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

SECTION IV. Of the manner in which different authors have treated of the practical rules of morality.

IT was observed in the third part of this discourse, that the rules of justice are ••he only rules of morality which are precise arrow_forward ••nd accurate; that those of all the other vir|••ues are loose, vague, and indeterminate; ••hat the first may be compared to the rules ••f grammar; the others to those which ••ritics lay down for the attainment of what 〈◊〉〈◊〉 sublime and elegant in composition, and which present us rather with a general idea ••f the perfection we ought to aim at than ••fford us any certain and infallible directions 〈◊〉〈◊〉 acquiring it.

As the different rules of morality admit ••uch different degrees of accuracy, those ••uthors who have endeavoured to collect and ••igest them into systems have done it in two ••ifferent manners, and one set has followed ••••rough the whole that loose method to which ••••ey were naturally directed by the considera|tion

of one species of virtues; while another has as universally endeavoured to introduce into their precepts that sort of accuracy of which only some of them are susceptible. The first have wrote like critics, the second like gram|marians.

I. The first, among whom we may count all the antient moralists, have contented them|selves with describing in a general manner the different vices and virtues, and with point|ing out the deformity and misery of the one disposition as well as the propriety and hap|piness of the other, but have not affected to lay down many arrow_back precise arrow_forward rules that are to hold good unexceptionably in all particular cases. They have only endeavoured to ascertain, as far as language is capable of ascertaining, first, wherein consists the sentiment of the heart, upon which each particular virtue is found|ed, what sort of internal feeling or emotion it is which constitutes the essence of friend|ship, of humanity, of generosity, of justice, of magnanimity, and of all the other virtues as well as of the vices which are opposed to them: and, secondly, What is the general way of acting, the ordinary tone and tenor of conduct to which each of those sentiments would direct us, or how it is that a friendly,

a generous, a brave, a just, and a humane man, would, upon ordinary occasions, chuse to act.

To characterize the sentiment of the heart, upon which each particular virtue is found|ed, tho' it requires both a delicate and an ac|curate pencil, is a task, however, which may be executed with some degree of exactness. It is impossible, indeed, to express all the variations which each sentiment either does or ought to undergo, according to every possible variation of circumstances. They are endless, and language wants names to mark them by. The sentiment of friend|ship, for example, which we feel for an old man is different from that which we feel for a young: that which we entertain for an austere man different from that which we feel for one of softer and gentler manners: and that again from what we feel for one of gay vivacity and spirit. The friendship which we conceive for a man is different from that with which a woman affects us, even where there is no mixture of any grosser passion. Who could enumerate and ascertain these and all the other infinite varieties which this sentiment is capable of undergoing? But still the general sentiment of friendship and fa|miliar

attachment that is common to them all, may be ascertained with a sufficient de|gree of accuracy. The picture that is drawn of it, tho' it will always be in many respects incompleat, may, however, have such a re|semblance as to make us know the original when we meet with it, and even distinguish it from other sentiments to which it has a considerable resemblance, such as good-will, respect, esteem, admiration.

To describe, in a general manner, what is the ordinary way of acting to which each virtue would prompt us, is still more easy. It is indeed scarce possible to describe the in|ternal sentiment or emotion upon which it is founded without doing something of this kind. It is impossible by language to express, if I may say so, the invisible features of all the dif|ferent modifications of passion as they show themselves within. There is no other way of marking and distinguishing them from one another, but by describing the effects which they produce without, the alterations which they occasion in the countenance, in the air and external behaviour, the resolutions they suggest, the actions they prompt to. It is thus that Cicero, in the first book of his offices, endeavours to direct us to the practice of the four cardinal virtues, and that Ari|stotle

in the practical parts of his ethics, points out to us the different habits by which he would have us regulate our behaviour, such as liberality, magnificence, magnanimity, and even jocularity and good humour, qualities, which that indulgent philosopher has thought worthy of a place in the catalogue of the virtues, tho' the lightness of that approbation which we naturally bestow upon them, should not seem to entitle them to so venerable a name.

