Conclusion

IT may justly appear surprising that any man in so late an age, should find it requisite to prove, by elaborate reasoning, that Personal Merit consists altogether in the possession of mental qualities, USEFUL or AGREEABLE to the PERSON HIMSELF or to OTHERS. It might be expected that this principle would have occurred even to the first rude, unpractised enquirers concerning morals, and been received from its own evidence, without any argument or disputation. Whatever is valuable in any kind, so naturally classes itself under the division of USEFUL or AGREEABLE, the UTILE or the DULCE, that it is not easy to imagine why we should ever seek further, or consider the question as a matter of nice research or inquiry. And as every thing useful or agreeable must possess these qualities with regard either to the PERSON HIMSELF or to OTHERS, the complete delineation or description of merit seems to be performed as naturally as a shadow is cast by the sun, or an image is reflected upon water. If the ground, on which the shadow is cast, be not broken and uneven; nor the surface from which the image is reflected, disturbed and confused; a just figure is immediately presented, without any art or attention. And it seems a reasonable presumption, that systems and hypotheses have perverted our natural understanding, when a theory, so simple and obvious, could so long have escaped the most elaborate examination.

It may rightly seem surprising that anyone in such a late age should find it necessary to prove a point through elaborate reasoning. That point is that personal merit consists entirely in mental qualities that are useful or agreeable to the person himself or to others. One might expect this principle to have occurred even to the earliest, most inexperienced inquirers into morals. They might have accepted it as self-evident, without argument or dispute. Everything valuable, in any sense, falls so naturally into the category of the useful or the agreeable, the utile or the dulce. It is hard to imagine why we should look further or treat the question as a matter for subtle research or inquiry. And everything useful or agreeable must be so either to the person himself or to others. So a complete description of merit seems to emerge as naturally as a shadow cast by the sun or an image reflected in water. If the ground receiving the shadow is not broken and uneven, and the surface reflecting the image is not disturbed and confused, a true shape appears at once. No skill or attention is needed. And it seems reasonable to suppose that systems and hypotheses have distorted our natural understanding. Otherwise, how could such a simple and obvious theory have escaped even the most elaborate examination for so long?

But however the case may have fared with philosophy, in common life these principles are still implicitly maintained; nor is any other topic of praise or blame ever recurred to, when we employ any panegyric or satire, any applause or censure of human action and behaviour. If we observe men, in every intercourse of business or pleasure, in every discourse and conversation, we shall find them nowhere, except the schools, at any loss upon this subject. What so natural, for instance, as the following dialogue? You are very happy, we shall suppose one to say, addressing himself to another, that you have given your daughter to Cleanthes. He is a man of honour and humanity. Every one, who has any intercourse with him, is sure of FAIR and KIND treatment.⁴⁴ I congratulate you too, says another, on the promising expectations of this son-in-law; whose assiduous application to the study of the laws, whose quick penetration and early knowledge both of men and business, prognosticate the greatest honours and advancement.⁴⁵ You surprise me, replies a third, when you talk of Cleanthes as a man of business and application. I met him lately in a circle of the gayest company, and he was the very life and soul of our conversation: so much wit with good manners; so much gallantry without affectation; so much ingenious knowledge so genteelly delivered, I have never before observed in any one.⁴⁶ You would admire him still more, says a fourth, if you knew him more familiarly. That cheerfulness, which you might remark in him, is not a sudden flash struck out by company: it runs through the whole tenor of his life, and preserves a perpetual serenity on his countenance, and tranquillity in his soul. He has met with severe trials, misfortunes as well as dangers; and by his greatness of mind, was still superior to all of them⁴⁷. The image, gentlemen, which you have here delineated of Cleanthes, cried I, is that of accomplished merit. Each of you has given a stroke of the pencil to his figure; and you have unawares exceeded all the pictures drawn by Gratian or Castiglione. A philosopher might select this character as a model of perfect virtue.

Whatever has happened in philosophy, people still take these principles for granted in everyday life. Whenever we praise or criticize human actions and behavior, we never turn to any other grounds for praise or blame. If we observe people in business and pleasure, in every discussion and conversation, we find them at a loss on this subject only in the schools. What could be more natural, for instance, than the following conversation? Let us suppose someone says to another person, “You are very fortunate to have married your daughter to Cleanthes. He is a man of honor and humanity. Everyone who deals with him can be sure of FAIR and KIND treatment.⁴⁴” “I congratulate you too,” says another, “on the promising future of this son-in-law. He applies himself diligently to studying the law. His quick understanding and early knowledge of people and business promise him the greatest honors and advancement.⁴⁵” “You surprise me,” replies a third, “when you describe Cleanthes as a diligent man of business. I recently met him among a group of the liveliest company, and he was the life and soul of our conversation. I have never before seen anyone with so much wit and such good manners, so much gallantry without affectation, and so much ingenious knowledge expressed so gracefully.⁴⁶” “You would admire him even more,” says a fourth, “if you knew him better. The cheerfulness you noticed in him is not a sudden spark produced by company. It runs through his whole life, keeping his face always serene and his soul tranquil. He has faced severe trials, misfortunes, and dangers. Yet his greatness of mind enabled him to rise above them all⁴⁷.” “Gentlemen,” I cried, “the picture you have drawn of Cleanthes is one of complete excellence. Each of you has added a brushstroke to his portrait. Without realizing it, you have surpassed all the portraits drawn by Gratian or Castiglione. A philosopher might choose this character as a model of perfect virtue.”

