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I 

K'<     • 

1     1 

.1    . 

It    I 


S: 


I., 


i)\\\^ 


THE 


MISCELLANEOUS  WORKS 


SIR  JAMES   MACKINTOSH. 


VOL.  I. 


London  : 

A.  and  G.  A.  Spottiswoode, 

N  ew-street-Square. 


im 


t 


THE 


MISCELLANEOUS    WORKS 


OF 


THE    RIGHT    HONOURABLE 


SIR   JAMES   MACKINTOSH. 


NEW     EDITION. 


IX      THREE      VOLUMES. 


VOL.    L^ 

485X2/ 


4-  "I    4-9 
LONDON: 
LONGMAN,   BROWN,   GREEN,   AND  LONGMANS. 

1854. 


PR 
v.i 


ADVERTISEMENT 

BY    THE    EDITOR. 


These  Volumes  contain  whatever  (with  the  ex- 
ception of  his  History  of  England)  is  believed  to 
be  of  the  most  value  in  the  writings  of  Sir  James 
Mackintosh.  Something  of  method,  it  will  be 
observed,  has  been  affected  in  their  arrangement 
by  commencing  with  what  is  more  purely  Philo- 
sophical, and  proceeding  through  Literature  to 
Politics ;  each  of  those  heads  being  generally, 
though  not  quite  precisely,  referable  to  each 
volume  respectively.  With  such  selection  would 
naturally  have  terminated  his  responsibility ;  but 
in  committing  again  to  the  press  matter  originally 
for  the  most  part  hastily  printed,  the  Editor  has 
assumed — as  the  lesser  of  two  evils — a  larger 
exercise  of  discretion  in  the  revision  of  the  text 
than  he  could  have  wished  to  have  felt  had  been 
imposed  upon  him.  Instead,  therefore,  of  con- 
tinually arresting  the  eye  of  the  reader  by  a  noti- 
fication of  almost  mechanical  alterations,  he  has 


VI  ADVERTISEMENT. 

to  premise  here  that  where  inaccuracies  and  re- 
dundancies of  expression  were  obvious,  these  have 
been  throughout  corrected  and  retrenched.  A 
few  transpositions  of  the  text  have  also  been 
made;  —  as  where,  by  the  detachment  of  the 
eleventh  chapter  of  what  the  present  Editor  on 
its  original  publication  allowed  to  be  called,  per- 
haps too  largely,  the  **  History  of  the  Revolution 
of  1688,"  a  stricter  chronological  order  has  been 
observed,  at  the  same  time  that  the  residue — 
losing  thereby  much  of  its  fragmentary  character 
— may  now,  it  is  hoped,  fairly  claim  to  be  all  that 
is  assumed  in  its  new  designation.  Of  the  con- 
tributions to  periodical  publications,  such  portibns 
only  find  place  here  as  partake  most  largely  of 
the  character  of  completeness.  Some  extended 
quotations,  appearing  for  the  most  part  as  notes 
on  former  occasions,  have  been  omitted,  with  a 
view  to  brevity,  on  the  present ;  while,  in  ad- 
dition to  a  general  verification  of  the  Author's 
references,  a  few  explanatory  notes  have  been 
appended,  wherever  apparently  needful,  by  the 
Editor. 

R.  J,  MACKINTOSH. 


CONTENTS 


THE    FIRST    VOLUME 


Page 
Dissertation    on    the    Progress    of  Ethical    Philosophy, 
chiefly  during  the  Seventeenth  and  Eighteenth  Cen- 
turies  -------1 

On  the  PhOosophical  Genius   of  Lord  Bacon  and  Mr. 
Locke  -  -  -  -  -  -  -315 

A  Discourse  on  the  Law  of  Nature  and  Nations  -  -     345 

Life  of  Sir  Thomas  More  -  -  -  -     393 

A  Kefutation  of  the  Claim  on  behalf  of  King  Charles  L 
to  the  Authorship  of  the  EIKriN  BA2IAIKH       -  -     508 

Memoir  of  the  Affairs  of  Holland,  1667— 1G86  -  -     543 


DISSERTATION 


ON  THE  PROGRESS  OP 


ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY, 


CBIEPLY  DURING  THE 


SEVENTEENTH    AND    EIGHTEENTH    CENTURIES. 


[Originally  prefixed  to  the  Seyenth  Edition  of  the  Encyclopaedia  Britannica.] 


VOL.  L 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

Introduction      ..-.--  5 

Section  I.  Preliminary  Observations  -  -  -  1 1 

II.  Retrospect  of  Ancient  Ethics  -  -  19 

III.  Ketrospect  of  Scholastic  Ethics    -  -  36 

IV.  MoDEKN  Ethics  -  -  -  -  54 
Grotius  -  -  -  -  -  54 
Hobbes               -             -             -  -  -  57 

Remarks        -             -             -  -  -  64 

V.  Controversies  concernhng  the  Moral  Fa- 

CLXTIES    AND   THE    SOCIAL   AFFECTIONS  -  72 

Cumberland      -             -             -  -  -  72 

Cudworth          -             -             -  -  -  75 

Clarke  .-----  81 

Remarks        -             -             -  -  -  84 

Shaftesbury       -             -             -  -  -  91 

Fenclon — Bossuet          -             -  -  -  98 

Leibnitz             -             -             -  -  -  103 

Remarks        -             -             -  -  -  105 

Malebranche     -            -            -  -  -  108 

Edwards            -             -             -  -  -  110 

Buffier               -             -             -  -  -  113 

VX  Foundations  of   a   more  just  Theory  of 

Ethics          -            -            -  -  -  114 

Butler  -            -            -            -  -  -  115 

Remarks        -             -             -  -  -  120 

Hutcheson         -             -             -  -  -  126 

Berkeley            -             -             -  -  -  131 

Hume   -             -             -             -  -  -  136 

Smith   -             -             -             -  -  -  149 

Remarks        -             -             -  -  -  153 

Price     -             -             -             -  -  -  158 

Hartley              -             -             -  -  -  159 

Tucker              -             -             -  -  -  177 

Palcy    -             -             -             -  -  -  182 

Bentham            -             -             -  -  -  190 

Stewart              -             -             -  -  -  213 

Brown                 -             -             -  -  -  231 

VII.  General  Remarks      .            -  -  -  244 

Notes  and  Illustrations      -  -  -  282 
E  2 


INTEODUCTION. 


The  inadequacy  of  the  words  of  ordinary  language 
for  the  purposes  of  Philosophy,  is  an  ancient  and  fre- 
quent complaint ;  of  which  the  justness  will  be  felt 
by  all  who  consider  the  state  to  which  some  of  the 
most  important  arts  would  be  reduced,  if  the  coarse 
tools  of  the  common  labourer  were  the  only  instru- 
ments to  be  employed  in  the  most  delicate  operations 
of  manual  expertness.  The  watchmaker,  the  optician, 
and  the  surgeon,  are  provided  with  instruments  which 
are  fitted,  by  careful  ingenuity,  to  second  their  skill ; 
the  philosopher  alone  is  doomed  to  use  the  rudest  tools 
for  the  most  refined  purposes.  He  must  reason  in 
words  of  which  the  looseness  and  vagueness  are  suit- 
able, and  even  agreeable,  in  the  usual  intercourse  of  life, 
but  which  are  almost  as  remote  from  the  extreme 
exactness  and  precision  required,  not  only  in  the  con- 
veyance, but  in  the  search  of  truth,  as  the  hanmier 
and  the  axe  would  be  unfit  for  the  finest  exertions  of 
skilful  handiwork :  for  it  is  not  to  be  forgotten,  that 
he  must  himself  think  in  these  gross  words  as  un- 
avoidably as  he  uses  them  in  speaking  to  others.  He 
is  in  this  respect  in  a  worse  condition  than  an  astro- 
nomer who  looked  at  the  heavens  only  with  the  naked 
eye,  whose  limited  and  partial  observation,  however 
it  might  lead  to  error,  might  not  directly,  and  would 
not  necessarily,  deceive.  He  might  be  more  justly 
compared  to  an  arithmetician  compelled  to  employ 
numerals  not  only  cumbrous,  but  used  so  irregularly 
to  denote  different  quantities,  that  they  not  only  often 
deceive  others,  but  himself. 

The  natural  philosopher  and  mathematician  have 
in  some  degree  the  privilege  of  framing  their  own 

B  3 


b  DISSERTATION   ON    THE    PROGRESS 

terms  of  art;  though  that  liberty  is  daily  narrowed 
by  the  happy  diffusion  of  these  great  branches  of 
knowledge,  which  daily  mixes  their  language  with  the 
general  vocabulary  of  educated  men.  The  cultivator 
of  mental  and  moral  philosophy  can  seldom  do  more 
than  mend  the  faults  of  his  words  by  definition; — a 
necessary,  but  very  inadequate  expedient,  and  one  in 
a  great  measure  defeated  in  practice  by  the  unavoid- 
ably more  frequent  recurrence  of  the  terms  in  their 
vague,  than  in  their  definite  acceptation.  The  mind,  to 
which  such  definition  is  faintly,  and  but  occasionally, 
present,  naturally  suffers,  in  the  ordinary  state  of 
attention,  the  scientific  meaning  to  disappear  from 
remembrance,  and  insensibly  ascribes  to  the  word  a 
great  part,  if  not  the  whole,  of  that  popular  sense 
which  is  so  very  much  more  familiar  even  to  the  most 
veteran  speculator.  The  obstacles  which  stood  in  the 
way  of  Lucretius  and  Cicero,  when  they  began  to 
translate  the  subtile  philosophy  of  Greece  into  their 
narrow  and  barren  tongue,  are  always  felt  by  the  phi- 
losopher when  he  struggles  to  express,  with  the  neces- 
sary discrimination,  his  abstruse  reasonings  in  words 
which,  though  those  of  his  own  language,  he  must 
take  from  the  mouths  of  those  to  whom  his  distinc- 
tions would  be  without  meaning. 

The  moral  philosopher  is  in  this  respect  subject  to 
peculiar  difficulties.  His  statements  and  reasonings 
often  call  for  nicer  discriminations  of  language  than 
those  which  are  necessary  in  describing  or  discussing 
the  purely  intellectual  part  of  human  nature  ;  but  his 
freedom  in  the  choice  of  words  is  more  circumscribed. 
As  he  treats  of  matters  on  which  all  men  are  disposed 
to  form  a  judgment,  he  can  as  rarely  hazard  glaring 
innovations  in  diction, — at  least  in  an  adult  and  ma- 
ture language  like  ours, — as  the  orator  or  the  poet. 
If  he  deviates  from  common  use,  he  must  atone  for 
his  deviation  by  hiding  it,  and  can  only  give  a  new 
sense  to  an  old  word  by  so  skilful  a  position  of  it  as 
to  render  the  new  meaning  so  quickly  understood  that 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  7 

its  novelty  is  scarcely  perceived.  Add  to  this,  that  in 
those  most  difficult  inquiries  for  which  the  utmost 
coolness  is  not  more  than  sufficient,  he  is  often  forced 
to  use  terms  commonly  connected  with  warm  feeling, 
with  high  praise,  with  severe  reproach; — which  ex- 
cite the  passions  of  his  readers  when  he  most  needs 
their  cairn  attention  and  the  undisturbed  exercise  of 
their  impartial  judgment.  There  is  scarcely  a  neutral 
term  left  in  Ethics  ;  so  quickly  are  such  expressions 
enlisted  on  the  side  of  Praise  or  Blame,  by  the  ad- 
dress of  contending  passions.  A  true  philosopher 
must  not  even  desire  that  men  should  less  love  Virtue, 
or  hate  Vice,  in  order  to  fit  them  for  a  more  unpre- 
judiced judgment  on  his  speculations. 

There  are,  perhaps,  not  many  occasions  where  the 
penury  and  laxity  of  language  are  more  felt  than  in 
entering  on  the  history  of  sciences  where  the  hrst 
measure  must  be  to  mark  out  the  boundary  of  the 
whole  subject  with  some  distinctness.  But  no  exact- 
ness in  these  important  operations  can  be  approached 
without  a  new  division  of  human  knowledge  adapted 
to  the  present  stage  of  its  progress,  and  a  reforma- 
tion of  all  those  barbarous,  pedantic,  unmeaning,  and 
(what  is  worse)  wrong-meaning  names  which  continue 
to  be  applied  to  the  greater  part  of  its  branches.  In- 
stances are  needless  where  nearly  all  the  appellations 
are  faulty.  The  term  "  Metaphysics "  affi)rds  a  spe- 
cimen of  all  the  faults  which  the  name  of  a  science 
can  combine.  To  those  who  know  only  their  own 
language,  it  must,  at  their  entrance  on  the  study,  con- 
vey no  meaning :  it  points  their  attention  to  nothing. 
If  they  examine  the  language  in  which  its  parts  are 
significant,  they  will  be  misled  into  the  pernicious  error 
of  believing  that  it  seeks  something  more  than  the  in- 
terpretation of  nature.  It  is  only  by  examining  the 
history  of  ancient  philosophy  that  the  probable  origin 
of  this  name  will  be  found,  in  its  application,  as  the 
running  title  of  several  essays  of  Aristotle,  placed  in 
a  collection  of  the  manuscripts  of  that  great  philo- 

B   4 


8  DISSERTATION   ON    THE   PROGRESS 

sopher,  after  his  treatise  on  Physics.  It  has  the  greater 
fault  of  an  unsteady  and  fluctuating  signification  ;  — 
denoting  one  class  of  objects  in  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury, and  another  in  the  eighteenth; — even  in  the 
nineteenth  not  quite  of  the  same  import  in  the  mouth 
of  a  German,  as  in  that  of  a  French  or  English  phi- 
losopher ;  to  say  nothing  of  the  farther  objection  that 
it  continues  to  be  a  badge  of  undue  pretension  among 
some  of  the  followers  of  the  science,  while  it  has  be- 
come a  name  of  reproach  and  derision  among  those 
who  altogether  decry  it.  The  modern  name  of  the 
very  modern  science  called  "  Political  Economy," 
though  deliberately  bestowed  on  it  by  its  most  eminent 
teachers,  is  perhaps  a  still  more  notable  sample  of  the 
like  faults.  It  might  lead  the  ignorant  to  confine  it  to 
retrenchment  in  national  expenditure ;  and  a  consi- 
deration of  its  etymology  alone  would  lead  us  into  the 
more  mischievous  error  of  believing  it  to  teach,  that 
national  wealth  is  best  promoted  by  the  contrivance 
and  interference  of  lawgivers,  in  opposition  to  its 
surest  doctrine,  and  the  one  which  it  most  justly  boasts 
of  having  discovered  and  enforced. 
'  It  is  easy  to  conceive  an  exhaustive  analysis  of 
human  knowledge,  and  a  consequent  division  of  it  into 
parts  corresponding  to  all  the  classes  of  objects  to 
which  it  relates;  —  a  representation  of  that  vast  edi- 
fice, containing  a  picture  of  what  is  finished,  a  sketch 
of  what  is  building,  and  even  a  conjectural  outline  of 
what,  though  required  by  completeness  and  conveni- 
ence, as  well  as  symmetry,  is  yet  altogether  untouched. 
A  system  of  names  might  also  be  imagined  derived 
from  a  few  roots,  indicating  the  objects  of  each  part, 
and  showing  the  relation  of  the  parts  to  each  other. 
An  order  and  a  language  somewhat  resembling  those 
by  which  the  objects  of  the  sciences  of  Botany  and 
Chemistry  have,  in  the  eighteenth  century,  been  ar- 
ranged and  denoted,  are  doubtless  capable  of  applica- 
tion to  the  sciences  generally,  when  considered  as 
parts  of  the  system  of  knowledge.      The  attempts, 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  9 

however,  which  have  hitherto  been  made  to  accom- 
plish that  analytical  division  of  knowledge  which  must 
necessarily  precede  a  new  nomenclature  of,  the  sciences, 
have  required  so  prodigious  a  superiority  of  genius  in 
the  single  instance  of  approach  to  success  by  Bacon, 
as  to  discourage  rivalship  nearly  as  much  as  the  fre- 
quent examples  of  failure  in  subsequent  times  could 
do.  The  nomenclature  itself  is  attended  with  great 
difficulties,  not  indeed  in  its  conception,  but  in  its 
adoption  and  usefulness.  In  the  Continental  languages 
to  the  south  of  the  Rhine,  the  practice  of  deriving  the 
names  of  science  from  the  Greek  must  be  continued ; 
which  w^ould  render  the  new  names  for  a  while  unin- 
telligible to  the  majority  of  men.  Even  if  successful 
in  Germany,  where  a  flexible  and  fertile  language 
affi3rds  unbounded  liberty  of  derivation  and  composi- 
tion from  native  roots  or  elements,  and  where  the 
newly-derived  and  compounded  words  would  thus  be 
as  clear  to  the  mind,  and  almost  as  little  startling  to 
the  ear  of  every  man,  as  the  oldest  terms  in  the  lan- 
guage, yet  the  whole  nomenclature  would  be  unintel- 
ligible to  other  nations.  But,  the  intercommunity  of 
the  technical  terms  of  science  in  Europe  having  been 
so  far  broken  down  by  the  Germans,  the  influence  of 
their  literature  and  philosophy  is  so  rapidly  increasing 
in  the  greater  part  of  the  Continent,  that  though  a 
revolution  in  scientific  nomenclature  be  probably  yet 
far  distant,  the  foundation  of  it  may  be  considered  as 
already  prepared. 

Although  so  great  an  undertaking  must  be  reserved 
for  a  second  Bacon  and  a  future  generation,  it  is  ne- 
cessary for  the  historian  of  any  branch  of  knowledge 
to  introduce  his  work  by  some  account  of  the  limits 
and  contents  of  the  sciences  of  which  he  is  about  to 
trace  the  progress  ;  and  though  it  will  be  found  im- 
possible to  trace  throughout  this  treatise  a  distinct 
line  of  demarcation,  yet  a  general  and  imperfect 
sketch  of  the  boundaries  of  the  whole,  and  of  the 
parts,  of  our  present  subject,  may  be  a  considerable 


10  DISSERTATION   ON    THE   PROGRESS 

help  to  the  reader,  as  it  has  been  a  useful  guide  to  the 
writer. 

There  is  no  distribution  of  the  parts  of  knowledge 
more  ancient  than  that  of  them  into  the  physical  and 
moral  sciences,  which  seems  liable  to  no  other  ob- 
jection than  that  it  does  not  exhaust  the  subject. 
Even  this  division,  however,  cannot  be  safely  em- 
ployed, without  warning  the  reader  that  no  science  is 
entirely  insulated,  and  that  the  principles  of  one  are 
often  only  the  conclusions  and  results  of  another. 
Every  branch  of  knowledge  has  its  root  in  the  theory 
of  the  Understanding,  from  which  even  the  mathema- 
tician must  learn  what  can  be  known  of  his  magnitude 
and  his  numbers  ;  moral  science  is  founded  on  that 
other — hitherto  unnamed — part  of  the  philosophy  of 
human  nature  (to  be  constantly  and  vigilantly  distin- 
guished from  intellectual  philosophy),  which  contem- 
plates the  laws  of  sensibility,  of  emotion,  of  desire  and 
aversion,  of  pleasure  and  pain,  of  happiness  and 
misery ;  and  on  which  arise  the  august  and  sacred 
landmarks  that  stand  conspicuous  along  the  frontier 
between  Right  and  Wrong. 

But  however  multiplied  the  connections  of  the 
moral  and  physical  sciences  are,  it  is  not  difficult  to 
draw  a  general  distinction  between  them.  The  pur- 
pose of  the  physical  sciences  throughout  all  their 
provinces,  is  to  answer  the  question  What  is  ?  They 
consist  only  of  facts  arranged  according  to  their 
likeness,  and  expressed  by  general  names  given  to 
every  class  of  similar  facts.  The  purpose  of  the 
moral  sciences  is  to  answer  the  question  What  ought 
to  be  .?  They  aim  at  ascertaining  the  rules  which  ought 
to  govern  voluntary  action,  and  to  which  those  ha- 
bitual dispositions  of  mind  which  are  the  source  of 
voluntary  actions  ought  to  be  adapted. 

It  is  obvious  that  "  will,"  "  action,"  "  habit,"  "  dis- 
position," are  terms  denoting  facts  in  human  nature, 
and  that  an  explanation  of  them  must  be  sought  in 
mental  philosophy,  which,  if  knowledge  be  divided  into 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  11 

physical  and  moral,  must  be  placed '  among  physical 
sciences,  though  it  essentially  differs  from  them  all  in 
having  for  its  chief  object  those  laws  of  thought  which 
alone  render  any  other  sort  of  knowledge  possible.  But 
it  is  equally  certain  that  the  word  "ought"  introduces 
the  mind  into  a  new  region,  to  which  nothing  physical 
corresponds.  However  philosophers  may  deal  with 
this  most  important  of  words,  it  is  instantly  under- 
stood by  all  who  do  not  attempt  to  define  it.  No 
civilised  speech,  perhaps  no  human  language,  is  with- 
out correspondent  terms.  It  would  be  as  reasonable 
to  deny  that  "  space"  and  "  greenness"  are  significant 
words,  as  to  affirm  that  "  ought,"  "  right,"  "  duty," 
"  virtue,"  are  sounds  without  meaning.  It  would 
be  fatal  to  an  ethical  theory  that  it  did  not  explain 
them,  and  that  it  did  not  comprehend  all  the  concep- 
tions and  emotions  which  they  call  up.  There  never 
yet  was  a  theory  which  did  not  attempt  such  an  ex- 
planation. 


SECTION  I. 

PRELIillNARY   OBSERVATIONS. 

There  is  no  man  who,  in  a  case  where  he  was  a  calm 
bystander,  would  not  look  with  more  satisfaction  on 
acts  of  kindness  than  on  acts  of  cruelty.  No  man, 
after  the  first  excitement  of  his  mind  has  subsided, 
ever  whispered  to  himself  with  self-approbation  and 
secret  joy  that  he  had  been  guilty  of  cruelty  or 
baseness.  Every  criminal  is  strongly  impelled  to  hide 
these  qualities  of  his  actions  from  himself,  as  he  would 
do  from  others,  by  clothing  his  conduct  in  some 
disguise  of  duty,  or  of  necessity.  There  is  no  tribe 
so  rude  as  to  be  without  a  ftiint  perception  of  a  differ- 
ence between  Right  and  Wrong.  There  is  no  sub- 
ject on  which  men  of  all  ages  and  nations  coincide  in 


12  DISSERTATION   ON    THE    PKOGRESS 

SO  many  points  as  in  the  general  rules  of  conduct, 
and  in  the  qualities  of  the  human  character  which 
deserve  esteem.  Even  the  grossest  deviations  from 
the  general  consent  will  appear,  on  close  examination, 
to  be  not  so  much  corruptions  of  moral  feeling,  as 
ignorance  of  facts  ;  or  errors  with  respect  to  the  con- 
sequences of  action  ;  or  cases  in  which  the  dissentient 
party  is  inconsistent  with  other  parts  of  his  own 
principles,  which  destroys  the  value  of  his  dissent ; 
or  where  each  dissident  is  condemned  by  all  the  other 
dissidents,  which  immeasurably  augments  the  ma- 
jority against  him.  In  the  first  three  cases  he  may 
be  convinced  by  argument  that  his  moral  judgment 
should  be  changed  on  principles  which  he  recognises 
as  just ;  and  he  can  seldom,  if  ever,  be  condemned  at 
the  same  time  by  the  body  of  mankind  who  agree  in 
their  moral  systems,  and  by  those  who  on  some  other 
points  dissent  from  that  general  code,  without  being 
also  convicted  of  error  by  inconsistency  with  himself. 
The  tribes  who  expose  new-born  infants,  condemn 
those  who  abandon  their  decrepit  parents  to  destruc- 
tion :  those  who  betray  and  murder  strangers,  are 
condemned  by  the  rules  of  faith  and  humanity  which 
they  acknowledge  in  their  intercourse  with  their 
countrymen.  Mr.  Hume,  in  a  dialogue  in  which  he 
ingeniously  magnifies  the  moral  heresies  of  two  nations 
so  polished  as  the  Athenians  and  the  French,  has  very 
satisfactorily  resolved  his  own  difficulties :  —  "In  how 
many  circumstances  would  an  Athenian  and  a  French- 
man of  merit  certainly  resemble  each  other!  —  Hu- 
manity, fidelity,  truth,  justice,  courage,  temperance, 
constancy,  dignity  of  mind."  "  The  principles  upon 
which  men  reason  in  Morals  are  always  the  same 
though  the  conclusions  which  they  draw  are  often 
very  different."*  He  might  have  added,  that  almost 
every  deviation  which  he  imputes  to  each  nation  is  at 
variance  with  some  of  the  virtues  justly  esteemed  by 

*  Philosophical  Works  (Edinb.  1826),  vol.  iv.  pp.  420.  422. 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  13 

both,  and  that  the  reciprocal  condemnation  of  each 
other's  errors  which  appears  in  his  statement  entitles 
us,  on  these  points,  to  strike  out  the  suffrages  of  both 
when  collecting  the  general  judgment  of  mankind.  If 
we  bear  in  mind  that  the  question  relates  to  the  coin- 
cidence of  all  men  in  considering  the  same  qualities  as 
virtues,  and  not  to  the  preference  of  one  class  of 
virtues  by  some,  and  of  a  different  class  by  others,  the 
exceptions  from  the  agreement  of  mankind,  in  their 
system  of  practical  morality,  will  be  reduced  to  abso- 
lute insignificance ;  and  we  shall  learn  to  vieAv  them 
as  no  more  affecting  the  harmony  of  our  moral  faculties, 
than  the  resemblance  of  our  limbs  and  features  is 
affected  by  monstrous  conformations,  or  by  the  unfor- 
tunate effects  of  accident  and  disease  in  a  very  few 
individuals.* 

It  is  very  remarkable,  however,  that  though  all 
men  agree  that  there  are  acts  which  ought  to  be  done, 
and  acts  which  ought  not  to  be  done ;  though  the  far 
greater  part  of  mankind  agree  in  their  list  of  virtues 
and  -  duties,  of  vices  and  crimes ;  and  though  the 
whole  race,  as  it  advances  in  other  improvements,  is 
as  evidently  tending  towards  the  moral  system  of  the 
most   civilised  nations,   as  children  in  their  growth 

*  "  On  convicnt  le  plus  souvent  de  ces  instincts  de  la  con- 
science. La  plus  grande  et  la  plus  saine  partic  du  genre  humain 
leur  rend  temoignage.  Les  Orientaux,  et  les  Grecs,  et  les  Ro- 
mains  convicnnent  en  cela ;  et  il  faudroit  etre  aussi  abruti  que  les 
sauvages  Americains  pour  approuver  Icurs  coutumcs,  pleines  d'une 
cruaute  qui  passe  meme  celJe  des  betes.  Cepenclant  ces  memes 
sauvages  sentent  bien  ce  que  c'est  que  la  justice  en  d'autres  occasions ; 
et  quoique  il  n'y  ait  point  de  mauvaise  pratique  pcut-etrc  qui  ne 
soit  autorisee  quelque  part,  il  y  en  a  pcu  pourtant  qui  ne  soient 
condamnees  le  plus  souvent,  et  par  la  plus  grande  partie  des 
hommes."  —  Leibnitz,  CEu\Tes  Philosophiques  (Amst.  et  Leipz. 
1765,  4to.),  p.  49.  There  are  some  admirable  observations  on 
this  subject  in  Hartley,  especially  in  the  development  of  the  49th 
Proposition:  —  "The  rule  of  life  dra^^^l  from  the  practice  and 
opinions  of  mankind  corrects  and  improves  itself  perpetually,  till 
at  last  it  determines  entirely  for  virtue,  and  excludes  all  kinds  and 
degrees  of  vice." — Observations  on  Man,  vol.  ii.  p.  214. 


14  DISSERTATION   ON    THE    PROGRESS 

tend  to  the  opinions,  as  much  as  to  the  experience 
and  strength,  of  adults ;  yet  there  are  no  questions 
in  the  circle  of  inquiry  to  which  answers  more  various 
have  been  given  than — How  men  have  thus  come  to 
agree  in  the  '  Rule  of  Life  ? '  Whence  arises  their  ge- 
neral reverence  for  it  ?  and  What  is  meant  by  affirm- 
ing that  it  ought  to  be  inviolably  observed?  It  is 
singular,  that  where  we  are  most  nearly  agreed  re- 
specting rules,  we  should  perhaps  most  widely  differ  as 
to  the  causes  of  our  agreement,  and  as  to  the  reasons 
which  justify  us  for  adhering  to  it.  The  discussion 
of  these  subjects  composes  what  is  usually  called  the 
"  Theory  of  Morals,"  in  a  sense  not  in  all  respects 
coincident  with  what  is  usually  considered  as  theory 
in  other  sciences.  When  we  investigate  the  causes  of 
our  moral  agreement,  the  term  "theory"  retains  its 
ordinary  scientific  sense ;  but  when  we  endeavour  to 
ascertain  the  reasons  of  it,  we  rather  employ  the  term 
as  importing  the  theory  of  the  rules  of  an  art.  In  the 
first  case,  "  theory "  denotes,  as  usual,  the  most  general 
laws  to  which  certain  facts  can  be  reduced ;  whereas, 
in  the  second,  it  points  out  the  efficacy  of  the  observ- 
ance, in  practice,  of  certain  rules,  for  producing  the 
effects  intended  to  be  produced  in  the  art.  These 
reasons  also  may  be  reduced  under  the  general  sense 
by  stating  the  question  relating  to  them  thus  :  —  What 
are  the  causes  why  the  observance  of  certain  rules 
enables  us  to  execute  certain  purposes  ?  An  account 
of  the  various  answers  attempted  to  be  made  to  these 
inquiries,  properly  forms  the  history  of  Ethics. 

The  attentive  reader  may  already  perceive,  that 
these  momentous  inquiries  relate  to  at  least  two  per- 
fectly distinct  subjects  :  —  1.  The  nature  of  the  distinc- 
tion between  Right  and  Wrong  in  human  conduct,  and 
2.  The  nature  of  those  feelings  with  which  Right 
and  Wrong  are  contemplated  by  human  beings.  The 
latter  constitutes  what  has  been  called  the  "  Theory  of 
Moral  Sentiments;''''  the  former  consists  in  an  investi- 
gation into  the  criterion  of  MoraVity  in  action.    Other 


OF    ETHICAL   rniLOSOPHY.  15 

most  important  questions  arise  in  this  province :  but 
the  two  problems  which  have  been  just  stated,  and 
the  essential  distinction  between  them,  must  be  clearly 
apprehended  by  all  who  are  desirous  of  understanding 
the  controversies  which  have  prevailed  on  ethical 
subjects.  The  discrimination  has  seldom  been  made 
by  moral  philosophers  ;  the  diiFerence  between  the 
two  problems  has  never  been  uniformly  observed  by 
any  of  them :  and  it  will  appear,  in  the  sequel,  that 
they  have  been  not  rarely  altogether  confounded  by 
very  eminent  men,  to  the  destruction  of  all  just  con- 
ception and  of  all  correct  reasoning  in  this  most  im- 
portant, and,  perhaps,  most  difficult,  of  sciences. 

It  may  therefore  be  allowable  to  deviate  so  far  from 
historical  order,  as  to  illustrate  the  nature,  and  to 
prove  the  importance,  of  the  distinction,  by  an  ex- 
ample of  the  effects  of  neglecting  it,  taken  from  the 
recent  works  of  justly-celebrated  writers ;  in  which 
they  discuss  questions  much  agitated  in  the  present 
age,  and  therefore  probably  now  familiar  to  most 
readers  of  this  Dissertation. 

Dr.  Paley  represents  the  principle  of  a  ISIoral  Sense 
as  being  opposed  to  that  of  Utility.*  Now,  it  is  evi- 
dent that  this  representation  is  founded  on  a  confusion 
of  the  two  questions  which  have  been  stated  above. 
That  we  are  endued  with  a  Moral  Sense,  or,  in  other 
words,  a  faculty  which  immediately  approves  what  is 
right,  and  condemns  what  is  wrong,  is  only  a  state- 
ment of  the  feelings  with  which  we  contemplate 
actions.  But  to  affirm  that  right  actions  are  those 
which  conduce  to  the  well-being  of  mankind,  is  a 
proposition  concerning  the  outward  effiicts  by  which 
right  actions  themselves  may  be  recognised.  As 
these  affirmations  relate  to  diffi:?rent  subjects,  they 
cannot  be  opposed  to  each  other,  any  more  than  the 
solidity  of  earth  is  inconsistent  with  the  fluidity  of 

*  Principles  of  Moral  and  Political  Philosophy.  Compare 
book  i.  clxap.  v.  with  book  ii.  chap.  vi. 


16  DISSERTATION   ON    THE    PROGRESS 

water ;  and  a  very  little  reflection  will  show  it  to  be 
easily  conceivable  that  they  may  be  both  true.  Man 
may  be  so  constituted  as  instantaneously  to  approve 
certain  actions  without  any  reference  to  their  conse- 
quences ;  and  yet  Reason  may  nevertheless  discover, 
that  a  tendency  to  produce  general  happiness  is  the 
essential  characteristic  of  such  actions.  Mr.  Bentham 
also  contrasts  the  principle  of  Utility  with  that  of 
Sympathy,  of  which  he  considers  the  Moral  Sense  as 
being  one  of  the  forms.*  It  is  needless  to  repeat, 
that  propositions  which  affirm,  or  deny,  anything  of 
different  subjects,  cannot  contradict  each  other.  As 
these  celebrated  persons  have  thus  inferred  or  implied 
the  non-existence  of  a  Moral  Sense,  from  their  opinion 
that  the  morality  of  actions  depends  upon  their  use- 
fulness, so  other  philosophers  of  equal  name  have 
concluded,  that  the  utility  of  actions  cannot  be  the 
criterion  of  their  morality,  because  a  perception  of 
that  utility  appears  to  them  to  form  a  faint  and  in- 
considerable part  of  our  Moral  Sentiments, — if  indeed 
it  be  at  all  discoverable  in  them-l  These  errors  are 
the  more  remarkable,  because  the  like  confusion  of 
perceptions  with  their  objects,  of  emotions  with  their 
causes,  or  even  the  omission  to  mark  the  distinctions, 
would  in  every  other  subject  be  felt  to  be  a  most 
serious  fault  in  philosophising.  If,  for  instance,  an 
element  were  discovered  to  be  common  to  all  bodies 
which  our  taste  perceives  to  be  sweet,  and  to  be 
found  in  no  other  bodies,  it  is  apparent  that  this  dis- 
covery, perhaps  important  in  other  respects,  would 
neither  affect  our  perception  of  sweetness,  nor  the 
pleasure  which   attends  it :    both  would  continue  to 

*  Infroduction  to  the  Principles  of  Morality  and  Legislation, 
chap.  ii. 

f  Smith,  Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments,  part  iv.  Even  Hume, 
in  the  third  book  of  his  Treatise  of  Human  Nature,  the  most 
precise,  perhaps,  of  his  philosophical  writings,  uses  the  following 
as  the  title  of  one  of  the  sections  :  "  Moral  Distinctions,  derived 
from.  PI,  Moral  SevsP  " 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  17 

be  what  they  have  been  since  the  existence  of  man- 
kind. Every  proposition  concerning  that  element 
■would  relate  to  sweet  bodies,  and  belong  to  the 
science  of  Chemistry ;  while  every  proposition  re- 
specting the  perception  or  pleasure  of  sweetness  would 
relate  either  to  the  body  or  mind  of  man,  and  accord- 
ingly belong  either  to  the  science  of  Physiology,  or 
to  that  of  mental  philosophy.  During  the  many  ages 
which  passed  before  the  analysis  of  the  sun's  beams 
had  proved  them  to  be  compounded  of  different 
colours,  white  objects  were  seen,  and  their  whiteness 
was  sometimes  felt  to  be  beautiful,  in  the  very  same 
manner  as  since  that  discovery.  The  qualities  of 
light  are  the  object  of  Optics ;  the  nature  of  beauty 
can  be  ascertained  only  by  each  man's  observation 
of  his  own  mind ;  the  changes  in  the  living  frame 
which  succeed  the  refraction  of  light  in  the  eye,  and 
jjrecede  mental  operation,  will,  if  they  are  ever  to  be 
known  by  man,  constitute  a  part  of  Physiology.  But 
no  proposition  relating  to  one  of  these  orders  of  phe- 
nomena can  contradict  or  support  a  proposition  con- 
cerning another  order. 

The  analogy  of  this  latter  case  will  justify  another 
preliminary  observation.  In  the  case  of  the  pleasure 
derived  from  beauty,  the  question  whether  that  plea- 
sure be  original,  or  derived,  is  of  secondary  import- 
ance. It  has  been  often  observed  that  the  same  pro- 
perties which  are  admired  as  beautiful  in  the  horse, 
contribute  also  to  his  safety  and  speed ;  and  they  who 
infer  that  the  admiration  of  beauty  was  originally 
founded  on  the  convenience  of  fleetness  and  firmness, 
if  they  at  the  same  time  hold  that  the  idea  of  useful- 
ness is  gradually  effaced,  and  that  the  admiration  of  a 
certain  shape  at  length  rises  instantaneously  without 
reference  to  any  purpose,  may,  with  perfect  consistency, 
regard  a  sense  of  beauty  as  an  independent  and  uni- 
versal principle  of  human  nature.  The  laws  of  such 
a  feeling  of  beauty  are  discoverable  only  by  self- 
observation  :  those  of  the  qualities  which  call  it  forth 

VOL.  L  C 


IS  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

are  ascertained  by  examination  of  the  outward  things 
which  are  called  beautiful.  But  it  is  of  the  utmost 
importance  to  bear  in  mind,  that  he  who  contemplates 
the  beautiful  proportions  of  a  horse,  as  the  signs  and 
proofs  of  security  or  quickness,  and  has  in  view  these 
convenient  qualities,  is  properly  said  to  prefer  the 
horse  for  his  usefulness,  not  for  his  beauty ;  though  he 
may  choose  him  from  the  same  outward  appearance 
which  pleases  the  admirer  of  the  beautiful  animal.  He 
alone  who  derives  immediate  pleasure  from  the  appear- 
ance itself,  without  reflection  on  any  advantages  which 
it  may  promise,  is  truly  said  to  feel  the  beauty.  The 
distinction,  however,  manifestly  depends,  not  on  the 
origin  of  the  emotion,  but  on  its  object  and  nature 
when  completely  formed.  Many  of  our  most  im- 
portant perceptions  through  the  eye  are  universally 
acknowledged  to  be  acquired :  but  they  are  as  general 
as  the  original  perceptions  of  that  organ ;  they  arise 
as  independently  of  our  will,  and  human  nature  would 
be  quite  as  imperfect  without  them.  The  case  of  an 
adult  who  did  not  immediately  see  the  different  dis- 
tances of  objects  from  his  eye,  would  be  thought  by 
every  one  to  be  as  great  a  deviation  from  the  ordinary 
state  of  man,  as  if  he  were  incapable  of  distinguishing 
the  brightest  sunshine  from  the  darkest  midnight. 
Acquired  perceptions  and  sentiments  may  therefore 
be  termed  natural,  as  much  as  those  which  are  more 
commonly  so  called,  if  they  be  as  rarely  found  want- 
ing. Ethical  theories  can  never  be  satisfactorily  dis- 
cussed by  those  who  do  not  constantly  bear  in  mind, 
that  the  question  concerning  the  existence  of  a  moral 
faculty  in  man  which  immediately  approves  or  disap- 
proves without  reference  to  any  farther  object,  is 
perfectly  distinct,  on  the  one  hand,  from  that  which 
inquires  into  the  qualities  of  actions,  thus  approved  or 
disapproved;  and,  on  the  other,  from  an  inquiry  whether 
that  faculty  be  derived  from  other  parts  of  our  mental 
frame,  or  be  itself  one  of  the  ultimate  constituent 
principles  of  human  nature. 


OF   ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  19 

SECTION  n. 

RETROSPECT    OF   AJsXIENT    ETHICS. 

IxQuiRiES  concerning  the  nature  of  Mind,  the  first 
principles  of  Knowledge,  the  origin  and  government 
of  the  world,  appear  to  have  been  among  the  earliest 
objects  which  employed  the  understanding  of  civilised 
men.  Fragments  of  such  speculation  are  handed 
down  from  the  legendary  age  of  Greek  philosophy. 
In  the  remaining  monuments  of  that  more  ancient 
form  of  civilisation  which  sprung  up  in  Asia,  we  see 
clearly  that  the  Brahminical  philosophers,  in  times 
perhaps  before  the  dawn  of  \Yestern  history,  had  run 
round  that  dark  and  little  circle  of  systems  which  an 
unquenchable  thirst  of  knowledge  has  since  urged 
both  the  speculators  of  ancient  Greece  and  those  of 
Christendom  to  retrace.  The  wall  of  adamant  which 
bounds  human  inquiry  in  that  direction  has  scarcely 
ever  been  discovered  by  any  adventurer,  until  he  has 
been  roused  by  the  shock  which  drove  him  back.  It  is 
otherwise  with  the  theory  of  Morals.  No  controversy 
seems  to  have  arisen  regarding  it  in  Greece,  till  the 
rise  and  conflict  of  the  Stoical  and  Epicurean  schools; 
and  the  ethical  disputes  of  the  modern  world  origi- 
nated with  the  writings  of  Hobbes  about  the  middle 
of  the  seventeenth  century.  Perhaps  the  longer  ab- 
stinence from  debate  on  this  subject  may  have  sprung 
from  reverence  for  Morality.  Perhaps,  also,  where 
the  world  were  unanimous  in  their  practical  opinions, 
little  need  was  felt  of  exact  theory.  The  teachers  of 
Morals  were  content  with  partial  or  secondary  prin- 
ciples,—  with  the  combination  of  principles  not  always 
reconcileable, — even  with  vague  but  specious  phrases 
which  ill  any  degree  explained  or  seemed  to  explain 
the  Rules  of  the  Art  of  Life,  appearing,  as  these  last 
did,  at  once  too  evident  to  need  investigation,  and  too 
venerable  to  be  approached  by  controversy. 

c  2 


2d 


DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 


Perhaps  the  subtile  genius  of  Greece  was  in  part 
withheld  from  indulging  itself  in  ethical  controversy 
by  the  influence  of  Socrates,  who  was  much  more  a 
teacher  of  virtue  than  even  a  searcher  after  Truth — 

Whom,  well  inspired,  the  oracle  pronounced 
Wisest  of  men. 

It  was  doubtless  because  he  chose  that  better  part 
that  he  was  thus  spoken  of  by  the  man  whose  com- 
mendation is  glory,  and  who,  from  the  loftiest  emi- 
nence of  moral  genius  ever  reached  by  a  mortal,  was 
perhaps  alone  worthy  to  place  a  new  crown  on  the 
brow  of  the  martyr  of  Virtue. 

Aristippus  indeed,  a  wit  and  a  worldling,  borrowed 
nothing  from  the  conversations  of  Socrates  but  a  few 
maxims  for  husbanding  the  enjoyments  of  sense. 
Antisthenes  also,  a  hearer  but  not  a  follower,  founded 
a  school  of  parade  and  exaggeration,  which  caused 
his  master  to  disown  him  by  the  ingenious  rebuke, — 
"I  see  your  vanity  through  your  threadbare  cloak."* 
The  modest  doubts  of  the  most  sober  of  moralists, 
and  his  indisposition  to  fruitless  abstractions,  Avere  in 
process  of  time  employed  as  the  foundation  of  sys- 
tematic scepticism;  —  the  most  presumptuous,  inap- 
plicable, and  inconsistent  of  all  the  results  of  human 
meditation.  But  though  his  lessons  were  thus  dis- 
torted by  the  perverse  ingenuity  of  some  who  heard 
him,  the  authority  of  his  practical  sense  may  be  traced 
in  the  moral  writings  of  those  most  celebrated  philo- 
sophers who  were  directly  or  indirectly  his  disciples. 

Plato,  the  most  famous  of  his  scholars,  the  most 
eloquent  of  Grecian  writers,  and  the  earliest  moral 
philosopher  whose  writings  have  come  down  to  us, 
employed  his  genius  in  the  composition  of  dialogues, 
in  which  his  master  performed  the  principal  part. 
These  beautiful  conversations  would  have  lost  their 
charm  of  verisimilitude,  of  dramatic  vivacity,  and  of 

*  Diog.  Laert.  Jib.  vi.     iElian,  lib.  ix.  cap.  35. 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  21 

picturesque  representation  of  character,  if  they  had 
been  subjected  to  the  constraint  of  method.  Thej 
necessarily  presuppose  much  oral  instruction.  They 
frequently  quote,  and  doubtless  oftener  allude  to,  the 
opinions  of  predecessors  and  contemporaries  whose 
works  have  perished,  and  of  whose  doctrines  only  some 
fragments  are  preserved.  In  these  circumstances,  it 
must  be  difficult  for  the  most  learned  and  philosophical 
of  his  commentators  to  give  a  just  representation  of 
his  doctrines,  even  if  he  really  framed  or  adopted  a 
system.  The  moral  part  of  his  works  is  more  acces- 
sible.* The  vein  of  thought  which  runs  through 
them  is  always  visible.  The  object  is  to  inspire  the 
love  of  Truth,  of  Wisdom,  of  Beauty,  especially  of 
Goodness  —  the  highest  Beauty,  and  of  that  Supreme 
and  Eternal  Mind,  which  contains  all  Truth  and  Wis- 
dom, all  Beauty  and  Goodness.  By  the  love  or  delight- 
ful contemplation  and  pursuit  of  these  transcendant 
aims  for  their  own  sake  only,  he  represented  the  mind 
of  man  as  raised  from  low  and  perishable  objects,  and 
prepared  for  those  high  destinies  which  are  appointed 
for  all  those  who  are  capable  of  enjoying  them.  The 
application  to  moral  qualities  of  terms  which  denote 
outward  beauty,  though  by  him  perhaps  carried  to  ex- 
cess, is  an  illustrative  metaphor,  as  well  warranted  by 
the  poverty  of  language  as  any  other  employed  to 
signify  the  acts  or  attributes  of  Mind.f     The  "  beau- 


*  Hejse,  Init.  Phil,  Plat.  1827  ;  —  a  hitherto  incomplete  work 
of  great  perspicuity  and  elegance,  in  which  we  must  excuse  the 
partiality  which  belongs  to  a  labour  of  love. 

f  The  most  probable  etymology  of  "  Ka\6s "  seems  to  be  from 
Kdiu,  to  bum.  What  burns  commonly  shines.  *'  Schon,"  in 
German,  which  means  beautiful,  is  derived  from  "  scheinen,"  to 
shine.  The  wt)rd  Ka\6s  Avas  used  for  right,  so  early  as  the 
Homeric  Poems.  lA.  xvii.  19.  In  the  philosophical  age  it  became 
a  technical  term,  with  little  other  remains  of  the  metaphorical 
sense  than  what  the  genius  and  art  of  a  fine  Avriter  might  some- 
times rekindle.    "  Honestum,"  the  term  by  which  Cicero  translates 

C  3 


22  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

tiful,"  in  his  language,  denoted  all  that  of  which  the 
mere  contemplation  is  in  itself  delightful,  without  any 
admixture  of  organic  pleasure,  and  without  being  re- 
garded as  the  means  of  attaining  any  farther  end.  The 
feeling  which  belongs  to  it  he  called  "  love  ; "  a  word 
which,  as  comprehending  complacency,  benevolence, 
and  affection,  and  reaching  from  the  neighbourhood 
of  the  senses  to  the  most  sublime  of  human  thoughts, 
is  foreign  to  the  colder  and  more  exact  language  of 
our  philosophy ;  but  which,  perhaps,  then  happily 
served  to  lure  both  the  lovers  of  Poetry,  and  the 
votaries  of  Superstition,  to  the  school  of  Truth  and 
Goodness  in  the  groves  of  the  Academy.  He  enforced 
these  lessons  by  an  inexhaustible  variety  of  just  and 
beautiful  illustrations, — sometimes  striking  from  their 
familiarity,  sometimes  subduing  by  their  grandeur ; 
and  his  works  are  the  storehouse  from  which  moralists 
have  from  age  to  age  borrowed  the  means  of  rendering 
moral  instruction  easier  and  more  delightful.  Virtue 
he  represented  as  the  harmony  of  the  whole  soul ;  — 
as  a  peace  between  all  its  principles  and  desires,  as- 
signing to  each  as  much  space  as  they  can  occupy, 
without  encroaching  on  each  other ;  —  as  a  state  of 
perfect  health,  in  which  every  function  was  performed 
with  ease,  pleasure,  and  vigour  ;  —  as  a  well-ordered 
commonwealth,  where  the  obedient  passions  executed 
with  energy  the  laws  and  commands  of  Reason.  The 
vicious  mind  presented  the  odious  character,  some- 
times of  discord,  of  war;  —  sometimes  of  disease;  — 
always  of  passions  warring  with  each  other  in  eternal 
anarchy.  Consistent  with  himself,  and  at  peace  with 
his  fellows,  the  good  man  felt  in  the  quiet  of  his  con- 
science a  foretaste  of  the  approbation  of  God.  "  Oh, 
what  ardent  love  would  virtue  inspire  if  she  could  be 
seen."     "  If  the  heart  of  a  tyrant  could  be  laid  bare, 

the  "  KaXSv,''*  being  derived  from  outward  honours,  is  a  less 
happy  metaphor.  In  our  language,  the  terms,  being  from  foreign 
roots,  contribute  nothing  to  illustrate  the  progress  of  thought. 


I 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  23 

'we  should  see  how  it  was  cut  and  torn  by  its  own  evil 
passions  and  by  an  avenging  conscience."* 

Perhaps  in  every  one  of  these  ilkistrations,  an  eye 
trained  in  the  history  of  Ethics  may  discover  the  germ 
of  the  whole  or  of  a  part  of  some  subsequent  theory. 
But  to  examine  it  thus  would  not  be  to  look  at  it  with 
the  eye  of  Plato.  His  aim  was  as  practical  as  that  of 
Socrates.  He  employed  every  topic,  without  regard 
to  its  place  in  a  system,  or  even  always  to  its  argu- 
mentative force,  Avhich  could  attract  the  small  portion 
of  the  community  then  accessible  to  cultivation  ;  who, 
it  should  not  be  forgotten,  had  no  moral  instructor 
]^ut  the  Philosopher,  unaided,  if  not  thwarted,  by  the 
reigning  superstition :  for  Religion  had  not  then,  be- 
sides her  own  discoveries,  brought  down  the  most  awful 
and  the  most  beautiful  forms  of  Moral  Truth  to  the 
humblest  station  in  human  society.f 

Ethics  retained  her  sober  spirit  in  the  hands  of  his 
great  scholar  and  rival  Aristotle,  who,  though  he  cer- 
tainly surpassed  all  men  in  acute  distinction,  in  subtile 
argument,  in  severe  method,  in  the  power  of  analysing 

*  Let  it  not  be  forgotten,  that  for  this  ten*ible  description, 
Socrates,  to  whom  it  is  ascribed  by  Plato  (HoA.  I.),  is  called 
"  Prajstantissimus  sapiential."  by  a  writer  of  the  most  masculine 
understanding,  the  least  subject  to  be  transported  by  enthusiasm. 
— Tac.  Ann.  lib.  vi.  cap.  6.  "  Qure  vulnera ! "  says  Cicero,  in 
alluding  to  the  same  passage. — De  Oft",  lib.  iii.  cap.  21. 

f  There  can  hardly  be  a  finer  example  of  Plato's  practical 
morals  than  his  observations  on  the  treatment  of  slaves.  "  Genuine 
humanity  and  real  probity,"  says  he,  "  are  brought  to  the  test,  by 
the  behaviour  of  a  man  to  slaves,  whom  he  may  Avrong  with 
impunity."  AidSrjXos  yap  6  (pvaei  Koi  ixr)  irKaffTus  a(€wu  t^v  S'lK-qv, 
fiiawv  0€  ovTuis  rh  &SiKOU  4v  rovroii  roiv  avOpwirwu  ev  oils  outoJ  paSiov 
a5iKf7v.  —  NoyLi.  lib.  vi.  cap.  19.  That  Plato  was  considered  as  the 
fountain  of  ancient  morals,  would  be  sufficiently  evident  from 
Cicero  alone  :  "  Ex  hoc  igitur  Platonis,  quasi  quodam  sancto 
augustoque  fonte,  nostra  omnis  manabit  oratio."  —  Tusc.  Quaest. 
lib.  V.  cap.  12.  Perhaps  the  sober  Quintilian  meant  to  mingle 
some  censure  with  the  highest  praise:  "  Plato,  qui  eloquendi 
facultate  divina  quadam  et  Homerica,  multura  supra  j)rosam 
oratiouem  surgit."  —  De  Inst.  Orat.  lib.  x.  cap.  1. 

C  4 


24  DISSERTATION   ON    THE   PROGRESS 

what  is  most  compounded,  and  of  reducing  to  simple 
principles  the  most  various  and  unlike  appearances, 
yet  appears  to  be  still  more  raised  above  his  fellows 
by  the  prodigious  faculty  of  laying  aside  these  extra- 
ordinary endowments  whenever  his  present  purpose 
required  it ; — as  in  his  History  of  Animals,  in  his 
treatises  on  philosophical  criticism,  and  in  his  prac- 
tical writings,  political  as  well  as  moral.  Contrasted 
as  his  genius  was  to  that  of  Plato,  not  only  by  its 
logical  and  metaphysical  attributes,  but  by  the  regard 
to  experience  and  observation  of  Nature  which,  in  him 
perhaps  alone,  accompanied  them ;  (though  the  two 
may  be  considered  as  the  original  representatives  of 
the  two  antagonist  tendencies  of  philosophy  —  that 
which  would  ennoble  man,  and  that  which  seeks 
rather  to  explain  nature ;)  yet  opposite  as  they  are  in 
other  respects,  the  master  and  the  scholar  combine  to 
guard  the  Rule  of  Life  against  the  licentious  irruptions 
of  the  Sophists. 

In  Ethics  alone  their  systems  differed  more  in 
words  than  in  things.*  That  happiness  consisted  in 
virtuous  pleasure,  chiefly  dependent  on  the  state  of 
mind,  but  not  unaffected  by  outward  agents,  was  the 
doctrine  of  both.  Both  would  with  Socrates  have 
called  happiness  "  unrepented  pleasure."  Neither  dis- 
tinguished the  two  elements  which  they  represented 
as  constituting  the  Supreme  Good  from  each  other ; 
partly,  perhaps,  from  a  fear  of  appearing  to  separate 
them.  Plato  more  habitually  considered  happiness  as 
the  natural  fruit  of  Virtue ;  Aristotle  oftener  viewed 
Virtue  as  the  means  of  attaining  happiness.  The 
celebrated  doctrine  of  the  Peripatetics,  which  placed 

*  *'  Una  et  consentlens  duobus  vocabulis  philosophise  forma 
instituta  est,  Academicorum  et  Peripateticorum  ;  qui  rebus  con- 
gruentes  nominibus  ditferebant."  —  Cic.  Acad.  Quaest.  lib.  i. 
cap.  4.  Bov\eTai  (ApjtrroTeATjs)  BlttIu  flvai  rhu  kutol  cpiXocrocplav 
Xoyov  Thv  fxev  izpaKTiKou,  rhv  5e  ^ewprjTiKSv.  kul  tov  TrpaKTiKov,  rov 
T6  riQiKhv  KoX  TToXiTiKov  TOV  5e  ^i(i)pif]TiKov,  TOV  Te  (pvaiKhu,  ical 
KoyiKhv. — Diog.  Laert.  lib.  v.  §  28. 


OF    ETHICAX   PHILOSOPHY.  25 

all  virtues  in  a  medium  between  opposite  vices,  was 
probably  suggested  bj  the  Platonic  representation  of 
its  necessity  to  keep  up  harmony  between  the  different 
parts  of  our  nature.  The  perfection  of  a  compound 
machine  is  attained  where  all  its  parts  have  the  fullest 
scope  for  action.  Where  one  is  so  far  exerted  as  to 
repress  others,  there  is  a  vice  of  excess  :  where  any 
one  has  less  activity  than  it  might  exert  without  dis- 
turbing others,  there  is  a  vice  of  defect.  The  point 
which  all  reach  without  collision  with  each  other, 
is  the  mediocrity  in  which  the  Peripatetics  placed 
Virtue. 

It  was  not  till  near  a  century  after  the  death  of 
Plato  that  Ethics  became  the  scene  of  philosophical 
contest  between  the  adverse  schools  of  Epicurus  and 
Zeno ;  whose  errors  afford  an  instructive  example, 
that  in  the  formation  of  a  theory,  partial  truth  is  equi- 
valent to  absolute  falsehood.  As  the  astronomer  who 
left  either  the  centripetal  or  the  centrifugal  force  of 
the  planets  out  of  his  view,  would  err  as  completely  as 
he  who  excluded  both,  so  the  Epicureans  and  Stoics, 
who  each  confined  themselves  to  real  but  not  exclusive 
principles  in  Morals,  departed  as  widely  from  the 
truth  as  if  they  had  adopted  no  part  of  it.  Every 
partial  theory  is  indeed  directly  false,  inasmuch  as  it 
ascribes  to  one  or  few  causes  what  is  produced  by 
more.  As  the  extreme  opinions  of  one,  if  not  of  both, 
of  these  schools  have  been  often  revived  with  varia- 
tions and  refinements  in  modern  times,  and  are  still 
not  without  influence  on  ethical  systems,  it  may  be 
allowable  to  make  some  observations  on  this  earliest 
of  moral  controversies. 

"All  other  virtues,"  said  Epicurus,  "grow  from 
prudence,  which  teaches  that  Ave  cannot  live  plea- 
surably  without  living  justly  and  virtuously,  nor  live 
justly  and  virtuously  without  living  pleasurably."  * 
The  illustration  of  this  sentence  formed  the  whole 

*  Diog.  Lacrt.  Ub.  x.  §  132. 


26  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

moral  discipline  of  Epicurus.  To  him  we  owe  the 
general  concurrence  of  reflecting  men  in  succeeding 
times,  in  the  important  truth  that  men  cannot  be 
happy  without  a  virtuous  frame  of  mind  and  course 
of  life ;  a  truth  of  inestimable  value,  not  peculiar  to 
the  Epicureans,  but  placed  by  their  exaggerations  in 
a  stronger  light ; — a  truth,  it  must  be  added,  of  less 
importance  as  a  motive  to  right  conduct  than  as  com- 
pleting Moral  Theory,  which,  however,  it  is  very  far 
from  solely  constituting.  With  that  truth  the  Epi- 
cureans blended  another  position,  which  indeed  is 
contained  in  the  first  words  of  the  above  statement ; 
namely,  that  because  Virtue  promotes  happiness, 
every  act  of  virtue  must  be  done  in  order  to  promote 
the  happiness  of  the  agent.  They  and  their  modern 
followers  tacitly  assume,  that  the  latter  position  is 
the  consequence  of  the  former ;  as  if  it  were  an  in- 
ference from  the  necessity  of  food  to  life,  that  the 
fear  of  death  should  be  substituted  for  the  appetite  of 
hunger  as  a  motive  for  eating.  "  Friendship,"  says 
Epicurus,  "is  to  be  pursued  by  the  wise  man  only 
for  its  usefulness,  but  he  will  begin  ;  as  he  sows  the 
field  in  order  to  reap."  *  It  is  obvious,  that  if  these 
words  be  confined  to  outward  benefits,  they  may  be 
sometimes  true,  but  never  can  be  pertinent ;  for  out- 
ward acts  sometimes  show  kindness,  but  never  com- 
pose it.  If  they  be  applied  to  kind  feeling,  they 
would  indeed  be  pertinent,  but  they  would  be  evidently 
and  totally  false ;  for  it  is  most  certain  that  no  man 
acquires  an  affection  merely  from  his  belief  that  it 
would  be  agreeable  or  advantageous  to  feel  it.  Kind- 
ness cannot  indeed  be  pursued  on  account  of  the 
pleasure  which  belongs  to  it ;  for  man  can  no  more 
know  the  pleasure  till  he  has  felt  the  affection,  than 


*  TV  tpiXiav  Bioi  TTjs  xP^'ot^-  —  I>iog.  Laert.  lib.  x.  §  120.  "Hie 
est  locus,"  Gassendi  confesses,  "  ob  quern  Epicurus  non  parum 
vexatur,  quando  nemo  non  repreliendit,  parari  amicitiam  non  sui, 
sed  utilitatis  gratia." 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  27 

he  can  form  an  idea  of  colour  without  the  sense  of 
sight.  The  moral  character  of  Epicurus  was  excel- 
lent; no  man  more  enjoyed  the  pleasure,  or  better 
performed  the  duties,  of  friendship.  The  letter  of  his 
system  was  no  more  indulgent  to  vice  than  that  of 
any  other  moralist.*  Although,  therefore,  he  has  the 
merit  of  having  more  strongly  inculcated  the  con- 
nection of  Virtue  with  happiness,  perhaps  by  the 
faulty  excess  of  treating  it  as  an  exclusive  principle  ; 
yet  his  doctrine  was  justly  charged  with  indisposing 
the  mind  to  those  exalted  and  generous  sentiments, 
without  which  no  pure,  elevated,  bold,  generous,  or 
tender  virtues  can  exist.| 

As  Epicurus  represented  the  tendency  of  Virtue, 
which  is  a  most  important  truth  in  ethical  theory,  as 
the  sole  inducement  to  virtuous  practice ;  so  Zeno,  in 
his  disposition  towards  the  opposite  extreme,  was  in- 
clined to  consider  the  moral  sentiments,  which  are  the 
motives  of  right  conduct,  as  being  the  sole  principles 
of  moral  science.  The  confusion  was  equally  great 
in  a  philosophical  view,  but  that  of  Epicurus  was 
more  fatal  to  interests  of  higher  importance  than 
those  of  Philosophy.  Had  the  Stoics  been  content 
with  affirming  that  Virtue  is  the  source  of  all  that  part 
of  our  happiness  which  depends  on  ourselves,  they 
would  have  taken  a  position  from  which  it  would  have 
been  impossible  to  drive  them ;  they  would  have  laid 
down  a  principle  of  as  great  comprehension  in  practice 
as  their  wider  pretensions  ;  a  simple  and  incontrover- 
tible truth,  beyond  which  everything  is  an  object  of 

*  It  is  due  to  him  to  observe,  that  he  treated  humanity  towards 
slaves  as  one  of  the  characteristics  of  a  wise  man.  "Ovn  KoXdrreiv 
oiKeVas,  €\€7Jcrejv  jueV  toi,  koI  airfyvwix-qv  rivX  e^eiv  tuu  (rirovSaiuv. 
— Diog.  Laert.  lib.  x.  §  118.  It  is  not  unworthy  of  remark,  that 
neither  Plato  nor  Epicurus  thought  it  necessary  to  abstain  from 
these  topics  in  a  city  full  of  slares,  many  of  whom  were  men  not 
destitute  of  knowledge. 

f  "  Nil  generosum,  nil  magnificura  sapit." — De  Fin.  lib.  i, 
cap.  7. 


28  DISSERTATION   ON   THE    PROGRESS 

mere  curiosity  to  man.  Our  information,  however, 
about  the  opinions  of  the  more  celebrated  Stoics  is 
very  scanty.  None  of  their  own  writings  are  pre- 
served. We  know  little  of  them  but  from  Cicero, 
the  translator  of  Grecian  philosophy,  and  from  the 
Greek  compilers  of  a  later  age ;  authorities  which 
would  be  imperfect  in  the  history  of  facts,  but  which 
are  of  far  less  value  in  the  history  of  opinions,  where 
a  right  conception  often  depends  upon  the  minutest 
distinctions  between  words.  We  know  that  Zeno  was 
more  simple,  and  that  Chrysippus,  who  was  accounted 
the  prop  of  the  Stoic  Porch,  abounded  more  in  subtile 
distinction  and  systematic  spirit.*  His  power  was 
attested  as  much  by  the  antagonists  whom  he  called 
forth,  as  by  the  scholars  whom  he  formed.  "Had 
there  been  no  Chrysippus,  there  would  have  been  no 
Carneades,"  was  the  saying  of  the  latter  philosopher 
himself;  as  it  might  have  been  said  in  the  eighteenth 
century,  "Had  there  been  no  Hume,  there  would 
have  been  no  Kant  and  no  Reid."  Cleanthes,  when 
one  of  his  followers  would  pay  court  to  him  by  laying 
vices  to  the  charge  of  his  most  formidable  opponent, 
Arcesilaus  the  academic,  answered  with  a  justice  and 
candour  unhappily  too  rare,  "  Silence,  —  do  not  ma- 
lign him ;  —  though  he  attacks  Virtue  by  his  argu- 
ments, he  confirms  its  authority  by  his  life."  Arce- 
silaus, whether  modestly  or  churlishly,  replied,  "I 
do  not  choose  to  be  flattered."  Cleanthes,  with  a 
superiority  of  repartee,  as  well  as  charity,  replied, 
"Is  it  flattery  to  say  that  you  speak  one  thing  and 
do  another  ?  "  It  would  be  vain  to  expect  that  the 
fragments  of  the  professors  who  lectured  in  the  Stoic 
School  for  five  hundred  years,  should  be  capable  of 
being  moulded  into  one  consistent  system ;   and  we 

*  "  Chrysippus,  qui  fulcire  putatur  porticum  Stoicorum." — 
Acad.  Qii^est.  lib.  ii.  cap.  24.  Elsewhere  (De  Orat.  lib.  i.  cap.  12. — 
De  Fin.  lib.  iv.  cap.  3.),  "  Acutissimus,  sed  in  scribendo  exilis 
et  jejunus,  scripsit  rhetoricam  seu  potius  obmutesceudi  artem ; " 
—  nearly  as  we  should  speak  of  a  Schoolman. 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHT.  29 

see  that,  in  Epictetus  at  least,  the  exajrgeration  of  the 
sect  -was  lowered  to  the  level  of  Reason,  by  confining 
the  sufficiency  of  Virtue  to  those  cases  only  where 
happiness  is  attainable  by  our  voluntary  acts.  It 
ought  to  be  added,  in  extenuation  of  a  noble  error, 
that  the  power  of  habit  and  character  to  struggle 
against  outward  evils  has  been  proved  by  experience 
to  be  in  some  instances  so  prodigious,  that  no  man 
can  presume  to  fix  the  utmost  limit  of  its  possible 
increase. 

The  attempt,  however,  of  the  Stoics  to  stretch  the 
bounds  of  their  system  beyond  the  limits  of  Nature, 
doomed  them  to  fluctuate  between  a  wild  fanaticism 
on  the  one  hand,  and,  on  the  other,  concessions  which 
left  their  differences  from  other  philosophers  purely 
verbal.  Many  of  their  doctrines  appear  to  be  modi- 
fications of  their  original  opinions,  introduced  as  op- 
position became  more  formidable.  In  this  manner 
they  were  driven  to  the  necessity  of  admitting  that 
the  objects  of  our  desires  and  appetites  are  worthy  of 
preference,  though  they  are  denied  to  be  constituents 
of  happiness.  It  was  thus  that  they  were  obliged  to 
invent  a  double  morality ;  one  for  mankind  at  large, 
from  whom  was  expected  no  more  than  the  Kadiii:oi; 
—  which  seems  principally  to  have  denoted  acts  of 
duty  done  from  inferior  or  mixed  motives ;  and  the 
other  (which  they  appear  to  have  hoped  from  their 
ideal  wise  man)  KaTopdujfxa,  or  perfect  observance  of 
rectitude,  —  which  consisted  only  in  moral  acts  done 
from  mere  reverence  for  Morality,  unaided  by  any 
feelings ;  all  which  (without  the  exception  of  pity) 
they  classed  among  the  enemies  of  Reason  and  the 
disturbers  of  the  human  soul.  Thus  did  they  shrink 
from  their  proudest  paradoxes  into  verbal  evasions. 
It  is  remarkable  that  men  so  acute  did  not  perceive 
and  acknowledge,  that  if  pain  were  not  an  evil,  cruelty 
would  not  be  a  vice ;  and  that,  if  patience  were  of 
power  to  render  torture  indifferent.  Virtue  must 
expire   in   the   moment   of  victory.      There  can   bo 


30  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

no   more   triumph,  when  there  is  no  enemy  left  to 
conquer.* 

The  influence  of  men's  opinions  on  the  conduct  of 
their  lives  is  checked  and  modified  by  so  many  causes ; 
it  so  much  depends  on  the  strength  of  conviction,  on 
its  habitual  combination  with  feelings,  on  the  concur- 
rence or  resistance  of  interest,  passion,  example,  and 
sympathy,  —  that  a  wise  man  is  not  the  most  forward 
in  attempting  to  determine  the  power  of  its  single 
operation  over  human  actions.  In  the  case  of  an  in- 
dividual it  becomes  altogether  uncertain.  But  when 
the  experiment  is  made  on  a  large  scale,  when  it  is 
long  continued  and  varied  in  its  circumstances,  and 
especially  when  great  bodies  of  men  are  for  ages  the 
subject  of  it,  we  cannot  reasonably  reject  the  con- 
sideration of  the  inferences  to  which  it  appears  to 
lead.  The  Roman  Patriciate,  trained  in  the  conquest 
and  government  of  the  civilised  world,  in  spite  of  the 
tyrannical  vices  which  sprung  from  that  training, 
were  raised  by  the  greatness  of  their  objects  to  an 
elevation  of  genius  and  character  unmatched  by  any 
other  aristocracy,  ere  the  period  when,  after  pre- 
serving their  power  by  a  long  course  of  wise  compro- 
mise with  the  people,  they  were  betrayed  by  the  army 
and  the  populace  into  the  hands  of  a  single  tyrant  of 
their  own  order  —  the  most  accomplished  of  usurpers, 
and,  if  Humanity  and  Justice  could  for  a  moment  be 
silenced,  one  of  the  most  illustrious  of  men.  There  is 
no  scene  in  history  so  memorable  as  that  in  which 
Caesar  mastered  a  nobility  of  which  LucuUus  and 
Hortensius,  Sulpicius  and  Catulus,  Pompey  and  Cicero, 
Brutus  and  Cato,  were  members.  This  renowned  body 
had,  from  the  time  of  Scipio,  sought  the  Greek  philo- 
sophy as  an  amusement  or  an  ornament.  Some  few, 
"  in  thought  more  elevate,"  caught  the  love  of  Truth, 

*  "  Patience,  sovereign  o'er  transmuted  ill."  But  as  soon  as 
the  ill  was  really  "  transmuted  "  into  good,  it  is  evident  that  there 
was  no  longer  any  scope  left  for  the  exercise  of  patience. 


OF   ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  31 

and  were  ambitious  of  discovering  a  solid  foundation 
for  the  Rule  of  Life.  The  influence  of  the  Grecian 
systems  was  tried,  during  the  five  centuries  between 
Carneades  and  Constantine,  by  their  effect  on  a  body 
of  men  of  the  utmost  originality,  energy,  and  variety 
of  character,  in  their  successive  positions  of  rulers  of 
the  world,  and  of  slaves  under  the  best  and  under  the 
worst  of  uncontrolled  masters.  If  we  had  found  this 
influence  perfectly  uniform,  we  should  have  justly 
suspected  our  own  love  of  system  of  having  in  part 
bestowed  that  appearance  on  it.  Had  there  been  no 
trace  of  such  an  influence  discoverable  in  so  great  an 
experiment,  we  must  have  acquiesced  in  the  paradox, 
that  opinion  does  not  at  all  affect  conduct.  The  result 
is  the  more  satisfactory,  because  it  appears  to  illustrate 
general  tendency  without  excluding  very  remarkable 
exceptions.  Though  Cassius  was  an  Epicurean,  the 
true  representative  of  that  school  was  the  accomplished, 
prudent,  friendly,  good-natured  time-server  Atticus, 
the  pliant  slave  of  every  tyrant,  who  could  kiss  the 
hand  of  Antonv,  imbrued  as  it  was  in  the  blood  of 
Cicero.  The  pure  school  of  Plato  sent  forth  Marcus 
Brutus,  the  sijjnal  humanitv  of  whose  life  was  both 
necessary  and  sufficient  to  prove  that  his  daring 
breach  of  venerable  rules  flovred  only  from  that  dire 
necessity  which  left  no  other  means  of  upholding  the 
most  sacred  principles.  The  Roman  orator,  though 
in  speculative  questions  he  embraced  that  mitigated 
doubt  which  allowed  most  ease  and  freedom  to  his 
genius,  yet,  in  those  moral  writings  where  his  heart 
was  most  deeply  interested,  followed  the  severest  sect 
of  Philosophy,  and  became  almost  a  Stoic.  If  any 
conclusion  may  be  hazarded  from  this  trial  of  systems, 
—  the  greatest  which  History  has  recorded,  —  we  must 
not  refuse  our  decided,  though  not  undistinguishing, 
preference  to  that  noble  school  which  preserved  great 
souls  untainted  at  the  court  of  dissolute  and  ferocious 
tyrants ;  which  exalted  the  slave  of  one  of  Nero's 
courtiers  to  be  a  moral  teacher  of  aftertimes ; — which 


32  DISSERTATION   ON    THE   PROGRESS 

for  the  first,  and  hitherto  for  tlie  only  time,  breathed 
philosophy  and  justice  into  those  rules  of  law  which 
govern  the  ordinary  concerns  of  every  man ;  and 
which,  above  all,  has  contributed,  by  the  examples 
of  Marcus  Fortius  Cato  and  of  Marcus  Aurelius  An- 
toninus, to  raise  the  dignity  of  our  species,  to  keep 
alive  a  more  ardent  love  of  Virtue,  and  a  more  awful 
sense  of  duty  throughout  all  generations.* 

The  result  of  this  short  review  of  the  practical 
philosophy  of  Greece  seems  to  be,  that  though  it  was 
rich  in  rules  for  the  conduct  of  life,  and  in  exhibitions 
of  the  beauty  of  Virtue,  and  though  it  contains  glimpses 
of  just  theory  and  fragments  of  perhaps  every  moral 
truth,  yet  it  did  not  leave  behind  any  precise  and 
coherent  system ;  unless  we  except  that  of  Epicurus, 
who  purchased  consistency,  method,  and  perspicuity 
too  dearly,  by  sacrificing  Truth,  and  by  narrowing  and 
lowering  his  views  of  human  nature,  so  as  to  enfeeble, 
if  not  extinguish,  all  the  vigorous  motives  to  arduous 
virtue.  It  is  remarkable,  that  while  of  the  eight 
professors  who  taught  in  the  Porch,  from  Zeno  to 
Posidonius,  every  one  either  softened  or  exaggerated 
the  doctrines  of  his  predecessor ;  and  while  the  beau- 
tiful and  reverend  philosophy  of  Plato  had,  in  his  own 
Academy,  degenerated  into  a  scepticism  which  did  not 
spare  Morality  itself,  the  system  of  Epicurus  remained 
without  change ;  and  his  disciples  continued  for  ages 
to  show  personal  honours  to  his  memory,  in  a  manner 
which  may  seem  unaccountable  among  those  who  were 
taught  to  measure  propriety  by  a  calculation  of  pal- 
pable and  outward  usefulness.  This  steady  adherence 
is   in  part   doubtless  attributable  to  the  portion  of 

*  Of  all  testimonies  to  the  character  of  the  Stoics,  perhaps  the 
most  decisive  is  the  speech  of  the  vile  sycophant  Capito,  in  the 
mock  impeachment  of  Thrasea  Pectus,  before  a  senate  of  slaves  : 
"  Ut  quondam  C.  Ca^sarem  et  M.  Catonem,  ita  nunc  te,  Nero,  et 
Thraseam,  avida  discordiarum  civitas  loquitur  ....  Ista  secta 
Tubcrones  et  Favonios,  vcteri  quoque  reipublicee  ingrata  nomina, 
genuit." — Tacit.  Ann.  lib.  xvi.  cap.  22.     See  Appendix,  Note  A. 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  33 

truth  which  the  doctrine  contains ;  in  some  degree 
perhaps  to  the  amiable  and  unboastful  character  of 
Kpicurus ;  not  a  little,  it  may  be,  to  the  dishonour  of 
deserting  an  unpopular  cause ;  but  probably  most  of 
all  to  that  mental  indolence  which  disposes  the  mind 
to  rest  in  a  simple  system,  comprehended  at  a  glance, 
and  easily  falling  in,  both  with  ordinary  maxims  of 
discretion,  and  with  the  vulgar  commonplaces  of  satire 
on  human  nature.*  WHien  all  instruction  Avas  con- 
veyed by  lectures,  and  when  one  master  taught  the 
whole  circle  of  the  sciences  in  one  school,  it  was 
natural  that  the  attachment  of  pupils  to  a  professor 
should  be  more  devoted  than  when,  as  in  our  times, 
he  can  teach  only  a  small  portion  of  a  Knowledge 
spreading  towards  infinity,  and  even  in  his  own  little 
province  finds  a  rival  in  every  good  writer  who  has 
treated  the  same  subject.  The  superior  attachment 
of  the  Epicureans  to  their  master  is  not  without  some 
parallel  among  the  followers  of  similar  principles  in 
our  own  age,  who  have  also  revived  some  part  of  that 
indifference  to  eloquence  and  poetry  which  may  be 
imputed  to  the  habit  of  contemplating  all  things  in 
relation  to  happiness,  and  to  (what  seems  its  uniform 
effect)  the  egregious  miscalculation  which  leaves  a 
multitude  of  mental  pleasures  out  of  the  account.  It 
may  be  said,  indeed,  that  the  Epicurean  doctrine  has 
continued  with  little  change  to  the  present  day ;  at 
least  it  is  certain  that  no  other  ancient  doctrine  has 
proved  so  capable  of  being  restored  in  the  same  form 
among  the  moderns :  and  it  may  be  added,  that  Ilobbes 
and  Gassendi,  as  well  as  some  of  our  own  contempo- 
raries, are  as  confident  in  their  opinions,  and  as  in- 

*  The  progress  of  commonplace  satire  on  sexes  or  professions, 
and  (he  might  have  added)  on  nations,  has  been  exquisitely 
touched  by  Gray  in  liis  Remarks  on  Lvdgate  ;  a  fragment  con- 
taining passages  as  finely  thought  and  Avrittcn  as  any  in  English 
prose.  General  satire  on  mankind  is  still  more  absurd  ;  for  no 
invective  can  be  so  unreasonable  as  that  which  is  founded  on 
falling  short  of  an  ideal  standard. 
VOL.  L  D 


34  DISSERTATION   ON    THE   PROGRESS 

tolerant  of  scepticism,  as  the  old  Epicureans.  The 
resemblance  of  modern  to  ancient  opinions,  concerning 
some  of  those  questions  upon  which  ethical  contro- 
versy must  always  hinge,  may  be  a  sufficient  excuse 
for  a  retrospect  of  the  Greek  morals,  which,  it  is 
hoped,  will  simplify  and  shorten  subsequent  observa- 
tion on  those  more  recent  disputes  which  form  the 
proper  subject  of  this  discourse. 

The  genius  of  Greece  fell  with  Liberty.  The  Grecian 
philosophy  received  its  mortal  wound  in  the  contests 
between  scepticism  and  dogmatism  which  occupied  the 
Schools  in  the  age  of  Cicero.  The  Sceptics  could  only 
perplex,  and  confute,  and  destroy.  Their  occupation 
was  gone  as  soon  as  they  succeeded.  They  had  nothing 
to  substitute  for  what  they  overthrew ;  and  they  ren- 
dered their  own  art  of  no  further  use.  They  were  no 
more  than  venomous  animals,  who  stung  their  victims 
to  death,  but  also  breathed  their  last  into  the  wound. 

A  third  age  of  Grecian  literature  indeed  arose  at 
Alexandria,  under  the  Macedonian  kings  of  Egypt ; 
laudably  distinguished  by  exposition,  criticism,  and 
imitation  (sometimes  abused  for  the  purposes  of  literary 
forgery),  and  still  more  honoured  by  some  learned 
and  highly-cultivated  poets,  as  well  as  by  diligent  cul- 
tivators of  History  and  Science  ;  among  whom  a  few 
began,  about  the  first  preaching  of  Christianity,  to 
turn  their  minds  once  more  to  that  high  Philosophy 
which  seeks  for  the  fundamental  principles  of  human 
knowledge.  Philo,  a  learned  and  philosophical  He- 
brew, one  of  the  flourishing  colony  of  his  nation 
established  in  that  city,  endeavoured  to  reconcile  the 
Platonic  philosophy  with  the  Mosaic  Law  and  the 
Sacred  Books  of  the  Old  Testament.  About  the  end 
of  the  second  century,  when  the  Christians,  Hebrews, 
Pagans,  and  various  other  sects  of  semi-  or  pseudo- 
Christian  Gnostics  appear  to  have  studied  in  the  same 
schools,  the  almost  inevitable  tendency  of  doctrines, 
however  discordant,  in  such  circumstances  to  amalga- 
mate, produced  its  full  effect  under  Ammonius  Saccas, 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  35 

a  celebrated  professor,  who,  bj  selection  from  the  Greek 
systems,  the  HebreAv  books,  and  the  Oriental  religions, 
and  by  some  concession  to  the  rising  spirit  of  Chris- 
tianity, of  which  the  Gnostics  had  set  the  example, 
composed  a  very  mixed  system,  commonly  designated 
as  the  Eclectic  philosophy.  The  controversies  be- 
tween his  contemporaries  and  followers,  especially 
those  of  Clement  and  Origen,  the  victorious  cham- 
pions of  Christianity,  with  Plotinus  and  Porphyry, 
who  endeavoured  to  preserve  Paganism  by  clothing 
it  in  a  disguise  of  philosophical  Theism,  are,  from  the 
effects  towards  which  they  contributed,  the  most 
memorable  in  the  history  of  human  opinion.*  But 
their  connection  with  modern  Ethics  is  too  faint  to 
warrant  any  observation  in  this  place,  on  the  imper- 
fect and  partial  memorials  of  them  which  have  reached 
us.  The  death  of  Boethius  in  the  West,  and  the 
closing  of  the  Athenian  Schools  by  Justinian,  may  be 
considered  as  the  last  events  in  the  history  of  ancient 
philosophy.f 

*  The  change  attempted  by  Julian,  Porphyry,  and  their  friends, 
by  which  Theism  would  have  become  the  popular  Religion,  may 
be  estimated  by  the  memorable  passage  of  Tacitus  on  the  Theism 
of  the  Jews.  In  the  midst  of  all  the  obloquy  and  opprobrium 
with  which  he  loads  that  people,  his  tone  suddenly  rises,  when  he 
comes  to  contemplate  them  as  the  only  nation  who  paid  religious 
honours  to  the  Supreme  and  Eternal  Mind  alone,  and  his  style 
swells  at  the  sight  of  so  sublime  and  wonderful  a  scene.  "  Summum 
illud  et  ceternum,  neque  mutabile,  neque  interiturum."  Hist, 
hb.  V,  cap.  5. 

f  The  punishment  of  death  was  inflicted  on  Pagans  by  a  law 
of  Constantius.  "  Volumus  cunctos  sacrificiis  abstinere :  si  aliquid 
hujusniodi  pei'pctraverint,  gladio  ultore  stemantur."  Cod.  Just, 
lib.  i.  tit.  xi.  '  de  Paganis.'  From  the  authorities  cited  by  Gibbon 
(note.  chap,  xi.),  as  well  as  from  some  research,  it  should  seem 
that  the  edict  for  the  suppression  of  the  Athenian  schools  was  not 
admitted  into  the  vast  collection  of  laws  enacted  or  systcmatised 
by  Justinian. 


D  2 


36  DISSERTATION   ON   THE    PROGRESS 

SECTION  in. 

RETROSPECT    OF    SCHOLASTIC   ETHICS. 

An  interval  of  a  thousand  years  elapsed  between  the 
close  of  ancient  and  the  rise  of  modern  philosophy ; 
the  most  unexplored,  yet  not  the  least  instructive 
portion  of  the  history  of  European  opinion.  In  that 
period  the  sources  of  the  institutions,  the  manners,  and 
the  characteristic  distinctions  of  modern  nations,  have 
been  traced  by  a  series  of  philosophical  inquirers  from 
Montesquieu  to  Hallam ;  and  there  also,  it  may  be 
added,  more  than  among  the  Ancients,  are  the  well- 
springs  of  our  speculative  doctrines  and  controversies. 
Far  from  being  inactive,  the  human  mind,  during 
that  period  of  exaggerated  darkness,  produced  dis- 
coveries in  Science,  inventions  in  Art,  and  contri- 
vances in  Government,  some  of  which,  perhaps,  were 
rather  favoured  than  hindered  by  the  disorders  of 
society,  and  by  the  twilight  in  Avhich  men  and  things 
were  seen.  Had  Boethius,  the  last  of  the  ancients, 
foreseen,  that  within  four  centuries  of  his  death,  in 
the  province  of  Britain,  then  a  prey  to  all  the  horrors 
of  barbaric  invasion,  a  chief  of  one  of  the  fiercest 
tribes  of  barbarians  *  should  translate  into  the  jargon 
of  his  freebooters  the  work  on  The  Consolations  of 
Philosophy,  of  which  the  composition  had  soothed  the 
cruel  imprisonment  of  the  philosophic  Roman  himself, 
he  must,  even  amidst  his  sufferings,  have  derived 
some  gratification  from  such  an  assurance  of  the  re- 
covery of  mankind  from  ferocity  and  ignorance.  But 
had  he  been  allowed  to  revisit  the  earth  in  the  middle 
of  the  sixteenth  century,  with  what  wonder  and 
delight  might  he  have  contemplated  the  new  and 
fairer  order  which  was  beginning  to  disclose  its 
beauty,  and  to  promise  more  than  it  revealed.     He 

*  King  Alfred. 


OF    ETHICAL    nilLOSOPHY.  37 

would  have  seen  personal  slavery  nearly  extin- 
guished, and  •women,  first  released  from  Oriental  im- 
prisonment by  the  Greeks,  and  raised  to  a  higher 
dignity  among  the  Romans  *,  at  length  fast  approach- 
ing to  due  equality  ;  —  two  revolutions  the  most  signal 
and  beneficial  since  the  dawn  of  civilisation.  He 
would  have  seen  the  discovery  of  gunpowder,  which 
for  ever  guarded  civilised  society  against  barbarians, 
while  it  transferred  military  strength  from  the  few  to 
the  many ;  of  paper  and  printing,  which  rendered  a 
second  destruction  of  the  repositories  of  knowledge 
impossible,  as  well  as  opened  a  way  by  which  it  was 
to  be  finally  accessible  to  all  mankind  ;  of  the  com- 
pass, by  means  of  which  navigation  had  ascertained 
the  form  of  the  planet,  and  laid  open  a  new  continent, 
more  extensive  than  his  world.  If  he  had  turned  to 
civil  institutions,  he  might  have  learned  that  some 
nations  had  preserved  an  ancient,  simple,  and  seem- 
ingly rude  mode  of  legal  proceeding,  which  threw 
into  the  hands  of  the  majority  of  men  a  far  larger 
share  of  judicial  power,  than  was  enjoyed  by  them  in 
any  ancient  democracy.  He  would  have  seen  every- 
where the  remains  of  that  principle  of  representation, 
the  glory  of  the  Teutonic  race,  by  which  popular 
government,  anciently  imprisoned  in  cities,  became 
capable  of  being  strengthened  by  its  extension  over 
vast  countries,  to  which  experience  cannot  even  now 
assign  any  limits ;  and  which,  in  times  still  distant, 
was  to  exhibit,  in  the  newly-discovered  Continent,  a 
republican  confederacy,  likely  to   surpass  the  Mace- 

*  The  steps  of  this  important  progress,  as  far  as  relates  to 
Athens  and  Eome,  are  well  remarked  upon  by  one  of  the  finest 
of  the  Roman  writers.  "  Quern  enim  Romanoi-um  pudet  uxorem 
ducere  in  convivium  ?  aut  cujus  materfamilias  non  primum  locum 
tenet  aedium,  atque  in  celebritate  A-ersatur  ?  quod  multo  fit  aliter 
in  Grajcia :  nam  neque  in  convivium  adhibetur,  nisi  propin- 
quorum  ;  neque  sedct  nisi  in  interiore  parte  redium,  qure  GijncB- 
conitis  appcUatur,  quo  nemo  accedit,  nisi  propinqua  cognationo 
conjunctus."     Corn.  Nep.  in  Prajfat. 

D  3 


38  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

donian  and  Roman  empires  in  extent,  greatness,  and 
duration,  but  gloriously  founded  on  the  equal  rights, 
not  like  them  on  the  universal  subjection,  of  mankind. 
In  one  respect,  indeed,  he  might  have  lamented  that 
the  race  of  man  had  made  a  really  retrograde  move- 
ment ;  that  they  had  lost  the  liberty  of  philosophising ; 
that  the  open  exercise  of  their  highest  faculties  was 
interdicted.  But  he  might  also  have  perceived  that 
this  giant  evil  had  received  a  mortal  wound  from 
Luther,  who  in  his  warfare  against  Rome  had  struck 
a  blow  against  all  human  authority,  and  unconsciously 
disclosed  to  mankind  that  they  were  entitled,  or  rather 
bound,  to  form  and  utter  their  own  opinions,  and  that 
most  certainly  on  whatever  subjects  are  the  most 
deeply  interesting  ;  for  although  this  most  fruitful 
of  moral  truths  was  not  yet  so  released  from  its  com- 
bination with  the  wars  and  passions  of  the  age  as  to 
assume  a  distinct  and  visible  form,  its  action  was 
already  discoverable  in  the  divisions  among  the  Re- 
formers, and  in  the  fears  and  struggles  of  civil  and 
ecclesiastical  oppressors.  The  Council  of  Trent,  and 
the  Courts  of  Paris,  Madrid,  and  Rome,  had  before 
that  time  foreboded  the  emancipation  of  Reason. 

Though  the  middle  age  be  chiefly  memorable  as 
that  in  which  the  foundations  of  a  new  order  of 
society  were  laid,  uniting  the  stability  of  the  Oriental 
system,  without  its  inflexibility,  to  the  activity  of  the 
Hellenic  civilisation,  without  its  disorder  and  incon- 
stancy ;  yet  it  is  not  unworthy  of  notice  by  us  here, 
on  account  of  the  subterranean  current  which  flows 
through  it,  from  the  speculations  of  ancient  to  those 
of  modern  times.  That  dark  stream  must  be  un- 
covered before  the  history  of  the  European  Under- 
standing can  be  thoroughly  comprehended.  It  was 
lawful  for  the  emancipators  of  Reason  in  their  first 
struggles  to  carry  on  mortal  war  against  the  School- 
men. The  necessity  has  long  ceased  ;  they  are  no 
longer  dangerous  ;  and  it  is  now  felt  by  philosophers 
that  it  is  time  to  explore  and  estimate  that  vast  por- 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  39 

tion  of  the  history  of  Philosophy  from  which  we  have 
scornfully  turned  our  eyes.*  A  few  sentences  only 
can  be  allotted  to  the  subject  in  this  place.  In  the 
very  depths  of  the  Middle  Age,  the  darkness  of  Chris- 
tendom was  faintly  broken  by  a  few  thinly-scattered 
lights.  Even  then,  Moses  Ben  Maimon  taught  phi- 
losophy among  the  persecuted  Hebrews,  whose  an- 
cient schools  had  never  perhaps  been  wholly  inter- 
rupted ;  and  a  series  of  distinguished  Mahometans, 
among  whom  two  are  known  to  us  by  the  names  of 
Avicenna  and  Averroes,  translated  the  Peripatetic 
writings  into  their  own  language,  expounded  their 
doctrines  in  no  servile  spirit  to  their  followers,  and 
enabled  the  European  Christians  to  make  those  ver- 
sions of  them  from  Ai'abic  into  Latin,  which  in  the 
eleventh  and  twelfth  centuries  gave  birth  to  the 
scholastic  philosophy. 

The  Schoolmen  were  properly  theologians,  who  em- 
ployed philosophy  only  to  define  and  support  that 
system  of  Christian  belief  which  they  and  their  con- 
temporaries had  embraced.  The  founder  of  that 
theological  system  was  Aurelius  Augustinusf  (called 
by  us  Augustin),  Bishop  of  Hippo,  in  the  province  of 
Africa ;  a  man  of  great  genius  and  ardent  character, 
who  adopted,  at  difterent  periods  of  his  life,  the  most 

*  Tcnnemann,  Geschichte  der  Philosophie.  Cousin,  Cours  de 
Philosophic,  Pax-is,  1828.  My  esteem  for  this  last  admirable  writer 
encourages  me  to  say,  that  the  beauty  of  his  diction  has  some- 
times the  same  effect  on  his  thouglits  that  a  sunny  haze  produces 
on  outward  objects  ;  and  to  submit  to  his  serious  consideration, 
whether  the  allurements  of  ^ichelling's  system  have  not  betrayed 
him  into  a  too  frequent  forgetfulncss  that  principles,  equally 
adapted  to  all  phenomena,  furnish  in  speculation  no  possible  test 
of  their  truth,  and  lead,  in  practice,  to  total  indifference  and 
inactivity  respecting  human  affairs.  I  quote  with  pleasure  an 
excellent  observation  from  this  work :  "  Le  moyen  age  n'est  pas 
autre  chose  que  la  formation  peniblc,  lente  et  sanglante,  de  tous 
les  elemens  de  la  civilisation  moderne  ;  je  dis  la  formation,  et  non 
leur  developpement."     (2nd  Lecture,  p.  27.) 

t  See  Note  B. 

D  4 


40  DISSERTATION   ON    THE    PROGRESS 

various,  but  at  all  times  the  most  decisive  and  sys- 
tematic, as  well  as  daring  and  extreme  opinions. 
This  extraordinary  man  became,  after  some  struggles, 
the  chief  Doctor,  and  for  ages  almost  the  sole  oracle, 
of  the  Latin  Church.  It  happened  by  a  singular  acci- 
dent, that  the  Schoolmen  of  the  twelfth  century,  who 
adopted  his  theology,  instead  of  borrowing  their  defen- 
sive weapons  from  Plato,  the  favourite  of  their  master, 
had  recourse  for  the  exposition  and  maintenance  of 
their  doctrines  to  the  writings  of  Aristotle,  the  least 
pious  of  philosophical  theists.  The  Augustinian  doc- 
trines of  original  sin,  predestination,  and  grace,  little 
known  to  the  earlier  Christian  writers,  who  appear 
indeed  to  have  adopted  opposite  and  milder  opinions, 
were  espoused  by  Augustin  himself  in  his  old  age ; 
when,  by  a  violent  swing  from  his  youthful  Mani- 
cheism,  which  divided  the  sovereignty  of  the  world 
between  two  adverse  beings,  he  did  not  shrink,  in  his 
pious  solicitude  for  tracing  the  power  of  God  in  all 
events,  from  presenting  the  most  mysterious  parts  of 
the  moral  government  of  the  Universe,  in  their  darkest 
colours  and  their  sternest  shape,  as  articles  of  faith, 
the  objects  of  the  habitual  meditation  and  practical 
assent  of  mankind.  The  principles  of  his  rigorous 
system,  though  not  with  all  their  legitimate  conse- 
quences, were  taught  in  the  schools  ;  respectfully  pro- 
mulgated rather  than  much  inculcated  by  the  Western 
Church  (for  in  the  East  these  opinions  seem  to  have 
been  unknown) ;  scarcely  perhaps  distinctly  assented 
to  by  the  majority  of  the  clergy  ;  and  seldom  heard  of 
by  laymen  till  the  systematic  genius  and  fervid  elo- 
quence of  Calvin  rendered  them  a  popular  creed  in  the 
most  devout  and  moral  portion  of  the  Christian  world. 
Anselm*,  the  Piedmontese  Archbishop  of  Canterbury, 
was  the  earliest  reviver  of  the  Augustinian  opinions. 
Aquinas  f  was  their  most  redoubted  champion.     To 


*  Born,  1033;  died,  1109. 

t  Born,  1224  ;  died,  1274.     See  Note  C. 


J 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  41 

them,  however,  the  latter  joined  others  of  a  different 
spirit.  Faith,  according  to  him,  was  a  virtue,  not  in 
the  sense  in  which  it  denotes  the  things  believed,  but 
in  that  in  which  it  signifies  the  state  of  mind  which 
leads  to  right  Belief  Goodness  he  regarded  as  the 
moving  principle  of  the  Divine  Government ;  Justice, 
as  a  modification  of  Goodness ;  and,  with  all  his  zeal 
to  magnify  the  Sovereignty  of  God,  he  yet  taught, 
that  though  God  always  wills  what  is  just,  nothing 
is  just  solely  because  He  wills  it.  Scotus*  the  most 
subtile  of  doctors,  recoils  from  the  Augustinian  rigour, 
though  he  rather  intimates  than  avows  his  doubts. 
He  was  assailed  for  his  tendency  towards  the  Pelagian 
or  Anti-Augustinian  doctrines  by  many  opponents,  of 
whom  the  most  famous  in  his  own  time  was  Thomas 
Bradwardinef,  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  formerly 
confessor  of  Edward  HI.,  whose  defence  of  Predesti- 
nation was  among  the  most  noted  works  of  that  age. 
He  revived  the  principles  of  the  ancient  philosophers, 
who,  from  Plato  to  Marcus  Aurelius,  taught  that  error 
of  judgment,  being  involuntary,  is  not  the  proper  sub- 
ject of  moral  disapprobation ;  which  indeed  is  implied 
in  Aquinas's  account  of  Faith.l  But  he  appears  to 
have  been  the  first  whose  language  inclined  towards 

*  Born  about  1265  ;  died  at  Cologne  (where  his  grave  is  stiU 
shown)  in  1308,  "Whether  he  was  a  native  of  Dunston  in  North- 
umberland, or  of  Dunse  in  Berwickshire,  or  of  Down  in  Ireland, 
was  a  question  long  and  warmly  contested,  but  which  seems  to 
be  settled  by  his  biographer,  Luke  "Wad  dins:,  who  quotes  a  pas- 
sage of  Scotus's  Commentary  on  Aristotle's  Metaphysics,  Mherc 
he  illustrates  his  author  thus  :  "  As  in  the  definition  of  St.  Francis, 
or  St.  Patrick,  man  is  necessarily  presupposed."  Scot.  Op.  i.  3. 
As  Scotus  was  a  Franciscan,  the  mention  of  St.  Patrick  seems  to 
show  that  he  was  an  Irishman.     See  Note  D. 

f  Bom  about  1290  ;  died  in  1349  ;  the  contemporary  of 
Chaucer,  and  probably  a  fellow-student  of  Wicliffe  and  Roger 
Bacon.  His  principal  work  was  entitled,  '  De  Causa  Dei  contra 
Pelagium,  et  de  "Virtute  Causarum,  Libri  tres.' 

X  See  Note  E. 


42  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

that  most  pernicious  of  moral  heresies,  which  repre- 
sents Morality  to  be  founded  on  Will.* 

William  of  Ockham,  the  most  justly  celebrated  of 
English  Schoolmen,  went  so  far  beyond  this  inclina- 
tion of  his  master,  as  to  affirm,  that  "  if  God  had  com- 
manded his  creatures  to  hate  Himself,  the  hatred  of 
God  would  ever  be  the  duty  of  man ;"  —  a  monstrous 
hyperbole,  into  which  he  was  perhaps  betrayed  by  his 
denial  of  the  doctrine  of  general  ideas,  the  pre-exist- 
ence  of  which  in  the  Eternal  Intellect  was  commonly 
regarded  as  the  foundation  of  the  immutable  nature 
of  Morality.  This  doctrine  of  Ockham,  which  by 
necessary  implication  refuses  moral  attributes  to  the 
Deity,  and  contradicts  the  existence  of  a  moral  go- 
vernment, is  practically  equivalent  to  atheism. f  As 
all  devotional  feelings  have  moral  qualities  for  their 
sole  object ;  as  no  being  can  inspire  love  or  reverence 
otherwise  than  by  those  qualities  which  are  naturally 
amiable  or  venerable,  this  doctrine  would,  if  men  were 
consistent,  extinguish  piety,  or,  in  other  words,  anni- 
hilate Religion.  Yet  so  astonishing  are  the  contra- 
dictions of  human  nature,  that  this  most  impious  of 
all  opinions  probably  originated  in  a  pious  solicitude 
to  magnify  the  Sovereignty  of  God,  and  to  exalt  His 
authority  even  above  His  own  goodness.  Hence  we 
may  understand  its  adoption  by  John  Gerson,  the 
oracle  of  the  Council  of  Constance,  and  the  great  op- 
ponent of  the  spiritual  monarchy  of  the  Pope,  —  a 
pious  mystic,  who  placed  religion  in  devout  feeling.ij: 
In  further  explanation,  it  may  be  added,  that  Gerson 
was  of  the  sect  of  the  Nominalists,  of  which  Ockham 
was  the  founder,  and  that  he  was  the  more  ready  to 

*  See  Note  F. 

t  A  passage  to  this  effect,  from  Ockham,  with  nearly  the  same 
remark,  has,  since  the  text  was  written,  been  discovered  on  a  re- 
perusal  of  Cudworth's  Immutable  Morality,  p.  10, 

X  "  Remitto  ad  quod  Occam  de  hac  materia  in  Lib.  Sentent. 
dicit,  in  qua  explicatione  si  rudis  judicetur,  nescio  quid  appella- 
bitur  subtilitas."    De  Vita  Spirit.  Op.  iii.  14. 


OP   ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  43 

follow  his  master,  because  they  both  courageously 
maintained  the  independence  of  the  State  on  the 
Church,  and  the  authority  of  the  Church  over  the 
Pope.  The  general  opinion  of  the  schools  was,  how- 
ever, that  of  Aquinas,  who,  from  the  native  soundness 
of  his  own  understanding,  as  well  as  from  the  excellent 
example  of  Aristotle,  was  averse  from  all  rash  and 
extreme  dogmas  on  questions  which  had  any  relation, 
however  distant,  to  the  duties  of  life. 

It  is  very  remarkable,  though  hitherto  unobserved, 
that  Aquinas  anticipated  those  controversies  respect- 
ing perfect  disinterestedness  in  the  religious  affections 
which  occupied  the  most  illustrious  members  of  his 
communion*  four  hundred  years  after  his  death;  and 
that  he  discussed  the  like  question  respecting  the 
other  affections  of  human  nature  with  a  fulness  and 
clearness,  an  exactness  of  distinction,  and  a  justness  of 
determination,  scarcely  surpassed  by  the  most  acute  of 
modern  philosophers.f  It  ought  to  be  added  that, 
according  to  the  most  natural  and  reasonable  con- 
struction of  his  words,  he  allowed  to  the  Church  a 
control  only  over  spiritual  concerns,  and  recognised 
the  supremacy  of  the  civil  powers  in  all  temporal 
affairs.^ 

It  has  already  been  stated  that  the  scholastic  system 
was  a  collection  of  dialectical  subtilties,  contrived  for 
the  support  of  the  corrupted  Christianity  of  that  age, 
by  a  succession  of  divines,  whose  extraordinary  powers 
of  distinction  and  reasoning  were  morbidly  enlarged 
in  the  long  meditation  of  the  Cloister,  by  the  exclusion 
of  every  other  pursuit,  and  the  consequent  palsy  of 

*  Bossuct  and  Fenelon. 

f  See  Aquinas.  —  "  Utrum  Dens  sit  super  omnia  diligendus  ex 
caritate." — "  Utrum  in  dilectione  Dei  possit  haberi  respectus  ad 
aliquam  mercedem."  Opera,  ix.  322, 325.  Some  illustrations  of 
tliis  memorable  anticipation,  whicli  has  escaped  the  research  even 
of  the  industrious  Tennemann,  will  be  found  in  the  Note  G. 

t  See  Note  H. 


44  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

every  other  faculty ; — who  were  cut  off  from  all  the 
materials  on  which  the  mind  can  operate,  and  doomed 
for  ever  to  toil  in  defence  of  what  they  must  never 
dare  to  examine ; — to  whom  their  age  and  their  con- 
dition denied  the  means  of  acquiring  literature,  of 
observing  Nature,  or  of  studying  mankind.  The  few 
in  whom  any  portion  of  imagination  and  sensibility 
survived  this  discipline,  retired  from  the  noise  of 
debate,  to  the  contemplation  of  pure  and  beautiful 
visions.  They  were  called  Mystics.  The  greater 
part,  driven  back  on  themselves,  had  no  better  em- 
ployment than  to  weave  cobwebs  out  of  the  terms  of 
art  which  they  had  vainly,  though  ingeniously,  mul- 
tiplied. The  institution  of  clerical  celibacy,  originat- 
ing in  an  enthusiastic  pursuit  of  Purity,  promoted  by 
a  mistake  in  moral  prudence,  which  aimed  at  raising 
religious  teachers  in  the  esteem  of  their  fellows,  and 
at  concentrating  their  whole  minds  on  professional 
duties,  at  last  encouraged  by  the  ambitious  policy  of 
the  See  of  Rome,  which  was  desirous  of  detaching 
them  from  all  ties  but  her  own,  had  the  effect  of 
shutting  up  all  the  avenues  which  Providence  has 
opened  for  the  entrance  of  social  affection  and  vir- 
tuous feeling  into  the  human  heart.  Though  this 
institution  perhaps  prevented  Knowledge  from  be- 
coming once  more  the  exclusive  inheritance  of  a 
sacerdotal  caste  ;  though  the  rise  of  innumerable  lay- 
men, of  the  lowest  condition,  to  the  highest  dignities 
of  the  Church,  was  the  grand  democratical  principle 
of  the  Middle  Age,  and  one  of  the  most  powerful  agents 
in  impelling  mankind  towards  a  better  order ;  yet 
celibacy  must  be  considered  as  one  of  the  peculiar 
infelicities  of  these  secluded  philosophers ;  not  only 
as  it  abridged  their  happiness,  nor  even  solely,  though 
chiefly,  as  it  excluded  them  from  the  school  in  which 
the  heart  is  humanised,  but  also  (an  inferior  con- 
sideration, but  more  pertinent  to  our  present  purpose) 
because  the  extinction  of  these  moral  feelings  was  as 
much  a  subtraction  from  the  moralist's  store  of  facts 


OP   ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  45 

and  means  of  knowledge,  as  the  loss  of  sight  or  of 
touch  could  prove  to  those  of  the  naturalist. 

Neither  let  it  be  thought  that  to  have  been  destitute 
of  Letters  was  to  them  no  more  than  a  want  of  an 
ornament  and  a  curtailment  of  gratification.  Every 
poem,  every  history,  every  oration,  every  picture,  every 
statue,  is  an  experiment  on  human  feeling, — the  grand 
object  of  investigation  by  the  moralist.  Every  work 
of  genius  in  every  department  of  ingenious  Art  and 
polite  Literature,  in  proportion  to  the  extent  and 
duration  of  its  sway  over  the  Spirits  of  men,  is  a  re- 
pository of  ethical  facts,  of  which  the  moral  philoso- 
pher cannot  be  deprived  by  his  own  insensibility,  or 
by  the  iniquity  of  the  times,  without  being  robbed  of 
the  most  precious  instruments  and  invaluable  materials 
of  his  science.  Moreover,  Letters,  which  are  closer  to 
human  feeling  than  Science  can  ever  be,  have  another 
influence  on  the  sentiments  with  which  the  sciences 
are  viewed,  on  the  activity  with  which  they  are  pur- 
sued, on  the  safety  with  which  they  are  preserved, 
and  even  on  the  mode  and  spirit  in  which  they  are 
cultivated :  they  are  the  channels  by  which  ethical 
science  has  a  constant  intercourse  with  general  feeling. 
As  the  arts  called  useful  maintain  the  popular  honour 
of  physical  knowledge,  so  polite  Letters  allure  the 
world  into  the  neighbourhood  of  the  sciences  of  Mind 
and  of  Morals.  Whenever  the  agreeable  vehicles  of 
Literature  do  not  convey  their  doctrines  to  the  public, 
they  are  liable  to  be  interrupted  by  the  dispersion  of 
a  handful  of  recluse  doctors,  and  the  overthrow  of 
their  barren  and  unlamented  seminaries.  Nor  is  this 
all :  these  sciences  themselves  suffer  as  much  when 
they  are  thus  released  from  the  curb  of  common  sense 
and  natural  feeling,  as  the  public  loses  by  the  want 
of  those  aids  to  right  practice  which  moral  knowledge 
in  its  sound  state  is  qualified  to  afford.  The  necessity 
of  being  intelligible,  at  least  to  all  persons  who  join 
superior  understanding  to  habits  of  reflection,  and 
who  are  themselves  in  constant  communication  with 


46  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

the  far  wider  circle  of  intelligent  and  judicious  men, 
which  slowly  but  surely  forms  general  opinion,  is  the 
only  effectual  check  on  the  natural  proneness  of  meta- 
physical speculations  to  degenerate  into  gaudy  dreams 
or  a  mere  war  of  words.  The  disputants  who  are  set 
free  from  the  wholesome  check  of  sense  and  feeling, 
generally  carry  their  dogmatism  so  far  as  to  rouse  the 
sceptic,  who  from  time  to  time  is  provoked  to  look 
into  the  flimsiness  of  their  cobwebs,  and  rushes  in 
with  his  besom  to  sweep  them,  and  their  systems,  into 
oblivion.  It  is  true  that  Literature,  which  thus 
draws  forth  Moral  Science  from  the  schools  into  the 
world,  and  recals  her  from  thorny  distinctions  to  her 
natural  alliance  with  the  intellect  and  sentiments  of 
mankind,  may,  in  ages  and  nations  otherwise  situated, 
produce  the  contrary  evil  of  rendering  Ethics  shallow, 
declamatory,  and  inconsistent.  Europe  at  this  moment 
affords,  in  different  countries,  specimens  of  these  op- 
posite and  alike  mischievous  extremes.  But  we  are 
now  concerned  only  with  the  temptations  and  errors 
of  the  scholastic  age. 

We  ought  not  so  much  to  wonder  at  the  mistakes 
of  men  so  situated,  as  that  they,  without  the  restraints 
of  the  general  understanding,  and  with  the  clogs  of 
system  and  establishment,  should  in  so  many  instances 
have  opened  questions  untouched  by  the  more  unfet- 
tered Ancients,  and  veins  of  speculation  since  mis- 
takenly supposed  to  have  been  first  explored  in  more 
modern  times.  Scarcely  any  metaphysical  controversy 
agitated  among  recent  philosophers  was  unknown  to 
the  Schoolmen,  unless  we  except  that  which  relates  to 
Liberty  and  Necessity,  and  this  would  be  an  exception 
of  doubtful  propriety;  for  the  disposition  to  it  is 
clearly  discoverable  in  the  disputes  of  the  Thomists 
and  Scotists  respecting  the  Augustinian  and  Pelagian 
doctrines  *,  although  they  were  restrained  from  the 
avowal  of  legitimate  consequences  on  either  side  by  the 

*  See  Note  I. 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  47 

theological  authority  which  both  parties  acknowledged. 
The  Scotists  steadily  affirmed  the  blamelessness  of 
erroneous  opinion ;  a  principle  which  is  the  only  ef- 
fectual security  for  conscientious  inquiry,  for  mutual 
kindness,  and  for  public  quiet.  The  controversy  be- 
tween the  Nominalists  and  Realists,  treated  by  some 
modern  writers  as  an  example  of  barbarous  wrangling, 
was  in  truth  an  anticipation  of  that  modern  dispute 
which  still  divides  metaphysicians,  —  AVhether  the 
human  mind  can  form  general  ideas,  or  Whether  the 
words  which  are  supposed  to  convey  such  ideas  be 
not  terms,  representing  only  a  number  of  particular 
perceptions  ?  —  questions  so  far  from  frivolous,  that 
they  deeply  concern  both  the  nature  of  reasoning  and 
the  structure  of  language  ;  on  which  Hobbes,  Berkeley, 
Hume,  Stewart,  and  Tooke,  have  followed  the  Nomi- 
nalists ;  and  Descartes,  Locke,  Reid,  and  Kant,  have, 
with  various  modifications  and  some  inconsistencies, 
adopted  the  doctrine  of  the  Realists.*  With  the 
Schoolmen  appears  to  have  originated  the  form, 
though  not  the  substance,  of  the  celebrated  maxim, 
which,  whether  true  or  false,  is  pregnant  with  systems, 
—  "There  is  nothing  in  the  Understanding  which  was 
not  before  in  the  Senses."  Ockham  f  the  Nominalist 
first  denied  the  Peripatetic  doctrine  of  the  existence 
of  certain  species  (since  the  time  of  Descartes  called 
"  ideas ")  as  the  direct  objects  of  perception  and 
thought,  interposed  between  the  mind  and  outward 

*  Locke  speaks  on  this  subject  inconsistently  ;  Reid  calls  him- 
self a  conceptualist ;  Kant  uses  terms  so  different,  that  he  ought 
perhaps  to  be  considered  as  of  neither  party.  Leibnitz,  var}-ing 
in  some  measure  from  the  general  spirit  of  his  speculations, 
warmly  panegyrises  the  Nominalists  :  "  Secta  Nominalium, 
omnium  inter  scholasticos  profundissima,  et  hodiernai  reformataj 
philosophandi  rationi  congruentissima."     Op.  iv.  59. 

t  "  Maximi  vir  ingenii,  et  cruditionis  pro  illo  jevo  summae, 
Wilhelmus  Occam,  Anglus."  lb.  60.  The  writings  of  Ockham, 
which  are  ver}-  rare,  I  have  never  seen.  I  OTve  my  knowledge  of 
them  to  Tennemann,  who  however  quotes  the  words  of  Ockham, 
and  of  his  disciple  BieL 


48  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PEOGRESS 

objects  ;  the  modern  opposition  to  whicli  by  Dr.  Reid 
has  been  supposed  to  justify  the  allotment  of  so  high 
a  station  to  that  respectable  philosopher.  He  taught 
also  that  we  know  nothing  of  Mind  but  its  acts,  of 
which  we  are  conscious.  More  inclination  towards 
an  independent  philosophy  is  to  be  traced  among  the 
Schoolmen  than  might  be  expected  from  their  cir- 
cumstances. Those  who  follow  two  guides  will  some- 
times choose  for  themselves,  and  may  prefer  the 
subordinate  one  on  some  occasions.  Aristotle  rivalled 
the  Church ;  and  the  Church  herself  safely  allowed 
considerable  latitude  to  the  philosophical  reasonings 
of  those  who  were  only  heard  or  read  in  colleges  or 
cloisters,  on  condition  that  they  neither  impugned 
her  authority,  nor  dissented  from  her  worship,  nor 
departed  from  the  language  of  her  creeds.  The 
Nominalists  were  a  free-thinking  sect,  who,  notwith- 
standing their  defence  of  kings  against  the  Court 
of  Rome,  were  persecuted  by  the  civil  power.  It 
should  not  be  forgotten  that  Luther  was  a  Nomi- 
nalist.* 

If  not  more  remarkable,  it  is  more  pertinent  to  our 
purpose,  that  the  ethical  system  of  the  Schoolmen, 
or,  to  speak  more  properly,  of  Aquinas,  as  the  Moral 
Master  of  Christendom  for  three  centuries,  was  in  its 
practical  part  so  excellent  as  to  leave  little  need  of 
extensive  change,  with  the  inevitable  exception  of  the 
connection  of  his  religious  opinions  with  his  precepts 
and  counsels.  His  Rule  of  Life  is  neither  lax  nor 
impracticable.  His  grounds  of  duty  are  solely  laid 
in  the  nature  of  man,  and  in  the  wellbeing  of  society. 
Such  an  intruder  as  Subtilty  seldom  strays  into  his 
moral  instructions.  With  a  most  imperfect  knowledge 
of  the  Peripatetic  writings,  he  came  near  the  Great 
Master,  by  abstaining,  in  practical  philosophy,  from 

*  "  In  Martini  Lutberi  scriptis  prioribus  amor  Nominalium 
satis  elucet,  donee  proeedente  tempore  erga  omnes  monachos 
SDCiualiter  affeetus  esse  coepit."    lb. 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  49 

the  unsuitable  exercise  of  that  faculty  of  distinction, 
in  which  he  would  probably  have  shown  that  he  was 
little  inferior  to  Ai'istotle,  if  he  had  been  equally 
unrestrained.  His  very  frequent  coincidence  with 
modern  moralists  is  doubtless  to  be  ascribed  chiefly 
to  the  nature  of  the  subject ;  but  in  part  also  to  that 
unbroken  succession  of  teachers  and  writers,  which 
preserved  the  observations  contained  in  what  had  been 
long  the  text-book  of  the  European  Schools,  after  the 
books  themselves  had  been  for  ages  banished  and  for- 
gotten. The  praises  bestowed  on  Aquinas  by  every 
one  of  the  few  great  men  who  appear  to  have  examined 
his  writings  since  the  downfal  of  his  power,  among 
whom  may  be  mentioned  Erasmus,  Grotius,  and 
Leibnitz,  are  chiefly,  though  not  solely,  referable  to 
his  ethical  works.* 

Though  the  Schoolmen  had  thus  anticipated  many 
modern  controversies  of  a  properly  metaphysical  sort, 
they  left  untouched  most  of  those  questions  of  ethical 
theory  which  were  unknown  to,  or  neglected  by,  the 
Ancients  They  do  not  appear  to  have  discriminated 
between  the  nature  of  moral  sentiments,  and  the  cri- 
terion of  moral  acts;  to  have  considered  to  what 
faculty  of  our  mind  moral  approbation  is  referable ; 
or  to  have  inquired  whether  our  Moral  Faculty,  what- 
ever it  may  be,  is  implanted  or  acquired.  Those  who 
measure  only  by  palpable  results,  have  very  consist- 
ently regarded  the  metaphysical  and  theological  con- 
troversies of  the  Schools  as  a  mere  waste  of  intellectual 
power.  But  the  contemplation  of  the  athletic  vigour 
and  versatile  skill  manifested  by  the  European  under- 
standing, at  the  moment  when  it  emerged  from  this 
tedious  and  rugged  discipline,  leads,  if  not  to  appro- 
bation, yet  to  more  qualified  censure.  What  might 
have  been  the  result  of  a  different  combination  of 
circumstances,  is  an  inquiry  which,  on  a  large  scale, 

*  See  especially  the  excellent  Preface  of  licibnitz  to  Nizolius, 

t§  37.     lb   59. 
r     ■ 


50  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

is  beyond  human  power.  We  may,  however,  venture 
to  say  that  no  abstract  science,  unconnected  with 
Religion,  was  likely  to  be  respected  in  a  barbarous 
age ;  and  we  may  be  allowed  to  doubt  whether  any 
knowledge  dependent  directly  on  experience  and  ap- 
plicable to  immediate  practice,  would  have  so  trained 
the  European  mind  as  to  qualify  it  for  that  series  of 
inventions,  and  discoveries,  and  institutions  which 
begins  with  the  sixteenth  century,  and  of  which  no 
end  can  now  be  foreseen  but  the  extinction  of  the  race 
of  man. 

The  fifteenth  century  was  occupied  by  the  disputes 
of  the  Realists  with  the  Nominalists,  in  which  the 
scholastic  doctrine  expired.  After  its  close  no  School- 
man of  note  appeared.  The  sixteenth  may  be  con- 
sidered as  the  age  of  transition  from  the  scholastic  to 
the  modern  philosophy.  The  former,  indeed,  retained 
possession  of  the  Universities,  and  was  long  after  dis- 
tinguished by  all  the  ensigns  of  authority.  But 
the  mines  were  already  prepared ;  the  revolution  in 
Opinion  had  commenced.  The  moral  writings  of  the 
preceding  times  had  generally  been  commentaries  on 
that  part  of  the  Summa  Theologiae  of  Aquinas  which 
relates  to  Ethics.  Though  these  still  continued  to  be 
published,  yet  the  most  remarkable  moralists  of  the 
sixteenth  century  indicated  the  approach  of  other 
modes  of  thinking,  by  the  adoption  of  the  more  inde- 
pendent titles  of  "Treatises  on  Justice"  and  "Law." 
These  titles  were  suggested,  and  the  spirit,  contents, 
and  style  of  the  writings  themselves  were  materially 
affected  by  the  improved  cultivation  of  the  Roman 
law,  by  the  renewed  study  of  ancient  literature,  and 
by  the  revival  of  various  systems  of  Greek  philosophy, 
now  studied  in  the  original,  which  at  once  mitigated 
and  rivalled  the  scholastic  doctors,  and  while  they  ren- 
dered Philosophy  more  free,  re-opened  its  communi- 
cations with  society  and  affairs.  The  speculative 
theology  which  had  arisen  under  the  French  govern- 
ments of  Paris  and  London  in  the  twelfth  century, 


k 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  51 

which  flourished  in  the  thirteenth  in  Italy  in  the 
hands  of  Aquinas,  which  was  advanced  in  the  British 
Islands  by  Scotus  and  Ockhara  in  the  fourteenth,  was 
in  the  sixteenth,  with  unabated  acuteness,  but  with  a 
clearness  and  elegance  unknown  before  the  restoration 
of  Letters,  cultivated  by  Spain,  in  that  age  the  most 
powerful  and  magnificent  of  the  European  nations. 

]\Iany  of  these  writers  treated  the  law  of  war  and 
the  practice  of  hostilities  in  a  juridical  form.*  Francis 
Victoria,  who  began  to  teach  at  Valladolid  in  1525, 
is  said  to  have  first  expounded  the  doctrines  of  the 
Schools  in  the  lano-uaore  of  the  ajje  of  Leo  the  Tenth. 
Dominic  Soto  f ,  a  Dominican,  the  confessor  of  Charles 
v.,  and  the  oracle  of  the  Council  of  Trent,  to  whom 
that  assembly  were  indebted  for  much  of  the  precision 
and  even  elegance  for  which  their  doctrinal  decrees 
are  not  unjustly  commended,  dedicated  his  Treatise 
on  Justice  and  Law  to  Don  Carlos,  in  terms  of  praise 
which,  used  by  a  writer  who  is  said  to  have  declined 
the  high  dignities  of  the  Church,  lead  us  to  hope  that 
he  was  unacquainted  with  the  brutish  vices  of  that 
wretched  prince.  It  is  a  concise  and  not  inelegant 
compound  of  the  Scholastic  Ethics,  which  continued 

*  Many  of  the  separate  dissertations,  on  points  of  this  nature, 
are  contained  in  the  immense  collection  entitled  "  Tractatus  Trac- 
tatuum,"  published  at  Venice  in  1584,  under  the  patronage  of 
the  Romaii  see.  There  are  three  De  Bello ;  one  by  Lupus  of 
Segovia  when  Francis  I.  was  prisoner  in  Spain ;  another,  more 
celebrated,  by  Francis  Aria^,  who,  on  the  llth  June  1532,  dis- 
cussed before  the  CoUeiiC  of  Cardinals  the  legitimacy  of  a  war 
by  the  Emperor  against  the  Pope.  There  are  two  De  Pace  ;  and 
otiiers  De  Potestate  Rcgia,  ]5e  Poena  Mortis,  &c.  The  most 
ancient  and  scholastic  is  that  of  J.  de  Lignano  of  Milan  De  BeUo. 
The  above  writers  are  mentioned  in  the  prolegomena  to  Grotius, 
De  Jure  Belli.  Pietro  Belloni,  Counsellor  of  the  Duke  of  Savoy 
(De  Re  Militari),  treats  his  subject  with  the  minuteness  of  a 
Judge- Advocate,  and  has  more  modern  examples,  chiefly  Italian, 
than  Grotius. 

t  Born,  1494;  died,  1560.  Antonii  Bib,  Ilisp.  Nov.  The 
opinion  of  the  extent  of  Soto's  knowledge  entertahied  by  his  con- 
temporaries is  expressed  in  a  jingle,  Qui  scit  Solum  scit  totunu 

£  2 


52  DISSERTATION   ON   THE    PEOGRESS 

to  be  of  considerable  authority  for  more  than  a  cen- 
tury.* Both  he  and  his  master  Victoria  deserve  to 
be  had  in  everlasting  remembrance,  for  the  part  which 
they  took  on  behalf  of  the  natives  of  America  and  of 
Africa,  against  the  rapacity  and  cruelty  of  the  Spa- 
niards. Victoria  pronounced  war  against  the  Ame- 
ricans for  their  vices,  or  for  their  paganism,  to  be 
unjust.j"  Soto  was  the  authority  chiefly  consulted 
by  Charles  V.,  on  occasion  of  the  conference  held 
before  him  at  Valladolid,  in  1542,  between  Sepulveda, 
an  advocate  of  the  Spanish  colonists,  and  Las  Casas, 
the  champion  of  the  unhappy  Americans,  of  which 
the  result  was  a  very  imperfect  edict  of  reformation 
in  1543.  This,  though  it  contained  little  more  than  a 
recognition  of  the  principle  of  justice,  almost  excited 
a  rebellion  in  Mexico.  Sepulveda,  a  scholar  and  a 
reasoner,  advanced  many  maxims  which  were  specious 
and  in  themselves  reasonable,  but  which  practically 
tended  to  defeat  even  the  scanty  and  almost  illusive 
reform  which  ensued.  Las  Casas  was  a  passionate 
missionary,  whose  zeal,  kindled  by  the  long  and  near 
contemplation  of  cruelty,  prompted  him  to  exag- 
gerations of  fact  and  argument  | ;  yet,  with  all  its 
errors,  it  afforded  the  only  hope  of  preserving  the 
natives  of  America  from  extirpation.  The  opinion  of 
Soto  could  not  fail  to  be  conformable  to  his  excellent 
principle,  that  "there  can  be  no  difference  between 
Christians  and  pagans,  for  the  law  of  nations  is  equal 
to  all  nations."  §  To  Soto  belongs  the  signal  honour 
of  beino;  the  first  writer  who  condemned  the  African 
slave-trade.  "  It  is  affirmed,"  says  he,  "  that  the 
unhappy  Ethiopians  are  by  fraud  or   force  carried 

*  See  Note  K. 

f  "  Indis  non  debere  auferri  imperium,  ideo  quia  sunt  pecca- 
tores,  vel  ideo  quia  non  sunt  Christiani,"  were  the  words  of 
Victoria. 

X  See  Note  L. 

§  "  Neque  discrepantia  (ut  reor)  est   inter  Christianos  et  in-  , 
fideles,  quoniam  jus  gentium  cunctis  gentibus  sequale  est." 


I 


OF   ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  53 

away  and  sold  as  slaves.  If  this  is  true,  neither  those 
who  have  taken  them,  nor  those  who  purchased  them, 
nor  those  who  hold  them  in  bondage,  can  ever  have  a 
quiet  conscience  till  they  emancipate  them,  even  if  no 
compensation  should  be  obtained."  *  As  the  work 
which  contains  this  memorable  condemnation  of  man- 
stealing  and  slavery  was  the  substance  of  lectures  for 
many  years  delivered  at  Salamanca,  Philosophy  and 
Religion  appear,  by  the  hand  of  their  faithful  minister, 
to  have  thus  smitten  the  monsters  in  their  earliest 
infancy.  It  is  hard  for  any  man  of  the  present  age 
to  conceive  the  praise  which  is  due  to  the  excellent 
monks  who  courageously  asserted  the  rights  of  those 
whom  they  never  saw,  against  the  prejudices  of  their 
order,  the  supposed  interest  of  their  religion,  the 
ambition  of  their  government,  the  avarice  and  pride 
of  their  countrymen,  and  the  prevalent  opinions  cf 
their  time. 

Francis  Suarez  f,  a  Jesuit,  whose  voluminous  works 
amount  to  twenty-four  volumes  in  folio,  closes  the  list 
of  writers  of  his  class.  His  work  on  Laws  and  on 
God  the  Lawgiver,  may  be  added  to  the  above  treatise 
of  Soto,  as  exhibiting  the  most  accessible  and  perspi- 
cuous abridgment  of  the  theological  philosophy  in  its 
latest  form.  Grotius,  who,  though  he  was  the  most 
upright  and  candid  of  men,  could  not  have  praised  a 
Spanish  Jesuit  beyond  his  deserts,  calls  Suarez  the 
most  acute  of  philosophers  and  divines.|  On  a  prac- 
tical matter,  which  may  be  naturally  mentioned  here, 
though  in  strict  method  it  belongs  to  another  subject, 
the  merit  of  Suarez  is  conspicuous.  He  first  saw  that 
international  law  was  composed  not  only  of  the  simple 
principles  of  justice  applied  to  the  intercourse  be- 
tween states,  but  of  those  usages,  long  observed  in 


*  De  Just,  et  Jure,  lib.  iv.  quaest.  ii.  art  2. 
t  Born,  1538  ;  died,  1617. 

j  "  Tantie  suhtilitutis  philosophum  et  theologum,  ut  vix  quem- 
quarn  habeat  parcm."    Grotii  Epist.  apud  Anton.  Bib.  Hisp.  Nov. 

