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

CHAP. IV. Of licentious systems.

ALL those systems, which I have hitherto given an account of, suppose that there is a real and essential distinction between vice and virtue, whatever these qua|lities may consist in. There is a real and essential difference between the propriety and impropriety of any affection, between bene|volence and any other principle of action, between real prudence and short sighted folly or precipitate rashness. In the main too all of them contribute to encourage the praise-worthy, and to discourage the blameable disposition.

It may be true, perhaps, of some of them, that they tend in some measure to break the ballance of the affections, and to give the mind a particular biass to some principles of action beyond the proportion that is due to them. The antient systems, which place virtue in propriety, seem chiefly to recom|mend the great, the awful and the respect|able

virtues, the virtues of self-government and self-command; fortitude, magnanimity, independency upon fortune, the contempt of all outward accidents, of pain, poverty, exile and death. It is in these great exertions that the noblest propriety of conduct is displayed. The soft, the amiable, the gentle virtues, all the virtues of indulgent humanity are in comparison but little insisted upon, and seem on the contrary, by the Stoics in particular, to have been often regarded as meer weaknesses which it behoved a wise man not to harbour in his breast.

The benevolent system, on the other hand, while it fosters and encourages all those mil|der virtues in the highest degree, seems en|tirely to neglect the more awful and respect|able qualities of the mind. It even denies them the appellation of virtues. It calls them moral abilities and treats them as qualities which do not deserve the same sort of esteem and approbation which is due to what is pro|perly denominated virtue. All those prin|ciples of action which aim only at our own interest, it treats, if that be possible, still worse. So far from having any merit of their own, they diminish, it pretends, the merit of benevolence, when they co|operate

with it: and prudence, it is as|serted, when employed only in promoting private interest, can never even be imagined a virtue.

That system, again, which makes virtue consist in prudence only, while it gives the highest encouragement to the habits of cau|tion, vigilance, sobriety and judicious mode|ration, seems to degrade equally both the amiable and respectable virtues, and to strip the former of all their beauty and the latter of all their grandeur.

But notwithstanding these defects, the ge|neral tendency of each of those three systems is to encourage the best and most laudable habits of the human mind: and it were well for society if either mankind in general, or even those few who pretend to live according to any philosophical rule, were to regulate their conduct by the precepts of any one of them. We may learn from each of them something that is both valuable and peculiar. If it was possible, by precept and exhorta|tion, to inspire the mind with fortitude and magnanimity, the antient systems of pro|priety would seem sufficient to do this. Or if it was possible, by the same means to soften

it into humanity, and to awaken the affec|tions of kindness and general love towards those we live with, some of the pictures with which the benevolent system presents us, might seem capable of producing this effect. We may learn from the system of Epicurus, tho' undoubtedly the worst of all the three, how much the practice of both the amiable and respectable virtues is conducive to our own interest, to our own ease and safety and quiet even in this life. As Epicurus placed happiness in the attainment of ease and secu|rity, he exerted himself in a particular man|ner to show that virtue was, not meerly the best and the surest, but the only means of acquiring those invaluable possessions. The good effects of virtue, upon our inward tran|quility and peace of mind, are what other philosophers have chiefly celebrated. Epi|curus, without neglecting this topic, has chiefly insisted upon the influence of that amiable quality on our outward prosperity and safety. It was upon this account that his writings were so much studied in the an|tient world by men of all different philoso|phical parties. It is from him that Cicero, the great enemy of the Epicurean system, borrows his most agreeable proofs that virtue

alone is sufficient to secure happiness. Sene|ca, tho' a stoic, the sect most opposite to that of Epicurus, yet quotes this philosopher more frequently than any other.

There are, however, some other systems which seem to take away altogether the di|stinction between vice and virtue, and of which the tendency, is upon that account, wholly pernicious: I mean the systems of the duke of Rochefaucault and Dr. Mande|ville. Tho' the notions of both these au|thors are in almost every respect erroneous, there are, however, some appearances in hu|man nature which, when viewed in a cer|tain manner, seem at first sight to favour them. These, first slightly sketched out with the elegance and delicate precision of the duke of Rochefaucault, and afterwards more fully represented with the lively and humourous, tho' coarse and rustic eloquence of Dr. Mandeville, have thrown upon their doctrines an air of truth and probability which is very apt to impose upon the unskilful.