And as every quality which is useful or agreeable to ourselves or others is, in common life, allowed to be a part of personal merit; so no other will ever be received, where men judge of things by their natural, unprejudiced reason, without the delusive glosses of superstition and false religion. Celibacy, fasting, penance, mortification, self-denial, humility, silence, solitude, and the whole train of monkish virtues; for what reason are they everywhere rejected by men of sense, but because they serve to no manner of purpose; neither advance a man's fortune in the world, nor render him a more valuable member of society; neither qualify him for the entertainment of company, nor increase his power of self-enjoyment? We observe, on the contrary, that they cross all these desirable ends; stupify the understanding and harden the heart, obscure the fancy and sour the temper. We justly, therefore, transfer them to the opposite column, and place them in the catalogue of vices; nor has any superstition force sufficient among men of the world, to pervert entirely these natural sentiments. A gloomy, hair-brained enthusiast, after his death, may have a place in the calendar; but will scarcely ever be admitted, when alive, into intimacy and society, except by those who are as delirious and dismal as himself.

In ordinary life, every quality useful or agreeable to ourselves or others is recognized as part of personal merit. Likewise, no other quality will be accepted as merit when people judge by natural, unprejudiced reason, free from the deceptive gloss of superstition and false religion. Celibacy, fasting, penance, self-denial, humility, silence, solitude, and all the other monastic virtues are rejected everywhere by sensible people. Why? Because they serve no purpose. They neither advance a person's worldly fortunes nor make that person a more valuable member of society. They neither make someone better company nor increase that person's ability to enjoy life. On the contrary, we see that they stand in the way of all these desirable ends. They dull the mind and harden the heart, cloud the imagination and sour the temper. We are therefore right to put them in the opposite column and count them as vices. No superstition is strong enough to completely overturn these natural feelings among worldly people. A gloomy, mad religious enthusiast may be listed among the saints after death. But such a person will hardly ever be welcomed into close friendship and company while alive, except by people equally mad and gloomy.

It seems a happiness in the present theory, that it enters not into that vulgar dispute concerning the DEGREES of benevolence or self-love, which prevail in human nature; a dispute which is never likely to have any issue, both because men, who have taken part, are not easily convinced, and because the phenomena, which can be produced on either side, are so dispersed, so uncertain, and subject to so many interpretations, that it is scarcely possible accurately to compare them, or draw from them any determinate inference or conclusion. It is sufficient for our present purpose, if it be allowed, what surely, without the greatest absurdity cannot be disputed, that there is some benevolence, however small, infused into our bosom; some spark of friendship for human kind; some particle of the dove kneaded into our frame, along with the elements of the wolf and serpent. Let these generous sentiments be supposed ever so weak; let them be insufficient to move even a hand or finger of our body, they must still direct the determinations of our mind, and where everything else is equal, produce a cool preference of what is useful and serviceable to mankind, above what is pernicious and dangerous. A MORAL DISTINCTION, therefore, immediately arises; a general sentiment of blame and approbation; a tendency, however faint, to the objects of the one, and a proportionable aversion to those of the other. Nor will those reasoners, who so earnestly maintain the predominant selfishness of human kind, be any wise scandalized at hearing of the weak sentiments of virtue implanted in our nature. On the contrary, they are found as ready to maintain the one tenet as the other; and their spirit of satire (for such it appears, rather than of corruption) naturally gives rise to both opinions; which have, indeed, a great and almost an indissoluble connexion together.

One advantage of the present theory is that it avoids the common dispute about the DEGREES of benevolence and self-love in human nature. That dispute is unlikely ever to be settled. People who have taken sides are not easily convinced. Also, the evidence offered by either side is so scattered, uncertain, and open to interpretation that it is scarcely possible to compare it accurately or draw any definite conclusion from it. For our present purpose, it is enough to admit that we have some benevolence, however small. Surely no one can dispute this without the greatest absurdity. We have some spark of friendship for humankind, some trace of the dove mixed into our nature alongside the elements of the wolf and the serpent. Suppose these generous feelings are ever so weak, too weak even to move a hand or finger. They must still guide the judgments of our minds. When everything else is equal, they must give us a calm preference for what is useful and beneficial to humankind over what is harmful and dangerous. A MORAL DISTINCTION therefore immediately arises: a general feeling of blame or approval, a tendency, however faint, toward what we approve and a corresponding aversion to what we blame. Those who argue so strongly that selfishness predominates in humankind will not be at all shocked to hear that weak feelings of virtue are part of our nature. On the contrary, they are as ready to uphold one view as the other. Their spirit naturally gives rise to both opinions. It seems to be a spirit of satire rather than corruption. The two opinions are, indeed, very closely and almost inseparably connected.

Avarice, ambition, vanity, and all passions vulgarly, though improperly, comprised under the denomination of SELF-LOVE, are here excluded from our theory concerning the origin of morals, not because they are too weak, but because they have not a proper direction for that purpose. The notion of morals implies some sentiment common to all mankind, which recommends the same object to general approbation, and makes every man, or most men, agree in the same opinion or decision concerning it. It also implies some sentiment, so universal and comprehensive as to extend to all mankind, and render the actions and conduct, even of the persons the most remote, an object of applause or censure, according as they agree or disagree with that rule of right which is established. These two requisite circumstances belong alone to the sentiment of humanity here insisted on. The other passions produce in every breast, many strong sentiments of desire and aversion, affection and hatred; but these neither are felt so much in common, nor are so comprehensive, as to be the foundation of any general system and established theory of blame or approbation.

