[] [] [] ESSAYS ON THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALITY AND NATURAL RELIGION. IN TWO PARTS.

EDINBURGH: Printed by R. FLEMING, for A. KINCAID and A. DONALDSON.

M. DCC. LI.

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Advertiſement.

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IT is proper to acquaint the reader, before he enters on the following eſſays, that they are not thrown together without connection. The firſt, by the inveſtigation of a particular fact, is deſigned to illuſtrate the nature of man, as a ſocial being. The next conſiders him as the ſubject of morality. And as morality ſuppoſes freedom of action, this introduces the third eſſay, which is a diſquiſition on liberty and neceſſity. Theſe make the firſt part of the work. The reſt of the eſſays, uſhered in by that on belief, hang upon each other. A plan is proſecuted, in ſupport of the authority of our ſenſes, external and internal; where it is occaſionally ſhown, that our reaſonings on ſome of the moſt important ſubjects, reſt ultimately upon ſenſe and feeling. This is illuſtrated, in a variety of inſtances; and from theſe, the author would gladly hope, that he has thrown new light upon the principles of human knowledge:—All to prepare the way, for a proof of the exiſtence and perfections of the Deity, which is the chief aim in this undertaking. [] The author's manner of thinking, may, in ſome points, be eſteemed bold and new. But freedom of thought, will not diſpleaſe thoſe who are led, in their inquiries, by the love of truth. To ſuch only he writes: and with ſuch, he will, at leaſt, have the merit of a good aim; of having ſearched for truth, and endeavoured to promote the cauſe of virtue and natural religion.

[] ESSAYS ON THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALITY AND NATURAL RELIGION.

PART I.

ESSAY I. Of our ATTACHMENT to OBJECTS of DISTRESS.

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A NOTED French author, who makes critical reflections upon poetry and painting, undertakes a ſubject, attempted by others unſucceſsfully, which is, to account for the ſtrong Attachment we have to Objects of Diſtreſs, not real objects only, but even fictitious. ‘It is not eaſy (ſays he) to account for the pleaſure we take in poetry and painting, which has often a ſtrong reſemblance to affliction, and of which the ſymptoms are ſometimes the ſame with thoſe of the moſt lively ſorrow. The arts of poetry and painting are never more applauded than when they ſucceed in giving pain. A ſecret charm attaches us to repreſentations of this nature, at the very time our heart, full of anguiſh, riſes up againſt its proper pleaſure. [2] I dare undertake this paradox, (continues our author) and to explain the foundation of this ſort of pleaſure which we have in poetry and painting; an undertaking that may appear bold, if not raſh, ſeeing it promiſes to account to every man for what paſſes in his own breaſt, and for the ſecret ſprings of his approbation and diſlike.’ Our author is extremely ſenſible of the difficulty of his ſubject; and no wonder, for it has a deep foundation in human nature.

LET us follow him in this difficult undertaking. He lays it down as a preliminary, that our wants and neceſſities are our only motives to action, and that in relieving us from them conſiſts all natural pleaſure: and in this, by the way, he agrees with Mr. Locke in his chapter of Power, ſect. 37. and 43. This account of our natural pleaſures ſhall be afterwards examined. What we have at preſent to attend to, is the following fundamental propoſition laid down by our author: ‘That man by nature is deſigned an active [3] being: that inaction, whether of body or mind, draws on languor and diſguſt; and that this is a cogent motive to fly to any ſort of occupation for relief. Thus (adds he) we fly by inſtinct to every object that can excite our paſſions, and keep us in agitation, not rebuted by the pain ſuch objects often give us, which cauſes vexatious days and ſleepleſs nights: but man, notwithſtanding, ſuffers more by being without paſſions, than by the agitation they occaſion.’ This is the ſum of his firſt ſection. In the ſecond he goes on to apply his principle to particular caſes. The firſt he gives is that of compaſſion, whereby we are naturally impelled to dwell upon the miſeries and diſtreſſes of our fellow creatures, though thereby we come to be partakers of their ſufferings; an impulſe that he obſerves is entirely owing to the above principle, which makes us chuſe occupation, however painful, rather than be without action. Another is that of publick executions. ‘We go in crouds (ſays he) to a ſpectacle the moſt [4] horrid that man can behold, to ſee a poor wretch broke upon the wheel, burnt alive, or his intrails torn out: the more dreadful the ſcene, the more numerous the ſpectators. Yet one might foreſee, even without experience, that the cruel circumſtances of the execution, the deep groans and anguiſh of a fellow creature, muſt make an impreſſion, the pain of which is not to be effaced but by a long courſe of time. But the attraction of agitation is far more ſtrong upon moſt people, than the joint powers of reflection and experience.’ He goes on to mention the ſtrange delight the Roman people had in the entertainments of the amphitheatre; criminals expoſed to be torn to pieces by wild beaſts, and gladiators in troops ſet out to butcher one another. He takes this occaſion to make the following obſervation upon the Engliſh nation: ‘So tender hearted is that people, that they obſerve humanity towards their greateſt criminals. They allow of no ſuch thing as torture, alledging [5] it better to let a criminal go unpuniſhed, than to expoſe an innocent perſon to thoſe torments which are authoriſed in other Chriſtian countries to extort a confeſſion from the guilty. Yet this people, ſo reſpectful of their kind, have an infinite pleaſure in prize-fighting, bull-beating, and ſuch other ſavage ſpectacles.’ He concludes, with ſhowing, that it is this very horror of inaction, which makes people every day precipitate themſelves into play, and deliver themſelves over to cards and dice. ‘None but fools and ſharpers (ſays he) are moved to play by hope of gain. The generality of mankind are directed by another motive. They neglect thoſe diverſions where skill and addreſs are required, chuſing rather to riſque their fortunes at games of mere chance, which keep their minds in continual motion, and where every throw is deciſive.’

THIS is our author's account of the matter fairly ſtated. It has, I acknowledge, an air of truth, but the following conſiderations [6] convince me that is not ſolid. In the firſt place, if the pain of inaction be the motive which carries us to ſuch ſpectacles as are above mentioned, we muſt expect to find them frequented by none but thoſe who are oppreſt with idleneſs. But this will not be found the truth of the matter. All ſorts of people flock to ſuch ſpectacles. Pictures of danger, or of diſtreſs, have a ſecret charm which attracts men from the moſt ſerious occupations, and operates equally upon the active and the indolent. In the next place, were there nothing in theſe ſpectacles to attract the mind, abſtracting from the pain of inaction, there would be no ſuch thing as a preference of one object to another, upon any other ground than that of agitation; and the more the mind was agitated, the greater would be the attraction of the object: but this is contrary to experience. There are many objects of horror and diſtaſte, which agitate the mind exceedingly, that even the idleſt fly from: and a more apt inſtance need not be given, than what our author [7] himſelf cites from Livy, who, ſpeaking of Antiochus Epiphanes, has the following words: Gladiatorum munus Romanae conſuetudinis primò majore cum terrore hominum inſuetorum ad tale ſpectaculum, quam voluptate dedit. Deinde ſaepiùs dando, et familiare oculis gratumque id ſpectaculum fecit, et armorum ſtudium pleriſque juvenum accendit. Such bloody ſpectacles behoved undoubtedly to make, at firſt, a greater impreſſion than afterwards, when by repetition they were rendered familiar: yet this circumſtance was ſo far from being an attraction to the Grecians, that it raiſed in them averſion and horror. Upon the ſame account, the Bear-garden, which is one of the chief entertainments of the Engliſh, is held in abhorrence by the French, and other polite nations. It is too ſavage an entertainment, to be reliſhed by thoſe of a refined taſte.

IF man is conſidered as a being, whoſe only view, in all his actions, is either to attain [8] pleaſure, or to avoid pain, we muſt conclude pleaſure and pain to be his only impulſes to action. Upon that ſuppoſition, it would be hard, if not impoſſible, to give any ſatisfactory account why we ſhould chuſe, with our eyes open, to frequent entertainments which muſt neceſſarily give us pain. But when we more attentively examine human nature, we diſcover many and various impulſes to action, independent of pleaſure and pain. Let us follow out this thought, becauſe it may probably lead to a ſolution of the problem.

WHEN we attend to the impreſſions made by external objects, or to any of our impreſſions, we find few of them ſo ſimple as to be altogether without modification. Impreſſions are either ſtrong or weak, diſtinct or confuſed, &c. There is no diviſion of impreſſions more comprehenſive than into agreeable or diſagreeable. Some ſlight impreſſions there may be, which give us little or no pleaſure, or pain: but theſe may be [9] neglected in the preſent inquiry. The bulk of our impreſſions may certainly be diſtinguiſhed into pleaſant and painful. It is unneceſſary, and would perhaps be in vain, to ſearch for the cauſe of this difference among our impreſſions. More we cannot ſay than that ſuch is the conſtitution of our nature, ſo contrived by the Author of all things, in order to anſwer wiſe and good purpoſes.

THERE is another circumſtance to be attended to in theſe impreſſions; that Deſire enters into ſome of them, Averſion into others. With regard to ſome objects, we feel a deſire of poſſeſſing and enjoying them: other objects raiſe our averſion, and move us to avoid them. At the ſame time, deſire and averſion are not ſeparate impreſſions, but modifications only; each making a part of the total impreſſion, raiſed by the agreeable, or diſagreeable object. The pleaſure, for example, of a fine garden, and the deſire of poſſeſſing it, are not different impreſſions, but only parts of that entire impreſſion which is cauſed by the object. [10] The impreſſion made by any object is one, tho' it may be annalized into parts. It does not belong to the preſent ſubject, to inquire in what inſtances Deſire is raiſed by agreeable objects; for deſire does not accompany agreeable impreſſions in every inſtance: but it muſt be carefully attended to, that Averſion does not make a part, or enter into the compoſition of every painful impreſſion. Objects of horror and terror, loathſome objects, and many others, raiſe averſion. But there are many impreſſions, ſome of them of the moſt painful ſort, which have no degree of averſion in their compoſition. Grief is a moſt painful paſſion or impreſſion, and yet is the fartheſt of any thing from being mixed with any degree of averſion. On the contrary, we cling to the object which raiſes our grief, and love to dwell upon it. Compaſſion is an inſtance of the like nature. Objects of diſtreſs raiſe no averſion in us, tho' they give us pain. Deſire always makes a part of the impreſſion, deſire to afford relief.

[11] IN infancy, appetite and paſſion, and the deſires and averſions accompanying them, are our ſole impulſes to action. But in the progreſs of life, when we learn to diſtinguiſh the objects around us as contributing to pleaſure or pain, we acquire, by degrees, impulſes to action of a different ſort. Self-love is a ſtrong motive to ſearch about for every thing that may conduce to happineſs. Self-love operates by means of reflection and experience; and every object, ſo ſoon as diſcovered to contribute to our happineſs, raiſes of courſe a deſire of poſſeſſing. Hence it is that pleaſure and pain are the only motives to action, ſo far as ſelf-love is concerned. But our appetites and affections, as above explained, are very different in their nature. Theſe operate by direct impulſe, without the intervention of reaſon, and anſwer to what is called inſtinct in brute creatures. As they are not influenced by any ſort of reaſoning, the view of ſhunning miſery, or acquiring happineſs, makes no part of the impulſive cauſe. It is true, that the [12] gratification of our affections and appetites is for the moſt part attended with pleaſure; and it is alſo true, that, in giving way to a particular appetite, the view of pleaſure may, by a reflex act, become an additional motive to the action. But theſe things muſt not be confounded with the direct impulſe ariſing from the appetite or affection, which, as I have ſaid, operates blindly, and in the way of inſtinct, without any view to conſequences.

AND to aſcertain the diſtinction betwixt actions directed by ſelf-love, and actions directed by particular appetites and paſſions, it muſt be further remarked, that though, for the moſt part, pleaſure is the conſequence of indulging appetites and paſſions, it is not neceſſarily, nor indeed univerſally ſo. If the latter be made out, the former will be evident; becauſe there cannot be a neceſſary connection betwixt two things, which are in ſome inſtances ſeparated. That pleaſure is not always the conſequence of indulging our appetites [13] and paſſions, will be plain from induction. Revenge gratified againſt the man we hate is attended with pleaſure. 'Tis a very different caſe, where we have taken offence at a man we love. Friendſhip will not allow me, however offended, to hurt my friend. ‘I cannot find in my heart to do him miſchief; but I would have him made ſenſible of the wrong he has done me.’ Revenge, thus denied a vent, recoils and preys upon the vitals of the perſon offended. It diſplays itſelf in peeviſhneſs and bad humour, which muſt work and ferment, till time, or acknowledgment of the wrong, carry it off. This ſort of revenge is turned againſt the man himſelf who is offended; and examples there are of perſons in this pettiſh humour, working great miſchief to themſelves, in order to make the offenders ſenſible of the wrong. Thus, nothing is more common than to find a young woman, diſappointed in love, ready to throw herſelf away upon the firſt worthleſs fellow that will ask her the queſtion. This indeed is indulging the paſſion of revenge, [14] but without any concomitant pleaſure or ſatisfaction. Far from it: the greater the degree of indulgence, the greater the pain. My next inſtance will be ſtill more ſatisfactory. Every one muſt have obſerved, that when the paſſion of grief is at its height, the very nature of it is to ſhun and fly from every thing which tends to give eaſe or comfort. He ruſhes on to miſery, by a ſort of ſympathy with the perſon for whom he is grieved. Why ſhould I be happy when my friend is no more? is the language of this paſſion. In theſe circumſtances, the man is truly a ſelf-tormentor. And here we have a ſingular phoenomenon in human nature, an appetite after pain, an inclination to render one's ſelf miſerable. This goes further than even ſelf-murder; a crime that is never perpetrated but in order to put an end to miſery, when it riſes to ſuch an height as to be inſupportable.

WE now ſee how imperfect the deſcription is of human nature, given by Mr. Locke, [15] and by our French author. They acknowledge no motive to action, but what ariſes from ſelf-love; meaſures laid down to attain pleaſure, or to ſhun pain. Our particular appetites and affections, and the deſires and averſions involved in them, are left entirely out of the ſyſtem. And yet we may ſay, with ſome degree of probability, that we are more influenced by theſe than by ſelf-love. We further diſcover by this inquiry, what is of great importance to the ſubject in hand, that, as happineſs is not always the impulſive motive to action, ſo neither is it always the effect of an indulged paſſion. Nay, we find this very ſingular phoenomenon in human nature a direct appetite or deſire, in ſome inſtances, after pain. So various is human nature, and ſo complicated its acting powers, that it is not readily to be taken in at one view.

AND now we return to our ſubject, after having unfolded thoſe principles of action with which it is connected. It may be [16] gathered from what is above laid down, that nature, which deſigned us for ſociety, has connected us ſtrongly together, by a participation of the joys and miſeries of our fellow creatures. We have a ſtrong ſympathy with them; we partake of their afflictions; we grieve with them and for them; and, in many inſtances, their misfortunes affect us equally with our own. Let it not therefore appear ſurpriſing, that people, inſtead of ſhunning objects of miſery, chuſe to dwell upon them; for this is truly as natural as indulging grief for our own misfortunes. And it muſt be obſerved at the ſame time, that this is wiſely ordered by providence: were the ſocial affections mixt with any degree of averſion, even when we ſuffer under them, we ſhould be inclined, upon the firſt notice of an object of diſtreſs, to drive it from our ſight and mind, inſtead of affording relief.

NOR ought we to judge of this principle, as any way vitious or faulty: for beſides, [17] that it is the great cement of human ſociety, we ought to conſider, that, as no ſtate is exempt from misfortunes, mutual ſympathy muſt greatly promote the ſecurity and happineſs of mankind. And 'tis a much more comfortable ſituation, that the proſperity and preſervation of each individual ſhould be the care of the whole ſpecies, than that every man, as the ſingle inhabitant of a deſert iſland, ſhould be left to ſtand or fall by himſelf, without proſpect of regard, or aſſiſtance from others. Nor is this all. When we conſider our own character and actions in a reflex view, we cannot help approving of this tenderneſs and ſympathy in our nature; we are pleaſed with ourſelves for being ſo conſtituted, we are conſcious of inward merit; and this is a continual ſource of ſatisfaction.

To open this ſubject a little further, it muſt be obſerved, that naturally we have a ſtrong deſire to be acquainted with the hiſtory of our fellow creatures. We judge of their actions, [18] approve or diſapprove, condemn or acquit; and in this the buſy mind has a wonderful delight. Nay, we go further. We enter deep into their concerns, take a ſide; we partake of joys and diſtreſſes, with thoſe we favour, and ſhow a proportional averſion to others. This turn of mind makes hiſtory, novels and plays the moſt univerſal and favourite entertainments. And indeed this is no more than what is to be expected from man as a ſociable creature; and we may venture to affirm, that the moſt ſociable have the greateſt ſhare of this ſort of curioſity, and the ſtrongeſt attachment to ſuch entertainments.

TRAGEDY is an imitation or repreſentation of human characters and actions. 'Tis a feigned hiſtory which generally makes a ſtronger impreſſion, than what is real; becauſe, if it be a work of genius, incidents will be choſen to make the deepeſt impreſſions, and will be ſo conducted, as to keep the mind in continual ſuſpenſe and agitation, [19] beyond what commonly happens in real life. By a well wrought tragedy, all the ſocial paſſions are rouſed. The firſt ſcene is ſcarce ended before we are engaged. We take a ſudden affection to ſome of the perſonages repreſented. We come to be attached to them as to our boſom-friends, and hope and fear for them, as if the whole were a true hiſtory, inſtead of a fable.

To a dry philoſopher, unacquainted with theatrical entertainments, it may appear ſurpriſing, that imitation ſhould have ſuch an effect upon the mind, and that the want of truth and reality ſhould not prevent the operation of our paſſions. But whatever may be the phyſical cauſe, one thing is evident, that this aptitude of the mind of man, to receive impreſſions from feigned, as well as from real objects, contributes to the nobleſt purpoſes of life. Nothing conduces ſo much to improve the mind, and confirm it in virtue, as being continually employed in ſurveying the actions of others, entering into [20] the concerns of the virtuous, approving of their conduct, condemning vice, and ſhowing an abhorrence at it; for the mind acquires ſtrength by exerciſe, as well as the body. But were there no opportunity for this ſort of diſcipline, but from ſcenes of real life, the generality of men would be little the better for it, becauſe ſuch ſcenes do but rarely occur. They are not frequent even in hiſtory. But, in compoſitions where liberty is allowed of fiction, it muſt be want of genius, if the mind is not ſufficiently exerciſed, till it acquire the greateſt ſenſibility, and the moſt confirmed habits of virtue.

Thus, tragedy engages our affections, not leſs than true hiſtory. Friendſhip, concern for the virtuous, abhorrence of the vitious, compaſſion, hope, fear, and the whole train of the ſocial paſſions, are rouſed and exerciſed by both of them equally.

THIS may appear to be a fair account of the attachment we have to theatrical entertainments: [21] but when the ſubject is more narrowly examined, ſome difficulties occur, to which the principles above laid down will ſcarce afford a ſatisfactory anſwer. 'Tis no wonder that young people flock to ſuch entertainments. The love of novelty, deſire of occupation, beauty of action, are ſtrong attractions: and if one is once engaged, of whatever age, by entering into the intereſts of the perſonages repreſented, the attraction turns ſtrong beyond meaſure, and the ſtory muſt be followed out, whatever be the conſequence. The foreſight of running one's ſelf into grief and affliction will not diſengage. But people generally turn wiſe by experience; and it may appear ſurpriſing, when diſtreſs is the never failing effect of ſuch entertainments, that perſons of riper judgment ſhould not ſhun them altogether. Does ſelf-love ly aſleep in this caſe, which is for ordinary ſo active a principle? When one conſiders the matter a priori, he will not heſitate to draw a concluſion to this purpoſe, that as repeated experience muſt, at the [22] long run, make us wiſe enough to keep out of harm's way; deep tragedies, for that reaſon, will be little frequented by perſons of reflexion. Yet the contrary is true in fact; the deepeſt tragedies being the moſt frequented by perſons of all ages, eſpecially by thoſe of delicate feelings, upon whom the ſtrongeſt impreſſions are made. A man of that character, who has ſcarce got the better of the deep diſtreſs he was thrown into the night before by a well acted tragedy, does, in his cloſet, coolly and deliberately reſolve to go to the next entertainment of the kind, without feeling the ſmalleſt obſtruction from ſelf-love.

THIS leads to a ſpeculation, perhaps one of the moſt curious that belongs to human nature. Contrary to what is generally underſtood, the above is a palpable proof, that even ſelf-love does not always operate to avoid pain and diſtreſs. In examining how this is brought about, there will be diſcovered an admirable contrivance in human nature, [23] to give free ſcope to the ſocial affections. Let us review what is above laid down: in the firſt place, that of the painful paſſions, ſome are accompanied with averſion, ſome with deſire: in the next place, that of the painful paſſions, accompanied with deſire, the gratification of ſome produces pleaſure, ſuch as hunger and thirſt, revenge, &c. others pain and diſtreſs, ſuch as grief. Now, upon the ſtricteſt examination, the following propoſition will be found to hold true in fact; that the painful paſſions, which, in the direct feeling, are free from any degree of averſion, have as little of it in the reflex act. Or, to expreſs the thing more familiarly, when we reflect upon the pain we have ſuffered by our concern for others, there is no degree of averſion mixt with the reflection, more than with the pain itſelf, which is the immediate effect of the object. For illuſtration's ſake, let us compare the pain which ariſes from compaſſion with any bodily pain. Cutting one's fleſh is not only accompanied with ſtrong averſion in the direct [24] feeling, but with an averſion equally ſtrong in reflecting upon the action afterwards. We feel no ſuch averſion in reflecting upon the mental pains above deſcribed. On the contrary, when we reflect upon the pain which the misfortune of a friend gave us, the reflection is accompanied with an eminent degree of ſatisfaction. We approve of ourſelves for ſuffering with our friend, value ourſelves the more for that ſuffering, and are ready to undergo chearfully the like diſtreſs upon the like occaſion.

WHEN we examine thoſe particular paſſions, which though painful, not only in the firſt impreſſion, but alſo in the gratification, if I may call it ſo, are yet accompanied with no averſion; we find they are all of the ſocial kind, ariſing from that eminent principle of ſympathy, which is the cement of human ſociety. The ſocial paſſions are accompanied with appetite for indulgence, when they give us pain, not leſs than when they give us pleaſure. We ſubmit willingly [25] to ſuch painful paſſions, and reckon it no hardſhip to ſuffer under them. In this conſtitution, we have the conſciouſneſs of regularity and order, and that it is right and meet we ſhould ſuffer after this manner. Thus the moral affections, even ſuch of them as produce pain, both in the firſt feeling, and in the indulgence of the paſſion, are none of them attended with any degree of averſion, not even in reflecting upon the diſtreſs they often bring us under. And this obſervation tends to ſet the moral affections in a very diſtinguiſhed point of view, in oppoſition to thoſe that are either malevolent, or merely ſelfiſh.

Many and admirable are the ſprings of action in human nature, and not one more admirable than what is now unfolded. Compaſſion is a moſt valuable principle, which connects people in ſociety by ties ſtronger than thoſe of blood. Yet compaſſion is a painful emotion, and is often accompanied with pain in the indulgence. Were it accompanied with any degree of averſion, [26] even in reflecting upon the diſtreſs it occaſions, after the diſtreſs is over, that averſion would, by degrees, blunt the paſſion, and at length cure us of what we would be apt to reckon a weakneſs or diſeaſe. But the author of our nature has not left his work imperfect. He has given us this noble principle entire, without a counter-balance, ſo as to have a vigorous and univerſal operation. Far from having any averſion to pain, occaſioned by the ſocial principles, we reflect upon ſuch pain with ſatisfaction, and are willing to ſubmit to it upon all occaſions with chearfulneſs and heart-liking, juſt as much as if it were a real pleaſure.

AND now the cauſe of the attachment we have to Tragedy is fairly laid open, and comes out in the ſtrongeſt light. The ſocial paſſions, put in motion by it, are often the occaſion of diſtreſs to the ſpectators. But our nature is ſo happily conſtituted, that diſtreſs, occaſioned by the exerciſe of the ſocial paſſions, is not an object of the ſmalleſt [27] averſion to us, even when we reflect coolly and deliberately upon it. Self-love does not carry us to ſhun affliction of this ſort. On the contrary, we are ſo framed, as willingly and chearfully to ſubmit to it upon all occaſions, as if it were a real and ſubſtantial good. And, thus, Tragedy is allowed to ſeize the mind with all the different charms which ariſe from the exerciſe of the ſocial paſſions, without the leaſt obſtacle from ſelf-love.

HAD our author reflected on the ſympathiſing principle, by which we are led, as by a ſecret charm, to partake of the miſeries of others, he would have had no occaſion of recurring to ſo imperfect a principle as that of averſion to inaction, to explain this ſeeming paradox, that a man ſhould voluntarily chuſe to give himſelf pain. Without entering deep into philoſophy, he might have had hints in abundance from common life to explain it. In every corner, perſons are to be met with of ſuch a ſympathiſing temper, [28] as to chuſe to ſpend their lives with the diſeaſed and diſtreſſed. They partake with them in their afflictions, enter heartily into their concerns, and ſigh and groan with them. Theſe paſs their lives in ſadneſs and deſpondency, without having any other ſatisfaction than what ariſes upon the reflection of having done their duty.

AND if this account of the matter be juſt, we may be aſſured, that thoſe who are moſt compaſſionate in their temper will be fondeſt of Tragedy, which affords them a large field for indulging the paſſion. And indeed admirable are the effects brought about by this means: for, paſſions as they gather ſtrength by indulgence, ſo they decay by want of exerciſe. Perſons in proſperity, unacquainted with diſtreſs and miſery, are apt to grow hard-hearted. Tragedy is an admirable reſource in ſuch a caſe. It ſerves to humanize the temper, by ſupplying feigned objects of pity, which have nearly the ſame effect to exerciſe the paſſion that [29] real objects have. And thus it is, that we are carried by a natural impulſe to deal deep in affliction, occaſioned by repreſentations of feigned misfortunes; and the paſſion of pity alone would make us throng to ſuch repreſentations, were there nothing elſe to attract the mind, or to afford ſatisfaction.

IT is owing to curioſity, that public executions are ſo much frequented. Senſible people endeavour to correct an appetite, which, upon indulgence, gives pain and averſion, and, upon reflection, is attended with no degree of ſelf-approbation. Hence it is, that ſuch ſpectacles are the entertainment of the vulgar chiefly, who allow themſelves blindly to be led by the preſent inſtinct, with little attention whether it be conducive to their good or not.

AND as for prize-fighting and gladiatorian ſhows, nothing animates and inſpires us more than examples of courage and bravery. We catch the ſpirit of the actor, and turn [30] bold and intrepid as he appears to be. On the other hand, we enter into the diſtreſſes of the vanquiſhed, and have a ſympathy for them in proportion to the gallantry of their behaviour. No wonder then, that ſuch ſhows are frequented by perſons of the beſt taſte. We are led by the ſame principle, that makes us fond of peruſing the lives of heroes and of conquerors. And it may be obſerved by-the-by, that ſuch ſpectacles have an admirable good effect in training up the youth to boldneſs and reſolution. In this, therefore, I ſee not that foreigners have reaſon to condemn the Engliſh taſte. Spectacles of this ſort deſerve encouragement from the ſtate, and to be made an object of public policy.

As for gaming, I cannot bring myſelf to think that there is any pleaſure in having the mind kept in ſuſpenſe, and as it were upon the rack, which muſt be the caſe of thoſe who venture their money at games of hazard. Inaction and idleneſs are not by [31] far ſo hard to bear. I am ſatisfied that the love of money is at the bottom. Nor is it a ſolid objection, that people will neglect games of skill and addreſs, to venture their money at hazard; for this may be owing to indolence, diffidence, or impatience. There is indeed a curious ſpeculation with regard to this article of gaming, that pleaſure and pain attend good and bad ſucceſs at play, independent of the money loſt or win. It is a plain caſe, that good luck raiſes our ſpirits, as bad luck depreſſes them, without regard to conſequences: and it ſeems extremely clear, that our concern at game, when we play for trifles, is owing to this very thing. What may be the root of this affection, is not ſo obvious. But as it is not neceſſarily connected with our preſent theme, I ſhall leave it to be inveſtigated by others.

ESSAY II. Of the FOUNDATION and PRINCIPLES of the LAW of NATURE.

[33]

INTRODUCTION.

SUPERFICIAL knowledge produces the boldeſt adventurers, becauſe it gives no check to the imagination, when fired by a new thought. Writers of this ſtamp lay down plans, contrive models, and are hurried on to execution, by the pleaſure of novelty, without conſidering whether, after all, there is any ſolid foundation to ſupport the ſpacious edifice. It redounds not a little to the honour of ſome late inquirers after truth, that, ſubduing this bent of nature, they have ſubmitted to the ſlow and more painful ſtudy of facts and experiments. Natural philoſophy, in all its branches, is advanced by this laborious method. The accurate Mr. Locke has purſued the ſame track in the ſcience of logicks, and has been followed by ſeveral ingenious writers. But [34] it ſeems to fare hard with the miſtreſs-ſcience, that leſs deference is paid to her than to her hand-maids. Every author exhibits a ſyſtem of morals, ſuch as beſt ſuits his taſte and fancy. He frames regulations for human conduct, without conſidering whether they ariſe out of human nature, or can be accommodated to it. And hence many airy ſyſtems that relate not more to man, than to many other beings. Authors of a warm imagination, and benevolent turn of mind, exalt man to the angelic nature, and compoſe laws for his conduct, ſo refin'd as to be far above the reach of humanity. Others of a contrary diſpoſition, forcing down all men to a level with the very loweſt of their kind, aſſign them laws more ſuitable to brutes than to rational beings. In abſtract ſcience, philoſophers may more innocently indulge their fancies. The worſt that can happen is, to miſlead us in matters where error has little influence on practice: but they who deal in moral philoſophy ought to be cautious, for their errors ſeldom fail to have a [35] bad tendency. The exalting of nature above its ſtandard is apt to diſguſt the mind, conſcious of its weakneſs, and of its inability to attain ſuch an uncommon degree of perfection. The debaſing of nature tends to break the balance of the affections, by adding weight to the ſelfiſh and irregular appetites. A cruel effect this, but not the only bad one. The many claſhing opinions about morality are apt to tempt readers, who have any hollowneſs of heart, to ſhake off all principles, and to give way to every appetite as it comes uppermoſt: and then adieu to a juſt tenor of life, and conſiſtency of conduct.

THESE conſiderations give the author of this eſſay a juſt concern to proceed with the utmoſt circumſpection in his inquiries, and to try his concluſions by their true touchſtone, that of facts and experiments. Had this method been ſtrictly followed, the world would not have been perplexed with many various and inconſiſtent ſyſtems, which unhappily [36] have rendered morality a difficult and intricate ſcience. An attempt to reſtore it to its original ſimplicity and authority, muſt be approved of, however ſhort one falls in the execution. Authors differ about the origin of the laws of nature, and they differ about the laws themſelves. It will perhaps be found, that there is leſs difference about the former in reality, than in appearance. It were to be wiſhed, that the different opinions about the latter could be as happily reconciled. But as the author acknowledges this to be above his reach, he muſt take up with a leſs agreeable task, which is to attempt a plan of the laws of nature, drawn from their proper ſource, without regarding authority.

CHAP. I. Of the FOUNDATION of the LAW of NATURE.

[37]

IN ſearching for the foundation of the laws of our nature, the following reflections readily occur. In the firſt place, two things cannot be more intimately connected than a being and its actions; for the connection is that of cauſe and effect: ſuch as the being is, ſuch muſt its actions be. In the next place, the ſeveral claſſes into which nature has diſtributed living creatures, are not more diſtinguiſhable by an external form, than by an internal conſtitution, which manifeſts itſelf in a certain uniformity of conduct, peculiar to each ſpecies. In the third place, any action, conformable to the common nature of the ſpecies, is conſidered by us as regular and good: it is acting according to order, and according to nature. But if there exiſts a being, with a conſtitution different from that of its kind, the actions of this being, tho' agreeable to its own peculiar [38] conſtitution, will, to us, appear whimſical and diſorderly: we ſhall have a feeling of diſguſt, as if we ſaw a man with two heads or four hands. Theſe reflections lead us to the foundation of the laws of our nature. They are to be derived from the common nature of man, of which every perſon partakes who is not a monſter.

BUT as the above concluſion is the groundwork of all morality, it may not be improper to beſtow a few more words upon it. Looking around, we find creatures of very different kinds, both as to their external and internal conſtitutions. Each ſpecies having a peculiar nature, muſt have a peculiar rule of action reſulting from its nature. We find this to hold in fact; and it is extreme agreeable to obſerve how accurately the laws of each ſpecies, ariſing from its nature, are adjuſted to its external frame, and to the circumſtances in which it is placed, ſo as to procure the conveniencies of life in the beſt manner, and to produce regularity and conſiſtency [39] of conduct. To give but one inſtance. The laws, which govern ſociable creatures, differ widely from thoſe which govern the ſavage and ſolitary. Nothing more natural nor more orderly among ſolitary creatures, who have no mutual connection, than to make food one of another. But for creatures in ſociety to live after this manner, behoved to be the effect of jarring and inconſiſtent principles. No ſuch diſorderly appearance is to be met with upon the face of this globe. There is, as above obſerved, a harmony betwixt the internal and external conſtitution of the ſeveral claſſes of animals; and this harmony obtains ſo univerſally, as to afford a delightful proſpect of deep deſign regularly carried into execution. The common nature of every claſs of beings is felt by us as perfect; and, therefore, if, in any inſtance, a particular being ſwerve from the common nature of its kind, the action upon that account is accompanied with a ſenſe of diſorder and wrong. Thus, as we have a ſenſe of right from every action, [40] which is conformable to this common nature, the laws, which ought to govern every animal, are to be derived from no other ſource than the common nature of the ſpecies. In a word, it is according to order, that the different ſorts of living creatures ſhould be governed by laws adapted to their peculiar nature. We conſider it as fit and proper that it ſhould be ſo; and it is a beautiful ſcene to find creatures acting according to their nature, and thereby acting uniformly, and according to a juſt tenor of life.

THE force of this reaſoning cannot, at any rate, be reſiſted by thoſe who admit of final cauſes. We make no difficulty to pronounce, that a ſpecies of beings are made for ſuch and ſuch an end, who are of ſuch and ſuch a nature. A lion is made to purchaſe the means of life by his claws. Why? becauſe ſuch is his nature and conſtitution. A man is made to purchaſe the means of life by the help of others, in ſociety. Why? [41] becauſe, from the conſtitution both of his body and mind, he cannot live comfortably but in ſociety. It is thus we diſcover for what end we were deſigned by nature, or the author of nature; and the ſame chain of reaſoning points out to us the laws by which we ought to regulate our actions. For, acting according to nature, is acting ſo, as to anſwer the end of our creation.

CHAP. II. Of the MORAL SENSE.

[42]

HAVING ſhown that the nature of man is the only foundation of the laws that ought to govern his actions, it will be neceſſary to trace out human nature with all the accuracy poſſible, ſo far as regards the preſent ſubject. If we can happily accompliſh this undertaking, it will be eaſy, in the ſynthetical method, to deduce the laws which ought to regulate our conduct. And we ſhall examine, in the firſt place, after what manner we are related to beings and things about us; for this ſpeculation will lead to the point in view.

As we are placed in a great world, ſurrounded with beings and things, ſome beneficial, others hurtful; we are ſo conſtituted, that ſcarce any of the objects of perception are indifferent to us. They either give us pleaſure or pain. Sounds, taſtes, and ſmells, are either agreeable or diſagreeable. And [43] the thing is moſt of all remarkable is the objects of ſight, which affect us in a more lively manner than the objects of any other external ſenſe. Thus, a ſpreading oak, a verdant plain, a large river, are objects which afford great delight. A rotten carcaſe, a diſtorted figure, create averſion, which, in ſome inſtances, goes the length of horror.

WITH regard to objects of ſight, whatever gives pleaſure, is ſaid to be Beautiful; whatever gives pain, is ſaid to be Ugly. The terms Beauty and Uglineſs, in their original ſignification, are confined to objects of ſight: and indeed ſuch objects, being more highly agreeable or diſagreeable than others, deſerve well to be diſtinguiſhed by a proper name. But tho' this is the proper meaning of the terms Beauty and Uglineſs, yet, as it happens with words which convey a more lively idea than ordinary, the terms are applied in a figurative ſenſe to almoſt every thing which carries a high reliſh or diſguſt, tho' not the object of ſight, where [44] theſe feelings have not a proper name of their own. Thus, we talk of a beautiful theorem, a beautiful thought, and a beautiful action. And this way of ſpeaking has, by common uſe, become ſo familiar, that it is ſcarce reckoned a figurative expreſſion.

THE pleaſure and pain which ariſe from objects conſidered ſimply as exiſting, without relation to any end propoſed, or any deſigning agent, are to be placed in the loweſt rank or order of Beauty and Uglineſs. But when external objects, ſuch as works of art, are conſidered with relation to ſome end propoſed, we feel a higher degree of pleaſure or pain. Thus, a building regular in all its parts, pleaſes the eye, upon the very firſt view. But conſidered as a houſe for dwelling in, which is the end propoſed, it pleaſes ſtill more, ſuppoſing it to be well fitted to its end. A ſimilar ſenſation ariſes in obſerving the operations of a well ordered ſtate, where the parts are nicely adjuſted to the ends of ſecurity and happineſs.

[45] THIS perception of Beauty in works of art or deſign, which is produced not barely by a ſight of the object, but by viewing the object in a certain light, as fitted to ſome uſe, and as related to ſome end, includes in it what is termed Approbation: for approbation, when applied to works of art, means, preciſely, our being pleaſed with them, or conceiving them beautiful in the view of being fitted to their end. Approbation and Diſapprobation do not apply to the firſt or loweſt claſs of beautiful and ugly objects. To ſay that we approve of a ſweet taſte, or of a flowing river, is really ſaying no more, than barely that we are pleaſed with ſuch objects. But the term is juſtly applied to works of art, becauſe it means more than being pleaſed with ſuch an object merely as exiſting. It imports a peculiar beauty, which is perceived upon conſidering the object as fitted to the uſe intended.

IT muſt be further obſerved, to avoid obſcurity, that the beauty, which ariſes from the [46] relation of an object to its end, is independent of the end itſelf, whether good or bad, whether beneficial or hurtful: for the feeling ariſes merely from conſidering its fitneſs to the end propoſed, whatever that end be.

WHEN we take the end itſelf under conſideration, there is diſcovered a diſtinct modification of Beauty and Uglineſs, of a higher kind than the two former. A beneficial end propoſed, ſtrikes us with a very peculiar pleaſure; and approbation belongs alſo to this feeling. Thus, the mechaniſm of a ſhip is beautiful, in the view of means well fitted to an end. But the end itſelf of carrying on commerce, and procuring ſo many conveniencies to mankind, exalts the object, and heightens our approbation and pleaſure. By an End, I mean, that to which any thing is fitted, which it ſerves to procure and bring about, whether it be an ultimate end, or ſubordinate to ſomething further. Hence, what is conſidered as an end in one view, may be conſidered as a means in another. But [47] ſo far as it is conſidered as an end, the degree of its Beauty depends upon the degree of its uſefulneſs. The feeling of Approbation here terminates upon the thing itſelf in many inſtances, abſtracted from the intention of an agent; which intention, coming into view as good or bad, gives riſe to a modification of Beauty or Deformity, different from thoſe above ſet forth, as ſhall be preſently explained. Let it be only kept in view, that, as the end or uſe of a thing is an object of greater dignity and importance than the means, the approbation beſtowed on the former riſes higher than that beſtowed on the latter.

THESE three orders of Beauty may be blended together in many different ways, to have very different effects. If an object, in itſelf beautiful, be ill fitted to its end, it will, upon the whole, be diſagreeable. This may be exemplified, in a houſe regular in its architecture, and beautiful to the eye, but incommodious for dwelling. If there [48] is in an object an aptitude to a bad end, it will, upon the whole, be diſagreeable, tho' it have the ſecond modification of beauty in the greateſt perfection. A conſtitution of government, formed with the moſt perfect art for enſlaving the people, may be an inſtance of this. If the end propoſed is good, but the object not well fitted to the end, it will be beautiful or ugly, as the goodneſs of the end, or unfitneſs of the means, are prevalent. Of this, inſtances will occur at firſt view, without being ſuggeſted.

THE above modifications of beauty and deformity, apply to all objects animate and inanimate. A voluntary agent is an object which produces a peculiar modification of beauty and deformity, which may readily be diſtinguiſhed in the feeling from all others. The actions of living creatures are more intereſting than the actions of matter. The inſtincts, and principles of action of the former, give us more delight than the blind [49] powers of the latter, or, in other words, are more beautiful. No one can doubt of this fact, who is in any degree converſant with the poets. In Homer every thing lives. Even darts and arrows are endued with voluntary motion. And we are ſenſible, that nothing animates a poem more than the frequent uſe of this figure.

