,,the                                   
,,theory                                
,,of                             ,,moral
 ,,sentiments2                          
,,or1                                   
,,an ,,essay                            
,,towards   ,an ,,analysis of the       
,,principles by which ,,men naturally   
judge concerning  the ,,conduct and     
,,character1 first of their             
,,neighbours1 and afterwards of         
,,themselves4                           
,,to ,,which ,,is ,,added1              
,a ,,dissertation                       
,,on ,,the                              
,,origin ,,of ,,languages4              
,,by ,,adam ,,smith1 ,l4,l4,d4 ,f4,r4,s4
       ,formerly ,professor of          
,philosophy in the ,university of       
,glasgow2 and          ,author of the   
,nature and ,cause of the ,wealth of    
,nations4                               
,,the ,,sixth ,,edition4                
,,dublin3           ,printed for ,j4    
,,beatty and ,c4 ,,jackson1 ,no4 #cb1   

,,skinner-,,row4                        
,m1,,dcc1,,lxxvii4                      
,,contents4                             
,,part ,i4     ,of the ,propriety of    
,action4                                
,,section ,i4     ,of the sense of      
propriety                               
,page                                   
#a4     ,,chap4 ,i4 ,of ,sympathy       
ibid4     ,,chap4 ,,ii4 ,of the         
,pleasure of mutual ,sympathy           
#i     ,,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 own                            
#ad     ,,chap4 ,,iv4 ,the same subject 
continued                               
#ai     ,,chap4 ,v4 ,of the amiable and 
respectable virtues                     
#bg                                     
,,section ,,ii4     ,of the degrees of  
the different passions which are        
consistent     with propriety           
#cc     ,,chap4 ,i4 ,of the passions    

which take their origin from the body   
#cd     ,,chap4 ,,ii4 ,of those passions
 which take their origin from a         
particular turn or habit of the         
imagination                       #da   
,,chap4 ,,iii4 ,of the unsocial passions
                                #df     
,,chap4 ,,iv4 ,of the social passions   
#ed     ,,chap4 ,v4 ,of the selfish     
passions                                
#eh                                     
,,section ,,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    
#fd     ,,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 concerned                   
ibid4     ,,chap4 ,,ii4 ,of the origin  

of ambition1 and of the distinction of  
ranks                                   
#gd     ,,chap4 ,,iii4 ,of the stoical  
philosophy                              
#hi                                     
,,part ,,ii4        ,of ,merit and      
,demerit2 or of the objects of reward   
and punishment4                         
,,section ,i4     ,of the sense of merit
 and demerit                            
#ig     ,,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  
punishment                              
#ih     ,,chap4 ,,ii4 ,of the proper    
objects of gratitude and resentment     
#ajb     ,,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  
it                        #ajf          
,,chap4 ,,iv4 ,recapitulation of the    
foregoing chapters                #aji  
,,chap4 ,v4 ,the analysis of the sense  
of merit and demerit           #aab     
,,section ,,ii4     ,of justice and     
beneficence                             
#aai     ,,chap4 ,i4 ,comparison of     
those two virtues                       
ibid4     ,,chap4 ,,ii4 ,of the sense of
 justice1 of remorse1 and of the        
consciousness of merit                  
#abf     ,,chap4 ,,iii4 ,of the utility 
of this constitution of nature          
#acb                                    
,,section ,,iii4     ,of the influence  
of fortune upon the sentiments of       
mankind1 with     regard to the merit or
 demerit of actions                     
#ade     ,,chap4 ,i4 ,of the causes of  
this influence of fortune               

#adh     ,,chap4 ,,ii4 ,of the extent of
 this influence of fortune              
#aed     ,,chap4 ,,iii4 ,of the final   
cause of this irregularity of           
sentiments                              
#afg                                    
,,part ,,iii4      ,of the foundation of
 our judgments concerning our own       
sentiments and                          
conduct1 and of the sense of duty4      
,,chap4 ,i4 ,of the consciousness of    
merited praise or blame          #agc   
,,chap4 ,,ii4 ,in what manner our own   
judgments refer to what ought     to be 
the judgments of others3 and of the     
origin of general     rules             
#ahj     ,,chap4 ,,iii4 ,of the         
influence and authority of the general  
rules     of morality1 and that they are
 justly regarded as the laws of     the 
,deity                                  
#bjg     ,,chap4 ,,iv4 ,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                                 
#bbc                                    
,,part ,,iv4          ,of the effect of 
utility upon the sentiments 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 beauty               
#bcg     ,,chap4 ,,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      
#bej                                    
,,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 deformity                    
#bfa     ,,chap4 ,,ii4 ,of the influence
 of custom and fashion upon moral       

sentiments                              
#bga                                    
,,part ,,vi4                         ,of
 ,systems of ,moral ,philosophy4        
,,section ,i4     ,of the questions     
which ought to be examined in a theory  
of moral     sentiments                 
#bia                                    
,,section ,,ii4     ,of the different   
accounts which have been given of the   
nature of     virtue                    
#bid     ,,chap4 ,i4 ,of those systems  
which make virtue consist in            
propriety                               
#bie     ,,chap4 ,,ii4 ,of those systems
 which make virtue consist in           
prudence                                
#caa     ,,chap4 ,,iii4 ,of those       
systems which make virtue consist in    
benevolence                             
#cba     ,,chap4 ,,iv4 ,of licentious   
systems                                 
#cca                                    
,,section ,,iii4     ,of the different  
systems which have been formed          

concerning the     principle of         
approbation                             
#cde     ,,chap4 ,i4 ,of those systems  
which deduce the principle of           
approbation from self-love              
#cdf     ,,chap4 ,,ii4 ,of those systems
 which make reason the principle of     
approbation                             
#cej     ,,chap4 ,,iii4 ,of those       
systems which make sentiment the        
principle     of approbation            
#cef                                    
,,section ,,iv4     ,of the manner in   
which different authors have treated of 
the     practical rules of morality     
#cfg     ,considerations concerning the 
first formation of languages1 and       
the different genius of original and    
compound languages          #chi        
,,part ,i4                        ,of   
the ,,propriety of ,,action4            
,consisting of three ,sections4         
,,section ,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 it1 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 did 
and never can 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 body and      
become in some  measure him1 and thence 
form some idea of his sensations 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 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 dullness 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 body1 complain 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 correspondent   
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 delicate 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 
imagines1 should be the sentiments of   
the sufferer4    ,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  every  
body that sees it1 a chearful 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  behavior 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 any     
thing 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 sympathize 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  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 tho' 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 because 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     
behavior2 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 wretchedness 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 object1 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 mother 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 future it is perfectly secure1 and  
in  its thoughtlessness and want of     
foresight possesses an antidote against 
fear and anxiety1 the great tormentors  
of the human breast1 from which  reason 
and philosophy will in vain 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  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  obliterated in a little time from   
the affections and almost from the      
memory 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 honors which we pay  
to their memory1 we endeavor1 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 weakness
 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 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          
endeavored to divert the company1 he    
looks round and  sees that no body      
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 sound 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 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 but 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 misfortunes1 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 
that sympathy1 they had thus enlivened  
and renewed4 ,the  cruelest 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 disagreeable 
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 favors  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 which1
  however1 upon bringing the case home  
to ourselves1 we feel1 can produce  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 joy1 and1      
because we cannot go along with  it1    
call it levity and folly4 ,we are even  
put out of humor 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    ,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 as 
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 mood 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 intirely  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 and 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  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 effects 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
 say2 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    
affection1 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 have nor can have any other way
 of  judging about them4                
,,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  themselves 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       
intirely 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 regard1 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 palled 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 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    
perceptible1 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 whole  
talents astonish us with wonder and     
surprise1 who  excites our admiration   
and seems to deserve our applause3 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  
after-thought1 and not what first       
recommended 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 upon 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    
judgment 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 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 
me1  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 and1 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 but in some 
measure1 varies it in kind1 and gives it
 a quite  different modification4 ,these
 two 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 circumstances 
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 this 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   
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 concerned1 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 derive 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 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 of the happiness or misery of
 others6 ,we enter1 in this case  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 manner when we indulge  its fury  
without check or restraint1 is1 of all  
subjects1 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 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 consist 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    
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 sensibility1 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 are capable of       
exerting4 ,as in the common degree of   
the intellectual qualities1 there  are  
no abilities2 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 possessed 
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 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 is virtuous4     
,on the contrary1 there may frequently  
be a considerable degree of virtue  in  
those actions1 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 stifle1 altogether1 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  sense1 may be denominated   
virtuous4 ,it may still manifest an     
effort or  generosity and magnanimity of
 which the greater part of men are      
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 even can come up to2 and in          
comparison with which the actions of    
all men must for ever appear blameable  
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 arts  which address themselves to
 the imagination4 ,when a critic        
examines the  work of any of the great  
masters for 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 come 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 much nearer to  perfection  
than the greater part of those works    
which can be brought  into competition  
with it4                                
,,section ,,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  ourselves the    
pitch which the spectator can go along  
with1 must lie1 it  is evident1 in      
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 excess1     
weakness and  fury3 and we call the     
defect1 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 ,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 fear 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 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 body3 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 which 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 bounds1  which regard

 to health and fortune prescribes1 is   
the part of prudence4  ,but to confine  
them within those limits1 which grace1  
which propriety1  which delicacy1 and   
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 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 leg or 
arm1 of another person1 ,i naturally    
shrink and draw back my  own leg1 or my 
own arm2 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 out-cry1 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 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 more strongly upon this       
account1 because our  imaginations can  
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 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 manner1  
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     
,once 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 object  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 interested 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 colic4 ,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 pain 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 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 always  in some measure       
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 
,propertius1 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 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 deferring2 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 passion 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 attends    
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 secondary        
passions1 if ,i may be allowed to call  
them so1 which arise from the  situation
 of love1 become necessarily more       
furious and violent3 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 generality1      
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 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 which 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 are     
hatred and resentment1 with all their   
different modifications4 ,with  regard  
to all such passions1 our sympathy is   
divided between the person  who feels   
them and the person who is the object of
 them4 ,the 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 defend1 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 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 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 c4 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    
agreeable1 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 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 
no body1 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    ,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 ,it  periods too  
are all irregular1 sometimes very long1 
and sometimes very  short1 and          
distinguished by no regular pauses4 ,it 
is with difficulty1  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 constitutes1 in their own      
opinion1 the chief part of the injury   
which they suffer4    ,how many things  
are requisite to render the             
gratification of resentment  compleatly 
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 any thing 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 sense 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         
propriety1 or so diligently to  consider
 what will be the sentiments of the     
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 stile 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 disagreeable2 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 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 evils which a brave man can fear    
from his  enemies2 so there is a        
satisfaction in the consciousness of    
being  beloved1 which1 to a person of   
delicacy and sensibility1 is of more    
importance to happiness than all the    
advantage which he can expect to  derive
 from it4 ,what character is so         
detectable as that of one who takes     
pleasure to sow dissension 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 which had their friendship     
continued1 they might have expected     
from one another8 ,it is in depriving   
them of that friendship itself1 in      
robbing them of each others 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 sooths 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 raillery1 
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 chearfulness1 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 where 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 mankind3  ,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 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 objects 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 man1 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 judgment 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 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
 superior3 and it requires the most     
obstinate and persevering modesty to    
atone for this mortification 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 any 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  chearfulness1   
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  shewn 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    
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 company1 and dullness 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 
turn1 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                  
,,section ,,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  
sentiments which constitutes            

