6.2.2. Chap. II
Of the order in which Societies are by nature recommended to our
Beneficence
The same principles that direct the order in which
individuals are recommended to our beneficence, direct that
likewise in which societies are recommended to it. Those to which
it is, or may be of most importance, are first and principally
recommended to it.
The state or sovereignty in which we have been born and
educated, and under the protection of which we continue to live,
is, in ordinary cases, the greatest society upon whose happiness
or misery, our good or bad conduct can have much influence. It is
accordingly, by nature, most strongly recommended to us. Not only
we ourselves, but all the objects of our kindest affections, our
children, our parents, our relations, our friends, our
benefactors, all those whom we naturally love and revere the
most, are commonly comprehended within it; and their prosperity
and safety depend in some measure upon its prosperity and safety.
It is by nature, therefore, endeared to us, not only by all our
selfish, but by all our private benevolent affections. Upon
account of our own connexion with it, its prosperity and glory
seem to reflect some sort of honour upon ourselves. When we
compare it with other societies of the same kind, we are proud of
its superiority, and mortified in some degree, if it appears in
any respect below them. All the illustrious characters which it
has produced in former times (for against those of our own times
envy may sometimes prejudice us a little), its warriors, its
statesmen, its poets, its philosophers, and men of letters of all
kinds; we are disposed to view with the most partial admiration,
and to rank them (sometimes most unjustly) above those of all
other nations. The patriot who lays down his life for the safety,
or even for the vain-glory of this society, appears to act with
the most exact propriety. He appears to view himself in the light
in which the impartial spectator naturally and necessarily views
him, as but one of the multitude, in the eye of that equitable
judge, of no more consequence than any other in it, but bound at
all times to sacrifice and devote himself to the safety, to the
service, and even to the glory of the greater number. But though
this sacrifice appears to be perfectly just and proper, we know
how difficult it is to make it, and how few people are capable of
making it. His conduct, therefore, excites not only our entire
approbation, but our highest wonder and admiration, and seems to
merit all the applause which can be due to the most heroic
virtue. The traitor, on the contrary, who, in some peculiar
situation, fancies he can promote his own little interest by
betraying to the public enemy that of his native country. who,
regardless of the judgment of the man within the breast, prefers
himself, in this respect so shamefully and so basely, to all
those with whom he has any connexion; appears to be of all
villains the most detestable.
The love of our own nation often disposes us to view, with
the most malignant jealousy and envy, the prosperity and
aggrandisement of any other neighbouring nation. Independent and
neighbouring nations, having no common superior to decide their
disputes, all live in continual dread and suspicion of one
another. Each sovereign, expecting little justice from his
neighbours, is disposed to treat them with as little as he
expects from them. The regard for the laws of nations, or for
those rules which independent states profess or pretend to think
themselves bound to observe in their dealings with one another,
is often very little more than mere pretence and profession. From
the smallest interest, upon the slightest provocation, we see
those rules every day, either evaded or directly violated without
shame or remorse. Each nation foresees, or imagines it foresees,
its own subjugation in the increasing power and aggrandisement of
any of its neighbours; and the mean principle of national
prejudice is often founded upon the noble one of the love of our
own country. The sentence with which the elder Cato is said to
have concluded every speech which he made in the senate, whatever
might be the subject, 'It is my opinion likewise that Carthage
ought to be destroyed,' was the natural expression of the savage
patriotism of a strong but coarse mind, enraged almost to madness
against a foreign nation from which his own had suffered so much.
The more humane sentence with which Scipio Nasica is said to have
concluded all his speeches, 'It is my opinion likewise that
Carthage ought not to be destroyed,' was the liberal expression
of a more enlarged and enlightened mind, who felt no aversion to
the prosperity even of an old enemy, when reduced to a state
which could no longer be formidable to Rome. France and England
may each of them have some reason to dread the increase of the
naval and military power of the other; but for either of them to
envy the internal happiness and prosperity of the other, the
cultivation of its lands, the advancement of its manufactures,
the increase of its commerce, the security and number of its
ports and harbours, its proficiency in all the liberal arts and
sciences, is surely beneath the dignity of two such great
nations. These are all real improvements of the world we live in.
Mankind are benefited, human nature is ennobled by them. In such
improvements each nation ought, not only to endeavour itself to
excel, but from the love of mankind, to promote, instead of
obstructing the excellence of its neighbours. These are all
proper objects of national emulation, not of national prejudice
or envy.
The love of our own country seems not to be derived from the
love of mankind. The former sentiment is altogether independent
of the latter, and seems sometimes even to dispose us to act
inconsistently with it. France may contain, perhaps, near three
times the number of inhabitants which Great Britain contains. In
the great society of mankind, therefore, the prosperity of France
should appear to be an object of much greater importance than
that of Great Britain. The British subject, however, who, upon
that account, should prefer upon all occasions the prosperity of
the former to that of the latter country, would not be thought a
good citizen of Great Britain. We do not love our country merely
as a part of the great society of mankind: we love it for its own
sake, and independently of any such consideration. That wisdom
which contrived the system of human affections, as well as that
of every other part of nature, seems to have judged that the
interest of the great society of mankind would be best promoted
by directing the principal attention of each individual to that
particular portion of it, which was most within the sphere both
of his abilities and of his understanding.
