its  
administration1 be not less             
considerable1 as shall be shewn         
hereafter2 yet there is still something 
disagreeable in the #cd passions        
themselves1 which makes the appearance  
of them in other men the natural object 
of our aversion4 ,the expression of     
anger towards any body present1 if it   
exceeds a bare intimation that we are   

sensible of his ill usage1 is regarded  
not only as an insult to that particular
 person1 but as a rudeness to the whole 
company4 ,respect for them ought to have
 restrained us from giving way to so    
boisterous and offensive an emotion4 ,it
 is the remote effects of these passions
 which are agreeable2 the immediate     
effects are mischief to the person      
against whom they are directed4 ,but it 
is the immediate1 and not the remote    
effects of objects which render them    
agreeable or disagreeable to the        
imagination4 ,a prison is certainly more
 useful to the public than a palace2 and
 the person who founds the one is       
generally directed by a much juster     
spirit of patriotism1 than he who builds
 the other4 ,but the immediate effects  
of a prison1 the confinement of the     
wretches shut up in it1 are             
disagreeable2 and the imagination either
 does not take time to trace out the    
remote ones1 or sees them at too great a
 distance to be much affected by them4  

,a prison1 therefore1 will always be a  
disagreeable object2 and the fitter it  
is for the purpose for which it was     
intended1 it will be the more so4 ,a    
palace1 on the contrary1 will always be 
agreeable2 yet its remote effects may   
often be inconvenient to the public4 ,it
 may serve to promote luxury1 and set   
the example of the dissolution of       
manners4 ,its immediate effects1        
however1 the conveniency1 the pleasure1 
and the gaiety of the people who live in
 it1 being all agreeable1 and suggesting
 to the imagination a thousand agreeable
 ideas1 that faculty generally rests    
upon them1 and seldom goes further in   
tracing its more distant consequences4  
,trophies of the instruments of music or
 of agriculture1 imitated in painting or
 in stucco1 make a common and an        
agreeable ornament of our halls and     
dining rooms4 ,a trophy of the same     
kind1 composed of the instruments of    
surgery1 of dissecting and              
amputation-knives1 of saws for cutting  

the bones1 of trepanning instruments1   
c41 would be absurd and shocking4       
,instruments of surgery1 however1 are   
always more finely polished1 and        
generally more nicely adapted to the    
purposes for which they are intended1   
than instruments of agriculture4 ,the   
remote effects of them too1 the health  
of the patient1 is agreeable2 yet as the
 immediate effect of them is pain and   
suffering1 the sight of them always     
displeases us4 ,instruments of war are  
agreeable1 though their immediate effect
 may seem to be in the same manner pain 
and suffering4 ,but then it is the pain 
and suffering of our enemies1 with whom 
we have no sympathy4 ,with regard to us1
 they are immediately connected with the
 agreeable ideas of courage1 victory1   
and honour4 ,they are themselves1       
therefore1 supposed to make one of the  
noblest parts of dress1 and the         
imitation of them one of the finest     
ornaments of architecture4 ,it is the   
same case with the qualities of the     

mind4 ,the ancient stoics were of       
opinion1 that as the world was governed 
by the #ce all-ruling providence of a   
wise1 powerful1 and good ,god1 every    
single event ought to be regarded1 as   
making a necessary part of the plan of  
the universe1 and as tending to promote 
the general order and happiness of the  
whole3 that the vices and follies of    
mankind1 therefore1 made as necessary a 
part of this plan as their wisdom or    
their virtue2 and by that eternal art   
which educes good from ill1 were made to
 tend equally to the prosperity and     
perfection of the great system of       
nature4 ,no speculation of this kind1   
however1 how deeply soever it might be  
rooted in the mind1 could diminish our  
natural abhorrence for vice1 whose      
immediate effects are so destructive1   
and whose remote ones are too distant to
 be traced by the imagination4  ,it is  
the same case with those passions we    
have been just now considering4 ,their  
immediate effects are so disagreeable1  

that even when they are most justly     
provoked1 there is still something about
 them which disgusts us4 ,these1        
therefore1 are the only passions of     
which the expressions1 as ,i formerly   
observed1 do not dispose and prepare us 
to sympathize with them1 before we are  
informed of the cause which excites     
them4 ,the plaintive voice of misery1   
when heard at a distance1 will not allow
 us to be indifferent about the person  
from whom it comes4 ,as soon as it      
strikes our ear1 it interests us in his 
fortune1 and1 if continued1 forces us   
almost involuntarily to fly to his      
assistance4 ,the sight of a smiling     
countenance1 in the same manner1        
elevates even the pensive into that gay 
and airy mood1 which disposes him to    
sympathize with1 and share the joy which
 it expresses2 and he feels his heart1  
which with thought and care was before  
that shrunk and depressed1 instantly    
expanded and elated4 ,but it is quite   
otherwise with the expressions of hatred

 and resentment4 ,the hoarse1           
boisterous1 and discordant voice of     
anger1 when heard at a distance1        
inspires us either with fear or         
aversion4 ,we do not fly towards it1 as 
to one who cries out with pain and      
agony4 ,women1 and men of weak nerves1  
tremble and are overcome with fear1     
though sensible that themselves are not 
the objects of the anger4 ,they conceive
 fear1 however1 by putting themselves in
 the situation of the person who is so4 
,even those of stouter hearts are       
disturbed2 not indeed enough to make    
them afraid1 but enough to make them    
angry2 for anger is the passion which   
they would feel in the situation of the 
other person4 ,it is the same case with 
hatred4 ,mere expressions of spite      
inspire it against nobody1 but the man  
who uses them4 ,both these passions are 
by nature the objects of our aversion4  
,their disagreeable and boisterous      
appearance never excites1 never         
prepares1 and often disturbs our        

sympathy4 ,grief does not more          
powerfully engage and attract us to the 
person in whom we observe it1 than      
these1 while we are ignorant of their   
cause1 disgust and detach us from him4  
,it was1 it seems1 the intention of     
,nature1 that those rougher and more    
unamiable emotions1 which drive men from
 one another1 should be less easily and 
more rarely communicated4  #cf ,when    
music imitates the modulations of grief 
or joy1 it either actually inspires us  
with those passions1 or at least puts us
 in the mood which disposes us to       
conceive them4 ,but when it imitates the
 notes of anger1 it inspires us with    
fear4 ,joy1 grief1 love1 admiration1    
devotion1 are all of them passions which
 are naturally musical4 ,their natural  
tones are all soft1 clear1 and          
melodious2 and they naturally express   
themselves in periods which are         
distinguished by regular pauses1 and    
which upon that account are easily      
adapted to the regular returns of the   

correspondent airs of a tune4 ,the voice
 of anger1 on the contrary1 and of all  
the passions which are akin to it1 is   
harsh and discordant4 ,its periods too  
are all irregular1 sometimes very long1 
and sometimes very short1 and           
distinguished by no regular pauses4 ,it 
is with difficulty therefore1 that music
 can imitate any of those passions2 and 
the music which does imitate them is not
 the most agreeable4 ,a whole           
entertainment may consist1 without any  
impropriety1 of the imitation of the    
social and agreeable passions4 ,it would
 be a strange entertainment which       
consisted altogether of the imitations  
of hatred and resentment4  ,if those    
passions are disagreeable to the        
spectator1 they are not less so to the  
person who feels them4 ,hatred and anger
 are the greatest poison to the         
happiness of a good mind4 ,there is1 in 
the very feeling of those passions1     
something harsh1 jarring1 and           
convulsive1 something that tears and    

distracts the breast1 and is altogether 
destructive of that composure and       
tranquillity of mind which is so        
necessary to happiness1 and which is    
best promoted by the contrary passions  
of gratitude and love4 ,it is not the   
value of what they lose by the perfidy  
and ingratitude of those they live with1
 which the generous and humane are most 
apt to regret4 ,whatever they may have  
lost1 they can generally be very happy  
without it4 ,what most disturbs them is 
the idea of perfidy and ingratitude     
exercised towards themselves2 and the   
discordant and disagreeable passions    
which this excites1 constitute1 in their
 own opinion1 the chief part of the     
injury which they suffer4  ,how many    
things are requisite to render the      
gratification of resentment completely  
agreeable1 and to make the spectator    
thoroughly sympathize with our revenge8 
,the provocation must first of all be   
such that we should become contemptible1
 and be exposed to perpetual insults1 if

 we did not1 in some measure1 resent it4
 ,smaller offences are always better    
neglected2 nor is there anything more   
despicable than that froward and        
captious humour which takes fire upon   
every slight occasion of quarrel4 ,we   
should resent more from a sense of the  
propriety of resentment1 from a sense1  
that mankind expect and require it of   
us1 than because we feel in ourselves   
the furies of that disagreeable passion4
 ,there is no passion1 of which the     
human mind is capable1 concerning whose 
justness we ought to be so doubtful1    
concerning whose indulgence we ought so 
carefully to consult our natural sense  
of #cg propriety1 or so diligently to   
consider what will be the sentiments of 
the cool and impartial spectator4       
,magnanimity1 or a regard to maintain   
our own rank and dignity in society1 is 
the only motive which can ennoble the   
expressions of this disagreeable        
passion4 ,this motive must characterize 
our whole style and deportment4 ,these  

must be plain1 open1 and direct2        
determined without positiveness1 and    
elevated without insolence2 not only    
free from petulance and low scurrility1 
but generous1 candid1 and full of all   
proper regards1 even for the person who 
has offended us4 ,it must appear1 in    
short1 from our whole manner1 without   
our labouring affectedly to express it1 
that passion has not extinguished our   
humanity2 and that if we yield to the   
dictates of revenge1 it is with         
reluctance1 from necessity1 and in      
consequence of great and repeated       
provocations4 ,when resentment is       
guarded and qualified in this manner1 it
 may be admitted to be even generous and
 noble4  -----  ,,chap4 ,,iv4--,of the  
,social ,passions4   ,,as it is a       
divided sympathy which renders the whole
 set of passions just now mentioned1    
upon most occasions1 so ungraceful and  
disagreeable3 so there is another set   
opposite to these1 which a redoubled    
sympathy renders almost always          

peculiarly agreeable and becoming4      
,generosity1 humanity1 kindness1        
compassion1 mutual friendship and       
esteem1 all the social and benevolent   
affections1 when expressed in the       
countenance or behaviour1 even towards  
those who are not peculiarly connected  
with ourselves1 please the indifferent  
spectator upon almost every occasion4   
,his sympathy with the person who feels 
those passions1 exactly coincides with  
his concern for the person who is the   
object of them4 ,the interest1 which1 as
 a man1 he is obliged to take in the    
happiness of this last1 enlivens his    
fellow-feeling with the sentiments of   
the other1 whose emotions are employed  
about the same object4 ,we have always1 
therefore1 the strongest disposition to 
sympathize with the benevolent          
affections4 ,they appear in every       
respect agreeable to us4 ,we enter into 
the satisfaction both of the person who 
feels them1 and of the person who is the
 object of them4 ,for as to be the      

object of hatred and indignation gives  
more pain than all the evil which a     
brave man can fear from his enemies3 so 
there is a satisfaction in the          
consciousness of being beloved1 which1  
to a person of delicacy and sensibility1
 is of more importance to happiness1    
than all the advantage which he can     
expect to derive from it4 ,what         
character is so detestable as that of   
one who takes pleasure to sow dissention
 among friends1 and to turn their most  
tender love into mortal hatred8 ,yet    
wherein does the atrocity of this so    
much abhorred injury consist8 ,is it in 
depriving them of the frivolous good    
offices1 which1 had their friendship    
continued1 they might have expected from
 one another8 ,it is in #ch depriving   
them of that friendship itself1 in      
robbing them of each other's affections1
 from which both derived so much        
satisfaction2 it is in disturbing the   
harmony of their hearts1 and putting an 
end to that happy commerce which had    

before subsisted between them4 ,these   
affections1 that harmony1 this commerce1
 are felt1 not only by the tender and   
the delicate1 but by the rudest vulgar  
of mankind1 to be of more importance to 
happiness than all the little services  
which could be expected to flow from    
them4  ,the sentiment of love is1 in    
itself1 agreeable to the person who     
feels it4 ,it soothes and composes the  
breast1 seems to favour the vital       
motions1 and to promote the healthful   
state of the human constitution2 and it 
is rendered still more delightful by the
 consciousness of the gratitude and     
satisfaction which it must excite in him
 who is the object of it4 ,their mutual 
regard renders them happy in one        
another1 and sympathy1 with this mutual 
regard1 makes them agreeable to every   
other person4 ,with what pleasure do we 
look upon a family1 through the whole of
 which reign mutual love and esteem1    
where the parents and children are      
companions for one another1 without any 

other difference than what is made by   
respectful affection on the one side1   
and kind indulgence on the other2 where 
freedom and fondness1 mutual raillery   
and mutual kindness1 show that no       
opposition of interest divides the      
brothers1 nor any rivalship of favour   
sets the sisters at variance1 and where 
every thing presents us with the idea of
 peace1 cheerfulness1 harmony1 and      
contentment8 ,on the contrary1 how      
uneasy are we made when we go into a    
house in which jarring contention sets  
one half of those who dwell in it       
against the other2 where1 amidst        
affected smoothness and complaisance1   
suspicious looks and sudden starts of   
passion betray the mutual jealousies    
which burn within them1 and which are   
every moment ready to burst out through 
all the restraints which the presence of
 the company imposes8  ,those amiable   
passions1 even when they are            
acknowledged to be excessive1 are never 
regarded with aversion4 ,there is       

something agreeable even in the weakness
 of friendship and humanity4 ,the too   
tender mother1 the too indulgent father1
 the too generous and affectionate      
friend1 may sometimes1 perhaps1 on      
account of the softness of their        
natures1 be looked upon with a species  
of pity1 in which1 however1 there is a  
mixture of love1 but can never be       
regarded with hatred and aversion1 nor  
even with contempt1 unless by the most  
brutal and worthless of mankind4 ,it is 
always with concern1 with sympathy and  
kindness1 that we blame them for the    
extravagance of their attachment4 ,there
 is a helplessness in the character of  
extreme humanity which more than any    
thing interests our pity4 ,there is     
nothing in itself which renders it      
either ungraceful or disagreeable4 ,we  
only regret that it is unfit for the    
world1 because the world is unworthy of 
it1 and because it must expose the      
person who is endowed with it as a prey 
to the perfidy #ci and ingratitude of   

insinuating falsehood1 and to a thousand
 pains and uneasinesses1 which1 of all  
men1 he the least deserves to feel1 and 
which generally too he is1 of all men1  
the least capable of supporting4 ,it is 
quite otherwise with hatred and         
resentment4 ,too violent a propensity to
 those detestable passions1 renders a   
person the object of universal dread and
 abhorrence1 who1 like a wild beast1    
ought1 we think1 to be hunted out of all
 civil society4  -----  ,,chap4 ,v4--,of
 the ,selfish ,passions4   ,,besides    
those two opposite sets of passions1 the
 social and unsocial1 there is another  
which holds a sort of middle place      
between them2 is never either so        
graceful as is sometimes the one set1   
nor is ever so odious as is sometimes   
the other4 ,grief and joy1 when         
conceived upon account of our own       
private good or bad fortune1 constitute 
this third set of passions4 ,even when  
excessive1 they are never so            
disagreeable as excessive resentment1   

because no opposite sympathy can ever   
interest us against them3 and when most 
suitable to their objects1 they are     
never so agreeable as impartial humanity
 and just benevolence2 because no double
 sympathy can ever interest us for them4
 ,there is1 however1 this difference    
between grief and joy1 that we are      
generally most disposed to sympathize   
with small joys and great sorrows4 ,the 
man who1 by some sudden revolution of   
fortune1 is lifted up all at once into a
 condition of life1 greatly above what  
he had formerly lived in1 may be assured
 that the congratulations of his best   
friends are not all of them perfectly   
sincere4 ,an upstart1 though of the     
greatest merit1 is generally            
disagreeable1 and a sentiment of envy   
commonly prevents us from heartily      
sympathizing with his joy4 ,if he has   
any judgment1 he is sensible of this1   
and instead of appearing to be elated   
with his good fortune1 he endeavours1 as
 much as he can1 to smother his joy1 and

 keep down that elevation of mind with  
which his new circumstances naturally   
inspire him4 ,he affects the same       
plainness of dress1 and the same modesty
 of behaviour1 which became him in his  
former station4 ,he redoubles his       
attention to his old friends1 and       
endeavours more than ever to be humble1 
assiduous1 and complaisant4 ,and this is
 the behaviour which in his situation we
 most approve of2 because we expect1 it 
seems1 that he should have more sympathy
 with our envy and aversion to his      
happiness1 than we have with his        
happiness4 ,it is seldom that with all  
this he succeeds4 ,we suspect the       
sincerity of his humility1 and he grows 
weary of this constraint4 ,in a little  
time1 therefore1 he generally leaves all
 his old friends behind him1 some of the
 meanest of them excepted1 who may1     
perhaps1 condescend to become his       
dependents3 nor does he always acquire  
any new ones2 the #dj pride of his new  
connections is as much affronted at     

finding him their equal1 as that of his 
old ones had been by his becoming their 
superior2 and it requires the most      
obstinate and persevering modesty to    
atone for this modification to either4  
,he generally grows weary too soon1 and 
is provoked1 by the sullen and          
suspicious pride of the one1 and by the 
saucy contempt of the other1 to treat   
the first with neglect1 and the second  
with petulance1 till at last he grows   
habitually insolent1 and forfeits the   
esteem of all4 ,if the chief part of    
human happiness arises from the         
consciousness of being beloved1 as ,i   
believe it does1 those sudden changes of
 fortune seldom contribute much to      
happiness4 ,he is happiest who advances 
more gradually to greatness1 whom the   
public destines to every step of his    
preferment long before he arrives at it1
 in whom1 upon that account1 when it    
comes1 it can excite no extravagant joy1
 and with regard to whom it cannot      
reasonably create either any jealousy in

 those he overtakes1 or envy in those he
 leaves behind4  ,mankind1 however1 more
 readily sympathize with those smaller  
joys which flow from less important     
causes4 ,it is decent to be humble      
amidst great prosperity2 but we can     
scarce express too much satisfaction in 
all the little occurrences of common    
life1 in the company with which we spent
 the evening last night1 in the         
entertainment that was set before us1 in
 what was said and what was done1 in all
 the little incidents of the present    
conversation1 and in all those frivolous
 nothings which fill up the void of     
human life4 ,nothing is more graceful   
than habitual cheerfulness1 which is    
always founded upon a peculiar relish   
for all the little pleasures which      
common occurrences afford4 ,we readily  
sympathize with it3 it inspires us with 
the same joy1 and makes every trifle    
turn up to us in the same agreeable     
aspect in which it presents itself to   
the person endowed with this happy      

disposition4 ,hence it is that youth1   
the season of gaiety1 so easily engages 
our affections4 ,that propensity to joy 
which seems even to animate the bloom1  
and to sparkle from the eyes of youth   
and beauty1 though in a person of the   
same sex1 exalts1 even the aged1 to a   
more joyous mood than ordinary4 ,they   
forget1 for a time1 their infirmities1  
and abandon themselves to those         
agreeable ideas and emotions to which   
they have long been strangers1 but      
which1 when the presence of so much     
happiness recalls them to their breast1 
take their place there1 like old        
acquaintance1 from whom they are sorry  
to have ever been parted1 and whom they 
embrace more heartily upon account of   
this long separation4  ,it is quite     
otherwise with grief4 ,small vexations  
excite no sympathy1 but deep affliction 
calls forth the greatest4 ,the man who  
is made uneasy by every little          
disagreeable incident1 who is hurt if   
either the cook or the butler have      

failed in the least article of their    
duty1 who feels every defect in the     
highest ceremonial of politeness1       
whether it be shown to himself or to any
 other person1 who takes it amiss that  
his intimate friend did not bid him     
good-morrow when they met in the #da    
forenoon1 and that his brother hummed a 
tune all the time he himself was telling
 a story2 who is put out of humour by   
the badness of the weather when in the  
country1 by the badness of the roads    
when upon a journey1 and by the want of 
company and dulness of all public       
diversions when in town2 such a person1 
,i say1 though he should have some      
reason1 will seldom meet with much      
sympathy4 ,joy is a pleasant emotion1   
and we gladly abandon ourselves to it   
upon the slightest occasion4 ,we        
readily1 therefore1 sympathize with it  
in others1 whenever we are not          
prejudiced by envy4 ,but grief is       
painful1 and the mind1 even when it is  
our own misfortune1 naturally resists   

and recoils from it4 ,we would endeavour
 either not to conceive it at all1 or to
 shake it off as soon as we have        
conceived it4 ,our aversion to grief    
will not1 indeed1 always hinder us from 
conceiving it in our own case upon very 
trifling occasions1 but it constantly   
prevents us from sympathizing with it in
 others when excited by the like        
frivolous causes3 for our sympathetic   
passions are always less irresistible   
than our original ones4 ,there is1      
besides1 a malice in mankind1 which not 
only prevents all sympathy with little  
uneasinesses1 but renders them in some  
measure diverting4 ,hence the delight   
which we all take in raillery1 and in   
the small vexation which we observe in  
our companion1 when he is pushed1 and   
urged1 and teased upon all sides4 ,men  
of the most ordinary good-breeding      
dissemble the pain which any little     
incident may give them2 and those who   
are more thoroughly formed to society1  
turn of their own accord1 all such      

incidents into raillery1 as they know   
their companions will do for them4 ,the 
habit which a man1 who lives in the     
world1 has acquired of considering how  
every thing that concerns himself will  
appear to others1 makes those frivolous 
calamities turn up in the same          
ridiculous light to him1 in which he    
knows they will certainly be considered 
by them4  ,our sympathy1 on the         
contrary1 with deep distress1 is very   
strong and very sincere4 ,it is         
unnecessary to give an instance4 ,we    
weep even at the feigned representation 
of a tragedy4 ,if you labour1 therefore1
 under any signal calamity1 if by some  
extraordinary misfortune you are fallen 
into poverty1 into diseases1 into       
disgrace and disappointment2 even though
 your own fault may have been1 in part1 
the occasion1 yet you may generally     
depend upon the sincerest sympathy of   
all your friends1 and1 as far as        
interest and honour will permit1 upon   
their kindest assistance too4 ,but if   

your misfortune is not of this dreadful 
kind1 if you have only been a little    
baulked in your ambition1 if you have   
only been jilted by your mistress1 or   
are only hen-pecked by your wife1 lay   
your account with the raillery of all   
your acquaintance4  ----- #db  ,,sec4   
,,iii4--,,of ,,the ,,effects ,,of       
,,prosperity ,,and ,,adversity ,,upon   
,,the ,,judgment ,,of ,,mankind ,,with  
,,regard ,,to ,,the ,,propriety ,,of    
,,action2 ,,and ,,why ,,it ,,is ,,more  
,,easy ,,to ,,obtain ,,their            
,,approbation ,,in ,,the ,,one ,,state  
,,than ,,in ,,the ,,other4  ,,chap4     
,i4--,that though our ,sympathy with    
,sorrow is generally a more lively      
,sensation than our ,sympathy with ,joy1
 it commonly falls much more ,short of  
the ,violence of what is naturally felt 
by the ,person principally concerned4   
,,our sympathy with sorrow1 though not  
more real1 has been more taken notice of
 than our sympathy with joy4 ,the word  
sympathy1 in its most proper and        

primitive signification1 denotes our    
fellow-feeling with the sufferings1 not 
that with the enjoyments1 of others4 ,a 
late ingenious and subtile philosopher  
thought it necessary to prove1 by       
arguments1 that we had a real sympathy  
with joy1 and that congratulation was a 
principle of human nature4 ,nobody1 ,i  
believe1 ever thought it necessary to   
prove that compassion was such4  ,first 
of all1 our sympathy with sorrow is1 in 
some sense1 more universal than that    
with joy4 ,though sorrow is excessive1  
we may still have some fellow-feeling   
with it4 ,what we feel does not1 indeed1
 in this case1 amount to that complete  
sympathy1 to that perfect harmony and   
correspondence of sentiments1 which     
constitutes approbation4 ,we do not     
weep1 and exclaim1 and lament1 with the 
sufferer4 ,we are sensible1 on the      
contrary1 of his weakness and of the    
extravagance of his passion1 and yet    
often feel a very sensible concern upon 
his account4 ,but if we do not entirely 

enter into1 and go along with1 the joy  
of another1 we have no sort of regard or
 fellow feeling for it4 ,the man who    
skips and dances about with that        
intemperate and senseless joy which we  
cannot accompany him in1 is the object  
of our contempt and indignation4  ,pain 
besides1 whether of mind or body1 is a  
more pungent sensation than pleasure1   
and our sympathy with pain1 though it   
falls greatly short of what is naturally
 felt by the sufferer1 is generally a   
more lively and distinct perception than
 our sympathy with pleasure1 though this
 last often approaches more nearly1 as  
,i shall show immediately1 to the       
natural vivacity of the original        
passion4  ,over and above all this1 we  
often struggle to keep down our sympathy
 with the sorrow of others4 ,whenever we
 are not under the observation of the   
sufferer1 we endeavour1 for our own     
sake1 to suppress it as much as we can1 
and we are not always successful4 ,the  
opposition which we make to it1 and the 

reluctance with which we yield to it1   
necessarily oblige us to take more      
particular notice of it4 ,but we never  
have occasion to make this opposition to
 our sympathy with joy4 #dc ,if there is
 any envy in the case1 we never feel the
 least propensity towards it2 and if    
there is none1 we give way to it without
 any reluctance4 ,on the contrary1 as we
 are always ashamed of our own envy1 we 
often pretend1 and sometimes really wish
 to sympathize with the joy of others1  
when by that disagreeable sentiment we  
are disqualified from doing so4 ,we are 
glad1 we say1 on account of our         
neighbour's good fortune1 when in our   
hearts1 perhaps1 we are really sorry4   
,we often feel a sympathy with sorrow   
when we would wish to be rid of it2 and 
we often miss that with joy when we     
would be glad to have it4 ,the obvious  
observation1 therefore1 which it        
naturally falls in our way to make1 is1 
that our propensity to sympathize with  
sorrow must be very strong1 and our     

inclination to sympathize with joy very 
weak4  ,notwithstanding this prejudice1 
however1 ,i will venture to affirm1     
that1 when there is no envy in the case1
 our propensity to sympathize with joy  
is much stronger than our propensity to 
sympathize with sorrow2 and that our    
fellow-feeling for the agreeable emotion
 approaches much more nearly to the     
vivacity of what is naturally felt by   
the persons principally concerned1 than 
that which we conceive for the painful  
one4  ,we have some indulgence for that 
excessive grief which we cannot entirely
 go along with4 ,we know what a         
prodigious effort is requisite before   
the sufferer can bring down his emotions
 to complete harmony and concord with   
those of the spectator4 ,though he      
fails1 therefore1 we easily pardon him4 
,but we have no such indulgence for the 
intemperance of joy2 because we are not 
conscious that any such vast effort is  
requisite to bring it down to what we   
can entirely enter into4 ,the man who1  

under the greatest calamities1 can      
command his sorrow1 seems worthy of the 
highest admiration2 but he who1 in the  
fulness of prosperity1 can in the same  
manner master his joy1 seems hardly to  
deserve any praise4 ,we are sensible    
that there is a much wider interval in  
the one case than in the other1 between 
what is naturally felt by the person    
principally concerned1 and what the     
spectator can entirely go along with4   
,what can be added to the happiness of  
the man who is in health1 who is out of 
debt1 and has a clear conscience8 ,to   
one in this situation1 all accessions of
 fortune may properly be said to be     
superfluous2 and if he is much elevated 
on account of them1 it must be the      
effect of the most frivolous levity4    
,this situation1 however1 may very well 
be called the natural and ordinary state
 of mankind4 ,notwithstanding the       
present misery and depravity of the     
world1 so justly lamented1 this really  
is the state of the greater part of men4

 ,the greater part of men1 therefore1   
cannot find any great difficulty in     
elevating themselves to all the joy     
which any accession to this situation   
can well excite in their companion4     
,but though little can be added to this 
state1 much may be taken from #dd it4   
,though between this condition and the  
highest pitch of human prosperity1 the  
interval is but a trifle2 between it and
 the lowest depth of misery the distance
 is immense and prodigious4 ,adversity1 
on this account1 necessarily depresses  
the mind of the sufferer much more below
 its natural state1 than prosperity can 
elevate him above it4 ,the spectator1   
therefore1 must find it much more       
difficult to sympathize entirely1 and   
keep perfect time1 with his sorrow1 than
 thoroughly to enter into his joy1 and  
must depart much further from his own   
natural and ordinary temper of mind in  
the one case than in the other4 ,it is  
on this account1 that though our        
sympathy with sorrow is often a more    

pungent sensation than our sympathy with
 joy1 it always falls much more short of
 the violence of what is naturally felt 
by the person principally concerned4    
,it is agreeable to sympathize with joy2
 and wherever envy does not oppose it1  
our heart abandons itself with          
satisfaction to the highest transports  
of that delightful sentiment4 ,but it is
 painful to go along with grief1 and we 
always enter into it with reluctance4#a 
,when we attend to the representation of
 a tragedy1 we struggle against that    
sympathetic sorrow which the            
entertainment inspires as long as we    
can1 and we give way to it at last only 
when we can no longer avoid it2 we even 
then endeavour to cover our concern from
 the company4 ,if we shed any tears1 we 
carefully conceal them1 and are afraid1 
lest the spectators1 not entering into  
this excessive tenderness1 should regard
 it as effeminacy and weakness4 ,the    
wretch whose misfortunes call upon our  
compassion feels with what reluctance we

 are likely to enter into his sorrow1   
and therefore proposes his grief to us  
with fear and hesitation3 he even       
smothers the half of it1 and is ashamed1
 upon account of this hard-heartedness  
of mankind1 to give vent to the fulness 
of his affliction4 ,it is otherwise with
 the man who riots in joy and success4  
,wherever envy does not interest us     
against him1 he expects our completest  
sympathy4 ,he does not fear1 therefore1 
to announce himself with shouts of      
exultation1 in full confidence that we  
are heartily disposed to go along with  
him4  ,footnote #a3 ,it has been        
objected to me that as ,i found the     
sentiment of approbation1 which is      
always agreeable1 upon sympathy1 it is  
inconsistent with my system to admit any
 disagreeable sympathy4 ,i answer1 that 
in the sentiment of approbation there   
are two things to be taken notice of2   
first1 the sympathetic passion of the   
spectator2 and secondly1 the emotion    
which arises from his observing the     

perfect coincidence between this        
sympathetic passion in himself1 and the 
original passion in the person          
principally concerned4 ,this last       
emotion1 in which the sentiment of      
approbation properly consists1 is always
 agreeable and delightful4 ,the other   
may either be agreeable or disagreeable1
 according to the nature of the original
 passion1 whose features it must always1
 in some measure1 retain4  ,why should  
we be more ashamed to weep than to laugh
 before company8 ,we may often have as  
real occasion to do the one as to do the
 other2 but we always feel that the     
spectators are more likely to go along  
with us in the agreeable1 than in the   
painful emotion4 ,it is #de always      
miserable to complain1 even when we are 
oppressed by the most dreadful          
calamities4 ,but the triumph of victory 
is not always ungraceful4 ,prudence1    
indeed1 would often advise us to bear   
our prosperity with more moderation2    
because prudence would teach us to avoid

 that envy which this very triumph is1  
more than any thing1 apt to excite4     
,how hearty are the acclamations of the 
mob1 who never bear any envy to their   
superiors1 at a triumph or a public     
entry8 ,and how sedate and moderate is  
commonly their grief at an execution8   
,our sorrow at a funeral generally      
amounts to no more than an affected     
gravity2 but our mirth at a christening 
or a marriage1 is always from the heart1
 and without any affectation4 ,upon     
these1 and all such joyous occasions1   
our satisfaction1 though not so durable1
 is often as lively as that of the      
persons principally concerned4 ,whenever
 we cordially congratulate our friends1 
which1 however1 to the disgrace of human
 nature1 we do but seldom1 their joy    
literally becomes our joy3 we are1 for  
the moment1 as happy as they are3 our   
heart swells and overflows with real    
pleasure3 joy and complacency sparkle   
from our eyes1 and animate every feature
 of our countenance1 and every gesture  

of our body4  ,but on the contrary1 when
 we condole with our friends in their   
afflictions1 how little do we feel1 in  
comparison of what they feel8 ,we sit   
down by them1 we look at them1 and while
 they relate to us the circumstances of 
their misfortune1 we listen to them with
 gravity and attention4 ,but while their
 narration is every moment interrupted  
by those natural bursts of passion which
 often seem almost to choke them in the 
midst of it2 how far are the languid    
emotions of our hearts from keeping time
 to the transports of theirs8 ,we may be
 sensible1 at the same time1 that their 
passion is natural1 and no greater than 
what we ourselves might feel upon the   
like occasion4 ,we may even inwardly    
reproach ourselves with our own want of 
sensibility1 and perhaps1 on that       
account1 work ourselves up into an      
artificial sympathy1 which however1 when
 it is raised1 is always the slightest  
and most transitory imaginable2 and     
generally1 as soon as we have left the  

room1 vanishes1 and is gone for ever4   
,nature1 it seems1 when she loaded us   
with our own sorrows1 thought they were 
enough1 and therefore did not command us
 to take any further share in those of  
others1 than what was necessary to      
prompt us to relieve them4  ,it is on   
account of this dull sensibility to the 
afflictions of others1 that magnanimity 
amidst great distress appears always so 
divinely graceful4 ,his behaviour is    
genteel and agreeable who can maintain  
his cheerfulness amidst a number of     
frivolous disasters4 ,but he appears to 
be more than mortal who can support in  
the same manner the most dreadful       
calamities4 ,we feel what an immense    
effort is requisite to silence those    
violent emotions which naturally agitate
 and distract those in his situation4   
,we are amazed to find that he can      
command himself so entirely4 ,his       
firmness at the same time1 perfectly #df
 coincides with our insensibility4 ,he  
makes no demand upon us for that more   

exquisite degree of sensibility which we
 find1 and which we are mortified to    
find1 that we do not possess4 ,there is 
the most perfect correspondence between 
his sentiments and ours1 and on that    
account the most perfect propriety in   
his behaviour4 ,it is a propriety too1  
which1 from our experience of the usual 
weakness of human nature1 we could not  
reasonably have expected he should be   
able to maintain4 ,we wonder with       
surprise and astonishment at that       
strength of mind which is capable of so 
noble and generous an effort4 ,the      
sentiment of complete sympathy and      
approbation1 mixed and animated with    
wonder and surprise1 constitutes what is
 properly called admiration1 as has     
already been more than once take notice 
of4 ,cato1 surrounded on all sides by   
his enemies1 unable to resist them1     
disdaining to submit to them1 and       
reduced1 by the proud maxims of that    
age1 to the necessity of destroying     
himself2 yet never shrinking from his   

misfortunes1 never supplicating with the
 lamentable voice of wretchedness1 those
 miserable sympathetic tears which we   
are always so unwilling to give2 but on 
the contrary1 arming himself with manly 
fortitude1 and the moment before he     
executes his fatal resolution1 giving1  
with his usual tranquillity1 all        
necessary orders for the safety of his  
friends2 appears to ,seneca1 that great 
preacher of insensibility1 a spectacle  
which even the gods themselves might    
behold with pleasure and admiration4    
,whenever we meet1 in common life1 with 
any examples of such heroic magnanimity1
 we are always extremely affected4 ,we  
are more apt to weep and shed tears for 
such as1 in this manner1 seem to feel   
nothing for themselves1 than for those  
who give way to all the weakness of     
sorrow and in this particular case1 the 
sympathetic grief of the spectator      
appears to go beyond the original       
passion in the person principally       
concerned4 ,the friends of ,socrates all

 wept when he drank the last potion1    
while he himself expressed the gayest   
and most cheerful tranquillity4 ,upon   
all such occasions the spectator makes  
no effort1 and has no occasion to make  
any1 in order to conquer his sympathetic
 sorrow4 ,he is under no fear that it   
will transport him to any thing that is 
extravagant and improper2 he is rather  
pleased with the sensibility of his own 
heart1 and gives way to it with         
complacence and self-approbation4 ,he   
gladly indulges1 therefore1 the most    
melancholy views which can naturally    
occur to him1 concerning the calamity of
 his friend1 for whom1 perhaps1 he never
 felt so exquisitely before1 the tender 
and tearful passion of love4 ,but it is 
quite otherwise with the person         
principally concerned4 ,he is obliged1  
as much as possible1 to turn away his   
eyes from whatever is either naturally  
terrible or disagreeable in his         
situation4 ,too serious an attention to 
those circumstances1 he fears1 might    

make so violent an impression upon him1 
that he could no longer keep within the 
bounds of moderation1 or render himself 
the object of the complete sympathy and 
approbation of the spectators4 #dg ,he  
fixes his thoughts1 therefore1 upon     
those only which are agreeable1 the     
applause and admiration which he is     
about to deserve by the heroic          
magnanimity of his behaviour4 ,to feel  
that he is capable of so noble and      
generous an effort1 to feel that in this
 dreadful situation he can still act as 
he would desire to act1 animates and    
transports him with joy1 and enables him
 to support that triumphant gaiety which
 seems to exult in the victory he thus  
gains over his misfortunes4  ,on the    
contrary1 he always appears1 in some    
measure1 mean and despicable1 who is    
sunk in sorrow and dejection upon       
account of any calamity of his own4 ,we 
cannot bring ourselves to feel for him  
what he feels for himself1 and what1    
perhaps1 we should feel for ourselves if

 in his situation3 we1 therefore1       
despise him2 unjustly perhaps1 if any   
sentiment could be regarded as unjust1  
to which we are by nature irresistibly  
determined4 ,the weakness of sorrow     
never appears in any respect agreeable1 
except when it arises from what we feel 
for ourselves4 ,a son1 upon the death of
 an indulgent and respectable father1   
may give way to it without much blame4  
,his sorrow is chiefly founded upon a   
sort of sympathy with his departed      
parent2 and we readily enter into his   
humane emotion4 ,but if he should       
indulge the same weakness upon account  
of any misfortune which affected himself
 only1 he would no longer meet with any 
such indulgence4 ,if he should be       
reduced to beggary and ruin1 if he      
should be exposed to the most dreadful  
dangers1 if he should even be led out to
 a public execution1 and there shed one 
single tear upon the scaffold1 he would 
disgrace himself for ever in the opinion
 of all the gallant and generous part of

 mankind4 ,their compassion for him1    
however1 would be very strong1 and very 
sincere2 but as it would still fall     
short of this excessive weakness1 they  
would have no pardon for the man who    
could thus expose himself in the eyes of
 the world4 ,his behaviour would affect 
them with shame rather than with sorrow2
 and the dishonour which he had thus    
brought upon himself would appear to    
them the most lamentable circumstance in
 his misfortune4 ,how did it disgrace   
the memory of the intrepid ,duke of     
,biron1 who had so often braved death in
 the field1 that he wept upon the       
scaffold1 when he beheld the state to   
which he was fallen1 and remembered the 
favour and the glory from which his own 
rashness had so unfortunately thrown    
him8  -----  ,,chap4 ,,ii4--,of the     
,origin of ,ambition1 and of the        
,distinction of ,ranks4   ,,it is       
because mankind are disposed to         
sympathize more entirely with our joy   
than with our sorrow1 that we make      

parade of our riches1 and conceal our   
poverty4 ,nothing is so mortifying as to
 be obliged to expose our distress to   
the view of the public1 and to feel1    
that though #dh our situation is open to
 the eyes of all mankind1 no mortal     
conceives for us the half of what we    
suffer4 ,nay1 it is chiefly from this   
regard to the sentiments of mankind1    
that we pursue riches and avoid poverty4
 ,for to what purpose is all the toil   
and bustle of this world8 what is the   
end of avarice and ambition1 of the     
pursuit of wealth1 of power1 and        
pre-eminence8 ,is it to supply the      
necessities of nature8 ,the wages of the
 meanest labourer can supply them4 ,we  
see that they can afford him food and   
clothing1 the comfort of a house and of 
a family4 ,if we examine his oeconomy   
with rigour1 we should find that he     
spends a great part of them upon        
conveniences1 which may be regarded as  
superfluities1 and that1 upon           
extraordinary occasions1 he can give    

something even to vanity and            
distinction4 ,what then is the cause of 
our aversion to his situation1 and why  
should those who have been educated in  
the higher ranks of life1 regard it as  
worse than death1 to be reduced to live1
 even without labour1 upon the same     
simple fare with him1 to dwell under the
 same lowly roof1 and to be clothed in  
the same humble attire8 ,do they imagine
 that their stomach is better or their  
sleep sounder in a palace than in a     
cottage8 ,the contrary has been so often
 observed1 and1 indeed1 is so very      
obvious1 though it had never been       
observed1 that there is nobody ignorant 
of it4 ,from whence1 then arises that   
emulation which runs through all the    
different ranks of men1 and what are the
 advantages which we propose by the     
great purpose of human life which we    
call bettering our condition8 ,to be    
observed1 to be attended to1 to be taken
 notice of with sympathy1 complacency1  
and approbation1 arc all the advantages 

which we can propose to derive from it4 
,it is the vanity1 not the ease or the  
pleasure1 which interests us4 ,but      
vanity is always founded upon the belief
 of our being the object of attention   
and approbation4 ,the rich man glories  
in his riches1 because he feels that    
they naturally draw upon him the        
attention of the world1 and that mankind
 are disposed to go along with him in   
all those agreeable emotions with which 
the advantages of his situation so      
readily inspire him4 ,at the thought of 
this1 his heart seems to swell and      
dilate itself within him1 and he is     
fonder of his wealth upon this account1 
than for all the other advantages it    
procures him4 ,the poor man1 on the     
contrary1 is ashamed of his poverty4 ,he
 feels that it either places him out of 
the sight of mankind1 or1 that if they  
take any notice of him1 they have1      
however1 scarce any fellow-feeling with 
the misery and distress which he        
suffers4 ,he is mortified upon both     

accounts2 for though to be overlooked1  
and to be disapproved of1 are things    
entirely different1 yet as obscurity    
covers us from the daylight of honour   
and approbation1 to feel that we are    
taken no notice of1 necessarily damps   
the most agreeable hope1 and disappoints
 the most ardent desire1 of human       
nature4 ,the poor man goes out and comes
 in unheeded1 and when in the midst of a
 crowd is in the same obscurity as if   
shut up in his own hovel4 ,those humble 
#di cares and painful attentions which  
occupy those in his situation1 afford no
 amusement to the dissipated and the    
gay4 ,they turn away their their eyes   
from him1 if the extremity of his       
distress forces them to look at him1 it 
is only to spurn so disagreeable an     
object from among them4 ,the fortunate  
and the proud wonder at the insolence of
 human wretchedness1 that it should dare
 to present itself before them1 and with
 the loathsome aspect of its misery     
presume to disturb the serenity of their

 happiness4 ,the man of rank and        
distinction1 on the contrary1 is        
observed by all the world4 ,every body  
is eager to look at him1 and to         
conceive1 at least by sympathy1 that joy
 and exultation with which his          
circumstances naturally inspire him4    
,his actions are the objects of the     
public care4 ,scarce a word1 scarce a   
gesture1 can fall from him that is      
altogether neglected4 ,in a great       
assembly he is the person upon whom all 
direct their eyes2 it is upon him that  
their passions seem to wait with        
expectation1 in order to receive that   
movement and direction which he shall   
impress upon them2 and if his behaviour 
is not altogether absurd1 he has1 every 
moment1 an opportunity of interesting   
mankind1 and of rendering himself the   
object of the observation and fellow    
feeling of every body about him4 ,it is 
this1 which1 notwithstanding the        
restraint it imposes1 notwithstanding   
the loss of liberty with which it is    

attended1 renders greatness the object  
of envy1 and compensates1 in the opinion
 of mankind1 all that toil1 all that    
anxiety1 all those mortifications which 
must be undergone in the pursuit of it2 
and what is of yet more consequence1 all
 that leisure1 all that ease1 all that  
careless security1 which are forfeited  
for ever by the acquisition4  ,when we  
consider the condition of the great1 in 
those delusive colours in which the     
imagination is apt to paint it1 it seems
 to be almost the abstract idea of a    
perfect and happy state4 ,it is the very
 state which1 in all our waking dreams  
and idle reveries1 we had sketched out  
to ourselves as the final object of our 
desires4 ,we feel1 therefore1 a peculiar
 sympathy with the satisfaction of those
 who are in it4 ,we favour all their    
inclinations1 and forward all their     
wishes4 ,what pity1 we think1 that any  
thing should spoil and corrupt so       
agreeable a situation4 ,we could even   
wish them immortal2 and it seems hard to

 us1 that death should at last put an   
end to such perfect enjoyment4 ,it is   
cruel1 we think1 in ,nature to compel   
them from their exalted stations to that
 humble1 but hospitable home1 which she 
has provided for all her children4      
,great king1 live for ever6 is the      
compliment which1 after the manner of   
eastern adulation1 we should readily    
make them1 if experience did not teach  
us its absurdity4 ,every calamity that  
befals them1 every injury that is done  
them1 excites in the breast of the      
spectator ten times more compassion and 
resentment than he would have felt1 had 
the same things happened to other men4  
,it is the misfortune of kings only     
which afford the proper subjects for    
tragedy4 ,they resemble #ej in this     
respect1 the misfortunes of lovers4     
,those two situations are the chief     
which interest us upon the theatre2     
because1 in spite of all that reason and
 experience can tell us to the contrary1
 the prejudices of the imagination      

attach to these two states a happiness  
superior to any other4 ,to disturb1 or  
to put an end to such perfect enjoyment1
 seems to be the most atrocious of all  
injuries4 ,the traitor who conspires    
against the life of his monarch1 is     
thought a greater monster than any other
 murderer4 ,all the innocent blood that 
was shed in the civil wars provoked less
 indignation than the death of ,charles 
,i4 ,a stranger to human nature1 who saw
 the indifference of men about the      
misery of their inferiors1 and the      
regret and indignation which they feel  
for the misfortunes and sufferings of   
those above them1 would be apt to       
imagine1 that pain must be more         
agonizing1 and the convulsions of death 
more terrible to persons of higher rank1
 than they are to those of meaner       
stations4  ,upon this disposition of    
mankind1 to go along with all the       
passions of the rich and the powerful1  
is founded the distinction of ranks1 and
 the order of society4 ,our             

obsequiousness to our superiors more    
frequently arises from our admiration   
for the advantages of their situation1  
than from any private expectations of   
benefit from their goodwill4 ,their     
benefits can extend but to a few2 but   
their fortunes interest almost every    
body4 ,we are eager to assist them in   
completing a system of happiness that   
approaches so near to perfection2 and we
 desire to serve them for their own     
sake1 without any recompense but the    
vanity or the honour of obliging them4  
,neither is our deference to the        
inclinations founded chiefly1 or        
altogether1 upon a regard to the utility
 of such submission1 and to the order of
 society1 which is best supported by it4
 ,even when the order of society seems  
to require that we should oppose them1  
we can hardly bring ourselves to do it4 
,that kings are servants of the people1 
to be obeyed1 resisted1 deposed1 or     
punished1 as the public conveniency may 
require1 is the doctrine of reason and  

philosophy2 but it is not the doctrine  
of nature4 ,nature would teach us to    
submit to them for their own sake1 to   
tremble and bow down before their       
exalted station1 to regard their smile  
as a reward sufficient to compensate any
 services1 and to dread their           
displeasure1 though no other evil were  
to follow from it1 as the severest of   
all mortifications4 ,to treat them in   
any respect as men1 to reason and       
dispute with them upon ordinary         
occasions1 requires such resolution1    
that there are few men whose magnanimity
 can support them in it1 unless they are
 likewise assisted by similarity and    
acquaintance4 ,the strongest motives1   
the most furious passions1 fear1 hatred1
 and resentment1 are scarce sufficient  
to balance this natural disposition to  
respect them3 and their conduct must1   
either justly or unjustly1 have excited 
the highest degree of those passions1   
before the bulk of the people can be    
brought to oppose them with violence1 or

 to desire to see them #ea either       
punished or deposed4 ,even when the     
people have been brought this length1   
they are apt to relent every moment1 and
 easily relapse into their habitual     
state of deference to those whom they   
have been accustomed to look upon as    
their natural superiors4 ,they cannot   
stand the mortification of their        
monarch4 ,compassion soon takes the     
place of resentment1 they forget all    
past provocations1 their old principles 
of loyalty revive1 and they run to      
re-establish the ruined authority of    
their old masters1 with the same        
violence with which they had opposed it4
 ,the death of ,charles ,i4 brought     
about the restoration of the royal      
family4 ,compassion for ,james ,,ii41   
when he was seized by the populace in   
making his escape on ship-board1 had    
almost prevented the ,revolution1 and   
made it go on more heavily than before4 
,do the great seem insensible of the    
easy price at which they may acquire the

 public admiration2 or do they seem to  
imagine that to them1 as to other men1  
it must be the purchase either of sweat 
or of blood8 ,by what important         
accomplishments is the young nobleman   
instructed to support the dignity of his
 rank1 and to render himself worthy of  
that superiority over his fellow        
citizens1 to which the virtue of his    
ancestors had raised them3 ,is it by    
knowledge1 by industry1 by patience1 by 
self-denial1 or by virtue of any kind8  
,as all his words1 as all his motions   
are attended to1 he learns an habitual  
regard to every circumstance of ordinary
 behaviour1 and studies to perform all  
those small duties with the most exact  
propriety4 ,as he is conscious how much 
he is observed1 and how much mankind are
 disposed to favour all his             
inclinations1 he acts1 upon the most    
indifferent occasions1 with that freedom
 and elevation which the thought of this
 naturally inspires4 ,his air1 his      
manner1 his deportment1 all mark that   

elegant and graceful sense of his own   
superiority1 which those who are born to
 inferior stations can hardly ever      
arrive at4 ,these are the arts by which 
he proposes to make mankind more easily 
submit to his authority1 and to govern  
their inclinations according to his own 
pleasure3 and in this he is seldom      
disappointed4 ,these arts1 supported by 
rank and pre-eminence1 are1 upon        
ordinary occasions1 sufficient to govern
 the world4 ,lewis ,,xiv4 during the    
greater part of his reign1 was regarded1
 not only in ,france1 but over all      
,europe1 as the most perfect model of a 
great prince4 ,but what were the talents
 and virtues by which he acquired this  
great reputation8 ,was it by the        
scrupulous and inflexible justice of all
 his undertakings1 by the immense       
dangers and difficulties with which they
 were attended1 or by the unwearied and 
unrelenting application with which he   
pursued them8 ,was it by his extensive  
knowledge1 by his exquisite judgment1 or

 by his heroic valour8 ,it was by none  
of these qualities4 ,but he was1 first  
of all1 the most powerful prince in     
,europe1 and consequently held the      
highest rank among kings2 and then says 
his historian1 'he surpassed all his    
courtiers in the gracefulness of his    
shape1 and the majestic beauty of his   
features4 ,the #eb sound of his voice1  
noble and affecting1 gained those hearts
 which his presence intimidated4 ,he had
 a step and a deportment which could    
suit only him and his rank1 and which   
would have been ridiculous in any other 
person4 ,the embarrassment which he     
occasioned to those who spoke to him1   
flattered that secret satisfaction with 
which he felt his own superiority4 ,the 
old officer1 who was confounded and     
faltered in asking him a favour1 and not
 being able to conclude his discourse1  
said to him3 ,sir1 your majesty1 ,i     
hope1 will believe that ,i do not       
tremble thus before your enemies3 had no
 difficulty to obtain what he demanded4'

 ,these frivolous accomplishments1      
supported by his rank1 and1 no doubt    
too1 by a degree of other talents and   
virtues1 which seems1 however1 not to   
have been much above mediocrity1        
established this prince in the esteem of
 his own age1 and have drawn1 even from 
posterity1 a good deal of respect for   
his memory4 ,compared with these1 in his
 own times1 and in his own presence1 no 
other virtue1 it seems1 appeared to have
 any merit4 ,knowledge1 industry1       
valour1 and beneficence trembled1 were  
abashed1 and lost all dignity before    
them4  ,but it is not by accomplishments
 of this kind1 that the man of inferior 
rank must hope to distinguish himself4  
,politeness is so much the virtue of the
 great1 that it will do little honour to
 any body but themselves4 ,the coxcomb1 
who imitates their manner1 and affects  
to be eminent by the superior propriety 
of his ordinary behaviour1 is rewarded  
with a double share of contempt for his 
folly and presumption4 ,why should the  

man1 whom nobody thinks it worth while  
to look at1 be very anxious about the   
manner in which he holds up his head1 or
 disposes of his arms while he walks    
through a room8 ,he is occupied surely  
with a very superfluous attention1 and  
with an attention too that marks a sense
 of his own importance1 which no other  
mortal can go along with4 ,the most     
perfect modesty and plainness1 joined to
 as much negligence as is consistent    
with the respect due to the company1    
ought to be the chief characteristics of
 the behaviour of a private man4 ,if    
ever he hopes to distinguish himself1 it
 must be by more important virtues4 ,he 
must acquire dependants to balance the  
dependants of the great1 and he has no  
other fund to pay them from1 but the    
labour of his body and the activity of  
his mind4 ,he must cultivate these      
therefore3 he must acquire superior     
knowledge in his profession and superior
 industry in the exercise of it4 ,he    
must be patient in labour1 resolute in  

danger1 and firm in distress4 ,these    
talents he must bring into public view1 
by the difficulty1 importance1 and at   
the same time1 good judgment of his     
undertakings1 and by the severe and     
unrelenting application1 with which he  
pursues them4 ,probity and prudence1    
generosity and frankness1 must          
characterize his behaviour upon all     
ordinary occasions2 and he must1 at the 
same time1 be forward to engage in all  
those situations1 in which it requires  
the greatest talents and virtues to act 
with propriety1 but in which the        
greatest applause is to be acquired by  
those who can #ec acquit themselves with
 honour4 ,with what impatience does the 
man of spirit and ambition1 who is      
depressed by his situation1 look round  
for some great opportunity to           
distinguish himself8 ,no circumstances1 
which can afford this1 appear to him    
undesirable4 ,he even looks forward with
 satisfaction to the prospect of foreign
 war or civil dissension2 and1 with     

secret transport and delight1 sees      
through all the confusion and bloodshed 
which attend them1 the probability of   
those wished-for occasions presenting   
themselves1 in which he may draw upon   
himself the attention and admiration of 
mankind4 ,the man of rank and           
distinction1 on the contrary1 whose     
whole glory consists in the propriety of
 his ordinary behaviour1 who is         
contented with the humble renown which  
this can afford him1 and has no talents 
to acquire any other1 is unwilling to   
embarrass himself with what can be      
attended either with difficulty or      
distress4 ,to figure at a ball is his   
great triumph1 and to succeed in an     
intrigue of gallantry1 his highest      
exploit4 ,he has an aversion to all     
public confusions1 not from the love of 
mankind1 for the great never look upon  
their inferiors as their                
fellow-creatures2 nor yet from want of  
courage1 for in that he is seldom       
defective2 but from a consciousness that

 he possesses none of the virtues which 
are required in such situations1 and    
that the public attention will certainly
 be drawn away from him by others4 ,he  
may be willing to expose himself to some
 little danger1 and to make a campaign  
when it happens to be the fashion4 ,but 
he shudders with horror at the thought  
of any situation which demands the      
continual and long exertion of patience1
 industry1 fortitude1 and application of
 thought4 ,these virtues are hardly ever
 to be met with in men who are born to  
those high stations4 ,in all            
governments1 accordingly1 even in       
monarchies1 the highest offices are     
generally possessed1 and the whole      
detail of the administration conducted1 
by men who were educated in the middle  
and inferior ranks of life1 who have    
been carried forward by their own       
industry and abilities1 though loaded   
with the jealousy1 and opposed by the   
resentment1 of all those who were born  
their superiors1 and to whom the great1 

after having regarded them first with   
contempt1 and afterwards with envy1 are 
at last contented to truckle with the   
same abject meanness with which they    
desire that the rest of mankind should  
behave to themselves4  ,it is the loss  
of this easy empire over the affections 
of mankind which renders the fall from  
greatness so insupportable4 ,when the   
family of the king of ,macedon was led  
in triumph by ,paulus milius1 their     
misfortunes1 it is said1 made them      
divide with their conqueror the         
attention of the ,roman people4 ,the    
sight of the royal children1 whose      
tender age rendered them insensible of  
their situation1 struck the spectators1 
amidst the public rejoicings and        
prosperity1 with the tenderest sorrow   
and compassion4 ,the king appeared next 
in the procession2 and seemed like one  
confounded and astonished1 and bereft of
 all #ed sentiment1 by the greatness of 
his calamities4 ,his friends and        
ministers followed after him4 ,as they  

moved along1 they often cast their eyes 
upon their fallen sovereign1 and always 
burst into tears at the sight2 their    
whole behaviour demonstrating that they 
thought not of their own misfortunes1   
but were occupied entirely by the       
superior greatness of his4 ,the generous
 ,romans1 on the contrary1 beheld him   
with disdain and indignation1 and       
regarded as unworthy of all compassion  
the man who could be so mean-spirited as
 to bear to live under such calamities4 
,yet what did those calamities amount   
to8 ,according to the greater part of   
historians1 he was to spend the         
remainder of his days1 under the        
protection of a powerful and humane     
people1 in a state which in itself      
should seem worthy of envy1 a state of  
plenty1 ease1 leisure1 and security1    
from which it was impossible for him    
even by his own folly to fall4 ,but he  
was no longer to be surrounded by that  
admiring mob of fools1 flatterers1 and  
dependants1 who had formerly been       

accustomed to attend upon all his       
motions4 ,he was no longer to be gazed  
upon by multitudes1 nor to have it in   
his power to render himself the object  
of their respect1 their gratitude1 their
 love1 their admiration4 ,the passions  
of nations were no longer to mould      
themselves upon his inclinations4 ,this 
was that insupportable calamity which   
bereaved the king of all sentiment2     
which made his friends forget their own 
misfortunes2 and which the ,roman       
magnanimity could scarce conceive how   
any man could be so mean-spirited as to 
bear to survive4  ',love1' says my ,lord
 ,rochefaucault1 'is commonly succeeded 
by ambition2 but ambition is hardly ever
 succeeded by love4' ,that passion1 when
 once it has got entire possession of   
the breast1 will admit neither a rival  
nor a successor4 ,to those who have been
 accustomed to the possession1 or even  
to the hope of public admiration1 all   
other pleasures sicken and decay4 ,of   
all the discarded statesmen who for     

their own ease have studied to get the  
better of ambition1 and to despise those
 honours which they could no longer     
arrive at1 how few have been able to    
succeed8 ,the greater part have spent   
their time in the most listless and     
insipid indolence1 chagrined at the     
thoughts of their own insignificancy1   
incapable of being interested in the    
occupations of private life1 without    
enjoyment except when they talked of    
their former greatness1 and without     
satisfaction except when they were      
employed in some vain project to recover
 it4 ,are you in earnest resolved never 
to barter your liberty for the lordly   
servitude of a court1 but to live free1 
fearless1 and independent8 ,there seems 
to be one way to continue in that       
virtuous resolution2 and perhaps but    
one4 ,never enter the place from whence 
so few have been able to return2 never  
come within the circle of ambition2 nor 
ever bring yourself into comparison with
 those masters of the earth who have    

already engrossed the attention of half 
mankind before you4  ,of such mighty    
importance does it appear to be1 in the 
imaginations #ee of men1 to stand in    
that situation which sets them most in  
the view of general sympathy and        
attention4 ,and thus1 place1 that great 
object which divides the wives of       
aldermen1 is the end of half the labours
 of human life2 and is the cause of all 
the tumult and bustle1 all the rapine   
and injustice1 which avarice and        
ambition have introduced into this      
world4 ,people of sense1 it is said1    
indeed despise place2 that is1 they     
despise sitting at the head of the      
table1 and are indifferent who it is    
that is pointed out to the company by   
that frivolous circumstance1 which the  
smallest 9999advantage is capable of    
overbalancing4 ,but rank1 distinction1  
pre-eminence1 no man despises1 unless he
 is either raised very much above1 or   
sunk very much below1 the ordinary      
standard of human nature2 unless he is  

either so confirmed in wisdom and real  
philosophy1 as to be satisfied that1    
while the propriety of his conduct      
renders him the just object of          
approbation1 it is of little consequence
 though he be neither attended to1 nor  
approved of2 or so habituated to the    
idea of his own meanness1 so sunk in    
slothful and sottish indifference1 as   
entirely to have forgot the desire and  
almost the very wish for superiority    
over his fellows4  ,as to become the    
natural object of the joyous            
congratulations and sympathetic         
attentions of mankind is1 in this       
manner1 the circumstance which gives to 
prosperity all its dazzling splendour2  
so nothing darkens so much the gloom of 
adversity as to feel that our           
misfortunes are the objects1 not of the 
fellow-feeling1 but of the contempt and 
aversion of our brethren4 ,it is upon   
this account that the most dreadful     
calamities are not always those which it
 is most difficult to support4 ,it is   

often more mortifying to appear in      
public under small disasters1 than under
 great misfortunes4 ,the first excite no
 sympathy2 but the second1 though they  
may excite none that approaches to the  
anguish of the sufferer1 call forth1    
however1 a very lively compassion4 ,the 
sentiments of the spectators are1 in    
this last case1 less wide of those of   
the sufferer1 and their imperfect       
fellow-feeling lends him some assistance
 in supporting his misery4 ,before a gay
 assembly1 a gentleman would be more    
mortified to appear covered with filth  
and rags than with blood and wounds4    
,this last situation would interest     
their pity2 the other would provoke     
their laughter4 ,the judge who orders a 
criminal to be set in the pillory1      
dishonours him more than if he had      
condemned him to the scaffold4 ,the     
great prince1 who1 some years ago1 caned
 a general officer at the head of his   
army1 disgraced him irrecoverably4 ,the 
punishment would have been much less had

 he shot him through his body4 ,by the  
laws of honour1 to strike with a cane   
dishonours1 to strike with a sword does 
not1 for an obvious reason4 ,those      
slighter punishments1 when inflicted on 
a gentleman1 to whom dishonour is the   
greatest of all evils1 come to be       
regarded among a humane and generous    
people1 as the most dreadful of any4    
,with regard to persons of that rank1   
therefore1 they are universally laid    
aside1 and the law1 while #ef it takes  
their life upon many occasions1 respects
 their honour upon almost all4 ,to      
scourge a person of quality1 or to set  
him in the pillory1 upon account of any 
crime whatever1 is a brutality of which 
no ,european government1 except that of 
,russia1 is capable4  ,a brave man is   
not rendered contemptible by being      
brought to the scaffold2 he is1 by being
 set in the pillory4 ,his behaviour in  
the one situation may gain him universal
 esteem and admiration4 ,no behaviour in
 the other can render him agreeable4    

,the sympathy of the spectators supports
 him in the one case1 and saves him from
 that shame1 that consciousness that his
 misery is felt by himself only1 which  
is of all sentiments the most           
unsupportable4 ,there is no sympathy in 
the other2 or1 if there is any1 it is   
not with his pain1 which is a trifle1   
but with his consciousness of the want  
of sympathy with which this pain is     
attended4 ,it is with his shame1 not    
with his sorrow4 ,those who pity him1   
blush and hang down their heads for him4
 ,he droops in the same manner1 and     
feels himself irrecoverably degraded by 
the punishment1 though not by the crime4
 ,the man1 on the contrary1 who dies    
with resolution1 as he is naturally     
regarded with the erect aspect of esteem
 and approbation1 so he wears himself   
the same undaunted countenance2 and1 if 
the crime does not deprive him of the   
respect of others1 the punishment never 
will4 ,he has no suspicion that his     
situation is the object of contempt or  

derision to any body1 and he can1 with  
propriety1 assume the air1 not only of  
perfect serenity1 but of triumph and    
exultation4  ',great dangers4' says the 
,cardinal de ,retz1 'have their charms1 
because there is some glory to be got1  
even when we miscarry4 ,but moderate    
dangers have nothing but what is        
horrible1 because the loss of reputation
 always attends the want of success4'   
,his maxim has the same foundation with 
what we have been just now observing    
with regard to punishments4  ,human     
virtue is superior to pain1 to poverty1 
to danger1 and to death2 nor does it    
even require its utmost efforts to      
despise them4 ,but to have its misery   
exposed to insult and derision1 to be   
led in triumph1 to be set up for the    
hand of scorn to point at1 is a         
situation in which its constancy is much
 more apt to fail4 ,compared with the   
contempt of mankind1 all other external 
evils are easily supported4  -----      
,,chap4 ,,iii4-- ,of the ,corruption of 

our ,moral ,sentiments1 which is        
occasioned by this ,disposition to      
admire the ,rich and the ,great1 and to 
despise or neglect ,persons of poor and 
mean ,condition4   ,,this disposition to
 admire1 and almost to worship1 the rich
 and the powerful1 and to despise or1 at
 least1 to neglect persons of poor and  
mean condition1 though necessary both to
 establish and to maintain the #eg      
distinction of ranks and the order of   
society1 is1 at the same time1 the great
 and most universal cause of the        
corruption of our moral sentiments4     
,that wealth and greatness are often    
regarded with the respect and admiration
 which are due only to wisdom and       
virtue2 and that the contempt1 of which 
vice and folly are the only proper      
objects1 is often most unjustly bestowed
 upon poverty and weakness1 has been the
 complaint of moralists in all ages4    
,we desire both to be respectable and to
 be respected4 ,we dread both to be     
contemptible and to be contemned4 ,but1 

upon coming into the world1 we soon find
 that wisdom and virtue are by no means 
the sole objects of respect2 nor vice   
and folly1 of contempt4 ,we frequently  
see the respectful attentions of the    
world more strongly directed towards the
 rich and the great1 than towards the   
wise and the virtuous4 ,we see          
frequently the vices and follies of the 
powerful much less despised than the    
poverty and weakness of the innocent4   
,to deserve1 to acquire1 and to enjoy   
the respect and admiration of mankind1  
are the great objects of ambition and   
emulation4 ,two different roads are     
presented to us1 equally leading to the 
attainment of this so much desired      
object2 the one1 by the study of wisdom 
and the practice of virtue2 the other1  
by the acquisition of wealth and        
greatness4 ,two different characters are
 presented to our emulation2 the one1 of
 proud ambition and ostentatious        
avidity2 the other1 of humble modesty   
and equitable justice4 ,two different   

models1 two different pictures1 are held
 out to us1 according to which we may   
fashion our own character and behaviour2
 the one more gaudy and glittering in   
its colouring2 the other more correct   
and more exquisitely beautiful in its   
outline3 the one forcing itself upon the
 notice of every wandering eye2 the     
other1 attracting the attention of      
scarce any body but the most studious   
and careful observer4 ,they are the wise
 and the virtuous chiefly1 a select1    
though1 ,i am afraid1 but a small party1
 who are the real and steady admirers of
 wisdom and virtue4 ,the great mob of   
mankind are the admirers and            
worshippers1 and1 what may seem more    
extraordinary1 most frequently the      
disinterested admirers and worshippers1 
of wealth and greatness4  ,the respect  
which we feel for wisdom and virtue is1 
no doubt1 different from that which we  
conceive for wealth and greatness2 and  
it requires no very nice discernment to 
distinguish the difference4 ,but1       

notwithstanding this difference1 those  
sentiments bear a very considerable     
resemblance to one another4 ,in some    
particular features they are1 no doubt1 
different1 but1 in the general air of   
the countenance1 they seem to be so very
 nearly the same1 that inattentive      
observers are very apt to mistake the   
one for the other4  ,in equal degrees of
 merit there is scarce any man who does 
not respect more the rich and the great1
 than the poor and the humble4 ,with    
most men the presumption and vanity of  
the former are much more admired1 than  
the real and solid merit of the latter4 
,it is scarce #eh agreeable to good     
morals1 or even to good language1       
perhaps1 to say1 that mere wealth and   
greatness1 abstracted from merit and    
virtue1 deserve our respect4 ,we must   
acknowledge1 however1 that they almost  
constantly obtain it2 and that they may1
 therefore1 be considered as1 in some   
respects1 the natural objects of it4    
,those exalted stations may1 no doubt1  

be completely degraded by vice and      
folly4 ,but1 the vice and folly must be 
very great1 before they can operate this
 complete degradation4 ,the profligacy  
of a man of fashion is looked upon with 
much less contempt and aversion1 than   
that of a man of meaner condition4 ,in  
the latter1 a single transgression of   
the rules of temperance and propriety1  
is commonly more resented1 than the     
constant and avowed contempt of them    
ever is in the former4  ,in the middling
 and inferior stations of life1 the road
 to virtue and that to fortune1 to such 
fortune1 at least1 as men in such       
stations can reasonably expect to       
acquire1 are1 happily1 in most cases1   
very nearly the same4 ,in all the       
middling and inferior professions1 real 
and solid professional abilities1 joined
 to prudent1 just1 firm1 and temperate  
conduct1 can very seldom fail of        
success4 ,abilities will even sometimes 
prevail where the conduct is by no means
 correct4 ,either habitual imprudence1  

however1 or injustice1 or weakness1 or  
profligacy1 will always cloud1 and      
sometimes depress altogether1 the most  
splendid professional abilities4 ,men in
 the inferior and middling stations of  
life1 besides1 can never be great enough
 to be above the law1 which must        
generally overawe them into some sort of
 respect for1 at least1 the more        
important rules of justice4 ,the success
 of such people1 too1 almost always     
depends upon the favour and good opinion
 of their neighbours and equals2 and    
without a tolerably regular conduct     
these can very seldom be obtained4 ,the 
good old proverb1 therefore1 that       
honesty is the best policy1 holds1 in   
such situations1 almost always perfectly
 true4 ,in such situations1 therefore1  
we may generally expect a considerable  
degree of virtue2 and1 fortunately for  
the good morals of society1 these are   
the situations of the greater part of   
mankind4  ,in the superior stations of  
life the case is unhappily not always   

the same4 ,in the courts of princes1 in 
the drawing-rooms of the great1 where   
success and preferment depend1 not upon 
the esteem of intelligent and           
well-informed equals1 but upon the      
fanciful and foolish favour of ignorant1
 presumptuous1 and proud superiors2     
flattery and falsehood too often prevail
 over merit and abilities4 ,in such     
societies the abilities to please1 are  
more regarded than the abilities to     
serve4 ,in quiet and peaceable times1   
when the storm is at a distance1 the    
prince1 or great man1 wishes only to be 
amused1 and is even apt to fancy that he
 has scarce any occasion for the service
 of any body1 or that those who amuse   
him are sufficiently able to serve him4 
,the external graces1 the frivolous     
accomplishments of that impertinent and 
foolish thing called a man of fashion1  
are commonly more admired than the solid
 and #ei masculine virtues of a warrior1
 a statesman1 a philosopher1 or a       
legislator4 ,all the great and awful    

virtues1 all the virtues which can fit1 
either for the council1 the senate1 or  
the field1 are1 by the insolent and     
insignificant flatterers1 who commonly  
figure the most in such corrupted       
societies1 held in the utmost contempt  
and derision4 ,when the ,duke of ,sully 
was called upon by ,louis the           
,thirteenth1 to give his advice in some 
great emergency1 he observed the        
favourites and courtiers whispering to  
one another1 and smiling at his         
unfashionable appearance4 ',whenever    
your ,majesty's father1' said the old   
warrior and statesman1 'did me the      
honour to consult me1 he ordered the    
buffoons of the court to retire into the
 antechamber4'  ,it is from our         
disposition to admire1 and consequently 
to imitate1 the rich and the great1 that
 they are enabled to set1 or to lead1   
what is called the fashion4 ,their dress
 is the fashionable dress2 the language 
of their conversation1 the fashionable  
style2 their air and deportment1 the    

fashionable behaviour4 ,even their vices
 and follies are fashionable2 and the   
greater part of men are proud to imitate
 and resemble them in the very qualities
 which dishonour and degrade them4 ,vain
 men often give themselves airs of a    
fashionable profligacy1 which1 in their 
hearts1 they do not approve of1 and of  
which1 perhaps1 they are really not     
guilty4 ,they desire to be praised for  
what they themselves do not think       
praiseworthy1 and are ashamed of        
unfashionable virtues which they        
sometimes practise in secret1 and for   
which they have secretly some degree of 
real veneration4 ,there are hypocrites  
of wealth and greatness1 as well as of  
religion and virtue2 and a vain man is  
as apt to pretend to be what he is not1 
in the one way1 as a cunning man is in  
the other4 ,he assumes the equipage and 
splendid way of living of his superiors1
 without considering that whatever may  
be praiseworthy in any of these1 derives
 its whole merit and propriety from its 

suitableness to that situation and      
fortune which both require and can      
easily support the expense4 ,many a poor
 man places his glory in being thought  
rich1 without considering that the      
duties 7if one may call such follies by 
so venerable a name7 which that         
reputation imposes upon him1 must soon  
reduce him to beggary1 and render his   
situation still more unlike that of     
those whom he admires and imitates1 than
 it had been originally4  ,to attain to 
this envied situation1 the candidates   
for fortune too frequently abandon the  
paths of virtue2 for unhappily1 the road
 which leads to the one1 and that which 
leads to the other1 lie sometimes in    
very opposite directions4 ,but the      
ambitious man flatters himself that1 in 
the splendid situation to which he      
advances1 he will have so many means of 
commanding the respect and admiration of
 mankind1 and will be enabled to act    
with such superior propriety and grace1 
that the lustre of his future conduct   

will entirely cover1 or efface1 the     
foulness of the steps by which he       
arrived at that elevation4 ,in many     
governments the candidates for the      
highest stations are above the law2 and1
 if they #fj can attain the object of   
their ambition1 they have no fear of    
being called to account for the means by
 which they acquired it4 ,they often    
endeavour1 therefore1 not only by fraud 
and falsehood1 the ordinary and vulgar  
arts of intrigue and cabal2 but         
sometimes by the perpetration of the    
most enormous crimes1 by murder and     
assassination1 by rebellion and civil   
war1 to supplant and destroy those who  
oppose or stand in the way of their     
greatness4 ,they more frequently        
miscarry than succeed2 and commonly gain
 nothing but the disgraceful punishment 
which is due to their crimes4 ,but1     
though they should be so lucky as to    
attain that wished-for greatness1 they  
are always most miserably disappointed  
in the happiness which they expect to   

enjoy in it4 ,it is not ease or         
pleasure1 but always honour1 of one kind
 or another1 though frequently an honour
 very ill understood1 that the ambitious
 man really pursues4 ,but the honour of 
his exalted station appears1 both in his
 own eyes and in those of other people1 
polluted and denied by the baseness of  
the means through which he rose to it4  
,though by the profusion of every       
liberal expense2 though by excessive    
indulgence in every profligate pleasure1
 the wretched1 but usual1 resource of   
ruined characters2 though by the hurry  
of public business1 or by the prouder   
and more dazzling tumult of war1 he may 
endeavour to efface1 both from his own  
memory and from that of other people1   
the remembrance of what he has done2    
that remembrance never fails to pursue  
him4 ,he invokes in vain the dark and   
dismal powers of forgetfulness and      
oblivion4 ,he remembers himself what he 
has done1 and that remembrance tells him
 that other people must likewise        

remember it4 ,amidst all the gaudy pomp 
of the most ostentatious greatness2     
amidst the venal and vile adulation of  
the great and of the learned2 amidst the
 more innocent1 though more foolish1    
acclamations of the common people2      
amidst all the pride of conquest and the
 triumph of successful war1 he is still 
secretly pursued by the avenging furies 
of shame and remorse2 and1 while glory  
seems to surround him on all sides1 he  
himself1 in his own imagination1 sees   
black and foul infamy fast pursuing him1
 and every moment ready to overtake him 
from behind4 ,even the great ,csar1     
though he had the magnanimity to dismiss
 his guards1 could not dismiss his      
suspicions4 ,the remembrance of         
,pharsalia still haunted and pursued    
him4 ,when1 at the request of the       
senate1 he had the generosity to pardon 
,marcellus1 he told that assembly1 that 
he was not unaware of the designs which 
were carrying on against his life2 but  
that1 as he had lived long enough both  

for nature and for glory1 he was        
contented to die1 and therefore despised
 all conspiracies4 ,he had1 perhaps1    
lived long enough for nature4 ,but the  
man who felt himself the object of such 
deadly resentment from those whose      
favour he wished to gain1 and whom he   
still wished to consider as his friends1
 had certainly lived too long for real  
glory2 or for all the happiness which he
 could ever hope to enjoy in the love   
and esteem of his equals4 #fa   ,part   
,,ii4--,of ,merit and ,demerit2 or1 of  
the ,objects of ,reward and ,punishment4
  ,,sec4 ,i4--,,of ,,the ,,sense ,,of   
,,merit ,,and ,,demerit4                
,,introduction4--,there is another set  
of qualities ascribed to the actions and
 conduct of mankind1 distinct from their
 propriety or impropriety1 their decency
 or ungracefulness1 and which are the   
objects of a distinct species of        
approbation and disapprobation4 ,these  
are ,merit and ,demerit1 the qualities  
of deserving reward and of deserving    

punishment4  ,it has already been       
observed1 that the sentiment or         
affection of the heart1 from which any  
action proceeds1 and upon which its     
whole virtue or vice depends1 may be    
considered under two different aspects1 
or in two different relations3 first1 in
 relation to the cause or object which  
excites it2 and1 secondly1 in relation  
to the end which it proposes1 or to the 
effect which it tends to produce3 that  
upon the suitableness or unsuitableness1
 upon the proportion or disproportion1  
which the affection seems to bear to the
 cause or object which excites it1      
depends the propriety or impropriety1   
the decency or ungracefulness of the    
consequent action2 and that upon the    
beneficial or hurtful effects which the 
affection proposes or tends to produce1 
depends the merit or demerit1 the good  
or ill desert of the action to which it 
gives occasion4 ,wherein consists our   
sense of the propriety or impropriety of
 actions1 has been explained in the     

former part of this discourse4 ,we come 
now to consider1 wherein consists that  
of their good or ill desert4  -----     
,,chap4 ,i4--,that whatever appears to  
be the proper ,object of ,gratitude1    
appears to deserve ,reward2 and that1 in
 the same ,manner1 whatever appears to  
be the proper ,object of ,resentment1   
appears to deserve ,punishment4   ,,to  
us1 therefore1 that action must appear  
to deserve reward1 which appears to be  
the proper and approved object of that  
sentiment1 which most immediately and   
directly prompts us to reward1 or to do 
good to another4 ,and in the same       
manner1 that action must appear to      
deserve punishment1 which appears to be 
the proper and approved object of that  
sentiment which most immediately and    
directly prompts us to punish1 or to    
inflict evil upon another4  ,the        
sentiment which most immediately and    
directly prompts us to reward1 is       
gratitude2 that which most immediately  
and directly prompts us to punish1 is   

resentment4  #fb ,to us1 therefore1 that
 action must appear to deserve reward1  
which appears to be the proper and      
approved object of gratitude2 as1 on the
 other hand1 that action must appear to 
deserve punishment1 which appears to be 
the proper and approved object of       
resentment4  ,to reward1 is to          
recompense1 to remunerate1 to return    
good for good received4 ,to punish1 too1
 is to recompense1 to remunerate1 though
 in a different manner2 it is to return 
evil for evil that has been done4       
,there are some other passions1 besides 
gratitude and resentment1 which interest
 us in the happiness or misery of       
others2 but there are none which so     
directly excite us as to be instruments 
of either4 ,the love and esteem which   
grow upon acquaintance and habitual     
approbation1 necessarily lead us to be  
pleased with the good fortune of the man
 who is the object of such agreeable    
emotions1 and consequently to be willing
 to lend a hand to promote it4 ,our     

love1 however1 is fully satisfied1      
though his good fortune should be       
brought about without our assistance4   
,all that this passion desires is to see
 him happy1 without regarding who was   
the author of his prosperity4 ,but      
gratitude is not to be satisfied in this
 manner4 ,if the person to whom we owe  
many obligations1 is made happy without 
our assistance1 though it pleases our   
love1 it does not content our gratitude4
 ,till we have recompensed him1 till we 
ourselves have been instrumental in     
promoting his happiness1 we feel        
ourselves still loaded with that debt   
which his past services have laid upon  
us4  ,the hatred and dislike1 in the    
same manner1 which grow upon the        
habitual disapprobation1 would often    
lead us to take a malicious pleasure in 
the misfortune of the man whose conduct 
and character excite so painful a       
passion4 ,but though dislike and hatred 
harden us against all sympathy1 and     
sometimes dispose us even to rejoice at 

the distress of another1 yet1 if there  
is no resentment in the case1 if neither
 we nor our friends have received any   
great personal provocation1 these       
passions would not naturally lead us to 
wish to be instrumental in bringing it  
about4 ,though we could fear no         
punishment in consequence of our having 
had some hand in it1 we would rather    
that it should happen by other means4   
,to one under the dominion of violent   
hatred it would be agreeable1 perhaps1  
to hear1 that the person whom he        
abhorred and detested was killed by some
 accident4 ,but if he had the least     
spark of justice1 which1 though this    
passion is not very favourable to       
virtue1 he might still have1 it would   
hurt him excessively to have been       
himself1 even without design1 the       
occasion of this misfortune4 ,much more 
would the very thought of voluntarily   
contributing to it shock him beyond all 
measure4 ,he would reject with horror   
even the imagination of so execrable a  

design2 and if he could imagine himself 
capable of such an enormity1 he would   
begin to regard to himself in the same  
odious light in which he had considered 
the person who was the object of his    
dislike4 ,but it is quite otherwise with
 resentment3 if the person #fc who had  
done us some great injury1 who had      
murdered our father or our brother1 for 
example1 should soon afterwards die of a
 fever1 or even be brought to the       
scaffold upon account of some other     
crime1 though it might soothe our       
hatred1 it would not fully gratify our  
resentment4 ,resentment would prompt us 
to desire1 not only that he should be   
punished1 but that he should be punished
 by our means1 and upon account of that 
particular injury which he had done to  
us4 ,resentment cannot be fully         
gratified1 unless the offender is not   
only made to grieve in his turn1 but to 
grieve for that particular wrong which  
we have suffered from him4 ,he must be  
made to repent and be sorry for this    

very action1 that others1 through fear  
of the like punishment1 may be terrified
 from being guilty of the like offence4 
,the natural gratification of this      
passion tends1 of its own accord1 to    
produce all the political ends of       
punishment2 the correction of the       
criminal1 and example to the public4    
,gratitude and resentment1 therefore1   
are the sentiments which most           
immediately and directly prompt to      
reward and to punish4 ,to us1 therefore1
 he must appear to deserve reward1 who  
appears to be the proper and approved   
object of gratitude2 and he to deserve  
punishment1 who appears to be that of   
resentment4  -----  ,,chap4 ,,ii4--,of  
the proper ,objects of ,gratitude and   
,resentment4   ,to be the proper and    
approved object either of gratitude or  
resentment1 can mean nothing but to be  
the object of that gratitude and of that
 resentment which naturally seems       
proper1 and is approved of4  ,but these1
 as well as all the other passions of   

human nature1 seem proper and are       
approved of1 when the heart of every    
impartial spectator entirely sympathizes
 with them1 when every indifferent      
by-stander entirely enters into and goes
 along with them4  ,he1 therefore1      
appears to deserve reward1 who1 to some 
person or persons1 is the natural object
 of a gratitude which every human heart 
is disposed to beat time to1 and thereby
 applaud3 and he1 on the other hand1    
appears to deserve punishment1 who in   
the same manner is to some person or    
persons the natural object of a         
resentment which the breast of every    
reasonable man is ready to adopt and    
sympathize with4 ,to us1 surely1 that   
action must appear to deserve reward1   
which every body who knows of it would  
wish to reward1 and therefore delights  
to see rewarded3 and that action must as
 surely appear to deserve punishment1   
which every body who hears of it is     
angry with1 and upon that account       
rejoices to see punished4  #a4 ,as we   

sympathize with the joy of our          
companions1 when in prosperity1 so we   
join with them in the complacency and   
satisfaction with which they naturally  
regard whatever is the cause of their   
good fortune4 #fd ,we enter into the    
love and affection which they conceive  
for it1 and begin to love it too4 ,we   
should be sorry for their sakes if it   
was destroyed1 or even if it was placed 
at too great a distance from them1 and  
out of the reach of their care and      
protection1 though they should lose     
nothing by its absence except the       
pleasure of seeing it4 ,if it is man who
 has thus been the fortunate instrument 
of the happiness of his brethren1 this  
is still more peculiarly the case4 ,when
 we see one man assisted1 protected1    
relieved by another1 our sympathy with  
the joy of the person who receives the  
benefit serves only to animate our      
fellow-feeling with his gratitude       
towards him who bestows it4 ,when we    
look upon the person who is the cause of

 his pleasure with the eyes with which  
we imagine he must look upon him1 his   
benefactor seems to stand before us in  
the most engaging and amiable light4 ,we
 readily therefore sympathize with the  
grateful affection which he conceives   
for a person to whom he has been so much
 obliged2 and consequently applaud the  
returns which he is disposed to make for
 the good offices conferred upon him4   
,as we entirely enter into the affection
 from which these returns proceed1 they 
necessarily seem every way proper and   
suitable to their object4  #b4 ,in the  
same manner1 as we sympathize with the  
sorrow of our fellow-creature whenever  
we see his distress1 so we likewise     
enter into his abhorrence and aversion  
for whatever has given occasion to it4  
,our heart1 as it adopts and beats time 
to his grief1 so is it likewise animated
 with that spirit by which he endeavours
 to drive away or destroy the cause of  
it4 ,the indolent and passive           
fellow-feeling1 by which we accompany   

him in his sufferings1 readily gives way
 to that more vigorous and active       
sentiment by which we go along with him 
in the effort he makes1 either to repeal
 them1 or to gratify his aversion to    
what has given occasion to them4 ,this  
is still more peculiarly the case1 when 
it is man who has caused them4 ,when we 
see one man oppressed or injured by     
another1 the sympathy which we feel with
 the distress of the sufferer seems to  
serve only to animate our fellow-feeling
 with his resentment against the        
offender4 ,we are rejoiced to see him   
attack his adversary in his turn1 and   
are eager and ready to assist him       
whenever he exerts himself for defence1 
or even for vengeance within a certain  
degree4 ,if the injured should perish in
 the quarrel1 we not only sympathize    
with the real resentment of his friends 
and relations1 but with the imaginary   
resentment which in fancy we lend to the
 dead1 who is no longer capable of      
feeling that or any other human         

sentiment4 ,but as we put ourselves in  
his situation1 as we enter1 as it were1 
into his body1 and in our imaginations1 
in some measure1 animate anew the       
deformed and mangled carcass of the     
slain1 when we bring home in this manner
 his case to our own bosoms1 we feel    
upon this1 as upon many other occasions1
 an emotion which the person principally
 concerned is incapable of feeling1 and 
which yet we feel by an illusive #fe    
sympathy with him4 ,the sympathetic     
tears which we shed for that immense and
 irretrievable loss1 which in our fancy 
he appears to have sustained1 seem to be
 but a small part of the duty which we  
owe him4 ,the injury which he has       
suffered demands1 we think1 a principal 
part of our attention4 ,we feel that    
resentment which we imagine he ought to 
feel1 and which he would feel1 if in his
 cold and lifeless body there remained  
any consciousness of what passes upon   
earth4 ,his blood1 we think1 calls aloud
 for vengeance4 ,the very ashes of the  

dead seem to be disturbed at the thought
 that his injuries are to pass          
unrevenged4 ,the horrors which are      
supposed to haunt the bed of the        
murderer1 the ghosts which superstition 
imagines rise from their graves to      
demand vengeance upon those who brought 
them to an untimely end1 all take their 
origin from this natural sympathy with  
the imaginary resentment of the slain4  
,and with regard1 at least1 to this most
 dreadful of all crimes1 ,nature1       
antecedent to all reflection upon the   
utility of punishment1 has in this      
manner stamped upon the human heart1 in 
the strongest and most indelible        
characters1 an immediate and instinctive
 approbation of the sacred and necessary
 law of retaliation4  -----  ,,chap4    
,,iii4--,that where there is no         
,approbation of the ,conduct of the     
,person who confers the ,benefit1 there 
is little ,sympathy with the ,gratitude 
of him who receives it3 and that1 on the
 ,contrary1 where there is no           

,disapprobation of the ,motives of the  
,person who does the ,mischief1 there is
 no ,sort of ,sympathy with the         
,resentment of him who suffers it4      
,,it is to be observed1 however1 that1  
how beneficial soever on the one hand1  
or hurtful soever on the other1 the     
actions or intentions of the person who 
acts may have been to the person who is1
 if ,i may say so1 acted upon1 yet if in
 the one case there appears to have been
 no propriety in the motives of the     
agent1 if we cannot enter into the      
affections which influenced his conduct1
 we have little sympathy with the       
gratitude of the person who receives the
 benefit3 or if1 in the other case1     
there appears to have been no           
impropriety in the motives of the agent1
 if1 on the contrary1 the affections    
which influenced his conduct are such as
 we must necessarily enter into1 we can 
have no sort of sympathy with the       
resentment of the person who suffers4   
,little gratitude seems due in the one  

case1 and all sort of resentment seems  
unjust in the other4 ,the one action    
seems to merit little reward1 the other 
to deserve no punishment4  #a4 ,first1  
,i say1 that wherever we cannot         
sympathize with the affections of the   
agent1 wherever there seems to be no    
propriety in the motives which          
influenced his conduct1 we are less     
disposed to enter into the #ff gratitude
 of the person who received the benefit 
of his actions4 ,a very small return    
seems due to that foolish and profuse   
generosity which confers the greatest   
benefits from the most trivial motives1 
and gives an estate to a man merely     
because his name and surname happen to  
be the same with those of the giver4    
,such services do not seem to demand any
 proportionable recompense4 ,our        
contempt for the folly of the agent     
hinders us from thoroughly entering into
 the gratitude of the person to whom the
 good office has been done4 ,his        
benefactor seems unworthy of it4 ,as    

when we place ourselves in the situation
 of the person obliged1 we feel that we 
could conceive no great reverence for   
such a benefactor1 we easily absolve him
 from a great deal of that submissive   
veneration and esteem which we should   
think due to a more respectable         
character2 and provided he always treats
 his weak friend with kindness and      
humanity1 we are willing to excuse him  
from many attentions and regards which  
we should demand to a worthier patron4  
,those princes who have heaped1 with the
 greatest profusion1 wealth1 power and  
honours1 upon their favourites1 have    
seldom excited that degree of attachment
 to their persons which has often been  
experienced by those who were more      
frugal of their favours4 ,the           
well-natured1 but injudicious           
prodigality of ,james the ,first of     
,great ,britain seems to have attached  
nobody to his person2 and that prince1  
notwithstanding his social and harmless 
disposition1 appears to have lived and  

died without a friend4 ,the whole gentry
 and nobility of ,england exposed their 
lives and fortunes in the cause of      
,charles ,i41 his more frugal and       
distinguishing son1 notwithstanding the 
coldness and distant severity of his    
ordinary deportment4  #b4 ,secondly1 ,i 
say1 ,that wherever the conduct of the  
agent appears to have been entirely     
directed by motives and affections which
 we thoroughly enter into and approve   
of1 we can have no sort of sympathy with
 the resentment of the sufferer1 how    
great soever the mischief which may have
 been done to him4 ,when two people     
quarrel1 if we take part with1 and      
entirely adopt the resentment of one of 
them1 it is impossible that we should   
enter into that of the other4 ,our      
sympathy with the person whose motives  
we go along with1 and whom therefore we 
look upon as in the right1 cannot but   
harden us against all fellow-feeling    
with the other1 whom we necessarily     
regard as in the wrong4 ,whatever this  

last1 therefore1 may have suffered1     
while it is no more than what we        
ourselves should have wished him to     
suffer1 while it is no more than what   
our own sympathetic indignation would   
have prompted us to inflict upon him1 it
 cannot either displease or provoke us4 
,when an inhuman murderer is brought to 
the scaffold1 though we have some       
compassion for his misery1 we can have  
no sort of fellow-feeling with his      
resentment1 if he should be so absurd as
 to express any against either his      
prosecutor or his judge4 ,the natural   
tendency of their just indignation      
against so vile a criminal is indeed the
 most fatal and #fg ruinous to him4 ,but
 it is impossible that we should be     
displeased with the tendency of a       
sentiment1 which1 when we bring the case
 home to ourselves1 we feel that we     
cannot avoid adopting4  -----  ,,chap4  
,,iv4--,recapitulation of the foregoing 
,chapters4   #a4 ,,we do not therefore  
thoroughly and heartily sympathize with 

the gratitude of one man towards        
another1 merely because this other has  
been the cause of his good fortune1     
unless he has been the cause of it from 
motives which we entirely go along with4
 ,our heart must adopt the principles of
 the agent1 and go along with all the   
affections which influenced his conduct1
 before it can entirely sympathize with 
and beat time to1 the gratitude of the  
person who has been benefited by his    
actions4 ,if in the conduct of the      
benefactor there appears to have been no
 propriety1 how beneficial soever its   
effects1 it does not seem to demand1 or 
necessarily to require1 any             
proportionable recompense4  ,but when to
 the beneficent tendency of the action  
is joined the propriety of the affection
 from which it proceeds1 when we        
entirely sympathize and go along with   
the motives of the agent1 the love which
 we conceive for him upon his own       
account enhances and enlivens our       
fellow-feeling with the gratitude of    

those who owe their prosperity to his   
good conduct4 ,his actions seem then to 
demand1 and1 if ,i may say so1 to call  
aloud for a proportionable recompense4  
,we then entirely enter into that       
gratitude which prompts to bestow it4   
,the benefactor seems then to be the    
proper object of reward1 when we thus   
entirely sympathize with1 and approve   
of1 that sentiment which prompts to     
reward him4 ,when we approve of1 and go 
along with1 the affection from which the
 action proceeds1 we must necessarily   
approve of the action1 and regard the   
person towards whom it is directed1 as  
its proper and suitable object4  #b4 ,in
 the same manner1 we cannot at all      
sympathize with the resentment of one   
man against another1 merely because this
 other has been the cause of his        
misfortune1 unless he has been the cause
 of it from motives which we cannot     
enter into4 ,before we can adopt the    
resentment of the sufferer1 we must     
disapprove of the motives of the agent1 

and feel that our heart renounces all   
sympathy with the affections which      
influenced his conduct4 ,if there       
appears to have been no impropriety in  
these1 how fatal soever the tendency of 
the action which proceeds from them to  
those against whom it is directed1 it   
does not seem to deserve any punishment1
 or to be the proper object of any      
resentment4  ,but when to the           
hurtfulness of the action is joined the 
impropriety of the affection from whence
 it proceeds1 when our heart rejects    
with #fh abhorrence all fellow-feeling  
with the motives of the agent1 we then  
heartily and entirely sympathize with   
the resentment of the sufferer4 ,such   
actions seem then to deserve1 and1 if ,i
 may say so1 to call aloud for1 a       
proportionable punishment2 and we       
entirely enter into1 and thereby approve
 of1 that resentment which prompts to   
inflict it4 ,the offender necessarily   
seems then to be the proper object of   
punishment1 when we thus entirely       

sympathize with1 and thereby approve of1
 that sentiment which prompts to punish4
 ,in this case too1 when we approve1 and
 go along with1 the affection from which
 the action proceeds1 we must           
necessarily approve the action1 and     
regard the person against whom it is    
directed1 as its proper and suitable    
object4  -----  ,,chap4 ,v4--,the       
,analysis of the ,sense of ,merit and   
,demerit4   #a4 ,as our sense1          
therefore1 of the propriety of conduct  
arises from what ,i shall call a direct 
sympathy with the affections and motives
 of the person who acts1 so our sense of
 its merit arises from what ,i shall    
call an indirect sympathy with the      
gratitude of the person who is1 if ,i   
may say so1 acted upon4  ,as we cannot  
indeed enter thoroughly into the        
gratitude of the person who receives the
 benefit1 unless we beforehand approve  
of the motives of the benefactor1 so1   
upon this account1 the sense of merit   
seems to be a compounded sentiment1 and 

to be made up of two distinct emotions2 
a direct sympathy with the sentiments of
 the agents1 and an indirect sympathy   
with the gratitude of those who receive 
the benefit of his actions4  ,we may1   
upon many different occasions1 plainly  
distinguish those two different emotions
 combining and uniting together in our  
sense of the good desert of a particular
 character or action4 ,when we read in  
history concerning actions of proper and
 beneficent greatness of mind1 how      
eagerly do we enter into such designs8  
,how much are we animated by that       
high-spirited generosity which directs  
them8 ,how keen are we for their        
success8 ,how grieved at their          
disappointment8 ,in imagination we      
become the very person whose actions are
 represented to us3 we transport        
ourselves in fancy to the scenes of     
those distant and forgotten adventures1 
and imagine ourselves acting the part of
 a ,scipio or a ,camillus1 a ,timoleon  
or an ,aristides4 ,so far our sentiments

 are founded upon the direct sympathy   
with the person who acts4 ,nor is the   
indirect sympathy with those who receive
 the benefit of such actions less       
sensibly felt4 ,whenever we place       
ourselves in the situation of these     
last1 with what warm and affectionate   
fellow-feeling do we enter into their   
gratitude towards those who served them 
so essentially8 ,we embrace1 as it were1
 their benefactor along with them4 ,our 
heart #fi readily sympathizes with the  
highest transports of their grateful    
affection4 ,no honours1 no rewards1 we  
think1 can be too great for them to     
bestow upon him4 ,when they make this   
proper return for his services1 we      
heartily applaud and go along with them2
 but are shocked beyond1 all measure1 if
 by their conduct they appear to have   
little sense of the obligations         
conferred upon them4 ,our whole sense1  
in short1 of the merit and good desert  
of such actions1 of the propriety and   
fitness of recompensing them1 and making

 the person who performed them rejoice  
in his turn1 arises from the sympathetic
 emotions of gratitude and love1 with   
which1 when we bring home to our own    
breast the situation of those           
principally concerned1 we feel ourselves
 naturally transported towards the man  
who could act with such proper and noble
 beneficence4  #b4 ,in the same manner  
as our sense of the impropriety of      
conduct arises from a want of sympathy1 
or from a direct antipathy to the       
affections and motives of the agent1 so 
our sense of its demerit arises from    
what ,i shall here too call an indirect 
sympathy with the resentment of the     
sufferer4  ,as we cannot indeed enter   
into the resentment of the sufferer1    
unless our heart beforehand disapproves 
the motives of the agent1 and renounces 
all fellow-feeling with them2 so upon   
this account the sense of demerit1 as   
well as that of merit1 seems to be a    
compounded sentiment1 and to be made up 
of two distinct emotions2 a direct      

antipathy to the sentiments of the      
agent1 and an indirect sympathy with the
 resentment of the sufferer4  ,we may   
here too1 upon many different occasions1
 plainly distinguish those two different
 emotions combining and uniting together
 in our sense of the ill desert of a    
particular character or action4 ,when we
 read in history concerning the perfidy 
and cruelty of a ,borgia or a ,nero1 our
 heart rises up against the detestable  
sentiments which influenced their       
conduct1 and renounces with horror and  
abomination all fellow-feeling with such
 execrable motives4 ,so far our         
sentiments are founded upon the direct  
antipathy to the affections of the      
agent3 and the indirect sympathy with   
the resentment of the sufferers is still
 more sensibly felt4 ,when we bring home
 to ourselves the situation of the      
persons whom those scourges of mankind  
insulted1 murdered1 or betrayed1 what   
indignation do we not feel against such 
insolent and inhuman oppressors of the  

earth8 ,our sympathy with the           
unavoidable distress of the innocent    
sufferers is not more real nor more     
lively1 than our fellow-feeling with    
their just and natural resentment4 ,the 
former sentiment only heightens the     
latter1 and the idea of their distress  
serves only to inflame and blow up our  
animosity against those who occasioned  
it4 ,when we think of the anguish of the
 sufferers1 we take part with them more 
earnestly against their oppressors2 we  
enter with more eagerness into all their
 schemes of vengeance1 and feel         
ourselves every #gj moment wreaking1 in 
imagination1 upon such violators of the 
laws of society1 that punishment which  
our sympathetic indignation tells us is 
due to their crimes4 ,our sense of the  
horror and dreadful atrocity of such    
conduct1 the delight which we take in   
hearing that it was properly punished1  
the indignation which we feel when it   
escapes this due retaliation1 our whole 
sense and feeling1 in short1 of its ill 

desert1 of the propriety and fitness of 
inflicting evil upon the person who is  
guilty of it1 and of making him grieve  
in his turn1 arises from the sympathetic
 indignation which naturally boils up in
 the breast of the spectator1 whenever  
he thoroughly brings home to himself the
 case of the sufferer4#b  ,footnote #b3 
,to ascribe in this manner our natural  
sense of the ill desert of human actions
 to a sympathy with the resentment of   
the sufferer1 may seem1 to the greater  
part of the people1 to be a degradation 
of that sentiment4 ,resentment is       
commonly regarded as so odious a        
passion1 that they will be apt to think 
it impossible that so laudable a        
principle1 as the sense of the ill      
desert of vice1 should in any respect be
 founded upon it4 ,they will be more    
willing1 perhaps1 to admit that our     
sense of the merit of good actions is   
founded upon a sympathy with the        
gratitude of the persons who receive the
 benefit of them2 because gratitude1 as 

well as all the other benevolent        
passions1 is regarded as an amiable     
principle1 which can take nothing from  
the worth of whatever is founded upon   
it4 ,gratitude and resentment1 however1 
are in every respect1 it is evident1    
counterparts to one another2 and if our 
sense of merit arises from a sympathy   
with the one1 our sense of demerit can  
scarce miss to proceed from a           
fellow-feeling with the other4  ,let it 
be considered1 too1 that resentment1    
though in the degree in which we too    
often see it1 the most odious1 perhaps1 
of all the passions1 is not disapproved 
of when properly humbled and entirely   
brought down to the level of the        
sympathetic indignation of the          
spectator4 ,when we who are the         
bystanders1 feel that our own animosity 
entirely corresponds with that of the   
sufferer1 when the resentment of this   
last does not in any respect go beyond  
our own1 when no word1 no gesture1      
escapes him that denotes an emotion more

 violent than what we can keep time to1 
and when he never aims at inflicting any
 punishment beyond what we should       
rejoice to see inflicted1 or what we    
ourselves would upon this account even  
desire to be the instruments of         
inflicting1 it is impossible that we    
should not entirely approve of his      
sentiment4 ,our own emotion in this case
 must1 in our eyes1 undoubtedly justify 
his4 ,and as experience teaches us how  
much the greater part of mankind are    
incapable of this moderation1 and how   
great an effort must be made in order to
 bring down the rude and undisciplined  
impulse of resentment to this suitable  
temper1 we cannot avoid conceiving a    
considerable degree of esteem and       
admiration for one who appears capable  
of exerting so much self-command over   
one of the most ungovernable passions of
 his nature4 ,when indeed the animosity 
of the sufferer exceeds1 as it almost   
always does1 that we can go along with1 
as we cannot enter into it1 we          

necessarily disapprove of it4 ,we even  
disapprove of it more than we should of 
an equal excess of almost any other     
passion derived from the imagination4   
,and this too violent resentment1       
instead of carrying us along with it    
becomes itself the object of our        
resentment and indignation4 ,we enter   
into the opposite resentment of the     
person who is the object of this unjust 
emotion1 and who is in danger of        
suffering from it4 ,revenge1 therefore1 
the excess of resentment1 appears to be 
the most detestable of all the passions1
 and is the object of the horror and    
indignation of every body4 ,and as in   
the way in which this passion commonly  
discovers itself among mankind1 it is   
excessive a hundred times for once that 
it is immoderate1 we are very apt to    
consider it as altogether odious and    
detestable1 because in its most ordinary
 appearances it is so4 ,nature1 however1
 even in the present depraved state of  
mankind1 does not seem to have dealt so 

unkindly with us1 as to have endowed us 
with any principle which is wholly and  
in every respect evil1 or which1 in no  
degree and in no direction1 can be the  
proper object of praise and approbation4
 ,upon some occasions we are sensible   
that this passion1 which is generally   
too strong1 may likewise be too weak4   
,we sometimes complain that a particular
 person shows too little spirit1 and has
 too little sense of the injuries that  
have been done to him2 and we are as    
ready to despise him for the defect1 as 
to hate him for the excess of this      
passion4  ,the inspired writers would   
not surely have talked so frequently or 
so strongly of the wrath and anger of   
,god1 if they had regarded every degree 
of those passions as vicious and evil1  
even in so weak and imperfect a creature
 as man4  ,let it be considered too1    
that the present inquiry is not         
concerning a matter of right1 if ,i may 
say so1 but concerning a matter of fact4
 ,we are not at present examining upon  

what principles a perfect being would   
approve of the punishment of bad        
actions2 but upon what principles so    
weak and imperfect a creature as man    
actually and in fact approves of it4    
,the principles which ,i have just now  
mentioned1 it is evident1 have a very   
great effect upon his sentiments2 and it
 seems wisely ordered that it should be 
so4 ,the very existence of society      
requires that unmerited and unprovoked  
malice should be restrained by proper   
punishments2 and consequently1 that to  
inflict those punishments should be     
regarded as a proper and laudable       
action4 ,though man1 therefore1 be      
naturally endowed with a desire of the  
welfare and preservation of society1 yet
 the ,author of nature has not entrusted
 it to his reason to find out that a    
certain application of punishments is   
the proper means of attaining this end2 
but has endowed him with an immediate   
and instinctive approbation of that very
 application which is most proper to    

attain it4 ,the oeconomy of nature is in
 this respect exactly of a piece with   
what it is upon many other occasions4   
,with regard to all those ends which1   
upon account of their peculiar          
importance1 may be regarded1 if such an 
expression is allowable1 as the         
favourite ends of nature1 she has       
constantly in this manner not only      
endowed mankind with an appetite for the
 end which she proposes1 but likewise   
with an appetite for the means by which 
alone this end can be brought about1 for
 their own sakes1 and independent of    
their tendency to produce it4 ,thus     
self-preservation1 and the propagation  
of the species1 are the great ends which
 ,nature seems to have proposed in the  
formation of all animals4 ,mankind are  
endowed with a desire of those ends1 and
 an aversion to the contrary2 with a    
love of life1 and a dread of            
dissolution2 with a desire of the       
continuance and perpetuity of the       
species1 and with an aversion to the    

thoughts of its entire extinction4 ,but 
though we are in this manner endowed    
with a very strong desire of those ends1
 it has not been intrusted to the slow  
and uncertain determinations of our     
reason to find out the proper means of  
bringing them about4 ,nature has        
directed us to the greater part of these
 by original and immediate instincts4   
,hunger1 thirst1 the passion which      
unites the two sexes1 the love of       
pleasure1 and the dread of pain1 prompt 
us to apply those means for their own   
sakes1 and without any consideration of 
their tendency to those beneficent ends 
which the great ,director of nature     
intended to produce by them4  ,before ,i
 conclude this note1 ,i must take notice
 of a difference between the approbation
 of propriety and that of merit or      
beneficence4 ,before we approve of the  
sentiments of any person as proper and  
suitable to their objects1 we must not  
only be affected in the same manner as  
he is1 but we must perceive this harmony

 and correspondence of sentiments       
between him and ourselves4 ,thus1 though
 upon hearing of a misfortune that had  
befallen my friend1 ,i should conceive  
precisely that degree of concern which  
he gives way to2 yet till ,i am informed
 of the manner in which he behaves1 till
 ,i perceive the harmony between his    
emotions and mine1 ,i cannot be said to 
approve of the sentiments which         
influence his behaviour4 ,the           
approbation of propriety therefore      
requires1 not only that we should       
entirely sympathize with the person who 
acts1 but that we should perceive this  
perfect concord between his sentiments  
and our own4 ,on the contrary1 when ,i  
hear of a benefit that has been bestowed
 upon another person1 let him who has   
received it be affected in what manner  
he pleases1 if1 by bringing his case    
home to myself1 ,i feel gratitude arise 
in my own breast1 ,i necessarily approve
 of the conduct of his benefactor1 and  
regard it as meritorious1 and the proper

 object of reward4 ,whether the person  
who has received the benefit conceives  
gratitude or not1 cannot1 it is evident1
 in any degree alter our sentiments with
 regard to the merit of him who has     
bestowed it4 ,no actual correspondence  
of sentiments1 therefore1 is here       
required4 ,it is sufficient that if he  
was grateful1 they would correspond2 and
 our sense of merit is often founded    
upon one of those illusive sympathies1  
by which1 when we bring home to         
ourselves the case of another1 we are   
often affected in a manner in which the 
person principally concerned is         
incapable of being affected4 ,there is a
 similar difference between our         
disapprobation of demerit1 and that of  
impropriety4  -----  ,,sect4 ,,ii4--,,of
 ,,justice ,,and ,,beneficence4  ,,chap4
 ,i4--,comparison of those two ,virtues4
   ,,actions of a beneficent tendency1  
which proceed from proper motives1 seem 
alone to require reward2 because such   
alone are the approved objects of       

gratitude1 or excite the sympathetic    
gratitude of the spectator4  ,actions of
 a hurtful tendency1 which proceed from 
improper motives1 seem alone to deserve 
punishment2 because such alone are the  
approved objects of resentment1 or      
excite the sympathetic resentment of the
 spectator4  ,beneficence is always     
free1 it cannot be extorted by force1   
the mere #ga want of it exposes to no   
punishment2 because the mere want of    
beneficence tends to do no real positive
 evil4 ,it may disappoint of the #gb    
good which might reasonably have been   
expected1 and upon that account it may  
justly excite dislike and               
disapprobation3 it cannot1 however1     
provoke any resentment which mankind    
will go along with4 ,the man who does   
not recompense his benefactor1 when he  
has it in his power1 and when his       
benefactor needs his assistance1 is1 no 
doubt1 guilty of the blackest           
ingratitude4 ,the heart of every        
impartial spectator rejects all         

fellow-feeling with the selfishness of  
his motives1 and he is the proper object
 of the highest disapprobation4 ,but    
still he does no positive hurt to any   
body4 ,he only does not do that good    
which in propriety he ought to have     
done4 ,he is the object of hatred1 a    
passion which is naturally excited by   
impropriety of sentiment and behaviour2 
not of resentment1 a passion which is   
never properly called forth but by      
actions which tend to do real and       
positive hurt to some particular        
persons4 ,his want of gratitude1        
therefore1 cannot be punished4 ,to      
oblige him by force to perform1 what in 
gratitude he ought to perform1 and what 
every impartial spectator would approve 
of him for performing1 would1 if        
possible1 be still more improper than   
his neglecting to perform it4 ,his      
benefactor would dishonour himself if he
 attempted by violence to constrain him 
to gratitude1 and it would be           
impertinent for any third person1 who   

was not the superior of either1 to      
intermeddle4 ,but of all the duties of  
beneficence1 those which gratitude      
recommends to us approach nearest to    
what is called a perfect and complete   
obligation4 ,what friendship1 what      
generosity1 what charity1 would prompt  
us to do with universal approbation1 is 
still more free1 and can still less be  
extorted by force than the duties of    
gratitude4 ,we talk of the debt of      
gratitude1 not of charity1 or           
generosity1 nor even of friendship1 when
 friendship is mere esteem1 and has not 
been enhanced and complicated with      
gratitude for good offices4  ,resentment
 seems to have been given us by nature  
for defence1 and for defence only4 ,it  
is the safeguard of justice and the     
security of innocence4 ,it prompts us to
 beat off the mischief which is         
attempted to be done to us1 and to      
retaliate that which is already done2   
that the #gc offender may be made to    
repent of his injustice1 and that       

others1 through fear of the like        
punishment1 may be terrified from being 
guilty of the like offence4 ,it must be 
reserved therefore for these purposes1  
nor can the spectator ever go along with
 it when it is exerted for any other4   
,but the mere want of the beneficent    
virtues1 though it may disappoint us of 
the good which might reasonably be      
expected1 neither does1 nor attempts to 
do1 any mischief from which we can have 
occasion to defend ourselves4  ,there is
 however another virtue1 of which the   
observance is not left to the freedom of
 our own wills1 which may be extorted by
 force1 and of which the violation      
exposes to resentment1 and consequently 
to punishment4 ,this virtue is justice3 
the violation of justice is injury3 it  
does real and positive hurt to some     
particular persons1 from motives which  
are naturally disapproved of4 ,it is1   
therefore1 the proper object of         
resentment1 and of punishment1 which is 
the natural consequence of resentment4  

,as mankind go along with and approve of
 the violence employed to avenge the    
hurt which is done by injustice1 so they
 much more go along with1 and approve   
of1 that which is employed to prevent   
and beat off the injury1 and to restrain
 the offender from hurting his          
neighbours4 ,the person himself who     
meditates an injustice is sensible of   
this1 and feels that force may1 with the
 utmost propriety1 be made use of1 both 
by the person whom he is about to       
injure1 and by others1 either to        
obstruct the execution of his crime1 or 
to punish him when he has executed it4  
,and upon this is founded that          
remarkable distinction between justice  
and all the other social virtues1 which 
has of late been particularly insisted  
upon by an author of very great and     
original genius1 that we feel ourselves 
to be under a stricter obligation to act
 according to justice1 than agreeably to
 friendship1 charity1 or generosity2    
that the practice of these last         

mentioned virtues seems to be left in   
some measure to our own choice1 but     
that1 somehow or other1 we feel         
ourselves to be in a peculiar manner    
tied1 bound1 and obliged to the         
observation of justice4 ,we feel1 that  
is to say1 that force may1 with the     
utmost propriety1 and with the          
approbation of all mankind1 be made use 
of to constrain us to observe the rules 
of the one1 but not to follow the       
precepts of the other4  ,we must always1
 however1 carefully distinguish what is 
only blamable1 or the proper object of  
disapprobation1 from what force may be  
employed either to punish or to prevent4
 ,that seems blamable which falls short 
of that ordinary degree of proper       
beneficence which experience teaches us 
to expect of every body2 and on the     
contrary1 that seems praise-worthy which
 goes beyond it4 ,the ordinary degree   
itself seems neither blamable nor       
praise-worthy4 ,a father1 a son1 a      
brother1 who behaves to the             

correspondent relation neither better   
nor worse than the greater part of men  
commonly do1 seems properly to deserve  
neither praise nor blame4 ,he who       
surprises us by extraordinary and #gd   
unexpected1 though still proper and     
suitable kindness1 or on the contrary1  
by extraordinary and unexpected as well 
as unsuitable unkindness1 seems         
praise-worthy in the one case1 and      
blamable in the other4  ,even the most  
ordinary degree of kindness or          
beneficence1 however1 cannot among      
equals1 be extorted by force4 ,among    
equals each individual is naturally1 and
 antecedent to the institution of civil 
government1 regarded as having a right  
both to defend himself from injuries1   
and to exact a certain degree of        
punishment for those which have been    
done to him4 ,every generous spectator  
not only approves of his conduct when he
 does this1 but enters so far into his  
sentiments as often to be willing to    
assist him4 ,when one man attacks1 or   

robs1 or attempts to murder another1 all
 the neighbours take the alarm1 and     
think that they do right when they run1 
either to revenge the person who has    
been injured1 or to defend him who is in
 danger of being so4 ,but when a father 
fails in the ordinary degree of parental
 affection towards a son2 when a son    
seems to want that filial reverence     
which might be expected to his father2  
when brothers are without the usual     
degree of brotherly affection2 when a   
man shuts his breast against compassion1
 and refuses to relieve the misery of   
his fellow-creatures1 when he can with  
the greatest ease2 in all these cases1  
though every body blames the conduct1   
nobody imagines that those who might    
have reason1 perhaps1 to expect more    
kindness1 have any right to extort it by
 force4 ,the sufferer can only complain1
 and the spectator can intermeddle no   
other way than by advice and persuasion4
 ,upon all such occasions1 for equals to
 use force against one another1 would be

 thought the highest degree of insolence
 and presumption4  ,a superior may1     
indeed1 sometimes1 with universal       
approbation1 oblige those under his     
jurisdiction to behave1 in this respect1
 with a certain degree of propriety to  
one another4 ,the laws of all civilized 
nations oblige parents to maintain their
 children1 and children to maintain     
their parents1 and impose upon men many 
other duties of beneficence4 ,the civil 
magistrate is entrusted with the power  
not only of preserving the public peace 
by restraining injustice1 but of        
promoting the prosperity of the         
commonwealth1 by establishing good      
discipline1 and by discouraging every   
sort of vice and impropriety2 he may    
prescribe rules1 therefore1 which not   
only prohibit mutual injuries among     
fellow-citizens1 but command mutual good
 offices to a certain degree4 ,when the 
sovereign commands what is merely       
indifferent1 and what1 antecedent to his
 orders1 might have been omitted without

 any blame1 it becomes not only blamable
 but punishable to disobey him4 ,when he
 commands1 therefore1 what1 antecedent  
to any such order1 could not have been  
omitted without the greatest blame1 it  
surely becomes much more punishable to  
be wanting in obedience4 ,of all the    
duties of a lawgiver1 however1 this     
perhaps is that which it requires the   
greatest delicacy and reserve to execute
 with propriety and judgment4 ,to #ge   
neglect it altogether exposes the       
commonwealth to many gross disorders and
 shocking enormities1 and to push it too
 far is destructive of all liberty1     
security1 and justice4  ,though the mere
 want of beneficence seems to merit no  
punishment from equals1 the greater     
exertions of that virtue appear to      
deserve the highest reward4 ,by being   
productive of the greatest good1 they   
are the natural and approved objects of 
the liveliest gratitude4 ,though the    
breach of justice1 on the contrary1     
exposes to punishment1 the observance of

 the rules of that virtue seems scarce  
to deserve any reward4 ,there is1 no    
doubt1 a propriety in the practice of   
justice1 and it merits1 upon that       
account1 all the approbation which is   
due to propriety4 ,but as it does no    
real positive good1 it is entitled to   
very little gratitude4 ,mere justice is1
 upon most occasions1 but a negative    
virtue1 and only hinders us from hurting
 our neighbour4 ,the man who barely     
abstains from violating either the      
person1 or the estate1 or the reputation
 of his neighbours1 has surely very     
little positive merit4 ,he fulfils1     
however1 all the rules of what is       
peculiarly called justice1 and does     
every thing which his equals can with   
propriety force him to do1 or which they
 can punish him for not doing4 ,we may  
often fulfil all the rules of justice by
 sitting still and doing nothing4  ,as  
every man doth1 so shall it be done to  
him1 and retaliation seems to be the    
great law which is dictated to us by    

,nature4 ,beneficence and generosity we 
think due to the generous and           
beneficent4 ,those whose hearts never   
open to the feelings of humanity1       
should1 we think1 be shut out in the    
same manner1 from the affections of all 
their fellow-creatures1 and be allowed  
to live in the midst of society1 as in a
 great desert where there is nobody to  
care for them1 or to inquire after them4
 ,the violator of the laws of justice   
ought to be made to feel himself that   
evil which he has done to another2 and  
since no regard to the sufferings of his
 brethren is capable of restraining him1
 he ought to be over-awed by the fear of
 his own4 ,the man who is barely        
innocent1 who only observes the laws of 
justice with regard to others1 and      
merely abstains from hurting his        
neighbours1 can merit only that his     
neighbours in their turn should respect 
his innocence1 and that the same laws   
should be religiously observed with     
regard to him4  -----  ,,chap4          

,,ii4--,of the ,sense of ,justice1 of   
,remorse1 and of the ,consciousness of  
,merit4   ,,there can be no proper      
motive for hurting our neighbour1 there 
can be no incitement to do evil to      
another1 which mankind will go along    
with1 except just indignation for evil  
which that other has done to us4 ,to    
disturb his happiness merely because it 
stands in the way of our own1 to take   
from him what is of real use to him     
merely because it #gf may be of equal or
 of more use to us1 or to indulge1 in   
this manner1 at the expense of other    
people1 the natural preference which    
every man has for his own happiness     
above that of other people1 is what no  
impartial spectator can go along with4  
,every man is1 no doubt1 by nature1     
first and principally recommended to his
 own care2 and as he is fitter to take  
care of himself than of any other       
person1 it is fit and right that it     
should be so4 ,every man1 therefore1 is 
much more deeply interested in whatever 

immediately concerns himself1 than in   
what concerns any other man3 and to     
hear1 perhaps1 of the death of another  
person1 with whom we have no particular 
connexion1 will give us less concern1   
will spoil our stomach or break our rest
 much less1 than a very insignificant   
disaster which has befallen ourselves4  
,but though the ruin of our neighbour   
may affect us much less than a very     
small misfortune of our own1 we must not
 ruin him to prevent that small         
misfortune1 nor even to prevent our own 
ruin4 ,we must1 here1 as in all other   
cases1 view ourselves not so much       
according to that light in which we may 
naturally appear to ourselves1 as       
according to that in which we naturally 
appear to others4 ,though every man may1
 according to the proverb1 be the whole 
world to himself1 to the rest of mankind
 he is a most insignificant part of it4 
,though his own happiness may be of more
 importance to him than that of all the 
world besides1 to every other person it 

is of no more consequence than that of  
any other man4 ,though it may be true1  
therefore1 that every individual1 in his
 own breast1 naturally prefers himself  
to all mankind1 yet he dares not look   
mankind in the face1 and avow that he   
acts according to this principle4 ,he   
feels that in this preference they can  
never go along with him1 and that how   
natural soever it may be to him1 it must
 always appear excessive and extravagant
 to them4 ,when he views himself in the 
light in which he is conscious that     
others will view him1 he sees that to   
them he is but one of the multitude in  
no respect better than any other in it4 
,if he would act so as that the         
impartial spectator may enter into the  
principles of his conduct1 which is what
 of all things he has the greatest      
desire to do1 he must1 upon this1 as    
upon all other occasions1 humble the    
arrogance of his self-love1 and bring it
 down to something which other men can  
go along with4 ,they will indulge it so 

far as to allow him to be more anxious  
about1 and to pursue with more earnest  
assiduity1 his own happiness than that  
of any other person4 ,thus far1 whenever
 they place themselves in his situation1
 they will readily go along with him4   
,in the race for wealth1 for honours1   
and preferments1 he may run as hard as  
he can1 and strain every nerve and every
 muscle1 in order to outstrip all his   
competitors4 ,but if he should justle1  
or throw down any of them1 the          
indulgence of the spectators is entirely
 at an end4 ,it is a violation of fair  
play1 which they cannot admit of4 ,this 
man is to them1 in every respect1 as    
good as he3 they do not enter into that 
self-love by which he prefers himself so
 #gg much to this other1 and cannot go  
along with the motive from which he hurt
 him4 ,they readily1 therefore1         
sympathize with the natural resentment  
of the injured1 and the offender becomes
 the object of their hatred and         
indignation4 ,he is sensible that he    

becomes so1 and feels that those        
sentiments are ready to burst out       
against him4  ,as the greater and more  
irreparable the evil that is done1 the  
resentment of the sufferer runs         
naturally the higher2 so does likewise  
the sympathetic indignation of the      
spectator1 as well as the sense of guilt
 in the agent4 ,death is the greatest   
evil which one man can inflict upon     
another1 and excites the highest degree 
of resentment in those who are          
immediately connected with the slain4   
,murder1 therefore1 is the most         
atrocious of all crimes which affect    
individuals only1 in the sight both of  
mankind1 and of the person who has      
committed it4 ,to be deprived of that   
which we are possessed of1 is a greater 
evil than to be disappointed of what we 
have only the expectation4 ,breach of   
property1 therefore1 theft and robbery1 
which take from us what we are possessed
 of1 are greater crimes than breach of  
contract1 which only disappoints us of  

what we expected4 ,the most sacred laws 
of justice1 therefore1 those whose      
violation seems to call loudest for     
vengeance and punishment1 are the laws  
which guard the life and person of our  
neighbour2 the next are those which     
guard his property and possessions2 and 
last of all come those which guard what 
are called his personal rights1 or what 
is due to him from the promises of      
others4  ,the violator of the more      
sacred laws of justice can never reflect
 on the sentiments which mankind must   
entertain with regard to him1 without   
seeing all the agonies of shame1 and    
horror1 and consternation4 ,when his    
passion is gratified1 and he begins     
coolly to reflect on his past conduct1  
he can enter into none of the motives   
which influenced it4 ,they appear now as
 detestable to him as they did always to
 other people4 ,by sympathizing with the
 hatred and abhorrence which other men  
must entertain for him1 he becomes in   
some measure the object of his own      

hatred and abhorrence4 ,the situation of
 the person1 who suffered by his        
injustice1 now calls upon his pity4 ,he 
is grieved at the thought of it2 regrets
 the unhappy effects of his own conduct1
 and feels at the same time that they   
have rendered him the proper object of  
the resentment and indignation of       
mankind1 and of what is the natural     
consequence of resentment1 vengeance and
 punishment4 ,the thought of this       
perpetually haunts him1 and fills him   
with terror and amazement4 ,he dares no 
longer look society in the face1 but    
imagines himself as it were rejected1   
and thrown out from the affections of   
all mankind4 ,he cannot hope for the    
consolation of sympathy in this his     
greatest and most dreadful distress4    
,the remembrance of his crimes has shut 
out all fellow-feeling with him from the
 hearts of his fellow-creatures4 ,the   
sentiments which they entertain with    
regard to him1 are the very thing which 
he is most afraid of4 ,every thing seems

 #gh hostile1 and he would be glad to   
fly to some inhospitable desert1 where  
he might never more behold the face of a
 human creature1 nor read in the        
countenance of mankind the condemnation 
of his crimes4 ,but solitude is still   
more dreadful than society4 ,his own    
thoughts can present him with nothing   
but what is black1 unfortunate1 and     
disastrous1 the melancholy forebodings  
of incomprehensible misery and ruin4    
,the horror of solitude drives him back 
into society1 and he comes again into   
the presence of mankind1 astonished to  
appear before them1 loaded with shame   
and distracted with fear1 in order to   
supplicate some little protection from  
the countenance of those very judges1   
who he knows have already all           
unanimously condemned him4 ,such is the 
nature of that sentiment1 which is      
properly called remorse2 of all the     
sentiments which can enter the human    
heart the most dreadful4 ,it is made up 
of shame from the sense of the          

impropriety of past conduct2 of grief   
for the effects of it2 of pity for those
 who suffer by it2 and of the dread and 
terror of punishment from the           
consciousness of the justly provoked    
resentment of all rational creatures4   
,the opposite behaviour naturally       
inspires the opposite sentiment4 ,the   
man who1 not from frivolous fancy1 but  
from proper motives1 has performed a    
generous action1 when he looks forward  
to those whom he has served1 feels      
himself to be the natural object of     
their love and gratitude1 and1 by       
sympathy with them1 of the esteem and   
approbation of all mankind4 ,and when he
 looks backward to the motive from which
 he acted1 and surveys it in the light  
in which the indifferent spectator will 
survey it1 he still continues to enter  
into it1 and applauds himself by        
sympathy with the approbation of this   
supposed impartial judge4 ,in both these
 points of view his own conduct appears 
to him every way agreeable4 ,his mind1  

at the thought of it1 is filled with    
cheerfulness1 serenity1 and composure4  
,he is in friendship and harmony with   
all mankind1 and looks upon his         
fellow-creatures with confidence and    
benevolent satisfaction1 secure that he 
has rendered himself worthy of their    
most favourable regards4 ,in the        
combination of all these sentiments     
consists the consciousness of merit1 or 
of deserved reward4  -----  ,,chap4     
,,iii4--,of the ,utility of this        
,constitution of ,nature4   ,,it is thus
 that man1 who can subsist only in      
society1 was fitted by nature to that   
situation for which he was made4 ,all   
the members of human society stand in   
need of each others assistance1 and are 
likewise exposed to mutual injuries4    
,where the necessary assistance is      
reciprocally afforded from love1 from   
gratitude1 from friendship1 and esteem1 
the society flourishes and is happy4    
,all the different members of it are    
bound together by the agreeable bands of

 love and affection1 #gi and are1 as it 
were1 thereby drawn to one common centre
 of mutual good offices4  ,but though   
the necessary assistance should not be  
afforded from such generous and         
disinterested motives1 though among the 
different members of the society there  
should be no mutual love and affection1 
the society1 though less happy and      
agreeable1 will not necessarily be      
dissolved4 ,society may subsist among   
different men1 as among different       
merchants1 from a sense of its utility1 
without any mutual love or affection2   
and though no man in it should owe any  
obligation1 or be bound in gratitude to 
any other1 it may still be upheld by a  
mercenary exchange of good offices      
according to an agreed valuation4       
,society1 however1 cannot subsist among 
those who are at all times ready to hurt
 and injure one another4 ,the moment    
that injury begins1 the moment that     
mutual resentment and animosity take    
place1 all the bands of it are broke    

asunder1 and the different members of   
which it consisted are1 as it were1     
dissipated and scattered abroad by the  
violence and opposition of their        
discordant affections4 ,if there is any 
society among robbers and murderers1    
they must at least1 according to the    
trite observation1 abstain from robbing 
and murdering one another4 ,beneficence1
 therefore1 is less essential to the    
existence of society than justice4      
,society may subsist1 though not in the 
most comfortable state1 without         
beneficence2 but the prevalence of      
injustice must utterly destroy it4      
,though ,nature1 therefore1 exhorts     
mankind to acts of beneficence1 by the  
pleasing consciousness of deserved      
reward1 she has not thought it necessary
 to guard and enforce the practice of it
 by the terrors of merited punishment in
 case it should be neglected4 ,it is the
 ornament which embellishes1 not the    
foundation which supports1 the building1
 and which it was1 therefore1 sufficient

 to recommend1 but by no means necessary
 to impose4 ,justice1 on the contrary1  
is the main pillar that upholds the     
whole edifice4 ,if it is removed1 the   
great1 the immense fabric of human      
society1 that fabric which to raise and 
support seems in this world1 if ,i may  
say so1 to have been the peculiar and   
darling care of ,nature1 must in a      
moment crumble into atoms4 ,in order to 
enforce the observation of justice1     
therefore1 ,nature has implanted in the 
human breast that consciousness of      
ill-desert1 those terrors of merited    
punishment which attend upon its        
violation1 as the great safeguards of   
the association of mankind1 to protect  
the weak1 to curb the violent1 and to   
chastise the guilty4 ,men1 though       
naturally sympathetic1 feel so little   
for another1 with whom they have no     
particular connexion1 in comparison of  
what they feel for themselves2 the      
misery of one1 who is merely their      
fellow-creature1 is of so little        

importance to them in comparison even of
 a small conveniency of their own2 they 
have it so much in their power to hurt  
him1 and may have so many temptations to
 do so1 that if this principle did not  
stand up within them in his #hj defence1
 and overawe them into a respect for his
 innocence1 they would1 like wild       
beasts1 be at all times ready to fly    
upon him2 and a man would enter an      
assembly of men as he enters a den of   
lions4  ,in every part of the universe  
we observe means adjusted with the      
nicest artifice to the ends which they  
are intended to produce2 and in the     
mechanism of a plant1 or animal body1   
admire how every thing is contrived for 
advancing the two great purposes of     
nature1 the support of the individual1  
and the propagation of the species4 ,but
 in these1 and in all such objects1 we  
still distinguish the efficient from the
 final cause of their several motions   
and organizations4 ,the digestion of the
 food1 the circulation of the blood1 and

 the secretion of the several juices    
which are drawn from it1 are operations 
all of them necessary for the great     
purposes of animal life4 ,yet we never  
endeavour to account for them from those
 purposes as from their efficient       
causes1 nor imagine that the blood      
circulates1 or that the food digests of 
its own accord1 and with a view or      
intention to the purposes of circulation
 or digestion4 ,the wheels of the watch 
are all admirably adjusted to the end   
for which it was made1 the pointing of  
the hour4 ,all their various motions    
conspire in the nicest manner to produce
 this effect4 ,if they were endowed with
 a desire and intention to produce it1  
they could not do it better4 ,yet we    
never ascribe any such desire or        
intention to them1 but to the           
watch-maker1 and we know that they are  
put into motion by a spring1 which      
intends the effect it produces as little
 as they do4 ,but though1 in accounting 
for the operations of bodies1 we never  

fail to distinguish in this manner the  
efficient from the final cause1 in      
accounting for those of the mind we are 
very apt to confound these two different
 things with one another4 ,when by      
natural principles we are led to advance
 those ends which a refined and         
enlightened reason would recommend to   
us1 we are very apt to impute to that   
reason1 as to their efficient cause1 the
 sentiments and actions by which we     
advance those ends1 and to imagine that 
to be the wisdom of man1 which in       
reality is the wisdom of ,god4 ,upon a  
superficial view1 this cause seems      
sufficient to produce the effects which 
are ascribed to it2 and the system of   
human nature seems to be more simple and
 agreeable when all its different       
operations are thus deduced from a      
single principle4  ,as society cannot   
subsist unless the laws of justice are  
tolerably observed1 as no social        
intercourse can take place among men who
 do not generally abstain from injuring 

one another2 the consideration of this  
necessity1 it has been thought1 was the 
ground upon which we approved of the    
enforcement of the laws of justice by   
the punishment of those who violated    
them4 ,man1 it has been said1 has a     
natural love for society1 and desires   
that the union of mankind should be     
preserved for its own sake1 and though  
he himself was to derive no benefit from
 it4 ,the orderly and flourishing state 
of society is agreeable to him1 and he  
takes delight in contemplating it4 ,its 
disorder and confusion1 on the #ha      
contrary1 is the object of his aversion1
 and he is chagrined at whatever tends  
to produce it4 ,he is sensible too that 
his own interest is connected with the  
prosperity of society1 and that the     
happiness1 perhaps the preservation of  
his existence1 depends upon its         
preservation4 ,upon every account1      
therefore1 he has an abhorrence at      
whatever can tend to destroy society1   
and is willing to make use of every     

means1 which can hinder so hated and so 
dreadful an event4 ,injustice           
necessarily tends to destroy it4 ,every 
appearance of injustice1 therefore1     
alarms him1 and he runs 7if ,i may say  
so71 to stop the progress of what1 if   
allowed to go on1 would quickly put an  
end to every thing that is dear to him4 
,if he cannot restrain it by gentle and 
fair means1 he must bear it down by     
force and violence1 and at any rate must
 put a stop to its further progress4    
,hence it is1 they say1 that he often   
approves of the enforcement of the laws 
of justice even by the capital          
punishment of those who violate them4   
,the disturber of the public peace is   
hereby removed out of the world1 and    
others are terrified by his fate from   
imitating his example4  ,such is the    
account commonly given of our           
approbation of the punishment of        
injustice4 ,and so far this account is  
undoubtedly true1 that we frequently    
have occasion to confirm our natural    

sense of the propriety and fitness of   
punishment1 by reflecting how necessary 
it is for preserving the order of       
society4 ,when the guilty is about to   
suffer that just retaliation1 which the 
natural indignation of mankind tells    
them is due to his crimes2 when the     
insolence of his injustice is broken and
 humbled by the terror of his           
approaching punishment2 when he ceases  
to be an object of fear1 with the       
generous and humane he begins to be an  
object of pity4 ,the thought of what he 
is about to suffer extinguishes their   
resentment for the sufferings of others 
to which he has given occasion4 ,they   
are disposed to pardon and forgive him1 
and to save him from that punishment1   
which in all their cool hours they had  
considered as the retribution due to    
such crimes4 ,here1 therefore1 they have
 occasion to call to their assistance   
the consideration of the general        
interest of society4 ,they              
counterbalance the impulse of this weak 

and partial humanity by the dictates of 
a humanity that is more generous and    
comprehensive4 ,they reflect that mercy 
to the guilty is cruelty to the         
innocent1 and oppose to the emotions of 
compassion which they feel for a        
particular person1 a more enlarged      
compassion which they feel for mankind4 
,sometimes too we have occasion to      
defend the propriety of observing the   
general rules of justice by the         
consideration of their necessity to the 
support of society4 ,we frequently hear 
the young and the licentious ridiculing 
the most sacred rules of morality1 and  
professing1 sometimes from the          
corruption1 but more frequently from the
 vanity of their hearts1 the most       
abominable maxims of conduct4 ,our      
indignation rouses1 and we are eager to 
refute and expose such detestable #hb   
principles4 ,but though it is their     
intrinsic hatefulness and               
detestableness1 which originally        
inflames us against them1 we are        

unwilling to assign this as the sole    
reason why we condemn them1 or to       
pretend that it is merely because we    
ourselves hate and detest them4 ,the    
reason1 we think1 would not appear to be
 conclusive4 ,yet why should it not1 if 
we hate and detest them because they are
 the natural and proper objects of      
hatred and detestation8 ,but when they  
are asked why we should not act in such 
or such a manner1 the very question     
seems to suppose that1 to those who ask 
it1 this manner of acting does not      
appear to be for its own sake the       
natural and proper object of those      
sentiments4 ,we must show them1         
therefore1 that it ought to be so for   
the sake of something else4 ,upon this  
account we generally cast about for     
other arguments1 and the consideration  
which first occurs to us1 is the        
disorder and confusion of society which 
would result from the universal         
prevalence of such practices4 ,we seldom
 fail1 therefore1 to insist upon this   

topic4  ,but though it commonly requires
 no great discernment to see the        
destructive tendency of all licentious  
practices to the welfare of society1 it 
is seldom this consideration which first
 animates us against them4 ,all men1    
even the most stupid and unthinking1    
abhor fraud1 perfidy and injustice1 and 
delight to see them punished4 ,but few  
men have reflected upon the necessity of
 justice to the existence of society1   
how obvious soever that necessity may   
appear to be4  ,that it is not a regard 
to the preservation of society1 which   
originally interests us in the          
punishment of crimes committed against  
individuals1 may be demonstrated by many
 obvious considerations4 ,the concern   
which we take in the fortune and        
happiness of individuals does not1 in   
common cases1 arise from that which we  
take in the fortune and happiness of    
society4 ,we are no more concerned for  
the destruction or loss of a single man1
 because this man is a member or part of

 society1 and because we should be      
concerned for the destruction of        
society1 than we are concerned for the  
loss of a single guinea1 because this   
guinea is a part of a thousand guineas1 
and because we should be concerned for  
the loss of the whole sum4 ,in neither  
case does our regard for the individuals
 arise from our regard for the          
multitude3 but in both cases our regard 
for the multitude is compounded and made
 up of the particular regards which we  
feel for the different individuals of   
which it is composed4 ,as when a small  
sum is unjustly taken from us1 we do not
 so much prosecute the injury from a    
regard to the preservation of our whole 
fortune1 as from a regard to that       
particular sum which we have lost2 so   
when a single man is injured or         
destroyed1 we demand the punishment of  
the wrong that has been done to him1 not
 so much from a concern for the general 
interest of society1 as from a concern  
for that very individual who has been   

injured4 ,it is to be observed1 however1
 that this concern does not necessarily 
include #hc in it any degree of those   
exquisite sentiments which are commonly 
called love1 esteem1 and affection1 and 
by which we distinguish our particular  
friends and acquaintance4 ,the concern  
which is requisite for this1 is no more 
than the general fellow-feeling which we
 have with every man merely because he  
is our fellow-creature4 ,we enter into  
the resentment even of an odious person1
 when he is injured by those to whom he 
has given no provocation4 ,our          
disapprobation of his ordinary character
 and conduct does not in this case      
altogether prevent our fellow-feeling   
with his natural indignation2 though    
with those who are not either extremely 
candid1 or who have not been accustomed 
to correct and regulate their natural   
sentiments by general rules1 it is very 
apt to damp it4  ,upon some occasions1  
indeed1 we both punish and approve of   
punishment1 merely from a view to the   

general interest of society1 which1 we  
imagine1 cannot otherwise be secured4   
,of this kind are all the punishments   
inflicted for breaches of what is called
 either civil police1 or military       
discipline4 ,such crimes do not         
immediately or directly hurt any        
particular person2 but their remote     
consequences1 it is supposed1 do        
produce1 or might produce1 either a     
considerable inconveniency1 or a great  
disorder in the society4 ,a sentinel1   
for example1 who falls asleep upon his  
watch1 suffers death by the laws of war1
 because such carelessness might        
endanger the whole army4 ,this severity 
may1 upon many occasions1 appear        
necessary1 and1 for that reason1 just   
and proper4 ,when the preservation of an
 individual is inconsistent with the    
safety of a multitude1 nothing can be   
more just than that the many should be  
preferred to the one4 ,yet this         
punishment1 how necessary soever1 always
 appears to be excessively severe4 ,the 

natural atrocity of the crime seems to  
be so little1 and the punishment so     
great1 that it is with great difficulty 
that our heart can reconcile itself to  
it4 ,though such carelessness appears   
very blamable1 yet the thought of this  
crime does not naturally excite any such
 resentment as would prompt us to take  
such dreadful revenge4 ,a man of        
humanity must recollect himself1 must   
make an effort1 and exert his whole     
firmness and resolution1 before he can  
bring himself either to inflict it1 or  
to go along with it when it is inflicted
 by others4 ,it is not1 however1 in this
 manner1 that he looks upon the just    
punishment of an ungrateful murderer or 
parricide4 ,his heart1 in this case1    
applauds with ardour1 and even with     
transport1 the just retaliation which   
seems due to such detestable crimes1 and
 which1 if1 by any accident1 they should
 happen to escape1 he would be highly   
enraged and disappointed4 ,the very     
different sentiments with which the     

spectator views those different         
punishments1 is a proof that his        
approbation of the one is far from being
 founded upon the same principles with  
that of the other4 ,he looks upon the   
sentinel as an unfortunate victim1 who1 
indeed1 must1 and ought to be1 devoted  
to the safety of numbers1 but whom      
still1 in his heart1 he would #hd be    
glad to save2 and he is only sorry1 that
 the interest of the many should oppose 
it4 ,but if the murderer should escape  
from punishment1 it would excite his    
highest indignation1 and he would call  
upon ,god to avenge1 in another world1  
that crime which the injustice of       
mankind had neglected to chastise upon  
earth4  ,for it well deserves to be     
taken notice of1 that we are so far from
 imagining that injustice ought to be   
punished in this life1 merely on account
 of the order of society1 which cannot  
otherwise be maintained1 that ,nature   
teaches us to hope1 and religion1 we    
suppose1 authorises us to expect1 that  

it will be punished1 even in a life to  
come4 ,our sense of its ill desert      
pursues it1 if ,i may say so1 even      
beyond the grave1 though the example of 
its punishment there cannot serve to    
deter the rest of mankind1 who see it   
not1 who know it not1 from being guilty 
of the like practices here4 ,the justice
 of ,god1 however1 we think1 still      
requires1 that he should hereafter      
avenge the injuries of the widow and the
 fatherless1 who are here so often      
insulted with impunity4 ,in every       
religion1 and in every superstition that
 the world has ever beheld1 accordingly1
 there has been a ,tartarus as well as  
an ,elysium2 a place provided for the   
punishment of the wicked1 as well as one
 for the reward of the just4  -----     
,,sect4 ,,iii4--,,of ,,the ,,influence  
,,of ,,fortune ,,upon ,,the ,,sentiments
 ,,of ,,mankind1 ,,with ,,regard ,,to   
,,the ,,merit ,,or ,,demerit ,,of       
,,their ,,actions4                      
,,introduction4--,whatever praise or    

blame can be due to any action1 must    
belong either1 first1 to the intention  
or affection of the heart1 from which it
 proceeds1 or1 secondly1 to the external
 action or movement of the body1 which  
this affection gives occasion to2 or1   
lastly1 to the good or bad consequences1
 which actually1 and in fact1 proceed   
from it4 ,these three different things  
constitute the whole nature and         
circumstances of the action1 and must be
 the foundation of whatever quality can 
belong to it4  ,that the two last of    
these three circumstances cannot be the 
foundation of any praise or blame1 is   
abundantly evident2 nor has the contrary
 ever been asserted by any body4 ,the   
external action or movement of the body 
is often the same in the most innocent  
and in the most blamable actions4 ,he   
who shoots a bird1 and he who shoots a  
man1 both of them perform the same      
external movement3 each of them draws   
the trigger of a gun4 ,the consequences 
which actually1 and in fact1 happen to  

proceed from any action1 are1 if        
possible1 still more indifferent either 
to praise or blame1 than even the       
external movement of the body4 ,as they 
depend1 not upon the agent1 but upon    
fortune1 they cannot be #he the proper  
foundation for any sentiment1 of which  
his character and conduct are the       
objects4  ,the only consequences for    
which he can be answerable1 or by which 
he can deserve either approbation or    
disapprobation of any kind1 are those   
which were some way or other intended1  
or those which1 at least1 show some     
agreeable or disagreeable quality in the
 intention of the heart1 from which he  
acted4 ,to the intention or affection of
 the heart1 therefore1 to the propriety 
or impropriety1 to the beneficence or   
hurtfulness of the design1 all praise or
 blame1 all approbation or              
disapprobation1 of any kind1 which can  
justly be bestowed upon any action must 
ultimately belong4  ,when this maxim is 
thus proposed1 in abstract and general  

terms1 there is nobody who does not     
agree to it4 ,its self-evident justice  
is acknowledged by all the world1 and   
there is not a dissenting voice among   
all mankind4 ,every body allows1 that   
how different soever the accidental1 the
 unintended and unforeseen consequences 
of different actions1 yet1 if the       
intentions or affections from which they
 arose were1 on the one hand1 equally   
proper and equally beneficent1 or1 on   
the other1 equally improper and equally 
malevolent1 the merit or demerit of the 
actions is still the same1 and the agent
 is equally the suitable object either  
of gratitude or of resentment4  ,but how
 well soever we may seem to be persuaded
 of the truth of this equitable maxim1  
when we consider it after this manner1  
in abstract1 yet when we come to        
particular cases1 the actual            
consequences which happen to proceed    
from any action1 have a very great      
effect upon our sentiments concerning   
its merit or demerit1 and almost always 

either enhance or diminish our sense of 
both4 ,scarce1 in any one instance1     
perhaps1 will our sentiments be found1  
after examination1 to be entirely       
regulated by this rule1 which we all    
acknowledge ought entirely to regulate  
them4  ,this irregularity of sentiment1 
which every body feels1 which scarce any
 body is sufficiently aware of1 and     
which nobody is willing to acknowledge1 
,i proceed now to explain2 and ,i shall 
consider1 first1 the cause which gives  
occasion to it1 or the mechanism by     
which ,nature produces it2 secondly1 the
 extent of its influence2 and1 last of  
all1 the end which it answers1 or the   
purpose which the ,author of nature     
seems to have intended by it4  -----    
,,chap4 ,i4--,of the ,causes of this    
,influence of ,fortune4   ,,the causes  
of pain and pleasure1 whatever they are1
 or however they operate1 seem to be the
 objects1 which1 in all animals1        
immediately excite those two passions of
 gratitude and resentment4 ,they are    

excited by inanimated1 as well as by    
animated objects4 ,we are angry1 for a  
#hf moment1 even at the stone that hurts
 us4 ,a child beats it1 a dog barks at  
it1 a choleric man is apt to curse it4  
,the least reflection1 indeed1 corrects 
this sentiment1 and we soon become      
sensible1 that what has no feeling is a 
very improper object of revenge4 ,when  
the mischief1 however1 is very great1   
the object which caused it becomes      
disagreeable to us ever after1 and we   
take pleasure to burn or destroy it4 ,we
 should treat1 in this manner1 the      
instrument which had accidentally been  
the cause of the death of a friend1 and 
we should often think ourselves guilty  
of a sort of inhumanity1 if we neglected
 to vent this absurd sort of vengeance  
upon it4  ,we conceive1 in the same     
manner1 a sort of gratitude for those   
inanimated objects1 which have been the 
causes of great or frequent pleasure to 
us4 ,the sailor1 who1 as soon as he got 
ashore1 should mend his fire with the   

plank upon which he had just escaped    
from a shipwreck1 would seem to be      
guilty of an unnatural action4 ,we      
should expect that he would rather      
preserve it with care and affection1 as 
a monument that was1 in some measure1   
dear to him4 ,a man grows fond of a     
snuffbox1 of a pen-knife1 of a staff    
which he has long made use of1 and      
conceives something like a real love and
 affection for them4 ,if he breaks or   
loses them1 he is vexed out of all      
proportion to the value of the damage4  
,the house which we have long lived in1 
the tree1 whose verdure and shade we    
have long enjoyed1 are both looked upon 
with a sort of respect that seems due to
 such benefactors4 ,the decay of the    
one1 or the ruin of the other1 affects  
us with a kind of melancholy1 though we 
should sustain no loss by it4 ,the      
,dryads and the ,lares of the ancients1 
a sort of genii of trees and houses1    
were probably first suggested by this   
sort of affection1 which the authors of 

those superstitions felt for such       
objects1 and which seemed unreasonable1 
if there was nothing animated about     
them4  ,but1 before any thing can be the
 proper object of gratitude or          
resentment1 it must not only be the     
cause of pleasure or pain1 it must      
likewise be capable of feeling them4    
,without this other quality1 those      
passions cannot vent themselves with any
 sort of satisfaction upon it4 ,as they 
are excited by the causes of pleasure   
and pain1 so their gratification        
consists in retaliating those sensations
 upon what gave occasion to them2 which 
it is to no purpose to attempt upon what
 has no sensibility4 ,animals1          
therefore1 are less improper objects of 
gratitude and resentment than animated  
objects4 ,the dog that bites1 the ox    
that gores1 are both of them punished4  
,if they have been the causes of the    
death of any person1 neither the public1
 nor the relations of the slain1 can be 
satisfied1 unless they are put to death 

in their turn3 nor is this merely for   
the security of the living1 but1 in some
 measure1 to revenge the injury of the  
dead4 ,those animals1 on the contrary1  
that have been remarkably serviceable to
 their masters1 become the objects of a 
very lively gratitude4 ,we are shocked  
at the brutality of that officer1 #hg   
mentioned in the ,turkish ,spy1 who     
stabbed the horse that had carried him  
across an arm of the sea1 lest that     
animal should afterwards distinguish    
some other person by a similar          
adventure4  ,but1 though animals are not
 only the causes of pleasure and pain1  
but are also capable of feeling those   
sensations1 they are still far from     
being complete and perfect objects1     
either of gratitude or resentment2 and  
those passions still feel1 that there is
 something wanting to their entire      
gratification4 ,what gratitude chiefly  
desires1 is not only to make the        
benefactor feel pleasure in his turn1   
but to make him conscious that he meets 

with this reward on account of his past 
conduct1 to make him pleased with that  
conduct1 and to satisfy him that the    
person upon whom he bestowed his good   
offices was not unworthy of them4 ,what 
most of all charms us in our benefactor1
 is the concord between his sentiments  
and our own1 with regard to what        
interests us so nearly as the worth of  
our own character1 and the esteem that  
is due to us4 ,we are delighted to find 
a person who values us as we value      
ourselves1 and distinguishes us from the
 rest of mankind1 with an attention not 
unlike that with which we distinguish   
ourselves4 ,to maintain in him these    
agreeable and flattering sentiments1 is 
one of the chief ends proposed by the   
returns we are disposed to make to him4 
,a generous mind often disdains the     
interested thought of extorting new     
favours from its benefactor1 by what may
 be called the importunities of its     
gratitude4 ,but to preserve and to      
increase his esteem1 is an interest     

which the greatest mind does not think  
unworthy of its attention4 ,and this is 
the foundation of what ,i formerly      
observed1 and when we cannot enter into 
the motives of our benefactor1 when his 
conduct and character appear unworthy of
 our approbation1 let his services have 
been ever so great1 our gratitude is    
always sensibly diminished4 ,we are less
 flattered by the distinction2 and to   
preserve the esteem of so weak1 or so   
worthless a patron1 seems to be an      
object which does not deserve to be     
pursued for its own sake4  ,the object1 
on the contrary1 which resentment is    
chiefly intent upon1 is not so much to  
make our enemy feel pain in his turn1 as
 to make him conscious that he feels it 
upon account of his past conduct1 to    
make him repent of that conduct1 and to 
make him sensible1 that the person whom 
he injured did not deserve to be treated
 in that manner4 ,what chiefly enrages  
us against the man who injures or       
insults us1 is the little account which 

he seems to make of us1 the unreasonable
 preference which he gives to himself   
above us1 and that absurd self-love1 by 
which he seems to imagine1 that other   
people may be sacrificed at any time1 to
 his conveniency or his humour4 ,the    
glaring impropriety of his conduct1 the 
gross insolence and injustice which it  
seems to involve in it1 often shock and 
exasperate us more than all the mischief
 which we have suffered4 ,to bring him  
back to a more just sense of what is due
 to other people1 to make him sensible  
of what he owes us1 and of the wrong    
that he has #hh done to us1 is          
frequently the principal end proposed in
 our revenge1 which is always imperfect 
when it cannot 9999accomplish this4     
,when our enemy appears to have done us 
no injury1 when we are sensible that he 
acted quite properly1 that1 in his      
situation1 we should have done the same 
thing1 and that we deserved from him all
 the mischief we met with2 in that case1
 if we have the least spark either of   

candour or justice1 we can entertain no 
sort of resentment4  ,before any thing1 
therefore1 can be the complete and      
proper object1 either of gratitude or   
resentment1 it must possess three       
different qualifications4 ,first1 it    
must be the cause of pleasure in the one
 case1 and of pain in the other4        
,secondly1 it must be capable of feeling
 those sensations4 ,and1 thirdly1 it    
must not only have produced those       
sensations1 but it must have produced   
them from design1 and from a design that
 is approved of in the one case1 and    
disapproved of in the other4 ,it is by  
the first qualification1 that any object
 is capable of exciting those passions3 
it is by the second1 that it is in any  
respect capable of gratifying them3 the 
third qualification is not only         
necessary for their complete            
satisfaction1 but as it gives a pleasure
 or pain that is both exquisite and     
peculiar1 it is likewise an additional  
exciting cause of those passions4  ,as  

what gives pleasure or pain1 therefore1 
either in one way or another1 is the    
sole exciting cause of gratitude and    
resentment2 though the intentions of any
 person should be ever so proper and    
beneficent1 on the one hand1 or ever so 
improper and malevolent on the other2   
yet1 if he has failed in producing      
either the good or the evil which he    
intended1 as one of the exciting causes 
is wanting in both cases1 less gratitude
 seems due to him in the one1 and less  
resentment in the other4 ,and1 on the   
contrary1 though in the intentions of   
any person1 there was either no laudable
 degree of benevolence on the one hand1 
or no blamable degree of malice on the  
other2 yet1 if his actions should       
produce either great good or great evil1
 as one of the exciting causes takes    
place upon both these occasions1 some   
gratitude is apt to arise towards him in
 the one1 and some resentment in the    
other4 ,a shadow of merit seems to fall 
upon him in the first1 a shadow of      

demerit in the second4 ,and1 as the     
consequences of actions are altogether  
under the empire of ,fortune1 hence     
arises her influence upon the sentiments
 of mankind with regard to merit and    
demerit4  -----  ,,chap4 ,,ii4--,of the 
,extent of this ,influence of ,fortune4 
,,the effect of this influence of       
fortune is1 first1 to diminish our sense
 of the merit or demerit of those       
actions which arose from the most       
laudable or blamable intentions1 when   
they fail of producing their proposed   
effects3 and1 secondly1 to increase our 
sense of the merit or demerit of #hi    
actions1 beyond what is due to the      
motives or affections from which they   
proceed1 when they accidentally give    
occasion either to extraordinary        
pleasure or pain4  #a4 ,first1 ,i say1  
though the intentions of any person     
should be ever so proper and beneficent1
 on the one hand1 or ever so improper   
and malevolent1 on the other1 yet1 if   
they fail in producing their effects1   

his merit seems imperfect in the one    
case1 and his demerit incomplete in the 
other4 ,nor is this irregularity of     
sentiment felt only by those who are    
immediately affected by the consequence 
of any action4 ,it is felt1 in some     
measure1 even by the impartial          
spectator4 ,the man who solicits an     
office for another1 without obtaining   
it1 is regarded as his friend1 and seems
 to deserve his love and affection4 ,but
 the man who not only solicits1 but     
procures it1 is more peculiarly         
considered as his patron and benefactor1
 and is entitled to his respect and     
gratitude4 ,the person obliged1 we are  
apt to think1 may1 with some justice1   
imagine himself on a level with the     
first3 but we cannot enter into his     
sentiments1 if he does not feel himself 
inferior to the second4 ,it is common   
indeed to say1 that we are equally      
obliged to the man who has endeavoured  
to serve1 as to him who actually did so4
 ,it is the speech which we constantly  

make upon every unsuccessful attempt of 
this kind2 but which1 like all other    
fine speeches1 must be understood with a
 grain of allowance4 ,the sentiments    
which a man of generosity entertains for
 the friend who fails1 may often indeed 
be nearly the same with those which he  
conceives for him who succeeds3 and the 
more generous he is1 the more nearly    
will those sentiments approach to an    
exact level4 ,with the truly generous1  
to be beloved1 to be esteemed by those  
whom they themselves think worthy of    
esteem1 gives more pleasure1 and thereby
 excites more gratitude1 than all the   
advantages which they can ever expect   
from those sentiments4 ,when they lose  
those advantages therefore1 they seem to
 lose but a trifle1 which is scarce     
worth regarding4 ,they still however    
lose something4 ,their pleasure         
therefore1 and consequently their       
gratitude1 is not perfectly complete3   
and accordingly if1 between the friend  
who fails and the friend who succeeds1  

all other circumstances are equal1 there
 will1 even in the noblest and best     
mind1 be some little difference of      
affection in favour of him who succeeds4
 ,nay1 so unjust are mankind in this    
respect1 that though the intended       
benefit should be procured1 yet if it is
 not procured by the means of a         
particular benefactor1 they are apt to  
think that less gratitude is due to the 
man1 who with the best intentions in the
 world could do no more than help it a  
little forward4 ,as their gratitude is  
in this case divided among the different
 persons who contributed to their       
pleasure1 a smaller share of it seems   
due to any one4 ,such a person1 we hear 
men commonly say1 intended no doubt to  
serve us2 and we really believe exerted 
himself to the utmost of his abilities  
for that purpose4 ,we are not1 however1 
obliged to him for this benefit2 #ij    
since1 had it not been for the          
concurrence of others1 all that he could
 have done would never have brought it  

about4 ,this consideration1 they        
imagine1 should1 even in the eyes of the
 impartial spectator1 diminish the debt 
which they owe to him4 ,the person      
himself who has unsuccessfully          
endeavoured to confer a benefit1 has by 
no means the same dependency upon the   
gratitude of the man whom he meant to   
oblige1 nor the same sense of his own   
merit towards him1 which he would have  
had in the case of success4  ,even the  
merit of talents and abilities which    
some accident has hindered from         
producing their effects1 seems in some  
measure imperfect1 even to those who are
 fully convinced of their capacity to   
produce them4 ,the general who has been 
hindered by the envy of ministers from  
gaining some great advantage over the   
enemies of his country1 regrets the loss
 of the opportunity for ever after4 ,nor
 is it only upon account of the public  
that he regrets it4 ,he laments that he 
was hindered from performing an action  
which would have added a new lustre to  

his character in his own eyes1 as well  
as in those of every other person4 ,it  
satisfies neither himself nor others to 
reflect that the plan or design was all 
that depended on him1 that no greater   
capacity was required to execute it than
 what was necessary to concert it3 that 
he was allowed to be every way capable  
of executing it1 and that had he been   
permitted to go on1 success was         
infallible4 ,he still did not execute   
it2 and though he might deserve all the 
approbation which is due to a           
magnanimous and great design1 he still  
wanted the actual merit of having       
performed a great action4 ,to take the  
management of any affair of public      
concern from the man who has almost     
brought it to a conclusion1 is regarded 
as the most invidious injustice4 ,as he 
had done so much1 he should1 we think1  
have been allowed to acquire the        
complete merit of putting an end to it4 
,it was objected to ,pompey1 that he    
came in upon the victories of ,lucullus1

 and gathered those laurels which were  
due to the fortune and valour of        
another4 ,the glory of ,lucullus1 it    
seems1 was less complete even in the    
opinion of his own friends1 when he was 
not permitted to finish that conquest   
which his conduct and courage had put in
 the power of almost any man to finish4 
,it mortifies an architect when his     
plans are either not executed at all1 or
 when they are so far altered as to     
spoil the effect of the building4 ,the  
plan1 however1 is all that depends upon 
the architect4 ,the whole of his genius 
is1 to good judges1 as completely       
discovered in that as in the actual     
execution4 ,but a plan does not1 even to
 the most intelligent1 give the same    
pleasure as a noble and magnificent     
building4 ,they may discover as much    
both of taste and genius in the one as  
in the other4 ,but their effects are    
still vastly different1 and the         
amusement derived from the first1 never 
approaches to the wonder and admiration 

which are sometimes excited by the      
second4 ,we may believe of many men1    
that their talents are #ia superior to  
those of ,csar and ,alexander2 and that 
in the same situations they would       
perform still greater actions4 ,in the  
mean time1 however1 we do not behold    
them with that astonishment and         
admiration with which those two heroes  
have been regarded in all ages and      
nations4 ,the calm judgments of the mind
 may approve of them more1 but they want
 the splendour of great actions to      
dazzle and transport it4 ,the           
superiority of virtues and talents has  
not1 even upon those who acknowledge    
that superiority1 the same effect with  
the superiority of achievements4  ,as   
the merit of an unsuccessful attempt to 
do good seems thus1 in the eyes of      
ungrateful mankind1 to be diminished by 
the miscarriage1 so does likewise the   
demerit of an unsuccessful attempt to do
 evil4 ,the design to commit a crime1   
how clearly soever it may be proved1 is 

scarce ever punished with the same      
severity as the actual commission of it4
 ,the case of treason is perhaps the    
only exception4 ,that crime immediately 
affecting the being of the government   
itself1 the government is naturally more
 jealous of it than of any other4 ,in   
the punishment of treason1 the sovereign
 resents the injuries which are         
immediately done to himself3 in the     
punishment of other crimes he resents   
those which are done to other men4 ,it  
is his own resentment which he indulges 
in the one case2 it is that of his      
subjects which by sympathy he enters    
into in the other4 ,in the first case1  
therefore1 as he judges in his own      
cause1 he is very apt to be more violent
 and sanguinary in his punishments than 
the impartial spectator can approve of4 
,his resentment too rises here upon     
smaller occasions1 and does not always1 
as in other cases1 wait for the         
perpetration of the crime1 or even for  
the attempt to commit it4 ,a treasonable

 concert1 though nothing has been done1 
or even attempted in consequence of it1 
nay1 a treasonable conversation1 is in  
many countries punished in the same     
manner as the actual commission of      
treason4 ,with regard to all other      
crimes1 the mere design1 upon which no  
attempt has followed1 is seldom punished
 at all1 and is never punished severely4
 ,a criminal design1 and a criminal     
action1 it may be said indeed1 do not   
necessarily suppose the same degree of  
depravity1 and ought not therefore to be
 subjected to the same punishment4 ,we  
are capable1 it may be said1 of         
resolving1 and even of taking measures  
to execute1 many things which1 when it  
comes to the point1 we feel ourselves   
altogether incapable of executing4 ,but 
this reason can have no place when the  
design has been carried the length of   
the last attempt4 ,the man1 however1 who
 fires a pistol at his enemy but misses 
him1 is punished with death by the laws 
of scarce any country4 ,by the old law  

of ,scotland1 though he should wound    
him1 yet1 unless death ensues within a  
certain time1 the assassin is not liable
 to the last punishment4 ,the resentment
 of mankind1 however1 runs so high      
against this crime1 their terror for the
 man who shows himself capable of       
committing it is so great1 that the mere
 attempt to #ib commit it ought in all  
countries to be capital4 ,the attempt to
 commit smaller crimes is almost always 
punished very lightly1 and sometimes is 
not punished at all4 ,the thief1 whose  
hand has been caught in his neighbour's 
pocket before he had taken any thing out
 of it1 is punished with ignominy only4 
,if he had got time to take away an     
handkerchief1 he might have been put to 
death4 ,the house-breaker1 who has been 
found setting a ladder to his           
neighbour's window1 but had not got into
 it1 is not exposed to the capital      
punishment4 ,the attempt to ravish is   
not punished as a rape4 ,the attempt to 
seduce a married woman is not punished  

at all1 though seduction is punished    
severely4 ,our resentment against the   
person who only attempted to do a       
mischief1 is seldom so strong as to bear
 us out in inflicting the same          
punishment upon him1 which we should    
have thought due if he had actually done
 it4 ,in the one case1 the joy of our   
deliverance alleviates our sense of the 
atrocity of his conduct2 in the other1  
the grief of our misfortune increases   
it4 ,his real demerit1 however1 is      
undoubtedly the same in both cases1     
since his intentions were equally       
criminal2 and there is in this respect1 
therefore an irregularity in the        
sentiments of all men1 and a consequent 
relaxation of discipline in the laws of1
 ,i believe1 all nations of the most    
civilized1 as well as of the most       
barbarous4 ,the humanity of a civilized 
people disposes them either to dispense 
with1 or to mitigate punishments1       
wherever their natural indignation is   
not goaded on by the consequences of the

 crime4 ,barbarians1 on the other hand1 
when no actual consequence has happened 
from any action1 are not apt to be very 
delicate or inquisitive about the       
motives4  ,the person himself who either
 from passion1 or from the influence of 
bad company1 has resolved1 and perhaps  
taken measures to perpetrate some crime1
 but who has fortunately been prevented 
by an accident which put it out of his  
power1 is sure1 if he has any remains of
 conscience1 to regard this event all   
his life after as a great and signal    
deliverance4 ,he can never think of it  
without returning thanks to ,heaven1 for
 having been thus graciously pleased to 
save him from the guilt in which he was 
just ready to plunge himself1 and to    
hinder him from rendering all the rest  
of his life a scene of horror1 remorse1 
and repentance4 ,but though his hands   
are innocent1 he is conscious that his  
heart is equally guilty as if he had    
actually executed what he was so fully  
resolved upon4 ,it gives great ease to  

his conscience1 however1 to consider    
that the crime was not executed1 though 
he knows that the failure arose from no 
virtue in him4 ,he still considers      
himself as less deserving of punishment 
and resentment2 and this good fortune   
either diminishes1 or takes away        
altogether1 all sense of guilt4 ,to     
remember how much he was resolved upon  
it1 has no other effect than to make him
 regard his escape as the greater and   
more miraculous3 for he still fancies   
that he has escaped1 and he looks back  
upon the danger to which his peace of   
mind was exposed1 with that terror1 with
 which one #ic who is in safety may     
sometimes remember the hazard he was in 
of falling over a precipice1 and shudder
 with horror at the thought4  #b4 ,the  
second effect of this influence of      
fortune1 is to increase our sense of the
 merit or demerit of actions beyond what
 is due to the motives or affection from
 which they proceed1 when they happen to
 give occasion to extraordinary pleasure

 or pain4 ,the agreeable or disagreeable
 effects of the action often throw a    
shadow of merit or demerit upon the     
agent1 though in his intention there was
 nothing that deserved either praise or 
blame1 or at least that deserved them in
 the degree in which we are apt to      
bestow them4 ,thus1 even the messenger  
of bad news is disagreeable to us1 and1 
on the contrary1 we feel a sort of      
gratitude for the man who brings us good
 tidings4 ,for a moment we look upon    
them both as the authors1 the one of our
 good1 the other of our bad fortune1 and
 regard them in some measure as if they 
had really brought about the events     
which they only give an account of4 ,the
 first author of our joy is naturally   
the object of a transitory gratitude3 we
 embrace him with warmth and affection1 
and should be glad1 during the instant  
of our prosperity1 to reward him as for 
some signal service4 ,by the custom of  
all courts1 the officer1 who brings the 
news of a victory1 is entitled to       

considerable preferments1 and the       
general always chooses one of his       
principal favourites to go upon so      
agreeable an errand4 ,the first author  
of our sorrow is1 on the contrary1 just 
as naturally the object of a transitory 
resentment4 ,we can scarce avoid looking
 upon him with chagrin and uneasiness2  
and the rude and brutal are apt to vent 
upon him that spleen which his          
intelligence gives occasion to4         
,tigranes1 ,king of ,armenia1 struck off
 the head of the man who brought him the
 first account of the approach of a     
formidable enemy4 ,to punish in this    
manner the author of bad tidings1 seems 
barbarous and inhuman3 yet1 to reward   
the messenger of good news1 is not      
disagreeable to us2 we think it suitable
 to the bounty of kings4 ,but why do we 
make this difference1 since1 if there is
 no fault in the one1 neither is there  
any merit in the other8 ,it is because  
any sort of reason seems sufficient to  
authorize the exertion of the social and

 benevolent affections2 but it requires 
the most solid and substantial to make  
us enter into that of the unsocial and  
malevolent4  ,but though in general we  
are averse to enter into the unsocial   
and malevolent affections1 though we lay
 it down for a rule that we ought never 
to approve of their gratification1      
unless so far as the malicious and      
unjust intention of the person1 against 
whom they are directed1 renders him     
their proper object2 yet1 upon some     
occasions1 we relax of this severity4   
,when the negligence of one man has     
occasioned some unintended damage to    
another1 we generally enter so far into 
the resentment of the sufferer1 as to   
approve of his inflicting a punishment  
upon the offender much beyond what the  
offence would have appeared to deserve1 
had no such unlucky consequence followed
 from it4  #id ,there is a degree of    
negligence1 which would appear to       
deserve some chastisement though it     
should occasion no damage to any body4  

