[2]Part. II. Sect. 4.
[2]Part. II. Sect. 4.
Taking these limitations along with us, let us proceed to examine the causes of pride and humility, and see whether in every case we can discover the double relations by which they operate on the passions. If we find that all these causes are related to self, and produce a pleasure or uneasiness separate from the passion, there will remain no farther scruple with regard to the present system. We shall principally endeavour to prove the latter point, the former being in a manner self-evident.
To begin withviceandvirtue, which are the most obvious causes of these passions, 'twould be entirelyforeign to my present purpose to enter upon the controversy, which of late years has so much excited the curiosity of the public,whether these moral distinctions be founded on natural and original principles, or arise from interest and education. The examination of this I reserve for the following book; and, in the mean time, shall endeavour to show, that my system maintains its ground upon either of these hypotheses, which will be a strong proof of its solidity.
For, granting that morality had no foundation in nature, it must still be allowed, that vice and virtue, either from self-interest or the prejudices of education, produce in us a real pain and pleasure; and this we may observe to be strenuously asserted by the defenders of that hypothesis. Every passion, habit, or turn of character (say they) which has a tendency to our advantage or prejudice, gives a delight or uneasiness; and 'tis from thence the approbation or disapprobation arises. We easily gain from the liberality of others, but are always in danger of losing by their avarice: courage defends us, but cowardice lays us open to every attack: justice is the support of society, but injustice, unless checked, would quickly prove its ruin: humility exalts, but pride mortifies us. For these reasons the former qualities are esteemed virtues, and the latter regarded as vices. Now, since 'tis granted there is a delight or uneasiness still attending merit or demerit of every kind, this is all that is requisite for my purpose.
But I go farther, and observe, that this moral hypothesis and my present system not only agree together, but also that, allowing the former to be just, 'tis an absolute and invincible proof of the latter. For if all morality be founded on the pain or pleasurewhich arises from the prospect of any loss or advantage that may result from our own characters, or from those of others, all the effects of morality must be derived from the same pain or pleasure, and, among the rest, the passions of pride and humility. The very essence of virtue, according to this hypothesis, is to produce pleasure, and that of vice to give pain. The virtue and vice must be part of our character, in order to excite pride or humility. What farther proof can we desire for the double relation of impressions and ideas?
The same unquestionable argument may be derived from the opinion of those who maintain that morality is something real, essential, and founded on nature. The most probable hypothesis, which has been advanced to explain the distinction betwixt vice and virtue, and the origin of moral rights and obligations, is, that from a primary constitution of nature, certain characters and passions, by the very view and contemplation, produce a pain, and others in like manner excite a pleasure. The uneasiness and satisfaction are not only inseparable from vice and virtue, but constitute their very nature and essence. To approve of a character is to feel an original delight upon its appearance. To disapprove of it is to be sensible of an uneasiness. The pain and pleasure therefore being the primary causes of vice and virtue, must also be the causes of all their effects, and consequently of pride and humility, which are the unavoidable attendants of that distinction.
But, supposing this hypothesis of moral philosophy should be allowed to be false, 'tis still evident that pain and pleasure, if not the causes of vice and virtue, are at least inseparable from them. A generous andnoble character affords a satisfaction even in the survey; and when presented to us, though only in a poem or fable, never fails to charm and delight us. On the other hand, cruelty and treachery displease from their very nature; nor is it possible ever to reconcile us to these qualities, either in ourselves or others. Thus, one hypothesis of morality is an undeniable proof of the foregoing system, and the other at worst agrees with it.
But pride and humility arise not from these qualities alone of the mind, which, according to the vulgar systems of ethicks, have been comprehended as parts of moral duty, but from any other that has a connexion with pleasure and uneasiness. Nothing flatters our vanity more than the talent of pleasing by our wit, good humour, or any other accomplishment; and nothing gives us a more sensible mortification than a disappointment in any attempt of that nature. No one has ever been able to tell whatwitis, and to show why such a system of thought must be received under that denomination, and such another rejected. 'Tis only by taste we can decide concerning it, nor are we possessed of any other standard, upon which we can form a judgment of this kind. Now, what is thistaste, from which true and false wit in a manner receive their being, and without which no thought can have a title to either of these denominations? 'Tis plainly nothing but a sensation of pleasure from true wit, and of uneasiness from false, without our being able to tell the reasons of that pleasure or uneasiness. The power of bestowing these opposite sensations is, therefore, the very essence of true and false wit, and consequently the cause of that pride or humility which arises from them.
There may perhaps be some, who, being accustomedto the style of the schools and pulpit, and having never considered human nature in any other light, than that in whichtheyplace it, may here be surprised to hear me talk of virtue as exciting pride, which they look upon as a vice; and of vice as producing humility, which they have been taught to consider as a virtue. But not to dispute about words, I observe, that byprideI understand that agreeable impression, which arises in the mind, when the view either of our virtue, beauty, riches or power, makes us satisfied with ourselves; and that byhumilityI mean the opposite impression. 'Tis evident the former impression is not always vicious, nor the latter virtuous. The most rigid morality allows us to receive a pleasure from reflecting on a generous action; and 'tis by none esteemed a virtue to feel any fruitless remorses upon the thoughts of past villany and baseness. Let us, therefore, examine these impressions, considered in themselves; and inquire into their causes, whether placed on the mind or body, without troubling ourselves at present with that merit or blame, which may attend them.