approbation4 ,we do not  weep1 and      
exclaim1 and lament1 with the sufferer4 
,we are sensible1 on  the contrary1 of  
his weakness1 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 ,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 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 is  
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 compleat     
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
 upon 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 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  that1 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 reluctance#a4
 ,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 it3 we     
even then endeavour to cover our concern
 from the company4 ,if we shed  any     
tears1 we carefully conceal them1 and   
are afraid 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  compleatest
 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 first the sympathetic passion
 of the spectator2    and1 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    feature 
it must always1 in some measure1 retain4
 ,two sounds ,i suppose1    may1 each of
 them1 taken singly1 be austere1 and    

yet1 if they are    perfect concords1   
the perception of their harmony and     
coincidence may    be agreeable4    ,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 other3 ,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 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  
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 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 
are 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    ,but1 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 choak 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 perhaps on that        
account1 work ourselves up into an      
artificial sympathy1 which1 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 has loaded us with our  own sorrows1
 thought that 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  chearfulness 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  intirely4 ,his      
firmness1 at the same time1 perfectly   
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 compleat sympathy and      
approbation1 mixed and  animated with   
wonder and surprise1 constitutes what is
 properly called  admiration1 as has    
already been more than once taken notice
 of4 ,cato1  surrounded on all sides by 
his enemies1 unable to resist them1 and 
disdaining to submit to them1 and       
reduced 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 sorrow3  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 chearful           
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 obliged 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 ,he  
fixes his thoughts1 therefore1 upon     
those only which are agreeable2 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 unjustly1 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 others  more than 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 this  
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 him6               
,,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 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 afford him food  and  
clothing1 the comfort of a house1 and of
 a family4 ,if we examine his  conomy   
with rigor1 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 better1 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 no body         
ignorant of it4 ,from whence1 then1     
arises that emulation which runs        
through all the different ranks of men1 
and what are the advantages  which we   
propose by that 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
 are all the  advantages which we can   
propose to derive from it4 ,it is the   
vanity1 not  the ease1 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 that1 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 of 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    
croud is  in the same obscurity as if   
shut up in his own hovel4 ,those humble 
cares  and painful attentions which     
occupy those in his situation1 afford no
  amusement to the dissipated and the   
gay4 ,they turn away their eyes from    
him1 or 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 misery1       
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 all 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 which notwithstanding the 
restraint it  imposes1 notwithstanding  
the loss of liberty with which it is    
attended1  renders greatness the object 
of envy1 and compensates 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 all 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  situation6  
,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  
,nature1 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 compliment1 which 
after the  manner of eastern adulation1 
we should readily make them1 if         
experience  did not teach us its        
absurdity4 ,every calamity that befalls 
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 misfortunes of ,kings only   
which afford the proper subjects for    
tragedy4 ,they resemble1 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 wars1  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 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 good-will4 ,their    
benefits can extend but to a few2 but   
their fortunes interest almost  every   
body4 ,we are eager to assist them in   
compleating a system of  happiness that 
approaches so near to perfection2 and we
 desire to serve  them for their own    
sake1 without any other recompense but  
the vanity or  the honour of obliging   
them4 ,neither is our deference to their
  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 the
 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    
them1 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 was 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 familiarity 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 all those passions1 before the
 bulk of the  people can be brought to  
oppose them with violence1 or to desire 

to see  them 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 master1 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 ,,ii4    
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 them8 ,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 at3 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 then1 says his         
historian1 8he surpassed all his        
courtiers in the gracefulness of his    
shape1 and the majestic beauty of his   
features4 ,the sound of his voice1      
noble and affecting1 gained those hearts
 which his presence intimidated4  ,he   
had a step and 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   
faultered in asking him a favour1 and   
not being  able to conclude his         
discourse1 said to him1 ,sir1 your      
majesty1 ,i hope1  will believe that ,i 
do not tremble thus before your enemies3
 had no  difficulty to obtain what he   

demanded40 ,these frivolous             
accomplishments1  supported by his rank1
 and1 no doubt1 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 those of his own times1 and in his 
own presence1 no other  virtue1 it      
seems1 appeared to have any merit4      
,knowledge1 industry1  valour1 and      
beneficence1 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 body1 and the  activity of
 his mind4 ,he must cultivate these     
therefore3 he must acquire  superior    
knowledge in his profession1 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 and1 at the same time1 good 
judgment of his  undertakings1 and by   
the severe and unrelenting application  
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 situations 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 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 war1 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 governments      
accordingly1 even in  monarchies1 the   
highest offices are generally possessed1
 and the whole  detail of the           
administration conducted 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 resentment
 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 sentiment1 by the         
greatness of his calamities4 ,his       
friends and ministers followed after    
him4 ,as they moved along1 they often   
cast their eye upon their fallen        
sovereign1 and always burst into tears  
at the sight2 their whole  behaviour    
demonstrating that they thought not of  
their 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 days  
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    8,love1 says my    
,lord ,rochefoucault1 is commonly       
succeeded by ambition2  but ambition is 
hardly ever succeeded by love40 ,that   
passion 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 even 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 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 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 advantage 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 desire1 and almost the  
very wish1 for superiority4             
,,chap4 ,,iii4                          
,of the stoical philosophy4      ,when  
we examine in this manner into the      
ground of the different degrees  of     
estimation which mankind are apt to     
bestow upon the different  conditions of
 life1 we shall find1 that the excessive
 preference1 which  they generally give 
to some of them above others1 is in a   

great measure  without any foundation4  
,if to be able to act with propriety1   
and to  render ourselves the proper     
objects of the approbation of mankind1  
be1  as we have been endeavouring to    
show1 what chiefly recommends to us one 
condition above another1 this may       
equally be attained in them all4 ,the   
noblest propriety of conduct may be     
supported in adversity1 as well as  in  
prosperity2 and though it is somewhat   
more difficult in the first1 it  is upon
 that very account more admirable4      
,perils and misfortunes are not  only   
the proper school of heroism1 they are  
the only proper theatre  which can      
exhibit its virtue to advantage1 and    
draw upon it the full  applause of the  
world4 ,the man1 whose whole life has   
been one even and  uninterrupted course 
of prosperity1 who never braved any     
danger1 who  never encountered any      
difficulty1 who never surmounted any    
distress1 can  excite but an inferior   
degree of admiration4 ,when poets and   

romance-writers endeavour to invent a   
train of adventures1 which shall  give  
the greatest lustre to those characters 
for whom they mean to  interest us1 they
 are all of a different kind4 ,they are 
rapid and sudden  changes of fortune1   
situations the most apt to drive those  
who are in  them to frenzy and          
distraction1 or to abject despair2 but  
in which their  heroes act with so much 
propriety1 or at least with so much     
spirit and  undaunted resolution1 as    
still to command our esteem4 ,is not the
  unfortunate magnanimity of ,cato1     
,brutus1 and ,leonidas1 as much the     
object of admiration1 as that of the    
successful ,csar or ,alexander8 ,to a   
generous mind1 therefore1 ought it not  
to be as much the object of envy8  ,if a
 more dazzling splendor seems to attend 
the fortunes of successful  conquerors1 
it is because they join together the    
advantages of both  situations1 the     
lustre of prosperity to the high        
admiration which is  excited by dangers 

encountered1 and difficulties           
surmounted1 with  intrepidity and       
valour4    ,it was upon this account    
that1 according to the stoical          
philosophy1 to a  wise man all the      
different conditions of life were equal4
 ,nature1 they  said1 had recommended   
some objects to our choice1 and others  
to our  disapprobation4 ,our primary    
appetites directed us to the pursuit of 
health1 strength1 ease1 and perfection1 
in all the qualities of mind and  body2 
and of whatever could promote or secure 
these1 riches1 power1  authority3 and   
the same original principle taught us to
 avoid the  contrary4 ,but in chusing or
 rejecting1 in preferring or postponing1
  those first objects of original       
appetite and aversion1 ,nature had      
likewise taught us1 that there was a    
certain order1 propriety1 and  grace1 to
 be observed1 of infinitely greater     
consequence to happiness  and           
perfection1 than the attainment of those
 objects themselves4 ,the  objects of   

our primary appetites or aversions were 
to be pursued or  avoided1 chiefly      
because a regard to this grace and      
propriety required  such conduct4 ,in   
directing all our actions according to  
these1 consisted  the happiness and     
glory of human nature4 ,in departing    
from those rules  which they prescribed 
to us1 its greatest wretchedness and    
most complete  depravity4 ,the outward  
appearance of this order and propriety  
was indeed  more easily maintained in   
some circumstances than in others4 ,to a
 fool1  however1 to one whose passions  
were subjected to no proper controul1 to
  act with real grace and propriety1 was
 equally impossible in every  situation4
 ,though the giddy multitude might      
admire him1 though his  vanity might    
sometimes be elevated by their ignorant 
praises into  something that resembled  
self-approbation1 yet still when he     
turned his  view to what passed within  
his own breast1 he was secretly         
conscious to  himself of the absurdity  

and meanness of all his motives1 and    
inwardly  blushed and trembled at the   
thoughts of the contempt which he knew  
he  deserved1 and which mankind would   
certainly bestow upon him if they saw   
his conduct in the light in which in his
 own heart he was obliged to  regard it4
 ,to a wise man1 on the contrary1 to one
 whose passions were  all brought under 
perfect subjection to the ruling        
principles of his  nature1 to reason and
 the love of propriety1 to act so as to 
deserve  approbation 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 equally1 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 can  therefore1 be no 
evil1 but1 on the contrary1 the greatest
 good and  advantage4 ,a brave man      
exults in those dangers1 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 ,and in the same   
manner1 one who is master of all his    
passions1 does not dread any            
circumstances in which the              
superintendant  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
 ,he never complains of the  destiny of 
providence1 nor thinks the universe in  
confusion when he is  out of order4 ,he 
does not look upon himself1 according to
 what self-love  would suggest1 as a    
whole1 separated and detached from every
 other part  of nature1 to be taken care
 of by itself1 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 must1 and ought to be     
disposed of1 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           
connexions 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 live3 and if it is death1  
as ,nature must have no  further        
occasion for his presence here1 he      
willingly goes where he is  appointed4  
,i accept1 said a stoical philosopher1  
with equal joy and  satisfaction1       
whatever fortune can befal 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 thing1 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          
chearfulness with which ,i embraced     

their allotment4 ,if ,i am going to     
fail1 says ,epictetus1 ,i chuse the best
  ship1 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 vessel1 nor
 the skill of  the pilot are likely to  
withstand1 ,i give myself no trouble    
about the  consequence4 ,all that ,i had
 to do1 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 comes with equal   
indifference and security4    ,such was 

the philosophy of the stoics1 a         
philosophy which affords the  noblest   
lessons of magnanimity1 is the best     
school of heroes and  patriots1 and to  
the greater part of whose precepts there
 can be no  objection1 except that      
honourable one1 that they teach us to   
aim at a  perfection altogether beyond  
the reach of human nature4 ,i shall not 
at  present stop to examine it4 ,i shall
 only observe1 in confirmation of  what 
has formerly been said1 that the most   
dreadful calamities are not  always     
those which it is most difficult to     
support4 ,it is often more  mortifying  
to appear in public1 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 therefore1 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 the 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 punishments 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 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    
exaltation4    8,great dangers10 says   
the ,cardinal de ,retz1 8have 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   
success40 ,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 evils are easily     
supported4                              
,,part ,,ii4     ,of ,,merit and        
,,demerit2 or1 of the ,objects of       
,,reward and ,,punishment4              
,,consisting ,,of ,,three ,,sections4   
,,section ,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 reward1 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 publish1 or      
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    ,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 to be the 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 consequently1 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 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     
,tho' we could fear no punishment in    
consequence of our having had  some hand
 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     
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 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 sooth
 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  the 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 gratitude1 and of that  resentment1
 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 into1 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 companions 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 ,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 repel
 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 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 which1             
superstition imagines1 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     
reflections 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 how 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         
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 ,princes1 who have heaped1 with  
the greatest profusion1 wealth1 power1  