AND hence a new modification of the beauty and deformity of actions, conſidered as proceeding from intention, deliberation and choice. This modification, which is of the utmoſt importance in the ſcience of morals, concerns principally human actions; for we diſcover little of intention, deliberation and choice in the actions of inferior creatures. Human actions are not only agreeable or diſagreeable, beautiful or deformed, in the different views above mentioned, but are further diſtinguiſhed in our feeling, as fit, right and meet to be done, or as unfit, unmeet and wrong to be done. Theſe are ſimple feelings, capable of no definition, and [50] which cannot otherways be explained, than by making uſe of the words that are appropriated to them. But let any man attentively examine what paſſes in his mind, when the object of his thought is an action proceeding from deliberate intention, and he will ſoon diſcover the meaning of theſe words, and the feelings which they denote. Let him but attend to a deliberate action ſuggeſted by filial piety, or one ſuggeſted by gratitude; ſuch actions will not only be agreeable to him, and appear beautiful, but will be agreeable and beautiful as fit, right and meet to be done. He will approve of the action in that quality, and he will approve of the actor for having done his duty. This peculiar feeling, or modification of beauty and deformity in human actions, is known by the name of moral beauty, and moral deformity. In it conſiſts the morality and immorality of human actions; and the power or faculty, by which we perceive this difference among actions, paſſes under the name of the moral ſenſe.

[51] IT is but a ſuperficial account which is given of morality by moſt writers, that it depends upon Approbation and Diſapprobation. For it is evident, that theſe terms are applicable to works of art, and to objects beneficial and hurtful, as well as to morality. It ought further to have been obſerved, that the approbation or diſapprobation of actions, are feelings, very diſtinguiſhable from what relate to the objects now mentioned. Some actions are approved of as good and as fit, right and meet to be done; others are diſapproved of as bad and unfit, unmeet and wrong to be done. In the one caſe, we approve of the actor as a good man; in the other, diſapprove of him as a bad man. Theſe feelings don't apply to objects as fitted to an end, nor even to the end itſelf, except as proceeding from deliberate intention. When a piece of work is well executed, we approve of the artificer for his skill, not for his goodneſs. Several things inanimate, as well as animate, ſerve to extreme good ends. We approve of theſe ends as uſeful in themſelves, but not as morally [52] fit and right, where they are not conſidered as the reſult of intention.

OF all objects whatever, human actions are the moſt highly delightful or diſguſtful, and afford the greateſt degree of beauty or deformity. In theſe every modification concurs: the fitneſs or unfitneſs of the means: the goodneſs or badneſs of the end: the intention of the actor, which gives them the peculiar character of fit, right and meet, or unfit, wrong and unmeet.

THUS we find the nature of man ſo conſtituted, as to approve of certain actions, and to diſapprove of others; to conſider ſome actions as fit, right and meet to be done, and to conſider others as unfit, unmeet and wrong. What diſtinguiſhes actions, to make them objects of the one or other feeling, will be explained in the following chapter. And perhaps it will further appear, with regard to ſome of our actions, that the approbation, or diſapprobation beſtowed, has a more peculiar modification than has been hitherto obſerved, to be a foundation [53] for the well known terms of duty and obligation, and conſequently for a rule of conduct, which, in the ſtricteſt ſenſe, may be termed a law. But, at preſent, it is ſufficient to have explained in general, that we are ſo conſtituted as to perceive or feel a Beauty and Deformity, and a Right and Wrong in actions. And this is what ſtrongly characteriſes the laws which govern the actions of mankind. With regard to all other beings, we have no Data to diſcover the laws of their nature, other than their frame and conſtitution. We have the ſame Data to diſcover the laws of our own nature. And, we have, over and above, a peculiar feeling of approbation, or diſapprobation, to point out to us what we ought to do, and what we ought not to do. And one thing is extremely remarkable, which will be explained afterwards, that the laws which are fitted to the nature of man, and to his external circumſtances, are the ſame which we approve of by the moral ſenſe.

CHAP. III. Of DUTY and OBLIGATION.

[54]

THO' theſe terms are of the utmoſt importance in morals, I know not that any author has attempted to explain them, by pointing out thoſe principles or feelings which they expreſs. This defect I ſhall endeavour to ſupply, by tracing theſe terms to their proper ſource, without which the ſyſtem of morals cannot be complete, becauſe they point out to us the moſt preciſe and eſſential branch of morality.

LORD Shaftesbury, to whom the world is much indebted for his ineſtimable writings, has clearly and convincingly made out, ‘that virtue is the good, and vice the ill of every one.’ But he has not proved virtue to be our duty, otherways than by ſhowing it to be our intereſt, which does not come up to the idea of duty. For this term plainly implies ſomewhat indiſpenſible in our conduct; [55] what we ought to do, what we ought to ſubmit to. Now a man may be conſidered as fooliſh, for acting againſt his intereſt, but he cannot be conſidered as wicked or vitious. His lordſhip, indeed, in his eſſay upon virtue *, points at an explanation of Duty and Obligation, by aſſerting the ſubordinacy of the ſelf-affections to the ſocial. But tho' he ſtates this as a propoſition to be made out, he drops it in the after part of his work, and never again brings it into view.

Mr. Hutchiſon, in his eſſay upon beauty and virtue , founds the morality of actions on a certain quality of actions, which procures approbation and love to the agent. But this account of morality is imperfect, becauſe it excludes juſtice, and every thing which may be ſtrictly called Duty. The man who, confining himſelf to ſtrict duty, is true to his word, and avoids harming others, is a juſt and moral man; is intitled to [56] ſome ſhare of eſteem, but will never be the object of love or friendſhip. He muſt ſhow a diſpoſition to the good of mankind, at leaſt of his friends and neighbours: he muſt exert acts of humanity and benevolence, before he can hope to procure the affection of others.

BUT it is principally to be obſerved, that, in this account of morality, the terms right, obligation, duty, ought and ſhould, have no diſtinct meaning; which ſhows that the entire foundation of morality is not taken in by this author. It is true, that, towards the cloſe of his work, he endeavours to explain the meaning of the term obligation. But as criticiſing upon authors, thoſe eſpecially who have laid themſelves out to advance the cauſe of virtue, is not the moſt agreeable task; I would not chuſe to ſpend time, in ſhowing that he is unſucceſsful in his attempt. The ſlighteſt attention to the ſubject will make it evident. For his whole account of Obligation is no more than, ‘either [57] a motive from ſelf-intereſt, ſufficient to determine all thoſe who duly conſider it to a certain courſe of action,’ which ſurely is not moral obligation; ‘a determination, without regard to our own intereſt, to approve actions, and to perform them; which determination ſhall alſo make us diſpleaſed with ourſelves, and uneaſy upon having acted contrary to it;’ in which ſenſe, he ſays, there is naturally an obligation upon all men to benevolence. But this account falls far ſhort of the whole idea of obligation, and leaves no diſtinction betwixt it and a ſimple approbation or diſapprobation of the moral ſenſe; feelings that attend many actions, which by no means come under the notion of obligation or duty.

NEITHER is the author of the treatiſe upon human nature more ſucceſsful, when he endeavours to reſolve the moral ſenſe into pure ſympathy . According to this author, there is no more in morality but approving [58] or diſapproving of an action, after we diſcover by reflection that it tends to the good or hurt of ſociety. This would be by far too faint a principle to controul our irregular appetites and paſſions. It would ſcarce be ſufficient to reſtrain us from encroaching upon our friends and neighbours; and, with regard to ſtrangers, would be the weakeſt of all reſtraints. We ſhall, by and by, ſhow that morality has a more ſolid foundation. In the mean time, it is of importance to obſerve, that upon this author's ſyſtem, as well as Hutchiſon's, the noted terms of duty, obligation, ought and ſhould &c. are perfectly unintelligible.

WE ſhall now proceed to explain theſe terms, by pointing out the preciſe feelings which they expreſs. And, in performing this task, there will be diſcovered a wonderful and beautiful contrivance of the Author of our nature, to give authority to morality, by putting the ſelf-affections in a due ſubordination to the ſocial. The moral ſenſe has, in [59] part, been explained above; that, by it, we perceive ſome actions under the modification of being fit, right, and meet to be done, and others under the modification of being unfit, unmeet and wrong. When this obſervation is applied to particulars, it is an evident fact, that we have a ſenſe of fitneſs in kindly and beneficent actions. We approve of ourſelves and others for performing actions of this kind. As, on the other hand, we diſapprove of the unſociable, peeviſh and hard-hearted. But, with regard to one ſet of actions, there is a further modification of the moral ſenſe. Actions directed againſt others, by which they are hurt or prejudged in their perſons, in their fame, or in their goods, are the objects of a peculiar feeling. They are perceived and felt not only as unfit to be done, but as abſolutely wrong to be done, and what, at any rate, we ought not to do. What is here aſſerted, is a matter of fact, which can admit of no other proof than an appeal to every man's own feelings. Lay prejudice aſide, and give fair play to the emotions of the heart. I ask [60] no other conceſſion. There is no man, however irregular in his life and manners, however poiſoned by a wrong education, but muſt be ſenſible of this fact. And indeed the words which are to be found in all languages, and which are perfectly underſtood in the communication of ſentiments, are an evident demonſtration of it. Duty, obligation, ought and ſhould, in their common meaning, would be empty ſounds, unleſs upon ſuppoſition of ſuch a feeling.

THE caſe is the ſame with regard to gratitude to benefactors, and performing of engagements. We feel theſe as our duty in the ſtricteſt ſenſe, and as what we are indiſpenſibly obliged to. We don't conſider them as in any meaſure under our own power. We have the feeling of neceſſity, and of being bound and tied to performance, almoſt equally as if we were under ſome external compulſion.

IT is fit here to be remarked, that benevolent and generous actions are not the object [61] of this peculiar feeling. Hence, ſuch actions, tho' conſidered as fit and right to be done, are not however conſidered to be our duty, but as virtuous actions beyond what is ſtrictly our duty. Benevolence and generoſity are more beautiful, and more attractive of love and eſteem, than juſtice. Yet, not being ſo neceſſary to the ſupport of ſociety, they are left upon the general footing of approbatory pleaſure; while juſtice, faith, truth, without which ſociety could not at all ſubſiſt, are the objects of the above peculiar feeling, to take away all ſhadow of liberty, and to put us under a neceſſity of performance.

DOCTOR Butler, a manly and acute writer, has gone further than any other, to aſſign a juſt foundation for moral Duty. He conſiders * conſcience or reflection, ‘as one principle of action, which, compared with the reſt as they ſtand together in the nature of man, plainly bears upon it marks [62] of authority over all the reſt, and claims the abſolute direction of them all, to allow or forbid their gratification.’ And his proof of this propoſition is, ‘that a diſapprobation of reflection is in itſelf a principle manifeſtly ſuperior to a mere propenſion.’ Had this admirable author handled the ſubject more profeſſedly than he had occaſion to do in a preface, 'tis more than likely he would have brought it out into its cleareſt light. But he has not ſaid enough to afford that light which the ſubject is capable of. For it may be obſerved, in the firſt place, that a diſapprobation of reflection is far from being the whole of the matter. Such diſapprobation is applied to moroſeneſs, ſelfiſhneſs, and many other partial affections, which are, however, not conſidered in a ſtrict ſenſe as contrary to our duty. And it may be doubted, whether a diſapprobation of reflection is, in every caſe, a principle ſuperior to a mere propenſion. We diſapprove of a man who neglects his private affairs, and gives himſelf [63] up to love, hunting, or any other amuſement: nay, he diſapproves of himſelf. Yet from this we cannot fairly conclude, that he is guilty of any breach of duty, or that it is unlawful for him to follow his propenſion. We may obſerve, in the next place, what will be afterwards explained, that conſcience, or the moral ſenſe is none of our principles of action, but their guide and director. It is ſtill of greater importance to obſerve, that the authority of conſcience does not merely conſiſt in an act of reflection. It proceeds from a direct feeling, which we have upon preſenting the object, without the intervention of any ſort of reflection. And the authority lyes in this circumſtance, that we feel and perceive the action to be our duty, and what we are indiſpenſibly bound to perform. It is in this manner, that the moral ſenſe, with regard to ſome actions, plainly bears upon it the marks of authority over all our appetites and affections. It is the voice of God within us which commands our ſtricteſt obedience, [64] juſt as much as when his will is declared by expreſs revelation.

WHAT is above laid down is an analyſis of the moral ſenſe, but not the whole of it. A very important branch ſtill remains to be unfolded. And, indeed, the more we ſearch into the works of nature, the more opportunity there is to admire the wiſdom and goodneſs of the Sovereign Architect. In the matters above mentioned, performing of promiſes, gratitude, and abſtaining from harming others, we have not only the peculiar feeling and ſenſe of duty and obligation: in tranſgreſſing theſe duties we have not only the feeling of vice and wickedneſs, but we have further the ſenſe of merited puniſhment, and dread of its being inflicted upon us. This dread may be but ſlight in the more venial tranſgreſſions. But, in crimes of a deep dye, it riſes to a degree of anguiſh and deſpair. Hence that remorſe of conſcience, which hiſtories are full of, upon the commiſſion of certain crimes, and which proves [65] the moſt ſevere of all tortures. This dread of merited puniſhment operates for the moſt part ſo ſtrongly upon the imagination, that every unuſual accident, every extraordinary misfortune is conſidered as a puniſhment purpoſely inflicted for the crime committed. While the guilty perſon is in proſperity, he makes a ſhift to blunt the ſtings of his conſcience. But no ſooner does he fall into diſtreſs, or into any depreſſion of mind, than his conſcience lays faſt hold of him; his crime ſtares him in the face; and every accidental misfortune is converted into a real puniſhment. ‘And they ſaid one to another, we are verily guilty concerning our brother, in that we ſaw the anguiſh of his ſoul when he beſought us, and we would not hear: therefore is this diſtreſs come upon us. And Reuben anſwered them, ſaying, Spake I not unto you, ſaying, do not ſin againſt the child? and you would not hear. Therefore behold alſo his blood is required .’

[66] ONE material circumſtance is here to be remarked, which makes a further difference betwixt the primary and ſecondary virtues. As juſtice, and the other primary virtues, are more eſſential to ſociety than generoſity, benevolence, or any other ſecondary virtue, they are likeways more univerſal. Friendſhip, generoſity, ſoftneſs of manners, form particular characters, and ſerve to diſtinguiſh one man from another. But the ſenſe of juſtice, and of the other primary virtues, is univerſal. It belongs to man as ſuch. Tho' it exiſts in very different degrees of ſtrength, there perhaps never was a human creature abſolutely void of it. And it makes a delightful appearance in the human conſtitution, that even where this ſenſe is weak, as it is in ſome individuals, it notwithſtanding retains its authority as the director of their conduct. If there is any ſenſe of juſtice, or of abſtaining from injury, it muſt diſtinguiſh Right from Wrong, what we ought to do from what we ought not to do; and, by that very diſtinguiſhing feeling, juſtly claims to be our [67] guide and governor. This conſideration may ſerve to juſtify human laws, which make no diſtinction among men, as endued with a ſtronger or weaker ſenſe of morality.

AND here we muſt pauſe a moment, to indulge ſome degree of admiration upon this part of the human ſyſtem. Man is evidently intended to live in ſociety; and becauſe there can be no ſociety among creatures who prey upon one another, it was neceſſary, in the firſt place, to provide againſt mutual injuries. Further; man is the weakeſt of all creatures ſeparately, and the very ſtrongeſt in ſociety. Therefore mutual aſſiſtance is the principal end of ſociety. And to this end it was neceſſary, that there ſhould be mutual truſt and reliance upon engagements, and that favours received ſhould be thankfully repaid. Now nothing can be more finely adjuſted than the human heart to anſwer theſe purpoſes. 'Tis not ſufficient, that we approve of every action which is eſſential to the preſervation of ſociety. 'Tis not ſufficient, [68] that we diſapprove of every action which tends to its diſſolution. A ſimple ſenſe of approbation or diſapprobation will ſcarce be ſufficient to give theſe actions the ſanction of a law. But the approbation in this caſe has the peculiar feeling of duty, that theſe actions are what we ought to perform, and what we are indiſpenſibly bound to perform. This circumſtance converts into a law what without it can only be conſidered as a rational meaſure, and a prudential rule of action. Nor is any thing omitted to give it the moſt complete character of a law. The tranſgreſſion is attended with apprehenſion of puniſhment, nay with actual puniſhment; as every misfortune which befalls the tranſgreſſor is conſidered by him as a puniſhment. Nor is this the whole of the matter. Sympathy with our fellow-creatures is a principle implanted in the breaſt of every man: we cannot hurt another without ſuffering for it, which is an additional puniſhment. And we are ſtill further puniſhed for our injuſtice, or ingratitude, by incurring thereby the averſion and hatred of mankind.

CHAP. IV. Of the DIFFERENT ORDERS of MORAL BEAUTY.

[69]

IT is a fact which will be univerſally admitted, that no man thinks ſo highly of himſelf, or of another, for having done a juſt, as for having done a generous action: yet every one muſt be ſenſible, that juſtice is more eſſential than generoſity to the order and preſervation of ſociety; and why we ſhould place the greater merit upon the leſs eſſential action may appear unaccountable. This matter deſerves to be examined, becauſe it gives a further opening to the ſcience of morals.

UPON a ſmall degree of reflection, it will appear, that the whole ſyſtem of morals is founded upon the ſuppoſition of liberty of action *. If actions were underſtood to be [70] neceſſary, and no way under our power or controul, we could never conceive them as fit or unfit to be done; as what we are indiſpenſibly bound to do or not to do. To have ſuch a feeling of human actions, upon the ſuppoſition of neceſſity, would be as inconſiſtent as to have ſuch a feeling of the actions of matter. The celebrated diſpute about liberty and neceſſity is reſerved to be diſcuſsed in a following eſſay. But without entering upon that ſubject at preſent, one fact is certain, that in acting we have a feeling of liberty and independency. We never do a wrong, however ſtrong the motive be, which is not attended with a ſevere reflection, that we might have done otherways, and ought to have done otherways. Nay, during the very action, in the very time of it, we have a ſenſe or feeling of wrong, and that we ought to forbear. So that the moral ſenſe, both in the direct feeling, and in the act of reflection, plainly ſuppoſes and implies liberty of action.

[71] THIS, if we miſtake not, will clear the difficulty above ſtated. If in the moral ſenſe be involved liberty of action, there muſt of conſequence be the higheſt ſenſe or feeling of morality where liberty is greateſt. Now, in judging of human actions, thoſe actions, which are eſſential to the order and preſervation of ſociety, are conſidered to be in a good meaſure neceſſary. It is our ſtrict duty to be juſt and honeſt. We are bound by a law in our nature, which we ought not to tranſgreſs. No ſuch feeling of duty or obligation attends thoſe actions which come under the denomination of generoſity, greatneſs of mind, heroiſm. Juſtice, therefore, is conſidered as leſs free than generoſity; and, upon that very account, we aſcribe leſs merit to the former, than to the latter. We aſcribe no merit at all to an action which is altogether involuntary; and we aſcribe more or leſs merit, in proportion as the action is more or leſs voluntary.

[72] THUS there is diſcovered two ranks or claſſes of moral actions, which are different in their nature, and different as to the laws by which they are enforced. Thoſe of the firſt rank, being eſſential to the ſubſiſtence of ſociety, are entirely withdrawn from our election and choice. They are perceived as indiſpenſibly obligatory upon us; and the tranſgreſſion of the laws, which regulate this branch of our conduct, is attended with ſevere and never-failing puniſhment. In a word, there is not a characteriſtic of poſitive law which is not applicable, in the ſtricteſt ſenſe, to theſe laws of nature; with this material difference, that the ſanctions of theſe laws are greatly more efficacious than any have been that invented to enforce municipal laws. Thoſe of the ſecond rank, which contribute to the improvement of ſociety, but are not ſtrictly neceſſary to its ſubſiſtence, are left to our own choice. They have not the character of moral neceſſity impreſſed upon them, nor is the forbearance of them attended with the feeling of guilt. On [73] the other hand, the actions which belong to this rank are the objects of the ſtrongeſt feelings of moral beauty; of the higheſt degree of approbation, both from ourſelves and others. Offices of undeſerved kindneſs, requital of good for evil, generous toils and ſufferings for the good of our country, come under this claſs. Theſe are not made our duty. There is no motive to the performance, which, in any proper ſenſe, can be called a law. But there are the ſtrongeſt motives that can conſiſt with perfect freedom. The performance is rewarded with a conſciouſneſs of ſelf-merit, and with the praiſe and admiration of all the world, which are the higheſt and moſt refined pleaſures that human nature is ſuſceptible of.

THERE is ſo much of enthuſiaſm in this branch of moral beauty, that it is not wonderful to find perſons of a free and generous turn of mind captivated with it, who are leſs attentive to the virtues of the [74] firſt claſs. The magnanimous, who cannot bear reſtraint, are more guided by generoſity than juſtice. Yet, as pain is a ſtronger motive to action than pleaſure, the remorſe which attends a breach of ſtrict duty is, with the bulk of mankind, a more powerful incitement to honeſty, than praiſe and ſelf-approbation are to generoſity. And there cannot be a more pregnant inſtance of wiſdom than this part of the human conſtitution; it being far more eſſential to ſociety, that all men be juſt and honeſt, than that they be patriots and heroes.

THE ſum of what is above laid down is, that, with regard to actions of the firſt rank, the pain of tranſgreſſing the law is much greater than the pleaſure which reſults from obeying it. The contrary is the caſe of actions of the ſecond rank. The pleaſure ariſing from the performance is much greater than the pain of neglect. Among the vices oppoſite to the primary virtues, the [75] moſt ſtriking appearances of moral deformity are found. Among the ſecondary virtues, the moſt ſtriking appearances of moral beauty.

CHAP. V. Of the PRINCIPLES of ACTION.

[76]

IN the three foregoing chapters we have taken ſome pains to inquire into the moral ſenſe, and to annaliſe it into its different feelings. Our preſent task muſt be to inquire into thoſe principles in our nature which move us to action. Theſe are different ſubjects. For the moral ſenſe, properly ſpeaking, is not a principle which moves us to action. Its province is to inſtruct us, which of our principles of action we may indulge, and which of them we muſt reſtrain. It is the voice of God within us, informing us of our duty.

IN a treatiſe upon the law of nature it is of great importance to trace out the principles by which we are led to action. We have above obſerved, that the laws of nature can be no other than rules of action adapted to our nature. Now our nature, ſo far as [77] concerns action, is made up of appetites, paſſions and affections, which are the principles of action, and of the moral ſenſe, by which theſe principles are governed and directed. No action therefore is a duty, to the performance of which we are not prompted by ſome natural principle. To make ſuch an action our duty, would be to lay down a rule of conduct contrary to our nature, or that has no foundation in our nature. Conſcience, or the moral ſenſe, may reſtrain us from actions to which we are incited by a natural principle: but conſcience, or the moral ſenſe, is not, in any caſe, the ſole principle or motive of action. Nature has aſſigned it a different province. This is a truth which has been little attended to by thoſe who have given us ſyſtems of natural laws. No wonder, therefore, they have wandered ſo far from truth. Let it be kept cloſe in view, and it will put an end to many a controverſy about theſe laws. For example, if it be laid down as a primary law of nature, that we are ſtrictly bound to advance the [78] good of all, regarding our own intereſt no further than as it makes a part of the general happineſs, we may ſafely reject ſuch a law as inconſiſtent with our nature, unleſs it be made appear, that there is a principle of benevolence in man which prompts him to an equal purſuit of the happineſs of all. To found this diſintereſted ſcheme wholly upon the moral ſenſe, would be a fruitleſs endeavour. The moral ſenſe, as above obſerved, is our guide only, not our mover. Approbation or diſapprobation of theſe actions, to which, by ſome natural principle, we are antecedently directed, is all that can reſult from it. If it be laid down, on the other hand, that we ought only to regard ourſelves in all our actions, and that it is folly, if not vice, to concern ourſelves for others, ſuch a law can never be admitted, unleſs upon the ſuppoſition that ſelf-love is our only principle of action.

IT is probable, that, in the following particular, man differs from the brute creation. [79] Brutes are entirely governed by principles of action, which, in them, obtain the name of Inſtincts. They blindly follow their inſtincts, and are led by that inſtinct which is ſtrongeſt for the time. It is meet and fit they ſhould act after this manner, becauſe it is acting according to the whole of their nature. But for man to allow himſelf to be led implicitly by inſtinct, or his principles of action, without check or controul, is not acting according to the whole of his nature. He is endued with a moral ſenſe or conſcience, to check and controul his principles of action, and to inſtruct him which of them he may indulge, and which of them he ought to reſtrain. This account of the brute creation is undoubtedly true in the main: whether ſo in every particular is of no importance to the preſent ſubject, being only ſuggeſted by way of contraſt, to illuſtrate the peculiar nature of man.

AFULL account of our principles of action would be an endleſs theme. But as it is propoſed [80] to confine the preſent ſhort eſſay to the laws which govern ſocial life, we ſhall have no occaſion to inquire into any principles of action, but what are directed upon others; dropping theſe which have ſelf alone for their object. And, in this inquiry, we ſet out with a moſt important queſtion, ſeiz. In what ſenſe we are to hold a principle of univerſal benevolence, as belonging to human nature? When we conſider a ſingle man, abſtracted from all circumſtances and all connections, we are not conſcious of any benevolence to him: we feel nothing within us that prompts us to advance his happineſs. If one is agreeable at firſt ſight, and attracts any degree of affection, it is owing to looks, manner or behaviour. And for evidence of this, we are as apt to be diſguſted at firſt ſight, as to be pleaſed. Man is by nature a ſhy and timorous animal. Every new object gives an impreſſion of fear, till, upon better acquaintance, it is diſcovered to be harmleſs. Thus an infant clings to its nurſe upon the ſight of a new face; and [81] this natural dread is not removed but by long experience. If every human creature did produce affection in every other at firſt ſight, children, by natural inſtinct, would be fond of ſtrangers. But no ſuch inſtinct diſcovers itſelf. Fondneſs is confined to the nurſe, the parents, and thoſe who are moſt about the child; 'till, by degrees, it opens to a ſenſe of larger connections. This argument may be illuſtrated by a very low, but very apt inſtance. Dogs have, by nature, an affection for the human ſpecies; and, upon this account, puppies run to the firſt man they ſee, ſhow marks of fondneſs, and play about his feet. There is no ſuch general fondneſs of man to man by nature. Particular circumſtances are always required to produce and call it forth. Diſtreſs indeed never fails to beget ſympathy. The miſery of the moſt unknown is a painful object, and we are prompted by nature to afford relief. But when there is nothing to call forth our ſympathy; where there are no peculiar circumſtances to intereſt [82] us, or beget a connection, we reſt in a ſtate of indifference, and are not conſcious of wiſhing either good or ill to the perſon. Thoſe moraliſts, therefore, who require us to lay aſide all partial affection, and to act upon a principle of general equal benevolence to all men, require us to act upon a principle which in truth has no place in our nature.

NOTWITHSTANDING of this it may be juſtly ſaid, that man is endued with a principle of univerſal benevolence. For the happineſs of mankind is an object agreeable to the mind in contemplation; and good men have a ſenſible pleaſure in every ſtudy or purſuit by which they can promote it. It muſt indeed be acknowledged, that benevolence is not equally directed to all men, but gradually decreaſes, according to the diſtance of the object, 'till it dwindle away to nothing. But here comes in a happy contrivance of nature, to ſupply the want of benevolence towards diſtant objects; which is, to give power [83] to an abſtract term, ſuch as our religion, our country, our government, or even mankind, to raiſe benevolence or publick ſpirit in the mind. The particular objects under each of theſe claſſes, conſidered ſingly and apart, may have little or no force to produce affection; but when comprehended under one general term, they become an object that dilates and warms the heart: and, in this way, man is enabled to embrace in his affection all mankind, and thereby prompted to publick ſpirited actions.

HE muſt have a great ſhare of indifference in his temper who can reflect upon this branch of human nature without ſome degree of emotion. There is perhaps not one ſcene to be met with in the natural or moral world, where more of deſign and of conſummate wiſdom are diſplayed, than in this under conſideration. The authors, who, impreſſed with reverence for human nature, have endeavoured to exalt it to the higheſt pitch, could none of them ſtretch their imagination beyond a principle of equal and univerſal [84] benevolence. And a very fine ſcheme it is in idea. But unluckily it is entirely of the Utopian kind, altogether unfit for life and action. It has eſcaped the conſideration of theſe authors, that man is by nature of a limited capacity, and that his affection, by multiplication of objects, inſtead of being increaſed, is ſplit into parts, and weakened by diviſion. A principle of univerſal equal benevolence, by dividing the attention and affection, inſtead of promoting benevolent actions, would in reality be an obſtruction to them. The mind would be diſtracted by the multiplicity of objects that have an equal influence, ſo as to be eternally at a loſs where to ſet out. But the human ſyſtem is better adjuſted, than to admit of ſuch diſproportion betwixt ability and affection. The principal objects of man's love are his friends and relations. He has to ſpare for his neighbours. His affection leſſens gradually in proportion to the diſtance of the object, 'till it vaniſh altogether. But were this the whole of human nature, with regard to benevolence, [85] man would be but an abject creature. By a very happy contrivance, objects which, becauſe of their diſtance, have little or no influence, are made by accumulation, and by being gathered together, in one general view, to have the very ſtrongeſt effect; exceeding in many inſtances the moſt lively affection that is beſtowed upon particular objects. By this happy contrivance the attention of the mind, and its affections, are preſerved entire, to be beſtowed upon general objects, inſtead of being diſſipated by an endleſs diviſion. Nothing more ennobles human nature than this principle or ſpring of action; and, at the ſame time, nothing is more wonderful, than that a general term, to which a very faint, if any, idea is affixt, ſhould be the foundation of a more intenſe affection than is beſtowed, for the moſt part, upon particular objects, how attractive ſoever. When we talk of our country, our religion, our government, the ideas annexed to theſe general terms are at beſt obſcure and indiſtinct. General terms are extremely uſeful [86] in language, ſerving, like mathematical ſigns, to communicate our thoughts in a ſummary way. But the uſe of them is not confined to language. They ſerve for a much nobler purpoſe, to excite us to generous and benevolent actions, of the moſt exalted kind; not confined to particulars, but graſping whole ſocieties, towns, countries, kingdoms, nay, all mankind. By this curious mechaniſm, the defect of our nature is amply remedied. Diſtant objects, otherways inſenſible, are rendered conſpicuous. Accumulation makes them great, and greatneſs brings them near the eye. The affection is preſerved, to be beſtowed entire, as upon a ſingle object. And to ſay all in one word, this ſyſtem of benevolence, which is really founded in human nature, and not the invention of man, is infinitely better contrived to advance the good and happineſs of mankind, than any Utopian ſyſtem that ever has been produced, by the warmeſt imagination.

[87] UPON the oppoſite ſyſtem of abſolute ſelfiſhneſs, there is no occaſion to loſe a moment. It is evidently chimerical, becauſe it has no foundation in human nature. It is not more certain, that there exiſts the creature man, than that he has principles of action directed entirely upon others; ſome to do them good, and others to do them miſchief. Who can doubt of this, when friendſhip, compaſſion, gratitude on the one hand; and, on the other, malice and reſentment are conſidered. It has indeed been obſerved, that we indulge ſuch paſſions and affections merely for our own gratification. But no perſon can reliſh this obſervation, who is in any meaſure acquainted with human nature. The ſocial affections are in fact the ſource of the deepeſt afflictions, as well as of the moſt exalted pleaſures, as has been fully laid open in the foregoing eſſay. In a word, we are evidently formed by nature for ſociety, and for indulging the ſocial, as well as the ſelfiſh paſſions; and therefore, to contend, that we ought only to regard ourſelves, and to be [88] influenced by no principles but what are ſelfiſh, is directly to fly in the face of nature, and to lay down a rule of conduct inconſiſtent with our nature.

THESE ſyſtems being laid aſide, as widely erring from the nature of man, the way lyes open to come at what are his true and genuine principles of action. The firſt thing that nature conſults, is the preſervation of her creatures. Hence the love of life is made the ſtrongeſt of all inſtincts. Upon the ſame foundation, pain is in a greater degree the object of averſion, than pleaſure is of deſire. Pain warns us of what tends to our diſſolution, and ſo is a ſtrong guard to ſelf-preſervation: Pleaſure is often ſought after unwarily, and by means dangerous to health and life. Pain comes in as a monitor of our danger; and nature, conſulting our preſervation in the firſt place, and our gratification only in the ſecond, wiſely gives pain more force to draw us back, than it gives pleaſure to puſh us forward.

[89] THE ſecond principle of action is ſelf-love, or deſire of our own happineſs and good. This is a ſtronger principle than benevolence, or love beſtowed upon others; and in that reſpect is wiſely ordered, becauſe every man has more power, knowledge, and opportunity to promote his own good, than that of others. Thus the good of individuals is principally truſted to their own care. It is agreeable to the limited nature of ſuch a creature as man, that it ſhould be ſo, and conſequently it is wiſely ordered that every man ſhould have the ſtrongeſt affection for himſelf.

THE above principles have Self for their object. The following regard others. Fidelity is undoubtedly a principle of action not of the weakeſt ſort. Performance of promiſes, the ſtanding true to engagements, and in general the executing of truſts, come under this head. Therefore friendſhip belongs to this principle, which ſuppoſes a mutual engagement; and alſo love to children, who by nature are entruſted to our care.

[90] GRATITUDE is a fourth principle of action, univerſally acknowledged; and Benevolence poſſeſſes the laſt place, diverſified by its objects, and exerting itſelf more vigorouſly, or more faintly, in proportion to the diſtance of particular objects, and the grandeur of thoſe that are general. This principle of action has one remarkable modification, that it operates with much greater force to relieve thoſe in diſtreſs, than to promote poſitive good. In the caſe of diſtreſs, ſympathy comes to its aid, and, in that circumſtance, it acquires the name of compaſſion.

THESE ſeveral principles of action are ordered, with admirable wiſdom, to promote the general good in the beſt and moſt effectual manner. We act for the general good, when we act upon theſe principles, even when it is not our immediate aim. The general good is an object too ſublime, and too remote, to be the ſole impulſive motive to action. It is better ordered, that, in moſt inſtances, individuals ſhould have a limited aim, [91] which they can readily accompliſh. To every man is aſſigned his own task. And, if every man do his duty, the general good will be promoted much more ſucceſsfully, than if it were the aim in every ſingle action.

THE above mentioned principles of action belong to man as ſuch, and conſtitute what may be called the common nature of man. Many other principles exert themſelves upon particular objects in the inſtinctive manner, without the intervention of any ſort of reaſoning or reflection, which alſo belong to man as ſuch, appetite for food, luſt, &c. Other particular appetites, paſſions and affections, ſuch as ambition, avarice, envy, love of novelty, of grandeur, &c. conſtitute the peculiar nature of individuals; becauſe theſe are diverſified among individuals in very different degrees. It belongs to the ſcience of Ethics, to treat of theſe particular principles of action. All that needs here be obſerved of them is, that it is the aim of the general principle of ſelf-love to obtain gratification to theſe particular principles.

CHAP. VI. Of the SOURCE of the LAWS of NATURE, according to ſome Authors.

[92]

HAVING thus at full length explained the nature of man, ſo far as concerns the preſent ſubject, it may not be diſagreeable to the reader, to have ſome relaxation, before he enters upon the remaining part of the work. We ſhall fill up this interval with a view of ſome opinions, about the foundation of the laws of nature, which we cannot help judging to be inaccurate, if not erroneous. The epiſode is, at the ſame time, ſtrictly connected with the principal ſubject; becauſe truth is always beſt illuſtrated by oppoſing it to error. That morality depends entirely on the will of God, and that his will creates the only obligation we ly under to be virtuous, is the opinion of ſeveral writers. This opinion, in one ſenſe, is true; but far from being true in their ſenſe who inculcate it. And, true or falſe, it does [93] not advance us a ſingle ſtep in the knowledge of our duty. For what does it avail to know, that morality depends upon the will of God, 'till we once know what his will is? If it be ſaid, there is an original revelation of it to us in our nature, this can only mean, that our nature itſelf makes us feel the diſtinction betwixt virtue and vice, which is the very doctrine above laid down. But, ſay they, God, from the purity and rectitude of his nature, cannot but approve of good actions, and diſapprove of ſuch as are otherways. Here they don't conſider, that this argument ſuppoſes a diſtinction betwixt virtue and vice antecedent to the will of God. For if, abſtracting from his will, virtue and vice were indifferent, which is ſuppoſed in the propoſition, we have no Data from the purity of God's nature, or from any other principle, to conclude, that virtue is more the object of his choice than vice. But, further, the very ſuppoſition of the purity and rectitude of the nature of the Divine Being preſuppoſes a taſte, feeling, or knowledge in [94] us of an eſſential difference betwixt virtue and vice. Therefore it can never be ſaid, in any proper ſenſe, that our only obligation to virtue is the will of God, ſeeing it is true, that, abſtracting altogether from his will, there is an obligation to virtue founded in the very frame of our nature.

IN one ſenſe, indeed, it is true, that morality depends upon the will of God, who made us ſuch as we are, with a moral ſenſe to diſtinguiſh virtue from vice. But this is ſaying no more but that it is God's will, or that it is agreeable to him we ſhould be virtuous. It is another thing to maintain, that man is indifferent to virtue and vice, and that he is under no obligation to the one more than to the other, unleſs ſo far as he is determined by the arbitrary will of a ſuperior, or ſovereign. That a being may be ſo framed as to anſwer this deſcription, may be yielded. But, taking man as he is, endued with a moral ſenſe, 'tis a direct contradiction to hold, that he is under no obligation to [95] virtue, other than the mere will of God. In this ſenſe, morality no more depends upon the will of God, than upon our own will.

WE ſhall next take a view of a doctrine, which may be ſet in oppoſition to the foregoing, and that is Dr. Clarke's demonſtration of the unalterable obligation of moral duty. His propoſition is, ‘That, from the eternal and neceſſary differences of things, there naturally and neceſſarily ariſe certain moral obligations, which are of themſelves incumbent on all rational creatures, antecedent to all poſitive inſtitution, and to all expectation of reward or puniſhment.’ And this propoſition he demonſtrates in the following manner: ‘That there is a fitneſs of certain circumſtances to certain perſons, and an unfitneſs of others, antecedent to poſitive laws; and that, from the different relations of different things, there ariſes a fitneſs and unfitneſs of certain behaviour of ſome perſons. For inſtance, God is ſuperior to man, and [96] therefore it is fit that man ſhould worſhip him.’

IF this demonſtration, as it is called, be the only or principal foundation of morals, unlucky it is, that a doctrine of ſuch importance ſhould have ſo long been hid from the publick. The antients, however, carried the obligation of morals perhaps as far as this eminent divine does. And now that the important diſcovery is made, it is not likely to do great ſervice; conſidering how little the bulk of mankind are able to enter into abſtruſe reaſoning, and how little influence ſuch reaſoning generally has after it is apprehended.

BUT abſtruſeneſs is not the only imperfection of this celebrated argument. It appears to me altogether inconcluſive. Laying aſide perception and feeling, upon which the doctor founds no part of his demonſtration, I ſhould be utterly at a loſs, from any given relation betwixt perſons, to draw a concluſion [97] of the fitneſs or unfitneſs of a certain courſe of behaviour. ‘God is our ſuperior, and therefore it is fit we ſhould worſhip him.’ But here I put the queſtion, upon what principle of reaſon does this concluſion reſt? where is the connecting propoſition by means of which the inference is drawn? Here the doctor muſt be utterly at a loſs. For the truth of the matter is, that the terms fitneſs and unfitneſs, in their preſent ſignification, depend entirely upon the moral ſenſe. Fitneſs and unfitneſs, with regard to a certain end or purpoſe, are qualities of actions which may be gathered from experience. But fitneſs or unfitneſs of actions, as importing right or wrong, as denoting what we ought to do, or abſtain from, have truly no meaning, unleſs upon ſuppoſition of a moral ſenſe, which this learned divine never once dreams of taking into his argument. The doctor's error therefore is a common one, that he endeavours to ſubſtitute reaſon in place of feeling. The fitneſs of worſhipping our Creator was obvious [98] to him, as it is to every man, becauſe it is founded in our very nature. It is equally obvious with the preference of honeſty to diſhoneſty. His only miſtake is, that, overlooking the law written in his own heart, he vainly imagines that his metaphyſical argument is juſt, becauſe the conſequence he draws from it happens to be true. And to ſatisfy even his moſt devoted diſciples, that this is the caſe, let us only ſuppoſe, that man, by nature, had no approbatory or diſapprobatory feeling of actions, it could never be evinced, by any abſtract argument whatever, that the worſhip of the Deity is his duty, or, in the moral ſenſe of fitneſs, that it is more fit for him to be honeſt than to be diſhoneſt.

AND, upon this head, we will take the liberty to add, becauſe it is of importance to the ſubject in general, that, ſuppoſing our duty could be made plain to us, by an abſtract chain of reaſoning, yet we have good ground to conclude, from analogy, that the Author of nature has not left our actions to [99] be directed by ſo weak a principle as reaſon: and a weak principle it muſt be to the bulk of mankind, who have little capacity to enter into abſtract reaſoning; whatever effect it may have upon the learned and contemplative. Nature has dealt more kindly by us. We are compelled by ſtrong and evident feelings, to perform all the different duties of life. Self-preſervation is not left to the conduct of reaſon, but is guarded by the ſtrongeſt inſtinct, which makes us carefully, or rather mechanically, avoid every appearance of danger. The propagation of the ſpecies is enforced by the moſt importunate of all appetites, and the care of our offſpring by a lively and conſtant affection. Is nature ſo deficient, as to leave the duty we owe our neighbour, which ſtands in the firſt rank of duties, to be directed by cool reaſoning? This is not according to the analogy of nature, nor is it fact: witneſs compaſſion, friendſhip, benevolence, and all the tribe of the ſocial affections. Neither is common juſtice left upon this footing, the [100] moſt uſeful, tho' not the moſt exalted virtue. The tranſgreſſion of it is attended with a ſevere feeling of diſapprobation, and alſo enforced by other feelings ſtill more cogent and authoritative.