Such works present us with agreeable and lively pictures of manners. By the vivacity of their descriptions they inflame our natural love of virtue, and increase our abhorrence of vice: by the justness as well as delicacy of their observations they may often help both to correct and to ascertain our natural sentiments with regard to the propriety of conduct, and suggesting many nice and de|licate attentions, form us to a more exact justness of behaviour, than what, without such instruction, we should have been apt to think of. In treating of the rules of mo|rality, in this manner, consists the science which is properly called ethics, a science, which tho' like criticism, it does not admit of the most accurate precision, is, however, both highly useful and agreeable. It is of

all others the most susceptible of the embel|lishments of eloquence, and by means of them of bestowing, if that be possible, a new importance upon the smallest rules of duty. Its precepts when thus dressed and adorned are capable of producing upon the flexibility of youth the noblest and most last|ing impressions, and as they fall in with the natural magnanimity of that generous age, they are able to inspire, for a time at least, the most heroic resolutions, and thus tend both to establish and confirm the best and most useful habits of which the mind of man is susceptible. Whatever precept and exhortation can do to animate us to the prac|tice of virtue, is done by this science de|livered in this manner.

II. The second set of moralists, among whom we may count all the casuists of the middle and latter ages of the christian church as well as all those who in this and in the preceeding century have treated of what is called natural jurisprudence, do not content themselves with characterizing in this gene|ral manner that tenor of conduct which they would recommend to us, but endeavour to lay down exact and arrow_back precise arrow_forward rules for the di|rection of every circumstance of our beha|viour. As justice is the only virtue with re|gard

to which such exact rules can properly be given; it is this virtue, that has chiefly fallen under the consideration of those two different sets of writers. They treat of it, however, in a very different manner.

Those who write upon the principles of Jurisprudence consider only what the person to whom the obligation is due ought to think himself entitled to exact by force, what every impartial spectator would approve of him for exacting, or what a judge or arbiter to whom he had submitted his case, and who had un|dertaken to do him justice, ought to oblige the other person to suffer or to perform. The casuists on the other hand do not so much examine what it is that might properly be exacted by force, as what it is that the per|son who owes the obligation ought to think himself bound to perform from the most sa|cred and scrupulous regard to the general rules of justice, and from the most conscien|tious dread, either of wronging his neighbour, or of violating the integrity of his own cha|racter. It is the end of jurisprudence to pre|scribe rules for the decisions of judges and arbiters. It is the end of casuistry to prescribe rules for the conduct of a good man. By observing all the rules of jurisprudence, sup|posing

them ever so perfect, we should deserve nothing but to be free from external punish|ment. By observing those of casuistry, sup|posing them such as they ought to be, we should be entitled to considerable praise by the exact and scrupulous delicacy of our be|haviour.

It may frequently happen that a good man ought to think himself bound, from a sacred and conscientious regard to the general rules of justice, to perform many things which it would be the highest injustice to extort from him, or for any judge or arbiter to impose up|on him by force. To give a trite example; a highway-man, by the fear of death, ob|liges a traveller to promise him a certain sum of money. Whether such a promise, extort|ed in this manner by unjust force, ought to be regarded as obligatory, is a question that has been very much debated.

If we consider it meerly as a question of jurisprudence, the decision can admit of no doubt. It would be absurd to suppose that the highway-man can be entitled to use force to constrain the other to perform. To ex|tort the promise was a crime that deserved the highest punishment, and to extort the per|formance would only be adding a new crime

to the former. He can complain of no inju|ry who has only been deceived by the person by whom he might justly have been killed. To suppose that a judge ought to enforce the obligation of such promises, or that the ma|gistrate ought to allow them to sustain action at law, would be the most ridiculous of all ab|surdities. If we consider this question, there|fore, as a question of jurisprudence we can be at no loss about the decision.

