Appendix 4. Some Disputes About Words

Nothing is more usual than for philosophers to encroach upon the province of grammarians; and to engage in disputes of words, while they imagine that they are handling controversies of the deepest importance and concern. It was in order to avoid altercations, so frivolous and endless, that I endeavoured to state with the utmost caution the object of our present enquiry; and proposed simply to collect, on the one hand, a list of those mental qualities which are the object of love or esteem, and form a part of personal merit; and on the other hand, a catalogue of those qualities which are the object of censure or reproach, and which detract from the character of the person possessed of them; subjoining some reflections concerning the origin of these sentiments of praise or blame. On all occasions, where there might arise the least hesitation, I avoided the terms VIRTUE and VICE; because some of those qualities, which I classed among the objects of praise, receive, in the English language, the appellation of TALENTS, rather than of virtues; as some of the blameable or censurable qualities are often called defects, rather than vices. It may now, perhaps, be expected that before we conclude this moral enquiry, we should exactly separate the one from the other; should mark the precise boundaries of virtues and talents, vices and defects; and should explain the reason and origin of that distinction. But in order to excuse myself from this undertaking, which would, at last, prove only a grammatical enquiry, I shall subjoin the four following reflections, which shall contain all that I intend to say on the present subject.

Nothing is more common than for philosophers to stray into the territory of grammarians. They argue over words while imagining that they are dealing with matters of the deepest importance. To avoid such pointless and endless disputes, I tried to define the subject of our present inquiry with the greatest care. I proposed simply to make two lists of mental qualities. One would contain qualities that inspire love or esteem and form part of a person’s merit. The other would contain qualities that attract criticism or reproach and diminish a person’s character. I would then add some reflections on the origin of these feelings of praise and blame. Whenever there might be the slightest doubt, I avoided the terms VIRTUE and VICE. I did so because, in English, some qualities I classed as worthy of praise are called TALENTS rather than virtues. Similarly, some qualities open to blame or criticism are often called defects rather than vices. Perhaps it may now be expected that, before concluding this moral inquiry, we should separate these categories exactly. We should mark the precise boundaries between virtues and talents, and between vices and defects. We should also explain the reason for and origin of this distinction. But I wish to excuse myself from that task, which would ultimately prove to be only an inquiry into grammar. Instead, I will add the following four reflections, which contain all I intend to say on the subject.

First, I do not find that in the English, or any other modern tongue, the boundaries are exactly fixed between virtues and talents, vices and defects, or that a precise definition can be given of the one as contradistinguished from the other. Were we to say, for instance, that the esteemable qualities alone, which are voluntary, are entitled to the appellations of virtues; we should soon recollect the qualities of courage, equanimity, patience, self-command; with many others, which almost every language classes under this appellation, though they depend little or not at all on our choice. Should we affirm that the qualities alone, which prompt us to act our part in society, are entitled to that honourable distinction; it must immediately occur that these are indeed the most valuable qualities, and are commonly denominated the SOCIAL virtues; but that this very epithet supposes that there are also virtues of another species. Should we lay hold of the distinction between INTELLECTUAL and MORAL endowments, and affirm the last alone to be the real and genuine virtues, because they alone lead to action; we should find that many of those qualities, usually called intellectual virtues, such as prudence, penetration, discernment, discretion, had also a considerable influence on conduct. The distinction between the heart and the head may also be adopted: the qualities of the first may be defined such as in their immediate exertion are accompanied with a feeling of sentiment; and these alone may be called the genuine virtues: but industry, frugality, temperance, secrecy, perseverance, and many other laudable powers or habits, generally stilled virtues are exerted without any immediate sentiment in the person possessed of them, and are only known to him by their effects. It is fortunate, amidst all this seeming perplexity, that the question, being merely verbal, cannot possibly be of any importance. A moral, philosophical discourse needs not enter into all these caprices of language, which are so variable in different dialects, and in different ages of the same dialect. But on the whole, it seems to me, that though it is always allowed, that there are virtues of many different kinds, yet, when a man is called virtuous, or is denominated a man of virtue, we chiefly regard his social qualities, which are, indeed, the most valuable. It is, at the same time, certain, that any remarkable defect in courage, temperance, economy, industry, understanding, dignity of mind, would bereave even a very good-natured, honest man of this honourable appellation. Who did ever say, except by way of irony, that such a one was a man of great virtue, but an egregious blockhead?