A LATE author *, whom I ſhall juſt mention by the way, gives a whimſical ſyſtem of morals. He endeavours to reduce all crimes to that of telling a lie; and, becauſe telling a lie is immoral, he concludes, that the ſeveral crimes he mentions are immoral. Robbery, for example, is acting or telling a lie; becauſe it is in effect ſaying, that the goods I ſeiſe are mine. Adultery is acting or telling a lie, becauſe it is in effect maintaining that my neighbour's wife is not his, but mine. But not to inſiſt upon the folly of giving all crimes the ſame character, and confounding their nature, it appears evident, that, in this argument, the very thing is taken for granted which is to be proved. For why is it a virtual lie to rob one of his goods? Is [101] it not by impoſing upon mankind, who muſt preſume thoſe goods to be mine, which I take as my own? But does not this evidently preſuppoſe a difference betwixt meum and tuum, and that I ought not to make free with another's property without his conſent? For what other reaſon are the goods preſumed to be mine, but that it is unlawful to meddle with what belongs to another? The ſame obſervation will apply to all his other tranſmutations; for, in acting or telling the lie, it is conſtantly taken for granted, that the action is wrong in itſelf. And this very wrong is the circumſtance which is ſuppoſed, in the reaſoning, to impoſe upon the ſpectators. The error therefore of this author is of the ſame nature with Dr. Clark's, in his ſyſtem above examined. It is an evident petitio principii: the very thing is taken for granted which is undertaken to be proved. With regard to the preſent ſubject, we have no occaſion further to obſerve of this curious author, that when he draws ſo ſtrong conſequences from telling a lie, it was to be expected he ſhould [102] have ſet in the cleareſt light the immorality of that action. But this he does not ſo much as attempt, leaving it upon the conviction of one's own mind. This indeed he might ſafely do; but not more ſafely than to leave upon the ſame conviction all the other crimes he treats of.

CHAP. VII. Of JUSTICE and INJUSTICE.

[103]

JUSTICE is that moral virtue which guards property, and gives authority to covenants. And as it is made out above, that juſtice, being eſſentially neceſſary to the maintenance of ſociety, is one of thoſe primary virtues which are enforced by the ſtrongeſt natural laws, it would be unneceſſary to ſay more upon the ſubject, were it not for a doctrine eſpouſed by the author of a treatiſe upon human nature, that juſtice, ſo far from being one of the primary virtues, is not even a natural virtue, but eſtabliſhed in ſociety by a ſort of tacit convention, founded upon a notion of public intereſt. The figure which this author deſervedly makes in the learned world, is too conſiderable, to admit of his being paſt over in ſilence. And as it is of great importance to creatures who live in ſociety, to have juſtice eſtabliſhed upon its moſt ſolid foundation, a chapter expreſsly upon [104] this ſubject may perhaps not be unacceptable to the reader.

OUR author's doctrine, ſo far as it concerns that branch of juſtice by which property is ſecured, comes to this; that, in a ſtate of nature, there can be no ſuch thing as property; and that the idea of property ariſes, after juſtice is eſtabliſhed by convention, whereby every one is ſecured in his poſſeſſions. In oppoſition to this ſingular doctrine, there is no difficulty to make out, that we have an idea of property, antecedent to any ſort of agreement or convention; that property is founded on a natural principle; and that violation of property is attended with remorſe, and a ſenſe of breach of duty. In following out this ſubject, it will appear how admirably the ſprings of human nature are adapted one to another, and to external circumſtances.

MAN is by nature fitted for labour, and his enjoyment lyes in action. To this internal [105] conſtitution his external circumſtances are finely adapted. The ſurface of this globe does ſcarce yield ſpontaneouſly food for the greateſt ſavages; but, by labour and induſtry, it is made to furniſh not only the conveniencies, but even the luxuries of life. In this ſituation, it is wiſely ordered, that man ſhould labour for himſelf and his family, by providing a ſtock of neceſſaries for them, before he think of ſerving others. The great principle of ſelf-preſervation directs him to this courſe. Now this very diſpoſition of providing againſt want, which is common to man with many other creatures, involves the idea of property. The ground I cultivate, and the houſe I build, muſt be conſidered as mine, otherways I labour to no purpoſe. There is a peculiar connection betwixt a man and the fruits of his induſtry felt by every one; which is the very thing we call property. Were all the conveniencies of life, like air and water, provided to our hand without labour, or were we diſpoſed to labour for the publick, without any ſelfiſh [106] affections, there would be no ſenſe of property, at leaſt ſuch a ſenſe would be ſuperfluous and unneceſſary. But when ſelf-preſervation, the moſt eminent of our principles of action, directs every individual to labour for himſelf in the firſt place; man, without a ſenſe or feeling of property, would be an abſurd being. Every man therefore muſt have a notion of property, with regard to the things acquired by his own labour, for this is the very meaning of working for one's ſelf: property, ſo far, is neceſſarily connected with ſelf-preſervation. But the idea of property is eſſentially the ſame, whether it relate to myſelf, or to another. There is no difference, but what is felt in ſurveying the goods of any two indifferent perſons. And, were it conſiſtent for a man to have the idea of his own property, without having a notion of property in another; ſuch a man would be a very imperfect being, and altogether unqualified for ſociety. If it could be made out, that ſuch is the conſtitution of mankind in general, I ſhould be much diſpoſed [107] to believe that we were made by a fortuitous concourſe of atoms. But the conſtitution of man is more wiſely framed, and more happily adjuſted to his external circumſtances. Not only man, but all provident creatures who have the hording quality, are endued with the ſenſe or feeling of property; which effectually ſecures each individual, in the enjoyment of the fruits of its own labour. And accordingly we find, in peruſing the hiſtory of mankind, as far back as we have any traces of it, that there never has been, among any people or tribe, ſuch a thing as the poſſeſſion of goods in common. For, even before agriculture was invented, when men lived upon the natural fruits of the earth, tho' the plenty of paſture made ſeparate poſſeſſions unneceſſary, yet individuals had their own cattle, and enjoyed the produce of their cattle ſeparately.

AND it muſt not be overlooked, that this ſenſe of property is fortified by another principle. Every man has a peculiar affection [108] for what he poſſeſſes, excluſive of others, and for what he calls his own. He applies his skill and induſtry with great alacrity to improve his own ſubject: his affection to it grows with the time of his poſſeſſion; and he puts a much greater value upon it, than upon any ſubject of the ſame kind that belongs to another.

HERE then is property eſtabliſhed by the conſtitution of our nature, antecedent to all human conventions. We are led by nature to conſider goods acquired by our induſtry and labour as belonging to us, and as our own. We have the ſenſe or feeling of property, and conceive theſe goods to be our own, juſt as much as we conceive our hands, our feet, and our other members to be our own; and we have a ſenſe or feeling equally clear of the property of others. What is here aſſerted is a matter of fact, of which there can be no other deciſive evidence, than to appeal to every man's own feelings. At the ſame time we need ſcarce any other proof of this [109] fact, than that yours and mine are terms familiar with the greateſt ſavages, and even with children. They muſt have feelings which correſpond to theſe terms; otherways the terms would not be intelligible to them.

BUT this is not all that is involved in the ſenſe or feeling of property. We not only ſuffer pain in having our goods taken from us by force; for that would happen were they deſtroyed or loſt by accident. We have the feeling of wrong and injuſtice. The perſon who robs us has the ſame feeling, and every mortal who beholds the action conſiders it as vicious and contrary to right.

BUT it is not ſufficient to have overturned the foundation of our author's doctrine. We will proceed to make ſome obſervations upon it, to ſhow how ill it hangs together.

AND, in the firſt place, he appears to reaſon not altogether conſiſtently in making out his ſyſtem. He founds juſtice on a general [110] ſenſe of common intereſt *. And yet, at no greater diſtance than a few pages, he endeavours to make out , and does it ſucceſsfully, that public intereſt is a motive too remote and too ſublime to affect the generality of mankind, and to operate, with any force, in actions ſo contrary to private intereſt as are frequently thoſe of juſtice, and common honeſty.

IN the ſecond place, abſtracting from the ſenſe of property, it does not appear, that a ſenſe of common intereſt would neceſſarily lead to ſuch a regulation, as that every man ſhould have the undiſturbed enjoyment of what he has acquired by his induſtry or good fortune. Suppoſing no ſenſe of property, I do not ſee it inconſiſtent with ſociety, to have a Lacedemonian conſtitution, that every man may lawfully take what by addreſs he can make himſelf maſter of, without force or violence. The depriving us of that to which we have no affection, would [111] be doing little more than drinking in our brook, or breathing in our air. At any rate, ſuch a refined regulation would never be conſidered of importance enough, to be eſtabliſhed, upon the very commencement of ſociety. It muſt come late, if at all, and be the effect of long experience, and great refinement in the art of living. It is very true, that, abſtaining from the goods of others is a regulation, without which ſociety cannot well ſubſiſt. But the neceſſity of this regulation ariſes from the ſenſe of property, without which a man would ſuffer little pain in loſing his goods, and would have no feeling of wrong or injuſtice. There does not appear any way to evade the force of the above reaſoning, other than peremptorily to deny the reality of the ſenſe of property. Others may, but our author, I think, cannot with a good grace do it. An appeal may be ſafely made to his own authority. For is it not evidently this ſenſe, which has ſuggeſted to him the neceſſity, in the inſtitution of every ſociety, to ſecure individuals in their [112] poſſeſſions? He cannot but be ſenſible, that, abſtracting from the affection for property, the neceſſity would be juſt nothing at all. But our feelings operate ſilently and imperceptibly; and there is nothing more common than to ſtrain for far-fetched arguments in ſupport of concluſions which are ſuggeſted by the ſimpleſt and moſt obvious feelings.

A THIRD obſervation is, that ſince our author reſolves all virtue into ſympathy, why ſhould he with-hold the ſame principle from being the foundation of juſtice? why ſhould not ſympathy give us a painful ſenſation, in depriving our neighbour of the goods he has acquired by induſtry, as well as in depriving him of his life or limb? For it is a fact too evident to be denied, that many men are more uneaſy at the loſs of their goods, than at the loſs of a member.

AND, in the laſt place, were juſtice only founded on a general ſenſe of common intereſt, [113] it behoved to be the weakeſt feeling in human nature, eſpecially where injuſtice committed againſt a ſtranger is, with whom we are not connected by any degree of benevolence. Now this is contrary to all experience. The ſenſe of injuſtice is one of the ſtrongeſt that belongs to humanity, and is attended with many peculiar modifications, viz. a feeling of acting contrary to the ſtricteſt obligations of duty, and a feeling of merited puniſhment for the wrong committed. Had our author but once reflected upon theſe peculiar feelings, he never could have been ſatisfied with the ſlight foundation he gives to juſtice; for theſe feelings are altogether unaccountable upon his ſyſtem.

THAT branch of juſtice, which regards promiſes and covenants, appears alſo to have a moſt ſolid foundation in human nature; notwithſtanding of what is laid down by our author in two diſtinct propoſitions , ‘That a promiſe would not be intelligible, before [114] human conventions had eſtabliſhed it; and that even, if it were intelligible, it would not be attended with any moral obligation.’ As man is framed for ſociety, mutual truſt and confidence, without which there can be no ſociety, enter into the character of the human ſpecies. Correſpondent to theſe, are the principles of veracity and fidelity. And, in this particular, among many, it is admirable to obſerve how accurately theſe principles are adapted to each other. Veracity and fidelity would be of no ſignificancy, were men not diſpoſed to have faith, and to rely upon what is ſaid to them, whether in the way of evidence or engagement. Faith and truſt, on the other hand, would be very hurtful principles, were mankind void of veracity and fidelity: for, upon that ſuppoſition, the world would be over-run with fraud and deceit. Suppoſing a ſociety once eſtabliſhed, the ſecurity of property, as well as of life, is indeed eſſentially neceſſary to its continuance and preſervation. For, were [115] men in danger from their fellows, the condition of man behoved to be the ſame with that of ſavage animals, who, upon that very account, ſhun all manner of commerce. But fidelity and veracity are ſtill more eſſential to ſociety, becauſe, without theſe principles, there cannot be ſuch a thing as ſociety at all: it could never have a beginning. 'Tis juſtly obſerved by our author, that man, in a ſolitary ſtate, is the moſt helpleſs of beings; and that by ſociety alone he is enabled to ſupply his defects, and to acquire a ſuperiority over his fellow creatures; that by conjunction of forces, our power is augmented; by partition of employments, we work to better purpoſe; and, by mutual ſuccour, we acquire ſecurity. But, without mutual fidelity and truſt, we could enjoy none of theſe advantages: without them, we could not have any comfortable intercourſe with one another: ſo that they are neceſſary even to the conſtitution of ſociety. Hence it is, that treachery is the vileſt of crimes, and what mankind have ever held in the [116] utmoſt abhorrence. It is worſe than murder, becauſe it forms a character, and is directed againſt all mankind; whereas, murder is only a tranſitory act, directed againſt a ſingle perſon. Infidelity is of the ſame ſpecies with treachery. The eſſence of both crimes is the ſame, to wit, breach of truſt. Treachery has only this aggravating circumſtance, that it turns the confidence repoſed in me, againſt the friend who truſts me. Now breach of promiſe is a ſpecies of infidelity; and therefore our author has but a ſingle choice. He muſt either maintain, that treachery is no crime, or that breach of promiſe is a crime. And, in fact, that it is ſo, every man muſt bear evidence to himſelf. The performance of a deliberate promiſe has, in all ages, been conſidered as a duty. We have that ſenſe and feeling of a promiſe, as what we are bound to perform by a ſtrict obligation; and the breach of promiſe is attended with the ſame natural ſtings, which attend other crimes, ſciz. remorſe, and merited puniſhment.

[117] IT is evident from the above, that it is but an imperfect conception of a promiſe to conſider it as our author does *, with relation only to the perſon who makes the promiſe. In this internal act two perſons are concerned; the perſon who makes the promiſe, and the perſon to whom the promiſe is made. Were there by nature no truſt nor reliance upon promiſes, breach of promiſe would be a matter of indifferency. Therefore the eſſence of a promiſe conſiſts in keeping faith. The reliance upon us, produced by our own act, conſtitutes the obligation. We feel ourſelves bound to perform: we conſider it as our duty. And when we violate our engagement, we have a ſenſe of moral turpitude in diſappointing the perſon who relied upon our faith.

WE ſhall cloſe this ſubject, concerning the foundation of juſtice, with a general reflection. Running over every branch of our duty, what concerns ourſelves as well as our [118] neighbours, we find, that nature has been more provident, than to truſt us entirely to the guidance of cool reaſon. It is obſerved above, that our duty is enforced by inſtinct and appetite, as well as it is directed by reaſon. Now, if man be a ſocial being, and juſtice eſſential to ſociety, it is not according to the analogy of nature, that we ſhould be left to inveſtigate this branch of our duty by a chain of reaſoning, eſpecially where the reaſoning turns upon ſo remote an object as that of publick good. May we not apply to juſtice, what is ſo beautifully reaſoned concerning ſociety, in a dialogue upon happineſs *: ‘If ſociety be thus agreeable to our nature, is there nothing within us to excite and lead us to it? no impulſe; no preparation of faculties? It would be ſtrange if there ſhould not.’ If we are fitted by our nature for ſociety; if pity, benevolence, friendſhip, love, the general diſlike of ſolitude, and deſire of company, are natural affections, all of them conducive to [119] ſociety, it would be ſtrange if there ſhould be no natural affections, no preparation of faculties, to direct us to do juſtice, which is ſo eſſential to ſociety. But nature has not failed us here, more than in the other parts of our conſtitution. We have a feeling of property; we have a feeling of obligation to perform our engagements; and we have a feeling of wrong in encroaching upon property, and in being untrue to our engagements. Society could not ſubſiſt without theſe affections, more than it could ſubſiſt without the ſocial affections properly ſo called. We have reaſon, a priori, to conclude equally in favours of both, and we find, upon examination, our concluſion to be juſt.

CHAP. VIII. Of the PRIMARY LAWS of NATURE.

[120]

WE are now come to the thing principally intended in this eſſay, which is to give a general view of the primary laws of nature. Action ought to be the end and aim of all our inquiries; without which, moral, as well as metaphyſical, reaſonings are but empty ſpeculation. And, as life and manners are more peculiarly the object of the moral ſcience, it was to be expected, that the weight and importance of the ſubject, ſhould have brought authors to one way of thinking. But it is lamentable to find the world divided about theſe primary laws, almoſt as much as they commonly are about the moſt airy and abſtract points. Some authors acknowledge no principle in man, but what is altogether ſelfiſh; and it is curious to obſerve how they wreſt and torture every ſocial principle, to give it the appearance of ſelfiſhneſs. Others exalt human nature much [121] bove its juſt ſtandard, give no quarter to ſelfiſhneſs, but conſider man as bound to direct every action to the good of the whole, and not to prefer his own intereſt to that of others. The celebrated lord Shaftesbury goes ſo far as not to admit of any thing like partial benevolence; holding, that if it is not entire, and directed to the whole ſpecies, it is not benevolence at all. It is not difficult to aſſign a cauſe for ſuch difference in opinion; tho' it may appear ſtrange, that authors ſhould differ ſo widely upon a ſubject, which every man ought to be acquainted with, becauſe the ſubject is his own conſtitution. There is nothing more common in philoſophy, as well as in life and action, than to build caſtles in the air. Impatient of the ſlow and cold method of induction, we fly to ſyſtems, which every writer takes the liberty of framing, according to his own taſte and fancy. Fond of the fabric which he himſelf has erected, 'tis far from his thoughts to ſubject it to examination, by trying whether [122] it will ſtand the teſt of ſtubborn facts. Men of narrow minds and contracted principles, naturally fall in with the ſelfiſh ſyſtem. The ſyſtem of univerſal benevolence attracts the generous and warm-hearted. In the midſt of various and oppoſite opinions, the purpoſe of this eſſay is to ſearch for truth by the patient method of induction; and, after what is above laid down, it will not be difficult to find it.

LET us only recapitulate, that the principles of action furniſh motives to action, and that the moral ſenſe is given as an inſtructor to regulate our actions, to enforce one motive, to reſtrain another, and to prefer one to another, when they are in competition. Hence the laws of nature may be defined to be rules of our conduct and behaviour, founded on natural principles, approved of by the moral ſenſe, and enforced by natural rewards and puniſhments.

[123] IN ſearching for theſe laws, it muſt be obvious, that we may ſafely indulge every principle of action, where the action is not diſapproved of by the moral ſenſe, and that we ought to perform every action which the moral ſenſe informs us to be our duty. From this ſhort propoſition, may be readily deduced all the laws of nature which govern human actions. Tho', in the preſent eſſay, the duty which a man owes to himſelf, where others are not concerned, is not comprehended.

AND, with regard to our general principles of action, ſelf-preſervation being the leading principle, it is hard to ſay, that any means, ſtrictly ſpeaking, are unlawful, to attain that end. If two men in a ſhip-wreck get hold at the ſame inſtant of a plank, which is not bulky enough to ſupport both, it is lawful for the one to thruſt off the other, in order to ſave his own life. This action is not condemned by the moral ſenſe: It is not attended with any feeling of wrong. In like [124] manner, it is lawful for a man to ſeize upon food wherever he can find it, to keep himſelf from dying of hunger.

UPON the ſame principle, it is lawful for a man to ſave a member of his own body, at the expence of another's member, if both cannot be ſaved. A man will ſcarce have any conſciouſneſs of wrong in ſo doing. But it will hardly be allowed in morality, to ſave a member at the expence of another's life. This matter, however, is not to be reduced to any accurate rule. The determination of queſtions of this kind, muſt neceſſarily vary according to the circumſtances of the perſons concerned, and according to the temper and diſpoſition of the actor.

THE ſecond general principle in point of rank is ſelf-love, which, being a more powerful principle than benevolence, it naturally aſſumes the preference. And we meet with no obſtruction from the moral ſenſe, when we prefer our own intereſt to that of others. [125] The ſame will hold with regard to our particular appetites, paſſions and affections. But here comes a remarkable limitation, that we are not to indulge ſelf-love at the expence of harming others, whether in their perſons, goods, or reputation. The moral ſenſe, in every caſe, ſelf-preſervation excepted, lays us under an abſolute reſtraint with regard to theſe particulars. This reſtraint is felt as our indiſpenſible duty, and the tranſgreſſion of this duty never fails to be attended with remorſe, and a dread of merited puniſhment. And this is wiſely ordered. Society could not be preſerved without ſuch a law; and even, abſtracting from ſociety, the law is eſſentially neceſſary, to attain the ends propoſed by the two great principles of action, ſelf-preſervation and ſelf-love. No man could be ſecure of his life a moment, far leſs of his happineſs, if men, worſe than ſavage beaſts, preyed upon one another.

THE third principle, which is that of fidelity, is alſo in the ſtricteſt ſenſe a law of [126] nature. We are bound to take care of our children, to perform our promiſes, and to ſtand true to our engagements. It need only be obſerved upon this head, that the obligation is indiſpenſible, and yields to no other principle or law of nature, if it be not ſelf-preſervation alone.

GRATITUDE, the fourth principle, is likeways to be ranked among the laws of nature. We feel it in the ſtricteſt ſenſe as our duty. The tranſgreſſion of this law is not only attended with ſelf-diſapprobation, but with hatred and contempt from others.

BENEVOLENCE, the laſt principle, may be indulged at pleaſure, and without reſtraint, unleſs where it comes in competition with a ſtrict obligation. If it is directed to advance the happineſs of others; it is not to be ranked, ſtrictly ſpeaking, among our duties. Becauſe, tho' actions of this kind are highly rewarded by ſelf-approbation, and the love of others, yet the neglect of them is not attended [127] with remorſe or puniſhment. It is true, that a perſon of a ſociable and generous temper, will be ſtrongly impelled to actions of this kind, and will feel pain and uneaſineſs upon reflecting, that he has not been ſo uſeful to his friends, his country, or mankind, as he might have been. But this uneaſineſs does not ariſe to what is properly called remorſe, or ſelf-condemnation, tho' it may, in ſome inſtances, approach to it. There is undoubtedly a diſtinction here, tho' it be not eaſy to aſcertain the preciſe limits of feelings that are ſo much allied to one another, any more than it is to fix the exact boundary betwixt light and darkneſs, or to diſtinguiſh the very laſt ſhade of any colour in tints that run into each other. To inſtance in another caſe, which belongs to the ſame head of benevolence. We are obliged to provide for our children; it is ſtrict duty, and the neglect of it cauſes remorſe. In the caſe of an only brother, ſuppoſe, or ſome very near friend who depends entirely on our help, we feel ſomewhat of the ſame [128] kind of obligation, tho' in a weaker degree; and thus, thro' other connections, it diminiſhes by ſucceſſive gradations, 'till at laſt the motive to benevolence is loſt in ſimple approbation, without any obligatory feeling. This is univerſally the courſe which nature holds. Her tranſitions are ſoft and gentle; ſhe makes things approximate ſo nicely one to another, as to leave no gap or chaſm. Where the object of theſe feelings can be clearly and fully diſtinguiſhed, it may be ſafely aſſerted, that, in the general caſe, of procuring poſitive good to others, or advancing happineſs, it is ſelf-approbation and not ſtrict obligation that is felt. But where the object of benevolence is diſtreſs, there it becomes a duty, provided it is in our power to afford relief without hurting ourſelves. The neglect of ſuch an action is certainly attended with remorſe and ſelf-condemnation; tho' poſſibly, not of ſo ſtrong a kind, as where we betray our truſt, or are the authors of poſitive miſchief to others. Thus [129] charity is, by all mankind, conſidered as a duty to which we are ſtrictly bound.

THESE are the out-lines of the laws which govern our actions, comprehending both what we may do, and what we ought to do. And now, dropping the former to be indulged by every one at pleaſure without reſtraint, we ſhall confine ourſelves to the latter, as the more proper ſubject of laws, both natural and municipal. And no more ſeems to be requiſite in this matter, than clearly to point out our duty, by informing us of what we ought to do, and what we ought not to do; ſeeing actions, which come not under the character of duty, may be ſafely left to our own choice. With regard then to what may be called our duty, the firſt and primary law is the law of reſtraint, by which we are prohibited to hurt others in their perſons, goods, or whatever elſe is dear to them. The ſecond is a poſitive law, that we ought to relieve thoſe in diſtreſs. The [130] omiſſion of this duty does not, coeteris paribus, affect us ſo ſtrongly with the ſenſe of wrong, as the tranſgreſſion does of the former law. Becauſe the creating of poſitive pain has a greater effect upon the mind, than merely the forbearing to relieve others from pain; as there is a cloſer connection in the imagination betwixt a man and his actions, than betwixt a man and any action he forbears to do. Fidelity comes, in the third place, as a poſitive duty, comprehending the care of our offspring, performance of promiſes, executing truſts, &c. Gratitude takes up the fourth place of poſitive duty. And that branch of benevolence having for its object the advancing the good of others, takes up the laſt place, which, if at all to be ranked among our duties, is then only to be ranked, when it is applied to thoſe who are nearly connected with us, and to general objects, ſuch as our town, our religion, our government.

[131] THESE ſeveral laws are admirably adjuſted to our nature and circumſtances, and tend in the moſt perfect manner to promote the ends of ſociety. In the firſt place, as man is limited with regard to power and capacity, the above laws are accommodated to his nature, ordering and forbidding nothing but what falls within his compaſs. In the ſecond place, peace and ſecurity in ſociety are amply provided for, by tying up the hands, as it were, of every man from harming others. In the third place, man is prompted to the utmoſt of his ability to be uſeful to others. 'Tis his poſitive duty to relieve the diſtreſſed, and perform his engagements. And he is incited to do all the good he can by the pleaſure of the action, by benevolence and gratitude from the perſons obliged. And laſtly, in competition betwixt himſelf and others, tho' his principles of action directed upon himſelf, may be ſtronger than thoſe directed upon others, the ſuperior rewards beſtowed by the conſtitution of our nature [132] upon the latter, may be deemed a ſufficient counter-balance to give an aſcendent to the ſocial affections.

IT may ſeem ſtrange, that the municipal law of all countries is ſo little regardful of the laws of nature, as to adopt but a very few of them. There never was a poſitive law in any country, to puniſh ingratitude, if it was not among the antient Perſians. There is no poſitive law to enforce compaſſion, and to relieve thoſe in diſtreſs, if the maintenance of the poor be excepted, which, in ſome countries, is provided for by law. No notice is taken of breach of friendſhip, by ſtatute, nor of the duty we owe our children, further than of ſupporting them while they are under age. But municipal laws, being of human invention, are of no great extent. They cannot reach the heart, nor its intentions, further than as expreſt by outward acts. And theſe are to be judged of cautiouſly, and with reſerve; becauſe they form [133] a language, dark, and at beſt full of ambiguities. At the ſame time, the object of human laws is man, conſidered ſingly in the quality of a citizen. When ſociety is formed, and government ſubmitted to, every private right is given up, inconſiſtent with ſociety and government. But, in every other reſpect, individuals reſerve their independency and their private rights. Whether a man be virtuous, is not the concern of the ſociety, at leaſt not of its laws; but only whether he tranſgreſs thoſe regulations, which are neceſſary to the preſervation of ſociety. In this view, great attention is given by the legiſlature in every country, to enforce the natural law of reſtraint from mutual hurt and injury. The like attention is given, to enforce the natural obligation of fidelity, at leaſt ſo far as relates to commerce; for, infidelity in love and friendſhip are left to the natural law. Ingratitude is not puniſhed by human laws; becauſe it may be guarded againſt by poſitive engagements; nor [134] hard-heartedneſs with regard to objects of diſtreſs, becauſe ſociety may ſubſiſt without ſuch a law; and mankind are ſcarce yet arrived at ſuch refinement in manners, as to have an abhorrence of this crime, ſufficient to make it an object of human puniſhment.

THERE is another ſubſtantial reaſon, which confines human laws within a much narrower compaſs, than the laws of nature. It is eſſential to human laws, that they be clear, plain, and readily applicable to particular caſes; without which, judges would be arbitrary, and law made a handle for oppreſſion. For this reaſon, none of our actions can be the object of poſitive law, but what are reducible to a preciſe rule. Ingratitude therefore cannot be the object of human laws, becauſe the quality of the crime depends upon a multiplicity of circumſtances, which can never be reduced to a preciſe rule. Duty to our children, friends and relations is, with regard to moſt circumſtances, in the [135] ſame caſe. The duty of relieving the diſtreſſed, in like manner, depends upon many circumſtances, the nature of the diſtreſs, the connection betwixt the parties, the opportunity and ability of affording relief. The abſtinence from mutual harm, and the performance of promiſes are capable to be brought under a preciſe rule, and theſe only are the objects of human laws.

CHAP. IX. Of the LAW of NATIONS.

[136]

IF we can truſt hiſtory, the original inhabitants of this earth were a brutiſh and ſavage race. And we have little reaſon to doubt of the fact, when, even at this day, we find the ſame ſort of people in diſtant corners, who have no communication with the reſt of mankind. The ſtate of nature is accordingly repreſented by all writers, as a ſtate of war; nothing going on but rapine and bloodſhed. From this picture of the firſt men, one would be apt to conclude, that man, by nature, is a wild and rapacious animal, little better than a beaſt of prey, but, for his inclination to ſociety, which moulds him gradually into a rational creature. If this concluſion be juſt, we cannot help being in ſome pain for the principles above laid down. Brutiſh manners imply brutiſh principles of action; and, from this view of the original ſtate of mankind, it may ſeem that [137] moral virtues are not natural, but acquired by means of education and example in a well regulated ſociety. In a word, that the whole moral part of our ſyſtem is artificial, as juſtice is repreſented by a late writer.

BUT to be ſatisfied of the fallacy of this concluſion, we need only look back to what has already been ſaid upon the moral ſenſe. If the feeling of beauty and deformity in external exiſtences be natural to man, the feeling of beauty and deformity, and of a right and wrong in actions, is equally ſo. And indeed, whatever be the influence of education and example, 'tis an evident truth, that they can never have the power of creating any one ſenſe or feeling. They may well have the effect of cheriſhing and improving the plants of nature's formation, but they cannot introduce any new or original plant whatever. We muſt therefore attribute the above appearances to ſome other cauſe than want of the moral ſenſe; and theſe appearances may eaſily be accounted [138] for, from peculiar circumſtances, that are ſufficient to over-balance the moſt vigorous operations of the moral ſenſe, and to produce, in a good meaſure, the ſame effects which would reſult from a total abſence of that ſenſe. Let us point out theſe circumſtances, for the ſubject is worthy of our ſtricteſt attention. The original ſituation of mankind will, in the firſt place, be attended to, when the earth was uncultivated, and in a great meaſure barren; when there was a ſcarcity of inſtruments for raiſing habitations, and a greater ſcarcity of manufactures to ſupply the neceſſities of life. In this ſtate, man was a moſt indigent creature, and, upon the principle of ſelf-preſervation, intitled to ſupply his wants the beſt way he could, without any obſtruction from the moral ſenſe. Thus there behoved to be a conſtant oppoſition of intereſts, and of conſequence perpetual diſcord. At the ſame time there being no eſtabliſhed rules of conduct to appeal to, nor judges to apply rules to particular caſes, wars of old behoved to be [139] at leaſt as frequent as law ſuits are at preſent. In this ſtate, barbarity, roughneſs, and cruelty formed the character of the human ſpecies. For, in the practice and habit of war, the malevolent principles gain ſtrength and vigour, as the benevolent principles, do by the arts of peace. And to this conſideration may be added, that man is by nature ſhy and timorous, and conſequently cruel when he gets the upper-hand. The ſecurity obtained in ſociety puts an end in a great meaſure to our fears. Man becomes a magnanimous and generous creature, not eaſily daunted, and therefore not eaſily provoked to acts of cruelty.

IT may be obſerved, in the next place, that the rude and illiterate are governed by their appetites and paſſions, more than by general principles. We have our firſt impreſſions from particular objects. 'Tis by education and practice that we acquire a facility in forming complex ideas, and abſtract propoſitions. The ideas of a common intereſt, [140] of a country, of a people, of a ſociety under government, of publick good, are complex, and not ſoon acquired even by the thinking part of mankind. They are ſcarce ever to be acquired by the rude and illiterate; and conſequently do not readily become the object of any of their affections. One's own intereſt, conſidered in general, is too complex an object for the bulk of mankind; and therefore it is, that the particular appetites and paſſions are ſtronger motives to action with the ignorant and unthinking, than the principle of ſelf-love, or even than of ſelf-preſervation, when it is not incited by ſome particular object which threatens danger. And the ſame muſt hold more ſtrongly with regard to the affections of benevolence, charity and ſuch like, when there is no particular object in view, but only in general the good of others.

MAN is a complex machine, compoſed of various principles of motion, which may be conceived as ſo many ſprings and weights, [141] counteracting and balancing one another. Theſe being accurately adjuſted, the movement of life is beautiful, becauſe regular and uniform. But if ſome ſprings or weights be withdrawn, thoſe which remain, acting now without oppoſition from their antagoniſt forces, will diſorder the balance, and derange the whole machine. Remove thoſe principles of action which operate by reflection, and whoſe objects are complex and general ideas, and the neceſſary conſequence will be, to double the force of the appetites and paſſions, pointing at particular objects; which is always the caſe with thoſe who act by ſenſe, and not by reflection. They are tyranniſed by paſſion and appetite, and have no conſiſtent rule of conduct. No wonder, that the moral ſenſe is of no ſufficient authority to command obedience in ſuch a caſe. This is the character of ſavages. We have no reaſon then to conclude, from the above picture, that even the greateſt ſavages are deſtitute of the moral ſenſe. Their defect rather lies in the weakneſs of their general [142] principles of action, which terminate in objects too complex for ſavages readily to comprehend. This defect is remedied by education and reflection; and then it is, that the moral ſenſe, in concert with theſe general principles, acquires its full authority, which is openly recogniſed, and chearfully ſubmitted to.

THE contemplation is beautiful, when we compare our gradual improvement in knowledge and in morality We begin with ſurveying particular objects, and lay in a ſtock of ſimple ideas. Our affections keep pace, being all directed to particular objects; and, during this period, we are governed principally by our paſſions and appetites. So ſoon as we begin to form complex and general ideas, theſe alſo become the objects of our affections. Then it is, that love to our country begins to exert itſelf, benevolence to our neighbours and acquaintances, affection to our relations as ſuch. We acquire by degrees the taſte of public good, and of being uſeful in life. The pleaſures of [143] ſociety thicken upon us. The ſelfiſh paſſions are tamed and ſubdued, and the ſocial affections gain the aſcendant. We refine upon the pleaſures of ſociety, becauſe our happineſs principally conſiſts in ſocial intercourſe. We learn to ſubmit our opinions. We affect to give preference to others, and readily accommodate ourſelves to every thing which may render ſociety more complete. The malevolent paſſions, above all, are brought under the ſtricteſt culture, if not totally eradicated. Inſtead of unbounded revenge for the ſmalleſt injury, we acquire a degree of ſelf-denial to overlook trifling wrongs, and in greater wrongs to be ſatisfied with moderate reparation.

AT the ſame time, it is true, that the moral ſenſe, tho' rooted in the nature of man, admits of great refinements by culture and education. It improves gradually like our other powers and faculties, 'till it comes to be productive of the ſtrongeſt as well as moſt delicate feelings. To clear this point, every [144] one muſt be ſenſible of the great advantages of education and imitation. The moſt poliſhed nations differ only from ſavages in refinement of taſte, which, being productive of nice and delicate feelings, is the ſource of pleaſure and pain, more exquiſite than ſavages are ſuſceptible of. Hence it is, that many actions, which make little impreſſion upon ſavages, appear to us elegant and beautiful. As, on the other hand, actions, which give them no pain, raiſe in us averſion and diſguſt. This may be illuſtrated by a compariſon betwixt the Engliſh and French dramatic performances. The Engliſh, a rough and hardy people, take delight in repreſentations, which more refined manners render inſupportable to their neighbours. The diſtreſſes, on the other hand, repreſented on the French theatre, are too ſlight for an Engliſh audience. Their paſſions are not raiſed: they feel no concern. In general, horror, which denotes the higheſt degree of pain and averſion that can be raiſed by a harſh action, is a paſſion ſeldom felt among [145] fierce and ſavage nations where humanity is little regarded. But, when the tender affections are improved by ſociety, horror is more eaſily raiſed, and objects which move horror become more frequent.

THE moral ſenſe not only accompanies our other ſenſes in their gradual refinement, but receives additional ſtrength upon every occaſion from theſe other ſenſes. For example, a ſavage, enured to acts of cruelty, feels little pain or averſion in putting an enemy to death in cold blood, and conſequently will have no remorſe at ſuch an action, other than what proceeds from the moral ſenſe, acting by its native ſtrength. But let us ſuppoſe a perſon of ſo delicate feelings, as ſcarce to endure a common operation of phlebotomy, and who cannot behold, without ſome degree of horror, the amputation of a fractured member; ſuch a perſon will be ſhocked to the higheſt degree, if he ſee an enemy put to death in cold blood. The grating emotion, thus raiſed in him, muſt communicate [146] itſelf to the feelings of the moral ſenſe, and render them much more acute. And thus, refinement in taſte and manners, operating by communication upon the moral ſenſe, occaſions a ſtronger feeling of immorality in every vicious action, than what would ariſe before ſuch refinement. At the ſame time, the moral ſenſe improves in its delicacy, as well as the other ſenſes; whereby a double effect is produced, owing to a double cauſe. And therefore, upon the whole, the operations of the moral ſenſe in a ſavage, bear no proportion to its operations in a perſon, who ſtands poſſeſſed of all the advantages which human nature is ſuſceptible of by refined education.

I NEVER was ſatisfied with the deſcription given of the law of nations, commonly ſo called, that it is a law eſtabliſhed among nations by common conſent, for regulating their conduct with regard to each other. This foundation of the law of nations I take to be chimerical. For, upon what occaſion [147] was this covenant made, and by whom? If it be ſaid, that the ſenſe of common good gradually brought this law into force; I anſwer, That the ſenſe of common good is too complex, and too remote an object to be a ſolid foundation for any poſitive law, if it has no other foundation in our nature. But there is no neceſſity to recur to ſo ſlender a foundation. What is juſt now obſerved will lead us to a more rational account of theſe laws. They are no other but gradual refinements of the original law of nature, accommodating itſelf to the improved ſtate of mankind. The law of nature, which is the law of our nature, cannot be ſtationary. It muſt vary with the nature of man, and conſequently refine gradually as human nature refines. Putting an enemy to death in cold blood, is now looked upon with diſtaſte and horror, and therefore is immoral; tho' it was not always ſo in the ſame degree. It is conſidered as barbarous and inhuman, to fight with poiſoned weapons, and therefore is more remarkably [148] diſapproved of by the moral ſenſe, than it was originally. Influenced by general objects, we have enmity againſt France, which is our natural enemy; but this enmity is not directed againſt individuals; conſcious as we are, that it is the duty of ſubjects to ſerve their king and country. Therefore we treat priſoners of war with humanity. And now it is creeping in among civilized nations, that, in war, a cartel ſhould be eſtabliſhed for exchange of priſoners. The function of an embaſſador has ever been held ſacred. To treat him ill was originally immoral, becauſe it is treating as an enemy the man who comes to us with friendly intentions. But the improved manners of latter times, have refined upon the privileges of an embaſſador, and extended them far beyond what they were originally. It is very true, that theſe refinements of the law of nature gain ſtrength and firmneſs by cuſtom. Hereby they acquire the additional ſupport of common conſent. For, as every nation truſts that theſe laws will be obſerved, it is [149] upon that account a breach of faith to tranſgreſs them. But this is not peculiar to theſe particular inſtitutions which paſs under the name of the law of nations. There is the ſame adventitious foundation for all the laws of nature, which every man truſts will be obſerved, and upon that faith directs his conduct.

ESSAY III. Of LIBERTY and NECESSITY.

[151]

WHEN we apply our thoughts to the contemplation of final cauſes, no ſubject more readily preſents itſelf than the natural world, which is ſtamped with the brighteſt characters of wiſdom and goodneſs. The moral world, being leſs in view, has been generally overlooked, tho' it yields not to the other in rich materials. Man's inward ſyſtem, accurately ſurveyed, will be found not leſs admirable than the external ſyſtem, of which he makes a part. The ſubject is the more curious, that the traces of wiſdom and deſign, diſcernible in our internal frame, ly more out of common ſight. They are touches, as it were, of a finer pencil, and of a nicer hand, than are diſcovered in the natural world. Thought is more ſubtile than motion, and more of exquiſite art is diſplayed in the laws of voluntary action, [152] than there is place for in adjuſting the laws of mere matter.

