David Hume
A Treatise of Human Nature
Book II, Part III, Section III
Of the influencing motives of the will
Nothing is more usual in philosophy, and even in common life, than to talk of the combat of passion
and reason, to give the preference to reason, and assert that men are only so far virtuous as they
conform themselves to its dictates. Every rational creature, `tis said, is oblig'd to regulate his actions
by reason; and if any other motive or principle challenge the direction of his conduct, he ought to
oppose it, till it be entirely subdu'd, or at least brought to a conformity with that superior principle.
On this method of thinking the greatest part of moral philosophy, antient and modern, seems to be
founded; nor is there an ampler field, as well for metaphysical arguments, as popular declamations,
than this suppos'd pre-eminence of reason above passion. The eternity, invariableness, and divine
origin of the former have been display'd to the best advantage: The blindness, unconstancy, and
deceitfulness of the latter have been as strongly insisted on. In order to shew the fallacy of all this
philosophy, I shall endeavour to prove first, that reason alone can never be a motive to any action of
the will; and secondly, that it can never oppose passion in the direction of the will.
The understanding exerts itself after two different ways, as it judges from demonstration or
probability; as it regards the abstract relations of our ideas, or those relations of objects, of which
experience only gives us information. I believe it scarce will be asserted, that the first species of
reasoning alone is ever the cause of any action. As its proper province is the world of ideas, and as
the will always places us in that of realities, demonstration and volition seem, upon that account, to
be totally remov'd, from each other. Mathematics, indeed, are useful in all mechanical operations,
and arithmetic in almost every art and profession: But `tis not of themselves they have any
influence: Mechanics are the art of regulating the motions of bodies to some design'd end or purpose; and
the reason why we employ arithmetic in fixing the proportions of numbers, is only that we may
discover the proportions of their influence and operation. A merchant is desirous of knowing the
sum total of his accounts with any person: Why? but that he may learn what sum will have the same
effects in paying his debt, and going to market, as all the particular articles taken together. Abstract or
demonstrative reasoning, therefore, never influences any of our actions, but only as it directs our
judgment concerning causes and effects; which leads us to the second operation of the
understanding.
’Tis obvious, that when we have the prospect of pain or pleasure from any object, we feel a
consequent emotion of aversion or propensity, and are carry'd to avoid or embrace what will give us
this uneasines or satisfaction. `Tis also obvious, that this emotion rests not here, but making us cast
our view on every side, comprehends whatever objects are connected with its original one by the
relation of cause and effect. Here then reasoning takes place to discover this relation; and according
as our reasoning varies, our actions receive a subsequent variation. But `tis evident in this case that
the impulse arises not from reason, but is only directed by it. Tis from the prospect of pain or
pleasure that the aversion or propensity arises towards any object: And these emotions extend
themselves to the causes and effects of that object, as they are pointed out to us by reason and
experience. It can never in the least concern us to know, that such objects are causes, and such
others effects, if both the causes and effects be indifferent to us. Where the objects themselves do not
affect us, their connexion can never give them any influence; and `tis plain, that as reason is nothing
but the discovery of this connexion, it cannot be by its means that the objects are able to affect us.
Since reason alone can never produce any action, or give rise to volition, I infer, that the same
faculty is as incapable of preventing volition, or of disputing the preference with any passion or
emotion. This consequence is necessary. `Tis impossible reason cou'd have the latter effect of
preventing volition, but by giving an impulse in a contrary direction to our passion; and that
impulse, had it operated alone, wou'd have been able to produce volition. Nothing can oppose or
retard the impulse of passion, but a contrary impulse; and if this contrary impulse ever arises from
reason, that latter faculty must have an original influence on the will, and must be able to cause, as
well as hinder any act of volition. But if reason has no original influence, `tis impossible it can
withstand any principle, which has such an efficacy, or ever keep the mind in suspence a moment.
Thus it appears, that the principle, which opposes our passion, cannot be the same with reason, and
is only call'd so in an improper sense. We speak not strictly and philosophically when we talk of the
combat of passion and of reason. Reason is, and ought only to be the slave of the passions, and can
never pretend to any other office than to serve and obey them. As this opinion may appear
somewhat extraordinary, it may not be improper to confirm it by some other considerations.
A passion is an original existence, or, if you will, modification of existence, and contains not any
representative quality, which renders it a copy of any other existence or modification. When I am
angry, I am actually possest with the passion, and in that emotion have no more a reference to any
other object, than when I am thirsty, or sick, or more than five foot high. `Tis impossible, therefore,
that this passion can be opposed by, or be contradictory to truth and reason; since this contradiction
consists in the disagreement of ideas, consider'd as copies, with those objects, which they represent
What may at first occur on this head, is, that as nothing can be contrary to truth or reason, except
what has a reference to it, and as the judgments of our understanding only have this reference, it
must follow, that passions can be contrary to reason only so far as they are accompany'd with some
judgment or opinion. According to this principle, which is so obvious and natural, `tis only in two
senses, that any affection can be call'd unreasonable. First, When a passion, such as hope or fear,
grief or joy, despair or security, is founded on the supposition or the existence of objects, which
really do not exist. Secondly, When in exerting any passion in action, we chuse means insufficient for
the design'd end, and deceive ourselves in our judgment of causes and effects. Where a passion is
neither founded on false suppositions, nor chuses means insufficient for the end, the understanding
can neither justify nor condemn it. `Tis not contrary to reason to prefer the destruction of the whole
world to the scratching of my finger. `Tis not contrary to reason for me to chuse my total ruin, to
prevent the least uneasiness of an Indian or person wholly unknown to me. `Tis as little contrary to
reason to prefer even my own acknowledge'd lesser good to my greater, and have a more ardent
affection for the former than the latter. A trivial good may, from certain circumstances, produce a
desire superior to what arises from the greatest and most valuable enjoyment; nor is there any thing
more extraordinary in this, than in mechanics to see one pound weight raise up a hundred by the
advantage of its situation. In short, a passion must be accompany'd with some false judgment. in
order to its being unreasonable; and even then `tis not the passion, properly speaking, which is
unreasonable, but the judgment.
The consequences are evident. Since a passion can never, in any sense, be call'd unreasonable, but
when founded on a false supposition. or when it chuses means insufficient for the design'd end, `tis
impossible, that reason and passion can ever oppose each other, or dispute for the government of
the will and actions. The moment we perceive the falshood of any supposition, or the insufficiency
of any means our passions yield to our reason without any opposition. I may desire any fruit as of
an excellent relish; but whenever you convince me of my mistake, my longing ceases. I may will the
performance of certain actions as means of obtaining any desir'd good; but as my willing of these
actions is only secondary, and founded on the supposition, that they are causes of the propos'd
effect; as soon as I discover the falshood of that supposition, they must become indifferent to me.
