7.2.4. Chap. IV
Of Licentious Systems
All those systems, which I have hitherto given an account of,
suppose that there is a real and essential distinction between
vice and virtue, whatever these qualities may consist in. There
is a real and essential difference between the propriety and
impropriety of any affection, between benevolence and any other
principle of action, between real prudence and shortsighted folly
or precipitate rashness. In the main too all of them contribute
to encourage the praise-worthy, and to discourage the blamable
disposition.
It may be true, perhaps, of some of them, that they tend, in
some measure, to break the balance of the affections, and to give
the mind a particular bias to some principles of action, beyond
the proportion that is due to them. The ancient systems, which
place virtue in propriety, seem chiefly to recommend the great,
the awful, and the respectable virtues, the virtues of
self-government and self-command; fortitude, magnanimity,
independency upon fortune, the contempt of all outward accidents,
of pain, poverty, exile, and death. It is in these great
exertions that the noblest propriety of conduct is displayed. The
soft, the amiable, the gentle virtues, all the virtues of
indulgent humanity are, in comparison, but little insisted upon,
and seem, on the contrary, by the Stoics in particular, to have
been often regarded as mere weaknesses which it behoved a wise
man not to harbour in his breast.
The benevolent system, on the other hand, while it fosters
and encourages all those milder virtues in the highest degree,
seems entirely to neglect the more awful and respectable
qualities of the mind. It even denies them the appellation of
virtues. It calls them moral abilities, and treats them as
qualities which do not deserve the same sort of esteem and
approbation, that is due to what is properly denominated virtue.
All those principles of action which aim only at our own
interest, it treats, if that be possible, still worse. So far
from having any merit of their own, they diminish, it pretends,
the merit of benevolence, when they co-operate with it: and
prudence, it is asserted, when employed only in promoting private
interest, can never even be imagined a virtue.
That system, again, which makes virtue consist in prudence
only, while it gives the highest encouragement to the habits of
caution, vigilance, sobriety, and judicious moderation, seems to
degrade equally both the amiable and respectable virtues, and to
strip the former of all their beauty, and the latter of all their
grandeur.
But notwithstanding these defects, the general tendency of
each of those three systems is to encourage the best and most
laudable habits of the human mind: and it were well for society,
if, either mankind in general, or even those few who pretend to
live according to any philosophical rule, were to regulate their
conduct by the precepts of any one of them. We may learn from
each of them something that is both valuable and peculiar. If it
was possible, by precept and exhortation, to inspire the mind
with fortitude and magnanimity, the ancient systems of propriety
would seem sufficient to do this. Or if it was possible, by the
same means, to soften it into humanity, and to awaken the
affections of kindness and general love towards those we live
with, some of the pictures with which the benevolent system
presents us, might seem capable of producing this effect. We may
learn from the system of Epicurus, though undoubtedly the most
imperfect of all the three, how much the practice of both the
amiable and respectable virtues is conducive to our own interest,
to our own ease and safety and quiet even in this life. As
Epicurus placed happiness in the attainment of ease and security,
he exerted himself in a particular manner to show that virtue
was, not merely the best and the surest, but the only means of
acquiring those invaluable possessions. The good effects of
virtue, upon our inward tranquillity and peace of mind, are what
other philosophers have chiefly celebrated. Epicurus, without
neglecting this topic, has chiefly insisted upon the influence of
that amiable quality on our outward prosperity and safety. It was
upon this account that his writings were so much studied in the
ancient world by men of all different philosophical parties. It
is from him that Cicero, the great enemy of the Epicurean system,
borrows his most agreeable proofs that virtue alone is sufficient
to secure happiness. Seneca, though a Stoic, the sect most
opposite to that of Epicurus, yet quotes this philosopher more
frequently than any other.
There is, however, another system which seems to take away
altogether the distinction between vice and virtue, and of which
the tendency is, upon that account, wholly pernicious: I mean the
system of Dr Mandeville. Though the notions of this author are in
almost every respect erroneous, there are, however, some
appearances in human nature, which, when viewed in a certain
manner, seem at first sight to favour them. These, described and
exaggerated by the lively and humorous, though coarse and rustic
eloquence of Dr Mandeville, have thrown upon his doctrines an air
of truth and probability which is very apt to impose upon the
unskilful.
Dr Mandeville considers whatever is done from a sense of
propriety, from a regard to what is commendable and
praise-worthy, as being done from a love of praise and
commendation, or as he calls it from vanity. Man, he observes, is
naturally much more interested in his own happiness than in that
of others, and it is impossible that in his heart he can ever
really prefer their prosperity to his own. Whenever he appears to
do so, we may be assured that he imposes upon us, and that he is
then acting from the same selfish motives as at all other times.