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  
no body 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 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 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      ,we do not1 therefore1  
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 with1 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 account1 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   
directed 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  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 of 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 agent1 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 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 beyond 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 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  
sufferer#b4    ,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 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 considered too that          
resentment1 though1 in the degrees 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 we1 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 sentiments4 ,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 what 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 it1    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 moderate1 
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 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 conomy 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    entrusted to the slow and       
uncertain determinations of our reason1 
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 intirely 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   
,,section ,,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  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  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  perform what in 
gratitude he ought to perform1 and what 
every impartial  spectator would approve
 of him for performing1 would 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  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 with1 and approve  
of1 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 propriety 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 itself1 seems  
neither blamable  nor praise-worthy4 ,a 
father1 a son1 a brother1 who behaves to
 the  correspondent relation1 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   
unexpected1 though still proper  and    
suitable kindness1 or on the contrary1  
by extraordinary and  unexpected1 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  cannot1 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 son1 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         
retraining 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 law-giver1 however1 this1   
perhaps1 is  that which it requires the 
greatest delicacy and reserve to execute
 with  propriety and judgment4 ,to      
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 
everything 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 are 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 law 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 may be of  equal or   
more use to us1 or to indulge1 in this  
manner1 at the expence  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 stomach1  or break our   
rest much less 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 wealth and   
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 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 from 
all sides against him4    ,as the       
greater and more irreparable the evil   
that is done1 the  resentment of the    
sufferer runs naturally the higher1 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 the 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  feeling all
 the agonies of shame1 and horror1 and  
consternation4 ,when  his passion is    
gratified1 and he begins coolly to      
reflect upon his  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 greatest1 and most dreadful   
distress4 ,the remembrance of his crimes
 has shut out all fellow-feelings  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 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   
breast 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  chearfulness1 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         
friendship 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  and are1 as it were1    
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 exigence 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 supports 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 
safe-guards 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 for
 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 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 in 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 mind1 we are
 very apt to confound those two         
different things with one another4 ,when
 by natural principles we are led  to   
advance those ends1 which a refined and 
enlightened reason should  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 view 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 in this manner deduced   
from a single principle4    ,as society 
cannot subsist unless the laws of       
justice are totally  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  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 runs1 if ,i may say  
so1 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 law  
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      
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 not2  
if we hate and  detest them because they
 are the natural and proper objects of  
hatred  and detestation8 ,but when we   
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 us 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  perfidy1 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 us 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 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   
this 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 conduct1 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 centinel1   
for  example1 who falls asleep upon his 
watch1 suffers death by the law 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 hearts can    
reconcile  itself to it4 ,though such   
carelessness appears very blamable1 yet 
the  thought of this crime does not     
naturally excite any such resentment1 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       
sentiment 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 centinel  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 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     
authorizes 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    ,that the    
,deity loves virtue and hates vice1 as a
 voluptuous man loves  riches and hates 
poverty1 not for their own sakes1 but   
for the effects  which they tend to     
produce2 that he loves the one1 only    
because it  promotes the happiness of   
society1 which his benevolence prompts  
him to  desire2 and that he hates the   
other1 only because it occasions the    
misery of mankind1 which the same divine
 quality renders the object of  his     
aversion2 is not the doctrine of        
untaught nature1 but of an  artificial  
refinement of reason and philosophy4    
,our untaught1 natural  sentiments1 all 
prompt us to believe1 that as perfect   
virtue is supposed  necessarily to      
appear to the ,deity1 as it does to us1 
for its own sake1  and without any      
further view1 the natural and proper    
object of love and  reward1 so must     

vice1 of hatred and punishment4 ,that   
the gods neither  resent nor hurt1 was  
the general maxim of all the different  
sects of the  ancient philosophy3 and   
if1 by resenting1 be understood1 that   
violent  and disorderly perturbation1   
which often distracts and confounds the 
human breast2 or if1 by hurting1 be     
understood1 the doing mischief          
wantonly1 and without regard to         
propriety or justice1 such weakness is  
undoubtedly unworthy of the divine      
perfection4 ,but if it be meant1 that   
vice does not appear to the ,deity to   
be1 for its own sake1 the object of     
abhorrence and aversion1 and what1 for  
its own sake1 it is fit and right       
should be punished1 the truth of this   
maxim seems repugnant to some very      
natural feelings4 ,if we consult our    
natural sentiments1 we are even apt  to 
fear1 lest1 before the holiness of ,god1
 vice should appear to be more  worthy  
of punishment than the weakness and     
imperfection of human virtue  can ever  

seem to be of reward4 ,man1 when about  
to appear before a ,being  of infinite  
perfection1 can feel but little         
confidence in his own merit1  or in the 
imperfect propriety of his own conduct4 
,in the presence of his                 
fellow-creatures1 he may even justly    
elevate himself1 and may often have     
reason to think highly of his own       
character and conduct1 compared to the  
still greater imperfection of theirs4   
,but the case is quite different  when  
about to appear before his infinite     
,creator4 ,to such a ,being1 he  fears1 
that his littleness and weakness can    
scarce ever appear the  proper object1  
either of esteem or of reward4 ,but he  
can easily  conceive1 how the numberless
 violations of duty1 of which he has    
been  guilty1 should render him the     
proper object of aversion and           
punishment2  and he thinks he can see no
 reason why the divine indignation      
should not  be let loose without any    
restraint1 upon so vile an insect1 as he

  imagines that he himself must appear  
to be4 ,if he would still hope for      
happiness1 he suspects that he cannot   
demand it from the justice1 but  that he
 must entreat it from the mercy of ,god4
 ,repentance1 sorrow1  humility1        
contrition at the thought of his past   
conduct1 seem1 upon this  account1 the  
sentiments which become him1 and to be  
the only means which  he has left for   
appeasing that wrath which1 he knows1 he
 has justly  provoked4 ,he even         
distrusts the efficacy of all these1 and
 naturally  fears1 lest the wisdom of   
,god should not1 like the weakness of   
man1 be  prevailed upon to spare the    
crime by the most importunate           
lamentations  of the criminal4 ,some    
other intercession1 some other          
sacrifice1 some  other atonement1 he    
imagines must be made for him1 beyond   
what he  himself is capable of making1  
before the purity of the divine justice 
can be reconciled to his manifold       
offences4 ,the doctrines of revelation  

coincide1 in every respect1 with those  
original anticipations of nature2  and  
as they teach us how little we can      
depend upon the imperfection of  our own
 virtue1 so they show us1 at the same   
time1 that the most  powerful           
intercession has been made1 and that the
 most dreadful  atonement has been paid 
for our manifold transgressions and     
iniquities4                             
,,section ,,iii4  ,of the influence of  
fortune upon the sentiments of mankind1 
with regard                    to the   
merit or demerit of 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
  proceeds2 or1 secondly1 to the        
external action or movement of the body1
  which this affection gives occasion   
to2 or1 last1 to all 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 tricker 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 
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  action1    
must ultimately belong4    ,when this   
maxim is thus proposed in abstract and  
general terms1 there is  no body 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 no body 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  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  
great1 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 snuff-box1 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 inanimated 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 but 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     
mentioned in the ,turkish ,spy1 who     
stabbed the horse that had  carried him 
a-cross 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 well 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 that 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 this 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 done to us1 is frequently  
the principal end proposed in our       
revenge1 which is always imperfect when 
it cannot accomplish 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 both  
necessary  for their complete           
satisfaction1 and 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 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 mankind1 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 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 consequences 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 may 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 serve  us1 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 the 

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 since 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 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 splendor
 of great actions to  dazzle and        
transport it4 ,the superiority of       
virtues and talents have  not1 even upon
 those who acknowledge that superiority1
 the same effect  with the superiority  
of atchievements4    ,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 crimes1 he resents  
those which  are done to other men4 ,it 
is his own resentment which he indulges 
in the  one case3 it is that of his     
subjects which by sympathy he enters    
into it  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 enemy1 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 it1 is so  great1 that the  
mere attempt to 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 would 
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 criminal3 and  there is in
 this respect1 therefore1 an            
irregularity in the sentiments  of all  
men1 and a consequent relaxation of     
discipline in the laws of1 ,i  believe1 
all nations1 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 punishments 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 ,heaven 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 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 officer who brings the 
news of a victory1 is entitled  to      
considerable preferments1 and the       
general always chuses 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       
directed  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 will have appeared to  deserve1 
had no such unlucky consequence followed

 from it4    ,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 chuse to expose       
himself1  and evidently wants that sense
 of what is due to his fellow-creatures 
which is the basis of justice and of    
society4 ,gross negligence therefore    
is1 in the law1 said to be almost equal 
to malicious design#c4 ,when any        

unlucky consequences happen from such   
carelessness1 the person who has  been  
guilty of it 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 ,nothing 
however 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    ,footnote  
#c3      ,lata culpa prope dolum est4   
,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
 if by a negligence#d 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 ,and though this  is no  
doubt 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 negligence
 should be made up  by the person who   
was guilty of it4    ,footnote #d3      
,culpa levis4    ,there is another      
species of negligence#e1 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 resentment1 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    ,footnote #e3      ,culpa
 levissima4                             
,,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 your 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 the 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 ran 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 suspected2 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 ,actions    

therefore 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 
cognizance of his own unerring tribunal4
 ,that necessary  rule of justice1      
therefore1 that 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 use 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 that can hurt 
them1 and  to dread that animal         
resentment which he feels is ready to   

burst out  against him1 if he should    
without design be the unhappy instrument
 of  their calamity4                    
,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 conduct ought not to   
diminish the esteem that is due to us4  
,he  summons up his whole magnanimity   
and firmness of 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      
,,consisting ,,of ,,one ,,section4      
,,chap4 ,i4             ,of the         
consciousness of merited praise or      
blame4      ,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 the origin of those concerning 
our own4    ,the desire of the          
approbation and esteem of those we live 
with1 which is  of such importance to   
our happiness1 cannot be fully and      
entirely  contented but by rendering    
ourselves the just and proper objects of
  those sentiments1 and by adjusting our
 own character and conduct  according to
 those measures and rules by which      
esteem and approbation  are naturally   
bestowed4 ,it is not sufficient1 that   
from ignorance or  mistake1 esteem and  
approbation should some way or other be 
bestowed  upon us4 ,if we are conscious 
that we do not deserve to be so         
favourably  thought of1 and that if the 
truth was known1 we should be regarded  
with  very opposite 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 upon what we ought to be1 but
 what we are  not4 ,a woman who paints  
to conceal her ugliness1 could derive1  
one  should imagine1 but little vanity  
from the compliments that are paid to   
her beauty4 ,these1 we should expect1   
ought rather to put her in mind of  the 
sentiments which her real complexion    
would excite1 and mortify her  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 existence1 the important  coxcomb   
who gives himself airs of rank and      
distinction which he well  knows he has 
no just pretensions to1 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 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 should 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  pleased 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 approbation1 should ever      