First, I do not find that English or any other modern language draws an exact line between virtues and talents, or between vices and defects. Nor can we define either of these pairs precisely in contrast to the other. Suppose, for example, we said that only admirable qualities we choose to exercise deserve to be called virtues. We would soon remember courage, composure, patience, self-control, and many other qualities. Almost every language calls these virtues, though they depend little or not at all on our choices. Suppose we claimed that only the qualities that prompt us to play our part in society deserve that honorable name. We would immediately see that these are indeed the most valuable qualities and are commonly called SOCIAL virtues. But the very name suggests that there are other kinds of virtue too. Suppose we distinguished between INTELLECTUAL and MORAL qualities. We might claim that only moral qualities are real, genuine virtues because only they lead to action. But we would find that many qualities usually called intellectual virtues also have considerable influence on conduct. These include prudence, insight, discernment, and discretion. We might also adopt the distinction between the heart and the head. We could define qualities of the heart as those accompanied by a feeling when they are exercised. We could then call only these genuine virtues. But industry, thrift, temperance, secrecy, perseverance, and many other praiseworthy abilities or habits are generally called virtues. Yet people exercise them without any immediate feeling and know them only by their effects. Fortunately, amid all this apparent confusion, the question concerns only words and cannot possibly be important. A philosophical discussion of morals need not address all these quirks of language. They vary so much between languages and between different periods of the same language. On the whole, it seems to me that virtues are always recognized as belonging to many different kinds. Yet when a man is called virtuous, or a man of virtue, we chiefly have his social qualities in mind. These are indeed the most valuable qualities. At the same time, a serious lack of courage, temperance, thrift, industry, understanding, or dignity of mind would certainly deprive him of that honorable name, even if he were very good-natured and honest. Who has ever said, except ironically, that someone was a man of great virtue but an utter fool?

But, Secondly, it is no wonder that languages should not be very precise in marking the boundaries between virtues and talents, vices and defects; since there is so little distinction made in our internal estimation of them. It seems indeed certain, that the SENTIMENT of conscious worth, the self-satisfaction proceeding from a review of a man's own conduct and character; it seems certain, I say, that this sentiment, which, though the most common of all others, has no proper name in our language,⁵⁶ arises from the endowments of courage and capacity, industry and ingenuity, as well as from any other mental excellencies. Who, on the other hand, is not deeply mortified with reflecting on his own folly and dissoluteness, and feels not a secret sting or compunction whenever his memory presents any past occurrence, where he behaved with stupidity of ill-manners? No time can efface the cruel ideas of a man's own foolish conduct, or of affronts, which cowardice or impudence has brought upon him. They still haunt his solitary hours, damp his most aspiring thoughts, and show him, even to himself, in the most contemptible and most odious colours imaginable.

But, second, it is no wonder that languages do not clearly distinguish virtues from talents, or vices from defects. We make so little distinction between them in our own judgments. We feel a sense of worth and satisfaction when we reflect on our own conduct and character. This feeling is more common than any other, though it has no proper name in our language.⁵⁶ It seems certain that it arises from courage and ability, hard work and ingenuity, as well as from other mental excellences. On the other hand, who is not deeply ashamed when reflecting on their own foolishness and lack of self-control? Who does not feel a secret sting of regret when remembering a time they behaved stupidly or rudely? Time cannot erase the painful memory of one's own foolish conduct, or of insults brought on by cowardice or shamelessness. These memories still haunt our solitary hours and dampen our most ambitious thoughts. They make us seem contemptible and hateful, even to ourselves, in the most imaginable way.

What is there too we are more anxious to conceal from others than such blunders, infirmities, and meannesses, or more dread to have exposed by raillery and satire? And is not the chief object of vanity, our bravery or learning, our wit or breeding, our eloquence or address, our taste or abilities? These we display with care, if not with ostentation; and we commonly show more ambition of excelling in them, than even in the social virtues themselves, which are, in reality, of such superior excellence. Good-nature and honesty, especially the latter, are so indispensably required, that, though the greatest censure attends any violation of these duties, no eminent praise follows such common instances of them, as seem essential to the support of human society. And hence the reason, in my opinion, why, though men often extol so liberally the qualities of their heart, they are shy in commending the endowments of their head: because the latter virtues, being supposed more rare and extraordinary, are observed to be the more usual objects of pride and self-conceit; and when boasted of, beget a strong suspicion of these sentiments.