Dr. Mandeville, the most methodical of those two authors, considers whatever is done from a sense of propriety, from a regard to what is commendable and praise-worthy, as

being done from a love of praise and com|mendation, or as he calls it from vanity. Man, he observes, is naturally much more interested in his own happiness than in that of others, and it is impossible that in his heart he can ever really prefer their prospe|rity to his own. Whenever he appears to do so, we may be assured that he imposes upon us, and that he is then acting from the same selfish motives as at all other times. Among his other selfish passions, vanity is one of the strongest, and he is always easily flattered and greatly delighted with the applauses of those about him. When he appears to sacrifice his own interest to that of his companions, he knows that this conduct will be highly agreeable to their self-love, and that they will not fail to express their satisfaction by bestowing upon him the most extravagant praises. The pleasure which he expects from this, overbalances, in his opinion, the interest which he abandons in order to procure it. His conduct, therefore, upon this occasion is in reality just as selfish, and arises from just as mean a motive as upon any other. He is flattered, however, and he flatters himself with the belief that it is entirely disin|terested; since, unless this was supposed, it

would not seem to merit any commendation either in his own eyes or in those of others. All public spirit, therefore, all preference of public to private interest, is, according to him, a meer cheat and imposition upon mankind; and that human virtue which is so much boasted of, and which is the occasion of so much emulation among men, is the meer offspring of flattery begot upon pride.

Whether the most generous and public spi|rited actions may not in some sense be re|garded as proceeding from self-love I shall not at present examine. The decision of this question is not, I apprehend, of any im|portance towards establishing the reality of virtue, since self-love may frequently be a virtuous motive of action. I shall only en|deavour to show that the desire of doing what is honourable and noble, of rendering ourselves the proper objects of esteem and approbation cannot with any propriety be called vanity. Even the love of well-grounded fame and reputation, the desire of acquiring esteem by what is really estimable, does not deserve that name. The first is the love of virtue, the noblest and best passion of hu|man nature. The second is the love of true glory, a passion inferior no doubt to the for|mer,

but which in dignity appears to come immediately after it. He is guilty of vanity who desires praise for qualities which are either not praise-worthy in any degree, or not in that degree in which he expects to be praised for them; who sets his character upon the frivolous ornaments of dress and equi|page, or the equally frivolous accomplish|ments of ordinary behaviour. He is guilty of vanity who desires praise for what indeed very well deserves it, but what he perfectly knows does not belong to him. The empty coxcomb who gives himself airs of impor|tance which he has no title to, the silly liar who assumes the merit of adventures which never happened, the foolish plagiary who gives himself out for the author of what he has no pretensions to, are properly accused of this passion. He too is said to be guilty of vanity who is not contented with the silent sentiments of esteem and approbation, who seems to be fonder of their noisy expressions and acclamations than of the sentiments them|selves, who is never satisfied but when his own praises are ringing in his ears, and who sollicits with the most anxious importunity all external marks of respect, is fond of titles, of compliments, of being visited, of being

attended, of being taken notice of in public places with the appearance of deference and attention. This frivolous passion is altogether different from either of the two former, and is the passion of the lowest, and the least of mankind as they are of the noblest and the greatest.

But tho' these three passions, the desire of rendering ourselves the proper objects of ho|nour and esteem; or of becoming what is ho|nourable and estimable; the desire of ac|quiring honour and esteem by really deserv|ing those sentiments; and the frivolous de|sire of praise at any rate, are widely dif|ferent; tho' the two former are always ap|proved of while the latter never fails to be despised; there is, however, a certain remote affinity among them which, exaggerated by the humorous and diverting eloquence of this lively author, has enabled him to impose upon his readers. There is an affinity be|tween vanity and the love of true glory, as both these passions aim at acquiring esteem and approbation. But they are different in this, that the one is a just, reasonable and equitable passion, while the other is unjust, absurd and ridiculous. The man who de|sires esteem for what is really estimable, de|sires

nothing but what he is justly entitled to, and what cannot be refused him without some sort of injury. He, on the contrary, who desires it upon any other terms, demands what he has no just claim to. The first is easily satisfied, is not apt to be jealous or suspicious that we do not esteem him enough, and is seldom sollicitous about receiving many external marks of our regard. The other, on the contrary, is never to be satis|fied, is full of jealousy and suspicion that we do not esteem him so much as he desires, because he has some secret consciousness that he desires more than he deserves. The least neglect of ceremony, he considers, as a mor|tal affront and as an expression of the most determined contempt. He is restless and im|patient and perpetually afraid that we have ••ost all respect for him, and is upon this ac|count always anxious to obtain new expres|sions of esteem, and cannot be kept in tem|per but by continual attendance and adu|••ation.