actually be bestowed upon us3 and we are
 mortified to reflect that we  have     
justly incurred 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 behaviour2 when he 
views  it in the light in which the     
impartial spectator would view it1 he   
thoroughly enters into all the motives  
which influenced it2 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  himself not so much   
according to the light in which they    
actually regard  him1 as according to   
that1 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 sentiments     
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    
flow from it4 ,men have often           
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  thereafter 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 aimed 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 which     
indeed is never to be bestowed1 but     
which would be bestowed if the world was
 ever made to 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     
,on the contrary1 the man who has broke 
through all those measures of  conduct1 
which can alone render him agreeable to 
mankind1 tho' 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 suffer 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
 and 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 
furies which in this life 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 nothing can free them but the     
vilest and most abject of all  states1 a
 complete insensibility of 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 discover 
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 citizens1 and  by thus
 satiating that vengeance of which they 
were sensible that they  were become the
 proper objects1 they hoped by their    
death to reconcile  themselves1 at least
 in their own imagination1 to the       
natural sentiments  of mankind1 to be   
able to consider themselves as less     
worthy of hatred  and resentment1 to    
atone in some measure for their crimes1 
and1 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 seems1 was          
happiness4                              
,,chap4 ,,ii4      ,in what manner our  
own judgments refer to what ought to be 
the         judgments of others3 and of 
the origin of general rules4      ,a    
great part1 perhaps the greatest part1  
of human happiness and misery  arises   
from the view of our past conduct1 and  
from the degree of  approbation or      
disapprobation which we feel from the   
consideration of  it4 ,but in whatever  
manner it may affect us1 our sentiments 
of this kind  have always some secret   
reference either to what are1 or to what
 upon a  certain condition would be1 or 
to what we imagine ought to be the      
sentiments of others4 ,we examine it as 
we imagine an impartial spectator  would
 examine it4 ,if upon placing ourselves 
in his situation we  thoroughly enter   
into all the passions and motives which 
influenced it1  we approve of it by     
sympathy with the approbation of this   
supposed  equitable judge4 ,if          

otherwise1 we enter into his            
disapprobation and  condemn it4    ,was 
it possible that a human creature could 
grow up to manhood in some  solitary    
place 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 at2   
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 society1 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 sorrows will   
now often become the causes of new      
desires and new  aversions1 new joys and
 new sorrows3 they will now therefore   
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  own persons limb by limb1 and by   
placing ourselves before a              
looking-glass1 or by some such          
expedient1 endeavour1 as much as        
possible1 to view ourselves at the      
distance and with the eyes of other     
people4 ,if after this examination we   
are satisfied with our own  appearance1 

we can more easily support the most     
disadvantageous  judgments of others3   
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            
insupportable to one who is  really     
deformed4 ,it is evident1 however1 that 
we are anxious about our  own beauty and
 deformity only on 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 others 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 begin upon this       
account to examine our own passions and 
conduct1 and to consider how these must 
appear to them1 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 others1  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   
others2 secure  that1 however           
misunderstood or misrepresented1 we are 
the natural and  proper objects of      
approbation4 ,on the contrary1 if we are
 displeased  with it1 we are often upon 

that very account 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     
persons1  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 me  
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     
pannel4 ,but that the judge should1 in  
every  respect1 be the same with the    
pannel1 is as impossible1 as that the   
cause should1 in every respect1 be the  
same with the effect4    ,to be amiable 
and to be meritorious1 that is1 to      
deserve love and to  deserve reward1 are
 the great characters of virtue1 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 amiable  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 regards 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       
,man is considered as a moral1 because  
he is regarded as an accountable  being4
 ,but an accountable being1 as the word 
expresses1 is a being that  must give an
 account of its actions to some other1  
and that consequently  must regulate    
them according to the good liking of    
this other4 ,man is  accountable to ,god
 and his fellow-creatures4 ,but though  
he is1 no doubt1  principally           
accountable to ,god2 in the order of    
time1 he must  necessarily conceive     
himself as accountable to his           
fellow-creatures1  before he can form   
any idea of the ,deity1 or of the rules 
by which that  divine being will judge  
of his conduct4 ,a child surely         
conceives itself  as accountable to its 
parents1 and is elevated or cast down by
 the  thought of their merited          

approbation or disapprobation1 long     
before it  forms any idea of its        
accountableness to the ,deity1 or of the
 rules by  which that divine being will 
judge of its conduct4    ,the great     
judge of the world1 has1 for the wisest 
reasons1 thought  proper to interpose1  
between the weak eye of human reason1   
and the  throne of his eternal justice1 
a degree of obscurity and darkness1     
which  though it does not entirely cover
 that great tribunal from the view of   
mankind1 yet renders the impression of  
it faint and feeble in comparison  of   
what might be expected from the grandeur
 and importance of so mighty  an object4
 ,if those infinite rewards and         
punishments which the ,almighty  has    
prepared for those who obey or          
transgress his will1 were perceived  as 
distinctly as we foresee the frivolous  
and temporary retaliations  which we may
 expect from one another1 the weakness  
of human nature1  astonished at the     
immensity of objects so little fitted to

 its  comprehension1 could no longer    
attend to the little affairs of this    
world2 and it is absolutely impossible  
that the business of society  could have
 been carried on1 if1 in this respect1  
there had been a fuller  revelation of  
the intentions of ,providence than that 
which has already  been made4 ,that men1
 however1 might never be without a rule 
to direct  their conduct by1 nor without
 a judge whose authority should enforce 
its  observation1 the ,author of nature 
has made man the immediate judge of     
mankind1 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 nature to  acknowledge that   
power and jurisdiction which has thus   
been conferred  upon him1 and to tremble
 and exult according as they imagine    
that they  have either merited his      
censure1 or deserved his applause4      
,but whatever may be the authority of   

this inferior tribunal which is         
continually before their eyes1 if at any
 time it should decide contrary  to     
those principles and rules1 which       
,nature has established for  regulating 
its judgments1 men feel that they may   
appeal from this unjust  decision1 and  
call upon a superior tribunal1 the      
tribunal established in  their own      
breasts1 to redress the injustice of    
this weak or partial  judgment4         
,there are certain principles           
established by ,nature for governing our
  judgment concerning the conduct of    
those we live with4 ,as long as we      
decide according to those principles1   
and neither applaud nor condemn  any    
thing which ,nature has not rendered the
 proper object of applause or           
condemnation1 nor any further than she  
has rendered it such1 as our  sentence  
is1 in this case1 if ,i may say so1     
quite agreeable to law1 it  is liable   
neither to repeal nor to correction of  
any kind4 ,the person  concerning whom  

we form these judgments1 must himself   
necessarily  approve of them4 ,when he  
puts himself into our situation1 he     
cannot  avoid viewing his own conduct in
 the very same light in which we appear 
to view it4 ,he is sensible1 that to us1
 and to every impartial  spectator1 he  
must necessarily appear the natural and 
proper object of  those sentiments which
 we express with regard to him4 ,those  
sentiments1  therefore1 must necessarily
 produce their full effect upon him1 and
 he  cannot fail to conceive all the    
triumph of self-approbation from1 what  
appears to him1 such merited applause1  
as well as all the horrors of  shame    
from1 what1 he is sensible1 is such     
deserved condemnation4    ,but it is    
otherwise1 if we have either applauded  
or condemned him1  contrary to those    
principles and rules which ,nature has  
established for  the direction of our   
judgments concerning every thing of this
 kind4 ,if  we have either applauded or 
condemned him for what1 when he put     

himself  into our situation1 does not   
appear to him to be the object either of
  applause or condemnation2 as in this  
case he cannot enter into our           
sentiments1 provided he has any         
constancy or firmness1 he is but little 
affected by them1 and can neither be    
much elevated by the favourable1  nor   
greatly mortified by the unfavourable   
decision4 ,the applause of the  whole   
world will avail but little1 if our own 
conscience condemn us2 and  the         
disapprobation of all mankind is not    
capable of oppressing us1 when  we are  
absolved by the tribunal within our own 
breast1 and when our own  mind tells us 
that mankind are in the wrong4    ,but  
though this tribunal within the breast  
be thus the supreme arbiter  of all our 
actions1 though it can reverse the      
decisions of all mankind  with regard to
 our character and conduct1 and mortify 
us amidst the  applause1 or support us  
under the censure of the world2 yet1 if 
we  inquire into the origin of its      

institution1 its jurisdiction we shall  
find is in a great measure derived from 
the authority of that very  tribunal1   
whose decisions it so often and so      
justly reverses4    ,when we first come 
into the world1 from the natural desire 
to please1 we  accustom ourselves to    
consider what behaviour is likely to be 
agreeable  to every person we converse  
with1 to our parents1 to our masters1 to
 our  companions4 ,we address ourselves 
to individuals1 and for some time       
fondly pursue the impossible and absurd 
project of gaining the good-will  and   
approbation of every body4 ,we are soon 
taught by experience1  however1 that    
this universal approbation is altogether
 unattainable4 ,as  soon as we come to  
have more important interests to manage1
 we find1  that by pleasing one man1 we 
almost certainly disoblige another1 and 
that by humouring an individual1 we may 
often irritate a whole people4  ,the    
fairest and most equitable conduct must 
frequently obstruct the  interests1 or  

thwart the inclinations of particular   
persons1 who will  seldom have candour  
enough to enter into the propriety of   
our motives1  or to see that this       
conduct1 how disagreeable soever to     
them1 is  perfectly suitable to our     
situation4 ,in order to defend ourselves
 from  such partial judgments1 we soon  
learn to set up in our own minds a judge
  between ourselves and those we live   
with4 ,we conceive ourselves as  acting 
in the presence of a person quite candid
 and equitable1 of one  who has no      
particular relation either to ourselves1
 or to those whose  interests are       
affected by our conduct1 who is neither 
father1 nor  brother1 nor friend either 
to them or to us1 but is merely a man in
  general1 an impartial spectator who   
considers our conduct with the same     
indifference with which we regard that  
of other people4 ,if1 when we  place    
ourselves in the situation of such a    
person1 our own actions  appear to us   
under an agreeable aspect1 if we feel   

that such a spectator  cannot avoid     
entering into all the motives which     
influenced us1 whatever  may be the     
judgments of the world1 we must still be
 pleased with our own  behaviour1 and   
regard ourselves1 in spite of the       
censure of our  companions1 as the just 
and proper objects of approbation4      
,on the contrary1 if the man within     
condemns us1 the loudest acclamations   
of mankind appear but as the noise of   
ignorance and folly1 and whenever  we   
assume the character of this impartial  
judge1 we cannot avoid viewing  our own 
actions with this distaste and          
dissatisfaction4 ,the weak1 the  vain1  
and the frivolous1 indeed1 may be       
mortified by the most groundless        
censure1 or elated by the most absurd   
applause4 ,such persons are not         
accustomed to consult the judge within  
concerning the opinion which they  ought
 to form of their own conduct4 ,this    
inmate of the breast1 this  abstract    
man1 the representative of mankind1 and 