AN extreme beautiful ſcene opens to our view, when we conſider with what propriety the ideas, feelings, and whole conſtitution of the mind of man, correſpond to his preſent ſtate. The impreſſions he receives, and the notions he forms, are accurately adapted to the uſeful purpoſes of life, tho' they do not correſpond in every inſtance to the philoſophic truth of things. It was not intended that man ſhould make profound diſcoveries. He is framed to be more an active than a contemplative being; and his views both of the natural and moral world are ſo adjuſted, as to be made ſubſervient to correctneſs of action rather than of belief. Several inſtances there are of perceptions, which, for want of a more proper term, may be called deceitful; becauſe they differ from the real truth. But man is not thereby in the leaſt miſled. On the contrary, the ends of life and action are better provided [153] for by ſuch artifice, than if theſe perceptions were more exact copies of their objects.

IN the natural world, ſomewhat of this kind is generally admitted by modern philoſophers. It is found, that the repreſentations of external objects, and their qualities conveyed by the ſenſes, ſometimes differ from what philoſophy diſcovers theſe objects, and their qualities to be. Thus a ſurface appears ſmooth and uniform, when its roughneſs is not ſuch as to be hurtful. The ſame ſurface, examined with a microſcope, is found to be full of ridges and hollows. Were man endowed with a microſcopic eye, the bodies that ſurround him, would appear as different from what they do at preſent, as if he were tranſported into another world. His ideas, upon that ſuppoſition, would indeed be more agreeable to ſtrict truth, but they would be far leſs ſerviceable in common life. Further, it is now univerſally admitted, that the qualities called ſecundary, [154] which we by natural inſtinct attribute to matter, belong not properly to matter, nor exiſt really without us. Colour in particular is a ſort of viſionary beauty, which nature has ſpread over all her works. It is a wonderful artifice, to preſent objects to us thus differently diſtinguiſhed: to mark them out to the eye in various attires, ſo as to be beſt known and remembered: and to paint on the fancy, gay and lively, grand and ſtriking, or ſober and melancholy ſcenes: whence many of our moſt pleaſurable and moſt affecting ſenſations ariſe. Yet all this beauty of colours, with which heaven and earth appear clothed, is a ſort of romance and illuſion. For, among external objects, to which colours are attributed by ſenſe, there is really no other diſtinction, than what ariſes from a difference in the ſize and arrangement of the conſtituent parts, whereby the rays of light, are reflected or refracted in ſuch different ways, as to paint various colours on the retina of the eye. From this, and other inſtances of the ſame kind which might be adduced, it appears, [155] that our perceptions ſome times, are leſs accommodated to the truth of things, than to the end for which our ſenſes are deſigned. Nature, at the ſame time, has provided a remedy; for ſhe ſeldom or never leaves us without means of diſcovering the deception, and arriving at the truth. And it is wonderful, that, even when we act upon theſe deceitful impreſſions, we are not betrayed into any thing that is hurtful. On the contrary, life and action are better provided for, and the ends of our being fulfilled to more advantage, than if we conducted ourſelves by the ſtricteſt truth of things.

LET us carry on this ſpeculation from the natural to the moral world, and examine whether there are not here alſo, analogous inſtances of deceitful impreſſions. This will lead us into an unbeaten tract. We are to open a ſcene entirely new; which, like moſt other things that are new, may perhaps ſurprize the reader. But he will ſuſpend his judgment, 'till he has leiſurely reviewed [156] the whole: and then let him pronounce, whether our hypotheſis does not ſolve all the phoenomena: whether it does not tally with the nature of man, and illuſtrate the wiſdom and goodneſs of the author of his nature.

That nothing can happen without a cauſe, is a principle embraced by all men, the illiterate and ignorant as well as the learned. Nothing that happens is conceived as happening of itſelf, but as an effect produced by ſome other thing. However ignorant of the cauſe, we notwithſtanding conclude, that every event muſt have a cauſe. We ſhould perhaps be at a loſs to deduce this principle, from any premiſes, by a chain of reaſoning: but feeling affords conviction, where reaſon leaves us in the dark. We perceive, we feel the propoſition to be true. And, indeed, a ſentiment, common to all, muſt be founded on the common nature of all. Curioſity is one of the earlieſt paſſions that are diſcovered in children; and their [157] curioſity runs on nothing more than to have cauſes and reaſons given them, why ſuch a thing happened, or how it came about. Hiſtorians and politicians make it their chief concern, to trace the cauſes, of actions, the moſt myſterious not excepted. Be an event ever ſo extraordinary, the feeling of its being an effect, is not in the leaſt weakened, even with the vulgar, who, rather than aſſign no cauſe, recur to the operation of inviſible powers. What is a cauſe with reſpect to its proper effect, is conſidered as an effect with reſpect to ſome prior cauſe, and ſo backward without end. Events thus viewed, in a train of cauſes and effects, ſhould naturally be conſidered, one would think, as neceſſary and fixed: for the relation betwixt a cauſe and its effect implies ſomewhat preciſe and determinate, and leads our thoughts to what muſt be, and cannot be otherways than it is.

That we have ſuch a feeling as is above deſcribed, is not to be controverted: and [158] yet, when we ſearch further into human nature, a feeling of an oppoſite kind is diſcovered, a feeling of chance or contingency in events; which is not leſs deeply rooted in our nature than the former. However ſtrange it may appear, that man ſhould be compoſed of ſuch inconſiſtencies, the fact muſt notwithſtanding be admitted. This feeling of chance or contingency is moſt conſpicuous, when we look forward to future events. Some things we indeed always conſider, as certain or neceſſary, ſuch as the revolution of ſeaſons, and the riſing and ſetting of the ſun. Theſe, as experience teaches, are regulated by fixed laws. But many things appear to us looſe, fortuitous, uncertain. Uncertain not only with reſpect to us, on account of our ignorance of the cauſe, but uncertain in themſelves, or not tied down, and predetermined to fall out, by any invariable law. We naturally make a diſtinction betwixt things that muſt be, and things that may be, or may not be. Thus we have a feeling of chance or of contingency in events, in which [159] that other feeling, of the dependency of events upon preciſe and determinate cauſes, appears to be loſt.

WHEN we conſider in what view our own actions are perceived by the mind, there is ſomething which is equally ſtrange and ſurpriſing. It is admitted by all men, that we act from motives. The plain man, as well as the philoſopher, feels the connection betwixt an action and its motive, to be ſo ſtrong, that, from this feeling, both of them reaſon with full confidence about the future actions of others. That an avaritious man, will take every fair opportunity of acquiring riches, is as little doubted, as that rain and ſun-ſhine will make plants grow. Why, but becauſe the motive of gain, is judged to operate, as certainly and infallibly, upon his temper, as heat and moiſture upon the ſoil, each to produce its proper effect? If we are uncertain what part a man will act, the uncertainty ariſes, not from our doubting whether he will act from a motive; [160] for this is never called in queſtion: it ariſes from our not being able to judge, what the motive is, which, in his preſent circumſtances, will prevail. It being then a natural feeling, that actions are ſo connected with their proper motives, as neceſſarily to ariſe from the temper, character, and other circumſtances of the agent, it ſhould ſeem, that all the train of human actions, would occur to our minds as neceſſary and fixed. Yet human actions do not always appear to us in this light. It is a matter of fact, that the feeling varies, according to the different poſitions of the object. Previous to any particular action, we indeed always judge, that the action will be the neceſſary reſult of ſome motive. But has a man done what is wrong and ſhameful? Inſtantly the feeling varies. We accuſe, and we condemn him, for acting the wrong and ſhameful part. We conceive that he had a power of acting otherways, and ought to have acted otherways. The whole train of our feeling, in a moment, accommodate themſelves to [161] the ſuppoſition of his being entirely a free agent.

THESE are phaenomena in human nature, of a very ſingular kind: feelings, which on both ſides are natural, and yet claſh with each other: every event admitted to have a neceſſary cauſe; and yet many events ſuppoſed contingent: every action admitted neceſſarily to flow from a determining motive; and yet the ſame action, in an after view, conſidered and judged of as free. Our feelings are no doubt the teſt of truth; which is ſo evident, that, in many inſtances, no other means are afforded us for coming at the truth. The few exceptions that are diſcovered by reaſon or experience, ſerve the more to confirm the general rule. But the feelings we have now laid open can be no teſt of truth; becauſe, in contradictory propoſitions, truth cannot ly on both ſides. There is no other way to get out of this labyrinth of doubts and difficulties, than to enter upon a ſtrict ſurvey both of the natural [162] and moral world, which may poſſibly lead to a diſcovery of what is really the truth of the matter. Let us then proceed, with impartiality and attention, to inquire what we are to believe, concerning contingency in events, and liberty or neceſſity in human actions: whether our feelings can be reconciled to each other, and reconciled to truth; or whether there be not here ſome of thoſe deceitful feelings, which we have already hinted in ſome other inſtances to belong to our nature.

TAKING a view of the natural world, we find all things there proceeding in a fixed and ſettled train of cauſes and effects. It is a point which admits of no diſpute, that all the changes produced in matter, and all the different modifications it aſſumes, are the reſult of fixed laws. Every effect is ſo preciſely determined, that no other effect could, in ſuch circumſtances, have poſſibly reſulted from the operation of the cauſe: which holds even in the minuteſt changes of the [163] different elements, as all philoſophers admit. Caſual and fluctuating as theſe ſeem, their ſmalleſt variation is a neceſſary effect of pre-eſtabliſhed laws. There is a chain of cauſes and effects which hang one upon another, running thro' this whole ſyſtem; and not the ſmalleſt link of the chain can be broken, without altering the whole conſtitution of things, or ſuſpending the regular operation of the laws of nature. Here then, in the material world, there is nothing that can be called contingent; nothing that is left looſe; but every thing muſt be preciſely what it is, and be found in that ſtate in which we find it.

IN the moral world, this does not appear ſo clearly. Man is the actor here. He is endowed with will, and he acts from choice. He has a power of beginning motion, which is ſubject to no mechanical laws; and therefore he is not under what is called phyſical neceſſity. He has appetites and paſſions which prompt him to their reſpective gratifications: [164] but he is under no neceſſity of blind ly ſubmitting to their impulſe. For reaſon has a power of reſtraint. It ſuggeſts motives from the cool views of good and evil. He deliberates upon theſe. In conſequence of his deliberation he chuſes: and here, if anywhere, lyes our liberty. Let us examine to what this liberty amounts. That motives have ſome influence in determining the mind, is certain; and that they have this influence in different degrees, is equally certain. The ſenſe of honour and gratitude, for inſtance, are powerful motives to ſerve a friend. Let the man's private intereſt concur; and the motives become more powerful. Add the certain proſpect of poverty, ſhame, or bodily ſuffering, if he ſhall act a different part; and you leave him no choice: the motives to action are rendered irreſiſtible. Motives being once allowed to have a determining force in any degree, it is eaſy to ſuppoſe the force ſo augmented, by accumulation of motives, as to leave little freedom to the mind, or rather none at all. In [165] ſuch inſtances, there is no denying that we are under a neceſſity to act. And tho' this, to be ſure, is not phyſical neceſſity, as ariſing not from the laws of matter, but from the conſtitution of the mind; yet the conſequence is equally certain, fixed and unavoidable, in the caſe of moral, as of phyſical neceſſity. This is ſo true, that, in ſome inſtances, theſe two kinds of neceſſity ſeem to coincide, ſo as ſcarcely to be diſtinguiſhed. A criminal walks to the ſcaffold in the midſt of his guards. No man will deny that he is under an abſolute neceſſity in this caſe. Why? becauſe he knows, that if he refuſes to go, they will drag him. I ask, Is this a phyſical, or a moral neceſſity? The anſwer, at firſt view, is not obvious; for the diſtinction betwixt theſe two ſeems loſt. And yet, ſtrictly ſpeaking, it is only a moral neceſſity: for it is the force of a motive which determines the criminal to walk to the ſcaffold; to wit, that reſiſtance is vain, becauſe the guards are neither to be forced nor corrupted. The idea of neceſſity, however, [166] in the minds of the ſpectators, when they view the criminal in this ſituation, is not leſs ſtrong, than if they ſaw him bound and carried on a ſledge. Nothing is more common, than to talk of an action which one muſt do, and cannot avoid. He was compelled to it, we ſay; and it was impoſſible he could act otherways: when, at the ſame time, all the compulſion we mean, is only the application of ſome very ſtrong motive to the mind. This ſhows, that, in the judgment and feeling of all mankind, a motive may, in certain circumſtances, carry in it the power of rendering an action neceſſary. In other words, we expect ſuch an action in conſequence of ſuch a motive, with equal confidence, as when we expect to ſee a ſtone fall to the ground when it is dropt from the hand.

THIS, it will be ſaid, may hold in ſome inſtances, but not in all. For, in the greater part of human actions, there is a real feeling of liberty. When the mind heſitates betwixt [167] two things, examines and compares, and at laſt comes to a reſolution, is there any compulſion or neceſſity here? No compulſion, it is granted; but as to neceſſity, let us pauſe and examine more accurately. The reſolution being taken, the choice being made, upon what is it founded? Certainly upon ſome motive, however ſilent or weak: for no mortal ever came to a determination, without the influence of ſome motive or other. If this be an undoubted fact, it follows of conſequence, that the determination muſt reſult, from that motive, which has the greateſt influence for the time; or from what appears the beſt and moſt eligible upon the whole. If motives be of very different kinds, with regard to ſtrength and influence, which we feel to be the caſe; it is involved in the very idea of the ſtrongeſt motive, that it muſt have the ſtrongeſt effect in determining the mind. This can no more be doubted of, than that, in a balance, the greater weight muſt turn the ſcale.

[168] HERE perhaps we ſhall be interrupted. Men are not always rational in their determinations: they often act from whim, paſſion, humour, things as looſe and variable as the wind. This is admitted. But, ſuppoſe the motive which determines the mind, to be as whimſical and unreaſonable as you pleaſe, its influence, however, is equally neceſſary with that of the moſt rational motive. An indolent man, for inſtance, is incited to action, by the ſtrongeſt conſiderations, which reaſon, virtue, intereſt, can ſuggeſt. He wavers and heſitates; at laſt reſiſts them all, and folds his arms. What is the cauſe of this? Is it that he is leſs under the power of motives than another man? By no means. The love of reſt is his motive, his prevailing paſſion: and this is as effectual to fix him in his place, as the love of glory or riches are, to render active, the vain or the covetous. In ſhort, if motives are not under our power or direction, which is confeſſedly the fact, we can, at bottom, have no liberty. We are ſo conſtituted, that we cannot exert a ſingle [169] action, but with ſome view, aim or purpoſe. At the ſame time, when two oppoſite motives preſent themſelves, we have not the power of an arbitrary choice. We are directed, by a neceſſary determination of our nature, to prefer the ſtrongeſt motive.

IT is true, that, in diſputing upon this ſubject of human liberty, a man may attempt to ſhow, that motives have no neceſſary influence, by eating perhaps the worſt apple that is before him, or, in ſome ſuch trifling inſtance, preferring an obviouſly leſſer good to a greater. But is it not plain, that the humour of ſhowing that he can act againſt motives, is, in this caſe, the very motive of the whimſical preference?

A COMPARISON inſtituted betwixt moral and phyſical neceſſity may poſſibly throw additional light upon this ſubject. Where the motives to any action are perfectly full, cogent and clear, the feeling of liberty, as we ſhowed before, entirely vaniſhes. In [170] other caſes, where the field of choice is wider, and where oppoſite motives counterbalance and work againſt each other, the mind fluctuates for a while, and feels itſelf more looſe: but, in the end, muſt as neceſſarily be determined to the ſide of the moſt powerful motive, as the balance, after ſeveral vibrations; muſt incline to the ſide of the preponderating weight. The laws of mind, and the laws of matter, are in this reſpect perfectly ſimilar; tho', in making the compariſon, we are apt to deceive ourſelves. In forming a notion of phyſical neceſſity, we ſeldom think of any force, but what has viſibly a full effect. A man in priſon, or tied to a poſt, muſt remain there. If he is dragged along, he cannot reſiſt. Whereas motives, which, from the higheſt to the loweſt, are very different, do not always produce ſenſible effects. Yet, when the compariſon is accurately inſtituted, the very ſame thing holds in the actions of matter. A weak motive makes ſome impreſſion: but, in oppoſition to one more powerful, it has no effect [171] to determine the mind. In the preciſe ſame manner, a ſmall force will not overcome a great reſiſtance; nor the weight of an ounce in one ſcale, counter-balance a pound in the other. Comparing together the actions of mind and matter, ſimilar cauſes will, in both equally, produce ſimilar effects.

BUT admitting all that has been contended for, of the neceſſary influence of motives, to bring on the choice or laſt judgment of the underſtanding, it is urged by Dr. Clark, that man is ſtill a free agent, becauſe he has a power of acting, or beginning motion according to his will. In this, he places human liberty, that motives are not phyſical efficient cauſes of motion *. We agree with the doctor, that the immediate efficient cauſe of motion is not the motive, but the will to act. No perſon ever held, that the pleaſure of a ſummer-evening, when a man goes abroad into the fields, is [172] the immediate cauſe of the motion of his feet. But what does this obſervation avail, when the prevailing motive, the will to act, and the action itſelf, are three things inſeparably linked together? The motive, according to his own conceſſion, neceſſarily determines the will; and the will neceſſarily produces the action, unleſs it be obſtructed by ſome foreign force. Is not the action, by conſequence, as neceſſary, as the will to act; tho the motive be the immediate cauſe of the will only, and not of the action or beginning of motion? What does this author gain, by ſhowing, that we have a power of beginning motion, if that power never is, never can be, exerted, unleſs in conſequence of ſome volition or choice, which is neceſſarily cauſed? But, ſays he, it is only a moral neceſſity which is produced by motives; and a moral neceſſity, he adds, is no neceſſity at all, but is conſiſtent with the higheſt liberty. If theſe words have any meaning, the diſpute is at an end. For moral neceſſity, being that ſort of neceſſity which affects the mind, [173] and phyſical neceſſity that which affects matter, it is plain, that, in all reaſonings concerning human liberty, moral neceſſity, and no other, is meant to be eſtabliſhed. The laws of action, we ſay, which reſpect the human mind, are as fixed as thoſe which reſpect matter. The different nature of theſe laws, occaſions the fixed conſequences of the one to be called moral, and of the other to be called phyſical neceſſity. But the idea of neceſſary, certain, unavoidable, equally agrees to both. And to ſay that moral neceſſity is no neceſſity at all, becauſe it is not phyſical neceſſity, which is all that the doctor's argument amounts to, is no better, than to argue, that phyſical neceſſity is no neceſſity at all, becauſe it is not moral neceſſity.

ONE great ſource of confuſion, in reflecting upon this ſubject, ſeems to be, our not diſtinguiſhing betwixt neceſſity and conſtraint. In common language, theſe are uſed as equivalent terms; but they ought to be diſtinguiſhed when we treat of this ſubject. A perſon, having a ſtrong deſire to eſcape, [174] remains in priſon, becauſe the doors are guarded. Finding his keepers gone, he makes his eſcape. His eſcape now is as neceſſary, i. e. as certain and infallible a conſequence of the circumſtances he finds himſelf in, as his confinement was before; tho', in the one caſe there is conſtraint, in the other none. In this lyes the liberty of our actions, in being free from conſtraint, and in acting according to our inclination and choice. But as this inclination and choice is unavoidably cauſed or occaſioned by the prevailing motive; in this lyes the neceſſity of our actions, that, in ſuch circumſtances, it was impoſſible we could act otherways. In this ſenſe all our actions are equally neceſſary.

THE preceeding reaſonings may perhaps make a ſtronger impreſſion, by being reduced into a ſhort argument, after this manner. No man can be conceived to act without ſome principle leading him to action. All our principles of action reſolve into deſires and averſions; for nothing can prompt us to [175] move or exert ourſelves in any ſhape, but what preſents ſome object to be either purſued or avoided. A motive is an object ſo operating upon the mind, as to produce either deſire or averſion. Now, liberty as oppoſed to moral neceſſity, muſt ſignify a power in the mind, of acting without or againſt motives; that is to ſay, a power of acting without any view, purpoſe or deſign, and even of acting in contradiction to our own deſires and averſions, or to all our principles of action; which power, beſides that no man was ever conſcious of it, ſeems to be an abſurdity altogether inconſiſtent with a rational nature.

WITH regard to things ſuppoſed ſo equal as to found no preference of one to another, it is not neceſſary to enter into any intricate inquiry, how the mind in ſuch caſes is directed. Tho' it ſhould be admitted, that where there is no ſort of motive to influence the mind, it may exert a power of acting arbitrarily, this would not affect the preceeding [176] reaſonings, in which, the exiſtence of a motive being once ſuppoſed, we have ſhown the mind to be neceſſarily determined. Objects, ſo balanced one againſt another with perfect equality, if ſuch inſtances are to be found, muſt be ſo few, and in matters ſo trivial (as in the common inſtance of eggs) that they can have very inconſiderable influence upon human life. It may well admit of a doubt, whether the mind be, in any caſe, left altogether deſtitute of a motive to determine its choice betwixt two objects. For, tho' the objects ſhould be themſelves perfectly equal, yet various circumſtances ariſing from minute unobſerved ſpecialitics, of fancy, cuſtom, proximity of place, &c. may turn the ſcale in favours of one of the objects, to make it the motive of election. The uneaſineſs one is conſcious of, when in this ſtate of ſuſpenſe, betwixt two things equally balanced, ſearching and caſting about for ſome ground of choice; this uneaſineſs, I ſay, ſufficiently ſhows, that to act altogether [177] arbitrary is unnatural, and that our conſtitution fits us to be determined by motives.

BUT now a thought comes acroſs the mind, which demands attention. How hard is the lot of the human ſpecies, to be thus tied down and fixed to motives; ſubjected by a neceſſary law to the choice of evil, if evil happen to be the prevailing motive, or if it miſlead us under the form of our greateſt intereſt or good! How happy to have had a free independent power of acting contrary to motives, when the prevailing motive has a bad tendency! By this power, we might have puſhed our way to virtue and happineſs, whatever motives were ſuggeſted by vice and folly to draw us back; or we might, by arbitrary will, have refrained from acting the bad part, tho' all the power of motives concurred to urge us on. So far well; but let us ſee whither this will carry us. This arbitrary power being once ſuppoſed, may it not be exerted againſt good motives as well as bad ones? If it does us good by [178] accident, in reſtraining us from vice, may it not do us ill by accident, in reſtraining us from virtue? and ſo ſhall we not be thrown looſe altogether? At this rate, no man could be depended upon. Promiſes, oaths, vows, would be in vain; for nothing can ever bind or fix a man who is influenced by no motive. The diſtinction of characters would be at an end; for a perſon cannot have a character, who has no fixed or uniform principles of action. Nay, moral virtue itſelf, and all the force of law, rule and obligation, would, upon this hypotheſis, be nothing. For no creature can be the ſubject of rational or moral government, whoſe actions, by the conſtitution of its nature, are independent of motives; and whoſe will is capricious and arbitrary. To exhort, to inſtruct, to promiſe, or to threaten, would be to no purpoſe. In ſhort, ſuch a creature, if ſuch could exiſt, would be a moſt bizarre and unaccountable being: a mere abſurdity in nature, whoſe exiſtence could ſerve no end. Were we ſo conſtituted, as [179] always to be determined by the moral ſenſe, even againſt the ſtrongeſt counter-motives, this would be conſiſtent with human nature, becauſe it would preſerve entire the connection, that, by an unalterable law, is eſtabliſhed betwixt the will and the prevailing motive. But, to break this connection altogether, to introduce an unbounded arbitrary liberty, in oppoſition to which, motives ſhould not have influence, would be, inſtead of amending, to deform and unhinge the whole human conſtitution. No reaſon have we therefore to regret, that we find the will neceſſarily ſubjected to motives. The truth of this general poſition muſt coincide with our wiſh, unleſs we would rather have man to be, a whimſical and ridiculous, than a rational and moral being.

THUS far then we have advanced in our argument, that all human actions proceed in a fixed and neceſſary train. Man being what he is, a creature endowed with a certain degree of underſtanding, certain paſſions [180] and principles, and placed in certain circumſtances, it is impoſſible he ſhould will or chuſe otherways, than in fact he wills or chuſes. His mind is paſſive in receiving impreſſions of things as good or ill: according to theſe impreſſions, the laſt judgment of the underſtanding is neceſſarily formed; which the will, if conſidered as different from the laſt judgment of the underſtanding, neceſſarily obeys, as is fully ſhown; and the external action is neceſſarily connected with the will, or the mind's final determination to act.

IN the courſe of this reaſoning, we have abſtracted from all controverſies about Divine Preſcience and Decree. Tho' in fact, from what has been proved, it appears, that the Divine Being decrees all future events. For he who gave ſuch a nature to his creatures, and placed them in ſuch circumſtances, that a certain train of actions behoved neceſſarily to follow; he, I ſay, who did ſo, and who muſt have foreſeen the conſequences, [181] did certainly reſolve or decree that events ſhould fall out, and men ſhould act as they do. Preſcience indeed is not, properly ſpeaking, any cauſe of events. For events do not happen, becauſe they are foreſeen; but becauſe they are certainly to happen, therefore they are capable of being foreſeen. Tho' preſcience does not cauſe, yet it undoubtedly ſuppoſes, the certain futurition (as ſchoolmen ſpeak) of events. And, were there not cauſes which render the exiſtence of future events certain, it would involve a contradiction to maintain, that future events could be certainly foreſeen. But I avoid carrying the reader any further into ſuch thorny diſputes.

THE ſum of what we have diſcovered concerning contingency in events, and liberty in actions is this. Comparing together the moral and the natural world, every thing is as much the reſult of eſtabliſhed laws in the one as in the other. There is nothing in the whole univerſe that can properly be [182] called contingent, that may be, or may not be; nothing looſe and fluctuating in any part of nature; but every motion in the natural, and every determination and action in the moral world, are directed by immutable laws: ſo that, whilſt theſe laws remain in their force, not the ſmalleſt link of the univerſal chain of cauſes and effects can be broken, nor any one thing be otherways than it is *.

[183] THE doctrine of univerſal neceſſity being thus laid fairly open, and proved to be the true ſyſtem of the univerſe; we return to take a more deliberate view of the feelings of contingency and liberty, than was neceſſary in broaching the ſubject. And, as we muſt now admit, perhaps reluctantly, that theſe feelings are in reality of the deluſive kind, our next and only remaining theme will be to unravel, if poſſible, this curious myſtery, by trying to reach the purpoſe of endowing man with feelings, ſo contradictory to the truth of things.

AND to begin with a review of the feeling of contingency. It is certain, that, in our ordinary train of thinking, things never occur to us in the light above ſet forth. A multitude of events appear to us as depending upon ourſelves to cauſe or to prevent: and we readily make a diſtinction betwixt events, which are neceſſary, i. e. which muſt be, and events which are contingent, i. e. which may [184] be, or may not be. This diſtinction is without foundation in truth: for all things that fall out, either in the natural or moral world, are, as we have ſeen, alike neceſſary, and alike the reſult of fixed laws. Yet, how much ſoever a philoſopher may be convinced of this, the diſtinction betwixt things neceſſary, and things contingent, remains as much with him, in the common train of his thoughts, as with any other man. We act univerſally upon this ſuppoſed diſtinction. Nay, it is in truth the foundation of all the labour, care and induſtry of mankind. To illuſtrate this by an example; conſtant experience has taught us, that death is a neceſſary event. The human frame is not made to laſt, as it is, for ever; and therefore no man thinks of acquiring a natural immortality. But the particular time of our death appears a contingent event. However certain it be, that the preciſe time and manner of each man's death, is determined by a train of preceeding cauſes, not leſs neceſſary than the hour of the ſun's riſing or ſetting [185] to-morrow, yet no perſon is in the leaſt affected by this doctrine. In the care of prolonging life, every man is conducted by the feeling he has, of the contingency of the time of his death; which, to a certain term of years, he conſiders as depending in a great meaſure upon himſelf, by caution againſt accidents, due uſe of exerciſe, medicine, &c. To theſe means, he applies himſelf with the ſame diligence, as if there was, in fact, no neceſſary train of cauſes, to fix the period of his life. In ſhort, whoever attends to his own practical ideas; whoever reflects upon the meaning of theſe words, which occur in all languages, of things poſſible, contingent, that are in our power to cauſe or prevent; whoever, I ſay, reflects upon ſuch words, will clearly ſee, that they ſuggeſt certain feelings, or natural notions, repugnant to the doctrine above eſtabliſhed, of univerſal neceſſity *.

[186] WHAT then ſhall be done in this caſe, where truth contradicts the common feelings and natural notions of mankind; where it preſents to us, with irreſiſtible evidence, a ſyſtem of univerſal neceſſity upon which we never act; but are ſo formed, as to conduct [187] ourſelves by a ſyſtem of notions quite oppoſite? Shall we ſacrifice abſtract truth to feeling? or ſhall we ſtand by truth, and force our feelings into compliance? Neither of theſe will do. Truth is too rigid to bend to mere feeling; and our feelings are incapable of being forced by ſpeculation. The attempt is vain, pugnantia ſecum, frontibus adverſis, componere. Let us be honeſt then. Let us fairly own, that the truth of things is on the ſide of neceſſity; but that it was neceſſary for man to be formed, with ſuch feelings and notions of contingency, as would fit him for the part he has to act. This thought requires illuſtration.

THE Deity is the firſt cauſe of all things. He formed, in his infinite mind, the great plan or ſcheme, upon which all things were to be governed; and put it in execution, by eſtabliſhing certain laws, both in the natural and moral world, which are fixed and immutable. By virtue of theſe laws, all things proceed in a regular train of cauſes and effects, [188] bringing about thoſe events which are comprehended in the original plan, and admitting the poſſibility of none other. This univerſe is a vaſt machine, winded up and ſet a going. The ſeveral ſprings and wheels act unerringly one upon another. The hand advances, and the clock ſtrikes, preciſely as the artiſt has determined. Whoever has juſt ideas, and a true taſte of philoſophy, will ſee this to be the real theory, of the univerſe; and that, upon any other theory, there can be no general order, no whole, no plan, no means nor end in its adminiſtration. In this plan, man, a rational creature, was to bear his part, and to fulfill certain ends, for which he was deſigned. He was to appear as an actor, and to act with conſciouſneſs and ſpontaneity. He was to exerciſe thought and reaſon, and to receive the improvements of his nature, by the due uſe of theſe rational powers. Conſequently it was neceſſary, that he ſhould have ſome idea of liberty; ſome feeling of things poſſible and contingent, things depending upon [189] himſelf to cauſe, that he might be led to a proper exerciſe of that activity, for which he was deſigned. To have had his inſtinctive feelings, his practical ideas, formed upon the ſcheme of univerſal neceſſity; to have ſeen himſelf a part of that great machine, winded up, and ſet a going, by the author of his nature, would have been altogether incongruous to the ends he was to fulfill. Then, indeed, the ignava ratio, the inactive doctrine of the Stoicks, would have followed. Conceiving nothing to be contingent, or depending upon himſelf to cauſe, there would have been no room for fore-thought about futurity, nor for any ſort of induſtry and care: he would have had no motives to action, but immediate ſenſations of pleaſure and pain. He muſt have been formed like the brutes, who have no other principle of action, but mere inſtinct. The few inſtincts he is at preſent endowed with, would have been altogether inſufficient. He muſt have had an inſtinct to ſow, another to reap. He muſt have had inſtincts to purſue every conveniency, [190] and perform every office of life. In ſhort, reaſon and thought could not have been exerciſed in the way they are, that is, man could not have been man, had he not been furniſhed with a feeling of contingency. In this, as in all things elſe, the Divine Wiſdom and Goodneſs are moſt admirable. As, in the natural world, the Almighty has adapted our ſenſes, not to the diſcovery of the intimate nature and eſſences of things, but to the uſes and conveniencies of life; as he has, in ſeveral inſtances, exhibited natural objects to us, not in their real, but in a ſort of artificial view, clothed with ſuch diſtinctions, and producing ſuch ſenſations as are for the benefit of man: ſo he has exhibited the intellectual world to us, in a like artificial view, clothed with certain colours and diſtinctions, imaginary, but uſeful. Life is conducted according to this artificial view of things, and, by our ſpeculations, is not in the leaſt affected. Let the philoſopher meditate in his cloſet upon abſtract truth; let him be ever [191] ſo much convinced of the ſettled, neceſſary, train of cauſes and effects, which leaves nothing, properly ſpeaking, in his power; yet, the moment he comes forth into the world, he acts as a free agent. And, what is wonderful, tho' in this he acts upon a falſe ſuppoſition, yet he is not thereby miſled from the ends of action, but, on the contrary, fulfills them, to the beſt advantage. Long experience has made him ſenſible, that ſome things, ſuch as the ſun's riſing and ſetting, depend upon immutable laws. This is contradicted by no feeling, as it is no way for his benefit, that he ſhould act upon any other ſuppoſition, Such things he reckons upon as neceſſary. But there are other things, which depend upon the ſpontancous choices of men, or upon a concurrence of natural and moral cauſes. As to theſe, he has not knowledge enough, to foreſee and determine by what law they will happen: and his ignorance of the event, is made to have the ſame effect upon his mind, as if the event were what we vulgarly call contingent. [192] Its uncertainty as to him produces the ſame feeling, and ſtirs him up to the ſame activity, as if it were uncertain in itſelf, and had no determined cauſe of its futurition. This feeling then of contingency, and all the ideas connected with it, may be treated as ſecondary qualities, which have no real exiſtence in things; but, like other ſecondary qualities, are made to appear as exiſting in events, or belonging to them, in order to ſerve the neceſſary purpoſes of human life.

Some objections ſhall be conſidered, after diſcuſſing the other branch of the diſquiſition concerning liberty of action. Theſe ſubjects are ſo cloſely connected, that they cannot fail to throw light upon each other. Contingency in events is analogous to liberty in actions. The one is a ſuppoſed quality of the thing; the other of the actor.

The extent of human liberty is above aſcertained. It conſiſts in ſpontaneity, or acting according to our inclination and choice. [193] It may be therefore diſtinguiſhed from conſtraint, but muſt not be oppoſed to neceſſity. For, as has been fully ſhown, the mind, in the moſt calm choice, the moſt deliberate action, is neceſſarily, i. e. unavoidably and certainly, determined by the prepollent motive. When we examine accurately, how far our feelings correſpond to this ſyſtem; we find, as was hinted before, firſt, that, antecedent to any particular action, we generally think and reaſon upon the ſcheme of neceſſity. In conſidering or gueſſing at future events, we always conclude, that a man will act conſiſtently with his character; we infer what his actions will be, from the knowledge we have of his temper, and the motives that are fitted to influence it; and never dream of any man's having a power of acting againſt motives. Here we have a very weak feeling, if any at all, of liberty, as diſtinguiſhed from neceſſity: and wiſely ſo ordered, that a clue, as it were, might be afforded, to guide us in the labyrinth of future actions, which, were it not for the connection [194] betwixt an action and its motive, would appear like a rope of ſand, looſe and unconnected; and no means left of reaſoning upon, or foreſeeing future actions. It is to be obſerved in the next place, that, during the action, the feeling begins to vary; and, unleſs in caſes where the motive is ſo ſtrong and overbearing, as to approach to the nature of conſtraint; unleſs, in theſe, a man has a feeling of liberty, or of a power of acting otherways than he is doing. But, in the third place, it is principally in reflecting and paſſing judgment upon a paſt action, that the feeling of liberty is ſenſible and ſtrong. Then it is, that our actions are not conſidered as proceeding in a neceſſary unavoidable train: but we accuſe and blame others, for not having acted the part they might and ought to have acted, and condemn ourſelves, and feel remorſe, for having been guilty of a wrong we might have refrained from. The operations of moral conſcience plainly proceed upon this ſuppoſition, that there is ſuch a power in man of directing [195] his actions, as rendered it poſſible for the perſon accuſed, to have acted a better part. This affords an argument, which the advocates for liberty have urged in its full force, againſt the doctrine of neceſſity. They reaſon thus: If actions be neceſſary, and not in our own power, and if we know it to be ſo, what ground can there be for reprehenſion and blame, for ſelf-condemnation and remorſe? If a clock had underſtanding to be ſenſible of its own motions, knowing, at the ſame time, that they proceed according to neceſſary laws, could it find fault with itſelf for ſtriking wrong? Would it not blame the artiſt, who had ill adjuſted the wheels on which its movements depended? So that, upon this ſcheme, ſay they, all the moral conſtitution of our nature is overturned. There is an end to all the operations of conſcience about right and wrong. Man is no longer a moral agent, nor the ſubject of praiſe or blame for what he does.

[196] THIS difficulty is great, and never has been ſurmounted by the advocates for neceſſity. They endeavour to ſurmount it, by reconciling feeling to philoſophic truth, in the following manner. We are ſo conſtituted, they ſay, that certain affections, and the actions which proceed from them, appear odious and baſe; and others agreeable and lovely; that, wherever they are beheld, either in ourſelves or others, the moral ſenſe neceſſarily approves of the one, and condemns the other; that this approbation is immediate and inſtinctive, without any reflection on the liberty or neceſſity of actions; that, on the contrary, the more any perſon is under the power of his affections and paſſions, and, by conſequence, the greater neceſſity he is under, the more virtuous or vicious he is eſteemed.

BUT this account of the matter is not ſatisfactory. All that is here ſaid, is in the main true, but is not the whole truth. I appeal to any man who has been guilty of a bad action, which gives him uneaſineſs, whether [197] there is not ſomewhat more in the inward feeling, than merely a diſlike or diſapprobation of the affection, from which his action proceeded? whether the pain, the cruciatus of remorfe, is not founded on the notion of a power he has over his will and actions, that he might have forborn to do the ill thing? and whether it is not upon this account, that he is galled within, angry at himſelf, and confeſſes himſelf to be juſtly blameable? An uneaſineſs ſomewhat of the ſame kind, is felt upon the reflection of any fooliſh or raſh action, committed againſt the rules of wiſdom. The ſting is indeed much ſharper, and for very wiſe reaſons, when a man has treſpaſſed againſt the rules of ſtrict morality. But, in both caſes, the uneaſineſs proceeds upon the ſuppoſition, that he was free, and had it in his power to have acted a better part. This indeed is true, that to be ſo entirely under the power of any bad paſſion, (luſt, for inſtance, or cruelty) as to be incapable of acting otherways than they direct, conſtitutes [198] a very hateful character. I admit, that all ſuch ill affections are naturally, and in themſelves, the objects of diſlike and hatred, whereever they are beheld. But I inſiſt upon it, that mere diſlike and hatred, are not the whole, but only a part of the moral feeling. The perſon, thus under the dominion of bad paſſions, is accuſed, is condemned, ſingly upon this ground, that it was thro' his own fault he became ſo ſubject to them; in other words, that it was in his power, to have kept his mind free from the enſlaving influence of corrupt affections. Were not this the caſe, brute animals might be the objects of moral blame, as well as man. Some beaſts are reckoned ſavage and cruel, others treacherous and falſe: we diſlike, we hate creatures ſo ill conſtituted: but we do not blame nor condemn them, as we do rational agents; becauſe they are not ſuppoſed to have a ſenſe of right and wrong, nor freedom and power of directing their actions according to that inward rule. We muſt therefore admit, that the idea of freedom, [199] of a power of regulating our will and actions according to certain rules, is eſſential to the moral feeling. On the ſyſtem of univerſal neceſſity, abſtracted from this feeling, tho' certain affections and actions might excite our approbation, and others our diſlike, there could be no place for blame or remorſe. All the ideas would entirely vaniſh, which at preſent are ſuggeſted by the words ought and ſhould, when applied to moral conduct.

HERE then is another inſtance of a natural feeling, oppoſed to philoſophic truth, analogous to what is before conſidered. It is the more remarkable, that it has given riſe to thoſe diſputes about liberty and neceſſity, which have ſubſiſted thro' all ages in the inquiring world; which, ſince the earlieſt accounts of philoſophy, have run thro' all different ſects of philoſophers, and have been ingrafted into moſt of the religious ſyſtems. We are now able, I imagine, to give a clear and ſatisfactory account why the different [200] parties never could agree; becauſe, in truth, the feeling of liberty, which we have, does not agree with the real fact. Thoſe who were boldeſt in their inquiries, traced out the philoſophic truth: they ſaw that all things proceeded in a neceſſary train of cauſes and effects, which rendered it impoſſible for them, to act otherways than they did; and to this ſyſtem they adhered, without yielding to natural feelings. Thoſe again, who had not courage to oppoſe the firſt and moſt obvious feelings of their heart, ſtopped ſhort, and adhered to liberty. It is obſervable, that the ſide of liberty has always been the moſt popular, and moſt generally embraced: and, upon this ſyſtem, all popular diſcourſes and exhortations muſt needs proceed. Even thoſe perſons, whoſe philoſophical tenets are built upon the ſyſtem of neceſſity, find themſelves obliged to deſert that ſyſtem, in popular argument, and to adopt the ſtile and language of thoſe who eſpouſe liberty. Among the antients, the great aſſertors of neceſſity were the Stoicks; [201] a ſevere and rigid ſect, whoſe profeſſed doctrine it was, to ſubdue all our feelings to philoſophy. The Platonics, Academics and Epicureans, who embraced a ſofter ſcheme of philoſophy, and were more men of the world than the Stoics, leaned to the ſide of liberty. Both parties have their own advantages in reaſoning; and both, when puſhed, run into difficulties, from which they can never extricate themſelves. The advocates for liberty talk with great advantage upon the moral powers of man, and his character as an accountable being: but are at a loſs, how to give any view of the univerſe, as a regular pre-adjuſted plan; and when urged with the connection betwixt the motive and the action, and the neceſſary train of cauſes and effects, which reſults from admitting it to be a fixed connection, they find themſelves greatly embarraſſed. Here the patrons of neceſſity triumph. They have manifeſtly all the advantages of ſpeculative argument; whilſt they fail in accounting for man's moral powers, and ſtruggle [202] in vain to reconcile to their ſyſtem, the teſtimony which conſcience clearly gives to freedom.

