Section I
Of the Character of the Individual, so far as it affects his own
Happiness; or of Prudence
The preservation and healthful state of the body seem to be
the objects which Nature first recommends to the care of every
individual. The appetites of hunger and thirst, the agreeable or
disagreeable sensations of pleasure and pain, of heat and cold,
etc. may be considered as lessons delivered by the voice of
Nature herself, directing him what he ought to chuse, and what he
ought to avoid, for this purpose. The first lessons which he is
taught by those to whom his childhood is entrusted, tend, the
greater part of them, to the same purpose. Their principal object
is to teach him how to keep out of harm's way.
As he grows up, he soon learns that some care and foresight
are necessary for providing the means of gratifying those natural
appetites, of procuring pleasure and avoiding pain, of procuring
the agreeable and avoiding the disagreeable temperature of heat
and cold. In the proper direction of this care and foresight
consists the art of preserving and increasing what is called his
external fortune.
Though it is in order to supply the necessities and
conveniencies of the body, that the advantages of external
fortune are originally recommended to us, yet we cannot live long
in the world without perceiving that the respect of our equals,
our credit and rank in the society we live in, depend very much
upon the degree in which we possess, or are supposed to possess,
those advantages. The desire of becoming the proper objects of
this respect, of deserving and obtaining this credit and rank
among our equals, is, perhaps, the strongest of all our desires,
and our anxiety to obtain the advantages of fortune is
accordingly much more excited and irritated by this desire, than
by that of supplying all the necessities and conveniencies of the
body, which are always very easily supplied.
Our rank and credit among our equals, too, depend very much
upon, what, perhaps, a virtuous man would wish them to depend
entirely, our character and conduct, or upon the confidence,
esteem, and good-will, which these naturally excite in the people
we live with.
The care of the health, of the fortune, of the rank and
reputation of the individual, the objects upon which his comfort
and happiness in this life are supposed principally to depend, is
considered as the proper business of that virtue which is
commonly called Prudence.
We suffer more, it has already been observed, when we fall
from a better to a worse situation, than we ever enjoy when we
rise from a worse to a better. Security, therefore, is the first
and the principal object of prudence. It is averse to expose our
health, our fortune, our rank, or reputation, to any sort of
hazard. It is rather cautious than enterprising, and more anxious
to preserve the advantages which we already possess, than forward
to prompt us to the acquisition of still greater advantages. The
methods of improving our fortune, which it principally recommends
to us, are those which expose to no loss or hazard; real
knowledge and skill in our trade or profession, assiduity and
industry in the exercise of it, frugality, and even some degree
of parsimony, in all our expences.
The prudent man always studies seriously and earnestly to
understand whatever he professes to understand, and not merely to
persuade other people that he understands it; and though his
talents may not always be very brilliant, they are always
perfectly genuine. He neither endeavours to impose upon you by
the cunning devices of an artful impostor, nor by the arrogant
airs of an assuming pedant, nor by the confident assertions of a
superficial and imprudent pretender. He is not ostentatious even
of the abilities which he really possesses. His conversation is
simple and modest, and he is averse to all the quackish arts by
which other people so frequently thrust themselves into public
notice and reputation. For reputation in his profession he is
naturally disposed to rely a good deal upon the solidity of his
knowledge and abilities; and he does not always think of
cultivating the favour of those little clubs and cabals, who, in
the superior arts and sciences, so often erect themselves into
the supreme judges of merit; and who make it their business to
celebrate the talents and virtues of one another, and to decry
whatever can come into competition with them. If he ever connects
himself with any society of this kind, it is merely in
self-defence, not with a view to impose upon the public, but to
hinder the public from being imposed upon, to his disadvantage,
by the clamours, the whispers, or the intrigues, either of that
particular society, or of some other of the same kind.
The prudent man is always sincere, and feels horror at the
very thought of exposing himself to the disgrace which attends
upon the detection of falsehood. But though always sincere, he is
not always frank and open; and though he never tells any thing
but the truth, he does not always think himself bound, when not
properly called upon, to tell the whole truth. As he is cautious
in his actions, so he is reserved in his speech; and never rashly
or unnecessarily obtrudes his opinion concerning either things or
persons.