substitute of the  ,deity1 whom ,nature 
has constituted the supreme judge of all
 their  actions1 is seldom appealed to  
by them4 ,they are contented with the   
decision of the inferior tribunal4 ,the 
approbation of their companions1  of the
 particular persons whom they have lived
 and conversed with1 has  generally been
 the ultimate object of all their       
wishes4 ,if they obtain  this1 their joy
 is complete2 and if they fail1 they are
 entirely  disappointed4 ,they never    
think of appealing to the superior      
court4 ,they  have seldom inquired after
 its decisions1 and are altogether      
unacquainted with the rules and forms of
 its procedure4 ,when the world  injures
 them1 therefore1 they are incapable of 
doing themselves justice1  and are1 in  
consequence1 necessarily the slaves of  
the world4 ,but it is  otherwise with   
the man who has1 upon all occasions1    
been accustomed to  have recourse to the
 judge within1 and to consider1 not what
 the world  approves or disapproves of1 

but what appears to this impartial      
spectator1 the natural and proper object
 of approbation or  disapprobation4 ,the
 judgment of this supreme arbiter of his
 conduct1 is  the applause1 which he has
 been accustomed principally to court1  
is the  censure which he has been       
accustomed principally to fear4         
,compared with  this final decision1 the
 sentiments of all mankind1 though not  
altogether indifferent1 appear to be but
 of small moment2 and he is  incapable  
of being either much elevated by their  
favourable1 or greatly  depressed by    
their most disadvantageous judgment4    
,it is only by consulting this judge    
within1 that we can see whatever        
relates to ourselves in its proper shape
 and dimensions1 or that we can  make   
any proper comparison between our own   
interests and those of other  men4      
,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   
sorrow1 a much more ardent desire or    
aversion1 than the greatest concern  of 
another with 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 soever 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 place1 nor yet from  his1  
neither with our own eyes nor yet with  
his1 but from the place1 and  with the  
eyes of a third person1 who has no      

particular connexion with  either1 and  
who judges with impartiality between us4
 ,here 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 philosophy 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 would 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 tranquility1 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 but 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 paultry  
misfortune of his own4 ,to prevent      
therefore1 this  paultry misfortune to  
himself 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 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 ourselves1 than by
 whatever concerns other  men2 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 he1 who1 whenever we
 are about  to act so as to affect the  
happiness of others1 calls to us 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 that 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 generality   
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         
affection which generally takes place   
upon such occasions1 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 would suggest to us1  
prefer any  little interest of our own1 
to the yet greater interest of our      
neighbour4 ,we feel that we should      
become the proper objects of the        
resentment and indignation of our       
brethren1 and the sense of the          
impropriety of this affection is        
supported and enlivened by the yet      
stronger sense of the demerit of the    
action1 which it would in this case     
give occasion to4 ,but when the         
happiness or misery of others in no     
respect depends upon our conduct1 when  
our own interests are altogether        
separated and detached from theirs1 so  
that there is neither connexion  nor    
competition between them1 as the sense  
of demerit does not in this  case       
interpose1 the mere sense of impropriety
 is seldom able to restrain  us from    
abandoning ourselves to our natural     
anxiety about our own  affairs1 and to  
our natural 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 
which pretends to correct the           
inequalities  of our passive feelings1  
and we must for this purpose 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 
another 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      
ourselves1 as we  naturally feel for    
others4    ,the first are those         
melancholy moralists1 who are           

perpetually  reproaching us with our    
happiness1 while so many of our brethren
 are in  misery1#f who regard as impious
 the natural joy of 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 oppression 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  infecting 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 misfortunes1 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 hypocritical sadness1 which1    
without  reaching the heart1 serves only
 to render the countenance and          
convocation 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 was   
possessed of 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 ourselves1 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 #f3        
,see ,thomson's ,seasons1 ,winter3      
8,ah6 little think the gay licentious   
proud10 c4      ,see also ,pascal4      
,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 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 8,when our neighbour10 says 
,epictetus1 8loses his wife  or his son1
 there is nobody who is not sensible    

that this is a human  calamity1 a       
natural event altogether1 according to  
the ordinary course  of things3 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  own40 
,how difficult soever it may be to      
attain this supreme degree of           
magnanimity and firmness1 it is by no   
means either absurd or useless to       
attempt it4 ,though few men have the    
stoical idea of what this perfect       
propriety requires1 yet all men         
endeavour in some measure to command    
themselves1 and to bring down their     
selfish passions to something which     
their neighbour can go along with4 ,but 
this can never be done so  effectually  
as by viewing whatever befalls          
themselves in the light in  which their 
neighbours are apt to view it4 ,the     

stoical philosophy1 in  this respect1   
does little more than unfold our natural
 ideas of  perfection4 ,there is nothing
 absurd or improper1 therefore1 in      
aiming at  this perfect self-command4   
,neither would the attainment of it be  
useless1 but1 on the contrary1 the most 
advantageous of all things1 as          
establishing our happiness upon the most
 solid and secure foundation1 a  firm   
confidence in that wisdom and justice   
which governs the world1 and  an entire 
resignation of ourselves1 and of        
whatever relates to ourselves  to the   
all-wise disposal of this ruling        
principle in nature4    ,it scarce ever 
happens1 however1 that we are capable of
 adjusting our  passive feelings to this
 perfect propriety4 ,we indulge         
ourselves1 and  even the world indulges 
us1 in some degree of irregularity in   
this  respect4 ,though we should be too 
much affected by what concerns          
ourselves1 and too little by what       
concerns other men1 yet1 if we always   

act with impartiality between ourselves 
and others1 if we never actually        
sacrifice any great interest of others1 
to any little interest of our  own1 we  
are easily pardoned3 and it were well1  
if1 upon all occasions1  those who      
desire to do their duty were capable of 
maintaining even this  degree of        
impartiality between themselves and     
others4 ,but this is very  far from     
being the case4 ,even in good men1 the  
judge within is often in  danger of     
being corrupted by the violence and     
injustice of their selfish  passions1   
and is often induced to make a report   
very different from what  the real      
circumstances of the case are capable of
 authorizing4    ,there are two         
different occasions1 upon which we      
examine our own  conduct1 and endeavour 
to view it in the light in which the    
impartial  spectator would view it4     
,first1 when we are about to act2 and1  
secondly1  after we have acted4 ,our    
views are very partial in both cases1   

but they  are most so1 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 doing 
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 in the  
situation of another1 and to regard the 
objects that interest us1 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 which even while
 they last 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 reasonable1
  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 
sentiments of the indifferent           
spectator4 ,what before interested us1  
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 ,but our      
judgments now are  of little importance1
 compared to what they were before2 and 
when they  are most severely impartial1 
can commonly produce nothing but vain   
regret1 and unavailing repentance1      
without securing us from the like       

errors for the future4 ,it is seldom1   
however1 that they are quite candid     
even in this case4 ,the opinion which we
 entertain of our own character1        
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    ,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  
perception1 which distinguished the     
beauty or deformity of passions and     
affections2 as their own passions would 
be more immediately exposed to  the view
 of this faculty1 it would judge with   
more accuracy 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 sight4    ,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 carefully 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 formed by finding 
from experience1 that all actions of a  
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 this1 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 the love1 the respect1 or the   
horror  of the spectator1 for the person
 who performs them4 ,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 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 yet    
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 conduct1 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 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 ,,iii4   ,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 to 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 ,tho' 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 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 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      
impressed with a regard to general      
rules1 as to act upon almost every      
occasion with tolerable decency1 and    
through the whole of his life 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 tenour 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 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 behaviour 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 this 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 
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 many strong motives to
 violate8 ,but upon the tolerable       
observance  of these duties1 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 morality1 are the commands and  laws 
of the ,deity1 who will finally reward  
the obedient1 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 country1 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  fail          
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      
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 hopes 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 our  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 far 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 sooths   
the ear is harmonious4 ,the very essence
 of each of those qualities  consists in
 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 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           
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 prescribe1
 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 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  to in 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 contentment1 
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 according 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  otherways1 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         
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 
and 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 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 still it 
remains true1 that the practice of      
truth1 justice1  and humanity1 is a     
certain and almost infallible method of 
acquiring  what those 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     
manner  may escape censure1 or even meet
 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      
things1 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         
qualities 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 justice 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 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 soil2 
the indolent good 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 those which he follows 
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 and like them1  endeavours to turn
 away the arrow that is aimed at the    
head of the  righteous1 but accelerates 
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     
controuled 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 men1 should prevail over a small one2
 that those who engage in an  enterprise
 with fore-thought 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 humane 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 enraged1 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 hope1 that the great       
,author of our nature will himself      
execute hereafter1 what all the         
principles which he has given us for the
  direction of our conduct1 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    8,does it suit the    
greatness of ,god10 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  8does 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  
punishment1 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   
insolent vanity1 and  who has brought   
them out of nothing1 only to make them  
serve for the  sport of his leisure1 and
 of his caprice40    ,when the general  
rules which determine the merit and     
demerit of actions1  come thus to be    
regarded1 as the laws of an             
,all-powerful ,being1 who  watches over 
our conduct1 and who1 in a life to come1
 will reward 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 ,deity1 ought to be the    
supreme rule of our conduct1 can be     
doubted  of by no body 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         
ungrateful 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 tye1 besides those which 
regulate the conduct of other men4  ,the
 regard to the propriety of action as   
well as to reputation1 the  regard to   
the applause of his own breast1 as well 
as that of others1 are  motives which   
they suppose have the same 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 religion1 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 ,,iv4   ,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  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 conduct in
  every respect 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   
governing one1 as  philosophy1 and as1  
indeed1 common sense directs4 ,it may be
 a question  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  
influence4    ,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 and       
secondly1 upon the precision and        
exactness1 or the  looseness and        
inaccuracy of the general 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 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 fondness1 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  punishing 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 what the   
offender is about to suffer2 who1 though
 in  wrath remembers 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  hold  
in other respects 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 conomy1 and the most  exact 
assiduity3 but each particular exertion 
of that conomy and  assiduity must      
proceed 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 tenour 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 miser1 and that of a     

person of exact conomy 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 extensive1 though altogether devoid 
of justice2 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  exactness1 or the looseness and    
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
  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  superior 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 halfpenny3 
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 ought to     
perform  it1 the whole nature and       
circumstances of the action prescribed1 
are all  of them precisely fixt 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 tenour  
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     
stedfastness1 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       
pretend1 with some pretext of  reason1  
that this particular violation could do 
no hurt4 ,a man often  becomes a villain
 the moment he begins 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 virtues 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  writing1      
though there are some which may help us1
 in some measure1 to  correct and       
ascertain the vague ideas which we might
 otherwise have  entertained of those   

perfections3 and there are no rules by  
the  knowledge of which we can          
infallibly be taught to act upon all    
occasions  with prudence1 with just     
magnanimity1 or proper beneficence4     
,though  there are some which may enable
 us to correct and ascertain in several 
respects1 the imperfect ideas which we  
might otherwise have entertained  of    
those virtues4    ,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 may be 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 cases 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             
praise-worthy4 ,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 nature3 a   
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 they are  
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 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 prevail1 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 bigotted ,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 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    ,illustration      