`Tis natural for one, that does not examine objects with a strict philosophic eye, to imagine, that
those actions of the mind are entirely the same, which produce not a different sensation, and are not
immediately distinguishable to the feeling and perception. Reason, for instance, exerts itself without
producing any sensible emotion; and except in the more sublime disquisitions of philosophy, or in
the frivolous subtilties of the school, scarce ever conveys any pleasure or uneasiness. Hence it
proceeds, that every action of the mind, which operates with the same calmness and tranquillity, is
confounded with reason by all those, who judge of things from the first view and appearance. Now
`tis certain, there are certain calm desires and tendencies, which, tho' they be real passions, produce
little emotion in the mind, and are more known by their effects than by the immediate feeling or
sensation. These desires are of two kinds; either certain instincts originally implanted in our natures,
such as benevolence and resentment, the love of life, and kindness to children; or the general
appetite to good, and aversion to evil, consider'd merely as such. When any of these passions are
calm, and cause no disorder in the soul, they are very readily taken for the determinations of
reason, and are suppos'd to proceed from the same faculty, with that, which judges of truth and
falshood. Their nature and principles have been suppos'd the same, because their sensations are not
evidently different.
Beside these calm passions, which often determine the will, there are certain violent emotions of the
same kind, which have likewise a great influence on that faculty. When I receive any injury from
another, I often feel a violent passion of resentment, which makes me desire his evil and
punishment, independent of all considerations of pleasure and advantage to myself. When I am
immediately threaten'd with any grievous ill, my fears, apprehensions, and aversions rise to a great
height, and produce a sensible emotion.
The common error of metaphysicians has lain in ascribing the direction of the will entirely to one
of these principles, and supposing the other to have no influence. Men often act knowingly against
their interest: For which reason the view of the greatest possible good does not always influence
them. Men often counter-act a violent passion in prosecution of their interests and designs: `Tis not
therefore the present uneasiness alone, which determines them. In general we may observe, that
both these principles operate on the will; and where they are contrary, that either of them prevails,
according to the general character or present disposition of the person. What we call strength of mind,
implies the prevalence of the calm passions above the violent; tho' we may easily observe, there is no
man so constantly possess'd of this virtue, as never on any occasion to yield to the sollicitations of
passion and desire. From these variations of temper proceeds the great difficulty of deciding
concerning the actions and resolutions of men, where there is any contrariety of motives and
passions.
Book III, Part I, Section I
Moral distinctions not deriv'd from reason
There is an inconvenience which attends all abstruse reasoning. that it may silence, without
convincing an antagonist, and requires the same intense study to make us sensible of its force, that
was at first requisite for its invention. When we leave our closet, and engage in the common affairs
of life, its conclusions seem to vanish, like the phantoms of the night on the appearance of the
morning; and `tis difficult for us to retain even that conviction, which we had attain'd with difficulty.
This is still more conspicuous in a long chain of reasoning, where we must preserve to the end the
evidence of the first propositions, and where we often lose sight of ail the most receiv'd maxims,
either of philosophy or common life. I am not, however, without hopes, that the present system of
philosophy will acquire new force as it advances; and that our reasonings concerning morals will
corroborate whatever has been said concerning the understanding and the passions. Morality is a
subject that interests us above all others: We fancy the peace of society to be at stake in every
decision concerning it; and `tis evident, that this concern must make our speculations appear more
real and solid, than where the subject is, in a great measure, indifferent to us. What affects us, we
conclude can never be a chimera; and as our passion is engag'd on the one side or the other, we
naturally think that the question lies within human comprehension; which, in other cases of this
nature, we are apt to entertain some doubt of. Without this advantage I never should have ventur'd
upon a third volume of such abstruse philosophy, in an age, wherein the greatest part of men seem
agreed to convert reading into an amusement, and to reject every thing that requires any
considerable degree of attention to be comprehended.
It has been observ'd, that nothing is ever present to the mind but its perceptions; and that all the
actions of seeing, hearing, judging, loving, hating, and thinking, fall under this denomination. The
mind can never exert itself in any action, which we may not comprehend under the term of
perception; and consequently that term is no less applicable to those judgments, by which we
distinguish moral good and evil, than to every other operation of the mind. To approve of one
character, to condemn another, are only so many different perceptions.
Now as perceptions resolve themselves into two kinds, viz. impressions and ideas, this distinction gives
rise to a question, with which we shall open up our present enquiry concerning morals. Whether `tis
by means of our ideas or impressions we distinguish betwixt vice and virtue, and pronounce an action blameable or
praiseworthy? This will immediately cut off all loose discourses and declamations, and reduce us to
something precise and exact on the present subject.
Those who affirm that virtue is nothing but a conformity to reason; that there are eternal fitnesses
and unfitnesses of things, which are the same to every rational being that considers them; that the
immutable measures of right and wrong impose an obligation, not only on human creatures, but
also on the Deity himself: All these systems concur in the opinion, that morality, like truth, is
discern'd merely by ideas, and by their juxta-position and comparison. In order, therefore, to judge
of these systems, we need only consider, whether it be possible, from reason alone, to distinguish
betwixt moral good and evil, or whether there must concur some other principles to enable us to
make that distinction,
If morality had naturally no influence on human passions and actions, `twere in vain to take such
pains to inculcate it; and nothing wou'd be more fruitless than that multitude of rules and precepts,
with which all moralists abound. Philosophy is commonly divided into speculative and practical; and as
morality is always comprehended under the latter division, `tis supposed to influence our passions
and actions, and to go beyond the calm and indolent judgments of the understanding. And this is
confirm'd by common experience, which informs us, that men are often govern'd by their duties,
and are deter'd from some actions by the opinion of injustice, and impell'd to others by that of
obligation.
Since morals, therefore, have an influence on the actions and affections, it follows, that they cannot
be deriv'd from reason; and that because reason alone, as we have already prov'd, can never have
any such influence. Morals excite passions, and produce or prevent actions. Reason of itself is
utterly impotent in this particular. The rules of morality. therefore, are not conclusions of our
reason.
No one, I believe, will deny the justness of this inference; nor is there any other means of evading it,
than by denying that principle, on which it is founded. As long as it is allow'd, that reason has no
influence on our passions and action., `tis in vain to pretend, that morality is discover'd only by a
deduction of reason. An active principle can never be founded on an inactive; and if reason be
inactive in itself, it must remain so in all its shapes and appearances, whether it exerts itself in
natural or moral subjects, whether it considers the powers of external bodies, or the actions of
rational beings.
It would be tedious to repeat all the arguments, by which I have prov'd,(1) that reason is perfectly
inert, and can never either prevent or produce any action or affection. `Twill be easy to recollect
what has been said upon that subject. I shall only recal on this occasion one of these arguments,
which I shall endeavour to render still more conclusive, and more applicable to the present subject.
Reason is the discovery of truth or falshood. Truth or falshood consists in an agreement or
disagreement either to the real relations of ideas, or to real existence and matter of fact. Whatever,
therefore, is not susceptible of this agreement or disagreement, is incapable of being true or false,
and can never be an object of our reason. Now `tis evident our passions, volitions, and actions, are
not susceptible of any such agreement or disagreement; being original facts and realities, compleat
in themselves, and implying no reference to other passions, volitions, and actions. Tis impossible,
therefore, they can be pronounced either true or false, and be either contrary or conformable to
reason.