Whether we consider the body as a part of ourselves, or assent to those philosophers, who regard it as something external, it must still be allowed to be near enough connected with us to form one of these double relations, which I have asserted to be necessaryto the causes of pride and humility. Wherever, therefore, we can find the other relation of impressions to join to this of ideas, we may expect with assurance either of these passions, according as the impression is pleasant or uneasy. Butbeautyof all kinds gives us a peculiar delight and satisfaction; asdeformityproduces pain, upon whatever subject it may be placed, and whether surveyed in an animate or inanimate object. If the beauty or deformity, therefore, be placed upon our own bodies, this pleasure or uneasiness must be converted into pride or humility, as having in this case all the circumstances requisite to produce a perfect transition of impressions and ideas. These opposite sensations are related to the opposite passions. The beauty or deformity is closely related to self, the object of both these passions. No wonder, then, our own beauty becomes an object of pride, and deformity of humility.
But this effect of personal and bodily qualities is not only a proof of the present system, by showing that the passions arise not in this case without all the circumstances I have required, but may be employed as a stronger and more convincing argument. If we consider all the hypotheses which have been formed either by philosophy or common reason, to explain the difference betwixt beauty and deformity, we shall find that all of them resolve into this, that beauty is such an order and construction of parts, as, either by theprimary constitutionof our nature, bycustom, or bycaprice, is fitted to give a pleasure and satisfaction to the soul. This is the distinguishing character of beauty, and forms all the difference betwixt it and deformity, whose natural tendency is to produce uneasiness. Pleasure and pain, therefore, are not only necessaryattendants of beauty and deformity, but constitute their very essence. And, indeed, if we consider that a great part of the beauty which we admire either in animals or in other objects is derived from the idea of convenience and utility, we shall make no scruple to assent to this opinion. That shape which produces strength is beautiful in one animal; and that which is a sign of agility, in another. The order and convenience of a palace are no less essential to its beauty than its mere figure and appearance. In like manner the rules of architecture require, that the top of a pillar should be more slender than its base, and that because such a figure conveys to us the idea of security, which is pleasant; whereas the contrary form gives us the apprehension of danger, which is uneasy. From innumerable instances of this kind, as well as from considering that beauty, like wit, cannot be defined, but is discerned only by a taste or sensation, we may conclude that beauty is nothing but a form, which produces pleasure, as deformity is a structure of parts which conveys pain; and since the power of producing pain and pleasure make in this manner the essence of beauty and deformity, all the effects of these qualities must be derived from the sensation; and among the rest pride and humility, which of all their effects are the most common and remarkable.
This argument I esteem just and decisive; but in order to give greater authority to the present reasoning, let us suppose it false for a moment, and see what will follow. 'Tis certain, then, that if the power of producing pleasure and pain forms not the essence of beauty and deformity, the sensations are at least inseparable from the qualities, and 'tis even difficult to consider them apart. Now, there is nothing commonto natural and moral beauty (both of which are the causes of pride), but this power of producing pleasure; and as a common effect always supposes a common cause, 'tis plain that pleasure must in both cases be the real and influencing cause of the passion. Again, there is nothing originally different betwixt the beauty of our bodies and the beauty of external and foreign objects, but that the one has a near relation to ourselves, which is waiting in the other. This original difference, therefore, must be the cause of all their other differences, and, among the rest, of their different influence upon the passion of pride, which is excited by the beauty of our person, but is not affected in the least by that of foreign and external objects. Placing then these two conclusions together, we find they compose the preceding system betwixt them, viz. that pleasure, as a related or resembling impression, when placed on a related object, by a natural transition produces pride, and its contrary, humility. This system, then, seems already sufficiently confirmed by experience, though we have not yet exhausted all our arguments.
'Tis not the beauty of the body alone that produces pride, but also its strength and force. Strength is a kind of power, and therefore the desire to excel in strength is to be considered as an inferior species ofambition. For this reason the present phenomenon will be sufficiently accounted for in explaining that passion.
Concerning all other bodily accomplishments, we may observe, in general, that whatever in ourselves is either useful, beautiful or surprising, is an object of pride, and its contrary of humility. Now, 'tis obvious that every thing useful, beautiful or surprising,agrees in producing a separate pleasure, and agrees in nothing else. The pleasure, therefore, with relation to self, must be the cause of the passion.
Though it should not be questioned whether beauty be not something real, and different from the power of producing pleasure, it can never be disputed, that, as surprise is nothing but a pleasure arising from novelty, it is not, properly speaking, a quality in any object, but merely a passion or impression in the soul. It must therefore be from that impression that pride by a natural transition arises. And it arises so naturally, that there is nothingin us, or belonging to us, which produces surprise, that does not at the same time excite that other passion. Thus, we are vain of the surprising adventures we have met with, the escapes we have made, and dangers we have been exposed to. Hence the origin of vulgar lying; where men, without any interest, and merely out of vanity, heap up a number of extraordinary events, which are either the fictions of their brain, or, if true, have at least no connexion with themselves. Their fruitful invention supplies them with a variety of adventures; and where that talent is wanting, they appropriate such as belong to others, in order to satisfy their vanity.
In this phenomenon are contained two curious experiments, which, if we compare them together, according to the known rules, by which we judge of cause and effect in anatomy, natural philosophy, and other sciences, will be an undeniable argument for that influence of the double relations above-mentioned. By one of these experiments we find, that an object produces pride merely by the interposition of pleasure; and that because the quality by which it produces pride, is in reality nothing but the power of producing pleasure.By the other experiment we find, that the pleasure produces the pride by a transition along related ideas; because when we cut off that relation, the passion is immediately destroyed. A surprising adventure, in which we have been ourselves engaged, is related to us, and by that means produces pride: but the adventures of others, though they may cause pleasure, yet, for want of this relation of ideas, never excite that passion. What farther proof can be desired for the present system?