,,part ,,iv4        ,of the ,,effect of 
,,utility upon the sentiment of         
approbation4                            
,,consisting ,,of ,,one ,,section4      
,,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   
very obvious that nobody has overlooked 
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  notice of by
 any body4 ,that this however 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 wanted therefore1 it  
seems1 was not so much this             
conveniency1 as that arrangement of     
things which promotes it4 ,yet it is    
this conveniency which ultimately       
recommends 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 watches 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 serves 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 fluffed with little   
conveniencies4 ,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 certainly 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 him admires the condition of the 
rich4 ,he  finds the cottage of his     

father too small for his 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 and in order to arrive at it1 he
 devotes  himself for ever to the       
pursuit of wealth and greatness4 ,to    

obtain the  conveniencies which these   
afford1 he submits in the first year1   
nay 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 
mankind1 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 wailed 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 and 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 conveniencies of the one are        
somewhat more observable than those of  

the other4 ,the palaces1 the gardens1   
the equipage1 the retinue of the  great 
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 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
 convenience 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 it 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     
disease1 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 be 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 inclemencies of the season4     
,they keep off  the summer shower1 not  
the winter storm1 but leave him always  
as much1  and sometimes more 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 conomy of the great2 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 conomy 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 who prepare1 in the nicest       
manner1  that little which he himself   

makes use of1 among those who sit up the
  palace in which this little is to be  
consumed1 among those who provide  and  
keep in order all the different baubles 
and trinkets1 which are  employed in the
 conomy 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             
inhabitants1 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  
last too 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 body and peace of  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 institutions1 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  manufacturer1  
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
 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
 proportion1 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 shewn  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      
glory1 or the interest of his  country4 
,would you awaken the industry of the   
man1 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 palaces1 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 
to save them from hunger and cold1 from 
want and weariness4 ,in the same manner1
 if you would implant public  virtue in 
the breast of him1 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  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 the 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 disquisitions1 if just
 and  reasonable1 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 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 second 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 sufficiently guard against 
the  mischiefs which human wickedness   
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 own 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 they are 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     
building1 or that we should have no     
other reason for praising a man than    
that for which we commend a chest  of   
drawers4    ,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 foreseeing 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      
pleasure 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 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 it 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       
spectator does not feel the             
felicitations 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     

interests us as  much as that which     
immediately presses upon the senses1 as 
our  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 
tenour  of conduct4 ,the pleasure which 
we are to enjoy ten years hence         
interests  us so little in comparison   
with that which we may enjoy to-day1 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  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 shewn 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   
donations is an observation of the civil

 law#g4  ,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 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 it1 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 than what concerns themselves4   
,they both consider  those opposite     
interests not in the light in which they
 naturally appear  to themselves1 but in
 that in which they appear to others4   
,to every  by-stander1 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 feel1 
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 by-stander4    ,footnote #g3  
,raro mulieres donare solent4    ,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 not1  
because the acquisition of  the new     
territory is1 to himself1 an object more
 desireable 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 if by shedding it1 he can promote
 so valuable a purpose4 ,in thus        
thwarting1 from a sense of duty and     
propriety1 the strongest of 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 tye1 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   
undoubtedly1 a new beauty1 and upon that
  account still further recommends them1
 to our approbation4 ,this beauty1      
however1 is chiefly perceived by men of 
reflection and speculation1 and  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      
case2 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      
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         
,,consisting ,,of ,,one ,,section4      
,,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     
blameable or  praise-worthy4 ,these     
principles are custom and faction1      
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 reparation4
 ,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 seem  
ridiculous to strangers1 give  no       

offence to the people who are 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
 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 them1   
and what takes  place in their own age  
and country4 ,few men therefore are     
willing to  allow that custom or fashion
 have much influence upon their         
judgments  concerning what is beautiful1
 or otherwise1 in the productions of any
 of  those arts2 but imagine1 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 attention1 
however1 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 ones4  
,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 ,english
  is the heroic verse in ,french4 ,the  
tragedies of ,racine and the ,henriad   
of ,voltaire1 are in the same verse     
with1                ,thus said to my   
lady the knight full of care4    ,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 ,english  than a tragedy      
written in the ,alexandrine verses of   
the ,french1 or in  ,french1 than a work

 of the same kind in 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  matter      
recommend his peculiarities1 and his    
manner becomes the  fashionable style in
 the art which he practises4 ,the taste 
of the  ,italians in music and          
architecture1 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 tho' 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  
possess 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 author 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 ,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
 middle 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 requisite1 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  species1 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   
climates 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 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 ,but1 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 that             
notwithstanding the many distortions and
  diseases which this practice was known

 to occasion1 custom had rendered  it   
agreeable among some of the most        
civilized nations1 which1 perhaps1  the 
world 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    
intended1  evidently recommends it1 and 
renders it agreeable to us 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 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 kind are so  

much  influenced by custom and fashion1 
it cannot be expected1 that those1      
concerning the beauty1 of conduct1      
should be entirely exempted from 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   
somewhat warpt1 cannot be entirely      
perverted4    ,but though the influence 
of custom and fashion1 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 order1 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   
called the way  of the world1 something 
which either may1 or must be practised1 
to  hinder us from being the dupes of   
our own integrity4    ,fashion too will 
sometimes give reputation to a certain  
degree of  disorder1 and on the contrary
 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 puritan2 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     
superiour virtues1 which they  ascribe  
to their superiors2 with the spirit of  
freedom and 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 seem to them mean   
and disagreeable4 ,they connect them1   
both with the meanness of the  station  
to which those qualities commonly       
belong1 and with many great  vices1     
which1 they suppose1 usually accompany  
them2 such as an abject1  cowardly1     
ill-natured1 lying1 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    
procession1 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 which in     
every part and feature 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 immoveable     
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 dull formality1   
which are  pardoned in old age1 make    
youth ridiculous4 ,the levity1 the      
carelessness1 and the vanity1 which are 
indulged in youth1 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
  suitableness to any one circumstance  
of his situation1 but to all the        
circumstances1 which1 when we bring his 
case home to ourselves 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 blame1 a degree of grief
 and tenderness1 which  would be        
unpardonable in a general at the head of
 an army1 when glory1  and the public   
safety 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      
ought1 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 fixt habit and   
temper of their minds4 ,we cannot expect
 the same sensibility to the gay        
pleasures and amusements of life in a   
clergyman 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
 them1 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 usual character of   
this order4    ,the foundation of the   
customary character of some other       
professions is  not so obvious1 and our 
approbation of it is founded entirely in
 habit1  without being either confirmed1
 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 profession3
 yet1 if we were 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 mind1   
would best become those whose lives are 
continually exposed to uncommon danger2 
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 amusements1 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 situation1   
renders him incapable of acquiring it4  
,we  laugh at the grave and careful     
faces of a city guard1 which1 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 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        
countries1 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 blameable1 or praise-worthy1 
vary  according to that degree1 which is
 usual in their own country1 and in     
their own times4 ,that degree of        
politeness1 which would be highly       
esteemed1 perhaps1 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        
politeness 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 therefore1 almost ceases
 to be  a virtue4 ,the abstinence from  
pleasure1 becomes less necessary1 and   
the  mind is more at liberty to unbend  
itself1 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  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  
controul4 ,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      
shewed 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 whom  
he was to be married4 ,the weakness of  
love1  which is so much indulged in ages
 of humanity and politeness1 is         
regarded among savages as the most      
unpardonable effeminacy4 ,even after    

the marriage 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 bear in the  
sight of all their countrymen with      
injuries1  reproach1 and the grossest   
insults 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      
ingenuity1 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

 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 resolution1 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 ,africa who  does not1
 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 so    
justly 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
 any thing contrary to justice  or      
humanity1 they lose but little          
reputation1 though the serenity of      
their countenance 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 among       
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 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 ,d ,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   
themselves1  with order1 gravity1 and   
good judgment2 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 practiced1 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  all 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 any  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 indeed are    
still  sober and composed1 and express  
nothing 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 passions 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 inconsiderable 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 these 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 conomy  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      
nations 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 society4     
,even here1 therefore1 we cannot        
complain that  the moral sentiments of  
men are very grossly perverted4    ,it  
is not therefore in the general style of
 conduct or behaviour that  custom      

authorizes the widest departure from    
what is the natural  propriety of       
action4 ,with regard to particular      
usages 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 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 compassion  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 newborn 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 hunger1 or  
to wild  beasts1 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 who 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 authorized   
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 
humanity1 we may well imagine that there
 is scarce any particular  practice so  
gross which it cannot authorize4 ,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 mens  conduct 
and behaviour was of a piece with the   
horrible practice ,i just  now          
mentioned4    ,illustration             
,,part ,,vi4                      ,of   
,systems of ,,moral ,,philosophy4       
,,consisting ,,of ,,four ,,sections4    
,,section ,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 tenour of   
conduct1 which constitutes the excellent
 and  praise-worthy character1 the      
character which is the natural object of
  esteem1 honour1 and approbation8 and  
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 tenour 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 ,clarke 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 interest
 or by reason1  which points out to us  
the difference between one character and
 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    ,illustration            
,,section ,,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 these authors1     
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 any action 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 it must 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 shew 
hereafter how all the other accounts1   
which are seemingly different from any  
of these1 coincide at bottom with  some 
one or other of them4                   
,,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#h the  
soul is considered as something like a  
little state or republic1 composed of   
three different faculties or  orders4   
,footnote #h3      ,see ,plato de ,rep4 
lib4 iv4    ,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 called  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 impropriety of        
desires and affections4    ,the         
different passions and appetites1 the   

natural subject 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 security1 and of all  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 second 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   
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       
perform2 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
 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 respect and esteem1  
which his character1 his  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  tho' 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 
justice#i1 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 purposes 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 #i3      ,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 l4 #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#aj1    
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   
corresponds too pretty exactly with what
 has been said above  concerning the    
propriety and impropriety of conduct4   
,footnote #aj3      ,see ,aristotle     
,ethic4 ,nic4 l4 #b4 c4 #e4 et seq4 et  
l4 #c4 c4 #e4 et seq4    ,according to  
,aristotle#aa1 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 as 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 person who  
performs them1 a single vicious  action 
performed by one whose conduct is       

usually very 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    ,footnote #aa3  
,see ,aristotle ,ethic4 ,nic4 lib4 ii4  
ch4 #a41 #b41 #c4 and #d4    ,aristotle 
too#ab1 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     
opinion1 that no conviction of the      
understanding was capable of getting the
 better of inveterate habits1  and that 
good morals arose not from knowledge but
 from action4    ,footnote #ab3         
,see ,aristotle ,mag4 ,mor4 lib4 i4 ch4 
#a4    ,,iii4 ,according to ,zeno#ac1   
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 #ac3      ,see    
,cicero de finibus1 lib4 iii4 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 body1 as 
well as the external  conveniencies     
which could promote these1 wealth1      
power1 honours1 the  respect and esteem 
of those we live with1 were naturally   
pointed out to  us as things eligible1  
and of which the possession was         
preferable to the  contrary4 ,on the    
other hand1 sickness1 infirmity1        
unwieldiness1 pain of  body1 as well as 
all the external inconveniencies which  
tended to  occasion or bring on any of  
them1 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 different classes of objects there  
were some which appeared to be  more the
 objects either of choice or rejection  
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 unwieldiness of
 body1 ignominy than poverty1 and       
poverty  than the want of authority4    
,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 was  
most to be  chosen1 when we could not   
obtain them all3 and in selecting too   
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        
according 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 ,what chiefly             
distinguished those two systems from one
 another was the different  degrees of  
self-command which they required4 ,the  
peripatetics allowed of  some degree of 
perturbation as suitable to the weakness

