Appendix 1: Moral Feelings

IF the foregoing hypothesis be received, it will now be easy for us to determine the question first started, [FOOTNOTE: Sect. 1.] concerning the general principles of morals; and though we postponed the decision of that question, lest it should then involve us in intricate speculations, which are unfit for moral discourses, we may resume it at present, and examine how far either REASON or SENTIMENT enters into all decisions of praise or censure.

If the preceding hypothesis is accepted, we can now easily settle the question first raised [FOOTNOTE: Sect. 1.] about the general principles of morals. We postponed deciding that question to avoid complicated speculation, which is unsuitable for discussions of morality. But we may now return to the question and examine how far either REASON or SENTIMENT enters into all judgments of praise or blame.

One principal foundation of moral praise being supposed to lie in the usefulness of any quality or action, it is evident that REASON must enter for a considerable share in all decisions of this kind; since nothing but that faculty can instruct us in the tendency of qualities and actions, and point out their beneficial consequences to society and to their possessor. In many cases this is an affair liable to great controversy: doubts may arise; opposite interests may occur; and a preference must be given to one side, from very nice views, and a small overbalance of utility. This is particularly remarkable in questions with regard to justice; as is, indeed, natural to suppose, from that species of utility which attends this virtue⁴⁹. Were every single instance of justice, like that of benevolence, useful to society; this would be a more simple state of the case, and seldom liable to great controversy. But as single instances of justice are often pernicious in their first and immediate tendency, and as the advantage to society results only from the observance of the general rule, and from the concurrence and combination of several persons in the same equitable conduct; the case here becomes more intricate and involved. The various circumstances of society; the various consequences of any practice; the various interests which may be proposed; these, on many occasions, are doubtful, and subject to great discussion and inquiry. The object of municipal laws is to fix all the questions with regard to justice: the debates of civilians; the reflections of politicians; the precedents of history and public records, are all directed to the same purpose. And a very accurate REASON or JUDGEMENT is often requisite, to give the true determination, amidst such intricate doubts arising from obscure or opposite utilities.

Suppose that one main reason we praise qualities or actions is their usefulness. It is then clear that REASON must play a considerable part in all such judgments. Only reason can teach us what qualities and actions tend to produce. It can also show us their beneficial consequences for society and for the person who possesses the quality or performs the action. In many cases, these consequences are open to great controversy. Doubts may arise, and interests may conflict. We may have to favor one side based on very careful consideration and a small advantage in usefulness. This is especially noticeable in questions about justice. That is natural to expect, given the kind of usefulness that belongs to this virtue⁴⁹. If every individual act of justice were useful to society, as every act of benevolence is, the matter would be simpler. It would seldom be open to great controversy. But individual acts of justice are often harmful in their first and immediate effects. The benefit to society comes only from observing the general rule and from several people acting fairly together. So the matter becomes more complicated. The circumstances of society, the consequences of a practice, and the interests that may be pursued are often uncertain. They are subject to extensive discussion and inquiry. Laws within a society aim to settle all questions about justice. The debates of legal scholars, the reflections of politicians, and precedents found in history and public records all serve the same purpose. When the usefulness of a course of action is unclear or conflicts with other benefits, the resulting doubts can be complex. Very precise REASON or JUDGMENT is often needed to reach the right decision among them.

But though reason, when fully assisted and improved, be sufficient to instruct us in the pernicious or useful tendency of qualities and actions; it is not alone sufficient to produce any moral blame or approbation. Utility is only a tendency to a certain end; and were the end totally indifferent to us, we should feel the same indifference towards the means. It is requisite a SENTIMENT should here display itself, in order to give a preference to the useful above the pernicious tendencies. This SENTIMENT can be no other than a feeling for the happiness of mankind, and a resentment of their misery; since these are the different ends which virtue and vice have a tendency to promote. Here therefore REASON instructs us in the several tendencies of actions, and HUMANITY makes a distinction in favour of those which are useful and beneficial.