Greed, ambition, vanity, and all the passions commonly, though improperly, grouped under SELF-LOVE are excluded from our theory of the origin of morals. They are excluded not because they are too weak, but because they are not directed toward the right purpose. Morality implies a feeling shared by all people. This feeling leads people in general to approve of the same thing and makes everyone, or most people, agree in their opinion or judgment of it. Morality also implies a feeling broad and universal enough to extend to all people. This feeling makes the actions and conduct of even the most distant people worthy of praise or blame, depending on whether they agree with the established rule of right. Only the feeling of humanity emphasized here has both of these necessary features. The other passions produce many strong feelings of desire and aversion, affection and hatred in everyone. But these feelings are neither shared widely enough nor broad enough to form the basis of a general system and established theory of blame or approval.

When a man denominates another his ENEMY, his RIVAL, his ANTAGONIST, his ADVERSARY, he is understood to speak the language of self-love, and to express sentiments, peculiar to himself, and arising from his particular circumstances and situation. But when he bestows on any man the epithets of VICIOUS or ODIOUS or DEPRAVED, he then speaks another language, and expresses sentiments, in which he expects all his audience are to concur with him. He must here, therefore, depart from his private and particular situation, and must choose a point of view, common to him with others; he must move some universal principle of the human frame, and touch a string to which all mankind have an accord and symphony. If he mean, therefore, to express that this man possesses qualities, whose tendency is pernicious to society, he has chosen this common point of view, and has touched the principle of humanity, in which every man, in some degree, concurs. While the human heart is compounded of the same elements as at present, it will never be wholly indifferent to public good, nor entirely unaffected with the tendency of characters and manners. And though this affection of humanity may not generally be esteemed so strong as vanity or ambition, yet, being common to all men, it can alone be the foundation of morals, or of any-general system of blame or praise. One man's ambition is not another's ambition, nor will the same event or object satisfy both; but the humanity of one man is the humanity of every one, and the same object touches this passion in all human creatures.

When someone calls another person his ENEMY, RIVAL, ANTAGONIST, or ADVERSARY, he is understood to speak from self-interest. He expresses feelings peculiar to himself, arising from his own circumstances and situation. But when he calls someone VICIOUS, ODIOUS, or DEPRAVED, he speaks a different language. He expresses feelings he expects everyone listening to share. He must therefore leave his own particular situation behind and adopt a point of view he shares with others. He must appeal to some universal principle of human nature, striking a chord that resonates with all mankind. If he means that the person has qualities harmful to society, he has chosen this shared point of view. He has appealed to the principle of humanity, which everyone shares to some degree. As long as the human heart is made up of the same elements as it is now, it will never be wholly indifferent to the public good. Nor will it be entirely unaffected by the effects of character and conduct. This feeling of humanity may not generally be considered as strong as vanity or ambition. Yet because everyone shares it, it alone can be the foundation of morals, or of any general system of blame or praise. One person's ambition is not another's, and the same event or object will not satisfy both. But the humanity of one person is the humanity of everyone, and the same object moves this feeling in all human beings.

But the sentiments, which arise from humanity, are not only the same in all human creatures, and produce the same approbation or censure; but they also comprehend all human creatures; nor is there any one whose conduct or character is not, by their means, an object to every one of censure or approbation. On the contrary, those other passions, commonly denominated selfish, both produce different sentiments in each individual, according to his particular situation; and also contemplate the greater part of mankind with the utmost indifference and unconcern. Whoever has a high regard and esteem for me flatters my vanity; whoever expresses contempt mortifies and displeases me; but as my name is known but to a small part of mankind, there are few who come within the sphere of this passion, or excite, on its account, either my affection or disgust. But if you represent a tyrannical, insolent, or barbarous behaviour, in any country or in any age of the world, I soon carry my eye to the pernicious tendency of such a conduct, and feel the sentiment of repugnance and displeasure towards it. No character can be so remote as to be, in this light, wholly indifferent to me. What is beneficial to society or to the person himself must still be preferred. And every quality or action, of every human being, must, by this means, be ranked under some class or denomination, expressive of general censure or applause.

The feelings that arise from humanity are the same in all people. They produce the same approval or disapproval, and they also extend to all people. Through these feelings, everyone can approve or disapprove of anyone’s conduct or character. By contrast, the other passions, commonly called selfish, produce different feelings in each person, depending on their circumstances. They also leave us entirely indifferent and unconcerned about most of humanity. Anyone who holds me in high regard flatters my vanity. Anyone who expresses contempt humiliates and displeases me. But because only a small part of humanity knows my name, few people come within the reach of this passion. Few people stir either my affection or my disgust on its account. But if you describe tyrannical, arrogant, or barbarous behavior, in any country or any age, I quickly see its harmful effects. I feel repugnance and displeasure toward such conduct. No person’s character can be so remote that I am entirely indifferent to it in this respect. What benefits society or the person concerned must still be preferred. In this way, every quality or action of every human being must be placed in some category expressing general disapproval or praise.