£  3 


54  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

that  intercourse  by  the  European  race,  which  have 
since  been  more  exactly  distinguished  as  the  consue- 
tudinary law  acknowledged  by  the  Christian  nations 
of  Europe  and  America.*  On  this  important  point 
his  views  are  more  clear  than  those  of  his  contempo- 
rary Alberico  Gentili."|'  It  must  even  be  owned,  that 
the  succeeding  intimation  of  the  same  general  doctrine 
by  Grotius  is  somewhat  more  dark,  —  perhaps  from 
his  excessive  pursuit  of  concise  diction.^ 


SECTION  lY. 

MODERN    ETHICS. 
GROTIUS  —  HOBBES. 


The  introduction  to  the  great  work  of  Grotius  §,  com- 
posed in  the  first  years  of  his  exile,  and  published  at 
Paris  in  1625,  contains  the  most  clear  and  authentic 
statement  of  the  general  principles  of  Morals  prevalent 
in  Christendom  after  the  close  of  the  Schools,  and  be- 
fore the  writings  of  Hobbes  had  given  rise  to  those 
ethical  controversies  which  more  peculiarly  belong  to 
modern  times.      That  he  may  lay  down  the  funda- 

*  "  Nunquam  enim  civitates  sunt  sibi  tam  sufficientes  quin  in- 
digeant  mutuo  juvamine  et  societate,  interdum  ad  majorem  utili- 
tatem,  interdum  ob  necessitatem  inoralem.  Hac  igitur  ratione 
indigent  aliqno  jure  quo  dirigantur  et  recte  ordinentur  in  hoc 
genere  societatis.  Et  quamvis  magna  ex  parte  hoc  fiat  per 
rationem  naturalem,  non  tamen  sufficienter  et  immediate  quoad 
omnia,  ideoque  specialia  jura  poterant  usu  earundem  gentium  intro- 
duci."     De  Leg.  lib.  ii.  cap.  ii. 

f  Born  in  the  March  of  Ancona,  1550  ;  died  at  London,  1608, 

X  De  Jur.  Bell.  lib.  i.  cap.  i.  §  14. 

§  Prolegomena.  His  letter  to  Vossius,  of  1st  August  1625, 
determines  the  exact  period  of  the  publication  of  this  famous 
work.     Epist.  74. 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  5o 

mental  principles  of  Ethics,  he  introduces  Carneades 
on  the  stage  as  denying  altogether  the  reality  of  moral 
distinctions ;  teaching  that  law  and  morality  are  con- 
trived by  powerful  men  for  their  own  interest ;  that 
they  vary  in  different  countries,  and  change  in  suc- 
cessive ages ;  that  there  can  be  no  natural  law,  since 
Nature  leads  men  as  well  as  other  animals  to  prefer 
their  own  interest  to  every  other  object ;  that,  there- 
fore, there  is  either  no  justice,  or  if  there  be,  it  is 
another  name  for  the  height  of  folly,  inasmuch  as  it 
is  a  fond  attempt  to  persuade  a  human  being  to  injure 
himself  for  the  unnatural  purpose  of  benefiting  his 
fellow-men.*  To  this  Grotius  answered,  that  even 
inferior  animals,  under  the  powerful,  though  transient, 
impulse  of  parental  love,  prefer  their  young  to  their 
own  safety  or  life  ;  that  gleams  of  compassion,  and, 
he  might  have  added,  of  gratitude  and  indignation, 
appear  in  the  human  infant  long  before  the  age  of 
moral  discipline  ;  that  man  at  the  period  of  maturity 
is  a  social  animal,  who  delights  in  the  society  of  his 
fellow-creatures  for  its  own  sake,  independently  of  the 
help  and  accommodation  which  it  yields  ;  that  he  is  a 
reasonable  being,  capable  of  framing  and  pursuing 
general  rules  of  conduct,  of  which  he  discerns  that 
the  observance  contributes  to  a  regular,  quiet,  and 
happy  intercourse  between  all  the  members  of  the 
community ;  and  that  from  these  considerations  all 
the  precepts  of  Morality,  and  all  the  commands  and 
prohibitions  of  just  Law,  may  be  derived  by  impartial 
Reason.  "  And  these  principles,"  says  the  pious  phi- 
losopher, "  would  have  their  weight,  even  if  it  were 
to  be  granted  (which  could  not  be  conceded  without 
the  highest  impiety)  that  there  is  no  God,  or  that  He 

*  The  same  commoni)lace  paradoxes  were  retailed  by  tlie  So- 
phists, whom  Socrates  is  introduced  as  chastising  in  the  Dialogues 
of  Plato.  They  were  common  enough  to  be  put  by  the  Historian 
into  the  mouth  of  an  ambassador  in  a  public  speech.  ^AvSpl  Se 
TvpoLvvw  ^  TToAet  o-px^^  e'xoutf'j?  ovhfv  6.\oyov  o  ti  ^vjx(p4pov.  Thucyd. 
lib.  vi.  cap.  85. 

£  4 


56  DISSERTATION   ON    THE   PROGRESS 

exercises  no  moral  government  over  human  affairs."  * 
"Natural  law  is  the  dictate  of  right  Reason,  pro- 
nouncing that  there  is  in  some  actions  a  moral  obli- 
gation, and  in  other  actions  a  moral  deformity,  arising 
from  their  respective  suitableness  or  repugnance  to 
the  reasonable  and  social  nature ;  and  that  conse- 
quently such  acts  are  either  forbidden  or  enjoined 
by  God,  the  Author  of  Nature.  Actions  which  are 
the  subject  of  this  exertion  of  Reason,  are  in  them- 
selves lawful  or  unlawful,  and  are  therefore,  as  such, 
necessarily  commanded  or  prohibited  by  God." 

Such  was  the  state  of  opinion  respecting  the  first 
principles  of  the  moral  sciences,  when,  after  an  im- 
prisonment of  a  thousand  years  in  the  Cloister,  they 
began  once  more  to  hold  intercourse  with  the  general 
understanding  of  mankind.  It  will  be  seen  in  the 
laxity  and  confusion,  as  well  as  in  the  prudence  and 
purity  of  this  exposition,  that  some  part  of  the  method 
and  precision  of  the  Schools  was  lost  with  their  end- 
less subtilties  and  their  barbarous  language.  It  is 
manifest  that  the  latter  paragraph  is  a  proposition, — 
not,  what  it  affects  to  be,  a  definition  ;  that  as  a  pro- 
position it  contains  too  many  terms  very  necessary  to 
be  defined ;  that  the  purpose  of  the  excellent  writer 
is  not  so  much  to  lay  down  a  first  principle  of  Morals, 
as  to  exert  his  unmatched  power  of  saying  much  in 
few  words,  in  order  to  assemble  within  the  smallest 
compass  the  most  weighty  inducements,  and  the  most 
effectual  persuasions  to  well-doing. 

*  "  Et  hsec  quidem  locum  aliquem  haberent,  etiamsi  daretur 
(quod  sine  summo  scelere  dari  nequit)  non  esse  Deum,  aut  non 
curari  ab  eo  negotia  humana."  Proleg.  11.  And  in  another 
place,  "  Jus  naturale  est  dictatum  rectie  rationis,  indicans  actui 
alicui,  ex  ejus  convenientia  aut  disconvenientia  cum  ipsa  natura 
rationali  et  sociali,  inesse  moralem  turpitudinem  aut  necessitatem 
moralem,  ac  consequenter  ab  auctore  naturce  Deo  talem  actum 
aut  vetari  aut  prsecipi."  "  Actus  de  quibus  rale  exstat  dictatum, 
debiti  sunt  aut  illicit!  per  se,  atque  ideo  a  Deo  necessario  prae- 
cepti  aut  vetiti  intelliguntur." — De  Jur.  Bell.  lib.  i.  cap.  i.  §  10. 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  57 

This  "was  the  condition  in  which  ethical  theory  was 
found  bj  Hobbes,  with  whom  the  present  Dissertation 
should  have  commenced,  if  it  had  been  possible  to 
state  modern  controversies  in  a  satisfactory  manner, 
without  a  retrospect  of  the  revolutions  in  Opinion 
from  which  they  in  some  measure  flowed. 

HOBBES.* 

Thomas  Hobbes  of  Malmesbury  may  be  numbered 
among  those  eminent  persons  born  in  the  latter  half 
of  the  sixteenth  century,  who  gave  a  new  character 
to  European  philosophy  in  the  succeeding  age.  f  He 
was  one  of  the  late  writers  and  late  learners.  It  was 
not  till  he  was  nearly  thirty  that  he  supplied  the 
defects  of  his  early  education,  by  classical  studies  so 
successfully  prosecuted,  that  he  wrote  well  in  the 
Latin  then  used  by  his  scientific  contemporaries ;  and 
made  such  proficiency  in  Greek  as,  in  his  earliest 
work,  the  Translation  of  Thucydides,  published  when 
he  was  forty,  to  afford  a  specimen  of  a  version  still 
valued  for  its  remarkable  fidelity,  though  written  with 
a  stiffness  and  constraint  very  opposite  to  the  masterly 
facility  of  his  original  compositions.  It  was  after 
forty  that  he  learned  the  first  rudiments  of  Geometry 
(so  miserably  defective  was  his  education) ;  but  yield- 
ing to  the  paradoxical  disposition  apt  to  infect  those 
who  beofin  to  learn  after  the  natural  afje  of  commence- 
ment,  he  exposed  himself,  by  absurd  controversies 
with  the  masters  of  a  Science  which  looks  down  with 


*  Bom,  1588  ;  (lied,  1679. 

f  Bacon,  Descartes,  Hobbes,  and  Grotiiis.  The  writings  of  the 
first  are  still  as  delightful  and  wonderful  as  they  ever  were,  and 
his  authority  will  have  no  end.  Descartes  forms  an  era  in  the 
history  of  Metaphysics,  of  Physics,  of  Mathematics.  The  con- 
troversies excited  by  Grotius  have  long  ceased,  but  the  powerful 
influence  of  his  works  will  be  doubted  by  those  only  who  are  un- 
acquainted with  the  disputes  of  the  seventeenth  century. 


58  DISSERTATION   ON    THE    PROGRESS 

scorn  on  the  sophist.  A  considerable  portion  of  his 
mature  age  was  passed  on  the  Continent,  where  he 
travelled  as  tutor  to  two  successive  Earls  of  Devon- 
shire,— a  family  with  whom  he  seems  to  have  passed 
near  half  a  century  of  his  long  life.  In  France  his 
reputation,  founded  at  that  time  solely  on  personal 
intercourse,  became  so  great,  that  his  observations  on 
the  meditations  of  Descartes  were  published  in  the 
works  of  that  philosopher,  together  with  those  of 
Gassendi  and  Arnauld.*  It  was  about  his  sixtieth 
year  that  he  began  to  publish  those  philosophical 
writings  which  contain  his  peculiar  opinions; — which 
set  the  understanding  of  Europe  into  general  motion, 
and  stirred  up  controversies  among  metaphysicians 
and  moralists,  not  even  yet  determined.  At  the  age 
of  eighty-seven  he  had  the  boldness  to  publish  metrical 
versions  of  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey,  which  the  greatness 
of  his  name,  and  the  singularity  of  the  undertaking, 
still  render  objects  of  curiosity,  if  not  of  criticism. 

He  owed  his  influence  to  various  causes  ;  at  the 
head  of  which  may  be  placed  that  genius  for  system, 
which,  though  it  cramps  the  growth  of  Knowledge  "f, 
perhaps  finally  atones  for  that  mischief,  by  the  zeal 
and  activity  which  it  rouses  among  followers  and 
opponents,  who  discover  truth  by  accident,  when  in 
pursuit  of  weapons  for  their  warfare.  A  system  which 
attempts  a  task  so  hard  as  that  of  subjecting  vast  pro- 
vinces of  human  knowledge  to  one  or  two  principles, 

*  The  prevalence  of  freethinking  under  Louis  XIII.,  to  a  far 
greater  degree  than  it  was  avowed,  appears  not  only  from  the 
complaints  of  Mersenne  and  of  Grotius,  but  from  the  disclosures 
of  Guy  Patin  ;  who,  in  his  Letters,  describes  his  own  conver- 
sations with  Gassendi  and  Naude,  so  as  to  leave  uo  doubt  of 
their  opinions. 

f  "  Another  error,"  says  the  Master  of  Wisdom,  "  is  the  over- 
early  and  peremptory  reduction  of  knowledge  into  arts  and 
methods,  from  which  time  commonly  receives  small  augmenta- 
tion." Advancement  of  Learning,  book  i.  "  Method,"  says  he, 
*'  carrying  a  show  of  total  and  perfect  knowledge,  has  a  tendency 
to  generate  acquiescence."    What  pregnant  words  ! 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  59 

if  it  presents  some  striking  instances  of  conformity  to 
superficial  appearances,  is  sure  to  delight  the  framer, 
and,  for  a  time,  to  subdue  and  captivate  the  student 
too  entirely  for  sober  reflection  and  rigorous  examin- 
ation. The  evil  does  not,  indeed,  very  frequently 
recur.  Perhaps  Aristotle,  Hobbes,  and  Kant,  are  the 
only  persons  who  united  in  the  highest  degree  the 
great  faculties  of  comprehension  and  discrimination 
which  compose  the  Genius  of  System.  Of  the  three, 
Aristotle  alone  could  throw  it  off  where  it  was  glar- 
ingly unsuitable  ;  and  it  is  deserving  of  observation, 
that  the  reign  of  system  seems,  from  these  examples, 
progressively  to  shorten  in  proportion  as  Reason  is 
cultivated  and  Knowledge  advances.  But,  in  the  first 
instance,  consistency  passes  for  Truth.  When  prin- 
ciples in  some  instances  have  proved  sufficient  to  give 
an  unexpected  explanation  of  facts,  the  delighted 
reader  is  content  to  accept  as  true  all  other  deductions 
from  the  principles.  Specious  premises  being  assumed 
to  be  true,  nothing  more  can  be  required  than  logical 
inference.  Mathematical  forms  pass  current  as  the 
equivalent  of  mathematical  certainty.  Tlie  unwary 
admirer  is  satisfied  with  the  completeness  and  sym- 
metry of  the  plan  of  his  house,  —  unmindful  of  the 
need  of  examining  the  firmness  of  the  foundation  and 
the  soundness  of  the  materials.  The  system-maker, 
like  the  conqueror,  long  dazzles  and  overawes  the 
world ;  but  when  their  sway  is  past,  the  vulgar  herd, 
unable  to  measure  their  astonishing  faculties,  take  re- 
venge by  trampling  on  fallen  greatness. 

The  dogmatism  of  Hobbes  was,  however  unjustly, 
one  of  the  sources  of  his  fame.  The  founders  of  sys- 
tems deliver  their  novelties  with  the  undoubting  spirit 
of  discoverers ;  and  their  followers  are  apt  to  be  dog- 
matical, because  they  can  see  nothing  beyond  their 
own  ground.  It  might  seem  incredible,  if  it  were  not 
established  by  the  experience  of  all  ages,  that  those 
who  differ  most  from  the  opinions  of  their  fellow-men 
are  most  confident  of  the  truth  of  their  own.     But  it 


60  DISSERTATION   ON    THE   PROGRESS 

commonly  requires  an  overweening  conceit  of  the 
superiority  of  a  man's  own  judgment,  to  make  him 
espouse  very  singular  notions ;  and  when  he  has  once 
embraced  them,  they  are  endeared  to  him  by  the  hos- 
tility of  those  whom  he  contemns  as  the  prejudiced 
vulgar.  The  temper  of  Hobbes  must  have  been 
originally  haughty.  The  advanced  age  at  which  he 
published  his  obnoxious  opinions,  rendered  him  more 
impatient  of  the  acrimonious  opposition  which  they 
necessarily  provoked ;  until  at  length  a  strong  sense 
of  the  injustice  of  the  punishment  impending  over 
his  head  for  the  publication  of  what  he  believed  to  be 
truth,  co-operated  with  the  peevishness  and  timidity 
of  his  years,  to  render  him  the  most  imperious  and 
morose  of  dogmatists.  His  dogmatism  has  indeed  one 
quality  more  offensive  than  that  of  most  others.  Pro- 
positions the  most  adverse  to  the  opinions  of  mankind, 
and  the  most  abhorrent  from  their  feelings,  are  intro- 
duced into  the  course  of  his  argument  with  mathe- 
matical coldness.  He  presents  them  as  demonstrated 
conclusions,  without  deigning  to  explain  to  his  fellow- 
creatures  how  they  all  happened  to  believe  the  opposite 
absurdities,  and  without  even  the  compliment  of  once 
observing  how  widely  his  discoveries  were  at  vari- 
ance with  the  most  ancient  and  universal  judgments 
of  the  human  understanding.  The  same  quality  in 
Spinoza  indicates  a  recluse's  ignorance  of  the  world. 
In  Hobbes  it  is  the  arrogance  of  a  man  who  knows 
mankind  and  despises  them. 

A  permanent  foundation  of  his  fame  remains  in  his 
admirable  style,  which  seems  to  be  the  very  perfection 
of  didactic  language.  Short,  clear,  precise,  pithy,  his 
language  never  has  more  than  one  meaning,  which  it 
never  requires  a  second  thought  to  find.  By  the  help 
of  his  exact  method,  it  takes  so  firm  a  hold  on  the 
mind,  that  it  will  not  allow  attention  to  slacken.  His 
little  tract  on  Human  Nature  has  scarcely  an  am- 
biguous or  a  needless  word.  He  has  so  great  a  power 
of  always  choosing  the  most  significant  term,  that  he 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  61 

never  is  reduced  to  the  poor  expedient  of  using  many 
in  its  stead.  He  had  so  thoroughly  studied  the  genius 
of  the  language,  and  knew  so  well  how  to  steer  be- 
tween pedantry  and  vulgarity,  that  two  centuries  have 
not  superannuated  probably  more  than  a  dozen  of  his 
words.  His  expressions  are  so  luminous,  that  he  is 
clear  without  the  help  of  illustration.  Perhaps  no 
■writer  of  any  age  or  nation,  on  subjects  so  abstruse, 
has  manifested  an  equal  i>ower  of  engraving  his 
thoughts  on  the  mind  of  his  readers.  He  seems  never 
to  have  taken  a  word  for  ornament  or  pleasure  ;  and 
he  deals  with  eloquence  and  poetry  as  the  natural 
philosopher  who  explains  the  mechanism  of  children's 
toys,  or  deigns  to  contrive  them.  Yet  his  style  so 
stimulates  attention,  that  it  never  tires ;  and,  to  those 
who  are  acquainted  with  the  subject,  appears  to  have 
as  much  spirit  as  can  be  safely  blended  with  Reason. 
He  compresses  his  thoughts  so  unaffectedly,  and  yet 
so  tersely,  as  to  produce  occasionally  maxims  which 
excite  the  same  agreeable  surprise  with  wit,  and  have 
become  a  sort  of  philosophical  proverbs ;  —  the  suc- 
cess of  which  he  partly  owed  to  the  suitableness  of 
such  forms  of  expression  to  his  dictatorial  nature.  His 
words  have  such  an  appearance  of  springing  from  his 
thoughts,  as  to  impress  on  the  reader  a  strong  opinion 
of  his  originality,  and  indeed  to  prove  that  he  was 
not  conscious  of  borrowinsr :  thoujjh  conversation  with 
Gassendi  must  have  influenced  his  mind ;  and  it  is 
hard  to  believe  that  his  coincidence  with  Ockham 
should  have  been  purely  accidental  on  points  so  im- 
portant as  the  denial  of  general  ideas,  the  reference  of 
moral  distinctions  to  superior  power,  and  the  absolute 
thraldom  of  Religion  under  the  civil  power,  which  he 
seems  to  have  thought  necessary,  to  maintain  that 
independence  of  the  State  on  the  Church,  with  which 
Ockham  had  been  contented. 

His  philosophical  writings  might  be  read  without 
reminding  any  one  that  the  author  was  more  than  an 
intellectual  machine.      They  never  betray  a  feeling 


62  DISSERTATION   ON    THE    PROGRESS 

except  tliat  insupportable  arrogance  which  looks  down 
on  his  fellow-men  as  a  lower  species  of  beings  ;  whose 
almost  unanimous  hostility  is  so  far  from  shaking  the 
firmness  of  his  conviction,  or  even  ruffling  the  calm- 
ness of  his  contempt,  that  it  appears  too  petty  a  cir- 
cumstance to  require  explanation,  or  even  to  merit 
notice.  Let  it  not  be  forgotten,  that  part  of  his  re- 
nown depends  on  the  application  of  his  admirable 
powers  to  expound  Truth  when  he  meets  it.  This 
great  merit  is  conspicuous  in  that  part  of  his  treatise 
of  Human  Nature  which  relates  to  the  percipient  and 
reasoning  faculties.  It  is  also  very  remarkable  in 
many  of  his  secondary  principles  on  the  subject  of 
Government  and  Law,  which,  while  the  first  principles 
are  false  and  dangerous,  are  as  admirable  for  truth  as 
for  his  accustomed  and  unrivalled  propriety  of  ex- 
pression.* Li  many  of  these  observations  he  even 
shows  a  disposition  to  soften  his  paradoxes,  and  to 
conform  to  the  common  sense  of  mankind.f 

It  was  with  perfect  truth  observed  by  my  excellent 
friend  Mr.  Stewart,  that  "the  ethical  principles  of 
Hobbes  are  completely  interwoven  with  his  political 
system."  \  He  might  have  said,  that  the  whole  of 
Hobbes's  system,  moral,  religious,  and  in  part  philo- 

*  See  De  Corpore  Politico,  Part  i.  chap.  ii.  iii.  iv.  and  Levia- 
than, Part  i.  chap.  xiv.  xv.  for  remarks  of  this  sort,  full  of 
sagacity. 

f  "  The  laws  of  Nature  are  immutable  and  eternal;  for  in- 
justice, ingratitude,  arrogance,  pride,  iniquity,  acception  of  per- 
sons, and  the  rest,  can  never  be  made  lawful.  For  it  can  never 
be  that  war  shall  preserve  life,  and  peace  destroy  it."  Leviathan, 
Part  i.  chap.  xv.  See  also  Part  ii.  chap.  xxvi.  xxviii.  on  Laws, 
and  on  Punishments. 

X  See  Encyc.  Brit.  i.  42.  The  political  state  of  England  is 
indeed  said  by  himself  to  have  occasioned  his  first  philosophical 
publication. 

Nascitur  interea  scelus  execrabile  belli. 

Horreo  spectans, 

Meque  ad  dilectam  confero  Lutetiam, 
Postquc  duos  annos  edo  De  Give  LibeUum. 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  63 

sophical,  depended  on  his  political  scheme ;  not  indeed 
logically,  as  conclusions  depend  upon  premises,  but 
(if  the  word  may  be  excused)  'psychologically^  as  the 
formation  of  one  opinion  may  be  influenced  by  a  dis- 
position to  adapt  it  to  others  previously  cherished. 
The  Translation  of  Thucydides,  as  he  himself  boasts, 
was  published  to  show  the  evils  of  popular  govern- 
ment* Men  he  represented  as  being  originally  equal, 
and  having  an  equal  right  to  all  things,  but  as  being 
taught  by  Reason  to  sacrifice  this  right  for  the  ad- 
vantages of  peace,  and  to  submit  to  a  common  author- 
ity, which  can  preserve  quiet,  only  by  being  the  sole 
depositary  of  force,  and  must  therefore  be  absolute 
and  unlimited.  The  supreme  authority  cannot  be 
sufficient  for  its  purpose,  unless  it  be  wielded  by  a 
single  hand  ;  nor  even  then,  unless  his  absolute  power 
extends  over  Religion,  which  may  prompt  men  to  dis- 
cord by  the  fear  of  an  evil  greater  than  death.  The 
perfect  state  of  a  community,  according  to  him,  is 
where  Law  prescribes  the  religion  and  morality  of  the 
people,  and  where  the  will  of  an  absolute  sovereign  is 
the  sole  fountain  of  Law.  Hooker  had  inculcated  the 
simple  truth,  that  "  to  live  by  one  man's  will  is  the 
cause  of  many  men's  misery  :  "  —  Hobbes  embraced 
the  daring  paradox,  that  to  live  by  one  man's  will  is 
the  only  means  of  all  men's  happiness.  Having  thus 
rendered  Religion  the  slave  of  every  human  tyrant,  it 
was  an  unavoidable  consequence,  that  he  should  be 
disposed  to  lower  her  character,  and  lessen  her  power 
over  men  ;  that  he  should  regard  atheism  as  the  most 
effectual  instrument  of  preventing  rebellion,  —  at  least 
that  species  of  rebellion  which  prevailed  in  his  time, 
and  had  excited  his  alarms.     The  formidable  alliance 

*  The  conference  between  the  ministers  from  Athens  and  the 
Mclean  chiefs,  in  the  5th  book,  and  the  speech  of  Euphemus  in 
the  6th  book  of  that  historian,  exhibit  an  undisguised  Hobbiunt, 
which  was  very  dramatically  put  into  the  mouth  of  Athenian 
statesmen  at  a  time  when,  as  we  learn  from  Plato  and  Aristophanes, 
it  was  preached  by  the  Sophists. 


64  DISSERTATION   ON    THE   PROGRESS 

of  Religion  with  Liberty  haunted  his  mind,  and  urged 
him  to  the  bold  attempt  of  rooting  out  both  these 
mighty  principles ;  which,  when  combined  with  in- 
terests and  passions,  when  debased  by  impure  support, 
and  provoked  by  unjust  resistance,  have  indeed  the 
power  of  fearfully  agitating  society ;  but  which  are, 
nevertheless,  in  their  own  nature,  and  as  far  as  they 
are  unmixed  and  undisturbed,  the  parents  of  Justice, 
of  Order,  of  Peace,  as  well  as  the  sources  of  those 
hopes,  and  of  those  glorious  aspirations  after  higher 
excellence,  which  encourage  and  exalt  the  Soul  in  its 
passage  through  misery  and  depravity.  A  Hobbist  is 
the  only  consistent  persecutor  ;  for  he  alone  considers 
himself  as  bound,  by  whatever  conscience  he  has 
remaining,  to  conform  to  the  religion  of  the  sovereign. 
He  claims  from  others  no  more  than  he  is  himself 
ready  to  yield  to  any  master*;  while  the  religionist 
who  persecutes  a  member  of  another  communion, 
exacts  the  sacrifice  of  conscience  and  sincerity,  though 
professing  that  rather  than*  make  it  himself,  he  is  pre- 
pared to  die. 

REMARKS. 

The  fundamental  errors  on  which  the  ethical  system 
of  Hobbes  is  built  are  not  peculiar  to  him ;  though 

*  Spinoza  adopted  precisely  the  same  first  principle  with  Hobbes, 
that  all  men  have  a  natural  right  to  all  things.  Tract.  Theol. 
Pol.  cap.  ii.  §  3.  He  even  avows  the  absurd  and  detestable 
maxim,  that  states  are  not  bound  to  observe  their  treaties  longer 
than  the  interest  or  danger  which  first  formed  the  treaties  con- 
tinues. But  on  the  internal  constitution  of  states  he  embraces 
opposite  opinions.  Servitutis  enim,  non  pads,  interest  omnem 
potestatem  ad  unum  transferre.  (Ibid.  cap.  vi.  §  4.)  Limited 
monarchy  he  considers  as  the  only  tolerable  example  of  that 
species  of  government.  An  aristocracy  nearly  approaching  to 
the  Dutch  system  during  the  suspension  of  the  Stadtholdership, 
he  seems  to  prefer.  He  speaks  favourably  of  democracy,  but  the 
chapter  on  that  subject  is  left  unfinished.  "  Nulla  plane  templa 
urbium  sumptibus  jedificanda,  nee  jura  de  opinionibus  statuenda." 
He  was  the  first  republican  atheist  of  modern  times,  and  probably 
the  earliest  irreligious  opponent  of  an  ecclesiastical  establishment. 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  65 

he  has  stated  them  with  a  bokler  precision,  and  phaced 
them  in  a  more  conspicuous  station  in  the  van  of  his 
main  force,  than  any  other  of  those  who  have  either 
frankly  avowed,  or  tacitly  assumed,  them,  from  the 
beginning  of  speculation  to  the  present  moment.  They 
may  be  shortly  stated  as  follows. 

1.  The  first  and  most  inveterate  of  these  errors  is, 
that  he  does  not  distinguish  thought  from  feeling,  or 
rather  that  he  in  express  words  confounds  them.  The 
mere  perceptioji  of  an  object,  according  to  him,  differs 
from  the  pleasure  or  pain  which  that  perception  may 
occasion,  no  otherwise  than  as  they  affect  different 
organs  of  the  bodily  frame.  The  action  of  the  mind 
in  perceiving  or  conceiving  an  object  is  precisely  the 
same  with  that  of  feeling  the  agreeable  or  disagree- 
able.* The  necessary  result  of  this  original  confusion 
is,  to  extend  the  laws  of  the  intellectual  part  of  our 
nature  over  that  other  part  of  it  (hitherto  without 
any  adequate  name),  which  feels,  and  desires,  and 
loves,  and  hopes,  and  wills.  In  consequence  of  this 
long  confusion,  or  want  of  distinction,  it  has  happened 
that,  while  the  simplest  act  of  the  merely  intellectual 
part  has  many  names  (such  as  "  sensation,"  "  per- 
ception," "  impression,"  &c.),  the  correspondent  act  of 
the  other  not  less  important  portion  of  man  is  not 

*  This  doctrine  is  explained  in  his  tract  on  Human  Nature, 
c.  vii.  "  Conception  is  a  motion  in  some  internal  substance  of 
the  head,  which  proceeding  to  the  heart,  when  it  helpeth  the 
motion  there,  is  called  pleasure;  when  it  weakeneth  or  hindereth 
the  motion,  it  is  called  pain."  The  same  matter  is  handled  more 
cursorily,  agreeably  to  the  practical  purpose  of  the  work,  in 
Leviathan,  part  i.  chap.  vi.  These  passages  are  here  referred  to 
as  proofs  of  the  statement  in  the  text.  With  the  materialism  of 
it  we  have  here  no  concern.  If  the  multiplied  suppositions  were 
granted,  we  should  not  advance  one  step  towards  understanding 
what  they  profess  to  explain.  The  first  four  words  are  as  un- 
meaning as  if  one  were  to  say  that  greenness  is  very  loud.  It  is 
obvious  that  many  motions  which  promote  the  motion  of  the  heart 
are  extremely  painful. 

VOL.  I.  P 


G6  DISSERTATION   ON    THE   PROGRESS 

denoted  by  a  technical  term  in  philosophical  systems ; 
nor  by  a  convenient  word  in  common  language.  "  Sen- 
sation "  has  another  more  common  sense  ;  "  Emotion  " 
is  too  warm  for  a  generic  term  ;  "  Feeling  "  has  some 
degree  of  the  same  fault,  besides  its  liability  to  con- 
fusion with  the  sense  of  touch ;  "  Pleasure "  and 
"  Pain "  represent  only  two  properties  of  this  act, 
which  render  its  repetition  the  object  of  desire  or 
aversion  ;  —  which  last  states  of  mind  presuppose  the 
act.  Of  these  words,  "  Emotion  "  seems  to  be  the  least 
objectionable,  since  it  has  no  absolute  double  meaning, 
and  does  not  require  so  much  vigilance  in  the  choice 
of  the  accompanying  words  as  would  be  necessary  if 
we  were  to  prefer  "  Feeling  ; "  which,  however,  being 
a  more  familiar  word,  may,  with  due  caution,  be  also 
sometimes  employed.  Every  man  who  attends  to  the 
state  of  his  own  mind  will  acknowledge,  that  these 
words,  "  Emotion  "  and  "  Feeling,"  thus  used,  are  per- 
fectly simple,  and  as  incapable  of  further  explanation 
by  words  as  sight  or  hearing  ;  which  may,  indeed,  be 
rendered  into  synonymous  words,  but  never  can  be 
defined  by  any  more  simple  or  more  clear.  Reflection 
will  in  like  manner  teach  that  perception,  reasoning, 
and  judgment  may  be  conceived  to  exist  without  being 
followed  by  emotion.  Some  men  hear  music  without 
gratification :  one  may  distinguish  a  taste  without 
being  pleased  or  displeased  by  it ;  or  at  least  the  relish 
or  disrelish  is  often  so  slight,  without  lessening  the 
distinctness  of  the  sapid  qualities,  that  the  distinction 
of  it  from  the  perception  cannot  be  doubted. 

The  multiplicity  of  errors  which  have  flowed  into 
moral  science  from  this  original  confusion  is  very 
great.  They  have  spread  over  many  schools  of  phi- 
losophy ;  and  many  of  them  are  prevalent  to  this  day. 
Hence  the  laws  of  the  Understanding  have  been  ap- 
plied to  the  Affections  ;  virtuous  feelings  have  been 
considered  as  just  reasonings  ;  evil  passions  have  been 
represented  as  mistaken  judgments ;  and  it  has  been 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  67 

laid  down  as  a  principle,  tliat  tlie  Will  always  follows 
the  last  decision  of  the  Practical  Intellect.* 

2.  By  this  great  error,  Hobbes  was  led  to  represent 
all  the  variety  of  the  desires  of  men,  as  being  only  so 
many  instances  of  objects  deliberately  and  solely  pur- 
sued ;  because  they  were  the  means,  and  at  the  time 
perceived  to  be  so,  of  directly  or  indirectly  procuring 
organic  gratification  to  the  individual.f  The  human 
passions  are  described  as  if  they  reasoned  accurately, 
deliberated  coolly,  and  calculated  exactly.  It  is  as- 
sumed that,  in  performing  these  operations,  there  is 
and  can  be  no  act  of  life  in  which  a  man  does  not 
bring  distinctly  before  his  eyes  the  pleasure  which  is 
to  accrue  to  himself  from  the  act.  From  this  single 
and  simple  principle,  all  human  conduct  may,  accord- 
ing to  him,  be  explained  and  even  foretold.  The 
true  laws  of  this  part  of  our  nature  (so  totally  dif- 
ferent from  those  of  the  percipient  part)  were,  by 
this  grand  mistake,  entirely  withdrawn  from  notice. 
Simple  as  the  observation  is,  it  seems  to  have  escaped 
not  only  Hobbes,  but  many,  perhaps  most,  philoso- 
phers, tliat  our  desires  seek  a  great  diversity  of 
objects ;  that  the  attainment  of  these  objects  is  indeed 
followed  by,  or  rather  called  "  Pleasure  ;"  but  that  it 
could  not  be  so,  if  the  objects  had  not  been  previously 
desired.  Many  besides  him  have  really  represented 
self  as  the  ultimate  object  of  every  action ;  but  none 
ever  so  hardily  thrust  forward  the  selfish  system  in 
its  harshest  and  coarsest  shape.  The  mastery  which 
he  shows  over  other  metaphysical  subjects,  forsakes 
him  on  this.  He  does  not  scruple,  for  the  sake  of 
this  system,  to  distort  facts  of  which  all  men  are  con- 
scious, and  to  do  violence  to  the  language  in  which 
the  result  of  their  uniform  experience  is  conveyed. 


*  "  Volnntas  semper   scquitur   iiltimum  judicium   intcllcctus 
practici."     [See  Spi^07,a^  Cog.  Met.  pars  ii.  cap.  12.  Ed.] 
\  See  the  passages  before  quoted. 

F  2 


68  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

"Acknowledgment  of  power  is  called  Honour."*  His 
explanations  are  frequently  sufficient  confutations  of 
the  doctrine  which  required  them.  "  Pity  is  the 
imagination  of  future  calamity  to  ourselves,  proceed- 
ing from  the  sense  (observation)  of  another  man's 
calamity."  "  Laughter  is  occasioned  by  sudden  glory 
in  our  eminence,  or  in  comparison  with  the  infirmity 
of  others."  Every  man  who  ever  wept  or  laughed, 
may  determine  whether  this  be  a  true  account  of  the 
state  of  his  mind  on  either  occasion.  "  Love  is  a 
conception  of  his  need  of  the  one  person  desired ; "  — 
a  definition  of  Love,  which,  as  it  excludes  kindness, 
might  perfectly  well  comprehend  the  hunger  of  a 
cannibal,  provided  that  it  were  not  too  ravenous  to 
exclude  choice.  "  Good-will,  or  charity,  which  con- 
taineth  the  natural  affection  of  parents  to  their  chil- 
dren,- consists  in  a  man's  conception  that  he  is  able 
not  only  to  accomi^lish  his  own  desires,  but  to  assist 
other  men  in  theirs  : "  from  which  it  follows,  as  the 
pride  of  power  is  felt  in  destroying  as  well  as  in 
saving  men,  that  cruelty  and  kindness  are  the  same 
passion."}"  Such  were  the  expedients  to  which  a  man 
of  the  highest  class  of  understanding  was  driven,  in 
order  to  evade  the  admission  of  the  simple  and  evident 
truth,  that  there  are  in  our  nature  perfectly  disin- 
terested passions,  which  seek  the  well-being  of  others 
as  their  object  and  end,  without  looking  beyond  it  to 
self,  or  pleasure,  or  happiness.  A  proposition,  from 
which  such  a  man  could  attempt  to  escape  only  by 
such  means,  may  be  strongly  presumed  to  be  true. 


*  Human  IsTature,  cliap.  viii.  The  ridiculous  explanation  of 
the  admiration  of  personal  beauty,  "  us  a  sign  of  power  genera- 
tive," shows  the  difficulties  to  which  this  extraordinary  man  was 
reduced  by  a  false  system. 

f  Ibid.  chap.  ix.  I  forbear  to  quote  the  passage  on  Platonic 
love,  which  immediately  follows:  but,  considering  Hobbes's  blame- 
less and  honourable  character,  that  passage  is  perhaps  the  most 
remarkable  instance  of  the  shifts  to  which  his  selfish  system  re- 
duced him. 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  69 

3.  Hobbes  having  thus  struck  the  affections  out  of 
his  map  of  human  nature,  and  having  totally  mis- 
understood (as  will  appear  in  a  succeeding  part'  of 
this  Dissertation)  the  nature  even  of  the  appetites,  it 
is  no  wonder  that  we  should  find  in  it  not  a  trace  of 
the  moral  sentiments.  Moral  Good*  he  considers 
merely  as  consisting  in  the  signs  of  a  power  to  produce 
pleasure ;  and  repentance  is  no  more  than  regret  at 
having  missed  the  way :  so  that,  according  to  this 
system,  a  disinterested  approbation  of,  and  reverence 
for  Virtue,  are  no  more  possible  than  disinterested 
affections  towards  our  fellow-creatures.  There  is  no 
sense  of  duty,  no  compunction  for  our  own  offences, 
no  indignation  against  the  crimes  of  others,  —  unless 
they  affect  our  own  safety ;  —  no  secret  cheerfulness 
shed  over  the  heart  by  the  practice  of  well-doing.  From 
his  philosophical  writings  it  would  be  impossible  to 
conclude  that  there  are  in  man  a  set  of  emotions,  de- 
sires, and  aversions,  of  which  the  sole  and  final  objects 
are  the  voluntary  actions  and  habitual  dispositions  of 
himself  and  of  all  other  voluntary  agents  ;  which  are 
properly  called  "  moral  sentiments ;"  and  which,  though 
they  vary  more  in  degree,  and  depend  more  on  cultiva- 
tion, than  some  other  parts  of  human  nature,  are  as 
seldom  as  most  of  them  found  to  be  entirely  wanting. 

4.  A  theory  of  Man  which  comprehends  in  its  ex- 
planations neither  the  social  affections,  nor  the  moral 
sentiments,  must  be  owned  to  be  sufficiently  defective. 
It  is  a  consequence,  or  rather  a  modification  of  it,  that 
Hobbes  should  constantly  represent  the  deliberate 
regard  to  personal  advantage,  as  the  only  possible 
motive  of  human  action  ;  and  that  he  should  altogether 
disdain  to  avail  himself  of  those  refinements  of  the  self- 
ish scheme  which  allow  the  pleasures  of  benevolence 
and  of  morality,  themselves,  to  be  a  most  important 
part  of  that  interest  which  reasonable  beings  pursue. 

*  Which  he  calls  the  "  pulchnim,"'  for  want,  as  he  says,  of  an 
English  word  to  express  it.     Leviathan,  part  i.  c.  vi. 

F  3 


70  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PEOGRESS 

5.  Lastly,  tlioiigh  Hobbes  does  in  effect  acknow- 
ledge the  necessity  of  Morals  to  society,  and  the 
general  coincidence  of  individual  with  public  interest, 
—  truths  so  palpable  that  they  never  have  been  ex- 
cluded from  any  ethical  system,  he  betrays  his  utter 
want  of  moral  sensibility  by  the  coarse  and  odious 
form  in  which  he  has  presented  the  first  of  these  great 
principles ;  and  his  view  of  both  leads  him  most 
strongly  to  support  that  common  and  pernicious  error 
of  moral  reasoners,  that  a  perception  of  the  tendency 
of  good  actions  to  preserve  the  being  and  promote  the 
well-being  of  the  community,  and  a  sense  of  the  de- 
pendence of  our  own  happiness  upon  the  general 
security,  either  are  essential  constituents  of  our  moral 
feelings,  or  are  ordinarily  mingled  with  the  most 
effectual  motives  to  right  conduct. 

The  court  of  Charles  II.  were  equally  pleased  with 
Hobbes's  poignant  brevity,  and  his  low  estimate  of 
human  motives.  His  ethical  epigrams  became  the 
current  coin  of  profligate  wits.  Sheffield,  Duke  of 
Buckinghamshire,  who  represented  the  class  still  more 
perfectly  in  his  morals  than  in  his  faculties,  has  ex- 
pressed their  opinion  in  verses,  of  which  one  line  is 
good  enough  to  be  quoted : 

"  Fame  bears  no  fruit  till  the  vain  planter  dies." 

Dryden  speaks  of  "  the  philosopher  and  poet  (for  such 
is  the  condescending  term  employed)  of  Malmesbury," 
as  resembling  Lucretius  in  haughtiness.  But  Lucre- 
tius, though  he  held  many  of  the  opinions  of  Hobbes, 
had  the  sensibility  as  well  as  genius  of  a  poet.  His 
dogmatism  is  full  of  enthusiasm  ;  and  his  philosophical 
theory  of  society  discovers  occasionally  as  much  ten- 
derness as  can  be  shown  without  reference  to  indi- 
viduals.    He  was  a  Hobbist  in  only  half  his  nature. 

The  moral  and  political  system  of  Hobbes  was  a 
palace  of  ice,  transparent,  exactly  proportioned,  ma- 
jestic, admired  by  the  unwary  as  a  delightful  dwell- 
ing ;  but  gradually  undermined  by  the  central  warmth 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  71 

of  human  feeling,  before  it  was  thawed  into  muddy 
water  by  the  sunshine  of  true  Philosophy. 

When  Leibnitz,  in  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  reviewed  the  moral  writers  of  modern  times, 
his  penetrating  eye  saw  only  two  who  were  capable 
of  reducing  Morals  and  Jurisprudence  to  a  science. 
"  So  great  an  enterprise,"  says  he,  "  might  have  been 
executed  by  the  deep-searching  genius  of  Hobbes,  if 
he  had  not  set  out  from  evil  princij)les  ;  or  by  the 
judgment  and  learning  of  the  incom.parable  Grotius, 
if  his  powers  had  not  been  scattered  over  many  sub- 
jects, and  his  mind  distracted  by  the  cares  of  an  agi- 
tated life."*  Perhaps  in  this  estimate,  admiration  of 
the  various  and  excellent  qualities  of  Grotius  may 
have  overrated  his  purely  philosophical  powers,  great 
as  they  unquestionably  were.  Certainly  the  failure 
of  Hobbes  was  owing  to  no  inferiority  in  strength  of 
intellect.  Probably  his  fundamental  errors  may  be 
imputed,  in  part,  to  the  faintness  of  his  moral  sensi- 
bilities, insufficient  to  make  him  familiar  with  those 
sentiments  and  aifections  which  can  be  known  only 
by  being  felt ;  —  a  faintness  perfectly  compatible  with 
his  irreproachable  life,  but  which  obstructed,  and  at 
last  obliterated,  the  only  channel  through  which  the 
most  important  materials  of  ethical  science  enter  into 
the  mind. 

Against  Hobbes,  says  Warburton,  the  whole  Church 
militant  took  up  arms.  The  answers  to  the  Leviathan 
would  form  a  library.  But  the  far  greater  part  have 
followed  the  fate  of  all  controversial  pamphlets.  Sir 
Robert  Filmer  was  jealous  of  any  rival  theory  of 
servitude  :  Harrington  defended  liberty,  and  Cla- 
rendon the  Church,  against  a  common  enemy.  His 
philosophical    antagonists    were    Cumberland,    Cud- 


*  "  Et  talc  aliquid  potuissct,  vol  ab  incomparabilis  Grotii 
judicio  et  dottrina,  vel  ii  profundo  Hobbii  ingcnio  proestari ;  nisi 
ilium  niulta  distraxissciit ;  hie  vero  prava  constituisset  priucipia." 
Lcib.  Op.  iv.  pars  iii.  276. 

F  4 


72  DISSERTATION   ON    THE   PROGRESS 

worth,  Shaftesbury,  Clarke,  Butler,  and  Hutcheson. 
Though  the  last  four  writers  cannot  be  considered  as 
properly  polemics,  their  labours  were  excited,  and 
their  doctrines  modified,  by  the  stroke  from  a  vigour- 
ous  arm  which  seemed  to  shake  Ethics  to  its  founda- 
tion. They  lead  us  far  into  the  eighteenth  century ; 
and  their  works,  occasioned  by  the  doctrines  of 
Hobbes,  sowed  the  seed  of  the  ethical  writings  of 
Hume,  Smith,  Price,  Kant,  and  Stewart ;  in  a  less 
degree,  also,  of  those  of  Tucker  and  Paley:  —  not  to 
mention  Mandeville,  the  buffoon  and  sophister  of  the 
alehouse,  or  Helvetius,  an  ingenious  but  flimsy  writer, 
the  low  and  loose  Moralist  of  the  vain,  the  selfish,  and 
the  sensual. 


SECTION  y. 


CONTROVERSIES    CONCERNING   THE   MORAL    FACULTIES 
AND    THE    SOCIAL    AFFECTIONS. 

CUMBERLAND CUDWORTH  —  CLARKE — SHAFTESBURY —  BOSSUET 

FENELON — LEIBNITZ — MALEBRANCHE EDWARDS — BUFFIER. 

Dr.  Richard  Cumberland  *,  raised  to  the  see  of 
Peterborough  after  the  Revolution  of  1688,  was  the 
only  professed  answerer  of  Hobbes.  His  work  On  the 
Laws  of  Nature  still  retains  a  place  on  the  shelf, 
though  not  often  on  the  desk.  The  philosophical 
epigrams  of  Hobbes  form  a  contrast  to  the  verbose, 
prolix,  and  languid  diction  of  his  answerer.  The 
forms  of  scholastic  argument  serve  more  to  encumber 
his  style,  than  to  insure  his  exactness.  But  he  has 
substantial  merits.  He  justly  observes,  that  all  men 
can  only  be  said  to  have  had  originally  a  right  to  all 
things,  in  a  sense  in  which  "right"  has  the  same 
meaning  with  "power."     He  shows  that  Hobbes  is 

*  Born,  1632;  died,  1718. 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  lO 

at  variance  with  himself,  inasmuch  as  the  dictates 
of  Right  Reason,  which,  by  his  own  statement,  teach 
men  for  their  .own  safety  to  forego  the  exercise  of 
that  right,  and  which  he  calls  "  laws  of  Nature,"  are 
coeval  with  it ;  and  that  mankind  perceive  the  moral 
limits  of  their  power  as  clearly  and  as  soon  as  they 
are  conscious  of  its  existence.  He  enlarges  the  inti- 
mations of  Grotius  on  the  social  feelings,  which  prompt 
men  to  the  pleasures  of  pacific  intercourse,  as  certainly 
as  the  apprehension  of  danger  and  of  destruction  urges 
them  to  avoid  hostility.  The  fundamental  principle 
of  his  system  of  Ethics  is,  that  "  the  greatest  benevo- 
lence of  every  rational  agent  to  all  others  is  the  hap- 
piest state  of  each  individual,  as  well  as  of  the  whole."* 
The  happiness  accruing  to  each  man  from  the  observ- 
ance and  cultivation  of  benevolence,  he  considers  as 
appended  to  it  by  the  Supreme  Ruler ;  through  which 
he  sanctions  it  as  His  law,  and  reveals  it  to  the  mind 
of  every  reasonable  creature.  From  this  principle  he 
deduces  the  rales  of  Morality,  which  he  calls  the 
"laws  of  Nature."  The  surest,  or  rather  the  only 
mark  that  they  are  the  commandments  of  God,  is, 
that  their  observance  promotes  the  happiness  of  man : 
for  that  reason  alone  could  they  be  imposed  by  that 
Being  whose  essence  is  Love.  As  our  moral  faculties 
must  to  us  be  the  measure  of  all  moral  excellence,  he 
infers  that  the  moral  attributes  of  the  Divinity  must 
in  their  nature  be  only  a  transcendent  degree  of  those 
qualities  which  we  most  approve,  love,  and  revere,  in 
those  moral  agents  with  whom  we  are  familiar.f  He 
had  a  momentary  glimpse  of  the  possibility  that  some 
human  actions  might  be  performed  with  a  view  to  the 
happiness  of  others,  without  any  consideration  of  the 
pleasure  reflected  back  on  ourselves.J  But  it  is  too 
faint  and  transient  to  be  worthy  of  observation,  other- 

*  De  Leg.  Nat.  cap.  i,  §  12.  first  publi-hcd  in  London,  1672, 
and  then  so  popular  as  to  be  reprinted  at  Luhcck  in  1 683. 
t  Ibid.  cap.  V.  §  19.  J  Ibid.  cap.  ii.  §  20. 


74  DISSERTATION   ON    THE    PROGRESS 

wise  than  as  a  new  proof  how  often  great  truths  must 
flit  before  the  Understanding,  before  they  can  be 
firmly  and  finally  held  in  its  grasp.  His  only  at- 
tempt to  explain  the  nature  of  the  Moral  Faculty,  is 
the  substitution  of  Practical  Reason  (a  phrase  of  the 
Schoolmen,  since  become  celebrated  from  its  renewal 
by  Kant)  for  Right  Reason  *  ;  and  his  definition  of  the 
first,  as  that  which  points  out  the  ends  and  means  of 
action.  Throughout  his  whole  reasoning,  he  adheres 
to  the  accustomed  confusion  of  the  quality  which 
renders  actions  virtuous,  with  the  sentiments  excited 
in  us  by  the  contemplation  of  them.  His  language 
on  the  identity  of  general  and  individual  interest  is 
extremely  vague  ;  though  it  be,  as  he  says,  the  found- 
ation-stone of  the  Temple  of  Concord  among  men. 

It  is  little  wonderful  that  Cumberland  should  not 
have  disembroiled  this  ancient  and  established  con- 
fusion, since  Leibnitz  himself,  in  a  passage  where  he 
reviews  the  theories  of  Morals  which  had  gone  before 
him,  has  done  his  utmost  to  perpetuate  it.  "  It  is  a 
question,"  says  the  latter,  "whether  the  preservation 
of  human  society  be  the  first  principle  of  the  law  of 
Nature.  This  our  author  denies,  in  opposition  to 
Grotius,  who  laid  down  sociability  to  be  so  ;  —  to 
Hobbes,  who  ascribed  that  character  to  mutual  fear ; 
and  to  Cumberland,  who  held  that  it  was  mutual 
benevolence  ;  which  are  all  three  only  different  names 
for  the  safety  and  welfare  of  society."!     Here  the 

*  "  Whoever  determines  his  Judgment  and  his  Will  by  Right 
Reason,  must  agree  with  all  others  who  judge  according  to  Right 
Reason  in  the  same  matter."  Ibid,  cap,  ii.  §  8.  This  is  in  one 
sense  only  a  particular  instance  of  the  identical  proposition,  that 
two  things  which  agree  with  a  third  thing  must  agree  with  each 
other  in  that,  in  which  they  agree  with  tlie  third.  But  the  diffi- 
culty entirely  consists  in  the  particular  third  thing  here  introduced, 
namely,  "  Right  Reason,"  the  nature  of  which  not  one  step  is 
made  "to  explain.  The  position  is  curious,  as  coinciding  with 
"  the  universal  categorical  imperative,"  adopted  as  a  first  prin- 
ciple by  Tvant. 

f  Lcib.  Op.  pars  iii.  271.     The   imnamed  work  which   occa- 


OF   ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  75 

great  philosopher  considered  benevolence  or  fear,  two 
feelings  of  the  human  mind,  to  be  the  first  principles 
of  the  lavr  of  Nature,  in  the  same  sense  in  which  the 
tendency  of  certain  actions  to  the  well-being  of  the 
community  may  be  so  regarded.  The  confusion, 
however,  was  then  common  to  him  with  many,  as  it 
even  now  is  with  most.  The  comprehensive  view 
was  his  own.  He  perceived  the  close  resemblance  of 
these  various,  and  even  conflicting  opinions,  in  that 
important  point  of  view  in  which  they  relate  to  the 
effects  of  moral  and  immoral  actions  on  the  general 
interest.  The  tendency  of  Virtue  to  preserve  ami- 
cable intercourse  was  enforced  by  Grotius ;  its  ten- 
dency to  prevent  injury  was  dwelt  on  by  Hobbes  ; 
its  tendency  to  promote  an  interchange  of  benefits 
was  inculcated  by  Cumberland. 

CUDWORTH.* 

Cudworth,  one  of  the  eminent  men  educated  or  pro- 
moted in  the  Enj^lish  Universities  durlncr  the  Puritan 
rule,  was  one  of  the  most  distinguished  of  the  Lati- 
tudinarian,  or  Arminian,  party  who  came  forth  at  the 
Restoration,  with  a  love  of  Liberty  imbibed  from  their 
Calvinistic  masters,  as  well  as  from  the  writings  of 
antiquity,  yet  tempered  by  the  experience  of  their  own 
agitated  age ;  and  with  a  spirit  of  religious  toleration 
more  impartial  and  mature,  though  less  systematic 
and  professedly  comprehensive,  than  that  of  the  In- 
dependents, the  first  sect  who  preached  that  doctrine. 
Taught  by  the  errors  of  their  time,  they  considered 
Religion  as  consisting,  not  in  vain  efforts  to  explain 
unsearchable  mysteries,  but  in  purity  of  heart  exalted 
by  pious  feelings,  and  manifested  by  virtuous  con- 

sioned  these  remarks  (perhaps  one  of  Thomasius)  appeared  in 
1599.  How  long  after  this  Leibnitz's  Dissertation  was  written, 
does  not  appear. 

*  Born,  1G17  ;  died,  16SS. 


76  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

duct.*  The  government  of  the  Church  was  placed  in 
their  hands  by  the  Revolution,  and  their  influence  was 
long  felt  among  its  rulers  and  luminaries.  The  first 
generation  of  their  scholars  turned  their  attention  too 
much  from  the  cultivation  of  the  heart  to  the  mere 
government  of  outward  action :  and  in  succeeding 
times  the  tolerant  spirit,  not  natural  to  an  establish- 
ment, was  with  difficulty  kept  up  by  a  government 
whose  existence  depended  on  discouraging  intolerant 
pretensions.  No  sooner  had  the  first  sketch  of  the 
Hobbian  philosophy  "j*  been  privately  circulated  at 
Paris,  than  Cudworth  seized  the  earliest  opportunity 
of  sounding  the  alarm  against  the  most  justly  odious 
of  the  modes  of  thinking  which  it  cultivates,  or  forms 
of  expression  which  it  would  introduce  |; — the  pre- 
lude to  a  war  which  occupied  the  remaining  forty 
years  of  his  life.  The  Intellectual  System,  his  great 
production,  is  directed  against  the  atheistical  opinions 
of  Plobbes :  it  touches  ethical  questions  but  occasion- 
ally and  incidentally.  It  is  a  work  of  stupendous 
erudition,  of  much  more  acuteness  than  at  first  ap- 
pears, of  frequent  mastery  over  diction  and  illustra- 

*  See  the  beautiful  account  of  them  by  Burnet  (Hist,  of  His 
Own  Time,  i.  321.  Oxford,  1823),  who  was  himself  one  of  the 
most  distinguished  of  this  excellent  body ;  with  whom  may  be 
classed,  notwithstanding  some  shades  of  doctrinal  difference,  his 
early  master,  Leighton,  Bishop  of  Dunblane,  a  beautiful  writer, 
and  one  of  the  best  of  men.  The  earhest  account  of  them  is  in  a 
curious  contemporary  pamphlet,  entitled,  "  An  Account  of  the 
new  Sect  of  Latitude-men  at  Cambridge."  republished  in  the 
collection  of  tracts,  entitled  "  Phoenix  Britannicus."  Jeremy 
Taylor  deserves  the  highest,  and  perhaps  the  earliest  place  among 
them  :  but  Cudworth's  excellent  sermon  before  the  House  of 
Commons  (31st  March,  1647)  in  the  year  of  the  publication  of 
Taylor's  Liberty  of  Prophesying,  may  be  compared  even  to  Taylor 
in  charity,  piety,  and  the  most  liberal  toleration. 

t  De  Give,  1642. 

j  "  Dantur  boni  et  mali  rationes  aeternae  et  indispensabiles : " 
Thesis  for  the  degree  of  B.D.  at  Cambridge  in  1644.  Birch's 
Life  of  Cudworth,  prefixed  to  his  edition  of  the  Intellectual 
System  (Lond.  1743),  i.  7. 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY  77 

tion  on  subjects  where  it  is  most  rare  ;  and  it  is  dis- 
tinguished, perhaps  beyond  any  other  vokime  of  con- 
troversy, by  that  best  proof  of  the  deepest  conviction 
of  the  truth  of  a  man's  principles,  a  fearless  statement 
of  the  most  formidable  objections  to  them;  —  a  fjiir- 
ness  rarely  practised  but  by  him  who  is  conscious  of 
his  power  to  answer  them.  In  all  his  writings,  it 
must  be  owned,  that  his  learning  obscures  his  reason- 
ings, and  seems  even  to  oppress  his  powerful  intellect. 
It  is  an  unfortunate  effect  of  the  redundant  fulness  of 
his  mind,  that  it  overflows  in  endless  digressions, 
which  break  the  chain  of  argument,  and  turn  aside  the 
thoughts  of  the  reader  from  the  main  object.  He  was 
educated  before  usage  had  limited  the  naturalisation 
of  new  words  from  the  learned  languages ;  before  the 
failure  of  those  great  men,  from  Bacon  to  Milton,  who 
laboured  to  follow  a  Latin  order  in  their  sentences, 
and  the  success  of  those  men  of  inferior  powers,  from 
Cowley  to  Addison,  who  were  content  with  the  order, 
as  well  as  the  words,  of  pure  and  elegant  conversation, 
had,  as  it  were,  by  a  double  series  of  experiments, 
ascertained  that  the  involutions  and  inversions  of  the 
ancient  lansjuajj-es  are  seldom  reconcileable  with  the 
genius  of  ours ;  and  that  they  are,  unless  skilfully,  as 
well  as  sparingly  introduced,  at  variance  with  the 
natural  beauties  of  our  prose  composition.  His  mind 
was  more  that  of  an  ancient  than  of  a  modern  philo- 
sopher. He  often  indulged  in  that  sort  of  amalgama- 
tion of  fancy  with  speculation,  the  delight  of  the 
Alexandrian  doctors,  with  whom  he  was  most  fami- 
liarly conversant ;  and  the  Intellectual  System,  both 
in  thought  and  expression,  has  an  old  and  foreign  air, 
not  unlike  a  translation  from  the  work  of  a  later 
Platonist.  Large  ethical  works  of  this  eminent  writer 
are  extant  in  manuscript  in  the  British  Museum.* 
One  posthumous  volume  on  Morals  was  published  by 

*  A  curious  account  of  the  history  of  these  MSS.  by  Dr.  Ivippis, 
is  to  be  found  in  the  Biographia  Britannica,  iv.  549. 


78  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

Dr.  Chandler,  Bishop  of  Durham,  entitled  "  A  Trea- 
tise concerning  Eternal  and  Immutable  Morality."* 
But  there  is  the  more  reason  to  regret  (as  far  as  relates 
to  the  history  of  Opinion)  that  the  larger  treatises  are 
still  unpublished,  because  the  above  volume  is  not  so 
much  an  ethical  treatise  as  an  introduction  to  one. 
Protagoras  of  old,  and  Hobbes  then  alive,  having  con- 
cluded that  Right  and  Wrong  were  unreal,  because 
they  were  not  perceived  by  the  senses,  and  because 
all  human  knowledge  consists  only  in  such  perception, 
Cudworth  endeavours  to  refute  them  by  disproving 
that  part  of  their  premises  which  forms  the  last-stated 
proposition.  The  mind  has  many  conceptions  [yot]- 
fjLaTo)  which  are  not  cognisable  by  the  senses ;  and 
though  they  are  occasioned  by  sensible  objects,  yet 
they  cannot  be  formed  but  by  a  faculty  superior  to 
sense.  The  conceptions  of  Justice  and  Duty  he  places 
among  them.  The  distinction  of  Right  from  Wrong 
is  discerned  by  Reason  ;  and  as  soon  as  these  words 
are  defined,  it  becomes  evident  that  it  would  be  a  con- 
tradiction in  terms  to  affirm  that  any  power,  human 
or  Divine,  could  change  their  nature ;  or,  in  other 
words,  make  the  same  act  to  be  just  and  unjust  at  the 
same  time.  They  have  existed  eternally,  in  the  only 
mode  in  which  truths  can  be  said  to  be  eternal,  in  the 
Eternal  Mind ;  and  they  are  indestructible  and  un- 
changeable like  that  Supreme  Intelligence.!     What- 

*  8vo,  Lond.  1731. 

f  "  There  are  many  objects  of  our  mind  which  we  can  neither 
see,  hear,  feel,  smell,  nor  taste,  and  which  did  never  enter  into  it 
by  any  sense  ;  and  therefore  we  can  have  no  sensible  pictures  or 
ideas  of  them,  drawn  by  the  pencil  of  that  inward  limner,  or 
painter,  which  borrows  all  his  colours  from  sense,  which  we  call 
'  Fancy:'  and  if  we  reflect  on  our  own  cogitations  of  these  things, 
we  shall  sensibly  perceive  that  they  are  not  phantastical  but 
noematical:  as,  for  example,  justice,  equity,  duty  and  obligation, 
cogitation,-  opinion,  intellection,  volition,  memory,  verity,  falsity, 
cause,  etfect,  genus,  species,  nullity,  contingency,  possibility,  im- 
possibility, and  innumerable  others."  Ibid.  140.  We  have  here 
an  anticipation  of  Kant. 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  79 

ever  judgment  may  be  formed  of  this  reasoning,  it  is 
manifest  that  it  rehites  merely  to  the  philosophy  of 
the  Understanding,  and  does  not  attempt  any  explana- 
tion of  what  constitutes  the  very  essence  of  Morality, 
— its  relation  to  the  JVill.  That  we  perceive  a  dis- 
tinction between  Eight  and  Wrong,  as  much  as  be- 
tween a  triangle  and  a  square,  is  indeed  true ;  and 
may  possibly  lead  to  an  explanation  of  the  reason  why 
men  should  adhere  to  the  one  and  avoid  the  other. 
But  it  is  not  that  reason.  A  command  or  a  precept 
is  not  a  proposition :  it  cannot  be  said  that  either  is 
true  or  false.  Cudworth,  as  well  as  many  who  suc- 
ceeded him,  confounded  the  mere  apprehension  by  the 
Understanding  that  Right  is  different  from  Wrong, 
with  the  practical  authorify  of  these  important  con- 
ceptions, exercised  over  voluntary  actions,  in  a  totally 
distinct  province  of  the  human  soul. 

Though  his  life  was  devoted  to  the  assertion  of 
Divine  Providence,  and  though  his  philosophy  was 
imbued  with  the  religious  spirit  of  Platonism  *,  yet 
he  had  placed  Christianity  too  purely  in  the  love  of 
God  and  Man  to  be  considered  as  having  much  regard 
for  those  controversies  about  rights  and  opinions  with 
which  zealots  disturb  the  world.  They  represented 
him  as  having  fillen  into  the  same  heresy  with  JNIilton 
and  with  Clarkef ;  and  some  of  them  even  charged 
him  with  atheism,  for  no  other  reason  than  that  he 
was  not  afraid  to  state  the  atheistic  difficulties  in 
their  fullest  force.  As  blind  anger  heaps  inconsistent 
accusations  on  each  other,  they  called  him  at  least 


*   EvffeSei,  w  r(Kvov,  h  yap  e'j(re§cov  &xp(^s  XpiCTTiavi^ei.      (MottO 
affixed  to  the  sermon  above  mentioned.) 

f  The  following"  doctrine  is  ascribed  to  Cudworth  by  Nelson,  a 
man  of  good  understanding  and  great  worth:  '*  Dr.  Cudworth 
•  maintained  that  the  Father,  absolutely  speaking,  is  tlic  only 
supreme  God  :  the  Son  and  Spirit  being  God  only  by  his  con- 
currence with  them,  and  their  subordination  and  subjection  to 
him."    Life  of  Bull,  339. 


80  DISSERTATION   ON    THE    PEOGRESS 

"  an  Arian,  a  Socinian,  or  a  Deist."  *  The  courtiers 
of  Charles  IL,  who  were  delighted  with  every  part  of 
Hobbes  but  his  integrity,  did  their  utmost  to  decry 
his  antagonist.  They  turned  the  railing  of  the  bigots 
into  a  sarcasm  against  Religion  ;  as  we  learn  from  him 
who  represented  themAvith  unfortunate  fidelity.  "He 
has  raised,"  says  Dryden,  "  such  strong  objections 
against  the  being  of  God,  that  many  think  he  has  not 
answered  them  ; "  —  "  the  common  fate,"  as  Lord 
Shaftesbury  tells  us,  "of  those  who  dare  to  appear 
fair  authors."  f  He  had,  indeed,  earned  the  hatred  of 
some  theologians,  better  than  they  could  know  from 
the  writings  published  during  his  life  ;  for  in  his  post- 
humous work  he  classes  with  the  ancient  atheists 
those  of  his  contemporaries  (whom  he  forbears  to 
name),  who  held  "  that  God  may  command  what  is 
contrary  to  moral  rules ;  that  He  has  no  inclination  to 
the  good  of  His  creatures ;  that  He  may  justly  doom 
an  innocent  being  to  eternal  torments ;  and  that  what- 
ever God  does  will,  for  that  reason  is  just,  because  He 
wills  it."  t 

It  is  an  interesting  incident  in  the  life  of  a  philoso- 
pher, that  Cudworth's  daughter,  Lady  Masham,  had 
the  honour  to  nurse  the  infirmities  and  to  watch  the 
last  breath  of  Mr.  Locke,  who  was  opposed  to  her 
father  in  speculative  philosophy,  but  who  heartily 
agreed  with  him  in  the  love  of  Truth,  Liberty,  and 
Virtue. 

*  Turner's  Discourse  on  the  Messiah,  335. 

f  Moralists,  part  ii.  §  3. 

j  Etern.  and  Immut.  Mor.  11.  He  quotes  Ockham  as  having 
formerly  maintained  the  same  monstrous  positions.  To  many,  if 
not  to  most  of  these  opinions  or  expressions,  ancient  and  modern, 
reservations  are  adjoined,  which  render  them  literally  reconcilable 
with  practical  Morals.  But  the  dangerous  abuse  to  which  the  in- 
cautious language  of  ethical  theories  is  liable,  is  well  illustrated 
by  the  anecdote  related  in  Plutarch's  Life  of  Alexander,  of  the 
sycophant  Anaxarchas  consoling  that  monarch  for  the  murder  of 
Clitus,  by  assuring  him  that  every  act  of  a  ruler  must  be  just. 
Tlav  TO  irpax^^v  viro  tov  Kparovuros  dUaiov.     Op.  1.  633. 


OF   ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  81 


CLAKKE.* 


Connected  with  Cudworth  by  principle,  though 
separated  by  some  interval  of  time,  was  Dr.  Samuel 
Clarke,  a  man  eminent  at  once  as  a  divine,  a  mathe- 
matician, a  metaphysical  philosopher,  and  a  philo- 
loger  ;  who,  as  the  interpreter  of  Homer  and  Ccesar, 
the  scholar  of  Newton,  and  the  antagonist  of  Leibnitz, 
approved  himself  not  unworthy  of  correspondence 
with  the  highest  order  of  human  Spirits.  Roused  by 
the  prevalence  of  the  doctrines  of  Spinoza  and  Hobbes, 
he  endeavoured  to  demonstrate  the  Being  and  Attri- 
butes of  God,  from  a  few  axioms  and  definitions,  in 
the  manner  of  Geometry.  In  this  attempt,  with  all 
his  powers  of  argument,  it  must  be  owned  that  he  is 
compelled  sometimes  tacitly  to  assume  what  the  laws 
of  reasoning  required  him  to  prove  ;  and  that,  on  the 
whole,  his  failure  may  be  regarded  as  a  proof  that 
such  a  mode  of  argument  is  beyond  the  faculties  of 
man.f  Justly  considering  the  Moral  Attributes  of  the 
Deity  as  what  alone  render  him  the  object  of  Religion, 
and  to  us  constitutes  the  difference  between  Theism 
and  atheism,  he  laboured  with  the  utmost  zeal  to  place 
the  distinctions  of  Right  and  Wrong  on  a  more  solid 
foundation,  and  to  explain  the  conformity  of  Morality 
to  Reason,  in  a  manner  calculated  to  give  a  precise 
and  scientific  signification  to  that  phraseology  which 
all  philosophers  had,  for  so  many  ages,  been  content 
to  employ,  without  thinking  themselves  obliged  to 
define. 

•  Bom,  1675;  died,  1729. 

f  This  admirable  person  had  so  much  candour  as  in  effect  to 
own  his  failure,  and  to  recur  to  those  other  arguments  in  support 
of  this  great  truth,  which  have  in  all  ages  satisfied  the  most 
elevated  minds.  In  Proposition  viii.  (Being  and  Attributes  of 
God,  47.)  which  aflfirms  that  the  first  cause  must  be  "intelligent" 
(wherein,  as  he  truly  states,  "  lies  the  main  question  between  us 
and  the  atheists  "),  he  owns,  that  the  proposition  cannot  be  de- 
monstrated strictly  and  properly  d  priori.  See  Note  M, 
VOL.  L  G 


82  DISSERTATION   ON    THE    PROGRESS 

It  is  one  of  the  most  rarely  successful  efforts  of  the 
human  mind,  to  place  the  understanding  at  the  point 
from  which  a  philosopher  takes  the  views  that  compose 
his  system,  to  recollect  constantly  his  purposes,  to 
adopt  for  a  moment  his  previous  opinions  and  prepos- 
sessions, to  think  in  his  words  and  to  see  with  his 
eyes; — especially  when  the  writer  widely  dissents 
from  the  system  which  he  attempts  to  describe,  and 
after  a  general  change  in  the  modes  of  thinking  and 
in  the  use  of  terms.  Every  part  of  the  present  Dis- 
sertation requires  such  an  excuse  ;  but  perhaps  it  may 
be  more  necessary  in  a  case  like  that  of  Clarke,  where 
the  alterations  in  both  respects  have  been  so  insensible, 
and  in  some  respects  appear  so  limited,  that  they  may 
escape  attention,  than  after  those  total  revolutions  in 
doctrine,  where  the  necessity  of  not  measuring  other 
times  by  our  own  standard  must  be  apparent  to  the 
most  undistinguishing. 

The  sum  of  his  moral  doctrine  may  be  stated  as 
follows.  Man  can  conceive  nothing  without  at  the 
same  time  conceiving  its  relations  to  other  things. 
He  must  ascribe  the  same  law  of  perception  to  every 
being  to  whom  he  ascribes  thought.  He  cannot  there- 
fore doubt  that  all  the  relations  of  all  things  to  all 
must  have  always  been  present  to  the  Eternal  Mind. 
The  relations  in  this  sense  are  eternal,  however  recent 
the  things  may  be  between  whom  they  subsist.  The 
whole  of  these  relations  constitute  Truth  :  the  know- 
ledge of  them  is  Omniscience.  These  eternal  different 
relations  of  things  involve  a  consequent  QtQYindl  fitness 
or  unfitness  in  the  application  of  things,  one  to  another ; 
with  a  regard  to  which,  the  will  of  God  always  chooses, 
and  which  ought  likewise  to  determine  the  wills  of  all 
subordinate  rational  beings.  These  eternal  differences 
make  it  fit  and  reasonable  for  the  creatures  so  to  act ; 
they  cause  it  to  be  their  duty,  or  lay  an  obligation  on 
them  so  to  do,  separate  from  the  will  of  God*,  and 

*  "  Those  who  found  all  moral  obligation  on  the  will  of  God 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  83 

antecedent  to  any  prospect  of  advantage  or  reward.* 
Nay,  wilful  wickedness  is  the  same  absurdity  and  in- 
solence in  Morals,  as  it  would  be  in  natural  things  to 
pretend  to  alter  the  relations  of  numbers,  or  to  take 
away  the  properties  of  mathematical  figures. j"  "Mo- 
rality," says  one  of  his  most  ingenious  scholars,  "is 
the  practice  of  reason." ;{: 

Clarke,  like  Cudworth,  considered  such  a  scheme 
as  the  only  security  against  Hobbism,  and  probably 
also  against  the  Calvinistic  theology,  from  which  they 
were  almost  as  averse.  Not  content,  with  Cumber- 
land, to  attack  Hobbes  on  ground  which  was  in  part 
his  own,  they  thought  it  necessary  to  build  on  entirely 
new  foundations.  Clarke  more  especially,  instead  of 
substituting  social  and  generous  feeling  for  the  selfish 
appetites,  endeavoured  to  bestow  on  Morality  the 
highest  dignity,  by  thus  deriving  it  from  Reason.  He 
made  it  more  than  disinterested  ;  for  he  placed  its  seat 
in  a  region  where  interest  never  enters,  and  passion 
never  disturbs.  By  ranking  her  principles  with  the 
first  truths  of  Science,  he  seemed  to  render  them  pure 
and  impartial,  infallible  and  unchangeable.  It  might 
be  excusable  to  regret  the  failure  of  so  noble  an  at- 
tempt, if  the  indulgence  of  such  regrets  did  not  betray 
an  unworthy  apprehension  that  the  same  excellent 
ends  could  only  be  attained  by  such  frail  means  ;  and 
that  the  dictates  of  the  most  severe  reason  would  not 
finally  prove  reconcilable  with  the  majesty  of  Virtue. 

must  recur  to  the  same  thing,  only  they  do  not  explain  how  the 
nature  and  will  of  God  is  good  and  just."  Being  and  Attributes 
of  God,  Proposition  xii. 

*  Evidence  of  Natural  and  Revealed  Religion,  p.  4.  Lond. 
1724. 

t  Ibid.  p.  42. 

j  Lowman  on  the  Unity  and  Perfections  of  God,  p.  29.  Lond. 
1737. 


G  2 


84  DISSERTATION   ON    THE   PROGRESS' 


REMARKS. 


The  adoption  of  mathematical  forms  and  terms  was, 
in  England,  a  prevalent  fashion  among  writers  on 
moral  subjects  during  a  large  part  of  the  eighteenth 
century.  The  ambition  of  mathematical  certainty,  on 
matters  concerning  which  it  is  not  given  to  man  to 
reach  it,  is  a  frailty  from  which  the  disciple  of  Newton 
ought  in  reason  to  have  been  withheld,  but  to  which 
he  was  naturally  tempted  by  the  example  of  his  master. 
Nothing  but  the  extreme  difficulty  of  detaching  assent 
from  forms  of  expression  to  which  it  has  been  long 
wedded,  can  explain  the  fact,  that  the  incautious  ex- 
pressions above  cited,  into  which  Clarke  was  hurried 
by  his  moral  sensibility,  did  not  awaken  him  to  a 
sense  of  the  error  into  which  he  had  fallen.  As  soon 
as  he  had  said  that  "  a  wicked  act  was  as  absurd  as 
an  attempt  to  take  away  the  properties  of  a  figure," 
he  ought  to  have  seen  that  principles  which  led 
logically  to  such  a  conclusion  were  untrue.  As  it  is 
an  impossibility  to  make  three  and  three  cease  to  be 
six,  it  ought,  on  his  principles,  to  be  impossible  to  do 
a  wicked  act.  To  act  without  regard  to  the  relations 
of  things  —  as  if  a  man  were  to  choose  fire  for  cooling, 
;T  ice  for  heating,  —  would  be  the  part  either  of  a 
lunatic  or  an  idiot.  The  murderer  who  poisons  by 
arsenic,  acts  agreeably  to  his  knowledge  of  the  power 
of  that  substance  to  kill,  which  is  a  relation  between 
two  things,  as  much  as  the  physician  who  employs  an 
emetic  after  the  poison,  acts  upon  his  belief  of  the 
tendency  of  that  remedy  to  preserve  life,  which  is 
another  relation  between  two  things.  All  men  who 
seek  a  good  or  bad  end  by  good  or  bad  means,  must 
alike  conform  their  conduct  to  some  relation  between 
their  actions  as  means  and  their  object  as  an  end. 
All  the  relations  of  inanimate  things  to  each  other 
are  undoubtedly  observed  as  much  by  the  criminal  as 
by  the  man  of  virtue. 

It  is  therefore  singular  that  Dr.  Clarke  suffered 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  85 

himself  to  be  misled  into  the  representation,  that 
Virtue  is  a  conformity  with  the  relations  of  things 
universally,  Vice  a  universal  disregard  of  them,  by 
the  certain,  but  here  insufficient  truth,  that  the  former 
necessarily  implied  a  regard  to  certain  particular 
relations,  which  were  always  disregarded  by  those 
who  chose  the  latter.  The  distinction  between  Right 
and  Wrong  can,  therefore,  no  longer  depend  on  rela- 
tions as  such,  but  on  a  particular  class  of  relations. 
And  it  seems  evident  that  no  relations  are  to  be  con- 
sidered, except  those  in  which  a  living,  intelligent,  and 
voluntary  agent  is  one  of  the  beings  related.  His  acts 
may  relate  to  a  law,  as  either  observing  or  infringing 
it ;  they  may  relate  to  his  own  moral  sentiments  and 
those  of  his  fellows,  as  they  are  the  objects  of  appro- 
bation or  disapprobation ;  they  may  relate  to  his  own 
welfare,  by  increasing  or  abating  it ;  they  may  relate 
to  the  well-being  of  other  sentient  beings,  by  contri- 
buting to  promote  or  obstruct  it :  but  in  all  these,  and 
in  all  supposable  cases,  the  inquiry  of  the  moral  philo- 
sopher must  be,  not  whether  there  be  a  relation,  but 
what  the  relation  is ;  whether  it  be  that  of  obedience 
to  law,  or  agreeableness  to  moral  feeling,  or  suitable- 
ness to  prudence,  or  coincidence  with  benevolence. 
The  term  "relation"  itself,  on  which  Dr.  Clarke's 
system  rests,  being  common  to  Right  and  Wrong,  must 
be  struck  out  of  the  reasoning.  He  himself  incident- 
ally drops  intimations  which  are  at  variance  with  his 
system.  "  The  Deity,"  he  tells  "  us,  acts  according  to 
the  eternal  relations  of  things,  in  order  to  the  welfare 
of  the  whole  Universe  ; "  and  subordinate  moral  agents 
ought  to  be  governed  by  the  same  rules,  "for  the 
good  of  the  public."  *  No  one  can  fail  to  observe  that 
a  new  element  is  here  introduced  —  the  well-bein";  of 
communities  of  men,  and  the  general  happiness  of 
the  world,  —  which  supersedes  the  consideration  of 
abstract  relations  and  fitnesses. 

*  Evid.  of  Nat.  and  Rev.  Rel.  p.  4. 
G  3 


86  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

There  are  other  views  of  this  system,  however,  of 
a  more  general  nature,  and  of  much  more  importance, 
because  they  extend  in  a  considerable  degree  to  all 
systems  which  found  moral  distinctions  or  sentiments, 
solely  or  ultimately,  upon  Reason.  A  little  reflection 
will  discover  an  extraordinary  vacuity  in  this  system. 
Supposing  it  were  allowed  that  it  satisfactorily  ac- 
counts for  moral  judgments,  there  is  still  an  important 
part  of  our  moral  sentiments  which  it  passes  by  with- 
out an  attempt  to  explain  them.  Whence,  on  this 
scheme,  the  pleasure  or  pain  with  which  we  review 
our  own  actions  or  survey  those  of  others  ?  What  is 
the  nature  of  remorse?  Why  do  we  feel  shame? 
Whence  is  indignation  against  injustice  ?  These  are 
surely  no  exercise  of  Reason,  Nor  is  the  assent  of 
Reason  to  any  other  class  of  propositions  followed  or 
accompanied  by  emotions  of  this  nature,  by  any  ap- 
proaching them,  or  indeed  necessarily  by  any  emotion 
at  all.  It  is  a  fatal  objection  to  a  moral  theory  that 
it  contains  no  means  of  explaining  the  most  con- 
spicuous, if  not  the  most  essential,  parts  of  moral 
approbation  and  disapprobation. 

But  to  rise  to  a  more  general  consideration :  Per- 
ception and  Emotion  are  states  of  mind  perfectly  dis- 
tinct, and  an  emotion  of  pleasure  or  pain  differs  much 
more  from  a  mere  perception,  than  the  perceptions  of 
one  sense  do  from  those  of  another.  The  perceptions 
of  all  the  senses  have  some  qualities  in  common.  But 
an  emotion  has  not  necessarily  anything  in  common 
with  a  perception,  but  that  they  are  both  states  of 
mind.  We  perceive  exactly  the  same  qualities  in  the 
taste  of  coffee  when  we  may  dislike  it,  as  afterwards 
when  we  come  to  like  it.  In  other  words,  the  per- 
ception remains  the  same  when  the  sensation  of  pain 
is  changed  into  the  opposite  sensation  of  pleasure. 
The  like  change  may  occur  in  every  case  where  plea- 
sure or  pain  (in  such  instances  called  "  sensations  "), 
.  enter  the  mind  with  perceptions  through  the  eye  or 
the  ear.     The  prospect  or  the  sound  which  was  dis- 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  87 

agreeable  may  become  agreeable,  Tdthout  any  altera- 
tion in  our  idea  of  the  objects.  We  can  easily  imagine 
a  percipient  and  thinking  being  without  a  capacity  of 
receiving  pleasure  or  pain.  Such  a  being  might  per- 
ceive what  we  do ;  if  we  could  conceive  him  to  reason, 
he  might  reason  justly;  and  if  he  were  to  judge  at  all, 
there  seems  no  reason  why  he  should  not  judge  truly. 
But  what  could  induce  such  a  bein^  to  ivill  or  to  act  ? 
It  seems  evident  that  his  existence  could  only  be  a 
state  of  passive  contemplation.  Reason,  as  Reason, 
can  never  be  a  motive  to  action.  It  is  only  when  we 
superadd  to  such  a  being  sensibility,  or  the  capacity 
of  emotion  or  sentiment,  or  (what  in  corporeal  cases 
is  called  sensation)  of  desire  and  aversion,  that  we 
introduce  him  into  the  world  of  action.  We  then 
clearly  discern  that,  when  the  conclusion  of  a  process 
of  reasoning  presents  to  his  mind  an  object  of  desire, 
or  the  means  of  obtaining  it,  a  motive  of  action  begins 
to  operate,  and  Reason  may  then,  but  not  till  then, 
have  a  powerful  though  indirect  influence  on  conduct. 
Let  any  argument  to  dissuade  a  man  from  immorality 
be  employed,  and  the  issue  of  it  will  always  appear  to 
be  an  appeal  to  a  feeling.  You  prove  that  drunken- 
ness will  probably  ruin  health  :  no  position  founded 
on  experience  is  more  certain  :  most  persons  with 
whom  you  reason  must  be  as  much  convinced  of  it  as 
you  are.  But  your  hope  of  success  depends  on  the 
drunkard's  fear  of  ill  health ;  and  he  may  always 
silence  your  argument  by  telling  you  that  he  loves 
wine  more  than  he  dreads  sickness.  You  speak  in 
vain  of  the  infamy  of  an  act  to  one  who  disregards 
the  opinions  of  others,  or  of  its  imprudence  to  a  man 
of  little  feeling  for  his  own  future  condition.  You 
may  truly,  but  vainly  tell  of  the  pleasures  of  friend- 
ship to  one  who  has  little  affection.  If  you  display 
the  delights  of  liberality  to  a  miser,  he  may  always 
shut  your  mouth  by  answering,  "  The  spendthrift  may 
prefer  such  pleasures  ;  I  love  money  more."  If  you 
even  appeal  to  a  man's  conscience,  he  may  answer  you 

G  4 


88  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

that  you  have  clearly  proved  the  immorality  of  the 
act,  and  that  he  himself  knew  it  before ;  but  that  now 
when  you  had  renewed  and  freshened  his  conviction, 
he  was  obliged  to  own  that  his  love  of  Virtue,  even 
aided  by  the  fear  of  dishonour,  remorse,  and  punish- 
ment, was  not  so  powerful  as  the  desire  which  hurried 
him  into  vice. 

Nor  is  it  otherwise,  however  confusion  of  ideas  may 
cause  it  to  be  so  deemed,  with  that  calm  regard  to 
the  welfare  of  the  agent,  to  which  philosophers  have 
so  grossly  misapplied  the  hardly  intelligible  appellation 
of  "  self-love."  The  general  tendency  of  right  con- 
duct to  permanent  well-being  is  indeed  one  of  the 
most  evident  of  all  truths.  But  the  success  of  per- 
suasives or  dissuasives  addressed  to  it,  must  always  be 
directly  proportioned,  not  to  the  clearness  with  which 
the  truth  is  discerned,  but  to  the  strength  of  the  prin- 
ciple addressed,  in  the  mind  of  the  individual,  and  to 
the  degree  in  which  he  is  accustomed  to  keep  an  eye 
on  its  dictates.  A  strange  prejudice  prevails,  which 
ascribes  to  what  is  called  "self-love"  an  invariable 
superiority  over  all  the  other  motives  of  human  ac- 
tion. If  it  were  to  be  called  by  a  more  fit  name,  such 
as  "  foresight,"  "  prudence,"  or,  what  seems  most  ex- 
actly to  describe  its  nature,  "  a  sympathy  with  the 
future  feelings  of  the  agent,"  it  would  appear  to  every 
observer  to  be  one  very  often  too  languid  and  inactive, 
always  of  late  appearance,  and  sometimes  so  faint  as 
to  be  scarcely  perceptible.  Almost  every  human 
passion  in  its  turn  prevails  over  self-love. 

It  is  thus  apparent  that  the  influence  of  Reason  on 
the  Will  is  indirect,  and  arises  only  from  its  being  one 
of  the  channels  by  which  the  objects  of  desire  or 
aversion  are  brought  near  to  these  springs  of  volun- 
tary action.  It  is  only  one  of  these  channels.  There 
are  many  other  modes  of  presenting  to  the  mind  the 
proper  objects  of  the  emotions  which  it  is  intended  to 
excite,  whether  of  a  calmer  or  of  a  more  active  nature ; 
so  that  they  may  influence  conduct  more  powerfully 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  89 

than  when  they  reach  the  Will  through  the  channel 
of  conviction.  The  distinction  between  conviction 
and  persuasion  would  indeed  be  otherwise  without  a 
meaning  ;  to  teach  the  mind  would  be  the  same  thing 
as  to  move  it ;  and  eloquence  would  be  nothing  but 
logic,  although  the  greater  part  of  the  power  of  the 
former  is  displayed  in  the  direct  excitement  of  feel- 
ing : — on  condition,  indeed  (for  reasons  foreign  to  our 
present  purpose),  that  the  orator  shall  never  appear 
to  give  counsel  inconsistent  with  the  duty  or  the  last- 
ing welfare  of  those  whom  he  would  persuade.  In 
like  manner  it  is  to  be  observed,  that  though  reason- 
ing be  one  of  the  instruments  of  education,  yet  educa- 
tion is  not  a  process  of  reasoning,  but  a  wise  disposal 
of  all  the  circumstances  which  influence  character, 
and  of  the  means  of  producing  those  habitual  dispo- 
sitions which  insure  well-doing,  of  which  reasoning  is 
but  one.  Very  similar  observations  are  applicable  to 
the  great  arts  of  legislation  and  government ;  which 
are  here  only  alluded  to  as  forming  a  strong  illustra- 
tion of  the  present  argument. 

The  abused  extension  of  the  term  "  Reason  "  to  the 
moral  faculties,  one  of  the  predominant  errors  of 
ancient  and  modern  times,  has  arisen  from  causes 
which  it  is  not  difiicult  to  discover.  Reason  does  in 
truth  perform  a  great  part  in  every  case  of  moral 
sentiment.  To  Reason  often  belong  the  preliminaries 
of  the  act ;  to  Reason  altogether  belongs  the  choice  of 
the  means  of  execution.  The  operations  of  Reason, 
in  both  cases,  are  comparatively  slow  and  lasting  ;  they 
are  capable  of  being  distinctly  recalled  by  memory. 
The  emotion  which  intervenes  between  the  previous 
and  the  succeeding  exertions  of  Reason  is  often  ftiint, 
generally  transient,  and  scarcely  ever  capable  of  being 
reproduced  by  an  effort  of  the  mind.  Hence  the  name 
of  Reason  is  applied  to  this  mixed  state  of  mind ;  more 
especially  when  the  feeling,  being  of  a  cold  and  gene- 
ral nature,  and  scarcely  ruffling  the  surface  of  the 
soul, —  such  as  that  of  prudence  and  of  ordinary  kind- 


90  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

ness  and  propriety, — almost  passes  unnoticed,  and  is 
irretrievably  forgotten.  Hence  the  mind  is,  in  such 
conditions,  said  by  moralists  to  act  from  reason,  in 
contradistinction  to  its  more  excited  and  disturbed 
state,  when  it  is  said  to  act  from  passion.  The  calm- 
ness of  Reason  gives  to  the  whole  compound  the  ap- 
pearance of  unmixed  reason.  The  illusion  is  further 
promoted  by  a  mode  of  expression  used  in  most  lan- 
guages. A  man  is  said  to  act  reasonably,  when  his  con- 
duct is  such  as  may  be  reasonably  expected.  Amidst 
the  disorders  of  a  vicious  mind,  it  is  difficult  to  form 
a  reasonable  conjecture  concerning  future  conduct ; 
but  the  quiet  and  well-ordered  state  of  Virtue  renders 
the  probable  acts  of  her  fortunate  votaries  the  object 
of  very  rational  expectation. 

As  far  as  it  is  not  presumptuous  to  attempt  a  dis- 
tinction between  modes  of  thinking  foreign  to  the 
mind  which  makes  the  attempt,  and  modes  of  expres- 
sion scarcely  translatable  into  the  only  technical  lan- 
guage in  which  that  mind  is  wont  to  think,  it  seems 
that  the  systems  of  Cudworth  and  Clarke,  though 
they  appear  very  similar,  are  in  reality  different  in 
some  important  points  of  view.  The  former,  a  Plato - 
nist,  sets  out  from  those  "Ideas"  (a  word,  in  this 
acceptation  of  it,  which  has  no  corresponding  term  in 
English),  the  eternal  models  of  created  things,  which, 
as  the  Athenian  master  taught,  pre-existed  in  the 
Everlasting  Intellect,  and,  of  right,  rule  the  will  of 
every  inferior  mind.  The  illustrious  scholar  of  New- 
ton, with  a  manner  of  thinking  more  natural  to  his 
age  and  school,  considered  primarily  the  very  relations 
of  things  themselves ;  —  conceived  indeed  by  the 
Eternal  Mind,  but  which,  if  such  inadequate  language 
may  be  pardoned,  are  the  law  of  Its  will,  as  well  as 
the  model  of  Its  works.* 

*  Mr.  Wollaston's  system,  that  morality  consisted  in  acting  ac- 
cording to  truth,  seems  to  coincide  with  that  of  Dr.  Clarke.  The 
murder  of  Cicero  by  Popilius  Lenas,  was,  according  to  him,  a 
practical  falsehood ;  for  Cicero  had  been  his  benefactor,  and 


OF   ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  91 


EAEL   OF    SHAFTESBURY.* 

Lord  Shaftesbury,  the  author  of  the  Character- 
istics, was  the  grandson  of  Sir  Antony  Ashley  Cooper, 
created  Earl  of  Shaftesbury,  one  of  the  master  spirits 
of  the  English  nation,  whose  vices,  the  bitter  fruits 
of  the  insecurity  of  a  troublous  time,  succeeded  by 
the  corrupting  habits  of  an  inconstant,  venal,  and  pro- 
fligate court,  have  led  an  ungrateful  posterity  to  over- 
look his  wisdom  and  disinterested  perseverance,  in 
obtaining  for  his  country  the  unspeakable  benefits  of 
the  Habeas  Corpus  act.  The  fortune  of  the  Charac- 
teristics has  been  singular.  For  a  time  the  work  was 
admired  more  undistinguishingly  than  its  literary 
character  warrants.  In  the  succeeding  period  it  was 
justly  criticised,  but  too  severely  condemned.  Of  late, 
more  unjustly  than  in  either  of  the  former  cases,  it 
has  been  generally  neglected.  It  seemed  to  have  the 
power  of  changing  the  temper  of  its  critics.  It  pro- 
voked the  amiable  Berkeley  to  a  harshness  equally 
unwonted  and  unwarranted! ;  while  it  softened  the 
rugged  Warburton  so  far  as  to  dispose  the  fierce,  yet 
not  altogether  ungenerous,  polemic  to  praise  an  enemy 
in  the  very  heat  of  conflict.  J 

Popilius  acted  as  if  that  were  untrue.  If  the  truth  spoken  of  be 
that  gratitude  is  due  for  benefits,  the  reasoning  is  evidently  a 
circle.  If  any  truth  be  meant,  inditferently,  it  is  plain  that  the 
assassin  acted  in  perfect  conformity  to  several  certain  truths  ;  — 
such  as  the  mahgnity  of  Antony,  the  ingratitude  and  venality  of 
Popilius,  and  the  probable  impunity  of  his  crime,  when  law  was 
suspended,  and  good  men  without  power. 

*  Bom,  1671  ;  died,  1713. 

t  See  Minute  Philosopher,  Dialogue  iii. ;  but  especially  his 
Theory  of  Vision  Vindicated,  Lond.  1733  (not  republished  in 
the  quarto  edition  of  his  works),  where  this  most  excellent  man 
sinks  for  a  moment  to  the  level  of  a  railing  polemic. 

X  It  is  remarkable  that  the  most  impure  passages  of  Warburton 's 
composition  are  those  in  which  he  lets  loose  his  controversial  zeal, 
and  that  he  is  a  fine  writer  principally  where  he  writes  from 
generous  feeling.  "  Of  all  the  virtues  which  were  so  much  in  this 
noble  writer's  heart  and  in  his  writings,  there  Avas  not  one  he 


92  DISSERTATION   ON   THE    PROGRESS 

Leibnitz,  the  most  celebrated  of  Continental  philo- 
sophers, warmly  applauded  the  Characteristics,  and, 
(what  was  a  more  certain  proof  of  admiration)  though 
at  an  advanced  age,  criticised  that  work  minutely.* 
Le  Clerc,  who  had  assisted  the  studies  of  the  author, 
contributed  to  spread  its  reputation  by  his  Journal, 
then  the  most  popular  in  Europe.  Locke  is  said  to 
have  aided  in  his  education,  probably  rather  by  coun- 
sel than  by  tuition.  The  author  had  indeed  been 
driven  from  the  regular  studies  of  his  country  by  the 
insults  with  which  he  was  loaded  at  Winchester 
school,  when  he  was  only  twelve  years  old,  imme- 
diately after  the  death  of  his  grandfather!; — a  choice 
of  time  which  seemed  not  so  much  to  indicate  anger 
against  the  faults  of  a  great  man,  as  triumph  over  the 
principles  of  liberty,  which  seemed  at  that  time  to  have 
fallen  for  ever.  He  gave  a  genuine  proof  of  respect 
for  freedom  of  thought  by  preventing  the  expulsion, 
from  Holland,  of  Bayle,  (from  whom  he  differs  in 
every  moral,  political,  and,  it  may  be  truly  added,  re- 
ligious opinion)  when,  it  must  be  owned,  the  right  of 
asylum  was,  in  strict  justice,  forfeited  by  the  secret 

more  revered  than  the  love  of  public  liberty ...  The  noble  author 
of  the  Characteristics  had  many  excellent  qualities,  both  as  a  man 
and  a  writer:  he  was  temperate,  chaste,  honest,  and  a  lover  ot 
his  country.  In  his  writings  he  has  shown  how  much  he  has 
imbibed  the  deep  sense,  and  how  naturally  he  could  copy  the 
gracious  manner  of  Plato.  (Dedication  to  the  Freethinkers,  pre- 
fixed to  the  Divine  Legation.)  He,  however,  soon  relapses,  but 
not  without  excuse ;  for  he  thought  himself  vindicating  the 
memory  of  Locke. 

♦  Op.  iii.  39—56. 

t  [With  regard  to  this  story,  authorised  as  it  is,  the  Editor 
cannot  help,  on  behalf  of  his  own  "  nursing  mother,"  throwing 
out  some  suspicion  that  the  Chancellor  s  poHtics  must  have  been 
made  use  of  somewhat  as  a  scapegoat ;  else  the  nature  of  boys 
was  at  that  time  more  excitable  touching  their  schoolmates' 
grandfathers  than  it  is  now.  There  is  a  rule  traditionally  ob- 
served in  College,  "  that  no  boy  has  a  right  to  think  till  he  has 
forty  juniors ; "  upon  which  rock  the  cock-boat  of  the  embryo 
metaphysician  might  have  foundered.] 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  93 

services  wliicli  the  philosopher  had  rendered  to  the 
enemy  of  Holland  and  of  Europe.  In  the  small  part  of 
his  short  life  which  premature  infirmities  allowed  him 
to  apply  to  public  affairs,  he  co-operated  zealously 
with  the  friends  of  freedom ;  but,  as  became  a  moral 
philosopher,  he  supported,  even  against  them,  a  law  to 
allow  those  who  were  accused  of  treason  to  make  their 
defence  by  counsel,  although  the  parties  first  to  benefit 
from  this  act  of  imperfect  justice  were  persons  con- 
spired together  to  assassinate  King  William,  and  to 
re-enslave  their  country.  On  that  occasion  it  is  well 
known  with  what  admirable  quickness  he  took  advan- 
tage of  the  embarrassment  which  seized  him,  when 
he  rose  to  address  the  House  of  Commons.  "If  I," 
said  he,  "who  rise  only  to  give  my  opinion  on  this 
bill,  am  so  confounded  that  I  cannot  say  what  I  in- 
tended, what  must  the  condition  of  that  man  be,  who, 
without  assistance,  is  pleading  for  his  own  life!" 
Lord  Shaftesbury  was  the  friend  of  Lord  Somers ; 
and  the  tribute  paid  to  his  personal  character  by  War- 
burton,  who  knew  many  of  his  contemporaries  and 
some  of  his  friends,  may  be  considered  as  evidence  of 
its  excellence. 

His  fine  genius  and  generous  spirit  shine  through 
his  writings  ;  but  their  lustre  is  often  dimmed  by  pe- 
culiarities, and,  it  must  be  said,  by  affectations,  which, 
originating  in  local,  temporary,  or  even  personal  cir- 
cumstances, are  particularly  fatal  to  the  permanence 
of  fame.  There  is  often  a  charm  in  the  egotism  of 
an  artless  writer,  or  of  an  actor  in  great  scenes :  but 
other  laws  are  imposed  on  the  literary  artist.  Lord 
Shaftesbury,  instead  of  hiding  himself  behind  his 
work,  stands  forward  with  too  frequent  marks  of  self- 
complacency,  as  a  nobleman  of  polished  manners,  with 
a  mind  adorned  by  the  fine  arts,  and  instructed  by  an- 
cient philosophy ;  shrinking  with  a  somewhat  effemi- 
nate fastidiousness  from  the  clamour  and  prejudices  of 
the  multitude,  whom  he  neither  deigns  to  conciliate, 
nor  puts  forth  his  strength  to  subdue.    The  enmity  of 


94  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGEESS 

the  majority  of  cliurclimen  to  the  government  esta- 
blished at  the  Revolution,  was  calculated  to  fill  his 
mind  with  angry  feelings ;  which  overflowed  too  often, 
if  not  upon  Christianity  itself,  yet  upon  representa- 
tions of  it,  closely  intertwined  with  those  religious 
feelings  to  which,  in  other  forms,  his  own  philosophy 
ascribes  surpassing  worth.  His  small,  and  occasional 
writings,  of  which  the  main  fault  is  the  want  of  an 
object  or  a  plan,  have  many  passages  remarkable  for 
the  utmost  beauty  and  harmony  of  language.  Had  he 
imbibed  the  simplicity,  as  well  as  copied  the  expres- 
sion and  cadence,  of  the  greater  ancients,  he  would 
have  done  more  justice  to  his  genius  ;  and  his  works, 
like  theirs,  would  have  been  preserved  by  that  first- 
mentioned  quality,  without  which,  but  a  very  few 
writings,  of  whatever  mental  power,  have  long  sur- 
vived their  writers.  Grace  belongs  only  to  natural 
movements ;  and  Lord  Shaftesbury,  notwithstanding 
the  frequent  beauty  of  his  thoughts  and  language,  has 
rarely  attained  it.  He  is  unfortunately  prone  to  plea- 
santry, which  is  obstinately  averse  from  constraint, 
and  which  he  had  no  interest  in  raising  to  be  the  test 
of  truth.  His  affectation  of  liveliness  as  a  man  of  the 
world,  tempts  him  sometimes  to  overstep  the  indistinct 
boundaries  which  separate  familiarity  from  vulgarity. 
Of  his  two  more  considerable  writings.  The  Moralists, 
on  which  he  evidently  most  valued  himself,  and  which 
is  spoken  of  by  Leibnitz  with  enthusiasm,  is  by  no 
means  the  happiest.  Yet  perhaps  there  is  scarcely 
any  composition  in  our  language  more  lofty  in  its 
moral  and  religious  sentiments,  and  more  exquisitely 
elegant  and  musical  in  its  diction,  than  the  Platonic 
representation  of  the  scale  of  beauty  and  love,  in  the 
speech  to  Palemon,  near  the  close  of  the  first  part.* 
Many  passages  might  be  quoted,  which  in  some  mea- 
sure justify  the  enthusiasm  of  the  septuagenarian  geo- 
meter.    Yet  it  is  not  to  be  concealed  that,  as  a  whole, 

*  §  3. 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  95 

it  is  heavy  and  languid.  It  is  a  modern  antique.  The 
dialogues  of  Plato  are  often  very  lively  representa- 
tions of  conversations  which  might  take  place  daily  at 
a  great  university,  full,  like  Athens,  of  rival  pro- 
fessors and  eager  disciples,  between  men  of  various 
character,  and  great  fame  as  well  as  ability.  Socrates 
runs  through  them  all.  His  great  abilities,  his  still 
more  venerable  virtues,  his  cruel  fate,  especially  when 
joined  to  his  very  characteristic  peculiarities,  —  to  his 
grave  humour,  to  his  homely  sense,  to  his  assumed 
humility,  to  the  honest  slyness  with  which  he  ensnared 
the  Sophists,  and  to  the  intrepidity  with  which  he 
dragged  them  to  justice,  gave  unity  and  dramatic  in- 
terest to  these  dialogues  as  a  whole.  But  Lord 
Shaftesbury's  dialogue  is  between  fictitious  personages, 
and  in  a  tone  at  utter  variance  with  English  conver- 
sation. He  had  great  power  of  thought  and  command 
over  words ;  but  he  had  no  talent  for  inventing  cha- 
racter and  bestowing  life  on  it. 

The  Inquiry  concerning  Virtue*  is  nearly  exempt 
from  the  faulty  peculiarities  of  the  author  ;  the  method 
is  perfect,  the  reasoning  just,  the  style  precise  and 
clear.  The  writer  has  no  purpose  but  that  of  honestly 
proving  his  principles ;  he  himself  altogether  disap- 
pears ;  and  he  is  intent  only  on  earnestly  enforcing 
what  he  truly,  conscientiously,  and  reasonably  believes. 
Hence  the  charm  of  simplicity  is  revived  in  this 
production,  which  is  unquestionably  entitled  to  a 
place  in  the  first  rank  of  English  tracts  on  moral 
philosophy.  The  point  in  which  it  becomes  especially 
pertinent  to  the  subject  of  this  Dissertation  is,  that  it 
contains  more  intimations  of  an  original  and  important 
nature  on  the  theory  of  Ethics  than  perhaps  any  pre- 
ceding work  of  modern  times.f     It  is  true  that  they 

*  Characteristics,  treatise  iv. 

t  I  am  not  without  suspicion  that  I  have  overiooked  the  claims 
of  Dr.  Henry  More,  who,  notwithstanding  some  uncouthness  of 
language,  seems  to  have  given  the  first  intimations  of  a  distinct 
moral  faculty,  which  he  calls  "  the  Boniform  Faculty ;"  a  phrase 


96  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

are  often  but  intimations,  cursory,  and  appearing 
almost  to  be  casual;  so  that  many  of  them  have 
escaped  the  notice  of  most  readers,  and  even  writers 
on  these  subjects.  That  the  consequences  of  some  of 
them  are  even  yet  not  unfolded,  must  be  owned  to  be 
a  proof  that  they  are  inadequately  stated  ;  and  may  be 
regarded  as  a  presumption  that  the  author  did  not 
closely  examine  the  bearings  of  his  own  positions. 
Among  the  most  important  of  these  suggestions  is, 
the  existence  of  dispositions  in  man,  by  which  he 
takes  pleasure  in  the  well-being  of  others,  without  any 
further  view ;  —  a  doctrine,  however,  to  all  the  con- 
sequences of  which  he  has  not  been  faithful  in  his 
other  writings.*  Another  is,  that  goodness  consists 
in  the  prevalence  of  love  for  the  system  of  which  we 
are  a  part,  over  the  passions  pointing  to  our  indi- 
vidual welfare  ;  —  a  proposition  which  somewhat  con- 
founds the  motives  of  right  acts  with  their  tendency, 
and  seems  to  favour  the  melting  of  all  particular  affec- 
tions into  general  benevolence,  because  the  tendency 
of  these  affections  is  to  general  good.  The  next,  and 
certainly  the  most  original,  as  well  as  important,  is, 
that  there  are  certain  affections  of  the  mind  which, 
being  contemplated  by  the  mind  itself  through  what 
he  calls  "  a  reflex  sense,"  become  the  objects  of  love,  or 
the  contrary,  according  to  their  nature.  So  approved 
and  loved,  they  constitute  virtue  or  merit^  as  distin- 
guished from  mere  goodness,  of  which  there  are  traces 
in  animals  who  do  not  appear  to  reflect  on  the  state  of 
their  own  minds,  and  who  seem,  therefore,  destitute 
of  what  he  elsewhere  calls  "  a  moral  sense."     These 


against  which  an  outcry  would  now  be  raised  as  GermaTi.  Hap- 
piness, according  to  hira,  consists  in  a  constant  satisfaction,  ev  rep 
ayadofJSei  rr]s  rpvxvs.     Enchiridion  Ethicum,  lib.  i.  cap.  ii. 

*  "  It  is  the  height  of  wisdom  no  doubt  to  be  rightly  selfish." 
Charact.  i.  121.  The  observation  seems  to  be  taken  from  what 
Aristotle  says  of  4>iKavTia :  Tou  fxev  ayaOov  Set  (jj'iAavTov  elvai. 
Ethics,  lib.  ix.  c.  viii.  The  chapter  is  admirable,  and  the  asser- 
tion of  Aristotle  is  very  capable  of  a  good  sense. 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  97 

statements  are,  it  is  true,  far  too  short  and  vague.  He 
nowhere  inquires  into  the  origin  of  the  reflex  sense : 
what  is  a  much  more  material  defect,  he  makes  no 
attempt  to  ascertain  in  what  state  of  mind  it  consists. 
We  discover  only  by  implication,  and  by  the  use  of 
the  term  "  sense,"  that  he  searches  for  the  fountain  of 
moral  sentiments,  not  in  mere  reason,  where  Cudworth 
and  Clarke  had  vainly  sought  for  it,  but  in  the  heart, 
whence  the  main  branch  of  them  assuredly  flows.  It 
should  never  be  forgotten,  that  we  owe  to  these  hints 
the  reception,  into  ethical  theory,  of  a  moral  sense ; 
which,  whatever  may  be  thought  of  its  origin,  or  in 
whatever  words  it  may  be  described,  must  always 
retain  its  place  in  such  theory  as  a  main  principle  of 
our  moral  nature. 

His  demonstration  of  the  utility  of  Virtue  to  the 
individual,  far  surpasses  all  other  attempts  of  the  same 
nature ;  being  founded,  not  on  a  calculation  of  out- 
ward advantages  or  inconveniences,  alike  uncertain, 
precarious,  and  degrading,  but  on  the  unshaken  foun- 
dation of  the  delight,  which  is  of  the  very  essence  of 
social  affection  and  virtuous  sentiment ;  on  the  dread- 
ful agony  inflicted  by  all  malevolent  passions  upon 
every  soul  that  harbours  the  hellish  inmates  ;  on  the 
all-important  truth,  that  to  love  is  to  be  happy,  and 
to  hate  is  to  be  miserable,  —  that  affection  is  its  own 
reward,  and  ill-will  its  ow^n  punishment ;  or,  as  it  has 
been  more  simply  and  more  affectingly,  as  well  as 
with  more  sacred  authority,  taught,  that  "  to  give  is 
more  blessed  than  to  receive,"  and  that  to  love  one 
another  is  the  sum  of  all  human  virtue. 

The  relation  of  Religion  to  Morality,  as  far  as  it 
can  be  discovered  by  human  reason,  was  never  more 
justly  or  more  beautifully  stated.  If  he  represents 
the  mere  hope  of  reward  and  dread  of  punishment  as 
selfish,  and  therefore  inferior  motives  to  virtue  and 
piety,  he  distinctly  owns  their  efficacy  in  reclaiming 
from  vice,  in  rousing  from  lethargy,  and  in  guarding 
a  feeble   penitence ;   in  all   which  he  coincides  with 

VOL.  L  H 


98  DISSERTATION   ON   THE    PROGRESS 

illustrious  and  zealous  Christian  writers.  "  If  by  the 
hope  of  reward  be  understood  the  love  and  desire  of 
virtuous  enjoyment,  or  of  the  very  practice  and  exer- 
cise of  virtue  in  another  life  ;  an  expectation  or  hope 
of  this  kind  is  so  far  from  being  derogatory  from 
virtue,  that  it  is  an  evidence  of  our  loving  it  the  more 
sincerely  and  ^br  its  oivn  sakeJ^* 


FENELON.f  —  BOSSUET.I 

As  the  last  question,  though  strictly  speaking 
theological,  is  yet  in  truth  dependent  on  the  more 
general  question,  which  relates  to  the  reality  of  dis- 

*  Inquiry,  book  i.  part  iii.  §  3.  So  Jeremy  Taylor ;  *'  He 
that  is  grown  in  grace  pursues  virtue  purely  and  simply  for 
its  own  interest.  When  persons  come  to  that  height  of  grace, 
and  love  God  for  himself,  that  is  but  heaven  in  another  sense." 
(Sermon  on  Growth  in  Grace.)  So  before  him  the  once  cele- 
brated Mr.  John  Smith  of  Cambridge  :  "  The  happiness  which 
good  men  shall  partake  is  not  distinct  from  their  godlike  nature. 
Happiness  and  holiness  are  but  two  several  notions  of  one  thing. 
Hell  is  rather  a  nature  than  a  place,  and  heaven  cannot  be  so 
well  defined  by  anything  without  us,  as  by  something  within  us." 
(Select  Discourses,  2d  edit.  Cambridge,  1673.)  In  accordance 
with  these  old  authorities  is  the  recent  language  of  a  most  in- 
genious as  well  as  benevolent  and  pious  writer.  "  The  holiness 
of  heaven  is  still  more  attractive  to  the  Christian  than  its  happiness. 
The  desire  of  doing  that  which  is  right  for  its  own  sake  is  a  part 
of  his  desire  after  heaven."  (Unconditional  Freeness  of  the 
Gospel,  by  T.  Erskine,  Esq.,  Edinb.  1828,  pp.  32,  33.)  See  also 
the  Appendix  to  Ward's  Life  of  Henry  More,  Lond.  1710, 
pp.  247 — 271.  This  account  of  that  ingenious  and  amiable  phi- 
losopher contains  an  interesting  view  of  his  opinions,  and  many 
beautiful  passages  of  his  writings,  but  unfortunately  very  few 
particulars  of  the  man.  His  letters  on  Disinterested  Piety  (see 
the  Appendix  to  Mr.  Ward's  work),  his  boundless  charity,  his 
zeal  for  the  utmost  toleration,  and  his  hope  of  general  improve- 
ment from  '•  a  pacific  and  perspicacious  posterity,"  place  him 
high  in  the  small  number  of  true  philosophers  who,  in  their 
estimate  of  men,  value  dispositions  more  than  opinions,  and  in 
their  search  for  good,  more  often  look  forward  than  backward. 

t  Born,  1651  ;  died,  1715.  J  Bora,  1627  ;  died,  1701 


OF    ETHICAL    PniLOSOPHT.  99 

interested  affections  in  human  nature,  it  seems  not 
foreign  from  the  present  purpose  to  give  a  short 
account  of  a  dispute  on  the  subject  in  France,  between 
two  of  the  most  eminent  persons  of  their  time;  namely, 
the  controversy  between  Fenelon  and  Bossuet,  con- 
cerning the  possibility  of  men  being  influenced  by  the 
pure  and  disinterested  love  of  God.  Never  were  two 
great  men  more  unlike.  Fenelon  in  his  writings 
exhibits  more  of  the  qualities  which  predispose  to 
religious  feelings,  than  any  other  equally  conspicuous 
person  ;  a  mind  so  pure  as  steadily  to  contemplate 
supreme  excellence  ;  a  heart  capable  of  being  touched 
and  affected  by  the  contemplation ;  a  gentle  and 
modest  spirit,  not  elated  by  the  privilege,  but  seeing 
clearer  its  own  want  of  worth  as  it  came  nearer  to  such 
brightness,  and  disposed  to  treat  with  compassionate 
forbearance  those  errors  in  others,  of  which  it  felt  an 
humbling  consciousness.  Bossuet  was  rather  a  great 
minister  in  the  ecclesiastical  commonwealth  ;  employ- 
ing knowledge,  eloquence,  argument,  the  energy  of 
his  character,  the  influence,  and  even  the  authority  of 
his  station,  to  vanquish  opponents,  to  extirpate  re- 
volters,  and  sometimes  with  a  patrician  firmness,  to 
withstand  the  dictatorial  encroachment  of  the  Roman 
Pontiff  on  the  spiritual  aristocracy  of  France.  Fe- 
nelon had  been  appointed  tutor  to  the  Duke  of  Bur- 
gundy. He  had  all  the  qualities  which  fit  a  man  to 
be  the  preceptor  of  a  prince,  and  which  most  disable 
him  to  get  or  to  keep  tlie  office.  Even  birth,  and 
urbanity,  and  accomplishment,  and  vivacity,  were  an 
insufficient  atonement  for  his  genius  and  virtue. 
Louis  XIV.  distrusted  so  fine  a  spirit,  and  appears  to 
have  early  suspected,  that  a  fancy  moved  by  such  be- 
nevolence might  imagine  examples  for  his  grandson 
which  the  world  would  consider  as  a  satire  on  his  own 
reign.  Madame  de  Maintenon,  indeed,  favoured  him; 
but  he  was  generally  believed  to  have  forfeited  her 
good  graces  by  discouraging  her  projects  for  at  least  a 
nearer  approach  to  a  seat  on  the  throne.     He  offended 

u  2 


100  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

her  too  by  obeying  her  commands,  in  laying  before 
her  an  account  of  her  faults,  and  some  of  those  of  her 
royal  husband,  which  was  probably  the  more  painfully 
felt  for  its  mildness,  justice,  and  refined  observation.* 
An  opportunity  for  driving  such  an  intruder  from  a 
court  presented  itself  somewhat  strangely,  in  the  form 
of  a  subtile  controversy  on  one  of  the  most  abstruse 
questions  of  metaphysical  theology.  Molinos,  a  Spanish 
priest,  reviving  and  perhaps  exaggerating  the  maxims 
of  the  ancient  Mystics,  had  recently  taught,  that  Chris- 
tian perfection  consisted  in  the  pure  love  of  God, 
without  hope  of  reward  or  fear  of  punishment.  This 
offence  he  expiated  by  seven  years'  imprisonment  in 
the  dungeons  of  the  Roman  Inquisition.  His  opinions 
were  embraced  by  Madame  Guyon,  a  pious  French 
lady  of  strong  feeling  and  active  imagination,  who 
appears  to  have  expressed  them  in  a  hyperbolical 
language,  not  infrequent  in  devotional  exercises,  espe- 
cially in  those  of  otherwise  amiable  persons  of  her  sex 
and  character.  In  the  fervour  of  her  zeal,  she  dis- 
regarded the  usages  of  the  world  and  the  decorum 
imposed  on  females.  She  left  her  family,  took  a  part 
in  public  conferences,  and  assumed  an  independence 
scarcely  reconcilable  with  the  more  ordinary  and  more 
pleasing  virtues  of  women.  Her  pious  effusions  were 
examined  with  the  rigour  which  might  be  excusable 
if  exercised  on  theological  propositions.  She  was 
falsely  charged  by  Harlay,  the  dissolute  Archbishop 
of  Paris,  with  personal  licentiousness.  For  these  crimes 
she  was  dragged  from  convent  to  convent,  imprisoned 
for  years  in  the  Bastile,  and,  as  an  act  of  mercy,  con- 
fined during  the  latter  years  of  her  life  to  a  provincial 
town,  as  a  prison  at  large.  A  piety  thus  pure  and 
disinterested  could  not  fail  to  please  Fenelon.  He 
published  a  work  in  justification  of  Madame  Guyon's 
character,  and  in  explanation  of  the  degree  in  which 
he  agreed  with  her.     Bossuet,  the  oracle  and  champion 

*  Bausset,  Histoirc  dc  Fenelon,  i.  252. 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  101 

of  the  Church,  took  up  arms  against  him.  It  would 
be  painful  to  suppose  that  a  man  of  such  great  powers 
was  actuated  by  mean  jealousy ;  and  it  is  needless. 
The  union  of  zeal  for  opinion  with  the  pride  of  au- 
thority, is  apt  to  give  sternness  to  the  administration 
of  controversial  bishops;  to  say  nothing  of  the  haughty 
and  inflexible  character  of  Bossuet  himself.  He  could 
not  brook  the  independence  of  him  who  was  hitherto 
so  docile  a  scholar  and  so  gentle  a  friend.  He  was 
jealous  of  novelties,  and  dreaded  a  fervour  of  piety 
likely  to  be  ungovernable,  and  productive  of  move- 
ments of  which  no  man  could  foresee  the  issue.  It 
must  be  allowed  that  he  had  reason  to  be  displeased 
with  the  indiscretion  and  turbulence  of  the  innovators, 
and  might  apprehend  that,  in  preaching  motives  to 
virtue  and  religion  which  he  thought  unattainable,  the 
coarser  but  surer  foundations  of  common  morality 
might  be  loosened.  A  controversy  ensued,  in  which 
he  employed  the  utmost  violence  of  polemical  or  fac- 
tious contest.  Fenelon  replied  with  brilliant  success, 
and  submitted  his  book  to  the  judgment  of  Rome. 
After  a  long  examination,  the  commission  of  ten  Car- 
dinals appointed  to  examine  it  were  equally  divided, 
and  he  seemed  in  consequence  about  to  be  acquitted. 
But  Bossuet  had  in  the  mean  time  easily  gained 
Louis  XIV.  Madame  de  Maintenon  betrayed  Fenelon's 
confidential  correspondence ;  and  he  was  banished  to 
his  diocese,  and  deprived  of  his  pensions  and  official 
apartments  in  the  palace.  Louis  XIV.  regarded  the 
slightest  differences  from  the  authorities  of  the  French 
church  as  rebellion  against  himself.  Though  endowed 
with  much  natural  good  sense,  he  was  too  grossly 
ignorant  to  be  made  to  comprehend  one  of  the  terms 
of  the  question  in  dispute.  He  did  not,  however, 
scruple  to  urge  the  Pope  to  the  condemnation  of 
Fenelon.  Innocent  XII.  (Pignatelli)  an  aged  and 
pacific  Pontiff,  was  desirous  of  avoiding  such  harsh 
measures.  He  said  that  "  the  Archbishop  of  Cambray 
might  have  erred  from  excess  in  the  love  of  God, 

H  3 


102  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

but  the  Bishop  of  Meaux  had  sinned  by  a  defect  of  the 
love  of  his  neighbour."*  But  he  was  compelled  to 
condemn  a  series  of  propositions,  of  which  the  first 
was,  "  There  is  an  habitual  state  of  love  to  God,  which 
is  pure  from  every  motive  of  personal  interest,  and  in 
which  neither  the  fear  of  punishment  nor  the  hope  of 
reward  has  any  part."!  Fenelon  read  the  bull  which 
condemned  him  in  his  own  cathedral,  and  professed  as 
humble  a  submission  as  the  lowest  of  his  flock.  In 
some  of  the  writings  of  his  advanced  years,  which 
have  been  recently  published,  we  observe  with  regret 
that,  when  wearied  out  by  his  exile,  ambitious  to 
regain  a  place  at  court  through  the  Jesuits,  or  pre- 
judiced against  the  Calvinising  doctrines  of  the  Jan- 
senists,  the  strongest  anti-papal  party  among  Catholics, 
or  somewhat  detached  from  a  cause  of  which  his  great 
antagonist  had  been  the  victorious  leader,  he  made 
concessions  to  the  absolute  monarchy  of  Rome,  which 
did  not  become  a  luminary  of  the  Gallican  church.^ 

Bossuet,  in  his  writings  on  this  occasion,  besides 
tradition  and  authorities,  relied  mainly  on  the  sup- 
posed principle  of  philosophy,  that  man  must  desire  his 
own  happiness,  and  cannot  desire  anything  else,  other- 
wise than  as  a  means  towards  it ;  which  renders  the 
controversy  an  incident  in  the  history  of  Ethics.  It  is 
immediately  connected  with  the  preceding  part  of  this 
Dissertation,  by  the  almost  literal  coincidence  between 
Bossuet's  foremost  objection  to  the  disinterested  piety 
contended  for  by  Fenelon,  and  the  fundamental  posi- 
tion of  a  very  ingenious  and  once-noted  divine  of  the 
English  church,  in  his  attack  on  the  disinterested 
affections,  believed  by  Shaftesbury  to  be  a  part  of 
human  nature.  § 

*  Bausset,  Histoire  de  Fenelon,  ii.  220.  note. 

t  GEuvres  de  Bossuet,  viii.  308.     (Liege,  1767.) 

J  De  Surami  Pontificis  Auctoritate  Dissertatio. 

§  "  Haec  est  natura  voluntatis  humange,  ut  et  beatitudincm,  et 
ea  quorum  necessaria  connexio  cum  bcatitudine  clare  intelligitur, 
necessario  appetat...Nullus  est  actus  ad  quem  revera  non  impel- 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  103 


LEIBNITZ.* 

There  is  a  singular  contrast  between  the  form  of 
Leibnitz's  writings  and  the  character  of  his  mind. 
The  latter  was  systematical,  even  to  excess.  It  was 
the  vice  of  his  prodigious  intellect,  on  every  subject  of 
science  where  it  was  not  bound  by  geometrical  chains, 
to  confine  his  view  to  those  most  general  principles,  so 
well  called  by  Bacon  "  merely  notional,"  which  render 
it,  indeed,  easy  to  build  a  system,  but  only  because  they 
may  be  alike  adapted  to  every  state  of  appearances,  and 
become  thereby  really  inapplicable  to  any.  Though 
his  genius  was  thus  naturally  turned  to  system,  his 
writings  were,  generally,  occasional  and  miscellaneous. 
The  fragments  of  his  doctrines  are  scattered  in  re- 
views ;  or  over  a  voluminous  literary  correspondence ; 
or  in  the  prefaces  and  introductions  to  those  compila- 
tions to  which  this  great  philosopher  was  obliged  by 
his  situation  to  descend.  This  defective  and  disorderly 
mode  of  publication  arose  partly  from  the  conflicts 
between  business  and  study,  inevitable  in  his  course 
of  life  ;  but  probably  yet  more  from  the  nature  of  his 
system,  which  while  it  widely  deviates  from  the  most 
general  principles  of  former  philosophers,  is  ready  to 

limur  motivo  beatitudinis,  explicite  vel  impUcite;"  meaning  by 
the  latter  that  it  may  be  concealed  from  ourselves,  as  he  says, 
for  a  short  time,  by  a  nearer  object.  Qi^uvres  de  Bossuet,  viii.  80. 
"  The  only  motive  by  which  individuals  can  be  induced  to  the 
practice  of  virtue,  must  be  the  feeling  or  the  prospect  of  private 
happiness."  Brown's  Essays  on  the  Characteristics,  p.  159.  Lond. 
1752.  It  must,  however,  be  owned,  that  the  selfishness  of  the 
"Warburtonian  is  more  rigid  ;  making  no  provision  for  the  object 
of  one's  own  happiness  slipping  out  of  view  for  a  moment.  It  is 
due  to  the  very  ingcnioils  author  of  this  forgotten  book  to  add, 
that  it  is  full  of  praise  of  his  advcrsar}',  which,  though  just,  was  in 
the  answerer  generous ;  and  that  it  contains  an  assertion  of  the 
unbounded  right  of  public  discussion,  unusual  even  at  the  tolerant 
period  of  its  appearance. 
*  Bom,  1646;  died,  1716. 

II  4 


104  DISSERTATION   ON    THE    PROGRESS 

embrace  their  particular  doctrines  under  its  own  gene- 
ralities, and  thus  to  reconcile  them  to  each  other,  as 
well  as  to  accommodate  itself  to  popular  or  established 
opinions,  and  compromise  with  them,  according  to 
his  favourite  and  oft-repeated  maxim,  "  that  most  re- 
ceived doctrines  are  capable  of  a  good  sense*,"  by 
which  last  words  our  philosopher  meant  a  sense  re- 
concilable with  his  own  principles.  Partial  and  occa- 
sional exhibitions  of  these  principles  suited  better  that 
constant  negotiation  with  opinions,  establishments,  and 
prejudices,  to  which  extreme  generalities  are  well 
adapted,  than  would  have  a  full  and  methodical  state- 
ment of  the  whole  at  once.  It  is  the  lot  of  every  phi- 
losopher who  attempts  to  make  his  principles  extremely 
flexible,  that  they  become  like  those  tools  which  bend 
so  easily  as  to  penetrate  nothing.  Yet  his  manner  of 
publication  perhaps  led  him  to  those  wide  intuitions, 
as  comprehensive  as  those  of  Bacon,  of  which  he  ex- 
pressed the  result  as  briefly  and  pithily  as  Hobbes. 
The  fragment  which  contains  his  ethical  principles  is 
the  preface  to  a  collection  of  documents  illustrative  of 
international  law,  published  at  Hanover  in  1693  f,  to 
which  he  often  referred  as  his  standard  afterwards, 
especially  when  he  speaks  of  Lord  Shaftesbury,  or  of 
the  controversy  between  the  two  great  theologians  of 
France.  "  Right,"  says  he,  "  is  moral  power ;  obliga- 
tion, moral  necessity.  By  'moral'  I  understand  what 
with  a  good  man  prevails  as  much  as  if  it  were  phy- 
sical. A  good  man  is  he  who  loves  all  men  as  far  as 
reason  allows.  Justice  is  the  benevolence  of  a  wise 
man.  To  love  is  to  be  pleased  with  the  happiness  of 
another ;  or,  in  other  words,  to  convert  the  happiness 
of  another  into  a  part  of  one's  own.   Hence  is  explained 

*  "  Nouvcaux  Essais  sur  I'Entendcment  Humain,"  liv.  i.  chap, 
ii.  These  Essays,  which  form  the  greater  part  of  the  publication 
entitled  "  OEuvres  Philosophiqucs,"  edited  by  Raspe,  Amst.  et 
Leipz.  1765,  are  not  included  in  Dutens'  edition  of  Leibnitz's 
works. 

f  Codex  Juris  Gentium  Diplomaticus.    Hanov.  1695. 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  105 

the  possibility  of  a  disinterested  love.  When  we  are 
pleased  with  the  happiness  of  any  being,  his  happiness 
Decomes  one  of  our  enjoyments.  Wisdom  is  the  science 
of  happiness."  * 

EEXLIRKS. 