But although reason, when fully supported and developed, can tell us whether qualities and actions tend to be harmful or useful, reason alone cannot produce moral blame or approval. Usefulness is only a tendency toward a certain end. If we were completely indifferent to that end, we would feel the same indifference toward the means. A SENTIMENT must therefore come into play to make us prefer useful tendencies to harmful ones. This SENTIMENT can only be concern for the happiness of humanity and distress at its misery. For happiness and misery are the different ends that virtue and vice tend to promote. REASON therefore tells us about the different tendencies of actions, and HUMANITY leads us to favor those that are useful and beneficial.

This partition between the faculties of understanding and sentiment, in all moral decisions, seems clear from the preceding hypothesis. But I shall suppose that hypothesis false: it will then be requisite to look out for some other theory that may be satisfactory; and I dare venture to affirm that none such will ever be found, so long as we suppose reason to be the sole source of morals. To prove this, it will be proper t o weigh the five following considerations.

The preceding theory seems to show clearly how understanding and feeling each contribute to all moral decisions. But suppose that theory is false. We would then need to look for another satisfactory theory. I would venture to say that we will never find one as long as we assume that reason alone is the source of morality. To prove this, we should consider the following five points.

I. It is easy for a false hypothesis to maintain some appearance of truth, while it keeps wholly in generals, makes use of undefined terms, and employs comparisons, instead of instances. This is particularly remarkable in that philosophy, which ascribes the discernment of all moral distinctions to reason alone, without the concurrence of sentiment. It is impossible that, in any particular instance, this hypothesis can so much as be rendered intelligible, whatever specious figure it may make in general declamations and discourses. Examine the crime of INGRATITUDE, for instance; which has place, wherever we observe good-will, expressed and known, together with good-offices performed, on the one side, and a return of ill-will or indifference, with ill-offices or neglect on the other: anatomize all these circumstances, and examine, by your reason alone, in what consists the demerit or blame. You never will come to any issue or conclusion.

I. A false theory can easily seem true as long as it stays entirely general. It may use undefined terms and comparisons instead of examples. This is especially noticeable in the philosophy that attributes the recognition of all moral distinctions to reason alone, without any help from feeling. However convincing this theory may seem in general speeches and discussions, it is impossible to make it even intelligible in any particular case. Take the wrong of INGRATITUDE, for example. It occurs when one person has shown known goodwill and done good deeds for another. In return, the other person shows ill will or indifference and does harm or fails to help. Examine all these circumstances closely. Then use reason alone to determine what makes this behavior wrong or blameworthy. You will never reach an answer or a conclusion.

Reason judges either of MATTER OF FACT or of RELATIONS. Enquire then, first, where is that matter of fact which we here call crime; point it out; determine the time of its existence; describe its essence or nature; explain the sense or faculty to which it discovers itself. It resides in the mind of the person who is ungrateful. He must, therefore, feel it, and be conscious of it. But nothing is there, except the passion of ill-will or absolute indifference. You cannot say that these, of themselves, always, and in all circumstances, are crimes. No, they are only crimes when directed towards persons who have before expressed and displayed good-will towards us. Consequently, we may infer, that the crime of ingratitude is not any particular individual FACT; but arises from a complication of circumstances, which, being presented to the spectator, excites the SENTIMENT of blame, by the particular structure and fabric of his mind.

Reason judges either matters of fact or relations. First, then, ask where the matter of fact we call a crime is. Point it out. Determine when it exists. Describe its essence or nature. Explain the sense or faculty through which it reveals itself. It resides in the mind of the ungrateful person. That person must therefore feel it and be aware of it. But nothing is there except ill will or complete indifference. You cannot say that ill will and indifference are always crimes in themselves, in every circumstance. No, they are crimes only when directed at people who have previously expressed and shown goodwill toward us. Consequently, we may infer that the crime of ingratitude is not any single, particular fact. Rather, it arises from a combination of circumstances. When an observer sees those circumstances, the particular structure and makeup of the observer’s mind arouse a feeling of blame.