 of human nature1  and as useful to so  
imperfect a creature as man4 ,if his own
 misfortunes  excited no passionate     
grief1 if his own injuries called forth 
no lively  resentment1 reason1 or a     
regard to the general rules which       
determined  what was right and fit to be
 done1 would commonly1 they thought1 be 
too  weak to prompt him to avoid the one
 or to beat off the other4 ,the         
,stoics1 on the contrary1 demanded the  
most perfect apathy1 and regarded  every
 emotion which could in the smallest    
degree disturb the  tranquillity of the 
mind1 as the effect of levity and folly4
 ,the  ,peripatetics seem to have       
thought that no passion exceeded the    
bounds of  propriety as long as the     
spectator1 by the utmost effort of      
humanity1  could sympathize with it4    
,the ,stoics1 on the contrary1 appear to
 have  regarded every passion as        
improper1 which made any demand upon the
  sympathy of the spectator1 or required
 him to alter in any respect the        

natural and ordinary state of his mind1 
in order to keep time with the          
vehemence of its emotions4 ,a man of    
virtue1 they seem to have thought1      
ought not to depend upon the generosity 
of those he lives with for  pardon or   
approbation4    ,according to the       
,stoics1 every event should1 to a wise  
man1 appear  indifferent1 and what for  
its own sake could be the object neither
 of  desire1 nor aversion1 neither of   
joy1 nor sorrow4 ,if he preferred some  
events to others1 if some situations    
were the objects of his choice1 and     
others of his rejection1#ad it was not1 
because he regarded the one as1  in     
themselves1 in any respect better than  
the other1 or thought that his  own     
happiness would be more complete in1    
what is called1 the fortunate1  than in 
what is commonly 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 ,among the     
primary objects of natural inclination1 
or among  those things which nature had 
originally recommended to us as         
eligible1  was the prosperity1 of our   
family1 of our relations1 of our        
friends1 of  our country1 of mankind1   
and of the universe in general4 ,nature 
too had  taught us that as the          
prosperity of two was preferable to that
 of one1  that of many or of all 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 powerful and good ,god1 we   
might be assured that  whatever         
happened1 tended to the prosperity and  
perfection of the whole1  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 would allow1 to  
rescue ourselves  from this disagreeable
 circumstance4 ,but if 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
 choice1 and even of our desire1 if we  
would maintain that  complete propriety 
and rectitude of sentiment and conduct  
in which the  perfection of our nature  
consists4 ,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 the
 road  which we were to follow4 ,it was 
the same case with the adversity of our 
relations1 our friends1 our country4 ,if
 without violating any more  sacred     
obligation1 it was in our power to      
prevent or to 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 whole3 
which was what we ourselves1 if we were 
wise and equitable1 ought most  of all  
to desire4 8,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  sometimes to trample in 
the dirt1 and sometimes to tread upon   
thorns1  and sometimes too to be cut off
 for the sake of the whole body2 and if 
it refuses this1 it is no longer a foot4
 ,thus too 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 whole  it will behoove you         
sometimes to be in sickness1 sometimes  
to be exposed  to the inconveniency of a
 sea voyage1 sometimes to be in want2   

and at  last1 perhaps1 to die before    
your time4 ,why then do you complain8   
,don't  you know that by doing so1 as   
the foot ceases to be a foot1 so you    
cease  to be a man80#ae    ,footnote    
#ad3      ,some of these expressions    
sound a little awkward in the ,english  
language3 they are literal translations 
of the technical terms of the           
,stoics4    ,footnote #ae3      ,arrian4
 lib4 ,,ii4 c4 #e4    ,this submission  
to the order of the universe1 this      
entire indifference  with regard to     
whatever concerns ourselves1 when put   
into the balance  with the interest of  
the whole1 could derive its propriety1  
it is  evident1 from no other principle 
besides that1 upon which ,i have        
endeavoured to show1 the propriety of   
justice was founded4 ,as long as we     
view our own interests with our own     
eyes1 it is scarce possible that we     
should willingly acquiesce in their     
being thus sacrificed to the  interests 
of the whole4 ,it is only when we view  

those opposite interests  with the eyes 
of others1 that what concerns ourselves 
can appear to be  so contemptible in the
 comparison1 as to be resigned without  
any  reluctance4 ,to every body but the 
person principally concerned1 nothing   
can appear more agreeable to reason and 
propriety than that the part  should    
give place to the whole4 ,but what is   
agreeable to the reason of  all other   
men1 ought not to appear contrary to    
his4 ,he himself therefore  ought to    
approve of this sacrifice1 and          
acknowledge its conformity to  reason4  
,but all the affections of a wise man1  
according to the stoics1  are perfectly 
agreeable to reason and propriety1 and  
of their own accord  coincide with      
whatever these ruling principles        
prescribe4 ,a wise man1  therefore1     
could never feel any reluctance to      
comply with this  disposition of things4
    ,,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 ,clarke1 which places virtue in   
acting according to the  relations 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  
,woolaston1 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    ,the          
description of virtue 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 propriety1 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 ,for in the same manner1 
though impropriety is a  necessary      
ingredient in every vicious action1 it  
is not always the sole  ingredient1 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      
philosophy1 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 ,epicurus1#af
 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 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    
avoided 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 with  destroyed all      
security1 and necessarily exposed us to 
the greatest  bodily evils4    ,footnote
 #af3      ,see ,cicero de finibus1 lib4
 i4 ,diogenes ,laert4 #a4 x4    ,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 trifle 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 instant makes  
but a  small part of our happiness1 that
 our enjoyment chiefly arises either    
from the chearful 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 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 continuance 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 be properly  
be said  to increase the happiness of   
this situation4    ,in ease of body1    
therefore1 and in security or           
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 upon account of their      
tendency to bring about this  situation4
    ,prudence1 for example1 though      
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 was     
nothing but prudence with  regard to    
pleasure4    ,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   
chearfully1 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 greater4    
,it is the same case with justice4 ,to  
abstain from what is anothers 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  
ought 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  ,that 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 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 is 
likely to 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 advantageous and  
of avoiding the unfavourable judgments  
of  others1 is undoubtedly to render    
ourselves the proper objects of the     
former and not of the latter4 8,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   
with40 ,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 manner 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 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  the #agprimary 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    ,footnote #ag3      ,prima 
natur4    ,the primary objects of       
natural desire consisted1 according to  
,epicurus1  in bodily pleasure and pain1
 and in nothing else 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 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 not  so ancient as all  
of 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 as  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 at last 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   
learning1 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        
,hutcheson1 was undoubtedly 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  
already 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  observed too that  
even the weakness of benevolence are not
 very  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-will 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#ah 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 proceed1 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 base 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    ,footnote #ah3      ,see      
,inquiry concerning virtue1 sect4 #a4   
and #b4    ,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 that  whatever tended to 
promote the happiness of mankind was    
right and  laudable and virtuous1 and   
the contrary1 wrong1 blameable1 and     
vicious4  ,in the late debates about    
passive obedience and the right of      
resistance1  the sole point in          
controversy among men of sense was1     
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 question4    ,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 lead 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 ones 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 or  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 tho' 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#ai 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 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 rather looked upon as the sole   
motive which deserves the  appellation  
of virtuous4    ,footnote #ai3          
,inquiry concerning virtue1 sect #b4    
art4 #d4 also illustrations on the      
moral sense1 sect4 #e4 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 interest too1     
appear upon many  occasions very        
laudable principles of action4 ,the     
habits of conomy1  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 tho' one of   
those amiable failings1 which render a  
person rather the object of pity  than  
of contempt or hatred4 ,it would still1 
however1 somewhat diminish  the dignity 
and respectableness of his character4   

,carelessness and want  of conomy are   
universally disapproved of1 not1 however
 as proceeding  from a want of          
benevolence1 but from a want of the     
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 any 
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 several1 not improbable1      
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 counted 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 two 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      
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 utility coincides too  
with that which  makes it consist in    
propriety4 ,according to this system 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 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  moderation1 and 
every affection is disadvantageous when 

it exceeds the  proper bounds4          
,according to this system therefore1    
virtue consists1 not  in any one        
affection1 but in the proper degree of  
all the affections1  ,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 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 main  too 

all of them contribute to encourage the 
praise-worthy1 and to  discourage the   
blameable disposition4    ,it may be    
true 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 systems 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   
exile1 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 mere  weaknesses 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 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  
it3 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 mind3 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 with which the benevolent    
system presents us1 might seem  capable 
of producing this effect4 ,we may learn 
from the system of  ,epicurus1 though   
undoubtedly the worst 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 virtue1 upon our inward     
tranquility and peace of mind1 are what 
other philosophers have chiefly         
celebrated4 ,epicurus1 without          
neglecting this topic1 has chiefly      
insisted upon 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 are1 however1
 some other systems which seem to take  
away  altogether the distinction between
 vice and virtue1 and of which the      
tendency is1 upon that account1 wholly  
pernicious3 ,i mean the systems of  the 
duke of ,rochefoucault and ,dr4         
,mandeville4 ,though the notions of both
  these authors are in almost every     
respect erroneous1 there are1 however1  
some appearances in human nature which1 
when viewed in a certain manner1  seem  
at first sight to favour them4 ,these1  

first slightly sketched out  with the   
elegance and delicate precision of the  
duke of ,rochefoucault1  and afterwards 
more fully represented with the lively  
and humorous1  though coarse and rustic 
eloquence of ,dr4 ,mandeville1 have     
thrown upon  their doctrines an air of  
truth and probability which is very apt 
to  impose upon the unskilful4    ,dr4  
,mandeville1 the most methodical of     
those two authors1 considers  whatever  
is done from a sense of propriety1 from 
a regard to what is  commendable and    
praise-worthy1 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 bellowing  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 him 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 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 which he expects to be  
praised for them2 who sets  his         
character upon the frivolous ornaments  
of dress and equipage1 or 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  lowest1 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 esteem2 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 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 esteem1 and  cannot be kept in      
temper but by continual attendance and  
adulation4    ,there is an affinity too 
between the desire of becoming what is  
honourable and estimable1 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 
it1 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  approbation is at the same    
time anxious to obtain it1 though he too
 is  laudably 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  rivals1  
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 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 often 
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 a vice even in the use of a  
clean shirt1 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 practiced 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 passion than the degree
 which it still  is allowed to subsist  
in1 after it is so subjected and        
restrained4 ,thus  the common names of  
the #bjlove 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  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 the society4    ,footnote #bj3   
,luxury and lust4    ,it is the great   
fallacy of ,dr4 ,mandeville's book#ba 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   
others3 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    
sensuality 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  since1 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 that1 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 propositions 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 private vices  
were public benefits1 since without them
 no society could prosper or  flourish4 
,footnote #ba3      ,fable of the ,bees4
    ,such is the system of ,dr4         
,mandeville1 which once made so much    
noise in  the world1 and which1 though  
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 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
 credulity 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 our  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    
connexion with it1 nor resembled  any   
other principle which had some such     
connexion1 would appear absurd  and     
ridiculous to the most injudicious and  
unexperienced reader4                   
,,section ,,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 
tenour of conduct to another1 denominate
 the one right and the other  wrong1 and
 consider the one as the object of      

approbation1 honour1 and  reward2 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  
disadvantage2 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    
others 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 reason1 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           

followers1#bb 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 interest1    
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 security of his existence4          
,footnote #bb3      ,puffendorff4       
,mandeville4    ,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 view1 having never  occurred  
to him in his life before1 cannot       
possibly be the ground of  that         
approbation and disapprobation with     
which he has always 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     
villainy of  ,catiline1 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  
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 virtuous1 and blamed the   

disorderly  character4 ,they never      
imagined that our sentiments were       
influenced by  any benefit or damage    
which we supposed 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 
grief1 ,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 die3 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 therefore1 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 so 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                               
,,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 nature1 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 blameable1 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 blameable1 and vicious4 
,law1 it was justly observed by ,dr4    
,cudworth1#bc 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 it1 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 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    ,footnote #bc3      ,immutable
 ,morality1 l4 #a4    ,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 which  
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         
considered1 as 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 tenour  
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      
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 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 tenour 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 which1 in this manner1         
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 distinguished 
not by reason1 but by immediate sense   
and  feeling4 ,if virtue1 therefore1 is 
desirable for its own sake1 and if  vice
 is1 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 loth to abandon1 even the         
propriety of a single  phrase which he  
has been accustomed to4                 
,,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     
stampt with the characters of right1    
laudable1 and virtuous2 the latter with 
those of wrong1 blameable 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 imagine1  acts here1 as in
 all other cases1 with the strictest    
conomy1 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#bd had  
been at great pains to prove that the   
principle  of approbation was not       
founded on self-love4 ,he had           
demonstrated too  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    ,footnote #bd3  
,inquiry concerning ,virtue4    ,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 perception1#be 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 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 vice of those different       
passions and emotions1 was a reflex1    
internal sense4    ,footnote #be3       