What are we more anxious to hide from others than such blunders, weaknesses, and petty actions? What do we dread more than having them exposed to ridicule and satire? And are we not chiefly vain about our courage or learning, our wit or manners, our eloquence or skill? Are we not also vain about our taste or abilities? We display these qualities carefully, if not showily. We usually strive harder to excel in them than even in the social virtues, which are really far more admirable. Good nature and honesty, especially honesty, are so essential that any failure in these duties brings the strongest criticism. Yet the ordinary examples of these virtues, which seem essential to human society, bring no great praise. In my opinion, this explains why people often praise their own qualities of heart so freely, but hesitate to praise their intellectual gifts. Intellectual gifts are thought to be rarer and more extraordinary, so they are more often objects of pride and vanity. Boasting about them therefore raises a strong suspicion of such feelings.

It is hard to tell, whether you hurt a man's character most by calling him a knave or a coward, and whether a beastly glutton or drunkard be not as odious and contemptible, as a selfish, ungenerous miser. Give me my choice, and I would rather, for my own happiness and self-enjoyment, have a friendly, humane heart, than possess all the other virtues of Demosthenes and Philip united: but I would rather pass with the world for one endowed with extensive genius and intrepid courage, and should thence expect stronger instances of general applause and admiration. The figure which a man makes in life, the reception which he meets with in company, the esteem paid him by his acquaintance; all these advantages depend as much upon his good sense and judgement, as upon any other part of his character. Had a man the best intentions in the world, and were the farthest removed from all injustice and violence, he would never be able to make himself be much regarded, without a moderate share, at least, of parts and understanding.

It is hard to say whether calling a man a rogue or a coward does more harm to his reputation. It is also hard to say whether a beastly glutton or drunkard is less hateful and contemptible than a selfish, ungenerous miser. Given the choice, I would rather have a friendly, humane heart for my own happiness and enjoyment. I would prefer it to all the other virtues of Demosthenes and Philip combined. But I would rather be seen by the world as a man of great genius and fearless courage. From that reputation, I would expect greater displays of general praise and admiration. A man's standing in life, his reception in company, and the esteem of his acquaintances depend as much on his good sense and judgment as on any other part of his character. A man might have the best intentions in the world and be entirely free of injustice and violence. Even so, he would never be held in much regard without at least a moderate share of ability and understanding.

What is it then we can here dispute about? If sense and courage, temperance and industry, wisdom and knowledge confessedly form a considerable part of PERSONAL MERIT: if a man, possessed of these qualities, is both better satisfied with himself, and better entitled to the good-will, esteem, and services of others, than one entirely destitute of them; if, in short, the SENTIMENTS are similar which arise from these endowments and from the social virtues; is there any reason for being so extremely scrupulous about a WORD, or disputing whether they be entitled to the denomination of virtues? It may, indeed, be pretended, that the sentiment of approbation, which those accomplishments produce, besides its being INFERIOR, is also somewhat DIFFERENT from that which attends the virtues of justice and humanity. But this seems not a sufficient reason for ranking them entirely under different classes and appellations. The character of Caesar and that of Cato, as drawn by Sallust, are both of them virtuous, in the strictest and most limited sense of the word; but in a different way: nor are the sentiments entirely the same which arise from them. The one produces love, the other esteem: the one is amiable, the other awful: we should wish to meet the one character in a friend; the other we should be ambitious of in ourselves. In like manner the approbation, which attends temperance or industry or frugality, may be somewhat different from that which is paid to the social virtues, without making them entirely of a different species. And, indeed, we may observe, that these endowments, more than the other virtues, produce not, all of them, the same kind of approbation. Good sense and genius beget esteem and regard: wit and humour excite love and affection.⁵⁷

What, then, is there to dispute? Sense and courage, self-control and diligence, wisdom and knowledge admittedly form a considerable part of personal merit. A person with these qualities is more satisfied with himself than someone who lacks them entirely. He also has a better claim to the goodwill, esteem, and services of others. In short, these qualities inspire feelings similar to those inspired by the social virtues. If all this is true, why be so particular about a word? Why dispute whether these qualities deserve to be called virtues? One might claim that the approval these qualities produce is not only weaker but also somewhat different from the approval given to justice and humanity. But that does not seem a sufficient reason to place them in entirely different categories or give them different names. As Sallust portrays them, both Caesar and Cato are virtuous in the strictest and narrowest sense of the word. But they are virtuous in different ways, and the feelings they inspire are not entirely the same. One inspires love, the other esteem. One is lovable, the other inspires awe. We would wish to find the first character in a friend. We would aspire to have the second ourselves. Likewise, the approval given to self-control, diligence, or thrift may differ somewhat from the approval given to the social virtues. But that does not make these qualities an entirely different kind of thing. Indeed, we may observe that these qualities do not all produce the same kind of approval, any more than the other virtues do. Good sense and genius inspire esteem and regard. Wit and humor inspire love and affection.⁵⁷