What more, therefore, can we ask to distinguish the sentiments, dependent on humanity, from those connected with any other passion, or to satisfy us, why the former are the origin of morals, not the latter? Whatever conduct gains my approbation, by touching my humanity, procures also the applause of all mankind, by affecting the same principle in them; but what serves my avarice or ambition pleases these passions in me alone, and affects not the avarice and ambition of the rest of mankind. There is no circumstance of conduct in any man, provided it have a beneficial tendency, that is not agreeable to my humanity, however remote the person; but every man, so far removed as neither to cross nor serve my avarice and ambition, is regarded as wholly indifferent by those passions. The distinction, therefore, between these species of sentiment being so great and evident, language must soon be moulded upon it, and must invent a peculiar set of terms, in order to express those universal sentiments of censure or approbation, which arise from humanity, or from views of general usefulness and its contrary. Virtue and Vice become then known; morals are recognized; certain general ideas are framed of human conduct and behaviour; such measures are expected from men in such situations. This action is determined to be conformable to our abstract rule; that other, contrary. And by such universal principles are the particular sentiments of self-love frequently controlled and limited.⁴⁸

What more could we ask for to distinguish feelings based on humanity from those connected with any other passion? What more could explain why the former are the source of morals, while the latter are not? Any conduct I approve of because it appeals to my humanity also wins the approval of all mankind. It does so by appealing to the same principle in them. But what serves my greed or ambition pleases those passions in me alone. It does not affect the greed or ambition of the rest of mankind. Any aspect of a person's conduct appeals to my humanity if it tends to be beneficial, however distant that person may be. But my greed and ambition are entirely indifferent to anyone too distant to hinder or serve those passions. The difference between these kinds of feeling is so great and clear that language must soon reflect it. People must invent a distinct set of terms to express the universal feelings of blame or approval arising from humanity. These feelings also arise from considering what is useful to everyone, or the opposite. Virtue and Vice then become known, and morals are recognized. General ideas are formed about human conduct and behavior, and certain actions are expected of people in particular situations. One action is judged to conform to our general rule, another to violate it. Such universal principles often restrain and limit the particular feelings of self-love.⁴⁸

From instances of popular tumults, seditions, factions, panics, and of all passions, which are shared with a multitude, we may learn the influence of society in exciting and supporting any emotion; while the most ungovernable disorders are raised, we find, by that means, from the slightest and most frivolous occasions. Solon was no very cruel, though, perhaps, an unjust legislator, who punished neuters in civil wars; and few, I believe, would, in such cases, incur the penalty, were their affection and discourse allowed sufficient to absolve them. No selfishness, and scarce any philosophy, have there force sufficient to support a total coolness and indifference; and he must be more or less than man, who kindles not in the common blaze. What wonder then, that moral sentiments are found of such influence in life; though springing from principles, which may appear, at first sight, somewhat small and delicate? But these principles, we must remark, are social and universal; they form, in a manner, the PARTY of humankind against vice or disorder, its common enemy. And as the benevolent concern for others is diffused, in a greater or less degree, over all men, and is the same in all, it occurs more frequently in discourse, is cherished by society and conversation, and the blame and approbation, consequent on it, are thereby roused from that lethargy into which they are probably lulled, in solitary and uncultivated nature. Other passions, though perhaps originally stronger, yet being selfish and private, are often overpowered by its force, and yield the dominion of our breast to those social and public principles.

Popular riots, uprisings, factions, panics, and all passions shared by a crowd show how society can stir and sustain emotion. We find that even the slightest and most trivial occasions can provoke the wildest disorder through this influence. Solon was not a very cruel lawmaker, though perhaps an unjust one, when he punished those who remained neutral in civil wars. I believe few people would incur that penalty if their feelings and speech were enough to acquit them. No selfishness, and hardly any philosophy, is strong enough to sustain complete detachment and indifference in such cases. Anyone who does not catch fire in the common blaze must be more or less than human. What wonder, then, that moral feelings have such influence in life, though they arise from principles that may seem rather slight and delicate at first? We must note, however, that these principles are social and universal. They form, in a way, the party of humankind against its common enemy, vice or disorder. Benevolent concern for others is shared by all people, to a greater or lesser degree, and is the same in everyone. For that reason, this concern comes up more often in conversation and is encouraged by social life and discussion. The blame and approval that follow from this concern are thereby roused from their lethargy. In solitary and uncultivated life, they are probably lulled into that lethargy. Other passions, though perhaps stronger at first, are selfish and private. They are often overcome by the force of benevolent concern and surrender control of our hearts to these social and public principles.

Another spring of our constitution, that brings a great addition of force to moral sentiments, is the love of fame; which rules, with such uncontrolled authority, in all generous minds, and is often the grand object of all their designs and undertakings. By our continual and earnest pursuit of a character, a name, a reputation in the world, we bring our own deportment and conduct frequently in review, and consider how they appear in the eyes of those who approach and regard us. This constant habit of surveying ourselves, as it were, in reflection, keeps alive all the sentiments of right and wrong, and begets, in noble natures, a certain reverence for themselves as well as others, which is the surest guardian of every virtue. The animal conveniencies and pleasures sink gradually in their value; while every inward beauty and moral grace is studiously acquired, and the mind is accomplished in every perfection, which can adorn or embellish a rational creature.

Another part of our nature that greatly strengthens our moral feelings is the love of fame. It rules without restraint in all generous minds and is often the chief aim of all their plans and undertakings. We constantly and earnestly seek a good character, a name, and a reputation in the world. This leads us to examine our behavior often and consider how it appears to those who meet and observe us. This constant habit of seeing ourselves as if in a reflection keeps our feelings of right and wrong alive. In noble natures, it also produces a certain respect for themselves as well as for others. This respect is the surest guardian of every virtue. Bodily comforts and pleasures gradually lose their value. Meanwhile, people carefully cultivate every inner beauty and moral grace. They develop their minds in every perfection that can adorn a rational being.

Here is the most perfect morality with which we are acquainted: here is displayed the force of many sympathies. Our moral sentiment is itself a feeling chiefly of that nature, and our regard to a character with others seems to arise only from a care of preserving a character with ourselves; and in order to attain this end, we find it necessary to prop our tottering judgement on the correspondent approbation of mankind.