It  is  apparent  from  the  above  passage,  that  Leib- 
nitz had  touched  the  truth  on  the  subject  of  disinter- 
ested affection ;  and  that  he  was  more  near  clinging 
to  it  than  any  modern  philosopher,  except  Lord 
Shaftesbury.  It  is  evident,  however,  from  the  latter 
part  of  it,  that,  like  Shaftesbury,  he  shrunk  from  his 
own  just  conception  ;  under  the  influence  of  that  most 
ancient  and  far-spread  prejudice  of  the  schools,  which 
assumed  that  such  an  abstraction  as  "  Happiness"  could 
be  the  object  of  love,  and  that  the  desire  of  so  faint, 
distant,  and  refined  an  object,  was  the  first  principle 
of  all  moral  nature,  and  that  of  it  every  other  desire 
was  only  a  modification  or  a  fruit.  Both  he  and  Shaftes- 
bury, however,  when  they  relapsed  into  the  selfish  sys- 
tem, embraced  it  in  its  most  refined  form ;  consider- 
ing the  benevolent  affections  as  valuable  parts  of  our 
own  happiness,  not  in  consequence  of  any  of  their 
effects  or  extrinsic  advantages,  but  of  that  intrinsic 
dfelightfulness  which  was  inherent  in  their  very  es- 
[Xylsence.  But  Leibnitz  considered  this  refined  pleasure 
^^as  the  object  in  the  view  of  the  benevolent  man  ;  an 
absurdity,  or  rather  a  contradiction,  which,  at  least 
in  the  Inquiry  concerning  Virtue,  Shaftesbury  avoids. 
It  will  be  seen  from  Leibnitz's  limitation,  taken  toge- 
ther with  his  definition  of  Wisdom,  that  he  regarded 
the  distinction  of  the  moral  sentiments  from  the  social 
affections,  and  the  just  subordination  of  the  latter,  as 
entirely  founded  on  the  tendency  of  general  happiness 
to  increase  that  of  the  agent,  not  merely  as  being  real, 
but  as  being  present  to  the  agent's  mind  when  he  acts. 
In  a  subsequent  passage  he  lowers  his  tone  not  a  little. 

♦  See  Note  N. 


106  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

*•  As  for  the  sacrifice  of  life,  or  the  endurance  of  the 
greatest  pain  for  others,  these  things  are  rather  gene- 
rously enjoined  than  solidly  demonstrated  by  philoso- 
phers. For  honour,  glory,  and  self-congratulation,  to 
which  they  appeal  under  the  name  of  Virtue,  are 
indeed  mental  pleasures,  and  of  a  high  degree,  but 
not  to  all,  nor  outweighing  every  bitterness  of  suffer- 
ing ;  since  all  cannot  imagine  them  with  equal  viva- 
city, and  that  power  is  little  possessed  by  those  whom 
neither  education,  nor  situation,  nor  the  doctrines  of 
Religion  or  Philosophy,  have  taught  to  value  mental 
gratifications."*  He  concludes  very  truly,  that  Mo- 
rality is  completed  by  a  belief  of  moral  government. 
But  the  Inquiry  concerning  Virtue  had  reached  that 
conclusion  by  a  better  road.  It  entirely  escaped  his 
sagacity,  as  it  has  that  of  nearly  all  other  moralists, 
that  the  coincidence  of  Morality  with  well-understood 
interest  in  our  outward  actions,  is  very  far  from  being 
the  most  important  part  of  the  question ;  for  these 
actions  flow  from  habitual  dispositions,  from  affections 
and  sensibilities,  which  determine  their  nature.  There 
may  be,  and  there  are  many  immoral  acts,  which,  in 
the  sense  in  which  words  are  commonly  used,  are 
advantageous  to  the  actor.  But  the  whole  sagacity 
and  ingenuity  of  the  world  may  be  safely  challenged 
to  point  out  a  case  in  which  virtuous  dispositions, 
habits,  and  feelings,  are  not  conducive  in  the  highest 
degree  to  the  happiness  of  the  individual ;  or  to  main- 
tain that  he  is  not  the  happiest,  whose  moral  senti- 
ments and  affections  are  such  as  to  prevent  the  possi- 
bility of  any  unlawful  advantage  being  presented  to 
his  mind.  It  would  indeed  have  been  impossible  to 
prove  to  Regulus  that  it  was  his  interest  to  return  to 
a  death  of  torture  in  Africa.  But  what,  if  the  proof 
had  been  easy?  The  most  thorough  conviction  on 
such  a  point  would  not  have  enabled  him  to  set  this 
example,  if  he  had  not  been  supported  by  his  own  in- 

*  See  Note  N. 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  107 

tegrity  and  generosity,  by  love  of  his  country,  and 
reverence  for  his  pledged  faith.  What  could  the  con- 
viction add  to  that  greatness  of  soul,  and  to  these  glo- 
rious attributes?  With  such  virtues  he  could  not 
act  otherwise  than  he  did.  Would  a  father  affection- 
ately interested  in  a  son's  happiness,  of  very  luke- 
warm feelings  of  morality,  but  of  good  sense  enough  to 
"weigh  gratifications  and  sufferings  exactly,  be  really 
desirous  that  his  son  should  have  these  virtues  in  a  less 
degree  than  Regulus,  merely  because  they  might  ex- 
pose him  to  the  fate  which  Regulus  chose  ?  On  the 
coldest  calculation  he  would  surely  perceive,  that  the 
high  and  glowing  feelings  of  such  a  mind  during  life 
altogether  throw  into  shade  a  few  hours  of  agony  in 
leaving  it.  And,  if  he  himself  were  so  unfortunate 
that  no  more  generous  sentiment  arose  in  his  mind  to 
silence  such  calculations,  would  it  not  be  a  reproach 
to  his  understanding  not  to  discover,  that,  though  in 
one  case  out  of  millions  such  a  character  might  lead 
a  Regulus  to  torture,  yet,  in  the  common  course  of 
nature,  it  is  the  source  not  only  of  happiness  in  life, 
but  of  quiet  and  honour  in  death  ?  A  case  so  extreme 
as  that  of  Regulus  will  not  perplex  us,  if  we  bear  in 
mind,  that  though  we  cannot  prove  the  act  of  heroic 
virtue  to  be  conducive  to  the  interest  of  the  hero,  yet 
we  may  perceive  at  once,  that  nothing  is  so  conducive 
to  his  interest  as  to  have  a  mind  so  formed  that  it 
could  not  shrink  from  it,  but  must  rather  embrace  it 
with  gladness  and  triumph.  Men  of  vigorous  health 
are  said  sometimes  to  suffer  most  in  a  pestilence.  No 
man  was  ever  so  absurd  as  for  that  reason  to  wish 
that  he  were  more  infirm.  The  distemper  might 
return  once  in  a  century :  if  he  were  then  alive,  he 
might  escape  it ;  and  even  if  he  fell,  the  balance  of 
advantage  would  be  in  most  cases  greatly  on  the  side 
of  robust  health.  Li  estimating  beforehand  the  value 
of  a  strong  bodily  frame,  a  man  of  sense  would  throw 
the  small  chance  of  a  rare  and  short  evil  entirely  out 
of  the  account.     So  must  the  coldest  and  most  selfish 


108  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

moral  calculator,  who,  if  he  be  sagacious  and  exact, 
must  pronounce,  that  the  inconveniences  to  which  a 
man  may  be  sometimes  exposed  by  a  pure  and  sound 
mind,  are  no  reasons  for  regretting  that  we  do  not 
escape  them  by  possessing  minds  more  enfeebled  and 
distempered.  Other  occasions  will  call  our  attention, 
in  the  sequel,  to  this  important  part  of  the  subject ; 
but  the  great  name  of  Leibnitz  seemed  to  require  that 
his  degrading  statement  should  not  be  cited  without 
warning  the  reader  against  its  egregious  fallacy. 


MALEBRANCHE.* 

This  ingenious  philosopher  and  beautiful  writer  is 
the  only  celebrated  Cartesian  who  has  professedly 
handled  the  theory  of  Morals. f  His  theory  has  in, 
some  points  of  view  a  conformity  to  the  doctrine  of 
Clarke ;  while  in  others  it  has  given  occasion  to  his 
English  follower  NorrisJ  to  say,  that  if  the  Quakers 
understood  their  own  opinion  of  the  illumination  of 
all  men,  they  would  explain  it  on  the  principles  of 
Malebranche.  "There  is,"  says  he,  "one  parent 
virtue,  the  universal  virtue,  the  virtue  which  renders 
us  just  and  perfect,  the  virtue  which  will  one  day 
render  us  happy.  It  is  the  only  virtue.  It  is  the 
love  of  the  universal  order,  as  it  eternally  existed  in 
the  Divine  Reason,  where  every  created  reason  con- 
templates it.  This  order  is  composed  of  practical  as 
well  as  speculative  truth.  Reason  perceives  the  moral 
superiority  of  one  being  over  another,  as  immediately 
as  the  equality  of  the  radii  of  the  same  circle.  The 
relative  perfection  of  beings  is  that  part  of  the  im- 
movable order  to  which  men  must  conform  their  minds 

*  Born,  1638;  died,  1715. 

t  Traite  de  Morale.     Rotterdam,  1684.. 

X  Author  of  the  Theory  of  the  Ideal  World,  who  well  copied, 
though  he  did  not  equal,  the  clearness  and  choice  of  expression 
which  belonged  to  his  master. 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  109 

and  their  conduct.  The  love  of  order  is  the  "vvhole  of 
virtue,  and  conformity  to  order  constitutes  the  mo- 
rality of  actions."  It  is  not  difficult  to  discover,  that 
in  spite  of  the  singular  skill  employed  in  weaving  this 
"vveb,  it  answers  no  other  purpose  than  that  of  hiding 
the  whole  difficulty.  The  love  of  universal  order, 
says  Malebranche,  requires  that  we  should  Value  an 
animal  more  than  a  stone,  because  it  is  more  valuable ; 
and  love  God  infinitely  more  than  man,  because  he 
is  infinitely  better.  But  without  presupposing  the 
reality  of  moral  distinctions,  and  the  power  of  moral 
feelings,  —  the  two  points  to  be  proved,  how  can 
either  of  these  propositions  be  evident,  or  even  intelli- 
gible ?  To  say  that  a  love  of  the  Eternal  Order  will 
produce  the  love  and  practice  of  every  virtue,  is  an 
assertion  untenable,  unless  we  take  Morality  for 
granted,  and  useless,  if  we  do.  In  his  work  on  Morals, 
all  the  incidental  and  secondary  remarks  are  equally 
well  considered  and  well  expressed.  The  manner  in 
which  he  applied  his  principle  to  the  particulars  of 
human  duty,  is  excellent.  He  is  perhaps  the  first 
philosopher  who  has  precisely  laid  down  and  rigidly 
adhered  to  the  great  principle,  that  Virtue  consists  in 
pure  intentions  and  dispositions  of  mind,  without 
which,  actions,  however  conformable  to  rules,  are  not 
truly  moral ;  —  a  truth  of  the  highest  importance, 
which,  in  the  theological  form,  may  be  said  to  have 
been  the  main  principle  of  the  first  Protestant  Re- 
formers. The  ground  of  piety,  according  to  him,  is 
the  conformity  of  the  attributes  of  God  to  those  moral 
qualities  which  we  irresistibly  love  and  revere.* 
"  Sovereign  princes,"  says  he,  "  have  no  right  to  use 
their  authority  without  reason.      Even  God  has  no 

*  **  H  faut  aimer  I'Etre  infinimcnt  parfait,  et  non  pas  un 
fantome  cpouvantable,  un  Dicu  injuste,  absolu,  puissant,  mais  sans 
honte  et  sans  sagessc.  S'il  y  avoit  un  tcl  Dieu,  le  \Tai  Dicu  nous 
defendroit  dc  I'adorer  et  do  Taimcr.  II  y  a  peut-etre  plus  de 
danger  d'offcnser  Dieu  lorsqu'on  lui  donne  une  forme  si  horrible, 
que  dc  mepriser  son  fautome."    Traite  de  Morale,  chap.  viii. 


110  DISSERTATION   OX   THE   PROGRESS 

such  miserable  right."  *  His  distinction  between  a 
religious  society  and  an  established  church,  and  his 
assertion  of  the  right  of  the  temporal  power  alone  to 
employ  coercion,  are  worthy  of  notice,  as  instances  in 
which  a  Catholic,  at  once  philosophical  and  orthodox, 
could  thus  speak,  not  only  of  the  nature  of  God,  but 
of  the  rights  of  the  Church. 


JONATHAN    EDWARDS.f 

This  remarkable  man,  the  metaphysician  of  America, 
was  formed  among  the  Calvinists  of  New  England, 
when  their  stern  doctrine  retained  its  rigorous  au- 
thority4  His  power  of  subtile  argument,  perhaps 
unmatched,  certainly  unsurpassed  among  men,  was 
joined,  as  in  some  of  the  ancient  Mystics,  with  a 
character  which  raised  his  piety  to  fervour.  He  em- 
braced their  doctrine,  probably  without  knowing  it  to 
be  theirs.  "  True  religion,"  says  he,  "  in  a  great  mea- 
sure, consists  in  holy  affections.  A  love  of  divine  things, 
for  the  beauty  and  sweetness  of  their  moral  excellency, 
is  the  spring  of  all  holy  affections."  §  Had  he  suf- 
fered this  noble  principle  to  take  the  right  road  to  aU 
its  fair  consequences,  he  would  have  entirely  concurred 
with  Plato,  with  Shaftesbury,  and  Malebranche,  in 
devotion  to  "  the  first  good,  first  perfect,  and  first  fair." 
But  he  thought  it  necessary  afterwards  to  limit  his 
doctrine  to  his  own  persuasion,  by  denying  that  such 
moral  excellence  could  be  discovered  in  divine  things 
by  those  Christians  who  did  not  take  the  same  view 
as  he  did  of  their  religion.  All  others,  and  some  who 
hold  his  doctrines  with  a  more  enlarged  spirit,  may 
adopt  his  principle  without  any  limitation.    His  ethical 

*  Traite  de  Morale,  chap.  xxii. 

f  Born  in  1703,  at  Windsor  in  Connecticut ;  died  in  1758,  at 
Princeton  in  New  Jersey. 
t  See  Note  0. 
§  On  Religious  Affections,  pp.  4.  187. 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  Ill 

theory  is  contained  in  liis  Dissertation  on  tlie  Nature 
of  True  Virtue ;  and  in  another,  On  God's  chief  End 
in  the  Creation,  published  in  London  thirty  years 
after  his  death.  True  virtue,  according  to  him,  con- 
sists in  benevolence,  or  love  to  "  being  in  general," 
which  he  afterwards  limits  to  "  intelligent  being," 
though  "  sentient  "  would  have  involved  a  more  rea- 
sonable limitation.  This  good-will  is  felt  towards  a 
particular  being,  first  in  proportion  to  his  degree  of 
existence  (for,  says  he,  "  that  which  is  great  has  more 
existence,  and  is  farther  from  nothing,  than  that  which 
is  little  ;  "  )  and  secondly,  in  proportion  to  the  degree  in 
which  that  particular  being  feels  benevolence  to  others. 
Thus  God,  having  infinitely  more  existence  and  bene- 
volence than  man,  ought  to  be  infinitely  more  loved ; 
and  for  the  same  reason,  God  must  love  Himself 
infinitely  more  than  He  does  all  other  beings.*  He 
can  act  only  from  regard  to  Himself,  and  His  end  in 
creation  can  only  be  to  manifest  His  whole  nature, 
which  is  called  acting  for  His  own  glory. 

As  far  as  Edwards  confines  himself  to  created  beings, 
and  while  his  theory  is  perfectly  intelligible,  it  coin- 
cides with  that  of  universal  benevolence,  hereafter  to 
be  considered.  The  term  "  being  "  is  a  mere  encum- 
brance, which  serves  indeed  to  give  it  a  mysterious 
outside,  but  brings  with  it  from  the  schools  nothing 
except  their  obscurity.  He  was  betrayed  into  it,  by 
the  cloak  which  it  threw  over  his  really  unmeaning 
assertion  or  assumption,  that  there  are  degrees  of  ex- 
istence ;  without  which  that  part  of  his  system  which 
relates  to  the  Deity  would  have  appeared  to  be  as 
baseless  as  it  really  is.  When  we  try  such  a  phrase 
by  applying  it  to  matters  within  the  sphere  of  our 

*  The  coincidence  of  Malebranche  with  this  part  of  Edwards, 
is  remarkable.  Speaking  of  the  Supreme  Being,  he  says,  "  II 
s'aime  invinciblement."  He  adds  another  more  startling  ex- 
pression, "  Certainement  Dieu  ne  pent  agir  que  pour  lui-meme  : 
il  n'a  point  d'autrc  motif  que  son  amour  propre."  Traite  de 
Morale,  chap.  xvii. 


112  DISSERTATION   ON   THE    PROGRESS 

experience,  we  see  that  it  means  nothing  but  degrees 
of  certain  faculties  and  powers.  But  the  very  appli- 
cation of  the  term  "  being  "  to  all  things,  shows  that 
the  least  perfect  has  as  much  being  as  the  most  per- 
fect ;  or  rather  that  there  can  be  no  diiference,  so  far 
as  that  word  is  concerned,  between  two  things  to  which 
it  is  alike  applicable.  The  justness  of  the  compound 
proportion  on  which  human  virtue  is  made  to  depend, 
is  capable  of  being  tried  by  an  easy  test.  If  we  sup- 
pose the  greatest  of  evil  spirits  to  have  a  hundred  times 
the  bad  passions  of  Marcus  Aurelius,  and  at  the  same 
time  a  hundred  times  his  faculties,  or,  in  Edwards's 
language,  a  hundred  times  his  quantity  of  "  being,"  it 
follows  from  this  moral  theory,  that  we  ought  to  es- 
teem and  love  the  devil  exactly  in  the  same  degree  as 
we  esteem  and  love  Marcus  Aurelius. 

The  chief  circumstance  which  justifies  so  much 
being  said  on  the  last  two  writers,  is  their  concurrence 
in  a  point  towards  which  ethical  philosophy  had  been 
slowly  approaching,  from  the  time  of  the  controversies 
raised  up  by  Hobbes.  They  both  indicate  the  increase 
of  this  tendency,  by  introducing  an  element  into  their 
theory,  foreign  from  those  cold  systems  of  ethical  ab- 
straction, with  which  they  continued  in  other  re- 
spects to  have  much  in  common.  Malebranche  makes 
virtue  consist  in  the  love  of  "  order,"  Edwards  in  the 
love  of  "  being."  In  this  language  we  perceive  a  step 
beyond  the  representation  of  Clarke,  which  made  it 
a  conformity  to  the  relations  of  things ;  but  a  step 
which  cannot  be  made  without  passing  into  a  new 
province  ; — without  confessing,  by  the  use  of  the 
word  "love,"  that  not  only  perception  and  reason,  but 
emotion  and  sentiment,  are  among  the  fundamental 
principles  of  Morals.  They  still,  however,  were  so 
wedded  to  scholastic  prejudice,  as  to  choose  two  of  the 
most  aerial  abstractions  which  can  be  introduced  into 
argument,  —  "being  "  and  "  order," — to  be  the  objects 
of  those  strong  active  feelings  which  were  to  govern 
the  human  mind. 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  113 


BUFFIER.* 

The  same  strange  disposition  to  fix  on  abstractions 
as  the  objects  of  our  primitive  feelings,  and  the  end 
sought  by  our  warmest  desires,  manifests  itself  in  the 
ingenious  writer  with  whom  this  part  of  the  Disser- 
tation closes,  under  a  form  of  less  dignity  than  that 
which  it  assumes  in  the  hands  of  Malebranche  and 
Clarke.  Buffier,  the  only  Jesuit  whose  name  has  a 
place  in  the  history  of  abstract  philosophy,  has  no  pe- 
culiar opinions  which  would  have  required  any  men- 
tion of  him  as  a  moralist,  were  it  not  for  the  just  re- 
putation of  his  treatise  on  First  Truths,  with  which 
Dr.  Reid  so  remarkably,  though  unaware  of  its  exist- 
ence, coincides,  even  in  the  misapplication  of  so  prac- 
tical a  term  as  "common  sense"  to  denote  the  faculty 
which  recognises  the  truth  of  first  principles.  His 
philosophical  writings  f  are  remarkable  for  that  per- 
fect clearness  of  expression,  which,  since  the  great 
examples  of  Descartes  and  Pascal,  has  been  so  gene- 
rally diffused,  as  to  have  become  one  of  the  enviable 
peculiarities  of  French  philosophical  style,  and  almost 
of  the  French  language.  His  ethical  doctrine  is  that 
most  commonly  received  among  philosophers,  from 
Aristotle  to  Paley  and  Bentham.  "I  desire  to  be 
happy;  but  as  I  live  with  other  men,  I  cannot  be  happy 
without  consulting  their  happiness  : "  a  proposition 
perfectly  true  indeed,  but  far  too  narrow;  as  inferring, 
that  in  the  most  benevolent  acts  a  man  must  pursue 
only  his  own  interest,  from  the  fact  that  the  practice 
of  benevolence  does  increase  his  happiness,  and  that 
because  a  virtuous  mind  is  likely  to  be  the  happiest, 
our  observation  of  that  property  of  Virtue  is  the  cause 
of  our  love  and  reverence  for  it. 

*  Born,  1661;  died,  1737. 

f  Cours  de  Sciences.     Paris,  1732. 

VOL.  L  I 


114  DISSERTATION   ON    THE    PROGRESS 

SECTION  VI. 

FOUNDATIONS   OF   A  MORE    JUST    THEORY   OF    ETHICS. 

BUTLER  —  HUTCHESON BERKELEY  —  HUME  —  SUnTH  —  PRICE  — 

HARTLEY TUCKER— PALE  Y — BENTHAM— STEWART — BROWN. 

From  the  beginning  of  ethical  controversy  to  the 
eighteenth  century,  it  thus  appears,  that  the  care  of 
the  individual  for  himself,  and  his  regard  for  the  things 
Avhich  preserve  self,  were  thought  to  form  the  first, 
and,  in  the  opinion  of  most,  the  earliest  of  all  the  prin- 
ciples which  prompt  men  and  other  animals  to  acti- 
vity ;  that  nearly  all  philosophers  regarded  the  ap- 
petites and  desires,  which  look  only  to  self-gratification, 
as  modifications  of  this  primary  principle  of  self-love  ; 
and  that  a  very  numerous  body  considered  even  the 
social  affections  themselves  as  nothing  more  than  the 
produce  of  a  more  latent  and  subtile  operation  of  the 
desire  of  interest,  and  of  the  pursuit  of  pleasure.  It 
is  true  that  they  often  spoke  otherwise ;  but  it  was 
rather  from  the  looseness  and  fluctuation  of  their  lan- 
guage, than  from  distrust  in  their  doctrine.  It  is  true, 
also,  that  perhaps  all  represented  the  gratifications  of 
Virtue  as  more  unmingled,  more  secure,  more  frequent, 
and  more  lasting  than  other  pleasures  ;  without  which 
they  could  neither  have  retained  a  hold  on  the  assent 
of  mankind,  nor  reconciled  the  principles  of  their 
systems  with  thg  testimony  of  their  hearts.  We  have 
seen  how  some  began  to  be  roused  from  a  lazy  ac- 
quiescence in  this  ancient  hypothesis,  by  the  monstrous 
consequences  which  Hobbes  had  legitimately  deduced 
from  it.  A  few,  of  pure  minds  and  great  intellect, 
laboured  to  render  Morality  disinterested,  by  tracing 
it  to  Reason  as  its  source  ;  without  considering  that 
Reason,  elevated  indeed  far  above  interest,  is  also 
separated  by  an  impassable  gulf,  from  feeling,  affection, 
and  passion.    At  length  it  was  perceived  by  more  than 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  115 

one,  tliat  through  whatever  length  of  reasoning  the 
mind  may  pass  in  its  advances  towards  action,  there  is 
placed  at  the  end  of  any  avenue  through  which  it  can 
advance,  some  principle  wholly  unlike  mere  Reason, 
— some  emotion  or  sentiment  which  must  be  touched, 
before  the  springs  of  Will  and  action  can  be  set  in 
motion.  Had  Lord  Shaftesbury  steadily  adhered  to 
his  own  principles, — had  Leibnitz  not  recoiled  from 
his  statement,  the  truth  might  have  been  regarded  as 
promulged,  though  not  unfolded.  The  writings  of 
both  prove,  at  least  to  us,  enlightened  as  we  are  by 
what  followed,  that  they  were  skilful  in  sounding,  and 
that  their  lead  had  touched  the  bottom.  But  it  was 
reserved  for  another  moral  philosopher  to  determine 
this  hitherto  unfathomed  depth.* 


BUTLER.  I 

Butler,  who  was  the  son  of  a  Presbyterian  trader, 
early  gave  such  promise,  as  to  induce  his  father  to  fit 
him,  \ij  a  proper  education,  for  being  a  minister  of 
that  persuasion.  He  was  educated  at  one  of  their 
seminaries   under   Mr.   Jones   of   Gloucester,   where 

*  The  doctrine  of  the  Stoics  is  thus  put  by  Cicero  into  the 
mouth  of  Cato  :  "  Placet  his,  inquit,  quorum  ratio  mihi  ]:)robatur, 
simul  atque  natum  sit  animal  (hinc  enira  est  ordicndum),  ipsura 
sibi  conciliari  et  commendari  ad  se  conservandum,  ct  ad  suura 
statum,  et  ad  ea,  qua  conservantia  sunt  ejus  status,  dilitrenda ; 
alienari  autem  ab  interitu,  iisque  rebus  quas  interitum  videantur 
afferre.  Id  ita  esse  sic  probant,  quod,  antequam  vohiptas  aut 
dolor  attigerit,  salutaria  appetant  parvi,  aspcrnenturquc  contraria: 
quod  non  fieret,  nisi  statum  suum  diH<rcrent,  interitum  timerent : 
fieri  autem  non  posset,  ut  appeterent  aliquid,  nisi  sensum  haberent 
sui,  eoque  se  et  sua  diligerent.  Ex  quo  intolligi  debet,  prineipium 
ductum  esse  a  se  diligendi  sui." — Dc  Fin.  lil).  iii.  cap.  v.  We 
are  told  that  diligemlo  is  the  reading  of  an  ancient  jMS.  Perhaps 
the  omission  of  "  a"  would  be  the  easiest  and  most  reasonable 
emendation.  The  above  passage  is  perhaps  the  fullest  and 
pUiinest  statement  of  the  doctrines  prevalent  till  the  time  of 
Butler. 

t  Bom,  1692;  died,  1752. 

12 


116  DISSERTATION   ON    THE   PROGRESS 

Seeker,  afterwards  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  was  his 
fellow-student.  Though  many  of  the  dissenters  had 
then  begun  to  relinquish  Calvinism,  the  uniform  effect 
of  that  doctrine,  in  disposing  its  adherents  to  meta- 
physical speculation,  long  survived  the  opinions  which 
caused  it,  and  cannot  be  doubted  to  have  influenced 
the  mind  of  Butler.  When  a  student  at  the  academy 
at  Gloucester,  he  wrote  private  letters  to  Dr.  Clarke 
on  his  celebrated  Demonstration,  suggesting  objections 
which  were  really  insuperable,  and  which  are  marked 
by  an  acuteness  which  neither  himself  nor  any  other  ever 
surpassed.  Clarke,  whose  heart  was  as  well  schooled 
as  his  head,  published  the  letters,  with  his  own  answers, 
in  the  next  edition  of  his  work,  and,  by  his  good  offices 
with  his  friend  and  follower.  Sir  Joseph  Jekyll,  obtained 
for  the  young  philosopher  an  early  opportunity  of 
making  his  abilities  and  opinions  known,  by  the  ap- 
pointment of  preacher  at  the  Chapel  of  the  Master  of  the 
Rolls.  He  was  afterwards  raised  to  one  of  the  highest 
seats  on  the  episcopal  bench,  through  the  philosophical 
taste  of  Queen  Caroline,  and  her  influence  over  the  mind 
of  her  husband,  which  continued  long  after  her  death. 
"  He  was  wafted,"  says  Horace  Walpole,  "  to  the  see 
of  Durham,  on  a  cloud  of  Metaphysics."  *  Even  in 
the  fourteenth  year  of  his  widowhood,  George  H.  was 
desirous  of  inserting  the  name  of  the  Queen's  meta- 
physical favourite  in  the  Regency  Bill  of  1751. 

His  great  work  on  the  Analogy  of  Religion  to  the 
Course  of  Nature,  though  only  a  commentary  on  the 
singularly  original  and  pregnant  passage  of  Origen  f, 
which  is  so  honestly  prefixed  to  it  as  a  motto,  is,  not- 
withstanding, the  most  original  and  profound  work 
extant  in  any  language  on  the  philosophy  of  religion. 
It  is  entirely  beyond  our  present  scope.  His  ethical 
discussions  are  contained  in  those  deep  and  sometimes 


*  Memoirs  of  Geo.  II.,  i.  129. 

•j"  "  Ejus  (analogia)  vis  est ;  ut  id  quod  dubium  est  ad  aliquid 
simile  de  quo  non  quajritur,  referat  j  ut  incerta  certis  probet." 


OF    ETHICAL   rHlLOSOPHT.  117 

dark  dissertations  which  he  preached  at  the  Chapel  of 
the  Rolls,  and  afterwards  published  under  the  name 
of  "  Sermons,"  while  he  was  yet  fresh  from  the  schools, 
and  full  of  that  courage  with  which  youth  often 
delights  to  exercise  its  strength  in  abstract  reasoning, 
and  to  push  its  faculties  into  the  recesses  of  abstruse 
speculation.  But  his  youth  was  that  of  a  sober  and 
mature  mind,  early  taught  by  Nature  to  discern  the 
boundaries  of  Knowledge,  and  to  abstain  from  fruit- 
less efforts  to  reach  inaccessible  ground.  In  these 
Sermons*  he  has  taught  truths  more  capable  of  being 
exactly  distinguished  from  the  doctrines  of  his  pre- 
decessors, more  satisfactorily  established,  more  com- 
prehensively applied  to  particulars,  more  rationally 
connected  with  each  other,  and  therefore  more  worthy 
of  the  name  of  "  discovery,"  than  any  with  which  we 
are  acquainted; — if  we  ought  not,  with  some  hesita- 
tion, to  except  the  first  steps  of  the  Grecian  philoso- 
phers towards  a  theory  of  IMorals.  It  is  a  peculiar 
hardship,  that  the  extreme  ambiguity  of  language,  an 
obstacle  which  it  is  one  of  the  chief  merits  of  an  ethi- 
cal philosopher  to  vanquisli,  is  one  of  the  circumstances 
which  prevent  men  from  seeing  the  justice  of  applying 
to  him  so  ambitious  a  term  as  "discoverer."  He  owed 
more  to  Lord  Shaftesbury  than  to  all  other  writers 
besides.  He  is  just  and  generous  towards  that  philo- 
sopher ;  yet,  whoever  carefully  compares  their  writings, 
will  without  difficulty  distinguish  the  two  builders, 
and  the  larger  as  well  as  more  regular  and  laboured 
part  of  the  edifice,  which  is  the  work  of  Butler. 

Mankind  have  various  principles  of  action  ;  some 
leading  directly  to  the  good  of  the  individual,  some 
immediately  to  the  good  of  the  community.  But  the 
former  are  not  instances  of  self-love,  or  of  any  form 


*  See  Sermons  i.  ii.  iii.  On  Human  Nature  ;  v.  On  Com- 
passion ;  viii.  On  Resentment ;  ix.  On  Forgiveness ;  xi.  and  xii. 
On  the  Love  of  our  Neighbour  ;  and  xiii.  On  the  Love  of  God  ; 
together  with  the  excellent  Preface. 

I  3 


118  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

of  it ;  for  self-love  is  the  desire  of  a  man's  own  happi- 
ness, whereas  the  object  of  an  appetite  or  passion  is 
some  outward  thing.  Self-love  seeks  things  as  means 
of  happiness  ;  the  private  appetites  seek  things,  not  as 
means,  but  as  ends.  A  man  eats  from  hunger,  and 
drinks  from  thirst ;  and  though  he  knows  that  these 
acts  are  necessary  to  life,  that  knowledge  is  not  the 
motive  of  his  conduct.  No  gratification  can  indeed  be 
imagined  without  a  previous  desire.  If  all  the  par- 
ticular desires  did  not  exist  independently,  self-love 
would  have  no  object  to  employ  itself  about ;  for  there 
would  in  that  case  be  no  happiness,  which,  by  the 
very  supposition  of  the  opponents,  is  made  up  of  the 
gratifications  of  various  desires.  No  pursuit  could  be 
selfish  or  interested,  if  there  were  not  satisfactions  to 
be  gained  by  appetites  which  seek  their  own  outward 
objects  without  regard  to  self.  These  satisfactions  in 
the  mass  compose  what  is  called  a  man's  interest. 

In  contending,  therefore,  that  the  benevolent  affec- 
tions are  disinterested,  no  more  is  claimed  for  them 
than  must  be  granted  to  mere  animal  appetites  and  to 
malevolent  passions.  Each  of  these  principles  alike 
seeks  its  own  object,  for  the  sake  simply  of  obtaining 
it  Pleasure  is  the  result  of  the  attainment,  but  no 
separate  part  of  the  aim  of  the  agent.  The  desire 
that  another  person  may  be  gratified,  seeks  that  out- 
ward object  alone,  according  to  the  general  course  of 
human  desire.  Resentment  is  as  disinterested  as  gra- 
titude or  pity,  but  not  more  so.  Hunger  or  thirst 
may  be,  as  much  as  the  purest  benevolence,  at  variance 
with  self-love.  A  regard  to  our  own  general  happi- 
ness is  not  a  vice,  but  in  itself  an  excellent  quality. 
It  were  well  if  it  prevailed  more  generally  over  craving 
and  short-sighted  appetites.  The  weakness  of  the 
social  affections,  and  the  strength  of  the  private  desires, 
properly  constitute  selfishness ;  a  vice  utterly  at  vari- 
ance with  the  happiness  of  him  who  harbours  it,  and 
as  such,  condemned  by  self-love.  There  are  as  few 
who  attain  the  greatest  satisfaction  to  themselvesj  as 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  119 

who  do  the  greatest  good  to  others.  It  is  absurd  to  say 
with  some,  that  the  pleasure  of  benevolence  is  selfish 
because  it  is  felt  by  self.  Understanding  and  reasoning 
are  acts  of  self,  for  no  man  can  think  by  proxy  ;  but 
no  one  ever  called  them  selfish.  Why?  Evidently 
because  they  do  not  regard  self.  Precisely  the  same 
reason  applies  to  benevolence.  Such  an  argument  is 
a  gross  confusion  of  "  self,"  as  it  is  a  subject  of  feeling 
or  thought,  with  "  self"  considered  as  the  object  of 
either.  It  is  no  more  just  to  refer  the  private  appe- 
tites to  self-love  because  they  commonly  promote  hap- 
piness, than  it  would  be  to  refer  them  to  self-hatred 
in  those  frequent  cases  where  their  gratification  ob- 
structs it. 

But,  besides  the  private  or  public  desires,  and 
besides  the  calm  regard  to  our  own  general  welfare, 
there  is  a  principle  in  man,  in  its  nature  supreme  over 
all  others.  This  natural  supremacy  belongs  to  the 
faculty  which  surveys,  approves,  or  disapproves  the 
several  affections  of  our  minds  and  actions  of  our 
lives.  As  self-love  is  superior  to  the  private  passions, 
so  Conscience  is  superior  to  the  whole  of  man.  Passion 
implies  nothing  but  an  inclination  to  follow  an  object, 
and  in  that  respect  passions  differ  only  in  force :  but 
no  notion  can  be  formed  of  the  principle  of  reflection, 
or  Conscience,  which  does  not  comprehend  judgment, 
direction,  superintendency  ;  authority  over  all  other 
principles  of  action  is  a  constituent  part  of  the  idea 
of  it,  and  cannot  be  separated  from  it.  Had  it 
strength  as  it  has  right,  it  would  govern  the  world. 
The  passions  would  have  their  power,  but  according 
to  their  nature,  which  is  to  be  subject  to  Conscience. 
Hence  we  may  understand  the  purpose  at  which  the 
ancients,  perhaps  confusedly,  aimed  when  they  laid  it 
down  "  that  Virtue  consisted  in  following  Nature."  It 
is  neither  easy,  nor,  for  the  main  object  of  the  mo- 
ralist, important,  to  render  the  doctrines  of  the 
ancients  by  modern  language.  If  Butler  returns  to 
this  phrase  too  often,  it  was  rather  from  the  remains 

I  4 


120  DISSERTATION   ON    THE    PROGRESS 

of  undistinguisliing  reverence  for  antiquity,  than  be- 
cause he  could  deem  its  employment  important  to  his 
own  opinions. 

The  tie  which  holds  together  Religion  and  Morality 
is,  in  the  system  of  Butler,  somewhat  different  from 
the  common  representations  of  it,  but  not  less  close. 
Conscience,  or  the  faculty  of  approving  or  disap- 
proving, necessarily  constitutes  the  bond  of  union. 
Setting  out  from  the  belief  of  Theism,  and  combining 
it,  as  he  had  entitled  himself  to  do,  with  the  reality  of 
Conscience,  he  could  not  avoid  discovering  that  the 
being  who  possessed  the  highest  moral  qualities,  is 
the  object  of  the  highest  moral  affections.  He  con- 
templates the  Deity  through  the  moral  nature  of  man. 
In  the  case  of  a  being  who  is  to  be  perfectly  loved, 
"  goodness  must  be  the  simple  actuating  principle 
within  him,  this  being  the  moral  quality  which  is  the 
immediate  object  of  love."  "  The  highest,  the  ade- 
quate object  of  this  affection,  is  perfect  goodness, 
which,  therefore,  we  are  to  love  with  all  our  heart, 
with  all  our  soul,  and  with  all  our  strength."  "  We 
should  refer  ourselves  implicitly  to  him,  and  cast  our- 
selves entirely  upon  him.  The  whole  attention  of 
life  should  be  to  obey  his  commands."*  Moral  dis- 
tinctions are  thus  presupposed  before  a  step  can  be 
made  towards  Religion  :  Virtue  leads  to  piety ;  God  is 
to  be  loved,  because  goodness  is  the  object  of  love ; 
and  it  is  only  after  the  mind  rises  through  human 
morality  to  divine  perfection,  that  all  the  virtues  and 
duties  are  seen  to  hang  from  the  throne  of  God.j" 

REMARKS. 

There  do  not  appear  to  be  any  errors  in  the  ethical 
principles  of  Butler:  the  following  remarks  are  in- 

*  Sermon  xiii.  — "  On  the  Love  of  God." 

I  "  The  part  in  which  I  think  I  have  done  most  service  is  that 
in  which  I  have  endeavoured  to  slip  in  a  foundation  under  Butler's 
doctrine  of  the  supremacy  of  Conscience,  Avhich  he  left  baseless." 
Sir  James  Mackintosh  to  Professor  Napier. — Ed. 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  121 

tended  to  point  out  some  defects  in  his  scheme.  And 
even  that  attempt  is  made  with  the  unfeigned  humiHty 
of  one  who  rejoices  in  an  opportunity  of  doing  justice 
to  that  part  of  the  writings  of  a  great  philosopher 
which  has  not  been  so  clearly  understood  nor  so  justly 
estimated  by  the  generality  as  his  other  works. 

1.  It  is  a  considerable  defect,  though  perhaps  un- 
avoidable in  a  sermon,  that  he  omits  all  inquiry  into 
the  nature  and  origin  of  the  private  appetites,  which 
first  appear  in  human  nature.  It  is  implied,  but  it  is 
not  expressed  in  his  reasonings,  that  there  is  a  time 
before  the  child  can  be  called  selfish,  any  more  than 
social,  when  these  appetites  seem  as  it  were  separately 
to  pursue  their  distinct  objects,  and  that  this  is  long 
antecedent  to  that  state  of  mind  in  which  their  grati- 
fication is  regarded  as  forming  the  mass  called  "  hap- 
piness." It  is  hence  that  they  are  likened  to  instincts 
distinct  as  these  latter  subsequently  become.* 

2.  Butler  shows  admirably  well,  that  unless  there 
were  principles  of  action  independent  of  self,  there 
could  be  no  pleasures  and  no  happiness  for  self-love 
to  watch  over.  A  step  farther  would  have  led  him  to 
perceive  that  self-love  is  altogether  a  secondary  for- 
mation, the  result  of  the  joint  operation  of  Reason 
and  habit  upon  the  primary  principles.  It  could  not 
have  existed  without  presupposing  original  appetites 
and  organic  gratifications.  Had  he  considered  this 
part  of  the  subject,  he  would  have  strengthened  his 
case  by  showing  that  self-love  is  as  truly  a  derived 
principle,  not  only  as  any  of  the  social  affections,  but 
as  any  of  the  most  confessedly  acquired  passions.  It 
would  appear  clear,  that  as  self-love  is  not  divested  of 
its  self-regarding  character  by  considering  it  as  ac- 
quired, so  the  social  affections  do  not  lose  any  part  of 
their  disinterested  character,  if  they  be  considered  as 

*  The  very  able  work  ascribed  to  Mr.  Hazlitt,  entitled  "Essay- 
on  the  Principles  of  Human  Action,"  Lond.  1805,  contains 
original  views  on  this  subject. 


122  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

formed  from  simpler  elements.  Nothing  would  more 
tend  to  root  out  the  old  prejudice  which  treats  a  re- 
gard to  self  as  analogous  to  a  self-evident  principle, 
than  the  proof  that  self-love  is  itself  formed  from 
certain  original  elements,  and  that  a  living  being  long 
subsists  before  its  appearance.* 

3.  It  must  be  owned  that  those  parts  of  Butler's 
discourses  which  relate  to  the  social  affections  are 
more  satisfactory  than  those  which  handle  the  question 
concerning  the  moral  sentiments.  It  is  not  that  the 
real  existence  of  the  latter  is  not  as  well  made  out  as 
that  of  the  former.  In  both  cases  he  occupies  the 
unassailable  ground  of  an  appeal  to  consciousness. 
All  men  (even  the  worst)  feel  that  they  have  a  con- 
science and  disinterested  affections.  But  he  betrays 
a  sense  of  the  greater  vagueness  of  his  notions  on  this 
subject :  he  falters  as  he  approaches  it.  He  makes  no 
attempt  to  determine  in  what  state  of  mind  the  action 
of  Conscience  consists.  He  does  not  venture  steadily 
to  denote  it  by  a  name  ;  he  fluctuates  between  different 
appellations,  and  multiplies  the  metaphors  of  authority 
and  command,  without  a  simple  exposition  of  that 
mental  operation  which  these  metaphors  should  only 
have  illustrated.  It  commands  other  principles  :  but 
the  question  recurs.  Why,  or  How  ? 

Some  of  his  own  hints  and  some  fainter  intimations 
of  Shaftesbury,  might  have  led  him  to  what  appears 
to  be  the  true  solution,  which,  perhaps  from  its  ex- 
treme simplicity,  has  escaped  him  and  his  successors. 
The  truth  seems  to  be,  that  the  moral  sentiments  in 
their  mature  state,  are  a  class  of  feeli7igs  which  have 
no  other  object  but  the  mental  dispositions  leading  to 
voluntary  action,  and  the  voluntary  actions  which  flow 
from  these  dispositions.  We  are  pleased  with  some 
dispositions  and  actions,  and  displeased  with  others,  in 

*  Compare  this  statement  with  the  Stoical  doctrine  explained 
hy  Cicero  in  the  book  Do  Finibus,  quoted  above,  of  which  it  is 
the  direct  opposite. 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  123 

ourselves  and  our  fellows.  We  desire  to  cultivate  the 
dispositions  and  to  perform  the  actions,  which  we  con- 
template with  satisfaction.  These  objects,  like  all 
those  of  human  appetite  or  desire,  are  sought  for  their 
own  sake.  The  peculiarity  of  these  desires  is,  that 
their  gratification  requires  the  use  of  no  means ; 
nothing  (unless  it  be  a  volition)  is  interposed  between 
the  desire  and  the  voluntary  act.  It  is  impossible, 
therefore,  that  these  passions  should  undergo  any 
change  by  transfer  from  being  the  end  to  being  the 
means,  as  is  the  case  with  other  practical  principles. 
On  the  other  hand,  as  soon  as  ih^j  are  fixed  on  these 
ends,  they  cannot  regard  any  further  object.  When 
another  passion  prevails  over  them,  the  end  of  the 
moral  faculty  is  converted  into  a,  means  of  gratifica- 
tion. But  volitions  and  actions  are  not  themselves 
the  end  or  last  object  in  view,  of  any  other  desire  or 
aversion.  Nothing  stands  between  the  moral  senti- 
ments and  their  object ;  they  are,  as  it  were,  in  contact 
with  the  Will.  It  is  this  sort  of  mental  position, 
if  the  expression  may  be  pardoned,  that  explains  or 
seems  to  explain  those  characteristic  properties  which 
true  philosophers  ascribe  to  them,  and  which  all 
reflecting  men  feel  to  belong  to  them.  Being  the  only 
desires,  aversions,  sentiments,  or  emotions  which  re- 
gard dispositions  and  actions,  they  necessarily  extend 
to  the  icliole  character  and  conduct.  Among  motives 
to  action,  they  alone  are  justly  considered  as  uni- 
versal.  They  may  and  do  stand  between  any  other 
practical  principle  and  its  object,  while  it  is  absolutely 
impossible  that  another  shall  intercept  their  con- 
nexion with  the  Will.  Be  it  observed,  that  though 
many  passions  prevail  over  them,  no  other  can  act 
beyond  its  own  appointed  and  limited  sphere ;  and 
that  such  prevalence  itself,  leaving  the  natural  order 
disturbed  in  no  other  part  of  the  mind,  is  perceived  to 
be  a  disorder,  whenever  seen  in  another,  and  felt  to 
be  so  by  the  very  mind  disordered,  when  the  disorder 
subsides.     Conscience  may  forbid  the  WiU  to  contri- 


124  DISSERTATION   ON   THE    PROGRESS 

bute  to  the  gratification  of  a  desire:    no  desire  ever 
forbids  the  Will  to  obey  Conscience. 

This  result  of  the  peculiar  relation  of  Conscience  to 
the  Will,  justifies  those  metaphorical  expressions  which 
ascribe  to  it  "  authority  "  and  the  right  of  "  universal 
command."  It  is  immutable ;  for  by  the  law  which 
regulates  all  feelings,  it  must  rest  on  action,  which  is 
its  object,  and  beyond  which  it  cannot  look  ;  and  as  it 
employs  no  means,  it  never  can  be  transferred  to 
nearer  objects,  in  the  way  in  which  he  who  first 
desires  an  object  as  a  means  of  gratification,  may 
come  to  seek  it  as  his  end.  Another  remarkable 
peculiarity  is  bestowed  on  the  moral  feelings  by  the 
nature  of  their  object.  As  the  objects  of  all  other 
desires  are  outward,  the  satisfaction  of  them  may  be 
frustrated  by  outward  causes  :  the  moral  sentiments 
may  always  be  gratified,  because  voluntary  actions 
and  moral  dispositions  spring  from  within.  No  ex- 
ternal circumstance  affects  them; — hence  their  inde- 
pendence. As  the  moral  sentiment  needs  no  means 
and  the  desire  is  instantaneously  followed  by  the 
volition,  it  seems  to  be  either  that  which  first  sug- 
gests the  relation  between  command  and  obedience,  or 
at  least  that  which  affords  the  simplest  instance  of  it. 
It  is  therefore  with  the  most  rigorous  precision  that 
authority  and  universality  are  ascribed  to  them.  Their 
only  unfortunate  property  is  their  too  frequent  weak- 
ness ;  but  it  is  apparent  that  it  is  from  that  circum- 
stance alone  that  their  failure  arises.  Thus  considered, 
the  language  of  Butler  concerning  Conscience,  that, 
"  had  it  strength,  as  it  has  right,  it  would  govern  the 
world,"  which  may  seem  to  be  only  an  effusion  of 
generous  feeling,  proves  to  be  a  just  statement  of  the 
nature  and  action  of  the  highest  of  human  faculties. 
The  union  of  universality,  immutability,  and  inde- 
pendence, with  direct  action  on  the  Will,  which  dis- 
tinguishes the  Moral  Sense  from  every  other  part  of 
our  practical  nature,  renders  it  scarcely  metaphorical 
language  to  ascribe  to  it  unbounded  sovereignty  and 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  125 

awful  authority  over  the  whole  of  the  world  within  ; 
— shows  that  attributes,  well  denoted  by  terms  signi- 
ficant of  command  and  control,  are,  in  fact,  inseparable 
from  it,  or  rather  constitute  its  very  essence  ;  and 
justifies  those  ancient  moralists  who  represent  it  as 
alone  securing,  if  not  forming  the  moral  liberty  of 
man.  When  afterwards  the  religious  principle  is 
evolved.  Conscience  is  clothed  with  the  sublime  cha- 
racter of  representing  the  divine  purity  and  majesty 
in  the  human  soul.  Its  title  is  not  impaired  by  any 
number  of  defeats  ;  for  every  defeat  necessarily  dis- 
poses the  disinterested  and  dispassionate  by-stander 
to  wish  that  its  force  were  strengthened  :  and  thou";h 
it  may  be  doubted  whether,  consistently  with  the 
present  constitution  of  human  nature,  it  could  be  so 
invigorated  as  to  be  the  only  motive  to  action,  yet 
every  such  by-stander  rejoices  at  all  accessions  to  its 
force  ;  and  would  own,  that  man  becomes  happier, 
more  excellent,  more  estimable,  more  venerable,  in 
proportion  as  it  acquires  a  power  of  banishing  male- 
volent passions,  of  strongly  curbing  all  the  private 
appetites,  and  of  influencing  and  guiding  the  bene- 
volent affections  themselves. 

Let  it  be  carefully  considered  whether  the  same  ob- 
servations could  be  made  with  truth,  or  with  plausi- 
bility, on  any  other  part  or  element  of  the  nature  of 
man.  They  are  entirely  independent  of  the  question, 
whether  Conscience  be  an  inherent,  or  an  acquired 
principle.  If  it  be  inherent,  that  circumstance  is, 
according  to  the  common  modes  of  thinking,  a  sufficient 
proof  of  its  title  to  veneration.  But  if  provision 
be  made  in  the  constitution  and  circumstances  of  all 
men,  for  uniformly  producing  it,  by  processes  similar 
to  those  which  produce  other  acquired  sentiments, 
may  not  our  reverence  be  augmented  by  admiration 
of  that  Supreme  Wisdom  which,  in  such  mental  con- 
trivances, yet  more  brightly  than  in  the  lower  world 
of  matter,  accomplishes  mighty  purposes  by  instru- 
ments so  simple?  Should  these  speculations  be  thought 


126  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

to  have  any  solidity  by  those  who  are  accustomed  to 
such  subjects,  it  would  be  easy  to  unfold  and  apply 
them  so  fully,  that  they  may  be  thoroughly  appre- 
hended by  every  intelligent  person. 

4.  The  most  palpable  defect  of  Butler's  scheme  is, 
that  it  affords  no  answer  to  the  question,  "  What  is 
the  distinguishing  quality  common  to  all  right  actions?" 
If  it  were  answered,  "Their  criterion  is,  that  they  are 
approved  and  commanded  by  Conscience,"  the  answerer 
would  find  that  he  was  involved  in  a  vicious  circle  ; 
for  Conscience  itself  could  be  no  otherwise  defined 
than  as  the  faculty  which  approves  and  commands 
right  actions. 

There  are  few  circumstances  more  remarkable  than 
the  small  number  of  Butler's  followers  in  Ethics ;  and 
it  is  perhaps  still  more  observable,  that  his  opinions 
were  not  so  much  rejected  as  overlooked.  It  is  an 
instance  of  the  importance  of  style.  No  thinker  so 
great  was  ever  so  bad  a  writer.  Indeed,  the  ingenious 
apologies  which  have  been  lately  attempted  for  this 
defect,  amount  to  no  more  than  that  his  power  of 
thought  was  too  much  for  his  skill  in  language.  How 
general  must  the  reception  have  been  of  truths  so 
certain  and  momentous  as  those  contained  in  Butler's 
discourses,  —  with  how  much  more  clearness  must 
they  have  appeared  to  his  own  great  understanding, 
if  he  had  possessed  the  strength  and  distinctness  with 
which  Hobbes  enforces  odious  falsehood,  or  the  un- 
speakable charm  of  that  transparent  diction  which 
clothed  the  unfruitful  paradoxes  of  Berkeley ! 

HUTCHESON.* 

This  ingenious  writer  began  to  try  his  own  strength 
by  private  letters,  written  in  his  early  youth  to  Dr. 
Clarke,  the  metaphysical  patriarch  of  his  time ;  on 
whom  young   philosophers  seem  to  have  considered 

*  Born  in  Ireland,  1694;  died  at  Glasgow,  1747. 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  127 

themselves  as  possessing  a  claim,  which  he  had  too 
much  goodness  to  reject.  His  correspondence  with 
Hutcheson  is  lost ;  but  we  may  judge  of  its  spirit  by 
his  answers  to  Butler,  and  by  one  to  Mr.  Henry 
Home*,  afterwards  Lord  Karnes,  then  a  young  ad- 
venturer in  the  prevalent  speculations.  Nearly  at 
the  same  period  with  Butler's  first  publication  f,  the 
writings  of  Hutcheson  began  to  show  coincidences 
with  him,  indicative  of  the  tendency  of  moral  theory 
to  assume  a  new  form,  by  virtue  of  an  impulse 
received  from  Shaftesbury  and  quickened  to  greater 
activity  by  the  adverse  system  of  CLirke.  Lord 
Moles  worth,  the  friend  of  Shaftesbury,  patronised 
Hutcheson,  and  even  criticised  his  manuscript ;  and 
though  a  Presbyterian,  he  was  befriended  by  King, 
Aix'hbishop  of  Dublin,  himself  a  metaphysician  ;  and 
aided  by  iSIr.  Synge,  afterwards  also  a  bishop,  to  whom 
specuhitions  somewhat  simihir  to  his  own  had  occurred. 
Butler  and  Hutcheson  coincided  in  the  two  im- 
portant positions,  that  disinterested  aifections,  and  a 
distinct  moral  faculty,  are  essential  parts  of  human 
nature.  Hutcheson  is  a  chaste  and  simple  writer, 
who  imbibed  the  opinions,  without  the  literary  faults 
of  his  master,  Shaftesbury.  He  has  a  clearness  of 
expression,  and  fulness  of  illustration,  which  are 
wanting  in  Butler.  But  he  is  inferior  to  both  these 
writers  in  the  appearance  at  least  of  originality,  and 
to  Butler  especially  in  that  philosophical  courage 
which,  when  it  discovers  the  fountains  of  truth  and 
falsehood,  leaves  others  to  follow  the  streams.  He 
states  as  strongly  as  Butler,  that  "  the  same  cause 

*  "Woodliouselee's  Life  of  Lord  Kamc?,  vol.  i.  Append.  No.  3. 

f  The  first  edition  of  Butler's  Sermons  was  published  in  1726, 
in  which  year  also  appeared  the  second  edition  of  Hutcheson's 
Inquirj'  into  Beauty  and  Virtue.  The  Sermons  had  been  preached 
some  years  before,  though  there  is  no  likelihood  that  the  contents 
could  have  reached  a  young  teacher  at  Dublin.  The  place  of 
Hutcheson's  birth  is  not  mentioned  in  any  account  known  to  me. 
Ireland  may  be  truly  said  to  be  "  incuriosa  suorum." 


128  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

which  determines  us  to  pursue  happiness  for  ourselves, 
determines  us  both  to  esteem  and  benevolence  on  their 
proper  occasions  —  even  the  very  frame  of  our  na- 
ture."* It  is  in  vain,  as  he  justly  observes,  for  the 
patrons  of  a  refined  selfishness  to  pretend  that  we 
pursue  the  happiness  of  others  for  the  sake  of  the 
pleasure  which  we  derive  from  it ;  since  it  is  apparent 
that  there  could  be  no  such  pleasure  if  there  had 
been  no  previous  affection.  "  Had  we  no  affection 
distinct  from  self-love,  nothing  could  raise  a  desire  of 
the  haj)piness  of  others,  but  when  viewed  as  a  mean 
of  our  own."  f  He  seems  to  have  been  the  first  who 
entertained  just  notions  of  the  formation  of  the  se- 
condary desires,  which  had  been  overlooked  by  Butler. 
"There  must  arise,  in  consequence  of  our  original 
desires,  secondary  desires  of  every  thing  useful  to 
gratify  the  primary  desire.  Thus,  as  soon  as  we 
apprehend  the  use  of  wealth,  or  power,  to  gratify  our 
original  desires,  we  also  desire  them.  From  their 
universality  as  means  arises  the  general  prevalence  of 
these  desires  of  wealth  and  power."  :j:  Proceeding 
farther  in  his  zeal  against  the  selfish  system  than 
Lord  Shaftesbury,  who  seems  ultimately  to  rest  the 
reasonableness  of  benevolence  on  its  subserviency  to 
the  happiness  of  the  individual,  he  represents  the 
moral  faculty  to  be,  as  well  as  self-love  and  benevo- 
lence, a  calm  general  impulse,  which  may  and  does 
impel  a  good  man  to  sacrifice  not  only  happiness,  but 
even  life  itself,  to  Virtue. 

As  Mr.  Locke  had  spoken  of  "  an  internal  sensa- 
tion ; "  Lord  Shaftesbury  once  or  twice  of  "  a  reflex 
sense,"  and  once  of  "  a  moral  sense  ;  "  Hutcheson,  who 
had  a  steadier,  if  not  a  clearer  view  of  the  nature  of 
Conscience  than  Butler,  calls  it  "  a  moral  sense  ; "  a 
name  which  quickly  became  popular,  and  continues  to 
be  a  part  of  philosophical  language.     By  "  sense  "  he 

*  Inquiry,  p.  152.  \  Essay  on  the  Passions,  p.  17. 

X  Ibid.  p.  8. 


OF   ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  129 

understood  a  capacity  of  receiving  ideas,  together 
with  pleasures  and  pains,  from  a  class  of  objects  :  the 
term  "  moral "  was  used  to  describe  the  particular 
class  in  question.  It  implied  only  that  Conscience 
was  a  separate  element  in  our  nature,  and  that  it  was 
not  a  state  or  act  of  the  Understanding.  According 
to  him,  it  also  implied  that  it  was  an  original  and 
implanted  principle  ;  but  every  other  part  of  his 
theory  might  be  embraced  by  those  who  hold  it  to  be 
derivative. 

The  object  of  moral  approbation,  according  to  him, 
is  general  benevolence  ;  and  he  carries  this  generous 
error  so  far  as  to  deny  that  prudence,  as  long  as  it 
regards  ourselves,  can  be  morally  approved ;  —  an 
assertion  contradicted  by  every  man's  feelings,  and  to 
which  we  owe  the  Dissertation  on  the  Nature  of 
Virtue,  which  Butler  annexed  to  his  Analogy.  By 
proving  that  all  virtuous  actions  produce  general  good, 
he  fancied  that  he  had  proved  the  necessity  of  regard- 
ing the  general  good  in  every  act  of  virtue  ;  —  an 
instance  of  that  confusion  of  the  theory  of  moral 
sentiments  with  the  criterion  of  moral  actions,  against 
which  the  reader  was  warned  at  the  opening  of  this 
Dissertation,  as  fatal  to  ethical  philosophy.  He  is 
chargeable,  like  Butler,  with  a  vicious  circle,  in 
describing  virtuous  acts  as  those  which  are  approved 
by  the  moral  sense,  while  he  at  the  same  time  describes 
the  moral  sense  as  the  faculty  which  perceives  and 
feels  the  morality  of  actions. 

Hutcheson  was  the  father  of  the  modern  school  of 
speculative  philosophy  in  Scotland  ;  for  though  in  the 
bejrinninsr  of  the  sixteenth  century  the  Scotch  are 
said  to  have  been  known  throughout  Europe  by  their 
unmeasured   passion   for   dialectical   subtilties*,    and 

*  The  character  given  of  the  Scotch  by  the  famous  and  unfor- 
tunate Servctus  (edition  of  Ptolemy,  1533),  is  in  many  respects 
curious  :  "  Gallis  araicissimi,  Anglonunquc  regi  maxime  infesti. 
*  *  *  Subita  iugenia,  et  in  uhioucm  prona,  fcrociaque.  *  *  *  In 
bcllo  fortes  ;  inediai,  vigilia,  algoris  patientissimi ;  dcccnti  forma 
VOL.  L  K 


130  DISSERTATION    ON    THE   PROGRESS 

though  this  metaphysical  taste  was  nourished  by  the 
controversies  which  followed  the  Reformation,  yet  it 
languished,  with  every  other  intellectual  taste  and 
talent,  from  the  Restoration,  —  first  silenced  by  civil 
disorders,  and  afterwards  repressed  by  an  exemplary, 
but  unlettered  clergy,  —  till  the  philosophy  of  Shaftes- 
bury was  brought  by  Hutcheson  from  Ireland.  We 
are  told  by  the  writer  of  his  Life  (a  fine  piece  of 
philosophical  biography)  that  ''  he  had  a  remarkable 
degree  of  rational  enthusiasm  for  learning,  liberty, 
Religion,  Virtue,  and  human  happiness  ;  "*  that  he 
taught  in  public  with  persuasive  eloquence  ;  that  his 
instructive  conversation  was  at  once  lively  and  modest ; 
and  that  he  united  pure  manners  with  a  kind  disposi- 
tion. What  wonder  that  such  a  man  should  have 
spread  the  love  of  Knowledge  and  Virtue  around  him, 
and  should  have  rekindled  in  his  adopted  country  a 
relish  for  the  sciences  which  he  cultivated !  To  him 
may  also  be  ascribed  that  proneness  to  multiply  ulti- 
mate and  original  principles  in  human  nature,  which 
characterised  the  Scottish  school  till  the  second  ex- 
tinction of  a  passion  for  metaphysical  speculation  in 
Scotland.  A  careful  perusal  of  the  writings  of  this 
now  little  studied  philosopher  will  satisfy  the  well- 
qualified  reader,  that  Dr.  Adam  Smith's  ethical  specu- 
lations are  not  so  unsuggested  as  they  are  beautiful. 

sed  cultu  negligentiori ;  invidi  natura,  et  cseterorum  mortalium 
contcmptoros  ;  ostentant  plus  rdmio  nohiUtatem  suam,  et  in  summa 
etiam  egestate  suum  genus  ad  regiam  stir  pern  referunt ;  nee  non 
dialecticis  argutiis  aibi  blandiuntar"  — "  Subita  ingenia"  is  an 
expression  equivalent  to  the  "  Prajfervidum  Scotorum  ingenium'' 
of  Buchanan.     Churchill  almost  agrees  in  words  with  Servetus  : 

"  Whose  lineage  springs 
From  great  and  glorious,  though  forgotten  kings," 

The  strong  antipathy  of  the  late  King  George  III.  to  what  he 
called  "  Scotch  Metaphysics,"  proves  the  permanency  of  the  last 
part  of  the  national  character. 

*  Life  by  Dr.  Lecchman,  prefixed  to  the  System  of  Moral 
Philosophy. 


OF   ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  131 


BERKELEY.* 


This  great  metaphysician  was  so  little  a  moralist, 
that  it  requires  the  attraction  of  his  name  to  excuse 
its  introduction  here.  His  Theory  of  Vision  contains 
a  great  discovery  in  mental  philosophy.  His  imma- 
terialism  is  chiefly  valuable  as  a  touchstone  of  meta- 
physical sagacity;  showing  those  to  be  altogether 
without  it,  who,  like  Johnson  and  Beattie,  believed 
that  his  speculations  were  sceptical,  that  they  implied 
any  distrust  in  the  senses,  or  that  they  had  the 
smallest  tendency  to  disturb  reasoning  or  alter  con- 
duct. Ancient  learning,  exact  science,  polished  so- 
ciety, modern  literature,  and  the  fine  arts,  contributed 
to  adorn  and  enrich  the  mind  of  this  accompHshed 
man.  All  his  contemporaries  agreed  with  the  satirist 
in  ascribing 

"  To  Berkeley  every  virtue  under  heaven."  f 

Adverse  factions  and  hostile  wits  concurred  only  in 
loving,  admiring,  and  contributing  to  advance  him. 
The  severe  sense  of  Swift  endured  his  visions  ;  the 
modest  Addison  endeavoured  to  reconcile  Clarke  to 
his  ambitious  speculations.  His  character  converted 
the  satire  of  Pope  into  fervid  praise  ;  even  the  dis- 
cerning, fastidious,  and  turbulent  Atterbury  said, 
after  an  interview  with  him,  "  So  much  understand- 
ing, so  much  knowledge,  so  much  innocence,  and  such 
humility,  I  did  not  think  had  been  the  portion  of  any 
but  angels,  till  I  saw  this  gentleman."  J  "  Lord  Ba- 
thurst  told  me,  that  the  members  of  the  Scriblerus 
Club  being  met  at  his  house  at  dinner,  they  agreed 
to   rally  Berkeley,  who  was  also   his   guest,    on  his 

•  Bom  near  Thomastown,  in  Ireland,  1684  ;  died  at  Oxford, 
1753. 
t  Epilogue  to  Pope's  Satires,  dialogue  2. 
"^  Duncombe's  Letters,  pp.  106,  107. 

&  2 


132  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

scheme  at  Bermudas.  Berkeley,  having  listened  to 
the  many  lively  things  they  had  to  say,  begged  to  be 
heard  in  his  turn,  and  displayed  his  plan  with  such  an 
astonishing  and  animating  force  of  eloquence  and  en- 
thusiasm, that  they  were  struck  dumb,  and,  after  some 
pause,  rose  all  up  together,  with  earnestness  exclaim- 
ing, '  Let  us  set  out  with  him  immediately.' "  *  It  was 
when  thus  beloved  and  celebrated  that  he  conceived, 
at  the  age  of  forty-five,  the  design  of  devoting  his  life 
to  reclaim  and  convert  the  natives  of  North  America ; 
and  he  employed  as  much  influence  and  solicitation 
as  common  men  do  for  their  most  prized  objects,  in 
obtaining  leave  to  resign  his  dignities  and  revenues, 
to  quit  his  accomplished  and  affectionate  friends,  and 
to  bury  himself  in  what  must  have  seemed  an  intel- 
lectual desert.  After  four  years'  residence  at  New- 
port, in  Rhode  Island,  he  was  compelled,  by  the  re- 
fusal of  Government  to  furnish  him  with  funds  for 
his  College,  to  forego  his  work  of  heroic,  or  rather 
godlike  benevolence ;  though  not  without  some  con- 
soling forethought  of  the  fortune  of  the  country  where 
he  had  sojourned. 

Westward  the  course  of  empire  takes  it*^  way 

The  first  four  acts  already  past, 
A  fifth  shall  close  the  drama  with  the  day, 

Time's  noblest  offspring  is  its  last. 

Thus  disappointed  in  his  ambition  of  keeping  a 
school  for  savage  children,  at  a  salary  of  a  hundred 
pounds  by  the  year,  he  was  received,  on  his  return, 
with  open  arms  by  the  philosophical  queen,  at  whose 
metaphysical  parties  he  made  one  with  Sherlock,  who, 
as  well  as  Smalridge,  was  his  supporter,  and  with 
Hoadley,  who,  following  Clarke,  was  his  antagonist. 
By  her  influence,  he  was  made  Bishop  of  Cloyne.  It 
is  one  of  his  highest  boasts,  that  though  of  English 
extraction,  he  was  a  true  Irishman,  and  the  first  emi- 

*  Warton  on  Pope,  i.  199. 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  133 

nent  Protestant,  after  tlie  unhappy  contest  at  the 
Revolution,  who  avowed  his  love  for  all  his  country- 
men. He  asked,  "  Whether  their  habitations  and 
furniture  were  not  more  sordid  than  those  of  the 
savaoje  Americans  ? "  *  "  Whether  a  scheme  for  the 
welfare  of  this  nation  should  not  take  in  the  whole 
inhabitants  ? "  and,  "  Whether  it  was  a  vain  attempt, 
to  project  the  flourishing  of  our  Protestant  gentry, 
exclusive  of  the  bulk  of  the  natives  ? "  f  He  proceeds 
to  promote  the  reformation  suggested  in  this  pregnant 
question  by  a  series  of  Queries,  intimating  with  the 
utmost  skill  and  address,  every  reason  that  proves  the 
necessity,  and  the  safety,  and  the  wisest  mode  of 
adopting  his  suggestion.  He  contributed,  by  a  truly 
Christian  address  to  the  Roman  Catholics  of  his 
diocese,  to  their  perfect  quiet  during  the  rebellion  of 
1745  ;  and  soon  after  published  a  letter  to  the  clergy 
of  that  persuasion,  beseeching  them  to  inculcate  in- 
dustry among  their  flocks,  for  which  he  received 
their  thanks.  He  tells  them  that  it  was  a  saying 
among  the  negro  slaves,  "  if  negro  were  not  negro, 
Irishman  would  be  negro."  It  is  difficult  to  read 
these  proofs  of  benevolence  and  foresight  without 
emotion,  at  the  moment  when,  after  a  lapse  of  near 
a  century,  his  suggestions  have  been  at  length,  at 
the  close  of  a  struggle  of  twenty-five  years,  adopted, 
by  the  admission  of  the  whole  Irish  nation  to  the 
privileges  of  the  British  constitution.!  The  patriotism 
of  Berkeley  was  not,  like  that  of  Swift,  tainted  by 
disappointed  ambition,  nor  was  it,  like  Swift's,  con- 
fined to  a  colony  of  English  Protestants.  Perhaps 
the  Querist  contains  more  hints,  then  original  and 
still  unapplied  in  legislation  and  political  economy, 
than  are  to  be  found  in  any  other  equal  space.  From 
the  writings  of  his  advanced  years,  when  he  chose  a 
medical  tract  §  to  be  the  vehicle  of  his  philosophical 

♦  Sec  his  Querist,  358.;  published  in  1735.  f  H^i^v  255. 

X  A]ml^  1829.  §  Sins,  or  llcflections  on  Tar  Water^ 

K  3 


134  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

reflections,  though  it  cannot  be  said  that  he  relin- 
quished his  early  opinions,  it  is  at  least  apparent  that 
his  mind  had  received  a  new  bent,  and  was  habitually 
turned  from  reasoning  towards  contemplation.  His 
immaterialism  indeed  modestly  appears,  but  only  to 
purify  and  elevate  our  thoughts,  and  to  fix  them  on 
Mind,  the  paramount  and  primeval  principle  of  all 
things.  "  Perhaps,"  says  he,  "  the  truth  about  innate 
ideas  may  be,  that  there  are  properly  no  ideas,  or  pas- 
sive objects,  in  the  mind  but  what  are  derived  from 
sense,  but  that  there  are  also,  besides  these,  her  own 
acts  and  operations,  —  such  are  notions  ; "  a  statement 
which  seems  once  more  to  admit  general  conceptions, 
and  which  might  have  served,  as  well  as  the  parallel 
passage  of  Leibnitz,  as  the  basis  of  the  modern  philo- 
sophy of  Germany.  From  these  compositions  of  his 
old  age,  he  appears  then  to  have  recurred  with  fond- 
ness to  Plato  and  the  later  Platonists ;  writers  from 
whose  mere  reasonings  an  intellect  so  acute  could 
hardly  hope  for  an  argumentative  satisfaction  of  all 
its  difficulties,  and  whom  he  probably  rather  studied 
as  a  means  of  inuring  his  mind  to  objects  beyond  the 
"  visible  diurnal  sphere,"  and  of  attaching  it,  through 
frequent  meditation,  to  that  perfect  and  transcendent 
goodness  to  which  his  moral  feelings  always  pointed, 
and  which  they  incessantly  strove  to  grasp.  His 
mind,  enlarging  as  it  rose,  at  length  receives  every 
theist,  however  imperfect  his  belief,  to  a  communion 
in  its  philosophic  piety.  "  Truth,"  he  beautifully  con- 
cludes, "is  the  cry  of  all,  but  the  game  of  a  few. 
Certainly,  where  it  is  the  chief  passion,  it  does  not 
give  way  to  vulgar  cares,  nor  is  it  contented  with  a 
little  ardour  in  the  early  time  of  life ;  active  perhaps 
to  pursue,  but  not  so  fit  to  weigh  and  revise.  He 
that  would  make  a  real  progress  in  knowledge,  must 
dedicate  his  age  as  well  as  youth,  the  later  growth  as 
well  as  first  fruits,  at  the  altar  of  Truth."  So  did 
Berkeley,  and  such  were  almost  his  latest  words. 
His  general  principles  of  Ethics  may  be   shortly 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  135 

stated  in  his  own  -words :  —  "  As  God  is  a  being  of 
infinite  goodness,  His  end  is  the  good  of  His  creatures. 
The  general  well-being  of  all  men  of  all  nations,  of  all 
ages  of  the  world,  is  that  which  He  designs  should 
be  procured  hy  the  concurring  actions  of  each  indi- 
vidual." Having  stated  that  this  end  can  be  pursued 
only  in  one  of  two  ways,  —  either  by  computing  the 
consequences  of  each  action,  or  by  obeying  rules 
which  generally  tend  to  happiness,  —  and  having 
shown  the  first  to  be  impossible,  he  rightly  infers, 
"  that  the  end  to  which  God  requires  the  concurrence 
of  human  actions,  must  be  carried  on  by  the  obser- 
vation of  certain  determinate  and  universal  rules,  or 
moral  precepts,  which  in  their  own  nature  have  a 
necessary  teudency  to  promote  the  well-being  of  man- 
kind, taking  in  all  nations  and  ages,  from  the  begin- 
ning to  the  end  of  the  world."  *  A  romance,  of  which 
a  journey  to  an  Utopia,  in  the  centre  of  Africa, 
forms  the  chief  part,  called  "The  Adventures  of 
Signer  Gaudentio  di  Lucca,"  has  been  commonly 
ascribed  to  him ;  probably  on  no  other  ground  than 
its  union  of  pleasing  invention  with  benevolence  and 
elegance.f  Of  the  exquisite  grace  and  beauty  of  his 
diction,  no  man  accustomed  to  English  composition 
can  need  to  be  informed.  His  works  are,  beyond  dis- 
pute, the  finest  models  of  philosophical  style  since 
Cicero.  Perhaps  they  surpass  those  of  the  orator, 
in  the  wonderful  art  by  which  the  fullest  light  is 
thrown  on  the  most  minute  and  evanescent  parts  of 
the  most  subtile  of  human  conceptions.  Perhaps, 
also,  he  surpassed  Cicero  in  the  charm  of  simplicity, 
a  quality  eminently  found  in  Irish  writers  before  the 
end  of  the  eighteenth  century  ;  —  conspicuous  in  the 
masculine  severity  of  Swift,  in  the  Platonic  fancy  of 
Berkeley,  in  the   native  tenderness  and  elegance  of 


*  Sermon  in  Trinity  College  chapel,  on  Passive  Obedience, 
1712. 
t  Sec  Gentleman's  Magazine  for  January,  1777. 

K  4 


136  DISSERTATION   ON    THE    PROGRESS 

Goldsmith,  and  not  withholding  its  attractions  from 
Hutcheson  and  Leland,  writers  of  classical  taste, 
though  of  inferior  power.  The  two  Irish  philosophers 
of  the  eighteenth  century  may  be  said  to  have  co- 
operated in  calling  forth  the  metaphysical  genius  of 
Scotland ;  for,  though  Hutcheson  spread  the  taste  for, 
and  furnished  the  principles  of  such  speculations,  yet 
Berkeley  undoubtedly  produced  the  scepticism  of 
Hume,  which  stimulated  the  instinctive  school  to  ac- 
tivity, and  was  thought  incapable  of  confutation,  other- 
wise than  by  their  doctrines. 


DAVID   HUME.* 

The  life  of  Mr.  Hume,  written  by  himself,  is  re- 
markable above  most,  if  not  all  writings  of  that  sort, 
for  hitting  the  degree  of  interest  between  coldness 
and  egotism  which  becomes  a  modest  man  in  speaking 
of  his  private  history.  Few  writers,  whose  opinions 
were  so  obnoxious,  have  more  perfectly  escaped  every 
personal  imputation.  Very  few  men  of  so  calm  a 
character  have  been  so  warmly  beloved.  That  he  ap- 
proached to  the  character  of  a  perfectly  good  and 
wise  man,  is  an  affectionate  exaggeration,  for  which 
his  friend  Dr.  Smith,  in  the  first  moments  of  his  sor- 
row, may  well  be  excused. |  But  such  a  praise  can 
never  be  earned  without  passing  through  either  of  the 
extremes  of  fortune, — without  standing  the  test  of 
temptations,  dangers,  and  sacrifices.  It  may  be  said 
with  truth,  that  the  private  character  of  Mr.  Hume 
exhibited  all  the  virtues  which  a  man  of  reputable 
station,  under  a  mild  government,  in  the  quiet  times 
of  a  civilised  country,  has  often  the  opportunity  to 
practise.  He  showed  no  want  of  the  qualities  which 
fit  men  for  more  severe  trials.     Though  others  had 

*  Bom  at  Edinburgh,  1711  ;  died  there,  1776. 
t  Dr.  Smith's  Letter  to  Mr.  Strahan,  annexed  to  the  Life  of 
Hume. 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  137 

warmer  affections,  no  man  was  a  kinder  relation,  a 
more  unwearied  friend,  or  more  free  from  meanness 
and  malice.  His  character  was  so  simple,  that  he  did 
not  even  affect  modesty ;  but  neither  his  friendships 
nor  his  deportment  were  changed  by  a  fame  which 
filled  all  Europe.  His  good  nature,  his  plain  manners, 
and  his  active  kindness,  procured  him  at  Paris  the 
enviable  name  of  '■^  the  good  David"  from  a  society 
not  so  alive  to  goodness,  as  without  reason  to  place  it 
at  the  head  of  the  qualities  of  a  celebrated  man.* 
His  whole  character  is  fiiithfuUy  and  touchingly  re- 
presented in  the  story  of  La  Roche  f,  where  Mr. 
Mackenzie,  without  concealing  Mr.  Hume's  opinions, 
brings  him  into  contact  with  scenes  of  tender  piety, 
and  yet  preserves  the  interest  inspired  by  genuine  and 
unalloyed,  though  moderated,  feelings  and  affections. 
The  amiable  and  venerable  patriarch  of  Scottish 
literature,  —  opposed,  as  he  was  to  the  opinions  of  the 
philosopher  on  whom  he  has  composed  this  best  pane- 
gyric,—  tells  us  that  he  read  his  manuscript  to  Dr. 
Smith,  "who  declared  that  he  did  not  find  a  syllable 
to  object  to,  but  added,  with  his  characteristic  absence 
of  mind,  that  he  was  surprised  he  had  never  heard  of 
the  anecdote  before."  J  So  lively  was  the  delineation, 
thus  sanctioned  by  the  most  natural  of  all  testimonies. 
Mr.  Mackenzie  indulges  his  own  religious  feelings  by 
modestly  intimating,  that  Dr.  Smith's  answer  seemed 
to  justify  the  last  words  of  the  tale,  "that  there  were 
moments  when  the  philosopher  recalled  to  his  mind 
the  venerable  figure  of  the  good  La  Roche,  and  wished 
that  he  had  never  doubted."  To  those  who  are  stran- 
gers to  the  seductions  of  paradox,  to  the  intoxication 
of  fame,  and  to  the  bewitchment  of  prohibited  opinions, 
it  must  be  unaccountable,  that  he  who  revered  bene- 
volence should,  without  apparent  regret,  cease  to  see 
it  on  the  throne  of  the  Universe.     It  is  a  matter  of 


*  See  Note  P.  f  :Mirror,  Nos.  42,  43,  44. 

X  Mackenzie's  Life  of  John  Home,  p.  21. 


138  DISSERTATION   ON   THE    PROGRESS 

wonder  that  his  habitual  esteem  for  every  fragment 
and  shadow  of  moral  excellence  should  not  lead  him 
to  envy  those  who  contemplated  its  perfection  in  that 
living  and  paternal  character  which  gives  it  a  power 
over  the  human  heart. 

On  the  other  hand,  if  we  had  no  experience  of  the 
power  of  opposite  opinions  in  producing  irreconcilable 
animosities,  we  might  have  hoped  that  those  who  re- 
tained such  high  privileges,  would  have  looked  with 
more  compassion  than  dislike  on  a  virtuous  man  who 
had  lost  them.  In  such  cases  it  is  too  little  remem- 
bered, that  repugnance  to  hypocrisy  and  impatience 
of  long  concealment,  are  the  qualities  of  the  best 
formed  minds,  and  that,  if  the  publication  of  some 
doctrines  proves  often  painful  and  mischievous,  the 
habitual  suppression  of  opinion  is  injurious  to  Reason, 
and  very  dangerous  to  sincerity.  Practical  questions 
thus  arise,  so  difficult  and  perplexing  that  their  deter- 
mination generally  depends  on  the  boldness  or  timidity 
of  the  individual,  —  on  his  tenderness  for  the  feelings 
of  the  good,  or  his  greater  reverence  for  the  free 
exercise  of  reason.  The  time  is  not  yet  come  when 
the  noble  maxim  of  Plato,  "  that  every  soul  is  un- 
ivillingly  deprived  of  truth,"  will  be  practically  and 
heartily  applied  by  men  to  the  honest  opponents  who 
differ  from  them  most  widely. 

It  was  in  his  twenty-seventh  year  that  Mr.  Hume 
published  at  London  the  Treatise  of  Human  Nature, 
the  first  systematic  attack  on  all  the  principles  of 
knowledge  and  belief,  and  the  most  formidable,  if 
universal  scepticism  could  ever  be  more  than  a  mere 
exercise   of  ingenuity.*     This  memorable  work  was 

*  Sextus,  a  physician  of  the  empirical,  i.  e.  anti-theoretical 
school,  who  lived  at  Alexandria  in  the  reign  of  Antoninus  Pius, 
has  preserved  the  reasonings  of  the  ancient  Sceptics  as  they  were 
to  be  found  in  their  most  improved  state,  in  the  writings  of 
-^nesidemus,  a  Cretan,  who  was  a  professor  in  the  same  city, 
soon  after  the  reduction  of  Egypt  into  a  Roman  province.  The 
greater  part  of  the  grounds  of  doubt  are  very  shallow  and  popular: 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  139 

reviewed  in  a  Journal  of  that  time*  in  a  criticism 
not  distinguished  by  ability,  which  affects  to  represent 
the  style  of  a  very  clear  writer  as  unintelligible, — 
sometimes  from  a  purpose  to  insult,  but  oftener  from 
sheer  dulness, — which  is  unaccountably  silent  respect- 
ing the  consequences  of  a  sceptical  system,  but  which 
concludes  with  the  following  prophecy  so  much  at 
variance  with  the  general  tone  of  the  article,  that  it 
would  seem  to  be  added  by  a  different  hand.  "It 
bears  incontestable  marks  of  a  great  capacity,  of  a 
soaring  genius,  but  young,  and  not  yet  thoroughly 
practised.  Time  and  use  may  ripen  these  qualities  in 
the  author,  and  we  shall  probably  have  reason  to  con- 
sider this,  compared  with  his  later  productions,  in  the 
same  light  as  we  view  the  juvenile  works  of  Milton 
or  the  first  manner  of  Raphael." 

The  great  speculator  did  not  in  this  work  amuse 
himself,  like  Bayle,  with  dialectical  exercises,  which 
only  inspire  a  disposition  towards  doubt,  by  showing 
in  detail  the  uncertainty  of  most  opinions.  He  aimed 
at  proving,  not  that  nothing  was  known,  but  that 
nothing  could  be  known, — from  the  structure  of  the 
Understanding  to  demonstrate  that  we  are  doomed  for 
ever  to  dwell  in  absolute  and  universal  ignorance.  It 
is  true  that  such  a  system  of  universal  scepticism 
never  can  be  more  than  an  intellectual  amusement, 
an  exercise  of  subtilty,  of  which  the  only  use  is  to 
check  dogmatism,  but  which  perhaps  oftener  provokes 
and  produces  that  much  more  common  evil.  As  those 
dictates  of  experience  which  regulate  conduct  must 
be  the  objects  of  belief,  all  objections  which  attack 
them  in  common  with  the  principles  of  reasoning, 
must  be  utterly  ineffectual.     Whatever  attacks  every 

there  are,  among  them,  intimations  of  the  arj^iment  against  a 
necessary  connection  of  causes  with  effects,  afterwards  better 
presented  bv  GUinville  in  his  Scepsis  Scientifica.     Sec  Note  Q. 

*  The  Works  of  the  Learned  for  Nov.  and  Dec.  1739,  i)p.  353 
— 404.  This  review  is  attributed  by  some  (Chalmers'  Biogr.  Diet., 
voce  Uuiuc)  to  Warburton,  but  certainly  without  foundation. 


140  DISSERTATION   ON    THE    PROGRESS 

principle  of  belief  can  destroy  none.  As  long  as  the 
foundations  of  Knowledge  are  allowed  to  remain  on 
the  same  level  (be  it  called  of  certainty  or  uncer- 
tainty) with  the  maxims  of  life,  the  whole  system  of 
human  conviction  must  continue  undisturbed.  When 
the  sceptic  boasts  of  having  involved  the  results  of 
experience  and  the  elements  of  Geometry  in  the  same 
ruin  with  the  doctrines  of  Religion  and  the  principles 
of  Philosophy,  he  may  be  answered,  that  no  dogmatist 
ever  claimed  more  than  the  same  degree  of  certainty 
for  these  various  convictions  and  opinions,  and  that 
his  scepticism,  therefore,  leaves  them  in  the  relative 
condition  in  which  it  found  them.  No  man  knew 
better  or  owned  more  frankly  than  Mr.  Hume,  that  to 
this  answer  there  is  no  serious  reply.  Universal 
scepticism  involves  a  contradiction  in  terms :  it  is  a 
belief  that  there  can  he  no  belief.  It  is  an  attempt  of 
the  mind  to  act  without  its  structure,  and  by  other 
laws  than  those  to  which  its  nature  has  subjected  its 
operations.  To  reason  without  assenting  to  the  prin- 
ciples on  which  reasoning  is  founded,  is  not  unlike  an 
effort  to  feel  without  nerves,  or  to  move  without 
muscles.  No  man  can  be  allowed  to  be  an  opponent  in 
reasoning,  who  does  not  set  out  with  admitting  all  the 
principles,  without  the  admission  of  which  it  is  impos- 
sible to  reason.*  It  is  indeed  a  puerile,  nay,  in  the 
eye  of  Wisdom,  a  childish  play,  to  attempt  either  to 
establish  or  to  confute  principles  by  argument,  which 

*  This  maxim,  which  contains  a  sufficient  answer  to  all 
universal  scepticism,  or,  in  other  words,  to  all  scepticism  properly 
so  called,  is  significantly  conveyed  in  the  quaint  title  of  an  old 
and  rare  book,  entitled,  "  Scivi ;  sive  Sceptices  et  Scepticorum  a 
Jure  Disputationis  Exclusio,"  by  Thomas  White,  the  meta- 
physician of  the  English  Catholics  in  modem  times.  "  For- 
tunately," says  the  illustrious  sceptic  himself,  "  since  Reason  is 
incapable  of  dispelling  these  clouds.  Nature  herself  suffices  for 
that  purpose,  and  cures  me  of  this  philosophical  delirium."  — 
Treat,  of  Hum.  Nat.  i.  467. ;  almost  in  the  sublime  and  immortal 
words  of  Pascal :  "  La  Raison  confond  les  dogmatistes,  et  la 
Nature  Ics  sceptiques." 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  141 

every  step  of  that  argument  must  presuppose.  The 
only  difference  between  the  two  cases  is,  that  he  who 
tries  to  prove  them  can  do  so  only  by  first  taking 
them  for  granted,  and  that  he  who  attempts  to  impugn 
them  falls  at  the  very  first  step  into  a  contradiction 
from  which  he  never  can  rise. 

It  must,  however,  be  allowed,  that  universal  scep- 
ticism has  practical  consequences  of  a  very  mischievous 
nature.  This  is  because  its  iinivcrsalit)/  is  not  steadily 
kept  in  view,  and  constantly  borne  in  mind.  If  it 
were,  the  above  short  and  plain  remark  would  be  an 
effectual  antidote  to  the  poison.  But  in  practice,  it  is 
an  armoury  from  which  weapons  are  taken  to  be  em- 
ployed against  some  opinions,  while  it  is  hidden  from 
notice  that  the  same  weapon  would  equally  cut  down 
every  other  conviction.  It  is  thus  that  Mr.  Hume'3 
theory  of  causation  is  used  as  an  answer  to  argu- 
ments for  the  existence  of  the  Deity,  without  warning 
the  reader  that  it  would  equally  lead  him  not  to  ex- 
pect that  the  sun  will  rise  to-morrow.  It  must  also 
be  added,  that  those  who  are  early  accustomed  to 
dispute  first  principles  are  never  likely  to  acquire,  in 
a  sufficient  degree,  that  earnestness  and  that  sin- 
ceritv.  that  strong  love  of  Truth,  and  that  conscien- 
tious  solicitude  for  the  formation  of  just  opinions, 
which  are  not  the  least  virtues  of  men,  but  of  which 
the  cultivation  is  the  more  especial  duty  of  all  who 
call  themselves  philosophers.* 

It  is  not  an  uninteresting  fact  that  Mr.  Hume, 
having  been  introduced  by  Lord  Kames  (then  Mr. 
Henry  Home)  to  Dr.  Butler,  sent  a  copy  of  his  Trea- 
tise to  that  philosopher  at  the  moment  of  his  prefer- 
ment   to    the    bishopric  of  Durham ;    and    that    the 

*  It  would  be  an  act  of  injustice  to  those  readers  who  are  not 
acquainted  with  that  valuable  volume  entitled,  "  Essays  on  the 
Formation  of  Opinions,"  not  to  refer  them  to  it  as  enforcing 
that  neglected  part  of  morality.  To  it  may  be  added,  a  maij- 
terly  article  in  the  Westminster  Keview,  vi.  1.,  occasioned  by  the 
Essays. 


142  DISSERTATION   ON   THE    PROGRESS 

perusal  of  it  did  not  deter  the  philosophic  prelate 
from  "  everywhere  recommending  Mr.  Hume's  Moral 
and  Political  Essays*,''  published  two  years  after- 
wards ;  —  essays  which  it  would  indeed  have  been 
unworthy  of  such  a  man  not  to  have  liberally  com- 
mended ;  for  they,  and  those  which  followed  them, 
whatever  may  be  thought  of  the  contents  of  some  of 
them,  must  be  ever  regarded  as  the  best  models  in 
any  language,  of  the  short  but  full,  of  the  clear  and 
agreeable,  though  deep  discussion  of  difficult  ques- 
tions. 

Mr.  Hume  considered  his  Inquiry  concerning  the 
Principles  of  Morals  as  the  best  of  his  writings.  It 
is  very  creditable  to  his  character,  that  he  should 
have  looked  back  with  most  complacency  on  a  tract 
the  least  distinguished  by  originality,  and  the  least 
tainted  by  paradox,  among  his  philosophical  works  ; 
but  deserving  of  all  commendation  for  the  elegant 
perspicuity  of  the  style,  and  the  novelty  of  illustra- 
tion and  inference  with  which  he  unfolded  to  general 
readers  a  doctrine  too  simple,  too  certain,  and  too 
important,  to  remain  till  his  time  undiscovered  among 
philosophers.  His  diction  has,  indeed,  neither  the 
grace  of  Berkeley,  nor  the  strength  of  Hobbes ;  but  it 
is  without  the  verbosity  of  the  former,  or  the  rugged 
sternness  of  the  latter.  His  manner  is  more  lively, 
more  easy,  more  ingratiating,  and,  if  the  word  may 
be  so  applied,  more  amusing,  than  that  of  any  other 
metaphysical  writer.f  He  knew  himself  too  well  to 
be,  as  Dr.  Johnson  asserted,  an  imitator  of  Voltaire ; 
who,  as  it  were,  embodied  in  his  own  person  all  the 

*  Woodliouselee's  Life  of  Karnes,  i.  86.  104. 

f  These  commendations  are  so  far  from  being  at  variance  with 
the  remarks  of  the  late  most  ingenious  Dr.  Thomas  Brown,  on 
Mr.  Hume's  "  mode  of  writing,"  (Inquiry  into  the  Relation  of 
Cause  and  Effect,  3d  ed.  p.  327.),  that  they  may  rather  be  re- 
garded as  descriptive  of  those  excellencies  of  which  the  excess 
produced  the  faults  of  Mr.  Hume,  as  a  mere  searcher  and  teacher, 
justly,  though  perhaps  severely,  animadverted  on  by  Dr.  Brown. 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  143 

wit  and  quickness  and  versatile  ingenuity  of  a  people 
which  surpasses  other  nations  in  these  brilliant  quali- 
ties. If  he  must  be  supposed  to  have  had  an  eye  on 
any  French  writer,  it  would  be  a  more  plausible  guess, 
that  he  sometimes  copied,  with  a  temperate  hand,  the 
unexpected  thoughts  and  familiar  expressions  of  Fon- 
tenelle.  Though  he  carefully  weeded  his  writings  in 
their  successive  editions,  yet  they  still  contain  Scot- 
ticisms and  Gallicisms  enough  to  employ  the  succes- 
sors of  such  critics  as  those  who  exulted  over  the 
Patavinity  of  the  Koman  historian.  His  own  great 
and  modest  mind  would  have  been  satisfied  with  the 
praise  which  cannot  be  withheld  from  him,  that  there 
is  no  writer  in  our  language  Avho,  through  long  works, 
is  more  agreeable  ;  and  it  is  no  derogation  from  him, 
that,  as  a  Scotsman,  he  did  not  reach  those  native  and 
secret  beauties,  characteristical  of  a  language,  which 
are  never  attained,  in  elaborate  composition,  but  by  a 
very  small  number  of  those  who  familiarly  converse 
in  it  from  infancy.  The  Inquiry  affords  perhaps  the 
best  specimen  of  his  style.  In  substance,  its  chief 
merit  is  the  proof,  from  an  abundant  enumeration  of 
particulars,  that  all  the  qualities  and  actions  of  the 
mind  which  are  generally  approved  by  mankind  agree 
in  the  circumstance  of  being  useful  to  society.  In  the 
proof  (scarcely  necessary),  that  benevolent  affections 
and  actions  have  that  tendency,  he  asserts  the  real 
existence  of  these  affections  with  unusual  warmth ; 
and  he  well  abridjres  some  of  the  most  forcible  ar^ru- 
ments  of  Butler*,  whom  it  is  remarkable  that  he  does 
not  mention.  To  show  the  irtiportance  of  his  prin- 
ciple, he  very  unnecessarily  distinguishes  the  compre- 
hensive duty  of  justice  from  other  parts  of  Morality, 
as  an  artificial  virtue,  for  which  our  respect  is  solely 
derived  from  notions  of  utility.  If  all  things  were  in 
such  plenty  that  there  could  never  be  a  want,  or  if 

*  Inquiry,  §  ii.  part  i.,  especially  the  concluding  paragraphs ; 
those  which  precede  being  more  his  own. 


144  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

men  were  so  benevolent  as  to  provide  for  the  wants  of 
others  as  much  as  for  their  own,  there  would,  says  he, 
in  neither  case  be  any  justice,  because  there  would  be 
no  need  for  it.  But  it  is  evident  that  the  same  rea- 
soning is  applicable  to  every  good  affection  and  right 
action.  None  of  them  could  exist  if  there  were  no 
scope  for  their  exercise.  If  there  were  no  suffering, 
there  could  be  no  pity  and  no  relief:  if  there  were  no 
offences,  there  could  be  no  placability :  if  there  were 
no  crimes,  there  could  be  no  mercy.  Temperance, 
prudence,  patience,  magnanimity,  are  qualities  of 
which  the  value  depends  on  the  evils  by  which  they 
are  respectively  exercised.* 

With  regard  to  purity  of  manners,  it  must  be  owned 
that  Mr.  Hume,  though  he  controverts  no  rule,  yet 
treats  vice  with  too  much  indulgence.  It  was  his 
general  disposition  to  distrust  those  virtues  which  are 
liable  to  exaggeration,  and  may  be  easily  counter- 
feited. The  ascetic  pursuit  of  purity,  and  hypocritical 
pretences  to  patriotism,  had  too  much  withdrawn  the 
respect  of  his  equally  calm  and  sincere  nature  from 
these  excellent  virtues ;  more  especially  as  severity  in 
both  these  respects  was  often  at  apparent  variance 

*  "  Si  nobis,  cum  ex  hac  vita  migraverimus,  in  beatorum  insnlis, 
ut  fabulae  ferunt,  iminortale  ajvum  clegere  liceret,  quid  opus  esset 
eloquentia,  cum  judicia  nulla  fierent  ?  aut  ipsis  etiam  virtutibus  ? 
Nee  enim  fortitudine  indigeremus,  nullo  proposito  aut  labore  aut 
periculo  ;  nee  justitia,  cum  esset  nihil  quod  appeteretur  alieni ;  nee 
temperantia,  quae  regeret  eas  quae  nullge  essent  libidines  :  ne  pru- 
dentia  quidem  egeremus,  nullo  proposito  delectu  bonorum  et  ma- 
lonam.  Una  igitur  essemus  beati  cognitione  rerum  et  scientia." 
— Frag.  Cic.  Hortens.  apud  Augustine  de  Trinitate.  Cicero  is 
more  extensive,  and  therefore  more  consistent  than  Hume  ;  but 
his  enumeration  errs  both  by  excess  and  defect.  He  supposes 
Knowledge  to  render  beings  happy  in  this  imaginary  state,  with- 
out stooping  to  inquire  how.  He  omits  a  virtue  which  might  well 
exist  in  it,  though  we  cannot  conceive  its  formation  in  such  a 
state — the  delight  in  each  other's  well-being ;  and  he  omits  a 
conceivable  though  unknown  vice,  that  of  unmixed  ill-will,  which 
would  render  such  a  state  a  hell  to  the  wretch  who  harboured  the 
malevolence. 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHT.  145 

with  affection,  which  can  neither  be  long  assumed, 
nor  ever  overvalued.  Yet  it  was  singular  that  he 
who,  in  his  essay  on  Polygamy  and  Divorce  *  had  so 
well  shown  the  connexion  of  domestic  ties  with  the 
outward  order  of  society,  should  not  have  perceived 
their  deeper  and  closer  relation  to  all  the  social  feel- 
ings of  human  nature.  It  cannot  be  enough  regretted, 
that,  in  an  inquiry  written  with  a  very  moral  pur- 
pose, his  habit  of  making  truth  attractive,  by  throwing 
over  her  the  dress  of  paradox,  should  have  given  him 
for  a  moment  the  appearance  of  weighing  the  mere 
amusements  of  society  and  conversation  against  do- 
mestic fidelity,  which  is  the  preserver  of  domestic 
affection,  the  source  of  parental  fondness  and  filial 
regard,  and,  indirectly,  of  all  the  kindness  which 
exists  between  human  beings.  That  families  are 
schools  where  the  infant  heart  learns  to  love,  and  that 
pure  manners  are  the  cement  which  alone  holds  these 
schools  together,  are  truths  so  certain,  that  it  is 
wonderful  he  should  not  have  betrayed  a  stronger 
sense  of  their  importance.  No  one  could  so  well  have 
proved  that  all  the  virtues  of  that  class,  in  their 
various  orders  and  degrees,  minister  to  the  benevolent 
affections ;  and  that  every  act  which  separates  the 
senses  from  the  affections  tends,  in  some  degree,  to 
deprive  kindness  of  its  natural  auxiliary,  and  to  lessen 
its  prevalence  in  the  world.  It  did  not  require  his 
sagacity  to  discover  that  the  gentlest  and  tenderest 
feelings  flourish  only  under  the  stern  guardianship  of 
these  severe  virtues.  Perhaps  his  philosophy  was 
loosened,  though  his  life  was  uncorrupted,  by  that 
universal  and  undistinguishing  profligacy  which  pre- 
vailed on  the  Continent,  from  the  regency  of  the  Duke 
of  Orleans  to  the  French  Revolution ;  the  most  disso- 
lute period  of  European  history,  at  least  since  the 
Roman  cmperors.f  At  Rome,  indeed,  the  connexion 
of  licentiousness  with  cruelty,  which,  though  scarcely 

*  Essays  and  Treatises,  vol.  i.  f  See  Note  R 

VOL.  L  L 


146  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

traceable  in  individuals,  is  generally  very  observable 
in  large  masses,  bore  a  fearful  testimony  to  the  value 
of  austere  purity.  The  alliance  of  these  remote  vices 
seemed  to  be  broken  in  the  time  of  Mr.  Hume.  Plea- 
sure, in  a  more  improved  state  of  society,  seemed  to 
return  to  her  more  natural  union  with  kindness  and 
tenderness,  as  well  as  with  refinement  and  politeness. 
Had  he  lived  fourteen  years  longer,  however,  he  would 
have  seen,  that  the  virtues  which  guard  the  natural 
seminaries  of  the  affections  are  their  only  true  and 
lasting  friends.  He  would  also  then  have  seen  (the 
demand  of  well-informed  men  for  the  improvement  of 
civil  institutions, — and  that  of  all  classes  grooving  in 
intelligence,  to  be  delivered  from  a  degrading  in- 
feriority, and  to  be  admitted  to  a  share  of  political 
power  proportioned  to  their  new  importance,  having 
been  feebly,  yet  violently,  resisted  by  those  ruling 
castes  who  neither  knew  how  to  yield,  nor  how  to 
withstand),  how  speedily  the  sudden  demolition  of  the 
barriers  (imperfect  as  these  were)  of  law  and  govern- 
ment, led  to  popular  excesses,  desolating  wars,  and  a 
military  dictatorship,  which  for  a  long  time  threatened 
to  defeat  the  reformation,  and  to  disappoint  the  hopes 
of  mankind.  This  tremendous  conflagration  threw  a 
fearful  light  on  the  ferocity  which  lies  hid  under  the 
arts  and  pleasures  of  corrupted  nations ;  as  earth- 
quakes and  volcanoes  disclose  the  rocks  which  compose 
the  deeper  parts  of  our  planet,  beneath  a  fertile  and 
flowery  surface.  A  part  of  this  dreadful  result  may 
be  ascribed,  not  improbably,  to  that  relaxation  of 
domestic  ties,  which  is  unhappily  natural  to  the  popu- 
lace of  all  vast  capitals,  and  was  at  that  time  coun- 
tenanced and  aggravated  by  the  example  of  their 
superiors.  Another  part  doubtless  arose  from  the 
barbarising  power  of  absolute  government,  or,  in  other 
words,  of  inj  ustice  in  high  places.  A  narration  of  those 
events  attests,  as  strongly  as  Roman  history,  though 
in  a  somewhat  different  manner,  the  humanising  efiicacy 
of  the  family  virtues,  by  the  consequences  of  the  want 


OF   ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  147 

of  them  in  the  higher  classes,  whose  profuse  and  osten- 
tatious sensuality  inspired  the  labouring  and  suffering 
portion  of  mankind  with  contempt,  disgust,  envy,  and 
hatred. 

The  Inquiry  is  disfigured  by  another  speck  of  more 
frivolous  paradox.  It  consists  in  the  attempt  to  give 
the  name  of  Virtue  to  qualities  of  the  Understanding ; 
and  it  would  not  have  deserved  the  single  remark 
about  to  be  made  on  it,  had  it  been  the  paradox  of  an 
inferior  man.  He  has  altogether  omitted  the  circum- 
stance on  which  depends  the  difference  of  our  senti- 
ments regarding  moral  and  intellectual  qualities.  We 
admire  intellectual  excellence,  but  we  bestow  no  moral 
approbation  on  it.  Such  approbation  has  no  tendency 
directly  to  increase  it,  because  it  is  not  voluntary. 
We  cultivate  our  natural  disposition  to  esteem  and 
love  benevolence  and  justice,  because  these  moral 
sentiments,  and  the  expression  of  them,  directly  and 
materially  dispose  others,  as  well  as  ourselves,  to  cul- 
tivate these  two  virtues.  We  cultivate  a  natural  anger 
against  oppression,  which  guards  ourselves  against  the 
practice  of  that  vice,  and  because  the  manifestation  of 
it  deters  others  from  its  exercise.  The  first  rude  re- 
sentment of  a  child  is  against  every  instrument  of 
hurt :  we  confine  it  to  intentional  hurt ;  when  we  are 
taught  by  experience  that  it  prevents  only  that  species 
of  hurt ;  and  at  last  it  is  still  further  limited  to  wrong 
done  to  ourselves  or  others,  and  in  that  case  becomes 
a  purely  moral  sentiment.  We  morally  approve  in- 
dustry, desire  of  knowledge,  love  of  Truth,  and  all  the 
habits  by  which  the  Understanding  is  strengthened 
and  rectified,  because  their  formation  is  subject  to  the 
Will  * ;  but  we  do  not  feel  moral  anger  against  folly 
or  ignorance,  because  they  are  involuntary.  No  one 
but  the  religious  persecutor, — a  mischievous  and  over- 

*  "  In  hac  quaestione  primas  tenet  Voluntas,  qua,  ut  ait  Augus- 
tinus,  peccatur,  et  recte  vivitur."  —  Erasmus,  Diatribe  adversus 
Lutherum. 

L  2 


148  DISSERTATION   ON    THE   PROGRESS 

grown  child,  wreaks  his  vengeance  on  involuntary, 
inevitable,  compulsory  acts  or  states  of  the  Under- 
standing, which  are  no  more  affected  by  blame  than 
the  stone  which  the  foolish  child  beats  for  hurting 
him.  Reasonable  men  apply  to  every  thing  which 
they  wish  to  move,  the  agent  which  is  capable  of 
moving  it;  —  force  to  outward  substances,  arguments 
to  the  Understanding,  and  blame,  together  with  all 
other  motives,  whether  moral  or  personal,  to  the  Will 
alone.  It  is  as  absurd  to  entertain  an  abhorrence  of 
intellectual  inferiority  or  error,  however  extensive  or 
mischievous,  as  it  would  be  to  cherish  a  warm  in- 
dignation against  earthquakes  or  hurricanes.  It  is 
singular  that  a  philosopher  who  needed  the  most 
liberal  toleration  should,  by  representing  states  of  the 
Understanding  as  moral  or  immoral,  have  offered  the 
most  philosophical  apology  for  persecution. 

That  general  utility  constitutes  a  uniform  ground 
of  moral  distinctions,  is  a  part  of  Mr.  Hume's  ethical 
theory  which  never  can  be  impugned,  until  some 
example  can  be  produced  of  a  virtue  generally  per- 
nicious, or  of  a  vice  generally  beneficial.  The  reli- 
gious philosopher  who,  with  Butler,  holds  that 
benevolence  must  be  the  actuating  principle  of  the 
Divine  mind,  will,  with  Berkeley,  maintain  that  pure 
benevolence  can  prescribe  no  rules  of  human  conduct 
but  such  as  are  beneficial  to  men  ;  thus  bestowing  on 
the  theory  of  moral  disfAnctions  the  certainty  of  de- 
monstration in  the  eyes  of  all  who  believe  in  God. 

The  other  question  of  moral  philosophy  which  re- 
lates to  the  theory  of  moral  approbation,  has  been 
by  no  means  so  distinctly  and  satisfactorily  handled 
by  Mr.  Hume.  His  general  doctrine  is,  that  an  in- 
terest in  the  well-being  of  others,  implanted  by  nature, 
which  he  calls  "  sympathy"  in  his  Treatise  of  Human 
Nature,  and  much  less  happily  "  benevolence"  in  his 
subsequent  Inquiry*   prompts  us  to  be  pleased  with 

*  Essays  and  Treatises,  vol.  ii. 


OF   ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  149 

all  generally  beneficial  actions.  In  this  respect  his 
doctrine  nearly  resembles  that  of  Hutcheson.  He 
does  not  trace  his  principle  through  the  variety  of 
forms  which  our  moral  sentiments  assume :  there  are 
very  important  parts  of  them,  of  which  it  affords  no 
solution.  For  example,  though  he  truly  represents 
our  approbation,  in  others,  of  qualities  useful  to  the 
individual,  as  a  proof  of  benevolence,  he  makes  no 
attempt  to  explain  our  moral  approbation  of  such  45 
virtues  as  temperance  and  fortitude  in  ourselves.  He 
entirely  overlooks  that  consciousness  of  the  rightful 
supremacy  of  the  Moral  Faculty  over  every  other 
principle  of  human  action,  without  an  explanation  of 
which,  ethical  theory  is  wanting  in  one  of  its  vita 
organs. 

Notwithstanding  these  considerable  defects,  his 
proof  from  induction  of  the  beneficial  tendency  of 
Virtue,  his  conclusive  arguments  for  human  disin- 
terestedness, and  his  decisive  observations  on  the  re- 
spective provinces  of  Reason  and  Sentiment  in  Morals, 
concur  in  ranking  the  Inquiry  with  the  ethical  trea- 
tises of  the  highest  merit  in  our  language,  —  with 
Shaftesbury's  Inquiry  concerning  Virtue,  Butler's 
Sermons,  and  Smith's  Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments. 

ADAM   SMITH.* 

The  great  name  of  Adam  Smith  rests  upon  the 
Inquiry  into  the  Nature  and  Causes  of  the  Wealth 
of  Nations ;  perhaps  the  only  book  which  produced 
an  immediate,  general,  and  irrevocable  change  in 
some  of  the  most  important  parts  of  the  legislation  of 
all  civilised  states.  The  works  of  Grotius,  of  Locke, 
and  of  Montesquieu,  which  bear  a  resemblance  to  it 
in  character,  and  had  no  inconsiderable  analogy  to  it 
in  the  extent  of  their  popular  influence,  were  produc- 
tive only  of  a  general  amendment,  not  so  conspicuous 

*  Born,  1723;  died,  1790. 
L  3 


150  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

in  particular  instances,  as  discoverable,  after  a  time, 
in  the  improved  condition  of  human  affairs.  The 
work  of  Smith,  as  it  touched  those  matters  which 
may  be  numbered,  and  measured,  and  weighed,  bore 
more  visible  and  palpable  fruit.  In  a  few  years  it 
began  to  alter  laws  and  treaties,  and  has  made  its 
way,  throughout  the  convulsions  of  revolution  and 
conquest,  to  a  due  ascendant  over  the  minds  of  men, 
^  with  far  less  than  the  average  of  those  obstructions  of 
prejudice  and  clamour,  which  ordinarily  choke  the 
channels  through  which  truth  flows  into  practice.* 
The  most  eminent  of  those  who  have  since  cultivated 
and  improved  the  science  will  be  the  foremost  to  ad- 
dress their  immortal  master, 

Tenebris  tantis  tam  clarum  extollere  lumen 

Qui  primus  potuisti,  inlustrans  commoda  vitae, 
Te  sequor !  f 

In  a  science  more  difficult,  because  both  ascending 
to  more  simple  general  principles,  and  running  down 
through  more  minute  applications,  though  the  success 
of  Smith  has  been  less  complete,  his  genius  is  not 
less  conspicuous.  Perhaps  there  is  no  ethical  work 
since  Cicero's  Offices,  of  which  an  abridgment  enables 
the  reader  so  inadequately  to  estimate  the  merit, 
as  the  Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments.  This  is  not 
chiefly  owing  to  the  beauty  of  diction,  as  in  the  case 
of  Cicero ;  but  to  the  variety  of  explanations  of  life 
and  manners  which  embellish  the  book  often  more 
than  they  illuminate  the  theory.  Yet,  on  the  other 
hand,  it  must  be  owned  that,  for  purely  philosophical 
purposes,  few  books  more  need  abridgment :  for  the 
most  careful  reader  frequently  loses  sight  of  principles 
buried  under  illustrations.  The  naturally  copious 
and  flowing  style  of  the  author  is  generally  redundant; 
and  the  repetition  of  certain  formularies  of  the  system 
is,  in  the  later  editions,  so  frequent  as  to  be  weari- 

*  See  Note  S.  f  Lucret.  lib.  iii. 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  lol 

some,  and  sometimes  ludicrous.  Perhaps  Smith  and 
Hobbes  may  be  considered  as  forming  the  two  ex- 
tremes of  good  style  in  our  philosophy  ;  the  first  of 
graceful  fulness  falling  into  flaccidity ;  while  the 
masterly  concision  of  the  second  is  oftener  carried  for- 
ward into  dictatorial  dryness.  Hume  and  Berkeley, 
though  they  are  nearer  the  extreme  of  abundance*, 
are  probably  the  least  distant  from  perfection. 

That  mankind  are  so  constituted  as  to  sympathise 
with  each  other's  feelings,  and  to  feel  pleasure  in  the 
accordance  of  these  feelings,  are  the  only  fiicts  required 
by  Dr.  Smith ;  and  they  certainly  must  be  granted  to 
him.  To  adopt  the  feelings  of  another,  is  to  approve 
them.  When  the  sentiments  of  another  are  such  as 
would  be  excited  in  us  by  the  same  objects,  we  ap- 
prove them  as  moralli/  proper.  To  obtain  this  accord- 
ance, it  becomes  necessary  for  him  who  enjoys,  or 
suffers,  to  lower  the  expression  of  his  feeling  to  the 
point  to  which  the  by-stander  can  raise  his  fellow- 
feelings  ;  on  this  attempt  are  founded  all  the  high 
virtues  of  self-denial  and  self-command :  and  it  is 
equally  necessary  for  the  by-stander  to  raise  his  sym- 
pathy as  near  as  he  can  to  the  level  of  the  original 
feeling.  In  all  unsocial  passions,  such  as  anger,  we 
have  a  divided  sympathy  between  him  who  feels  them, 
and  those  who  are  the  objects  of  them.  Hence  the 
propriety  of  extremely  moderating  them.  Pure  malice 
is  always  to  be  concealed  or  disguised,  because  all 
sympathy  is  arrayed  against  it.  In  the  private  pas- 
sions, Avhere  there  is  only  a  simple  sympathy,  —  that 
with  the  original  passion,  —  the  expression  has  more 
liberty.  The  benevolent  affections,  where  there  is  a 
double  sympathy,  —  with  those  who  feel  them,  and 
those  who  are  their  objects,  —  are  the  most  agreeable, 
and  may  be  indulged  with  the  least  apprehension  of 

*  This  remark  is  chiefly  applicable  to  Hume's  Essays.  His 
Treatise  of  Human  Nature  is  more  Hobbian  in  its  general  tenor, 
though  it  has  Ciceronian  passages. 

L  4 


152  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

finding  no  echo  in  other  breasts.  Sympathy  with  the 
gratitude  of  those  who  are  benefited  by  good  actions, 
prompts  us  to  consider  them  as  deserving  of  reward, 
and  forms  the  sense  of  merit ;  as  fellow-feeling  with 
the  resentment  of  those  who  are  injured  by  crimes 
leads  us  to  look  on  them  as  worthy  of  punishment, 
and  constitutes  the  sense  of  demerit.  These  sentiments 
require  not  only  beneficial  actions,  but  benevolent 
motives  ;  being  compounded,  in  the  case  of  merit,  of 
a  direct  sympathy  with  the  good  disposition  of  the 
benefactor,  and  an  indirect  sympathy  with  the  persons 
benefited ;  in  the  opposite  case,  with  precisely  opposite 
sympathies.  He  who  does  an  act  of  wrong  to  another 
to  gratify  his  own  passions,  must  not  expect  that  the 
spectators,  who  have  none  of  his  undue  partiality  to 
his  own  interest,  will  enter  into  his  feelings.  In  such  a 
case,  he  knows  that  they  Avill  pity  the  person  wronged, 
and  be  full  of  indignation  against  him.  When  he  is 
cooled,  he  adopts  the  sentiments  of  others  on  his  own 
crime,  feels  shame  at  the  impropriety  of  his  former 
passion,  pity  for  those  who  have  sufiered  by  him,  and 
a  dread  of  punishment  from  general  and  just  resent- 
ment.    Such  are  the  constituent  parts  of  remorse. 

Our  moral  sentiments  respecting  ourselves  arise 
from  those  which  others  feel  concerning  us.  We  feel  a 
self-approbation  whenever  we  believe  that  the  general 
feeling  of  mankind  coincides  with  that  state  of  mind 
in  which  we  ourselves  were  at  a  given  time.  "  We 
suppose  ourselves  the  spectators  of  our  own  behaviour, 
and  endeavour  to  imagine  what  effect  it  would  in  this 
light  produce  in  as."  We  must  view  our  own  conduct 
with  the  eyes  of  others  before  we  can  judge  it.  The 
sense  of  duty  arises  from  putting  ourselves  in  the 
place  of  others,  and  adopting  their  sentiments  respect- 
ing our  own  conduct.  In  utter  solitude  there  could 
have  been  no  self-approbation.  The  rules  of  Morality 
are  a  summary  of  those  sentiments ;  and  often  bene- 
ficially stand  in  their  stead  when  the  self-delusions  of 
passion  would  otherwise  hide  from  us  the  non-con- 


OF   ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  153 

formity  of  our  state  of  mind  with  that  which,  in  the 
circumstances,  can  be  entered  into  and  approved  by 
impartial  by-standers.  It  is  hence  that  we  learn  to 
raise  our  mind  above  local  or  temporal  y  clamour,  and 
to  fix  our  eyes  on  the  surest  indications  oi  the  general 
and  lasting  sentiments  of  human  nature.  "  When  we 
approve  of  any  character  or  action,  our  sentiments  are 
derived  from  four  sources :  Jirst,  we  sympathise  with 
the  motives  of  the  agent ;  secondly,  we  enter  into  the 
gratitude  of  those  who  have  been  benefited  by  his 
actions ;  thirdly,  ^Q  observe  that  his  conduct  has  been 
agreeable  to  the  general  rules  by  which  those  two 
sympathies  generally  act ;  and,  last  of  all,  when  we 
consider  such  actions  as  forming  part  of  a  system  of 
behaviour  which  tends  to  promote  the  happiness  either 
of  the  individual  or  of  society,  they  appear  to  derive  a 
beauty  from  this  utility,  not  unlike  that  which  we 
ascribe  to  any  well-contrived  machine."  * 

REMARKS. 

That  Smith  is  the  first  who  has  drawn  the  attention 
of  philosophers  to  one  of  the  most  curious  and  im- 
portant parts  of  human  nature,  —  who  has  looked 
closely  and  steadily  into  the  workings  of  Sympathy, 
its  sudden  action  and  re-action,  its  instantaneous  con- 
flicts and  its  emotions,  its  minute  play  and  varied 
illusions,  is  sufiicient  to  place  him  high  among  the 
cultivators  of  mental  philosophy.  He  is  very  original 
in  applications  and  explanations  ;  though,  for  his  prin- 
ciple, he  is  somewhat  indebted  to  Butler,  more  to 
Hutcheson,  and  most  of  all  to  Hume.  These  writers, 
except  Hume  in  his  original  work,  had  derived  sym- 
pathy, or  a  great  part  of  it,  from  benevolence  f : 
Smith,  with  deeper  insight,  inverted  the  order.  The 
great  part  performed  by  various  sympathies  in  moral 

♦  Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments,  Edinb.  1801.  ii.  304. 
t  There  is  some  confusion  regarding  this  point  in  Butler's  first 
sermon  on  Compassion. 


154  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

approbation  was  first  unfolded  by  him ;  and  besides 
its  intrinsic  importance,  it  strengthened  the  proofs 
again.it  those  theories  which  ascribe  that  great  func- 
tior  CO  Reason.  Another  great  merit  of  the  theory 
of  "  sympathy "  is,  that  it  brings  into  the  strongest 
light  that  most  important  characteristic  of  the  moral 
sentiments  which  consists  in  their  being  the  only  prin- 
ciples leading  to  action,  and  dependent  on  emotion  or 
sensibility,  with  respect  to  the  objects  of  which,  it 
is  not  only  possible  but  natural  for  all  mankind  to 
agree.* 

The  main  defects  of  this  theory  seem  to  be  the 
following. 

1.  Though  it  is  not  to  be  condemned  for  declining 
inquiry  into  the  origin  of  our  fellow-feeling,  which, 
being  one  of  the  most  certain  of  all  facts,  might  well 
be  assumed  as  ultimate  in  speculations  of  this  nature, 
it  is  evident  that  the  circumstances  to  which  some 
speculators  ascribe  the  formation  of  sympathy  at  least 
contribute  to  strengthen  or  impair,  to  contract  or  ex- 
pand it.  It  will  appear,  more  conveniently,  in  the  next 
article,  that  the  theory  of  "sympathy"  has  suffered 
from  the  omission  of  these  circumstances.  For  the 
present,  it  is  enough  to  observe  how  much  our  com- 
passion for  various  sorts  of  animals,  and  our  fellow 
feeling  with  various  races  of  men,  are  proportioned 
to  the  resemblance  which  they  bear  to  ourselves,  to 
the  frequency  of  our  intercourse  with  them,  and  to 
other  causes  which,  in  the  opinion  of  some,  afford 
evidence  that  sympathy  itself  is  dependent  on  a  more 
general  law. 

2.  Had  Smith  extended  his  view  beyond  the  mere 
play  of  sympathy  itself,  and  taken  into  account  all 

*  The  feelings  of  beauty,  grandeur,  and  whatever  else  is  com- 
prehended under  the  name  of  Taste,  form  no  exception,  for  they 
do  not  lead  to  action,  but  terminate  in  delightful  contemplation ; 
which  constitutes  the  essential  distinction  between  them  and  the 
moral  sentiments,  to  which,  in  some  points  of  view,  they  may 
doubtless  be  likened. 


OF   ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHT.  155 

its  preliminaries,  and  accompaniments,  and  conse- 
quences, it  seems  improbable  that  he  would  have 
fallen  into  the  great  error  of  representing  the  sym- 
pathies in  their  primitive  state,  without  undergoing 
any  transformation,  as  continuing  exclusively  to  con- 
stitute the  moral  sentiments.  He  is  not  content  with 
teaching  that  they  are  the  roots  out  of  which  these 
sentiments  grow,  the  stocks  on  which  they  are  grafted, 
the  elements  of  which  they  are  compounded;  —  doc- 
trines to  which  nothing  could  be  objected  but  their 
unlimited  extent.  He  tacitly  assumes,  that  if  a  sym- 
pathy in  the  beginning  caused  or  formed  a  moral 
approbation,  so  it  must  ever  continue  to  do.  He  pro- 
ceeds like  a  geologist  who  should  tell  us  that  the  body 
of  this  planet  had  always  been  in  the  same  state, 
shutting  his  eyes  to  transition  states,  and  secondary 
formations  ;  or  like  a  chemist  who  should  inform  us 
that  no  compound  substance  can  possess  new  qualities 
entirely  different  from  those  which  belong  to  its 
materials.  His  acquiescence  in  this  old  and  still 
general  error  is  the  more  remarkable,  because  Mr. 
Hume's  beautiful  Dissertation  on  the  Passions*  had 
just  before  opened  a  striking  view  of  some  of  the  com- 
positions and  decompositions  which  render  the  mind 
of  a  formed  man  as  different  from  its  original  state,  as 
the  organisation  of  a  complete  animal  is  from  the 
condition  of  the  first  dim  speck  of  vitality.  It  is  from 
this  oversight  (ill  supplied  by  moral  rules, — a  loose 
stone  in  his  building)  that  he  has  exposed  himself  to 
objections  founded  on  experience,  to  which  it  is  im- 
possible to  attempt  any  answer.  For  it  is  certain  that 
in  many,  nay  in  most  cases  of  moral  approbation, 
the  adult  man  approves  the  action  or  disposition 
merely  as  right,  and  with  a  distinct  consciousness  that 
no  process  of  sympathy  intervenes  between  the  ap- 
proval and  its  object.  It  is  certain  that  an  unbiassed 
person  would  call  it  moral  approbation^  only  as  far  as 

♦  Essays  and  Treatises,  vol.  il 


156  DISSERTATION   ON    THE   PROGRESS 

it  excluded  the  interposition  of  any  reflection  between 
the  conscience  and  the  mental  state  approved.  Upon 
the  supposition  of  an  unchanged  state  of  our  active 
principles,  it  w^ould  follow  that  sympathy  never  had 
any  share  in  the  greater  part  of  them.  Had  he  ad- 
mitted the  sympathies  to  be  only  elements  entering 
into  the  formation  of  Conscience,  their  disappearance, 
or  their  appearance  only  as  auxiliaries,  after  the  mind 
is  mature,  would  have  been  no  more  an  objection  to 
his  system,  than  the  conversion  of  a  substance  from  a 
transitional  to  a  permanent  state  is  a  perplexity  to 
the  geologist.  It  would  perfectly  resemble  the  de- 
struction of  qualities,  which  is  the  ordinary  effect  of 
chemical  composition. 

3.  The  same  error  has  involved  him  in  another 
difficulty  perhaps  still  more  fatal.  The  sympathies 
have  nothing  more  of  an  imperative  character  than 
any  other  emotions.  They  attract  or  repel  like  other 
feelings,  according  to  their  intensity.  If,  then,  the 
sympathies  continue  in  mature  minds  to  constitute 
the  whole  of  Conscience,  it  becomes  utterly  impossible 
to  explain  the  character  of  command  and  supremacy, 
which  is  attested  by  the  unanimous  voice  of  mankind 
to  belong  to  that  faculty,  and  to  form  its  essential 
distinction.  Had  he  adopted  the  other  representation, 
it  would  be  possible  to  conceive,  perhaps  easy  to  ex- 
plain, that  Conscience  should  possess  a  quality  which 
belonged  to  none  of  its  elements. 

4.  It  is  to  this  representation  that  Smith's  theory 
owes  that  unhappy  appearance  of  rendering  the  rule 
of  our  conduct  dependent  on  the  notions  and  passions 
of  those  who  surround  us,  of  which  the  utmost  efforts 
of  the  most  refined  ingenuity  have  not  been  able  to 
divest  it.  This  objection,  or  topic,  is  often  ignorantly 
urged  ;  the  answers  are  frequently  solid  ;  but  to  most 
men  they  must  always  appear  to  be  an  ingenious  and 
intricate  contrivance  of  cycles  and  epicycles,  which 
perplex  the  mind  too  much  to  satisfy  it,  and  seem  de- 
vised to  evade   difficulties  which  cannot  be   solved. 


OF   ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  lo7 

All  theories  which  treat  Conscience  as  built  up  by 
circumstances  inevitably  acting  on  all  human  minds, 
are,  indeed,  liable  to  somewhat  of  the  same  miscon- 
ception ;  unless  they  place  in  the  strongest  light 
(what  Smith's  theory  excludes)  the  total  destruction 
of  the  scaffolding,  which  was  necessary  only  to  the 
erection  of  the  building,  after  the  mind  is  adult  and 
mature,  and  warn  the  hastiest  reader,  that  it  then 
rests  on  its  own  foundation  alone. 