But if we consider it as a question of casu|istry, it will not be so easily determined. Whether a good man from a conscientious regard to that most sacred rule of justice, which commands the observance of all seri|ous promises, would not think himself bound to perform, is at least much more doubtful. That no regard is due to the disappointment of the wretch who brings him into this situa|tion, that no injury is done to the robber, and consequently that nothing can be extorted by force, will admit of no sort of dispute. But whether some regard is not, in this case, due to his own dignity and honour, to the inviolable sacredness of that part of his cha|racter which makes him reverence the law of truth and abhor every thing that ap|proaches to treachery and falsehood, may,

perhaps, more reasonably be made a question. The casuists accordingly are greatly divided about it. One party, with whom we may count Cicero among the antients, among the moderns, Puffendorf, Barbeyrac his commen|tator, and above all the late Dr. Hutcheson, one who in most cases was by no means a loose casuist, determine, without any hesita|tion, that no sort of regard is due to any such promise, and that to think otherwise is meer weakness and superstition. Another party, among whom we may reckon * 1.1 some of the antient fathers of the church, as well as some very eminent modern casuists, have been of another opinion, and have judged all such promises obligatory.

If we consider the matter according to the common sentiments of mankind, we shall find that some regard would be thought due even to a promise of this kind; but that it is impossible to determine how much, by any general rule that will apply to all cases with|out exception. The man who was quite frank and easy in making promises of this kind, and who violated them with as little ceremony, we should not chuse for our friend and com|panion.

A gentleman who should promise a highway-man five pounds and not perform would incur some blame. If the sum pro|mised, however, was very great, it might be more doubtful, what was proper to be done. If it was such, for example, that the payment of it would entirely ruin the family of the promiser, if it was so great as to be sufficient for promoting the most useful pur|poses, it would appear in some measure cri|minal, at least extremely improper, to throw it, for the sake of a punctilio, into such worth|less hands. The man who should beggar himself, or who should throw away a hun|dred thousand pounds, tho' he could af|ford that vast sum, for the sake of observ|ing such a parole with a thief, would appear to the common sense of mankind absurd and extravagant in the highest degree. Such pro|fusion would seem inconsistent with his duty, with what he owed both to himself and others, and what, therefore, regard to a pro|mise extorted in this manner, could by no means authorize. To fix, however, by any arrow_back precise arrow_forward rule, what degree of regard ought to be paid to it, or what might be the greatest sum which could be due from it, is evident|ly impossible. This would vary according to

the characters of the persons, according to their circumstances, according to the solem|nity of the promise, and even according to the incidents of the rencounter: and if the promiser had been treated with a great deal of that sort of gallantry, which is sometimes to be met with in persons of the most aban|doned characters, more would seem due than upon other occasions. It may be said in ge|neral, that exact propriety requires the obser|vance of all such promises, wherever it is not inconsistent with some other duties that are more sacred; such as regard to the public interest, to those whom gratitude, whom natural affection, or whom the laws of proper beneficence should prompt us to provide for. But, as was formerly taken notice of, we have no arrow_back precise arrow_forward rules to determine what ex|ternal actions are due from a regard to such motives, nor, consequently, when it is that those virtues are inconsistent with the obser|vance of such promises.

It is to be observed, however, that when|ever such promises are violated, tho' for the most necessary reasons, it is always with some degree of dishonour to the person who made them. After they are made, we may be con|vinced of the impropriety of observing them.

But still there is some fault in having made them. It is at least a departure from the highest and noblest maxims of magnanimity and ho|nour. A brave man ought to die, rather than make a promise which he can neither keep without folly nor violate without Ignominy. For some degree of ignominy always attends a situation of this kind. Treachery and false|hood, are vices so dangerous, so dreadful, and at the same time, such as may so easily, and, upon many occasions, so safely be indulg|ed, that we are more jealous of them than of almost any other. Our imagination there|fore attaches the idea of shame to all violati|ons of faith, in every circumstance and in every situation. They resemble, in this respect, the violations of chastity in the fair sex, a virtue of which, for the like reasons, we are excessively jealous; and our sentiments are not more delicate with regard to the one, than with regard to the other. Breach of chasti|ty dishonours irretriveably. No circumstances, no sollicitation can excuse it; no sorrow, no repentance atone for it. We are so nice in this respect that even a rape dishonours, and the innocence of the mind cannot, in our imagination, wash out the pollution of the body. It is the same case with the violation