Here is the most perfect morality we know. Here we see the power of many feelings of sympathy. Our own moral sense is itself chiefly a feeling of sympathy. Our concern for our reputation among others seems to arise only from a desire to preserve our good opinion of ourselves. To do this, we find it necessary to support our uncertain judgment with the matching approval of others.

But, that we may accommodate matters, and remove if possible every difficulty, let us allow all these reasonings to be false. Let us allow that, when we resolve the pleasure, which arises from views of utility, into the sentiments of humanity and sympathy, we have embraced a wrong hypothesis. Let us confess it necessary to find some other explication of that applause, which is paid to objects, whether inanimate, animate, or rational, if they have a tendency to promote the welfare and advantage of mankind. However difficult it be to conceive that an object is approved of on account of its tendency to a certain end, while the end itself is totally indifferent: let us swallow this absurdity, and consider what are the consequences. The preceding delineation or definition of Personal Merit must still retain its evidence and authority: it must still be allowed that every quality of the mind, which is USEFUL or AGREEABLE to the PERSON HIMSELF or to OTHERS, communicates a pleasure to the spectator, engages his esteem, and is admitted under the honourable denomination of virtue or merit. Are not justice, fidelity, honour, veracity, allegiance, chastity, esteemed solely on account of their tendency to promote the good of society? Is not that tendency inseparable from humanity, benevolence, lenity, generosity, gratitude, moderation, tenderness, friendship, and all the other social virtues? Can it possibly be doubted that industry, discretion, frugality, secrecy, order, perseverance, forethought, judgement, and this whole class of virtues and accomplishments, of which many pages would not contain the catalogue; can it be doubted, I say, that the tendency of these qualities to promote the interest and happiness of their possessor, is the sole foundation of their merit? Who can dispute that a mind, which supports a perpetual serenity and cheerfulness, a noble dignity and undaunted spirit, a tender affection and good-will to all around; as it has more enjoyment within itself, is also a more animating and rejoicing spectacle, than if dejected with melancholy, tormented with anxiety, irritated with rage, or sunk into the most abject baseness and degeneracy? And as to the qualities, immediately AGREEABLE to OTHERS, they speak sufficiently for themselves; and he must be unhappy, indeed, either in his own temper, or in his situation and company, who has never perceived the charms of a facetious wit or flowing affability, of a delicate modesty or decent genteelness of address and manner.

But to make things easier and, if possible, remove every difficulty, let us suppose that all these arguments are false. Suppose we were wrong to explain the pleasure we take in usefulness through feelings of humanity and sympathy. Then we must find another explanation for the praise given to objects that tend to promote human welfare and advantage. This praise applies whether the objects are inanimate, living, or rational. It is hard to imagine approving of something because it tends toward an end we care nothing about. But let us swallow this absurdity and consider the consequences. The earlier account or definition of Personal Merit must still stand on its own evidence and authority. We must still accept that every quality of mind that is USEFUL or PLEASANT to the PERSON HIMSELF or to OTHERS gives pleasure to the observer, earns his esteem, and receives the honorable name of virtue or merit. Are justice, fidelity, honor, truthfulness, loyalty, and chastity not valued solely because they tend to promote society’s good? Is that tendency not inseparable from humanity, kindness, gentleness, generosity, gratitude, moderation, tenderness, friendship, and all the other social virtues? Consider also industry, discretion, thrift, keeping confidences, order, perseverance, foresight, judgment, and this whole class of virtues and accomplishments. Many pages could not contain a complete list of them. Can anyone doubt that their tendency to promote their possessor’s interests and happiness is the sole basis of their merit? Who can dispute that a person who remains serene and cheerful, with noble dignity and an undaunted spirit, and who shows tender affection and goodwill toward everyone nearby, has more enjoyment within himself? And who can dispute that such a person is also a more uplifting and joyful sight than someone dejected by melancholy, tormented by anxiety, angered to rage, or sunk into the most abject baseness and corruption? As for qualities that are immediately PLEASANT to OTHERS, they speak well enough for themselves. Anyone who has never noticed the charms of playful wit or easy friendliness, of delicate modesty or a properly graceful manner, must indeed be unfortunate, either in temperament or in circumstances and company.

I am sensible, that nothing can be more unphilosophical than to be positive or dogmatical on any subject; and that, even if excessive scepticism could be maintained, it would not be more destructive to all just reasoning and inquiry. I am convinced that, where men are the most sure and arrogant, they are commonly the most mistaken, and have there given reins to passion, without that proper deliberation and suspense, which can alone secure them from the grossest absurdities. Yet, I must confess, that this enumeration puts the matter in so strong a light, that I cannot, at PRESENT, be more assured of any truth, which I learn from reasoning and argument, than that personal merit consists entirely in the usefulness or agreeableness of qualities to the person himself possessed of them, or to others, who have any intercourse with him. But when I reflect that, though the bulk and figure of the earth have been measured and delineated, though the motions of the tides have been accounted for, the order and economy of the heavenly bodies subjected to their proper laws, and Infinite itself reduced to calculation; yet men still dispute concerning the foundation of their moral duties. When I reflect on this, I say, I fall back into diffidence and scepticism, and suspect that an hypothesis, so obvious, had it been a true one, would, long ere now, have been received by the unanimous suffrage and consent of mankind.