5.  The  constant  reference  of  our  own  dispositions 
and  actions  to  the  point  of  view  from  which  they  are 
estimated  by  others,  seems  to  be  rather  an  excellent 
expedient  for  preserving  our  impartiality,  than  a 
fundamental  principle  of  Ethics.  But  impartiality, 
which  is  no  more  than  a  removal  of  some  hinderance 
to  right  judgment,  supplies  no  materials  for  its  exer- 
cise, and  no  rule,  or  even  principle,  for  its  guidance.  It 
nearly  coincides  with  the  Christian  precept  of  "  doing 
unto  others  as  we  would  they  should  do  unto  us ; " —  an 
admirable  practical  maxim,  but,  as  Leibnitz  has  said 
truly,  intended  only  as  a  correction  of  self-partiality. 

6.  Lastly,  this  ingenious  system  renders  all  mo- 
rality relative,  by  referring  it  to  the  pleasure  of  an 
agreement  of  our  feelings  with  those  of  others,  —  by 
confining  itself  entirely  to  the  question  of  moral  ap- 
probation, and  by  providing  no  place  for  the  con- 
sideration of  that  quality  which  distinguishes  all  good 
from  all  bad  actions  ;  —  a  defect  which  will  appear  in 
the  sequel  to  be  more  immediately  fatal  to  a  theorist 
of  the  sentimental,  than  to  one  of  the  intellectual  school. 
Smith  shrinks  from  considering  utility  in  that  light, 
as  soon  as  it  presents  itself,  or  very  strangely  ascribes 
its  power  over  our  moral  feelings  to  admiration  of 
the  mere  adaptation  of  means  to  ends,  (which  might 
surely  be  as  well  felt  for  the  production  of  wide- 
spread misery,  by  a  consistent  system  of  wicked  con- 
duct,)—  instead  of  ascribing  it  to  benevolence,  with 
Hutcheson  and  Hume,  or  to  an  extension  of  that 
very  sympathy  which  is  his  own  first  principle. 


158  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 


RICHARD   PRICE.* 

About  the  same  time  with  the  celebrated  work  of 
Smith,  but  with  a  popular  reception  very  different, 
Dr.  Richard  Price,  an  excellent  and  eminent  non- 
conformist minister,  published  A  Review  of  the  prin- 
cipal Questions  in  Morals  "j" ;  —  an  attempt  to  revive 
the  intellectual  theory  of  moral  obligation,  which 
seemed  to  have  fallen  under  the  attacks  of  Butler, 
Hutcheson,  and  Hume,  and  before  that  of  Smith.  It 
attracted  little  observation  at  first ;  but  being  after- 
wards countenanced  by  the  Scottish  school,  it  may 
seem  to  deserve  some  notice,  at  a  moment  when  the 
kindred  speculations  of  the  German  metaphysicians 
have  effected  an  establishment  in  France,  and  are  no 
longer  unknown  in  England. 

The  Understanding  itself  is,  according  to  Price,  an 
independent  source  of  simple  ideas^  "  The  various 
kinds  of  agreement  and  disagreement  between  our 
ideas,  spoken  of  by  Locke,  are  so  many  new  simple 
ideas."  "  This  is  true  of  our  ideas  of  proportion,  of 
our  ideas  of  identity  and  diversity,  existence,  con- 
nection, cause  and  effect,  power,  possibility,  and  of 
our  ideas  of  right  and  wrong."  "  The  first  relates  to 
quantity,  the  last  to  actions,  the  rest  to  all  things." 
"  Like  all  other  simple  ideas,  they  are  undefinable." 

It  is  needless  to  pursue  this  theory  farther,  till  an 
answer  shall  be  given  to  the  observation  made  before, 
that  as  no  perception  or  judgment,  or  other  unmixed 
act  of  Understanding,  merely  as  such,  and  without 
the  agency  of  some  intermediate  emotion,  can  affect 
the  Will,  the  account  given  by  Dr.  Price  of  percep- 
tions of  judgments  respecting  moral  subjects,  does 
not  advance  one  step  towards  the  explanation  of  the 
authority  of  Conscience  over  the  Will,  which  is  the 

*  Born,  1723;  died,  1791. 

f  The  third  edition  was  published  at  London  in  1787. 


OF   ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  159 

matter  to  be  explained.  Indeed,  this  respectable 
writer  felt  the  difficulty  so  much  as  to  allow,  "  that 
in  contemplating  the  acts  of  moral  agents,  we  have 
both  a  perception  of  the  understanding  and  a  feeling 
of  the  heart."  He  even  admits,  that  it  would  have 
been  highly  pernicious  to  us  if  our  reason  had  been 
left  without  such  support.  But  he  has  not  shown 
how,  on  such  a  supposition,  we  could  have  acted 
on  a  mere  opinion  ;  nor  has  he  given  any  proof  that 
what  he  calls  "  support "  is  not,  in  truth,  the  whole  of 
what  directly  produces  the  conformity  of  voluntary 
acts  to  Morality.* 

DAYID   HARTLEY,  f 

The  work  of  Dr.  Hartley,  entitled  "  Observations 
on  Man|,"  is  distinguished  by  an  uncommon  union  of 
originality  with  modesty,  in  unfolding  a  simple  and 
fruitful  principle  of  human  nature.  It  is  disfigured 
by  the  absurd  affectation  of  mathematical  forms  then 
prevalent ;  and  it  is  encumbered  and  deformed  by  a 
mass  of  physiological  speculations, — groundless,  or  at 
best  uncertain,  and  wholly  foreign  from  its  proper 
purpose, — which  repel  the  inquirer  into  mental  phi- 
losophy from  its  perusal,  and  lessen  the  respect  of  the 
physiologist  for  the  author's  judgment.  It  is  an  un- 
fortunate  example   of  the    disposition    predominant 

*  The  following  sentences  will  illustrate  the  text,  and  are  in 
truth  applicable  to  all  moral  theories  on  merely  intellectual  prin- 
ciples :  "  Reason  alone,  did  we  possess  it  in  a  higher  degree, 
would  answer  all  the  ends  of  the  passions.  Thus  there  would  be 
no  need  of  parental  affection,  were  all  parents  sufficiently  ac- 
quainted with  the  reasons  for  taking  upon  them  the  guidance  and 
support  of  those  whom  Nature  has  placed  under  their  care,  and 
were  they  virtuous  enough  to  be  always  determined  by  those  reasons  ?  " 
—  Review,  p.  121.  A  veiy  slight  consideration  will  show,  that 
%vithout  the  last  words  the  preceding  part  would  be  utterly  false, 
and  with  them  it  is  utterly  insignificant. 

f  Born,  1705;  died,  1757. 

X  Loudon,  1749. 


160  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

among  undistinguishing  theorists  to  class  together  all 
the  appearances  which  are  observed  at  the  same  time, 
and  in  the  immediate  neighbourhood  of  each  other. 
At  that  period,  chemical  phenomena  were  referred 
to  mechanical  principles ;  "vegetable  and  animal  life 
were  subjected  to  mechanical  or  chemical  laws :  and 
while  some  physiologists*  ascribed  the  vital  functions 
to  the  Understanding,  the  greater  part  of  metaphy- 
sicians were  disposed,  with  a  grosser  confusion,  to 
derive  the  intellectual  operations  from  bodily  causes. 
The  error  in  the  latter  case,  though  less  immediately 
perceptible,  is  deeper  and  more  fundamental  than  in 
any  other,  since  it  overlooks  the  primordial  and  per- 
petual distinction  between  the  bei7ig  which  thinks  and 
the  thing  ivhich  is  thought  of, — not  to  be  lost  sight  of, 
by  the  mind's  eye,  even  for  a  twinkling,  without  in- 
volving all  nature  in  darkness  and  confusion.  Hartley 
and  Condillac  f ,  who,  much  about  the  same  time,  but 
seemingly  without  any  knowledge  of  each  other's  spe- 
culations |,  began  in  a  very  similar  mode  to  simplify, 
but  also  to  mutilate  the  system  of  Locke,  stopped  short 
of  what  is  called  "  materialism,"  which  consummates 
the  confusion,  but  touched  its  threshold.  Thither,  it 
must  be  owned,  their  philosophy  pointed,  and  thither 
their  followers  proceeded.  Hartley  and  Bonnet  § , 
still  more  than  Condillac,  suffered   themselves,  like 

*  Among  them  was  G.  E.  Stahl,  born,  1660  ;  died,  1734  ; — a 
German  physician  and  chemist  of  deserved  eminence. 

t  Born,  1715;  died,  1780. 

%  Traite  sur  I'Origine  des  Connoissances  Humaines,  1746; 
Traite  des  Systemes,  1749  ;  Traite  des  Sensations,  1754.  Foreign 
books  were  then  little  and  slowly  known  in  England.  Hartley's 
reading,  except  on  theology,  seems  confined  to  the  physical  and 
mathematical  sciences ;  and  his  whole  manner  of  thinking  and 
writing  is  so  different  from  that  of  Condillac,  that  there  is  not  the 
least  reason  to  suppose  the  work  of  the  one  to  have  been  known 
to  the  other.  The  work  of  Hartley,  as  we  learn  from  the  sketch 
of  his  life  by  his  son,  prefixed  to  the  edition  of  1791,  was  begun 
in  1730,  and  finished  in  1746. 

§  Born,  1720;  died,  1793. 


OF    ETHICAL   PIIILOSOPHY.  161 

most  of  their   contemporaries,   to   overlook  the  im- 
portant truth,  that  all  the  changes  in  the  organs  which 
•  can   be  likened   to   other   material   phenomena,    are 
nothing  more  than  antecedents  and  prerequisites  of  per- 
ception^ bearing  not  the  faintest  likeness  to  it,  —  as 
much  outward  in  relation  to  the  thinking  principle, 
as  if  they  occurred  in  any  other  part  of  matter  ;  and 
that  the  entire  comprehension  of  those  changes,  if  it 
were  attained,  would  not  bring  us  a  step  nearer  to  the 
nature  of  thought.     They  who  would  have  been  the 
first  to  exclaim  against  the  mistake  of  a  sound  for  a 
colour,  fell  into  the  more  unspeakable  error  of  con- 
founding the  perception  of  objects,  as  outward,  with 
the    consciousness   of   our    own    mental    operations. 
Locke's    doctrine,    that  "  reflection "  was    a  separate 
source  of  ideas,  left  room  for  this  greatest  of  all  dis- 
tinctions; though  with  muchunhappiness  of  expression, 
and  with  no  little  variance  from  the  course  of  his  own 
speculations.      Hartley,    Condillac,    and    Bonnet,    in 
hewing  away  this  seeming  deformity  from  the  system 
of  their  master,  unwittingly  struck  off  the  part  of  the 
building  which,  however  unsightly,  gave  it  the  power 
of  yielding  some  shelter  and  guard  to  truths,  of  Avliich 
the  exclusion  rendered  it  utterly  untenable.    They  be- 
came consistent  Nominalists ;  in  reference  to  whose 
controversy  Locke  expresses  himself  with  confusion 
and  contradiction :   but  on   this  subject   they  added 
nothing  to  what  had  been   taught  by  Hobbes  and 
Berkeley.      Both  Hartley  and  Condillac*  have  the 
merit  of  having  been  unsedxiced  by  the  temptations 
either  of  scepticism,  or  of  useless  idealism ;  whicli, 

*  The  following  note  of  Condillac  will  show  how  mucli  ho 
differed  from  Hartley  in  his  mode  of  considering  the  Newtonian 
hypothesis  of  vibrations,  and  how  far  he  was  in  that  respect 
superior  to  him.  "  Je  suppose  iei  et  ailleurs  que  les  perceptions 
de  Tame  ont  ])our  cause  physique  I'ebranlemcnt  dcs  fibres  du 
cerveau  ;  non  que  jc  regarde  cettc  hypothise  comine  demontree,  mais 
•parcequellc  est  la  plus  commode  pour  expliquer  ma  pensee."  —  ^ 
aCuvrcs  de  Condillac,  Paris,  1798,  i.  60. 
VOL.  L  M 


162  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

even  if  Berkeley  and  Hume  could  have  been  unknown 
to  them,  must  have  been  within  sight.  Both  agree  in 
referring  all  the  intellectual  operations  to  the  "  associ- 
ation of  ideas,"  and  in  representing  that  association  as 
reducible  to  the  single  law,  "  that  ideas  which  enter 
the  mind  at  the  same  time,  acquire  a  tendency  to  call 
up  each  other,  which  is  in  direct  proportion  to  the 
frequency  of  their  having  entered  together."  In  this 
important  part  of  their  doctrine  they  seem,  whether 
unconsciously  or  otherwise,  to  have  only  repeated,  and 
very  much  expanded,  the  opinion  of  Hobbes.*  In  its 
simplicity  it  is  more  agreeable  than  the  system  of  Mr. 
Hume,  who  admitted  five  independent  laws  of  associ- 
ation ;  and  it  is  in  comprehension  far  superior  to  the 
views  of  the  same  subject  by  Mr.  Locke,  whose  ill- 
chosen  name  still  retains  its  place  in  our  nomenclature, 
but  who  only  appeals  to  the  principle  as  explaining 
some  fancies  and  whimsies  of  the  human  mind.  The 
capital  fault  of  Hartley  is  that  of  a  rash  generalisation, 
which  may  prove  imperfect,  and  which  is  at  least  pre- 
mature. All  attempts  to  explain  instinct  by  this 
principle  have  hitherto  been  unavailing :  many  of  the 
most  important  processes  of  reasoning  have  not 
hitherto  been  accounted  for  by  it.f  It  would  appear 
by  a  close  examination,  that  even  this  theory,  simple 
as  it  appears,  presupposes  many  facts  relating  to  the 
mind,  of  which  its  authors  do  not  seem  to  have 
suspected  the  existence.  How  many  ultimate  facts  of 
that  nature,  for'  example,  are  contained  and  involved 
in  Aristotle's  celebrated  comparison  of  the  mind  in  its 
first  state  to  a  sheet  of  unwritten  paper !  \  The  texture 

*  Human  Nature,  chap.  iv.  v.  vi.  For  more  ancient  statements, 
see  Note  T, 

t  "  Ce  que  les  logiciens  ont  dit  des  raisonnements  dans  bien 
des  volumes,  me  paroit  entierement  superflu,  et  de  nul  usage." 
Condillac,  i.  115. ;  an  assertion  of  which  the  gross  absurdity  will 
be  apparent  to  the  readers  of  Dr.  Whateley's  Treatise  on  Logic, 
one  of  the  most  important  works  of  the  present  age. 

X  See  Note  U. 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  163 

of  the  paper,  even  its  colour,  the  sort  of  instrument  fit 
to  act  on  it,  its  capacity  to  receive  and  to  retain  im- 
pressions, all  its  differences,  from  ste«l  on  the  one  hand 
to  water  on  the  other,  certainly  presuppose  some  facts, 
and  may  imply  many,  without  a  distinct  statement  of 
which,  the  nature  of  writing  could  not  be  explained 
to  a  person  wholly  ignorant  of  it.  How  many  more, 
as  well  as  greater  laws,  may  be  necessary  to  enable 
mind  to  perceive  outward  objects!  If  the  power  of 
perception  may  be  thus  dependent,  why  may  not  what 
is  called  the  "  association  of  ideas,"  the  attraction  be- 
tween thoughts,  the  power  of  one  to  suggest  another, 
be  affected  by  mental  laws  hitherto  unexplored,  per- 
haps unobserved  ? 

But,  to  return  from  this  digression  into  the  intel- 
lectual part  of  man,  it  becomes  proper  to  say,  that 
the  difference  between  Hartley  and  Condillac,  and 
the  immeasurable  superiority  of  the  former,  are  chiefly 
to  be  found  in  the  application  which  Hartley  first 
made  of  the  law  of  association  to  that  other  unnamed 
portion  of  our  nature  with  which  Morality  more  im- 
mediately deals  ;  —  that  which  feels  pain  and  pleasure, 
—  is  influenced  by  appetites  and  loathings,  by  desires 
and  aversions,  by  affections  and  repugnances.  Con- 
dillac's  Treatise  on  Sensation,  published  five  years 
after  the  work  of  Hartley,  reproduces  the  doctrine  of 
llobbes,  with  its  root,  namely,  that  love  and  hope  arc 
but  transformed  "  sensations  *,"  (by  which  he  means 
perceptions  of  the  senses),  and  its  wide-spread  branches, 
consisting  in  desires  and  passions,  which  are  only  mo- 
difications of  self-love.  "  The  words  'goodness'  and 
'  beauty,' "  says  he,  almost  in  the  very  words  of  Hobbes, 
"  express  those  qualities  of  things  by  which  they  con- 
tribute to  our  pleasures." f  In  the  whole  of  his  philo- 
sophical works,  we  find  no  trace  of  any  desire  pro- 

*  Condillac,  iii.  21.;  more  especially  Traite  des  Sensations, 
part  ii.  chap,  vi,  "  Its  love  for  outward  objects  is  only  an  effect 
of  love  for  itself." 

f  Traite  des  Sensations,  part  iv.  chap.  iii. 

31  2 


164  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

duced  by  association,  of  any  disinterested  principle,  or 
indeed  of  any  distinction  between  the  percipient  and 
what,  perhaps,  we  may  venture  to  call  the  emotive 
or  the  pathematic  part  of  human  nature,  for  the 
present,  until  some  more  convenient  and  agreeable 
name  shall  be  hit  on  by  some  luckier  or  more  skilful 
adventurer. 

To  the  ingenious,  humble,  and  anxiously  conscien- 
tious character  of  Hartley  himself,  we  owe  the  know-* 
ledge  that,  about  the  year  1730,  he  was  informed  that 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Gay  of  Sidney- Sussex  College,  Cam- 
bridge, then  living  in  the  west  of  England,  asserted  the 
possibility  of  deducing  all  our  intellectual  pleasures 
and  pains  from  association  ;  that  this  led  him  (Hartley) 
to  consider  the  power  of  association ;  and  that  about 
that  time  Mr.  Gay  published  his  sentiments  on  this 
matter  in  a  dissertation  prefixed  to  Bishop  Law's 
Translation  of  King's  Origin  of  Evil.*  No  writer 
deserves  the  praise  of  abundant  fairness  more  than 
Hartley  in  this  avowal.  The  dissertation  of  which  he 
speaks  is  mentioned  by  no  philosopher  but  himself  It 
suggested  nothing  apparently  to  any  other  reader. 
The  general  texture  of  it  is  that  of  homespun  selfish- 
ness. The  writer  had  the  merit  to  see  and  to  own 
that  Hutcheson  had  established  as  a  fact  the  reality 
of  moral  sentiments  and  disinterested  affections.  He 
blames,  perhaps  justly,  that  most  ingenious  man|,  for 

*  Hartley's  preface  to  the  Observations  on  Man.  The  word 
"  intellectual "  is  too  narrow.  Even  "  mental  "  would  be  of  very 
doubtful  propriety.  The  theory  in  its  full  extent  requires  a  word 
such  as  "  inorganic"  (if  no  better  can  be  discovered),  extendhig 
to  all  gratification,  not  distinctly  referred  to  some  specific  organ, 
or  at  least  to  some  assignable  part  of  the  bodily  frame. 

•f-  It  has  not  been  mentioned  in  its  proper  place,  that  Hutchesoii 
appears  nowhere  to  greater  advantage  than  in  some  letters  on  the 
Fable  of  the  Bees,  published  when  he  was  very  young,  at  Dublin, 
witli  the  signature  of  "  Hibernicus."  "  Private  vices  —  public 
benefits,"  says  he,  "  may  signify  any  one  of  these  five  distinct 
propositions:  1st.  They  are  in  themselves  public  benefits  ;  or, 
2nd.   They  naturally  produce  public  happiness ;  or,  3rd.  They 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  165 

assuming  that  these  sentiments  and  affections  are  im- 
planted, and  partake  of  tlie  nature  of  instincts.  The 
object  of  his  dissertation  is  to  reconcile  the  mental 
appearances  described  by  Hutcheson  with  the  first 
principle  of  the  selfish  system,  that  "the  true  prin- 
ciple of  all  our  actions  is  our  own  happiness."  Moral 
feelings  and  social  afl'ections  are,  according  to  him, 
"  resolvable  into  reason,  pointing  out  our  private  hap- 
piness;  and  whenever  this  end  is  not  perceived,  they 
are  to  be  accounted  for  from  the  association  of  ideas." 
Even  in  the  single  passage  in  which  he  shows  a 
glimpse  of  the  truth,  he  begins  with  confusion,  ad- 
vances with  hesitation,  and  after  holding  in  his  grasp 
for  an  instant  the  principle  which  sheds  so  strong  a 
light  around  it,  suddenly  drops  it  from  his  hand. 
Instead  of  receiving  the  statements  of  Hutcheson  (his 
silence  relating  to  Butler  is  unaccountable)  as  enlarge- 
ments of  the  science  of  man,  he  deals  with  them 
merely  as  difficulties  to  be  reconciled  with  the  received 
system  of  universal  selfishness.  In  the  conclusion  of 
his  fourth  section,  he  well  exemplifies  the  power  of 
association  in  forming  the  love  of  money,  of  fame,  of 
power,  &c. ;  but  he  still  treats  these  effects  of  asso- 
ciation as  aberrations  and  infirmities,  the  fruits  of 
our  forgetfulness  and  shortsightedness,  and  not  at  all 
as  the  great  process  employed  to  sow  and  rear  the 
most  important  principles  of  a  social  and  moral  nature. 
This  precious  mine  may  therefore  be  truly  said  to 
have  been  opened  by  Hartley  ;  for  he  who  did  such 
superabundant  justice  to  the  hints  of  Gay,  would 
assuredly  not  have  withheld  the  like  tribute  from 
Hutcheson,  had  he  observed  the  happy  expression  of 
"  secondary  passions,"  which  ought  to  have  led  that 
philosopher  himself  farther  than  he  ventured  to  ad- 
may  be  made  to  produce  it  ;  or,  4th.  Tliey  may  naturally  flow 
from  it ;  or,  5th.  At  least  they  ruay  probably  flow  from  it  in  our 
infirm  nature."  See  a  small  volume  containing  Thoughts  on 
Laughter,  and  Remarks  on  the  Fable  of  the  Bees,  Glasgow,  1758, 
in  which  these  letters  are  republished. 

M  3 


166  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

vance.  The  extraordinary  value  of  this  part  of  Hart- 
ley's system  has  been  hidden  by  various  causes,  which 
have  also  enabled  writers,  who  have  borrowed  from  it, 
to  decry  it.  The  influence  of  his  medical  habits  ren- 
ders many  of  his  examples  displeasing,  and  sometimes 
disgusting.  He  has  none  of  that  knowledge  of  the 
world,  of  that  ftimiliarity  with  Literature,  of  that 
delicate  perception  of  the  beauties  of  Nature  and  Art, 
which  not  only  supply  the  most  agreeable  illustrations 
of  mental  philosophy,  but  afford  the  most  obvious  and 
striking  instances  of  its  happy  application  to  subjects 
generally  interesting.  His  particular  applications  of 
the  general  law  are  often  mistaken,  and  are  seldom 
more  than  brief  notes  and  hasty  suggestions;  —  the 
germs'  of  theories  which,  while  some  might  adopt  them 
without  detection,  others  might  discover  without  being 
aware  that  they  were  anticipated.  To  which  it  may 
be  added,  that  in  spite  of  the  imposing  forms  of  Geo- 
metry, the  work  is  not  really  distinguished  by  good 
method,  or  even  uniform  adherence  to  that  which  had 
been  chosen.  His  style  is  entitled  to  no  praise  but 
that  of  clearness,  and  a  simplicity  of  diction,  through 
which  is  visible  a  singular  simplicity  of  mind.  No 
book  perhaps  exists  which,  with  so  few  of  the  common 
allurements,  comes  at  last  so  much  to  please  by  the 
picture  it  presents  of  the  writer's  character,  —  a  cha- 
racter which  kept  him  pure  from  the  pursuit,  often 
from  the  consciousness  of  novelty,  and  rendered  him 
a  discoverer  in  spite  of  his  own  modesty.  In  those 
singular  passages  in  which,  amidst  the  profound  in- 
ternal tranquillity  of  all  the  European  nations,  he 
foretells  approaching  convulsions,  to  be  followed  by 
the  overthrow  of  states  and  Churches,  his  quiet  and 
gentle  spirit,  elsewhere  almost  ready  to  inculcate  pas- 
sive obedience  for  the  sake  of  peace,  is  supported  under 
its  awful  forebodings  by  the  hope  of  that  general  pro- 
gress in  virtue  and  happiness  which  he  saw  through 
the  preparatory  confusion.  A  meek  piety,  inclining 
towards  mysticism,  and  sometimes  indulging  in  visions 


OF   ETHICAL   PHILOSOPnY.  167 

which  borrow  a  lustre  from  his  fervid  benevolence, 
was  beautifully,  and  perhaps  singularly,  blended  in 
him  with  zeal  for  the  most  unbounded  freedom  of  in- 
quiry, flowing  both  from  his  own  conscientious  belief 
and  his  unmingled  love  of  Truth.  Whoever  can  so 
far  subdue  his  repugnance  to  petty  or  secondary  faults 
as  to  bestow  a  careful  perusal  on  the  work,  must  be 
unfortunate  if  he  does  not  see,  feel,  and  own,  that  the 
writer  was  a  great  philosopher  and  a  good  man. 

To  those  who  thus  study  the  work,  it  will  be  ap- 
parent that  Hartley,  like  other  philosophers,  either 
overlooked  or  failed  explicitly  to  announce  that  dis- 
tinction between  perception  and  emotion,  without 
which  no  system  of  mental  philosophy  is  complete. 
Hence  arose  the  partial  and  incomplete  view  of  Truth 
conveyed  by  the  use  of  the  phrase  "  association  of 
ideas."  If  the  word  "association,"  which  rather  in- 
dicates the  connection  between  separate  things  than 
the  perfect  combination  and  fusion  which  occur  in 
many  operations  of  the  mind,  must,  notwithstanding 
its  inadequacy,  still  be  retained,  the  phrase  ought  at 
least  to  be  "association"  of  thoughts  with  emotions, 
as  well  as  ivith  each  other.  With  that  enlargement  an 
objection  to  the  Hartleian  doctrine  would  have  been 
avoided,  and  its  originality,  as  well  as  superiority  over 
that  of  Condillac,  would  have  appeared  indisputable. 
The  examples  of  avarice  and  other  factitious  passions 
are  very  well  chosen ;  first,  because  few  will  be  found 
to  suppose  that  they  are  original  principles  of  human 
nature*;  secondly,  because  the  process  by  whicli  they 
are  generated,  being  subsequent  to  the  age  of  attention 
and  recollection,  may  be  brought  home  to  the  under- 
standing of  all  men ;  and,  thirdly,  because  they  afford 

*  A  vciy  ingenious  man,  Lord  Kamcs,  whose  works  had  a 
great  effect  in  rousing  the  mind  of  his  contemporaries  and  countiy- 
men,  lias  indeed  fancied  tliat  there  is  "  a  hoarding  instinct "  in 
man  and  other  animals.  But  such  conclusions  are  not  so  much 
objects  of  confutation,  as  ludicrous  proofs  of  the  absurdity  of  the 
premises  v/hich  lead  to  them. 

ai  4 


168  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

the  most  striking  instance  of  secondary  passions, 
which  not  only  become  independent  of  the  primary 
principles  from  which  they  are  derived,  but  hostile  to 
them,  and  so  superior  in  strength  as  to  be  capable  of 
overpowering  their  parents.  As  soon  as  the  mind  be- 
comes familiar  with  the  frequent  case  of  the  man  who 
first  pursued  money  to  purchase  pleasure,  but  at  last, 
when  he  becomes  a  miser,  loves  his  hoard  better  than 
all  that  it  could  purchase,  and  sacrifices  all  pleasures 
for  its  increase,  we  are  prepared  to  admit  that,  by  a 
like  process,  the  affections,  when  they  are  fixed  on  the 
happiness  of  others  as  their  ultimate  object,  without 
any  reflection  on  self,  may  not  only  be  perfectly  de- 
tached from  self-regard  or  private  desires,  but  may 
subdue  these  and  every  other  antagonist  passion  which 
can  stand  in  their  way.  As  the  miser  loves  money  for 
its  own  sake,  so  may  the  benevolent  man  delight  in 
the  well-being  of  his  fellows.  His  good-will  becomes 
as  disinterested  as  if  it  had  been  implanted  and  un- 
derived.  The  like  process  applied  to  what  is  called 
"self-love,"  or  the  desire  of  permanent  well-being, 
clearly  explains  the  mode  in  which  that  principle  is 
gradually  formed  from  the  separate  appetites,  without 
whose  previous  existence  no  notion  of  well-being 
could  be  obtained.  In  like  manner,  sympathy,  per- 
haps itself  the  result  of  a  transfer  of  our  own  personal 
feelings  by  association  to  other  sentient  beings,  and  of 
a  subsequent  transfer  of  their  feelings  to  our  own 
minds,  engenders  the  various  social  affections,  which 
at  last  generate  in  most  minds  some  regard  to  the  well- 
being  o'f  our  country,  of  mankind,  of  all  creatures 
capable  of  pleasure.  Rational  Self-love  controls  and 
guides  those  far  keener  self-regarding  passions  of 
which  it  is  the  child,  in  the  same  manner  as  general 
benevolence  balances  and  governs  the  variety  of  much 
warmer  social  affections  from  which  it  springs.  It  is 
an  ancient  and  obstinate  error  of  philosophers  to  re- 
present these  two  calm  principles  as  being  the  source 
of  the  impelling  passions  and  affections,  instead  of 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  169 

being  among  the  last  results  of  tliem.  Each  of  them 
exercises  a  sort  of  authority  in  its  sphere ;  but  the 
dominion  of  neither  is  co-existent  with  the  whole  na- 
ture of  man.  Though  they  have  the  power  to  quicken 
and  check,  they  are  both  too  feeble  to  impel ;  and  if 
the  primary  principles  were  extinguished,  they  would 
both  perish  from  want  of  nourishment.  If  indeed  all 
appetites  and  desires  were  destroyed,  no  subject  would 
exist  on  which  either  of  these  general  principles 
could  act. 

The  affections,  desires,  and  emotions,  having  for 
their  ultimate  object  the  dispositions  and  actions  of 
voluntary  agents,  which  alone,  from  the  nature  of 
their  object,  are  co-extensive  with  the  whole  of  our 
active  nature,  are,  according  to  the  same  philosophy, 
necessarily  formed  in  every  human  mind  by  the 
transfer  of  feeling  which  is  effected  by  the  principle 
of  Association.  Gratitude,  pity,  resentment,  and 
shame,  seem  to  be  the  simplest,  the  most  active,  and 
the  most  uniform  elements  in  their  composition.  It 
is  easy  to  perceive  how  the  complacency  insj^ired  by 
a  benefit  may  be  transferred  to  a  benefactor,  —  thence 
to  all  beneficent  beings  and  acts.  The  well-chosen 
instance  of  the  nurse  familiarly  exemplifies  the  man- 
ner in  which  the  child  transfers  his  complacency 
from  the  gratification  of  his  senses  to  the  cause  of  it, 
and  thus  learns  an  affection  for  her  who  is  the  source 
of  his  enjoyment.  With  this  simple  process  concur, 
in  the  case  of  a  tender  nurse,  and  far  more  of  a 
mother,  a  thousand  acts  of  relief  and  endearment, 
the  complacency  that  results  from  which  is  fixed  on 
the  person  from  whom  they  flow,  and  in  some  degree 
extended  by  association  to  all  who  resemble  that 
person.  So  much  of  the  pleasure  of  early  life  depends 
on  others,  that  the  like  process  is  almost  constantly 
repeated.  Hence  the  origin  of  benevolence  may  be 
understood,  and  the  disposition  to  approve  all  bene- 
volent, and  disapprove  all  malevolent  acts.  Hence 
also  the    same   approbation   and   disapprobation   are 


170  DISSERTATION   ON    THE    PROGRESS 

extended  to  all  acts  which  we  clearly  perceive  to 
promote  or  obstruct  the  happiness  of  men.  When 
the  complacency  is  expressed  in  action,  benevolence 
may  be  said  to  be  transformed  into  a  part  of  Con- 
science. The  rise  of  sympathy  may  probably  be 
explained  by  the  process  of  association,  which  transfers 
the  feelings  of  others  to  ourselves,  and  ascribes  our 
own  feelings  to  others,  —  at  first,  and  in  some  degree 
always,  in  proportion  as  the  resemblance  of  ourselves 
to  others  is  complete.  The  likeness  in  the  outward 
signs  of  emotion  is  one  of  the  widest  channels  in  this 
commerce  of  hearts.  Pity  thereby  becomes  one  of 
the  grand  sources  of  benevolence,  and  perhaps  con- 
tributes more  largely  than  gratitude :  it  is  indeed 
one  of  the  first  motives  to  the  conferring  of  those 
benefits  which  inspire  grateful  affection.  Sympathy 
with  the  sufferer,  therefore,  is  also  transformed  into 
a  real  sentiment,  directly  approving  benevolent  actions 
and  dispositions,  and  more  remotely,  all  actions  that 
promote  happiness.  The  anger  of  the  sufferer,  first 
against  all  causes  of  pain,  afterwards  against  all 
intentional  agents  who  produce  it,  and  finally  against 
all  those  in  whom  the  infliction  of  pain  proceeds  from 
a  mischievous  disposition,  when  it  is  communicated 
to  others  by  sympathy,  and  is  so  far  purified  by 
gradual  separation  from  selfish  and  individual  interest 
as  to  be  equally  felt  against  all  wrong-doers, — whether 
the  wrong  be  done  against  ourselves,  our  friends,  or 
our  enemies,  —  it  is  the  root  out  of  which  springs  that 
which  is  commonly  and  well  called  a  "sense  of  justice" 
— the  most  indispensable,  perhaps,  of  all  the  com- 
ponent parts  of  the  moral  faculties. 

This  is  the  main  guard  against  Wrong.  It  relates 
to  that  portion  of  Morality  where  many  of  the  out- 
ward acts  are  capable  of  being  reduced  under  certain 
rules,  of  which  the  violations,  wherever  the  rule  is 
sufiiciently  precise,  and  the  mischief  sufiiciently  great, 
may  be  guarded  against  by  the  terror  of  punishment. 
In  the  observation  of  the  rules  of  justice  consists  duty ; 


OF   ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHr.  171 

breaches  of  them  we  denominate  "  crimes.''^  An  ab- 
horrence of  crimes,  especially  of  those  which  indicate 
the  absence  of  benevolence,  as  well  as  of  regard  for 
justice,  is  strongly  felt;  because  well-framed  penal 
laws,  beinf]^  the  lastino;  declaration  of  the  moral  indisr- 
nation  of  many  generations  of  mankind,  as  long  as 
they  remain  in  unison  with  the  sentiments  of  the  age 
and  country  for  which  they  are  destined,  exceedingly 
strengthen  the  same  feeling  in  every  individual ;  and 
this  they  do  wherever  the  laws  do  not  so  much  deviate 
from  the  habitual  feelings  of  the  multitude  as  to  pro- 
duce a  struggle  between  law  and  sentiment,  in  which  it 
is  hard  to  say  on  which  side  success  is  most  deplorable. 
A  man  who  performs  his  duties  may  be  esteemed,  but 
is  not  admired  ;  because  it  requires  no  more  than  ordi- 
nary virtue  to  act  well  where  it  is  shameful  and  dan- 
gerous to  do  otherwise.  The  righteousness  of  those 
who  act  solely  from  such  inferior  motives,  is  little 
better  than  that  "  of  the  Scribes  and  Pharisees."  Those 
only  are  just  in  the  eye  of  the  moralist  who  act  justly 
from  a  constant  disposition  to  render  to  every  man 
his  own.*  Acts  of  kindness,  of  generosity,  of  pity, 
of  placability,  of  humanity,  when  they  are  long  con- 
tinued, can  hardly  fail  mainly  to  flow  from  the  pure 
fountain  of  an  excellent  nature.  They  are  not  redu- 
cible to  rules  ;  and  the  attempt  to  enforce  them  by 
punishment  would  destroy  them.  They  are  virtues, 
of  which  the  essence  consists  in  a  good  disposition  of 
mind. 

As  we  gradually  transfer  our  desire  from  praise  to 
praiseworthiness,  this  principle  also  is  adopted  into 
consciousness.  On  the  other  hand,  when  we  are  led 
by  association  to  feel  a  painful  contempt  for  those 
feelings  and  actions  of  our  past  self  which  we  despise 

*  "  Justitia  est  constans  et  perpctua  voluntas  suum  cuique  tri- 
Iniendi ; "  an  excellent  definition  in  the  mouth  of  the  Stoical 
moralists,  from  whom  it  is  burrowed,  but  alt(vgether  misplaced  by 
the  Roman  jurists  in  a  body  of  laws  which  deal  only  with  outward 
acts  in  their  relation  to  the  order  and  interest  of  society. 


172  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

in  others,  there  is  developed  in  our  hearts  another 
element  of  that  moral  sense.  It  is  a  remarkable 
instance  of  the  power  of  the  law  of  Association,  that 
the  contempt  or  abhorrence  which  we  feel  for  the 
bad  actions  of  others  may  be  transferred  by  it,  in  any 
degree  of  strength,  to  our  own  past  actions  of  the 
like  kind :  and  as  the  hatred  of  bad  actions  is  trans- 
ferred to  the  agent,  the  same  transfer  may  occur  in  our 
own  case  in  a  manner  perfectly  similar  to  that  of 
which  we  are  conscious  in  our  feelings  towards  our 
fellow-creatures.  There  are  many  causes  which 
render  it  generally  feebler  ;  but  it  is  perfectly  evident 
that  it  requires  no  more  than  a  sufficient  strength  of 
moral  feeling  to  make  it  equal ;  and  that  the  most 
apparently  hyperbolical  language  used  by  penitents, 
in  describing  their  remorse,  may  be  justified  by  the 
principle  of  Association. 

At  this  step  in  our  progress,  it  is  proper  to  ob- 
serve, that  a  most  important  consideration  has  escaped 
Hartley,  as  well  as  every  other  philosopher.*  The 
language  of  all  mankind  implies  that  the  Moral 
Faculty,  whatever  it  may  be,  and  from  what  origin 
soever  it  may  spring,  is  intelligibly  and  properly 
spoken  of  as  One.  It  is  as  common  in  mind,  as  in 
matter,  for  a  compound  to  have  properties  not  to  be 
found  in  any  of  its  constituent  parts.  The  truth  of 
this  proposition  is  as  certain  in  the  human  feelings  as 
in  any  material  combination.  It  is  therefore  easily  to 
be  understood,  that  originally  separate  feelings  may 
be  so  perfectly  blended  by  a  process  performCvl  in 
each  mind,  that  they  can  no  longer  be  disjoined  from 
each  other,  but  must  always  co-operate,  and  thus 
reach  the  only  union  which  we  can  conceive.  The 
sentiment  of  moral  approbation,  formed  by  association 
out  of  antecedent  affections,  may  become  so  perfectly 
independent  of  them,  that  we  are  no  longer  conscious 
of  the  means  by  which  it  was  formed,  and  never  can 

•  See  supra,  section  on  Butler. 


OF   ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHT.  173 

in  practice  repeat,  though  we  may  in  theory  perceive, 
the  process  by  which  it  was  generated.  It  is  in  that 
mature  and  sound  state  of  our  nature  that  our  emo- 
tions at  the  view  of  Right  and  Wrong  are  ascribed  to 
Conscience.  But  why,  it  may  be  asked,  do  these  feel- 
ings, rather  than  others,  run  into  each  other,  and 
constitute  Conscience  ?  The  answer  seems  to  be  what 
has  already  been  intimated  in  the  observations  on 
Butler.  The  affinity  between  these  feelings  consists 
in  this,  that  while  all  other  feelings  relate  to  outward 
objects,  they  alone  contemplate  exclusively  the  dispo- 
sitions and  actions  of  voluntary  agents.  When  they 
are  completely  transferred  from  objects,  and  even  per- 
sons, to  dispositions  and  actions,  they  are  fitted,  by 
the  perfect  coincidence  of  their  aim^  for  combining  to 
form  that  one  faculty  which  is  directed  only  to  that 
aim. 

The  words  "  Duty"  and  "  Virtue,"  and  the  word 
"  ought,"  which  most  perfectly  denotes  duty,  but  is  also 
connected  with  Virtue,  in  every  well-constituted  mind, 
in  this  state  become  the  fit  language  of  the  acquired, 
perhaps,  but  universally  and  necessarily  acquired, 
faculty  of  Conscience.  Some  account  of  its  peculiar 
nature  has  been  attempted  in  the  remarks  on  Butler ; 
for  a  further  one  a  fitter  occasion  will  occur  here- 
after. Some  light  may  however  now  be  thrown  on 
the  subject  by  a  short  statement  of  the  hitherto  un- 
observed distinction  between  the  moral  sentiments 
and  another  class  of  feelings  with  which  they  have 
some  qualities  in  common.  The  " pleasures"  (so  called) 
of  imagination  appear,  at  least  in  most  cases,  to  ori- 
ginate in  association :  but  it  is  not  till  the  original 
cause  of  the  gratification  is  obliterated  from  the  mind, 
that  they  acquire  their  proper  character.  Order  and 
proportion  may  be  at  first  chosen  for  their  conve- 
nience :  it  is  not  until  they  are  admired  for  their  own 
sake  that  they  become  objects  of  taste.  Though  all 
the  proportions  for  which  a  horse  is  valued  may  be 
indications  of  speed,  safety,  strength,  and  health,  it  is 


174  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

not  the  less  true  that  they  only  can  be  said  to  admire 
the  animal  for  his  beauty,  v»^ho  leave  such  considera- 
tions out  of  the  account  while  they  admire.  The 
pleasure  of  contemplation  in  these  particulars  of 
Nature  and  Art  becomes  universal  and  immediate, 
being  entirely  detached  from  all  regard  to  individual 
beings.  It  contemplates  neither  use  nor  interest.  In 
this  important  particular  the  pleasures  of  imagination 
agree  with  the  moral  sentiments  :  hence  the  applica- 
tion of  the  same  language  to  both  in  ancient  and 
modern  times ;  —  hence  also  it  arises  that  they  may 
contemplate  the  very  same  qualities  and  objects. 
There  is  certainly  much  beauty  in  the  softer  virtues, 
—  much  grandeur  in  the  soul  of  a  hero  or  a  martyr : 
but  the  essential  distinction  still  remains  ;  the  purest 
moral  taste  contemplates  these  qualities  only  with 
quiescent  delight  or  reverence  ;  it  has  no  further  view ; 
it  points  towards  no  action.  Conscience,  on  the  con- 
trary, containing  in  it  a  pleasure  in  the  prospect  of 
doing  right,  and  an  ardent  desire  to  act  well,  having 
for  its  sole  object  the  dispositions  and  acts  of  voluntary 
agents,  is  not,  like  moral  taste,  satisfied  with  passive 
contemplation,  but  constantly  tends  to  act  on  the  will 
and  conduct  of  the  man.  Moral  taste  may  aid  it,  may 
be  absorbed  into  it,  and  usually  contributes  its  part  to 
the  formation  of  the  moral  faculty ;  but  it  is  distinct 
from  that  faculty,  and  may  be  disproportioned  to  it. 
Conscience,  being  by  its  nature  confined  to  mental 
dispositions  and  voluntary  acts,  is  of  necessity  ex- 
cluded from  the  ordinary  consideration  of  all  things 
antecedent  to  these  disf>ositions.  The  circumstances 
from  which  such  states  of  mind  may  arise,  are  most 
important  objects  of  consideration  for  the  Understand- 
ing ;  but  they  are  without  the  sphere  of  Conscience, 
which  never  ascends  beyond  the  heart  of  the  man.  It 
is  thus  that  in  the  eye  of  Conscience  man  becomes 
amenable  to  its  authority  for  all  his  inclinations  as 
well  as  deeds ;  that  some  of  them  are  approved,  loved, 
and  revered  :  and  that  all  the  outward  eflfects  of  dis- 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  175 

esteem,  contempt,  or  moral  anger,  are  felt  to  be  the 
just  lot  of  others. 

But,  to  return  to  Hartley,  from  this  perhaps  intru- 
sive statement  of  what  does  not  properly  belong  to 
him :  he  represents  all  the  social  affections  of  grati- 
tude, veneration,  and  love,  inspired  by  the  virtues  of 
our  fellow-men,  as  capable  of  being  transferred  by 
association  to  the  transcendent  and  unmingled  good- 
ness of  the  Ruler  of  the  world,  and  thus  to  give  rise 
to  piety,  to  which  he  gives  the  name  of  "  the  theo- 
pathetic  affection."  This  principle,  like  all  the  former 
in  the  mental  series,  is  gradually  detached  from  the 
trunk  on  which  it  grew  :  it  takes  separate  root,  and 
may  altogether  overshadow  the  parent  stock.  As 
such  a  Being  cannot  be  conceived  without  the  most 
perfect  and  constant  reference  to  His  goodness,  so 
piety  may  not  only  become  a  part  of  Conscience,  but 
its  governing  and  animating  principle,  which,  after 
long  lending  its  own  energy  and  authority  to  every 
other,  is  at  last  described  by  our  philosopher  as  swal- 
lowing up  all  of  them  in  order  to  perform  the  same 
functions  more  infallibly. 

In  every  stage  of  this  progress  we  are  taught  by 
Dr.  Hartley  that  a  new  product  appears,  which  be- 
comes perfectly  distinct  from  the  elements  w^hich 
formed  it,  which  may  be  utterly  dissimilar  to  them, 
and  may  attain  any  degree  of  vigour,  however  su- 
perior to  theirs.  Thus  the  objects  of  the  private 
desires  disappear  when  we  are  employed  in  the  pur- 
suit of  our  lasting  welfore;  that  which  was  first  sought 
only  as  a  means,  may  come  to  be  pursued  as  an  end, 
and  preferred  to  the  original  end ;  the  good  opinion 
of  our  fellows  becomes  more  valued  than  the  benefits 
for  which  it  was  at  first  courted ;  a  man  is  ready  to 
sacrifice  his  life  for  him  w^ho  has  shown  generosity, 
even  to  others ;  and  persons  otherwise  of  common 
character  are  capable  of  cheerfully  marching  in  a 
forlorn  hope,  or  of  almost  instinctively  leaping  into 
the  sea  to  save  the  life  of  an  entire  stranger.     These 


176  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

last  acts,  often  of  almost  unconscious  virtue,  so  fa- 
miliar to  the  soldier  and  the  sailor,  so  unaccountable 
on  certain  systems  of  philosophy,  often  occur  without 
a  thought  of  applause  and  reward  ;  —  too  quickly  for 
the  thought  of  the  latter,  too  obscurely  for  the  hope 
of  the  former  ;  and  they  are  of  such  a  nature  that  no 
man  could  be  impelled  to  them  by  the  mere  expecta- 
tion of  either. 

The  gratitude,  sympathy,  resentment,  and  shame, 
which  are  the  principal  constituent  parts  of  the  Moral 
Sense,  thus  lose  their  separate  agency,  and  constitute 
an  entirely  new  faculty,  co-extensive  with  all  the  dis- 
positions and  actions  of  voluntary  agents ;  though 
some  of  them  are  more  predominant  in  particular 
cases  of  moral  sentiment  than  others,  and  though  the 
aid  of  all  continues  to  be  necessary  in  their  original 
character,  as  subordinate  but  distinct  motives  of  ac- 
tion. Nothing  more  evidently  points  out  the  distinc- 
tion of  the  Hartleian  system  from  all  systems  called 
"selfish," — not  to  say  its  superiority  in  respect  to  dis- 
interestedness over  all  moral  systems  before  Butler 
and  Hutcheson,  —  than  that  excellent  part  of  it  which 
relates  to  the  "  rule  of  life."  The  various  principles  of 
human  action  rise  in  value  according  to  the  order  in 
which  they  spring  up  after  each  other.  We  can  then 
only  be  in  a  state  of  as  much  enjoyment  as  we  are 
evidently  capable  of  attaining,  when  we  prefer  interest 
to  the  original  gratifications  ;  honour  to  interest ;  the 
pleasures  of  imagination  to  those  of  sense ;  the  dictates 
of  Conscience  to  pleasure,  interest,  and  reputation ; 
the  well-being  of  fellow-creatures  to  our  own  indul- 
gences ;  in  a  word,  when  we  pursue  moral  good  and 
social  happiness  chiefly  and  for  their  own  sake. 
"  With  self-interest,"  says  Hartley,  somewhat  inac- 
curately in  language,  "  man  must  begin.  He  may 
end  in  self-annihilation.  Theopathy,  or  piety,  al- 
though the  last  result  of  the  purified  and  exalted 
sentiments,  may  at  length  swallow  up  every  other 
principle,  and  absorb  the  whole  man."     Even  if  this 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  177 

Inst  doctrine  should  be  an  exaggeration  unsuited  to 
our  present  condition,  it  will  the  more  strongly  illus- 
trate the  compatibility,  or  rather  the  necessary  con- 
nection, of  this  theory  with  the  existence  and  power 
of  perfectly  disinterested  principles  of  human  action. 

It  is  needless  to  remark  on  the  secondary  and 
auxiliary  causes  which  contribute  to  the  formation 
of  moral  sentiment ;  —  education,  imitation,  general 
opinion,  laws,  and  government.  They  all  presuppose 
the  ]\Ioral  Faculty ;  in  an  improved  state  of  society 
they  contribute  powerfully  to  strengthen  it,  and  on 
some  occasions  they  enfeeble,  distort,  and  maim  it ; 
but  in  all  cases  they  must  themselves  be  tried  by  the 
test  of  an  ethical  standard.  The  value  of  this  doctrine 
will  not  be  essentially  affected  by  supposing  a  greater 
number  of  original  principles  than  those  assumed  by 
Dr.  Hartley.  The  principle  of  Association  applies  as 
much  to  a  greater  as  to  a  smaller  number.  It  is  a 
quality  common  to  it  with  all  theories,  that  the  more 
simplicity  it  reaches  consistently  with  truth,  the  more 
perfect  it  becomes.  Causes  are  not  to  be  multiplied 
without  necessity.  If  by  a  considerable  multiplication 
of  primary  desires  the  law  of  Association  were  lowered 
nearly  to  the  level  of  an  auxiliary  agent,  the  philo- 
sophy of  human  nature  would  still  be  under  indelible 
obligations  to  the  philosopher  who,  by  his  fortunate 
error,  rendered  the  importance  of  that  great  principle 
obvious  and  conspicuous. 

ABRAHAM   TUCKER.* 

It  has  been  the  remarkable  fortune  of  this  writer  to 
have  been  more  prized  and  more  disregarded  by  the 
cultivators  of  moral  speculation,  than  perhaps  any 
other  philosopher,  "f     He  had  many  of  the  qualities 

*  Born,  1705;  died,  1774. 

t  "  I  have  found  in  this  writer  more  original  thinking  and  ob- 
servation upon  the  several  subjects  that  he  has  taken  in  hand  than 
VOL.  L  N 


178  DISSERTATION   ON   THE    PROGRESS 

which  might  be  expected  in  an  affluent  country  gen- 
tlemen, living  in  a  privacy  undisturbed  by  political 
zeal,  and  with  a  leisure  unbroken  by  the  calls  of  a 
profession,  at  a  time  when  England  had  not  entirely 
renounced  her  old  taste  for  metaphysical  speculation. 
He  was  naturally  endowed,  not  indeed  with  more 
than  ordinary  acuteness  or  sensibility,  nor  with  a 
high  degree  of  reach  and  range  of  mind,  but  with  a 
singular  capacity  for  careful  observation  and  original 
reflection,  and  with  a  fancy  perhaps  unmatched  in 
producing  various  and  happy  illustration.  The  most 
observable  of  his  moral  qualities  appear  to  have  been 
prudence  and  cheerfulness,  good-nature  and  easy 
temper.  The  influence  of  his  situation  and  character 
is  visible  in  his  writings.  Indulging  his  own  tastes 
and  fancies,  like  most  English  squires  of  his  time,  he 
became,  like  many  of  them,  a  sort  of  humourist. 
Hence  much  of  his  originality  and  independence ; 
hence  the  boldness  with  which  he  openly  employs 
illustrations  from  homely  objects.  He  wrote  to  please 
himself  more  than  the  public.  He  had  too  little  re- 
gard for  readers,  either  to  sacrifice  his  sincerity  to 
them,  or  to  curb  his  own  prolixity,  repetition,  and 
egotism,  from  the  fear  of  fatiguing  them.  Hence  he 
became  as  loose,  as  rambling,  and  as  much  an  egotist 
as  Montaigne  ;  but  not  so  agreeably  so,  notwithstand- 
ing a  considerable  resemblance  of  genius  ;  because  he 
wrote  on  subjects  where  disorder  and  egotism  are  un- 
seasonable, and  for  readers  whom  they  disturb  instead 
of  amusing.  His  prolixity  at  last  so  increased  itself, 
when  his  work  became  long,  that  repetition  in  the 
latter   parts  partly  arose   from   forgetfulness  of  the 

in  any  other, — not  to  say  than  in  all  others  put  together.  His 
talent  also  for  illustration  is  unrivalled." — Paley,  Preface  to 
Moral  and  Political  Philosophy.  See  the  excellent  preface  to  an 
abridgment,  by  Mr.  Hazlitt,  of  Tucker's  work,  published  in 
London  in  1807.  May  I  venture  to  refer  also  to  my  own  Dis- 
course on  the  Law  of  Nature  and  Nations,  London,  1799  ?  Mr. 
Stewart  treats  Tucker  and  Hartley  with  unwonted  harshness. 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  179 

former  ;  and  though  his  freedom  from  slavish  defer- 
ence to  general  opinion  is  very  commendable,  it  must 
be  owned,  that  his  "want  of  a  wholesome  fear  of  the 
public  renders  the  perusal  of  a  work  which  is  ex- 
tremely interesting,  and  even  amusing  in  most  of  its 
parts,  on  the  whole  a  laborious  task.  He  was  by 
early  education  a  believer  in  Christianity,  if  not  by 
natural  character  relijrious.  His  calm  o:ood  sense  and 
accommodating  temper  led  him  rather  to  explain 
established  doctrines  in  a  manner  agreeable  to  his 
philosophy,  than  to  assail  them.  Hence  he  was  repre- 
sented as  a  time-server  by  freethinkers,  and  as  a 
heretic  by  the  orthodox.*  Living  in  a  country  where 
the  secure  tranquillity  flowing  from  the  Revolution 
was  gradually  drawing  forth  all  mental  activity  to- 
wards practical  pursuits  and  outward  objects,  he 
hastened  from  the  rudiments  of  mental  and  moral 
philosophy,  to  those  branches  of  it  which  touch  the 
business  of  men.t  Had  he  recast  without  chanfjino: 
his  thoughts, — had  he  detached  those  ethical  observa- 
tions for  which  he  had  so  peculiar  a  vocation,  from 
the  disputes  of  his  country  and  his  day,  he  might 
have  thrown  many  of  his  chapters  into  their  proper 
form  of  essays,  and  these  might  have  been  compared, 
though  not  likened,  to  those  of  Hume.  But  the 
country  gentleman,  philosophic  as  he  was,  had  too 
much  fondness  for  his  own  humours  to  engage  in  a 
course  of  drudgery  and  deference.  It  may,  however, 
be  confidently  added,  on  the  authority  of  all  those 

*  This  disposition  to  compromise  and  accommodation,  which 
is  discoverable  in  Paley,  was  cam'ed  to  its  utmost  length  by 
Mr.  Hey,  a  man  of  much  acutencss,  Professor  of  Divinity  at 
Cambridge. 

f  Perhaps  no  philosopher  ever  stated  more  justly,  more  natu- 
rally, or  more  modestly  than  Tucker,  the  ruling  maxim  of  his 
life.  "  My  thoughts,"  says  he,  "  have  taken  a  turn  from  my 
earliest  youth  towards  searching  into  the  foundations  and  measures 
of  Right  and  Wrong ;  my  love  for  retirement  has  furnished  me 
with  continual  leisure ;  and  the  exercise  of  my  reason  has  been 
my  daily  employment." 

>-  2 


180  DISSERTATION   ON    THE    PROGRESS 

who  have  fairly  made  the  experiment,  that  whoever, 
unfettered  by  a  previous  system,  undertakes  the  labour 
necessary  to  discover  and  relish  the  high  excellences 
of  this  metaphysical  Montaigne,  will  find  his  toil 
lightened  as  he  proceeds,  by  a  growing  indulgence,  if 
not  partiality,  for  the  foibles  of  the  humourist,  and  at 
last  rewarded,  in  a  greater  degree  perhaps  than  by 
any  other  writer  on  mixed  and  applied  philosophy, 
by  being  led  to  commanding  stations  and  new  points 
of  view,  whence  the  mind  of  a  moralist  can  hardly 
fail  to  catch  some  fresh  prospects  of  Nature  and  duty. 
It  is  in  mixed,  not  in  pure  philosophy,  that  his 
superiority  consists.  In  the  part  of  his  work  which 
relates  to  the  Intellect,  he  has  adopted  much  from 
Hartley,  hiding  but  aggravating  the  offence  by  a 
change  of  technical  terms  ;  and  he  was  ungrateful 
enough  to  countenance  the  vulgar  sneer  which  in- 
volves the  mental  analysis  of  that  philosopher  in  the 
ridicule  to  which  his  physiological  hypothesis  is  liable.* 
Thus,  for  the  Hartleian  term  "  association  "  he  substi- 
tutes that  of  "  translation,"  when  adopting  the  same 
theory  of  the  principles  which  move  the  mind  to  action. 
In  the  practical  and  applicable  part  of  that  inquiry  he 
indeed  far  surpasses  Hartley  ;  and  it  is  little  to  add, 
that  he  unspeakably  exceeds  that  bare  and  naked 
thinker  in  the  useful  as  well  as  admirable  faculty  of 
illustration.  In  the  strictly  theoretical  part  his  ex- 
position is  considerably  fuller  ;  but  the  defect  of  his 
genius  becomes  conspicuous  when  he  handles  a  very 
general  principle.  The  very  term  "  translation  "  ought 
to  have  kept  up  in  his  mind  a  steady  conviction  that 
the    secondary   motives    to   action   become   as   inde- 

*  Light  of  Nature,  vol.  ii.  chap,  xviii.,  of  which  the  conclusion 
may  be  pointed  out  as  a  specimen  of  perhaps  unmatched  fruitful- 
ness,  vivacity,  and  felicity  of  illustration.  The  admirable  sense  of 
the  conclusion  of  chap.  xxv.  seems  to  have  suggested  Paley's 
good  chapter  on  Happiness.  The  alteration  of  Plato's  comparison 
of  Reason  to  a  charioteer,  and  the  passions  to  the  horses,  in 
chap,  xxvi.,  is  of  characteristic  and  transcendent  excellence. 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  181 

pendent,  and  seek  their  own  objects  as  exclusively,  as 
the  primary  principles.  His  own  examples  are  rich  in 
proofs  of  this  important  truth.  But  there  is  a  slippery 
descent  in  the  theory  of  human  nature,  by  which 
he,  like  most  of  his  forerunners,  slid  unawares  into 
Selfishness.  He  was  not  preserved  from  this  fall  by 
seeing  that  all  the  deliberate  principles  which  have 
self  for  their  object  are  themselves  of  secondary  form- 
ation; and  he  was  led  into  the  general  error  by  the 
notion  that  pleasure,  or,  as  he  calls  it,  "satisfaction," 
was  the  original  and  sole  object  of  all  appetites  and 
desires; — confounding  this  with  the  true,  but  very  dif- 
ferent proposition,  that  the  attainment  of  all  the  ob- 
jects of  appetite  and  desire  is  productive  of  pleasure. 
He  did  not  see  that,  without  presupposing  desires,  the 
word  "  pleasure  "  would  have  no  signification  ;  and 
that  the  representations  by  which  he  was  seduced 
would  leave  only  one  appetite  or  desire  in  human 
nature.  He  had  no  adequate  and  constant  conception, 
that  the  translation  of  desire  from  being  the  end  to 
be  the  means  occasioned  the  formation  of  a  new  pas- 
sion, which  is  perfectly  distinct  from,  and  altogether 
independent  of,  the  original  desire.  Too  frequently 
(for  he  was  neither  obstinate  nor  uniform  in  error)  he 
considered  these  translations  as  accidental  defects  in 
human  nature,  not  as  the  appointed  means  of  supply- 
ing it  with  its  variety  of  active  principles.  He  was 
too  apt  to  speak  as  if  the  selfish  elements  were  not 
destroyed  in  the  new  combination,  but  remained  still 
capable  of  being  recalled,  when  convenient,  like  the 
links  in  a  chain  of  reasoning,  which  we  pass  over 
from  forgetfulness,  or  for  brevity.  Take  him  all  in 
all,  however,  the  neglect  of  his  writings  is  the  strongest 
proof  of  the  disinclination  of  the  English  nation,  for 
the  last  half  century,  to  metaphysical  philosophy.* 

*  Much  of  Tucker's  chapter  on  Pleasure,  and  of  Paley's  on 
Happiness  (both  of  vhich  are  invaluable),  is  contained  in  the 

N  3 


182  DISSERTATION   ON    THE   PROGRESS 


WILLIAM   PALET.* 

This  excellent  writer,  who,  after  Clarke  and  Butler, 
ought  to  be  ranked  among  the  brightest  ornaments  of 
the  English  Church  in  the  eighteenth  century,  is,  in 
the  history  of  philosophy,  naturally  placed  after  Tucker, 
to  whom,  with  praiseworthy  liberality,  he  owns  his 
extensive  obligations.  It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that 
he  owed  his  system  to  Hume,  —  a  thinker  too  refined, 
and  a  writer  perhaps  too  elegant,  to  have  naturally 
attracted  him.  A  coincidence  in  the  principle  of 
Utility,  common  to  both  with  so  many  other  philo- 
sophers, affords  no  sufficient  ground  for  the  supposi- 
tion. Had  he  been  habitually  influenced  by  Mr.  Hume, 
who  has  translated  so  many  of  the  dark  and  crabbed 
passages  of  Butler  into  his  own  transparent  and  beau- 
tiful language,  it  is  not  possible  to  suppose  that  such 
a  mind  as  that  of  Paley  would  have  fallen  into  those 
principles  of  gross  selfishness  of  which  Mr.  Hume  is  a 
uniform  and  zealous  antagonist. 

The  natural  frame  of  Paley's  understanding  fitted 
it  more  for  business  and  the  world  than  for  philosophy  ; 
and  he  accordingly  enjoyed  with  considerable  relish 
the  few  opportunities  which  the  latter  part  of  his  life 
afforded  of  taking  a  part  in  the  affairs  of  his  county 
as  a  magistrate.  Penetration  and  shrewdness,  firm- 
passage  of  the  Traveller,  of  which  the  following  couplet  expresses 
the  main  object: 

"  Unknown  to  them  when  sensual  pleasures  cloy, 
"  To  fiU  the  languid  pause  with  finer  joy." 

"  An  honest  man,"  says  Mr.  Hume  (Inquiry  concerning 
Morals,  §  ix.),  "  has  the  frequent  satisfaction  of  seeing  knaves 
betrayed  by  their  own  maxims."  "  I  used  often  to  laugh  at  your 
honest  simple  neighbour  Flamborough,  and  one  way  or  another 
generally  cheated  him  once  a  year  :  yet  still  the  honest  man  went 
forward  without  suspicion,  and  grew  rich,  while  I  still  continued 
tricksy  and  cunning,  and  was  poor,  without  the  consolation  of 
being  honest."     Vicar  of  Wakefield,  chap.  xxvi. 

*  Bom,  1743;  died,  1805. 


OF   ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  183 

ness  and  coolness,  a  vein  of  pleasantry,  fruitful  though 
somewhat  unrefined,  with  an  original  homeliness  and 
significancj  of  expression,  were  perhaps  more  remark- 
able in  his  conversation,  than  the  restraints  of  author- 
ship and  profession  allowed  them  to  be  in  his  Avritings. 
Grateful  remembrance  brings  this  assemblage  of  qua- 
lities with  unfaded  colours  before  the  mind  at  the 
present  moment,  after  the  long  interval  of  twenty- 
eight  years.  His  taste  for  the  common  business  and 
ordinary  amusements  of  life  fortunately  gave  a  zest  to 
the  company  which  his  neighbours  chanced  to  yield, 
without  rendering  him  insensible  to  the  pleasures  of 
intercourse  with  more  enlightened  society.  The  prac- 
tical bent  of  his  nature  is  visible  in  the  language  of 
his  writings,  which,  on  practical  matters,  is  as  precise 
as  the  nature  of  the  subject  requires,  but,  in  his  rare 
and  reluctant  efforts  to  rise  to  first  principles,  become 
indeterminate  and  unsatisfactory ;  though  no  man's 
composition  was  more  free  from  the  impediments  which 
hinder  a  man's  meaning  from  being  quickly  and  clearly 
seen.  He  seldom  distinguishes  more  exactly  than  is 
required  for  palpable  and  direct  usefulness.  He  pos- 
sessed that  chastised  acuteness  of  discrimination,  exer- 
cised on  the  affairs  of  men,  and  habitually  looking  to 
a  purpose  beyond  the  mere  increase  of  knowledge, 
which  forms  the  character  of  a  lawyer's  understanding, 
and  which  is  apt  to  render  a  mere  lawyer  too  subtile 
for  the  management  of  affairs,  and  yet  too  gross  for 
the  pursuit  of  general  truth.  His  style  is  as  near  per- 
fection in  its  kind  as  any  in  our  language.  Perhaps 
no  words  were  ever  more  expressive  and  illustrative 
than  those  in  which  he  represents  the  art  of  life  to  be 
that  of  rightly  "  setting  our  habits." 

The  most  original  and  ingenious  of  his  writings  is 
the  Horae  Paulinse.  The  Evidences  of  Christianity 
are  formed  out  of  an  admirable  translation  of  Butler's 
Analogy,  and  a  most  skilful  abridgment  of  Lardner's 
Credibility  of  the  Gospel  History.  He  may  be  said 
to   have   thus  given  value  to  two  works,  of  which 

N  4 


184  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

the  first  was  scarcely  intelligible  to  the  majority  of 
those  who  were  most  desirous  of  profiting  by  it ;  while 
the  second  soon  wearies  out  the  larger  part  of  readers, 
though  the  more  patient  few  have  almost  always  been 
gradually  won  over  to  feel  pleasure  in  a  display  of 
knowledge,  probity,  charity,  and  meekness,  unmatched 
by  any  other  avowed  advocate  in  a  case  deeply  in- 
teresting his  warmest  feelings.  His  Natural  Theology 
is  the  wonderful  work  of  a  man  who,  after  sixty,  had 
studied  Anatomy  in  order  to  write  it ;  and  it  could 
only  have  been  surpassed  by  one  who,  to  great  origi- 
nality of  conception  and  clearness  of  exposition,  adds 
the  advantage  of  a  high  place  in  the  first  class  of 
physiologists.* 

It  would  be  unreasonable  here  to  say  much  of  a 
work  which  is  in  the  hands  of  so  many  as  his  Moral 
and  Political  Philosophy.  A  very  few  remarks  on 
one  or  two  parts  of  it  may  be  sufiicient  to  estimate 
his  value  as  a  moralist,  and  to  show  his  defects  as  a 
metaphysician.  His  general  account  of  Virtue  may 
indeed  be  chosen  for  both  purposes.  The  manner  in 
which  he  deduces  the  necessary  tendency  of  all  vir- 
tuous actions  to  promote  general  happiness,  from  the 
goodness  of  the  Divine  Lawgiver  (though  the  prin- 
ciple be  not,  as  has  already  more  than  once  appeared, 
peculiar  to  him.  but  rather  common  to  most  religious 
philosophers),  is  characterised  by  a  clearness  and 
vigour  which  have  never  been  surpassed.  It  is  indeed 
nearly,  if  not  entirely,  an  identical  proposition,  that  a 
Being  of  unmixed  benevolence  will  prescribe  those 
laws  only  to  His  creatures  which  contribute  to  their 
well-beinof.  When  we  are  convinced  that  a  course  of 
conduct  is  generally  beneficial  to  all  men,  we  cannot 
help  considering  it  as  acceptable  to  a  benevolent 
Deity.  The  usefulness  of  actions  is  the  mark  set  on 
them  by  the  Supreme  Legislator,  by  which  reasonable 

*  See  Animal  Mechanics,  by  Mr.  Charles  Bell,  published  by 
the  Society  for  the  Diffusion  of  Useful  Knowledge. 


OF   ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  185 

beings  discover  it  to  be  His  will  that  such  actions 
should  be  done.  In  this  apparently  unanswerable 
deduction  it  is  partly  admitted,  and  universally  im- 
plied, that  the  principles  of  Right  and  Wrong  may  be 
treated  apart  from  the  manifestation  of  them  in  the 
Scriptures.  If  it  were  otherwise,  how  could  men  of 
perfectly  different  religions  deal  or  reason  with  each 
other  on  moral  subjects  ?  How  could  they  regard 
rights  and  duties  as  subsisting  between  them?  To 
what  common  principles  could  they  appeal  in  their 
differences  ?  Even  the  Polytheists  themselves,  those 
worshippers  of 

Gods  partial,  changeful,  passionate,  unjust, 
Whose  attributes  are  rage,  revenge,  or  lust,* 

by  a  happy  inconsistency  are  compelled,  however  ir- 
regularly and  imperfectly,  to  ascribe  some  general 
enforcement  of  the  moral  code  to  their  divinities.  If 
there  were  no  foundation  for  Morality  antecedent  to 
Revealed  Religion,  we  should  want  that  important  test 
of  the  conformity  of  a  revelation  to  pure  morality,  by 
which  its  claim  to  a  divine  origin  is  to  be  tried.  The 
internal  evidence  of  Religion  necessarily  presupposes 
such  a  standard.  The  Christian  contrasts  the  pre- 
cepts of  the  Koran  with  the  pure  and  benevolent 
morality  of  the  Gospel.  The  Mahometan  claims,  with 
justice,  a  superiority  over  the  Hindoo,  inasmuch  as 
the  Mussulman  religion  inculcates  the  moral  perfec- 
tion of  one  Supreme  Ruler  of  the  world.  The  cere- 
monial and  exclusive  character  of  Judaism  has  ever 
been  regarded  as  an  indication  that  it  was  intended 
to  pave  the  way  for  an  universal  religion,  a  morality 
seated  in  the  heart,  and  a  worship  of  sublime  sim- 
plicity. These  discussions  would  be  impossible,  unless 
Morality  were  previously  proved  or  granted  to  exist. 
Though  the  science  of  Ethics  is  thus  far  independent, 
it  by  no  means  follows  that  there  is  any  equality,  or 

*  Essay  on  Man,  Ep,  iii. 


186  DISSERTATION   ON    THE    PROGRESS 

that  there  may  not  be  the  utmost  inequality,  in  the 
moral  tendency  of  religious  systems.  The  most  ample 
scope  is  still  left  for  the  zeal  and  activity  of  those  who 
seek  to  spread  important  truth.  But  it  is  absolutely 
essential  to  ethical  science  that  it  should  contain  prin- 
ciples, the  authority  of  which  must  be  recognised  by 
men  of  every  conceivable  variety  of  religious  opinion. 
The  peculiarities  of  Paley's  mind  are  discoverable 
in  the  comparison,  or  rather  contrast,  between  the 
practical  chapter  on  Happiness,  and  the  philosophical 
portion  of  the  chapter  on  Virtue.  "Virtue  is  the 
doing  good  to  mankind,  in  obedience  to  the  will  of 
God,  and  for  the  sake  of  everlasting  happiness."*  It 
is  not  perhaps  very  important  to  observe,  that  these 
words,  which  he  offers  as  a  "  definition,"  ought  in  pro- 
priety to  have  been  called  a  "proposition;"  but  it  is 
much  more  necessary  co  say  that  they  contain  a  false 
account  of  Virtue.  According  to  this  doctrine,  every 
action  not  done  for  the  sake  of  the  agent's  happiness 
is  vicious.  Now,  it  is  plain  that  an  act  cannot  be  said 
to  be  done  for  the  sake  of  any  thing  which  is  not  pre- 
sent to  the  mind  of  the  agent  at  the  moment  of  action : 
it  is  a  contradiction  in  terms  to  affirm  that  a  man  acts 
for  the  sake  of  any  object,  of  which,  however  it  may 
be  the  necessary  consequence  of  his  act,  he  is  not  at 
the  time  fully  aware.  The  unfelt  consequences  of  his 
act  can  no  more  influence  his  will  than  its  unknown 
consequences.  Nay,  further,  a  man  is  only  with  any 
propriety  said  to  act  for  the  sake  of  his  chief  object ; 
nor  can  he  with  entire  correctness  be  said  to  act  for 
the  sake  of  any  thing  but  his  sole  object.  So  that  it 
is  a  necessary  consequence  of  Paley's  proposition,  that 
every  act  which  flows  from  generosity  or  benevolence 
is  a  vice ;  —  so  also  is  every  act  of  obedience  to  the 
will  of  God,  if  it  arises  from  any  motive  but  a  desire 
of  the  reward  which  He  will  bestow.  Any  act  of 
obedience  influenced  by  gratitude,  and  affection,  and 

.    *  Book  L  chap.  viL 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  187 

veneration  towards  Supreme  Benevolence  and  Per- 
fection, is  so  far  imperfect ;  and  if  it  arises  solely  from 
these  motives  it  becomes  a  vice.  It  must  be  owned, 
that  this  excellent  and  most  enlightened  man  has 
laid  the  foundations  of  Religion  and  Virtue  in  a  more 
intense  and  exclusive  selfishness  than  was  avowed  by 
the  Catholic  enemies  of  Fenelon,  when  they  perse- 
cuted him  for  his  doctrine  of  a  pure  and  disinterested 
love  of  God. 

In  another  province,  of  a  very  subordinate  kind, 
the  disposition  of  Paley  to  limit  his  principles  to  his 
own  time  and  country,  and  to  look  at  them  merely  as 
fiir  as  they  are  calculated  to  amend  prevalent  vices 
and  errors,  betrayed  him  into  narrow  and  false  views. 
His  chapter  on  what  he  calls  the  "  Law  of  Honour  " 
is  unjust,  even  in  its  own  small  sphere,  because  it  sup- 
poses Honour  to  allow  what  it  does  not  forbid  ;  though 
the  truth  be,  that  the  vices  enumerated  by  him  are 
only  not  forbidden  by  Honour,  because  they  are  not 
within  its  jurisdiction.  He  considers  it  as  "a  system 
of  rules  constructed  by  people  of  fiishion;" — a  con- 
fused and  transient  mode  of  expression,  which  may 
be  understood  with  difficulty  by  our  posterity,  and 
which  cannot  now  be  exactly  rendered  perhaps  in 
any  other  language.  The  subject,  however,  thus  nar- 
rowed and  lowered,  is  neither  unimportant  in  practice, 
nor  unworthy  of  the  consideration  of  the  moral  phi- 
losopher. Though  all  mankind  honour  Virtue  and 
despise  Vice,  the  degree  of  respect  or  contempt  is 
often  far  from  being  proportioned  to  the  place  which 
virtues  and  vices  occupy  in  a  just  system  of  Ethics. 
Wherever  higher  honour  is  bestoAved  on  one  moral 
quality  than  on  others  of  equal  or  greater  moral  value, 
what  is  called  a  ^^  point  of  honour^^  maybe  said  to  exist. 
It  is  singular  that  so  shrewd  an  observer  as  Paley 
should  not  have  observed  a  law  of  honour  far  more 
permanent  than  that  which  attracted  his  notice,  in 
the  feelings  of  Europe  respecting  the  conduct  of  men 
and  women.     Cowai^dice  is  not  so  immoral  as  cruelty, 


188  DISSERTATION   ON    THE   PROGRESS 

nor  indeed  so  detestable  ;  but  it  is  more  despicable 
and  disgraceful :  the  female  point  of  honour  forbids 
indeed  a  great  vice,  but  one  not  so  great  as  many- 
others  by  which  it  is  not  violated.  It  is  easy  enough 
to  see,  that  where  we  are  strongly  prompted  to  a 
virtue  by  a  natural  impulse,  we  love  the  man  who  is 
constantly  actuated  by  the  amiable  sentiment ;  but  we 
do  not  consider  that  which  is  done  without  difficulty 
as  requiring  or  deserving  admiration  and  distinction. 
The  kind  affections  are  their  own  rich  reward,  and 
they  are  the  object  of  affection  to  others.  To  en- 
courage kindness  by  praise  would  be  to  insult  it,  and 
to  encourage  hypocrisy.  It  is  for  the  conquest  of 
fear,  it  would  be  still  more  for  the  conquest  of  resent- 
ment,— if  that  were  not,  wherever  it  is  real,  the  cessa- 
tion of  a  state  of  mental  agony,  —  that  the  applause  of 
mankind  is  reserved.  Observations  of  a  similar  na- 
ture will  easily  occur  to  every  reader  respecting  the 
point  of  honour  in  the  other  sex.  The  conquest  of 
natural  frailties,  especially  in  a  case  of  far  more  im- 
portance to  mankind  than  is  at  first  sight  obvious,  is 
well  distinguished  as  an  object  of  honour,  and  the 
contrary  vice  is  punished  by  shame.  Honour  is  not 
wasted  on  those  who  abstain  from  acts  which  are 
punished  by  the  law.  These  acts  may  be  avoided 
without  a  pure  motive.  Wherever  a  virtue  is  easily 
cultivable  by  good  men  ;  wherever  it  is  by  nature 
attended  by  delight ;  wherever  its  outward  observance 
is  so  necessary  to  society  as  to  be  enforced  by  punish- 
ment, it  is  not  the  proper  object  of  honour.  Honour 
and  shame,  therefore,  may  be  reasonably  dispensed, 
without  being  strictly  proportioned  to  the  intrinsic 
morality  of  actions,  if  the  inequality  of  their  distri- 
bution contributes  to  the  general  equipoise  of  the 
whole  moral  system.  A  wide  disproportion,  however, 
or  indeed  any  disproportion  not  justifiable  on  moral 
grounds,  would  be  a  depravation  of  the  moral  prin- 
ciple. Duelling  is  among  us  a  disputed  case,  though 
the  improvement  of  manners  has  rendered  it  so  much 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  189 

more  infrequent,  that  it  is  likely  in  time  to  lose  its 
support  from  opinion.  Those  who  excuse  individuals 
for  yielding  to  a  false  point  of  honour,  as  in  the 
suicides  of  the  Greeks  and  Romans,  may  consistently 
blame  the  faulty  principle,  and  rejoice  in  its  destruc- 
tion. The  shame  fixed  on  a  Hindoo  widow  of  rank 
who  voluntarily  survives  her  husband,  is  regarded  by 
aU  other  nations  with  horror. 

There  is  room  for  great  praise  and  some  blame  in 
other  parts  of  Paley's  work.  His  political  opinions 
were  those  generally  adopted  by  moderate  Whigs  in 
his  own  age.  His  language  on  the  Revolution  of 
1688  may  be  very  advantageously  compared,  both  in 
precision  and  in  generous  boldness  *,  to  that  of  Black- 
stone, —  a  great  master  of  classical  and  harmonious 
composition,  but  a  feeble  reasoner  and  a  confused 
thinker,  whose  writings  are  not  exempt  from  the 
charge  of  slavishness. 

It  cannot  be  denied  that  Paley  was  sometimes 
rather  a  lax  moralist,  especially  on  public  duties.  It 
is  a  sin  which  easily  besets  men  of  strong  good  sense, 
little  enthusiasm,  and  much  experience.  They  are 
naturally  led  to  lower  their  precepts  to  the  level  of 
their  expectations.  They  see  that  higher  pretensions 
often  produce  less  good,  —  to  say  nothing  of  the  hypo- 
crisy, extravagance,  and  turbulence,  which  they  may 
be  said  to  foster.  As  those  who  claim  more  from 
men  often  gain  less,  it  is  natural  for  more  sober  and 
milder  casuists  to  present  a  more  accessible  Virtue  to 
their  followers.     It  was  thus  that  the  Jesuits  began, 


*  "  Government  may  he  too  secure.  The  greatest  tyrants  have 
been  those  whose  titles  were  the  most  unquestioned.  Whenever, 
therefore,  the  opinion  of  right  becomes  too  predominant  and 
superstitious,  it  is  abated  by  breaking  the  custom.  Thus  the  Revo- 
lution Vjroke  the  custom  of  succession,  and  thereby  moderated, 
both  in  the  prince  and  in  the  people,  those  lofty  notions  of 
hereditary  right,  which  in  the  one  were  become  a  continual  in- 
centive to  tyranny,  and  disposed  the  other  to  invite  servitude,  by 
undue  compliances  and  dangerous  concessions." — Book  vi.  chap.  2. 


190  DISSERTATION   ON    THE   PROGRESS 

till,  strongly  tempted  by  their  perilous  station  as  the 
moral  guides  of  the  powerful,  some  of  them  by  de- 
grees fell  into  that  absolute  licentiousness  for  which 
all,  not  without  injustice,  have  been  cruelly  immor- 
talised by  Pascal.  Indulgence  which  is  a  great  virtue 
in  judgment  concerning  the  actions  of  others,  is  too 
apt,  when  blended  in  the  same  system  with  the  pre- 
cepts of  Morality,  to  be  received  as  a  licence  for  our 
own  offences.  Accommodation,  without  which  society 
would  be  painful,  and  arduous  aifairs  would  become 
impracticable,  is  more  safely  imbibed  from  temper 
and  experience,  than  taught  in  early  and  systematic 
instruction.  The  middle  region  between  laxity  and 
rigour  is  hard  to  be  defined  ;  and  it  is  still  harder 
steadily  to  remain  within  its  boundaries.  Whatever 
may  be  thought  of  Paley's  observations  on  political 
influence  and  ecclesiastical  subscription  to  tests,  as 
temperaments  and  mitigations  which  may  preserve  us 
from  harsh  judgment,  they  are  assuredly  not  well 
qualified  to  form  a  part  of  that  discipline  which  ought 
to  breathe  into  the  opening  souls  of  youth,  at  the 
critical  period  of  the  formation  of  character,  those 
inestimable  virtues  of  sincerity,  of  integrity,  of  inde- 
pendence, which  will  even  guide  them  more  safely 
through  life  than  will  mere  prudence ;  while  they 
provide  an  inward  fountain  of  pure  delight,  immea- 
surably more  abundant  than  all  the  outward  sources 
of  precarious  and  perishable  pleasure. 

JEREMY  BENTHAM.* 

The  general  scheme  of  this  Dissertation  would  be 
a  sufficient  reason  for  omitting  the  name  of  a  living 
writer.  The  devoted  attachment  and  invincible  re- 
pugnance which  an  impartial  estimate  of  Mr.  Bentham 
has  to  encounter  on  either  side,  are  a  strong  induce- 
ment not  to  deviate  from  that  scheme  in  his  case. 

*  Born,  1748;  died,  1832.— Ed. 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHT.  191 

But  the  most  brief  sketch  of  ethical  controversy  in 
England  would  be  imperfect  without  it ;  and  perhaps 
the  utter  hopelessness  of  finding  any  expedient  for 
satisfying  his  followers,  or  softening  his  opponents, 
may  enable  a  writer  to  look  steadily  and  solely  at 
what  he  believes  to  be  the  dictates  of  Truth  and 
Justice.  He  who  has  spoken  of  former  philosophers 
with  unreserved  freedom,  ought  perhaps  to  subject  his 
courage  and  honesty  to  the  severest  test  by  an  attempt 
to  characterise  such  a  contemporary.  Should  the 
very  few  who  are  at  once  enlightened  and  unbiassed 
be  of  opinion  that  his  firmness  and  equity  have  stood 
this  trial,  they  will  be  the  more  disposed  to  trust  his 
fairness  where  the  exercise  of  that  quality  may  have 
been  more  easy. 

The  disciples  of  Mr.  Bentham  are  more  like  the 
hearers  of  an  Athenian  philosopher  than  the  pupils  of 
a  modern  professor,  or  the  cool  proselytes  of  a  modern 
writer.  They  are  in  general  men  of  competent  age, 
of  superior  understanding,  who  voluntarily  embrace 
the  laborious  study  of  useful  and  noble  sciences ;  who 
derive  their  opinions,  not  so  much  from  the  cold 
perusal  of  his  writings,  as  from  familiar  converse 
with  a  master  from  whose  lips  these  opinions  are 
recommended  by  simplicity,  disinterestedness,  origi- 
nality, and  vivacity, — aided  rather  than  impeded  by 
foibles  not  unamiable,  —  enforced  of  late  by  the  grow- 
ing authority  of  years  and  of  fame,  and  at  all  times 
strengthened  by  that  undoubting  reliance  on  his  own 
judgment  which  mightily  increases  the  ascendant  of 
such  a  man  over  those  who  approach  him.  As  he 
and  they  deserve  the  credit  of  braving  vulgar  pre- 
judices, so  they  must  be  content  to  incur  the  imputa- 
tion of  falling  into  the  neighbouring  vices  of  seeking 
distinction  by  singularity,  —  of  clinging  to  opinions, 
because  they  are  obnoxious,  —  of  wantonly  wounding 
the  most  respectable  feelings  of  mankind,  —  of  regard- 
ing an  immense  display  of  method  and  nomenclature 
as  a  sure  token  of  a  corresponding  increase  of  know- 


192  DISSERTATION   ON    THE   PROGRESS 

ledge, — and  of  considering  themselves  as  a  chosen 
few,  whom  an  initiation  into  the  most  secret  mysteries 
of  Philosophy  entitles  to  look  down  with  pity,  if  not 
contempt,  on  the  profane  multitude.  Viewed  with 
aversion  or  dread  by  the  public,  they  become  more 
bound  to  each  other  and  to  their  master  ;  while  they 
are  provoked  into  the  use  of  language  which  more 
and  more  exasperates  opposition  to  them.  A  hermit 
in  the  greatest  of  cities,  seeing  only  his  disciples,  and 
indignant  that  systems  of  government  and  law  which 
he  believes  to  be  perfect,  are  disregarded  at  once  by 
the  many  and  the  powerful,  Mr.  Bentham  has  at  length 
been  betrayed  into  the  most  unphilosophical  hypo- 
thesis, that  all  the  ruling  bodies  who  guide  the  com- 
munity have  conspired  to  stifle  and  defeat  his  dis- 
coveries. He  is  too  little  acquainted  with  doubts  to 
believe  the  honest  doubts  of  others,  and  he  is  too 
angry  to  make  allowance  for  their  prejudices  and 
habits.  He  has  embraced  the  most  extreme  party  in 
practical  politics; — manifesting  more  dislike  and 
contempt  towards  those  who  are  moderate  supporters 
of  popular  principles  than  towards  their  most  in- 
flexible opponents.  To  the  unpopularity  of  his  philo- 
sophical and  political  doctrines  he  has  added  the  more 
general  and  lasting  obloquy  due  to  the  unseemly  treat- 
ment of  doctrines  and  principles  which,  if  there  were 
DO  other  motives  for  reverential  deference,  ought,  from 
a  regard  to  the  feelings  of  the  best  men,  to  be 
approached  with  decorum  and  respect. 

Fifty-three  years  have  passed  since  the  publication 
of  Mr.  Bentham's  first  work,  A  Fragment  on  Govern- 
ment, —  a  considerable  octavo  volume,  employed  in 
the  examination  of  a  short  paragraph  of  Blackstone, 
unmatched  in  acute  hypercriticism,  but  conducted 
with  a  severity  which  leads  to  an  unjust  estimate  of 
the  writer  criticised,  till  the  like  experiment  be  re- 
peated on  other  writings.  It  was  a  waste  of  extra- 
ordinary power  to  employ  it  in  pointing  out  flaws 
and  patches  in  the  robe  occasionally  stolen  from  the 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  193 

philosophical  schools,  which  hung  loosely,  and  not 
unbecomingly,  on  the  elegant  commentator.  This 
volume,  and  especially  the  preface,  abounds  in  fine, 
original,  and  just  observation  ;  it  contains  the  germs 
of  most  of  his  subsequent  productions,  and  it  is  an 
early  example  of  that  disregard  for  the  method,  pro- 
portions, and  occasion  of  a  writing  which,  with  all 
common  readers,  deeply  affects  its  power  of  interest- 
ing or  instructing.  Two  years  after,  he  published  a 
most  excellent  tract  on  the  Hard  Labour  Bill,  which, 
concurring  with  the  spirit  excited  by  Howard's  in- 
quiries, laid  the  foundation  of  just  reasoning  on  refor- 
matory punishment.  The  Letters  on  Usury*  are 
perhaps  the  best  specimen  of  the  exhaustive  discussion 
of  a  moral  or  political  question,  leaving  no  objection, 
however  feeble,  unanswered,  and  no  difficulty,  how- 
ever small,  unexplained  ;  —  remarkable  also,  as  they 
are,  for  the  clearness  and  spirit  of  the  style,  for  the 
full  exposition  which  suits   them   to    all   intelligent 

*  They  were  addressed  to  ^Ir.  George  Wilson,  who  retired  from 
the  English  bar  to  his  native  country,  and  died  at  Edinburgh  in 
1816  ; — an  early  friend  of  Mr.  Bentham,  and  afterwards  an  inti- 
mate one  of  Lord  EUenborough,  of  Sir  Vicary  Gibbs,  and  of  all 
the  most  eminent  of  his  professional  contemporaries.  The  recti- 
tude of  judgment,  purity  of  heart,  elevation  of  honour,  the  stern- 
ness only  in  integrity,  the  scorn  of  baseness,  and  indulgence 
towards  weakness,  which  were  joined  in  him  with  a  gravity  ex- 
clusive neither  of  feeling  nor  of  pleasantry,  contributed  still  more 
than  his  abilities  and  attainments  of  various  sorts,  to  a  moral 
authority  with  his  friends,  and  in  his  profession,  which  few  men 
more  amply  possessed,  or  more  usefully  exercised.  The  same 
character,  somewhat  softened,  and  the  same  influence,  distin- 
guished his  closest  friend,  the  late  Mr.  Lens.  Both  were  inflexible 
and  incorruptible  friends  of  civil  and  religious  liberty,  and  both 
knew  how  to  reconcile  the  warmest  zeal  for  that  sacred  cause, 
with  a  charity  towards  their  opponents,  which  partisan.s,  often 
more  violent  than  steady,  treated  as  lukewarm.  The  present 
writer  hopes  that  the  good-natured  reader  will  excuse  him  for 
having  thus,  perhaps  unseasonably,  bestowed  heartfelt  commend- 
ation on  those  who  were  above  the  pursuit  of  praise,  and  the 
remcml)rance  of  whose  good  opinion  and  good-will  help  to  sup- 
port him  under  a  deep  sense  of  faults  and  vices. 

VOL.  I.  O 


194  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

readers,  and  for  the  tender  and  skilful  hand  with 
which  prejudice  is  touched.  The  urbanity  of  the 
apology  for  projectors,  addressed  to  Dr.  Smith,  whose 
temper  and  manner  the  author  seems  for  a  time  to 
have  imbibed,  is  admirable. 

The  Introduction  to  the  Principles  of  Morals  and 
Politics,  printed  before  the  Letters,  but  published 
after  them,  was  the  first  sketch  of  his  system,  and  is 
still  the  only  account  of  it  by  himself  The  great 
merit  of  this  work,  and  of  his  other  writings  in  rela- 
tion to  Jurisprudence  properly  so  called,  is  not  within 
our  present  scope.  To  the  Roman  jurists  belongs  the 
praise  of  having  allotted  a  separate  portion  of  their 
Digest  to  the  signification  of  the  words  of  the  most 
frequent  use  in  law  and  legal  discussion.*  Mr.  Ben- 
tham  not  only  first  perceived  and  taught  the  great 
value  of  an  introductory  section,  composed  of  defini- 
tions of  general  terms,  as  subservient  to  brevity  and 
precision  in  every  part  of  a  code ;  but  he  also  dis- 
covered the  unspeakable  importance  of  natural 
arrangement  in  Jurisprudence,  by  rendering  the  mere 
place  of  a  proposed  law  in  such  an  arrangement  a 
short  and  easy  test  of  the  fitness  of  the  proposal.^ 
But  here  he  does  not  distinguish  between  the  value 

*  Digest,  lib.  i.  tit.  16.  De  Verborum  Significatione. 

t  See  a  beautiful  article  on  Codification,  in  the  Edinburgh 
Review,  vol.  xxix.  p.  217.  It  need  no  longer  be  concealed  that  it 
was  contributed  by  Sir  Samuel  Romilly,  The  steadiness  with 
which  he  held  the  balance  in  weighing  the  merits  of  his  friend 
against  his  unfortunate  defects,  is  an  example  of  his  union  of  the 
most  commanding  moral  principle  with  a  sensibility  so  warm,  that, 
if  it  had  been  released  from  that  stern  authority,  it  would  not  so 
long  have  endured  the  coarseness  and  roughness  of  human  con- 
cerns. From  the  tenderness  of  his  feelings,  and  from  an  anger 
never  roused  but  by  cruelty  and  baseness,  as  much  as  from  his 
genius  and  his  pure  taste,  sprung  that  original  and  characteristic 
eloquence,  which  was  the  hope  of  the  afflicted  as  well  as  the  terror 
of  the  oppressor.  If  his  oratory  had  not  flowed  so  largely  from 
this  moral  source,  which  years  do  not  dry  up,  he  would  not  per- 
haps have  been  the  only  example  of  an  orator  who,  after  the  age 
of  sixty,  daily  increased  in  polish,  in  vigour,  and  in  splendour. 


OF   ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  195 

of  arrangement  as  scaffolding,  and  the  inferior  con- 
venience of  its  being  the  very  frame-work  of  the 
structure.  He,  indeed,  is  much  more  remarkable  for 
laying  down  desirable  rules  for  the  determination  of 
rights,  and  the  punishment  of  wrongs,  in  general, 
than  for  weighing  the  various  circumstances  which 
require  them  to  be  modified  in  different  countries 
and  times,  in  order  to  render  them  either  more  useful, 
more  easily  introduced,  more  generally  respected,  or 
more  certainly  executed.  The  art  of  legislation  con- 
sists in  thus  applying  the  principles  of  Jurisprudence 
to  the  situation,  wants,  interests,  feelings,  opinions, 
and  habits,  of  each  distinct  community  at  any  given 
time.  It  bears  the  same  relation  to  Jurisprudence 
which  the  mechanical  arts  bear  to  pure  Mathematics. 
Many  of  these  considerations  serve  to  show,  that 
the  sudden  establishment  of  new  codes  can  seldom 
be  practicable  or  effectual  for  their  purpose ;  and 
that  reformations,  though  founded  on  the  principles 
of  Jurisprudence,  ought  to  be  not  only  adapted  to 
the  peculiar  interests  of  a  people,  but  engrafted  on 
their  previous  usages,  and  brought  into  harmony  with 
those  national  dispositions  on  which  the  execution  of 
laws  depends.*  The  Romans,  under  Justinian,  adopted 
at  least  the  true  principle,  if  they  did  not  apply  it 
with  sufficient  freedom  and  boldness.  They  con- 
sidered the  multitude  of  occasional  laws,  and  the  still 
greater  mass  of  usages,  opinions,  and  determinations, 
as  the  materials  of  legislation,  not  precluding,  but 
demanding  a  systematic  arrangement  of  the  whole  by 
the  supreme  authority.  Had  the  arrangement  been 
more  scientific,  had  there  been  a  bolder  examination 
and  a  more  free  reform  of  many  particular  branches, 
a  model  would  have  been  offered  for  liberal  imitation 

*  An  excellent  medium  between  those  who  absolutely  require 
new  codes,  and  those  who  obstinately  adhere  to  ancient  usages, 
has  been  pointed  out  by  M.  Meyer,  in  his  most  justly  celebrated 
work,  Esprit,  &c.  des  Institutions  Judiciaires  des  Principaux  Pays 
I'Europe,  La  Have,  1819,  tome  i.  Introduction,  p.  8. 

o  2 


196  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

by  modern  lawgivers.  It  cannot  be  denied,  without 
injustice  and  ingratitude,  that  Mr.  Bentham  has  done 
more  than  any  other  writer  to  rouse  the  spirit  of 
juridical  reformation,  which  is  now  gradually  exa- 
mining every  part  of  law,  and  which,  when  further 
progress  is  facilitated  by  digesting  the  present  laws, 
will  doubtless  proceed  to  the  improvement  of  all. 
Greater  praise  it  is  given  to  few  to  earn  :  it  ought  to 
satisfy  him  for  the  disappointment  of  hopes  which 
were  not  reasonable,  that  Russia  should  receive  a  code 
from  him,  or  that  North  America  could  be  brought  to 
renounce  the  variety  of  her  laws  and  institutions,  on 
the  single  authority  of  a  foreign  philosopher,  whose 
opinions  had  not  worked  their  way,  either  into  legis- 
lation or  into  general  reception,  in  his  own  country. 
It  ought  also  to  dispose  his  followers  to  do  fuller  jus- 
tice to  the  Romillys  and  Broughams,  without  whose 
prudence  and  energy,  as  well  as  reason  and  eloquence, 
the  best  plans  of  reformation  must  have  continued  a 
dead  letter ;  —  for  whose  sake  it  might  have  been  fit 
to  reconsider  the  obloquy  heaped  on  their  profession, 
and  to  show  more  general  indulgence  to  all  those  whose 
chief  offence  seems  to  consist  in  their  doubts  whether 
sudden  changes,  almost  always  imposed  by  violence  on  a 
community,  be  the  surest  road  to  lasting  improvement. 
It  is  unfortunate  that  ethical  theory,  with  which 
we  are  now  chiefly  concerned,  is  not  the  province  in 
which  Mr.  Bentham  has  reached  the  most  desirable 
distinction.  It  may  be  remarked,  both  in  ancient  and 
in  modern  times,  that  whatever  modifications  prudent 
followers  may  introduce  into  the  system  of  an  inno- 
vator, the  principles  of  the  master  continue  to  mould 
the  habitual  dispositions,  and  to  influence  the  practical 
tendency  of  the  school.  Mr.  Bentham  preaches  the 
principle  of  Utility  with  the  zeal  of  a  discoverer. 
Occupied  more  in  reflection  than  in  reading,  he  knew 
not,  or  forgot,  how  often  it  had  been  the  basis,  and 
how  generally  an  essential  part,  of  all  moral  systems.* 

*  See  Note  V. 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  197 

That  in  which  he  reallj  differs  from  others,  is  in  the 
Necessity  which  he  teaches,  and  the  example  which 
he  sets,  of  constantly  bringing  that  principle  before 
us.  This  peculiarity  appears  to  us  to  be  his  radical 
error.  In  an  attempt,  of  which  the  constitution  of 
human  nature  forbids  the  success,  he  seems  to  us  to 
have  been  led  into  fundamental  errors  in  moral  theory, 
and  to  have  given  to  his  practical  doctrine  a  dan- 
gerous direction. 

The  confusion  of  moral  approbation  with  the  moral 
qualities  which  are  its  objects,  common  to  Mr.  Ben- 
tham  with  many  other  philosophers,  is  much  more 
uniform  and  prominent  in  him  than  in  most  others. 
This  general  error,  already  mentioned  at  the  opening 
of  this  Dissertation,  has  led  him  more  than  others  to 
assume,  that  because  the  principle  of  Utility  forms  a 
necessary  part  of  every  moral  theory,  it  ought  there- 
fore to  be  the  chief  motive  of  human  conduct.  Now 
it  is  evident  that  this  assumption,  rather  tacitly  than 
avowedly  made,  is  wholly  gratuitous.  No  practical 
conclusion  can  be  deduced  from  the  principle,  but 
that  we  ought  to  cultivate  those  habitual  dispositions 
which  are  the  most  effectual  motives  to  useful  actions. 
But  before  a  regard  to  our  own  interest,  or  a  desire 
to  promote  the  welfare  of  men  in  general,  be  allowed 
to  be  the  exclusive,  or  even  the  chief  regulators  of 
human  conduct,  it  must  be  shown  that  they  are  the 
most  effectual  motives  to  such  useful  actions  :  it  is 
demonstrated  by  experience  that  they  are  not.  It  is 
even  owned  by  the  most  ingenious  writers  of  Mr. 
Bentham's  school,  that  desires  which  are  pointed  to 
general  and  distant  objects,  although  they  have  their 
proper  place  and  their  due  value,  are  commonly  very 
faint  and  ineffectual  inducements  to  action.  A  theory 
founded  on  Utility,  therefore,  requires  that  we  should 
cultivate,  as  excitements  to  practice,  those  other  ha- 
bitual dispositions  which  we  know  by  experience  to 
be  generally  the  source  of  actions  beneficial  to  our- 
selves and  our  fellows;  —  habits  of  feeling  productive 

o  3 


198  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

of  habits  of  virtuous  conduct,  and  in  their  turn 
strengthened  by  the  re-action  of  these  last.  What  is 
the  result  of  experience  on  the  choice  of  the  objects 
of  moral  culture  ?  Beyond  all  dispute,  that  we  should 
labour  to  attain  that  state  of  mind  in  which  all  the 
social  affections  are  felt  with  the  utmost  warmth, 
giving  birth  to  more  comprehensive  benevolence,  but 
not  supplanted  by  it ; — when  the  Moral  Sentiments 
most  strongly  approve  what  is  right  and  good,  with- 
out being  perplexed  by  a  calculation  of  consequences, 
though  not  incapable  of  being  gradually  rectified  by 
Reason,  whenever  they  are  decisively  proved  by  ex- 
perience not  to  correspond  in  some  of  their  parts  to 
the  universal  and  perpetual  effects  of  conduct.  It  is 
a  false  representation  of  human  nature  to  affirm  that 
"courage"  is  only  "prudence."*  They  coincide  in 
their  effects,  and  it  is  always  prudent  to  be  courageous : 
but  a  man  who  fights  because  he  thinks  it  more 
hazardous  to  yield,  is  not  brave.  He  does  not  become 
brave  till  he  feels  cowardice  to  be  base  and  painful, 
and  till  he  is  no  longer  in  need  of  any  aid  from  pru- 
dence. Even  if  it  were  the  interest  of  every  man  to 
be  bold,  it  is  clear  that  so  cold  a  consideration  cannot 
prevail  over  the  fear  of  danger.  Where  it  seems  to 
do  so,  it  must  be  by  the  unseen  power  either  of  the 
fear  of  shame,  or  of  some  other  powerful  passion,  to 
which  it  lends  its  name.  It  was  long  ago  with  strik- 
ing justice  observed  by  Aristotle,  that  he  who  abstains 
from  present  gratification,  under  a  distinct  apprehen- 
sion of  its  painful  consequences,  is  only  'prudent,  and 
that  he  must  acquire  a  disrelish  for  excess  on  its  own 
account,  before  he  deserves  the  name  of  a  temperate 

*  Mill,  Analysis  of  the  Human  Mind,  vol.  ii.  p.  237.  It  would 
be  unjust  not  to  say  that  this  book,  partly  perhaps  from  a  larger 
adoption  of  the  principles  of  Hartley,  holds  out  fairer  opportunities 
of  negotiation  with  natural  feelings  and  the  doctrines  of  former 
philosophers,  than  any  other  production  of  the  same  school.  But 
this  very  assertion  about  courage  clearly  shows  at  least  a  forget- 
fulness  that  courage,  even  if  it  were  the  offspring  of  pnidence, 
would  not  for  that  reason  be  a  species  of  it. 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  199 

man.     It  is  only  when  the  means  are  firmly  and  un- 
alterably converted   into   ends,    that   the   process   of 
forming  the  mind  is  completed.     Courage  may  then 
seek,  instead  of  avoiding  danger  :  Temperance  may 
prefer  abstemiousness  to  indulgence :  Prudence  itself 
may  choose  an  orderly  government  of  conduct,  accord- 
ing to  certain  rules,  without  regard  to  the  degree  in 
which  it  promotes  welfare.     Benevolence  must  desire 
the  happiness  of  others,  to  the  exclusion  of  the  con- 
sideration how  far  it  is  connected  with  that  of  the 
benevolent  agent ;  and  those  alone  can  be  accounted 
just  who  obey  the  dictates  of  Justice  from  having 
thoroughly  learned   an   habitual  veneration   for   her 
strict  rules  and  for  her  larger  precepts.     In  that  com- 
plete state  the  mind  possesses  no  power  of  dissolving 
the  combinations  of  thought  and  feeling  which  impel 
it  to  action.     Nothing  in  this  argument  turns  on  the 
difference  between  implanted  and  acquired  principles. 
As  no  man  can  cease,  by  any  act  of  his,  to  see  distance, 
though  the  power  of  seeing  it  be  universally  acknow- 
ledged to  be  an  acquisition,  so  no  man  has  the  power 
to  extinguish  the  affections  and  the  moral  sentiments 
(however  much  they  may  be  thought  to  be  acquired,) 
any  more  than  that  of  eradicating  the  bodily  appetites. 
The  best  writers  of  Mr.  Bentham's  school  overlook 
the  indissolubility  of  these  associations,  and  appear  not 
to  bear  in  mind  that  their  strength  and  rapid  action 
constitute  the  perfect  state  of  a  moral  agent. 

The  pursuit  of  our  own  general  welfare,  or  of  that 
of  mankind  at  large,  though  from  their  vagueness 
and  coldness  they  are  unfit  habitual  motives  and  un- 
safe ordinary  guides  of  conduct,  yet  perform  functions 
of  essential  importance  in  the  moral  system.  The 
former,  which  we  call  "  self-love,"  preserves  the  balance 
of  all  the  active  principles  which  regard  ourselves 
ultimately,  and  contributes  to  subject  them  to  the 
authority  of  the  moral  principles.*     The  latter,  which 

•  See  N'ote  W. 
o  4 


200  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

is  general  benevolence,  regulates  in  like  manner  the 
equif)oise  of  the  narrower  affections,  —  quickens  the 
languid,  and  checks  the  encroaching,  —  borrows 
strength  from  pity,  and  even  from  indignation,  —  re- 
ceives some  compensation,  as  it  enlarges,  in  the  addi- 
tion of  beauty  and  grandeur,  for  the  weakness  which 
arises  from  dispersion, — enables  us  to  look  on  all  men 
as  brethren,  and  overflows  on  every  sentient  being. 
The  general  interest  of  mankind,  in  truth,  almost 
solely  affects  us  through  the  affections  of  benevolence 
and  sympathy ;  for  the  coincidence  of  general  with 
individual  interest,  —  even  where  it  is  certain,  —  is 
too  dimly  seen  to  produce  any  emotion  which  can 
impel  to,  or  restrain  from,  action.  As  a  general  truth, 
its  value  consists  in  its  completing  the  triumph  of 
Morality,  by  demonstrating  the  absolute  impossibility 
of  forming  any  theory  of  human  nature  which  does 
not  preserve  the  superiority  of  Virtue  over  Vice ;  —  a 
great,  though  not  directly  practical  advantage. 

The  followers  of  Mr.  Bentham  have  carried  to  an 
unusual  extent  the  prevalent  fault  of  the  more  modern 
advocates  of  Utility,  who  have  dwelt  so  exclusively 
on  the  outward  advantages  of  Virtue  as  to  have  lost 
sight  of  the  delight  which  is  a  part  of  virtuous  feeling, 
and  of  the  beneficial  influence  of  good  actions  upon 
the  frame  of  the  mind.  "  Benevolence  towards 
others,"  says  Mr.  Mill,  "  produces  a  return  of  bene- 
volence from  them."  The  fact  is  true,  and  ought 
to  be  stated  :  but  how  unimportant  is  it  in  comparison 
with  that  which  is  passed  over  in  silence, — the  plea- 
sure of  the  affection  itself,  which,  if  it  could  become 
lasting  and  intense,  would  convert  the  heart  into  a 
heaven !  No  one  who  has  ever  felt  kindness,  if  he 
could  accurately  recall  his  feelings,  could  hesitate 
about  their  infinite  superiority.  The  cause  of  the 
general  neglect  of  this  consideration  is,  that  it  is  only 
when  a  gratification  is  something  distinct  from  a  state 
of  mind,  that  we  can  easily  learn  to  consider  it  as  a 
pleasure.     Hence  the  great  error  respecting  the  affec- 


OF   ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  201 

tions,  where  the  inherent  delight  is  not  duly  estimated, 
on  account  of  that  very  peculiarity  of  its  being  a  part 
of  a  state  of  mind  which  renders  it  unspeakably  more 
valuable  as  independent  of  every  thing  without.  The 
social  affections  are  the  only  principles  of  human 
nature  which  have  no  direct  pains  :  to  have  any  of 
these  desires  is  to  be  in  a  state  of  happiness.  The 
malevolent  passions  have  properly  no  pleasures  ;  for 
that  attainment  of  their  purpose  which  is  improperly 
so  called,  consists  only  in  healing  or  assuaging  the 
torture  which  envy,  jealousy,  and  malice,  inflict  on 
the  malignant  mind.  It  might  with  as  much  pro- 
priety be  said  that  the  toothache  and  the  stone  have 
pleasures,  because  their  removal  is  followed  by  an 
agreeable  feeling.  These  bodily  disorders,  indeed, 
are  often  cured  by  the  process  which  removes  the 
suffering ;  but  the  mental  distempers  of  envy  and 
revenge  are  nourished  by  every  act  of  odious  indul- 
gence which  for  a  moment  suspends  their  pain. 

The  same  observation  is  applicable  to  every  virtuous 
disposition,  though  not  so  obviously  as  to  the  bene- 
volent affections.  That  a  brave  man  is,  on  the  whole, 
far  less  exposed  to  danger  than  a  coward,  is  not  the 
chief  advantage  of  a  courageous  temper.  Great  dangers 
are  rare ;  but  the  constant  absence  of  such  painful 
and  mortifying  sensations  as  those  of  fear,  and  the 
steady  consciousness  of  superiority  to  what  subdues 
ordinary  men,  are  a  perpetual  source  of  inward  en- 
joyment. No  man  who  has  ever  been  visited  by  a 
gleam  of  magnanimity,  can  place  any  outward  ad- 
vantage of  fortitude  in  comparison  with  the  feeling  of 
being  always  able  fearlessly  to  defend  a  righteous 
cause.*     Even  humility,  in  spite  of  first  appearances, 

*  According  to  Cicero's  definition  of  fortitude,  "  Virtus  pug- 
nans  pro  cequitate."  The  remains  of  the  original  sense  of  "  virtus," 
manhood,  give  a  beauty  and  force  to  these  expessions,  which 
cannot  be  preserved  in  our  language.  The  Greek  "a/>€T7J,"  and 
the  German  "tugend,"  originally  denoted  "strength,"  afterwards 
"  com  age,"  and  at  last  "  viituc."    But  the  happy  derivation  of 


202  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

is  a  remarkable  example  : — though  it  has  of  late  been 
unwarrantably  used  to  signify  that  painful  conscious- 
ness of  inferiority  which  is  the  first  stage  of  envy.* 
It  is  a  term  consecrated  in  Christian  Ethics  to  denote 
that  disposition  which,  by  inclining  towards  a  modest 
estimate  of  our  qualities,  corrects  the  prevalent  ten- 
dency of  human  nature  to  overvalue  our  merits  and 
to  overrate  our  claims.  What  can  be  a  less  doubtful, 
or  a  much  more  considerable  blessing  than  this 
constant  sedative,  which  soothes  and  composes  the 
irritable  passions  of  vanity  and  pride  ?  What  is  more 
conducive  to  lasting  peace  of  mind  than  the  con- 
sciousness of  proficiency  in  that  most  delicate  species 
of  equity  which,  in  the  secret  tribunal  of  Conscience, 
labours  to  be  impartial  in  the  comparison  of  ourselves 
with  others  ?  What  can  so  perfectly  assure  us  of  the 
purity  of  our  Moral  Sense,  as  the  habit  of  contem- 
plating, not  that  excellence  which  we  have  reached, 
but  that  which  is  still  to  be  pursued  "j", — of  not  con- 
sidering how  far  we  may  outrun  others,  but  how  far 
we  are  from  the  goal  ? 

Virtue  has  often  outward  advantages,  and  always 
inward  delights  ;  but  the  last,  though  constant,  strong, 
inaccessible  and  inviolable,  are  not  easily  considered 
by  the  common  observer  as  apart  from  the  form  with 
which  they  are  blended.  They  are  so  subtile  and 
evanescent  as  to  escape  the  distinct  contemplation  of 
all  but  the  very  few  who  meditate  on  the  acts  of  the 
mind.  The  outward  advantages,  on  the  other  hand, — 
cold,  uncertain,  deiDcndent  and  precarious  as  they  are, 
— yet  stand  out  to  the  sense  and  to  the  memory,  may 
be  as  it  were  handled  and  counted,  and  are  perfectly 
on  a  level  with  the  general  apprehension.  Hence 
they  have  become  the  almost  exclusive  theme  of  all 

"  virtus"  from  "vir  "  gives  an  energy  to  the  phrase  of  Cicero,  which 
illustrates  the  use  of  etymology  in  the  hands  of  a  skilful  writer. 

*  Anal.  Hum.  Mind,  vol.  ii.  p.  222. 

f  For  a  description  of  vanity,  by  a  great  orator,  see  the  Eev. 
R.  Hall's  Sermon  on  Modern  Infidelity. 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  203 

moralists  who  profess  to  follow  Eeason.  There  is 
room  for  suspecting  that  a  very  general  illusion  pre- 
vails on  this  subject.  Probably  the  smallest  part  of 
the  pleasure  of  Virtue,  because  it  is  the  most  palpable, 
has  become  the  sign  and  mental  representative  of  the 
whole:  the  outward  and  visible  sign  suggests  only 
insensibly  the  inward  and  mental  delight.  Those 
who  are  prone  to  display  chiefly  the  external  benefits 
of  magnanimity  and  kindness,  would  speak  with  far 
less  fervour,  and  perhaps  less  confidence,  if  their 
feelings  were  not  unconsciously  affected  by  the  mental 
state  which  is  overlooked  in  their  statements.  But 
when  they  speak  of  what  is  without,  they  feel  what 
was  within,  and  their  words  excite  the  same  feeling  in 
others. 

Is  it  not  probable  that  much  of  our  love  of  praise 
may  be  thus  ascribed  to  humane  and  sociable  pleasure 
in  the  sympathy  of  others  with  us  ?  Praise  is  the 
symbol  which  represents  sympathy,  and  which  the 
mind  insensibly  substitutes  for  it  in  recollection  and 
in  language.  Does  not  the  desire  of  posthumous 
fame,  in  like  manner,  manifest  an  ambition  for  the 
fellow-feeling  of  our  race,  when  it  is  perfectly  unpro- 
ductive of  any  advantage  to  ourselves  ?  In  this  point 
of  view,  it  may  be  considered  as  the  passion  the  very 
existence  of  which  proves  the  mighty  power  of  disin- 
terested desire.  Every  other  pleasure  from  sympathy 
is  derived  from  contemporaries  :  the  love  of  fame 
alone  seeks  the  sympathy  of  unborn  generations,  and 
stretches  the  chain  which  binds  the  race  of  man 
together,  to  an  extent  to  which  Hope  sets  no  bounds. 
There  is  a  noble,  even  if  unconscious  union  of  Mo- 
rality with  genius  in  the  mind  of  him  who  sympa- 
thises with  the  masters  who  lived  twenty  centuries 
before  him,  in  order  that  he  may  learn  to  command 
the  sympathies  of  the  countless  generations  who  are 
to  come. 

In  the  most  familiar,  as  well  as  in  the  highest  in- 
stances, it  would  seem,  that  the  inmost  thoughts  and 


204  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

sentiments  of  men  are  more  pure  than  their  language. 
Those  who  speak  of  "  a  regard  to  character,"  if  they 
be  serious,  generally  infuse  into  that  word,  unawares, 
a  large  portion  of  that  sense  in  which  it  denotes  the 
frame  of  the  mind.  Those  who  speak  of  "  honour" 
very  often  mean  a  more  refined  and  delicate  sort  of 
conscience,  which  ought  to  render  the  more  educated 
classes  of  society  alive  to  such  smaller  wrongs  as  the 
laborious  and  the  ignorant  can  scarcely  feel.  What 
heart  does  not  warm  at  the  noble  exclamation  of  the 
ancient  poet :  "  Who  is  pleased  by  false  honour,  or 
frightened  by  lying  infamy,  but  he  who  is  false  and 
depraved  !"*  Every  uncorrupted  mind  feels  unmerited 
praise  as  a  bitter  reproach,  and  regards  a  conscious- 
ness of  demerit  as  a  drop  of  poison  in  the  cup  of 
honour.  How  different  is  the  applause  which  truly 
delights  us  all,  a  proof  that  the  consciences  of  others 
are  in  harmony  with  our  own !  "  What,"  says  Cicero, 
"  is  glory  but  the  concurring  praise  of  the  good,  the 
unbought  approbation  of  those  who  judge  aright  of 
excellent  virtue!"!  A  far  greater  than  Cicero  rises 
from  the  purest  praise  of  man,  to  more  sublime  con- 
templations. 

Fame  is  no  plant  that  grows  on  mortal  soil, 
But  lives  and  spreads  aloft,  by  those  pure  eyes 
And  perfect  witness  of  all-judging  Jove.J 

Those  who  have  most  earnestly  inculcated  the  doc- 
trine of  Utility  have  given  another  notable  example 
of  the  very  vulgar  prejudice  which  treats  the  unseen 
as  insignificant.  Tucker  is  the  only  one  of  them  who 
occasionally  considers  that  most  important  eiFect  of 
human  conduct  which  consists  in  its  action  on  the 
frame  of  the  mind,  by  fitting  its  faculties  and  sensi- 
bilities for  their  appointed  purpose.  A  razor  or  a 
penknife  would  well  enough  cut  cloth  or  meat ;  but 

*  Horat.  Epistol.  lib.  i.  16. 

t  Probably  quoted  memoriter  from  De  Fin.  lib.  iv.  cap.  23. — Ed. 

i  Lycidas,  1.  78. 


OF   ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  205 

if  they  were  often  so  used,  they  would  be  entirely 
spoiled.  The  same  sort  of  observation  is  much  more 
strongly  applicable  to  habitual  dispositions,  which,  if 
they  be  spoiled,  we  have  no  certain  means  of  re- 
placing or  mending.  Whatever  act,  therefore,  dis- 
composes the  moral  machinery  of  Mind,  is  more 
injurious  to  the  welfare  of  the  agent  than  most 
disasters  from  without  can  be :  for  the  latter  are 
commonly  limited  and  temporary ;  the  evil  of  the 
former  spreads  through  the  whole  of  life.  Health  of 
mind,  as  well  as  of  body,  is  not  only  productive  in 
itself  of  a  greater  sum  of  enjoyment  than  arises  from 
other  sources,  but  is  the  only  condition  of  our  frame 
in  which  we  are  capable  of  receiving  pleasure  from 
without.  Hence  it  appears  how  incredibly  absurd  it 
is  to  prefer,  on  grounds  of  calculation,  a  present  inter- 
est to  the  preservation  of  those  mental  habits  on 
which  our  well-being  depends.  When  they  are  most 
moral,  they  may  often  prevent  us  from  obtaining  ad- 
vantages :  but  it  would  be  as  absurd  to  desire  to 
lower  them  for  that  reason,  as  it  would  be  to  weaken 
the  body,  lest  its  strength  should  render  it  more  liable 
to  contagious  disorders  of  rare  occurrence. 

It  is,  on  the  other  hand,  impossible  to  combine  the 
benefit  of  the  general  habit  with  the  advantages  of 
occasional  deviation ;  for  every  such  deviation  either 
produces  remorse,  or  weakens  the  habit,  and  prepares 
the  way  for  its  gradual  destruction.  He  who  obtains 
a  fortune  by  the  undetected  forgery  of  a  will,  may 
indeed  be  honest  in  his  other  acts ;  but  if  he  had  such 
a  scorn  of  fraud  before  as  he  must  himself  allow  to 
be  generally  useful,  he  must  suffer  a  severe  punish- 
ment from  contrition ;  and  he  will  be  haunted  with 
the  fears  of  one  who  has  lost  his  own  security  for  his 
good  conduct.  In  all  cases,  if  they  be  well  examined, 
his  loss  by  the  distemper  of  his  mental  frame  will  out- 
weigh the  profits  of  his  vice. 

By  repeating  the  like  observation  on  similar  occa- 
sions, it  will  be  manifest  that  the  infirmity  of  recol- 


206  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

lection,  aggravated  by  the  defects  of  language,  gives 
an  appearance  of  more  selfishness  to  man  than  truly 
belongs  to  his  nature ;  and  that  the  effect  of  active 
agents  upon  the  habitual  state  of  mind, — one  of  the 
considerations  to  which  the  epithet  "sentimental"  has 
of  late  been  applied  in  derision, — is  really  among  the 
most  serious  and  reasonable  objects  of  Moral  Phi- 
losophy. When  the  internal  pleasures  and  pains  which 
accompany  good  and  bad  feelings,  or  rather  form  a 
part  of  them,  and  the  internal  advantages  and  disad- 
vantages whioh.  follow  good  and  bad  actions,  are  suffi- 
ciently considered,  the  comparative  importance  of 
outward  consequences  will  be  more  and  more  narrowed ; 
so  that  the  Stoical  philosopher  may  be  thought  almost 
excusable  for  rejecting  it  altogether,  were  it  not  an 
indispensably  necessary  consideration  for  those  in 
whom  right  habits  of  feeling  are  not  sufficiently 
strong.  They  alone  are  happy,  or  even  truly  virtuous, 
who  have  little  need  of  it. 

The  later  moralists  who  adopt  the  principle  of 
Utility,  have  so  misplaced  it,  that  in  their  hands  it 
has  as  great  a  tendency  as  any  theoretical  error  can 
have,  to  lessen  the  intrinsic  pleasure  of  Virtue,  and  to 
unfit  our  habitual  feelings  for  being  the  most  effectual 
inducements  to  good  conduct.  This  is  the  natural  ten- 
dency of  a  discipline  which  brings  Utility  too  closely 
and  frequently  into  contact  with  action.  By  this 
habit,  in  its  best  state,  an  essentially  weaker  motive 
is  gradually  substituted  for  others  which  must  always 
be  of  more  force.  The  frequent  appeal  to  Utility  as 
the  standard  of  action  tends  to  introduce  an  uncer- 
tainty with  respect  to  the  conduct  of  other  men,  which 
would  render  all  intercourse  with  them  insupportable. 
It  affords  also  so  fair  a  disguise  for  selfish  and  ma- 
lignant passions,  as  often  to  hide  their  nature  from 
him  who  is  their  prey.  Some  taint  of  these  mean  and 
evil  principles  will  at  least  spread  itself,  and  a  venom- 
ous animation,  not  its  own,  will  be  given  to  the  cold 
desire  of  Utility.     Moralists  who  take  an  active  part 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  207 

In  those  affairs  which  often  call  out  unamiable  pas- 
sions, ought  to  guard  with  peculiar  watchfulness 
against  such  self-delusions.  The  sin  that  must  most 
easily  beset  them,  is  that  of  sliding  from  general  to 
particular  consequences, —  that  of  trying  single  actions, 
instead  of  dispositions,  habits,  and  rules,  by  the 
standard  of  Utility,  —  that  of  authorising  too  great  a 
latitude  for  discretion  and  policy  in  moral  conduct, — 
that  of  readily  allowing  exceptions  to  the  most  im- 
portant rules,  —  that  of  too  lenient  a  censure  of  the 
use  of  doubtful  means,  when  the  end  seems  to  them 
good,  —  and  that  of  believing  unphilosophically,  as 
well  as  dangerously,  that  there  can  be  any  measure,  or 
scheme  so  useful  to  the  world  as  the  existence  of  men 
who  would  not  do  a  base  thing  for  any  public  advan- 
tage. It  was  said  of  Andrew  Fletcher,  "that  he 
would  lose  his  life  to  serve  his  country,  but  would  not 
do  a  base  thing  to  save  it."  Let  those  preachers  of 
Utility  who  suppose  that  such  a  man  sacrifices  ends  to 
means,  consider  whether  the  scorn  of  baseness  be  not 
akin  to  the  contempt  of  danger,  and  whether  a  nation 
composed  of  such  men  would  not  be  invincible.  But 
theoretical  principles  are  counteracted  by  a  thousand 
causes,  which  confine  their  mischief  as  well  as  cir- 
cumscribe their  benefits.  Men  are  never  so  good  or 
so  bad  as  their  opinions.  All  that  can  be  with  reason 
apprehended  is,  that  these  last  may  always  produce 
some  part  of  their  natural  evil,  and  that  the  mischief 
will  be  greatest  among  the  many  who  seek  excuses 
for  their  passions.  Ai'istippus  found  in  the  Socratic 
representation  of  the  union  of  virtue  and  happiness  a 
pretext  for  sensuality ;  and  many  Epicureans  became 
voluptuaries  in  spite  of  the  example  of  their  master, — 
easily  dropping  by  degrees  the  limitations  by  which 
he  guarded  his  doctrines.  In  proportion  as  a  man  ac- 
customs himself  to  be  influenced  by  the  utility  of  par- 
ticular acts,  without  regard  to  rules,  he  approaches  to 
the  casuistry  of  the  Jesuits,  and  to  the  practical 
maxims  of  Caesar  Borgia. 


208  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

Injury  on  this,  as  on  other  occasions,  has  been  suf- 
fered by  Ethics,  from  their  close  affinity  to  Jurispru- 
dence. The  true  and  eminent  merit  of  Mr.  Bentham 
is  that  of  a  reformer  of  Jurisprudence  :  he  is  only  a 
moralist  with  a  view  to  being  a  jurist ;  and  he  some- 
times becomes  for  a  few  hurried  moments  a  metaphy- 
sician with  a  view  to  laying  the  foundation  of  both 
the  moral  sciences.  Both  he  and  his  followers  have 
treated  Ethics  too  juridically :  they  do  not  seem  to  be 
aware,  or  at  least  they  do  not  bear  constantly  in  mind, 
that  there  is  an  essential  difference  in  the  subjects  of 
these  two  sciences. 

The  object  of  law  is  the  prevention  of  actions  in- 
jurious to  the  community :  it  considers  the  dispositions 
from  which  they  flow  only  indirectly^  to  ascertain  the 
likelihood  of  their  recurrence,  and  thus  to  determine 
the  necessity  and  the  means  of  preventing  them.  The 
direct  object  of  Ethics  is  only  mental  disposition  :  it 
considers  actions  indirectly  as  the  signs  by  which  such 
dispositions  are  manifested.  If  it  were  possible  for 
the  mere  moralist  to  see  that  a  moral  and  amiable 
temper  was  the  mental  source  of  a  bad  action,  he  could 
not  cease  to  approve  and  love  the  temper,  as  we  some- 
times presume  to  suppose  may  be  true  of  the  judg- 
ments of  the  Searcher  of  Hearts.  Religion  necessarily 
coincides  with  Morality  in  this  respect ;  and  it  is  the 
peculiar  distinction  of  Christianity  that  it  places  the 
seat  of  Virtue  in  the  heart.  Law  and  Ethics  are 
necessarily  so  much  blended,  that  in  many  intricate 
combinations  the  distinction  becomes  obscure :  but  in 
all  strong  cases  the  difference  is  evident.  Thus,  law 
punishes  the  most  sincerely  repentant ;  but  wherever 
the  soul  of  the  penitent  can  be  thought  to  be  thoroughly 
purified.  Religion  and  Morality  receive  him  with  open 
arms. 

It  is  needless,  after  these  remarks,  to  observe,  that 
those  whose  habitual  contemplation  is  directed  to  the 
rules  of  action,  are  likely  to  underrate  the  importance 
of  feeling  and  disposition  ; — an  error  of  very  unfor- 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  209 

tunate  consequences,  since  the  far  greater  part  of 
human  actions  flow  from  these  neglected  sources ; 
while  the  law  interposes  only  in  cases  which  may  be 
called  exceptions,  which  are  now  rare,  and  ought  to 
be  less  frequent. 