This argument is of double advantage to our present purpose. For it proves directly, that actions do
not derive their merit from a conformity to reason, nor their blame from a contrariety to it; and it
proves the same truth more indirectly, by shewing us, that as reason can never immediately prevent or
produce any action by contradicting or approving of it, it cannot be the source of moral good and
evil, which are found to have that influence. Actions may be laudable or blameable; but they cannot
be reasonable: Laudable or blameable, therefore, are not the same with reasonable or unreasonable.
The merit and demerit of actions frequently contradict, and sometimes controul our natural
propensities. But reason has no such influence. Moral distinctions, therefore, are not the offspring of
reason. Reason is wholly inactive, and can never be the source of so active a principle as conscience,
or a sense of morals.
...
Thus upon the whole, `tis impossible, that the distinction betwixt moral good and evil, can be made
to reason; since that distinction has an influence upon our actions, of which reason alone is
incapable. Reason and judgment may, indeed, be the mediate cause of an action, by prompting, or
by directing a passion: But it is not pretended, that a judgment of this kind, either in its truth or
falshood, is attended with virtue or vice. And as to the judgments, which are caused by our
judgments, they can still less bestow those moral qualities on the actions, which are their causes.
But to be more particular, and to shew, that those eternal immutable fitnesses and unfitnesses of
things cannot be defended by sound philosophy, we may weigh the following considerations.
If the thought and understanding were alone capable of fixing the boundaries of right and wrong,
the character of virtuous and vicious either must lie in some relations of objects, or must be a
matter of fact, which is discovered by our reasoning. This consequence is evident. As the operations
of human understanding divide themselves into two kinds, the comparing of ideas, and the
inferring of matter of fact; were virtue discover'd by the understanding; it must be an object of one
of these operations, nor is there any third operation of the understanding. which can discover it.
There has been an opinion very industriously propagated by certain philosophers, that morality is
susceptible of demonstration; and tho' no one has ever been able to advance a single step in those
demonstrations; yet `tis taken for granted, that this science may be brought to an equal certainty
with geometry or algebra. Upon this supposition. vice and virtue must consist in some relations;
since `tis allow'd on all hands, that no matter of fact is capable of being demonstrated. Let us,
therefore, begin with examining this hypothesis, and endeavour, if possible, to fix those moral
qualities, which have been so long the objects of our fruitless researches. Point out distinctly the
relations, which constitute morality or obligation, that we may know wherein they consist, and after
what manner we must judge of them.
If you assert, that vice and virtue consist in relations susceptible of certainty and demonstration, you
must confine yourself to those four relations, which alone admit of that degree of evidence; and in
that case you run into absurdities, from which you will never be able to extricate yourself. For as you
make the very essence of morality to lie in the relations, and as there is no one of these relations but
what is applicable, not only to an irrational, but also to an inanimate object; it follows, that even
such objects must be susceptible of merit or demerit. Resemblance, contrariety, degrees in quality, and
proportions in quantity and number; all these relations belong as properly to matter, as to our actions,
passions, and volitions. Tis unquestionable, therefore, that morality lies not in any of these relations,
nor the sense of it in their discovery.(3)
Shou'd it be asserted, that the sense of morality consists in the discovery of some relation, distinct
from these, and that our enumeration was not compleat, when we comprehended all demonstrable
relations under four general heads: To this I know not what to reply, till some one be so good as to
point out to me this new relation. `Tis impossible to refute a system, which has never yet been
explain'd. In such a manner of fighting in the dark, a man loses his blows in the air, and often places
them where the enemy is not present.
I must, therefore, on this occasion, rest contented with requiring the two following conditions of any
one that wou'd undertake to clear up this system. First, As moral good and evil belong only to the
actions of the mind, and are deriv'd from our situation with regard to external objects, the relations,
from which these moral distinctions arise, must lie only betwixt internal actions, and external
objects, and must not be applicable either to internal actions, compared among themselves, or to
external objects, when placed in opposition to other external objects. For as morality is supposed to
attend certain relations, if these relations cou'd belong to internal actions consider'd singly, it wou'd
follow, that we might be guilty of crimes in ourselves, and independent of our situation, with respect
to the universe: And in like manner, if these moral relations cou'd be apply'd to external objects, it
wou'd follow, that even inanimate beings wou'd be susceptible of moral beauty and deformity. Now
it seems difficult to imagine, that any relation can be discover'd betwixt our passions, volitions and
actions, compared to external objects, which relation might not belong either to these passions and
volitions, or to these external objects, compar'd among themselves.
But it will be still more difficult to fulfil the second condition, requisite to justify this system. According
to the principles of those who maintain an abstract rational difference betwixt moral good and evil,
and a natural fitness and unfitness of things, `tis not only suppos'd, that these relations, being eternal
and immutable, are the same, when consider'd by every rational creature, but their effects are also
suppos'd to be necessarily the same; and `tis concluded they have no less, or rather a greater,
influence in directing the will of the deity, than in governing the rational and virtuous of our own
species. These two particulars are evidently distinct. Tis one thing to know virtue, and another to
conform the will to it. In order, therefore, to prove, that the measures of right and wrong are eternal
laws, obligatory on every rational mind, `tis not sufficient to shew the relations upon which they are
founded: We must also point out the connexion betwixt the relation and the will; and must prove
that this connexion is so necessary, that in every well-disposed mind, it must take place and have its
influence; tho' the difference betwixt these minds be in other respects immense and infinite. Now
besides what I have already prov'd, that even in human nature no relation can ever alone produce
any action: besides this, I say, it has been shewn, in treating of the understanding, that there is no
connexion of cause and effect, such as this is suppos'd to be, which is discoverable otherwise than by
experience, and of which we can pretend to have any security by the simple consideration of the
objects. All beings in the universe, consider'd in themselves, appear entirely loose and independent
of each other. Tis only by experience we learn their influence and connexion; and this influence we
ought never to extend beyond experience.
Thus it will be impossible to fulfil the first condition required to the system of eternal measures of
right and wrong; because it is impossible to shew those relations, upon which such a distinction may
be founded: And `tis as impossible to fulfil the second condition; because we cannot prove a priori, that
these relations, if they really existed and were perceiv'd, wou'd be universally forcible and obligatory.
But to make these general reflections more dear and convincing, we may illustrate them by some
particular instances, wherein this character of moral good or evil is the most universally
acknowledged. Of all crimes that human creatures are capable of committing, the most horrid and
unnatural is ingratitude, especially when it is committed against parents, and appears in the more
flagrant instances of wounds and death. This is acknowledg'd by all mankind, philosophers as well
as the people; the question only arises among philosophers, whether the guilt or moral deformity of
this action be discover'd by demonstrative reasoning, or be felt by an internal sense, and by means of
some sentiment, which the reflecting on such an action naturally occasions. This question will soon
be decided against the former opinion, if we can shew the same relations in other objects, without
the notion of any guilt or iniquity attending them. Reason or science is nothing but the comparing
of ideas, and the discovery of their relations; and if the same relations have different characters, it
must evidently follow, that those characters are not discover'd merely by reason. To put the affair,
therefore, to this trial, let us chuse any inanimate object, such as an oak or elm; and let us suppose,
that by the dropping of its seed, it produces a sapling below it, which springing up by degrees, at last
overtops and destroys the parent tree: I ask, if in this instance there be wanting any relation, which
is discoverable in parricide or ingratitude? Is not the one tree the cause of the other's existence; and
the latter the cause of the destruction of the former, in the same manner as when a child murders
his parent? Tis not sufficient to reply, that a choice or will is wanting. For in the case of parricide, a
will does not give rise to any different relations, but is only the cause from which the action is deriv'd;
and consequently produces the same relations, that in the oak or elm arise from some other
principles. `Tis a will or choice, that determines a man to kill his parent; and they are the laws of
matter and motion, that determine a sapling to destroy the oak, from which it sprung. Here then the
same relations have different causes; but still the relations are the same: And as their discovery is not
in both cases attended with a notion of immorality, it follows, that that notion does not arise from
such a discovery.