,thus1 if a person should throw a large 
stone over a wall into a public street  
without giving warning to those who     
might be passing by1 and without        
regarding where it was likely to fall1  
he would undoubtedly deserve some       
chastisement4 ,a very accurate police   
would punish so absurd an action1 even  
though it had done no mischief4 ,the    
person who has been guilty of it1 shows 
an insolent contempt of the happiness   
and safety of others4 ,there is real    
injustice in his conduct4 ,he wantonly  
exposes his neighbour to what no man in 
his senses would choose to expose       
himself1 and evidently wants that sense 
of what is due to his fellow-creatures1 
which is the basis of justice and of    
society4 ,gross negligence therefore is1
 in the law1 said to be almost equal to 
malicious design4 7,lata culpa prope    
dolum est47 ,when any unlucky           
consequences happen from such           
carelessness1 the person who has been   
guilty of it1 is often punished as if he

 had really intended those consequences2
 and his conduct1 which was only        
thoughtless and insolent1 and what      
deserved some chastisement1 is          
considered as atrocious1 and as liable  
to the severest punishment4 ,thus if1 by
 the imprudent action above-mentioned1  
he should accidentally kill a man1 he   
is1 by the laws of many countries1      
particularly by the old law of          
,scotland1 liable to the last           
punishment4 ,and though this is no doubt
 excessively severe1 it is not          
altogether inconsistent with our natural
 sentiments4 ,our just indignation      
against the folly and inhumanity of his 
conduct is exasperated by our sympathy  
with the unfortunate sufferer4 ,nothing1
 however1 would appear more shocking to 
our natural sense of equity1 than to    
bring a man to the scaffold merely for  
having thrown a stone carelessly into   
the street without hurting any body4    
,the folly and inhumanity of his        
conduct1 however1 would in this case be 

the same2 but still our sentiments would
 be very different4 ,the consideration  
of this difference may satisfy us how   
much the indignation1 even of the       
spectator1 is apt to be animated by the 
actual consequences of the action4 ,in  
cases of this kind there will1 if ,i am 
not mistaken1 be found a great degree of
 severity in the laws of almost all     
nations2 as ,i have already observed    
that in those of an opposite kind there 
was a very general relaxation of        
discipline4  ,there is another degree of
 negligence which does not involve in it
 any sort of injustice4 ,the person who 
is guilty of it treats his neighbour as 
he treats himself1 means no harm to any 
body1 and is far from entertaining any  
insolent contempt for the safety and    
happiness of others4 ,he is not1        
however1 so careful and circumspect in  
his conduct as he ought to be1 and      
deserves upon this account some degree  
of blame and censure1 but no sort of    
punishment4 ,yet if1 by a negligence    

7,culpa levis7 of this kind he should   
occasion some damage to another person1 
he is by the laws of1 ,i believe1 all   
countries1 obliged to compensate it4 #ie
 ,and though this is1 no doubt1 a real  
punishment1 and what no mortal would    
have thought of inflicting upon him1 had
 it not been for the unlucky accident   
which his conduct gave occasion to2 yet 
this decision of the law is approved of 
by the natural sentiments of all        
mankind4 ,nothing1 we think1 can be more
 just than that one man should not      
suffer by the carelessness of another2  
and that the damage occasioned by       
blamable negligence1 should be made up  
by the person who was guilty of it4     
,there is another species of negligence 
7,culpa levissima71 which consists      
merely in a want of the most anxious    
timidity and circumspection1 with regard
 to all the possible consequences of our
 actions4 ,the want of this painful     
attention1 when no bad consequences     
follow from it1 is so far from being    

regarded as blamable1 that the contrary 
quality is rather considered as such4   
,that timid circumspection which is     
afraid of every thing1 is never regarded
 as a virtue1 but as a quality which    
more than any other incapacitates for   
action and business4 ,yet when1 from a  
want of this excessive care1 a person   
happens to occasion some damage to      
another1 he is often by the law obliged 
to compensate it4 ,thus1 by the         
,aquilian law1 the man1 who not being   
able to manage a horse that had         
accidentally taken fright1 should happen
 to ride down his neighbour's slave1 is 
obliged to compensate the damage4 ,when 
an accident of this kind happens1 we are
 apt to think that he ought not to have 
rode such a horse1 and to regard his    
attempting it as an unpardonable levity2
 though without this accident we should 
not only have made no such reflection1  
but should have regarded his refusing it
 as the effect of timid weakness1 and of
 an anxiety about merely possible       

events1 which it is to no purpose to be 
aware of4 ,the person himself1 who by an
 accident even of this kind has         
involuntarily hurt another1 seems to    
have some sense of his own ill desert1  
with regard to him4 ,he naturally runs  
up to the sufferer to express his       
concern for what has happened1 and to   
make every acknowledgment in his power4 
,if he has any sensibility1 he          
necessarily desires to compensate the   
damage1 and to do every thing he can to 
appease that animal resentment which he 
is sensible will be apt to arise in the 
breast of the sufferer4 ,to make no     
apology1 to offer no atonement1 is      
regarded as the highest brutality4 ,yet 
why should he make an apology more than 
any other person8 ,why should he1 since 
he was equally innocent with any other  
by-stander1 be thus singled out from    
among all mankind1 to make up for the   
bad fortune of another8 ,this task would
 surely never be imposed upon him1 did  
not even the impartial spectator feel   

some indulgence for what may be regarded
 as the unjust resentment of that other4
  ----- #if  ,,chap4 ,,iii4--,of the    
final ,cause of this ,irregularity of   
,sentiments4   ,,such is the effect of  
the good or bad consequence of actions  
upon the sentiments both of the person  
who performs them1 and of others2 and   
thus1 ,fortune1 which governs the world1
 has some influence where we should be  
least willing to allow her any1 and     
directs in some measure the sentiments  
of mankind1 with regard to the character
 and conduct both of themselves and     
others4 ,that the world judges by the   
event1 and not by the design1 has been  
in all ages the complaint1 and is the   
great discouragement of virtue4 ,every  
body agrees to the general maxim1 that  
as the event does not depend on the     
agent1 it ought to have no influence    
upon our sentiments1 with regard to the 
merit or propriety of his conduct4 ,but 
when we come to particulars1 we find    
that our sentiments are scarce in any   

one instance exactly conformable to what
 this equitable maxim would direct4 ,the
 happy or unprosperous event of any     
action1 is not only apt to give us a    
good or bad opinion of the prudence with
 which it was conducted1 but almost     
always too animates our gratitude or    
resentment1 our sense of the merit or   
demerit of the design4  ,nature1        
however1 when she implanted the seeds of
 this irregularity in the human breast1 
seems1 as upon all other occasions1 to  
have intended the happiness and         
perfection of the species4 ,if the      
hurtfulness of the design1 if the       
malevolence of the affection1 were alone
 the causes which excited our           
resentment1 we should feel all the      
furies of that passion against any      
person in whose breast we suspected or  
believed such designs or affections were
 harboured1 though they had never broke 
out into any actions4 ,sentiments1      
thoughts1 intentions1 would become the  
objects of punishment2 and if the       

indignation of mankind run as high      
against them as against actions2 if the 
baseness of the thought which had given 
birth to no action1 seemed in the eyes  
of the world as much to call aloud for  
vengeance as the baseness of the action1
 every court of judicature would become 
a real inquisition4 ,there would be no  
safety for the most innocent and        
circumspect conduct4 ,bad wishes1 bad   
views1 bad designs1 might still be      
suspected3 and while these excited the  
same indignation with bad conduct1 while
 bad intentions were as much resented as
 bad actions1 they would equally expose 
the person to punishment and resentment4
 ,actions1 therefore1 which either      
produce actual evil1 or attempt to      
produce it1 and thereby put us in the   
immediate fear of it1 are by the ,author
 of nature rendered the only proper and 
approved objects of human punishment and
 resentment4 ,sentiments1 designs1      
affections1 though it is from these that
 according to cool reason human actions 

derive their whole merit or demerit1 are
 placed by the great ,judge of hearts   
beyond the limits of every human        
jurisdiction1 and are reserved for the  
cognisance of his own unerring tribunal4
 ,that necessary rule of justice1       
therefore1 that #ig men in this life are
 liable to punishment for their actions 
only1 not for their designs and         
intentions1 is founded upon this        
salutary and useful irregularity in     
human sentiments concerning merit or    
demerit1 which at first sight appears so
 absurd and unaccountable4 ,but every   
part of nature1 when attentively        
surveyed1 equally demonstrates the      
providential care of its ,author1 and we
 may admire the wisdom and goodness of  
,god even in the weakness and folly of  
men4  ,nor is that irregularity of      
sentiments altogether without its       
utility1 by which the merit of an       
unsuccessful attempt to serve1 and much 
more that of mere good inclinations and 
kind wishes1 appears to be imperfect4   

,man was made for action1 and to promote
 by the exertion of his faculties such  
changes in the external circumstances   
both of himself and others1 as may seem 
most favourable to the happiness of all4
 ,he must not be satisfied with indolent
 benevolence1 nor fancy himself the     
friend of mankind1 because in his heart 
he wishes well to the prosperity of the 
world4 ,that he may call forth the whole
 vigour of his soul1 and strain every   
nerve1 in order to produce those ends   
which it is the purpose of his being to 
advance1 ,nature has taught him1 that   
neither himself nor mankind can be fully
 satisfied with his conduct1 nor bestow 
upon it the full measure of applause1   
unless he has actually produced them4   
,he is made to know1 that the praise of 
good intentions1 without the merit of   
good offices1 will be but of little     
avail to excite either the loudest      
acclamations of the world1 or even the  
highest degree of self applause4 ,the   
man who has performed no single action  

of importance1 but whose whole          
conversation and deportment express the 
justest1 the noblest1 and most generous 
sentiments1 can be entitled to demand no
 very high reward1 even though his      
inutility should be owing to nothing but
 the want of an opportunity to serve4   
,we can still refuse it him without     
blame4 ,we can still ask him1 ,what have
 you done8 ,what actual service can you 
produce1 to entitle you to so great a   
recompense8 ,we esteem you1 and love    
you2 but we owe you nothing4 ,to reward 
indeed that latent virtue which has been
 useless only for want of an opportunity
 to serve1 to bestow upon it those      
honours and preferments1 which1 though  
in some measure it may be said to       
deserve them1 it could not with         
propriety have insisted upon1 is the    
effect of the most divine benevolence4  
,to punish1 on the contrary1 for the    
affections of the heart only1 where no  
crime has been committed1 is the most   
insolent and barbarous tyranny4 ,the    

benevolent affections seem to deserve   
most praise1 when they do not wait till 
it becomes almost a crime for them not  
to exert themselves4 ,the malevolent1 on
 the contrary1 can scarce be too tardy1 
too slow1 or deliberate4  ,it is even of
 considerable importance1 that the evil 
which is done without design should be  
regarded as a misfortune to the doer as 
well as to the sufferer4 ,man is thereby
 taught to reverence the happiness of   
his brethren1 to tremble lest he should1
 even unknowingly1 do any thing #ih that
 can hurt them1 and to dread that animal
 resentment which1 he feels1 is ready to
 burst out against him1 if he should1   
without design1 be the unhappy          
instrument of their calamity4 ,as in the
 ancient heathen religion1 that holy    
ground which had been consecrated to    
some god1 was not to be trod upon but   
upon solemn and necessary occasions1 and
 the man who had even ignorantly        
violated it1 became piacular from that  
moment1 and1 until proper atonement     

should be made1 incurred the vengeance  
of that powerful and invisible being to 
whom it had been set apart2 so by the   
wisdom of nature1 the happiness of every
 innocent man is1 in the same manner1   
rendered holy1 consecrated1 and hedged  
round against the approach of every     
other man2 not to be wantonly trod upon1
 not even to be1 in any respect1        
ignorantly and involuntarily violated1  
without requiring some expiation1 some  
atonement in proportion to the greatness
 of such undesigned violation4 ,a man of
 humanity1 who accidentally1 and without
 the smallest degree of blamable        
negligence1 has been the cause of the   
death of another man1 feels himself     
piacular1 though not guilty4 ,during his
 whole life he considers this accident  
as one of the greatest misfortunes that 
could have befallen him4 ,if the family 
of the slain is poor1 and he himself in 
tolerable circumstances1 he immediately 
takes them under his protection1 and1   
without any other merit1 thinks them    

entitled to every degree of favour and  
kindness4 ,if they are in better        
circumstances1 he endeavours by every   
submission1 by every expression of      
sorrow1 by rendering them every good    
office which he can devise or they      
accept of1 to atone for what has        
happened1 and to propitiate1 as much as 
possible1 their1 perhaps natural1 though
 no doubt most unjust resentment1 for   
the great1 though involuntary1 offence  
which he has given unto them4  ,the     
distress which an innocent person feels1
 who1 by some accident1 has been led to 
do something which1 if it had been done 
with knowledge and design1 would have   
justly exposed him to the deepest       
reproach1 has given occasion to some of 
the finest and most interesting scenes  
both of the ancient and of the modern   
drama4 ,it is this fallacious sense of  
guilt1 if ,i may call it so1 which      
constitutes the whole distress of       
,oedipus and ,jocasta upon the ,greek1  
of ,monimia and ,isabella upon the      

,english1 theatre4 ,they are all in the 
highest degree piacular1 though not one 
of them is in the smallest degree       
guilty4  ,notwithstanding1 however1 all 
these seeming irregularities of         
sentiment1 if man should unfortunately  
either give occasion to those evils     
which he did not intend1 or fail in     
producing that good which he intended1  
,nature has not left his innocence      
altogether without consolation1 nor his 
virtue altogether without reward4 ,he   
then calls to his assistance that just  
and equitable maxim1 ,that those events 
which did not depend upon our conduct1  
ought not to diminish the esteem that is
 due to us4 ,he summons up his whole    
magnanimity and firmness of #ii soul1   
and strives to regard himself1 not in   
the light in which he at present        
appears1 but in that in which he ought  
to appear1 in which he would have       
appeared had his generous designs been  
crowned with success1 and in which he   
would still appear1 notwithstanding     

their miscarriage1 if the sentiments of 
mankind were either altogether candid   
and equitable1 or even perfectly        
consistent with themselves4 ,the more   
candid and humane part of mankind       
entirely go along with the efforts which
 he thus makes to support himself in his
 own opinion4 ,they exert their whole   
generosity and greatness of mind1 to    
correct in themselves this irregularity 
of human nature1 and endeavour to regard
 his unfortunate magnanimity in the same
 light in which1 had it been successful1
 they would1 without any such generous  
exertion1 have naturally been disposed  
to consider it4  -----  ,part ,,iii4 ,of
 the ,foundation of our ,judgments      
concerning our own ,sentiments and      
,conduct1 and of the ,sense of ,duty4   
,,chap4 ,i4--,of the ,principle of      
,self-approbation and of ,self          
-disapprobation4   ,,in the two         
foregoing parts of this discourse1 ,i   
have chiefly considered the origin and  
foundation of our judgments concerning  

the sentiments and conduct of others4 ,i
 come now to consider more particularly 
the origin of those concerning our own4 
,the principle by which we naturally    
either approve or disapprove of our own 
conduct1 seems to be altogether the same
 with that by which we exercise the like
 judgments concerning the conduct of    
other people4 ,we either approve or     
disapprove of the conduct of another man
 according as we feel that1 when we     
bring his case home to ourselves1 we    
either can or cannot entirely sympathize
 with the sentiments and motives which  
directed it4 ,and1 in the same manner1  
we either approve or disapprove of our  
own conduct1 according as we feel that1 
when we place ourselves in the situation
 of another man1 and view it1 as it     
were1 with his eyes and from his        
station1 we either can or cannot        
entirely enter into and sympathize with 
the sentiments and motives which        
influenced it4 ,we can never survey our 
own sentiments and motives1 we can never

 form any judgment concerning them2     
unless we remove ourselves1 as it were1 
from our own natural station1 and       
endeavour to view them as at a certain  
distance from us4 ,but we can do this in
 no other way than by endeavouring to   
view them with the eyes of other people1
 or as other people are likely to view  
them4 ,whatever judgment we can form    
concerning them1 accordingly1 must      
always bear some secret reference1      
either to what are1 or to what1 upon a  
certain condition1 #ajj would be1 or to 
what1 we imagine1 ought to be the       
judgment of others4 ,we endeavour to    
examine our own conduct as we imagine   
any other fair and impartial spectator  
would examine it4 ,if1 upon placing     
ourselves in his situation1 we          
thoroughly enter into all the passions  
and motives which influenced it1 we     
approve of it1 by sympathy with the     
approbation of this supposed equitable  
judge4 ,if otherwise1 we enter into his 
disapprobation1 and condemn it4  ,were  

it possible that a human creature could 
grow up to manhood in some solitary     
place1 without any communication with   
his own species1 he could no more think 
of his own character1 of the propriety  
or demerit of his own sentiments and    
conduct1 of the beauty or deformity of  
his own mind1 than of the beauty or     
deformity of his own face4 ,all these   
are objects which he cannot easily see1 
which naturally he does not look at1 and
 with regard to which he is provided    
with no mirror which can present them to
 his view4 ,bring him into society1 and 
he is immediately provided with the     
mirror which he wanted before4 ,it is   
placed in the countenance and behaviour 
of those he lives with1 which always    
mark when they enter into1 and when they
 disapprove of his sentiments2 and it is
 here that he first views the propriety 
and impropriety of his own passions1 the
 beauty and deformity of his own mind4  
,to a man who from his birth was a      
stranger to society1 the objects of his 

passions1 the external bodies which     
either pleased or hurt him1 would occupy
 his whole attention4 ,the passions     
themselves1 the desires or aversions1   
the joys or sorrows1 which those objects
 excited1 though of all things the most 
immediately present to him1 could scarce
 ever be the objects of his thoughts4   
,the idea of them could never interest  
him so much as to call upon his         
attentive consideration4 ,the           
consideration of his joy could in him   
excite no new joy1 nor that of his      
sorrow any new sorrow1 though the       
consideration of the causes of those    
passions might often excite both4 ,bring
 him into society and all his own       
passions will immediately become the    
causes of new passions4 ,he will observe
 that mankind approve of some of them1  
and are disgusted by others4 ,he will be
 elevated in the one case1 and cast down
 in the other2 his desires and          
aversions1 his joys and sorrows1 will   
now often become the causes of new      

desires and new aversions1 new joys and 
new sorrows3 they will now1 therefore1  
interest him deeply1 and often call upon
 his most attentive consideration4  ,our
 first ideas of personal beauty and     
deformity1 are drawn from the shape and 
appearance of others1 not from our own4 
,we soon become sensible1 however1 that 
others exercise the same criticism upon 
us4 ,we are pleased when they approve of
 our figure1 and are disobliged when    
they seem to be disgusted4 ,we become   
anxious to know how far our appearance  
deserves either their blame or          
approbation4 ,we examine our persons    
limb by limb1 and by placing ourselves  
before a looking-glass1 or by some such 
expedient1 endeavour as much as #aja    
possible1 to view ourselves at the      
distance and with the eyes of other     
people4 ,if1 after this examination1 we 
are satisfied with our own appearance1  
we can more easily support the most     
disadvantageous judgments of others4    
,if1 on the contrary1 we are sensible   

that we are the natural objects of      
distaste1 every appearance of their     
disapprobation mortifies us beyond all  
measure4 ,a man who is tolerably        
handsome1 will allow you to laugh at any
 little irregularity in his person2 but 
all such jokes are commonly             
unsupportable to one who is really      
deformed4 ,it is evident1 however1 that 
we are anxious about our own beauty and 
deformity1 only upon account of its     
effect upon others4 ,if we had no       
connexion with society1 we should be    
altogether indifferent about either4    
,in the same manner our first moral     
criticisms are exercised upon the       
characters and conduct of other people2 
and we are all very forward to observe  
how each of these affects us4 ,but we   
soon learn1 that other people are       
equally frank with regard to our own4   
,we become anxious to know how far we   
deserve their censure or applause1 and  
whether to them we must necessarily     
appear those agreeable or disagreeable  

creatures which they represent us4 ,we  
begin1 upon this account1 to examine our
 own passions and conduct1 and to       
consider how these must appear to them2 
by considering how they would appear to 
us if in their situation4 ,we suppose   
ourselves the spectators of our own     
behaviour1 and endeavour to imagine what
 effect it would1 in this light1 produce
 upon us4 ,this is the only             
looking-glass by which we can1 in some  
measure1 with the eyes of other people1 
scrutinize the propriety of our own     
conduct4 ,if in this view it pleases us1
 we are tolerably satisfied4 ,we can be 
more indifferent about the applause1    
and1 in some measure1 despise the       
censure of the world2 secure that1      
however misunderstood or misrepresented1
 we are the natural and proper objects  
of approbation4 ,on the contrary1 if we 
are doubtful about it1 we are often1    
upon that very account1 more anxious to 
gain their approbation1 and1 provided we
 have not already1 as they say1 shaken  

hands with infamy1 we are altogether    
distracted at the thoughts of their     
censure1 which then strikes us with     
double severity4  ,when ,i endeavour to 
examine my own conduct1 when ,i         
endeavour to pass sentence upon it1 and 
either to approve or condemn it1 it is  
evident that1 in all such cases1 ,i     
divide myself1 as it were1 into two     
persons2 and that ,i1 the examiner and  
judge1 represent a different character  
from that other ,i1 the person whose    
conduct is examined into and judged of4 
,the first is the spectator1 whose      
sentiments with regard to my own conduct
 ,i endeavour to enter into1 by placing 
myself in his situation1 and by         
considering how it would appear to me1  
when seen from that particular point of 
view4 ,the second is the agent1 the     
person whom ,i properly call myself1 and
 of whose conduct1 under the character  
of a spectator1 ,i was endeavouring to  
form some opinion4 ,the first is the    
judge2 the second the person judged of4 

,but that the #ajb judge should1 in     
every respect1 be the same with the     
person judged of1 is as impossible1 as  
that the cause should1 in every respect1
 be the same with the effect4  ,to be   
amiable and to be meritorious2 that is1 
to deserve love and to deserve reward1  
are the great characters of virtue2 and 
to be odious and punishable1 of vice4   
,but all these characters have an       
immediate reference to the sentiments of
 others4 ,virtue is not said to be      
amiable1 or to be meritorious1 because  
it is the object of its own love1 or of 
its own gratitude2 but because it       
excites those sentiments in other men4  
,the consciousness that it is the object
 of such favourable regards1 is the     
source of that inward tranquillity and  
self-satisfaction with which it is      
naturally attended1 as the suspicion of 
the contrary gives occasion to the      
torments of vice4 ,what so great        
happiness as to be beloved1 and to know 
that we deserve to be beloved8 ,what so 

great misery as to be hated1 and to know
 that we deserve to be hated8  -----    
,,chap4 ,,ii4--,of the ,love of ,praise1
 and of that of ,praise-worthiness2 and 
of the dread of ,blame1 and of that of  
,blame-worthiness4   ,,man naturally    
desires1 not only to be loved1 but to be
 lovely2 or to be that thing which is   
the natural and proper object of love4  
,he naturally dreads1 not only to be    
hated1 but to be hateful2 or to be that 
thing which is the natural and proper   
object of hatred4 ,he desires1 not only 
praise1 but praise-worthiness2 or to be 
that thing which1 though it should be   
praised by nobody1 is1 however1 the     
natural and proper object of praise4 ,he
 dreads1 not only blame1 but            
blame-worthiness2 or to be that thing   
which1 though it should be blamed by    
nobody1 is1 however1 the natural and    
proper object of blame4  ,the love of   
praise-worthiness is by no means derived
 altogether from the love of praise4    
,those two principles1 though they      

resemble one another1 though they are   
connected1 and often blended with one   
another1 are yet1 in many respects1     
distinct and independent of one another4
  ,the love and admiration which we     
naturally conceive for those whose      
character and conduct we approve of1    
necessarily dispose us to desire to     
become ourselves the objects of the like
 agreeable sentiments1 and to be as     
amiable and as admirable as those whom  
we love and admire the most4 ,emulation1
 the anxious desire that we ourselves   
should excel1 is originally founded in  
our admiration of the excellence of     
others4 ,neither can we be satisfied    
with being merely admired for what other
 people are admired4 ,we must at least  
believe ourselves to be admirable for   
what they are admirable4 ,but1 in order 
to attain this satisfaction1 we must    
become the impartial spectators of our  
own character and conduct4 ,we must     
endeavour to view them with the eyes of 
other #ajc people1 or as other people   

are likely to view them4 ,when seen in  
this light1 if they appear to us as we  
wish1 we are happy and contented4 ,but  
it greatly confirms this happiness and  
contentment when we find that other     
people1 viewing them with those very    
eyes with which we1 in imagination only1
 were endeavouring to view them1 see    
them precisely in the same light in     
which we ourselves had seen them4 ,their
 approbation necessarily confirms our   
own self-approbation4 ,their praise     
necessarily strengthens our own sense of
 our own praise-worthiness4 ,in this    
case1 so far is the love of             
praise-worthiness from being derived    
altogether from that of praise2 that the
 love of praise seems1 at least in a    
great measure1 to be derived from that  
of praise-worthiness4  ,the most sincere
 praise can give little pleasure when it
 cannot be considered as some sort of   
proof of praise-worthiness4 ,it is by no
 means sufficient that1 from ignorance  
or mistake1 esteem and admiration       

should1 in some way or other1 be        
bestowed upon us4 ,if we are conscious  
that we do not deserve to be so         
favourably thought of1 and that if the  
truth were known1 we should be regarded 
with very different sentiments1 our     
satisfaction is far from being complete4
 ,the man who applauds us either for    
actions which we did not perform1 or for
 motives which had no sort of influence 
upon our conduct1 applauds not us1 but  
another person4 ,we can derive no sort  
of satisfaction from his praises4 ,to us
 they should be more mortifying than any
 censure1 and should perpetually call to
 our minds1 the most humbling of all    
reflections1 the reflection of what we  
ought to be1 but what we are not4 ,a    
woman who paints1 could derive1 one     
should imagine1 but little vanity from  
the compliments that are paid to her    
complexion4 ,these1 we should expect1   
ought rather to put her in mind of the  
sentiments which her real complexion    
would excite1 and mortify her the more  

by the contrast4 ,to be pleased with    
such groundless applause is a proof of  
the most superficial levity and         
weakness4 ,it is what is properly called
 vanity1 and is the foundation of the   
most ridiculous and contemptible vices1 
the vices of affectation and common     
lying2 follies which1 if experience did 
not teach us how common they are1 one   
should imagine the least spark of common
 sense would save us from4 ,the foolish 
liar1 who endeavours to excite the      
admiration of the company by the        
relation of adventures which never had  
any existence2 the important coxcomb1   
who gives himself airs of rank and      
distinction which he well knows he has  
no just pretensions to2 are both of     
them1 no doubt1 pleased with the        
applause which they fancy they meet     
with4 ,but their vanity arises from so  
gross an illusion of the imagination1   
that it is difficult to conceive how any
 rational creature should be imposed    
upon by it4 ,when they place themselves 

in the situation of those whom they     
fancy they have deceived1 they are      
struck with the highest admiration for  
their own persons4 ,they look upon      
themselves1 not in that light in which1 
they know1 they ought to appear to their
 companions1 but in that in which they  
believe their #ajd companions actually  
look upon them4 ,their superficial      
weakness and trivial folly hinder them  
from ever turning their eyes inwards1 or
 from seeing themselves in that         
despicable point of view in which their 
own consciences must tell them that they
 would appear to every body1 if the real
 truth should ever come to be known4    
,as ignorant and groundless praise can  
give no solid joy1 no satisfaction that 
will bear any serious examination1 so1  
on the contrary1 it often gives real    
comfort to reflect1 that though no      
praise should actually be bestowed upon 
us1 our conduct1 however1 has been such 
as to deserve it1 and has been in every 
respect suitable to those measures and  

rules by which praise and approbation   
are naturally and commonly bestowed4 ,we
 are pleased1 not only with praise1 but 
with having done what is praise-worthy4 
,we are pleased to think that we have   
rendered ourselves the natural objects  
of approbation1 though no approbation   
should ever actually be bestowed upon   
us3 and we are mortified to reflect that
 we have justly merited the blame of    
those we live with1 though that         
sentiment should never actually be      
exerted against us4 ,the man who is     
conscious to himself that he has exactly
 observed those measures of conduct     
which experience informs him are        
generally agreeable1 reflects with      
satisfaction on the propriety of his own
 behaviour4 ,when he views it in the    
light in which the impartial spectator  
would view it1 he thoroughly enters into
 all the motives which influenced it4   
,he looks back upon every part of it    
with pleasure and approbation1 and      
though mankind should never be          

acquainted with what he has done1 he    
regards himself1 not so much according  
to the light in which they actually     
regard him1 as according to that in     
which they would regard him if they were
 better informed4 ,he anticipates the   
applause and admiration which in this   
case would be bestowed upon him1 and he 
applauds and admires himself by sympathy
 with sentiments1 which do not indeed   
actually take place1 but which the      
ignorance of the public alone hinders   
from taking place1 which he knows are   
the natural and ordinary effects of such
 conduct1 which his imagination strongly
 connects with it1 and which he has     
acquired a habit of conceiving as       
something that naturally and in         
propriety ought to follow from it4 ,men 
have voluntarily thrown away life to    
acquire after death a renown which they 
could no longer enjoy4 ,their           
imagination1 in the mean time1          
anticipated that fame which was in      
future times to be bestowed upon them4  

,those applauses which they were never  
to hear rung in their ears2 the thoughts
 of that admiration1 whose effects they 
were never to feel1 played about their  
hearts1 banished from their breasts the 
strongest of all natural fears1 and     
transported them to perform actions     
which seem almost beyond the reach of   
human nature4 ,but in point of reality  
there is surely no great difference     
between that approbation which is not to
 be bestowed till we can no longer enjoy
 it1 and that which1 indeed1 is never to
 be bestowed1 but which would be        
bestowed1 if the world was ever made to 
#aje understand properly the real       
circumstances of our behaviour4 ,if the 
one often produces such violent effects1
 we cannot wonder that the other should 
always be highly regarded4  ,nature1    
when she formed man for society1 endowed
 him with an original desire to please1 
and an original aversion to offend his  
brethren4 ,she taught him to feel       
pleasure in their favourable1 and pain  

in their unfavourable regard4 ,she      
rendered their approbation most         
flattering and most agreeable to him for
 its own sake2 and their disapprobation 
most mortifying and most offensive4     
,but this desire of the approbation1 and
 this aversion to the disapprobation of 
his brethren1 would not alone have      
rendered him fit for that society for   
which he was made4 ,nature1 accordingly1
 has endowed him1 not only with a desire
 of being approved of1 but with a desire
 of being what ought to be approved of2 
or of being what he himself approves of 
in other men4 ,the first desire could   
only have made him wish to appear to be 
fit for society4 ,the second was        
necessary in order to render him anxious
 to be really fit4 ,the first could only
 have prompted him to the affectation of
 virtue1 and to the concealment of vice4
 ,the second was necessary in order to  
inspire him with the real love of       
virtue1 and with the real abhorrence of 
vice4 ,in every well-formed mind this   

second desire seems to be the strongest 
of the two4 ,it is only the weakest and 
most superficial of mankind who can be  
much delighted with that praise which   
they themselves know to be altogether   
unmerited4 ,a weak man may sometimes be 
pleased with it1 but a wise man rejects 
it upon all occasions4 ,but1 though a   
wise man feels little pleasure from     
praise where he knows there is no       
praise-worthiness1 he often feels the   
highest in doing what he knows to be    
praise-worthy1 though he knows equally  
well that no praise is ever to be       
bestowed upon it4 ,to obtain the        
approbation of mankind1 where no        
approbation is due1 can never be an     
object of any importance to him4 ,to    
obtain that approbation where it is     
really due1 may sometimes be an object  
of no great importance to him4 ,but to  
be that thing which deserves            
approbation1 must always be an object of
 the highest4  ,to desire1 or even to   
accept of praise1 where no praise is    

due1 can be the effect only of the most 
contemptible vanity4 ,to desire it where
 it is really due is to desire no more  
than that a most essential act of       
justice should be done to us4 ,the love 
of just fame1 of true glory1 even for   
its own sake1 and independent of any    
advantage which he can derive from it1  
is not unworthy even of a wise man4 ,he 
sometimes1 however1 neglects1 and even  
despises it2 and he is never more apt to
 do so than when he has the most perfect
 assurance of the perfect propriety of  
every part of his own conduct4 ,his     
self-approbation1 in this case1 stands  
in need of no confirmation from the     
approbation of other men4 ,it is alone  
sufficient1 and he is contented with it4
 ,this self-approbation1 if not the     
only1 is at least the principal object1 
#ajf about which he can or ought to be  
anxious4 ,the love of it is the love of 
virtue4  ,as the love and admiration    
which we naturally conceive for some    
characters1 dispose us to wish to become

 ourselves the proper objects of such   
agreeable sentiments2 so the hatred and 
contempt which we as naturally conceive 
for others1 dispose us1 perhaps still   
more strongly1 to dread the very thought
 of resembling them in any respect4     
,neither is it1 in this case1 too1 so   
much the thought of being hated and     
despised that we are afraid of1 as that 
of being hateful and despicable4 ,we    
dread the thought of doing any thing    
which can render us the just and proper 
objects of the hatred and contempt of   
our fellow-creatures2 even though we had
 the most perfect security that those   
sentiments were never actually to be    
exerted against us4 ,the man who has    
broke through all those measures of     
conduct1 which can alone render him     
agreeable to mankind1 though he should  
have the most perfect assurance that    
what he had done was for ever to be     
concealed from every human eye1 it is   
all to no purpose4 ,when he looks back  
upon it1 and views it in the light in   

which the impartial spectator would view
 it1 he finds that he can enter into    
none of the motives which influenced it4
 ,he is abashed and confounded at the   
thoughts of it1 and necessarily feels a 
very high degree of that shame which he 
would be exposed to1 if his actions     
should ever come to be generally known4 
,his imagination1 in this case too1     
anticipates the contempt and derision   
from which nothing saves him but the    
ignorance of those he lives with4 ,he   
still feels that he is the natural      
object of these sentiments1 and still   
trembles at the thought of what he would
 suffer1 if they were ever actually     
exerted against him4 ,but if what he had
 been guilty of was not merely one of   
those improprieties which are the       
objects of simple disapprobation1 but   
one of those enormous crimes which      
excite detestation and resentment1 he   
could never think of it1 as long as he  
had any sensibility left1 without       
feeling all the agony of horror and     

remorse2 and though he could be assured 
that no man was ever to know it1 and    
could even bring himself to believe that
 there was no ,god to revenge it1 he    
would still feel enough of both these   
sentiments to embitter the whole of his 
life3 he would still regard himself as  
the natural object of the hatred and    
indignation of all his fellow-creatures2
 and1 if his heart was not grown callous
 by the habit of crimes1 he could not   
think without terror and astonishment   
even of the manner in which mankind     
would look upon him1 of what would be   
the expression of their countenance and 
of their eyes1 if the dreadful truth    
should ever come to be known4 ,these    
natural pangs of an affrighted          
conscience are the dmons1 the avenging  
furies1 which1 in this life1 haunt the  
guilty1 which allow them neither quiet  
nor repose1 which often drive them to   
despair and distraction1 from which no  
assurance of secrecy can protect them1  
from which no principles of irreligion  

can entirely deliver them1 and from     
which #ajg nothing can free them but the
 vilest and most abject of all states1 a
 complete insensibility to honour and   
infamy1 to vice and virtue4 ,men of the 
most detestable characters1 who1 in the 
execution of the most dreadful crimes1  
had taken their measures so coolly as to
 avoid even the suspicion of guilt1 have
 sometimes been driven1 by the horror of
 their situation1 to discover1 of their 
own accord1 what no human sagacity could
 ever have investigated4 ,by            
acknowledging their guilt1 by submitting
 themselves to the resentment of their  
offended fellow-citizens1 and1 by thus  
satiating that vengeance of which they  
were sensible that they had become the  
proper objects1 they hoped1 by their    
death to reconcile themselves1 at least 
in their own imagination1 to the natural
 sentiments of mankind2 to be able to   
consider themselves as less worthy of   
hatred and resentment2 to atone1 in some
 measure1 for their crimes1 and1 by thus

 becoming the objects rather of         
compassion than of horror1 if possible1 
to die in peace and with the forgiveness
 of all their fellow-creatures4         
,compared to what they felt before the  
discovery1 even the thought of this1 it 
seems was happiness4  ,in such cases1   
the horror of blame-worthiness seems1   
even in persons who cannot be suspected 
of any extraordinary delicacy or        
sensibility of character1 completely to 
conquer the dread of blame4 ,in order to
 allay that horror1 in order to pacify1 
in some degree1 the remorse of their own
 consciences1 they voluntarily submitted
 themselves both to the reproach and to 
the punishment which they knew were due 
to their crimes1 but which1 at the same 
time1 they might easily have avoided4   
,they are the most frivolous and        
superficial of mankind only who can be  
much delighted with that praise which   
they themselves know to be altogether   
unmerited4 ,unmerited reproach1 however1
 is frequently capable of mortifying    

very severely even men of more than     
ordinary constancy4 ,men of the most    
ordinary constancy1 indeed1 easily learn
 to despise those foolish tales which   
are so frequently circulated in society1
 and which1 from their own absurdity and
 falsehood1 never fail to die away in   
the course of a few weeks1 or of a few  
days4 ,but an innocent man1 though of   
more than ordinary constancy1 is often1 
not only shocked1 but most severely     
mortified by the serious1 though false1 
imputation of a crime2 especially when  
that imputation happens unfortunately to
 be supported by some circumstances     
which gave it an air of probability4 ,he
 is humbled to find that any body should
 think so meanly of his character as to 
suppose him capable of being guilty of  
it4 ,though perfectly conscious of his  
own innocence1 the very imputation seems
 often1 even in his own imagination1 to 
throw a shadow of disgrace and dishonour
 upon his character4 ,his just          
indignation1 too1 at so very gross an   

injury1 which1 however1 it may          
frequently be improper and sometimes    
even impossible to revenge1 is itself a 
very painful sensation4 ,there is no    
greater tormentor of the human breast   
than violent resentment which cannot be 
gratified4 ,an innocent man1 brought to 
#ajh the scaffold by the false          
imputation of an infamous or odious     
crime1 suffers the most cruel misfortune
 which it is possible for innocence to  
suffer4 ,the agony of his mind may1 in  
this case1 frequently be greater than   
that of those who suffer for the like   
crimes1 of which they have been actually
 guilty4 ,profligate criminals1 such as 
common thieves and highwaymen1 have     
frequently little sense of the baseness 
of their own conduct1 and consequently  
no remorse4 ,without troubling          
themselves about the justice or         
injustice of the punishment1 they have  
always been accustomed to look upon the 
gibbet as a lot very likely to fall to  
them4 ,when it does fall to them1       

therefore1 they consider themselves only
 as not quite so lucky as some of their 
companions1 and submit to their fortune1
 without any other uneasiness than what 
may arise from the fear of death2 a fear
 which1 even by such worthless wretches1
 we frequently see1 can be so easily1   
and so very completely conquered4 ,the  
innocent man1 on the contrary1 over and 
above the uneasiness which this fear may
 occasion1 is tormented by his own      
indignation at the injustice which has  
been done to him4 ,he is struck with    
horror at the thoughts of the infamy    
which the punishment may shed upon his  
memory1 and foresees1 with the most     
exquisite anguish1 that he is hereafter 
to be remembered by his dearest friends 
and relations1 not with regret and      
affection1 but with shame1 and even with
 horror for his supposed disgraceful    
conduct3 and the shades of death appear 
to close round him with a darker and    
more melancholy gloom than naturally    
belongs to them4 ,such fatal accidents1 

for the tranquillity of mankind1 it is  
to be hoped1 happen very rarely in any  
country2 but they happen sometimes in   
all countries1 even in those where      
justice is in general very well         
administered4 ,the unfortunate ,calas1 a
 man of much more than ordinary         
constancy 7broke upon the wheel and     
burnt at ,tholouse for the supposed     
murder of his own son1 of which he was  
perfectly innocent71 seemed1 with his   
last breath1 to deprecate1 not so much  
the cruelty of the punishment1 as the   
disgrace which the imputation might     
bring upon his memory4 ,after he had    
been broke1 and was just going to be    
thrown into the fire1 the monk1 who     
attended the execution1 exhorted him to 
confess the crime for which he had been 
condemned4 ',my father1' said ,calas1   
'can you yourself bring yourself to     
believe that ,i am guilty8'  ,to persons
 in such unfortunate circumstances1 that
 humble philosophy which confines its   
views to this life1 can afford1 perhaps1

 but little consolation4 ,every thing   
that could render either life or death  
respectable is taken from them4 ,they   
are condemned to death and to           
everlasting infamy4 ,religion can alone 
afford them any effectual comfort4 ,she 
alone can tell them that it is of little
 importance what man may think of their 
conduct1 while the all-seeing ,judge of 
the world approves of it4 ,she alone can
 present to them the view of another    
world2 a world of more candour1         
humanity1 and justice1 than the present2
 where their #aji innocence is in due   
time to be declared1 and their virtue to
 be finally rewarded3 and the same great
 principle which can alone strike terror
 into triumphant vice1 affords the only 
effectual consolation to disgraced and  
insulted innocence4  ,in smaller        
offences1 as well as in greater crimes1 
it frequently happens that a person of  
sensibility is much more hurt by the    
unjust imputation1 than the real        
criminal is by the actual guilt4 ,a     

woman of gallantry laughs even at the   
well-founded surmises which are         
circulated concerning her conduct4 ,the 
worst founded surmise of the same kind  
is a mortal stab to an innocent virgin4 
,the person who is deliberately guilty  
of a disgraceful action1 we may lay it  
down1 ,i believe1 as a general rule1 can
 seldom have much sense of the disgrace2
 and the person who is habitually guilty
 of it1 can scarce ever have any4  ,when
 every man1 even of middling            
understanding1 so readily despises      
unmerited applause1 how it comes to pass
 that unmerited reproach should often be
 capable of mortifying so severely men  
of the soundest and best judgment1 may1 
perhaps1 deserve some consideration4    
,pain1 ,i have already had occasion to  
observe1 is1 in almost all cases1 a more
 pungent sensation than the opposite and
 correspondent pleasure4 ,the one1      
almost always1 depresses us much more   
below the ordinary1 or what may be      
called the natural1 state of our        

happiness1 than the other ever raises us
 above it4 ,a man of sensibility is apt 
to be more humiliated by just censure   
than he is ever elevated by just        
applause4 ,unmerited applause a wise man
 rejects with contempt upon all         
occasions2 but he often feels very      
severely the injustice of unmerited     
censure4 ,by suffering himself to be    
applauded for what he has not performed1
 by assuming a merit which does not     
belong to him1 he feels that he is      
guilty of a mean falsehood1 and         
deserves1 not the admiration1 but the   
contempt of those very persons who1 by  
mistake1 had been led to admire him4 ,it
 may1 perhaps1 give him some            
well-founded pleasure to find that he   
has been1 by many people1 thought       
capable of performing what he did not   
perform4 ,but1 though he may be obliged 
to his friends for their good opinion1  
he would think himself guilty of the    
greatest baseness if he did not         
immediately undeceive them4 ,it gives   

him little pleasure to look upon himself
 in the light in which other people     
actually look upon him1 when he is      
conscious that1 if they knew the truth1 
they would look upon him in a very      
different light4 ,a weak man1 however1  
is often much delighted with viewing    
himself in this false and delusive      
light4 ,he assumes the merit of every   
laudable action that is ascribed to him1
 and pretends to that of many which     
nobody ever thought of ascribing to him4
 ,he pretends to have done what he never
 did1 to have written what another      
wrote1 to have invented what another    
discovered2 and is led into all the     
miserable vices of plagiarism and common
 lying4 ,but though no man of #aaj      
middling good sense can derive much     
pleasure from the imputation of a       
laudable action which he never          
performed1 yet a wise man may suffer    
great pain from the serious imputation  
of a crime which he never committed4    
,nature1 in this case1 has rendered the 

pain1 not only more pungent than the    
opposite and correspondent pleasure1 but
 she has rendered it so in a much       
greater than the ordinary degree4 ,a    
denial rids a man at once of the foolish
 and ridiculous pleasure2 but it will   
not always rid him of the pain4 ,when he
 refuses the merit which is ascribed to 
him1 nobody doubts his veracity4 ,it may
 be doubted when he denies the crime    
which he is accused of4 ,he is at once  
enraged at the falsehood of the         
imputation1 and mortified to find that  
any credit should be given to it4 ,he   
feels that his character is not         
sufficient to protect him4 ,he feels    
that his brethren1 far from looking upon
 him in that light in which he anxiously
 desires to be viewed by them1 think him
 capable of being guilty of what he is  
accused of4 ,he knows perfectly that he 
has not been guilty4 ,he knows perfectly
 what he has done2 but1 perhaps1 scarce 
any man can know perfectly what he      
himself is capable of doing4 ,what the  

peculiar constitution of his own mind   
may or may not admit of1 is1 perhaps1   
more or less a matter of doubt to every 
man4 ,the trust and good opinion of his 
friends and neighbours1 tends more than 
any thing to relieve him from this most 
disagreeable doubt2 their distrust and  
unfavourable opinion to increase it4 ,he
 may think himself very confident that  
their unfavourable judgment is wrong3   
but this confidence can seldom be so    
great as to hinder that judgment from   
making some impression upon him2 and the
 greater his sensibility1 the greater   
his delicacy1 the greater his worth in  
short1 this impression is likely to be  
the greater4  ,the agreement or         
disagreement both of the sentiments and 
judgments of other people with our own1 
is1 in all cases1 it must be observed1  
of more or less importance to us1       
exactly in proportion as we ourselves   
are more or less uncertain about the    
propriety of our own sentiments1 about  
the accuracy of our own judgments4  ,a  

man of sensibility may sometimes feel   
great uneasiness lest he should have    
yielded too much even to what may be    
called an honourable passion2 to his    
just indignation1 perhaps1 at the injury
 which may have been done either to     
himself or to his friend4 ,he is        
anxiously afraid lest1 meaning only to  
act with spirit1 and to do justice1 he  
may1 from the too great vehemence of his
 emotion1 have done a real injury to    
some other person2 who1 though not      
innocent1 may not have been altogether  
so guilty as he at first apprehended4   
,the opinion of other people becomes1 in
 this case1 of the utmost importance to 
him4 ,their approbation is the most     
healing balsam2 their disapprobation1   
the bitterest and most tormenting poison
 that can be poured into his uneasy     
mind4 ,when he is perfectly satisfied   
with every part of his own conduct1 the 
judgment of other people is often of    
less importance to him4  #aaa ,there are
 some very noble and beautiful arts1 in 

which the degree of excellence can be   
determined only by a certain nicety of  
taste1 of which the decisions1 however1 
appear always1 in some measure1         
uncertain4 ,there are others1 in which  
the success admits1 either of clear     
demonstration1 or very satisfactory     
proof4 ,among the candidates for        
excellence in those different arts1 the 
anxiety about the public opinion is     
always much greater in the former than  
in the latter4  ,the beauty of poetry is
 a matter of such nicety1 that a young  
beginner can scarce ever be certain that
 he has attained it4 ,nothing delights  
him so much1 therefore1 as the          
favourable judgments of his friends and 
of the public2 and nothing mortifies him
 so severely as the contrary4 ,the one  
establishes1 the other shakes1 the good 
opinion which he is anxious to entertain
 concerning his own performances4       
,experience and success may in time give
 him a little more confidence in his own
 judgment4 ,he is at all times1 however1

 liable to be most severely mortified by
 the unfavourable judgments of the      
public4 ,racine was so disgusted by the 
indifferent success of his ,phdra1 the  
finest tragedy1 perhaps1 that is extant 
in any language1 that1 though in the    
vigour of his life1 and at the height of
 his abilities1 he resolved to write no 
more for the stage4 ,that great poet    
used frequently to tell his son1 that   
the most paltry and impertinent         
criticism had always given him more pain
 than the highest and justest eulogy had
 ever given him pleasure4 ,the extreme  
sensibility of ,voltaire to the         
slightest censure of the same kind is   
well known to every body4 ,the ,dunciad 
of ,mr4 ,pope is an everlasting monument
 of how much the most correct1 as well  
as the most elegant and harmonious of   
all the ,english poets1 had been hurt by
 the criticisms of the lowest and most  
contemptible authors4 ,gray 7who joins  
to the sublimity of ,milton the elegance
 and harmony of ,pope1 and to whom      

nothing is wanting to render him1       
perhaps1 the first poet in the ,english 
language1 but to have written a little  
more7 is said to have been so much hurt 
by a foolish and impertinent parody of  
two of his finest odes1 that he never   
afterwards attempted any considerable   
work4 ,those men of letters who value   
themselves upon what is called fine     
writing in prose1 approach somewhat to  
the sensibility of poets4               
,mathematicians1 on the contrary1 who   
may have the most perfect assurance1    
both of the truth and of the importance 
of their discoveries1 are frequently    
very indifferent about the reception    
which they may meet with from the       
public4 ,the two greatest mathematicians
 that ,i ever had the honour to be known
 to1 and ,i believe1 the two greatest   
that have lived in my time1 ,dr4 ,robert
 ,simpson of ,glasgow1 and ,dr4 ,matthew
 ,stewart of ,edinburgh1 never seemed to
 feel even the slightest uneasiness from
 the neglect with which the ignorance of

 the public received some of their most 
valuable works4 ,the great work of ,sir 
,isaac ,newton1 his ,mathematical       
,principles of ,natural ,philosophy1 ,i 
#aab have been told1 was for several    
years neglected by the public4 ,the     
tranquillity of that great man1 it is   
probable1 never suffered1 upon that     
account1 the interruption of a single   
quarter of an hour4 ,natural            
philosophers1 in their independency upon
 the public opinion1 approach nearly to 
mathematicians1 and1 in their judgments 
concerning the merit of their own       
discoveries and observations1 enjoy some
 degree of the same security and        
tranquillity4  ,the morals of those     
different classes of men of letters are1
 perhaps1 sometimes somewhat affected by
 this very great difference in their    
situation with regard to the public4    
,mathematicians and natural             
philosophers1 from their independency   
upon the public opinion1 have little    
temptation to form themselves into      

factions and cabals1 either for the     
support of their own reputation1 or for 
the depression of that of their rivals4 
,they are almost always men of the most 
amiable simplicity of manners1 who live 
in good harmony with one another1 are   
the friends of one another's reputation1
 enter into no intrigue in order to     
secure the public applause1 but are     
pleased when their works are approved   
of1 without being either much vexed or  
very angry when they are neglected4  ,it
 is not always the same case with poets1
 or with those who value themselves upon
 what is called fine writing4 ,they are 
very apt to divide themselves into a    
sort of literary faction2 each cabal    
being often avowedly1 and almost always 
secretly1 the mortal enemy of the       
reputation of every other1 and employing
 all the mean arts of intrigue and      
solicitation to pre-occupy the public   
opinion in favour of the works of its   
own members1 and against those of its   
enemies and rivals4 ,in ,france1        

,despreaux and ,racine did not think it 
below them to set themselves at the head
 of a literary cabal1 in order to       
depress the reputation1 first of        
,quinault and ,perreault1 and afterwards
 of ,fontenelle and ,la ,motte1 and even
 to treat the good ,la ,fontaine with a 
species of most disrespectful kindness4 
,in ,england1 the amiable ,mr4 ,addison 
did not think it unworthy of his gentle 
and modest character to set himself at  
the head of a little cabal of the same  
kind1 in order to keep down the rising  
reputation of ,mr4 ,pope4 ,mr4          
,fontenelle1 in writing the lives and   
characters of the members of the academy
 of sciences1 a society of              
mathematicians and natural philosophers1
 has frequent opportunities of          
celebrating the amiable simplicity of   
their manners2 a quality which1 he      
observes1 was so universal among them as
 to be characteristical1 rather of that 
whole class of men of letters1 than of  
any individual4 ,mr4 ,d',alembert1 in   

writing the lives and characters of the 
members of the ,french ,academy1 a      
society of poets and fine writers1 or of
 those who are supposed to be such1     
seems not to have had such frequent     
opportunities of making any remark of   
this kind1 and no where pretends to     
represent this amiable quality as       
characteristical of that class of men of
 letters whom he celebrates4  #aac ,our 
uncertainty concerning our own merit1   
and our anxiety to think favourably of  
it1 should together naturally enough    
make us desirous to know the opinion of 
other people concerning it2 to be more  
than ordinarily elevated when that      
opinion is favourable1 and to be more   
than ordinarily mortified when it is    
otherwise3 but they should not make us  
desirous either of obtaining the        
favourable1 or of avoiding the          
unfavourable opinion1 by intrigue and   
cabal4 ,when a man has bribed all the   
judges1 the most unanimous decision of  
the court1 though it may gain him his   

law-suit1 cannot give him any assurance 
that he was in the right3 and had he    
carried on his law-suit merely to       
satisfy himself that he was in the      
right1 he never would have bribed the   
judges4 ,but though he wished to find   
himself in the right1 he wished likewise
 to gain his law-suit2 and therefore he 
bribed the judges4 ,if praise were of no
 consequence to us1 but as a proof of   
our own praise-worthiness1 we never     
should endeavour to obtain it by unfair 
means4 ,but1 though to wise men it is1  
at least in doubtful cases1 of principal
 consequence upon this account2 it is   
likewise of some consequence upon its   
own account3 and therefore 7we cannot1  
indeed1 upon such occasions1 call them  
wise men71 but men very much above the  
common level have sometimes attempted   
both to obtain praise1 and to avoid     
blame1 by very unfair means4  ,praise   
and blame express what actually are1    
praise-worthiness and blame-worthiness  
what naturally ought to be1 the         

sentiments of other people with regard  
to our character and conduct4 ,the love 
of praise is the desire of obtaining the
 favourable sentiments of our brethren4 
,the love of praise-worthiness is the   
desire of rendering ourselves the proper
 objects of those sentiments4 ,so far   
those two principles resemble and are   
akin to one another4 ,the like affinity 
and resemblance take place between dread
 of blame and that of blame-worthiness4 
,the man who desires to do1 or who      
actually does1 a praise-worthy action1  
may likewise desire the praise which is 
due to it1 and sometimes1 perhaps1 more 
than is due to it4 ,the two principles  
are in this case blended together4 ,how 
far his conduct may have been influenced
 by the one1 and how far by the other1  
may frequently be unknown even to       
himself4 ,it must almost always be so to
 other people4 ,they who are disposed to
 lessen the merit of his conduct1 impute
 it chiefly or altogether to the mere   
love of praise1 or to what they call    

mere vanity4 ,they who are disposed to  
think more favourably of it1 impute it  
chiefly or altogether to the love of    
praise-worthiness2 to the love of what  
is really honourable and noble in human 
conduct2 to the desire1 not merely of   
obtaining1 but of deserving the         
approbation and applause of his         
brethren4 ,the imagination of the       
spectator throws upon it either the one 
colour or the other1 according either to
 his habits of thinking1 or to the      
favour or dislike which he may bear to  
the person whose conduct he is          
considering4  #aad ,some splenetic      
philosophers1 in judging of human       
nature1 have done as peevish individuals
 are apt to do in judging of the conduct
 of one another1 and have imputed to the
 love of praise1 or to what they call   
vanity1 every action which ought to be  
ascribed to that of praise-worthiness4  
,i shall hereafter have occasion to give
 an account of some of their systems1   
and shall not at present stop to examine

 them4  ,very few men can be satisfied  
with their own private consciousness    
that they have attained those qualities1
 or performed those actions1 which they 
admire and think praise-worthy in other 
people2 unless it is1 at the same time1 
generally acknowledged that they possess
 the one1 or have performed the other2  
or1 in other words1 unless they have    
actually obtained that praise which they
 think due both to the one and to the   
other4 ,in this respect1 however1 men   
differ considerably from one another4   
,some seem indifferent about the praise1
 when1 in their own minds1 they are     
perfectly satisfied that they have      
attained the praise-worthiness4 ,others 
appear much less anxious about the      
praise-worthiness than about the praise4
  ,no man can be completely1 or even    
tolerably satisfied1 with having avoided
 every thing blame-worthy in his        
conduct1 unless he has likewise avoided 
the blame or the reproach4 ,a wise man  
may frequently neglect praise1 even when

 he has best deserved it2 but1 in all   
matters of serious consequence1 he will 
most carefully endeavour so to regulate 
his conduct as to avoid1 not only       
blame-worthiness1 but1 as much as       
possible1 every probable imputation of  
blame4 ,he will never1 indeed1 avoid    
blame by doing any thing which he judges
 blame-worthy2 by omitting any part of  
his duty1 or by neglecting any          
opportunity of doing any thing which he 
judges to be really and greatly         
praise-worthy4 ,but1 with these         
modifications1 he will most anxiously   
and carefully avoid it4 ,to show much   
anxiety about praise1 even for          
praise-worthy actions1 is seldom a mark 
of great wisdom1 but generally of some  
degree of weakness4 ,but1 in being      
anxious to avoid the shadow of blame or 
reproach1 there may be no weakness1 but 
frequently there may be the most        
praise-worthy prudence4  ',many people1'
 says ,cicero1 'despise glory1 who are  
yet most severely mortified by unjust   

reproach2 and that most inconsistently4'
 ,this inconsistency1 however1 seems to 
be founded in the unalterable principles
 of human nature4  ,the all-wise ,author
 of ,nature has1 in this manner1 taught 
man to respect the sentiments and       
judgments of his brethren2 to be more or
 less pleased when they approve of his  
conduct1 and to be more or less hurt    
when they disapprove of it4 ,he has made
 man1 if ,i may say so1 the immediate   
judge of mankind2 and has1 in this      
respect1 as in many others1 created him 
after his own image1 and appointed him  
his vicegerent upon earth1 to           
superintend the behaviour of his        
brethren4 ,they are taught by nature1 to
 acknowledge that power and jurisdiction
 which #aae has thus been conferred upon
 him1 to be more or less humbled and    
mortified when they have incurred his   
censure1 and to be more or less elated  
when they have obtained his applause4   
,but though man has1 in this manner1    
been rendered the immediate judge of    

mankind1 he has been rendered so only in
 the first instance2 and an appeal lies 
from his sentence to a much higher      
tribunal1 to the tribunal of their own  
consciences1 to that of the supposed    
impartial and well-informed spectator1  
to that of the man within the breast1   
the great judge and arbiter of their    
conduct ,the jurisdictions of those two 
tribunals are founded upon principles   
which1 though in some respects          
resembling and akin1 are1 however1 in   
reality different and distinct4 ,the    
jurisdiction of the man without1 is     
founded altogether in the desire of     
actual praise1 and in the aversion to   
actual blame4 ,the jurisdiction of the  
man within1 is founded altogether in the
 desire of praise-worthiness1 and in the
 aversion to blame-worthiness2 in the   
desire of possessing those qualities1   
and performing those actions1 which we  
love and admire in other people2 and in 
the dread of possessing those qualities1
 and performing those actions1 which we 

hate and despise in other people4 ,if   
the man without should applaud us1      
either for actions which we have not    
performed1 or for motives which had no  
influence upon us2 the man within can   
immediately humble that pride and       
elevation of mind which such groundless 
acclamations might otherwise occasion1  
by telling us1 that as we know that we  
do not deserve them1 we render ourselves
 despicable by accepting them4 ,if1 on  
the contrary1 the man without should    
reproach us1 either for actions which we
 never performed1 or for motives which  
had no influence upon those which we may
 have performed1 the man within may     
immediately correct this false judgment1
 and assure us1 that we are by no means 
the proper objects of that censure which
 has so unjustly been bestowed upon us4 
,but in this and in some other cases1   
the man within seems sometimes1 as it   
were1 astonished and confounded by the  
vehemence and clamour of the man        
without4 ,the violence and loudness with

 which blame is sometimes poured out    
upon us1 seems to stupify and benumb our
 natural sense of praise-worthiness and 
blame-worthiness2 and the judgments of  
the man within1 though not1 perhaps1    
absolutely altered or perverted1 are1   
however1 so much shaken in the          
steadiness and firmness of their        
decision1 that their natural effect1 in 
securing the tranquillity of the mind1  
is frequently in a great measure        
destroyed4 ,we scarce dare to absolve   
ourselves1 when all our brethren appear 
loudly to condemn us4 ,the supposed     
impartial spectator of our conduct seems
 to give his opinion in our favour with 
fear and hesitation2 when that of all   
the real spectators1 when that of all   
those with whose eyes and from whose    
station he endeavours to consider it1 is
 unanimously and violently against us4  
,in such cases1 this demigod within the 
breast appears1 like the demigods of the
 poets1 though #aaf partly of immortal1 
yet partly too of mortal extraction4    

,when his judgments are steadily and    
firmly directed by the sense of         
praise-worthiness and blame-worthiness1 
he seems to act suitably to his divine  
extraction3 but when he suffers himself 
to be astonished and confounded by the  
judgments of ignorant and weak man1 he  
discovers his connexion with mortality1 
and appears to act suitably1 rather to  
the human1 than to the divine1 part of  
his origin4  ,in such cases1 the only   
effectual consolation of humbled and    
afflicted man lies in an appeal to a    
still higher tribunal1 to that of the   
all-seeing ,judge of the world1 whose   
eye can never be deceived1 and whose    
judgments can never be perverted4 ,a    
firm confidence in the unerring         
rectitude of this great tribunal1 before
 which his innocence is in due time to  
be declared1 and his virtue to be       
finally rewarded1 can alone support him 
under the weakness and despondency of   
his own mind1 under the perturbation and
 astonishment of the man within the     

breast1 whom nature has set up as1 in   
this life1 the great guardian1 not only 
of his innocence1 but of his            
tranquillity4 ,our happiness in this    
life is thus1 upon many occasions1      
dependent upon the humble hope and      
expectation of a life to come3 a hope   
and expectation deeply rooted in human  
nature2 which can alone support its     
lofty ideas of its own dignity2 can     
alone illumine the dreary prospect of   
its continually approaching mortality1  
and maintain its cheerfulness under all 
the heaviest calamities to which1 from  
the disorders of this life1 it may      
sometimes be exposed4 ,that there is a  
world to come1 where exact justice will 
be done to every man1 where every man   
will be ranked with those who1 in the   
moral and intellectual qualities1 are   
really his equals2 where the owner of   
those humble talents and virtues which1 
from being depressed by fortunes1 had1  
in this life1 no opportunity of         
displaying themselves2 which were       

unknown1 not only to the public1 but    
which he himself could scarce be sure   
that he possessed1 and for which even   
the man within the breast could scarce  
venture to afford him any distinct and  
clear testimony2 where that modest1     
silent1 and unknown merit1 will be      
placed upon a level1 and sometimes above
 those who1 in this world1 had enjoyed  
the highest reputation1 and who1 from   
the advantage of their situation1 had   
been enabled to perform the most        
splendid and dazzling actions2 is a     
doctrine1 in every respect so venerable1
 so comfortable to the weakness1 so     
flattering to the grandeur of human     
nature1 that the virtuous man who has   
the misfortune to doubt of it1 cannot   
possibly avoid wishing most earnestly   
and anxiously to believe it4 ,it could  
never have been exposed to the derision 
of the scoffer1 had not the distribution
 of rewards and punishments1 which some 
of its most zealous assertors have      
taught us was to be made in that world  

to come1 been too frequently in direct  
opposition to all our moral sentiments4 
,that the assiduous courtier is often   
more favoured than the faithful and     
active servant2 that attendance and     
adulation are often shorter #aag and    
surer roads to preferment than merit or 
service2 and that a campaign at         
,versailles or ,st4 ,james's is often   
worth two either in ,germany or         
,flanders1 is a complaint which we have 
all heard from many a venerable1 but    
discontented1 old officer4 ,but what is 
considered as the greatest reproach even
 to the weakness of earthly sovereigns1 
has been ascribed1 as an act of justice1
 to divine perfection2 and the duties of
 devotion1 the public and private       
worship of the ,deity1 have been        
represented1 even by men of virtue and  
abilities1 as the sole virtues which can
 either entitle to reward or exempt from
 punishment in the life to come4 ,they  
were the virtues perhaps1 most suitable 
to their station1 and in which they     

themselves chiefly excelled2 and we are 
all naturally disposed to over-rate the 
excellencies of our own characters4 ,in 
the discourse which the eloquent and    
philosophical ,massillon pronounced1 on 
giving his benediction to the standards 
of the regiment of ,catinat1 there is   
the following address to the officers3  
',what is most deplorable in your       
situation1 gentlemen1 is1 that in a life
 hard and painful1 in which the services
 and the duties sometimes go beyond the 
rigour and severity of the most austere 
cloisters2 you suffer always in vain for
 the life to come1 and frequently even  
for this life4 ,alas6 the solitary monk 
in his cell1 obliged to mortify the     
flesh and to subject it to the spirit1  
is supported by the hope of an assured  
recompense1 and by the secret unction of
 that grace which softens the yoke of   
the ,lord4 ,but you1 on the bed of      
death1 can you dare to represent to ,him
 your fatigues and the daily hardships  
of your employment8 can you dare to     

solicit ,him for any recompense8 and in 
all the exertions that you have made1 in
 all the violences that you have done to
 yourselves1 what is there that ,he     
ought to place to ,his own account8 ,the
 best days of your life1 however1 have  
been sacrificed to your profession1 and 
ten years' service has more worn out    
your body1 than would1 perhaps1 have    
done a whole life of repentance and     
mortification4 ,alas6 my brother1 one   
single day of those sufferings1         
consecrated to the ,lord1 would1        
perhaps1 have obtained you an eternal   
happiness4 ,one single action1 painful  
to nature1 and offered up to ,him1      
would1 perhaps1 have secured to you the 
inheritance of the saints4 ,and you have
 done all this1 and in vain1 for this   
world4'  ,to compare1 in this manner1   
the futile mortifications of a          
monastery1 to the ennobling hardships   
and hazards of war2 to suppose that one 
day1 or one hour1 employed in the former
 should1 in the eye of the great ,judge 

of the world1 have more merit than a    
whole life spent honourably in the      
latter1 is surely contrary to all our   
moral sentiments3 to all the principles 
by which nature has taught us to        
regulate our contempt or admiration4 ,it
 is this spirit1 however1 which1 while  
it has reserved the celestial regions   
for monks and friars1 or for those whose
 conduct and conversation resembled     
those of monks and friars1 has condemned
 to the infernal all the heroes1 all the
 statesmen and lawgivers1 all the poets 
#aah and philosophers of former ages2   
all those who have invented1 improved1  
or excelled in the arts1 which          
contribute to the subsistence1 to the   
conveniency1 or to the ornament of human
 life2 all the great protectors1        
instructors1 and benefactors of mankind2
 all those to whom our natural sense of 
praise-worthiness forces us to ascribe  
the highest merit and most exalted      
virtue4 ,can we wonder that so strange  
an application of this most respectable 

doctrine should sometimes have exposed  
it to contempt and derision2 with those 
at least who had themselves1 perhaps1 no
 great taste or turn for the devout and 
contemplative virtues8#c  ,footnote #c3 
,vous y grillez sage et docte ,platon1  
,divin ,homere1 eloquent ,ciceron1 etc4 
,see ,voltaire4  -----  ,,chap4         
,,iii4--,of the ,influence and          
,authority of ,conscience4   ,,but      
though the approbation of his own       
conscience can scarce1 upon some        
extraordinary occasions1 content the    
weakness of man2 though the testimony of
 the supposed impartial spectator of the
 great inmate of the breast1 cannot     
always alone support him2 yet the       
influence and authority of this         
principle is1 upon all occasions1 very  
great2 and it is only by consulting this
 judge within1 that we can ever see what
 relates to ourselves in its proper     
shape and dimensions2 or that we can    
ever make any proper comparison between 
our own interests and those of other    

people4  ,as to the eye of the body1    
objects appear great or small1 not so   
much according to their real dimensions1
 as according to the nearness or        
distance of their situation2 so do they 
likewise to what may be called the      
natural eye of the mind3 and we remedy  
the defects of both these organs pretty 
much in the same manner4 ,in my present 
situation an immense landscape of lawns1
 and woods1 and distant mountains1 seems
 to do no more than cover the little    
window which ,i write by1 and to be out 
of all proportion less than the chamber 
in which ,i am sitting4 ,i can form a   
just comparison between those great     
objects and the little objects around   
me1 in no other way1 than by            
transporting myself1 at least in fancy1 
to a different station1 from whence ,i  
can survey both at nearly equal         
distances1 and thereby form some        
judgment of their real proportions4     
,habit and experience have taught me to 
do this so easily and so readily1 that  

,i am scarce sensible that ,i do it2 and
 a man must be1 in some measure1        
acquainted with the philosophy of       
vision1 before he can be thoroughly     
convinced1 how little those distant     
objects would appear to the eye1 if the 
imagination1 from a knowledge of their  
real magnitudes1 did not swell and      
dilate them4  ,in the same manner1 to   
the selfish and original passions of    
human nature1 the loss or gain of a very
 small interest of our own1 appears to  
be of vastly more importance1 excites a 
much more passionate joy or #aai sorrow1
 a much more ardent desire or aversion1 
than the greatest concern of another    
with1 whom we have no particular        
connexion4 ,his interests1 as long as   
they are surveyed from this station1 can
 never be put into the balance with our 
own1 can never restrain us from doing   
whatever may tend to promote our own1   
how ruinous so ever to him4 ,before we  
can make any proper comparison of those 
opposite interests1 we must change our  

position4 ,we must view them1 neither   
from our own place nor yet from his1    
neither with our own eyes nor yet with  
his1 but from the place and with the    
eyes of a third person1 who has no      
particular connexion with either1 and   
who judges with impartiality between us4
 ,here1 too1 habit and experience have  
taught us to do this so easily and so   
readily1 that we are scarce sensible    
that we do it2 and it requires1 in this 
case too1 some degree of reflection1 and
 even of philosophy1 to convince us1 how
 little interest we should take in the  
greatest concerns of our neighbour1 how 
little we should be affected by whatever
 relates to him1 if the sense of        
propriety and justice did not correct   
the otherwise natural inequality of our 
sentiments4  ,let us suppose that the   
great empire of ,china1 with all its    
myriads of inhabitants1 was suddenly    
swallowed up by an earthquake1 and let  
us consider how a man of humanity in    
,europe1 who had no sort of connexion   

with that part of the world1 would be   
affected upon receiving intelligence of 
this dreadful calamity4 ,he would1 ,i   
imagine1 first of all1 express very     
strongly his sorrow for the misfortune  
of that unhappy people1 he would make   
many melancholy reflections upon the    
precariousness of human life1 and the   
vanity of all the labours of man1 which 
could thus be annihilated in a moment4  
,he would1 too1 perhaps1 if he was a man
 of speculation1 enter into many        
reasonings concerning the effects which 
this disaster might produce upon the    
commerce of ,europe1 and the trade and  
business of the world in general4 ,and  
when all this fine philosophy was over1 
when all these humane sentiments had    
been once fairly expressed1 he would    
pursue his business or his pleasure1    
take his repose or his diversion1 with  
the same ease and tranquillity1 as if no
 such accident had happened4 ,the most  
frivolous disaster which could befal    
himself would occasion a more real      

disturbance4 ,if he was to lose his     
little finger to-morrow1 he would not   
sleep to-night2 but1 provided he never  
saw them1 he will snore with the most   
profound security over the ruin of a    
hundred millions of his brethren1 and   
the destruction of that immense         
multitude seems plainly an object less  
interesting to him1 than this paltry    
misfortune of his own4 ,to prevent1     
therefore1 this paltry misfortune to    
himself1 would a man of humanity be     
willing to sacrifice the lives of a     
hundred millions of his brethren1       
provided he had never seen them8 ,human 
nature startles with horror at the      
thought1 and the world1 in its greatest 
depravity and corruption1 never produced
 such a villain as could be capable of  
entertaining it4 ,but what makes this   
#abj difference8 ,when our passive      
feelings are almost always so sordid and
 so selfish1 how comes it that our      
active principles should often be so    
generous and so noble8 ,when we are     

always so much more deeply affected by  
whatever concerns ourselves than by     
whatever concerns other men1 what is it 
which prompts the generous1 upon all    
occasions1 and the mean upon many1 to   
sacrifice their own interests to the    
greater interests of others8 ,it is not 
the soft power of humanity1 it is not   
that feeble spark of benevolence which  
,nature has lighted up in the human     
heart1 that is thus capable of          
counteracting the strongest impulses of 
self-love4 ,it is a stronger power1 a   
more forcible motive1 which exerts      
itself upon such occasions4 ,it is      
reason1 principle1 conscience1 the      
inhabitant of the breast1 the man       
within1 the great judge and arbiter of  
our conduct4 ,it is he who1 whenever we 
are about to act so as to affect the    
happiness of others1 calls to us1 with a
 voice capable of astonishing the most  
presumptuous of our passions1 that we   
are but one of the multitude1 in no     
respect better than any other in it2 and

 when we prefer ourselves so shamefully 
and so blindly to others1 we become the 
proper objects of resentment1           
abhorrence1 and execration4 ,it is from 
him only that we learn the real         
littleness of ourselves1 and of whatever
 relates to ourselves1 and the natural  
misrepresentations of self-love can be  
corrected only by the eye of this       
impartial spectator4 ,it is he who shows
 us the propriety of generosity and the 
deformity of injustice2 the propriety of
 resigning the greatest interests of our
 own1 for the yet greater interests of  
others1 and the deformity of doing the  
smallest injury to another1 in order to 
obtain the greatest benefit to          
ourselves4 ,it is not the love of our   
neighbour1 it is not the love of        
mankind1 which upon many occasions      
prompts us to the practice of those     
divine virtues4 ,it is a stronger love1 
a more powerful affection1 which        
generally takes place upon such         
occasions2 the love of what is          

honourable and noble1 of the grandeur1  
and dignity1 and superiority of our own 
characters4  ,when the happiness or     
misery of others depends in any respect 
upon our conduct1 we dare not1 as       
self-love might suggest to us1 prefer   
the interest of one to that of many4    
,the man within immediately calls to us1
 that we value ourselves too much and   
other people too little1 and that1 by   
doing so1 we render ourselves the proper
 object of the contempt and indignation 
of our brethren4 ,neither is this       
sentiment confined to men of            
extraordinary magnanimity and virtue4   
,it is deeply impressed upon every      
tolerably good soldier1 who feels that  
he would become the scorn of his        
companions1 if he could be supposed     
capable of shrinking from danger1 or of 
hesitating1 either to expose or to throw
 away his life1 when the good of the    
service required it4  ,one individual   
must never prefer himself so much even  
to any other individual1 as to hurt or  

injure that other1 in order to benefit  
himself1 though the benefit to the one  
should be much greater than the hurt or 
#aba injury to the other4 ,the poor man 
must neither defraud nor steal from the 
rich1 though the acquisition might be   
much more beneficial to the one than the
 loss could be hurtful to the other4    
,the man within immediately calls to him
 in this case too1 that he is no better 
than his neighbour1 and that by his     
unjust preference he renders himself the
 proper object of the contempt and      
indignation of mankind2 as well as of   
the punishment which that contempt and  
indignation must naturally dispose them 
to inflict1 for having thus violated one
 of those sacred rules1 upon the        
tolerable observation of which depend   
the whole security and peace of human   
society4 ,there is no commonly honest   
man who does not more dread the inward  
disgrace of such an action1 the         
indelible stain which it would for ever 
stamp upon his own mind1 than the       

greatest external calamity which1       
without any fault of his own1 could     
possibly befal him2 and who does not    
inwardly feel the truth of that great   
stoical maxim1 that for one man to      
deprive another unjustly of any thing1  
or unjustly to promote his own advantage
 by the loss or disadvantage of another1
 is more contrary to nature1 than death1
 than poverty1 than pain1 than all the  
misfortunes which can affect him1 either
 in his body1 or in his external        
circumstances4  ,when the happiness or  
misery of others1 indeed1 in no respect 
depends upon our conduct1 when our      
interests are altogether separated and  
detached from theirs1 so that there is  
neither connexion nor competition       
between them1 we do not always think it 
so necessary to restrain1 either our    
natural and1 perhaps1 improper anxiety  
about our own affairs1 or our natural   
and1 perhaps1 equally improper          
indifference about those of other men4  
,the most vulgar education teaches us to

 act1 upon all important occasions1 with
 some sort of impartiality between      
ourselves and others1 and even the      
ordinary commerce of the world is       
capable of adjusting our active         
principles to some degree of propriety4 
,but it is the most artificial and      
refined education only1 it has been     
said1 which can correct the inequalities
 of our passive feelings2 and we must   
for this purpose1 it has been pretended1
 have recourse to the severest1 as well 
as to the profoundest philosophy4  ,two 
different sets of philosophers have     
attempted to teach us this hardest of   
all the lessons of morality4 ,one set   
have laboured to increase our           
sensibility to the interests of others2 
another1 to diminish that to our own4   
,the first would have us feel for others
 as we naturally feel for ourselves4    
,the second would have us feel for      
ourselves as we naturally feel for      
others4 ,both1 perhaps1 have carried    
their doctrines a good deal beyond the  

just standard of nature and propriety4  
,the first are those whining and        
melancholy moralists1 who are           
perpetually reproaching us with our     
happiness1 while so many of our brethren
 are in misery1#a99 who regard as       
impious the natural joy of #abb         
prosperity1 which does not think of the 
many wretches that are at every instant 
labouring under all sorts of calamities1
 in the languor of poverty1 in the agony
 of disease1 in the horrors of death1   
under the insults and oppressions of    
their enemies4 ,commiseration for those 
miseries which we never saw1 which we   
never heard of1 but which we may be     
assured are at all times infesting such 
numbers of our fellow-creatures1 ought1 
they think1 to damp the pleasures of the
 fortunate1 and to render a certain     
melancholy dejection habitual to all    
men4 ,but first of all1 this extreme    
sympathy with misfortunes which we know 
nothing about1 seems altogether absurd  
and unreasonable4 ,take the whole earth 

at an average1 for one man who suffers  
pain or misery1 you will find twenty in 
prosperity and joy1 or at least in      
tolerable circumstances4 ,no reason1    
surely1 can be assigned why we should   
rather weep with the one than rejoice   
with the twenty4 ,this artificial       
commiseration1 besides1 is not only     
absurd1 but seems altogether            
unattainable2 and those who affect this 
character have commonly nothing but a   
certain affected and sentimental        
sadness1 which1 without reaching the    
heart1 serves only to render the        
countenance and conversation            
impertinently dismal and disagreeable4  
,and last of all1 this disposition of   
mind1 though it could be attained1 would
 be perfectly useless1 and could serve  
no other purpose than to render         
miserable the person who possessed it4  
,whatever interest we take in the       
fortune of those with whom we have no   
acquaintance or connexion1 and who are  
placed altogether out of the sphere of  

our activity1 can produce only anxiety  
to ourselves without any manner of      
advantage to them4 ,to what purpose     
should we trouble ourselves about the   
world in the moon8 ,all men1 even those 
at the greatest distance1 are no doubt  
entitled to our good wishes1 and our    
good wishes we naturally give them4 ,but
 if1 notwithstanding1 they should be    
unfortunate1 to give ourselves any      
anxiety upon that account1 seems to be  
no part of our duty4 ,that we should be 
but little interested1 therefore1 in the
 fortune of those whom we can neither   
serve nor hurt1 and who are in every    
respect so very remote from us1 seems   
wisely ordered by nature2 and if it were
 possible to alter in this respect the  
original constitution of our frame1 we  
could yet gain nothing by the change4   
,footnote #a993 ,ah6 little think the   
gay licentious proud1 c4 ,see ,thomson's
 ,seasons1 ,winter4 ,see also ,pascal4  
,it is never objected to us that we have
 too little fellow-feeling with the joy 

of success4 ,wherever envy does not     
prevent it1 the favour which we bear to 
prosperity is rather apt to be too      
great2 and the same moralists who blame 
us for want of sufficient sympathy with 
the miserable1 reproach us for the      
levity with which we are too apt to     
admire and almost to worship the        
fortunate and the powerful4  ,among the 
moralists who endeavour to correct the  
natural inequality of our passive       
feelings by diminishing our sensibility 
to what peculiarly concerns ourselves1  
we may count all the ancient sects of   
philosophers1 but particularly the      
ancient ,stoics4 ,man1 according to the 
,stoics1 #abc ought to regard himself1  
not as something separated and detached1
 but as a citizen of the world1 a member
 of the vast commonwealth of nature4 ,to
 the interest of this great community1  
he ought at all times to be willing that
 his own little interest should be      
sacrificed4 ,whatever concerns himself1 
ought to affect him no more than        

whatever concerns any other equally     
important part of this immense system4  
,we should view ourselves1 not in the   
light in which our own selfish passions 
are apt to place us1 but in the light in
 which any other citizen of the world   
would view us4 ,what befalls ourselves  
we should regard as what befalls our    
neighbour1 or1 what comes to the same   
thing1 as our neighbour regards what    
befalls us4 ',when our neighbour1' says 
,epictetus1 'loses his wife1 or his son1
 there is nobody who is not sensible    
that this is a human calamity1 a natural
 event altogether according to the      
ordinary course of things2 but when the 
same thing happens to ourselves1 then we
 cry out1 as if we had suffered the most
 dreadful misfortune4 ,we ought1        
however1 to remember how we were        
affected when this accident happened to 
another1 and such as we were in his     
case1 such ought we to be in our own4'  
,those private misfortunes1 for which   
our feelings are apt to go beyond the   

bounds of propriety1 are of two         
different kinds4 ,they are either such  
as affect us only indirectly1 by        
affecting1 in the first place1 some     
other persons who are particularly dear 
to us2 such as our parents1 our         
children1 our brothers and sisters1 our 
intimate friends2 or they are such as   
affect ourselves immediately and        
directly1 either in our body1 in our    
fortune1 or in our reputation2 such as  
pain1 sickness1 approaching death1      
poverty1 disgrace1 etc4  ,in misfortunes
 of the first kind1 our emotions may1 no
 doubt1 go very much beyond what exact  
propriety will admit of2 but they may   
likewise fall short of it1 and they     
frequently do so4 ,the man who should   
feel no more for the death or distress  
of his own father1 or son1 than for     
those of any other man's father or son1 
would appear neither a good son nor a   
good father4 ,such unnatural            
indifference1 far from exciting our     
applause1 would incur our highest       

disapprobation4 ,of these domestic      
affections1 however1 some are most apt  
to offend by their excess1 and others by
 their defect4 ,nature1 for the wisest  
purposes1 has rendered1 in most men1    
perhaps in all men1 parental tenderness 
a much stronger affection than filial   
piety4 ,the continuance and propagation 
of the species depend altogether upon   
the former1 and not upon the latter4 ,in
 ordinary cases1 the existence and      
preservation of the child depend        
altogether upon the care of the parents4
 ,those of the parents seldom depend    
upon that of the child4 ,nature1        
therefore1 has rendered the former      
affection so strong1 that it generally  
requires not to be excited1 but to be   
moderated2 and moralists seldom         
endeavour to teach us how to indulge1   
but generally how to restrain our       
fondness1 our excessive attachment1 the 
unjust preference which we #abd are     
disposed to give to our own children    
above those of other people4 ,they      

exhort us1 on the contrary1 to an       
affectionate attention to our parents1  
and to make a proper return to them1 in 
their old age1 for the kindness which   
they had shown to us in our infancy and 
youth4 ,in the ,decalogue we are        
commanded to honour our fathers and     
mothers4 ,no mention is made of the love
 of our children4 ,nature has           
sufficiently prepared us for the        
performance of this latter duty4 ,men   
are seldom accused of affecting to be   
fonder of their children than they      
really are4 ,they have sometimes been   
suspected of displaying their piety to  
their parents with too much ostentation4
 ,the ostentatious sorrow of widows has1
 for a like reason1 been suspected of   
insincerity4 ,we should respect1 could  
we believe it sincere1 even the excess  
of such kind affections2 and though we  
might not perfectly approve1 we should  
not severely condemn it4 ,that it       
appears praise-worthy1 at least in the  
eyes of those who affect it1 the very   

affectation is a proof4  ,even the      
excess of those kind affections which   
are most apt to offend by their excess1 
though it may appear blamable1 never    
appears odious4 ,we blame the excessive 
fondness and anxiety of a parent1 as    
something which may1 in the end1 prove  
hurtful to the child1 and which1 in the 
mean time1 is excessively inconvenient  
to the parent2 but we easily pardon it1 
and never regard it with hatred and     
detestation4 ,but the defect of this    
usually excessive affection appears     
always peculiarly odious4 ,the man who  
appears to feel nothing for his own     
children1 but who treats them upon all  
occasions with unmerited severity and   
harshness1 seems of all brutes the most 
detestable4 ,the sense of propriety1 so 
far from requiring us to eradicate      
altogether that extraordinary           
sensibility which we naturally feel for 
the misfortunes of our nearest          
connections1 is always much more        
offended by the defect1 than it ever is 

by the excess of that sensibility4 ,the 
stoical apathy is1 in such cases1 never 
agreeable1 and all the metaphysical     
sophism by which it is supported can    
seldom serve any other purpose than to  
blow up the hard insensibility of a     
coxcomb to ten times its native         
impertinence4 ,the poets and romance    
writers1 who best paint the refinements 
and delicacies of love and friendship1  
and of all other private and domestic   
affections1 ,racine and ,voltaire2      
,richardson1 ,maurivaux1 and ,riccoboni2
 are1 in such cases1 much better        
instructors than the philosophers ,zeno1
 ,chrysippus1 or ,epictetus4  ,that     
moderated sensibility to the misfortunes
 of others1 which does not disqualify us
 for the performance of any duty2 the   
melancholy and affectionate remembrance 
of our departed friends2 the pang1 as   
,gray says1 to secret sorrow dear2 are  
by no means undelicious sensations4     
,though they outwardly wear the features
 of pain and grief1 they are all        

inwardly stamped with the ennobling     
characters of virtue and of             
self-approbation4  ,it is otherwise in  
the misfortunes which affect ourselves  
immediately #abe and directly1 either in
 our body1 in our fortune1 or in our    
reputation4 ,the sense of propriety is  
much more apt to be offended by the     
excess1 than by the defect of our       
sensibility1 and there are but few cases
 in which we can approach too near to   
the stoical apathy and indifference4    
,that we have very little fellow-feeling
 with any of the passions which take    
their origin from the body1 has already 
been observed4 ,that pain which is      
occasioned by an evident cause2 such as1
 the cutting or tearing of the flesh2   
is1 perhaps1 the affection of the body  
with which the spectator feels the most 
lively sympathy4 ,the approaching death 
of his neighbour1 too1 seldom fails to  
affect him a good deal4 ,in both cases1 
however1 he feels so very little in     
comparison of what the person           

principally concerned feels1 that the   
latter can scarce ever offend the former
 by appearing to suffer with too much   
ease4  ,the mere want of fortune1 mere  
poverty1 excites little compassion4 ,its
 complaints are too apt to be the       
objects rather of contempt than of      
fellow-feeling4 ,we despise a beggar2   
and1 though his importunities may extort
 an alms from us1 he is scarce ever the 
object of any serious commiseration4    
,the fall from riches to poverty1 as it 
commonly occasions the most real        
distress to the sufferer1 so it seldom  
fails to excite the most sincere        
commiseration in the spectator4 ,though1
 in the present state of society1 this  
misfortune can seldom happen without    
some misconduct1 and some very          
considerable misconduct too1 in the     
sufferer2 yet he is almost always so    
much pitied that he is scarce ever      
allowed to fall into the lowest state of
 poverty2 but by the means of his       
friends1 frequently by the indulgence of

 those very creditors who have much     
reason to complain of his imprudence1 is
 almost always supported in some degree 
of decent1 though humble1 mediocrity4   
,to persons under such misfortunes1 we  
could1 perhaps1 easily pardon some      
degree of weakness2 but at the same     
time1 they who carry the firmest        
countenance1 who accommodate themselves 
with the greatest ease to their new     
situation1 who seem to feel no          
humiliation from the change1 but to rest
 their rank in the society1 not upon    
their fortune1 but upon their character 
and conduct1 are always the most        
approved of1 and command our highest and
 most affectionate admiration4  ,as1 of 
all the external misfortunes which can  
affect an innocent man immediately and  
directly1 the undeserved loss of        
reputation is certainly the greatest2 so
 a considerable degree of sensibility to
 whatever can bring on so great a       
calamity1 does not always appear        
ungraceful or disagreeable4 ,we often   

esteem a young man the more1 when he    
resents1 though with some degree of     
violence1 any unjust reproach that may  
have been thrown upon his character or  
his honour4 ,the affliction of an       
innocent young lady1 on account of the  
groundless surmises which may have been 
circulated concerning her conduct1      
appears often perfectly amiable4        
,persons of an advanced age1 whom long  
experience of the folly and injustice of
 the world has taught to pay little     
regard1 #abf either to its censure or to
 its applause1 neglect and despise      
obloquy1 and do not even deign to honour
 its futile authors with any serious    
resentment4 ,this indifference1 which is
 founded altogether on a firm confidence
 in their own well-tried and            
well-established characters1 would be   
disagreeable in young people1 who       
neither can nor ought to have any such  
confidence4 ,it might in them be        
supposed to forebode1 in their advancing
 years1 a most improper insensibility to

 real honour and infamy of character4   
,in all other private misfortunes which 
affect ourselves immediately and        
directly1 we can very seldom offend by  
appearing to be too little affected4 ,we
 frequently remember our sensibility to 
the misfortunes of others with pleasure 
and satisfaction4 ,we can seldom        
remember that to our own1 without some  
degree of shame and humiliation4  ,if we
 examine the different shades and       
gradations of weakness and self-command1
 as we meet with them in common life1 we
 shall very easily satisfy ourselves    
that this control of our passive feeling
 must be acquired1 not from the abstruse
 syllogisms of a quibbling dialectic1   
but from that great discipline which    
,nature has established for the         
acquisition of this and of every other  
virtue2 a regard to the sentiments of   
the real or supposed spectator of our   
conduct4  ,a very young child has no    
self-command2 but1 whatever are its     
emotions1 whether fear1 or grief1 or    

anger1 it endeavours always1 by the     
violence of his outcries1 to alarm1 as  
much as it can1 the attention of its    
nurse or of its parents4 ,while it      
remains under the custody of such       
partial protectors1 its anger is the    
first and1 perhaps1 the only passion    
which it is taught to moderate4 ,by     
noise and threatening they are1 for     
their own ease1 often obliged to        
frighten it into good temper2 and the   
passion which incites it to attack1 is  
restrained by that which teaches it to  
attend to its own safety4 ,when it is   
old enough to go to school1 or to mix   
with its equals1 it soon finds that they
 have no such indulgent partiality4 ,it 
naturally wishes to gain their favour1  
and to avoid their hatred or contempt4  
,regard even to its own safety teaches  
it to do so2 and it soon finds that it  
can do so in no other way than by       
moderating not only its anger1 but all  
its other passions1 to the degree which 
its play-fellows and companions are     

likely to be pleased with4 ,it thus     
enters into the great school of         
self-command1 it studies to be more and 
more master of itself1 and begins to    
exercise over its own feelings a        
discipline which the practice of the    
longest life is very seldom sufficient  
to bring to complete perfection4  ,in   
all private misfortunes1 in pain1 in    
sickness1 in sorrow1 the weakest man1   
when his friend1 and still more when a  
stranger visits him1 is immediately     
impressed with the view in which they   
are likely to look upon his situation4  
,their view calls off his attention from
 his own view2 and his breast is1 in    
some measure1 becalmed the moment they  
come into his presence4 ,this effect is 
produced instantaneously and1 #abg as it
 were1 mechanically2 but1 with a weak   
man1 it is not of long continuance4 ,his
 own view of his situation immediately  
recurs upon him4 ,he abandons himself1  
as before1 to sighs and tears and       
lamentations2 and endeavours1 like a    

child that has not yet gone to school1  
to produce some sort of harmony between 
his own grief and the compassion of the 
spectator1 not by moderating the former1
 but by importunately calling upon the  
latter4  ,with a man of a little more   
firmness1 the effect is somewhat more   
permanent4 ,he endeavours1 as much as he
 can1 to fix his attention upon the view
 which the company are likely to take of
 his situation4 ,he feels1 at the same  
time1 the esteem and approbation which  
they naturally conceive for him when he 
thus preserves his tranquillity2 and1   
though under the pressure of some recent
 and great calamity1 appears to feel for
 himself no more than what they really  
feel for him4 ,he approves and applauds 
himself by sympathy with their          
approbation1 and the pleasure which he  
derives from this sentiment supports and
 enables him more easily to continue    
this generous effort4 ,in most cases he 
avoids mentioning his own misfortune2   
and his company1 if they are tolerably  

well bred1 are careful to say nothing   
which can put him in mind of it4 ,he    
endeavours to entertain them1 in his    
usual way1 upon indifferent subjects1   
or1 if he feels himself strong enough to
 venture to mention his misfortune1 he  
endeavours to talk of it as1 he thinks1 
they are capable of talking of it1 and  
even to feel it no further than they are
 capable of feeling it4 ,if he has not1 
however1 been well inured to the hard   
discipline of self-command1 he soon     
grows weary of this restraint4 ,a long  
visit fatigues him2 and1 towards the end
 of it1 he is constantly in danger of   
doing1 what he never fails to do the    
moment it is over1 of abandoning himself
 to all the weakness of excessive       
sorrow4 ,modern good manners1 which are 
extremely indulgent to human weakness1  
forbid1 for some time1 the visits of    
strangers to persons under great family 
distress1 and permit those only of the  
nearest relations and most intimate     
friends4 ,the presence of the latter1 it

 is thought1 will impose less restraint 
than that of the former2 and the        
sufferers can more easily accommodate   
themselves to the feelings of those1    
from whom they have reason to expect a  
more indulgent sympathy4 ,secret        
enemies1 who fancy that they are not    
known to be such1 are frequently fond of
 making those charitable visits as early
 as the most intimate friends4 ,the     
weakest man in the world1 in this case1 
endeavours to support his manly         
countenance1 and1 from indignation and  
contempt of their malice to behave with 
as much gaiety and ease as he can4  ,the
 man of real constancy and firmness1 the
 wise and just man who has been         
thoroughly bred in the great school of  
self-command1 in the bustle and business
 of the world1 exposed1 perhaps1 to the 
violence and injustice of faction1 and  
to the hardships and hazards of war1    
maintains this control of his passive   
feelings upon all occasions2 and whether
 in #abh solitude or in society1 wears  

nearly the same countenance1 and is     
affected very nearly in the same manner4
 ,in success and in disappointment1 in  
prosperity and in adversity1 before     
friends and before enemies1 he has often
 been under the necessity of supporting 
this manhood4 ,he has never dared to    
forget for one moment the judgment which
 the impartial spectator would pass upon
 his sentiments and conduct4 ,he has    
never dared to suffer the man within his
 breast to be absent one moment from his
 attention4 ,with the eyes of this great
 inmate he has always been accustomed to
 regard whatever relates to himself4    
,this habit has become perfectly        
familiar to him4 ,he has been in the    
constant practice1 and1 indeed1 under   
the constant necessity1 of modelling1 or
 of endeavouring to model1 not only his 
outward conduct and behaviour1 but1 as  
much as he can1 even his inward         
sentiments and feelings1 according to   
those of this awful and respectable     
judge4 ,he does not merely affect the   

sentiments of the impartial spectator4  
,he really adopts them4 ,he almost      
identifies himself with1 he almost      
becomes himself that impartial          
spectator1 and scarce even feels but as 
that great arbiter of his conduct       
directs him to feel4  ,the degree of the
 self-approbation with which every man1 
upon such occasions1 surveys his own    
conduct1 is higher or lower1 exactly in 
proportion to the degree of self-command
 which is necessary in order to obtain  
that self-approbation4 ,where little    
self-command is necessary1 little       
self-approbation is due4 ,the man who   
has only scratched his finger1 cannot   
much applaud himself1 though he should  
immediately appear to have forgot this  
paltry misfortune4 ,the man who has lost
 his leg by a cannon shot1 and who1 the 
moment after1 speaks and acts with his  
usual coolness and tranquillity1 as he  
exerts a much higher degree of          
self-command1 so he naturally feels a   
much higher degree of self-approbation4 

,with most men1 upon such an accident1  
their own natural view of their own     
misfortune would force itself upon them 
with such a vivacity and strength of    
colouring1 as would entirely efface all 
thought of every other view4 ,they would
 feel nothing1 they could attend to     
nothing1 but their own pain and their   
own fear2 and not only the judgment of  
the ideal man within the breast1 but    
that of the real spectators who might   
happen to be present1 would be entirely 
overlooked and disregarded4  ,the reward
 which ,nature bestows upon good        
behaviour under misfortune1 is thus     
exactly proportioned to the degree of   
that good behaviour4 ,the only          
compensation she could possibly make for
 the bitterness of pain and distress is 
thus1 too1 in equal degrees of good     
behaviour1 exactly proportioned to the  
degree of that pain and distress4 ,in   
proportion to the degree of self-command
 which is necessary in order to conquer 
our natural sensibility1 the pleasure   

and pride of the conquest are so much   
the greater2 and this pleasure and pride
 are so great that no man can be        
altogether unhappy who completely enjoys
 them4 ,misery #abi and wretchedness can
 never enter the breast in which dwells 
complete self-satisfaction2 and though  
it may be too much1 perhaps1 to say1    
with the ,stoics1 that1 under such an   
accident as that above mentioned1 the   
happiness of a wise man is in every     
respect equal to what it could have been
 under any other circumstances2 yet it  
must be acknowledged1 at least1 that    
this complete enjoyment of his own      
self-applause1 though it may not        
altogether extinguish1 must certainly   
very much alleviate his sense of his own
 sufferings4  ,in such paroxysms of     
distress1 if ,i may be allowed to call  
them so1 the wisest and firmest man1 in 
order to preserve his equanimity1 is    
obliged1 ,i imagine1 to make a          
considerable1 and even a painful        
exertion4 ,his own natural feeling of   

his own distress1 his own natural view  
of his own situation1 presses hard upon 
him1 and he cannot1 without a very great
 effort1 fix his attention upon that of 
the impartial spectator4 ,both views    
present themselves to him at the same   
time4 ,his sense of honour1 his regard  
to his own dignity1 directs him to fix  
his whole attention upon the one view4  
,his natural1 his untaught1 and         
undisciplined feelings1 are continually 
calling it off to the other4 ,he does   
not1 in this case1 perfectly identify   
himself with the ideal man within the   
breast1 he does not become himself the  
impartial spectator of his own conduct4 
,the different views of both characters 
exist in his mind separate and distinct 
from one another1 and each directing him
 to a behaviour different from that to  
which the other directs him4 ,when he   
follows that view which honour and      
dignity point out to him1 ,nature does  
not1 indeed1 leave him without a        
recompense4 ,he enjoys his own complete 

self-approbation1 and the applause of   
every candid and impartial spectator4   
,by her unalterable laws1 however1 he   
still suffers2 and the recompense which 
she bestows1 though very considerable1  
is not sufficient completely to         
compensate the sufferings which those   
laws inflict4 ,neither is it fit that it
 should4 ,if it did completely          
compensate them1 he could1 from         
self-interest1 have no motive for       
avoiding an accident which must         
necessarily diminish his utility both to
 himself and to society2 and ,nature1   
from her parental care of both1 meant   
that he should anxiously avoid all such 
accidents4 ,he suffers1 therefore2 and  
though in the agony of the paroxysm1 he 
maintains1 not only the manhood of his  
countenance1 but sedateness and sobriety
 of judgment1 it requires his utmost and
 most fatiguing exertions to do so4  ,by
 the constitution of human nature1      
however1 agony can never be permanent2  
and1 if he survives the paroxysm1 he    

soon comes1 without any effort1 to enjoy
 his ordinary tranquillity4 ,a man with 
a wooden leg suffers1 no doubt1 and     
foresees that he must continue to suffer
 during the remainder of his life1 a    
very considerable inconveniency4 ,he    
soon comes to view it1 however1 exactly 
as every impartial spectator views it2  
as an inconveniency under which he can  
enjoy all the ordinary pleasures both of
 solitude and of society4 ,he soon      
identifies #acj himself with the ideal  
man within the breast1 he soon becomes  
himself the impartial spectator of his  
own situation4 ,he no longer weeps1 he  
no longer laments1 he no longer grieves 
over it1 as a weak man may sometimes do 
in the beginning4 ,the view of the      
impartial spectator becomes so perfectly
 habitual to him1 that1 without effort1 
without exertion1 he never thinks of    
surveying his misfortune in any other   
view4  ,the never-failing certainty with
 which all men1 sooner or later1        
accommodate themselves to whatever      

becomes their permanent situation1 may1 
perhaps1 induce us to think that the    
,stoics were1 at least1 thus far very   
nearly in the right2 that1 between one  
permanent situation and another1 there  
was1 with regard to real happiness1 no  
essential difference3 or that1 if there 
were any difference1 it was no more than
 just sufficient to render some of them 
the objects of simple choice or         
preference2 but not of any earnest or   
anxious desire3 and others1 of simple   
rejection1 as being fit to be set aside 
or avoided2 but not of any earnest or   
anxious aversion4 ,happiness consists in
 tranquillity and enjoyment4 ,without   
tranquillity there can be no enjoyment2 
and where there is perfect tranquillity 
there is scarce any thing which is not  
capable of amusing4 ,but in every       
permanent situation1 where there is no  
expectation of change1 the mind of every
 man1 in a longer or shorter time1      
returns to its natural and usual state  
of tranquillity4 ,in prosperity1 after a

 certain time1 it falls back to that    
state2 in adversity1 after a certain    
time1 it rises up to it4 ,in the        
confinement and solitude of the         
,bastile1 after a certain time1 the     
fashionable and frivolous ,count de     
,lauzun recovered tranquillity enough to
 be capable of amusing himself with     
feeding a spider4 ,a mind better        
furnished would1 perhaps1 have both     
sooner recovered its tranquillity1 and  
sooner found1 in its own thoughts1 a    
much better amusement4  ,the great      
source of both the misery and disorders 
of human life1 seems to arise from      
over-rating the difference between one  
permanent situation and another4        
,avarice over-rates the difference      
between poverty and riches3 ambition1   
that between a private and a public     
station3 vain-glory1 that between       
obscurity and extensive reputation4 ,the
 person under the influence of any of   
those extravagant passions1 is not only 
miserable in his actual situation1 but  

is often disposed to disturb the peace  
of society1 in order to arrive at that  
which he so foolishly admires4 ,the     
slightest observation1 however1 might   
satisfy him1 that1 in all the ordinary  
situations of human life1 a             
well-disposed mind may be equally calm1 
equally cheerful1 and equally contented4
 ,some of those situations may1 no      
doubt1 deserve to be preferred to       
others3 but none of them can deserve to 
be pursued with that passionate ardour  
which drives us to violate the rules    
either of prudence or of justice2 or to 
corrupt the future tranquillity of our  
minds1 either by shame from the         
remembrance of our own folly1 or by     
remorse from the horror of our own      
injustice4 ,wherever prudence does not  
direct1 #aca wherever justice does not  
permit1 the attempt to change our       
situation1 the man who does attempt it1 
plays at the most unequal of all games  
of hazard1 and stakes every thing       
against scarce any thing4 ,what the     

favourite of the ,king of ,epirus said  
to his master1 may be applied to men in 
all the ordinary situations of human    
life4 ,when the king had recounted to   
him1 in their proper order1 all the     
conquests which he proposed to make1 and
 had come to the last of them2 ,and what
 does your ,majesty propose to do then8 
said the favourite3--,i propose then1   
said the king1 to enjoy myself with my  
friends1 and endeavour to be good       
company over a bottle4--,and what       
hinders your ,majesty from doing so now8
 replied the favourite4 ,in the most    
glittering and exalted situation that   
our idle fancy can hold out to us1 the  
pleasures from which we propose to      
derive our real happiness1 are almost   
always the same with those which1 in our
 actual1 though humble station1 we have 
at all times at hand1 and in our power4 
,except the frivolous pleasures of      
vanity and superiority1 we may find1 in 
the most humble station1 where there is 
only personal liberty1 every other which

 the most exalted can afford2 and the   
pleasures of vanity and superiority are 
seldom consistent with perfect          
tranquillity1 the principle and         
foundation of all real and satisfactory 
enjoyment4 ,neither is it always certain
 that1 in the splendid situation which  
we aim at1 those real and satisfactory  
pleasures can be enjoyed with the same  
security as in the humble one which we  
are so very eager to abandon4 ,examine  
the records of history1 recollect what  
has happened within the circle of your  
own experience1 consider with attention 
what has been the conduct of almost all 
the greatly unfortunate1 either in      
private or public life1 whom you may    
have either read of1 or heard of1 or    
remember2 and you will find that the    
misfortunes of by far the greater part  
of them have arisen from their not      
knowing when they were well1 when it was
 proper for them to sit still and to be 
contented4 ,the inscription upon the    
tomb-stone of the man who had           

endeavoured to mend a tolerable         
constitution by taking physic2 ',i was  
well2 ,i wished to be better2 here ,i   
am2' may generally be applied with great
 justness to the distress of            
disappointed avarice and ambition4  ,it 
may be thought a singular1 but ,i       
believe it to be a just1 observation1   
that1 in the misfortunes which admit of 
some remedy1 the greater part of men do 
not either so readily or so universally 
recover their natural and usual         
tranquillity1 as in those which plainly 
admit of none4 ,in misfortunes of the   
latter kind1 it is chiefly in what may  
be called the paroxysm1 or in the first 
attack1 that we can discover any        
sensible difference between the         
sentiments and behaviour of the wise and
 those of the weak man4 ,in the end1    
,time1 the great and universal          
comforter1 gradually composes the weak  
man to the same degree of tranquillity  
which a regard to his own dignity1 which
 manhood teaches the wise man to assume 

in the beginning4 ,the case of the man  
with the wooden #acb leg is an obvious  
example of this4 ,in the irreparable    
misfortunes occasioned by the death of  
children1 or of friends and relations1  
even a wise man may for some time       
indulge himself in some degree of       
moderated sorrow4 ,an affectionate1 but 
weak woman1 is often1 upon such         
occasions1 almost perfectly distracted4 
,time1 however1 in a longer or shorter  
period1 never fails to compose the      
weakest woman to the same degree of     
tranquillity as the strongest man4 ,in  
all the irreparable calamities which    
affect himself immediately and directly1
 a wise man endeavours1 from the        
beginning1 to anticipate and to enjoy   
before-hand1 that tranquillity which he 
foresees the course of a few months1 or 
a few years1 will certainly restore to  
him in the end4  ,in the misfortunes for
 which the nature of things admits1 or  
seems to admit1 of a remedy1 but in     
which the means of applying that remedy 

are not within the reach of the         
sufferer1 his vain and fruitless        
attempts to restore himself to his      
former situation1 his continual anxiety 
for their success1 his repeated         
disappointments upon their miscarriage1 
are what chiefly hinder him from        
resuming his natural tranquillity1 and  
frequently render miserable1 during the 
whole of his life1 a man to whom a      
greater misfortune1 but which plainly   
admitted of no remedy1 would not have   
given a fortnight's disturbance4 ,in the
 fall from royal favour to disgrace1    
from power to insignificancy1 from      
riches to poverty1 from liberty to      
confinement1 from strong health to some1
 lingering1 chronical1 and perhaps      
incurable disease1 the man who struggles
 the least1 who most easily and readily 
acquiesces in the fortune which has     
fallen to him1 very soon recovers his   
usual and natural tranquillity1 and     
surveys the most disagreeable           
circumstances of his actual situation in

 the same light1 or1 perhaps1 in a much 
less unfavourable light1 than that in   
which the most indifferent spectator is 
disposed to survey them4 ,faction1      
intrigue1 and cabal1 disturb the quiet  
of the unfortunate statesman4           
,extravagant projects1 visions of gold  
mines1 interrupt the repose of the      
ruined bankrupt4 ,the prisoner1 who is  
continually plotting to escape from his 
confinement1 cannot enjoy that careless 
security which even a prison can afford 
him4 ,the medicines of the physician are
 often the greatest torment of the      
incurable patient4 ,the monk who1 in    
order to comfort ,joanna of ,castile1   
upon the death of her husband ,philip1  
told her of a king1 who1 fourteen years 
after his decease1 had been restored to 
life again1 by the prayers of his       
afflicted queen1 was not likely1 by his 
legendary tale1 to restore sedateness to
 the distempered mind of that unhappy   
princess4 ,she endeavoured to repeat the
 same experiment in hopes of the same   

success2 resisted for a long time the   
burial of her husband1 soon after raised
 his body from the grave1 attended it   
almost constantly herself1 and watched1 
with all the impatient anxiety of       
frantic expectation1 the happy moment   
when her wishes were to be gratified by 
the revival of her beloved ,philip4#d   
,footnote #d3 ,see ,robertson's ,charles
 ,v4 vol4 ii4 pp4 #ad and #ae1 first    
edit4  #acc ,our sensibility to the     
feelings of others1 so far from being   
inconsistent with the manhood of        
self-command1 is the very principle upon
 which that manhood is founded4 ,the    
very same principle or instinct which1  
in the misfortune of our neighbour1     
prompts us to compassionate his sorrow2 
in our own misfortune1 prompts us to    
restrain the abject and miserable       
lamentations of our own sorrow4 ,the    
same principle or instinct which1 in his
 prosperity and success1 prompts us to  
congratulate his joy2 in our own        
prosperity and success1 prompts us to   

restrain the levity and intemperance of 
our own joy4 ,in both cases1 the        
propriety of our own sentiments and     
feelings seems to be exactly in         
proportion to the vivacity and force    
with which we enter into and conceive   
his sentiments and feelings4  ,the man  
of the most perfect virtue1 the man whom
 we naturally love and revere the most1 
is he who joins1 to the most perfect    
command of his own original and selfish 
feelings1 the most exquisite sensibility
 both to the original and sympathetic   
feelings of others4 ,the man who1 to all
 the soft1 the amiable1 and the gentle  
virtues1 joins all the great1 the awful1
 and the respectable1 must surely be the
 natural and proper object of our       
highest love and admiration4  ,the      
person best fitted by nature for        
acquiring the former of those two sets  
of virtues1 is likewise necessarily best
 fitted for acquiring the latter4 ,the  
man who feels the most for the joys and 
sorrows of others1 is best fitted for   

acquiring the most complete control of  
his own joys and sorrows4 ,the man of   
the most exquisite humanity1 is         
naturally the most capable of acquiring 
the highest degree of self-command4 ,he 
may not1 however1 always have acquired  
it2 and it very frequently happens that 
he has not4 ,he may have lived too much 
in ease and tranquillity4 ,he may have  
never been exposed to the violence of   
faction1 or to the hardships and hazards
 of war4 ,he may have never experienced 
the insolence of his superiors1 the     
jealous and malignant envy of his       
equals1 or the pilfering injustice of   
his inferiors4 ,when1 in an advanced    
age1 some accidental change of fortune  
exposes him to all these1 they all make 
too great an impression upon him4 ,he   
has the disposition which fits him for  
acquiring the most perfect self-command2
 but he has never had the opportunity of
 acquiring it4 ,exercise and practice   
have been wanting2 and without these no 
habit can ever be tolerably established4

 ,hardships1 dangers1 injuries1         
misfortunes1 are the only masters under 
whom we can learn the exercise of this  
virtue4 ,but these are all masters to   
whom nobody willingly puts himself to   
school4  ,the situations in which the   
gentle virtue of humanity can be most   
happily cultivated1 are by no means the 
same with those which are best fitted   
for forming the austere virtue of       
self-command4 ,the man who is himself at
 ease can best attend to the distress of
 others4 ,the man who is himself exposed
 to hardships is most immediately called
 #acd upon to attend to1 and to control 
his own feelings4 ,in the mild sunshine 
of undisturbed tranquillity1 in the calm
 retirement of undissipated and         
philosophical leisure1 the soft virtue  
of humanity flourishes the most1 and is 
capable of the highest improvement4     
,but1 in such situations1 the greatest  
and noblest exertions of self-command   
have little exercise4 ,under the        
boisterous and stormy sky of war and    

faction1 of public tumult and confusion1
 the sturdy severity of self-command    
prospers the most1 and can be the most  
successfully cultivated4 ,but1 in such  
situations1 the strongest suggestions of
 humanity must frequently be stifled or 
neglected2 and every such neglect       
necessarily tends to weaken the         
principle of humanity4 ,as it may       
frequently be the duty of a soldier not 
to take1 so it may sometimes be his duty
 not to give quarter2 and the humanity  
of the man who has been several times   
under the necessity of submitting to    
this disagreeable duty1 can scarce fail 
to suffer a considerable diminution4    
,for his own ease1 he is too apt to     
learn to make light of the misfortunes  
which he is so often under the necessity
 of occasioning2 and the situations     
which call forth the noblest exertions  
of self-command1 by imposing the        
necessity of violating sometimes the    
property1 and sometimes the life of our 
neighbour1 always tend to diminish1 and 

too often to extinguish altogether1 that
 sacred regard to both1 which is the    
foundation of justice and humanity4 ,it 
is upon this account1 that we so        
frequently find in the world men of     
great humanity who have little          
self-command1 but who are indolent and  
irresolute1 and easily disheartened1    
either by difficulty or danger1 from the
 most honourable pursuits2 and1 on the  
contrary1 men of the most perfect       
self-command1 whom no difficulty can    
discourage1 no danger appal1 and who are
 at all times ready for the most daring 
and desperate enterprises1 but who1 at  
the same time1 seem to be hardened      
against all sense either of justice or  
humanity4  ,in solitude1 we are apt to  
feel too strongly whatever relates to   
ourselves3 we are apt to over-rate the  
good offices we may have done1 and the  
injuries we may have suffered3 we are   
apt to be too much elated by our own    
good1 and too much dejected by our own  
bad fortune4 ,the conversation of a     

friend brings us to a better1 that of a 
stranger to a still better1 temper4 ,the
 man within the breast1 the abstract and
 ideal spectator of our sentiments and  
conduct1 requires often to be awakened  
and put in mind of his duty1 by the     
presence of the real spectator3 and it  
is always from that spectator1 from whom
 we can expect the least sympathy and   
indulgence1 that we are likely to learn 
the most complete lesson of             
self-command4  ,are you in adversity8   
,do not mourn in the darkness of        
solitude1 do not regulate your sorrow   
according to the indulgent sympathy of  
your intimate friends2 return1 as soon  
as possible1 to the daylight of the     
world and of society4 ,live with        
strangers1 with those who know nothing1 
or care nothing about your misfortune2  
do not even shun the #ace company of    
enemies2 but give yourself the pleasure 
of mortifying their malignant joy1 by   
making them feel how little you are     
affected by your calamity1 and how much 

you are above it4  ,are you in          
prosperity8 ,do not confine the         
enjoyment of your good fortune to your  
own house1 to the company of your own   
friends1 perhaps of your flatterers1 of 
those who build upon your fortune the   
hopes of mending their own2 frequent    
those who are independent of you1 who   
can value you only for your character   
and conduct1 and not for your fortune4  
,neither seek nor shun1 neither intrude 
yourself into nor run away from the     
society of those who were once your     
superiors1 and who may be hurt at       
finding you their equal1 or1 perhaps1   
even their superior4 ,the impertinence  
of their pride may1 perhaps1 render     
their company too disagreeable3 but if  
it should not1 be assured that it is the
 best company you can possibly keep2 and
 if1 by the simplicity of your          
unassuming demeanour1 you can gain their
 favour and kindness1 you may rest      
satisfied that you are modest enough1   
and that your head has been in no       

respect turned by your good fortune4    
,the propriety of our moral sentiments  
is never so apt to be corrupted1 as when
 the indulgent and partial spectator is 
at hand1 while the indifferent and      
impartial one is at a great distance4   
,of the conduct of one independent      
nation towards another1 neutral nations 
are the only indifferent and impartial  
spectators4 ,but they are placed at so  
great a distance that they are almost   
quite out of sight4 ,when two nations   
are at variance1 the citizen of each    
pays little regard to the sentiments    
which foreign nations may entertain     
concerning his conduct4 ,his whole      
ambition is to obtain the approbation of
 his own fellow-citizens2 and as they   
are all animated by the same hostile    
passions which animate himself1 he can  
never please them so much as by enraging
 and offending their enemies4 ,the      
partial spectator is at hand3 the       
impartial one at a great distance4 ,in  
war and negotiation1 therefore1 the laws

 of justice are very seldom observed4   
,truth and fair dealing are almost      
totally disregarded4 ,treaties are      
violated2 and the violation1 if some    
advantage is gained by it1 sheds scarce 
any dishonour upon the violator4 ,the   
ambassador who dupes the minister of a  
foreign nation1 is admired and          
applauded4 ,the just man who disdains   
either to take or to give any advantage1
 but who would think it less            
dishonourable to give than to take one2 
the man who1 in all private             
transactions1 would be the most beloved 
and the most esteemed2 in those public  
transactions is regarded as a fool and  
an idiot1 who does not understand his   
business2 and he incurs always the      
contempt1 and sometimes even the        
detestation of his fellow-citizens4 ,in 
war1 not only what are called the laws  
of nations1 are frequently violated1    
without bringing 7among his own         
fellow-citizens1 whose judgments he only
 regards7 any considerable dishonour    

upon the violator2 but those laws       
themselves are1 the greater part of     
them1 laid down with #acf very little   
regard to the plainest and most obvious 
rules of justice4 ,that the innocent1   
though they may have some connexion or  
dependency upon the guilty 7which1      
perhaps1 they themselves cannot help71  
should not1 upon that account1 suffer or
 be punished for the guilty1 is one of  
the plainest and most obvious rules of  
justice4 ,in the most unjust war1       
however1 it is commonly the sovereign or
 the rulers only who are guilty4 ,the   
subjects are almost always perfectly    
innocent4 ,whenever it suits the        
conveniency of a public enemy1 however1 
the goods of the peaceable citizens are 
seized both at land and at sea2 their   
lands are laid waste1 their houses are  
burnt1 and they themselves1 if they     
presume to make any resistance1 are     
murdered or led into captivity2 and all 
this in the most perfect conformity to  
what are called the laws of nations4    

,the animosity of hostile factions1     
whether civil or ecclesiastical1 is     
often still more furious than that of   
hostile nations2 and their conduct      
towards one another is often still more 
atrocious4 ,what may be called the laws 
of faction have often been laid down by 
grave authors with still less regard to 
the rules of justice than what are      
called the laws of nations4 ,the most   
ferocious patriot never stated it as a  
serious question1 ,whether faith ought  
to be kept with public                  
enemies8--,whether faith ought to be    
kept with rebels8 ,whether faith ought  
to be kept with heretics8 are questions 
which have been often furiously agitated
 by celebrated doctors both civil and   
ecclesiastical4 ,it is needless to      
observe1 ,i presume1 that both rebels   
and heretics are those unlucky persons1 
who1 when things have come to a certain 
degree of violence1 have the misfortune 
to be of the weaker party4 ,in a nation 
distracted by faction1 there are1 no    

doubt1 always a few1 though commonly but
 a very few1 who preserve their judgment
 untainted by the general contagion4    
,they seldom amount to more than1 here  
and there1 a solitary individual1       
without any influence1 excluded1 by his 
own candour1 from the confidence of     
either party1 and who1 though he may be 
one of the wisest1 is necessarily1 upon 
that very account1 one of the most      
insignificant men in the society4 ,all  
such people are held in contempt and    
derision1 frequently in detestation1 by 
the zealots of both parties4  ,a true   
party-man hates and despises candour2   
and1 in reality1 there is no vice which 
could so effectually disqualify him for 
the trade of a party-man as that single 
virtue4 ,the real1 revered1 and         
impartial spectator1 therefore1 is1 upon
 no occasion1 at a greater distance than
 amidst the violence and rage of        
contending parties4 ,to them1 it may be 
said1 that such a spectator scarce      
exists any where in the universe4 ,even 

to the great ,judge of the universe1    
they impute all their own prejudices1   
and often view that ,divine ,being as   
animated by all their own vindictive and
 implacable passions4 ,of all the       
corrupters of moral sentiments1         
therefore1 faction and fanaticism have  
always been by far the greatest4  #acg  
,concerning the subject of self-command1
 ,i shall only observe further1 that our
 admiration for the man who1 under the  
heaviest and most unexpected            
misfortunes1 continues to behave with   
fortitude and firmness1 always supposes 
that his sensibility to those           
misfortunes is very great1 and such as  
it requires a very great effort to      
conquer or command4 ,the man who was    
altogether insensible to bodily pain1   
could deserve no applause from enduring 
the torture with the most perfect       
patience and equanimity4 ,the man who   
had been created without the natural    
fear of death1 could claim no merit from
 preserving his coolness and presence of

 mind in the midst of the most dreadful 
dangers4 ,it is one of the              
extravagancies of ,seneca1 that the     
,stoical wise man was1 in this respect1 
superior even to a god2 that the        
security of the god was altogether the  
benefit of nature1 which had exempted   
him from suffering2 but that the        
security of the wise man was his own    
benefit1 and derived altogether from    
himself and from his own exertions4     
,the sensibility of some men1 however1  
to some of the objects which immediately
 affect themselves1 is sometimes so     
strong as to render all self-command    
impossible4 ,no sense of honour can     
control the fears of the man who is weak
 enough to faint1 or to fall into       
convulsions1 upon the approach of       
danger4 ,whether such weakness of       
nerves1 as it has been called1 may not1 
by gradual exercise and proper          
discipline1 admit of some cure1 may1    
perhaps1 be doubtful4 ,it seems certain 
that it ought never to be trusted or    

employed4  -----  ,,chap4 ,,iv4--,of the
 ,nature of ,self-deceit1 and of the    
,origin and ,use of general ,rules4     
,,in order to pervert the rectitude of  
our own judgments concerning the        
propriety of our own conduct1 it is not 
always necessary that the real and      
impartial spectator should be at a great
 distance4 ,when he is at hand1 when he 
is present1 the violence and injustice  
of our own selfish passions are         
sometimes sufficient to induce the man  
within the breast to make a report very 
different from what the real            
circumstances of the case are capable of
 authorising4  ,there are two different 
occasions upon which we examine our own 
conduct1 and endeavour to view it in the
 light in which the impartial spectator 
would view it3 first1 when we are about 
to act2 and secondly1 after we have     
acted4 ,our views are apt to be very    
partial in both cases2 but they are apt 
to be most partial when it is of most   
importance that they should be          

otherwise4  ,when we are about to act1  
the eagerness of passion will seldom    
allow us to consider what we are doing1 
with the candour of an indifferent      
person4 ,the violent emotions which at  
that time agitate us1 discolour our     
views of things1 even when we are       
endeavouring to place ourselves #ach in 
the situation of another1 and to regard 
the objects that interest us in the     
light in which they will naturally      
appear to him4 ,the fury of our own     
passions constantly calls us back to our
 own place1 where every thing appears   
magnified and misrepresented by         
self-love4 ,of the manner in which those
 objects would appear to another1 of the
 view which he would take of them1 we   
can obtain1 if ,i may say so1 but       
instantaneous glimpses1 which vanish in 
a moment1 and which1 even while they    
last1 are not altogether just4 ,we      
cannot even for that moment divest      
ourselves entirely of the heat and      
keenness with which our peculiar        

situation inspires us1 nor consider what
 we are about to do with the complete   
impartiality of an equitable judge4 ,the
 passions1 upon this account1 as ,father
 ,malebranche says1 all justify         
themselves1 and seem reasonable and     
proportioned to their objects1 as long  
as we continue to feel them4  ,when the 
action is over1 indeed1 and the passions
 which prompted it have subsided1 we can
 enter more coolly into the sentiments  
of the indifferent spectator4 ,what     
before interested us is now become      
almost as indifferent to us as it always
 was to him1 and we can now examine our 
own conduct with his candour and        
impartiality4 ,the man of today is no   
longer agitated by the same passions    
which distracted the man of yesterday3  
and when the paroxysm of emotion1 in the
 same manner as when the paroxysm of    
distress1 is fairly over1 we can        
identify ourselves1 as it were1 with the
 ideal man within the breast1 and1 in   
our own character1 view1 as in the one  

case1 our own situation1 so in the      
other1 our own conduct1 with the severe 
eyes of the most impartial spectator4   
,but our judgments now are often of     
little importance in comparison of what 
they were before2 and can frequently    
produce nothing but vain regret and     
unavailing repentance2 without always   
securing us from the like errors in time
 to come4 ,it is seldom1 however1 that  
they are quite candid even in this case4
 ,the opinion which we entertain of our 
own character depends entirely on our   
judgment concerning our past conduct4   
,it is so disagreeable to think ill of  
ourselves1 that we often purposely turn 
away our view from those circumstances  
which might render that judgment        
unfavourable4 ,he is a bold surgeon1    
they say1 whose hand does not tremble   
when he performs an operation upon his  
own person2 and he is often equally bold
 who does not hesitate to pull off the  
mysterious veil of self-delusion1 which 
covers from his view the deformities of 

his own conduct4 ,rather than see our   
own behaviour under so disagreeable an  
aspect1 we too often1 foolishly and     
weakly1 endeavour to exasperate anew    
those unjust passions which had formerly
 misled us2 we endeavour by artifice to 
awaken our old hatreds1 and irritate    
afresh our almost forgotten resentments3
 we even exert ourselves for this       
miserable purpose1 and thus persevere in
 injustice1 merely because we once were 
unjust1 and because we are ashamed and  
afraid to see that we were so4  #aci ,so
 partial are the views of mankind with  
regard to the propriety of their own    
conduct1 both at the time of action and 
after it2 and so difficult is it for    
them to view it in the light in which   
any indifferent spectator would consider
 it4 ,but if it was by a peculiar       
faculty1 such as the moral sense is     
supposed to be1 that they judged of     
their own conduct1 if they were endued  
with a particular power of perception   
which distinguished the beauty or       

deformity of passions and affections2 as
 then passions would be more immediately
 exposed to the view of this faculty1 it
 would judge more accurately concerning 
them1 than concerning those of other    
men1 of which it had only a more distant
 prospect4  ,this self-deceit1 this     
fatal weakness of mankind1 is the source
 of half the disorders of human life4   
,if we saw ourselves in the light in    
which others see us1 or in which they   
would see us if they knew all1 a        
reformation would generally be          
unavoidable4 ,we could not otherwise    
endure the sight exposed to us4         
,nature1 however1 has not left this     
weakness1 which is of so much           
importance1 altogether without a remedy2
 nor has she abandoned us entirely to   
the delusions of self-love4 ,our        
continual observations upon the conduct 
of others1 insensibly lead us to form to
 ourselves certain general rules        
concerning what is fit and proper either
 to be done or to be avoided4 ,some of  

their actions shock all our natural     
sentiments4 ,we hear every body about us
 express the like detestation against   
them4 ,this still further confirms1 and 
even exasperates our natural sense of   
their deformity4 ,it satisfies us that  
we view them in the proper light1 when  
we see other people view them in the    
same light4 ,we resolve never to be     
guilty of the like1 nor ever1 upon any  
account1 to render ourselves in this    
manner the objects of universal         
disapprobation4 ,we thus naturally lay  
down to ourselves a general rule1 that  
all such actions are to be avoided1 as  
tending to render us odious1            
contemptible1 or punishable1 the objects
 of all those sentiments for which we   
have the greatest dread and aversion4   
,other actions1 on the contrary1 call   
forth our approbation1 and we hear every
 body around us express the same        
favourable opinion concerning them4     
,every body is eager to honour and      
reward them4 ,they excite all those     

sentiments for which we have by nature  
the strongest desire2 the love1 the     
gratitude1 the admiration of mankind4   
,we become ambitious of performing the  
like2 and thus naturally lay down to    
ourselves a rule of another kind1 that  
every opportunity of acting in this     
manner is to be sought after4  ,it is   
thus that the general rules of morality 
are formed4 ,they are ultimately founded
 upon experience of what1 in particular 
instances1 our moral faculties1 our     
natural sense of merit and propriety1   
approve1 or disapprove of4 ,we do not   
originally approve or condemn particular
 actions2 because1 upon examination1    
they appear to be agreeable or          
inconsistent with a certain general     
rule4 ,the general rule1 on the         
contrary1 is formed1 by finding from    
experience1 that all actions of a #adj  
certain kind1 or circumstanced in a     
certain manner1 are approved or         
disapproved of4 ,to the man who first   
saw an inhuman murder1 committed from   

avarice1 envy1 or unjust resentment1 and
 upon one too that loved and trusted the
 murderer1 who beheld the last agonies  
of the dying person1 who heard him1 with
 his expiring breath1 complain more of  
the perfidy and ingratitude of his false
 friend1 than of the violence which had 
been done to him1 there could be no     
occasion1 in order to conceive how      
horrible such an action was1 that he    
should reflect1 that one of the most    
sacred rules of conduct was what        
prohibited the taking away the life of  
an innocent person1 that this was a     
plain violation of that rule1 and       
consequently a very blamable action4    
,his detestation of this crime1 it is   
evident1 would arise instantaneously and
 antecedent to his having formed to     
himself any such general rule4 ,the     
general rule1 on the contrary1 which he 
might afterwards form1 would be founded 
upon the detestation which he felt      
necessarily arise in his own breast1 at 
the thought of this and every other     

particular action of the same kind4     
,when we read in history or romance1 the
 account of actions either of generosity
 or of baseness1 the admiration which we
 conceive for the one1 and the contempt 
which we feel for the other1 neither of 
them arise from reflecting that there   
are certain general rules which declare 
all actions of the one kind admirable1  
and all actions of the other            
contemptible4 ,those general rules1 on  
the contrary1 are all formed from the   
experience we have had of the effects   
which actions of all different kinds    
naturally produce upon us4  ,an amiable 
action1 a respectable action1 an horrid 
action1 are all of them actions which   
naturally excite for the person who     
performs them1 the love1 the respect1 or
 the horror of the spectator4 ,the      
general rules which determine what      
actions are1 and what are not1 the      
objects of each of those sentiments1 can
 be formed no other way than by         
observing what actions actually and in  

fact excite them4  ,when these general  
rules1 indeed1 have been formed1 when   
they are universally acknowledged and   
established1 by the concurring          
sentiments of mankind1 we frequently    
appeal to them as to the standards of   
judgment1 in debating concerning the    
degree of praise or blame that is due to
 certain actions of a complicated and   
dubious nature4 ,they are upon these    
occasions commonly cited as the ultimate
 foundations of what is just and unjust 
in human conduct2 and this circumstance 
seems to have misled several very       
eminent authors1 to draw up their       
systems in such a manner1 as if they had
 supposed that the original judgments of
 mankind with regard to right and wrong1
 were formed like the decisions of a    
court of judicatory1 by considering     
first the general rule1 and then1       
secondly1 whether the particular action 
under consideration fell properly within
 its comprehension4  ,those general     
rules of conduct1 when they have been   

fixed in our mind by habitual           
reflection1 are of great use in         
correcting the #ada misrepresentations  
of self-love concerning what is fit and 
proper to be done in our particular     
situation4 ,the man of furious          
resentment1 if he was to listen to the  
dictates of that passion1 would perhaps 
regard the death of his enemy1 as but a 
small compensation for the wrong1 he    
imagines1 he has received2 which1       
however1 may be no more than a very     
slight provocation4 ,but his            
observations upon the conduct of others1
 have taught him how horrible all such  
sanguinary revenges appear4 ,unless his 
education has been very singular1 he has
 laid it down to himself as an          
inviolable rule1 to abstain from them   
upon all occasions4 ,this rule preserves
 its authority with him1 and renders him
 incapable of being guilty of such a    
violence4 ,yet the fury of his own      
temper may be such1 that had this been  
the first time in which he considered   

such an action1 he would undoubtedly    
have determined it to be quite just and 
proper1 and what every impartial        
spectator would approve of4 ,but that   
reverence for the rule which past       
experience has impressed upon him1      
checks the impetuosity of his passion1  
and helps him to correct the too partial
 views which self-love might otherwise  
suggest1 of what was proper to be done  
in his situation4 ,if he should allow   
himself to be so far transported by     
passion as to violate this rule1 yet1   
even in this case1 he cannot throw off  
altogether the awe and respect with     
which he has been accustomed to regard  
it4 ,at the very time of acting1 at the 
moment in which passion mounts the      
highest1 he hesitates and trembles at   
the thought of what he is about to do3  
he is secretly conscious to himself that
 he is breaking through those measures  
of conduct which1 in all his cool hours1
 he had resolved never to infringe1     
which he had never seen infringed by    

others without the highest              
disapprobation1 and of which the        
infringement1 his own mind forebodes1   
must soon render him the object of the  
same disagreeable sentiments4 ,before he
 can take the last fatal resolution1 he 
is tormented with all the agonies of    
doubt and uncertainty2 he is terrified  
at the thought of violating so sacred a 
rule1 and at the same time is urged and 
goaded on by the fury of his desires to 
violate it4 ,he changes his purpose     
every moment2 sometimes he resolves to  
adhere to his principle1 and not indulge
 a passion which may corrupt the        
remaining part of his life with the     
horrors of shame and repentance2 and a  
momentary calm takes possession of his  
breast1 from the prospect of that       
security and tranquillity which he will 
enjoy when he thus determines not to    
expose himself to the hazard of a       
contrary conduct4 ,but immediately the  
passion rouses anew1 and with fresh fury
 drives him on to commit what he had the

 instant before resolved to abstain     
from4 ,wearied and distracted with those
 continual irresolutions1 he at length1 
from a sort of despair1 makes the last  
fatal and irrecoverable step2 but with  
that terror and amazement with which one
 flying from an enemy1 throws himself   
over a precipice1 where he is sure of   
meeting with more certain destruction   
than from any thing that pursues him    
from behind4 ,such #adb are his         
sentiments even at the time of acting2  
though he is then1 no doubt1 less       
sensible of the impropriety of his own  
conduct than afterwards1 when his       
passion being gratified and palled1 he  
begins to view what he has done in the  
light in which others are apt to view   
it2 and actually feels1 what he had only
 foreseen very imperfectly before1 the  
stings of remorse and repentance begin  
to agitate and torment him4  -----      
,,chap4 ,v4--,of the ,influence and     
,authority of the general ,rules of     
,morality1 and that they are justly     

regarded as the ,laws of the ,deity4    
,,the regard of those general rules of  
conduct1 is what is properly called a   
sense of duty1 a principle of the       
greatest consequence in human life1 and 
the only principle by which the bulk of 
mankind are capable of directing their  
actions4 ,many men behave very decently1
 and through the whole of their lives   
avoid any considerable degree of blame1 
who yet1 perhaps1 never felt the        
sentiment upon the propriety of which we
 found our approbation of their conduct1
 but acted merely from a regard to what 
they saw were the established rules of  
behaviour4 ,the man who has received    
great benefits from another person1 may1
 by the natural coldness of his temper1 
feel but a very small degree of the     
sentiment of gratitude4 ,if he has been 
virtuously educated1 however1 he will   
often have been made to observe how     
odious those actions appear which denote
 a want of this sentiment1 and how      
amiable the contrary4 ,though his heart 

therefore is not warmed with any        
grateful affection1 he will strive to   
act as if it was1 and will endeavour to 
pay all those regards and attentions to 
his patron which the liveliest gratitude
 could suggest4 ,he will visit him      
regularly2 he will behave to him        
respectfully2 he will never talk of him 
but with expressions of the highest     
esteem1 and of the many obligations     
which he owes to him4 ,and what is more1
 he will carefully embrace every        
opportunity of making a proper return   
for past services4 ,he may do all this  
too without any hypocrisy or blamable   
dissimulation1 without any selfish      
intention of obtaining new favours1 and 
without any design of imposing either   
upon his benefactor or the public4 ,the 
motive of his actions may be no other   
than a reverence for the established    
rule of duty1 a serious and earnest     
desire of acting1 in every respect1     
according to the law of gratitude4 ,a   
wife1 in the same manner1 may sometimes 

not feel that tender regard for her     
husband which is suitable to the        
relation that subsists between them4 ,if
 she has been virtuously educated1      
however1 she will endeavour to act as if
 she felt it1 to be careful1 officious1 
faithful1 and sincere1 and to be        
deficient in none of those attentions   
which the sentiment of conjugal         
affection could have prompted her to    
perform4 ,such a friend1 and such a     
wife1 are neither of them1 undoubtedly1 
the very best of their #adc kinds2 and  
though both of them may have the most   
serious and earnest desire to fulfil    
every part of their duty1 yet they will 
fail in many nice and delicate regards1 
they will miss many opportunities of    
obliging1 which they could never have   
overlooked if they had possessed the    
sentiment that is proper to their       
situation4 ,though not the very first of
 their kinds1 however1 they are perhaps 
the second2 and if the regard to the    
general rules of conduct has been very  

strongly impressed upon them1 neither of
 them will fail in any very essential   
part of their duty4 ,none but those of  
the happiest mould are capable of       
suiting1 with exact justness1 their     
sentiments and behaviour to the smallest
 difference of situation1 and of acting 
upon all occasions with the most        
delicate and accurate propriety4 ,the   
coarse clay of which the bulk of mankind
 are formed1 cannot be wrought up to    
such perfection4 ,there is scarce any   
man1 however1 who by discipline1        
education1 and example1 may not be so   
impressed with a regard to general      
rules1 as to act upon almost every      
occasion with tolerable decency1 and    
through the whole of his life to avoid  
any considerable degree of blame4       
,without this sacred regard to general  
rules1 there is no man whose conduct can
 be much depended upon4 ,it is this     
which constitutes the most essential    
difference between a man of principle   
and honour and a worthless fellow4 ,the 

one adheres1 on all occasions1 steadily 
and resolutely to his maxims1 and       
preserves through the whole of his life 
one even tenor of conduct4 ,the other1  
acts variously and accidentally1 as     
humour1 inclination1 or interest chance 
to be uppermost4 ,nay1 such are the     
inequalities of humour to which all men 
are subject1 that without this          
principle1 the man who1 in all his cool 
hours1 had the most delicate sensibility
 to the propriety of conduct1 might     
often be led to act absurdly upon the   
most frivolous occasions1 and when it   
was scarce possible to assign any       
serious motive for his behaving in this 
manner4 ,your friend makes you a visit  
when you happen to be in a humour which 
makes it disagreeable to receive him3 in
 your present mood his civility is very 
apt to appear an impertinent intrusion2 
and if you were to give way to the views
 of things which at this time occur1    
though civil in your temper1 you would  
behave to him with coldness and         

contempt4 ,what renders you incapable of
 such a rudeness1 is nothing but a      
regard to the general rules of civility 
and hospitality1 which prohibit it4     
,that habitual reverence which your     
former experience has taught you for    
these1 enables you to act1 upon all such
 occasions1 with nearly equal propriety1
 and hinders those inequalities of      
temper1 to which all men are subject1   
from influencing your conduct in any    
very sensible degree4 ,but if without   
regard to these general rules1 even the 
duties of politeness1 which are so      
easily observed1 and which one can      
scarce have any serious motive to       
violate1 would yet be so frequently     
violated1 what would become of the      
duties of justice1 of truth1 of         
chastity1 of fidelity1 which it is often
 so difficult to observe1 and which     
there may be so #add many strong motives
 to violate8 ,but upon the tolerable    
observance of these duties depends the  
very existence of human society1 which  

would crumble into nothing if mankind   
were not generally impressed with a     
reverence for those important rules of  
conduct4  ,this reverence is still      
further enhanced by an opinion which is 
first impressed by nature1 and          
afterwards confirmed by reasoning and   
philosophy1 that those important rules  
of morality are the commands and laws of
 the ,deity1 who will finally reward the
 obedient and punish the transgressors  
of their duty4  ,this opinion or        
apprehension1 ,i say1 seems first to be 
impressed by nature4 ,men are naturally 
led to ascribe to those mysterious      
beings1 whatever they are1 which happen1
 in any country to be the objects of    
religious fear1 all their own sentiments
 and passions4 ,they have no other1 they
 can conceive no other to ascribe to    
them4 ,those unknown intelligences which
 they imagine but see not1 must         
necessarily be formed with some sort of 
resemblance to those intelligences of   
which they have experience4 ,during the 

ignorance and darkness of pagan         
superstition1 mankind seem to have      
formed the ideas of their divinities    
with so little delicacy1 that they      
ascribed to them1 indiscriminately1 all 
the passions of human nature1 those not 
excepted which do the least honour to   
our species1 such as lust1 hunger1      
avarice1 envy1 revenge4 ,they could not 
fail1 therefore1 to ascribe to those    
beings1 for the excellence of whose     
nature they still conceived the highest 
admiration1 those sentiments and        
qualities which are the great ornaments 
of humanity1 and which seem to raise it 
to a resemblance of divine perfection1  
the love of virtue and beneficence1 and 
the abhorrence of vice and injustice4   
,the man who was injured1 called upon   
,jupiter to be witness of the wrong that
 was done to him1 and could not doubt1  
but that divine being would behold it   
with the same indignation which would   
animate the meanest of mankind1 who     
looked on when injustice was committed4 