I know that nothing is more unphilosophical than being certain or dogmatic about any subject. Even if extreme skepticism could be sustained, it would be no more destructive to sound reasoning and inquiry. I am convinced that people are usually most mistaken when they are most certain and arrogant. In those cases, they have given free rein to passion, without proper deliberation or a willingness to suspend judgment. Only deliberation and suspended judgment can protect them from the grossest absurdities. Yet I must confess that this list makes the matter so clear that, at present, I can be no more certain of any truth I learn through reasoning and argument. That truth is that personal merit consists entirely in qualities that are useful or agreeable to their possessor or to others who have dealings with that person. But then I reflect on what people have accomplished. They have measured and mapped the size and shape of the earth and explained the movements of the tides. They have shown the order and workings of the heavenly bodies to be governed by their proper laws. They have even brought the infinite within the reach of calculation. Yet people still dispute the foundation of their moral duties. When I reflect on this, I fall back into doubt and skepticism. I suspect that, if such an obvious hypothesis were true, it would long ago have gained the unanimous agreement and consent of mankind.

Having explained the moral APPROBATION attending merit or virtue, there remains nothing but briefly to consider our interested OBLIGATION to it, and to inquire whether every man, who has any regard to his own happiness and welfare, will not best find his account in the practice of every moral duty. If this can be clearly ascertained from the foregoing theory, we shall have the satisfaction to reflect, that we have advanced principles, which not only, it is hoped, will stand the test of reasoning and inquiry, but may contribute to the amendment of men's lives, and their improvement in morality and social virtue. And though the philosophical truth of any proposition by no means depends on its tendency to promote the interests of society; yet a man has but a bad grace, who delivers a theory, however true, which, he must confess, leads to a practice dangerous and pernicious. Why rake into those corners of nature which spread a nuisance all around? Why dig up the pestilence from the pit in which it is buried? The ingenuity of your researches may be admired, but your systems will be detested; and mankind will agree, if they cannot refute them, to sink them, at least, in eternal silence and oblivion. Truths which are pernicious to society, if any such there be, will yield to errors which are salutary and ADVANTAGEOUS.

Having explained the moral approval that accompanies merit or virtue, we need only briefly consider our self-interested obligation to be virtuous. We must ask whether everyone who cares about their own happiness and welfare will best serve those interests by practicing every moral duty. If the preceding theory can clearly establish this, we will have reason to be satisfied. We can reflect that we have put forward principles that, we hope, will stand up to reason and inquiry. These principles may also help people improve their lives, their morals, and their social virtue. The philosophical truth of a proposition certainly does not depend on whether it promotes society’s interests. Yet someone makes a poor impression by presenting a theory, however true, that they must admit leads to dangerous and harmful conduct. Why search those corners of nature that spread a stench all around? Why dig up the pestilence from the pit where it is buried? People may admire the ingenuity of your research, but they will detest your systems. If they cannot refute those systems, they will agree at least to bury them in eternal silence and oblivion. Truths harmful to society, if any such truths exist, will give way to errors that are beneficial and useful.

But what philosophical truths can be more advantageous to society, than those here delivered, which represent virtue in all her genuine and most engaging charms, and makes us approach her with ease, familiarity, and affection? The dismal dress falls off, with which many divines, and some philosophers, have covered her; and nothing appears but gentleness, humanity, beneficence, affability; nay, even at proper intervals, play, frolic, and gaiety. She talks not of useless austerities and rigours, suffering and self-denial. She declares that her sole purpose is to make her votaries and all mankind, during every instant of their existence, if possible, cheerful and happy; nor does she ever willingly part with any pleasure but in hopes of ample compensation in some other period of their lives. The sole trouble which she demands, is that of just calculation, and a steady preference of the greater happiness. And if any austere pretenders approach her, enemies to joy and pleasure, she either rejects them as hypocrites and deceivers; or, if she admit them in her train, they are ranked, however, among the least favoured of her votaries.

But what philosophical truths could benefit society more than those presented here? They show virtue in all her true and most appealing beauty. They let us approach her easily, as a friend, and with affection. The gloomy clothing that many theologians and some philosophers have put on her falls away. Nothing remains but gentleness, humanity, kindness, and friendliness. Indeed, at suitable times, there is even play, fun, and cheerfulness. She does not speak of useless hardship and strictness, suffering and self-denial. She declares that her only purpose is to make her followers and all humanity cheerful and happy, if possible, at every moment of their lives. She never willingly gives up any pleasure except in the hope of ample compensation later in life. The only effort she demands is careful calculation and a steady preference for the greater happiness. And if stern people who claim to be virtuous approach her as enemies of joy and pleasure, she either rejects them as hypocrites and deceivers or admits them among her followers. Even then, they rank among her least favored followers.

And, indeed, to drop all figurative expression, what hopes can we ever have of engaging mankind to a practice which we confess full of austerity and rigour? Or what theory of morals can ever serve any useful purpose, unless it can show, by a particular detail, that all the duties which it recommends, are also the true interest of each individual? The peculiar advantage of the foregoing system seems to be, that it furnishes proper mediums for that purpose.

Indeed, to speak plainly, how can we hope to persuade people to follow a practice we admit is harsh and demanding? And how can any moral theory serve a useful purpose unless it shows in detail that all the duties it recommends are also in each person's true interest? The particular advantage of the system described above seems to be that it provides suitable means for doing this.