The  coincidence  of  Mr.  Bentham's  school  with  the 
ancient  Epicureans  in  the  disregard  of  the  pleasures 
of  taste  and  of  the  arts  dependent  on  imagination,  is 
a  proof  both  of  the  inevitable  adherence  of  much  of 
the  popular  sense  of  the  words  "  interest  "  and  "  plea- 
sure," to  the  same  words  in  their  philosophical  ac- 
ceptation, and  of  the  pernicious  influence  of  narrowing 
Utility  to  mere  visible  and  tangible  objects,  to  the 
exclusion  of  those  which  form  the  larger  part  of 
human  enjoyment. 

The  mechanical  philosophers  who,  under  Descartes 
and  Gassendi,  began  to  reform  Physics  in  the  seven- 
teenth century,  attempted  to  explain  all  the  appear- 
ances of  nature  by  an  immediate  reference  to  the 
figure  of  particles  of  matter  impelling  each  other  in 
various  directions,  and  with  unequal  force,  but  in  all 
other  points  alike.  The  communication  of  motion  by 
impulse  they  conceived  to  be  perfectly  simple  and 
intelligible.  It  nevei'  occurred  to  them,  that  the 
movement  of  one  ball  when  another  is  driven  against 
it,  is  a  fact  of  which  no  explanation  can  be  given 
which  will  amount  to  more  than  a  statement  of  its 
constant  occurrence.  That  no  body  can  act  where  it 
is  not,  appeared  to  them  as  self-evident  as  that  the 
whole  is  equal  to  all  the  parts.  By  this  axiom  they 
understood  that  no  body  moves  another  without 
touching  it.  They  did  not  perceive,  that  it  was  only 
self-evident  where  it  means  that  no  body  can  act 
where  it  has  not  the  poiver  of  acting ;  and  that  if  it 
be  understood  more  largely,  it  is  a  mere  assumption  of 
the  proposition  on  which  their  whole  system  rested. 
Sir  Isaac  Newton  reformed  Physics,  not  by  simplify- 
ing that  science,  but  by  rendering  it  much  more  com- 
plicated,    lie  introduced  into  it  the  force  of  attraction, 

VOL.  L  P 


210  DISSERTATION   ON  THE   PROGRESS 

of  which  he  ascertained  many  la«vs,  but  which  even 
he  did  not  dare  to  represent  as  being  as  intelligible, 
and  as  conceivably  ultimate  as  impulsion  itself.  It 
was  necessary  for  Laplace  to  introduce  intermediate 
laws,  and  to  calculate  disturbing  forces,  before  the 
phenomena  of  the  heavenly  bodies  could  be  reconciled 
even  to  Newton's  more  complex  theory.  In  the 
present  state  of  physical  and  chemical  knowledge, 
a  man  who  should  attempt  to  refer  all  the  immense 
variety  of  facts  to  the  simple  impulse  of  the  Car- 
tesians, would  have  no  chance  of  serious  confutation. 
The  number  of  laws  augments  with  the  progress  of 
knowledge. 

The  speculations  of  the  followers  of  Mr.  Benthara 
are  not  unlike  the  unsuccessful  attempt  of  the  Car- 
tesians. Mr.  Mill,  for  example,  derives  the  whole 
theory  of  Government*  from  the  single  fact,  that 
every  man  pursues  his  interest  when  he  knows  it; 
which  he  assumes  to  be  a  sort  of  self-evident  practical 
principle,  —  if  such  a  phrase  be  not  contradictory. 
That  a  man's  pursuing  the  interest  of  another,  or 
indeed  any  other  object  in  nature,  is  just  as  conceivable 
as  that  he  should  pursue  his  own  interest,  is  a  pro- 
position which  seems  never  to  have  occurred  to  this 
acute  and  ingenious  writer.  Nothing,  however,  can 
be  more  certain  than  its  truth,  if  the  term  "  interest " 
be  employed  in  its  proper  sense  of  general  well-being, 
which  is  the  only  acceptation  in  which  it  can  serve 
the  purpose  of  his  arguments.  If,  indeed,  the  term 
be  employed  to  denote  the  gratification  of  a  predo- 
minant desire,  his  proposition  is  self-evident,  but 
wholly  unserviceable  in  his  argument ;  for  it  is  clear 
that  individuals  and  multitudes  often  desire  what  they 
know  to  be  most  inconsistent  with  their  general  wel- 
fare. A  nation,  as  much  as  an  individual,  and  some- 
times more,  may  not  only  mistake  its  interest,  but, 
perceiving  it  clearly,  may  prefer  the  gratification  of  a 

♦  Encyc.  Brit.,  article  "Government." 


OF   ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  211 

strong  passion  to  it*  The  whole  fabric  of  his  poli- 
tical reasoning  seems  to  be  overthrown  by  this  sino-le 
observation  ;  and  instead  of  attempting  to  explain  the 
immense  variety  of  political  facts  by  the  simple  prin- 
ciple of  a  contest  of  interests,  we  are  reduced  to  the 
necessity  of  once  more  referring  them  to  that  variety 
of  passions,  habits,  opinions,  and  prejudices,  which  we 
discover  only  by  experience.  Mr.  Mill's  essay  on 
Education  f  affords  another  example  of  the  incon- 
venience of  leaping  at  once  from  the  most  general 
laws,  to  a  multiplicity  of  minute  appearances.  Having 
assumed,  or  at  least  inferred  from  insufficient  pre- 
mises, that  the  intellectual  and  moral  character  is 
entirely  formed  by  circumstances,  he  proceeds,  in  the 
latter  part  of  the  essay,  as  if  it  were  a  necessary  con- 
sequence of  that  doctrine  that  we  might  easily  acquire 
the  power  of  combining  and  directing  circumstances 
in  such  a  manner  as  to  produce  the  best  possible  cha- 
racter. Without  disputing,  for  the  present,  the  theore- 
tical proposition,  let  us  consider  what  would  be  the 
reasonableness  of  similar  expectations  in  a  more  easily 
intelligible  case.  The  general  theory  of  the  winds  is 
pretty  well  understood  ;  we  know  that  they  proceed 
from  the  rushing  of  air  from  those  portions  of  the 
atmosphere  which  are  more  condensed,  into  those 
which  are  more  rarefied :  but  how  great  a  chasm  is 
there  between  that  simple  law  and  the  great  variety 
of  facts  which  experience  exhibits !  The  constant 
winds  between  the  tropics  are  large  and  regular 
enough  to  be  in  some  measure  capable  of  explanation : 
but  who  can  tell  why,  in  variable  climates,  the  wind 
blows  to-day  from  the  east,  to-morrow  from  the  west  ? 
Who  can  foretell  what  its  shiftings  and  variations  are 
to  be  ?  Who  can  account  for  a  tempest  on  one  day, 
and  a  calm  on  another  ?     Even  if  we  could  foretell 

*  The  same  mode  of  reasoning  has  been  adopted  by  the  writer 
of  a  late  criticism,  on  Mr.  Mill's  Essay.  See  Edinburgh  Review, 
vol  xlix.  p.  159. 

I  Encyc.  Brit.,  article  "Education." 

p  2 


212  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

the  irregular  and  infinite  variations,  how  far  might 
we  not  still  be  from  the  power  of  combining  and 
guiding  their  causes  ?  No  man  but  the  lunatic  in  the 
story  of  Rasselas  ever  dreamt  that  he  could  command 
the  weather.  The  difficulty  plainly  consists  in  the 
multiplicity  and  minuteness  of  the  circumstances  which 
act  on  the  atmosphere  :  are  those  which  influence  the 
formation  of  the  human  character  likely  to  be  less 
minute  and  multiplied  ? 

The  style  of  Mr.  Bentham  underwent  a  more  re- 
markable revolution  than  perhaps  befell  that  of  any 
other  celebrated  writer.  In  his  early  works,  it  was 
clear,  free,  spirited,  often  and  seasonably  eloquent: 
many  passages  of  his  later  writings  retain  the  inimi- 
table stamp  of  genius ;  but  he  seems  to  have  been 
oppressed  by  the  vastness  of  his  projected  works, — to 
have  thought  that  he  had  no  longer  more  than  leisure 
to  preserve  the  heads  of  them, — to  have  been  impelled 
by  a  fruitful  mind  to  new  plans  before  he  had  com- 
pleted the  old.  In  this  state  of  things,  he  gradually 
ceased  to  use  words  for  conveying  his  thoughts  to 
others,  but  merely  employed  them  as  a  sort  of  short 
hand  to  preserve  his  meaning  for  his  own  purpose. 
It  was  no  wonder  that  his  language  should  thus 
become  obscure  and  repulsive.  Though  many  of  his 
technical  terms  are  in  themselves  exact  and  pithy,  yet 
the  overflow  of  his  vast  nomenclature  was  enough  to 
darken  his  whole  diction. 

It  was  at  this  critical  period  that  the  arrangement 
and  translation  of  his  manuscripts  were  undertaken 
by  M.  Dumont,  a  generous  disciple,  who  devoted  a 
genius  formed  for  original  and  lasting  works,  to  dif- 
fuse the  principles,  and  promote  the  fame  of  his 
master.  He  whose  pen  Mirabeau  did  not  disdain  to 
borrow, — who,  in  the  same  school  with  Romilly,  had 
studiously  pursued  the  grace  as  well  as  the  force  of 
composition,  was  perfectly  qualified  to  strip  of  its 
uncouthness  a  philosophy  which  he  understood  and 
admired.      As  he  wrote  in  a  general  language,  he 


OF   ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  213 

propagated  its  doctrines  throughout  Europe,  where 
they  were  beneficial  to  Jurisprudence,  but  perhaps  in- 
jurious to  the  cause  of  reformation  in  Government. 
That  they  became  more  popular  abroad  than  at  home, 
is  partly  to  be  ascribed  to  the  taste  and  skill  of  M. 
Dumont ;  partly  to  that  tendency  towards  free  specu- 
lation and  bold  reform  which  was  more  prevalent 
among  nations  newly  freed,  or  impatiently  aspiring 
to  freedom,  than  in  a  people  such  as  ours,  long  satis- 
fied with  their  government,  but  not  yet  aware  of  the 
imperfections  and  abuses  in  their  laws ; — to  the 
amendment  of  which  last  a  cautious  consideration  of 
Mr.  Beutham's  works  will  undoubtedly  most  mate- 
rially contribute. 

DUGALD  STEWART.* 

Manifold  are  the  discouragements  rising  up  at 
every  step  in  that  part  of  this  Dissertation  which 
extends  to  very  recent  times.  No  sooner  does  the 
writer  escape  from  the  angry  disputes  of  the  living, 
than  he  may  feel  his  mind  clouded  by  the  name  of  a 
departed  friend.  But  there  are  happily  men  whose 
fame  is  brightened  by  free  discussion,  and  to  whose 
memory  an  appearance  of  belief  that  they  needed 
tender  treatment  would  be  a  grosser  injury  than  it 
could  suffer  from  a  respectable  antagonist. 

Dugald  Stewart  was  the  son  of  Dr.  Matthew 
Stewart,  Professor  oi  Mathematics  in  the  University 
of  Edinburgh,  —  a  station  immediately  before  filled  by 
Maclaurin,  on  the  recommendation  of  Newton.  Hence 
the  poetf  spoke  of  "the  philosophic  sire  and  son." 
He  was  educated  at  Edinburgh,  and  he  heard  the 
lectures  of  Reid  at  Glasgow.  He  was  early  asso- 
ciated with  his  father  in  the  duties  of  the  mathe- 
matical professorship ;  and  during  the  absence  of 
Dr.  Adam   Ferguson   as   secertary  to    the    commis- 

*  Bom  1753,  died,  1828.  f  Bums. 

P  3 


214  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

sioners  sent  to  conclude  a  peace  with  North  America, 
he  occupied  the  chair  of  Moral  Philosophy.  He  was 
appointed  to  the  professorship  on  the  resignation  of 
Ferguson,  —  not  the  least  distinguished  among  the 
modern  moralists  inclined  to  the  Stoical  school. 

This  office,  filled  in  immediate  succession  by  Fer- 
guson, Stewart,  and  Brown,  received  a  lustre  from 
their  names,  which  it  owed  in  no  degree  to  its  modest 
exterior  or  its  limited  advantages ;  and  was  rendered 
by  them  the  highest  dignity,  in  the  humble,  but  not 
obscure,  establishments  of  Scottish  literature.  The 
lectures  of  Mr.  Stewart,  for  a  quarter  of  a  century, 
rendered  it  famous  through  every  country  where  the 
light  of  reason  was  allowed  to  penetrate.  Perhaps 
few  men  ever  lived,  who  poured  into  the  breasts  of 
youth  a  more  fervid  and  yet  reasonable  love  of 
liberty,  of  truth,  and  of  virtue.  How  many  are  still 
alive,  in  different  countries,  and  in  every  rank  to 
which  education  reaches,  who,  if  they  accurately  ex- 
amined their  own  minds  and  lives,  would  not  ascribe 
much  of  whatever  goodness  and  happiness  they  possess, 
to  the  early  impressions  of  his  gentle  and  persuasive 
eloquence!  He  lived  to  see  his  disciples  distinguished 
among  the  lights  and  ornaments  of  the  council  and 
the  senate.*    He  had  the  consolation  to  be  sure  that 


*  As  an  example  of  Mr.  Stewart's  school  may  be  mentioned 
Francis  Horner,  a  favourite  pupil,  and,  till  his  last  moment,  an 
affectionate  friend.  The  short  hfe  of  this  excellent  person  is  worthy 
of  serious  contemplation,  by  those  more  especially,  who,  in  cir- 
cumstances like  his,  enter  on  the  slippery  path  of  public  affairs. 
Without  the  aids  of  birth  or  fortune,  in  an  assembly  where  aris- 
tocratical  propensities  prevail, — by  his  understanding,  industry, 
pure  taste,  and  useful  information,  —  still  more  by  modest  inde- 
pendence, by  steadiness  and  sincerity,  joined  to  moderation,  — 
by  the  stamp  of  unbending  integrity,  and  by  the  conscientious 
considerateness  which  breathed  through  his  well-chosen  language, 
he  raised  himself,  at  the  early  age  of  thirty-six,  to  a  moral  authority 
which,  without  these  qualities,  no  brilliancy  of  talents  or  power  of 
reasoning  could  have  acquired.  No  eminent  speaker  in  Parlia- 
ment owed  so  much  of  has  success  to  his  moral  character.    His 


OF   ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHT.  215 

no  words  of  his  promoted  the  growth  of  an  impure 
taste,  of  an  exclusive  prejudice,  or  of  a  malevolent 
passion.  Without  derogation  from  his  writings,  it 
may  be  said  that  his  disciples  were  among  his  best 
works.  He,  indeed,  who  may  justly  be  said  to  have 
cultivated  an  extent  of  mind  wliich  would  otherwise 
have  lain  barren,  and  to  have  contributed  to  raise 
virtuous  dispositions  where  the  natural  growth  might 
have  been  useless  or  noxious,  is  not  less  a  benefactor 
of  mankind,  and  may  indirectly  be  a  larger  contri- 
butor to  knowledge,  than  the  author  of  great  works, 
or  even  the  discoverer  of  important  truths.  The 
system  of  conveying  scientific  instruction  to  a  large 
audience  by  lectures,  from  which  the  English  univer- 
sities have  in  a  great  measure  departed,  renders  his 
qualities  as  a  lecturer  a  most  important  part  of  his 
merit  in  a  Scottish  university  which  still  adheres  to 
the  general  method  of  European  education.  Prqbably 
no  modern  ever  exceeded  him  in  that  species  of,  elo- 
quence which  springs  from  sensibility  to  literary 
beauty  and  moral  excellence, — which  neither  obscures 
science  by  prodigal  ornament,  nor  disturbs  the  se- 
renity of  patient  attention, — but  though  it  rather  calms 
and  soothes  the  feelings,  yet  exalts  the  genius,  and 
insensibly  inspires  a  reasonable  enthusiasm  for  what- 
ever is  good  and  fair. 

He  embraced  the  philosophy  of  Dr.  Eeid,  a  patient, 

high  place  was  therefore  honourable  to  his  audience  and  to  liis 
country.  Kcgret  for  his  death  was  expressed  with  touching  una- 
nimity from  every  part  of  a  divided  assembly,  unused  to  mani- 
festations of  sensibility,  abhorrent  from  theatrical  display,  and 
whose  tribute  on  such  an  occasion  derived  its  peculiar  value  from 
their  general  coldness  and  slu^^gishness.  The  tears  of  those  to 
whom  he  was  unknown  were  shed  over  him  ;  and  at  the  head  of 
those  by  whom  he  was  "  praised,  wept,  and  honoured,"  was  one, 
whose  commendation  would  haA'e  been  more  enhanced  in  the  eye 
of  Mr.  Horner,  l)y  his  discernment  and  veracity,  than  by  the  signal 
proof  of  the  concurrence  of  all  orders,  as  well  as  parties,  which 
was  aflfordcd  by  the  name  of  Howard. 

P  4 


216  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

modest,  and  deep  thinker*,  who,  in  his  first  work 
(Inquiry  into  the  Human  Mind),  deserves  a  commend- 
ation more  descriptive  of  a  philosopher  than  that 
bestowed  upon  him  by  Professor  Cousin, — of  having 
made  "  a  vigorous  protest  against  scepticism  on  be- 
half of  common  sense."  Reid's  observations  on  Sug- 
gestion, on  natural  signs,  on  the  connection  between 
what  he  calls  "  sensation  "  and  "  perception,"  though 
perhaps  suggested  by  Berkeley  (whose  idealism  he  had 
once  adopted),  are  marked  by  the  genuine  spirit  of 
original  observation.  As  there  are  too  many  who 
seem  more  wise  than  they  are,  so  it  was  the  more 
uncommon  fault  with  Reid  to  appear  less  a  philo- 
sopher than  he  really  was.  Indeed  his  temporary 
adoption  of  Berkeleianism  is  a  proof  of  an  unpre- 
judiced and  acute  mind.  Perhaps  no  man  ever  rose 
finally  above  the  seductions  of  that  simple  and  inge- 
nious system,  who  had  not  sometimes  tried  their  full 
effect  by  surrendering  his  whole  mind  to  them. 


*  Those  who  may  doubt  the  justice  of  this  description  will  do 
well  to  weigh  the  words  of  the  most  competent  of  judges,  who, 
though  candid  and  even  indulgent,  was  not  prodigal  of  praise. 
"  It  is  certainly  very  rare,  that  a  piece  so  deeply  philosophical  is 
wrote  with  so  much  spirit,  and  aftbrds  so  much  entertainment  to 
the  reader.  Whenever  I  enter  into  your  ideas,  no  man  appears  to 
express  himself  with  greater  perspicuity.  Your  style  is  so  correct 
and  so  good  English,  that  I  found  not  anything  worth  the  remark- 
ing. I  beg  my  compliments  to  my  friendly  adversaries  Dr. 
Campbell  and  Dr.  Gerard,  and  also  to  Dr.  Gregory,  whom  I  sus- 
pect to  be  of  the  same  disposition,  though  he  has  not  openly 
declared  himself  such." — Letter  from  Mr.  Hume  to  Dr.  Keid: 
Stewart's  Biographical  Memoirs,  p.  417.  The  latter  part  of  the 
above  sentences  (written  after  a  perusal  of  Dr.  Reid's  Inquiry, 
but  before  its  publication)  sufficiently  shows,  that  Mr.  Hume  felt 
no  displeasure  against  Reid  and  Campbell,  undoubtedly  his  most 
formidable  antagonists,  however  he  might  resent  the  language  of 
Dr.  Beattie,  an  amiable  man,  an  elegant  and  tender  poet,  and  a 
good  writer  on  miscellaneous  literature  in  prose,  but  who,  in  his 
Essay  on  Truth  ( —  an  unfair  appeal  to  the  multitude  on  philoso- 
phical questions)  indulged  himself  in  the  personalities  and  invec- 
tives of  a  popular  pamphleteer. 


OF"  ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHT.  217 

But  it  is  never  with  entire  impunity  that  philo- 
sophers borrow  vague  and  inappropriate  terms  from 
vulgar  use.  Never  did  any  man  afford  a  stronger 
instance  of  this  danger  than  Reid,  in  his  two  most 
unfortunate  terms,  "common  sense"  and  "instinct" 
Common  sense  is  that  average  portion  of  understand- 
ing, possessed  by  most  men,  which,  as  it  is  nearly 
always  applied  to  conduct,  has  acquired  an  almost  ex- 
clusively practical  sense.  Instinct  is  the  habitual 
power  of  producing  effects  like  contrivances  of  Reason, 
yet  so  far  beyond  the  intelligence  and  experience  of 
the  agent,  as  to  be  utterly  inexplicable  by  reference 
to  them.  No  man,  if  he  had  been  in  search  of  im- 
proper words,  could  have  discovered  any  more  unfit 
than  these  two,  for  denoting  that  law,  or  state,  or 
faculty  of  Mind,  which  compels  us  to  acknowledge 
certain  simple  and  very  abstract  truths,  not  being 
identical  propositions,  to  lie  at  the  foundation  of  all 
reasoning,  and  to  be  the  necessary  ground  of  all 
belief. 

Long  after  the  death  of  Dr.  Reid,  his  philosophy 
was  taught  at  Paris  by  M.  Royer  Collard*,  who  on 
the  restoration  of  free  debate,  became  the  most  phi- 
losophical orator  of  his  nation,  and  nowf  fills,  with 
impartiality  and  dignity,  the  chair  of  the  Chamber  of 
Deputies.  His  ingenious  and  eloquent  scholar.  Pro- 
fessor Cousin,  dissatisfied  with  what  he  calls  "  the 
sage  and  timid"  doctrines  of  Edinburgh,  which  he 
considered  as  only  a  vigorous  protest,  on  behalf  of 
common  sense,  against  the  scepticism  of  Hume,  sought 
in  Germany  for  a  philosophy  of  "  such  a  masculine 
and  brilliant  character  as  might  command  the  atten- 
tion of  Europe,  and  be  able  to  struggle  with  success 
on  a  great  theatre,  against  the  genius  of  the  adverse 


♦  Fragments  of  his  Icctnres  have  been  rcocntly  published  in  a 
French  translation  of  Dr.  Reid,  by  M,  Jonffroy  :  a:^u\Tcs  Com- 
pletes de  Thomas  Reid,  yoI.  iv.  Paris,  1828. 

t  1831.  — Ed. 


218  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

school."*  It  may  be  questioned  whether  he  found 
in  Kant  more  than  the  same  vigorous  protest,  under  a 
more  systematic  form,  with  an  immense  nomenclature, 
and  constituting  a  philosophical  edifice  of  equal  sym- 
metry and  vastness.  The  preference  of  the  more 
boastful  system,  over  a  philosophy  thus  chiefly  blamed 
for  its  modest  pretensions,  does  not  seem  to  be  en- 
tirely justified  by  its  permanent  authority  even  in  the 
country  which  gave  it  birth ;  where,  however  power- 
ful its  influence  still  continues  to  be,  its  doctrines  do 
not  appear  to  have  now  many  supporters.  Indeed, 
the  accomplished  professor  himself  has  rapidly  shot 
through  Kantianism,  and  now  appears  to  rest  or  to 
stop  at  the  doctrines  of  Schelling  and  Hegel,  at  a 
point  so  high,  that  it  is  hard  to  descry  from  it  any 
distinction  between  objects,  —  even  that  indispens- 
able distinction  between  reality  and  illusion.  As  the 
works  of  Reid,  and  those  of  Kant,  otherwise  so  dif- 
ferent, appear  to  be  simultaneous  efforts  of  the  con- 
servative power  of  philosophy  to  expel  the  mortal 
poison  of  scepticism,  so  the  exertions  of  M.  Royer 
Collard  and  M.  Cousin,  however  at  variance  in  meta- 
physical principles,  seem  to  have  been  chiefly  roused 
by  the  desire  of  delivering  Ethics  from  that  fatal  touch 
of  personal,  and,  indeed,  gross  interest,  which  the  sci- 
ence had  received  in  France  at  the  hands  of  the 
followers  of  Condillac,  —  especially  Helvetius,  St. 
Lambert,  and  Cabanis.  The  success  of  these  attempts 
to  render  speculative  philosophy  once  more  popular 
in  the  country  of  Descartes,  has  already  been  consider- 
able. The  French  youth,  whose  desire  of  knowledge, 
and  love  of  liberty  afford  an  auspicious  promise  of  the 
succeeding  age,  have  eagerly  received  doctrines,  of 
which  the  moral  part  is  so  much  more  agreeable  to 
their  liberal  spirit,  than  is  the  Selfish  theory,  gene- 
rated in  the  stagnation  of  a  corrupt,  cruel,  and  disso- 
lute tyranny. 

*  Cours  de  Philosophic,  par  M.  Cousin,  le9on  xii.  Paris,  1828, 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPnT.  219 

These  agreeable  prospects  bring  us  easily  back  to 
our  subject ;  for  though  the  restoration  of  speculative 
philosophy  in  the  country  of  Descartes  is  due  to  the 
precise  statement  and  vigorous  logic  of  M.  Royer 
CoUard,  the  modifications  introduced  by  him  into  the 
doctrine  of  Reid  coincide  with  those  of  Mr.  Stewart, 
and  would  have  appeared  to  agree  more  exactly,  if 
the  forms  of  the  French  philosopher  had  not  been 
more  dialectical,  and  the  composition  of  Mr.  Stewart 
had  retained  less  of  that  oratorical  character,  which 
belonged  to  a  justly  celebrated  speaker.  Amidst  excel- 
lencies of  the  highest  order,  the  writings  of  the  latter, 
it  must  be  confessed,  leave  some  room  for  criticism. 
He  took  precautions  against  offence  to  the  feelings 
of  his  contemporaries,  more  anxiously  and  frequently 
than  the  impatient  searcher  for  truth  may  deem  ne- 
cessary. For  the  sake  of  promoting  the  favourable 
reception  of  philosophy  itself,  he  studies,  perhaps  too 
visibly,  to  avoid  whatever  might  raise  up  prejudices 
against  it.  His  gratitude  and  native  modesty  dic- 
tated a  superabundant  care  in  softening  and  excusing 
his  dissent  from  those  who  had  been  his  own  instruc- 
tors, or  who  were  the  objects  of  general  reverence. 
Exposed  by  his  station,  both  to  the  assaults  of  poli- 
tical prejudice,  and  to  the  religious  animosities  of  a 
country  where  a  few  sceptics  attacked  the  slumbering 
zeal  of  a  Calvinistic  people,  it  would  have  been  won- 
derful if  he  had  not  betrayed  more  weariness  than 
would  have  been  necessary  or  becoming  in  a  very 
different  position.  The  fulness  of  his  literature  se- 
duced him  too  much  into  multiplied  illustrations. 
Too  many  of  the  expedients  happily  used  to  allure  the 
young  may  unnecessarily  swell  his  volumes.  Perhaps 
a  successive  publication  in  separate  parts  made  him 
more  voluminous  than  he  would  have  been  if  the  whole 
had  been  at  once  before  his  eyes.  A  peculiar  sus- 
ceptibility and  delicacy  of  taste  produced  forms  of 
expression,  in  themselves  extremely  beautiful,  but  of 
which  the  habitual  use  is  not  easily  reconcilable  with 


220  DISSERTATION   ON    THE   PROGRESS 

the  condensation  desirable  in  works  necessarily  so 
extensive.  If,  however,  it  must  be  owned  that  the 
caution  incident  to  his  temper,  his  feelings,  his  philo- 
sophy, and  his  station,  has  somewhat  lengthened  his 
composition,  it  is  not  less  true,  that  some  of  the  same 
circumstances  have  contributed  towards  those  pecu- 
liar beauties  which  place  him  at  the  head  of  the  most 
adorned  writers  on  philosophy  in  our  language. 

Few  writers  rise  with  more  grace  from  a  plain 
groundwork,  to  the  passages  which  require  greater 
animation  or  embellishment.  He  gives  to  narrative, 
according  to  the  precept  of  Bacon,  the  colour  of  the 
time,  by  a  selection  of  happy  expressions  from  ori- 
ginal writers.  Among  the  secret  arts  by  which  he 
diffuses  elegance  over  his  diction,  may  be  remarked 
the  skill  which,  by  deepening  or  brightening  a  shade 
in  a  secondary  term,  and  by  opening  partial  or  pre- 
paratory glimpses  of  a  thought  to  be  afterwards 
unfolded,  unobservedly  heightens  the  import  of  a  word, 
and  gives  it  a  new  meaning,  without  any  offence 
against  old  use.  It  is  in  this  manner  that  philoso- 
phical originality  may  be  reconciled  to  purity  and 
stability  of  speech,  and  that  we  may  avoid  new  terms, 
which  are  the  easy  resource  of  the  unskilful  or  the 
indolent,  and  often  a  characteristic  mark  of  writers 
who  love  their  language  too  little  to  feel  its  peculiar 
excellencies,  or  to  study  the  art  of  calling  forth  its 
powers. 

He  reminds  us  not  unfrequently  of  the  character 
given  by  Cicero  to  one  of  his  contemporaries,  "who 
expressed  refined  and  abstruse  thought  in  soft  and 
transparent  diction."  His  writings  are  a  proof  that 
the  mild  sentiments  have  their  eloquence  as  well  as 
the  vehement  passions.  It  would  be  difficult  to  name 
works  in  which  so  much  refined  philosophy  is  joined 
with  so  fine  a  fancy,  —  so  much  elegant  literature, 
with  such  a  delicate  perception  of  the  distinguishing 
excellencies  of  great  writers,  and  with  an  estimate  in 
general  so  just  of  the  services  rendered  to  Knowledge 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  221 

by  a  succession  of  philosophers.  They  are  pervaded 
by  a  philosophical  benevolence,  which  keeps  up  the 
ardour  of  his  genius,  without  disturbing  the  serenity 
of  his  mind,  — which  is  felt  equally  in  the  generosity 
of  his  praise,  and  in  the  tenderness  of  his  censure.  It 
is  still  more  sensible  in  the  general  tone  with  which 
he  relates  the  successful  progress  of  the  human  under- 
standing, among  many  formidable  enemies.  Those 
readers  are  not  to  be  envied  who  limit  their  admira- 
tion to  particular  parts,  or  to  excellencies  merely 
literary,  without  being  warmed  by  the  glow  of  that 
honest  triumph  in  the  advancement  of  Knowledge, 
and  of  that  assured  taith  in  the  final  prevalence  of 
Truth  and  Justice,  which  breathe  through  every  page 
of  them,  and  give  the  unity  and  dignity  of  a  moral 
purpose  to  the  whole  of  these  classical  works. 

In  quoting  poetical  passages,  some  of  which  throw 
much  light  on  our  mental  operations,  if  he  sometimes 
prized  the  moral  common-places  of  Thomson  and  the 
speculative  fancy  of  Akenside  more  highly  than  the 
higher  poetry  of  their  betters,  it  was  not  to  be  won- 
dered at  that  the  metaphysician  and  the  morahst 
should  sometimes  prevail  over  the  lover  of  poetry.  His 
natural  sensibility  was  perhaps  occasionally  cramped 
by  the  cold  criticism  of  an  unpoetical  age  ;  and  some 
of  his  remarks  mav  be  thoujrht  to  indicate  a  more 
constant  and  exclusive  regard  to  diction  than  is  agree- 
able to  a  generation  which  has  been  trained  by  tremen- 
dous events  to  a  passion  for  daring  inventions,  and  to 
an  irregular  enthusiasm,  impatient  of  minute  elegancies 
and  refinements.  Many  of  those  beauties  which  his 
generous  criticism  delighted  to  magnify  in  the  works 
of  his  contemporaries,  have  already  faded  under  the 
scorching  rays  of  a  fiercer  sun. 

^Ir.  Stewart  employed  more  skill  in  contriving,  and 
more  care  in  concealing  his  very  important  reforms  of 
Reid's  doctrines,  than  others  exert  to  maintain  their 
claims  to  originality.  Had  his  well-chosen  language 
of  "laws  of  human  thouirht  or  belief"  been  at  first 


222  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

adopted  in  that  school,  instead  of  "  instinct "  and 
"  common  sense,"  it  would  have  escaped  much  of  the 
reproach  (which  Dr.  Reid  himself  did  not  merit)  of 
shallowness  and  popularity.  Expressions  so  exact, 
employed  in  the  opening,  could  not  have  failed  to  in- 
fluence the  whole  system,  and  to  have  given  it,  not 
only  in  the  general  estimation,  but  in  the  minds  of  its 
framers,  a  more  scientific  complexion.  In  those  parts 
of  Mr.  Stewart's  speculations  in  which  he  farthest 
departed  from  his  general  principles,  he  seems  some- 
times, as  it  were,  to  be  suddenly  driven  back  by  what 
he  unconsciously  shrinks  from  as  ungrateful  apostacy, 
and  to  be  desirous  of  making  amends  to  his  master, 
by  more  harshness,  than  is  otherwise  natural  to  him, 
towards  the  writers  whom  he  has  insensibly  ap- 
proached. Hence  perhaps  the  unwonted  severity  of 
his  language  towards  Tucker  and  Hartley.  It  is  thus 
at  the  very  time  when  he  largely  adopts  the  principle 
of  Association  in  his  excellent  Essay  on  the  Beauti- 
ful* that  he  treats  most  rigidly  the  latter  of  these 
writers,  to  whom,  though  neither  the  discoverer  nor 
the  sole  advocate  of  that  principle,  it  surely  owes  the 
greatest  illustration  and  support. 

In  matters  of  far  other  importance,  causes  perhaps 
somewhat  similar  may  have  led  to  the  like  mistake. 
When  he  absolutely  contradicts  Dr.  Reid,  by  truly 
stating  that  "  it  is  more  philosophical  to  resolve  the 
power  of  habit  into  the  association  of  ideas,  than  to 
resolve  the  association  of  ideas  into  habit,"  f  he,  in 
the  sequel  of  the  same  volume  J,  refuses  to  go  farther 
than  to  own,  that  "  the  theory  of  Hartley  concerning 


*  Philosophical  Essays,  part  ii.  essay  i.,  especially  chap.  vi. 
The  condensation,  if  not  omission  of  the  discussion  of  the  theories 
of  Buffier,  Reynolds,  Burke,  and  Price,  in  this  essay,  would  have 
lessened  that  temporary  appearance  which  is  unsuitable  to  a  sci- 
entific work. 

t  Elements  of  the  Philosophy  of  the  Human  Mind  (1792, 4to.), 
vol.  i.  p.  281. 

X  Ibid.  p.  383. 


OP   ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHT.  223 

the  origin  of  our  affections,  and  of  the  Moral  Sense, 
is  a  most  ingenious  refinement  on  the  Selfish  system^  and 
that  by  means  of  it  the  force  of  many  of  the  common 
reasonings  against  that  system  is  eluded ;^^  though  he 
somewhat  inconsistently  allows,  that  "  active  princi- 
ples which,  arising  from  circumstances  in  which  all 
the  situations  of  mankind  must  agree,  are  therefore 
common  to  the  whole  species,  at  whatever  period  of 
life  they  may  appear,  are  to  be  regarded  as  a  part  of 
human  nature,  no  less  than  the  instinct  of  suction,  in 
the  same  manner  as  the  acquired  perception  of  dis- 
tance, by  the  eye,  is  to  be  ranked  among  the  perceptive 
powers  of  man,  no  less  than  the  original  perceptions 
of  the  other  senses."*  In  another  place  also  he  makes 
a  remark  on  mere  beauty,  which  might  have  led  him 
to  a  more  just  conclusion  respecting  the  theory  of  the 
origin  of  the  affections  and  the  Moral  Sense :  "  It  is 
scarcely  necessary  for  me  to  observe,  that,  in  those 
instances  where  association  operates  in  heightening" 
(or  he  might  have  said  creates)  "  the  pleasure  we  re- 
ceive from  sight,  the  pleasing  emotion  continues  still 
to  appear,  to  our  consciousness,  simple  and  uncom- 
pounded."f  To  this  remark  he  might  have  added, 
that  until  all  the  separate  pleasures  be  melted  into  one, 
—  as  long  as  any  of  them  are  discerned  and  felt  as 
distinct  from  each  other, — the  associations  are  incom- 
plete, and  the  qualities  which  gratify  are  not  called  by 
the  name  of  "  beauty."  In  like  manner,  as  has  been 
repeatedly  observed,  it  is  only  when  all  the  separate 
feelings,  pleasurable  and  painful,  excited  by  the  con- 
templation of  voluntary  action,  are  lost  in  the  general 
sentiments  of  approbation  or  disapprobation, — when 
these  general  feelings  retain  no  trace  of  the  various 
emotions  which  originally  attended  different  actions, 
— when  they  are  held  in  a  state  of  perfect  fusion  by 
the  habitual  use  of  the  words  used  in  every  language 

*  Elements  of  the  Philosophy  of  the  Human  Mind  (1792,  4to.), 
vol.  i.  p.  385. 

t  Philosophical  Essays,  part  ii.  essay  i.  chap.  xL 


224  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

to  denote  them,  that  Conscience  can  be  said  to  exist, 
or  that  we  can  be  considered  as  endowed  with  a  moral 
nature.  The  theory  which  thus  ascribes  the  uniform 
formation  of  the  Moral  Faculty  to  universal  and  para- 
mount laws,  is  not  a  refinement  of  the  Selfish  system, 
nor  is  it  any  modification  of  that  hypothesis.  The 
partisans  of  Selfishness  maintain,  that  in  acts  of  Will 
the  agent  must  have  a  view  to  the  pleasure  or  happi- 
ness which  he  hopes  to  reap  from  it :  the  philosophers 
who  regard  the  social  affections  and  the  Moral  Senti- 
ments as  formed  by  a  process  of  association,  on  the 
other  hand,  contend  that  these  affections  and  senti- 
ments must  work  themselves  clear  from  every  particle 
of  self-regard,  before  they  deserve  the  names  of  be- 
nevolence and  of  Conscience.  In  the  actual  state  of 
human  motives  the  two  systems  are  not  to  be  likened, 
but  to  be  contrasted  to  each  other.  It  is  remarkable 
that  Mr.  Stewart,  who  admits  the  "  question  respect- 
ing the  origin  of  the  affections  to  be  rather  curious 
tlian  important,"  *  should  have  held  a  directly  contrary 
opinion  respecting  the  Moral  Sense  j",  to  which  these 
words,  in  his  sense  of  them,  seem  to  be  equally  appli- 
cable. His  meaning  in  the  former  affirmation  is,  that 
if  the  affections  be  acquired,  yet  they  are  justly  called 
natural ;  and  if  their  origin  be  personal,  yet  their 
nature  may  and  does  become  disinterested.  What  cir- 
cumstance distinguishes  the  former  from  the  latter 
case  ?  With  respect  to  the  origin  of  the  affections,  it 
must  not  be  overlooked  that  his  language  is  somewhat 
contradictory.  For  if  the  theory  on  that  subject  from 
which  he  dissents  were  merely  "  a  refinement  on  the 
Selfish  system,"  its  truth  or  falsehood  could  not  be  re- 
presented as  subordinate ;  since  the  controversy  would 
continue  to  relate  to  the  existence  of  disinterested  mo- 
tives of  human  conduct.  \     It  may  also  be  observed^ 

*  Outlines  of  Moral  Philosophy,  p.  93. 

f  Outlines,  p.  117.     "  This  is  the  most  important  question  that 
can  be  stated  with  respect  to  the  theory  of  Morals." 

X  In  the  Philosophy  of  the  Active  and  Moral  Powers  of  Man 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  225 

tliat  he  uniformly  represents  his  opponents  as  deriving 
the  affections  from  "self-love,"  which,  in  its  proper 
sense,  is  not  the  source  to  which  they  refer  even 
avarice,  and  which  is  itself  derived  from  other  ante- 
cedent principles,  some  of  which  are  inherent,  and 
some  acquired.  If  the  object  of  this  theory  of  the  rise 
of  the  most  important  feelings  of  human  nature  were, 
as  our  philosopher  supposes,  "  to  elude  objections 
against  the  Selfish  system,"  it  would  be  at  best  worth- 
less. Its  positive  merits  are  several.  It  affirms  the 
actual  disinterestedness  of  human  motives,  as  strongly 
as  Butler  himself.  The  explanation  of  the  mental 
law,  by  which  benevolence  and  Conscience  are  formed 
habitually,  when  it  is  contemplated  deeply,  impresses 
on  the  mind  the  truth  that  they  not  only  are  but  must 
be  disinterested.  It  confirms,  as  it  were,  the  testimony 
of  consciousness,  by  exhibiting  to  the  Understanding 
the  means  employed  to  insure  the  production  of  dis- 
interestedness. It  affords  the  only  effectual  answer  to 
the  prejudice  against  the  disinterested  theory,  from 
the  multiplication  of  ultimate  facts  and  implanted  prin- 
ciples, which,  under  all  its  other  forms,  it  seems  to 
require.  No  room  is  left  for  this  prejudice  by  a  repre- 
sentation of  disinterestedness,  which  ultimateh/  traces 
its  formation  to  principles  almost  as  simple  as  those  of 
Hobbes  himself.  Lastly,  every  step  in  just  generalisa- 
tion is  an  advance  in  philosophy.  No  one  has  yet 
shown,  either  that  Man  is  not  actually  disinterested, 
or  that  he  may  not  have  been  destined  to  become  so 
by  such  a  process  as  has  been  described :  the  cause  to 
which  the  effects  are  ascribed  is  a  real  agent,  which 
seems  adequate  to  the  appearance  ;  and  if  future  ob- 
servation should  be  found  to  require  that  the  theory 

(vol.  i.  p.  164.),  Mr.  Stewart  has  done  more  manifest  injustice  to 
the  Ilartleian  theory,  by  calling  it  "  a  doctrine  fundavientolly  the 
same  with  the  Selfish  system^'  and  especially  by  representing 
Hartley,  who  ought  to  be  rather  classed  with  Butler  and  Hume, 
as  agreeing  with  Gay,  Tucker,  and  Paley. 
VOL.  I.  Q 


226  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

shall  be  confined  within  narrower  limits,  such  a  limit- 
ation will  not  destroy  its  value. 

The  acquiescence  of  Mr.  Stewart  in  Dr.  Reid's 
general  representation  of  our  mental  constitution,  led 
him  to  indulge  more  freely  the  natural  bent  of  his 
understanding,  by  applying  it  to  theories  of  character 
and  manners,  of  life  and  literature,  of  taste  and  the 
arts,  rather  than  to  the  consideration  of  those  more 
simple  principles  which  rule  over  human  nature  under 
every  form.  His  chief  work,  as  he  frankly  owns,  is 
indeed  rather  a  collection  of  such  theories,  pointing 
toward  the  common  end  of  throwing  light  on  the 
structure  and  functions  of  the  mind,  than  a  systematic 
treatise,  such  as  might  be  expected  from  the  title  of 
"  Elements."  It  is  in  essays  of  this  kind  that  he  has 
most  surpassed  other  cultivators  of  mental  philosophy. 
His  remarks  on  the  effects  of  casual  associations  may 
be  quoted  as  a  specimen  of  the  most  original  and  just 
thoughts,  conveyed  in  the  best  manner.*  In  this 
beautiful  passage,  he  proceeds  from  their  power  of 
confusing  speculation  to  that  of  disturbing  experience 
and  of  misleading  practice,  and  ends  with  their  extra- 
ordinary effect  in  bestowing  on  trivial,  and  even  ludi- 
crous circumstances,  some  portion  of  the  dignity  and 
sanctity  of  those  sublime  principles  with  which  they 
are  associated.  The  style,  at  first  only  clear,  after- 
wards admitting  the  ornaments  of  a  calm  and  grave 
elegance,  and  at  last  rising  to  as  high  a  strain  as 
Philosophy  will  endure,  (all  the  parts,  various  as 
their  nature  is,  being  held  together  by  an  invisible 
thread  of  gentle  transition,)  affords  a  specimen  of 
adaptation  of  manner  to  matter  which  it  will  be  hard 
to  match  in  any  other  philosophical  writing.  Another 
very  fine  remark,  which  seems  to  be  as  original  as  it 
is  just,  may  be  quoted  as  a  sample  of  those  beauties 
with  which  his  writings  abound.  "  The  apparent 
coldness  and  selfishness  of  mankind  may  be  traced,  in 

*  Elem.  Philos.  Hum.  Mind,  vol.  i.  pp.  340—352. 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  227 

a  great  measure,  to  a  want  of  attention  and  a  want  of 
imagination.  In  the  case  of  those  misfortunes  which 
happen  to  ourselves  or  our  near  connections,  neither 
of  these  powers  is  necessary  to  make  us  acquainted 
with  our  situation.  But  without  an  uncommon  degree 
of  both,  it  is  impossible  for  any  man  to  comprehend 
completely  the  situation  of  his  neighbour,  or  to  have 
an  idea  of  the  greater  part  of  the  distress  which  exists 
in  the  world.  If  we  feel  more  for  ourselves  than  for 
others,  in  the  former  case  the  facts  are  more  fully 
before  us  than  they  can  be  in  the  latter."*  Yet 
several  parts  of  his  writings  afford  the  most  satisfac- 
tory proof,  that  his  abstinence  from  what  is  commonly 
called  metaphysical  speculation,  arose  from  no  inability 
to  pursue  it  with  signal  success.  As  examples,  his 
observations  on  "  general  terms,"  and  on  "  causation," 
may  be  appealed  to  with  perfect  confidence.  In  the 
first  two  dissertations  of  the  volume  bearing  the  title 
"Philosophical  Essays,"  he  with  equal  boldness  and 
acuteness  grapples  with  the  most  extensive  and  ab- 
struse questions  of  mental  philosophy,  and  points  out 
both  the  sources  and  the  uttermost  boundaries  of 
human  knowledge  with  a  Verulamean  hand.  In 
another  part  of  his  writings,  he  calls  what  are  usually 
denominated  first  principles  of  experience,  "  funda- 
mental laws  of  human  belief,  or  primary  elements  of 
human  reason ;  "f  which  last  form  of  expression  has 
so  close  a  resemblance  to  the  language  of  Kant,  that 
it  should  have  protected  the  latter  from  the  imputation 
of  writing  jargon. 

The  excellent  volume  entitled  "  Outlines  of  Moral 
Philosophy,"  though  composed  only  as  a  text-book 
for  the  use  of  his  hearers,  is  one  of  the  most  decisive 
proofs  that  he  was  perfectly  qualified  to  unite  preci- 
sion with  ease,  to  be  brief  with  the  utmost  clearness, 
and  to  write  with  becoming  elegance  in  a  style  where 

*  Elem.  Philos.  Hum.  Mind,  vol.  i.  p.  502. 
f  Ibid.  vol.  ii.  p.  57. 

a  2 


228  DISSERTATION   OX   THE   PROGRESS 

the  meaning  is  not  overladen  by  ornaments.  This 
volume  contains  his  properly  ethical  theory*,  which  is 
much  expanded,  but  not  substantially  altered,  in  his 
Philosophy  of  the  Active  and  Moral  Powers,  —  a 
work  almost  posthumous,  and  composed  under  cir- 
cumstances which  give  it  a  deeper  interest  than  can 
be  inspired  by  any  desert  in  science.  Though,  with 
his  usual  modesty,  he  manifests  an  anxiety  to  fasten 
his  ethical  theory  to  the  kindred  speculations  of  other 
philosophers  of  the  "  Intellectual  school,"  especially  to 
those  of  Cudworth, — recently  clothed  in  more  modern 
phraseology  by  Price, — yet  he  still  shows  that  inde- 
pendence and  originality  which  all  his  aversion  from 
parade  could  not  entirely  conceal.  "  Right,"  "  duty," 
"  virtue,"  "  moral  obligation,"  and  the  like  or  the 
opposite  forms  of  expression,  represent,  according  to 
him,  certain  thoughts,  which  arise  necessarily  and 
instantaneously  in  the  mind,  (or  in  the  Reason,  if  we 
take  that  word  in  the  large  sense  in  which  it  denotes 
all  that  is  not  emotive)  at  the  contemplation  of  actions, 
and  which  are  utterly  incapable  of  all  resolution,  and 
consequently  of  all  explanation,  and  which  can  be 
known  only  by  being  experienced.  These  "  thoughts" 
or  "  ideas,"  by  whatever  name  they  may  be  called,  are 
followed,  —  as  inexplicably  as  inevitably,  —  by  plea- 
surable and  painful  emotions,  which  suggest  the  con- 
ception oi  moral  beauty ;  —  a  quality  of  human  actions 
distinct  from  their  adherence  to,  or  deviation  from 
rectitude,  though  generally  coinciding  with  it.  The 
question  which  a  reflecting  reader  will  here  put  is, 
vdiether  any  purpose  is  served  by  the  introduction  of 
the  intermediate  mental  process  between  the  parti- 
cular thouofhts  and  the  moral  emotions  ?  How  would 
the  view  be  darkened  or  confused,  or  indeed  in  any 
degree  changed,  by  withdrawing  that  process,  or 
erasing  the  words  which  attempt  to  express  it  ?  No 
advocate  of  the  intellectual  origin  of  the  Moral  Faculty 

*  Elem.  ""  hilos.  Hum.  Mind,  pp.  Tj  — 148. 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  229 

has  jet  stated  a  case  in  which  a  mere  operation  of 
Reason  or  Judgment,  unattended  by  Emotion,  could, 
consistently  with  the  universal  opinion  of  mankind, 
as  it  is  exhibited  by  the  structure  of  language,  be 
said  to  have  the  nature  or  to  produce  the  effects  of 
Conscience.  Such  an  example  would  be  equivalent 
to  an  experimejittim  crucis  on  the  side  of  that  cele- 
brated theory.  The  failure  to  produce  it,  after  long 
challenge,  is  at  least  a  presumption  against  it,  nearly 
approaching  to  that  sort  of  decisively  discriminative 
experiment.  It  would  be  vain  to  restate  what  has 
already  been  too  often  repeated,  that  all  the  objections 
to  the  Selfish  philosophy  turn  upon  the  actual  nature, 
not  upon  the  original  source,  of  our  principles  of 
action,  and  that  it  is  by  a  confusion  of  these  very 
distinct  questions  alone  that  the  confutation  of  Hobbes 
can  be  made  apparently  to  involve  Hartley.  Mr. 
Stewart  appears,  like  most  other  metaphysicians,  to 
have  blended  the  inquiry  into  the  nature  of  our 
Moral  Sentiments  with  that  other  which  only  seeks  a 
criterion  to  distinguish  moral  from  immoral  habits  of 
feeling  and  action  ;  for  he  considers  the  appearance  of 
the  Moral  Sentiments  at  an  early  age,  before  the  general 
tendency  of  actions  can  be  ascertained,  as  a  decisive 
objection  to  the  origin  of  these  sentiments  in  Associa- 
tion, —  an  objection  which  assumes  that,  if  utility  be 
the  criterion  of  Morality,  associations  with  utility 
must  be  the  mode  by  which  the  Moral  Sentiments  are 
Ibrmed  :  but  this  no  skilful  advocate  of  the  theory  of 
Association  will  ever  allow.  That  the  main,  if  not 
sole  object  of  Conscience  is  to  govern  our  voluntary 
exertions,  is  manifest :  but  how  could  it  perform  this 
great  function  if  it  did  not  impel  the  Will  ?  and  how 
could  it  have  the  latter  effect  as  a  mere  act  of  Reason, 
or,  indeed,  in  any  respect  otherwise  than  as  it  is 
made  up  of  emotions  ?  Judgment  and  Reason  are 
therefore  preparatory  to  Conscience,  —  not  properly  a 
part  of  it.  The  assertion  that  the  exclusion  of  Reason 
reduces  Virtue  to  be  a  relative  quality,  is  another 

Q  3 


230  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

instance  of  the  confusion  of  the  two  questions  in  moral 
theory :  for  though  a  fitness  to  excite  approbation 
may  be  only  a  relation  of  objects  to  our  susceptibility, 
yet  the  proposition  that  all  virtuous  actions  are  bene- 
ficial, is  a  proposition  as  absolute  as  any  other  within 
the  range  of  our  understanding. 

A  delicate  state  of  health,  and  an  ardent  desire  to 
devote  himself  exclusively  to  study  and  composition, 
induced  Mr.  Stewart,  while  in  the  full  blaze  of  his 
reputation  as  a  lecturer,  to  retire,  in  1810,  from  the 
labour  of  public  instruction.  This  retirement,  as  he 
himself  describes  it,  was  that  of  a  quiet  but  active 
life.  Three  quarto  and  two  octavo  volumes,  besides 
the  magnificent  Dissertation  prefixed  to  the  Encyclo- 
paedia Britannica,  were  among  its  happy  fruits.  This 
Dissertation  is,  perhaps,  the  most  profusely  orna- 
mented of  'any  of  his  compositions  ;  —  a  peculiarity 
which  must  in  part  have  arisen  from  a  principle  of 
taste,  which  regarded  decoration  as  more  suitable  to 
the  history  of  philosophy  than  to  philosophy  itself. 
But  the  memorable  instances  of  Cicero,  of  Milton, 
and  still  more  those  of  Dryden  and  Burke,  seem  to 
show  that  there  is  some  natural  tendency  in  the  fire 
of  genius  to  burn  more  brightly,  or  to  blaze  more 
fiercely,  in  the  evening  than  in  the  morning  of  human 
life.  Probably  the  materials  which  long  experience 
supplies  to  the  imagination,  the  boldness  with  which 
a  more  established  reputation  arms  the  mind,  and  the 
silence  of  the  low  but  formidable  rivals  of  the  higher 
principles,  may  concur  in  producing  this  unexpected 
and  little  observed  efiect. 

It  was  in  the  last  years  of  his  life,  when  suffering 
under  the  effects  of  a  severe  attack  of  palsy,  with 
which  he  had  been  afilicted  in  1822,  that  Mr.  Stewart 
most  plentifully  reaped  the  fruits  of  long  virtue  and 
a  well-ordered  mind.  Happily  for  him,  his  own  culti- 
vation and  exercise  of  every  kindly  affection  had  laid 
up  a  store  of  that  domestic  consolation  which  none 
who  deserve  it  ever  want,  and  for  the  loss  of  which, 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHT.  231 

nothing  beyond  the  threshold  can  make  amends.  The 
same  philosophy  which  he  had  cultivated  from  his 
youth  upward  employed  his  dying  hand  ;  aspirations 
after  higher  and  brighter  scenes  of  excellence,  always 
blended  with  his  elevated  morality,  became  more  ear- 
nest and  deeper  as  worldly  passions  died  away,  and 
earthly  objects  vanished  from  his  sight. 


TH05IAS   BROWN.* 

A  writer,  as  he  advances  in  life,  ought  to  speak 
with  diffidence  of  systems  which  he  has  only  begun 
to  consider  with  care  after  the  age  in  which  it  be- 
comes hard  for  his  thoughts  to  flow  into  new  channels. 
A  reader  cannot  be  said  practically  to  understand  a 
theory,  till  he  has  acquired  the  power  of  thinking,  at 
least  for  a  short  time,  with  the  theorist.  Even  a 
hearer,  with  all  the  helps  of  voice  in  the  instructor, 
and  of  countenance  from  him  and  from  fellow-hearers, 
finds  it  difficult  to  perform  this  necessary  process, 
without  either  being  betrayed  into  hasty  and  undis- 
tinguishing  assent,  or  falling,  while  he  is  in  pursuit  of 
an  impartial  estimate  of  opinions,  into  an  indiiference 
about  their  truth.  I  have  felt  this  difficulty  in  re- 
considering old  opinions  :  but  it  is  perhaps  more  need- 
ful to  own  its  power,  and  to  warn  the  reader  against 
its  effi'Cts,  in  the  case  of  a  philosopher  well  known  to 
me,  and  with  whom  common  friendships  stood  in  the 
stead  of  much  personal  intercourse,  as  a  cement  of 
kindness.  I  very  early  read  Brown's  Observations 
on  the  Zoonomia  of  Dr.  Darwin,  —  the  perhaps  un- 
matched work  of  a  boy  in  the  eighteenth  year  of  his 
age.f     His  first  tract  on  Causation  appeared  to  me 

*  Bom,  1778  ;  died,  1820. 

f  Welsh's  Life  of  Brown,  p.  43.;  —  a  pleasingly  affectionate 
work,  full  of  analytical  spirit  and  metaphysical  reading,  —  of  such 
merit,  in  short,  that  I  could  wish  to  have  found  in  it  no  phreno- 
logy.  Olijcctions  a  priori  in  a  case  dependent  on  facts  are,  indeed, 

Q  4 


232  DISSERTATION   ON   THE    PROGRESS 

to  be  the  finest  model  of  discussion  in  mental  philo- 
sophy since  Berkeley  and  Hume,  —  with  this  supe- 
riority over  the  latter,  that  its  aim  is  that  of  a  philo- 
sopher who  seeks  to  enlarge  knowledge, — not  that  of 
a  sceptic,  who  —  even  the  most  illustrious  —  has  no 
better  end  than  that  of  displaying  his  powers  in  con- 
founding and  darkening  truth, — and  the  happiest  efforts 
of  whose  scepticism  cannot  be  more  leniently  described 
than  as  brilliant  fits  of  mental  debauchery.*  From  a 
diligent  perusal  of  his  succeeding  works  at  the  time 
of  their  publication,  I  was  prevented  by  pursuits  and 
duties  of  a  very  different  nature.  These  causes,  to- 
gether with  ill  health  and  growing  occupation,  hin- 
dered me  from  reading  his  Lectures  with  due  atten- 
tion, till  it  has  now  become  a  duty  to  consider  with 
care  that  part  of  them  which  relates  to  Ethics. 

Dr.  Brown  was  born  of  one  of  those  families  of 
ministers  in  the  Scottish  Church,  who,  after  a  genera- 
tion or  two  of  a  humble  life  spent  in  piety  and  useful- 
ness, with  no  more  than  needful  knowledge,  have 
more  than  once  sent  forth  a  man  of  genius  from  their 
cool  and  quiet  shade,  to  make  his  fellows  wiser  or  better 
by  tongue  or  pen,  by  head  or  hand.  Even  the  scanty 
endowments  and  constant  residence  of  that  Church, 

Inadmissible  :  even  the  allowance  of  presumptions  of  that  nature 
would  open  so  wide  a  door  for  prejudices,  that  at  most,  they  can 
be  considered  only  as  maxims  of  logical  prudence,  which  fortify 
the  watchfulness  of  the  individual.  The  fatal  objection  to  phreno- 
logy seems  to  me  to  be,  that  what  is  new  in  it,  or  peculiar  to  it, 
has  no  approach  to  an  adequate  foundation  in  experience. 

*  "  Bayle,  a  writer  who,  pervading  human  nature  at  his  ease, 
struck  into  the  province  of  paradox,  as  an  exercise  for  the  un- 
wearied vigour  of  his  mind  ;  who  with  a  soul  superior  to  the 
sharpest  attacks  of  fortune,  and  a  heart  practised  to  the  best  phi- 
losophy, had  not  enough  of  real  greatness  to  overcome  that  last 
foible  of  superior  minds,  the  temptation  of  honour,  which  the 
academic  exercise  of  wit  is  conceived  to  bring  to  its  professor." 
So  says  Warburton  (Divine  Legation,  book  i.  sect.  4.),  speaking  of 
Bayle,  but  perhaps  in  part  excusing  himself,  in  a  noble  strain,  of 
which  it  would  have  been  more  agreeable  to  find  the  repetition 
than  the  contrast  in  his  language  towards  Hume. 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  233 

by  keeping  her  ministers  far  from  the  objects  which 
awaken  turbulent  passions  and  disperse  the  under- 
standing on  many  pursuits,  affords  some  of  the  leisure 
and  calm  of  monastic  life,  without  the  exclusion  of 
the  charities  of  family  and  kindred.  It  may  be  well 
doubted  whether  this  undissipated  retirement,  which 
during  the  eighteenth  century  was  very  general  in 
Scotland,  did  not  make  full  amends  for  the  loss  of 
curious  and  ornamental  knowledge,  by  its  tendency 
to  qualify  men  for  professional  duty  ;  with  its  oppor- 
tunities for  the  cultivation  of  the  reason  for  the  many, 
and  for  hiorh  meditation,  and  concentration  of  thoufjrht 
on  worthy  objects  for  the  few  who  have  capacity  for 
such  exertions.*  An  authentic  account  of  the  early 
exercises  of  Brown's  mind  is  preserved  by  his  bio- 
grapher "f,  from  which  it  appears  that  at  the  age  of 
nineteen  he  took  a  part  with  others  (some  of  whom 
became  the  most  memorable  men  of  their  time),  in  the 
foundation  of  a  private  society  in  Edinburgh,  under 
the  name  of  "  the  Academy  of  Physics."  J 


•  See  Sir  H.  MoncreifTs  Life  of  the  Reverend  Dr.  Erskine. 

f  Welsh's  Life  of  Brown,  p.  77.,  and  App.  p.  498. 

j  A  part  of  the  first  day's  minutes  is  here  borrowed  from  Mr. 
Welsh  : — "  7th  January  1797.  —  Present,  ]\Ir.  Erskine,  President, 
—  Mr.  Brougham,  Mr.  Reddie,  Mr.  Bro^vn,  Mr.  Birbeck,  Air. 
Ley  den,"  &c.  who  were  afterwards  joined  by  Lord  Webb  Seymour, 
Messrs.  Horner,  Jeffrey,  Sydney  Smith,  &c.  Mr.  Erskine,  who 
thus  appears  at  the  head  of  so  remarkable  an  association,  and  whom 
difiidence  and  untoward  circumstances  have  hitherto  withheld 
from  the  full  manifestation  of  his  powers,  continued  to  be  the 
bosom  friend  of  Brown  to  the  last.  He  has  shown  the  constancy 
of  his  friendship  for  others  by  converting  all  his  invaluable  jn-e- 
parations  for  a  translation  of  Sultan  Baber's  Commentaries  (per- 
haps the  best,  certainly  the  most  European  work  of  modem 
Eastern  prose)  into  the  means  of  completing  the  imperfect  attempt 
of  Leyden,  with  a  regard  equally  generous  to  the  fame  of  his  early 
friend,  and  to  the  comfort  of  that  friend's  surviving  relations. 
The  review  of  Baber's  Commentaries,  by  M.  Silvestre  de  Sacy, 
in  the  Journal  des  Savans  for  May  and  June  1829,  is  perhaps  one 
of  the  best  specimens  extant  of  the  value  of  literary  commenda- 
tion! wheu  it  is  bestowed  with  conscientious  calmness,  and  without 


234  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

The  character  of  Dr.  Brown  is  very  attractive,  as 
an  example  of  one  in  v^hom  the  utmost  tenderness  of 
affection,  and  the  indu^^ence  of  a  flowery  fancy,  were 
not  repressed  by  thw  highest  cultivation,  and  by  a 
perhaps  excessive  refinement  of  intellect.  His  mind 
soared  and  roamed  through  every  region  of  philosophy 
and  poetry ;  but  his  untravelled  heart  clung  to  the 
hearth  of  his  father,  to  the  children  who  shared  it 
with  him,  and  after  them,  first  to  the  other  partners  of 
his  childish  sports,  and  then  almost  solely  to  those 
companions  of  his  youthful  studies  who  continued  to 
be  the  friends  of  his  life.  Speculation  seemed  to  keep 
his  kindness  at  home.  It  is  observable,  that  though 
sparkling  with  fancy,  he  does  not  seem  to  have  been 
deeply  or  durably  touched  by  those  affections  which 
are  lighted  at  its  torch,  or  at  least  tinged  with  its 
colours.  His  heart  sought  little  abroad,  but  con- 
tentedly dwelt  in  his  family  and  in  his  study.  He  was 
one  of  those  men  of  genius  who  repaid  the  tender  care 
of  a  mother  by  rocking  the  cradle  of  her  reposing 
age.  He  ended  a  life  spent  in  searching  for  truth, 
and  exercising  love,  by  desiring  that  he  should  be 
buried  in  his  native  parish,  with  his  "  dear  father 
and  mother."  Some  of  his  delightful  qualities  were 
perhaps  hidden  from  the  casual  observer  in  general 
society,  by  the  want  of  that  perfect  simplicity  of 
manner  which  is  doubtless  their  natural  representa- 
tive. Manner  is  a  better  mark  of  the  state  of  a  mind, 
than  those  large  and  deliberate  actions  which  form 
what  is  called  conduct ;  it  is  the  constant  and  in- 
sensible transpiration  of  character.  In  serious  acts  a 
man  may  display  himself;  in  the  thousand  nameless 
acts  which  compose  manner,  the  mind  betrays  its 
habitual  bent.     But  manner  is  then  only  an  index  of 


a  suspicion  of  bias,  by  one  of  the  greatest  orientalists,  in  a  case 
where  he  pronounces  every  thing  to  have  been  done  by  Mr. 
Erskine  "  which  could  have  been  performed  by  the  most  learned 
and  the  most  scrupulously  conscientious  of  editors  and  translators." 


OF   ETEnCAL   PHILOSOPHY.'  235 

disposition,  when  it  is  that  of  men  who  live  at  ease 
in  the  intimate  familiarity  of  friends  and  equals.  It 
may  be  diverted  from  simplicity  by  causes  which  do 
not  reach  so  deep  as  the  character ;  —  by  bad  models, 
or  by  a  restless  and  wearisome  anxiety  to  shine, 
arising  from  many  circumstances,  —  none  of  which 
are  probably  more  common  than  the  unseasonable 
exertions  of  a  recluse  student  in  society,  and  the  un- 
fortunate attempts  of  some  others,  to  take  by  violence 
the  admiration  of  those  with  whom  they  do  not  asso- 
ciate with  ease.  The  association  with  unlike  or  su- 
perior companions  which  least  distorts  manners,  is 
that  which  takes  place  with  those  classes  whose  secure 
dignity  generally  renders  their  own  manners  easy,  — 
with  whom  the  art  of  pleasing  or  of  not  displeasing 
each  other  in  society  is  a  serious  concern,  —  who 
have  leisure  enough  to  discover  tlie  positive  and  nega- 
tive parts  of  the  smaller  moralities,  and  who,  being 
trained  to  a  watchful  eye  on  what  is  ludicrous,  apply 
the  lash  of  ridicule  to  affectation,  the  most  ridiculous 
of  faults.  The  busy  in  every  department  of  life  are 
too  respectably  occupied  to  form  these  manners  :  they 
are  the  frivolous  work  of  polished  idleness ;  and 
perhaps  their  most  serious  value  consists  in  the  war 
which  they  wage  against  affectation,  —  though  even 
there  they  betray  their  origin  in  punishing  it,  not  as 
a  deviation  from  nature,  but  as  a  badge  of  vulgarity. 

The  prose  of  Dr.  Brown  is  brilliant  to  excess  :  it 
must  not  be  denied  that  its  beauty  is  sometimes 
womanly,  —  that  it  too  often  melts  down  precision  into 
elegrance,  —  that  it  buries  the  main  idea  under  a  load 
of  illustration,  of  which  every  part  is  expanded  and 
adorned  with  such  visible  labour,  as  to  withdraw  the 
mind  from  attention  to  the  thoughts  which  it  pro- 
fesses to  introduce  more  easily  into  the  understanding. 
It  is  darkened  by  excessive  brightness;  it  loses  ease 
and  liveliness  by  over-dress  ;  and,  in  the  midst  of  its 
luscious  sweetness,  we  wish  for  the  striking  and 
homely  illustrations  of  Tucker,  and  for  the  pithy  and 


236  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

sinewy  sense  of  Palej  ;  —  either  of  whom,  by  a  single 
short  metaphor  from  a  familiar,  perhaps  a  low  object, 
could  at  one  blow  set  the  two  worlds  of  Reason  and 
Fancy  in  movement. 

It  would  be  unjust  to  censure  severely  the  decla- 
matory parts  of  his  Lectures :  they  are  excusable  in 
the  first  warmth  of  composition  ;  they  might  even  be 
justifiable  allurements  in  attracting  young  hearers  to 
abstruse  speculations.  Had  he  lived,  he  would  pro- 
bably have  taken  his  thoughts  out  of  the  declamatory 
forms  of  spoken  address,  and  given  to  them  the  ap- 
pearance, as  well  as  the  reality,  of  deep  and  subtile 
discussion.  The  habits,  indeed,  of  so  successful  a 
lecturer,  and  the  natural  luxuriance  of  his  mind, 
could  not  fail  to  have  somewhat  affected  all  his  com- 
positions ;  but  though  he  might  still  have  fallen  short 
of  simplicity,  he  certainly  would  have  avoided  much 
of  the  diffusion,  and  even  common -place,  which  hang 
heavily  on  original  and  brilliant  thoughts :  for  it  must 
be  owned,  that  though,  as  a  thinker,  he  is  unusually 
original,  yet  when  he  falls  among  the  declaimers,  he 
is  infected  by  their  common-places.  In  like  manner, 
he  would  assuredly  have  shortened,  or  left  out,  many 
of  the  poetical  quotations  which  he  loved  to  recite, 
and  which  hearers  even  beyond  youth  hear  with 
delight.  There  are  two  very  different  sorts  of  pas- 
sages of  poetry  to  be  found  in  works  on  philosophy, 
which  are  as  far  asunder  from  each  other  in  value  as 
in  matter.  A  philosopher  will  admit  some  of  those 
wonderful  lines  or  words  which  bring  to  light  the 
infinite  varieties  of  character,  the  furious  bursts  or 
wily  workings  of  passion,  the  winding  approaches  of 
temptation,  the  slippery  path  to  depravity,  the  beauty 
of  tenderness,  and  the  grandeur  of  what  is  awful  and 
holy  in  Man.  In  every  such  quotation,  the  moral 
philosopher,  if  he  be  successful,  uses  the  best  materials 
of  his  science ;  for  what  are  they  but  the  results  of 
experiment  and  observation  on  the  human  heart,  per- 
formed by  artists  of  far  other  skill  and  power  than 


OF   ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  237 

his?  They  are  facts  which  could  have  only  been 
ascertained  by  Homer,  by  Dante,  by  Shakspeare,  by 
Cervantes,  by  Milton.  Every  year  of  admiration 
since  the  unknown  period  when  the  Iliad  first  gave 
delight,  has  extorted  new  proofs  of  the  justness  of  the 
picture  of  human  nature,  from  the  responding  hearts 
of  the  admirers.  Every  strong  feeling  which  these 
masters  have  excited,  is  a  successful  repetition  of 
their  original  experiment,  and  a  continually  growing 
evidence  of  the  greatness  of  their  discoveries.  Quo- 
tations of  this  nature  may  be  the  most  satisfactory, 
as  well  as  the  most  delightful,  proofs  of  philosophical 
positions.  Others  of  inferior  merit  are  not  to  be  in- 
terdicted :  a  pointed  maxim,  especially  when  familiar, 
pleases,  and  is  recollected.  I  cannot  entirely  conquer 
my  passion  for  the  Roman  and  vStoical  declamation  of 
some  passages  in  Lucan  and  Akenside :  but  quota- 
tions from  those  who  have  written  on  philosophy  in 
verse,  or,  in  otlier  words,  from  those  who  generally 
are  inferior  philosophers,  and  voluntarily  deliver  their 
doctrines  in  the  most  disadvantageous  form,  seem  to 
be  unreasonable.  It  is  agreeable,  no  doubt,  to  the 
philosopher,  and  still  more  to  the  youthful  student,  to 
meet  his  abstruse  ideas  clothed  in  the  sonorous  verse 
of  Akenside ;  the  surprise  of  the  unexpected  union  of 
verse  with  science  is  a  very  lawful  enjoyment :  but 
such  slight  and  momentary  pleasures,  though  they 
may  tempt  the  writer  to  display  them,  do  not  excuse 
a  vain  effort  to  obtrude  them  on  the  sympathy  of  the 
searcher  after  truth  in  after-times.  It  is  peculiarly 
unlucky  that  Dr.  Brown  should  have  sought  supposed 
ornament  from  the  moral  common-places  of  Thomson, 
rather  than  from  that  illustration  of  philosophy  which 
is  really  to  be  found  in  his  picturesque  strokes. 

Much  more  need  not  be  said  of  Dr.  Brown's  own 
poetry, — somewhat  voluminous  as  it  is, — than  that  it 
indicates  fancy  and  feeling,  and  rises  at  least  to  the 
rank  of  an  elegant  accomplishment.  It  may  seem  a 
paradox,  but  it  appears  to  me  that  he  is  really  most 


238  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

poetical  in  those  poems  and  passages  which  have 
the  most  properly  metaphysical  character.  For  every 
varied  form  of  life  and  nature,  when  it  is  habitually- 
contemplated,  may  inspire  feeling  ;  and  the  just  re- 
presentation of  these  feelings  may  be  poetical.  Dr. 
Brown  observed  Man,  and  his  wider  world,  with  the 
eye  of  a  metaphysician  ;  and  the  dark  results  of  such 
contemplations,  when  he  reviewed  them,  often  filled 
his  soul  with  feelings  which,  being  both  grand  and 
melancholy,  were  truly  poetical.  Unfortunately,  how- 
ever, few  readers  can  be  touched  with  fellow-feelings. 
He  sings  to  few,  and  must  be  content  with  sometimes 
moving  a  string  in  the  soul  of  the  lonely  visionary, 
who,  in  the  day-dreams  of  youth,  has  felt  as  well  as 
meditated  on  the  mysteries  of  nature.  His  heart  has 
produced  charming  passages  in  all  his  poems  ;  but, 
generally  speaking,  they  are  only  beautiful  works  of 
art  and  imitation.  The  choice  of  Akenside  as  a 
favourite  and  a  model  may,  without  derogation  from 
the  writer,  be  considered  as  no  proof  of  a  poetically 
formed  mind,*  There  is  more  poetry  in  many  single 
lines  of  Cowper  than  in  volumes  of  sonorous  verses 
such  as  Akenside's.  Philosophical  poetry  is  very 
different  from  versified  philosophy :  the  former  is 
the  highest  exertion  of  genius  ;  the  latter  cannot  be 
ranked  above  the  slighter  amusements  of  ingenuity. 
Dr.  Brown's  poetry  was,  it  must  be  owned,  composed 
either  of  imitations,  which,  with  some  exceptions,  may 
be  produced  and  read  without  feeling,  or  of  effusions 
of  such  feelings  only  as  meet  a  rare  and  faint  echo  in 
the  human  breast. 

A  few  words  only  can  here  be  bestowed  on  the 
intellectual   part  of  his  philosophy.     It  is   an  open 

*  His  accomplished  friend  Mr.  Erskine  confesses  that  Brown's 
poems  "  are  not  written  in  the  language  of  plain  and  gross  emotion. 
The  string  touched  is  too  delicate  for  general  sympathy.  They 
are  in  an  unknown  tongue  to  one  half "  (he  might  have  said 
nineteen  twentieths)  "  of  the  reading  part  of  the  community." — 
Welsh's  Life  of  Brown,  p.  43L 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  239 

revolt  against  tlie  authority  of  Reid ;  and  by  a 
curious  concurrence,  he  began  to  lecture  nearly  at 
the  moment  when  the  doctrines  of  that  philosopher 
came  to  be  taught  with  applause  in  France.  Mr. 
Stewart  had  dissented  from  the  language  of  Reid,  and 
had  widely  departed  from  his  opinions  on  several 
secondary  theories :  Dr.  Brown  rejected  them  en- 
tirely. He  very  justly  considered  the  claim  of  Reid 
to  the  merit  of  detecting  the  universal  delusion  which 
had  betrayed  philosophers  into  the  belief  that  ideas 
which  were  the  sole  objects  of  knowledge  had  a  se- 
parate existence,  as  a  proof  of  his  having  mistaken 
their  illustrative  language  for  a  metaphysical  opinion* ; 
but  he  does  not  do  justice  to  the  service  which  Reid 
really  rendered  to  mental  science,  by  keeping  the 
attention  of  all  future  speculators  in  a  state  of  more 
constant  watchfulness  against  the  transient  influence 
of  such  an  illusion.  His  choice  of  the  term  " feeling  "f, 
to  denote  the  operations  which  we  usually  refer  to 
the  Understanding,  is  evidently  too  wide  a  departure 
from  its  ordinary  use,  to  have  any  probability  of 
general  adoption.  No  definition  can  strip  so  familiar 
a  word  of  the  thoughts  and  emotions  which  have  so 
long  accompanied  it,  so  as  to  fit  it  for  a  technical 
term  of  the  highest  abstraction.  If  we  can  be  said 
to  have  a  feeling  "  of  the  equality  of  the  angle  of 
forty-five  to  half  the  angle  of  ninety  degrees,"  | 
we  may  call  Geometry  and  Arithmetic  sciences  of 
"  feeling."  He  has  very  forcibly  stated  the  necessity  of 
assuming  "  tlie  primary  universal  intuitions  of  direct 
belief,^'  which,  in  their  nature,  are  incapable  of  all 
proof.  They  seem  to  be  accurately  described  as 
notions  which  cannot  be  conceived  separately,  but 
without  which  nothing  can  be  conceived.  They  are 
not  only  necessary  to  reasoning  and  to  belief,  but  to 
thought  itself.     It  is  equally  impossible  to  prove  or 

*  Brown's  Lectures,  voL  ii.  pp.  1 — 49.        f  Ibid.  vol.  I  p.  220. 
X  Ibid.  vol.  i.  p.  222. 


240  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

to  disprove  tliem.  He  has  very  justly  blamed  the 
school  of  Reid  for  "  an  extravagant  and  ridiculous  " 
multiplication  of  those  principles  which  he  truly 
represents  as  inconsistent  with  sound  philosophy. 
To  philosophise  is  indeed  nothing  more  than  to  sim- 
plify securely.* 

The  substitution  of  "  suggestion"  for  the  former 
phrase  of  "  association  of  ideas,"  would  hardly  deserve 
notice  in  so  cursory  a  view,  if  it  had  not  led  him  to  a 
serious  misconception  of  the  doctrines  and  deserts  of 
other  philosophers.  The  fault  of  the  latter  phrase  is 
rather  in  the  narrowness  of  the  last  than  in  the  in- 
adequacy of  the  first  word.  "  Association  "  presents  the 
fact  in  the  light  of  a  relation  between  two  mental  acts : 
"suggestion"  denotes  rather  ih^poiver  of  the  one  to  call 
up  the  other.  But  whether  we  say  that  the  sight  of 
ashes  "suggests"  fire,  or  that  the  ideas  of  fire  and  ashes 
are  "associated,"  we  mean  to  convey  the  same  fact,  and 
in  both  cases,  an  exact  thinker  means  to  accompany 
the  fact  with  no  hypothesis.  Dr.  Brown  has  supposed 
the  word  "  association  "  as  intended  to  afiirm  that  there 
is  some  "intermediate  process"  f  between  the  ori- 
ginal succession  of  the  mental  acts  and  the  power 
which  they  acquired  therefrom  of  calling  up  each 
other.  This  is  quite  as  much  to  raise  up  imaginary 
antagonists  for  the  honour  of  conquering  them,  as  he 
justly  reprehends  Dr.  Reid  for  doing  in  the  treatment 
of  preceding  philosophers.  He  falls  into  another 
more  important  and  unaccountable  error,  in  repre- 
senting his  own  reduction  of  Mr.  Hume's  principles 

*  Dr.  Brown  always  expresses  himself  best  where  he  is  short 
and  familiar.  "  An  hypothesis  is  nothing  more  than  a  reason  for 
making  one  experiment  or  observation  rather  than  another." — 
Lectures,  vol.  i.  p.  170.  In  1812,  as  the  present  writer  observed 
to  him  that  Reid  and  Hume  diftered  more  in  words  than  in  opinion, 
he  answered,  "  Yes,  Keid  bawled  out,  we  must  believe  an  outward 
world,  but  added  in  a  whisper,  we  can  give  no  reason  for  our 
belief :  Hume  cries  out,  we  can  give  no  reason  for  such  a  notion, 
and  whispers,  I  own  we  cannot  get  rid  of  it." 

f  Ibid.  vol.  ii.  pp.  335—347. 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  241 

of  association  ( —  resemblance,  contrariety,  causation, 
contiguity  in  time  or  place)  to  the  one  principle  of 
contiguity,  as  a  discovery  of  his  own,  by  which  his 
theory  is  distinguished  from  "  the  universal  opinion 
of  philosophers."*  Nothing  but  too  exclusive  a  con- 
sideration of  the  doctrines  of  the  Scottish  school 
could  have  led  him  to  speak  thus  of  what  was  hinted 
by  Aristotle,  distinctly  laid  down  by  Hobbes,  and 
fully  unfolded  both  by  Hartley  and  Condillac.  He 
has,  however,  extremely  enlarged  the  proof  and  the 
illustration  of  this  law  of  mind,  by  the  exercise  of  "  a 
more  subtile  analysis"  and  the  disclosure  of  "  a  finer 
species  of  proximity." f  As  he  has  thus  aided  and 
confirmed,  though  he  did  not  discover,  the  general  law, 
so  he  has  rendered  a  new  and  very  important  service 
to  mental  science,  by  drawing  attention  to  what  he 
properly  calls  "  secondary  laws  of  Suggestion  "|  or 
Association,  which  modify  the  action  of  the  general 
law,  and  must  be  distinctly  considered,  in  order  to 
explain  its  connection  with  the  phenomena.  The 
enumeration  and  exposition  are  instructive,  and  the 
example  is  worthy  of  commendation.  For  it  is  in  this 
lower  region  of  the  science  that  most  remains  to  be 
discovered  ;  it  is  that  which  rests  most  on  observation, 
and  least  tempts  to  controversy :  it  is  by  improvements 
in  this  part  of  our  knowledge  that  the  foundations  are 
secured,  and  the  whole  building  so  repaired  as  to  rest 
steadily  on  them.  The  distinction  of  common  lan- 
guage between  the  head  and  the  heart,  which,  as  we 
have  seen,  is  so  often  overlooked  or  misapplied  by 
metaphysicians,  is,  in  the  system  of  Brown,  signified 
by  the  terms  "  mental  states "  and  "  emotions."  It 
is  unlucky  that  no  single  word  could  be  found  for  the 
former,  and  that  the  addition  of  the  generic  term 
"  feeling  "  should  disturb  its  easy  comprehension,  when 
it  is  applied  more  naturally. 

*  Lectures,  vol.  ii.  p.  349.  f  ll^i^*  "^'O^-  ii-  p.  218. 

X  Ibid,  vol  ii.  p.  270. 

VOL.  T.  R 


242  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

In  our  more  proper  province  Brown  followed  Butler 
(who  appears  to  have  been  chiefly  known  to  him 
through  the  writings  of  Mr.  Stewart),  in  his  theory 
of  the  social  affections.  Their  disinterestedness  is 
enforced  by  the  arguments  of  both  these  philosophers, 
as  well  as  by  those  of  Hutcheson.*  It  is  observable, 
however,  that  Brown  applies  the  principle  of  Sug- 
gestion, or  Association,  boldly  to  this  part  of  human 
nature,  and  seems  inclined  to  refer  to  it  even  Sympathy 
itself. I  It  is  hard  to  understand  how,  with  such  a 
disposition  on  the  subject  of  a  principle  so  generally 
thought  ultimate  as  Sympathy,  he  should,  inconsistently 
with  himself,  follow  Mr.  Stewart  in  representing  the 
theory  which  derives  the  affections  from  Association 
as  "  a  modification  of  the  Selfish  system."  |  He  mis- 
takes that  theory  when  he  states,  that  it  derives  the 
affections  from  our  experience  that  our  own  interest 
is  connected  with  that  of  others ;  since,  in  truth,  it 
considers  our  regard  to  our  own  interest  as  formed 
from  the  same  original  pleasures  by  association,  which, 
by  the  like  process,  may  and  do  directly  generate 
affections  towards  others,  without  passing  through 
the  channel  of  regard  to  our  general  happiness.  But, 
says  he,  this  is  only  an  hypothesis,  since  the  formation 
of  these  affections  is  acknowledged  to  belong  to  a  time 
of  which  there  is  no  remembrance  §  ;  —  an  objection 
fatal  to  every  theory  of  any  mental  functions,  —  sub- 
versive, for  example,  of  Berkeley's  discovery  of  ac- 
quired visual  perception,  and  most  strangely  incon- 
sistent in  the  mouth  of  a  philosopher  whose  numerous 
simplifications  of  mental  theory  are  and  must  be 
founded  on  occurrences  which  precede  experience. 
It  is  in  all  other  cases,  and  it  must  be  in  this,  sufficient 
that  the  principle  of  the  theory  is  really  existing, — 
that  it  explains  the  appearances,  —  that  its  supposed 
action  resembles  what  we  know  to  be  its  action  in 


*  Lectures,  vol.  iii.  p.  248.  f  Ibid.  vol.  iv.  p.  82. 

%  Ibid.  vol.  iii.  p.  282.  §  Ibid.  vol.  iv.  p.  87. 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOrHT.  243 

those  similar  cases  of  which  we  have  direct  experience. 
Lastly,  he  in  express  words  admits  that,  according  to 
the  theory  to  which  he  objects,  we  have  affections 
which  are  at  present  disinterested.*  Is  it  not  a  direct 
contradiction  in  terms  to  call  such  a  theory  "  a  modi- 
fication of  the  Selfish  system  ? "  His  language  in  the 
sequel  clearly  indicates  a  distrust  of  his  own  state- 
ment, and  a  suspicion  that  he  is  not  only  inconsistent 
with  himself,  but  altogether  mistaken.f 

As  we  enter  further  into  the  territory  of  Ethics, 
we  at  length  discover  a  distinction,  originating  with 
Brown,  the  neglect  of  which  by  preceding  speculators 
we  have  more  than  once  lamented  as  productive  of 
obscurity  and  confusion.  "  The  moral  affections," 
says  he,  "which  I  consider  at  present,  I  consider 
rather  physiologically"  (or,  as  he  elsewhere  better 
expresses  it,  "psychologically")  "than  ethically,  os 
parts  of  our  mental  constitution^  not  as  involving  the 
fuljilment  or  violation  of  duties.^''  t  lie  immediately, 
however,  loses  sight  of  this  distinction,  and  reasons 
inconsistently  with  it,  instead  of  following  its  proper 
consequences  in  his  analysis  of  Conscience.  Perhaps, 
indeed  (for  the  words  are  capable  of  more  than  one 
sense),  he  meant  to  distinguish  the  virtuous  affec- 
tions from  those  sentiments  which  have  Morality 
exclusively  in  view,  rather  than  to  distinguish  the 
theory  of  Moral  Sentiment  from  the  attempt  to  as- 
certain the  characteristic  quality  of  right  action. 
Friendship  is  conformable  in  its  dictates  to  Morality  ; 
but  it  may,  and  does  exist,  without  any  view  to  it : 
he  who  feels  the  affections,  and  performs  the  duties 
of  friendship,  is  the  object  of  that  distinct  emotion 
which  is  called  "moral  approbation." 

It  is  on  the  subject  of  Conscience  that,  in  imitation 
of  Mr.  Stewart,  and  with  the  arguments  of  that  phi- 
losopher, he  makes  his  chief  stand  against  the  theory 

*  Lectures,  vol.  iv.  p.  87.  f  Pnd.  vol.  iv.  pp.  94 — 97. 

X  Ibid.  vol.  iii.  p.  231. 

R  2 


244  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

wliich  considers  the  formation  of  that  master  faculty 
itself  as  probably  referable  to  the  necessary  and  uni- 
versal operation  of  those  laws  of  human  nature  to 
which  he  himself  ascribes  almost  every  other  state  of 
mind.  On  both  sides  of  this  question  the  supremacy 
of  Conscience  is  alike  held  to  be  venerable  and  abso- 
lute. Once  more,  be  it  remembered  that  the  question 
is  purely  philosophical,  and  is  only  whether,  from  the 
impossibility  of  explaining  its  formation  by  more 
general  laws,  we  are  reduced  to  the  necessity  of  con- 
sidering it  as  an  original  fact  in  human  nature,  of 
which  no  further  account  can  be  given.  Let  it,  how- 
ever, be  also  remembered,  that  we  are  not  driven  to 
this  supposition  by  the  mere  circumstance,  that  no 
satisfactory  explanation  has  yet  appeared ;  for  there 
are  many  analogies  in  an  unexplained  state  of  mind 
to  states  already  explained,  which  may  justify  us  in 
believing  that  the  explanation  requires  only  more  ac- 
curate observation,  and  more  patient  meditation,  to 
be  brought  to  that  completeness  which  it  probably 
will  attain. 


SECTION  vn. 

GENERAL    REMARKS. 


The  oft-repeateji  warning  with  which  the  foregoing 
section  concluded  being  again  premised,  it  remains  that 
we  should  offer  a  few  observations,  which  naturally 
occur  on  the  consideration  of  Dr.  Brown's  argument 
in  support  of  the  proposition,  that  moral  approbation 
is  not  only  in  its  mature  state  independent  of,  and 
superior  to,  any  other  principle  of  human  nature 
(regarding  which  there  is  no  dispute),  but  that  its 
origin  is  altogether  inexplicable,  and  that  its  existence 
is  an  ultimate  fact  in  mental  science.  Though  these 
observations  are  immediately  occasioned  by  the  writ- 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  245 

ings  of  Brown,  tliey  are  yet,  in  the  main,  of  a  general 
nature,  and  might  have  been  made  without  reference 
to  any  particular  writer. 

The  term  "  suggestion,"  which  might  be  inoffensive 
in  describing  merely  intellectual  associations,  becomes 
peculiarly  unsuitable  when  it  is  apj)lied  to  those  com- 
binations of  thought  with  emotion,  and  to  those  unions 
of  feeling  which  compose  the  emotive  nature  of  Man. 
Its  common  sense  of  a  sign  recalling  the  thing  sig- 
nified, always  embroils  the  new  sense  vainly  forced 
upon  it.  No  one  can  help  owning  that  if  it  were 
consistently  pursued,  so  as  that  we  were  to  speak  of 
"suggesting  a  feeling"  or  "passion,"  the  language 
would  be  universally  thought  absurd.  To  "suggest 
love"  or  "hatred"  is  a  mode  of  expression  so  mani- 
festly incongruous,  that  most  readers  would  choose  to 
understand  it  as  suggesting  reflections  on  the  subject 
of  these  passages.  "Suggest"  would  not  commonly 
be  understood  as  synonymous  with  "revive"  or  "  re- 
kindle." Defects  of  the  same  sort  may  indeed  be  found 
in  the  parallel  phrases  of  most,  if  not  all,  philosophers; 
and  all  of  them  proceed  from  the  erroneous  but  pre- 
valent notion,  that  the  law  of  Association  produces 
only  such  a  close  union  of  a  thought  and  a  feeling,  as 
gives  one  tlie  power  of  reviving  the  other ;  —  the  truth 
being  that  it  forms  them  into  a  new  compound,  in 
which  the  properties  of  the  component  parts  are  no 
longer  discoverable,  and  which  may  itself  become  a 
substantive  principle  of  human  nature.  They  sup- 
posed the  condition,  produced  by  the  power  of  that 
law,  to  resemble  that  of  material  substances  in  a  state 
of  mechanical  separation ;  whereas  in  reality  it  may 
be  better  likened  to  a  chemical  combination  of  the 
same  substances,  from  which  a  totally  new  product 
arises.  Their  language  involves  a  confusion  of  the 
question  which  relates  to  the  origin  of  the  principles 
of  human  activity,  with  the  other  and  far  more  im- 
portant question  which  relates  to  their  nature;  and 

R  3 


246  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

as  soon  as  this  distinction  is  hidden,  the  theorist  is 
either  betrayed  into  the  Selfish  system  by  a  desire  of 
clearness  and  simplicity,  or  tempted  to  the  needless 
multiplication  of  ultimate  facts  by  mistaken  anxiety 
for  what  he  supposes  to  be  the  guards  of  our  social 
and  moral  nature.  The  defect  is  common  to  Brown 
with  his  predecessors,  but  in  him  it  is  less  excusable ; 
for  he  saw  the  truth  and  recoiled  from  it.  It  is  the 
main  defect  of  the  term  "association"  itself,  that  it 
does  not,  till  after  long  use,  convey  the  notion  of  a 
perfect  union,  but  rather  leads  to  that  of  a  combina- 
tion which  may  be  dissolved,  if  not  at  pleasure,  at 
least  with  the  help  of  care  and  exertion ;  which  is 
utterly  and  dangerously  false  in  the  important  cases 
where  such  unions  are  considered  as  constituting  the 
most  essential  principles  of  human  nature.  Men  can 
no  more  dissolve  these  unions  than  they  can  dis- 
use their  habit  of  judging  of  distance  by  the  eye,  and 
often  by  the  ear.  But  "  suggestion "  implies,  that 
what  suggests  is  separate  from  what  is  suggested,  and 
consequently  negatives  that  unity  in  an  active  prin- 
ciple which  the  whole  analogy  of  nature,  as  well  as 
our  own  direct  consciousness,  shows  to  be  perfectly 
compatible  with  its  origin  in  composition. 

Large  concessions  are,  in  the  first  place,  to  be  re- 
marked, which  must  be  stated,  because  they  very 
much  narrow  the  matter  in  dispute.  Those  who,  be- 
fore Brown,  contended  against  "beneficial  tendency" 
as  the  standard  of  Morality,  have  either  shut  their 
eyes  on  the  connection  of  Virtue  with  general  utility, 
or  carelessly  and  obscurely  allowed,  without  further 
remark,  a  connection  which  is  at  least  one  of  the 
most  remarkable  and  important  of  ethical  facts.  He 
acts  more  boldly,  and  avowedly  discusses  "  the  rela- 
tion of  Virtue  to  Utility."  He  was  compelled  by  that 
discussion  to  make  those  concessions  which  so  much 
abridge  this  controversy.  "  Utility  and  Virtue  are  so 
related,  that  there  is  perhaps  no  action  generally  felt 
to  be  virtuous,  which  it  would  not  be  beneficial  that 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  247 

all  men  in  similar  circumstances  should  imitate."* 
"In  every  case  of  benefit  or  injury  willingly  done, 
there  arise  certain  emotions  of  moral  approbation  or 
disapprobation." f  "The  intentional  produce  of  evil, 
as  pure  evil,  is  always  hated,  and  that  of  good,  as 
pure  good,  always  loved."  |  All  virtuous  acts  are  thus 
admitted  to  be  universally  beneficial ;  Morality  and  the 
general  benefit  are  acknowledged  always  to  coincide. 
It  is  hard  to  say,  then,  why  they  should  not  be  reci- 
procally tests  of  each  other,  though  in  a  very  different 
way; — the  virtuous  feelings,  fitted  as  they  are  by  im- 
mediate appearance,  by  quick  and  powerful  action,  to 
be  sufficient  tests  of  Morality  in  the  moment  of  action, 
and  for  all  practical  purposes  ;  while  the  consideration 
of  tendency  of  those  acts  to  contribute  to  general 
happiness,  a  more  obscure  and  slowly  discoverable 
quality,  should  be  applied  in  general  reasoning,  as  a 
test  of  the  sentiments  and  dispositions  themselves.  In 
cases  where  such  last-mentioned  test  has  been  applied, 
no  proof  has  been  attempted  that  it  has  ever  deceived 
those  who  used  it  in  the  proper  place.  It  has  uniformly 
served  to  justify  our  moral  constitution,  and  to  show 
how  reasonable  it  is  for  us  to  be  guided  in  action  by 
our  higher  feelings.  At  all  events  it  should  be,  but 
has  not  been  considered,  that  from  these  concessions 
alone  it  follows,  that  beneficial  tendency  is  at  least  one 
constant  property  of  Virtue.  Is  not  this,  in  effect,  an 
admission  that  beneficial  tendency  does  distinguish 
virtuous  acts  and  dispositions  from  those  which  we 
call  vicious?     If  the  criterion  be  incomplete  or  de- 


*  Lectures,  vol.  iv.  p.  45.  The  unphilosophical  word  "  per- 
haps "  must  be  struck  out  of  the  proposition,  unless  the  whole  be 
considered  as  a  mere  conjecture ;  it  limits  no  affirmation,  but 
destroys  it,  by  converting  it  into  a  guess.  Sec  the  like  concession, 
vol.  iv.  p.  33,,  with  some  words  interlarded,  which  betray  a  sort 
of  reluctance  and  fluctuation,  indicative  of  the  difficulty  with 
which  Brown  struggled  to  withhold  his  assent  from  truths  which 
he  unreasonably  dreaded. 

t  Ibid.  vol.  i'ii.  p.  567.  t  Ibid.  vol.  iii.  p.  621. 

R  4 


248  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

lusive,  let  its  faults  be  specified,  and  let  some  other 
quality  be  pointed  out,  which,  either  singly  or  in  com- 
bination with  beneficial  tendency,  may  more  perfectly 
indicate  the  distinction.  But  let  us  not  be  assailed 
by  arguments  which  leave  untouched  its  value  as  a 
test,  and  are  in  truth  directed  only  against  its  fitness 
as  an  immediate  incentive  and  guide  to  right  action. 
To  those  who  contend  for  its  use  in  the  latter  cha- 
racter, it  must  be  left  to  defend,  if  they  can,  so  un- 
tenable a  position :  but  all  others  must  regard  as  pure 
sophistry  the  use  of  arguments  against  it  as  a  test, 
which  really  show  nothing  more  than  its  acknow- 
ledged unfitness  to  be  a  motive. 

When  voluntary  benefit  and  voluntary  injury  are 
pointed  out  as  the  main,  if  not  the  sole  objects  of  moral 
approbation  and  disapprobation, — when  we  are  told 
truly,  that  the  production  of  good,  as  good,  is  always 
loved,  and  that  of  evil,  as  such,  always  hated,  can  we 
require  a  more  clear,  short,  and  unanswerable  proof, 
that  beneficial  tendency  is  an  essential  quality  of 
Virtue  ?  It  is  indeed  an  evidently  necessary  conse- 
quence of  this  statement,  that  if  benevolence  be 
amiable  in  itself,  our  affection  for  it  must  increase 
with  its  extent,  and  that  no  man  can  be  in  a  per- 
fectly right  state  of  mind,  who,  if  he  consider  general 
happiness  at  all,  is  not  ready  to  acknowledge  that  a 
good  man  must  regard  it  as  being  in  its  own  nature 
the  most  desirable  of  all  objects,  however  the  consti- 
tution and  circumstances  of  human  nature  may  render 
it  unfit  or  impossible  to  pursue  it  directly  as  the  object 
of  life.  It  is  at  the  same  time  apparent  that  no  such 
man  can  consider  any  habitual  disposition,  clearly 
discerned  to  be  in  its  whole  result  at  variance  with 
general  happiness,  as  not  unworthy  of  being  culti- 
vated, or  as  not  fit  to  be  rooted  out.  It  is  manifest 
that,  if  it  were  otherwise,  he  would  cease  to  be  bene- 
volent. As  soon  as  we  conceive  the  sublime  idea  of 
a  Being  who  not  only  foresees,  but  commands,  all  the 
consequences  of  the  actions  of  all  voluntary  agents, 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  249 

this  scheme  of  reasoning  appears  far  more  clear.  In 
such  a  case,  if  our  moral  sentiments  remain  the  same, 
they  compel  us  to  attribute  His  whole  government 
of  the  world  to  benevolence.  The  consequence  is  as 
necessary  as  in  any  process  of  reason  ;  for  if  our  moral 
nature  be  supposed,  it  will  appear  self-evident,  that  it 
is  as  much  impossible  for  us  to  love  and  revere  such  a 
Being,  if  we  ascribe  to  Him  a  mixed  or  imperfect 
benevolence,  as  to  believe  the  most  positive  contra- 
diction in  terms.  Now,  as  Religion  consists  in  that 
love  and  reverence,  it  is  evident  that  it  cannot  subsist 
without  a  belief  in  benevolence  as  the  sole  principle 
of  divine  government.  It  is  nothing  to  tell  us  that 
this  is  not  a  process  of  reasoning,  or,  to  speak  more 
exactly,  that  the  first  propositions  are  assumed.  The 
first  propositions  in  every  discussion  relating  to  intel- 
lectual operations  must  likewise  be  assumed.  Con- 
science is  not  Reason,  but  it  is  not  less  an  essential 
part  of  human  nature.  Principles  Avhich  are  essential 
to  all  its  operations  are  as  much  entitled  to  immediate 
and  implicit  assent,  as  those  principles  which  stand 
in  the  same  relation  to  the  reasoning  faculties.  The 
laws  prescribed  by  a  benevolent  Being  to  His  crea- 
tures must  necessarily  be  founded  on  the  principle 
of  promoting  their  happiness.  It  would  be  singuhir 
indeed,  if  the  proofs  of  the  goodness  of  God,  legible  in 
every  part  of  Nature,  should  not,  above  all  others,  be 
most  discoverable  and  conspicuous  in  the  beneficial 
tendency  of  His  moral  laws. 

But  we  are  asked,  if  tendency  to  general  welfiire  be 
the  standard  of  Virtue,  why  is  it  not  always  present 
to  the  contemplation  of  every  man  who  docs  or  prefers 
a  virtuous  action  ?  Must  not  Utility  be  in  that  case 
"  the  felt  essence  of  Virtue  ?  "  *  Why  are  other  ends, 
besides  general  happiness,  fit  to  be  morally  pursued  ? 

These  questions,  which  are  all  founded  on  that  con- 
fusion of   the  theory  of  actions  with  the  theory  of 

♦  Lectures,  vol.  iv.  p.  33. 


250  DISSERTATION   ON    THE   PROGRESS 

sentiments,  against  which   the   reader  was   so   early- 
warned*,  might  be  dismissed  with  no  more  than  a  re- 
ference to  that  distinction,  from  the  forgetfulness  of 
which  they  have  arisen.     By  those  advocates  of  the 
principle  of  Utility  indeed,  who  hold  it  to  be  a  neces- 
sary part  of  their  system,  that  some  glimpse  at  least 
of  tendency  to  personal  or  general  well-being  is  an 
essential  part  of  the  motives  which  render  an  action 
virtuous,  these  questions  cannot  be  satisfactorily  an- 
sv^^ered.     Against  such  they  are  arguments  of  irre- 
sistible force ;  but  against  the  doctrine  itself,  rightly 
understood  and  justly  bounded,  they  are   altogether 
powerless.     The  reason  why  there  may,  and  must  be 
many  ends  morally  more  fit  to  be  pursued  in  practice 
than  general  happiness,  is  plainly  to  be  found  in  the 
limited  capacity  of  Man.     A  perfectly  good  Being, 
who  foresees  and  commands  all  the  consequences  of 
action,  cannot  indeed  be  conceived  by  us  to  have  any- 
other  end  in  view  than  general  well-being.    Why  evil 
exists  under  that  perfect  government,  is  a  question 
towards  the  solution  of  which  the  human  understand- 
ing can  scarcely  advance  a  single  step.     But  all  who 
hold  the  evil  to  exist  only  for  good,  and  own  their  in- 
ability to  explain  why  or  how,  are  perfectly  exempt 
from  any  charge  of  inconsistency  in  their  obedience 
to  the  dictates  of  their  moral  nature.     The  measure 
of  the  faculties  of  Man  renders  it  absolutely  necessary 
for  him  to  have  many  other  practical  ends ;  the  pur- 
suit of  all  of  which  is  moral,  when  it  actually  tends  to 
general  happiness,  though  that  last  end  never  entered 
into  the  contemplation  of  the  agent.     It  is  impossible 
for  us  to  calculate  the  eifects  of  a  single  action,  any 
more  than  the  chances  of  a  single  life.     But  let  it  not 
be  hastily  concluded,  that  the  calculation  of  conse- 
quences is  impossible  in  moral  subjects.     To  calculate 
the  general  tendency  of  every  sort  of  human  action, 
is  a  possible,  easy,  and  common  operation.     The  ge- 

*  See  supra,  p.  14, 


OF   ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  251 

neral  good  effects  of  temperance,  prudence,  fortitude, 
justice,  benevolence,  gratitude,  veracity,  fidelity,  of 
the  affections  of  kindred,  and  of  love  for  our  country, 
are  the  subjects  of  calculations  which,  taken  as  gene- 
ralities, are  absolutely  unerring.  They  are  founded 
on  a  larger  and  firmer  basis  of  more  uniform  experi- 
ence, than  any  of  those  ordinary  calculations  which 
govern  prudent  men  in  the  whole  business  of  life.  An 
appeal  to  these  daily  and  familiar  transactions  fur- 
nishes at  once  a  decisive  answer,  both  to  those  advo- 
cates of  Utility  who  represent  the  consideration  of  it 
as  a  necessary  ingredient  in  virtuous  motives,  as  well 
as  moral  approbation,  and  to  those  opponents  who 
turn  the  unwarrantable  inferences  of  unskilful  advo- 
cates into  proofs  of  the  absurdity  into  which  the  doc- 
trine leads. 

The  cultivation  of  all  the  habitual  sentiments  from 
which  the  various  classes  of  virtuous  actions  flow,  the 
constant  practice  of  such  actions,  the  strict  observ- 
ance of  rules  in  all  that  province  of  Ethics  which  can 
be  subjected  to  rules,  the  watchful  care  of  all  the  out- 
works of  every  part  of  duty,  and  of  that  descending 
series  of  useful  habits  which,  being  securities  to 
Virtue,  become  themselves  virtues,  —  are  so  many  ends 
which  it  is  absolutely  necessary  for  man  to  pursue  and 
to  seek  for  their  own  sake.  "  I  saw  D'Alembert,"  says 
a  very  late  writer,  "  congratulate  a  young  man  very 
coldly,  who  brought  him  a  solution  of  a  problem.  The 
young  man  said,  'I  have  done  this  in  order  to  have 
a  seat  in  the  Academy.'  'Sir,'  answered  D'Alem- 
bert, 'with  such  dispositions  you  never  Avill  earn  one. 
Science  must  be  loved  for  its  own  sake,  and  not  for 
the  advantage  to  be  derived.  No  other  principle  will 
enable  a  man  to  make  progress  in  the  sciences.'"*  It 
is  singular  that  D'Alembert  should  not  perceive  the 
extensive  application  of  this  truth  to  the  whole  nature 
of  ]\Ian.     No  man  can  make  progress  in  a  virtue  who 

*  Memoires  de  Montlosicr,  vol.  i.  p.  50. 


252  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

does  not  seek  it  for  its  own  sake.  No  man  is  a  friend, 
a  lover  of  his  country,  a  kind  father,  a  dutiful  son, 
who  does  not  consider  the  cultivation  of  affection  and 
the  performance  of  duty  in  all  these  cases  respec- 
tively, as  incumbent  on  him  for  their  own  sake,  and 
not  for  the  advantage  to  be  derived  from  them.  Who- 
ever serves  another  with  a  view  of  advantage  to  him- 
self is  universally  acknowledged  not  to  act  from 
affection.  But  the  more  immediate  application  of  this 
truth  to  our  purpose  is,  thai  in  the  case  of  those 
virtues  which  are  the  means  of  cultivating  and  pre- 
serving other  virtues,  it  is  necessary  to  acquire  love 
and  reverence  for  the  secondary  virtues  for  their  own 
sake,  without  which  they  never  will  be  effectual  means 
of  sheltering  and  strengthening  those  intrinsically 
higher  qualities  to  which  they  are  appointed  to  minis- 
ter. Every  moral  act  must  be  considered  as  an  end, 
and  men  must  banish  from  their  practice  the  regard 
to  the  most  naturally  subordinate  duty  as  a  means. 
Those  who  are  perplexed  by  the  supposition  that 
secondary  virtues,  making  up  by  the  extent  of  their 
beneficial  tendency  for  what  in  each  particular  in- 
stance they  may  want  in  magnitude^  may  become  of  as 
great  importance  as  the  primary  virtues  themselves, 
would  do  well  to  consider  a  parallel  though  very 
homely  case.  A  house  is  useful  for  many  purposes : 
many  of  these  purposes  are  in  themselves,  for  the  time, 
more  important  than  shelter.  The  destruction  of  the 
house  may,  nevertheless,  become  a  greater  evil  than 
the  defeat  of  several  of  these  purposes,  because  it  is 
permanently  convenient,  and  indeed  necessary  to  the 
execution  of  most  of  them.  A  floor  is  made  for 
warmth,  for  dryness,  —  to  support  tables,  chairs,  beds, 
and  all  the  household  implements  which  contribute  to 
accommodation  and  to  pleasure.  The  floor  is  valuable 
only  as  a  means;  but,  as  the  only  means  by  which 
many  ends  are  attained,  it  maybe  much  more  valuable 
than  some  of  them.  The  table  might  be,  and  generally 
is,  of  more  valuable  timber  than  the  floor;  but  the 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  253 

•workman  who  should  for  that  reason  take  more  pains 
in  making  the  table  strong,  than  the  floor  secure, 
would  not  long  be  employed  by  customers  of  common 
sense. 

Tne  connection  of  that  part  of  Morality  which  re- 
gulates the  intercourse  of  the  sexes  with  benevolence, 
affords  the  most  striking  instance  of  the  very  great 
importance  which  may  belong  to  a  virtue,  in  itself 
secondary,  but  on  which  the  general  cultivation  of  the 
highest  virtues  permanently  depends.  Delicacy  and 
modesty  may  be  thought  chiefly  worthy  of  cultivation, 
because  they  guard  purity ;  but  they  must  be  loved  for 
their  own  sake,  without  which  they  cannot  flourish. 
Purity  is  the  sole  school  of  domestic  fidelity,  and  do- 
mestic fidelity  is  the  only  nursery  of  the  affections 
between  parents  and  children,  from  children  towards 
each  other,  and,  through  these  affections,  of  all  the 
kindness  which  renders  the  Avorld  habitable.  At  each 
step  in  the  progress,  the  appropriate  end  must  be 
loved  for  its  own  sake ;  and  it  is  easy  to  see  how  the 
only  means  of  sowing  the  seeds  of  benevolence,  in  all 
its  forms,  may  become  of  far  greater  importance  than 
many  of  the  modifications  and  exertions  even  of  be- 
nevolence itself.  To  those  who  will  consider  this  sub- 
ject, it  will  not  long  seem  strange  that  the  sweetest 
and  most  gentle  affections  grow  up  only  under  the 
apparently  cold  and  dark  shadow  of  stern  duty.  The 
obligation  is  strengthened,  not  weakened,  by  the  consi- 
deration that  it  arises  from  human  imperfection ;  which 
only  proves  it  to  be  founded  on  the  nature  of  man. 
It  is  enough  that  the  pursuit  of  all  these  separate  ends 
leads  to  general  well-being,  the  promotion  of  which  is 
the  final  purpose  of  the  Creation. 

The  last  and  most  specious  argument  against  bene- 
ficial tendency,  even  as  a  test,  is  conveyed  in  the 
question,  Why  moral  approbation  is  not  bestowed  on 
every  thing  beneficial,  instead  of  being  confined,  as  it 
confessedly  is,  to  voluntary  acts?  It  may  plausibly 
be  said,  that  the  establishment  of  the  beneficial  ten- 


254  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

dency  of  all  those  voluntary  acts  which  are  the  objects 
of  moral  approbation,  is  not  sufficient;  —  since,  if  such 
tendency  be  the  standard,  it  ought  to  follow,  that 
whatever  is  useful  should  also  be  morally  approved. 
To  answer,  as  has  before  been  done*,  that  experience 
gradually  limits  moral  approbation  and  disapprobation 
to  voluntary  acts,  by  teaching  us  that  they  influence 
the  Will,  but  are  wholly  wasted  if  they  be  applied  to 
any  other  object, — though  the  fact  be  true,  and  con- 
tributes somewhat  to  the  result, — is  certainly  not 
enough.  It  is  at  best  a  partial  solution.  Perhaps,  on 
reconsideration,  it  is  entitled  only  to  a  secondary  place. 
To  seek  a  foundation  for  universal,  ardent,  early,  and 
immediate  feelings,  in  processes  of  an  intellectual  na- 
ture, has,  since  the  origin  of  philosophy,  been  the 
grand  error  of  ethical  inquirers  into  human  nature. 
To  seek  for  such  a  foundation  in  Association, — an 
early  and  insensible  process,  which  confessedly  mingles 
itself  with  the  composition  of  our  first  and  simplest 
feelings,  and  which  is  common  to  both  parts  of  our 
nature,  is  not  liable  to  the  same  animadversion.  If 
Conscience  be  uniformly  produced  by  the  regular  and 
harmonious  co-operation  of  many  processes  of  asso- 
ciation, the  objection  is  in  reality  a  challenge  to  pro- 
duce a  complete  theory  of  it,  founded  on  that  principle, 
by  exhibiting  such  a  full  account  of  all  these  pro- 
cesses as  may  satisfactorily  explain  why  it  proceeds 
thus  far  and  no  farther.  This  would  be  a  very 
arduous  attempt,  and  perhaps  it  may  be  premature. 
But  something  may  be  more  modestly  tried  towards 
an  outline,  which,  though  it  may  leave  many  particu- 
lars unexplained,  may  justify  a  reasonable  expectation 
that  they  are  not  incapable  of  explanation,  and  may 
even  now  assign  such  reasons  for  the  limitation  of 
approbation  to  voluntary  acts,  as  may  convert  the 
objection  derived  from  that  fact  into  a  corroboration 
of  the  doctrines  to  v^^hich  it  has  been  opposed  as  an 

*  See  supra,  p,  147. 


OF    ETHICAL   PHLLOSOPHT.  255 

insurmountable  difficulty.  Such  an  attempt  will  na- 
turally lead  to  the  close  of  the  present  Dissertation. 
The  attempt  has  indeed  been  already  made*,  but  not 
without  great  apprehensions  on  the  part  of  the  author 
that  he  has  not  been  clear  enough,  especially  in  those 
parts  which  appeared  to  himself  to  owe  most  to  his 
own  reflection.  He  will  now  endeavour,  at  the  ex- 
pense of  some  repetition,  to  be  more  satisfactory. 

There  must  be  primary  pleasures,  pains,  and  even 
appetites,  which  arise  from  no  prior  state  of  mind, 
and  which,  if  explained  at  all,  can  be  derived  only 
from  bodily  organisation  ;  for  if  there  were  not,  there 
could  be  no  secondary  desires.  What  the  number  of 
the  underived  principles  may  be,  is  a  question  to 
which  the  answers  of  philosophers  have  been  ex- 
tremely various,  and  of  which  the  consideration  is 
not  necessary  to  our  present  purpose.  The  rules  ot 
philosophising,  however,  require  that  causes  should 
not  be  multiplied  without  necessity.  Of  two  expla- 
nations, therefore,  which  give  an  equally  satisfactory 
account  of  appearances,  that  theory  is  manifestly  to 
be  preferred  which  supposes  the  smaller  number  of 
ultimate  and  inexplicable  principles.  This  maxim,  it 
is  true,  is  subject  to  three  indispensable  conditions  :  — 
1st,  That  the  principles  employed  in  the  explanation 
should  be  known  really  to  exist ;  in  which  consists 
the  main  distinction  between  hypothesis  and  theory. 
Gravity  is  a  principle  universally  known  to  exist ; 
ether  and  a  nervous  fluid  are  mere  suppositions.  — 
2dly,  That  tliese  principles  should  be  known  to  pro- 
duce effects  like  those  which  are  ascribed  to  them  in 
the  theory.  This  is  a  further  distinction  between 
hypothesis  and  theory;  for  there  are  an  infinite 
number  of  degrees  of  likeness,  from  the  f\iint  resem- 
blances which  have  led  some  to  fancy  that  the  func- 
tions of  the  nerves  depend  on  electricity,  to  the 
remarkable  coincidences  between  the  appearances  of 

•  See  supra,  p.  167.  et  seq. 


256  DISSERTATION   ON    THE   PROGRESS 

projectiles  on  earth,  and  the  movements  of  the 
heavenly  bodies,  which  constitutes  the  Newtonian 
system,  —  a  theory  now  perfect,  though  exclusively 
founded  on  analogy,  and  in  which  one  of  the  classes 
of  phenomena  brought  together  by  it  is  not  the  subject 
of  direct  experience.  —  3dly,  That  it  should  corre- 
spond, if  not  with  all  the  facts  to  be  explained,  at  least 
with  so  great  a  majority  of  them  as  to  render  it 
highly  probable  that  means  will  in  time  be  found  of 
reconciling  it  to  all.  It  is  only  on  this  ground  that 
the  Newtonian  system  justly  claimed  the  title  of  a 
legitimate  theory  during  that  long  period  when  it  was 
unable  to  explain  many  celestial  appearances,  before 
the  labours  of  a  century,  and  the  genius  of  Laplace, 
at  length  completed  it  by  adapting  it  to  all  the  phe- 
nomena. A  theory  may  be  just  before  it  is  complete. 
In  the  application  of  these  canons  to  the  theory 
which  derives  most  of  the  principles  of  human  action 
from  the  transfer  of  a  small  number  of  pleasures, 
perhaps  organic  ones,  by  the  law  of  Association  to  a 
vast  variety  of  new  objects,  it  cannot  be  denied,  1st, 
That  it  satisfies  the  first  of  the  above  conditions, 
inasmuch  as  Association  is  really  one  of  the  laws  ot 
human  nature  ;  2dly,  That  it  also  satisfies  the  second, 
for  Association  certainly  produces  efiects  like  those 
which  are  referred  to  it  by  this  theory ;  —  otherwise 
there  would  be  no  secondary  desires,  no  acquired 
relishes  and  dislikes, — facts  universally  acknowledged, 
which  are,  and  can  be  explained  only  by  the  principle 
called  by  Hobbes  "  Mental  Discourse," —  by  Locke, 
Hume,  Hartley,  Condillac,  and  the  majority  of  specu- 
lators, as  well  as  in  common  speech,  "  Association," 
—  by  Tucker,  "  Translation," —  and  by  Brown,  "  Sug- 
gestion." The  facts  generally  referred  to  the  prin- 
ciple resemble  those  which  are  claimed  for  it  by  the 
theory  in  this  important  particular,  that  in  both  cases 
equally,  pleasure  becomes  attached  to  perfectly  new 
things,  —  so  that  the  derivative  desires  become  per- 
fectly independent  on  the  primary.     The  great  dis- 


OF    ETHICAL    PUILOSOPHY.  257 

similarity  of  these  two  classes  of  passions  has  been 
supposed  to  consist  in  this,  that  the  former  always 
regards  the  interest  of  the  individual,  while  the  latter 
regards  the  welfare  of  others.  The  philosophical 
world  has  been  almost  entirely  divided  into  two  sects, 
—  the  partisans  of  Selfishness,  comprising  mostly  all 
the  predecessors  of  Butler,  and  the  greater  part  of  his 
successors,  and  the  advocates  of  Benevolence,  who 
have  generally  contended  that  the  reality  of  Disinte- 
restedness depends  on  its  being  a  primary  principle. 
Enough  has  been  said  by  Butler  against  the  more 
fatal  heresy  of  Selfishness  :  something  also  has  already 
been  said  against  the  error  of  the  advocates  of  Dis- 
interestedness, in  the  progress  of  this  attempt  to 
develope  ethical  truths  historically,  in  the  order  in 
which  inquiry  and  controversy  brought  them  out 
with  increasing  brightness.  The  analogy  of  the 
material  world  is  indeed  faint,  and  often  delusive  ; 
yet  we  dare  not  utterly  reject  that  on  which  the 
whole  technical  language  of  mental  and  moral  science 
is  necessarily  grounded.  The  whole  creation  teems 
with  instances  where  the  most  powerful  agents  and 
the  most  lasting  bodies  are  the  acknowledged  results 
of  the  composition,  sometimes  of  a  few,  often  of  many 
elements.  These  compounds  often  in  their  turn 
become  the  elements  of  other  substances ;  and  it  is 
with  them  that  we  are  conversant  chiefly  in  the 
pursuits  of  knowledge,  and  solely  in  the  concerns  of 
life.  No  man  ever  fjincied,  that  because  they  were 
compounds,  they  were  therefore  less  real.  It  is 
impossible  to  confound  them  with  any  of  the  separate 
elements  which  contribute  towards  their  formation. 
But  a  much  more  close  resemblance  presents  itself: 
every  secondary  desire,  or  acquired  relish,  involves  in 
it  a  transfer  of  pleasure  to  something  which  was 
before  indifferent  or  disagreeable.  Is  the  new  plea- 
sure the  less  real  for  being  acquired  ?  Is  it  not  often 
preferred  to  the  original  enjoyment  ?  Are  not  many 
of  these  secondary  pleasures  indestructible  ?  Do  not 
VOL.  L  s 


258  DISSERTATION   ON    THE   PEOGRESS 

many  of  tliem  survive  primary  appetites  ?  Lastly,  the 
important  principle  of  regard  to  our  own  general 
welfare,  which  disposes  us  to  prefer  it  to  immediate 
pleasure  (unfortunately  called  "  Self-love," —  as  if,  in 
any  intelligible  sense  of  the  term  "  love,"  it  were 
possible  for  a  man  to  love  himself),  is  perfectly  in- 
telligible, if  its  origin  be  ascribed  to  Association,  but 
utterly  incomprehensible,  if  it  be  considered  as  prior 
to  the  appetites  and  desires,  which  alone  furnish  it 
with  materials.  As  happiness  consists  of  satisfactions, 
Self-love  presupposes  appetites  and  desires  which  are 
to  be  satisfied.  If  the  order  of  time  were  important, 
the  affections  are  formed  at  an  earlier  period  than 
many  self-regarding  passions,  and  they  always  precede 
the  formation  of  Self-love. 

Many  of  the  later  advocates  of  the  Disinterested 
system,  though  recoiling  from  an  apparent  approach 
to  the  Selfishness  into  which  the  purest  of  their  an- 
tagonists had  occasionally  fallen,  were  gradually 
obliged  to  make  concessions  to  the  Derivative  system, 
though  clogged  with  the  contradictory  assertion,  that 
it  was  only  a  refinement  of  Selfishness  :  and  we  have 
seen  that  Brown,  the  last  and  not  the  least  in  genius 
of  them,  has  nearly  abandoned  the  greater,  though 
not  indeed  the  most  important,  part  of  the  territory 
in  dispute,  and  scarcely  contends  for  any  underived 
principle  but  the  Moral  Faculty.  This  being  the  state 
of  opinion  among  the  very  small  number  in  Great 
Britain  who  still  preserve  some  remains  of  a  taste  for 
such  speculations,  it  is  needless  here  to  trace  the  ap- 
plication of  the  law  of  Association  to  the  formation  of 
the  secondary  desires,  whether  private  or  social.  For 
our  present  purposes,  the  explanation  of  their  origin 
may  be  assumed  to  be  satisfactory.  In  what  follows, 
it  must,  however,  be  steadily  borne  in  mind,  that  this 
concession  involves  an  admission  that  the  pleasure 
derived  form  low  objects  may  be  transferred  to  the 
most  pure, — that  from  a  part  of  a  self-regarding  appe- 
tite such  a  pleasure  may  become  a  portion  of  a  per- 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  259 

fectly  disinterested  desire,  —  and  that  the  disinterested 
nature  and  absolute  independence  of  the  latter  are 
not  in  the  slightest  degree  impaired  by  the  consider- 
ation, that  it  is  formed  by  one  of  those  grand  mental 
processes  to  which  the  formation  of  the  other  habitual 
states  of  the  human  mind  have  been,  with  great  pro- 
bability, ascribed. 

When  the  social  affections  are  thus  formed,  they 
are  naturally  followed  in  every  instance  by  the  will 
to  do  whatever  can  promote  their  object.  Compas- 
sion excites  a  voluntary  determination  to  do  whatever 
relieves  the  person  pitied:  the  like  process  must 
occur  in  every  case  of  gratitude,  generosity,  and  affec- 
tion. Nothing  so  uniformly  follows  the  kind  dispo- 
sition as  the  act  of  Will,  because  it  is  the  only  means 
by  which  the  benevolent  desire  can  be  gratified.  The 
result  of  what  Brown  justly  calls  "  a  finer  analysis," 
shows  a  mental  contiguity  of  the  affection  to  the 
volition  to  be  much  closer  than  appears  on  a  coarser 
examination  of  this  part  of  our  nature.  No  wonder 
then,  that  the  strongest  association,  the  most  active 
power  of  reciprocal  suggestion,  should  subsist  between 
them.  As  all  the  affections  are  delightful,  so  the  vo- 
litions—  voluntary  acts*  which  are  the  only  means 
of  their  gratification  —  become  agreeable  objects  of 
contemplation  to  the  mind.  The  habitual  disposition 
to  perform  them  is  felt  in  ourselves,  and  observed  in 
others,  with  satisfaction.  As  these  feelings  become 
more  lively,  the  absence  of  them  may  be  viewed  in 
ourselves  with  a  pain, — in  others  with  an  alienation 
capable  of  indefinite  increase.  They  become  entirely  in- 
dependent sentiments,  —  still,  however,  receiving  con- 
stant supplies  of  nourishment  from  their  parent  affec- 
tions, — which,  in  well-balanced  minds,  reciprocally 
strengthen  each  other;  —  unlike  the  unkind  passions, 
which  are  constantly  engaged  in  the  most  angry  con- 
flicts of  civil  war.  In  this  state  we  desire  to  ex- 
perience those  beneficent  volitions,  to  cultivate  a  dis- 
position towards  them,  and  to  do  every  correspondent 

s  2 


260  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

voluntary  act :  they  are  for  their  own  sake  the 
objects  of  desire.  They  thus  constitute  a  large 
portion  of  those  emotions,  desires,  and  affections, 
which  regard  certain  dispositions  of  the  mind  and 
determinations  of  the  Will  as  their  sole  and  ultimate 
end.  These  are  what  are  called  the  "Moral  Sense,"  the 
"  Moral  Sentiments,"  or  best,  though  most  simply,  by 
the  ancient  name  of  Conscience,  —  which  has  the  merit, 
in  our  language,  of  being  applied  to  no  other  purpose, 
— which  peculiarly  marks  the  strong  working  of  these 
feelings  on  conduct,  —  and  which,  from  its  solemn  and 
sacred  character,  is  well  adapted  to  denote  the  vene- 
rable authority  of  the  highest  principle  of  human 
nature. 

Nor  is  this  all :  it  has  already  been  seen  that  not 
only  sympathy  with  the  sufferer,  but  indignation 
against  the  wrong-doer,  contributes  a  large  and  im- 
portant share  toAvards  the  moral  feelings.  We  are 
angry  at  those  who  disappoint  our  wish  for  the  happi- 
ness of  others ;  we  make  the  resentment  of  the  inno- 
cent person  wronged  our  own :  our  moderate  anger 
approves  all  well-proportioned  punishment  of  the 
wrong-doer.  We  hence  approve  those  dispositions 
and  actions  of  voluntary  agents  which  promote  such 
suitable  punishment,  and  disapprove  those  which 
hinder  its  infliction,  or  destroy  its  effect ;  at  the  head 
of  which  may  be  placed  that  excess  of  punishment 
beyond  the  average  feelings  of  good  men  which  turns 
the  indignation  of  the  calm  by-stander  against  the 
culprit  into  pity.  In  this  state,  when  anger  is  duly 
moderated, — when  it  is  proportioned  to  the  wrong, — 
when  it  is  detached  from  personal  considerations, — 
when  dispositions  and  actions  are  its  ultimate  objects^ 
it  becomes  a  sense  of  justice,  and  is  so  purified  as  to 
be  fitted  to  be  a  new  element  of  Conscience.  There  is 
no  part  of  Morality  which  is  so  directly  aided  by  a 
conviction  of  tlie  necessity  of  its  observance  to  the 
general  interest,  as  justice.  The  connection  between 
them   is  discoverable   by  the   most   common  under- 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  261 

standing.  All  public  deliberations  profess  the  public 
welfare  to  be  their  object ;  all  laws  propose  it  as  their 
end.  This  calm  principle  of  public  utility  serves  to 
mediate  between  the  sometimes  repugnant  feelings 
which  arise  in  the  punishment  of  criminals,  bj  re- 
pressing undue  pity  on  one  hand,  and  reducing  re- 
sentment to  its  proper  level  on  the  other.  Hence 
the  unspeakable  importance  of  criminal  laws  as  a  part 
of  the  moral  education  of  mankind.  Whenever  they 
carefully  conform  to  the  Moral  Sentiments  of  the  age 
and  country, — when  they  are  withheld  from  approach- 
ing the  limits  within  which  the  disapprobation  of  good 
men  would  confine  punishment,  they  contribute  in  the 
highest  degree  to  increase  the  ignominy  of  crimes,  to 
make  men  recoil  from  the  first  suggestions  of  crimi- 
nality, and  to  nourish  and  mature  the  sense  of  justice, 
which  lends  new  vigour  to  the  conscience  with  which 
it  has  been  united. 