Among his other selfish passions, vanity is one of the strongest,
and he is always easily flattered and greatly delighted with the
applauses of those about him. When he appears to sacrifice his
own interest to that of his companions, he knows that his conduct
will be highly agreeable to their self-love, and that they will
not fail to express their satisfaction by bestowing upon him the
most extravagant praises. The pleasure which he expects from
this, over-balances, in his opinion, the interest which he
abandons in order to procure it. His conduct, therefore, upon
this occasion, is in reality just as selfish, and arises from
just as mean a motive, as upon any other. He is flattered,
however, and he flatters himself, with the belief that it is
entirely disinterested; since, unless this was supposed, it would
not seem to merit any commendation either in his own eyes or in
those of others. All public spirit, therefore, all preference of
public to private interest, is, according to him, a mere cheat
and imposition upon mankind; and that human virtue which is so
much boasted of, and which is the occasion of so much emulation
among men, is the mere offspring of flattery begot upon pride.
Whether the most generous and public-spirited actions may
not, in some sense, be regarded as proceeding from self-love, I
shall not at present examine. The decision of this question is
not, I apprehend, of any importance towards establishing the
reality of virtue, since self-love may frequently be a virtuous
motive of action. I shall only endeavour to show that the desire
of doing what is honourable and noble, of rendering ourselves the
proper objects of esteem and approbation, cannot with any
propriety be called vanity. Even the love of well-grounded fame
and reputation, the desire of acquiring esteem by what is really
estimable, does not deserve that name. The first is the love of
virtue, the noblest and the best passion in human nature. The
second is the love of true glory, a passion inferior no doubt to
the former, but which in dignity appears to come immediately
after it. He is guilty of vanity who desires praise for qualities
which are either not praise-worthy in any degree, or not in that
degree in which he expects to be praised for them who sets his
character upon the frivolous ornaments of dress and equipage, or
upon the equally frivolous accomplishments of ordinary behaviour.
He is guilty of vanity who desires praise for what indeed very
well deserves it, but what he perfectly knows does not belong to
him. The empty coxcomb who gives himself airs of importance which
he has no title to, the silly liar who assumes the merit of
adventures which never happened, the foolish plagiary who gives
himself out for the author of what he has no pretensions to, are
properly accused of this passion. He too is said to be guilty of
vanity who is not contented with the silent sentiments of esteem
and approbation, who seems to be fonder of their noisy
expressions and acclamations than of the sentiments themselves,
who is never satisfied but when his own praises are ringing in
his ears, and who solicits with the most anxious importunity all
external marks of respect, is fond of titles, of compliments, of
being visited, of being attended, of being taken notice of in
public places with the appearance of deference and attention.
This frivolous passion is altogether different from either of the
two former, and is the passion of the lowest and the least of
mankind, as they are of the noblest and the greatest.
But though these three passions, the desire of rendering
ourselves the proper objects of honour and esteem; or of becoming
what is honourable and estimable; the desire of acquiring honour
and esteem by really deserving those sentiments; and the
frivolous desire of praise at any rate, are widely different;
though the two former are always approved of, while the latter
never fails to be despised; there is, however, a certain remote
affinity among them, which, exaggerated by the humorous and
diverting eloquence of this lively author, has enabled him to
impose upon his readers. There is an affinity between vanity and
the love of true glory, as both these passions aim at acquiring
esteem and approbation. But they are different in this, that the
one is a just, reasonable, and equitable passion, while the other
is unjust, absurd, and ridiculous. The man who desires esteem for
what is really estimable, desires nothing but what he is justly
entitled to, and what cannot be refused him without some sort of
injury. He, on the contrary, who desires it upon any other terms,
demands what he has no just claim to. The first is easily
satisfied, is not apt to be jealous or suspicious that we do not
esteem him enough, and is seldom solicitous about receiving many
external marks of our regard. The other, on the contrary, is
never to be satisfied, is full of jealousy and suspicion that we
do not esteem him so much as he desires, because he has some
secret consciousness that he desires more than he deserves. The
least neglect of ceremony, he considers as a mortal affront, and
as an expression of the most determined contempt. He is restless
and impatient, and perpetually afraid that we have lost all
respect for him, and is upon this account always anxious to
obtain new expressions of esteem, and cannot be kept in temper
but by continual attention and adulation.