That the virtues which are immediately USEFUL or AGREEABLE to the person possessed of them, are desirable in a view to self-interest, it would surely be superfluous to prove. Moralists, indeed, may spare themselves all the pains which they often take in recommending these duties. To what purpose collect arguments to evince that temperance is advantageous, and the excesses of pleasure hurtful, when it appears that these excesses are only denominated such, because they are hurtful; and that, if the unlimited use of strong liquors, for instance, no more impaired health or the faculties of mind and body than the use of air or water, it would not be a whit more vicious or blameable?

Surely there is no need to prove that virtues directly USEFUL or PLEASANT to those who possess them are desirable for reasons of self-interest. Indeed, moralists can spare themselves all the effort they often make to recommend these duties. Why gather arguments to show that moderation is beneficial and excessive pleasure is harmful? After all, such pleasures are called excessive only because they are harmful. For example, suppose unlimited drinking of strong liquor harmed health and mental and physical abilities no more than consuming air or water. It would then be no more wicked or blameworthy.

It seems equally superfluous to prove, that the COMPANIONABLE virtues of good manners and wit, decency and genteelness, are more desirable than the contrary qualities. Vanity alone, without any other consideration, is a sufficient motive to make us wish for the possession of these accomplishments. No man was ever willingly deficient in this particular. All our failures here proceed from bad education, want of capacity, or a perverse and unpliable disposition. Would you have your company coveted, admired, followed; rather than hated, despised, avoided? Can any one seriously deliberate in the case? As no enjoyment is sincere, without some reference to company and society; so no society can be agreeable, or even tolerable, where a man feels his presence unwelcome, and discovers all around him symptoms of disgust and aversion.

It seems equally unnecessary to prove that the sociable virtues of good manners, wit, decency, and refinement are more desirable than their opposites. Vanity alone is enough to make us wish for these qualities. No one has ever willingly lacked them. All our shortcomings in this respect come from poor education, lack of ability, or a stubborn and inflexible disposition. Would you rather have people seek out, admire, and follow you than hate, despise, and avoid you? Can anyone seriously hesitate over that choice? No enjoyment is genuine without some connection to companionship and society. Likewise, no company can be pleasant, or even tolerable, when you feel unwelcome and see signs of disgust and dislike all around you.

But why, in the greater society or confederacy of mankind, should not the case be the same as in particular clubs and companies? Why is it more doubtful, that the enlarged virtues of humanity, generosity, beneficence, are desirable with a view of happiness and self-interest, than the limited endowments of ingenuity and politeness? Are we apprehensive lest those social affections interfere, in a greater and more immediate degree than any other pursuits, with private utility, and cannot be gratified, without some important sacrifice of honour and advantage? If so, we are but ill-instructed in the nature of the human passions, and are more influenced by verbal distinctions than by real differences.

But why should the same not be true of human society as a whole as of individual clubs and groups? Why doubt that the broader virtues of kindness, generosity, and doing good are desirable for happiness and self-interest? Are they any less desirable than the more limited qualities of cleverness and politeness? Do we fear that these social feelings conflict with personal benefit more directly and more seriously than other pursuits do? Do we fear that we cannot satisfy them without sacrificing something important in honor or advantage? If so, we understand human passions poorly. We are more influenced by differences in words than by real differences.

Whatever contradiction may vulgarly be supposed between the SELFISH and SOCIAL sentiments or dispositions, they are really no more opposite than selfish and ambitious, selfish and revengeful, selfish and vain. It is requisite that there be an original propensity of some kind, in order to be a basis to self-love, by giving a relish to the objects of its pursuit; and none more fit for this purpose than benevolence or humanity. The goods of fortune are spent in one gratification or another: the miser who accumulates his annual income, and lends it out at interest, has really spent it in the gratification of his avarice. And it would be difficult to show why a man is more a loser by a generous action, than by any other method of expense; since the utmost which he can attain by the most elaborate selfishness, is the indulgence of some affection.

People may commonly suppose that SELFISH and SOCIAL feelings or dispositions contradict each other. But they are really no more opposed than selfishness and ambition, selfishness and a desire for revenge, or selfishness and vanity. Self-love must be based on some original inclination that makes the things we pursue appealing. No inclination is better suited to this purpose than kindness or concern for others. Wealth is spent on one satisfaction or another. A miser who saves his annual income and lends it out at interest has really spent it satisfying his greed. It would be difficult to show why a person loses more by an act of generosity than by any other expense. After all, even the most carefully calculated selfishness can achieve no more than the satisfaction of some desire.

Now if life, without passion, must be altogether insipid and tiresome; let a man suppose that he has full power of modelling his own disposition, and let him deliberate what appetite or desire he would choose for the foundation of his happiness and enjoyment. Every affection, he would observe, when gratified by success, gives a satisfaction proportioned to its force and violence; but besides this advantage, common to all, the immediate feeling of benevolence and friendship, humanity and kindness, is sweet, smooth, tender, and agreeable, independent of all fortune and accidents. These virtues are besides attended with a pleasing consciousness or remembrance, and keep us in humour with ourselves as well as others; while we retain the agreeable reflection of having done our part towards mankind and society. And though all men show a jealousy of our success in the pursuits of avarice and ambition; yet are we almost sure of their good-will and good wishes, so long as we persevere in the paths of virtue, and employ ourselves in the execution of generous plans and purposes. What other passion is there where we shall find so many advantages united; an agreeable sentiment, a pleasing consciousness, a good reputation? But of these truths, we may observe, men are, of themselves, pretty much convinced; nor are they deficient in their duty to society, because they would not wish to be generous, friendly, and humane; but because they do not feel themselves such.