,the man who did the injury1 felt       
himself to be the proper object of the  
detestation and resentment of mankind2  
and his natural fears led him to impute 
the same sentiments to those awful      
beings1 whose presence he could not     
avoid1 and whose power he could not     
resist4 ,these natural hopes1 and fears1
 and suspicions1 were propagated by     
sympathy1 and confirmed by education2   
and the gods were universally           
represented and believed to be the      
rewarders of humanity and mercy1 and the
 avengers of perfidy and injustice4 ,and
 thus religion1 even in its rudest form1
 gave a sanction to the rules of        
morality1 long before the age of        
artificial reasoning and philosophy4    
,that the terrors of religion should    
thus enforce the natural sense of duty1 
was of too much importance to the       
happiness of mankind1 for nature to     
leave it dependent upon the slowness and
 uncertainty of philosophical           
researches4  ,these researches1 however1

 when they came to take place1 confirmed
 those original anticipations of nature4
 ,upon whatever we suppose that #ade    
moral faculties are founded1 whether    
upon a certain modification of reason1  
upon an original instinct1 called a     
moral sense1 or upon some other         
principle of our nature1 it cannot be   
doubted1 that they were given us for the
 direction of our conduct in this life4 
,they carry along with them the most    
evident badges of this authority1 which 
denote that they were set up within us  
to be the supreme arbiters of all our   
actions1 to superintend all our senses1 
passions1 and appetites1 and to judge   
how each of them was either to be       
indulged or restrained4 ,our moral      
faculties are by no means1 as some have 
pretended1 upon a level in this respect 
with the other faculties and appetites  
of our nature1 endowed with no more     
right to restrain these last1 than these
 last are to restrain them4 ,no other   
faculty or principle of action judges of

 any other4 ,love does not judge of     
resentment1 nor resentment of love4     
,those two passions may be opposite to  
one another1 but cannot1 with any       
propriety1 be said to approve or        
disapprove of one another4 ,but it is   
the peculiar office of those faculties  
now under our consideration to judge1 to
 bestow censure or applause upon all the
 other principles of our nature4 ,they  
may be considered as a sort of senses of
 which those principles are the objects4
 ,every sense is supreme over its own   
objects4 ,there is no appeal from the   
eye with regard to the beauty of        
colours1 nor from the ear with regard to
 the harmony of sounds1 nor from the    
taste with regard to the agreeableness  
of flavours4 ,each of those senses      
judges in the last resort of its own    
objects4 ,whatever gratifies the taste  
is sweet1 whatever pleases the eye is   
beautiful1 whatever soothes the ear is  
harmonious4 ,the very essence of each of
 those qualities consists in its being  

fitted to please the sense to which it  
is addressed4 ,it belongs to our moral  
faculties1 in the same manner to        
determine when the ear ought to be      
soothed1 when the eye ought to be       
indulged1 when the taste ought to be    
gratified1 when and how far every other 
principle of our nature ought either to 
be indulged or restrained4 ,what is     
agreeable to our moral faculties1 is    
fit1 and right1 and proper to be done2  
the contrary wrong1 unfit1 and improper4
 ,the sentiments which they approve of1 
are graceful and becoming3 the contrary1
 ungraceful and unbecoming4 ,the very   
words1 right1 wrong1 fit1 improper1     
graceful1 unbecoming1 mean only what    
pleases or displeases those faculties4  
,since these1 therefore1 were plainly   
intended to be the governing principles 
of human nature1 the rules which they   
prescribe are to be regarded as the     
commands and laws of the ,deity1        
promulgated by those vicegerents which  
he has thus set up within us4 ,all      

general rules are commonly denominated  
laws3 thus the general rules which      
bodies observe in the communication of  
motion1 are called the laws of motion4  
,but those general rules which our moral
 faculties observe in approving or      
condemning whatever sentiment or action 
is subjected to their examination1 may  
much more justly be denominated such4   
,they have a much greater resemblance to
 what are properly called laws1 those   
#adf general rules which the sovereign  
lays down to direct the conduct of his  
subjects4 ,like them they are rules to  
direct the free actions of men3 they are
 prescribed most surely by a lawful     
superior1 and are attended too with the 
sanction of rewards and punishments4    
,those vicegerents of ,god within us1   
never fail to punish the violation of   
them1 by the torments of inward shame1  
and self-condemnation2 and on the       
contrary1 always reward obedience with  
tranquillity of mind1 with full         
contentment and self-satisfaction4      

,there are innumerable other            
considerations which serve to confirm   
the same conclusion4 ,the happiness of  
mankind1 as well as of all other        
rational creatures1 seems to have been  
the original purpose intended by the    
,author of nature1 when he brought them 
into existence4 ,no other end seems     
worthy of that supreme wisdom and divine
 benignity which we necessarily ascribe 
to him2 and this opinion1 which we are  
led to by the abstract consideration of 
his infinite perfections1 is still more 
confirmed by the examination of the     
works of nature1 which seem all intended
 to promote happiness1 and to guard     
against misery4 ,but by acting          
accordingly to the dictates of our moral
 faculties1 we necessarily pursue the   
most effectual means for promoting the  
happiness of mankind1 and may therefore 
be said1 in some sense1 to co-operate   
with the ,deity1 and to advance as far  
as in our power the plan of ,providence4
 ,by acting otherwise1 on the contrary1 

we seem to obstruct1 in some measure1   
the scheme which the ,author of nature  
has established for the happiness and   
perfection of the world1 and to declare 
ourselves1 if ,i may say so1 in some    
measure the enemies of ,god4 ,hence we  
are naturally encouraged to hope for his
 extraordinary favour and reward in the 
one case1 and to dread his sure         
vengeance and punishment in the other4  
,there are besides many other reasons1  
and many other natural principles1 which
 all tend to confirm and inculcate the  
same salutary doctrine4 ,if we consider 
the general rules by which external     
prosperity and adversity are commonly   
distributed in this life1 we shall find1
 that notwithstanding the disorder in   
which all things appear to be in this   
world1 yet even here every virtue       
naturally meets with its proper reward1 
with the recompense which is most fit to
 encourage and promote it2 and this too 
so surely1 that it requires a very      
extraordinary concurrence of            

circumstances entirely to disappoint it4
 ,what is the reward most proper for    
encouraging industry1 prudence1 and     
circumspection8 ,success in every sort  
of business4 ,and is it possible that in
 the whole of life these virtues should 
fail of attaining it8 ,wealth and       
external honours are their proper       
recompense1 and the recompense which    
they can seldom fail of acquiring4 ,what
 reward is most proper for promoting the
 practice of truth1 justice1 and        
humanity8 ,the confidence1 the esteem1  
the love of those we live with4         
,humanity does not desire to be great1  
but to be beloved4 ,it is not in being  
rich that truth #adg and justice would  
rejoice1 but in being trusted and       
believed1 recompenses which those       
virtues must almost always acquire4 ,by 
some very extraordinary and unlucky     
circumstance1 a good man may come to be 
suspected of a crime of which he was    
altogether incapable1 and upon that     
account be most unjustly exposed for the

 remaining part of his life to the      
horror and aversion of mankind4 ,by an  
accident of this kind he may be said to 
lose his all1 notwithstanding his       
integrity and justice2 in the same      
manner as a cautious man1               
notwithstanding his utmost              
circumspection1 may be ruined by an     
earthquake or an inundation4 ,accidents 
of the first kind1 however1 are perhaps 
still more rare1 and still more contrary
 to the common course of things than    
those of the second2 and it still       
remains true1 that the practice of      
truth1 justice1 and humanity is a       
certain and almost infallible method of 
acquiring what these virtues chiefly aim
 at1 the confidence and love of those we
 live with4 ,a person may be very easily
 misrepresented with regard to a        
particular action2 but it is scarce     
possible that he should be so with      
regard to the general tenor of his      
conduct4 ,an innocent man may be        
believed to have done wrong3 this1      

however1 will rarely happen4 ,on the    
contrary1 the established opinion of the
 innocence of his manners1 will often   
lead us to absolve him where he has     
really been in the fault1               
notwithstanding very strong             
presumptions4 ,a knave1 in the same     
manner1 may escape censure1 or even meet
 with applause1 for a particular        
knavery1 in which his conduct is not    
understood4 ,but no man was ever        
habitually such1 without being almost   
universally known to be so1 and without 
being even frequently suspected of      
guilt1 when he was in reality perfectly 
innocent4 ,and so far as vice and virtue
 can be either punished or rewarded by  
the sentiments and opinions of mankind1 
they both1 according to the common      
course of things meet even here with    
something more than exact and impartial 
justice4  ,but though the general rules 
by which prosperity and adversity are   
commonly distributed1 when considered in
 this cool and philosophical light1     

appear to be perfectly suited to the    
situation of mankind in this life1 yet  
they are by no means suited to some of  
our natural sentiments4 ,our natural    
love and admiration for some virtues is 
such1 that we should wish to bestow on  
them all sorts of honours and rewards1  
even those which we must acknowledge to 
be the proper recompenses of other      
qualities1 with which those virtues are 
not always accompanied4 ,our            
detestation1 on the contrary1 for some  
vices is such1 that we should desire to 
heap upon them every sort of disgrace   
and disaster1 those not excepted which  
are the natural consequences of very    
different qualities4 ,magnanimity1      
generosity1 and justice1 command so high
 a degree of admiration1 that we desire 
to see them crowned with wealth1 and    
power1 and honours of every kind1 the   
natural consequences of prudence1       
industry1 and application2 qualities    
with which those virtues are not        
inseparably connected4 ,fraud1          

falsehood1 brutality1 and #adh violence1
 on the other hand1 excite in every     
human breast such scorn and abhorrence1 
that our indignation rouses to see them 
possess those advantages which they may 
in some sense be said to have merited1  
by the diligence and industry with which
 they are sometimes attended4 ,the      
industrious knave cultivates the soil1  
the indolent man leaves it uncultivated4
 ,who ought to reap the harvest8 ,who   
starve1 and who live in plenty8 ,the    
natural course of things decides it in  
favour of the knave3 the natural        
sentiments of mankind in favour of the  
man of virtue4 ,man judges1 that the    
good qualities of the one are greatly   
over-recompensed by those advantages    
which they tend to procure him1 and that
 the omissions of the other are by far  
too severely punished by the distress   
which they naturally bring upon him2 and
 human laws1 the consequences of human  
sentiments1 forfeit the life and the    
estate of the industrious and cautious  

traitor1 and reward1 by extraordinary   
recompenses1 the fidelity and public    
spirit of the improvident and careless  
good citizen4 ,thus man is by ,nature   
directed to correct1 in some measure1   
that distribution of things which she   
herself would otherwise have made4 ,the 
rules which for this purpose she prompts
 him to follow1 are different from those
 which she herself observes4 ,she       
bestows upon every virtue1 and upon     
every vice1 that precise reward or      
punishment which is best fitted to      
encourage the one1 or to restrain the   
other4 ,she is directed by this sole    
consideration1 and pays little regard to
 the different degrees of merit and     
demerit1 which they may seem to possess 
in the sentiments and passions of man4  
,man1 on the contrary1 pays regard to   
this only1 and would endeavour to render
 the state of every virtue precisely    
proportioned to that degree of love and 
esteem1 and of every vice to that degree
 of contempt and abhorrence1 which he   

himself conceives for it4 ,the rules    
which she follows are fit for her1 as1  
those which he follows are for him3 but 
both are calculated to promote the same 
great end1 the order of the world1 and  
the perfection and happiness of human   
nature4  ,but though man is thus        
employed to alter that distribution of  
things which natural events would make1 
if left to themselves2 though1 like the 
gods of the poets1 he is perpetually    
interposing1 by extraordinary means1 in 
favour of virtue1 and in opposition to  
vice1 and1 like them1 endeavours to turn
 away the arrow that is aimed at the    
head of the righteous1 but to accelerate
 the sword of destruction that is lifted
 up against the wicked2 yet he is by no 
means able to render the fortune of     
either quite suitable to his own        
sentiments and wishes4 ,the natural     
course of things cannot be entirely     
controlled by the impotent endeavours of
 man3 the current is too rapid and too  
strong for him to stop it2 and though   

the rules which direct it appear to have
 been established for the wisest and    
best purposes1 they sometimes produce   
effects which shock all his natural     
sentiments4 ,that a great combination of
 men should prevail over a small one2   
that those who engage in an #adi        
enterprise with forethought and all     
necessary preparation1 should prevail   
over such as oppose them without any2   
and that every end should be acquired by
 those means only which nature has      
established for acquiring it1 seems to  
be a rule not only necessary and        
unavoidable in itself1 but even useful  
and proper for rousing the industry and 
attention of mankind4 ,yet1 when1 in    
consequence of this rule1 violence and  
artifice prevail over sincerity and     
justice1 what indignation does it not   
excite in the breast of every human     
spectator8 ,what sorrow and compassion  
for the sufferings of the innocent1 and 
what furious resentment against the     
success of the oppressor8 ,we are       

equally grieved and enraged at the wrong
 that is done1 but often find it        
altogether out of our power to redress  
it4 ,when we thus despair of finding any
 force upon earth which can check the   
triumph of injustice1 we naturally      
appeal to heaven1 and hope that the     
great ,author of our nature will himself
 execute hereafter what all the         
principles which he has given us for the
 direction of our conduct prompt us to  
attempt even here2 that he will complete
 the plan which he himself has thus     
taught us to begin2 and will1 in a life 
to come1 render to every one according  
to the works which he has performed in  
this world4 ,and thus we are led to the 
belief of a future state1 not only by   
the weaknesses1 by the hopes and fears  
of human nature1 but by the noblest and 
best principles which belong to it1 by  
the love of virtue1 and by the          
abhorrence of vice and injustice4       
',does it suit the greatness of ,god1'  
says the eloquent and philosophical     

bishop of ,clermont1 with that          
passionate and exaggerating force of    
imagination1 which seems sometimes to   
exceed the bounds of decorum2 'does it  
suit the greatness of ,god1 to leave the
 world which he has created in so       
universal a disorder8 ,to see the wicked
 prevail almost always over the just2   
the innocent dethroned by the usurper2  
the father become the victim of the     
ambition of an unnatural son2 the       
husband expiring under the stroke of a  
barbarous and faithless wife8 ,from the 
height of his greatness ought ,god to   
behold those melancholy events as a     
fantastical amusement1 without taking   
any share in them8 ,because he is great1
 should he be weak1 or unjust1 or       
barbarous8 ,because men are little1     
ought they to be allowed either to be   
dissolute without punishment or virtuous
 without reward8 ,o ,god6 if this is the
 character of your ,supreme ,being2 if  
it is you whom we adore under such      
dreadful ideas2 ,i can no longer        

acknowledge you for my father1 for my   
protector1 for the comforter of my      
sorrow1 the support of my weakness1 the 
rewarder of my fidelity4 ,you would then
 be no more than an indolent and        
fantastical tyrant1 who sacrifices      
mankind to his vanity1 and who has      
brought them out of nothing only to make
 them serve for the sport of his leisure
 and of his caprice4'  ,when the general
 rules which determine the merit and    
demerit of actions1 come thus to be     
regarded as the laws of an all-powerful 
,being1 who watches over our conduct    
and1 who1 in a life to come1 will reward
 #aej the observance1 and punish the    
breach of them2 they necessarily acquire
 a new sacredness from this             
consideration4 ,that our regard to the  
will of the ,deity ought to be the      
supreme rule of our conduct1 can be     
doubted of by nobody who believes his   
existence4 ,the very thought of         
disobedience appears to involve in it   
the most shocking impropriety4 ,how     

vain1 how absurd would it be for man1   
either to oppose or to neglect the      
commands that were laid upon him by     
,infinite ,wisdom1 and ,infinite ,power6
 ,how unnatural1 how impiously          
ungrateful1 not to reverence the        
precepts that were prescribed to him by 
the infinite goodness of his ,creator1  
even though no punishment was to follow 
their violation4 ,the sense of propriety
 too is here well supported by the      
strongest motives of self-interest4 ,the
 idea that1 however we may escape the   
observation of man1 or be placed above  
the reach of human punishment1 yet we   
are always acting under the eye1 and    
exposed to the punishment of ,god1 the  
great avenger of injustice1 is a motive 
capable of restraining the most         
headstrong passions1 with those at least
 who1 by constant reflection1 have      
rendered it familiar to them4  ,it is in
 this manner that religion enforces the 
natural sense of duty3 and hence it is1 
that mankind are generally disposed to  

place great confidence in the probity of
 those who seem deeply impressed with   
religious sentiments4 ,such persons1    
they imagine1 act under an additional   
tie1 besides those which regulate the   
conduct of other men4 ,the regard to the
 propriety of action1 as well as to     
reputation1 the regard to the applause  
of his own breast1 as well as to that of
 others1 are motives which they suppose 
have the influence over the religious   
man1 as over the man of the world4 ,but 
the former lies under another restraint1
 and never acts deliberately but as in  
the presence of that ,great ,superior   
who is finally to recompense him        
according to his deeds4 ,a greater trust
 is reposed1 upon this account1 in the  
regularity and exactness of his conduct4
 ,and wherever the natural principles of
 religion are not corrupted by the      
factious and party zeal of some         
worthless cabal2 wherever the first duty
 which it requires1 is to fulfil all the
 obligations of morality2 wherever men  

are not taught to regard frivolous      
observances1 as more immediate duties of
 religion than acts of justice and      
beneficence2 and to imagine1 that by    
sacrifices1 and ceremonies1 and vain    
supplications1 they can bargain with the
 ,deity for fraud1 and perfidy1 and     
violence1 the world undoubtedly judges  
right in this respect1 and justly places
 a double confidence in the rectitude of
 the religious man's behaviour4  -----  
,,chap4 ,,vi4--,in what ,cases the      
,sense of ,duty ought to be the sole    
,principle of our ,conduct2 and in what 
,cases it ought to concur with other    
,motives4   ,,religion affords such     
strong motives to the practice of       
virtue1 and #aea guards us by such      
powerful restraints from the temptations
 of vice1 that many have been led to    
suppose1 that religious principles were 
the sole laudable motives of action4 ,we
 ought neither1 they said1 to reward    
from gratitude1 nor punish from         
resentment2 we ought neither to protect 

the helplessness of our children1 nor   
afford support to the infirmities of our
 parents1 from natural affection4 ,all  
affections for particular objects1 ought
 to be extinguished in our breast1 and  
one great affection take the place of   
all others1 the love of the ,deity1 the 
desire of rendering ourselves agreeable 
to him1 and of directing our conduct1 in
 every respect1 according to his will4  
,we ought not to be grateful from       
gratitude1 we ought not to be charitable
 from humanity1 we ought not to be      
public-spirited from the love of our    
country1 nor generous and just from the 
love of mankind4 ,the sole principle and
 motive of our conduct in the           
performance of all those different      
duties1 ought to be a sense that ,god   
has commanded us to perform them4 ,i    
shall not at present take time to       
examine this opinion particularly2 ,i   
shall only observe1 that we should not  
have expected to have found it          
entertained by any sect1 who professed  

themselves of a religion in which1 as it
 is the first precept to love the ,lord 
our ,god with all our heart1 with all   
our soul1 and with all our strength1 so 
it is the second to love our neighbour  
as we love ourselves2 and we love       
ourselves surely for our own sakes1 and 
not merely because we are commanded to  
do so4 ,that the sense of duty should be
 the sole principle of our conduct1 is  
no where the precept of ,christianity2  
but that it should be the ruling and the
 governing one1 as philosophy1 and as1  
indeed1 common sense directs4 ,it may be
 a question1 however1 in what cases our 
actions ought to arise chiefly or       
entirely from a sense of duty1 or from a
 regard to general rules2 and in what   
cases some other sentiment or affection 
ought to concur1 and have a principal   
influence on our conduct4  ,the decision
 of this question1 which cannot1        
perhaps1 be given with any very great   
accuracy1 will depend upon two different
 circumstances2 first1 upon the natural 

agreeableness or deformity of the       
sentiment or affection which would      
prompt us to any action independent of  
all regard to general rules2 and1       
secondly1 upon the precision and        
exactness1 or the looseness and         
inaccuracy1 of the rules themselves4    
,i4 ,first1 ,i say1 it will depend upon 
the natural agreeableness or deformity  
of the affection itself1 how far our    
actions ought to arise from it1 or      
entirely proceed from a regard to the   
general rule4  ,all those graceful and  
admired actions1 to which the benevolent
 affections would prompt us1 ought to   
proceed as much from the passions       
themselves1 as from any regard to the   
general rules of conduct4 ,a benefactor 
thinks himself but ill requited1 if the 
person upon whom he has bestowed his    
good offices1 repays them merely from a 
cold sense of duty1 and without any     
affection to his person4 ,a husband is  
dissatisfied with the most obedient     
wife1 when he imagines her conduct is   

animated #aeb by no other principle     
besides her regard to what the relation 
she stands in requires4 ,though a son   
should fail in none of the offices of   
filial duty1 yet if he wants that       
affectionate reverence which it so well 
becomes him to feel1 the parent may     
justly complain of his indifference4    
,nor could a son be quite satisfied with
 a parent who1 though he performed all  
the duties of his situation1 had nothing
 of that fatherly fondness which might  
have been expected from him4 ,with      
regard to all such benevolent and social
 affections1 it is agreeable to see the 
sense of duty employed rather to        
restrain than to enliven them1 rather to
 hinder us from doing too much1 than to 
prompt us to do what we ought4 ,it gives
 us pleasure to see a father obliged to 
check his own fondness for his children1
 a friend obliged to set bounds to his  
natural generosity1 a person who has    
received a benefit1 obliged to restrain 
the too sanguine gratitude of his own   

temper4  ,the contrary maxim takes place
 with regard to the malevolent and      
unsocial passions4 ,we ought to reward  
from the gratitude and generosity of our
 own hearts1 without any reluctance1 and
 without being obliged to reflect how   
great the propriety of rewarding3 but we
 ought always to punish with reluctance1
 and more from a sense of the propriety 
of punishing1 than from any savage      
disposition to revenge4 ,nothing is more
 graceful than the behaviour of the man 
who appears to resent the greatest      
injuries1 more from a sense that they   
deserve1 and are the proper objects of  
resentment1 than from feeling himself   
the furies of that disagreeable passion2
 who1 like a judge1 considers only the  
general rule1 which determines what     
vengeance is due for each particular    
offence2 who1 in executing that rule1   
feels less for what himself has         
suffered1 than for what the offender is 
about to suffer2 who1 though in wrath1  
does ever remember mercy1 and is        

disposed to interpret the rule in the   
most gentle and favourable manner1 and  
to allow all the alleviations which the 
most candid humanity could1 consistently
 with good sense1 admit of4  ,as the    
selfish passions1 according to what has 
formerly been observed1 hold1 in other  
respects1 a sort of middle place1       
between the social and unsocial         
affections1 so do they likewise in this4
 ,the pursuit of the objects of private 
interest1 in all common1 little1 and    
ordinary cases1 ought to flow rather    
from a regard to the general rules which
 prescribe such conduct1 than from any  
passion for the objects themselves2 but 
upon more important and extraordinary   
occasions1 we should be awkward1        
insipid1 and ungraceful1 if the objects 
themselves did not appear to animate us 
with a considerable degree of passion4  
,to be anxious1 or to be laying a plot  
either to gain or to save a single      
shilling1 would degrade the most vulgar 
tradesman in the opinion of all his     

neighbours4 ,let his circumstances be   
ever so mean1 no attention to any such  
small matters1 for the sake of the      
things themselves1 must appear in his   
conduct4 ,his situation may require the 
most severe oeconomy and the #aec most  
exact assiduity3 but each particular    
exertion of that oeconomy and assiduity 
must proceed1 not so much from a regard 
for that particular saving or gain1 as  
for the general rule which to him       
prescribes1 with the utmost rigour1 such
 a tenor of conduct4 ,his parsimony     
to-day must not arise from a desire of  
the particular three-pence which he will
 save by it1 nor his attendance in his  
shop from a passion for the particular  
ten-pence which he will acquire by it3  
both the one and the other ought to     
proceed solely from a regard to the     
general rule1 which prescribes1 with the
 most unrelenting severity1 this plan of
 conduct to all persons in his way of   
life4 ,in this consists the difference  
between the character of a miser and    

that of a person of exact oeconomy and  
assiduity4 ,the one is anxious about    
small matters for their own sake2 the   
other attends to them only in           
consequence of the scheme of life which 
he has laid down to himself4  ,it is    
quite otherwise with regard to the more 
extraordinary and important objects of  
self-interest4 ,a person appears        
mean-spirited1 who does not pursue these
 with some degree of earnestness for    
their own sake4 ,we should despise a    
prince who was not anxious about        
conquering or defending a province4 ,we 
should have little respect for a private
 gentleman who did not exert himself to 
gain an estate1 or even a considerable  
office1 when he could acquire them      
without either meanness or injustice4 ,a
 member of parliament who shews no      
keenness about his own election1 is     
abandoned by his friends1 as altogether 
unworthy of their attachment4 ,even a   
tradesman is thought a poor-spirited    
fellow among his neighbours1 who does   

not bestir himself to get what they call
 an extraordinary job1 or some uncommon 
advantage4 ,this spirit and keenness    
constitutes the difference between the  
man of enterprise and the man of dull   
regularity4 ,those great objects of     
self-interest1 of which the loss or     
acquisition quite changes the rank of   
the person1 are the objects of the      
passion properly called ambition2 a     
passion1 which when it keeps within the 
bounds of prudence and justice1 is      
always admired in the world1 and has    
even sometimes a certain irregular      
greatness1 which dazzles the            
imagination1 when it passes the limits  
of both these virtues1 and is not only  
unjust but extravagant4 ,hence the      
general admiration for heroes and       
conquerors1 and even for statesmen1     
whose projects have been very daring and
 extensive though altogether devoid of  
justice1 such as those of the ,cardinals
 of ,richlieu and of ,retz4 ,the objects
 of avarice and ambition differ only in 

their greatness4 ,a miser is as furious 
about a halfpenny1 as a man of ambition 
about the conquest of a kingdom4  ,,ii4 
,secondly1 ,i say1 it will depend partly
 upon the precision and upon the        
exactness1 or the looseness and the     
inaccuracy of the general rules         
themselves1 how far our conduct ought to
 proceed entirely from a regard to them4
  ,the general rules of almost all the  
virtues1 the general rules which #aed   
determine what are the offices of       
prudence1 of charity1 of generosity1 of 
gratitude1 of friendship1 are in many   
respects loose and inaccurate1 admit of 
many exceptions1 and require so many    
modifications1 that it is scarce        
possible to regulate our conduct        
entirely by a regard to them4 ,the      
common proverbial maxims of prudence1   
being founded in universal experience1  
are perhaps the best general rules which
 can be given about it4 ,to affect1     
however1 a very strict and literal      
adherence to them would evidently be the

 most absurd and ridiculous pedantry4   
,of all the virtues ,i have just now    
mentioned1 gratitude is that1 perhaps1  
of which the rules are the most precise1
 and admit of the fewest exceptions4    
,that as soon as we can we should make a
 return of equal1 and if possible of    
superior1 value to the services we have 
received1 would seem to be a pretty     
plain rule1 and one which admitted of   
scarce any exceptions4 ,upon the most   
superficial examination1 however1 this  
rule will appear to be in the highest   
degree loose and inaccurate1 and to     
admit of ten thousand exceptions4 ,if   
your benefactor attended you in your    
sickness1 ought you to attend him in    
his8 or can you fulfil the obligation of
 gratitude1 by making a return of a     
different kind8 ,if you ought to attend 
him1 how long ought you to attend him8  
,the same time which he attended you1 or
 longer1 and how much longer8 ,if your  
friend lent you money in your distress1 
ought you to lend him money in his8 ,how

 much ought you to lend him8 ,when ought
 you to lend him8 ,now1 or to-morrow1 or
 next month8 ,and for how long a time8  
,it is evident1 that no general rule can
 be laid down1 by which a precise answer
 can1 in all cases1 be given to any of  
these questions4 ,the difference between
 his character and yours1 between his   
circumstances and yours1 may be such1   
that you may be perfectly grateful1 and 
justly refuse to lend him a half-penny3 
and1 on the contrary1 you may be willing
 to lend1 or even to give him ten times 
the sum which he lent you1 and yet      
justly be accused of the blackest       
ingratitude1 and of not having fulfilled
 the hundredth part of the obligation   
you lie under4 ,as the duties of        
gratitude1 however1 are perhaps the most
 sacred of all those which the          
beneficent virtues prescribe to us1 so  
the general rules which determine them  
are1 as ,i said before1 the most        
accurate4 ,those which ascertain the    
actions required by friendship1         

humanity1 hospitality1 generosity1 are  
still more vague and indeterminate4     
,there is1 however1 one virtue of which 
the general rules determine with the    
greatest exactness every external action
 which it requires4 ,this virtue is     
justice4 ,the rules of justice are      
accurate in the highest degree1 and     
admit of no exceptions or modifications1
 but such as may be ascertained as      
accurately as the rules themselves1 and 
which generally1 indeed1 flow from the  
very same principles with them4 ,if ,i  
owe a man ten pounds1 justice requires  
that ,i should precisely pay him ten    
pounds1 either at the time agreed upon1 
or when he demands it4 ,what ,i ought to
 perform1 how much ,i ought to perform1 
when and where ,i #aee ought to perform 
it1 the whole nature and circumstances  
of the action prescribed1 are all of    
them precisely fixed and determined4    
,though it may be awkward and pedantic1 
therefore1 to affect too strict an      
adherence to the common rules of        

prudence or generosity1 there is no     
pedantry in sticking fast by the rules  
of justice4 ,on the contrary1 the most  
sacred regard is due to them2 and the   
actions which this virtue requires are  
never so properly performed1 as when the
 chief motive for performing them is a  
reverential and religious regard to     
those general rules which require them4 
,in the practice of the other virtues1  
our conduct should rather be directed by
 a certain idea of propriety1 by a      
certain taste for a particular tenor of 
conduct1 than by any regard to a precise
 maxim or rule2 and we should consider  
the end and foundation of the rule1 more
 than the rule itself4 ,but it is       
otherwise with regard to justice3 the   
man who in that refines the least1 and  
adheres with the most obstinate         
steadfastness to the general rules      
themselves1 is the most commendable1 and
 the most to be depended upon4 ,though  
the end of the rules of justice be1 to  
hinder us from hurting our neighbour1 it

 may frequently be a crime to violate   
them1 though we could pretend with some 
pretext of reason1 that this particular 
violation could do no hurt4 ,a man often
 becomes a villain the moment he begins1
 even in his own heart1 to chicane in   
this manner4 ,the moment he thinks of   
departing from the most staunch and     
positive adherence to what those        
inviolable precepts prescribe to him1 he
 is no longer to be trusted1 and no man 
can say what degree of guilt he may not 
arrive at4 ,the thief imagines he does  
no evil1 when he steals from the rich1  
what he supposes they may easily want1  
and what possibly they may never even   
know has been stolen from them4 ,the    
adulterer imagines he does no evil1 when
 he corrupts the wife of his friend1    
provided he covers his intrigue from the
 suspicion of the husband1 and does not 
disturb the peace of the family4 ,when  
once we begin to give way to such       
refinements1 there is no enormity so    
gross of which we may not be capable4   

,the rules of justice may be compared to
 the rules of grammar2 the rules of the 
other virtues1 to the rules which       
critics lay down for the attainment of  
what is sublime and elegant in          
composition4 ,the one1 are precise1     
accurate1 and indispensable4 ,the other1
 are loose1 vague1 and indeterminate1   
and present us rather with a general    
idea of the perfection we ought to aim  
at1 than afford us any certain and      
infallible directions for acquiring it4 
,a man may learn to write grammatically 
by rule1 with the most absolute         
infallibility2 and so1 perhaps1 he may  
be taught to act justly4 ,but there are 
no rules whose observance will          
infallibly lead us to the attainment of 
elegance or sublimity in writing2 though
 there are some which may help us1 in   
some measure1 to correct1 and ascertain 
the vague ideas which we might otherwise
 have entertained of those perfections4 
,and there are no rules by the knowledge
 of which we can infallibly be taught to

 act upon all occasions with #aef       
prudence1 with just magnanimity1 or     
proper beneficence3 though there are    
some which may enable us to correct and 
ascertain1 in several respects1 the     
imperfect ideas which we might otherwise
 have entertained of those virtues--the 
rules of justice4  ,it may sometimes    
happen1 that with the most serious and  
earnest desire of acting so as to       
deserve approbation1 we may mistake the 
proper rules of conduct1 and thus be    
misled by that very principle which     
ought to direct us4 ,it is in vain to   
expect1 that in this case mankind should
 entirely approve of our behaviour4     
,they cannot enter into that absurd idea
 of duty which influenced us1 nor go    
along with any of the actions which     
follow from it4 ,there is still1        
however1 something respectable in the   
character and behaviour of one who is   
thus betrayed into vice1 by a wrong     
sense of duty1 or by what is called an  
erroneous conscience4 ,how fatally      

soever he maybe misled by it1 he is     
still1 with the generous and humane1    
more the object of commiseration than of
 hatred or resentment4 ,they lament the 
weakness of human nature1 which exposes 
us to such unhappy delusions1 even while
 we are most sincerely labouring after  
perfection1 and endeavouring to act     
according to the best principle which   
can possibly direct us4 ,false notions  
of religion are almost the only causes  
which can occasion any very gross       
perversion of our natural sentiments in 
this way2 and that principle which gives
 the greatest authority to the rules of 
duty1 is alone capable of distorting our
 ideas of them in any considerable      
degree4 ,in all other cases1 common     
sense is sufficient to direct us1 if not
 to the most exquisite propriety of     
conduct1 yet to something which is not  
very far from it2 and provided we are in
 earnest desirous to do well1 our       
behaviour will always1 upon the whole1  
be praiseworthy4 ,that to obey the will 

of the ,deity1 is the first rule of     
duty1 all men are agreed4 ,but          
concerning the particular commandments  
which that will may impose upon us1 they
 differ widely from one another4 ,in    
this1 therefore1 the greatest mutual    
forbearance and toleration is due2 and  
though the defence of society requires  
that crimes should be punished1 from    
whatever motives they proceed1 yet a    
good man will always punish them with   
reluctance1 when they evidently proceed 
from false notions of religious duty4   
,he will never feel against those who   
commit them that indignation which he   
feels against other criminals1 but will 
rather regret1 and sometimes even admire
 their unfortunate firmness and         
magnanimity1 at the very time that he   
punishes their crime4 ,in the tragedy of
 ,mahomet1 one of the finest of ,mr4    
,voltaire's1 it is well represented1    
what ought to be our sentiments for     
crimes which proceed from such motives4 
,in that tragedy1 two young people of   

different sexes1 of the most innocent   
and virtuous dispositions1 and without  
any other weakness except what endears  
them the more to us1 a mutual fondness  
for one another1 are instigated by the  
strongest motives of a false religion1  
to commit a horrid murder1 that shocks  
all the principles of human nature4 ,a  
#aeg venerable old man1 who had         
expressed the most tender affection for 
them both1 for whom1 notwithstanding he 
was the avowed enemy of their religion1 
they had both conceived the highest     
reverence and esteem1 and who was in    
reality their father1 though they did   
not know him to be such1 is pointed out 
to them as a sacrifice which ,god had   
expressly required at their hands1 and  
they are commanded to kill him4 ,while  
about executing this crime1 they are    
tortured with all the agonies which can 
arise from the struggle between the idea
 of the indispensableness of religious  
duty on the one side1 and compassion1   
gratitude1 reverence for the age1 and   

love for the humanity and virtue of the 
person whom they are going to destroy1  
on the other4 ,the representation of    
this exhibits one of the most           
interesting1 and perhaps the most       
instructive spectacle that was ever     
introduced upon any theatre4 ,the sense 
of duty1 however1 at last prevails over 
all the amiable weaknesses of human     
nature4 ,they execute the crime imposed 
upon them2 but immediately discover     
their error1 and the fraud which had    
deceived them1 and are distracted with  
horror1 remorse1 and resentment4 ,such  
as are our sentiments for the unhappy   
,seid and ,palmira1 such ought we to    
feel for every person who is in this    
manner misled by religion1 when we are  
sure that it is really religion which   
misleads him1 and not the pretence of   
it1 which is made too often a cover to  
some of the worst of human passions4    
,as a person may act wrong by following 
a wrong sense of duty1 so nature may    
sometimes prevail1 and lead him to act  

right in opposition to it4 ,we cannot in
 this case be displeased to see that    
motive prevail1 which we think ought to 
prevail though the person himself is so 
weak as to think otherwise4 ,as his     
conduct1 however1 is the effect of      
weakness1 not principle1 we are far from
 bestowing upon it any thing that       
approaches to complete approbation4 ,a  
bigoted ,roman ,catholic1 who1 during   
the massacre of ,st4 ,bartholomew1 had  
been so overcome by compassion1 as to   
save some unhappy ,protestants1 whom he 
thought it his duty to destroy1 would   
not seem to be entitled to that high    
applause which we should have bestowed  
upon him1 had he exerted the same       
generosity with complete                
self-approbation4 ,we might be pleased  
with the humanity of his temper1 but we 
should still regard him with a sort of  
pity which is altogether inconsistent   
with the admiration that is due to      
perfect virtue4 ,it is the same case    
with all the other passions4 ,we do not 

dislike to see them exert themselves    
properly1 even when a false notion of   
duty would direct the person to restrain
 them4 ,a very devout ,quaker1 who upon 
being struck upon one cheek1 instead of 
turning up the other1 should so far     
forget his literal interpretation of our
 ,saviour's precept1 as to bestow some  
good discipline upon the brute that     
insulted him1 would not be disagreeable 
to us4 ,we should laugh and be diverted 
with his spirit1 and rather like him the
 better for it4 ,but we should by no    
means regard him with that respect and  
esteem which would seem due to one #aeh 
who1 upon a like occasion1 had acted    
properly from a just sense of what was  
proper to be done4 ,no action can       
properly be called virtuous1 which is   
not accompanied with the sentiment of   
self-approbation4  -----  ,part ,,iv4   
,of the ,effect of ,utility upon the    
,sentiment of ,approbation4  ,,chap4    
,i4-- ,of the ,beauty which the         
,appearance of ,utility bestows upon all

 the ,productions of ,art1 and of the   
extensive ,influence of this ,species of
 ,beauty4   ,,that utility is one of the
 principal sources of beauty has been   
observed by every body1 who has         
considered with any attention what      
constitutes the nature of beauty4 ,the  
conveniency of a house gives pleasure to
 the spectator as well as its           
regularity1 and he is as much hurt when 
he observes the contrary defect1 as when
 he sees the correspondent windows of   
different forms1 or the door not placed 
exactly in the middle of the building4  
,that the fitness of any system or      
machine to produce the end for which it 
was intended1 bestows a certain         
propriety and beauty upon the whole1 and
 renders the very thought and           
contemplation of it agreeable1 is so    
obvious that nobody has over-looked it4 
,the cause too1 why utility pleases1 has
 of late been assigned by an ingenious  
and agreeable philosopher1 who joins the
 greatest depth of thought to the       

greatest elegance of expression1 and    
possesses the singular and happy talent 
of treating the abstrusest subjects not 
only with the most perfect perspicuity1 
but with the most lively eloquence4 ,the
 utility of any object1 according to    
him1 pleases the master by perpetually  
suggesting to him the pleasure or       
conveniency which it is fitted to       
promote4 ,every time he looks at it1 he 
is put in mind of this pleasure2 and the
 object in this manner becomes a source 
of perpetual satisfaction and enjoyment4
 ,the spectator enters by sympathy into 
the sentiments of the master1 and       
necessarily views the object under the  
same agreeable aspect4 ,when we visit   
the palaces of the great1 we cannot help
 conceiving the satisfaction we should  
enjoy if we ourselves were the masters1 
and were possessed of so much artful and
 ingeniously contrived accommodation4 ,a
 similar account is given why the       
appearance of inconveniency should      
render any object disagreeable both to  

the owner and to the spectator4  ,but   
that this fitness1 this happy           
contrivance of any production of art1   
should often be more valued1 than the   
very end for which it was intended2 and 
that the exact adjustment of the means  
for attaining any conveniency or        
pleasure1 should frequently be more     
regarded1 than that very conveniency or 
pleasure1 in the attainment of which    
their whole merit would seem to consist1
 has not1 so far as ,i know1 been yet   
taken #aei notice of by any body4 ,that 
this1 however1 is very frequently the   
case1 may be observed in a thousand     
instances1 both in the most frivolous   
and in the most important concerns of   
human life4  ,when a person comes into  
his chamber1 and finds the chairs all   
standing in the middle of the room1 he  
is angry with his servant1 and rather   
than see them continue in that disorder1
 perhaps takes the trouble himself to   
set them all in their places with their 
backs to the wall4 ,the whole propriety 

of this new situation arises from its   
superior conveniency in leaving the     
floor free and disengaged4 ,to attain   
this conveniency he voluntarily puts    
himself to more trouble than all he     
could have suffered from the want of it2
 since nothing was more easy1 than to   
have set himself down upon one of them1 
which is probably what he does when his 
labour is over4 ,what he wanted1        
therefore1 it seems1 was not so much    
this conveniency1 as that arrangement of
 things which promotes it4 ,yet it is   
this conveniency alone which may        
ultimately recommend that arrangement1  
and bestows upon it the whole of its    
propriety and beauty4  ,a watch1 in the 
same manner1 that falls behind above two
 minutes in a day1 is despised by one   
curious in watches4 ,he sells it perhaps
 for a couple of guineas1 and purchases 
another at fifty1 which will not lose   
above a minute in a fortnight4 ,the sole
 use of watches1 however1 is to tell us 
what o'clock it is1 and to hinder us    

from breaking any engagement1 or        
suffering any other inconveniency by our
 ignorance in that particular point4    
,but the person so nice with regard to  
this machine1 will not always be found  
either more scrupulously punctual than  
other men1 or more anxiously concerned  
upon any other account1 to know         
precisely what time of day it is4 ,what 
interests him is not so much the        
attainment of this piece of knowledge1  
as the perfection of the machine which  
enables him to attain it4  ,how many    
people ruin themselves by laying out    
money on trinkets of frivolous utility8 
,what pleases these lovers of toys is   
not so much the utility1 as the aptness 
of the machines which are fitted to     
promote it4 ,all their pockets are      
stuffed with little conveniences4 ,they 
contrive new pockets1 unknown in the    
clothes of other people1 in order to    
carry a greater number4 ,they walk about
 loaded with a multitude of baubles1 in 
weight and sometimes in value not       

inferior to an ordinary ,jew's-box1 some
 of which may sometimes be of some      
little use1 but all of which might at   
all times be very well spared1 and of   
which the whole utility is not worth the
 fatigue of bearing the burden4  ,nor is
 it only with regard to such frivolous  
objects that our conduct is influenced  
by this principle2 it is often the      
secret motive of the most serious and   
important pursuits of both private and  
public life4  ,the poor man's son1 whom 
,heaven in its anger has visited with   
ambition1 when he begins to look around 
him1 admires the condition of the rich4 
,he finds the cottage of his father too 
small for his #afj accommodation1 and   
fancies he should be lodged more at his 
ease in a palace4 ,he is displeased with
 being obliged to walk a-foot1 or to    
endure the fatigue of riding on         
horseback4 ,he sees his superiors       
carried about in machines1 and imagines 
that in one of these he could travel    
with less inconveniency4 ,he feels      

himself naturally indolent1 and willing 
to serve himself with his own hands as  
little as possible2 and judges1 that a  
numerous retinue of servants would save 
him from a great deal of trouble4 ,he   
thinks if he had attained all these1 he 
would sit still contentedly1 and be     
quiet1 enjoying himself in the thought  
of the happiness and tranquillity of his
 situation4 ,he is enchanted with the   
distant idea of this felicity4 ,it      
appears in his fancy like the life of   
some superior rank of beings1 and1 in   
order to arrive at it1 he devotes       
himself for ever to the pursuit of      
wealth and greatness4 ,to obtain the    
conveniences which these afford1 he     
submits in the first year1 nay1 in the  
first month of his application1 to more 
fatigue of body and more uneasiness of  
mind than he could have suffered through
 the whole of his life from the want of 
them4 ,he studies to distinguish himself
 in some laborious profession4 ,with the
 most unrelenting industry he labours   

night and day to acquire talents        
superior to all his competitors4 ,he    
endeavours next to bring those talents  
into public view1 and with equal        
assiduity solicits every opportunity of 
employment4 ,for this purpose he makes  
his court to all mankind2 he serves     
those whom he hates1 and is obsequious  
to those whom he despises4 ,through the 
whole of his life he pursues the idea of
 a certain artificial and elegant repose
 which he may never arrive at1 for which
 he sacrifices a real tranquillity that 
is at all times in his power1 and which1
 if in the extremity of old age he      
should at last attain to it1 he will    
find to be in no respect preferable to  
that humble security and contentment    
which he had abandoned for it4 ,it is   
then1 in the last dregs of life1 his    
body wasted with toil and diseases1 his 
mind galled and ruffled by the memory of
 a thousand injuries and disappointments
 which he imagines he has met with from 
the injustice of his enemies1 or from   

the perfidy and ingratitude of his      
friends1 that he begins at last to find 
that wealth and greatness are mere      
trinkets of frivolous utility1 no more  
adapted for procuring ease of body or   
tranquillity of mind than the           
tweezer-cases of the lover of toys2 and1
 like them too1 more troublesome to the 
person who carries them about with him  
than all the advantages they can afford 
him are commodious4 ,there is no other  
real difference between them1 except    
that the conveniences of the one are    
somewhat more observable than those of  
the other4 ,the palaces1 the gardens1   
the equipage1 the retinue of the great1 
are objects of which the obvious        
conveniency strikes every body4 ,they do
 not require that their masters should  
point out to us wherein consists their  
utility4 ,of our own accord we readily  
enter into it1 and by sympathy enjoy and
 thereby applaud the satisfaction which 
they are fitted to afford him4 ,but the 
#afa curiosity of a tooth-pick1 of an   

ear-picker1 of a machine for cutting the
 nails1 or of any other trinket of the  
same kind1 is not so obvious4 ,their    
conveniency may perhaps be equally      
great1 but it is not so striking1 and we
 do not so readily enter into the       
satisfaction of the man who possesses   
them4 ,they are therefore less          
reasonable subjects of vanity than the  
magnificence of wealth and greatness2   
and in this consists the sole advantage 
of these last4 ,they more effectually   
gratify that love of distinction so     
natural to man4 ,to one who was to live 
alone in a desolate island it might be a
 matter of doubt1 perhaps1 whether a    
palace1 or a collection of such small   
conveniencies as are commonly contained 
in a tweezer-case1 would contribute most
 to his happiness and enjoyment4 ,if he 
is to live in society1 indeed1 there can
 be no comparison1 because in this1 as  
in all other cases1 we constantly pay   
more regard to the sentiments of the    
spectator1 than to those of the person  

principally concerned1 and consider     
rather how his situation will appear to 
other people1 than how it will appear to
 himself4 ,if we examine1 however1 why  
the spectator distinguishes with such   
admiration the condition of the rich and
 the great1 we shall find that is is not
 so much upon account of the superior   
ease or pleasure which they are supposed
 to enjoy1 as of the numberless         
artificial and elegant contrivances for 
promoting this ease or pleasure4 ,he    
does not even imagine that they are     
really happier than other people3 but he
 imagines that they possess more means  
of happiness4 ,and it is the ingenious  
and artful adjustment of those means to 
the end for which they were intended1   
that is the principal source of his     
admiration4 ,but in the languor of      
disease and the weariness of old age1   
the pleasures of the vain and empty     
distinctions of greatness disappear4 ,to
 one1 in this situation1 they are no    
longer capable of recommending those    

toilsome pursuits in which they had     
formerly engaged him4 ,in his heart he  
curses ambition1 and vainly regrets the 
ease and the indolence of youth1        
pleasures which are fled for ever1 and  
which he has foolishly sacrificed for   
what1 when he has got it1 can afford him
 no real satisfaction4 ,in this         
miserable aspect does greatness appear  
to every man when reduced either by     
spleen or disease to observe with       
attention his own situation1 and to     
consider what it is that is really      
wanting to his happiness4 ,power and    
riches appear then to be1 what they are1
 enormous and operose machines contrived
 to produce a few trifling conveniencies
 to the body1 consisting of springs the 
most nice and delicate1 which must be   
kept in order with the most anxious     
attention1 and which in spite of all our
 care are ready every moment to burst   
into pieces1 and to crush in their ruins
 their unfortunate possessor4 ,they are 
immense fabrics1 which it requires the  

labour of a life to raise1 which        
threaten every moment to overwhelm the  
person that dwells in them1 and which   
while they stand1 though they may save  
him from some smaller inconveniencies1  
can protect him from none of the severer
 #afb inclemencies of the season4 ,they 
keep off the summer shower1 not the     
winter storm1 but leave him always as   
much1 and sometimes more1 exposed than  
before1 to anxiety1 to fear1 and to     
sorrow2 to diseases1 to danger1 and to  
death4  ,but though this splenetic      
philosophy1 which in time of sickness or
 low spirits is familiar to every man1  
thus entirely depreciates those great   
objects of human desire1 when in better 
health and in better humour1 we never   
fail to regard them under a more        
agreeable aspect4 ,our imagination1     
which in pain and sorrow seems to be    
confined and cooped up within our own   
persons1 in times of ease and prosperity
 expands itself to every thing around   
us4 ,we are then charmed with the beauty

 of that accommodation which reigns in  
the palaces and oeconomy of the great3  
and admire how every thing is adapted to
 promote their ease1 to prevent their   
wants1 to gratify their wishes1 and to  
amuse and entertain their most frivolous
 desires4 ,if we consider the real      
satisfaction which all these things are 
capable of affording1 by itself and     
separated from the beauty of that       
arrangement which is fitted to promote  
it1 it will always appear in the highest
 degree contemptible and trifling4 ,but 
we rarely view it in this abstract and  
philosophical light4 ,we naturally      
confound it in our imagination with the 
order1 the regular and harmonious       
movement of the system1 the machine or  
oeconomy by means of which it is        
produced4 ,the pleasures of wealth and  
greatness1 when considered in this      
complex view1 strike the imagination as 
something grand and beautiful and noble1
 of which the attainment is well worth  
all the toil and anxiety which we are so

 apt to bestow upon it4  ,and it is well
 that nature imposes upon us in this    
manner4 ,it is this deception which     
rouses and keeps in continual motion the
 industry of mankind4 ,it is this which 
first prompted them to cultivate the    
ground1 to build houses1 to found cities
 and commonwealths1 and to invent and   
improve all the sciences and arts1 which
 ennoble and embellish human life2 which
 have entirely changed the whole face of
 the globe1 have turned the rude forests
 of nature into agreeable and fertile   
plains1 and made the trackless and      
barren ocean a new fund of subsistence1 
and the great high road of communication
 to the different nations of the earth4 
,the earth by these labours of mankind  
has been obliged to redouble her natural
 fertility1 and to maintain a greater   
multitude of inhabitants4 ,it is to no  
purpose1 that the proud and unfeeling   
landlord views his extensive fields1 and
 without a thought for the wants of his 
brethren1 in imagination consumes       

himself the whole harvest that grows    
upon them4 ,the homely and vulgar       
proverb1 that the eye is larger than the
 belly1 never was more fully verified   
than with regard to him4 ,the capacity  
of his stomach bears no proportion to   
the immensity of his desires1 and will  
receive no more than that of the meanest
 peasant4 ,the rest he is obliged to    
distribute among those1 #afc who        
prepare1 in the nicest manner1 that     
little which he himself makes use of1   
among those who fit up the palace in    
which this little is to be consumed1    
among those who provide and keep in     
order all the different baubles and     
trinkets which are employed in the      
oeconomy of greatness2 all of whom thus 
derive from his luxury and caprice1 that
 share of the necessaries of life1 which
 they would in vain have expected from  
his humanity or his justice4 ,the       
produce of the soil maintains at all    
times nearly that number of inhabitants 
which it is capable of maintaining4 ,the

 rich only select from the heap what is 
most precious and agreeable4 ,they      
consume little more than the poor1 and  
in spite of their natural selfishness   
and rapacity1 though they mean only     
their own conveniency1 though the sole  
end which they propose from the labours 
of all the thousands whom they employ1  
be the gratification of their own vain  
and insatiable desires1 they divide with
 the poor the produce of all their      
improvements4 ,they are led by an       
invisible hand to make nearly the same  
distribution of the necessaries of life1
 which would have been made1 had the    
earth been divided into equal portions  
among all its inhabitants1 and thus     
without intending it1 without knowing   
it1 advance the interest of the society1
 and afford means to the multiplication 
of the species4 ,when ,providence       
divided the earth among a few lordly    
masters1 it neither forgot nor abandoned
 those who seemed to have been left out 
in the partition4 ,these last1 too1     

enjoy their share of all that it        
produces4 ,in what constitutes the real 
happiness of human life1 they are in no 
respect inferior to those who would seem
 so much above them4 ,in ease of the    
body and peace of the mind1 all the     
different ranks of life are nearly upon 
a level1 and the beggar1 who suns       
himself by the side of the highway1     
possesses that security which kings are 
fighting for4  ,the same principle1 the 
same love of system1 the same regard to 
the beauty of order1 of art and         
contrivance1 frequently serves to       
recommend those institutions which tend 
to promote the public welfare4 ,when a  
patriot exerts himself for the          
improvement of any part of the public   
police1 his conduct does not always     
arise from pure sympathy with the       
happiness of those who are to reap the  
benefit of it4 ,it is not commonly from 
a fellow-feeling with carriers and      
waggoners that a public-spirited man    
encourages the mending of high roads4   

,when the legislature establishes       
premiums and other encouragements to    
advance the linen or woollen            
manufactures1 its conduct seldom        
proceeds from pure sympathy with the    
wearer of cheap or fine cloth1 and much 
less from that with the manufacturer or 
merchant4 ,the perfection of police1 the
 extension of trade and manufactures1   
are noble and magnificent objects4 ,the 
contemplation of them pleases us1 and we
 are interested in whatever can tend to 
advance them4 ,they make part of the    
great system of government1 and the     
wheels of the political machine seem to 
move with more harmony and ease by means
 of them4 ,we #afd take pleasure in     
beholding the perfection of so beautiful
 and grand a system1 and we are uneasy  
till we remove any obstruction that can 
in the least disturb or encumber the    
regularity of its motions4 ,all         
constitutions of government1 however1   
are valued only in proportion as they   
tend to promote the happiness of those  

who live under them4 ,this is their sole
 use and end4 ,from a certain spirit of 
system1 however1 from a certain love of 
art and contrivance1 we sometimes seem  
to value the means more than the end1   
and to be eager to promote the happiness
 of our fellow-creatures1 rather from a 
view to perfect and improve a certain   
beautiful and orderly system1 than from 
any immediate sense or feeling of what  
they either suffer or enjoy4 ,there have
 been men of the greatest public spirit1
 who have shown themselves in other     
respects not very sensible to the       
feelings of humanity4 ,and on the       
contrary1 there have been men of the    
greatest humanity1 who seem to have been
 entirely devoid of public spirit4      
,every man may find in the circle of his
 acquaintance instances both of the one 
kind and the other4 ,who had ever less  
humanity1 or more public spirit1 than   
the celebrated legislator of ,muscovy8  
,the social and well-natured ,james the 
,first of ,great ,britain seems1 on the 

contrary1 to have had scarce any        
passion1 either for the glory or the    
interest of his country4 ,would you     
awaken the industry of the man who seems
 almost dead to ambition1 it will often 
be to no purpose to describe to him the 
happiness of the rich and the great2 to 
tell him that they are generally        
sheltered from the sun and the rain1    
that they are seldom hungry1 that they  
are seldom cold1 and that they are      
rarely exposed to weariness1 or to want 
of any kind4 ,the most eloquent         
exhortation of this kind will have      
little effect upon him4 ,if you would   
hope to succeed1 you must describe to   
him the conveniency and arrangement of  
the different apartments in their       
palaces2 you must explain to him the    
propriety of their equipages1 and point 
out to him the number1 the order1 and   
the different offices of all their      
attendants4 ,if any thing is capable of 
making impression upon him1 this will4  
,yet all these things tend only to keep 

off the sun and the rain1 and save them 
from hunger and cold1 from want and     
weariness4 ,in the same manner1 if you  
would implant public virtue in the      
breast of him who seems heedless of the 
interest of his country1 it will often  
be to no purpose to tell him1 what      
superior advantages the subjects of a   
well-governed state enjoy2 that they are
 better lodged1 that they are better    
clothed1 that they are better fed4      
,these considerations will commonly make
 no great impression4 ,you will be more 
likely to persuade1 if you describe the 
great system of public police which     
procures these advantages1 if you       
explain the connexions and dependencies 
of its several parts1 their mutual      
subordination to one another1 and their 
general subserviency to the happiness of
 the society2 if you show how this      
system might be introduced into his own 
country1 what it is that hinders it from
 taking place there at present1 how     
those #afe obstructions might be        

removed1 and all the several wheels of  
the machine of government be made to    
move with more harmony and smoothness1  
without grating upon one another1 or    
mutually retarding one another's        
motions4 ,it is scarce possible that a  
man should listen to a discourse of this
 kind1 and not feel himself animated to 
some degree of public spirit4 ,he will1 
at least for a moment1 feel some desire 
to remove those obstructions1 and to put
 into motion so beautiful and so orderly
 a machine4 ,nothing tends so much to   
promote public spirit as the study of   
politics1 of the several systems of     
civil government1 their advantages and  
disadvantages1 of the constitution of   
our own country1 its situation1 and     
interest with regard to foreign nations1
 its commerce1 its defence1 the         
disadvantages it labours under1 the     
dangers to which it may be exposed1 how 
to remove the one1 and how to guard     
against the other4 ,upon this account   
political disquisition1 if just and     

reasonable and practicable1 are of all  
the works of speculation the most       
useful4 ,even the weakest and the worst 
of them are not altogether without their
 utility4 ,they serve at least to       
animate the public passions of men1 and 
rouse them to seek out the means of     
promoting the happiness of the society4 
-----  ,,chap4 ,,ii4--,of the ,beauty   
which the ,appearance of ,utility       
bestows upon the ,characters and the    
,actions of ,men2 and how far the       
,perception of this ,beauty may be      
regarded as one of the original         
,principles of ,approbation4   ,,the    
characters of men1 as well as the       
contrivances of art1 or the institutions
 of civil government1 may be fitted     
either to promote or to disturb the     
happiness both of the individual and of 
the society4 ,the prudent1 the          
equitable1 the active1 resolute1 and    
sober character promises prosperity and 
satisfaction1 both to the person himself
 and to every one connected with him4   

,the rash1 the insolent1 the slothful1  
effeminate1 and voluptuous1 on the      
contrary1 forebodes ruin to the         
individual1 and misfortune to all who   
have any thing to do with him4 ,the     
first turn of mind has at least all the 
beauty which can belong to the most     
perfect machine that was ever invented  
for promoting the most agreeable        
purpose3 and the second1 all the        
deformity of the most awkward and clumsy
 contrivance4 ,what institution of      
government could tend so much to promote
 the happiness of mankind as the general
 prevalence of wisdom and virtue8 ,all  
government is but an imperfect remedy   
for the deficiency of these4 ,whatever  
beauty1 therefore1 can belong to civil  
government upon account of its utility1 
must in a far superior degree belong to 
these4 ,on the contrary1 what civil     
policy can be so ruinous and destructive
 as the vices of men8 ,the fatal effects
 of bad government arise from nothing1  
but that it does not #aff sufficiently  

guard against the mischiefs which human 
wickedness so often gives occasion to4  
,this beauty and deformity which        
characters appear to derive from their  
usefulness or inconveniency1 are apt to 
strike1 in a peculiar manner1 those who 
consider1 in an abstract and            
philosophical light1 the actions and    
conduct of mankind4 ,when a philosopher 
goes to examine why humanity is approved
 of1 or cruelty condemned1 he does not  
always form to himself1 in a very clear 
and distinct manner1 the conception of  
any one particular action either of     
cruelty or of humanity1 but is commonly 
contented with the vague and            
indeterminate idea which the general    
names of those qualities suggest to him4
 ,but it is in particular instances only
 that the propriety or impropriety1 the 
merit or demerit of actions is very     
obvious and discernible4 ,it is only    
when particular examples are given that 
we perceive distinctly either the       
concord or disagreement between our two 

affections and those of the agent1 or   
feel a social gratitude arise towards   
him in the one case1 or a sympathetic   
resentment in the other4 ,when we       
consider virtue and vice in an abstract 
and general manner1 the qualities by    
which they excite these several         
sentiments seem in a great measure to   
disappear1 and the sentiments themselves
 become less obvious and discernible4   
,on the contrary1 the happy effects of  
the one and the fatal consequences of   
the other seem then to rise up to the   
view1 and as it were to stand out and   
distinguish themselves from all the     
other qualities of either4  ,the same   
ingenious and agreeable author who first
 explained why utility pleases1 has been
 so struck with this view of things1 as 
to resolve our whole approbation of     
virtue into a perception of this species
 of beauty which results from the       
appearance of utility4 ,no qualities of 
the mind1 he observes1 are approved of  
as virtuous1 but such as are useful or  

agreeable either to the person himself  
or to others2 and no qualities are      
disapproved of as vicious but such as   
have a contrary tendency4 ,and ,nature1 
indeed1 seems to have so happily        
adjusted our sentiments of approbation  
and disapprobation1 to the conveniency  
both of the individual and of the       
society1 that after the strictest       
examination it will be found1 ,i        
believe1 that this is universally the   
case4 ,but still ,i affirm1 that it is  
not the view of this utility or         
hurtfulness which is either the first or
 principal source of our approbation and
 disapprobation4 ,these sentiments are  
no doubt enhanced and enlivened by the  
perception of the beauty or deformity   
which results from this utility or      
hurtfulness4 ,but still1 ,i say1 that   
they were originally and essentially    
different from this perception4  ,for   
first of all1 it seems impossible that  
the approbation of virtue should be a   
sentiment of the same kind with that by 

which we approve of a convenient and    
well-contrived building2 or that we     
should have no other reason for praising
 a man than that for which we commend a 
chest of drawers4  #afg ,and secondly1  
it will be found1 upon examination1 that
 the usefulness of any disposition of   
mind is seldom the first ground of our  
approbation2 and that the sentiment of  
approbation always involves in it a     
sense of propriety quite distinct from  
the perception of utility4 ,we may      
observe this with regard to all the     
qualities which are approved of as      
virtuous1 both those which1 according to
 this system1 are originally valued as  
useful to ourselves1 as well as those   
which are esteemed on account of their  
usefulness to others4  ,the qualities   
most useful to ourselves are1 first of  
all1 superior reason and understanding1 
by which we are capable of discerning   
the remote consequences of all our      
actions1 and of fore-seeing the         
advantage or detriment which is likely  

to result from them3 and secondly1      
self-command1 by which we are enabled to
 abstain from present pleasure or to    
endure present pain1 in order to obtain 
a greater pleasure1 or to avoid a       
greater pain in some future time4 ,in   
the union of those two qualities        
consists the virtue of prudence1 of all 
the virtues that which is the most      
useful to the individual4  ,with regard 
to the first of those qualities1 it has 
been observed on a former occasion1 that
 superior reason and understanding are  
originally approved of as just and right
 and accurate1 and not merely as useful 
or advantageous4 ,it is in the abstruser
 sciences1 particularly in the higher   
parts of mathematics1 that the greatest 
and most admired exertions of human     
reason have been displayed4 ,but the    
utility of those sciences1 either to the
 individual or to the public1 is not    
very obvious1 and to prove it1 requires 
a discussion which is not always very   
easily comprehended4 ,it was not1       

therefore1 their utility which first    
recommended them to the public          
admiration4 ,this quality was but little
 insisted upon1 till it became necessary
 to make some reply to the reproaches of
 those1 who1 having themselves no taste 
for such sublime discoveries1           
endeavoured to depreciate them as       
useless4  ,that self-command1 in the    
same manner1 by which we restrain our   
present appetites1 in order to gratify  
them more fully upon another occasion1  
is approved of1 as much under the aspect
 of propriety1 as under that of utility4
 ,when we act in this manner1 the       
sentiments which influence our conduct  
seem exactly to coincide with those of  
the spectator4 ,the spectator1 however1 
does not feel the solicitations of our  
present appetites4  ,to him the pleasure
 which we are to enjoy a week hence1 or 
a year hence1 is just as interesting as 
that which we are to enjoy this moment4 
,when for the sake of the present1      
therefore1 we sacrifice the future1 our 

conduct appears to him absurd and       
extravagant in the highest degree1 and  
he cannot enter into the principles     
which influence it4 ,on the contrary1   
when we abstain from present pleasure1  
in order to secure greater pleasure to  
come1 when we act as if the remote      
object interested us as much as that    
which immediately presses upon the      
senses1 as our #afh affections exactly  
correspond with his own1 he cannot fail 
to approve of our behaviour3 and as he  
knows from experience1 how few are      
capable of this self-command1 he looks  
upon our conduct with a considerable    
degree of wonder and admiration4 ,hence 
arises that eminent esteem with which   
all men naturally regard a steady       
perseverance in the practice of         
frugality1 industry1 and application1   
though directed to no other purpose than
 the acquisition of fortune4 ,the       
resolute firmness of the person who acts
 in this manner1 and in order to obtain 
a great though remote advantage1 not    

only gives up all present pleasures1 but
 endures the greatest labour both of    
mind and body1 necessarily commands our 
approbation4 ,that view of his interest 
and happiness which appears to regulate 
his conduct1 exactly tallies with the   
idea which we naturally form of it4     
,there is the most perfect              
correspondence between his sentiments   
and our own1 and at the same time1 from 
our experience of the common weakness of
 human nature1 it is a correspondence   
which we could not reasonably have      
expected4 ,we not only approve1         
therefore1 but in some measure admire   
his conduct1 and think it worthy of a   
considerable degree of applause4 ,it is 
the consciousness of this merited       
approbation and esteem which is alone   
capable of supporting the agent in this 
tenor of conduct4 ,the pleasure which we
 are to enjoy ten years hence interests 
us so little in comparison with that    
which we may enjoy today1 the passion   
which the first excites1 is naturally so

 weak in comparison with that violent   
emotion which the second is apt to give 
occasion to1 that the one could never be
 any balance to the other1 unless it was
 supported by the sense of propriety1 by
 the consciousness that we merited the  
esteem and approbation of every body1 by
 acting in the one way1 and that we     
became the proper objects of their      
contempt and derision by behaving in the
 other4  ,humanity1 justice1 generosity1
 and public spirit1 are the qualities   
most useful to others4 ,wherein consists
 the propriety of humanity and justice  
has been explained upon a former        
occasion1 where it was shown how much   
our esteem and approbation of those     
qualities depended upon the concord     
between the affections of the agent and 
those of the spectators4  ,the propriety
 of generosity and public spirit is     
founded upon the same principle with    
that of justice4 ,generosity is         
different from humanity4 ,those two     
qualities1 which at first sight seem so 

nearly allied1 do not always belong to  
the same person4 ,humanity is the virtue
 of a woman1 generosity of a man4 ,the  
fair sex1 who have commonly much more   
tenderness than ours1 have seldom so    
much generosity4 ,that women rarely make
 considerable donations1 is an          
observation of the civil law4 7,raro    
mulieres donare solent47 ,humanity      
consists merely in the exquisite        
fellow-feeling which the spectator      
entertains with the sentiments of the   
persons principally concerned1 so as to 
grieve for their sufferings1 to resent  
their injuries1 and to rejoice at their 
good #afi fortune4 ,the most humane     
actions require no self-denial1 no      
self-command1 no great exertion of the  
sense of propriety4 ,they consist only  
in doing what this exquisite sympathy   
would of its own accord prompt us to do4
 ,but it is otherwise with generosity4  
,we never are generous except when in   
some respect we prefer some other person
 to ourselves1 and sacrifice some great 

and important interest of our own to an 
equal interest of a friend or of a      
superior4 ,the man who gives up his     
pretensions to an office that was the   
great object of his ambition1 because he
 imagines that the services of another  
are better entitled to it2 the man who  
exposes his life to defend that of his  
friend1 which he judges to be of more   
importance1 neither of them act from    
humanity1 or because they feel more     
exquisitely what concerns that other    
person that what concerns themselves4   
,they both consider those opposite      
interests1 not in the light in which    
they naturally appear to themselves1 but
 in that in which they appear to others4
 ,to every bystander1 the success or    
preservation of this other person may   
justly be more interesting than their   
own2 but it cannot be so to themselves4 
,when to the interest of this other     
person1 therefore1 they sacrifice their 
own1 they accommodate themselves to the 
sentiments of the spectator1 and by an  

effort of magnanimity act according to  
those views of things which they feel   
must naturally occur to any third       
person4 ,the soldier who throws away his
 life in order to defend that of his    
officer1 would perhaps be but little    
affected by the death of that officer1  
if it should happen without any fault of
 his own2 and a very small disaster     
which had befallen himself might excite 
a much more lively sorrow4 ,but when he 
endeavours to act so as to deserve      
applause1 and to make the impartial     
spectator enter into the principles of  
his conduct1 he feels1 that to every    
body but himself1 his own life is a     
trifle compared with that of his        
officer1 and that when he sacrifices the
 one to the other1 he acts quite        
properly and agreeably to what would be 
the natural apprehensions of every      
impartial bystander4  ,it is the same   
case with the greater exertions of      
public spirit4 ,when a young officer    
exposes his life to acquire some        

inconsiderable addition to the dominions
 of his sovereign1 it is not because the
 acquisition of the new territory is1 to
 himself1 an object more desirable than 
the preservation of his own life4 ,to   
him his own life is of infinitely more  
value than the conquest of a whole      
kingdom for the state which he serves4  
,but when he compares those two objects 
with one another1 he does not view them 
in the light in which they naturally    
appear to himself1 but in that in which 
they appear to the nation he fights for4
 ,to them the success of the war is of  
the highest importance2 the life of a   
private person of scarce any            
consequence4 ,when he puts himself in   
their situation1 he immediately feels   
that he cannot be too prodigal of his   
blood1 if1 by shedding it1 he can       
promote so valuable a purpose4 ,in thus 
thwarting1 from a sense of duty and     
propriety1 the strongest of #agj all    
natural propensities1 consists the      
heroism of his conduct4 ,there is many  

an honest ,englishman1 who1 in his      
private station1 would be more seriously
 disturbed by the loss of a guinea1 than
 by the national loss of ,minorca1 who  
yet1 had it been in his power to defend 
that fortress1 would have sacrificed his
 life a thousand times rather than1     
through his fault1 have let it fall into
 the hands of the enemy4 ,when the first
 ,brutus led forth his own sons to a    
capital punishment1 because they had    
conspired against the rising liberty of 
,rome1 he sacrificed what1 if he had    
consulted his own breast only1 would    
appear to be the stronger to the weaker 
affection4 ,brutus ought naturally to   
have felt much more for the death of his
 own sons1 than for all that probably   
,rome could have suffered from the want 
of so great an example4 ,but he viewed  
them1 not with the eyes of a father1 but
 with those of a ,roman citizen4 ,he    
entered so thoroughly into the          
sentiments of this last character1 that 
he paid no regard to that tie1 by which 

he himself was connected with them2 and 
to a ,roman citizen1 the sons even of   
,brutus seemed contemptible1 when put   
into the balance with the smallest      
interest of ,rome4 ,in these and in all 
other cases of this kind1 our admiration
 is not so much founded upon the        
utility1 as upon the unexpected1 and on 
that account the great1 the noble1 and  
exalted propriety of such actions4 ,this
 utility1 when we come to view it1      
bestows upon them1 undoubtedly a new    
beauty1 and upon that account still     
further recommends them to our          
approbation4 ,this new beauty1 however1 
is chiefly perceived by men of          
reflection and speculation1 and it is by
 no means the quality which first       
recommends such actions to the natural  
sentiments of the bulk of mankind4  ,it 
is to be observed1 that so far as the   
sentiment of approbation arises from the
 perception of this beauty of utility1  
it has no reference of any kind to the  
sentiments of others4 ,if it was        

possible1 therefore1 that a person      
should grow up to manhood without any   
communication with society1 his own     
actions might1 notwithstanding1 be      
agreeable or disagreeable to him on     
account of their tendency to his        
happiness or disadvantage4 ,he might    
perceive a beauty of this kind in       
prudence1 temperance1 and good conduct1 
and a deformity in the opposite         
behaviour3 he might view his own temper 
and character with that sort of         
satisfaction with which we consider a   
well-contrived machine1 in the one case3
 or with that sort of distaste and      
dissatisfaction with which we regard a  
very awkward and clumsy contrivance1 in 
the other4 ,as these perceptions1       
however1 are merely a matter of taste1  
and have all the feebleness and delicacy
 of that species of perceptions1 upon   
the justness of which what is properly  
called taste is founded1 they probably  
would not be much attended to by one in 
his solitary and miserable condition4   

,even though they should occur to him1  
they would by no means have the same    
effect upon him1 antecedent to his      
connexion with society1 which they would
 have in consequence of that connexion4 
,he #aga would not be cast down with    
inward shame at the thought of this     
deformity2 nor would he be elevated with
 secret triumph of mind from the        
consciousness of the contrary beauty4   
,he would not exult from the notion of  
deserving reward in the one case1 nor   
tremble from the suspicion of meriting  
punishment in the other4 ,all such      
sentiments suppose the idea of some     
other being1 who is the natural judge of
 the person that feels them2 and it is  
only by sympathy with the decisions of  
this arbiter of his conduct1 that he can
 conceive1 either the triumph of        
self-applause1 or the shame of          
self-condemnation4  -----  ,part        
,v4--,of the ,influence of ,custom and  
,fashion upon the ,sentiments of ,moral 
,approbation and ,disapprobation4       

,,chap4 ,i4--,of the ,influence of      
,custom and ,fashion upon our notions of
 ,beauty and ,deformity4   ,,there are  
other principles besides those already  
enumerated1 which have a considerable   
influence upon the moral sentiments of  
mankind1 and are the chief causes of the
 many irregular and discordant opinions 
which prevail in different ages and     
nations concerning what is blamable or  
praise-worthy4 ,these principles are    
custom and fashion1 principles which    
extend their dominion over our judgments
 concerning beauty of every kind4  ,when
 two objects have frequently been seen  
together1 the imagination acquires a    
habit of passing easily from the one to 
the other4 ,if the first appear1 we lay 
our account that the second is to       
follow4 ,of their own accord they put us
 in mind of one another1 and the        
attention glides easily along them4     
,though1 independent of custom1 there   
should be no real beauty in their union1
 yet when custom has thus connected them

 together1 we feel an impropriety in    
their separation4 ,the one we think is  
awkward when it appears without its     
usual companion4 ,we miss something     
which we expected to find1 and the      
habitual arrangement of our ideas is    
disturbed by the disappointment4 ,a suit
 of clothes1 for example1 seems to want 
something if they are without the most  
insignificant ornament which usually    
accompanies them1 and we find a meanness
 or awkwardness in the absence even of a
 haunch button4 ,when there is any      
natural propriety in the union1 custom  
increases our sense of it1 and makes a  
different arrangement appear still more 
disagreeable than it would otherwise    
seem to be4 ,those who have been        
accustomed to see things in a good      
taste1 are more disgusted by whatever is
 clumsy or awkward4 ,where the          
conjunction is improper1 custom either  
diminishes1 or takes away altogether1   
our sense of the impropriety4 ,those who
 have been accustomed to slovenly       

disorder lose all sense of neatness or  
elegance4 ,the modes of furniture or    
dress which #agb seem ridiculous to     
strangers1 give no offence to the people
 who have been used to them4  ,fashion  
is different from custom1 or rather is a
 particular species of it4 ,that is not 
the fashion which every body wears1 but 
which those wear who are of a high rank1
 or character4 ,the graceful1 the easy1 
and commanding manners of the great1    
joined to the usual richness and        
magnificence of their dress1 give a     
grace to the very form which they happen
 to bestow upon it4 ,as long as they    
continue to use this form1 it is        
connected in our imaginations with the  
idea of something that is genteel and   
magnificent1 and though in itself it    
should be indifferent1 it seems1 on     
account of this relation1 to have       
something about it that is genteel and  
magnificent too4 ,as soon as they drop  
it1 it loses all the grace1 which it had
 appeared to possess before1 and being  

now used only by the inferior ranks of  
people1 seems to have something of their
 meanness and their awkwardness4  ,dress
 and furniture are allowed by all the   
world to be entirely under the dominion 
of custom and fashion4 ,the influence of
 those principles1 however1 is by no    
means confined to so narrow a sphere1   
but extends itself to whatever is in any
 respect the object of taste1 to music1 
to poetry1 to architecture4 ,the modes  
of dress and furniture are continually  
changing1 and that fashion appearing    
ridiculous to-day which was admired five
 years ago1 we are experimentally       
convinced that it owed its vogue chiefly
 or entirely to custom and fashion4     
,clothes and furniture are not made of  
very durable materials4 ,a well-fancied 
coat is done in a twelve-month1 and     
cannot continue longer to propagate1 as 
the fashion1 that form according to     
which it was made4 ,the modes of        
furniture change less rapidly than those
 of dress2 because furniture is commonly

 more durable4 ,in five or six years1   
however1 it generally undergoes an      
entire revolution1 and every man in his 
own time sees the fashion in this       
respect change many different ways4 ,the
 productions of the other arts are much 
more lasting1 and1 when happily         
imagined1 may continue to propagate the 
fashion of their make for a much longer 
time4 ,a well-contrived building may    
endure many centuries3 a beautiful air  
may be delivered down by a sort of      
tradition1 through many successive      
generations3 a well-written poem may    
last as long as the world2 and all of   
them continue for ages together1 to give
 the vogue to that particular style1 to 
that particular taste or manner1        
according to which each of them was     
composed4 ,few men have an opportunity  
of seeing in their own times the fashion
 in any of these arts change very       
considerably4 ,few men have so much     
experience and acquaintance with the    
different modes which have obtained in  

remote ages and nations1 as to be       
thoroughly reconciled to them1 or to    
judge with impartiality between them and
 what takes place in their own age and  
country4 ,few men therefore are willing 
to allow1 that custom or fashion have   
much influence upon their judgments     
concerning what is beautiful #agc or    
otherwise1 in the productions of any of 
those arts2 but imagine that all the    
rules1 which they think ought to be     
observed in each of them1 are founded   
upon reason and nature1 not upon habit  
or prejudice4 ,a very little attention  
may convince them of the contrary1 and  
satisfy them1 that the influence of     
custom and fashion over dress and       
furniture1 is not more absolute than    
over architecture1 poetry1 and music4   
,can any reason1 for example1 be        
assigned why the ,doric capital should  
be appropriated to a pillar1 whose      
height is equal to eight diameters2 the 
,ionic volute to one of nine2 and the   
,corinthian foliage to one of ten8 ,the 

propriety of each of those              
appropriations can be founded upon      
nothing but habit and custom4 ,the eye  
having been used to see a particular    
proportion connected with a particular  
ornament1 would be offended if they were
 not joined together4 ,each of the five 
orders has its peculiar ornaments1 which
 cannot be changed for any other1       
without giving offence to all those who 
know any thing of the rules of          
architecture4 ,according to some        
architects1 indeed1 such is the         
exquisite judgment with which the       
ancients have assigned to each order its
 proper ornaments1 that no others can be
 found which are equally suitable4 ,it  
seems1 however1 a little difficult to be
 conceived that these forms1 though1 no 
doubt1 extremely agreeable1 should be   
the only forms which can suit those     
proportions1 or that there should not be
 five hundred others which1 antecedent  
to established custom1 would have fitted
 them equally well4 ,when custom1       

however1 has established particular     
rules of building1 provided they are not
 absolutely unreasonable1 it is absurd  
to think of altering them for others    
which are only equally good1 or even for
 others which1 in point of elegance and 
beauty1 have naturally some little      
advantage over them4 ,a man would be    
ridiculous who should appear in public  
with a suit of clothes quite different  
from those which are commonly worn1     
though the new dress should in itself be
 ever so graceful or convenient4 ,and   
there seems to be an absurdity of the   
same kind in ornamenting a house after a
 quite different manner from that which 
custom and fashion have prescribed2     
though the new ornaments should in      
themselves be somewhat superior to the  
common ones in use4  ,according to the  
ancient rhetoricians1 a certain measure 
or verse was by nature appropriated to  
each particular species of writing1 as  
being naturally expressive of that      
character1 sentiment1 or passion1 which 

ought to predominate in it4 ,one verse1 
they said1 was fit for grave and another
 for gay works1 which could not1 they   
thought1 be interchanged without the    
greatest impropriety4 ,the experience of
 modern times1 however1 seems to        
contradict this principle1 though in    
itself it would appear to be extremely  
probable4 ,what is the burlesque verse  
in ,english1 is the heroic verse in     
,french4 ,the tragedies of ,racine and  
the ,henriad of ,voltaire1 are nearly in
 the same verse with1       ,let me have
 your advice in a weighty affair4  #agd 
,the burlesque verse in ,french1 on the 
contrary1 is pretty much the same with  
the heroic verse of ten syllables in    
,english4 ,custom has made the one      
nation associate the ideas of gravity1  
sublimity1 and seriousness1 to that     
measure which the other has connected   
with whatever is gay1 flippant1 and     
ludicrous4 ,nothing would appear more   
absurd in ,english1 than a tragedy      
written in the ,alexandrine verses of   

the ,french2 or in ,french1 than a work 
of the same kind in hexametery1 or      
verses of ten syllables4  ,an eminent   
artist will bring about a considerable  
change in the established modes of each 
of those arts1 and introduce a new      
fashion of writing1 music1 or           
architecture4 ,as the dress of an       
agreeable man of high rank recommends   
itself1 and how peculiar and fantastical
 soever1 comes soon to be admired and   
imitated2 so the excellencies of an     
eminent master recommend his            
peculiarities1 and his manner becomes   
the fashionable style in the art which  
he practises4 ,the taste of the         
,italians in music and architecture has1
 within these fifty years1 undergone a  
considerable change1 from imitating the 
peculiarities of some eminent masters in
 each of those arts4 ,seneca is accused 
by ,quintilian of having corrupted the  
taste of the ,romans1 and of having     
introduced a frivolous prettiness in the
 room of majestic reason and masculine  

eloquence4 ,sallust and ,tacitus have by
 others been charged with the same      
accusation1 though in a different       
manner4 ,they gave reputation1 it is    
pretended1 to a style1 which though in  
the highest degree concise1 elegant1    
expressive1 and even poetical1 wanted1  
however1 ease1 simplicity1 and nature1  
and was evidently the production of the 
most laboured and studied affectation4  
,how many great qualities must that     
writer possess1 who can thus render his 
very faults agreeable8 ,after the praise
 of refining the taste of a nation1 the 
highest eulogy1 perhaps1 which can be   
bestowed upon any author1 is to say1    
that he corrupted it4 ,in our own       
language1 ,mr4 ,pope and ,dr4 ,swift    
have each of them introduced a manner   
different from what was practised       
before1 into all works that are written 
in rhyme1 the one in long verses1 the   
other in short4 ,the quaintness of      
,butler has given place to the plainness
 of ,swift4 ,the rambling freedom of    

,dryden1 and the correct but often      
tedious and prosaic languor of ,addison1
 are no longer the objects of imitation1
 but all long verses are now written    
after the manner of the nervous         
precision of ,mr4 ,pope4  ,neither is it
 only over the productions of the arts1 
that custom and fashion exert their     
dominion4 ,they influence our judgments1
 in the same manner1 with regard to the 
beauty of natural objects4 ,what various
 and opposite forms are deemed beautiful
 in different species of things8 ,the   
proportions which are admired in one    
animal1 are altogether different from   
those which are esteemed in another4    
,every class of things has its own      
peculiar conformation1 which is approved
 of1 and has a beauty of its own1       
distinct from that of every other       
species4 #age ,it is upon this account  
that a learned ,jesuit1 ,father         
,buffier1 has determined that the beauty
 of every object consists in that form  
and colour1 which is most usual among   

things of that particular sort to which 
it belongs4 ,thus1 in the human form1   
the beauty of each feature lies in a    
certain middle1 equally removed from a  
variety of other forms that are ugly4 ,a
 beautiful nose1 for example1 is one    
that is neither very long1 nor very     
short1 neither very straight1 nor very  
crooked1 but a sort of middle among all 
these extremes1 and less different from 
any one of them1 than all of them are   
from one another4 ,it is the form which 
nature seems to have aimed at in them   
all1 which1 however1 she deviates from  
in a great variety of ways1 and very    
seldom hits exactly2 but to which all   
those deviations still bear a very      
strong resemblance4 ,when a number of   
drawings are made after one pattern1    
though they may all miss it in some     
respects1 yet they will all resemble it 
more than they resemble one another2 the
 general character of the pattern will  
run through them all2 the most singular 
and odd will be those which are most    

wide of it2 and though very few will    
copy it exactly1 yet the most accurate  
delineations will bear a greater        
resemblance to the most careless1 than  
the careless ones will bear to one      
another4 ,in the same manner1 in each   
species of creatures1 what is most      
beautiful bears the strongest characters
 of the general fabric of the species1  
and has the strongest resemblance to the
 greater part of the individuals with   
which it is classed4 ,monsters1 on the  
contrary1 or what is perfectly deformed1
 are always most singular and odd1 and  
have the least resemblance to the       
generality of that species to which they
 belong4 ,and thus the beauty of each   
species1 though in one sense the rarest 
of all things1 because few individuals  
hit this middle form exactly1 yet in    
another1 is the most common1 because all
 the deviations from it resemble it more
 than they resemble one another4 ,the   
most customary form1 therefore1 is in   
each species of things1 according to    

him1 the most beautiful4 ,and hence it  
is that a certain practice and          
experience in contemplating each species
 of objects is requisite before we can  
judge of its beauty1 or know wherein the
 middle and most usual form consists4   
,the nicest judgment concerning the     
beauty of the human species will not    
help us to judge of that of flowers1 or 
horses1 or any other species of things4 
,it is for the same reason that in      
different climates1 and where different 
customs and ways of living take place1  
as the generality of any species        
receives a different conformation from  
those circumstances1 so different ideas 
of its beauty prevail4 ,the beauty of a 
,moorish is not exactly the same with   
that of an ,english horse4 ,what        
different ideas are formed in different 
nations concerning the beauty of the    
human shape and countenance8 ,a fair    
complexion is a shocking deformity upon 
the coast of ,guinea4 ,thick lips and a 
flat nose are a beauty4 ,in some nations

 long ears that hang down upon the      
shoulders are the objects of universal  
admiration4 ,in ,china if a lady's foot 
is so #agf large as to be fit to walk   
upon1 she is regarded as a monster of   
ugliness4 ,some of the savage nations in
 ,north ,america tie four boards round  
the heads of their children1 and thus   
squeeze them1 while the bones are tender
 and gristly1 into a form that is almost
 perfectly square4 ,europeans are       
astonished at the absurd barbarity of   
this practice1 to which some            
missionaries have imputed the singular  
stupidity of those nations among whom it
 prevails4 ,but when they condemn those 
savages1 they do not reflect that the   
ladies in ,europe had1 till within these
 very few years1 been endeavouring1 for 
near a century past1 to squeeze the     
beautiful roundness of their natural    
shape into a square form of the same    
kind4 ,and that1 notwithstanding the    
many distortions and diseases which this
 practice was known to occasion1 custom 

had rendered it agreeable among some of 
the most civilized nations which1       
perhaps1 the world has ever beheld4     
,such is the system of this learned and 
ingenious father1 concerning the nature 
of beauty2 of which the whole charm1    
according to him1 would thus seem to    
arise from its falling in with the      
habits which custom had impressed upon  
the imagination1 with regard to things  
of each particular kind4 ,i cannot1     
however1 be induced to believe that our 
sense even of external beauty is founded
 altogether on custom4 ,the utility of  
any form1 its fitness for the useful    
purposes for which it was intended      
evidently recommends it1 and renders it 
agreeable to us1 independent of custom4 
,certain colours are more agreeable than
 others1 and give more delight to the   
eye the first time it ever beholds them4
 ,a smooth surface is more agreeable    
than a rough one4 ,variety is more      
pleasing than a tedious undiversified   
uniformity4 ,connected variety1 in which

 each new appearance seems to be        
introduced by what went before it1 and  
in which all the adjoining parts seem to
 have some natural relation to one      
another1 is more agreeable than a       
disjointed and disorderly assemblage of 
unconnected objects4 ,but though ,i     
cannot admit that custom is the sole    
principle of beauty1 yet ,i can so far  
allow the truth of this ingenious system
 as to grant1 that there is scarce any  
one external form so beautiful as to    
please1 if quite contrary to custom and 
unlike whatever we have ever been used  
to in that particular species of things3
 or so deformed as not to be agreeable1 
if custom uniformly supports it1 and    
habituates us to see it in every single 
individual of the kind4  -----  ,,chap4 
,,ii4--,of the ,influence of ,custom and
 ,fashion upon ,moral ,sentiments4      
,,since our sentiments concerning beauty
 of every kind1 are so much influenced  
by custom and fashion1 it cannot be     
expected1 that those1 concerning the    

beauty of conduct1 should be entirely   
exempted from #agg the dominion of those
 principles4 ,their influence here1     
however1 seems to be much less than it  
is every where else4 ,there is1 perhaps1
 no form of external objects1 how absurd
 and fantastical soever1 to which custom
 will not reconcile us1 or which fashion
 will not render even agreeable4 ,but   
the characters and conduct of a ,nero1  
or a ,claudius1 are what no custom will 
ever reconcile us to1 what no fashion   
will ever render agreeable2 but the one 
will always be the object of dread and  
hatred2 the other of scorn and derision4
 ,the principles of the imagination1    
upon which our sense of beauty depends1 
are of a very nice and delicate nature1 
and may easily be altered by habit and  
education3 but the sentiments of moral  
approbation and disapprobation1 are     
founded on the strongest and most       
vigorous passions of human nature2 and  
though they may be warped1 cannot be    
entirely perverted4  ,but though the    

influence of custom and fashion upon    
moral sentiments1 is not altogether so  
great1 it is however perfectly similar  
to what it is every where else4 ,when   
custom and fashion coincide with the    
natural principles of right and wrong1  
they heighten the delicacy of our       
sentiments1 and increase our abhorrence 
for every thing which approaches to     
evil4 ,those who have been educated in  
what is really good company1 not in what
 is commonly called such1 who have been 
accustomed to see nothing in the persons
 whom they esteemed and lived with1 but 
justice1 modesty1 humanity1 and good    
order2 are more shocked with whatever   
seems to be inconsistent with the rules 
which those virtues prescribe4 ,those1  
on the contrary1 who have had the       
misfortune to be brought up amidst      
violence1 licentiousness1 falsehood1 and
 injustice1 lose1 though not all sense  
of the impropriety of such conduct1 yet 
all sense of its dreadful enormity1 or  
of the vengeance and punishment due to  

it4 ,they have been familiarized with it
 from their infancy1 custom has rendered
 it habitual to them1 and they are very 
apt to regard it as1 what is called1 the
 way of the world1 something which      
either may1 or must be practised1 to    
hinder us from being made the dupes of  
our own integrity4  ,fashion1 too1 will 
sometimes give reputation to a certain  
degree of disorder1 and1 on the         
contrary1 discountenance qualities which
 deserve esteem4 ,in the reign of       
,charles ,,ii4 a degree of              
licentiousness was deemed the           
characteristic of a liberal education4  
,it was connected1 according to the     
notions of those times1 with generosity1
 sincerity1 magnanimity1 loyalty1 and   
proved that the person who acted in this
 manner1 was a gentleman1 and not a     
puritan4 ,severity of manners1 and      
regularity of conduct1 on the other     
hand1 were altogether unfashionable1 and
 were connected1 in the imagination of  
that age1 with cant1 cunning1 hypocrisy1

 and low manners4 ,to superficial minds1
 the vices of the great seem at all     
times agreeable4 ,they connect them1 not
 only with the splendour of fortune1 but
 with many superior virtues1 which they 
ascribe to their superiors2 with the    
spirit of freedom and #agh independency1
 with frankness1 generosity1 humanity1  
and politeness4 ,the virtues of the     
inferior ranks of people1 on the        
contrary1 their parsimonious frugality1 
their painful industry1 and rigid       
adherence to rules1 seems to them mean  
and disagreeable4 ,they connect them1   
both with the meanness of the station to
 which those qualities do commonly      
belong1 and with many great vices which1
 they suppose1 very usually accompany   
them2 such as an abject1 cowardly1      
ill-natured1 lying1 and pilfering       
disposition4  ,the objects with which   
men in the different professions and    
states of life are conversant1 being    
very different1 and habituating them to 
very different passions1 naturally form 

in them very different characters and   
manners4 ,we expect in each rank and    
profession1 a degree of those manners1  
which1 experience has taught us1 belong 
to it4 ,but as in each species of       
things1 we are particularly pleased with
 the middle conformation1 which1 in     
every part and feature1 agrees most     
exactly with the general standard which 
nature seems to have established for    
things of that kind2 so in each rank1   
or1 if ,i may say so1 in each species of
 men1 we are particularly pleased1 if   
they have neither too much1 nor too     
little of the character which usually   
accompanies their particular condition  
and situation4 ,a man1 we say1 should   
look like his trade and profession2 yet 
the pedantry of every profession is     
disagreeable4 ,the different periods of 
life have1 for the same reason1         
different manners assigned to them4 ,we 
expect in old age1 that gravity and     
sedateness which its infirmities1 its   
long experience1 and its worn-out       

sensibility seem to render both natural 
and respectable2 and we lay our account 
to find in youth that sensibility1 that 
gaiety and sprightly vivacity which     
experience teaches us to expect from the
 lively impressions that all interesting
 objects are apt to make upon the tender
 and unpractised senses of that early   
period of life4 ,each of those two ages1
 however1 may easily have too much of   
these peculiarities which belong to it4 
,the flirting levity of youth1 and the  
immovable insensibility of old age1 are 
equally disagreeable4 ,the young1       
according to the common saying1 are most
 agreeable when in their behaviour there
 is something of the manners of the old1
 and the old1 when they retain something
 of the gaiety of the young4 ,either of 
them1 however1 may easily have too much 
of the manners of the other4 ,the       
extreme coldness1 and the dull          
formality1 which are pardoned in old    
age1 make youth ridiculous4 ,the levity1
 the carelessness1 and the vanity1 which

 are indulged in youth1 will render old 
age contemptible4  ,the peculiar        
character and manners which we are led  
by custom to appropriate to each rank   
and profession1 have sometimes perhaps a
 propriety independent of custom2 and   
are what we should approve of for their 
own sakes1 if we took into consideration
 all the different circumstances which  
naturally affect those in each different
 state of life4 ,the propriety of a     
person's behaviour1 depends not upon its
 #agi suitableness to any one           
circumstance of his situation1 but to   
all the circumstances1 which1 when we   
bring his case home to ourselves1 we    
feel1 should naturally call upon his    
attention4 ,if he appears to be so much 
occupied by any one of them1 as entirely
 to neglect the rest1 we disapprove of  
his conduct1 as something which we      
cannot entirely go along with1 because  
not properly adjusted to all the        
circumstances of his situation3 yet1    
perhaps1 the emotion he expresses for   

the object which principally interests  
him1 does not exceed what we should     
entirely sympathize with1 and approve   
of1 in one whose attention was not      
required by any other thing4 ,a parent  
in private life might1 upon the loss of 
an only son1 express without blame a    
degree of grief and tenderness1 which   
would be unpardonable in a general at   
the head of an army1 when glory1 and the
 public safety1 demanded so great a part
 of his attention4 ,as different objects
 ought1 upon common occasions1 to occupy
 the attention of men of different      
professions1 so different passions ought
 naturally to become habitual to them2  
and when we bring home to ourselves     
their situation in this particular      
respect1 we must be sensible1 that every
 occurrence should naturally affect them
 more or less1 according as the emotion 
which it excites1 coincides or disagrees
 with the fixed habit and temper of     
their minds4 ,we cannot expect the same 
sensibility to the gay pleasures and    

amusements of life in a clergyman1 which
 we lay our account with in an officer4 
,the man whose peculiar occupation it is
 to keep the world in mind of that awful
 futurity which awaits him1 who is to   
announce what may be the fatal          
consequences of every deviation from the
 rules of duty1 and who is himself to   
set the example of the most exact       
conformity1 seems to be the messenger of
 tidings1 which cannot1 in propriety1 be
 delivered either with levity or        
indifference4 ,his mind is supposed to  
be continually occupied with what is too
 grand and solemn1 to leave any room for
 the impressions of those frivolous     
objects1 which fill up the attention of 
the dissipated and the gay4 ,we readily 
feel therefore1 that1 independent of    
custom1 there is a propriety in the     
manners which custom has allotted to    
this profession2 and that nothing can be
 more suitable to the character of a    
clergyman1 than that grave1 that austere
 and abstracted severity1 which we are  

habituated to expect in his behaviour4  
,these reflections are so very obvious1 
that there is scarce any man so         
inconsiderate1 as not1 at some time1 to 
have made them1 and to have accounted to
 himself in this manner for his         
approbation of the useful character of  
the clerical order4  ,the foundation of 
the customary character of some other   
professions is not so obvious1 and our  
approbation of it is founded entirely in
 the habit1 without being either        
confirmed or enlivened by any           
reflections of this kind4 ,we are led by
 custom1 for example1 to annex the      
character of gaiety1 levity1 and        
sprightly freedom1 as well as of some   
degree of dissipation1 to the military  
profession4 ,yet1 if we were #ahj to    
consider what mood or tone of temper    
would be most suitable to this          
situation1 we should be apt to          
determine1 perhaps1 that the most       
serious and thoughtful turn of mind     
would best become those whose lives are 

continually exposed to uncommon danger1 
and who should therefore be more        
constantly occupied with the thoughts of
 death and its consequences than other  
men4 ,it is this very circumstance1     
however1 which is not improbably the    
occasion why the contrary turn of mind  
prevails so much among men of this      
profession4 ,it requires so great an    
effort to conquer the fear of death1    
when we survey it with steadiness and   
attention1 that those who are constantly
 exposed to it1 find it easier to turn  
away their thoughts from it altogether1 
to wrap themselves up in careless       
security and indifference1 and to plunge
 themselves1 for this purpose1 into     
every sort of amusement and dissipation4
 ,a camp is not the element of a        
thoughtful or a melancholy man3 persons 
of that cast1 indeed1 are often         
abundantly determined1 and are capable1 
by a great effort1 of going on with     
inflexible resolution to the most       
unavoidable death4 ,but to be exposed to

 continual1 though less imminent danger1
 to be obliged to exert1 for a long     
time1 a degree of this effort1 exhausts 
and depresses the mind1 and renders it  
incapable of all happiness and          
enjoyment4 ,the gay and careless1 who   
have occasion to make no effort at all1 
who fairly resolve never to look before 
them1 but to lose in continual pleasures
 and amusements all anxiety about their 
situation1 more easily support such     
circumstances4 ,whenever1 by any        
peculiar circumstances1 an officer has  
no reason to lay his account with being 
exposed to any uncommon danger1 he is   
very apt to lose the gaiety and         
dissipated thoughtlessness of his       
character4 ,the captain of a city guard 
is commonly as sober1 careful1 and      
penurious an animal as the rest of his  
fellow-citizens4 ,a long peace is1 for  
the same reason1 very apt to diminish   
the difference between the civil and the
 military character4 ,the ordinary      
situation1 however1 of men of this      

profession1 renders gaiety1 and a degree
 of dissipation1 so much their usual    
character2 and custom has1 in our       
imagination1 so strongly connected this 
character with this state of life1 that 
we are very apt to despise any man1     
whose peculiar humour or situation      
renders him incapable of acquiring it4  
,we laugh at the grave and careful faces
 of a city guard1 which so little       
resemble those of their profession4     
,they themselves seem often to be       
ashamed of the regularity of their own  
manners1 and1 not to be out of the      
fashion of their trade1 are fond of     
affecting that levity1 which is by no   
means natural to them4 ,whatever is the 
deportment which we have been accustomed
 to see in a respectable order of men1  
it comes to be so associated in our     
imagination with that order1 that       
whenever we see the one1 we lay our     
account that we are to meet with the    
other1 and when disappointed1 miss      
something which we expected to find4 ,we

 are embarrassed1 and put to a stand1   
and know not how to address ourselves to
 a character1 which plainly #aha affects
 to be of a different species from those
 with which we should have been disposed
 to class it4  ,the different situations
 of different ages and countries are    
apt1 in the same manner1 to give        
different characters to the generality  
of those who live in them1 and their    
sentiments concerning the particular    
degree of each quality1 that is either  
blamable or praise-worthy1 vary         
according to that degree which is usual 
in their own country1 and in their own  
times4 ,that degree of politeness which 
would be highly esteemed1 perhaps would 
be thought effeminate adulation1 in     
,russia1 would be regarded as rudeness  
and barbarism at the court of ,france4  
,that degree of order and frugality1    
which1 in a ,polish nobleman1 would be  
considered as excessive parsimony1 would
 be regarded as extravagance in a       
citizen of ,amsterdam4 ,every age and   

country look upon that degree of each   
quality1 which is commonly to be met    
with in those who are esteemed among    
themselves1 as the golden mean of that  
particular talent or virtue4 ,and as    
this varies1 according as their         
different circumstances render different
 qualities more or less habitual to     
them1 their sentiments concerning the   
exact propriety of character and        
behaviour vary accordingly4  ,among     
civilized nations1 the virtues which are
 founded upon humanity1 are more        
cultivated than those which are founded 
upon self-denial and the command of the 
passions4 ,among rude and barbarous     
nations1 it is quite otherwise1 the     
virtues of self-denial are more         
cultivated than those of humanity4 ,the 
general security and happiness which    
prevail in ages of civility and         
politeness1 afford little exercise to   
the contempt of danger1 to patience in  
enduring labour1 hunger1 and pain4      
,poverty may easily be avoided1 and the 

contempt of it therefore almost ceases  
to be a virtue4 ,the abstinence from    
pleasure becomes less necessary1 and the
 mind is more at liberty to unbend and  
to indulge its natural inclinations in  
all those particular respects4  ,among  
savages and barbarians it is quite      
otherwise4 ,every savage undergoes a    
sort of ,spartan discipline1 and by the 
necessity of his situation is inured to 
every sort of hardship4 ,he is in       
continual danger3 he is often exposed to
 the greatest extremities of hunger1 and
 frequently dies of pure want4 ,his     
circumstances not only habituate him to 
every sort of distress1 but teach him to
 give way to none of the passions which 
that distress is apt to excite4 ,he can 
expect from his countrymen no sympathy  
or indulgence for such weakness4 ,before
 we can feel much for others1 we must in
 some measure be at ease ourselves4 ,if 
our own misery pinches us very severely1
 we have no leisure to attend to that of
 our neighbour3 and all savages are too 

much occupied with their own wants and  
necessities1 to give much attention to  
those of another person4 ,a savage1     
therefore1 whatever be the nature of his
 distress1 expects no sympathy from     
those about him1 and disdains1 upon that
 account1 to expose himself1 by allowing
 the least weakness to escape #ahb him4 
,his passions1 how furious and violent  
soever1 are never permitted to disturb  
the serenity of his countenance or the  
composure of his conduct and behaviour4 
,the savages in ,north ,america1 we are 
told1 assume upon all occasions the     
greatest indifference1 and would think  
themselves degraded if they should ever 
appear in any respect to be overcome1   
either by love1 or grief1 or resentment4
 ,their magnanimity and self-command1 in
 this respect1 are almost beyond the    
conception of ,europeans4 ,in a country 
in which all men are upon a level1 with 
regard to rank and fortune1 it might be 
expected that the mutual inclinations of
 the two parties should be the only     

thing considered in marriages1 and      
should be indulged without any sort of  
control4 ,this1 however1 is the country 
in which all marriages1 without         
exception1 are made up by the parents1  
and in which a young man would think    
himself disgraced for ever1 if he showed
 the least preference of one woman above
 another1 or did not express the most   
complete indifference1 both about the   
time when1 and the person to whom1 he   
was to be married4 ,the weakness of     
love1 which is so indulged in ages of   
humanity and politeness1 is regarded    
among savages as the most unpardonable  
effeminacy4 ,even after the marriage1   
the two parties seem to be ashamed of a 
connexion which is founded upon so      
sordid a necessity4 ,they do not live   
together4 ,they see one another by      
stealth only4 ,they both continue to    
dwell in the houses of their respective 
fathers1 and the open cohabitation of   
the two sexes1 which is permitted       
without blame in all other countries1 is

 here considered as the most indecent   
and unmanly sensuality4 ,nor is it only 
over this agreeable passion that they   
exert this absolute self-command4 ,they 
often bear1 in the sight of all their   
countrymen1 with injuries1 reproach1 and
 the grossest insults1 with the         
appearance of the greatest              
insensibility1 and without expressing   
the smallest resentment4 ,when a savage 
is made prisoner of war1 and receives1  
as is usual1 the sentence of death from 
his conquerors1 he hears it without     
expressing any emotion1 and afterwards  
submits to the most dreadful torments1  
without ever bemoaning himself1 or      
discovering any other passion but       
contempt of his enemies4 ,while he is   
hung by the shoulders over a slow fire1 
he derides his tormentors1 and tells    
them with how much more ingenuity he    
himself had tormented such of their     
countrymen as had fallen into his hands4
 ,after he has been scorched and burnt1 
and lacerated in all the most tender and

 sensible parts of his body for several 
hours together1 he is often allowed1 in 
order to prolong his misery1 a short    
respite1 and is taken down from the     
stake3 he employs this interval in      
talking upon all indifferent subjects1  
inquires after the news of the country1 
and seems indifferent about nothing but 
his own situation4 ,the spectators      
express the same insensibility2 the     
sight of so horrible an object seems to 
make no impression upon them2 they      
scarce look at the prisoner1 except when
 they lend a hand to torment him4 ,at   
other times they smoke tobacco1 and     
amuse themselves #ahc with any common   
object1 as if no such matter was going  
on4 ,every savage is said to prepare    
himself from his earliest youth for this
 dreadful end4 ,he composes1 for this   
purpose1 what they call the song of     
death1 a song which he is to sing when  
he has fallen into the hands of his     
enemies1 and is expiring under the      
tortures which they inflict upon him4   

,it consists of insults upon his        
tormentors1 and expresses the highest   
contempt of death and pain4 ,he sings   
this song upon all extraordinary        
occasions1 when he goes out to war1 when
 he meets his enemies in the field1 or  
whenever he has a mind to show that he  
has familiarised his imagination to the 
most dreadful misfortunes1 and that no  
human event can daunt his resolution or 
alter his purpose4 ,the same contempt of
 death and torture prevails among all   
other savage nations4 ,there is not a   
negro from the coast of ,africa1 who    
does not in this respect1 possess a     
degree of magnanimity which the soul of 
his sordid master is too often scarce   
capable of conceiving4 ,fortune never   
exerted more cruelly her empire over    
mankind1 than when she subjected those  
nations of heroes to the refuse of the  
jails of ,europe1 to wretches who       
possess the virtues neither of the      
countries which they come from1 nor of  
those which they go to1 and whose       

levity1 brutality1 and baseness1 expose 
them to the contempt of the vanquished4 
,this heroic and unconquerable firmness1
 which the custom and education of his  
country demand of every savage1 is not  
required of those who are brought up to 
live in civilized societies4 ,if these  
last complain when they are in pain1 if 
they grieve when they are in distress1  
if they allow themselves either to be   
overcome by love1 or to be discomposed  
by anger1 they are easily pardoned4     
,such weaknesses are not apprehended to 
affect the essential parts of their     
character4 ,as long as they do not allow
 themselves to be transported to do     
anything contrary to justice or         
humanity1 they lose but little          
reputation1 though the serenity of their
 countenance1 or the composure of their 
discourse and behaviour should be       
somewhat ruffled and disturbed4 ,a      
humane and polished people1 who have    
more sensibility to the passions of     
others1 can more readily enter into an  

animated and passionate behaviour1 and  
can more easily pardon some little      
excess4 ,the person principally         
concerned is sensible of this2 and being
 assured of the equity of his judges1   
indulges himself in stronger expressions
 of passion1 and is less afraid of      
exposing himself to their contempt by   
the violence of his emotions4 ,we can   
venture to express more emotion in the  
presence of a friend than in that of a  
stranger1 because we expect more        
indulgence from the one than from the   
other4 ,and in the same manner the rules
 of decorum amongst civilized nations1  
admit of a more animated behaviour1 than
 is approved of among barbarians4 ,the  
first converse together with the        
openness of friends2 the second with the
 reserve of strangers4 ,the emotion and 
vivacity with which the ,french and the 
,italians1 the two most polished nations
 upon the continent1 express #ahd       
themselves on occasions that are at all 
interesting1 surprise at first those    

strangers who happen to be travelling   
among them1 and who1 having been        
educated among a people of duller       
sensibility1 cannot enter into this     
passionate behaviour1 of which they have
 never seen any example in their own    
country4 ,a young ,french nobleman will 
weep in the presence of the whole court 
upon being refused a regiment4 ,an      
,italian1 says the ,abbot ,du ,bos1     
expresses more emotion on being         
condemned in a fine of twenty shillings1
 than an ,englishman on receiving the   
sentence of death4 ,cicero1 in the times
 of the highest ,roman politeness1      
could1 without degrading himself1 weep  
with all the bitterness of sorrow in the
 sight of the whole senate and the whole
 people2 as it is evident he must have  
done in the end of almost every oration4
 ,the orators of the earlier and ruder  
ages of ,rome could not probably1       
consistent with the manners of the      
times1 have expressed themselves with so
 much emotion4 ,it would have been      

regarded1 ,i suppose1 as a violation of 
nature and propriety in the ,scipios1 in
 the ,leliuses1 and in the elder ,cato1 
to have exposed so much tenderness to   
the view of the public4 ,those ancient  
warriors could express themselves with  
order1 gravity1 and good judgment3 but  
are said to have been strangers to that 
sublime and passionate eloquence which  
was first introduced into ,rome1 not    
many years before the birth of ,cicero1 
by the two ,gracchi1 by ,crassus1 and by
 ,sulpitius4 ,this animated eloquence1  
which has been long practised1 with or  
without success1 both in ,france and    
,italy1 is but just beginning to be     
introduced into ,england4 ,so wide is   
the difference between the degrees of   
self-command which are required in      
civilized and in barbarous nations1 and 
by such different standards do they     
judge of the propriety of behaviour4    
,this difference gives occasion to many 
others that are not less essential4 ,a  
polished people being accustomed to give

 way1 in some measure1 to the movements 
of nature1 become frank1 open1 and      
sincere4 ,barbarians1 on the contrary1  
being obliged to smother and conceal the
 appearance of every passion1           
necessarily acquire the habits of       
falsehood and dissimulation4 ,it is     
observed by all those who have been     
conversant with savage nations1 whether 
in ,asia1 ,africa1 or ,america1 that    
they are equally impenetrable1 and that1
 when they have a mind to conceal the   
truth1 no examination is capable of     
drawing it from them4 ,they cannot be   
trepanned by the most artful questions4 
,the torture itself is incapable of     
making them confess any thing which they
 have no mind to tell4 ,the passions of 
a savage too1 though they never express 
themselves by an outward emotion1 but   
lie concealed in the breast of the      
sufferer1 are1 notwithstanding1 all     
mounted to the highest pitch of fury4   
,though he seldom shows any symptoms of 
anger1 yet his vengeance1 when he comes 

to give way to it1 is always sanguinary 
and dreadful4 ,the least affront drives 
him to despair4 ,his countenance and    
discourse indeed1 are still sober and   
composed1 and express nothing #ahe but  
the most perfect tranquillity of mind3  
but his actions are often the most      
furious and violent4 ,among the ,north  
,americans it is not uncommon for       
persons of the tenderest age and more   
fearful sex to drown themselves upon    
receiving only a slight reprimand from  
their mothers1 and this too without     
expressing any passion1 or saying any   
thing1 except1 you shall no longer have 
a daughter4 ,in civilized nations the   
passions of men are not commonly so     
furious or so desperate4 ,they are often
 clamorous and noisy1 but are seldom    
very hurtful2 and seem frequently to aim
 at no other satisfaction1 but that of  
convincing the spectator1 that they are 
in the right to be so much moved1 and of
 procuring his sympathy and approbation4
  ,all these effects of custom and      

fashion1 however1 upon the moral        
sentiments of mankind1 are              
inconsiderable1 in comparison of those  
which they give occasion to in some     
other cases2 and it is not concerning   
the general style of character and      
behaviour1 that those principles produce
 the greatest perversion of judgment1   
but concerning the propriety or         
impropriety of particular usages4  ,the 
different manners which custom teaches  
us to approve of in the different       
professions and states of life1 do not  
concern things of the greatest          
importance4 ,we expect truth and justice
 from an old man as well as from a      
young1 from a clergyman as well as from 
an officer2 and it is in matters of     
small moment only that we look for the  
distinguishing marks of their respective
 characters4 ,with regard to these1 too1
 there is often some unobserved         
circumstance which1 if it was attended  
to1 would show us1 that1 independent of 
custom1 there was a propriety in the    

character which custom had taught us to 
allot to each profession4 ,we cannot    
complain1 therefore1 in this case1 that 
the perversion of natural sentiment is  
very great4 ,though the manners of      
different nations require different     
degrees of the same quality1 in the     
character which they think worthy of    
esteem1 yet the worst that can be said  
to happen even here1 is that the duties 
of one virtue are sometimes extended so 
as to encroach a little upon the        
precincts of some other4 ,the rustic    
hospitality that is in fashion among the
 ,poles encroaches1 perhaps1 a little   
upon oeconomy and good order2 and the   
frugality that is esteemed in ,holland1 
upon generosity and good-fellowship4    
,the hardiness demanded of savages      
diminishes their humanity2 and1 perhaps1
 the delicate sensibility required in   
civilized nations1 sometimes destroys   
the masculine firmness of the character4
 ,in general1 the style of manners which
 takes place in any nation1 may commonly

 upon the whole be said to be that which
 is most suitable to its situation4     
,hardiness is the character most        
suitable to the circumstances of a      
savage2 sensibility to those of one who 
lives in a very civilized country4 ,even
 here1 therefore1 we cannot complain    
that the moral sentiments of men1 as    
displayed by them1 are very grossly     
perverted4  ,it is not therefore in the 
general style of conduct or behaviour   
that #ahf custom authorises the widest  
departure from what is the natural      
propriety of action4 ,with regard to    
particular usages1 its influence is     
often much more destructive of good     
morals1 and it is capable of            
establishing1 as lawful and blameless1  
particular actions1 which shock the very
 plainest principles of right and wrong4
  ,can there be greater barbarity1 for  
example1 than to hurt an infant8 ,its   
helplessness1 its innocence1 its        
amiableness1 call forth the compassion1 
even of an enemy1 and not to spare that 

tender age is regarded as the most      
furious effort of an enraged and cruel  
conqueror4 ,what then should we imagine 
must be the heart of a parent who could 
injure that weakness which even a       
furious enemy is afraid to violate8 ,yet
 the exposition1 that is1 the murder of 
new-born infants1 was a practice allowed
 of in almost all the states of ,greece1
 even among the polite and civilized    
,athenians2 and whenever the            
circumstances of the parent rendered it 
inconvenient to bring up the child1 to  
abandon it to hunger or to wild beasts  
was regarded without blame or censure4  
,this practice had probably begun in    
times of the most savage barbarity4 ,the
 imaginations of men had been first made
 familiar with it in that earliest      
period of society1 and the uniform      
continuance of the custom had hindered  
them afterwards from perceiving its     
enormity4 ,we find1 at this day1 that   
this practice prevails among all savage 
nations2 and in that rudest and lowest  

state of society it is undoubtedly more 
pardonable than in any other4 ,the      
extreme indigence of a savage is often  
such that he himself is frequently      
exposed to the greatest extremity of    
hunger1 he often dies of pure want1 and 
it is frequently impossible for him to  
support both himself and his child4 ,we 
cannot wonder1 therefore1 that in this  
case he should abandon it4 ,one who1 in 
flying from an enemy1 whom it was       
impossible to resist1 should throw down 
his infant1 because it retarded his     
flight1 would surely be excusable2      
since1 by attempting to save it1 he     
could only hope for the consolation of  
dying with it4 ,that in this state of   
society1 therefore1 a parent should be  
allowed to judge whether he can bring up
 his child1 ought not to surprise us so 
greatly4 ,in the latter ages of ,greece1
 however1 the same thing was permitted  
from views of remote interest or        
conveniency1 which could by no means    
excuse it4 ,uninterrupted custom had by 

this time so thoroughly authorised the  
practice1 that not only the loose maxims
 of the world tolerated this barbarous  
prerogative1 but even the doctrine of   
philosophers1 which ought to have been  
more just and accurate1 was led away by 
the established custom1 and upon this1  
as upon many other occasions1 instead of
 censuring1 supported the horrible      
abuse1 by far-fetched considerations of 
public utility4 ,aristotle talks of it  
as of what the magistrate ought upon    
many occasions to encourage4 ,the humane
 ,plato is of the same opinion1 and1    
with all that love of mankind which     
seems to animate all his writings1 no   
where marks this practice with          
disapprobation4 ,when custom can give   
sanction to so dreadful a violation of  
humanity2 we #ahg may well imagine that 
there is scarce any particular practice 
so gross which it cannot authorise4     
,such a thing1 we hear men every day    
saying1 is commonly done1 and they seem 
to think this a sufficient apology for  

what1 in itself1 is the most unjust and 
unreasonable conduct4  ,there is an     
obvious reason why custom should never  
pervert our sentiments with regard to   
the general style and character of      
conduct and behaviour1 in the same      
degree as with regard to the propriety  
or unlawfulness of particular usages4   
,there never can be any such custom4 ,no
 society could subsist a moment1 in     
which the usual strain of men's conduct 
and behaviour was of a piece with the   
horrible practice ,i have just now      
mentioned4  -----  ,part ,,vi4--,of the 
,character of ,virtue4                  
,,introduction4--,when we consider the  
character of any individual1 we         
naturally view it under two different   
aspects2 first1 as it may affect his own
 happiness2 and secondly1 as it may     
affect that of other people4  -----     
,,sec4 ,i4--,,of ,,the ,,character ,,of 
,,the ,,individual1 ,,so ,,far ,,as ,,it
 ,,affects ,,his ,,own ,,happiness2 ,,or
 ,,of ,,prudence4   ,,the preservation  

and healthful state of the body seem to 
be the objects which ,nature first      
recommends to the care of every         
individual4 ,the appetites of hunger and
 thirst1 the agreeable or disagreeable  
sensations of pleasure and pain1 of heat
 and cold1 c41 may be considered as     
lessons delivered by the voice of       
,nature herself1 directing him what he  
ought to choose1 and what he ought to   
avoid1 for this purpose4 ,the first     
lessons which he is taught by those to  
whom his childhood is entrusted1 tend1  
the greater part of them1 to the same   
purpose4 ,their principal object is to  
teach him how to keep out of harm's way4
  ,as he grows up1 he soon learns that  
some care and foresight are necessary   
for providing the means of gratifying   
those natural appetites1 of procuring   
pleasure and avoiding pain1 of procuring
 the agreeable and avoiding the         
disagreeable temperature of heat and    
cold4 ,in the proper direction of this  
care and foresight consists the art of  

preserving and increasing what is called
 his external fortune4  ,though it is in
 order to supply the necessities and    
conveniencies of the body1 that the     
advantages of external fortune are      
originally recommended to us1 yet we    
cannot live long in the world without   
perceiving that the respect of our      
equals1 our credit and rank in the      
society we live in1 depend very much    
upon the degree in which we possess1 or 
are supposed to possess1 those          
advantages4 ,the desire of becoming the 
#ahh proper objects of this respect1 of 
deserving and obtaining this credit and 
rank among our equals1 is1 perhaps1 the 
strongest of all our desires1 and our   
anxiety to obtain the advantages of     
fortune is accordingly much more excited
 and irritated by this desire1 than by  
that of supplying all the necessities   
and conveniencies of the body1 which are
 always very easily supplied to us4     
,our rank and credit among our equals1  
too1 depend very much upon1 what1       

perhaps1 a virtuous man would wish them 
to depend entirely1 our character and   
conduct1 or upon the confidence1 esteem1
 and good-will1 which these naturally   
excite in the people we live with4  ,the
 care of the health1 of the fortune1 of 
the rank and reputation of the          
individual1 the objects upon which his  
comfort and happiness in this life are  
supposed principally to depend1 is      
considered as the proper business of    
that virtue which is commonly called    
,prudence4  ,we suffer more1 it has     
already been observed1 when we fall from
 a better to a worse situation1 than we 
ever enjoy when we rise from a worse to 
a better4 ,security1 therefore1 is the  
first and the principal object of       
prudence4 ,it is averse to expose our   
health1 our fortune1 our rank1 or       
reputation1 to any sort of hazard4 ,it  
is rather cautious than enterprising1   
and more anxious to preserve the        
advantages which we already possess1    
than forward to prompt us to the        

acquisition of still greater advantages4
 ,the methods of improving our fortune1 
which it principally recommends to us1  
are those which expose to no loss or    
hazard2 real knowledge and skill in our 
trade or profession1 assiduity and      
industry in the exercise of it1         
frugality1 and even some degree of      
parsimony1 in all our expenses4  ,the   
prudent man always studies seriously and
 earnestly to understand whatever he    
professes to understand1 and not merely 
to persuade other people that he        
understands it2 and though his talents  
may not always be very brilliant1 they  
are always perfectly genuine4 ,he       
neither endeavours to impose upon you by
 the cunning devices of an artful       
impostor1 nor by the arrogant airs of an
 assuming pedant1 nor by the confident  
assertions of a superficial and impudent
 pretender4 ,he is not ostentatious even
 of the abilities which he really       
possesses4 ,his conversation is simple  
and modest1 and he is averse to all the 

quackish arts by which other people so  
frequently thrust themselves into public
 notice and reputation4 ,for reputation 
in his profession he is naturally       
disposed to rely a good deal upon the   
solidity of his knowledge and abilities2
 and he does not always think of        
cultivating the favour of those little  
clubs and cabals1 who1 in the superior  
arts and sciences1 so often erect       
themselves into the supreme judges of   
merit2 and who make it their business to
 celebrate the talents and virtues of   
one another1 and to decry whatever can  
come into competition with them4 ,if he 
ever connects himself with any society  
of this kind1 it is merely in           
self-defence1 not with a view to impose 
upon the public1 but to #ahi hinder the 
public from being imposed upon1 to his  
disadvantage1 by the clamours1 the      
whispers1 or the intrigues1 either of   
that particular society1 or of some     
other of the same kind4  ,the prudent   
man is always sincere1 and feels horror 

at the very thought of exposing himself 
to the disgrace which attends upon the  
detection of falsehood4 ,but though     
always sincere1 he is not always frank  
and open2 and though he never tells any 
thing but the truth1 he does not always 
think himself bound1 when not properly  
called upon1 to tell the whole truth4   
,as he is cautious in his actions1 so he
 is reserved in his speech2 and never   
rashly or unnecessarily obtrudes his    
opinion concerning either things or     
persons4  ,the prudent man1 though not  
always distinguished by the most        
exquisite sensibility1 is always very   
capable of friendship4 ,but his         
friendship is not that ardent and       
passionate1 but too often transitory    
affection1 which appears so delicious to
 the generosity of youth and            
inexperience4 ,it is a sedate1 but      
steady and faithful attachment to a few 
well-tried and well-chosen companions2  
in the choice of whom he is not guided  
by the giddy admiration of shining      

accomplishments1 but by the sober esteem
 of modesty1 discretion1 and good       
conduct4 ,but though capable of         
friendship1 he is not always much       
disposed to general sociality4 ,he      
rarely frequents1 and more rarely       
figures in those convivial societies    
which are distinguished for the jollity 
and gaiety of their conversation4 ,their
 way of life might too often interfere  
with the regularity of his temperance1  
might interrupt the steadiness of his   
industry1 or break in upon the          
strictness of his frugality4  ,but      
though his conversation may not always  
be very sprightly or diverting1 it is   
always perfectly inoffensive4 ,he hates 
the thought of being guilty of any      
petulance or rudeness4 ,he never assumes
 impertinently over any body1 and1 upon 
all common occasions1 is willing to     
place himself rather below than above   
his equals4 ,both in his conduct and    
conversation1 he is an exact observer of
 decency1 and respects with an almost   

religious scrupulosity1 all the         
established decorums and ceremonials of 
society4 ,and1 in this respect1 he sets 
a much better example than has          
frequently been done by men of much more
 splendid talents and virtues1 who1 in  
all ages1 from that of ,socrates and    
,aristippus1 down to that of ,dr4 ,swift
 and ,voltaire1 and from that of ,philip
 and ,alexander the ,great1 down to that
 of the great ,czar ,peter of ,muscovy1 
have too often distinguished themselves 
by the most improper and even insolent  
contempt of all the ordinary decorums of
 life and conversation1 and who have    
thereby set the most pernicious example 
to those who wish to resemble them1 and 
who too often content themselves with   
imitating their follies1 without even   
attempting to attain their perfections4 
,in the steadiness of his industry and  
frugality1 in his steadily sacrificing  
the ease and enjoyment of the present   
moment for the probable #aij expectation
 of the still greater ease and enjoyment

 of a more distant but more lasting     
period of time1 the prudent man is      
always both supported and rewarded by   
the entire approbation of the impartial 
spectator1 and of the representative of 
the impartial spectator1 the man within 
the breast4 ,the impartial spectator    
does not feel himself worn out by the   
present labour of those whose conduct he
 surveys2 nor does he feel himself      
solicited by the importunate calls of   
their present appetites4 ,to him their  
present1 and what is likely to be their 
future1 situation1 are very nearly the  
same3 he sees them nearly at the same   
distance1 and is affected by them very  
nearly in the same manner4 ,he knows1   
however1 that to the persons principally
 concerned1 they are very far from being
 the same1 and that they naturally      
affect them in a very different manner4 
,he cannot therefore but approve1 and   
even applaud1 that proper exertion of   
self-command1 which enables them to act 
as if their present and their future    

situation affected them nearly in the   
same manner in which they affect him4   
,the man who lives within his income1 is
 naturally contented with his situation1
 which1 by continual1 though small      
accumulations1 is growing better and    
better every day4 ,he is enabled        
gradually to relax1 both in the rigour  
of his parsimony and in the severity of 
his application2 and he feels with      
double satisfaction this gradual        
increase of ease and enjoyment1 from    
having felt before the hardship which   
attended the want of them4 ,he has no   
anxiety to change so comfortable a      
situation and does not go in quest of   
new enterprises and adventures1 which   
might endanger1 but could not well      
increase the secure tranquillity which  
he actually enjoys4 ,if he enters into  
any new projects or enterprises1 they   
are likely to be well concerted and well
 prepared4 ,he can never be hurried or  
driven into them by any necessity1 but  
has always time and leisure to          

deliberate soberly and coolly concerning
 what are likely to be their            
consequences4  ,the prudent man is not  
willing to subject himself to any       
responsibility which his duty does not  
impose upon him4 ,he is not a bustler in
 business where he has no concern2 is   
not a meddler in other people's affairs2
 is not a professed counsellor or       
adviser1 who obtrudes his advice where  
nobody is asking it4 ,he confines       
himself1 as much as his duty will       
permit1 to his own affairs1 and has no  
taste for that foolish importance which 
many people wish to derive from         
appearing to have some influence in the 
management of those of other people4 ,he
 is averse to enter into any party      
disputes1 hates faction1 and is not     
always very forward to listen to the    
voice even of noble and great ambition4 
,when distinctly called upon1 he will   
not decline the service of his country1 
but he will not cabal in order to force 
himself into it1 and would be much      

better pleased that the public business 
were well managed by some other person1 
than that he himself should have the    
trouble1 and incur the                  
9999responsibility1 of managing it4 ,in 
the bottom of his heart he #aia would   
prefer the undisturbed enjoyment of     
secure tranquillity1 not only to all the
 vain splendour of successful ambition1 
but to the real and solid glory of      
performing the greatest and most        
magnanimous actions4  ,prudence1 in     
short1 when directed merely to the care 
of the health1 of the fortune1 and the  
rank and reputation of the individual1  
though it is regarded as a most         
respectable1 and even in some degree1 as
 an amiable and agreeable quality1 yet  
it never is considered as one1 either of
 the most endearing1 or of the most     
ennobling of the virtues4 ,it commands a
 certain cold esteem1 but does not seem 
entitled to any very ardent love or     
admiration4  ,wise and judicious        
conduct1 when directed to greater and   

nobler purposes than the care of the    
health1 the fortune1 the rank and       
reputation of the individual1 is        
frequently and very properly called     
prudence4 ,we talk of the prudence of   
the great general1 of the great         
statesman1 of the great legislator4     
,prudence is1 in all these cases1       
combined with many greater and more     
splendid virtues1 with valour1 with     
extensive and strong benevolence1 with a
 sacred regard to the rules of justice1 
and all these supported by a proper     
degree of self-command4 ,this superior  
prudence1 when carried to the highest   
degree of perfection1 necessarily       
supposes the art1 the talent1 and the   
habit or disposition of acting with the 
most perfect propriety in every possible
 circumstance and situation4 ,it        
necessarily supposes the utmost         
perfection of all the intellectual and  
of all the moral virtues4 ,it is the    
best head joined to the best heart4 ,it 
is the most perfect wisdom combined with

 the most perfect virtue4 ,it           
constitutes very nearly the character of
 the ,academical or ,peripatetic sage1  
as the superior prudence does that of   
the ,epicurean4  ,mere imprudence1 or   
the mere want of the capacity to take   
care of one's-self1 is1 with the        
generous and humane1 the object of      
compassion2 with those of less delicate 
sentiments1 of neglect1 or1 at worst1 of
 contempt1 but never of hatred or       
indignation4 ,when combined with other  
vices1 however1 it aggravates in the    
highest degree the infamy and disgrace  
which would otherwise attend them4 ,the 
artful knave1 whose dexterity and       
address exempt him1 though not from     
strong suspicions1 yet from punishment  
or distinct detection1 is too often     
received in the world with an indulgence
 which he by no means deserves4 ,the    
awkward and foolish one1 who1 for want  
of this dexterity and address1 is       
convicted and brought to punishment1 is 
the object of universal hatred1         

contempt1 and derision4 ,in countries   
where great crimes frequently pass      
unpunished1 the most atrocious actions  
become almost familiar1 and cease to    
impress the people with that horror     
which is universally felt in countries  
where an exact administration of justice
 takes place4 ,the injustice is the same
 in both countries2 but the imprudence  
is often very different4 ,in the latter1
 great crimes are evidently great       
follies4 ,in the former1 they are not   
always considered as #aib such4 ,in     
,italy1 during the greater part of the  
sixteenth century1 assassinations1      
murders1 and even murders under trust1  
seem to have been almost familiar among 
the superior ranks of people4 ,csar     
,borgia invited four of the little      
princes in his neighbourhood1 who all   
possessed little sovereignties1 and     
commanded little armies of their own1 to
 a friendly conference at ,senigaglia1  
where1 as soon as they arrived1 he put  
them all to death4 ,this infamous       

action1 though certainly not approved of
 even in that age of crimes1 seems to   
have contributed very little to the     
discredit1 and not in the least to the  
ruin of the perpetrator4 ,that ruin     
happened a few years after from causes  
altogether disconnected with this crime4
 ,machiavel1 not indeed a man of the    
nicest morality even for his own times1 
was resident1 as minister from the      
republic of ,florence1 at the court of  
,csar ,borgia when this crime was       
committed4 ,he gives a very particular  
account of it1 and in that pure1        
elegant1 and simple language which      
distinguishes all his writings4 ,he     
talks of it very coolly2 is pleased with
 the address with which ,csar ,borgia   
conducted it2 has much contempt for the 
dupery and weakness of the sufferers2   
but no compassion for their miserable   
and untimely death1 and no sort of      
indignation at the cruelty and falsehood
 of their murderer4 ,the violence and   
injustice of great conquerors are often 

regarded with foolish wonder and        
admiration2 those of petty thieves1     
robbers1 and murderers1 with contempt1  
hatred1 and even horror upon all        
occasions4 ,the former1 though they are 
a hundred times more mischievous and    
destructive1 yet when successful1 they  
often pass for deeds of the most heroic 
magnanimity4 ,the latter are always     
viewed with hatred and aversion1 as the 
follies1 as well as the crimes1 of the  
lowest and most worthless of mankind4   
,the injustice of the former is         
certainly1 at least1 as great as that of
 the latter2 but the folly and          
imprudence are not near so great4 ,a    
wicked and worthless man of parts often 
goes through the world with much more   
credit than he deserves4 ,a wicked and  
worthless fool appears always1 of all   
mortals1 the most hateful1 as well as   
the most contemptible4 ,as prudence     
combined with other virtues1 constitutes
 the noblest2 so imprudence combined    
with other vices1 constitutes the vilest

 of all characters4  -----  ,,sect4     
,,ii4--,,of ,,the ,,character ,,of ,,the
 ,,individual1 ,,so ,,far ,,as ,,it     
,,can ,,affect ,,the ,,happiness ,,of   
,,other ,,people4                       
,,introduction4--,the character of every
 individual1 so far as it can affect the
 happiness of other people1 must do so  
by its disposition either to hurt or to 
benefit them4  ,proper resentment for   
injustice attempted1 or actually        
committed1 is the only motive which1 in 
the eyes of the impartial spectator1 can
 justify our hurting or disturbing in   
any respect the happiness of our        
neighbour4 #aic ,to do so from any other
 motive is itself a violation of the    
laws of justice1 which force ought to be
 employed either to restrain or to      
punish4 ,the wisdom of every state or   
commonwealth endeavours1 as well as it  
can1 to employ the force of the society 
to restrain those who are subject to its
 authority from hurting or disturbing   
the happiness of one another4 ,the rules

 which it establishes for this purpose1 
constitute the civil and criminal law of
 each particular state or country4 ,the 
principles upon which those rules either
 are1 or ought to be founded1 are the   
subject of a particular science1 of all 
sciences by far the most important1 but 
hitherto1 perhaps1 the least cultivated1
 that of natural jurisprudence2         
concerning which it belongs not to our  
present subject to enter into any       
detail4 ,a sacred and religious regard  
not to hurt or disturb in any respect   
the happiness of our neighbour1 even in 
those cases where no law can properly   
protect him1 constitutes the character  
of the perfectly innocent and just man2 
a character which1 when carried to a    
certain delicacy of attention1 is always
 highly respectable and even venerable  
for its own sake1 and can scarce ever   
fail to be accompanied with many other  
virtues1 with great feeling for other   
people1 with great humanity and great   
benevolence4 ,it is a character         

sufficiently understood1 and requires no
 further explanation4 ,in the present   
section ,i shall only endeavour to      
explain the foundation of that order    
which nature seems to have traced out   
for the distribution of our good        
offices1 or for the direction and       
employment of our very limited powers of
 beneficence3 first1 towards            
individuals2 and secondly1 towards      
societies4  ,the same unerring wisdom1  
it will be found1 which regulates every 
other part of her conduct1 directs1 in  
this respect too1 the order of her      
recommendations2 which are always       
stronger or weaker in proportion as our 
beneficence is more or less necessary1  
or can be more or less useful4  -----   
,,chap4 ,i4--,of the ,order in which    
,individuals are recommended by ,nature 
to our ,care and ,attention4   ,,every  
man1 as the ,stoics used to say1 is     
first and principally recommended to his
 own care2 and every man is certainly1  
in every respect1 fitter and abler to   

take care of himself than of any other  
person4 ,every man feels his own        
pleasures and his own pains more        
sensibly than those of other people4    
,the former are the original sensations2
 the latter the reflected or sympathetic
 images of those sensations4 ,the former
 may be said to be the substance2 the   
latter the shadow4  ,after himself1 the 
members of his own family1 those who    
usually live in the same house with him1
 his parents1 his children1 his brothers
 and sisters1 are naturally the objects 
of his warmest affections4 ,they are    
naturally and usually the persons upon  
whose happiness or misery his conduct   
must have the greatest influence4 ,he is
 more habituated to #aid sympathize with
 them4 ,he knows better how every thing 
is likely to affect them1 and his       
sympathy with them is more precise and  
determinate1 than it can be with the    
greater part of other people4 ,it       
approaches nearer1 in short1 to what he 
feels for himself4  ,this sympathy too1 

and the affections which are founded on 
it1 are by nature more strongly directed
 towards his children than towards his  
parents1 and his tenderness for the     
former seems generally a more active    
principle1 than his reverence and       
gratitude towards the latter4 ,in the   
natural state of things1 it has already 
been observed1 the existence of the     
child1 for some time after it comes into
 the world1 depends altogether upon the 
care of the parent2 that of the parent  
does not naturally depend upon the care 
of the child4 ,in the eye of nature1 it 
would seem1 a child is a more important 
object than an old man2 and excites a   
much more lively1 as well as a much more
 universal sympathy4 ,it ought to do so4
 ,every thing may be expected1 or at    
least hoped1 from the child4 ,in        
ordinary cases1 very little can be      
either expected or hoped from the old   
man4 ,the weakness of childhood         
interests the affections of the most    
brutal and hard-hearted4 ,it is only to 

the virtuous and humane1 that the       
infirmities of old age are not the      
objects of contempt and aversion4 ,in   
ordinary cases1 an old man dies without 
being much regretted by any body4       
,scarce a child can die without rending 
asunder the heart of somebody4  ,the    
earliest friendships1 the friendships   
which are naturally contracted when the 
heart is most susceptible of that       
feeling1 are those among brothers and   
sisters4 ,their good agreement1 while   
they remain in the same family1 is      
necessary for its tranquillity and      
happiness4 ,they are capable of giving  
more pleasure or pain to one another    
than to the greater part of other       
people4 ,their situation renders their  
mutual sympathy of the utmost importance
 to their common happiness2 and1 by the 
wisdom of nature1 the same situation1 by
 obliging them to accommodate to one    
another1 renders that sympathy more     
habitual1 and thereby more lively1 more 
distinct1 and more determinate4  ,the   

children of brothers and sisters are    
naturally connected by the friendship   
which1 after separating into different  
families1 continues to take place       
between their parents4 ,their good      
agreement improves the enjoyment of that
 friendship2 their discord would disturb
 it4 ,as they seldom live in the same   
family1 however1 though of more         
importance to one another than to the   
greater part of other people1 they are  
of much less than brothers and sisters4 
,as their mutual sympathy is less       
necessary1 so it is less habitual1 and  
therefore proportionally weaker4  ,the  
children of cousins1 being still less   
connected1 are of still less importance 
to one another2 and the affection       
gradually diminishes as the relation    
grows more and more remote4  ,what is   
called affection1 is in reality nothing 
but habitual sympathy4 ,our concern in  
the happiness or misery of those who are
 the objects of #aie what we call our   
affections2 our desire to promote the   

one1 and to prevent the other2 are      
either the actual feeling of that       
habitual sympathy1 or the necessary     
consequences of that feeling4 ,relations
 being usually placed in situations     
which naturally create this habitual    
sympathy1 it is expected that a suitable
 degree of affection should take place  
among them4 ,we generally find that it  
actually does take place2 we therefore  
naturally expect that it should2 and we 
are1 upon that account1 more shocked    
when1 upon any occasion1 we find that it
 does not4 ,the general rule is         
established1 that persons related to one
 another in a certain degree1 ought     
always to be affected towards one       
another in a certain manner1 and that   
there is always the highest impropriety1
 and sometimes even a sort of impiety1  
in their being affected in a different  
manner4 ,a parent without parental      
tenderness1 a child devoid of all filial
 reverence1 appear monsters1 the        
objects1 not of hatred only1 but of     

horror to their neighbours4  ,though in 
a particular instance1 the circumstances
 which usually produce those natural    
affections1 as they are called1 may1 by 
some accident1 not have taken place1 yet
 respect for the general rule will      
frequently1 in some measure1 supply     
their place1 and produce something      
which1 though not altogether the same1  
may bear1 however1 a very considerable  
resemblance to those affections4 ,a     
father is apt to be less attached to a  
child1 who1 by some accident1 has been  
separated from him in its infancy1 and  
who does not return to him till it is   
grown up to manhood4 ,the father is apt 
to feel less paternal tenderness for the
 child2 the child1 less filial reverence
 for the father4 ,brothers and sisters1 
when they have been educated in distant 
countries1 are apt to feel a similar    
diminution of affection4 ,with the      
dutiful and the virtuous1 however1      
respect for the general rule will       
frequently produce something which1     

though by no means the same1 yet may    
very much resemble those natural        
affections4 ,even during the separation1
 the father and the child1 the brothers 
or the sisters1 are by no means         
indifferent to one another4 ,they all   
consider one another as persons to and  
from whom certain affections are due1   
and they live in the hopes of being some
 time or another in a situation to enjoy
 that friendship which ought naturally  
to have taken place among persons so    
nearly connected4 ,till they meet1 the  
absent son1 the absent brother1 are     
frequently the favourite son1 the       
favourite brother4 ,they have never     
offended1 or1 if they have1 it is so    
long ago1 that the offence is forgotten1
 as some childish trick not worth the   
remembering4 ,every account they have   
heard of one another1 if conveyed by    
people of any tolerable good nature1 has
 been1 in the highest degree1 flattering
 and favourable4 ,the absent son1 the   
absent brother1 is not like other       

ordinary sons and brothers2 but an      
all-perfect son1 an all-perfect brother2
 and the most romantic hopes are        
entertained of the happiness to be      
enjoyed in the friendship and           
conversation of such persons4 ,when they
 meet1 it is #aif often with so strong a
 disposition to conceive that habitual  
sympathy which constitutes the family   
affection1 that they are very apt to    
fancy they have actually conceived it1  
and to behave to one another as if they 
had4 ,time and experience1 however1 ,i  
am afraid1 too frequently undeceive     
them4 ,upon a more familiar             
acquaintance1 they frequently discover  
in one another habits1 humours1 and     
inclinations1 different from what they  
expected1 to which1 from want of        
habitual sympathy1 from want of the real
 principle and foundation of what is    
properly called family-affection1 they  
cannot now easily accommodate           
themselves4 ,they have never lived in   
the situation which almost necessarily  

forces that easy accommodation1 and     
though they may now be sincerely        
desirous to assume it1 they have really 
become incapable of doing so4 ,their    
familiar conversation and intercourse   
soon become less pleasing to them1 and1 
upon that account1 less frequent4 ,they 
may continue to live with one another in
 the mutual exchange of all essential   
good offices1 and with every other      
external appearance of decent regard4   
,but that cordial satisfaction1 that    
delicious sympathy1 that confidential   
openness and ease1 which naturally take 
place in the conversation of those who  
have lived long and familiarly with one 
another1 it seldom happens that they can
 completely enjoy4  ,it is only1        
however1 with the dutiful and the       
virtuous1 that the general rule has even
 this slender authority4 ,with the      
dissipated1 the profligate1 and the     
vain1 it is entirely disregarded4 ,they 
are so far from respecting it1 that they
 seldom talk of it but with the most    

indecent derision2 and an early and long
 separation of this kind never fails to 
estrange them most completely from one  
another4 ,with such persons1 respect for
 the general rule can at best produce   
only a cold and affected civility 7a    
very slender semblance of real regard72 
and even this1 the slightest offence1   
the smallest opposition of interest1    
commonly puts an end to altogether4     
,the education of boys at distant great 
schools1 of young men at distant        
colleges1 of young ladies in distant    
nunneries and boarding-schools1 seems1  
in the higher ranks of life1 to have    
hurt most essentially the domestic      
morals1 and consequently the domestic   
happiness1 both of ,france and ,england4
 ,do you wish to educate your children  
to be dutiful to their parents1 to be   
kind and affectionate to their brothers 
and sisters8 put them under the         
necessity of being dutiful children1 of 
being kind and affectionate brothers and
 sisters3 educate them in your own      

house4 ,from their parent's house1 they 
may1 with propriety and advantage1 go   
out every day to attend public schools3 
but let their dwelling be always at     
home4 ,respect for you must always      
impose a very useful restraint upon     
their conduct2 and respect for them may 
frequently impose no useless restraint  
upon your own4 ,surely no acquirement1  
which can possibly be derived from what 
is called a public education1 can make  
any sort of compensation for what #aig  
is almost certainly and necessarily lost
 by it4 ,domestic education is the      
institution of nature2 public education1
 the contrivance of man4 ,it is surely  
unnecessary to say1 which is likely to  
be the wisest4  ,in some tragedies and  
romances1 we meet with many beautiful   
and interesting scenes1 founded upon    
what is called1 the force of blood1 or  
upon the wonderful affection which near 
relations are supposed to conceive for  
one another1 even before they know that 
they have any such connection4 ,this    

force of blood1 however1 ,i am afraid1  
exists no where but in tragedies and    
romances4 ,even in tragedies and        
romances1 it is never supposed to take  
place between any relations1 but those  
who are naturally bred up in the same   
house2 between parents and children1    
between brothers and sisters4 ,to       
imagine any such mysterious affection   
between cousins1 or even between aunts  
or uncles1 and nephews or nieces1 would 
be too ridiculous4  ,in pastoral        
countries1 and in all countries where   
the authority of law is not alone       
sufficient to give perfect security to  
every member of the state1 all the      
different branches of the same family   
commonly choose to live in the          
neighbourhood of one another4 ,their    
association is frequently necessary for 
their common defence4 ,they are all1    
from the highest to the lowest1 of more 
or less importance to one another4      
,their concord strengthens their        
necessary association3 their discord    

always weakens1 and might destroy it4   
,they have more intercourse with one    
another1 than with the members of any   
other tribe4 ,the remotest members of   
the same tribe claim some connection    
with one another2 and1 where all other  
circumstances are equal1 expect to be   
treated with more distinguished         
attention than is due to those who have 
no such pretensions4 ,it is not many    
years ago that1 in the ,highlands of    
,scotland1 the chieftain used to        
consider the poorest man of his clan1 as
 his cousin and relation4 ,the same     
extensive regard to kindred is said to  
take place among the ,tartars1 the      
,arabs1 the ,turkomans1 and1 ,i believe1
 among all other nations who are nearly 
in the same state of society in which   
the ,scots ,highlanders were about the  
beginning of the present century4  ,in  
commercial countries1 where the         
authority of law is always perfectly    
sufficient to protect the meanest man in
 the state1 the descendants of the same 

family1 having no such motive for       
keeping together1 naturally separate and
 disperse1 as interest or inclination   
may direct4 ,they soon cease to be of   
importance to one another2 and1 in a few
 generations1 not only lose all care    
about one another1 but all remembrance  
of their common origin1 and of the      
connection which took place among their 
ancestors4 ,regard for remote relations 
becomes1 in every country1 less and     
less1 according as this state of        
civilization has been longer and more   
completely established4 ,it has been    
longer and more completely established  
in ,england than in ,scotland2 and      
remote relations are1 accordingly1 more 
considered in the latter country than in
 the #aih former1 though1 in this       
respect1 the difference between the two 
countries is growing less and less every
 day4 ,great lords1 indeed1 are1 in     
every country1 proud of remembering and 
acknowledging their connection with one 
another1 however remote4 ,the           

remembrance of such illustrious         
relations flatters not a little the     
family pride of them all2 and it is     
neither from affection1 nor from any    
thing which resembles affection1 but    
from the most frivolous and childish of 
all vanities1 that this remembrance is  
so carefully kept up4 ,should some more 
humble1 though1 perhaps1 much nearer    
kinsman1 presume to put such great men  
in mind of his relation to their family1
 they seldom fail to tell him that they 
are bad genealogists1 and miserably     
ill-informed concerning their own family
 history4 ,it is not in that order that 
we are to expect any extraordinary      
extension of1 what is called1 natural   
affection4  ,i consider what is called  
natural affection as more the effect of 
the moral than of the supposed physical 
connection between the parent and the   
child4 ,a jealous husband1 indeed1      
notwithstanding the moral connection1   
notwithstanding the child's having been 
educated in his own house1 often        

regards1 with hatred and aversion1 that 
unhappy child which he supposes to be   
the offspring of his wife's infidelity4 
,it is the lasting monument of a most   
disagreeable adventure2 of his own      
dishonour1 and of the disgrace of his   
family4  ,among well-disposed people1   
the necessity or conveniency of mutual  
accommodation1 very frequently produces 
a friendship not unlike that which takes
 place among those who are born to live 
in the same family4 ,colleagues in      
office1 partners in trade1 call one     
another brothers2 and frequently feel   
towards one another as if they really   
were so4 ,their good agreement is an    
advantage to all2 and1 if they are      
tolerably reasonable people1 they are   
naturally disposed to agree4 ,we expect 
that they should do so2 and their       
disagreement is a sort of a small       
scandal4 ,the ,romans expressed this    
sort of attachment by the word          
necessitudo1 which1 from the etymology1 
seems to denote that it was imposed by  

the necessity of the situation4  ,even  
the trifling circumstance of living in  
the same neighbourhood1 has some effect 
of the same kind4 ,we respect the face  
of a man whom we see every day1 provided
 he has never offended us4 ,neighbours  
can be very convenient1 and they can be 
very troublesome1 to one another4 ,if   
they are good sort of people1 they are  
naturally disposed to agree4 ,we expect 
their good agreement2 and to be a bad   
neighbour is a very bad character4      
,there are certain small good offices1  
accordingly1 which are universally      
allowed to be due to a neighbour in     
preference to any other person who has  
no such connection4  ,this natural      
disposition to accommodate and to       
assimilate1 as much as we can1 our own  
sentiments1 principles1 and feelings1 to
 those which we see fixed and rooted in 
the persons whom we are obliged to live 
and converse a great deal with1 is the  
cause of the contagious effects of both 
#aii good and bad company4 ,the man who 

associates chiefly with the wise and the
 virtuous1 though he may not himself    
become either wise or virtuous1 cannot  
help conceiving a certain respect at    
least for wisdom and virtue2 and the man
 who associates chiefly with the        
profligate and the dissolute1 though he 
may not himself become profligate and   
dissolute1 must soon lose1 at least1 all
 his original abhorrence of profligacy  
and dissolution of manners4 ,the        
similarity of family characters1 which  
we so frequently see transmitted through
 several successive generations1 may1   
perhaps1 be partly owing to this        
disposition to assimilate ourselves to  
those whom we are obliged to live and   
converse a great deal with4 ,the family 
character1 however1 like the family     
countenance1 seems to be owing1 not     
altogether to the moral1 but partly too 
to the physical connection4 ,the family 
countenance is certainly altogether     
owing to the latter4  ,but of all       
attachments to an individual1 that which