of faith, when it has been solemnly pledged, even to the most worthless of mankind. Fi|delity is so necessary a virtue, that we appre|hend it in general to be due even to those to whom nothing else is due, and whom we think it lawful to kill and destroy. It is to no purpose that the person who has been guilty of the breach of it, urges that he pro|mised in order to save his life, and that he broke his promise because it was inconsistent with some other respectable duty to keep it. These circumstances may alleviate, but can|not entirely wipe out his dishonour. He ap|pears to have been guilty of an action with which, in the imaginations of men, some de|gree of shame is inseparably connected. He has broke a promise which he had solemnly averred he would maintain; and his charac|ter, if not irretrievably stained and polluted, has at least a ridicule affixed to it, which it will be very difficult entirely to efface; and no man, I imagine, who had gone thro' an ad|venture of this kind, would be fond of telling the story.

This instance may serve to show wherein consists the difference between casuistry, and jurisprudence, even when both of them con|sider

the obligations of the general rules of justice.

But tho' this difference be real and essenti|al, tho' those two sciences propose quite dif|ferent ends, the sameness of the subject has made such a similarity between them, that the greater part of authors whose professed design was to treat of jurisprudence, have determined the different questions they ex|amine, sometimes according to the principles of that science, and sometimes according to those of casuistry, without distinguishing and perhaps without being themselves aware when they did the one, and when the other.

The doctrine of the casuists, however, is by no means confined to the consideration of what a conscientious regard to the general rules of justice, would demand of us. It embraces many other parts of christian and moral duty. What seems principally to have given occasion to the cultivation of this species of science was the custom of auricular con|fession, introduced by the Roman Catholic su|perstition, in times of barbarism and igno|rance. By that institution, the most secret actions, and even the thoughts of every per|son, which could be suspected of receeding in the smallest degree from the rules of christi|an

purity were to be revealed to the confes|sor. The confessor informed his penitents whether, and in what respect they had vio|lated their duty, and what pennance it be|hooved them to undergo, before he could ab|solve them in the name of the offended deity.

The consciousness, or even the suspicion of having done wrong, is a load upon every mind, and is accompanied with anxiety and terror in all those who are not hardened by long habits of iniquity. Men, in this, as in all other distresses, are naturally eager to dis|burden themselves of the oppression which they feel upon their thoughts, by unbosom|ing the agony of their mind to some person whose secrecy and discretion they can confide in. The shame, which they suffer from this acknowledgment, is fully compensated by that alleviation of their uneasiness which the sympathy of their confident seldom fails to occasion. It relieves them to find that they are not altogether unworthy of regard, and that however their past conduct may be cen|sured, their present disposition is at least ap|proved of, and is perhaps sufficient to com|pensate the other, at least to maintain them in some degree of esteem with their friend. A numerous and artful clergy had, in those

times of superstition, insinuated themselves into the confidence of almost every private family, They possessed all the little learning which the times could afford, and their man|ners, tho' in many respects rude and disor|derly, were polished and regular compared with those of the age they lived in. They were regarded, therefore, not only as the great directors of all religious, but of all mo|ral duties. Their familiarity gave reputation to whoever was so happy as to possess it, and every mark of their disapprobation stamped the deepest ignominy upon all who had the misfortune to fall under it. Being consi|dered as the great judges of right and wrong, they were naturally consulted about all scru|ples that occurred, and it was reputable for any person to have it known that he made those holy men the confidents of all such secrets, and took no important or delicate step in his conduct without their advice and approbation. It was not difficult for the clergy, therefore, to get it established as a ge|neral rule, that they should be entrusted with what it had already become fashionable to entrust them, and with what they generally would have been entrusted, tho' no such rule

had been established. To qualify themselves for confessors became thus a necessary part of the study of churchmen and divines, and they were thence led to collect what are called cases of conscience, nice and delicate situations in which it is hard to determine whereabouts the propriety of conduct may lie. Such works, they imagined, might be of use both to the directors of consciences and to those who were to be directed; and hence the origin of books of casuistry.