There is only one objection to this system with regard to our body; which is, that though nothing be more agreeable than health, and more painful than sickness, yet commonly men are neither proud of the one, nor mortified with the other. This will easily be accounted for, if we consider thesecondandfourthlimitations, proposed to our general system. It was observed, that no object ever produces pride or humility, if it has not somethingpeculiarto ourself; as also, that every cause of that passion must be in some measureconstant, and hold some proportion to the duration of ourself, which is its object. Now, as health and sickness vary incessantly to all men, and there is none who issolelyorcertainlyfixed in either, these accidental blessings and calamities are in a manner separated from us, and are never considered as connected with our being and existence. And that this account is just, appears hence, that wherever a malady of any kind is so rooted in our constitution that we no longer entertain any hopes of recovery, from that moment it becomes an object of humility; as is evident in old men, whom nothing mortifies more than the consideration of their age and infirmities. They endeavour, as long as possible, to conceal their blindness and deafness,their rheums and gout; nor do they ever confess them without reluctance and uneasiness. And though young men are not ashamed of every headache or cold they fall into, yet no topic is so proper to mortify human pride, and make us entertain a mean opinion of our nature, than this, that we are every moment of our lives subject to such infirmities. This sufficiently proves that bodily pain and sickness are in themselves proper causes of humility; though the custom of estimating every thing by comparison more than by its intrinsic worth and value, makes us overlook these calamities, which we find to be incident to every one, and causes us to form an idea of our merit and character independent of them.
We are ashamed of such maladies as affect others, and are either dangerous or disagreeable to them. Of the epilepsy, because it gives a horror to every one present; of the itch, because it is infectious; of the king's evil, because it commonly goes to posterity. Men always consider the sentiments of others in their judgment of themselves. This has evidently appeared in some of the foregoing reasonings, and will appear still more evidently, and be more fully explained afterwards.
But though pride and humility have the qualities of our mind and body, that isself, for their natural and more immediate causes, we find by experience thatthere are many other objects which produce these affections, and that the primary one is, in some measure, obscured and lost by the multiplicity of foreign and extrinsic. We round a vanity upon houses, gardens, equipages, as well as upon personal merit and accomplishments; and though these external advantages be in themselves widely distant from thought or a person, yet they considerably influence even a passion, which is directed to that as its ultimate object. This happens when external objects acquire any particular relation to ourselves, and are associated or connected with us. A beautiful fish in the ocean, an animal in a desart, and indeed any thing that neither belongs, nor is related to us, has no manner of influence on our vanity, whatever extraordinary qualities it may be endowed with, and whatever degree of surprise and admiration it may naturally occasion. It must be some way associated with us in order to touch our pride. Its idea must hang in a manner upon that of ourselves; and the transition from the one to the other must be easy and natural.
But here 'tis remarkable, that though the relation ofresemblanceoperates upon the mind in the same manner as contiguity and causation, in conveying us from one idea to another, yet 'tis seldom a foundation either of pride or of humility. If we resemble a person in any of the valuable parts of his character, we must, in some degree, possess the quality in which we resemble him; and this quality we always choose to survey directly in ourselves, rather than by reflection in another person, when we would found upon it any degree of vanity. So that though a likeness may occasionally produce that passion, by suggesting a more advantageous idea of ourselves, 'tis there the view, fixes at last, and the passion finds its ultimate and final cause.
There are instances, indeed, wherein men show a vanity in resembling a great man in his countenance, shape, air, or other minute circumstances, that contribute not in any degree to his reputation; but it must be confessed, that this extends not very far, nor is of any considerable moment in these affections. For this I assign the following reason. We can never have a vanity of resembling in trifles any person, unless he be possessed of very shining qualities, which give us a respect and veneration for him. These qualities, then, are, properly speaking, the causes of our vanity, by means of their relation to ourselves. Now, after what manner are they related to ourselves? They are parts of the person we value, and, consequently, connected with these trifles; which are also supposed to be parts of him. These trifles are connected with the resembling qualities in us; and these qualities in us, being parts, are connected with the whole; and, by that means, form a chain of several links betwixt ourselves and the shining qualities of the person we resemble. But, besides that this multitude of relations must weaken the connexion, 'tis evident the mind, in passing from the shining qualities to the trivial ones, must, by that contrast, the better perceive the minuteness of the latter, and be, in some measure, ashamed of the comparison and resemblance.
The relation, therefore, of contiguity, or that of causation, betwixt the cause and object of pride and humility, is alone requisite to give rise to these passions; and these relations are nothing else but qualities, by which the imagination is conveyed from one idea to another. Now, let us consider what effect these can possibly have upon the mind, and by what means they become so requisite to the production of the passions.'Tis evident, that the association of ideas operates in so silent and imperceptible a manner, that we are scarce sensible of it, and discover it more by its effects than by any immediate feeling or perception. It produces no emotion, and gives rise to no new impression of any kind, but only modifies those ideas of which the mind was formerly possessed, and which it could recal upon occasion. From this reasoning, as well as from undoubted experience, we may conclude, that an association of ideas, however necessary, is not alone sufficient to give rise to any passion.
