The theory of moral sentiments: By Adam Smith, ...

CHAP. II. Of those systems which make virtue consist in prudence.

THE most antient of those systems which make virtue consist in prudence, and of which any considerable remains have come down to us is that of Epicurus, who is said however, to have borrowed all the leading principles of his philosophy from some of ••hose who had gone before him, particularly from Aristippus; tho' it is very probable, notwithstanding this allegation of his enemies, ••hat at least his manner of applying those principles was altogether his own.

According to Epicurus * 1.1 bodily pleasure and ••ain were the sole ultimate objects of natu|••al desire and aversion. That they were al|ways the natural objects of those passions, he ••hought, required no proof. Pleasure, might ••ndeed, appear sometimes to be avoided; ••ot, however, because it was pleasure, but ••ecause, by the enjoyment of it, we should ••ither forfeit some greater pleasure, or expose

ourselves to some pain that was more to be avoided than this pleasure was to be desired. Pain, in the same manner, might appear sometimes to be eligible; not, however, be|cause it was pain, but because by enduring it we might either avoid a still greater pain, or acquire some pleasure of much more impor|tance. That bodily pain and pleasure, there|fore, were always the natural objects of de|sire and aversion, was, he thought, abun|dantly evident. Nor was it less so, he ima|gined, that they were the sole ultimate ob|jects of those passions. Whatever else was either desired or avoided was so, according to him, upon account of its tendency to pro|duce one or other of those sensations. The tendency to procure pleasure rendered power and riches desireable, as the contrary ten|dency to produce pain made poverty and in|significancy the objects of aversion. Honour and reputation were valued, because the es|teem and love of those we live with were of the greatest consequence both to procure plea|sure and to defend us from pain. Ignominy and bad fame, on the contrary, were to be avoided, because the hatred, contempt and resentment of those we live with destroyed

all security, and necessarily exposed us to the greatest bodily evils.

All the pleasures and pains of the mind were, according to Epicurus, ultimately de|rived from those of the body. The mind was happy when it thought of the past plea|sures of the body, and hoped for others to come: and it was miserable when it thought of the pains which the body had formerly endured, and dreaded the same or greater thereafter.

But the pleasures and pains of the mind, tho' ultimately derived from those of the body, were vastly greater than their origi|nals. The body felt only the sensation of the present instant, whereas the mind felt also the past and the future, the one by re|membrance, the other by anticipation, and consequently both suffered and enjoyed much more. When we are under the greatest bodily pain, he observed, we shall always find, if we attend to it, that it is not the suf|fering of the present instant which chiefly ••orments us, but either the agonizing re|membrance of the past, or the yet more hor|••ible dread of the future. The pain of each ••nstant, considered by itself, and cut off from ••ll that goes before and all that comes after

it is a trifle, not worth the regarding. Yet this is all which the body can ever be said to suffer. For the same manner, when we en|joy the greatest pleasure, we shall always find that the bodily sensation, the sensation of the present instant makes but a small part of our happiness, that our enjoyment chiefly arises either from the chearful recollection of the past or the still more joyous anticipation of the future, and that the mind always contri|butes by much the largest share of the enter|tainment.

Since our happiness and misery, therefore, depended chiefly upon the mind, if this part of our nature was well disposed, if our thoughts and opinions were as they should be, it was of little importance in what man|ner our body was affected. Tho' under great bodily pain, we might still enjoy a consider|able share of happiness, if our reason and judg|ment maintained their superiority. We might entertain ourselves with the remembrance of past, and with the hopes of future pleasure; we might soften the rigour of our pains, by recollecting what it was which, even in this situation, we were under any necessity of suf|fering. That this was meerly the bodily sen|sation, the pain of the present instant, which

by itself could never be very great. That whatever agony we suffered from the dread of its continuance was the effect of an opi|nion of the mind, which might be corrected by juster sentiments; by considering that if our pains were violent they would probably be of short duration; and that if they were of long continuance, they would probably be moderate, and admit of many intervals of ease; and that, at any rate, death was always at hand and within call to deliver us, which as, according to him, it put an end to all sen|sation, either of pain or pleasure, could not be regarded as an evil. When we are, said he, death is not; and when death is, we are not; death therefore can be nothing to us.