This representation, you say, is false. Crime, indeed, consists not in a particular FACT, of whose reality we are assured by reason; but it consists in certain MORAL RELATIONS, discovered by reason, in the same manner as we discover by reason the truths of geometry or algebra. But what are the relations, I ask, of which you here talk? In the case stated above, I see first good-will and good-offices in one person; then ill-will and ill-offices in the other. Between these, there is a relation of CONTRARIETY. Does the crime consist in that relation? But suppose a person bore me ill-will or did me ill-offices; and I, in return, were indifferent towards him, or did him good offices. Here is the same relation of CONTRARIETY; and yet my conduct is often highly laudable. Twist and turn this matter as much as you will, you can never rest the morality on relation; but must have recourse to the decisions of sentiment.

You say this account is false. Crime, you argue, does not consist in a particular FACT whose reality reason can establish. Instead, it consists in certain MORAL RELATIONS, discovered by reason, just as we discover truths in geometry or algebra. But what relations are you talking about? In the case above, I see one person showing goodwill and doing good deeds. Then I see the other showing ill will and doing harmful deeds. These have a relation of CONTRARIETY, or opposition. Does the crime consist in that relation? But suppose someone showed me ill will or did me harm. Suppose I responded with indifference or did that person good. The same relation of CONTRARIETY would exist, yet my conduct is often highly praiseworthy. Twist and turn the matter as much as you like, you can never base morality on relations. You must appeal to the judgments of sentiment.

When it is affirmed that two and three are equal to the half of ten, this relation of equality I understand perfectly. I conceive, that if ten be divided into two parts, of which one has as many units as the other; and if any of these parts be compared to two added to three, it will contain as many units as that compound number. But when you draw thence a comparison to moral relations, I own that I am altogether at a loss to understand you. A moral action, a crime, such as ingratitude, is a complicated object. Does the morality consist in the relation of its parts to each other? How? After what manner? Specify the relation: be more particular and explicit in your propositions, and you will easily see their falsehood.

When someone says that two plus three equals half of ten, I understand this relation of equality perfectly. Suppose ten is divided into two parts, each containing the same number of units. If either part is compared with two plus three, it will contain the same number of units as that combined number. But when you compare this equality to moral relations, I confess that I do not understand you at all. A moral action, a crime such as ingratitude, is a complicated thing. Does its morality consist in the relation of its parts to one another? How? In what way? Specify the relation. State your claims more precisely and clearly, and you will easily see that they are false.

No, say you, the morality consists in the relation of actions to the rule of right; and they are denominated good or ill, according as they agree or disagree with it. What then is this rule of right? In what does it consist? How is it determined? By reason, you say, which examines the moral relations of actions. So that moral relations are determined by the comparison of action to a rule. And that rule is determined by considering the moral relations of objects. Is not this fine reasoning?

No, you say, morality consists in how actions relate to the rule of right. Actions are called good or bad depending on whether they agree with that rule. But what is this rule of right? What does it consist of? How is it determined? By reason, you say, which examines the moral relations of actions. So moral relations are determined by comparing actions to a rule. And the rule is determined by considering the moral relations of objects. Isn't that fine reasoning?

All this is metaphysics, you cry. That is enough; there needs nothing more to give a strong presumption of falsehood. Yes, reply I, here are metaphysics surely; but they are all on your side, who advance an abstruse hypothesis, which can never be made intelligible, nor quadrate with any particular instance or illustration. The hypothesis which we embrace is plain. It maintains that morality is determined by sentiment. It defines virtue to be WHATEVER MENTAL ACTION OR QUALITY GIVES TO A SPECTATOR THE PLEASING SENTIMENT OF APPROBATION; and vice the contrary. We then proceed to examine a plain matter of fact, to wit, what actions have this influence. We consider all the circumstances in which these actions agree, and thence endeavour to extract some general observations with regard to these sentiments. If you call this metaphysics, and find anything abstruse here, you need only conclude that your turn of mind is not suited to the moral sciences.