'Tis evident, then, that when the mind feels the passion, either of pride or humility, upon the appearance of a related object, there is, beside the relation or transition of thought, an emotion, or original impression, produced by some other principle. The question is, whether the emotion first produced be the passion itself, or some other impression related to it. This question we cannot be long in deciding. For, besides all the other arguments with which this subject abounds, it must evidently appear, that the relation of ideas, which experience shows to be so requisite a circumstance to the production of the passion, would be entirely superfluous, were it not to second a relation of affections, and facilitate the transition from one impression to another. If nature produced immediately the passion of pride or humility, it would be completed in itself, and would require no farther addition or increase from any other affection. But, supposing the first emotion to be only related to pride or humility, 'tis easily conceived to what purpose the relation of objects may serve, and how the two different associations of impressions and ideas, by uniting their forces, may assist each other's operation. This is not only easilyconceived, but, I will venture to affirm, 'tis the only manner in which we can conceive this subject. An easy transition of ideas, which, of itself, causes no emotion, can never be necessary, or even useful to the passions, but by forwarding the transition betwixt some related impressions. Not to mention that the same object causes a greater or smaller degree of pride, not only in proportion to the increase or decrease of its qualities, but also to the distance or nearness of the relation, which is a clear argument for the transition of affections along the relation of ideas, since every change in the relation produces a proportionable change in the passion. Thus one part of the preceding system, concerning the relations of ideas, is a sufficient proof of the other, concerning that of impressions; and is itself so evidently founded on experience, that 'twould be lost time to endeavour farther to prove it.
This will appear still more evidently in particular instances. Men are vain of the beauty of their country, of their county, of their parish. Here the idea of beauty plainly produces a pleasure. This pleasure is related to pride. The object or cause of this pleasure is, by the supposition, related to self, or the object of pride. By this double relation of impressions and ideas, a transition is made from the one impression to the other.
Men are also vain of the temperature of the climate in which they were born; of the fertility of their native soil; of the goodness of the wines, fruits, or victuals, produced by it; of the softness or force of their language, with other particulars of that kind. These objects have plainly a reference to the pleasures of the senses, and are originally considered as agreeable to the feeling, taste, or hearing. How is it possible theycould ever become objects of pride, except by means of that transition above explained?
There are some that discover a vanity of an opposite kind, and affect to depreciate their own country, in comparison of those to which they have travelled. These persons find, when they are at home, and surrounded with their countrymen, that the strong relation betwixt them and their own nation is shared with so many, that 'tis in a manner lost to them; whereas their distant relation to a foreign country, which is formed by their having seen it and lived in it, is augmented by their considering how few there are who have done the same. For this reason they always admire the beauty, utility, and rarity of what is abroad, above what is at home.
Since we can be vain of a country, climate, or any inanimate object which bears a relation to us, 'tis no wonder we are vain of the qualities of those who are connected with us by blood or friendship. Accordingly we find, that the very same qualities, which in ourselves produce pride, produce also, in a lesser degree, the same affection when discovered in persons related to us. The beauty, address, merit, credit, and honours of their kindred, are carefully displayed by the proud, as some of their most considerable sources of their vanity.
As we are proud of riches in ourselves, so, to satisfy our vanity, we desire that every one, who has any connexion with us, should likewise be possessed of them, and are ashamed of any one that is mean or poor among our friends and relations. For this reason we remove the poor as far from us as possible; and as we cannot prevent poverty in some distant collaterals, and our forefathers are taken to be our nearest relations,upon this account every one affects to be of a good family, and to be descended from a long succession of rich and honourable ancestors.
I have frequently observed, that those who boast of the antiquity of their families, are glad when they can join this circumstance, that their ancestors for many generations have been uninterrupted proprietors of the same portion of land, and that their family has never changed its possessions, or been transplanted into any other county or province. I have also observed, that 'tis an additional subject of vanity, when they can boast that these possessions have been transmitted through a descent composed entirely of males, and that the honours and fortune have never passed through any female. Let us endeavour to explain these phenomena by the foregoing system.
'Tis evident that, when any one boasts of the antiquity of his family, the subjects of his vanity are not merely the extent of time and number of ancestors, but also their riches and credit, which are supposed to reflect a lustre on himself on account of his relation to them. He first considers these objects; is affected by them in an agreeable manner; and then returning back to himself, through the relation of parent and child, is elevated with the passion of pride, by means of the double relation of impressions and ideas. Since, therefore, the passion depends on these relations, whatever strengthens any of the relations must also increase the passion, and whatever weakens the relations must diminish the passion. Now 'tis certain the identity of the possession strengthens the relation of ideas arising from blood and kindred, and conveys the fancy with greater facility from one generation to another, from the remotest ancestors to their posterity, who are both theirheirs and their descendants. By this facility the impression is transmitted more entire, and excites a greater degree of pride and vanity.
The case is the same with the transmission of the honours and fortune through a succession of males without their passing through any female. 'Tis a quality of human nature, which we shall consider afterwards,[3]that the imagination naturally turns to whatever is important and considerable; and where two objects are presented to it, a small and a great one, usually leaves the former, and dwells entirely upon the latter. As in the society of marriage, the male sex has the advantage above the female, the husband first engages our attention; and whether we consider him directly, or reach him by passing through related objects, the thought both rests upon him with greater satisfaction, and arrives at him with greater facility than his consort. 'Tis easy to see, that this property must strengthen the child's relation to the father, and weaken that to the mother. For as all relations are nothing but a propensity to pass from one idea to another, whatever strengthens the propensity strengthens the relation; and as we have a stronger propensity to pass from the idea of the children to that of the father, than from the same idea to that of the mother, we ought to regard the former relation as the closer and more considerable. This is the reason why children commonly bear their father's name, and are esteemed to be of nobler or baser birth, according tohisfamily. And though the mother should be possessed of a superior spirit and genius to the father, as often happens, thegeneral ruleprevails, notwithstanding the exception,according to the doctrine above explained. Nay, even when a superiority of any kind is so great, or when any other reasons have such an effect, as to make the children rather represent the mother's family than the father's, the general rule still retains such an efficacy, that it weakens the relation, and makes a kind of break in the line of ancestors. The imagination runs not along them with facility, nor is able to transfer the honour and credit of the ancestors to their posterity of the same name and family so readily, as when the transition is conformable to the general rules, and passes from father to son, or from brother to brother.