 is founded altogether upon esteem and  
approbation of his good conduct and     
behaviour1 confirmed by much experience 
and long acquaintance1 is1 by far1 the  
most respectable4 ,such friendships1    
arising not from a constrained sympathy1
 not from a sympathy which has been     
assumed and rendered habitual for the   
sake of convenience and accommodation2  
but from a natural sympathy1 from an    
involuntary feeling that the persons to 
whom we attach ourselves are the natural
 and proper objects of esteem and       
approbation2 can exist only among men of
 virtue4 ,men of virtue only can feel   
that entire confidence in the conduct   
and behaviour of one another1 which can1
 at all times1 assure them that they can
 never either offend or be offended by  
one another4 ,vice is always capricious3
 virtue only is regular and orderly4    
,the attachment which is founded upon   
the love of virtue1 as it is certainly1 
of all attachments1 the most virtuous2  
so it is likewise the happiest1 as well 

as the most permanent and secure4 ,such 
friendships need not be confined to a   
single person1 but may safely embrace   
all the wise and virtuous1 with whom we 
have been long and intimately           
acquainted1 and upon whose wisdom and   
virtue we can1 upon that account1       
entirely depend4 ,they who would confine
 friendship to two persons1 seem to     
confound the wise security of friendship
 with the jealousy and folly of love4   
,the hasty1 fond1 and foolish intimacies
 of young people1 founded1 commonly1    
upon some slight similarity of          
character1 altogether unconnected with  
good conduct1 upon a taste1 perhaps1 for
 the same studies1 the same amusements1 
the same diversions1 or upon their      
agreement in some singular principle or 
opinion1 not commonly adopted2 those    
intimacies which a freak begins1 and    
which a freak puts an end to1 how       
agreeable soever they may appear while  
they last1 can by no means deserve the  
sacred and the venerable name of        

friendship4  ,of all the persons1       
however1 whom nature points out for our 
peculiar beneficence1 there are none to 
whom it seems more properly directed    
#bjj than to those whose beneficence we 
have ourselves already experienced4     
,nature1 which formed men for that      
mutual kindness so necessary for their  
happiness1 renders every man the        
peculiar object of kindness to the      
persons to whom he himself has been     
kind4 ,though their gratitude should not
 always correspond to his beneficence1  
yet the sense of his merit1 the         
sympathetic gratitude of the impartial  
spectator1 will always correspond to it4
 ,the general indignation of other      
people against the baseness of their    
ingratitude will even1 sometimes1       
increase the general sense of his merit4
 ,no benevolent man ever lost altogether
 the fruits of his benevolence4 ,if he  
does not always gather them from the    
persons from whom he ought to have      
gathered them1 he seldom fails to gather

 them1 and with a tenfold increase1 from
 other people4 ,kindness is the parent  
of kindness2 and if to be beloved by our
 brethren be the great object of our    
ambition1 the surest way of obtaining it
 is1 by our conduct to show that we     
really love them4  ,after the persons   
who are recommended to our beneficence1 
either their connection with ourselves1 
by their personal qualities1 or by their
 past services1 come those who are      
pointed out1 not indeed to1 what is     
called1 our friendship1 but to our      
benevolent attention and good offices2  
those who are distinguished by their    
extraordinary situation2 the greatly    
fortunate and the greatly unfortunate1  
the rich and the powerful1 the poor and 
the wretched4 ,the distinction of ranks1
 the peace and order of society1 are1 in
 a great measure1 founded upon the      
respect which we naturally conceive for 
the former4 ,the relief and consolation 
of human misery depend altogether upon  
our compassion for the latter4 ,the     

peace and order of society1 is of more  
importance than even the relief of the  
miserable4 ,our respect for the great1  
accordingly1 is most apt to offend by   
its excess2 our fellow-feeling for the  
miserable1 by its defect4 ,moralists    
exhort us to charity and compassion4    
,they warn us against the fascination of
 greatness4 ,this fascination1 indeed1  
is so powerful1 that the rich and the   
great are too often preferred to the    
wise and the virtuous4 ,nature has      
wisely judged that the distinction of   
ranks1 the peace and order of society1  
would rest more securely upon the plain 
and palpable difference of birth and    
fortune1 than upon the invisible and    
often uncertain difference of wisdom and
 virtue4 ,the undistinguishing eyes of  
the great mob of mankind can well enough
 perceive the former3 it is with        
difficulty that the nice discernment of 
the wise and the virtuous can sometimes 
distinguish the latter4 ,in the order of
 all those recommendations to virtue1   

the benevolent wisdom of nature is      
equally evident4  ,it may1 perhaps1 be  
unnecessary to observe1 that the        
combination of two or more of those     
exciting causes of kindness1 increases  
the kindness4 ,the favour and partiality
 which1 when there is no envy in the    
case1 we naturally bear to greatness1   
are much increased when it is joined    
with wisdom and virtue4 ,if1            
notwithstanding that wisdom and #bja    
virtue1 the great man should fall into  
those misfortunes1 those dangers and    
distresses1 to which the most exalted   
stations are often the most exposed1 we 
are much more deeply interested in his  
fortune than we should be in that of a  
person equally virtuous1 but in a more  
humble situation4 ,the most interesting 
subjects of tragedies and romances are  
the misfortunes of virtuous and         
magnanimous kings and princes4 ,if1 by  
the wisdom and manhood of their         
exertions1 they should extricate        
themselves from those misfortunes1 and  

recover completely their former         
superiority and security1 we cannot help
 viewing them with the most enthusiastic
 and even extravagant admiration4 ,the  
grief which we felt for their distress1 
the joy which we feel for their         
prosperity1 seem to combine together in 
enhancing that partial admiration which 
we naturally conceive both for the      
station and the character4  ,when those 
different beneficent affections happen  
to draw different ways1 to determine by 
any precise rules in what cases we ought
 to comply with the one1 and in what    
with the other1 is1 perhaps1 altogether 
impossible4 ,in what cases friendship   
ought to yield to gratitude1 or         
gratitude to friendship2 in what cases  
the strongest of all natural affections 
ought to yield to a regard for the      
safety of those superiors upon whose    
safety often depends that of the whole  
society2 and in what cases natural      
affection may1 without impropriety1     
prevail over that regard2 must be left  

altogether to the decision of the man   
within the breast1 the supposed         
impartial spectator1 the great judge and
 arbiter of our conduct4 ,if we place   
ourselves completely in his situation1  
if we really view ourselves with his    
eyes1 and as he views us1 and listen    
with diligent and reverential attention 
to what he suggests to us1 his voice    
will never deceive us4 ,we shall stand  
in need of no casuistic rules to direct 
our conduct4 ,these it is often         
impossible to accommodate to all the    
different shades and gradations of      
circumstance1 character1 and situation1 
to differences and distinctions which1  
though not imperceptible1 are1 by their 
nicety and delicacy1 often altogether   
undefinable4 ,in that beautiful tragedy 
of ,voltaire1 the ,orphan of ,china1    
while we admire the magnanimity of      
,zamti1 who is willing to sacrifice the 
life of his own child1 in order to      
preserve that of the only feeble remnant
 of his ancient sovereigns and masters2 

we not only pardon1 but love the        
maternal tenderness of ,idame1 who1 at  
the risk of discovering the important   
secret of her husband1 reclaims her     
infant from the cruel hands of the      
,tartars1 into which it had been        
delivered4  -----  ,,chap4 ,,ii4--,of   
the ,order in which ,societies are by   
,nature recommended to our ,beneficence4
   ,,the same principles that direct the
 order in which individuals are         
recommended to our beneficence1 direct  
that likewise in which societies #bjb   
are recommended to it4 ,those to which  
it is1 or may be of most importance1 are
 first and principally recommended to   
it4  ,the state or sovereignty in which 
we have been born and educated1 and     
under the protection of which we        
continue to live1 is1 in ordinary cases1
 the greatest society upon whose        
happiness or misery our good or bad     
conduct can have much influence4 ,it is 
accordingly1 by nature1 most strongly   
recommended to us4 ,not only we         

ourselves1 but all the objects of our   
kindest affections1 our children1 our   
parents1 our relations1 our friends1 our
 benefactors1 all those whom we         
naturally love and revere the most1 are 
commonly comprehended within it2 and    
their prosperity and safety depend in   
some measure upon its prosperity and    
safety4 ,it is by nature1 therefore1    
endeared to us1 not only by all our     
selfish1 but by all our private         
benevolent affections4 ,upon account of 
our own connexion with it1 its          
prosperity and glory seem to reflect    
some sort of honour upon ourselves4     
,when we compare it with other societies
 of the same kind1 we are proud of its  
superiority1 and mortified in some      
degree if it appears in any respect     
below them4 ,all the illustrious        
characters which it has produced in     
former times 7for against those of our  
own times envy may sometimes prejudice  
us a little71 its warriors1 its         
statesmen1 its poets1 its philosophers1 

and men of letters of all kinds2 we are 
disposed to view with the most partial  
admiration1 and to rank them 7sometimes 
most unjustly7 above those of all other 
nations4 ,the patriot who lays down his 
life for the safety1 or even for the    
vain-glory of this society1 appears to  
act with the most exact propriety4 ,he  
appears to view himself in the light in 
which the impartial spectator naturally 
and necessarily views him1 as but one of
 the multitude1 in the eye of that      
equitable judge1 of no more consequence 
than any other in it1 but bound at all  
times to sacrifice and devote himself to
 the safety1 to the service1 and even to
 the glory of the greater number4 ,but  
though this sacrifice appears to be     
perfectly just and proper1 we know how  
difficult it is to make it1 and how few 
people are capable of making it4 ,his   
conduct1 therefore1 excites not only our
 entire approbation1 but our highest    
wonder and admiration1 and seems to     
merit all the applause which can be due 

to the most heroic virtue4 ,the traitor1
 on the contrary1 who1 in some peculiar 
situation1 fancies he can promote his   
own little interest by betraying to the 
public enemy that of his native country2
 who1 regardless of the judgment of the 
man within the breast1 prefers himself1 
in this respect so shamefully and so    
basely1 to all those with whom he has   
any connexion2 appears to be of all     
villains the most detestable4  ,the love
 of our own nation often disposes us to 
view1 with the most malignant jealousy  
and envy1 the prosperity and            
aggrandisement of any other neighbouring
 nation4 ,independent and neighbouring  
nations1 having no common superior to   
decide their disputes1 all live in      
continual dread and suspicion of one    
another4 ,each sovereign1 expecting #bjc
 little justice from his neighbours1 is 
disposed to treat them with as little as
 he expects from them4 ,the regard for  
the laws of nations1 or for those rules 
which independent states profess or     

pretend to think themselves bound to    
observe in their dealings with one      
another1 is often very little more than 
mere pretence and profession4 ,from the 
smallest interest1 upon the slightest   
provocation1 we see those rules every   
day1 either evaded or directly violated 
without shame or remorse4 ,each nation  
foresees1 or imagines it foresees1 its  
own subjugation in the increasing power 
and aggrandisement of any of its        
neighbours2 and the mean principle of   
national prejudice is often founded upon
 the noble one of the love of our own   
country4 ,the sentence with which the   
elder ,cato is said to have concluded   
every speech which he made in the       
senate1 whatever might be the subject1  
',it is my opinion likewise that        
,carthage ought to be destroyed1' was   
the natural expression of the savage    
patriotism of a strong but coarse mind1 
enraged almost to madness against a     
foreign nation from which his own had   
suffered so much4 ,the more humane      

sentence with which ,scipio ,nasica is  
said to have concluded all his speeches1
 ',it is my opinion likewise that       
,carthage ought not to be destroyed1'   
was the liberal expression of a more    
enlarged and enlightened mind1 who felt 
no aversion to the prosperity even of an
 old enemy1 when reduced to a state     
which could no longer be formidable to  
,rome4 ,france and ,england may each of 
them have some reason to dread the      
increase of the naval and military power
 of the other2 but for either of them to
 envy the internal happiness and        
prosperity of the other1 the cultivation
 of its lands1 the advancement of its   
manufactures1 the increase of its       
commerce1 the security and number of its
 ports and harbours1 its proficiency in 
all the liberal arts and sciences1 is   
surely beneath the dignity of two such  
great nations4 ,these are all real      
improvements of the world we live in4   
,mankind are benefited1 human nature is 
ennobled by them4 ,in such improvements 

each nation ought1 not only to endeavour
 itself to excel1 but from the love of  
mankind1 to promote1 instead of         
obstructing the excellence of its       
neighbours4 ,these are all proper       
objects of national emulation1 not of   
national prejudice or envy4  ,the love  
of our own country seems not to be      
derived from the love of mankind4 ,the  
former sentiment is altogether          
independent of the latter1 and seems    
sometimes even to dispose us to act     
inconsistently with it4 ,france may     
contain1 perhaps1 near three times the  
number of inhabitants which ,great      
,britain contains4 ,in the great society
 of mankind1 therefore1 the prosperity  
of ,france should appear to be an object
 of much greater importance than that of
 ,great ,britain4 ,the ,british subject1
 however1 who1 upon that account1 should
 prefer upon all occasions the          
prosperity of the former to that of the 
latter country1 would not be thought a  
good citizen of ,great ,britain4 ,we do 

not love our country merely as a part of
 the great society of mankind3 we love  
#bjd it for its own sake1 and           
independently of any such consideration4
 ,that wisdom which contrived the system
 of human affections1 as well as that of
 every other part of nature1 seems to   
have judged that the interest of the    
great society of mankind would be best  
promoted by directing the principal     
attention of each individual to that    
particular portion of it1 which was most
 within the sphere both of his abilities
 and of his understanding4  ,national   
prejudices and hatreds seldom extend    
beyond neighbouring nations4 ,we very   
weakly and foolishly1 perhaps1 call the 
,french our natural enemies2 and they   
perhaps1 as weakly and foolishly1       
consider us in the same manner4 ,neither
 they nor we bear any sort of envy to   
the prosperity of ,china or ,japan4 ,it 
very rarely happens1 however1 that our  
good-will towards such distant countries
 can be exerted with much effect4  ,the 

most extensive public benevolence which 
can commonly be exerted with any        
considerable effect1 is that of the     
statesmen1 who project and form         
alliances among neighbouring or not very
 distant nations1 for the preservation  
either of1 what is called1 the balance  
of power1 or of the general peace and   
tranquillity of the states within the   
circle of their negotiations4 ,the      
statesmen1 however1 who plan and execute
 such treaties1 have seldom anything in 
view1 but the interest of their         
respective countries4 ,sometimes1       
indeed1 their views are more extensive4 
,the ,count d',avaux1 the               
plenipotentiary of ,france1 at the      
treaty of ,munster1 would have been     
willing to sacrifice his life 7according
 to the ,cardinal de ,retz1 a man not   
over-credulous in the virtue of other   
people7 in order to have restored1 by   
that treaty1 the general tranquillity of
 ,europe4 ,king ,william seems to have  
had a zeal for the liberty and          

independency of the greater part of the 
sovereign states of ,europe2 which1     
perhaps1 might be a good deal stimulated
 by his particular aversion to ,france1 
the state from which1 during his time1  
that liberty and independency were      
principally in danger4 ,some share of   
the same spirit seems to have descended 
to the first ministry of ,queen ,anne4  
,every independent state is divided into
 many different orders and societies1   
each of which has its own particular    
powers1 privileges1 and immunities4     
,every individual is naturally more     
attached to his own particular order or 
society1 than to any other4 ,his own    
interest1 his own vanity1 the interest  
and vanity of many of his friends and   
companions1 are commonly a good deal    
connected with it4 ,he is ambitious to  
extend its privileges and immunities4   
,he is zealous to defend them against   
the encroachments of every other order  
of society4  ,upon the manner in which  
any state is divided into the different 

orders and societies which compose it1  
and upon the particular distribution    
which has been made of their respective 
powers1 privileges1 and immunities1     
depends1 what is called1 the            
constitution of that particular state4  
#bje ,upon the ability of each          
particular order or society to maintain 
its own powers1 privileges1 and         
immunities1 against the encroachments of
 every other1 depends the stability of  
that particular constitution4 ,that     
particular constitution is necessarily  
more or less altered1 whenever any of   
its subordinate parts is either raised  
above or depressed below whatever had   
been its former rank and condition4     
,all those different orders and         
societies are dependent upon the state  
to which they owe their security and    
protection4 ,that they are all          
subordinate to that state1 and          
established only in subserviency to its 
prosperity and preservation1 is a truth 
acknowledged by the most partial member 

of every one of them4 ,it may often1    
however1 be hard to convince him that   
the prosperity and preservation of the  
state requires any diminution of the    
powers1 privileges1 and immunities of   
his own particular order of society4    
,this partiality1 though it may         
sometimes be unjust1 may not1 upon that 
account1 be useless4 ,it checks the     
spirit of innovation4 ,it tends to      
preserve whatever is the established    
balance among the different orders and  
societies into which the state is       
divided2 and while it sometimes appears 
to obstruct some alterations of         
government which may be fashionable and 
popular at the time1 it contributes in  
reality to the stability and permanency 
of the whole system4  ,the love of our  
country seems1 in ordinary cases1 to    
involve in it two different principles2 
first1 a certain respect and reverence  
for that constitution or form of        
government which is actually            
established2 and secondly1 an earnest   

desire to render the condition of our   
fellow-citizens as safe1 respectable1   
and happy as we can4 ,he is not a       
citizen who is not disposed to respect  
the laws and to obey the civil          
magistrate2 and he is certainly not a   
good citizen who does not wish to       
promote1 by every means in his power1   
the welfare of the whole society of his 
fellow citizens4  ,in peaceable and     
quiet times1 those two principles       
generally coincide and lead to the same 
conduct4 ,the support of the established
 government seems evidently the best    
expedient for maintaining the safe1     
respectable1 and happy situation of our 
fellow-citizens2 when we see that this  
government actually maintains them in   
that situation4 ,but in times of public 
discontent1 faction1 and disorder1 those
 two different principles may draw      
different ways1 and even a wise man may 
be disposed to think some alteration    
necessary in that constitution or form  
of government1 which1 in its actual     

condition1 appears plainly unable to    
maintain the public tranquillity4 ,in   
such cases1 however1 it often requires1 
perhaps1 the highest effort of political
 wisdom to determine when a real patriot
 ought to support and endeavour to      
re-establish the authority of the old   
system1 and when we ought to give way to
 the more daring1 but often dangerous1  
spirit of innovation4  ,foreign war and 
civil faction are the two situations    
which afford the most splendid          
opportunities for the display of public 
spirit4 ,the hero #bjf who serves his   
country successfully in foreign war     
gratifies the wishes of the whole       
nation1 and is1 upon that account1 the  
object of universal gratitude and       
admiration4 ,in times of civil discord1 
the leaders of the contending parties1  
though they may be admired by one half  
of their fellow-citizens1 are commonly  
execrated by the other4 ,their          
characters and the merit of their       
respective services appear commonly more

 doubtful4 ,the glory which is acquired 
by foreign war is1 upon this account1   
almost always more pure and more        
splendid than that which can be acquired
 in civil faction4  ,the leader of the  
successful party1 however1 if he has    
authority enough to prevail upon his own
 friends to act with proper temper and  
moderation 7which he frequently has     
not71 may sometimes render to his       
country a service much more essential   
and important than the greatest         
victories and the most extensive        
conquests4 ,he may re-establish and     
improve the constitution1 and from the  
very doubtful and ambiguous character of
 the leader of a party1 he may assume   
the greatest and noblest of all         
characters1 that of the reformer and    
legislator of a great state2 and1 by the
 wisdom of his institutions1 secure the 
internal tranquillity and happiness of  
his fellow-citizens for many succeeding 
generations4  ,amidst the turbulence and
 disorder of faction1 a certain spirit  

of system is apt to mix itself with that
 public spirit which is founded upon the
 love of humanity1 upon a real          
fellow-feeling with the inconveniencies 
and distresses to which some of our     
fellow-citizens may be exposed4 ,this   
spirit of system commonly takes the     
direction of that more gentle public    
spirit1 always animates it1 and often   
inflames it even to the madness of      
fanaticism4 ,the leaders of the         
discontented party seldom fail to hold  
out some plausible plan of reformation  
which1 they pretend1 will not only      
remove the inconveniencies and relieve  
the distresses immediately complained   
of1 but will prevent1 in all time       
coming1 any return of the like          
inconveniencies and distresses4 ,they   
often propose1 upon this account1 to new
 model the constitution1 and to alter1  
in some of its most essential parts1    
that system of government under which   
the subjects of a great empire have     
enjoyed1 perhaps1 peace1 security1 and  

even glory1 during the course of several
 centuries together4 ,the great body of 
the party are commonly intoxicated with 
the imaginary beauty of this ideal      
system1 of which they have no           
experience1 but which has been          
represented to them in all the most     
dazzling colours in which the eloquence 
of their leaders could paint it4 ,those 
leaders themselves1 though they         
originally may have meant nothing but   
their own aggrandisement1 become many of
 them in time the dupes of their own    
sophistry1 and are as eager for this    
great reformation as the weakest and    
most foolish of their followers4 ,even  
though the leaders should have preserved
 their own heads1 as indeed they        
commonly do1 free from this fanaticism1 
yet they dare not always disappoint the 
expectation of their #bjg followers2 but
 are often obliged1 though contrary to  
their principle and their conscience1 to
 act as if they were under the common   
delusion4 ,the violence of the party1   

refusing all palliatives1 all           
temperaments1 all reasonable            
accommodations1 by requiring too much   
frequently obtains nothing2 and those   
inconveniencies and distresses which1   
with a little moderation1 might in a    
great measure have been removed and     
relieved1 are left altogether without   
the hope of a remedy4  ,the man whose   
public spirit is prompted altogether by 
humanity and benevolence1 will respect  
the established powers and privileges   
even of individuals1 and still more     
those of the great orders and societies1
 into which the state is divided4       
,though he should consider some of them 
as in some measure abusive1 he will     
content himself with moderating what he 
often cannot annihilate without great   
violence4 ,when he cannot conquer the   
rooted prejudices of the people by      
reason and persuasion1 he will not      
attempt to subdue them by force2 but    
will religiously observe what1 by       
,cicero1 is justly called the divine    

maxim of ,plato1 never to use violence  
to his country no more than to his      
parents4 ,he will accommodate1 as well  
as he can1 his public arrangements to   
the confirmed habits and prejudices of  
the people2 and will remedy1 as well as 
he can1 the inconveniencies which may   
flow from the want of those regulations 
which the people are averse to submit   
to4 ,when he cannot establish the right1
 he will not disdain to ameliorate the  
wrong2 but like ,solon1 when he cannot  
establish the best system of laws1 he   
will try to establish the best that the 
people can bear4  ,the man of system1 on
 the contrary1 is apt to be very wise in
 his own conceit3 and is often so       
enamoured with the supposed beauty of   
his own ideal plan of government1 that  
he cannot suffer the smallest deviation 
from any part of it4 ,he goes on to     
establish it completely and in all its  
parts1 without any regard either to the 
great interests1 or to the strong       
prejudices which may oppose it4 ,he     

seems to imagine that he can arrange the
 different members of a great society   
with as much ease as the hand arranges  
the different pieces upon a chess-board4
 ,he does not consider that the pieces  
upon the chess-board have no other      
principle of motion besides that which  
the hand impresses upon them2 but that1 
in the great chess-board of human       
society1 every single piece has a       
principle of motion of its own1         
altogether different from that which the
 legislature might choose to impress    
upon it4 ,if those two principles       
coincide and act in the same direction1 
the game of human society will go on    
easily and harmoniously1 and is very    
likely to be happy and successful4 ,if  
they are opposite or different1 the game
 will go on miserably1 and human society
 must be at all times in the highest    
degree of disorder4  ,some general1 and 
even systematical1 idea of the          
perfection of policy and law1 may no    
doubt be necessary for directing the    

views of the statesman4 ,but to insist  
upon establishing1 and upon establishing
 all #bjh at once1 and in spite of all  
opposition1 every thing which that idea 
may seem to require1 must often be the  
highest degree of arrogance4 ,it is to  
erect his own judgment into the supreme 
standard of right and wrong4 ,it is to  
fancy himself the only wise and worthy  
man in the commonwealth1 and that his   
fellow-citizens should accommodate      
themselves to him and not he to them4   
,it is upon this account1 that of all   
political speculators1 sovereign princes
 are by far the most dangerous4 ,this   
arrogance is perfectly familiar to them4
 ,they entertain no doubt of the immense
 superiority of their own judgment4     
,when such imperial and royal reformers1
 therefore1 condescend to contemplate   
the constitution of the country which is
 committed to their government1 they    
seldom see any thing so wrong in it as  
the obstructions which it may sometimes 
oppose to the execution of their own    

will4 ,they hold in contempt the divine 
maxim of ,plato1 and consider the state 
as made for themselves1 not themselves  
for the state4 ,the great object of     
their reformation1 therefore1 is to     
remove those obstructions2 to reduce the
 authority of the nobility2 to take away
 the privileges of cities and provinces1
 and to render both the greatest        
individuals and the greatest orders of  
the state1 as incapable of opposing     
their commands1 as the weakest and most 
insignificant4  -----  ,,chap4          
,,iii4--,of ,universal ,benevolence4    
,,though our effectual good offices can 
very seldom be extended to any wider    
society than that of our country2 our   
good-will is circumscribed by no        
boundary1 but may embrace the immensity 
of the universe4 ,we cannot form the    
idea of any innocent and sensible being1
 whose happiness we should not desire1  
or to whose misery1 when distinctly     
brought home to the imagination1 we     
should not have some degree of aversion4

 ,the idea of a mischievous1 though     
sensible1 being1 indeed1 naturally      
provokes our hatred3 but the ill-will   
which1 in this case1 we bear to it1 is  
really the effect of our universal      
benevolence4 ,it is the effect of the   
sympathy which we feel with the misery  
and resentment of those other innocent  
and sensible beings1 whose happiness is 
disturbed by its malice4  ,this         
universal benevolence1 how noble and    
generous soever1 can be the source of no
 solid happiness to any man who is not  
thoroughly convinced that all the       
inhabitants of the universe1 the meanest
 as well as the greatest1 are under the 
immediate care and protection of that   
great1 benevolent1 and all-wise ,being1 
who directs all the movements of nature2
 and who is determined1 by his own      
unalterable perfections1 to maintain in 
it1 at all times1 the greatest possible 
quantity of happiness4 ,to this         
universal benevolence1 on the contrary1 
the very suspicion of a fatherless      

world1 must be the most melancholy of   
all reflections2 from the #bji thought  
that all the unknown regions of infinite
 and incomprehensible space may be      
filled with nothing but endless misery  
and wretchedness4 ,all the splendour of 
the highest prosperity can never        
enlighten the gloom with which so       
dreadful an idea must necessarily       
overshadow the imagination2 nor1 in a   
wise and virtuous man1 can all the      
sorrow of the most afflicting adversity 
ever dry up the joy which necessarily   
springs from the habitual and thorough  
conviction of the truth of the contrary 
system4  ,the wise and virtuous man is  
at all times willing that his own       
private interest should be sacrificed to
 the public interest of his own         
particular order or society4 ,he is at  
all times willing1 too1 that the        
interest of this order or society should
 be sacrificed to the greater interest  
of the state or sovereignty1 of which it
 is only a subordinate part4 ,he should1

 therefore1 be equally willing that all 
those inferior interests should be      
sacrificed to the greater interest of   
the universe1 to the interest of that   
great society of all sensible and       
intelligent beings1 of which ,god       
himself is the immediate administrator  
and director4 ,if he is deeply impressed
 with the habitual and thorough         
conviction that this benevolent and     
all-wise ,being can admit into the      
system of his government1 no partial    
evil which is not necessary for the     
universal good1 he must consider all the
 misfortunes which may befal himself1   
his friends1 his society1 or his        
country1 as necessary for the prosperity
 of the universe1 and therefore as what 
he ought1 not only to submit to with    
resignation1 but as what he himself1 if 
he had known all the connexions and     
dependencies of things1 ought sincerely 
and devoutly to have wished for4  ,nor  
does this magnanimous resignation to the
 will of the great ,director of the     

universe1 seem in any respect beyond the
 reach of human nature4 ,good soldiers1 
who both love and trust their general1  
frequently march with more gaiety and   
alacrity to the forlorn station1 from   
which they never expect to return1 than 
they would to one where there was       
neither difficulty nor danger4 ,in      
marching to the latter1 they could feel 
no other sentiment than that of the     
dulness of ordinary duty2 in marching to
 the former1 they feel that they are    
making the noblest exertion which it is 
possible for man to make4 ,they know    
that their general would not have       
ordered them upon this station1 had it  
not been necessary for the safety of the
 army1 for the success of the war4 ,they
 cheerfully sacrifice their own little  
systems to the prosperity of a greater  
system4 ,they take an affectionate leave
 of their comrades1 to whom they wish   
all happiness and success2 and march    
out1 not only with submissive obedience1
 but often with shouts of the most      

joyful exultation1 to that fatal1 but   
splendid and honourable station to which
 they are appointed4 ,no conductor of an
 army can deserve more unlimited trust1 
more ardent and zealous affection1 than 
the great ,conductor of the universe4   
,in the greatest public as well as      
private disasters1 a wise man ought to  
consider that he himself1 his friends   
and countrymen1 #baj have only been     
ordered upon the forlorn station of the 
universe2 that had it not been necessary
 for the good of the whole1 they would  
not have been so ordered2 and that it is
 their duty1 not only with humble       
resignation to submit to this allotment1
 but to endeavour to embrace it with    
alacrity and joy4 ,a wise man should    
surely be capable of doing what a good  
soldier holds himself at all times in   
readiness to do4  ,the idea of that     
divine ,being1 whose benevolence and    
wisdom have1 from all eternity1         
contrived and conducted the immense     
machine of the universe1 so as at all   

times to produce the greatest possible  
quantity of happiness1 is certainly of  
all the objects of human contemplation  
by far the most sublime4 ,every other   
thought necessarily appears mean in the 
comparison4 ,the man whom we believe to 
be principally occupied in this sublime 
contemplation1 seldom fails to be the   
object of our highest veneration2 and   
though his life should be altogether    
contemplative1 we often regard him with 
a sort of religious respect much        
superior to that with which we look upon
 the most active and useful servant of  
the commonwealth4 ,the ,meditations of  
,marcus ,antoninus1 which turn          
principally upon this subject1 have     
contributed more1 perhaps1 to the       
general admiration of his character1    
than all the different transactions of  
his just1 merciful1 and beneficent      
reign4  ,the administration of the great
 system of the universe1 however1 the   
care of the universal happiness of all  
rational and sensible beings1 is the    

business of ,god and not of man4 ,to man
 is allotted a much humbler department1 
but one much more suitable to the       
weakness of his powers1 and to the      
narrowness of his comprehension2 the    
care of his own happiness1 of that of   
his family1 his friends1 his country3   
that he is occupied in contemplating the
 more sublime1 can never be an excuse   
for his neglecting the more humble      
department2 and he must not expose      
himself to the charge which ,avidius    
,cassius is said to have brought1       
perhaps unjustly1 against ,marcus       
,antoninus2 that while he employed      
himself in philosophical speculations1  
and contemplated the prosperity of the  
universe1 he neglected that of the      
,roman empire4 ,the most sublime        
speculation of the contemplative        
philosopher can scarce compensate the   
neglect of the smallest active duty4    
-----  ,,sec4 ,,iii4--,,of              
,,self-,,command4   ,,the man who acts  
according to the rules of perfect       

prudence1 of strict justice1 and of     
proper benevolence1 may be said to be   
perfectly virtuous4 ,but the most       
perfect knowledge of those rules will   
not alone enable him to act in this     
manner3 his own passions are very apt to
 mislead him3 sometimes to drive him and
 sometimes to seduce him to violate all 
the rules which he himself1 in all his  
sober and cool hours1 approves of4 ,the 
most perfect knowledge1 if it is not    
supported by the most perfect           
self-command1 will not always enable him
 to do his duty4  #baa ,some of the best
 of the ancient moralists seem to have  
considered those passions as divided    
into two different classes3 first1 into 
those which it requires a considerable  
exertion of self-command to restrain    
even for a single moment2 and secondly1 
into those which it is easy to restrain 
for a single moment1 or even for a short
 period of time2 but which1 by their    
continual and almost incessant          
solicitations1 are1 in the course of a  

life1 very apt to mislead into great    
deviations4  ,fear and anger1 together  
with some other passions which are mixed
 or connected with them1 constitute the 
first class4 ,the love of ease1 of      
pleasure1 of applause1 and of many other
 selfish gratifications1 constitute the 
second4 ,extravagant fear and furious   
anger1 it is often difficult to restrain
 even for a single moment4 ,the love of 
ease1 of pleasure1 of applause1 and     
other selfish gratifications1 it is     
always easy to restrain for a single    
moment1 or even for a short period of   
time2 but1 by their continual           
solicitations1 they often mislead us    
into many weaknesses which we have      
afterwards much reason to be ashamed of4
 ,the former set of passions may often  
be said to drive1 the latter to seduce  
us1 from our duty4 ,the command of the  
former was1 by the ancient moralists    
above alluded to1 denominated fortitude1
 manhood1 and strength of mind2 that of 
the latter1 temperance1 decency1        

modesty1 and moderation4  ,the command  
of each of those two sets of passions1  
independent of the beauty which it      
derives from its utility2 from its      
enabling us upon all occasions to act   
according to the dictates of prudence1  
of justice1 and of proper benevolence2  
has a beauty of its own1 and seems to   
deserve for its own sake a certain      
degree of esteem and admiration4 ,in the
 one case1 the strength and greatness of
 the exertion excites some degree of    
that esteem and admiration4 ,in the     
other1 the uniformity1 the equality and 
unremitting steadiness of that exertion4
  ,the man who1 in danger1 in torture1  
upon the approach of death1 preserves   
his tranquillity unaltered1 and suffers 
no word1 no gesture to escape him which 
does not perfectly accord with the      
feelings of the most indifferent        
spectator1 necessarily commands a very  
high degree of admiration4 ,if he       
suffers in the cause of liberty and     
justice1 for the sake of humanity and   

the love of his country1 the most tender
 compassion for his sufferings1 the     
strongest indignation against the       
injustice of his persecutors1 the       
warmest sympathetic gratitude for his   
beneficent intentions1 the highest sense
 of his merit1 all join and mix         
themselves with the admiration of his   
magnanimity1 and often inflame that     
sentiment into the most enthusiastic and
 rapturous veneration4 ,the heroes of   
ancient and modern history1 who are     
remembered with the most peculiar favour
 and affection1 are many of them those  
who1 in the cause of truth1 liberty1 and
 justice1 have perished upon the        
scaffold1 and who behaved there with    
that ease and dignity which became them4
 ,had the enemies of ,socrates suffered 
him to die quietly in his bed1 the #bab 
glory even of that great philosopher    
might possibly never have acquired that 
dazzling splendour in which it has been 
beheld in all succeeding ages4 ,in the  
,english history1 when we look over the 

illustrious heads which have been       
engraven by ,vertue and ,howbraken1     
there is scarce any body1 ,i imagine1   
who does not feel that the axe1 the     
emblem of having been beheaded1 which is
 engraved under some of the most        
illustrious of them1 under those of the 
,sir ,thomas ,mores1 of the ,raleighs1  
the ,russels1 the ,sydneys1 c41 sheds a 
real dignity and depth of interest over 
the characters to which it is affixed1  
much superior to what they can derive   
from all the futile ornaments of        
heraldry1 with which they are sometimes 
accompanied4  ,nor does this magnanimity
 give lustre only to the characters of  
innocent and virtuous men4 ,it draws    
some degree of favourable regard even   
upon those of the greatest criminals2   
and when a robber or highwayman is      
brought to the scaffold1 and behaves    
there with decency and firmness1 though 
we perfectly approve of his punishment1 
we often cannot help regretting that a  
man who possessed such great and noble  

powers should have been capable of such 
mean enormities4  ,war is the great     
school both for acquiring and exercising
 this species of magnanimity4 ,death1 as
 we say1 is the king of terrors2 and the
 man who has conquered the fear of      
death1 is not likely to lose his        
presence of mind at the approach of any 
other natural evil4 ,in war1 men become 
familiar with death1 and are thereby    
necessarily cured of that superstitious 
horror with which it is viewed by the   
weak and inexperienced4 ,they consider  
it merely as the loss of life1 and as no
 further the object of aversion than as 
life may happen to be that of desire4   
,they learn from experience1 too1 that  
many seemingly great dangers are not so 
great as they appear2 and that1 with    
courage1 activity1 and presence of mind1
 there is often a good probability of   
extricating themselves with honour from 
situations where at first they could see
 no hope4 ,the dread of death is thus   
greatly diminished2 and the confidence  

or hope of escaping it1 augmented4 ,they
 learn to expose themselves to danger   
with less reluctance4 ,they are less    
anxious to get out of it1 and less apt  
to lose their presence of mind while    
they are in it4 ,it is this habitual    
contempt of danger and death which      
ennobles the profession of a soldier1   
and bestows upon it1 in the natural     
apprehensions of mankind1 a rank and    
dignity superior to that of any other   
profession2 and the skilful and         
successful exercise of this profession1 
in the service of their country1 seems  
to have constituted the most            
distinguishing feature in the character 
of the favourite heroes of all ages4    
,great warlike exploit1 though          
undertaken contrary to every principle  
of justice1 and carried on without any  
regard to humanity1 sometimes interests 
us1 and commands even some degree of a  
certain sort of esteem for the very     
worthless characters which conduct it4  
,we are #bac interested even in the     

exploits of the buccaneers2 and read    
with some sort of esteem and admiration1
 the history of the most worthless men1 
who1 in pursuit of the most criminal    
purposes1 endured greater hardships1    
surmounted greater difficulties1 and    
encountered greater dangers1 than       
perhaps any which the course of history 
gives an account of4  ,the command of   
anger appears upon many occasions not   
less generous and noble than that of    
fear4 ,the proper expression of just    
indignation composes many of the most   
splendid and admired passages both of   
ancient and modern eloquence4 ,the      
,philippics of ,demosthenes1 the        
,catalinarians of ,cicero1 derive their 
whole beauty from the noble propriety   
with which this passion is expressed4   
,but this just indignation is nothing   
but anger restrained and properly       
attempered to what the impartial        
spectator can enter into4 ,the          
blustering and noisy passion which goes 
beyond this1 is always odious and       

offensive1 and interests us1 not for the
 angry man1 but for the man with whom he
 is angry4 ,the nobleness of pardoning  
appears1 upon many occasions1 superior  
even to the most perfect propriety of   
resenting4 ,when either proper          
acknowledgments have been made by the   
offending party1 or even without any    
such acknowledgments1 when the public   
interest requires that the most mortal  
enemies should unite for the discharge  
of some important duty1 the man who can 
cast away all animosity1 and act with   
confidence and cordiality towards the   
person who had most grievously offended 
him1 does seem most justly to merit our 
highest admiration4  ,the command of    
anger1 however1 does not always appear  
in such splendid colours4 ,fear is      
contrary to anger1 and is often the     
motive which restrains it2 and in such  
cases the meanness of the motive takes  
away all the nobleness of the restraint4
 ,anger prompts to attack1 and the      
indulgence of it seems sometimes to show

 a sort of courage and superiority to   
fear4 ,the indulgence of anger is       
sometimes an object of vanity4 ,that of 
fear never is4 ,vain and weak men1 among
 their inferiors1 or those who dare not 
resist them1 often affect to be         
ostentatiously passionate1 and fancy    
that they show1 what is called1 spirit  
in being so4 ,a bully tells many stories
 of his own insolence1 which are not    
true1 and imagines that he thereby      
renders himself1 if not more amiable and
 respectable1 at least more formidable  
to his audience4 ,modern manners1 which1
 by favouring the practice of duelling1 
may be said1 in some cases1 to encourage
 private revenge1 contribute1 perhaps1 a
 good deal to render1 in modern times1  
the restraint of anger by fear still    
more contemptible than it might         
otherwise appear to be4 ,there is always
 something dignified in the command of  
fear1 whatever may be the motive upon   
which it is founded4 ,it is not so with 
the command of anger4 ,unless it is     

founded altogether in the sense of      
decency1 of dignity1 and propriety1 it  
never is perfectly agreeable4  ,to act  
according to the dictates of prudence1  
of justice1 and proper #bad beneficence1
 seems to have no great merit where     
there is no temptation to do otherwise4 
,but to act with cool deliberation in   
the midst of the greatest dangers and   
difficulties2 to observe religiously the
 sacred rules of justice in spite both  
of the greatest interests which might   
tempt1 and the greatest injuries which  
might provoke us to violate them2 never 
to suffer the benevolence of our temper 
to be damped or discouraged by the      
malignity and ingratitude of the        
individuals towards whom it may have    
been exercised2 is the character of the 
most exalted wisdom and virtue4         
,self-command is not only itself a great
 virtue1 but from it all the other      
virtues seem to derive their principal  
lustre4  ,the command of fear1 the      
command of anger1 are always great and  

noble powers4 ,when they are directed by
 justice and benevolence1 they are not  
only great virtues1 but increase the    
splendour of those other virtues4 ,they 
may1 however1 sometimes be directed by  
very different motives2 and in this     
case1 though still great and            
respectable1 they may be excessively    
dangerous4 ,the most intrepid valour may
 be employed in the cause of the        
greatest injustice4 ,amidst great       
provocations1 apparent tranquillity and 
good humour may sometimes conceal the   
most determined and cruel resolution to 
revenge4 ,the strength of mind requisite
 for such dissimulation1 though always  
and necessarily contaminated by the     
baseness of falsehood1 has1 however1    
been often much admired by many people  
of no contemptible judgment4 ,the       
dissimulation of ,catherine of ,medicis 
is often celebrated by the profound     
historian ,davila2 that of ,lord ,digby1
 afterwards ,earl of ,bristol1 by the   
grave and conscientious ,lord           

,clarendon2 that of the first ,ashley   
,earl of ,shaftesbury1 by the judicious 
,mr4 ,locke4 ,even ,cicero seems to     
consider this deceitful character1 not  
indeed as of the highest dignity1 but as
 not unsuitable to a certain flexibility
 of manners1 which1 he thinks may1      
notwithstanding1 be1 upon the whole1    
both agreeable and respectable4 ,he     
exemplifies it by the characters of     
,homer's ,ulysses1 of the ,athenian     
,themistocles1 of the ,spartan          
,lysander1 and of the ,roman ,marcus    
,crassus4 ,this character of dark and   
deep dissimulation occurs most commonly 
in times of great public disorder2      
amidst the violence of faction and civil
 war4 ,when law has become in a great   
measure impotent1 when the most perfect 
innocence cannot alone insure safety1   
regard to self-defence obliges the      
greatest part of men to have recourse to
 dexterity1 to address1 and to apparent 
accommodation to whatever happens to be1
 at the moment1 the prevailing party4   

,this false character1 too1 is          
frequently accompanied with the coolest 
and most determined courage4 ,the proper
 exercise of it supposes that courage1  
as death is commonly the certain        
consequence of detection4 ,it may be    
employed indifferently1 either to       
exasperate or to allay those furious    
animosities of adverse factions which   
impose the necessity of assuming it2 and
 though it may sometimes be useful1 it  
is at least equally liable to be        
excessively pernicious4  #bae ,the      
command of the less violent and         
turbulent passions seems much less      
liable to be abused to any pernicious   
purpose4 ,temperance1 decency1 modesty1 
and moderation1 are always amiable1 and 
can seldom be directed to any bad end4  
,it is from the unremitting steadiness  
of those gentler exertions of           
self-command1 that the amiable virtue of
 chastity1 that the respectable virtues 
of industry and frugality1 derive all   
that sober lustre which attends them4   

,the conduct of all those who are       
contented to walk in the humble paths of
 private and peaceable life1 derives    
from the same principle the greater part
 of the beauty and grace which belong to
 it2 a beauty and grace1 which1 though  
much less dazzling1 is not always less  
pleasing than those which accompany the 
more splendid actions of the hero1 the  
statesman1 or the legislator4  ,after   
what has already been said1 in several  
different parts of this discourse1      
concerning the nature of self-command1  
,i judge it unnecessary to enter into   
any further detail concerning those     
virtues4 ,i shall only observe at       
present1 that the point of propriety1   
the degree of any passion which the     
impartial spectator approves of1 is     
differently situated in different       
passions4 ,in some passions the excess  
is less disagreeable than the defect2   
and in such passions the point of       
propriety seems to stand high1 or nearer
 to the excess than to the defect4 ,in  

other passions1 the defect is less      
disagreeable than the excess2 and in    
such passions the point of propriety    
seems to stand low1 or nearer to the    
defect than to the excess4 ,the former  
are the passions which the spectator is 
most1 the latter1 those which he is     
least disposed to sympathize with4 ,the 
former1 too1 are the passions of which  
the immediate feeling or sensation is   
agreeable to the person principally     
concerned2 the latter1 those of which it
 is disagreeable4 ,it may be laid down  
as a general rule1 that the passions    
which the spectator is most disposed to 
sympathize with1 and in which1 upon that
 account1 the point of propriety may be 
said to stand high1 are those of which  
the immediate feeling or sensation is   
more or less agreeable to the person    
principally concerned3 and that1 on the 
contrary1 the passions which the        
spectator is least disposed to          
sympathize with1 and in which1 upon that
 account1 the point of propriety may be 

said to stand low1 are those of which   
the immediate feeling or sensation is   
more or less disagreeable1 or even      
painful1 to the person principally      
concerned4 ,this general rule1 so far as
 ,i have been able to observe1 admits   
not of a single exception4 ,a few       
examples will at once both sufficiently 
explain it and demonstrate the truth of 
it4  ,the disposition to the affections 
which tend to unite men in society to   
humanity1 kindness1 natural affection1  
friendship1 esteem1 may sometimes be    
excessive4 ,even the excess of this     
disposition1 however1 renders a man     
interesting to every body4 ,though we   
blame it1 we still regard it with       
compassion1 and even with kindness1 and 
never with dislike4 ,we are more sorry  
for it than angry at it4 ,to the person 
#baf himself1 the indulgence even of    
such excessive affections is1 upon many 
occasions1 not only agreeable1 but      
delicious4 ,upon some occasions1 indeed1
 especially when directed1 as is too    

often the case1 towards unworthy        
objects1 it exposes him to much real and
 heartfelt distress4 ,even upon such    
occasions1 however1 a well-disposed mind
 regards him with the most exquisite    
pity1 and feels the highest indignation 
against those who affect to despise him 
for his weakness and imprudence4 ,the   
defect of this disposition1 on the      
contrary1 what is called hardness of    
heart1 while it renders a man insensible
 to the feelings and distresses of other
 people1 renders other people equally   
insensible to his2 and1 by excluding him
 from the friendship of all the world1  
excludes him from the best and most     
comfortable of all social enjoyments4   
,the disposition to the affections which
 drive men from one another1 and which  
tend1 as it were1 to break the bands of 
human society2 the disposition to anger1
 hatred1 envy1 malice1 revenge2 is1 on  
the contrary1 much more apt to offend by
 its excess than by its defect4 ,the    
excess renders a man wretched and       

miserable in his own mind1 and the      
object of hatred1 and sometimes even of 
horror1 to other people4 ,the defect is 
very seldom complained of4 ,it may1     
however1 be defective4 ,the want of     
proper indignation is a most essential  
defect in the manly character1 and1 upon
 many occasions1 renders a man incapable
 of protecting either himself or his    
friends from insult and injustice4 ,even
 that principle1 in the excess and      
improper direction of which consists the
 odious and detestable passion of envy1 
may be defective4 ,envy is that passion 
which views with malignant dislike the  
superiority of those who are really     
entitled to all the superiority they    
possess4 ,the man1 however1 who1 in     
matters of consequence1 tamely suffers  
other people1 who are entitled to no    
such superiority1 to rise above him or  
get before him1 is justly condemned as  
mean-spirited4 ,this weakness is        
commonly founded in indolence1 sometimes
 in good nature1 in an aversion to      

opposition1 to bustle and solicitation1 
and sometimes1 too1 in a sort of        
ill-judged magnanimity1 which fancies   
that it can always continue to despise  
the advantage which it then despises1   
and1 therefore1 so easily gives up4     
,such weakness1 however1 is commonly    
followed by much regret and repentance2 
and what had some appearance of         
magnanimity in the beginning frequently 
gives place to a most malignant envy in 
the end1 and to a hatred of that        
superiority1 which those who have once  
attained it1 may often become really    
entitled to1 by the very circumstance of
 having attained it4 ,in order to live  
comfortably in the world1 it is1 upon   
all occasions1 as necessary to defend   
our dignity and rank1 as it is to defend
 our life or our fortune4  ,our         
sensibility to personal danger and      
distress1 like that to personal         
provocation1 is much more apt to offend 
by its excess than by its defect4 ,no   
character is more contemptible than that

 of a coward2 no character is more      
admired than that of the man who faces  
death with intrepidity1 #bag and        
maintains his tranquillity and presence 
of mind amidst the most dreadful        
dangers4 ,we esteem the man who supports
 pain and even torture with manhood and 
firmness2 and we can have little regard 
for him who sinks under them1 and       
abandons himself to useless outcries and
 womanish lamentations4 ,a fretful      
temper1 which feels1 with too much      
sensibility1 every little cross         
accident1 renders a man miserable in    
himself and offensive to other people4  
,a calm one1 which does not allow its   
tranquillity to be disturbed1 either by 
the small injuries1 or by the little    
disasters incident to the usual course  
of human affairs2 but which1 amidst the 
natural and moral evils infesting the   
world1 lays its account and is contented
 to suffer a little from both1 is a     
blessing to the man himself1 and gives  
ease and security to all his companions4

  ,our sensibility1 however1 both to our
 own injuries and to our own            
misfortunes1 though generally too       
strong1 may likewise be too weak4 ,the  
man who feels little for his own        
misfortunes1 must always feel less for  
those of other people1 and be less      
disposed to relieve them4 ,the man who  
has little resentment for the injuries  
which are done to himself1 must always  
have less for those which are done to   
other people1 and be less disposed      
either to protect or to avenge them4 ,a 
stupid insensibility to the events of   
human life necessarily extinguishes all 
that keen and earnest attention to the  
propriety of our own conduct1 which     
constitutes the real essence of virtue4 
,we can feel little anxiety about the   
propriety of our own actions1 when we   
are indifferent about the events which  
may result from them4 ,the man who feels
 the full distress of the calamity which
 has befallen him1 who feels the whole  
baseness of the injustice which has been

 done to him1 but who feels still more  
strongly what the dignity of his own    
character requires2 who does not abandon
 himself to the guidance of the         
undisciplined passions which his        
situation might naturally inspire2 but  
who governs his whole behaviour and     
conduct according to those restrained   
and corrected emotions which the great  
inmate1 the great demi-god within the   
breast prescribes and approves of2 is   
alone the real man of virtue1 the only  
real and proper object of love1 respect1
 and admiration4 ,insensibility and that
 noble firmness1 that exalted           
self-command1 which is founded in the   
sense of dignity and propriety1 are so  
far from being altogether the same1 that
 in proportion as the former takes      
place1 the merit of the latter is1 in   
many cases1 entirely taken away4  ,but  
though the total want of sensibility to 
personal injury1 to personal danger and 
distress1 would1 in such situations1    
take away the whole merit of            

self-command1 that sensibility1 however1
 may very easily be too exquisite1 and  
it frequently is so4 ,when the sense of 
propriety1 when the authority of the    
judge within the breast1 can control    
this extreme sensibility1 that authority
 must no doubt appear very noble and    
very great4 ,but the exertion of it may 
be too fatiguing2 it may have too much  
to do4 ,the individual1 by a great      
effort1 may behave perfectly #bah well4 
,but the contest between the two        
principles1 the warfare within the      
breast1 may be too violent to be at all 
consistent with internal tranquillity   
and happiness4 ,the wise man whom       
,nature has endowed with this too       
exquisite sensibility1 and whose too    
lively feelings have not been           
sufficiently blunted and hardened by    
early education and proper exercise1    
will avoid1 as much as duty and         
propriety will permit1 the situations   
for which he is not perfectly fitted4   
,the man whose feeble and delicate      

constitution renders him too sensible to
 pain1 to hardship1 and to every sort of
 bodily distress1 should not wantonly   
embrace the profession of a soldier4    
,the man of too much sensibility to     
injury1 should not rashly engage in the 
contests of faction4 ,though the sense  
of propriety should be strong enough to 
command all those sensibilities1 the    
composure of the mind must always be    
disturbed in the struggle4 ,in this     
disorder the judgment cannot always     
maintain its ordinary acuteness and     
precision2 and though he may always mean
 to act properly1 he may often act      
rashly and imprudently1 and in a manner 
which he himself will1 in the succeeding
 part of his life1 be for ever ashamed  
of4 ,a certain intrepidity1 a certain   
firmness of nerves and hardiness of     
constitution1 whether natural or        
acquired1 are undoubtedly the best      
preparatives for all the great exertions
 of self-command4  ,though war and      
faction are certainly the best schools  

for forming every man to this hardiness 
and firmness of temper1 though they are 
the best remedies for curing him of the 
opposite weaknesses1 yet1 if the day of 
trial should happen to come before he   
has completely learned his lesson1      
before the remedy has had time to       
produce its proper effect1 the          
consequences might not be agreeable4    
,our sensibility to the pleasures1 to   
the amusements1 and enjoyments of human 
life1 may offend1 in the same manner1   
either by its excess or by its defect4  
,of the two1 however1 the excess seems  
less disagreeable than the defect4 ,both
 to the spectator and to the person     
principally concerned1 a strong         
propensity to joy is certainly more     
pleasing than a dull insensibility to   
the objects of amusement and diversion4 
,we are charmed with the gaiety of      
youth1 and even with the playfulness of 
childhood3 but we soon grow weary of the
 flat and tasteless gravity which too   
frequently accompanies old age4 ,when   

this propensity1 indeed1 is not         
restrained by the sense of propriety1   
when it is unsuitable to the time or to 
the place1 to the age or to the         
situation of the person1 when1 to       
indulge it1 he neglects either his      
interest or his duty2 it is justly      
blamed as excessive1 and as hurtful both
 to the individual and to the society4  
,in the greater part of such cases1     
however1 what is chiefly to be found    
fault with is1 not so much the strength 
of the propensity to joy1 as the        
weakness of the sense of propriety and  
duty4 ,a young man who has no relish for
 the diversions and amusements that are 
natural and suitable to his age1 who    
talks of nothing but his book or his    
business1 is disliked as formal and     
pedantic2 and we give him no credit #bai
 for his abstinence even from improper  
indulgences1 to which he seems to have  
so little inclination4  ,the principle  
of self-estimation may be too high1 and 
it may likewise be too low4 ,it is so   

very agreeable to think highly1 and so  
very disagreeable to think meanly of    
ourselves1 that1 to the person himself1 
it cannot well be doubted1 but that some
 degree of excess must be much less     
disagreeable than any degree of defect4 
,but to the impartial spectator1 it may 
perhaps be thought1 things must appear  
quite differently1 and that to him1 the 
defect must always be less disagreeable 
than the excess4 ,and in our companions1
 no doubt1 we much more frequently      
complain of the latter than of the      
former4 ,when they assume upon us1 or   
set themselves before us1 their         
self-estimation mortifies our own4 ,our 
own pride and vanity prompt us to accuse
 them of pride and vanity1 and we cease 
to be the impartial spectators of their 
conduct4 ,when the same companions1     
however1 suffer any other man to assume 
over them a superiority which does not  
belong to him1 we not only blame them1  
but often despise them as mean-spirited4
 ,when1 on the contrary1 among other    

people1 they push themselves a little   
more forward1 and scramble to an        
elevation disproportioned1 as we think1 
to their merit1 though we may not       
perfectly approve of their conduct1 we  
are often1 upon the whole1 diverted with
 it2 and1 where there is no envy in the 
case1 we are almost always much less    
displeased with them1 than we should    
have been1 had they only suffered       
themselves to sink below their proper   
station4  ,in estimating our own merit1 
in judging of our own character and     
conduct1 there are two different        
standards to which we naturally compare 
them4 ,the one is the idea of exact     
propriety and perfection1 so far as we  
are each of us capable of comprehending 
that idea4 ,the other is that degree of 
approximation to this idea which is     
commonly attained in the world1 and     
which the greater part of our friends   
and companions1 of our rivals and       
competitors1 may have actually arrived  
at4 ,we very seldom 7,i am disposed to  

think1 we never7 attempt to judge of    
ourselves without giving more or less   
attention to both these different       
standards4 ,but the attention of        
different men1 and even of the same man 
at different times1 is often very       
unequally divided between them2 and is  
sometimes principally directed towards  
the one1 and sometimes towards the      
other4  ,so far as our attention is     
directed towards the first standard1 the
 wisest and best of us all1 can1 in his 
own character and conduct1 see nothing  
but weakness and imperfection2 can      
discover no ground for arrogance and    
presumption1 but a great deal for       
humility1 regret1 and repentance4 ,so   
far as our attention is directed towards
 the second1 we may be affected either  
in the one way or in the other1 and feel
 ourselves1 either really above1 or     
really below1 the standard with which we
 seek to compare ourselves4  #bbj ,the  
wise and virtuous man directs his       
principal attention to the first        

standard2 the idea of exact propriety   
and perfection4 ,there exists in the    
mind of every man1 an idea of this kind1
 gradually formed from his observations 
upon the character and conduct both of  
himself and of other people4 ,it is the 
slow1 gradual1 and progressive work of  
the great demigod within the breast1 the
 great judge and arbiter of conduct4    
,this idea is in every man more or less 
accurately drawn1 its colouring is more 
or less just1 its outlines are more or  
less exactly designed1 according to the 
delicacy and acuteness of that          
sensibility1 with which those           
observations were made1 and according to
 the care and attention employed in     
making them4 ,in the wise and virtuous  
man they have been made with the most   
acute and delicate sensibility1 and the 
utmost care and attention have been     
employed in making them4 ,every day some
 feature is improved2 every day some    
blemish is corrected4 ,he has studied   
this idea more than other people1 he    

comprehends it more distinctly1 he has  
formed a much more correct image of it1 
and is much more deeply enamoured of its
 exquisite and divine beauty4 ,he       
endeavours1 as well as he can1 to       
assimilate his own character to this    
archetype of perfection4 ,but he        
imitates the work of a divine artist1   
which can never be equalled4 ,he feels  
the imperfect success of all his best   
endeavours1 and sees1 with grief and    
affliction1 in how many different       
features the mortal copy falls short of 
the immortal original4 ,he remembers1   
with concern and humiliation1 how often1
 from want of attention1 from want of   
judgment1 from want of temper1 he has1  
both in words and actions1 both in      
conduct and conversation1 violated the  
exact rules of perfect propriety2 and   
has so far departed from that model1    
according to which he wished to fashion 
his own character and conduct4 ,when he 
directs his attention towards the second
 standard1 indeed1 that degree of       

excellence which his friends and        
acquaintances have commonly arrived at1 
he may be sensible of his own           
superiority4 ,but1 as his principal     
attention is always directed towards the
 first standard1 he is necessarily much 
more humbled by the one comparison1 than
 he ever can be elevated by the other4  
,he is never so elated as to look down  
with insolence even upon those who are  
really below him4 ,he feels so well his 
own imperfection1 he knows so well the  
difficulty with which he attained his   
own distant approximation to rectitude1 
that he cannot regard with contempt the 
still greater imperfections of other    
people4 ,far from insulting over their  
inferiority1 he views it with the most  
indulgent commiseration1 and1 by his    
advice as well as example1 is at all    
times willing to promote their further  
advancement4 ,if1 in any particular     
qualification1 they happen to be        
superior to him 7for who is so perfect  
as not to have many superiors in many   

different qualifications871 far from    
envying their superiority1 he1 who knows
 how difficult it is to excel1 esteems  
and honours their excellence1 and never 
fails to bestow upon it the full measure
 of applause #bba which it deserves4    
,his whole mind1 in short1 is deeply    
impressed1 his whole behaviour and      
deportment are distinctly stamped with  
the character of real modesty2 with that
 of a very moderate estimation of his   
own merit1 and1 at the same time1 with a
 very full sense of the merit of other  
people4  ,in all the liberal and        
ingenious arts1 in painting1 in poetry1 
in music1 in eloquence1 in philosophy1  
the great artist feels always the real  
imperfection of his own best works1 and 
is more sensible than any man how much  
they fall short of that ideal perfection
 of which he has formed some conception1
 which he imitates as well as he can1   
but which he despairs of ever equalling4
 ,it is the inferior artist only1 who is
 ever perfectly satisfied with his own  

performances4 ,he has little conception 
of this ideal perfection1 about which he
 has little employed his thoughts2 and  
it is chiefly to the works of other     
artists1 of1 perhaps1 a still lower     
order1 that he deigns to compare his own
 works4 ,boileau1 the great ,french poet
 7in some of his works1 perhaps not     
inferior to the greatest poet of the    
same kind1 either ancient or modern71   
used to say1 that no great man was ever 
completely satisfied with his own works4
 ,his acquaintance ,santeuil 7a writer  
of ,latin verses1 and who1 on account of
 that school-boy accomplishment1 had the
 weakness to fancy himself a poet71     
assured him that he himself was always  
completely satisfied with his own4      
,boileau replied1 with1 perhaps1 an arch
 ambiguity1 that he certainly was the   
only great man that ever was so4        
,boileau1 in judging of his own works1  
compared them with the standard of ideal
 perfection1 which1 in his own          
particular branch of the poetic art1 he 

had1 ,i presume1 meditated as deeply1   
and conceived as distinctly1 as it is   
possible for man to conceive it4        
,santeuil1 in judging of his own works1 
compared them1 ,i suppose1 chiefly to   
those of the other ,latin poets of his  
own time1 to the great part of whom he  
was certainly very far from being       
inferior4 ,but to support and finish    
off1 if ,i may say so1 the conduct and  
conversation of a whole life to some    
resemblance of this ideal perfection1 is
 surely much more difficult than to work
 up to an equal resemblance any of the  
productions of any of the ingenious     
arts4 ,the artist sits down to his work 
undisturbed1 at leisure1 in the full    
possession and recollection of all his  
skill1 experience1 and knowledge4 ,the  
wise man must support the propriety of  
his own conduct in health and sickness1 
in success and in disappointment1 in the
 hour of fatigue and drowsy indolence1  
as well as in that of the most awakened 
attention4 ,the most sudden and         

unexpected assaults of difficulty and   
distress must never surprise him4 ,the  
injustice of other people must never    
provoke him to injustice4 ,the violence 
of faction must never confound him4 ,all
 the hardships and hazards of war must  
never either dishearten or appal him4   
,of the persons who1 in estimating their
 own merit1 in judging of their own     
character and conduct1 direct by far the
 greater part of their #bbb attention to
 the second standard1 to that ordinary  
degree of excellence which is commonly  
attained by other people1 there are some
 who really and justly feel themselves  
very much above it1 and who1 by every   
intelligent and impartial spectator1 are
 acknowledged to be so4 ,the attention  
of such persons1 however1 being always  
principally directed1 not to the        
standard of ideal1 but to that of       
ordinary perfection1 they have little   
sense of their own weaknesses and       
imperfections2 they have little modesty2
 and are often assuming1 arrogant1 and  

presumptuous2 great admirers of         
themselves1 and great contemners of     
other people4 ,though their characters  
are in general much less correct1 and   
their merit much inferior to that of the
 man of real and modest virtue2 yet     
their excessive presumption1 founded    
upon their own excessive                
self-admiration1 dazzles the multitude1 
and often imposes even upon those who   
are much superior to the multitude4 ,the
 frequent1 and often wonderful1 success 
of the most ignorant quacks and         
impostors1 both civil and religious1    
sufficiently demonstrate how easily the 
multitude are imposed upon by the most  
extravagant and groundless pretensions4 
,but when those pretensions are         
supported by a very high degree of real 
and solid merit1 when they are displayed
 with all the splendour which           
ostentation can bestow upon them1 when  
they are supported by high rank and     
great power1 when they have often been  
successfully exerted1 and are1 upon that

 account1 attended by the loud          
acclamations of the multitude2 even the 
man of sober judgment often abandons    
himself to the general admiration4 ,the 
very noise of those foolish acclamations
 often contributes to confound his      
understanding1 and while he sees those  
great men only at a certain distance1 he
 is often disposed to worship them with 
a sincere admiration1 superior even to  
that with which they appear to worship  
themselves4 ,when there is no envy in   
the case1 we all take pleasure in       
admiring1 and are1 upon that account1   
naturally disposed1 in our own fancies1 
to render complete and perfect in every 
respect the characters which1 in many   
respects1 are so very worthy of         
admiration4 ,the excessive              
self-admiration of those great men is   
well understood1 perhaps1 and even seen 
through1 with some degree of derision1  
by those wise men who are much in their 
familiarity1 and who secretly smile at  
those lofty pretensions1 which1 by      

people at a distance1 are often regarded
 with reverence1 and almost with        
adoration4 ,such1 however1 have been1 in
 all ages1 the greater part of those men
 who have procured to themselves the    
most noisy fame1 the most extensive     
reputation2 a fame and reputation1 too1 
which have too often descended to the   
remotest posterity4  ,great success in  
the world1 great authority over the     
sentiments and opinions of mankind1 have
 very seldom been acquired without some 
degree of this excessive                
self-admiration4 ,the most splendid     
characters1 the men who have performed  
the most illustrious actions1 who have  
brought about the greatest revolutions1 
both in the situations and #bbc opinions
 of mankind2 the most successful        
warriors1 the greatest statesmen and    
legislators1 the eloquent founders and  
leaders of the most numerous and most   
successful sects and parties2 have many 
of them been1 not more distinguished for
 their very great merit1 than for a     

degree of presumption and               
self-admiration altogether              
disproportioned even to that very great 
merit4 ,this presumption was1 perhaps1  
necessary1 not only to prompt them to   
undertakings which a more sober mind    
would never have thought of1 but to     
command the submission and obedience of 
their followers to support them in such 
undertakings4 ,when crowned with        
success1 accordingly1 this presumption  
has often betrayed them into a vanity   
that approached almost to insanity and  
folly4 ,alexander the ,great appears1   
not only to have wished that other      
people should think him a god1 but to   
have been at least very well-disposed to
 fancy himself such4 ,upon his deathbed1
 the most ungodlike of all situations1  
he requested of his friends that1 to the
 respectable list of deities1 into which
 himself had long before been inserted1 
his old mother ,olympia might likewise  
have the honour of being added4 ,amidst 
the respectful admiration of his        

followers and disciples1 amidst the     
universal applause of the public1 after 
the oracle1 which probably had followed 
the voice of that applause1 had         
pronounced him the wisest of men1 the   
great wisdom of ,socrates1 though it did
 not suffer him to fancy himself a god1 
yet was not great enough to hinder him  
from fancying that he had secret and    
frequent intimations from some invisible
 and divine being4 ,the sound head of   
,csar was not so perfectly sound as to  
hinder him from being much pleased with 
his divine genealogy from the goddess   
,venus2 and1 before the temple of this  
pretended great-grandmother1 to receive1
 without rising from his seat1 the      
,roman senate1 when that illustrious    
body came to present him with some      
decrees conferring upon him the most    
extravagant honours4 ,this insolence1   
joined to some other acts of an almost  
childish vanity1 little to be expected  
from an understanding at once so very   
acute and comprehensive1 seems1 by      

exasperating the public jealousy1 to    
have emboldened his assassins1 and to   
have hastened the execution of their    
conspiracy4 ,the religion and manners of
 modern times give our great men little 
encouragement to fancy themselves either
 gods or even prophets4 ,success1       
however1 joined to great popular favour1
 has often so far turned the heads of   
the greatest of them1 as to make them   
ascribe to themselves both an importance
 and an ability much beyond what they   
really possessed2 and1 by this          
presumption1 to precipitate themselves  
into many rash and sometimes ruinous    
adventures4 ,it is a characteristic     
almost peculiar to the great ,duke of   
,marlborough1 that ten years of such    
uninterrupted and such splendid success 
as scarce any other general could boast 
of1 never betrayed him into a a single  
rash action1 scarce into a single rash  
word or expression4 ,the same temperate 
coolness and self-command cannot1 ,i    
think1 be ascribed to any other great   

warrior of later times2 not to ,prince  
,eugene1 not to #bbd the late ,king of  
,prussia1 not 9999the great ,prince of  
,cond1 not even to ,gustavus ,adolphus4 
,turenne seems to have approached the   
nearest to it2 but several different    
transactions of his life sufficiently   
demonstrate that it was in him by no    
means so perfect as it was in the great 
,duke of ,marlborough4  ,in the humble  
projects of private life1 as well as in 
the ambitious and proud pursuits of high
 stations1 great abilities and          
successful enterprise1 in the beginning1
 have frequently encouraged to          
undertakings which necessarily led to   
bankruptcy and ruin in the end4  ,the   
esteem and admiration which every       
impartial spectator conceives for the   
real merit of those spirited1           
magnanimous1 and high-minded persons1 as
 it is a just and well-founded          
sentiment1 so it is a steady and        
permanent one1 and altogether           
independent of their good or bad        

fortune4 ,it is otherwise with that     
admiration which he is apt to conceive  
for their excessive self-estimation and 
presumption4 ,while they are successful1
 indeed1 he is often perfectly conquered
 and overborne by them4 ,success covers 
from his eyes1 not only the great       
imprudence1 but frequently the great    
injustice of their enterprises2 and far 
from blaming this defective part of     
their character1 he often views it with 
the most enthusiastic admiration4 ,when 
they are unfortunate1 however1 things   
change their colours and their names4   
,what was before heroic magnanimity1    
resumes its proper appellation of       
extravagant rashness and folly2 and the 
blackness of that avidity and injustice1
 which was before hid under the         
splendour of prosperity1 comes full into
 view1 and blots the whole lustre of    
their enterprise4 ,had ,csar1 instead of
 gaining1 lost the battle of ,pharsalia1
 his character would1 at this hour1 have
 ranked a little above that of          

,cataline1 and the weakest man would    
have viewed his enterprise against the  
laws of his country in blacker colours1 
than1 perhaps even ,cato1 with all the  
animosity of a party-man1 ever viewed it
 at the time4 ,his real merit1 the      
justness of his taste1 the simplicity   
and elegance of his writings1 the       
propriety of his eloquence1 his skill in
 war1 his resources in distress1 his    
cool and sedate judgment in danger1 his 
faithful attachment to his friends1 his 
unexampled generosity to his enemies1   
would all have been acknowledged2 as the
 real merit of ,cataline1 who had many  
great qualities1 is acknowledged at this
 day4 ,but the insolence and injustice  
of his all-grasping ambition would have 
darkened and extinguished the glory of  
all that real merit4 ,fortune has in    
this1 as well as in some other respects 
already mentioned1 great influence over 
the moral sentiments of mankind1 and1   
according as she is either favourable or
 adverse1 can render the same character 

the object1 either of general love and  
admiration1 or of universal hatred and  
contempt4 ,this great disorder in our   
moral sentiments is by no means1        
however1 without its utility2 and we may
 on this1 as well as on many other      
occasions1 admire the wisdom of ,god    
even in the weakness and folly of man4  
,our admiration of #bbe success is      
founded upon the same principle with our
 respect for wealth and greatness1 and  
is equally necessary for establishing   
the distinction of ranks and the order  
of society4 ,by this admiration of      
success we are taught to submit more    
easily to those superiors1 whom the     
course of human affairs may assign to   
us2 to regard with reverence1 and       
sometimes even with a sort of respectful
 affection1 that fortunate violence     
which we are no longer capable of       
resisting2 not only the violence of such
 splendid characters as those of a ,csar
 or an ,alexander1 but often that of the
 most brutal and savage barbarians1 of  

an ,attila1 a ,gengis1 or a ,tamerlane4 
,to all such mighty conquerors the great
 mob of mankind are naturally disposed  
to look up with a wondering1 though1 no 
doubt1 with a very weak and foolish     
admiration4 ,by this admiration1        
however1 they are taught to acquiesce   
with less reluctance under that         
government which an irresistible force  
imposes upon them1 and from which no    
reluctance could deliver them4  ,though 
in prosperity1 however1 the man of      
excessive self-estimation may sometimes 
appear to have some advantage over the  
man of correct and modest virtue2 though
 the applause of the multitude1 and of  
those who see them both only at a       
distance1 is often much louder in favour
 of the one than it ever is in favour of
 the other2 yet1 all things fairly      
computed1 the real balance of advantage 
is1 perhaps in all cases1 greatly in    
favour of the latter and against the    
former4 ,the man who neither ascribes to
 himself1 nor wishes that other people  

should ascribe to him1 any other merit  
besides that which really belongs to    
him1 fears no humiliation1 dreads no    
detection2 but rests contented and      
secure upon the genuine truth and       
solidity of his own character4 ,his     
admirers may neither be very numerous   
nor very loud in their applauses2 but   
the wisest man who sees him the nearest 
and who knows him the best1 admires him 
the most4 ,to a real wise man the       
judicious and well-weighed approbation  
of a single wise man1 gives more        
heartfelt satisfaction than all the     
noisy applauses of ten thousand ignorant
 though enthusiastic admirers4 ,he may  
say with ,parmenides1 who1 upon reading 
a philosophical discourse before a      
public assembly at ,athens1 and         
observing1 that1 except ,plato1 the     
whole company had left him1 continued1  
notwithstanding1 to read on1 and said   
that ,plato alone was audience          
sufficient for him4  ,it is otherwise   
with the man of excessive               

self-estimation4 ,the wise men who see  
him the nearest1 admire him the least4  
,amidst the intoxication of prosperity1 
their sober and just esteem falls so far
 short of the extravagance of his own   
self-admiration1 that he regards it as  
mere malignity and envy4 ,he suspects   
his best friends4 ,their company becomes
 offensive to him4 ,he drives them from 
his presence1 and often rewards their   
services1 not only with ingratitude1 but
 with cruelty and injustice4 ,he        
abandons his confidence to flatterers   
and traitors1 who pretend to idolize his
 vanity and presumption2 and that #bbf  
character which in the beginning1 though
 in some respects defective1 was1 upon  
the whole1 both amiable and respectable1
 becomes contemptible and odious in the 
end4 ,amidst the intoxication of        
prosperity1 ,alexander killed ,clytus1  
for having preferred the exploits of his
 father ,philip to his own2 put         
,calisthenes to death in torture1 for   
having refused to adore him in the      

,persian manner2 and murdered the great 
friend of his father1 the venerable     
,parmenio1 after having1 upon the most  
groundless suspicions1 sent first to the
 torture and afterwards to the scaffold 
the only remaining son of that old man1 
the rest having all before died in his  
own service4 ,this was that ,parmenio of
 whom ,philip used to say1 that the     
,athenians were very fortunate who could
 find ten generals every year1 while he 
himself1 in the whole course of his     
life1 could never find one but          
,parmenio4 ,it was upon the vigilance   
and attention of this ,parmenio that he 
reposed at all times with confidence and
 security1 and1 in his hours of mirth   
and jollity1 used to say1 ',let us      
drink1 my friends3 we may do it with    
safety1 for ,parmenio never drinks4' ,it
 was this same ,parmenio1 with whose    
presence and counsel1 it had been said1 
,alexander had gained all his victories2
 and without his presence and counsel1  
he had never gained a single victory4   

,the humble1 admiring1 and flattering   
friends1 whom ,alexander left in power  
and authority behind him1 divided his   
empire among themselves1 and after      
having thus robbed his family and       
kindred of their inheritance1 put1 one  
after another1 every single surviving   
individual of them1 whether male or     
female1 to death4  ,we frequently1 not  
only pardon1 but thoroughly enter into  
and sympathize with the excessive       
self-estimation of those splendid       
characters in which we observe a great  
and distinguished superiority above the 
common level of mankind4 ,we call them  
spirited1 magnanimous1 and high-minded2 
words which all involve in their meaning
 a considerable degree of praise and    
admiration4 ,but we cannot enter into   
and sympathize with the excessive       
self-estimation of those characters in  
which we can discern no such            
distinguished superiority4 ,we are      
disgusted and revolted by it2 and it is 
with some difficulty that we can either 

pardon or suffer it4 ,we call it pride  
or vanity2 two words1 of which the      
latter always1 and the former for the   
most part1 involve in their meaning a   
considerable degree of blame4  ,those   
two vices1 however1 though resembling1  
in some respects1 as being both         
modifications of excessive              
self-estimation1 are yet1 in many       
respects1 very different from one       
another4  ,the proud man is sincere1    
and1 in the bottom of his heart1 is     
convinced of his own superiority2 though
 it may sometimes be difficult to guess 
upon what that conviction is founded4   
,he wishes you to view him in no other  
light than that in which1 when he places
 himself in your situation1 he really   
views himself4 ,he demands no more of   
you than1 what he thinks1 justice4 ,if  
you appear not to respect him as he #bbg
 respects himself1 he is more offended  
than mortified1 and feels the same      
indignant resentment as if he had       
suffered a real injury4 ,he does not    

even then1 however1 deign to explain the
 grounds of his own pretensions4 ,he    
disdains to court your esteem4 ,he      
affects even to despise it1 and         
endeavours to maintain his assumed      
station1 not so much by making you      
sensible of his superiority1 as of your 
own meanness4 ,he seems to wish not so  
much to excite your esteem for himself1 
as to mortify that for yourself4  ,the  
vain man is not sincere1 and1 in the    
bottom of his heart1 is very seldom     
convinced of that superiority which he  
wishes you to ascribe to him4 ,he wishes
 you to view him in much more splendid  
colours than those in which1 when he    
places himself in your situation1 and   
supposes you to know all that he knows1 
he can really view himself4 ,when you   
appear to view him1 therefore1 in       
different colours1 perhaps in his proper
 colours1 he is much more mortified than
 offended4 ,the grounds of his claim to 
that character which he wishes you to   
ascribe to him1 he takes every          

opportunity of displaying1 both by the  
most ostentatious and unnecessary       
exhibition of the good qualities and    
accomplishments which he possesses in   
some tolerable degree1 and sometimes    
even by false pretensions to those which
 he either possesses in no degree1 or in
 so very slender a degree that he may   
well enough be said to possess them in  
no degree4 ,far from despising your     
esteem1 he courts it with the most      
anxious assiduity4 ,far from wishing to 
mortify your self-estimation1 he is     
happy to cherish it1 in hopes that in   
return you will cherish his own4 ,he    
flatters in order to be flattered4 ,he  
studies to please1 and endeavours to    
bribe you into a good opinion of him by 
politeness and complaisance1 and        
sometimes even by real and essential    
good offices1 though often displayed1   
perhaps1 with unnecessary ostentation4  
,the vain man sees the respect which is 
paid to rank and fortune1 and wishes to 
usurp this respect1 as well as that for 

talents and virtues4 ,his dress1 his    
equipage1 his way of living1            
accordingly1 all announce both a higher 
rank and a greater fortune than really  
belong to him2 and in order to support  
this foolish imposition for a few years 
in the beginning of his life1 he often  
reduces himself to poverty and distress 
long before the end of it4 ,as long as  
he can continue his expense1 however1   
his vanity is delighted with viewing    
himself1 not in the light in which you  
would view him if you knew all that he  
knows2 but in that in which1 he         
imagines1 he has1 by his own address1   
induced you actually to view him4 ,of   
all the illusions of vanity that is1    
perhaps1 the most common4 ,obscure      
strangers who visit foreign countries1  
or who1 from a remote province1 come to 
visit1 for a short time1 the capital of 
their own country1 most frequently      
attempt to practise it4 ,the folly of   
the attempt1 though always very great   
and most unworthy of a man of sense1 may

 not be altogether so great upon such as
 upon most other #bbh occasions4 ,if    
their stay is short1 they may escape any
 disgraceful detection2 and1 after      
indulging their vanity for a few months 
or a few years1 they may return to their
 own homes1 and repair1 by future       
parsimony1 the waste of their past      
profusion4  ,the proud man can very     
seldom be accused of this folly4 ,his   
sense of his own dignity renders him    
careful to preserve his independency1   
and1 when his fortune happens not to be 
large1 though he wishes to be decent1 he
 studies to be frugal and attentive in  
all his expenses4 ,the ostentatious     
expense of the vain man is highly       
offensive to him4 ,it outshines1        
perhaps1 his own4 ,it provokes his      
indignation as an insolent assumption of
 a rank which is by no means due2 and he
 never talks of it without loading it   
with the harshest and severest          
reproaches4  ,the proud man does not    
always feel himself at his ease in the  

company of his equals1 and still less in
 that of his superiors4 ,he cannot lay  
down his lofty pretensions1 and the     
countenance and conversation of such    
company overawe him so much that he dare
 not display them4 ,he has recourse to  
humbler company1 for which he has little
 respect1 which he would not willingly  
choose1 and which is by no means        
agreeable to him2 that of his inferiors1
 his flatterers1 and dependants4 ,he    
seldom visits his superiors1 or1 if he  
does1 it is rather to show that he is   
entitled to live in such company1 than  
for any real satisfaction that he enjoys
 in it4 ,it is as ,lord ,clarendon says 
of the ,earl of ,arundel1 that he       
sometimes went to court1 because he     
could there only find a greater man than
 himself2 but that he went very seldom1 
because he found there a greater man    
than himself4  ,it is quite otherwise   
with the vain man4 ,he courts the       
company of his superiors as much as the 
proud man shuns it4 ,their splendour1 he

 seems to think1 reflects a splendour   
upon those who are much about them4 ,he 
haunts the courts of kings and the      
levees of ministers1 and gives himself  
the air of being a candidate for fortune
 and preferment1 when in reality he     
possesses the much more precious        
happiness1 if he knew how to enjoy it1  
of not being one4 ,he is fond of being  
admitted to the tables of the great1 and
 still more fond of magnifying to other 
people the familiarity with which he is 
honoured there4 ,he associates himself1 
as much as he can1 with fashionable     
people1 with those who are supposed to  
direct the public opinion1 with the     
witty1 with the learned1 with the       
popular2 and he shuns the company of his
 best friends whenever the very         
uncertain current of public favour      
happens to run in any respect against   
them4 ,with the people to whom he wishes
 to recommend himself1 he is not always 
very delicate about the means which he  
employs for that purpose2 unnecessary   

ostentation1 groundless pretensions1    
constant assentation1 frequently        
flattery1 though for the most part a    
pleasant and sprightly flattery1 and    
very seldom the gross and fulsome       
flattery of a parasite4 ,the proud man1 
on the contrary1 never flatters1 and is 
frequently scarce civil to any body4    
#bbi ,notwithstanding all its groundless
 pretensions1 however1 vanity is almost 
always a sprightly and a gay1 and very  
often a good-natured passion4 ,pride is 
always a grave1 a sullen1 and a severe  
one4 ,even the falsehoods of the vain   
man are all innocent falsehoods1 meant  
to raise himself1 not to lower other    
people4 ,to do the proud man justice he 
very seldom stoops to the baseness of   
falsehood4 ,when he does1 however1 his  
falsehoods are by no means so innocent4 
,they are all mischievous1 and meant to 
lower other people4 ,he is full of      
indignation at the unjust superiority1  
as he thinks it1 which is given to them4
 ,he views them with malignity and envy1

 and1 in talking of them1 often         
endeavours1 as much as he can1 to       
extenuate and lessen whatever are the   
grounds upon which their superiority is 
supposed to be founded4 ,whatever tales 
are circulated to their disadvantage1   
though he seldom forges them himself1   
yet he often takes pleasure in believing
 them1 is by no means unwilling to      
repeat them1 and even sometimes with    
some degree of exaggeration4 ,the worst 
falsehoods of vanity are what we call   
white lies3 those of pride1 whenever it 
condescends to falsehood1 are all of the
 opposite complexion4  ,our dislike to  
pride and vanity generally disposes us  
to rank the persons whom we accuse of   
those vices rather below than above the 
common level4 ,in this judgment however1
 ,i think1 we are most frequently in the
 wrong1 and that both the proud and the 
vain man are often 7perhaps for the most
 part7 a good deal above it2 though not 
near so much as either the one really   
thinks himself1 or as the other wishes  

you to think him4 ,if we compare them   
with their own pretensions1 they may    
appear the just objects of contempt4    
,but when we compare them with what the 
greater part of their rivals and        
competitors really are1 they may appear 
quite otherwise1 and very much above the
 common level4 ,where there is this real
 superiority1 pride is frequently       
attended with many respectable virtues2 
with truth1 with integrity1 with a high 
sense of honour1 with cordial and steady
 friendship1 with the most inflexible   
firmness and resolution4 ,vanity1 with  
many amiable ones2 with humanity1 with  
politeness1 with a desire to oblige in  
all little matters1 and sometimes with a
 real generosity in great ones2 a       
generosity1 however1 which it often     
wishes to display in the most splendid  
colours that it can4 ,by their rivals   
and enemies1 the ,french1 in the last   
century1 were accused of vanity2 the    
,spaniards1 of pride2 and foreign       
nations were disposed to consider the   

one as the more amiable2 the other1 as  
the more respectable people4  ,the words
 vain and vanity are never taken in a   
good sense4 ,we sometimes say of a man1 
when we are talking of him in good      
humour1 that he is the better for his   
vanity1 or that his vanity is more      
diverting than offensive2 but we still  
consider it as a foible and a ridiculous
 feature in his character4  ,the words  
proud and pride1 on the contrary1 are   
sometimes taken in #bcj a good sense4   
,we frequently say of a man1 that he is 
too proud1 or that he has too much noble
 pride1 ever to suffer himself to do a  
mean thing4 ,pride is1 in this case1    
confounded with magnanimity4 ,aristotle1
 a philosopher who certainly knew the   
world1 in drawing the character of the  
magnanimous man1 paints him with many   
features which1 in the two last         
centuries1 were commonly ascribed to the
 ,spanish character3 that he was        
deliberate in all his resolutions2 slow1
 and even tardy1 in all his actions2    

that his voice was grave1 his speech    
deliberate1 his step and motion slow2   
that he appeared indolent and even      
slothful1 not at all disposed to bustle 
about little matters1 but to act with   
the most determined and vigorous        
resolution upon all great and           
illustrious occasions3 that he was not a
 lover of danger1 or forward to expose  
himself to little dangers1 but to great 
dangers2 and that1 when he exposed      
himself to danger1 he was altogether    
regardless of his life4  ,the proud man 
is commonly too well contented with     
himself to think that his character     
requires any amendment4 ,the man who    
feels himself all-perfect1 naturally    
enough despises all further improvement4
 ,his self-sufficiency and absurd       
conceit of his own superiority1 commonly
 attend him from his youth to his most  
advanced age2 and he dies1 as ,hamlet   
says1 'with all his sins upon his head1 
unanointed1 unanealed4'  ,it is         
frequently quite otherwise with the vain

 man4 ,the desire of the esteem and     
admiration of other people1 when for    
qualities and talents which are the     
natural and proper objects of esteem and
 admiration1 is the real love of true   
glory2 a passion which1 if not the very 
best passion of human nature1 is        
certainly one of the best4 ,vanity is   
very frequently no more than an attempt 
prematurely to usurp that glory before  
it is due4 ,though your son1 under      
five-and-twenty years of age1 should be 
but a coxcomb2 do not1 upon that        
account1 despair of his becoming1 before
 he is forty1 a very wise and worthy    
man1 and a real proficient in all those 
talents and virtues to which1 at        
present1 he may only be an ostentatious 
and empty pretender4 ,the great secret  
of education is to direct vanity to     
proper objects4 ,never suffer him to    
value himself upon trivial              
accomplishments4 ,but do not always     
discourage his pretensions to those that
 are of real importance4 ,he would not  

pretend to them if he did not earnestly 
desire to possess them4 ,encourage this 
desire2 afford him every means to       
facilitate the acquisition2 and do not  
take too much offence1 although he      
should sometimes assume the air of      
having attained it a little before the  
time4  ,such1 ,i say1 are the           
distinguishing characteristics of pride 
and vanity1 when each of them acts      
according to its proper character4 ,but 
the proud man is often vain2 and the    
vain man is often proud4 ,nothing can be
 more natural than that the man1 who    
thinks much more highly of himself than 
he deserves1 should wish that other     
people should think still more highly of
 him3 or that the man1 who wishes that  
other people #bca should think more     
highly of him than he thinks of himself1
 should1 at the same time1 think much   
more highly of himself than he deserves4
 ,those two vices being frequently      
blended in the same character1 the      
characteristics of both are necessarily 

confounded2 and we sometimes find the   
superficial and impertinent ostentation 
of vanity joined to the most malignant  
and derisive insolence of pride4 ,we are
 sometimes1 upon that account1 at a loss
 how to rank a particular character1 or 
whether to place it among the proud or  
among the vain4  ,men of merit          
considerably above the common level1    
sometimes underrate as well as over-rate
 themselves4 ,such characters1 though   
not very dignified1 are often1 in       
private society1 far from being         
disagreeable4 ,his companions all feel  
themselves much at their ease in the    
society of a man so perfectly modest and
 unassuming4 ,if those companions1      
however1 have not both more discernment 
and more generosity than ordinary1      
though they may have some kindness for  
him1 they have seldom much respect2 and 
the warmth of their kindness is very    
seldom sufficient to compensate the     
coldness of their respect4 ,men of no   
more than ordinary discernment never    

rate any person higher than he appears  
to rate himself4 ,he seems doubtful     
himself1 they say1 whether he is        
perfectly fit for such a situation or   
such an office2 and immediately give the
 preference to some impudent blockhead  
who entertains no doubt about his own   
qualifications4 ,though they should have
 discernment1 yet1 if they want         
generosity1 they never fail to take     
advantage of his simplicity1 and to     
assume over him an impertinent          
superiority which they are by no means  
entitled to4 ,his good nature may enable
 him to bear this for some time2 but he 
grows weary at last1 and frequently when
 it is too late1 and when that rank1    
which he ought to have assumed1 is lost 
irrecoverably1 and usurped1 in          
consequence of his own backwardness1 by 
some of his more forward1 though much   
less meritorious companions4 ,a man of  
this character must have been very      
fortunate in the early choice of his    
companions1 if1 in going through the    

world1 he meets always with fair        
justice1 even from those whom1 from his 
own past kindness1 he might have some   
reason to consider as his best friends2 
and a youth1 who may be too unassuming  
and too unambitious1 is frequently      
followed by an insignificant1           
complaining1 and discontented old age4  
,those unfortunate persons whom nature  
has formed a good deal below the common 
level1 seem oftentimes to rate          
themselves still more below it than they
 really are4 ,this humility appears     
sometimes to sink them into idiotism4   
,whoever has taken the trouble to       
examine idiots with attention1 will find
 that1 in many of them1 the faculties of
 the understanding are by no means      
weaker than in several other people1    
who1 though acknowledged to be dull and 
stupid1 are not1 by any body1 accounted 
idiots4 ,many idiots1 with no more than 
ordinary education1 have been taught to 
read1 write1 and account tolerably well4
 ,many #bcb persons1 never accounted    

idiots1 notwithstanding the most careful
 education1 and notwithstanding that1 in
 their advanced age1 they have had      
spirit enough to attempt to learn what  
their early education had not taught    
them1 have never been able to acquire1  
in any tolerable degree1 any one of     
those three accomplishments4 ,by an     
instinct of pride1 however1 they set    
themselves upon a level with their      
equals in age and situation2 and1 with  
courage and firmness1 maintain their    
proper station among their companions4  
,by an opposite instinct1 the idiot     
feels himself below every company into  
which you can introduce him4 ,ill-usage1
 to which he is extremely liable1 is    
capable of throwing him into the most   
violent fits of rage and fury4 ,but no  
good usage1 no kindness or indulgence1  
can ever raise him to converse with you 
as your equal4 ,if you can bring him to 
converse with you at all1 however1 you  
will frequently find his answers        
sufficiently pertinent1 and even        

sensible4 ,but they are always stamped  
with a distinct consciousness of his own
 great inferiority4 ,he seems to shrink 
and1 as it were1 to retire from your    
look and conversation2 and to feel1 when
 he places himself in your situation1   
that1 notwithstanding your apparent     
condescension1 you cannot help          
considering him as immensely below you4 
,some idiots1 perhaps the greater part1 
seem to be so1 chiefly or altogether1   
from a certain numbness or torpidity in 
the faculties of the understanding4 ,but
 there are others1 in whom those        
faculties do not appear more torpid or  
benumbed than in many other people who  
are not accounted idiots4 ,but that     
instinct of pride1 necessary to support 
them upon an equality with their        
brethren1 seems to be totally wanting in
 the former and not in the latter4      
,that degree of self-estimation1        
therefore1 which contributes most to the
 happiness and contentment of the person
 himself1 seems likewise most agreeable 

to the impartial spectator4  ,the man   
who esteems himself as he ought1 and no 
more than he ought1 seldom fails to     
obtain from other people all the esteem 
that he himself thinks due4 ,he desires 
no more than is due to him1 and he rests
 upon it with complete satisfaction4    
,the proud and the vain man1 on the     
contrary1 are constantly dissatisfied4  
,the one is tormented with indignation  
at the unjust superiority1 as he thinks 
it1 of other people4 ,the other is in   
continual dread of the shame1 which1 he 
foresees1 would attend upon the         
detection of his groundless pretensions4
 ,even the extravagant pretensions of   
the man of real magnanimity1 though1    
when supported by splendid abilities and
 virtues1 and1 above all1 by good       
fortune1 they impose upon the multitude1
 whose applauses he little regards1 do  
not impose upon those wise men whose    
approbation he can only value1 and whose
 esteem he is most anxious to acquire4  
,he feels that they see through1 and    

suspects that they despise his excessive
 presumption2 and he often suffers the  
cruel misfortune of becoming1 first the 
jealous #bcc and secret1 and at last the
 open1 furious1 and vindictive enemy of 
those very persons1 whose friendship it 
would have given him the greatest       
happiness to enjoy with unsuspicious    
security4  ,though our dislike to the   
proud and the vain often disposes us to 
rank them rather below than above their 
proper station1 yet1 unless we are      
provoked by some particular and personal
 impertinence1 we very seldom venture to
 use them ill4 ,in common cases1 we     
endeavour1 for our own ease1 rather to  
acquiesce1 and1 as well as we can1 to   
accommodate ourselves to their folly4   
,but1 to the man who under-rates        
himself1 unless we have both more       
discernment and more generosity than    
belong to the greater part of men1 we   
seldom fail to do1 at least1 all the    
injustice which he does to himself1 and 
frequently a great deal more4 ,he is not

 only more unhappy in his own feelings  
than either the proud or the vain1 but  
he is much more liable to every sort of 
ill-usage from other people4 ,in almost 
all cases1 it is better to be a little  
too proud1 than1 in any respect1 too    
humble2 and1 in the sentiment of        
self-estimation1 some degree of excess  
seems1 both to the person himself and to
 the impartial spectator1 to be less    
disagreeable than any degree of defect  
of that feeling4  ,in this1 therefore1  
as well as in every other emotion1      
passion1 and habit1 the degree that is  
most agreeable to the impartial         
spectator is likewise most agreeable to 
the person himself2 and according as    
either the excess or the defect is least
 offensive to the former1 so1 either the
 one or the other is in proportion least
 disagreeable to the latter4  -----     
,,conclusion ,,of ,,the ,,sixth ,,part4 
,,concern for our own happiness         
recommends to us the virtue of prudence3
 concern for that of other people1 the  

virtues of justice and beneficence2 of  
which1 the one restrains us from        
hurting1 the other prompts us to promote
 that happiness4 ,independent of any    
regard either to what are1 or to what   
ought to be1 or to what upon a certain  
condition would be1 the sentiments of   
other people1 the first of those three  
virtues is originally recommended to us 
by our selfish1 the other two by our    
benevolent affections4 ,regard to the   
sentiments of other people1 however1    
comes afterwards both to enforce and to 
direct the practice of all those        
virtues2 and no man during1 either the  
whole course of his life1 or that of any
 considerable part of it1 ever trod     
steadily and uniformly in the paths of  
prudence1 of justice1 or of proper      
beneficence1 whose conduct was not      
principally directed by a regard to the 
sentiments of the supposed impartial    
spectator1 of the great inmate of the   
breast1 the great judge and arbiter of  
conduct4 ,if in the course of the day we

 have swerved in any respect from the   
rules which he prescribes to us2 if we  
have either exceeded or relaxed in our  
frugality2 #bcd if we have either       
exceeded or relaxed in our industry2 if 
through passion or inadvertency1 we have
 hurt in any respect the interest or    
happiness of our neighbour2 if we have  
neglected a plain and proper opportunity
 of promoting that interest and         
happiness2 it is this inmate who1 in the
 evening1 calls us to an account for all
 those omissions and violations1 and his
 reproaches often make us blush inwardly
 both for our folly and inattention to  
our own happiness1 and for our still    
greater indifference and inattention1   
perhaps1 to that of other people4  ,but 
though the virtues of prudence1 justice1
 and beneficence1 may1 upon different   
occasions1 be recommended to us almost  
equally by two different principles2    
those of self-command are1 upon most    
occasions1 principally and almost       
entirely recommended to us by one2 by   

the sense of propriety1 by regard to the
 sentiments of the supposed impartial   
spectator4 ,without the restraint which 
this principle imposes1 every passion   
would1 upon most occasions1 rush        
headlong1 if ,i may say so1 to its own  
gratification4 ,anger would follow the  
suggestions of its own fury2 fear those 
of its own violent agitations4 ,regard  
to no time or place would induce vanity 
to refrain from the loudest and most    
impertinent ostentation2 or             
voluptuousness from the most open1      
indecent1 and scandalous indulgence4    
,respect for what are1 or for what ought
 to be1 or for what upon a certain      
condition would be1 the sentiments of   
other people1 is the sole principle     
which1 upon most occasions1 over-awes   
all those mutinous and turbulent        
passions into that tone and temper which
 the impartial spectator can enter into 
and cordially sympathize with4  ,upon   
some occasions1 indeed1 those passions  
are restrained1 not so much by a sense  

of their impropriety1 as by prudential  
considerations of the bad consequences  
which might follow from their           
indulgence4 ,in such cases1 the         
passions1 though restrained1 are not    
always subdued1 but often remain lurking
 in the breast with all their original  
fury4 ,the man whose anger is restrained
 by fear1 does not always lay aside his 
anger1 but only reserves its            
gratification for a more safe           
opportunity4 ,but the man who1 in       
relating to some other person the injury
 which has been done to him1 feels at   
once the fury of his passion cooled and 
becalmed by sympathy with the more      
moderate sentiments of his companion1   
who at once adopts those more moderate  
sentiments1 and comes to view that      
injury1 not in the black and atrocious  
colours in which he had originally      
beheld it1 but in the much milder and   
fairer light in which his companion     
naturally views it2 not only restrains1 
but in some measure subdues1 his anger4 

,the passion becomes really less than it
 was before1 and less capable of        
exciting him to the violent and bloody  
revenge which at first1 perhaps1 he     
might have thought of inflicting on his 
enemy4  ,those passions which are       
restrained by the sense of propriety1   
are all in some degree moderated and    
subdued by it4 ,but those which are #bce
 restrained only by prudential          
considerations of any kind1 are1 on the 
contrary1 frequently inflamed by the    
restraint1 and sometimes 7long after the
 provocation given1 and when nobody is  
thinking about it7 burst out absurdly   
and unexpectedly1 and that with tenfold 
fury and violence4  ,anger1 however1 as 
well as every other passion1 may1 upon  
many occasions1 be very properly        
restrained by prudential considerations4
 ,some exertion of manhood and          
self-command is even necessary for this 
sort of restraint2 and the impartial    
spectator may sometimes view it with    
that sort of cold esteem due to that    

species of conduct which he considers as
 a mere matter of vulgar prudence2 but  
never with that affectionate admiration 
with which he surveys the same passions1
 when1 by the sense of propriety1 they  
are moderated and subdued to what he    
himself can readily enter into4 ,in the 
former species of restraint1 he may     
frequently discern some degree of       
propriety1 and1 if you will1 even of    
virtue2 but it is a propriety and virtue
 of a much inferior order to those which
 he always feels with transport and     
admiration in the latter4  ,the virtues 
of prudence1 justice1 and beneficence1  
have no tendency to produce any but the 
most agreeable effects4 ,regard to those
 effects1 as it originally recommends   
them to the actor1 so does it afterwards
 to the impartial spectator4 ,in our    
approbation of the character of the     
prudent man1 we feel1 with peculiar     
complacency1 the security which he must 
enjoy while he walks under the safeguard
 of that sedate and deliberate virtue4  

,in our approbation of the character of 
the just man1 we feel1 with equal       
complacency1 the security which all     
those connected with him1 whether in    
neighbourhood1 society1 or business must
 derive from his scrupulous anxiety     
never either to hurt or offend4 ,in our 
approbation of the character of the     
beneficent man1 we enter into the       
gratitude of all those who are within   
the sphere of his good offices1 and     
conceive with them the highest sense of 
his merit4 ,in our approbation of all   
those virtues1 our sense of their       
agreeable effects1 of their utility1    
either to the person who exercises them1
 or to some other persons1 joins with   
our sense of their propriety1 and       
constitutes always a considerable1      
frequently the greater part of that     
approbation4  ,but in our approbation of
 the virtues of self-command1           
complacency with their effects sometimes
 constitutes no part1 and frequently but
 a small part1 of that approbation4     

,those effects may sometimes be         
agreeable1 and sometimes disagreeable2  
and though our approbation is no doubt  
stronger in the former case1 it is by no
 means altogether destroyed in the      
latter4 ,the most heroic valour may be  
employed indifferently in the cause     
either of justice or of injustice2 and  
though it is no doubt much more loved   
and admired in the former case1 it still
 appears a great and respectable quality
 even in the latter4 ,in that1 and in   
all the other ,virtues of self-command1 
the splendid and dazzling #bcf quality  
seems always to be the greatness and    
steadiness of the exertion1 and the     
strong sense of propriety which is      
necessary in order to make and to       
maintain that exertion4 ,the effects are
 too often but too little regarded4     
-----  ,part ,,vii4--,of ,systems of    
,moral ,philosophy4  ,,sec4 ,i4--,,of   
,,the ,,questions ,,which ,,ought ,,to  
,,be ,,examined ,,in ,a ,,theory ,,of   
,,moral ,,sentiments4   ,,if we examine 

the most celebrated and remarkable of   
the different theories which have been  
given concerning the nature and origin  
of our moral sentiments1 we shall find  
that almost all of them coincide with   
some part or other of that which ,i have
 been endeavouring to give an account   
of2 and that if every thing which has   
already been said be fully considered1  
we shall be at no loss to explain what  
was the view or aspect of nature which  
led each particular author to form his  
particular system4 ,from some one or    
other of those principles which ,i have 
been endeavouring to unfold1 every      
system of morality that ever had any    
reputation in the world has1 perhaps1   
ultimately been derived4 ,as they are   
all of them1 in this respect1 founded   
upon natural principles1 they are all of
 them in some measure in the right4 ,but
 as many of them are derived from a     
partial and imperfect view of nature1   
there are many of them too in some      
respects in the wrong4  ,in treating of 

the principles of morals there are two  
questions to be considered4 ,first1     
wherein does virtue consist8 ,or what is
 the tone of temper1 and tenor of       
conduct1 which constitutes the excellent
 and praise-worthy character1 the       
character which is the natural object of
 esteem1 honour1 and approbation8 ,and1 
secondly1 by what power or faculty in   
the mind is it1 that this character1    
whatever it be1 is recommended to us8   
,or in other words1 how and by what     
means does it come to pass1 that the    
mind prefers one tenor of conduct to    
another1 denominates the one right and  
the other wrong2 considers the one as   
the object of approbation1 honour1 and  
reward1 and the other of blame1 censure1
 and punishment8  ,we examine the first 
question when we consider whether virtue
 consists in benevolence1 as ,dr4       
,hutcheson imagines2 or in acting       
suitably to the different relations we  
stand in1 as ,dr4 ,clark supposes2 or in
 the wise and prudent pursuit of our own

 real and solid happiness1 as has been  
the opinion of others4  ,we examine the 
second question1 when we consider1      
whether the virtuous character1 whatever
 it consists in1 be recommended to us by
 self-love1 which makes us perceive that
 this character1 both in ourselves and  
others1 tends most to promote our own   
private interest2 or by reason1 which   
points out to us the difference between 
one character and #bcg another1 in the  
same manner as it does that between     
truth and falsehood2 or by a peculiar   
power of perception1 called a moral     
sense1 which this virtuous character    
gratifies and pleases1 as the contrary  
disgusts and displeases it2 or last of  
all1 by some other principle in human   
nature1 such as a modification of       
sympathy1 or the like4  ,i shall begin  
with considering the systems which have 
been formed concerning the first of     
these questions1 and shall proceed      
afterwards to examine those concerning  
the second4  -----  ,,sec4 ,,ii4--,,of  

,,the ,,different ,,accounts ,,which    
,,have ,,been ,,given ,,of ,,the        
,,nature ,,of ,,virtue4                 
,,introduction4 ,the different accounts 
which have been given of the nature of  
virtue1 or of the temper of mind which  
constitutes the excellent and           
praise-worthy character1 may be reduced 
to three different classes4 ,according  
to some1 the virtuous temper of mind    
does not consist in any one species of  
affections1 but in the proper government
 and direction of all our affections1   
which may be either virtuous or vicious 
according to the objects which they     
pursue1 and the degree of vehemence with
 which they pursue them4 ,according to  
these authors1 therefore1 virtue        
consists in propriety4  ,according to   
others1 virtue consists in the judicious
 pursuit of our own private interest and
 happiness1 or in the proper government 
and direction of those selfish          
affections which aim solely at this end4
 ,in the opinion of these1 therefore1   

virtue consists in prudence4  ,another  
set of authors make virtue consist in   
those affections only which aim at the  
happiness of others1 not in those which 
aim at our own4 ,according to them1     
therefore1 disinterested benevolence is 
the only motive which can stamp upon    
actions the character of virtue4  ,the  
character of virtue1 it is evident1 must
 either be ascribed indifferently to all
 our affections1 when under proper      
government and direction2 or be confined
 to some one class or division of them4 
,the great division of our affections is
 into the selfish and the benevolent4   
,if the character of virtue1 therefore1 
cannot be ascribed indifferently to all 
our affections1 when under proper       
government and direction1 it must be    
confined either to those which aim      
directly at our own private happiness1  
or to those which aim directly at that  
of others4 ,if virtue1 therefore1 does  
not consist in propriety1 it must       
consist either in prudence or in        

benevolence4 ,besides these three1 it is
 scarce possible to imagine that any    
other account can be given of the nature
 of virtue4 ,i shall endeavour to show  
hereafter how all the other accounts1   
which are seemingly different from any  
of these1 coincide at bottom with some  
one or other of them4  #bch  ,,chap4    
,i4--,of those ,systems which make      
,virtue consist in ,propriety4          
,,according to ,plato1 to ,aristotle1   
and to ,zeno1 virtue consists in the    
propriety of conduct1 or in the         
suitableness of the affection from which
 we act to the object which excites it4 
,i4 ,in the system of ,plato 7,see      
,plato de ,rep4 lib4 iv47 the soul is   
considered as something like a little   
state or republic1 composed of three    
different faculties or orders4  ,the    
first is the judging faculty1 the       
faculty which determines not only what  
are the proper means for attaining any  
end1 but also what ends are fit to be   
pursued1 and what degree of relative    

value we ought to put upon each4 ,this  
faculty ,plato called1 as it is very    
properly called1 reason1 and considered 
it as what had a right to be the        
governing principle of the whole4 ,under
 this appellation1 it is evident1 he    
comprehended not only that faculty by   
which we judge of truth and falsehood1  
but that by which we judge of the       
propriety or the impropriety of our     
desires and affections4  ,the different 
passions and appetites1 the natural     
subjects of this ruling principle1 but  
which are so apt to rebel against their 
master1 he reduced to two different     
classes or orders4 ,the first consisted 
of those passions1 which are founded in 
pride and resentment1 or in what the    
schoolmen called the irascible part of  
the soul2 ambition1 animosity1 the love 
of honour1 and the dread of shame1 the  
desire of victory1 superiority1 and     
revenge2 all those passions1 in short1  
which are supposed either to rise from1 
or to denote what1 by a metaphor in our 

language1 we commonly call spirit or    
natural fire4 ,the second consisted of  
those passions which are founded in the 
love of pleasure1 or in what the        
schoolmen called the concupiscible part 
of the soul4 ,it comprehended all the   
appetites of the body1 the love of ease 
and of security1 and of all the sensual 
gratifications4  ,it rarely happens that
 we break in upon that plan of conduct1 
which the governing principle           
prescribes1 and which in all our cool   
hours we had laid down to ourselves as  
what was most proper for us to pursue1  
but when prompted by one or other of    
those two different sets of passions2   
either by ungovernable ambition and     
resentment1 or by the importunate       
solicitations of present ease and       
pleasure4 ,but though these two orders  
of passions are so apt to mislead us1   
they are still considered as necessary  
parts of human nature3 the first having 
been given to defend us against         
injuries1 to assert our rank and dignity

 in the world1 to make us aim at what is
 noble and honourable1 and to make us   
distinguish those who act in the same   
manner2 the second1 to provide for the  
support and necessities of the body4    
,in the strength1 acuteness1 and        
perfection of the governing principle   
was placed the essential virtue of      
prudence1 which1 according to ,plato1   
#bci consisted in a just and clear      
discernment1 founded upon general and   
scientific ideas1 of the ends which were
 proper to be pursued1 and of the means 
which were proper for attaining them4   
,when the first set of passions1 those  
of the irascible part of the soul1 had  
that degree of strength and firmness1   
which enabled them1 under the direction 
of reason1 to despise all dangers in the
 pursuit of what was honourable and     
noble2 it constituted the virtue of     
fortitude and magnanimity4 ,this order  
of passions1 according to this system1  
was of a more generous and noble nature 
than the other4 ,they were considered   

upon many occasions as the auxiliaries  
of reason1 to check and restrain the    
inferior and brutal appetites4 ,we are  
often angry at ourselves1 it was        
observed1 we often become the objects of
 our own resentment and indignation1    
when the love of pleasure prompts to do 
what we disapprove of2 and the irascible
 part of our nature is in this manner   
called in to assist the rational against
 the concupiscible4  ,when all those    
three different parts of our nature were
 in perfect concord with one another1   
when neither the irascible nor          
concupiscible passions ever aimed at any
 gratification which reason did not     
approve of1 and when reason never       
commanded any thing1 but what these of  
their own accord were willing to        
perform3 this happy composure1 this     
perfect and complete harmony of soul1   
constituted that virtue which in their  
language is expressed by a word which we
 commonly translate temperance1 but     
which might more properly be translated 

good temper1 or sobriety and moderation 
of mind4  ,justice1 the last and        
greatest of the four cardinal virtues1  
took place1 according to this system1   
when each of those three faculties of   
the mind confined itself to its proper  
office1 without attempting to encroach  
upon that of any other2 when reason     
directed and passion obeyed1 and when   
each passion performed its proper duty1 
and exerted itself towards its proper   
object easily and without reluctance1   
and with that degree of force and       
energy1 which was suitable to the value 
of what it pursued4 ,in this consisted  
that complete virtue1 that perfect      
propriety of conduct1 which ,plato1     
after some of the ancient ,pythagoreans1
 has well denominated ,justice4  ,the   
word1 it is to be observed1 which       
expresses justice in the ,greek         
language1 has several different         
meanings2 and as the correspondent word 
in all other languages1 so far as ,i    
know1 has the same1 there must be some  

natural affinity among those various    
significations4 ,in one sense we are    
said to do justice to our neighbour when
 we abstain from doing him any positive 
harm1 and do not directly hurt him1     
either in his person1 or in his estate1 
or in his reputation4 ,this is that     
justice which ,i have treated of above1 
the observance of which may be extorted 
by force1 and the violation of which    
exposes to punishment4 ,in another sense
 we are said not to do justice to our   
neighbour unless we conceive for him all
 that love1 respect1 and esteem1 which  
his character1 his #bdj situation1 and  
his connexion with ourselves1 render    
suitable and proper for us to feel1 and 
unless we act accordingly4 ,it is in    
this sense that we are said to do       
injustice to a man of merit who is      
connected with us1 though we abstain    
from hurting him in every respect1 if we
 do not exert ourselves to serve him and
 to place him in that situation in which
 the impartial spectator would be       

pleased to see him4 ,the first sense of 
the word coincides with what ,aristotle 
and the ,schoolmen call commutative     
justice1 and with what ,grotius calls   
the justitia expletrix1 which consists  
in abstaining from what is another's1   
and in doing voluntarily whatever we can
 with propriety be forced to do4 ,the   
second sense of the word coincides with 
what some have called distributive      
justice1#e and with the justitia        
attributrix of ,grotius1 which consists 
in proper beneficence1 in the becoming  
use of what is our own1 and in the      
applying it to those purposes1 either of
 charity or generosity1 to which it is  
most suitable1 in our situation1 that it
 should be applied4 ,in this sense      
justice comprehends all the social      
virtues4 ,there is yet another sense in 
which the word justice is sometimes     
taken1 still more extensive than either 
of the former1 though very much akin to 
the last2 and which runs too1 so far as 
,i know1 through all languages4 ,it is  

in this last sense that we are said to  
be unjust1 when we do not seem to value 
any particular object with that degree  
of esteem1 or to pursue it with that    
degree of ardour which to the impartial 
spectator it may appear to deserve or to
 be naturally fitted for exciting4 ,thus
 we are said to do injustice to a poem  
or a picture1 when we do not admire them
 enough1 and we are said to do them more
 than justice when we admire them too   
much4 ,in the same manner we are said to
 do injustice to ourselves when we      
appear not to give sufficient attention 
to any particular object of             
self-interest4 ,in this last sense1 what
 is called justice means the same thing 
with exact and perfect propriety of     
conduct and behaviour1 and comprehends  
in it1 not only the offices of both     
commutative and distributive justice1   
but of every other virtue1 of prudence1 
of fortitude1 of temperance4 ,it is in  
this last sense that ,plato evidently   
understands what he calls justice1 and  

which1 therefore1 according to him1     
comprehends in it the perfection of     
every sort of virtue4  ,footnote #e3    
,the distributive justice of ,aristotle 
is somewhat different4 ,it consists in  
the proper distribution of rewards from 
the public stock of a community4 ,see   
,aristotle ,ethic4 ,nic4 #a4 #e4 c4 #b4 
,such is the account given by ,plato of 
the nature of virtue1 or of that temper 
of mind which is the proper object of   
praise and approbation4 ,it consists1   
according to him1 in that state of mind 
in which every faculty confines itself  
within its proper sphere without        
encroaching upon that of any other1 and 
performs its proper office with that    
precise degree of strength and vigour   
which belongs to it4 ,his account1 it is
 evident1 coincides in every respect    
with what we have said above concerning 
the propriety of conduct4  ,,ii4        
,virtue1 according to ,aristotle        
7,ethic4 ,nic4 #a4 #b4 c4 #e4 et seq4 et
 #a4 #c4 #bda c4 #d4 et seq471 consists 

in the habit of mediocrity according to 
right reason4 ,every particular virtue1 
according to him1 lies in a kind of     
middle between two opposite vices1 of   
which the one offends from being too    
much1 the other from being too little   
affected by a particular species of     
objects4 ,thus the virtue of fortitude  
or courage lies in the middle between   
the opposite vices of cowardice and of  
presumptuous rashness1 of which the one 
offends from being too much1 and the    
other from being too little affected by 
the objects of fear4 ,thus too the      
virtue of frugality lies in a middle    
between avarice and profusion1 of which 
the one consists in an excess1 the other
 in a defect of the proper attention to 
the objects of self-interest4           
,magnanimity1 in the same manner1 lies  
in a middle between the excess of       
arrogance and the defect of             
pusillanimity1 of which the one consists
 in too extravagant1 the other in too   
weak a sentiment of our own worth and   

dignity4 ,it is unnecessary to observe  
that this account of virtue corresponds1
 too1 pretty exactly with what has been 
said above concerning the propriety and 
impropriety of conduct4  ,according to  
,aristotle 7,ethic4 ,nic4 lib4 ii4 ch4  
#a1 #b1 #c1 and #d471 indeed1 virtue did
 not so much consist in those moderate  
and right affections1 as in the habit of
 this moderation4 ,in order to          
understand this1 it is to be observed1  
that virtue may be considered either as 
the quality of an action1 or the quality
 of a person4 ,considered as the quality
 of an action1 it consists1 even        
according to ,aristotle1 in the         
reasonable moderation of the affection  
from which the action proceeds1 whether 
this disposition be habitual to the     
person or not4 ,considered as the       
quality of a person1 it consists in the 
habit of this reasonable moderation1 in 
its having become the customary and     
usual disposition of the mind4 ,thus the
 action which proceeds from an          

occasional fit of generosity is         
undoubtedly a generous action1 but the  
man who performs it1 is not necessarily 
a generous person1 because it may be the
 single action of the kind which he ever
 performed4 ,the motive and disposition 
of heart1 from which this action was    
performed1 may have been quite just and 
proper3 but as this happy mood seems to 
have been the effect rather of          
accidental humour than of any thing     
steady or permanent in the character1 it
 can reflect no great honour on the     
performer4 ,when we denominate a        
character generous or charitable1 or    
virtuous in any respect1 we mean to     
signify that the disposition expressed  
by each of those appellations is the    
usual and customary disposition of the  
person4 ,but single actions of any kind1
 how proper and suitable soever1 are of 
little consequence to show that this is 
the case4 ,if a single action was       
sufficient to stamp the character of any
 virtue upon the person who performed   

it1 the most worthless of mankind might 
lay claim to all the virtues2 since     
there is no man who has not1 upon some  
occasions1 acted with prudence1 justice1
 temperance1 and fortitude4 ,but though 
single actions1 how laudable soever1    
reflect very little praise upon the #bdb
 person who performs them1 a single     
vicious action performed by one whose   
conduct is usually pretty regular1      
greatly diminishes and sometimes        
destroys altogether our opinion of his  
virtue4 ,a single action of this kind   
sufficiently shows that his habits are  
not perfect1 and that he is less to be  
depended upon1 than1 from the usual     
train of his behaviour1 we might have   
been apt to imagine4  ,aristotle too    
7,mag4 ,mor4 lib4 i4 ch4 #a47 when he   
made virtue to consist in practical     
habits1 had it probably in his view to  
oppose the doctrine of ,plato1 who seems
 to have been of opinion that just      
sentiments and reasonable judgments     
concerning what was fit to be done or to

 be avoided1 were alone sufficient to   
constitute the most perfect virtue4     
,virtue1 according to ,plato1 might be  
considered as a species of science1 and 
no man1 he thought1 could see clearly   
and demonstratively what was right and  
what was wrong1 and not act accordingly4
 ,passion might make us act contrary to 
doubtful and uncertain opinions1 not to 
plain and evident judgments4 ,aristotle1
 on the contrary1 was of opinion that no
 conviction of the understanding was    
capable of getting the better of        
inveterate habits1 and that our good    
morals arose not from knowledge but from
 action4  ,,iii4 ,according to ,zeno1#f 
the founder of the ,stoical doctrine1   
every animal was by nature recommended  
to its own care1 and was endowed with   
the principle of self-love1 that it     
might endeavour to preserve1 not only   
its existence1 but all the different    
parts of its nature1 in the best and    
most perfect state of which they were   
capable4  ,footnote #f3 ,see ,cicero de 

finibus1 lib4 iii42 also ,diogenes      
,laertius in ,zenone1 lib4 vii4 segment 
#hd4  ,the self-love of man embraced1 if
 ,i may say so1 his body and all its    
different members1 his mind and all its 
different faculties and powers1 and     
desired the preservation and maintenance
 of them all in their best and most     
perfect condition4 ,whatever tended to  
support this state of existence was1    
therefore1 by nature pointed out to him 
as fit to be chosen2 and whatever tended
 to destroy it1 as fit to be rejected4  
,thus health1 strength1 agility1 and    
ease of body as well as the external    
conveniences which could promote these2 
wealth1 power1 honours1 the respect and 
esteem of those we live with2 were      
naturally pointed out to us as things   
eligible1 and of which the possession   
was preferable to the want4 ,on the     
other hand1 sickness1 infirmity1        
unwieldiness1 pain of body1 as well as  
all the external inconveniences which   
tend to occasion or bring on any of     

them2 poverty1 the want of authority1   
the contempt or hatred of those we live 
with2 were1 in the same manner1 pointed 
out to us as things to be shunned and   
avoided4 ,in each of those two opposite 
classes of objects1 there were some     
which appeared to be more the objects   
either of choice or rejection1 than     
others in the same class4 ,thus1 in the 
first class1 health appeared evidently  
preferable to strength1 and strength to 
agility2 reputation to power1 and power 
to riches4 ,and thus too1 in the second 
class1 sickness was more to be avoided  
than #bdc unwieldiness of body1 ignominy
 than poverty1 and poverty than the loss
 of power4 ,virtue and the propriety of 
conduct consisted in choosing and       
rejecting all different objects and     
circumstances according as they were by 
nature rendered more or less the objects
 of choice or rejection2 in selecting   
always from among the several objects of
 choice presented to us1 that which must
 be chosen1 when we could not obtain    

them all2 and in selecting1 too1 out of 
the several objects of rejection offered
 to us1 that which was least to be      
avoided1 when it was not in our power to
 avoid them all4 ,by choosing and       
rejecting with this just and accurate   
discernment1 by thus bestowing upon     
every object the precise degree of      
attention it deserved1 according to the 
place which it held in this natural     
scale of things1 we maintained1         
9999according to the ,stoics1 that      
perfect rectitude of conduct which      
constituted the essence of virtue4 ,this
 was what they called to live           
consistently1 to live according to      
nature1 and to obey those laws and      
directions which nature1 or the ,author 
of nature1 had prescribed for our       
conduct4  ,so far the ,stoical idea of  
propriety and virtue is not very        
different from that of ,aristotle and   
the ancient ,peripatetics4  ,among those
 primary objects which nature had       
recommended to us as eligible1 was the  

prosperity of our family1 of our        
relations1 of our friends1 of our       
country1 of mankind1 and of the universe
 in general4 ,nature too1 had taught us1
 that as the prosperity of two was      
preferable to that of one1 that of many1
 or of all1 must be infinitely more so4 
,that we ourselves were but one1 and    
that consequently wherever our          
prosperity was inconsistent with that1  
either of the whole1 or of any          
considerable part of the whole1 it      
ought1 even in our own choice1 to yield 
to what was so vastly preferable4 ,as   
all the events in this world were       
conducted by the providence of a wise1  
powerful1 and good ,god1 we might be    
assured that whatever happened tended to
 the prosperity and perfection of the   
whole4 ,if we ourselves1 therefore1 were
 in poverty1 in sickness1 or in any     
other calamity1 we ought1 first of all1 
to use our utmost endeavours1 so far as 
justice and our duty to others will     
allow1 to rescue ourselves from this    

disagreeable circumstance4 ,but if1     
after all we could do1 we found this    
impossible1 we ought to rest satisfied  
that the order and perfection of the    
universe required that we should in the 
mean time continue in this situation4   
,and as the prosperity of the whole     
should1 even to us1 appear preferable to
 so insignificant a part as ourselves1  
our situation1 whatever it was1 ought   
from that moment to become the object of
 our liking1 if we would maintain that  
complete propriety and rectitude of     
sentiment and conduct in which consisted
 the perfection of our nature4 ,if1     
indeed1 any opportunity of extricating  
ourselves should offer1 it became our   
duty to embrace it4 ,the order of the   
universe1 it was evident1 no longer     
required our continuance in this        
situation1 and the great ,director of   
the world plainly called upon us to     
leave it1 by so clearly pointing out    
#bdd the road which we were to follow4  
,it was the same case with the adversity

 of our relations1 our friends1 our     
country4 ,if1 without violating any more
 sacred obligation1 it was in our power 
to prevent or put an end to their       
calamity1 it undoubtedly was our duty to
 do so4 ,the propriety of action1 the   
rule which ,jupiter had given us for the
 direction of our conduct1 evidently    
required this of us4 ,but if it was     
altogether out of our power to do       
either1 we ought then to consider this  
event as the most fortunate which could 
possibly have happened3 because we might
 be assured that it tended most to the  
prosperity and order of the whole1 which
 was that we ourselves1 if we were wise 
and equitable1 ought most of all to     
desire4 ,it was our own final interest  
considered as a part of that whole1 of  
which the prosperity ought to be1 not   
only the principal1 but the sole object 
of our desire4  ',in what sense1' says  
,epictetus1 'are some things said to be 
according to our nature1 and others     
contrary to it8 ,it is in that sense in 

which we consider ourselves as separated
 and detached from all other things4    
,for thus it may be said to be according
 to the nature of the foot to be always 
clean4 ,but if you consider it as a     
foot1 and not as something detached from
 the rest of the body1 it must behove it
 some times to trample in the dirt1 and 
sometimes to tread upon thorns1 and     
sometimes1 too1 to be cut off for the   
sake of the whole body2 and if it       
refuses this1 it is no longer a foot4   
,thus1 too1 ought we to conceive with   
regard to ourselves4 ,what are you8 ,a  
man4 ,if you consider yourself as       
something separated and detached1 it is 
agreeable to your nature to live to old 
age1 to be rich1 to be in health4 ,but  
if you consider yourself as a man1 and  
as a part of a whole1 upon account of   
that whole1 it will behove you sometimes
 to be in sickness1 sometimes to be     
exposed to the inconveniency of a sea   
voyage1 sometimes to be in want1 and at 
last perhaps to die before your time4   

,why then do you complain8 ,do not you  
know that by doing so1 as the foot      
ceases to be a foot1 so you cease to be 
man8'  ,a wise man never complains of   
the destiny of ,providence1 nor thinks  
the universe in confusion when he is out
 of order4 ,he does not look upon       
himself as a whole1 separated and       
detached from every other part of       
nature1 to be taken care of by itself   
and for itself4 ,he regards himself in  
the light in which he imagines the great
 genius of human nature1 and of the     
world1 regards him4 ,he enters1 if ,i   
may say so1 into the sentiments of that 
divine ,being1 and considers himself as 
an atom1 a particle1 of an immense and  
infinite system1 which must and ought to
 be disposed of according to the        
conveniency of the whole4 ,assured of   
the wisdom which directs all the events 
of human life1 whatever lot befalls him1
 he accepts it with joy1 satisfied that1
 if he had known all the connections and
 dependencies of the different parts of 

the universe1 it is the very lot which  
he himself would have wished for4 ,if it
 is life1 he is contented to live2 and  
if it is death1 as nature must have no  
further #bde occasion for his presence  
here1 he willingly goes where he is     
appointed4 ,i accept1 said a cynical    
philosopher1 whose doctrines were in    
this respect the same as those of the   
,stoics1 ,i accept1 with equal joy and  
satisfaction1 whatever fortune can      
befall me4 ,riches or poverty1 pleasure 
or pain1 health or sickness1 all is     
alike3 nor would ,i desire that the gods
 should in any respect change my        
destination4 ,if ,i was to ask of them  
any thing beyond what their bounty has  
already bestowed1 it should be that they
 would inform me beforehand what it was 
their pleasure should be done with me1  
that ,i might of my own accord place    
myself in this situation1 and           
demonstrate the cheerfulness with which 
,i embraced their allotment4 ,if ,i am  
going to sail1 says ,epictetus1 ,i      

choose the best ship and the best pilot1
 and ,i wait for the fairest weather    
that my circumstances and duty will     
allow4 ,prudence and propriety1 the     
principles which the gods have given me 
for the direction of my conduct1 require
 this of me2 but they require no more3  
and if1 notwithstanding1 a storm arises1
 which neither the strength of the      
vessel nor the skill of the pilot are   
likely to withstand1 ,i give myself no  
trouble about the consequence4 ,all that
 ,i had to do is done already4 ,the     
directors of my conduct never command me
 to be miserable1 to be anxious1        
desponding1 or afraid4 ,whether we are  
to be drowned1 or to come to a harbour1 
is the business of ,jupiter1 not mine4  
,i leave it entirely to his             
determination1 nor ever break my rest   
with considering which way he is likely 
to decide it1 but receive whatever may  
come with equal indifference and        
security4  ,from this perfect confidence
 in that benevolent wisdom which governs

 the universe1 and from this entire     
resignation to whatever order that      
wisdom might think proper to establish1 
it necessarily followed1 that to the    
,stoical wise man1 all the events of    
human life must be in a great measure   
indifferent4 ,his happiness consisted   
altogether1 first1 in the contemplation 
of the happiness and perfection of the  
great system of the universe1 of the    
good government of the great republic of
 gods and men1 of all rational and      
sensible beings2 and1 secondly1 in      
discharging his duty1 in acting properly
 in the affairs of this great republic  
whatever little part that wisdom had    
assigned to him4 ,the propriety or      
impropriety of his endeavours might be  
of great consequence to him4 ,their     
success or disappointment could be of   
none at all2 could excite no passionate 
joy or sorrow1 no passionate desire or  
aversion4 ,if he preferred some events  
to others1 if some situations were the  
objects of his choice and others of his 

rejection1 it was not because he        
regarded the one as in themselves in any
 respect better than the other1 or      
thought that his own happiness would be 
more complete in what is called the     
fortunate than in what is regarded as   
the distressful situation2 but because  
the propriety of action1 the rule which 
the gods had given him for the direction
 of his conduct1 required him to choose 
and reject in this manner4 ,all his     
affections were absorbed and swallowed  
up in #bdf two great affections2 in that
 for the discharge of his own duty1 and 
in that for the greatest possible       
happiness of all rational and sensible  
beings4 ,for the gratification of this  
latter affection1 he rested with the    
most perfect security upon the wisdom   
and power of the great ,superintendent  
of the universe4 ,his sole anxiety was  
about the gratification of the former2  
not about the event1 but about the      
propriety of his own endeavours4        
,whatever the event might be1 he trusted

 to a superior power and wisdom for     
turning it to promote that great end    
which he himself was most desirous of   
promoting4  ,this propriety of choosing 
and rejecting1 though originally pointed
 out to us1 and as it were recommended  
and introduced to our acquaintance by   
the things1 and for the sake of the     
things1 chosen and rejected2 yet when we
 had once become thoroughly acquainted  
with it1 the order1 the grace1 the      
beauty which we discerned in this       
conduct1 the happiness which we felt    
resulted from it1 necessarily appeared  
to us of much greater value than the    
actual obtaining of all the different   
objects of choice1 or the actual        
avoiding of all those of rejection4     
,from the observation of this propriety 
arose the happiness and the glory2 from 
the neglect of it1 the misery and the   
disgrace of human nature4  ,but to a    
wise man1 to one whose passions were    
brought under perfect subjection to the 
ruling principles of his nature1 the    

exact observation of this propriety was 
equally easy upon all occasions4 ,was he
 in prosperity1 he returned thanks to   
,jupiter for having joined him with     
circumstances which were easily         
mastered1 and in which there was little 
temptation to do wrong4 ,was he in      
adversity1 he equally returned thanks to
 the director of this spectacle of human
 life1 for having opposed to him a      
vigorous athlete1 over whom1 though the 
contest was likely to be more violent1  
the victory was more glorious1 and      
equally certain4 ,can there be any shame
 in that distress which is brought upon 
us without any fault of our own1 and in 
which we behave with perfect propriety8 
,there can1 therefore1 be no evil1 but1 
on the contrary1 the greatest good and  
advantage4 ,a brave man exults in those 
dangers in which1 from no rashness of   
his own1 his fortune has involved him4  
,they afford an opportunity of          
exercising that heroic intrepidity1     
whose exertion gives the exalted delight

 which flows from the consciousness of  
superior propriety and deserved         
admiration4 ,one who is master of all   
his exercises has no aversion to measure
 his strength and activity with the     
strongest4 ,and1 in the same manner1 one
 who is master of all his passions1 does
 not dread any circumstance in which the
 ,superintendent of the universe may    
think proper to place him4 ,the bounty  
of that divine ,being has provided him  
with virtues which render him superior  
to every situation4 ,if it is pleasure1 
he has temperance to refrain from it2 if
 it is pain1 he has constancy to bear   
it2 if it is danger or death1 he has    
magnanimity and fortitude to despise it4
 ,the events of human life can never    
find him unprepared1 or at a loss how to
 maintain that #bdg propriety of        
sentiment and conduct which1 in his own 
apprehension1 constitutes at once his   
glory and his happiness4  ,human life   
the ,stoics appear to have considered as
 a game of great skill2 in which1       

however1 there was a mixture of chance1 
or of what is vulgarly understood to be 
chance4 ,in such games the stake is     
commonly a trifle1 and the whole        
pleasure of the game arises from playing
 well1 from playing fairly1 and playing 
skilfully4 ,if notwithstanding all his  
skill1 however1 the good player should1 
by the influence of chance1 happen to   
lose1 the loss ought to be a matter1    
rather of merriment1 than of serious    
sorrow4 ,he has made no false stroke2 he
 has done nothing which he ought to be  
ashamed of2 he has enjoyed completely   
the whole pleasure of the game4 ,if1 on 
the contrary1 the bad player            
notwithstanding all his blunders1       
should1 in the same manner1 happen to   
win1 his success can give him but little
 satisfaction4 ,he is mortified by the  
remembrance of all the faults which he  
committed4 ,even during the play he can 
enjoy no part of the pleasure which it  
is capable of affording4 ,from ignorance
 of the rules of the game1 fear and     

doubt and hesitation are the            
disagreeable sentiments that precede    
almost every stroke which he plays2 and 
when he has played it1 the mortification
 of finding it a gross blunder1 commonly
 completes the unpleasing circle of his 
sensations4 ,human life1 with all the   
advantages which can possibly attend it1
 ought1 according to the ,stoics1 to be 
regarded but as a mere twopenny stake2 a
 matter by far too insignificant to     
merit any anxious concern4 ,our only    
anxious concern ought to be1 not about  
the stake1 but about the proper method  
of playing4 ,if we placed our happiness 
in winning the stake1 we placed it in   
what depended upon causes beyond our    
power and out of our direction4 ,we     
necessarily exposed ourselves to        
perpetual fear and uneasiness1 and      
frequently to grievous and mortifying   
disappointments4 ,if we placed it in    
playing well1 in playing fairly1 in     
playing wisely and skilfully2 in the    
propriety of our own conduct in short2  

we placed it in what1 by proper         
discipline1 education1 and attention1   
might be altogether in our own power1   
and under our own direction4 ,our       
happiness was perfectly secure1 and     
beyond the reach of fortune4 ,the event 
of our actions1 if it was out of our    
power1 was equally out of our concern1  
and we could never feel either fear or  
anxiety about it2 nor ever suffer any   
grievous1 or even any serious           
disappointment4  ,human life itself1 as 
well as every different advantage or    
disadvantage which can attend it1 might1
 they said1 according to different      
circumstances1 be the proper object     
either of our choice or of our          
rejection4 ,if1 in our actual situation1
 there were more circumstances agreeable
 to nature than contrary to it2 more    
circumstances which were the objects of 
choice than of rejection2 life1 in this 
case1 was1 upon the whole1 the proper   
object of choice1 and the propriety of  
conduct required that we should remain  

in it4 ,if1 on the other hand1 there    
#bdh were1 in our actual situation1     
without any probable hope of amendment1 
more circumstances contrary to nature   
than agreeable to it2 more circumstances
 which were the objects of rejection    
than of choice2 life itself1 in this    
case1 became1 to a wise man1 the object 
of rejection1 and he was not only at    
liberty to remove out of it1 but the    
propriety of conduct1 the rule which the
 gods had given him for the direction of
 his conduct1 required him to do so4 ,i 
am ordered1 says ,epictetus1 not to     
dwell at ,nicopolis4 ,i do not dwell    
there4 ,i am ordered not to dwell at    
,athens4 ,i do not dwell at ,athens4 ,i 
am ordered not to dwell in ,rome4 ,i do 
not dwell in ,rome4 ,i am ordered to    
dwell in the little and rocky island of 
,gyar4 ,i go and dwell there4 ,but the  
house smokes in ,gyar4 ,if the smoke is 
moderate1 ,i will bear it1 and stay     
there4 ,if it is excessive1 ,i will go  
to a house from whence no tyrant can    

remove me4 ,i keep in mind always that  
the door is open1 that ,i can walk out  
when ,i please1 and retire to that      
hospitable house which is at all times  
open to all the world2 for beyond my    
undermost garment1 beyond my body1 no   
man living has any power over me4 ,if   
your situation is upon the whole        
disagreeable2 if your house smokes too  
much for you1 said the ,stoics1 walk    
forth by all means4 ,but walk forth     
without repining2 without murmuring or  
complaining4 ,walk forth calm1          
contented1 rejoicing1 returning thanks  
to the gods1 who1 from their infinite   
bounty1 have opened the safe and quiet  
harbour of death1 at all times ready to 
receive us from the stormy ocean of     
human life2 who have prepared this      
sacred1 this inviolable1 this great     
asylum1 always open1 always accessible2 
altogether beyond the reach of human    
rage and injustice2 and large enough to 
contain both all those who wish1 and all
 those who do not wish to retire to it3 

an asylum which takes away from every   
man every pretence of complaining1 or   
even of fancying that there can be any  
evil in human life1 except such as he   
may suffer from his own folly and       
weakness4  ,the ,stoics1 in the few     
fragments of their philosophy which have
 come down to us1 sometimes talk of     
leaving life with a gaiety1 and even    
with a levity1 which1 were we to        
consider those passages by themselves1  
might induce us to believe that they    
imagined we could with propriety leave  
it whenever we had a mind1 wantonly and 
capriciously1 upon the slightest disgust
 or uneasiness4 ',when you sup with such
 a person1' says ,epictetus1 'you       
complain of the long stories which he   
tells you about his ,mysian wars4 ,now  
my friend1 says he1 having told you how 
,i took possession of an eminence at    
such a place1 ,i will tell you how ,i   
was besieged in such another place4 ,but
 if you have a mind not to be troubled  
with his long stories1 do not accept of 

his supper4 ,if you accept of his       
supper1 you have not the least pretence 
to complain of his long stories4 ,it is 
the same case with what you call the    
evils of human life4 ,never complain of 
that of which it is at all times in your
 power to rid yourself4'                
,notwithstanding this gaiety and even   
#bdi levity of expression1 however1 the 
alternative of leaving life1 or of      
remaining in it1 was1 according to the  
,stoics1 a matter of the most serious   
and important deliberation4 ,we ought   
never to leave it till we were          
distinctly called upon to do so by that 
superintending ,power which had         
originally placed us in it4 ,but we were
 to consider ourselves as called upon to
 do so1 not merely at the appointed and 
unavoidable term of human life4         
,whenever the providence of that        
superintending ,power had rendered our  
condition in life upon the whole the    
proper object rather of rejection than  
of choice2 the great rule which he had  

given us for the direction of our       
conduct1 then required us to leave it4  
,we might then be said to hear the awful
 and benevolent voice of that divine    
,being distinctly calling upon us to do 
so4  ,it was upon this account that1    
according to the ,stoics1 it might be   
the duty of a wise man to remove out of 
life though he was perfectly happy2     
while1 on the contrary1 it might be the 
duty of a weak man to remain in it1     
though he was necessarily miserable4    
,if1 in the situation of the wise man1  
there were more circumstances which were
 the natural objects of rejection than  
of choice1 the whole situation became   
the object of rejection1 and the rule   
which the gods had given him for the    
direction of his conduct1 required that 
he should remove out of it as speedily  
as particular circumstances might render
 convenient4 ,he was1 however1 perfectly
 happy even during the time that he     
might think proper to remain in it4 ,he 
had placed his happiness1 not in        

obtaining the objects of his choice1 or 
in avoiding those of his rejection2 but 
in always choosing and rejecting with   
exact propriety2 not in the success1 but
 in the fitness of his endeavours and   
exertions4 ,if1 in the situation of the 
weak man1 on the contrary1 there were   
more circumstances which were the       
natural objects of choice than of       
rejection2 his whole situation became   
the proper object of choice1 and it was 
his duty to remain in it4 ,he was       
unhappy1 however1 from not knowing how  
to use those circumstances4 ,let his    
cards be ever so good1 he did not know  
how to play them1 and could enjoy no    
sort of real satisfaction1 either in the
 progress1 or in the event of the game1 
in whatever manner it might happen to   
turn out4 7,cicero de finibus1 lib4 #c4 
c4 #ac47  ,the propriety1 upon some     
occasions1 of voluntary death1 though it
 was1 perhaps1 more insisted upon by the
 ,stoics1 than by any other sect of     
ancient philosophers1 was1 however1 a   

doctrine common to them all1 even to the
 peaceable and indolent ,epicureans4    
,during the age in which flourished the 
founders of all the principal sects of  
ancient philosophy2 during the          
,peloponnesian war and for many years   
after its conclusion1 all the different 
republics of ,greece were1 at home1     
almost always distracted by the most    
furious factions2 and abroad1 involved  
in the most sanguinary wars1 in which   
each fought1 not merely for superiority 
or dominion1 but either completely to   
extirpate all its enemies1 or1 what was 
not less cruel1 to reduce them into the 
vilest of #bej all states1 that of      
domestic slavery1 and to sell them1 man1
 woman1 and child1 like so many herds of
 cattle1 to the highest bidder in the   
market4 ,the smallness of the greater   
part of those states1 too1 rendered it1 
to each of them1 no very improbable     
event1 that it might itself fall into   
that very calamity which it had so      
frequently1 either1 perhaps1 actually   

inflicted1 or at least attempted to     
inflict upon some of its neighbours4 ,in
 this disorderly state of things1 the   
most perfect innocence1 joined to both  
the highest rank and the greatest public
 services1 could give no security to any
 man that1 even at home and among his   
own relations and fellow-citizens1 he   
was not1 at some time or another1 from  
the prevalence of some hostile and      
furious faction1 to be condemned to the 
most cruel and ignominious punishment4  
,if he was taken prisoner in war1 or if 
the city of which he was a member was   
conquered1 he was exposed1 if possible1 
to still greater injuries and insults4  
,but every man naturally1 or rather     
necessarily1 familiarizes his           
imagination with the distresses to which
 he foresees that his situation may     
frequently expose him4 ,it is impossible
 that a sailor should not frequently    
think of storms and shipwrecks and      
foundering at sea1 and of how he himself
 is likely both to feel and to act upon 

such occasions4 ,it was impossible1 in  
the same manner1 that a ,grecian patriot
 or hero should not familiarize his     
imagination with all the different      
calamities to which he was sensible his 
situation must frequently1 or rather    
constantly1 expose him4 ,as an ,american
 savage prepares his death-song1 and    
considers how he should act when he has 
fallen into the hands of his enemies1   
and is by them put to death in the most 
lingering tortures1 and amidst the      
insults and derision of all the         
spectators2 so a ,grecian patriot or    
hero could not avoid frequently         
employing his thoughts in considering   
what he ought both to suffer and to do  
in banishment1 in captivity1 when       
reduced to slavery1 when put to the     
torture1 when brought to the scaffold4  
,but the philosophers of all the        
different sects very justly represented 
virtue2 that is1 wise1 just1 firm and   
temperate conduct2 not only as the most 
probable1 but as the certain and        

infallible road to happiness even in    
this life4 ,this conduct1 however1 could
 not always exempt1 and might even      
sometimes expose the person who followed
 it to all the calamities which were    
incident to that unsettled situation of 
public affairs4 ,they endeavoured1      
therefore1 to show that happiness was   
either altogether1 or at least in a     
great measure1 independent of fortune2  
the ,stoics1 that it was so altogether2 
the ,academic and ,peripatetic          
philosophers1 that it was so in a great 
measure4 ,wise1 prudent1 and good       
conduct was1 in the first place1 the    
conduct most likely to ensure success in
 every species of undertaking2 and      
secondly1 though it should fail of      
success1 yet the mind was not left      
without consolation4 ,the virtuous man  
might still enjoy the complete          
approbation of his own breast2 and might
 still feel that1 how untoward soever   
things might be without1 all was calm   
and peace and #bea concord within4 ,he  

might generally comfort himself1 too1   
with the assurance that he possessed the
 love and esteem of every intelligent   
and impartial spectator1 who could not  
fail both to admire his conduct1 and to 
regret his misfortune4  ,those          
philosophers endeavoured1 at the same   
time1 to show1 that the greatest        
misfortunes to which human life was     
liable1 might be supported more easily  
than was commonly imagined4 ,they       
endeavoured to point out the comforts   
which a man might still enjoy when      
reduced to poverty1 when driven into    
banishment1 when exposed to the         
injustice of popular clamour1 when      
labouring under blindness1 under        
deafness1 in the extremity of old age1  
upon the approach of death4 ,they       
pointed out1 too1 the considerations    
which might contribute to support his   
constancy under the agonies of pain and 
even of torture1 in sickness1 in sorrow 
for the loss of children1 for the death 
of friends and relations1 etc4 ,the few 

fragments which have come down to us of 
what the ancient philosophers had       
written upon these subjects1 form1      
perhaps1 one of the most instructive1 as
 well as one of the most interesting    
remains of antiquity4 ,the spirit and   
manhood of their doctrines make a       
wonderful contrast with the desponding1 
plaintive1 and whining tone of some     
modern systems4  ,but while those       
ancient philosophers endeavoured in this
 manner to suggest every consideration  
which could1 as ,milton says1 arm the   
obdured breast with stubborn patience1  
as with triple steel2 they1 at the same 
time1 laboured above all to convince    
their followers that there neither was  
nor could be any evil in death2 and     
that1 if their situation became at any  
time too hard for their constancy to    
support1 the remedy was at hand1 the    
door was open1 and they might1 without  
fear1 walk out when they pleased4 ,if   
there was no world beyond the present1  
death1 they said1 could be no evil2 and 

if there was another world1 the gods    
must likewise be in that other1 and a   
just man could fear no evil while under 
their protection4 ,those philosophers1  
in short1 prepared a death-song1 if ,i  
may say so1 which the ,grecian patriots 
and heroes might make use of upon the   
proper occasions2 and1 of all the       
different sects1 the ,stoics1 ,i think  
it must be acknowledged1 had prepared by
 far the most animated and most spirited
 song4  ,suicide1 however1 never seems  
to have been very common among the      
,greeks4 ,excepting ,cleomenes1 ,i      
cannot at present recollect any very    
illustrious either patriot or hero of   
,greece1 who died by his own hand4 ,the 
death of ,aristomenes is as much beyond 
the period of true history as that of   
,ajax4 ,the common story of the death of
 ,themistocles1 though within that      
period1 bears upon its face all the     
marks of a most romantic fable4 ,of all 
the ,greek heroes whose lives have been 
written by ,plutarch1 ,cleomenes appears

 to have been the only one who perished 
in this manner4 ,theramines1 ,socrates1 
and ,phocion1 who certainly did not want
 courage1 suffered themselves to be sent
 to prison1 and #beb submitted patiently
 to that death to which the injustice of
 their fellow-citizens had condemned    
them4 ,the brave ,eumenes allowed       
himself to be delivered up1 by his own  
mutinous soldiers1 to his enemy         
,antigonus1 and was starved to death1   
without attempting any violence4 ,the   
gallant ,philopoe men suffered himself  
to be taken prisoner by the ,messenians1
 was thrown into a dungeon1 and was     
supposed to have been privately         
poisoned4 ,several of the philosophers1 
indeed1 are said to have died in this   
manner2 but their lives have been so    
very foolishly written1 that very little
 credit is due to the greater part of   
the tales which are told of them4 ,three
 different accounts have been given of  
the death of ,zeno the ,stoic4 ,one is1 
that after enjoying1 for ninety-eight   

years1 the most perfect state of health1
 he happened1 in going out of his       
school1 to fall2 and though he suffered 
no other damage than that of breaking or
 dislocating one of his fingers1 he     
struck the ground with his hand1 and1 in
 the words of the ,niobe of ,euripides1 
said1 ,i come1 why doest thou call me8  
and immediately went home and hanged    
himself4 ,at that great age1 one should 
think1 he might have had a little more  
patience4 ,another account is1 that1 at 
the same age1 and in consequence of a   
like accident1 he starved himself to    
death4 ,the third account is1 that1 at  
seventy-two years of age1 he died in the
 natural way2 by far the most probable  
account of the three1 and supported too 
by the authority of a cotemporary1 who  
must have had every opportunity of being
 well-informed2 of ,persus1 originally  
the slave1 and afterwards the friend and
 disciple of ,zeno4 ,the first account  
is given by ,apollonius of ,tyre1 who   
flourished about the time of ,augustus  