“All this is metaphysics,” you cry. “That is enough. Nothing more is needed to give us strong reason to think it false.” Yes, I reply, there is certainly metaphysics here. But it is all on your side. You put forward an obscure theory that can never be made intelligible or made to fit any particular example or illustration. The theory we accept is plain. It holds that morality is determined by feeling. It defines virtue as ANY MENTAL ACTION OR QUALITY THAT GIVES AN OBSERVER A PLEASANT FEELING OF APPROVAL, and vice as the opposite. We then examine a plain matter of fact: what actions have this effect? We consider all the circumstances these actions have in common. From these, we try to draw some general conclusions about these feelings. If you call this metaphysics and find anything obscure in it, you need only conclude that your mind is not suited to the moral sciences.

II. When a man, at any time, deliberates concerning his own conduct (as, whether he had better, in a particular emergence, assist a brother or a benefactor), he must consider these separate relations, with all the circumstances and situations of the persons, in order to determine the superior duty and obligation; and in order to determine the proportion of lines in any triangle, it is necessary to examine the nature of that figure, and the relation which its several parts bear to each other. But notwithstanding this appearing similarity in the two cases, there is, at bottom, an extreme difference between them. A speculative reasoner concerning triangles or circles considers the several known and given relations of the parts of these figures; and thence infers some unknown relation, which is dependent on the former. But in moral deliberations we must be acquainted beforehand with all the objects, and all their relations to each other; and from a comparison of the whole, fix our choice or approbation. No new fact to be ascertained; no new relation to be discovered. All the circumstances of the case are supposed to be laid before us, ere we can fix any sentence of blame or approbation. If any material circumstance be yet unknown or doubtful, we must first employ our inquiry or intellectual faculties to assure us of it; and must suspend for a time all moral decision or sentiment. While we are ignorant whether a man were aggressor or not, how can we determine whether the person who killed him be criminal or innocent? But after every circumstance, every relation is known, the understanding has no further room to operate, nor any object on which it could employ itself. The approbation or blame which then ensues, cannot be the work of the judgement, but of the heart; and is not a speculative proposition or affirmation, but an active feeling or sentiment. In the disquisitions of the understanding, from known circumstances and relations, we infer some new and unknown. In moral decisions, all the circumstances and relations must be previously known; and the mind, from the contemplation of the whole, feels some new impression of affection or disgust, esteem or contempt, approbation or blame.

II. When a person considers how to act, he must consider the different relationships involved. For example, in a particular emergency, should he help a brother or a benefactor? To decide which duty or obligation is greater, he must consider their circumstances and situations. Similarly, to determine the proportions of the sides of a triangle, we must examine the nature of the figure. We must also examine how its parts relate to one another. But despite this apparent similarity, there is a fundamental difference between the two cases. Someone reasoning about triangles or circles considers the various known relationships between their parts. From these, he infers an unknown relationship that depends on them. But in moral deliberation, we must first know all the things involved and all their relationships to one another. We then compare the whole and decide what to choose or approve. There is no new fact to establish and no new relationship to discover. All the circumstances of the case must be before us before we can judge anything worthy of blame or approval. If any important circumstance is still unknown or uncertain, we must first use our powers of inquiry or reasoning to establish it. Until then, we must suspend all moral judgment or feeling. If we do not know whether a man was the aggressor, how can we judge whether his killer is guilty or innocent? But once every circumstance and relationship is known, reason has no further work to do and nothing left to examine. The approval or blame that follows cannot be the work of judgment, but of the heart. It is not a theoretical proposition or statement, but an active feeling or sentiment. In reasoning, we infer some new and unknown circumstances or relationships from those already known. In moral decisions, all the circumstances and relationships must be known beforehand. Then, as the mind considers the whole, it feels some new impression of affection or disgust, esteem or contempt, approval or blame.

Hence the great difference between a mistake of FACT and one of RIGHT; and hence the reason why the one is commonly criminal and not the other. When Oedipus killed Laius, he was ignorant of the relation, and from circumstances, innocent and involuntary, formed erroneous opinions concerning the action which he committed. But when Nero killed Agrippina, all the relations between himself and the person, and all the circumstances of the fact, were previously known to him; but the motive of revenge, or fear, or interest, prevailed in his savage heart over the sentiments of duty and humanity. And when we express that detestation against him to which he himself, in a little time, became insensible, it is not that we see any relations, of which he was ignorant; but that, for the rectitude of our disposition, we feel sentiments against which he was hardened from flattery and a long perseverance in the most enormous crimes.