There is an affinity too between the desire of becoming what
is honourable and estimable, and the desire of honour and esteem,
between the love of virtue and the love of true glory. They
resemble one another not only in this respect, that both aim at
really being what is honourable and noble, but even in that
respect in which the love of true glory resembles what is
properly called vanity, some reference to the sentiments of
others. The man of the greatest magnanimity, who desires virtue
for its own sake, and is most indifferent about what actually are
the opinions of mankind with regard to him, is still, however,
delighted with the thoughts of what they should be, with the
consciousness that though he may neither be honoured nor
applauded, he is still the proper object of honour and applause,
and that if mankind were cool and candid and consistent with
themselves, and properly informed of the motives and
circumstances of his conduct, they would not fail to honour and
applaud him. Though he despises the opinions which are actually
entertained of him, he has the highest value for those which
ought to be entertained of him. That he might think himself
worthy of those honourable sentiments, and, whatever was the idea
which other men might conceive of his character, that when he
should put himself in their situation, and consider, not what
was, but what ought to be their opinion, he should always have
the highest idea of it himself, was the great and exalted motive
of his conduct. As even in the love of virtue, therefore, there
is still some reference, though not to what is, yet to what in
reason and propriety ought to be, the opinion of others, there is
even in this respect some affinity between it, and the love of
true glory. There is, however, at the same time, a very great
difference between them. The man who acts solely from a regard to
what is right and fit to be done, from a regard to what is the
proper object of esteem and approbation, though these sentiments
should never be bestowed upon him, acts from the most sublime and
godlike motive which human nature is even capable of conceiving.
The man, on the other hand, who while he desires to merit
approbation is at the same time anxious to obtain it, though he
too is laudable in the main, yet his motives have a greater
mixture of human infirmity. He is in danger of being mortified by
the ignorance and injustice of mankind, and his happiness is
exposed to the envy of his rivals and the folly of the public.
The happiness of the other, on the contrary, is altogether secure
and independent of fortune, and of the caprice of those he lives
with. The contempt and hatred which may be thrown upon him by the
ignorance of mankind, he considers as not belonging to him, and
is not at all mortified by it. Mankind despise and hate him from
a false notion of his character and conduct. If they knew him
better, they would esteem and love him. It is not him whom,
properly speaking, they hate and despise, but another person whom
they mistake him to be. Our friend, whom we should meet at a
masquerade in the garb of our enemy, would be more diverted than
mortified, if under that disguise we should vent our indignation
against him. Such are the sentiments of a man of real
magnanimity, when exposed to unjust censure. It seldom happens,
however, that human nature arrives at this degree of firmness.
Though none but the weakest and most worthless of mankind are
much delighted with false glory, yet, by a strange inconsistency,
false ignominy is often capable of mortifying those who appear
the most resolute and determined.
Dr Mandeville is not satisfied with representing the
frivolous motive of vanity, as the source of all those actions
which are commonly accounted virtuous. He endeavours to point out
the imperfection of human virtue in many other respects. In every
case, he pretends, it falls short of that complete self-denial
which it pretends to, and, instead of a conquest, is commonly no
more than a concealed indulgence of our passions. Wherever our
reserve with regard to pleasure falls short of the most ascetic
abstinence, he treats it as gross luxury and sensuality. Every
thing, according to him, is luxury which exceeds what is
absolutely necessary for the support of human nature, so that
there is vice even in the use of a clean shirt, or of a
convenient habitation. The indulgence of the inclination to sex,
in the most lawful union, he considers as the same sensuality
with the most hurtful gratification of that passion, and derides
that temperance and that chastity which can be practised at so
cheap a rate. The ingenious sophistry of his reasoning, is here,
as upon many other occasions, covered by the ambiguity of
language. There are some of our passions which have no other
names except those which mark the disagreeable and offensive
degree. The spectator is more apt to take notice of them in this
degree than in any other. When they shock his own sentiments,
when they give him some sort of antipathy and uneasiness, he is
necessarily obliged to attend to them, and is from thence
naturally led to give them a name. When they fall in with the
natural state of his own mind, he is very apt to overlook them
altogether, and either gives them no name at all, or, if he give
them any, it is one which marks rather the subjection and
restraint of the passion, than the degree which it still is
allowed to subsist in, after it is so subjected and restrained.