Most people, I believe, will naturally, without premeditation, assent to the definition of the elegant and judicious poet:

I believe most people will naturally agree, without thinking about it beforehand, with the elegant and discerning poet's definition:

Virtue (for mere good-nature is a fool) Is sense and spirit with humanity.⁵⁸

Virtue (because mere good nature is foolish) is good sense and spirit combined with kindness.⁵⁸

What pretensions has a man to our generous assistance or good offices, who has dissipated his wealth in profuse expenses, idle vanities, chimerical projects, dissolute pleasures or extravagant gaming? These vices (for we scruple not to call them such) bring misery unpitied, and contempt on every one addicted to them.

What claim does a man have on our generous help or services if he has squandered his wealth? He may have wasted it on lavish spending, idle vanities, fanciful projects, immoral pleasures, or excessive gambling. We do not hesitate to call these vices. They bring misery without pity, and contempt, on everyone who indulges in them.

Achaeus, a wise and prudent prince, fell into a fatal snare, which cost him his crown and life, after having used every reasonable precaution to guard himself against it. On that account, says the historian, he is a just object of regard and compassion: his betrayers alone of hatred and contempt⁵⁹.

Achaeus, a wise and prudent prince, fell into a deadly trap despite taking every reasonable precaution against it. The trap cost him his crown and his life. For this reason, the historian says, he deserves respect and compassion. His betrayers alone deserve hatred and contempt⁵⁹.

The precipitate flight and improvident negligence of Pompey, at the beginning of the civil wars, appeared such notorious blunders to Cicero, as quite palled his friendship towards that great man. In the same manner, says he, as want of cleanliness, decency, or discretion in a mistress are found to alienate our affections. For so he expresses himself, where he talks, not in the character of a philosopher, but in that of a statesman and man of the world, to his friend Atticus. [Lib. ix. epist. 10]. But the same Cicero, in imitation of all the ancient moralists, when he reasons as a philosopher, enlarges very much his ideas of virtue, and comprehends every laudable quality or endowment of the mind, under that honourable appellation. This leads to the THIRD reflection, which we proposed to make, to wit, that the ancient moralists, the best models, made no material distinction among the different species of mental endowments and defects, but treated all alike under the appellation of virtues and vices, and made them indiscriminately the object of their moral reasonings. The prudence explained in Cicero's Offices⁶⁰ is that sagacity, which leads to the discovery of truth, and preserves us from error and mistake. MAGNANIMITY, TEMPERANCE, DECENCY, are there also at large discoursed of. And as that eloquent moralist followed the common received division of the four cardinal virtues, our social duties form but one head, in the general distribution of his subject.⁶¹

Pompey’s hasty flight and reckless negligence at the beginning of the civil wars seemed such obvious blunders to Cicero that they entirely soured his friendship with that great man. In the same way, Cicero says, a mistress’s lack of cleanliness, decency, or discretion can turn our affections away from her. He expresses himself this way in a letter to his friend Atticus. There he speaks not as a philosopher, but as a statesman and man of the world. [Lib. ix. epist. 10]. But when the same Cicero reasons as a philosopher, he follows the example of all the ancient moralists. He greatly expands his idea of virtue, giving that honorable name to every praiseworthy quality or ability of the mind. This leads to the THIRD reflection we proposed to make. The ancient moralists, the best models, made no significant distinction among the different kinds of mental abilities and defects. They treated them all alike as virtues and vices, and made all of them equally the subject of their moral reasoning. The prudence explained in Cicero’s Offices⁶⁰ is the wisdom that leads us to discover truth and keeps us from error and mistakes. MAGNANIMITY, TEMPERANCE, and DECENCY are also discussed there at length. That eloquent moralist followed the commonly accepted division into four cardinal virtues. Our social duties therefore form only one part of his general division of the subject.⁶¹