This explains the great difference between a mistake of FACT and a mistake of RIGHT. It also explains why a mistake of right is usually criminal, while a mistake of fact is not. When Oedipus killed Laius, he did not know how they were related. Innocent and unintentional circumstances led him to form mistaken beliefs about what he was doing. But when Nero killed Agrippina, he already knew all the relationships between them and all the circumstances of the act. Yet revenge, fear, or self-interest prevailed in his savage heart over his sense of duty and humanity. When we express our hatred of Nero, it is not because we see relationships he did not know about. Nero himself soon became numb to such hatred. Rather, because of our sound moral character, we feel sentiments against which flattery and a long course of the most horrific crimes had hardened him.

In these sentiments then, not in a discovery of relations of any kind, do all moral determinations consist. Before we can pretend to form any decision of this kind, everything must be known and ascertained on the side of the object or action. Nothing remains but to feel, on our part, some sentiment of blame or approbation; whence we pronounce the action criminal or virtuous.

All moral judgments, then, consist in these feelings, not in discovering relations of any kind. Before we can make a moral judgment, we must know and establish everything about the object or action. All that remains is for us to feel some blame or approval. On that basis, we declare the action criminal or virtuous.

III. This doctrine will become still more evident, if we compare moral beauty with natural, to which in many particulars it bears so near a resemblance. It is on the proportion, relation, and position of parts, that all natural beauty depends; but it would be absurd thence to infer, that the perception of beauty, like that of truth in geometrical problems, consists wholly in the perception of relations, and was performed entirely by the understanding or intellectual faculties. In all the sciences, our mind from the known relations investigates the unknown. But in all decisions of taste or external beauty, all the relations are beforehand obvious to the eye; and we thence proceed to feel a sentiment of complacency or disgust, according to the nature of the object, and disposition of our organs.

III. This doctrine will become even clearer if we compare moral beauty with natural beauty. In many respects, the two are very similar. All natural beauty depends on the proportions, relationships, and arrangement of its parts. But it would be absurd to conclude that perceiving beauty consists entirely in perceiving relationships. That would mean perceiving beauty, like perceiving truth in geometrical problems, was entirely a matter of understanding or intellect. In all the sciences, our minds use known relationships to investigate unknown ones. But in all judgments of taste or outward beauty, all the relationships are already plain to the eye. We then feel pleasure or disgust, depending on the nature of the object and the condition of our senses.

Euclid has fully explained all the qualities of the circle; but has not in any proposition said a word of its beauty. The reason is evident. The beauty is not a quality of the circle. It lies not in any part of the line, whose parts are equally distant from a common centre. It is only the effect which that figure produces upon the mind, whose peculiar fabric of structure renders it susceptible of such sentiments. In vain would you look for it in the circle, or seek it, either by your senses or by mathematical reasoning, in all the properties of that figure.

Euclid has fully explained all the qualities of a circle, but he has never mentioned its beauty in any proposition. The reason is clear. Beauty is not a quality of the circle. It is not found in any part of the line whose points are equally distant from a common center. Beauty is only the effect the circle produces on the mind. The mind’s particular structure makes it capable of such feelings. You would search in vain for beauty in the circle. You could not find it among the circle’s properties, either through your senses or through mathematical reasoning.

Attend to Palladio and Perrault, while they explain all the parts and proportions of a pillar. They talk of the cornice, and frieze, and base, and entablature, and shaft, and architrave; and give the description and position of each of these members. But should you ask the description and position of its beauty, they would readily reply, that the beauty is not in any of the parts or members of a pillar, but results from the whole, when that complicated figure is presented to an intelligent mind, susceptible to those finer sensations. Till such a spectator appear, there is nothing but a figure of such particular dimensions and proportions: from his sentiments alone arise its elegance and beauty.