But to chuse an instance, still more resembling; I would fain ask any one, why incest in the human
species is criminal, and why the very same action, and the same relations in animals have not the
smallest moral turpitude and deformity? If it be answer'd, that this action is innocent in animals,
because they have not reason sufficient to discover its turpitude; but that man, being endow'd with
that faculty which ought to restrain him to his duty, the same action instantly becomes criminal to
him; should this be said, I would reply, that this is evidently arguing in a circle. For before reason can
perceive this turpitude, the turpitude must exist; and consequently is independent of the decisions of
our reason, and is their object more properly than their effect. According to this system, then, every
animal, that has sense, and appetite, and will; that is, every animal must be susceptible of all the
same virtues and vices, for which we ascribe praise and blame to human creatures. All the difference
is, that our superior reason may serve to discover the vice or virtue, and by that means may augment
the blame or praise: But still this discovery supposes a separate being in these moral distinctions, and
a being, which depends only on the will and appetite, and which, both in thought and reality, may
be distinguish'd from the reason. Animals are susceptible of the same relations, with respect to each
other, as the human species, and therefore wou'd also be susceptible of the same morality, if the
essence of morality consisted in these relations. Their want of a sufficient degree of reason may
hinder them from perceiving the duties and obligations of morality, but can never hinder these
duties from existing; since they must antecedently exist, in order to their being perceiv'd. Reason
must find them, and can never produce them. This argument deserves to be weigh'd, as being, in my
opinion, entirely decisive.
Nor does this reasoning only prove, that morality consists not in any relations, that are the objects of
science; but if examin'd, will prove with equal certainty, that it consists not in any matter of fact, which
can be discover'd by the understanding. This is the second part of our argument; and if it can be
made evident, we may conclude, that morality is not an object of reason. But can there be any
difficulty in proving, that vice and virtue are not matters of fact, whose existence we can infer by
reason? Take any action allow'd to be vicious: Wilful murder, for instance. Examine it in all lights,
and see if you can find that matter of fact, or real existence, which you call vice. In which-ever way
you take it, you find only certain passions, motives, volitions and thoughts. There is no other matter
of fact in the case. The vice entirely escapes you, as long as you consider the object. You never can
find it, till you turn your reflection into your own breast, and find a sentiment of disapprobation,
which arises in you, towards this action. Here is a matter of fact; but `tis the object of feeling, not of
reason. It lies in yourself, not in the object. So that when you pronounce any action or character to
be vicious, you mean nothing, but that from the constitution of your nature you have a feeling or
sentiment of blame from the contemplation of it. Vice and virtue, therefore, may be compar'd to
sounds, colours, heat and cold, which, according to modern philosophy, are not qualities in objects,
but perceptions in the mind: And this discovery in morals, like that other in physics, is to be
regarded as a considerable advancement of the speculative sciences; tho', like that too, it has little or
no influence on practice. Nothing can be more real, or concern us more, than our own sentiments of
pleasure and uneasiness; and if these be favourable to virtue, and unfavourable to vice, no more can
be requisite to the regulation of our conduct and behaviour.
I cannot forbear adding to these reasonings an observation, which may, perhaps, be found of some
importance. In every system of morality, which I have hitherto met with, I have always remark'd,
that the author proceeds for some time in the ordinary way of reasoning, and establishes the being
of a God, or makes observations concerning human affairs; when of a sudden I am surpriz'd to
find, that instead of the usual copulations of propositions, is, and is not, I meet with no proposition
that is not connected with an ought, or an ought not. This change is imperceptible; but is, however, of
the last consequence. For as this ought, or ought not, expresses some new relation or affirmation, `tis
necessary that it shou'd be observ'd and explain'd; and at the same time that a reason should be
given, for what seems altogether inconceivable, how this new relation can be a deduction from
others, which are entirely different from it. But as authors do not commonly use this precaution, I
shall presume to recommend it to the readers; and am persuaded, that this small attention wou'd
subvert all the vulgar systems of morality, and let us see, that the distinction of vice and virtue is not
founded merely on the relations of objects, nor is perceiv'd by reason.
Book III, Part I, Section II
Moral distinctions deriv'd from a moral sense
Thus the course of the argument leads us to conclude, that since vice and virtue are not
discoverable merely by reason, or the comparison of ideas, it must be by means of some impression
or sentiment they occasion, that we are able to mark the difference betwixt them. Our decisions
concerning moral rectitude and depravity are evidently perceptions; and as all perceptions are either
impressions or ideas, the exclusion of the one is a convincing argument for the other. Morality,
therefore, is more properly felt than judg'd of; tho' this feeling or sentiment is commonly so soft and
gentle, that we are apt to confound it with an idea, according to our common custom of taking all
things for the same, which have any near resemblance to each other.
The next question is, Of what nature are these impressions, and after what manner do they operate
upon us? Here we cannot remain long in suspense, but must pronounce the impression arising from
virtue, to be agreeable, and that proceding from vice to be uneasy. Every moments experience must
convince us of this. There is no spectacle so fair and beautiful as a noble and generous action; nor
any which gives us more abhorrence than one that is cruel and treacherous. No enjoyment equals
the satisfaction we receive from the company of those we love and esteem; as the greatest of all
punishments is to be oblig'd to pass our lives with those we hate or contemn. A very play or romance
may afford us instances of this pleasure, which virtue conveys to us; and pain, which arises from
vice.
Now since the distinguishing impressions, by which moral good or evil is known, are nothing but
particular pains or pleasures; it follows, that in all enquiries concerning these moral distinctions, it
will be sufficient to shew the principles, which make us feel a satisfaction or uneasiness from the
survey of any character, in order to satisfy us why the character is laudable or blameable. An action,
or sentiment, or character is virtuous or vicious; why? because its view causes a pleasure or
uneasiness of a particular kind. In giving a reason, therefore, for the pleasure or uneasiness, we
sufficiently explain the vice or virtue. To have the sense of virtue, is nothing but to feel a satisfaction
of a particular kind from the contemplation of a character. The very feeling constitutes our praise
or admiration. We go no farther; nor do we enquire into the cause of the satisfaction. We do not
infer a character to be virtuous, because it pleases: But in feeling that it pleases after such a
particular manner, we in effect feel that it is virtuous. The case is the same as in our judgments
concerning all kinds of beauty, and tastes, and sensations. Our approbation is imply'd in the
immediate pleasure they convey to us.
Ik ben er zelf nog niet uit. Meningen graag.