[3]Part II. Sect. 2.
[3]Part II. Sect. 2.
But the relation which is esteemed the closest, and which, of all others, produces most commonly the passion of pride, is that ofproperty. This relation 'twill be impossible for me fully to explain before I come to treat of justice and the other moral virtues. 'Tis sufficient to observe on this occasion, that property may be defined,such a relation betwixt a person and an object as permits him, but forbids any other, the free use and possession of it, without violating the laws of justice and moral equity. If justice therefore be a virtue, which has a natural and original influence on the human mind, property may be looked upon as a particular species ofcausation; whether we consider the liberty it gives the proprietor to operate as he pleases uponthe object, or the advantages which he reaps from it. 'Tis the same case, if justice, according to the system of certain philosophers, should be esteemed an artificial and not a natural virtue. For then honour, and custom, and civil laws supply the place of natural conscience, and produce in some degree, the same effects. This, in the mean time, is certain, that the mention of the property naturally carries our thought to the proprietor, and of the proprietor to the property; which being a proof of a perfect relation of ideas, is all that is requisite to our present purpose. A relation of ideas, joined to that of impressions, always produces a transition of affections; and therefore, whenever any pleasure or pain arises from an object, connected with us by property, we may be certain, that either pride or humility must arise from this conjunction of relations, if the foregoing system be solid and satisfactory. And whether it be so or not, we may soon satisfy ourselves by the most cursory view of human life.
Every thing belonging to a vain man is the best that is any where to be found. His houses, equipage, furniture, clothes, horses, hounds, excel all others in his conceit; and 'tis easy to observe, that from the least advantage in any of these, he draws a new subject of pride and vanity. His wine, if you'll believe him, has a finer flavour than any other; his cookery is more exquisite; his table more orderly; his servant more expert; the air in which he lives more healthful; the soil he cultivates more fertile; his fruits ripen earlier, and to greater perfection; such a thing is remarkable for its novelty; such another for its antiquity: this is the workmanship of a famous artist, that belonged to such a prince or great man; all objects, in a word, that are useful, beautiful, or surprising, or are related to such,may, by means of property, give rise to this passion. These agree in giving pleasure, and agree in nothing else. This alone is common to them, and therefore must be the quality that produces the passion, which is their common effect. As every new instance is a new argument, and as the instances are here without number, I may venture to affirm, that scarce any system was ever so fully proved by experience, as that which I have here advanced.
If the property of any thing that gives pleasure either by its utility, beauty, or novelty, produces also pride by a double relation of impressions and ideas; we need not be surprised that the power of acquiring this property should have the same effect. Now, riches are to be considered as the power of acquiring the property of what pleases; and 'tis only in this view they have any influence on the passions. Paper will, on many occasions, be considered as riches, and that because it may convey the power of acquiring money; and money is not riches, as it is a metal endowed with certain qualities of solidity, weight, and fusibility; but only as it has a relation to the pleasures and conveniences of life. Taking then this for granted, which is in itself so evident, we may draw from it one of the strongest arguments I have yet employed to prove the influence of the double relations on pride and humility.
It has been observed, in treating of the understanding, that the distinction which we sometimes make betwixt apowerand theexerciseof it, is entirely frivolous, and that neither man nor any other being ought ever to be thought possessed of any ability, unless it be exerted and put in action. But though this be strictly true in a just andphilosophicalway of thinking, 'tis certain it is notthe philosophyof our passions,but that many things operate upon them by means of the idea and supposition of power, independent of its actual exercise. We are pleased when we acquire an ability of procuring pleasure, and are displeased when another acquires a power of giving pain. This is evident from experience; but in order to give a just explication of the matter, and account for this satisfaction and uneasiness, we must weigh the following reflections.
'Tis evident the error of distinguishing power from its exercise proceeds not entirely from the scholastic doctrine offree will, which, indeed, enters very little into common life, and has but small influence on our vulgar and popular ways of thinking. According to that doctrine, motives deprive us not of free-will, nor take away our power of performing or forbearing any action. But according to common notions a man has no power, where very considerable motives lie betwixt him and the satisfaction of his desires, and determine him to forbear what he wishes to perform. I do not think I have fallen into my enemy's power when I see him pass me in the streets with a sword by his side, while I am, unprovided of any weapon. I know that the fear of the civil magistrate is as strong a restraint as any of iron, and that I am in as perfect safety as if he were chained or imprisoned. But when a person acquires such an authority over me, that not only there is no external obstacle to his actions, but also that he may punish or reward me as he pleases without any dread of punishment in his turn, I then attribute a full power to him, and consider myself as his subject or vassal.
Now, if we compare these two cases, that of a person who has very strong motives of interest or safety to forbear any action, and that of another who liesunder no such obligation, we shall find, according to the philosophy explained in the foregoing book, that the onlyknowndifference betwixt them lies in this, that in the former case we conclude, frompast experience, that the person never will perform that action, and in the latter, that he possibly or probably will perform it. Nothing is more fluctuating and inconstant on many occasions than the will of man; nor is there any thing but strong motives which can give us an absolute certainty in pronouncing concerning any of his future actions. When we see a person free from these motives, we suppose a possibility either of his acting or forbearing; and though, in general, we may conclude him to be determined by motives and causes, yet this removes not the uncertainty of our judgment concerning these causes, nor the influence of that uncertainty on the passions. Since, therefore, we ascribe a power of performing an action to every one who has no very powerful motive to forbear it, and refuse it to such as have, it may justly be concluded, thatpowerhas always a reference to itsexercise, either actual or probable, and that we consider a person as endowed with any ability when we find, from past experience, that 'tis probable, or at least possible, he may exert it. And indeed, as our passions always regard the real existence of objects, and we always judge of this reality from past instances, nothing can be more likely of itself, without any farther reasoning, than that power consists in the possibility or probability of any action, as discovered by experience and the practice of the world.