,treatise of the passions4    ,dr4      
,hutcheson endeavoured still further to 
support this doctrine1 by  shewing 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#bf 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 #bf3      ,illustrations upon 
the ,moral ,sense4 ,sect4 #a4 p4 #bcg1  

et seq4 ,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 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 moral 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 judgments           
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 on     
account of the coarseness of  their     
moral sentiments4    ,it may be said1   
perhaps1 that though the principle of   

approbation is not  founded upon any    
power of 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    ,but this account of things1 
though it may not be liable to the same 
objections with the foregoing1 is       
exposed to others which are 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  man1
 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 former3 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 plain1  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 mean-spiritedness4 ,it is  
quite a different species of  discord   

which we feel at the view of those two  
different vices1 between  our 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 of  appear morally good or  
evil1 but that proper and improper      
approbation  appear1 to our natural     
sentiments1 to be stampt with the same  
characters4 ,i would ask1 therefore1 how
 it is1 that1 according to this  system1
 we approve or disapprove of proper or  
improper approbation4 ,to  this         
question1 there is1 ,i imagine1 but one 
reasonable answer1 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 that 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 sentiments1 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  object2 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 no   

body has yet  thought it worth while to 
bestow a name upon it8    ,when we      
approve of any character or action1 the 
sentiments which we  feel1 are1         
according to the foregoing system1      
derived from four 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 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     
,this  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 all 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 sympathy 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            
,,section ,,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  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 thro' 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 wrote 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        
disposition 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  unexceptionably  
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 tenour 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 would1 upon ordinary        
occasions1 chuse to act4    ,to         
characterize the sentiment of the heart1
 upon which each particular  virtue is  
founded1 though it requires both a      
delicate and accurate  pencil1 is a     
talk1 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 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  esteem1 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 qualities1 
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 science1    
which 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 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 tenour 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 justice  
to perform many things which it would be
 the highest injustice to extort  from  
him1 or for any judge or arbiter to     
impose on him by force4 ,to give  a     
trite example2 a highwayman1 by the fear
 of death1 obliges a traveller  to      
promise him a certain sum of money4     
,whether such a promise1 extorted  in   
this manner by unjust force1 ought to be
 regarded as obligatory1 is a  question 
that has been very 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 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 an     
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 truth1  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 #bgsome
 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    ,footnote #bg3      ,st4 
,augustine1 la ,placette4    ,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 doubtful1 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 it1 for the  sake of 
a punctilio1 into such worthless hands4 
,the man who should  beggar himself1 or 
who should throw away an hundred        
thousand pounds1  though he could afford
 that 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 regard1 to 
a promise extorted in this  manner1     
could by no means authorize4 ,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       
whenever 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    
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 broke 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 kind1 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 aware
 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  justice1
 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 respect 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 acknowledgment1 is  fully          
compensated by that alleviation of their
 uneasiness which the  sympathy of their
 confident 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 confidents 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 entrusted     
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 situations1 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 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 enacted1 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 cognizance  
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 no person1 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  naturally tends to cover with 
shame the person who has been guilty of 
it4 ,the great pleasure of conversation1
 and indeed of society1 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 concealing1    
and1 upon many occasions1 it requires   
prudence and a  strong sense of         
propriety to govern this1 as 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          
curiosity1 and feel ourselves all at    

once pushed  back with the rudest and   
most offensive violence4 ,if to conceal 
is so  disagreeable1 to attempt to      
deceive us is still more disgusting1    
even  though we could possibly suffer   
nothing by the success of the fraud4 ,if
  we see that our companion wants to    
impose upon us1 if the sentiments and   
opinions which he utters appear         
evidently not to be his own1 let them be
  ever so fine1 we can derive no sort of
 entertainment from them2 and if        
something of human nature did not now   
and then transpire through all the      
covers which falsehood and affectation  
are capable of wrapping around  it1 a   
puppet of wood would be altogether as   
pleasant a companion as a  person who   
never spoke as he was affected4 ,no man 
ever deceives1 with  regard to the most 
insignificant matters1 who is not       
conscious of doing  something like an   
injury to those he converses with2 and  
who does not  inwardly blush and shrink 
back with shame and confusion even at   

the  secret thought of a detection4     
,breach of veracity1 therefore1 being   
always attended with some degree of     
remorse and self-condemnation1          
naturally fell under the cognizance of  
the casuists4    ,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 
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
 their language1 are called the sins of 
concupiscence3 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
 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 it is that secrecy and
 reserve begin to grow into             
dissimulation8 ,how far an agreeable    
irony may 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 it is   
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 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  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       
authorize 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 excite4    ,the two      
useful parts of moral philosophy1       
therefore1 are ,ethics and              
,jurisprudence3 casuistry ought to be   
rejected altogether1 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 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 virtues would  
commonly prompt us4    ,something1      
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  casuist 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 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 states   
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 of 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 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 tho' 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 is however1 nothing of   
this  kind4 ,their laws are laws of     
police1 not of justice4 ,grotius seems  
to  have been the first1 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 present  enter into  
any further detail concerning the       
history of jurisprudence4               
,,the ,,end4                            
,,considerations                        
,concerning the ,,first                 
,,formation ,,of ,,languages1           
,,and ,,the           ,different ,genius

 of original and compounded ,,languages4
      ,the assignation of particular    
names1 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 mention1 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  denoted 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 of1 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 object 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 mention1 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 mama2 and thus  bestows upon
 the whole species those names which it 
had been taught to  apply to two        
individuals4 ,i have 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  ignorant1 as not to know the
 general word river1 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 much       
mankind are  naturally 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#bh1  
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     
,footnote #bh3      ,origine de         
l',inegalit4 ,partie premiere1 p4 #cgf1 
#cgg1 ,edition    d',amsterdam1 des     
,oeuvres diverses de ,j4 ,j4 ,rousseau4 
,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 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 other 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 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 c4  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       
invention1  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  
probable1 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 words1  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  dissimilitudes4 ,an   
adjective is by nature a general1 and in
 some  measure1 an abstract word1 and   
necessarily presupposes 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  ,antonomasia 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 adjective1  
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 another
 expedient for denoting the different   
qualities of  different substances1     
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 ,thus1 in many languages1 the    
qualities both of sex and of  the want  
of sex1 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 c4     

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 words 
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 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 denotes1 than in
 the other4  ,the quality appears1 in   
nature1 as a modification of the        
substance1 and  as it is thus expressed1
 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 manner1 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  
substantive1 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       
sometimes1 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  substantives1 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 in 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 a great meadow4       
,this variation1 in the termination of  
the noun adjective1 according to  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 be    
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 word1  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      
above1 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 a 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 wonder1        
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 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 juxtaposition1    
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  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  
relation 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  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 reply1 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
 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 son1 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      
prepositions1 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  
prepositions  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 c4 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 expedient1 to
 supply their place1  must have been of 
indispensable necessity1 on account of  
the frequent  occasion 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  c4 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    
,english1 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  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  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 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 likewise1 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       
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 men in all these expressions   
the words 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 coeval 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 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 c4 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 single     
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 or1 tempestas est      
pluvia1 the weather is rainy4 ,in these 
two  last expressions1 the simple event1
 or matter of fact1 is artificially     
split and divided1 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  terrible  
object1 and not merely the coming of the
 lion4 ,it would now  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
 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#bi ,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 infinite1 in consequence
 of the really infinite variety of      
events1 men found themselves partly     
compelled by necessity1 and partly      
conducted by nature1 to divide 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 #bi3      ,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   
accordingly put themselves to the       
torture to    find some awkward         

nominatives to those few verbs1 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 l4 #c4 c4
 #a4    ,when verbs1 from being         
originally impersonal had thus1 by the  
division  of the event into its         
metaphysical elements1 become personal1 
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 language1 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    

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
 of some third person or object1 it     
became  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 person1 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 said1  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 verb1 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       

objects of which it may be predicated1  
do not  form any particular species of  
objects distinguished from all others4  
,the word ,i1 does not1 like the word   
man1 denote a particular class  of      
objects1 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 join in its signification 
the seemingly opposite qualities of the 
most precise individuality1 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 instead 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 proportions1 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 he1 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  venistis1 venerunt4 ,those    
primitive languages1 too1 which1 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 those 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 modes and 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      
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  
principles1 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  and1 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 this  account1 the most abstract  
and metaphysical of all verbs2 and1     
consequently1 could by no means be a 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 uniform1 as  
the 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 
saying1 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 amatum1 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  
towards 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 conjugations2  
and1 on the contrary1 the more simple it
  is in its declensions and             
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 derivation 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 ,greek3 it has dropt 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 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 ,latin1 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    
conjugation1 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 ,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 which     
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  
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  which1 it is      
intended1 they should perform4          
,succeeding improvers  observe1 that one
 principle may be so applied as to      
produce several of  those movements1 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 observation discovered 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    
imperfect and less proper for many  of  
the purposes of language3 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 and1 
,deo1 in  the ,latin1 sufficiently show1
 without any addition1 what relation1   
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 word1 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 give 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    ,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   
,virgil3                 ,tityre tu     
patul recubans sub tegmine fagi4    ,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 others3    
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 dipus  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 an           
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 ,robertus1 or       
,robertus 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 
languages 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               
,unmindful4    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 or1 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
 line  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                      ,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        
composition 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 perfection1 than it can be 
to  those whose expression is constantly
 confined by the prolixness1  constraint
 and monotony of modern languages4      
,,finis4    ,illustration               
----------------------------------------
--------------------------------        
,,transcriber',s ,,notes       #a4      

,silently corrected obvious             
typographical errors and variations in  
spelling4   #b4 ,retained archaic1      
non-standard1 and uncertain spellings as
 printed4   #c4 ,enclosed italics font  
in underscores4