The prudent man, though not always distinguished by the most
exquisite sensibility, is always very capable of friendship. But
his friendship is not that ardent and passionate, but too often
transitory affection, which appears so delicious to the
generosity of youth and inexperience. It is a sedate, but steady
and faithful attachment to a few well-tried and well-chosen
companions; in the choice of whom he is not guided by the giddy
admiration of shining accomplishments, but by the sober esteem of
modesty, discretion, and good conduct. But though capable of
friendship, he is not always much disposed to general sociality.
He rarely frequents, and more rarely figures in those convivial
societies which are distinguished for the jollity and gaiety of
their conversation. Their way of life might too often interfere
with the regularity of his temperance, might interrupt the
steadiness of his industry, or break in upon the strictness of
his frugality.
But though his conversation may not always be very sprightly
or diverting, it is always perfectly inoffensive. He hates the
thought of being guilty of any petulance or rudeness. He never
assumes impertinently over any body, and, upon all common
occasions, is willing to place himself rather below than above
his equals. Both in his conduct and conversation, he is an exact
observer of decency, and respects with an almost religious
scrupulosity, all the established decorums and ceremonials of
society. And, in this respect, he sets a much better example than
has frequently been done by men of much more splendid talents and
virtues; who, in all ages, from that of Socrates and Aristippus,
down to that of Dr Swift and Voltaire, and from that of Philip
and Alexander the Great, down to that of the great Czar Peter of
Moscovy, have too often distinguished themselves by the most
improper and even insolent contempt of all the ordinary decorums
of life and conversation, and who have thereby set the most
pernicious example to those who wish to resemble them, and who
too often content themselves with imitating their follies,
without even attempting to attain their perfections.
In the steadiness of his industry and frugality, in his
steadily sacrificing the ease and enjoyment of the present moment
for the probable expectation of the still greater ease and
enjoyment of a more distant but more lasting period of time, the
prudent man is always both supported and rewarded by the entire
approbation of the impartial spectator, and of the representative
of the impartial spectator, the man within the breast. The
impartial spectator does not feel himself worn out by the present
labour of those whose conduct he surveys; nor does he feel
himself solicited by the importunate calls of their present
appetites. To him their present, and what is likely to be their
future situation, are very nearly the same: he sees them nearly
at the same distance, and is affected by them very nearly in the
same manner. He knows, however, that to the persons principally
concerned, they are very far from being the same, and that they
naturally affect them in a very different manner. He cannot
therefore but approve, and even applaud, that proper exertion of
self-command, which enables them to act as if their present and
their future situation affected them nearly in the same manner in
which they affect him.
The man who lives within his income, is naturally contented
with his situation, which, by continual, though small
accumulations, is growing better and better every day. He is
enabled gradually to relax, both in the rigour of his parsimony
and in the severity of his application; and he feels with double
satisfaction this gradual increase of ease and enjoyment, from
having felt before the hardship which attended the want of them.
He has no anxiety to change so comfortable a situation, and does
not go in quest of new enterprises and adventures, which might
endanger, but could not well increase, the secure tranquillity
which he actually enjoys. If he enters into any new projects or
enterprises, they are likely to be well concerted and well
prepared. He can never be hurried or drove into them by any
necessity, but has always time and leisure to deliberate soberly
and coolly concerning what are likely to be their consequences.
The prudent man is not willing to subject himself to any
responsibility which his duty does not impose upon him. He is not
a bustler in business where he has no concern; is not a meddler
in other people's affairs; is not a professed counsellor or
adviser, who obtrudes his advice where nobody is asking it. He
confines himself, as much as his duty will permit, to his own
affairs, and has no taste for that foolish importance which many
people wish to derive from appearing to have some influence in
the management of those of other people. He is averse to enter
into any party disputes, hates faction, and is not always very
forward to listen to the voice even of noble and great ambition.
When distinctly called upon, he will not decline the service of
his country, but he will not cabal in order to force himself into
it; and would be much better pleased that the public business
were well managed by some other person, than that he himself
should have the trouble, and incur the responsibility, of
managing it. In the bottom of his heart he would prefer the
undisturbed enjoyment of secure tranquillity, not only to all the
vain splendour of successful ambition, but to the real and solid
glory of performing the greatest and most magnanimous actions.