The moral duties which fell under the consideration of the casuists were chiefly those which can, in some measure at least, be circumscribed within general rules, and of which the violation is naturally attended with some degree of remorse and some dread of suffering punishment. The design of that institution which gave occasion to their works, was to appease those terrors of con|science which attend upon the infringement of such duties. But it is not every virtue of which the defect is accompanied with any very severe compunctions of this kind, and no man applies to his confessor for absolu|tion, because he did not perform the most generous, the most friendly or the most

magnanimous action which, in his circum|stances, it was possible to perform. In fai|lures of this kind, the rule that is violated is commonly not very determinate, and is ge|nerally of such a nature too that tho' the observance of it might entitle to honour and reward, the violation seems to expose to no positive blame, censure or punishment. The exercise of such virtues the casuists seem to have regarded as a sort of works of superero|gation, which could not be very strictly ex|acted, and which it was, therefore, unneces|sary for them to treat of.

The breaches of moral duty, therefore, which came before the tribunal of the con|fessor, and upon that account fell under the cognizance of the casuists, were chiefly of three different kinds.

First and principally breaches of the rules of justice. The rules here are all express and positive, and the violation of them is na|turally attended with the consciousness of de|serving, and the dread of suffering, punish|ment both from God and man.

Secondly, breaches of the rules of chastity. These in all grosser instances are real breaches of the rules of justice, and no person can be

guilty of them without doing the most un|pardonable injury to some other. In smaller instances, when they amount only to a vio|lation of those exact decorums which ought to be observed in the conversation of the two sexes, they cannot indeed justly be con|sidered as violations of the rules of justice. They are generally, however, violations of a pretty plain rule, and, at least in one of the sexes, tend to bring ignominy upon the per|son who has been guilty of them, and con|sequently to be attended in the scrupulous with some degree of shame and contrition of mind.

Thirdly, breaches of the rules of veracity. The violation of truth, it is to be observed, is not always a breach of justice, tho' it is so upon many occasions, and consequently can not always expose to any external punish|ment. The vice of common lying, tho' a most miserable meanness, may frequently do hurt to no person, and in this case no claim of vengeance or satisfaction can be due either to the persons imposed upon or to others. But though the violation of truth is not al|ways a breach of justice, it is always a breach of a very plain rule, and what naturally tends

to cover with shame the person who has been guilty of it. The great pleasure of conver|sation, and indeed of society, arises from a certain correspondence of sentiments and opi|nions, from a certain harmony of minds, which like so many musical instruments co|incide and keep time with one another. But this most delightful harmony cannot be ob|tained unless there is a free communication of sentiments and opinions. We all desire, upon this account, to feel how each other is affected, to penetrate into each others bosoms and to observe the sentiments and affections which really subsist there. The man who indulges us in this natural passion, who in|vites us into his heart, who, as it were, sets open the gates of his breast to us, seems to exercise a species of hospitality more delight|ful than any other. No man, who is in or|dinary good temper, can fail of pleasing if he has the courage to utter his real sentiments as he feels them, and because he feels them. It is this unreserved sincerity which renders even the prattle of a child agreeable. How weak and imperfect soever the views of the open-hearted, we take pleasure to enter into them, and endeavour, as much as we can,

to bring down our own understanding, to the level of their capacities, and to regard every subject in the particular light in which they appear to have considered it. This passion to discover the real sentiments of others is naturally so strong, that it often degenerates into a troublesome and impertinent curiosity to pry into those secrets of our neighbours which they have very justifiable reasons for concealing, and, upon many occasions, it re|quires prudence and a strong sense of pro|priety to govern this, as well as all the other passions of human nature, and to reduce it to that pitch which any impartial spectator can approve of. To disappoint this curiosity, however, when it is kept within proper bounds, and aims at nothing which there can be any just reason for concealing, is equally disagreeable in its turn. The man who eludes our most innocent questions, who gives no satisfaction to our most inoffensive inquiries, who plainly wraps himself up in impenetrable obscurity, seems, as it were, to build a wall about his breast. We run for|ward to get within it, with all the eagerness of harmless curiosity, and feel ourselves all at once pushed back with the rudest and most