'Virtus autem, quae est per se ipsa laudabilis, et sine qua nihil laudari potest, tamen habet plures partes, quarum alia est alia ad laudationem aptior. Sunt enim aliae virtutes, quae videntur in moribus hominum, et quadam comitate ac beneficentia positae: aliae quae in ingenii aliqua facultate, aut animi magnitudine ac robore. Nam clementia, justitia, benignitas, fides, fortitudo in periculis communibus, jucunda est auditu in laudationibus. Omnes enim hae virtutes non tam ipsis, qui eas in se habent, quam generi hominum fructuosae putantur. Sapientia et magnitude animi, qua omnes res humanae tenues et pro nihilo putantur, et in cogitando vis quaedam ingenii, et ipsa eloquentia admirationis habet non minus, jucunditatis minus. Ipsos enim magis videntur, quos laudamus, quam illos, apud quos laudamus ornare ac tueri: sed tamen in laudenda jungenda sunt eliam haec genera virtutum. Ferunt enim aures bominum, cum ilia quae jucunda et grata, tum etiam ilia, quae mirabilia sunt in virtute, laudari.' De orat. lib. ii. cap. 84.

'Virtue is praiseworthy in itself, and nothing can be praised without it. Yet virtue has many forms, and some are better suited to praise than others. Some virtues appear in people’s conduct, in their kindness and generosity. Others lie in their mental abilities or in their greatness and strength of spirit. Mercy, justice, kindness, loyalty, and courage in shared dangers are pleasing to hear praised. All these virtues are thought to benefit humanity more than the people who possess them. Wisdom and greatness of spirit lead people to regard all human affairs as insignificant and worthless. These qualities, along with intellectual power and eloquence itself, inspire no less admiration, but give less pleasure. For they seem to bring honor and protection more to the people we praise than to those who hear the praise. Yet these kinds of virtue should also be included in praise. People welcome praise of the admirable qualities in virtue as well as the pleasant and pleasing ones.' De orat. book ii, chapter 84.

I suppose, if Cicero were now alive, it would be found difficult to fetter his moral sentiments by narrow systems; or persuade him, that no qualities were to be admitted as virtues, or acknowledged to be a part of PERSONAL MERIT, but what were recommended by The Whole Duty of Man.]

I suppose that if Cicero were alive today, it would be difficult to confine his moral views within narrow systems. It would also be difficult to persuade him that only the qualities recommended by The Whole Duty of Man should count as virtues or as part of PERSONAL MERIT.]

We need only peruse the titles of chapters in Aristotle's Ethics to be convinced that he ranks courage, temperance, magnificence, magnanimity, modesty, prudence, and a manly openness, among the virtues, as well as justice and friendship.

We need only read the chapter titles in Aristotle's Ethics to see which qualities he counts as virtues. These include courage, moderation, magnificence, greatness of spirit, modesty, good judgment, and manly openness, as well as justice and friendship.

To SUSTAIN and to ABSTAIN, that is, to be patient and continent, appeared to some of the ancients a summary comprehension of all morals.

To ENDURE and to ABSTAIN, that is, to be patient and exercise self-control, seemed to some ancient thinkers to sum up all morality.

Epictetus has scarcely ever mentioned the sentiment of humanity and compassion, but in order to put his disciples on their guard against it. The virtue of the Stoics seems to consist chiefly in a firm temper and a sound understanding. With them, as with Solomon and the eastern moralists, folly and wisdom are equivalent to vice and virtue.

Epictetus hardly ever mentions feelings of humanity and compassion except to warn his followers against them. For the Stoics, virtue seems to consist chiefly in a firm character and sound judgment. Like Solomon and the eastern moralists, the Stoics treat folly as vice and wisdom as virtue.

Men will praise thee, says David,⁶² when thou dost well unto thyself. I hate a wise man, says the Greek poet, who is not wise to himself⁶³. Plutarch is no more cramped by systems in his philosophy than in his history. Where he compares the great men of Greece and Rome, he fairly sets in opposition all their blemishes and accomplishments of whatever kind, and omits nothing considerable, which can either depress or exalt their characters. His moral discourses contain the same free and natural censure of men and manners.