A Treatise of Human Nature
Book II, Part III, Section III
Of the influencing motives of the will
Nothing is more usual in philosophy, and even in common life, than to talk of the combat of passion
and reason, to give the preference to reason, and assert that men are only so far virtuous as they
conform themselves to its dictates. Every rational creature, `tis said, is oblig'd to regulate his actions
by reason; and if any other motive or principle challenge the direction of his conduct, he ought to
oppose it, till it be entirely subdu'd, or at least brought to a conformity with that superior principle.
On this method of thinking the greatest part of moral philosophy, antient and modern, seems to be
founded; nor is there an ampler field, as well for metaphysical arguments, as popular declamations,
than this suppos'd pre-eminence of reason above passion. The eternity, invariableness, and divine
origin of the former have been display'd to the best advantage: The blindness, unconstancy, and
deceitfulness of the latter have been as strongly insisted on. In order to shew the fallacy of all this
philosophy, I shall endeavour to prove first, that reason alone can never be a motive to any action of
the will; and secondly, that it can never oppose passion in the direction of the will.
The understanding exerts itself after two different ways, as it judges from demonstration or
probability; as it regards the abstract relations of our ideas, or those relations of objects, of which
experience only gives us information. I believe it scarce will be asserted, that the first species of
reasoning alone is ever the cause of any action. As its proper province is the world of ideas, and as
the will always places us in that of realities, demonstration and volition seem, upon that account, to
be totally remov'd, from each other. Mathematics, indeed, are useful in all mechanical operations,
and arithmetic in almost every art and profession: But `tis not of themselves they have any
influence: Mechanics are the art of regulating the motions of bodies to some design'd end or purpose; and
the reason why we employ arithmetic in fixing the proportions of numbers, is only that we may
discover the proportions of their influence and operation. A merchant is desirous of knowing the
sum total of his accounts with any person: Why? but that he may learn what sum will have the same
effects in paying his debt, and going to market, as all the particular articles taken together. Abstract or
demonstrative reasoning, therefore, never influences any of our actions, but only as it directs our
judgment concerning causes and effects; which leads us to the second operation of the
understanding.
’Tis obvious, that when we have the prospect of pain or pleasure from any object, we feel a
consequent emotion of aversion or propensity, and are carry'd to avoid or embrace what will give us
this uneasines or satisfaction. `Tis also obvious, that this emotion rests not here, but making us cast
our view on every side, comprehends whatever objects are connected with its original one by the
relation of cause and effect. Here then reasoning takes place to discover this relation; and according
as our reasoning varies, our actions receive a subsequent variation. But `tis evident in this case that
the impulse arises not from reason, but is only directed by it. Tis from the prospect of pain or
pleasure that the aversion or propensity arises towards any object: And these emotions extend
themselves to the causes and effects of that object, as they are pointed out to us by reason and
experience. It can never in the least concern us to know, that such objects are causes, and such
others effects, if both the causes and effects be indifferent to us. Where the objects themselves do not
affect us, their connexion can never give them any influence; and `tis plain, that as reason is nothing
but the discovery of this connexion, it cannot be by its means that the objects are able to affect us.
Since reason alone can never produce any action, or give rise to volition, I infer, that the same
faculty is as incapable of preventing volition, or of disputing the preference with any passion or
emotion. This consequence is necessary. `Tis impossible reason cou'd have the latter effect of
preventing volition, but by giving an impulse in a contrary direction to our passion; and that
impulse, had it operated alone, wou'd have been able to produce volition. Nothing can oppose or
retard the impulse of passion, but a contrary impulse; and if this contrary impulse ever arises from
reason, that latter faculty must have an original influence on the will, and must be able to cause, as
well as hinder any act of volition. But if reason has no original influence, `tis impossible it can
withstand any principle, which has such an efficacy, or ever keep the mind in suspence a moment.
Thus it appears, that the principle, which opposes our passion, cannot be the same with reason, and
is only call'd so in an improper sense. We speak not strictly and philosophically when we talk of the
combat of passion and of reason. Reason is, and ought only to be the slave of the passions, and can
never pretend to any other office than to serve and obey them. As this opinion may appear
somewhat extraordinary, it may not be improper to confirm it by some other considerations.
A passion is an original existence, or, if you will, modification of existence, and contains not any
representative quality, which renders it a copy of any other existence or modification. When I am
angry, I am actually possest with the passion, and in that emotion have no more a reference to any
other object, than when I am thirsty, or sick, or more than five foot high. `Tis impossible, therefore,
that this passion can be opposed by, or be contradictory to truth and reason; since this contradiction
consists in the disagreement of ideas, consider'd as copies, with those objects, which they represent
What may at first occur on this head, is, that as nothing can be contrary to truth or reason, except
what has a reference to it, and as the judgments of our understanding only have this reference, it
must follow, that passions can be contrary to reason only so far as they are accompany'd with some
judgment or opinion. According to this principle, which is so obvious and natural, `tis only in two
senses, that any affection can be call'd unreasonable. First, When a passion, such as hope or fear,
grief or joy, despair or security, is founded on the supposition or the existence of objects, which
really do not exist. Secondly, When in exerting any passion in action, we chuse means insufficient for
the design'd end, and deceive ourselves in our judgment of causes and effects. Where a passion is
neither founded on false suppositions, nor chuses means insufficient for the end, the understanding
can neither justify nor condemn it. `Tis not contrary to reason to prefer the destruction of the whole
world to the scratching of my finger. `Tis not contrary to reason for me to chuse my total ruin, to
prevent the least uneasiness of an Indian or person wholly unknown to me. `Tis as little contrary to
reason to prefer even my own acknowledge'd lesser good to my greater, and have a more ardent
affection for the former than the latter. A trivial good may, from certain circumstances, produce a
desire superior to what arises from the greatest and most valuable enjoyment; nor is there any thing
more extraordinary in this, than in mechanics to see one pound weight raise up a hundred by the
advantage of its situation. In short, a passion must be accompany'd with some false judgment. in
order to its being unreasonable; and even then `tis not the passion, properly speaking, which is
unreasonable, but the judgment.
The consequences are evident. Since a passion can never, in any sense, be call'd unreasonable, but
when founded on a false supposition. or when it chuses means insufficient for the design'd end, `tis
impossible, that reason and passion can ever oppose each other, or dispute for the government of
the will and actions. The moment we perceive the falshood of any supposition, or the insufficiency
of any means our passions yield to our reason without any opposition. I may desire any fruit as of
an excellent relish; but whenever you convince me of my mistake, my longing ceases. I may will the
performance of certain actions as means of obtaining any desir'd good; but as my willing of these
actions is only secondary, and founded on the supposition, that they are causes of the propos'd
effect; as soon as I discover the falshood of that supposition, they must become indifferent to me.