Now, 'tis evident that, wherever a person is in such a situation with regard to me that there is no very powerful motive to deter him from injuring me, andconsequently 'tisuncertainwhether he will injure me or not, I must be uneasy in such a situation, and cannot consider the possibility or probability of that injury without a sensible concern. The passions are not only affected by such events as are certain and infallible, but also in an inferior degree by such as are possible and contingent. And though perhaps I never really feel any harm, and discover by the event, that, philosophically speaking, the person never had any power of harming me, since he did not exert any, this prevents not my uneasiness from the preceding uncertainty. The agreeable passions may here operate as well as the uneasy, and convey a pleasure when I perceive a good to become either possible or probable by the possibility or probability of another's bestowing it on me, upon the removal of any strong motives which might formerly have hindered him.
But we may farther observe, that this satisfaction increases, when any good approaches, in such a manner that it is in one'sownpower to take or leave it, and there neither is any physical impediment, nor any very strong motive to hinder our enjoyment. As all men desire pleasure, nothing can be more probable than its existence when there is no external obstacle to the producing it, and men perceive no danger in following their inclinations. In that case their imagination easily anticipates the satisfaction, and conveys the same joy as if they were persuaded of its real and actual existence.
But this accounts not sufficiently for the satisfaction which attends riches. A miser receives delight from his money; that is, from thepowerit affords him of procuring all the pleasures and conveniences of life, though he knows he has enjoyed his riches for fortyyears without ever enjoying them; and consequently cannot conclude, by any species of reasoning, that the real existence of these pleasures is nearer, than if he were entirely deprived of all his possessions. But though he cannot form any such conclusion in a way of reasoning concerning the nearer approach of the pleasure, 'tis certain heimaginesit to approach nearer, whenever all external obstacles are removed, along with the more powerful motives of interest and danger, which oppose it. For farther satisfaction on this head, I must refer to my account of the will,[4]where I shall explain that false sensation of liberty, which makes us imagine we can perform any thing that is not very dangerous or destructive. Whenever any other person is under no strong obligations of interest to forbear any pleasure, we judge fromexperience, that the pleasure will exist, and that he will probably obtain it. But when ourselves are in that situation, we judge from anillusion of the fancy, that the pleasure is still closer and more immediate. The will seems to move easily every way, and casts a shadow or image of itself even to that side on which it did not settle. By means of this image the enjoyment seems to approach nearer to us, and gives us the same lively satisfaction as if it were perfectly certain and unavoidable.
'Twill now be easy to draw this whole reasoning to a point, and to prove, that when riches produce any pride or vanity in their possessors, as they never fail to do, 'tis only by means of a double relation of impressions and ideas. The very essence of riches consists in the power of procuring the pleasures and conveniences of life. The very essence of this powerconsists in the probability of its exercise, and in its causing us to anticipate, by atrueorfalsereasoning, the real existence of the pleasure. This anticipation of pleasure is, in itself, a very considerable pleasure; and as its cause is some possession or property which we enjoy, and which is thereby related to us, we here clearly see all the parts of the foregoing system most exactly and distinctly drawn out before us.
For the same reason, that riches cause pleasure and pride, and poverty excites uneasiness and humility, power must produce the former emotions, and slavery the latter. Power or an authority over others makes us capable of satisfying all our desires; as slavery, by subjecting us to the will of others, exposes us to a thousand wants and mortifications.
'Tis here worth observing, that the vanity of power, or shame of slavery, are much augmented by the consideration of the persons over whom we exercise our authority, or who exercise it over us. For, supposing it possible to frame statues of such an admirable mechanism, that they could move and act in obedience to the will; 'tis evident the possession of them would give pleasure and pride, but not to such a degree as the same authority, when exerted over sensible and rational creatures, whose condition, being compared to our own, makes it seem more agreeable and honourable. Comparison is in every case a sure method of augmenting our esteem of any thing. A rich man feels the felicity of his condition better by opposing it to that of a beggar. But there is a peculiar advantage in power, by the contrast, which is, in a manner, presented to us betwixt ourselves and the person we command. The comparison is obvious and natural: the imagination finds it in the very subject: the passage ofthe thought to its conception is smooth and easy. And that this circumstance has a considerable effect in augmenting its influence, will appear afterwards in examining the nature ofmaliceandenvy.
[4]Part III. Sect. 2.
[4]Part III. Sect. 2.
But beside these original causes of pride and humility, there is a secondary one in the opinions of others, which has an equal influence on the affections. Our reputation, our character, our name, are considerations of vast weight and importance; and even the other causes of pride, virtue, beauty and riches, have little influence, when not seconded by the opinions and sentiments of others. In order to account for this phenomenon, 'twill be necessary to take some compass, and first explain the nature ofsympathy.
No quality of human nature is more remarkable, both in itself and in its consequences, than that propensity we have to sympathize with others, and to receive by communication their inclinations and sentiments, however different from, or even contrary to, our own. This is not only conspicuous in children, who implicitly embrace every opinion proposed to them; but also in men of the greatest judgment and understanding, who find it very difficult to follow their own reason or inclination, in opposition to that of their friends and daily companions. To this principle we ought to ascribe the great uniformity we may observein the humours and turn of thinking of those of the same nation; and 'tis much more probable, that this resemblance arises from sympathy, than from any influence of the soil and climate, which, though they continue invariably the same, are not able to preserve the character of a nation the same for a century together. A good-natured man finds himself in an instant of the same humour with his company; and even the proudest and most surly take a tincture from their countrymen and acquaintance. A cheerful countenance infuses a sensible complacency and serenity into my mind; as an angry or sorrowful one throws a sudden damp upon me. Hatred, resentment, esteem, love, courage, mirth and melancholy; all these passions I feel more from communication, than from my own natural temper and disposition. So remarkable a phenomenon merits our attention, and must be traced up to its first principles.