offensive violence. If to conceal is so dis|agreeable, to attempt to deceive us is still more disgusting, even tho' we could possibly suffer nothing by the success of the fraud. If we see that our companion wants to im|pose upon us, if the sentiments and opinions which he utters appear evidently not to be his own, let them be ever so fine, we can derive no sort of entertainment from them; and if something of human nature did not now and then transpire through all the covers which falshood and affectation are capable of wraping around it, a puppet of wood would be altogether as pleasant a companion as a person who never spoke as he was affected. No man ever deceives, with regard to the most insignificant matters, who is not con|scious of doing something like an injury to those he converses with; and who does not inwardly blush and shrink back with shame and confusion even at the secret thought of a detection. Breach of veracity, therefore, be|ing always attended with some degree of re|morse and self-condemnation, naturally fell under the cognizance of the casuists.

The chief subjects of the works of the casuists, therefore, were the conscientious

regard that is due to the rules of justice; how far we ought to respect the life and property of our neighbour; the duty of re|stitution; the laws of chastity and modesty, and wherein consisted what, in their lan|guage are called the sins of concupiscence: the rules of veracity and the obligation of oaths, promises and contracts of all kinds.

It may be said in general of the works of the casuists that they attempted, to no purpose, to direct by arrow_back precise arrow_forward Rules what it belongs to feeling and sentiment only to judge of. How is it possible to ascertain by rules the exact point at which, in every case, a delicate sense of justice begins to run into a frivolous and weak scrupulosity of consci|ence? When it is that secrecy and reserve begin to grow into dissimulation? How far an agreeable irony may be carried, and at what arrow_back precise point it begins to degenerate into a detestable lie? What is the highest pitch of freedom and ease of behaviour which can be regarded as graceful and be|coming, and when it is that it first begins to run into a negligent and thoughtless licen|tiousness? With regard to all such matters, what would hold good in any one case

would scarce do so exactly in any other, and what constitutes the propriety and happiness of behaviour varies in every case with the smallest variety of situation. Books of ca|suistry, therefore, are generally as useless as they are commonly tiresome. They could be of little use to one who should consult them upon occasion, even supposing their de|cisions to be just; because, notwithstanding the multitude of cases collected in them, yet upon account of the still greater variety of possible circumstances, it is a chance, if among all those cases there be found one ex|actly parallel to that under consideration. One, who is really anxious to do his duty, must be very weak, if he can imagine that he has much occasion for them; and with regard to one who is negligent of it, the stile of those writings is not such as is likely to awaken him to more attention. None of them tend to animate us to what is generous and noble. None of them tend to soften us to what is gentle and humane. Many of them, on the contrary, tend rather to teach us to chicane with our own consciences, and by their vain subtilties serve to authorise in|numerable evasive refinements with regard

to the most essential articles of our duty. That frivolous accuracy which they at|tempted to introduce into subjects which do not admit of it, almost necessarily betrayed them into those dangerous errors, and at the same time rendered their works dry and dis|agree••ble, abounding in abstruse and meta|physical distinctions, but incapable of ex|citing in the heart any of those emotions which it is the principal use of books of morality to excite.

The two useful parts of moral philosophy, therefore, are Ethics and Jurisprudence: casuistry ought to be rejected altogether, and the ancient moralists appear to have judged much better, who, in treating of the same subjects, did not affect any such nice exact|ness, but contented themselves with describ|ing in a general manner, what is the senti|ment upon which justice, modesty and vera|sity are founded, and what is the ordinary way of acting to which those virtues would commonly prompt us.