`Tis natural for one, that does not examine objects with a strict philosophic eye, to imagine, that
those actions of the mind are entirely the same, which produce not a different sensation, and are not
immediately distinguishable to the feeling and perception. Reason, for instance, exerts itself without
producing any sensible emotion; and except in the more sublime disquisitions of philosophy, or in
the frivolous subtilties of the school, scarce ever conveys any pleasure or uneasiness. Hence it
proceeds, that every action of the mind, which operates with the same calmness and tranquillity, is
confounded with reason by all those, who judge of things from the first view and appearance. Now
`tis certain, there are certain calm desires and tendencies, which, tho' they be real passions, produce
little emotion in the mind, and are more known by their effects than by the immediate feeling or
sensation. These desires are of two kinds; either certain instincts originally implanted in our natures,
such as benevolence and resentment, the love of life, and kindness to children; or the general
appetite to good, and aversion to evil, consider'd merely as such. When any of these passions are
calm, and cause no disorder in the soul, they are very readily taken for the determinations of
reason, and are suppos'd to proceed from the same faculty, with that, which judges of truth and
falshood. Their nature and principles have been suppos'd the same, because their sensations are not
evidently different.
Beside these calm passions, which often determine the will, there are certain violent emotions of the
same kind, which have likewise a great influence on that faculty. When I receive any injury from
another, I often feel a violent passion of resentment, which makes me desire his evil and
punishment, independent of all considerations of pleasure and advantage to myself. When I am
immediately threaten'd with any grievous ill, my fears, apprehensions, and aversions rise to a great
height, and produce a sensible emotion.
The common error of metaphysicians has lain in ascribing the direction of the will entirely to one
of these principles, and supposing the other to have no influence. Men often act knowingly against
their interest: For which reason the view of the greatest possible good does not always influence
them. Men often counter-act a violent passion in prosecution of their interests and designs: `Tis not
therefore the present uneasiness alone, which determines them. In general we may observe, that
both these principles operate on the will; and where they are contrary, that either of them prevails,
according to the general character or present disposition of the person. What we call strength of mind,
implies the prevalence of the calm passions above the violent; tho' we may easily observe, there is no
man so constantly possess'd of this virtue, as never on any occasion to yield to the sollicitations of
passion and desire. From these variations of temper proceeds the great difficulty of deciding
concerning the actions and resolutions of men, where there is any contrariety of motives and
passions.
Book III, Part I, Section I
Moral distinctions not deriv'd from reason
There is an inconvenience which attends all abstruse reasoning. that it may silence, without
convincing an antagonist, and requires the same intense study to make us sensible of its force, that
was at first requisite for its invention. When we leave our closet, and engage in the common affairs
of life, its conclusions seem to vanish, like the phantoms of the night on the appearance of the
morning; and `tis difficult for us to retain even that conviction, which we had attain'd with difficulty.
This is still more conspicuous in a long chain of reasoning, where we must preserve to the end the
evidence of the first propositions, and where we often lose sight of ail the most receiv'd maxims,
either of philosophy or common life. I am not, however, without hopes, that the present system of
philosophy will acquire new force as it advances; and that our reasonings concerning morals will
corroborate whatever has been said concerning the understanding and the passions. Morality is a
subject that interests us above all others: We fancy the peace of society to be at stake in every
decision concerning it; and `tis evident, that this concern must make our speculations appear more
real and solid, than where the subject is, in a great measure, indifferent to us. What affects us, we
conclude can never be a chimera; and as our passion is engag'd on the one side or the other, we
naturally think that the question lies within human comprehension; which, in other cases of this
nature, we are apt to entertain some doubt of. Without this advantage I never should have ventur'd
upon a third volume of such abstruse philosophy, in an age, wherein the greatest part of men seem
agreed to convert reading into an amusement, and to reject every thing that requires any
considerable degree of attention to be comprehended.
It has been observ'd, that nothing is ever present to the mind but its perceptions; and that all the
actions of seeing, hearing, judging, loving, hating, and thinking, fall under this denomination. The
mind can never exert itself in any action, which we may not comprehend under the term of
perception; and consequently that term is no less applicable to those judgments, by which we
distinguish moral good and evil, than to every other operation of the mind. To approve of one
character, to condemn another, are only so many different perceptions.
Now as perceptions resolve themselves into two kinds, viz. impressions and ideas, this distinction gives
rise to a question, with which we shall open up our present enquiry concerning morals. Whether `tis
by means of our ideas or impressions we distinguish betwixt vice and virtue, and pronounce an action blameable or
praiseworthy? This will immediately cut off all loose discourses and declamations, and reduce us to
something precise and exact on the present subject.
Those who affirm that virtue is nothing but a conformity to reason; that there are eternal fitnesses
and unfitnesses of things, which are the same to every rational being that considers them; that the
immutable measures of right and wrong impose an obligation, not only on human creatures, but
also on the Deity himself: All these systems concur in the opinion, that morality, like truth, is
discern'd merely by ideas, and by their juxta-position and comparison. In order, therefore, to judge
of these systems, we need only consider, whether it be possible, from reason alone, to distinguish
betwixt moral good and evil, or whether there must concur some other principles to enable us to
make that distinction,
If morality had naturally no influence on human passions and actions, `twere in vain to take such
pains to inculcate it; and nothing wou'd be more fruitless than that multitude of rules and precepts,
with which all moralists abound. Philosophy is commonly divided into speculative and practical; and as
morality is always comprehended under the latter division, `tis supposed to influence our passions
and actions, and to go beyond the calm and indolent judgments of the understanding. And this is
confirm'd by common experience, which informs us, that men are often govern'd by their duties,
and are deter'd from some actions by the opinion of injustice, and impell'd to others by that of
obligation.
Since morals, therefore, have an influence on the actions and affections, it follows, that they cannot
be deriv'd from reason; and that because reason alone, as we have already prov'd, can never have
any such influence. Morals excite passions, and produce or prevent actions. Reason of itself is
utterly impotent in this particular. The rules of morality. therefore, are not conclusions of our
reason.
No one, I believe, will deny the justness of this inference; nor is there any other means of evading it,
than by denying that principle, on which it is founded. As long as it is allow'd, that reason has no
influence on our passions and action., `tis in vain to pretend, that morality is discover'd only by a
deduction of reason. An active principle can never be founded on an inactive; and if reason be
inactive in itself, it must remain so in all its shapes and appearances, whether it exerts itself in
natural or moral subjects, whether it considers the powers of external bodies, or the actions of
rational beings.
It would be tedious to repeat all the arguments, by which I have prov'd,(1) that reason is perfectly
inert, and can never either prevent or produce any action or affection. `Twill be easy to recollect
what has been said upon that subject. I shall only recal on this occasion one of these arguments,
which I shall endeavour to render still more conclusive, and more applicable to the present subject.
Reason is the discovery of truth or falshood. Truth or falshood consists in an agreement or
disagreement either to the real relations of ideas, or to real existence and matter of fact. Whatever,
therefore, is not susceptible of this agreement or disagreement, is incapable of being true or false,
and can never be an object of our reason. Now `tis evident our passions, volitions, and actions, are
not susceptible of any such agreement or disagreement; being original facts and realities, compleat
in themselves, and implying no reference to other passions, volitions, and actions. Tis impossible,
therefore, they can be pronounced either true or false, and be either contrary or conformable to
reason.