Other  contributary  streams  present  themselves ; 
qualities  which  are  necessary  to  Virtue,  but  may  be 
subservient  to  Vice,  may,  independently  of  that  excel- 
lence, or  of  that  defect,  be  in  themselves  admirable : 
courage,  energy,  decision,  are  of  this  nature.  In  their 
wild  state  they  are  often  savage  and  destructive : 
when  they  are  tamed  by  the  society  of  the  affections, 
and  trained  up  in  obedience  to  the  Moral  Faculty, 
they  become  virtues  of  the  highest  order,  and,  by  their 
name  of  "magnanimity,"  proclaim  the  general  sense 
of  mankind  that  they  are  the  characteristic  qualities 
of  a  great  soul.  They  retain  whatever  was  admirable 
in  their  unreclaimed  state,  together  with  all  that  they 
borrow  from  their  new  associate  and  their  high  ruler. 
Their  nature,  it  must  be  owned,  is  prone  to  evil ;  but 
this  propensity  does  not  hinder  them  from  being  ren- 
dered capable  of  being  ministers  of  good,  when  in  a 
state  where  the  gentler  virtues  require  to  be  vigor- 
ously guarded  against  the  attacks  of  daring  depravity. 
It  is  thus  that  the  strength  of  the  well-educated  ele- 
phant  is   sometimes    employed   in    vanquishing    the 

S  3 


262  DISSERTATION    ON    THE    PROGRESS 

fierceness  of  the  tiger,  and  sometimes  used  as  a  means 
of  defence  against  the  shock  of  his  brethren  of  the 
same  species.  The  delightful  contemplation,  however, 
of  these  qualities,  when  purely  applied,  becomes  one 
of  the  sentiments  of  which  the  dispositions  and  actions 
of  voluntary  agents  are  the  direct  and  final  object. 
By  this  resemblance  they  are  associated  with  the  other 
moral  principles,  and  with  them  contribute  to  form 
Conscience,  which,  as  the  master  faculty  of  the  soul, 
levies  such  large  contributions  on  every  province  ojf 
human  nature. 

It  is  important,  in  this  point  of  view,  to  consider 
also  the  moral  approbation  which  is  undoubtedly  be- 
stowed on  those  dispositiojis  and  actions  of  voluntary 
agents  which  terminate  in  their  own  satisfaction,  se- 
curity, and  well-being.  They  have  been  called  "  duties 
to  ourselves,"  as  absurdly  as  a  regard  to  our  own  greatest 
happiness  is  called  "  self-love."  But  it  cannot  be  rea- 
sonably doubted,  that  intemperance,  improvidence, 
timidity,  —  even  when  considered  only  in  relation  to 
the  individual,  —  are  not  only  regretted  as  imprudent, 
but  blamed  as  morally  wrong.  It  was  excellently  ob- 
served by  Aristotle,  that  a  man  is  not  commended  as 
temperate,  so  long  as  it  costs  him  efibrts  of  self-denial 
to  persevere  in  the  practice  of  temperance,  but  only 
when  he  prefers  that  virtue  for  its  oivn  sake.  He  is 
not  meek,  nor  brave,  as  long  as  the  most  vigorous  self- 
command  is  necessary  to  bridle  his  anger  or  his  fear. 
On  the  same  principle,  he  may  be  judicious  or  prudent, 
but  he  is  not  benevolent,  if  he  confers  benefits  with  a 
view  to  his  own  greatest  happiness.  In  like  manner, 
it  is  ascertained  by  experience,  that  all  the  masters 
of  science  and  of  art,  —  that  all  those  who  have  suc- 
cessfully pursued  Truth  and  Knowledge,  love  them 
for  their  own  sake,  without  regard  to  the  generally 
imaginary  dower  of  interest,  or  even  to  the  dazzling 
crown  which  Fame  may  place  on  their  heads.*     But 

*  See  the  Pursuit  of  Knowledge  under  Difficulties,  a  discourse 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  263 

it  may  still  be  reasonably  asked,  why  these  useful 
qualities  are  morally  improved,  and  how  they  become 
capable  of  being  combined  with  those  public  and  dis- 
interested sentiments  which  principally  constitute 
Conscience  ?  The  answer  is,  because  they  are  entirely 
conversant  with  volitions  and  voluntary  actions,  and 
in  that  respect  resemble  the  other  constituents  of  Con- 
science, with  which  they  are  thereby  fitted  to  mingle 
and  coalesce.  Like  those  other  principles,  they  may 
be  detached  from  what  is  personal  and  outward,  and 
fixed  on  the  dispositions  and  actions,  which  are  the 
only  means  of  promoting  their  ends.  The  sequence  of 
these  principles  and  acts  of  Will  becomes  so  frequent, 
that  the  association  between  both  may  be  as  firm  as 
in  the  former  cases.  All  those  sentiments  of  which 
the  final  object  is  a  state  of  the  Will,  become  thus  in- 
timately and  inseparably  blended  ;  and  of  that  perfect 
state  of  solution  (if  such  words  may  be  allowed)  the 
result  is  Conscience  —  the  judge  and  arbiter  of  human 
conduct  —  which,  though  it  does  not  supersede  ordi- 
nary  motives  of  virtuous  feelings  and  habits  (equally 
the  ordinary  motives  of  good  actions),  yet  exercises  a 
lawful  authority  even  over  them,  and  ought  to  blend 
with  them.  Whatsoever  actions  and  dispositions  are 
approved  by  Conscience  acquire  the  name  of  virtues 

forming  the  first  part  of  the  third  volume  of  the  Library  of  En- 
tertaining Knowledge,  London,  1829.  The  author  of  this  essay, 
for  it  can  be  no  other  than  ilr.  Brougham,  will  by  others  be 
])laced  at  the  head  of  those  who,  in  the  midst  of  arduous  employ- 
ments, and  sun-ounded  by  all  the  allurements  of  society,  yet  find 
leisure  for  exerting  the  unwearied  vigour  of  their  minds  in  every 
mode  of  rendering  permanent  service  to  the  human  species;  more 
especially  in  spreading  a  love  of  knowledge,  and  diffusing  useful 
truth  among  all  classes  of  men.  These  voluntary  occupations 
deserve  our  attention  still  less  as  examples  of  prodigious  power 
than  as  proofs  of  an  intimate  conviction,  which  binds  them  by 
unity  of  purpose  with  his  jmblic  duties,  that  (to  use  the  almost 
dying  words  of  an  excellent  person)  "  man  can  neither  be  happy 
without  virtue,  nor  actively  virtuous  without  liberty,  nor  securely 
free  without  rational  knowledge."  —  Close  of  Sir  W.  Jones's  last 
Discovu"se  to  the  Asiatic  Society  of  Calcutta. 

s  4 


264  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

or  duties :  they  are  pronounced  to  deserve  commenda- 
tion ;  and  we  are  justly  considered  as  under  a  moral 
obligation  to  practise  the  actions  and  cultivate  the 
dispositions. 

The  coalition  of  the  private  and  public  feelings  is 
very  remarkable  in  two  points  of  view,  from  which  it 
seems  hitherto  to  have  been  scarcely  observed.     1st. 
It  illustrates  very  forcibly  all  that  has  been  here 
offered  to  prove,  that  the  peculiar  character  of  the 
Moral  Sentiments  consists  in  their  exclusive  reference 
to  states  of  JVill,  and  that  every  feeling  which  has 
that  quality,  when  it  is  purified  from  all  admixture 
with  different  objects,  becomes  capable  of  being  ab- 
sorbed into  Conscience,  and  of  being  assimilated  to  it, 
so  as  to  become  a  part  of  it.     For  no  feelings  can  be 
more  unlike  each  other  in  their  object  than  the  private 
and    the  social ;   and  yet,  as  both  employ  voluntary 
actions  as  their  sole  immediate  means,  both  may  be 
transferred  by  association  to  states  of  the  Will,    in 
which  case  they  are  transmuted  into  moral  sentiments. 
No  example  of  the  coalition  of  feelings  in  their  general 
nature  less  widely  asunder,  could  afford  so  much  sup- 
port to  this  position.     2nd.  By  raising  qualities  useful 
to  ourselves  to  the  rank  of  virtues,  it  throws  a  strong 
light  on  the  relation  of  Virtue  to  individual  interest ; 
very  much  as  Justice  illustrates  the  relation  of  Morality 
to  general  interest.     The  coincidence  of  Morality  with 
individual  interest  is  an  important  truth  in  Ethics :  it 
is  most  manifest  in  that  part  of  the  science  which  we 
are  now  considering.     A  calm  regard  to  our  general 
interest  is  indeed  a  faint  and  infrequent  motive  of 
action.     Its  chief  advantage  is,  that  it  is  regular,  and 
that  its  movements  may  be  calculated.     In  deliberate 
conduct   it  may  often  be  relied  on,    though  perhaps 
never  safely  without  knowledge  of  the  whole  temper 
and  character  of  the  agent.     But  in  moral  reasoning 
at  least,  the  fore-named  coincidence  is  of  unspeakable 
advantage.     If  there  be  a  miserable  man  who  has  cold 
affections,  a  weak  sense  of  justice,  dim  perceptions  of 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  265 

right  and  Tvrong,  and  faint  feelings  of  them,  —  if,  still 
more  wretched,  his  heart  be  constantly  torn  and  de- 
voured bj  malevolent  passions  —  the  vultures  of  the 
soul — we  have  one  resource  still  left,  even  in  cases  so 
dreadful.  Even  he  still  retains  a  human  principle,  to 
which  we  can  speak :  he  must  own  that  he  has  some 
wish  for  his  own  lasting  welfare.  \Yc  can  prove  to 
him  that  his  state  of  mind  is  inconsistent  with  it.  It 
may  be  impossible  indeed  to  show,  that  while  his  dis- 
position continues  the  same,  he  can  derive  any  enjoy- 
ment from  the  practice  of  virtue  :  but  it  may  be 
most  clearly  shown,  that  every  advance  in  the  amend- 
ment of  that  disposition  is  a  step  towards  even  tem- 
poral happiness.  If  he  do  not  amend  his  character, 
we  may  compel  him  to  own  that  he  is  at  variance 
with  himself  and  offends  against  a  principle  of  which 
even  he  must  recognise  the  reasonableness. 

The  formation  of  Conscience  from  so  many  elements, 
and  especially  from  the  combination  of  elements  so 
unlike  as  the  private  desires  and  the  social  affections, 
early  contributes  to  give  it  the  appearance  of  that 
simplicity  and  independence  which  in  its  mature  state 
really  distinguish  it.  It  becomes,  from  these  circum- 
stances, more  difficult  to  distinguish  its  separate  prin- 
ciples;  and  it  is  impossible  to  exhibit  them  in  separate 
action.  The  affinity  of  these  various  passions  to  each 
other,  which  consists  in  their  having  no  object  but 
states  of  the  Will,  is  the  only  common  property  which 
strikes  the  mind.  Hence  the  facility  with  which  the 
general  terms,  first  probably  limited  to  the  relations 
between  ourselves  and  others,  are  gradually  extended 
to  all  voluntary  acts  and  dispositions.  Prudence  and 
temperance  become  the  objects  of  moral  approbation. 
When  imprudence  is  immediately  disapproved  by  the 
by-stander,  without  deliberate  consideration  of  its  con- 
sequences, it  is  not  only  displeasing,  as  being  pernicious, 
but  it  is  blamed  as  wrong,  though  with  a  censure  so 
much  inferior  to  that  bestowed  on  inhumanity  and 
injustice,   as   may  justify  those  writers  who  use  the 


266  DISSERTATION   ON    THE   PROGRESS 

milder  term  "  improper"  At  length,  when  the  general 
words  come  to  signify  the  objects  of  moral  approba- 
tion, and  the  reverse,  they  denote  merely  the  power  to 
excite  feelings,  which  are  as  independent  as  if  they 
were  underived,  and  which  coalesce  the  more  perfectly, 
because  they  are  detached  from  objects  so  various  and 
unlike  as  to  render  their  return  to  their  primitive 
state  very  difficult. 

The  question*.  Why  we  do  not  morally  approve 
the  useful  qualities  of  actions  which  are  altogether 
involuntary?  may  now  be  shortly  and  satisfactorily 
answered  :  —  because  Conscience  is  in  perpetual  con- 
tact, as  it  were,  with  all  the  dispositions  and  actions 
of  voluntary  agents,  and  is  by  that  means  indissolubly 
associated  with  them  exclusively.  It  has  a  direct 
action  on  the  Will,  and  a  constant  mental  contiguity 
to  it.  It  has  no  such  mental  contiguity  to  involuntary 
changes.  It  has  never  perhaps  been  observed,  that 
an  operation  of  the  conscience  precedes  all  acts  deli- 
berate enough  to  be  in  the  highest  sense  voluntary, 
and  does  so  as  much  when  it  is  defeated  as  when  it 
prevails.  In  either  case  the  association  is  repeated. 
It  extends  to  the  whole  of  the  active  man.  All  pas- 
sions have  a  definite  outward  object  to  which  they 
tend,  and  a  limited  sphere  within  which  they  act. 
But  Conscience  has  no  object  but  a  state  of  Will ;  and 
as  an  act  of  Will  is  the  sole  means  of  gratifying  any 
passion.  Conscience  is  co-extensive  with  the  whole  man, 
and  without  encroachment  curbs  or  aids  every  feeling, 
—  even  within  the  peculiar  province  of  that  feeling 
itself.  As  Will  is  the  universal  means.  Conscience, 
which  regards  Will,  must  be  a  universal  principle. 
As  nothing  is  interposed  between  Conscience  and  the 
Will  Avhen  the  mind  is  in  its  healthy  state,  the  dictate 
of  Conscience  is  followed  by  the  determination  of  the 
Will,  with  a  promptitude  and  exactness  which  very 
naturally  is  likened  to  the  obedience  of  an  inferior  to 

*  See  supra^  p.  253. 


OF    ETHICAL    PHILOSOPHY.  267 

the  lawful  commands  of  those  whom  he  deems  to  be 
rightfully  placed  over  him.  It  therefore  seems  clear, 
that  on  the  theory  Avhich  has  been  attempted,  moral 
approbation  must  be  limited  to  voluntary  operations, 
and  Conscience  must  be  universal,  independent,  and 
commanding. 

One  remaining  difficulty  may  perhaps  be  objected 
to  the  general  doctrines  of  this  Dissertation,  though 
it  does  not  appear  at  any  time  to  have  been  urged 
against  other  modifications  of  the  same  principle. 
"  J£  moral  approbation,"  it  may  be  said,  "  involve  no 
perception  of  beneficial  tendency,  whence  arises  the 
coincidence  between  that  principle  and  the  Moral 
Sentiments  ?  "  It  may  seem  at  first  sight,  that  such 
a  theory  rests  the  foundation  of  Morals  upon  a  coinci- 
dence altogether  mysterious,  and  apparently  capricious 
and  fantastic.  Waiving  all  other  answers,  let  us  at 
once  proceed  to  that  which  seems  conclusive.  It  is 
true  that  Conscience  rarely  contemplates  so  distant  an 
object  as  the  welfare  of  all  sentient  beings;  —  but  to 
what  point  is  every  one  of  its  elements  directed? 
What,  for  instance,  is  the  aim  of  all  the  social  affec- 
tions?—  Nothing  but  the  production  of  larger  or 
smaller  masses  of  happiness  among  those  of  our  fellow- 
creatures  who  are  the  objects  of  these  affections.  In 
every  case  these  affections  promote  happiness,  as  fiir 
as  their  foresight  and  their  power  extend.  What  can 
be  more  conducive,  or  even  necessary,  to  the  being  and 
well-being  of  society,  than  the  rules  of  justice?  Are 
not  the  angry  passions  themselves,  as  far  as  they  are 
ministers  ot»  Morality,  employed  in  removing  hinder- 
ances  to  the  welfare  of  ourselves  and  others,  and  so  in 
indirectly  promoting  it  ?  The  private  passions  termi- 
nate indeed  in  the  happiness  of  the  individual,  which, 
however,  is  a  part  of  general  happiness,  and  the  ])art 
over  which  we  have  most  power.  Every  principle  of 
which  Conscience  is  composed  has  some  portion  of 
happiness  for  its  object :  to  that  point  they  all  con- 
verge.    General  happiness  is  not  indeed  one  of  the 


268  DISSERTATION   ON    THE   PROGRESS 

natural  objects  of  Conscience,  because  our  voluntary 
acts  are  not  felt  and  perceived  to  affect  it.  But  how 
small  a  step  is  left  for  Reason  !  It  only  casts  up  the 
items  of  the  account.  It  has  only  to  discover  that 
the  acts  of  those  who  labour  to  promote  separate  por- 
tions of  happiness  must  increase  the  amount  of  the 
whole.  It  may  be  truly  said,  that  if  observation  and 
experience  did  not  clearly  ascertain  that  beneficial 
tendency  is  the  constant  attendant  and  mark  of  all 
virtuous  dispositions  and  actions,  the  same  great  truth 
would  be  revealed  to  us  by  the  voice  of  Conscience. 
The  coincidence,  instead  of  being  arbitrary,  arises 
necessarily  from  the  laws  of  human  nature,  and  the 
circumstances  in  which  mankind  are  placed.  We 
perform  and  approve  virtuous  actions,  partly  because 
Conscience  regards  them  as  right,  partly  because  we  are 
prompted  to  them  by  good  aifections.  All  these  af- 
fections contribute  towards  general  well-being,  though 
it  is  not  necessary,  nor  would  it  be  fit,  that  the  agent 
should  be  distracted  by  the  contemplation  of  that 
vast  and  remote  object. 

The  various  relations  of  Conscience  to  Religion  we 
have  already  been  led  to  consider  on  the  principles  of 
Butler,  of  Berkeley,  of  Paley,  and  especially  of  Hart- 
ley, who  was  brought  by  his  own  piety  to  contemplate 
as  the  last  and  highest  stage  of  virtue  and  happiness, 
a  sort  of  self-annihilation,  which,  however  unsuitable 
to  the  present  condition  of  mankind,  yet  places  in 
the  strongest  light  the  disinterested  character  of  the 
system,  of  which  it  is  a  conceivable,  though  perhaps 
not  attainable,  result.  The  completeness«and  rigour 
acquired  by  Conscience,  when  all  its  dictates  are  re- 
vered as  the  commands  of  a  perfectly  wise  and  good 
Being,  are  so  obvious,  that  they  cannot  be  questioned 
by  any  reasonable  man,  however  extensive  his  incre- 
dulity may  be.  It  is  thus  that  she  can  add  the 
warmth  of  an  affection  to  the  inflexibility  of  prin- 
ciple and  habit.  It  is  true  that,  in  examining  the 
evidence  of  the  divine  original  of  a  religious  system, 


OF   ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  269 

in  estimating  an  imperfect  religion,  or  in  compar- 
ing the  demerits  of  religions  of  human  origin,  hers 
must  be  the  standard  chiefly  applied ;  but  it  follows 
•with  equal  clearness,  that  those  who  have  the  happi- 
ness to  find  satisfaction  and  repose  in  divine  revelation 
are  bound  to  consider  all  those  precepts  for  the  govern- 
ment of  the  Will,  delivered  by  her,  which  are  manifestly 
universal,  as  the  rules  to  which  all  their  feelings  and 
actions  should  conform.  The  true  distinction  between 
Conscience  and  a  taste  for  moral  beauty  has  already 
been  pointed  out  *  ;  —  a  distinction  which,  notwith- 
standing its  simplicity,  has  been  unobserved  by  philo- 
sophers, perhaps  on  account  of  the  frequent  co-opera- 
tion and  intermixture  of  the  two  feelings.  Most 
speculators  have  either  denied  the  existence  of  the 
taste,  or  kept  it  out  of  view  in  their  theory,  or  exalted 
it  to  the  place  which  is  rightfully  filled  only  by  Con- 
science. Yet  it  is  perfectly  obvious  that,  like  all  the 
other  feelings  called  "  pleasures  of  imagination,"  it 
terminates  in  delightful  contemplation,  while  the 
Moral  Faculty  always  aims  exclusively  at  voluntary 
action.  Nothing  can  more  clearly  show  that  this  last 
quality  is  the  characteristic  of  Conscience,  than  its 
being  thus  found  to  distinguish  that  faculty  from  the 
sentiments  which  most  nearly  resemble  it,  most  fre- 
quently attend  it,  and  are  most  easily  blended  with  it. 


Some  attempt  has  now  been  made  to  develope  the 
fundamental  principles  of  Ethical  theory,  in  that  his- 
torical order  in  which  meditation  and  discussion 
brought  them  successively  into  a  clearer  light.  That 
attempt,  as  far  as  it  regards  Great  Britain,  is  at  least 
chronologically  complete.  The  spirit  of  bold  specula- 
tion, conspicuous  among  the  English  of  the  seven- 
teenth century,  languished  after  the  earlier  part  of  the 
eighteenth,  and  seems,  from  the  time  of  Hutcheson,  to 

*  Sec  supra,  p.  172. 


270  DISSERTATIOX   ON   THE   PEOGRESS 

have  passed  into  Scotland,  where  it  produced  Hume, 
the  greatest  of  sceptics,  and  Smith,  the  most  eloquent 
of  modern  moralists  ;  besides  giving  rise  to  that  sober, 
modest,  perhaps  timid  philosophy  which  is  commonly- 
called  Scotch,  and  which  has  the  singular  merit  of 
having  first  strongly  and  largely  inculcated  the  abso- 
lute necessity  of  admitting  certain  principles  as  the 
foundation  of  all  reasoning,  and  the  indispensable  con- 
ditions of  thought  itself.  In  the  eye  of  the  moralist 
all  the  philosophers  of  Scotland,  —  Hume  and  Smith 
as  much  as  Reid,  Campbell,  and  Stewart,  —  have  also 
the  merit  of  having  avoided  the  Selfish  system,  and  of 
having,  under  v^^hatever  variety  of  representation, 
alike  maintained  the  disinterested  nature  of  the  social 
affections  and  the  supreme  authority  of  the  Moral 
Sentiments.  Brown  reared  the  standard  of  revolt 
against  the  masters  of  the  Scottish  School,  and  in  reality, 
still  more  than  in  words,  adopted  those  very  doctrines 
against  which  his  predecessors,  after  their  war  against 
scepticism,  uniformly  combated.  The  law  of  Associa- 
tion, though  expressed  in  other  language,  became  the 
nearly  universal  principle  of  his  system  ;  and  perhaps 
it  would  have  been  absolutely  universal,  if  he  had  not 
been  restrained  rather  by  respectful  feelings  than  by 
cogent  reasons.  With  him  the  love  of  speculative 
philosophy,  as  a  pursuit,  appears  to  have  expired  in 
Scotland.  There  are  some  symptoms,  yet  however 
very  faint,  of  the  revival  of  a  taste  for  it  among  the 
English  youth  :  while  in  France  instruction  in  it  has 
been  received  with  approbation  from  M.  Royer  Col- 
lard,  the  scholar  of  Stewart  more  than  of  Reid,  and 
with  enthusiasm  from  his  pupil  and  successor  M. 
Cousin,  who  has  clothed  the  doctrines  of  the  Schools 
of  Germany  in  an  unwonted  eloquence,  which  always 
adorns,  but  sometimes  disguises  them. 

The  history  of  political  philosophy,  even  if  its  ex- 
tent and  subdivisions  were  better  defined,  would  ma- 
nifestly have  occupied  another  dissertation,  at  least 
equal  in  length  to  the  present.     The  most  valuable 


4 


OF    ETHICAL   rniLOSOPHT.  271 

parts  of  it  belong  to  civil  history.  It  has  too  much  of 
the  spirit  of  faction  and  turbulence  infused  into  it  to 
be  easily  combined  -with  the  calmer  history  of  the 
progress  of  Science,  or  even  with  that  of  the  revolu- 
tions of  speculation.  In  no  age  of  the  world  were  its 
principles  so  interwoven  with  political  events,  and  so 
deej^ly  imbued  with  the  passions  and  divisions  excited 
by  them,  as  in  the  eighteenth  century. 

It  was  at  one  time  the  purpose,  or  rather  perhaps  the 
hope,  of  the  writer,  to  close  this  discourse  by  an  ac- 
count of  the  Ethical  systems  which  have  prevailed  in 
Germany  during  the  last  half  century  ;  — which,  main- 
taining the  same  sjDirit  amidst  great  changes  of  tech- 
nical language,  and  even  of  speculative  principle,  have 
now  exclusive  possession  of  Europe  to  the  north  of 
the  Rhine,  —  have  been  welcomed  by  the  French  youth 
with  open  arms,  —  have  roused  in  some  measure  the 
languishing  genius  of  Italy,  but  are  still  little  known, 
and  unjustly  estimated  by  the  mere  English  reader. 
He  found  himself,  however,  soon  reduced  to  the  neces- 
sity of  either  being  superficial,  and  by  consequence 
uninstructive,  or  of  devoting  to  that  subject  a  far 
longer  time  than  he  can  now  spare,  and  a  much  larger 
space  than  the  limits  of  this  work  would  probably 
allow.  The  majority  of  readers  will,  indeed,  be  more 
disposed  to  require  an  excuse  for  the  extent  of  what 
has  been  done,  than  for  the  relinquishment  of  pro- 
jected additions.  All  readers  must  agree  that  this 
is  peculiarly  a  subject  on  which  it  is  better  to  be 
silent  than  to  say  too  little. 

A  very  few  observations,  however,  on  the  German 
philosophy,  as  far  as  relates  to  its  ethical  bearings  and 
influence,  may  perhaps  be  pardoned.  These  remarks 
are  not  so  much  intended  to  be  applied  to  the  moral 
doctrines  of  that  school,  considered  in  themselves,  as 
to  those  apparent  defects  in  the  prevailing  systems  of 
Ethics  throughout  Europe,  which  seem  to  have  sug- 
gested the  necessity  of  their  adoption.  Kant  has  him- 
self acknowledged  that  his  whole  theory  of  the  perci- 


272  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

pient  and  intellectual  faculty  was  intended  to  protect 
the  first  principles  of  human  knowledge  against  the 
assaults  of  Hume.  In  like  manner,  his  Ethical  system 
is  evidently  framed  for  the  purpose  of  guarding  cer- 
tain principles,  either  directly  governing,  or  power- 
fully affecting  practice,  which  seemed  to  him  to  have 
been  placed  on  unsafe  foundations  by  their  advocates, 
and  which  were  involved  in  perplexity  and  confusion, 
especially  by  those  who  adapted  the  results  of  various 
and  sometimes  contradictory  systems  to  the  taste  of 
multitudes, — more  eager  to  know  than  prepared  to 
be  taught.  To  the  theoretical  Reason  the  former 
superadded  the  Practical  Reason,  which  had  peculiar 
laws  and  principles  of  its  own,  from  which  all  the  rules 
of  Morals  may  be  deduced.  The  Practical  Reason  can- 
not be  conceived  without  these  laws  ;  therefore  they 
are  inherent.  It  perceives  them  to  be  necessary  and 
universal.  Hence,  by  a  process  not  altogether  dissi- 
milar, at  least  in  its  gross  results,  to  that  which  was 
employed  for  the  like  purpose  by  Cudworth  and 
Clarke,  by  Price,  and  in  some  degree  by  Stewart,  he 
raises  the  social  affections,  and  still  more  the  Moral 
Sentiments,  above  the  sphere  of  enjoyment,  and  be- 
yond that  series  of  enjoyments  which  is  called  happi- 
ness. The  performance  of  duty,  not  the  pursuit  of 
happiness,  is  in  this  system  the  chief  end  of  man.  By 
the  same  intuition  we  discover  that  Virtue  deserves 
happiness ;  and  as  this  desert  is  not  uniformly  so  re- 
quited in  the  present  state  of  existence,  it  compels  us 
to  believe  a  moral  government  of  the  world,  and  a 
future  state  of  existence,  in  which  all  the  conditions  of 
the  Practical  Reason  will  be  realised  ;  —  truths  of 
which,  in  the  opinion  of  Kant,  the  argumentative 
proofs  were  at  least  very  defective,  but  of  which  the 
revelations  of  the  Practical  Reason  afforded  a  more 
conclusive  demonstration  than  any  process  of  reason- 
ing could  supply.  The  Understanding,  he  owned,  saw 
nothing  in  the  connection  of  motive  with  volition  dif- 
ferent from  what  it  discovered  in  every  other  uniform 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  273 

sequence  of  a  cause  and  an  effect.  But  as  the  moral  law 
delivered  by  the  Practical  Reason  issues  peremptory 
and  inflexible  commands,  the  power  of  always  obeying 
them  is  implied  in  their  very  nature.  All  individual 
objects,  all  outward  things,  must  indeed  be  viewed  in 
the  relation  of  cause  and  effect :  these  last  are  necessary 
conditions  of  all  reasoning.  But  the  acts  of  the  faculty 
which  wills,  of  which  we  are  immediately  conscious, 
belong  to  another  province  of  mind,  and  are  not  sub- 
ject to  these  laws  of  the  theoretical  Eeason.  The 
mere  intellect  must  still  regard  them  as  necessarily 
connected  ;  but  the  Practical  Reason  distinguishes  its 
own  liberty  from  the  necessity  of  nature,  conceives 
volition  without  at  the  same  time  conceiving  an  ante- 
cedent to  it,  and  regards  all  moral  beings  as  the  ori- 
ginal authors  of  their  own  actions. 

Even  those  who  are  unacquainted  with  this  compli- 
cated and  comprehensive  system,  will  at  once  see  the 
slightness  of  the  above  sketch  :  those  who  understand 
it,  will  own  that  so  brief  an  outline  could  not  be  other- 
wise than  slight.  It  will,  however,  be  sufficient  for 
the  present  purpose,  if  it  render  what  follows  intelli- 
gible. 

With  respect  to  what  is  called  the  "Practical  Reason," 
the  Kantian  system  varies  from  ours,  in  treating  it  as 
having  more  resemblance  to  the  intellectual  powers 
than  to  sentiment  and  emotion  : — enough  has  already 
been  said  on  that  question.  At  the  next  step,  however, 
the  difference  seems  to  resolve  itself  into  a  misunder- 
standing. The  character  and  dignity  of  the  human 
race  surely  depend,  not  on  the  state  in  which  they  are 
born,  but  on  that  which  they  are  all  destined  to  attain, 
or  to  approach.  No  man  would  hesitate  in  assenting 
to  this  observation,  when  applied  to  the  intellectual 
faculties.  Thus,  the  human  infant  comes  into  the 
world  imbecile  and  ignorant ;  but  a  vast  majority  ac- 
quire some  vigour  of  reason  and  extent  of  knowledge. 
Strictly,  the  human  infant  is  born  neither  selfish  nor 
social ;  but  a  far  greater  part  acquire  some  provident 

VOL.  L  T 


274  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

regard  to  their  own  welfare,  and  a  number,  probably 
not  much  smaller,  feel  some  sparks  of  affection  towards 
others.  On  our  principles,  therefore,  as  much  as  on 
those  of  Kant,  human  nature  is  capable  of  disinterested 
sentiments.  For  we  too  allow  and  contend  that  our 
Moral  Faculty  is  a  necessary  part  of  human  nature,  — 
that  it  unwer sally  exists  in  human  beings,  —  and  that 
we  cannot  conceive  any  moral  agents  without  qualities 
which  are  either  like,  or  produce  the  like  effects.  It 
is  necessarily  regarded  by  us  as  co-extensive  with 
human,  and  even  with  moral  nature.  In  what  other 
sense  can  universality  be  predicated  of  any  proposition 
not  identical  ?  Why  should  it  be  tacitly  assumed  that 
all  these  great  characteristics  of  Conscience  should 
necessarily  presuppose  its  being  unformed  and  unde- 
rived?  What  contradiction  is  there  between  them 
and  the  theory  of  regular  and  uniform  formation  ? 

In  this  instance  it  would  seem  that  a  general  assent 
to  truth  is  chiefly,  if  not  solely,  obstructed  by  an  invete- 
rate prejudice,  arising  from  the  mode  in  which  the 
questions  relating  to  the  affections  and  the  Moral 
Faculty  have  been  discussed  among  ethical  philoso- 
phers. Generally  speaking,  those  who  contend  that 
these  parts  of  the  mind  are  acquired,  have  also  held 
that  they  are,  in  their  perfect  state,  no  more  than 
modifications  of  self-love.  On  the  other  hand,  phi- 
losophers "  of  purer  fire,"  who  felt  that  Conscience 
is  sovereign,  and  that  affection  is  disinterested,  have 
too  hastily  fancied  that  their  ground  was  untenable, 
without  contending  that  these  qualities  were  inherent 
or  innate,  and  absolutely  underived  from  any  other 
properties  of  Mind.  If  a  choice  were  necessary  be- 
tween these  two  systems  as  masses  of  opinion,  without 
any  freedom  of  discrimination  and  selection,  I  should 
unquestionably  embrace  that  doctrine  which  places 
in  the  clearest  light  the  reality  of  benevolence  and  the 
authority  of  the  Moral  Faculty.  But  it  is  surely  easy 
to  apply  a  test  which  may  be  applied  to  our  concep- 
tions as  effectually  as  a  decisive  experiment  is  applied 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  275 

to  material  substances.  Docs  not  lie  who,  whatever 
he  may  think  of  the  origin  of  these  parts  of  human 
nature,  believes  that  actually  Conscience  is  supreme, 
and  affection  terminates  in  its  direct  object,  retain  all 
that  for  which  the  partisans  of  the  underived  princi- 
ples value  and  cling  to  their  system  ?  "  But  they  are 
made,"  these  philosophers  may  say,  "  by  this  class  of 
our  antagonists,  to  rest  on  insecure  foundations :  un- 
less they  are  underived,  we  can  see  no  reason  for  re- 
garding them  as  independent."  In  answer,  it  may 
be  asked,  how  is  connection  between  these  two  quali- 
ties established  ?  It  is  really  assumed.  It  finds  its 
way  easily  into  the  mind  under  the  protection  of  an- 
other coincidence,  which  is  of  a  totally  different  nature. 
The  great  majority  of  those  speculators  who  have 
represented  the  moral  and  social  feelings  as  acquired, 
have  also  considered  them  as  being  mere  modifications 
of  self-love,  and  sometimes  as  being  casually  formed 
and  easily  eradicated,  like  local  and  temporary  pre- 
judices. But  when  the  nature  of  our  feelings  is 
thoroughly  explored,  is  it  not  evident  that  this  coin- 
cidence is  the  result  of  superficial  confusion  ?  The 
better  moralists  observed  accurately,  and  reasoned 
justly,  on  the  province  of  the  Moral  Sense  and  the  feel- 
ings in  the  formed  and  mature  man  :  they  reasoned 
mistakenly  on  the  origin  of  these  principles.  But  the 
Epicureans  were  by  no  means  right,  even  on  the  lat- 
ter question  ;  and  they  were  totally  wrong  on  the 
other,  and  far  more  momentous,  part  of  the  subject : 
their  error  is  more  extensive,  and  infinitely  more 
injurious.  But  what  should  now  hinder  an  inquirer 
after  truth  from  embracing,  but  amending  their  doc- 
trine where  it  is  partially  true,  and  adopting  without 
any  change  the  just  description  of  the  most  important 
principles  of  human  nature  which  we  owe  to  their 
more  enlightened  as  well  as  more  generous  antago- 
nists ? 

Tliough  unwilling  to  abandon   the  arguments  by 
which,  from  the  earliest  times,  the  existence  of  tlio 

T  2 


276  DISSERTATION   ON    THE   PROGRESS 

Supreme  and  Eternal  Mind  has  been  established,  we, 
as  well  as  the  German  philosophers,  are  entitled  to 
call  in  the  help  of  our  moral  nature  to  lighten  the 
jurden  of  those  tremendous  difficulties  which  cloud 
His  moral  government.  The  moral  nature  is  an 
actual  part  of  man,  as  much  on  our  scheme  as  on 
theirs. 

Even  the  celebrated  questions  of  Liberty  and  Neces- 
sity may  perhaps  be  rendered  somewhat  less  perplex- 
ing, if  we  firmly  bear  in  mind  that  peculiar  relation 
of  Conscience  to  the  Will  which  we  have  attempted  to 
illustrate.  It  is  impossible  for  Reason  to  consider 
occurrences  otherwise  than  as  bound  together  by  the 
connection  of  cause  and  effect ;  and  in  this  circum- 
stance consists  the  strength  of  the  Necessitarian  sys- 
tem. But  Conscience,  which  is  equally  a  constituent 
part  of  the  mind,  has  other  laws.  It  is  composed  of 
emotions  and  desires,  ivhich  contemplate  only  those  dis- 
positions which  depend  on  the  Will.  Now,  it  is  the 
nature  of  an  emotion  to  withdraw  the  mind  from  the 
contemplation  of  every  idea  but  that  of  the  object 
which  excites  it :  while  every  desire  exclusively  looks 
at  the  object  which  it  seeks.  Every  attempt  to  enlarge 
the  mental  vision  alters  the  state  of  mind,  weakens 
the  emotion,  or  dissipates  the  desire,  and  tends  to 
extinguish  both.  If  a  man,  while  he  was  pleased  with 
the  smell  of  a  rose,  were  to  reflect  on  the  chemical 
combinations  from  which  it  arose,  the  condition  of  his 
mind  would  be  changed  from  an  enjoyment  of  the 
senses  to  an  exertion  of  the  Understanding.  If,  in  the 
view  of  a  beautiful  scene,  a  man  were  suddenly  to 
turn  his  thoughts  to  the  disposition  of  water,  vegeta- 
bles, and  earths,  on  which  its  appearance  depended, 
he  might  enlarge  his  knowledge  of  Geology,  but  he 
must  lose  the  pleasure  of  the  prospect.  The  anatomy 
and  analysis  of  the  flesh  and  blood  of  a  beautiful 
woman  necessarily  suspend  admiration  and  affection. 
Many  analogies  here  present  themselves.  When  life 
is  in  danger  either  in  a  storm  or  a  battle,  it  is  certain 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  277 

that  less  fear  is  felt  by  the  commander  or  the  pilot, 
and  even  by  the  private  soldier  actively  engaged,  or 
the  common  seaman  laboriously  occupied,  than  by  those 
who  are  exposed  to  the  peril,  but  not  employed  in  the 
means  of  guarding  against  it.     The  reason  is  not  that 
the  one  class  believe  the  danger  to  be  less :  they  are 
likely  in  many  instances  to  perceive  it  more  clearly. 
But  having  acquired  a  habit  of  instantly  turning  their 
thoughts  to  the  means  of  counteracting  the  danger, 
their  minds  are  thrown  into  a  state  which  excludes 
the  ascendancy  of  fear.     Mental  fortitude  entirely  de- 
pends on  this  habit.     The  timid  horseman  is  haunted 
by  the  fear  of  a  fall :  the  bold  and  skilful  thinks  only 
about  the  best  way  of  curbing  or  supporting  his  horse. 
Even  when  all  means  of  avoidin";  danjjer  are  in  both 
cases  evidently  unavailable,  the  brave  man  still  owes 
to  his  fortunate  habit  that  he  does  not  suffer  the  agony 
of  the  coward.     Many  cases  have  been  known  where 
fortitude  has  reached  such  strength  that  the  faculties, 
instead  of  being   confounded   by  danger,  are   never 
raised  to  their  highest  activity  by  a  less  violent  sti- 
mulant.    The  distinction  between  such  men  and  the 
coward  does  not  depend  on  difference  of  opinion  about 
the  reality  or  extent  of  the  danger,  but  on  a  state  of 
mind  which  renders  it  more  or  less  accessible  to  fear. 
Though  it  must  be  owned  that  the  Moral  Sentiments 
are  very  different  from  any  other  human  faculty,  yet 
the  above  observations  seem  to  be  in  a  great  measure 
applicable  to  every  state  of  mind.     The  emotions  and 
desires  which  compose  Conscience,  while  they  occupy 
the  mind,  must  exclude  all  contemplation  of  the  cause 
in  which  the  object  of  these  feelings  may  have  origi- 
nated.    To  their  eye  the  voluntary  dispositions  and 
actions,  their  sole  object,  must  appear  to  be  the  first 
link  of  a  chain :  in  the  view  of  Conscience  these  have 
no  foreign  origin,  and  her  view,  constantly  associated 
as  she  is  with  all  volitions^  becomes  habitual.     Being 
always   possessed   of  some,    and    capable   of   intense 
warmth,  it  predominates  over  the  habits  of  thinking 

T  3 


278  DISSERTATION   ON    THE   PROGRESS 

of  those  few  who  are   employed  in  the  analyses  of 
mental  occupations. 

The  reader  who  has  in  any  degree  been  inclined  to 
adopt  the  explanations  attempted  above,  of  the  im- 
perative character  of  Conscience,  may  be  disposed  also 
to  believe  that  they  afford  some  foundation  for  that 
conviction  of  the  existence  of  a  power  to  obey  its  com- 
mands, which  (it  ought  to  be  granted  to  the  German 
philosophers)  is  irresistibly  suggested  by  the  command- 
ing tone  of  all  its  dictates.     If  such  an  explanation 
should  be  thought  worthy  of  consideration,  it  must 
be  very  carefully  distinguished  from  that  illusive  sense 
by  which  some  writers  have  laboured  to  reconcile  the 
feeling  of  liberty  with  the  reality  of  necessity.*     In 
this  case  there  is  no  illusion ;  nothing  is  required  but 
the  admission    that    every  faculty  observes  its  own 
laws,  and  that  when  the  action   of  the  one  fills  the 
mind,  that  of  every  other  is  suspended.    The  ear  can- 
not see,  nor  can  the  eye  hear :  why  then  should  not 
the  greater  powers  of  Reason  and  Conscience  have 
different  habitual  modes  of  contemplating  voluntary 
actions  ?     How  strongly  do  experience  and  analogy 
seem  to  require  the  arrangement  of  motive  and  voli- 
tion under  the  class  of  causes  and  effects !    With  what 
irresistible  power,  on  the  other  hand,  do  all  our  moral 
sentiments  remove  extrinsic  agency  from  view,  and 
concentrate  all  feeling  in  the  agent  himself!    The  one 
manner  of  thinking  may  predominate  among  the  spe- 
culative few  in  their  short  moments  of  abstraction  ;  the 
other  will  be  that  of  all  other  men,  and  of  the  specu- 
lator himself,  when  he  is  called  upon  to  act,  or  when 
his  feelings  are  powerfully  excited  by  the  amiable  or 
odious  dispositions  of  his  fellow-men.    In  these  work- 
ings of  various  faculties  there  is  nothing  that  ca^  be 
accurately  described  as  contrariety  of  opinion.     An 
intellectual  state,  and  a  feeling,  never  can  be  contrary 

*  Lord  Karnes,  in  his  Essays  on  Morality  and  Natural  Religion 
and  in  his  Sketches  of  the  History  of  Man. 


OF    ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  279 

to  each  other  :  thej  are  too  utterly  incapable  of  com- 
parison to  be  the  subject  of  contrast ;  they  are  agents 
of  a  perfectly  different  nature,  acting  in  different 
spheres.  A  feeling  can  no  more  be  called  true  or  false, 
than  a  demonstration,  considered  simply  in  itself,  can 
be  said  to  be  agreeable  or  disagreeable.  It  is  true,  in- 
deed, that  in  consequence  of  the  association  of  all 
mental  acts  with  each  other,  emotions  and  desires  may 
occasion  habitual  errors  of  judgment;  but  liability  to 
error  belongs  to  every  exercise  of  human  reason ;  it 
arises  from  a  multitude  of  causes  ;  it  constitutes,  there- 
fore, no  difficulty  peculiar  to  the  case  before  us. 
Neither  truth  nor  falsehood  can  be  predicated  of  the 
perceptions  of  the  senses,  but  they  lead  to  false 
opinions.  An  object  seen  through  different  mediums 
may  by  the  inexperienced  be  thought  to  be  no  longer 
the  same.  All  men  long  concluded  falsely,  from 
what  they  saw,  that  the  earth  was  stationary,  and  the 
sun  in  perpetual  motion  around  it :  the  greater  part 
of  mankind  still  adopt  the  same  error.  Newton  and 
Laplace  used  the  same  language  with  the  ignorant,  and 
conformed,  —  if  we  may  not  say  to  their  opinion,  —  at 
least  to  their  habits  of  thinking  on  all  ordinary  occa- 
sions, and  during  the  far  greater  part  of  their  lives. 
Nor  is  this  all :  the  language  which  represents  various 
states  of  mind  is  very  vague.  The  word  which  de- 
notes a  compound  state  is  often  taken  from  its  prin- 
cipal fact,  —  from  that  which  is  most  conspicuous, 
most  easily  called  to  mind,  most  warmly  felt,  or  most 
frequently  recurring.  It  is  sometimes  borrowed  from 
a  separate,  but,  as  it  were,  neighbouring  condition  of 
mind.  The  grand  distinction  between  thought  and 
feeling  is  so  little  observed,  that  we  are  peculiarly 
liable  to  confusion  on  this  subject.  Perhaps  when  Ave 
use  language  which  indicates  an  opinion  concerning 
the  acts  of  the  Will,  we  mav  mean  little  more  than  to 
express  strongly  and  warmly  the  moral  sentiments 
which  voluntary  acts  alone  call  up.  It  would  argue 
disrespect  for  the  human  understanding,  vainly  em- 

T   4 


280  DISSERTATION   ON   THE   PROGRESS 

ployed  for  so  many  centuries  in  reconciling  contradic- 
tory opinions,  to  propose  such  suggestions  without 
peculiar  diffidence;  but  before  they  are  altogether 
rejected,  it  may  be  well  to  consider,  whether  the  con- 
stant success  of  the  advocates  of  Necessity  on  one 
ground,  and  of  the  partisans  of  Free  Will  on  another, 
does  not  seem  to  indicate  that  the  two  parties  contem- 
plate the  subject  from  different  points  of  view,  that 
neither  habitually  sees  more  than  one  side  of  it,  and 
that  they  look  at  it  through  the  medium  of  different 
states  of  mind. 

It  should  be  remembered  that  these  hints  of  a 
possible  reconciliation  between  seemingly  repugnant 
opinions  are  proposed,  not  as  perfect  analogies,  but  to 
lead  men's  minds  into  the  inquiry,  whether  that  which 
certainly  befalls  the  mind,  in  many  cases  on  a  small 
scale,  may  not,  under  circumstances  favourable  to  its 
development,  occur  with  greater  magnitude  and  more 
important  consequences.  The  coward  and  brave  man, 
as  has  been  stated,  act  differently  at  the  approach  of 
danger,  because  it  produces  exertion  in  the  one,  and 
fear  in  the  other.  But  very  brave  men  must,  by  force 
of  the  term,  be  few :  they  have  little  aid  in  their 
highest  acts,  therefore,  from  fellow-feeling.  They  are 
often  too  obscure  for  the  hope  of  praise ;  and  they 
have  seldom  been  trained  to  cultivate  courage  as  a 
virtue.  The  very  reverse  occurs  in  the  different 
view  taken  by  the  Understanding  and  by  Conscience, 
of  the  nature  of  voluntary  actions.  The  conscien- 
tious view  must,  in  some  degree,  present  itself  to  all 
mankind ;  it  is  therefore  unspeakably  strengthened 
by  general  sympathy.  All  men  respect  themselves 
for  being  habitually  guided  by  it:  it  is  the  object 
)f  general  commendation  ;  and  moral  discipline  has 
no  other  aim  but  its  cultivation.  Whoever  does  not 
feel  more  pain  from  his  crimes  than  from  his  mis- 
fortunes, is  looked  on  with  general  aversion.  And 
when  it  is  considered  that  a  Being  of  perfect  wisdom 
and  goodness  estimates  us  according  to  the  degree  in 


OF   ETHICAL   PHILOSOPHY.  281 

which  Conscience  governs  our  voluntary  acts,  it  is 
surely  no  wonder  that,  in  this  most  important  discre- 
pancy between  the  great  faculties  of  our  nature,  we 
should  consider  the  best  habitual  disposition  to  be 
that  which  the  coldest  Reason  shows  us  to  be  most 
conducive  to  well-doing  and  well-being. 

On  every  other  point,  at  least,  it  would  seem  that, 
without  the  multiplied  suppositions  and  immense  ap- 
paratus of  the  German  school,  the  authority  of  Moral- 
ity may  be  vindicated,  the  disinterestedness  of  human 
nature  asserted,  the  first  principles  of  knowledge  se- 
cured, and  the  hopes  and  consolations  of  mankind 
preserved.  Ages  may  yet  be  necessary  to  give  to 
ethical  theory  all  the  forms  and  language  of  a  science, 
and  to  apply  it  to  the  multiplied  and  complicated  facts 
and  rules  which  are  within  its  province.  In  the  mean 
time,  if  the  opinions  here  unfolded,  or  intimated,  shall 
be  proved  to  be  at  variance  with  the  reality  of  social 
affections,  and  with  the  feeling  of  moral  distinction, 
the  author  of  this  Dissertation  will  be  the  first  to  re- 
linquish a  theory  which  will  then  show  itself  inade- 
quate to  explain  the  most  indisputable,  as  well  as  by 
far  the  most  important,  parts  of  human  nature.  If  it 
shall  be  shown  to  lower  the  character  of  Man,  to  cloud 
his  hopes,  or  to  impair  his  sense  of  duty,  he  will  ba 
grateful  to  those  who  may  point  out  his  error,  and 
deliver  him  from  the  poignant  regret  of  adopting 
opinions  which  lead  to  consequences  so  pernicious. 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Note  A.    page  32. 

The  remarks  of  Cicero  on  the  Stoicism  of  Cato  are  perhaps 
the  most  perfect  specimen  of  that  refined  raillery  which 
attains  the  object  of  the  orator  without  general  injustice 
to  the  person  whose  authority  is  for  the  moment  to  be 
abated :  — 

"  Accessit  his  tot  doctrina  non  moderata,  nee  mitis,  sed, 
ut  mibi  videtur,  paulo  asperior  et  durior  quam  aut  Veritas 
aut  natura  patiatur."  After  an  enumeration  of  the  Stoical 
paradoxes,  he  adds  :  "  Hsec  homo  ingeniosissimus,  M,  Cato, 
auctoribus  eruditissimis  inductus,  arripuit ;  neque  dispu- 
tandi  causa,  ut  magna  pars,  sed  ita  vivendi.  .  .  .  Nostri  autem 
isti  (fatebor  enim,  Cato,  me  quoque  in  adolescentia  diffisum 
ingenio  meo  qusesisse  adjumenta  doctrinse)  nostri,  inquam, 
illi  a  Platone  atque  Aristotele  moderati  homines  et  temperati 
aiunt  apud  sapientem  valere  aliquando  gratiam ;  viri  boni 
esse  misereri ;  .  .  .  omnes  virtutes  mediocritate  quadam  esse 
moderatas.  Hos  ad  magistros  si  qua  te  fortuna,  Cato,  cum 
ista  natura  detulisset,  non  tu  quidem  vir  melior  esses,  nee 
fortior,  nee  temperantior,  nee  justior  (neque  enim  esse 
potes),  sed  paulo  ad  lenitatem  propensior."  —  Pro  Murena. 
— Cap.  xxix  —  xxxi. 

JSToTE  B.   page  39. 

The  greater  part  of  the  following  extract  from  Grotius's 
History  of  the  Netherlands  is  inserted  as  the  best  abridg- 
ment of  the  ancient  history  of  these  still  subsisting  contro- 
versies known  in  our  time.  I  extract  also  the  introduction 
as  a  model  of  the  manner  in  which  an  historian  may  state  a 
religious  dispute  which  has  influenced  political  affairs  ;  but 
far  more  because  it  is  an  unparalleled  example  of  equity 
and  forbearance  in  the  narrative  of  a  contest  of  which  the 
historian  was  himself  a  victim  :  — 


NOTES   AND  ILLUSTRATIONS.  283 

"  Habuit  hie  annus  (1608)  baud  spernendi  quoque  mali 
seraina,  vix  ut  arma  desierant,  exorto  publicae  religionis  dis- 
sidio,  latentibus  initiis,  sed  ut  paulatim  in  majus  erumperet. 
Lugduni  sacras  literas  docebant  viri  eruditione  prajstantes 
Gomarus  et  Arminius ;  quorum  ille  fEterna  Dei  lege  fixum 
memorabat,  cui  hominum  salus  destinaretur,  quis  in  exitium 
tenderet;  inde  alios  ad  pietatem  trahi,  et  tractos  custodiri 
ne  elabantur ;  relinqui  alios  communi  humanitatis  vitio  et 
suis  criminibus  involutes  :  hie  vero  contra  integrum  judicem, 
sed  eundem  optimum  patrem,  id  reorum  fecisse  discrimen, 
ut  peccandi  pertaesis  fiduciamque  in  Christum  reponentibus 
veniam  ac  vitara  daret,  conturaacibus  poenam ;  Deoque 
gratum,  ut  omnes  resipiscant,  ac  meliora  edocti  retineant ; 
sed  cogi  neminem.  Accusabantque  invicem ;  Arminius 
Gomarum,  quod  peccandi  causas  Deo  ascriberet,  ac  fati  per- 
suasione  teneret  immobiles  animos ;  Gomarus  Arminiuin, 
quod  longius  ipsis  llomanensium  scitis  homlnem  ar^'ogantia 
impleret,  7iec  pateretur  soli  Deo  acceptam  ferri^  rem  inax- 
imam,  bunam  mentein.  Constat  his  queis  cura  legere  veterum 
libros,  antiquos  Christianorum  tribuisse  hominum  voluntati 
vim  liberam,  tam  in  acceptanda,  quam  in  retinenda  dis- 
ciplina ;  unde  sua  praemiis  ac  suppliciis  aequitas.  Neque 
iidem  tamen  omisere  cuncta  divinam  ad  bonitatem  referre, 
cujus  munere  salutare  semen  ad  nos  pervenisset,  ac  cujus 
singulari  auxilio  pericula  nostra  indigerent.  Primus  omnium 
Augustinus,  ex  quo  ipsi  cum  Pelagio  et  eum  secutis  cer- 
tamen  (nam  ante  aliter  et  ipse  senseret)^  acer  disputandi,  ita 
libertatis  vocem  relinquere,  ut  ei  decreta  quaedam  Dei 
praeponeret,  qua?  vim  ipsam  destruere  viderentur.  At  per 
Graaciam  quidem  Asinmque  retenta  vetus  ilia  ac  simplicior 
sententia.  Per  Occidentem  magnum  Augustini  nomen 
multos  traxit  in  consensum,  repertis  tamen  per  Galliam  et 
alibi  qui  se  opponerent,  posterioribus  steculis,  cum  schola 
non  alio  magis  quam  Augustino  doctore  uteretur,  quis  ipsi 
sensus,  quis  dexter  pugnare  visa  conciliandi  modus,  diu  inter 
Francisci  et  Dominici  familiam  disputato,  doctissimi  Jesu- 
itarum,  cum  exactiori  subtilitate  nodum  solvere  laborassent, 
Romx  accusati  aegre  damnationem  effugere.  At  Protestan- 
tium  princeps,  Lutherus,  egressus  monasterio  quod  Augustini 
ut  nomen,  ita  sensus  sequebatur,  parte  Augustini  arrepta, 
id  quod  is  reliquerat,  libertatis  nomen,  coepit  exscindere ; 
quod  tam  grave  Erasiuo  visum,  ut  cum  caetera  ipsius  aut 
probaret  aut  silentio  transmitteret,  hie  objiciat  sese:  cujus 


284  NOTES   AND  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

argumentis  motus  Philippus  Melanchthon,  Lutlieri  adjutor, 
quae  prius  scripserat  immutavit,  auctorque  fuit  Luthero, 
quod  multi  volunt,  certe  quod  constat  Lutheranis,  deserendi 
decreta  rigida  et  conditionem  respuentia ;  sic  tamen  ut 
libertatis  vocabulum  quam  rem  magis  perhorrescerent.  At 
in  altera  Protestantium  parte  dux  Calvinus,  primis  Lutheri 
dictis  in  hac  controversia  inhserescens,  novis  ea  fulsit  prae- 
sidiis,  addiditque  intactum  Augustino,  veram  ac  salutarem  Jidem 
rem  esse  perpeiuam  et  amitti  nesciam:  cujus  proinde  qui 
sibi  assent  conscii,  eos  geternas  felicitatis  jam  nunc  certos 
esse,  quos  interim  in  crimina,  quantumvis  gravia,  prolabi 
posse  non  diffitebatur.  Auxit  sententiae  rigorem  Genevae 
Beza,  per  Gerraaniam  Zanchius,  Ursinus,  Piscator,  s£epe  eo 
usque  provecti,  ut,  quod  alii  anxie  vitaverant,  apertius  non- 
nunquam  traderent,  etiam  peccandi  necessitatem  a  prima 
causa  pendere  :  quae  ampla  Lutheranis  criminandi  materia.'* 

—  Lib.  xvii.  p.  552. 

l!^oTE  C.   page  40. 

The  Calvinism,  or  rather  Augustinianism,  of  Aquinas  is 
placed  beyond  all  doubt  by  the  following  passages: —  "Prae- 
destinatio  est  causa  gratlaa  et  glorlae." — Opera  (Paris,  1664), 
vol.  vii.  p.   356.     "humerus  praedestinatorum  certus  est." 

—  p.  363.  "  Praescientia  meritorum  nullo  modo  est  causa 
praedestinationis  divine."  —  p.  370.  "  Liberum  arbitrium 
est  facultas  qua  bonum  eligitur,  gratia  assistente,  vel  malum, 
eadem  desistente." — vol.  viii.  p.  222.  "Deus  inclinat  ad 
bonum  administrando  virtutem  agendi  et  monendo  ad 
bonum.  Sed  ad  malum  dicitur  inclinare  in  quantum 
gratiam  non  praebet,  per  quam  aliquis  a  malo  retraheretur." 

—  p.  364.  On  the  other  side  :  "  Accipitur  fides  pro  eo  quo 
creditur,  et  est  virtus,  et  pro  eo  quod  creditur,  et  non  est 
virtus.  Fides  qua  creditur,  si  cum  caritate  sit,  virtus  est." 
— vol.  ix.  p.  236.  "Divina  bonitas  est  primum  principium 
communicationis  totius  quam  Deus  creaturis  largitur." 
"  Quamvis  omne  quod  Deus  vult  justum  sit,  non  tamen  ex 
hoc  justum  dicitur  quod  Deus  illud  vult." — p.  697. 

Note  D.  page  4L 

The  Augustinian  doctrine  is,  with  some  hesitation  and 
reluctance,  acquiesced  in  by  Scotus,  in  that  milder  form 


NOTES   AND  ILLUSTRATIONS.  285 

which  ascribes  election  to  an  express  decree,  and  considers 
the  rest  of  mankind  as  only  left  to  the  deserved  penalties  of 
their  transgressions.  "  In  hujus  quasstionis  solutione  mallem 
alios  audire  quam  docere."  —  Opera,  Lugd.  1639,  vol.  v.  p. 
1329.  This  modesty  and  prudence  is  foreign  to  the  dogma- 
tical genius  of  a  Schoolman ;  and  these  qualities  are  still 
more  apparent  in  the  very  remarkable  language  which  he 
applies  to  the  tremendous  doctrine  of  reprobation.  "  Eorum 
autem  non  miseretur  (scil.  Deus)  qiiihus  gratium  non  prce- 
hendam  esse  cequitate  occultissima  et  ah  humanis  sensihus 
remotissimd  judicat. —  p.  1329.  In  the  commentary  on  Scotus 
which  follows,  it  appears  that  his  acute  disciple  Ockham 
disputed  very  freely  against  the  opinions  of  his  master. 
"  JMala  fieri  honum  esV  is  a  startling  paradox,  quoted  by 
Scotus  from  Augustin.  —  p.  1381.  It  appears  that  Ockham 
saw  no  difference  between  election  and  reprobation,  and 
considered  those  who  embraced  only  the  former  as  at 
variance  with  themselves. —  p.  1313.  Scotus,  at  great  length, 
contends  that  our  thoughts  (consequently  our  opinions)  are 
not  subject  to  the  will.  —  vol.  vi.  pp.  1054 — 1056.  One 
step  more  would  have  led  him  to  acknowledge  that  all 
erroneous  judgment  is  involuntary,  and  therefore  inculpable 
and  unpunishable,  however  pernicious.  His  attempt  to 
reconcile  foreknowledge  with  contingency  (vol.  v.  pp.  1300 
— 1327),  is  a  remarkable  example  of  the  power  of  human 
subtlety  to  keep  up  the  appearance  of  a  struggle  where  it  is 
impossible  to  make  one  real  effort.  But  the  most  dangerous 
of  all  the  deviations  of  Scotus  from  the  system  of  Aquinas 
is,  that  he  opened  the  way  to  the  opinion  that  the  distinction 
of  right  and  wrong  depends  on  the  mere  will  of  the  Eternal 
Mind.  The  absolute  power  of  the  Deity,  according  to  him, 
extends  to  all  but  contradictions.  His  regular  power 
(prdinata)  is  exercised  conformably  to  an  order  established 
by  himself:  "si  placet  voluntati,  sub  qua  libera  est,  recta 
est  lex." — p.  1358.  et  seq. 

Note  E.   page  41. 

*AXXa  fiTfV  \pv)(T]v  yf  'mfitv  uKoimav  Traaav  rrdv  ayvoovffav. 
Plat.  Op.  (Bipont.  1781)  vol.  ii.  p.  224.  —  Tlanav  aKor'friov 
a^aOinv  nvai.  —  p.  227.  Plato  is  quoted  on  this  subject  by 
Marcus  Aurelius,  in  a  manner  which  shows,  if  there  had 
been  any  doubt,  the  meaning  to  be,  that  all  error  is  involun- 


286  NOTES   AND   ILLUSTRATIONS. 

tary.  Uciffa  if/y^V  aicov^a  (rrfpHrai  rrfg  d\r]9uaQ,  b)g  Xlyti 
JlXdroH'.  Every  mind  is  unwillingly  led  from  truth.  —  Epict. 
Dissert,  lib.  i.  cap.  xxviii.  Augustin  closes  the  long  line  of 
ancient  testimony  to  the  involuntary  character  of  error: 
"  Quis  est  qui  velit  decipi  ?  Fallere  nolunt  boni ;  falli 
autem  nee  boni  volunt  nee  mali." —  Sermo  de  Verbo. 

Note  F.   page  42. 

From  a  long,  able,  and  instructive  dissertation  by  the 
commentator  on  Scotus,  it  appears  that  this  immoral  dogma 
was  propounded  in  terms  more  bold  and  startling  by  Ock- 
ham,  who  openly  affirmed,  that  "  moral  evil  was  only  evil 
because  it  was  prohibited."  "  —  Ochamus,  qui  putat  quod 
nihil  posset  esse  malum  sine  voluntate  prohibitiva  Dei, 
hancque  voluntatem  esse  liberam;  sic  ut  posset  earn  non 
habere,  et  consequenter  ut  posset  fieri  quod  nulla  prorsus 
essent  mala."  —  Scot.  Op.  vol  vii.  p.  859.  But,  says  the 
commentator,  "  Dico  primo  legem  naturalem  non  consistere 
in  jussione  ulla  quas  sit  actus  voluntatis  Dei.  Haec  est  com- 
munissima  theologorum  sententia." — p.  858.  And  indeed 
the  reason  urged  against  Ockham  completely  justifies  this 
approach  to  unanimity.  "  For,"  he  asks,  "  why  is  it  right 
to  obey  the  will  of  God  ?  Is  it  because  our  moral  faculties 
perceive  it  to  be  right  ?  But  they  equally  perceive  and 
feel  the  authority  of  all  the  primary  principles  of  morality  ; 
and  if  this  answer  be  made,  it  is  obvious  that  those  who 
make  it  do  in  effect  admit  the  independence  of  moral  dis- 
tinctions on  the  will  of  God."  "  If  God,"  said  Ockham,  "  had 
commanded  his  creatures  to  hate  himself,  hatred  of  God 
would  have  been  praiseworthy."  —  Domin.  Soto  de  Justitia 
et  Jure,  lib.  ii.  quasst.  3,  "  Utrum  prcecepia  Decalogi  sint 
dispensahilia;''''  —  a  book  dedicated  to  Don  Carlos,  the  son  of 
Philip  II.  Suarez,  the  last  scholastic  philosopher,  rejected 
the  Ockhamical  doctrine,  but  allowed  will  to  be  a  part  of 
the  foundation  of  Morality.  "  Voluntas  Dei  non  est  tota 
ratio  bonitatis  aut  malitiae.  —  De  Legibus  (Lond.  1679),  p. 
71.  As  the  great  majority  of  the  Schoolmen  supported  their 
opinion  of  this  subject  by  the  consideration  of  eternal  and 
immutable  ideas  of  right  and  wrong  in  the  Divine  Intellect, 
it  was  natural  that  the  Nominalists,  of  whom  Ockham  was 
the  founder,  who  rejected  all  general  ideas,  should  also  have 
rejected  those  moral  distinctions  which  were  then  supposed 


I 


NOTES   AND   ILLUSTRATIONS.  287 

to  originate  in  such  ideas.  Gerson  was  a  celebrated  Nomi- 
nalist :  and  he  was  the  more  disposed  to  follow  the  opinions 
of  his  master  because  they  agreed  in  maintaining  the  inde- 
pendence of  the  State  on  the  Church,  and  the  superiority  of 
the  Church  over  the  Pope. 

Note   G.    page  43. 

It  must  be  premised  that  Charitas  among  the  ancient 
divines  corresponded  with  Epwt;  of  the  Platonists,  and  with 
the  0t\ia  of  later  philosophers,  as  comprehending  the  love 
of  all  that  is  loveworthy  in  the  Creator  or  his  creatures.  It 
is  the  theological  virtue  of  charity,  and  corresponds  with  no 
term  in  use  among  modern  moralists.  "  Cum  objectum 
araoris  sit  bonum,  dupliciter  potest  aliquis  tendere  in  bonum 
alicujusrei;  uno  modo,  quod  houuva  illius  rei  ad  altenim 
referat^  sicut  amat  quis  vinum  in  quantum  dulcedinem  vini 
peroptat ;  et  hie  amor  vocatur  a  quibusdam  amor  concupis- 
cent iai.  Amor  antem  iste  non  tenninatur  ad  rem  qiics  dicitur 
amari,  sed  rejlectitur  ad  rem  illam  cui  optatur  bonum  illhis  rei. 
Alio  modo  amor  fortior  in  bonum  alicujus  rei,  ita  quod  ad  rem 
ipsam  terminatur  ;  et  hie  est  amor  benevolentia}.  Qua  bo- 
num nostrum  in  Deo  perfectum  est,  sicut  in  causa  univer- 
sali  bonorum ;  ideo  bonum  in  ipso  esse  magis  naturaliter 
complacet  quam  in  nobis  ipsis  :  et  ideo  etiam  amore  amicitia^ 
naturaliter  Deus  ab  homine  plus  seipso  diligitur."  The 
above  quotations  from  Aquinas  will  probably  be  sufficient 
for  those  who  are  acquainted  with  these  questions,  and  they 
will  certainly  be  thought  too  large  by  those  who  are  not. 
In  the  next  question  he  inquires,  whether  in  the  love  of  God 
there  can  be  any  view  to  reward.  He  appears  to  consider 
himself  as  bound  by  authority  to  answer  in  the  affirmative ; 
and  he  emplovs  much  ingenuity  in  reconciling  a  certain  ex- 
pectation of  reward  with  the  disinterested  character  ascribed 
by  him  to  piety  in  common  with  all  the  all'ections  which 
terminate  in  other  beings.  "  Nihil  aliud  est  merces  nostra 
quam  perfrui  Deo.  Ergo  charitas  non  solum  non  excludit, 
sed  etiam  facit  habere  oculum  ad  mercedem."  In  this 
answer  he  seems  to  have  anticipated  the  representations  of 
Jeremy  Taylor  (Sermon  on  Growtli  in  Grace),  of  Lord 
Shaftesbury  (Inquiry  concerning  Virtue,  book  i.  part  ill. 
sect.  3.),  of  Mr.  T.  Erskine  (Freeness  of  the  Gospel,  Edin. 
1828),  and  more  especially  of  Mr.  John  Smith  (Discourses, 


288  NOTES   AND   ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Lond.  1660).  No  extracts  could  convey  a  just  conception 
of  the  observations  which  follow,  unless  they  were  accom- 
panied by  a  longer  examination  of  the  technical  language 
of  the  Schoolmen  than  would  be  warranted  on  this  occasion. 
It  is  clear  that  he  distinguishes  well  the  affection  of  piety 
from  the  happy  fruits,  which,  as  he  cautiously  expresses  it, 
"  are  in  the  nature  of  a  reward ;" — just  as  the  consideration 
of  the  pleasures  and  advantages  of  friendship  may  enter 
into  the  affection  and  strengthen  it,  though  they  are  not  its 
objects,  and  never  could  inspire  such  a  feeling.  It  seems 
to  me  also  that  he  had  a  dimmer  view  of  another  doctrine, 
by  which  we  are  taught,  that  though  our  own  happiness  be 
not  the  end  which  we  pursue  in  loving  others,  yet  it  may  be 
the  final  cause  of  the  insertion  of  disinterested  affections 
into  the  nature  of  man.  "  Ponere  mercedem  aliquam  finem 
amoris  ex  parte  amati,  est  contra  rationem  amicitiae.  Sed 
ponere  mercedem  esse  finem  amoris  ex  parte  amantis,  non 
tamen  ultimam,  prout  scilicet  ipse  amor  est  quaedam  operatic 
amantis,  non  est  contra  rationem  amicitiae.  Possum  opera- 
tionem  amoris  amare  propter  aliquid  aliud,  salva  amicitia. 
Potest  habeas  charitatem  habere  oculum  ad  mercedem^  uti 
ponat  beatitudinem  creatam  finem  amoris,  non  autem.  finem 
amatV  Upon  the  last  words  my  interpretation  chiefly 
depends.  The  immediately  preceding  sentence  must  be 
owned  to  have  been  founded  on  a  distinction  between  view- 
ing the  good  fruits  of  our  own  affections  as  enhancing  their 
intrinsic  pleasures,  and  feeling  love  for  another  on  account 
of  the  advantage  to  be  derived  from  him ;  which  last  is  in- 
conceivable. 

IS'oTE   H.    page  43. 

"  Potestas  spiritualis  et  secularis  utraque  deducitur  a 
potestate  divina ;  ideo  in  tantum  secularis  est  sub  spirituali, 
in  quantum  est  a  Deo  supposita ;  scilicet,  in  his  quse  ad 
salutem  animae  pertinent.  In  his  autem  quae  ad  bonum 
civile  spectant,  est  magis  obediendum  potestati  seculari ; 
sicut  illud  Matthaei,  '  Reddite  quae  sunt  Caesaris  Caesari.' " 
What  follows  is  more  doubtful.  "...  Nisi  forte  potestati 
spirituali  etiam  potestas  secularis  conjungatur,  ut  in  Papa, 
qui  utriusque  potestatis  apicem  tenet."  —  Op.  vol.  viii.  p. 
435.  Here,  says  the  French  editor,  it  may  be  doubted 
whether  Aquinas  means  the  Pope's  temporal  power  in  his 


NOTES   AND   ILLUSTRATIONS.  289 

own  dominions,  or  a  secular  authority  indirectly  extending 
over  all  for  the  sake  of  religion.  My  reasons  for  adopting 
the  more  rational  construction  are  shortly  these  : —  1.  The 
text  of  Matthew  is  so  plain  an  assertion  of  the  independence 
of  both  powers,  that  it  would  be  the  height  of  extravagance 
to  quote  it  as  an  authority  for  the  dependence  of  the  state. 
At  most  it  could  only  be  represented  as  reconcilable  with 
such  a  dependence  in  one  case.  2.  The  word  ''forte '  seems 
manifestly  to  refer  to  the  territorial  sovereignty  acquired 
by  the  Popes.  If  they  have  a  general  power  in  secular 
affairs,  it  must  be  because  it  is  necessary  to  their  spiritual 
authority  ;  and  in  that  case  to  call  it  fortuitous  would  be  to 
ascribe  to  it  an  adjunct  destructive  of  its  nature.  3.  His 
former  reasoning  on  the  same  question  seems  to  be  decisive. 
The  power  of  the  Pope  over  bishops,  he  says,  is  not  founded 
merely  in  his  superior  nature,  but  in  their  authority  being 
altogether  derived  from  his,  as  the  proconsular  power  from 
the  imperial.  Therefore  he  infers  that  this  case  is  not 
analogous  to  the  relation  between  the  civil  and  spiritual 
power,  which  are  alike  derived  from  God.  4.  HjuI  an 
Italian  monk  of  the  twelfth  century  really  intended  to  affirm 
the  Pope's  temporal  authority,  he  probably  would  have  laid 
it  down  in  terms  more  explicit  and  more  acceptable  at  Rome. 
Hesitation  and  ambiguity  are  here  indications  of  unbelief. 
Mere  veneration  for  the  apostolical  see  might  present  a  more 
precise  determination  against  it,  as  it  caused  the  quotation 
which  follows,  respecting  the  primacy  of  Peter. — A  mere 
abridgement  of  these  very  curious  ])assages  might  excite  a 
suspicion  that  I  had  tinctured  Aquinas  unconsciously  with 
a  colour  of  my  own  opinions.  Extracts  are  very  difficult, 
from  the  scholastic  method  of  stating  objections  and  answers, 
as  well  as  from  the  mixture  of  theological  authorities  with 
philosophical  reasons. 

XoTE  I.  page  46. 

The  debates  in  the  first  assembly  of  the  Council  of  Trent 
(a.  I).  1546)  between  the  Dominicans  who  adhered  to  Aquinas, 
and  the  Franciscans  who  followed  Scotus  on  original  sin, 
justification,  and  grace,  are  to  be  found  in  Fra  Paolo  (Istoria 
del  Concilio  Tridentino,  lib.  ii).  They  show  how  much 
metaphysical  controversy  is  liid  in  a  theological  form  ;  how 
many  dispute3  of  our  times  are  of  no  very  ancient  origin, 

VOL.  L  U 


290  NOTES   AND   ILLUSTRATIONS. 

and  how  strongly  the  whole  Western  Church,  through  all  the 
divisions  into  which  it  has  been  separated,  has  manifested 
the  same  unwillingness  to  avow  the  Augustinian  system, 
and  the  same  fear  of  contradicting  it.     To  his  admirably 
clear  and  short  statement  of  these  abstruse  controversies, 
must  be  added  that  of  his  accomplished  opponent  Cardinal 
Pallavicino  (Istoria,  &c.  lib.  vii.  et  viii.),  who  shows  still 
more  evidently  the  strength  of  the  Augustinian  party,  and 
the  disposition  of  the  Council  to  tolerate  opinions  almost 
Lutheran,  if  not  accompanied  by  revolt  from  the  Church. 
A  little  more  compromising  disposition  in  the  Reformers 
might  have  betrayed  reason  to  a  prolonged  thraldom.     We 
must  esteem  Erasmus  and  Melanchthon,  but  we  should  re- 
serve our  gratitude  for  Luther  and  Calvin.     The  Scotists 
maintained  their  doctrine  of  merit  of  congruity,  waived  by 
the  Council,   and  soon  after  condemned  by  the  Church  of 
England;  by  which  they  meant  that  they  who  had  good 
dispositions  always  received  the  Divine  grace,  not  indeed  as 
a  reward  of  which  they  were  worthy,  but  as  aid  which  they 
were  fit  and  willing  to  receive.     The  Franciscans  denied 
that  belief  was  in  the  power  of  man.     "  I  Francescaid  lo 
negavano  seguendo  Scoto,  qual  vuole  che  siccome  dalle  di- 
mostrazioni  per  necessita  nasce  la  scienza,  cosi  dalle  per- 
suasioni  nasca  la  fede ;  e  ch'  essa  e  nell'  intelletto,  il  quale 
e    agente   naturale,    e   mosso   naturalmente   dall'    oggetto. 
Allegavano  1'  esperienza,    che  nessuno  puo  credere  quelle 
clie  vuole,  ma  quello  che  gli  par  vero." — Era  Paolo,  Istoria, 
&c.    (Helmstadt,   1763,  4to.),    vol.  i.    p.    193.      Cardinal 
Sforza  Pallavicino,  a  learned  and  very  able  Jesuit,  was  ap- 
pointed, according  to  his  own  account,  in  16ol,  many  years 
after  the  death  of  Era  Paolo,  to  write  a  true  history  of  the 
Council  of  Trent,  as  a  corrective  of  the  misrepresentations 
of  the  celebrated  Venetian.     Algernon  Sidney,  who  knew 
this  court  historian  at  Rome,  and  who  may  be  believed  when 
he  speaks  well  of  a  Jesuit  and  a  cardinal,   commends  the 
work  in  a  letter  to  his  father.  Lord  Leicester.     At  the  end 
of  Pallavicino's  work  is  a  list  of  three  hundred  and  sixty 
errors  in  matters  of  fact,  which  the  Papal  party  pretend  to 
have  detected  in    the   inde))endent    historian,   whom    they 
charge  with  heresy  or  inlidelity,  and,  in  either  case,  with 
hypocrisy. 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTKATIOXS.  291 


"Note  K.   page  52. 

"  Hoc  tempore,  Ferdinando  et  Isabella  regnantibus,  in 
academia  Salmantina  jacta  sunt  robustioris  theologiae  se- 
mina ;  ingeiitis  eniin  famse  vir  Franciscus  de  Victoria,  noii 
tarn  lucubrationibus  editis,  quamvis  hsec  non  magnte  molis 
aut  magni  pretii  sint,  sed  doctissiniorum  theologorum  educa- 
tione,  quamdiu  fuerit  sacrse  scientiae  hoiios  inter  mortales, 
vehementer  laudabitur."  —  Antonio,  Bibiiotheca  Hispanica 
Xova,  (Madrid,  1783,)  in  praef.  "Si  ad  morum  instructores 
respicias,  Sotus  iterum  nominabitur." — Ibid. 

Note  L.    page  52. 

The  title  of  the  published  account  of  the  conference  at 
Yalladolid  is,  "  The  controversy  between  the  Bishop  of 
Chiapa  and  Dr.  Sepulveda ;  in  which  the  Doctor  contended 
that  the  conquest  of  the  Indies  from  the  natives  was  lawful, 
and  the  Bishop  maintained  that  it  was  unlawful,  tyrannical, 
and  unjust,  in  the  presence  of  many  theologians,  law  vers, 
and  other  learned  men  assembled  by  his  Majesty."  Bibl. 
Hisp.  Nova,  tom.  i.  p.  192. 

Las  Casas  died  in  1566,  in  the  92d  year  of  his  age ;  Se- 
pulveda died  in  1571,  in  his  82d  year.  Sepulveda  was  the 
scholar  of  Pompoiuitius,  and  a  friend  of  Erasmus,  Cardinal 
Pole,  Ahlus  Manutius,  &c.  In  his  book  "  De  Justis  Belli 
Causis  contra  Indos  suscepti,"  he  contended  only  that  the 
king  ought  justly  "  ad  ditionem  Indos,  non  herilem  sed 
regiam  et  civilem,  lege  belli  redigere." — Antonio,  voce  Se- 
pulveda, Bibl.  Hisp.  Nova,  tom.  i.  p.  703.  But  this  smooth 
and  specious  language  concealed  poison.  Had  it  entirely 
])revailed,  the  cruel  consequence  of  the  defeat  of  the  advo- 
cate of  the  oppressed  would  alone  have  remained ;  the 
limitations  and  softenings  employed  by  their  opponent  to 
obtain  success  would  have  been  speedily  disregarded  and 
forgotten.  Covarruvias,  another  eminent  Jurist,  was  sent 
by  Philip  H.  to  the  Council  of  Trent,  at  its  renewal  in 
1560,  and,  with  Cardinal  Buoncam]>agni,  drew  up  the  de- 
crees of  reformation.  Francis  Sanchez,  the  father  of  phi- 
losophical grammar,  published  his  Minerva  at  Salamanca  in 
1587  ;  —  so  active  was  the  cultivation  of  philosophy  in  Spaia 
in  the  ai'e  of  Cervantes. 

U  2 


292  NOTES   AND  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Note  M.   page  81. 

"Alors  en  repassant  dans  mon  esprit  les  diverses  opinions 
qui  m'avoient  tour-a-tour  entraine  depuis  ma  nalssance,  je 
vis  que  bien  qu'aucune  d'elles  ne  fut  assez  evidente  pour 
produire  immediatement  la  conviction,  elles  avoient  divers 
desires  de  vraisemblance,  et  que  I'assentiment  interieur  s'y 
pretoit  ou  s'y  refusoit  a  differentes  mesures.  Sur  cette 
premiere  observation,  comparant  entr'elles  toutes  ces  dif- 
ferentes idees  dans  le  silence  des  prejuges,  je  trouvai  que  la 
premiere,  et  la  plus  commune,  etoit  aussi  la  plus  simple  et 
la  plus  raisonnable ;  et  qu'ii  ne  lui  manquoit,  pour  reunir 
tous  les  suffrages,  que  d'avoir  ete  proposee  la  derniere. 
Imaginez  tous  vos  philosopbes  anciens  et  modernes,  ayant 
d'abord  epuise  leur  bizarres  systemes  de  forces,  de  chances, 
de  fatalite,  de  necessite,  d'atomes,  de  monde  anime,  de  ma- 
tiere  vivante,  de  materialisme  de  toute  espece ;  et  apres  eux 
tous  I'illustre  Clarke,  eclairant  le  monde,  annoncant  enfin 
TEtre  des  etres,  et  le  dispensateur  des  choses.  Avec  quelle 
universelle  admiration,  avec  quel  applaudissement  unanime 
n'eut  point  ete  re^u  ce  nouveau  systeme  si  grand,  si  conso- 
lant,  si  sublime,  si  propre  a  elever  Tame,  a  donner  une  base 
a  la  vertu,  et  en  meme  tems  si  frappant,  si  lumineux,  si 
simple,  et,  ce  me  semble,  offrant  moins  de  choses  incom- 
prehensibles  a  I'esprit  humain,  qu'il  n'en  trouve  d'absurdes 
en  tout  autre  systeme !  Je  me  disois,  les  objections  insolu- 
bles  sont  communes  a  tous,  parceque  I'esprit  de  I'homme 
est  trop  borne  pour  les  resoudre ;  elles  ne  prouvent  done 
rien  contre  aucun  par  preference :  mais  quelle  difference 
entre  les  preuves  directes!"  —  Rousseau,  (Euvres.  tomeix. 
p.  25. 

KoTE  N.   pages  105, 106. 

"  Est  autem  jus  quaedam  potentia  moralls,  et  oMigatio 
necessitas  moralis.  Moralem  autem  intelligo,  quae  apud 
virum  bonum  aequipollet  naturali :  Nam  et  praeclare  juris- 
consultus  Rom  anus  ait,  qucB  contra  honos  mores  sunt,  ea  nee 
facere  nos  posse  credendum  est.  Vir  bonus  autem  est,  qui 
amat  omnes,  quantum  ratio  permittit.  Justitiam  igitur, 
quae  virtus  est  hujus  affectus  rectrix,  quern  ^ikavQpojTriav 
Graeci  vocant,  commodissime,  ni  fallor,  definiemus  caritatem 
sapientis,  hoc  est,  sequentem  sapientiae  dictata.     Itaque, 


NOTES   AXD   ILLUSTRATIONS.  293 

quod  Cameades  dixisse  fertur,  justitiam  esse  sunimam 
stultitiam,  quia  alicnis  utilhatibus  consul!  jubeat,  neglectis 
propiiis,  ex  ignorata  ejus  definitione  natum  est.  Caritas 
est  benevolentia  universalis,  et  benevolentia  amandi  sive 
diligendi  habitus,  Amare  autem  sive  diligere  est  felicitate 
alterius  delectari,  vel,  quod  eodem  redit,  felicitatem  alienam 
adsciscere  in  suam.  Unde  difficllis  nodus  solvitur,  magni 
etiara  in  Theologia  momenti,  quomodo  amor  non  merce- 
iiarlus  detur,  qui  sit  a  spe  metuque  et  omni  utllitatisrespectu 
separatus :  scilicet,  quorum  utilitas  delectat,  eorum  felicitas 
nostram  ingreditur ;  nam  quae  delectant,  per  se  expetuntur. 
Et  uti  pulchrorum  contemplatio  ipsa  jucunda  est,  pictaque 
tabula  Raphaelis  intelligentem  afficit,  etsi  nullos  census 
ferat,  adeo  ut  in  oculis  deliciisque  feratur,  quodam  simulacro 
amoris ;  ita  quura  res  pulchra  simul  etiam  felicitatis  est 
capax,  transit  affectus  in  verum  amorem.  Superat  autem 
diviniLS  amor  alios  amores,  quos  Deus  cum  maximo  successu 
amare  potest,  quando  Deo  simul  et  felicius  nihil  est,  et 
nihil  pulchrius  felicitateque  dignius  intelligi  potest.  El 
quum  idem  sit  potentiae  sapientiajque  summse,  felicitas  ejus 
non  tantum  ingreditur  nostram  (si  sapimus,  id  est,  ipsum 
amamus),  sed  et  facit.  Quia  autem  sapientia  caritatem 
dirigere  debet,  hujus  quoque  definitione  opus  erit.  Arbltror 
autem  notion i  hominum  optime  satisfieri,  si  sapientiam  nihil 
aliud  esse  dicamus,  quam  ipsam  scientiam  felicitatis." — 
Leibnitii  Opera,  vol.  iv.  pars  ill.  p.  294.  "Etjus  quidem 
merum  sive  strictum  nascitur  ex  principlo  servandae  pacis  ; 
a?quitas  sive  caritas  ad  majus  aliquid  contendit,  ut,  dum 
quisque  alteri  prodest,  quantum  potest,  felicitatem  suam 
augeat  in  aliena  ;  et,  ut  verbo  dicam,  jus  strictum  miseriam 
vitat,  jus  superius  ad  felicitatem  tendlt,  sed  quails  in  hanc 
mortalitatem  cadlt.  Quod  vero  ipsam  vitam,  et  (^uicquid 
hanc  vitam  expetendam  facit,  magno  commodo  alieno  post- 
Labere  debeamus,  ita  ut  maximos  etiam  dolores  in  alioruni 
gratiam  perferre  oporteat;  magis  pulchre  prajclpitur  a  phi- 
losophis  quam  solide  demonstratur.  Nam  decus  et  gloriam, 
et  animi  sui  virtute  gaudentis  sensum,  ad  qua;  sub  honestatls 
nomme  provocant,  cogitationis  sive  mentis  bona  esse  con- 
stat, magna  quidem,  sed  non  omnibus,  nee  omni  malorum 
acerbitati  praevalitura,  quando  non  oinnes  aequc  imaginando 
afliciuntur ;  prajsertim  quos  ne(iue  educatlo  liberalis,  neque 
consuetudo  vivendi  ingenua,  vel  vitae  secta:*ve  disciplina  ad 
hoDoris  aestimationem,  vel  animi  bona  sentienda  assuefecit. 

u  3 


294  NOTES   AND  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Ut  verb  universali  demonstrationi  conficiatur,  omne  ho- 
nestum  esse  utile,  et  omne  turpe  damnosum,  assumenda  est 
inimortalitas  animae,  et  rector  universi  Deus.  Ita  fit,  ut 
omnes  in  civitate  in  perfectissima  vivere  intelligamur,  sub 
monarcha,  qui  nee  ob  sapientiam  falli,  nee  ob  potentiam 
vitari  potest;  idemque  tam  amabilis  est,  ut  felicitas  sit  tali 
dkjmino  servire.  Huic  igitur  qui  animam  impendit,  Christo 
docente,  earn  lucratur.  Hujus  potentia  providentiaque 
efiicitur,  ut  omne  jus  in  factum  transeat,  ut  nemo  Isedatur 
nisi  a  se  ipso,  ut  nihil  recte  gestum  sine  praemio  sit,  nullum 
peccatum  sine  poena." — p.  296. 

Note  O.    page  110. 

The  writer  of  this  Discourse  was  led,  on  a  former  occa- 
sion, by  a  generally  prevalent  notion,  to  confound  the  theo- 
logical doctrine  of  Predestination  with  the  philosophical 
opinion  which  supposes  the  determination  of  the  Will  to  be, 
like  other  events,  produced  by  adequate  causes.  (See  a  cri- 
ticism on  Mr.  Stewart's  Dissertation,  Edinb.  Review,  vol. 
xxxvi.  p.  225.)  More  careful  reflection  has  corrected  a 
contusion  common  to  him  with  most  writers  on  the  subject. 
What  is  called  "  Sublapsarian  Calvinism,"  which  was  the 
doctrine  of  the  most  eminent  men,  including  Augustin  and 
Calvin  himself,  ascribed  to  God,  and'  to  man  before  the  Fall, 
what  is  called  "  free-will,"  which  they  even  own  still  to  exist 
in  all  the  ordinary  acts  of  life,  though  it  be  lost  with  re- 
spect to  religious  morality.  The  decree  of  election,  on  this 
scheme,  arises  from  God's  foreknowledge  that  man  was  to 
fall,  and  that  all  men  became  thereby  with  justice  liable  to 
eternal  punishment.  The  election  of  some  to  salvation  was 
an  act  of  Divine  goodness,  and  the  pretention  of  the  rest 
was  an  exercise  of  holiness  and  justice.  •  This  Sublapsarian 
predestination  is  evidently  irreconcilable  with  the  doctrine 
of  Necessity,  which  considers  free-will,  or  volitions  not 
caused  by  motives,  as  absolutely  inconsistent  with  the  de- 
finition of  an  intelligent  being,  —  which  is,  that  he  acts  from 
a  motive,  or,  in  other  words,  with  a  purpose.  The  Supra- 
lapsarian  scheme,  which  represents  the  Fall  itself  as  fore- 
ordained, may  indeed  be  built  on  necessitarian  principles. 
But  on  that  scheme  original  sin  seems  wholly  to  lose  that 
importance  which  the  former  system  gives  it  as  a  revolution 
in  the  state  of  the  world,  requiring  an  interposition  of  Divine 


NOTES   AND   ILLUSTRATIONS.  295 

power  to  remedy  a  part  of  its  fatal  effects.  It  becomes  no 
more  than  the  first  link  in  the  chain  of  predestined  offences. 
Yet  both  Catholic  and  Protestant  predestinarians  have  bor- 
rowed the  arguments  and  distinctions  of  philosophical  ne- 
cessitarians. One  of  the  propositions  of  Jansenius,  con- 
demned by  the  bull  of  Innocent  X.  in  1653,  is,  that  "to 
merit  or  demerit  in  a  state  of  lapsed  nature,  it  is  not  neces- 
sary that  there  should  be  in  man  a  liberty  free  from  ne- 
cessity ;  it  is  sufficient  that  there  be  a  liberty  free  from 
constraint." — Dupin,  Histoire  de  I'Eglise  en  abrege,  livre 
iv.  chap.  viii.  Luther,  in  his  once  famous  treatise  De  Servo 
Arbitrio  against  Erasmus  (printed  in  1526),  expresses 
himself  as  follows  :  "  Hie  est  fidei  summus  gradus,  credere 
ilium  esse  clementem  qui  tam  paucos  salvat,  tam  multos 
damnat ;  credere  justum  qui  sua  voluntate  nos  necessario 
damnabiles  facit,  ut  videatur,  ut  Erasmus  refert,  delectari 
cruciatibus  miserorum,  et  odio  potius  quam  amore  dignus." 
(I\Iy  copy  of  this  stern  and  abusive  book  is  not  paged.) 
In  another  passage,  he  states  the  distinction  between  co- 
action  and  necessity  as  familiar  a  hundred  and  thirty  vears 
before  it  was  proposed  by  Hobbes,  or  condemned  in  the 
Jansenists.  "  Necessario  dico,  non  coacte,  sed,  ut  illi 
dicunt,  necessitate  immutabilitatis,  non  coactionis ;  hoc  est, 
homo,  cum  vocat  Spiritus  Dei,  non  quidem  violentia,  velut 
raptus  obtorto  collo,  nolens  facIt  malum,  queniadmodum 
fur  aut  latro  nolens  ad  poenam  ducitur,  sed  sponte  et  libera 
voluntate  facit."  He  uses  also  the  illustration  of  Hobbes, 
from  the  difference  between  a  stream  ybrce^  out  of  its  course 
and  freely  flowing  in  its  channel. 

[The  foUowinir  is  the  whole  of  the  passage  in  the  Edin- 
burirh  Review  referred  to  above  :  the  reader,  while  bearing 
in  mind  the  modification  of  opinion  there  announced,  may 
still  find  sufficient  interest  in  the  general  statement  of  the 
argument,  to  justify  its  admission  here.  —  Ed.] 

"...  It  would  be  inexcusable  to  revive  the  mention  of 
such  a  controversy  as  that  which  relates  to  Liberty  and 
Necessity,  for  any  other  purpose  than  to  inculcate  mutual 
candour,  and  to  censure  the  introduction  of  invidious  topics. 
If  there  were  any  hope  of  terminating  that  endless  and 
fruitless  controversy,  the  most  promising  expedient  would 
be  a  general  agreement  to  banish  the  technical  terms 
hitherto  employed  on  both  sides  from  philosophy,  and  to  limit 
ourselves  rigorously  to  a  statement  of  those  facts  in  which 

u  4 


296  NOTES   AND   ILLUSTRATIONS. 

all  men  agree,  expressed  in  language  perfectly  purified  from 
all  tincture  of  system.  The  agreement  in  facts  would  then 
probably  be  found  to  be  much  more  extensive  than  is  often 
suspected  by  either  party.  Experience  is,  and  indeed  must 
be,  equally  appealed  to  by  both.  All  mankind  feel  and 
own,  that  their  actions  are  at  least  very  much  affected  by 
their  situation,  their  opinions,  their  feelings,  and  their 
habits ;  yet  no  man  would  deserve  the  compliment  of  con- 
futation, who  seriously  professed  to  doubt  the  distinction 
between  right  and  wrong,  the  reasonableness  of  moral  ap- 
probation and  disapprobation,  the  propriety  of  praising 
and  censuring  voluntary  actions,  and  the  justice  of  reward- 
ing or  punishing  them  according  to  their  intention  and  ten- 
dency. No  reasonable  person,  in  whatever  terms  he  may 
express  himself  concerning  the  Will,  has  ever  meant  to 
deny  that  man  has  powers  and  faculties  which  justify  the 
moral  judgments  of  the  human  race.  Every  advocate  of 
Free  Will  admits  the  fact  of  the  influence  of  motives,  from 
which  the  Necessarian  infers  the  truth  of  his  opinion.  Every 
Necessarian  must  also  admit  those  attributes  of  moral  and 
responsible  agency,  for  the  sake  of  which  the  advocate  of 
Liberty  considers  his  own  doctrine  as  of  such  unspeakable 
importance.  Both  parties  ought  equally  to  own,  that  the 
matter  in  dispute  is  a  question  of  fact  relating  to  the  mind, 
which  must  be  ultimately  decided  by  its  own  consciousness. 
The  Necessarian  is  even  bound  to  admit,  that  no  specula- 
tion is  tenable  on  this  subject,  which  is  not  reconcilable  to 
the  general  opinions  of  mankind,  and  which  does  not  afford 
a  satisfactory  explanation  of  that  part  of  common  language 
which  at  first  sight  appears  to  be  most  at  variance  with  it. 

"  After  the  actual  antecedents  of  volition  had  been  thus 
admitted  by  one  party,  and  its  moral  consequences  by  another, 
the  subject  of  contention  would  be  reduced  to  the  question, 
—  What  is  the  state  of  the  mind  in  the  interval  which  passes 
between  motive  and  action?  or,  to  speak  with  still  more  strict 
propriety,  By  what  words  is  that  state  of  the  mind  most 
accurately  described  ?  If  this  habit  of  thinking  could  be 
steadily  and  long  preserved,  so  evanescent  a  subject  of  dis- 
pute might  perhaps  in  the  end  disappear,  and  the  contend- 
ing parties  might  at  length  discover  that  they  had  been  only 
looking  at  opposite  sides  of  the  same  truth.  But  the  terms 
'Liberty'  and  'Necessity'  embroil  the  controversy,  inflame 
the  temper  of  disputants,  and  involve  them  in  clouds  of  angry 


NOTES   A^^)   ILLUSTRATIONS.  297 

zeal,  which  render  thera  incapable  not  only  of  perceivino^ 
their  numerous  and  important  coincidences,  but  even  of 
clearly  discerning  the  single  point  in  which  they  differ.  Every 
generous  sentiment,  and  every  hostile  passion  of  human  na- 
ture, have  for  ages  been  connected  with  these  two  words. 
They  are  the  badges  of  the  oldest,  the  widest,  and  the  most 
obstinate  warfare  waged  by  metaphysicians.  Whoever  re- 
fuses to  try  the  experiment  of  renouncing  them,  at  least  for 
a  time,  can  neither  be  a  peace-maker  nor  a  friend  of  dis- 
passionate discussion ;  and,  if  he  stickles  for  mere  words,  he 
may  be  justly  suspected  of  being  almost  aware  that  he  is 
contendinjj  for  nothing  but  words. 

"  But  if  projects  of  perpetual  peace  should  be  as  Utopian 
in  the  schools  as  in  the  world,  it  is  the  more  necessary  to 
condemn  the  use  of  weapons  which  exasperate  animosity, 
without  contributing  to  decide  the  contest.  Of  this  nature, 
in  our  opinion,  are  the  imputations  of  irreligion  and  im- 
morality which  have  for  ages  been  thrown  on  those  divines 
and  philosophers  who  have  espoused  Necessarian  opinions. 
Mr.  Stewart,  though  he  anxiously  acquits  individuals  of  evil 
intention,  has  too  much  lent  the  weight  of  his  respectable 
opinion  to  these  useless  and  inflammatory  charges.  We  are 
at  a  loss  to  conceive  how  he  could  imagine  that  there  is  the 
slightest  connexion  between  the  doctrine  of  Necessity  and 
the  system  of  Spinoza.  That  the  world  is  governed  by  a 
Supreme  Mind,  which  is  invariably  influenced  by  the  dictates 
of  its  own  wisdom  and  goodness,  seems  to  be  the  very  essence 
of  theism ;  and  no  man  who  substantially  dissents  frf)m  that 
proposition,  can  deserve  the  name  of  a  pure  theist.  But  this 
is  precisely  the  reverse  of  the  doctrine  of  Spinoza,  which,  in 
spite  of  all  its  ingenious  disguises,  undoubtedly  denies  the 
supremacy  of  mind.  This  objection,  however,  has  already 
been  answered,  not  only  by  the  pious  and  profound  Jonatiian 
Edwards  (Inquiry,  part  iv.  chap.  7.),  an  avowed  Necessarian, 
but  by  Mr.  Locke  (whose  opinions,  however,  about  this 
question  are  not  very  distinct),  and  even  by  Dr.  Clarke  him- 
self, the  ablest  and  most  celebrated  of  the  advocates  of  li- 
bertv.    (Demonstration  of  the  Being  and  Attributes  of  God.) 

"  The  charge  of  immoral  tendency,  however,  deserves  more 
serious  consideration,  as  it  has  been  repeatedly  enforced  by 
Mr.  Stewart,  and  brought  forward  also  by  Dr.  Copplestone  * 

*  Afterwards  Bishop  of  LlandatT. — Ed. 


298  NOTES   AND   ILLUSTRATIONS. 

(Discourses,  Lond.  1821),  —  the  only  writer  of  our  time  who 
has  equally  distinguished  himself  in  paths  so  distant  from 
each  other  as  classical  literature,  political  economy,  and 
metaphysical  philosophy.  His  general  candour  and  tem- 
perance give  weight  to  his  accusation ;  and  it  is  likely  to  be 
conveyed  to  posterity  by  a  volume,  which  is  one  of  the  best 
models  of  philosophical  style  that  our  age  has  produced, — 
a  Sermon  of  Archbishop  King,  republished  by  Mr.  Whately  *, 
an  ingenious  and  learned  member  of  Oriel  College.  The 
Sermons  of  Dr.  Copplestone  do  indeed  directly  relate  to 
theology :  but,  in  this  case,  it  is  impossible  to  separate  that 
subject  from  philosophy.  Necessity  is  a  philosophical 
opinion  relating  to  the  human  will:  Predestination  is  a 
theological  doctrine,  concerning  the  moral  government  of 
the  world.  But  since  the  writings  of  Leibnitz  and  Jonathan 
Edwards,  all  supporters  of  Predestination  endeavour  to  show 
its  reasonableness  by  the  arguments  of  the  Necessarian.  It 
is  possible,  and  indeed  very  common,  to  hold  the  doctrine  of 
Necessity,  without  adopting  many  of  the  dogmas  which  the 
Calvinist  connects  with  it :  but  it  is  not  possible  to  make  any 
argumentative  defence  of  Calvinism,  which  is  not  founded 
on  the  principle  of  Necessity.  The  moral  consequences 
of  both  (whatever  they  may  be)  must  be  the  same ;  and  both 
opinions  are,  accordingly,  represented  by  their  opponents  as 
tending,  in  a  manner  very  similar,  to  weaken  the  motives  to 
virtuous  action. 

"  There  is  no  topic  which  requires  such  strong  grounds 
to  justify  its  admission  into  controversy,  as  that  of  moral 
consequences ;  for,  besides  its  incurable  tendency  to  inflame 
the  angry  passions,  and  to  excite  obloquy  against  indivi- 
duals, which  renders  it  a  practical  restraint  on  free  inquiry, 
the  employment  of  it  in  dispute  seems  to  betray  apprehen- 
sions derogatory  from  the  dignity  of  Morals,  and  not  con- 
sonant either  to  the  dictates  of  Reason  or  to  the  lessons  of 
experience.  The  rules  of  Morality  are  too  deeply  rooted  in 
human  nature,  to  be  shaken  by  every  veering  breath  of 
metaphysical  theory.  Our  Moral  Sentiments  spring  from 
no  theory  :  they  are  as  general  as  any  part  of  our  nature  ; 
the  causes  which  generate,  or  unfold  and  nourish  them,  lie 
deep  in  the  unalterable  interests  of  society,  and  in  those 
primitive  feelings  of  the  human  heart  which  no  circum- 

*  Afterwards  Archbishop  of  Dublin.  — Ed. 


NOTES   AND   ILLUSTRATIONS.  299 

stances  can  eradicate.  The  experience  of  all  ages  teaches, 
that  these  deep-rooted  principles  are  far  less  affected  than  is 
commonly  supposed,  by  the  revolutions  of  philosophical 
opinion,  which  scarcely  penetrate  beyond  the  surface  of 
human  nature.  Exceptions  there  doubtless  are  :  the  most 
speculative  opinions  are  not  pretended  to  be  absolutely  in- 
different in  their  moral  tendency ;  and  it  is  needless  to  make 
an  express  exception  of  those  opinions  which  directly  relate 
to  practice,  and  which  may  have  a  considerable  moral  effect. 
But,  in  general,  the  power  of  the  moral  feelings,  and  the 
feebleness  of  speculative  opinions,  are  among  the  most  strik- 
ing phenomena  in  the  history  of  mankind.  AVhat  teacher, 
either  philosophical  or  religious,  has  ever  been  successful  in 
spreading  his  doctrines,  who  did  not  reconcile  them  to  our 
moral  sentiments,  and  even  recommend  them  by  pretensions 
to  a  purer  and  more  severe  morality  ?  AVherever  there  is 
a  seeming  or  a  real  repugnance  between  speculative  opinions 
and  moral  rules,  the  speculator  has  always  been  compelled 
to  devise  some  compromise  which,  with  whatever  sacrifice  of 
consistency,  may  appease  the  alarmed  conscience  of  mankind. 
The  favour  of  a  few  is  too  often  earned  by  flattering  their 
vicious  passions  ;  but  no  immoral  system  ever  acquired  popu- 
larity. Wherever  there  is  a  contest,  the  speculations  yield, 
and  the  principles  prevail.  The  victory  is  equally  decisive, 
whether  the  obnoxious  doctrine  be  renounced,  or  so  modi- 
fied as  no  longer  to  dispute  the  legitimate  authority  of 
Conscience. 

"  Nature  has  provided  other  guards  for  Virtue  against 
the  revolt  of  sophistry  and  the  inconstancy  of  opinion.  The 
whole  system  of  morality  is  of  great  extent,  and  comprehends 
a  variety  of  principles  and  sentiments,  —  of  duties  and  vir- 
tues. Wherever  new  and  singular  speculation  has  been  at 
first  slight  thouirht  to  weaken  some  of  the  motives  of  moral 
activity,  it  has  almost  uniformly  been  found,  by  longer  ex- 
perience, that  the  same  speculation  itself  makes  amends  by 
strengthening  other  inducements  to  right  conduct.  There 
is  thus  a  principle  of  compensation  in  the  opinions,  as  in  the 
circumstances  of  man  :  which,  though  not  sufficient  to  level 
distinction  and  to  exclude  preference,  has  yet  such  power, 
that  it  ought  to  appease  our  alarms,  and  to  soften  our  con- 
troversies. A  moral  nature  assimilates  every  speculation 
which  it  does  not  reject.  If  these  general  reasonings  be 
just,  with  what  increased  force  do  they  prove  the  innocence 


300  NOTES   AND   ILLUSTRATIONS. 

of  error,  in  a  case  where,  as  there  seems  to  be  no  possibility 
of  difference  about  facts,  the  mistake  of  either  party  must 
be  little  more  than  verbal! 

'•  We  have  much  more  ample  experience  respecting  the 
practical  tendency  of  religious  than  of  philosophical  opinions. 
The  latter  were  formerly  confined  to  the  schools,  and  are 
still  limited  to  persons  of  some  education.  They  are  gene- 
rally kept  apart  from  our  passions  and  our  business,  and. 
are  entertained,  as  Cicero  said,  of  the  Stoical  paradoxes, 
'  more  as  a  subject  of  dispute  than  as  a  rule  of  life.'  Reli- 
gious opinions,  on  the  contrary,  are  spread  over  ages  and 
nations ;  they  are  felt  perhaps  most  strongly  by  the  more 
numerous  classes  of  mankind;  wherever  they  are  sincerely 
entertained,  they  must  be  regarded  as  the  most  serious  of 
all  concerns  ;  they  are  often  incorporated  with  the  warmest 
passions  of  which  the  human  heart  is  capable ;  and,  in  this 
state,  'froni  their  eminently  social  and  sympathetic  nature, 
they  are  capable  of  becoming  the  ruling  principle  of  action 
in  vast  multitudes.  Let  us  therefore  appeal  to  experience, 
on  the  moral  influence  of  Necessarian  opinions  in  their  theo- 
logical form.  By  doing  so,  we  shall  have  an  opportunity  of 
contemplating  the  principle  in  its  most  active  state,  ope- 
rating upon  the  greatest  masses,  and  for  the  longest  time. 
Predestination,  or  doctrines  much  inclining  towards  it,  have, 
on  the  whole,  prevailed  in  the  Christian  churches  of  the  West 
since  the  days  of  Augustine  and  Aquinas.  Who  were  the  first 
formidable  opponents  of  these  doctrines  in  the  Church  of 
Rome?  The  Jesuits  —  the  contrivers  of  courtly  casuistry,  and 
the  founders  of  lax  morality.  Who,  in  the  same  church,  in- 
clined to  the  stern  theology  of  Augustine  ?  The  Jansenists  — 
the  teachers  and  the  models  of  austere  morals.  What  are 
we  to  think  of  the  morality  of  Calvinistic  nations,  especially 
of  the  most  numerous  classes  of  them,  who  seem,  beyond  all 
other  men,  to  be  most  zealously  attached  to  their  religion, 
and  most  deeply  penetrated  with  its  spirit  ?  Here,  if  any 
where,  we  have  a  practical  and  a  decisive  test  of  the  moral 
influence  of  a  belief  in  Necessarian  opinions.  In  Protestant 
Switzerland,  in  Holland,  in  Scotland,  among  the  English 
Nonconformists,  and  the  Protestants  of  the  north  of  Ireland, 
in  the  New-England  States,  Calvinism  long  was  the  preva- 
lent faith,  and  is  probably  still  the  faith  of  a  considerable 
majority.  Their  moral  education  was  at  least  completed, 
and  their  collective  character  formed,  during  the  prevalence 


NOTES   AXD   ILLUSTRATIONS.  301 

of  Calvinistic  opinions.  Yet  where  are  communities  to  be 
found  of  a  more  pure  and  active  virtue  ?  Perhaps  these  and 
other  very  striking  facts,  might  justify  speculations  of  a  some- 
what singular  nature,  and  even  authorise  a  retort  upon  our 
respectable  antagonists.  But  we  have  no  such  purpose.  It 
is  sufficient  for  us  to  do  what  in  us  lies  to  mitigate  the 
acrimony  of  controversy,  to  teach  disputants  on  both  sides 
to  respect  the  sacred  neutrality  of  Morals,  and  to  show  that 
the  provident  and  parental  care  of  Nature  has  sufficiently 
provided  for  the  permanent  security  of  the  principles  of 
Virtue. 

"  If  we  were  to  amuse  ourselves  in  remarks  on  the  prac- 
tical tendency  of  opinions,  we  might  with  some  plausibility 
contend,  that  there  was  a  tendency  in  infidelity  to  produce 
Toryism.  In  England  alone,  we  might  appeal  to  the  ex- 
amples of  Hobbes,  Bolingbroke,  Hume,  and  Gibbon  ;  and  to 
the  opposite  cases  of  Milton,  Locke,  Addison,  Clarke,  and 
even  Newton  himself;  for  the  last  of  these  great  men  was 
also  a  Whig.  The  only  remarkable  example  which  now 
occurs  to  us  of  a  zealous  believer  who  was  a  bigoted  Tory, 
is  that  of  Dr.  Johnson  ;  and  we  may  balance  against  him 
the  whole,  or  the  greater  part  of  the  life  of  his  illustrious 
iriend,  ^Slr.  Burke.  We  would  not,  however,  rest  much  on 
observations  founded  on  so  small  an  experience,  that  the 
facts  may  arise  from  causes  wholly  independent  of  the 
opinion.  But  another  unnoticed  coincidence  may  serve  as 
nn  introduction  to  a  few  observations  on  the  scepticism  of 
the  eighteenth  century. 

"The  three  most  celebrated  sceptics  of  modern  times 
have  been  zealous  partisans  of  high  authority  in  govern- 
ment. It  would  be  rash  to  infer,  from  the  remarkable  ex- 
amples of  this  coincidence,  in  INIontaigne,  Bayle,  and  Hume, 
that  there  is  a  natural  connection  between  scepticism  and 
Toryism ;  or,  even,  if  there  were  a  tendency  to  such  a 
connection,  that  it  might  not  be  counteracted  by  more 
powerful  circumstances,  or  by  stronger  principles  of  human 
nature.  It  is  more  worth  while,  therefore,  to  consider  the 
particulars  in  the  history  of  these  three  eminent  persons, 
which  may  have  strengthened  or  created  this  j)ropensity. 

"Montaigne,  who  was  methodical  in  nothing,  does  not 
indeed  profess  systematic  scepticism.  He  was  a  freethinker 
who  loosened  the  ground  about  received  opinions,  and  in- 
dulged his  humour  in  arguing  on  both  sides  of  most  questions. 


302  NOTES   AND   ILLUSTRATIONS. 

But  the  sceptical  tendency  of  his  writings  is  evident ;  and 
there  is  perhaps  nowhere  tf)  be  found  a  more  vigorous  attack 
on  popuhir  innovations,  than  in  the  latter  part  of  the  22d 
Essay  of  his  first  book.  But  there  is  no  need  of  any  general 
speculations  to  account  for  the  repugnance  to  change,  felt 
by  a  man  who  was  wearied  and  exasperated  by  the  horrors 
of  forty  years'  civil  war. 

"  The  case  of  Bayle  is  more  remarkable.  Though  banished 
from  France  as  a  Protestant,  he  published,  without  his 
name,  a  tract,  entitled,  '  Advice  to  the  Refugees,'  in  the  year 
1690,  which  could  be  considered  in  no  other  light  than  that 
of  an  apology  for  Louis  XIV.,  an  attack  on  the  Protestant 
cause,  and  a  severe  invective  against  his  companions  in  exile. 
He  declares,  in  this  unavowed  work,  for  absolute  power  and 
passive  obedience,  and  inveighs,  with  an  intemperance 
scarcely  ever  found  in  his  avowed  writings,  against  '  the 
execrable  doctrines  of  Buchanan,'  and  the  '  pretended 
sovereignty  of  the  people,'  without  sparing  even  the  just 
and  glorious  Revolution,  which  had  at  that  moment  pre- 
served the  constitution  of  England,  the  Protestant  religion, 
and  the  independence  of  Europe.  It  is  no  wonder,  there- 
fore, that  he  was  considered  as  a  partisan  of  France,  and  a 
traitor  to  the  Protestant  cause ;  nor  can  we  much  blame 
King  William  for  regarding  him  as  an  object  of  jealous 
policy.  Many  years  after,  he  was  representtfd  to  Lord  Sun- 
derland as  an  eneni}'  of  the  Allies,  and  a  detractor  of  their 
great  captain,  the  Duke  of  Marlborough.  The  generous 
friendship  of  the  illustrious  author  of  the  Characteristics,  — 
the  opponent  of  Bayle  on  almost  every  question  of  philo- 
sophy, government,  and,  we  may  add,  religion,  —  preserved 
him,  on  that  occasion,  from  the  sad  necessity  of  seeking  a 
new  place  of  refuge  in  the  very  year  of  his  death.  The  vex- 
ations which  Bayle  underwent  in  Holland  from  the  Calvinist 
ministers,  and  his  long  warfare  against  their  leader  Jurieu, 
who  was  a  zealous  assertor  of  popular  opinions,  may  have 
given  this  bias  to  his  mind,  and  disposed  him  to  '  fly  from 
petty  tyrants  to  the  throne.'  His  love  of  paradox  may 
have  had  its  share ;  for  passive  obedience  was  considered  as 
a  most  obnoxious  paradox  in  the  schools  and  societies  of  the 
oppressed  Calvinists.  His  enemies,  however,  did  not  fail  to 
impute  his  conduct  to  a  design  of  paying  his  court  to  Louis 
XIV.,  and  to  the  hope  of  being  received  with  open  arms  in 
France  ; — motives  which  seem  to  be  at  variance  both  with 


NOTES   AND   ILLUSTRATIONS.  303 

the  general  integrity  of  his  life,  and  with  his  favourite  passion 
for  the  free  indulgence  of  philosophical  speculation.  The 
scepticism  of  Bayle  must,  however,  be  distinguished  from 
tliat  of  Hume.  The  former  of  these  celebrated  writers  ex- 
amined many  questions  in  succession,  and  laboured  to  show 
that  doubt  was,  on  all  of  them,  the  result  of  examination. 
His,  therefore,  is  a  sort  of  inductive  scepticism,  in  which 
general  doubt  was  an  inference  from  numerous  examples  of 
uncertainty  in  particular  cases.  It  is  a  kind  of  appeal  to 
experience,  whether  so  many  failures  in  the  search  of  truth 
ought  not  to  deter  wise  men  from  continuing  the  pursuit. 
Content  with  proving,  or  seeming  to  himself  to  prove,  that 
we  have  not  attained  certainty,  he  does  not  attempt  to  prove 
that  we  cannot  reach  it. 

"  The  doctrine  of  Mr.  Hume,  on  the  other  hand,  is  not 
that  we  have  not  reached  truth,  but  that  we  never  can 
reach  it.  It  is  an  absolute  and  universal  system  of  scep- 
ticism, professing  to  be  derived  from  the  very  structure  of 
the  Understanding,  which,  if  any  man  could  seriously 
believe  it^  would  render  it  impossible  for  him  to  form  an 
opinion  upon  any  subject, — to  give  the  faintest  assent  to 
any  proposition,  —  to  ascribe  any  meaning  to  the  words 
'  truth '  and  '  falsehood,'  —  to  believe,  to  inquire,  or  to  reason, 
and,  on  the  very  same  ground,  to  disbelieve,  to  dissent,  or 
to  doubt,  —  to  adhere  to  his  own  principle  of  universal 
doubt,  and,  lastly,  if  he  be  consistent  with  himself,  even  to 
think.  It  is  not  easy  to  believe  that  speculations  so  shadowy, 
which  never  can  pretend  to  be  more  than  the  amusements 
of  idle  ingenuity,  should  have  any  influence  on  the  opinions 
of  men  of  great  understanding,  concerning  the  most  im- 
portant concerns  of  human  life.  But  perhaj)s  it  may  be 
reasonable  to  allow,  that  the  same  character  which  disposes 
men  to  scepticism,  may  dispose  them  also  to  acquiesce  in 
considerable  abuses,  and  even  oppressions,  rather  than  to 
seek  redress  in  forcible  resistance.  ^lenof  such  a  character 
have  misgivings  in  every  enterprise ;  their  acuteness  is  ex- 
ercised in  devising  objections,  —  in  discovering  difficulties, 
—  in  foreseeing  obstacles;  they  hope  little  from  human 
wisdom  and  virtue,  and  are  rather  secretly  prone  to  that 
indolence  and  indifference  which  forbade  the  Epicurean 
sage  to  hazard  his  quiet  for  the  doubtful  interests  of  a  con- 
temj)til)le  race.  They  do  not  lend  a  credulous  ear  to  the 
Utopian  projector ;  they  doubt  whether  the  evib  of  change 


304  NOTES   AND   ILLUSTRATIONS. 

will  be  so  little,  or  the  benefits  of  reform  so  great,  as  the 
sanguine  reformer  foretells  that  they  will  be.  The  sceptical 
temper  of  Mr.  Hume  may  have  thus  insensibly  moulded  his 
political  opinions.  But  causes  still  more  obvious  and 
powerful  had  probably  much  more  share  in  rendering  him 
so  zealous  a  partisan  of  regal  power.  In  his  youth,  the 
Presbyterians,  to  whose  enmity  his  opinions  exposed  him, 
were  the  zealous  and  only  friends  of  civil  liberty  in  Scot- 
land ;  and  the  close  connection  of  liberty  with  Calvinism, 
made  both  more  odious  to  him.  The  gentry  in  most  parts  of 
Scotland,  except  in  the  west,  were  then  Jacobites ;  and  his 
early  education  was  probably  among  that  party.  The  pre- 
judices which  he  perhaps  imbibed  in  France  against  the 
literature  of  England,  extended  to  her  institutions  ;  and  in 
the  state  of  English  opinion,  when  his  history  was  published, 
if  he  sought  distinction  by  paradox,  he  could  not  so  effectually 
have  obtained  his  object  by  the  most  startling  of  his  m.eta- 
physical  dogmas,  as  by  his  doubts  of  the  genius  of  Shake- 
speare, and  the  virtue  of  Hampden." 


Note  P.  page  137. 

Though  some  parts  of  the  substance  of  the  following 
letter  have  already  appeared  in  various  forms,  perhaps  the 
account  of  Mr.  Hume's  illness,  in  the  words  of  his  friend  and 
physician  Dr.  Cullen,  will  be  acceptable  to  many  readers. 
I  owe  it  to  the  kindness  of  Mrs.  Baillie,  who  had  the  good- 
ness to  copy  it  from  the  original,  in  the  collection  of  her 
late  learned  and  excellent  husband.  Dr.  Baillie.  Some 
portion  of  what  has  been  formerly  published  I  do  not  think 
it  necessary  to  reprint. 

From  Dr.  Cullen  to  Dk.  Hunter. 

"  My  dear  Friend, —  I  was  favoured  with  yours  by  Mr. 
Halket  on  Sunday,  and  have  answered  some  part  of  it  by  a 
gentleman  whom  I  was  otherwise  obliged  to  write  by ;  but 
as  I  was  not  certain  how  soon  that  might  come  to  your 
hand,  I  did  not  answer  your  postscript ;  in  doing  which,  if 
I  can  oblige  you,  a  part  of  the  merit  must  be  that  of  the 
information  being  early,  and  I  therefore  give  it  you  as  soon 
as  I  possibly  could.    You  desire  an  account  of  Mr.  Hume's 


NOTES   AND   ILLUSTRATIONS.  305 

last  days,  and  I  give  it  you  with  some  pleasure ;  for  though 
I  could  not  look  upon  him  in  his  illness  without  much  con- 
cern, yet  the  tranquillity  and  pleasantry  which  he  constantly 
discovered  did  even  then  give  me  satisfaction,  and,  now  that 
the  curtain  is  dropped,  allows  me  to  indulge  the  less  allayed 
reflection.  He  was  truly  an  example  des  grands  homines 
qui  sont  morts  en  plaisantant.  .  . .  For  many  weeks  before  his 
death  he  was  very  sensible  of  his  gradual  decay ;  and  his 
answer  to  inquiries  after  his  health  was,  several  times,  that 
he  was  going  as  fixst  as  his  enemies  could  wish,  and  as  easily 
as  his  friends  could  desire.  He  was  not,  however,  without 
a  frequent  recurrence  of  pain  and  uneasiness :  but  he 
passed  most  part  of  the  day  in  his  drawing-room,  admitted 
the  visits  of  his  friends,  and,  with  his  usual  spirit,  conversed 
with  them  upon  literature,  politics,  or  whatever  else  was 
accidentally  started.  In  conversation  he  seemed  to  be  per- 
fectly at  ease,  and  to  the  last  abounded  with  that  pleasantry, 
and  those  curious  and  entertaining  anecdotes,  which  ever 
distinguished  him.  This,  however,  I  always  considered  rather 
as  an  effort  to  be  aj;reeable :  and  he  at  lenoth  acknowled^jed 
that  it  became  too  much  for  his  strength.  For  a  few  days 
before  his  death,  he  became  more  averse  to  receive  visits  ; 
speaking  became  more  and  more  difficult  for  him,  and  for 
twelve  hours  before  his  death  his  speech  failed  altogether. 
His  senses  and  judgment  did  not  fail  till  the  last  hour  of  his 
life.  He  constantly  discovered  a  strong  sensibility  to  the 
attention  and  care  of  his  friends ;  and,  amidst  great  uneasi- 
ness and  languor,  never  betrayed  any  peevishness  or  im- 
patience. This  is  a  general  account  of  his  last  days ;  but  a 
particular  fact  or  two  may  perhaps  convey  to  you  a  still 
better  idea  of  them. 

Kc  :f  4>  *  If  4^ 

"  About  a  fortnight  before  his  death,  he  added  a  codicil 
to  his  will,  in  which  he  fully  discovered  his  attention  to 
his  friends,  as  well  as  his  own  pleasantry.  What  little 
wine  he  himself  drank  was  generally  port,  a  wine  for 
which  his  friend  the  poet  [John  Home]  had  ever  declare«l 
the  strongest  aversion.  David  bec^ueaths  to  his  friend 
John  one  bottle  of  port ;  and,  upon  condition  of  his 
drinking  this  even  at  two  down-sittings,  bestows  upon  him 
twelve  dozen  of  his  best  claret.  He  pleasantly  adds,  that 
this  subject  of  wine  was  the  only  one  upon  which  they  had 
ever  differed.  In  the  codicil  there  are  several  other  strokes 
VOL.  I.  X 


306  NOTES   AND   ILLUSTRATIONS. 

of  raillery  and  pleasantry,  liigbly  expressive  of  the  cheer- 
fulness which  he  then  enjoyed.  He  even  turned  his  atten- 
tion to  some  of  the  simple  amusements  with  which  he  had 
been  formerly  pleased.  In  the  neighbourhood  of  his  brother's 
house  in  Berwickshire  is  a  brook,  by  which  the  access  in 
time  of  floods  is  frequently  interrupted.  Mr.  Hume  be- 
queaths 100/.  for  building  a  bridge  over  this  brook,  but 
upon  the  express  condition  that  none  of  the  stones  for  that 
purpose  shall  be  taken  from  a  quarry  in  the  neighbourhood, 
which  forms  part  of  a  romantic  scene  in  which,  in  his 
earlier  days,  Mr.  Hume  took  particular  delight: — otherwise 
the  money  to  go  to  the  poor  of  the  parish. 

"  These  are  a  few  particulars  which  may  perhaps  appear 
trifling  ;  but  to  me  no  particulars  seem  trifling  that  relate 
to  so  great  a  man.  It  is  perhaps  from  trifles  that  we  can 
best  distinguish  the  tranquillity  and  cheerfulness  of  the 
philosopher,  at  a  time  when  the  most  part  of  mankind  are 
under  disquiet,  anxiety,  and  sometimes  even  horror ....  I 
had  gone  so  far  when  I  was  called  to  the  country  ;  and  I  have 
returned  only  so  long  before  the  post  as  to  say,  that  I  am 
most  affectionately  yours, 

"William  Cullen. 

«  Edinburgh,  17th  September,  1776." 

Note  Q.  page  139. 

Pyrrho  was  charged  with  carrying  his  scepticism  so  far  as 
not  to  avoid  a  carriage  if  it  was  driven  against  him.  ^ne- 
sidemus,  the  most  famous  of  ancient  sceptics,  with  great 
probability  vindicates  the  more  ancient  doubter  from 
such  lunacy,  of  which  indeed  his  having  lived  to  the  age  of 
ninety  seems  sufficient  to  acquit  him.  Ai'veaiStjixog  Sa  (prjni 
(':,iKoao(ptXv  [xev  avrov  Kara  rbv  ttiq  eTTOxrjQ  ^oyov,  firj  fiivroiye 
aTrponparujQ  'Uaara  Trpdrreiv.  —  DiogeneS  Laertius,  lib.  ix. 
sect.  62.  Brief  and  imperfect  as  our  accounts  of  ancient 
scepticism  are,  it  does  appear  that  their  reasoning  on  the 
subject  of  causation  had  some  resemblance  to  that  of  Mr. 
Hume.  'Avaipoiiffi  t^t  to  ainov  wSe'  to  uitiov  tujv  Trpog  ri  sotj, 
TTpog  yap  r^  airiaru)  taTi'  to.  U  Trpog  ri  f-rrivouTai  fxavov 
virapx^i-  ^«  ov'  Kal  to  alriov  ovv  IttivooIto  av  [.invov. —  Ibid. 
sect.  97.  It  is  perhaps  impossible  to  translate  the  important 
technical  expression  rd  irpog  n.  It  comprehends  two  or 
more  things  as  related  to  each  other ;  both  the  relative  and 


NOTES   AND   ILLUSTRATIONS.  307 

correlative  being  taken  together  as  such.  Fire  considered  as 
having  the  power  of  burning  wood  is  to.  7rp6<j  n.  The  words  of 
Laertius  may  therefore  be  nearly  rendered  into  the  lan- 
guage of  modern  philosophy  as  follows :  "  Causation  they 
take  away  thus.  A  cause  is  so  only  in  relation  to  an  efl'ect. 
What  is  relative  is  only  conceived,  but  does  not  exist. 
Therefore  cause  is  a  mere  conception."  The  first  attempt 
to  prove  the  necessity  of  belief  in  a  Divine  revelation,  by 
demonstrating  that  natural  reason  leads  to  universal  scepti- 
cism,was  made  by  Algazel,  a  professor  at  Bagdad,  in  the  begin- 
ning of  the  twelfth  century  of  our  era  ;  whose  work  entitled 
the  "  Destruction  of  the  Philosopher  "  is  known  to  us  only 
by  the  answer  of  Averroes,  called  "Destruction  of  the 
Destruction."  He  denied  a  necessary  connection  between 
cause  and  effect ;  for  of  two  separate  things,  the  affirmation 
of  the  existence  of  one  does  not  necessarily  contain  the 
affirmation  of  the  existence  of  the  other  ;  and  the  same  may 
be  said  of  denial.  It  is  curious  enough  that  this  argument 
was  more  especially  pointed  against  those  Arabian  philoso- 
phers who,  from  the  necessary  connection  of  causes  and 
effi^cts,  reasoned  against  the  possibility  of  miracles; — thus 
anticipating  one  doctrine  of  ^Ir.  Hume,  to  impugn  another. 
—  Tennemann,  Geschichte  der  Philosophic,  vol.  viii.  p.  387. 
The  same  attempt  was  made  by  the  learned  but  unphiloso- 
phical  Huet,  bishop  of  Avranches. —  (Quajstiones  AlnetantB, 
Caen,  1690,  and  Traite  de  la  Foiblesse  de  I'Esprit  Humain, 
Amsterdam,  1723).  A  similar  motive  urged  Berkeley  to 
his  attack  on  Fluxions.  The  attempt  of  Huet  has  been 
lately  renewed  by  the  Abbe  Lamennais,  in  his  treatise  on 
Religious  Indifference;  —  a  fine  writer,  whose  apparent 
reasonings  amount  to  little  more  than  well-varied  assertions, 
and  well-disguised  assumptions  of  the  points  to  be  proved. 
To  build  religion  upon  scepticism  is  the  most  extravagant  of 
all  attempts;  for  it  destroys  the  proofs  of  a  divine  mission, 
and  leaves  no  natural  means  of  distinguishing  between  reve- 
lation and  imposture.  The  Abbe  Lamennais  represents 
authority  as  the  sole  ground  of  belief.  Why  ?  If  any 
reason  can  be  given,  the  proposition  must  be  false ;  if  none, 
it  is  obviously  a  mere  groundless  assertion. 