,csar1 between two and three hundred    
years after the death of ,zeno4 ,i know 
not who is the author of the second     
account4 ,apollonius1 who was himself a 
,stoic1 had probably thought it would do
 honour to the founder of a sect which  
talked so much about voluntary death1 to
 die in this manner by his own hand4    
,men of letters1 though1 after their    
death1 they are frequently more talked  
of than the greatest princes or         
statesmen of their times1 are generally1
 during their life1 so obscure and      
insignificant that their adventures are 
seldom recorded by cotemporary          
historians4 ,those of after-ages1 in    
order to satisfy the public curiosity1  
and having no authentic documents either
 to support or to contradict their      
narratives1 seem frequently to have     
fashioned them according to their own   
fancy2 and almost always with a great   
mixture of the marvellous4 ,in this     
particular case the marvellous1 though  
supported by no authority1 seems to have

 prevailed over the probable1 though    
supported by the best4 ,diogenes        
,laertius plainly gives the preference  
to the story of ,apollonius4 ,lucian and
 ,lactantius appear both to have given  
credit to that of the great age and of  
the violent death4  ,this fashion of    
voluntary death appears to have been    
much more prevalent among the proud     
,romans1 than it ever was among the     
lively1 ingenious1 and accommodating    
,greeks4 ,even among the ,romans1 the   
#bec fashion seems not to have been     
established in the early and1 what are  
called1 the virtuous ages of the        
republic4 ,the common story of the death
 of ,regulus1 though probably a fable1  
could never have been invented1 had it  
been supposed that any dishonour could  
fall upon that hero1 from patiently     
submitting to the tortures which the    
,carthaginians are said to have         
inflicted upon him4 ,in the later ages  
of the republic1 some dishonour1 ,i     
apprehend1 would have attended this     

submission4 ,in the different civil wars
 which preceded the fall of the         
commonwealth1 many of the eminent men of
 all the contending parties chose rather
 to perish by their own hands1 than to  
fall into those of their enemies4 ,the  
death of ,cato1 celebrated by ,cicero1  
and censured by ,csar1 and become the   
subject of a very serious controversy   
between1 perhaps1 the two most          
illustrious advocates that the world had
 ever beheld1 stamped a character of    
splendour upon this method of dying     
which it seems to have retained for     
several ages after4 ,the eloquence of   
,cicero was superior to that of ,csar4  
,the admiring prevailed greatly over the
 censuring party1 and the lovers of     
liberty1 for many ages afterwards1      
looked up to ,cato as to the most       
venerable martyr of the republican      
party4 ,the head of a party1 the        
,cardinal de ,retz observes1 may do what
 he pleases2 as long as he retains the  
confidence of his own friends1 he can   

never do wrong2 a maxim of which his    
eminence had himself1 upon several      
occasions1 an opportunity of            
experiencing the truth4 ,cato1 it seems1
 joined to his other virtues that of an 
excellent bottle companion4 ,his enemies
 accused him of drunkenness1 but1 says  
,seneca1 whoever objected this vice to  
,cato1 will find it easier to prove that
 drunkenness is a virtue1 than that     
,cato could be addicted to any vice4    
,under the ,emperors this method of     
dying seems to have been1 for a long    
time1 perfectly fashionable4 ,in the    
epistles of ,pliny we find an account of
 several persons who chose to die in    
this manner1 rather from vanity and     
ostentation1 it would seem1 than from   
what would appear1 even to a sober and  
judicious ,stoic1 any proper or         
necessary reason4 ,even the ladies1 who 
are seldom behind in following the      
fashion1 seem frequently to have chosen1
 most unnecessarily1 to die in this     
manner2 and1 like the ladies in ,bengal1

 to accompany1 upon some occasions1     
their husbands to the tomb4 ,the        
prevalence of this fashion certainly    
occasioned many deaths which would not  
otherwise have happened4 ,all the havoc1
 however1 which this1 perhaps the       
highest exertion of human vanity and    
impertinence1 could occasion1 would1    
probably1 at no time1 be very great4    
,the principle of suicide1 the principle
 which would teach us1 upon some        
occasions1 to consider that violent     
action as an object of applause and     
approbation1 seems to be altogether a   
refinement of philosophy4 ,nature1 in   
her sound and healthful state1 seems    
never to prompt us to suicide4 ,there   
is1 indeed1 a species of melancholy 7a  
disease to which human nature1 among its
 other calamities1 is unhappily subject7
 which #bed seems to be accompanied     
with1 what one may call1 an irresistible
 appetite for self-destruction4 ,in     
circumstances often of the highest      
external prosperity1 and sometimes too1 

in spite even of the most serious and   
deeply impressed sentiments of religion1
 this disease has frequently been known 
to drive its wretched victims to this   
fatal extremity4 ,the unfortunate       
persons who perish in this miserable    
manner1 are the proper objects1 not of  
censure1 but of commiseration4 ,to      
attempt to punish them1 when they are   
beyond the reach of all human           
punishment1 is not more absurd than it  
is unjust4 ,that punishment can fall    
only on their surviving friends and     
relations1 who are always perfectly     
innocent1 and to whom the loss of their 
friend1 in this disgraceful manner1 must
 always be alone a very heavy calamity4 
,nature1 in her sound and healthful     
state1 prompts us to avoid distress upon
 all occasions2 upon many occasions to  
defend ourselves against it1 though at  
the hazard1 or even with the certainty  
of perishing in that defence4 ,but1 when
 we have neither been able to defend    
ourselves from it1 nor have perished in 

that defence1 no natural principle1 no  
regard to the approbation of the        
supposed impartial spectator1 to the    
judgment of the man within the breast1  
seems to call upon us to escape from it 
by destroying ourselves4 ,it is only the
 consciousness of our own weakness1 of  
our own incapacity to support the       
calamity with proper manhood and        
firmness1 which can drive us to this    
resolution4 ,i do not remember to have  
either read or heard of any ,american   
savage1 who1 upon being taken prisoner  
by some hostile tribe1 put himself to   
death1 in order to avoid being          
afterwards put to death in torture1 and 
amidst the insults and mockery of his   
enemies4 ,he places his glory in        
supporting those torments with manhood1 
and in retorting those insults with     
tenfold contempt and derision4  ,this   
contempt of life and death1 however1    
and1 at the same time1 the most entire  
submission to the order of ,providence2 
the most complete contentment with every

 event which the current of human       
affairs could possibly cast up1 may be  
considered as the two fundamental       
doctrines upon which rested the whole   
fabric of ,stoical morality4 ,the       
independent and spirited1 but often     
harsh ,epictetus1 may be considered as  
the great apostle of the first of those 
doctrines3 the mild1 the humane1 the    
benevolent ,antoninus1 of the second4   
,the emancipated slave of ,epaphroditus1
 who1 in his youth1 had been subjected  
to the insolence of a brutal master1    
who1 in his riper years1 was1 by the    
jealousy and caprice of ,domitian1      
banished from ,rome and ,athens1 and    
obliged to dwell at ,nicopolis1 and who1
 by the same tyrant1 might expect every 
moment to be sent to ,gyar1 or1 perhaps1
 to be put to death2 could preserve his 
own tranquillity only by fostering in   
his mind the most sovereign contempt of 
human life4 ,he never exults so much1   
accordingly2 his eloquence is never so  
animated as when he represents the      

futility and nothingness of all its     
pleasures and all its pains4  #bee ,the 
good-natured emperor1 the absolute      
sovereign of the whole civilized part of
 the world1 who certainly had no        
peculiar reason to complain of his own  
allotment1 delights in expressing his   
contentment with the ordinary course of 
things1 and in pointing out beauties    
even in those parts of it where vulgar  
observers are not apt to see any4 ,there
 is a propriety and even an engaging    
grace1 he observes1 in old age as well  
as in youth2 and the weakness and       
decrepitude of the one state are as     
suitable to nature as the bloom and     
vigour of the other4 ,death1 too1 is    
just as proper a termination of old age1
 as youth is of childhood1 or manhood of
 youth4 ',as we frequently say1' he     
remarks upon another occasion1 'that the
 physician has ordered to such a man to 
ride on horseback1 or to use the cold   
bath1 or to walk barefooted2 so ought we
 to say1 that ,nature1 the great        

conductor and physician of the universe1
 has ordered to such a man a disease1 or
 the amputation of a limb1 or the loss  
of a child4' ,by the prescriptions of   
ordinary physicians the patient swallows
 many a bitter potion1 undergoes many a 
painful operation4 ,from the very       
uncertain hope1 however1 that health may
 be the consequence1 he gladly submits  
to all4 ,the harshest prescriptions of  
the great ,physician of nature1 the     
patient may1 in the same manner1 hope   
will contribute to his own health1 to   
his own final prosperity and happiness3 
and he may be perfectly assured that    
they not only contribute1 but are       
indispensably necessary to the health1  
to the prosperity and happiness of the  
universe1 to the furtherance and        
advancement of the great plan of        
,jupiter4 ,had they not been so1 the    
universe would never have produced them2
 its all-wise ,architect and ,conductor 
would never have suffered them to       
happen4 ,as all1 even the smallest of   

the co-existent parts of the universe1  
are exactly fitted to one another1 and  
all contribute to compose one immense   
and connected system1 so all1 even      
apparently the most insignificant of the
 successive events which follow one     
another1 make parts1 and necessary      
parts1 of that great chain of causes and
 effects which had no beginning1 and    
which will have no end2 and which1 as   
they all necessarily result from the    
original arrangement and contrivance of 
the whole2 so they are all essentially  
necessary1 not only to its prosperity1  
but to its continuance and preservation4
 ,whoever does not cordially embrace    
whatever befalls him1 whoever is sorry  
that it has befallen him1 whoever wishes
 that it had not befallen him1 wishes1  
so far as in him lies1 to stop the      
motion of the universe1 to break that   
great chain of succession1 by the       
progress of which that system can alone 
be continued and preserved1 and1 for    
some little conveniency of his own1 to  

disorder and discompose the whole       
machine of the world4 ',o world1' says  
he1 in another place1 'all things are   
suitable to me which are suitable to    
thee4 ,nothing is too early or too late 
to me which is seasonable for thee4 ,all
 is fruit to me which thy seasons bring 
forth4 ,from thee are all things2 in    
thee are all things2 for thee are all   
things4 ,one man #bef says1 ,o beloved  
city of ,cecrops4 ,wilt not thou say1 ,o
 beloved city of ,god8'  ,from these    
very sublime doctrines the ,stoics1 or  
at least some of the ,stoics1 attempted 
to deduce all their paradoxes4  ,the    
,stoical wise man endeavoured to enter  
into the views of the great             
,superintendent of the universe1 and to 
see things in the same light in which   
that divine ,being beheld them4 ,but1 to
 the great ,superintendent of the       
universe1 all the different events which
 the course of his providence may bring 
forth1 what to us appear the smallest   
and the greatest1 the bursting of a     

bubble1 as ,mr4 ,pope says1 and that of 
a world1 for example1 were perfectly    
equal1 were equally parts of that great 
chain which he had predestined from all 
eternity1 were equally the effects of   
the same unerring wisdom1 of the same   
universal and boundless benevolence4 ,to
 the ,stoical wise man1 in the same     
manner1 all those different events were 
perfectly equal4 ,in the course of those
 events1 indeed1 a little department1 in
 which he had himself some little       
management and direction1 had been      
assigned to him4 ,in this department he 
endeavoured to act as properly as he    
could1 and to conduct himself according 
to those orders which1 he understood1   
had been prescribed to him4 ,but he took
 no anxious or passionate concern either
 in the success1 or in the              
disappointment of his own most faithful 
endeavours4 ,the highest prosperity and 
the total destruction of that little    
department1 of that little system which 
had been in some measure committed to   

his charge1 were perfectly indifferent  
to him4 ,if those events had depended   
upon him1 he would have chosen the one1 
and he would have rejected the other4   
,but as they did not depend upon him1 he
 trusted to a superior wisdom1 and was  
perfectly satisfied that the event which
 happened1 whatever it might be1 was the
 very event which he himself1 had he    
known all the connections and           
dependencies of things1 would most      
earnestly and devoutly have wished for4 
,whatever he did under the influence and
 direction of those principles was      
equally perfect2 and when he stretched  
out his finger1 to give the example     
which they commonly made use of1 he     
performed an action in every respect as 
meritorious1 as worthy of praise and    
admiration1 as when he laid down his    
life for the service of his country4    
,as1 to the great ,superintendent of the
 universe1 the greatest and the smallest
 exertions of his power1 the formation  
and dissolution of a world1 the         

formation and dissolution of a bubble1  
were equally easy1 were equally         
admirable1 and equally the effects of   
the same divine wisdom and benevolence2 
so1 to the ,stoical wise man1 what we   
would call the great action required no 
more exertion than the little one1 was  
equally easy1 proceeded from exactly the
 same principles1 was in no respect more
 meritorious1 nor worthy of any higher  
degree of praise and admiration4  ,as   
all those who had arrived at this state 
of perfection were equally #beg happy1  
so all those who fell in the smallest   
degree short of it1 how nearly soever   
they might approach to it1 were equally 
miserable4 ,as the man1 they said1 who  
was but an inch below the surface of the
 water1 could no more breathe than he   
who was an hundred yards below it2 so   
the man who had not completely subdued  
all his private1 partial1 and selfish   
passions1 who had any other earnest     
desire but that for the universal       
happiness1 who had not completely       

emerged from that abyss of misery and   
disorder into which his anxiety for the 
gratification of those private1 partial1
 and selfish passions had involved him1 
could no more breathe the free air of   
liberty and independency1 could no more 
enjoy the security and happiness of the 
wise man1 than he who was most remote   
from that situation4 ,as all the actions
 of the wise man were perfect and       
equally perfect2 so all those of the man
 who had not arrived at this supreme    
wisdom were faulty1 and1 as some ,stoics
 pretended1 equally faulty4 ,as one     
truth1 they said1 could not be more     
true1 nor one falsehood more false than 
another2 so an honourable action could  
not be more honourable1 nor a shameful  
one more shameful than another4 ,as in  
shooting at a mark1 the man who missed  
it by an inch had equally missed it with
 him who had done so by a hundred yards2
 so the man who1 in what to us appears  
the most insignificant action1 had acted
 improperly and without a sufficient    

reason1 was equally faulty with him who 
had done so in1 what to us appears1 the 
most important2 the man who has killed a
 cock1 for example1 improperly and      
without a sufficient reason1 was as     
criminal as he who had murdered his     
father4  ,if the first of those two     
paradoxes should appear sufficiently    
violent1 the second is evidently too    
absurd to deserve any serious           
consideration4 ,it is1 indeed1 so very  
absurd that one can scarce help         
suspecting that it must have been in    
some measure misunderstood or           
misrepresented4 ,at any rate1 ,i cannot 
allow myself to believe that such men as
 ,zeno or ,cleanthes1 men1 it is said1  
of the most simple as well as of the    
most sublime eloquence1 could be the    
authors1 either of these1 or of the     
greater part of the other ,stoical      
paradoxes1 which are in general mere    
impertinent quibbles1 and do so little  
honour to their system that ,i shall    
give no further account of them4 ,i am  

disposed to impute them rather to       
,chrysippus1 the disciple and follower1 
indeed1 of ,zeno and ,cleanthes1 but    
who1 from all that has been delivered   
down to us concerning him1 seems to have
 been a mere dialectical pedant1 without
 taste or elegance of any kind4 ,he may 
have been the first who reduced their   
doctrines into a scholastic or technical
 system of artificial definitions1      
divisions1 and subdivisions2 one of the 
most effectual expedients1 perhaps1 for 
extinguishing whatever degree of good   
sense there may be in any moral or      
metaphysical doctrine4 ,such a man may  
very easily be supposed to have         
understood too literally some animated  
expressions of his masters in describing
 the happiness of the man of #beh       
perfect virtue1 and the unhappiness of  
whoever might fall short of that        
character4  ,the ,stoics in general seem
 to have admitted that there might be a 
degree of proficiency in those who had  
not advanced to perfect virtue and      

happiness4 ,they distributed those      
proficients into different classes1     
according to the degree of their        
advancement2 and they called the        
imperfect virtues which they supposed   
them capable of exercising1 not         
rectitudes1 but proprieties1 fitnesses1 
decent and becoming actions1 for which a
 plausible or probable reason could be  
assigned1 what ,cicero expresses by the 
,latin word officia1 and ,seneca1 ,i    
think more exactly1 by that of          
convenientia4 ,the doctrine of those    
imperfect1 but attainable virtues1 seems
 to have constituted what we may call   
the practical morality of the ,stoics4  
,it is the subject of ,cicero's         
,offices2 and is said to have been that 
of another book written by ,marcus      
,brutus1 but which is now lost4  ,the   
plan and system which ,nature has       
sketched out for our conduct1 seems to  
us to be altogether different from that 
of the ,stoical philosophy4  ,by ,nature
 the events which immediately affect    

that little department in which we      
ourselves have some little management   
and direction1 which immediately affect 
ourselves1 our friends1 our country1 are
 the events which interest us the most1 
and which chiefly excite our desires and
 aversions1 our hopes and fears1 our    
joys and sorrows4 ,should those passions
 be1 what they are very apt to be1 too  
vehement1 ,nature has provided a proper 
remedy and correction4 ,the real or even
 the imaginary presence of the impartial
 spectator1 the authority of the man    
within the breast1 is always at hand to 
overawe them into the proper tone and   
temper of moderation4  ,if1             
notwithstanding our most faithful       
exertions1 all the events which can     
affect this little department1 should   
turn out the most unfortunate and       
disastrous1 ,nature has by no means left
 us without consolation4 ,that          
consolation may be drawn1 not only from 
the complete approbation of the man     
within the breast1 but1 if possible1    

from a still nobler and more generous   
principle1 from a firm reliance upon1   
and a reverential submission to1 that   
benevolent wisdom which directs all the 
events of human life1 and which1 we may 
be assured1 would never have suffered   
those misfortunes to happen1 had they   
not been indispensably necessary for the
 good of the whole4  ,nature has not    
prescribed to us this sublime           
contemplation as the great business and 
occupation of our lives4 ,she only      
points it out to us as the consolation  
of our misfortunes4 ,the ,stoical       
philosophy prescribes it as the great   
business and occupation of our lives4   
,that philosophy teaches us to interest 
ourselves earnestly and anxiously in no 
events1 external to the good order of   
our own minds1 to the propriety of our  
own choosing and rejecting1 except in   
those which concern a #bei department   
where we neither have nor ought to have 
any sort of management or direction1 the
 department of the great ,superintendent

 of the universe4 ,by the perfect apathy
 which it prescribes to us1 by          
endeavouring1 not merely to moderate1   
but to eradicate all our private1       
partial1 and selfish affections1 by     
suffering us to feel for whatever can   
befall ourselves1 our friends1 our      
country1 not even the sympathetic and   
reduced passions of the impartial       
spectator1 it endeavours to render us   
altogether indifferent and unconcerned  
in the success or miscarriage of every  
thing which ,nature has prescribed to us
 as the proper business and occupation  
of our lives4  ,the reasonings of       
philosophy1 it may be said1 though they 
may confound and perplex the            
understanding1 can never break down the 
necessary connection which ,nature has  
established between causes and their    
effects4 ,the causes which naturally    
excite our desires and aversions1 our   
hopes and fears1 our joys and sorrows1  
would no doubt1 notwithstanding all the 
reasonings of ,stoicism1 produce upon   

each individual1 according to the degree
 of his actual sensibility1 their proper
 and necessary effects4 ,the judgments  
of the man within the breast1 however1  
might be a good deal affected by those  
reasonings1 and that great inmate might 
be taught by them to attempt to overawe 
all our private1 partial1 and selfish   
affections into a more or less perfect  
tranquillity4 ,to direct the judgments  
of this inmate is the great purpose of  
all systems of morality4 ,that the      
,stoical philosophy had very great      
influence upon the character and conduct
 of its followers1 cannot be doubted2   
and that1 though it might sometimes     
incite them to unnecessary violence1 its
 general tendency was to animate them to
 actions of the most heroic magnanimity 
and most extensive benevolence4  ,,iv4  
,besides these ancient1 there are some  
modern systems1 according to which      
virtue consists in propriety2 or in the 
suitableness of the affection from which
 we act1 to the cause or object which   

excites it4 ,the system of ,dr4 ,clark1 
which places virtue in acting according 
to the relation of things1 in regulating
 our conduct according to the fitness or
 incongruity which there may be in the  
application of certain actions to       
certain things1 or to certain relations3
 that of ,mr4 ,wollaston1 which places  
it in acting according to the truth of  
things1 according to their proper nature
 and essence1 or in treating them as    
what they really are1 and not as what   
they are not3 that of my ,lord          
,shaftesbury1 which places it in        
maintaining a proper balance of the     
affections1 and in allowing no passion  
to go beyond its proper sphere2 are all 
of them more or less inaccurate         
descriptions of the same fundamental    
idea4  ,none of those systems either    
give1 or even pretend to give1 any      
precise or distinct measure by which    
this fitness or propriety of affection  
can be ascertained or judged of4 ,that  
precise and distinct measure can be     

found no where but in the sympathetic   
feelings of the impartial and           
well-informed spectator4  #bfj ,the     
description of virtue1 besides1 which is
 either given1 or at least meant and    
intended to be given in each of those   
systems1 for some of the modern authors 
are not very fortunate in their manner  
of expressing themselves1 is no doubt   
quite just1 so far as it goes4 ,there is
 no virtue without propriety1 and       
wherever there is propriety some degree 
of approbation is due4 ,but still this  
description is imperfect4 ,for though   
propriety is an essential ingredient in 
every virtuous action1 it is not always 
the sole ingredient4 ,beneficent actions
 have in them another quality by which  
they appear not only to deserve         
approbation but recompense4 ,none of    
those systems account either easily or  
sufficiently for that superior degree of
 esteem which seems due to such actions1
 or for that diversity of sentiment     
which they naturally excite4 ,neither is

 the description of vice more complete4 
,for1 in the same manner1 though        
impropriety is a necessary ingredient in
 every vicious action1 it is not always 
the sole ingredient2 and there is often 
the highest degree of absurdity and     
impropriety in very harmless and        
insignificant actions4 ,deliberate      
actions1 of a pernicious tendency to    
those we live with1 have1 besides their 
impropriety1 a peculiar quality of their
 own by which they appear to deserve1   
not only disapprobation1 but punishment2
 and to be the objects1 not of dislike  
merely1 but of resentment and revenge3  
and none of those systems easily and    
sufficiently account for that superior  
degree of detestation which we feel for 
such actions4  -----  ,,chap4 ,,ii4--,of
 those ,systems which make ,virtue      
consist in ,prudence4   ,,the most      
ancient of those systems which make     
virtue consist in prudence1 and of which
 any considerable remains have come down
 to us1 is that of ,epicurus1 who is    

said1 however1 to have borrowed all the 
leading principles of his philosophy    
from some of those who had gone before  
him1 particularly from ,aristippus2     
though it is very probable1             
notwithstanding this allegation of his  
enemies1 that at least his manner of    
applying those principles was altogether
 his own4  ,according to ,epicurus      
7,cicero de finibus1 lib4 i4 ,diogenes  
,laert4 #a4 x47 bodily pleasure and pain
 were the sole ultimate objects of      
natural desire and aversion4 ,that they 
were always the natural objects of those
 passions1 he thought required no proof4
 ,pleasure might1 indeed1 appear        
sometimes to be avoided2 not1 however1  
because it was pleasure1 but because1 by
 the enjoyment of it1 we should either  
forfeit some greater pleasure1 or expose
 ourselves to some pain that was more to
 be avoided than this pleasure was to be
 desired4 ,pain1 in the same manner1    
might appear sometimes to be eligible2  
not1 however1 because it was pain1 but  

because by enduring it we might either  
avoid a still #bfa greater pain1 or     
acquire some pleasure of much more      
importance4 ,that bodily pain and       
pleasure1 therefore1 were always the    
natural objects of desire and aversion1 
was1 he thought1 abundantly evident4    
,nor was it less so1 he imagined1 that  
they were the sole ultimate objects of  
those passions4 ,whatever else was      
either desired or avoided1 was so1      
according to him1 upon account of its   
tendency to produce one or other of     
those sensations4 ,the tendency to      
procure pleasure rendered power and     
riches desirable1 as the contrary       
tendency to produce pain made poverty   
and insignificancy the objects of       
aversion4 ,honour and reputation were   
valued1 because the esteem and love of  
those we live with were of the greatest 
consequence both to procure pleasure and
 to defend us from pain4 ,ignominy and  
bad fame1 on the contrary1 were to be   
avoided1 because the hatred1 contempt1  

and resentment of those we lived with1  
destroyed all security1 and necessarily 
exposed us to the greatest bodily evils4
  ,all the pleasures and pains of the   
mind were1 according to ,epicurus1      
ultimately derived from those of the    
body4 ,the mind was happy when it       
thought of the past pleasures of the    
body1 and hoped for others to come3 and 
it was miserable when it thought of the 
pains which the body had formerly       
endured1 and dreaded the same or greater
 thereafter4  ,but the pleasures and    
pains of the mind1 though ultimately    
derived from those of the body1 were    
vastly greater than their originals4    
,the body felt only the sensation of the
 present instant1 whereas the mind felt 
also the past and the future1 the one by
 remembrance1 the other by anticipation1
 and consequently both suffered and     
enjoyed much more4 ,when we are under   
the greatest bodily pain1 he observed1  
we shall always find1 if we attend to   
it1 that it is not the suffering of the 

present instant which chiefly torments  
us1 but either the agonizing remembrance
 of the past1 or the yet more horrible  
dread of the future4 ,the pain of each  
instant1 considered by itself1 and cut  
off from all that goes before and all   
that comes after it1 is a trifle1 not   
worth the regarding4 ,yet this is all   
which the body can ever be said to      
suffer4 ,in the same manner1 when we    
enjoy the greatest pleasure1 we shall   
always find that the bodily sensation1  
the sensation of the present instant1   
makes but a small part of our happiness1
 that our enjoyment chiefly arises      
either from the cheerful recollection of
 the past1 or the still more joyous     
anticipation of the future1 and that the
 mind always contributes by much the    
largest share of the entertainment4     
,since our happiness and misery1        
therefore1 depended chiefly on the mind1
 if this part of our nature was well    
disposed1 if our thoughts and opinions  
were as they should be1 it was of little

 importance in what manner our body was 
affected4 ,though under great bodily    
pain1 we might still enjoy a            
considerable share of happiness1 if our 
reason and judgment maintained their    
superiority4 ,we might entertain        
ourselves #bfb with the remembrance of  
past1 and with the hopes of future      
pleasure2 we might soften the rigour of 
our pains1 by recollecting what it was  
which1 even in this situation1 we were  
under any necessity of suffering4 ,that 
this was merely the bodily sensation1   
the pain of the present instant1 which  
by itself could never be very great4    
,that whatever agony we suffered from   
the dread of its continuance1 was the   
effect of an opinion of the mind1 which 
might be corrected by juster sentiments2
 by considering that1 if our pains were 
violent1 they would probably be of short
 duration2 and that if they were of long
 continuance1 they would probably be    
moderate1 and admit of many intervals of
 ease2 and that1 at any rate1 death was 

always at hand and within call to       
deliver us1 which as1 according to him1 
it put an end to all sensation1 either  
of pain or pleasure1 could not be       
regarded as an evil4 ,when we are1 said 
he1 death is not2 and when death is1 we 
are not2 death therefore can be nothing 
to us4  ,if the actual sensation of     
positive pain was in itself so little to
 be feared1 that of pleasure was still  
less to be desired4 ,naturally the      
sensation of pleasure was much less     
pungent than that of pain4 ,if1         
therefore1 this last could take so very 
little from the happiness of a          
well-disposed mind1 the other could add 
scarce any thing to it4 ,when the body  
was free from pain and the mind from    
fear and anxiety1 the superadded        
sensation of bodily pleasure could be of
 very little importance2 and though it  
might diversify1 could not properly be  
said to increase the happiness of this  
situation4  ,in ease of body1 therefore1
 and in security of tranquillity of     

mind1 consisted1 according to ,epicurus1
 the most perfect state of human nature1
 the most complete happiness which man  
was capable of enjoying4 ,to obtain this
 great end of natural desire was the    
sole object of all the virtues1 which1  
according to him1 were not desirable    
upon their own account1 but chiefly upon
 account of their tendency to bring     
about this situation4  ,prudence1 for   
example1 though1 according to this      
philosophy1 the source and principle of 
all the virtues1 was not desirable upon 
its own account4 ,that careful and      
laborious and circumspect state of mind1
 ever watchful and ever attentive to the
 most distant consequences of every     
action1 could not be a thing pleasant or
 agreeable for its own sake1 but upon   
account of its tendency to procure the  
greatest goods and to keep off the      
greatest evils4  ,to abstain from       
pleasure too1 to curb and restrain our  
natural passions for enjoyment1 which   
was the office of temperance1 could     

never be desirable for its own sake4    
,the whole value of this virtue arose   
from its utility1 from its enabling us  
to postpone the present enjoyment for   
the sake of a greater to come1 or to    
avoid a greater pain that might ensue   
from it4 ,temperance1 in short1 was1    
according to the ,epicureans1 nothing   
but prudence with regard to pleasure4   
#bfc ,to support labour1 to endure pain1
 to be exposed to danger or to death1   
the situations which fortitude would    
often lead us into1 were surely still   
less the objects of natural desire4     
,they were chosen only to avoid greater 
evils4 ,we submitted to labour1 in order
 to avoid the greater shame and pain of 
poverty1 and we exposed ourselves to    
danger and to death in defence of our   
liberty and property1 the means and     
instruments of pleasure and happiness2  
or in defence of our country1 in the    
safety of which our own was necessarily 
comprehended4 ,fortitude enabled us to  
do all this cheerfully1 as the best     

which1 in our present situation1 could  
possibly be done1 and was in reality no 
more than prudence1 good judgment1 and  
presence of mind in properly            
appreciating pain1 labour1 and danger1  
always choosing the less in order to    
avoid the greater evil4  ,it is the same
 case with justice4 ,to abstain from    
what is another's was not desirable on  
its own account1 and it could not surely
 be better for you1 that ,i should      
possess what is my own1 than that you   
should possess it4 ,you ought1 however1 
to abstain from whatever belongs to me1 
because by doing otherwise you will     
provoke the resentment and indignation  
of mankind4 ,the security and           
tranquillity of your mind will be       
entirely destroyed4 ,you will be filled 
with fear and consternation at the      
thought of that punishment which you    
will imagine that men are at all times  
ready to inflict upon you1 and from     
which no power1 no art1 no concealment1 
will ever1 in your own fancy1 be        

sufficient to protect you4 ,the other   
species of justice which consists in    
doing proper good offices to different  
persons1 according to the various       
relations of neighbours1 kinsmen1       
friends1 benefactors1 superiors1 or     
equals1 which they may stand in to us1  
is recommended by the same reasons4 ,to 
act properly in all these different     
relations procures us the esteem and    
love of those we live with2 as to do    
otherwise excites their contempt and    
hatred4 ,by the one we naturally secure1
 by the other we necessarily endanger   
our own ease and tranquillity1 the great
 and ultimate objects of all our        
desires4 ,the whole virtue of justice1  
therefore1 the most important of all the
 virtues1 is no more than discreet and  
prudent conduct with regard to our      
neighbours4  ,such is the doctrine of   
,epicurus concerning the nature of      
virtue4 ,it may seem extraordinary that 
this philosopher1 who is described as a 
person of the most amiable manners1     

should never have observed1 that1       
whatever may be the tendency of those   
virtues1 or of the contrary vices1 with 
regard to our bodily ease and security1 
the sentiments which they naturally     
excite in others are the objects of a   
much more passionate desire or aversion 
than all their other consequences2 that 
to be amiable1 to be respectable1 to be 
the proper object of esteem1 is by every
 well-disposed mind more valued than all
 the ease and security which love1      
respect1 and esteem can procure us2     
that1 on the contrary1 to be odious1 to 
be contemptible1 to be the proper object
 of indignation1 is #bfd more dreadful  
than all that we can suffer in our body 
from hatred1 contempt1 or indignation2  
and that consequently our desire of the 
one character1 and our aversion to the  
other1 cannot arise from any regard to  
the effects which either of them may    
produce upon the body4  ,this system is1
 no doubt1 altogether inconsistent with 
that which ,i have been endeavouring to 

establish4 ,it is not difficult1        
however1 to discover from what phasis1  
if ,i may say so1 from what particular  
view or aspect of nature1 this account  
of things derives its probability4 ,by  
the wise contrivance of the ,author of  
nature1 virtue is upon all ordinary     
occasions1 even with regard to this     
life1 real wisdom1 and the surest and   
readiest means of obtaining both safety 
and advantage4 ,our success or          
disappointment in our undertakings must 
very much depend upon the good or bad   
opinion which is commonly entertained of
 us1 and upon the general disposition of
 those we live with1 either to assist or
 to oppose us4 ,but the best1 the       
surest1 the easiest1 and the readiest   
way of obtaining the advantageous1 and  
of avoiding the unfavourable judgments  
of others1 is undoubtedly to render     
ourselves the proper objects of the     
former and not of the latter4 ',do you  
desire1' said ,socrates1 'the reputation
 of a good musician8 ,the only sure way 

of obtaining it1 is to become a good    
musician4 ,would you desire in the same 
manner to be thought capable of serving 
your country either as a general or as a
 statesman8 ,the best way in this case  
too is really to acquire the art and    
experience of war and government1 and to
 become really fit to be a general or a 
statesman4 ,and in the same manner if   
you would be reckoned sober1 temperate1 
just1 and equitable1 the best way of    
acquiring this reputation is to become  
sober1 temperate1 just1 and equitable4  
,if you can really render yourself      
amiable1 respectable1 and the proper    
object of esteem1 there is no fear of   
your not soon acquiring the love1 the   
respect1 and esteem of those you live   
with4' ,since the practice of virtue1   
therefore1 is in general so             
advantageous1 and that of vice so       
contrary to our interest1 the           
consideration of those opposite         
tendencies undoubtedly stamps an        
additional beauty and propriety upon the

 one1 and a new deformity and           
impropriety upon the other4 ,temperance1
 magnanimity1 justice1 and beneficence1 
come thus to be approved of1 not only   
under their proper characters1 but under
 the additional character of the highest
 wisdom and most real prudence4 ,and in 
the same manner1 the contrary vices of  
intemperance1 pusillanimity1 injustice1 
and either malevolence or sordid        
selfishness1 come to be disapproved of1 
not only under their proper characters1 
but under the additional character of   
the most short-sighted folly and        
weakness4 ,epicurus appears in every    
virtue to have attended to this species 
of propriety only4 ,it is that which is 
most apt to occur to those who are      
endeavouring to persuade others to      
regularity of conduct4 ,when men by     
their practice1 and perhaps too by their
 maxims1 manifestly show that the       
natural beauty of virtue is not like to 
have much effect upon #bfe them1 how is 
it possible to move them but by         

representing the folly of their conduct1
 and how much they themselves are in the
 end likely to suffer by it8  ,by       
running up all the different virtues too
 to this one species of propriety1      
,epicurus indulged a propensity1 which  
is natural to all men1 but which        
philosophers in particular are apt to   
cultivate with a peculiar fondness1 as  
the great means of displaying their     
ingenuity1 the propensity to account for
 all appearances from as few principles 
as possible4 ,and he1 no doubt1 indulged
 this propensity still further1 when he 
referred all the primary objects of     
natural desire and aversion to the      
pleasures and pains of the body4 ,the   
great patron of the atomical philosophy1
 who took so much pleasure in deducing  
all the powers and qualities of bodies  
from the most obvious and familiar1 the 
figure1 motion1 and arrangement of the  
small parts of matter1 felt no doubt a  
similar satisfaction1 when he accounted1
 in the same manner1 for all the        

sentiments and passions of the mind from
 those which are most obvious and       
familiar4  ,the system of ,epicurus     
agreed with those of ,plato1 ,aristotle1
 and ,zeno1 in making virtue consist in 
acting in the most suitable manner to   
obtain 7,prima natur7 primary objects of
 natural desire4 ,it differed from all  
of them in two other respects2 first1 in
 the account which it gave of those     
primary objects of natural desire2 and  
secondly1 in the account which it gave  
of the excellence of virtue1 or of the  
reason why that quality ought to be     
esteemed4  ,the primary objects of      
natural desire consisted1 according to  
,epicurus1 in bodily pleasure and pain1 
and in nothing else3 whereas1 according 
to the other three philosophers1 there  
were many other objects1 such as        
knowledge1 such as the happiness of our 
relations1 of our friends1 and of our   
country1 which were ultimately desirable
 for their own sakes4  ,virtue too1     
according to ,epicurus1 did not deserve 

to be pursued for its own sake1 nor was 
itself one of the ultimate objects of   
natural appetite1 but was eligible only 
upon account of its tendency to prevent 
pain and to procure ease and pleasure4  
,in the opinion of the other three1 on  
the contrary1 it was desirable1 not     
merely as the means of procuring the    
other primary objects of natural desire1
 but as something which was in itself   
more valuable than them all4 ,man1 they 
thought1 being born for action1 his     
happiness must consist1 not merely in   
the agreeableness of his passive        
sensations1 but also in the propriety of
 his active exertions4  -----  ,,chap4  
,,iii4--,of those ,systems which make   
,virtue consist in ,benevolence4   ,,the
 system which makes virtue consist in   
benevolence1 though ,i think #bff not so
 ancient as all those which ,i have     
already given an account of1 is1        
however1 of very great antiquity4 ,it   
seems to have been the doctrine of the  
greater part of those philosophers who1 

about and after the age of ,augustus1   
called themselves ,eclectics1 who       
pretended to follow chiefly the opinions
 of ,plato and ,pythagoras1 and who upon
 that account are commonly known by the 
name of the later ,platonists4  ,in the 
divine nature1 according to these       
authors1 benevolence or love was the    
sole principle of action1 and directed  
the exertion of all the other           
attributes4 ,the wisdom of the ,deity   
was employed in finding out the means   
for bringing about those ends which his 
goodness suggested1 and his infinite    
power was exerted to execute them4      
,benevolence1 however1 was still the    
supreme and governing attribute1 to     
which the others were subservient1 and  
from which the whole excellency1 or the 
whole morality1 if ,i may be allowed    
such an expression1 of the divine       
operations1 was ultimately derived4 ,the
 whole perfection and virtue of the     
human mind consisted in some resemblance
 or participation of the divine         

perfections1 and1 consequently1 in being
 filled with the same principle of      
benevolence and love which influenced   
all the actions of the ,deity4 ,the     
actions of men which flowed from this   
motive were alone truly praise-worthy1  
or could claim any merit in the sight of
 the ,deity4 ,it was by actions of      
charity and love only that we could     
imitate1 as became us1 the conduct of   
,god1 that we could express our humble  
and devout admiration of his infinite   
perfections1 that by fostering in our   
own minds the same divine principle1 we 
could bring our own affections to a     
greater resemblance with his holy       
attributes1 and thereby become more     
proper objects of his love and esteem2  
till we arrived at that immediate       
converse and communication with the     
,deity to which it was the great object 
of this philosophy to raise us4  ,this  
system1 as it was much esteemed by many 
ancient fathers of the ,christian       
church1 so after the ,reformation it was

 adopted by several divines of the most 
eminent piety and learning and of the   
most amiable manners2 particularly1 by  
,dr4 ,ralph ,cudworth1 by ,dr4 ,henry   
,more1 and by ,mr4 ,john ,smith of      
,cambridge4 ,but of all the patrons of  
this system1 ancient or modern1 the late
 ,dr4 ,hutcheson was undoubtedly1 beyond
 all comparison1 the most acute1 the    
most distinct1 the most philosophical1  
and what is of the greatest consequence 
of all1 the soberest and most judicious4
  ,that virtue consists in benevolence  
is a notion supported by many           
appearances in human nature4 ,it has    
been observed already1 that proper      
benevolence is the most graceful and    
agreeable of all the affections1 that it
 is recommended to us by a double       
sympathy1 that as its tendency is       
necessarily beneficent1 it is the proper
 object of gratitude and reward1 and    
that upon all these accounts it appears 
to our natural sentiments to possess a  
merit superior to any other4 ,it has    

been observed1 too1 that even the       
weaknesses of benevolence are not very  
#bfg disagreeable to us1 whereas those  
of every other passion are always       
extremely disgusting4 ,who does not     
abhor excessive malice1 excessive       
selfishness1 or excessive resentment8   
,but the most excessive indulgence even 
of partial friendship is not so         
offensive4 ,it is the benevolent        
passions only which can exert themselves
 without any regard or attention to     
propriety1 and yet retain something     
about them which is engaging4 ,there is 
something pleasing even in mere         
instinctive good-will1 which goes on to 
do good offices without once reflecting 
whether by this conduct it is the proper
 object either of blame or approbation4 
,it is not so with the other passions4  
,the moment they are deserted1 the      
moment they are unaccompanied by the    
sense of propriety1 they cease to be    
agreeable4  ,as benevolence bestows upon
 those actions which proceed from it1 a 

beauty superior to all others1 so the   
want of it1 and much more the contrary  
inclination1 communicates a peculiar    
deformity to whatever evidences such a  
disposition4 ,pernicious actions are    
often punishable for no other reason    
than because they show a want of        
sufficient attention to the happiness of
 our neighbour4  ,besides all this1 ,dr4
 ,hutcheson 7,inquiry concerning        
,virtue1 sect4 #a4 and #b47 observed1   
that whenever in any action1 supposed to
 proceed from benevolent affections1    
some other motive had been discovered1  
our sense of the merit of this action   
was just so far diminished as this      
motive was believed to have influenced  
it4 ,if an action1 supposed to proceed  
from gratitude1 should be discovered to 
have arisen from an expectation of some 
new favour1 or if what was apprehended  
to proceed from public spirit1 should be
 found out to have taken its origin from
 the hope of a pecuniary reward1 such a 
discovery would entirely destroy all    

notion of merit or praise-worthiness in 
either of these actions4 ,since1        
therefore1 the mixture of any selfish   
motive1 like that of a baser alloy1     
diminished or took away altogether the  
merit which would otherwise have        
belonged to any action1 it was evident1 
he imagined1 that virtue must consist in
 pure and disinterested benevolence     
alone4  ,when those actions1 on the     
contrary1 which are commonly supposed to
 proceed from a selfish motive1 are     
discovered to have arisen from a        
benevolent one1 it greatly enhances our 
sense of their merit4 ,if we believed of
 any person that he endeavoured to      
advance his fortune from no other view  
but that of doing friendly offices1 and 
of making proper returns to his         
benefactors1 we should only love and    
esteem him the more4 ,and this          
observation seemed still more to confirm
 the conclusion1 that it was benevolence
 only which could stamp upon any action 
the character of virtue4  ,last of all1 

what1 he imagined1 was an evident proof 
of the justness of this account of      
virtue1 in all the disputes of casuists 
concerning the rectitude of conduct1 the
 public good1 he observed1 was the      
standard to which they constantly       
referred2 thereby universally           
acknowledging #bfh that whatever tended 
to promote the happiness of mankind was 
right and laudable and virtuous1 and the
 contrary1 wrong1 blamable1 and vicious4
 ,in the late debates about passive     
obedience and the right of resistance1  
the sole point in controversy among men 
of sense was whether universal          
submission would probably be attended   
with greater evils than temporary       
insurrections when privileges were      
invaded4 ,whether what1 upon the whole1 
tended most to the happiness of mankind1
 was not also morally good1 was never   
once1 he said1 made a question by them4 
,since benevolence1 therefore1 was the  
only motive which could bestow upon any 
action the character of virtue1 the     

greater the benevolence which was       
evidenced by any action1 the greater the
 praise which must belong to it4  ,those
 actions which aimed at the happiness of
 a great community1 as they demonstrated
 a more enlarged benevolence than those 
which aimed only at that of a smaller   
system1 so were they1 likewise1         
proportionally the more virtuous4 ,the  
most virtuous of all affections1        
therefore1 was that which embraced as   
its object the happiness of all         
intelligent beings4 ,the least virtuous1
 on the contrary1 of those to which the 
character of virtue could in any respect
 belong1 was that which aimed no further
 than at the happiness of an individual1
 such as a son1 a brother1 a friend4    
,in directing all our actions to promote
 the greatest possible good1 in         
submitting all inferior affections to   
the desire of the general happiness of  
mankind1 in regarding one's self but as 
one of the many1 whose prosperity was to
 be pursued no further than it was      

consistent with1 or conducive to that of
 the whole1 consisted the perfection of 
virtue4  ,self-love was a principle     
which could never be virtuous in any    
degree of in any direction4 ,it was     
vicious whenever it obstructed the      
general good4 ,when it had no other     
effect than to make the individual take 
care of his own happiness1 it was merely
 innocent1 and though it deserved no    
praise1 neither ought it to incur any   
blame4 ,those benevolent actions which  
were performed1 notwithstanding some    
strong motive from self-interest1 were  
the more virtuous upon that account4    
,they demonstrated the strength and     
vigour of the benevolent principle4     
,dr4 ,hutcheson#g was so far from       
allowing self-love to be in any case a  
motive of virtuous actions1 that even a 
regard to the pleasure of               
self-approbation1 to the comfortable    
applause of our own consciences1        
according to him1 diminished the merit  
of a benevolent action4 ,this was a     

selfish motive1 he thought1 which1 so   
far as it contributed to any action1    
demonstrated the weakness of that pure  
and disinterested benevolence which     
could alone stamp upon the conduct of   
man the character of virtue4 ,in the    
common judgments of mankind1 however1   
this regard #bfi to the approbation of  
our own minds is so far from being      
considered as what can in any respect   
diminish the virtue of any action1 that 
it is often rather looked upon as the   
sole motive which deserves the          
appellation of virtuous4  ,footnote #g3 
,inquiry concerning ,virtue1 sect4 #b4  
art4 #d42 also ,illustrations on the    
,moral ,sense1 sect4 #e1 last paragraph4
  ,such is the account given of the     
nature of virtue in this amiable system1
 a system which has a peculiar tendency 
to nourish and support in the human     
heart the noblest and the most agreeable
 of all affections1 and not only to     
check the injustice of self-love1 but in
 some measure to discourage that        

principle altogether1 by representing it
 as what could never reflect any honour 
upon those who were influenced by it4   
,as some of the other systems which ,i  
have already given an account of1 do not
 sufficiently explain from whence arises
 the peculiar excellency of the supreme 
virtue of beneficence1 so this system   
seems to have the contrary defect1 of   
not sufficiently explaining from whence 
arises our approbation of the inferior  
virtues of prudence1 vigilance1         
circumspection1 temperance1 constancy1  
firmness4 ,the view and aim of our      
affections1 the beneficent and hurtful  
effects which they tend to produce1 are 
the only qualities at all attended to in
 this system4 ,their propriety and      
impropriety1 their suitableness and     
unsuitableness1 to the cause which      
excites them1 are disregarded           
altogether4  ,regard to our own private 
happiness and interest1 too1 appear upon
 many occasions very laudable principles
 of action4 ,the habits of oeconomy1    

industry1 discretion1 attention1 and    
application of thought1 are generally   
supposed to be cultivated from          
self-interested motives1 and at the same
 time are apprehended to be very        
praise-worthy qualities1 which deserve  
the esteem and approbation of every     
body4 ,the mixture of a selfish motive1 
it is true1 seems often to sully the    
beauty of those actions which ought to  
arise from a benevolent affection4 ,the 
cause of this1 however1 is not that     
self-love can never be the motive of a  
virtuous action1 but that the benevolent
 principle appears in this particular   
case to want its due degree of strength1
 and to be altogether unsuitable to its 
object4 ,the character1 therefore1 seems
 evidently imperfect1 and upon the whole
 to deserve blame rather than praise4   
,the mixture of a benevolent motive in  
an action to which self-love alone ought
 to be sufficient to prompt us1 is not  
so apt indeed to diminish our sense of  
its propriety1 or of the virtue of the  

person who performs it4 ,we are not     
ready to suspect any person of being    
defective in selfishness4 ,this is by no
 means the weak side of human nature1 or
 the failing of which we are apt to be  
suspicious4 ,if we could really believe1
 however1 of any man1 that1 was it not  
from a regard to his family and friends1
 he would not take that proper care of  
his health1 his life1 or his fortune1 to
 which self-preservation alone ought to 
be sufficient to prompt him1 it would   
undoubtedly be a failing1 though one of 
those amiable failings which render a   
person rather the object of pity than of
 contempt or hatred4 ,it would still1   
however1 somewhat diminish the #bgj     
dignity and respectableness of his      
character4 ,carelessness and want of    
oeconomy are universally disapproved of1
 not1 however1 as proceeding from a want
 of benevolence1 but from a want of     
proper attention to the objects of      
self-interest4  ,though the standard by 
which casuists frequently determine what

 is right or wrong in human conduct1 be 
its tendency to the welfare or disorder 
of society1 it does not follow that a   
regard to the welfare of society should 
be the sole virtuous motive of action1  
but only that1 in competition1 it ought 
to cast the balance against all other   
motives4  ,benevolence may1 perhaps1 be 
the sole principle of action in the     
,deity1 and there are several not       
improbable arguments which tend to      
persuade us that it is so4 ,it is not   
easy to conceive what other motive an   
independent and all-perfect ,being1 who 
stands in need of nothing external1 and 
whose happiness is complete in himself1 
can act from4 ,but whatever may be the  
case with the ,deity1 so imperfect a    
creature as man1 the support of whose   
existence requires so many things       
external to him1 must often act from    
many other motives4 ,the condition of   
human nature were peculiarly hard1 if   
those affections1 which1 by the very    
nature of our being1 ought frequently to

 influence our conduct1 could upon no   
occasion appear virtuous1 or deserve    
esteem and commendation from any body4  
,those three systems1 that which places 
virtue in propriety1 that which places  
it in prudence1 and that which makes it 
consist in benevolence1 are the         
principal accounts which have been given
 of the nature of virtue4 ,to one or    
other of them1 all the other            
descriptions of virtue1 how different   
soever they may appear1 are easily      
reducible4  ,that system which places   
virtue in obedience to the will of the  
,deity1 may be accounted either among   
those which make it consist in prudence1
 or among those which make it consist in
 propriety4 ,when it is asked1 why we   
ought to obey the will of the ,deity1   
this question1 which would be impious   
and absurd in the highest degree1 if    
asked from any doubt that we ought to   
obey him1 can admit but of two different
 answers4 ,it must either be said that  
we ought to obey the will of the ,deity 

because he is a ,being of infinite      
power1 who will reward us eternally if  
we do so1 and punish us eternally if we 
do otherwise3 or it must be said1 that  
independent of any regard to our own    
happiness1 or to rewards and punishments
 of any kind1 there is a congruity and  
fitness that a creature should obey its 
creator1 that a limited and imperfect   
being should submit to one of infinite  
and incomprehensible perfections4       
,besides one or other of these two1 it  
is impossible to conceive that any other
 answer can be given to this question4  
,if the first answer be the proper one1 
virtue consists in prudence1 or in the  
proper pursuit of our own final interest
 and happiness2 since it is upon this   
account that we are obliged to obey the 
will of the ,deity4 ,if the second      
answer be the proper one1 virtue must   
consist in propriety1 since the ground  
of our #bga obligation to obedience is  
the suitableness or congruity of the    
sentiments of humility and submission to

 the superiority of the object which    
excites them4  ,that system which places
 virtue in utility1 coincides too with  
that which makes it consist in          
propriety4 ,according to this system1   
all those qualities of the mind which   
are agreeable or advantageous1 either to
 the person himself or to others1 are   
approved of as virtuous1 and the        
contrary are disapproved of as vicious4 
,but the agreeableness or utility of any
 affection depends upon the degree which
 it is allowed to subsist in4 ,every    
affection is useful when it is confined 
to a certain degree of moderation2 and  
every affection is disadvantageous when 
it exceeds the proper bounds4 ,according
 to this system therefore1 virtue       
consists not in any one affection1 but  
in the proper degree of all the         
affections4 ,the only difference between
 it and that which ,i have been         
endeavouring to establish1 is1 that it  
makes utility1 and not sympathy1 or the 
correspondent affection of the          

spectator1 the natural and original     
measure of this proper degree4  -----   
,,chap4 ,,iv4--,of ,licentious ,systems4
   ,,all those systems1 which ,i have   
hitherto given an account of1 suppose   
that that there is a real and essential 
distinction between vice and virtue1    
whatever these qualities may consist in4
 ,there is a real and essential         
difference between the propriety and    
impropriety of any affection1 between   
benevolence and any other principle of  
action1 between real prudence and       
short-sighted folly or precipitate      
rashness4 ,in the main1 too1 all of them
 contribute to encourage the            
praiseworthy1 and to discourage the     
blameable disposition4  ,it may be true1
 perhaps1 of some of them1 that they    
tend1 in some measure1 to break the     
balance of the affections1 and to give  
the mind a particular bias to some      
principles of action1 beyond the        
proportion that is due to them4 ,the    
ancient systems1 which place virtue in  

propriety1 seem chiefly to recommend the
 great1 the awful1 and the respectable  
virtues1 the virtues of self-government 
and self-command2 fortitude1            
magnanimity1 independency upon fortune1 
the contempt of all outward accidents1  
of pain1 poverty1 exile and death4 ,it  
is in these great exertions that the    
noblest propriety of conduct is         
displayed4 ,the soft1 the amiable1 the  
gentle virtues1 all the virtues of      
indulgent humanity are1 in comparison1  
but little insisted upon1 and seem1 on  
the contrary1 by the ,stoics in         
particular1 to have been often regarded 
as weaknesses1 which it behoved a wise  
man not to harbour in his breast4  ,the 
benevolent system1 on the other hand1   
while it fosters and encourages all     
those milder virtues in the highest     
degree1 seems entirely to neglect the   
more awful and respectable qualities of 
the mind4 ,it #bgb even denies them the 
appellation of virtues4 ,it calls them  
moral abilities1 and treats them as     

qualities which do not deserve the same 
sort of esteem and approbation1 that is 
due to what is properly denominated     
virtue4 ,all those principles of action 
which aim only at our own interest1 it  
treats1 if that be possible1 still      
worse4 ,so far from having any merit of 
their own1 they diminish1 it pretends1  
the merit of benevolence1 when they     
co-operate with it2 and prudence1 it is 
asserted1 when employed only in         
promoting private interest1 can never   
even be imagined a virtue4  ,that       
system1 again1 which makes virtue       
consist in prudence only1 while it gives
 the highest encouragement to the habits
 of caution1 vigilance1 sobriety1 and   
judicious moderation1 seems to degrade  
equally both the amiable and respectable
 virtues1 and to strip the former of all
 their beauty1 and the latter of all    
their grandeur4  ,but notwithstanding   
these defects1 the general tendency of  
each of those three systems is to       
encourage the best and most laudable    

habits of the human mind1 and it were   
well for society1 if1 either mankind in 
general1 or even those few who pretend  
to live according to any philosophical  
rule1 were to regulate their conduct by 
the precepts of any one of them4 ,we may
 learn from each of them something that 
is both valuable and peculiar4 ,if it   
was possible1 by precept and            
exhortation1 to inspire the mind with   
fortitude and magnanimity1 the ancient  
systems of propriety would seem         
sufficient to do this4 ,or if it was    
possible1 by the same means1 to soften  
it into humanity1 and to awaken the     
affections of kindness and general love 
towards those we live with1 some of the 
pictures which the benevolent system    
presents us1 might seem capable of      
producing this effect4 ,we may learn    
from the system of ,epicurus1 though    
undoubtedly the most imperfect of all   
the three1 how much the practice of both
 the amiable and respectable virtues is 
conducive to our own interest1 to our   

own ease and safety and quiet even in   
this life4 ,as ,epicurus placed         
happiness in the attainment of ease and 
security1 he exerted himself in a       
particular manner to show that virtue   
was1 not merely the best and the surest1
 but the only means of acquiring those  
invaluable possessions4 ,the good       
effects of virtue upon our inward       
tranquillity and peace of mind1 are what
 other philosophers have chiefly        
celebrated4 ,epicurus1 without          
neglecting this topic1 has chiefly      
insisted 9999upon the influence of that 
amiable quality on our outward          
prosperity and safety4 ,it was upon this
 account that his writings were so much 
studied in the ancient world by men of  
all different philosophical parties4 ,it
 is from him that ,cicero1 the great    
enemy of the ,epicurean system1 borrows 
his most agreeable proofs that virtue   
alone is sufficient to secure happiness4
 ,seneca1 though a ,stoic1 the sect most
 opposite to that of ,epicurus1 yet     

quotes this philosopher more frequently 
than any other4  ,there is1 however1    
another system which seems to take away 
altogether the distinction between vice 
and virtue1 and of which the #bgc       
tendency is1 upon that account1 wholly  
pernicious3 ,i mean the system of ,dr4  
,mandeville4 ,though the notions of this
 author are in almost every respect     
erroneous1 there are1 however1 some     
appearances in human nature1 which1 when
 viewed in a certain manner1 seem at    
first sight to favour them4 ,these      
described and exaggerated by the lively 
and humorous1 though coarse and rustic  
eloquence of ,dr4 ,mandeville1 have     
thrown upon his doctrines an air of     
truth and probability which is very apt 
to impose upon the unskilful4  ,dr4     
,mandeville considers whatever is done  
from a sense of propriety1 from a regard
 to what is commendable and             
praiseworthy1 as being done from a love 
of praise and commendation1 or as he    
calls it from vanity4 ,man1 he observes1

 is naturally much more interested in   
his own happiness than in that of       
others1 and it is impossible that in his
 heart he can ever really prefer their  
prosperity to his own4 ,whenever he     
appears to do so1 we may be assured that
 he imposes upon us1 and that he is then
 acting from the same selfish motives as
 at all other times4 ,among his other   
selfish passions1 vanity is one of the  
strongest1 and he is always easily      
flattered and greatly delighted with the
 applauses of those about him4 ,when he 
appears to sacrifice his own interest to
 that of his companions1 he knows that  
this conduct will be highly agreeable to
 their self-love1 and that they will not
 fail to express their satisfaction by  
bestowing upon him the most extravagant 
praises4 ,the pleasure which he expects 
from this1 over-balances1 in his        
opinion1 the interest which he abandons 
in order to procure it4 ,his conduct1   
therefore1 upon this occasion1 is in    
reality just as selfish1 and arises from

 just as mean a motive as upon any      
other4 ,he is flattered1 however1 and he
 flatters himself with the belief that  
it is entirely disinterested2 since1    
unless this was supposed1 it would not  
seem to merit any commendation either in
 his own eyes or in those of others4    
,all public spirit1 therefore1 all      
preference of public to private         
interest1 is1 according to him1 a mere  
cheat and imposition upon mankind2 and  
that human virtue which is so much      
boasted of1 and which is the occasion of
 so much emulation among men1 is the    
mere offspring of flattery begot upon   
pride4  ,whether the most generous and  
public-spirited actions may not1 in some
 sense1 be regarded as proceeding from  
self-love1 ,i shall not at present      
examine4 ,the decision of this question 
is not1 ,i apprehend1 of any importance 
towards establishing the reality of     
virtue1 since self-love may frequently  
be a virtuous motive of action4 ,i shall
 only endeavour to show that the desire 

of doing what is honourable and noble1  
of rendering ourselves the proper       
objects of esteem and approbation1      
cannot with any propriety be called     
vanity4 ,even the love of well-grounded 
fame and reputation1 the desire of      
acquiring esteem by what is really      
estimable1 does not deserve that name4  
,the first is the love of virtue1 the   
noblest and the best passion of human   
nature4 ,the second #bgd is the love of 
true glory1 a passion inferior no doubt 
to the former1 but which in dignity     
appears to come immediately after it4   
,he is guilty of vanity who desires     
praise for qualities which are either   
not praise-worthy in any degree1 or not 
in that degree in which he expects to be
 praised for them2 who sets his         
character upon the frivolous ornaments  
of dress and equipage1 or upon the      
equally frivolous accomplishments of    
ordinary behaviour4 ,he is guilty of    
vanity who desires praise for what      
indeed very well deserves it1 but what  

he perfectly knows does not belong to   
him4 ,the empty coxcomb who gives       
himself airs of importance which he has 
no title to1 the silly liar who assumes 
the merit of adventures which never     
happened1 the foolish plagiary who gives
 himself out for the author of what he  
has no pretensions to1 are properly     
accused of this passion4 ,he too is said
 to be guilty of vanity who is not      
contented with the silent sentiments of 
esteem and approbation1 who seems to be 
fonder of their noisy expressions and   
acclamations than of the sentiments     
themselves1 who is never satisfied but  
when his own praises are ringing in his 
ears1 and who solicits with the most    
anxious importunity all external marks  
of respect1 is fond of titles1 of       
compliments1 of being visited1 of being 
attended1 of being taken notice of in   
public places with the appearance of    
deference and attention4 ,this frivolous
 passion is altogether different from   
either of the two former1 and is the    

passion of the lowest and the least of  
mankind1 as they are of the noblest and 
the greatest4  ,but though these three  
passions1 the desire of rendering       
ourselves the proper objects of honour  
and esteem1 or of becoming what is      
honourable and estimable2 the desire of 
acquiring honour and esteem by really   
deserving those sentiments2 and the     
frivolous desire of praise at any rate1 
are widely different2 though the two    
former are always approved of1 while the
 latter never fails to be despised2     
there is1 however1 a certain remote     
affinity among them1 which1 exaggerated 
by the humorous and diverting eloquence 
of this lively author1 has enabled him  
to impose upon his readers4 ,there is an
 affinity between vanity and the love of
 true glory1 as both these passions aim 
at acquiring esteem and approbation4    
,but they are different in this1 that   
the one is a just1 reasonable1 and      
equitable passion1 while the other is   
unjust1 absurd1 and ridiculous4 ,the man

 who desires esteem for what is really  
estimable1 desires nothing but what he  
is justly entitled to1 and what cannot  
be refused him without some sort of     
injury4 ,he1 on the contrary1 who       
desires it upon any other terms1 demands
 what he has no just claim to4 ,the     
first is easily satisfied1 is not apt to
 be jealous or suspicious that we do not
 esteem him enough1 and is seldom       
solicitous about receiving many external
 marks of our regard4 ,the other1 on the
 contrary1 is never to be satisfied1 is 
full of jealousy and suspicion that we  
do not esteem him so much as he desires1
 because he has some secret             
consciousness that he desires more than 
he deserves4 ,the least #bge neglect of 
ceremony1 he considers as a mortal      
affront1 and as an expression of the    
most determined contempt4 ,he is        
restless and impatient1 and perpetually 
afraid that we have lost all respect for
 him1 and is upon this account always   
anxious to obtain new expressions of our

 esteem1 and cannot be kept in temper   
but by continual attendance and         
adulation4  ,there is an affinity1 too1 
between the desire of becoming what is  
honourable and estimable and the desire 
of honour and esteem1 between the love  
of virtue and the love of true glory4   
,they resemble one another not only in  
this respect1 that both aim at really   
being what is honourable and noble1 but 
even in that respect in which the love  
of true glory resembles what is properly
 called vanity1 some reference to the   
sentiments of others4 ,the man of the   
greatest magnanimity1 who desires virtue
 for its own sake1 and is most          
indifferent about what actually are the 
opinions of mankind with regard to him1 
is still1 however1 delighted with the   
thoughts of what they should be1 with   
the consciousness that though he may    
neither be honoured nor applauded1 he is
 still the proper object of honour and  
applause1 and that if mankind were cool 
and candid and consistent with          

themselves1 and properly informed of the
 motives and circumstances of his       
conduct1 they would not fail to honour  
and applaud him4 ,though he despises the
 opinions which are actually entertained
 of him1 he has the highest value for   
those which ought to be entertained of  
him4 ,that he might think himself worthy
 of those honourable sentiments1 and1   
whatever was the idea which other men   
might conceive of his character1 that   
when he should put himself in their     
situation1 and consider1 not what was1  
but what ought to be their opinion1 he  
should always have the highest idea of  
it himself1 was the great and exalted   
motive of his conduct4 ,as even in the  
love of virtue1 therefore1 there is     
still some reference1 though not to what
 is1 yet to what in reason and propriety
 ought to be1 the opinion of others1    
there is even in this respect some      
affinity between it and the love of true
 glory4 ,there is1 however1 at the same 
time1 a very great difference between   

them4 ,the man who acts solely from a   
regard to what is right and fit to be   
done1 from a regard to what is the      
proper object of esteem and approbation1
 though these sentiments should never be
 bestowed upon him1 acts from the most  
sublime and godlike motive which human  
nature is even capable of conceiving4   
,the man1 on the other hand1 who while  
he desires to merit approbation1 is at  
the same time anxious to obtain it1     
though he1 too1 is laudable in the main1
 yet his motives have a greater mixture 
of human infirmity4 ,he is in danger of 
being mortified by the ignorance and    
injustice of mankind1 and his happiness 
is exposed to the envy of his rivals and
 the folly of the public4 ,the happiness
 of the other1 on the contrary1 is      
altogether secure and independent of    
fortune1 and of the caprice of those he 
lives with4 ,the contempt and hatred    
which #bgf may be thrown upon him by the
 ignorance of mankind1 he considers as  
not belonging to him1 and is not at all 

mortified by it4 ,mankind despise and   
hate him from a false notion of his     
character and conduct4 ,if they knew him
 better1 they would esteem and love him4
 ,it is not him whom1 properly speaking1
 they hate and despise1 but another     
person whom they mistake him to be4 ,our
 friend1 whom we should meet at a       
masquerade in the garb of our enemy1    
would be more diverted than mortified1  
if under that disguise we should vent   
our indignation against him4 ,such are  
the sentiments of a man of real         
magnanimity1 when exposed to unjust     
censure4 ,it seldom happens1 however1   
that human nature arrives at this degree
 of firmness4 ,though none but the      
weakest and most worthless of mankind   
are much delighted with false glory1    
yet1 by a strange inconsistency1 false  
ignominy is capable of mortifying those 
who appear the most resolute and        
determined4  ,dr4 ,mandeville is not    
satisfied with representing the         
frivolous motive of vanity1 as the      

source of all those actions which are   
commonly accounted virtuous4 ,he        
endeavours to point out the imperfection
 of human virtue in many other respects4
 ,in every case1 he pretends1 it falls  
short of that complete self-denial which
 it pretends to1 and1 instead of a      
conquest1 is commonly no more than a    
concealed indulgence of our passions4   
,wherever our reserve with regard to    
pleasure falls short of the most ascetic
 abstinence1 he treats it as gross      
luxury and sensuality4 ,every thing1    
according to him1 is luxury which       
exceeds what is absolutely necessary for
 the support of human nature1 so that   
there is vice even in the use of a clean
 shirt or of a convenient habitation4   
,the indulgence of the inclination to   
sex1 in the most lawful union1 he       
considers as the same sensuality with   
the most hurtful gratification of that  
passion1 and derides that temperance and
 that chastity which can be practised at
 so cheap a rate4 ,the ingenious        

sophistry of his reasoning1 is here1 as 
upon many other occasions1 covered by   
the ambiguity of language4 ,there are   
some of our passions which have no other
 names except those which mark the      
disagreeable and offensive degree4 ,the 
spectator is more apt to take notice of 
them in this degree than in any other4  
,when they shock his own sentiments1    
when they give him some sort of         
antipathy and uneasiness1 he is         
necessarily obliged to attend to them1  
and is from thence naturally led to give
 them a name4 ,when they fall in with   
the natural state of his own mind1 he is
 very apt to overlook them altogether1  
and either gives them no name at all1   
or1 if he gives them any1 it is one     
which marks rather the subjection and   
restraint of the passion1 than the      
degree which it still is allowed to     
subsist in1 after it is so subjected and
 restrained4 ,thus the common names     
7luxury and lust7 of the love of        
pleasure1 and of the love of sex1 denote

 a vicious and offensive degree of those
 passions4 ,the words temperance and    
chastity1 on the other hand1 seem to    
mark rather the restraint and subjection
 which they are kept under1 than the    
degree #bgg which they are still allowed
 to subsist in4 ,when he can show1      
therefore1 that they still subsist in   
some degree1 he imagines1 he has        
entirely demolished the reality of the  
virtues of temperance and chastity1 and 
shown them to be mere impositions upon  
the inattention and simplicity of       
mankind4 ,those virtues1 however1 do not
 require an entire insensibility to the 
objects of the passions which they mean 
to govern4 ,they only aim at restraining
 the violence of those passions so far  
as not to hurt the individual1 and      
neither disturb nor offend society4  ,it
 is the great fallacy of ,dr4           
,mandeville's book 7,fable of the ,bees7
 to represent every passion as wholly   
vicious1 which is so in any degree and  
in any direction4 ,it is thus that he   

treats every thing as vanity which has  
any reference1 either to what are1 or to
 what ought to be the sentiments of     
others2 and it is by means of this      
sophistry1 that he establishes his      
favourite conclusion1 that private vices
 are public benefits4 ,if the love of   
magnificence1 a taste for the elegant   
arts and improvements of human life1 for
 whatever is agreeable in dress1        
furniture1 or equipage1 for             
architecture1 statuary1 painting1 and   
music1 is to be regarded as luxury1     
sensuality1 and ostentation1 even in    
those whose situation allows1 without   
any inconveniency1 the indulgence of    
those passions1 it is certain that      
luxury1 sensuality1 and ostentation are 
public benefits3 since without the      
qualities upon which he thinks proper to
 bestow such opprobrious names1 the arts
 of refinement could never find         
encouragement1 and must languish for    
want of employment4 ,some popular       
ascetic doctrines which had been current

 before his time1 and which placed      
virtue in the entire extirpation and    
annihilation of all our passions1 were  
the real foundation of this licentious  
system4 ,it was easy for ,dr4           
,mandeville to prove1 first1 that this  
entire conquest never actually took     
place among men2 and secondly1 that if  
it was to take place universally1 it    
would be pernicious to society1 by      
putting an end to all industry and      
commerce1 and in a manner to the whole  
business of human life4 ,by the first of
 these propositions1 he seemed to prove 
that there was no real virtue1 and that 
what pretended to be such1 was a mere   
cheat and imposition upon mankind2 and  
by the second1 that our private vices   
were public benefits1 since without them
 no society could prosper or flourish4  
,such is the system of ,dr4 ,mandeville1
 which once made so much noise in the   
world1 and which1 though1 perhaps1 it   
never gave occasion to more vice than   
what would have been without it1 at     

least taught that vice1 which arose from
 other causes1 to appear with more      
effrontery1 and to avow the corruption  
of its motives with a profligate        
audaciousness which had never been heard
 of before4  ,but how destructive soever
 this system may appear1 it could never 
have imposed upon so great a number of  
persons1 nor have occasioned so general 
an alarm among those who are the friends
 of better principles1 had it not in    
some respects bordered upon the truth4  
,a system of #bgh natural philosophy may
 appear very plausible1 and be for a    
long time very generally received in the
 world1 and yet have no foundation in   
nature1 nor any sort of resemblance to  
the truth4 ,the vortices of ,des ,cartes
 were regarded by a very ingenious      
nation1 for near a century together1 as 
a most satisfactory account of the      
revolutions of the heavenly bodies4 ,yet
 it has been demonstrated1 to the       
conviction of all mankind1 that these   
pretended causes of those wonderful     

effects1 not only do not actually exist1
 but are utterly impossible1 and if they
 did exist1 could produce no such       
effects as are ascribed to them4 ,but it
 is otherwise with systems of moral     
philosophy1 and an author who pretends  
to account for the origin of our moral  
sentiments1 cannot deceive us so        
grossly1 nor depart so very far from all
 resemblance to the truth4 ,when a      
traveller gives an account of some      
distant country1 he may impose upon our 
credulity1 the most groundless and      
absurd fictions as the most certain     
matters of fact4 ,but when a person     
pretends to inform us of what passes in 
our neighbourhood1 and of the affairs of
 the very parish which we live in1      
though here too1 if we are so careless  
as not to examine things with our own   
eyes1 he may deceive us in many         
respects1 yet the greatest falsehoods   
which he imposes upon us must bear some 
resemblance to the truth1 and must even 
have a considerable mixture of truth in 

them4 ,an author who treats of natural  
philosophy1 and pretends to assign the  
causes of the great phenomena of the    
universe1 pretends to give an account of
 the affairs of a very distant country1 
concerning which he may tell us what he 
pleases1 and as long as his narration   
keeps within the bounds of seeming      
possibility1 he need not despair of     
gaining of belief4 ,but when he proposes
 to explain the origin of our desires   
and affections1 of our sentiments of    
approbation and disapprobation1 he      
pretends to give an account1 not only of
 the affairs of the very parish that we 
live in1 but of our own domestic        
concerns4 ,though here too1 like        
indolent masters who put their trust in 
a steward who deceives them1 we are very
 liable to be imposed upon1 yet we are  
incapable of passing any account which  
does not preserve some little regard to 
the truth4 ,some of the articles1 at    
least1 must be just1 and even those     
which are most overcharged must have had

 some foundation1 otherwise the fraud   
would be detected even by that careless 
inspection which we are disposed to     
give4 ,the author who should assign1 as 
the cause of any natural sentiment1 some
 principle which neither had any        
connection with it1 nor resembled any   
other principle which had some such     
connection1 would appear absurd and     
ridiculous to the most injudicious and  
unexperienced reader4  -----  #bgi      
,,sec4 ,,iii4--,,of ,,the ,,different   
,,systems ,,which ,,have ,,been ,,formed
 ,,concerning ,,the ,,principle ,,of    
,,approbation4   ,,introduction4--,after
 the inquiry concerning the nature of   
virtue1 the next question of importance 
in ,moral ,philosophy1 is concerning the
 principle of approbation1 concerning   
the power or faculty of the mind which  
renders certain characters agreeable or 
disagreeable to us1 makes us prefer one 
tenor of conduct to another1 denominate 
the one right and the other wrong1 and  
consider the one as the object of       

approbation1 honour1 and reward1 or the 
other as that of blame1 censure1 and    
punishment4  ,three different accounts  
have been given of this principle of    
approbation4 ,according to some1 we     
approve and disapprove both of our own  
actions and of those of others1 from    
self-love only1 or from some view of    
their tendency to our own happiness or  
disadvantage3 according to others1      
reason1 the same faculty by which we    
distinguish between truth and falsehood1
 enables us to distinguish between what 
is fit and unfit both in actions and    
affections3 according to others1 this   
distinction is altogether the effect of 
immediate sentiment and feeling1 and    
arises from the satisfaction or disgust 
with which the view of certain actions  
or affections inspires us4 ,self-love1  
reason and sentiment1 therefore1 are the
 three different sources which have been
 assigned for the principle of          
approbation4  ,before ,i proceed to give
 an account of those different systems1 

,i must observe1 that the determination 
of this second question1 though of the  
greatest importance in speculation1 is  
of none in practice4 ,the question      
concerning the nature of virtue         
necessarily has some influence upon our 
notions of right and wrong in many      
particular cases4 ,that concerning the  
principle of approbation can possibly   
have no such effect4 ,to examine from   
what contrivance or mechanism within1   
those different notions or sentiments   
arise1 is a mere matter of philosophical
 curiosity4  -----  ,,chap4 ,i4--,of    
those ,systems which deduce the         
,principle of ,approbation from         
,self-love4   ,,those who account for   
the principle of approbation from       
self-love1 do not all account for it in 
the same manner1 and there is a good    
deal of confusion and inaccuracy in all 
their different systems4 ,according to  
,mr4 ,hobbes1 and many of his followers 
7,puffendorff1 ,mandeville71 man is     
driven to take refuge in society1 not by

 any natural love which he bears to his 
own kind1 but because without the       
assistance of others he is incapable of 
subsisting with ease or safety4         
,society1 upon this account1 becomes    
necessary to him1 and whatever tends to 
its support and welfare1 he considers as
 having a remote tendency to his own    
#bhj interest2 and1 on the contrary1    
whatever is likely to disturb or destroy
 it1 he regards as in some measure      
hurtful or pernicious to himself4       
,virtue is the great support1 and vice  
the great disturber of human society4   
,the former1 therefore1 is agreeable1   
and the latter offensive to every man2  
as from the one he foresees the         
prosperity1 and from the other the ruin 
and disorder of what is so necessary for
 the comfort and the security of his    
existence4  ,that the tendency of virtue
 to promote1 and of vice to disturb the 
order of society1 when we consider it   
coolly and philosophically1 reflects a  
very great beauty upon the one1 and a   

very great deformity upon the other1    
cannot1 as ,i have observed upon a      
former occasion1 be called in question4 
,human society1 when we contemplate it  
in a certain abstract and philosophical 
light1 appears like a great1 an immense 
machine1 whose regular and harmonious   
movements produce a thousand agreeable  
effects4 ,as in any other beautiful and 
noble machine that was the production of
 human art1 whatever tended to render   
its movements more smooth and easy1     
would derive a beauty from this effect1 
and1 on the contrary1 whatever tended to
 obstruct them would displease upon that
 account3 so virtue1 which is1 as it    
were1 the fine polish to the wheels of  
society1 necessarily pleases2 while     
vice1 like the vile rust1 which makes   
them jar and grate upon one another1 is 
as necessarily offensive4 ,this account1
 therefore1 of the origin of approbation
 and disapprobation1 so far as it       
derives them from a regard to the order 
of society1 runs into that principle    

which gives beauty to utility1 and which
 ,i have explained upon a former        
occasion2 and it is from thence that    
this system derives all that appearance 
of probability which it possesses4 ,when
 those authors describe the innumerable 
advantages of a cultivated and social1  
above a savage and solitary life2 when  
they expatiate upon the necessity of    
virtue and good order for the           
maintenance of the one1 and demonstrate 
how infallibly the prevalence of vice   
and disobedience to the laws tend to    
bring back the other1 the reader is     
charmed with the novelty and grandeur of
 those views which they open to him3 he 
sees plainly a new beauty in virtue1 and
 a new deformity in vice1 which he had  
never taken notice of before1 and is    
commonly so delighted with the          
discovery1 that he seldom takes time to 
reflect1 that this political view having
 never occurred to him in his life      
before1 cannot possibly be the ground of
 that approbation and disapprobation    

with which he has been accustomed to    
consider those different qualities4     
,when those authors1 on the other hand1 
deduce from self-love the interest which
 we take in the welfare of society1 and 
the esteem which upon that account we   
bestow upon virtue1 they do not mean1   
that when we in this age applaud the    
virtue of ,cato1 and detest the villany 
of ,cataline1 our sentiments are        
influenced by the notion of any benefit 
we receive from the one1 or of any      
detriment we suffer from the other4 ,it 
was not because the prosperity or       
subversion of society1 in those remote  
#bha ages and nations1 was apprehended  
to have any influence upon our happiness
 or misery in the present times2 that   
according to those philosophers1 we     
esteemed the virtuous and blamed the    
disorderly character4 ,they never       
imagined that our sentiments were       
influenced by any benefit or damage     
which we 9999supposed actually to       
redound to us1 from either2 but by that 

which might have redounded to us1 had we
 lived in those distant ages and        
countries2 or by that which might still 
redound to us1 if in our own times we   
should meet with characters of the same 
kind4 ,the idea1 in short1 which those  
authors were groping about1 but which   
they were never able to unfold          
distinctly1 was that indirect sympathy  
which we feel with the gratitude or     
resentment of those who received the    
benefit or suffered the damage resulting
 from such opposite characters3 and it  
was this which they were indistinctly   
pointing at1 when they said1 that it was
 not the thought of what we had gained  
or suffered which prompted our applause 
or indignation1 but the conception or   
imagination of what we might gain or    
suffer if we were to act in society with
 such associates4  ,sympathy1 however1  
cannot1 in any sense1 be regarded as a  
selfish principle4 ,when ,i sympathize  
with your sorrow or your indignation1 it
 may be pretended1 indeed1 that my      

emotion is founded in self-love1 because
 it arises from bringing your case home 
to myself1 from putting myself in your  
situation1 and thence conceiving what ,i
 should feel in the like circumstances4 
,but though sympathy is very properly   
said to arise from an imaginary change  
of situations with the person           
principally concerned1 yet this         
imaginary change is not supposed to     
happen to me in my own person and       
character1 but in that of the person    
with whom ,i sympathize4 ,when ,i       
condole with you for the loss of your   
only son1 in order to enter into your   
grief ,i do not consider what ,i1 a     
person of such a character and          
profession1 should suffer1 if ,i had a  
son1 and if that son was unfortunately  
to die2 but ,i consider what ,i should  
suffer if ,i was really you1 and ,i not 
only change circumstances with you1 but 
,i change persons and characters4 ,my   
grief1 therefore1 is entirely upon your 
account1 and not in the least upon my   

own4 ,it is not1 therefore in the least 
selfish4 ,how can that be regarded as a 
selfish passion1 which does not arise   
even from the imagination of any thing  
that has befallen1 or that relates to   
myself1 in my own proper person and     
character1 but which is entirely        
occupied about what relates to you8 ,a  
man may sympathize with a woman in      
child-bed2 though it is impossible that 
he should conceive himself as suffering 
her pains in his own proper person and  
character4 ,that whole account of human 
nature1 however1 which deduces all      
sentiments and affections from          
self-love1 which has made so much noise 
in the world1 but which1 as far as ,i   
know1 has never yet been fully and      
distinctly explained1 seems to me to    
have arisen from some confused          
misapprehension of the system of        
sympathy4  #bhb  ,,chap4 ,,ii4--,of     
those ,systems which make ,reason the   
,principle of ,approbation4   ,,it is   
well known to have been the doctrine of 

,mr4 ,hobbes1 that a state of nature is 
a state of war2 and that antecedent to  
the institution of civil government1    
there could be no safe or peaceable     
society among men4 ,to preserve society1
 therefore1 according to him1 was to    
support civil government1 and to destroy
 civil government was the same thing as 
to put an end to society4 ,but the      
existence of civil government depends   
upon the obedience that is paid to the  
supreme magistrate4 ,the moment he loses
 his authority1 all government is at an 
end4 ,as self-preservation1 therefore1  
teaches men to applaud whatever tends to
 promote the welfare of society1 and to 
blame whatever is likely to hurt it2 so 
the same principle1 if they would think 
and speak consistently1 ought to teach  
them to applaud upon all occasions      
obedience to the civil magistrate1 and  
to blame all disobedience and rebellion4
 ,the very ideas of laudable and        
blamable1 ought to be the same with     
those of obedience and disobedience4    

,the laws of the civil magistrate1      
therefore1 ought to be regarded as the  
sole ultimate standards of what was just
 and unjust1 of what was right and      
wrong4  ,it was the avowed intention of 
,mr4 ,hobbes1 by propagating these      
notions1 to subject the consciences of  
men immediately to the civil1 and not to
 the ecclesiastical powers1 whose       
turbulence and ambition1 he had been    
taught1 by the example of his own times1
 to regard as the principal source of   
the disorders of society4 ,his doctrine1
 upon this account1 was peculiarly      
offensive to theologians1 who           
accordingly did not fail to vent their  
indignation against him with great      
asperity and bitterness4 ,it was        
likewise offensive to all sound         
moralists1 as it supposed that there was
 no natural distinction between right   
and wrong1 that these were mutable and  
changeable1 and depended upon the mere  
arbitrary will of the civil magistrate4 
,this account of things1 therefore1 was 

attacked from all quarters1 and by all  
sorts of weapons1 by sober reason as    
well as by furious declamation4  ,in    
order to confute so odious a doctrine1  
it was necessary to prove1 that         
antecedent to all law or positive       
institution1 the mind was naturally     
endowed with a faculty1 by which it     
distinguished in certain actions and    
affections1 the qualities of right1     
laudable1 and virtuous1 and in others   
those of wrong1 blamable1 and vicious4  
,law1 it was justly observed by ,dr4    
,cudworth 7,immutable ,morality1 #a4    
#a71 could not be the original source of
 those distinctions2 since upon the     
supposition of such a law1 it must      
either be right to obey it1 and wrong to
 disobey it1 or indifferent whether we  
obeyed it or disobeyed it4 ,that law    
which it was indifferent whether we     
obeyed or disobeyed1 could not1 it was  
evident1 be the source of those         
distinctions2 neither #bhc could that   
which it was right to obey and wrong to 

disobey1 since even this still supposed 
the antecedent notions or ideas of right
 and wrong1 and that obedience to the   
law was conformable to the idea of      
right1 and disobedience to that of      
wrong4  ,since the mind1 therefore1 had 
a notion of those distinctions          
antecedent to all law1 it seemed        
necessarily to follow1 that it derived  
this notion from reason1 which pointed  
out the difference between right and    
wrong1 in the same manner in which it   
did that between truth and falsehood3   
and this conclusion1 which1 though true 
in some respects1 is rather hasty in    
others1 was more easily received at a   
time when the abstract science of human 
nature was but in its infancy1 and      
before the distinct offices and powers  
of the different faculties of the human 
mind had been carefully examined and    
distinguished from one another4 ,when   
this controversy with ,mr4 ,hobbes was  
carried on with the greatest warmth and 
keenness1 no other faculty had been     

thought of from which any such ideas    
could possibly be supposed to arise4 ,it
 became at this time1 therefore1 the    
popular doctrine1 that the essence of   
virtue and vice did not consist in the  
conformity or disagreement of human     
actions with the law of a superior1 but 
in their conformity or disagreement with
 reason1 which was thus considered as   
the original source and principle of    
approbation and disapprobation4  ,that  
virtue consists in conformity to reason1
 is true in some respects1 and this     
faculty may very justly be considered   
as1 in some sense1 the source and       
principle of approbation and            
disapprobation1 and of all solid        
judgments concerning right and wrong4   
,it is by reason that we discover those 
general rules of justice by which we    
ought to regulate our actions3 and it is
 by the same faculty that we form those 
more vague and indeterminate ideas of   
what is prudent1 of what is decent1 of  
what is generous or noble1 which we     

carry constantly about with us1 and     
according to which we endeavour1 as well
 as we can1 to model the tenor of our   
conduct4 ,the general maxims of morality
 are formed1 like all other general     
maxims1 from experience and induction4  
,we observe in a great variety of       
particular cases what pleases or        
displeases our moral faculties1 what    
these approve or disapprove of1 and1 by 
induction from this experience1 we      
establish those general rules4 ,but     
induction is always regarded as one of  
the operations of reason4 ,from reason1 
therefore1 we are very properly said to 
derive all those general maxims and     
ideas4 ,it is by these1 however1 that we
 regulate the greater part of our moral 
judgments1 which would be extremely     
uncertain and precarious if they        
depended altogether upon what is liable 
to so many variations as immediate      
sentiment and feeling1 which the        
different states of health and humour   
are capable of altering so essentially4 

,as our most solid judgments1 therefore1
 with regard to right and wrong1 are    
regulated by maxims and ideas derived   
from an induction of reason1 virtue may 
very properly be said to consist in a   
conformity to #bhd reason1 and so far   
this faculty may be considered as the   
source and principle of approbation and 
disapprobation4  ,but though reason is  
undoubtedly the source of the general   
rules of morality1 and of all the moral 
judgments which we form by means of     
them2 it is altogether absurd and       
unintelligible to suppose that the first
 perceptions of right and wrong can be  
derived from reason1 even in those      
particular cases upon the experience of 
which the general rules are formed4     
,these first perceptions1 as well as all
 other experiments upon which any       
general rules are founded1 cannot be the
 object of reason1 but of immediate     
sense and feeling4 ,it is by finding in 
a vast variety of instances that one    
tenor of conduct constantly pleases in a

 certain manner1 and that another as    
constantly displeases the mind1 that we 
form the general rules of morality4 ,but
 reason cannot render any particular    
object either agreeable or disagreeable 
to the mind for its own sake4 ,reason   
may show that this object is the means  
of obtaining some other which is        
naturally either pleasing or            
displeasing1 and in this manner may     
render it either agreeable or           
disagreeable for the sake of something  
else4 ,but nothing can be agreeable or  
disagreeable for its own sake1 which is 
not rendered such by immediate sense and
 feeling4 ,if virtue1 therefore1 in     
every particular instance1 necessarily  
pleases for its own sake1 and if vice as
 certainly displeases the mind1 it      
cannot be reason1 but immediate sense   
and feeling1 which thus reconciles us to
 the one1 and alienates us from the     
other4  ,pleasure and pain are the great
 objects of desire and aversion3 but    
these are distinguished1 not by reason1 

but by immediate sense and feeling4 ,if 
virtue1 therefore1 be desirable for its 
own sake1 and if vice be1 in the same   
manner1 the object of aversion1 it      
cannot be reason which originally       
distinguishes those different qualities1
 but immediate sense and feeling4  ,as  
reason1 however1 in a certain sense1 may
 justly be considered as the principle  
of approbation and disapprobation1 these
 sentiments were1 through inattention1  
long regarded as originally flowing from
 the operations of this faculty4 ,dr4   
,hutcheson had the merit of being the   
first who distinguished with any degree 
of precision in what respect all moral  
distinctions may be said to arise from  
reason1 and in what respect they are    
founded upon immediate sense and        
feeling4 ,in his illustrations upon the 
moral sense he has explained this so    
fully1 and1 in my opinion1 so           
unanswerably1 that1 if any controversy  
is still kept up about this subject1 ,i 
can impute it to nothing1 but either to 

inattention to what that gentleman has  
written1 or to a superstitious          
attachment to certain forms of          
expression1 a weakness not very uncommon
 among the learned1 especially in       
subjects so deeply interesting as the   
present1 in which a man of virtue is    
often loath to abandon even the         
propriety of a single phrase which he   
has been accustomed to4  #bhe  ,,chap4  
,,iii4--,of those ,systems which make   
,sentiment the ,principle of            
,approbation4   ,,those systems which   
make sentiment the principle of         
approbation may be divided into two     
different classes4  ,i4 ,according to   
some the principle of approbation is    
founded upon a sentiment of a peculiar  
nature1 upon a particular power of      
perception exerted by the mind at the   
view of certain actions or affections2  
some of which affecting this faculty in 
an agreeable and others in a            
disagreeable manner1 the former are     
stamped with the characters of right1   

laudable1 and virtuous2 the latter with 
those of wrong1 blamable1 and vicious4  
,this sentiment being of a peculiar     
nature distinct from every other1 and   
the effect of a particular power of     
perception1 they give it a particular   
name1 and call it a moral sense4  ,,ii4 
,according to others1 in order to       
account for the principle of            
approbation1 there is no occasion for   
supposing any new power of perception   
which had never been heard of before3   
,nature1 they imagine acts here1 as in  
all other cases1 with the strictest     
oeconomy1 and produces a multitude of   
effects from one and the same cause2 and
 sympathy1 a power which has always been
 taken notice of1 and with which the    
mind is manifestly endowed1 is1 they    
think1 sufficient to account for all the
 effects ascribed to this peculiar      
faculty4  ,i4 ,dr4 ,hutcheson 7,inquiry 
concerning ,virtue7 had been at great   
pains to prove that the principle of    
approbation was not founded on          

self-love4 ,he had demonstrated1 too1   
that it could not arise from any        
operation of reason4 ,nothing remained1 
he thought1 but to suppose it a faculty 
of a peculiar kind1 with which ,nature  
had endowed the human mind1 in order to 
produce this one particular and         
important effect4 ,when self-love and   
reason were both excluded1 it did not   
occur to him that there was any other   
known faculty of the mind which could in
 any respect answer this purpose4  ,this
 new power of perception he called a    
moral sense1 and supposed it to be      
somewhat analogous to the external      
senses4 ,as the bodies around us1 by    
affecting these in a certain manner1    
appear to possess the different         
qualities of sound1 taste1 odour1       
colour2 so the various affections of the
 human mind1 by touching this particular
 faculty in a certain manner1 appear to 
possess the different qualities of      
amiable and odious1 of virtuous and     
vicious1 of right and wrong4  ,the      

various senses or powers of perception  
7,treatise of the ,passions7 from which 
the human mind derives all its simple   
ideas1 were1 according to this system1  
of two different kinds1 of which the one
 were called the direct or antecedent1  
the other1 the reflex or consequent     
senses4 ,the direct senses were those   
faculties from which the mind derived   
the perception of such species of things
 as did not presuppose #bhf the         
antecedent perception of any other4     
,thus sounds and colours were objects of
 the direct senses4 ,to hear a sound or 
to see a colour does not presuppose the 
antecedent perception of any other      
quality or object4 ,the reflex or       
consequent senses1 on the other hand1   
were those faculties from which the mind
 derived the perception of such species 
of things as presupposed the antecedent 
perception of some other4 ,thus harmony 
and beauty were objects of the reflex   
senses4 ,in order to perceive the       
harmony of a sound1 or the beauty of a  

colour1 we must first perceive the sound
 or the colour4 ,the moral sense was    
considered as a faculty of this kind4   
,that faculty1 which ,mr4 ,locke calls  
reflection1 and from which he derived   
the simple ideas of the different       
passions and emotions of the human mind1
 was1 according to ,dr4 ,hutcheson1 a   
direct internal sense4 ,that faculty    
again by which we perceived the beauty  
or deformity1 the virtue or vice1 of    
those different passions and emotions1  
was a reflex1 internal sense4  ,dr4     
,hutcheson endeavoured still further to 
support this doctrine1 by showing that  
it was agreeable to the analogy of      
nature1 and that the mind was endowed   
with a variety of other reflex senses   
exactly similar to the moral sense2 such
 as a sense of beauty and deformity in  
external objects2 a public sense1 by    
which we sympathize with the happiness  
or misery of our fellow-creatures2 a    
sense of shame and honour1 and a sense  
of ridicule4  ,but notwithstanding all  

the pains which this ingenious          
philosopher has taken to prove that the 
principle of approbation is founded in a
 peculiar power of perception1 somewhat 
analogous to the external senses1 there 
are some consequences1 which he         
acknowledges to follow from this        
doctrine1 that will1 perhaps1 be        
regarded by many as a sufficient        
confutation of it4 ,the qualities1 he   
allows1#h which belong to the objects of
 any sense1 cannot1 without the greatest
 absurdity1 be ascribed to the sense    
itself4 ,who ever thought of calling the
 sense of seeing black or white1 the    
sense of hearing loud or low1 or the    
sense of tasting sweet or bitter8 ,and1 
according to him1 it is equally absurd  
to call our moral faculties virtuous or 
vicious1 morally good or evil4 ,these   
qualities belong to the objects of those
 faculties1 not to the faculties        
themselves4 ,if any man1 therefore1 was 
so absurdly constituted as to approve of
 cruelty and injustice as the highest   

virtues1 and to disapprove of equity and
 humanity as the most pitiful vices1    
such a constitution of mind might indeed
 be regarded as inconvenient both to the
 individual and to the society1 and     
likewise as strange1 surprising1 and    
unnatural in itself2 but it could not1  
without the greatest absurdity1 be      
denominated vicious or morally evil4    
,footnote #h3 ,illustrations upon the   
,moral ,sense1 sect4 i4 p4 #bcg1 et     
seq42 third edition4  ,yet surely if we 
saw any man shouting with admiration and
 applause at a barbarous and unmerited  
execution1 which some insolent tyrant   
had ordered1 we should not think we were
 guilty of any great absurdity #bhg in  
denominating this behaviour vicious and 
morally evil in the highest degree1     
though it expressed nothing but depraved
 moral faculties1 or an absurd          
approbation of this horrid action1 as of
 what was noble1 magnanimous1 and great4
 ,our heart1 ,i imagine1 at the sight of
 such a spectator1 would forget for a   

while its sympathy with the sufferer1   
and feel nothing but horror and         
detestation1 at the thought of so       
execrable a wretch4 ,we should abominate
 him even more than the tyrant who might
 be goaded on by the strong passions of 
jealousy1 fear1 and resentment1 and upon
 that account be more excusable4 ,but   
the sentiments of the spectator would   
appear altogether without cause or      
motive1 and therefore most perfectly and
 completely detestable4 ,there is no    
perversion of sentiment or affection    
which our heart would be more averse to 
enter into1 or which it would reject    
with greater hatred and indignation than
 one of this kind2 and so far from      
regarding such a constitution of mind as
 being merely something strange or      
inconvenient1 and not in any respect    
vicious or morally evil1 we should      
rather consider it as the very last and 
most dreadful stage of depravity4       
,correct moral sentiments1 on the       
contrary1 naturally appear in some      

degree laudable and morally good4 ,the  
man1 whose censure and applause are upon
 all occasions suited with the greatest 
accuracy to the value or unworthiness of
 the object1 seems to deserve a degree  
even of moral approbation4 ,we admire   
the delicate precision of his moral     
sentiments3 they lead our own judgments1
 and1 upon account of their uncommon and
 surprising justness1 they even excite  
our wonder and applause4 ,we cannot     
indeed be always sure that the conduct  
of such a person would be in any respect
 correspondent to the precision and     
accuracy of his judgment concerning the 
conduct of others4 ,virtue requires     
habit and resolution of mind1 as well as
 delicacy of sentiment2 and             
unfortunately the former qualities are  
sometimes wanting1 where the latter is  
in the greatest perfection4 ,this       
disposition of mind1 however1 though it 
may sometimes be attended with          
imperfections1 is incompatible with any 
thing that is grossly criminal1 and is  

the happiest foundation upon which the  
superstructure of perfect virtue can be 
built4 ,there are many men who mean very
 well1 and seriously purpose to do what 
they think their duty1 who              
notwithstanding are disagreeable because
 of the coarseness of their moral       
sentiments4  ,it may be said1 perhaps1  
that though the principle of approbation
 is not founded upon any perception that
 is in any respect analogous to the     
external senses1 it may still be founded
 upon a peculiar sentiment which answers
 this one particular purpose and no     
other4 ,approbation and disapprobation1 
it may be pretended1 are certain        
feelings or emotions which arise in the 
mind upon the view of different         
characters and actions2 and as          
resentment might be called a sense of   
injuries1 or gratitude a sense of       
benefits1 so these may very properly    
receive the name of a sense of right and
 wrong1 or of a moral sense4  #bhh ,but 
this account of things1 though it may   

not be liable to the same objections    
with the foregoing1 is exposed to others
 which may be equally unanswerable4     
,first of all1 whatever variations any  
particular emotion may undergo1 it still
 preserves the general features which   
distinguish it to be an emotion of such 
a kind1 and these general features are  
always more striking and remarkable than
 any variation which it may undergo in  
particular cases4 ,thus anger is an     
emotion of a particular kind3 and       
accordingly its general features are    
always more distinguishable than all the
 variations it undergoes in particular  
cases4 ,anger against a man is1 no      
doubt1 somewhat different from anger    
against a woman1 and that again from    
anger against a child4 ,in each of those
 three cases1 the general passion of    
anger receives a different modification 
from the particular character of its    
object1 as may easily be observed by the
 attentive4 ,but still the general      
features of the passion predominate in  

all these cases4 ,to distinguish these1 
requires no nice observation3 a very    
delicate attention1 on the contrary1 is 
necessary to discover their variations3 
every body takes notice of the former2  
scarce any body observes the latter4 ,if
 approbation and disapprobation1        
therefore1 were1 like gratitude and     
resentment1 emotions of a particular    
kind1 distinct from every other1 we     
should expect that in all the variations
 which either of them might undergo1 it 
would still retain the general features 
which mark it to be an emotion of such a
 particular kind1 clear1 plain and      
easily distinguishable4 ,but in fact it 
happens quite otherwise4 ,if we attend  
to what we really feel when upon        
different occasions we either approve or
 disapprove1 we shall find that our     
emotion in one case is often totally    
different from that in another1 and that
 no common features can possibly be     
discovered between them4 ,thus the      
approbation with which we view a tender1

 delicate1 and humane sentiment1 is     
quite different from that with which we 
are struck by one that appears great1   
daring1 and magnanimous4 ,our           
approbation of both may1 upon different 
occasions1 be perfect and entire2 but we
 are softened by the one1 and we are    
elevated by the other1 and there is no  
sort of resemblance between the emotions
 which they excite in us4 ,but1         
according to that system which ,i have  
been endeavouring to establish1 this    
must necessarily be the case4 ,as the   
emotions of the person whom we approve  
of1 are1 in those two cases1 quite      
opposite to one another1 and as our     
approbation arises from sympathy with   
those opposite emotions1 what we feel   
upon the one occasion1 can have no sort 
of resemblance to what we feel upon the 
other4 ,but this could not happen if    
approbation consisted in a peculiar     
emotion which had nothing in common with
 the sentiments we approved of1 but     
which arose at the view of those        

sentiments1 like any other passion at   
the view of its proper object4 ,the same
 thing holds true with regard to        
disapprobation4 ,our horror for cruelty 
has no sort of resemblance to our       
contempt for #bhi mean-spiritedness4 ,it
 is quite a different species of discord
 which we feel at the view of those two 
different vices1 between our own minds  
and those of the person whose sentiments
 and behaviour we consider4  ,secondly1 
,i have already observed1 that not only 
the different passions or affections of 
the human mind which are approved or    
disapproved of1 appear morally good or  
evil1 but that proper and improper      
approbation appear1 to our natural      
sentiments1 to be stamped with the same 
characters4 ,i would ask1 therefore1 how
 it is1 that1 according to this system1 
we approve or disapprove of proper or   
improper approbation8 ,to this question 
there is1 ,i imagine1 but one reasonable
 answer which can possibly be given4 ,it
 must be said1 that when the approbation

 with which our neighbour regards the   
conduct of a third person coincides with
 our own1 we approve of his approbation1
 and consider it as1 in some measure1   
morally good2 and that1 on the contrary1
 when it does not coincide with our own 
sentiments1 we disapprove of it1 and    
consider it as1 in some measure1 morally
 evil4 ,it must be allowed1 therefore1  
that1 at least in this one case1 the    
coincidence or opposition of sentiment1 
between the observer and the person     
observed1 constitutes moral approbation 
or disapprobation4 ,and if it does so in
 this one case1 ,i would ask1 why not in
 every other8 to what purpose imagine a 
new power of perception in order to     
account for those sentiments8  ,against 
every account of the principle of       
approbation1 which makes it depend upon 
a peculiar sentiment1 distinct from     
every other1 ,i would object that it is 
strange that this sentiment1 which      
,providence undoubtedly intended to be  
the governing principle of human nature1

 should hitherto have been so little    
taken notice of1 as not to have got a   
name in any language4 ,the word ,moral  
,sense is of very late formation1 and   
cannot yet be considered as making part 
of the ,english tongue4 ,the word       
,approbation has but within these few   
years been appropriated to denote       
peculiarly any thing of this kind4 ,in  
propriety of language we approve of     
whatever is entirely to our             
satisfaction1 of the form of a building1
 of the contrivance of a machine1 of the
 flavour of a dish of meat4 ,the word   
,conscience does not immediately denote 
any moral faculty by which we approve or
 disapprove4 ,conscience supposes1      
indeed1 the existence of some such      
faculty1 and properly signifies our     
consciousness of having acted agreeably 
or contrary to its directions4 ,when    
love1 hatred1 joy1 sorrow1 gratitude1   
resentment1 with so many other passions 
which are all supposed to be the        
subjects of this principle1 have made   

themselves considerable enough to get   
titles to know them by1 is it not       
surprising that the sovereign of them   
all should hitherto have been so little 
heeded1 that1 a few philosophers        
excepted1 nobody has yet thought it     
worth while to bestow a name upon that  
principle4  ,when we approve of any     
character or action1 the sentiments     
which we feel1 are1 according to the    
foregoing system1 derived from four #bij
 sources1 which are in some respects    
different from one another4 ,first1 we  
sympathize with the motives of the      
agent2 secondly1 we enter into the      
gratitude of those who receive the      
benefit of his actions2 thirdly1 we     
observe that his conduct has been       
agreeable to the general rules by which 
those two sympathies generally act2 and1
 last of all1 when we consider such     
actions as making a part of a system of 
behaviour which tends to promote the    
happiness either of the individual or of
 the society1 they appear to derive a   

beauty from this utility1 not unlike    
that which we ascribe to any            
well-contrived machine4 ,after          
deducting1 in any one particular case1  
all that must be acknowledged to proceed
 from some one or other of these four   
principles1 ,i should be glad to know   
what remains1 and ,i shall freely allow 
this overplus to be ascribed to a moral 
sense1 or to any other peculiar faculty1
 provided any body will ascertain       
precisely what this overplus is4 ,it    
might be expected1 perhaps1 that if     
there was any such peculiar principle1  
such as this moral sense is supposed to 
be1 we should feel it1 in some          
particular cases1 separated and detached
 from every other1 as we often feel joy1
 sorrow1 hope1 and fear1 pure and       
unmixed with any other emotion4 ,this1  
however1 ,i imagine1 cannot even be     
pretended4 ,i have never heard any      
instance alleged in which this principle
 could be said to exert itself alone and
 unmixed with sympathy or antipathy1    

with gratitude or resentment1 with the  
perception of the agreement or          
disagreement of any action to an        
established rule1 or last of all1 with  
that general taste for beauty and order 
which is excited by inanimated as well  
as by animated objects4  ,,ii4 ,there is
 another system which attempts to       
account for the origin of our moral     
sentiments from sympathy1 distinct from 
that which ,i have been endeavouring to 
establish4 ,it is that which places     
virtue in utility1 and accounts for the 
pleasure with which the spectator       
surveys the utility of any quality from 
sympathy with the happiness of those who
 are affected by it4 ,this sympathy is  
different both from that by which we    
enter into the motives of the agent1 and
 from that by which we go along with the
 gratitude of the persons who are       
benefited by his actions4 ,it is the    
same principle with that by which we    
approve of a well-contrived machine4    
,but no machine can be the object of    

either of those two last-mentioned      
sympathies4 ,i have already1 in the     
fourth part of this discourse1 given    
some account of this system4  -----     
,,sec4 ,,iv4--,,of ,,the ,,manner ,,in  
,,which ,,different ,,authors ,,have    
,,treated ,,of ,,the ,,practical ,,rules
 ,,of ,,morality4   ,,it was observed in
 the third part of this discourse1 that 
the rules of justice are the only rules 
of morality which are precise and       
accurate2 that those of all the other   
virtues are loose1 vague1 and           
indeterminate2 #bia that the first may  
be compared to the rules of grammar2 the
 others to those which critics lay down 
for the attainment of what is sublime   
and elegant in composition1 and which   
present us rather with a general idea of
 the perfection we ought to aim at1 than
 afford us any certain and infallible   
directions for acquiring it4  ,as the   
different rules of morality admit such  
different degrees of accuracy1 those    
authors who have endeavoured to collect 

and digest them into systems have done  
it in two different manners2 and one set
 has followed through the whole that    
loose method to which they were         
naturally directed by the consideration 
of one species of virtues2 while another
 has as universally endeavoured to      
introduce into their precepts that sort 
of accuracy of which only some of them  
are susceptible4 ,the first have written
 like critics1 the second like          
grammarians4  ,i4 ,the first1 among whom
 we may count all the ancient moralists1
 have contented themselves with         
describing in a general manner the      
different vices and virtues1 and with   
pointing out the deformity and misery of
 the one disposition1 as well as the    
propriety and happiness of the other1   
but have not affected to lay down many  
precise rules that are to hold good     
unexceptionally in all particular cases4
 ,they have only endeavoured to         
ascertain1 as far as language is capable
 of ascertaining1 first1 wherein        

consists the sentiment of the heart1    
upon which each particular virtue is    
founded1 what sort of internal feeling  
or emotion it is which constitutes the  
essence of friendship1 of humanity1 of  
generosity1 of justice1 of magnanimity1 
and of all the other virtues1 as well as
 of the vices which are opposed to them3
 and1 secondly1 what is the general way 
of acting1 the ordinary tone and tenor  
of conduct to which each of those       
sentiments would direct us1 or how it is
 that a friendly1 a generous1 a brave1 a
 just1 and a humane man1 would upon     
ordinary occasions1 choose to act4  ,to 
characterize the sentiment of the heart1
 upon which each particular virtue is   
founded1 though it requires both a      
delicate and an accurate pencil1 is a   
task1 however1 which may be executed    
with some degree of exactness4 ,it is   
impossible1 indeed1 to express all the  
variations which each sentiment either  
does or ought to undergo1 according to  
every possible variation of             

circumstances4 ,they are endless1 and   
language wants names to mark them by4   
,the sentiment of friendship1 for       
example1 which we feel for an old man is
 different from that which we feel for a
 young3 that which we entertain for an  
austere man different from that which we
 feel for one of softer and gentler     
manners3 and that again from what we    
feel for one of gay vivacity and spirit4
 ,the friendship which we conceive for a
 man is different from that with which a
 woman affects us1 even where there is  
no mixture of any grosser passion4 ,what
 author could enumerate and ascertain   
these and all the other infinite        
varieties which this sentiment is       
capable of undergoing8 ,but still the   
general sentiment of friendship and     
familiar #bib attachment which is common
 to them all1 may be ascertained with a 
sufficient degree of accuracy4 ,the     
picture which is drawn of it1 though it 
will always be in many respects         
incomplete1 may1 however1 have such a   

resemblance as to make us know the      
original when we meet with it1 and even 
distinguish it from other sentiments to 
which it has a considerable resemblance1
 such as good-will1 respect1 admiration4
  ,to describe1 in a general manner1    
what is the ordinary way of acting to   
which each virtue would prompt us1 is   
still more easy4 ,it is1 indeed1 scarce 
possible to describe the internal       
sentiment or emotion upon which it is   
founded1 without doing something of this
 kind4 ,it is impossible by language to 
express1 if ,i may say so1 the invisible
 features of all the different          
modifications of passion as they show   
themselves within4 ,there is no other   
way of marking and distinguishing them  
from one another1 but by describing the 
effects which they produce without1 the 
alterations which they occasion in the  
countenance1 in the air and external    
behaviour1 the resolutions they suggest1
 the actions they prompt to4 ,it is thus
 that ,cicero1 in the first book of his 

,offices1 endeavours to direct us to the
 practice of the four cardinal virtues1 
and that ,aristotle in the practical    
parts of his ,ethics1 points out to us  
the different habits by which he would  
have us regulate our behaviour1 such as 
liberality1 magnificence1 magnanimity1  
and even jocularity and good humour1    
qualities which that indulgent          
philosopher has thought worthy of a     
place in the catalogue of the virtues1  
though the lightness of that approbation
 which we naturally bestow upon them1   
should not seem to entitle them to so   
venerable a name4  ,such works present  
us with agreeable and lively pictures of
 manners4 ,by the vivacity of their     
descriptions they inflame our natural   
love of virtue1 and increase our        
abhorrence of vice3 by the justness as  
well as delicacy of their observations  
they may often help both to correct and 
to ascertain our natural sentiments with
 regard to the propriety of conduct1 and
 suggesting many nice and delicate      

attentions1 form us to a more exact     
justness of behaviour1 than what1       
without such instruction1 we should have
 been apt to think of4 ,in treating of  
the rules of morality1 in this manner1  
consists the science which is properly  
called ,ethics1 a science which1 though 
like criticism1 it does not admit of the
 most accurate precision1 is1 however1  
both highly useful and agreeable4 ,it is
 of all others the most susceptible of  
the embellishments of eloquence1 and by 
means of them of bestowing1 if that be  
possible1 a new importance upon the     
smallest rules of duty4 ,its precepts1  
when thus dressed and adorned1 are      
capable of producing upon the           
flexibility of youth1 the noblest and   
most lasting impressions1 and as they   
fall in with the natural magnanimity of 
that generous age1 they are able to     
inspire1 for a time at least1 the most  
heroic resolutions1 and thus tend both  
to establish and confirm the best and   
most useful habits of which the mind of 

man is susceptible4 ,whatever precept   
and exhortation can do to #bic animate  
us to the practice of virtue1 is done by
 this science delivered in this manner4 
,,ii4 ,the second set of moralists1     
among whom we may count all the casuists
 of the middle and latter ages of the   
,christian church1 as well as all those 
who in this and in the preceding century
 have treated of what is called natural 
jurisprudence1 do not content themselves
 with characterizing in this general    
manner that tenor of conduct which they 
would recommend to us1 but endeavour to 
lay down exact and precise rules for the
 direction of every circumstance of our 
behaviour4 ,as justice is the only      
virtue with regard to which such exact  
rules can properly be given2 it is this 
virtue1 that has chiefly fallen under   
the consideration of those two different
 sets of writers4 ,they treat of it1    
however1 in a very different manner4    
,those who write upon the principles of 
jurisprudence1 consider only what the   

person to whom the obligation is due1   
ought to think himself entitled to exact
 by force2 what every impartial         
spectator would approve of him for      
exacting1 or what a judge or arbiter1 to
 whom he had submitted his case1 and who
 had undertaken to do him justice1 ought
 to oblige the other person to suffer or
 to perform4 ,the casuists1 on the other
 hand1 do not so much examine what it   
is1 that might properly be exacted by   
force1 as what it is1 that the person   
who owes the obligation ought to think  
himself bound to perform from the most  
sacred and scrupulous regard to the     
general rules of justice1 and from the  
most conscientious dread1 either of     
wronging his neighbour1 or of violating 
the integrity of his own character4 ,it 
is the end of jurisprudence to prescribe
 rules for the decisions of judges and  
arbiters4 ,it is the end of casuistry to
 prescribe rules for the conduct of a   
good man4 ,by observing all the rules of
 jurisprudence1 supposing them ever so  

perfect1 we should deserve nothing but  
to be free from external punishment4 ,by
 observing those of casuistry1 supposing
 them such as they ought to be1 we      
should be entitled to considerable      
praise by the exact and scrupulous      
delicacy of our behaviour4  ,it may     
frequently happen that a good man ought 
to think himself bound1 from a sacred   
and conscientious regard to the general 
rules of justice1 to perform many things
 which it would be the highest injustice
 to extort from him1 or for any judge or
 arbiter to impose upon him by force4   
,to give a trite example2 a highwayman1 
by the fear of death1 obliges a         
traveller to promise him a certain sum  
money4 ,whether such a promise1 extorted
 in this manner by force1 ought to be   
regarded as obligatory1 is a question   
that has been much debated4  ,if we     
consider it merely as a question of     
jurisprudence1 the decision can admit of
 no doubt4 ,it would be absurd to       
suppose that the highwayman can be      

entitled to use force to constrain the  
other to perform4 ,to extort the promise
 was a crime which deserved the highest 
punishment1 and to extort the           
performance would only be adding a new  
crime #bid to the former4 ,he can       
complain of no injury who has been only 
deceived by the person by whom he might 
justly have been killed4 ,to suppose    
that a judge ought to enforce the       
obligation of such promises1 or that the
 magistrate ought to allow them to      
sustain action at law1 would be the most
 ridiculous of all absurdities4 ,if we  
consider this question1 therefore1 as a 
question of jurisprudence1 we can be at 
no loss about the decision4  ,but if we 
consider it as a question of casuistry1 
it will not be so easily determined4    
,whether a good man1 from a             
conscientious regard to that most sacred
 rule of justice1 which commands the    
observance of all serious promises1     
would not think himself bound to        
perform1 is at least much more doubtful4

 ,that no regard is due to the          
disappointment of the wretch who brings 
him into this situation1 that no injury 
is done to the robber1 and consequently 
that nothing can be extorted by force1  
will admit of no sort of dispute4 ,but  
whether some regard is not1 in this     
case1 due to his own dignity and honour1
 to the inviolable sacredness of that   
part of his character which makes him   
reverence the law of truth and abhor    
every thing that approaches to treachery
 and falsehood1 may1 perhaps1 more      
reasonably be made a question4 ,the     
casuists accordingly are greatly divided
 about it4 ,one party1 with whom we may 
count ,cicero among the ancients1 among 
the moderns1 ,puffendorf1 ,barbeyrac his
 commentator1 and above all the late    
,dr4 ,hutcheson1 one who in most cases  
was by no means a loose casuist1        
determine1 without any hesitation1 that 
no sort of regard is due to any such    
promise1 and that to think otherwise is 
mere weakness and superstition4 ,another

 party1 among whom we may reckon 7,st4  
,augustine1 ,la ,placette7 some of the  
ancient fathers of the church1 as well  
as some very eminent modern casuists1   
have been of another opinion1 and have  
judged all such promises obligatory4    
,if we consider the matter according to 
the common sentiments of mankind1 we    
shall find that some regard would be    
thought due even to a promise of this   
kind2 but that it is impossible to      
determine how much1 by any general rule 
that will apply to all cases without    
exception4 ,the man who was quite frank 
and easy in making promises of this     
kind1 and who violated them with as     
little ceremony1 we should not choose   
for our friend and companion4 ,a        
gentleman who should promise a          
highwayman five pounds and not perform1 
would incur some blame4 ,if the sum     
promised1 however1 was very great1 it   
might be more doubtful what was proper  
to be done4 ,if it was such1 for        
example1 that the payment of it would   

entirely ruin the family of the         
promiser1 if it was so great as to be   
sufficient for promoting the most useful
 purposes1 it would appear in some      
measure criminal1 at least extremely    
improper1 to throw it for the sake of a 
punctilio into such worthless hands4    
,the man who should beggar himself1 or  
who should throw away an hundred        
thousand pounds1 though he could afford 
that #bie vast sum1 for the sake of     
observing such a parole with a thief1   
would appear to the common sense of     
mankind1 absurd and extravagant in the  
highest degree4 ,such profusion would   
seem inconsistent with his duty1 with   
what he owed both to himself and others1
 and what1 therefore1 regard to a       
promise extorted in this manner1 could  
by no means authorise4 ,to fix1 however1
 by any precise rule1 what degree of    
regard ought to be paid to it1 or what  
might be the greatest sum which could be
 due from it1 is evidently impossible4  
,this would vary according to the       

characters of the persons1 according to 
their circumstances1 according to the   
solemnity of the promise1 and even      
according to the incidents of the       
rencounter3 and if the promiser had been
 treated with a great deal of that sort 
of gallantry1 which is sometimes to be  
met with in persons of the most         
abandoned characters1 more would seem   
due than upon other occasions4 ,it may  
be said in general1 that exact propriety
 requires the observance of all such    
promises1 wherever it is not            
inconsistent with some other duties that
 are more sacred2 such as regard to the 
public interest1 to those whom          
gratitude1 whom natural affection1 or   
whom the laws of proper beneficence     
should prompt us to provide for4 ,but1  
as was formerly taken notice of1 we have
 no precise rules to determine what     
external actions are due from a regard  
to such motives1 nor1 consequently1 when
 it is that those virtues are           
inconsistent with the observance of such

 promises4  ,it is to be observed1      
however1 that whenever such promises are
 violated1 though for the most necessary
 reasons1 it is always with some degree 
of dishonour to the person who made     
them4 ,after they are made1 we may be   
convinced of the impropriety of         
observing them4 ,but still there is some
 fault in having made them4 ,it is at   
least a departure from the highest and  
noblest maxims of magnanimity and       
honour4 ,a brave man ought to die1      
rather than make a promise which he can 
neither keep without folly1 nor violate 
without ignominy4 ,for some degree of   
ignominy always attends a situation of  
this kind4 ,treachery and falsehood are 
vices so dangerous1 so dreadful1 and1 at
 the same time1 such as may so easily1  
and1 upon many occasions1 so safely be  
indulged1 that we are more jealous of   
them than of almost any other4 ,our     
imagination therefore attaches the idea 
of shame to all violations of faith1 in 
every circumstance and in every         

situation4 ,they resemble1 in this      
respect1 the violations of chastity in  
the fair sex1 a virtue of which1 for the
 like reasons1 we are excessively       
jealous2 and our sentiments are not more
 delicate with regard to the one1 than  
with regard to the other4 ,breach of    
chastity dishonours irretrievably4 ,no  
circumstances1 no solicitation can      
excuse it2 no sorrow1 no repentance     
atone for it4 ,we are so nice in this   
respect that even a rape dishonours1 and
 the innocence of the mind cannot1 in   
our imagination1 wash out the pollution 
of the body4 ,it is the same case with  
the violation of faith1 when it has been
 solemnly pledged1 even to the most #bif
 worthless of mankind4 ,fidelity is so  
necessary a virtue1 that we apprehend it
 in general to be due even to those to  
whom nothing else is due1 and whom we   
think it lawful to kill and destroy4 ,it
 is to no purpose that the person who   
has been guilty of the breach of it1    
urges that he promised in order to save 

his life1 and that he broke his promise 
because it was inconsistent with some   
other respectable duty to keep it4      
,these circumstances may alleviate1 but 
cannot entirely wipe out his dishonour4 
,he appears to have been guilty of an   
action with which1 in the imaginations  
of men1 some degree of shame is         
inseparably connected4 ,he has broken a 
promise which he had solemnly averred he
 would maintain2 and his character1 if  
not irretrievably stained and polluted1 
has at least a ridicule affixed to it1  
which it will be very difficult entirely
 to efface2 and no man1 ,i imagine1 who 
had gone through an adventure of this   
kind would be fond of telling the story4
  ,this instance may serve to show      
wherein consists the difference between 
casuistry and jurisprudence1 even when  
both of them consider the obligations of
 the general rules of justice4  ,but    
though this difference be real and      
essential1 though those two sciences    
propose quite different ends1 the       

sameness of the subject has made such a 
similarity between them1 that the       
greater part of authors whose professed 
design was to treat of jurisprudence1   
have determined the different questions 
they examine1 sometimes according to the
 principles of that science1 and        
sometimes according to those of         
casuistry1 without distinguishing1 and1 
perhaps1 without being themselves aware1
 when they did the one1 and when the    
other4  ,the doctrine of the casuists1  
however1 is by no means confined to the 
consideration of what a conscientious   
regard to the general rules of justice  
would demand of us4 ,it embraces many   
other parts of ,christian and moral     
duty4 ,what seems principally to have   
given occasion to the cultivation of    
this species of science was the custom  
of auricular confession1 introduced by  
the ,roman ,catholic superstition1 in   
times of barbarism and ignorance4 ,by   
that institution1 the most secret       
actions1 and even the thoughts of every 

person1 which could be suspected of     
receding in the smallest degree from the
 rules of ,christian purity1 were to be 
revealed to the confessor4 ,the         
confessor informed his penitents        
whether1 and in what respect1 they had  
violated their duty1 and what penance it
 behoved them to undergo1 before he     
could absolve them in the name of the   
offended ,deity4  ,the consciousness1 or
 even the suspicion of having done      
wrong1 is a load upon every mind1 and is
 accompanied with anxiety and terror in 
all those who are not hardened by long  
habits of iniquity4 ,men1 in this1 as in
 all other distresses1 are naturally    
eager to disburthen themselves of the   
oppression which they feel upon their   
thoughts1 by unbosoming the agony of    
their mind to some person whose secrecy 
and discretion they can confide in4 ,the
 shame1 which they suffer from this #big
 acknowledgment1 is fully compensated by
 that alleviation of their uneasiness   
which the sympathy of their confidence  

seldom fails to occasion4 ,it relieves  
them to find that they are not          
altogether unworthy of regard1 and that 
however their past conduct may be       
censured1 their present disposition is  
at least approved of1 and is perhaps    
sufficient to compensate the other1 at  
least to maintain them in some degree of
 esteem with their friend4 ,a numerous  
and artful clergy had1 in those times of
 superstition1 insinuated themselves    
into the confidence of almost every     
private family4 ,they possessed all the 
little learning which the times could   
afford1 and their manners1 though in    
many respects rude and disorderly1 were 
polished and regular compared with those
 of the age they lived in4 ,they were   
regarded1 therefore1 not only as the    
great directors of all religious1 but of
 all moral duties4 ,their familiarity   
gave reputation to whoever was so happy 
as to possess it1 and every mark of     
their disapprobation stamped the deepest
 ignominy upon all who had the          

misfortune to fall under it4 ,being     
considered as the great judges of right 
and wrong1 they were naturally consulted
 about all scruples that occurred1 and  
it was reputable for any person to have 
it known that he made those holy men the
 confidants of all such secrets1 and    
took no important or delicate step in   
his conduct without their advice and    
approbation4 ,it was not difficult for  
the clergy1 therefore1 to get it        
established as a general rule1 that they
 should be entrusted with what it had   
already become fashionable to entrust   
them1 and with what they generally would
 have been entrusted1 though no such    
rule had been established4 ,to qualify  
themselves for confessors became thus a 
necessary part of the study of churchmen
 and divines1 and they were thence led  
to collect what are called cases of     
conscience1 nice and delicate situations
 in which it is hard to determine       
whereabouts the propriety of conduct may
 lie4 ,such works1 they imagined1 might 

be of use both to the directors of      
consciences and to those who were to be 
directed2 and hence the origin of books 
of casuistry4  ,the moral duties which  
fell under the consideration of the     
casuists were chiefly those which can1  
in some measure at least1 be            
circumscribed within general rules1 and 
of which the violation is naturally     
attended with some degree of remorse and
 some dread of suffering punishment4    
,the design of that institution which   
gave occasion to their works1 was to    
appease those terrors of conscience     
which attend upon the infringement of   
such duties4 ,but it is not every virtue
 of which the defect is accompanied with
 any very severe compunctions of this   
kind1 and no man applies to his         
confessor for absolution1 because he did
 not perform the most generous1 the most
 friendly1 or the most magnanimous      
action which1 in his circumstances1 it  
was possible to perform4 ,in failures of
 this kind1 the rule that is violated is

 commonly not very determinate1 and is  
generally of such a nature too1 that    
though the observance of it might       
entitle to honour and reward1 the       
violation #bih seems to expose to no    
positive blame1 censure1 or punishment4 
,the exercise of such virtues the       
casuists seem to have regarded as a sort
 of works of supererogation1 which could
 not be very strictly exacted1 and which
 it was therefore unnecessary for them  
to treat of4  ,the breaches of moral    
duty1 therefore1 which came before the  
tribunal of the confessor1 and upon that
 account fell under the cognisance of   
the casuists1 were chiefly of three     
different kinds4  ,first and            
principally1 breaches of the rules of   
justice4 ,the rules here are all express
 and positive1 and the violation of them
 is naturally attended with the         
consciousness of deserving1 and the     
dread of suffering punishment both from 
,god and man4  ,secondly1 breaches of   
the rules of chastity4 ,these in all    

grosser instances are real breaches of  
the rules of justice1 and no person can 
be guilty of them without doing the most
 unpardonable injury to some other4 ,in 
smaller instances1 when they amount only
 to a violation of those exact decorums 
which ought to be observed in the       
conversation of the two sexes1 they     
cannot indeed justly be considered as   
violations of the rules of justice4     
,they are generally1 however1 violations
 of a pretty plain rule1 and1 at least  
in one of the sexes1 tend to bring      
ignominy upon the person who has been   
guilty of them1 and consequently to be  
attended in the scrupulous with some    
degree of shame and contrition of mind4 
,thirdly1 breaches of the rules of      
veracity4 ,the violation of truth1 it is
 to be observed1 is not always a breach 
of justice1 though it is so upon many   
occasions1 and consequently cannot      
always expose to any external           
punishment4 ,the vice of common lying1  
though a most miserable meanness1 may   

frequently do hurt to nobody1 and in    
this case no claim of vengeance or      
satisfaction can be due either to the   
persons imposed upon1 or to others4 ,but
 though the violation of truth is not   
always a breach of justice1 it is always
 a breach of a very plain rule1 and what
 does naturally tend to cover with shame
 the person who has been guilty of it4  
,there seems to be in young children an 
instinctive disposition to believe      
whatever they are told4 ,nature seems to
 have judged it necessary for their     
preservation that they should1 for some 
time at least1 put implicit confidence  
in those to whom the care of their      
childhood1 and of the earliest and most 
necessary parts of their education1 is  
intrusted4 ,their credulity1            
accordingly1 is excessive1 and it       
requires long and much experience of the
 falsehood of mankind to reduce them to 
a reasonable degree of diffidence and   
distrust4 ,in grown-up people the       
degrees of credulity are1 no doubt1 very

 different4 ,the wisest and most        
experienced are generally the least     
credulous4 ,but the man scarce lives who
 is not more credulous than he ought to 
be1 and who does not1 upon many         
occasions1 give credit to tales1 which  
not only turn out to be perfectly false1
 but which a very moderate degree of    
reflection and #bii attention might have
 taught him could not well be true4 ,the
 natural disposition is always to       
believe4 ,it is acquired wisdom and     
experience only that teach incredulity1 
and they very seldom teach it enough4   
,the wisest and most cautious of us all 
frequently gives credit to stories which
 he himself is afterwards both ashamed  
and astonished that he could possibly   
think of believing4  ,the man whom we   
believe is necessarily1 in the things   
concerning which we believe him1 our    
leader and director1 and we look up to  
him with a certain degree of esteem and 
respect4 ,but as from admiring other    
people we come to wish to be admired    

ourselves2 so from being led and        
directed by other people we learn to    
wish to become ourselves leaders and    
directors4 ,and as we cannot always be  
satisfied merely with being admired1    
unless we can at the same time persuade 
ourselves that we are in some degree    
really worthy of admiration2 so we      
cannot always be satisfied merely with  
being believed1 unless we are at the    
same time conscious that we are really  
worthy of belief4 ,as the desire of     
praise and that of praise-worthiness1   
though very much akin1 are yet distinct 
and separate desires2 so the desire of  
being believed and that of being worthy 
of belief1 though very much akin too1   
are equally distinct and separate       
desires4  ,the desire of being believed1
 the desire of persuading1 of leading   
and directing other people1 seems to be 
one of the strongest of all our natural 
desires4 ,it is1 perhaps1 the instinct  
upon which is founded the faculty of    
speech1 the characteristical faculty of 

human nature4 ,no other animal possesses
 this faculty1 and we cannot discover in
 any other animal any desire to lead and
 direct the judgment and conduct of its 
fellows4 ,great ambition1 the desire of 
real1 superiority1 of leading and       
directing1 seems to be altogether       
peculiar to man1 and speech is the great
 instrument of ambition1 of real        
superiority1 of leading and directing   
the judgments and conduct of other      
people4  ,it is always mortifying not to
 be believed1 and it is doubly so when  
we suspect that it is because we are    
supposed to be unworthy of belief and   
capable of seriously and wilfully       
deceiving4 ,to tell a man that he lies1 
is of all affronts the most mortal4 ,but
 whoever seriously and wilfully deceives
 is necessarily conscious to himself    
that he merits this affront1 that he    
does not deserve to be believed1 and    
that he forfeits all title to that sort 
of credit from which alone he can derive
 any sort of ease1 comfort1 or          

satisfaction in the society of his      
equals4 ,the man who had the misfortune 
to imagine that nobody believed a single
 word he said1 would feel himself the   
outcast of human society1 would dread   
the very thought of going into it1 or of
 presenting himself before it1 and could
 scarce fail1 ,i think1 to die of       
despair4 ,it is probable1 however1 that 
no man ever had just reason to entertain
 this humiliating opinion of himself4   
,the most notorious liar1 ,i am disposed
 to believe1 tells the fair truth at    
least twenty times for once that he     
seriously and #cjj deliberately lies2   
and1 as in the most cautious the        
disposition to believe is apt to prevail
 over that to doubt and distrust2 so in 
those who are the most regardless of    
truth1 the natural disposition to tell  
it prevails upon most occasions over    
that to deceive1 or in any respect to   
alter or to disguise it4  ,we are       
mortified when we happen to deceive     
other people1 though unintentionally1   

and from having been ourselves deceived4
 ,though this involuntary falsehood may 
frequently be no mark of any want of    
veracity1 of any want of the most       
perfect love of truth1 it is always in  
some degree a mark of want of judgment1 
of want of memory1 of improper          
credulity1 of some degree of            
precipitancy and rashness4 ,it always   
diminishes our authority to persuade1   
and always brings some degree of        
suspicion upon our fitness to lead and  
direct4 ,the man who sometimes misleads 
from mistake1 however1 is widely        
different from him who is capable of    
wilfully deceiving4 ,the former may be  
trusted upon many occasions2 the latter 
very seldom upon any4  ,frankness and   
openness conciliate confidence4 ,we     
trust the man1 who seems willing to     
trust us4 ,we see clearly1 we think1 the
 road by which he means to conduct us1  
and we abandon ourselves with pleasure  
to his guidance and direction4 ,reserve 
and concealment1 on the contrary1 call  

forth diffidence4 ,we are afraid to     
follow the man who is going we do not   
know where4 ,the great pleasure of      
conversation and society1 besides1      
arises from a certain correspondence of 
sentiments and opinions1 from a certain 
harmony of minds1 which like so many    
musical instruments coincide and keep   
time with one another4 ,but this most   
delightful harmony cannot be obtained   
unless there is a free communication of 
sentiments and opinions4 ,we all desire1
 upon this account1 to feel how each    
other is affected1 to penetrate into    
each other's bosoms1 and to observe the 
sentiments and affections which really  
subsist there4 ,the man who indulges us 
in this natural passion1 who invites us 
into his heart1 who1 as it were1 sets   
open the gates of his breast to us1     
seems to exercise a species of          
hospitality more delightful than any    
other4 ,no man1 who is in ordinary good 
temper1 can fail of pleasing1 if he has 
the courage to utter his real sentiments

 as he feels them1 and because he feels 
them4 ,it is this unreserved sincerity  
which renders even the prattle of a     
child agreeable4 ,how weak and imperfect
 soever the views of the open-hearted1  
we take pleasure to enter into them1 and
 endeavour1 as much as we can1 to bring 
down our own understanding to the level 
of their capacities1 and to regard every
 subject in the particular light in     
which they appear to have considered it4
 ,this passion to discover the real     
sentiments of others is naturally so    
strong1 that it often degenerates into a
 troublesome and impertinent curiosity  
to pry into those secrets of our        
neighbours which they have very         
justifiable reasons for concealing2 and1
 upon many occasions1 it requires       
prudence and a strong sense of propriety
 to govern this1 as #cja well as all the
 other passions of human nature1 and to 
reduce it to that pitch which any       
impartial spectator can approve of4 ,to 
disappoint this curiosity1 however1 when

 it is kept within proper bounds1 and   
aims at nothing which there can be any  
just reason for concealing1 is equally  
disagreeable in its turn4 ,the man who  
eludes our most innocent questions1 who 
gives no satisfaction to our most       
inoffensive inquiries1 who plainly wraps
 himself up in impenetrable obscurity1  
seems1 as it were1 to build a wall about
 his breast4 ,we run forward to get     
within it1 with all the eagerness of    
harmless curiosity2 and feel ourselves  
all at once pushed back with rude and   
offensive violence4  ,the man of reserve
 and concealment1 though seldom a very  
amiable character1 is not disrespected  
or despised4 ,he seems to feel coldly   
towards us1 and we feel as coldly       
towards him4 ,he is not much praised or 
beloved1 but he is as little hated or   
blamed4 ,he very seldom1 however1 has   
occasion to repent of his caution1 and  
is generally disposed rather to value   
himself upon the prudence of his        
reserve4 ,though his conduct1 therefore1

 may have been very faulty1 and         
sometimes even hurtful1 he can very     
seldom be disposed to lay his case      
before the casuists1 or to fancy that he
 has any occasion for their acquittal or
 for their approbation4  ,it is not     
always so with the man1 who1 from false 
information1 from inadvertency1 from    
precipitancy and rashness1 has          
involuntarily deceived4 ,though it      
should be in a matter of little         
consequence1 in telling a piece of      
common news1 for example1 if he is a    
real lover of truth1 he is ashamed of   
his own carelessness1 and never fails to
 embrace the first opportunity of making
 the fullest acknowledgments4 ,if it is 
in a matter of some consequence1 his    
contrition is still greater2 and if any 
unlucky or fatal consequence has        
followed from his misinformation1 he can
 scarce ever forgive himself4 ,though   
not guilty1 he feels himself to be in   
the highest degree1 what the ancients   
called1 piacular1 and is anxious and    

eager to make every sort of atonement in
 his power4 ,such a person might        
frequently be disposed to lay his case  
before the casuists1 who have in general
 been very favourable to him1 and though
 they have sometimes justly condemned   
him for rashness1 they have universally 
acquitted him of the ignominy of        
falsehood4  ,but the man who had the    
most frequent occasion to consult them1 
was the man of equivocation and mental  
reservation1 the man who seriously and  
deliberately meant to deceive1 but who1 
at the same time1 wished to flatter     
himself that he had really told the     
truth4 ,with him they have dealt        
variously4 ,when they approved very much
 of the motives of his deceit1 they have
 sometimes acquitted him1 though1 to do 
the casuists justice1 they have in      
general and much more frequently        
condemned him4  ,the chief subjects of  
the works of the casuists1 therefore1   
were the conscientious regard that is   
due to the rules of justice2 how far we 

#cjb ought to respect the life and      
property of our neighbour2 the duty of  
restitution2 the laws of chastity and   
modesty1 and wherein consisted what1 in 
the language of the casuists1 were      
called the sins of concupiscence2 the   
rules of veracity1 and the obligation of
 oaths1 promises1 and contracts of all  
kinds4  ,it may be said in general of   
the works of the casuists that they     
attempted1 to no purpose1 to direct by  
precise rules what it belongs to feeling
 and sentiment only to judge of4 ,how is
 it possible to ascertain by rules the  
exact point at which1 in every case1 a  
delicate sense of justice begins to run 
into a frivolous and weak scrupulosity  
of conscience8 ,when is it that secrecy 
and reserve begin to grow into          
dissimulation8 ,how far may an agreeable
 irony be carried1 and at what precise  
point it begins to degenerate into a    
detestable lie8 ,what is the highest    
pitch of freedom and ease of behaviour  
which can be regarded as graceful and   

becoming1 and when is it that it first  
begins to run into a negligent and      
thoughtless licentiousness8 ,with regard
 to all such matters1 what would hold   
good in any one case would scarce do so 
exactly in any other1 and what          
constitutes the propriety and happiness 
of behaviour varies in every case with  
the smallest variety of situation4      
,books of casuistry1 therefore1 are     
generally as useless as they are        
commonly tiresome4 ,they could be of    
little use to one who should consult    
them upon occasion1 even supposing their
 decisions to be just2 because1         
notwithstanding the multitude of cases  
collected in them1 yet upon account of  
the still greater variety of possible   
circumstances1 it is a chance1 if among 
all those cases there be found one      
exactly parallel to that under          
consideration4 ,one1 who is really      
anxious to do his duty1 must be very    
weak1 if he can imagine that he has much
 occasion for them2 and with regard to  

one who is negligent of it1 the very    
style of those writings is not such as  
is likely to awaken him to more         
attention4 ,none of them tend to animate
 us to what is generous and noble4 ,none
 of them do tend to soften us to what is
 gentle and humane4 ,many of them1 on   
the contrary1 tend rather to teach us to
 chicane with our own consciences1 and  
by their vain subtilties serve to       
authorise innumerable evasive           
refinements with regard to the most     
essential articles of our duty4 ,that   
frivolous accuracy which they attempted 
to introduce into subjects which do not 
admit of it1 almost necessarily betrayed
 them into those dangerous errors1 and  
at the same time rendered their works   
dry and disagreeable1 abounding in      
abstruse and metaphysical distinctions1 
but incapable of exciting in the heart  
any of those emotions which it is the   
principal use of books of morality to   
excite in the readers4  ,the two useful 
parts of moral philosophy1 therefore1   

are ,ethics and ,jurisprudence3         
casuistry ought to be rejected          
altogether2 and the ancient moralists   
appear to have judged much better1 who1 
in treating of the same subjects1 did   
not affect any such nice exactness1 but 
#cjc contented themselves with          
describing1 in a general manner1 what is
 the sentiment upon which justice1      
modesty1 and veracity are founded1 and  
what is the ordinary way of acting to   
which those great virtues would commonly
 prompt us4  ,something indeed1 not     
unlike the doctrine of the casuists1    
seems to have been attempted by several 
philosophers4 ,there is something of    
this kind in the third book of ,cicero's
 ,offices1 where he endeavours like a   
casuist1 to give rules for our conduct  
in many nice cases1 in which it is      
difficult to determine whereabouts the  
point of propriety may lie4 ,it appears 
too1 from many passages in the same     
book1 that several other philosophers   
had attempted something of the same kind

 before him4 ,neither he nor they1      
however1 appear to have aimed at giving 
a complete system of this sort1 but only
 meant to show how situations may occur1
 in which it is doubtful1 whether the   
highest propriety of conduct consists in
 observing or in receding from what1 in 
ordinary cases1 are the rules of our    
duty4  ,every system of positive law may
 be regarded as a more or less imperfect
 attempt towards a system of natural    
jurisprudence1 or towards an enumeration
 of the particular rules of justice4 ,as
 the violation of justice is what men   
will never submit to from one another1  
the public magistrate is under a        
necessity of employing the power of the 
commonwealth to enforce the practice of 
this virtue4 ,without this precaution1  
civil society would become a scene of   
bloodshed and disorder1 every man       
revenging himself at his own hand       
whenever he fancied he was injured4 ,to 
prevent the confusion which would attend
 upon every man's doing justice to      

himself1 the magistrate1 in all         
governments that have acquired any      
considerable authority1 undertakes to do
 justice to all1 and promises to hear   
and to redress every complaint of       
injury4 ,in all well-governed states1   
too1 not only judges are appointed for  
determining the controversies of        
individuals1 but rules are prescribed   
for regulating the decisions of those   
judges2 and these rules are1 in general1
 intended to coincide with those of     
natural justice4 ,it does not1 indeed1  
always happen that they do so in every  
instance4 ,sometimes what is called the 
constitution of the state1 that is1 the 
interest of the government2 sometimes   
the interest of particular orders of men
 who tyrannize the government1 warp the 
positive laws of the country from what  
natural justice would prescribe4 ,in    
some countries1 the rudeness and        
barbarism of the people hinder the      
natural sentiments of justice from      
arriving at that accuracy and precision 

which1 in more civilized nations1 they  
naturally attain to4 ,their laws are1   
like their manners1 gross and rude and  
undistinguishing4 ,in other countries   
the unfortunate constitution of their   
courts of judicature hinders any regular
 system of jurisprudence from ever      
establishing itself among them1 though  
the improved manners of the people may  
be such as would admit of the most      
accurate4 ,in no country do the         
decisions of positive #cjd law coincide 
exactly1 in every case1 with the rules  
which the natural sense of justice would
 dictate4 ,systems of positive law1     
therefore1 though they deserve the      
greatest authority1 as the records of   
the sentiments of mankind in different  
ages and nations1 yet can never be      
regarded as accurate systems of the     
rules of natural justice4  ,it might    
have been expected that the reasonings  
of lawyers1 upon the different          
imperfections and improvements of the   
laws of different countries1 should have

 given occasion to an inquiry into what 
were the natural rules of justice       
independent of all positive institution4
 ,it might have been expected that these
 reasonings should have led them to aim 
at establishing a system of what might  
properly be called natural              
jurisprudence1 or a theory of the       
general principles which ought to run   
through and be the foundation of the    
laws of all nations4 ,but though the    
reasonings of lawyers did produce       
something of this kind1 and though no   
man has treated systematically of the   
laws of any particular country1 without 
intermixing in his work many            
observations of this sort2 it was very  
late in the world before any such       
general system was thought of1 or before
 the philosophy of law was treated of by
 itself1 and without regard to the      
particular institutions of any one      
nation4 ,in none of the ancient         
moralists1 do we find any attempt       
towards a particular enumeration of the 

rules of justice4 ,cicero in his        
,offices1 and ,aristotle in his ,ethics1
 treat of justice in the same general   
manner in which they treat of all the   
other virtues4 ,in the laws of ,cicero  
and ,plato1 where we might naturally    
have expected some attempts towards an  
enumeration of those rules of natural   
equity1 which ought to be enforced by   
the positive laws of every country1     
there is1 however1 nothing of this kind4
 ,their laws are laws of police1 not of 
justice4 ,grotius seems to have been the
 first who attempted to give the world  
any thing like a system of those        
principles which ought to run through1  
and be the foundation of the laws of all
 nations2 and his treatise of the laws  
of war and peace1 with all its          
imperfections1 is perhaps at this day   
the most complete work that has yet been
 given upon this subject4 ,i shall in   
another discourse endeavour to give an  
account of the general principles of law
 and government1 and of the different   

revolutions they have undergone in the  
different ages and periods of society1  
not only in what concerns justice1 but  
in what concerns police1 revenue1 and   
arms1 and whatever else is the object of
 law4 ,i shall not1 therefore1 at       
present1 enter into any further detail  
concerning the history of jurisprudence4
  -----     ,,considerations            
,,concerning ,,the ,,first  ,,formation 
,,of ,,languages1 ,,etc41 ,,etc4   ,,the
 assignation of particular names to     
denote particular objects1 that is1 the 
institution of nouns substantive1 would1
 probably1 be one of the first steps    
towards the formation of language4 ,two 
savages1 who had never been taught to   
speak1 but had been bred up remote from 
the societies of men1 would naturally   
begin to form that language by which    
they would endeavour to make their      
mutual wants intelligible to each other1
 by uttering certain sounds1 whenever   
they meant to denote certain objects4   
,those objects only which were most     

familiar to them1 and which they had    
most frequent occasion to mention would 
have particular names assigned to them4 
,the particular cave whose covering     
sheltered them from the weather1 the    
particular tree whose fruit relieved    
their hunger1 the particular fountain   
whose water allayed their thirst1 would 
first be denominated by the words cave1 
tree1 fountain1 or by whatever other    
appellations they might think proper1 in
 that primitive jargon1 to mark them4   
,afterwards1 when the more enlarged     
experience of these savages had led them
 to observe1 and their necessary        
occasions obliged them to make mention  
of other caves1 and other trees1 and    
other fountains1 they would naturally   
bestow1 upon each of those new objects1 
the same name1 by which they had been   
accustomed to express the similar       
objects they were first acquainted with4
 ,the new objects had none of them any  
name of its own1 but each of them       
exactly resembled another object1 which 

had such an appellation4 ,it was        
impossible that those savages could     
behold the new objects1 without         
recollecting the old ones2 and the name 
of the old ones1 to which the new bore  
so close a resemblance4 ,when they had  
occasion1 therefore1 to mention or to   
point out to each other1 any of the new 
objects1 they would naturally utter the 
name of the correspondent old one1 of   
which the idea could not fail1 at that  
instant1 to present itself to their     
memory in the strongest and liveliest   
manner4 ,and thus1 those words1 which   
were originally the proper names of     
individuals1 would each of them         
insensibly become the common name of a  
multitude4 ,a child that is just        
learning to speak1 calls every person   
who comes to the house its papa or its  
mamma2 and thus bestows upon the whole  
species those names which it had been   
taught to apply to two individuals4 ,i  
have #cjf known a clown1 who did not    
know the proper name of the river which 

ran by his own door4 ,it was the river1 
he said1 and he never heard any other   
name for it4 ,his experience1 it seems1 
had not led him to observe any other    
river4 ,the general word river1         
therefore1 was1 it is evident1 in his   
acceptance of it1 a proper name1        
signifying an individual object4 ,if    
this person had been carried to another 
river1 would he not readily have called 
it a river8 ,could we suppose any person
 living on the banks of the ,thames so  
ignorant as not to know the general word
 river but to be acquainted only with   
the particular word ,thames1 if he was  
brought to any other river1 would he not
 readily call it a ,thames8 ,this1 in   
reality1 is no more than what they1 who 
are well acquainted with the general    
word1 are very apt to do4 ,an           
,englishman1 describing any great river 
which he may have seen in some foreign  
country1 naturally says1 that it is     
another ,thames4 ,the ,spaniards1 when  
they first arrived upon the coast of    

,mexico1 and observed the wealth1       
populousness1 and habitations of that   
fine country1 so much superior to the   
savage nations which they had been      
visiting for some time before1 cried    
out1 that it was another ,spain4 ,hence 
it was called ,new ,spain2 and this name
 has stuck to that unfortunate country  
ever since4 ,we say1 in the same manner1
 of a hero1 that he is an ,alexander2 of
 an orator1 that he is a ,cicero2 of a  
philosopher1 that he is a ,newton4 ,this
 way of speaking1 which the grammarians 
call an ,antonomasia1 and which is still
 extremely common1 though now not at all
 necessary1 demonstrates how mankind are
 disposed to give to one object the name
 of any other1 which nearly resembles   
it1 and thus to denominate a multitude1 
by what originally was intended to      
express an individual4  ,it is this     
application of the name of an individual
 to a great multitude of objects1 whose 
resemblance naturally recalls the idea  
of that individual1 and of the name     

which expresses it1 that seems          
originally to have given occasion to the
 formation of those classes and         
assortments1 which1 in the schools1 are 
called genera and species1 and of which 
the ingenious and eloquent ,m4 ,rousseau
 of ,geneva finds himself so much at a  
loss to account for the origin4 ,what   
constitutes a species is merely a number
 of objects1 bearing a certain degree of
 resemblance to one another1 and on that
 account denominated by a single        
appellation1 which may be applied to    
express any one of them4  ,when the     
greater part of objects had thus been   
arranged under their proper classes and 
assortments1 distinguished by such      
general names1 it was impossible that   
the greater part of that almost infinite
 number of individuals1 comprehended    
under each particular assortment or     
species1 could have any peculiar or     
proper names of their own1 distinct from
 the general name of the species4 ,when 
there was occasion1 therefore1 to       

mention any particular object1 it often 
became necessary to distinguish it from 
the other objects comprehended under the
 same general name1 either1 first1 by   
its peculiar qualities2 or1 secondly1 by
 the #cjg peculiar relation which it    
stood in to some other things4 ,hence   
the necessary origin of two other sets  
of words1 of which the one should       
express quality2 the other1 relation4   
,nouns adjective are the words which    
express quality considered as           
qualifying1 or1 as the schoolmen say1 in
 concrete with1 some particular subject4
 ,thus the word green expresses a       
certain quality considered as           
qualifying1 or as in concrete with1 the 
particular subject to which it may be   
applied4 ,words of this kind1 it is     
evident1 may serve to distinguish       
particular objects from others          
comprehended under the same general     
appellation4 ,the words green tree1 for 
example1 might serve to distinguish a   
particular tree from others that were   

withered or that were blasted4          
,prepositions are the words which       
express relation considered1 in the same
 manner1 in concrete with the           
co-relative object4 ,thus the           
prepositions of1 to1 for1 with1 by1     
above1 below1 c41 denote some relation  
subsisting between the objects expressed
 by the words between which the         
prepositions are placed2 and they denote
 that this relation is considered in    
concrete with the co-relative object4   
,words of this kind serve to distinguish
 particular objects from others of the  
same species1 when those particular     
objects cannot be so properly marked out
 by any peculiar qualities of their own4
 ,when we say1 the green tree of the    
meadow1 for example1 we distinguish a   
particular tree1 not only by the quality
 which belongs to it1 but by the        
relation which it stands in to another  
object4  ,as neither quality nor        
relation can exist in abstract1 it is   
natural to suppose that the words which 

denote them considered in concrete1 the 
way in which we always see them subsist1
 would be of much earlier invention than
 those which express them considered in 
abstract1 the way in which we never see 
them subsist4 ,the words green and blue 
would1 in all probability1 be sooner    
invented than the words greenness and   
blueness2 the words above and below1    
than the words superiority and          
inferiority4 ,to invent words of the    
latter kind requires a much greater     
effort of abstraction than to invent    
those of the former4 ,it is probable    
therefore1 that such abstract terms     
would be of much later institution4     
,accordingly1 their etymologies         
generally show that they are so1 they   
being generally derived from others that
 are concrete4  ,but though the         
invention of nouns adjective be much    
more natural than that of the abstract  
nouns substantive derived from them1 it 
would still1 however1 require a         
considerable degree of abstraction and  

generalization4 ,those1 for example1 who
 first invented the words green1 blue1  
red1 and the other names of colours1    
must have observed and compared together
 a great number of objects1 must have   
remarked their resemblances and         
dissimilitudes in respect of the quality
 of colour1 and must have arranged them1
 in their own minds1 into different     
classes and assortments1 according to   
those resemblances and #cjh             
dissimilitudes4 ,an adjective is by     
nature a general1 and in some measure an
 abstract word1 and necessarily         
pre-supposes the idea of a certain      
species or assortment of things1 to all 
of which it is equally applicable4 ,the 
word green could not1 as we were        
supposing might be the case of the word 
cave1 have been originally the name of  
an individual1 and afterwards have      
become1 by what grammarians call an     
,antonomasia1 the name of a species4    
,the word green denoting1 not the name  
of a substance1 but the peculiar quality

 of a substance1 must from the very     
first have been a general word1 and     
considered as equally applicable to any 
other substance possessed of the same   
quality4 ,the man who first             
distinguished a particular object by the
 epithet of green1 must have observed   
other objects that were not green1 from 
which he meant to separate it by this   
appellation4 ,the institution of this   
name1 therefore1 supposes comparison4   
,it likewise supposes some degree of    
abstraction4 ,the person who first      
invented this appellation must have     
distinguished the quality from the      
object to which it belonged1 and must   
have conceived the object as capable of 
subsisting without the quality4 ,the    
invention1 therefore1 even of the       
simplest nouns adjective must have      
required more metaphysics than we are   
apt to be aware of4 ,the different      
mental operations1 of arrangement or    
classing1 of comparison1 and of         
abstraction1 must all have been         

employed1 before even the names of the  
different colours1 the least            
metaphysical of all nouns adjective1    
could be instituted4 ,from all which ,i 
infer1 that when languages were         
beginning to be formed1 nouns adjective 
would by no means be the words of the   
earliest invention4  ,there is nothing  
expedient for denoting the different    
qualities of different substance1 which 
as it requires no abstraction1 nor any  
conceived separation of the quality from
 the subject1 seems more natural than   
the invention of nouns adjective1 and   
which1 upon this account1 could hardly  
fail1 in the first formation of         
language1 to be thought of before them4 
,this expedient is to make some         
variation upon the noun substantive     
itself1 according to the different      
qualities which it is endowed with4     
,thus in many languages1 the qualities  
both of sex and of the want of sex are  
expressed by different terminations in  
the nouns substantive1 which denote     

objects so qualified4 ,in ,latin1 for   
example1 lupus1 lupa2 equus1 equa2      
juvencus1 juvenca2 ,julius1 ,julia2     
,lucretius1 ,lucretia1 c41 denote the   
qualities of male and female in the     
animals and persons to whom such        
appellations belong1 without needing the
 addition of any adjective for this     
purpose4 ,on the other hand1 the words1 
forum1 pratum1 plaustrum1 denote by     
their peculiar termination the total    
absence of sex in the different         
substances which they stand for4 ,both  
sex1 and the want of all sex1 being     
naturally considered as qualities       
modifying and inseparable from the      
particular substances to which they     
belong1 it was natural to express them  
rather by a modification in the noun    
substantive1 than by any general and    
abstract word #cji expressive of this   
particular species of quality4 ,the     
expression bears1 it is evident1 in this
 way1 a much more exact analogy to the  
idea or object which it denotes than in 

the other4 ,the quality appears1 in     
nature1 as a modification of the        
substance1 and as it is thus expressed  
in language1 by a modification of the   
noun substantive1 which denotes that    
substance1 the quality and the subject  
are1 in this case1 blended together1 if 
,i may say so1 in the expression1 in the
 same manner as they appear to be in the
 object and in the idea4 ,hence the     
origin of the masculine1 feminine1 and  
neutral genders1 in all the ancient     
languages4 ,by means of these1 the most 
important of all distinctions1 that of  
substances into animated and inanimated1
 and that of animals into male and      
female1 seem to have been sufficiently  
marked without the assistance of        
adjectives1 or of any general names     
denoting this most extensive species of 
qualifications4  ,there are no more than
 these three genders in any of the      
languages with which ,i am acquainted2  
that is to say1 the formation of nouns  
substantive can1 by itself1 and without 

the accompaniment of adjectives1 express
 no other qualities but those three     
above mentioned1 the qualities of male1 
of female1 of neither male nor female4  
,i should not1 however1 be surprised1   
if1 in other languages with which ,i am 
unacquainted1 the different formations  
of nouns substantive should be capable  
of expressing many other different      
qualities4 ,the different diminutives of
 the ,italian1 and of some other        
languages1 do1 in reality1 sometimes    
express a great variety of different    
modifications in the substances denoted 
by those nouns which undergo such       
variations4  ,it was impossible1        
however1 that nouns substantive could1  
without losing altogether their original
 form1 undergo so great a number of     
variations1 as would be sufficient to   
express that almost infinite variety of 
qualities1 by which it might1 upon      
different occasions1 be necessary to    
specify and distinguish them4 ,though   
the different formation of nouns        

substantive1 therefore1 might1 for some 
time1 forestall the necessity of        
inventing nouns adjective1 it was       
impossible that this necessity could be 
forestalled altogether4 ,when nouns     
adjective came to be invented1 it was   
natural that they should be formed with 
some similarity to the substantives to  
which they were to serve as epithets or 
qualifications4 ,men would naturally    
give them the same terminations with the
 substantives to which they were first  
applied1 and from that love of          
similarity of sound1 from that delight  
in the returns of the same syllables1   
which is the foundation of analogy in   
all languages1 they would be apt to vary
 the termination of the same adjective1 
according as they had occasion to apply 
it to a masculine1 to a feminine1 or to 
a neutral substantive4 ,they would say1 
magnus lupus1 magna lupa1 magnum pratum1
 when they meant to express a great he  
wolf1 a great she wolf1 or a great      
meadow4  ,this variation1 in the        

termination of the noun adjective1      
according to #caj the gender of the     
substantive1 which takes place in all   
the ancient languages1 seems to have    
been introduced chiefly for the sake of 
a certain similarity of sound1 of a     
certain species of rhyme1 which is      
naturally so very agreeable to the human
 ear4 ,gender1 it is to observed1 cannot
 properly belong to a noun adjective1   
the signification of which is always    
precisely the same1 to whatever species 
of substantives it is applied4 ,when we 
say1 a great man1 a great woman1 the    
word great has precisely the same       
meaning in both cases1 and the          
difference of the sex in the subjects to
 which it may be applied1 makes no sort 
of difference in its signification4     
,magnus1 magna1 magnum1 in the same     
manner1 are words which express         
precisely the same quality1 and the     
change of the termination is accompanied
 with no sort of variation in the       
meaning4 ,sex and gender are qualities  

which belong to substances1 but cannot  
belong to the qualities of substances4  
,in general1 no quality1 when considered
 in concrete1 or as qualifying some     
particular subject1 can itself be       
conceived as the subject of any other   
quality2 though when considered in      
abstract it may4 ,no adjective therefore
 can qualify any other adjective4 ,a    
great good man1 means a man who is both 
great and good4 ,both the adjectives    
qualify the substantive2 they do not    
qualify one another4 ,on the other hand1
 when we say1 the great goodness of the 
man1 the word goodness denoting a       
quality considered in abstract1 which   
may itself be the subject of other      
qualities1 is upon that account capable 
of being qualified by the word great4   
,if the original invention of nouns     
adjective would be attended with so much
 difficulty1 that of prepositions would 
be accompanied with yet more4 ,every    
preposition1 as ,i have already         
observed1 denotes some relation         

considered in concrete with the         
co-relative object4 ,the preposition    
above1 for example1 denotes the relation
 of superiority1 not in abstract1 as it 
is expressed by the word superiority1   
but in concrete with some co-relative   
object4 ,in this phrase1 for example1   
the tree above the cave1 the word above 
expresses a certain relation between the
 tree and the cave1 and it expresses    
this relation in concrete with the      
co-relative object1 the cave4 ,a        
preposition always requires1 in order to
 complete the sense1 some other word to 
come after it2 as may be observed in    
this particular instance4 ,now1 ,i say1 
the original invention of such words    
would require a yet greater effort of   
abstraction and generalization1 than    
that of nouns adjective4 ,first of all1 
the relation is1 in itself1 a more      
metaphysical object than a quality4     
,nobody can be at a loss to explain what
 is meant by a quality2 but few people  
will find themselves able to express1   

very distinctly1 what is understood by a
 relation4 ,qualities are almost always 
the objects of our external senses2     
relations never are4 ,no wonder         
therefore1 that the one set of objects  
should be so much more comprehensible   
than the other4 ,secondly1 though       
prepositions always express the relation
 which they stand for1 in concrete with 
the co-relative object1 they could not  
have #caa originally been formed without
 a considerable effort of abstraction4  
,a preposition denotes a relation1 and  
nothing but a relation4 ,but before men 
could institute a word1 which signified 
a relation1 and nothing but a relation1 
they must have been able1 in some       
measure1 to consider this relation      
abstractedly from the related objects2  
since the idea of those objects does    
not1 in any respect1 enter into the     
signification of the preposition4 ,the  
invention of such a word1 therefore1    
must have required a considerable degree
 of abstraction4 ,thirdly1 a preposition

 is from its nature a general word1     
which1 from its very first institution1 
must have been considered as equally    
applicable to denote any other similar  
relation4 ,the man who first invented   
the word above1 must not only have      
distinguished1 in some measure1 the     
relation of superiority from the objects
 which were so related1 but he must also
 have distinguished this relation from  
other relations1 such as1 from the      
relation of inferiority denoted by the  
word below1 from the relation of        
juxta-position1 expressed by the word   
beside1 and the like4 ,he must have     
conceived this word1 therefore1 as      
expressive of a particular sort or      
species of relation distinct from every 
other1 which could not be done without a
 considerable effort of comparison and  
generalization4  ,whatever were the     
difficulties1 therefore1 which          
embarrassed the first invention of nouns
 adjective1 the same1 and many more1    
must have embarrassed that of           

prepositions4 ,if mankind1 therefore1 in
 the first formation of languages1 seem 
to have1 for some time1 evaded the      
necessity of nouns adjective1 by varying
 the termination of the names of        
substances1 according as these varied in
 some of their most important qualities1
 they would much more find themselves   
under the necessity of evading1 by some 
similar contrivance1 the yet more       
difficult invention of prepositions4    
,the different cases in the ancient     
languages is a contrivance of precisely 
the same kind4 ,the genitive and dative 
cases1 in ,greek and ,latin1 evidently  
supply the place of the prepositions2   
and by a variation in the noun          
substantive1 which stands for the       
co-relative term1 express the relation  
which subsists between what is denoted  
by that noun substantive1 and what is   
expressed by some other word in the     
sentence4 ,in these expressions1 for    
example1 fructus arboris1 the fruit of  
the tree2 sacer ,herculi1 sacred to     