This argument is of double advantage to our present purpose. For it proves directly, that actions do
not derive their merit from a conformity to reason, nor their blame from a contrariety to it; and it
proves the same truth more indirectly, by shewing us, that as reason can never immediately prevent or
produce any action by contradicting or approving of it, it cannot be the source of moral good and
evil, which are found to have that influence. Actions may be laudable or blameable; but they cannot
be reasonable: Laudable or blameable, therefore, are not the same with reasonable or unreasonable.
The merit and demerit of actions frequently contradict, and sometimes controul our natural
propensities. But reason has no such influence. Moral distinctions, therefore, are not the offspring of
reason. Reason is wholly inactive, and can never be the source of so active a principle as conscience,
or a sense of morals.
...
Thus upon the whole, `tis impossible, that the distinction betwixt moral good and evil, can be made
to reason; since that distinction has an influence upon our actions, of which reason alone is
incapable. Reason and judgment may, indeed, be the mediate cause of an action, by prompting, or
by directing a passion: But it is not pretended, that a judgment of this kind, either in its truth or
falshood, is attended with virtue or vice. And as to the judgments, which are caused by our
judgments, they can still less bestow those moral qualities on the actions, which are their causes.
But to be more particular, and to shew, that those eternal immutable fitnesses and unfitnesses of
things cannot be defended by sound philosophy, we may weigh the following considerations.
If the thought and understanding were alone capable of fixing the boundaries of right and wrong,
the character of virtuous and vicious either must lie in some relations of objects, or must be a
matter of fact, which is discovered by our reasoning. This consequence is evident. As the operations
of human understanding divide themselves into two kinds, the comparing of ideas, and the
inferring of matter of fact; were virtue discover'd by the understanding; it must be an object of one
of these operations, nor is there any third operation of the understanding. which can discover it.
There has been an opinion very industriously propagated by certain philosophers, that morality is
susceptible of demonstration; and tho' no one has ever been able to advance a single step in those
demonstrations; yet `tis taken for granted, that this science may be brought to an equal certainty
with geometry or algebra. Upon this supposition. vice and virtue must consist in some relations;
since `tis allow'd on all hands, that no matter of fact is capable of being demonstrated. Let us,
therefore, begin with examining this hypothesis, and endeavour, if possible, to fix those moral
qualities, which have been so long the objects of our fruitless researches. Point out distinctly the
relations, which constitute morality or obligation, that we may know wherein they consist, and after
what manner we must judge of them.
If you assert, that vice and virtue consist in relations susceptible of certainty and demonstration, you
must confine yourself to those four relations, which alone admit of that degree of evidence; and in
that case you run into absurdities, from which you will never be able to extricate yourself. For as you
make the very essence of morality to lie in the relations, and as there is no one of these relations but
what is applicable, not only to an irrational, but also to an inanimate object; it follows, that even
such objects must be susceptible of merit or demerit. Resemblance, contrariety, degrees in quality, and
proportions in quantity and number; all these relations belong as properly to matter, as to our actions,
passions, and volitions. Tis unquestionable, therefore, that morality lies not in any of these relations,
nor the sense of it in their discovery.(3)
Shou'd it be asserted, that the sense of morality consists in the discovery of some relation, distinct
from these, and that our enumeration was not compleat, when we comprehended all demonstrable
relations under four general heads: To this I know not what to reply, till some one be so good as to
point out to me this new relation. `Tis impossible to refute a system, which has never yet been
explain'd. In such a manner of fighting in the dark, a man loses his blows in the air, and often places
them where the enemy is not present.
I must, therefore, on this occasion, rest contented with requiring the two following conditions of any
one that wou'd undertake to clear up this system. First, As moral good and evil belong only to the
actions of the mind, and are deriv'd from our situation with regard to external objects, the relations,
from which these moral distinctions arise, must lie only betwixt internal actions, and external
objects, and must not be applicable either to internal actions, compared among themselves, or to
external objects, when placed in opposition to other external objects. For as morality is supposed to
attend certain relations, if these relations cou'd belong to internal actions consider'd singly, it wou'd
follow, that we might be guilty of crimes in ourselves, and independent of our situation, with respect
to the universe: And in like manner, if these moral relations cou'd be apply'd to external objects, it
wou'd follow, that even inanimate beings wou'd be susceptible of moral beauty and deformity. Now
it seems difficult to imagine, that any relation can be discover'd betwixt our passions, volitions and
actions, compared to external objects, which relation might not belong either to these passions and
volitions, or to these external objects, compar'd among themselves.
But it will be still more difficult to fulfil the second condition, requisite to justify this system. According
to the principles of those who maintain an abstract rational difference betwixt moral good and evil,
and a natural fitness and unfitness of things, `tis not only suppos'd, that these relations, being eternal
and immutable, are the same, when consider'd by every rational creature, but their effects are also
suppos'd to be necessarily the same; and `tis concluded they have no less, or rather a greater,
influence in directing the will of the deity, than in governing the rational and virtuous of our own
species. These two particulars are evidently distinct. Tis one thing to know virtue, and another to
conform the will to it. In order, therefore, to prove, that the measures of right and wrong are eternal
laws, obligatory on every rational mind, `tis not sufficient to shew the relations upon which they are
founded: We must also point out the connexion betwixt the relation and the will; and must prove
that this connexion is so necessary, that in every well-disposed mind, it must take place and have its
influence; tho' the difference betwixt these minds be in other respects immense and infinite. Now
besides what I have already prov'd, that even in human nature no relation can ever alone produce
any action: besides this, I say, it has been shewn, in treating of the understanding, that there is no
connexion of cause and effect, such as this is suppos'd to be, which is discoverable otherwise than by
experience, and of which we can pretend to have any security by the simple consideration of the
objects. All beings in the universe, consider'd in themselves, appear entirely loose and independent
of each other. Tis only by experience we learn their influence and connexion; and this influence we
ought never to extend beyond experience.
Thus it will be impossible to fulfil the first condition required to the system of eternal measures of
right and wrong; because it is impossible to shew those relations, upon which such a distinction may
be founded: And `tis as impossible to fulfil the second condition; because we cannot prove a priori, that
these relations, if they really existed and were perceiv'd, wou'd be universally forcible and obligatory.
But to make these general reflections more dear and convincing, we may illustrate them by some
particular instances, wherein this character of moral good or evil is the most universally
acknowledged. Of all crimes that human creatures are capable of committing, the most horrid and
unnatural is ingratitude, especially when it is committed against parents, and appears in the more
flagrant instances of wounds and death. This is acknowledg'd by all mankind, philosophers as well
as the people; the question only arises among philosophers, whether the guilt or moral deformity of
this action be discover'd by demonstrative reasoning, or be felt by an internal sense, and by means of
some sentiment, which the reflecting on such an action naturally occasions. This question will soon
be decided against the former opinion, if we can shew the same relations in other objects, without
the notion of any guilt or iniquity attending them. Reason or science is nothing but the comparing
of ideas, and the discovery of their relations; and if the same relations have different characters, it
must evidently follow, that those characters are not discover'd merely by reason. To put the affair,
therefore, to this trial, let us chuse any inanimate object, such as an oak or elm; and let us suppose,
that by the dropping of its seed, it produces a sapling below it, which springing up by degrees, at last
overtops and destroys the parent tree: I ask, if in this instance there be wanting any relation, which
is discoverable in parricide or ingratitude? Is not the one tree the cause of the other's existence; and
the latter the cause of the destruction of the former, in the same manner as when a child murders
his parent? Tis not sufficient to reply, that a choice or will is wanting. For in the case of parricide, a
will does not give rise to any different relations, but is only the cause from which the action is deriv'd;
and consequently produces the same relations, that in the oak or elm arise from some other
principles. `Tis a will or choice, that determines a man to kill his parent; and they are the laws of
matter and motion, that determine a sapling to destroy the oak, from which it sprung. Here then the
same relations have different causes; but still the relations are the same: And as their discovery is not
in both cases attended with a notion of immorality, it follows, that that notion does not arise from
such a discovery.