Listen to Palladio and Perrault explain all the parts and proportions of a pillar. They discuss the cornice, frieze, base, entablature, shaft, and architrave. They describe each part and explain its position. But suppose you asked them to describe the pillar’s beauty and say where it is. They would readily reply that its beauty is not in any of its parts. Instead, beauty arises from the whole when this complex form is presented to an intelligent mind capable of finer feelings. Until such a viewer appears, there is nothing but a form with particular dimensions and proportions. Its elegance and beauty arise solely from the viewer’s feelings.

Again; attend to Cicero, while he paints the crimes of a Verres or a Catiline. You must acknowledge that the moral turpitude results, in the same manner, from the contemplation of the whole, when presented to a being whose organs have such a particular structure and formation. The orator may paint rage, insolence, barbarity on the one side; meekness, suffering, sorrow, innocence on the other. But if you feel no indignation or compassion arise in you from this complication of circumstances, you would in vain ask him, in what consists the crime or villainy, which he so vehemently exclaims against? At what time, or on what subject it first began to exist? And what has a few months afterwards become of it, when every disposition and thought of all the actors is totally altered or annihilated? No satisfactory answer can be given to any of these questions, upon the abstract hypothesis of morals; and we must at last acknowledge, that the crime or immorality is no particular fact or relation, which can be the object of the understanding, but arises entirely from the sentiment of disapprobation, which, by the structure of human nature, we unavoidably feel on the apprehension of barbarity or treachery.

Again, listen to Cicero as he describes the crimes of a Verres or a Catiline. You must acknowledge that, in the same way, moral ugliness arises from viewing the whole scene. It arises when the scene is presented to a being whose organs have a particular structure and form. The orator may portray rage, arrogance, and cruelty on one side, and gentleness, suffering, sorrow, and innocence on the other. But suppose these circumstances together arouse no indignation or compassion in you. You would ask in vain what constitutes the crime or villainy he condemns so vehemently. When did the crime first come into existence, and in whom or what? And what has become of it a few months later, when every disposition and thought of everyone involved has completely changed or disappeared? No satisfactory answer can be given to any of these questions under the abstract theory of morals. In the end, we must acknowledge that the crime or immorality is not a particular fact or relation that reason can grasp. It arises entirely from the feeling of disapproval that, because of human nature, we inevitably feel when we perceive cruelty or treachery.

IV. Inanimate objects may bear to each other all the same relations which we observe in moral agents; though the former can never be the object of love or hatred, nor are consequently susceptible of merit or iniquity. A young tree, which over-tops and destroys its parent, stands in all the same relations with Nero, when he murdered Agrippina; and if morality consisted merely in relations, would no doubt be equally criminal.

IV. Inanimate objects can have all the same relations to each other that we observe among moral agents. Yet inanimate objects can never be objects of love or hatred. They cannot, therefore, have merit or be guilty of wrongdoing. A young tree that grows taller than its parent and destroys it has all the same relations to its parent as Nero had to Agrippina when he murdered her. If morality consisted only in relations, the young tree would no doubt be equally guilty.

V. It appears evident that—the ultimate ends of human actions can never, in any case, be accounted for by reason, but recommend themselves entirely to the sentiments and affections of mankind, without any dependance on the intellectual faculties. Ask a man WHY HE USES EXERCISE; he will answer, BECAUSE HE DESIRES TO KEEP HIS HEALTH. If you then enquire, WHY HE DESIRES HEALTH, he will readily reply, BECAUSE SICKNESS IS PAINFUL. If you push your enquiries farther, and desire a reason WHY HE HATES PAIN, it is impossible he can ever give any. This is an ultimate end, and is never referred to any other object.

V. It seems clear that reason can never explain the ultimate ends of human actions. These ends appeal entirely to human feelings and desires, without depending on our ability to reason. Ask a man why he exercises, and he will answer that he wants to stay healthy. If you then ask why he wants health, he will readily reply that sickness is painful. If you press further and ask why he hates pain, he cannot possibly give a reason. Avoiding pain is an ultimate end, and it is never pursued for the sake of anything else.