National prejudices and hatreds seldom extend beyond
neighbouring nations. We very weakly and foolishly, perhaps, call
the French our natural enemies; and they perhaps, as weakly and
foolishly, consider us in the same manner. Neither they nor we
bear any sort of envy to the prosperity of China or Japan. It
very rarely happens, however, that our good-will towards such
distant countries can be exerted with much effect.
The most extensive public benevolence which can commonly be
exerted with any considerable effect, is that of the statesmen,
who project and form alliances among neighbouring or not very
distant nations, for the preservation either of, what is called,
the balance of power, or of the general peace and tranquillity of
the states within the circle of their negotiations. The
statesmen, however, who plan and execute such treaties, have
seldom any thing in view, but the interest of their respective
countries. Sometimes, indeed, their views are more extensive. The
Count d'Avaux, the plenipotentiary of France, at the treaty of
Munster, would have been willing to sacrifice his life (according
to the Cardinal de Retz, a man not over-credulous in the virtue
of other people) in order to have restored, by that treaty, the
general tranquillity of Europe. King William seems to have had a
real zeal for the liberty and independency of the greater part of
the sovereign states of Europe; which, perhaps, might be a good
deal stimulated by his particular aversion to France, the state
from which, during his time, that liberty and independency were
principally in danger. Some share of the same spirit seems to
have descended to the first ministry of Queen Anne.
Every independent state is divided into many different orders
and societies, each of which has its own particular powers,
privileges, and immunities. Every individual is naturally more
attached to his own particular order or society, than to any
other. His own interest, his own vanity the interest and vanity
of many of his friends and companions, are commonly a good deal
connected with it. He is ambitious to extend its privileges and
immunities. He is zealous to defend them against the
encroachments of every other order or society.
Upon the manner in which any state is divided into the
different orders and societies which compose it, and upon the
particular distribution which has been made of their respective
powers, privileges, and immunities, depends, what is called, the
constitution of that particular state.
Upon the ability of each particular order or society to
maintain its own powers, privileges, and immunities, against the
encroachments of every other, depends the stability of that
particular constitution. That particular constitution is
necessarily more or less altered, whenever any of its subordinate
parts is either raised above or depressed below whatever had been
its former rank and condition.
All those different orders and societies are dependent upon
the state to which they owe their security and protection. That
they are all subordinate to that state, and established only in
subserviency to its prosperity and preservation, is a truth
acknowledged by the most partial member of every one of them. It
may often, however, be hard to convince him that the prosperity
and preservation of the state require any diminution of the
powers, privileges, and immunities of his own particular order or
society. This partiality, though it may sometimes be unjust, may
not, upon that account, be useless. It checks the spirit of
innovation. It tends to preserve whatever is the established
balance among the different orders and societies into which the
state is divided; and while it sometimes appears to obstruct some
alterations of government which may be fashionable and popular at
the time, it contributes in reality to the stability and
permanency of the whole system.
The love of our country seems, in ordinary cases, to involve
in it two different principles; first, a certain respect and
reverence for that constitution or form of government which is
actually established; and secondly, an earnest desire to render
the condition of our fellow-citizens as safe, respectable, and
happy as we can. He is not a citizen who is not disposed to
respect the laws and to obey the civil magistrate; and he is
certainly not a good citizen who does not wish to promote, by
every means in his power, the welfare of the whole society of his
fellow-citizens.
In peaceable and quiet times, those two principles generally
coincide and lead to the same conduct. The support of the
established government seems evidently the best expedient for
maintaining the safe, respectable, and happy situation of our
fellow-citizens; when we see that this government actually
maintains them in that situation. But in times of public
discontent, faction, and disorder, those two different principles
may draw different ways, and even a wise man may be disposed to
think some alteration necessary in that constitution or form of
government, which, in its actual condition, appears plainly
unable to maintain the public tranquillity. In such cases,
however, it often requires, perhaps, the highest effort of
political wisdom to determine when a real patriot ought to
support and endeavour to re-establish the authority of the old
system, and when he ought to give way to the more daring, but
often dangerous spirit of innovation.
Foreign war and civil faction are the two situations which
afford the most splendid opportunities for the display of public
spirit. The hero who serves his country successfully in foreign
war gratifies the wishes of the whole nation, and is, upon that
account, the object of universal gratitude and admiration. In
times of civil discord, the leaders of the contending parties,
though they may be admired by one half of their fellow-citizens,
are commonly execrated by the other. Their characters and the
merit of their respective services appear commonly more doubtful.
The glory which is acquired by foreign war is, upon this account,
almost always more pure and more splendid than that which can be
acquired in civil faction.