But to chuse an instance, still more resembling; I would fain ask any one, why incest in the human
species is criminal, and why the very same action, and the same relations in animals have not the
smallest moral turpitude and deformity? If it be answer'd, that this action is innocent in animals,
because they have not reason sufficient to discover its turpitude; but that man, being endow'd with
that faculty which ought to restrain him to his duty, the same action instantly becomes criminal to
him; should this be said, I would reply, that this is evidently arguing in a circle. For before reason can
perceive this turpitude, the turpitude must exist; and consequently is independent of the decisions of
our reason, and is their object more properly than their effect. According to this system, then, every
animal, that has sense, and appetite, and will; that is, every animal must be susceptible of all the
same virtues and vices, for which we ascribe praise and blame to human creatures. All the difference
is, that our superior reason may serve to discover the vice or virtue, and by that means may augment
the blame or praise: But still this discovery supposes a separate being in these moral distinctions, and
a being, which depends only on the will and appetite, and which, both in thought and reality, may
be distinguish'd from the reason. Animals are susceptible of the same relations, with respect to each
other, as the human species, and therefore wou'd also be susceptible of the same morality, if the
essence of morality consisted in these relations. Their want of a sufficient degree of reason may
hinder them from perceiving the duties and obligations of morality, but can never hinder these
duties from existing; since they must antecedently exist, in order to their being perceiv'd. Reason
must find them, and can never produce them. This argument deserves to be weigh'd, as being, in my
opinion, entirely decisive.
Nor does this reasoning only prove, that morality consists not in any relations, that are the objects of
science; but if examin'd, will prove with equal certainty, that it consists not in any matter of fact, which
can be discover'd by the understanding. This is the second part of our argument; and if it can be
made evident, we may conclude, that morality is not an object of reason. But can there be any
difficulty in proving, that vice and virtue are not matters of fact, whose existence we can infer by
reason? Take any action allow'd to be vicious: Wilful murder, for instance. Examine it in all lights,
and see if you can find that matter of fact, or real existence, which you call vice. In which-ever way
you take it, you find only certain passions, motives, volitions and thoughts. There is no other matter
of fact in the case. The vice entirely escapes you, as long as you consider the object. You never can
find it, till you turn your reflection into your own breast, and find a sentiment of disapprobation,
which arises in you, towards this action. Here is a matter of fact; but `tis the object of feeling, not of
reason. It lies in yourself, not in the object. So that when you pronounce any action or character to
be vicious, you mean nothing, but that from the constitution of your nature you have a feeling or
sentiment of blame from the contemplation of it. Vice and virtue, therefore, may be compar'd to
sounds, colours, heat and cold, which, according to modern philosophy, are not qualities in objects,
but perceptions in the mind: And this discovery in morals, like that other in physics, is to be
regarded as a considerable advancement of the speculative sciences; tho', like that too, it has little or
no influence on practice. Nothing can be more real, or concern us more, than our own sentiments of
pleasure and uneasiness; and if these be favourable to virtue, and unfavourable to vice, no more can
be requisite to the regulation of our conduct and behaviour.
I cannot forbear adding to these reasonings an observation, which may, perhaps, be found of some
importance. In every system of morality, which I have hitherto met with, I have always remark'd,
that the author proceeds for some time in the ordinary way of reasoning, and establishes the being
of a God, or makes observations concerning human affairs; when of a sudden I am surpriz'd to
find, that instead of the usual copulations of propositions, is, and is not, I meet with no proposition
that is not connected with an ought, or an ought not. This change is imperceptible; but is, however, of
the last consequence. For as this ought, or ought not, expresses some new relation or affirmation, `tis
necessary that it shou'd be observ'd and explain'd; and at the same time that a reason should be
given, for what seems altogether inconceivable, how this new relation can be a deduction from
others, which are entirely different from it. But as authors do not commonly use this precaution, I
shall presume to recommend it to the readers; and am persuaded, that this small attention wou'd
subvert all the vulgar systems of morality, and let us see, that the distinction of vice and virtue is not
founded merely on the relations of objects, nor is perceiv'd by reason.
Book III, Part I, Section II
Moral distinctions deriv'd from a moral sense
Thus the course of the argument leads us to conclude, that since vice and virtue are not
discoverable merely by reason, or the comparison of ideas, it must be by means of some impression
or sentiment they occasion, that we are able to mark the difference betwixt them. Our decisions
concerning moral rectitude and depravity are evidently perceptions; and as all perceptions are either
impressions or ideas, the exclusion of the one is a convincing argument for the other. Morality,
therefore, is more properly felt than judg'd of; tho' this feeling or sentiment is commonly so soft and
gentle, that we are apt to confound it with an idea, according to our common custom of taking all
things for the same, which have any near resemblance to each other.
The next question is, Of what nature are these impressions, and after what manner do they operate
upon us? Here we cannot remain long in suspense, but must pronounce the impression arising from
virtue, to be agreeable, and that proceding from vice to be uneasy. Every moments experience must
convince us of this. There is no spectacle so fair and beautiful as a noble and generous action; nor
any which gives us more abhorrence than one that is cruel and treacherous. No enjoyment equals
the satisfaction we receive from the company of those we love and esteem; as the greatest of all
punishments is to be oblig'd to pass our lives with those we hate or contemn. A very play or romance
may afford us instances of this pleasure, which virtue conveys to us; and pain, which arises from
vice.
Now since the distinguishing impressions, by which moral good or evil is known, are nothing but
particular pains or pleasures; it follows, that in all enquiries concerning these moral distinctions, it
will be sufficient to shew the principles, which make us feel a satisfaction or uneasiness from the
survey of any character, in order to satisfy us why the character is laudable or blameable. An action,
or sentiment, or character is virtuous or vicious; why? because its view causes a pleasure or
uneasiness of a particular kind. In giving a reason, therefore, for the pleasure or uneasiness, we
sufficiently explain the vice or virtue. To have the sense of virtue, is nothing but to feel a satisfaction
of a particular kind from the contemplation of a character. The very feeling constitutes our praise
or admiration. We go no farther; nor do we enquire into the cause of the satisfaction. We do not
infer a character to be virtuous, because it pleases: But in feeling that it pleases after such a
particular manner, we in effect feel that it is virtuous. The case is the same as in our judgments
concerning all kinds of beauty, and tastes, and sensations. Our approbation is imply'd in the
immediate pleasure they convey to us.
Ik ben er zelf nog niet uit. Meningen graag.