X  2 


308  NOTES   AND   ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Note  R.  page  145. 

Casanova,  a  Yenetian  doomed  to  solitary  imprisonment  in 
the  dungeons  at  Venice  in  1755,  thus  speaks  of  the  only 
books  which  for  a  time  he  was  allowed  to  read.  The  title 
of  the  first  was  "  La  Cite  Mystique  de  Sceur  Marie  de  Jesus, 
appellee  d'Agrada."  "J'y  lus  tout  ce  que  peut  enfanter 
I'imagination  exaltee  d'une  vierge  Espagnole  extravagam- 
rnent  devote,  cloitree,  melancholique,  ayant  des  directeurs  de 
conscience,  ignorans,  faux,  et  devots.  Amoureuse  et  amie 
tres  intime  de  la  Sainte  Vierge,  elle  avait  reyu  ordre  de  Dieu 
meme  d'ecrire  la  vie  de  sa  divine  mere.  Les  instructions 
nccessaires  lui  avaient  ete  fournies  par  le  Saint  Esprit.  Elle 
commengoit  la  vie  de  Marie,  non  pas  du  jour  de  sa  nais- 
sance,  mais  du  moment  de  son  immaculee  conception  dans  le 
sein  de  sa  mere  Anne.  Apres  avoir  narre  en  detail  tout  ce 
que  sa  divine  heroine  fit  les  neuf  mois  qu'elle  a  passe  dans  le 
sein  maternel,  elle  nous  apprend  qu'a  I'age  de  trois  ans  elle 
balayoit  la  maison,  aidee  par  neuf  cents  domestiques,  tous 
anges,  coramandes  par  leur  propre  Prince  Michel.  Ce  qui 
frappe  dans  ce  livre  est  Tassurance  que  tout  est  dit  de  bonne 
foi.  Ce  sont  les  visions  d'un  esprit  sublime,  qui,  sans  aucune 
ombre  d'orgueil,  ivre  de  Dieu,  croit  ne  reveler  que  ce  que 
I'Esprit  Saint  lui  inspire."  —  Memoires  de  Casanova  (Leipsic, 
1827),  vol.  iv.  p.  343.  A  week's  confinement  to  this  volume 
produced  such  an  eflfect  on  Casanova,  an  unbeliever  and  a 
debauchee,  but  who  was  then  enfeebled  by  melancholy,  bad 
air,  and  bad  food,  that  his  sleep  was  haunted,  and  his  waking 
hours  disturbed  by  its  horrible  visions.  Many  years  after, 
passing  though  Agrada,  in  Old  Castile,  he  charmed  the  old 
priest  of  that  village  by  speaking  of  the  biographer  of  the 
virgin.  The  priest  showed  him  all  the  spots  which  were 
consecrated  by  her  presence,  and  bitterly  lamented  that  the 
Court  of  Rome  had  refused  to  canonize  her.  It  is  the 
natural  reflection  of  Casanova  that  the  book  was  well  quali- 
fied to  turn  a  solitary  prisoner  mad,  or  to  make  a  man  at 
large  an  atheist.  It  ought  not  to  be  forgotten,  that  the  in- 
quisitors of  state  at  Venice,  who  proscribed  this  book,  were 
probably  of  the  latter  persuasion.  It  is  a  striking  instance 
of  the  infatuation  of  those  who,  in  their  eagerness  to  rivet 
the  bigotry  of  the  ignorant,  use  means  which  infallibly  tend 
to  spread  utter  unbelief  among  the  educated.  The  book  is  a 
disgusting,  but  in  its  general  outline  seemingly  faithful,  pic- 


NOTES   AXD   ILLUSTRATIONS.  309 

ture  of  the  dissolute  manners  spread  over  the  Continent  of 
Europe  in  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century. 

Note   S.   page  150. 

"  The  Treatise  on  the  Law  of  War  and  Peace,  the  Essay 
on  Human  Understanding,  the  Spirit  of  Laws,  and  the 
Inquiry  into  the  Causes  of  the  AVealth  of  Nations,  are  the 
Tvorks  which  have  most  directly  influenced  the  general  opinion 
of  r^urope  during  the  two  last  centuries.  They  are  also  the 
most  conspicuous  landmarks  in  the  progress  of  the  sciences 
to  which  they  relate.  It  is  remarkable  that  the  defects  of  all 
these  great  works  are  very  similar.  The  leading  notions  of 
none  of  them  can,  in  the  strictest  sense,  be  said  to  be  original, 
though  Locke  and  Smith  in  that  respect  surpass  their  illus- 
trious rivals.  All  of  them  employ  great  care  in  ascertaining 
those  laws  which  are  immediately  deduced  from  experience, 
or  directly  applicable  to  practice  ;  but  apply  metaphysical  and 
abstract  principles  with  considerable  negligence.  Not  one 
pursues  tlie  order  of  science,  beginning  with  first  elements, 
and  advancing  to  more  and  more  comj)licated  conclusions  ; 
though  Locke  is  perhnps  less  defective  in  method  than  the 
rest.  All  admit  digressions  which,  though  often  intrinsically 
excellent,  distract  attention  and  break  the  chain  of  thought. 
Not  one  of  them  is  happy  in  the  choice,  or  constant  in  the  use 
of  technical  terms  ;  and  in  none  do  we  find  much  of  that 
rigorous  precision  which  is  the  first  beauty  of  philosophical 
language.  Grotius  and  ]\Iontesquieuwere  imitators  of  Tacitus, 

—  the  first  with  more  gravity,  the  second  with  more  vivacity; 
but  both  were  tempted  to  forsake  the  simple  diction  of  science, 
in  pursuit  of  the  poignant  brevity  which  that  great  historian 
has  carried  to  a  vicious  excess.  Locke  and  Smith  chose  an 
easy,  clear,  and  free,  but  somewhat  loose  and  verbose  style, 

—  more  concise  in  Locke,  —  more  elegant  in  Smith,  —  in 
both  exempt  from  pedantry,  but  not  void  of  ambiguity  and 
repetition.  Perhaps  all  these  apparent  defects  contributed 
in  some  degree  to  the  specific  usefulness  of  these  great 
•works ;  and,  by  rendering  their  contents  more  accessible 
and  acceptable  to  the  majority  of  readers,  have  more  com- 
pletely blended  their  principles  with  the  common  opinions  of 
mankind."  — Edinburgh  Review,  vol.  xxxvi.  p.  244.  [This 
is  a  further  extract  from  the  article  alluded  to  at  p.  294. — 
Ed.] 

X  3 


310  NOTES   AND   n.LUSTRATIONS. 


Notes  T— U.  page  162. 

AfT  ^  ovTTOjg^  uKTirep  tv  ypa/jifiaTeioj  <^  fijj^ev  vira.p\H  sx'TfXf- 
j^f t'a  yeypappsvoV  oaTTsp  cvptaiv^i  trri  tov  vov.  —  Aristotle. 
"De  Anima,"  Opera  (Paris,  1639),  tome  ii.  p.  50.  A  little 
before,  in  the  same  treatise,  appears  a  great  part  of  the 
substance  of  the  famous  maxim,  Nil  est  in  intellectu  quod 
non  prius  fuit  in  sensu.  "H^£  tpavraaia  Kivrjrrlg  ng  Soksi  dvai, 
Kal  ovK  dvev  ai(T9r)(Tfojg  yiyveaQcu. —  Ibid.  p.  47.  In  the  tract 
on  Memory  and  Reminiscence  we  find  his  enumeration  of 
the  principles  of  association.  Aid  Kai  rd  tftKrjg  ^rjptvoptv^ 
vorjcrovvreg  d-no  rod  vhv  j")  dXkov  rd'oc,  Kal  dcj)'  opoiov  tj  tvavriov^ 
rj  TOV  avveyyvc.  —  Ibid.  p.  86.  If  the  latter  word  be  applied 
to  time  as  well  as  space,  and  considered  as  comprehending 
causation,  the  enumeration  will  coincide  with  that  of  Hume. 
The  term  Bijpevu)  is  as  significant  as  if  it  had  been  chosen  by 
Hobbes.  But  it  is  to  be  observed,  that  these  principles  are 
applied  only  to  explain  memory. 

Something  has  been  said  on  the  subject,  and  something  on 
the  present  writer,  by  Mr.  Coleridge,  in  his  unfortunately 
unfinished  work,  called  "Biographia  Literaria,"  chap,  v., 
which  seems  to  justify,  if  not  to  require,  a  few  remarks. 
That  learned  gentleman  seems  to  have  been  guilty  of  an  over- 
sight in  quoting  as  a  distinct  work  the  "  Parva  Naturalia," 
which  is  the  collective  name  given  by  the  scholastic  trans- 
lators to  those  treatises  of  Aristotle  which  form  the  second 
volume  of  Duval's  edition  of  his  works,  published  at  Paris 
in  1639.  I  have  already  acknowledged  the  striking  resem- 
blance of  Mr.  Hume's  principles  of  association  to  those  of 
Aristotle.  In  answer,  however,  to  a  remark  of  Mr.  Cole- 
ridge, I  must  add,  that  the  manuscript  of  a  part  of  Aquinas 
which  I  bought  many  years  ago  (on  the  faith  of  a  booksel- 
ler's catalogue),  as  being  written  by  Mr.  Hume,  was  not  a 
copy  of  the  Commentary  on  the  "Parva  Naturalia,"  but  of 
Aquinas's  own  "  Secunda  Secundae ; "  and  thnt,  on  exami- 
nation, it  proves  not  to  be  the  handwriting  of  Mr.  Hume, 
and  to  contain  nothing  written  by  him.  It  is  certain  that, 
in  the  passages  immediately  preceding  the  quotation,  Aris- 
totle explains  recollection  as  depending  on  a  general  law,  — 
that  the  idea  of  an  object  will  remind  us  of  the  objects  which 
immediately  preceded  or  followed  when  originally  perceived. 
But  what  Mr.  Coleridge  has  not  told  us  is,  that  the  Stagy- 


NOTES   AND   ILLUSTRATIONS.  311 

rite  confines  the  application  of  this  law  exclusively  to  the 
phenomena  of  recollection  alone,  without  any  glimj)se  of  a 
more  general  operation  extending  to  all  connections  of 
thought  and  feeling,  —  a  wonderful  proof,  indeed,  even  so 
limited,  of  the  sagacity  of  the  great  philosopher,  but  which 
for  many  ages  continued  barren  of  further  consequences. 
The  illustrations  of  Aquinas  throw  light  on  the  original  doc- 
trine, and  show  that  it  was  unenlarged  in  his  time.  "  When 
we  recollect  Socrates,  the  thought  of  Plato  occurs  '  as  like 
him.'  When  we  remember  Hector,  the  thought  of  Achilles 
occurs  'as  contrary.'  The  idea  of  a  father  is  followed  by 
that  of  a  son  '  as  near.'" — Opera,  vol.  i.  pars  ii.  p.  62.  et  seq. 
Those  of  Ludovicus  Vives,  as  quoted  by  Mr.  Coleridge,  ex- 
tend no  farther.  But  if  Mr.  Coleridge  will  compare  the  parts 
of  Hobbes  on  Human  Nature  which  relate  to  this  subject, 
with  those  which  explain  general  terms,  he  will  perceive  that 
the  philosopher  of  Malmesbury  builds  on  these  two  founda- 
tions a  general  theory  of  the  human  understanding,  of  which 
reasoning  is  only  a  particular  case.  In  consequence  of  the 
assertion  of  ^Ir.  Coleridge,  that  Hobbes  was  anticipated  by 
Descartes  in  his  excellent  and  interesting  discourse  on 
Method,  I  have  twice  reperused  the  latter's  work  in  quest  of 
this  remarkable  anticipation,  though,  as  I  thought,  well  ac- 
quainted by  my  old  studies  with  the  writings  of  that  great 
philosopher.  jNIy  labour  has,  however,  been  vain  :  I  have 
discovered  no  trace  of  that  or  of  any  similar  speculation. 
My  edition  is  in  Latin  by  Elzevir,  at  Amsterdam,  in  1650, 
the  year  of  Descartes's  death.  I  am  obliged,  therefore,  to 
conjecture,  that  Mr.  Coleridge,  having  mislaid  his  references, 
has,  by  mistake,  quoted  the  discourse  on  ^Method,  instead 
of  another  work ;  which  would  affect  his  inference  from  the 
priority  of  Descartes  to  Hobbes.  It  is  not  to  be  denied, 
that  the  opinion  of  Aristotle,  repeated  by  so  many  com- 
mentators, may  have  found  its  way  into  the  mind  of  Hobbes, 
and  also  of  Hume ;  though  neither  might  be  aware  of  its 
source,  or  even  conscious  that  it  was  not  originally  his  own. 
Yet  the  very  narrow  view  of  Association  taken  by  Locke, 
his  apparently  treating  it  as  a  novelty,  and  the  silence  of 
common  books  respecting  it,  afford  a  presumption  that  the 
Peripatetic  doctrine  was  so  little  known,  that  it  might  have 
escaped  the  notice  of  these  philosophers; — one  of  whom 
boasted  that  he  was  unread,  while  the  other  is  not  liable  to 
the  suspicion  of  unacknowledged  borrowing. 

X  4 


312  NOTES   AND   ILLUSTRATIONS. 

To  Mr.  Coleridge,  who  distrusts  his  own  power  of  build- 
ing a  bridge  by  which  his  ideas  may  pass  into  a  mind  so 
differently  trained  as  mine,  I  venture  to  suggest,  with  that 
sense  of  his  genius  which  no  circumstance  has  hindered  me 
from  seizing  every  fit  occasion  to  manifest,  that  more  of  my 
early  years  were  employed  in  contemplations  of  an  abstract 
nature  than  of  those  of  the  majority  of  his  readers,  —  that 
there  are  not,   even  now,  many  of  them  less  likely  to  be 
repelled  from  doctrines  by  singularity  or  uncouthness ;  or 
many  more  willing  to  allow  that  every  system  has  caught 
an  advantageous  glimpse  of  some  side  or  corner  of  the 
truth ;  or  many  more  desirous  of  exhibiting  this  dispersion 
of  the  fragments  of  wisdom  by  attempts  to  translate  the 
doctrine  of  one  school  into  the  language  of  another ;    or 
many   who   when   they  cannot    discover   a  reason   for   an 
opinion,  consider  it  more  important  to  discover  the  causes 
of  its  adoption  by  the  philosopher  ; — believing,  as  I  do,  that 
one  of  the  most  arduous  and  useful  offices  of  mental  philo- 
sophy is  to  explore  the  subtile  illusions  which  enable  great 
minds  to  satisfy  themselves  by  mere  words,  before  they  de- 
ceive others  by  payment  in  the  same  counterfeit  coin.     My 
habits,  together  with  the  natural  influence  of  my  age  and 
avocations,  lead  me  to  suspect  that  in  speculative  philosophy 
I  am  nearer  to  indifference  than  to  an  exclusive  spirit.     I 
hope  that  it   can   neither    be  thought   presumptuous   nor 
offensive  in  me  to  doubt,  whether  the  circumstance  of  its 
being  found  difficult  to  convey  a  metaphysical  doctrine  to 
a  person  who,  at  one  part  of  his  life,  made  such  studies  his 
chief  pursuit,  may  not  imply  either  error  in  the  opinion,  or 
defect  in  the  mode  of  communication. 

Note  V.    page  196. 

A  very  late  writer,  who  seems  to  speak  for  Mr.  Bentham 
with  authority,  tells  us  that  "  the  first  time  the  phrase  of 
'  the  principle  of  utility '  was  brought  decidedly  into  no- 
tice, was  in  the  '  Essays,'  by  David  Hume,  published  about 
the  year  1742.  In  that  work  it  is  mentioned  as  the  name  of 
a  principle  which  might  be  made  the  foundation  of  a  system 
of  morals,  in  opposition  to  a  system  then  in  vogue,  which  was 
founded  on  what  was  called  the  '  moral  sense.''  The  ideas, 
however,  there  attached  to  it,  are  vague  and  defective  in 
practical  application.'''' — Westminster  Review,  vol.  xi.  p.  258. 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIOXS.  313 

If  these  few  sentences  were  scrutinised  with  the  severity 
and  minuteness  of  Bentham's  Fragment  on  Government, 
thej  would  be  found  to  contain  almost  as  many  misremem- 
brances  as  assertions.  The  principle  of  Utility  is  not 
"  mentioned^'''  but  fully  discussed,  in  Mr.  Hume's  discourse. 
It  is  seldom  spoken  of  by  "  name.'"  Instead  of  chargino- 
the  statements  of  it  with  "  vagueness,''  it  would  be  more 
just  to  admire  the  precision  which  it  combines  with  beauty. 
Instead  of  being  "  defective  in  practical  application,'''  per- 
haps the  desire  of  rendering  it  popular  has  crowded  it  with 
examples  and  illustrations  taken  from  life.  To  the  asser- 
tion that  "  it  icas  opposed  to  the  moral  sense,"  no  reply  can 
be  needful  but  the  following  words  extracted  from  the  dis- 
course itself:  "I  am  apt  to  suspect  that  reason  and  seiiti- 
ment  concur  in  almost  all  moral  determinations  and  con- 
clusions. The  final  sentence  which  pronounces  characters  and 
actions  amiable  or  odious,  prohahhj  depends  on  some  internal 
sense  or  feeling,  which  nature  has  made  universal  in  the  whole 
species''  —  Incjuiry  concerning  the  Principles  of  IMorals, 
sect.  1.  The  phrase  "made  universal,"  which  is  here  used 
instead  of  the  more  obvious  and  common  word  *'  implanted," 
shows  the  anxious  and  perfect  precision  of  language,  by 
which  a  philosopher  avoids  the  needless  decision  of  a  con- 
troversy not  at  the  moment  before  him. 

[Dr.  Whewell  puts  the  case  against  the  present  w/5-deno- 
mination  assumed  by  the  disciples  of  ^Ir.  Bentham  thus 
neatly  :  —  ''If  the  word  from  which  Deontology  is  derived 
had  borrowed  its  meaning  from  the  notion  of  utility  alone,  it 
is  not  likely  that  it  would  have  become  more  intelligible  by 
being  translated  out  of  Latin  into  Greek.  But  the  terra 
'Deontology'  expresses  moral  science  (and  expresses  it  well), 
precisely  because  it  signifies  the  science  of  duty,  and  contains 
no  reference  to  Utility.  Mackintosh,  who  held  that  to  ckov 
— what  men  ought  to  do  —  was  the  fundamental  notion  of 
morality,  might  very  probably  have  termed  the  science 
'  Deontology.'  The  svstem  of  which  ^Mr.  Bentham  is  the 
representative  —  that  of  those  who  make  morality  depen- 
dent on  the  production  of  happiness  —  has  long  been  de- 
signated in  Germany  by  the  term  '  £udemonism,'  derived 
from  the  Greek  word  for  happiness  (iv^atnotna).  If  we 
were  to  adopt  this  term,  we  should  have  to  oppose  the 
Deontological  to  the  Eudemonist  school ;  and  we  must  ne- 
cessarily place  those  who  hold  a  peculiar  moral  faculty,  — 


314  NOTES   AND  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Butler,  Stewart,  Brown,  and  Mackintosh,  —  in  the  former, 
and  those  who  are  usually  called  Utilitarian  philosophers  in 
the  latter  class." — Preface  to  this  Dissertation,  8vo.,  Edin- 
burgh, 1837.     Ed.] 

KoTE  W.  page  199. 

A  writer  of  consummate  ability,  who  has  failed  in  little 
but  the  respect  due  to  the  abilities  and  character  of  his 
opponents,  has  given  too  much  countenance  to  the  abuse 
and  confusion  of  language  exemplified  in  the  well-known 
verse  of  Pope,  — 

"  Modes  of  self-love  the  Passions  we  may  call," 

"  We  know,"  says  he,  "  no  universal  proposition  respecting 
human  nature  which  is  true  but  one,  —  that  men  always  act 
from  self-interest." — Edinburgh  Review,  vol.  xlix.  p.  185. 
It  is  manifest  from  the  sequel,  that  the  writer  is  not  the 
dupe  of  the  confusion ;  but  many  of  his  readers  may  be  so. 
If,  indeed,  the  word  "  self-interest "  could  with  propriety 
be  used  for  the  gratification  of  every  prevalent  desire,  he 
has  clearly  shown  that  this  change  in  the  signification  of 
terms  would  be  of  no  advantage  to  the  doctrine  which  he 
controverts.  It  would  make  as  many  sorts  of  self-interest 
as  there  are  appetites,  and  it  is  irreconcilably  at  variance 
with  the  system  of  association  embraced  by  Mr.  Mill.  To 
the  word  "  self-love,"  Hartley  properly  assigns  two  signifi- 
cations : —  1.  gross  self-love,  which  consists  in  the  pursuit 
of  the  greatest  pleasures,  from  all  those  desires  which  look 
to  individual  gratification ;  or,  2.  refined  self-love,  which 
seeks  the  greatest  pleasure  which  can  arise  from  all  the  de- 
sires of  human  nature,  —  the  latter  of  which  is  an  invalu- 
able, though  inferior  principle.  The  admirable  writer  whose 
language  has  occasioned  this  illustration,  — who  at  an  early 
age  has  mastered  every  species  of  composition, — will  doubt- 
less hold  fast  to  simplicity,  which  survives  all  the  fashions 
of  deviation  from  it,  and  which  a  man  of  a  genius  so  fertile 
has  few  temptations  to  forsake. 


ON  THE 

PHILOSOPHICAL    GEXIUS 

OP 

LORD   BACOX  AND   MR.  LOCKE.* 


"History,"  says  Lord  Bacon,  "is  Natural,  Civil  or 
Ecclesiastical,  or  Literary;  whereof  the  three  first  I 
allow  as  extant,  the  fourth  I  note  as  deficient.  For 
no  man  hath  propounded  to  himself  the  general  state 
of  learning,  to  be  described  and  represented  from  age 
to  age,  as  many  have  done  the  works  of  Nature,  and 
the  State  civil  and  ecclesiastical ;  without  which  the 
history  of  the  world  seemeth  to  me  to  be  as  the  statue 
of  Polyphemus  with  his  eye  out ;  that  part  being 
wanting  which  doth  most  show  the  spirit  and  life  of 
the  person.  And  yet  I  am  not  ignorant,  that  in 
divers  particular  sciences,  as  of  the  jurisconsults,  the 
mathematicians,  the  rhetoricians,  and  the  philosophers, 
there  are  set  down  some  small  memorials  of  the 
schools,  —  of  authors  of  books !  so  likewise  some 
barren  relations  touching  the  invention  of  arts  or 
usages.  But  a  just  story  of  learning,  containing  the 
antiquities  and  originals  of  knowledges,  and  their  sects, 
their  inventions,  their  traditions,  their  divers  adminis- 
trations and  managings,  their  oppositions,  decays, 
depressions,  oblivions,  removes,  with  the  causes  and 
occasions  of  them,   and  all  other  events  concerning 

*  These  remarks  are  extracted  from  the  Edinburgh  Review, 
vol.  xxvii.  p.  180. ;  vol.  xxxvi.  p.  229. — Ed. 


316  ON   THE   PHILOSOPHICAL   GENIUS 

learning  tlirougliout  the  ages  of  the  world,  I  may 
truly  affirm  to  be  wanting.  The  use  and  end  of 
which  work  I  do  not  so  much  design  for  curiosity,  or 
satisfaction  of  those  who  are  lovers  of  learning,  but 
chiefly  for  a  more  serious  and  grave  purpose,  which 
is  this,  in  few  words,  '  that  it  tvill  make  learned  men 
wise  in  the  use  and  administration  of  learning ^^"^ 

Though  there  are  passages  in  the  writings  of  Lord 
Bacon  more  splendid  than  the  above,  few,  probably, 
better  display  the  union  of  all  the  qualities  which 
characterised  his  philosophical  genius.  He  has  in 
general  inspired  a  fervour  of  admiration  which  vents 
itself  in  indiscriminate  praise,  and  is  very  adverse  to 
a  calm  examination  of  the  character  of  his  under- 
standing, which  was  very  peculiar,  and  on  that 
account  described  with  more  than  ordinary  imperfec- 
tion, by  that  unfortunately  vague  and  weak  part  of 
language  which  attempts  to  distinguish  the  varieties 
of  mental  superiority.  To  this  cause  it  may  be 
ascribed,  that  perhaps  no  great  man  has  been  either 
more  ignorantly  censured  or  more  uninstructively 
commended.  It  is  easy  to  describe  his  transcendent 
merit  in  general  terms  of  commendation ;  for  some  of 
his  great  qualities  lie  on  the  surface  of  his  writings. 
But  that  in  which  he  most  excelled  all  other  men, 
was  the  range  and  compass  of  his  intellectual  view  and 
the  power  of  contemplating  many  and  distant  objects 
together  without  indistinctness  or  confusion,  which 
he  himself  has  called  the  "discursive"  or  "compre- 
hensive "  understanding.  This  wide  ranging  intellect 
was  illuminated  by  the  brightest  Fancy  that  ever 
contented  itself  with  the  office  of  only  ministering  to 
Reason  ;  and  from  this  singular  relation  of  the  two 
grand  faculties  of  man,  it  has  resulted,  that  his  philo- 
sophy, though  illustrated  still  more  than  adorned  by 
the  utmost  splendour  of  imagery,  continues  still 
subject  to  the  undivided  supremacy  of  Intellect.     In 

*  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii. 


OP   BACON  AND   LOCKE.  317 

the  midst  of  all  the  prodigality  of  an  imagination 
which,  had  it  been  independent,  would  have  been 
poetical,  his  opinions  remained  severely  rational. 

It  is  not  so  easy  to  conceive,  or  at  least  to  describe, 
other  equally  essential  elements  of  his  greatness,  and 
conditions  of  his  success.  His  is  probably  a  single 
instance  of  a  mind  which,  in  philosophising,  always 
reaches  the  point  of  elevation  whence  the  Avhole  pro- 
spect is  commanded,  without  ever  rising  to  such  a 
distance  as  to  lose  a  distinct  perception  of  every  part 
of  it.*  It  is  perhaps  not  less  singular,  that  his  philo- 
sophy should  be  founded  at  once  on  disregard  for  the 
authority  of  men,  and  on  reverence  for  the  boundaries 
prescribed  by  Nature  to  human  inquiry ;  that  he  who 
thought  so  little  of  what  man  had  done,  hoped  so 
highly  of  what  he  could  do  ;  that  so  daring  an  inno- 
vator in  science  should  be  so  wholly  exempt  from  the 
love  of  singularity  or  paradox  ;  and  that  the  same 
man  who  renounced  imaginary  provinces  in  the 
empire  of  science,  and  withdrew  his  landmarks  within 
the  limits  of  experience,  should  also  exhort  posterity 
to  push  their  conquests  to  its  utmost  verge,  with  a 
boldness  which  will  be  fully  justified  only  by  the  dis- 
coveries of  ages  from  which  we  are  yet  far  distant. 

No  man  ever  united  a  more  poetical  style  to  a  less 
poetical  philosophy.  One  great  end  of  his  discipline 
is  to  prevent  mysticism  and  fanaticism  from  obstruct- 
ing the  pursuit  of  truth.  With  a  less  brilliant  fancy, 
he  would  have  had  a  mind  less  qualified  for  philo- 
sophical inquiry.     His  fancy  gave  him  that  power  of 

*  He  himself  who  alone  was  qualified,  has  described  the  genius 
of  his  philosophy  both  in  respect  to  the  degree  and  manner  in 
which  he  rose  from  particidars  to  generals :  "  Axiomata  infima 
non  multum  ab  experientia  nuda  discrepant.  Suprema  vero  ilia 
et  generalissima  (quie  habentur)  notionalia  sunt  et  abstracta,  ct 
nil  habent  solidi.  At  media  sunt  axiomata  ilia  vera,  et  solida, 
et  viva,  in  quibus  humana;  res  et  fortunaj  sitai  sunt,  et  supra  ha^c 
quoque,  tandem  ipsa  ilia  generalis-sima,  talia  scilicet  quae  non 
abstracta  sint,  sed  per  ha^c  media  vere  limitantur." —  Norum 
Ojganum,  lib.  L  aphoris.  104. 


318  ON   THE   PHILOSOPHICAL    GENIUS 

illustrative  metaphor,  by  which  he  seemed  to  have 
invented  again  the  part  of  language  which  respects 
philosophy;  and  it  rendered  new  truths  more  dis- 
tinctly visible  even  to  his  own  eye,  in  their  bright 
clothing  of  imagery.  Without  it,  he  must  like  others 
have  been  driven  to  the  fabrication  of  uncouth  tech- 
nical terms,  which  repel  the  mind  either  by  vulgarity 
or  pedantry,  instead  of  gently  leading  it  to  novelties 
in  science,  through  agreeable  analogies  with  objects 
already  familiar.  A  considerable  portion  doubtless 
of  the  courage  with  which  he  undertook  the  reforma- 
tion of  philosophy,  was  caught  from  the  general 
spirit  of  his  extraordinary  age,  when  the  mind  of 
Europe  was  yet  agitated  by  the  joy  and  pride  of 
emancipation  from  long  bondage.  The  beautiful  my- 
thology, and  the  poetical  history  of  the  ancient  world, 
—  not  yet  become  trivial  or  pedantic,  —  appeared 
before  his  eyes  in  all  their  freshness  and  lustre.  To 
the  general  reader  they  were  then  a  discovery  as 
recent  as  the  world  disclosed  by  Columbus.  The 
ancient  literature,  on  which  his  imagination  looked 
back  for  illustration,  had  then  as  much  the  charm  of 
novelty  as  that  rising  philosophy  through  which  his 
reason  dared  to  look  onward  to  some  of  the  last 
periods  in  its  unceasing  and  resistless  course. 

In  order  to  form  a  just  estimate  of  this  wonderful 
person,  it  is  essential  to  fix  steadily  in  our  minds, 
what  he  was  not,  —  what  he  did  not  do,  —  and  what 
he  professed  neither  to  be,  nor  to  do.  He  was  not 
what  is  called  a  metaphysician :  his  plans  for  the 
improvement  of  science  were  not  inferred  by  abstract 
reasoning  from  any  of  those  primary  principles  to 
which  the  philosophers  of  Greece  struggled  to  fasten 
their  systems.  Hence  he  has  been  treated  as  em- 
pirical and  superficial  by  those  who  take  to  themselves 
the  exclusive  name  of  profound  speculators.  He  was 
not,  on  the  other  hand,  a  mathematician,  an  astro- 
nomer, a  physiologist,  a  chemist.  He  was  not  emi- 
nently conversant  with  the  particular  truths  of  any 


OF    BACON   AND   LOCKE.  319 

of  those  sciences  which  existed  in  his  time.  For  this 
reason,  he  was  underrated  even  by  men  themselves 
of  the  highest  merit,  and  by  some  who  had  acquired 
the  most  just  reputation,  by  adding  new  facts  to  the 
stock  of  certain  knowledge.  It  is  not  therefore  very 
surprising  to  find,  that  Harvey,  "though  the  friend 
as  well  as  physician  of  Bacon,  though  he  esteemed 
him  much  for  his  wit  and  style,  would  not  allow  him 
to  be  a  great  philosopher ; "  but  said  to  Aubrey,  "  He 
writes  philosophy  like  a  Lord  Chancellor," — "  in  deri- 
sion,"—  as  the  honest  biographer  thinks  fit  expressly 
to  add.  On  the  same  ground,  though  in  a  manner 
not  so  agreeable  to  the  nature  of  his  own  claims  on 
reputation,  Mr.  Hume  has  decided,  that  Bacon  was 
not  so  great  a  man  as  Galileo,  because  he  was  not  so 
great  an  astronomer.  The  same  sort  of  injustice  to 
his  memory  has  been  more  often  committed  than 
avowed,  by  professors  of  the  exact  and  the  experi- 
mental sciences,  who  are  accustomed  to  regard,  as 
the  sole  test  of  service  to  Knowledge,  a  palpable 
addition  to  her  store.  It  is  very  true  that  he  made 
no  discoveries  :  but  his  life  was  employed  in  teaching 
the  method  by  which  discoveries  are  made.  This 
distinction  was  early  observed  by  that  ingenious  poet 
and  amiable  man,  on  whom  we,  by  our  unmerited 
neglect,  have  taken  too  severe  a  revenge,  for  the 
exaggerated  praises  bestowed  on  him  by  our  ances- 
tors : — 

"  Bacon,  like  Moses,  led  us  forth  at  last, 
'  The  barren  wilderness  he  past, 
Did  on  the  very  border  stand 
Of  the  blest  promised  land  ; 
And  from  the  mountain  top  of  his  exalted  wit, 
Saw  it  himself,  and  shewed  us  it."  * 

The  writings  of  Bacon  do  not  even  abound  with 
remarks  so  capable  of  being  separated  from  the  mass 
of  previous  knowledge  and  reflection,  that  they  can  be 

*  Cowley,  Ode  to  the  Royal  Society. 


320  ON   THE    PHILOSOPHICAL    GENIUS 

called  new.  This  at  least  is  very  far  from  their 
greatest  distinction :  and  where  such  remarks  occur, 
they  are  presented  more  often  as  examples  of  his 
general  method,  than  as  important  on  their  own 
separate  account.  In  physics,  Avhich  presented  the 
principal  field  for  discovery,  and  which  owe  all  that 
they  are,  or  can  be,  to  his  method  and  spirit,  the  ex- 
periments and  observations  which  he  either  made  or 
registered,  form  the  least  valuable  part  of  his  writings, 
and  have  furnished  some  cultivators  of  that  science 
Avith  an  opportunity  for  an  ungrateful  triumph  over 
his  mistakes.  The  scattered  remarks,  on  the  other 
hand,  of  a  moral  nature,  where  absolute  novelty  is 
precluded  by  the  nature  of  the  subject,  manifest  most 
strongly  both  the  superior  force  and  the  original  bent 
of  his  understanding.  We  more  properly  contrast 
than  compare  the  experiments  in  the  Natural  History, 
with  the  moral  and  political  observations  which  en- 
rich the  Advancement  of  Learning,  the  speeches,  the 
letters,  the  History  of  Henry  VII.,  and,  above  all,  the 
Essays,  a  book  which,  though  it  has  been  praised  with 
equal  fervour  by  Voltaire,  Johnson,  and  Burke,  has 
never  been  characterised  with  such  exact  justice,  and 
such  exquisite  felicity  of  expression,  as  in  the  dis- 
course of  Mr.  Stewart.*  It  will  serve  still  more  dis- 
tinctly to  mark  the  natural  tendency  of  his  mind,  to 
observe  that  his  moral  and  political  reflexions  relate 
to  these  practical  subjects,  considered  in  their  most 

*  "  Under  the  same  head  of  Ethics,  may  be  mentioned  the 
small  volume  to  which  he  has  given  the  title  of  'Essays,'  —  the 
best  known  and  most  popular  of  all  his  works.  It  is  also  one  of 
those  where  the  superiority  of  his  genius  appears  to  the  greatest 
advantage  ;  the  novelty  and  depth  of  his  reflexions  often  receiving 
a  strong  relief  from  the  triteness  of  the  subject.  It  may  be  read 
from  beginning  to  end  in  a  few  hours ;  and  yet,  after  the  twentieth 
perusal,  one  seldom  fails  to  remark  in  it  something  unobserved 
before.  This,  indeed,  is  a  characteristic  of  all  Bacon's  writings, 
and  is  only  to  be  accounted  for  by  the  inexhaustible  aliment  they 
furnish  to  our  own  thoughts,  and  the  sympathetic  activity  they  impart 
to  our  torpid  faculties." — Eucyclopsedia  Britanuica,  vol.  i.  p.  36. 


OF    BACON   AND    LOCKE.  321 

practical  point  of  view ;  and  that  lie  has  seldom  or 
never  attempted  to  reduce  to  theory  the  infinite  par- 
ticulars of  that  "  civil  knowledge,"  which,  as  he  him- 
self tells  us,  is,  "  of  all  others,  most  immersed  in  matter, 
and  hardliest  reduced  to  axiom." 

His  mind,  indeed,  was  formed  and  exercised  in  the 
affairs  of  the  world :  his  genius  was  eminently  civil. 
His  understanding  Avas  peculiarly  fitted  for  questions 
of  legislation  and  of  policy  ;  though  his  character  was 
not  an  instrument  well  qualified  to  execute  the  dictates 
of  his  reason.  The  same  civil  wisdom  which  distin- 
guishes his  judgments  on  human  affairs,  may  also  be 
traced  through  his  reformation  of  philosophy.  It  is  a 
practical  judgment  applied  to  science.  ^^^lat  he 
effected  was  reform  in  the  maxims  of  state,  — a  reform 
which  had  always  before  been  unsuccessfully  pursued 
in  the  republic  of  Letters.  It  is  not  derived  from 
metaphysical  reasoning,  nor  from  scientific  detail,  but 
from  a  species  of  intellectual  prudence,  which,  on  the 
practical  ground  of  failure  and  disappointment  in  the 
prevalent  modes  of  pursuing  knowledge,  builds  the 
necessity  of  alteration,  and  inculcates  the  advantage 
of  administering  the  sciences  on  other  principles.  It 
is  an  error  to  represent  him  either  as  imputing  fallacy 
to  the  syllogistic  method,  or  as  professing  his  principle 
of  induction  to  be  a  discovery.  The  rules  and  forms 
of  argument  will  always  form  an  important  part  of  the 
art  of  logic  ;  and  the  method  of  induction,  which  is 
the  art  of  discovery,  was  so  far  from  being  unknown 
to  Aristotle,  that  it  was  often  faithfully  pursued  by 
that  great  observer.  What  Bacon  aimed  at,  he  accom- 
plished ;  which  was,  not  to  discover  new  principles, 
but  to  excite  a  new  spirit,  and  to  render  observation 
and  experiment  the  predominant  characteristics  of 
philosophy.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  Bacon  could 
not  have  been  the  author  of  a  system  or  the  founder 
of  a  sect.  He  did  not  deliver  opinions  ;  he  taught 
modes  of  philosophising.  His  early  immersion  in 
civil  affairs  fitted  him  for  this  species  of  scientific 

VOL.  I.  Y 


322  ON    THE    PHILOSOPHICAL    GENIUS 

reformation.  His  political  course,  though  in  itself 
unhappy,  probably  conduced  to  the  success,  and  cer- 
tainly influenced  the  character,  of  the  contemplative 
part  of  his  life.  Had  it  not  been  for  his  active  habits, 
it  is  likely  that  the  pedantry  and  quaintness  of  his  age 
V70uld  have  still  more  deeply  corrupted  his  significant 
and  majestic  style.  The  force  of  the  illustrations 
which  he  takes  from  his  experience  of  ordinary  life, 
is  often  as  remarkable  as  the  beauty  of  those  which 
he  so  happily  borrows  from  his  study  of  antiquity. 
But  if  we  have  caught  the  leading  principle  of  his 
intellectual  character,  we  must  attribute  effects  still 
deeper  and  more  extensive,  to  his  familiarity  with  the 
active  world.  It  guarded  him  against  vain  subtlety, 
and  against  all  speculation  that  was  either  visionary 
or  fruitless.  It  preserved  him  from  the  reigning 
prejudices  of  contemplative  men,  and  from  undue  pre- 
ference to  particular  parts  of  knowledge.  J£  he  had 
been  exclusively  bred  in  the  cloister  or  the  schools, 
he  might  not  have  had  courage  enough  to  reform 
their  abuses.  It  seems  necessary  that  he  should  have 
been  so  placed  as  to  look  on  science  in  the  free  spirit 
of  an  intelligent  spectator.  Without  the  pride  of 
professors,  or  the  bigotry  of  their  followers,  he  sur- 
veyed from  the  world  the  studies  which  reigned  in 
the  schools :  and  trying  them  by  their  fruits,  he  saw 
that  they  were  barren,  and  therefore  pronounced  that 
they  were  unsound.  He  himself  seems,  indeed,  to 
liave  indicated  as  clearly  as  modesty  would  allow,  in 
a  case  that  concerned  himself,  and  where  he  departed 
from  an  universal  and  almost  natural  sentiment,  that 
he  regarded  scholastic  seclusion,  then  more  unsocial 
and  rigorous  than  it  now  can  be,  as  a  hindrance  in 
the  pursuit  of  knowledge.  In  one  of  the  noblest 
passages  of  his  writings,  the  conclusion  "  of  the  In- 
terpretation of  Nature,"  he  tells  us,  "  That  there  is  no 
composition  of  estate  or  society,  nor  order  or  quality 
of  persons,  which  have  not  some  point  of  contrariety 
towards   true   knowledge;    that    monarchies    incline 


OF    BACOX   AND   LOCKE.  323 

wits  to  profit  and  pleasure ;  commonwealtlis  to  glorj 
and  vanity  ;  universities  to  sophistry  and  affectation  ; 
cloisters  to  fables  and  unprofitable  subtlety ;  study  at 
large  to  variety ;  and  that  it  is  hard  to  say  whether 
mixture  of  contemplations  with  an  active  life,  or 
retiring  wholly  to  contemplations,  do  disable  or  hinder 
the  mind  more." 

But  though  he  was  thus  free  from  the  prejudices 
of  a  science,  a  school  or  a  sect,  other  prejudices  of  a 
lower  nature,  and  belonging  only  to  the  inferior  class 
of  those  who  conduct  civil  afi^iirs,  have  been  ascribed 
to  him  by  encomiasts  as  well  as  by  opponents.  He 
has  been  said  to  consider  the  great  end  of  science  to  be 
the  increase  of  the  outward  accommodations  and  en- 
joyments of  human  life  :  we  cannot  see  any  foundation 
for  this  charge.  In  labouring,  indeed,  to  correct  the 
direction  of  study,  and  to  withdraw  it  from  these 
unprofitable  subtleties,  it  was  necessary  to  attract  it 
powerfully  towards  outward  acts  and  works.  lie  no 
doubt  duly  valued  "the  dignity  of  this  end,  the 
endowment  of  man's  life  with  new  commodities;"  and 
he  strikingly  observes,  that  the  most  poetical  people 
of  the  world  had  admitted  the  inventors  of  the  useful 
and  manual  arts  among  the  highest  beings  in  their 
beautiful  mythology.  Had  he  lived  to  the  age  of 
Watt  and  Davy,  he  would  not  have  been  of  the  vulgar 
and  contracted  mind  of  those  who  cease  to  admire 
grand  exertions  of  intellect,  because  they  are  useful  to 
mankind:  but  he  would  certainly  have  considered 
their  great  works  rather  as  tests  of  the  progress  of 
knowledge  than  as  parts  of  its  highest  end.  His  im- 
portant questions  to  the  doctors  of  his  time  were : — 
"  Is  truth  ever  barren  ?  Are  we  the  richer  by  one  poor 
invention,  by  reason  of  all  the  learning  tliat  hath  been 
these  many  hundred  years?"  His  judgment,  we  may 
also  hear  from  himself:  —  "Francis  Bacon  thought  in 
this  manner.  The  knowledge  whereof  the  world  is 
now  possessed,  especially  that  of  nature,  extendeth 
not  to  jnagnitude  and  certainty  of  worhs^''     He  found 

Y  2 


324  ON    THE    PHILOSOPHICAL    GENIUS 

knowledge  barren  ;  he  left  it  fertile.  He  did  not 
underrate  the  utility  of  particular  inventions  ;  but  it 
is  evident  that  he  valued  them  most,  as  being  them- 
selves among  the  highest  exertions  of  superior  intellect, 

—  as  being  monuments  of  the  progress  of  knowledge, 

—  as  being  the  bands  of  that  alliance  between  action 
and  speculation,  wherefrom  springs  an  appeal  to  ex- 
perience and  utility,  checking  the  proneness  of  the 
philosopher  to  extreme  refinements ;  while  teaching 
men  to  revere,  and  exciting  them  to  pursue  science 
by  these  splendid  proofs  of  its  beneficial  power.  Had 
he  seen  the  change  in  this  respect,  which,  produced 
chiefly  in  his  own  country  by  the  spirit  of  his  philoso- 
phy, has  made  some  degree  of  science  almost  necessary 
to  the  subsistence  and  fortune  of  large  bodies  of  men, 
he  would  assuredly  have  regarded  it  as  an  additional 
security  for  the  future  groAvth  of  the  human  under- 
standing. He  taught,  as  he  tells  us,  the  means,  not  of 
the  "amplification  of  the  power  of  one  man  over  his 
country,  nor  of  the  amplification  of  the  power  of  that 
country  over  other  nations ;  but  the  amplification  of  the 
power  and  kingdom  of  mankind  over  the  world,"  —  "a 
restitution  of  man  to  the  sovereignty  of  nature,"*  — 
"  and  the  enlarging  the  bounds  of  human  empire  to  the 
eiFecting  all  things  possible."  f  From  the  enlargement 
of  reason,  he  did  not  separate  the  growth  of  virtue, 
for  he  thought  that  "  truth  and  goodness  were  one, 
differing  but  as  the  seal  and  the  print ;  for  truth 
prints  goodness."  :|: 

As  civil  history  teaches  statesmen  to  profit  by  the 
faults  of  their  predecessors,  he  proposes  that  the 
history  of  philosophy  should  teach,  by  example, 
"  learned  men  to  become  wise  in  the  administration  of 
learning."  Early  immersed  in  civil  aiFairs,  and  deeply 
imbued  with  their  spirit,  his  mind  in  this  place  con- 
templates science  only  through  the  analogy  of  govern- 

*  Of  the  Interpretation  of  Nature.  f  New  Atlantis. 

J  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  i. 


OF  BACON  AND  LOCKE.  325 

ment,  and  considers  principles  of  philosophising  as  the 
easiest  maxims  of  policy  for  the  guidance  of  reason. 
It   seems    also,    that   in  describing  the   objects  of  a 
history  of  philosophy,  and  the  utility  to  be  derived 
from  it,  he  discloses  the  principle  of  his  own  exertions 
in  behalf  of  knowledge  ; — whereby  a   reform   in  its 
method  and  maxims,  justified  by  the  experience  of 
their  injurious  effects,  is  conducted  with  a  judgment 
analogous  to  that  civil  prudence  which  guides  a  wise 
lawgiver.     If  (as  may  not  improbably  be  concluded 
from   this   passage)  the  reformation  of  science   was 
suggested  to  Lord  Bacon,  by  a  review  of  the  history 
of  philosophy,  it  must  be  owned,  that  his  outline  of 
that   history   has   a  very  important   relation   to   the 
general  character  of  his  philosophical  genius.      The 
smallest  circumstances  attendant  on  that  outline  serve 
to  illustrate  the  powers  and  habits  of  thought  which 
distinguished   its    author.     It   is  an  example   of  his 
faculty  of  anticipating,  —  not  insulated  facts  or  single 
discoveries,  —  but  (what  from  its  complexity  and  re- 
finement seem  much  more  to  defy  the  power  of  pro- 
phecy) the   tendencies   of  study,   and   the  modes  of 
thinking,  which  were  to  prevail  in  distant  generations, 
that  the  parts  which  he  has  chosen  to  unfold  or  en- 
force in  the  Latin  versions,  are  those  which  a  thinker 
of  the  present  age  would  deem  both  most  excellent 
and  most  arduous  in  a  history  of  philosophy;  —  "  the 
causes  of  literary  revolutions ;  the  study  of  contempo- 
rary writers,  not  merely  as  the  most  authentic  sources 
of  information,  but  as  enabling  the  historian  to  pre- 
serve in  his  own  description    the   peculiar  colour  of 
every  age,  and  to  recall  its  literary  genius  from  the 
dead."     This  outline  has  the  uncommon  distinction  of 
being  at  once  original  and  comj)lete.    In  tliis  province, 
Bacon  had  no  forerunner  ;  and  tlie    most  successful 
follower  will  be  he,  who  most  faithfully  observes  his 
precepts. 

Here,  as  in  every  province  of  knowledge,  he  con- 
cludes his  review  of  the  performances  and  prospects 

Y    3 


326  ON    THE    PHILOSOPHICAL    GENIUS 

of  the  human  understanding,  by  considering  their 
subservience  to  the  grand  purpose  of  improving  the 
condition,  the  faculties,  and  the  nature  of  man,  without 
which,  indeed,  science  would  be  no  more  than  a 
beautiful  ornament,  and  literature  would  rank  no 
higher  than  a  liberal  amusement.  Yet  it  must  be 
acknowledged,  that  he  rather  perceived  than  felt  the 
connection  of  Truth  and  Good.  Whether  he  lived  too 
early  to  have  sufficient  experience  of  the  moral  bene- 
fit of  civilisation,  or  his  mind  had  early  acquired 
too  exclusive  an  interest  in  science,  to  look  fre- 
quently beyond  its  advancement;  or  whether  the  in- 
firmities and  calamities  of  his  life  had  blighted  his 
feelings,  and  turned  away  his  eyes  from  the  active 
world ;  —  to  whatever  cause  we  may  ascribe  the  defect, 
certain  it  is,  that  his  works  want  one  excellence  of  the 
highest  kind,  which  they  would  have  possessed  if  he 
had  habitually  represented  the  advancement  of  know- 
ledge as  the  most  eiFectual  means  of  realising  the 
hopes  of  Benevolence  for  the  human  race. 


The  character  of  Mr.  Locke's  writings  cannot  be 
well  understood,  without  considering  the  circum- 
stances of  the  writer.  Educated  among  the  English 
Dissenters,  during  the  short  period  of  their  political 
ascendency,  he  early  imbibed  the  deep  piety  and 
ardent  spirit  of  liberty  which  actuated  that  body  of 
men  ;  and  he  probably  imbibed  also,  in  their  schools, 
the  disposition  to  metaphysical  inquiries  which  has 
every  where  accompanied  the  Calvinistic  theology. 
Sects,  founded  on  the  right  of  private  judgment, 
naturally  tend  to  purify  themselves  from  intolerance, 
and  in  time  learn  to  respect,  in  others,  the  freedom  of 
thought,  to  the  exercise  of  which  they  owe  their  own 
existence.  By  the  Independent  divines  who  were  his 
instructors,  our  philosopher  was  taught  those  prin- 
ciples of  religious  liberty  which  they  were  the  first  to 


OF    BACOX    AND    LOCKE.  327 

disclose  to  the  world.*  When  free  inquiry  led  him  to 
milder  dogmas,  he  retained  the  severe  morality  which 
was  their  honourable  singularity,  and  which  continues 
to  distinguish  their  successors  in  those  conununities 
which  have  abandoned  their  rigorous  opinions.  His 
professional  pursuits  afterwards  engaged  him  in  the 
study  of  the  physical  sciences,  at  the  moment  when 
the  spirit  of  experiment  and  observation  was  in  its 
youthful  fervour,  and  when  a  repugnance  to  scholastic 
subtleties  was  the  ruling  passion  of  the  scientific 
world.  At  a  more  mature  age,  he  was  admitted  into 
the  society  of  great  wits  and  ambitious  politicians. 
During  the  remainder  of  his  life,  he  was  often  a  man 
of  business,  and  always  a  man  of  the  world,  without 
much  undisturbed  leisure,  and  probably  with  that 
abated  relish  for  merely  abstract  speculation,  which  is 
the  inevitable  result  of  converse  with  society  and  ex- 
perience in  affiiirs.  But  his  political  connections 
agreeing  with  his  early  bias,  made  him  a  zealous  ad- 
vocate of  liberty  in  opinion  and  in  government ;  and 
he  gradually  limited  his  zeal  and  activity  to  the  illus- 
tration of  such  general  principles  as  are  the  guardians 
of  these  great  interests  of  human  society. 

Almost  all  his  writings  (even  his  Essay  itself)  were 
occasional,  and  intended  directly  to  counteract  the 
enemies  of  reason  and  freedom  in  his  own  age.  The 
first  Letter  on  Toleration,  the  most  original  perhaps 
of  his  works,  was  composed  in  Holland,  in  a  retire- 
ment where  he  was  forced  to  conceal  himself  from  the 
tyranny  which  pursued  him  into  a  foreign  land ;  and 

*  Orme's  Memoirs  of  Dr.  Owen,  pp.  99 — 110.  In  this  very 
able  volume,  it  is  clearly  proved  that  the  Independents  were  the 
first  teachers  of  reli^'ious  liberty.  The  industrious,  ingenious, 
and  tolerant  writer,  is  unjust  to  Jeremy  Taylor,  who  had  no 
share  (as  ^Ir.  Orme  supposes)  in  the  persecuting  councils  of 
Charles  IL  It  is  an  important  fact  in  tiie  history  of  Toleration, 
that  Dr.  Owen,  the  Independent,  was  Dean  of  Christchurch  in 
1651,  when  Locke  was  admitted  a  member  of  that  College, 
"  under  a  fanatical  tutor"  as  Antony  "Wood  says. 

Y  4 


328  ON    THE    PHILOSOPHICAL    GENIUS 

it  was  published  in  England,  in  the  year  of  the  Eevo- 
lution,  to  vindicate  the  Toleration  Act,  of  which  he 
lamented  the  imperfection.* 

His  Treatise  on  Government  is  composed  of  three 
parts,  of  different  character,  and  very  unequal  merit. 
The  confutation  of  Sir  Robert  Filmer,  with  Avhich  it 
opens,  has  long  lost  all  interest,  and  is  now  to  be 
considered  as  an  instance  of  the  hard  fate  of  a  phi- 
losopher who  is  compelled  to  engage  in  a  conflict 
with  those  ignoble  antagonists,  who  acquire  a  mo- 
mentary importance  by  the  defence  of  pernicious 
falsehoods.  The  same  slavish  absurdities  have  indeed 
been  at  various  times  revived  :  but  they  never  have 
assumed,  and  probably  never  will  again  assume,  the 
form  in  which  they  were  exhibited  by  Filmer.  Mr. 
Locke's  general  principles  of  government  were  adopted 
by  him,  probably  without  much  examination,  as  the 
doctrine  which  had  for  ages-  prevailed  in  the  schools 
of  Europe,  and  which  aftbrded  an  obvious  and  ade- 
quate justification  of  a  resistance  to  oppression.  He 
delivers  them  as  he  found  them,  without  even  appear- 
ing to  have  made  them  his  own  by  new  modifications. 
The  opinion,  that  the  right  of  the  magistrate  to  obe- 
dience is  founded  in  the  original  delegation  of  power 
by  the  people  to  the  government,  is  at  least  as  old  as 


*  "  We  have  need,"  says  he,  "  of  more  generous  remedies 
than  have  yet  been  used  in  ovu'  distempers.  It  is  neither  decla- 
rations of  indulgence,  nor  acts  of  comprehension  such  as  have 
yet  been  practised  or  projected  amongst  us,  that  can  do  tlie  work 
among  us.  Absolute  liberty,  just  and  true  liberty,  equal  and 
impartial  liberty,  is  the  thing  that  we  stand  in  need  of.  Noav, 
though  this  has  indeed  been  much  talked  of,  I  doubt  it  has  not 
been  much  understood, — I  am  sure  not  at  all  practised,  either  by 
our  governors  towards  the  people  in  general,  or  by  any  dissenting 
parties  of  the  people  towards  one  another."  How  far  are  we,  at 
this  moment  [1821],  from  adopting  these  admirable  principles  ! 
and  with  what  absurd  confidence  do  the  enemies  of  religious 
liberty  appeal  to  the  authority  of  Mr.  Locke  for  continuing  those 
restrictions  on  conscience  which  he  so  deeply  lamented ! 


OF  BACOX  AND  LOCKE.  329 

the  Tvritings  of  Thomas  Aquinas  *  :  and  in  the  begin- 
ning of  the  seventeenth  century,  it  was  regarded  as 
the  common  doctrine  of  all  the  divines,  jurists  and 
philosophers,  "who   had    at   that   time   examined   the 
moral  foundation  of  political  authority. f     It  then  pre- 
vailed indeed  so  universally,  that  it  was  assumed  by 
Hobbes  as  the  basis  of  his  system  of  universal  servi- 
tude.    The  divine  right  of  kingly  government  was  a 
principle  very  little  known,  till  it  was  inculcated  in  the 
writings  of  English  court  divines  after  the  accession 
of  the  Stuarts.      The  purpose  of  Mr.  Locke's  work 
did  not  lead  him  to  inquire  more  anxiously  into  the 
solidity  of  these  universally  received  principles ;  nor 
were  there  at  the  time  any  circumstances,  in  the  con- 
dition  of  the   country,  which   could   suggest   to  his 
mind   the   necessity   of  qualifying   their   application. 
His  object,  as  he  says  himself,  was  "  to  establish  the 
throne  of  our  great  Restorer,  our  present  King  Wil- 
liam ;    to   make  good  his  title  in  the  consent  of  the 
people,  wdiich,  being  the  only  one  of  all  lawful  go- 
vernments,  he  has  more  fully  and  clearly  than  any 
prince  in  Christendom  ;  and  to  justify  to  the  world 

*  "  Non  cujiislibet  ratio  facit  legem,  sed  multitudinis,  ant 
principis,  vicein  multitudinis  gerentis.^'  —  Summa  Theologian,  pars  i. 
quajst.  90. 

f  "  Opinionem  jam  factara  communcm  omnium  Scholasti- 
corum. — Antonio  dc  Dominis,  Do  Kepublica  Ecclcsiastica,  lib. 
vi.  cap.  2.  Antonio  de  Dominis,  Archbishop  of  Spalato  in  Dal- 
matia,  having  imbibed  the  free  spirit  of  Fatlicr  Paul,  inclined 
towards  Protestantism,  or  at  least  towards  such  reciprocal  con- 
cessions as  might  reunite  the  churches  of  the  West.  During  Sir 
Henry  Wotton's  remarkable  embassy  at  Venice,  he  was  persuaded 
to  go  to  England,  where  he  was  made  DeaTi  of  Windsor.  Find- 
ing, perhaps,  the  Protestants  more  inflexible  than  he  expected, 
he  returned  to  Rome,  possibly  with  the  hope  of  more  success  in 
that  quarter.  But,  though  he  publicly  abjured  his  errors,  he  was 
soon,  in  consequence  of  some  free  language  in  conversation, 
thrown  into  a  dungeon,  where  he  died.  His  own  writings  are 
forgotten  ;  but  mankind  are  indebted  to  him  for  the  admirable 
Histoiy  of  the  Council  of  Trent  by  Father  Paul,  of  which  he 
brought  the  MSS.  with  him  to  London. 


330  ON    THE    PHILOSOPHICAL    GENIUS 

the  people  of  England,  whose  love  of  their  just  and 
natural  rights,  with  their  resolution  to  preserve  them, 
saved  the  nation  Avhen  it  was  on  the  very  brink  of 
slavery  and  ruin."  It  was  essential  to  his  purpose  to 
be  exact  in  his  more  particular  observations :  that 
part  of  his  work  is,  accordingly,  remarkable  for  gene- 
ral caution,  and  every  where  bears  marks  of  his  own 
considerate  mind.  By  calling  William  "  a  Restorer," 
he  clearly  points  out  the  characteristic  principle  of 
the  Revolution  ;  and  sufficiently  shows  that  he  did 
not  consider  it  as  intended  to  introduce  novelties,  but 
to  defend  or  recover  the  ancient  laws  and  liberties  of 
the  kingdom.  In  enumerating  cases  which  justify 
resistance,  he  confines  himself,  almost  as  cautiously 
as  the  Bill  of  Rights,  to  the  grievances  actually  suf- 
fered under  the  late  reign :  and  where  he  distinguishes 
between  a  dissolution  of  government  and  a  dissolution 
of  society,  it  is  manifestly  his  object  to  guard  against 
those  inferences  which  would  have  rendered  the 
Revolution  a  source  of  anarchy,  instead  of  being  the 
parent  of  order  and  security.  In  one  instance  only, 
that  of  taxation,  where  he  may  be  thought  to  have  in- 
troduced subtle  and  doubtful  speculations  into  a 
matter  altogether  practical,  his  purpose  was  to  dis- 
cover an  immovable  foundation  for  that  ancient  prin- 
ciple of  rendering  the  government  dependent  on  the 
representatives  of  the  people  for  pecuniary  supply, 
which  first  established  the  English  Constitution  ;  which 
improved  and  strengthened  it  in  a  course  of  ages ;  and 
which,  at  the  Revolution,  finally  triumphed  over  the 
conspiracy  of  the  Stuart  princes.  If  he  be  ever  mis- 
taken in  his  premises,  his  conclusions  at  least  are,  in 
tliis  part  of  his  work,  equally  just,  generoujs,  and  pru- 
dent. Whatever  charge  of  haste  or  inaccuracy  may 
be  brought  against  his  abstract  principles,  he  tho- 
roughly weighs  and  maturely  considers  the  practical 
results.  Those  who  consider  his  moderate  plan  of 
Parliamentary  Reform  as  at  variance  with  his  theory 
of  government,  may  perceive,  even  in  this  repugnance, 


OF    BACON    AND    LOCKE.  331 

whether  real  or  apparent,  a  new  indication  of  those 
dispositions  which  exposed  him  rather  to  the  reproach 
of  being  an  inconsistent  reasoner,  than  to  that  of 
being  a  dangerous  politician.  In  such  works,  how- 
ever, the  nature  of  the  subject  has,  in  some  degree, 
obliged  most  men  of  sense  to  treat  it  with  considerable 
regard  to  consequences  ;  though  there  are  memorable 
and  unfortunate  examples  of  an  opposite  tendency. 

The  metaphysical  object  of  the  Essay  on  Human 
Understanding,  therefore,  ilhistrates  the  natural  bent 
of  the  author's  genius  more  forcibly  than  those  writ- 
ings which  are  connected  with  the  business  and  in- 
terests of  men.  The  reasonable  admirers  of  Mr. 
Locke  would  have  pardoned  Mr.  Stewart,  if  he  had 
pronounced  more  decisively,  that  the  first  book  of  that 
work  is  inferior  to  the  others  ;  and  we  have  satisfac- 
tory proof  that  it  was  so  considered  by  the  author 
himself,  who,  in  the  abridgment  of  the  Essay  which 
he  published  in  Leclerc's  Review,  omits  it  altogether, 
as  intended  only  to  obviate  the  prejudices  of  some 
philosophers  against  the  more  important  contents  of 
his  work.*  It  must  be  owned,  that  the  very  terms 
"  innate  ideas"  and  "innate  principles,"  together  with 
the  division  of  the  latter  into  "  speculative  and  prac- 
tical," are  not  only  vague,  but  equivocal ;  that  they 
are  capable  of  different  senses  ;  and  that  they  are  not 
always  employed  in  the  same  sense  throughout  this  dis- 
cussion. Nay,  it  will  be  found  very  difficult,  after  the 
most  careful  perusal  of  Mr.  Locke's  first  book,  to  state 
the  question  in  dispute  clearly  and  shortly,  in  lan- 
guage so  strictly  philosophical  as  to  be  free  from  any 
hypothesis.     As  the  antagonists  chiefly  contemplated 

*  "  J'ai  tache  d'abord  de  prouver  que  notre  esprit  est  an  com- 
mencement ce  qu'on  appelle  iin  tabula  rasa,  c'ost-a-dire,  sans 
idecs  et  sans  connoissances.  Mais  comme  ce  n'a  etc  que  pour 
detruire  les  prcjugcs  de  quelqucs  i)hilosophes,  j'ai  cru  que  dans 
ce  petit  abrege  de  mes  principes,  jc  devois  passer  toutes  les  dis- 
putes i)reliminaires  qui  composent  Ic  livrc  premier." — Bibliotlicquc 
Uuivcrselle,  Jativ.  1688. 


332  ON   THE    PHILOSOPHICAL    GENIUS 

by  Mr.  Locke  were  the  followers  of  Descartes,  perhaps 
the  only  proposition  for  which  he  must  necessarily  be 
held  to  contend  was,  that  the  mind  has  no  ideas  which 
do  not  arise  from  impressions  on  the  senses,  or  from 
reflections  on  our  own  thoughts  and  feelings.  But  it 
is  certain,  that  he  sometimes  appears  to  contend  for 
much  more  than  this  proposition ;  that  he  has  gene- 
rally been  understood  in  a  larger  sense;  and  that, 
thus  interpreted,  his  doctrine  is  not  irreconcilable  to 
those  philosophical  systems  with  which  it  has  been 
supposed  to  be  most  at  variance. 

These  general  remarks  may  be  illustrated  by  a 
reference  to  some  of  those  ideas  which  are  more 
general  and  important,  and  seem  more  dark  than  any 
others ;  —  perhaps  only  because  we  seek  in  them  for 
what  is  not  to  be  found  in  any  of  the  most  simple 
elements  of  human  knowledge.  The  nature  of  our 
notion  of  space,  and  more  especially  of  that  of  time, 
seems  to  form  one  of  the  mysteries  of  our  intellectual 
being.  Neither  of  these  notions  can  be  conceived 
separately.  Nothing  outward  can  be  conceived  with- 
out space ;  for  it  is  space  which  gives  owtoess  to 
objects,  or  renders  them  capable  of  being  conceived  as 
outward.  Nothing  can  be  conceived  to  exist,  without 
conceiving  some  time  in  which  it  exists.  Thought 
and  feeling  may  be  conceived,  without  at  the  same 
time  conceiving  space ;  but  no  operation  of  mind  can 
be  recalled  which  does  not  suggest  the  conception  of 
a  portion  of  time,  in  which  such  mental  operation  is 
performed.  Both  these  ideas  are  so  clear  that  they 
cannot  be  illustrated,  and  so  simple  that  they  cannot 
be  defined :  nor  indeed  is  it  possible,  by  the  use  of 
any  Avords,  to  advance  a  single  step  towards  rendering 
them  more,  or  otherwise  intelligible  than  the  lessons 
of  Nature  have  already  made  them.  The  metaphy- 
sician knows  no  more  of  either  than  the  rustic.  If 
we  confine  ourselves  merely  to  a  statement  of  the 
facts  which  we  discover  by  experience  concerning 
these  ideas,  we  shall  find  them  reducible,  as  has  just 


OF    BACON   AXD   LOCKE.  333 

been  intimated,  to  the  following  ;  —  namely,  that  they 
are  simple ;  that  neither  space  nor  time  can  be  con- 
ceived -sN'ithout  some  other  conception  ;  that  the  idea 
of  space  always  attends  that  of  every  outward  object ; 
and  that  the  idea  of  time  enters  into  every  idea  which 
the  mind  of  man  is  capable  of  forming.  Time  cannot 
be  conceived  separately  from  something  else  ;  nor  can 
anything  else  be  conceived  separately  from  time.  If 
we  are  asked  whether  the  idea  of  time  be  innate,  the 
only  proper  answer  consists  in  the  statement  of  the 
fact,  that  it  never  arises  in  the  human  mind  other- 
wise than  as  the  concomitant  of  some  other  percep- 
tion ;  and  that  thus  understood,  it  is  not  innate,  since 
it  is  always  directly  or  indirectly  occasioned  by  some 
action  on  the  senses.  Various  modes  of  expressing 
these  facts  have  been  adopted  by  different  philosophers, 
according  to  the  variety  of  their  technical  language. 
By  Kant,  space  is  said  to  be  the  form  of  our  per- 
ceptive faculty,  as  applied  to  outward  objects ;  and 
time  is  called  the  form  of  the  same  faculty,  as  it 
regards  our  mental  operations :  by  Mr.  Stewart,  these 
ideas  are  considered  "  as  suggested  to  the  understand- 
ing "  *  by  sensation  or  reflection,  though,  according  to 
him,  "the  mind  is  not  directly  and  immediately /wr- 
nished"  with  such  ideas,  either  by  sensation  or  reflec- 
tion:  and,  by  a  late  eminent  metaphysician  f,  they 
were  regarded  as  perceptions,  in  the  nature  of  those 
arising  from  the  senses,  of  which  the  one  is  attendant 
on  the  idea  of  every  outward  object,  and  the  other 
concomitant  with  the  consciousness  of  every  mental 
operation.  Each  of  these  modes  of  expression  has  its 
own  advantages.  The  first  mode  brings  forward  the 
universality  and  necessity  of  these  two  notions:  the 
second  most  strongly  marks  the  distinction  between 
them  and  the  fluctuating  perceptions  naturally  referred 

*  Philosophical  Essay?,  essay  i.  chap.  2. 
t  ]Mr.  Thorn a.s  Wed'j^wood ;    see  Life  of  Mackintosh,  vol.  i. 
p.  289. 


334  ON   THE   PHILOSOPHICAL    GENIUS 

to  the  senses ;  while  the  last  has  the  opposite  merit  of 
presenting  to  us  that  incapacity  of  being  analysed,  in 
which  they  agree  with  all  other  simple  ideas.  On  the 
other  hand,  each  of  them  (perhaps  from  the  inherent 
imperfection  of  language)  seems  to  insinuate  more 
than  the  mere  results  of  experience.  The  technical 
terms  introduced  by  Kant  have  the  appearance  of  an 
attempt  to  explain  what,  by  the  writer's  own  prin- 
ciples, is  incapable  of  explanation ;  Mr.  Wedgwood 
may  be  charged  with  giving  the  same  name  to  mental 
phenomena,  which  coincide  in  nothing  but  simplicity ; 
and  Mr.  Stewart  seems  to  us  to  have  opposed  two 
modes  of  expression  to  each  other,  which,  when  they 
are  thoroughly  analysed,  represent  one  and  the  same 
fact. 

Leibnitz  thought  that  Locke's  admission  of  "  ideas 
of  reflection"  furnished  a  ground  for  negotiating  a 
reconciliation  between  his  system  and  the  opinions  of 
those  who,  in  the  etymological  sense  of  the  word,  are 
more  metaphysical ;  and  it  may  very  well  be  doubted, 
whether  the  ideas  of  Locke  much  differed  from  the 
"innate  ideas"  of  Descartes,  especially  as  the  latter 
philosopher  explained  the  term,  when  he  found  him- 
self pressed  by  acute  objectors.  "  I  never  said  or 
thought,"  says  Descartes,  "  that  the  mind  needs  in- 
nate ideas,  which  are  something  different  from  its 
own  faculty  of  thinking ;  but,  as  I  observed  certain 
thoughts  to  be  in  my  mind,  which  neither  proceeded 
from  outward  objects,  nor  were  determined  by  my 
will,  but  merely  from  my  own  faculty  of  thinking,  I 
called  these  '  innate  ideas,'  to  distinguish  them  from 
such  as  are  either  adventitious  (i.  e.  from  without), 
or  compounded  by  our  imagination.  I  call  them 
innate,  in  the  same  sense  in  which  generosity  is  in- 
nate in  some  families,  gout  and  stone  in  others ;  be- 
cause the  children  of  such  families  come  into  the  world 
with  a  disposition  to  such  virtue,  or  to  such  maladies."* 

*  This  remarkable  passage  of  Descartes  is  to  be  found  in  a 


OF  BACON  AND  LOCKE.  335 

In  a  letter  to  Mersenne*,  lie  says,  "  by  the  word  '  Idea* 
I  understand  all  that  can  be  in  our  thoughts,  and  I 
distinguish  three  sorts  of  ideas ;  —  adventitious,  like  the 
common  idea  of  the  sun  ;  framed  bjj  the  mind,  such  as 
that  which  astronomical  reasoning  gives  us  of  the  sun  ; 
and  innate,  as  the  idea  of  God,  mind,  body,  a  triangle, 
and  generally  all  those  which  represent  true,  immu- 
table, and  eternal  essences."  It  must  be  owned,  that, 
however  nearly  the  first  of  these  representations  may 
approach  to  Mr.  Locke's  ideas  of  reflection,  the  second 
deviates  from  them  very  widely,  and  is  not  easily  re- 
concilable with  the  first.  The  comparison  of  these 
two  sentences  strongly  impeaches  the  steadiness  and 
consistency  of  Descartes  in  the  fundamental  princlj^les 
of  his  system. 

A  principle  in  science  is  a  proposition  from  which 
many  other  propositions  may  be  inferred.  That  prin- 
ciples, taken  in  this  sense  of  propositions,  are  part  of 
the  original  structure  or  furniture  of  the  human 
mind,  is  an  assertion  so  unreasonable,  that  perhaps 
no  philosopher  has  avowedly,  or  at  least  permanently, 
adopted  it.  But  it  is  not  to  be  forgotten,  that  there 
must  be  certain  general  laws  of  perception,  or  ulti- 
mate facts  respecting  that  province  of  mind,  beyond 
which  human  knowledge  cannot  reach.  Such  facts 
bound  our  researches  in  every  part  of  knowledge,  and 
the  ascertainment  of  them  is  the  utmost  possible  at- 
tainment of  Science.  Beyond  them  there  is  nothing, 
or  at  least  nothing  discoverable  by  us.  These  ob- 
servations, however  universally  acknowledged  when 


French  translation  of  the  preface  and  notes  to  the  Principia  Phi- 
losophic, probably  by  himself.  —  (Lettres  dc  Descartes,  vol.  i. 
lett,  99.)  It  is  justly  observed  by  one  of  his  most  acute  antago- 
nists, that  Descartes  does  not  steadily  adhere  to  this  sense  of  the 
word  "  innate,"  but  varies  it  in  the  exigencies  of  controversy,  so 
as  to  give  it  at  each  moment  the  import  which  best  suits  the 
nature  of  the  objection  with  which  he  has  then  to  contend. — 
Iluet,  Censura  Philosophic  Cartesians,  p.  93. 
•  Lettres,  vol.  ii.  lett.  54. 


336  ON   THE    PHILOSOPHICAL    GENIUS 

they  are  stated,  are  often  hid  from  the  view  of  the 
system-builder  when  he  is  employed  in  rearing  his 
airy  edifice.  There  is  a  common  disposition  to  ex- 
empt the  philosophy  of  the  human  understanding 
from  the  dominion  of  that  irresistible  necessity  which 
confines  all  other  knowledge  within  the  limits  of  ex- 
perience ;  —  arising  probably  from  a  vague  notion  that 
the  science,  without  which  the  principles  of  no  other 
are  intelligible,  ought  to  be  able  to  discover  the  found- 
ation even  of  its  own  principles.  Hence  the  ques- 
tion among  the  German  metaphysicians,  "  What 
makes  experience  possible  ?  "  Hence  the  very  general 
indisposition  among  metaphysicians  to  acquiesce  in 
any  mere  fact  as  the  result  of  their  inquiries,  and  to 
make  vain  exertions  in  pursuit  of  an  explanation  of 
it,  without  recollecting  that  the  explanation  must 
always  consist  of  another  fact,  which  must  either 
equally  require  another  explanation,  or  be  equally  in- 
dependent of  it.  There  is  a  sort  of  sullen  reluctance 
to  be  satisfied  with  ultimate  facts,  which  has  kept  its 
ground  in  the  theory  of  the  human  mind  long  after  it 
has  been  banished  from  all  other  sciences.  Philo- 
sophers are,  in  this  province,  often  led  to  waste  their 
strength  in  attempts  to  find  out  what  supports  the 
foundation  ;  and,  in  these  efforts  to  prove  first  prin- 
ciples, they  inevitably  find  that  their  proof  must  con- 
tain an  assumption  of  the  thing  to  be  proved,  and  that 
their  argument  must  return  to  the  point  from  which 
it  set  out. 

Mental  philosophy  can  consist  of  nothing  but  facts  ; 
and  it  is  at  least  as  vain  to  inquire  into  the  cause  of 
thought,  as  into  the  cause  of  attraction.  What  the 
number  and  nature  of  the  ultimate  facts  respecting 
mind  may  be,  is  a  question  which  can  only  be  deter- 
mined by  experience  :  and  it  is  of  the  utmost  import- 
ance not  to  allow  their  arbitrary  multiplication,  which 
enables  some  individuals  to  impose  on  us  their  own 
erroneous  or  uncertain  speculations  as  the  fundamental 
principles  of  human  knowledge.     No  general  criterion 


OF    BACOX   AND   LOCKE.  337 

has  hitherto  been  offered,  by  which  these  last  princi- 
ples may  be  distinguished  from  all  other  propositions. 
Perhaps  a  practical  standard  of  some  convenience 
would  be,  that  all  reasoners  should  be  required  to 
admit  every  principle  of  which  the  denial  renders 
reasoning  iinpossible.  This  is  only  to  require  that  a 
man  should  admit,  in  general  terms,  those  principles 
which  he  must  assume  in  every  particular  argument, 
and  which  he  has  assumed  in  every  argument  which 
he  has  employed  against  their  existence.  It  is,  in 
other  words,  to  require  that  a  disputant  shall  not 
contradict  himself;  for  every  argument  against  the 
fundamental  laws  of  thought  absolutely  assumes  their 
existence  in  the  premises,  while  it  totally  denies  it  in 
the  conclusion. 

Whether  it  be  among  the  ultimate  facts  in  human 
nature,  that  the  mind  is  disposed  or  determined  to 
assent  to  some  propositions,  and  to  reject  others,  when 
they  are  first  submitted  to  its  judgment,  without  in- 
ferring their  truth  or  falsehood  from  any  process  of 
reasoning,  is  manifestly  as  much  a  question  of  mere 
experience  as  any  other  which  relates  to  our  mental 
constitution.  It  is  certain  that  such  inlierent  inclina- 
tions may  be  conceived,  without  supposing  the  ideas 
of  which  the  propositions  are  composed  to  be,  in  any 
sense,  "innate"  ;  if,  indeed,  that  unfortunate  word  be 
capable  of  being  reduced  by  definition  to  any  fixed 
meaning.  "  Innate,"  says  Lord  Shaftesbury,  "  is  the 
word  a\Ir.  Locke  poorly  plays  with :  the  right  word, 
though  less  used,  is  connate.  The  question  is  not 
about  the  time  when  the  ideas  enter  the  mind,  but, 
whether  the  constitution  of  man  he  such,  as  at  some 
time  or  other  (no  matter  when),  the  ideas  will  not 
necessarily  spring  up  in  him."  These  are  the  words 
of  Lord  Shaftesbury  in  his  Letters,  which,  not  being 
printed  in  any  edition  of  the  Characteristics,  are  less 
known  than  they  ought  to  be ;  though,  in  them,  tho 
fine  genius  and  generous  principles  of  the  writer  are 

VOL.  L  Z 


338  ON   THE   PHILOSOPHICAL   GENIUS 

less  hid  by  occasional  affectation  of  style,  than  in  any 
other  of  his  writings.* 

The  above  observations  apply  with  still  greater 
force  to  what  Mr.  Locke  calls  "  practical  principles." 
Here,  indeed,  he  contradicts  himself ;  for,  having  built 
one  of  his  chief  arguments  against  other  speculative 
or  practical  principles,  on  what  he  thinks  the  inca- 
i:)acity  of  the  majority  of  mankind  to  entertain  those 
very  abstract  ideas,  of  which  these  principles,  if  innate, 
would  imply  the  presence  in  every  mind,  he  very 
inconsistently  admits  the  existence  of  one  innate 
practical  principle,  — "  a  desire  of  happiness,  and  an 
aversion  to  misery,"  f  without  considering  that  hap- 
piness and  misery  are  also  abstract  terms,  which 
excite  very  indistinct  conceptions  in  the  minds  of  "  a 
great  part  of  mankind."  It  would  be  easy  also  to 
show,  if  this  were  a  proper  place,  that  the  desire  of 
happiness,  so  far  from  being  an  innate,  is  not  even  an 
original  principle ;  that  it  presupposes  the  existence 
of  all  those  particular  appetites  and  desires  of  which 
the  gratification  is  pleasure,  and  also  the  exercise  of 
that  deliberate  reason  which  habitually  examines  how 
far  each  gratification,  in  all  its  consequences,  increases 
or  diminishes  that  sum  of  enjoyment  which  constitutes 
happiness.  If  that  subject  could  be  now  fully  treated, 
it  would  appear  that  this  error  of  Mr.  Locke,  or 
another  equally  great,  that  we  have  only  one  practical 
principle,  —  the  desire  of  pleasure, — is  the  root  of  most 
false  theories  of  morals  ;  and  that  it  is  also  the  source 
of  many  mistaken  speculations  on  the  important  sub- 
jects of  government  and  education,  which  at  this 
moment  mislead  the  friends  of  human  improvement, 
and  strengthen  the  arms  of  its  enemies.  But  morals 
fell  only  incidentally  under  the  consideration  of  Mr. 

*  Dr.  Lee,  an  antagonist  of  Mr.  Locke,  has  stated  the  question 
of  innate  ideas  more  fully  than  Shaftesbury,  or  even  Leibnitz:  he 
has  also  anticipated  some  of  the  reasonings  of  Buffier  and  Reid.— 
Lee's  Notes  on  Locke,  folio,  London,  1702. 

t  Essay  on  Human  Understanding,  book  i.  chap.  3.  §  3. 


OF  BACON  AXD  LOCKE.  339 

Locke  ;  and  his  errors  on  that  greatest  of  all  sciences 
were  the  prevalent  opinions  of  his  age,  which  cannot 
be  justly  called  the  principles  of  Hobbes,  though  that 
extraordinary  man  had  alone  the  boldness  to  exhibit 
these  principles  in  connection  with  their  odious  but 
strictly  logical  consequences. 

The  exaggerations  of  this  first  book,  however, 
afford  a  new  proof  of  the  author's  steady  regard  to 
the  highest  interests  of  mankind.  He  justly  con- 
sidered the  free  exercise  of  reason  as  the  hi2:hest  of 
these,  and  that  on  the  security  of  which  all  the  others 
depend.  The  circumstances  of  his  life  rendered  it  a 
long  warfare  against  the  enemies  of  freedom  in  phi- 
losophising, freedom  in  worship,  and  freedom  from 
every  political  restraint  which  necessity  did  not  jus- 
tify. In  his  noble  zeal  for  liberty  of  thought,  he 
dreaded  the  tendency  of  a  doctrine  which  might 
"  gradually  prepare  mankind  to  swallow  that  for  an 
innate  principle  which  may  serve  his  purpose  who 
teacheth  them."  *  He  may  well  be  excused,  if^  in  the 
ardour  of  his  generous  conflict,  he  sometimes  carried 
beyond  the  bounds  of  calm  and  neutral  reason  his 
repugnance  to  doctrines  which,  as  they  were  then 
generally  explained,  he  justly  regarded  as  capable  of 
being  employed  to  shelter  absurdity  from  detection, 
to  stop  the  progress  of  free  inquiry,  and  to  subject 
the  general  reason  to  the  authority  of  a  few  indi- 
viduals. Every  error  of  Mr.  Locke  in  speculation 
maybe  traced  to  the  influence  of  some  virtue;  —  at 
least  every  error  except  some  of  the  erroneous  opinions 
generally  received  in  his  age,  which,  with  a  sort  of 
passive  acquiescence,  he  suffered  to  retain  their  place 
in  his  mind. 

It  is  with  the  second  book  that  the  Essay  on  the 
Human  Understanding  properly  begins ;  and  this 
book  is  the  first  considerable  contribution  in  modern 


•  Chap.  4.  §  24. 
z  2 


340  ON   THE   PHILOSOPHICAL   GENIUS 

times  towards  the  experimental  *  philosophy  of  the 
human  mind.  The  road  was  pointed  out  by  Bacon ; 
and,  by  excluding  the  fallacious  analogies  of  thought 
to  outward  appearance,  Descartes  may  be  said  to  have 
marked  out  the  limits  of  the  proper  field  of  inquiry. 
But,  before  Locke,  there  was  no  example  in  intellectual 
philosophy  of  an  ample  enumeration  of  facts,  collected 
and  arranged  for  the  express  purpose  of  legitimate 
generalisation.  He  himself  tells  us,  that  his  purpose 
was,  "  i?i  a  plain  historical  method,  to  give  an  account 
of  the  ways  by  which  our  understanding  comes  to 
attain  those  notions  of  things  we  have."  In  more 
modern  phraseology,  this  would  be  called  an  attempt 
to  ascertain,  by  observation,  the  most  general  facts 
relating  to  the  origin  of  human  knowledge.  There  is 
something  in  the  plainness,  and  even  homeliness  of 
Locke's  language,  which  strongly  indicates  his  very 
clear  conception,  that  experience  must  be  his  sole  guide, 
and  his  unwillingness,  by  the  use  of  scholastic  language, 
to  imitate  the  example  of  those  who  make  a  show  of 
explaining  facts,  while  in  reality  they  only  "  darken 
counsel  by  words  without  knowledge."  He  is  content 
to  collect  the  laws  of  thought,  as  he  would  have  col- 
lected those  of  any  other  object  of  physical  knowledge, 
from  observation  alone.  He  seldom  embarrasses  him- 
self with   physiological   hypotheses  "f,  or  wastes   his 

*  This  word  "  experimental "  has  the  defect  of  not  appearing 
to  comprehend  the  knowledge  which  flows  from  observation,  as 
well  as  that  which  is  obtained  by  experiment.  The  German  word 
"  empirical,"  is  applied  to  all  the  information  which  experience 
affords ;  but  it  is  in  our  language  degraded  by  another  appli- 
cation. I  therefore  must  use  "  experimental "  in  a  larger  sense 
than  its  etymology  warrants. 

f  A  stronger  proof  can  hardly  be  required  than  the  following 
sentence,  of  his  freedom  from  physiological  prejudice.  "  This 
laying  up  of  our  ideas  in  the  repository  of  the  memory,  signifies 
no  more  but  this,  that  the  mind  has  the  power  in  many  cases  to 
revive  perceptions,  with  another  perception  annexed  to  them, 
that  it  has  had  them  before."  The  same  chapter  is  remarkable 
for  the  exquisite,  and  almost  poetical  beauty,  of  some  of  its  illus- 


OF  BACON  AND  LOCKE,  341 

Strength  on  those  insoluble  problems  which  were  then 
called  metaphysical.  Though,  in  the  execution  of  his 
pkn,  there  are  many  and  great  defects,  the  conception 
of  it  is  entirely  conformable  to  the  Verulamian  method 
of  induction,  which,  even  after  the  fullest  enumeration 
of  particulars,  requires  a  cautious  examination  of  each 
subordinate  class  of  phenomena,  before  we  attempt, 
through  a  very  slowly  ascending  series  of  generalisa- 
tions, to  soar  to  comprehensive  laws.  "  Philosophy," 
as  Mr.  Playfair  excellently  renders  Bacon,  "  has  either 
taken  much  from  a  few  things,  or  too  little  from  a 
great  many  ;  and  in  both  cases  has  too  narrow  a  basis 
to  be  of  much  duration  or  utility."  Or,  to  use  the 
very  words  of  the  Master  himself —  "  We  shall  then 
have  reason  to  hope  well  of  the  sciences,  when  we 
rise  by  continued  steps  from  particulars  to  inferior 
axioms,  and  then  to  the  middle,  and  only  at  last  to 
tlie  most  general.*  It  is  not  so  much  by  an  appeal 
to  experience  (for  some  degree  of  that  appeal  is  uni- 
versal), as  by  the  mode  of  conducting  it,  that  the 
followers  of  Bacon  are  distinguished  from  the  framers 
of  hypotheses."  It  is  one  thing  to  borrow  from  ex- 
perience just  enough  to  make  a  supposition  plausible ; 
it  is  quite  another  to  take  from  it  all  that  is  necessary 
to  be  the  foundation  of  just  theory. 


trations.  "  Ideas  quickly  fade,  and  often  vanish  quite  out  of  the 
understanding,  leaving  no  more  footsteps  or  remaining  characters 
of  themselves  than  shadows  do  flying  over  a  field  of  corn." — "  The 
ideas,  as  well  as  children  of  our  youth,  often  die  before  us,  and 
our  minds  represent  to  us  those  tombs  to  which  we  are  approach- 
ing ;  ^vhere,  though  the  brass  and  marble  remain,  yet  the  in- 
scriptions are  etfaced  by  time,  and  the  imagery  moulders  away. 
Pictures  drawn  in  our  minds  are  laid  in  fading  colours,  and, 
unless  sometimes  refreshed,  vanish  and  disappear,"  —  book  ii. 
chap.  10.  This  pathetic  language  must  have  been  inspired  by 
experience ;  and,  though  Locke  could  not  have  been  more  than 
fifty-six  when  he  wrote  these  sentences,  it  is  too  well  known  that 
the  first  decays  of  memory  may  be  painfully  felt  lung  beforo 
they  can  be  detected  by  the  keenest  observer. 
*  Novum  Orgauum,  lib.  i.  §  civ. 

z  3 


342  ON   THE   PHILOSOPHICAL   GENIUS 

In  this  respect  perhaps,  more  than  in  any  other, 
the  philosophical  writings  of  Locke  are  contradis- 
tinguished from  those  of  Hobbes.  The  latter  saw, 
with  astonishing  rapidity  of  intuition,  some  of  the 
simplest  and  most  general  facts  which  may  be  ob- 
served in  the  operations  of  the  understanding  ;  and 
perhaps  no  man  ever  possessed  the  same  faculty  of 
conveying  his  abstract  speculations  in  language  of 
such  clearness,  precision,  and  force,  as  to  engrave 
them  on  the  mind  of  the  reader.  But  he  did  not  wait 
to  examine  whether  there  might  not  be  other  facts 
equally  general  relating  to  the  intellectual  powers ; 
and  he  therefore  "  took  too  little  from  a  great  many 
things."  He  fell  into  the  double  error  of  hastily  ap- 
plying his  general  laws  to  the  most  complicated  pro- 
cesses of  thought,  without  considering  whether  these 
general  laws  were  not  themselves  limited  by  other  not 
less  comprehensive  laws,  and  without  trying  to  dis- 
cover how  they  were  connected  with  particulars,  by  a 
scale  of  intermediate  and  secondary  laws.  This  mode 
of  philosophising  was  well  suited  to  the  dogmatic  con- 
fidence and  dictatorial  tone  which  belonged  to  the 
character  of  the  philosopher  of  Malmesbury,  and  which 
enabled  him  to  brave  the  obloquy  attendant  on  sin- 
gular and  obnoxious  opinions.  "  The  plain  historical 
method,"  on  the  other  hand,  chosen  by  Mr.  Locke, 
produced  the  natural  fruits  of  caution  and  modesty  ; 
taught  him  to  distrust  hasty  and  singular  conclusions  ; 
disposed  him,  on  fit  occasions,  to  entertain  a  mitigated 
scepticism ;  and  taught  him  also  the  rare  courage  to 
make  an  ingenuous  avowal  of  ignorance.  This  con- 
trast is  one  of  our  reasons  for  doubting  whether  Locke 
be  much  indebted  to  Hobbes  for  his  speculations  ;  and 
certainly  the  mere  coincidence  of  the  opinions  of  two 
metaphysicians  is  slender  evidence,  in  any  case,  that 
either  of  them  has  borrowed  his  opinions  from  the 
other.  Where  the  premises  are  different,  and  they 
have  reached  the  same  conclusion  by  different  roads, 
such  a  coincidence  is  scarcely  any  evidence  at  all. 


OF   BACON   AND   LOCKE.  343 

Locke  and  Hobbes  agree  chiefly  on  those  points  in 
which,  except  the  Cartesians,  all  the  speculators  of 
their  age  were  also  agreed.  They  differ  on  the  most 
momentous  questions, — the  sources  of  knowledge, — 
the  power  of  abstraction, — the  nature  of  the  will ;  on 
the  two  last  of  which  subjects,  Locke,  by  his  very 
failures  themselves,  evinces  a  strong  repugnance  to 
the  doctrines  of  Hobbes.  They  differ  not  only  in  all 
their  premises,  and  many  of  their  conclusions,  but  in 
their  manner  of  philosophising  itself.  Locke  had  no 
prejudice  which  could  lead  him  to  imbibe  doctrines 
from  the  enemy  of  liberty  and  religion.  His  style, 
with  all  its  faults,  is  that  of  a  man  who  thinks  for 
himself;  and  an  original  style  is  not  usually  the 
vehicle  of  borrowed  opinions. 

Few  books  have  contributed  more  than  Mr.  Locke's 
Essay  to  rectify  prejudice ;  to  undermine  established 
errors ;  to  diffuse  a  just  mode  of  thinking ;  to  excite 
a  fearless  spirit  of  inquiry,  and  yet  to  contain  it 
within  the  boundaries  which  Nature  has  prescribed 
to  the  human  understanding.  An  amendment  of  the 
general  habits  of  thought  is,  in  most  parts  of  know- 
ledge, an  object  as  important  as  even  the  discovery  of 
new  truths ;  though  it  is  not  so  palpable,  nor  in  its 
nature  so  capable  of  being  estimated  by  superficial 
observers.  In  the  mental  and  moral  world,  which 
scarcely  admits  of  any  thing  which  can  be  called  dis- 
covery, the  correction  of  the  intellectual  habits  is 
probably  the  greatest  service  which  can  be  rendered 
to  Science.  In  this  respect  the  merit  of  Locke  is 
unrivalled.  His  writings  have  diffused  throughout 
the  civilised  world  the  love  of  civil  liberty  and  the 
spirit  of  toleration  and  charity  in  religious  differences, 
with  the  disposition  to  reject  whatever  is  obscure, 
fantastic,  or  hypothetical  in  speculation,  —  to  reduce 
verbal  disputes  to  their  proper  value,  —  to  abandon 
problems  which  admit  of  no  solution,  —  to  distrust 
whatever  cannot  be  clearly  expressed,  —  to  render 
theory  the  simple  expression  of  facts,  —  and  to  prefer 

z  4 


344  BACON   AND   LOCKE. 

those  studies  which  most  directly  contribute  to  human 
happiness.  If  Bacon  first  discovered  the  rules  by 
which  knowledge  is  improved,  Locke  has  most  con- 
tributed to  make  mankind  at  large  observe  them.  He 
has  done  most,  though  often  by  remedies  of  silent  and 
almost  insensible  operation,  to  cure  those  mental  dis- 
tempers which  obstructed  the  adoption  of  these  rules  ; 
and  has  thus  led  to  that  general  diffusion  of  a  health- 
ful and  vigorous  understanding,  which  is  at  once  the 
greatest  of  all  improvements,  and  the  instrument  by 
which  all  other  progress  must  be  accomplished.  He 
has  left  to  posterity  the  instructive  example  of  a  pru- 
dent reformer,  and  of  a  philosophy  temperate  as  well 
as  liberal,  which  spares  the  feelings  of  the  good,  and 
avoids  direct  hostility  with  obstinate  and  formidable 
prejudice.  These  benefits  are  very  slightly  counter- 
balanced by  some  political  doctrines  liable  to  mis- 
application, and  by  the  scepticism  of  some  of  his 
ingenious  followers  ;  —  an  inconvenience  to  which 
every  philosophical  school  is  exposed,  which  does  not 
steadily  limit  its  theory  to  a  mere  exposition  of  ex- 
perience. If  Locke  made  few  discoveries,  Socrates 
made  none :  yet  both  did  more  for  the  improvement 
of  the  understanding,  and  not  less  for  the  progress  of 
knowledge,  than  the  authors  of  the  most  brilliant  dis- 
coveries. Mr.  Locke  will  ever  be  regarded  as  one  of 
the  great  ornaments  of  the  English  nation ;  and  the 
most  distant  posterity  will  speak  of  him  in  the  language 
addressed  to  him  by  the  poet  — 

"  0  Dccus  Angliacse  certc,  0  Lux  altera  gentis ! "  * 
*  Gray,  De  Principiis  Cogitandi. 


A 

DISCOURSE 


LAW  OF  NATURE  AND  NATIONS.* 


Before  I  begin  a  course  of  lectures  on  a  science  of 
great  extent  and  importance,  I  think  it  my  duty  to 
lay  before  the  public  the  reasons  -which  have  induced 
me  to  undertake  such  a  labour,  as  well  as  a  short  ac- 
count of  the  nature  and  objects  of  the  course  which  I 
propose  to  deliver.  I  have  always  been  unwilling  to 
waste  in  unprofitable  inactivity  that  leisure  which  the 
first  years  of  my  profession  usually  allow,  and  which 
diligent  men,  even  with  moderate  talents,  might  often 
employ  in  a  manner  neither  discreditable  to  them- 
selves, nor  wholly  useless  to  others.  Desirous  that 
my  own  leisure  should  not  be  consumed  in  sloth,  I 
anxiously  looked  about  for  some  way  of  filling  it  up, 
which  might  enable  me,  according  to  the  measure  of 
my  humble  abilities,  to  contribute  somewhat  to  the 
stock  of  general  usefulness.  I  had  long  been  convinced 
that  public  lectures,  which  have  been  used  in  most 
ages  and  countries  to  teach  the  elements  of  almost 

*  Tliis  discourse  was  the  preliminary  one  of  a  course  of  lec- 
tures delivered  in  the  hall  of  Lincoln's  Inn  durinfr  the  spring  of 
the  year  1799.  From  the  state  of  tlie  original  MSS.  notes  of 
these  lectures,  in  the  possession  of  the  editor,  it  would  seem  that 
the  lecturer  had  trusted,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  passages 
prepared  in  extenso,  to  his  j^owerful  memory  for  all  the  aid  that 
was  required  beyond  what  mere  catchwords  could  supply.  —Ed. 


346  ON   THE    STUDY  OF   THE   LAW 

every  part  of  learning,  were  the  most  convenient  mode 
in  which  these  elements  could  be  taught ; — that  they 
were  the  best  adapted  for  the  important  purposes  of 
awakening  the  attention  of  the  student,  of  abridging 
his  labours,  of  guiding  his  inquiries,  of  relieving  the 
tediousness  of  private  study,  and  of  impressing  on  his 
recollection  the  principles  of  a  science.  I  saw  no  reason 
why  the  law  of  England  should  be  less  adapted  to  this 
mode  of  instruction,  or  less  likely  to  benefit  by  it,  than 
any  other  part  of  knowledge.  A  learned  gentleman, 
however,  had  already  occupied  that  ground*  and 
will,  I  doubt  not,  persevere  in  the  useful  labour  which 
he  has  undertaken.  On  his  province  it  was  far  from 
my  wish  to  intrude.  It  appeared  to  me  that  a  course 
of  lectures  on  another  science  closely  connected  with 
all  liberal  professional  studies,  and  which  had  long 
been  the  subject  of  my  own  reading  and  reflection, 
might  not  only  prove  a  most  useful  introduction  to 
the  law  of  England,  but  might  also  become  an  in- 
teresting part  of  general  study,  and  an  important 
branch  of  the  education  of  those  who  were  not  destined 
for  the  profession  of  the  law.  I  was  confirmed  in  my 
opinion  by  the  assent  and  approbation  of  men,  whose 
names,  if  it  were  becoming  to  mention  them  on  so 
slight  an  occasion,  would  add  authority  to  truth,  and 
furnish  some  excuse  even  for  error.  Encouraged  by 
their  approbation,  I  resolved  without  delay  to  com- 
mence the  undertaking,  of  which  I  shall  now  proceed 
to  give  some  account ;  without  interrupting  the  pro- 
gress of  my  discourse,  by  anticipating  or  answering 
the  remarks  of  those  who  may,  perhaps,  sneer  at  me 
for  a  departure  from  the  usual  course  of  my  profession, 
because  I  am  desirous  of  employing  in  a  rational  and 
useful  pursuit  that  leisure,  which  the  same  men  would 
have  required  no  account,  if  it  had  been  wasted  on 
trifles,  or  even  abused  in  dissipation. 

*  See  "  A  Syllabus  of  Lectures  on  the  Law  of  England,  to  be 
delivered  in  Lincoln's-Inn  Hall  by  M.  Nolan,  Esq." 


OF  NATURE  AND  NATIONS.  347 

The  science  which  teaches  the  rights  and  duties  of 
men  and  of  states,  has,  in  modern  times,  been  called 
"  the  law  of  nature  and  nations."  Under  this  compre- 
hensive title  are  included  the  rules  of  morality,  as  they 
prescribe  the  conduct  of  private  men  towards  each 
other  in  all  the  various  relations  of  human  life ;  as 
they  regulate  both  the  obedience  of  citizens  to  the  laws, 
and  the  authority  of  the  magistrate  in  framing  laws, 
and  administering  government ;  and  as  they  modify 
the  intercourse  of  independent  commonwealths  in 
peace,  and  prescribe  limits  to  their  hostility  in  war. 
This  important  science  comprehends  only  that  part 
of  private  ethics  which  is  capable  of  being  reduced  to 
fixed  and  general  rules.  It  considers  only  those 
general  principles  of  jurisprudence  and  politics  which 
the  wisdom  of  the  lawgiver  adapts  to  the  peculiar 
situation  of  his  own  country,  and  which  the  skill  of 
the  statesman  applies  to  the  more  fluctuating  and  in- 
finitely varying  circumstances  which  effect  its  imme- 
diate welfare  and  safety.  "  For  there  are  in  nature 
certain  fountains  of  justice  whence  all  civil  laws  are 
derived,  but  as  streams ;  and  like  as  waters  do  take 
tinctures  and  tastes  from  the  soils  through  which  they 
run,  so  do  civil  laws  vary  according  to  the  regions 
and  governments  where  they  are  planted,  though  they 
proceed  from  the  same  fountains."  * 

On  the  great  questions  of  morality,  of  politics, 
and  of  municipal  law,  it  is  the  object  of  this  science 
to  deliver  only  those  fundamental  truths  of  which  the 
particular  application  is  as  extensive  as  the  whole 
private  and  public  conduct  of  men;  —  to  discover  those 
"fountains  of  justice,"  without  pursuing  the  "  streams  " 
through  the  endless  variety  of  their  course.  But 
another  part  of  the  subject  is  to  be  treated  with  greater 

•  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii.  I  have  not  been  de- 
terred by  some  petty  incongruity  of  metaphor  from  quoting  this 
noble  sentence.  Mr.  Hume  had,  ])crhapji,  this  sentence  in  his 
recollection,  when  he  wrote  a  remarkable  passage  of  his  works. 
See  his  Essays,  vol.  ii.  p.  352. 


348  ON    THE    STUDY    OF    THE    LAW 

fulness  and  minuteness  of  application ;  namely,  that 
important  branch  of  it  which  professes  to  regulate 
the  relations  and  intercourse  of  states,  and  more 
especially  (both  on  account  of  their  greater  perfec- 
tion and  their  more  immediate  reference  to  use),  the 
regulations  of  that  intercourse  as  they  are  modified 
by  the  uses  of  the  civilised  nations  of  Christendom. 
Here  this  science  no  longer  rests  on  general  principles. 
That  province  of  it  which  we  now  call  the  "  law  of 
nations,"  has,  in  many  of  its  parts,  acquired  among 
European  ones  much  of  the  precision  and  certainty 
of  positive  law ;  and  the  particulars  of  that  law  are 
chiefly  to  be  found  in  the  works  of  those  writers  who 
have  treated  the  science  of  which  I  now  speak.  It  is 
because  they  have  classed  (in  a  manner  which  seems 
peculiar  to  modern  times)  the  duties  of  individuals 
with  those  of  nations,  and  established  their  obligation 
on  similar  grounds,  that  the  whole  science  has  been 
called  "  the  law  of  nature  and  nations." 

Whether  this  appellation  be  the  happiest  that  could 
have  been  chosen  for  the  science,  and  by  what  steps 
it  came  to  be  adopted  among  our  modern  moralists 
and  lawyers  *,  are  inquiries,  perhaps,  of  more  curiosity 

*  The  learned  reader  is  aware  that  the  "jus  naturae"  and 
"  jus  gentium  "  of  the  Koman  lawyers  are  phrases  of  very  differ- 
ent import  from  the  modern  phrases,  "  law  of  nature  "  and  "  law 
of  nations."  "  Jus  naturale,"  says  Ulpian,  "  est  quod  natura 
omnia  animalia  docuit."  Quod  naturalis  ratio  inter  omnes  ho- 
mines constituit,  id  apud  omnes  perceque  custoditur  ;  vocaturque 
jus  gentium."  But  they  sometimes  neglect  this  subtle  distinction 
—  "  Jure  naturali  quod  appellatur  jus  gentium."  "  Jus  feciale  " 
was  the  Roman  term  for  our  law  of  nations.  "  Belli  quidem 
eequitas  sanctissime  populi  Rom.  feciali  jure  perscripta  est."  De 
OfRciis,  lib.  i.  cap.  ii.  Our  learned  civilian  Zouch  has  accordingly 
entitled  his  work,  "  Dc  Jure  Feciali,  sive  de  Jure  inter  Gentes." 
The  Chancellor  D'Aguesseau,  probably  without  knowing  the 
work  of  Zouch,  suggested  that  this  law  should  be  called,  "  Droit 
entre  les  Gens  "  (CEuvres,  vol.  ii.  p.  337.),  in  which  he  has  been 
followed  by  a  late  ingenious  writer,  Mr.  Bentham  (Introduction 
to  the  Principles  of  Morals  and  Legislation,  p.  324.).  Perhaps 
these  learned  writers  do  employ  a  phrase  which  expresses  the 


OF  NATURE  AND  NATIONS.  349 

than  use,  and  ones  which,  if  they  deserve  any  where  to 
be  deeply  pursued,  will  be  pursued  with  more  propriety 
in  a  full  examination  of  the  subject  than  within  the 
short  limits  of  an  introductory  discourse.  Karnes  are, 
however,  in  a  great  measure  arbitrary ;  but  the  dis- 
tribution of  knowledge  into  its  parts,  though  it  may 
often  perhaps  be  varied  with  little  disadvantage,  yet 
certainly  depends  upon  some  fixed  principles.  The 
modern  method  of  considering  individual  and  national 
morality  as  the  subjects  of  the  same  science,  seems  to 
me  as  convenient  and  reasonable  an  arrangement  as 
can  be  adopted.  The  same  rules  of  morality  which 
hold  together  men  in  families,  and  which  form  families 
into  commonwealths,  also  link  together  these  common- 
wealths as  members  of  the  great  society  of  mankind. 
Commonwealths,  as  well  as  private  men,  are  liable  to 
injury,  and  capable  of  benefit,  from  each  other;  it  is, 
therefore,  their  interest,  as  well  as  their  duty,  to  rever- 
ence, to  practise,  and  to  enforce  those  rules  of  justice 
which  control  and  restrain  injury,  — which  regulate  and 
augment  benefit,  —  which,  even  in  their  present  imper- 
fect observance,  preserve  civilised  states  in  a  tolerable 
condition  of  security  from  wrong,  and  which,  if 
they  could  be  generally  obeyed,  would  establish,  and 
permanently  maintain,  the  well-being  of  the  univer- 
sal commonwealth  of  the  human  race.  It  is  therefore 
with  justice,  that  one  part  of  this  science  has  been  called 
" the  natural  law  of  individuals"  and  the  other  "  the 
natural  law  oi  states ;"  and  it  is  too  obvious  to  require 
observation*,  that  the  application  of  both  these  laws,  of 
the  former  as  much  as  of  the  latter,  is  modified  and  va- 
ried by  customs,  conventions,  character,  and  situation. 
With  a  view  to  these  principles,  the  writers  on  general 

subject  of  this  law  with  more  accuracy  than  our  common  lan- 
guage ;  but  I  doubt  whether  innovations  in  the  terms  of  scioKc 
always  repay  us  by  their  superior  precision  for  the  uncertainty 
and  confusion  which  the  chan;ie  occasions. 

*  This  remark  is  suggested  by  an  objection  of  Vattel,  which  is 
more  specious  than  solid;    See  his  Preliminaries,  §  6. 


350  ON    THE    STUDY   OF    THE   LAW 

jurisprudence  have  considered  states  as  moral  persons ; 
a  mode  of  expression  which  has  been  called  a  fiction  of 
law,  but  which  may  be  regarded  with  more  propriety 
as  a  bold  metaphor,  used  to  convey  the  important 
truth,  that  nations,  though  they  acknowledge  no 
common  superior,  and  neither  can,  nor  ought,  to  be 
subjected  to  human  punishment,  are  yet  under  the  same 
obligations  mutually  to  practise  honesty  and  humanity, 
which  would  have  bound  individuals,  —  if  the  latter 
could  be  conceived  ever  to  have  subsisted  without  the 
protecting  restraints  of  government,  and  if  they  were 
not  compelled  to  the  discharge  of  their  duty  by  the 
just  authority  of  magistrates,  and  by  the  wholesome 
terrors  of  the  laws.  With  the  same  views  this  law 
has  been  styled,  and  (notwithstanding  the  objections 
of  some  writers  to  the  vagueness  of  the  language) 
appears  to  have  been  styled  with  great  propriety, 
"  the  law  of  nature."  It  may  with  sufficient  correct- 
ness, or  at  least  by  an  easy  metaphor,  be  called  a 
"  law,"  inasmuch  as  it  is  a  supreme,  invariable,  and 
uncontrollable  rule  of  conduct  to  all  men,  the  viola- 
tion of  which  is  avenged  by  natural  punishments, 
necessarily  flowing  from  the  constitution  of  things, 
and  as  fixed  and  inevitable  as  the  order  of  nature. 
It  is  "  the  law  of  nature,"  because  its  general  pre- 
cepts are  essentially  adapted  to  promote  the  happiness 
of  man,  as  long  as  he  remains  a  being  of  the  same 
nature  with  which  he  is  at  present  endowed,  or,  in 
other  words,  as  long  as  he  continues  to  be  man,  in  all 
the  variety  of  times,  places,  and  circumstances,  in 
which  he  has  been  known,  or  can  be  imagined  to 
exist ;  because  it  is  discoverable  by  natural  reason,  and 
suitable  to  our  natural  constitution ;  and  because  its 
fitness  and  wisdom  are  founded  on  the  general  nature 
of  human  beings,  and  not  on  any  of  those  temporary 
and  accidental  situations  in  which  they  may  be  placed. 
It  is  with  still  more  propriety,  and  indeed  with  the 
highest  strictness,  and  the  most  perfect  accuracy, 
considered  as  a  law,  when,  according  to  those  just 


OF  NATURE  AND  NATIONS.  351 

and  magnificent  views  which  philosophy  and  religion 
open  to  us  of  the  government  of  the  world,  it  is  re- 
ceived and  reverenced  as  the  sacred  code,  promul- 
gated by  the  great  Legislator  of  the  Universe  for  the 
guidance  of  His  creatures  to  happiness  ; — guarded  and 
enforced,  as  our  own  experience  may  inform  us,  by 
the  penal  sanctions  of  shame,  of  remorse,  of  infamy, 
and  of  misery ;  and  still  farther  enforced  by  the  rea- 
sonable expectation  of  yet  more  awful  penalties  in  a 
future  and  more  permanent  state  of  existence.  It  is 
the  contemplation  of  the  law  of  nature  under  this 
full,  mature,  and  perfect  idea  of  its  high  origin  and 
transcendant  dignity,  that  called  forth  the  enthusiasm 
of  the  greatest  men,  and  the  greatest  writers  of  ancient 
and  modern  times,  in  those  sublime  descriptions,  in 
which  they  have  exhausted  all  the  powers  of  language, 
and  surpassed  all  the  other  exertions,  even  of  their  own 
eloquence,  in  the  display  of  its  beauty  and  majesty.  It 
is  of  this  law  that  Cicero  has  spoken  in  so  many  parts 
of  his  writings,  not  only  with  all  the  splendour  and 
copiousness  of  eloquence,  but  with  the  sensibility  of  a 
man  of  virtue,  and  with  the  gravity  and  comprehen- 
sion of  a  philosopher.*  It  is  of  this  law  that  Hooker 
speaks  in  so  sublime  a  strain  :  —  "Of  Law,  no  less  can 
be  said,  than  that  her  seat  is  the  bosom  of  God,  her 
voice  the  harmony  of  the  world  ;  all  things  in  heaven 

*  "  Est  quidem  vera  lex  recta  ratio,  natura;  con^ucns,  diffusa 
in  omncs,  constans,  sempitema;  qua;  vocet  ad  officium  jubendo, 
vetando  a  fraude  deterreat,  quie  tamen  ncque  probos  frustra 
jubet  aut  vctat,  ncque  improbos  jubendo  aut  vetando  movct. 
Huic  Icgi  nequc  obrogari  fas  est,  ncque  derogari  ex  hac  aliquid 
licet,  nequc  tota  abrogari  potest  Nee  vcro  aut  per  scnatum  aut 
per  populum  solvi  hac  lege  possumus  :  ncque  est  qua?rcndus  ex- 
pUinator  aut  interpres  ejus  alius.  Nee  erit  alia  lex  lioraa;,  alia 
Athenis,  alia  nunc,  alia  postliac ;  scd  ct  omncs  gcntes  ct  omni 
tempore  una  lex  et  sempitema,  ct  innnutabilis  contincbit ;  unus- 
que  erit  communis  quasi  magister  et  impcrator  omnium  J)cus,  ille 
legis  hujus  inventor,  disceptator,  lator  :  cui  qui  non  i)arebit  ipse 
se  fuyiet  et  naiuram  hominis  aspernahitur,  atcpie  hoc  ipso  luet 
maximas  pocnas,  etiamsi  caetcra  supplicia,  quae  putantur,  etKigerit." 
—  Dc  Rcpub.  lib.  iii.  cap.  22. 


352  ON   THE    STUDY   OF    THE   LAW 

and  earth  do  her  homage,  the  very  least  as  feeling 
her  care,  the  greatest  as  not  exempted  from  her 
power ;  both  angels  and  men,  and  creatures  of  what 
condition  soever,  though  each  in  different  sort  and 
manner,  yet  all  with  uniform  consent  admiring  her 
as  the  mother  of  their  peace  and  joy."* 

Let  not  those  who,  to  use  the  language  of  the  same 
Hooker,  "  talk  of  truth,"  without  "  ever  sounding  the 
depth  from  whence  it  springeth,"  hastily  take  it  for 
granted,  that  these  great  masters  of  eloquence  and 
reason  were  led  astray  by  the  specious  delusions  of 
mysticism,  from  the  sober  consideration  of  the  true 
grounds  of  morality  in  the  nature,  necessities,  and 
interests  of  man.  They  studied  and  taught  the  prin- 
ciples of  morals ;  but  they  thought  it  still  more  ne- 
cessary, and  more  wise, — a  much  nobler  task,  and 
more  becoming  a  true  philosopher,  to  inspire  men 
with  a  love  and  reverence  for  virtue.f  They  were 
not  contented  with  elementary  speculations :  they 
examined  the  foundations  of  our  duty ;  but  they  felt 
and  cherished  a  most  natural,  a  most  seemly,  a  most 
rational  enthusiasm,  when  they  contemplated  the  ma- 
jestic edifice  which  is  reared  on  these  solid  found- 
ations. They  devoted  the  highest  exertions  of  their 
minds  to  spread  that  beneficent  enthusiasm  among 
men.  They  consecrated  as  a  homage  to  Virtue  the 
most  perfect  fruits  of  their  genius.  If  these  grand 
sentiments  of  "the  good  and  fair"  have  sometimes  pre- 
vented them  from  delivering  the  principles  of  ethics 
with  the  nakedness  and  dryness  of  science,  at  least  we 
must  own  that  they  have  chosen  the  better  part,  — 
that  they  have  preferred  virtuous  feeling  to  moral 

*  Ecclesiastical  Polity,  book  i.  in  the  conclusion. 

t  "  Age  vero  urbibus  constitutis,  ut  fidem  colere  et  justitiam 
retinere  cliscerent,  et  aliis  parere  sua  voluntate  consuescerent,  ac 
non  modo  labores  excipiendos  communis  commodi  causa,  sed 
etiam  vitam  amittendam  existimarent ;  qui  tandem  fieri  potuit, 
nisi  homines  ea,  qua  ratione  invenissent,  eloquentia  persuadere 
potuissent?" — De  Invent.  Rhet.  lib.  i.  cap.  2. 


OF    NATURE   AXD   NATIONS.  353 

theory,  and  practical  benefit  to  speculative  exactness. 
Perhaps  these  wise  men  may  have  supposed  that  the 
minute  dissection  and  anatomy  of  Virtue  might,  to  the 
ill -judging  eye,  weaken  the  charm  of  her  beauty. 

It  is  not  for  me  to  attempt  a  theme  which  has  per- 
haps been  exhausted  by  these  great  writers.  I  am 
indeed  much  less  called  upon  to  display  the  worth 
and  usefulness  of  the  law  of  nations,  than  to  vindicate 
myself  from  presumption  in  attempting  a  subject 
which  has  been  already  handled  by  so  many  masters. 
For  the  purpose  of  that  vindication  it  will  be  neces- 
sary to  sketch  a  very  short  and  slight  account  (for 
such  in  this  place  it  must  unavoidably  be)  of  the  pro- 
gress and  present  state  of  the  science,  and  of  that 
succession  of  able  writers  who  have  gradually  brought 
it  to  its  present  perfection. 

We  have  no  Greek  or  Roman  treatise  remainino:  on 
the  law  of  nations.  From  the  title  of  one  of  the  lost 
works  of  Aristotle,  it  appears  that  he  composed  a 
treatise  on  the  laws  of  war*,  which,  if  we  had  the 
good  fortune  to  possess  it,  would  doubtless  have 
amply  satisfied  our  curiosity,  and  would  have  taught 
us  both  the  practice  of  the  ancient  nations  and  the 
opinions  of  their  moralists,  with  that  depth  and  pre- 
cision which  distinguish  the  other  works  of  that  great 
philosopher.  We  can  now  only  imperfectly  collect 
that  practice  and  those  opinions  from  various  pas- 
sages which  are  scattered  over  the  writings  of  phi- 
losophers, historians,  poets,  and  orators.  When  the 
time  shall  arrive  for  a  more  full  consideration  of  the 
state  of  the  government  and  manners  of  the  ancient 
world,  I  shall  be  able,  perhaps,  to  offer  satisfactory 
reasons  why  these  enlightened  nations  did  not  sepa- 
rate from  the  general  province  of  ethics  that  part  of 
morality  which  regulates  the  intercourse  of  states, 
and  erect  it  into  an  independent  science.  It  would 
require  a  long  discussion  to  unfold  the  various  causes 

*  Aiica:u!iJ.aTa  rwv  TroXffiwv. 
VOL.  I.  A  A 


354  ON   THE    STUDY   OF    THE    LAW 

which  united  the  modern  nations  of  Europe  into  a 
closer  society,  —  which  linked  them  together  by  the 
firmest  bands  of  mutual  dependence,  and  which  thus, 
in  process  of  time,  gave  to  the  law  that  regulated  their 
intercourse,  greater  importance,  higher  improvement, 
and  more  binding  force.  Among  these  causes,  we 
may  enumerate  a  common  extraction,  a  common  reli- 
gion, similar  manners,  institutions,  and  languages ; 
in  earlier  ages  the  authority  of  the  See  of  Rome,  and 
the  extravagant  claims  of  the  imperial  crown;  in 
later  times  the  connections  of  trade,  the  jealousy  of 
power,  the  refinement  of  civilisation,  the  cultivation 
of  science,  and,  above  all,  that  general  mildness  of 
character  and  manners  which  arose  from  the  com- 
bined and  progressive  influence  of  chivalry,  of  com- 
merce, of  learning,  and  of  religion.  Nor  must  we 
omit  the  similarity  of  those  political  institutions  which 
in  every  country  that  had  been  over-run  by  the 
Gothic  conquerors,  bore  discernible  marks  (which  the 
revolutions  of  succeeding  ages  had  obscured,  but  not 
obliterated)  of  the  rude  but  bold  and  noble  outline  of 
liberty  that  was  originally  sketched  by  the  hand  of 
these  generous  barbarians.  These  and  many  other 
causes  conspired  to  unite  the  nations  of  Europe 
in  a  more  intimate  connection  and  a  more  constant 
intercourse,  and,  of  consequence,  made  the  regulation 
of  their  intercourse  more  necessary,  and  the  law  that 
was  to  govern  it  more  important.  In  proportion  as 
they  approached  to  the  condition  of  provinces  of  the 
same  empire,  it  became  almost  as  essential  that  Europe 
should  have  a  precise  and  comprehensive  code  of  the 
law  of  nations,  as  that  each  country  should  have  a 
system  of  municipal  law.  The  labours  of  the  learned, 
accordingly,  began  to  be  directed  to  this  subject  in 
the  sixteenth  century,  soon  after  the  revival  of  learn- 
ing, and  after  that  regular  distribution  of  power  and 
territory  which  has  subsisted,  with  little  variation, 
until  our  times.  The  critical  examination  of  these 
early  writers  would  perhaps  not  be  very  interesting 


I 
I 


OF    NATURE   AND   NATIONS.  355 

in  an  extensive  work,  and  it  would  be  unpardonable 
in  a  short  discourse.  It  is  sufficient  to  observe  that 
they  were  all  more  or  less  shackled  by  the  barbarous 
philosophy  of  the  schools,  and  that  they  were  impeded 
in  their  progress  by  a  timorous  deference  for  the 
inferior  and  technical  parts  of  the  Roman  law,  with- 
out raising  their  views  to  the  comprehensive  prin- 
ciples which  will  for  ever  inspire  mankind  with  vene- 
ration for  that  grand  monument  of  human  wisdom. 
It  was  only,  indeed,  in  the  sixteenth  century  that  the 
Roman  law  was  first  studied  and  understood  as  a 
science  connected  with  Roman  history  and  literature, 
and  illustrated  by  men  whom  Ulpian  and  Papinian 
would  not  have  disdained  to  acknowledge  as  their 
successors.*  Among  the  writers  of  that  age  we  may 
perceive  the  ineffectual  attempts,  the  partial  advances, 
the  occasional  streaks  of  light  which  always  precede 
great  discoveries,  and  works  that  are  to  instruct  pos- 
terity. 

The  reduction  of  the  law  of  nations  to  a  system  was 
reserved  for  Grotius.  It  was  by  the  advice  of  Lord 
Bacon  and  Peircsc  that  he  undertook  this  arduous 
task.  He  produced  a  work  which  we  now,  indeed, 
justly  deem  imperfect,  but  which  is  perhaps  the  most 
complete  that  the  world  has  yet  owed,  at  so  early  a 
stage  in  the  progress  of  any  science,  to  the  genius  and 
learning  of  one  man.  So  great  is  the  uncertainty  of 
posthumous  reputation,  and  so  liable  is  the  fame  even 
of  the  greatest  men  to  be  obscured  by  those  new 
fashions  of  thinking  and  writing  which  succeed  each 
other  so  rapidly  among  polished  nations,  that  Grotius, 
who  filled  so  large  a  space  in  the  eye  of  his  contem- 
poraries, is  now  perhaps  known  to  some  of  my  readers 
only  by  name.     Yet  if  we  fairly  estimate  both  his 

*  Cujacius,  Brissonius,  Hottomannus,  &c.,  &c.  —  See  Gravina 
Origines  .Juris  Civilis  (Lips.  1737).  pp.  132—138.  Leibnitz,  a 
great  mathematician  as  well  as  philosopher,  declares  that  he 
knows  nothing  which  approaches  so  near  to  the  method  and 
precision  of  Geometry  as  the  Roman  law.  —  Op.  vol.  iv.  p.  254. 

A  A    2 


356  ON   THE   STUDY   OF   THE   LAW 

endowments  and  his  virtues,  we  may  justly  consider 
him  as  one  of  the  most  memorable  men  who  have  done 
honour  to  modern  times.  He  combined  the  discharge 
of  the  most  important  duties  of  active  and  public  life 
with  the  attainment  of  that  exact  and  various  learning 
which  is  generally  the  portion  only  of  the  recluse 
student.  He  was  distinguished  as  an  advocate  and  a 
magistrate,  and  he  composed  the  most  valuable  works 
on  the  law  of  his  own  country ;  he  was  almost  equally 
celebrated  as  an  historian,  a  scholar,  a  poet,  and  a 
divine ;  —  a  disinterested  statesman,  a  philosophical 
lawyer,  a  patriot  who  united  moderation  with  firm- 
ness, and  a  theologian  who  was  taught  candour  by 
his  learning.  Unmerited  exile  did  not  damp  his 
patriotism ;  the  bitterness  of  controversy  did  not  ex- 
tinguish his  charity.  The  sagacity  of  his  numerous 
and  fierce  adversaries  could  not  discover  a  blot  on  his 
character  ;  and  in  the  midst  of  all  the  hard  trials  and 
galling  provocations  of  a  turbulent  political  life,  he 
never  once  deserted  his  friends  when  they  were  un- 
fortunate, nor  insulted  his  enemies  when  they  were 
weak.  In  times  of  the  most  furious  civil  and  religious 
faction  he  preserved  his  name  unspotted,  and  he  knew 
how  to  reconcile  fidelity  to  his  own  party,  with 
moderation  towards  his  opponents. 

Such  was  the  man  who  was  destined  to  give  a  nev/ 
form  to  the  law  of  nations,  or  rather  to  create  a 
science,  of  which  only  rude  sketches  and  undigested 
materials  were  scattered  over  the  writings  of  those 
who  had  gone  before  him.  By  tracing  the  laws  of 
his  country  to  their  principles,  he  was  led  to  the  con- 
templation of  the  law  of  nature,  which  he  justly  con- 
sidered as  the  parent  of  all  municipal  laAv.*  Few 
works  were  more  celebrated  than  that  of  Grotius  in 
his  own  days,  and  in  the  age  which  succeeded.  It 
has,  however,  been  the  fashion  of  the  last  half- century 

*  "  Proavia  juris  civilis."  —  De  Jure  Belli  ac  Pacis,  proleg. 
§  xvi. 


OF  NATURE  AND  NATIONS.  357 

to  depreciate  his  work  as  a  shapeless  compilation,  in 
which  reason  lies  buried  under  a  mass  of  authorities 
and  quotations.  This  fashion  originated  among  French 
wits  and  declaimers,  and  it  has  been,  I  know  not  for 
what  reason,  adopted,  though  with  far  greater  modera- 
tion and  decency,  by  some  respectable  writers  among 
ourselves.  As  to  those  who  first  used  this  language, 
the  most  candid  supposition  that  we  can  make  Avith 
respect  to  them  is,  that  they  never  read  the  work ; 
for,  if  they  had  not  been  deterred  from  the  perusal  of 
it  by  such  a  formidable  display  of  Greek  characters, 
they  must  soon  have  discovered  that  Grotius  never 
quotes  on  any  subject  till  he  has  first  appealed  to 
some  principles,  and  often,  in  my  humble  opinion, 
though  not  always,  to  the  soundest  and  most  rational 
principles. 

But  another  sort  of  answer  is  due  to  some  of  those* 
who  have  criticised  Grotius,  and  that  answer  might 
be  given  in  the  words  of  Grotius  himself. f  He  was 
not  of  such  a  stupid  and  servile  cast  of  mind,  as  to 
quote  the  opinions  of  poets  or  orators,  of  historians 
and  philosophers,  as  those  of  judges,  from  whose 
decision  there  was  no  appeal.  He  quotes  them,  as  he 
tells  us  himself,  as  witnesses  whose  conspiring  testi- 
mony, mightily  strengthened  and  confirmed  by  their 
discordance  on  almost  every  other  subject,  is  a  con- 
clusive proof  of  the  unanimity  of  the  whole  human 
race  on  the  great  rules  of  duty  and  the  fundamental 
principles  of  morals.  On  such  matters,  poets  and 
orators  are  the  most  unexceptionable  of  all  witnesses ; 
for  they  address  themselves  to  the  general  feelings 
and  sympathies  of  mankind ;  they  are  neither  warped 
by  system,  nor  perverted  by  sophistry  ;  they  can  attain 
none  of  their  objects,  they  can  neither  please  nor  per- 
suade, if  they  dwell  on  moral  sentiments  not  in  unison 


*  Dr.  Palcy,  Principles  of  Moral  and  Political  Philosophy, 
pref.  pp.  xiv.  xv. 

t  De  Jure  Belli,  proleg.  §  40. 