When any affection is infused by sympathy, it is at first known only by its effects, and by those external signs in the countenance and conversation, which convey an idea of it. This idea is presently converted into an impression, and acquires such a degree of force and vivacity, as to become the very passion itself, and produce an equal emotion as any original affection. However instantaneous this change of the idea into an impression may be, it proceeds from certain views and reflections, which will not escape the strict scrutiny of a philosopher, though they may the person himself who makes them.
'Tis evident that the idea, or rather impression of ourselves, is always intimately present with us, and that our consciousness gives us so lively a conception of our own person, that 'tis not possible to imagine that anything can in this particular go beyond it. Whatever object, therefore, is related to ourselves, must be conceived with a like vivacity of conception, according to the foregoing principles; and though this relation should not be so strong as that of causation, it must still have a considerable influence. Resemblance and contiguity are relations not to be neglected; especially when, by an inference from cause and effect, and by the observation of external signs, we are informed of the real existence of the object, which is resembling or contiguous.
Now, 'tis obvious that nature has preserved a great resemblance among all human creatures, and that we never remark any passion or principle in others, of which, in some degree or other, we may not find a parallel in ourselves. The case is the same with the fabric of the mind as with that of the body. However the parts may differ in shape or size, their structure and composition are in general the same. There is a very remarkable resemblance, which preserves itself amidst all their variety; and this resemblance must very much contribute to make us enter into the sentiments of others, and embrace them with facility and pleasure. Accordingly we find, that where, beside the general resemblance of our natures, there is any peculiar similarity in our manners, or character, or country, or language, it facilitates the sympathy. The stronger the relation is betwixt ourselves and any object, the more easily does the imagination make the transition, and convey to the related idea the vivacity of conception, with which we always form the idea of our own person.
Nor is resemblance the only relation which has this effect, but receives new force from other relations thatmay accompany it. The sentiments of others have little influence when far removed from us, and require the relation of contiguity to make them communicate themselves entirely. The relations of blood, being a species of causation, may sometimes contribute to the same effect; as also acquaintance, which operates in the same manner with education and custom, as we shall see more fully afterwards.[5]All these relations, when united together, convey the impression or consciousness of our own person to the idea of the sentiments or passions of others, and makes us conceive them in the strongest and most lively manner.
It has been remarked in the beginning of this Treatise, that all ideas are borrowed from impressions, and that these two kinds of perceptions differ only in the degrees of force and vivacity with which they strike upon the soul. The component parts of ideas and impressions are precisely alike. The manner and order of their appearance may be the same. The different degrees of their force and vivacity are, therefore, the only particulars that distinguish them: and as this difference may be removed, in some measure, by a relation betwixt the impressions and ideas, 'tis no wonder an idea of a sentiment or passion may by this means be so enlivened as to become the very sentiment or passion. The lively idea of any object always approaches its impression; and 'tis certain we may feel sickness and pain from the mere force of imagination, and make a malady real by often thinking of it. But this is most remarkable in the opinions and affections; and 'tis there principally that a lively idea is converted into an impression. Our affections depend more uponourselves, and the internal operations of the mind, than any other impressions; for which reason they arise more naturally from the imagination, and from every lively idea we form of them. This is the nature and cause of sympathy; and 'tis after this manner we enter so deep into the opinions and affections of others, whenever we discover them.
What is principally remarkable in this whole affair, is the strong confirmation these phenomena give to the foregoing system concerning the understanding, and consequently to the present one concerning the passions, since these are analogous to each other. 'Tis indeed evident, that when we sympathize with the passions and sentiments of others, these movements appear at first inourmind as mere ideas, and are conceived to belong to another person, as we conceive any other matter of fact. 'Tis also evident, that the ideas of the affections of others are converted into the very impressions they represent, and that the passions arise in conformity to the images we form of them. All this is an object of the plainest experience, and depends not on any hypothesis of philosophy. That science can only be admitted to explain the phenomena; though at the same time it must be confessed, they are so clear of themselves, that there is but little occasion to employ it. For, besides the relation of cause and effect, by which we are convinced of the reality of the passion with which we sympathize; besides this, I say, we must be assisted by the relations of resemblance and contiguity, in order to feel the sympathy in its full perfection. And since these relations can entirely convert an idea into an impression, and convey the vivacity of the latter into the former, so perfectly as to lose nothing of it in the transition, we may easily conceivehow the relation of cause and effect alone, may serve to strengthen and enliven an idea. In sympathy there is an evident conversion of an idea into an impression. This conversion arises from the relation of objects to ourself. Ourself is always intimately present to us. Let us compare all these circumstances, and we shall find, that sympathy is exactly correspondent to the operations of our understanding; and even contains something more surprising and extraordinary.