,hercules2 the variations made in the   
co-relative words1 arbor and ,hercules1 
express the same relations which are    
expressed in ,english by the            
prepositions of and to4  ,to express a  
relation in this manner1 did not require
 any effort of abstraction4 ,it was not 
here expressed by a peculiar word       
denoting relation and nothing but       
relation1 but by a variation upon the   
co-relative term4 ,it was expressed     
here1 as it appears in nature1 not as   
something separated and detached1 but as
 thoroughly mixed and blended with the  
co-relative object4  ,to express        
relation in this manner1 did not require
 any effort of generalization4 ,the     
words arboris and ,herculi1 while they  
involve in #cab their signification the 
same relation expressed by the ,english 
prepositions of and to1 are not1 like   
those prepositions1 general words1 which
 can be applied to express the same     
relation between whatever other objects 
it might be observed to subsist4  ,to   

express relation in this manner did not 
require any effort of comparison4 ,the  
words arboris and ,herculi are not      
general words intended to denote a      
particular species of relations which   
the inventors of those expressions      
meant1 in consequence of some sort of   
comparison1 to separate and distinguish 
from every other sort of relation4 ,the 
example1 indeed1 of this contrivance    
would soon probably be followed1 and    
whoever had occasion to express a       
similar relation between any other      
objects would be very apt to do it by   
making a similar variation on the name  
of the co-relative object4 ,this1 ,i    
say1 would probably1 or rather certainly
 happen2 but it would happen without any
 intention or foresight in those who    
first set the example1 and who never    
meant to establish any general rule4    
,the general rule would establish itself
 insensibly1 and by slow degrees1 in    
consequence of that love of analogy and 
similarity of sound1 which is the       

foundation of by far the greater part of
 the rules of grammar4  ,to express     
relation1 therefore1 by a variation in  
the name of the co-relative object1     
requiring neither abstraction1 nor      
generalization1 nor comparison of any   
kind1 would1 at first1 be much more     
natural and easy1 than to express it by 
those general words called prepositions1
 of of which the first invention must   
have demanded some degree of all those  
operations4  ,the number of cases is    
different in different languages4 ,there
 are five in the ,greek1 six in the     
,latin1 and there are said to be ten in 
the ,armenian language4 ,it must have   
naturally happened that there should be 
a greater or a smaller number of cases1 
according as in the terminations of     
nouns substantive the first formers of  
any language happened to have           
established a greater or a smaller      
number of variations1 in order to       
express the different relations they had
 occasion to take notice of1 before the 

invention of those more general and     
abstract prepositions which could supply
 their place4  ,it is1 perhaps1 worth   
while to observe that those             
prepositions1 which in modern languages 
hold the place of the ancient cases1    
are1 of all others1 the most general1   
and abstract1 and metaphysical2 and of  
consequence1 would probably be the last 
invented4 ,ask any man of common        
acuteness1 ,what relation is expressed  
by the preposition above8 ,he will      
readily answer1 that of superiority4 ,by
 the preposition below8 ,he will as     
quickly reply that of inferiority4 ,but 
ask him1 what relation is expressed by  
the preposition of1 and1 if he has not  
beforehand employed his thoughts a good 
deal upon these subjects1 you may safely
 allow him a week to consider of his    
answer4 ,the prepositions above and     
below do not denote any of the relations
 expressed by the cases in the #cac     
ancient languages4 ,but the preposition 
of1 denotes the same relation1 which is 

in them expressed by the genitive case2 
and which1 it is easy to observe1 is of 
a very metaphysical nature4 ,the        
preposition of1 denotes relation in     
general1 considered in concrete with the
 co-relative object4 ,it marks that the 
noun substantive which goes before it1  
is somehow or other related to that     
which comes after it1 but without in any
 respect ascertaining1 as is done by the
 preposition above1 what is the peculiar
 nature of that relation4 ,we often     
apply it1 therefore1 to express the most
 opposite relations2 because1 the most  
opposite relations agree so far that    
each of them comprehends in it the      
general idea or nature of a relation4   
,we say1 the father of the son1 and the 
son of the father2 the fir-trees of the 
forest1 and the forest of the fir-trees4
 ,the relation in which the father      
stands to the son is1 it is evident1 a  
quite opposite relation to that in which
 the son stands to the father2 that in  
which the parts stand to the whole1 is  

quite opposite to that in which the     
whole stands to the parts4 ,the word of1
 however1 serves very well to denote all
 those relations1 because in itself it  
denotes no particular relation1 but only
 relation in general2 and so far as any 
particular relation is collected from   
such expressions1 it is inferred by the 
mind1 not from the preposition itself1  
but from the nature and arrangement of  
the substantives1 between which the     
preposition is placed4  ,what ,i have   
said concerning the preposition of1 may 
in some measure be applied to the       
prepositions to1 for1 with1 by1 and to  
whatever other prepositions are made use
 of in modern languages1 to supply the  
place of the ancient cases4 ,they all of
 them express very abstract and         
metaphysical relations1 which any man1  
who takes the trouble to try it1 will   
find it extremely difficult to express  
by nouns substantive1 in the same manner
 as we may express the relation denoted 
by the preposition above1 by the noun   

substantive superiority4 ,they all of   
them1 however1 express some specific    
relation1 and are1 consequently1 none of
 them so abstract as the preposition of1
 which may be regarded as by far the    
most metaphysical of all prepositions4  
,the prepositions1 therefore1 which are 
capable of supplying the place of the   
ancient cases1 being more abstract than 
the other prepositions1 would naturally 
be of more difficult invention4 ,the    
relations at the same time which those  
prepositions express1 are1 of all       
others1 those which we have most        
frequent occasion to mention4 ,the      
prepositions above1 below1 near1 within1
 without1 against1 c41 are much more    
rarely made use of1 in modern languages1
 than the prepositions of1 to1 for1     
with1 from1 by4 ,a preposition of the   
former kind will not occur twice in a   
page2 we can scarce compose a single    
sentence without the assistance of one  
or two of the latter4 ,if these latter  
prepositions1 therefore1 which supply   

the place of the cases1 would be of such
 difficult invention on account of their
 abstractedness1 some expedient to      
supply their place must have been of    
indispensable necessity1 on account of  
the frequent occasion #cad which men    
have to take notice of the relations    
which they denote4 ,but there is no     
expedient so obvious1 as that of varying
 the termination of one of the principal
 words4  ,it is1 perhaps1 unnecessary to
 observe1 that there are some of the    
cases in the ancient languages1 which1  
for particular reasons1 cannot be       
represented by any prepositions4 ,these 
are the nominative1 accusative1 and     
vocative cases4 ,in those modern        
languages1 which do not admit of any    
such variety in the terminations of     
their nouns substantive1 the            
correspondent relations are expressed by
 the place of the words1 and by the     
order and construction of the sentence4 
,as men have frequently occasion to make
 mention of multitudes as well as of    

single objects1 it became necessary that
 they should have some method of        
expressing number4 ,number may be       
expressed either by a particular word1  
expressing number in general1 such as   
the words many1 more1 c41 or by some    
variation upon the words which express  
the things numbered4 ,it is this last   
expedient which mankind would probably  
have recourse to1 in the infancy of     
language4 ,number1 considered in        
general1 without relation to any        
particular set of objects numbered1 is  
one of the most abstract and            
metaphysical ideas1 which the mind of   
man is capable of forming2 and1         
consequently1 is not an idea1 which     
would readily occur to rude mortals1 who
 were just beginning to form a language4
 ,they would naturally1 therefore1      
distinguish when they talked of a       
single1 and when they talked of a       
multitude of objects1 not by any        
metaphysical adjectives1 such as the    
,english a1 an1 many1 but by a variation

 upon the termination of the word which 
signified the objects numbered4 ,hence  
the origin of the singular and plural   
numbers1 in all the ancient languages2  
and the same distinction has likewise   
been retained in all the modern         
languages1 at least1 in the greater part
 of the words4  ,all primitive and      
uncompounded languages seem to have a   
dual1 as well as a plural number4 ,this 
is the case of the ,greek1 and ,i am    
told of the ,hebrew1 of the ,gothic1 and
 of many other languages4 ,in the rude  
beginnings of society1 one1 two1 and    
more1 might possibly be all the numeral 
distinctions which mankind would have   
any occasion to take notice of4 ,these  
they would find it more natural to      
express1 by a variation upon every      
particular noun substantive1 than by    
such general and abstract words as one1 
two1 three1 four1 c4 ,these words1      
though custom has rendered them familiar
 to us1 express1 perhaps1 the most      
subtile and refined abstractions1 which 

the mind of man is capable of forming4  
,let any one consider within himself1   
for example1 what he means by the word  
three1 which signifies neither three    
shillings1 nor three pence1 nor three   
men1 nor three horses1 but three in     
general2 and he will easily satisfy     
himself that a word1 which denotes so   
very metaphysical an abstraction1 could 
not be either a very obvious or a very  
early invention4 ,i have read of some   
savage nations1 whose language #cae was 
capable of expressing no more than the  
three first numeral distinctions4 ,but  
whether it expressed those distinctions 
by three general words1 or by variations
 upon the nouns substantive1 denoting   
the things numbered1 ,i do not remember 
to have met with any thing which could  
clearly determine4  ,as all the same    
relations which subsist between single1 
may likewise subsist between numerous   
objects1 it is evident there would be   
occasion for the same number of cases in
 the dual and in the plural1 as in the  

singular number4 ,hence the intricacy   
and complexness of the declensions in   
all the ancient languages4 ,in the      
,greek there are five cases in each of  
the three numbers1 consequently fifteen 
in all4  ,as nouns adjective1 in the    
ancient languages1 varied their         
terminations according to the gender of 
the substantive to which they were      
applied1 so did they likewise according 
to the case and the number4 ,every noun 
adjective in the ,greek language1       
therefore1 having three genders1 and    
three numbers1 and five cases in each   
number1 may be considered as having five
 and forty different variations4 ,the   
first formers of language seem to have  
varied the termination of the adjective1
 according to the case and the number of
 the substantive1 for the same reason   
which made them vary it according to the
 gender2 the love of analogy1 and of a  
certain regularity of sound4 ,in the    
signification of adjectives there is    
neither case nor number1 and the meaning

 of such words is always precisely the  
same1 notwithstanding all the variety of
 termination under which they appear4   
,magnus vir1 magni viri1 magnorum       
virorum2 a great man1 of a great man1 of
 great men2 in all these expressions the
 words1 magnus1 magni1 magnorum1 as well
 as the word great1 have precisely one  
and the same signification1 though the  
substantives to which they are applied  
have not4 ,the difference of termination
 in the noun adjective is accompanied   
with no sort of difference in the       
meaning4 ,an adjective denotes the      
qualification of a noun substantive4    
,but the different relations in which   
that noun substantive may occasionally  
stand1 can make no sort of difference   
upon its qualification4 ,if the         
declensions of the ancient languages are
 so very complex1 their conjugations are
 infinitely more so4 ,and the           
complexness of the one is founded upon  
the same principle with that of the     
other1 the difficulty of forming1 in the

 beginnings of language1 abstract and   
general terms4  ,verbs must necessarily 
have been coval with the very first     
attempts towards the formation of       
language4 ,no affirmation can be        
expressed without the assistance of some
 verb4 ,we never speak but in order to  
express our opinion that something      
either is or is not4 ,but the word      
denoting this event1 or this matter of  
fact1 which is the subject of our       
affirmation1 must always be a verb4     
,impersonal verbs1 which express in one 
word a complete event1 which preserve in
 the expression that perfect simplicity 
and unity1 #caf which there always is in
 the object and in the idea1 and which  
suppose no abstraction1 or metaphysical 
division of the event into its several  
constituent members of subject and      
attribute1 would1 in all probability1 be
 the species of verbs first invented4   
,the verbs pluit1 it rains2 ningit1 it  
snows2 tonat1 it thunders2 lucet1 it is 
day2 turbatur1 there is a confusion1 c41

 each of them express a complete        
affirmation1 the whole of an event1 with
 that perfect simplicity and unity with 
which the mind conceives it in nature4  
,on the contrary1 the phrases1          
,alexander ambulat1 ,alexander walks2   
,petrus sedet1 ,peter sits1 divide the  
event1 as it were1 into two parts1 the  
person or subject1 and the attribute1 or
 matter of fact1 affirmed of that       
subject4 ,but in nature1 the idea or    
conception of ,alexander walking1 is as 
perfectly and completely one simple     
conception1 as that of ,alexander not   
walking4 ,the division of this event1   
therefore1 into two parts1 is altogether
 artificial1 and is the effect of the   
imperfection of language1 which1 upon   
this1 as upon many other occasions1     
supplies1 by a number of words1 the want
 of one1 which could express at once the
 whole matter of fact that was meant to 
be affirmed4 ,every body must observe   
how much more simplicity there is in the
 natural expression1 pluit1 than in the 

more artificial expressions1 imber      
decidit1 the rain falls2 or tempestas   
est pluvia1 the weather is rainy4 ,in   
these two last expressions1 the simple  
event1 or matter of fact1 is            
artificially split and divided in the   
one1 into two2 in the other1 into three 
parts4 ,in each of them it is expressed 
by a sort of grammatical circumlocution1
 of which the significancy is founded   
upon a certain metaphysical analysis of 
the component parts of the idea         
expressed by the word pluit4 ,the first 
verbs1 therefore1 perhaps even the first
 words1 made use of in the beginnings of
 language1 would in all probability be  
such impersonal verbs4 ,it is observed  
accordingly1 ,i am told1 by the ,hebrew 
grammarians1 that the radical words of  
their language1 from which all the      
others are derived1 are all of them     
verbs1 and impersonal verbs4  ,it is    
easy to conceive how1 in the progress of
 language1 those impersonal verbs should
 become personal4 ,let us suppose1 for  

example1 that the word venit1 it comes1 
was originally an impersonal verb1 and  
that it denoted1 not the coming of      
something in general1 as at present1 but
 the coming of a particular object1 such
 as the lion4 ,the first savage         
inventors of language1 we shall suppose1
 when they observed the approach of this
 terrible animal1 were accustomed to cry
 out to one another1 venit1 that is1 the
 lion comes2 and that this word thus    
expressed a complete event1 without the 
assistance of any other4 ,afterwards1   
when1 on the further progress of        
language1 they had begun to give names  
to particular substances1 whenever they 
observed the approach of any other      
terrible object1 they would naturally   
join the name of that object to the word
 venit1 and cry out1 venit ursus1 venit 
lupus4 ,by degrees the word venit would 
thus come to signify the coming of any  
#cag terrible object1 and not merely the
 coming of the lion4 ,it would1 now1    
therefore1 express1 not the coming of a 

particular object1 but the coming of an 
object of a particular kind4 ,having    
become more general in its              
signification1 it could no longer       
represent any particular distinct event 
by itself1 and without the assistance of
 a noun substantive1 which might serve  
to ascertain and determine its          
signification4 ,it would now1 therefore1
 have become a personal1 instead of an  
impersonal verb4 ,we may easily conceive
 how1 in the further progress of        
society1 it might still grow more       
general in its signification1 and come  
to signify1 as at present1 the approach 
of any thing whatever1 whether it were  
good1 bad1 or indifferent4  ,it is      
probably in some such manner as this1   
that almost all verbs have become       
personal1 and that mankind have learned 
by degrees to split and divide almost   
every event into a great number of      
metaphysical parts1 expressed by the    
different parts of speech1 variously    
combined in the different members of    

every phrase and sentence4#a ,the same  
sort of progress seems to have been made
 in the art of speaking as in the art of
 writing4 ,when mankind first began to  
attempt to express their ideas by       
writing1 every character represented a  
whole word4 ,but the number of words    
being almost infinite1 the memory found 
itself quite loaded and oppressed by the
 multitude of characters which it was   
obliged to retain4 ,necessity taught    
them1 therefore1 to divide words into   
their elements1 and to invent characters
 which should represent1 not the words  
themselves1 but the elements of which   
they were composed4 ,in consequence of  
this invention1 every particular word   
came to be represented1 not by one      
character1 but by a multitude of        
characters2 and the expression of it in 
writing became much more intricate and  
complex than before4 ,but though        
particular words were thus represented  
by a greater number of characters1 the  
whole language was expressed by a much  

smaller1 and about four and twenty      
letters were found capable of supplying 
the place of that immense multitude of  
characters1 which were requisite before4
 ,in the same manner1 in the beginnings 
of language1 men seem to have attempted 
to express every particular event1 which
 they had occasion to take notice of1 by
 a particular word1 which expressed at  
once the whole of that event4 ,but as   
the number of words must1 in this case1 
have become really infinite in          
consequence of the really infinite      
variety of events1 men found themselves 
partly compelled by necessity1 and      
partly conducted by nature1 to divide   
#cah every event into what may be called
 its metaphysical elements1 and to      
institute words1 which should denote not
 so much the events1 as the elements of 
which they were composed4 ,the          
expression of every particular event1   
became in this manner more intricate and
 complex1 but the whole system of the   
language became more coherent1 more     

connected1 more easily retained and     
comprehended4  ,footnote #a3 ,as the far
 greater part of verbs express1 at      
present1 not an event1 but the attribute
 of an event1 and1 consequently1 require
 a subject1 or nominative case1 to      
complete their signification1 some      
grammarians1 not having attended to this
 progress of nature1 and being desirous 
to make their common rules quite        
universal1 and without any exception1   
have insisted that all verbs required a 
nominative1 either expressed or         
understood2 and have1 accordingly1 put  
themselves to the torture to find some  
awkward nominatives to those few verbs  
which still expressing a complete event1
 plainly admit of none4 ,pluit1 for     
example1 according to ,sanctius1 means  
pluvia pluit1 in ,english1 the rain     
rains4 ,see ,sanctii ,minerva1 #a4 #c4  
c4 #a4  ,when verbs1 from being         
originally impersonal1 had thus1 by the 
division of the event into its          
metaphysical elements1 become personal  

it is natural to suppose that they would
 first be made use of in the third      
person singular4 ,no verb is ever used  
impersonally in our language nor1 so far
 as ,i know1 in any other modern tongue4
 ,but in the ancient languages1 whenever
 any verb is used impersonally1 it is   
always in the third person singular4    
,the termination of those verbs1 which  
are still always impersonal1 is         
constantly the same with that of the    
third person singular of personal verbs4
 ,the consideration of these            
circumstances1 joined to the naturalness
 of the thing itself1 may therefore     
serve to convince us that verbs first   
became personal in what is now called   
the third person singular4  ,but as the 
event1 or matter of fact1 which is      
expressed by a verb1 may be affirmed    
either of the person who speaks1 or of  
the person who is spoken to1 as well as 
of1 some third person or object1 it     
becomes necessary to fall upon some     
method of expressing these two peculiar 

relations of the event4 ,in the ,english
 language this is commonly done1 by     
prefixing1 what are called the personal 
pronouns1 to the general word which     
expresses the event affirmed4 ,i came1  
you came1 he or it came2 in these       
phrases the event of having come is1 in 
the first1 affirmed of the speaker2 in  
the second1 of the person spoken to2 in 
the third1 of some other person or      
object4 ,the first formers of language1 
it may be imagined1 might have done the 
same thing1 and prefixing in the same   
manner the two first personal pronouns1 
to the same termination of the verb1    
which expressed the third person        
singular1 might have said ego venit1 tu 
venit1 as well as ille or illud venit4  
,and ,i make no doubt but they would    
have done so1 if at the time when they  
had first occasion to express these     
relations of the verb there had been any
 such words as either ego or tu in their
 language4 ,but in this early period of 
the language1 which we are now          

endeavouring to describe1 it is         
extremely improbable that any such words
 would be known4 ,though custom has now 
rendered them familiar to us1 they1 both
 of them1 express ideas extremely       
metaphysical and abstract4 ,the word ,i1
 for example1 is a word of a very       
particular species4 ,whatever speaks may
 denote itself by this personal pronoun4
 ,the word ,i1 therefore1 is a general  
word1 capable of being predicated1 as   
the logicians say1 of an infinite       
variety of objects4 ,it differs1        
however1 from all other general words in
 this respect2 that the 9999objects of  
which it may be predicated1 do not form 
any particular species of objects       
distinguished from all others4 ,the #cai
 word ,i1 does not1 like the word man1  
denote a particular class of objects    
separated from all others by peculiar   
qualities of their own4 ,it is far from 
being the name of a species1 but1 on the
 contrary1 whenever it is made use of1  
it always denotes a precise individual1 

the particular person who then speaks4  
,it may be said to be1 at once1 both    
what the logicians call1 a singular1 and
 what they call1 a common term2 and to  
join1 in its signification the seemingly
 opposite qualities of the most precise 
individuality and the most extensive    
generalization4 ,this word1 therefore1  
expressing so very abstract and         
metaphysical an idea1 would not easily  
or readily occur to the first formers of
 language4 ,what are called the personal
 pronouns1 it may be observed1 are among
 the last words of which children learn 
to make use4 ,a child1 speaking of      
itself1 says1 ,billy walks1 ,billy sits1
 9999instead of ,i walk1 ,i sit4 ,as in 
the beginnings of language1 therefore1  
mankind seem to have evaded the         
invention of at least the more abstract 
prepositions1 and to have expressed the 
same relations which these now stand    
for1 by varying the termination of the  
co-relative term1 so they likewise would
 naturally attempt to evade the         

necessity of inventing those more       
abstract pronouns by varying the        
termination of the verb1 according as   
the event which it expressed was        
intended to be affirmed of the first1   
second1 or third person4 ,this seems1   
accordingly1 to be the universal        
practice of all the ancient languages4  
,in ,latin1 veni1 venisti1 venit1       
sufficiently denote1 without any other  
addition1 the different events expressed
 by the ,english phrases1 ,i came1 you  
came1 he or it came4 ,the verb would1   
for the same reason1 vary its           
termination1 according as the event was 
intended to be affirmed of the first1   
second1 or third persons plural2 and    
what is expressed by the ,english       
phrases1 we came1 ye came1 they came1   
would be denoted by the ,latin words1   
venimus1 9999venistis1 veneunt4 ,those  
primitive languages1 too1 which upon    
account of the difficulty of inventing  
numeral names1 had introduced a dual1 as
 well as a plural number1 into the      

declension of their nouns substantive1  
would probably1 from analogy1 do the    
same thing in the conjugations of their 
verbs4 ,and thus in all original        
languages1 we might expect to find1 at  
least six1 if not eight or nine         
variations1 in the termination of every 
verb1 according as the event which it   
denoted was meant to be affirmed of the 
first1 second1 or third persons         
singular1 dual1 or plural4 ,these       
variations again being repeated1 along  
with others1 through all its different  
tenses1 through all its different modes1
 and through all its different voices1  
must necessarily have rendered their    
conjugations still more intricate and   
complex than their declensions4         
,language would probably have continued 
upon this footing in all countries1 nor 
would ever have grown more simple in its
 declensions and conjugations1 had it   
not become more complex in its          
composition1 in consequence of the      
mixture of several languages with one   

another1 occasioned by the mixture of   
different nations4 ,as long as any #cbj 
language was spoke by those only who    
learned it in their infancy1 the        
intricacy of its declensions and        
conjugations could occasion no great    
embarrassment4 ,the far greater part of 
those who had occasion to speak it1 had 
acquired it at so very early a period of
 their lives1 so insensibly and by such 
slow degrees1 that they were scarce ever
 sensible of the difficulty4 ,but when  
two nations came to be mixed with one   
another1 either by conquest or          
migration1 the case would be very       
different4 ,each nation1 in order to    
make itself intelligible to those with  
whom it was under the necessity of      
conversing1 would be obliged to learn   
the language of the other4 ,the greater 
part of individuals too1 learning the   
new language1 not by art1 or by         
remounting to its rudiments and first   
principle1 but by rote1 and by what they
 commonly heard in conversation1 would  

be extremely perplexed by the intricacy 
of its declensions and conjugations4    
,they would endeavour1 therefore1 to    
supply their ignorance of these1 by     
whatever shift the language could afford
 them4 ,their ignorance of the          
declensions they would naturally supply 
by the use of prepositions2 and a       
,lombard1 who was attempting to speak   
,latin1 and wanted to express that such 
a person was a citizen of ,rome1 or a   
benefactor to ,rome1 if he happened not 
to be acquainted with the genitive and  
dative cases of the word ,roma1 would   
naturally express himself by prefixing  
the prepositions ad and de to the       
nominative2 and instead of ,rom1 would  
say1 ad ,roma1 and de ,roma4 ,al ,roma  
and di ,roma1 accordingly1 is the manner
 in which the present ,italians1 the    
descendants of the ancient ,lombards and
 ,romans1 express this and all other    
similar relations4 ,and in this manner  
prepositions seem to have been          
introduced1 in the room of the ancient  

declensions4 ,the same alteration has1  
,i am informed1 been produced upon the  
,greek language1 since the taking of    
,constantinople by the ,turks4 ,the     
words are1 in a great measure1 the same 
as before2 but the grammar is entirely  
lost1 prepositions having come in the   
place of the old declensions4 ,this     
change is undoubtedly a simplification  
of the language1 in point of rudiments  
and principle4 ,it introduces1 instead  
of a great variety of declensions1 one  
universal declension1 which is the same 
in every word1 of whatever gender1      
number1 or termination4  ,a similar     
expedient enables men1 in the situation 
above mentioned1 to get rid of almost   
the whole intricacy of their            
conjugations4 ,there is in every        
language a verb1 known by the name of   
the substantive verb2 in ,latin1 sum2 in
 ,english1 ,i am4 ,this verb denotes not
 the existence of any particular event1 
but existence in general4 ,it is1 upon  
that account1 the most abstract and     

metaphysical of all verbs2 and1         
consequently1 could by no means be a    
word of early invention4 ,when it came  
to be invented1 however1 as it had all  
the tenses and modes of any other verb1 
by being joined with the passive        
participle1 it was capable of supplying 
the place of the whole passive voice1   
and of rendering this part of their     
conjugations as simple and uniform as   
the #cba use of prepositions had        
rendered their declensions4 ,a ,lombard1
 who wanted to say1 ,i am loved1 but    
could not recollect the word amor1      
naturally endeavoured to supply his     
ignorance1 by saying ego sum amatus4 ,io
 sono amato1 is at this day the ,italian
 expression1 which corresponds to the   
,english phrase above mentioned4  ,there
 is another verb1 which1 in the same    
manner1 runs through all languages1 and 
which is distinguished by the name of   
the possessive verb2 in ,latin1 habeo2  
in ,english1 ,i have4 ,this verb1       
likewise1 denotes an event of an        

extremely abstract and metaphysical     
nature1 and1 consequently1 cannot be    
supposed to have been a word of the     
earliest invention4 ,when it came to be 
invented1 however1 by being applied to  
the passive participle1 it was capable  
of supplying a great part of the active 
voice1 as the substantive verb had      
supplied the whole of the passive4 ,a   
,lombard1 who wanted to say1 ,i had     
loved1 but could not recollect the word 
amaveram1 would endeavour to supply the 
place of it1 by saying either ego       
habebam amatum or ego habui amatum4 ,io 
avev amato1 or ,io ebbi amato1 are the  
correspondent ,italian expressions at   
this day4 ,and thus upon the            
intermixture of different nations with  
one another1 the conjugations1 by means 
of different auxiliary verbs1 were made 
to approach the simplicity and          
uniformity of the declensions4  ,in     
general it may be laid down for a maxim1
 that the more simple any language is in
 its composition1 the more complex it   

must be in its declensions and its      
conjugations2 and on the contrary1 the  
more simple it is in its declensions and
 its conjugations1 the more complex it  
must be in its composition4  ,the ,greek
 seems to be1 in a great measure1 a     
simple1 uncompounded language1 formed   
from the primitive jargon of those      
wandering savages1 the ancient          
,hellenians and ,pelasgians1 from whom  
the ,greek nation is said to have been  
descended4 ,all the words in the ,greek 
language are derived from about three   
hundred primitives1 a plain evidence    
that the ,greeks formed their language  
almost entirely among themselves1 and   
that when they had occasion for a new   
word1 they were not accustomed1 as we   
are1 to borrow it from some foreign     
language1 but to form it1 either by     
composition or derivation1 from some    
other word or words1 in their own4 ,the 
declensions and conjugations1 therefore1
 of the ,greek are much more complex    
than those of any other ,european       

language with which ,i am acquainted4   
,the ,latin is a composition of the     
,greek and of the ancient ,tuscan       
languages4 ,its declensions and         
conjugations accordingly are much less  
complex than those of the ,greek2 it has
 dropped the dual number in both4 ,its  
verbs have no optative mood             
distinguished by any peculiar           
termination4 ,they have but one future4 
,they have no aorist distinct from the  
preterit-perfect2 they have no middle   
voice2 and even many of their tenses in 
the passive voice are eked out1 in the  
same manner as in the modern languages1 
by the help of the substantive verb     
joined to #cbb the passive participle4  
,in both the voices1 the number of      
infinitives and participles is much     
smaller in the ,latin than in the       
,greek4  ,the ,french and ,italian      
languages are each of them compounded1  
the one of the ,latin and the language  
of the ancient ,franks1 the other of the
 same ,latin and the language of the    

ancient ,lombards4 ,as they are both of 
them1 therefore1 more complex in their  
composition than the ,latin1 so are they
 likewise more simple in their          
declensions and conjugations4 ,with     
regard to their declensions1 they have  
both of them lost their cases           
altogether2 and with regard to their    
conjugations1 they have both of them    
lost the whole of the passive1 and some 
part of the active voices of their      
verbs4 ,the want of the passive voice   
they supply entirely by the substantive 
verb joined to the passive participle2  
and they make out part of the active1 in
 the same manner1 by the help of the    
possessive verb and the same passive    
participle4  ,the ,english is compounded
 of the ,french and the ancient ,saxon  
languages4 ,the ,french was introduced  
into ,britain by the ,norman conquest1  
and continued1 till the time of ,edward 
,,iii4 to be the sole language of the   
law as well as the principal language of
 the court4 ,the ,english1 which came to

 be spoken afterwards1 and which        
continues to be spoken now1 is a mixture
 of the ancient ,saxon and this ,norman 
,french4 ,as the ,english language1     
therefore1 is more complex in its       
composition than either the ,french or  
the ,italian1 so is it likewise more    
simple in its declensions and           
conjugations4 ,those two languages      
retain1 at least1 a part of the         
distinction of genders1 and their       
adjectives vary their termination       
according as they are applied to a      
masculine or to a feminine substantive4 
,but there is no such distinction in the
 ,english language1 whose adjectives    
admit of no variety of termination4 ,the
 ,french and ,italian languages have1   
both of them1 the remains of a          
conjugation2 and all those tenses of the
 active voice1 which cannot be expressed
 by the possessive verb joined to the   
passive participle1 as well as many of  
those which can1 are1 in those          
languages1 marked by varying the        

termination of the principal verb4 ,but 
almost all those other tenses are in the
 ,english eked out by other auxiliary   
verbs1 so that there is in this language
 scarce even the remains of a           
conjugation4 ,i love1 ,i loved1 loving1 
are all the varieties of termination    
which the greater part of the ,english  
verbs admit of4 ,all the different      
modifications of meaning1 which cannot  
be expressed by any of those three      
terminations1 must be made out by       
different auxiliary verbs joined to some
 one or other of them4 ,two auxiliary   
verbs supply all the deficiencies of the
 ,french and ,italian conjugations2 it  
requires more than half a dozen to      
supply those of the ,english1 which1    
besides the substantive and possessive  
verbs1 makes use of do1 did2 will1      
would2 shall1 should2 can1 could2 may1  
might4  ,it is in this manner that      
language becomes more simple in its     
rudiments and principles1 just in       
proportion as it grows more complex in  

#cbc its composition1 and the same thing
 has happened in it1 which commonly     
happens with regard to mechanical       
engines4 ,all machines are generally1   
when first invented1 extremely complex  
in their principles1 and there is often 
a particular principle of motion for    
every particular movement which it is   
intended they should perform4           
,succeeding improvers observe1 that one 
principle may be so applied as to       
produce several of those movements2 and 
thus the machine becomes gradually more 
and more simple1 and produces its       
effects with fewer wheels1 and fewer    
principles of motion4 ,in language1 in  
the same manner1 every case of every    
noun1 and every tense of every verb1 was
 originally expressed by a particular   
distinct word1 which served for this    
purpose and for no other4 ,but          
succeeding observations discovered1 that
 one set of words was capable of        
supplying the place of all that infinite
 number1 and that four or five          

prepositions1 and half a dozen auxiliary
 verbs1 were capable of answering the   
end of all the declensions1 and of all  
the conjugations in the ancient         
languages4  ,but this simplification of 
languages1 though it arises1 perhaps1   
from similar causes1 has by no means    
similar effects with the correspondent  
simplification of machines4 ,the        
simplification of machines renders them 
more and more perfect1 but this         
simplification of the rudiments of      
languages renders them more and more    
imperfect1 and less proper for many of  
the purposes of language2 and this for  
the following reasons4  ,first of all1  
languages are by this simplification    
rendered more prolix1 several words     
having become necessary to express what 
could have been expressed by a single   
word before4 ,thus the words1 ,dei and  
,deo1 in the ,latin1 sufficiently show1 
without any addition1 what relation the 
object signified is understood to stand 
in to the objects expressed by the other

 words in the sentence4 ,but to express 
the same relation in ,english1 and in   
all other modern languages1 we must make
 use of1 at least1 two words1 and say1  
of ,god1 to ,god4 ,so far as the        
declensions are concerned1 therefore1   
the modern languages are much more      
prolix than the ancient4 ,the difference
 is still greater with regard to the    
conjugations4 ,what a ,roman expressed  
by the single word amavissem1 an        
,englishman is obliged to express by    
four different words1 ,i should have    
loved4 ,it is unnecessary to take any   
pains to show how much this prolixness  
must enervate the eloquence of all      
modern languages4 ,how much the beauty  
of any expression depends upon its      
conciseness1 is well known to those who 
have any experience in composition4     
,secondly1 this simplification of the   
principles of languages renders them    
less agreeable to the ear4 ,the variety 
of termination in the ,greek and ,latin1
 occasioned by their declensions and    

conjugations1 gives a sweetness to their
 language altogether unknown to ours1   
and a variety unknown to any other      
modern language4 ,in point of sweetness1
 the ,italian1 perhaps1 may surpass the 
,latin1 and almost equal the ,greek2 but
 in point of variety1 it is greatly     
inferior to both4  #cbd ,thirdly1 this  
simplification1 not only renders the    
sounds of our language less agreeable to
 the ear1 but it also restrains us from 
disposing such sounds as we have1 in the
 manner that might be most agreeable4   
,it ties down many words to a particular
 situation1 though they might often be  
placed in another with much more beauty4
 ,in the ,greek and ,latin1 though the  
adjective and substantive were separated
 from one another1 the correspondence of
 their terminations still showed their  
mutual reference1 and the separation did
 not necessarily occasion any sort of   
confusion4 ,thus in the first line of   
,virgil1        ,tityre tu patul        
recubans sub tegmine fagi2  we easily   

see that tu refers to recubans1 and     
patul to fagi2 though the related words 
are separated from one another by the   
intervention of several others2 because 
the terminations1 showing the           
correspondence of their cases1 determine
 their mutual reference4 ,but if we were
 to translate this line literally into  
,english1 and say1 ,tityrus1 thou of    
spreading reclining under the shade     
beech1 ,o,edipus himself could not make 
sense of it2 because there is here no   
difference of termination1 to determine 
which substantive each adjective belongs
 to4 ,it is the same case with regard to
 verbs4 ,in ,latin the verb may often be
 placed1 without any inconveniency or   
ambiguity1 in any part of the sentence4 
,but in ,english its place is almost    
always precisely determined4 ,it must   
follow the subjective and precede the   
objective member of the phrase in almost
 all cases4 ,thus in ,latin whether you 
say1 ,joannem verberavit ,robertas1 or  
,robertas verberavit ,joannem1 the      

meaning is precisely the same1 and the  
termination fixes ,john to be the       
sufferer in both cases4 ,but in ,english
 ,john beat ,robert1 and ,robert beat   
,john1 have by no means the same        
signification4 ,the place therefore of  
the three principal members of the      
phrase is in the ,english1 and for the  
same reason in the ,french and ,italian 
languages1 almost always precisely      
determined2 whereas in the ancient      
languages a greater latitude is allowed1
 and the place of those members is      
often1 in a great measure1 indifferent4 
,we must have recourse to ,horace1 in   
order to interpret some parts of        
,milton's literal translation2          
,who now enjoys thee credulous all gold1
       ,who always vacant1 always       
amiable       ,hopes thee2 of flattering
 gales       ,unmindful  are verses     
which it is impossible to interpret by  
any rules of our language4 ,there are no
 rules in our language1 by which any man
 could discover1 that1 in the first     

line1 credulous referred to who1 and not
 to thee2 or that all gold referred to  
any thing2 or1 that in the fourth line1 
unmindful1 referred to who1 in the      
second1 and not to thee in the third2   
or1 on the contrary1 that1 in the second
 line1 always vacant1 always amiable1   
referred to thee in the third1 and not  
to who in the same line with it4 ,in the
 ,latin1 indeed1 all this is abundantly 
plain4  #cbe ,qui nunc te fruitur       
credulus aure1       ,qui semper vacuam1
 semper amabilem       ,sperat te2      
nescius aur fallacis4  ,because the     
terminations in the ,latin determine the
 reference of each adjective to its     
proper substantive1 which it is         
impossible for any thing in the ,english
 to do4 ,how much this power of         
transposing the order of their words    
must have facilitated the compositions  
of the ancients1 both in verse and      
prose1 can hardly be imagined4 ,that it 
must greatly have facilitated their     
versification it is needless to observe2

 and in prose1 whatever beauty depends  
upon the arrangement and construction of
 the several members of the period1 must
 to them have been acquirable with much 
more ease1 and to much greater          
perfection than it can be to those whose
 expression is constantly confined by   
the prolixness1 constraint1 and monotony
 of modern languages4   ----------      
,,the ,,principles  ,,which ,,lead ,,and
 ,,direct  ,,philosophical ,,enquiries2 
,,as ,,illustrated ,,by  ,,the ,,history
 ,,of ,,astronomy4  -----  ,,wonder1    
surprise1 and admiration1 are words     
which1 though often confounded1 denote1 
in our language1 sentiments that are    
indeed allied1 but that are in some     
respects different also1 and distinct   
from one another4 ,what is new and      
singular1 excites that sentiment which1 
in strict propriety1 is called ,wonder2 
what is unexpected1 ,surprise2 and what 
is great or beautiful1 ,admiration4  ,we
 wonder at all extraordinary and        
uncommon objects1 at all the rarer      

phenomena of nature1 at meteors1 comets1
 eclipses1 at singular plants and       
animals1 and at every thing1 in short1  
with which we have before been either   
little or not at all acquainted2 and we 
still wonder1 though forewarned of what 
we are to see4  ,we are surprised at    
those things which we have seen often1  
but which we least of all expected to   
meet with in the place where we find    
them2 we are surprised at the sudden    
appearance of a friend1 whom we have    
seen a thousand times1 but whom we did  
not at all imagine we were to see then4 
,we admire the beauty of a plain or the 
greatness of a mountain1 #cbf though we 
have seen both often before1 and though 
nothing appears to us in either1 but    
what we had expected with certainty to  
see4  ,whether this criticism upon the  
precise meaning of these words be just1 
is of little importance4 ,i imagine it  
is just1 though ,i acknowledge1 that the
 best writers in our language have not  
always made use of them according to it4

 ,milton1 upon the appearance of ,death 
to ,satan1 says1 that        ,the ,fiend
 what this might be admir'd1            
,admir'd1 not fear'd4------  ,but if    
this criticism be just1 the proper      
expression should have been wonder'd4   
,dryden1 upon the discovery of          
,iphigenia sleeping1 says that          
,the fool of nature stood with stupid   
eyes1       ,and gaping mouth1 that     
testified surprise4  ,but what ,cimon   
must have felt upon this occasion could 
not so much be ,surprise1 as ,wonder and
 ,admiration4 ,all that ,i contend for  
is1 that the sentiments excited by what 
is new1 by what is unexpected1 and by   
what is great and beautiful are really  
different1 however the words made use of
 to express them may sometimes be       
confounded4 ,even the admiration which  
is excited by beauty1 is quite different
 7as will appear more fully hereafter7  
from that which is inspired by          
greatness1 though we have but one word  
to denote them4  ,these sentiments1 like

 all others when inspired by one and the
 same object1 mutually support and      
enliven one another3 an object with     
which we are quite familiar1 and which  
we see every day1 produces1 though both 
great and beautiful1 but a small effect 
upon us2 because our admiration is not  
supported either by ,wonder or by       
,surprise3 and if we have heard a very  
accurate description of a monster1 our  
,wonder will be the less when we see it2
 because our previous knowledge of it   
will in a great measure prevent our     
,surprise4  ,it is the design of this   
essay to consider particularly the      
nature and causes of each of these      
sentiments1 whose influence is of far   
wider extent than we should be apt upon 
a careless view to imagine4 ,i shall    
begin with ,surprise4  -----  ,,sec4    
,i4--,of the ,effect of ,unexpectedness1
 or of ,surprise4   ,,when an object of 
any kind1 which has been for some time  
expected and foreseen1 presents itself1 
whatever be the emotion which it is by  

nature fitted to excite1 the mind must  
have been prepared for it1 and must even
 in some measure have conceived it      
before-hand2 because the idea of the    
object having been so long present to   
it1 must have before-hand excited some  
degree of the same emotion which the    
object itself would excite3 the change1 
therefore1 which its presence produces  
comes thus to be less considerable1 and 
the emotion or passion which it excites 
glides gradually and easily into the    
heart1 without violence1 pain or        
difficulty4  #cbg ,but the contrary of  
all this happens when the object is     
unexpected2 the passion is then poured  
in all at once upon the heart1 which is 
thrown1 if it is a strong passion1 into 
the most violent and convulsive         
emotions1 such as sometimes cause       
immediate death2 sometimes1 by the      
suddenness of the ecstacy1 so entirely  
disjoint the whole frame of the         
imagination1 that it never after returns
 to its former tone and composure1 but  

falls either into a frenzy or habitual  
lunacy2 and such as almost always       
occasion a momentary loss of reason1 or 
of that attention to other things which 
our situation or our duty requires4     
,how much we dread the effects of the   
more violent passions1 when they come   
suddenly upon the mind1 appears from    
those preparations which all men think  
necessary when going to inform any one  
of what is capable of exciting them4    
,who would choose all at once to inform 
his friend of an extraordinary calamity 
that had befallen him1 without taking   
care before-hand1 by alarming him with  
an uncertain fear1 to announce1 if one  
may say so1 his misfortune1 and thereby 
prepare and dispose him for receiving   
the tidings8  ,those panic terrors which
 sometimes seize armies in the field1 or
 great cities1 when an enemy is in the  
neighbourhood1 and which deprive for a  
time the most determined of all         
deliberate judgments1 are never excited 
but by the sudden apprehension of       

unexpected danger4 ,such violent        
consternations1 which at once confound  
whole multitudes1 benumb their          
understandings1 and agitate their       
hearts1 with all the agony of           
extravagant fear1 can never be produced 
by any foreseen danger1 how great       
soever4 ,fear1 though naturally a very  
strong passion1 never rises to such     
excesses1 unless exasperated both by    
wonder1 from the uncertain nature of the
 danger1 and by surprise1 from the      
suddenness of the apprehension4         
,surprise1 therefore1 is not to be      
regarded as an original emotion of a    
species distinct from all others4 ,the  
violent and sudden change produced upon 
the mind1 when an emotion of any kind is
 brought suddenly upon it1 constitutes  
the whole nature of ,surprise4  ,but    
when not only a passion and a great     
passion comes all at once upon the mind1
 but when it comes upon it while the    
mind is in the mood most unfit for      
conceiving it1 the ,surprise is then the

 greatest4 ,surprises of joy when the   
mind is sunk into grief1 or of grief    
when it is elated with joy1 are         
therefore the most unsupportable4 ,the  
change is in this case the greatest     
possible4 ,not only a strong passion is 
conceived all at once1 but a strong     
passion the direct opposite of that     
which was before in possession of the   
soul4 ,when a load of sorrow comes down 
upon the heart that is expanded and     
elated with gaiety and joy1 it seems not
 only to damp and oppress it1 but almost
 to crush and bruise it1 as a real      
weight would crush and bruise the body4 
,on the contrary1 when from an          
unexpected change of fortune1 a tide of 
gladness seems1 if ,i may say so1 to    
spring up all at once within it1 when   
#cbh depressed and contracted with grief
 and sorrow1 it feels as if suddenly    
extended and heaved up with violent and 
irresistible force1 and is torn with    
pangs of all others most exquisite1 and 
which almost always occasion faintings1 

deliriums1 and sometimes instant death4 
,for it may be worth while to observe1  
that though grief be a more violent     
passion than joy1 as indeed all uneasy  
sensations seem naturally more pungent  
than the opposite agreeable ones1 yet of
 the two1 ,surprises of joy are still   
more insupportable than ,surprises of   
grief4 ,we are told that after the      
battle of ,thrasimenus1 while a ,roman  
lady1 who had been informed that her son
 was slain in the action1 was sitting   
alone bemoaning her misfortunes1 the    
young man who escaped came suddenly into
 the room to her1 and that she cried out
 and expired instantly in a transport of
 joy4 ,let us suppose the contrary of   
this to have happened1 and that in the  
midst of domestic festivity and mirth1  
he had suddenly fallen down dead at her 
feet1 is it likely that the effects     
would have been equally violent8 ,i     
imagine not4 ,the heart springs to joy  
with a sort of natural elasticity1 it   
abandons itself to so agreeable an      

emotion1 as soon as the object is       
presented2 it seems to pant and leap    
forward to meet it1 and the passion in  
its full force takes at once entire and 
complete possession of the soul4 ,but it
 is otherwise with grief2 the heart     
recoils from1 and resists the first     
approaches of that disagreeable passion1
 and it requires some time before the   
melancholy object can produce its full  
effect4 ,grief comes on slowly and      
gradually1 nor ever rises at once to    
that height of agony to which it is     
increased after a little time4 ,but joy 
comes rushing upon us all at once like a
 torrent4 ,the change produced1         
therefore1 by a surprise of joy is more 
sudden1 and upon that account more      
violent and apt to have more fatal      
effects1 than that which is occasioned  
by a surprise of grief2 there seems1    
too1 to be something in the nature of   
surprise1 which makes it unite more     
easily with the brisk and quick motion  
of joy1 than with the slower and heavier

 movement of grief4 ,most men who can   
take the trouble to recollect1 will find
 that they have heard of more people who
 died or became distracted with sudden  
joy1 than with sudden grief4 ,yet from  
the nature of human affairs1 the latter 
must be much more frequent than the     
former4 ,a man may break his leg1 or    
lose his son1 though he has had no      
warning of either of these events1 but  
he can hardly meet with an extraordinary
 piece of good fortune1 without having  
had some foresight of what was to       
happen4  ,not only grief and joy1 but   
all the other passions1 are more        
violent1 when opposite extremes succeed 
each other4 ,is any resentment so keen  
as what follows the quarrels of lovers1 
or any love so passionate as what       
attends their reconcilement8  ,even the 
objects of the external senses affect us
 in a more lively manner1 when opposite 
extremes succeed to or are placed beside
 each other4 ,moderate warmth seems     
intolerable heat if felt after extreme  

#cbi cold4 ,what is bitter will seem    
more so when tasted after what is very  
sweet2 a dirty white will seem bright   
and pure when placed by a jet black4    
,the vivacity in short of every         
sensation1 as well as of every          
sentiment1 seems to be greater or less  
in proportion to the change made by the 
impression of either upon the situation 
of the mind or organ2 but this change   
must necessarily be the greatest when   
opposite sentiments and sensations are  
contrasted1 or succeed immediately to   
one another4 ,both sentiments and       
sensations are then the liveliest2 and  
this superior vivacity proceeds from    
nothing but their being brought upon the
 mind or organ when in a state most     
unfit for conceiving them4  ,as the     
opposition of contrasted sentiments     
heightens their vivacity1 so the        
resemblance of those which immediately  
succeed each other renders them more    
faint and languid4 ,a parent who has    
lost several children immediately after 

one another1 will be less affected with 
the death of the last than with that of 
the first1 though the loss in itself be1
 in this case1 undoubtedly greater2 but 
his mind being already sunk into sorrow1
 the new misfortune seems to produce no 
other effect than a continuance of the  
same melancholy1 and is by no means apt 
to occasion such transports of grief as 
are ordinarily excited by the first     
calamity of the kind2 he receives it1   
though with great dejection1 yet with   
some degree of calmness and composure1  
and without anything of that anguish and
 agitation of mind which the novelty of 
the misfortune is apt to occasion4      
,those who have been unfortunate through
 the whole course of their lives are    
often indeed habitually melancholy1 and 
sometimes peevish and splenetic1 yet    
upon any fresh disappointment1 though   
they are vexed and complain a little1   
they seldom fly out into any more       
violent passion1 and never fall into    
those transports of rage or grief which 

often1 upon like occasions1 distract the
 fortunate and successful4  ,upon this  
are founded1 in a great measure1 some of
 the effects of habit and custom4 ,it is
 well known that custom deadens the     
vivacity of both pain and pleasure1     
abates the grief we should feel for the 
one1 and weakens the joy we should      
derive from the other4 ,the pain is     
supported without agony1 and the        
pleasure enjoyed without rapture3       
because custom and the frequent         
repetition of any object comes at last  
to form and bend the mind or organ to   
that habitual mood and disposition which
 fits them to receive its impression1   
without undergoing any very violent     
change4  -----  ,,sec4 ,,ii4--,of       
,wonder1 or of the ,effects of ,novelty4
   ,,it is evident that the mind takes  
pleasure in observing the resemblances  
that are discoverable betwixt different 
objects4 ,it is by means of such        
observations that it endeavours to      
arrange and methodise all its ideas1 and

 to reduce them into proper classes and 
assortments4 ,where it can observe but  
one single quality that is common to a  
great #ccj variety of otherwise widely  
different objects1 that single          
circumstance will be sufficient for it  
to connect them all together1 to reduce 
them to one common class1 and to call   
them by one general name4 ,it is thus   
that all things endowed with a power of 
self-motion1 beasts1 birds1 fishes1     
insects1 are classed under the general  
name of ,animal2 and that these again1  
along with those which want that power1 
are arranged under the still more       
general word1 ,substance3 and this is   
the origin of those assortments of      
objects and ideas which in the schools  
are called ,genera and ,species1 and of 
those abstract and general names1 which 
in all languages are made use of to     
express them4  ,the further we advance  
in knowledge and experience1 the greater
 number of divisions and subdivisions of
 those ,genera and ,species we are both 

inclined and obliged to make4 ,we       
observe a greater variety of            
particularities amongst those things    
which have a gross resemblance2 and     
having made new divisions of them1      
according to those newly-observed       
particularities1 we are then no longer  
to be satisfied with being able to refer
 an object to a remote genus1 or very   
general class of things1 to many of     
which it has but a loose and imperfect  
resemblance4 ,a person1 indeed1         
unacquainted with botany may expect to  
satisfy your curiosity1 by telling you1 
that such a vegetable is a weed1 or1    
perhaps in still more general terms1    
that it is a plant4 ,but a botanist will
 neither give nor accept of such an     
answer4 ,he has broke and divided that  
great class of objects into a number of 
inferior assortments1 accord to those   
varieties which his experience has      
discovered among them2 and he wants to  
refer each individual plant to some     
tribe of vegetables1 with all of which  

it may have a more exact resemblance1   
than with many things comprehended under
 the extensive genus of plants4 ,a child
 imagines that it gives a satisfactory  
answer when it tells you1 that an object
 whose name it knows not is a thing1 and
 fancies that it informs you of         
something1 when it thus ascertains to   
which of the two most obvious and       
comprehensive classes of objects a      
particular impression ought to be       
referred2 to the class of realities or  
solid substances which it calls things1 
or to that of appearances which it calls
 nothings4  ,whatever1 in short1 occurs 
to us we are fond of referring to some  
species or class of things1 with all of 
which it has a nearly exact resemblance3
 and though we often know no more about 
them than about it1 yet we are apt to   
fancy that by being able to do so1 we   
show ourselves to be better acquainted  
with it1 and to have a more thorough    
insight into its nature4 ,but when      
something quite new and singular is     

presented1 we feel ourselves incapable  
of doing this4 ,the memory cannot1 from 
all its stores1 cast up any image that  
nearly resembles this strange           
appearance4 ,if by some of its qualities
 it seems to resemble1 and to be        
connected with a species which we have  
before been acquainted with1 it is by   
others separated and detached from that1
 and from all the #cca other assortments
 of things we have hitherto been able to
 make4 ,it stands alone and by itself in
 the imagination1 and refuses to be     
grouped or confounded with any set of   
objects whatever4 ,the imagination and  
memory exert themselves to no purpose1  
and in vain look around all their       
classes of ideas in order to find one   
under which it may be arranged4 ,they   
fluctuate to no purpose from thought to 
thought1 and we remain still uncertain  
and undetermined where to place it1 or  
what to think of it4 ,it is this        
fluctuation and vain recollection1      
together with the emotion or movement of

 the spirits that they excite1 which    
constitute the sentiment properly called
 ,wonder1 and which occasion that       
staring1 and sometimes that rolling of  
the eyes1 that suspension of the breath1
 and that swelling of the heart1 which  
we may all observe1 both in ourselves   
and others1 when wondering at some new  
object1 and which are the natural       
symptoms of uncertain and undetermined  
thought4 ,what sort of a thing can that 
be8 ,what is that like8 are the         
questions which1 upon such an occasion1 
we are all naturally disposed to ask4   
,if we can recollect many such objects  
which exactly resemble this new         
appearance1 and which present themselves
 to the imagination naturally1 and as it
 were of their own accord1 our ,wonder  
is entirely at an end4 ,if we can       
recollect but a few1 and which it       
requires too some trouble to be able to 
call up1 our ,wonder is indeed          
diminished1 but not quite destroyed4 ,if
 we can recollect none1 but are quite at

 a loss1 it is the greatest possible4   
,with what curious attention does a     
naturalist examine a singular plant1 or 
a singular fossil1 that is presented to 
him8 ,he is at no loss to refer it to   
the general genus of plants or fossils2 
but this does not satisfy him1 and when 
he considers all the different tribes or
 species of either with which he has    
hitherto been acquainted1 they all1 he  
thinks1 refuse to admit the new object  
among them4 ,it stands alone in his     
imagination1 and as it were detached    
from all the other species of that genus
 to which it belongs4 ,he labours1      
however1 to connect it with some one or 
other of them4 ,sometimes he thinks it  
may be placed in this1 and sometimes in 
that other assortment2 nor is he ever   
satisfied1 till he has fallen upon one  
which1 in most of its qualities1 it     
resembles4 ,when he cannot do this1     
rather than it should stand quite by    
itself1 he will enlarge the precincts1  
if ,i may say so1 of some species1 in   

order to make room for it2 or he will   
create a new species on purpose to      
receive it1 and call it a ,play of      
,nature1 or give it some other          
appellation1 under which he arranges all
 the oddities that he knows not what    
else to do with4 ,but to some class or  
other of known objects he must refer it1
 and betwixt it and them he must find   
out some resemblance or ether1 before he
 can get rid of that ,wonder1 that      
uncertainty and anxious curiosity       
excited by its singular appearance1 and 
by its dissimilitude with all the       
objects he had hitherto observed4  ,as  
single and individual objects thus      
excite our ,wonder when1 by #ccb their  
uncommon qualities and singular         
appearance1 they make us uncertain to   
what species of things we ought to refer
 them2 so a succession of objects which 
follow one another in an uncommon train 
or order1 will produce the same effect1 
though there be nothing particular in   
any one of them taken by itself4  ,when 

one accustomed object appears after     
another1 which it does not usually      
follow1 it first excites1 by its        
unexpectedness1 the sentiment properly  
called ,surprise1 and afterwards1 by the
 singularity of the succession1 or order
 of its appearance1 the sentiment       
properly called ,wonder4 ,we start and  
are surprised at seeing it there1 and   
then wonder how it came there4 ,the     
motion of a small piece of iron along a 
plain table is in itself no             
extraordinary object1 yet the person who
 first saw it begin1 without any visible
 impulse1 in consequence of the motion  
of a loadstone at some little distance  
from it1 could not behold it without the
 most extreme ,surprise2 and when that  
momentary emotion was over1 he would    
still wonder how it came to be conjoined
 to an event with which1 according to   
the ordinary train of things1 he could  
have so little suspected it to have any 
connection4  ,when two objects1 however 
unlike1 have often been observed to     

follow each other1 and have constantly  
presented themselves to the senses in   
that order1 they come to be connected   
together in the fancy1 that the idea of 
the one seems1 of its own accord1 to    
call up and introduce that of the other4
 ,if the objects are still observed to  
succeed each other as before1 this      
connection1 or1 as it has been called1  
this association of their ideas1 becomes
 stricter and stricter1 and the habit of
 the imagination to pass from the       
conception of the one to that of the    
other1 grows more and more rivetted and 
confirmed4 ,as its ideas move more      
rapidly than external objects1 it is    
continually running before them1 and    
therefore anticipates1 before it        
happens1 every event which falls out    
according to this ordinary course of    
things4 ,when objects succeed each other
 in the same train in which the ideas of
 the imagination have thus been         
accustomed to move1 and in which1 though
 not conducted by that chain of events  

presented to the senses1 they have      
acquired a tendency to go on of their   
own accord1 such objects appear all     
closely connected with one another1 and 
the thought glides easily along them1   
without effort and without interruption4
 ,they fall in with the natural career  
of the imagination2 and as the ideas    
which represented such a train of things
 would seem all mutually to introduce   
each other1 every last thought to be    
called up by the foregoing1 and to call 
up the succeeding2 so when the objects  
themselves occur1 every last event      
seems1 in the same manner1 to be        
introduced by the foregoing1 and to     
introduce the succeeding4 ,there is no  
break1 no stop1 no gap1 no interval4    
,the ideas excited by so coherent a     
chain of things seem1 as it were1 to    
float through the mind of their own     
accord1 without obliging it to exert    
itself1 or to make any effort in order  
to pass from one of them to another4    
#ccc ,but if this customary connection  

be interrupted1 if one or more objects  
appear in an order quite different from 
that to which the imagination has been  
accustomed1 and for which it is         
prepared1 the contrary of all this      
happens4 ,we are at first surprised by  
the unexpectedness of the new           
appearance1 and when that momentary     
emotion is over1 we still wonder how it 
came to occur in that place4 ,the       
imagination no longer feels the usual   
facility of passing from the event which
 goes before to that which comes after4 
,it is an order or law of succession to 
which it has not been accustomed1 and   
which it therefore finds some difficulty
 in following1 or in attending to4 ,the 
fancy is stopped and interrupted in that
 natural movement or career1 according  
to which it was proceeding4 ,those two  
events seem to stand at a distance from 
each other2 it endeavours to bring them 
together1 but they refuse to unite2 and 
it feels1 or imagines it feels1         
something like a gap or interval betwixt

 them4 ,it naturally hesitates1 and1 as 
it were1 pauses upon the brink of this  
interval2 it endeavours to find out     
something which may fill up the gap1    
which1 like a bridge1 may so far at     
least unite those seemingly distant     
objects1 as to render the passage of the
 thought betwixt them smooth1 and       
natural1 and easy4 ,the supposition of a
 chain of intermediate1 though          
invisible1 events1 which succeed each   
other in a train similar to that in     
which the imagination has been          
accustomed to move1 and which links     
together those two disjointed           
appearances1 is the only means by which 
the imagination can fill up this        
interval1 is the only bridge which1 if  
one may say so1 can smooth its passage  
from the one object to the other4 ,thus1
 when we observe the motion of the iron1
 in consequence of that of the          
loadstone1 we gaze and hesitate1 and    
feel a want of connection betwixt two   
events which follow one another in so   

unusual a train4 ,but when1 with ,des   
,cartes1 we imagine certain invisible   
effluvia to circulate round one of them1
 and by their repeated impulses to impel
 the other1 both to move towards it1 and
 to follow its motion1 we fill up the   
interval betwixt them1 we join them     
together by a sort of bridge1 and thus  
take off that hesitation and difficulty 
which the imagination felt in passing   
from the one to the other4 ,that the    
iron should move after the loadstone    
seems1 upon this hypothesis1 in some    
measure according to the ordinary course
 of things4 ,motion after impulse is an 
order of succession with which of all   
things we are the most familiar4 ,two   
objects which are so connected seem1 to 
our mind1 no longer to be disjointed1   
and the imagination flows smoothly and  
easily along them4  ,such is the nature 
of this second species of ,wonder1 which
 arises from an unusual succession of   
things4 ,the stop which is thereby given
 to the career of the imagination1 the  

difficulty which it finds in passing    
along such disjointed objects1 and the  
feeling of something like a gap or      
interval betwixt them1 constitute the   
whole essence of this emotion4 ,upon the
 clear discovery of a connecting chain  
of intermediate events1 #ccd it vanishes
 altogether4 ,what obstructed the       
movement of the imagination is then     
removed4 ,who wonders at the machinery  
of the opera-house who has once been    
admitted behind the scenes8 ,in the     
wonders of nature1 however1 it rarely   
happens that we can discover so clearly 
this connecting chain4 ,with regard to a
 few even of them1 indeed1 we seem to   
have been really admitted behind the    
scenes1 and our wonder accordingly is   
entirely at an end4 ,thus the eclipses  
of the sun and moon1 which once1 more   
than all the other appearances in the   
heavens1 excited the terror and         
amazement of mankind1 seem now no longer
 to be wonderful1 since the connecting  
chain has been found out which joins    

them to the ordinary course of things4  
,nay1 in those cases in which we have   
been less successful1 even the vague    
hypothesis of ,des ,cartes1 and the yet 
more indetermined notions of ,aristotle1
 have1 with their followers1 contributed
 to give some coherence to the          
appearances of nature1 and might        
diminish1 though they could not destroy1
 their wonder4 ,if they did not         
completely fill up the interval betwixt 
the two disjointed objects1 they        
bestowed upon them1 however1 some sort  
of loose connection which they wanted   
before4  ,that the imagination feels a  
real difficulty in passing along two    
events which follow one another in an   
uncommon order1 may be confirmed by many
 obvious observations4 ,if it attempts  
to attend beyond a certain time to a    
long series of this kind1 the continual 
efforts it is obliged to make1 in order 
to pass from one object to another1 and 
thus follow the progress of the         
succession1 soon fatigue it1 and if     

repeated too often1 disorder and        
disjoint its whole frame4 ,it is thus   
that too severe an application to study 
sometimes brings on lunacy and frenzy1  
in those especially who are somewhat    
advanced in life1 but whose             
imaginations1 from being too late in    
applying1 have not got those habits     
which dispose them to follow easily the 
reasonings in the abstract sciences4    
,every step of a demonstration1 which to
 an old practitioner is quite natural   
and easy1 requires from them the most   
intense application of thought4         
,spurred on1 however1 either by ambition
 or by admiration for the subject1 they 
still continue till they become1 first  
confused1 then giddy1 and at last       
distracted4 ,could we conceive a person 
of the soundest judgment1 who had grown 
up to maturity1 and whose imagination   
had acquired those habits1 and that     
mould1 which the constitution of things 
in this world necessarily impresses upon
 it1 to be all at once transported alive

 to some other planet1 where nature was 
governed by laws quite different from   
those which take place here2 as he would
 be continually obliged to attend to    
events1 which must to him appear in the 
highest degree jarring1 irregular1 and  
discordant1 he would soon feel the same 
confusion and giddiness begin to come   
upon him1 which would at last end  in   
the same manner1 in lunacy and          
distraction4 ,neither1 to produce this  
effect1 is it necessary that the objects
 should be either #cce great or         
interesting1 or even uncommon1 in       
themselves4 ,it is sufficient that they 
follow one another in an uncommon order4
 ,let any one attempt to look over even 
a game of cards1 and to attend          
particularly to every single stroke1 and
 if he is unacquainted with the nature  
and rules of the games2 that is1 with   
the laws which regulate the succession  
of the cards2 he will soon feel the same
 confusion and giddiness begin to come  
upon him1 which1 were it to be continued

 for days and months1 would end in the  
same manner1 in lunacy and distraction4 
,but if the mind be thus thrown into the
 most violent disorder1 when it attends 
to a long series of events which follow 
one another in an uncommon train1 it    
must feel some degree of the same       
disorder1 when it observes even a single
 event fall out in this unusual manner3 
for the violent disorder can arise from 
nothing but the too frequent repetition 
of this smaller uneasiness4  ,that it is
 the unusualness alone of the succession
 which occasions this stop and          
interruption in the progress of the     
imagination as well as the notion of an 
interval betwixt the two immediately    
succeeding objects1 to be filled up by  
some chain of intermediate events1 is   
not less evident4 ,the same orders of   
succession1 which to one set of men seem
 quite according to the natural course  
of things1 and such as require no       
intermediate events to join them1 shall 
to another appear altogether incoherent 

and disjointed1 unless some such events 
be supposed3 and this for no other      
reason1 but because such orders of      
succession are familiar to the one1 and 
strange to the other4 ,when we enter the
 work-houses of the most common         
artizans2 such as dyers1 brewers1       
distillers2 we observe a number of      
appearances1 which present themselves in
 an order that seems to us very strange 
and wonderful4 ,our thought cannot      
easily follow it1 we feel an interval   
betwixt every two of them1 and require  
some chain of intermediate events1 to   
fill it up1 and link them together4 ,but
 the artizan himself1 who has been for  
many years familiar with the            
consequences of all the operations of   
his art1 feels no such interval4 ,they  
fall in with what custom has made the   
natural movement of his imagination3    
they no longer excite his ,wonder1 and  
if he is not a genius superior to his   
profession1 so as to be capable of      
making the very easy reflection1 that   

those things1 though familiar to him1   
may be strange to us1 he will be        
9999disposed rather to laugh at1 than   
sympathize with our ,wonder4 ,he cannot 
conceive what occasion there is for any 
connecting events to unite those        
appearances1 which seem to him to       
succeed each other very naturally4 ,it  
is their nature1 he tells us1 to follow 
one another in this order1 and that     
accordingly they always do so4 ,in the  
same manner bread has1 since the world  
begun been the common nourishment of the
 human body1 and men have so long seen  
it1 every day1 converted into flesh and 
bones1 substances in all respects so    
unlike it1 that they have seldom had the
 curiosity to inquire by what process of
 #ccf intermediate events this change is
 brought about4 ,because the passage of 
the thought from the one object to the  
other is by custom become quite smooth  
and easy1 almost without the supposition
 of any such process4 ,philosophers1    
indeed1 who often look for a chain of   

invisible objects to join together two  
events that occur in an order familiar  
to all the world1 have endeavoured to   
find out a chain of this kind betwixt   
the two events ,i have just now         
mentioned2 in the same manner as they   
have endeavoured1 by a like intermediate
 chain1 to connect the gravity1 the     
elasticity1 and even the cohesion of    
natural bodies1 with some of their other
 qualities4 ,these1 however1 are all of 
them such combinations of events as give
 no stop to the imaginations of the bulk
 of mankind1 as excite no ,wonder1 nor  
any apprehension that there is wanting  
the strictest connection between them4  
,but as in those sounds1 which to the   
greater part of men seem perfectly      
agreeable to measure and harmony1 the   
nicer ear of a musician will discover a 
want1 both of the most exact time1 and  
of the most perfect coincidence2 so the 
more practised thought of a philosopher1
 who has spent his whole life in the    
study of the connecting principles of   

nature1 will often feel an interval     
betwixt two objects1 which1 to more     
careless observers1 seem very strictly  
conjoined4 ,by long attention to all the
 connections which have ever been       
presented to his observation1 by having 
often compared them with one another1 he
 has1 like the musician1 acquired1 if   
one may so1 a nicer ear1 and a more     
delicate feeling with regard to things  
of this nature4 ,and as to the one1 that
 music seems dissonance which falls     
short of the most perfect harmony2 so to
 the other1 those events seem altogether
 separated and disjoined1 which may fall
 short of the strictest and most perfect
 connection4  ,philosophy is the science
 of the connecting principles of nature4
 ,nature1 after the largest experience  
that common observation can acquire1    
seems to abound with events which appear
 solitary and incoherent with all that  
go before them1 which therefore disturb 
the easy movement of the imagination2   
which makes its ideas succeed each      

other1 if one may say so1 by irregular  
starts and sallies2 and which thus tend1
 in some measure1 to introduce those    
confusions and distractions we formerly 
mentioned4 ,philosophy1 by representing 
the invisible chains which bind together
 all these disjointed objects1          
endeavours to introduce order into this 
chaos of jarring and discordant         
appearances1 to allay this tumult of the
 imagination1 and to restore it1 when it
 surveys the great revolutions of the   
universe1 to that tone of tranquillity  
and composure1 which is both most       
agreeable in itself1 and most suitable  
to its nature4 ,philosophy1 therefore1  
may be regarded as one of those arts    
which address themselves to the         
imagination2 and whose theory and       
history1 upon that account1 fall        
properly within the circumference of our
 subject4 ,let us endeavour to trace it1
 from its first origin1 up to that      
summit of perfection to which it is at  
present #ccg supposed to have arrived1  

and to which1 indeed1 it has equally    
been supposed to have arrived in almost 
all former times4 ,it is the most       
sublime of all the agreeable arts1 and  
its revolutions have been the greatest1 
the most frequent1 and the most         
distinguished of all those that have    
happened in the literary world4 ,its    
history1 therefore1 must1 upon all      
accounts1 be the most entertaining and  
the most instructive4 ,let us examine1  
therefore1 all the different systems of 
nature1 which1 in these western parts of
 the world1 the only parts of whose     
history we know anything1 have          
successively been adopted by the learned
 and ingenious2 and1 without regarding  
their absurdity or probability1 their   
agreement or inconsistency with truth   
and reality1 let us consider them only  
in that particular point of view which  
belongs to our subject2 and content     
ourselves with inquiring how far each of
 them was fitted to soothe the          
imagination1 and to render the theatre  

of nature a more coherent1 and therefore
 a more magnificent spectacle1 than     
otherwise it would have appeared to be4 
,according as they have failed or       
succeeded in this1 they have constantly 
failed or succeeded in gaining          
reputation and renown to their authors2 
and this will be found to be the clue   
that is most capable of conducting us   
through all the labyrinths of           
philosophical history3 for in the mean  
time1 it will serve to confirm what has 
gone before1 and to throw light upon    
what is to come after1 that we observe1 
in general1 that no system1 how well    
soever in other respects supported1 has 
ever been able to gain any general      
credit on the world1 whose connecting   
principles were not such as were        
familiar to all mankind4 ,why has the   
chemical philosophy in all ages crept   
along in obscurity1 and been so         
disregarded by the generality of        
mankind1 while other systems1 less      
useful1 and not more agreeable to       

experience1 have possessed universal    
admiration for whole centuries together8
 ,the connecting principles of the      
chemical philosophy are such as the     
generality of mankind know nothing      
about1 have rarely seen1 and have never 
been acquainted with2 and which to them1
 therefore1 are incapable of smoothing  
the passage of the imagination betwixt  
any two seemingly disjointed objects4   
,salts1 sulphurs1 and mercuries1 acids  
and alkalis1 are principles which can   
smooth things to those only who live    
about the furnace2 but whose most common
 operations seem1 to the bulk of        
mankind1 as disjointed as any two events
 which the chemists would connect       
together by them4 ,those artists1       
however1 naturally explained things to  
themselves by principles that were      
familiar to themselves4 ,as ,aristotle  
observes1 that the early ,pythagoreans1 
who first studied arithmetic1 explained 
all things by the properties of numbers2
 and ,cicero tells us1 that             

,aristoxenus1 the musician1 found the   
nature of the soul to consist in        
harmony4 ,in the same manner1 a learned 
physician lately gave a system of moral 
philosophy upon the principles of his   
own art1 in which wisdom and virtue were
 the healthful state of the soul2 the   
different vices and follies1 the        
different diseases #cch to which it was 
subject2 in which the causes and        
symptoms of those diseases were         
ascertained2 and1 in the same medical   
strain1 a proper method of cure         
prescribed4 ,in the same manner also1   
others have written parallels of        
painting and poetry1 of poetry and      
music1 of music and architecture1 of    
beauty and virtue1 of all the fine arts2
 systems which have universally owed    
their origin to the lucubrations of     
those who were acquainted with the one  
art1 but ignorant of the other2 who     
therefore explained to themselves the   
phenomena1 in that which was strange to 
them1 by those in that which was        

familiar2 and with whom1 upon that      
account1 the analogy1 which in other    
writers gives occasion to a few         
ingenious similitudes1 became the great 
hinge upon which every thing turned4    
-----  ,,sect4 ,,iii4--,of the ,origin  
of ,philosophy4   ,,mankind1 in the     
first ages of society1 before the       
establishment of law1 order1 and        
security1 have little curiosity to find 
out those hidden chains of events which 
bind together the seemingly disjointed  
appearances of nature4 ,a savage1 whose 
subsistence is precarious1 whose life is
 every day exposed to the rudest        
dangers1 has no inclination to amuse    
himself with searching out what1 when   
discovered1 seems to serve no other     
purpose than to render the theatre of   
nature a more connected spectacle to his
 imagination4 ,many of these smaller    
incoherences1 which in the course of    
things perplex philosophers1 entirely   
escape his attention4 ,those more       
magnificent irregularities1 whose       

grandeur he cannot overlook1 call forth 
his amazement4 ,comets1 eclipses1       
thunder1 lightning1 and other meteors1  
by their greatness1 naturally overawe   
him1 and he views them with a reverence 
that approaches to fear4 ,his           
inexperience and uncertainty with regard
 to every thing about them1 how they    
came1 how they are to go1 what went     
before1 what is to come after them1     
exasperate his sentiment into terror and
 consternation4 ,but our passions1 as   
,father ,malbranche observes1 all       
justify themselves2 that is1 suggest to 
us opinions which justify them4 ,as     
those appearances terrify him1          
therefore1 he is disposed to believe    
every thing about them which can render 
them still more the objects of his      
terror4 ,that they proceed from some    
intelligent1 though invisible causes1 of
 whose vengeance and displeasure they   
are either the signs or the effects1 is 
the notion of all others most capable of
 enhancing this passion1 and is that1   

therefore1 which he is most apt to      
entertain4 ,to this1 too1 that cowardice
 and pusillanimity1 so natural to man in
 his uncivilized state1 still more      
disposes him2 unprotected by the laws of
 society1 exposed1 defenceless1 he feels
 his weakness upon all occasions2 his   
strength and security upon none4  ,but  
all the irregularities of nature are not
 of this awful or terrible kind4 ,some  
of them are perfectly beautiful and     
agreeable4 ,these1 #cci therefore1 from 
the same impotence of mind1 would be    
beheld with love and complacency1 and   
even with transports of gratitude2 for  
whatever is the cause of pleasure       
naturally excites our gratitude4 ,a     
child caresses the fruit that is        
agreeable to it1 as it beats the stone  
that hurts it4 ,the notions of a savage 
are not very different4 ,the ancient    
,athenians1 who solemnly punished the   
axe which had accidentally been the     
cause of the death of a man1 erected    
altars1 and offered sacrifices to the   

rainbow4 ,sentiments not unlike these1  
may sometimes1 upon such occasions1     
begin to be felt even in the breasts of 
the most civilized1 but are presently   
checked by the reflection1 that the     
things are not their proper objects4    
,but a savage1 whose notions are guided 
altogether by wild nature and passion1  
waits for no other proof that a thing is
 the proper object of any sentiment1    
than that it excites it4 ,the reverence 
and gratitude1 with which some of the   
appearances of nature inspire him1      
convince him that they are the proper   
objects of reverence and gratitude1 and 
therefore proceed from some intelligent 
beings1 who take pleasure in the        
expressions of those sentiments4 ,with  
him1 therefore1 every object of nature1 
which by its beauty or greatness1 its   
utility or hurtfulness1 is considerable 
enough to attract his attention1 and    
whose operations are not perfectly      
regular1 is supposed to act by the      
direction of some invisible and         

designing power4 ,the sea is spread out 
into a calm1 or heaved into a storm1    
according to the good pleasure of       
,neptune4 ,does the earth pour forth an 
exuberant harvest8 ,it is owing to the  
indulgence of ,ceres4 ,does the vine    
yield a plentiful vintage8 ,it flows    
from the bounty of ,bacchus4 ,do either 
refuse their presents8 ,it is ascribed  
to the displeasure of those offended    
deities4 ,the tree which now flourishes 
and now decays1 is inhabited by a       
,dryad1 upon whose health or sickness   
its various appearances depend4 ,the    
fountain1 which sometimes flows in a    
copious1 and sometimes in a scanty      
stream1 which appears sometimes clear   
and limpid1 and at other times muddy and
 disturbed1 is affected in all its      
changes by the ,naiad who dwells within 
it4 ,hence the origin of ,polytheism1   
and of that vulgar superstition which   
ascribes all the irregular events of    
nature to the favour or displeasure of  
intelligent1 though invisible beings1 to

 gods1 demons1 witches1 genii1 fairies4 
,for it may be observed1 that in all    
polytheistic religions1 among savages1  
as well as in the early ages of heathen 
antiquity1 it is the irregular events of
 nature only that are ascribed to the   
agency and power of their gods4 ,fire   
burns1 and water refreshes2 heavy bodies
 descend1 and lighter substances fly    
upwards1 by the necessity of their own  
nature2 nor was the invisible hand of   
,jupiter ever apprehended to be employed
 in those matters4 ,but thunder and     
lightning1 storms and sunshine1 those   
more irregular events1 were ascribed to 
his favour1 or his anger4 ,man1 the only
 designing power with which they were   
acquainted1 never acts but either to    
stop or to alter the course which       
natural events would take1 if left to   
themselves4 #cdj ,those other           
intelligent beings1 whom they imagined1 
but knew not1 were naturally supposed to
 act in the same manner2 not to employ  
themselves in supporting the ordinary   

course of things1 which went on of its  
own accord1 but to stop1 to thwart1 and 
to disturb it4 ,and thus1 in the first  
ages of the world1 the lowest and most  
pusillanimous superstition supplied the 
place of philosophy4  ,but when law has 
established order and security1 and     
subsistence ceases to be precarious1 the
 curiosity of mankind is increased1 and 
their fears are diminished4 ,the leisure
 which they then enjoy renders them more
 attentive to the appearances of nature1
 more observant of her smallest         
irregularities1 and more desirous to    
know what is the chain which links them 
together4 ,that some such chain subsists
 betwixt all her seemingly disjointed   
phenomena1 they are necessarily led to  
conceive2 and that magnanimity and      
cheerfulness which all generous natures 
acquire who are bred in civilized       
societies1 where they have so few       
occasions to feel their weakness1 and so
 many to be conscious of their strength 
and security1 renders them less disposed

 to employ1 for this connecting chain1  
those invisible beings whom the fear and
 ignorance of their rude forefathers had
 engendered4 ,those of liberal fortunes1
 whose attention is not much occupied   
either with business or with pleasure1  
can fill up the void of their           
imagination1 which is thus disengaged   
from the ordinary affairs of life1 no   
other way than by attending to that     
train of events which passes around     
them4 ,while the great objects of nature
 thus pass in review before them1 many  
things occur in an order to which they  
have not been accustomed4 ,their        
imagination1 which accompanies with ease
 and delight the regular progress of    
nature1 is stopped and embarrassed by   
those seeming incoherences2 they excite 
their wonder1 and seem to require some  
chain of intermediate events1 which1 by 
connecting them with something that has 
gone before1 may thus render the whole  
course of the universe consistent and of
 a piece4 ,wonder1 therefore1 and not   

any expectation of advantage from its   
discoveries1 is the first principle     
which prompts mankind to the study of   
,philosophy1 of that science which      
pretends to lay open the concealed      
connections that unite the various      
appearances of nature2 and they pursue  
this study for its own sake1 as an      
original pleasure or good in itself1    
without regarding its tendency to       
procure them the means of many other    
pleasures4  ,greece1 and the ,greek     
colonies in ,sicily1 ,italy1 and the    
,lesser ,asia1 were the first countries 
which1 in these western parts of the    
world1 arrived at a state of civilized  
society4 ,it was in them1 therefore1    
that the first philosophers1 of whose   
doctrine we have any distinct account1  
appeared4 ,law and order seem indeed to 
have been established in the great      
monarchies of ,asia and ,egypt1 long    
before they had any footing in ,greece3 
yet1 after all that has been said       
concerning the learning of the          

,chaldeans and ,egyptians1 whether there
 ever was in those nations #cda any     
thing which deserved the name of        
science1 or whether that despotism which
 is more destructive of security and    
leisure than anarchy itself1 and which  
prevailed over all the ,east1 prevented 
the growth of ,philosophy1 is a question
 which1 for want of monuments1 cannot be
 determined with any degree of          
precision4  ,the ,greek colonies having 
been settled amid nations either        
altogether barbarous1 or altogether     
unwarlike1 over whom1 therefore1 they   
soon acquired a very great authority1   
seem1 upon that account1 to have arrived
 at a considerable degree of empire and 
opulence before any state in the parent 
country had surmounted that extreme     
poverty1 which1 by leaving no room for  
any evident distinction of ranks1 is    
necessarily attended with the confusion 
and misrule which flows from a want of  
all regular subordination4 ,the ,greek  
islands being secure from the invasion  

of land armies1 or from naval forces1   
which were in those days but little     
known1 seem1 upon that account too1 to  
have got before the continent in all    
sorts of civility and improvement4 ,the 
first philosophers1 therefore1 as well  
as the first poets1 seem all to have    
been natives1 either of their colonies1 
or of their islands4 ,it was from thence
 that ,homer1 ,archilochus1             
,stesichorus1 ,simonides1 ,sappho1      
,anacreon1 derived their birth4 ,thales 
and ,pythagoras1 the founders of the two
 earliest sects of philosophy1 arose1   
the one in an ,asiatic colony1 the other
 in an island2 and neither of them      
established his school in the mother    
country4  ,what was the particular      
system of either of those two           
philosophers1 or whether their doctrine 
was so methodized as to deserve the name
 of a system1 the imperfection1 as well 
as the uncertainty of all the traditions
 that have come down to us concerning   
them1 make it impossible to determine4  

,the school of ,pythagoras1 however1    
seems to have advanced further in the   
study of the connecting principles of   
nature1 than that of the ,ionian        
philosopher4 ,the accounts which are    
given of ,anaximander1 ,anaximenes1     
,anaxagoras1 ,archelaus1 the successors 
of ,thales1 represent the doctrines of  
those sages as full of the most         
inextricable confusion4 ,something1     
however1 that approaches to a composed  
and orderly system1 may be traced in    
what is delivered down to us concerning 
the doctrine of ,empedocles1 of         
,archytas1 of ,timus1 and of ,ocellus   
the ,lucanian1 the most renowned        
philosophers of the ,italian school4    
,the opinions of the two last coincide  
pretty much2 the one1 with those of     
,plato2 the other1 with those of        
,aristotle2 nor do those of the two     
first seem to have been very different1 
of whom the one was the author of the   
doctrine of the ,four ,elements1 the    
other the inventor of the ,categories2  

who1 therefore1 may be regarded as the  
founders1 the one1 of the ancient       
,physics2 the other1 of the ancient     
,dialectic2 and1 how closely these were 
connected will appear hereafter4 ,it was
 in the school of ,socrates1 however1   
from ,plato and ,aristotle1 that        
,philosophy first received that form1   
which introduced her1 if one #cdb may   
say so1 to the general acquaintance of  
the world4 ,it is from them1 therefore1 
that we shall begin to give her history 
in any detail4 ,whatever was valuable in
 the former systems1 which was at all   
consistent with their general           
principles1 they seem to have           
consolidated into their own4 ,from the  
,ionian philosophy1 ,i have not been    
able to discover that they derived      
anything4 ,from the ,pythagorean school1
 both ,plato and ,aristotle seem to have
 derived the fundamental principles of  
almost all their doctrines4 ,plato1 too1
 appears to have borrowed something from
 two other sects of philosophers1 whose 

extreme obscurity seems to have         
prevented them from acquiring themselves
 any extensive reputation2 the one was  
that of ,cratylus and ,heraclitus2 the  
other was ,xenophanes1 ,parmenides1     
,melissus1 and ,zeno4 ,to pretend to    
rescue the system of any of those       
ante-,socratic sages1 from that oblivion
 which at present covers them all1 would
 be a vain and useless attempt4 ,what   
seems1 however1 to have been borrowed   
from them1 shall sometimes be marked as 
we go along4  ,there was still another  
school of philosophy1 earlier than      
,plato1 from which1 however1 he was so  
far from borrowing any thing1 that he   
seems to have bent the whole force of   
his reason to discredit and expose its  
principles4 ,this was the philosophy of 
,leucippus1 9999,democritus1 and        
,protagoras1 which accordingly seems to 
have submitted to his eloquence1 to have
 lain dormant1 and to have been almost  
forgotten for some generations1 till it 
was afterwards more successfully revived

 by ,epicurus4  -----  ,,sec4           
,,iv4--,the ,history of ,astronomy4     
,,of all the phenomena of nature1 the   
celestial appearances are1 by their     
greatness and beauty1 the most universal
 objects of the curiosity of mankind4   
,those who surveyed the heavens with the
 most careless attention1 necessarily   
distinguished in them three different   
sorts of objects2 the ,sun1 the ,moon1  
and the ,stars4 ,these last1 appearing  
always in the same situation1 and at the
 same distance with regard to one       
another1 and seeming to revolve every   
day round the earth in parallel circles1
 which widened gradually from the poles 
to the equator1 were naturally thought  
to have all the marks of being fixed1   
like so many gems1 in the concave side  
of the firmament1 and of being carried  
round by the diurnal revolutions of that
 solid body3 for the azure sky1 in which
 the stars seem to float1 was readily   
apprehended1 upon account of the        
uniformity of their apparent motions1 to

 be a solid body1 the roof or outer wall
 of the universe1 to whose inside all   
those little sparkling objects were     
attached4  ,the ,sun and ,moon1 often   
changing their distance and situation1  
in regard to the other heavenly bodies1 
could not be apprehended to be attached 
to the same sphere with them4 ,they     
assigned1 therefore1 to #cdc each of    
them1 a sphere of its own2 that is1     
supposed each of them to be attached to 
the concave side of a solid and         
transparent body1 by whose revolutions  
they were carried round the earth4      
,there was not1 indeed1 in this case1   
the same ground for the supposition of  
such 9999a sphere as in that of the     
,fixed ,stars2 for neither the ,sun nor 
the ,moon appear to keep always at the  
same distance with regard to any one of 
the other heavenly bodies4 ,but as the  
motion of the ,stars had been accounted 
for by an hypothesis of this kind1 it   
rendered the theory of the heavens more 
uniform1 to account for that of the ,sun

 and ,moon in the same manner4 ,the     
sphere of the sun they placed above that
 of the ,moon2 as the ,moon was         
evidently seen in eclipses to pass      
betwixt the ,sun and the ,earth4 ,each  
of them was supposed to revolve by a    
motion of its own1 and at the same time 
to be affected by the motion of the     
,fixed ,stars4 ,thus1 the ,sun was      
carried round from east to west by the  
communicated movement of this outer     
sphere1 which produced his diurnal      
revolutions1 and the vicissitudes of day
 and night2 but at the same time he had 
a motion of his own1 contrary to this1  
from west to east1 which occasioned his 
annual revolution1 and the continual    
shifting of his place with regard to the
 ,fixed ,stars4 ,this motion was more   
easy1 they thought1 when carried on     
edgeways1 and not in direct opposition  
to the motion of the outer sphere1 which
 occasioned the inclination of the axis 
of the sphere of the ,sun1 to that of   
the sphere of the ,fixed ,stars2 this   

again produced the obliquity of the     
ecliptic1 and the consequent changes of 
the seasons4 ,the moon1 being placed    
below the sphere of the ,sun1 had both a
 shorter course to finish1 and was less 
obstructed by the contrary movement of  
the sphere of the ,fixed ,stars1 from   
which she was farther removed4 ,she     
finished her period1 therefore1 in a    
shorter time1 and required but a month1 
instead of a year1 to complete it4  ,the
 ,stars1 when more attentively surveyed1
 were some of them observed to be less  
constant and uniform in their motions   
than the rest1 and to change their      
situations with regard to the other     
heavenly bodies2 moving generally       
eastward1 yet appearing sometimes to    
stand still1 and sometimes even1 to move
 westwards4 ,these1 to the number of    
five1 were distinguished by the name of 
,planets1 or ,wandering ,stars1 and     
marked with the particular appellations 
of ,saturn1 ,jupiter1 ,mars1 ,venus1 and
 ,mercury4 ,as1 like the ,sun and ,moon1

 they seem to accompany the motion of   
the ,fixed ,stars from east to west1 but
 at the same time to have a motion of   
their own1 which is generally from west 
to east2 they were each of them1 as well
 as those two great lamps of heaven1    
apprehended to be attached to the inside
 of a solid concave and transparent     
sphere1 which had a revolution of its   
own1 that was almost directly contrary  
to the revolution of the outer heaven1  
but which1 at the same time1 was hurried
 along by the superior violence and     
greater rapidity of this last4  ,this is
 the system of concentric ,spheres1 the 
first regular system of #cdd ,astronomy1
 which the world beheld1 as it was      
taught in the ,italian school before    
,aristotle1 and his two contemporary    
philosophers1 ,eudoxus and ,callippus1  
had given it all the perfection which it
 is capable of receiving4 ,though rude  
and inartificial1 it is capable of      
connecting together1 in the imagination1
 the grandest and the most seemingly    

disjointed appearances in the heavens4  
,the motions of the most remarkable     
objects in the celestial regions1 the   
,sun1 the ,moon1 the ,fixed ,stars1 are 
sufficiently connected with one another 
by this hypothesis4 ,the eclipses of    
these two great luminaries are1 though  
not so easily calculated1 as easily     
explained1 upon this ancient1 as upon   
the modern system4 ,when these early    
philosophers explained to their         
disciples the very simple causes of     
those dreadful phenomena1 it was under  
the seal of the most sacred secrecy1    
that they might avoid the fury of the   
people1 and not incur the imputation of 
impiety1 when they thus took from the   
gods the direction of those events1     
which were apprehended to be the most   
terrible tokens of their impending      
vengeance4 ,the obliquity of the        
ecliptic1 the consequent changes of the 
seasons1 the vicissitudes of day and    
night1 and the different lengths of both
 days and nights in the different       

seasons1 correspond too1 pretty exactly1
 with this ancient doctrine4 ,and if    
there had been no other bodies          
discoverable in the heavens1 besides the
 ,sun1 the ,moon1 and the ,fixed ,stars1
 this hypothesis might have stood the   
examinations of all ages and gone down  
triumphant to the remotest posterity4   
,if it gained the belief of mankind by  
its plausibility1 it attracted their    
wonder and admiration2 sentiments that  
still more confirmed their belief1 by   
the novelty and beauty of that view of  
nature which it presented to the        
imagination4 ,before this system was    
taught in the world1 the earth was      
regarded as1 what it appears to the eye1
 a vast1 rough1 and irregular plain1 the
 basis and foundation of the universe1  
surrounded on all sides by the ocean1   
and whose roots extended themselves     
through the whole of that infinite depth
 which is below it4 ,the sky was        
considered as a solid hemisphere1 which 
covered the earth1 and united with the  

ocean at the extremity of the horizon4  
,the ,sun1 the ,moon1 and all the       
heavenly bodies rose out of the eastern1
 climbed up the convex side of the      
heavens1 and descended again into the   
western ocean1 and from thence1 by some 
subterraneous passages1 returned to     
their first chambers in the east4 ,nor  
was this notion confined to the people1 
or to the poets who painted the opinions
 of the people2 it was held by          
,xenophanes1 founder of the ,eleatic    
philosophy1 after that of the ,ionian   
and ,italian schools1 the earliest that 
appeared in ,greece4 ,thales of ,miletus
 too1 who1 according to ,aristotle1     
represented the ,earth as floating upon 
an immense ocean of water1 may have been
 nearly of the same opinion2            
notwithstanding what we are told by     
,plutarch and ,apuleius concerning his  
astronomical discoveries1 all of which  
must plainly have been of a much later  
date4 ,to those #cde who had no other   
idea of nature1 besides what they       

derived from so confused an account of  
things1 how agreeable must that system  
have appeared1 which represented the    
,earth as distinguished into land and   
water1 self-balanced and suspended in   
the centre of the universe1 surrounded  
by the elements of ,air and ,ether1 and 
covered by eight polished and           
crystalline ,spheres1 each of which was 
distinguished by one or more beautiful  
and luminous bodies1 and all of which   
revolved round their common centre1 by  
varied1 but by equable and              
proportionable motions4 ,it seems to    
have been the beauty of this system that
 gave ,plato the notion of something    
like an harmonic proportion1 to be      
discovered in the motions and distances 
of the heavenly bodies2 and which       
suggested to the earlier ,pythagoreans1 
the celebrated fancy of the ,music of   
the ,spheres2 a wild and romantic idea1 
yet such as does not ill correspond with
 that admiration1 which so beautiful a  
system1 recommended too by the graces of

 novelty1 is apt to inspire4  ,whatever 
are the defects which this account of   
things labours under1 they are such1 as 
to the first observers of the heavens   
could not readily occur4 ,if all the    
motions of the ,five ,planets cannot1   
the greater part of them may1 be easily 
connected by it2 they and all their     
motions are the least remarkable objects
 in the heavens2 the greater part of    
mankind take no notice of them at all2  
and a system1 whose only defect lies in 
the account which it gives of them1     
cannot thereby be much disgraced in     
their opinion4 ,if some of the          
appearances too of the ,sun and ,moon1  
the sometimes accelerated and again     
retarded motions of those luminaries but
 ill correspond with it2 these1 too1 are
 such as cannot be discovered but by the
 most attentive observation1 and such as
 we cannot wonder that the imaginations 
of the first enquirers should slur over1
 if one may say so1 and take little     
notice of4  ,it was1 however1 to remedy 

those defects1 that ,eudoxus1 the friend
 and auditor of ,plato1 found it        
necessary to increase the number of the 
,celestial ,spheres4 ,each ,planet is   
sometimes observed to advance forward in
 that eastern course which is peculiar  
to itself1 sometimes to retire          
backwards1 and sometimes again to stand 
still4 ,to suppose that the sphere of   
the planet should by its own motion1 if 
one may say so1 sometimes roll forwards1
 sometimes roll backwards1 and sometimes
 do neither the one nor the other1 is   
contrary to all the natural propensities
 of the imagination1 which accompanies  
with ease and delight any regular and   
orderly motion1 but feels itself        
perpetually stopped and interrupted1    
when it endeavours to attend to one so  
desultory and uncertain4 ,it would      
pursue1 naturally and of its own accord1
 the direct or progressive movement of  
the ,sphere1 but is every now and then  
shocked1 if one may say so1 and turned  
violently out of its natural career by  

the retrograde and stationary           
appearances of the ,planet1 betwixt     
which and its more usual motion1 the    
fancy feels a want of connection1 a gap 
or interval1 which it cannot fill up1   
but by supposing #cdf some chain of     
intermediate events to join them4 ,the  
hypothesis of a number of other spheres 
revolving in the heavens1 besides those 
in which the luminous bodies themselves 
were infixed1 was the chain with which  
,eudoxus endeavoured to supply it4 ,he  
bestowed four of these ,spheres upon    
each of the five ,planets2 one in which 
the luminous body itself revolved1 and  
three others above it4 ,each of these   
had a regular and constant1 but a       
peculiar movement of its own1 which it  
communicated to what was properly the   
,sphere of the ,planet1 and thus        
occasioned that diversity of motions    
observable in those bodies4 ,one of     
these ,spheres1 for example1 had an     
oscillatory motion1 like the circular   
pendulum of a watch4 ,as when you turn  

round a watch1 like a ,sphere upon its  
axis1 the pendulum will1 while turned   
round along with it1 still continue to  
oscillate1 and communicate to whatever  
body is comprehended within it1 both its
 own oscillations and the circular      
motion of the watch2 so this oscillating
 ,sphere1 being itself turned round by  
the motion of the ,sphere above it1     
communicated to the ,sphere below it1   
that circular1 as well as its own       
oscillatory motions2 produced by the    
one1 the daily revolutions3 by the      
other1 the direct1 stationary1 and      
retrograde appearances of the ,planet1  
which derived from a third ,sphere that 
revolution by which it performed its    
annual period4 ,the motions of all these
 ,spheres were in themselves constant   
and equable1 such as the imagination    
could easily attend to and pursue1 and  
which connected together that otherwise 
incoherent diversity of movements       
observable in the ,sphere of the        
,planet4 ,the motions of the ,sun and   

,moon being more regular than those of  
the ,five ,planets1 by assigning three  
,spheres to each of them1 ,eudoxus      
imagined he could connect together all  
the diversity of movements discoverable 
in either4 ,the motion of the ,fixed    
,stars being perfectly regular1 one     
,sphere he judged sufficient for them   
all4 ,so that1 according to this        
account1 the whole number of ,celestial 
,spheres amounted to twenty-seven4      
,callippus1 though somewhat younger1 the
 contemporary of ,eudoxus1 found that   
even this number was not enough to      
connect together the vast variety of    
movements which he discovered in those  
bodies1 and therefore increased it to   
thirty-four4 ,aristotle1 upon a yet more
 attentive observation1 found that even 
all these ,spheres would not be         
sufficient1 and therefore added         
twenty-two more1 which increased their  
number to fifty-six4 ,later observers   
discovered still new motions1 and new   
inequalities1 in the heavens4 ,new      

,spheres were therefore still to be     
added to the system1 and some of them to
 be placed even above that of the ,fixed
 ,stars4 ,so that in the sixteenth      
century1 when ,fracostorio1 smit with   
the eloquence of ,plato and ,aristotle1 
and with the regularity and harmony of  
their system1 in itself perfectly       
beautiful1 though it corresponds but    
inaccurately with the phenomena1        
endeavoured to revive this ancient      
,astronomy1 which had long given place  
to that of ,ptolemy and ,hipparchus1 he 
found it necessary to multiply #cdg the 
number of ,celestial ,spheres to        
seventy-two2 neither were all these     
found to be enough4  ,this system had   
now become as intricate and complex as  
those appearances themselves1 which it  
had been invented to render uniform and 
coherent4 ,the imagination1 therefore1  
found itself but little relieved from   
that embarrassment1 into which those    
appearances had thrown it1 by so        
perplexed an account of things4 ,another

 system1 for this reason1 not long after
 the days of ,aristotle1 was invented by
 ,apollonius1 which was afterwards      
perfected by ,hipparchus1 and has since 
been delivered down to us by ,ptolemy1  
the more artificial system of ,eccentric
 ,spheres and ,epicycles4  ,in this     
system1 they first distinguished between
 the real and apparent motion of the    
heavenly bodies4 ,these1 they observed1 
upon account of their immense distance1 
must necessarily appear to revolve in   
circles concentric with the globe of the
 ,earth1 and with one another3 but that 
we cannot1 therefore1 be certain that   
they really revolve in such circles1    
since1 though they did not1 they would  
still have the same appearance4 ,by     
supposing1 therefore1 that the ,sun and 
the other ,planets revolved in circles1 
whose centres were very distant from the
 centre of the ,earth2 that             
consequently1 in the progress of their  
revolution1 they must sometimes approach
 nearer1 and sometimes recede further   

from it1 and must to its inhabitants    
appear to move faster in the one case1  
and slower in the other1 those          
philosophers imagined they could account
 for the apparently unequal velocities  
of all those bodies4  ,by supposing1    
that in the solidity of the ,sphere of  
each of the ,five ,planets there was    
formed another little ,sphere1 called an
 ,epicycle1 which revolved round its own
 centre1 at the same time that it was   
carried round the centre of the ,earth  
by the revolution of the great ,sphere1 
betwixt whose concave and convex sides  
it was inclosed2 in the same manner as  
we might suppose a little wheel inclosed
 within the outer circle of a great     
wheel1 and which whirled about several  
times upon its own axis1 while its      
centre was carried round the axis of the
 great wheel1 they imagined they could  
account for the retrograde and          
stationary appearances of those most    
irregular objects in the heavens4 ,the  
,planet1 they supposed1 was attached to 

the circumference1 and whirled round the
 centre of this little ,sphere1 at the  
same time that it was carried round the 
earth by the movement of the great      
,sphere4 ,the revolution of this little 
,sphere1 or ,epicycle1 was such1 that   
the ,planet1 when in the upper part of  
it2 that is1 when furthest off and least
 sensible to the eye2 was carried round 
in the same direction with the centre of
 the ,epicycle1 or with the ,sphere in  
which the ,epicycle was inclosed3 but   
when in the lower part1 that is1 when   
nearest and most sensible to the eye2 it
 was carried round a direction contrary 
to that of the centre of the ,epicycle3 
in the same manner as every point in the
 upper part of the outer circle of a    
coach-wheel revolves forward in the #cdh
 same direction with the axis1 while    
every point1 in the lower part1 revolves
 backwards in a contrary direction to   
the axis4 ,the motions of the ,planet1  
therefore1 surveyed from the ,earth1    
appeared direct1 when in the upper part 

of the ,epicycle1 and retrograde1 when  
in the lower4 ,when again it either     
descended from the upper part to the    
lower1 or ascended from the lower to the
 upper1 it appeared stationary4  ,but1  
though1 by the eccentricity of the great
 ,sphere1 they were thus able1 in some  
measure1 to connect together the unequal
 velocities of the heavenly bodies1 and 
by the revolutions of the little        
,sphere1 the direct1 stationary1 and    
retrograde appearances of the ,planets1 
there was another difficulty that still 
remained4 ,neither the ,moon1 nor the   
three superior ,planets1 appear always  
in the same part of the heavens1 when at
 their periods of most retarded motion1 
or when they are supposed to be at the  
greatest distance from the ,earth4 ,the 
apogeum therefore1 or the point of      
greatest distance from the ,earth1 in   
the ,spheres of each of those bodies1   
must have a movement of its own1 which  
may carry it successively through all   
the different points of the ,ecliptic4  

,they supposed1 therefore1 that while   
the great eccentric ,sphere revolved    
eastwards round its centre1 that its    
centre too revolved westwards in a      
circle of its own1 round the centre of  
the ,earth1 and thus carried its apogeum
 through all the different points of the
 ,ecliptic4  ,but with all those        
combined and perplexed circles2 though  
the patrons of this system were able to 
give some degree of uniformity to the   
real directions of the ,planets1 they   
found it impossible so to adjust the    
velocities of those supposed ,spheres to
 the phenomena1 as that the revolution  
of any one of them1 when surveyed from  
its own centre1 should appear perfectly 
equable and uniform4 ,from that point1  
the only point in which the velocity of 
what moves in a circle can be truly     
judged of1 they would still appear      
irregular and inconstant1 and such as   
tended to embarrass and confound the    
imagination4 ,they invented1 therefore1 
for each of them1 a new ,circle1 called 

the ,equalizing ,circle1 from whose     
centre they should all appear perfectly 
equable3 that is1 they so adjusted the  
velocities of these ,spheres1 as that1  
though the revolution of each of them   
would appear irregular when surveyed    
from its own centre1 there should1      
however1 be a point comprehended within 
its circumference1 from whence its      
motions should appear to cut off1 in    
equal times1 equal portions of the      
,circle1 of which that point was        
supposed to be the centre4  ,nothing can
 more evidently show how much the repose
 and tranquillity of the imagination is 
the ultimate end of philosophy1 than the
 invention of this ,equalizing ,circle4 
,the motions of the heavenly bodies had 
appeared inconstant and irregular1 both 
in their velocities and in their        
directions4 ,they were such1 therefore1 
as tended to embarrass and confound the 
imagination1 whenever it attempted to   
trace them4 ,the invention of ,eccentric
 ,spheres1 of ,epicycles1 and of the    

#cdi revolution of the centres of the   
,eccentric ,spheres1 tended to allay    
this confusion1 to connect together     
those disjointed appearances1 and to    
introduce harmony and order into the    
mind's conception of the movements of   
those bodies4 ,it did this1 however1 but
 imperfectly2 it introduced uniformity  
and coherence into their real           
directions4 ,but their velocities1 when 
surveyed from the only point in which   
the velocity of what moves in a ,circle 
can be truly judged of1 the centre of   
that ,circle1 still remained1 in some   
measure1 inconstant as before2 and      
still1 therefore1 embarrassed the       
imagination4 ,the mind found itself     
somewhat relieved from this             
embarrassment1 when it conceived1 that  
how irregular soever the motions of each
 of those ,circles might appear1 when   
surveyed from its own centre1 there was1
 however1 in each of them1 a point1 from
 whence its revolution would appear     
perfectly equable and uniform1 and such 

as the imagination could easily follow4 
,those philosophers transported         
themselves1 in fancy1 to the centres of 
these imaginary ,circles1 and took      
pleasure in surveying from thence1 all  
those fantastical motions1 arranged1    
according to that harmony and order1    
which it had been the end of all their  
researches to bestow upon them4 ,here1  
at last1 they enjoyed that tranquillity 
and repose which they had pursued       
through all the mazes of this intricate 
hypothesis2 and here they beheld this1  
the most beautiful and magnificent part 
of the great theatre of nature1 so      
disposed and constructed1 that they     
could attend1 with delight1 to all the  
revolutions and changes that occurred in
 it4  ,these1 the ,system of            
,concentric1 and that of ,eccentric     
,spheres1 seem to have been the two     
,systems of ,astronomy1 that had most   
credit and reputation with that part of 
the ancient world1 who applied          
themselves particularly to the study of 

the heavens4 ,cleanthes1 however1 and   
the other philosophers of the ,stoical  
sect who came after him1 appear to have 
had a system of their own1 quite        
different from either4 ,but though      
justly renowned for their skill in      
dialectic1 and for the security and     
sublimity of their moral doctrines1     
those sages seem never to have had any  
high reputation for their knowledge of  
the heavens2 neither is the name of any 
one of them ever counted in the         
catalogue of the great astronomers1 and 
studious observers of the ,stars among  
the ancients4 ,they rejected the        
doctrine of the ,solid ,spheres2 and    
maintained1 that the celestial regions  
were filled with a fluid ether1 of too  
yielding a nature to carry along with   
it1 by any motion of its own1 bodies so 
immensely great as the ,sun1 ,moon1 and 
,five ,planets4 ,these1 therefore1 as   
well as the ,fixed ,stars1 did not      
derive their motion from the            
circumambient body1 but had each of     

them1 in itself1 and peculiar to itself1
 a vital principle of motion1 which     
directed it to move with its own        
peculiar velocity1 and its own peculiar 
direction4 ,it was by this internal     
principle that the ,fixed ,stars        
revolved directly from east to west in  
circles parallel to the ,equator1       
greater or less1 according to their     
distance or nearness to the ,poles1 and 
with velocities so proportioned1 #cej   
that each of them finished its diurnal  
period in the same time1 in something   
less than twenty-three hours and        
fifty-six minutes4 ,it was1 by a        
principle of the same kind1 that the    
,sun moved westward1 for they allowed of
 no eastward motion in the heavens1 but 
with less velocity than the ,fixed      
,stars1 so as to finish his diurnal     
period in twenty-four hours1 and1       
consequently1 to fall every day behind  
them1 by a space of the heavens nearly  
equal to that which he passes over in   
four minutes2 that is1 nearly equal to a

 degree4 ,this revolution of the ,sun1  
too1 was neither directly westwards1 nor
 exactly circular2 but after the ,summer
 ,solstice1 his motion began gradually  
to decline a little southwards1         
appearing in his meridian to-day1       
further south than yesterday2 and       
to-morrow still further south than      
to-day2 and thus continuing every day to
 describe a spiral line round the       
,earth1 which carried him gradually     
further and further southwards1 till he 
arrived at the ,winter ,solstice4 ,here 
this spiral line began to change its    
direction1 and to bring him gradually1  
every day1 further and further          
northwards1 till it again restored him  
to the ,summer ,solstice4 ,in the same  
manner they accounted for the motion of 
the ,moon1 and that of the ,five        
,planets1 by supposing that each of them
 revolved westwards1 but with directions
 and velocities1 that were both         
different from one another1 and         
continually varying2 generally1 however1

 in spherical lines1 and somewhat       
inclined to the ,equator4  ,this system 
seems never to have had the vogue4 ,the 
system of ,concentric as well as that of
 ,eccentric ,spheres gives some sort of 
reason1 both for the constancy and      
equability of the motion of the ,fixed  
,stars1 and for the variety and         
uncertainty of that of the ,planets4    
,each of them bestows some sort of      
coherence upon those apparently         
disjointed phenomena4 ,but this other   
system seems to leave them pretty much  
as it found them4 ,ask a ,stoic1 why all
 the ,fixed ,stars perform their daily  
revolutions in circles parallel to each 
other1 though of very different         
diameters1 and with velocities so       
proportioned that they all finish their 
period at the same time1 and through the
 whole course of it preserve the same   
distance and situation with regard to   
one another8 ,he can give no other      
answer1 but that the peculiar nature1 or
 if one may say so1 the caprice of each 

,star directs it to move in that        
peculiar manner4 ,his system affords him
 no principle of connection1 by which he
 can join together1 in his imagination1 
so great a number of harmonious         
revolutions4 ,but either of the other   
two systems1 by the supposition of the  
solid firmament1 affords this easily4   
,he is equally at a loss to connect     
together the peculiarities that are     
observed in the motions of the other    
heavenly bodies2 the spiral motion of   
them all2 their alternate progression   
from north to south1 and from south to  
north2 the sometimes accelerated1 and   
again retarded motions of the ,sun and  
,moon2 the direct retrograde and        
stationary appearances of the ,planets4 
,all these have1 in his system1 #cea no 
bond of union1 but remain as loose and  
incoherent in the fancy1 as they at     
first appeared to the senses1 before    
philosophy had attempted1 by giving them
 a new arrangement1 by placing them at  
different distances1 by assigning to    

each some peculiar but regular principle
 of motion1 to methodize and dispose    
them into an order that should enable   
the imagination to pass as smoothly1 and
 with as little embarrassment1 along    
them1 as along the most regular1 most   
familiar1 and most coherent appearances 
of nature4  ,such were the systems of   
,astronomy that1 in the ancient world1  
appear to have been adopted by any      
considerable party4 ,of all of them1 the
 system of ,eccentric ,spheres was that 
which corresponded most exactly with the
 appearances of the heavens4 ,it was not
 invented till after those appearances  
had been observed1 with some accuracy1  
for more than a century together2 and it
 was not completely digested by ,ptolemy
 till the reign of ,antoninus1 after a  
much longer course of observations4 ,we 
cannot wonder1 therefore1 that it was   
adapted to a much greater number of the 
phenomena1 than either of the other two 
systems1 which had been formed before   
those phenomena were observed with any  

degree of attention1 which1 therefore1  
could connect them together only while  
they were thus regarded in the gross1   
but which1 it could not be expected1    
should apply to them when they came to  
be considered in the detail4 ,from the  
time of ,hipparchus1 therefore1 this    
system seems to have been pretty        
generally received by all those who     
attended particularly to the study of   
the heavens4 ,that astronomer first made
 a catalogue of the ,fixed ,stars2      
calculated1 for six hundred years1 the  
revolutions of the ,sun1 ,moon1 and     
,five ,planets2 marked the places in the
 heavens1 in which1 during all that     
period1 each of those bodies should     
appear2 ascertained the times of the    
eclipses of the ,sun and ,moon1 and the 
particular places of the ,earth in which
 they should be visible4 ,his           
calculations were founded upon this     
system1 and as the events corresponded  
to his predictions1 with a degree of    
accuracy which1 though inferior to what 

,astronomy has since arrived at1 was    
greatly superior to any thing which the 
world had then known1 they ascertained1 
to all astronomers and mathematicians1  
the preference of his system1 above all 
those which had been current before4    
,it was1 however1 to astronomers and    
mathematicians1 only1 that they         
ascertained this2 for1 notwithstanding  
the evident superiority of this system1 
to all those with which the world was   
then acquainted1 it was never adopted by
 one sect of philosophers4              
,philosophers1 long before the days of  
,hipparchus1 seem to have abandoned the 
study of nature1 to employ themselves   
chiefly in ethical1 rhetorical1 and     
dialectical questions4 ,each party of   
them too1 had by this time completed    
their peculiar system or theory of the  
universe1 and no human consideration    
could then have induced them to give up 
any part of it4 ,that supercilious and  
ignorant contempt too1 with #ceb which  
at this time they regarded all          

mathematicians1 among whom they counted 
astronomers1 seems even to have hindered
 them from enquiring so far into their  
doctrines as to know what opinions they 
held4 ,neither ,cicero nor ,seneca1 who 
have so often occasion to mention the   
ancient systems of ,astronomy1 takes any
 notice of that of ,hipparchus4 ,his    
name is not to be found in the writings 
of ,seneca4 ,it is mentioned but once in
 those of ,cicero1 in a letter to       
,atticus1 but without any note of       
approbation1 as a geographer1 and not as
 an astronomer4 ,plutarch1 when he      
counts up1 in his second book1          
concerning the opinions of philosophers1
 all the ancient systems of ,astronomy1 
never mentions this1 the only tolerable 
one which was known in his time4 ,those 
three authors1 it seems1 conversed only 
with the writings of philosophers4 ,the 
elder ,pliny1 indeed1 a man whose       
curiosity extended itself equally to    
every part of learning1 describes the   
system of ,hipparchus1 and never        

mentions its author1 which he has       
occasion to do often1 without some note 
of that high admiration which he had so 
justly conceived for his merit4 ,such   
profound ignorance in those professed   
instructors of mankind1 with regard to  
so important a part of the learning of  
their own times1 is so very remarkable1 
that ,i thought it deserved to be taken 
notice of1 even in this short account of
 the revolutions of the philosophy of   
the ancients4  ,systems in many respects
 resemble machines4 ,a machine is a     
little system1 created to perform1 as   
well as to connect together1 in reality1
 those different movements and effects  
which the artist has occasion for4 ,a   
system is an imaginary machine invented 
to connect together in the fancy those  
different movements and effects which   
are already in reality performed4 ,the  
machines that are first invented to     
perform any particular movement are     
always the most complex1 and succeeding 
artists generally discover that1 with   

fewer wheels1 with fewer principles of  
motion1 than had originally been        
employed1 the same effects may be more  
easily produced4 ,the first systems1 in 
the same manner1 are always the most    
complex1 and a particular connecting    
chain1 or principle1 is generally       
thought necessary to unite every two    
seemingly disjointed appearances3 but it
 often happens1 that one great          
connecting principle is afterwards found
 to be sufficient to bind together all  
the discordant phenomena that occur in a
 whole species of things4 ,how many     
wheels are necessary to carry on the    
movements of this imaginary machine1 the
 system of ,eccentric ,spheres6 ,the    
westward diurnal revolution of the      
,firmament1 whose rapidity carries all  
the other heavenly bodies along with it1
 requires one4 ,the periodical eastward 
revolutions of the ,sun1 ,moon1 and     
,five ,planets1 require1 for each of    
those bodies1 another4 ,their           
differently accelerated and retarded    

motions require1 that those wheels1 or  
circles1 should neither be concentric   
with the ,firmament1 nor with one       
another2 which1 more than any thing1    
seems to disturb the harmony of the     
universe4 ,the #cec retrograde and      
stationary appearance of the ,five      
,planets1 as well as the extreme        
inconstancy of the ,moon's motion1      
require1 for each of them1 an ,epicycle1
 another little wheel attached to the   
circumference of the great wheel1 which 
still more interrupts the uniformity of 
the system4 ,the motion of the apogeum  
of each of those bodies requires1 in    
each of them1 still another wheel1 to   
carry the centres of their ,eccentric   
,spheres round the centre of the ,earth4
 ,and thus1 this imaginary machine1     
though1 perhaps1 more simple1 and       
certainly better adapted to the         
phenomena than the ,fifty-six ,planetary
 ,spheres of ,aristotle1 was still too  
intricate and complex for the           
imagination to rest in it with complete 

tranquillity and satisfaction4  ,it     
maintained its authority1 however1      
without any diminution of reputation1 as
 long as science was at all regarded in 
the ancient world4 ,after the reign of  
,antoninus1 and1 indeed1 after the age  
of ,hipparchus1 who lived almost three  
hundred years before ,antoninus1 the    
great reputation which the earlier      
philosophers had acquired1 so imposed   
upon the imaginations of mankind1 that  
they seem to have despaired of ever     
equalling their renown4 ,all human      
wisdom1 they supposed1 was comprehended 
in the writings of those elder sages4   
,to abridge1 to explain1 and to comment 
upon them1 and thus show themselves1 at 
least1 capable of understanding some of 
their sublime mysteries1 became now the 
only road to reputation4 ,proclus and   
,theon wrote commentaries upon the      
system of ,ptolemy2 but1 to have        
attempted to invent a new one1 would    
then have been regarded1 not only as    
presumption1 but as impiety to the      

memory of their so much revered         
predecessors4  ,the ruin of the empire  
of the ,romans1 and1 along with it1 the 
subversion of all law and order1 which  
happened a few centuries afterwards1    
produced the entire neglect of that     
study of the connecting principles of   
nature1 to which leisure and security   
can alone give occasion4 ,after the fall
 of those great conquerors and          
civilizers of mankind1 the empire of the
 ,caliphs seems to have been the first  
state under which the world enjoyed that
 degree of tranquillity which the       
cultivation of the sciences requires4   
,it was under the protection of those   
generous and magnificent princes1 that  
the ancient philosophy and astronomy of 
the ,greeks were restored and           
established in the ,east2 that          
tranquillity1 which their mild1 just1   
and religious government diffused over  
their vast empire1 revived the curiosity
 of mankind1 to inquire into the        
connecting principles of nature4 ,the   

9999fame of the ,greek and ,roman       
learning1 which was then recent in the  
memories of men1 made them desire to    
know1 concerning these abstruse         
subjects1 what were the doctrines of the
 so much renowned sages of those two    
nations4  ,they translated1 therefore1  
into the ,arabian language1 and studied1
 with great eagerness1 the works of many
 ,greek philosophers1 particularly of   
,aristotle1 ,ptolemy1 ,hippocrates1 and 
,galen4 ,the superiority which they     
easily discovered in them1 above the    
rude essays which #ced their own nation 
had yet had time to produce1 and which  
were such1 we may suppose1 as arise     
every where in the first infancy of     
science1 necessarily determined them to 
embrace their systems1 particularly that
 of ,astronomy3 neither were they ever  
afterwards able to throw off their      
authority4 ,for1 though the munificence 
of the ,abassides1 the second race of   
the ,caliphs1 is said to have supplied  
the ,arabian astronomers with larger and

 better instruments than any that were  
known to ,ptolemy and ,hipparchus1 the  
study of the sciences seems1 in that    
mighty empire1 to have been either of   
too short1 or too interrupted a         
continuance1 to allow them to make any  
considerable correction in the doctrines
 of those old mathematicians4 ,the      
imaginations of mankind had not yet got 
time to grow so familiar with the       
ancient systems1 as to regard them      
without some degree of that astonishment
 which their grandeur and novelty       
excited2 a novelty of a peculiar kind1  
which had at once the grace of what was 
new1 and the authority of what was      
ancient4 ,they were still1 therefore1   
too much enslaved to those systems1 to  
dare to depart from them1 when those    
confusions which shook1 and at last     
overturned the peaceful throne of the   
,caliphs1 banished the study of the     
sciences from that empire4 ,they had1   
however1 before this1 made some         
considerable improvements3 they had     

measured the obliquity of the ,ecliptic1
 with more accuracy than had been done  
before4 ,the tables of ,ptolemy had1 by 
the length of time1 and by the          
inaccuracy of the observations upon     
which they were founded1 become         
altogether wide of what was the real    
situation of the heavenly bodies1 as he 
himself indeed had foretold they would  
do4 ,it became necessary1 therefore1 to 
form new ones1 which was accordingly    
executed by the orders of the ,caliph   
,almamon1 under whom1 too1 was made the 
first mensuration of the ,earth that we 
know off1 after the commencement of the 
,christian era1 by two ,arabian         
astronomers1 who1 in the plain of       
,sennaar1 measured two degrees of its   
circumference4  ,the victorious arms of 
the ,saracens carried into ,spain the   
learning1 as well as the gallantry1 of  
the ,east2 and along with it1 the tables
 of ,almamon1 and the ,arabian          
translations of ,ptolemy and ,aristotle2
 and thus ,europe received a second     

time1 from ,babylon1 the rudiments of   
the science of the heavens4 ,the        
writings of ,ptolemy were translated    
from ,arabic into ,latin2 and the       
,peripatetic philosophy was studied in  
,averroes and ,avicenna with as much    
eagerness and as much submission to its 
doctrines in the ,west1 as it had been  
in the ,east4  ,the doctrine of the     
,solid ,spheres had1 originally1 been   
invented1 in order to give a physical   
account of the revolutions of the       
heavenly bodies1 according to the system
 of ,concentric ,circles1 to which that 
doctrine was very easily accommodated4  
,those mathematicians who invented the  
doctrine of ,eccentric ,circles and     
,epicycles1 contented themselves with   
showing1 how1 by supposing the heavenly 
bodies to revolve in such orbits1 the   
phenomena might be connected together1  
#cee and some sort of uniformity and    
coherence be bestowed upon their real   
motions4 ,the physical causes of those  
motions they left to the consideration  

of the philosophers2 though1 as appears 
from some passages of ,ptolemy1 they had
 some general apprehension1 that they   
were to be explained by a like          
hypothesis4 ,but1 though the system of  
,hipparchus was adopted by all          
astronomers and mathematicians1 it never
 was received1 as we have already       
observed1 by any one sect of            
philosophers among the ancients4 ,no    
attempt1 therefore1 seems to have been  
made amongst them1 to accommodate to it 
any such hypothesis4  ,the schoolmen1   
who received1 at once1 from the         
,arabians1 the philosophy of ,aristotle1
 and the astronomy of ,hipparchus1 were 
necessarily obliged to reconcile them to
 one another1 and to connect together   
the revolutions of the ,eccentric       
,circles and ,epicycles of the one1 by  
the solid ,spheres of the other4 ,many  
different attempts of this kind were    
made by many different philosophers3    
but1 of them all1 that of ,purbach1 in  
the fifteenth century1 was the happiest 

and the most esteemed4 ,though his      
hypothesis is the simplest of any of    
them1 it would be in vain to describe it
 without a scheme2 neither is it easily 
intelligible with one2 for1 if the      
system of ,eccentric ,circles and       
,epicycles was before too perplexed and 
intricate for the imagination to rest in
 it with complete tranquillity and      
satisfaction1 it became much more so1   
when this addition had been made to it4 
,the world1 justly indeed1 applauded the
 ingenuity of that philosopher1 who     
could unite1 so happily1 two such       
seemingly inconsistent systems4 ,his    
labours1 however1 seem rather to have   
increased than to have diminished the   
causes of that dissatisfaction1 which   
the learned soon began to feel with the 
system of ,ptolemy4 ,he1 as well as all 
those who had worked upon the same plan 
before1 by rendering this account of    
things more complex1 rendered it more   
embarrassing than it had been before4   
,neither was the complexness of this    

system the sole cause of the            
dissatisfaction1 which the world in     
general began1 soon after the days of   
,purbach1 to express for it4 ,the tables
 of ,ptolemy having1 upon account of the
 inaccuracy of the observations on which
 they were founded1 become altogether   
wide of the real situation of the       
heavenly bodies1 those of ,almamon1 in  
the ninth century1 were1 upon the same  
hypothesis1 composed to correct their   
deviations4 ,these again1 a few ages    
afterwards1 became1 for the same reason1
 equally useless4 ,in the thirteenth    
century1 ,alphonsus1 the philosophical  
,king of ,castile1 found it necessary to
 give orders for the composition of     
those tables1 which bear his name4 ,it  
is he1 who is so well known for the     
whimsical impiety of using to say1 that1
 had he been consulted at the creation  
of the universe1 he could have given    
good advice2 an apophthegm which is     
supposed to have proceeded from his     
dislike to the intricate system of      

,ptolemy4 ,in the fifteenth century1 the
 deviation of the ,alphonsine tables    
began to be as sensible1 as those of    
,ptolemy and #cef ,almamon had been     
before4 ,it appeared evident1 therefore1
 that1 though the system of ,ptolemy    
might1 in the main1 be true1 certain    
corrections were necessary to be made in
 it before it could be brought to       
correspond with exact precision to the  
phenomena4 ,for the revolution of his   
,eccentric ,circles and ,epicycles1     
supposing them to exist1 could not1 it  
was evident1 be precisely such as he    
represented them2 since the revolutions 
of the heavenly bodies deviated1 in a   
short time1 so widely from what the most
 exact calculations1 that were founded  
upon his hypothesis1 represented them4  
,it had plainly1 therefore1 become      
necessary to correct1 by more accurate  
observations1 both the velocities and   
directions of all the wheels and circles
 of which his hypothesis is composed4   
,this1 accordingly1 was begun by        

,purbach1 and carried on by             
,regiomontanus1 the disciple1 the       
continuator1 and the 9999perfecter of   
the system of ,purbach2 and one1 whose  
untimely death1 amidst innumerable      
projects for the recovery of old1 and   
the invention and advancement of new    
sciences1 is1 even at this day1 to be   
regretted4  ,when you have convinced the
 world1 that an established system ought
 to be corrected1 it is not very        
difficult to persuade them that it      
should be destroyed4 ,not long1         
therefore1 after the death of           
,regiomontanus1 ,copernicus began to    
meditate a new system1 which should     
connect together the new appearances1 in
 a more simple as well as a more        
accurate manner1 than that of ,ptolemy4 
,the confusion1 in which the old        
hypothesis represented the motions of   
the heavenly bodies1 was1 he tells us1  
what first suggested to him the design  
of forming a new system1 that these1 the
 noblest works of nature1 might no      

longer appear devoid of that harmony and
 proportion which discover themselves in
 her meanest productions4 ,what most of 
all dissatisfied him1 was the notion of 
the ,equalizing ,circle1 which1 by      
representing the revolutions of the     
,celestial ,spheres1 as equable only1   
when surveyed from a point that was     
different from their centres1 introduced
 a real inequality into their motions2  
contrary to that most natural1 and      
indeed fundamental idea1 with which all 
the authors of astronomical systems1    
,plato1 ,eudoxus1 ,aristotle1 even      
,hipparchus and ,ptolemy themselves1 had
 hitherto set out1 that the real motions
 of such beautiful and divine objects   
must necessarily be perfectly regular1  
and go on1 in a manner1 as agreeable to 
the imagination1 as the objects         
themselves are to the senses4 ,he began 
to consider1 therefore1 whether1 by     
supposing the heavenly bodies to be     
arranged in a different order from that 
in which ,aristotle and ,hipparchus has 

placed them1 this so much sought for    
uniformity might not be bestowed upon   
their motions4 ,to discover this        
arrangement1 he examined all the obscure
 traditions delivered down to us1       
concerning every other hypothesis which 
the ancients had invented1 for the same 
purpose4 ,he found1 in ,plutarch1 that  
some old ,pythagoreans had represented  
the ,earth as revolving in the centre of
 the universe1 like a wheel round its   
own axis2 and that #ceg others1 of the  
same sect1 had removed it from the      
centre1 and represented it as revolving 
in the ,ecliptic like a star round the  
central fire4 ,by this central fire1 he 
supposed they meant the ,sun2 and though
 in this he was very widely mistaken1 it
 was1 it seems1 upon this               
interpretation1 that he began to        
consider how such an hypothesis might be
 made to correspond to the appearances4 
,the supposed authority of these old    
philosophers1 if it did not originally  
suggest to him his system1 seems1 at    

least1 to have confirmed him in an      
opinion1 which1 it is not improbable1   
that he had beforehand other reasons for
 embracing1 notwithstanding what he     
himself would affirm to the contrary4   
,it then occurred to him1 that1 if the  
,earth was supposed to revolve every day
 round its axis1 from west to east1 all 
the heavenly bodies would appear to     
revolve1 in a contrary direction1 from  
east to west4 ,the diurnal revolution of
 the heavens1 upon this hypothesis1     
might be only apparent2 the firmament1  
which has no other sensible motion1     
might be perfectly at rest2 while the   
,sun1 the ,moon1 and the ,five ,planets1
 might have no other movement beside    
that eastward revolution1 which is      
peculiar to themselves4 ,that1 by       
supposing the ,earth to revolve with the
 ,planets1 round the ,sun1 in an orbit1 
which comprehended within it the orbits 
of ,venus and ,mercury1 but was         
comprehended within those of ,mars1     
,jupiter1 and ,saturn1 he could1 without

 the embarrassment of ,epicycles1       
connect together the apparent annual    
revolutions of the ,sun1 and the direct1
 retrograde1 and stationary appearances 
of the ,planets3 that while the ,earth  
really revolved round the ,sun on one   
side of the heavens1 the ,sun would     
appear to revolve round the ,earth on   
the other2 that while she really        
advanced in her annual course1 he would 
appear to advance eastward in that      
movement which is peculiar to himself4  
,that1 by supposing the axis of the     
,earth to be always parallel to itself1 
not to be quite perpendicular1 but      
somewhat inclined to the plane of her   
orbit1 and consequently to present to   
the ,sun1 the one pole when on the one  
side of him1 and the other when on the  
other1 he would account for the         
obliquity of the ,ecliptic2 the ,sun's  
seemingly alternate progression from    
north to south1 and from south to north1
 the consequent change of the seasons1  
and different lengths of the days and   

nights in the different seasons4  ,if   
this new hypothesis thus connected      
together all these appearances as       
happily as that of ,ptolemy1 there were 
others which it connected together much 
better4 ,the three superior ,planets1   
when nearly in conjunction with the     
,sun1 appear always at the greatest     
distance from the ,earth1 are smallest1 
and least sensible to the eye1 and seem 
to revolve forward in their direct      
motion with the greatest rapidity4 ,on  
the contrary1 when in opposition to the 
,sun1 that is1 when in their meridian   
about midnight1 they appear nearest the 
,earth1 are largest1 and most sensible  
to the eye1 and seem to revolve         
backwards in their retrograde motion4   
,to explain these appearances1 the      
system of ,ptolemy supposed #ceh each of
 these ,planets to be at the upper part 
of their several ,epicycles1 in the one 
case2 and at the lower1 in the other4   
,but it afforded no satisfactory        
principle of connection1 which could    

lead the mind easily to conceive how the
 ,epicycles of those ,planets1 whose    
spheres were so distant from the sphere 
of the ,sun1 should thus1 if one may say
 so1 keep time to his motion4 ,the      
system of ,copernicus afforded this     
easily1 and like a more simple machine1 
without the assistance of ,epicycles1   
connected together1 by fewer movements1 
the complex appearances of the heavens4 
,when the superior ,planets appear      
nearly in conjunction with the ,sun1    
they are then in the side of their      
orbits1 which is almost opposite to1 and
 most distant from the ,earth1 and      
therefore appear smallest1 and least    
sensible to the eye4 ,but1 as they then 
revolve in a direction which is almost  
contrary to that of the ,earth1 they    
appear to advance forward with double   
velocity2 as a ship1 that sails in a    
contrary direction to another1 appears  
from that other1 to sail both with its  
own velocity1 and the velocity of that  
from which it is seen4 ,on the contrary1

 when those ,planets are in opposition  
to the ,sun1 they are on the same side  
of the ,sun with the ,earth1 are nearest
 it1 most sensible to the eye1 and      
revolve in the same direction with it2  
but1 as their revolutions round the ,sun
 are slower than that of the ,earth1    
they are necessarily left behind by it1 
and therefore seem to revolve backwards2
 as a ship which sails slower than      
another1 though it sails in the same    
direction1 appears from that other to   
sail backwards4 ,after the same manner1 
by the same annual revolution of the    
,earth1 he connected together the direct
 and retrograde motions of the two      
inferior ,planets1 as well as the       
stationary appearances of all the ,five4
  ,there are some other particular      
phenomena of the two inferior ,planets1 
which correspond still better to this   
system1 and still worse to that of      
,ptolemy4 ,venus and ,mercury seem to   
attend constantly upon the motion of the
 ,sun1 appearing1 sometimes on the one  

side1 and sometimes on the other1 of    
that great luminary2 ,mercury being     
almost always buried in his rays1 and   
,venus never receding above forty-eight 
degrees from him1 contrary to what is   
observed in the other three ,planets1   
which are often seen in the opposite    
side of the heavens1 at the greatest    
possible distance from the ,sun4 ,the   
system of ,ptolemy accounted for this1  
by supposing that the centres of the    
,epicycles of these two ,planets were   
always in the same line with those of   
the ,sun and the ,earth2 that they      
appeared therefore in conjunction with  
the ,sun1 when either in the upper or   
lower part of their ,epicycles1 and at  
the greatest distance from him1 when in 
the sides of them4 ,it assigned1        
however1 no reason why the ,epicycles of
 these two ,planets should observe so   
different a rule from that which takes  
place in those of the other three1 nor  
for the enormous ,epicycle of ,venus1   
whose sides must have been forty-eight  

degrees distant from the ,sun1 while its
 centre was in conjunction with him1 and
 whose diameter must have covered #cei  
more than a quadrant of the ,great      
,circle4 ,but how easily all these      
appearances coincide with the           
hypothesis1 which represents those two  
inferior ,planets revolving round the   
,sun in orbits comprehended within the  
orbit of the ,earth1 is too obvious to  
require an explanation4  ,thus far did  
this new account of things render the   
appearances of the heavens more         
completely coherent than had been done  
by any of the former systems4 ,it did   
this1 too1 by a more simple and         
intelligible1 as well as more beautiful 
machinery4 ,it represented the ,sun1 the
 great enlightener of the universe1     
whose body was alone larger than all the
 ,planets taken together1 as established
 immovable in the centre1 shedding light
 and heat on all the worlds that        
circulated around him in one uniform    
direction1 but in longer or shorter     

periods1 according to their different   
distances4 ,it took away the diurnal    
revolution of the firmament1 whose      
rapidity1 upon the old hypothesis1 was  
beyond what even thought could conceive4
 ,it not only delivered the imagination 
from the embarrassment of ,epicycles1   
but from the difficulty of conceiving   
these two opposite motions going on at  
the same time1 which the system of      
,ptolemy and ,aristotle bestowed upon   
all the ,planets2 ,i mean1 their diurnal
 westward1 and periodical eastward      
revolutions4 ,the ,earth's revolution   
round its own axis took away the        
necessity for supposing the first1 and  
the second was easily conceived when by 
itself4 ,the ,five ,planets1 which seem1
 upon all other systems1 to be objects  
of a species by themselves1 unlike to   
every thing to which the imagination has
 been accustomed1 when supposed to      
revolve along with the ,earth round the 
,sun1 were naturally apprehended to be  
objects of the same kind with the       

,earth1 habitable1 opaque1 and          
enlightened only by the rays of the     
,sun4 ,and thus this hypothesis1 by     
classing them in the same species of    
things1 with an object that is of all   
others the most familiar to us1 took off
 that wonder and that uncertainty which 
the strangeness and singularity of their
 appearance had excited2 and thus far1  
too1 better answered the great end of   
,philosophy4  ,neither did the beauty   
and simplicity of this system alone     
recommend it to the imagination2 the    
novelty and unexpectedness of that view 
of nature1 which it opened to the fancy1
 excited more wonder and surprise than  
the strangest of those appearances1     
which it had been invented to render    
natural and familiar1 and these         
sentiments still more endeared it4 ,for1
 though it is the end of ,philosophy1 to
 allay that wonder1 which either the    
unusual or seemingly disjointed         
appearances of nature excite1 yet she   
never triumphs so much1 as when1 in     

order to connect together a few1 in     
themselves1 perhaps1 inconsiderable     
objects1 she has1 if ,i may say so1     
created another constitution of things1 
more natural1 indeed1 and such as the   
imagination can more easily attend to1  
but more new1 more contrary to common   
opinion and expectation1 than any of    
those appearances themselves4 ,as1 in   
the instance before us1 in order to     
connect together some seeming           
irregularities in the motions of #cfj   
the ,planets1 the most inconsiderable   
objects in the heavens1 and of which the
 greater part of mankind have no        
occasion to take any notice during the  
whole course of their lives1 she has1 to
 talk in the hyperbolical language of   
,tycho ,brahe1 moved the ,earth from its
 foundations1 stopped the revolution of 
the ,firmament1 made the ,sun stand     
still1 and subverted the whole order of 
the ,universe4  ,such were the          
advantages of this new hypothesis1 as   
they appeared to its author1 when he    

first invented it4 ,but1 though that    
love of paradox1 so natural to the      
learned1 and that pleasure1 which they  
are so apt to take in exciting1 by the  
novelties of their supposed discoveries1
 the amazement of mankind1 may1         
notwithstanding what one of his         
disciples tells us to the contrary1 have
 had its weight in prompting ,copernicus
 to adopt this system2 yet1 when he had 
completed his ,treatise of ,revolutions1
 and began coolly to consider what a    
strange doctrine he was about to offer  
to the world1 he so much dreaded the    
prejudice of mankind against it1 that1  
by a species of continence1 of all      
others the most difficult to a          
philosopher1 he detained it in his      
closet for thirty years together4 ,at   
last1 in the extremity of old age1 he   
allowed it to be extorted from him1 but 
he died as soon as it was printed1 and  
before it was published to the world4   
,when it appeared in the world1 it was  
almost universally disapproved of1 by   

the learned as well as by the ignorant4 
,the natural prejudices of sense1       
confirmed by education1 prevailed too   
much with both1 to allow them to give it
 a fair examination4 ,a few disciples   
only1 whom he himself had instructed in 
his doctrine1 received it with esteem   
and admiration4 ,one of them1           
,reinholdus1 formed1 upon this          
hypothesis1 larger and more accurate    
astronomical tables1 than what          
accompanied the ,treatise of            
,revolutions1 in which ,copernicus had  
been guilty of some errors in           
calculation4 ,it soon appeared1 that    
these ,prutenic ,tables1 as they were   
called1 corresponded more exactly with  
the heavens1 than the ,tables of        
,alphonsus4 ,this ought naturally to    
have formed a prejudice in favour of the
 diligence and accuracy of ,copernicus  
in observing the heavens4 ,but it ought 
to have formed none in favour of his    
hypothesis2 since the same observations1
 and the result of the same             

calculations1 might have been           
accommodated to the system of ,ptolemy1 
without making any greater alteration in
 that system than what ,ptolemy had     
foreseen1 and had even foretold should  
be made4 ,it formed1 however1 a         
prejudice in favour of both1 and the    
learned began to examine1 with some     
attention1 an hypothesis which afforded 
the easiest methods of calculation1 and 
upon which the most exact predictions   
had been made4 ,the superior degree of  
coherence1 which it bestowed upon the   
celestial appearances1 the simplicity   
and uniformity which it introduced into 
the real directions and velocities of   
the ,planets1 soon disposed many        
astronomers1 first to favour1 and at    
last to embrace a system1 which thus    
connected together so happily1 #cfa the 
most disjointed of those objects that   
chiefly occupied their thoughts4 ,nor   
can any thing more evidently            
demonstrate1 how easily the learned give
 up the evidence of their senses to     

preserve the coherence of the ideas of  
their imagination1 than the readiness   
with which this1 the most violent       
paradox in all philosophy1 was adopted  
by many ingenious astronomers1          
notwithstanding its inconsistency with  
every system of physics then known in   
the world1 and notwithstanding the great
 number of other more real objections1  
to which1 as ,copernicus left it1 this  
account of things was most justly       
exposed4  ,it was adopted1 however1 nor 
can this be wondered at1 by astronomers 
only4 ,the learned in all other         
sciences1 continued to regard it with   
the same contempt as the vulgar4 ,even  
astronomers were divided about its      
merit2 and many of them rejected a      
doctrine1 which not only contradicted   
the established system of ,natural      
,philosophy1 but which1 considered      
astronomically only1 seemed1 to them1 to
 labour under several difficulties4     
,some of the objections against the     
motion of the ,earth1 that were drawn   

from the prejudices of sense1 the       
patrons of this system1 indeed1 easily  
enough got over4 ,they represented1 that
 the ,earth might really be in motion1  
though1 to its inhabitants1 it seemed to
 be at rest2 and that the ,sun and      
,fixed ,stars might really be at rest1  
though from the ,earth they seemed to be
 in motion2 in the same manner as a     
ship1 which sails through a smooth sea1 
seems to those who are in it1 to be at  
rest1 though really in motion2 while the
 objects which she passes along1 seem to
 be in motion1 though really at rest4   
,but there were some other objections1  
which1 though grounded upon the same    
natural prejudices1 they found it more  
difficult to get over4 ,the earth had   
always presented itself to the senses1  
not only as at rest1 but as inert1      
ponderous1 and even averse to motion4   
,the imagination had always been        
accustomed to conceive it as such1 and  
suffered the greatest violence1 when    
obliged to pursue1 and attend it1 in    

that rapid motion which the system of   
,copernicus bestowed upon it4 ,to       
enforce their objection1 the adversaries
 of this hypothesis were at pains to    
calculate the extreme rapidity of this  
motion4 ,they represented1 that the     
circumference of the ,earth had been    
computed to be above twenty-thousand    
miles3 if the ,earth1 therefore1 was    
supposed to revolve every day round its 
axis1 every point of it near the equator
 would pass over above twenty-three     
thousand miles in a day2 and            
consequently1 near a thousand miles in  
an hour1 and about sixteen miles in a   
minute2 a motion more rapid than that of
 a cannon ball1 or even than the swifter
 progress of sound4 ,the rapidity of its
 periodical revolution was yet more     
violent than that of its diurnal        
rotation4 ,how1 therefore1 could the    
imagination ever conceive so ponderous a
 body to be naturally endowed with so   
dreadful a movement8 ,the ,peripatetic  
,philosophy1 the only philosophy then   

known in the world1 still further       
confirmed #cfb this prejudice4 ,that    
philosophy1 by a very natural1 though1  
perhaps1 groundless distinction1 divided
 all motion into ,natural and ,violent4 
,natural motion was that which flowed   
from an innate tendency in the body1 as 
when a stone fell downwards3 ,violent   
motion1 that which arose from external  
force1 and which was1 in some measure1  
contrary to the natural tendency of the 
body1 as when a stone was thrown        
upwards1 or horizontally4 ,no violent   
motion could be lasting2 for1 being     
constantly weakened by the natural      
tendency of the body1 it would soon be  
destroyed4 ,the natural motion of the   
,earth1 as was evident in all its parts1
 was downwards1 in a straight line to   
the centre2 as that of fire and air was 
upwards1 in a straight line from the    
centre4 ,it was the heavens only that   
revolved naturally in a circle4         
,neither1 therefore1 the supposed       
revolution of the ,earth round its own  

centre1 nor that round the ,sun1 could  
be natural motions2 they must therefore 
be violent1 and consequently could be of
 no long continuance4 ,it was in vain   
that ,copernicus replied1 that gravity  
was1 probably1 nothing else besides a   
tendency in the different parts of the  
same ,planet1 to unite themselves to one
 another2 that this tendency took place1
 probably1 in the parts of the other    
,planets1 as well as in those of the    
,earth2 that it could very well be      
united with a circular motion2 that it  
might be equally natural to the whole   
body of the ,planet1 and to every part  
of it2 that his adversaries themselves  
allowed1 that a circular motion was     
natural to the heavens1 whose diurnal   
revolution was infinitely more rapid    
than even that motion which he had      
bestowed upon the ,earth2 that though a 
like motion was natural to the ,earth1  
it would still appear to be at rest to  
its inhabitants1 and all the parts of it
 to tend in a straight line to the      

centre1 in the same manner as at        
present4 ,but this answer1 how          
satisfactory soever it may appear to be 
now1 neither did nor could appear to be 
satisfactory then4 ,by admitting the    
distinction betwixt natural and violent 
motions1 it was founded upon the same   
ignorance of mechanical principles with 
the objection4 ,the systems of          
,aristotle and ,hipparchus supposed1    
indeed1 the diurnal motion of the       
heavenly bodies to be infinitely more   
rapid than even that dreadful movement  
which ,copernicus bestowed upon the     
,earth4 ,but they supposed1 at the same 
time1 that those bodies were objects of 
a quite different species1 from any we  
are acquainted with1 near the surface of
 the ,earth1 and to which1 therefore1 it
 was less difficult to conceive that any
 sort of motion might be natural4 ,those
 objects1 besides1 had never presented  
themselves to the senses1 as moving     
otherwise1 or with less rapidity1 than  
these systems represented them4 ,the    

imagination1 therefore1 could feel no   
difficulty in following a representation
 which the senses had rendered quite    
familiar to it4 ,but when the ,planets  
came to be regarded as so many ,earths1 
the case was quite altered4 ,the        
imagination had been accustomed to      
conceive such objects as tending rather 
to rest than motion2 and this idea of   
their natural #cfc inertness1           
encumbered1 if one may say so1 and      
clogged its flight whenever it          
endeavoured to pursue them in their     
periodical courses1 and to conceive them
 as continually rushing through the     
celestial spaces1 with such violent and 
unremitting rapidity4  ,nor were the    
first followers of ,copernicus more     
fortunate in their answers to some other
 objections1 which were founded indeed  
in the same ignorance of the laws of    
motion1 but which1 at the same time1    
were necessarily connected with that way
 of conceiving things1 which then       
prevailed universally in the learned    

world4  ,if the earth1 it was said1     
revolved so rapidly from west to east1 a
 perpetual wind would set in from east  
to west1 more violent than what blows in
 the greatest hurricanes2 a stone1      
thrown westwards would fly to a much    
greater distance than one thrown with   
the same force eastwards2 as what moved 
in a direction1 contrary to the motion  
of the ,earth1 would necessarily pass   
over a greater portion of its surface1  
than what1 with the same velocity1 moved
 along with it4 ,a ball1 it was said1   
dropped from the mast of a ship under   
sail1 does not fall precisely at the    
foot of the mast1 but behind it2 and in 
the same manner1 a stone dropped from a 
high tower would not1 upon the          
supposition of the ,earth's motion1 fall
 precisely at the bottom of the tower1  
but west of it1 the ,earth being1 in the
 mean time1 carried away eastward from  
below it4 ,it is amusing to observe1 by 
what1 subtile and metaphysical evasions 
the followers of ,copernicus endeavoured

 to elude this objection1 which before  
the doctrine of the ,composition of     
,motion had been explained by ,galileo1 
was altogether unanswerable4 ,they      
allowed1 that a ball dropped from the   
mast of a ship under sail would not fall
 at the foot of the mast1 but behind it2
 because the ball1 they said1 was no    
part of the ship1 and because the motion
 of the ship was natural neither to     
itself nor to the ball4 ,but the stone  
was a part of the earth1 and the diurnal
 and annual revolutions of the ,earth   
were natural to the whole1 and to every 
part of it1 and therefore to the stone4 
,the stone1 therefore1 having naturally 
the same motion with the ,earth1 fell   
precisely at the bottom of the tower4   
,but this answer could not satisfy the  
imagination1 which still found it       
difficult to conceive how these motions 
could be natural to the earth2 or how a 
body1 which had always presented itself 
to the senses as inert1 ponderous1 and  
averse to motion1 should naturally be   

continually wheeling about both its own 
axis and the ,sun1 with such violent    
rapidity4 ,it was1 besides1 argued by   
,tycho ,brahe1 upon the principles of   
the same philosophy which had afforded  
both the objection and the answer1 that 
even upon the supposition1 that any such
 motion was natural to the whole body of
 the ,earth1 yet the stone1 which was   
separated from it1 could no longer be   
actuated by that motion4 ,the limb1     
which is cut off from an animal1 loses  
those animal motions which were natural 
to the whole4 ,the branch1 which is cut 
off from the trunk1 loses that          
vegetative #cfd motion which is natural 
to the whole tree4 ,even the metals1    
minerals1 and stones1 which were dug out
 from the bosom of the ,earth1 lose     
those motions which occasioned their    
production and increase1 and which were 
natural to them in their original state4
 ,though the diurnal and annual motion  
of the ,earth1 therefore1 had been      
natural to them while they were         

contained in its bosom1 it could no     
longer be so when they were separated   
from it4  ,tycho ,brahe1 the great      
restorer of the science of the heavens1 
who had spent his life1 and wasted his  
fortune upon the advancement of         
,astronomy1 whose observations were both
 more numerous and more accurate than   
those of all the astronomers who had    
gone before him1 was himself so much    
affected by the force of this objection1
 that1 though he had never mentioned the
 system of ,copernicus without some note
 of high admiration he had conceived for
 its author1 he could never himself be  
induced to embrace it2 yet all his      
astronomical observations tended to     
confirm it4 ,they demonstrated1 that    
,venus and ,mercury were sometimes      
above1 and sometimes below the ,sun2 and
 that1 consequently1 the ,sun1 and not  
the ,earth1 was the centre of their     
periodical revolutions4 ,they showed1   
that ,mars1 when in his meridian at     
midnight1 was nearer to the ,earth than 

the ,earth is to the ,sun2 though1 when 
in conjunction with the ,sun1 he was    
much more remote from the ,earth than   
that luminary2 a discovery which was    
absolutely inconsistent with the system 
of ,ptolemy1 which proved1 that the     
,sun1 and not the ,earth1 was the centre
 of the periodical revolutions of ,mars1
 as well as of ,venus and ,mercury2 and 
which demonstrated that the ,earth was  
placed betwixt the orbits of ,mars and  
,venus4 ,they made the same thing       
probable with regard to ,jupiter and    
,saturn2 that they1 too1 revolved round 
the ,sun2 and that1 therefore1 the ,sun1
 if not the centre of the universe1 was 
at least1 that of the planetary system4 
,they proved that ,comets were superior 
to the ,moon1 and moved through the     
heavens in all possible directions2 an  
observation incompatible with the ,solid
 ,spheres of ,aristotle and ,purbach1   
and which1 therefore1 overturned the    
physical part1 at least1 of the         
established systems of ,astronomy4  ,all

 these observations1 joined to his      
aversion to the system1 and perhaps1    
notwithstanding the generosity of his   
character1 some little jealousy for the 
fame of ,copernicus1 suggested to ,tycho
 the idea of a new hypothesis1 in which 
the ,earth continued to be1 as in the   
old account1 the immovable centre of the
 universe1 round which the firmament    
revolved every day from east to west1   
and1 by some secret virtue1 carried the 
,sun1 the ,moon1 and the ,five ,planets 
along with it1 notwithstanding their    
immense distance1 and notwithstanding   
that there was nothing betwixt it and   
them but the most fluid ether4 ,but1    
although all these seven bodies thus    
obeyed the diurnal revolution of the    
,firmament1 they had each of them1 as in
 the old system1 too1 a #cfe contrary   
periodical eastward revolution of their 
own1 which made them appear to be every 
day1 more or less1 left behind by the   
,firmament4 ,the ,sun was the centre of 
the periodical revolutions of the ,five 