LET us then fairly acknowledge, concerning both theſe claſſes of philoſophers, that they were partly in the right, and partly in the wrong. They divided, as it were, the truth betwixt them. The one had abſtract reaſon on their ſide: the other had natural feeling. In endeavouring to reconcile theſe oppoſites, both parties failed; and the vain attempt has rendered the controverſy difficult and perplexed. After having aſcertained the foundation, upon which the doctrine of neceſſity is built, and which ſeems incapable of being ſhaken, let us fairly and candidly take our nature as we find it, which will lead us to this concluſion, that tho' man, in truth, is a neceſſary agent, having all his actions determined by fixed and immutable laws; yet that, this being concealed from him, he acts with the conviction of being a free agent. It is concealed from him, [203] I ſay, as to the purpoſes of action: for whatever diſcoveries he makes as a philoſopher, theſe affect not his conduct as a man. In principle and ſpeculation, let him be a moſt rigid fataliſt; he has nevertheleſs all the feelings which would ariſe from power over his own actions. He is angry at himſelf when he has done wrong. He praiſes and blames juſt like other men: nor can all his principles ſet him above the reach of ſelf-condemnation and remorſe, when conſcience at any time ſmites him. It is true, that a man of this belief, when he is ſeeking to make his mind eaſy, after ſome bad action, may reaſon upon the principles of neceſſity, that, according to the conſtitution of his nature, it was impoſſible for him to have acted any other part. But this will give him little relief. In ſpite of all reaſonings, his remorſe will ſubſiſt. Nature never intended us to act upon this plan; and our natural principles are too deeply rooted, to give way to philoſophy. This caſe is preciſely ſimilar to that of contingency. A feeling of liberty, [204] which I now ſcruple not to call deceitful, is ſo interwoven with our nature, that it has an equal effect in action, as if we were really endued with ſuch a power.

HAVING explained, at full length, this remarkable feeling of liberty, and examined, as we went along, ſome arguments againſt neceſſity that are founded upon it; we now proceed to handle this feeling, as we have done that of contingency, with regard to its final cauſe. And in this branch of our nature are diſplayed the greateſt wiſdom, and the greateſt goodneſs. Man muſt be ſo conſtituted, in order to attain the proper improvement of his nature, in virtue and happineſs. Put the caſe, he were entirely diveſted of his preſent ideas of liberty: ſuppoſe him to ſee and conceive his own nature, and the conſtitution of things, in the light of ſtrict philoſophic truth; in the ſame light they are beheld by the deity: to conceive himſelf, and all his actions, neceſſarily linked into the great chain of cauſes and effects, which [205] renders the whole order both of the natural and moral world unalterably determined in every article: ſuppoſe, I ſay, our natural feelings, our practical ideas to ſuit and tally with this, which is the real plan; and what would follow? Why, an entire derangement of our preſent ſyſtem of action, eſpecially with regard to the motives which now lead us to virtue. There would ſtill indeed be ground for the love of virtue, as the beſt conſtitution of nature, and the only ſure foundation of happineſs; and, in this view, we might be grieved when we found ourſelves deficient in good principles. But this would be all. We could feel no inward ſelf-approbation on doing well, no remorſe on doing ill; becauſe both the good and the ill were neceſſary and unavoidable. There would be no more place for applauſe or blame among mankind: none of that generous indignation we now feel at the bad, as perſons who have abuſed and perverted their rational powers: no more notion of accountableneſs for the uſe of thoſe powers: no [206] ſenſe of ill deſert, or juſt puniſhment annexed to crimes as their due; nor of any reward merited by worthy and generous actions. All theſe ideas, and feelings, ſo uſeful to men in their moral conduct, vaniſh at once with the feeling of liberty. There would be field for no other paſſions but love and hatred, ſorrow and pity: and the ſenſe of duty, of being obliged to certain things which we ought to perform, muſt be quite extinguiſhed; for we can have no conception of moral obligation, without ſuppoſing a power in the agent over his own actions.

IT appears then moſt fit and wiſe, that we ſhould be endued with a ſenſe of liberty; without which, man muſt have been ill qualified for acting his preſent part. That artificial light, in which the feeling of liberty preſents the moral world to our view, anſwers all the good purpoſes of making the actions of man entirely dependent upon himſelf. His happineſs and miſery appear to be in his own power. He appears praiſeworthy [207] or culpable, according as he improves or neglects his rational faculties. The idea of his being an accountable crearure ariſes. Reward ſeems due to merit; puniſhment to crimes. He feels the force of moral obligation. In ſhort, new paſſions ariſe, and a variety of new ſprings are ſet in motion, to make way for new exertions of reaſon and activity. In all which, tho' man is really actuated by laws of neceſſary influence, yet he ſeems to move himſelf: and whilſt the univerſal ſyſtem is gradually carried on to perfection by the firſt mover, that powerful hand, which winds up and directs the great machine, is never brought into ſight.

IT will now be proper to anſwer ſome objections, which may be urged againſt the doctrine we have advanced. One, which at firſt, may ſeem of conſiderable weight, is, that we found virtue altogether upon a deceitful feeling of liberty, which, it may be alledged, is neither a ſecure nor an honourable foundation. [208] But, in the firſt place, I deny that we have founded it altogether upon a deceitful feeling. For, independent of the deceitful feeling of liberty, there is in the nature of man a firm foundation for virtue. He muſt be ſenſible that virtue is eſſentially preferable to vice; that it is the juſt order, the perfection and happineſs of his nature. For, ſuppoſing him only endued with the principle of ſelf-love; this principle will lead him to diſtinguiſh moral good from evil, ſo far as to give ground for loving the one, and hating the other: as he muſt needs ſee that benevolence, juſtice, temperance, and the other virtues, are the neceſſary means of his happineſs, and that all vice and wickedneſs introduce diſorder and miſery. But man is endued with a ſocial as well as a ſelfiſh principle, and has an immediate ſatisfaction and pleaſure in the happineſs of others, which is a further ground for diſtinguiſhing and loving virtue. All this, I ſay, takes place, laying aſide the deceitful feeling of liberty, and ſuppoſing all our notions to be [209] adjuſted to the ſyſtem of neceſſity. I add, that there is nothing in the above doctrine, to exclude the perception, of a certain beauty and excellency in virtue, according to lord Shaftesbury and the antient Philoſophers; which may, for ought we know, render it lovely and admirable to all rational beings. It appears to us, unqueſtionably, under the form of intrinſick excellency, even when we think not of its tendency to our happineſs. Ideas of moral obligation, of remorſe, of merit, and all that is connected with this way of thinking, ariſe from, what may be called, a wiſe deluſion in our nature concerning liberty: but, as this affects only a certain modification of our ideas of virtue and vice, there is nothing in it, to render the foundation of virtue, either unſecure or diſhonourable. Unſecure it does not render it, becauſe, as now obſerved, virtue partly ſtands firm upon a ſeparate foundation, independent of theſe feelings; and even where built upon theſe feelings, it is ſtill built upon human nature. For though theſe feelings of liberty [210] vary from the truth of things, they are, nevertheleſs, eſſential to the nature of man. We act upon them, and cannot act otherways. And therefore, tho' the diſtinction betwixt virtue and vice, had no other foundation but theſe feelings, (which is not the caſe) it would ſtill have an immoveable and ſecure foundation in human nature. As for the ſuppoſed diſhonour done to virtue, by reſting its authority, in any degree, on a deceitful feeling, there is ſo little ground for this part of the objection, that, on the contrary, our doctrine moſt highly exalts virtue. For the above deſcribed artificial ſenſe of liberty, is wholly contrived to ſupport virtue, and to give its dictates the force of a law. Hereby it is diſcovered to be, in a ſingular manner, the care of the Deity; and a peculiar ſort of glory is thrown around it. The Author of nature, has not reſted it, upon the ordinary feelings and principles of human nature, as he has reſted our other affections and appetites, even thoſe which are moſt neceſſary to our exiſtence. But a [211] ſort of extraordinary machinery is introduced for its ſake. Human nature is forced, as it were, out of its courſe, and made to receive a nice and artificial ſet of feelings; merely that conſcience may have a commanding power, and virtue be ſet as on a throne. This could not otherways be brought about, but by means of the deceitful feeling of liberty, which therefore is a greater honour to virtue, a higher recommendation of it, than if our conceptions were, in every particular, correſpondent to the truth of things.

A SECOND objection which may be urged againſt our ſyſtem, is, that it ſeems to repreſent the Deity, as acting deceitfully by his creatures. He has given them certain ideas of contingency in events, and of liberty in their own actions, by which he has, in a manner, forced them to act upon a falſe hypotheſis; as if he were unable, to carry on the government of this world, did his creatures conceive things, according to the real [212] truth. This objection is, in a great meaſure, obviated, by what we obſerved in the introduction to this eſſay, concerning our ſenſible ideas. It is univerſally allowed by modern philoſophers, that the perceptions of our external ſenſes, are not always agreeable to ſtrict truth, but ſo contrived, as rather to anſwer the purpoſes of uſe. Now, if it be called a deceit in our ſenſes, not to give us juſt repreſentations of the material world, the Deity muſt be the author of this deceit, as much as he is, of that which prevails in our moral ideas. But no juſt objection can ly againſt the conduct of the Deity, in either eaſe. Our ſenſes, both internal and external, are given us for different ends and purpoſes; ſome to diſcover truth, others to make us happy and virtuous. The ſenſes which are appropriated to the diſcovery of truth, unerringly anſwer their end. So do the ſenſes, which are appropriated to virtue and happineſs. And, in this view, it is no material objection, that the ſame ſenſe does not anſwer both ends. As to the other part of [213] the objection, that it muſt imply imperfection in the Deity, if he cannot eſtabliſh virtue but upon a deluſive foundation; we may be ſatisfied how fallacious this reaſoning is, by reflecting upon the numberleſs appearances, of moral evil and diſorder in this world. From theſe appearances, much more ſtrongly, were there any force in this reaſoning, might we infer imperfection in the Deity; ſeeing the ſtate of this world, in many particulars, does not anſwer the notions we are apt to form, of ſupreme power conducted by perfect wiſdom and goodneſs. But, in truth, there is nothing in our doctrine, which can juſtly argue imperfection in the Deity. For it is abundantly plain, firſt, that it is a more perfect ſtate of things, and more worthy of the Deity, to have all events going on with unbroken order, in a fixed train of cauſes and effects; than to have every thing deſultory and contingent. And, if ſuch a being as man, was to be placed in this world, to act his preſent part; it was neceſſary, that he ſhould have a notion of contingency in events, [214] and of liberty in his own actions. The objection therefore, on the whole, amounts to no more, than that the Deity cannot work contradictions. For, if it was fit and wiſe, that man ſhould think and act, as a free agent, it was impoſſible this could be otherways accompliſhed, than by endowing him with a ſenſe of liberty: and if it was alſo fit and wiſe, that univerſal neceſſity ſhould be the real plan of the univerſe, this ſenſe of liberty could be no other than a deceitful one.

ANOTHER objection may perhaps be raiſed againſt us in this form. If it was neceſſary for man to be conſtituted, with ſuch an artificial feeling, why was he endowed with ſo much knowledge, as to unravel the myſtery? What purpoſe does it ſerve, to let in juſt ſo much light, as to diſcover the diſguiſed appearance of the moral world, when it was intended, that his conduct ſhould be adjuſted to this diſguiſed appearance? To this, I anſwer, firſt, that the diſcovery, when made, cannot poſſibly be of any bad conſequence; [215] and next, that a good conſequence, of very great importance, reſults from it. No bad conſequence, I ſay, enſues from the diſcovery, that liberty and contingency are deceitful feelings; for the caſe is confeſſedly parallel in the natural world, where no harm has enſued. After we have diſcovered, by philoſophy, that ſeveral of the appearances of nature, are only uſeful illuſions, that ſecondary qualities exiſt not in matter, and that our ſenſible ideas, in various inſtances, do not correſpond to philoſophic truth; after theſe diſcoveries are made, do they, in the leaſt, affect even the philoſopher himſelf in ordinary action? Does not he, in common with the reſt of mankind, proceed, as it is fit he ſhould, upon the common ſyſtem of appearances and natural feelings? As little, in the preſent caſe, do our ſpeculations about liberty and neceſſity, counteract the plan of nature. Upon the ſyſtem of liberty we do, and muſt act: and no diſcoveries, made concerning the illuſive nature of that feeling, are [216] capable of diſappointing, in any degree, the intention of the Deity.

BUT this is not all. Theſe diſcoveries are alſo of excellent uſe, as they furniſh us with one of the ſtrongeſt arguments, for the exiſtence of the Deity, and as they ſet the wiſdom and goodneſs of his providence, in the moſt ſtriking light. Nothing carries in it more expreſs characters of deſign; nothing can be conceived more oppoſite to chance, than a plan ſo artfully contrived, for adjuſting our impreſſions and feelings to the purpoſes of life. For here things are carried off, as it were, from the ſtraight line; taken out of the courſe, in which they would of themſelves proceed; and ſo moulded, as forcibly, and againſt their nature, to be ſubſervient to man. His mind does not receive the impreſſion of the moral world, in the ſame manner, as wax receives the impreſſion of a ſeal. It does not reflect the image of it, in the ſame manner, as a mirror reflects its images: it has a peculiar caſt and turn given to its [217] conceptions, admirably ordered to exalt virtue, to the higheſt pitch. Theſe conceptions are indeed illuſive, yet, which is wonderful, it is by this very circumſtance, that, in man, two of the moſt oppoſite things in nature, are happily reconciled, liberty and neceſſity; having this illuſtrious effect, that in him are accumulated, all the prerogatives both of a neceſſary and free agent. The diſcovery of ſuch a marvelous adjuſtment, which is more directly oppoſed to chance, than any other thing conceiveable, muſt neceſſarily give us the ſtrongeſt impreſſion of a wiſe deſigning cauſe. And now a ſufficient reaſon appears, for ſuffering man to make this ſurpriſing diſcovery. The Almighty has let us ſo far into his councils, as to afford the juſteſt foundation, for admiring and adoring his wiſdom. It is a remark worthy to be made, that the capacities of man ſeem, in general, to have a tendency beyond the wants and occaſions of his preſent ſtate. This has been often obſerved with reſpect to his wiſhes and deſires. The ſame holds [218] as to his intellectual faculties, which, ſometimes, as in the inſtance before us, run beyond the limits of what is ſtrictly neceſſary for him to know, in his preſent circumſtances, and let in upon him ſome glimmerings of higher and nobler diſcoveries. A veil is thrown over nature, where it is not uſeful for him to behold it. And yet, ſometimes, by turning aſide that veil a very little, he is admitted to a fuller view; that his admiration of nature, and the God of nature, may be increaſed; that his curioſity and love of truth may be fed; and, perhaps, that ſome augurium, ſome intimation, may be given, of his being deſigned for a future, more exalted period of being; when attaining the full maturity of his nature, he ſhall no longer ſtand in need of artificial impreſſions, but ſhall feel and act according to the ſtricteſt truth of things.

[] ESSAYS UPON THE PRINCIPLES of MORALITY AND NATURAL RELIGION.

PART II.

ESSAY I. Of BELIEF.

[221]

BELIEF is a term ſo familiar, as to have eſcaped the inquiry of all philoſophers, except the author of the treatiſe of human nature. And yet the ſubject is, by no means, ſo plain as to admit of no doubts nor difficulties. This author has made two propoſitions ſufficiently evident; firſt, that belief is not any ſeparate action or perception of the mind, but a modification of our perceptions, or a certain manner of conceiving propoſitions. 2d, That it does not accompany every one of our perceptions. A man, in ſome circumſtances, ſees objects double, but he does not believe them to be double. He can form the idea of a golden mountain: he can form the idea of it, as of a certain ſize, and as exiſting in a certain place: but he does not believe it to be exiſting.

HAVING proved that belief is not a ſeparate perception, but only a modification [222] of ſome perceptions, our author goes on to explain the nature of this modification. And his doctrine is, that belief making no alteration upon the idea, as to its parts and compoſition, muſt conſiſt in the lively manner of conceiving the idea; and that, in reality, a lively idea and belief are the ſame. I have a high opinion of this author's acuteneſs and penetration; but no authority can prevail with me to embrace ſuch a doctrine. For, at this rate, credulity and a lively imagination would be always connected, which does not hold in fact. Poetry and painting produce lively ideas, but they ſeldom produce belief. For my part, I have no difficulty to form as lively a conception of Ceſar's dying in his bed, deſcanting upon the vanity of ambition, or dictating rules of government to his ſucceſſor, as of his being put to death in the ſenate-houſe. Nothing is told with more vivacity, than the death of Cyrus, in a pitched battle with the queen of the Scythians, who dipped his head, as we are told, in a veſſel full of blood, ſaying, ‘Satiate thyſelf [223] with blood, of which thou waſt ever thirſty.’ Yet, upon comparing circumſtances and authors, the more probable opinion is, that Cyrus died in his bed.

IT may be obſerved, at the ſame time, that the concluſion is very lame, which this author draws from his premiſes. Belief makes no alteration upon the idea, as to its parts and compoſition. It can only therefore conſiſt in a modification of the idea. But does it follow, that it conſiſts in a lively conceptition of the idea, which is but one of many modifications? There is not here the ſhadow of an inference.

OUR author indeed urges, that true hiſtory takes faſt hold of the mind, and preſents its objects in a more lively manner, than any fabulous narration can do. Every man muſt judge for himſelf: I cannot admit this to be my caſe. Hiſtory, no doubt, takes faſter hold of the mind, than any fiction told in the plain hiſtorical ſtile. But can any [224] man doubt, who has not an hypotheſis to defend, that poetry makes a ſtronger impreſſion than hiſtory? Let a man, if he has feelings, attend the celebrated Garrick in the character of Richard, or in that of king Lear; and he will find, that dramatic repreſentations make ſtrong and lively impreſſions, which hiſtory ſeldom comes up to.

BUT now, if it ſhall be ſuppoſed, that hiſtory preſents its objects in a more lively manner, than can be done by dramatic or epic poetry; it will not therefore follow, that a lively idea is the ſame with belief. I read a paſſage in Virgil. Let it be the epiſode of Niſus and Euryalus. I read a paſſage in Livy, ſciz. the ſacking of Rome by the Gauls. If I have a more lively idea of the latter ſtory, I put it to my author, to point out the cauſe of this effect. He ſurely will not affirm, that it is the force of expreſſion, or harmony of numbers: for, in theſe particulars, the hiſtorian cannot be compared to the poet. It is evident, that no other ſatiſfactory [225] account of the matter can be given, but this, that Livy's ſuperior influence upon the imagination, is the effect of his being conſidered, as a true hiſtorian. The moſt, then, that our author can make of his obſervation, ſuppoſing it to hold true in fact, is, that the authority of the hiſtorian produces belief, and that belief produces a more lively idea, than any fabulous narration can do. The truth of the matter is, that belief and a lively conception, are really two diſtinct modifications of the idea; which, tho' often conjoined, are not only ſeparable in the imagination, but in fact are often ſeparated. Truth, indeed, beſtows a certain degree of vivacity upon our ideas. At the ſame time, I cannot admit, that hiſtory exceeds dramatic or epic poetry, in conveying a lively conception of facts; becauſe it appears evident, that, in works of imagination, the want of truth, is more than compenſated by ſentiment and language.

[226] SOMETIMES, indeed, belief is the reſult of a lively impreſſion. A dramatic repreſentation is one inſtance, when it affects us ſo much, as to draw off the attention from every other object, and even from ourſelves. In this ſituation, we don't conſider the actor, but conceive him to be the very man whoſe character he aſſumes. We have that very man before our eyes. We perceive him as exiſting and acting, and believe him to be exiſting and acting. This belief, however, is but momentary. It vaniſhes, like a dream, ſo ſoon as we are rouzed by any trivial circumſtance, to a conſciouſneſs of ourſelves, and of the place we are in. Nor is the lively impreſſion, even in this caſe, the cauſe of belief, but only the occaſion of it, by diverting the attention of the mind, from itſelf and its ſituation. It is in ſome ſuch manner, that the idea of a ſpectre in the dark, which fills the mind, and diverts it from itſelf, is, by the force of imagination, converted into a reality. We think we ſee [227] and hear it. We are convinced of it, and believe the matter to be ſo.

REJECTING therefore this author's opinion, the real truth appears to be this. There is a certain peculiar manner of perceiving objects, and conceiving propoſitions, which, being a ſimple feeling, cannot be deſcribed, but is expreſſed by the word belief. The cauſes of this modification, termed belief, are the authority of my own ſenſes, and the authority of others, who either relate facts upon the authority of their ſenſes, or what they have heard at ſecond or third hand. So that belief, mediately or immediately, is founded upon the authority of our ſenſes. We are ſo conſtituted by nature, as to put truſt in our ſenſes. Nor, in general, is it in our power to disbelieve our ſenſes: they have authority with us irreſiſtible. There is but one exception that I can think of. Finding, by experience, that we have been ſometimes led into an error, by truſting ſome particular perceptions, the remembrance [228] of theſe inſtances, counter-balances the authority of our perception in the like caſes, and either keeps the mind ſuſpended, or, perhaps, makes it reſt in a conviction, that the perception is erroneous.

WITH regard to the evidence of my own ſenſes, tho' I cannot admit, that the eſſence of belief conſiſts in the vivacity of the impreſſion, I ſo far agree with our author, that vivacity and belief, in this caſe, are always conjoined. A mountain I have once ſeen, I believe to be exiſting, tho' I am a thouſand miles from it; and the image or idea I have of that mountain, is more lively and more diſtinct, than of any I can form merely by the force of imagination. But this is far from being the caſe, as above obſerved, of ideas raiſed in my mind by the force of language.

BELIEF ariſing from the evidence of others, reſts upon a different foundation. Veracity and a diſpoſition to believe, are correſponding [229] principles in the nature of man; and, in the main, theſe principles are ſo adjuſted, that men are not often deceived. The diſpoſition we have to believe, is qualified by the opinion we have of the witneſs, and the nature of the ſtory he relates. But, ſuppoſing a concurrence of all other circumſtances to prompt our belief, yet, if the ſpeaker pretends only to amuſe, without confining himſelf to truth, his narration will not, in the ſmalleſt degree, prompt our belief; let him enliven it with the ſtrongeſt colours that poetry is maſter of.

I HAVE only to add, that tho' our own ſenſes, and the teſtimony of others, are the proper cauſes of belief; yet that theſe cauſes are more or leſs efficacious, according to the temper of mind we are in at the time. Hope and fear are influenced by paſſion, ſo is belief. Hope and fear are modifications of our conception of future events. If the event be agreeable, and the probability of its exiſtence, be great, our conception of its exiſtence takes [230] on a modification, which is called hope. If the event be extremely agreeable, and the probability of its exiſting do greatly preponderate, our hope is increaſed proportionally, and ſometimes is converted into a firm belief, that it will really happen. Upon weak minds, the delightfulneſs of the expected event, will of itſelf have that effect. The imagination, fired with the proſpect, augments the probability, 'till it convert it to a firm perſuaſion or belief. On the other hand, if fear get the aſcendent, by a conceived improbability of the exiſtence of the event, the mind deſponds, and fear is converted into a firm belief, that the event will not happen. The operations of the mind are quite ſimilar, where the event in view is diſagreeable.

ESSAY II. Of the IDEA of SELF and of PERSONAL IDENTITY.

[231]

HAD we no original impreſſions but thoſe of the external ſenſes, according to the author of the treatiſe of human nature, we never could have any conſciouſneſs of ſelf; becauſe ſuch conſciouſneſs cannot ariſe from any external ſenſe. Mankind would be in a perpetual reverie; ideas would be conſtantly floating in the mind; and no man be able to connect his ideas with himſelf. Neither could there be any idea of perſonal identity. For a man, cannot conſider himſelf to be the ſame perſon, in different circumſtances, when he has no idea or conſciouſneſs of himſelf at all.

BEINGS there may be, who are thus conſtituted: but man is none of theſe beings. It is an undoubted truth, that he has an original feeling, or conſciouſneſs of himſelf, [232] and of his exiſtence; which, for the moſt part, accompanies every one of his impreſſions and ideas, and every action of his mind and body. I ſay, for the moſt part; for the faculty or internal ſenſe, which is the cauſe of this peculiar perception, is not always in action. In a dead ſleep, we have no conſciouſneſs of ſelf. We dream ſometimes without this conſciouſneſs: and even ſome of our waking hours paſs without it. A reverie is nothing elſe, but a wandering of the mind through its ideas, without carrying along the perception of ſelf.

THIS conſciouſneſs or perception of ſelf, is, at the ſame time, of the livelieſt kind. Self-preſervation is every one's peculiar duty; and the vivacity of this perception, is neceſſary to make us attentive to our own intereſt, and, particularly, to ſhun every appearance of danger. When a man is in a reverie, he has no circumſpection, nor any manner of attention to his own intereſt.

[233] 'TIS remarkable, that one has ſcarce any chance to fall aſleep, 'till this perception vaniſh. Its vivacity keeps the mind in a certain degree of agitation, which bars ſleep. A fall of water diſpoſes to ſleep. It fixes the attention, both by ſound and ſight, and, without creating much agitation, occupies the mind, ſo as to make it forget itſelf. Reading of ſome books has the ſame effect.

IT is this perception, or conſciouſneſs of ſelf, carried through all the different ſtages of life, and all the variety of action, which is the foundation of perſonal identity. It is, by means of this perception, that I conſider myſelf to be the ſame perſon, in all varieties of fortune, and every change of circumſtance.

THE main purpoſe of this ſhort eſſay, is to introduce an obſervation, that it is not by any argument or reaſoning, I conclude myſelf to be the ſame perſon, I was ten years ago. This concluſion reſts entirely upon the feeling [234] of identity, which accompanies me through all my changes, and which is the only connecting principle, that binds together, all the various thoughts and actions of my life. Far leſs is it by any argument, or chain of reaſoning, that I diſcover my own exiſtence. It would be ſtrange indeed, if every man's exiſtence was kept a ſecret from him, 'till the celebrated argument was invented, that cogito ergo ſum. And if a fact, that, to common underſtanding, appears ſelf-evident, is not to be relied on without an argument; why ſhould I take for granted, without an argument, that I think, more than that I exiſt? For ſurely I am not more conſcious of thinking, than of exiſting.

UPON this ſubject, I ſhall juſt ſuggeſt a thought, which will be more fully inſiſted on afterwards; that any doctrine, which leads to a diſtruſt of our ſenſes, muſt land in univerſal ſcepticiſm. If natural feelings, whether from internal or external ſenſes, are not admitted as evidence of truth, I cannot [235] ſee, that we can be certain of any fact whatever. It is clear, from what is now obſerved, that, upon this ſceptical ſyſtem, we cannot be certain even of our own exiſtence *.

[236]

ESSAY III. Of the AUTHORITY of our SENSES.

[237]

IN a former eſſay are pointed out ſome inſtances, in which our ſenſes may be called deceitful *. They are of two ſorts. One is, when the deception is occaſioned by indiſpoſition of the organ, remoteneſs of place, groſſneſs of the medium, or the like; which diſtort the appearances of objects, and make them be ſeen double, or greater or leſs, than they really are. In ſuch inſtances, the perception is always faint, obſcure or confuſed: and they noway invalidate the authority of the ſenſes, in general, when, abſtracting from ſuch accidental obſtructions, the perception is lively, ſtrong and diſtinct. In the other ſort, there is a deception eſtabliſhed by the laws of nature; as in the caſe of ſecondary qualities, taken notice of in that eſſay; whence it was inferred, that nature does not always give us ſuch correct perceptions, as correſpond to the philoſophic [238] truth of things. Notwithſtanding of which, the teſtimony of our ſenſes ſtill remains, as a ſufficient ground of confidence and truſt. For, in all theſe caſes, where there is this ſort of eſtabliſhed deception, nature furniſhes means for coming at the truth. As in this very inſtance of ſecondary qualities, philoſophy eaſily corrects the falſe appearances, and teaches us, that they are rather to be conſidered, as impreſſions made upon the mind, than as qualities of the object. A remedy being thus provided to the deception, our belief, ſo far as it can be influenced by reaſon, is the more confirmed, with regard to our other ſenſations, where there is no appearance of illuſion. But this is not the whole of the matter. When any ſenſe preſents to our view, an appearance that may be called deceitful, we plainly diſcover ſome uſeful purpoſe intended. The deceit is not the effect of an imperfect or arbitrary conſtitution; but wiſely contrived, to give us ſuch notice of things, as may beſt ſuit the purpoſes of life. From this very conſideration, we are the more confirmed [239] in the veracity of nature. Particular inſtances, in which, our ſenſes are accommodated to the uſes of life, rather than to the ſtrictneſs of truth, are rational exceptions, which ſerve, the more firmly, to eſtabliſh the general rule. And, indeed, when we have nothing but our ſenſes to direct our conduct, with regard to external objects, it would be ſtrange, if there ſhould be any juſt ground, for a general diſtruſt of them. But there is no ſuch thing. There is nothing to which all mankind are more neceſſarily determined, than to put confidence in their ſenſes. We entertain no doubt of their authority, becauſe we are ſo conſtituted, that it is not in our power to doubt.

WHEN the authority of our ſenſes is thus founded on the neceſſity of our nature, and confirmed by conſtant experience, it cannot but appear ſtrange, that it ſhould come into the thought of any man to call it in queſtion. But the influence of novelty is great; and when a bold genius, in ſpite of common [240] ſenſe, and common feelings, will ſtrike out new paths to himſelf, 'tis not eaſy to foreſee, how far his airy metaphyſical notions may carry him. A late author, who gives us a treatiſe concerning the principles of human knowledge, by denying the reality of external objects, ſtrikes at the root of the authority of our ſenſes, and thereby paves the way to the moſt inveterate ſcepticiſm. For what reliance can we have upon our ſenſes, if they deceive us in a point ſo material? If we can be prevailed upon, to doubt of the reality of external objects, the next ſtep will be, to doubt of what paſſes in our own minds, of the reality of our ideas and perceptions. For we have not a ſtronger conſciouſneſs, nor a clearer conviction of the one, than of the other. And the laſt ſtep will be, to doubt of our own exiſtence; for it is ſhown in the eſſay immediately foregoing, that we have no certainty of this fact, but what depends upon ſenſe and feeling.

[241] IT is reported, that doctor Berkeley, the author of the abovementioned treatiſe, was moved to adopt this whimſical opinion, to get free of ſome arguments, urged by materialiſts againſt the exiſtence of the Deity. If ſo, he has been unhappy in his experiment; for this doctrine, if it ſhould not lead to univerſal ſcepticiſm, affords, at leaſt, a ſhrewd argument in favours of Atheiſm. If I can only be conſcious of what paſſes in my own mind, and if I cannot truſt my ſenſes, when they give me notice of external and independent exiſtences; it follows, that I am the only being in the world; at leaſt, that I can have no evidence from my ſenſes, of any other being, body or ſpirit. This is certainly an unwary conceſſion; becauſe it deprives us of our principal, or only, inlet to the knowledge of the Deity. Laying aſide ſenſe and feeling, this learned divine will find it a difficult task, to point out by what other means it is, that we make the diſcovery of the above important truth. But of this more afterwards.

[242] WERE there nothing elſe in view, but to eſtabliſh the reality of external objects, it would be ſcarce worth while, to beſtow much thought, in ſolving metaphyſical paradoxes againſt their exiſtence, which are better confuted by common ſenſe and experience. But, as the above doctrine appears to have very extenſive conſequences, and to ſtrike at the root of the moſt valuable branches of human knowledge; an attempt to re-eſtabliſh the authority of our ſenſes, by detecting the fallacy of the arguments that have been urged againſt it, may, it is hoped, not be unacceptable to the public. The attempt, at any rate, is neceſſary in this work, the main purpoſe of which is, to ſhow that our ſenſes, external and internal, are the true ſources, from whence the knowledge of the Deity is derived to us.

IN order to afford ſatisfaction upon a ſubject, which is eaſier felt than expreſt, it will be proper, to give a diſtinct analyſis of the operations of thoſe ſenſes, by which we perceive [243] external objects. And, if this be once clearly apprehended, it will not be a matter of difficulty, to anſwer the ſeveral objections, which have been urged againſt their exiſtence.

THE impreſſions of the external ſenſes are of different kinds. Some we have at the organs of ſenſe, ſuch as ſmelling, taſting, touching. Some are made upon us as from a diſtance, ſuch as hearing and ſeeing. From the ſenſe of feeling, are derived the impreſſions of body, ſolidity and external exiſtence. Laying my hand upon this table, I perceive a thing ſmooth and hard, preſſing upon my hand, and which is perceived as more diſtant from me, than my hand is. From the ſight, we have the impreſſions of motion and of colour; and from the ſight as well as from the touch, thoſe of extenſion and figure. But it is more material to obſerve, upon the preſent ſubject, that from ſight as well as touch, we have the impreſſion of things [244] as having an independent and continued or permanent exiſtence.

LET us endeavour to explain this modification of independency and permanent exiſtence of the objects of ſight and touch, for it is a cardinal point. To begin with the objects of ſight. I caſt my eye upon a tree, and perceive colour, figure, extention, and ſometimes motion. If this be a complete analyſis of the perception, ſubſtance is not diſcoverable by ſight. But upon attentively examining this perception, to try if there be any thing more in it, I find one circumſtance omitted, that the above particulars, are not perceived as ſo many ſeparate exiſtences, having no relation to each other, but as cloſely united and connected. When looking around on different objects, I perceive colour in one quarter, motion in a ſecond, and extenſion in a third; the appearance theſe make in my mind, are in nothing ſimilar to the impreſſion made by a tree, where the extenſion, motion, and other qualities, are [245] introduced into the mind, under the modification of an intimate connection and union. But in what manner are they united and connected? Of this, every perſon can give an account, that they are perceived as inhering in, or belonging to ſome ſubſtance or thing, of which they are qualities; and that, by their reference to this ſubſtance or thing, they are thus cloſely united and connected. Thus it is, that the impreſſion of ſubſtance, as well as of qualities, is derived from ſight. And it is alſo to be attended to, as a part of the total impreſſion, that as the qualities appear to belong to their ſubſtance, and to inhere in it, ſo both the ſubſtance and its qualities, which we call the tree, are perceived as altogether independent of us, as really exiſting, and as having a permanent exiſtence.

A SIMILAR impreſſion is made upon us, by means of the ſenſe of feeling. It is obſerved above, that, from the touch, we have the impreſſions, of body, ſolidity and external [246] exiſtence; and we have, from the ſame ſenſe, the impreſſions of ſoftneſs and hardneſs, ſmoothneſs and roughneſs. Now, when I lay my hand upon this table, I have an impreſſion, not only of ſmoothneſs, hardneſs, figure and extenſion, but alſo of a thing I call body, of which the above are perceived as qualities. Smoothneſs, hardneſs, extenſion and figure are felt, not as ſeparate and unconnected exiſtences, but as inhering in and belonging to ſomething I call body, which is really exiſting, and which has an independent and permanent exiſtence. And it is this body, with its ſeveral qualities, which I expreſs by the word table.

THE above analyſis of the impreſſions of ſight and touch, will be beſt illuſtrated, by a compariſon with the impreſſions made by the other ſenſes. I hear a ſound, or I feel a ſmell. Attending to theſe impreſſions, I perceive nothing but ſound or ſmell. They are not perceived as the qualities or properties of any body, thing or ſubſtance. [247] They make their appearance in the mind as ſimple exiſtences; and there is no impreſſion made of independency, or permanent exiſtence. Did ſeeing and feeling carry us no further, we never could have the leaſt conception of ſubſtance.

'TIS not a little ſurpriſing, that philoſophers, who diſcourſe ſo currently of qualities, ſhould affect ſo much doubt and heſitation about ſubſtance; ſeeing theſe are relative ideas, and imply each other. For what other reaſon do we call figure a quality, but that we perceive it, not as a ſeparate exiſtence, but as belonging to ſomething that is figured; and which thing we call ſubſtance, becauſe it is not a property of any other thing, but is a thing which ſubſiſts by itſelf, or has an independent exiſtence. Did we perceive figure, as we perceive ſound, it would not be conſidered as a quality. In a word, a quality is not intelligible, unleſs upon ſuppoſition of ſome other thing, of which it is the quality. Sounds indeed, and ſmells are alſo [248] conſidered as qualities. But this proceeds from habit, not from original perception. For, having once acquired the diſtinction betwixt a thing and its qualities, and finding ſound and ſmell, more to reſemble qualities than ſubſtances, we readily come into the uſe of conſidering them as qualities.

ANOTHER thing is to be obſerved with regard to thoſe things, which are perceived as qualities by the ſight and touch; that we cannot form a conception of them, independent of the beings to which they belong. It is not in our power, to ſeparate, even in imagination, colour, figure, motion and extenſion from body or ſubſtance. There is no ſuch thing as conceiving motion by itſelf, abſtracted from ſome body which is in motion. Let us try ever ſo often, our attempts will be in vain, to form an idea of a triangle independent of a body which has that figure. We cannot conceive a body that is not figured; and we can as little conceive a figure without a body; for this would be to conceive [249] a figure, as having a ſeparate exiſtence, at the ſame time, that we conceive it, as having no ſeparate exiſtence; or to conceive it, at once, to be a quality, and not a quality. Thus it comes out, that ſubſtance, as well as quality, makes a part, not only of every perception of ſight and touch, but of every conception we can form, of colour, figure, extenſion and motion. Taking in the whole train of our ideas, there is not one more familiar to us, than that of ſubſtance, a being or thing which has qualities.

WHEN theſe things are conſidered, I cannot readily diſcover, by what wrong conception of the matter, Mr. Locke has been led, to talk ſo obſcurely and indiſtinctly of the idea of ſubſtance. 'Tis no wonder, he ſhould be difficulted, to form an idea of ſubſtance in general, abſtracted from all properties, when ſuch abſtraction is altogether beyond the reach of our conception. But there is nothing more eaſy, than to form an idea of any particular ſubſtance with its properties. [250] Yet this has ſome how eſcaped him. When he forms the idea of a horſe or a ſtone, he admits nothing into the idea, but a collection of ſeveral ſimple ideas of ſenſible qualities ‘And becauſe, ſays he, we cannot conceive how theſe qualities ſhould ſubſiſt alone, nor one in another, we ſuppoſe them exiſting in, and ſupported by ſome common ſubject; which ſupport, we denote by the name ſubſtance, tho' it be certain, we have no clear or diſtinct idea of that thing we ſuppoſe a ſupport.’ A ſingle queſtion would have unfolded the whole myſtery. How comes it, that we cannot conceive qualities to ſubſiſt alone, nor one in another? Mr. Locke himſelf muſt have given the following anſwer, that the thing is not conceiveable; becauſe a property or quality cannot ſubſiſt without the thing to which it belongs; for, if it did, that it would ceaſe to be a property or quality. Why then does he make ſo faint an inference, as that we ſuppoſe qualities exiſting in, and ſupported by ſome common ſubject? It [251] is not a bare ſuppoſition: it is an eſſential part of the idea: it is neceſſarily ſuggeſted to us by ſight and touch. He obſerves that we have no clear nor diſtinct idea of ſubſtance. If he means, that we have no clear nor diſtinct idea of ſubſtance abſtracted from its properties, the thing is ſo true, that we can form no idea of ſubſtance at all, abſtracted from its properties. But it is alſo true, that we can form no idea of properties, abſtracted from a ſubſtance. The ideas both of ſubſtance and of quality are perfectly in the ſame condition, in this reſpect; which, 'tis ſurpriſing, philoſophers ſhould ſo little attend to. At the ſame time, we have clear and diſtinct ideas, of many things as they exiſt; tho' perhaps we have not a complete idea of any one thing. We have ſuch ideas of things, as ſerve to all the uſeful purpoſes of life. 'Tis true, our ſenſes don't reach beyond the external properties of beings. We have no direct perception of the eſſence and internal properties of any thing. Theſe we diſcover from the effects produced. But had we ſenſes directly to perceive the eſſence and [252] internal properties of things, our idea of them would indeed be more full and complete, but not more clear and diſtinct, than at preſent. For, even upon that ſuppoſition, we could form no notion of ſubſtance, but by its properties internal and external. To form an idea of a thing abſtracted from all its properties, is impoſſible.

THE following is the ſum of what is above laid down. By ſight and touch, we have the impreſſions of ſubſtance and body, as well as of qualities. It is not figure, extenſion, motion, that we perceive; but a thing figured, extended and moving. As we cannot form an idea of ſubſtance abſtracted from qualities, ſo we cannot form an idea of qualities abſtracted from ſubſtance. They are relative ideas, and imply each other. This is one point gained. Another is, that the idea of ſubſtance or body, thus attained, comprehends in it, independent and permanent exiſtence; that is, ſomething which exiſts independent of our perceptions, and remains the ſame, whether we perceive it or not.