'Tis now time to turn our view from the general consideration of sympathy, to its influence on pride and humility, when these passions arise from praise and blame, from reputation and infamy. We may observe, that no person is ever praised by another for any quality which would not, if real, produce of itself a pride in the person possessed of it. The eulogiums either turn upon his power, or riches, or family, or virtue; all of which are subjects of vanity, that we have already explained and accounted for. 'Tis certain, then, that if a person considered himself in the same light in which he appears to his admirer, he would first receive a separate pleasure, and afterwards a pride or self-satisfaction, according to the hypothesis above explained. Now, nothing is more natural than for us to embrace the opinions of others in this particular, both fromsympathy, which renders all their sentiments intimately present to us, and fromreasoning, which makes us regard their judgment as a kind of argument for what they affirm. These two principles of authority and sympathy influence almost all our opinions, but must have a peculiar influence when we judge of our own worth and character. Such judgments are always attended with passion;[6]and nothing tendsmore to disturb our understanding, and precipitate us into any opinions, however unreasonable, than their connexion with passion, which diffuses itself over the imagination, and gives an additional force to every related idea. To which we may add, that, being conscious of great partiality in our own favour, we are peculiarly pleased with any thing that confirms the good opinion we have of ourselves, and are easily shocked with whatever opposes it.
All this appears very probable in theory; but in order to bestow a full certainty on this reasoning, we must examine the phenomena of the passions, and see if they agree with it.
Among these phenomena we may esteem it a very favourable one to our present purpose, that though fame in general be agreeable, yet we receive a much greater satisfaction from the approbation of those whom we ourselves esteem and approve of, than of those whom we hate and despise. In like manner we are principally mortified with the contempt of persons upon whose judgment we set some value, and are, in a great measure, indifferent about the opinions of the rest of mankind. But if the mind received from any original instinct a desire of fame, and aversion to infamy, fame and infamy would influence us without distinction; and every opinion, according as it were favourable or unfavourable, would equally excite that desire or aversion. The judgment of a fool is the judgment of another person, as well as that of a wise man, and is only inferior in its influence on our own judgment.
We are not only better pleased with the approbation of a wise man than with that of a fool, but receive an additional satisfaction from the former, when 'tis obtained after a long and intimate acquaintance. This is accounted for after the same manner.
The praises of others never give us much pleasure, unless they concur with our own opinion, and extol us for those qualities in which we chiefly excel. A mere soldier little values the character of eloquence; a gownman, of courage; a bishop, of humour; or a merchant, of learning. Whatever esteem a man may have for any quality, abstractedly considered, when he is conscious he is not possessed of it, the opinions of the whole world will give him little pleasure in that particular, and that because they never will be able to draw his own opinion after them.
Nothing is more usual than for men of good families, but narrow circumstances, to leave their friends and country, and rather seek their livelihood by mean and mechanical employments among strangers, than among those who are acquainted with their birth and education. We shall be unknown, say they, where we go. Nobody will suspect from what family we are sprung. We shall be removed from all our friends and acquaintance, and our poverty and meanness will by that means sit more easy upon us. In examining these sentiments, I find they afford many very convincing arguments for my present purpose.
First, we may infer from them that the uneasiness of being contemned depends on sympathy, and that sympathy depends on the relation of objects to ourselves, since we are most uneasy under the contempt of persons who are both related to us by blood and contiguous in place. Hence we seek to diminish this sympathy and uneasiness by separating these relations, and placing ourselves in a contiguity to strangers, and at a distance from relations.
Secondly, we may conclude, that relations are requisite to sympathy, not absolutely considered as relations,but by their influence in converting our ideas of the sentiments of others into the very sentiments by means of the association betwixt the idea of their persons and that of our own. For here the relations of kindred and contiguity both subsist, but not being united in the same persons, they contribute in a less degree to the sympathy.
Thirdly, this very circumstance of the diminution of sympathy, by the separation of relations, is worthy of our attention. Suppose I am placed in a poor condition among strangers, and consequently am but lightly treated; I yet find myself easier in that situation, than when I was every day exposed to the contempt of my kindred and countrymen. Here I feel a double contempt; from my relations, but they are absent; from those about me, but they are strangers. This double contempt is likewise strengthened by the two relations of kindred and contiguity. But as the persons are not the same who are connected with me by those two relations, this difference of ideas separates the impressions arising from the contempt, and keeps them from running into each other. The contempt of my neighbours has a certain influence, as has also that of my kindred; but these influences are distinct and never unite, as when the contempt proceeds from persons who are at once both my neighbours and kindred. This phenomenon is analogous to the system of pride and humility above explained, which may seem so extraordinary to vulgar apprehensions.
Fourthly, a person in these circumstances naturally conceals his birth from those among whom he lives, and is very uneasy if any one suspects him to be of a family much superior to his present fortune and way of living. Every thing in this world is judged of by comparisonWhat is an immense fortune for a private gentleman, is beggary for a prince. A peasant would think himself happy in what cannot afford necessaries for a gentleman. When a man has either been accustomed to a more splendid way of living, or thinks himself entitled to it by his birth and quality, every thing below is disagreeable and even shameful; and 'tis with the greatest industry he conceals his pretensions to a better fortune. Here he himself knows his misfortunes; but as those with whom he lives are ignorant of them, he has the disagreeable reflection and comparison suggested only by his own thoughts, and never receives it by a sympathy with others; which must contribute very much to his ease and satisfaction.
If there be any objections to this hypothesis,that the pleasure which we receive from praise arises from a communication of sentiments, we shall find, upon examination, that these objections, when taken in a proper light, will serve to confirm it. Popular fame may be agreeable even to a man who despises the vulgar; but 'tis because their multitude gives them additional weight and authority. Plagiaries are delighted with praises, which they are conscious they do not deserve; but this is a kind of castle-building, where the imagination amuses itself with its own fictions, and strives to render them firm and stable by a sympathy with the sentiments of others. Proud men are most shocked with contempt, though they do not most readily assent to it; but 'tis because of the opposition betwixt the passion, which is natural to them, and that received by sympathy. A violent lover, in like manner, is very much displeased when you blame and condemn his love; though 'tis evident your opposition can have no influence but by the hold it takes of himself, and byhis sympathy with you. If he despises you, or perceives you are in jest, whatever you say has no effect upon him.