People will praise you, says David,⁶² when you do well for yourself. I hate a wise man, says the Greek poet, who is not wise enough to benefit himself⁶³. Plutarch is no more constrained by systems in his philosophy than in his history. When he compares the great men of Greece and Rome, he fairly weighs all their faults against all their achievements, whatever their kind. He leaves out nothing significant that could lower or raise their standing. His moral writings show the same open and natural judgment of people and their behavior.

The character of Hannibal, as drawn by Livy,⁶⁴ is esteemed partial, but allows him many eminent virtues. Never was there a genius, says the historian, more equally fitted for those opposite offices of commanding and obeying; and it were, therefore, difficult to determine whether he rendered himself DEARER to the general or to the army. To none would Hasdrubal entrust more willingly the conduct of any dangerous enterprize; under none did the soldiers discover more courage and confidence. Great boldness in facing danger; great prudence in the midst of it. No labour could fatigue his body or subdue his mind. Cold and heat were indifferent to him: meat and drink he sought as supplies to the necessities of nature, not as gratifications of his voluptuous appetites. Waking or rest he used indiscriminately, by night or by day.—These great Virtues were balanced by great Vices; inhuman cruelty; perfidy more than punic; no truth, no faith, no regard to oaths, promises, or religion.

Livy’s⁶⁴ portrait of Hannibal is considered biased, but it credits him with many outstanding virtues. The historian says no one was ever equally suited to the opposite roles of commanding and obeying. It was therefore difficult to decide whether Hannibal was dearer to the general or to the army. Hasdrubal would entrust a dangerous undertaking to no one more willingly. Under no other leader did the soldiers show more courage and confidence. Hannibal was very bold in facing danger and very cautious in the midst of it. No work could tire his body or overcome his spirit. Cold and heat made no difference to him. He ate and drank to meet the needs of nature, not to satisfy his appetite for pleasure. He slept or stayed awake as readily by night as by day. These great virtues were balanced by great vices: inhuman cruelty, treachery greater than even the Punic kind, no truthfulness, no faithfulness, and no regard for oaths, promises, or religion.

The character of Alexander the Sixth, to be found in Guicciardin,⁶⁵ is pretty similar, but juster; and is a proof that even the moderns, where they speak naturally, hold the same language with the ancients. In this pope, says he, there was a singular capacity and judgement: admirable prudence; a wonderful talent of persuasion; and in all momentous enterprizes a diligence and dexterity incredible. But these VIRTUES were infinitely overbalanced by his VICES; no faith, no religion, insatiable avarice, exorbitant ambition, and a more than barbarous cruelty.

Guicciardin’s⁶⁵ account of Alexander the Sixth is quite similar, but fairer. It shows that even modern writers, when they speak naturally, use the same language as the ancients. Guicciardin says that this pope had exceptional ability and judgment, admirable prudence, and a remarkable talent for persuasion. In all important undertakings, his diligence and skill were incredible. But his VIRTUES were infinitely outweighed by his VICES: he had no faith or religion, and he showed insatiable greed, excessive ambition, and cruelty beyond that of a barbarian.

Polybius,⁶⁶ reprehending Timaeus for his partiality against Agathocles, whom he himself allows to be the most cruel and impious of all tyrants, says: if he took refuge in Syracuse, as asserted by that historian, flying the dirt and smoke and toil of his former profession of a potter; and if proceeding from such slender beginnings, he became master, in a little time, of all Sicily; brought the Carthaginian state into the utmost danger; and at last died in old age, and in possession of sovereign dignity: must he not be allowed something prodigious and extraordinary, and to have possessed great talents and capacity for business and action? His historian, therefore, ought not to have alone related what tended to his reproach and infamy; but also what might redound to his Praise and Honour.

Polybius,⁶⁶ criticizes Timaeus for his bias against Agathocles. Polybius himself admits that Agathocles was the cruelest and most impious of all tyrants. But he asks: What if Agathocles took refuge in Syracuse to escape the dirt, smoke, and toil of his former work as a potter, as Timaeus claims? And what if, from such humble beginnings, Agathocles soon became master of all Sicily, brought the Carthaginian state into the greatest danger, and finally died in old age while still a sovereign? Must we not admit that there was something remarkable and extraordinary about Agathocles? Must we not also admit that he had great talent and ability in affairs and action? His historian, therefore, should not have related only what brought Agathocles shame and disgrace. He should also have related what might bring Agathocles praise and honor.