If the actual sensation of positive pain was in itself so little to be feared, that of pleasure was still less to be desired. Naturally the sensation of pleasure was much less pungent than that of pain. If, therefore, this last could take so very little from the happiness of a well-disposed mind, the other could add scarce any thing to it. When the body was free from pain and the mind from fear and anxiety, the superadded sensation of bodily pleasure could be of very little importance; and though it might diversify, could not pro|perly

be said to increase the happiness of this situation.

In ease of body, therefore, and in security or tranquility of mind, consisted, according to Epicurus, the most perfect state of human nature, the most compleat happiness which man was capable of enjoying. To obtain this great end of natural desire was the sole object of all the virtues, which, according to him, were not desireable upon their own account, but upon account of their tendency to bring about this situation.

Prudence, for example, tho', according to this philosophy, the source and principle of all the virtues, was not desireable upon its own account. That careful and laborious and circumspect state of mind, ever watch|ful and ever attentive to the most distant con|sequences of every action, could not be a thing pleasant or agreeable for its own sake, but upon account of its tendency to the greatest goods and to keep off the greatest evils.

To abstain from pleasure too, to curb and restrain our natural passions for enjoyment, which was the office of temperance, could never be desireable for its own sake. The whole value of this virtue arose from its uti|lity from its enabling us to postpone the pre|sent

enjoyment for the sake of a greater to come, or to avoid a greater pain that might ensue from it. Temperance, in short, was nothing but prudence with regard to pleasure.

To support labour, to endure pain, to be exposed to danger or to death, the situations which fortitude would often lead us into, were surely still less the objects of natural de|sire. They are chosen only to avoid greater evils. We submit to labour, in order to avoid the greater shame and pain of poverty, and we expose ourselves to danger and to death in defence of our liberty and property, the means and instruments of pleasure and happiness; or in defence of our country, in the safety of which our own is necessarily comprehended. For|titude enables us to do all this chearfully, as the best which, in our present situation, can possibly be done, and is in reality no more than prudence, good judgment and presence of mind in properly appreciating pain, labour and danger, always chusing the less in order to avoid the greater.

It is the same case with justice. To ab|stain from what is anothers is not desireable upon its own account, and it cannot surely be better for you, that I should possess what

is my own, than that you should possess it. You ought, however, to abstain from what|ever belongs to me, because by doing other|wise you will provoke the resentment and in|dignation of mankind. The security and tranquility of your mind will be entirely de|stroyed. You will be filled with fear and consternation at the thought of that punish|ment which you will imagine that men are at all times ready to inflict upon you, and from which no power, no art, no conceal|ment, will ever in your own fancy be suffi|cient to protect you. That other species of justice which consists in doing proper good offices to different persons, according to the various relations of neighbours, kinsmen, friends, benefactors, superiors or equals, which they may stand in to us, is recommended by the same reasons. To act properly in all these different relations procures us the esteem and love of those we live with; as to do other|wise excites their contempt and hatred. By the one we naturally secure, by the other we necessarily endanger, our own ease and tran|quility, the great and ultimate objects of all our desires. The whole virtue of justice, therefore, the most important of all the vir|tues,

is no more than discreet and prudent conduct with regard to our neighbours.

Such is the doctrine of Epicurus concern|ing the nature of virtue. It may seem ex|traordinary that this philosopher, who is de|scribed as a person of the most amiable man|ners, should never have observed, that, what|ever may be the tendency of those virtues, or of the contrary vices with regard to our bodily ease and security, the sentiments which they naturally excite in others are the objects of a much more passionate desire or aversion than all their other consequences; That to be amiable, to be respectable, to be the proper object of esteem, is by every well-disposed mind more valued than all the ease and secu|rity which love, respect and esteem can pro|cure us; That, on the contrary, to be odious, to be contemptible, to be the proper object of indignation, is more dreaded than all that we can suffer in our body from hatred, con|tempt or indignation; and that consequently our desire of the one character, and our aver|sion to the other, cannot arise from any regard ••o the effects which either of them is likely ••o produce upon the body.