[253] IN this manner are we made ſenſible of the real exiſtence of things without us. The feeling is ſo ſtrong, and the conviction which makes a part of the feeling, that ſceptical arguments, however cunningly deviſed, may puzzle, but can never get the better: for ſuch is our conſtitution, that we can entertain no doubt of the authority of our ſenſes, in this particular. At the ſame time, every ſort of experience confirms the truth of our perceptions. I ſee a tree at a diſtance, of a certain ſhape and ſize. Walking forward, I find it in its place, by the reſiſtance it makes to my body; and, ſo far as I can diſcover by touch, it is of the ſame ſhape and ſize, which my eye repreſents it to be. I return day after day, year after year, and find the ſame object, with no other variation, but what the ſeaſons and time produce. The tree is at laſt cut down. It is no longer to be ſeen or felt.

To overthrow the authority of our ſenſes, a few particular inſtances, in which they [254] appear fallacious, are of no weight. And to confirm this branch of the argument, we need but compare the evidence of our ſenſes, with the evidence of human teſtimony. The compariſon cannot fail to afford ſatisfaction. Veracity, and a diſpoſition to rely upon human evidence, are correſponding principles, which greatly promote ſociety. Among individuals, theſe principles are found to be of different degrees of ſtrength. But, in the main, they are ſo proportioned to each other, that men are not often deceived. In this caſe, it would be but a bad argument, that we ought not to give credit to any man's teſtimony, becauſe ſome men are defective in the principle of veracity. The only effect ſuch inſtances have, or ought to have, is to correct our propenſity to believe, and to bring on a habit of ſuſpending our belief, 'till circumſtances be examined. The evidence of our ſenſes, riſes undoubtedly much higher, than the evidence of human teſtimony. And if we continue to put truſt in the latter, after many inſtances of being deceived, [255] we have better reaſon to put truſt in the former, were the inſtances of being deceived equally numerous; which is plainly not the fact. When people are in ſound health of mind and body, they are very ſeldom miſ-led by their ſenſes.

IF I have been ſo lucky, as to put this ſubject in its proper light, it will not be a difficult task to clear it of any doubts which may ariſe, upon peruſing the above mentioned treatiſe. The author boldly denies the exiſtence of matter, and the reality of the objects of ſenſe; contending, that there is nothing really exiſting without the mind of an intelligent being; in a word, reducing all to be a world of ideas. ‘It is an opinion ſtrangely prevailing among men, (ſays he) that houſes, mountains, rivers, and, in a word, all ſenſible objects, have an exiſtence, natural or real, diſtinct from their being perceived by the underſtanding.’ He ventures to call this a manifeſt contradiction; and his argument againſt the [256] reality of theſe objects, is in the following words. ‘The forementioned objects are things perceived by ſenſe. We cannot perceive any thing, but our own ideas or perceptions; therefore, what we call men, houſes, mountains, &c. can be nothing elſe but ideas or perceptions.’ This argument ſhall be examined afterwards, with the reſpect that is due to its author. It ſhall only be taken notice of by the way, that, ſuppoſing mankind to be under ſo ſtrange and unaccountable a deluſion, as to miſtake their ideas for men, houſes, mountains, &c. it will not follow, that there is in this, any manifeſt contradiction, or any contradiction at all. For deception is a very different thing from contradiction. But he falls from this high pretenſion, in the after part of his work, to argue more conſiſtently, ‘that, ſuppoſing ſolid, figured, and moveable ſubſtances, to exiſt without the mind, yet we could never come to the knowledge of this *.’ Which is true, if our ſenſes [257] bear no teſtimony of the fact. And he adds *, ‘that, ſuppoſing no bodies to exiſt without the mind, we might have the very ſame reaſons for ſuppoſing the exiſtence of external bodies, that we have now:’ which may be true, ſuppoſing only our ſenſes to be fallacious.

THE doctor's fundamental propoſition is, that we can perceive nothing but our own ideas or perceptions. This, at beſt, is an ambiguous expreſſion. For, taking perception or ſenſation in its proper ſenſe, as ſignifying every object we perceive, it is a mere identical propoſition, ſciz. that we perceive nothing but what we perceive. But, taking the doctor's propoſition as he intended it, that we can have no perception or conſciouſneſs of any thing, but what exiſts in our own minds, he had certainly no reaſon to take this aſſertion for granted; and yet he has never once attempted a proof of it: tho', in ſo bold an undertaking, as that of annihilating [258] the whole univerſe, his own mind excepted, he had no reaſon to hope, that an aſſertion, ſo ſingular, and ſo contradictory to common ſenſe and feeling, would be taken upon his word. It may be true, that it is not eaſy to explain, nor even to comprehend, by what means we perceive external objects. But our ignorance is, in moſt caſes, a very indifferent argument againſt matter of fact. At this rate, he may take upon him equally to deny the bulk of the operations in the natural world, which have not hitherto been explained by him, or others. And at, bottom, 'tis perhaps as difficult to explain the manner of perceiving our own ideas, or the impreſſions made upon us, as to explain the manner of perceiving external objects. The doctor, beſides, ought to have conſidered, that by this bold doctrine, he, in effect, ſets bounds to the power of nature, or of the Author of nature. If it was in the power of the Almighty, to beſtow upon man, a faculty of perceiving external objects, he has certainly done it. For, ſuppoſing the exiſtence [259] of external objects, we have no conception, how they could be otherways manifeſted to us, than in fact they are. Therefore, the doctor was in the right to aſſert, that a faculty in man to perceive external objects, would be a contradiction, and conſequently a privilege not in the power of the Deity to beſtow upon him. He perceived the neceſſity of carrying his argument ſo far; at the ſame time, ſenſible that this was not to be made out, he never once attempts to point at any thing like a contradiction. And if he cannot prove it to be a contradiction, the queſtion is at an end; for, ſuppoſing only the fact to be poſſible, we have the very higheſt evidence of its reality, that our nature is capable of, no leſs than the teſtimony of our ſenſes.

IT has been urged in ſupport of the above doctrine, that nothing is preſent to the mind, but the impreſſions made upon it, and that it cannot be conſcious of any thing but what is preſent. This difficulty is eaſily ſolved. [260] For the propoſition, that we cannot be conſcious of any thing but what is preſent to the mind, or paſſes within it, is taken for granted, as if it were ſelf-evident. And yet the direct contrary is an evident fact, ſciz. that we are conſcious of many things which are not preſent to the mind; that is, which are not, like impreſſions and ideas, within the mind. Nor is there any manner of difficulty to conceive, that an impreſſion may be made upon us, by an external object, in ſuch a manner, as to raiſe a direct perception of the external object itſelf. When we attend to the operations of the external ſenſes, the impreſſions made upon us by external objects, are diſcovered to have very different effects. In ſome inſtances we feel the impreſſion, and are conſcious of it, as an impreſſion. In others, being quite unconſcious of the impreſſion, we perceive only the external object. And to give full ſatisfaction to the reader, upon the preſent ſubject, it may perhaps not be fruitleſs, briefly to run over the operations of the ſeveral external [261] ſenſes, by which the mind is made conſcious of external objects, and of their properties.

AND firſt, with regard to the ſenſe of ſmelling, which gives us no notice of external exiſtences. Here the operation is of the ſimpleſt kind. It is no more but an impreſſion made at the organ, which is perceived as an impreſſion. Experience, 'tis true, and habit, lead us to aſcribe this particular impreſſion to ſome external thing as its cauſe. Thus, when a particular impreſſion is made upon us, termed the ſweet ſmell of a roſe, we learn to aſcribe it to a roſe, tho' there is no ſuch object within view, becauſe that peculiar impreſſion upon the organ of ſmelling, is always found to accompany the ſight and touch of the body, called a roſe. But that this connection is the child of experience only, will be evident from the following conſiderations; that, when a new ſmell is perceived, we are utterly at a loſs, what cauſe to aſcribe it to; and, that when a child feels a ſmell, it is not led to aſſign it [262] to any cauſe whatever. In this caſe, there can be no other difficulty, but to comprehend, in what manner the mind becomes conſcious of an impreſſion, made upon the body. Upon which, it ſeems ſufficient to obſerve, that we are kept entirely ignorant, in what manner the ſoul and body are connected; which is no ſingular caſe. But, from our ignorance of the manner of this connection, to deny the reality of external exiſtences, reducing all to a world of ideas, is in reality not leſs whimſical, than if one, after admitting the reality of external exiſtences, ſhould go about to deny, that we have any perception of them; merely becauſe we cannot fully account for the manner of this perception, nor how a material ſubſtance can communicate itſelf to the mind, which is ſpirit and not matter. The ſame obſervations may be applied to the ſenſe of hearing; with this difference only, that a ſound is not perceived, at leaſt not originally, as an impreſſion made at the organ, but merely as an exiſtence in the mind.

[263] IN the ſenſes of taſting and touching, we are conſcious not only of an impreſſion made at the organ, but alſo of a body which makes the impreſſion. When I lay my hand upon this table, the impreſſion is of a hard ſmooth body, which reſiſts the motion of my hand. In this impreſſion, there is nothing to create the leaſt ſuſpicion of fallacy. The body acts where it is, and it acts merely by reſiſtance. There occurs not, therefore, any other difficulty in this caſe, than that mentioned above, ſciz. after what manner an impreſſion made at an organ of the body, is communicated to, or perceived by the mind. We ſhall only add upon this head, that touch alone, which is the leaſt intricate of all our feelings, is ſufficient to overthrow the doctor's whole pompous ſyſtem. We have, from that ſenſe, the fulleſt and cleareſt perception of external exiſtences, that can be conceived, ſubject to no doubt, ambiguity, nor even cavil. And this perception, muſt, at the ſame time, ſupport [264] the authority of our ſenſes, when they give us notice of external exiſtences.

WHAT remains to be examined, is the ſenſe of ſeeing, which, 'tis preſumed, the doctor had principally an eye to, in arguing againſt the reality of external exiſtences. And indeed, the operation of perceiving objects at a diſtance, is ſo curious, and ſo ſingular, that it is not ſurpriſing, a rigid philoſopher ſhould be puzzled about it. In this caſe, there is a difficulty, which applies with ſome ſhew of ſtrength, and which poſſibly has had weight with our author, tho' it is never once mentioned by him. It is, that no being can act but where it is, and that a body, at a diſtance, cannot act upon the mind, more than the mind upon it. I muſt candidly own, that this argument appears to evince the neceſſity, of ſome intermediate means, in the act of viſion. One means is ſuggeſted by matter of fact. The image of a viſible object, is painted upon the retina of the eye. And it is not more difficult to [265] conceive, that this image may be ſome how conveyed to the mind, than to conceive the manner of its being painted upon the retina. This circumſtance puts the operation of viſion, in one reſpect, upon the ſame footing, with that of touching; both being performed by means of an impreſſion made at the organ. There is indeed this eſſential difference, that the impreſſion of touch is felt as ſuch, whereas the impreſſion of ſight is not felt: we are not conſcious of any ſuch impreſſion, but merely of the object itſelf, which makes the impreſſion.

AND here a curious piece of mechaniſm preſents itſelf to our view. Tho' an impreſſion is made upon the mind, by means of the image painted upon the retina, whereby the external object is perceived; yet nature has carefully concealed this impreſſion from us, in order to remove all ambiguity, and to give us a diſtinct feeling of the object itſelf, and of that only. In touching and taſting, the impreſſion made at the organ, is ſo cloſely [266] connected with the body which makes the impreſſion, that the perception of the impreſſion, along with that of the body, creates no confuſion nor ambiguity, the body being felt as operating where it really is. But were the impreſſion of a viſible object felt, as made at the retina, which is the organ of ſight, all objects behoved to be ſeen as within the eye. It is doubted among naturaliſts, whether outneſs or diſtance is at all diſcoverable by ſight, and whether that appearance be not the effect of experience. But bodies, and their operations, are ſo cloſely connected in place, that were we conſcious of an organic impreſſion at the retina, the mind would have a conſtant propenſity to place the body there alſo; which would be a circumſtance extremely perplexing, in the act of viſion, as ſetting feeling and experience in perpetual oppoſition; enough to poiſon all the pleaſure we enjoy by that noble ſenſe.

FOR ſo ſhort-ſighted a creature as man, it is the worſt reaſon in the world for denying [267] any well atteſted fact, that we cannot account for the manner by which it is brought about. It is true, we cannot explain, after what manner it is, that, by the intervention of the rays of light, the beings, and things around us, are laid open to our view; but it is mere arrogance, to pretend to doubt of the fact, upon that account; for it is, in effect, maintaining, that there is nothing in nature, but what we can explain.

THE perception of objects at a diſtance, by intervention of the rays of light, involves no inconſiſtency nor impoſſibility. And unleſs this could be aſſerted, we have no reaſon nor foundation to with-hold that aſſent to a matter of fact, which is due to the authority of our ſenſes. And after all, this particular ſtep of the operation of viſion, is, at bottom, not more difficult to be conceived or accounted for, than the other ſteps, of which no man entertains a doubt. It is, perhaps, not eaſy to explain, how the image of an external body is painted upon the retina tunica. [268] And no perſon pretends to explain, how this image is communicated to the mind. Why then ſhould we heſitate about the laſt ſtep, to wit the perception of external objects, more than about the two former, when they are all equally ſupported, by the moſt unexceptionable evidence. The whole operation of viſion far ſurpaſſes human knowledge: but not more, than the operation of magnetiſm, electricity, and a thouſand other natural appearances; and our ignorance of the cauſe, ought not to make us ſuſpect deceit in the one caſe, more than in the other.

WE ſhall conclude this ſubject, with the following reflection. Whether our perception of the reality of external objects, correſponds to the truth of things, or whether it be a mere illuſion, is a queſtion, which, from the nature of the thing, cannot admit of a ſtrict demonſtration. One thing is certain, that, ſuppoſing the reality of external objects, we can form no conception of their being diſplayed to us, in a more lively and [269] convincing manner, than in fact is done. Why then call a thing in doubt, of which we have as good evidence, as human nature is capable of receiving? But we cannot call it in doubt, otherways than in ſpeculation, and even then, but for a moment. We have a thorough conviction of the reality of external objects; it riſes to the higheſt certainty of belief; and we act, in conſequence of it, with the greateſt ſecurity of not being deceived. Nor are we in fact deceived. When we put the matter to a trial, every experiment anſwers to our perceptions, and confirms us more and more in our belief.

ESSAY IV. Of our IDEA of POWER.

[271]

THE ſubject propoſed to be handled in the preſent eſſay is the idea of power, and its origin. This term is found in all languages: we talk familiarly, of a power in one body, to produce certain effects, and of a capacity in another body, to have certain effects produced upon it. Yet authors have differed ſtrangely, about the foundation of theſe ideas; and, after all that has been ſaid, it ſeems yet to be a matter of uncertainty, whether they are ſuggeſted by reaſon, by experience, or by what other means. This ſubject deſerves our attention the more, that the bulk of uſeful knowledge depends upon it. Without ſome inſight into cauſes and their effects, we ſhould be a very imperfect race of beings. And, with regard to the preſent undertaking, this ſubject muſt not, at any rate, be overlooked; becauſe from it, principally, is derived any knowledge [272] we have of the Deity, as will be afterwards made evident.

POWER denotes a ſimple idea, which, upon that account, cannot admit of a definition. But no perſon is, nor can be at a loſs, about the meaning. Every action we perceive, gives us a notion of power; for a productive cauſe is implied in our perception of every action or event *; and the very idea of cauſe comprehends a power of producing its effect. Let us only reflect upon the perception we have, when we ſee a ſtone thrown into the air out of one's hand. In the perception of this action, are included, contiguity of the hand and ſtone, the motion of the perſon's hand with the ſtone in it, and the ſeparate motion of the ſtone, following the other circumſtances in point of time. The firſt circumſtance is neceſſary, to put the man in a condition to exert his power upon the ſtone; the ſecond is the actual exertion of the power; and the laſt is the effect produced [273] by that exertion. But theſe circumſtances, which include both contiguity and ſucceſſion, make no part of the idea of power; which is conceived or felt as an inherent property ſubſiſting in the man, not merely when he is exerting it, but even when he is at reſt. That all men have this very idea, is a fact not to be controverted. The only doubt is, whence it is derived; from what ſource it ſprings.

THAT reaſon cannot help us out, will be evident. For reaſon muſt always have ſome object to employ itſelf upon. There muſt be known Data or principles, to lead us to the diſcovery of things, which are connected with theſe Data or principles. But with regard to power, which makes a neceſſary connection betwixt a cauſe and its effect, we have no Data nor principles to lead us to the diſcovery. We are not acquainted with the beings and things about us, otherways than by certain qualities and properties, obvious to the external ſenſes. Power is none of theſe; nor is there [274] any connection which we can diſcover, betwixt power and any of theſe. In a word, we have not the leaſt foundation for concluding power in any body, till it once exert its power. If it be urged, that the effects produced are Data, from which, we can infer a cauſe by a proceſs of reaſoning, and conſequently, a power in the cauſe to produce theſe effects; I anſwer, that when a new thing or quality is produced, when in general any change is brought about, it is extremely doubtful, whether, by any proceſs of reaſoning, we can conclude it to be an effect, ſo as neceſſarily to require a cauſe of its exiſtence. That we do conclude it to be an effect, is moſt certain. But that we can draw any ſuch concluſion, merely from reaſon, I don't clearly ſee. What leads me, I confeſs, to this way of thinking, is, that men of the greateſt genius have been unſucceſsful, in attempting to prove, that every thing which begins to exiſt, muſt have a cauſe of its exiſtence. ‘Whatever is produced (ſays Mr. Locke) without any cauſe, is produced by nothing; [275] or, in other words, has nothing for its cauſe. But nothing can never be a cauſe, no more than it can be ſomething. This is obviouſly begging the queſtion. To affirm that nothing is the cauſe, is taking for granted that a cauſe is neceſſary; which is the very point undertaken to be made out. Doctor Clarke's argument labours under the ſame defect. ‘Every thing (he ſays) muſt have a cauſe; for if any thing wanted a cauſe, it would produce itſelf; that is, exiſt before it exiſted, which is impoſſible.’ If a thing can exiſt without a cauſe, there is no neceſſity it ſhould produce itſelf, or that any thing ſhould produce it. In ſhort, there does not appear to me any contradiction in the above propoſition, that a thing may begin to exiſt without a cauſe: and therefore, I dare not declare the fact to be impoſſible. But ſenſe and feeling afford me a conviction, that nothing begins to exiſt without a cauſe, tho' reaſon cannot afford me a demonſtration of it. This matter will be opened afterwards. At preſent, it is ſufficient to obſerve, that the [276] conviction in this caſe is complete, and carries ſo much authority with it, as ſcarce to admit of a bare conception, that the thing can poſſibly be otherways. This ſubject, at the ſame time, affords a new inſtance of what we have had more than once occaſion to obſerve. Fond of arguments drawn from the nature of things, we are too apt to apply ſuch arguments without diſcretion; and to call that demonſtration, which, at bottom, is nothing but a conviction from ſenſe and feeling. Our perceptions, which work ſilently, and without effort, are apt to be overlooked; and we vainly imagine, we can demonſtrate every propoſition, which we perceive to be true.

IT will be pretty obvious, that the idea of power is not deducible from experience, more than from reaſon. We can learn nothing merely from experience, but that two objects may have been conſtantly conjoined in time paſt, ſuch as fire and heat, the ſun and light. But, in the firſt place, all that [277] can be gathered from ſuch facts, comes far ſhort of our idea of cauſe and effect, or of a power in one body to produce ſome change in another. In the ſecond place, experience, which relates only to the actions of the particular bodies we are acquainted with, cannot aid us to diſcover power in any body, that we have not formerly ſeen in action. Yet, from the very firſt operation of ſuch a body, we have the perception of cauſe and effect, which therefore cannot be from experience. And, in the laſt place, as experience in no caſe reaches to futurity, our idea of power, did it depend upon experience, could only look backward: with regard to every new production, depending upon cauſes even the moſt familiar, we ſhould be utterly at a loſs to form any idea of power.

IT being now evident, that our idea of power is not derived, either from reaſon or experience, we ſhall endeavour to trace out the true foundation of this idea. Running over the ſubject, the following thoughts occur, [278] which I ſhall ſet before the reader, in their natural order. As man, in his life and actions, is neceſſarily connected, both with the animate and inanimate world; he would be utterly at a loſs to conduct himſelf, without ſome acquaintance with the beings around him, and their operations. His external ſenſes give him all the intelligence that is neceſſary, not only for being, but for wellbeing. They diſcover to him, in the firſt place, the exiſtence of external things. But this would not be ſufficient, unleſs they alſo diſcovered to him their powers and operations. The ſenſe of ſeeing is the principal means of his intelligence. I have explained, in a former eſſay, that peculiar manner of perception, by which we diſcover the exiſtence of external objects. And when theſe are put in motion, whereby certain things follow, 'tis by another peculiar manner of perception, that we diſcover a relation betwixt certain objects, which makes one be termed the cauſe, the other the effect. I need ſcarce repeat again, that there is no explaining [279] ſimple feelings and perceptions, otherways than by ſuggeſting the terms which denote them. All that can be done in this caſe, is to requeſt of the reader, to attend to what paſſes in his mind, when he ſees one billiard ball ſtruck againſt another, or a tree, which the wind is blowing down, or a ſtone thrown into the air out of one's hand. We are obviouſly ſo conſtituted, as not only to perceive the one body acting, and exerting its power; but alſo to perceive, that the change in the other body is produced by means of that action or exertion of power. This change we perceive to be an effect; and we perceive a neceſſary connection betwixt the action and the effect, ſo as that the one muſt unavoidably follow the other.

As I diſcover power in external objects, by the eye, ſo I diſcover power in my mind, by an internal ſenſe. By one act of the will ideas are raiſed. By another act of the will, my limbs are put in motion. Attending to theſe operations, I perceive or feel the motion [280] of the limbs, and the entry of the ideas, to follow neceſſarily from the act of the will. In other words, I perceive or feel theſe to be effects, and the act of the will to be the cauſe.

AND that this feeling is involved in the very perception of the action, without taking in either reaſon or experience, may be illuſtrated by ſome plain obſervations. There is no relation more familiar, even to children, than that of cauſe and effect. The firſt time a child lifts a bit of bread, the perception it has of this action, not only includes a conjunction of the hand with the bread, and that the motion of the latter follows the motion of the former; but it likeways includes that peculiar modification, which is expreſt by a power in the hand to lift the bread. Accordingly, we find no expreſſion more familiar among infants and ruſticks, nor better underſtood than I can do this, I can do that. Further, as things are beſt illuſtrated by their contraries, let us put the caſe of a [281] being, if there is ſuch a one, who, in viewing external objects, has no idea of ſubſtance, but only of qualities; and who, in viewing motion, does not feel the change produced by it, to be an effect, or any way connected with the motion, further than as following it in point of time. It appears extremely evident, that this ſuppoſed being can never have the idea of body, or of its powers. Reaſon or experience can never give it the idea of body or ſubſtance, and far leſs of their powers.

IT is very true, we cannot diſcover power in any object, as we diſcover the object itſelf, merely by intuition. But the moment an alteration is produced by any object, we perceive that the object has a power to produce that alteration; which leads to denominate the one a cauſe, and the other an effect. I don't aſſert that we can never be in a miſtake about this matter. Children often err, by attributing an effect to one cauſe inſtead of another, or by conſidering that to be a cauſe, [282] which is not. Miſtakes of this kind are corrected by experience. But they prove the reality of the perception of power, juſt as much as where our perceptions are agreeable to the truth of things.

AND with regard to the fallibility of the ſenſe of ſeeing, when it points out to us cauſes and effects, the compariſon may be juſtly inſtituted, betwixt it and belief. The faculty which regulates belief is not infallible. It ſometimes leads us into errors. Neither is the faculty infallible, by which we diſcern one thing to be a cauſe, another to be an effect. Yet both are exerted with ſufficient certainty, to guide us through life, without many capital errors.

THE author of the treatiſe of human nature, has employed a world of reaſoning, in ſearching for the foundation of our idea of power and of neceſſary connection. And, after all his anxious reſearches, he can make no more of it, but ‘That the idea of neceſſary [283] connection, alias power or energy, ariſes from a number of inſtances, of one thing always following another, which connects them in the imagination; whereby we can readily foretel the exiſtence of the one from the appearance of the other.’ And he pronounces, ‘That this connection can never be ſuggeſted from any one of theſe inſtances, ſurveyed in all poſſible lights and poſitions *.’ Thus he places the eſſence of neceſſary connection, or power, upon that propenſity, which cuſtom produces, to paſs from an object to the idea of its uſual attendant. And from theſe premiſes, he draws a concluſion of a very extraordinary nature, and which he himſelf acknowledges to be not a little paradoxical. His words are: ‘Upon the whole, neceſſity is ſomething that exiſts in the mind, not in objects; nor is it poſſible for us even to form the moſt diſtant idea of it, conſidered as a quality in bodies. The efficacy or energy in cauſes, is neither [284] placed in the cauſes themſelves, nor in the Deity, nor in the concurrence of theſe two principles; but belongs entirely to the ſoul, which conſiders the union of two or more objects in all paſt inſtances. 'Tis here that the real power of cauſes is placed, along with their connection and neceſſity *.’

HE may well admit this doctrine to be a violent paradox, becauſe, in reality, it contradicts our natural feelings, and wages war with the common ſenſe of mankind. We cannot put this in a ſtronger light than our author himſelf does, in forming an objection againſt his own doctrine. ‘What! the efficacy of cauſesly in the determination of the mind! as if cauſes did not operate entirely independent of the mind, and would not continue their operation, even tho' there was no mind exiſtent to contemplate them, or reaſon concerning them. This [285] is to reverſe the order of nature, and to make that ſecondary which is really primary. To every operation there is a power proportioned; and this power muſt be placed on the body that operates. If we remove the power from one cauſe, we muſt aſcribe it to another. But to remove it from all cauſes, and beſtow it on a being that is noways related to the cauſe, or effect, but by perceiving them, is a groſs abſurdity, and contrary to the moſt certain principles of human reaſon .’ In ſhort, nothing is more clear, than that, from the very ſight of bodies in motion, we have the idea of power, which connects them together, in the relation of cauſe and effect. This power is perceived as a quality in the acting body, and by no means is an operation of the mind, or an eaſy tranſition of thought from one object to another. And therefore, flatly to deny our perception of ſuch a quality in bodies, as our author does, is taking upon him to contradict a plain matter of [286] fact, of which all the word can give teſtimony. He may be at a loſs, indeed, to diſcover the ſource of this perception, becauſe he can neither derive it, nor the idea of ſubſtance, from his own principles. But it has been more than once obſerved, that it is too bold, to deny a fact, ſupported by the beſt evidence, merely becauſe one is at a loſs to diſcover the cauſe. At the ſame time, there is no manner of difficulty to lay open the foundation of theſe perceptions. Both of them are impreſſions of ſight, as is clearly made out above.

AND to ſhow, that our author's account of this matter comes far ſhort of truth, it will be plain from one or two inſtances, that tho' a conſtant connection of two objects, may, by habit or cuſtom, produce a ſimilar connection in the imagination; yet that a conſtant connection, whether in the imagination, or betwixt the objects themſelves, does by no means come up to our idea of power. Far from it. In a garriſon, [287] the ſoldiers conſtantly turn out at a certain beat of the drum. The gates of the town are opened and ſhut regularly, as the clock points at a certain hour. Theſe facts are obſerved by a child, grow up with him, and turn habitual during a long life. In this inſtance, there is a conſtant connection betwixt objects, which is attended with a ſimilar connection in the imagination: yet the perſon above ſuppoſed, if not a changeling, never imagined, the beat of the drum to be the cauſe of the motion of the ſoldiers; nor the pointing of the clock to a certain hour, to be the cauſe of the opening or ſhutting of the gates. He perceives the cauſe of theſe operations to be very different; and is not led into any miſtake by the above circumſtances, however cloſely connected. Let us put another inſtance ſtill more appoſite. Such is the human conſtitution, that we act neceſſarily, upon the exiſtence of certain perceptions or motives. The proſpect of victuals makes a hungry man accelerate his pace. Reſpect to an antient family moves him to take a wife. [288] An object of diſtreſs prompts him to lay out his money, or venture his perſon. Yet no man dreams a motive to be the cauſe of action; tho', if the doctrine of neceſſity hold true, here is not only a conſtant, but a neceſſary connection *.

FROM the inſtance laſt given, it appears, that conſtant connection, and the other circumſtances mentioned by our author, are far from coming up to our idea of power. [289] There may be even a neceſſary connection betwixt two objects, without putting them in the relation of cauſe and effect, and without involving a power in the one to produce the other. Our author, then, attempts rather too bold an enterprize, when he undertakes to argue mankind out of their ſenſes and feelings. That we have ſuch a feeling of power, as is above deſcribed, is a fact that cannot admit of the ſmalleſt controverſy. And all that is left him, would he argue with any proſpect of ſucceſs, is to queſtion, whether this feeling does, in fact, correſpond to the truth of things. But he will not undertake ſo ſtubborn a task, as to prove this a deluſive feeling; when he muſt be ſenſible of the wonderful harmony, that ſubſiſts betwixt it and the reality of cauſes and their effects. We have no reaſon to ſuſpect deceit in this caſe, more than with regard to many other ſenſes, ſome of which remain to be unfolded, that are wrought into the conſtitution of man, for wiſe and good purpoſes, [290] and without which, he would be a very irregular and defective being.

AND were it neceſſary to ſay more upon a ſubject, which indeed merits the utmoſt attention; we have, if I miſtake not, this author's own evidence for us; which I conſider as no mean evidence in any caſe; and which muſt be held of the greateſt authority, when given againſt himſelf. And this evidence he gives in his philoſophical eſſays. For tho', in this work, he continues to maintain ‘That neceſſity exiſts only in the mind, not in objects, and that it is not poſſible for us even to form the moſt diſtant idea of it, conſidered as a quality in bodies;’ yet, in the courſe of the argument, he more than once diſcovers, that he himſelf is poſſeſſed of an idea of power, conſidered as a quality in bodies, tho' he has not attended to it. Thus he obſerves *, ‘That nature conceals from us, thoſe powers and principles, on which the influence [291] of objects entirely depends.’ And of theſe powers and principles, he gives ſeveral apt inſtances, ſuch as a power or quality in bread to nouriſh; a power by which bodies perſevere in motion. This is not only owning an idea of power as a quality in bodies, but alſo owning the reality of this power. In another paſſage , he obſerves, ‘That the particular powers, by which all natural operations are performed, never appear to the ſenſes;’ and ‘that experience does not lead us to the knowledge of the ſecret power by which one object produces another.’ What leads us to the knowledge of this ſecret power, is not at preſent the queſtion. But here is the author's own acknowledgment, that he has an idea of a power in one object to produce another; for he certainly will not ſay, that he is here making uſe of words, without having any ideas annexed to them. In one paſſage in particular *, he talks diſtinctly and explicitly of ‘A power in one object, by which [292] it infallibly produces the other, and operates with the greateſt certainty and ſtrongeſt neceſſity.’ No maſter of language can give a deſcription of power, conſidered as a quality in bodies, in more apt or more expreſſive terms. So difficult it is to ſtifle, or to diſguiſe natural feelings and ſentiments *.

IF the foregoing arguments have not prevailed, may not the following argument hope for ſucceſs? Figure the ſimpleſt of all caſes; a man riſing from his ſeat, to walk through the room; and try to analyſe the perception of this ſimple event. In the firſt place, is the man active or paſſive? Is he moved, or does he move himſelf? No mortal is at a loſs to underſtand theſe queſtions; and no mortal is at a loſs to anſwer them. We have a diſtinct perception or feeling, that the man is not moved, but moves; or, which is the ſame, moves himſelf. Let us examine, in the next place, what is involved in the perception or feeling we have, when we [293] ſee this man walking. Do we not ſay familiarly, does not a child ſay, that he can walk? And what other thing do we mean by this expreſſion, than that he has a power to walk? Does not the very idea of walking include in it a power to walk? In this inſtance, our author, unhappily for his argument, has neither contiguity nor ſucceſſion to recur to, for explaining his idea of power, imperfect as it is. And therefore, with regard to this inſtance, he muſt either admit, that we have an idea of power, conſidered as a quality in objects, or take upon him to deny, that we have any idea of power at all: for it is evident, that the idea of power, when it comprehends only a ſingle object, can never be reſolved into a connection in the imagination, betwixt two or more objects. We have thus the feeling of power from every action, be it of the ſimpleſt kind that can be figured. And having once acquired the idea of power exerted by an animal, to put itſelf in motion, we readily transfer that idea to the actions of bodies, animate and inanimate, upon [294] each other. And, after all, with due regard to an author of very acute parts, I cannot help obſerving, that there is, perhaps, not one idea of all the train, which is more familiar to us, or more univerſal, than the idea of power.

HAVING thus aſcertained the reality of our idea of power, as a quality in bodies, and traced it to its proper ſource, I ſhall cloſe this eſſay with ſome obſervations upon cauſes and their effects. That we cannot diſcover power in any object, otherways than by ſeeing it exert its power, is above obſerved. Therefore, we can never diſcover any object to be a cauſe, otherways than by the effect produced. But with regard to things cauſed or produced, the caſe is very different. For we can diſcover an object to be an effect, after the cauſe is removed, or when it is not at all ſeen. For inſtance, no one is at a loſs to ſay, that a table or a chair is an effect produced. A child will ask, who made it? We perceive every event, every [295] new object, to be an effect or production, the very conception of which involves the idea of a cauſe. Hence the maxim, ‘That nothing can fall out, nothing begin to exiſt, without a cauſe;’ in other words, ‘That every thing which begins to exiſt muſt have a cauſe:’ a maxim univerſally recogniſed, and admitted by all mankind as ſelf-evident. Nor can this be attributed to experience. The feeling is original, regarding ſingular objects and events, the cauſes of which are utterly unknown, not leſs than objects and events, which depend upon familiar cauſes. Children and ruſticks are conſcious of this feeling, equally with thoſe who have the moſt conſummate experience of nature, and its operations *.

FURTHER, the perception we have of any object, as an effect, includes in it the feeling of a cauſe proportioned to the effect. If the object be an effect properly adapted to ſome end, the perception of it neceſſarily includes [296] an intelligent deſigning cauſe. If the effect be ſome good end brought about by proper means, the perception neceſſarily includes a deſigning and benevolent cauſe. Nor is it in our power, by any ſort of conſtraint, to vary theſe feelings, or to give them a different modification from what they have by nature. It may be in our power to conceive, but it is not in our power to believe, that a fine piece of painting, a well wrote poem, or a beautiful piece of architecture, can ever be the effect of chance, or of blind fatality. The ſuppoſition, indeed, ſo far as we can diſcover, does not involve any inconſiſtency in the nature of things. It may be poſſible, for any reaſon we have to the contrary, that a blind and undeſigning cauſe may be productive of excellent effects. But our ſenſes diſcover, what reaſon does not, that every object, which appears beautiful as adapted to an end or purpoſe, is the effect of a deſigning cauſe; and that every object, which appears beautiful as fitted to a good end or purpoſe, is the effect of a deſigning [297] cauſe; and that every object, which appears beautiful as fitted to a good end or purpoſe, is the effect of a deſigning and benevolent cauſe. We are ſo conſtituted, that we can entertain no doubt of this, if we would. And, ſo far as we gather from experience, we are not deceiv'd.

ESSAY V. Of our KNOWLEDGE of FUTURE EVENTS.

[299]

WHILE we are tied to this globe, ſome knowledge of the beings around us, and of their operations, is neceſſary; becauſe, without it, we ſhould be utterly at a loſs how to conduct ourſelves. This ſubject is handled in two former eſſays. But were our knowledge limited to this ſubject, it would not be ſufficient for our well-being, and ſcarce for our preſervation. It is likeways neceſſary, that we have ſome knowledge of future events; for about theſe we are moſtly employed. A man will not ſow, if he has not a proſpect of reaping: he will not build a houſe, if he has not ſome ſecurity, that it will ſtand firm for years. Man is poſſeſt of this valuable branch of knowledge: he can foretel future events. There is no doubt of the fact. The difficulty only is, what are the means employed in making [300] the diſcovery. It is, indeed, an eſtabliſhed maxim, that the courſe of nature continues uniformly the ſame; and that things will be as they have been. But, from what premiſes we draw this concluſion, is not obvious. Uniformity in the operations of nature, with regard to time paſt, is diſcovered by experience. But of future time, having no experience, the maxim aſſuredly cannot be derived from that ſource. Neither will reaſon help us out. It is true, the production of one thing by another, even in a ſingle inſtance, implies a power; and this power is neceſſarily connected with its effect. But as power is an internal property, not diſcoverable but by the effects produced, we can never, by any chain of reaſoning, conclude, power to be in any body, except in the inſtant of operation. The power, for ought we know, may be at an end from that very inſtant. We cannot ſo much as conclude, from any deduction of reaſon, that this earth, the ſun, or any one being, will exiſt to-morrow. And, ſuppoſing their future exiſtence [301] to be diſcoverable by reaſon, we are not ſo much acquainted with the nature or eſſence of any one thing, as to diſcover a neceſſary connection betwixt it and its powers, that the one ſubſiſting, the other muſt alſo ſubſiſt. There is nothing ſo eaſy to conceive, as that the moſt active being, ſhall at at once be deprived of all its activity: and a thing that may be conceived, can never be proved inconſiſtent or impoſſible. An appeal to paſt experience, will not carry us through. The ſun has afforded us light and heat from the beginning of the world. But what reaſon have we to conclude, that its power of giving light and heat muſt continue; when it is as eaſy to conceive powers to be limited in point of time, as to conceive them perpetual? If to help us our here, we have recourſe to the wiſdom and goodneſs of a Supreme Being, as eſtabliſhing permanent general laws; the difficulty is, that we have no Data, from whence to conclude, in the way of reaſoning, that theſe general laws muſt continue invariably the [302] ſame without end. It is true, the concluſion is actually made, but it muſt be referred to ſome other ſource. For reaſoning will not aid us, more than experience does, to draw any one concluſion, from paſt to future events. It is certain, at the ſame time, that the uniformity of nature's operations, is a maxim admitted by all mankind. Tho' altogether unaſſiſted either by reaſon or experience, we never have the leaſt heſitation to conclude, that things will be as they have been; in ſo much that we truſt our lives and fortunes upon this concluſion. I ſhall endeavour to trace out the principle, upon which this important concluſion is founded. And this ſubject will afford, 'tis hoped, a freſh inſtance of the admirable correſpondence, which is diſcovered betwixt the nature of man, and his external circumſtances. What is already made out, will lead us directly to our point. If our conviction of the uniformity of nature, is not founded upon reaſon nor experience, it can have no other foundation but ſenſe and feeling. The fact truly [303] is, that we are ſo conſtituted, as, by a neceſſary determination of nature, to transfer our paſt experience to futurity, and to have a direct perception or feeling of the conſtancy and uniformity of nature. This perception or feeling muſt belong to an internal ſenſe, becauſe it evidently has no relation to any of our external ſenſes. And an argument, which has been more than once ſtated in the foregoing eſſays, will be found deciſive upon this point. Let us ſuppoſe a being, which has no perception or notion of the uniformity of nature: ſuch a being will never be able to transfer its paſt experience to futurity. Every event, however conformable to paſt experience, will come equally unexpected to this being, as new and rare events do to us; tho' poſſibly without the ſame ſurpriſe.

THIS ſenſe of conſtancy and uniformity in the works of nature, is not confined to the ſubject above handled, but diſplays itſelf, remarkably, upon many other objects. [304] We have a conviction of a common nature in beings, which are ſimilar in their appearances. We expect a likeneſs in their conſtituent parts, in their appetites, and in their conduct. We not only lay our account with uniformity of behaviour, in the ſame individual, but in all the individuals of the ſame ſpecies. This principle has ſuch influence, as even to make us hope for conſtancy and uniformity, where experience would lead us to the oppoſite concluſion. The rich man never thinks of poverty, nor the diſtreſſed of relief. Even in this variable climate, we cannot readily bring ourſelves to believe, that good or bad weather will have an end. Nay, it governs our notions in law-matters, and is the foundation of the maxim, ‘That alteration or change of circumſtances is not to be preſumed.’ Influenced by the ſame principle, every man acquires a certain uniformity of manner, which ſpreads itſelf upon his thoughts, words and actions. In our younger years, the effect of this principle is leſs remarkable, being oppoſed by a [305] variety of paſſions, which, as they have different, and ſometimes oppoſite tendencies, occaſion a fluctuation in our conduct. But, ſo ſoon as the heat of youth is over, this principle, acting without counter-balance, ſeldom fails to bring on a punctual regularity in our way of living, which is extremely remarkable in moſt old people.

ANALOGY is one of the moſt common ſources of reaſoning; the force of which is univerſally admitted. The conviction of every argument founded on analogy, ariſes from this very ſenſe of uniformity. Things ſimilar, in ſome particulars, are preſumed to be ſimilar in every particular.

IN a word, as the bulk of our views and actions have a future aim, ſome knowledge of future events is neceſſary, that we may adapt our views and actions to natural events. To this end, the Author of our nature has done two things. He has eſtabliſhed a conſtancy and uniformity in the operations of [306] nature. And he has impreſſed upon our minds, a conviction or belief of this conſtancy and uniformity, and that things will be as they have been.