,planets2 the ,earth1 that of the ,sun  
and ,moon4 ,the ,five ,planets followed 
the ,sun in his periodical revolution   
round the ,earth1 as they did the       
,firmament in its diurnal rotation4 ,the
 three superior ,planets comprehended   
the ,earth within the orbit in which    
they revolved round the ,sun1 and had   
each of them an ,epicycle to connect    
together1 in the same manner as in the  
system of ,ptolemy1 their direct1       
retrograde1 and stationary appearances4 
,as1 notwithstanding their immense      
distance1 they followed the ,sun in his 
periodical revolution round the ,earth1 
keeping always at an equal distance from
 him1 they were necessarily brought much
 nearer to the ,earth when in opposition
 to the ,sun1 than than when in         
conjunction with him4 ,mars1 the nearest
 of them1 when in his meridian at       
midnight1 came within the orbit which   
the ,sun described round the ,earth1 and
 consequently was then nearer to the    
,earth than the ,earth was to the ,sun4 

,the appearances of the two inferior    
,planets were explained1 in the same    
manner1 as in the system of ,copernicus1
 and consequently required no ,epicycle 
to connect them4 ,the circles in which  
the ,five ,planets performed their      
periodical revolutions round the ,sun1  
as well as those in which the ,sun and  
,moon performed theirs round the ,earth1
 were1 as both in the old and new       
hypothesis1 ,eccentric ,circles1 to     
connect together their differently      
accelerated and retarded motions4  ,such
 was the system of ,tycho ,brahe1       
compounded1 as is evident1 out of these 
of ,ptolemy and ,copernicus2 happier    
than that of ,ptolemy1 in the account   
which it gives of the motions of the two
 inferior ,planets2 more complex1 by    
supposing the different revolutions of  
all the ,five to be performed round two 
different centres2 the diurnal round the
 ,earth1 the periodical round the ,sun1 
but1 in every respect1 more complex and 
more incoherent than that of            

,copernicus4 ,such1 however1 was the    
difficulty that mankind felt in         
conceiving the motion of the ,earth1    
that it long balanced the reputation of 
that otherwise more beautiful system4   
,it may be said1 that those who         
considered the heavens only1 favoured   
the system of ,copernicus1 which        
connected so happily all the appearances
 which presented themselves there2 but  
that those who looked upon the ,earth1  
adopted the account of ,tycho ,brahe1   
which1 leaving it at rest in the centre 
of the universe1 did less violence to   
the usual habits of the imagination4    
,the learned were1 indeed1 sensible of  
the intricacy1 and of the many          
incoherences of that system2 that it    
gave no account why the ,sun1 ,moon1 and
 ,five ,planets1 should follow the      
revolution of the ,firmament2 or why the
 ,five ,planets1 notwithstanding the    
immense distance of the three superior  
ones1 should obey the periodical motion 
of the ,sun2 or why the ,earth1 though  

placed between the orbits of ,mars and  
,venus1 should remain immovable in the  
centre #cff of the ,firmament1 and      
constantly resist the influence of      
whatever it was1 which carried bodies   
that were so much larger than itself1   
and that were placed on all sides of it1
 periodically round the ,sun4 ,tycho    
,brahe died before he had fully         
explained his system4 ,his great and    
merited renown disposed many of the     
learned to believe1 that1 had his life  
been longer1 he would have connected    
together many of these incoherences1 and
 knew methods of adapting his system to 
some other appearances1 with which none 
of his followers could connect it4  ,the
 objection to the system of ,copernicus1
 which was drawn from the nature of     
motion1 and that was most insisted on by
 ,tycho ,brahe1 was at last fully       
answered by ,galileo2 not1 however1 till
 about thirty years after the death of  
,tycho1 and about a hundred after that  
of ,copernicus4 ,it was then that       

,galileo1 by explaining the nature of   
the composition of motion1 by showing1  
both from reason and experience1 that a 
ball dropped from the mast of a ship    
under sail would fall precisely at the  
foot of the mast1 and by rendering this 
doctrine1 from a great number of other  
instances1 quite familiar to the        
imagination1 took off1 perhaps1 the     
principal objection which had been made 
to this hypothesis of the astronomers4  
,several other astronomical             
difficulties1 which encumbered this     
account of things1 were removed by the  
same philosopher4 ,copernicus1 after    
altering the centre of the world1 and   
making the ,earth1 and all the ,planets 
revolve round the ,sun1 was obliged to  
leave the ,moon to revolve round the    
,earth as before4 ,but no example of any
 such secondary ,planet having then been
 discovered in the heavens1 there seemed
 still to be this irregularity remaining
 in the system4 ,galileo1 who first     
applied telescopes to ,astronomy1       

discovered1 by their assistance1 the    
,satellites of ,jupiter1 which1         
revolving round that ,planet1 at the    
same time that they were carried along  
with it in its revolution1 round either 
the ,earth1 or the ,sun1 made it seem   
less contrary to the analogy of nature1 
that the ,moon should both revolve round
 the ,earth1 and accompany her in her   
revolution round the ,sun4  ,it had been
 objected to ,copernicus1 that1 if      
,venus and ,mercury revolved round the  
,sun in an orbit comprehended within the
 orbit of the ,earth1 they would show   
all the same phases with the ,moon2     
present1 sometimes their darkened1 and  
sometimes their enlightened sides to the
 ,earth1 and sometimes part of the one1 
and part of the other4 ,he answered1    
that they undoubtedly did all this2 but 
that their smallness and distance       
hindered us from perceiving it4 ,this   
very bold assertion of ,copernicus was  
confirmed by ,galileo4 ,his telescopes  
rendered the phases of ,venus quite     

sensible1 and thus demonstrated1 more   
evidently than had been done1 even by   
the observations of ,tycho ,brahe1 the  
revolutions of these two ,planets round 
the ,sun1 as well as so far destroyed   
the system of ,ptolemy4  ,the mountains 
and seas1 which1 by the help of the same
 instrument1 #cfg he discovered1 or     
imagined he had discovered in the ,moon1
 rendering that ,planet1 in every       
respect1 similar to the ,earth1 made it 
seem less contrary to the analogy of    
nature1 that1 as the ,moon revolved     
round the ,earth1 the ,earth should     
revolve round the ,sun4  ,the spots     
which1 in the same manner1 he discovered
 in the ,sun1 demonstrating1 by their   
motion1 the revolution of the ,sun round
 his axis1 made it seem less improbable 
that the ,earth1 a body so much smaller 
than the ,sun1 should likewise revolve  
round her axis in the same manner4      
,succeeding telescopical observations1  
discovered1 in each of the ,five        
,planets1 spots not unlike those which  

,galileo had observed in the ,moon1 and 
thereby seemed to demonstrate what      
,copernicus had only conjectured1 that  
the ,planets were naturally opaque1     
enlightened only by the rays of the     
,sun1 habitable1 diversified by seas and
 mountains1 and1 in every respect1      
bodies of the same kind with the earth2 
and thus added one other probability to 
this system4 ,by discovering1 too1 that 
each of the ,planets revolved round its 
own axis1 at the same time that it was  
carried round either the ,earth or the  
,sun1 they made it seem quite agreeable 
to the analogy of nature1 that the      
,earth1 which1 in every other respect1  
resembled the ,planets1 should1 like    
them too1 revolve round its own axis1   
and at the same time perform its        
periodical motion round the ,sun4       
,while1 in ,italy1 the unfortunate      
,galileo was adding so many             
probabilities to the system of          
,copernicus1 there was another          
philosopher employing himself in        

,germany1 to ascertain1 correct1 and    
improve it2 ,kepler1 with great genius1 
but without the taste1 or the order and 
method of ,galileo1 possessed1 like all 
his other countrymen1 the most laborious
 industry1 joined to that passion for   
discovering proportions and resemblances
 betwixt the different parts of nature1 
which1 though common to all             
philosophers1 seems1 in him1 to have    
been excessive4 ,he had been instructed1
 by ,mstlinus1 in the system of         
,copernicus2 and his first curiosity    
was1 as he tells us1 to find out1 why   
the ,planets1 the ,earth being counted  
for one1 were ,six in number2 why they  
were placed at such irregular distances 
from the ,sun2 and whether there was any
 uniform proportion betwixt their       
several distances1 and the times        
employed in their periodical            
revolutions4 ,till some reason1 or      
proportion of this kind1 could be       
discovered1 the system did not appear to
 him to be completely coherent4 ,he     

endeavoured1 first1 to find it in the   
proportions of numbers1 and plain       
figures2 afterwards1 in those of the    
regular solids2 and1 last of all1 in    
those of the musical divisions of the   
,octave4 ,whatever was the science which
 ,kepler was studying1 he seems         
constantly to have pleased himself with 
finding some analogy betwixt it and the 
system of the universe2 and thus1       
arithmetic and music1 plane and solid   
geometry1 came all of them by turns to  
illustrate the doctrine of the ,sphere1 
in the explaining of which he was1 by   
his #cfh profession1 principally        
employed4 ,tycho ,brahe1 to whom he had 
presented one of his books1 though he   
could not but disapprove of his system1 
was pleased1 however1 with his genius1  
and with his indefatigable diligence in 
making the most laborious calculations4 
,that generous and magnificent ,dane    
invited the obscure and indigent ,kepler
 to come and live with him1 and         
communicated to him1 as soon as he      

arrived1 his observations upon ,mars1 in
 the arranging and methodizing of which 
his disciples were at that time         
employed4 ,kepler1 upon comparing them  
with one another1 found1 that the orbit 
of ,mars was not a perfect circle2 that 
one of its diameters was somewhat longer
 than the other2 and that it approached 
to an oval1 or an ellipse1 which had the
 ,sun placed in one of its foci4 ,he    
found1 too1 that the motion of the      
,planet was not equable2 that it was    
swiftest when nearest the ,sun1 and     
slowest when furthest from him2 and that
 its velocity gradually increased1 or   
diminished1 according as it approached  
or receded from him4 ,the observations  
of the same astronomer discovered to    
him1 though not so evidently1 that the  
same things were true of all the other  
,planets2 that their orbits were        
elliptical1 and that their motions were 
swiftest when nearest the ,sun1 and     
slowest when furthest from him4 ,they   
showed the same things1 too1 of the     

,sun1 if supposed to revolve round the  
,earth2 and consequently of the ,earth1 
if it also was supposed to revolve round
 the ,sun4  ,that the motions of all the
 heavenly bodies were perfectly         
circular1 had been the fundamental idea 
upon which every astronomical           
hypothesis1 except the irregular one of 
the ,stoics1 had been built4 ,a circle1 
as the degree of its curvature is every 
where the same1 is of all curve lines   
the simplest and the most easily        
conceived4 ,since it was evident1       
therefore1 that the heavenly bodies did 
not move in straight lines1 the indolent
 imagination found1 that it could most  
easily attend to their motions if they  
were supposed to revolve in perfect     
circles4 ,it had1 upon this account1    
determined that a circular motion was   
the most perfect of all motions1 and    
that none but the most perfect motion   
could be worthy of such beautiful and   
divine objects2 and it had upon this    
account1 so often1 in vain1 endeavoured 

to adjust to the appearances1 so many   
different systems1 which all supposed   
them to revolve in this perfect manner4 
,the equality of their motions was      
another fundamental idea1 which1 in the 
same manner1 and for the same reason1   
was supposed by all the founders of     
astronomical systems4 ,for an equal     
motion can be more easily attended to1  
than one that is continually either     
accelerated or retarded4 ,all           
inconsistency1 therefore1 was declared  
to be unworthy those bodies which       
revolved in the celestial regions1 and  
to be fit only for inferior and         
sublunary things4 ,the calculations of  
,kepler overturned1 with regard to the  
,planets1 both these natural prejudices 
of the imagination2 destroyed their     
circular orbits2 and introduced into    
their #cfi real motions1 such an        
equality as no equalizing circle would  
remedy4 ,it was1 however1 to render     
their motion perfectly equable1 without 
even the assistance of a equalizing     

circle1 that ,copernicus1 as he himself 
assures us1 had originally invented his 
system4 ,since the calculations of      
,kepler1 therefore1 overturned what     
,copernicus had principally in view in  
establishing his system1 we cannot      
wonder that they should at first seem   
rather to embarrass than improve it4    
,it is true1 by these elliptical orbits 
and unequal motions1 ,kepler disengaged 
the system from the embarrassment of    
those small ,epicycles1 which           
,copernicus1 in order to connect the    
seemingly accelerated and retarded      
movements of the ,planets1 with their   
supposed real equality1 had been obliged
 to leave in it4 ,for it is remarkable1 
that though ,copernicus had delivered   
the orbits of the ,planets from the     
enormous ,epicycles of ,hipparchus1 that
 though in this consisted the great     
superiority of his system above that of 
the ancient astronomers1 he was yet     
obliged1 himself1 to abandon1 in some   
measure1 this advantage1 and to make use

 of some small ,epicycles1 to join      
together those seeming irregularities4  
,his ,epicycles indeed1 like the        
irregularities for whose sake they were 
introduced1 were but small ones1 and the
 imaginations of his first followers    
seem1 accordingly1 either to have       
slurred them over altogether1 or        
scarcely to have observed them4 ,neither
 ,galileo1 nor ,gassendi1 the two most  
eloquent of his defenders1 take any     
notice of them4 ,nor does it seem to    
have been generally attended to1 that   
there was any such thing as ,epicycles  
in the system of ,copernicus1 till      
,kepler1 in order to vindicate his own  
elliptical orbits1 insisted1 that even1 
according to ,copernicus1 the body of   
the ,planet was to be found but at two  
different places in the circumference of
 that circle which the centre of its    
,epicycle described4  ,it is true1 too1 
that an ellipse is1 of all curve lines  
after a circle1 the simplest and most   
easily conceived2 and it is true1       

besides all this1 that1 while ,kepler   
took from the motion of the ,planets the
 easiest of all proportions1 that of    
equality1 he did not leave them         
absolutely without one1 but ascertained 
the rule by which their velocities      
continually varied2 for a genius so fond
 of analogies1 when he had taken away   
one1 would be sure to substitute another
 in its room4 ,notwithstanding all this1
 notwithstanding that his system was    
better supported by observations than   
any system had ever been before1 yet1   
such was the attachment to the equal    
motions and circular orbits of the      
,planets1 that it seems1 for some time1 
to have been in general but little      
attended to by the learned1 to have been
 altogether neglected by philosophers1  
and not much regarded even by           
astronomers4  ,gassendi1 who began to   
figure in the world about the latter    
days of ,kepler1 and who was himself no 
mean astronomer1 seems indeed to have   
conceived a good deal of esteem for his 

diligence and accuracy in accommodating 
the observations of ,tycho ,brahe to the
 system of #cgj ,copernicus4 ,but       
,gassendi appears to have had no        
comprehension of the importance of those
 alterations which ,kepler had made in  
that system1 as is evident from his     
scarcely ever mentioning them in the    
whole course of his voluminous writings 
upon ,astronomy4 ,des ,cartes1 the      
contemporary and rival of ,gassendi1    
seems to have paid no attention to them 
at all1 but to have built his ,theory of
 the ,heavens1 without any regard to    
them4 ,even those astronomers1 whom a   
serious attention had convinced of the  
justness of his corrections1 were still 
so enamoured with the circular orbits   
and equal motion1 that they endeavoured 
to compound his system with those       
ancient but natural prejudices4 ,thus1  
,ward endeavoured to show that1 though  
the ,planets moved in elliptical orbits1
 which had the ,sun in one of their     
foci1 and though their velocities in the

 elliptical line were continually       
varying1 yet1 if a ray was supposed to  
be extended from the centre of any one  
of them to the other focus1 and to be   
carried along by the periodical motion  
of the ,planet1 it would make equal     
angles in equal times1 and consequently 
cut off equal portions of the circle of 
which that other focus was the centre4  
,to one1 therefore1 placed in that      
focus1 the motion of the ,planet would  
appear to be perfectly circular and     
perfectly equable1 in the same manner as
 in the ,equalizing ,circles of ,ptolemy
 and ,hipparchus4 ,thus ,bouillaud1 who 
censured this hypothesis of ,ward1      
invented another of the same kind1      
infinitely more whimsical and           
capricious4 ,the ,planets1 according to 
that astronomer1 always revolve in      
circles2 for that being the most perfect
 figure1 it is impossible they should   
revolve in any other4 ,no one of them1  
however1 continues to move in any one   
circle1 but is perpetually passing from 

one to another1 through an infinite     
number of circles1 in the course of each
 revolution2 for an ellipse1 said he1 is
 an oblique section of a cone1 and in a 
cone1 betwixt the two vortices of the   
ellipse there is an infinite number of  
circles1 out of the infinitely small    
portions of which the elliptical line is
 compounded4 ,the ,planet1 therefore    
which moves in this line1 is1 in every  
point of it1 moving in an infinitely    
small portion of a certain circle4 ,the 
motion of each ,planet1 too1 according  
to him1 was necessarily1 for the same   
reason1 perfectly equable4 ,an equable  
motion being the most perfect of all    
motions4 ,it was not1 however1 in the   
elliptical line1 that it was equable1   
but in any one of the circles that were 
parallel to the base of that cone1 by   
whose section this elliptical line had  
been formed3 for1 if a ray was extended 
from the ,planet to any one of those    
circles1 and carried along by its       
periodical motion1 it would cut off     

equal portions of that circle in equal  
times2 another most fantastical         
equalising circle1 supported by no other
 foundation besides the frivolous       
connection between a cone and an        
ellipse1 and recommended by nothing but 
the natural passion for circular orbits 
and equable motions4 ,it may be regarded
 as the last effort of this passion1 and
 may serve to show the force of that    
principle which could #cga thus oblige  
this accurate observer1 and great       
improver of the ,theory of the ,heavens1
 to adopt so strange an hypothesis4     
,such was the difficulty and hesitation 
with which the followers of ,copernicus 
adopted the corrections of ,kepler4     
,the rule1 indeed1 which ,kepler        
ascertained for determining the gradual 
acceleration or retardation in the      
movement of the ,planets1 was intricate1
 and difficult to be comprehended2 it   
could therefore but little facilitate   
the progress of the imagination in      
tracing those revolutions which were    

supposed to be conducted by it4         
,according to that astronomer1 if a     
straight line was drawn from the centre 
of each ,planet to the ,sun1 and carried
 along by the periodical motion of the  
,planet1 it would describe equal areas  
in equal times1 though the ,planet did  
not pass over equal spaces2 and the same
 rule he found1 took place nearly with  
regard to the ,moon4 ,the imagination1  
when acquainted with the law by which   
any motion is accelerated or retarded1  
can follow and attend to it more easily1
 than when at a loss1 and1 as it were1  
wandering in uncertainty with regard to 
the proportion which regulates its      
varieties2 the discovery of this analogy
 therefore1 no doubt1 rendered the      
system of ,kepler more agreeable to the 
natural taste of mankind3 it1 was1      
however1 an analogy too difficult to be 
followed1 or comprehended1 to render it 
completely so4  ,kepler1 besides this1  
introduced another new analogy into the 
system1 and first discovered1 that there

 was one uniform relation observed      
betwixt the distances of the ,planets   
from the ,sun1 and the times employed in
 their periodical motions4 ,he found1   
that their periodical times were greater
 than in proportion to their distances1 
and less than in proportion to the      
squares of those distances2 but1 that   
they were nearly as the mean            
proportionals betwixt their distances   
and the squares of their distances2 or1 
in other words1 that the squares of     
their periodical times were nearly as   
the cubes of their distances2 an        
analogy1 which1 though1 like all others1
 it no doubt rendered the system        
somewhat more distinct and              
comprehensible1 was1 however1 as well as
 the former1 of too intricate a nature  
to facilitate very much the effort of   
the imagination in conceiving it4  ,the 
truth of both these analogies1 intricate
 as they were1 was at last fully        
established by the observations of      
,cassini4 ,that astronomer first        

discovered1 that the secondary ,planets 
of ,jupiter and ,saturn revolved round  
their primary ones1 according to the    
same laws which ,kepler had observed in 
the revolutions of the primary ones     
round the ,sun1 and that of the ,moon   
round the earth2 that each of them      
described equal areas in equal times1   
and that the squares of their periodic  
times were as the cubes of their        
distances4 ,when these two last abstruse
 analogies1 which1 when ,kepler at first
 observed them1 were but little         
regarded1 had been thus found to take   
place in the revolutions of the ,four   
,satellites of ,jupiter1 and in those of
 the ,five of ,saturn1 they were #cgb   
now thought not only to confirm the     
doctrine of ,kepler1 but to add a new   
probability to the ,copernican          
hypothesis4 ,the observations of        
,cassini seem to establish it as a law  
of the system1 that1 when one body      
revolved round another1 it described    
equal areas in equal times2 and that1   

when several revolved round the same    
body1 the squares of their periodic     
times were as the cubes of their        
distances4 ,if the ,earth and the ,five 
,planets were supposed to revolve round 
the ,sun1 these laws1 it was said1 would
 take place universally4 ,but if1       
according to the system of ,ptolemy1 the
 ,sun1 ,moon1 and ,five ,planets were   
supposed to revolve round the ,earth1   
the periodical motions of the ,sun and  
,moon1 would1 indeed1 observe the first 
of these laws1 would each of them       
describe equal areas in equal times2 but
 they would not observe the second1 the 
squares of their periodic times would   
not be as the cubes of their distances3 
and the revolutions of the ,five        
,planets would observe neither the one  
law nor the other4 ,or if1 according to 
the system of ,tycho ,brahe1 the ,five  
,planets were supposed to revolve round 
the ,sun1 while the ,sun and ,moon      
revolved round the ,earth1 the          
revolutions of the ,five ,planets round 

the ,sun1 would1 indeed1 observe both   
these laws2 but those of the ,sun and   
,moon round the ,earth would observe    
only the first of them4 ,the analogy of 
nature1 therefore1 could be preserved   
completely1 according to no other system
 but that of ,copernicus1 which1 upon   
that account1 must be the true one4     
,this argument is regarded by ,voltaire1
 and the ,cardinal of ,polignac1 as an  
irrefragable demonstration2 even        
,m',laurin1 who was more capable of     
judging1 nay1 ,newton himself1 seems to 
mention it as one of the principal      
evidences for the truth of that         
hypothesis4 ,yet1 an analogy of this    
kind1 it would seem1 far from a         
demonstration1 could afford1 at most1   
but the shadow of a probability4  ,it is
 true1 that though ,cassini supposed the
 ,planets to revolve in an oblong curve1
 it was in a curve somewhat different   
from that of ,kepler4 ,in the ellipse1  
the sum of the two lines which are drawn
 from any one point in the circumference

 to the two foci1 is always equal to    
that of those which are drawn from any  
other point in the circumference to the 
same foci4 ,in the curve of ,cassini1 it
 is not the sum of the lines1 but the   
rectangles which are contained under the
 lines1 that are always equal4 ,as this1
 however1 was a proportion more         
difficult to be comprehended by         
astronomers than the other1 the curve of
 ,cassini has never had the vogue4      
,nothing now embarrassed the system of  
,copernicus1 but the difficulty which   
the imagination felt in conceiving      
bodies so immensely ponderous as the    
,earth and the other ,planets revolving 
round the ,sun with such incredible     
rapidity4 ,it was in vain that          
,copernicus pretended1 that1            
notwithstanding the prejudices of sense1
 this circular motion might be as       
natural to the ,planets1 as it is to a  
stone to fall to the ground4 ,the       
imagination had been accustomed to      
conceive such #cgc objects as tending   

rather to rest than motion4 ,this       
habitual idea of their natural inertness
 was incompatible with that of their    
natural motion4 ,it was in vain that    
,kepler1 in order to assist the fancy in
 connecting together this natural       
inertness with their astonishing        
velocities1 talked of some vital and    
immaterial virtue1 which was shed by the
 ,sun into the surrounding spaces1 which
 was whirled about with his revolution  
round his own axis1 and which1 taking   
hold of the ,planets1 forced them1 in   
spite of their ponderousness and strong 
propensity to rest1 thus to whirl about 
the centre of the system4 ,the          
imagination had no hold of this         
immaterial virtue1 and could form no    
determinate idea of what it consisted   
in4 ,the imagination1 indeed1 felt a    
gap1 or interval1 betwixt the constant  
motion and the supposed inertness of the
 ,planets1 and had in this1 as in all   
other cases1 some general idea or       
apprehension that there must be a       

connecting chain of intermediate objects
 to link together these discordant      
qualities4 ,wherein this connecting     
chain consisted1 it was1 indeed1 at a   
loss to conceive2 nor did the doctrine  
of ,kepler lend it any assistance in    
this respect4 ,that doctrine1 like      
almost all those of the philosophy in   
fashion during his time1 bestowed a name
 upon this invisible chain1 called it an
 immaterial virtue1 but afforded no     
determinate idea of what was its nature4
  ,des ,cartes was the first who        
attempted to ascertain1 precisely1      
wherein this invisible chain consisted1 
and to afford the imagination a train of
 intermediate events1 which1 succeeding 
each other in an order that was of all  
others the most familiar to it1 should  
unite those incoherent qualities1 the   
rapid motion1 and the natural inertness 
of the ,planets4 ,des ,cartes was the   
first who explained wherein consisted   
the real inertness of matter2 that it   
was not in an aversion to motion1 or in 

a propensity to rest1 but in a power of 
continuing indifferently either at rest 
of in motion1 and of resisting1 with a  
certain force1 whatever endeavoured to  
change its state from the one to the    
other4 ,according to that ingenious and 
fanciful philosopher1 the whole of      
infinite space was full of matter1 for  
with him matter and extension were the  
same1 and consequently there could be no
 void4 ,this immensity of matter1 he    
supposed to be divided into an infinite 
number of very small cubes2 all of      
which1 being whirled about upon their   
own centres1 necessarily gave occasion  
to the production of two different      
elements4 ,the first consisted of those 
angular parts1 which1 having been       
necessarily rubbed off1 and grinded yet 
smaller by their mutual friction1       
constituted the most subtle and movable 
part of matter4 ,the second consisted of
 those little globules that were formed 
by the rubbing off of the first4 ,the   
interstices betwixt these globules of   

the second element was filled up by the 
particles of the first4 ,but in the     
infinite collisions1 which must occur in
 an infinite space filled with matter1  
and all in motion1 it must necessarily  
happen that many of the globules of the 
second element should be broken and     
grinded down into the first4 ,the       
quantity #cgd of the first element      
having been thus increased beyond what  
was sufficient to fill up the           
interstices of the second1 it must1 in  
many places1 have been heaped up        
together1 without any mixture of the    
second along with it4 ,such1 according  
to ,des ,cartes1 was the original       
division of matter4 ,upon this          
infinitude of matter thus divided1 a    
certain quantity of motion was          
originally impressed by the ,creator of 
all things1 and the laws of motion were 
so adjusted as always to preserve the   
same quantity in it1 without increase1  
and without diminution4 ,whatever motion
 was lost by one part of matter1 was    

communicated to some other2 and whatever
 was acquired by one part of matter1 was
 derived from some other3 and thus1     
through an eternal revolution1 from rest
 to motion1 and from motion to rest1 in 
every part of the universe1 the quantity
 of motion in the whole was always the  
same4  ,but1 as there was no void1 no   
one part of matter could be moved       
without thrusting some other out of its 
place1 nor that without thrusting some  
other1 and so on4 ,to avoid1 therefore1 
an infinite progress1 he supposed that  
the matter which any body pushed before 
it1 rolled immediately backwards1 to    
supply the place of that matter which   
flowed in behind it2 and as we may      
observe in the swimming of a fish1 that 
the water which it pushes before it1    
immediately rolls backward1 to supply   
the place of what flows in behind it1   
and thus forms a small circle or vortex 
round the body of the fish4 ,it was1 in 
the same manner1 that the motion        
originally impressed by the ,creator    

upon the infinitude of matter1          
necessarily produced in it an infinity  
of greater and smaller vortices1 or     
circular streams3 and the law of motion 
being so adjusted as always to preserve 
the same quantity of motion in the      
universe1 those vortices either         
continued for ever1 or by their         
dissolution gave birth to others of the 
same kind4 ,there was1 thus1 at all     
times1 an infinite number of greater and
 smaller vortices1 or circular streams1 
revolving in the universe4  ,but1       
whatever moves in a circle1 is          
constantly endeavouring to fly off from 
the centre of its revolution4 ,for the  
natural motion of all bodies is in a    
straight line4 ,all the particles of    
matter1 therefore1 in each of those     
greater vortices1 were continually      
pressing from the centre to the         
circumference1 with more or less force1 
according to the different degrees of   
their bulk and solidity4 ,the larger and
 more solid globules of the second      

element forced themselves upwards to the
 circumference1 while the smaller1 more 
yielding1 and more active particles of  
the first1 which could flow1 even       
through the interstices of the second1  
were forced downwards to the centre4    
,they were forced downwards to the      
centre1 notwithstanding their natural   
tendency was upwards to the             
circumference2 for the same reason that 
a piece of wood1 when plunged in water1 
is forced upwards to the surface1       
notwithstanding its natural tendency is 
downwards to the bottom2 because its    
tendency downwards is less strong than  
that of the particles of water1 which1  
therefore1 #cge if one may say so1 press
 in before it1 and thus force it        
upwards4 ,but there being a greater     
quantity of the first element than what 
was necessary to fill up the interstices
 of the second1 it was necessarily      
accumulated in the centre of each of    
these great circular streams1 and formed
 there the fiery and active substance of

 the ,sun4 ,for1 according to that      
philosopher1 the ,solar ,systems were   
infinite in number1 each ,fixed ,star   
being the centre of one3 and he is among
 the first of the moderns1 who thus took
 away the boundaries of the ,universe2  
even ,copernicus and ,kepler1           
themselves1 having confined it within1  
what they supposed1 to be the vault of  
the ,firmament4  ,the centre of each    
vortex being thus occupied by the most  
active and movable parts of matter1     
there was necessarily among them1 a more
 violent agitation than in any other    
part of the vortex1 and this violent    
agitation of the centre cherished and   
supported the movement of the whole4    
,but1 among the particles of the first  
element1 which fill up the interstices  
of the second1 there are many1 which1   
from the pressure of the globules on all
 sides of them1 necessarily receive an  
angular form1 and thus constitute a     
third element of particles less fit for 
motion than those of the other two4 ,as 

the particles1 however1 of this third   
element were formed in the interstices  
of the second1 they are necessarily     
smaller than those of the second1 and   
are1 therefore1 along with those of the 
first1 urged down towards the centre1   
where1 when a number of them happen to  
take hold of one another1 they form such
 spots upon the surface of the          
accumulated particles of the first      
element1 as are often discovered by     
telescopes upon the face of that ,sun   
which enlightens and animates our       
particular system4 ,those spots are     
often broken and dispelled1 by the      
violent agitation of the particles of   
the first element1 as has hitherto      
happily been the case with those which  
have successively been formed upon the  
face of our ,sun4 ,sometimes1 however1  
they encrust the whole surface of that  
fire which is accumulated in the centre2
 and the communication betwixt the most 
active and the most inert parts of the  
vortex being thus interrupted1 the      

rapidity of its motion immediately      
begins to languish1 and can no longer   
defend it from being swallowed up and   
carried away by the superior violence of
 some other like circular stream2 and in
 this manner1 what was once a ,sun1     
becomes a ,planet4 ,thus1 the time was1 
according to this system1 when the ,moon
 was a body of the same kind with the   
,sun1 the fiery centre of a circular    
stream of ether1 which flowed           
continually round her2 but her face     
having been crusted over by a congeries 
of angular particles1 the motion of this
 circular stream began to languish1 and 
could no longer defend itself from being
 absorbed by the more violent vortex of 
the ,earth1 which was then1 too1 a ,sun1
 and which chanced to be placed in its  
neighbourhood4 ,the ,moon1 therefore1   
became a ,planet1 and revolved round the
 ,earth4 ,in process of time1 the same  
fortune1 which had thus befallen the    
,moon1 befell also #cgf the ,earth2 its 
face was encrusted by a gross and       

inactive substance2 the motion of its   
vortex began to languish1 and it was    
absorbed by the greater vortex of the   
,sun3 but though the vortex of the      
,earth had thus become languid1 it still
 had force enough to occasion both the  
diurnal revolution of the ,earth1 and   
the monthly motion of the ,moon4 ,for a 
small circular stream may easily be     
conceived as flowing round the body of  
the ,earth1 at the same time that it is 
carried along by that great ocean of    
ether which is continually revolving    
round the ,sun2 in the same manner1 as  
in a great whirlpool of water1 one may  
often see several small whirlpools1     
which revolve round centres of their    
own1 and at the same time are carried   
round the centre of the great one4 ,such
 was the cause of the original formation
 and consequent motions of the          
,planetary ,system4 ,when a solid body  
is turned round its centre1 those parts 
of it1 which are nearest1 and those     
which are remotest from the centre1     

complete their revolutions in one and   
the same time4 ,but it is otherwise with
 the revolutions of a fluid2 the parts  
of it which are nearest the centre      
complete their revolutions in a shorter 
time1 than those which are remoter4 ,the
 ,planets1 therefore1 all floating1 in  
that immense tide of ether which is     
continually setting in from west to east
 round the body of the ,sun1 complete   
their revolutions in a longer or a      
shorter time1 according to their        
nearness or distance from him4 ,there   
was1 however1 according to ,des ,cartes1
 no very exact proportion observed      
betwixt the times of their revolutions  
and their distances from the centre4    
,for that nice analogy1 which ,kepler   
had discovered betwixt them1 having not 
yet been confirmed by the observations  
of ,cassini1 was1 as ,i before took     
notice1 entirely disregarded by ,des    
,cartes4 ,according to him1 too1 their  
orbits might not be perfectly circular1 
but be longer the one way than the      

other1 and thus approach to an ,ellipse4
 ,nor yet was it necessary to suppose1  
that they described this figure with    
geometrical accuracy1 or even that they 
described always precisely the same     
figure4 ,it rarely happens1 that nature 
can be mathematically exact with regard 
to the figure of the objects she        
produces1 upon account of the infinite  
combinations of impulses1 which must    
conspire to the production of each of   
her effects4 ,no two ,planets1 no two   
animals of the same kind1 have exactly  
the same figure1 nor is that of any one 
of them perfectly regular4 ,it was in   
vain1 therefore1 that astronomers       
laboured to find that perfect constancy 
and regularity in the motions of the    
heavenly bodies1 which is to be found in
 no other parts of nature4 ,these       
motions1 like all others1 must either   
languish or be accelerated1 according as
 the cause which produces them1 the     
revolution of the vortex of the ,sun1   
either languishes1 or is accelerated2   

and there are innumerable events which  
may occasion either the one or the other
 of those changes4  ,it was thus1 that  
,des ,cartes endeavoured to render      
familiar to the imagination1 the        
greatest difficulty in the ,copernican  
system1 the rapid #cgg motion of the    
enormous bodies of the ,planets4 ,when  
the fancy had thus been taught to       
conceive them as floating in an immense 
ocean of ether1 it was quite agreeable  
to its usual habits to conceive1 that   
they should follow the stream of this   
ocean1 how rapid soever4 ,this was an   
order of succession to which it had been
 long accustomed1 and with which it was1
 therefore1 quite familiar4 ,this       
account1 too1 of the motions of the     
,heavens1 was connected with a vast1 an 
immense system1 which joined together a 
greater number of the most discordant   
phenomena of nature1 than had been      
united by any other hypothesis2 a system
 in which the principles of connection1 
though perhaps equally imaginary1 were1 

however1 more distinct and determinate1 
than any that had been known before2 and
 which attempted to trace to the        
imagination1 not only the order of      
succession by which the heavenly bodies 
were moved1 but that by which they1 and 
almost all other natural objects1 had   
originally been produced4--,the         
,cartesian philosophy begins now to be  
almost universally rejected1 whilst the 
,copernican system continues to be      
universally received4 ,yet it is not    
easy to imagine1 how much probability   
and coherence this admired system was   
long supposed to derive from that       
exploded hypothesis4 ,till ,des ,cartes 
had published his principles1 the       
disjointed and incoherent system of     
,tycho ,brahe1 though it was embraced   
heartily and completely by scarce any   
body1 was yet constantly talked of by   
all the learned1 as1 in point of        
probability1 upon a level with          
,copernicus4 ,they took notice1 indeed1 
of its inferiority with regard to       

coherence and connection1 expressing    
hopes1 however1 that these defects might
 be remedied by some future             
improvements4 ,but when the world beheld
 that complete1 and almost perfect      
coherence1 which the philosophy of ,des 
,cartes bestowed upon the system of     
,copernicus1 the imaginations of mankind
 could no longer refuse themselves the  
pleasure of going along with so         
harmonious an account of things4 ,the   
system of ,tycho ,brahe was every day   
less and less talked of1 till at last it
 was forgotten altogether4  ,the system 
of ,des ,cartes1 however1 though it     
connected together the real motions of  
the heavenly bodies according to the    
system of ,copernicus1 more happily than
 had been done before1 did so only when 
they were considered in the gross2 but  
did not apply to them1 when they were   
regarded in the detail4 ,des ,cartes1 as
 was said before1 had never himself     
observed the ,heavens with any          
particular application4 ,though he was  

not ignorant1 therefore1 of any of the  
observations which had been made before 
his time1 he seems to have paid them no 
great degree of attention2 which1       
probably1 proceeded from his own        
inexperience in the study of ,astronomy4
 ,so far1 therefore1 from accommodating 
his system to all the minute            
irregularities1 which ,kepler had       
ascertained in the movements of the     
,planets2 or from showing1 particularly1
 how these irregularities1 and no other1
 should arise from it1 he contented     
himself with observing1 that perfect    
uniformity could not #cgh be expected in
 their motions1 from the nature of the  
causes which produced them2 that certain
 irregularities might take place in     
them1 for a great number of successive  
revolutions1 and afterwards gave way to 
others of a different kind3 a remark    
which1 happily1 relieved him from the   
necessity of applying his system to the 
observations of ,kepler1 and the other  
,astronomers4  ,but when the            

observations of ,cassini had established
 the authority of those laws1 which     
,kepler had first discovered in the     
system1 the philosophy of ,des ,cartes1 
which could afford no reason why such   
particular laws should be observed1     
might continue to amuse the learned in  
other sciences1 but could no longer     
satisfy those that were skilled in      
,astronomy4 ,sir ,isaac ,newton first   
attempted to give a physical account of 
the motions of the ,planets1 which      
should accommodate itself to all the    
constant irregularities which           
astronomers had ever observed in their  
motions4 ,the physical connection1 by   
which ,des ,cartes had endeavoured to   
bind together the movements of the      
,planets1 was the laws of impulse2 of   
all the orders of succession1 those     
which are most familiar to the          
imagination2 as they all flow from the  
inertness of matter4 ,after this        
quality1 there is no other with which we
 are so well acquainted as that of      

gravity4 ,we never act upon matter1 but 
we have occasion to observe it4 ,the    
superior genius and sagacity of ,sir    
,isaac ,newton1 therefore1 made the most
 happy1 and1 we may now say1 the        
greatest and most admirable improvement 
that was ever made in philosophy1 when  
he discovered1 that he could join       
together the movements of the ,planets  
by so familiar a principle of           
connection1 which completely removed all
 the difficulties the imagination had   
hitherto felt in attending to them4 ,he 
demonstrated1 that1 if the ,planets were
 supposed to gravitate towards the ,sun1
 and to one another1 and at the same    
time to have had a projecting force     
originally impressed upon them1 the     
primary ones might all describe ellipses
 in one of the foci of which that great 
luminary was placed2 and the secondary  
ones might describe figures of the same 
kind round their respective primaries1  
without being disturbed by the continual
 motion of the centres of their         

revolutions4 ,that if the force1 which  
retained each of them in their orbits1  
was like that of gravity1 and directed  
towards the ,sun1 they would1 each of   
them1 describe equal areas in equal     
times4 ,that if this attractive power of
 the ,sun1 like all other qualities     
which are diffused in rays from a       
centre1 diminished in the same          
proportion as the squares of the        
distances increased1 their motions would
 be swiftest when nearest the ,sun1 and 
slowest when farthest off from him1 in  
the same proportion in which1 by        
observation1 they are discovered to be2 
and that upon the same supposition1 of  
this gradual diminution of their        
respective gravities1 their periodic    
times would bear the same proportion to 
their distances1 which ,kepler and      
,cassini had established betwixt them4  
,having thus shown1 that gravity might  
be the #cgi connecting principle which  
joined together the movements of the    
,planets1 he endeavoured next to prove  

that it really was so4 ,experience shows
 us1 what is the power of gravity near  
the surface of the ,earth4 ,that it is  
such as to make a body fall1 in the     
first second of its descent1 through    
about fifteen ,parisian feet4 ,the ,moon
 is about sixty semidiameters of the    
,earth distant from its surface4 ,if    
gravity1 therefore1 was supposed to     
diminish1 as the squares of the distance
 increase1 a body1 at the ,moon1 would  
fall towards the ,earth in a minute2    
that is1 in sixty seconds1 through the  
same space1 which it falls near its     
surface in one second4 ,but the arch    
which the ,moon describes in a minute1  
falls1 by observation1 about fifteen    
,parisian feet below the tangent drawn  
at the beginning of it4 ,so far1        
therefore1 the ,moon may be conceived as
 constantly falling towards the ,earth4 
,the system of ,sir ,isaac ,newton      
corresponded to many other              
irregularities which ,astronomers had   
observed in the ,heavens4 ,it assigned a

 reason1 why the centres of the         
revolutions of the ,planets were not    
precisely in the centre of the ,sun1 but
 in the common centre of gravity of the 
,sun and the ,planets4 ,from the mutual 
attraction of the ,planets1 it gave a   
reason for some other irregularities in 
their motions2 irregularities1 which are
 quite sensible in those of ,jupiter and
 ,saturn1 when those ,planets are nearly
 in conjunction with one another4 ,but  
of all the irregularities in the        
,heavens1 those of the ,moon had        
hitherto given the greatest perplexity  
to ,astronomers2 and the system of ,sir 
,isaac ,newton corresponded1 if         
possible1 yet more accurately with them 
than with any of the other ,planets4    
,the ,moon1 when either in conjunction1 
or in opposition to the ,sun1 appears   
furthest from the ,earth1 and nearest to
 it when in her quarters4 ,according to 
the system of that philosopher1 when she
 is in conjunction with the ,sun1 she is
 nearer the ,sun than the ,earth is2    

consequently1 more attracted to him1    
and1 therefore1 more separated from the 
,earth4 ,on the contrary1 when in       
opposition to the ,sun1 she is further  
from the ,sun than the ,earth4 ,the     
,earth1 therefore1 is more attracted to 
the ,sun3 and consequently1 in this     
case1 too1 further separated from the   
,moon4 ,but1 on the other hand1 when the
 ,moon is in her quarters1 the ,earth   
and the ,moon1 being both at equal      
distance from the ,sun1 are equally     
attracted to him4 ,they would not1 upon 
this account alone1 therefore1 be       
brought nearer to one another4 ,as it is
 not in parallel lines however that they
 are attracted towards the ,sun1 but in 
lines which meet in his centre1 they    
are1 thereby1 still further approached  
to one another4 ,sir ,isaac ,newton     
computed the difference of the forces   
with which the ,moon and the ,earth     
ought1 in all those different           
situations1 according to his theory1 to 
be impelled towards one another2 and    

found1 that the different degrees of    
their approaches1 as they had been      
observed by ,astronomers1 corresponded  
exactly to his computations4 ,as the    
attraction of the ,sun1 in the          
conjunctions and oppositions1 diminishes
 the gravity of #chj the ,moon towards  
the ,earth1 and1 consequently1 makes her
 necessarily extend her orbit1 and1     
therefore1 require a longer periodical  
time to finish it4 ,but1 when the ,moon 
and the ,earth are in that part of the  
orbit which is nearest the ,sun1 this   
attraction of the ,sun will be the      
greatest2 consequently1 the gravity of  
the ,moon towards the ,earth will there 
be most diminished2 her orbit be most   
extended2 and her periodic time be1     
therefore1 the longest4 ,this is1 also1 
agreeable to experience1 and in the very
 same proportion1 in which1 by          
computation1 from these principles1 it  
might be expected4  ,the orbit of the   
,moon is not precisely in the same      
,plane with that of the ,earth2 but     

makes a very small angle with it4 ,the  
points of intersection with those two   
,planes1 are called1 the ,nodes of the  
,moon4 ,these ,nodes of the ,moon are in
 continual motion1 and in eighteen or   
nineteen years1 revolve backwards1 from 
east to west1 through all the different 
points of the ,ecliptic4 ,for the ,moon1
 after having finished her periodical   
revolution1 generally intersects the    
orbit of the ,earth somewhat behind the 
point where she had intersected it      
before4 ,but1 though the motion of the  
,nodes is thus generally retrograde1 it 
is not always so1 but is sometimes      
direct1 and sometimes they appear even  
stationary2 the ,moon generally         
intersects the ,plane of the ,earth's   
orbit behind the point where she had    
intersected it in her former revolution2
 but she sometimes intersects it before 
that point1 and sometimes in the very   
same point4 ,it is the situation of     
those ,nodes which determines the times 
of ,eclipses1 and their motions had1    

upon this account1 at all times1 been   
particularly attended to by             
,astronomers4 ,nothing1 however1 had    
perplexed them more1 than to account for
 these so inconsistent motions1 and1 at 
the same time1 preserve their so much   
sought-for regularity in the revolutions
 of the ,moon4 ,for they had no other   
means of connecting the appearances     
together than by supposing the motions  
which produced them1 to be1 in reality1 
perfectly regular and equable4 ,the     
history of ,astronomy1 therefore1 gives 
an account of a greater number of       
theories invented for connecting        
together the motions of the ,moon1 than 
for connecting together those of all the
 other heavenly bodies taken together4  
,the theory of gravity1 connected       
together1 in the most accurate manner1  
by the different actions of the ,sun and
 the ,earth1 all those irregular        
motions2 and it appears1 by calculation1
 that the time1 the quantity1 and the   
duration of those direct and retrograde 

motions of the ,nodes1 as well as of    
their stationary appearances1 might be  
expected to be exactly such1 as the     
observations of ,astronomers have       
determined them4  ,the same principle1  
the attraction of the ,sun1 which thus  
accounts for the motions of the ,nodes1 
connects1 too1 another very perplexing  
irregularity in the appearances of the  
,moon2 the perpetual variation in the   
inclination of her orbit to that of the 
,earth4  ,as the ,moon revolves in an   
ellipse1 which has the centre of the    
#cha ,earth in one of its foci1 the     
longer axis of its orbit is called the  
,line of its ,apsides4 ,this line is    
found1 by observation1 not to be always 
directed towards the same points of the 
,firmament1 but to revolve forwards from
 west to east1 so as to pass through all
 the points of the ,ecliptic1 and to    
complete its period in about nine years2
 another irregularity1 which had very   
much perplexed ,astronomers1 but which  
the theory of gravity sufficiently      

accounted for4  ,the ,earth had hitherto
 been regarded as perfectly globular1   
probably for the same reason which had  
made men imagine1 that the orbits of the
 ,planets must necessarily be perfectly 
circular4 ,but ,sir ,isaac ,newton1 from
 mechanical principles1 concluded1 that1
 as the parts of the ,earth must be more
 agitated by her diurnal revolution at  
the ,equator1 than at the ,poles1 they  
must necessarily be somewhat elevated at
 the first1 and flattened at the second4
 ,the observation1 that the oscillations
 of pendulums were slower at the        
,equator than at the ,poles1 seeming to 
demonstrate1 that gravity was stronger  
at the ,poles1 and weaker at the        
,equator1 proved1 he thought1 that the  
,equator was further from the centre    
than the ,poles4 ,all the measures1     
however1 which had hitherto been made of
 the ,earth1 seemed to show the         
contrary1 that it was drawn out towards 
the ,poles1 and flattened towards the   
,equator4 ,newton1 however1 preferred   

his mechanical computations to the      
former measures of ,geographers and     
,astronomers2 and in this he was        
confirmed by the observations of        
,astronomers on the figure of ,jupiter1 
whose diameter at the ,pole seems to be 
to his diameter at the ,equator1 as     
twelve to thirteen2 a much greater      
inequality than could be supposed to    
take place betwixt the correspondent    
diameters of the ,earth1 but which was  
exactly proportioned to the superior    
bulk of ,jupiter1 and the superior      
rapidity with which he performs his     
diurnal revolutions4 ,the observations  
of ,astronomers at ,lapland and ,peru   
have fully confirmed ,sir ,isaac's      
system1 and have not only demonstrated1 
that the figure of the ,earth is1 in    
general1 such as he supposed it2 but    
that the proportion of its axis to the  
diameter of its ,equator is almost      
precisely such as he had computed it4   
,and of all the proofs that have ever   
been adduced of the diurnal revolution  

of the ,earth1 this perhaps is the most 
solid and most satisfactory4            
,hipparchus1 by comparing his own       
observations with those of some former  
,astronomers1 had found that the        
equinoctial points were not always      
opposite to the same part of the        
,heavens1 but that they advanced        
gradually eastward by so slow a motion1 
as to be scarce sensible in one hundred 
years1 and which would require          
thirty-six thousand to make a complete  
revolution of the ,equinoxes1 and to    
carry them successively through all the 
different points of the ,ecliptic4 ,more
 accurate observations discovered that  
this procession of the ,equinoxes was   
not so slow as ,hipparchus had imagined 
it1 and that it required somewhat less  
than twenty-six thousand years to give  
them a complete #chb revolution4 ,while 
the ancient system of ,astronomy1 which 
represented the ,earth as the immovable 
centre of the universe1 took place1 this
 appearance was necessarily accounted   

for1 by supposing that the ,firmament1  
besides its rapid diurnal revolution    
round the poles of the ,equator1 had    
likewise a slow periodical one round    
those of the ,ecliptic4 ,and when the   
system of ,hipparchus was by the        
schoolmen united with the solid ,spheres
 of ,aristotle1 they placed a new       
crystalline ,sphere above the           
,firmament1 in order to join this motion
 to the rest4 ,in the ,copernican       
system1 this appearance had hitherto    
been connected with the other parts of  
that hypothesis1 by supposing a small   
revolution in the ,earth's axis from    
east to west4 ,sir ,isaac ,newton       
connected this motion by the same       
principle of gravity1 by which he had   
united all the others1 and showed1 how  
the elevation of the parts of the ,earth
 at the ,equator must1 by the attraction
 of the ,sun1 produce the same          
retrograde motion of the ,nodes of the  
,ecliptic1 which it produced of the     
,nodes of the ,moon4 ,he computed the   

quantity of motion which could arise    
from this action of the ,sun1 and his   
calculations here too corresponded with 
the observations of ,astronomers4       
,comets have hitherto1 of all the       
appearances in the ,heavens1 been the   
least attended to by ,astronomers4 ,the 
rarity and inconstancy of their         
appearance1 seemed to separate them     
entirely from the constant1 regular1 and
 uniform objects in the ,heavens1 and to
 make them resemble more the inconstant1
 transitory1 and accidental phenomena of
 those regions that are in the          
neighbourhood of the ,earth4 ,aristotle1
 ,eudoxus1 ,hipparchus1 ,ptolemy1 and   
,purbach1 therefore1 had all degraded   
them below the ,moon1 and ranked them   
among the meteors of the upper regions  
of the air4 ,the observations of ,tycho 
,brahe demonstrated1 that they ascended 
into the celestial regions1 and were    
often higher than ,venus or the ,sun4   
,des ,cartes1 at random1 supposed them  
to be always higher than even the orbit 

of ,saturn2 and seems1 by the superior  
elevation he thus bestowed upon them1 to
 have been willing to compensate that   
unjust degradation which they had       
suffered for so many ages before4 ,the  
observations of some later ,astronomers 
demonstrated1 that they too revolved    
about the ,sun1 and might therefore be  
parts of the ,solar ,system4 ,newton    
accordingly applied his mechanical      
principle of gravity to explain the     
motions of these bodies4 ,that they     
described equal areas in equal times1   
had been discovered by the observations 
of some later ,astronomers2 and ,newton 
endeavoured to show how from this       
principle1 and those observations1 the  
nature and position of their several    
orbits might be ascertained1 and their  
periodic times determined4 ,his         
followers have1 from his principles1    
ventured even to predict the returns of 
several of them1 particularly of one    
which is to make its appearance in      
#ageh4a ,we must wait for that time #chc

 before we can determine1 whether his   
philosophy corresponds as happily to    
this part of the system as to all the   
others4 ,in the meantime1 however1 the  
ductility of this principle1 which      
applied itself so happily to these1 the 
most irregular of all the celestial     
appearances1 and which has introduced   
such complete coherence into the motions
 of all the ,heavenly ,bodies1 has      
served not a little to recommend it to  
the imaginations of mankind4  ,footnote 
#a3 ,it must be observed1 that the whole
 of this ,essay was written previous to 
the date here mentioned2 and that the   
return of the comet happened agreeably  
to the prediction4  ,but of all the     
attempts of the ,newtonian philosophy1  
that which would appear to be the most  
above the reach of human reason and     
experience1 is the attempt to compute   
the weights and densities of the ,sun1  
and of the several ,planets4 ,an        
attempt1 however1 which was             
indispensably necessary to complete the 

coherence of the ,newtonian system4 ,the
 power of attraction which1 according to
 the theory of gravity1 each body       
possesses1 is in proportion to the      
quantity of matter contained in that    
body4 ,but the periodic time in which   
one body1 at a given distance1 revolves 
round another that attracts it1 is      
shorter in proportion as this power is  
greater1 and consequently as the        
quantity of matter in the attracting    
body4 ,if the densities of ,jupiter and 
,saturn were the same with that of the  
,earth1 the periodic times of their     
several ,satellites would be shorter    
than by observation they are found to   
be4 ,because the quantity of matter1 and
 consequently the attracting power of   
each of them1 would be as the cubes of  
their diameters4 ,by comparing the bulks
 of those ,planets1 and the periodic    
times of their ,satellites1 it is found 
that1 upon the hypothesis of gravity1   
the density of ,jupiter must be greater 
than that of ,saturn1 and the density of

 the ,earth greater than that of        
,jupiter4 ,this seems to establish it as
 a law in the system1 that the nearer   
the several ,planets approach to the    
,sun1 the density of their matter is the
 greater3 a constitution of things which
 seems to be the most advantageous of   
any that could have been established2 as
 water of the same density with that of 
our ,earth1 would freeze under the      
,equator of ,saturn1 and boil under that
 of ,mercury4  ,such is the system of   
,sir ,isaac ,newton1 a system whose     
parts are all more strictly connected   
together1 than those of any other       
philosophical hypothesis4 ,allow his    
principle1 the universality of gravity1 
and that it decreases as the squares of 
the distance increase1 and all the      
appearances1 which he joins together by 
it1 necessarily follow4 ,neither is     
their connection merely a general and   
loose connection1 as that of most other 
systems1 in which either these          
appearances1 or some such like          

appearances1 might indifferently have   
been expected4 ,it is everywhere the    
most precise and particular that can be 
imagined1 and ascertains the time1 the  
place1 the quantity1 the duration of    
each individual phenomenon1 to be       
exactly such as1 by observation1 they   
have been determined to be4 ,neither are
 the principles of union1 which it      
employs1 such as the imagination can    
find any difficulty in going along with4
 ,the gravity of matter is1 of all its  
qualities1 after its inertness1 #chd    
that which is most familiar to us4 ,we  
never act upon it without having        
occasion to observe this property4 ,the 
law too1 by which it is supposed to     
diminish as it recedes from its centre1 
is the same which takes place in all    
other qualities which are propagated in 
rays from a centre1 in light1 and in    
every thing else of the same kind4 ,it  
is such1 that we not only find that it  
does take place in all such qualities1  
but we arc necessarily determined to    

conceive that1 from the nature of the   
thing1 it must take place4 ,the         
opposition which was made in ,france1   
and in some other foreign nations1 to   
the prevalence of this system1 did not  
arise from any difficulty which mankind 
naturally felt in conceiving gravity as 
an original and primary mover in the    
constitution of the universe4 ,the      
,cartesian system1 which had prevailed  
so generally before it1 had accustomed  
mankind to conceive motion as never     
beginning1 but in consequence of        
impulse1 and had connected the descent  
of heavy bodies1 near the surface of the
 ,earth1 and the other ,planets1 by this
 more general bond of union2 and it was 
the attachment the world had conceived  
for this account of things1 which       
indisposed them to that of ,sir ,isaac  
,newton4 ,his system1 however1 now      
prevails over all opposition1 and has   
advanced to the acquisition of the most 
universal empire that was ever          
established in philosophy4 ,his         

principles1 it must be acknowledged1    
have a degree of firmness and solidity  
that we should in vain look for in any  
other system4 ,the most sceptical cannot
 avoid feeling this4 ,they not only     
connect together most perfectly all the 
phenomena of the ,heavens1 which had    
been observed before his time2 but those
 also which the persevering industry and
 more perfect instruments of later      
,astronomers have made known to us have 
been either easily and immediately      
explained by the application of his     
principles1 or have been explained in   
consequence of more laborious and       
accurate calculations from these        
principles1 than had been instituted    
before4 ,and even we1 while we have been
 endeavouring to represent all          
philosophical systems as mere inventions
 of the imagination1 to connect together
 the otherwise disjointed and discordant
 phenomena of ,nature1 have insensibly  
been drawn in1 to make use of language  
expressing the connecting principles of 

this one1 as if they were the real      
chains which ,nature makes use of to    
bind together her several operations4   
,can we wonder then1 that it should have
 gained the general and complete        
approbation of mankind1 and that it     
should now be considered1 not as an     
attempt to connect in the imagination   
the phenomena of the ,heavens1 but as   
the greatest discovery that ever was    
made by man1 the discovery of an immense
 chain of the most important and sublime
 truths1 all closely connected together1
 by one capital fact1 of the reality of 
which we have daily experience4  99     
99     99     99     99     99     99   
99 99     99     99     99     99     99
     99     99  #che  ,note by the      
,editors4  ,the ,author1 at the end of  
this ,essay1 left some ,notes and       
,memorandums1 from which it appears1    
that he considered this last part of his
 ,history of ,astronomy as imperfect1   
and needing several additions4 ,the     
,editors1 however1 chose rather to      

publish than suppress it4 ,it must be   
viewed1 not as a ,history or ,account of
 ,sir ,isaac ,newton's ,astronomy1 but  
chiefly as an additional illustration of
 those ,principles in the ,human ,mind  
which ,mr4 ,smith has pointed out to be 
the universal motives of ,philosophical 
,researches4   ----------     ,,the     
,,principles  ,,which ,,lead ,,and      
,,direct  ,,philosophical ,,enquiries2  
,,illustrated ,,by ,,the  ,,history ,,of
 ,,the ,,ancient ,,physics4  -----      
,,from arranging and methodizing the    
,system of the ,heavens1 ,philosophy    
descended to the consideration of the   
inferior parts of ,nature1 of the       
,earth1 and of the bodies which         
immediately surround it4 ,if the        
objects1 which were here presented to   
its view1 were inferior in greatness or 
beauty1 and therefore less apt to       
attract the attention of the mind1 they 
were more apt1 when they came to be     
attended to1 to embarrass and perplex   
it1 by the variety of their species1 and

 by the intricacy and seeming           
irregularity of the laws or orders of   
their succession4 ,the species of       
objects in the ,heavens are few in      
number2 the ,sun1 the ,moon1 the        
,planets1 and the ,fixed ,stars1 are all
 which those philosophers could         
distinguish4 ,all the changes too1 which
 are ever observed in these bodies1     
evidently arise from some difference in 
the velocity and direction of their     
several motions2 but the variety of     
meteors in the air1 of clouds1 rainbows1
 thunder1 lightning1 winds1 rain1 hail1 
snow1 is vastly greater2 and the order  
of their succession seems to be still   
more irregular and inconstant4 ,the     
species of fossils1 minerals1 plants1   
animals1 which are found in the ,waters1
 and near the surface of the ,earth1 are
 still more intricately diversified2 and
 if we regard the #chf different manners
 of their production1 their mutual      
influence in altering1 destroying1      
supporting one another1 the orders of   

their succession seem to admit of an    
almost infinite variety4 ,if the        
imagination1 therefore1 when it         
considered the appearances in the       
,heavens1 was often perplexed1 and      
driven out of its natural career1 it    
would be much more exposed to the same  
embarrassment1 when it directed its     
attention to the objects which the      
,earth presented to it1 and when it     
endeavoured to trace their progress and 
successive revolutions4  ,to introduce  
order and coherence into the mind's     
conception of this seeming chaos of     
dissimilar and disjointed appearances1  
it was necessary to deduce all their    
qualities1 operations1 and laws of      
succession1 from those of some          
particular things1 with which it was    
perfectly acquainted and familiar1 and  
along which its imagination could glide 
smoothly and easily1 and without        
interruption4 ,but as we would in vain  
attempt to deduce the heat of a stove   
from that of an open chimney1 unless we 

could show that the same fire which was 
exposed in the one1 lay concealed in the
 other2 so it was impossible to deduce  
the qualities and laws of succession1   
observed in the more uncommon           
appearances of ,nature1 from those of   
such as were more familiar1 if those    
customary objects were not supposed1    
however disguised in their appearance1  
to enter into the composition of those  
rarer and more singular phenomena4 ,to  
render1 therefore1 this lower part of   
the great theatre of nature a coherent  
spectacle to the imagination1 it became 
necessary to suppose1 first1 ,that all  
the strange objects of which it         
consisted were made up out of a few1    
with which the mind was extremely       
familiar3 and secondly1 ,that all their 
qualities1 operations and rules of      
succession1 were no more than different 
diversifications of those to which it   
had long been accustomed1 in these      
primary and elementary objects4  ,of all
 the bodies of which these inferior     

parts of the universe seem to be        
composed1 those with which we are most  
familiar1 are the ,earth1 which we tread
 upon2 the ,water1 which we every day   
use2 the ,air1 which we constantly      
breathe2 and the ,fire1 whose benign    
influence is not only required for      
preparing the common necessaries of     
life1 but for the continual support of  
that vital principle which actuates both
 plants and animals4 ,these therefore1  
were by ,empedocles1 and the other      
philosophers of the ,italian school1    
supposed to be the elements1 out of     
which1 at least1 all the inferior parts 
of nature were composed4 ,the           
familiarity of those bodies to the mind1
 naturally disposed it to look for some 
resemblance to them in whatever else was
 presented to its consideration4 ,the   
discovery of some such resemblance      
united the new object to an assortment  
of things1 with which the imagination   
was perfectly acquainted4 ,and if any   
analogy could be observed betwixt the   

operations and laws of succession of the
 compound1 and those of the simple      
objects1 the movement of the fancy1 in  
tracing their progress1 #chg became     
quite smooth1 and natural1 and easy4    
,this natural anticipation1 too1 was    
still more confirmed by such a slight   
and inaccurate analysis of things1 as   
could be expected in the infancy of     
science1 when the curiosity of mankind1 
grasping at an account of all things    
before it had got full satisfaction with
 regard to any one1 hurried on to build1
 in imagination1 the immense fabric of  
the universe4 ,the heat1 observed in    
both plants and animals1 seemed to      
demonstrate1 that ,fire made a part of  
their composition4 ,air was not less    
necessary for the subsistence of both1  
and seemed1 too1 to enter into the      
fabric of animals by respiration1 and   
into that of plants by some other means4
 ,the juices which circulated through   
them showed how much of their texture   
was owing to ,water4 ,and their         

resolution into ,earth by putrefaction  
discovered that this element had not    
been left out in their original         
formation4 ,a similar analysis seemed to
 show the same principles in most of the
 other compound bodies4  ,the vast      
extent of those bodies seemed to render 
them1 upon another account1 proper to be
 the great stores out of which nature   
compounded all the other species of     
things4 ,earth and ,water divide almost 
the whole of the terrestrial globe      
between them4 ,the thin transparent     
covering of the ,air surrounds it to an 
immense height upon all sides4 ,fire1   
with its attendant1 light1 seems to     
descend from the celestial regions1 and 
might1 therefore1 either be supposed to 
be diffused through the whole of those  
etherial spaces1 as well as to be       
condensed and conglobated in those      
luminous bodies1 which sparkle across   
them1 as by the ,stoics2 or1 to be      
placed immediately under the sphere of  
the ,moon1 in the region next below     

them1 as by the ,peripatetics1 who could
 not reconcile the devouring nature of  
,fire with the supposed unchangeable    
essence of their solid and crystalline  
spheres4  ,the qualities1 too1 by which 
we are chiefly accustomed to            
characterize and distinguish natural    
bodies1 are all of them found1 in the   
highest degree in those ,four ,elements4
 ,the great divisions of the objects1   
near the surface of the ,earth1 are     
those into hot and cold1 moist and dry1 
light and heavy4 ,these are the most    
remarkable properties of bodies2 and it 
is upon them that many of their other   
most sensible qualities and powers seem 
to depend4 ,of these1 heat and cold were
 naturally enough regarded by those     
first enquirers into nature1 as the     
active1 moisture and dryness1 as the    
passive qualities of matter4 ,it was the
 temperature of heat and cold which     
seemed to occasion the growth and       
dissolution of plants and animals2 as   
appeared evident from the effects of the

 change of the seasons upon both4 ,a    
proper degree of moisture and dryness   
was not less necessary for these        
purposes2 as was evident from the       
different effects and productions of wet
 and dry seasons and soils4 ,it was the 
heat and cold1 however1 which actuated  
and determined those two otherwise inert
 qualities of things1 to a state either 
of rest or motion4 ,gravity and levity  
were regarded #chh as the two principles
 of motion1 which directed all sublunary
 things to their proper place3 and all  
those six qualities1 taken together1    
were1 upon such an inattentive view of  
nature1 as must be expected in the      
beginnings of philosophy1 readily enough
 apprehended to be capable of connecting
 together the most remarkable           
revolutions1 which occur in these       
inferior parts of the universe4 ,heat   
and dryness were the qualities which    
characterized the element of ,fire2 heat
 and moisture that of ,air2 moisture and
 cold that of ,water2 cold and dryness  

that of ,earth4 ,the natural motion of  
two of these elements1 ,earth and       
,water1 was downwards1 upon account of  
their gravity4 ,this tendency1 however1 
was stronger in the one than in the     
other1 upon account of the superior     
gravity of ,earth4 ,the natural motion  
of the two other elements1 ,fire and    
,air1 was upwards1 upon account of their
 levity2 and this tendency1 too1 was    
stronger in the one than in the other1  
upon account of the superior levity of  
,fire4 ,let us not despise those ancient
 philosophers1 for thus supposing1 that 
these two elements had a positive       
levity1 or a real tendency upwards4 ,let
 us remember1 that this notion has an   
appearance of being confirmed by the    
most obvious observations2 that those   
facts and experiments1 which demonstrate
 the weight of the ,air1 and which no   
superior sagacity1 but chance alone1    
presented to the moderns1 were          
altogether unknown to them2 and that1   
what might1 in some measure1 have       

supplied the place of those experiments1
 the reasonings concerning the causes of
 the ascent of bodies1 in fluids        
specifically heavier than themselves1   
seem to have been unknown in the ancient
 world1 till ,archimedes discovered     
them1 long after their system of physics
 was completed1 and had acquired an     
established reputation3 that those      
reasonings are far from being obvious1  
and that by their inventor1 they seem to
 have been thought applicable only to   
the ascent of ,solids in ,water1 and not
 even to that of ,solids in ,air1 much  
less to that of one fluid in another4   
,but it is this last only which could   
explain the ascent of flame1 vapours1   
and fiery exhalations1 without the      
supposition of a specific levity4       
,thus1 each of those ,four ,elements    
had1 in the system of the ,universe1 a  
place which was peculiarly allotted to  
it1 and to which it naturally tended4   
,earth and ,water rolled down to the    
centre2 the ,air spread itself above    

them2 while the ,fire soared aloft1     
either to the celestial region1 or to   
that which was immediately below it4    
,when each of those simple bodies had   
thus obtained its proper sphere1 there  
was nothing in the nature of any one of 
them to make it pass into the place of  
the other1 to make the ,fire descend    
into the ,air1 the ,air into the ,water1
 or the ,water into the ,earth2 or1 on  
the contrary1 to bring up the ,earth    
into the place of the ,water1 the ,water
 into that of the ,air1 or the ,air into
 that of the ,fire4 ,all sublunary      
things1 therefore1 if left to           
themselves1 would have remained in an   
eternal repose4 ,the revolution of the  
heavens1 those of the ,sun1 ,moon1 and  
,five ,planets1 #chi by producing the   
vicissitudes of ,day and ,night1 and of 
the ,seasons1 prevented this torpor and 
inactivity from reigning through the    
inferior parts of nature2 inflamed by   
the rapidity of their circumvolutions1  
the element of ,fire1 and forced it     

violently downwards into the ,air1 into 
the ,water1 and into the ,earth1 and    
thereby produced those mixtures of the  
different elements which kept up the    
motion and circulation of the lower     
parts of ,nature2 occasioned1 sometimes1
 the entire transmutation of one element
 into another1 and sometimes the        
production of forms and species         
different from them all1 and in which1  
though the qualities of them all might  
be found1 they were so altered and      
attempered by the mixture1 as scarce to 
be distinguishable4  ,thus1 if a small  
quantity of ,fire was mixed with a great
 quantity of ,air1 the moisture and     
moderate warmth of the one entirely     
surmounted and changed into their own   
essence the intense heat and dryness of 
the other2 and the whole aggregate      
became ,air4 ,the contrary of which     
happened1 if a small quantity of ,air   
was mixed with a great quantity of      
,fire3 the whole1 in this case1 became  
,fire4 ,in the same manner1 if a small  

quantity of ,fire was mixed with a great
 quantity of ,water1 then1 either the   
moisture and cold of the ,water might   
surmount the heat and dryness of the    
,fire1 so that the whole should become  
,water2 or1 the moisture of the ,water  
might surmount the dryness of the ,fire1
 while1 in its turn1 the heat of the    
,fire surmounted the coldness of the    
,water1 so as that the whole aggregate1 
its qualities being heat and moisture1  
should become ,air1 which was regarded  
as the more natural and easy            
metamorphosis of the two4 ,in the same  
manner they explained how like changes  
were produced by the different mixtures 
of ,fire and ,earth1 ,earth and ,water1 
,water and ,air1 ,air and ,earth2 and   
thus they connected together the        
successive transmutations of the        
elements into one another4  ,every      
mixture of the ,elements1 however1 did  
not produce an entire transmutation4    
,they were sometimes so blended         
together1 that the qualities of the one1

 not being able to destroy1 served only 
to attemper those of the other4 ,thus   
,fire1 when mixed with ,water1 produced 
sometimes a watery vapour1 whose        
qualities were heat and moisture2 which 
partook at once of the levity of the    
,fire1 and of the gravity of the ,water1
 and which was elevated by the first    
into the ,air1 but retained by the last 
from ascending into the region of ,fire4
 ,the relative cold1 which they supposed
 prevailed in the middle region of the  
,air1 upon account of its equal         
distance1 both from the region of ,fire1
 and from the rays that are reflected by
 the surface of the ,earth1 condensed   
this vapour into ,water2 the ,fire      
escaped it1 and flew upwards1 and the   
,water fell down in rain1 or1 according 
to the different degrees of cold that   
prevailed in the different seasons1 was 
sometimes congealed into snow1 and      
sometimes into hail4 ,in the same       
manner1 ,fire1 when mixed with ,earth1  
produced sometimes a fiery exhalation1  

whose qualities #cij were heat and      
dryness1 which being elevated by the    
levity of the first into the ,air       
condensed by the cold1 so as to take    
fire1 and being at the same time        
surrounded by watery vapours1 burst     
forth into thunder and lightning1 and   
other fiery meteors4 ,thus they         
connected together the different        
appearances in the ,air1 by the         
qualities of their ,four ,elements2 and 
from them1 too1 in the same manner1 they
 endeavoured to deduce all the other    
qualities in the other homogeneous      
bodies1 that are near the surface of the
 ,earth4 ,thus1 to give an example1 with
 regard to the hardness and softness of 
bodies2 heat and moisture1 they         
observed1 were the great softeners of   
matter4 ,whatever was hard1 therefore1  
owed that quality either to the absence 
of heat1 or to the absence of moisture4 
,ice1 crystal1 lead1 gold1 and almost   
all metals1 owed their hardness to the  
absence of heat1 and were1 therefore1   

dissolvable by ,fire4 ,rock-salt1 nitre1
 alum1 and hard clay1 owed that quality 
to the absence of moisture1 and were    
therefore1 dissolvable in water4 ,and1  
in the same manner1 they endeavoured to 
connect together most of the other      
tangible qualities of matter4 ,their    
principles of union1 indeed1 were often 
such as had no real existence1 and were 
always vague and undetermined in the    
highest degree2 they were such1 however1
 as might be expected in the beginnings 
of science1 and such as1 with all their 
imperfections1 could enable mankind both
 to think and to talk1 with more        
coherence1 concerning those general     
subjects1 than without them they would  
have been capable of doing4 ,neither was
 their system entirely devoid either of 
beauty or magnificence4 ,each of the    
,four ,elements having a particular     
region allotted to it1 had a place of   
rest1 to which it naturally tended1 by  
its motion1 either up or down1 in a     
straight line1 and where1 when it had   

arrived1 it naturally ceased to move4   
,earth descended1 till it arrived at the
 place of ,earth2 ,water1 till it       
arrived at that of ,water2 and ,air1    
till it arrived at that of ,air2 and    
there each of them tended to a state of 
eternal repose and inaction4 ,the       
,spheres consisted of a ,fifth ,element1
 which was neither light nor heavy1 and 
whose natural motion made it tend1      
neither to the centre1 nor from the     
centre1 but revolve round it in a       
circle4 ,as1 by this motion1 they could 
never change their situation with regard
 to the centre1 they had no place of    
repose1 no place to which they naturally
 tended more than to any other1 but     
revolved round and round for ever4 ,this
 ,fifth ,element was subject neither to 
generation nor corruption1 nor          
alteration of any kind2 for whatever    
changes may happen in the ,heavens1 the 
senses can scarce perceive them1 and    
their appearance is the same in one age 
as in another4 ,the beauty1 too1 of     

their supposed crystalline spheres      
seemed still more to entitle them to    
this distinction of unchangeable        
immortality4 ,it was the motion of those
 ,spheres1 which occasioned the mixtures
 of the ,elements1 and from  hence1 the 
production of all the forms and species1
 that diversify the world4 ,it was the  
approach of the ,sun and of the #cia    
other ,planets1 to the different parts  
of the ,earth1 which1 by forcing down   
the element of ,fire1 occasioned the    
generation of those forms4 ,it was the  
recess of those bodies1 which1 by       
allowing each ,element to escape to its 
proper sphere1 brought about1 in an     
equal time1 their corruption4 ,it was   
the periods of those great lights of    
,heaven1 which measured out to all      
sublunary things1 the term of their     
duration1 of their growth1 and of their 
decay1 either in one1 or in a number of 
seasons1 according as the ,elements of  
which they were composed1 were either   
imperfectly or accurately blended and   

mixed with one another4 ,immortality1   
they could bestow upon no individual    
form1 because the principles out of     
which it was formed1 all tending to     
disengage themselves1 and to return to  
their proper spheres1 necessarily1 at   
last1 brought about its dissolution4    
,but1 though all individuals were thus  
perishable1 and constantly decaying1    
every species was immortal1 because the 
subject-matter out of which they were   
made1 and the revolution of the         
,heavens1 the cause of their successive 
generations1 continued to be always the 
same4  ,in the first ages of the world1 
the seeming incoherence of the          
appearances of nature1 so confounded    
mankind1 that they despaired of         
discovering in her operations any       
regular system4 ,their ignorance1 and   
confusion of thought1 necessarily gave  
birth to that pusillanimous             
superstition1 which ascribes almost     
every unexpected event1 to the arbitrary
 will of some designing1 though         

invisible beings1 who produced it for   
some private and particular purpose4    
,the idea of an universal mind1 of a    
,god of all1 who originally formed the  
whole1 and who governs the whole by     
general laws1 directed to the           
conservation and prosperity of the      
whole1 without regard to that of any    
private individual1 was a notion to     
which they were utterly strangers4      
,their gods1 though they were           
apprehended to interpose1 upon some     
particular occasions1 were so far from  
being regarded as the creators of the   
world1 that their origin was apprehended
 to be posterior to that of the world4  
,the ,earth1 according to ,hesiod1 was  
the first production of the chaos4 ,the 
,heavens arose out of the ,earth1 and   
from both together1 all the gods1 who   
afterwards inhabited them4 ,nor was this
 notion confined to the vulgar1 and to  
those poets who seem to have recorded   
the vulgar theology4 ,of all the        
philosophers of the ,ionian school1     

,anaxagoras1 it is well known1 was the  
first who supposed that mind and        
understanding were requisite to account 
for the first origin of the world1 and  
who1 therefore1 compared with the other 
philosophers of his time1 talked1 as    
,aristotle observes1 like a sober man   
among drunkards2 but whose opinion was1 
at the time1 so remarkable1 that he     
seems to have got a sirname from it4    
,the same notion1 of the spontaneous    
origin of the world1 was embraced1 too1 
as the same author tells1 by the early  
,pythagoreans1 a sect1 which1 in the    
ancient world1 was never regarded as    
irreligious4 ,mind1 and understanding1  
and consequently ,deity1 being #cib the 
most perfect1 were necessarily1         
according to them1 the last productions 
of ,nature4 ,for in all other things1   
what was most perfect1 they observed1   
always came last4 ,as in plants and     
animals1 it is not the seed that is most
 perfect1 but the complete animal1 with 
all its members1 in the one2 and the    

complete plant1 with all its branches1  
leaves1 flowers1 and fruits1 in the     
other4 ,this notion1 which could take   
place only while ,nature was still      
considered as1 in some measure1         
disorderly and inconsistent in her      
operations1 was necessarily renounced by
 those philosophers1 when1 upon a more  
attentive survey1 they discovered1 or   
imagined they had discovered1 more      
distinctly1 the chain which bound all   
her different parts to one another4 ,as 
soon as the ,universe was regarded as a 
complete machine1 as a coherent system1 
governed by general laws1 and directed  
to general ends1 viz4 its own           
preservation and prosperity1 and that of
 all the species that are in it2 the    
resemblance which it evidently bore to  
those machines which are produced by    
human art1 necessarily impressed those  
sages with a belief1 that in the        
original formation of the world there   
must have been employed an art          
resembling the human art1 but as much   

superior to it1 as the world is superior
 to the machines which that art         
produces4 ,the unity of the system1     
which1 according to this ancient        
philosophy1 is most perfect1 suggested  
the idea of the unity of that principle1
 by whose art it was formed2 and thus1  
as ignorance begot superstition1 science
 gave birth to the first theism that    
arose among those nations1 who were not 
enlightened by divine ,revelation4      
,according to ,timus1 who was followed  
by ,plato1 that intelligent ,being who  
formed the world endowed it with a      
principle of life and understanding1    
which extends from its centre to its    
remotest circumference1 which is        
conscious of all its changes1 and which 
governs and directs all its motions to  
the great end of its formation4 ,this   
soul of the world was itself a ,god1 the
 greatest of all the inferior1 and      
created deities2 of an essence that was 
indissoluble1 by any power but by that  
of him who made it1 and which was united

 to the body of the world1 so as to be  
inseparable by every force1 but his who 
joined them1 from the exertion of which 
his goodness secured them4 ,the beauty  
of the celestial spheres attracting the 
admiration of mankind1 the constancy and
 regularity of their motions seeming to 
manifest peculiar wisdom and            
understanding1 they were each of them   
supposed to be animated by an           
,intelligence of a nature that was1 in  
the same manner1 indissoluble and       
immortal1 and inseparably united to that
 sphere which it inhabited4 ,all the    
mortal and changeable beings which      
people the surface of the earth were    
formed by those inferior deities2 for   
the revolutions of the heavenly bodies  
seemed plainly to influence the         
generation and growth of both plants and
 animals1 whose frail and fading forms  
bore the too evident marks of the       
weakness of those inferior causes1 which
 joined their different parts to one    
another4 ,according to ,plato and       

,timus1 neither the #cic ,universe1 nor 
even those inferior deities who govern  
the ,universe1 were eternal1 but were   
formed in time1 by the great ,author of 
all things1 out of that matter which had
 existed from all eternity4 ,this at    
least their words seemed to import1 and 
thus they are understood by ,cicero1 and
 by all the other writers of earlier    
antiquity1 though some of the later     
,platonists have interpreted them       
differently4  ,according to ,aristotle1 
who seems to have followed the doctrine 
of ,ocellus1 the world was eternal2 the 
eternal effect of an eternal cause4 ,he 
found it difficult1 it would seem1 to   
conceive what could hinder the ,first   
,cause from exerting his divine energy  
from all eternity4 ,at whatever time he 
began to exert it1 he must have been at 
rest during all the infinite ages of    
that eternity which had passed before   
it4 ,to what obstruction1 from within or
 from without1 could this be owing8 or  
how could this obstruction1 if it ever  

had subsisted1 have ever been removed8  
,his idea of the nature and manner of   
existence of this ,first ,cause1 as it  
is expressed in the last book of his    
,physics1 and the five last chapters of 
his ,metaphysics1 is indeed obscure and 
unintelligible in the highest degree1   
and has perplexed his commentators more 
than any other parts of his writings4   
,thus far1 however1 he seems to express 
himself plainly enough3 that the ,first 
,heavens1 that of the ,fixed ,stars1    
from which are derived the motions of   
all the rest1 is revolved by an eternal1
 immovable1 unchangeable1 unextended    
being1 whose essence consists in        
intelligence1 as that of a body consists
 in solidity and extension2 and which is
 therefore necessarily and always       
intelligent1 as a body is necessarily   
and always extended3 that this ,being   
was the first and supreme mover of the  
,universe3 that the inferior ,planetary 
,spheres derived each of them its       
peculiar revolution from an inferior    

being of the same kind2 eternal1        
immovable1 unextended1 and necessarily  
intelligent3 that the sole object of the
 intelligences of those beings was their
 own essence1 and the revolution of     
their own spheres2 all other inferior   
things being unworthy of their          
consideration2 and that therefore       
whatever was below the ,moon was        
abandoned by the gods to the direction  
of ,nature1 and ,chance1 and ,necessity4
 ,for though those celestial beings     
were1 by the revolutions of their       
several ,spheres1 the original causes of
 the generation and corruption of all   
sublunary forms1 they were causes who   
neither knew nor intended the effects   
which they produced4 ,this renowned     
philosopher seems1 in his theological   
notions1 to have been directed by       
prejudices which1 though extremely      
natural1 are not very philosophical4    
,the revolutions of the ,heavens1 by    
their grandeur and constancy1 excited   
his admiration1 and seemed1 upon that   

account1 to be effects not unworthy a   
,divine ,intelligence4 ,whereas the     
meanness of many things1 the disorder   
and confusion of all things below1      
exciting no such agreeable emotion1     
seemed to have no marks of being        
directed by that ,supreme               
,understanding4 ,yet1 though this       
opinion saps the foundations of human   
worship1 and must have the #cid same    
effects upon society as ,atheism itself1
 one may easily trace1 in the           
,metaphysics upon which it is grounded1 
the origin of many of the notions1 or   
rather of many of the expressions1 in   
the scholastic theology1 to which no    
notions can be annexed4  ,the ,stoics1  
the most religious of all the ancient   
sects of philosophers1 seem in this1 as 
in most other things1 to have altered   
and refined upon the doctrine of ,plato4
 ,the order1 harmony1 and coherence     
which this philosophy bestowed upon the 
,universal ,system1 struck them with awe
 and veneration4 ,as1 in the rude ages  

of the world1 whatever particular part  
of ,nature excited the admiration of    
mankind1 was apprehended to be animated 
by some particular divinity2 so the     
whole of ,nature having1 by their       
reasonings1 become equally the object of
 admiration1 was equally apprehended to 
be animated by a ,universal ,deity1 to  
be itself a ,divinity1 an ,animal2 a    
term which to our ears seems by no means
 synonymous with the foregoing2 whose   
body was the solid and sensible parts of
 ,nature1 and whose soul was that       
etherial ,fire1 which penetrated and    
actuated the whole4 ,for of all the four
 elements1 out of which all things were 
composed1 ,fire or ,ether seemed to be  
that which bore the greatest resemblance
 to the ,vital ,principle which informs 
both plants and animals1 and therefore  
most likely to be the ,vital ,principle 
which animated the ,universe4 ,this     
infinite and unbounded ,ether1 which    
extended itself from the centre beyond  
the remotest circumference of ,nature1  

and was endowed with the most consummate
 reason and intelligence1 or rather was 
itself the very essence of reason and   
intelligence1 had originally formed the 
world1 and had communicated a portion1  
or ray1 of its own essence to whatever  
was endowed with life and sensation1    
which1 upon the dissolution of those    
forms1 either immediately or some time  
after1 was again absorbed into that     
ocean of ,deity from whence it had      
originally been detached4 ,in this      
system the ,sun1 the ,moon1 the         
,planets1 and the ,fixed ,stars1 were   
each of them also inferior divinities1  
animated by a detached portion of that  
etherial essence which was the soul of  
the world4 ,in the system of ,plato1 the
 ,intelligence which animated the world 
was different from that which originally
 formed it4 ,neither were these which   
animated the celestial spheres1 nor     
those which informed inferior           
terrestrial animals1 regarded as        
portions of this plastic soul of the    

world4 ,upon the dissolution of animals1
 therefore1 their souls were not        
absorbed in the soul of the world1 but  
had a separate and eternal existence1   
which gave birth to the notion of the   
transmigration of souls4 ,neither did it
 seem unnatural1 that1 as the same      
matter which had composed one animal    
body might be employed to compose       
another1 that the same intelligence     
which had animated one such being should
 again animate another4 ,but in the     
system of the ,stoics1 the intelligence 
which originally formed1 and that which 
animated the world1 were one and the    
same1 all inferior intelligences were   
detached portions #cie of the great one2
 and therefore1 in a longer1 or in a    
shorter time1 were all of them1 even the
 gods themselves1 who animated the      
celestial bodies1 to be at last resolved
 into the infinite essence of this      
almighty ,jupiter1 who1 at a distant    
period1 should1 by an universal         
conflagration1 wrap up all things1 in   

that etherial and fiery nature1 out of  
which they had originally been deduced1 
again to bring forth a new ,heaven and a
 new ,earth1 new animals1 new men1 new  
deities2 all of which would again1 at a 
fated time1 be swallowed up in a like   
conflagration1 again to be re-produced1 
and again to be re-destroyed1 and so on 
without end4   ----------     ,,the     
,,principles  ,,which ,,lead ,,and      
,,direct  ,,philosophical ,,enquiries2  
,,illustrated ,,by ,,the ,,history ,,of 
,,the  ,,ancient ,,logics ,,and         
,,metaphysics4  -----   ,,in every      
transmutation1 either of one element    
into another1 or of one compound body   
either into the elements out of which it
 was composed1 or into another compound 
body1 it seemed evident1 that both in   
the old and in the new species1 there   
was something that was the same1 and    
something that was different4 ,when     
,fire was changed into ,air1 or ,water  
into ,earth1 the ,stuff1 or             
,subject-matter of this ,air and this   

,earth1 was evidently the same with that
 of the former ,fire or ,water2 but the 
,nature or ,species of those new bodies 
was entirely different4 ,when1 in the   
same manner1 a number of fresh1 green1  
and odoriferous flowers were thrown     
together in a heap1 they1 in a short    
time1 entirely changed their nature1    
became putrid and loathsome1 and        
dissolved into a confused mass of       
ordure1 which bore no resemblance1      
either in sensible qualities or in its  
effects1 to their former beautiful      
appearance4 ,but how different soever   
the species1 the subject-matter of the  
flowers1 and of the ordure1 was1 in this
 case too1 evidently the same4 ,in every
 body therefore1 whether simple or      
mixed1 there were evidently two         
principles1 whose combination           
constituted the whole nature of that    
particular body4 ,the first was the     
,stuff1 or ,subject-matter1 out of which
 it was made2 the second was the        
,species1 the ,specific ,essence1 the   

,essential1 or1 as the schoolmen have   
called it1 the ,substantial ,form of the
 ,body4 #cif ,the first seemed to be the
 same in all bodies1 and to have neither
 qualities nor powers of any kind1 but  
to be altogether inert and imperceptible
 by any of the senses1 till it was      
qualified and rendered sensible by its  
union with some species or essential    
form4 ,all the qualities and powers of  
bodies seemed to depend upon their      
species or essential forms4 ,it was not 
the stuff or matter of ,fire1 or ,air1  
or ,earth1 or ,water1 which enabled     
those elements to produce their several 
effects1 but that essential form which  
was peculiar to each of them4 ,for it   
seemed evident that ,fire must produce  
the effects of ,fire1 by that which     
rendered it ,fire2 ,air1 by that which  
rendered it ,air2 and that in the same  
manner all other simple and mixed bodies
 must produce their several effects1 by 
that which constituted them such or such
 bodies2 that is1 by their ,specific    

,essence or essential forms4 ,but it is 
from the effects of bodies upon one     
another1 that all the changes and       
revolutions in the material world arise4
 ,since these1 therefore1 depend upon   
the specific essences of those bodies1  
it must be the business of philosophy1  
that science which endeavours to connect
 together all the different changes that
 occur in the world1 to determine       
wherein the ,specific ,essence of each  
object consists1 in order to foresee    
what changes or revolutions may be      
expected from it4 ,but the ,specific    
,essence of each individual object is   
not that which is peculiar to it as an  
individual1 but that which is common to 
it1 with all other objects of the same  
kind4 ,thus the ,specific ,essence of   
the ,water1 which now stands before me1 
does not consist in its being heated by 
the ,fire1 or cooled by the ,air1 in    
such a particular degree2 in its being  
contained in a vessel of such a form1 or
 of such dimensions4 ,these are all     

accidental circumstances1 which are     
altogether extraneous to its general    
nature1 and upon which none of its      
effects as ,water depend4 ,philosophy1  
therefore1 in considering the general   
nature of ,water1 takes no notice of    
those particularities which are peculiar
 to this water1 but confines itself to  
those things which are common to all    
,water4 ,if1 in the progress of its     
inquiries1 it should descend to consider
 the nature of ,water that is modified  
by such particular accidents1 it still  
would not confine its consideration to  
this water contained in this vessel1 and
 thus heated at this fire1 but would    
extend its views to ,water in general   
contained in such kind of vessels1 and  
heated to such a degree at such a fire4 
,in every case1 therefore1 ,species1 or 
,universals1 and not ,individuals1 are  
the objects of ,philosophy4 ,because    
whatever effects are produced by        
individuals1 whatever changes can flow  
from them1 must all proceed from some   

universal nature that is contained in   
them4 ,as it was the business of        
,physics1 or ,natural ,philosophy1 to   
determine wherein consisted the ,nature 
and ,essence of every particular        
,species of things1 in order to connect 
together all the different events that  
occur in the material world2 so there   
were two other sciences1 which1 though  
they had originally arisen out of that  
system of ,natural ,philosophy ,i have  
just #cig been describing1 were1        
however1 apprehended to go before it1 in
 the order in which the knowledge of    
,nature ought to be communicated4 ,the  
first of these1 ,metaphysics1 considered
 the general nature of ,universals1 and 
the different sorts or species into     
which they might be divided4 ,the second
 of these1 ,logics1 was built upon this 
doctrine of ,metaphysics2 and from the  
general nature of ,universals1 and of   
the sorts into which they were divided1 
endeavoured to ascertain the general    
rules by which we might distribute all  

particular objects into general classes1
 and determine to what class each       
individual object belonged2 for in this1
 they justly enough apprehended1        
consisted the whole art of philosophical
 reasoning4 ,as the first of these two  
sciences1 ,metaphysics1 is altogether   
subordinate to the second1 ,logic1 they 
seem1 before the time of ,aristotle1 to 
have been regarded as one1 and to have  
made up between them that ancient       
,dialectic of which we hear so much1 and
 of which we understand so little3      
neither does this separation seem to    
have been much attended to1 either by   
his own followers1 the ancient          
,peripatetics1 or by any other of the   
old sects of philosophers4 ,the later   
schoolmen1 indeed1 have distinguished   
between ,ontology and ,logic2 but their 
,ontology contains but a small part of  
what is the subject of the metaphysical 
books of ,aristotle1 the greater part of
 which1 the doctrines of ,universals1   
and everything that is preparatory to   

the arts of defining and dividing1 has1 
since the days of ,porphery1 been       
inserted into their ,logic4  ,according 
to ,plato and ,timus1 the principles out
 of which the ,deity formed the ,world1 
and which were themselves eternal1 were 
three in number4 ,the ,subject-matter of
 things1 the ,species1 or ,specific     
,essences of things1 and what was made  
out of these1 the sensible objects      
themselves4 ,these last had no proper or
 durable existence1 but were in         
perpetual flux and succession4 ,for as  
,heraclitus had said that no man ever   
passed the same river twice1 because the
 water which he had passed over once was
 gone before he could pass over it a    
second time2 so1 in the same manner1 no 
man ever saw1 or heard1 or touched the  
same sensible object twice4 ,when ,i    
look at the window1 for example1 the    
visible species1 which strikes my eyes  
this moment1 though resembling1 is      
different from that which struck my eyes
 the immediately preceding moment4 ,when

 ,i ring the bell1 the sound1 or audible
 species1 which ,i hear this moment1    
though resembling in the same manner1 is
 different1 however1 from that which ,i 
heard the moment before4 ,when ,i lay my
 hand on the table1 the tangible species
 which ,i feel this moment1 though      
resembling1 in the same manner1 is      
numerically different too from that     
which ,i felt the moment before4 ,our   
sensations1 therefore1 never properly   
exist or endure one moment2 but1 in the 
very instant of their generation1 perish
 and are annihilated for ever4 ,nor are 
the causes of those sensations more     
permanent4 ,no corporeal substance is   
ever exactly the #cih same1 either in   
whole or in any assignable part1 during 
two successive1 moments1 but by the     
perpetual addition of new parts1 as well
 as loss of old ones1 is in continual   
flux and succession4 ,things of so      
fleeting a nature can never be the      
objects of science1 or of any steady or 
permanent judgment4 ,while we look at   

them1 in order to consider them1 they   
are changed and gone1 and annihilated   
for ever4 ,the objects of science1 and  
of all the steady judgments of the      
understanding1 must be permanent1       
unchangeable1 always existent1 and      
liable neither to generation nor        
corruption1 nor alteration of any kind4 
,such are the species or specific       
essences of things4 ,man is perpetually 
changing every particle of his body2 and
 every thought of his mind is in        
continual flux and succession4 ,but     
humanity1 or human nature1 is always    
existent1 is always the same1 is never  
generated1 and is never corrupted4      
,this1 therefore1 is the object of      
science1 reason1 and understanding1 as  
man is the object of sense1 and of those
 inconstant opinions which are founded  
upon sense4 ,as the objects of sense    
were apprehended to have an external    
existence1 independent of the act of    
sensation1 so these objects of the      
understanding were much more supposed to

 have an external existence independent 
of the act of understanding4 ,those     
external essences were1 according to    
,plato1 the exemplars1 according to     
which the ,deity formed the world1 and  
all the sensible objects that are in it4
 ,the ,deity comprehended within his    
infinite essence1 all these species1 or 
external exemplars1 in the same manner  
as he comprehended all sensible objects4
  ,plato1 however1 seems to have        
regarded the first of those as equally  
distinct with the second from what we   
would now call the ,ideas or ,thoughts  
of the ,divine ,mind1#a and even to have
 supposed1 that they had a particular   
place of existence1 beyond the sphere of
 the visible #cii corporeal world2      
though this has been much controverted1 
both by the later ,platonists1 and by   
some very judicious modern critics1 who 
have followed the interpretation of the 
later ,platonists1 as what did most #djj
 honour to the judgment of that renowned
 philosopher4 ,all the objects in this  

world1 continued he1 are particular and 
individual4 ,here1 therefore1 the human 
mind has no opportunity of seeing any   
,species1 or ,universal ,nature4        
,whatever ideas it has1 therefore1 of   
such beings1 for it plainly has them1 it
 must derive from the memory of what it 
has seen1 in some former period of its  
existence1 when it had an opportunity of
 visiting the place or ,sphere of       
,universals4 ,for some time after it is 
immersed in the body1 during its        
infancy1 its childhood1 and a great part
 of its youth1 the violence of those    
passions which it derives from the body1
 and which are all directed to the      
particular and individual objects of    
this world1 hinder it from turning its  
attention to those ,universal ,natures1 
with which it had been conversant in the
 world from whence it came4 ,the ,ideas1
 of these1 therefore1 seem1 in this     
first period of its existence here1 to  
be overwhelmed in the confusion of those
 turbulent emotions1 and to be almost   

entirely wiped out of its remembrance4  
,during the continuance of this state1  
it is incapable of ,reasoning1 ,science 
and ,philosophy1 which are conversant   
about ,universals4 ,its whole attention 
is turned towards particular objects1   
concerning which1 being directed by no  
general notions1 it forms many vain and 
false opinions1 and is filled with      
error1 perplexity1 and confusion4 ,but1 
when age has abated the violence of its 
passions1 and composed the confusion of 
its thoughts1 it then becomes more      
capable of reflection1 and of turning   
its attention to those almost forgotten 
ideas of things with which it had been  
conversant in the former state of its   
existence4 ,all the particular objects  
in this sensible world1 being formed    
after the eternal exemplars in that     
intellectual world1 awaken1 upon account
 of their resemblance1 insensibly1 and  
by slow degrees1 the almost obliterated 
ideas of these last4 ,the beauty1 which 
is shared in different degrees among    

terrestrial objects1 revives the same   
idea of that ,universal ,nature of      
beauty which exists in the intellectual 
world3 particular acts of justice1 of   
the universal nature of justice2        
particular reasonings1 and particular   
sciences1 of the universal nature of    
science and reasoning2 particular       
roundnesses1 of the universal nature of 
roundness2 particular squares1 of the   
universal nature of squareness4 ,thus   
science1 which is conversant about      
,universals1 is derived from memory2 and
 to instruct any person concerning the  
general nature of any subject1 is no    
more than to awaken in him the          
remembrance of what he formerly knew    
about it4 ,this both ,plato and         
,socrates imagined they could still     
further confirm1 by the fallacious      
experiment1 #dja which showed1 that a   
person might be led to discover himself1
 without any information1 any general   
truth1 of which he was before ignorant1 
merely by being asked a number of       

properly arranged and connected         
questions concerning it4  ,footnote #a3 
,he calls them1 indeed1 ,ideas1 a word  
which1 in him1 in ,aristotle1 and all   
the other writers of earlier antiquity1 
signifies a ,species1 and is perfectly  
synonymous with that other word ,greek3 
,eidos1 more frequently made use of by  
,aristotle4 ,as1 by some of the later   
sects of philosophers1 particularly by  
the ,stoics1 all species1 or specific   
essences1 were regarded as mere         
creatures of the mind1 formed by        
abstraction1 which had no real existence
 external to the thoughts that conceived
 them1 the word ,idea came1 by degrees1 
to its present signification1 to mean1  
first1 an abstract thought or           
conception2 and afterwards1 a thought or
 conception of any kind2 and thus became
 synonymous with that other ,greek word1
 ,greek3 ,ennoia1 from which it had     
originally a very different meaning4    
,when the later ,platonists1 who lived  
at a time when the notion of the        

separate existence of specific essences 
was universally exploded1 began to      
comment upon the writings of ,plato1 and
 upon that strange fancy that1 in his   
writings1 there was a double doctrine2  
and that they were intended to seem to  
mean one thing1 while at bottom they    
meant a very different1 which the       
writings of no man in his senses ever   
were1 or ever could be intended to do2  
they represented his doctrine as meaning
 no more1 than that the ,deity formed   
the world after what we would now call  
an ,idea1 or plan conceived in his own  
mind1 in the same manner as any other   
artist4 ,but1 if ,plato had meant to    
express no more than this most natural  
and simple of all notions1 he might     
surely have expressed it more plainly1  
and would hardly1 one would think1 have 
talked of it with so much emphasis1 as  
of something which it required the      
utmost reach of thought to comprehend4  
,according to this representation1      
,plato's notion of ,species1 or         

,universals1 was the same with that of  
,aristotle4 ,aristotle1 however1 does   
not seem to understand it as such2 he   
bestows a great part of his ,metaphysics
 upon confuting it1 and opposes it in   
all his other works2 nor does he1 in any
 one of them1 give the least hint1 or   
insinuation1 as if it could be suspected
 that1 by the ,ideas of ,plato1 was     
meant the thoughts or conceptions of the
 ,divine ,mind4 ,is it possible that he1
 who was twenty years in his school1    
should1 during all that time1 have      
misunderstood him1 especially when his  
meaning was so very plain and obvious8  
,neither is this notion of the separate 
existence of ,species1 distinct both    
from the mind which conceives them1 and 
from the sensible objects which are made
 to resemble them1 one of those         
doctrines which ,plato would but seldom 
have occasion to talk of4 ,however it   
may be interpreted1 it is the very basis
 of his philosophy2 neither is there a  
single dialogue in all his works which  

does not refer to it4 ,shall we suppose1
 that that great philosopher1 who       
appears to have been so much superior to
 his master in every thing but          
eloquence1 wilfully1 and upon all       
occasions1 misrepresented1 not one of   
the deep and mysterious doctrines of the
 philosophy of ,plato1 but the first and
 most fundamental principle of all his  
reasonings2 when the writings of ,plato 
were in the hands of every body2 when   
his followers and disciples were spread 
all over ,greece2 when almost every     
,athenian of distinction1 that was      
nearly of the same age with ,aristotle1 
must have been bred in his school2 when 
,speusippus1 the nephew and successor of
 ,plato1 as well as ,xenocrates1 who    
continued the school in the ,academy1 at
 the same time that ,aristotle held his 
in the ,lyceum1 must have been ready1 at
 all times1 to expose and affront him   
for such gross disingenuity4 ,does not  
,cicero1 does not ,seneca understand    
this doctrine in the same manner as     

,aristotle has represented it8 ,is there
 any author in all antiquity who seems  
to understand it otherwise1 earlier than
 ,plutarch1 an author who seems to have 
been as bad a critic in philosophy as in
 history1 and to have taken every thing 
at second-hand in both1 and who lived   
after the origin of that eclectic       
philosophy1 from whence the later       
,platonists arose1 and who seems himself
 to have been one of that sect8 ,is     
there any one passage in any ,greek     
author1 near the time of ,aristotle and 
,plato1 in which the word ,idea is used 
in its present meaning1 to signify a    
thought or conception8 ,are not the     
words1 which in all languages express   
reality or existence1 directly opposed  
to those which express thought1 or      
conception only8 ,or1 is there any other
 difference betwixt a thing that exists1
 and a thing that does not exist1 except
 this1 that the one is a mere           
conception1 and that the other is       
something more than a conception8 ,with 

what propriety1 therefore1 could ,plato 
talk of those eternal species1 as of the
 only things which had any real         
existence1 if they were no more than the
 conceptions of the ,divine ,mind8 ,had 
not the ,deity1 according to ,plato1 as 
well as according to the ,stoics1 from  
all eternity1 the idea of every         
individual1 as well as of every species1
 and of the state in which every        
individual was to be1 in each different 
instance of its existence8 ,were not all
 the divine ideas1 therefore1 of each   
individual1 or of all the different     
states1 which each individual was to be 
in during the course of its existence1  
equally eternal and unalterable with    
those of the species8 ,with what sense1 
therefore1 could ,plato say1 that the   
first were eternal1 because the ,deity  
had conceived them from all eternity1   
since he had conceived the others from  
all eternity too1 and since his ideas of
 the ,species could1 in this respect1   
have no advantage of those of the       

individual8 ,does not ,plato1 in many   
different places1 talk of the ,ideas of 
,species or ,universals as innate1 and  
having been impressed upon the mind in  
its state of pre-existence1 when it had 
an opportunity of viewing these ,species
 as they are in themselves1 and not as  
they are expressed in their copies1 or  
representatives upon earth8 ,but if the 
only place of the existence of those    
,species was the ,divine ,mind1 will not
 this suppose1 that ,plato either       
imagined1 like ,father ,malbranche1 that
 in its state of pre-existence1 the mind
 saw all things in ,god3 or that it was 
itself an emanation of the ,divinity8   
,that he maintained the first opinion1  
will not be pretended by any body who is
 at all versed in the history of        
science4 ,that enthusiastic notion1     
though it may seem to be favoured by    
some passages in the ,fathers1 was      
never1 it is well known1 coolly and     
literally maintained by any body before 
that ,cartesian philosopher4 ,that the  

human mind was itself an emanation of   
the ,divine1 though it was the doctrine 
of the ,stoics1 was by no means that of 
,plato2 though1 upon the notion of a    
pretended double doctrine1 the contrary 
has lately been asserted4 ,according to 
,plato1 the ,deity formed the soul of   
the world out of that substance which is
 always the same1 that is1 out of       
,species or ,universals2 out of that    
which is always different1 that is1 out 
of corporeal substances2 and out of a   
substance that was of a middle nature   
between these1 which it is not easy to  
understand what he meant by4 ,out of a  
part of the same composition1 he made   
those inferior intelligences who        
animated the celestial spheres1 to whom 
he delivered the remaining part of it1  
to form from thence the souls of men and
 animals4 ,the souls of those inferior  
deities1 though made out of a similar   
substance or composition1 were not      
regarded as parts or emanations of that 
of the world2 nor were those of animals1

 in the same manner1 regarded as parts  
or emanations of those inferior deities3
 much less were any of them regarded as 
parts1 or emanations of the great       
,author of all things4  ,the more the   
soul was accustomed to the consideration
 of those ,universal ,natures1 the less 
it was attached to any particular and   
individual objects2 it approached the   
nearer to the original perfection of its
 nature1 from which1 according to this  
philosophy1 it had fallen4 ,philosophy1 
which accustoms it to consider the      
general ,essence of things only1 and to 
abstract from all their particular and  
sensible circumstances1 was1 upon this  
account1 regarded as the great purifier 
of the soul4 ,as death separated the    
soul from the body1 and from the bodily 
senses and passions1 it restored it to  
that intellectual world1 from whence it 
had originally descended1 where no      
sensible ,species called off its        
attention from those general ,essences  
of things4 ,philosophy1 in this life1   

habituating it to the same              
considerations1 brings it1 in some      
degree1 to that state of happiness and  
perfection1 to which death restores the 
souls of just men in a life to come4    
,such was the doctrine of ,plato        
concerning the ,species or ,specific    
,essence of things4 ,this1 at least1 is 
what his words seem to import1 and thus 
he is understood by ,aristotle1 the most
 intelligent and the most renowned of   
all his disciples4 ,it is a doctrine1   
which1 like many of the other doctrines 
of abstract ,philosophy1 is more        
coherent in the expression than in the  
idea2 and which seems to have arisen1   
more from the nature of language1 than  
from the nature of things4 ,with all its
 imperfections it was excusable1 in the 
beginnings of philosophy1 and is not a  
great deal more remote from the truth1  
than many others which have since been  
substituted in its room by some of the  
greatest pretenders to accuracy and     
precision4 ,mankind have had1 at all    

times1 a strong propensity to realize   
their own abstractions1 of which we     
shall immediately see an example1 in the
 notions of that very philosopher who   
first exposed the ill-grounded          
foundation of those ,ideas1 or          
,universals1 of ,plato and ,timus4 ,to  
explain the nature1 and to account for  
the origin of general ,ideas1 is1 even  
at this day1 the greatest difficulty in 
abstract philosophy4 ,how the human     
mind1 when it reasons concerning the    
general nature of triangles1 should     
either conceive1 as ,mr4 ,locke imagines
 it does1 the idea of a triangle1 which 
is neither obtusangular1 nor            
rectangular1 nor acutangular2 but which 
was at once both none and of all those  
together2 or should1 as ,malbranche     
thinks necessary for this purpose1      
comprehend at once1 within its finite   
capacity1 all possible triangles of all 
possible forms and dimensions1 which are
 infinite in number1 is a question1 to  
which it is surely not easy to give a   

satisfactory answer4 ,malbranche1 to    
solve it1 had recourse to the           
enthusiastic and unintelligible notion  
of the intimate union of the human mind 
with the divine1 in whose infinite #djb 
essence the immensity of such species   
could alone be comprehended2 and in     
which alone1 therefore1 all finite      
intelligences could have an opportunity 
of viewing them4 ,if1 after more than   
two thousand years reasoning about this 
subject1 this ingenious and sublime     
philosopher was forced to have recourse 
to so strange a fancy1 in order to      
explain it1 can we wonder that ,plato1  
in the very first dawnings of science1  
should1 for the same purpose1 adopt an  
hypothesis1 which has been thought1     
without much reason1 indeed1 to have    
some affinity to that of ,malbranche1   
and which is not more out of the way8   
,what seems to have misled those early  
philosophers1 was1 the notion1 which    
appears1 at first1 natural enough1 that 
those things1 out of which any object is

 composed1 must exist antecedent to that
 object4 ,but the things out of which   
all particular objects seem to be       
composed1 are the stuff or matter of    
those objects1 and the form or specific 
,essence1 which determines them to be of
 this or that class of things4 ,these1  
therefore1 it was thought1 must have    
existed antecedent to the object which  
was made up between them4 ,plato1 who   
held1 that the sensible world1 which1   
according to him1 is the world of       
individuals1 was made in time1          
necessarily conceived1 that both the    
universal matter1 the object of spurious
 reason1 and the specific essence1 the  
object of proper reason and philosophy  
out of which it was composed1 must have 
had a separate existence from all       
eternity4 ,this intellectual world1 very
 different from the intellectual world  
of ,cudworth1 though much of the        
language of the one has been borrowed   
from that of the other1 was necessarily 
and always existent2 whereas the        

sensible world owed its origin to the   
free will and bounty of its author4  ,a 
notion of this kind1 as long as it is   
expressed in very general language2 as  
long as it is not much rested upon1 nor 
attempted to be very particularly and   
distinctly explained1 passes easily     
enough1 through the indolent            
imagination1 accustomed to substitute   
words in the room of ideas2 and if the  
words seem to hang easily together1     
requiring no great precision in the     
ideas4 ,it vanishes1 indeed2 is         
discovered to be altogether             
incomprehensible1 and eludes the grasp  
of the imagination1 upon an attentive   
consideration4 ,it requires1 however1 an
 attentive consideration2 and if it had 
been as fortunate as many other opinions
 of the same kind1 and about the same   
subject1 it might1 without examination1 
have continued to be the current        
philosophy for a century or two4        
,aristotle1 however1 seems immediately  
to have discovered1 that it was         

impossible to conceive1 as actually     
existent1 either that general matter1   
which was not determined by any         
particular species1 or those species    
which were not embodied1 if one may say 
so1 in some particular portion of       
matter4 ,aristotle1 too1 held1 as we    
have already observed the eternity of   
the sensible world4 ,though he held1    
therefore1 that all sensible objects    
were made up of two principles1 both of 
which1 he calls1 equally1 substances1   
the matter and the specific essence1 he 
was #djc not obliged to hold1 like      
,plato1 that those principles existed   
prior in the order of time to the       
objects which they afterwards composed4 
,they were prior1 he said1 in nature1   
but not in time1 according to a         
distinction which was of use to him upon
 some other occasion4 ,he distinguished1
 too1 betwixt actual and potential      
existence4 ,by the first1 he seems to   
have understood what is commonly meant  
by existence or reality2 by the second1 

the bare possibility of existence4 ,his 
meaning1 ,i say1 seems to amount to     
this2 though he does not explain it     
precisely in this manner4 ,neither the  
material ,essence of body could1        
according to him1 exist actually without
 being determined by some ,specific     
,essence1 to some particular class of   
things1 nor any ,specific ,essence      
without being embodied in some          
particular portion of matter4 ,each of  
these two principles1 however1 could    
exist potentially in this separate      
state4 ,that matter existed potentially1
 which1 being endowed with a particular 
form1 could be brought into actual      
existence2 and that form1 which1 by     
being embodied in a particular portion  
of matter1 could1 in the same manner1 be
 called forth into the class of complete
 realities4 ,this potential existence of
 matter and form1 he sometimes talks of1
 in expressions which resemble those of 
,plato1 to whose notion of separate     
,essence it bears a very great affinity4

  ,aristotle1 who seems in many things  
original1 and who endeavoured to seem to
 be so in all things1 added the         
principle of privation to those of      
matter and form1 which he had derived   
from the ancient ,pythagorean school4   
,when ,water is changed into ,air1 the  
transmutation is brought about by the   
material principle of those two elements
 being deprived of the form of ,water1  
and then assuming the form of ,air4     
,privation1 therefore1 was a third      
principle opposite to form1 which       
entered into the generation of every    
,species1 which was always from some    
other ,species4 ,it was a principle of  
generation1 but not of composition1 as  
is most obvious4  ,the ,stoics1 whose   
opinions were1 in all the different     
parts of philosophy1 either the same    
with1 or very nearly allied to those of 
,aristotle and ,plato1 though often     
disguised in very different language1   
held1 that all things1 even the elements
 themselves1 were compounded of two     

principles1 upon one of which depended  
all the active1 and upon the other all  
the passive1 powers of these bodies4    
,the last of these1 they called ,matter2
 the first1 the ,cause1 by which they   
meant the very same thing which         
,aristotle and ,plato understood1 by    
their specific ,essences4 ,matter1      
according to the ,stoics1 could have no 
existence separate from the cause or    
efficient principle which determined it 
to some particular class of things4     
,neither could the efficient principle  
exist separately from the material1 in  
which it was always necessarily         
embodied4 ,their opinion1 therefore1 so 
far coincided with that of the old      
,peripatetics4 ,the efficient principle1
 they said1 was the ,deity4 ,by which   
they meant1 that it was a detached      
portion of the etherial and divine      
nature1 #djd which penetrated all       
things1 that constituted what ,plato    
would have called the ,specific ,essence
 of each individual object2 and so far  

their opinion coincides pretty nearly   
with that of the latter ,platonists1 who
 held1 that the ,specific ,essences of  
all things were detached portions of    
their created deity1 the soul of the    
world2 and with that of some of the     
,arabian and ,scholastic ,commentators  
of ,aristotle1 who held that the        
substantial forms of all things         
descended from those ,divine ,essences  
which animated the ,celestial ,spheres4 
,such was the doctrine of the four      
principal ,sects of the ancient         
,philosophers1 concerning the ,specific 
,essences of things1 of the old         
,pythagoreans1 of the ,academical1 the  
,peripatetic1 and the ,stoical ,sects4  
,as this doctrine of ,specific ,essences
 seems naturally enough to have arisen  
from that ancient system of ,physics1   
which ,i have above described1 and which
 is1 by no means1 devoid of probability1
 so many of the doctrines of that       
system1 which seems to us1 who have been
 long accustomed to another1 the most   

incomprehensible1 necessarily flow from 
this metaphysical notion4 ,such are     
those of generation1 corruption1 and    
alteration2 of mixture1 condensation1   
and rarefaction4 ,a body was generated  
or corrupted1 when it changed its       
,specific ,essence1 and passed from one 
denomination to another4 ,it was altered
 when it changed only some of its       
qualities1 but still retained the same  
,specific ,essence1 and the same        
denomination4 ,thus1 when a flower was  
withered1 it was not corrupted2 though  
some of its qualities were changed1 it  
still retained the ,specific ,essence1  
and therefore justly passed under the   
denomination of a flower4 ,but1 when1 in
 the further progress of its decay1 it  
crumbled into earth1 it was corrupted2  
it lost the ,specific ,essence1 or      
substantial form of the flower1 and     
assumed that of the earth1 and therefore
 justly changed its denomination4  ,the 
,specific ,essence1 or universal nature 
that was lodged in each particular class

 of bodies1 was not itself the object of
 any of our senses1 but could be        
perceived only by the understanding4 ,it
 was by the sensible qualities1 however1
 that we judged of the ,specific        
,essence of each object4 ,some of these 
sensible qualities1 therefore1 we       
regarded as essential1 or such as       
showed1 by their presence or absence1   
the presence or absence of that         
essential form from which they          
necessarily flowed4 ,others were        
accidental1 or such whose presence or   
absence had no such necessary           
consequences4 ,the first of these two   
sorts of qualities was called           
,properties2 the second1 ,accidents4    
,in the ,specific ,essence of each      
object itself1 they distinguished two   
parts2 one of which was peculiar and    
characteristical of the one class of    
things of which that particular object  
was an individual1 the other was common 
to it with some other higher classes of 
things4 ,these two parts were1 to the   

,specific ,essence1 pretty much what the
 ,matter and the ,specific ,essence were
 to each individual body4 ,the one1     
which was called the ,genus1 was        
modified and determined by the other1   
#dje which was called the ,specific     
,difference1 pretty much in the same    
manner as the universal matter contained
 in each body was modified and          
determined by the ,specific ,essence of 
that particular class of bodies4 ,these 
four1 with the ,specific ,essence or    
,species itself1 made up the number of  
the ,five ,universals1 so well known in 
the schools by the names of ,genus1     
,species1 ,differentia1 ,proprium1 and  
,accidens4  99     99     99     99     
99  ----------     ,,of ,,the  ,,nature 
,,of ,,that ,,imitation  ,,which ,,takes
 ,,place ,,in ,,what ,,are ,,called     
,,the ,,imitative ,,arts4  -----  ,,part
 ,i4   ,,the most perfect imitation of  
an object of any kind must in all cases1
 it is evident1 be another object of the
 same kind1 made as exactly as possible 

after the same model4 ,what1 for        
example1 would be the most perfect      
imitation of the carpet which now lies  
before me8--,another carpet1 certainly1 
wrought as exactly as possible after the
 same pattern4 ,but1 whatever might be  
the merit or beauty of this second      
carpet1 it would not be supposed to     
derive any from the circumstance of its 
having been made in imitation of the    
first4 ,this circumstance of its being  
not an original1 but a copy1 would even 
be considered as some diminution of that
 merit2 a greater or smaller1 in        
proportion as the object was of a nature
 to lay claim to a greater or smaller   
degree of admiration4 ,it would not much
 diminish the merit of a common carpet1 
because in such trifling objects1 which 
at best can lay claim to so little      
beauty or merit of any kind1 we do not  
always think it worth while to affect   
originality3 it would diminish a good   
deal that of a carpet of very exquisite 
workmanship4 ,in objects of still       

greater importance1 this exact1 or1 as  
it would be called1 this servile        
imitation1 would be considered as the   
most unpardonable blemish4 ,to build    
another ,st4 ,peter's or ,st4 ,paul's   
church1 of exactly the same dimensions1 
proportions1 and ornaments with the     
present buildings at ,rome or ,london1  
would be supposed to argue such a       
miserable barrenness of genius and      
invention in the architect as would     
disgrace the most expensive             
magnificence4  ,the exact resemblance of
 the correspondent parts of the same    
object #djf is frequently considered as 
a beauty1 and the want of it as a       
deformity2 as in the correspondent      
members of the human body1 in the       
opposite wings of the same building1 in 
the opposite trees of the same alley1 in
 the correspondent compartments of the  
same piece of carpet-work1 or of the    
same flower-garden1 in the chairs or    
tables which stand in the correspondent 
parts of the same room1 etc4 ,but in    

objects of the same kind1 which in other
 respects are regarded as altogether    
separate and unconnected1 this exact    
resemblance is seldom considered as a   
beauty1 nor the want of it as a         
deformity4 ,a man1 and in the same      
manner a horse1 is handsome or ugly1    
each of them1 on account of his own     
intrinsic beauty or deformity1 without  
any regard to their resembling or not   
resembling1 the one1 another man1 or the
 other1 another horse4 ,a set of        
coach-horses1 indeed1 is supposed to be 
handsomer when they are all exactly     
matched2 but each horse is1 in this     
case1 considered not as a separated and 
unconnected object1 or as a whole by    
himself1 but as a part of another whole1
 to the other parts of which he ought to
 bear a certain correspondence3         
separated from the set1 he derives      
neither beauty from his resemblance1 nor
 deformity from his unlikeness to the   
other horses which compose it4  ,even in
 the correspondent parts of the same    

object1 we frequently require no more   
than a resemblance in the general       
outline4 ,if the inferior members of    
those correspondent parts are too minute
 to be seen distinctly1 without a       
separate and distinct examination of    
each part by itself1 as a separate and  
unconnected object1 we should sometimes 
even be displeased if the resemblance   
was carried beyond this general outline4
 ,in the correspondent parts of a room  
we frequently hang pictures of the same 
size2 those pictures1 however1 resemble 
one another in nothing but the frame1   
or1 perhaps1 in the general character of
 the subject2 if the one is a landscape1
 the other is a landscape too2 if the   
one represents a religious or a         
bacchanalian subject1 its companion     
represents another of the same kind4    
,nobody ever thought of repeating the   
same picture in each correspondent      
frame4 ,the frame1 and the general      
character of two or three pictures1 is  
as much as the eye can comprehend at one

 view1 or from one station4 ,each       
picture1 in order1 to be seen           
distinctly1 and understood thoroughly1  
must be viewed from a particular        
station1 and examined by itself as a    
separate and unconnected object4 ,in a  
hall or portico1 adorned with statues1  
the niches1 or perhaps the pedestals1   
may exactly resemble one another1 but   
the statues are always different ,even  
the masks which are sometimes carried   
upon the different key-stones of the    
same arcade1 or of the correspondent    
doors and windows of the same front1    
though they may all resemble one another
 in the general outline1 yet each of    
them has always its own peculiar        
features1 and a grimace of its own4     
,there are some ,gothic buildings in    
which the correspondent windows resemble
 one another only in the general        
outline1 and not in the smaller #djg    
ornaments and subdivisions4 ,these are  
different in each1 and the architect had
 considered them as too minute to be    

seen distinctly1 without a particular   
and separate examination of each window 
by itself1 as a separate and unconnected
 object4 ,a variety of this sort1       
however1 ,i think1 is not agreeable4 ,in
 objects which are susceptible only of a
 certain inferior order of beauty1 such 
as the frames of pictures1 the niches or
 the pedestals of statues1 c41 there    
seems frequently to be affectation in   
the study of variety1 of which the merit
 is scarcely ever sufficient to         
compensate the want of that perspicuity 
and distinctness1 of that easiness to be
 comprehended and remembered1 which is  
the natural effect of exact uniformity4 
,in a portico of the ,corinthian or     
,ionic order1 each column resembles     
every other1 not only in the general    
outline1 but in all the minutest        
ornaments2 though some of them1 in order
 to be seen distinctly1 may require a   
separate and distinct examination in    
each column1 and in the entablature of  
each intercolumnation4 ,in the inlaid   

tables1 which1 according to the present 
fashion1 are sometimes fixed in the     
correspondent parts of the same room1   
the pictures only are different in each4
 ,all the other more frivolous and      
fanciful ornaments are commonly1 so far 
at least as ,i have observed the        
fashion1 the same in them all4 ,those   
ornaments1 however1 in order to be seen 
distinctly1 require a distinct          
examination of each table4  ,the        
extraordinary resemblance of two natural
 objects1 of twins1 for example1 is     
regarded as a curious circumstance2     
which1 though it does not increase1 yet 
does not diminish the beauty of either1 
considered as a separate and unconnected
 object4 ,but the exact resemblance of  
two productions of art1 seems to be     
always considered as some diminution of 
the merit of at least one of them2 as it
 seems to prove1 that one of them1 at   
least1 is a copy either of the other1 or
 of some other original4 ,one may say1  
even of the copy of a picture1 that it  

derives its merit1 not so much from its 
resemblance to the original1 as from its
 resemblance to the object which the    
original was meant to resemble4 ,the    
owner of the copy1 so far from setting  
any high value upon its resemblance to  
the original1 is often anxious to       
destroy any value or merit which it     
might derive from this circumstance4 ,he
 is often anxious to persuade both      
himself and other people that it is not 
a copy1 but an original1 of which what  
passes for the original is only a copy4 
,but1 whatever merit a copy may derive  
from its resemblance to the original1 an
 original can derive none from the      
resemblance of its copy4  ,but though a 
production of art seldom derives any    
merit from its resemblance to another   
object of the same kind1 it frequently  
derives a great deal from its           
resemblance to an object of a different 
kind1 whether that object be a          
production of art or of nature4 ,a      
painted cloth1 the work of some         

laborious ,dutch artist1 so curiously   
shaded and coloured as to represent the 
pile and softness of a woollen one1     
might derive some merit from its        
resemblance even to the sorry carpet    
which now #djh lies before me4 ,the copy
 might1 and probably would1 in this     
case1 be of much greater value than the 
original4 ,but if this carpet was       
represented as spread1 either upon a    
floor or upon a table1 and projecting   
from the background of the picture1 with
 exact observation of perspective1 and  
of light and shade1 the merit of the    
imitation would be still even greater4  
,in ,painting1 a plain surface of one   
kind is made to resemble1 not only a    
plain surface of another1 but all the   
three dimensions of a solid substance4  
,in ,statuary and ,sculpture1 a solid   
substance of one kind1 is made to       
resemble a solid substance of another4  
,the disparity between the object       
imitating1 and the object imitated1 is  
much greater in the one art than in the 

other2 and the pleasure arising from the
 imitation seems greater in proportion  
as this disparity is greater4  ,in      
,painting1 the imitation frequently     
pleases1 though the original object be  
indifferent1 or even offensive4 ,in     
,statuary and ,sculpture it is          
otherwise4 ,the imitation seldom        
pleases1 unless the original object be  
in a very high degree either great1 or  
beautiful1 or interesting4 ,a           
butcher's-stall1 or a kitchen-dresser1  
with the objects which they commonly    
present1 are not certainly the happiest 
subjects1 even for ,painting4 ,they     
have1 however1 been represented with so 
much care and success by some ,dutch    
masters1 that it is impossible to view  
the pictures without some degree of     
pleasure4 ,they would be most absurd    
subjects for ,statuary or ,sculpture1   
which are1 however1 capable of          
representing them4 ,the picture of a    
very ugly or deformed man1 such as sop1 
or ,scarron1 might not make a           

disagreeable piece of furniture4 ,the   
statue certainly would4 ,even a vulgar  
ordinary man or woman1 engaged in a     
vulgar ordinary action1 like what we see
 with so much pleasure in the pictures  
of ,rembrandt1 would be too mean a      
subject for ,statuary4 ,jupiter1        
,hercules1 and ,apollo1 ,venus and      
,diana1 the ,nymphs and the ,graces1    
,bacchus1 ,mercury1 ,antinous1 and      
,meleager1 the miserable death of       
,laocoon1 the melancholy fate of the    
children of ,niobe1 the ,wrestlers1 the 
fighting1 the dying gladiator1 the      
figures of gods and goddesses1 of heroes
 and heroines1 the most perfect forms of
 the human body1 placed either in the   
noblest attitudes1 or in the most       
interesting situations which the human  
imagination is capable of conceiving1   
are the proper1 and therefore have      
always been the favourite1 subjects of  
,statuary3 that art cannot1 without     
degrading itself1 stoop to represent any
 thing that is offensive1 or mean1 or   

even indifferent4 ,painting is not so   
disdainful2 and1 though capable of      
representing the noblest objects1 it    
can1 without forfeiting its title to    
please1 submit to imitate those of a    
much more humble nature4 ,the merit of  
the imitation alone1 and without any    
merit in the imitated object1 is capable
 of supporting the dignity of ,painting3
 it cannot support that of ,statuary4   
,there would seem1 therefore1 to be more
 merit in the one species of imitation  
than in the other4  #dji ,in ,statuary1 
scarcely any drapery is agreeable4 ,the 
best of the ancient statues were either 
altogether naked or almost naked2 and   
those of which any considerable part of 
the body is covered1 are represented as 
clothed in wet linen--a species of      
clothing which most certainly never was 
agreeable to the fashion of any country4
 ,this drapery too is drawn so tight1 as
 to express beneath its narrow foldings 
the exact form and outline of any limb1 
and almost of every muscle of the body4 

,the clothing which thus approached the 
nearest to no clothing at all1 had1 it  
seems1 in the judgment of the great     
artists of antiquity1 been that which   
was most suitable to ,statuary4 ,a great
 painter of the ,roman school1 who had  
formed his manner almost entirely upon  
the study of the ancient statues1       
imitated at first their drapery in his  
pictures2 but he soon found that in     
,painting it had the air of meanness and
 poverty1 as if the persons who wore it 
could scarce afford clothes enough to   
cover them2 and that larger folds1 and a
 looser and more flowing drapery1 were  
more suitable to the nature of his art4 
,in ,painting1 the imitation of so very 
inferior an object as a suit of clothes 
is capable of pleasing2 and1 in order to
 give this object all the magnificence  
of which it is capable1 it is necessary 
that the folds should be large1 loose1  
and flowing4 ,it is not necessary in    
,painting that the exact form and       
outline of every limb1 and almost of    

every muscle of the body1 should be     
expressed beneath the folds of the      
drapery2 it is sufficient if these are  
so disposed as to indicate in general   
the situation and attitude of the       
principal limbs4 ,painting1 by the mere 
force and merit of its imitation1 can   
venture1 without the hazard of          
displeasing1 to substitute1 upon many   
occasions1 the inferior in the room of  
the superior object1 by making the one1 
in this manner1 cover and entirely      
conceal a great part of the other4      
,statuary can seldom venture to do this1
 but with the utmost reserve and        
caution2 and the same drapery1 which is 
noble and magnificent in the one art1   
appears clumsy and awkward in the other4
 ,some modern artists1 however1 have    
attempted to introduce into ,statuary   
the drapery which is peculiar to        
,painting4 ,it may not1 perhaps1 upon   
every occasion1 be quite so ridiculous  
as the marble periwigs in ,westminster  
,abbey3 but if it does not always appear

 clumsy and awkward1 it is at best      
always insipid and uninteresting4  ,it  
is not the want of colouring which      
hinders many things from pleasing in    
,statuary which please in ,painting2 it 
is the want of that degree of disparity 
between the imitating and the imitated  
object1 which is necessary1 in order to 
render interesting the imitation of an  
object which is itself not interesting4 
,colouring1 when added to ,statuary1 so 
far from increasing1 destroys almost    
entirely the pleasure which we receive  
from the imitation2 because it takes    
away the great source of that pleasure1 
the disparity between the imitating and 
the imitated object4 ,that one solid and
 coloured object should exactly resemble
 another solid and coloured object1     
seems to be a matter of no #daj great   
wonder or admiration4 ,a painted statue1
 though it may resemble a human figure  
much more exactly than any statue which 
is not painted1 is generally            
acknowledged to be a disagreeable and   

even an offensive object2 and so far are
 we from being pleased with this        
superior likeness1 that we are never    
satisfied with it2 and1 after viewing it
 again and again1 we always find that it
 is not equal to what we are disposed to
 imagine it might have been3 though it  
should seem to want scarce any thing but
 the life1 we could not pardon it for   
thus wanting what it is altogether      
impossible it should have4 ,the works of
 ,mrs4 ,wright1 a self-taught artist of 
great merit1 are perhaps more perfect in
 this way than any thing ,i have ever   
seen4 ,they do admirably well to be seen
 now and then as a show2 but the best of
 them we shall find1 if brought home to 
our own house1 and placed in a situation
 where it was to come often into view1  
would make1 instead of an ornamental1 a 
most offensive piece of household       
furniture4 ,painted statues1            
accordingly1 are universally reprobated1
 and we scarce ever meet with them4 ,to 
colour the eyes of statues is not       

altogether so uncommon3 even this1      
however1 is disapproved by all good     
judges4 ',i cannot bear it1' 7a         
gentleman used to say1 of great         
knowledge and judgment in this art71 ',i
 cannot bear it2 ,i always want them to 
speak to me4'  ,artificial fruits and   
flowers sometimes imitate so exactly the
 natural objects which they represent1  
that they frequently deceive us4 ,we    
soon grow weary of them1 however2 and1  
though they seem to want nothing but the
 freshness and the flavour of natural   
fruits and flowers1 we cannot pardon    
them1 in the same manner1 for thus      
wanting what it is altogether impossible
 they should have4 ,but we do not grow  
weary of a good flower and fruit        
painting4 ,we do not grow weary of the  
foliage of the ,corinthian capital1 or  
of the flowers which sometimes ornament 
the frieze of that order4 ,such         
imitations1 however1 never deceive us2  
their resemblance to the original       
objects is always much inferior to that 

of artificial fruits and flowers4 ,such 
as it is1 however1 we are contented with
 it2 and1 where there is such disparity 
between the imitating and the imitated  
objects1 we find that it is as great as 
it can be1 or as we expect that it      
should be4 ,paint that foliage and those
 flowers with the natural colours1 and1 
instead of pleasing more1 they will     
please much less4 ,the resemblance1     
however1 will be much greater2 but the  
disparity between the imitating and the 
imitated objects will be so much less1  
that even this superior resemblance will
 not satisfy us4 ,where the disparity is
 so very great1 on the contrary1 we are 
often contented with the most imperfect 
resemblance2 with the very imperfect    
resemblance1 for example1 both as to the
 figure and the colour1 of fruits and   
flowers in shell-work4  ,it may be      
observed1 however1 that1 though in      
,sculpture the imitation of flowers and 
foliage pleases as an ornament of       
architecture1 as a part of the dress    

which is to set off the beauty of a     
different and a more #daa important     
object1 it would not please alone1 or as
 a separate and unconnected object1 in  
the same manner as a fruit and flower   
painting pleases4 ,flowers and foliage1 
how elegant and beautiful soever1 are   
not sufficiently interesting2 they have 
not dignity enough1 if ,i may say so1 to
 be proper subjects for a piece of      
,sculpture1 which is to please alone1   
and not to appear as the ornamental     
appendage of some other object4  ,in    
,tapestry and ,needle-work1 in the same 
manner as in ,painting1 a plain surface 
is sometimes made to represent all the  
three dimensions of a solid substance4  
,but both the shuttle of the weaver1 and
 the needle of the embroiderer1 are     
instruments of imitation so much        
inferior to the pencil of the painter1  
that we are not surprised to find a     
proportionable inferiority in their     
productions4 ,we have all more or less  
experience that they usually are much   

inferior3 and1 in appreciating a piece  
of ,tapestry or ,needle-work1 we never  
compare the imitation of either with    
that of a good picture1 for it never    
could stand that comparison1 but with   
that of other pieces of ,tapestry or    
,needle-work4 ,we take into             
consideration1 not only the disparity   
between the imitating and the imitated  
object1 but the awkwardness of the      
instruments of imitation2 and if it is  
as well as any thing that can be        
expected from these1 if it is better    
than the greater part of what actually  
comes from them1 we are often not only  
contented but highly pleased4  ,a good  
painter will often execute in a few days
 a subject which would employ the best  
tapestry-weaver for many years2 though1 
in proportion to his time1 therefore1   
the latter is always much worse paid    
than the former1 yet his work in the end
 comes commonly much dearer to market4  
,the great expense of good ,tapestry1   
the circumstance which confines it to   

the palaces of princes and of great     
lords1 gives it1 in the eyes of the     
greater part of the people1 an air of   
riches and magnificence1 which          
contributes still further to compensate 
the imperfection of its imitation4 ,in  
arts which address themselves1 not to   
the prudent and the wise1 but to the    
rich and the great1 to the proud and the
 vain1 we ought not to wonder if the    
appearances of great expense1 of being  
what few people can purchase1 of being  
one of the surest characteristics of    
great fortune1 should often stand in the
 place of exquisite beauty1 and         
contribute equally to recommend their   
productions4 ,as the idea of expense    
seems often to embellish1 so that of    
cheapness seems as frequently to tarnish
 the lustre even of very agreeable      
objects4 ,the difference between real   
and false jewels is what even the       
experienced eye of a jeweller can       
sometimes with difficulty distinguish4  
,let an unknown lady1 however1 come into

 a public assembly1 with a head-dress   
which appears to be very richly adorned 
with diamonds1 and let a jeweller only  
whisper in our ear that they are false  
stones1 not only the lady will          
immediately sink in our imagination from
 the rank of a princess to that of a    
very ordinary woman1 but the #dab       
head-dress1 from being an object of the 
most splendid magnificence1 will at once
 become an impertinent piece of tawdry  
and tinsel finery4  ,it was some years  
ago the fashion to ornament a garden    
with yew and holly trees1 clipped into  
the artificial shapes of pyramids1 and  
columns1 and vases1 and obelisks4 ,it is
 now the fashion to ridicule this taste 
as unnatural4 ,the figure of a pyramid  
or obelisk1 however1 is not more        
unnatural to a yew-tree than to a block 
of porphyry or marble4 ,when the        
yew-tree is presented to the eye in this
 artificial shape1 the gardener does not
 mean that it should be understood to   
have grown in that shape3 he means1     

first1 to give it the same beauty of    
regular figure1 which pleases so much in
 porphyry and marble2 and1 secondly1 to 
imitate in a growing tree the ornaments 
of those precious materials3 he means to
 make an object of one kind resembling  
another object of a very different kind2
 and to the original beauty of figure to
 join the relative beauty of imitation3 
but the disparity between the imitating 
and the imitated object is the          
foundation of the beauty of imitation4  
,it is because the one object does not  
naturally resemble the other1 that we   
are so much pleased with it1 when by art
 it is made to do so4 ,the shears of the
 gardener1 it may be said1 indeed1 are  
very clumsy instruments of ,sculpture4  
,they are so1 no doubt1 when employed to
 imitate the figures of men1 or even of 
animals4 ,but in the simple and regular 
forms of pyramids1 vases1 and obelisks1 
even the shears of the gardener do well 
enough4 ,some allowance1 too1 is        
naturally made for the necessary        

imperfection of the instrument1 in the  
same manner as in ,tapestry and         
,needle-work4 ,in short1 the next time  
you have an opportunity of surveying    
those out-of-fashion ornaments1         
endeavour only to let yourself alone1   
and to restrain for a few minutes the   
foolish passion for playing the critic1 
and you will be sensible that they are  
not without some degree of beauty2 that 
they give the air of neatness and       
correct culture at least to the whole   
garden2 and that they are not unlike    
what the 'retired leisure1 that' 7as    
,milton says7 'in trim gardens takes his
 pleasure1' might be amused with4 ,what 
then1 it may be said1 has brought them  
into such universal disrepute among us8 
,in a pyramid or obelisk of marble1 we  
know that the materials are expensive1  
and that the labour which wrought them  
into that shape must have been still    
more so4 ,in a pyramid or obelisk of    
yew1 we know that the materials could   
cost very little1 and the labour still  

less4 ,the former are ennobled by their 
expense2 the latter degraded by their   
cheapness4 ,in the cabbage-garden of a  
tallow-chandler we may sometimes perhaps
 have seen as many columns and vases and
 other ornaments in yew1 as there are in
 marble and porphyry at ,versailles3 it 
is this vulgarity which has disgraced   
them4 ,the rich and the great1 the proud
 and the vain will not admit into their 
gardens an ornament which the meanest of
 the people can have as well as they4   
,the taste for these ornaments came     
originally from ,france2 where1         
notwithstanding that #dac inconstancy of
 fashion with which we sometimes        
reproach the natives of that country1 it
 still continues in good repute4 ,in    
,france1 the condition of the inferior  
ranks of people is seldom so happy as it
 frequently is in ,england2 and you will
 there seldom find even pyramids and    
obelisks of yew in the garden of a      
tallow-chandler4 ,such ornaments1 not   
having in that country been degraded by 

their vulgarity1 have not yet been      
excluded from the gardens of princes and
 lords4  ,the works of the great masters
 in ,statuary and ,painting1 it is to be
 observed1 never produce their effect by
 deception4 ,they never are1 and it     
never is intended that they should be1  
mistaken for the real objects which they
 represent4 ,painted ,statuary may      
sometimes deceive an inattentive eye3   
proper ,statuary never does4 ,the little
 pieces of perspective in ,painting1    
which it is intended should please by   
deception1 represent always some very   
simple1 as well as insignificant1       
objects3 a roll of paper1 for example1  
or the steps of a staircase1 in the dark
 corner of some passage or gallery4     
,they are generally the works too of    
some very inferior artists4 ,after being
 seen once1 and producing the little    
surprise which it is meant they should  
excite1 together with the mirth which   
commonly accompanies it1 they never     
please more1 but appear to be ever after

 insipid and tiresome4  ,the proper     
pleasure which we derive from those two 
imitative arts1 so far from being the   
effect of deception1 is altogether      
incompatible with it4 ,that pleasure is 
founded altogether upon our wonder at   
seeing an object of one kind represent  
so well an object of a very different   
kind1 and upon our admiration of the art
 which surmounts so happily that        
disparity which ,nature had established 
between them4 ,the nobler works of      
,statuary and ,painting appear to us a  
sort of wonderful phenomena1 differing  
in this respect from the wonderful      
phenomena of ,nature1 that they carry1  
as it were1 their own explication along 
with them1 and demonstrate1 even to the 
eye1 the way and manner in which they   
are produced4 ,the eye1 even of an      
unskilful spectator1 immediately        
discerns1 in some measure1 how it is    
that a certain modification of figure in
 ,statuary1 and of brighter and darker  
colours in ,painting1 can represent1    

with so much truth and vivacity1 the    
actions1 passions1 and behaviour of men1
 as well as a great variety of other    
objects4 ,the pleasing wonder of        
ignorance is accompanied with the still 
more pleasing satisfaction of science4  
,we wonder and are amazed at the effect2
 and we are pleased ourselves1 and happy
 to find that we can comprehend1 in some
 measure1 how that wonderful effect is  
produced upon us4  ,a good looking-glass
 represents the objects which are set   
before it with much more truth and      
vivacity than either ,statuary or       
,painting4 ,but1 though the science of  
optics may explain to the understanding1
 the looking-glass itself does not at   
all demonstrate to the eye how this     
effect is brought about4 ,it may excite 
the wonder of ignorance2 and #dad in a  
clown1 who had never beheld a           
looking-glass before1 ,i have seen that 
wonder rise almost to rapture and       
extasy2 but it cannot give the          
satisfaction of science4 ,in all        

looking-glasses the effects are produced
 by the same means1 applied exactly in  
the same manner4 ,in every different    
statue and picture the effects are      
produced1 though by similar1 yet not by 
the same means2 and those means too are 
applied in a different manner in each4  
,every good statue and picture is a     
fresh wonder1 which at the same time    
carries1 in some measure1 its own       
explication along with it4 ,after a     
little use and experience1 all          
looking-glasses cease to be wonders     
altogether2 and even the ignorant become
 so familiar with them1 as not to think 
that their effects require any          
explication4 ,a looking-glass1 besides1 
can represent only present objects2 and1
 when the wonder is once fairly over1 we
 choose1 in all cases1 rather to        
contemplate the substance than to gaze  
at the shadow4 ,one's own face becomes  
then the most agreeable object which a  
looking-glass can represent to us1 and  
the only object which we do not soon    

grow weary with looking at2 it is the   
only present object of which we can see 
only the shadow3 whether handsome or    
ugly1 whether old or young1 it is the   
face of a friend always1 of which the   
features correspond exactly with        
whatever sentiment1 emotion1 or passion 
we may happen at that moment to feel4   
,in ,statuary1 the means by which the   
wonderful effect is brought about appear
 more simple and obvious than in        
,painting2 where the disparity between  
the imitating and the imitated object   
being much greater1 the art which can   
conquer that greater disparity appears  
evidently1 and almost to the eye1 to be 
founded upon a much deeper science1 or  
upon principles much more abstruse and  
profound4 ,even in the meanest subjects 
we can often trace with pleasure the    
ingenious means by which ,painting      
surmounts this disparity4 ,but we cannot
 do this in ,statuary1 because the      
disparity not being so great1 the means 
do not appear so ingenious4 ,and it is  

upon this account1 that in ,painting we 
are often delighted with the            
representation of many things1 which in 
,statuary would appear insipid1 and not 
worth the looking at4  ,it ought to be  
observed1 however1 that though in       
,statuary the art of imitation appears1 
in many respects1 inferior to what it is
 in ,painting1 yet1 in a room ornamented
 with both statues and pictures of      
nearly equal merit1 we shall generally  
find that the statues draw off our eye  
from the pictures4 ,there is generally  
but one or little more than one1 point  
of view from which a picture can be seen
 with advantage1 and it always presents 
to the eye precisely the same object4   
,there are many different points of view
 from which a statue may be seen with   
equal advantage1 and from each it       
presents a different object4 ,there is  
more variety in the pleasure which we   
receive from a good statue1 than in that
 which we receive from a good picture2  
and one statue may frequently be the    

subject of many good pictures or        
drawings1 all different #dae from one   
another4 ,the shadowy relief and        
projection of a picture1 besides1 is    
much flattened1 and seems almost to     
vanish away altogether1 when brought    
into comparison with the real and solid 
body which stands by it4 ,how nearly    
soever these two arts may seem to be    
akin1 they accord so very ill with one  
another1 that their different           
productions ought1 perhaps1 scarce ever 
to be seen together4  -----  ,,part     
,,ii4   ,,after the pleasures which     
arise from the gratification of the     
bodily appetites1 there seem to be none 
more natural to man than ,music and     
,dancing4 ,in the progress of art and   
improvement they are1 perhaps1 the first
 and earliest pleasures of his own      
invention2 for those which arise from   
the gratification of the bodily         
appetites cannot be said to be his own  
invention4 ,no nation has yet been      
discovered so uncivilized as to be      

altogether without them4 ,it seems even 
to be amongst the most barbarous nations
 that the use and practice of them is   
both most frequent and most universal1  
as among the negroes of ,africa and the 
savage tribes of ,america4 ,in civilized
 nations1 the inferior ranks of people  
have very little leisure1 and the       
superior ranks have many other          
amusements2 neither the one nor the     
other1 therefore1 can spend much of     
their time in ,music and ,dancing4      
,among savage nations1 the great body of
 the people have frequently great       
intervals of leisure1 and they have     
scarce any other amusement2 they        
naturally1 therefore1 spend a great part
 of their time in almost the only one   
they have4  ,what the ancients called   
,rhythmus1 what we call ,time or        
,measure1 is the connecting principle of
 those two arts2 ,music consisting in a 
succession of a certain sort of sounds1 
and ,dancing in a succession of a       
certain sort of steps1 gestures1 and    

motions1 regulated according to time or 
measure1 and thereby formed1 into a sort
 of whole or system2 which in the one   
art is called a song or tune1 and in the
 other a dance2 the time or measure of  
the dance corresponding always exactly  
with that of the song or tune which     
accompanies and directs it4#a  ,footnote
 #a3 ,the ,author's ,observations on the
 ,affinity between ,music1 ,dancing1 and
 ,poetry1 are annexed to the end of     
,part ,,iii4 of this ,essay4  ,the human
 voice1 as it is always the best1 so it 
would naturally be the first and        
earliest of all musical instruments3 in 
singing1 or in its first attempts       
towards singing1 it would naturally     
employ sounds as similar as possible to 
those which it had been accustomed to2  
that is1 it would employ words of some  
kind or other1 pronouncing them only in 
time and measure1 and generally with a  
more melodious tone than had been usual 
in common conversation4 ,those words1   
however1 might not1 and probably would  

not1 for a long time have any meaning1  
but might resemble the syllables which  
we make use of in fol-faing1 or the #daf
 derry-down-down of our common ballads2 
and serve only to assist the voice in   
forming sounds proper to be modulated   
into melody1 and to be lengthened or    
shortened according to the time and     
measure of the tune4 ,this rude form of 
vocal ,music1 as it is by far the most  
simple and obvious1 so it naturally     
would be the first and earliest4  ,in   
the succession of ages it could not fail
 to occur1 that in room of those        
unmeaning or musical words1 if ,i may   
call them so1 might be substituted words
 which expressed some sense or meaning1 
and of which the pronunciation might    
coincide as exactly with the time and   
measure of the tune1 as that of the     
musical words had done before4 ,hence   
the origin of ,verse or ,poetry4 ,the   
,verse would for a long time be rude and
 imperfect4 ,when the meaning words fell
 short of the measure required1 they    

would frequently be eked out with the   
unmeaning ones1 as is sometimes done in 
our common ballads4 ,when the public ear
 came to be so refined as to reject1 in 
all serious ,poetry1 the unmeaning words
 altogether1 there would still be a     
liberty assumed of altering and         
corrupting1 upon many occasions1 the    
pronunciation of the meaning ones1 for  
the sake of accommodating them to the   
measure4 ,the syllables which composed  
them would1 for this purpose1 sometimes 
be improperly lengthened1 and sometimes 
improperly shortened2 and though no     
unmeaning words were made use of1 yet an
 unmeaning syllable would sometimes be  
stuck to the beginning1 to the end1 or  
into the middle of a word4 ,all these   
expedients we find frequently employed  
in the verses even of ,chaucer1 the     
father of the ,english ,poetry4 ,many   
ages might pass away before verse was   
commonly composed with such correctness1
 that the usual and proper pronunciation
 of the words alone1 and without any    

other artifice1 subjected the voice to  
the observation of a time and measure1  
of the same kind with the time and      
measure of the science of ,music4  ,the 
,verse would naturally express some     
sense which suited the grave or gay1 the
 joyous or melancholy humour of the tune
 which it was sung to2 being as it were 
blended and united with that tune1 it   
would seem to give sense and meaning to 
what otherwise might not appear to have 
any1 or at least any which could be     
clearly understood1 without the         
accompaniment of such an explication4   
,a pantomime dance may frequently answer
 the same purpose1 and1 by representing 
some adventure in love or war1 may seem 
to give sense and meaning to a ,music1  
which might not otherwise appear to have
 any4 ,it is more natural to mimic1 by  
gestures and motions1 the adventures of 
common life1 than to express them in    
,verse or ,poetry4 ,the thought itself  
is more obvious1 and the execution is   
much more easy4 ,if this mimicry was    

accompanied by ,music1 it would of its  
own accord1 and almost without any      
intention of doing so1 accommodate1 in  
some measure1 its different steps and   
movements to the time and measure of the
 tune2 especially if the same person    
both sung the tune #dag and performed   
the mimicry1 as is said to be frequently
 the case among the savage nations of   
,africa and ,america4 ,pantomime        
,dancing might in this manner serve to  
give a distinct sense and meaning to    
,music many ages before the invention1  
or at least before the common use of    
,poetry4 ,we hear little1 accordingly1  
of the ,poetry of the savage nations who
 inhabit ,africa and ,america1 but a    
great deal of their pantomime dances4   
,poetry1 however1 is capable of         
expressing many things fully and        
distinctly1 which ,dancing either cannot
 represent at all1 or can represent but 
obscurely and imperfectly2 such as the  
reasonings and judgments1 of the        
understanding2 the ideas1 fancies1 and  

suspicions of the imagination2 the      
sentiments1 emotions1 and passions of   
the heart4 ,in the power of expressing a
 meaning with clearness and             
distinctness1 ,dancing is superior to   
,music1 and ,poetry to ,dancing4  ,of   
those three ,sister ,arts1 which        
originally1 perhaps1 went always        
together1 and which at all times go     
frequently together1 there are two which
 can subsist alone1 and separate from   
their natural companions1 and one which 
cannot4 ,in the distinct observation of 
what the ancients called ,rhythmus1 of  
what we call ,time and ,measure1        
consists the essence both of ,dancing   
and of ,poetry or ,verse2 or the        
characteristical quality which          
distinguishes the former from all other 
motion and action1 and the latter from  
all other discourse4 ,but1 concerning   
the proportion between those intervals  
and divisions of duration which         
constitute what is called time and      
measure1 the ear1 it would seem1 can    

judge with much more precision than the 
eye2 and ,poetry1 in the same manner as 
,music1 addresses itself to the ear1    
whereas ,dancing addresses itself to the
 eye4 ,in ,dancing1 the rhythmus1 the   
proper proportion1 the time and measure 
of its motions1 cannot distinctly be    
perceived1 unless they are marked by the
 more distinct time and measure of      
,music4 ,it is otherwise in ,poetry2 no 
accompaniment is necessary to mark the  
measure of good ,verse4 ,music and      
,poetry1 therefore1 can each of them    
subsist alone2 ,dancing always requires 
the accompaniment of ,music4  ,it is    
,instrumental ,music which can best     
subsist apart1 and separate from both   
,poetry and ,dancing4 ,vocal ,music1    
though it may1 and frequently does1     
consist of notes which have no distinct 
sense or meaning1 yet naturally calls   
for the support of ,poetry4 ,but1       
',music1 married to immortal ,verse1' as
 ,milton says1 or even to words of any  
kind which have a distinct sense or     

meaning1 is necessarily and essentially 
imitative4 ,whatever be the meaning of  
those words1 though1 like many of the   
songs of ancient ,greece1 as well as    
some of those of more modern times1 they
 may express merely some maxims of      
prudence and morality1 or may contain   
merely the simple narrative of some     
important event1 yet even in such       
didactic and historical songs there will
 still be imitation2 there will still be
 a thing of one kind1 which by art is   
made to #dah resemble a thing of a very 
different kind2 there will still be     
,music imitating discourse2 there will  
still be ,rhythmus and ,melody1 shaped  
and fashioned into the form either of a 
good moral counsel1 or of an amusing and
 interesting story4  ,in this first     
species of imitation1 which being       
essential to1 is therefore inseparable  
from1 all such ,vocal ,music1 there may 
be1 and there commonly is1 added a      
second4 ,the words may1 and commonly do1
 express the situation of some          

particular person1 and all the          
sentiments and passions which he feels  
from that situation4 ,it is a joyous    
companion who gives vent to the gaiety  
and mirth with which wine1 festivity1   
and good company inspire him4 ,it is a  
lover who complains1 or hopes1 or fears1
 or despairs4 ,it is a generous man who 
expresses either his gratitude for the  
favours1 or his indignation at the      
injuries1 which may have been done to   
him4 ,it is a warrior who prepares      
himself to confront danger1 and who     
provokes or desires his enemy4 ,it is a 
person in prosperity who humbly returns 
thanks for the goodness1 or one in      
affliction who with contrition implores 
the mercy and forgiveness of that       
invisible ,power to whom he looks up as 
the ,director of all the events of human
 life4 ,the situation may comprehend1   
not only one1 but two1 three1 or more   
persons2 it may excite in them all      
either similar or opposite sentiments2  
what is a subject of sorrow to one1     

being an occasion of joy and triumph to 
another2 and they may all express1      
sometimes separately and sometimes      
together1 the particular way in which   
each of them is affected1 as in a duo1  
trio1 or a chorus4  ,all this it may1   
and it frequently has been said is      
unnatural2 nothing being more so1 than  
to sing when we are anxious to persuade1
 or in earnest to express any very      
serious purpose4 ,but it should be      
remembered1 that to make a thing of one 
kind resemble another thing of a very   
different kind1 is the very circumstance
 which1 in all the ,imitative ,arts1    
constitutes the merits of imitation2 and
 that to shape1 and as it were to bend1 
the measure and the melody of ,music1 so
 as to imitate the tone and the language
 of counsel and conversation1 the accent
 and the style of emotion and passion1  
is to make a thing of one kind resemble 
another thing of a very different kind4 
,the tone and the movements of ,music1  
though naturally very different from    

those of conversation and passion1 may1 
however1 be so managed as to seem to    
resemble them4 ,on account of the great 
disparity between the imitating and the 
imitated object1 the mind in this1 as in
 the other cases1 cannot only be        
contented1 but delighted1 and even      
charmed and transported1 with such an   
imperfect resemblance as can be had4    
,such imitative ,music1 therefore1 when 
sung to words which explain and         
determine its meaning1 may frequently   
appear to be a very perfect imitation4  
,it is upon this account1 that even the 
incomplete ,music of a recitative seems 
to express sometimes all the sedateness 
and composure of serious but calm       
discourse1 and sometimes all the #dai   
exquisite sensibility of the most       
interesting passion4 ,the more complete 
,music of an air is still superior1 and1
 in the imitation of the more animated  
passions1 has one great advantage over  
every sort of discourse1 whether ,prose 
or ,poetry1 which is not sung to ,music4