This system is, no doubt, altogether incon|sistent with that which I have been endea|vouring to establish. It is not difficult, how|ever, to discover from what phasis, if I may say so, from what particular view or aspect of nature this account of things derives its probability. By the wise contrivance of the author of nature, virtue is upon all ordinary occasions, even with regard to this life, real wisdom, and the surest and readiest means of obtaining both safety and advantage. Our success or disappointment in our undertakings must very much depend upon the good or bad opinion which is commonly entertained of us, and upon the general disposition of those we live with, either to assist or to oppose us. But the best, the surest, the easiest and the readiest way of obtaining the advantageous and avoiding the unfavourable judgments of others, is undoubtedly to render ourselves the proper objects of the former and not of the latter.

Do you desire, said Socrates, the reputation of a good musician? The only sure way of obtaining it, is to become a good musician. Would you desire in the same manner to be thought capable of serving your country either as a general o•• as a statesman? The best way in this ca••••

too is really to acquire the art and expe|rience of war and government, and to be|come really fit to be a general or a states|man. And in the same manner if you would be reckoned sober, temperate, just and equitable, the best way of acquiring this reputation is to become sober, tempe|rate, just and equitable. If you can really render yourself amiable, respectable, and the proper object of esteem, there is no fear of your not soon acquiring the love, the respect and esteem of those you live with.

Since the practice of virtue, there|fore, is in general so advantageous, and that of vice so contrary to our interest, the con|sideration of those opposite tendencies un|doubtedly stamps an additional beauty and propriety upon the one, and a new deformity and impropriety upon the other. Tempe|rance, magnanimity, justice and beneficence, come thus to be approved of, not only under their proper characters, but under the addi|tional character of the highest wisdom and most real prudence. And in the same man|ner the contrary vices of intemperance, pu|silanimity, injustice, and either malevolence or sordid selfishness come to be disapproved of, not only under their proper characters,

but under the additional character of the most short-sighted folly and weakness. Epi|curus appears in every virtue to have at|tended to this species of propriety only. It is that which is most apt to occur to those who are endeavouring to persuade others to regu|larity of conduct. When men by their prac|tice and perhaps too by their maxims, mani|festly show that the natural beauty of virtue is not likely to have much effect upon them, how is it possible to move them but by re|presenting the folly of their conduct, and how much they themselves are in the end likely to suffer by it?

By running up all the different virtues too to this one species of propriety, Epicurus in|dulged a propensity, which is natural to all men, but which philosophers in particular are apt to cultivate with a peculiar fondness, as the great means of displaying their inge|nuity, the propensity to account for all ap|pearances from as few principles as possible▪ And he, no doubt, indulged this propensity still further, when he referred all the primary objects of natural desire and aversion to the pleasures and pains of the body. The great patron of the atomical philosophy, who 〈◊〉〈◊〉 so much pleasure in deducing all the pow••••

and qualities of bodies from the most obvious and familiar, the figure, motion and arrange|ment of the small parts of matter, felt no doubt a similar satisfaction, when he ac|counted, in the same manner, for all the sen|timents and passions of the mind from those which are most obvious and familiar.

The system of Epicurus agreed with those of Plato, Aristotle, and Zeno, in making vir|tue consist in acting in the most suitable man|ner to obtain the * 1.2 primary objects of natural desire. It differed from all of them in two other respects; first, in the account which it gave of those primary objects of natural de|sire; and secondly, in the account which it gave of the excellence of virtue or of the rea|son why that quality ought to be esteemed.

The primary objects of natural desire con|sisted, according to Epicurus in bodily plea|sure and pain, and in nothing else: whereas, according to the other three philosophers, there were many other objects, such us know|ledge, such as the happiness of our relations, of our friends, of our country, which were ultimately desireable for their own sake.

Virtue too, according to Epicurus, did not deserve to be pursued for its own sake, nor was itself one of the primary objects of natu|ral appetite, but was eligible only upon ac|count of its tendency to prevent pain and to procure ease and pleasure. In the opinion of the other three, on the contrary, it was desireable, not meerly as the means of pro|curing the other primary objects of natural desire, but as something which was in itself more valuable than them all. Man, they thought, being born for action, his happi|ness must consist, not meerly in the agreeable|ness of his passive sensations, but also in the propriety of his active exertions.

Notes

• * 1.1

  See Cicero de finibus, lib. i. Diogenes Laert. l. x.
• * 1.2

  Prima naturae.