There is an affinity too between the desire of becoming what is honourable and estim|••ble, and the desire of honour and esteem, ••etween the love of virtue and the love of ••rue glory. They resemble one another not

only in this respect, that both aim at really being what is honourable and noble, but even in that respect in which the love of true glory resembles what is properly called vani|ty, some reference to the sentiments of others. The man of the greatest magnanimity, who desires virtue for its own sake, and is most in|different about what actually are the opinions of mankind with regard to him, is still, how|ever, delighted with the thoughts of what they should be, with the consciousness that tho' he may neither be honoured nor ap|plauded, he is still the proper object of ho|nour and applause, and that if mankind were cool and candid and consistent with them|selves, and properly informed of the motives and circumstances of his conduct, they would not fail to honour and applaud him. Tho' he despises the opinions which are actu|ally entertained of him, yet he has the highest value for those which ought to be entertained of him. That he might think himself worthy of those honourable sentiments, and, whatever was the idea which other men might conceive of his character, that when he should put himself in their situation, and consider, not what was, but what ought to be their opinion, he should always have the

highest idea of it himself, was the great and ••xalted motive of his conduct. As even in ••he love of virtue, therefore, there is still some ••eference; tho' not to what is, yet to what in ••eason and propriety ought to be, the opinion of others, there is even in this respect some ••ffinity between it, and the love of true glory. There is, however, at the same time, a very great difference between them. The man who acts solely from a regard to what is right ••nd fit to be done, from a regard to what is ••he proper object of esteem and approbation, ••ho' these sentiments should never be bestowed ••pon him, acts from the most sublime and godlike motive which human nature is even ••apable of conceiving. The man, on the other ••and, who while he desires to merit appro|••ation, is at the same time anxious to obtain ••t, tho' he too is laudable in the main, yet ••is motives have a greater mixture of human ••nfirmity. He is in danger of being morti|••ied by the ignorance and injustice of man|••ind, and his happiness is exposed to the envy ••f his rivals, and the folly of the publick. The happiness of the other, on the contrary, is ••ltogether secure and independent of fortune, ••nd of the caprice of those he lives with.

The contempt and hatred which may be thrown upon him by the ignorance of man|kind, he considers as not belonging to him, and is not at all mortified by it. Mankind despise and hate him from a false notion of his character and conduct. If they knew him better they would esteem and love him. It is not him whom, properly speaking, they hate and despise, but another person whom they mistake him to be. Our friend, whom we should meet at a masquerade in the garb of our enemy, would be more diverted than mortified, if under that disguise we should vent our indignation against him. Such are the sentiments of a man of real magnanimity; when exposed to unjust censure. It seldom happens, however, that human nature arrives at this degree of firmness. Tho' none b••t the weakest and most worthless of mankind are much delighted with false glory, yet, by a strange inconsistency, false ignominy is often capable of mortifying those who appear the most resolute and determined.

Dr. Mandeville is not satisfied with repre|senting the frivolous motive of vanity, as the source of all those actions which are com|monly accounted virtuous. He endeavours to point out the imperfection of human vir|tue

in many other respects. In every case, he pretends, it falls short of that compleat self-denial which it pretends to, and, instead of a conquest, is commonly no more than a con|cealed indulgence of our passions. Wherever our reserve with regard to pleasure▪ falls short of the most ascetic abstinence, he treats it as gross luxury and sensuality. Every thing, ac|cording to him, is luxury which exceeds what is absolutely necessary for the support of hu|man nature, so that there is vice even in the use of a clean shirt, or of a convenient habi|tation. The indulgence of the inclination to sex, in the most lawful union, he considers as the same sensuality with the most hurtful gratifi|cation of that passion, and derides that tem|perance and that chastity which can be prac|tised at so cheap a rate. The ingenious so|phistry of his reasoning, is here, as upon many other occasions, covered by the ambi|guity of language. There are some of our passions which have no other names except those which mark the disagreeable and offen|sive degree. The spectator is more apt to take notice of them in this degree than in any other. When they shock his own sentiments, when they give him some sort of antipathy and uneasiness, he is necessarily obliged to at|tend

to them, and is from thence naturally led to give them a name. When they fall in with the natural state of his own mind, he is very apt to overlook them altogether, and either gives them no name at all, or, if he gives them any, it is one which marks rather the subjection and restraint of the passion, than the degree which it still is allowed to subsist in, after it is so subjected and restrained. Thus the common names of the * 1.1 love of pleasure, and of the ^b love of sex denote a vitious and offensive degree of those passions. The words temperance and chastity on the other hand, seem to mark rather the restraint and subjec|tion which they are kept under than the de|gree which they are still allowed to subsist in▪ When he can show, therefore, that they still subsist in some degree, he imagines, he has entirely demolished the reality of the virtue•• of temperance and chastity, and shown them to be meer impositions upon the inattenti•••• and simplicity of mankind. Those virtues, however, do not require an entire insensibi|lity to the objects of the passions which they mean to govern. They only aim at restrain|ing the violence of those passions so far as not

to hurt the individual, and neither disturb nor offend the society.