 ,in a person who is either much        
depressed by grief or enlivened by joy1 
who is strongly affected either with    
love or hatred1 with gratitude or       
resentment1 with admiration or contempt1
 there is commonly one thought or idea  
which dwells upon his mind1 which       
continually haunts him1 which1 when he  
has chased it away1 immediately returns 
upon him1 and which in company makes him
 absent and inattentive4 ,he can think  
but of one object1 and he cannot repeat 
to them that object so frequently as it 
recurs upon him4 ,he takes refuge in    
solitude1 where he can with freedom     
either indulge the extasy or give way to
 the agony of the agreeable or          
disagreeable passion which agitates him2
 and where he can repeat to himself1    
which he does sometimes mentally1 and   
sometimes even aloud1 and almost always 
in the same words1 the particular       
thought which either delights or        
distresses him4 ,neither ,prose nor     
,poetry can venture to imitate those    

almost endless repetitions of passion4  
,they may describe them as ,i do now1   
but they dare not imitate them2 they    
would become most insufferably tiresome 
if they did4 ,the ,music of a passionate
 air1 not only may1 but frequently does1
 imitate them2 and it never makes its   
way so directly or so irresistibly to   
the heart as when it does so4 ,it is    
upon this account that the words of an  
air1 especially of a passionate one1    
though they are seldom very long1 yet   
are scarce ever sung straight on to the 
end1 like those of a recitative2 but are
 almost always broken into parts1 which 
are transposed and repeated again and   
again1 according to the fancy or        
judgment of the composer4 ,it is by     
means of such repetitions only1 that    
,music can exert those peculiar powers  
of imitation which distinguish it1 and  
in which it excels all the other        
,imitative ,arts4 ,poetry and           
,eloquence1 it has accordingly been     
often observed1 produce their effect    

always by a connected variety and       
succession of different thoughts and    
ideas3 but ,music frequently produces   
its effects by a repetition of the same 
idea2 and the same sense expressed in   
the same1 or nearly the same1           
combination of sounds1 though at first  
perhaps it may make scarce any          
impression upon us1 yet1 by being       
repeated again and again1 it comes at   
last gradually1 and by little and       
little1 to move1 to agitate1 and to     
transport us4  ,to these powers of      
imitating1 ,music naturally1 or rather  
necessarily1 joins the happiest choice  
in the objects of its imitation4 ,the   
sentiments and passions which ,music can
 best imitate are those which unite and 
bind men together in society2 the       
social1 the decent1 the virtuous1 the   
interesting and affecting1 the amiable  
and agreeable1 the awful and            
respectable1 the noble1 elevating1 and  
commanding passions4 ,grief and distress
 are interesting and affecting2 humanity

 and compassion1 joy and admiration1 are
 amiable and agreeable2 devotion is     
awful #dbj and respectable2 the generous
 contempt of danger1 the honourable     
indignation at injustice1 are noble1    
elevating1 and commanding4 ,but it is   
these and such like passions which      
,music is fittest for imitating1 and    
which it in fact most frequently        
imitates4 ,they are1 if ,i may say so1  
all ,musical ,passions2 their natural   
tones are all clear1 distinct1 and      
almost melodious2 and they naturally    
express themselves in a language which  
is distinguished by pauses at regular1  
and almost equal1 intervals2 and which1 
upon that account1 can more easily be   
adapted to the regular returns of the   
correspondent periods of a tune4 ,the   
passions1 on the contrary1 which drive  
men from one another1 the unsocial1 the 
hateful1 the indecent1 the vicious      
passions1 cannot easily be imitated by  
,music1 ,the voice of furious anger1 for
 example1 is harsh and discordant2 its  

periods are all irregular1 sometimes    
very long and sometimes very short1 and 
distinguished by no regular pauses4 ,the
 obscure and almost inarticulate        
grumblings of black malice and envy1 the
 screaming outcries of dastardly fear1  
the hideous growlings of brutal and     
implacable revenge1 are all equally     
discordant4 ,it is with difficulty that 
,music can imitate any of those         
passions1 and the ,music which does     
imitate them is not the most agreeable4 
,a whole entertainment may consist1     
without any impropriety1 of the         
imitation of the social and amiable     
passions4 ,it would be a strange        
entertainment which consisted altogether
 in the imitation of the odious and the 
vicious4 ,a single song expresses almost
 always some social1 agreeable1 or      
interesting passion4 ,in an opera the   
unsocial and disagreeable are sometimes 
introduced1 but it is rarely1 and as    
discords are introduced into harmony1 to
 set off by their contrast the superior 

beauty of the opposite passions4 ,what  
,plato said of ,virtue1 that it was of  
all beauties the brightest1 may with    
some sort of truth be said of the proper
 and natural objects of musical         
imitation4 ,they are either the         
sentiments and passions1 in the exercise
 of which consist both the glory and the
 happiness of human life1 or they are   
those from which it derives its most    
delicious pleasures1 and most enlivening
 joys2 or1 at the worst and the lowest1 
they are those by which it calls upon   
our indulgence and compassionate        
assistance to its unavoidable           
weaknesses1 distresses1 and misfortunes4
  ,to the merit of its imitation and to 
that of its happy choice in the objects 
which it imitates1 the great merits of  
,statuary and ,painting1 ,music joins   
another peculiar and exquisite merit of 
its own4 ,statuary and ,painting cannot 
be said to add any new beauties of their
 own to the beauties of ,nature which   
they imitate2 they may assemble a       

greater number of those beauties1 and   
group them in a more agreeable manner   
than they are commonly1 or perhaps ever1
 to be found in ,nature4 ,it may perhaps
 be true1 what the artists are so very  
fond of telling us1 that no woman ever  
equalled1 in all the parts of her body1 
the beauty of the ,venus of ,medicis1   
nor any man that of the ,apollo of      
,belvidere4 ,but they must allow1       
surely1 that there is no particular #dba
 beauty in any part or feature of those 
two famous statues1 which is not at     
least equalled1 if not much excelled1 by
 what is to be found in many living     
subjects4 ,but ,music1 by arranging1 and
 as it were bending to its own time and 
measure1 whatever sentiments and        
passions it expresses1 not only         
assembles and groups1 as well as        
,statuary and ,painting1 the different  
beauties of ,nature which it imitates1  
but it clothes them1 besides1 with a new
 and an exquisite beauty of its own2 it 
clothes them with melody and harmony1   

which1 like a transparent mantle1 far   
from concealing any beauty1 serve only  
to give a brighter colour1 a more       
enlivening lustre and a more engaging   
grace to every beauty which they infold4
  ,to these two different sorts of      
imitation1--to that general one1 by     
which ,music is made to resemble        
discourse1 and to that particular one1  
by which it is made to express the      
sentiments and feelings with which a    
particular situation inspires a         
particular person1--there is frequently 
joined a third4 ,the person who sings   
may join to this double imitation of the
 singer the additional imitation of the 
actor2 and express1 not only by the     
modulation and cadence of his voice1 but
 by his countenance1 by his attitudes1  
by his gestures1 and by his motions1 the
 sentiments and feelings of the person  
whose situation is painted in the song4 
,even in private company1 though a song 
may sometimes perhaps be said to be well
 sung1 it can never be said to be well  

performed1 unless the singer does       
something of this kind2 and there is no 
comparison between the effect of what is
 sung coldly from a music-book at the   
end of a harpsichord1 and of what is not
 only sung1 but acted with proper       
freedom1 animation1 and boldness4 ,an   
opera actor does no more than this2 and 
an imitation which is so pleasing1 and  
which appears even so natural1 in       
private society1 ought not to appear    
forced1 unnatural1 or disagreeable upon 
the stage4  ,in a good opera actor1 not 
only the modulations and pauses of his  
voice1 but every motion and gesture1    
every variation1 either in the air of   
his head1 or in the attitude of his     
body1 correspond to the time and measure
 of ,music3 they correspond to the      
expression of the sentiment or passion  
which the ,music imitates1 and that     
expression necessarily corresponds to   
this time and measure4 ,music is as it  
were the soul which animates him1 which 
informs every feature of his            

countenance1 and even directs every     
movement of his eyes4 ,like the musical 
expression of a song1 his action adds to
 the natural grace of the sentiment or  
action which it imitates1 a new and     
peculiar grace of its own2 the exquisite
 and engaging grace of those gestures   
and motions1 of those airs and attitudes
 which are directed by the movement1 by 
the time and measure of ,music2 this    
grace heightens and enlivens that       
expression4 ,nothing can be more deeply 
affecting than the interesting scenes of
 the serious opera1 when to good ,poetry
 and good ,music1 to the ,poetry of     
,metastasio and the ,music of           
,pergolese1 is added the #dbb execution 
of a good actor4 ,in the serious opera1 
indeed1 the action is too often         
sacrificed to the ,music2 the castrati1 
who perform the principal parts1 being  
always the most insipid and miserable   
actors4 ,the sprightly airs of the comic
 opera are1 in the same manner1 in the  
highest degree enlivening and diverting4

 ,though they do not make us laugh so   
loud as we sometimes do at the scenes of
 the common comedy1 they make us smile  
more frequently2 and the agreeable      
gaiety1 the temperate joy1 if ,i may    
call it so1 with which they inspire us1 
is not only an elegant1 but a most      
delicious pleasure4 ,the deep distress  
and the great passions of tragedy are   
capable of producing some effect1 though
 it should be but indifferently acted4  
,it is not so with the lighter          
misfortunes and less affecting          
situations of comedy3 unless it is at   
least tolerably acted1 it is altogether 
insupportable4 ,but the castrati are    
scarce ever tolerable actors2 they are  
accordingly seldom admitted to play in  
the comic opera2 which1 being upon that 
account commonly better performed than  
the serious1 appears to many people the 
better entertainment of the two4  ,the  
imitative powers of ,instrumental are   
much inferior to those of ,vocal ,music2
 its melodious but unmeaning and        

inarticulated sounds cannot1 like the   
articulations of the human voice1 relate
 distinctly the circumstances of any    
particular story1 or describe the       
different situations which those        
circumstances produced2 or even express 
clearly1 and so as to be understood by  
every hearer1 the various sentiments and
 passions which the parties concerned   
felt from these situations3 even its    
imitation of other sounds1 the objects  
which it can certainly best imitate1 is 
commonly so indistinct1 that alone1 and 
without any explication1 it might not   
readily suggest to us what was the      
imitated object4 ,the rocking of a      
cradle is supposed to be imitated in    
that concerto of ,correlli1 which is    
said to have been composed for the      
,nativity3 but unless we were told      
beforehand1 it might not readily occur  
to us what it meant to imitate1 or      
whether it meant to imitate any thing at
 all2 and this imitation 7which1 though 
perhaps as successful as any other1 is  

by no means the distinguished beauty of 
that admired composition7 might only    
appear to us a singular and odd passage 
in ,music4 ,the ringing of bells and the
 singing of the lark and nightingale are
 imitated in the symphony of            
,instrumental ,music which ,mr4 ,handel 
has composed for the ,allegro and       
,penseroso of ,milton3 these are not    
only sounds but musical sounds1 and may 
therefore be supposed to be more within 
the compass of the powers of musical    
imitation4 ,it is accordingly           
universally acknowledged1 that in these 
imitations this great master has been   
remarkably successful2 and yet1 unless  
the verses of ,milton explained the     
meaning of the ,music1 it might not even
 in this case readily occur to us what  
it meant to imitate1 or whether it meant
 to imitate any thing at all4 ,with the 
explication of the words1 indeed1 the   
imitation appears1 what it certainly is1
 a very fine one2 but without #dbc that 
explication it might perhaps appear only

 a singular passage1 which had less     
connexion either with what went before  
or with what came after it1 than any    
other in the ,music4  ,instrumental     
,music is said sometimes to imitate     
motion2 but in reality it only either   
imitates the particular sounds which    
accompany certain motions1 or it        
produces sounds of which the time and   
measure bear some correspondence to the 
variations1 to the pauses and           
interruptions1 to the successive        
accelerations and retardations of the   
motion which it means to imitate3 it is 
in this way that it sometimes attempts  
to express the march and array of an    
army1 the confusion and hurry of a      
battle1 c4 ,in all these cases1 however1
 its imitation is so very indistinct1   
that without the accompaniment of some  
other art1 to explain and interpret its 
meaning1 it would be almost always      
unintelligible2 and we could scarce ever
 know with certainty1 either what it    
meant to imitate1 or whether it meant to

 imitate any thing at all4  ,in the     
imitative arts1 though it is by no means
 necessary that the imitating should so 
exactly resemble the imitated object1   
that the one should sometimes be        
mistaken for the other1 it is1 however1 
necessary that they should resemble at  
least so far1 that the one should always
 readily suggest the other4 ,it would be
 a strange picture which required an    
inscription at the foot to tell us1 not 
only what particular person it meant to 
represent1 but whether it meant to      
represent a man or a horse1 or whether  
it meant to be a picture at all1 and to 
represent any thing4 ,the imitations of 
instrumental ,music may1 in some        
respects1 be said to resemble such      
pictures4 ,there is1 however1 this very 
essential difference between them1 that 
the picture would not be much mended by 
the inscription2 whereas1 by what may be
 considered as very little more than    
such an inscription1 instrumental       
,music1 though it cannot always even    

then1 perhaps1 be said properly to      
imitate1 may1 however1 produce all the  
effects of the finest and most perfect  
imitation4 ,in order to explain how this
 is brought about1 it will not be       
necessary to descend into any great     
depth of philosophical speculation4     
,that train of thoughts and ideas which 
is continually passing through the mind 
does not always move on with1 the same  
pace1 if ,i may say so1 or with the same
 order and connection4 ,when we are gay 
and cheerful1 its motion is brisker and 
more lively1 our thoughts succeed one   
another more rapidly1 and those which   
immediately follow one another seem     
frequently either to have but little    
connection1 or to be connected rather by
 their opposition than by their mutual  
resemblance4 ,as in this wanton and     
playful disposition of mind we hate to  
dwell long upon the same thought1 so we 
do not much care to pursue resembling   
thoughts2 and the variety of contrast is
 more agreeable to us than the sameness 

of resemblance4 ,it is quite otherwise  
when we are melancholy and desponding2  
we then frequently find ourselves       
haunted1 as it were1 by some thought    
which we would gladly chase away1 but   
#dbd which constantly pursues us1 and   
which admits no followers1 attendants1  
or companions1 but such as are of its   
own kindred and complexion4 ,a slow     
succession of resembling or closely     
connected thoughts is the characteristic
 of this disposition of mind2 a quick   
succession of thoughts1 frequently      
contrasted and in general very slightly 
connected1 is the characteristic of the 
other4 ,what may be called the natural  
state of the mind1 the state in which we
 are neither elated nor dejected1 the   
state of sedateness1 tranquillity1 and  
composure1 holds a sort of middle place 
between those two opposite extremes2 our
 thoughts may succeed one another more  
slowly1 and with a more distinct        
connection1 than in the one2 but more   
quickly and with a greater variety1 than

 in the other4  ,acute sounds are       
naturally gay1 sprightly1 and           
enlivening2 grave sounds solemn1 awful1 
and melancholy4 ,there seems too to be  
some natural connection between         
acuteness in tune and quickness in time 
or succession1 as well as between       
gravity and slowness3 an acute sound    
seems to fly off more quickly than a    
grave one3 the treble is more cheerful  
than the bass2 its notes likewise       
commonly succeed one another more       
rapidly4 ,but instrumental ,music1 by a 
proper arrangement1 by a quicker or     
slower succession of acute and grave1 of
 resembling and contrasted sounds1 can  
not only accommodate itself to the gay1 
the sedate1 or the melancholy mood2 but 
if the mind is so far vacant as not to  
be disturbed by any disorderly passion1 
it can1 at least for the moment1 and to 
a certain degree1 produce every possible
 modification of each of those moods or 
dispositions4 ,we all readily           
distinguish the cheerful1 the gay1 and  

the sprightly ,music1 from the          
melancholy1 the plaintive1 and the      
affecting2 and both these from what     
holds a sort of middle place between    
them1 the sedate1 the tranquil1 and the 
composing4 ,and we are all sensible     
that1 in the natural and ordinary state 
of the mind1 ,music can1 by a sort of   
incantation1 sooth and charm us into    
some degree of that particular mood or  
disposition which accords with its own  
character and temper4 ,in a concert of  
instrumental ,music the attention is    
engaged1 with pleasure and delight1 to  
listen to a combination of the most     
agreeable and melodious sounds1 which   
follow one another1 sometimes with a    
quicker1 and sometimes with a slower    
succession2 and in which those that     
immediately follow one another sometimes
 exactly or nearly resemble1 and        
sometimes contrast with one another in  
tune1 in time1 and in order of          
arrangement4 ,the mind being thus       
successively occupied by a train of     

objects1 of which the nature1           
succession1 and connection correspond1  
sometimes to the gay1 sometimes to the  
tranquil1 and sometimes to the          
melancholy mood or disposition1 it is   
itself successively led into each of    
those moods or dispositions2 and is thus
 brought into a sort of harmony or      
concord with the ,music which so        
agreeably engages its attention4  #dbe  
,it is not1 however1 by imitation       
properly1 that instrumental ,music      
produces this effect3 instrumental      
,music does not imitate1 as vocal       
,music1 as ,painting1 or as ,dancing    
would imitate1 a gay1 a sedate1 or a    
melancholy person2 it does not tell us1 
as any of those other arts could tell   
us1 a pleasant1 a serious1 or a         
melancholy story4 ,it is not1 as in     
vocal ,music1 in ,painting1 or in       
,dancing1 by sympathy with the gaiety1  
the sedateness1 or the melancholy and   
distress of some other person1 that     
instrumental ,music soothes us into each

 of these dispositions3 it becomes      
itself a gay1 a sedate1 or a melancholy 
object2 and the mind naturally assumes  
the mood or disposition which at the    
time corresponds to the object which    
engages its attention4 ,whatever we feel
 from instrumental ,music is an         
original1 and not a sympathetic feeling3
 it is our own gaiety1 sedateness1 or   
melancholy2 not the the reflected       
disposition of another person4  ,when we
 follow the winding alleys of some      
happily situated and well laid out      
garden1 we are presented with a         
succession of landscapes1 which are     
sometimes gay1 sometimes gloomy1 and    
sometimes calm and serene2 if the mind  
is in its natural state1 it suits itself
 to the objects which successively      
present themselves1 and varies in some  
degree its mood and present humour with 
every variation of the scene4 ,it would 
be improper1 however1 to say that those 
scenes imitated the gay1 the calm1 or   
the melancholy mood of the mind2 they   

may produce in their turn each of those 
moods1 but they cannot imitate any of   
them4 ,instrumental ,music1 in the same 
manner1 though it can excite all those  
different dispositions1 cannot imitate  
any of them4 ,there are no two things in
 nature more perfectly disparate than   
sound and sentiment2 and it is          
impossible by any human power to fashion
 the one into any thing that bears any  
real resemblance to the other4  ,this   
power of exciting and varying the       
different moods and dispositions of the 
mind1 which instrumental ,music really  
possesses to a very considerable degree1
 has been the principal source of its   
reputation for those great imitative    
powers which have been ascribed to it4  
',painting1' says an author1 more       
capable of feeling strongly than of     
analysing accurately1 ,mr4 ,rousseau of 
,geneva1 ',painting1 which presents its 
imitations1 not to the imagination1 but 
to the senses1 and to only one of the   
senses1 can represent nothing besides   

the objects of sight4 ,music1 one might 
imagine1 should be equally confined to  
those of hearing4 ,it imitates1 however1
 every thing1 even those objects which  
are perceivable by sight only4 ,by a    
delusion that seems almost              
inconceivable1 it can1 as it were1 put  
the eye into the ear2 and the greatest  
wonder1 of an art which acts only by    
motion and succession1 is1 that it can  
imitate rest and repose4 ,night1 ,sleep1
 ,solitude1 and ,silence are all within 
the compass of musical imitation4       
,though all ,nature should be asleep1   
the person who contemplates it is awake2
 and the art of the musician consists in
 substituting1 in the room of an #dbf   
image of what is not the object of      
hearing1 that of the movements which its
 presence would excite in the mind of   
the spectator4'--,that is1 of the       
effects which it would produce upon his 
mood and disposition4 ',the musician    
7continues the same author7 will        
sometimes1 not only agitate the waves of

 the sea1 blow up the flames of a       
conflagration1 make the rain fall1 the  
rivulets flow and swell the torrents1   
but he will paint the horrors of a      
hideous desert1 darken the walls of a   
subterraneous dungeon1 calm the tempest1
 restore serenity and tranquillity to   
the air and the sky1 and shed from the  
orchestra a new freshness over the      
groves and the fields4 ,he will not     
directly represent any of these objects1
 but he will excite in the mind the same
 movements which it would feel from     
seeing them4'  ,upon this very eloquent 
description of ,mr4 ,rousseau ,i must   
observe1 that without the accompaniment 
of the scenery and action of the opera1 
without the assistance either of the    
scene-painter or of the poet1 or of     
both1 the instrumental ,music of the    
orchestra could produce none of the     
effects which are here ascribed to it3  
and we could never know1 we could never 
even guess1 which of the gay1           
melancholy1 or tranquil objects above   

mentioned it meant to represent to us2  
or whether it meant to represent any of 
them1 and not merely to entertain us    
with a concert of gay1 melancholy1 or   
tranquil ,music2 or1 as the ancients    
called them1 of the ,diastaltic1 of the 
,systaltic1 or of the ,middle ,music4   
,with that accompaniment1 indeed1 though
 it cannot always even then1 perhaps1 be
 said properly to imitate1 yet by       
supporting the imitation of some other  
art1 it may produce all the same effects
 upon us as if itself had imitated in   
the finest and most perfect manner4     
,whatever be the object or situation    
which the scene-painter represents upon 
the theatre1 the ,music of the          
orchestra1 by disposing the mind to the 
same sort of mood and temper which it   
would feel from the presence of that    
object1 or from sympathy with the person
 who was placed in that situation1 can  
greatly enhance the effect of that      
imitation3 it can accommodate itself to 
every diversity of scene4 ,the          

melancholy of the man who1 upon some    
great occasion1 only finds himself alone
 in the darkness1 the silence and       
solitude of the night1 is very different
 from that of one who1 upon a like      
occasion1 finds himself in the midst of 
some dreary and inhospitable desert2 and
 even in this situation his feelings    
would not be the same as if he was shut 
up in a subterraneous dungeon4 ,the     
different degrees of precision with     
which the ,music of the orchestra can   
accommodate itself to each of those     
diversities1 must depend upon the taste1
 the sensibility1 the fancy and         
imagination of the composer3 it may     
sometimes1 perhaps1 contribute to this  
precision1 that it should imitate1 as   
well as it can1 the sounds which either 
naturally accompany1 or which might be  
supposed to accompany1 the particular   
objects represented4 ,the symphony in   
the ,french opera of ,alcyone1 which    
imitated the violence of the winds and  
the dashing of the waves1 in the #dbg   

tempest which was to drown ,coix1 is    
much commended by cotemporary writers4  
,that in the opera of ,isse1 which      
imitated that murmuring in the leaves of
 the oaks of ,dodona1 which might be    
supposed to precede the miraculous      
pronunciation of the oracle3 and that in
 the opera of ,amadis1 of which the     
dismal accents imitated the sounds which
 might be supposed to accompany the     
opening of the tomb of ,ardari1 before  
the apparition of the ghost of that     
warrior1 are still more celebrated4     
,instrumental ,music1 however1 without  
violating too much its own melody and   
harmony1 can imitate but imperfectly the
 sounds of natural objects1 of which the
 greater part have neither melody nor   
harmony4 ,great reserve1 great          
discretion1 and a very nice discernment 
are requisite1 in order to introduce    
with propriety such imperfect           
imitations1 either into ,poetry or      
,music2 when repeated too often1 when   
continued too long1 they appear to be   

what they really are1 mere tricks1 in   
which a very inferior artist1 if he will
 only give himself the trouble to attend
 to them1 can easily equal the greatest4
 ,i have seen a ,latin translation of   
,mr4 ,pope's ,ode on ,st4 ,cecilia's    
,day1 which in this respect very much   
excelled the original4 ,such imitations 
are still easier in ,music4 ,both in the
 one art and in the other1 the          
difficulty is not in making them as well
 as they are capable of being made1 but 
in knowing when and how far to make them
 at all3 but to be able to accommodate  
the temper and character of the ,music  
to every peculiarity of the scene and   
situation with such exact precision1    
that the one shall produce the very same
 effect upon the mind as the other1 is  
not one of those tricks in which an     
inferior artist can easily equal the    
greatest2 it is an art which requires   
all the judgment1 knowledge1 and        
invention of the most consummate master4
 ,it is upon this art1 and not upon its 

imperfect imitation1 either of real or  
imaginary sounds1 that the great effects
 of instrumental ,music depend2 such    
imitations ought perhaps to be admitted 
only so far as they may sometimes       
contribute to ascertain the meaning1 and
 thereby to enhance the effects of this 
art4  ,by endeavouring to extend the    
effects of scenery beyond what the      
nature of the thing will admit of1 it   
has been much abused2 and in the common1
 as well as in the musical drama1 many  
imitations have been attempted1 which1  
after the first and second time we have 
seen them1 necessarily appear           
ridiculous3 such are1 the ,thunder      
rumbling from the ,mustard-bowl1 and the
 ,snow of ,paper and thick ,hail of     
,pease1 so finely exposed by ,mr4 ,pope4
 ,such imitations resemble those of     
painted ,statuary2 they may surprise at 
first1 but they disgust ever after1 and 
appear evidently such simple and easy   
tricks as are fit only for the amusement
 of children and their nurses at a      

puppet-show4 ,the thunder of either     
theatre ought certainly never to be     
louder than that which the orchestra is 
capable of producing2 and their most    
dreadful tempests ought never to exceed 
what the scene painter is capable of    
representing4 ,in such imitations there 
may be an art which merits #dbh some    
degree of esteem and admiration4 ,in the
 other there can be none which merits   
any4  ,this abuse of scenery has both   
subsisted much longer1 and been carried 
to a much greater degree of             
extravagance1 in the musical than in the
 common drama4 ,in ,france it has been  
long banished from the latter2 but it   
still continues1 not only to be         
tolerated1 but to be admired and        
applauded in the former4 ,in the ,french
 operas1 not only thunder and lightning1
 storms and tempests1 are commonly      
represented in the ridiculous manner    
above mentioned1 but all the marvellous1
 all the supernatural of ,epic ,poetry1 
all the metamorphoses of ,mythology1 all

 the wonders of ,witchcraft and ,magic1 
every thing that is most unfit to be    
represented upon the stage1 are every   
day exhibited with the most complete    
approbation and applause of that        
ingenious nation4 ,the music of the     
orchestra producing upon the audience   
nearly the same effect which a better   
and more artful imitation would produce1
 hinders them from feeling1 at least in 
its full force1 the ridicule of those   
childish and awkward imitations which   
necessarily abound in that extravagant  
scenery4 ,and in reality such           
imitations1 though no doubt ridiculous  
every where1 yet certainly appear       
somewhat less so in the musical than    
they would in the common drama4 ,the    
,italian opera1 before it was reformed  
by ,apostolo1 ,zeno1 and ,metastasio1   
was in this respect equally extravagant1
 and was upon that account the subject  
of the agreeable raillery of ,mr4       
,addison in several different papers of 
the ,spectator4 ,even since that        

reformation it still continues to be a  
rule1 that the scene should change at   
least with every act2 and the unity of  
place never was a more sacred law in the
 common drama1 than the violation of it 
has become in the musical3 the latter   
seems in reality to require both a more 
picturesque and a more varied scenery1  
than is at all necessary for the former4
 ,in an opera1 as the ,music supports   
the effect of the scenery1 so the       
scenery often serves to determine the   
character1 and to explain the meaning of
 the ,music2 it ought to vary therefore 
as that character varies4 ,the pleasure 
of an opera1 besides1 is in its nature  
more a sensual pleasure1 than that of a 
common comedy or tragedy2 the latter    
produce their effect principally by     
means of the imagination3 in the closet1
 accordingly1 their effect is not much  
inferior to what it is upon the stage4  
,but the effect of an opera is seldom   
very great in the closet2 it addresses  
itself more to the external senses1 and 

as it soothes the ear by its melody and 
harmony1 so we feel that it ought to    
dazzle the eye with the splendour of its
 scenery4  ,in an opera the instrumental
 ,music of the orchestra supports the   
imitation both of the poet and of the   
actor1 as well as of the scene-painter4 
,the overture disposes the mind to that 
mood which fits it for the opening of   
the piece4 ,the ,music between the acts 
keeps up the impression which the       
foregoing had made1 and prepares us for 
that which the following is to make4    
,when the orchestra interrupts1 as it   
#dbi frequently does1 either the        
recitative or the air1 it is in order   
either to enforce the effect of what had
 gone before1 or to put the mind in the 
mood which fits it for hearing what is  
to come after4 ,both in the recitatives 
and in the airs it accompanies and      
directs the voice1 and often brings it  
back to the proper tone and modulation1 
when it is upon the point of wandering  
away from them2 and the correctness of  

the best vocal ,music is owing in a     
great measure to the guidance of        
instrumental2 though in all these cases 
it supports the imitation of another    
art1 yet in all of them it may be said  
rather to diminish than to increase the 
resemblance between the imitating and   
the imitated object4 ,nothing can be    
more unlike to what really passes in the
 world1 than that persons engaged in the
 most interesting situations1 both of   
public and private life1 in sorrow1 in  
disappointment1 in distress1 in despair1
 should1 in all that they say and do1 be
 constantly accompanied with a fine     
concert of instrumental ,music4 ,were we
 to reflect upon it1 such accompaniment 
must in all cases diminish the          
probability of the action1 and render   
the representation still less like      
nature than it otherwise would be4 ,it  
is not by imitation1 therefore1 that    
instrumental ,music supports and        
enforces the imitations of the other    
arts2 but it is by producing upon the   

mind1 in consequence of other powers1   
the same sort of effect which the most  
exact imitation of nature1 which the    
most perfect observation of probability1
 could produce4 ,to produce this effect 
is1 in such entertainments1 the sole end
 and purpose of that imitation and      
observation4 ,if it can be equally well 
produced by other means1 this end and   
purpose may be equally well answered4   
,but if instrumental ,music can seldom  
be said to be properly imitative1 even  
when it is employed to support the      
imitation of some other art1 it is      
commonly still less so when it is       
employed alone4 ,why should it embarrass
 its melody and harmony1 or constrain   
its time and measure1 by attempting an  
imitation which1 without the            
accompaniment of some other art to      
explain and interpret its meaning1      
nobody is likely to understand8 ,in the 
most approved instrumental ,music1      
accordingly1 in the overtures of ,handel
 and the concertos of ,correlli1 there  

is little or no imitation1 and where    
there is any1 it is the source of but a 
very small part of the merit of those   
compositions4 ,without any imitation1   
instrumental ,music can produce very    
considerable effects2 though its powers 
over the heart and affections are1 no   
doubt1 much inferior to those of vocal  
,music1 it has1 however1 considerable   
powers3 by the sweetness of its sounds  
it awakens agreeably1 and calls upon the
 attention2 by their connection and     
affinity it naturally detains that      
attention1 which follows easily a series
 of agreeable sounds1 which have all a  
certain relation both to a common1      
fundamental1 or leading note1 called the
 key note2 and to a certain succession  
or combination of notes1 called the song
 or composition4 ,by means of this      
relation each foregoing sound seems to  
introduce1 and as it were prepare the   
mind for the following3 by its #dcj     
rhythmus1 by its time and measure1 it   
disposes that succession of sounds into 

a certain arrangement1 which renders the
 whole more easy to be comprehended and 
remembered4 ,time and measure are to    
instrumental ,music what order and      
method are to discourse2 they break it  
into proper parts and divisions1 by     
which we are enabled both to remember   
better what is gone before1 and         
frequently to foresee somewhat of what  
is to come after2 we frequently foresee 
the return of a period which we know    
must correspond to another which we     
remember to have gone before2 and1      
according to the saying of an ancient   
philosopher and musician1 the enjoyment 
of ,music arises partly from memory and 
partly from foresight4 ,when the        
measure1 after having been continued so 
long as to satisfy us1 changes to       
another1 that variety1 which thus       
disappoints1 becomes more agreeable to  
us than the uniformity which would have 
gratified our expectation3 but without  
this order and method we could remember 
very little of what had gone before1 and

 we could foresee still less of what was
 to come after2 and the whole enjoyment 
of ,music would be equal to little more 
than the effect of the particular sounds
 which rung in our ears at every        
particular instant4 ,by means of this   
order and method it is1 during the      
progress of the entertainment1 equal to 
the effect of all that we remember1 and 
of all that we foresee2 and at the      
conclusion of the entertainment1 to the 
combined and accumulated effect of all  
the different parts of which the whole  
was composed4  ,a well-composed concerto
 of instrumental ,music1 by the number  
and variety of the instruments1 by the  
variety of the parts which are performed
 by them1 and the perfect concord or    
correspondence of all these different   
parts2 by the exact harmony or          
coincidence of all the different sounds 
which are heard at the same time1 and by
 that happy variety of measure which    
regulates the succession of those which 
are heard at different times1 presents  

an object so agreeable1 so great1 so    
various1 and so interesting1 that alone1
 and without suggesting any other       
object1 either by imitation or          
otherwise1 it can occupy1 and as it were
 fill up1 completely the whole capacity 
of the mind1 so as to leave no part of  
its attention vacant for thinking of any
 thing else4 ,in the contemplation of   
that immense variety of agreeable and   
melodious sounds1 arranged and digested1
 both in their coincidence and in their 
succession1 into so complete and regular
 a system1 the mind in reality enjoys   
not only a very great sensual1 but a    
very high intellectual pleasure1 not    
unlike that which it derives from the   
contemplation of a great system in any  
other science4 ,a full concerto of such 
instrumental ,music1 not only does not  
require1 but it does not admit of any   
accompaniment4 ,a song or a dance1 by   
demanding an attention which we have not
 to spare1 would disturb1 instead of    
heightening1 the effect of the ,music2  

they may often very properly succeed1   
but they cannot accompany it4 ,that     
music seldom means to tell any          
particular story1 or to imitate any #dca
 particular event1 or in general to     
suggest any particular object1 distinct 
from that combination of sounds of which
 itself is composed4 ,its meaning1      
therefore1 may be said to be complete in
 itself1 and to require no interpreters 
to explain it4 ,what is called the      
subject of such ,music is merely1 as has
 already been said1 a certain leading   
combination of notes1 to which it       
frequently returns1 and to which all its
 digressions and variations bear a      
certain affinity4 ,it is altogether     
different from what is called the       
subject of a poem or a picture1 which is
 always something which is not either in
 the poem or in the picture1 or         
something distinct from that            
combination1 either of words on the one 
hand or of colours on the other1 of     
which they are respectively composed4   

,the subject of a composition of        
instrumental ,music is part of that     
composition3 the subject of a poem or   
picture is part of neither4  ,the effect
 of instrumental ,music upon the mind   
has been called its expression4 ,in the 
feeling it is frequently not unlike the 
effect of what is called the expression 
of ,painting1 and is sometimes equally  
interesting4 ,but the effect of the     
expression of ,painting arises always   
from the thought of something which1    
though distinctly and clearly suggested 
by the drawing and colouring of the     
picture1 is altogether different from   
that drawing and colouring4 ,it arises  
sometimes from sympathy with1 sometimes 
from antipathy and aversion to1 the     
sentiments1 emotions1 and passions which
 the countenance1 the action1 the air   
and attitude of the persons represented 
suggest4 ,the melody and harmony of     
instrumental ,music1 on the contrary1 do
 not distinctly and clearly suggest any 
thing that is different from that melody

 and harmony4 ,whatever effect it       
produces is the immediate effect of that
 melody and harmony1 and not of         
something else which is signified and   
suggested by them3 they in fact signify 
and suggest nothing4 ,it may be proper  
to say that the complete art of         
painting1 the complete merit of a       
picture1 is composed of three distinct  
arts or merits2 that of drawing1 that of
 colouring1 and that of expression4 ,but
 to say1 as ,mr4 ,addison does1 that the
 complete art of a musician1 the        
complete merit of a piece of ,music1 is 
composed or made up of three distinct   
arts or merits1 that of melody1 that of 
harmony1 and that of expression1 is to  
say1 that it is made up of melody and   
harmony1 and of the immediate and       
necessary effect of melody and harmony3 
the division is by no means logical2    
expression in painting is not the       
necessary effect either of good drawing 
or of good colouring1 or of both        
together2 a picture may be both finely  

drawn and finely coloured1 and yet have 
very little expression3 but that effect 
upon the mind which is called expression
 in ,music1 is the immediate and        
necessary effect of good melody4 ,in the
 power of producing this effect consists
 the essential characteristic which     
distinguishes such melody from what is  
bad or indifferent4 ,harmony may enforce
 the effect of good melody1 but without 
good melody the most skilful harmony can
 produce no effect which deserves the   
name #dcb of expression2 it can do      
little more than fatigue and confound   
the ear4 ,a painter may possess1 in a   
very eminent degree1 the talents of     
drawing and colouring1 and yet possess  
that of expression in a very inferior   
degree4 ,such a painter1 too1 may have  
great merit4 ,in the judgment of ,du    
,piles1 even the celebrated ,titian was 
a painter of this kind4 ,but to say that
 a musician possessed the talents of    
melody and harmony in a very eminent    
degree1 and that of expression in a very

 inferior one1 would be to say1 that in 
his works the cause was not followed by 
its necessary and proportionable effect4
 ,a musician may be a very skilful      
harmonist1 and yet be defective in the  
talents of melody1 air1 and expression2 
his songs may be dull and without       
effect4 ,such a musician too may have a 
certain degree of merit1 not unlike that
 of a man of great learning1 who wants  
fancy1 taste1 and invention4            
,instrumental ,music1 therefore1 though 
it may1 no doubt1 be considered in some 
respects as an imitative art1 is        
certainly less so than any other which  
merits that appellation2 it can imitate 
but a few objects1 and even these so    
imperfectly1 that without the           
accompaniment of some other art1 its    
imitation is scarce ever intelligible3  
imitation is by no means essential to   
it1 and the principal effect it is      
capable of producing arises from powers 
altogether different from those of      
imitation4  -----  ,,part ,,iii4   ,,the

 imitative powers of ,dancing are much  
superior to those of instrumental       
,music1 and are at least equal1 perhaps 
superior1 to those of any other art4    
,like instrumental ,music1 however1 it  
is not necessarily or essentially       
imitative1 and it can produce very      
agreeable effects1 without imitating any
 thing4 ,in the greater part of our     
common dances there is little or no     
imitation1 and they consist almost      
entirely of a succession of such steps1 
gestures1 and motions1 regulated by the 
time and measure of ,music1 as either   
display extraordinary grace or require  
extraordinary agility4 ,even some of our
 dances1 which are said to have been    
originally imitative1 have1 in the way  
in which we practise them1 almost ceased
 to be so4 ,the minuet1 in which the    
woman1 after passing and repassing the  
man several times1 first gives him up   
one hand1 then the other1 and then both 
hands1 is said to have been originally a
 ,moorish dance1 which emblematically   

represented the passion of love4 ,many  
of my readers may have frequently danced
 this dance1 and1 in the opinion of all 
who saw them1 with great grace and      
propriety1 though neither they nor the  
spectators once thought of the          
allegorical meaning which it originally 
intended to express4  ,a certain        
measured1 cadenced step1 commonly called
 a dancing step1 which keeps time with1 
and as it were beats the measure of1 the
 ,music which accompanies and directs   
it1 is the essential characteristic     
which #dcc distinguishes a dance from   
every other sort of motion4 ,when the   
dancer1 moving with a step of this kind1
 and observing this time and measure1   
imitates either the ordinary or the more
 important actions of human life1 he    
shapes and fashions1 as it were1 a thing
 of one kind1 into the resemblance of   
another thing of a very different kind3 
his art conquers the disparity which    
,nature has placed between the imitating
 and the imitated object1 and has upon  

that account some degree of that sort of
 merit which belongs to all the         
imitative arts4 ,this disparity1 indeed1
 is not so great as in some other of    
those arts1 nor consequently the merit  
of the imitation which conquers it4     
,nobody would compare the merit of a    
good imitative dancer to that of a good 
painter or statuary4 ,the dancer1       
however1 may have a very considerable   
degree of merit1 and his imitation      
perhaps may sometimes be capable of     
giving us as much pleasure as that of   
either of the other two artists4 ,all   
the subjects1 either of ,statuary or of 
,history ,painting1 are within the      
compass of his imitative powers2 and in 
representing them1 his art has even some
 advantage over both the other two4     
,statuary and ,history ,painting can    
represent but a single instant of the   
action which they mean to imitate3 the  
causes which prepared1 the consequences 
which followed1 the situation of that   
single instant are altogether beyond the

 compass of their imitation4 ,a         
pantomime dance can represent distinctly
 those causes and consequences2 it is   
not confined to the situation of a      
single instant2 but1 like ,epic ,poetry1
 it can represent all the events of a   
long story1 and exhibit a long train and
 succession of connected and interesting
 situations4 ,it is capable therefore of
 affecting us much more than either     
,statuary or ,painting4 ,the ancient    
,romans used to shed tears at the       
representations of their pantomimes1 as 
we do at that of the most interesting   
tragedies2 an effect which is altogether
 beyond the powers of ,statuary or      
,painting4  ,the ancient ,greeks appear 
to have been a nation of dancers1 and   
both their common and their stage dances
 seem to have been all imitative4 ,the  
stage dances of the ancient ,romans     
appear to have been equally so4 ,among  
that grave people it was reckoned       
indecent to dance in private societies2 
and they could therefore have no common 

dances2 and among both nations imitation
 seems to have been considered as       
essential to dancing4  ,it is quite     
otherwise in modern times3 though we    
have pantomime dances upon the stage1   
yet the greater part even of our stage  
dances are not pantomime1 and cannot    
well be said to imitate any thing4 ,the 
greater part of our common dances either
 never were pantomime1 or1 with a very  
few exceptions1 have almost all ceased  
to be so4  ,this remarkable difference  
of character between the ancient and the
 modern dances seems to be the natural  
effect of a correspondent difference in 
that of the music1 which has accompanied
 and directed both the one and the      
other4  #dcd ,in modern times we almost 
always dance to instrumental music1     
which being itself not imitative1 the   
greater part of the dances which it     
directs1 and as it were inspires1 have  
ceased to be so4 ,in ancient times1 on  
the contrary1 they seem to have danced  
almost always to vocal music2 which     

being necessarily and essentially       
imitative1 their dances became so too4  
,the ancients seem to have had little or
 nothing of what is properly called     
instrumental music1 or of music composed
 not to be sung by the voice1 but to be 
played upon instruments1 and both their 
wind and stringed instruments seem to   
have served only as an accompaniment and
 direction to the voice4  ,in the       
country it frequently happens1 that a   
company of young people take a fancy to 
dance1 though they have neither fiddler 
nor piper to dance to4 ,a lady          
undertakes to sing while the rest of the
 company dance3 in most cases she sings 
the notes only1 without the words1 and  
then the voice being little more than a 
musical instrument1 the dance is        
performed in the usual way1 without any 
imitation4 ,but if she sings the words1 
and if in those words there happens to  
be somewhat more than ordinary spirit   
and humour1 immediately all the company1
 especially all the best dancers1 and   

all those who dance most at their ease1 
become more or less pantomimes1 and by  
their gestures and motions express1 as  
well as they can1 the meaning and story 
of the song4 ,this would be still more  
the case1 if the same person both danced
 and sung2 a practice very common among 
the ancients3 it requires good lungs and
 a vigorous constitution2 but with these
 advantages and long practice1 the very 
highest dances may be performed in this 
manner4 ,i have seen a ,negro dance to  
his own song1 the war-dance of his own  
country1 with such vehemence of action  
and expression1 that the whole company1 
gentlemen as well as ladies1 got up upon
 chairs and tables1 to be as much as    
possible out of the way of his fury4 ,in
 the ,greek language there are two verbs
 which both signify to dance2 each of   
which has its proper derivatives1       
signifying a dance and a dancer4 ,in the
 greater part of ,greek authors1 these  
two sets of words1 like all others which
 are nearly synonymous1 are frequently  

confounded1 and used promiscuously4     
,according to the best critics1 however1
 in strict propriety1 one of these verbs
 signifies to dance and sing at the same
 time1 or to dance to one's own music4  
,the other to dance without singing1 or 
to dance to the music of other people4  
,there is said too to be a correspondent
 difference in the signification of     
their respective derivatives4 ,in the   
choruses of the ancient ,greek          
tragedies1 consisting sometimes of more 
than fifty persons1 some piped and some 
sung1 but all danced1 and danced to     
their own music4  99     99     99      
99     99 99     99     99     99     99
  #dce  999999 ,the following           
,observations were found among ,mr4     
,,smith',s ,manuscripts1 without any    
intimation whether they were intended as
 part of this1 or of a different ,essay4
 ,as they appeared too valuable to be   
suppressed1 the ,editors have annexed   
them to this ,essay4   ,of the ,affinity
 between ,music1 ,dancing1 and ,poetry4 

,,in the second part of the preceding   
,essay ,i have mentioned the connection 
between the two arts of ,music and      
,dancing1 formed by the ,rhythmus1 as   
the ancients termed it1 or1 as we call  
it1 the tune or measure that equally    
regulates both4  ,it is not1 however1   
every sort of step1 gesture1 or motion1 
of which the correspondence with the    
tune or measure of ,music will          
constitute a ,dance4 ,it must be a step1
 gesture1 or motion of a particular     
sort4 ,in a good opera-actor1 not only  
the modulations and pauses of his voice1
 but every motion and gesture1 every    
variation1 either in the air of his head
 or in the attitude of his body1        
correspond to the time and measure of   
,music4 ,the best opera-actor1 however1 
is not1 according to the language of any
 country in ,europe1 understood to      
dance1 yet in the performance of his    
part1 he makes use of what is called the
 stage step2 but even this step is not  
understood to be a dancing step4        

,though the eye of the most ordinary    
spectator readily distinguishes between 
what is called a dancing step and any   
other step1 gesture1 or motion1 yet it  
may not perhaps be very easy to express 
what it is which constitutes this       
distinction4 ,to ascertain exactly the  
precise limits at which the one species 
begins1 and the other ends1 or to give  
an accurate definition of this very     
frivolous matter1 might perhaps require 
more thought and attention than the very
 small importance of the subject may    
seem to deserve4 ,were ,i1 however1 to  
attempt to do this1 ,i should observe1  
that though in performing any ordinary  
action--in walking1 for example--from   
the one end of the room to the other1 a 
person may show both grace and agility1 
yet if he betrays the least intention of
 showing either1 he is sure of offending
 more or less1 and we never fail to     
accuse him of some degree of vanity and 
affectation4 ,in the performance of any 
such ordinary action1 every person      

wishes to appear to be solely occupied  
about the proper purpose of the action3 
if he means to show either grace or     
agility1 he is careful to conceal that  
meaning1 and he is very seldom          
successful in doing so3 he offends1     
however1 just in proportion as he       
betrays it1 and he almost always betrays
 it4 ,in ,dancing1 on the contrary1     
every person professes1 and avows1 as it
 were1 the intention of displaying some 
degree either of grace or of agility1 or
 of both4 ,the display of one1 or other1
 or both of these qualities1 is in      
reality the proper purpose of the       
action2 and there can never be any      
disagreeable vanity or affectation in   
following #dcf out the proper purpose of
 any action4 ,when we say of any        
particular person1 that he gives himself
 many affected airs and graces in       
,dancing1 we mean either that he gives  
himself airs and graces which are       
unsuitable to the nature of the ,dance1 
or that he executes awkwardly1 perhaps  

exaggerates too much1 7the most common  
fault in ,dancing17 the airs and graces 
which are suitable to it4 ,every ,dance 
is in reality a succession of airs and  
graces of some kind or other1 and of    
airs and graces which1 if ,i may say so1
 profess themselves to be such4 ,the    
steps1 gestures1 and motions which1 as  
it were1 avow the intention of          
exhibiting a succession of such airs and
 graces1 are the steps1 the gestures1   
and the motions which are peculiar to   
,dancing1 and when these are performed  
to the time and the measure of ,music1  
they constitute what is properly called 
a ,dance4  ,but though every sort of    
step1 gesture1 or motion1 even though   
performed to the time and measure of    
,music1 will not alone make a ,dance1   
yet almost any sort of sound1 provided  
it is repeated with a distinct rhythmus1
 or according to a distinct time and    
measure1 though without any variation as
 to gravity or acuteness1 will make a   
sort of ,music1 no doubt indeed1 an     

imperfect one4 ,drums1 cymbals1 and1 so 
far as ,i have observed1 all other      
instruments of percussion1 have only one
 note2 this note1 however1 when repeated
 with a certain rhythmus1 or according  
to a certain time and measure1 and      
sometimes1 in order to mark more        
distinctly that time and measure1 with  
some little variation as to loudness and
 lowness1 though without any as to      
acuteness and gravity1 does certainly   
make a sort of ,music1 which is         
frequently far from being disagreeable1 
and which even sometimes produces       
considerable effects4 ,the simple note  
of such instruments1 it is true1 is     
generally a very clear1 or what is      
called a melodious1 sound4 ,it does not 
however seem indispensably necessary    
that it should be so4 ,the sound of the 
muffled drum1 when it beats the dead    
march1 is far from being either clear or
 melodious1 and yet it certainly        
produces a species of ,music which is   
sometimes affecting4 ,even in the       

performance of the most humble of all   
artists1 of the man who drums upon the  
table with his fingers1 we may sometimes
 distinguish the measure1 and perhaps a 
little of the humour1 of some favourite 
song2 and we must allow that even he    
makes some sort of ,music4 ,without a   
proper step and motion1 the observation 
of tune alone will not make a ,dance2   
time alone1 without tune1 will make some
 sort of ,music4  ,that exact           
observation of tune1 or of the proper   
intervals of gravity and acuteness1     
which constitutes the great beauty of   
all perfect ,music1 constitutes likewise
 its great difficulty4 ,the time1 or    
measure of a song are simple matters1   
which even a coarse and unpractised ear 
is capable of distinguishing and        
comprehending3 but to distinguish and   
comprehend all the variations of the    
tune1 and to conceive with precision the
 exact proportion of every note1 is what
 the finest and most cultivated #dcg ear
 is frequently no more than capable of  

performing4 ,in the singing of the      
common people we may generally remark a 
distinct enough observation of time1 but
 a very imperfect one of tune4 ,to      
discover and to distinguish with        
precision the proper intervals of tune1 
must have been a work of long experience
 and much observation4 ,in the          
theoretical treatises upon ,music1 what 
the authors have to say upon time is    
commonly discussed in a single chapter  
of no great length or difficulty4 ,the  
theory of tune fills commonly all the   
rest of the volume1 and has long ago    
become both an extensive and an abstruse
 science1 which is often but imperfectly
 comprehended1 even by intelligent      
artists4 ,in the first rude efforts of  
uncivilized nations towards singing1 the
 niceties of tune could be but little   
attended to3 ,i have1 upon this account1
 been frequently disposed to doubt of   
the great antiquity of those national   
songs1 which it is pretended have been  
delivered down from age to age by a sort

 of oral tradition1 without having been 
ever noted or distinctly recorded for   
many successive generations4 ,the       
measure1 the humour of the song1 might  
perhaps have been delivered down in this
 manner1 but it seems scarcely possible 
that the precise notes of the tune      
should have been so preserved4 ,the     
method of singing some of what we reckon
 our old ,scotch songs1 has undergone   
great alterations within the compass of 
my memory1 and it may have undergone    
still greater before4  ,the distinction 
between the sounds or tones of singing  
and those of speaking seems to be of the
 same kind with that between the steps1 
gestures1 and motions of ,dancing1 and  
those of any other ordinary action2     
though in speaking1 a person may show a 
very agreeable tone of voice1 yet if he 
seems to intend to show it1 if he       
appears to listen to the sound of his   
own voice1 and as it were to tune it    
into a pleasing modulation1 he never    
fails to offend1 as guilty of a most    

disagreeable affectation4 ,in speaking1 
as in every other ordinary action1 we   
expect and require that the speaker     
should attend only to the proper purpose
 of the action1 the clear and distinct  
expression of what he has to say4 ,in   
singing1 on the contrary1 every person  
professes the intention to please by the
 tone and cadence of his voice2 and he  
not only appears to be guilty of no     
disagreeable affectation in doing so1   
but we expect and require that he should
 do so4 ,to please by the choice and    
arrangement of agreeable sounds is the  
proper purpose of all ,music1 vocal as  
well as instrumental2 and we always     
expect and require1 that every person   
should attend to the proper purpose of  
whatever action he is performing4 ,a    
person may appear to sing1 as well as to
 dance1 affectedly2 he may endeavour to 
please by sounds and tones which are    
unsuitable to the nature of the song1 or
 he may dwell too much on those which   
are suitable to it1 or in some other way

 he may show an overweening conceit of  
his own abilities1 beyond what seems to 
be warranted by his performance4 ,the   
disagreeable affectation appears #dch to
 consist always1 not in attempting to   
please by a proper1 but by some improper
 modulation of the voice4 ,it was early 
discovered that the vibrations of chords
 or strings1 which either in their      
lengths1 or in their densities1 or in   
their degrees of tension1 bear a certain
 proportion to one another1 produce     
sounds which correspond exactly1 or1 as 
the musicians say1 are the unisons of   
those sounds or tones of the human voice
 which the ear approves of in singing4  
,this discovery has enabled musicians to
 speak with distinctness and precision  
concerning the musical sounds or tones  
of the human voice2 they can always     
precisely ascertain what are the        
particular sounds or tones which they   
mean1 by ascertaining what are the      
proportions of the strings of which the 
vibrations produce the unisons of those 

sounds or tones4 ,what are called the   
intervals2 that is1 the differences1 in 
point of gravity and acuteness1 between 
the sounds or tones of a singing voice1 
are much greater and more distinct than 
those of the speaking voice4 ,though the
 former1 therefore1 can be measured and 
appreciated by the proportions of chords
 or strings1 the latter cannot4 ,the    
nicest instruments cannot express the   
extreme minuteness of these intervals4  
,the heptamerede of ,mr4 ,sauveur could 
express an interval so small as the     
seventh part of what is called a comma1 
the smallest interval that is admitted  
in modern ,music4 ,yet even this        
instrument1 we are informed by ,mr4     
,duclos1 could not express the          
minuteness of the intervals in the      
pronunciation of the ,chinese language2 
of all the languages in the world1 that 
of which the pronunciation is said to   
approach the nearest to singing1 or in  
which the intervals are said to be the  
greatest4  ,as the sounds or tones of   

the singing voice1 therefore1 can be    
ascertained or appropriated1 while those
 of the speaking voice cannot2 the      
former are capable of being noted or    
recorded1 while the latter are not4     
----------     ,,adam ,,smith  ,,on     
,,the  ,,external ,,senses2   ,,the     
,senses1 by which we perceive external  
objects1 are commonly reckoned ,five in 
,number2 viz4 ,seeing1 ,hearing1        
,smelling1 ,tasting1 and ,touching4  ,of
 these1 the four first mentioned are    
each of them confined to particular     
parts or organs of the body2 the ,sense 
of ,seeing is confined to the ,eyes2    
that of ,hearing to the ,ears2 that of  
,smelling to the ,nostrils2 and that of 
,tasting to the ,palate4 ,the ,sense of 
,touching alone #dci seems not to be    
confined to any particular organ1 but to
 be diffused through almost every part  
of the body2 if we except the hair and  
the nails of the fingers and toes1 ,i   
believe through every part of it4 ,i    
shall say a few words concerning each of

 these ,senses2 beginning with the last1
 proceeding backwards in the opposite   
order to that in which they are commonly
 enumerated4   ,of the ,sense of        
,,touching4   ,the objects of ,touch    
always present themselves as pressing   
upon1 or as resisting the particular    
part of the body which perceives them1  
or by which we perceive them4 ,when ,i  
lay my hand upon the table1 the table   
presses upon my hand1 or resists the    
further motion of my hand1 in the same  
manner as my hand presses upon the      
table4 ,but pressure or resistance      
necessarily supposes externality in the 
thing which presses or resists4 ,the    
table could not press upon1 or resist   
the further motion of my hand1 if it was
 not external to my hand4 ,i feel it    
accordingly as something which is not   
merely an affection of the hand1 but    
altogether external to and independent  
of my hand4 ,the agreeable1 indifferent1
 or painful sensation of pressure1      
accordingly as ,i happen to press hardly

 or softly1 ,i feel1 no doubt1 as       
affections of my hand2 but the thing    
which presses and which resists ,i feel 
as something altogether different from  
those affections1 as external to my     
hand1 and as being altogether           
independent of it4  ,in moving my hand  
along the table it soon comes1 in every 
direction1 to a place where this        
pressure or resistance ceases4 ,this    
place we call the boundary1 or end of   
the table2 of which the extent and      
figure are determined by the extent and 
direction of the lines or surfaces which
 constitute this boundary or end4  ,it  
is in this manner that a man born blind1
 or who has lost his sight so early that
 he has no remembrance of visible       
objects1 may form the most distinct idea
 of the extent and figure of all the    
different parts of his own body1 and of 
every other tangible object which he has
 an opportunity of handling and         
examining4 ,when he lays his hand upon  
his foot1 as his hand feels the pressure

 or resistance of his foot1 so his foot 
feels that of his hand4 ,they are both  
external to one another1 but they are1  
neither of them1 altogether so external 
to him4 ,he feels in both1 and he       
naturally considers them as parts of    
himself1 or at least as something which 
belongs to him1 and which1 for his own  
comfort1 it is necessary that he should 
take some care of4  ,when he lays his   
hand upon the table1 though his hand    
feels the pressure of the table1 the    
table does not feel1 at least he does   
not know that it feels1 the pressure of 
his hand4 ,he feels it therefore as     
something external1 not only to his     
hand1 but to himself1 as something which
 makes no part of himself1 and in the   
state and condition of which he has not 
necessarily any concern4  #ddj ,when he 
lays his hand upon the body either of   
another man1 or of any other animal1    
though he knows1 or at least may know1  
that they feel the pressure of his hand 
as much as he feels that of their body3 

yet as this feeling is altogether       
external to him1 he frequently gives no 
attention to it1 and at no time takes   
any further concern in it than he is    
obliged to do by that fellow-feeling    
which ,nature has1 for the wisest       
purposes1 implanted in man1 not only    
towards all other men1 but 7though no   
doubt in a much weaker degree7 towards  
all other animals4 ,having destined him 
to be the governing animal in this      
world1 it seems to have been her        
benevolent intention to inspire him with
 some degree of respect1 even for the   
meanest and weakest of his subjects4    
,this power or quality of resistance we 
call ,solidity2 and the thing which     
possesses it1 the ,solid ,body or       
,thing4 ,as we feel it as something     
altogether external to us1 so we        
necessarily conceive it as something    
altogether independent of us4 ,we       
consider it1 therefore1 as what we call 
a ,substance1 or as a thing that        
subsists by itself1 and independent of  

any other thing4 ,solid and substantial1
 accordingly1 are two words which1 in   
common language1 are considered either  
as altogether or as nearly synonymous4  
,solidity necessarily supposes some     
degree of extension1 and that in all the
 three directions of length1 breadth1   
and thickness4 ,all the solid bodies1 of
 which we have any experience1 have some
 degree of such bulk or magnitude4 ,it  
seems to be essential to their nature1  
and without it1 we cannot even conceive 
how they should be capable of pressure  
or resistance2 are are the powers by    
which they are made known to us1 and by 
which alone they are capable of acting  
upon our own1 and upon all other bodies4
  ,extension1 at least any sensible     
extension1 supposes divisibility4 ,the  
body may be so hard1 that our strength  
is not sufficient to break it2 we still 
suppose1 however1 that if a sufficient  
force were applied1 it might be so      
broken2 and1 at any rate1 we can always1
 in fancy at least1 imagine it to be    

divided into two or more parts4  ,every 
solid and extended body1 if it be not   
infinite1 7as the universe may be       
conceived to be17 must have some shape  
or figure1 or be bounded by certain     
lines and surfaces4  ,every such body   
must likewise be conceived as capable   
both of motion and of rest2 both of     
altering its situation with regard to   
other surrounding bodies1 and of        
remaining in the same situation4 ,that  
bodies of small or moderate bulk1 are   
capable of both motion and rest we have 
constant experience4 ,great masses1     
perhaps1 are according to the ordinary  
habits of the imagination1 supposed to  
be more fitted for rest than for motion4
 ,provided a sufficient force could be  
applied1 however1 we have no difficulty 
in conceiving that the greatest and most
 unwieldy masses might be made capable  
of motion4 ,philosophy teaches us1 7and 
by reasons too to which it is scarcely  
possible to #dda refuse our assent17    
that the earth itself1 and bodies much  

larger than the earth1 are not only     
movable1 but are at all times actually  
in motion1 and continually altering     
their situation1 in respect to other    
surrounding bodies1 with a rapidity that
 almost passes all human comprehension4 
,in the system of the universe1 at least
 according to the imperfect notions     
which we have hitherto been able to     
attain concerning it1 the great         
difficulty seems to be1 not to find the 
most enormous masses in motion1 but to  
find the smallest particle of matter    
that is perfectly at rest with regard to
 all other surrounding bodies4  ,these  
four qualities1 or attributes of        
extension1 divisibility1 figure1 and    
mobility1 or the capacity of motion or  
rest1 seem necessarily involved in the  
idea or conception of a solid substance4
 ,they are1 in reality1 inseparable from
 that idea or conception1 and the solid 
substance cannot possibly be conceived  
to exist without them4 ,no other        
qualities or attributes seem to be      

involved1 in the same manner1 in this   
our idea or conception of solidity4 ,it 
would1 however1 be rash from thence to  
conclude that the solid substance can1  
as such1 possess no other qualities or  
attributes4 ,this rash conclusion1      
notwithstanding1 has been not only      
drawn1 but insisted upon1 as an axiom of
 indubitable certainty1 by philosophers 
of very eminent reputation4  ,of these  
external and resisting substances1 some 
yield easily1 and change their figure1  
at least in some degree1 in consequence 
of the pressure of our hand3 others     
neither yield nor change their figure1  
in any respect1 in consequence of the   
utmost pressure which our hand alone is 
capable of giving them4 ,the former we  
call soft1 the latter hard1 bodies4 ,in 
some bodies the parts are so very easily
 separable1 that they not only yield to 
a very moderate pressure1 but easily    
receive the pressing body within them1  
and without much resistance allow it to 
traverse their extent in every possible 

direction4 ,these are called ,fluid1 in 
contradistinction to those of which the 
parts not being so easily separable1 are
 upon that account peculiarly called    
,solid ,bodies2 as if they possessed1 in
 a more distinct and perceptible manner1
 the characteristical quality of        
solidity or the power of resistance4    
,water1 however 7one of the fluids with 
which we are most familiar71 when       
confined on all sides 7as in a hollow   
globe of metal1 which is first filled   
with it1 and then sealed hermetically71 
has been found to resist pressure as    
much as the very hardest1 or what we    
commonly call the most solid bodies4    
,some fluids yield so very easily to the
 slightest pressure1 that upon1 ordinary
 occasions we are scarcely sensible of  
their resistance2 and are upon that     
account little disposed to conceive them
 as bodies1 or as things capable of     
pressure and resistance4 ,there was a   
time1 as we may learn from ,aristotle   
and ,lucretius1 when it was supposed to 

require some degree of philosophy to    
demonstrate that air was a real solid   
body1 or capable of pressure and        
resistance4 ,what1 in ancient #ddb      
times1 and in vulgar apprehensions1 was 
supposed to be doubtful with regard to  
air1 still continues to be so with      
regard to light1 of which the rays1     
however condensed or concentrated1 have 
never appeared capable of making the    
smallest resistance to the motion of    
other bodies1 the characteristical power
 or quality of what are called bodies1  
or solid substances4 ,some philosophers 
accordingly doubt1 and some even deny1  
that light is a material or corporeal   
substance4  ,though all bodies or solid 
substances resist1 yet all those with   
which we are acquainted appear to be    
more or less compressible1 or capable of
 having1 without any diminution in the  
quantity of their matter1 their bulk    
more or less reduced within a smaller   
space than that which they usually      
occupy4 ,an experiment of the           

,florentine academy was supposed to have
 fully demonstrated that water was      
absolutely incompressible4 ,the same    
experiment1 however1 having been        
repeated with more care and accuracy1 it
 appears1 that water1 though it strongly
 resists compression1 is1 however1 when 
a sufficient force is applied1 like all 
other bodies1 in some degree liable to  
it4 ,air1 on the contrary1 by the       
application of a very moderate force1 is
 easily reducible within a much smaller 
portion of space than that which it     
usually occupies4 ,the condensing       
engine1 and what is founded upon it1 the
 wind-gun1 sufficiently demonstrate     
this3 and even without the help of such 
ingenious and expensive machines1 we may
 easily satisfy ourselves of the truth  
of this proportion1 by squeezing a      
full-blown bladder of which the neck is 
well tied4  ,the hardness or softness of
 bodies1 or the greater or smaller force
 with which they resist any change of   
shape1 seems to depend altogether upon  

the stronger or weaker degree of        
cohesion with which their parts are     
mutually attracted to one another4 ,the 
greater or smaller force with which they
 resist compression may1 upon many      
occasions1 be owing partly to the same  
cause3 but it may likewise be owing to  
the greater or smaller proportion of    
empty space comprehended within their   
dimensions1 or intermixed with the solid
 parts which compose them4 ,a body which
 comprehended no empty space within its 
dimensions1 which1 through all its      
parts1 was completely filled with the   
resisting substance1 we are naturally   
disposed to conceive as something which 
would be absolutely incompressible1 and 
which would resist1 with unconquerable  
force1 every attempt to reduce it within
 narrower dimensions4 ,if the solid and 
resisting substance1 without moving out 
of its place1 should admit into the same
 place another solid and resisting      
substance1 it would from that moment1 in
 our apprehension1 cease to be a solid  

and resisting substance1 and would no   
longer appear to possess that quality1  
by which alone it is made known to us1  
and which we therefore consider as      
constituting its nature and essence1 and
 as altogether inseparable from it4     
,hence our notion of what has been      
called impenetrability of matter2 or of 
the absolute impossibility that two #ddc
 solid resisting substances should      
occupy the same place at the same time4 
,this doctrine1 which is as old as      
,leucippus1 ,democritus1 and ,epicurus1 
was in the last century revived by      
,gassendi1 and has since been adopted by
 ,newton and the far greater part of his
 followers4 ,it may at present be       
considered as the established system1 or
 as the system that is most in fashion1 
and most approved of by the greater part
 of the philosophers of ,europe4 ,though
 it has been opposed by several puzzling
 arguments1 drawn from that species of  
metaphysics which confounds every thing 
and explains nothing1 it seems upon the 

whole to be the most simple1 the most   
distinct1 and the most comprehensible   
account that has yet been given of the  
phenomena which are meant to be         
explained by it4 ,i shall only observe1 
that whatever system may be adopted     
concerning the hardness or softness1 the
 fluidity or solidity1 the              
compressibility or incompressibility of 
the resisting substance1 the certainty  
of our distinct sense and feeling of its
 ,externality1 or of its entire         
independency upon the organ which       
perceives it1 or by which we perceive   
it1 cannot in the smallest degree be    
affected by any such system4 ,i shall   
not therefore attempt to give any       
further account of such systems4  ,heat 
and cold being felt by almost every part
 of the human body1 have commonly been  
ranked along with solidity and          
resistance1 among the qualities which   
are the objects of ,touch4 ,it is not1  
however1 ,i think1 in our language      
proper to say that we touch1 but that we

 feel the qualities of heat and cold4   
,the word feeling1 though in many cases 
we use it as synonymous to touching1    
has1 however1 a much more extensive     
signification1 and is frequently        
employed to denote our internal1 as well
 as our external1 affections4 ,we feel  
hunger and thirst1 we feel joy and      
sorrow1 we feel love and hatred4  ,heat 
and cold1 in reality1 though they may   
frequently be perceived by the same     
parts of the human body1 constitute an  
order of sensations altogether different
 from those which are the proper objects
 of ,touch4 ,they are naturally felt1   
not as pressing upon the organ1 but as  
in the organ4 ,what we feel while we    
stand in the sunshine during a hot1 or  
in the shade during a frosty1 day1 is   
evidently felt1 not as pressing upon the
 body1 but as in the body4 ,it does not 
necessarily suggest the presence of any 
external object1 nor could we from      
thence alone infer the existence of any 
such object4 ,it is a sensation which   

neither does nor can exist any where but
 either in the organ which feels it1 or 
in the unknown principle of perception1 
whatever that may be1 which feels in    
that organ1 or by means of that organ4  
,when we lay our hand upon a table1     
which is either heated or cooled a good 
deal beyond the actual temperature of   
our hand1 we have two distinct          
perceptions3 first1 that of the solid or
 resisting table1 which is necessarily  
felt as something external to1 and      
independent of1 the hand which feels it2
 and secondly1 #ddd that of the heat or 
cold1 which by the contact of the table 
is excited in our hand1 and which is    
naturally felt as nowhere but in our    
hand1 or in the principle of perception 
which feels in our hand4  ,but though   
the sensations of heat and cold do not  
necessarily suggest the presence of any 
external object1 we soon learn from     
experience that they are commonly       
excited by some such object3 sometimes  
by the temperature of some external body

 immediately in contact with our own    
body1 and sometimes by some body at     
either a moderate or a great distance   
from us2 as by the fire in a chamber1 or
 by the sun in a summer's day4 ,by the  
frequency and uniformity of this        
experience1 by the custom and habit of  
thought which that frequency and        
uniformity necessarily occasion1 the    
,internal ,sensation1 and the ,external 
,cause of that ,sensation1 come in our  
conception to be so strictly connected1 
that in our ordinary and careless way of
 thinking1 we are apt to consider them  
as almost one and the same thing1 and   
therefore denote them by one and the    
same word4 ,the confusion1 however1 is  
in this case more in the word than in   
the thought2 for in reality we still    
retain some notion of the distinction1  
though we do not always evolve it with  
that accuracy which a very slight degree
 of attention might enable us to do4    
,when we move our hand1 for example1    
along the surface of a very hot or of a 

very cold table1 though we say that the 
table is hot or cold in every part of   
it1 we never mean that1 in any part of  
it1 it feels the sensations either of   
heat or of cold1 but that in every part 
of it1 it possesses the power of        
exciting one or other of those          
sensations in our bodies4 ,the          
philosophers who have taken so much     
pains to prove that there is no heat in 
the fire1 meaning that the sensation or 
feeling of heat is not in the fire1 have
 laboured to refute an opinion which the
 most ignorant of mankind never         
entertained4 ,but the same word being1  
in common language1 employed to signify 
both the sensation and the power of     
exciting that sensation1 they1 without  
knowing it perhaps1 or intending it1    
have taken advantage of this ambiguity1 
and have triumphed in their own         
superiority1 when by irresistible       
arguments they establish an opinion     
which1 in words indeed1 is diametrically
 opposite to the most obvious judgments 

of mankind1 but which in reality is     
perfectly agreeable to those judgments4 
,of the ,sense of ,,tasting4   ,,when we
 taste any solid or liquid substance1 we
 have always two distinct perceptions3  
first1 that of the solid or liquid body1
 which is naturally felt as pressing    
upon1 and therefore as external to1 and 
independent of1 the organ which feels   
it2 and secondly1 that of particular    
taste1 relish1 or savour which it       
excites in the palate or organ of       
,tasting1 and which is naturally felt1  
not as pressing upon1 as external to1 or
 as independent of1 that organ2 but as  
altogether in the organ1 and nowhere but
 in the organ1 or in the principle of   
perception which feels in #dde that     
organ4 ,when we say that the food which 
we eat has an agreeable or disagreeable 
taste in every part of it1 we do not    
thereby mean that it has the feeling or 
sensation of taste in any part of it1   
but that in every part of it1 it has the
 power of exciting that feeling or      

sensation in our palates4 ,though in    
this case we denote by the same word 7in
 the same manner1 and for the same      
reason1 as in the case of heat and cold7
 both the sensation and the power of    
exciting that sensation1 this ambiguity 
of language misleads the natural        
judgments of mankind in the one case as 
little as in the other4 ,nobody ever    
fancies that our food feels its own     
agreeable or disagreeable taste4   ,of  
the ,sense of ,,smelling4   ,,every     
smell or odour is naturally felt as in  
the nostrils2 not as pressing upon or   
resisting the organ1 not as in any      
respect external to1 or independent of1 
the organ1 but as altogether in the     
organ1 and nowhere else but in the      
organ1 or in the principle of perception
 which feels in that organ4 ,we soon    
learn from experience1 however1 that    
this sensation is commonly excited by   
some external body2 by a flower1 for    
example1 of which the absence removes1  
and the presence brings back1 the       

sensation4 ,this external body we       
consider as the cause of this sensation1
 and we denominate by the same words    
both the sensation and the power by     
which the external body produces this   
sensation4 ,but when we say that the    
smell is in the flower1 we do not       
thereby mean that the flower itself has 
any feeling of the sensation which we   
feel2 but that it has the power of      
exciting this sensation in our nostrils1
 or in the principle of perception which
 feels in our nostrils4 ,though this    
sensation1 and the power by which it is 
excited1 are thus denoted by the same   
word1 this ambiguity of language        
misleads1 in this case1 the natural     
judgments of mankind as little as in the
 two preceding4   ,of the ,sense of     
,,hearing4   ,,every sound is naturally 
felt as in the ,ear1 the organ of       
,hearing4 ,sound is not naturally felt  
as resisting or pressing upon the organ1
 or as in any respect external to1 or   
independent of1 the organ4 ,we naturally

 feel it as an affection of our ,ear1 as
 something which is altogether in our   
,ear1 and nowhere but in our ,ear1 or in
 the principle of perception which feels
 in our ,ear4 ,we soon learn from       
experience1 indeed1 that the sensation  
is frequently excited by bodies at a    
considerable distance from us2 often at 
a much greater distance1 than those ever
 are which excite the sensation of      
,smelling4 ,we learn too from experience
 that this sound or sensation in our    
,ears receives different modifications1 
according to the distance and direction 
of the body which originally causes it4 
,the sensation is stronger1 the sound is
 louder1 when that body is near4 ,the   
sensation is weaker1 the sound is lower1
 when that body is at a distance4 ,the  
sound1 or sensation1 too undergoes some 
#ddf variation according as the body is 
placed on the right hand or on the left1
 before or behind us4 ,in common        
language we frequently say1 that the    
sound seems to come from a great or from

 a small distance1 from the right hand  
or from the left1 from before or from   
behind us4 ,we frequently say too that  
we hear a sound at a great or small     
distance1 on our right hand or on our   
left4 ,the real sound1 however1 the     
sensation in our ear1 can never be heard
 or felt any where but in our ear1 it   
can never change its place1 it is       
incapable of motion1 and can come1      
therefore1 neither from the right nor   
from the left1 neither from before nor  
from behind us4 ,the ,ear can feel or   
hear nowhere but where it is1 and cannot
 stretch out its powers of perception1  
either to a great or to a small         
distance1 either to the right or to the 
left4 ,by all such phrases we in reality
 mean nothing but to express our opinion
 concerning either the distance or the  
direction of the body which excites the 
sensation of sound4 ,when we say that   
the sound is in the bell1 we do not mean
 that the bell hears its own sound1 or  
that any thing like our sensation is in 

the bell1 but that it possesses the     
power of exciting that sensation in our 
organ of ,hearing4 ,though in this1 as  
well as in some other cases1 we express 
by the same word1 both the ,sensation1  
and the ,power of exciting that         
,sensation2 this ambiguity of language  
occasions scarce any confusion in the   
thought1 and when the different meanings
 of the word are properly distinguished1
 the opinions of the vulgar1 and those  
of the philosopher1 though apparently   
opposite1 on examination turn out to be 
exactly the same4  ,these four classes  
of secondary qualities1 as philosophers 
have called them1 or to speak more      
properly1 these four classes of         
,sensations2 ,heat and ,cold1 ,taste1   
,smell1 and ,sound2 being felt1 not as  
resisting or pressing upon the organ1   
but as in the organ1 are not naturally  
perceived as external and independent   
substances2 or even as qualities of such
 substances2 but as mere affections of  
the organ1 and what can exist nowhere   

but in the organ4  ,they do not possess1
 nor can we even conceive them as       
capable of possessing1 any one of the   
qualities1 which we consider as         
essential to1 and inseparable from1     
external solid and independent          
substances4  ,first1 ,they have no      
extension4 ,they are neither long nor   
short2 they are neither broad nor       
narrow2 they are neither deep nor       
shallow4 ,the bodies which excite them1 
the spaces within which they may be     
perceived1 may possess any of those     
dimensions2 but the ,sensations         
themselves can possess none of them4    
,when we say of a ,note in ,music1 that 
it is long or short1 we mean that it is 
so in point of duration4 ,in point of   
extension we cannot even conceive1 that 
it should be either the one or the      
other4  ,secondly1 ,those ,sensations   
have no figure4 ,they are neither round 
nor square1 though the bodies which     
excite them1 though the spaces within   
which they may be perceived1 may be     

either the one or the other4  #ddg      
,thirdly1 ,those ,sensations are        
incapable of motion4 ,the bodies which  
excite them may be moved to a greater or
 to a smaller distance4 ,the ,sensations
 become fainter in the one case1 and    
stronger in the other4 ,those bodies may
 change their direction with regard to  
the organ of ,sensation4 ,if the change 
be considerable1 the ,sensations undergo
 some sensible variation in consequence 
of it4 ,but still we never ascribe      
motion to the ,sensations4 ,even when   
the person who feels any of those       
,sensations1 and consequently the organ 
by which he feels them1 changes his     
situation1 we never1 even in this case1 
say1 that the ,sensation moves1 or is   
moved4 ,it seems to exist always1 where 
alone it is capable of existing1 in the 
organ which feels it4 ,we never even    
ascribe to those ,sensations the        
attribute of rest2 because we never say 
that any thing is at rest1 unless we    
suppose it capable of motion4 ,we never 

say that any thing does not change its  
situation with regard to other things1  
unless we can suppose it to be capable  
of changing that situation4  ,fourthly1 
,those ,sensations1 as they have no     
extension1 so they can have no          
divisibility4 ,we cannot even conceive  
that a degree of ,heat or ,cold1 that a 
,smell1 a ,taste1 or a ,sound1 should be
 divided 7in the same manner as the     
solid and extended substance may be     
divided7 into two halves1 or into four  
quarters1 or into any number of parts4  
,but though all these ,sensations are   
equally incapable of division2 there are
 three of them1 ,taste1 ,smell1 and     
,sound2 which seem capable of a certain 
composition and decomposition4 ,a       
skilful cook will1 by his taste1        
perhaps1 sometimes distinguish the      
different ingredients1 which enter into 
the composition of a new sauce1 and of  
which the simple tastes make up the     
compound one of the sauce4 ,a skilful   
perfumer may1 perhaps1 sometimes be able

 to do the same thing with regard to a  
new scent4 ,in a concert of vocal and   
instrumental music1 an acute and        
experienced ,ear readily distinguishes  
all the different sounds which strike   
upon it at the same time1 and which may1
 therefore1 be considered as making up  
one compound sound4  ,is it by nature1  
or by experience1 that we learn to      
distinguish between simple and compound 
,sensations of this kind8 ,i am disposed
 to believe that it is altogether by    
experience2 and that naturally all      
,tastes1 ,smells1 and ,sounds1 which    
affect the organ of ,sensation at the   
same time1 are felt as simple and       
uncompounded ,sensations4 ,it is        
altogether by experience1 ,i think1 that
 we learn to observe the different      
affinities and resemblances which the   
compound ,sensation bears to the        
different simple ones1 which compose it1
 and to judge that the different causes1
 which excite those different simple    
,sensations1 enter into the composition 

of that cause which excites the         
compounded one4  ,it is sufficiently    
evident that this composition and       
decomposition is altogether different   
from that union and separation of parts1
 which constitutes the divisibility of  
solid extension4  #ddh ,the ,sensations 
of ,heat and ,cold seem incapable even  
of this species of composition and      
decomposition4 ,the ,sensations of ,heat
 and ,cold may be stronger at one time  
and weaker at another4 ,they may differ 
in degree1 but they cannot differ in    
kind4 ,the ,sensations of ,taste1       
,smell1 and ,sound1 frequently differ1  
not only in degree1 but in kind4 ,they  
are not only stronger and weaker1 but   
some ,tastes are sweet and some bitter2 
some ,smells are agreeable1 and some    
offensive2 some ,sounds are acute1 and  
some grave2 and each of these different 
kinds or qualities1 too1 is capable of  
an immense variety of modifications4 ,it
 is the combination of such simple      
,sensations1 as differ not only in      

degree but in kind1 which constitutes   
the compounded ,sensation4  ,these four 
classes of ,sensations1 therefore1      
having none of the qualities which are  
essential to1 and inseparable from1 the 
solid1 external1 and independent        
substances which excite them1 cannot be 
qualities or modifications of those     
substances4 ,in reality we do not       
naturally consider them as such2 though 
in the way in which we express ourselves
 on the subject1 there is frequently a  
good deal of ambiguity and confusion4   
,when the different meanings of words1  
however1 are fairly distinguished1 these
 ,sensations are1 even by the most      
ignorant and illiterate1 understood to  
be1 not the qualities1 but merely the   
effects of the solid1 external1 and     
independent substances upon the sensible
 and living organ1 or upon the principle
 of perception which feels in that      
organ4  ,philosophers1 however1 have not
 in general supposed that those exciting
 bodies produce those ,sensations       

immediately1 but by the intervention of 
one1 two1 or more intermediate causes4  
,in the ,sensation of ,taste1 for       
example1 though the exciting body       
presses upon the organ of ,sensation1   
this pressure is not supposed to be the 
immediate cause of the ,sensation of    
,taste4 ,certain juices of the exciting 
body are supposed to enter the pores of 
the palate1 and to excite1 in the       
irritable and sensible fibres of that   
organ1 certain motions or vibrations1   
which produce there the ,sensation of   
,taste4 ,but how those juices should    
excite such motions1 or how such motions
 should produce1 either in the organ1 or
 in the principle of perception which   
feels in the organ1 the ,sensation of   
,taste2 or a ,sensation1 which not only 
does not bear the smallest resemblance  
to any motion1 but which itself seems   
incapable of all motion1 no philosopher 
has yet attempted1 nor probably ever    
will attempt1 to explain to us4  ,the   
,sensations of ,heat and ,cold1 of      

,smell and ,sound1 are frequently       
excited by bodies at a distance1        
sometimes at a great distance1 from the 
organ which feels them4 ,but it is a    
very ancient and well-established axiom 
in metaphysics1 that nothing can act    
where it is not2 and this axiom1 it     
must1 ,i think1 be acknowledged1 is at  
least perfectly agreeable to our natural
 and usual habits of thinking4  ,the    
,sun1 the great source of both ,heat and
 ,light1 is at an immense #ddi distance 
from us4 ,his rays1 however 7traversing1
 with inconceivable rapidity1 the       
immensity of the intervening regions71  
as they convey the ,sensation of ,light 
to our eyes1 so they convey that of     
,heat to all the sensible parts of our  
body4 ,they even convey the power of    
exciting that ,sensation to all the     
other bodies that surround us4 ,they    
warm the earth and air1 we say2 that is1
 they convey to the earth and the air   
the power of exciting that ,sensation in
 our bodies4 ,a common fire produces1 in

 the same manner1 all the same effects2 
though the sphere of its action is      
confined within much narrower limits4   
,the odoriferous body1 which is         
generally too at some distance from us1 
is supposed to act upon our organs by   
means of certain small particles of     
matter1 called ,effluvia1 which being   
sent forth in all possible directions1  
and drawn into our nostrils by the      
inspiration of breathing1 produce there 
the ,sensation of ,smell4 ,the          
minuteness of those small particles of  
matter1 however1 must surpass all human 
comprehension4 ,inclose in a gold box1  
for a few hours1 a small quantity of    
musk4 ,take out the musk1 and clean the 
box with soap and water as carefully as 
it is possible4 ,nothing can be supposed
 to remain in the box1 but such effluvia
 as1 having penetrated into its interior
 pores1 may have escaped the effects of 
this cleansing4 ,the box1 however1 will 
retain the smell of musk for many1 ,i do
 not know for how many years2 and these 

effluvia1 how minute soever we may      
suppose them1 must have had the powers  
of subdividing themselves1 and of       
emitting other effluvia of the same     
kind1 continually1 and without any      
interruption1 during so long a period4  
,the nicest balance1 however1 which     
human art has ever been able to invent1 
will not show the smallest increase of  
weight in the gold box immediately after
 it has been thus carefully cleaned4    
,the ,sensation of ,sound is frequently 
felt at a much greater distance from the
 sounding1 than that of ,smell ever is  
from the odoriferous body4 ,the         
vibrations of the sounding body1        
however1 are supposed to produce certain
 correspondent vibrations and pulses in 
the surrounding atmosphere1 which being 
propagated in all directions1 reach our 
organ of ,hearing1 and produce there the
 ,sensation of ,sound4 ,there are not   
many philosophical doctrines1 perhaps1  
established upon a more probable        
foundation1 than that of the propagation

 of ,sound by means of the pulses or    
vibrations of the air4 ,the experiment  
of the bell1 which1 in an exhausted     
receiver1 produces no sensible ,sound1  
would alone render this doctrine        
somewhat more than probable4 ,but this  
great probability is still further      
confirmed by the computations of ,sir   
,isaac ,newton1 who has shown that1 what
 is called the velocity of ,sound1 or   
the time which passes between the       
commencement of the action of the       
sounding body1 and that of the          
,sensation in our ear1 is perfectly     
suitable to the velocity with which the 
pulses and vibrations of an elastic     
fluid of the same density with the air1 
are naturally propagated4 ,dr4 #dej     
,benjamin ,franklin has made objections 
to this doctrine1 but1 ,i think1 without
 success4  ,such are the intermediate   
causes by which philosophers have       
endeavoured to connect the ,sensation in
 our organs1 with the distant bodies    
which excite them4 ,how those           

intermediate causes1 by the different   
motions and vibrations which they may be
 supposed to excite on our organs1      
produce there those different           
,sensations1 none of which bear the     
smallest resemblance to vibration or    
motion of any kind1 no philosopher has  
yet attempted to explain to us4   ,of   
the ,sense of ,,seeing4   ,,dr4         
,,berkley1 in his ,new ,theory of       
,vision1 one of the finest examples of  
philosophical analysis that is to be    
found1 either in our own1 or in any     
other language1 has explained1 so very  
distinctly1 the nature of the objects of
 ,sight3 their dissimilitude to1 as well
 as their correspondence and connection 
with those of ,touch1 that ,i have      
scarcely any thing to add to what he has
 already done4 ,it is only in order to  
render some things1 which ,i shall have 
occasion to say hereafter1 intelligible 
to such readers as may not have had an  
opportunity of studying his book1 that  
,i have presumed to treat of the same   

subject1 after so great a master4       
,whatever ,i shall say upon it1 if not  
directly borrowed from ,dr4 ,berkley1   
has at least been suggested by what he  
has already said4  ,that the objects of 
,sight are not perceived as resisting or
 pressing upon the organ which perceives
 them1 is sufficiently obvious4 ,they   
cannot therefore suggest1 at least in   
the same manner as the objects of       
,touch1 their externality and           
independency of existence4  ,we are apt1
 however1 to imagine that we see objects
 at a distance from us1 and that        
consequently the externality of their   
existence is immediately perceived by   
our sight4 ,but if we consider that the 
distance of any object from the eye1 is 
a line turned endways to it2 and that   
this line must consequently appear to   
it1 but as one point2 we shall be       
sensible that distance from the eye     
cannot be the immediate object of       
,sight1 but that all visible objects    
must naturally be perceived as close    

upon the organ1 or more properly1       
perhaps1 like all other ,sensations1 as 
in the organ which perceives them4 ,that
 the objects of ,sight are all painted  
in the bottom of the eye1 upon a        
membrane called the retina1 pretty much 
in the same manner as the like objects  
are painted in a ,camera ,obscura1 is   
well known to whoever has the slightest 
tincture of the science of ,optics3 and 
the principle of perception1 it is      
probable1 originally perceives them1 as 
existing in that part of the organ1 and 
nowhere but in that part of the organ4  
,no optician1 accordingly1 no person who
 has ever bestowed any moderate degree  
of attention upon the nature of ,vision1
 has ever pretended that distance from  
the eye was the immediate object of     
,sight4 ,how it is that1 by #dea means  
of our ,sight we learn to judge of such 
distances ,opticians have endeavoured to
 explain in several different ways4 ,i  
shall not1 however1 at present1 stop to 
examine their systems4  ,the objects of 

,touch are solidity1 and those          
modifications of solidity which we      
consider as essential to it1 and        
inseparable from it2 solid extension1   
figure1 divisibility1 and mobility4     
,the objects of ,sight are colour1 and  
those modifications of colour which1 in 
the same manner1 we consider as         
essential to it1 and inseparable from   
it2 coloured extension1 figure1         
divisibility1 and mobility4 ,when we    
open our eyes1 the sensible coloured    
objects1 which present themselves to us1
 must all have a certain extension1 or  
must occupy a certain portion of the    
visible surface which appears before us4
 ,they must too have all a certain      
figure1 or must be bounded by certain   
visible lines1 which mark upon that     
surface the extent of their respective  
dimensions4 ,every sensible portion of  
this visible or coloured extension must 
be conceived as divisible1 or as        
separable into two1 three1 or more      
parts4 ,every portion too of this       

visible or coloured surface must be     
conceived as moveable1 or as capable of 
changing its situation1 and of assuming 
a different arrangement with regard to  
the other portions of the same surface4 
,colour1 the visible1 bears no          
resemblance to solidity1 the tangible   
object4 ,a man born blind1 or who has   
lost his sight so early as to have no   
remembrance of visible objects1 can form
 no idea or conception of colour4 ,touch
 alone can never help him to it4 ,i have
 heard1 indeed1 of some persons who had 
lost their sight after the age of       
manhood1 and who had learned to         
distinguish by the touch alone1 the     
different colours of cloths or silks1   
the goods which it happened to be their 
business to deal in4 ,the powers by     
which different bodies excite in the    
organs of ,sight the ,sensations of     
different colours1 probably depend upon 
some difference in the nature1          
configuration1 and arrangement of the   
parts which compose their respective    

surfaces4 ,this difference may1 to a    
very nice and delicate touch1 make some 
difference in the feeling1 sufficient to
 enable a person1 much interested in the
 case1 to make this distinction in some 
degree1 though probably in a very       
imperfect and inaccurate one4 ,a man    
born blind might possibly be taught to  
make the same distinctions4 ,but though 
he might thus be able to name the       
different colours1 which those different
 surfaces reflected1 though he might    
thus have some imperfect notion of the  
remote causes of the ,sensations1 he    
could have no better idea of the        
,sensations themselves1 than that other 
blind man1 mentioned by ,mr4 ,locke1    
had1 who said that he imagined the      
,colour of ,scarlet resembled the ,sound
 of a ,trumpet4 ,a man born deaf may1 in
 the same manner1 be taught to speak    
articulately4 ,he is taught how to shape
 and dispose of his organs1 so as to    
pronounce each letter1 syllable1 and    
word4 ,but still1 though he may have    

some imperfect idea of the remote causes
 of #deb the ,sounds which he himself   
utters1 of the remote causes of the     
,sensations which he himself excites in 
other people2 he can have none of those 
,sounds or ,sensations themselves4  ,if 
it were possible1 in the same manner1   
that a man could be born without the    
,sense of ,touching1 that of ,seeing    
could never alone suggest to him the    
idea of ,solidity1 or enable him to form
 any notion of the external and         
resisting substance4 ,it is probable1   
however1 not only that no man1 but that 
no animal was ever born without the     
,sense of ,touching1 which seems        
essential to1 and inseparable from1 the 
nature of animal life and existence4 ,it
 is unnecessary1 therefore1 to throw    
away any reasoning1 or to hazard any    
conjectures1 about what might be the    
effects of what ,i look upon as         
altogether an impossible supposition4   
,the eye when pressed upon by any       
external and solid substance1 feels1 no 

doubt1 that pressure and resistance1 and
 suggests to us 7in the same manner as  
every other feeling part of the body7   
the external and independent existence  
of that solid substance4 ,but in this   
case1 the eye acts1 not as the organ of 
,sight1 but as an organ of ,touch2 for  
the eye possesses the ,sense of         
,touching in common with almost all the 
other parts of the body4  ,the          
extension1 figure1 divisibility1 and    
mobility of ,colour1 the sole object of 
,sight1 though1 on account of their     
correspondence and connection with the  
extension1 figure1 divisibility1 and    
mobility of ,solidity1 they are called  
by the same name1 yet seem to bear no   
sort of resemblance to their namesakes4 
,as ,colour and ,solidity bear no sort  
of resemblance to one another1 so       
neither can their respective            
modifications4 ,dr4 ,berkley very justly
 observes1 that though we can conceive  
either a coloured or a solid line to be 
prolonged indefinitely1 yet we cannot   

conceive the one to be added to the     
other4 ,we cannot1 even in imagination1 
conceive an object of ,touch to be      
prolonged into an object of ,sight1 or  
an object of ,sight into an object of   
,touch4 ,the objects of ,sight and those
 of ,touch constitute two worlds1 which1
 though they have a most important      
correspondence and connection with one  
another1 bear no sort of resemblance to 
one another4 ,the tangible world1 as    
well as all the different parts which   
compose it1 has three dimensions1       
,length1 ,breadth1 and ,depth4 ,the     
visible world1 as well as all the       
different parts which compose it1 has   
only two1 ,length and ,breadth4 ,it     
presents to us only a plain or surface1 
which1 by certain shades and            
combinations of ,colour1 suggests and   
represents to us 7in the same manner as 
a picture does7 certain tangible objects
 which have no ,colour1 and which       
therefore can bear no resemblance to    
those shades and combinations of        

,colour4 ,those shades and combinations 
suggest those different tangible objects
 as at different distances1 according to
 certain rules of ,perspective1 which it
 is1 perhaps1 not very easy to say how  
it is that we learn1 whether by some    
particular instinct1 or by some         
application of either reason or         
experience1 which #dec has become so    
perfectly habitual to us1 that we are   
scarcely sensible when we make use of   
it4  ,the distinctness of this          
,perspective1 the precision and accuracy
 with which1 by means of it1 we are     
capable of judging concerning the       
distance of different tangible objects1 
is greater or less1 exactly in          
proportion as this distinctness1 as this
 precision and accuracy1 are of more or 
less importance to us4 ,we can judge of 
the distance of near objects1 of the    
chairs and tables for example1 in the   
chamber where we are sitting1 with the  
most perfect precision and accuracy2 and
 if in broad daylight we ever stumble   

over any of them1 it must be1 not from  
any error in the ,sight1 but from some  
defect in the attention4 ,the precision 
and accuracy of our judgment concerning 
such near objects are of the utmost     
importance to us1 and constitute the    
great advantage which a man who sees has
 over one who is unfortunately blind4   
,as the distance increases1 the         
distinctness of this ,perspective1 the  
precision and accuracy of our judgment  
gradually diminish4 ,of the tangible    
objects which are even at the moderate  
distance of one1 two1 or three miles    
from the eye1 we are frequently at a    
loss to determine which is nearest1 and 
which remotest4 ,it is seldom of much   
importance to us to judge with precision
 concerning the situation of the        
tangible objects which are even at this 
moderate distance4 ,as the distance     
increases1 our judgments become more and
 more uncertain2 and at a very great    
distance1 such as that of the fixed     
stars1 it becomes altogether uncertain4 

,the most precise knowledge of the      
relative situation of such objects could
 be of no other use to the enquirer than
 to satisfy the most unnecessary        
curiosity4  ,the distances at which     
different men can by ,sight distinguish1
 with some degree of precision1 the     
situation of the tangible objects which 
the visible ones represent1 is very     
different2 and this difference1 though  
it1 no doubt1 may sometimes depend upon 
some difference in the original         
configuration of their eyes1 yet seems  
frequently to arise altogether from the 
different customs and habits which their
 respective occupations have led them to
 contract4 ,men of letters1 who live    
much in their closets1 and have seldom  
occasion to look at very distant        
objects1 are seldom far-sighted4        
,mariners1 on the contrary1 almost      
always are2 those especially who have   
made many distant voyages1 in which they
 have been the greater part of their    
time out of sight of land1 and have in  

daylight been constantly looking out    
towards the horizon for the appearance  
of some ship1 or of some distant shore4 
,it often astonishes a landsman to      
observe with what precision a sailor can
 distinguish in the offing1 not only the
 appearance of a ship which is          
altogether invisible to the landsman1   
but the number of her masts1 the        
direction of her course1 and the rate of
 her sailing4 ,if she is a ship of his  
acquaintance1 he frequently can tell her
 name1 before the landsman has been able
 to discover even the appearance of a   
ship4  #ded ,visible objects1 ,colour1  
and all its different modifications1 are
 in themselves mere shadows or pictures1
 which seem to float1 as it were1 before
 the organ of ,sight4 ,in themselves1   
and independent of their connection with
 the tangible objects which they        
represent1 they are of no importance to 
us1 and can essentially neither benefit 
us nor hurt us4 ,even while we see them 
we are seldom thinking of them4 ,even   

when we appear to be looking at them    
with the greatest earnestness1 our whole
 attention is frequently employed1 not  
upon them1 but upon the tangible objects
 represented by them4  ,it is because   
almost our whole attention is employed1 
not upon the visible and representing1  
but upon the tangible and represented   
objects1 that in our imaginations we arc
 apt to ascribe to the former a degree  
of magnitude which does not belong to   
them1 but which belongs altogether to   
the latter4 ,if you shut one eye1 and   
hold immediately before the other a     
small circle of plain glass1 of not more
 than half an inch in diameter1 you may 
see through that circle the most        
extensive prospects2 lawns and woods1   
and arms of the sea1 and distant        
mountains4 ,you are apt to imagine that 
the ,landscape which is thus presented  
to you1 that the visible ,picture which 
you thus see1 is immensely great and    
extensive4 ,the tangible objects which  
this visible ,picture represents1       

undoubtedly are so4 ,but the visible    
,picture which represents them can be no
 greater than the little visible circle 
through which you see it4 ,if while you 
are looking through this circle1 you    
could conceive a fairy hand and a fairy 
pencil to come between your eye and the 
glass1 that pencil could delineate upon 
that little glass the outline of all    
those extensive lawns and woods1 and    
arms of the sea1 and distant mountains1 
in the full and the exact dimensions    
with which they are really seen by the  
naked eye4  ,every visible object which 
covers from the eye any other visible   
object1 must appear at least as large as
 that other visible object4 ,it must    
occupy at least an equal portion of that
 visible plain or surface which is at   
that time presented to the eye4         
,opticians accordingly tell us1 that all
 the visible objects which are seen     
under equal angles must to the eye      
appear equally large4 ,but the visible  
object1 which covers from the eye any   

other visible object1 must necessarily  
be seen under angles at least equally   
large as those under which that other   
object is seen4 ,when ,i hold up my     
finger1 however1 before my eye1 it      
appears to cover the greater part of the
 visible chamber in which ,i am sitting4
 ,it should therefore appear as large as
 the greater part of that visible       
chamber4 ,but because ,i know that the  
tangible finger bears but a very small  
proportion to the greater part of the   
tangible chamber1 ,i am apt to fancy    
that the visible finger bears but a like
 proportion to the greater part of the  
visible chamber4 ,my judgment corrects  
my eyesight1 and1 in my fancy1 reduces  
the visible object1 which represents the
 little tangible one1 below its real    
visible dimensions2 and1 on the #dee    
contrary1 it augments the visible object
 which represents the great tangible one
 a good deal beyond those dimensions4   
,my attention being generally altogether
 occupied about the tangible and        

represented1 and not at all about the   
visible and representing objects1 my    
careless fancy bestows upon the latter a
 proportion which does not in the least 
belong to them1 but which belongs       
altogether to the former4  ,it is       
because the visible object which covers 
any other visible object must always    
appear at least as large as that other  
object1 that opticians tell us that the 
sphere of our vision appears to the eye 
always equally large2 and that when we  
hold our hand before our eye in such a  
manner that we see nothing but the      
inside of the hand1 we still see        
precisely the same number of visible    
points1 the sphere of our vision is     
still as completely filled1 the retina  
of the eye is as entirely covered with  
the object which is thus presented to   
it1 as when we survey the most extensive
 horizon4  ,a young gentleman who was   
born with a cataract upon each of his   
eyes1 was1 in one thousand seven hundred
 and twenty-eight1 couched by ,mr4      

,cheselden1 and by that means for the   
first time made to see distinctly4 ',at 
first1' says the operator1 'he could    
bear but very little sight1 and the     
things he saw he thought extremely      
large2 but upon seeing things larger1   
those first seen he conceived less1     
never being able to imagine any lines   
beyond the bounds he saw2 the room he   
was in1 he said1 he knew to be but part 
of the house1 yet he could not conceive 
that the whole house would look bigger4'
 ,it was unavoidable that he should at  
first conceive1 that no visible object  
could be greater1 could present to his  
eye a greater number of visible points1 
or could more completely fill the       
comprehension of that organ1 than the   
narrowest sphere of his vision4 ,and    
when that sphere came to be enlarged1 he
 still could not conceive that the      
visible objects which it presented could
 be larger than those which he had first
 seen4 ,he must probably by this time   
have been in some degree habituated to  

the connection between visible and      
tangible objects1 and enabled to        
conceive that visible object to be small
 which represented a small tangible     
object2 and that to be great1 which     
represented a great one4 ,the great     
objects did not appear to his sight     
greater than the small ones had done    
before2 but the small ones1 which1      
having filled the whole sphere of his   
vision1 had before appeared as large as 
possible1 being now known to represent  
much smaller tangible objects1 seemed in
 his conception to grow smaller4 ,he had
 begun now to employ his attention more 
about the tangible and represented1 than
 about the visible and representing     
objects2 and he was beginning to ascribe
 to the latter the proportions and      
dimensions which properly belonged      
altogether to the former4  ,as we       
frequently ascribe to the objects of    
,sight a magnitude and proportion which 
does not really belong to them1 but to  
the objects of #def ,touch which they   

represent1 so we likewise ascribe to    
them a steadiness of appearance1 which  
as little belongs to them1 but which    
they derive altogether from their       
connection with the same objects of     
,touch4 ,the chair which now stands at  
the farther end of the room1 ,i am apt  
to imagine1 appears to my eye as large  
as it did when it stood close by me1    
when it was seen under angles at least  
four times larger than those under which
 it is seen at present1 and when it must
 have occupied1 at least1 sixteen times 
that portion which it occupies at       
present1 of the visible plain or surface
 which is now before my eyes4 ,but as ,i
 know that the magnitude of the tangible
 and represented chair1 the principal   
object of my attention1 is the same in  
both situations1 ,i ascribe to the      
visible and representing chair 7though  
now reduced to less than the sixteenth  
part of its former dimensions7 a        
steadiness of appearance1 which         
certainly belongs not in any respect to 

it1 but altogether to the tangible and  
represented one4 ,as we approach to1 or 
retire from1 the tangible object which  
any visible one represents1 the visible 
object gradually augments in the one    
case1 and diminishes in the other4 ,to  
speak accurately1 it is not the same    
visible object which we see at different
 distances1 but a succession of visible 
objects1 which1 though they all resemble
 one another1 those especially which    
follow near after one another2 yet are  
all really different and distinct4 ,but 
as we know that the tangible object     
which they represent remains always the 
same1 we ascribe to them too a sameness 
which belongs altogether to it3 and we  
fancy that we see the same tree at a    
mile1 at half a mile1 and at a few yards
 distance4 ,at those different          
distances1 however1 the visible objects 
are so very widely different1 that we   
are sensible of a change in their       
appearance4 ,but still1 as the tangible 
objects which they represent remain     

invariably the same1 we ascribe a sort  
of sameness even to them too4  ,it has  
been said1 that no man ever saw the same
 visible object twice2 and this1 though1
 no doubt1 an exaggeration1 is1 in      
reality1 much less so than at first view
 it appears to be4 ,though ,i am apt to 
fancy that all the chairs and tables1   
and other little pieces of furniture in 
the room where ,i am sitting1 appear to 
my eye always the same1 yet their       
appearance is in reality continually    
varying1 not only according to every    
variation in their situation and        
distance with regard to where ,i am     
sitting1 but according to every1 even   
the most insensible variation in the    
altitude of my body1 in the movement of 
my head1 or even in that of my eyes4    
,the perspective necessarily varies     
according to all even the smallest of   
these variations2 and consequently the  
appearance of the objects which that    
perspective presents to me4 ,observe    
what difficulty a portrait painter      

finds1 in getting the person who sits   
for his picture to present to him       
precisely that view of the countenance  
from which the first outline was drawn4 
,the painter is scarce ever completely  
satisfied with the situation of the face
 which is presented to #deg him1 and    
finds that it is scarcely ever precisely
 the same with that from which he       
rapidly sketched the first outline4 ,he 
endeavours1 as well as he can1 to       
correct the difference from memory1 from
 fancy1 and from a sort of art of       
approximation1 by which he strives to   
express as nearly as he can1 the        
ordinary effect of the look1 air1 and   
character of the person whose picture he
 is drawing4 ,the person who draws from 
a statue1 which is altogether immovable1
 feels a difficulty1 though1 no doubt1  
in a less degree1 of the same kind4 ,it 
arises altogether from the difficulty   
which he finds in placing his own eye   
precisely in the same situation during  
the whole time which he employs in      

completing his drawing4 ,this difficulty
 is more than doubled upon the painter  
who draws from a living subject4 ,the   
statue never is the cause of any        
variation or unsteadiness in its own    
appearance4 ,the living subject         
frequently is4  ,the benevolent purpose 
of nature in bestowing upon us the sense
 of seeing1 is evidently to inform us   
concerning the situation and distance of
 the tangible objects which surround us4
 ,upon the knowledge of this distance   
and situation depends the whole conduct 
of human life1 in the most trifling as  
well as in the most important           
transactions4 ,even animal motion       
depends upon it2 and without it we could
 neither move1 nor even sit still1 with 
complete security4 ,the objects of      
sight1 as ,dr4 ,berkley finely observes1
 constitute a sort of language which the
 ,author of ,nature addresses to our    
eyes1 and by which he informs us of many
 things1 which it is of the utmost      
importance to us to know4 ,as1 in common

 language1 the words or sounds bear no  
resemblance to the thing which they     
denote1 so1 in this other language1 the 
visible objects bear no sort of         
resemblance to the tangible object which
 they represent1 and of whose relative  
situation1 with regard both to ourselves
 and to one another1 they inform us4    
,he acknowledges1 however1 that though  
scarcely any word be by nature better   
fitted to express one meaning than any  
other meaning1 yet that certain visible 
objects are better fitted than others to
 represent certain tangible objects4 ,a 
visible square1 for example1 is better  
fitted than a visible circle to         
represent a tangible square4 ,there is1 
perhaps1 strictly speaking1 no such     
thing as either a visible cube1 or a    
visible globe1 the objects of sight     
being all naturally presented to the eye
 as upon one surface4 ,but still there  
are certain combinations of colours     
which are fitted to represent to the    
eye1 both the near and the distant1 both

 the advancing and the receding lines1  
angles1 and surfaces of the tangible    
cube2 and there are others fitted to    
represent1 in the same manner1 both the 
near and the receding surface of the    
tangible globe4 ,the combination which  
represents the tangible cube1 would not 
be fit to represent the tangible globe2 
and that which represents the tangible  
globe1 would not be fit to represent the
 tangible cube4 ,though there may1      
therefore1 be no resemblance between    
visible and tangible #deh objects1 there
 seems to be some affinity or           
correspondence between them sufficient  
to make each visible object fitter to   
represent a certain precise tangible    
object than any other tangible object4  
,but the greater part of words seem to  
have no sort of affinity or             
correspondence with the meanings or     
ideas which they express2 and if custom 
had so ordered it1 they might with equal
 propriety have been made use of to     
express any other meanings or ideas4    

,dr4 ,berkley1 with that happiness of   
illustration which scarcely ever deserts
 him1 remarks1 that this in reality is  
no more than what happens in common     
language2 and that though letters bear  
no sort of resemblance to the words     
which they denote1 yet that the same    
combination of letters which represents 
one word1 would not always be fit to    
represent another2 and that each word is
 always best represented by its own     
proper combination of letters4 ,the     
comparison1 however1 it must be         
observed1 is here totally changed4 ,the 
connection between visible and tangible 
objects was first illustrated by        
comparing it with that between spoken   
language and the meanings or ideas which
 spoken language suggests to us2 and it 
is now illustrated by the connection    
between written language and spoken     
language1 which is altogether different4
 ,even this second illustration1        
besides1 will not apply perfectly to the
 case4 ,when custom1 indeed has         

perfectly ascertained the powers of each
 letter2 when it has ascertained1 for   
example1 that the first letter of the   
alphabet shall always represent such a  
sound1 and the second letter such       
another sound2 each word comes then to  
be more properly represented by one     
certain combination of written letters  
or characters1 than it could be by any  
other combination4 ,but still the       
characters themselves are altogether    
arbitrary1 and have no sort of affinity 
or correspondence with the articulate   
sounds which they denote4 ,the character
 which marks the first letter of the    
alphabet1 for example1 if custom had so 
ordered it1 might1 with perfect         
propriety1 have been made use of to     
express the sound which we now annex to 
the second1 and the character of the    
second to express that which we now     
annex to the first4 ,but the visible    
characters which represent to our eyes  
the tangible globe1 could not so well   
represent the tangible cube2 nor could  

those which represent the tangible cube1
 so properly represent the tangible     
globe4 ,there is evidently1 therefore1 a
 certain affinity and correspondence    
between each visible object and the     
precise tangible object represented by  
it1 much superior to what takes place   
either between written and spoken       
language1 or between spoken language and
 the ideas or meanings which it         
suggests4 ,the language which nature    
addresses to our eyes1 has evidently a  
fitness of representation1 an aptitude  
for signifying the precise things which 
it denotes1 much superior to that of any
 of the artificial languages which human
 art and ingenuity have ever been able  
to invent4  #dei ,that this affinity and
 correspondence1 however1 between       
visible and tangible objects could not  
alone1 and without the assistance of    
observation and experience1 teach us1 by
 any effort of reason1 to infer what was
 the precise tangible object which each 
visible one represented1 if it is not   

sufficiently evident from what has been 
already said1 it must be completely so  
from the remarks of ,mr4 ,cheselden upon
 the young gentleman above-mentioned1   
whom he had couched for a cataract4     
',though we say of this gentleman1 that 
he was blind1' observes ,mr4 ,cheselden1
 'as we do of all people who have ripe  
cataracts2 yet they are never so blind  
from that cause but that they can       
discern day from night2 and for the most
 part1 in a strong light1 distinguish   
black1 white1 and scarlet2 but they     
cannot perceive the shape of any thing2 
for the light by which these perceptions
 are made1 being let in obliquely       
through aqueous humour1 or the anterior 
surface of the crystalline1 7by which   
the rays cannot be brought into a focus 
upon the retina17 they can discern in no
 other manner than a  sound eye can     
through a glass of broken jelly1 where a
 great variety of surfaces so           
differently refract the light1 that the 
several distinct pencils of rays cannot 

be collected by the eye into their      
proper foci2 wherefore the shape of an  
object in such a case cannot be at all  
discerned though the colour may3 and    
thus it was with this young gentleman1  
who1 though he knew those colours       
asunder in a good light1 yet when he saw
 them after he was couched1 the faint   
ideas he had of them before were not    
sufficient for him to know them by      
afterwards2 and therefore he did not    
think them the same which he had before 
known by those names4' ,this young      
gentleman1 therefore1 had some advantage
 over one who from a state of total     
blindness had been made for the first   
time to see4 ,he had some imperfect     
notion of the distinction of colours2   
and he must have known that those       
colours had some sort of connection with
 the tangible objects which he had been 
accustomed to feel4 ,but had he emerged 
from total blindness1 he could have     
learnt this connection only from a very 
long course of observation and          

experience4 ,how little this advantage  
availed him1 however1 we may learn      
partly from the passages of ,mr4        
,cheselden's narrative1 already quoted1 
and still more from the following3      
',when he first saw1' says that         
ingenious operator1 'he was so far from 
making any judgment about distances1    
that he thought all objects whatever    
touched his eyes 7as he expressed7 as   
what he felt did his skin2 and thought  
no objects so agreeable as those which  
were smooth and regular1 though he could
 form no judgment of their shape1 or    
guess what it was in any object that was
 pleasing to him4 ,he knew not the shape
 of any thing1 nor any one thing from   
another1 however different in shape or  
magnitude2 but upon being told what     
things were1 whose form he before knew  
from feeling1 he would carefully        
observe1 that he might know them again2 
but having too many #dfj objects to     
learn at once1 he forgot many of them2  
and 7as he said7 at first learned to    

know1 and again forgot a thousand things
 in a day4 ,one particular only 7though 
it may appear trifling7 ,i will relate3 
,having often forgot which was the cat  
and which was the dog1 he was ashamed to
 ask2 but catching the cat 7which he    
knew by feeling7 he was observed to look
 at her steadfastly1 and then setting   
her down1 said1 ,so1 puss6 ,i shall know
 you another time4'  ,when the young    
gentleman said1 that the objects which  
he saw touched his eyes1 he certainly   
could not mean that they pressed upon or
 resisted his eyes2 for the objects of  
sight never act upon the organ in any   
way that resembles pressure or          
resistance4 ,he could mean no more than 
that they were close upon his eyes1 or1 
to speak more properly1 perhaps1 that   
they were in his eyes4 ,a deaf man1 who 
was made all at once to hear1 might in  
the same manner naturally enough say1   
that the sounds which he heard touched  
his ears1 meaning that he felt them as  
close upon his ears1 or1 to speak       

perhaps more properly1 as in his ears4  
,mr4 ,cheselden adds afterwards3 ',we   
thought he soon knew what pictures      
represented which were showed to him1   
but we found afterwards we were         
mistaken2 for about two months after he 
was couched1 he discovered at once they 
represented solid bodies1 when to that  
time1 he considered them only as        
party-coloured planes1 or surfaces      
diversified with variety of paints2 but 
even then he was no less surprised1     
expecting the pictures would feel like  
the things they represented1 and was    
amazed when he found those parts1 which 
by their light and shadow appeared now  
round and uneven1 felt only flat like   
the rest2 and asked which was the lying 
sense1 feeling or seeing8'  ,painting1  
though1 by combinations of light and    
shade1 similar to those which ,nature   
makes use of in the visible objects     
which she presents to our eyes1 it      
endeavours to imitate those objects2 yet
 it never has been able to equal the    

perspective of ,nature1 or to give to   
its productions that force and          
distinctness of relief and rejection    
which ,nature bestows upon hers4 ,when  
the young gentleman was just beginning  
to understand the strong and distinct   
perspective of ,nature1 the faint and   
feeble perspective of ,painting made no 
impression upon him1 and the picture    
appeared to him what it really was1 a   
plain surface bedaubed with different   
colours4 ,when he became more familiar  
with the perspective of ,nature1 the    
inferiority of that of ,painting did not
 hinder him from discovering its        
resemblance to that of ,nature4 ,in the 
perspective of ,nature1 he had always   
found that the situation and distance of
 the tangible and represented objects1  
corresponded exactly to what the visible
 and representing ones suggested to him4
 ,he expected to find the same thing in 
the similar1 though inferior perspective
 of ,painting1 and was disappointed when
 he found that the visible and tangible 

objects had not1 in this case1 their    
usual correspondence4  #dfa ',in a year 
after seeing1' adds ,mr4 ,cheselden1    
'the young gentleman being carried upon 
,epsom-downs1 and observing a large     
prospect1 he was exceedingly delighted  
with it1 and called it a new kind of    
seeing4' ,he had now1 it is evident1    
come to understand completely the       
language of ,vision4 ,the visible       
objects which this noble prospect       
presented to him did not now appear as  
touching1 or as close upon his eye4     
,they did not now appear of the same    
magnitude with those small objects to   
which1 for some time after the          
operation1 he had been accustomed1 in   
the little chamber where he was         
confined4 ,those new visible objects at 
once1 and as it were of their own       
accord1 assumed both the distance and   
the magnitude of the great tangible     
objects which they represented4 ,he had 
now1 therefore1 it would seem1 become   
completely master of the language of    

,vision1 and he had become so in the    
course of a year2 a much shorter period 
than that in which any person1 arrived  
at the age of manhood1 could completely 
acquire any foreign language4 ,it would 
appear too1 that he had made very       
considerable progress even in the two   
first months4 ,he began at that early   
period to understand even the feeble    
perspective of ,painting2 and though at 
first he could not distinguish it from  
the strong perspective of ,nature1 yet  
he could not have been thus imposed upon
 by so imperfect an imitation1 if the   
great principles of ,vision had not     
beforehand been deeply impressed upon   
his mind1 and if he had not1 either by  
the association of ideas1 or by some    
other unknown principle1 been strongly  
determined to expect certain tangible   
objects in consequence of the visible   
ones which had been presented to him4   
,this rapid progress1 however1 may1     
perhaps1 be accounted for from that     
fitness of representation1 which has    

already been taken notice of1 between   
visible and tangible objects4 ,in this  
language of ,nature1 it may be said1 the
 analogies are more perfect2 the        
etymologies1 the declensions1 and       
conjugations1 if one may say so1 are    
more regular than those of any human    
language4 ,the rules are fewer1 and     
those rules admit of no exceptions4     
,but though it may have been altogether 
by the slow paces of observation and    
experience that this young gentleman    
acquired the knowledge of the connection
 between visible and tangible objects2  
we cannot from thence with certainty    
infer1 that young children have not some
 instinctive perception of the same     
kind4 ,in him this instinctive power1   
not having been exerted at the proper   
season1 may1 from disuse1 have gone     
gradually to decay1 and at last have    
been completely obliterated4 ,or1       
perhaps 7what seems likewise very       
possible71 some feeble and unobserved   
remains of it may have somewhat         

facilitated his acquisition of what he  
might otherwise have found it much more 
difficult to acquire a knowledge of4    
,that1 antecedent to all experience1 the
 young of at least the greater part of  
animals possess some instinctive        
perception of this kind1 seems          
abundantly evident4 ,the hen never feeds
 her young by dropping the #dfb food    
into their bills1 as the linnet and     
thrush feed theirs4 ,almost as soon as  
her chickens are hatched1 she does not  
feed them1 but carries them to the field
 to feed1 where they walk about at their
 ease1 it would seem1 and appear to have
 the most distinct perception of all the
 tangible objects which surround them4  
,we may often see them1 accordingly1 by 
the straightest road1 run to and pick up
 any little grains which she shows them1
 even at the distance of several yards2 
and they no sooner come into the light  
than they seem to understand this       
language of ,vision as well as they ever
 do afterwards4 ,the young of the       

partridge and of the grouse seem to     
have1 at the same early period1 the most
 distinct perceptions of the same kind4 
,the young partridge1 almost as soon as 
it comes from the shell1 runs about     
among long grass and corn2 the young    
grouse among long heath1 and would both 
most essentially hurt themselves if they
 had not the most acute1 as well as     
distinct perception of the tangible     
objects which not only surround them but
 press upon them on all sides4 ,this is 
the case too with the young of the      
goose1 of the duck1 and1 so far as ,i   
have been able to observe1 with those of
 at least the greater part of the birds 
which make their nests upon the ground1 
with the greater part of those which are
 ranked by ,linnus in the orders of the 
hen and the goose1 and of many of those 
long-shanked and wading birds which he  
places in the order that he             
distinguishes by the name of ,grall4    
,the young of those birds that build    
their nests in bushes1 upon trees1 in   

the holes and crevices of high walls1   
upon high rocks and precipices1 and     
other places of difficult access2 of the
 greater part of those ranked by ,linnus
 in the orders of the hawk1 the magpie1 
and the sparrow1 seem to come blind from
 the shell1 and to continue so for at   
least some days thereafter4 ,till they  
are able to fly they are fed by the     
joint labour of both parents4 ,as soon  
as that period arrives1 however1 and    
probably for some time before1 they     
evidently enjoy all the powers of       
,vision in the most complete perfection1
 and can distinguish with most exact    
precision the shape and proportion of   
the tangible objects which every visible
 one represents4 ,in so short a period  
they cannot be supposed to have acquired
 those powers from experience1 and must 
therefore derive them from some         
instinctive suggestion4 ,the sight of   
birds seems to be both more prompt and  
more acute than that of any other       
animals4 ,without hurting themselves    

they dart into the thickest and most    
thorny bushes1 fly with the utmost      
rapidity through the most intricate     
forests1 and while they are soaring     
aloft in the air1 discover upon the     
ground the insects and grains upon which
 they feed4  ,the young of several sorts
 of quadrupeds seem1 like those of the  
greater part of birds which make their  
nests upon the ground1 to enjoy as soon 
as they come into the world the faculty 
of seeing as completely as they ever do 
afterwards4 ,the day1 or the day after  
they are dropped1 the calf follows the  
cow1 and the foal the mare1 to the      
field2 and though #dfc from timidity    
they seldom remove far from the mother1 
yet they seem to walk about at their    
ease2 which they could not do unless    
they could distinguish1 with some degree
 of precision1 the shape and proportion 
of the tangible objects which each      
visible one represents4 ,the degree of  
precision1 however1 with which the horse
 is capable of making this distinction1 

seems at no period of his life to be    
very complete4 ,he is at all times apt  
to startle at many visible objects1     
which1 if they distinctly suggested to  
him the real shape and proportion of the
 tangible objects which they represent1 
could not be the objects of fear2 at the
 trunk or root of an old tree1 for      
example1 which happens to be laid by the
 roadside1 at a great stone1 or the     
fragment of a rock which happens to lie 
near the way where he is going4 ,to     
reconcile him1 even to a single object  
of this kind1 which has once alarmed    
him1 frequently requires some skill1 as 
well as much patience and good temper in
 the rider4 ,such powers of sight1      
however1 as ,nature has thought proper  
to render him capable of acquiring1 he  
seems to enjoy from the beginning1 in as
 great perfection as he ever does       
afterwards4  ,the young of other        
quadrupeds1 like those of the birds     
which make their nests in places of     
difficult access1 come blind into the   

world4 ,their sight1 however1 soon      
opens1 and as soon as it does so1 they  
seem to enjoy it in the most complete   
perfection1 as we may all observe in the
 puppy and the kitten4 ,the same thing1 
,i believe1 may be said of all other    
beasts of prey1 at least of all those   
concerning which ,i have been able to   
collect any distinct information4 ,they 
come blind into the world2 but as soon  
as their sight opens1 they appear to    
enjoy it in the most complete           
perfection4  ,it seems difficult to     
suppose that man is the only animal of  
which the young are not endowed with    
some instinctive perception of this     
kind4 ,the young of the human species1  
however1 continue so long in a state of 
entire dependency1 they must be so long 
carried about in the arms of their      
mothers or of their nurses1 that such an
 instinctive perception may seem less   
necessary to them than to any other race
 of animals4 ,before it could be of any 
use to them1 observation and experience 

may1 by the known principle of the      
association of ideas1 have sufficiently 
connected in their young minds each     
visible object with the corresponding   
tangible one which it is fitted to      
represent4 ,nature1 it may be said1     
never bestows upon any animal any       
faculty which is not either necessary or
 useful1 and an instinct of this kind   
would be altogether useless to an animal
 which must necessarily acquire the     
knowledge which the instinct is given to
 supply1 long before that instinct could
 be of any use to it4 ,children1        
however1 appear at so very early a      
period to know the distance1 the shape1 
and magnitude of the different tangible 
objects which are presented to them1    
that ,i am disposed to believe that even
 they may have some instinctive         
perception of this kind2 though possibly
 in a much weaker degree than the       
greater part #dfd of other animals4 ,a  
child that is scarcely a month old1     
stretches out its hands to feel any     

little plaything that is presented to   
it4 ,it distinguishes its nurse1 and the
 other people who are much about it1    
from strangers4 ,it clings to the       
former1 and turns away from the latter4 
,hold a small looking-glass before a    
child of not more than two or three     
months old1 and it will stretch out its 
little arms behind the glass1 in order  
to feel the child which it sees1 and    
which it imagines is at the back of the 
glass4 ,it is deceived1 no doubt2 but   
even this sort of deception sufficiently
 demonstrates that it has a tolerably   
distinct apprehension of the ordinary   
perspective of ,vision1 which it cannot 
well have learnt from observation and   
experience4  ,do any of our other       
senses1 antecedently to such observation
 and experience1 instinctively suggest  
to us some conception of the solid and  
resisting substances which excite their 
respective sensations1 though these     
sensations bear no sort of resemblance  
to those substances8  ,the sense of     

,tasting certainly does not4 ,before we 
can feel the sensation1 the solid and   
resisting substance which excites it    
must be pressed against the organs of   
,taste1 and must consequently be        
perceived by them4 ,antecedently to     
observation and experience1 therefore1  
the sense of ,tasting can never be said 
instinctively to suggest some conception
 of that substance4  ,it may1 perhaps1  
be otherwise with the sense of          
,smelling4 ,the young of all suckling   
animals1 7of the ,mammalia of ,linnus17 
whether they are born with sight or     
without it1 yet as soon as they come    
into the world apply to the nipple of   
the mother in order to suck4 ,in doing  
this they are evidently directed by the 
,smell4 ,the ,smell appears either to   
excite the appetite for the proper food1
 or at least to direct the new-born     
animal to the place where that food is  
to be found4 ,it may perhaps do both the
 one and the other4  ,that when the     
stomach is empty1 the ,smell of         

agreeable food excites and irritates the
 appetite1 is what we all must have     
frequently experienced4 ,but the stomach
 of every new-born animal is necessarily
 empty4 ,while in the womb it is        
nourished1 not by the mouth1 but by the 
navel-string4 ,children have been born  
apparently in the most perfect health   
and vigour1 and have applied to suck in 
the usual manner2 but immediately1 or   
soon after1 have thrown up the milk1 and
 in the course of a few hours have died 
vomiting and in convulsions4 ,upon      
opening their bodies it has been found  
that the intestinal tube or canal had   
never been opened or pierced in the     
whole extent of its length2 but1 like a 
sack1 admitted of no passage beyond a   
particular place4 ,it could not have    
been in any respect by the mouth1       
therefore1 but altogether by the        
navel-string1 that such children had    
been nourished and fed up to the degree 
of health and vigour in which they were 
born4 ,every animal1 while in the womb1 

seems to draw its nourishment1 more like
 a vegetable1 from the root1 than like  
an animal #dfe from the mouth2 and that 
nourishment seems to be conveyed to all 
the different parts of the body by tubes
 and canals in many respects different  
from those which afterwards perform the 
same function4 ,as soon as it comes into
 the world1 this new set of tubes and   
canals which the providential care of   
,nature had for a long time before been 
gradually preparing1 is all at once and 
instantaneously opened4 ,they are all   
empty1 and they require to be filled4   
,an uneasy sensation accompanies the one
 situation1 and an agreeable one the    
other4 ,the smell of the substance which
 is fitted for filling them1 increases  
and irritates that uneasy sensation1 and
 produces in the infant hunger1 or the  
appetite for food4  ,but all the        
appetites which take their origin from a
 certain state of the body1 seem to     
suggest the means of their own          
gratification2 and1 even long before    

experience1 some anticipation or        
preconception of the pleasure which     
attends that gratification4 ,in the     
appetite for sex1 which frequently1 ,i  
am disposed to believe almost always1   
comes a long time before the age of     
puberty1 this is perfectly and          
distinctly evident4 ,the appetite for   
food suggests to the new-born infant the
 operation of sucking1 the only means by
 which it can possibly gratifying that  
appetite4 ,it is continually sucking4   
,it sucks whatever is presented to its  
mouth4 ,it sucks even when there is     
nothing presented to its mouth1 and some
 anticipation or preconception of the   
pleasure which it is to enjoy in        
sucking1 seems to make it delight in    
putting its mouth into the shape and    
configuration by which it alone can     
enjoy that pleasure4 ,there are other   
appetites in which the most             
unexperienced imagination produces a    
similar effect upon the organs which    
,nature has provided for their          

gratification4  ,the smell not only     
excites the appetite1 but directs to the
 object which can alone gratify that    
appetite4 ,but by suggesting the        
direction towards that object1 the      
,smell must necessarily suggest some    
notion of distance and externality1     
which are necessarily involved in the   
idea of direction2 in the idea of the   
line of motion by which the distance can
 best be overcome1 and the mouth brought
 into contact with the unknown substance
 which is the object of the appetite4   
,that the ,smell should alone suggest   
any preconception of the shape or       
magnitude of the external body to which 
it directs1 seems not very probable4    
,the sensation of ,smell seems to have  
no sort of affinity or correspondence   
with shape or magnitude2 and whatever   
preconception the infant may have of    
these1 7and it may very probably have   
some such preconception17 is likely to  
be suggested1 not so much directly by   
the ,smell1 and indirectly by the       

appetite excited by that ,smell2 as by  
the principle which teaches the child to
 mould its mouth into the conformation  
and action of sucking1 even before it   
reaches the object to which alone that  
conformation and action can be usefully 
applied4  ,the ,smell1 however1 as it   
suggests the direction by which the     
external #dff body must be approached1  
must suggest at least some vague idea or
 preconception of the existence of that 
body2 of the thing to which it directs1 
though not perhaps of the precise shape 
and magnitude of that thing4 ,the       
infant1 too1 feeling its mouth attracted
 and drawn as it were towards that      
external body1 must conceive the ,smell 
which thus draws and attracts it1 as    
something belonging to or proceeding    
from that body1 or what is afterwards   
denominated and obscurely understood to 
be as a sort of quality or attribute of 
that body4  ,the ,smell1 too1 may very  
probably suggest some even tolerably    
distinct perception of the ,taste of the

 food to which it directs4 ,the         
respective objects of our different     
external senses seem1 indeed1 the       
greater part of them1 to bear no sort of
 resemblance to one another4 ,colour    
bears no sort of resemblance to         
,solidity1 nor to ,heat1 nor to ,cold1  
nor to ,sound1 nor to ,smell1 nor to    
,taste4 ,to this general rule1 however1 
there seems to be one1 and perhaps but  
one exception4 ,the sensations of ,smell
 and ,taste seem evidently to bear some 
sort of resemblance to one another4     
,smell appears to have been given to us 
by ,nature as the director of ,taste4   
,it announces1 as it were1 before trial1
 what is likely to be the ,taste of the 
food which is set before us4 ,though    
perceived by a different organ1 it seems
 in many cases to be but a weaker       
sensation nearly of the same kind with  
that of the ,taste which that announces4
 ,it is very natural to suppose1        
therefore1 that the ,smell may suggest  
to the infant some tolerably distinct   

preconception of the ,taste of the food 
which it announces1 and may1 even before
 experience1 make its mouth1 as we say1 
water for that food4  ,that numerous    
division of animals which ,linnus ranks 
under the class of worms1 have1 scarcely
 any of them1 any head4 ,they neither   
see nor hear1 have neither eyes nor     
ears2 but many of them have the power of
 self-motion1 and appear to move about  
in search of their food4 ,they can be   
directed in this search by no other     
sense than that of ,smelling4 ,the most 
accurate microscopical observations1    
however1 have never been able to        
discover in such animals any distinct   
organ of ,smell4 ,they have a mouth and 
a stomach1 but no nostrils4 ,the organ  
of ,taste1 it is probable1 has in them a
 sensibility of the same kind with that 
which the olfactory nerves have in more 
perfect animals4 ,they may1 as it were1 
taste at a distance1 and be attracted to
 their food by an affection of the same 
organ by which they afterwards enjoy it2

 and ,smell and ,taste may in them be no
 otherwise distinguished than as weaker 
or stronger sensations derived from the 
same organ4  ,the sensations of ,heat   
and ,cold1 when excited by the pressure 
of some body either heated or cooled    
beyond the actual temperature of our own
 organs1 cannot be said1 antecedently to
 observation and experience1            
instinctively to suggest any conception 
of the solid and resisting substance    
which excites them4 ,what was said of   
the sense of ,taste may very properly be
 said here4 ,before we can feel those   
sensations1 #dfg the pressure of the    
external body which excites them must   
necessarily suggest1 not only some      
conception1 but the most distinct       
conviction of its own external and      
independent existence4  ,it may be      
otherwise1 perhaps1 when those          
sensations are either of them excited by
 the temperature of the external air4   
,in a calm day when there is no wind1 we
 scarcely perceive the external air as a

 solid body2 and the sensations of ,heat
 and ,cold1 it may be thought1 are then 
felt merely as affections of our own    
body1 without any reference to any thing
 external4 ,several cases1 however1 may 
be conceived1 in which it must be       
allowed1 ,i imagine1 that those         
sensations1 even when excited in this   
manner1 must suggest some vague notion  
of some external thing or substance     
which excites them4 ,a new-born animal1 
which had the power of self-motion1 and 
which felt its body1 either agreeably or
 disagreeably1 more heated or more      
cooled on the one side than on the      
other1 would1 ,i imagine1 instinctively 
and antecedently to all observation and 
experience1 endeavour to move towards   
the side in which it felt the agreeable1
 and to withdraw from that in which it  
felt the disagreeable sensation4 ,but   
the very desire of motion supposes some 
notion or preconception of externality2 
and the desire to move towards the side 
of the agreeable1 or from that of the   

disagreeable sensation1 supposes at     
least some vague notion of some external
 thing or place which is the cause of   
those respective sensations4  ,the      
degrees of ,heat and ,cold which are    
agreeable1 it has been found from       
experience1 are likewise healthful2 and 
those which are disagreeable1           
unwholesome4 ,the degree of their       
unwholesomeness1 too1 seems to be pretty
 much in proportion to that of their    
disagreeableness4 ,if either of them is 
so disagreeable as to be painful1 it is 
generally destructive2 and1 that1 too1  
in a very short period of time4 ,those  
sensations appear to have been given us 
for the preservation of our own bodies4 
,they necessarily excite the desire of  
changing our situation when it is       
unwholesome or destructive2 and when it 
is healthy1 they allow us1 or rather    
they entice us1 to remain in it4 ,but   
the desire of changing our situation    
necessarily supposes some idea of       
externality2 or of motion into a place  

different from that in which we actually
 are2 and even the desire of remaining  
in the same place supposes some idea of 
at least the possibility of changing4   
,those sensations could not well have   
answered the intention of ,nature1 had  
they not thus instinctively suggested   
some vague notion of external existence4
  ,that ,sound1 the object of the sense 
of ,hearing1 though perceived itself as 
in the ear1 and nowhere but in the ear1 
may likewise1 instinctively1 and        
antecedently to all observation and     
experience1 obscurely suggest some vague
 notion of some external substance or   
thing which excites it1 ,i am much      
disposed to believe4 ,i acknowledge1    
however1 that ,i have not been able to  
recollect any one instance in which this
 sense seems so distinctly to produce   
this effect1 as that of ,seeing1 that   
#dfh of ,smelling1 and even that of     
,heat and ,cold1 appear to do in some   
particular cases4 ,unusual and          
unexpected ,sound alarms always1 and    

disposes us to look about for some      
external substance or thing as the cause
 which excites it1 or from which it     
proceeds4 ,sound1 however1 considered   
merely as a sensation1 or as an         
affection of the organ of ,hearing1 can 
in most cases neither benefit nor hurt  
us4 ,it may be agreeable or             
disagreeable1 but in its own nature it  
does not seem to announce any thing     
beyond the immediate feeling4 ,it should
 not therefore excite any alarm4 ,alarm 
is always the fear of some uncertain    
evil beyond what is immediately felt1   
and from some unknown and external      
cause4 ,but all animals1 and men among  
the rest1 feel some degree of this      
alarm1 start1 are roused and rendered   
circumspect and attentive by unusual and
 unexpected ,sound4 ,this effect1 too1  
is produced so readily and so           
instantaneously that it bears every mark
 of an instinctive suggestion of an     
impression immediately struck by the    
hand of ,nature1 which does not wait for

 any recollection of past observation   
and experience4 ,the hare1 and all those
 other timid animals to whom flight is  
the only defence1 are supposed to       
possess the sense of ,hearing in the    
highest degree of activeness4 ,it seems 
to be the sense in which cowards are    
very likely to excel4  ,the three senses
 of ,seeing1 ,hearing1 and ,smelling1   
seem to be given to us by ,nature1 not  
so much in order to inform us concerning
 the actual situation of our bodies1 as 
concerning that of those other external 
bodies1 which1 though at some distance  
from us1 may sooner or later affect the 
actual situation1 and eventually either 
benefit or hurt us4  ----------     ,,of
 ,,the ,,affinity  ,,between ,,certain  
,,english ,,and ,,italian ,,verses4     
-----   ,,the measure of the verses1 of 
which the octave of the ,italians1 their
 terzetti1 and the greater part of their
 sonnets1 are composed1 seems to be as  
nearly the same with that of the        
,english ,heroic ,rhyme1 as the         

different genius and pronunciation of   
the two languages will permit4  ,the    
,english ,heroic ,rhyme is supposed to  
consist sometimes of ten1 and sometimes 
of eleven syllables3 of ten1 when the   
verse ends with a single1 and of eleven1
 when it ends with a double rhyme4  ,the
 correspondent ,italian verse is        
supposed to consist sometimes of #dfi   
ten1 sometimes of eleven1 and sometimes 
of twelve syllables1 according as it    
happens to end with a single1 a double1 
or a triple rhyme4  ,the rhyme ought    
naturally to fall upon the last syllable
 of the verse2 it is proper likewise    
that it should fall upon an accented    
syllable1 in order to render it more    
sensible4 ,when1 therefore1 the accent  
happens to fall1 not upon the last      
syllable1 but upon that immediately     
before it1 the rhyme must fall both upon
 the accented syllable and upon that    
which is not accented4 ,it must be a    
double rhyme4  ,in the ,italian         
language1 when the accent falls neither 

upon the last syllable1 nor upon that   
immediately before it1 but upon the     
third syllable from the end1 the rhyme  
must fall upon all the three4 ,it must  
be a triple rhyme1 and the verse is     
supposed to consist of twelve syllables3
        ,fors era ver1 non per credbile1
 c4  ,triple rhymes are not admitted    
into ,english ,heroic ,verse4  ,in the  
,italian language the accent falls much 
more rarely1 either upon the third      
syllable from the end of a word1 or upon
 the last syllable1 than it does upon   
the one immediately before the last4 ,in
 reality1 this second syllable from the 
end seems1 in that language1 to be its  
most common and natural place4 ,the     
,italian ,heroic ,poetry1 therefore1 is 
composed principally of double rhymes1  
or of verses supposed to consist of     
eleven syllables4 ,triple rhymes occur  
but seldom1 and single rhymes still more
 seldom4  ,in the ,english language the 
accent falls frequently upon the last   
syllable of the word4 ,our language1    

besides1 abounds in words of one        
syllable1 the greater part of which do  
7for there are few which do not7 admit  
of being accented4 ,words of one        
syllable are most frequently the        
concluding words of ,english rhymes4    
,for both these reasons1 ,english       
,heroic ,rhyme is principally composed  
of single rhymes1 or of verses supposed 
to consist of ten syllables4 ,double    
,rhymes occur almost as rarely in it1 as
 either single or triple do in the      
,italian4  ,the rarity of double rhymes 
in ,english ,heroic ,verse makes them   
appear odd1 and awkward1 and even       
ludicrous1 when they occur4 ,by the best
 writers1 therefore1 they are reserved  
for light and ludicrous occasions2 when1
 in order to humour their subject1 they 
stoop to a more familiar style than     
usual4 ,when ,mr4 ,pope says2           
,worth makes the man1 and want of it the
 fellow2       ,the rest is all but     
leather or prunello2  he means1 in      
compliance with his subject1 to         

condescend a good deal below the        
stateliness of his diction on the ,essay
 on ,man4 ,double rhymes abound more in 
,dryden than in ,pope1 and in ,butler's 
,hudibras more than in ,dryden4  ,the   
rarity both of single and of triple     
rhyme in ,italian ,heroic ,verse1 gives 
them the same odd and ludicrous air     
which double rhymes have #dgj in        
,english ,verse4 ,in ,italian1 triple   
rhymes occur more frequently than single
 rhymes4 ,the slippery1 or if ,i may be 
allowed to use a very low1 but a very   
expressive word1 the glib pronunciation 
of the triple rhyme 7verso sotrucciolo7 
seems to depart less from the ordinary  
movement of the double rhyme1 than the  
abrupt ending of the single rhyme 7verso
 tronco e cadente71 of the verse that   
appears to be cut off and to fall short 
of the usual measure4 ,single rhymes    
accordingly appear in ,italian verse    
much more burlesque than triple rhymes4 
,single rhymes occur very rarely in     
,ariosto2 but frequently in the more    

burlesque poem of ,ricciardetto4 ,triple
 rhymes occur much oftener in all the   
best writers4 ,it is thus1 that what in 
,english appears to be the verse of the 
greatest gravity and dignity1 appears in
 ,italian to be the most burlesque and  
ludicrous2 for no other reason1 ,i      
apprehend1 but because in the one       
language it is the ordinary verse1      
whereas in the other it departs most    
from the movements of ordinary verse4   
,the common ,italian ,heroic ,poetry    
being composed of double rhymes1 it can 
admit both of single and of triple      
rhymes2 which seem to recede from the   
common movement on opposite sides to    
nearly equal distances4 ,the common     
,english ,heroic ,poetry1 consisting of 
single rhymes1 it can admit of double2  
but it cannot admit of triple rhymes1   
which would recede so far from the      
common movements as to appear perfectly 
burlesque and ridiculous4 ,in ,english1 
when a word accented upon the third     
syllable from the end happens to make   

the last word of a verse1 the rhyme     
falls upon the last syllable only4 ,it  
is a single rhyme1 and the verse        
consists of no more than ten syllables3 
but as the last syllable is not         
accented1 it is an imperfect rhyme1     
which1 however1 when confined to the    
second verse of the couplet1 and even   
there introduced but rarely1 may have a 
very agreeable grace1 and the line may  
even seem to run more easy and natural  
by means of it3        ,bt of this frme1
 the berings1 and the tes4       ,the   
strct connctions1 nce depndencies1 c4   
,when by a well accented syllable in the
 end of the first line of a couplet1 it 
has once been clearly ascertained what  
the rhyme is to be1 a very slight       
allusion to it1 such as can be made by a
 syllable of the same termination that  
is not accented1 may often be sufficient
 to mark the coincidence in the second  
line2 a word of this kind in the end of 
the first line seldom succeeds so well3 
,th' inhabitants of old ,jerusalem      

,were ,jebusites2 the town so called    
from them4  ,a couplet in which both    
verses were terminated in this manner1  
would be extremely disagreeable and     
offensive4  ,in counting the syllables1 
even of verses which to the ear appear  
sufficiently correct1 a considerable    
indulgence must frequently be given1    
#dga before they can1 in either         
language1 be reduced to the precise     
number of ten1 eleven1 or twelve1       
according to the nature of the rhyme4   
,in the following couplet1 for example1 
there are1 strictly speaking1 fourteen  
syllables in the first line1 and twelve 
in the second4        ,and many a       
h7umo7urous1 many an amorous lay1       
,was sung by many a bard1 on many a day4
  ,by the rapidity1 however1 or1 if ,i  
may use a very low word a second time1  
by the glibness of the pronunciation1   
those fourteen syllables in the first   
line1 and those twelve in the second1   
appear to take up the time but of ten   
ordinary syllables4 ,the words many a1  

though they plainly consist of three    
distinct syllables1 or sounds1 which are
 all pronounced successively1 or the one
 after the other1 yet pass as but two   
syllables2 as do likewise these words1  
h7umo7uro7us1 and amorous4 ,the words   
heaven and given1 in the same manner1   
consist each of them of two syllables1  
which1 how rapidly so ever they may be  
pronounced1 cannot be pronounced but    
successively1 or the one after the      
other4 ,in verse1 however1 they are     
considered as consisting but of one     
syllable4  ,in counting the syllables of
 the ,italian ,heroic ,verse1 still     
greater indulgences must be allowed3    
three vowels must there frequently be   
counted as making but one syllable1     
though they are all pronounced1 rapidly 
indeed1 but in succession1 or the one   
after the other1 and though no two of   
them are supposed to make a diphthong4  
,in these licenses too1 the ,italians   
seem not to be very regular1 and the    
same concourse of vowels which in one   

place makes but one syllable1 will in   
another sometimes make two4 ,there are  
even some words which in the end of a   
verse are constantly counted for two    
syllables1 but which in any other part  
of it are never counted for more than   
one2 such as the words suo1 tuo1 suoi1  
tuoi4  ,ruscelli observes1 that in the  
,italian ,heroic ,verse the accent ought
 to fall upon the fourth1 the sixth1 the
 eighth1 and the tenth syllables2 and   
that if it falls upon the third1 the    
fifth1 the seventh1 or the ninth        
syllables1 it will spoil the verse4  ,in
 ,english1 if the accent falls upon any 
of the above-mentioned odd syllables1 it
 equally spoils the verse4        ,bow'd
 their stiff necks1 loaden with stormy  
blasts1  though a line of ,milton1 has  
not the ordinary movement of an ,english
 ,heroic ,verse1 the accent falls upon  
the third and sixth syllables4  ,in     
,italian frequently1 and in ,english    
sometimes1 an accent is with great grace
 thrown upon the first syllable1 in     

which case it seldom happens that any   
other syllable is accented before the   
fourth2        ,cnto l'arm pietse e'l   
capitno4        ,frst in these filds ,i 
tr the slvan strins4  ,both in ,english 
and in ,italian the second syllable may 
be accented #dgb with great grace1 and  
it generally is so when the first       
syllable is not accented3        ,e in  
van l' inferno a' lui s' oppose2 e in   
vano       ,s' arm d' ,asia1 e di ,libia
 il popol misto1 c4        ,let us1     
since life can little more supply       
,than just to look about us1 and to die1
 c4  ,both in ,english and in ,italian  
,verse1 an accent1 though it must never 
be misplaced1 may sometimes be omitted  
with great grace4 ,in the last of the   
above-quoted ,english ,verses there is  
no accent upon the eighth syllable2 the 
conjunction and not admitting of any4   
,in the following ,italian ,verse there 
is no accent upon the sixth syllable3   
,o ,musa1 tu1 che di caduchi allori1 c4 
,the preposition di will as little admit

 of an accent as the conjunction and4   
,in this case1 however1 when the even   
syllable is not accented1 neither of the
 odd syllables immediately before or    
behind it must be accented4  ,neither in
 ,english nor in ,italian can two       
accents running be omitted4  ,it must be
 observed1 that in ,italian there are   
two accents1 the grave and the acute3   
the grave accent is always marked by a  
slight stroke over the syllable to which
 it belongs2 the acute accent has no    
mark4  ,the ,english language knows no  
distinction between the grave and the   
acute accents4  ,the same author        
observes1 that in the ,italian ,verse   
the ,pause1 or what the grammarians call
 the ,cesura1 may with propriety be     
introduced after either the third1 the  
fourth1 the fifth1 the sixth1 or the    
seventh syllables4 ,the like            
observations have been made by several  
different writers upon the ,english     
,heroic ,verse4 ,dobie admires          
particularly the verse in which there   

are two pauses2 one after the fifth1 and
 another after the ninth syllable4 ,the 
example he gives is from ,petrarch3     
,nel dolce tempo de la prima etade1 c4  
,in this verse1 the second pause1 which 
he says comes after the ninth syllable1 
in reality comes in between the two     
vowels1 which1 in the ,italian way of   
counting syllables1 compose the ninth   
syllable4 ,it may be doubtful1          
therefore1 whether this pause may not be
 considered as coming after the eighth  
syllable4 ,i do not recollect any good  
,english ,verse in which the pause comes
 in after the ninth syllable4 ,we have  
many in which it comes in after the     
eighth3        ,yet oft1 before his     
infant eyes1 would run1 c4  ,in which   
verse there are two pauses2 one after   
the second1 and the other after the     
eighth syllable4 ,i have observed many  
,italian ,verses in which the pause     
comes after the second syllable4  ,both 
the ,english and the ,italian ,heroic   
,verse1 perhaps1 are not so #dgc        

properly composed of a certain number of
 syllables1 which vary according to the 
nature of the rhyme2 as of a certain    
number of intervals1 7of five           
invariably17 each of which is equal in  
length1 or time1 to two ordinary        
distinct syllables1 though it may       
sometimes contain more1 of which the    
extraordinary shortness compensates the 
extraordinary number4 ,the close        
frequently of each of those intervals1  
but always of every second interval1 is 
marked by a distinct accent4 ,this      
accent may frequently1 with great grace1
 fall upon the beginning of the first   
interval2 after which1 it cannot1       
without spoiling the verse1 fall any    
where but upon the close of an interval4
 ,the syllable or syllables which come  
after the accent that closes the fifth  
interval are never accented4 ,they make 
no distinct interval1 but are considered
 as a sort of excrescence of the verse1 
and are in a manner counted for nothing4
     ,,the ,,end4   ,,bradbury1 ,,evans1

 ,,and ,,co41 ,,printers1 ,,whitefriars4
                                        
9999999999999999999999999999999999999999
99999999999999999999  ,transcriber's    
,note  ,page numbers  ,page numbers     
printed in the text are given within 4  
,footnotes  ,most footnotes in the text 
are indicated by an asterisk4 ,here they
 are numbered within each work and      
placed at the end of paragraph in which 
they occur4 ,one footnote in the first  
essay is numbered2 it is here given as  
#a994  ,diacritics  ,the only sign      
needing special mention is the breve    
used in the last essay to indicate short
 syllables4 ,on a u1 it is transcribed  
7u4  ,spelling ,corrections  ,the       
following changes have been made to the 
printed text 7usually with reference to 
earlier editions74 ,corrected words are 
marked with two asterisks preceding4    
,page        ,printed text              
,correction  ,biographical ,notice      
#ageg                          #agei 7by
 reference to                           

,stewart's full note7   #h  ,the page   
numbers for the first essay are out by  
two 7so e4g4             #cbg-cbh       
#cbe-cbf not marked in text      ,of the
 ,affinity etc4 begins on #dce1 not #dcd
 as in printed text  #ee                
advantange                    advantage 
#hh         acomplish                   
accomplish #aij         resposibility   
responsibility #bbd         the the     
the #bdc         acccording             
according #bgb         unpon            
upon #bha         suppposed             
supposed #cah         object            
objects #cai         insteads           
instead #cai         venisitis          
venistis #cce         dis-disposed      
disposed #cdb         ,democratus       
,democritus #cdc         such sphere    
such a sphere #cec         same         
fame #cef         perfector             
perfecter