Thus the common names[13] of the love of pleasure, and of the
love of sex, denote a vicious and offensive degree of those
passions. The words temperance and chastity, on the other hand,
seem to mark rather the restraint and subjection which they are
kept under, than the degree which they are still allowed to
subsist in. When he can show, therefore, that they still subsist
in some degree, he imagines, he has entirely demolished the
reality of the virtues of temperance and chastity, and shown them
to be mere impositions upon the inattention and simplicity of
mankind. Those virtues, however, do not require an entire
insensibility to the objects of the passions which they mean to
govern. They only aim at restraining the violence of those
passions so far as not to hurt the individual, and neither
disturb nor offend the society.
It is the great fallacy of Dr. Mandeville's book[14] to
represent every passion as wholly vicious, which is so in any
degree and in any direction. It is thus that he treats every
thing as vanity which has any reference, either to what are, or
to what ought to be the sentiments of others: and it is by means
of this sophistry, that he establishes his favourite conclusion,
that private vices are public benefits. If the love of
magnificence, a taste for the elegant arts and improvements of
human life, for whatever is agreeable in dress, furniture, or
equipage, for architecture, statuary, painting, and music, is to
be regarded as luxury, sensuality, and ostentation, even in those
whose situation allows, without any inconveniency, the indulgence
of those passions, it is certain that luxury, sensuality, and
ostentation are public benefits: since without the qualities upon
which he thinks proper to bestow such opprobrious names, the arts
of refinement could never find encouragement, and must languish
for want of employment. Some popular ascetic doctrines which had
been current before his time, and which placed virtue in the
entire extirpation and annihilation of all our passions, were the
real foundation of this licentious system. It was easy for Dr
Mandeville to prove, first, that this entire conquest never
actually took place among men; and secondly, that, if it was to
take place universally, it would be pernicious to society, by
putting an end to all industry and commerce, and in a manner to
the whole business of human life. By the first of these
propositions he seemed to prove that there was no real virtue,
and that what pretended to be such, was a mere cheat and
imposition upon mankind; and by the second, that private vices
were public benefits, since without them no society could prosper
or flourish.
Such is the system of Dr Mandeville, which once made so much
noise in the world, and which, though, perhaps, it never gave
occasion to more vice than what would have been without it, at
least taught that vice, which arose from other causes, to appear
with more effrontery, and to avow the corruption of its motives
with a profligate audaciousness which had never been heard of
before.
But how destructive soever this system may appear, it could
never have imposed upon so great a number of persons, nor have
occasioned so general an alarm among those who are the friends of
better principles, had it not in some respects bordered upon the
truth. A system of natural philosophy may appear very plausible,
and be for a long time very generally received in the world, and
yet have no foundation in nature, nor any sort of resemblance to
the truth. The vortices of Des Cartes were regarded by a very
ingenious nation, for near a century together, as a most
satisfactory account of the revolutions of the heavenly bodies.
Yet it has been demonstrated, to the conviction of all mankind,
that these pretended causes of those wonderful effects, not only
do not actually exist, but are utterly impossible, and if they
did exist, could produce no such effects as are ascribed to them.
But it is otherwise with systems of moral philosophy, and an
author who pretends to account for the origin of our moral
sentiments, cannot deceive us so grossly, nor depart so very far
from all resemblance to the truth. When a traveller gives an
account of some distant country, he may impose upon our credulity
the most groundless and absurd fictions as the most certain
matters of fact. But when a person pretends to inform us of what
passes in our neighbourhood, and of the affairs of the very
parish which we live in, though here too, if we are so careless
as not to examine things with our own eves, he may deceive us in
many respects, yet the greatest falsehoods which he imposes upon
us must bear some resemblance to the truth, and must even have a
considerable mixture of truth in them. An author who treats of
natural philosophy, and pretends to assign the causes of the
great phaenomena of the universe, pretends to give an account of
the affairs of a very distant country, concerning which he may
tell us what he pleases, and as long as his narration keeps
within the bounds of seeming possibility, he need not despair of
gaining our belief. But when he proposes to explain the origin of
our desires and affections, of our sentiments of approbation and
disapprobation, he pretends to give an account, not only of the
affairs of the very parish that we live in, but of our own
domestic concerns. Though here too, like indolent masters who put
their trust in a steward who deceives them, we are very liable to
be imposed upon, yet we are incapable of passing any account
which does not preserve some little regard to the truth. Some of
the articles, at least, must be just, and even those which are
most overcharged must have had some foundation, otherwise the
fraud would be detected even by that careless inspection which we
are disposed to give. The author who should assign, as the cause
of any natural sentiment, some principle which neither had any
connexion with it, nor resembled any other principle which had
some such connexion, would appear absurd and ridiculous to the
most injudicious and unexperienced reader.