If life without passion must be entirely dull and tiresome, imagine a man who can shape his own disposition completely. Let him consider which appetite or desire he would choose as the foundation of his happiness and enjoyment. He would see that every feeling, when satisfied by success, gives pleasure in proportion to its intensity. But benevolence and friendship, humanity and kindness offer more than this advantage, which all feelings share. The immediate experience of these virtues is sweet, gentle, tender, and pleasant, regardless of fortune or circumstance. These virtues also bring a pleasant awareness and memory of our actions. They keep us on good terms with ourselves and others, as we enjoy the thought that we have done our part for humanity and society. And though all people are jealous of our success in pursuing wealth and ambition, we are almost sure of their goodwill and good wishes as long as we follow the path of virtue and carry out generous plans and purposes. What other passion brings together so many advantages: a pleasant feeling, a pleasing awareness of our actions, and a good reputation? But people are already fairly convinced of these truths. They do not fail in their duty to society because they would not wish to be generous, friendly, and humane. They fail because they do not feel generous, friendly, and humane.

Treating vice with the greatest candour, and making it all possible concessions, we must acknowledge that there is not, in any instance, the smallest pretext for giving it the preference above virtue, with a view of self-interest; except, perhaps, in the case of justice, where a man, taking things in a certain light, may often seem to be a loser by his integrity. And though it is allowed that, without a regard to property, no society could subsist; yet according to the imperfect way in which human affairs are conducted, a sensible knave, in particular incidents, may think that an act of iniquity or infidelity will make a considerable addition to his fortune, without causing any considerable breach in the social union and confederacy. That HONESTY IS THE BEST POLICY, may be a good general rule, but is liable to many exceptions; and he, it may perhaps be thought, conducts himself with most wisdom, who observes the general rule, and takes advantage of all the exceptions. I must confess that, if a man think that this reasoning much requires an answer, it would be a little difficult to find any which will to him appear satisfactory and convincing. If his heart rebel not against such pernicious maxims, if he feel no reluctance to the thoughts of villainy or baseness, he has indeed lost a considerable motive to virtue; and we may expect that this practice will be answerable to his speculation. But in all ingenuous natures, the antipathy to treachery and roguery is too strong to be counter-balanced by any views of profit or pecuniary advantage. Inward peace of mind, consciousness of integrity, a satisfactory review of our own conduct; these are circumstances, very requisite to happiness, and will be cherished and cultivated by every honest man, who feels the importance of them.

Even if we treat vice with the greatest fairness and make every possible concession to it, we must acknowledge one thing. There is never the slightest reason to prefer vice to virtue out of self-interest. Perhaps the only exception is justice. A person who sees things in a certain way may often seem to lose out by acting with integrity. Without respect for property, no society could survive. But human affairs are imperfectly managed. So a shrewd dishonest person may think that a particular act of wrongdoing or betrayal will greatly increase his fortune. He may also think that it will do no great harm to the bonds that hold society together. HONESTY IS THE BEST POLICY may be a good general rule, but it has many exceptions. One might therefore think that the wisest person follows the general rule and takes advantage of every exception. I must confess that if someone thinks this reasoning needs much of an answer, finding one he will find satisfactory and convincing would be somewhat difficult. If his heart does not rebel against such harmful principles, and he feels no reluctance at the thought of wickedness or baseness, he has indeed lost an important motive for virtue. We may expect his actions to match his beliefs. But in all sincere and honorable people, the hatred of treachery and dishonesty is too strong to be outweighed by any prospect of profit or financial gain. Inner peace, knowing that we have acted with integrity, and looking back on our conduct with satisfaction are all very necessary to happiness. Every honest person who feels their importance will cherish and cultivate them.

Such a one has, besides, the frequent satisfaction of seeing knaves, with all their pretended cunning and abilities, betrayed by their own maxims; and while they purpose to cheat with moderation and secrecy, a tempting incident occurs, nature is frail, and they give into the snare; whence they can never extricate themselves, without a total loss of reputation, and the forfeiture of all future trust and confidence with mankind.

Such a person also often has the satisfaction of seeing rogues betrayed by their own principles, despite all their supposed cunning and skill. They intend to cheat in moderation and in secret, but a tempting opportunity arises. Human nature is weak, and they fall into the trap. They can never escape it without losing their reputations entirely and forfeiting all future trust and confidence from others.

But were they ever so secret and successful, the honest man, if he has any tincture of philosophy, or even common observation and reflection, will discover that they themselves are, in the end, the greatest dupes, and have sacrificed the invaluable enjoyment of a character, with themselves at least, for the acquisition of worthless toys and gewgaws. How little is requisite to supply the necessities of nature? And in a view to pleasure, what comparison between the unbought satisfaction of conversation, society, study, even health and the common beauties of nature, but above all the peaceful reflection on one's own conduct; what comparison, I say, between these and the feverish, empty amusements of luxury and expense? These natural pleasures, indeed, are really without price; both because they are below all price in their attainment, and above it in their enjoyment.

But however secret and successful they may be, an honest person will see that they themselves are ultimately the greatest fools. An honest person needs only a little philosophy, or even ordinary observation and reflection, to see this. They have sacrificed the priceless satisfaction of having a good character, at least in their own eyes, to acquire worthless trinkets. How little do we need to meet our natural needs? And what pleasure can luxury and spending offer compared with the free satisfaction of conversation, companionship, study, health, and nature's everyday beauty? Above all, how can they compare with the peace of reflecting on one's own conduct? The pleasures of luxury and spending are feverish and empty. These natural pleasures are truly priceless. They cost too little to acquire to have a price, and are too valuable to enjoy to be measured by one.