Something, indeed, not unlike the doctrine of the casuists, seems to have been attempted by several philosophers. There is something of this kind in the third book of Cicero's of|fices,

where he endeavours like a casuist to give rules for our conduct in many nice cases, in which it is difficult to determine where|abouts the point of propriety may lie. It appears too, from many passages in the same book, that several other philosophers had at|tempted something of the same kind before him. Neither he nor they, however, ap|pear to have aimed at giving a compleat system of this sort, but only meant to show how situations may occur, in which it is doubtful, whether the highest propriety of conduct consists in observing or in receeding from what, in ordinary cases, are the rules of duty.

Every system of positive law may be regarded as a more or less imperfect attempt towards a system of natural jurisprudence, or towards an enumeration of the particular rules of justice. As the violation of justice is what men will never submit to from one another, the publick magistrate is under a necessity of employing the power of the commonwealth to enforce the practice of this virtue. With|out this precaution, civil society would be|come a scene of bloodshed and disorder, every man revenging himself at his own hand whenever he fancied he was injured.

To prevent the confusion which would at|tend upon every man's doing justice to him|self, the magistrate, in all governments that have acquired any considerable authority, undertakes to do justice to all, and promises to hear and to redress every complaint of in|jury. In all well-governed states too not only judges are appointed for determining the controversies of individuals, but rules are prescribed for regulating the decisions of those judges; and these rules are, in gene|ral, intended to coincide with those of natu|ral justice. It does not, indeed, always hap|pen that they do so in every instance. Some|times what is called the constitution of the state, that is, the interest of the government; sometimes the interest of particular orders of men who tyrannize the government, warp the positive laws of the country from what na|tural justice would prescribe. In some countries, the rudeness and barbarism of the people hinder the natural sentiments of justice from arriving at that accuracy and precision which, in more civi|lised nations, they naturally attain to. Their laws are like their manners gross and rude and undistinguishing. In other countries the unfortunate constitution of their courts of judicature hinders any regular system of juris|prudence

from ever establishing itself among them, tho' the improved manners of the people may be such as would admit of the most accurate. In no country do the deci|sions of positive law coincide exactly in every case with the rules which the natural sense of justice would dictate. Systems of positive law, therefore, tho' they deserve the greatest authority as the records of the sentiments of mankind in different ages and nations, yet can never be regarded as accurate systems of the rules of natural justice.

It might have been expected that the rea|sonings of lawyers upon the different imper|fections and improvements of the laws of dif|ferent countries, should have given occasion to an enquiry into what were the natural rules of justice, independent of all positive in|stitution. It might have been expected that these reasonings should have led them to aim at establishing a system of what might pro|perly be called natural jurisprudence, or a theory of the general principles which ought to run through and be the foundation of the laws of all nations. But tho' the reasonings of lawyers did produce something of this

kind, and though no man has treated systema|tically of the laws of any particular country, without intermixing in his work many ob|servations of this sort; it was very late in the world before any such general system was thought of, or before the philosophy of law was treated of by itself, and without re|gard to the particular institutions of any one nation. In none of the ancient moralists, do we find any attempt towards a particular enu|meration of the rules of justice. Cicero in his offices, and Aristotle in his ethics, treat of justice in the same general manner in which they treat of all the other virtues. In the laws of Cicero and Plato, where we might naturally have expected some attempts to|wards an enumeration of those rules of natu|ral equity, which ought to be enforced by the positive laws of every country, there is, however, nothing of this kind. Their laws are laws of police not of justice. Grotius seems to have been the first who attempted to give the world any thing like a system of those principles which ought to run thro', and be the foundation of the laws of all na|tions; and his treatise of the laws of war and peace, with all its imperfections, is per|haps

at this day the most compleat work that has yet been given upon this subject. I shall in another discourse endeavour to give an ac|count of the general principles of law and government, and of the different revolu|tions they have undergone in the different ages and periods of society, not only in what concerns justice but in what concerns po|lice, revenue and arms, and whatever else is the object of law. I shall not, therefore, at present enter into any further detail con|cerning the history of jurisprudence.

Notes

• * 1.1

  St. Augustine, la Placette.