In general, we may observe, that the distinction of voluntary or involuntary was little regarded by the ancients in their moral reasonings; where they frequently treated the question as very doubtful, WHETHER VIRTUE COULD BE TAUGHT OR NOT [Vid. Plato in Menone, Seneca de otio sap. cap. 31. So also Horace, Virtutem doctrina paret, naturane donet, Epist. lib. I. ep. 18. Aeschines Socraticus, Dial. I.]? They justly considered that cowardice, meanness, levity, anxiety, impatience, folly, and many other qualities of the mind, might appear ridiculous and deformed, contemptible and odious, though independent of the will. Nor could it be supposed, at all times, in every man's power to attain every kind of mental more than of exterior beauty.

In general, the ancients paid little attention to the distinction between voluntary and involuntary qualities in their moral reasoning. They often regarded it as very uncertain whether virtue could be taught [See Plato in Menone, Seneca de otio sap. cap. 31. So also Horace, Virtutem doctrina paret, naturane donet, Epist. lib. I. ep. 18. Aeschines Socraticus, Dial. I.]. They rightly recognized that cowardice, meanness, frivolity, anxiety, impatience, folly, and many other qualities of mind could seem ridiculous and ugly, contemptible and hateful, even though they were beyond a person's control. Nor could anyone suppose that every kind of mental beauty was always within everyone's reach, any more than every kind of physical beauty was.

And here there occurs the FOURTH reflection which I purposed to make, in suggesting the reason why modern philosophers have often followed a course in their moral enquiries so different from that of the ancients. In later times, philosophy of all kinds, especially ethics, have been more closely united with theology than ever they were observed to be among the heathens; and as this latter science admits of no terms of composition, but bends every branch of knowledge to its own purpose, without much regard to the phenomena of nature, or to the unbiassed sentiments of the mind, hence reasoning, and even language, have been warped from their natural course, and distinctions have been endeavoured to be established where the difference of the objects was, in a manner, imperceptible. Philosophers, or rather divines under that disguise, treating all morals as on a like footing with civil laws, guarded by the sanctions of reward and punishment, were necessarily led to render this circumstance, of VOLUNTARY or INVOLUNTARY, the foundation of their whole theory. Every one may employ TERMS in what sense he pleases: but this, in the mean time, must be allowed, that SENTIMENTS are every day experienced of blame and praise, which have objects beyond the dominion of the will or choice, and of which it behoves us, if not as moralists, as speculative philosophers at least, to give some satisfactory theory and explication.

This brings me to the FOURTH observation I intended to make. It suggests why modern philosophers have often pursued moral inquiry so differently from the ancients. In later times, philosophy of every kind, especially ethics, has been more closely tied to theology than it was among the pagans. Theology admits no compromise. It bends every branch of knowledge to its own purposes, with little regard for natural phenomena or the mind’s unbiased feelings. As a result, reasoning and even language have been forced away from their natural course. People have tried to establish distinctions where the differences between things were almost imperceptible. Philosophers, or rather theologians disguised as philosophers, treated all morals like civil laws, enforced by rewards and punishments. They were therefore bound to make the distinction between VOLUNTARY and INVOLUNTARY actions the foundation of their whole theory. Everyone may use TERMS in whatever sense they please. But we must still acknowledge that we experience feelings of blame and praise every day toward things beyond our will or choice. We ought to provide a satisfactory theory and explanation of these feelings, if not as moralists, then at least as philosophers seeking to understand them.

A blemish, a fault, a vice, a crime; these expressions seem to denote different degrees of censure and disapprobation; which are, however, all of them, at the bottom, pretty nearly all the same kind of species. The explication of one will easily lead us into a just conception of the others; and it is of greater consequence to attend to things than to verbal appellations. That we owe a duty to ourselves is confessed even in the most vulgar system of morals; and it must be of consequence to examine that duty, in order to see whether it bears any affinity to that which we owe to society. It is probable that the approbation attending the observance of both is of a similar nature, and arises from similar principles, whatever appellation we may give to either of these excellencies.

A blemish, a fault, a vice, a crime: these words seem to express different degrees of criticism and disapproval. Yet they are all, at bottom, pretty nearly the same kind of thing. Explaining one will easily give us a sound understanding of the others. And it is more important to pay attention to things than to the names we give them. Even the most ordinary moral system recognizes that we have a duty to ourselves. It is important to examine that duty and see whether it resembles our duty to society. Observing both duties probably earns a similar kind of approval, arising from similar principles. This is so whatever names we give to these two kinds of excellence.