Prudence, in short, when directed merely to the care of the
health, of the fortune, and of the rank and reputation of the
individual, though it is regarded as a most respectable and even,
in some degree, as an amiable and agreeable quality, yet it never
is considered as one, either of the most endearing, or of the
most ennobling of the virtues. It commands a certain cold esteem,
but seems not entitled to any very ardent love or admiration.
Wise and judicious conduct, when directed to greater and
nobler purposes than the care of the health, the fortune, the
rank and reputation of the individual, is frequently and very
properly called prudence. We talk of the prudence of the great
general, of the great statesman, of the great legislator.
Prudence is, in all these cases, combined with many greater and
more splendid virtues, with valour, with extensive and strong
benevolence, with a sacred regard to the rules of justice, and
all these supported by a proper degree of self-command. This
superior prudence, when carried to the highest degree of
perfection, necessarily supposes the art, the talent, and the
habit or disposition of acting with the most perfect propriety in
every possible circumstance and situation. It necessarily
supposes the utmost perfection of all the intellectual and of all
the moral virtues. It is the best head joined to the best heart.
It is the most perfect wisdom combined with the most perfect
virtue. It constitutes very nearly the character of the
Academical or Peripatetic sage, as the inferior prudence does
that of the Epicurean.
Mere imprudence, or the mere want of the capacity to take
care of one's-self, is, with the generous and humane, the object
of compassion; with those of less delicate sentiments, of
neglect, or, at worst, of contempt, but never of hatred or
indignation. When combined with other vices, however, it
aggravates in the highest degree the infamy and disgrace which
would otherwise attend them. The artful knave, whose dexterity
and address exempt him, though not from strong suspicions, yet
from punishment or distinct detection, is too often received in
the world with an indulgence which he by no means deserves. The
awkward and foolish one, who, for want of this dexterity and
address, is convicted and brought to punishment, is the object of
universal hatred, contempt, and derision. In countries where
great crimes frequently pass unpunished, the most atrocious
actions become almost familiar, and cease to impress the people
with that horror which is universally felt in countries where an
exact administration of justice takes place. The injustice is the
same in both countries; but the imprudence is often very
different. In the latter, great crimes are evidently great
follies. In the former, they are not always considered as such.
In Italy, during the greater part of the sixteenth century,
assassinations, murders, and even murders under trust, seem to
have been almost familiar among the superior ranks of people.
Caesar Borgia invited four of the little princes in his
neighbourhood, who all possessed little sovereignties, and
commanded little armies of their own, to a friendly conference at
Senigaglia, where, as soon as they arrived, he put them all to
death. This infamous action, though certainly not approved of
even in that age of crimes, seems to have contributed very little
to the discredit, and not in the least to the ruin of the
perpetrator. That ruin happened a few years after from causes
altogether disconnected with this crime. Machiavel, not indeed a
man of the nicest morality even for his own times, was resident,
as minister from the republic of Florence, at the court of Caesar
Borgia when this crime was committed. He gives a very particular
account of it, and in that pure, elegant, and simple language
which distinguishes all his writings. He talks of it very coolly;
is pleased with the address with which Caesar Borgia conducted
it; has much contempt for the dupery and weakness of the
sufferers; but no compassion for their miserable and untimely
death, and no sort of indignation at the cruelty and falsehood of
their murderer. The violence and injustice of great conquerors
are often regarded with foolish wonder and admiration; those of
petty thieves, robbers, and murderers, with contempt, hatred, and
even horror upon all occasions. The former, though they are a
hundred times more mischievous and destructive, yet when
successful, they often pass for deeds of the most heroic
magnanimity. The latter are always viewed with hatred and
aversion, as the follies, as well as the crimes, of the lowest
and most worthless of mankind. The injustice of the former is
certainly, at least, as great as that of the latter; but the
folly and imprudence are not near so great. A wicked and
worthless man of parts often goes through the world with much
more credit than he deserves. A wicked and worthless fool appears
always, of all mortals, the most hateful, as well as the most
contemptible. As prudence combined with other virtues,
constitutes the noblest; so imprudence combined with other vices,
constitutes the vilest of all characters.