ESSAY VI. Of our DREAD of SUPERNATURAL POWERS in the DARK.

[307]

A VERY ſlight view of human nature is ſufficient to convince us, that we were not dropt here by accident. This earth is fitted for man, and man is fitted for inhabiting this earth. By means of inſtinctive faculties, we have an intuitive knowledge of the things that ſurround us; at leaſt of ſuch things by which we may be affected. We can diſcover objects at a diſtance. We diſcern them in their connection of cauſe and effect; and their future operations are laid open, as well as their preſent. But in this grand apparatus of inſtinctive faculties, by which the ſecrets of nature are diſcloſed to us, one faculty ſeems to be with-held; tho' in appearance the moſt uſeful of all; and that is, a faculty to diſcern, what things are noxious, and what are friendly. The moſt poiſonous fruits have ſometimes the faireſt colours; [308] and the ſavage animals partake of beauty with the tame and harmleſs. And when other particulars are inquir'd into, it will be found, by induction, that man has no original feeling of what is ſalutary to him, and what is hurtful.

IT is natural to inquire why this inſtinct is with-held, when it appears to be the deſign of nature, to furniſh us plentifully with inſtincts, for the diſcovery of uſeful truths. With regard to this matter, it is too bold an undertaking for man to dive into all the ſecrets of his maker. We ought to reſt contented with the numerous inſtances we have of good order and good purpoſe, which muſt afford us a rational conviction, that good order and good purpoſe take place univerſally. At the ſame time, a rational account may be ſuggeſted of this matter. We have a conviction, that there is nothing redundant or ſuperfluous in the operations of nature. Different means are never afforded us to bring about the ſame end. Experience, [309] ſo far as it can go, is given us for acquiring knowledge; and inſtinct only, where experience cannot aid us. 'Tis true, inſtinct is a more compendious way of diſcovering uſeful truths. But man was intended an active being, and therefore left to his own induſtry, as much as poſſible.

MAN then is placed in this world, amidſt a great variety of objects, the nature and tendency of which are unknown to him, otherways than by experience. In this ſituation, he would be in perpetual danger, had he not ſome faithful monitor, to keep him conſtantly upon the watch againſt harm. This monitor is the propenſity he has to be afraid of new objects; ſuch eſpecially which have no peculiar beauty to raiſe his deſire. A child, to whom all nature is ſtrange, dreads the approach of every object; and even the face of man is frightful to it. The ſame timidity and ſuſpicion may be obſerved in travellers, who converſe with ſtrangers, and meet with unknown appearances. Upon the firſt ſight of [310] an herb or fruit, we apprehend the worſt, and ſuſpect it to be noxious. An unknown animal is immediately conceived to be dangerous. The more rare phaenomena of nature, the cauſes of which are unknown to the vulgar, never fail to ſtrike them with terror. From this induction, it is clear, that we dread unknown objects. They are always ſurveyed with an emotion of fear, 'till experience diſcovers them to be harmleſs.

THIS dread of unknown objects, is ſuppoſed to enter into the conſtitution of all ſenſitive beings, but is moſt remarkable in the weak and defenceleſs. The more feeble and delicate the creature is, the more ſhy and timorous it is obſerved to be. No creature is, by nature, more feeble and delicate than man; and this principle is to him of admirable uſe, to keep him conſtantly upon his guard, and to balance the principle of curioſity, which is prevalent in man above all other creatures, and which, left to itſelf, would often betray him into fatal accidents.

[311] THE dread of unknown objects is apt to fire the imagination, ſo as to magnify their ſuppoſed evil qualities and tendencies. For it is a well known truth, that paſſion has a wonderful effect upon the imagination. The leſs we know of a new object, the greater liberty we take, to dreſs it up in frightful colours. The object is forthwith conceived to have all thoſe dreadful qualities, which are ſuggeſted by the imagination; and the ſame terror is raiſed, as if thoſe qualities were real and not imaginary *.

AGAIN, where the new and unknown objects have any thing dreadful in appearance, this circumſtance, joined with our natural propenſity to dread unknown objects, will raiſe terror even in the moſt reſolute. If the evils, dreaded from ſuch objects, are known neither in quality nor degree; the imagination, being under no reſtraint, figures the greateſt evils, both in kind and magnitude, that can be conceived. Where no immediate harm enſues, the mind, by the impulſe [312] it has received, tranſports itſelf into futurity, and imagines the ſtrange forms to be preſages of direful calamities. Hence it is, that the uncommon phaenomena of nature, ſuch as comets, eclipſes, earthquakes, and the like, are, by the vulgar, held as forerunners of uncommon events. Grand objects make a deep impreſſion upon the mind, and give force to that paſſion which occupies it at the time. The above appearances being uncommon, if not altogether new, diſpoſe the mind to terror; which, aided by the emotion ariſing from the grandeur of the objects, produces great agitation, and a violent apprehenſion of danger.

THE ſtrongeſt and moſt familiar inſtance of our natural propenſity to dread unknown objects, is the fear that ſeizes many young perſons in the dark; which is a phaenomenon that has not been accounted for, with any degree of ſatisfaction. Light diſpoſes the mind to chearfulneſs and courage. Darkneſs, on the contrary, depreſſes the mind, and diſpoſes [313] it to fear. Any object alarms the mind, when it is already prepared by darkneſs, to receive impreſſions of fear. The object, which, in the dark, is ſeen but obſcurely, leaves the heated imagination at full liberty, to beſtow upon it the moſt dreadful appearance. This phantom of the imagination, conceived as a reality, unhinges the mind, and throws it into a fit of diſtraction. The imagination, now heated to the higheſt degree, multiplies the dreadful appearances to the utmoſt bounds of its conception. The object becomes a ſpectre, a devil, a hobgoblin, ſomething more terrible than ever was ſeen or deſcribed.

A VERY few accidents of this kind, having ſo powerful an effect, are ſufficient to introduce an aſſociation between darkneſs and malignant powers. And when once this aſſociation is formed, there is no occaſion for the appearance of an object to create terror. Frightful ideas croud into the mind, and augment the fear, which is occaſioned by darkneſs. The imagination becomes ungovernable, [314] and converts theſe ideas into real appearances.

THAT the terror occaſioned by darkneſs, is entirely owing to the operations of the imagination, will be evident from a ſingle reflection, that in company no ſuch effect is produced. A companion can afford no ſecurity againſt ſupernatural powers. But a companion has the ſame effect with ſunſhine, to chear the mind, and preſerve it from gloomineſs and deſpondency. The imagination is thereby kept within bounds, and under due ſubjection to ſenſe and reaſon.

ESSAY VII. Of our KNOWLEDGE of the DEITY.

[315]

THE arguments a priori for the exiſtence and attributes of the Deity, are urged, with the greateſt ſhew of reaſon, in the ſermons preached at Boyle's lectures. But the ſermons upon this ſubject, tho' they command my ſtricteſt attention, never have gained my heart. On the contrary, they always give me a ſenſible uneaſineſs; the cauſe of which I have been at a loſs to diſcover, tho' now I imagine I can explain it. Such deep metaphyſical reaſoning, if it afford any conviction, is ſurely not adapted to the vulgar and illiterate. Is the knowledge of God, then, reſerved for perſons of great ſtudy and deep thinking? Is a vail thrown over the eyes of the reſt of mankind? This thought always returned upon me, and gave me pain. If there really exiſts a being, who made, and who governs the world; and, if it be his purpoſe to diſplay himſelf to his rational creatures; it is [316] not conſiſtent with any idea we can form of the power and wiſdom of this being, that his purpoſe ſhould be defeated; which plainly is the caſe, in a great meaſure, if he is only to be diſcovered, and but obſcurely, by a very ſmall part of mankind. At the ſame time, to found our knowledge of the Deity ſolely upon reaſoning, is not agreeable to the analogy of nature. We are not left to gather our duty by abſtract reaſoning, nor indeed by any reaſoning. It is engraved upon the table of our hearts. We adapt our actions to the courſe of nature, by mere inſtinct, without reaſoning, or even experience. Therefore, if we can truſt to analogy, we ought to expect, that God will diſcover himſelf to us, in ſome ſuch manner, as may take in all mankind, the vulgar and illiterate, as well as the deep thinking philoſopher.

IF theſe abſtruſe arguments, however, are reliſhed by the learned and ſpeculative, 'tis ſo far well. I cannot help acknowledging, that they afford me no conviction, at leaſt, [317] no ſolid and permanent conviction. We know little about the nature of things, but what we learn from a ſtrict attention to our own nature. That nothing can begin to exiſt without a cauſe, is ſufficiently evident from ſenſe and feeling *. But that this can be demonſtrated by any argument a priori, drawn from the nature of things, I have not obſerved . And if demonſtration fail us in the very outſetting, we cannot hope for its aſſiſtance in the after ſteps. If any one being can begin to exiſt without a cauſe, every being may; upon which ſuppoſition, we never can hope for a demonſtration, that any one being muſt be eternal. But, if this difficulty ſhall be ſurmounted, we have another to ſtruggle with. Admitting that ſomething has exiſted from all eternity, I find no Data to determine a priori, whether this world has exiſted of itſelf from all eternity, in a conſtant ſucceſſion of cauſes and effects; or whether it be an effect produced [318] by an Almighty Power. It is indeed hard to conceive a world eternal and ſelf-exiſtent, where all things are carried on by blind fate, without deſign or intelligence. And yet I can find no demonſtration to the contrary. If we can form any obſcure notion of one intelligent being, exiſting from all eternity, it appears not more difficult to form a notion of a ſucceſſion of beings, with or without intelligence; or a notion of a perpetual ſucceſſion of cauſes and effects.

IN ſhort, difficulties preſs both ways. But, theſe difficulties, when examined, do not ariſe from any inconſiſtency in our ideas. They are occaſioned, merely, by the limited capacity of the mind of man. We cannot comprehend an eternity of exiſtence. It is too bulky an object. It eludes our graſp. The mind is like the eye. It cannot take in an object that is very great or very little. This, plainly is the ſource of our difficulties, when we attempt ſpeculations ſo remote from common apprehenſion. Abſtract reaſoning upon ſuch a ſubject, muſt [319] lead into endleſs perplexities. It is indeed leſs difficult to conceive one eternal unchangeable being who made the world, than to conceive a blind chain of cauſes and effects. At leaſt, we are diſpoſed to the former, as being more agreeable to the imagination. But as we cannot find any inconſiſtency in the latter ſuppoſition, we cannot juſtly ſay that it is demonſtrably falſe.

GIVE me leave to add, that to bring out ſuch abſtruſe and intricate ſpeculations into any clear and perſuaſive light, is at any rate ſcarce to be expected. And if, after the utmoſt ſtraining, they remain obſcure and unaffecting, it is evident to me, that they muſt have a bad tendency. Perſons of a peeviſh and gloomy caſt of mind, finding no conviction from that quarter, will be fortiſied in their propenſity to believe that all things happen by blind chance; that there is no wiſdom, order or harmony in the government of this world; and conſequently that there is no God.

[320] BEING therefore little ſollicitous about arguments a priori, for the exiſtence of a Deity, which are not proportioned to the capacity of man, I apply myſelf with zeal and chearfulneſs, to ſearch for the Deity in his works; for by theſe we muſt diſcover him, if he has thought proper to make himſelf known. And the better to manage the inquiry, I ſhall endeavour to make out three propoſitions; 1ſt, That if there is a being who is the maker and governor of the world, it is agreeable to any notions we can form of his government, that he ſhould make ſome diſcovery of himſelf to his intelligent creatures. 2dly, That in fact he has done ſo. And 3dly, That he has done ſo in a manner agreeable to the nature of man, and analogous to his other operations.

THERE certainly cannot be a more diſcouraging thought to man, than that the world was formed by a fortuitous concourſe of atoms, and that all things are carried on by blind impulſe. Upon that ſuppoſition, [321] he can have no ſecurity for his life; nor for his continuing to be a moral agent and an intelligent creature, even for a moment. Things have been carried on with regularity and order. But chance may, in an inſtant, throw all things into the moſt horrid and diſmal confuſion. We can have no ſolid comfort in virtue, when it is a work of mere chance; nor can we juſtify our reliance upon the faith of others, when the nature of man reſts upon ſo precarious a foundation. Every thing muſt appear gloomy, diſmal and disjointed, without a Deity to unite this world of beings into one beautiful and harmonious ſyſtem. Theſe conſiderations, and many more that will occur upon the firſt reflection, afford a very ſtrong conviction, if there is a wiſe and good Being, who ſuperintends the affairs of this world, that he will not conceal himſelf from his rational creatures. Can any thing be more deſirable, or more ſubſtantially uſeful, than to know, that there is a Being from whom no ſecrets are hid, to whom our good works are acceptable, [322] and even the good purpoſes of our hearts; and whoſe government, directed by wiſdom and benevolence, ought to make us reſt ſecure, that nothing does or will fall out, but according to good order? This ſentiment, rooted in the mind, is an antidote to all misfortune. Without it, life is at beſt but a confuſed and gloomy ſcene.

AND this leads to a different conſideration, which makes our knowledge of a benevolent Deity of the greateſt importance to us. Tho' natural and moral evil are far from prevailing in this world, yet ſo much of both is ſcattered over the face of things, as to create ſome degree of doubt, whether there may not be a mixture of chance, or of ill-will, in the government of this world. But, once ſuppoſing the ſuperintendency of a good being, theſe evils are no longer conſidered as ſuch. A man reſtrains himſelf from unlawful pleaſures, tho' the reſtraint gives him pain. But then he does not conſider this pain, as an evil to repine at. He ſubmits to [323] it voluntarily and with ſatisfaction, as one does to grief for the loſs of a friend; being conſcious that it is right and fit for him to be ſo affected. In the ſame manner, he ſubmits to all the evils of this life. Having confidence in the good government of the Deity, he is perſuaded that every thing happens for the beſt, and therefore that it is his duty to ſubmit to whatever happens. This unfolds a ſcene ſo enlivening, and ſo productive of chearfulneſs and good humour, that we cannot readily think, if there is a benevolent Deity, that he will with-hold from his creatures ſo invaluable a bleſſing.

MAN, at the ſame time, by his taſte for beauty, regularity and order, is fitted for contemplating the wiſdom and goodneſs diſplayed in the frame and government of this world. Theſe are proper objects of admiration and joy. It is not agreeable to the ordinary courſe of nature, that man ſhould be endowed with an affection, without having a proper object to beſtow it upon. [324] And as the providence of the Deity is the higheſt object of this affection, it would be unnatural, that he ſhould be kept in ignorance of it.

THESE, I admit, are but probable reaſons for believing, that, if there is a benevolent Deity, it muſt be his intention to manifeſt himſelf to his creatures: but they carry a very high degree of probability, which leaves little room for doubt. At the ſame time, tho' it ſhould be our fate, to ſearch in vain for this object of our affection, we ought not however to deſpair, and, in that deſpair, to conclude there is no God. Let us but reflect, that he has not manifeſted himſelf to all his creatures. The brutes apparently know nothing of him. And ſhould we be diſappointed in this ſearch, the worſt we can conclude, is, that for good and wiſe purpoſes, which we cannot dive into, he has thought proper to with-hold himſelf alſo from us. We certainly have no reaſon to convert our ignorance into an argument [325] againſt his exiſtence. Our ignorance brings us only a ſtep lower, and puts us, ſo far, upon a footing with the brute creation.

THE ſecond and important branch of our diſquiſition, is, to aſcertain this fact, that there is a Deity, and that he has manifeſted himſelf to us. I requeſt only attention of my reader, and not any unreaſonable conceſſion. In a former eſſay *, two propoſitions are made out. The firſt is, that every thing which has a beginning, is perceived as a production or effect, which neceſſarily involves the idea of a cauſe. The ſecond, that we neceſſarily transfer to the cauſe, whatever of contrivance or deſign is diſcovered in the effect. Conſidering a houſe, garden, picture or ſtatue in itſelf, it is perceived as beautiful. If we attend to theſe objects in a different view, as things having a beginning, we perceive them to be effects, involving the idea of a cauſe. If again we conſider them as artfully contrived to anſwer certain purpoſes, we perceive them to be the workmanſhip [326] of ſome perſon of skill. Nor are we deceived in theſe perceptions. Upon examination, we find, that they correſpond to truth and reality.

BUT not only are theſe objects perceived as effects, which we afterwards learn, from experience, to be the production of man. Natural objects, ſuch as plants and animals, as well as all other objects which once were not, are alſo perceived as effects, or as the production of ſome cauſe. The queſtion will always recur, how came it here? who made it? what is the cauſe of its exiſtence?

WE are ſo accuſtomed to human arts, that every work of deſign and uſe will be attributed to man. But what if it exceed his known powers and faculties? This ſuppoſition does not alter the nature of our feelings; but only leads us to a different cauſe, and, in place of man, to determine upon ſome ſuperior power. If the object be conſidered as an effect, it neceſſarily involves the [327] idea of a cauſe. And the cauſe cannot be man, if the object of our perception be an effect far ſurpaſſing the power of man. This train of thinking leads us directly to our point. Attend but to the anatomy of the meaneſt plant: ſo much of art and of curious mechaniſm is diſcovered in it, that it muſt be the production of ſome cauſe, far ſurpaſſing the power and intelligence of man. The ſcene opens more and more, when, paſſing from plants to animals, we come to man, the moſt wonderful of all the works of nature. And when, at laſt, we take in, at one view, the natural and moral world, full of harmony, order and beauty; happily adjuſted in all its parts to anſwer great and glorious purpoſes; there is, in this grand production, neceſſarily involved, the perception of a cauſe, unbounded in power, intelligence and goodneſs.

THUS it is, that the Deity has manifeſted himſelf to us, by the means of principles wrought into our nature, which muſt infallibly [328] operate, upon viewing objects in their relation of cauſe and effect. We diſcover external objects by their qualities of colour, figure, ſize and motion. In the perception of theſe qualities, connected after a certain manner, is comprehended, the feeling of the ſubſtance or thing, to which theſe qualities belong. At the ſame time, we perceive this ſubſtance or thing, ſuppoſing it to have a beginning of exiſtence, to be an effect produced by ſome cauſe; and we perceive the powers and properties of this cauſe from its effects. If there is an aptitude in the effect to ſome end, we attribute to the cauſe, intelligence and deſign. If the effect produced be ſome thing that is good in itſelf, or that has a tendency to ſome good end or pupoſe, we attribute goodneſs to the cauſe, as well as intelligence and deſign. And this we do, not by any proceſs of reaſoning, but merely by perception and feeling. The Deity has not left his exiſtence to be gathered from ſlippery and far-fetched arguments. We have but to open our eyes, to receive impreſſions [329] of him almoſt from every thing we perceive. We diſcover his being and attributes, in the ſame manner that we diſcover external objects. We have but to appeal to our own perceptions; and none but thoſe, who are ſo ſtubbornly hypothetical, as to deny the exiſtence of matter, againſt the evidence of their ſenſes, can, ſeriouſly and deliberately, deny the exiſtence of the Deity. In fine, there is a wonderful harmony eſtabliſhed betwixt our perceptions and the courſe of nature. We truſt to our perceptions, for the exiſtence of external objects, and their paſt, preſent and future operations. We truſt to theſe perceptions by the neceſſity of our nature, and, upon experience, find ourſelves not deceived. Our perception of the Deity, is as diſtinct and authoritative, as that of external objects. And tho' here, we cannot have experience to appeal to, the want of experience can never afford an argument againſt the authority of any perception, where, from the nature of the thing, there can be no experience. It is ſufficient for conviction, that [330] our perceptions in general correſpond to the truth of things, wherever there is an opportunity to try them by experience; and therefore, we can have no cauſe to doubt of our perceptions in any caſe, where they are not contradicted by experience.

SO far the Deity is diſcoverable, by every perſon who goes but one ſtep beyond the ſurface of things, and their mere exiſtence. We may indeed behold the earth in its gayeſt dreſs, the heavens in all their glory, without having any perception, other than that of beauty, ſomething in theſe objects that pleaſes and delights us. Many paſs their lives, brutiſhly involved in the groſs pleaſures of ſenſe, without having any feeling, at leaſt, any ſtrong or permanent feeling, of the Deity; and poſſibly, this in general is the caſe of ſavages, before they are humanized by ſociety and government. But the Deity cannot be long a ſecret from thoſe who are accuſtomed to any degree of reflection. No ſooner are we enabled to reliſh beauties of [331] the ſecond and third claſs *; no ſooner do we acquire a taſte for regularity, order, deſign, and good purpoſe, than we begin to perceive the Deity, in the beauty of the operations of nature. Savages who have no conſiſtent rule of conduct, who act by the blind impulſe of paſſion and appetite, and who have only a glimmering of the moral ſenſe, are but ill qualified to diſcover the Deity in his works. If they have little or no perception of a juſt tenor of life, of the dignity of behaviour, and of the beauty of action, how ſhould they perceive the beauty of the works of creation, and the admirable harmony of all the parts, in the great ſyſtem of things? Being conſcious of nothing but diſorder and ſenſual impulſe within, they cannot be conſcious of any thing better without them. Society teaches mankind ſelf-denial, and improves the moral ſenſe. Diſciplined in ſociety, the taſte for order and regularity unfolds itſelf by degrees. The ſocial affections [332] gain the aſcendant, and the morality of actions gets firm poſſeſſion of the mind. In this improved ſtate, the beauty of the creation makes a ſtrong impreſſion; and, we can never ceaſe admiring the excellency of that cauſe, who is the author of ſo many beautiful effects. And thus, to ſociety we owe all the bleſſings of life, and, particularly, the knowledge of the Deity, that moſt ineſtimable branch of human knowledge.

HITHERTO we have gone no further, than to point out the means by which we diſcover the Deity, and his attributes of power, wiſdom and goodneſs. So far are we carried by thoſe wonderful principles in our nature, which diſcover the connection betwixt cauſe and effect, and from the effect diſcover the powers and properties of the cauſe. But there is one attribute of the Supreme Being, of the moſt eſſential kind, which remains to be unfolded. It is, what commonly paſſes under the name of ſelf-exiſtence, that he muſt have exiſted for [333] ever; and conſequently, that he cannot be conſidered as an effect, to require a cauſe of his exiſtence; but, on the contrary, without being cauſed, that, mediately, or immediately, he is the cauſe of all other things. A principle, we have had occaſion, more than once, to mention, will make this evident, ſciz. that nothing can begin to exiſt without a cauſe. Every thing which comes into exiſtence, and once was not, is, by a neceſſary determination of our nature, perceived as an effect, or as a production; the very conception of which, involves an adequate cauſe. Now, if every thing has a beginning, one being, at leaſt, to wit, that which firſt came into exiſtence, muſt be an effect or production without a cauſe, which is a direct inconſiſtency. If all beings had a beginning, there was a time, when the world was an abſolute void; upon which ſuppoſition, it is intuitively certain, that nothing could ever have come into exiſtence. This propoſition we feel to be true, and our feeling affords us, in this caſe, a more ſolid conviction, [334] than any demonſtration can do. One being, therefore, muſt have exiſted from all eternity, who, as he is not an effect or production, cannot poſſibly be indebted for his exiſtence to any other being. At the ſame time, as we can have no foundation for ſuppoſing the exiſtence of more eternal beings than one, this one being muſt be the Deity; becauſe, all other beings, mediately, or immediately, owe their exiſtence to him. All other beings, as they are ſuppoſed to be produced in time, muſt have a cauſe of their exiſtence, and, by the ſuppoſition, there can be no other cauſe but this eternal Being. The bulk of mankind, probably, in their notions of the Deity, ſcarce comprehend this attribute of ſelf-exiſtence. A man muſt be uſed, a good deal, to abſtract reaſoning, who of himſelf diſcovers this truth. But it is not difficult to explain it to others, after it is diſcovered. And it deſerves well to be inculcated; for, without it, our knowledge of the Deity muſt be extremely imperfect. His other attributes of power, wiſdom and goodneſs, [335] are, in ſome meaſure, communicated to his creatures; but his attribute of ſelf-exiſtence makes the ſtrongeſt oppoſition imaginable, betwixt him and his creatures.

A FEW words will ſuffice upon the third propoſition, which, in a good meaſure, is already explained. The eſſence of the Deity is far beyond the reach of our comprehenſion. Were he to exhibit himſelf to us, in broad day-light, it is not a thing ſuppoſable, that he could be reached by any of our external ſenſes. The attributes of ſelf-exiſtence, wiſdom, goodneſs and power, are purely intellectual. And therefore, ſo far as we can comprehend, there are no ordinary means to acquire any knowledge of the Deity, but by his works. And indeed, by means of that ſenſe which diſcovers cauſes from their effects, he has manifeſted himſelf to us in a fatisfactory manner, liable to no doubt nor error. And after all, what further evidence can we deſire, when the evidence we have of his exiſtence is little inferior to that we [336] have of our own exiſtence? Impreſſions or perceptions ſerve us for evidence in both caſes *. Our own exiſtence, indeed, is, of all facts, that which concerns us moſt; and, therefore, of our own exiſtence we ought to have the higheſt certainty. Next to it, we have not, as it appears to me, a greater certainty of any matter of fact, than of the exiſtence of the Deity. 'Tis, at leaſt, equal to the certainty we have of external objects, and of the conſtancy and uniformity of the operations of nature, upon the faith of which our whole ſchemes of life are adjuſted.

THE arguments a poſteriori, which have been urged for the Being and attributes of the Deity, are generally defective. There is always wanting one link of the chain, to wit, that peculiar principle, upon which is founded our knowledge of cauſes and their effects. But the calm perceptions, turning habitual by frequent repetition, are apt to be overlooked [337] in our reaſonings. Many a propoſition is rendered obſcure, by much laboured argument, for the truth of which, we need but appeal to our own perceptions. Thus, we are told, that the frame and order of the world, the wiſdom and goodneſs diſplayed in every part of it, are an evident demonſtration of the Being of a God. I confeſs, theſe things afford us full conviction of his Being. But, laying aſide perception and feeling, I ſhould be utterly at a loſs, by any ſort of reaſoning, to conclude the exiſtence of any one thing, from that of any other thing. In particular, by what proceſs of reaſoning, can we demonſtrate this concluſion to be true, that order and beauty muſt needs proceed from a deſigning cauſe? It is true, the idea of an effect involves the idea of a cauſe. But how does reaſon make out, that the thing we name an effect, may not exiſt of itſelf, as well as what we name a cauſe? If it be urged, that human works, where means are apparently adjuſted to an end, and beautty and order diſcovered, [338] are always known to be the effects of intelligence and deſign. True, they are: and as far as I have experience, I believe the fact to be ſo. But, where experience fails me, I deſire to know, by what ſtep, what link in the chain of reaſoning, am I to connect my paſt experience with this inference, that in every caſe, I ought to form the ſame concluſion? If it be ſaid, that nature prompts us to judge of ſimilar inſtances, by former experience; this is giving up reaſon and demonſtration, to appeal to that very feeling, on which, I contend, the evidence of this truth muſt entirely reſt. All the arguments a poſteriori, may be reſolved into this principle; which, no doubt, has had its due influence upon the writers who handle the preſent ſubject; tho', I muſt be allowed to ſay, it has not been explained, nor, perhaps, ſufficiently underſtood by them; whereby, all of them have been led into the error, of ſtating as demonſtrative reaſoning, what is only an appeal to our ſenſes. They reaſon, for example, upon the equality of males and females, [339] and hold the infinite odds againſt this equality, to be a demonſtration, that matters cannot be carried on by chance. This, conſidered as mere reaſoning, does not conclude; for, beſides that chance is infinite in its varieties, there may be, ſome blind fatality, ſome unknown cauſe, in the nature of things, which produces this uniformity. But tho' reaſon cannot afford demonſtration in this caſe, ſenſe and feeling afford conviction. The equality of males and females, is one of the many inſtances which we know and feel to be the effects of a deſigning cauſe; and of which we can no more entertain a doubt, than of our own exiſtence. The ſame principle, which unfolds to us the connection of cauſes and their effects, in the moſt common events, diſcovers this whole univerſe to ſtand in the relation of an effect to a ſupreme cauſe.

To ſubſtitute feeling in place of reaſon and demonſtration, may ſeem to put the evidence of the Deity upon too low a footing. [340] But human reaſon is not ſo mighty an affair, as philoſophers vainly pretend. It affords very little aid, in making original diſcoveries. The comparing of things together, and directing our inferences from feeling and experience, are its proper province. In this way, reaſon gives its aid, to lead us to the knowledge of the Deity. It enlarges our views of final cauſes, and of the prevalence of wiſdom and goodneſs. But the application of the argument from final cauſes, to prove the exiſtence of a Deity, and the force of our concluſion, from beautiful and orderly effects to a deſigning cauſe, are not from reaſon, but from an internal light, which ſhows things in their relation of cauſe and effect. Theſe concluſions reſt entirely upon ſenſe and feeling; and it is ſurpriſing, that writers ſhould overlook what is ſo natural, and ſo obvious. But the pride of man's heart, makes him deſire to extend his diſcoveries, by dint of reaſoning. For reaſoning is our own work. There is merit in acuteneſs and penetration; and we are better [341] pleaſed to aſſume merit to ourſelves, than humbly to acknowledge, that, to the moſt important diſcoveries, we are directly led by the hand of the Almighty.

HAVING unfolded that principle, upon which I would reſt the moſt important of all truths; objections muſt not be overlooked, ſuch as appear to have weight: and I ſhall endeavour to give theſe objections their ſtrongeſt effect, which ought to be done in every diſpute, and which becomes more ſtrictly a duty, in handling a ſubject, where truth is of the utmoſt importance.

CONSIDERING the above argument on all ſides, I do not find, that it can be more advantageouſly combated, than by oppoſing to it, the eternity and ſelf-exiſtence of the world, governed by chance or blind fatality. 'Tis above admitted to be very difficult, by any abſtract reaſoning, to prove the inconſiſtency of this ſuppoſition. But we feel the inconſiſtency; for the frame and conduct of [342] this world, contain in them, too much of wiſdom, art and foreſight, to admit of the ſuppoſition of chance or blind fatality. We are neceſſarily determined, by a principle in our nature, to attribute ſuch effects to ſome intelligent and deſigning cauſe. Suppoſing this cauſe to be the world itſelf, we have, at leaſt, got free of the ſuppoſition of chance and blind ſatality. And, if the world be a being, endued with unbounded power, intelligence and benevolence, the world is the being we are in queſt of; for we have no other idea of the Deity, but of an eternal and ſelf-exiſtent being, endued with power, wiſdom and goodneſs. But the hypotheſis, thus reformed, ſtill contradicts our perceptions. The world is made up of parts, ſeparable, and actually ſeparated. The attributes of unbounded power, intelligence and benevolence, do certainly not belong to this earth, and as little to the ſun, moon or ſtars, which are not conceived to be even voluntary agents. Therefore, theſe attributes muſt belong to a Being, who made the earth, [343] ſun, moon and ſtars, and who connects the whole together in one ſyſtem.

A SECOND objection may be, that the above reaſoning, by which we conclude the eternity and ſelf-exiſtence of one Being who made this world, does not neceſſarily infer ſuch a concluſion, but only, an eternal ſucceſſion of ſuch beings; which may be reckoned a more natural ſuppoſition, and more agreeable to our feelings, than the idea of one eternal ſelf-exiſtent Being, without any cauſe of his exiſtence.

IN matters ſo profound, it is difficult to form ideas with any degree of accuracy. I have obſerved above, that it is too much for man, to graſp, in his idea, an eternal Being, whoſe exiſtence, upon that account, cannot admit of the ſuppoſition of a cauſe. To talk, as ſome of our metaphyſical writers do, of an abſolute neceſſity in the nature of the Being, as the cauſe of his exiſtence, is mere jargon. For we can conceive nothing more [344] clearly, than that the cauſe muſt go before the effect, and that the cauſe cannot poſſibly be in the effect. But, however difficult it may be, to conceive one eternal Being, without a cauſe of its exiſtence; it is not leſs difficult, to conceive an eternal ſucceſſion of beings, deriving their exiſtence from each other. For, tho' every link be ſuppoſed a production, the chain itſelf exiſts without a cauſe, as well as one eternal Being does. Therefore, an eternal ſucceſſion of beings, is not a more natural ſuppoſition, than one eternal ſelf-exiſtent Being. And taking it in a different light, it will appear a ſuppoſition much leſs natural, or rather altogether unnatural. Succeſſion in exiſtence, implying the ſucceſſive annihilation of particulars, is indeed a very natural conception. But then, it is intimately connected with frail and dependent beings, and cannot, without the utmoſt violence to the conception, be applied to the Maker of all things, to whom, we naturally aſcribe, perpetual exiſtence, and every other perfection. And therefore, as [345] this hypotheſis of a perpetual ſucceſſion, when applied to the Deity, is deſtitute of any ſupport from reaſon or experience, and is contradicted by every one of our natural feelings, there can be no ground for adopting it.

THE noted obſervation of Lucretius, that primos in orbe deos fecit timor, may be objected; as it will be thought unphiloſophical, to multiply cauſes for our belief of a Deity, when fear alone muſt have that effect. For my part, I have little doubt of the truth of the obſervation, taking it in its proper ſenſe, that fear is the foundation of our belief of inviſible malevolent powers. For it is evident, that fear can never be the cauſe of our belief of a benevolent Deity. I have unfolded, in another eſſay *, the cauſe of our dread of malevolent inviſible powers. And I am perſuaded, that nothing has been more hurtful to religion, than the irregular propenſity in our nature, to dread ſuch powers. Superficial thinkers are apt to confound [346] theſe phantoms of the imagination, with the objects of our true and genuine perceptions. And finding ſo little reality in the former, they are apt to conclude the latter, alſo, to be a fiction. But, if they gave any ſort of deliberate attention, they would ſoon learn, by the aſſiſtance of hiſtory, if not by original feeling, to diſtinguiſh theſe objects, as having no real connection with each other. Man, in his original ſavage ſtate, is a ſhy and timorous animal, dreading every new object, and attributing every extraordinary event, to ſome inviſible malevolent power. Led, at the ſame time, by mere appetite, he has little idea of regularity and order, of the morality of actions, or of the beauty of nature. In this ſtate, it is no wonder, he multiplies his inviſible malevolent powers, without entertaining any notion of a ſupreme Being, the Creator of all things. As man ripens in ſociety, and is benefited by the goodwill of others, his dread of new objects gradually leſſens. He begins to perceive regularity and order in the courſe of nature. He [347] becomes ſharp-ſighted, in diſcovering cauſes from effects, and effects from cauſes. He aſcends gradually, thro' the different orders of beings, and their operations, till he diſcovers the Deity, who is the cauſe of all things. And when we run over the hiſtory of man, it will be found to hold true in fact, that ſavages, who are moſt poſſeſt with the opinion of evil ſpirits, have, of all people, the leaſt idea of a Deity; and, that as all civilized nations, without exception, entertain the firm belief of a Deity, ſo the dread of evil ſpirits wears out in every nation, in proportion to their gradual advances in ſocial intercourſe.

AND this leads to a reflection, which cannot fail to have univerſal influence. Man, in a ſavage and brutiſh ſtate, is hurried away by every guſt of paſſion, and by every phantom of the imagination. His powers and faculties are improved by education, and good culture. He acquires deep knowledge in the nature of things, and learns accurately to diſtinguiſh truth from falſehood. What [348] more ſatisfying evidence can we require, of the truth of our perceptions of the Deity, than to find theſe perceptions prevalent, in proportion, as mankind improve in the arts of life? Theſe perceptions go hand in hand with the rational powers. As man increaſes in knowledge, and in the diſcerning faculties, his perceptions of the Deity become proportionally more ſtrong, clear and authoritative. The univerſal conviction of a Deity, which has, without exception, ſpread through all civilized nations, cannot poſſibly be without a foundation in nature. To inſiſt that it may, is to inſiſt, that an effect may be without an adequate cauſe. Reaſon cannot be an adequate cauſe; becauſe, our reaſonings upon this ſubject, muſt, at beſt, be abſtruſe, and beyond the comprehenſion of the bulk of mankind. Our knowledge, therefore, of the Deity, muſt be founded on our perceptions and feelings, which are common to mankind. And it is agreeable to the analogy of nature, that God ſhould diſcover himſelf to his rational creatures [349] after this manner. If this ſubject be involved in any degree of obſcurity, writers are to blame, who, in a matter of ſo great importance, ought to give no quarter to inaccuracy of thought or expreſſion. But it is an error, common to the bulk of writers, to ſubſtitute reaſon for feeling. The faculty of perception, working ſilently, and without effort, is generally overlookt. And we muſt find a reaſon for every thing we judge to be true; tho' the truth of the propoſition often depends, not upon reaſoning, but upon mere feeling. It is thus, that morality has been brought under ſome obſcurity, by metaphyſical writers; and it is equally to be regreted, that the knowledge of the Deity has been brought under obſcurity, by the ſame ſort of writers.

HAVING ſettled the belief of a Deity upon its proper baſis, we ſhall proceed to take a general view of the attributes, which belong to that great Being; and firſt,

Of the UNITY of the DEITY.

[350]

WITH regard to this, and all the other attributes of the Deity, it ought to be no diſcouraging reflection, that we cannot attain an adequate idea of them. The Deity is too grand an object, to be comprehended, in any perfect manner, by the human mind. We have not words nor ideas, which any way correſpond to the manner of his exiſtence. Should ſome good angel undertake to be our inſtructor, we would ſtill be at a loſs, to form a diſtinct conception of it. Power, intelligence and goodneſs, are attributes which we can comprehend. But with regard to the nature of the Deity in general, and the manner of his exiſtence, we muſt be ſatisfied, in this mortal ſtate, to remain much in the dark. The attribute of Unity, is what, of all, we can have the leaſt certainty about, by the light of nature. It is not inconſiſtent, that there ſhould be two or more beings of the very higheſt order, whoſe eſſence and actions are ſo regulated [351] by the nature of the beings themſelves, as to be altogether concordant and harmonious. In truth, the nature of the Divine Being is ſo far out of our reach, that we muſt be abſolutely at a loſs, to apply to it unity or multiplicity. This property applies to numbers, and to individual things, but we know not that it will apply to the Deity. At the ſame time, if we may venture to judge, of a matter ſo remote from common apprehenſion, we ought to conclude in favours of the attribute of unity. We perceive the neceſſity of admitting one eternal Being; and it is ſufficient, that there is not the ſmalleſt foundation from ſenſe or reaſon, to ſuppoſe more than one.

Of the POWER and INTELLIGENCE of the DEITY.

[352]

THESE two attributes I join together, becauſe the ſame reflection will apply to both. The wiſdom and power, which muſt neceſſarily be ſuppoſed, in the creation and government of this world, are ſo far beyond the reach of our comprehenſion, that they may juſtly be ſtiled infinite. We can aſcribe no bounds to either: and we have no other notion of infinite, but that, to which we can aſcribe no bounds.

Of the BENEVOLENCE of the DEITY.

[353]

THE mixed nature of the events, which fall under our obſervation, ſeems, at firſt ſight, to point out a mixed cauſe, partly good and partly evil. The author of ‘philoſophical eſſays concerning human underſtanding,’ in his eleventh eſſay, ‘of the practical conſequences of natural religion,’ puts in the mouth of an Epicurean philoſopher, a very ſhrewd argument againſt the benevolence of the Deity. The ſum of it is what follows. ‘If the cauſe be known only by the effect, we never ought to aſſign to it any qualities, beyond what are preciſely requiſite to produce the effect. Allowing therefore God to be the Author of the exiſtence and order of the univerſe; it follows, that he poſſeſſes that preciſe degree of power, intelligence and benevolence, which appears in his workmanſhip.’ And hence, from the preſent ſeene of things, apparently ſo full of ill and diſorder, it is [354] concluded, ‘That we have no foundation for aſcribing any attribute to the Deity, but what is preciſely commenſurate with the imperfection of this world.’ With regard to mankind, an exception is made. ‘In works of human art and contrivance, it is admitted, that we can advance from the effect to the cauſe, and returning back from the cauſe, that we conclude new effects, which have not yet exiſted. Thus, for inſtance, from the ſight of a half-finiſhed building, ſurrounded with heaps of ſtones and mortar, and all the inſtruments of maſonry, we naturally conclude, that the building will be finiſhed, and receive all the farther improvements, which art can beſtow upon it. But the foundation of this reaſoning is, plainly, that man is a being whom we know by experience, and whoſe motives and deſigns we are acquainted with, which enables us to draw many inferences, concerning what may be expected from him. But did we know man only from the ſingle work or production, [355] which we examine, we could not argue in this manner; becauſe our knowledge of all the qualities which we aſcribe to him, being, upon that ſuppoſition, derived from the work or production, it is impoſſible they could point any thing farther, or be the foundation of any new inference.’