Perhaps to your second question, WHY HE DESIRES HEALTH, he may also reply, that IT IS NECESSARY FOR THE EXERCISE OF HIS CALLING. If you ask, WHY HE IS ANXIOUS ON THAT HEAD, he will answer, BECAUSE HE DESIRES TO GET MONEY. If you demand WHY? IT IS THE INSTRUMENT OF PLEASURE, says he. And beyond this it is an absurdity to ask for a reason. It is impossible there can be a progress IN INFINITUM; and that one thing can always be a reason why another is desired. Something must be desirable on its own account, and because of its immediate accord or agreement with human sentiment and affection.

Perhaps, to your second question, WHY HE WANTS HEALTH, he may also reply that HE NEEDS IT FOR HIS WORK. If you ask WHY HE CARES ABOUT HIS WORK, he will answer, BECAUSE HE WANTS TO MAKE MONEY. If you ask WHY, he says, IT IS A MEANS TO PLEASURE. Beyond this, it is absurd to ask for a reason. The chain of reasons cannot go on forever. One thing cannot always be the reason another is desired. Something must be desirable for its own sake, because it directly agrees with human feelings and affections.

Now as virtue is an end, and is desirable on its own account, without fee and reward, merely for the immediate satisfaction which it conveys; it is requisite that there should be some sentiment which it touches, some internal taste or feeling, or whatever you may please to call it, which distinguishes moral good and evil, and which embraces the one and rejects the other.

Virtue is an end in itself. It is desirable for its own sake, without payment or reward, simply because it gives immediate satisfaction. So there must be some sentiment that virtue touches, some inner taste or feeling, or whatever you choose to call it. This feeling distinguishes moral good from moral evil. It embraces the one and rejects the other.

Thus the distinct boundaries and offices of REASON and of TASTE are easily ascertained. The former conveys the knowledge of truth and falsehood: the latter gives the sentiment of beauty and deformity, vice and virtue. The one discovers objects as they really stand in nature, without addition and diminution: the other has a productive faculty, and gilding or staining all natural objects with the colours, borrowed from internal sentiment, raises in a manner a new creation. Reason being cool and disengaged, is no motive to action, and directs only the impulse received from appetite or inclination, by showing us the means of attaining happiness or avoiding misery: Taste, as it gives pleasure or pain, and thereby constitutes happiness or misery, becomes a motive to action, and is the first spring or impulse to desire and volition. From circumstances and relations, known or supposed, the former leads us to the discovery of the concealed and unknown: after all circumstances and relations are laid before us, the latter makes us feel from the whole a new sentiment of blame or approbation. The standard of the one, being founded on the nature of things, is eternal and inflexible, even by the will of the Supreme Being: the standard of the other arising from the eternal frame and constitution of animals, is ultimately derived from that Supreme Will, which bestowed on each being its peculiar nature, and arranged the several classes and orders of existence.

The distinct limits and roles of REASON and TASTE are therefore easy to establish. Reason gives us knowledge of truth and falsehood. Taste gives us a sense of beauty and ugliness, vice and virtue. Reason reveals things as they really are in nature, without adding or taking anything away. Taste, by contrast, has a creative power. It colors all natural objects with feelings drawn from within us, making them seem beautiful or ugly. In this way, taste creates, in a sense, a new world. Reason is cool and detached, so it does not itself motivate us to act. It only directs the impulses we receive from appetite or inclination. It does this by showing us how to achieve happiness or avoid misery. Taste, by contrast, gives us pleasure or pain and so makes up our happiness or misery. It therefore motivates action and is the first source of desire and choice. From circumstances and relationships that are known or supposed, reason leads us to discover what is hidden and unknown. Once all the circumstances and relationships are before us, taste makes us feel a new sentiment of blame or approval toward the whole. The standard of reason is founded on the nature of things. It is eternal and unchanging, even by the will of the Supreme Being. The standard of taste, by contrast, arises from the eternal nature and constitution of animals. It ultimately comes from the Supreme Will, which gave each being its particular nature and arranged the various classes and orders of existence.