The leader of the successful party, however, if he has
authority enough to prevail upon his own friends to act with
proper temper and moderation (which he frequently has not), may
sometimes render to his country a service much more essential and
important than the greatest victories and the most extensive
conquests. He may re-establish and improve the constitution, and
from the very doubtful and ambiguous character of the leader of a
party, he may assume the greatest and noblest of all characters,
that of the reformer and legislator of a great state; and, by the
wisdom of his institutions, secure the internal tranquillity and
happiness of his fellow-citizens for many succeeding generations.
Amidst the turbulence and disorder of faction, a certain
spirit of system is apt to mix itself with that public spirit
which is founded upon the love of humanity, upon a real
fellow-feeling with the inconveniencies and distresses to which
some of our fellow-citizens may be exposed. This spirit of system
commonly takes the direction of that more gentle public spirit;
always animates it, and often inflames it even to the madness of
fanaticism. The leaders of the discontented party seldom fail to
hold out some plausible plan of reformation which, they pretend,
will not only remove the inconveniencies and relieve the
distresses immediately complained of, but will prevent, in all
time coming, any return of the like inconveniencies and
distresses. They often propose, upon this account, to new-model
the constitution, and to alter, in some of its most essential
parts, that system of government under which the subjects of a
great empire have enjoyed, perhaps, peace, security, and even
glory, during the course of several centuries together. The great
body of the party are commonly intoxicated with the imaginary
beauty of this ideal system, of which they have no experience,
but which has been represented to them in all the most dazzling
colours in which the eloquence of their leaders could paint it.
Those leaders themselves, though they originally may have meant
nothing but their own aggrandisement, become many of them in time
the dupes of their own sophistry, and are as eager for this great
reformation as the weakest and foolishest of their followers.
Even though the leaders should have preserved their own heads, as
indeed they commonly do, free from this fanaticism, yet they dare
not always disappoint the expectation of their followers; but are
often obliged, though contrary to their principle and their
conscience, to act as if they were under the common delusion. The
violence of the party, refusing all palliatives, all
temperaments, all reasonable accommodations, by requiring too
much frequently obtains nothing; and those inconveniencies and
distresses which, with a little moderation, might in a great
measure have been removed and relieved, are left altogether
without the hope of a remedy.
The man whose public spirit is prompted altogether by
humanity and benevolence, will respect the established powers and
privileges eVen of individuals, and still more those of the great
orders and societies, into which the state is divided. Though he
should consider some of them as in some measure abusive, he will
content himself with moderating, what he often cannot annihilate
without great violence. When he cannot conquer the rooted
prejudices of the people by reason and persuasion, he will not
attempt to subdue them by force; but will religiously observe
what, by Cicero, is justly called the divine maxim of Plato,
never to use violence to his country no more than to his parents.
He will accommodate, as well as he can, his public arrangements
to the confirmed habits and prejudices of the people; and will
remedy as well as he can, the inconveniencies which may flow from
the want of those regulations which the people are averse to
submit to. When he cannot establish the right, he will not
disdain to ameliorate the wrong; but like Solon, when he cannot
establish the best system of laws, he will endeavour to establish
the best that the people can bear.
The man of system, on the contrary, is apt to be very wise in
his own conceit; and is often so enamoured with the supposed
beauty of his own ideal plan of government, that he cannot suffer
the smallest deviation from any part of it. He goes on to
establish it completely and in all its parts, without any regard
either to the great interests, or to the strong prejudices which
may oppose it. He seems to imagine that he can arrange the
different members of a great society with as much ease as the
hand arranges the different pieces upon a chess-board. He does
not consider that the pieces upon the chess-board have no other
principle of motion besides that which the hand impresses upon
them; but that, in the great chess-board of human society, every
single piece has a principle of motion of its own, altogether
different from that which the legislature might chuse to impress
upon it. If those two principles coincide and act in the same
direction, the game of human society will go on easily and
harmoniously, and is very likely to be happy and successful. If
they are opposite or different, the game will go on miserably,
and the society must be at all times in the highest degree of
disorder.
Some general, and even systematical, idea of the perfection
of policy and law, may no doubt be necessary for directing the
views of the statesman. But to insist upon establishing, and upon
establishing all at once, and in spite of all opposition, every
thing which that idea may seem to require, must often be the
highest degree of arrogance. It is to erect his own judgment into
the supreme standard of right and wrong. It is to fancy himself
the only wise and worthy man in the commonwealth, and that his
fellow-citizens should accommodate themselves to him and not he
to them. It is upon this account, that of all political
speculators, sovereign princes are by far the most dangerous.
This arrogance is perfectly familiar to them. They entertain no
doubt of the immense superiority of their own judgment. When such
imperial and royal reformers, therefore, condescend to
contemplate the constitution of the country which is committed to
their government, they seldom see any thing so wrong in it as the
obstructions which it may sometimes oppose to the execution of
their own will. They hold in contempt the divine maxim of Plato,
and consider the state as made for themselves, not themselves for
the state. The great object of their reformation, therefore, is
to remove those obstructions; to reduce the authority of the
nobility; to take away the privileges of cities and provinces,
and to render both the greatest individuals and the greatest
orders of the state, as incapable of opposing their commands, as
the weakest and most insignificant.