SUPPOSING reaſon to be our only guide in theſe matters, which is ſuppoſed by this philoſopher in his argument, I cannot help ſeeing his reaſoning to be juſt. It appears to be true, that by no inference of reaſon, can I conclude any power or benevolence in the cauſe, beyond what is diſplayed in the effect. But this is no wonderful diſcovery. The philoſopher might have carried his argument a greater length. He might have obſerved, even with regard to a man I am perfectly acquainted with, that I cannot conclude, by any chain of reaſoning, he will finiſh the houſe he has begun. 'Tis to no purpoſe to urge his temper and diſpoſition. For, from what principle of reaſon can I infer, [356] that theſe will continue the ſame as formerly? He might further have obſerved, that the difficulty is greater, with regard to a man I know nothing of, ſuppoſing him to have begun the building. For what foundation have I, to transfer the qualities of the perſons I am acquainted with, to ſtrangers? This ſurely is not performed by any proceſs of reaſoning. There is ſtill a wider ſtep, which is, that reaſon will not help me out in attributing to the Deity, even that preciſe degree of power, intelligence and benevolence, which appears in his workmanſhip. I find no inconſiſtency in ſuppoſing, that a blind and undeſigning cauſe may be productive of excellent effects. It will, I preſume, be difficult to produce a demonſtration to the contrary. And ſuppoſing, at the inſtant of operation, the Deity to have been endued with theſe properties, can we make out, by any argument a priori, that they are ſtill ſubſiſting in him? Nay, this ſame philoſopher might have gone a great way further, by obſerving, when any thing comes into exiſtence, [357] that, by no proceſs of reaſoning, can we ſo much as infer any cauſe of its exiſtence.

BUT happily for man, where reaſon fails him, perception and feeling come to his aſſiſtance. By means of principles implanted in our nature, we are enabled to make the above concluſions and inferences, as, at full length is made out, in ſome of the foregoing eſſays. More particularly, power, diſcovered in any object, is perceived as a permanent quality, like figure or extenſion *. Upon this account, power diſcovered by a ſingle effect, is conſidered, as ſufficient, to produce the like effects without end. Further, great power may be diſcovered from a ſmall effect; which holds even in bodily ſtrength; as where an action is performed readily, and without effort. This is equally remarkable in wiſdom and intelligence. A very ſhort argument may unfold correctneſs of judgment and a deep reach. The [358] ſame holds in art and skill. Examining a ſlight piece of workmanſhip done with taſte, we readily obſerve, that the artiſt was equal to a greater task. But it is moſt of all remarkable in the quality of benevolence. For even, from a ſingle effect produced by an unknown cauſe, which appears to be accurately adapted to ſome good purpoſe, we neceſſarily attribute to this cauſe, benevolence, as well as power and wiſdom *. It is indeed but a weak perception, which ariſes from a ſingle effect: but ſtill, it is a clear and diſtinct perception of pure benevolence, without any mixture of malice; for ſuch contradictory qualities, are not readily to be aſcribed to the ſame cauſe. There may be a difficulty indeed, where the effect is of a mixt nature, partly evil, partly good; or where a variety of effects, having theſe oppoſite characters, proceed from the ſame cauſe. Such intricate caſes cannot fail to embaraſs us. But, as we muſt form ſome ſentiment, the reſolution of the difficulty [359] plainly is, that we muſt aſcribe benevolence or malevolence to the cauſe, from the prevalence of the one or other quality in the effects. If evil makes the greateſt figure, we perceive the cauſe to be malevolent, notwithſtanding of oppoſite inſtances of goodneſs. If, upon the whole, goodneſs is ſupereminent, we perceive the cauſe to be benevolent; and are not moved by the croſs inſtances of evil, which we endeavour to reconcile, as we can, to pure benevolence. It is, indeeed, true, that where the oppoſite effects nearly balance each other, our perception cannot be entire upon the ſide of benevolence or malevolence. But, if good or evil greatly preponderate, the weight in the oppoſite ſcale goes for nothing: the perception is entire upon one ſide or other. Becauſe it is the tendency of our perceptions, to reject a mixt character made up of benevolence and malevolence, unleſs, where it is neceſſarily preſt home upon us, by an equality of oppoſite effects.

[360] SUCH are the concluſions, that we can with certainty draw, not indeed from reaſon, but from ſenſe and feeling. So little are we acquainted with the eſſence and nature of things, that we cannot eſtabliſh theſe concluſions upon any argument a priori. Nor would it be of great benefit to mankind, to have theſe concluſions demonſtrated to them; few having either leiſure or genius to deal in ſuch profound ſpeculations. It is more wiſely ordered, that they appear to us intuitively certain. We feel that they are true, and our feelings have full authority over us. This is a ſolid foundation for our conviction of the benevolence of the Deity. If, from a ſingle effect, pure benevolence in the cauſe can be perceived or felt; what doubt can there be, of the pure benevolence of the Deity, when we ſurvey his works, pregnant with good-will to mankind? Innumerable inſtances, of things wiſely adapted to good purpoſes, give us the ſtrongeſt feeling, of the goodneſs, as well as wiſdom, of the Deity; which is joined with the firmeſt [361] perſuaſion of conſtancy and uniformity in his operations. A few croſs inſtances, which to us, weak-ſighted mortals, may appear of evil tendency, ought not, and cannot make us waver. When we know ſo little of nature, it would be ſurpriſing, indeed, if we ſhould be able to account for every event, and its final tendency. Unleſs we were let into the counſels of the Almighty, we can never hope to unravel all the myſteries of the creation.

As we cannot ſay too much upon a ſubject, which is of all the moſt intereſting, I ſhall add ſome other conſiderations, to juſtify our belief of the pure benevolence of the Deity. And, in the firſt place, I venture to lay it down for a truth, that pure malice, is a principle not to be found in human nature. The benevolence of man, is, indeed, often checked and counteracted by jealouſy, envy, and other ſelfiſh paſſions. But, theſe are diſtinct from pure malice; for, pure goodneſs is not oppoſite to ſelf-intereſt, but [362] to ſatisfaction in the misfortunes and miſeries of others. Now, the independent and all-ſufficient nature of the Deity, ſets him above all ſuſpicion of being liable to envy, or the purſuit of any intereſt, other than the general intereſt of his creatures. Wants, weakneſs, and oppoſition of intereſts, are the cauſes of ill-will and malice among men. From all ſuch influences, the Deity muſt be exempted. And therefore, unleſs we ſuppoſe him leſs perfect than the creatures he has made, we cannot readily ſuppoſe, that there is any degree of malice in his nature.

THERE is a ſecond conſideration, which has always afforded me great ſatisfaction. Did natural evil prevail in reality, as much as it does in appearance, we muſt expect, that the enlargement of natural knowledge, ſhould daily diſcover new inſtances of bad, as well as of good intention. But the fact is directly otherways. Our diſcoveries aſcertain us more and more of the benevolence [363] of the Deity, by unfolding beautiful final cauſes without number; while the appearances of evil intention gradually vaniſh, like a miſt, after the ſun breaks out. Many things are now found to be curious in their contrivance, and productive of good effects, which formerly appeared uſeleſs, or, perhaps, of evil tendency. And, in the gradual progreſs of learning, we have the ſtrongeſt reaſon to expect, that many more diſcoveries, of the like kind, will be made hereafter. This very conſideration, had we nothing elſe to rely on, ought to make us reſt upon the aſſurance which our feelings give us of the benevolence of the Deity; without giving way to the perplexity of a few croſs appearances, which, in matters ſo far beyond our comprehenſion, ought to be aſcribed to our own ignorance, and, by no means, to any malevolence in the Deity.

I SHALL ſatisfy myſelf with ſuggeſting but one other obſervation, that, inferring a mixed nature in the Deity, from events [364] which cannot be clearly reconciled to benevolence, is at beſt, new moulding the Manichean ſyſtem, by ſubſtituting, in place of it, one really leſs plauſible. For, I can, with greater facility, form a conception of two oppoſite powers, governing the univerſe, than of one power, endued with great goodneſs, and great malevolence; which are principles repugnant to each other.

IT thus appears, that our conviction of this attribute of pure benevolence, has a wide and ſolid foundation. It is impreſſed upon us by a natural feeling, by every diſcovery we make in the ſcience of nature, and by every argument which is ſuggeſted by reaſon and reflection. There is but one objection of any weight, which can be moved againſt it, ariſing from the difficulty of accounting for natural and moral evil. It is obſerved above, that this objection, however it may puzzle, ought not to ſhake our faith in this attribute; becauſe, an argument from ignorance, can never be a convincing argument [365] in any caſe; and this therefore, in its ſtrongeſt light, appears but in the ſhape of a difficulty, not of a ſolid objection. At the ſame time, as the utmoſt labour of thought is well beſtowed upon a ſubject, in which mankind is ſo much intereſted, I ſhall proceed to ſuggeſt ſome reflections, which may tend to ſatisfy us, that the inſtances commonly given of natural and moral evil, are not ſo inconſiſtent with pure benevolence, as, at firſt ſight, may be imagined.

ONE preliminary point muſt be ſettled, which, I preſume, will be admitted without much heſitation. It certainly will not be thought, in any degree, inconſiſtent with the pure benevolence of the Deity, that the world is filled with an endleſs variety of creatures, gradually aſcending in the ſcale of being, from the moſt groveling, to the moſt glorious. To think otherways, would be in effect to think, that all inanimate beings ought to be endued with life and motion, and that all animate beings ought to be angels. If, [366] at firſt view, it ſhall be thought, that infinite power and goodneſs cannot ſtop ſhort of abſolute perfection in their operations, and that the work of creation muſt be confined to the higheſt order of beings in the higheſt perfection; this thought will ſoon be corrected, by conſidering, that, by this ſuppoſition, a great void is left, which, according to the preſent ſyſtem of things, is filled with beings, and with life and motion. And, ſuppoſing the world to be repleniſhed with the higheſt order of beings, created in the higheſt degree of perfection, it is certainly an act of more extenſive benevolence, to complete the work of creation, by the addition of an infinity of creatures leſs perfect, than to leave a great blank, betwixt beings of the higheſt order, and nothing.

THE imperfection then of a created being, abſtractly conſidered, is no impeachment of any of the attributes of the Deity, whether power, wiſdom, or benevolence. And if ſo, neither can pain, abſtractly conſidered, [367] be an impeachment, ſo far as it is the natural and neceſſary conſequence of imperfection. The government of the world is carried on by general laws, which produce conſtancy and uniformity in the operations of nature. Among many reaſons for this, we can clearly diſcover one, which is unfolded in a former eſſay *, that, were not nature uniform and conſtant, men, and other ſenſible beings, would be altogether at a loſs how to conduct themſelves. Our nature is adjuſted to theſe general laws, and muſt, therefore, be ſubjected to all their varieties, whether beneficial or hurtful. We are made ſenſible beings, and therefore equally capable of pleaſure and pain. And it muſt follow, from the very nature of the thing, that delicacy of feeling, which is the ſource of much pleaſure, may be equally the ſource of much pain. It is true, we cannot pronounce it to be a contradiction, that a being ſhould be ſuſceptible of pleaſure only, and not of pain. But no argument can be founded upon this ſuppoſition, but what will conclude, [368] that a creature, ſuch as man, ought to have no place in the ſcale of beings; which ſurely will not be maintained. For it is ſtill better, that man be as he is, than not be at all. It is further to be obſerved in general, that averſion to pain, is not ſo great, at leaſt in mankind, as to counterbalance every other appetite. Moſt men would purchaſe an additional ſhare of happineſs, at the expence of ſome pain. And therefore, it can afford no argument againſt the benevolence of the Deity, that created beings are found liable to pain, from their nature and condition, ſuppoſing, in the main, their life to be comfortable. Their ſtate is ſtill preferable to that of inanimate matter, capable neither of pleaſure nor pain.

THUS then, it appears, even from a general view of our ſubject, that natural evil affords no argument againſt the benevolence of the Deity. And this will ſtill appear in a ſtronger light, when we go to particulars. It is fully laid open in the firſt eſſay, that the [369] ſocial affections, even when moſt painful, are accompanied with no degree of averſion, whether in the feeling itſelf, or in the after reflection. We value ourſelves the more, for being ſo affected; being conſcious that it is right and meet to be ſo affected. Diſtreſſes, therefore, of this ſort, cannot be called evils, when we have no averſion to them, and do not repine at them. And if theſe be laid aſide, what may be juſtly termed natural evils, will be reduced within a ſmall compaſs. They will be found to proceed neceſſarily, and by an eſtabliſhed train of cauſes and effects, either from the imperfection of our nature, or from the operation of general laws. Pain is not diſtributed through the world, blindly, or with any appearance of malice; but ends, proportions and meaſures, are obſerved in the diſtribution. Senſible marks of good tendency, are conſpicuous, even in the harſheſt diſpenſations of Providence, as well as in its general laws: and the good tendency of theſe general laws, is a ſure pledge of benevolence, even in thoſe inſtances, [370] where we may be at a loſs about their application. One thing is certain, that there is in man, a natural principle to ſubmit to theſe general laws and their conſequences. And, were this principle cultivated, as it ought to be, mankind would have the ſame conſciouſneſs of rectitude of conduct, in ſubmitting to the laws of the natural world, that they have in ſubmitting to the laws of the moral world, and would as little repine at the diſtreſſes of the one kind, as at thoſe of the other.

BUT we cannot do juſtice to the argument, unleſs we proceed further, to ſhow, that pain and diſtreſs are productive of manifold good ends, and that the preſent ſyſtem could not well be without them. In the firſt place, pain is neceſſary, as a monitor of what is hurtful and dangerous to life. Every man is truſted with the care of his own preſervation; and he would be ill qualified for this truſt, were he left entirely to the guidance of reaſon. He would die for want of food, [371] were it not for the pain of hunger. And but for the pain ariſing from fear, he would precipitate himſelf, every moment, into the moſt deſtructive enterpriſes. In the next place, pain is the great ſanction of laws, both human and divine. There would be no order nor diſcipline in the world, without it. In the third place, the diſtreſſes and diſappointments, which ariſe from the uncertainty of ſeaſons, from the variable tempers of thoſe we are connected with, and from other croſs accidents, are wonderfully well adapted to our conſtitution, by keeping our hopes and fears in perpetual agitation. Man is an active being, and is not in his element, but when in variety of occupation. A conſtant and uniform tenor of life, without hopes or fears, however agreeable in itſelf, would ſoon bring on ſatiety and diſguſt. Pain therefore is neceſſary, not only to enhance our pleaſures, but to keep us in perpetual motion. And it is needleſs to obſerve, a ſecond time, that, to complain of man's conſtitution in this reſpect, is, in other words, [372] to complain, that there is ſuch a creature as man in the ſcale of being. And to mention but one other thing, pain and diſtreſs have a wonderful tendency to advance the intereſts of ſociety. Grief, compaſſion and ſympathy, are ſtrong connecting principles, by which every particular man is made ſubſervient to the general good of the whole ſpecies.

I SHALL cloſe this branch of my ſubject with a general reflection, which is reſerved to the laſt place, becauſe, in my apprehenſion, it brings the argument for the benevolence of the Deity, within a very narrow compaſs. When we run over what we know of the formation and government of this world, the inſtances are without number, of good intention, and of conſummate wiſdom, in adjuſting things to good ends and purpoſes. And it is equally true, that, as we advance in knowledge, ſcenes of this kind multiply upon us. This obſervation is enforced above. But I have now to obſerve, that there is not a ſingle inſtance to be met with, [373] which can be juſtly aſcribed to malevolence or bad intention. Many evils may be pointed out; evils at leaſt as to us. But when the moſt is made of ſuch inſtances, they appear only to be the conſequences of general laws, which regard the whole more than particulars; and therefore are no marks of malevolence in the author and governor of the world. Were there any doubt about the tendency of ſuch inſtances, it would be more rational to aſcribe them to want of power, than want of benevolence, which is ſo conſpicuous in other inſtances. But we cannot rationally aſcribe them to either, but to the pre-eſtabliſhed order and conſtitution of things, and to the neceſſary imperfection of the nature of all created beings. And, after all, laying the greateſt weight upon theſe natural evils, that can reaſonably be demanded, the accompt ſtands thus. Inſtances without number of benevolence, in the frame and government of this world, ſo direct and clear, as not to admit of the ſmalleſt dubiety. On the other ſide, natural evils are ſtated, which, [374] at beſt, are very doubtful inſtances of malevolence, and may be aſcribed, perhaps obſcurely, to another cauſe. In balancing this accompt, where the evil appearances are ſo far out-numbered by the good, why ſhould we heſitate a moment to aſcribe pure benevolence to the Deity, and to conclude theſe evils to be neceſſary defects in a good conſtitution; eſpecially when it is ſo repugnant to our natural feelings, to aſcribe great benevolence, and great malevolence, to the ſame being?

IT will be obſerved, that in anſwering the above objection to the benevolence of the Deity, I have avoided urging any argument from our future exiſtence; tho' it affords a fruitful field of comfort, greatly overbalancing the tranſitory evils of this life. But I ſhould ſcarce think it fair reaſoning, to urge ſuch topics upon this ſubject; which would be arguing in a circle. Becauſe the benevolence of the Deity is the only ſolid principle, from whence we can infer a future exiſtence.

[375] HAVING diſpatched what occurred upon natural evil, we come now, to conſider moral evil as an objection againſt the benevolence of the Deity. And, ſome writers urge this objection ſo far, as to conclude, that God is the cauſe of moral evil, ſince he has given man a conſtitution, by which, moral evil, does, and muſt abound. It is certainly no ſatisfying anſwer to this objection, that moral evil is the neceſſary conſequence of human liberty, when human liberty muſt, at beſt, appear a doubtful fact. And even admitting of human liberty, it is a very poſſible ſuppoſition, that man might have been endued with a moral ſenſe, ſo lively and ſtrong, as to be abſolutely authoritative over his actions. Waving, therefore, the argument from human liberty, we muſt look about for a more ſolid anſwer to the objection; which will not be difficult, when we conſider this matter, as laid down in a former eſſay *. It is there made out, 'tis hoped to the ſatisfaction of the reader, that human actions, [376] are, all of them, directed by general laws, which have an operation, not leſs infallible, than thoſe laws have, which govern mere matter; that the feeling we have of liberty, does not correſpond to the truth of things; and, that our peculiar manner of conceiving human actions, as right or wrong, and as praiſe or blame worthy, is wholly founded on this deceitful feeling. The final cauſe of this ſingular feeling, is alſo there laid open; that it is happily adjuſted to the nature of man, as an imperfect being, and tends to promote virtue in an eminent degree. This diſcovery affords a ſolid anſwer to an objection, which, ſo far as I know, has not hitherto received any good anſwer. And it is, that the objection reſts entirely upon a falſe ſuppoſition, as if human actions were ſeen in the ſame light by the Deity, in which they are ſeen by men. A feeling, which is not agreeable to the truth of things, tho' wiſely ordered to correct an imperfect conſtitution in man, cannot be aſcribed to a perfect being. The Deity perceiving all things [377] as they are, without diſguiſe, knows, that what is termed moral evil in the language of man, is, as well as moral good, the reſult of general laws, and of a neceſſary connection betwixt cauſes and their effects. Every thing poſſeſſes its proper place in his plan. All our actions contribute equally to carry on the great and good deſigns of Providence; and, therefore, there is nothing which in his ſight is evil; at leaſt, nothing which is evil upon the whole.

CONSIDERING the objection in the above light, which is the true one, it loſes its force. For it certainly will not be maintained as an argument againſt the goodneſs of the Deity, that he endued mankind with a ſenſe of moral evil; which, in reality, is one of the greateſt bleſſings beſtowed upon him, and which eminently diſtinguiſhes him from the brute creation.

BUT if, now, the objection be turned into another ſhape, and it be demanded, Why was not every man endued with ſo ſtrong a ſenſe [378] of morality, as to be completely authoritative over all his principles of action, which would prevent much remorſe to himſelf, and much miſchief to others? It is anſwered, firſt, that this would not be ſufficient for an exact regularity of conduct, unleſs man's judgment of right and wrong were alſo infallible. For, as long as we differ about what is yours, and what is mine, injuſtice muſt be the conſequence, in many inſtances, however innocent we be. But, in the next place, to complain of a defect in the moral ſenſe, is to complain, that we are not perfect creatures. And, if this complaint be well founded, we may, with equal juſtice, complain, that our underſtanding is but moderate, and that, in general, our powers and facultics are limited. Why ſhould it be urged as an objection, that the moral ſenſe is imperfect, when all our ſenſes, internal and external are imperfect? In ſhort, if this complaint be, in any meaſure, juſt, it muſt go the length, as above obſerved, to prove, that it is not conſiſtent with the benevolence of the Deity, to create ſuch a being as man.

CONCLUSION.

[379]

WE have thus gone through a variety of ſubjects, not without labour and expence of thought. And now, like a traveller, who, after examining the different parts of a country, aſcends ſome eminence to review the whole; let us refreſh ourſelves, by looking back, and enjoying the diſcoveries we have made.

THE ſubject of theſe eſſays is Man. We have formed no imaginary ſchemes for exalting, or for depreſſing his nature. The inquiry has been, whither his capacities and powers ſuit his preſent circumſtances, and fit him for acting a proper part in life. We begin with examining ſome of the great ſprings of action. Upon accurate ſcrutiny, it is found, that ſelf-love, or deſire of good, is not our ſole principle of action; but, that we are furniſhed, beſides, with a variety of impelling powers. Mingled in ſociety, for [380] the convenience of mutual help, it is neceſſary, that we feel for each other. But as the feeling for another's ſorrow, cannot but be painful; here is traced, an admirable contrivance, to reconcile us to this virtuous pain; by taking off that averſion to pain, which, in all other caſes, is an over-ruling principle. This explains a ſeemingly ſtrange phaenomenon, that we ſhould ſeek entertainment, from repreſentations, which immerſe us in the deepeſt affliction. From man as a ſocial, we proceed to man as a moral agent. We find him ſenſible of beauty, in different ranks and orders; and eminently ſenſible of it, in its higheſt order, that of ſentiment, action and character. But the ſenſe of moral beauty, is not alone ſufficient. The importance of morality requires ſome ſtronger principle to guard it; ſome checks and reſtraints from vice, more ſevere than mere diſapprobation. Theſe are not wanting. To the ſenſe of beauty, is ſuperadded a ſenſe of obligation; a feeling of right and wrong, which conſtitutes a law within us. This law enjoins [381] the primary virtues, thoſe which are eſſential to ſociety, under the ſtricteſt ſanctions. Pain, the ſtrongeſt monitor, is here employed, to check tranſgreſſion: whilſt in the ſublimer, more heroic parts of virtue, where ſtrict obligation ends, pleaſure is employed to reward the performance. To nothing are we prompted as a duty, for which we are not firſt prepared, by ſome inward principle. An exact proportion is maintained betwixt the ſtrength of our internal principles, and their uſefulneſs. From ſelf, the object of our moſt eſſential principles, affection ſpreads thro' all the connections we have with others, whether formed by natural ties, founded on gratitude, or created by ſympathy with the diſtreſſed; till, among perſons indifferent and unknown, affection is gradually loſt. Arrived at that point, where benevolence would vaniſh by the diſtance of the object, nature has an admirable artifice for reviving its force; by directing it on the abſtract idea of a Public and a Whole: which, tho' faint and obſcure in the conception, is yet equal to any [382] of our ideas, in force and energy. Man is, in this manner, furniſhed for acting a proper and uſeful part, in the ſyſtem to which he belongs. But this ſyſtem could not be regulated upon any pre-adjuſted plan: the actions of man could not proceed with any order, nor be ſubject to any government; unleſs all were neceſſarily determined by motives. At the ſame time, man could not well conceive himſelf to be a moral, without conceiving himſelf, alſo, to be a free, agent. Hence the neceſſity of giving his mind a peculiar caſt; in which, we cannot but diſcern the brighteſt characters of deſigning wiſdom. By having his practical ideas, and his moral feelings, form'd upon an imaginary ſtate of liberty, conſcience exerts its power over him, with full authority; and ſcope is given, for a far richer and more diverſified ſcene of action, than the perpetual conſciouſneſs of neceſſity could have admitted. Having ſhown, that morals are eſtabliſhed on an immovable foundation, we proceed to ſhow, by what inward powers we are led to [383] the knowledge and belief of ſome of the moſt neceſſary truths; particularly that which it moſt imports us to know, the exiſtence of the Deity. To this we pave the way, by a full preparation of reaſoning. We firſt conſider the nature of that act of the mind, which is termed belief; of which the immediate foundation is the teſtimony of our ſenſes. If the teſtimony they give to the real exiſtence of a material world, be a mere illuſion, as ſome have held, all belief founded on our own feelings, is at an end. Hence there appears a neceſſity for eſtabliſhing the authority of our ſenſes. And here we find full ſatisfaction. For, in other caſes, where there is any thing like artifice in the conduct of nature, means are afforded, both of diſcovering the truth, and of diſcovering the end, for which artifice is made uſe of, to conceal the truth. She never deceives us in vain. But, in the caſe of external exiſtences, we find nothing, after the ſtricteſt ſcrutiny, but preſumptions, hypotheſes and fallacious reaſonings, oppoſed to the cleareſt teſtimony, which [384] nature can give. Diſperſing with no great labour, that philoſophic duſt, which ſceptics have raiſed about material ſubſtance, we find it no more difficult to be conceived, than qualities; both being equally diſplayed to us, by a peculiar modification of the ſenſe of ſight. But belief is not more ſolidly founded upon our external ſenſes, than upon our internal feelings. Not the greateſt ſceptic ever doubted of his own perſonal identity, continued thro' the ſucceſſive periods of life; of his being the ſame man this year, he was the laſt: which, however, is a diſcovery made by no reaſoning; reſting wholly upon a ſimple feeling, or inward ſenſe and conſciouſneſs of the fact. Upon a like foundation reſts our belief of cauſe and effect. No relation is more familiar, nor ſooner takes hold of the mind, than this. Yet certain it is, that no reaſoning, no experience, can diſcover the power or energy of what we term a cauſe, when we attempt to trace it to its ſource. It is neceſſary for the well-being of man, firſt, that he ſhould perceive the objects, which exiſt [385] around him; and next, that he ſhould perceive them in their true ſtate, not detached and looſe, but as cauſes and effects, as producing and produced. Nature has furniſhed us with external ſenſes for the perception of objects, not only as ſimply exiſting, but as exiſting thus related to each other. Nor, without ſuch faculties, could we ever have attained the idea of cauſe and effect. The ſame proviſion is made by nature, in another caſe, not leſs remarkable than the former. Our ſenſes can only inform us of objects as preſently exiſting. Yet nothing is more common, than from our knowledge of the preſent, and our experience of the paſt, to reaſon to the future. Now all reaſonings about futurity, which have ſuch extenſive influence on our conduct, would be utterly deſtitute of a foundation, were we not endowed with a ſenſe of uniformity and conſtancy in the operations of nature. A ſecret inſtinct founds this concluſion, that the future will be like the paſt. Thus there is eſtabliſhed, a marvelous harmony betwixt our inward feelings, and the courſe of external [386] events. In the above mentioned inſtances, we attribute to our boaſted reaſon, what, in truth, is performed by ſenſe or inſtinct. Without knowing it to be ſuch, we truſt to it. We act upon its informations, with equal confidence, as we do upon the cleareſt concluſions of reaſon: and, in fact, it does not oftner deceive us. Nature thus moſt effectually provides for our inſtruction, in things moſt neceſſary to be known. But this is not all. We purſue the argument into a ſort of intuitive demonſtration of the Deity. He has not left us to collect his exiſtence from abſtract or uncertain arguments; but has made us feel, that he exiſts. When external objects are preſented to our view, ſome are immediately diſtinguiſhed to be effects, not by any proceſs or deduction of reaſoning, but merely by ſight, which gives us the perception of cauſe and effect. Juſt in the ſame manner, this whole world is ſeen, or diſcovered, to be an effect produced by ſome inviſible deſigning cauſe. This argument cannot be invalidated, without introducing [387] univerſal ſcepticiſm; without overthrowing all that is built upon the feelings, which, in many capital inſtances, govern our judgments and actions; and without obliging us, to doubt of thoſe things, of which no man ever doubted. For, as in viewing an external object, a particular modification of the ſenſe of ſight, includes the idea of ſubſtance, as well as of quality; as a natural feeling makes us conceive ſome things as effects, to be aſcribed to a proper cauſe; as, from experience of the paſt, inſtinct prompts us to judge of the future; in fine, as, by the feeling of identity, the reader is conſcious of being the ſame perſon he was when he began to read: as all theſe concluſions, I ſay, upon which mankind reſt with the fulleſt aſſurance, are the dictates of ſenſes external and internal; in the very ſame way, and upon the ſame evidence, we conclude the exiſtence of a firſt Supreme Cauſe. Reaſon, when applied to, gives us all its aid, both to confirm the certainty of his being, and to diſcover his perfections. From effects ſo great, and ſo good, [388] as thoſe we ſee through the univerſe, we neceſſarily infer the cauſe to be both great and good. Mixed or imperfect qualities cannot belong to him. The difficulties from apparent evil, are found capable of a ſatisfactory ſolution. All the general laws of the univerſe, are confeſſedly wiſe and good. Pain is found not to be uſeful only, but neceſſary in the preſent ſyſtem. If this be an argument of an imperfect ſtate, yet muſt it not be admitted, that, ſomewhere in the ſcale of exiſtence, an imperfect order of beings muſt be found? And why not man ſuch a being? unleſs we extravagantly demand, that, to prove the benevolence of the Deity, all the poſſible orders of being ſhould be advanced to the top of the ſcale, and all be left void and waſte below: no life, no exiſtence allowed, except what is perfect. The more of nature is explored and known, the leſs of evil appears. New diſcoveries, of wiſdom, order and good intention, have always kept pace with increaſing learning and knowledge: an intimation, not obſcure, of its being owing to our imperfect [389] diſcoveries and bounded views, that evil is ſuppoſed to take place at all. Now, when we conſider all theſe things in one view; ſo many ſtriking inſtances of final cauſes; ſuch undeniable proofs both of wiſe deſign, and skilful execution; in place of indulging cold diſtruſt of the great univerſal cauſe, are we not raiſed to the higheſt admiration! Is there not ſomewhat in this ſubject, that has power to kindle a noble enthuſiaſm? And that will juſtify us for attempting a higher ſtrain?

‘For do not all theſe wonders, O Eternal Mind! Sovereign Architect of all! form a hymn to thy praiſe? If in the dead inanimate works of nature, thou art ſeen; if in the verdure of the fields, and the azure of the skies, the ignorant ruſtic admires thy creative power; how blind muſt that man be, who, looking into his own nature, contemplating this living ſtructure, this moral frame, diſcerns not thy forming hand? What various and complicated machinery [390] is here! and regulated with what exquiſite art! Whilſt man purſues happineſs as his chief aim, thou bendeſt ſelf-love into the ſocial direction. Thou infuſeſt the generous principle, which makes him feel for ſorrows not his own: nor feels he only, but, ſtrange indeed! takes delight in ruſhing into foreign miſery; and, with pleaſure, goes to drop the painful tear, over real or imaginary woes. Thy divine hand, thus ſtrongly, drew the connecting tye, and linked man to man, by a ſympathetic power; that nothing might be ſolitary or deſolate in thy world; but all tend and work toward mutual aſſociation. For this great end, he is not left to a looſe or arbitrary range of will. Thy wiſe decree hath erected within him a throne for virtue. There, thou haſt not decked her with beauty only, to his admiring eye; but thrown around her, the awful effulgence of authority divine. Her perſuaſions have the force of a precept; and her precepts are a law indiſpenſible. [391] Man feels himſelf bound by this law, ſtrict and immutable: and yet the privilege of ſupererogating is left; a field opened for free and generous action; in which, performing a glorious courſe, he may attain the high reward, by thee allotted, of inward honour and ſelf-eſtimation. Nothing is made ſuperfluouſly ſevere, nothing left dangerouſly looſe, in thy moral inſtitution; but every active principle made to know its proper place. In juſt proportion, man's affection diverges from himſelf to objects around him. Where the diverging rays, too widely ſcattered, begin to loſe their warmth; collecting them again by the idea of a public, a country, or the univerſe, thou rekindleſt the dying flame. Converging eagerly to this point, behold how intenſe they glow! and man, tho' indifferent to each remote particular, burns with zeal for the whole. All things are by thee pre-ordained, great Mover of all! Throughout the wide expanſe, every living creature runs a deſtined [392] courſe. Whilſt all, under a law irreſiſtible, fulfil thy decrees, man alone ſeems to himſelf exempt; free to turn and bend his courſe at will. Yet is he not exempt: but, under the impreſſion of freedom, miniſters, in every action, to thy decree omniponent, as much as the rolling ſun, or ebbing flood. What ſtrange contradictions are, in thy great ſcheme, reconciled! what glaring oppoſites made to agree! Neceſſity and liberty meet in the ſame agent, yet interfere not. He imagines himſelf free, yet is under the bonds of neceſſity. He diſcovers himſelf to be a neceſſary agent, and yet continues to act as he were free. Within the heart of man, thou haſt placed thy lamp, to direct his otherways uncertain ſteps. By this light, he is not only aſſured of the exiſtence, and entertained with all the glories of the material world, but is enabled to penetrate into the receſſes of nature. He perceives objects joined together by the myſterious link of cauſe and effect. [393] The connecting principle, tho' he can never explain, he is made to feel, and is thus inſtructed, how to refer even Things unknown, to their proper origin. Nay, he is taught by thee, to propheſy Things to come. Where reaſon is unavailing, inſtinct comes in aid, and beſtows a power of divination, which diſcovers the future, by the paſt. Thus, thou gradually lifteſt him up to the knowledge of thyſelf. The plain and ſimple ſenſe, which, in the moſt obvious effect, reads and perceives a cauſe, brings him ſtreight to thee, the firſt great cauſe, the antient of days, the eternal ſource of all. Thou preſenteſt thyſelf to us, and we cannot avoid thee. We muſt doubt of our own exiſtence, if we call in queſtion thine. We ſee thee by thine own light. We ſee thee, not exiſting only, but in wiſdom and in benevolence ſupreme, as in exiſtence, firſt. As ſpots in the ſun's bright orb, ſo in the univerſal plan, ſcattered evils are loſt in the blaze of ſuperabundant goodneſs. Even, [394] by the reſearch of human reaſon, weak as it is, thoſe ſeeming evils diminiſh and fly away apace. Objects, ſuppoſed ſuperfluous or noxious, have aſſumed a beneficial aſpect. How much more, to thine all penetrating eye, muſt all appear excellent and fair! It muſt be ſo. We cannot doubt. Neither imperfection nor malice dwell with thee. Thou appointeſt as ſalutary, what we lament as painful. What mortals term ſin, thou pronounceſt to be only error. For moral evil vaniſhes, in ſome meaſure, from before thy more perfect ſight: and as, at the beginning of days, thou ſaw'ſt, ſo thou ſeeſt, and pronounceſt ſtill, that every thing thou haſt made is good.

Notes
Lib. 41.
*
Page 98.
Page 101.
Vol. 3. Part 3.
*
Preface to the latter editions of his ſermons.
Geneſis, Chap. xlii. ver. 21, 22.
*
Doctor Butler, preface to his ſermons, page 11. ſays, ‘Our conſtitution is put into our own power: we are charged with it; and therefore are accountable for any diſorder or violation of it.’
*
Woolaſton.
*
Vol. 3. p. 59.
Vol. 3. p. 43.
Page 102.
*
Vol. 3. p. 102.
*
P. 155.
*
Vid. demonſtration of the being and attributes, p. 565. fol. edit. and his anſwer to Colin's paſſim.
*
As to an objection of making God the author of ſin, which may ſeem to ariſe from our ſyſtem, it is rather popular than philoſophical. Sin, or moral turpitude, lyes in the evil intention of him who commits it: it conſiſts in ſome wrong or depraved affection ſuppoſed to be in the ſinner. Now the intention of the Deity is unerringly good. The end propoſed by him is order and general happineſs: and there is the greateſt reaſon to believe, that all events are ſo directed by him, as to work towards this end. In the preſent ſyſtem of things, ſome moral diſorders are indeed included. No doubt, it is a conſiderable difficulty, how evil comes to be in the world, if God is perfectly good. But this difficulty is not peculiar to our doctrine; but recurs upon us at laſt with equal force, whatever hypotheſis we embrace. For moral evil cannot exiſt, without being, at leaſt, permitted by the Deity. And, with regard to a firſt cauſe, PERMITTING is the ſame thing with CAUSING; ſince, againſt his will nothing can poſſibly happen. All the ſchemes that have been contrived for anſwering this objection, are but the tortoiſe introduced to ſupport the elephant. They put the difficulty a ſtep further off, but never remove it.
*
This repugnancy of feeling to truth, gave riſe to the famous diſpute concerning things poſſible, among the antient Stoicks, who held this doctrine of univerſal neceſſity. Diodorus, as Cicero informs us in his book de fato, cap. vii. held this opinion, ‘Id ſolum fieri poſſe, quod aut verum ſit, aut futurum ſit verum; at quicquid futurum ſit, id dicit fieri neceſſe eſſe, et quicquid non ſit futurum, id negat fieri poſſe.’ That is, he maintained, there is nothing contingent in future events, nothing poſſible to happen, but that preciſe event which will happen. This no doubt was carrying their ſyſtem its due length: tho', in this way of ſpeaking, there is ſomething that manifeſtly ſhocks the natural feelings of mankind. Chryſippus, on the other hand, ſenſible of the harſhneſs of the above conſequence, maintained, that it is poſſible for future events to happen otherways than in fact they happen. In this, he was certainly inconſiſtent with his general ſyſtem of neceſſity; and therefore, as Cicero gives us to underſtand, was often embaraſſed in the diſpute with Diodorus: and Plutarch, in his book, de repugnantiis Stoicorum, expoſes him for this inconſiſtency. But Chryſippus choſe to follow his natural feelings, in oppoſition to philoſophy; holding by this, that Diodorus's doctrine of nothing being poſſible but what happens, was ignava ratio, tending to abſolute inaction; cui ſi pareamus, as Cicero expreſſes it, nihil omnino agamus in vita. So early were philoſophers ſenſible of the difficulty of reconciling ſpeculation with feeling, as to this doctrine of fate.
*
The deceitful feeling of liberty, unfolded in the eſſay upon liberty and neceſſity, may perhaps embarraſs ſome readers, as in ſome meaſure contradictory to the poſition here laid down. But the matter is eaſily cleared. Natural feelings are ſatisfying evidence of truth; and, in fact, have full authority over us, unleſs in ſome ſingular caſes, where we are admoniſhed by counter-feelings, or by reaſoning, not to give implicit truſt. This is a ſufficient foundation for all the arguments, that are built upon the authority of our ſenſes, in point of evidence. The feeling of liberty is a very ſingular caſe. The reaſons are clearly traced for the neceſſity of this deluſive feeling, which diſtinguiſhes it in a very particular manner, and leaves no room, to draw any conſequence from it, to our other feelings. But there is, beſides, a circumſtance yet more diſtinguiſhing, in this deluſive feeling of liberty, which entirely exempts it, from being an exception to the general rule above laid down. It is this; that the feeling is by no means entire on the ſide of liberty. It is counter-balanced by other feelings, which, in many inſtances, afford ſuch a conviction of the neceſſary influence of motives, that phyſical and moral neceſſity can ſcarce be diſtinguiſhed. The ſenſe of liberty operates chiefly in the after reflection. But, previous to the action, there is no diſtinct or clear feeling, that it can happen otherways, than in connection with its proper motive. Here the feelings being, on the whole, oppoſite to each other, nothing can be inferred from this caſe, to derogate from the evidence of feelings that are clear, cogent and authoritative; and to which, nothing can be oppoſed, from the ſide of reaſon or counter-feelings. So that our principle remains ſafe and unſhaken, that a general diſtruſt of our ſenſes, internal or external, muſt land us in univerſal ſcepticiſm.
*
Eſſay upon liberty and neceſſity.
Book 2d, chap. 23.
*
Sect. 18.
*
Sect. 20.
*
Eſſay of liberty and neceſſity.
*
Philoſophical eſſays, eſſ. 7.
*
Treatiſe of human nature, vol. 1. pag. 290, 291.
Pag. 294.
*
A thought or idea, 'tis obvious, cannot be the cauſe of action; cannot, of itſelf, produce motion. After what manner then does it operate? I explain the matter thus: The power of magnetiſm, or any other particular power in matter, by which the body endued with the power is impelled towards other bodies, cannot operate, if there is no other body placed within its ſphere of activity. But placing another body there, the magnetic body is directly impelled towards this new body. Yet the new body is not the cauſe of the motion, but only the occaſion of it; the condition of the power being ſuch, that the body endued with it cannot operate, but with relation to another body, within its ſphere of action. Preciſely, in the ſame manner, does the mind act, upon preſenting of a thought or idea. The idea is not the cauſe of the action, but only the occaſion of it. It is the mind which exerts the action; only 'tis ſo framed, that it cannot exert its powers, otherways than upon the preſenting of certain perceptions to it.
*
London edition, pag. 58.
Pag. 72.
*
Pag. 121.
*
Naturam expellas furca, tamen uſque recurret.
*
See the eſſay upon liberty and neceſſity, pag. 88.
*
See eſſay upon belief.
*
See the eſſay of our idea of power, towards the cloſe,
See the ſame eſſay at the beginning.
*
Of our idea of power.
*
See the eſſay upon the foundation and principles of the law of nature.
*
See the eſſay upon the idea of ſelf and perſonal identity.
*
Of our dread of ſupernatural powers in the dark.
*
Eſſay upon our knowledge of future events.
*
Eſſay of our idea of power, at the cloſe.
*
Of our knowledge of future events.
*
Eſſay upon liberty and neceſſity.
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