It is the great fallacy of Dr. Mandeville's book * 1.2to represent every passion as wholly vi|tious which is so in any degree and in any di|rection. It is thus that he treats every thing as vanity which has any reference either to what are or to what ought to be the senti|ments of others: and it is by means of this sophistry that he establishes his favourite con|clusion, that private vices are public benefits. If the love of magnificence, a taste for the elegant arts and improvements of human life, for whatever is agreeable in dress, furniture, or equipage, for architecture, statuary, paint|••ng and music, is to be regarded as luxury, sensuality and ostentation, even in those whose situation allows, without any inconveniency, the indulgence of those passions, it is certain that luxury, sensuality and ostentation are public benefits: since, without the qualities upon which he thinks proper to bestow such opprobrious names, the arts of refinement could never find encouragement, and must ••anguish for want of employment. Some popular ascetic doctrines which had been cur|rent

before his time, and which placed virtue in the entire extirpation and annihilation of all our passions, were the real foundation of this licentious system. It was easy for Dr. Mandeville to prove, first, that this en|tire conquest never actually took place among men; and, secondly, that, if it was to take place, universally, it would be pernicious to society, by putting an end to all industry and commerce, and in a manner to the whole bu|siness of human life. By the first of these propositions he seemed to prove that there was no real virtue, and that what pretended to be such was a meer cheat and imposition upon mankind; and by the second, that pri|vate vices were public benefits, since with|out them no society could prosper or flourish.

Such is the system of Dr. Mandeville, which once made so much noise in the world, and which, tho' perhaps it never gave occa|sion to more vice than what would have been without it, at least taught that vice which arose from other causes to appear with more effrontery, and to avow the corruption of its motives with a profligate audaciousness which had never been heared of before.

But how destructive soever this system may appear, it could never have imposed upon so great a number of persons, nor have occasioned so general an alarm among those who are the friends of better principles, had it not in some respects bordered upon the truth. A system of natural philosophy may appear very plausible and be for a long time very generally received in the world, and yet have no foundation in nature, nor any sort of resemblance to the truth. The vortices of Des Cartes were regarded by a very inge|nious nation, for near a century together, as a most satisfactory account of the revolutions of the heavenly bodies. Yet it has been de|monstrated to the conviction of all mankind that these pretended causes of those wonder|ful effects, not only do not actually exist, but are utterly impossible, and if they did exist, could produce no such effects as are ascribed to them. But it is otherwise with systems of moral philosophy, and an author who pre|tends to account for the origin of our moral sentiments, cannot deceive us so grossly, nor depart so very far from all resemblance to the truth. When a traveller gives us an account of some distant country, he may impose upon our credulity the most groundless and absurd

as the most certain matters of fact. But when a person pretends to inform us of what passes in our own neighbourhood, and of the affairs of the very parish which we live in, tho' here too, if we are so careless as not to examine things with our own eyes, he may deceive us in many respects, yet the greatest falshoods which he imposes upon us must bear some resemblance to the truth, and must even have a considerable mixture of truth in them. An author who treats of na|tural philosophy, and pretends to assign the causes of the great phaenomena of the uni|verse, pretends to give an account of the af|fairs of a very distant country, concerning which he may tell us what he pleases, and as long as his narration keeps within the bounds of seeming possibility, he need not despair of gaining our belief. But when he proposes to explain the origin of our desires and affections, of our sentiments of appro|bation and disapprobation, he pretends to give an account, not only of the affairs of the very parish that we live in, but of our own do|mestic concerns. Tho' here too, like indo|lent masters who put their trust in a steward who deceives them, we are very liable to be imposed upon, yet we are incapable of pas|sing

any account which does not preserve some little regard to the truth. Some of the articles, at least, must be just, and even those which are most overcharged must have had some foundation, otherwise the fraud would ••e detected even by that careless inspection which we are disposed to give. The author who should assign, as the cause of any natu|••al sentiment, some principle which neither ••ad any connection with it, nor resembled ••ny other principle which had some such ••onnection, would appear absurd and ridicu|••ous to the most injudicious and unexperi|••nced reader.

Notes

• * 1.1

  Luxury and lust.
• * 1.2

  Fable of the Bees.