A  A  3 


358  ON   THE    STUDY   OF    THE    LAW 

with  those  of  their  readers.  No  system  of  moral 
philosophy  can  surely  disregard  the  general  feelings 
of  human  nature  and  the  according  judgment  of  all 
ages  and  nations.  But  where  are  these  feelings  and 
that  judgment  recorded  and  preserved  ?  In  those 
very  writings  which  Grotius  is  gravely  blamed  for 
having  quoted.  The  usages  and  laws  of  nations,  the 
events  of  history,  the  opinions  of  philosophers,  the 
sentiments  of  orators  and  poets,  as  well  as  the  obser- 
vation of  common  life,  are,  in  truth,  the  materials  out 
of  which  the  science  of  morality  is  formed  ;  and  those 
who  neglect  them  are  justly  chargeable  with  a  vain 
attempt  to  philosophise  without  regard  to  fact  and  ex- 
perience,—  the  sole  foundation  of  all  true  philosophy. 

If  this  were  merely  an  objection  of  taste,  I  should 
be  willing  to  allow  that  Grotius  has  indeed  poured 
forth  his  learning  with  a  profusion  that  sometimes 
rather  encumbers  than  adorns  his  work,  and  which  is 
not  always  necessary  to  the  illustration  of  his  subject. 
Yet,  even  in  making  that  concession,  I  should  rather 
yield  to  the  taste  of  others  than  speak  from  my  own 
feelings.  I  own  that  such  richness  and  splendour  of 
literature  have  a  powerful  charm  for  me.  They  fill 
my  mind  with  an  endless  variety  of  delightful  recol- 
lections and  associations.  They  relieve  the  under- 
standing in  its  progress  through  a  vast  science,  by 
calling  up  the  memory  of  great  men  and  of  interesting 
event's.  By  this  means  we  see  the  truths  of  morality 
clothed  with  all  the  eloquence,  —  not  that  could  be 
produced  by  the  powers  of  one  man,  —  but  that  could 
be  bestowed  on  them  by  the  collective  genius  of  the 
world.  Even  Virtue  and  Wisdom  themselves  acquire 
new  majesty  in  my  eyes,  when  I  thus  see  all  the  great 
masters  of  thinking  and  writing  called  together,  as  it 
were,  from  all  times  and  countries,  to  do  them  homage, 
and  to  appear  in  their  train. 

But  this  is  no  place  for  discussions  of  taste,  and  I 
am  very  ready  to  own  that  mine  may  be  corrupted. 
The  work  of  Grotius  is  liable  to  a  more  serious  objec- 


OF  NATURE  AND  NATIONS.  359 

tion,  though  I  do  not  recollect  that  it  has  ever  been 
made.  His  method  is  inconvenient  and  unscientific  : 
he  has  inverted  the  natural  order.  That  natural 
order  undoubtedly  dictates,  that  we  should  first  search 
for  the  original  principles  of  the  science  in  human 
nature  ;  then  apply  them  to  the  regulation  of  the  con- 
duct of  individuals ;  and  lastly  employ  them  for  the 
decision  of  those  difficult  and  complicated  questions 
that  arise  with  respect  to  the  intercourse  of  nations. 
But  Grotius  has  chosen  the  reverse  of  this  method. 
He  begins  with  the  consideration  of  the  states  of  peace 
and  war,  and  he  examines  original  principles  only 
occasionally  and  incidentally  as  they  grow  out  of  the 
questions  which  he  is  called  upon  to  decide.  It  is  a 
necessary  consequence  of  this  disorderly  method, — 
which  exhibits  the  elements  of  the  science  in  the  form 
of  scattered  digressions,  that  he  seldom  employs  suffi- 
cient discussion  on  these  fundamental  truths,  and 
never  in  the  place  where  such  a  discussion  would  be 
most  instructive  to  the  reader. 

This  defect  in  the  plan  of  Grotius  was  perceived, 
and  supplied,  by  Puffendorff,  who  restored  natural 
law  to  that  superiority  which  belonged  to  it,  and, 
with  great  propriety,  treated  the  law  of  nations  as 
only  one  main  branch  of  the  parent  stock.  Without 
the  genius  of  his  master,  and  with  very  inferior  learn- 
ing, he  has  yet  treated  this  subject  with  sound  sense, 
with  clear  method,  with  extensive  and  accurate  know- 
ledge, and  with  a  copiousness  of  detail  sometimes 
indeed  tedious,  but  always  instructive  and  satisfactory. 
Plis  work  will  be  always  studied  by  those  who  spare 
no  labour  to  acquire  a  deep  knowledge  of  the  subject; 
but  it  will,  in  our  times,  I  fear,  be  oftener  found  on 
the  shelf  than  on  the  desk  of  the  general  student.  In 
the  time  of  Mr.  Locke  it  was  considered  as  the  manual 
of  those  who  were  intended  for  active  life  ;  but  in  the 
present  age,  I  believe  it  will  be  found  that  men  of  busi- 
ness are  too  much  occupied,  —  men  of  letters  are  too 
fiistidious,  —  and  men  of  the  world  too  indolent,  for  the 

A  A  4 


860  ON   THE    STUDY   OF    THE   LAW 

study  or  even  the  perusal  of  sucli  works.  Far  be  it 
from  me  to.  derogate  from  the  real  and  great  merit  of 
so  useful  a  writer  as  Puffendorff.  His  treatise  is  a 
mine  in  which  all  his  successors  must  dig.  I  only 
presume  to  suggest,  that  a  book  so  prolix,  and  so 
utterly  void  of  all  the  attractions  of  composition,  is 
likely  to  repel  many  readers  who  are  interested  in  its 
subject,  and  who  might  perhaps  be  disposed  to  acquire 
some  knowledge  of  the  principles  of  public  laAv. 

Many  other  circumstances  might  be  mentioned, 
which  conspire  to  prove  that  neither  of  the  great 
works  of  which  I  have  spoken,  has  superseded  the 
necessity  of  a  new  attempt  to  lay  before  the  public 
a  system  of  the  law  of  nations.  The  language  of 
Science  is  so  completely  changed  since  both  these 
works  were  written,  that  whoever  was  now  to  employ 
their  terms  in  his  moral  reasonings  would  be  almost 
unintelligible  to  some  of  his  hearers  or  readers,  —  and 
to  some  among  them  too  who  are  neither  ill  qualified, 
nor  ill  disposed,  to  study  such  subjects  with  consider- 
able advantage  to  themselves.  The  learned,  indeed, 
well  know  how  little  novelty  or  variety  is  to  be  found 
in  scientific  disputes.  The  same  truths  and  the  same 
errors  have  been  repeated  from  age  to  age,  with  little 
variation  but  in  the  language  ;  and  novelty  of  expres- 
sion is  often  mistaken  by  the  ignorant  for  substantial 
discovery.  Perhaps,  too,  very  nearly  the  same  portion 
of  genius  and  judgment  has  been  exerted  in  most  of 
the  various  forms  under  which  science  has  been  cul- 
tivated at  different  periods  of  history.  The  superiority 
of  those  writers  who  continue  to  be  read,  perhaps 
often  consists  chiefly  in  taste,  in  prudence,  in  a  happy 
choice  of  subject  in  a  favourable  moment,  in  an 
agreeable  style,  in  the  good  fortune  of  a  prevalent 
language,  or  in  other  advantages  which  are  either 
accidental,  or  are  the  result  rather  of  the  secondary, 
than  of  the  highest,  faculties  of  the  mind.  But  these 
reflections,  while  they  moderate  the  pride  of  invention, 
and  dispel  the  extravagant  conceit  of  superior  illu- 


OF  NATURE  AND  NATIONS.  361 

mination,  yet  serve  to  prove  the  use,  and  indeed  the 
necessity,  of  ^  composing,  from  time  to  time,  new 
systems  of  science  adapted  to  the  opinions  and  lan- 
guage of  each  succeeding  period.  Every  age  must 
be  taught  in  its  own  language.  K  a  man  were  now 
to  begin  a  discourse  on  ethics  with  an  account  of  the 
"  moral  entities  "  of  Puffendorff  *,  he  would  speak  an 
unknown  tongue. 

It  is  not,  however,  alone  as  a  mere  translation  of 
former  writers  into  modern  language  that  a  new 
system  of  public  law  seems  likely  to  be  useful.  The 
age  in  which  we  live  possesses  many  advantages  which 
are  peculiarly  favourable  to  such  an  undertaking. 
Since  the  composition  of  the  great  works  of  Grotius 
and  PufFendorfF,  a  more  modest,  simple,  and  intelli- 
gible philosophy  has  been  introduced  into  the  schools  ; 
which  has  indeed  been  grossly  abused  by  sophists, 
but  which,  from  the  time  of  Locke,  has  been  culti- 
vated and  improved  by  a  succession  of  disciples  worthy 
of  their  illustrious  master.  We  are  thus  enabled  to 
discuss  with  precision,  and  to  explain  with  clearness, 
the  principles  of  the  science  of  human  nature,  which 
are  in  themselves  on  a  level  with  the  capacity  of  every 
man  of  good  sense,  and  which  only  appeared  to  be 
abstruse  from  the  unprofitable  subtleties  with  which 
they  were  loaded,  and  the  barbarous  jargon  in  which 
they  were  expressed.  The  deepest  doctrines  of  mo- 
rality have  since  that  time  been  treated  in  the  perspi- 
cuous and  popular  style,  and  with  some  degree  of  the 
beauty  and  eloquence  of  the  ancient  moralists.  That 
philosophy  on  which  are  founded  the  principles  of 
our  duty,  if  it  has  not  become  more  certain  (for  mo- 

*  I  do  not  mean  to  impeach  the  soundness  of  any  part  of  Puf- 
fendorff' s  reasoning  founded  on  moral  entities :  it  may  be  ex- 
plained in  a  manner  consistent  with  the  most  just  philosopliy. 
He  used,  as  every  writer  must  do,  the  scientiric  languaj^e  of  his 
own  time.  I  only  assert  that,  to  those  who  are  unat'(iuaintLd 
with  ancient  systems,  his  philosophical  vocabulary  is  obsolete  ami 
uniiitcllijrible. 


362  ON   THE    STUDY   OF    THE   LAW 

rality  admits  no  discoveries),  is  at  least  less  "  harsh 
and  crabbed,"  less  obscure  and  haughty  in  its  lan- 
guage, and  less  forbidding  and  disgusting  in  its  appear- 
ance, than  in  the  days  of  our  ancestors.  If  this 
progress  of  leaning  towards  popularity  has  engen- 
dered (as  it  must  be  owned  that  it  has)  a  multitude 
of  superficial  and  most  mischievous  sciolists,  the  an- 
tidote must  come  from  the  same  quarter  with  the 
disease :  popular  reason  can  alone  correct  popular 
sophistry. 

Nor  is  this  the  only  advantage  which  a  writer  of 
the  present  age  would  possess  over  the  celebrated 
jurists  of  the  last  century.  Since  that  time  vast  ad- 
ditions have  been  made  to  the  stock  of  our  knowledge 
of  human  nature.  Many  dark  periods  of  history  have 
since  been  explored  :  many  hitherto  unknown  regions 
of  the  globe  have  been  visited  and  described  by 
travellers  and  navigators  not  less  intelligent  than 
intrepid.  We  may  be  said  to  stand  at  the  confluence 
of  the  greatest  number  of  streams  of  knowledge  flow- 
ins;  from  the  most  distant  sources  that  ever  met  at 
one  point.  We  are  not  confined,  as  the  learned  of  the 
last  age  generally  were,  to  the  history  of  those  re- 
nowned nations  who  are  our  masters  in  literature. 
We  can  bring  before  us  man  in  a  lower  and  more 
abject  condition  than  any  in  which  he  was  ever  before 
seen.  The  records  have  been  partly  opened  to  us  of 
those  mighty  empires  of  Asia*  where  the  beginnings 


*  I  cannot  prevail  on  myself  to  pass  over  this  subject  without 
paying  my  humble  tribute  to  the  memory  of  Sir  William  Jones, 
who  has  laboured  so  successfully  in  Oriental  literature ;  whose 
fine  genius,  pure  taste,  unwearied  industry,  unrivalled  and  almost 
prodigious  variety  of  acquirements,  —  not  to  speak  of  his  amiable 
manners,  and  spotless  integrity,  —  must  fill  every  one  who  culti- 
vates or  admires  letters  with  reverence,  tinged  with  a  melancholy 
which  the  recollection  of  his  recent  death  is  so  well  adapted  to 
inspire.  I  hope  I  shall  be  pardoned  if  I  add  my  applause  to  the 
genius  and  learning  of  Mr.  Maurice,  who  treads  in  the  steps  of 
his  illustrious  friend,  and  who  has  bewailed  his  death  in  a  strain 


OF  NATURE  AND  NATIONS.  363 

of  civilisation  are  lost  in  the  darkness  of  an  unfathom- 
able antiquity.  We  can  make  human  society  pass  in 
review  before  our  mind,  from  the  brutal  and  helpless 
barbarism  of  Terra  del  Fuego,  and  the  mild  and 
voluptuous  savages  of  Otaheite,  to  the  tame,  but 
ancient  and  immoveable  civilisation  of  China,  which 
bestows  its  own  arts  on  every  successive  race  of  con- 
querors,— to  the  meek  and  servile  natives  of  Hindos- 
tan,  who  preserve  their  ingenuity,  their  skill,  and  their 
science,  through  a  long  series  of  ages,  under  the  yoke 
of  foreign  tyrants,  —  and  to  the  gross  and  incorrigible 
rudeness  of  the  Ottomans,  incapable  of  improvement, 
and  extino^uishinir  the  remains  of  civilisation  among: 
their  unhappy  subjects,  once  the  most  ingenious  na- 
tions of  the  earth.  We  can  examine  almost  every 
imaginable  variety  in  the  character,  manners,  opinions, 
feelings,  prejudices,  and  institutions  of  mankind,  into 
which  they  can  be  thrown,  either  by  the  rudeness  of 
barbarism,  or  by  the  capricious  corruptions  of  refine- 
ment, or  by  those  innumerable  combinations  of  cir- 
cumstances, which,  both  in  these  opposite  conditions, 
and  in  all  the  intermediate  stages  between  them,  influ- 
ence or  direct  the  course  of  human  affairs.  History,  if 
I  may  be  allowed  the  expression,  is  now  a  vast  museum, 
in  which  specimens  of  every  variety  of  human  nature 
may  be  studied.  From  these  great  accessions  to  know- 
ledge, lawgivers  and  statesmen,  but,  above  all,  moralists 
and  political  philosophers,  may  reap  the  most  impor- 
tant instruction.  They  may  plainly  discover  in  all 
the  useful  and  beautiful  variety  of  governments  and 
institutions,  and  under  all  the  fantastic  multitude  of 
usages  and  rites  which  have  prevailed  among  men, 
the  same  fundamental,  comprehensive  truths,  the 
sacred  master-principles  which  are  the  guardians  of 
human  society,  recognised  and  revered  (with  few  and 
slight  exceptions)  by  every  nation  upon  earth,   and 

of  genuine  and  beautiful  poetry,  not  unworthy  of  happier  periods 
of  our  Enfrlish  literature. 


364  ON   THE    STUDY   OF    THE    LAW 

uniformly  taught  (with  still  fewer  exceptions)  by  a 
succession  of  wise  men  from  the  first  dawn  of  specu- 
lation to  the  present  moment.  The  exceptions,  few 
as  they  are,  will,  on  more  reflection,  be  found  rather 
apparent  than  real.  If  we  could  raise  ourselves  to 
that  height  from  which  we  ought  to  survey  so  vast  a 
subject,  these  exceptions  would  altogether  vanish; 
the  brutality  of  a  handful  of  savages  would  disappear 
in  the  immense  prospect  of  human  nature,  and  the 
murmurs  of  a  few  licentious  sophists  would  not  ascend 
to  break  the  general  harmony.  This  consent  of  man- 
kind in  first  principles,  and  this  endless  variety  in 
their  application,  which  is  one  among  many  valuable 
truths  which  we  may  collect  from  our  present  exten- 
sive acquaintance  with  the  history  of  man,  is  itself  of 
vast  importance.  Much  of  the  majesty  and  authority 
of  virtue  is  derived  from  their  consent,  and  almost  the 
whole  of  practical  wisdom  is  founded  on  their  variety. 
"What  former  age  could  have  supplied  facts  for  such 
a  work  as  that  of  Montesquieu  ?  He  indeed  has  been, 
perhaps  justly,  charged  with  abusing  this  advantage, 
by  the  undistinguisliing  adoption  of  the  narratives  of 
travellers  of  very  different  degrees  of  accuracy  and 
veracity.  But  if  we  reluctantly  confess  the  justness 
of  this  objection ;  if  we  are  compelled  to  own  that  he 
exaggerates  the  influence  of  climate,  —  that  he  ascribes 
too  much  to  the  foresight  and  forming  skill  of  legis- 
lators, and  far  too  little  to  time  and  circumstances,  in 
the  growth  of  political  constitutions,  —  that  the  sub- 
stantial character  and  essential  differences  of  govern- 
ments are  often  lost  and  confounded  in  his  technical 
language  and  arrangement,  —  that  he  often  bends  the 
free  and  irregular  outline  of  nature  to  the  imposing  but 
fallacious  geometrical  regularity  of  system,  —  that  he 
has  chosen  a  style  of  affected  abruptness,  sententious- 
ness,  and  vivacity,  ill  suited  to  the  gravity  of  his 
subject;  —  after  all  these  concessions  (for  his  fame  is 
large  enough  to  spare  many  concessions),  the  Spirit  of 
Laws  will  still  remain  not  only  one  of  the  most  solid 


OF  NATURE  AND  NATIONS.  365 

and  durable  monuments  of  the  powers  of  the  human 
mind,  but  a  striking  evidence  of  the  inestimable  ad- 
vantages which  political  philosophy  may  receive  from 
a  wide  survey  of  all  the  various  conditions  of  human 
society. 

In  the  present  century  a  slow  and  silent,  but  very 
substantial,  mitigation  has  taken  place  in  the  practice 
of  war ;  and  in  proportion  as  that  mitigated  practice 
has  received  the  sanction  of  time,  it  is  raised  from 
the  rank  of  mere  usage,  and  becomes  part  of  the  law 
of  nations.  Whoever  will  compare  our  present  modes 
of  warfare  with  the  system  of  Grotius  *  will  clearly 
discern  the  immense  improvements  which  have  taken 
place  in  that  respect  since  the  publication  of  his  work, 
during  a  period,  perhaps  in  every  point  of  view  the 
happiest  to  be  found  in  the  history  of  the  world.  In 
the  same  period  many  important  points  of  public  law 
have  been  the  subject  of  contest  both  by  argument 
and  by  arms,  of  which  we  find  either  no  mention,  or 
very  obscure  traces,  in  the  history  of  preceding  times. 

There  are  other  circumstances  to  which  I  allude 
^^^th  hesitation  and  reluctance,  though  it  must  be 
owned  that  they  afford  to  a  writer  of  this  age  some 
degree  of  unfortunate  and  deplorable  advantage  over 
his  predecessors.  Recent  events  have  accumulated 
more  terrible  practical  instruction  on  every  subject 
of  politics  than  could  have  been  in  other  times  ac- 
quired by  the  experience  of  ages.  Men's  wit  sharp- 
ened by  their  passions  has  penetrated  to  the  bottom 
of  almost  all  political  questions.  Even  the  funda- 
mental rules  of  morality  themselves  have,  for  the  first 
time,  unfortunately  for  mankind,  become  the  subject 
of  doubt  and  discussion.  I  shall  consider  it  as  my 
duty  to  abstain  from  all  mention  of  these  awful  events, 
and  of  these  fiital  controversies.  But  the  mind  of  that 
man  must  indeed  be  incurious  and  indocile,  who  has 

*  Especially  those  chapters  of  the  third  book,  entitled,  "  Tem- 
pcramentum  circa  Captivos,"  &c. 


366  ON   THE    STUDY   OF    THE   LAW 

either  overlooked  all  these  things,  or  reaped  no  in- 
struction from  the  contemplation  of  them. 

From  these  reflections  it  appears,  that,  since  the 
composition  of  those  two  great  works  on  the  law  of 
nature  and  nations  which  continue  to  be  the  classical 
and  standard  works  on  that  subject,  we  have  gained 
both  more  convenient  instruments  of  reasoning  and 
more  extensive  materials  for  science, — that  the  code 
of  war  has  been  enlarged  and  improved,  —  that  new 
questions  have  been  practically  decided,  —  and  that 
new  controversies  have  arisen  regarding  the  inter- 
course of  independent  states,  and  the  first  principles 
of  morality  and  civil  government. 

Some  readers  may,  however,  think  that  in  these 
observations  which  I  offer  to  excuse  the  presumption 
of  my  own  attempt,  I  have  omitted  the  mention  of 
later  writers,  to  whom  some  part  of  the  remarks  is 
not  justly  applicable.  But,  perhaps,  further  considera- 
tion will  acquit  me  in  the  judgment  of  such  readers. 
Writers  on  particular  questions  of  public  law  are  not 
within  the  scope  of  my  observations.  They  have  fur- 
nished the  most  valuable  materials ;  but  I  speak  only 
of  a  system.  To  the  large  work  of  Wolffius,  the  ob- 
servations which  I  have  made  on  Puffendorff  as  a  book 
for  general  use,  will  surely  apply  with  tenfold  force. 
His  abridger,  Vattel,  deserves,  indeed,  considerable 
praise  ;  he  is  a  very  ingenious,  clear,  elegant,  and 
useful  writer.  But  he  only  considers  one  part  of  this 
extensive  subject,  —  namely,  the  law  of  nations,  strictly 
so  called;  and  I  cannot  help  thinking,  that,  even  in 
this  department  of  the  science,  he  has  adopted  some 
doubtful  and  dangerous  principles,  —  not  to  mention 
his  constant  deficiency  in  that  fulness  of  example 
and  illustration,  which  so  much  embellishes  and 
strengthens  reason.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  take  any 
notice  of  the  text-book  of  Heineccius,  the  best  writer 
of  elementary  books  with  whom  I  am  acquainted  on 
any  subject.     Burlamaqui  is  an  author  of  superior 


OF  NATURE  AND  NATIONS.  367 

merit ;  but  he  confines  himself  too  much  to  the  general 
principles  of  morality  and  politics,  to  require  much 
observation  from  me  in  this  place.  The  same  reason 
will  excuse  me  for  passing  over  in  silence  the  works 
of  many  philosophers  and  moralists,  to  whom,  in  the 
course  of  my  proposed  lectures,  I  shall  owe  and  con- 
fess the  greatest  obligations;  and  it  might  perhaps 
deliver  me  from  the  necessity  of  speaking  of  the  work 
of  Dr.  Paley,  if  I  were  not  desirous  of  this  public  op- 
portunity of  professing  my  gratitude  for  the  instruc- 
tion and  pleasure  which  I  have  received  from  that 
excellent  writer,  who  possesses,  in  so  eminent  a  de- 
gree, those  invaluable  qualities  of  a  moralist, — good 
sense,  caution,  sobriety,  and  perpetual  reference  to 
convenience  and  practice ;  and  who  certainly  is 
thought  less  original  than  he  really  is,  merely  because 
his  taste  and  modesty  have  led  him  to  disdain  the 
ostentation  of  novelty,  and  because  he  generally  em- 
ploys more  art  to  blend  his  own  arguments  with  the 
body  of  received  opinions  (so  as  that  they  are  scarce 
to  be  distinguished),  than  other  men,  in  the  pursuit  of 
a  transient  popularity,  have  exerted  to  disguise  the 
most  miserable  common-places  in  the  shape  of  paradox. 

No  writer  since  the  time  of  Grotius,  of  Puffendorff, 
and  of  Wolf,  has  combined  an  investigation  of  the 
principles  of  natural  and  public  law,  with  a  full  appli- 
cation of  these  principles  to  particular  cases ;  and  in 
these  circumstances,  I  trust,  it  will  not  be  deemed  ex- 
travagant presumption  in  me  to  hope  that  I  shall  be 
able  to  exhibit  a  view  of  this  science,  which  shall,  at 
least,  be  more  intelligible  and  attractive  to  students, 
than  the  learned  treatises  of  these  celebrated  men. 
I  shall  now  proceed  to  state  the  general  plan  and 
subjects  of  the  lectures  in  which  I  am  to  make  this 
attempt. 

I.  The  being  whose  actions  the  law  of  nature  pro- 
fesses to  regulate,  is  man.  It  is  on  the  knowledge 
of  his  nature  that  the  science  of  his  duty  must  be 


368  ON   THE    STUDY   OF    THE    LAW 

founded.  *  It  is  impossible  to  approach  the  threshold 
of  moral  philosophy  without  a  previous  examination 
of  the  faculties  and  habits  of  the  human  mind.  Let 
no  reader  be  repelled  from  this  examination  by  the 
odious  and  terrible  name  of  "metaphysics;"  for  it  is, 
in  truth,  nothing  more  than  the  employment  of  good 
sense,  in  observing  our  own  thoughts,  feelings,  and 
actions  ;  and  when  the  facts  which  are  thus  observed 
are  expressed,  as  they  ought  to  be,  in  plain  language, 
it  is,  perhaps,  above  all  other  sciences,  most  on  a  level 
with  the  capacity  and  information  of  the  generality 
of  thinking  men.  When  it  is  thus  expressed,  it 
requires  no  previous  qualification,  but  a  sound  judg- 
ment perfectly  to  comprehend  it ;  and  those  who  wrap 
it  up  in  a  technical  and  mysterious  jargon,  always 
give  us  strong  reason  to  suspect  that  they  are  not 
philosophers,  but  impostors.  Whoever  thoroughly 
understands  such  a  science,  must  be  able  to  teach  it 
plainly  to  all  men  of  common  sense.  The  proposed 
course  will  therefore  open  with  a  very  short,  and,  I 
hope,  a  very  simple  and  intelligible  account  of  the 
powers  and  operations  of  the  human  mind.  By  this 
plain  statement  of  facts,  it  will  not  be  difficult  to 
decide  many  celebrated  though  frivolous  and  merely 
verbal,  controversies,  which  have  long  amused  the  lei- 
sure of  the  schools,  and  which  owe  both  their  fame 
and  their  existence  to  the  ambiguous  obscurity  of 
scholastic  language.  It  will,  for  example,  only  re- 
quire an  appeal  to  every  man's  experience,  to  prove 
that  we  often  act  purely  from  a  regard  to  the  happi- 
ness of  others,  and  are  therefore  social  beings ;  and 
it  is  not  necessary  to  be  a  consummate  judge  of  the 
deceptions  of  language,  to  despise  the  sophistical 
trifler,  who  tells  us,  that,  because  we  experience  a  gra- 
tification in  our  benevolent  actions,  we  are  therefore 
exclusively  and  uniformly  selfish.     A  correct   exa- 

*  "  Natura  enim  juris  explicanda  est  nobis,  eaque  ab  hominis 
repetenda  natura."— De  Leg.  lib.  i.  c.  5. 


OF    NATURE   AND   NATIONS.  369 

mination  of  facts  will  lead  us  to  discover  that  quality 
which  is  common  to  all  virtuous  actions,  and  which 
distinguishes  them  from  those  which  are  vicious  and 
criminal.  But  we  shall  see  that  it  is  necessary  for  man 
to  be  governed,  not  by  his  own  transient  and  hasty 
opinion  upon  the  tendency  of  every  particular  action, 
but  by  those  fixed  and  unalterable  rules,  which  are  the 
joint  result  of  the  impartial  judgment,  the  natural 
feelings,  and  the  embodied  experience  of  mankind. 
The  authority  of  these  rules  is,  indeed,  founded  only 
on  their  tendency  to  promote  private  and  public  wel- 
fare ;  but  the  morality  of  actions  will  appear  solely  to 
consist  in  their  correspondence  with  the  rule.  By  the 
help  of  this  obvious  distinction  we  shall  vindicate  a 
just  theory,  which,  far  from  being  modern,  is,  in  fact, 
as  ancient  as  philosophy,  both  from  plausible  objec- 
tions, and  from  the  odious  imputation  of  supporting 
those  absurd  and  monstrous  systems  which  have  been 
built  upon  it.  Beneficial  tendency  is  the  foundation 
of  rules,  and  the  criterion  by  which  habits  and  sen- 
timents are  to  be  tried:  but  it  is  neither  the  imme- 
diate standard,  nor  can  it  ever  be  the  principal 
motive  of  action.  An  action  to  be  completely  vir- 
tuous, must  accord  with  moral  rules,  and  must  flow 
fi'om  our  natural  feelings  and  affections,  moderated, 
matured,  and  improved  into  steady  habits  of  right 
conduct.*  Without,  however,  dwelling  longer  on  sub- 
jects which  cannot  be  clearly  stated,  unless  they  are 
fully  unfolded,  I  content  myself  with  observing,  that 
it  shall  be  my  object,  in  this  preliminary,  but  most 
important,  part  of  the  course,  to  lay  the  foundations 
of  morality  so  deeply  in  human  nature,  as  to  satisfy 
the  coldest  inquirer ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  to  vin- 
dicate the  paramount  authority  of  the  rules  of  our 
duty,  at  all  times,  and  in  all  places,  over  all  opinions 
of  interest  and  speculations  of  benefit,  so  extensively, 
so  universally,  and  so  inviolably,  as  may  well  justify 

*  "  Est  autcm  virtus  nihil  aliud,  quam  in  sc  pcrfccta  atque  ad 
summum  pcrducta  natura." — De  Leg,  lib.  i.  c.  8. 
VOL.  I,  B  B 


3^0  ON   THE    STUDY   OF    THE    LAW 

the  grandest  and  the  most  apparently  extravagant 
effusions  of  moral  enthusiasm.  If,  notwithstanding 
all  my  endeavours  to  deliver  these  doctrines  with  the 
utmost  simplicity,  any  of  my  auditors  should  still 
reproach  me  for  introducing  such  abstruse  matters,  I 
must  shelter  myself  behind  the  authority  of  the  wisest 
of  men.  "  If  they  (the  ancient  moralists),  before  they 
had  come  to  the  popular  and  received  notions  of 
virtue  and  vice,  had  staid  a  little  longer  upon  the 
inquiry  concerning  the  roots  of  good  and  evil,  they  had 
given,  in  my  opinion,  a  great  light  to  that  which  fol- 
lowed ;  and  especially  if  they  had  consulted  with 
nature,  they  had  made  their  doctrines  less  prolix,  and 
more  profound."  *  What  Lord  Bacon  desired  for  the 
mere  gratification  of  scientific  curiosity,  the  welfare 
of  mankind  now  imperiously  demands.  Shallow  sys- 
tems of  metaphysics  have  given  birth  to  a  brood  of 
abominable  and  pestilential  paradoxes,  which  nothing 
but  a  more  profound  philosophy  can  destroy.  How- 
ever we  may,  perhaps,  lament  the  necessity  of  discus- 
sions which  may  shake  the  habitual  reverence  of  some 
men  for  those  rules  which  it  is  the  chief  interest  of  all 
men  to  practise,  we  have  now  no  choice  left.  We 
must  either  dispute,  or  abandon  the  ground.  Undis- 
tinguishing  and  unmerited  invectives  against  philo- 
sophy will  only  harden  sophists  and  their  disciples  in 
the  insolent  conceit,  that  they  are  in  possession  of  an 
undisputed  superiority  of  reason ;  and  that  their 
antagonists  have  no  arms  to  employ  against  them,  but 
those  of  popular  declamation.  Let  us  not  for  a  mo- 
ment even  appear  to  suppose,  that  philosophical  truth 
and  human  happiness  are  so  irreconcilably  at  vari- 
ance. I  cannot  express  my  opinion  on  this  subject 
so  well  as  in  the  words  of  a  most  valuable,  though 
generally  neglected  writer  :  "  The  science  of  abstruse 
learning,  when  completely  attained,  is  like  Achilles's 
spear,  that  healed  the  wounds  it  had  made  before  ;  so 

*  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii. 


OF    NATURE    AND   NATIONS.  37 L 

this  knowledge  serves  to  repair  the  damage  itself  had 
occasioned,  and  this  perhaps  is  all  it  is  good  for ;  it 
casts  no  additional  light  upon  the  paths  of  life,  but 
disperses  the  clouds  with  which  it  had  overspread 
them  before ;  it  advances  not  the  traveller  one  step 
in  his  journey,  but  conducts  him  back  again  to  the 
spot  from  whence  he  wandered.  Thus  the  land  of 
philosophy  consists  partly  of  an  open  champaign 
country,  passable  by  every  common  understanding, 
and  partly  of  a  range  of  woods,  traversable  only  by 
the  speculative,  and  where  they  too  frequently  delight 
to  amuse  themselves.  Since  then  we  shall  be  obliged 
to  make  incursions  into  this  latter  track,  and  shall 
probably  find  it  a  region  of  obscurity,  danger,  and 
difficulty,  it  behoves  us  to  use  our  utmost  endeavours 
for  enlightening  and  smoothing  the  way  before  us."* 
We  shall,  however,  remain  in  the  forest  only  long 
enough  to  visit  the  fountains  of  those  streams  which 
flow  from  it,  and  which  water  and  fertilise  the  culti- 
vated region  of  morals,  to  become  acquainted  Avith 
the  modes  of  warfare  practised  by  its  savage  inhabit- 
ants, and  to  learn  the  means  of  guarding  our  fair  and 
fruitful  land  against  their  desolating  incursions.  I 
shall  hasten  from  speculations,  to  which  I  am  na- 
turally, perhaps,  but  too  prone,  and  proceed  to  the 
more  profitable  consideration  of  our  practical  duty. 

The  first  and  most  simple  part  of  ethics  is  that 
which  regards  the  duties  of  private  men  towards  each 
other,  when  they  are  considered  apart  from  the  sanc- 
tion of  positive  laws.  I  say  apart  from  that  sanction, 
not  antecedent  to  it ;  for  though  we  separate  private 
from  political  duties  for  the  sake  of  greater  clearness 
and  order  in  reasoning,  yet  we  are  not  to  be  so  de- 
luded by  this  mere  arrangement  of  convenience  as  to 
suppose  that  human  society  ever  has  subsisted,  or 
ever  could  subsist,  without  being  protected  by  govern- 
ment, and  bound  together  by  laws.     All  these  rela- 


Light  of  Nature,  vol.  i.  prcf.  p.  xxxiii. 

B  B   2 


372  ON   THE    STUDY   OF    THE    LAW 

tive  duties  of  private  life  have  been  so  copiously  and 
beautifully  treated  by  the  moralists  of  antiquity,  that 
few  men  will  now  choose  to  follow  them,  who  are  not 
actuated  by  the  wild  ambition  of  equalling  Aristotle 
in  precision,  or  rivalling  Cicero  in  eloquence.  They 
have  been  also  admirably  treated  by  modern  moralists, 
among  whom  it  would  be  gross  injustice  not  to  num- 
ber many  of  the  preachers  of  the  Christian  religion, 
whose  peculiar  character  is  that  spirit  of  universal 
charity,  which  is  the  living  principle  of  all  our  social 
duties.  For  it  was  long  ago  said,  with  great  truth, 
by  Lord  Bacon,  "  that  there  never  was  any  philo- 
sophy, religion,  or  other  discipline,  which  did  so 
plainly  and  highly  exalt  that  good  which  is  commu- 
nicative, and  depress  the  good  which  is  private  and 
particular,  as  the  Christian  faith."*  The  appropriate 
praise  of  this  religion  is  not  so  much  that  it  has 
taught  new  duties,  as  that  it  breathes  a  milder  and 
more  benevolent  spirit  over  the  whole  extent  of 
morals. 

On  a  subject  which  has  been  so  exhausted,  I  should 
naturally  have  contented  myself  with  the  most  slight 
and  general  survey,  if  some  fundamental  principles  had 
not  of  late  been  brought  into  question,  which,  in  all  for- 
mer times,  have  been  deemed  too  evident  to  require  the 
support  of  argument,  and  almost  too  sacred  to  admit 
the  liberty  of  discussion.  I  shall  here  endeavour  to 
strengthen  some  parts  of  the  fortifications  of  morality 
which  have  hitherto  been  neglected,  because  no  man 
had  ever  been  hardy  enough  to  attack  them.  Almost 
all  the  relative  duties  of  human  life  will  be  found 
more  immediately,  or  more  remotely,  to  arise  out  of 
the  two  great  institutions  of  property  and  marriage. 
They  constitute,  preserve,  and  improve  society.  Upon 
their  gradual  improvement  depends  the  progressive 
civilisation  of  mankind  ;  on  them  rests  the  whole  order 
of  civil  life.     We  are  told  by  Horace,  that  the  first 

*  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii. 


OF  NATURE  AND  NATIONS.  373 

efforts  of  lawgivers  to  civilise  men  consisted  in 
strengthening  and  regulating  these  institutions,  and 
fencing  them  round  with  rigorous  penal  laws. 

"  Oppida  coeperunt  munire,  et  ponere  leges, 
Ne  quis  fur  esset,  neu  latro,  neu  quis  adulter."* 

A  celebrated  ancient  orator  j",  of  whose  poems  we 
have  but  a  few  fragments  remaining,  has  well  de- 
scribed the  progressive  order  in  which  human  society 
is  gradually  led  to  its  highest  improvements  under 
the  guardianship  of  those  laws  which  secure  property 
and  regulate  marriage. 

*'  Et  leges  sanctas  docuit,  et  chara  juga\'it 
Corpora  conjugiis  ;  et  magnas  condidit  urbes." 

These  two  great  institutions  convert  the  selfish  as 
well  as  the  social  passions  of  our  nature  into  the  firmest 
bands  of  a  peaceable  and  orderly  intercourse  ;  they 
change  the  sources  of  discord  into  principles  of  quiet : 
they  discipline  the  most  ungovernable,  they  refine 
the  grossest,  and  they  exalt  the  most  sordid  propen- 
sities ;  so  that  they  become  the  perpetual  fountain  of 
all  that  strengthens,  and  preserves,  and  adorns  society: 
they  sustain  the  individual,  and  they  perpetuate  the 
race.  Around  these  institutions  all  our  social  duties 
will  be  found  at  various  distances  to  range  themselves ; 
some  more  near,  obviously  essential  to  the  good  order 
of  human  life ;  others  more  remote,  and  of  which  the 
necessity  is  not  at  first  view  so  apparent  ;  and  some 
so  distant,  that  their  importance  has  been  sometimes 
doubted,  though  upon  more  mature  consideration  they 
will  be  found  to  be  outposts  and  advanced  guards  of 
these  fundamental  principles,  —  that  man  should  se- 
curely enjoy  the  fruits  of  his  labour,  and  that  the 
society  of  the  sexes  should  be  so  wisely  ordered,  as 
to  make  it  a  school  of  the  kind  affections,  and  a  fit 
nursery  for  the  commonwealth. 

The  subject  of  property  is  of  great  extent.     It  will 

*  Sermon,  lib.  i.  Scrm.  iii.  105.  f  C.  Licinius  Calvus. 

li  B  3 


374  ON    THE    STUDY   OF    THE    LAW 

be  necessary  to  establish  the  foundation  of  the  rights 
of  acquisition,  alienation,  arid  transmission,  not  in 
imaginary  contracts  or  a  pretended  state  of  nature, 
but  in  their  subserviency  to  the  subsistence  and  well- 
being  of  mankind.  It  will  not  only  be  curious,  but 
.useful,  to  trace  the  history  of  property  from  the  first 
loose  and  transient  occupancy  of  the  savage,  through 
all  the  modifications  which  it  has  at  different  times 
received,  to  that  comprehensive,  subtle,  and  anxiously 
minute  code  of  property  which  is  the  last  result  of  the 
most  refined  civilisation. 

I  shall  observe  the  same  order  in  considering  the 
society  of  the  sexes,  as  it  is  regulated  by  the  institu- 
tion of  marriage.*  I  shall  endeavour  to  lay  open 
those  unalterable  principles  of  general  interest  on 
which  that  institution  rests  ;  and  if  I  entertain  a  hope 
that  on  this  subject  I  may  be  able  to  add  something 
to  what  our  masters  in  morality  have  taught  us,  I 
trust,  that  the  reader  will  bear  in  mind,  as  an  excuse 
for  my  presumption,  that  they  were  not  likely  to  em- 
ploy much  argument  where  they  did  not  foresee  the 
possibility  of  doubt.  I  shall  also  consider  the  his- 
tory f  of  marriage,  and  trace  it  through  all  the  forms 

*  See  on  this  subject  an  incomparable  fragment  of  the  first 
book  of  Cicero's  Economics,  which  is  too  long  for  insertion  here, 
but  which,  if  it  be  closely  examined,  may  perhaps  dispel  the 
illusion  of  those  gentlemen,  who  have  so  strangely  taken  it  for 
granted  that  Cicero  was  incapable  of  exact  reasoning. 

f  This  progress  is  traced  with  great  accuracy  in  some  beautiful 
lines  of  Lucretius :  — 

Mulier,  conjuncta  viro,  concessit  in  unum  ; 

Castaque  privatse  Veneris  connubia  Iseta 

Cognita  sunt,  prolemque  ex  se  videre  creatam  ; 

Turn  genus  humanum  primum  mollescere  ccepit. 

puerique  parentum 

Blanditiis  facile  ingenium  fregerc  superbum. 

Tunc  et  amicitiam  coeperunt  ungere,  habentes 

Finitimi  inter  se,  nee  Isedere,  nee  violare  ; 

Et  pueros  commendarunt,  mulicbreque  saeclum, 

Vocibus  et  gestu  ;  cum  balbe  significarent, 

Imbecillorum  esse  sequum  miserier  omni. 

De  Eerum  Nat.  lib.  v. 


OF  NATURE  AND  NATIONS.  37o 

^hich  it  has  assumed,  to  that  descent  and  happy 
permanency  of  union,  which  has,  perhaps  above  all 
other  causes,  contributed  to  the  quiet  of  society,  and 
the  refinement  of  manners  in  modern  times.  Among 
many  other  inquiries  which  this  subject  will  suggest, 
I  shall  be  led  more  particularly  to  examine  the  na- 
tural station  and  duties  of  the  female  sex,  their  con- 
dition among  different  nations,  its  improvement  in 
Europe,  and  the  bounds  which  Nature  herself  has 
prescribed  to  the  progress  of  that  improvement ;  be- 
yond which  every  pretended  advance  will  be  a  real 
degradation. 

Having  established  the  principles  of  private  duty, 
I  shall  proceed  to  consider  man  under  the  important 
relation  of  subject  and  sovereign,  or,  in  other  words, 
of  citizen  and  magistrate.  The  duties  which  arise 
from  this  relation  I  shall  endeavour  to  establish,  not 
upon  supposed  compacts,  which  are  altogether  chi- 
merical, which  must  be  admitted  to  be  ftilse  in  fact, 
and  which,  if  they  are  to  be  considered  as  fictions,  will 
be  found  to  serve  no  purpose  of  just  reasoning,  and  to 
be  equally  the  foundation  of  a  system  of  universal 
despotism  in  Hobbes,  and  of  universal  anarchy  in 
Rousseau  ;  but  on  the  solid  basis  of  general  conve- 
nience. Men  cannot  subsist  without  society  and 
mutual  aid ;  they  can  neither  maintain  social  inter- 
course nor  receive  aid  from  each  other  without  the 
protection  of  government;  and  they  cannot  enjoy 
that  protection  without  submitting  to  the  restraints 
which  a  just  government  imposes.  This  plain  argu- 
ment establishes  the  duty  of  obedience  on  the  part 
of  the  citizens,  and  the  duty  of  protection  on  that  of 
magistrates,  on  the  same  foundation  with  that  of 
every  other  moral  duty  ;  and  it  shows,  with  sufliicient 
evidence,  that  these  duties  are  reciprocal ;  —  the  only 
rational  end  for  which  the  fiction  of  a  contract  should 
have  been  invented.  I  shall  not  encumber  my  rea- 
soning by  any  speculations  on  the  origin  of  govern- 
ment, —  a  question  on  which  so  much  reason  has  been 

B  B  4 


376  ON   THE    STUDY   OF    THE   LAW 

wasted  in  modern  times;  but  which  the  ancients*  in 
a  higher  spirit  of  philosophy  have  never  once  mooted. 
If  our  principles  be  just,  our  origin  of  government 
must  have  been  coeval  with  that  of  mankind ;  and  as 
no  tribe  has  ever  been  discovered  so  brutish  as  to  be 
without  some  government,  and  yet  so  enlightened  as 
to  establish  a  government  by  common  consent,  it  is 
surely  unnecessary  to  employ  any  serious  argument  in 
the  confutation  of  the  doctrine  that  is  inconsistent 
with  reason,  and  unsupported  by  experience.  But 
though  all  inquiries  into  the  origin  of  government  be 
chimerical,  yet  the  history  of  its  progress  is  curious 
and  useful.  The  various  stages  through  which  it 
passed  from  savage  independence,  which  implies  every 
man's  power  of  injuring  his  neighbour,  to  legal  liberty, 
which  consists  in  every  man's  security  against  wrong ; 
the  manner  in  which  a  family  expands  into  a  tribe, 
and  tribes  coalesce  into  a  nation,  —  in  which  public 
justice  is  gradually  engrafted  on  private  revenge,  and 
temporary  submission  ripened  into  habitual  obedience ; 
form  a  most  important  and  extensive  subject  of  in- 
quiry, which  comprehends  all  the  improvements  of 
mankind  in  police,  in  judicature,  and  in  legislation. 

I  have  already  given  the  reader  to  understand  that 
the  description  of  liberty  which  seems  to  me  the  most 
comprehensive,  is  that  of  security  against  wrong. 
Liberty  is  therefore  the  object  of  all  government. 
Men  are  more  free  under  every  government,  even  the 
most  imperfect,  than  they  would  be  if  it  were  possible 
for  them  to  exist  without  any  government  at  all :  they 


*  The  introduction  to  the  first  book  of  Aristotle's  Politics  is 
the  best  demonstration  of  the  necessity  of  political  society  to  the 
well-being,  and  indeed  to  the  very  being,  of  man,  with  which  I 
am  acquainted.  Having  shown  the  circumstances  which  render 
m«tn  necessarily  a  social  being,  he  justly  concludes,  "  Koi  ort  iiv- 
epwTTos  (pvaei  TroXiriKhu  (wov."  The  same  scheme  of  philosophy 
is  admirably  pursued  in  the  short,  but  invaluable  fragment  of  the 
sixth  book  of  Polybius,  which  describes  the  history  and  i-evolu- 
tions  of  government. 


OF   NATURE    AND   XATIOXS.  377 

are  more  secure  from  wrong,  more  undisturbed  in  the 
exercise  of  their  natural  powers,  and  therefore  more 
free,  even  in  the  most  obvious  and  grossest  sense  of 
the  word,  than  if  they  were  altogether  unprotected 
against  injury  from  each  other.  But  as  general 
security  is  enjoyed  in  very  diiFerent  degrees  under 
different  governments,  those  which  guard  it  most 
perfectly,  are  by  the  way  of  eminence  called  "  free." 
Such  governments  attain  most  completely  the  end 
which  is  common  to  all  government.  A  free  con- 
stitution of  government  and  a  good  constitution  of 
government  are  therefore  different  expressions  for  the 
same  idea. 

Another  material  distinction,  however,  soon  pre- 
sents itself.  In  most  civilised  states  the  subject  is 
tolerably  protected  against  gross  injustice  from  his 
fellows  by  impartial  laws,  which  it  is  the  manifest 
interest  of  the  sovereign  to  enforce :  but  some  com- 
monwealths are  so  happy  as  to  be  founded  on  a  prin- 
ciple of  much  more  refined  and  provident  wisdom. 
The  subjects  of  such  commonwealths  are  guarded  not 
only  against  the  injustice  of  each  other,  but  (as  far 
as  human  prudence  can  contrive)  against  oppression 
from  the  magistrate.  Such  states,  like  all  other  extra- 
ordinary examples  of  public  or  private  excellence 
and  happiness,  are  thinly  scattered  over  the  different 
asres  and  countries  of  the  world.  In  them  the  will  of 
the  sovereign  is  limited  with  so  exact  a  measure,  that 
his  protecting  authority  is  not  weakened.  Such  a 
combination  of  skill  and  fortune  is  not  often  to  be 
expected,  and  indeed  never  can  arise,  but  from  the 
constant  though  gradual  exertions  of  wisdom  and 
virtue,  to  improve  a  long  succession  of  most  favour- 
able circumstances.  There  is,  indeed,  scarce  any 
society  so  wretched  as  to  be  destitute  of  some  sort  of 
weak  provision  against  the  injustice  of  their  governors. 
Religious  institutions,  favourite  prejudices,  national 
manners,  have  in  different  countries,  with  unequal 
degrees  of  force,  checked  or  mitigated  the  exercise  of 


378  ON   THE    STUDY   OF    THE    LAW 

supreme  power.  The  privileges  of  a  powerful  nobilitj, 
of  opulent  mercantile  communities,  of  great  judicial 
corporations,  have  in  some  monarchies  approached 
more  near  to  a  control  on  the  sovereign.  Means  have 
been  devised  with  more  or  less  wisdom  to  temper  the 
despotism  of  an  aristocracy  over  their  subjects,  and 
in  democracies  to  protect  the  minority  against  the 
majority,  and  the  whole  people  against  the  tyranny  of 
demagogues.  But  in  these  unmixed  forms  of  govern- 
ment, as  the  right  of  legislation  is  vested  in  one  indi- 
vidual or  in  one  order,  it  is  obvious  that  the  legislative 
power  may  shake  oif  all  the  restraints  which  the  laws 
have  imposed  on  it.  All  such  governments,  therefore^ 
tend  towards  despotism,  and  the  securities  which  they 
admit  against  misgovernment  are  extremely  feeble 
and  precarious.  The  best  security  which  human 
wisdom  can  devise,  seems  to  be  the  distribution  of 
political  authority  among  diiferent  individuals  and 
bodies,  with  separate  interests,  and  separate  charac- 
ters, corresponding  to  the  variety  of  classes  of  which 
civil  society  is  composed, — each  interested  to  guard 
their  own  order  from  oppression  by  the  rest,  —  each 
also  interested  to  prevent  any  of  the  others  from 
seizing  on  exclusive,  and  therefore  despotic  power; 
and  all  having  a  common  interest  to  co-operate  in 
carrying  on  the  ordinary  and  necessary  administration 
of  government.  If  there  were  not  an  interest  to 
resist  each  other  in  extraordinary  cases,  there  would 
not  be  liberty  :  if  there  were  not  an  interest  to  co- 
operate in  the  ordinary  course  of  affairs,  there  could 
be  no  government.  The  object  of  such  wise  institu- 
tions, which  make  selfishness  of  governors  a  security 
against  their  injustice,  is  to  protect  men  against  wrong 
both  from  their  rulers  and  their  fellows.  Such  go- 
vernments are,  with  justice,  peculiarly  and  emphati- 
cally called  "  free  ;  "  and  in  ascribing  that  liberty  to 
the  skilful  combination  of  mutual  dependence  and 
mutual  check,  I  feel  my  own  conviction  greatly 
strengthened  by  calling  to  mind,  that  in  this  opinion 


OF  NATURE  AND  NATIONS.  379 

I  agree  with  all  the  wise  men  who  have  ever  deeply 
considered  the  principles  of  politics  ;  —  with  Aristotle 
and  Poljbius,  with  Cicero  and  Tacitus,  with  Bacon 
and  Machiavel,  with  Montesquieu  and  Hume.*  It  is 
impossible  in  such  a  cursory  sketch  as  the  present, 
even  to  allude  to  a  very  small  part  of  those  philosophi- 
cal principles,  political  reasonings,  and  historical  facts, 
which  are  necessary  for  the  illustration  of  this  momen- 
tous subject.  In  a  full  discussion  of  it  I  shall  be 
obliged  to  examine  the  general  frame  of  the  most 
celebrated  governments  of  ancient  and  modern  times, 
and  especially  of  those  which  have  been  most  re- 
nowned for  their  freedom.  The  result  of  such  an 
examination  will  be,  that  no  institution  so  detestable 
as  an  absolutely  unbalanced  government,  perhaps  ever 
existed ;  that  the  simple  governments  are  mere  crea- 
tures of  the  imagination  of  theorists,  who  have  trans- 
formed names  used  for  convenience  of  arrangement 
into  real  politics  ;  that,  as  constitutions  of  government 
approach  more  nearly  to  that  unmixed  and  uncon- 
trolled simplicity  they  become  despotic,  and  as  they 
recede  farther  from  that  simplicity  they  become  free. 

*  To  the  weight  of  these  great  names  let  me  add  the  opinion 
of  two  illustrious  men  of  the  present  age,  as  both  their  opinions 
are  combined  by  one  of  them  in  the  following  passages:  "  He 
(Mr.  Fox)  always  thought  any  of  the  simple  unbalanced  govern- 
ments bad  ;  simple  monarchy,  simple  aristocracy,  simple  demo- 
cracy ;  he  held  them  all  imperfect  or  vicious,  all  were  bad  by 
themselves ;  the  composition  alone  was  good.  These  had  been 
always  his  principles,  in  which  he  agreed  with  his  friend,  ]Mr. 
Burke."  —  Speech  on  the  Army  Estimates,  9th  Feb.  1790.  In 
'speaking  of  both  these  illustrious  men,  whose  names  I  here  join, 
as  they  will  be  joined  in  fame  by  posterity,  which  will  forget 
their  temporary  differences  in  the  recollection  of  their  genius 
and  their  friendship,  I  do  not  entertain  the  vain  imagination  that 
I  can  add  to  their  glory  by  any  thing  that  I  can  say.  But  it  is 
a  gratification  to  me  to  give  utterance  to  my  feelings ;  to  express 
the  profound  veneration  with  which  I  am  filled  for  the  memory 
of  the  one,  and  the  warm  afiection  which  I  cherish  for  the  other, 
whom  no  one  ever  heard  in  public  without  admiration,  or  knew 
in  private  \i{c  without  loving. 


380  ON    THE    STUDY    OF    THE    LAW 

By  the  constitution  of  a  state,  I  mean  "  the  body  of 
those  written  and  unwritten  fundamental  laws  which 
regulate  the  most  important  rights  of  the  higher  magis- 
trates, and  the  most  essential  privileges  *  of  the  sub- 
jects." Such  a  body  of  political  laws  must  in  all  coun- 
tries arise  out  of  the  character  and  situation  of  a 
people  ;  they  must  grow  with  its  progress,  be  adapted 
to  its  peculiarities,  change  with  its  changes,  and  be  in- 
corporated with  its  habits.  Human  wisdom  cannot 
form  such  a  constitution  by  one  act,  for  human  wisdom 
cannot  create  the  materials  of  which  it  is  composed. 
The  attempt,  always  ineffectual,  to  change  by  violence 
the  ancient  habits  of  men,  and  the  established  order 
of  society,  so  as  to  fit  them  for  an  absolutely  new 
scheme  of  government,  flows  from  the  most  presump- 
tuous ignorance,  requires  the  support  of  the  most 
ferocious  tyranny,  and  leads  to  consequences  which 
its  authors  can  never  foresee,  —  generally,  indeed,  to 
institutions  the  most  opposite  to  those  of  which  they 
profess  to  seek  the  establishment,  f  But  human  wis- 
dom indefatigably  employed  in  remedying  abuses, 
and  in  seizing  favourable  opportunities  of  improving 
that  order  of  society  which  arises  from  causes  over 
which  we  have  little  control,  after  the  reforms  and 
amendments  of  a  series  of  ages,  has  sometimes,  though 
very  rarely,   shown  itself  capable  of  building  up  a 

*  Privilege,  in  Roman  jurisprudence,  means  the  exemption  of 
one  individual  from  the  operation  of  a  law.  Political  privileges, 
in  the  sense  in  which  I  employ  the  terms,  mean  those  rights  of 
the  subjects  of  a  free  state,  which  are  deemed  so  essential  to  tht». 
well-being  of  the  commonwealth,  that  they  are  excepted  from  the 
ordinary  discretion  of  the  magistrate,  and  guarded  by  the  same 
fundamental  laws  which  secure  his  authority. 

f  See  an  admirable  passage  on  this  subject  in  Dr.  Smith's 
Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments  (vol.  ii.  pp.  101 — 112.),  in  which  the 
true  doctrine  of  reformation  is  laid  down  with  singular  ability 
by  that  eloquent  and  philosophical  writer.  See  also  Mr.  Burke's 
Speech  on  Economical  Reform  ;  and  Sir  M.  Hale  on  the  Amend- 
ment of  Laws,  in  the  Collection  of  my  learned  and  most  excel- 
lent friend,  Mr.  Hargrave,  p.  248. 


OF  NATURE  AXD  NATIONS.  381 

free  constitution,  -wliich  is  "  the  growtii  of  time  and 
nature,  rather  than  the  work  of  human  invention."* 
Such  a  constitution  can  only  be  formed  by  the  wise 
imitation  of  "  the  great  innovator  Time,  which,  indeed, 
innovateth  greatly,  but  quietly,  and  by  degrees  scarce 
to  be  perceived."  I  Without  descending  to  the  pue- 
rile ostentation  of  panegyric,  on  that  of  which  all 
mankind  confess  the  excellence,  I  may  observe,  with 
truth  and  soberness,  that  a  free  government  not  only 
establishes  a  universal  security  against  wrong,  but 
that  it  also  cherishes  all  the  noblest  powers  of  the 
human  mind ;  that  it  tends  to  banish  both  the  mean 
and  the  ferocious  vices  ;  that  it  improves  the  national 
character  to  which  it  is  adapted,  and  out  of  which  it 
grows  ;  that  its  whole  administration  is  a  practical 
school  of  honesty  and  humanity  ;  and  that  there  the 
social  affections,  expanded  into  public  spirit,  gain  a 
wider  sphere,  and  a  more  active  spring. 

I  shall  conclude  what  I  have  to  offer  on  govern- 
ment, by  an  account  of  the  constitution  of  England. 
I  shall  endeavour  to  trace  the  progress  of  that  consti- 
tution by  the  light  of  history,  of  laws,  and  of  records, 
from  the  earliest  times  to  the  present  age ;  and  to 
show  how  the  general  principles  of  liberty,  originally 
common  to  it  with  the  other  Gothic  monarchies  of 
Europe,  but  in  other  countries  lost  or  obscured,  were 
in  this  more  fortunate  island  preserved,  matured,  and 
adapted  to  the  progress  of  civilisation.  I  shall  at- 
tempt to  exhibit  this  most  complicated  machine,  as 
our  history  and  our  laws  show  it  in  action ;  and  not  as 

*  Pour  former  un  gouvcrnemcnt  modore,  il  faut  combiner  les 
puissances,  les  roglcr,  les  temperer,  les  faire  agir ;  donner  pour 
ainsi  dire  un  lest  a  I'une,  ])our  la  mcttre  en  ctat  de  resister  a  une 
autre  ;  c'est  un  chef-d'oeuvre  de  legislation  que  le  hasard  fait  rare- 
ment,  et  que  rarement  on  laisse  faire  a  la  prudence.  Un  gou- 
veniement  despotique  au  contraire  saute,  pour  ainsi  dire,  aux 
yeux  ;  il  est  uniforme  partout :  comme  il  ne  faut  que  des  passions 
pour  I'etablir,  tout  le  monde  est  bon  pour  cela.—  Montesquieu, 
De  I'Esprit  de  Loix,  liv,  v.  c.  14. 

t  Bacon,  Essay  xxiv.     (Of  Linovations.) 


382  ON    THE    STUDY   OF    THE    LAW 

some  celebrated  writers  have  most  imperfectly  repre- 
sented it,  who  have  torn  out  a  few  of  its  more  simple 
springs,  and  putting  them  together,  mi  seal  them  the 
British  constitution.  So  prevalent,  indeed,  have  these 
imperfect  representations  hitherto  been,  that  I  will 
venture  to  affirm,  there  is  scarcely  any  subject  which 
has  been  less  treated  as  it  deserved  than  the  govern- 
ment of  England.  Philosophers  of  great  and  merited 
reputation  *  have  told  us  that  it  consisted  of  certain 
portions  of  monarchy,  aristocracy,  and  democracy, — 
names  which  are,  in  truth,  very  little  applicable,  and 
which,  if  they  were,  would  as  little  give  an  idea  of 
this  government,  as  an  account  of  the  weight  of 
bone,  of  flesh,  and  of  blood  in  a  human  body,  would 
be  a  picture  of  a  living  man.  Nothing  but  a  patient 
and  minute  investigation  of  the  practice  of  the  govern- 
ment in  all  its  parts,  and  through  its  whole  history, 
can  give  us  just  notions  on  this  important  subject.  If 
a  lawyer,  without  a  philosophical  spirit,  be  unequal 
to  the  examination  of  this  great  work  of  liberty  and 
wisdom,  still  more  unequal  is  a  philosopher  without 
practical,  legal,  and  historical  knowledge ;  for  the 
first  may  want  skill,  but  the  second  wants  materials. 
The  observations  of  Lord  Bacon  on  political  writers, 
in  general,  are  most  applicable  to  those  who  have 
given  us  systematic  descriptions  of  the  English  con- 
stitution. "  All  those  who  have  written  of  govern- 
ments have  written  as  philosophers,  or  as  lawyers,  and 
none  as  statesmen.  As  for  the  philosophers,  they  make 
imaginary  laws  for  imaginary  commonwealths,  and 
their  discourses  are  as  the  stars,  which  give  little  light 
because  they  are  so  high." — "  Hsec  cognitio  ad  viros 
civiles  proprie  pertinet,"  as  he  tells  us  in  another  part 
of  his  writings ;  but  unfortunately  no  experienced 
philosophical  British  statesman  has  yet  devoted  his 

*  The  reader  will  perceive  that  I  allude  to  Montesquieu,  whom 
I  never  name  without  reverence,  though  I  shall  presume,  with 
humility,  to  criticise  his  account  of  a  government  which  he  only 
saw  at  a  distance. 


OF    NATURE    AND    NATIONS.  383 

leisure  to  a  delineation  of  the  constitution,  which 
such  a  statesman  alone  can  practically  and  perfectly 
know. 

In  the  discussion  of  this  great  subject,  and  in  all 
reasonings  on  the  principles  of  politics,  I  shall  labour, 
above  all  things,  to  avoid  that  which  appears  to  me 
to  have  been  the  constant  source  of  political  error :  —  I 
mean  the  attempt  to  give  an  air  of  system,  of  simpli- 
city, and  of  rigorous  demonstration,  to  subjects  which 
do  not  admit  it.  The  only  means  by  which  this 
could  be  done,  was  by  referring  to  a  few  simple  causes, 
what,  in  truth,  arose  from  immense  and  intricate  com- 
binations, and  successions  of  causes.  The  consequence 
was  very  obvious.  The  system  of  the  theorist,  disen- 
cumbered from  all  regard  to  the  real  nature  of  things, 
easily  assumed  an  air  of  speciousness :  it  required 
little  dexterity,  to  make  his  arguments-  appear  conclu- 
sive. But  all  men  agreed  that  it  was  utterly  inap- 
plicable to  human  affairs.  The  theorist  railed  at  the 
folly  of  the  world,  instead  of  confessing  his  own ;  and 
the  man  of  practice  unjustly  blamed  Philosophy,  in- 
stead of  condemning  the  sophist.  The  causes  which 
the  politician  has  to  consider  are,  above  all  others, 
multiplied,  mutable,  minute,  subtile,  and,  if  I  may  so 
speak,  evanescent, — perpetually  changing  their  form, 
and  varying  their  combinations,  —  losing  their  nature, 
while  they  keep  their  name, — exhibiting  the  most  dif- 
ferent consequences  in  the  endless  variety  of  men  and 
nations  on  whom  they  operate, — in  one  degree  of 
strength  producing  the  most  signal  benefit,  and,  under 
a  slight  variation  of  circumstances,  the  most  tremen- 
dous mischiefs.  They  admit  indeed  of  being  reduced 
to  theory  :  but  to  a  theory  formed  on  the  most  exten- 
sive views,  of  the  most  comprehensive  and  flexible 
principles,  to  embrace  all  their  varieties,  and  to  fit  all 
their  rapid  transmigrations,  —  a  theory,  of  which  the 
most  fundamental  maxim  is,  distrust  in  itself,  and 
deference  for  practical  prudence.  Only  two  writers 
of  former  times  have,  as  f^ir  as  I  know,  observed  this 


384  ON   THE    STUDY   OF    THE    LAW 

general  defect  of  political  reasoners ;  but  these  two 
are  the  greatest  philosophers  who  have  ever  appeared 
in  the  world.  The  first  of  them  is  Aristotle,  who,  in  a 
passage  of  his  Politics  *,  to  which  I  cannot  at  this  mo- 
ment turn,  plainly  condemns  the  pursuit  of  a  delusive 
geometrical  accuracy  in  moral  reasonings  as  the  con- 
stant source  of  the  grossest  error.  The  second  is 
Lord  Bacon,  who  tells  us,  with  that  authority  of  con- 
scious wisdom  which  belongs  to  him,  and  with  that 
power  of  richly  adorning  Truth  from  the  wardrobe  of 
Genius  which  he  possessed  above  almost  all  men,  "Civil 
knowledge  is  conversant  about  a  subject  which,  above 
all  others,  is  most  immersed  in  matter,  and  hardliest 
reduced  to  axiom."! 

I  shall  next  endeavour  to  lay  open  the  general 
principles  of  civil  and  criminal  laws.  On  this  sub- 
ject I  may  with  some  confidence  hope  that  I  shall  be 
enabled  to  philosophise  with  better  materials  by  my 
acquaintance  with  the  laws  of  my  own  country,  which 
it  is  the  business  of  my  life  to  practise,  and  of  which 
the  study  has  by  habit  become  my  favourite  pursuit. 

The  first  principles  of  jurisprudence  are  simple 
maxims  of  Reason,  of  which  the  observance  is  im- 
mediately discovered  by  experience  to  be  essential  to 
the  security  of  men's  rights,  and  which  pervade  the 
laws  of  all  countries.  An  account  of  the  gradual 
application  of  these  original  principles,  first  to  more 
simple,  and  afterwards  to  more  complicated  cases, 
forms  both  the  history  and  the  theory  of  law.  Such 
an  historical  account  of  the  progress  of  men,  in  re- 

*  Probably  book  iii.  cap.  11. — Ed. 

f  This  principle  is  expressed  by  a  writer  of  a  very  different 
character  from  these  two  great  philosophers, — a  writer,  "  qu'on 
n'appellera  plus  philosophe,  mais  qu'on  appellera  le  plus  eloquent 
des  sophistes,"  with  great  force,  and,  as  his  manner  is,  with  some 
exaggeration.  "  II  n'y  a  point  de  principes  abstraits  dans  la 
politique.  C'est  une  science  des  calculs,  des  combinaisons,  et  des 
exceptions,  selon  les  lieux,  les  terns,  et  les  circonstanccs." — Lettre 
de  Rousseau  au  Marquis  de  Mirabcau.  The  second  proposition 
is  true  ;  but  the  first  is  not  a  just  inference  from  it. 


OF    XATURE    AND   NATIONS.  385 

ducing  justice  to  an  applicable  and  practical  system, 
will  enable  us  to  trace  that  chain,  in  which  so  many 
breaks  and  interruptions  are  perceived  by  superficial 
observers,  but  which  in  truth  inseparably,  though  with 
many  dark  and  hidden  windings,  links  together  the 
security  of  life  and  property  with  the  most  minute  and 
apparently  frivolous  formalities  of  legal  proceeding:. 
VVe  shall  perceive  that  no  human  foresight  is  suffi- 
cient to  establish  such  a  system  at  once,  and  that  if  it 
were  so  established,  the  occurrence  of  unforeseen  cases 
would  shortly  altogether  change  it ;  that  there  is  but 
one  way  of  forming  a  civil  code,  either  consistent  with 
common  sense,  or  that  has  ever  been  practised  in  any 
country,  —  namely,  that  of  gradually  building  up  the 
law  in  proportion  as  the  facts  arise  which  it  is  to  re- 
gulate. We  shall  learn  to  appreciate  the  merit  of 
vulgar  objections  against  the  subtilty  and  complexity 
of  laws.  We  shall  estimate  the  good  sense  and  the 
gratitude  of  those  who  reproach  lawyers  for  employ- 
ing all  the  powers  of  their  mind  to  discover  subtle 
distinctions  for  the  prevention  of  injustice*;  and  we 
shall  at  once  perceive  that  laws  ought  to  be  neither 
more  simple  nor  more  complex  than  the  state  of  society 
which  they  are  to  govern,  but  that  they  ought  exactly 
to  correspond  to  it.  Of  the  two  faults,  however,  the 
excess  of  simplicity  would  certainly  be  the  greatest; 
for  laws,  more  complex  than  are  necessary,  would  only 
produce  embarrassment ;  whereas  laws  more  simple 
than  the  affairs  which  they  regulate  would  occasion  a 
defeat  of  Justice.  More  understanding  has  perhaps 
been  in  this  manner  exerted  to  fix  the  rules  of  life 
than  in  any  other  science  f;   and  it  is   certainly  the 

*  "  The  casuistical  subtilties  are  not  perhaps  greater  than  the 
subtilties  of  lawyers  ;  but  the  latter  are  innocent,  and  even  ne- 
cessary."— Hume,  Essays,  vol.  ii.  p.  558. 

t  "  Law,"  said  1)t.  Johnson,  "  is  the  science  in  which  the 
greatest  powers  of  the  understanding  are  applied  to  the  gieatcst 
number  of  facts."  Nobody,  who  is  acquainted  with  the  vnriety 
and  multiplicity  of  the  subjects  of  jurisprudence,  and  with  the 

VOL.  I.  C  C 


386  ON    THE    STUDY   OF    THE    LAW 

most  honourable  occupation  of  the  understanding,  be- 
cause it  is  the  most  immediately  subservient  to  general 
safety  and  comfort.  There  is  not,  in  my  opinion,  in 
the  whole  compass  of  human  aifairs,  so  noble  a  spec- 
tacle as  that  which  is  displayed  in  the  progress  of  ju- 
risprudence ;  where  we  may  contemplate  the  cautious 
and  unwearied  exertions  of  a  succession  of  wise  men, 
through  a  long  course  of  ages,  withdrawing  every  case 
as  it  arises  from  the  dangerous  power  of  discretion, 
and  subjecting  it  to  inflexible  rules,  —  extending  the 
dominion  of  justice  and  reason,  and  gradually  con- 
tracting, within  the  narrowest  possible  limits,  the 
domain  of  brutal  force  and  of  arbitrary  will.  This 
subject  has  been  treated  with  such  dignity  by  a  writer 
who  is  admired  by  all  mankind  for  his  eloquence,  but 
who  is,  if  possible,  still  more  admired  by  all  competent 
judges  for  his  philosophy,  —  a  writer,  of  whom  I  may 
justly  say,  that  he  was  "  gravissimus  et  dicendi  et 
intelligendi  auctor  et  magister,"  — that  I  cannot  refuse 
myself  the  gratification  of  quoting  his  words:  —  "The 
science  of  jurisprudence,  the  pride  of  the  human  intel- 
lect, which,  with  all  its  defects,  redundancies,  and 
errors,  is  the  collected  reason  of  ages  combining  the 
principles  of  original  justice  with  the  infinite  variety 
of  human  concerns."* 

I  shall  exemplify  the  progress  of  law,  and  illustrate 
those  principles  of  Universal  Justice  on  which  it  is 
founded,  by  a  comparative  review  of  the  two  greatest 
civil  codes  that  have  been  hitherto  formed,  —  those  of 
Rome  and  of  England  |,  —  of  their  agreements  and 

prodigious  powers  of  discrimination  employed  upon  them,  can 
doubt  the  truth  of  this  observation. 

*  Burke,  Works,  vol,  iii.  p.  134. 

f  On  the  intimate  connection  of  these  two  codes,  let  us  hear 
the  words  of  Lord  Holt,  whose  name  never  can  be  pronounced 
without  veneration,  as  long  as  wisdom  and  integrity  are  revered 
among  men :  — "  Inasmuch  as  the  laws  of  all  nations  are  doubt- 
less raised  out  of  the  ruins  of  the  civil  law,  as  all  governments 
are  sprung  out  of  the  ruins  of  the  Roman  empire,  it  must  be 
owned  that  the  principles  of  our  law  are  borrowed  from  the  civil 


OF  NATURE  AND  NATIONS.  387 

disagreements,  both  in  general  provisions,  and  in  some 
of  the  most  important  parts  of  their  minute  practice. 
In  this  part  of  the  course,  which  I  mean  to  pursue 
with  such  detail  as  to  give  a  view  of  both  codes,  that 
may  perhaps  be  sufficient  for  the  purposes  of  the 
general  student,  I  hope  to  convince  him  that  the  laws 
of  civilised  nations,  particularly  those  of  his  own,  are 
a  subject  most  worthy  of  scientific  curiosity ;  that 
principle  and  system  run  through  them  even  to  the 
minutest  particular,  as  really,  though  not  so  appa- 
rently, as  in  other  sciences,  and  applied  to  purposes 
more  important  than  those  of  any  other  science.  Will 
it  be  presumptuous  to  express  a  hope,  that  such  an 
inquiry  may  not  be  altogether  a  useless  introduction 
to  that  larger  and  more  detailed  study  of  the  law  of 
England,  which  is  the  duty  of  those  who  are  to  pro- 
fess and  practise  that  law  ? 

In  considering  the  important  subject  of  criminal 
law,  it  will  be  my  duty  to  found,  on  a  regard  to  the 
general  safety,  the  right  of  the  magistrate  to  inflict 
punishments,  even  the  most  severe,  if  that  safety  can- 
not be  effectually  protected  by  the  example  of  in- 
ferior punishments.  It  will  be  a  more  agreeable  part 
of  my  office  to  explain  the  temperaments  wliich 
Wisdom,  as  well  as  Humanity,  prescribes  in  the  ex- 
ercise of  that  harsh  right,  unfortunately  so  essential 
to  the  preservation  of  human  society.  I  shall  collate 
the  penal  codes  of  different  nations,  and  gatlier  to- 
gether the  most  accurate  statement  of  the  result  of 
experience  with  respect  to  the  efficacy  of  lenient  and 
severe  punishments ;  and  I  shall  endeavour  to  ascer- 
tain the  principles  on  which  must  be  founded  both 
the  proportion  and  the  appropriation  of  penalties  to 
crimes.  As  to  the  law  ot"  criminal  proceeding,  my 
labour  will  be  very  easy ;  for  on  that  subject  an 
English  lawyer,  if  he  were  to  delineate  the  model  of 

law,  therefore  p-ounded  upon  the  same  reason  in  many  things." 
—  12  Mod.  Rep.  482. 

c  c  2 


388  ON   THE    STUDY   OF    THE    LAW 

perfection,  would  find  that,  with  few  exceptions,  he 
had  transcribed  the  institutions  of  his  own  country. 

The  next  great  division  of  the  subject  is  the  "law 
of  nations,"  strictly  and  properly  so  called.  I  have 
already  hinted  at  the  general  principles  on  which  this 
law  is  founded.  They,  like  all  the  principles  of  natural 
jurisprudence,  have  been  more  happily  cultivated,  and 
more  generally  obeyed,  in  some  ages  and  countries 
than  in  others ;  and,  like  them,  are  susceptible  of 
great  variety  in  their  application,  from  the  character 
and  usage  of  nations.  I  shall  consider  these  principles 
in  the  gradation  of  those  which  are  necessary  to  any 
tolerable  intercourse  between  nations,  of  those  which 
are  essential  to  all  well-regulated  and  mutually  advan- 
tageous intercourse,  and  of  those  which  are  highly 
conducive  to  the  preservation  of  a  mild  and  friendly 
intercourse  between  civilised  states.  Of  the  first  class, 
every  understanding  acknowledges  the  necessity,  and 
some  traces  of  a  faint  reverence  for  them  are  disco- 
vered even  among  the  most  barbarous  tribes ;  of  the 
second,  every  well-informed  man  perceives  the  im- 
portant use,  and  they  have  generally  been  respected 
by  all  polished  nations  ;  of  the  third,  the  great  benefit 
may  be  read  in  the  history  of  modern  Europe,  where 
alone  they  have  been  carried  to  their  full  perfection. 
In  unfolding  the  first  and  second  class  of  principles, 
I  shall  naturally  be  led  to  give  an  account  of  that  law 
of  nations,  which,  in  greater  or  less  perfection,  regu- 
lated the  intercourse  of  savages,  of  the  Asiatic  em- 
pires, and  of  the  ancient  republics.  The  third  brings 
me  to  the  consideration  of  the  law  of  nations,  as  it  is 
now  acknowledged  in  Christendom.  From  the  great 
extent  of  the  subject,  and  the  particularity  to  which, 
for  reasons  already  given,  I  must  here  descend,  it  is 
impossible  for  me,  within  my  moderate  compass,  to 
give  even  an  outline  of  this  part  of  the  course.  It 
comprehends,  as  every  reader  will  perceive,  the  prin- 
ciples of  national  independence,  the  intercourse  of 
nations  in  peace,  the  privileges  of  ambassadors  and 


OF  XATUKE  AND  NATIONS.  389 

inferior  ministers,  the  commerce  of  private  subjects, 
the  grounds  of  just  war,  the  mutual  duties  of  belli- 
gerent and  neutral  powers,  the  limits  of  lawful  hos- 
tility, the  rights  of  conquest,  the  faith  to  be  observed 
in  warfare,  the  force  of  an  armistice,  —  of  safe  conducts 
and  passports,  the  nature  and  obligation  of  alliances, 
the  means  of  negotiation,  and  the  authority  and  inter- 
pretation of  treaties  of  peace.  All  these,  and  many 
other  most  important  and  complicated  subjects,  with 
all  the  variety  of  moral  reasoning,  and  historical  ex- 
amples which  is  necessary  to  illustrate  them,  must  be 
fully  examined  in  that  part  of  the  lectures,  in  which 
I  shall  endeavour  to  put  together  a  tolerably  complete 
practical  system  of  the  law  of  nations,  as  it  has  for 
the  last  two  centuries  been  recognised  in  Europe. 

"Le  droit  des  gens  est  naturellement  fonde  sur  ce 
principe,  que  les  diverses  nations  doivent  se  faire,  dans 
la  paix  le  plus  de  bien,  et  dans  la  guerre  le  moins  de 
mal,  qu'il  est  possible,  sans  nuire  a  leurs  veritables 
interets.  L'objet  de  la  guerre  c'est  la  victoire  ;  celui 
de  la  victoire  la  conquete  ;  celui  de  la  conquete  la  con- 
servation. De  ce  principe  et  du  precedent,  doivent 
deriver  toutes  les  loix  qui  forment  le  droit  des  gens. 
Toutes  les  nations  ont  un  droit  des  gens  ;  et  les  Iro- 
quois meme,  qui  mangent  leurs  prisonniers,  en  ont  un. 
lis  envoicnt  et  re9oivent  des  embassades  ;  ils  connois- 
sent  les  droits  de  la  guerre  et  de  la  paix  :  le  mal  est 
que  ce  droit  des  gens  n'est  pas  fonde  sur  les  vrais 
principes."  * 

As  an  important  supplement  to  the  practical  sys- 
tem of  our  modern  law  of  nations,  or  rather  as  a  ne- 
cessary part  of  it,  I  shall  conclude  with  a  survey  of  the 
diplomatic  and  conventional  law  of  Europe,  and  of  the 
treaties  which  have  materially  affected  the  distribution 
of  power  and  territory  among  the  European  states, — 
the  circumstances  which  irave  rise  to  them,  the  changes 
which  they  effected,  and  the  principles  which  they 

*  De  I'Esprit  des  LoLx,  liv.  i.  c.  3. 
CC  3 


390  ON    THE    STUDY   OF    THE    LAW 

introduced  into  the  public  code  of  the  Christian  com- 
monwealth. In  ancient  times  the  knowledge  of  this 
conventional  law  was  thought  one  of  the  greatest 
praises  that  could  be  bestowed  on  a  name  loaded  with 
all  the  honours  that  eminence  in  the  arts  of  peace 
and  war  can  confer :  "Equidem  existimo,  judices, 
ciim  in  omni  genere  ac  varietate  artium,  etiam  illarum, 
quae  sine  summo  otio  non  facile  discuntur,  Cn.  Pom- 
peius  excellat,  singularem  quandam  laudem  ejus  et 
praestabilem  esse  scientiam,  in  foederibus,  pactionibus, 
conditionibus,  populorum,  regum,  exterarum  natio- 
num :  in  universo  denique  belli  jure  ac  pacis."  *  In- 
formation on  this  subject  is  scattered  over  an  immense 
variety  of  voluminous  compilations,  not  accessible  to 
every  one,  and  of  which  the  perusal  can  be  agreeable 
only  to  a  very  few.  Yet  so  much  of  these  treaties  has 
been  embodied  into  the  general  law  of  Europe,  that 
no  man  can  be  master  of  it  who  is  not  acquainted 
with  them.  The  knowledge  of  them  is  necessary  to 
negotiators  and  statesmen  ;  it  may  sometimes  be  im- 
portant to  private  men  in  various  situations  in  which 
they  may  be  placed  ;  it  is  useful  to  all  men  who  wish 
either  to  be  acquainted  with  modern  history,  or  to 
form  a  sound  judgment  on  political  measures.  I  shall 
endeavour  to  give  such  an  abstract  of  it  as  may  be 
sufficient  for  some,  and  a  convenient  guide  for  others 
in  the  farther  progress  of  their  studies.  The  treaties 
which  I  shall  more  particularly  consider  will  be  those 
of  Westphalia,  of  Oliva,  of  the  Pyrenees,  of  Breda,  of 
Nimeguen,  ofRyswick,  of  Utrecht,  of  Aix-la-Chapelle, 
of  Paris  (1763),  and  of  Versailles  (1783).  I  shall 
shortly  explain  the  other  treaties,  of  which  the  stipu- 
lations are  either  alluded  to,  confirmed,  or  abrogated 
in  those  which  I  consider  at  length.  I  shall  subjoin 
an  account  of  the  diplomatic  intercourse  of  the  Euro- 
pean powers  with  the  Ottoman  Porte,  and  with  other 
princes  and  states  who  are  without  the  pale  of  our 

*  Cic.  Orat.  pro  L.  Corn.  Balbo,  c.  vi. 


OF   NATURE   AND   NATIONS.  391 

ordinary  federal  law  ;  together  with  a  view  of  the 
most  important  treaties  of  commerce,  their  principles, 
and  their  consequences. 

As  an  useful  ajjpendix  to  a  practical  treatise  on 
the  law  of  nations,  some  account  will  be  given  of 
those  tribunals  which  in  different  countries  of  Europe 
decide  controversies  arising  out  of  that  law  ;  of  their 
constitution,  of  the  extent  of  their  authority,  and  of 
their  modes  of  proceeding  ;  more  especially  of  those 
courts  which  are  peculiarly  appointed  for  that  pur- 
pose by  the  laws  of  Great  Britain. 

Though  the  course,  of  which  I  have  sketched  the 
outline,  may  seem  to  comprehend  so  great  a  variety 
of  miscellaneous  subjects,  yet  they  are  all  in  truth 
closely  and  inseparably  interwoven.  The  duties  of 
men,  of  subjects,  of  princes,  of  lawgivers,  of  magis- 
trates, and  of  states,  are  all  parts  of  one  consistent 
system  of  universal  morality.  Between  the  most  ab- 
stract and  elementary  maxim  of  moral  pliilosophy, 
and  the  most  complicated  controversies  of  civil  or 
public  law,  there  subsists  a  connection  which  it  will 
be  the  main  object  of  these  lectures  to  trace.  The 
principle  of  justice,  deeply  rooted  in  the  nature  and 
interest  of  man,  pervades  the  whole  system,  and  is 
discoverable  in  every  part  of  it,  even  to  its  minutest 
ramification  in  a  legal  formality,  or  in  the  construc- 
tion of  an  article  in  a  treaty. 

I  know  not  whether  a  philosopher  ought  to  confess, 
that  in  his  inquiries  after  truth  he  is  biassed  by  any 
consideration,  —  even  by  the  love  of  virtue.  But  I, 
who  conceive  that  a  real  philosopher  ought  to  regard 
truth  itself  chiefly  on  account  of  its  subserviency  to 
the  happiness  of  mankind,  am  not  ashamed  to  confess, 
that  I  shall  feel  a  great  consolation  at  the  conclusion 
of  these  lectures,  if,  by  a  wide  survey  and  an  exact 
examination  of  the  conditions  and  relations  of  liuman 
nature,  I  shall  have  confirmed  but  one  individual  in 
the  conviction,  that  justice  is  the  permanent  interest 
of  all  men,  and  of  all  commonwealths.     To  discover 

c  c  4 


392  THE    LAW   OF   NATURE   AND   NATIONS. 

one  new  link  of  that  eternal  chain  bj  which  the  Au- 
thor of  the  universe  has  bound  together  the  happiness 
and  the  duty  of  His  creatures,  and  indissolubly  fas- 
tened their  interests  to  each  other,  would  fill  my 
heart  with  more  pleasure  than  all  the  fame  with 
which  the  most  ingenious  paradox  ever  crowned  the 
most  eloquent  sophist.  I  shall  conclude  this  Dis- 
course in  the  noble  language  of  two  great  orators  and 
philosophers,  who  have,  in  a  few  words,  stated  the 
substance,  the  object,  and  the  result  of  all  morality, 
and  politics,  and  law.  "  Nihil  est  quod  adhuc  de  re- 
publica  putem  dictum,  et  quo  possim  longius  progredi, 
nisi  sit  confirmatum,  non  modo  falsum  esse  illud,  sine 
injuria  non  posse,  sed  hoc  verissimum,  sine  summa 
justitia  rempublicam  geri  nuUo  modo  posse."  *  "Justice 
is  itself  the  great  standing  policy  of  civil  society, 
and  any  eminent  departure  from  it,  under  any  circum- 
stances, lies  under  the  suspicion  of  being  no  policy 
at  all."  t 

*  Cic.  De  Repub.  Ub.  ii.  f  Burke,  Works,  vol.  iii.  p.  207. 


LIFE 


SIR    THOMAS    MORE. 


Aristotle  and  Bacon,  the  greatest  philosophers  of 
the  ancient  and  modern  world,  agree  in  representing 
poetry  as  being  of  a  more  excellent  nature  than  his- 
tory. Agreeably  to  the  predominance  of  mere  under- 
standing in  Aristotle's  mind,  he  alleges  as  his  cause  of 
preference  that  poetry  regards  general  truth,  or  con- 
formity to  universal  nature ;  while  history  is  con- 
versant only  with  a  confined  and  accidental  truth, 
dependent  on  time,  place,  and  circumstance.  The 
ground  assigned  by  Bacon  is  such  as  naturally  issued 
from  that  fusion  of  imagination  with  reason,  which 
constitutes  his  philosophical  genius.  Poetiy  is  ranked 
more  highly  by  him,  because  the  poet  presents  us 
with  a  pure  excellence  and  an  unmingled  grandeur, 
not  to  be  found  in  the  coarse  realities  of  lite  or  of 
history;  but  which  the  mind  of  man,  although  not 
destined  to  reach,  is  framed  to  contemplate  with 
delight. 

The  general  difference  between  biography  and 
history  is  obvious.  There  have  been  many  men  in 
every  age  whose  lives  are  full  of  interest  and  instruc- 
tion ;  but  who,  having  never  taken  a  part  in  public 
affairs,  are  altogether  excluded  from  the  province  of 
the  historian :  there  have  been  also,  probably,  equal 
numbers  who  have  influenced  the  fortune  of  nations 
in  peace  or  in  war,  of  the  peculiarities  of  whose  cha- 


394  LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE. 

racter  we  have  no  information ;  and  who,  for  the  pur- 
poses of  the  biographer,  may  be  said  to  have  had  no 
private  life.  Tliese  are  extreme  cases :  but  there  are 
other  men,  whose  manners  and  acts  are  equally  well 
known,  whose  individual  lives  are  deeply  interesting, 
whose  characteristic  qualities  are  peculiarly  striking, 
who  have  taken  an  important  share  in  events  con- 
nected with  the  most  extraordinary  revolutions  of 
human  affairs,  and  whose  biography  becomes  more 
difficult  from  that  combination  and  intermixture  of 
private  with  public  occurrences,  which  render  it  in- 
structive and  interesting.  The  variety  and  splendour 
of  the  lives  of  such  men  render  it  often  difficult  to 
distinguish  the  portion  of  them  which  ought  to  be 
admitted  into  history,  from  that  which  should  be  re- 
served for  biography.  Generally  speaking,  these  two 
parts  are  so  distinct  and  unlike,  that  they  cannot  be 
confounded  without  much  injury  to  both  ;  —  as  when 
the  biographer  hides  the  portrait  of  the  individual  by 
a  crowded  and  confined  picture  of  events,  or  when 
the  historian  allows  unconnected  narratives  of  the 
lives  of  men  to  break  the  thread  of  history.  The 
historian  contemplates  only  the  surface  of  human 
nature,  adorned  and  disguised  (as  when  actors  per- 
form brilliant  parts  before  a  great  audience),  in  the 
midst  of  so  many  dazzling  circumstances,  that  it  is 
hard  to  estimate  the  intrinsic  worth  of  individuals, — 
and  impossible,  in  an  historical  relation,  to  exhibit  the 
secret  springs  of  their  conduct.  The  biographer  en- 
deavours to  follow  the  hero  and  the  statesman,  from 
the  field,  the  council,  or  the  senate,  to  his  private 
dwelling,  where,  in  the  midst  of  domestic  ease,  or  of 
social  pleasure,  he  throws  aside  the  robe  and  the 
mask,  becomes  again  a  man  instead  of  an  actor,  and, 
in  spite  of  himself,  often  betrays  those  frailties  and 
singularities  which  are  visible  in  the  countenance  and 
voice,  the  gesture  and  manner,  of  every  one  when  he 
is  not  playing  a  part.  It  is  particularly  difficult  to 
observe  the  distinction  in  the  case  of  Sir  Thomas  More, 


LIFE    OF    SIR    THOMAS    MORE  395 

because  he  was  so  perfectly  natural  a  man  that  he 
carried  his  amiable  peculiarities  into  the  gravest  de- 
liberations of  state,  and  the  most  solemn  acts  of  law. 
Perhaps  nothing  more  can  be  universally  laid  down, 
than  that  the  biographer  never  ought  to  introduce 
public  events,  except  in  as  far  as  they  are  absolutely 
necessary  to  the  illustration  of  character,  and  that  the 
historian  should  rarely  digress  into  biographical  par- 
ticulars, except  in  as  far  as  they  contribute  to  the 
clearness  of  his  narrative  of  political  occurrences. 

Sir  Thomas  More  was  born  in  Milk  Street,  in  the 
city  of  London,  in  the  year  1480,  three  years  before 
the  death  of  Edward  IV.  His  family  was  respectable 
— no  mean  advantage  at  that  time.  His  father.  Sir 
John  More,  who  was  born  about  1440,  was  entitled 
by  his  descent  to  use  an  armorial  bearing, — a  pri- 
vilege guarded  strictly  and  jealously  as  the  badge  of 
those  who  then  began  to  be  called  gentry,  and  who, 
though  separated  from  the  lords  of  parliament  by  po- 
litical rights,  yet  formed  with  them  in  the  order  of 
society  one  body,  corresponding  to  those  called  noble 
in  the  other  countries  of  Europe.  Though  the  poli- 
tical power  of  the  barons  was  on  the  wane,  the  social 
position  of  the  united  body  of  nobility  and  gentry 
retained  its  dignity.*  Sir  «John  iSIore  was  one  of  the 
justices  of  the  court  of  King's  Bench  to  the  end  of 
his  long  life  ;  and,  according  to  his  son's  account,  well 

*  "  In  Sir  Thomas  More's  epitaph,  he  describes  himself  as 
'  bom  of  no  noble  family,  but  of  an  honest  stock,'  (or  in  the  words 
of  the  original,  familia  non  celebri,  sed  honcsta  natus,)  a  true 
translation,  as  we  here  take  nobility  and  noble;  for  none  under  a 
baron,  except  he  be  of  the  privy  council,  duth  chalK-ngc  it ;  and 
in  this  sense  he  meant  it;  but  as  the  Latin  word  nobiiis  is  taken 
in  other  countries  for  gentrie,  it  was  otlierwise.  Sir  John  More 
bare  arms  from  his  birth  :  and  though  we  cannot  certainly  tell 
who  were  his  ancestors,  they  must  needs  be  gentlemen." — Life  of 
IMorc  (commonly  reputed  to  be)  by  Thomas  ^More,  his  great 
grandson,  pp.  3,  4.  'This  book  will  be  cited  hcneefor^vard  as 
"  More." 


396  LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS    MORE. 

performed  the  peaceable  duties  of  civil  life,  being 
gentle  in  his  deportment,  blameless,  meek  and  merci- 
ful, an  equitable  judge,  and  an  upright  man.* 

Sir  Thomas  More  received  the  first  rudiments  of 
his  education  at  St.  Anthony's  school,  in  Threadneedle 
Street,  under  Nicholas  Hart :  for  the  daybreak  of 
letters  was  now  so  bright,  that  the  reputation  of 
schools  was  carefully  noted,  and  schoolmasters  began 
to  be  held  in  some  part  of  the  estimation  which  they 
merit.  Here,  however,  his  studies  were  confined  to 
Latin;  the  cultivation  of  Greek,  which  contains  the 
sources  and  models  of  Roman  literature,  being  yet  far 
from  having  descended  to  the  level  of  the  best  among 
the  schools.  It  was  the  custom  of  that  age  that  young 
gentlemen  should  pass  part  of  their  boyhood  in  the 
house  and  service  of  their  superiors,  where  they  might 
profit  by  listening  to  the  conversation  of  men  of  ex- 
perience, and  gradually  acquire  the  manners  of  the 
world.  It  was  not  deemed  derogatory  from  youths  of 
rank, — it  was  rather  thought  a  beneficial  expedient 
for  inuring  them  to  stern  discipline  and  implicit 
obedience,  that  they  should  be  trained,  during  this 
noviciate,  in  humble  and  even  menial  ofiices.  A  young 
gentleman  thought  himself  no  more  lowered  by  serv- 
ing as  a  page  in  the  family  of  a  great  peer  or  prelate, 
than  a  Courtenay  or  a  Howard  considered  it  as  a 
degradation  to  be  the  huntsman  or  the  cupbearer  of 
a  Tudor. 

More  was  fortunate  in  the  character  of  his  master : 
when  his  school  studies  were  thought  to  be  finished, 
about  his  fifteenth  year,  he  was  placed  in  the  house  of 
Cardinal  Morton,  archbishop  of  Canterbury.  This 
prelate,  who  was  born  in  1410,  was  originally  an 
eminent  civilian,  canonist,  and  a  practiser  of  note  in 
the  ecclesiastical  courts.  He  had  been  a  Lancastrian, 
and  the  fidelity  with  which  he  adhered  to  Henry  VI., 
till  that  unfortunate  prince's  death,  recommended  him 

*  "  Homo  civilis,  innocens,  mitis,  integer." — Epitaph. 


LIFE    OF    SIR    THOilAS   MORE.  397 

to  the  confidence  and  patronage  of  Edward  lY.  lie 
negotiated  the  marriage  with  the  princess  Elizabeth, 
which  reconciled  (with  whatever  confusion  of  titles) 
the  conflicting  pretensions  of  York  and  Lancaster, 
and  raised  Henrj  Tudor  to  the  throne.  By  these 
services,  and  by  his  long  experience  in  affairs,  he 
continued  to  be  prime  minister  till  his  death,  which 
happened  in  1500,  at  the  advanced  age  of  ninety.* 
Even  at  the  time  of  More's  entry  into  his  household, 
the  old  cardinal,  though  then  fourscore  and  five  years, 
was  pleased  with  the  extraordinary  promise  of  the 
sharp  and  lively  boy ;  as  aged  persons  sometimes,  as 
it  were,  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  pleasure  of  youth,  by 
entering  for  a  moment  into  its  feelings.  More  broke 
into  the  rude  dramas  performed  at  the  cardinaFs 
Christmas  festivities,  to  which  he  was  too  young  to 
be  invited,  and  often  invented  at  the  moment  speeches 
for  himself,  "which  made  the  lookers-on  more  sport 
than  all  the  players  beside."  The  cardinal,  much  de- 
lighting in  his  wit  and  towardness,  would  often  say  of 
him  unto  the  nobles  that  dined  with  him,  —  "This 
child  here  waiting  at  the  table,  whosoever  shall  live  to 
see  it,  will  prove  a  marvellous  man."f  More,  in  his 
historical  work,  thus  commemorates  this  early  friend, 
not  without  a  sidelons;  glance  at  the  acts  of  a  courtier: 
—  "He  was  a  man  of  great  natural  wit,  very  well 
learned,  honourable  in  behaviour,  lacking  in  no  wise 
to  win  fiivour."J:  In  Utopia  he  praises  the  cardinal 
more  lavishly,  and  with  no  restraint  from  the  severe 
justice  of  history.  It  was  in  Morton's  house  that  he 
was  probably  first  known  to  Colet,  dean  of  St.  Paul's, 

*  Dodd's  Church  History,  vol.  i.  p.  141.  Tlic  Roman  Catho- 
lics, now  restored  to  their  just  rank  m  society,  have  no  longer  an 
excuse  for  not  continuing  this  useful  work.  [This  has  been  ac- 
cordingly done  since  this  note  was  written,  by  the  Kcv.  M.  A. 
Tierney. —  En.] 

t  Roper's  Life  of  Sir  T.  More,  edited  by  Singer.  This  book 
will  be  cited  henceforward  as  "  Ro])cr." 

X  History  of  Richard  ILL 


398  LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS    MORE. 

the  founder  of  St.  Paul's  school,  and  one  of  the  most 
eminent  restorers  of  ancient  literature  in  England ; 
who  was  wont  to  saj,  that  "  there  was  but  one  wit  in 
England,  and  that  was  young  Thomas  More."* 

More  went  to  Oxford  in  1497,  where  he  appears  to 
have  had  apartments  in  St.  Mary's  Hall,  but  to  have 
carried  on  his  studies  at  Canterbury  College  f,  on  the 
spot  where  Wolsey  afterwards  reared  the  magnificent 
edifice  of  Christchurch.  At  that  university  he  found 
a  sort  of  civil  war  waged  between  the  partisans  of 
Greek  literature,  who  were  then  innovators  in  educa- 
tion and  suspected  of  heresy,  if  not  of  infidelity,  on 
the  one  hand ;  and  on  the  other  side  the  larger  body, 
comprehending  the  aged,  the  powerful,  and  the  cele- 
brated, who  were  content  to  be  no  wiser  than  their 
forefathers.  The  younger  followers  of  the  latter 
faction  affected  the  ridiculous  denomination  of  Trojans, 
and  assumed  the  names  of  Priam,  Hector,  Paris,  and 
^neas,  to  denote  their  hostility  to  the  Greeks.  The 
puerile  pedantry  of  these  coxcombs  had  the  good 
effect  of  awakening  the  zeal  of  More  for  his  Grecian 
masters,  and  of  inducing  him  to  withstand  the  bar- 
barism which  would  exclude  the  noblest  productions 
of  the  human  mind  from  the  education  of  English 
youth.  He  expostulated  with  the  university  in  a 
letter  addressed  to  the  whole  body,  reproaching  them 
with  the  better  example  of  Cambridge,  where  the 
gates  were  thrown  open  to  the  higher  classics  of 
Greece,  as  freely  as  to  their  Roman  imitators.  |  The 
established  clergy  even  then,  though  Luther  had  not 
yet  alarmed  them,  strangers  as  they  were  to  the  new 
learning,  affected  to  contemn  that  of  which  they  were 
ignorant,  and  could  not  endure  the  prospect  of  a 
rising  generation  more  learned  than  themselves. 
Their  whole  education  was  Latin,  and  their  instruc- 
tion was  limited  to  Roman  and  canon  law,  to  theology, 

*  More,  p.  25.  f  Athense  Oxonienses,  vol.  i.  p.  79. 

See  this  Letter  in  the  Appendix  to  the  second  volume  of 
Jortin's  Life  of  Erasmus. 


LIFE   OF    Sm   TH05IAS   MORE.  399 

and  school  philosophy.  They  dreaded  the  downfal 
of  the  authority  of  the  Vulgate  from  the  study  of 
Greek  and  Hebrew.  But  the  course  of  things  was 
irresistible.  The  scholastic  system  was  now  on  the 
verge  of  general  disregard,  and  the  perusal  of  the 
greatest  Roman  writers  turned  all  eyes  towards  the 
Grecian  masters.  What  man  of  high  capacity,  and  of 
ambition  becoming  his  faculties,  could  read  Cicero 
without  a  desire  to  comprehend  Demosthenes  and 
Plato  ?  What  youth  desirous  of  excellence  but  would 
rise  from  the  study  of  the  Georgics  and  the  ^neid, 
with  a  wish  to  be  acquainted  with  Hesiod  and  Apollo- 
nius,  with  Pindar,  and  above  all  with  Homer  ?  These 
studies  were  then  pursued,  not  with  the  dull  languor 
and  cold  formality  with  which  the  indolent,  incapable, 
incurious  majority  of  boys  obey  the  prescribed  rules 
of  an  old  establishment,  but  with  the  enthusiastic 
admiration  with  which  the  superior  few  feel  an  earnest 
of  their  own  higher  powers,  in  the  delight  which  arises 
in  their  minds  at  the  contemplation  of  new  beauty, 
and  of  excellence  unimagined  before. 

More  found  several  of  the  restorers  of  Grecian 
literature  at  Oxford,  who  had  been  the  scholars  of  the 
exiled  Greeks  in  Italy;  —  Grocyn,  the  first  professor 
of  Greek  in  the  university  ;  Linacre,  the  accomplished 
founder  of  the  college  of  physicians  ;  and  William 
Latimer,  of  whom  we  know  little  more  than  what  we 
collect  from  the  general  testimony  borne  by  his  most 
eminent  contemporaries  to  his  learning  and  virtue. 
Grocyn,  tlie  first  of  the  English  restorers,  was  a  late 
learner,  being  in  the  forty-eighth  year  of  his  age  when 
he  went,  in  1488,  to  Italy,  where  the  fountains  of 
ancient  learning  were  once  more  opened.  After 
having  studied  under  Politian,  and  learnt  Greek  from 
Chalcondylas,  one  of  the  lettered  emigrants  who 
educated  the  teachers  of  the  western  nations,  he  re- 
turned to  Oxford,  where  he  taught  that  language  to 
More,  to  Linacre,  and  to  Erasmus.  Linacre  followed 
the  example  of  Grocyn  in  visiting  Italy,  and  profiting 


400  LIFE   OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE. 

by  the  instructions  of  Chalcondjlas.  Colet  spent  four 
years  in  the  same  country,  and  in  the  like  studies. 
William  Latimer  repaired  at  a  mature  age  to  Padua,  in 
quest  of  that  knowledge  which  was  not  to  be  acquired 
at  home.  He  was  afterwards  chosen  to  be  tutor  to 
Reginald  Pole,  the  King's  cousin ;  and  Erasmus,  by 
attributing  to  him  "  maidenly  modesty,"  leaves  in  one 
word  an  agreeable  impression  of  the  character  of  a 
man  chosen  for  his  scholarship  to  be  Linacre's  colleague 
in  a  projected  translation  of  Aristotle,  and  solicited 
by  the  latter  for  aid  in  his  edition  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment.* 

At  Oxford  More  became  known  to  a  man  far  more 
extraordinary  than  any  of  these  scholars.  Erasmus 
had  been  invited  to  England  by  Lord  Mountjoy,  who 
had  been  his  pupil  at  Paris,  and  continued  to  be  his 
friend  during  life.  He  resided  at  Oxford  during  a 
great  part  of  1497  ;  and  having  returned  to  Paris  in 
1498,  spent  the  latter  portion  of  the  same  year  at  the 
university  of  Oxford,  where  he  again  had  an  oppor- 
tunity of  pouring  his  zeal  for  Greek  study  into  the 
mind  of  More.  Their  friendship,  though  formed  at 
an  age  of  considerable  disparity,  —  Erasmus  being  then 
thirty  and  More  only  seventeen,  —  lasted  throughout 
the  whole  of  their  lives.  Erasmus  had  acquired  only 
the  rudiments  of  Greek  at  the  age  most  suited  to  the 
acquisition  of  languages,  and  was  now  completing  his 
knowledge  on  that  subject  at  a  period  of  mature  man- 
hood, which  he  jestingly  compares  with  the  age  at 
which  the  elder  Cato  commenced  his  Grecian  studies. f 

*  For  Latimer,  see  Dodd,  Church  History,  vol.  i.  p.  219. :  for 
Grocyn,  Ibid.  p.  227. :  for  Colet  and  Linacre,  all  biographical 
compilations. 

f  "  Delibavimus  et  olim  has  literas,  sed  summis  duntaxat 
labiis;  at  nuper  paulo  altius  ingressi,  videmus  id  quod  ssepenu- 
mero  apud  gravissimos  auctores  legimus, — Latinam  eruditionem, 
quamvis  impendiosam,  citra  Graicismum  inancam  esse  ac  dimi- 
diatam.  Apud  nos  enim  rivuli  vix  quidam  sunt,  et  lacunuke 
lutulentge  ;  apud  illos  fontes  purissimi  et  flumina  aurum  volven- 
tia."— Opera,  Lug.  Bat.  1703,  vol.  iii.  p.  63. 


LIFE    OF    SIR    THOMAS    MORE.  401 

Though  Erasmus  himself  seems  to  have  been  much 
excited  towards  Greek  learning  by  the  example  of  the 
English  scholars,  yet  the  cultivation  of  classical  lite- 
rature was  then  so  small  a  part  of  the  employment  or 
amusement  of  life,  that  "William  Latimer,  one  of  the 
most  eminent  of  these  scholars,  to  whom  Erasmus 
applied  for  aid  in  his  edition  of  the  Greek  Testament, 
declared  that  he  had  not  read  a  page  of  Greek  or 
Latin  for  nine  years  *,  that  he  had  almost  forgotten 
his  ancient  literature,  and  that  Greek  books  were 
scarcely  procurable  in  England.  Sir  John  More,  in- 
flexibly adhering  to  the  old  education,  and  dreading 
that  the  allurements  of  literature  might  seduce  his 
son  from  law,  discouraged  the  pursuit  of  Greek,  and 
at  the  same  time  reduced  the  allowance  of  Thomas  to 
the  level  of  the  most  frugal  life;  —  a  parsimony  for 
which  the  son  was  afterwards,  though  not  then,  thank- 
ful, as  having  taught  him  good  husbandry,  and  pre- 
served him  from  dissipation. 

At  the  university,  or  soon  after  leaving  it,  young 
More  composed  the  greater  part  of  his  English  verses; 
which  are  not  such  as,  from  their  intrinsic  merit,  in  a 
more  advanced  state  of  our  language  and  literature, 
would  be  deserving  of  particular  attention.  But  as 
the  poems  of  a  contemporary  of  Skelton,  they  may 
merit  more  consideration.  Our  language  was  still 
neglected,  or  confined  chiefly  to  the  vulgar  u.-es  of 
life.  Its  force,  its  compass,  and  its  capacity  of  har- 
mony, were  untried :  for  though  Chaucer  had  shone 
brightly  for  a  season,  the  century  which  followed  was 
dark  and  wintry.  No  master  genius  had  impregnated 
the  nation  with  poetical  sensibility.  In  these  inau- 
spicious circumstances,  the  composition  of  poems, 
especially  if  they  manifest  a  sense  of  harmony,  and 
some  adaptation  of  the  sound  to  the  subject,  indicates 
a  delight  in  poetry,  and  a  proneness  to  that  beautiful 
art,  which  in  such  an  age  is  a  more  than  ordinary 

•  Ibid.  vol.  iii.  p.  293. 
VOL.  L  D  D  K 


402  LIFE    OF    SLR   THOMAS   MOEE. 

token  of  a  capacity  for  it.  The  experience  of  ail  ages, 
however  it  may  be  accounted  for,  shows  that  the  mind, 
when  melted  into  tenderness,  or  exalted  by  the  con- 
templation of  grandeur,  vents  its  feelings  in  language 
suited  to  a  state  of  excitement,  and  delights  in  distin- 
guishing its  diction  from  common  speech  by  some 
species  of  measure  and  modulation,  which  combines 
the  gratification  of  the  ear  with  that  of  the  fancy  and 
the  heart.  The  secret  connection  between  a  poetical 
ear  and  a  poetical  soul  is  touched  by  the  most  sublime 
of  poets,  who  consoled  himself  in  his  blindness  by  the 
remembrance  of  those  who,  under  the  like  calamity, 

Feed  on  thoughts  that  voluntary  move 


Harmonious  numbers. 

We  may  be  excused  for  throwing  a  glance  over  the 
compositions  of  a  writer,  who  is  represented  a  cen- 
tury after  his  death,  by  Ben  Jon  son,  as  one  of  the 
models  of  English  literature.  More's  poem  on  the 
death  of  Elizabeth,  the  wife  of  Henry  VIL,  and  his 
merry  jest  How  a  Serjeant  would  play  the  Friar,  may 
be  considered  as  fair  samples  of  his  pensive  and 
sportive  vein.  The  superiority  of  the  latter  shows  his 
natural  disposition  to  pleasantry.  There  is  a  sort  of 
dancing  mirth  in  the  metre  which  seems  to  warrant 
the  observation  above  hazarded,  that  in  a  rude  period 
the  structure  of  verse  may  be  regarded  as  some  pre- 
sumption of  a  genius  for  poetry.  In  a  refined  age, 
indeed,  all  the  circumstances  are  different :  the  frame- 
work of  metrical  composition  is  known  to  all  the 
world  ;  it  may  be  taught  by  rule,  and  acquired  mecha- 
nically ;  the  greatest  facility  of  versification  may  exist 
without  a  spark  of  genius.  Even  then,  however,  the 
secrets  of  the  art  of  versification  are  chiefly  revealed 
to  a  chosen  few  by  their  poetical  sensibility ;  so  that 
suflS^cient  remains  of  the  original  tie  still  continue  to 
attest  its  primitive  origin.  It  is  remarkable,  that  the 
most  poetical  of  the  poems  is  written  in  Latin  :  it  is  a 
poem  addressed  to  a  lady,  with  whom  he  had  been  in 


LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS    MORE.  403 

love  when  he  was  sixteen  years  old,  and  she  fourteen ; 
and  it  turns  chiefly  on  the  pleasing  reflection  that  his 
affectionate  remembrance  restored  to  her  the  beauty, 
of  which  twenty-five  years  seemed  to  others  to  have 
robbed  her.* 

When  More  had  completed  his  time  at  Oxford,  he 
applied  himself  to  the  study  of  the  law,  which  was  to 
be  the  occupation  of  his  life.  He  first  studied  at 
New  Inn,  and  afterwards  at  Lincoln's  Inn.f  The 
societies  of  lawyers  having  purchased  some  inns,  or 
noblemen's  residences,  in  London,  were  hence  called 
"  inns  of  court."  It  was  not  then  a  metaphor  to  call 
them  an  university  ;  they  had  professors  of  law  ;  they 
conferred  the  characters  of  barrister  and  Serjeant, 
analogous  to  the  degrees  of  bachelor,  master,  and 
doctor,  bestowed  by  the  universities  ;  and  every  man, 
before  he  became  a  barrister,  was  subjected  to  exa- 
mination, and  obliged  to  defend  a  thesis.  More  was 
appointed  reader  at  Furnival's  Inn,  where  he  delivered 
lectures  for  three  years.  The  English  law  had  already 
grown  into  a  science,  formed  by  a  process  of  generali- 
sation from  usages  and  decisions,  with  less  help  from 
the  Roman  law  than  the  jurisprudence  of  any  other 
country,  though  not  with  that  total  independence  of 
it  which  English  lawyers  in  former  times  considered 
as  a  subject  of  boast:  it  was  rather  formed  as  the 
law  of  Rome  itself  had  been  formed,  than  adopted 
from  that  noble  system.  When  More  began  to  lec- 
ture on  English  law,  it  was  by  no  means  in  a  disor- 
derly and  neglected  state.  The  ecclesiastical  lawyers, 
whose  arguments  and  determinations  were  its  earliest 
materials,  were  well  prepared,  by  the  logic  and  phi- 

*  "  Gratulatur  quod  earn  repererit  incolumcm  quam  olim 
ferme  pucr  aniaverat." — Not.  in  Poem.  It  does  not  seem  recon- 
cilable with  dates,  that  his  lady  could  have  been  the  younger 
sister  of  Jane  Colt.     Vide  infra. 

f  Inu  was  successively  applied,  like  the  French  word  hotel, 
first  to  the  town  mansion  of  a  great  man,  and  aftciwai'ds  to  a 
house  where  all  mankiiid  were  cntertaiued  for  money. 

DU  2 


404  LIFE   OF   SIR   THOMAS  MORE, 

losopliy  of  their  masters  the  Schoolmen,  for  those 
exact  and  even  subtle  distinctions  which  the  precision 
of  the  rules  of  jurisprudence  eminently  required.  In 
the  reigns  of  the  Lancastrian  princes,  Littleton  had 
reduced  the  law  to  an  elementary  treatise,  distin- 
guished by  a  clear  method  and  an  elegant  conciseness. 
Fortescue  had  during  the  same  time  compared  the 
governments  of  England  and  France  with  the  eye  of 
a  philosophical  observer.  Brooke  and  Fitzherbert  had 
compiled  digests  of  the  law,  which  they  called  (it 
might  be  thought,  from  their  size,  ironically)  "  Abridg- 
ments." The  latter  composed  a  treatise,  still  very 
curious,  on  "  writs  ; "  that  is,  on  those  commands  (for- 
mally from  the  king)  which  constitute  essential  parts 
of  every  legal  proceeding.  Other  writings  on  juris- 
prudence occupied  the  printing-presses  of  London  in 
the  earliest  stage*  of  their  existence.  More  delivered 
lectures  also  at  St.  Lawrence's  church  in  the  Old 
Jewry,  on  the  work  of  St.  Augustine,  De  Civitate 
Dei,  that  is,  on  the  divine  government  of  the  moral 
world ;  which  must  seem  to  readers  who  look  at  an- 
cient times  through  modern  habits,  a  very  singular 
occupation  for  a  young  lawyer.  But  the  clergy  were 
then  the  chief  depositaries  of  knowledge,  and  were  the 
sole  canonists  and  civilians,  as  they  had  once  been  the 
only  lawyers.f  Religion,  morals,  and  law,  were  then 
taught  together  without  due  distinction  between  them, 
to  the  injury  and  confusion  of  them  all.  To  these 
lectures,  we  are  told  by  the  affectionate  biographer, 
"  there  resorted  Doctor  Grocyn,  an  excellent  cunning 
man,  and  all  the  chief  learned  of  the  city  of  Lon- 
don." J  More,  in  his  lectures,  however,  did  not  so 
much  discuss  "  the  points  of  divinity  as  the  precepts 
of  moral  philosophy  and  history,  wherewith  these 
books  are  replenished."  §     The  effect  of  the  deep  study 

*  Doctor  and  Student  (by  St.  Germain)  and  Diversite  des 
Courtcs  were  both  printed  by  Rastell  in  1534. 
f  Nullus  causidicus  nisi  cleric  us, 
X  Roper,  p.  5.  §  More,  p.  44. 


LIFE    OF    Sm   THOMAS   MORE.  405 

of  the  first  was,  perhaps,  however,  to  embitter  his 
polemical  writings,  and  somewhat  to  sour  that  natu- 
rally sweet  temper,  which  was  so  deeply  felt  by  his 
companions,  that  Erasmus  scarcely  ever  concludes  a 
letter  to  him  without  epithets  more  indicative  of  the 
most  tender  affection  than  of  the  calm  feelings  of 
friendship.* 

The  tenderness  of  More's  nature  combined  with  the 
instructions  and  habits  of  his  education  to  predispose 
him  to  piety.  As  he  lived  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
the  great  Carthusian  monastery,  called  the  "  Charter- 
house," for  some  years,  he  manifested  a  predilection 
for  monastic  life,  and  is  said  to  have  practised  some 
of  those  austerities  and  self-inflictions  which  prevail 
among  the  gloomier  and  sterner  orders.  A  pure 
mind  in  that  age  often  sought  to  extinguish  some  of 
the  inferior  impulses  of  human  nature,  instead  of 
employing  them  for  their  appointed  jourpose,  —  that 
of  animating  the  domestic  affections,  and  sweetening 
the  most  important  duties  of  life.  He  soon  learnt, 
however,  by  self-examination,  his  unfitness  for  the 
priesthood,  and  relinquished  his  project  of  taking 
orders,  in  words  which  should  have  warned  his  church 
against  the  imposition  of  unnatural  self-denial  on  vast 
multitudes  and  successive  generations  of  men.  f 

The  same  affectionate  disposition  which  had  driven 
him  towards  the  visions,  and,  strange  as  it  may  seem, 
to  the  austerities  of  the  monks,  now  sought  a  more 
natural  channel.  "He  resorted  to  the  house  of  one 
INIaister  Colt,  a  gentleman  of  Essex,  who  had  often  in- 
vited him  thither ;  having  three  daughters,  whose 
honest  conversation  and  virtuous  education  provoked 
him  there  especially  to  set  his  affection.  And  albeit 
liis  mind  most  served  him  to  the  second  daughter,  for 
that  he  thought  her  the  fairest  and  best  favoured,  yet 

*  "  Suavissime  More."  "  Charissime  More."  "  Mcllitissiuie 
More." 

f  "  Maluit  maritus  esse  castas  quam  sacerdos  iinpuriLj." — 
Erasmus,  Op.  vol.  iiL  p.  475. 

SD  3 


406  LIFE   OF   SIR   THOMAS   MORE. 

when  he  considered  that  it  would  be  both  great  grief, 
and  some  shame  also,  to  the  eldest,  to  see  her  younger 
sister  preferred  before  her  in  marriage,  he  then  of  a 
certain  pity  framed  his  fancy  toward  her,  and  soon 
after  married  her,  neverthemore  discontinuing  his 
study  of  the  law  at  Lincoln's  Inn."*  His  more 
remote  descendant  adds,  that  Mr.  Colt  "proffered 
unto  him  the  choice  of  any  of  his  daughters  ;  and  that 
More,  out  of  a  kind  of  compassion,  settled  his  fancy 
on  the  eldest."!  Erasmus  gives  a  turn  to  More's 
marriage  with  Jane  Colt,  which  is  too  ingenious  to  be 
probable :  —  "  He  wedded  a  very  young  girl  of  respect- 
able family,  but  who  had  hitherto  lived  in  the  country 
with  her  parents  and  sisters,  and  was  so  uneducated, 
that  he  could  mould  her  to  his  own  tastes  and  man- 
ners. He  caused  her  to  be  instructed  in  letters ;  and 
she  became  a  very  skilful  musician,  which  peculiarly 
pleased  him."  J 

The  plain  matter  of  fact  seems  to  have  been,  that 
in  an  age  when  marriage  chiefly  depended  upon  a 
•bargain  between  parents,  on  which  sons  were  little 
consulted,  and  daughters  not  at  all,  More,  emerging 
at  twenty-one  from  the  toil  of  acquiring  Greek,  and 
the  voluntary  self-torture  of  Carthusian  mystics,  was 
delighted  at  his  first  entry  among  pleasing  young 
women,  of  whom  the  least  attractive  might,  in  these 
circumstances,  have  touched  him  ;  and  that  his  slight 
preference  for  the  second  easily  yielded  to  a  good- 
natured  reluctance  to  mortify  the  elder.  Most  young 
ladies  in  Essex,  in  the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth 
century,  must  have  required  some  tuition  to  appear  in 
London  among  scholars  and  courtiers,  who  were  at  that 
time  more  mingled  than  it  is  now  usual  for  them  to 
be.  It  is  impossible  to  ascertain  the  precise  shade  of 
feeling  which  the  biographers  intended  to  denote  by 
the  words  "  pity  "  and  "  compassion,"   for  the  use  of 

*  Eoper,  p.  6.  f  More,  p.  30. 

J  Erasmus,  Op.  vol.  iii.  p.  475. 


LIFE   OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE.  407 

s 

which  they  are  charged  with  a  want  of  gallantry  or 
delicacy  by  modern  writers  ;  although  neither  of  these 
terms,  when  the  context  is  at  the  same  time  read, 
seems  unhappily  employed  to  signify  the  natural  re- 
finement, which  shrinks  from  humbling  the  harmless 
self-complacency  of  an  innocent  girl. 

The  marriage  proved  so  happy,  that  nothing  was  to 
be  regretted  in  it  but  the  shortness  of  the  union,  in 
consequence  of  the  early  death  of  Jane  Colt,  who  left 
a  son  and  three  daughters;  of  whom  Margaret,  the 
eldest,  inherited  the  features,  the  form,  and  the  genius 
of  her  father,  and  requited  his  fond  partiality  by  a 
daughterly  love,  which  endured  to  the  end. 

Li  no  long  time  *  after  the  death  of  Jane  Colt,  he 
married  Alice  Middleton,  a  widow,  seven  years  older 
than  himself,  and  not  handsome;  —  rather,  for  the 
care  of  his  family,  and  the  management  of  his  house, 
than  as  a  companion  and  a  friend.  He  treated  her, 
and  indeed  all  females,  except  his  daughter  Margaret, 
as  better  qualified  to  relish  a  jest,  than  to  take  a  part 
in  more  serious  conversation ;  and  in  their  presence 
gave  an  unbounded  scope  to  his  natural  inclination 
towards  pleasantry.  He  even  indulged  himself  in  a 
Latin  play  of  words  on  her  want  of  youth  and  beauty, 
calling  her  "nee  bella  nee  puella."f  "  She  was  of 
"good  years,  of  no  good  favour  or  complexion,  nor 
"  very  rich,  and  by  disposition  near  and  worldly.  It 
"  was  reported  that  he  wooed  her  for  a  friend  of  his  ; 
"but  she  answering  that  he  might  speed  if  he  spoke 
"  for  himself,  he  married  her  Avitli  the  consent  of  his 
"  friend,  yielding  to  her  that  which  perhaps  he  never 
"  would  have  done  of  his  own  accord.  Indeed,  her 
"  favour  could  not  have  bewitched,  or  scarce  moved, 
"any  man  to  love  her;  but  yet  she  proved  a  kind 
"  and  careful  mother-in-law  to  his  children."  Erasmus, 

•  "  In  a  few  months,"  savs  Erasmus,  Op.  vol.  iii.  p.  475.:  — 
"  within  two  or  three  years,"  according  to  his  great  grandson.  — 
More,  p.  32. 

f  Erasmus,  vol.  iii.  p.  475. 

D  D  4 


408  LIFE   OF    SIR   THOMAS    MOEE. 

who  was  often  an  inmate  in  the  family,  speaks  of  her 
as  "  a  keen  and  watchful  manager,  with  whom  More 
"lived  on  terms  of  as  much  respect  and  kindness  as 
"  if  she  had  been  fair  and  young."  Such  is  the  happy 
power  of  a  loving  disposition,  which  overflows  on 
companions,  though  their  attractions  or  deserts  should 
be  slender.  "  No  husband,"  continues  Erasmus,  "ever 
gained  so  much  obedience  from  a  wife  by  authority 
and  severity,  as  More  won  by  gentleness  and  plea- 
santry. Though  verging  on  old  age,  and  not  of  a 
yielding  temper,  he  prevailed  on  her  to  take  lessons 
on  the  lute,  the  cithara,  the  viol,  the  monochord, 
and  the  flute,  which  she  daily  practised  to  him. 
With  the  same  gentleness  he  ruled  his  whole  family, 
so  that  it  was  without  broils  or  quarrels.  He  com- 
posed all  differences,  and  never  parted  with  any  one 
on  terms  of  unkindness.  The  house  was  fated  to 
the  peculiar  felicity  that  those  who  dwelt  in  it  were 
always  raised  to  a  higher  fortune  ;  and  that  no  spot 
ever  fell  on  the  good  name  of  its  happy  inhabit- 
ants." The  course  of  More's  domestic  life  is  minutely 
described  by  eye-witnesses.  "  His  custom  was  daily 
(besides  his  private  prayers  with  his  children)  to 
say  the  seven  psalms,  the  litany,  and  the  suffrages 
following ;  so  was  his  guise  with  his  wife,  children, 
and  household,  nightly  before  he  went  to  bed,  to 
go  to  his  chapel,  and  there  on  his  knees  ordinarily 
to  say  certain  psalms  and  collects  with  them."* 
With  him,"  says  Erasmus,  "you  might  imagine 
yourself  in  the  academy  of  Plato.  But  I  should  do 
injustice  to  his  house  by  comparing  it  to  the  academy 
of  Plato,  where  numbers,  and  geometrical  figures, 
and  sometimes  moral  virtues,  were  the  subjects  of 
discussion  ;  it  would  be  more  just  to  call  it  a  school 
and  exercise  of  the  Christian  religion.  All  its 
inhabitants,  male  or  female,  applied  their  leisure  to 
liberal    studies    and    profitable    reading,    although 

*  Koper,  p.  25. 


LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE.  409 

"  piety  was  their  first  care.  No  -v\Tangling,  no  angry 
"  word,  was  heard  in  it ;  no  one  was  idle :  every  one 
"  did  his  duty  with  alacrity,  and  not  without  a  tem- 
*'  perate  cheerfulness."  *  Erasmus  had  not  the  sen- 
sibility of  More  ;  he  was  more  prone  to  smile  than 
to  sigh  at  the  concerns  of  men  :  but  he  was  touched 
by  the  remembrance  of  these  domestic  solemnities  in 
the  household  of  his  friend.  He  manifests  an  agreeable 
emotion  at  the  recollection  of  these  scenes  in  daily 
life,  which  tended  to  hallow  the  natural  authority  of 
parents  to  bestow  a  sort  of  dignity  on  humble  occupa- 
tions, to  raise  menial  offices  to  the  rank  of  virtues,  and 
to  spread  peace  and  cultivate  kindness  among  those 
who  had  shared  and  were  soon  again  to  share,  the 
same  modest  rites,  in  gently  breathing  around  them 
a  spirit  of  meek  equality,  which  rather  humbled  the 
pride  of  the  great  than  disquieted  the  spirits  of  the 
lowly.  More  himself  justly  speaks  of  the  hourly 
interchange  of  the  smaller  acts  of  kindness  which 
flow  from  the  charities  of  domestic  life,  as  having  a 
claim  on  his  time  as  strong  as  the  occupations  which 
seemed  to  others  so  much  more  serious  and  important. 
"  While,"  says  he,  "  in  pleading,  in  hearing,  in  de- 
ciding causes  or  composing  differences,  in  waiting  on 
some  men  about  business,  and  on  others  out  of  re- 
spect, the  greatest  part  of  the  day  is  spent  on  other 
men's  affairs,  the  remainder  of  it  must  be  given  to 
my  family  at  home  ;  so  that  I  can  reserve  no  part  of 
it  to  myself,  that  is,  to  study.  I  must  talk  with  toy 
wife,  and  chat  with  my  children,  and  I  have  some- 
what to  say  to  my  servants  ;  for  all  these  things  I 
reckon  as  a  part  of  my  business,  except  a  man  will 
resolve  to  be  a  stranger  at  home  ;  and  with  whom- 
soever either  nature,  chance,  or  choice,  has  engaged  a 
man  in  any  commerce,  he  must  endeavour  to  make 
himself  as  acceptable  to  those  about  him  as  he  can."  f 

*  Op.  vol.  iii.  p.  1812. 

t  Dedication  of  Utopia  to  Peter  Giles,  (Buraet's  translation,) 
1684. 


410  LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE. 

His  occupations  now  necessarily  employed  a  large 
portion  of  his  time.  His  professional  practice  be- 
came so  considerable,  that  about  the  accession  of 
Plenry  VHL,  in  1509,  with  his  legal  office  in  the  city 
of  London,  it  produced  400Z.  a  year,  probably  equiva- 
lent to  an  annual  income  of  50001.  in  the  present  day. 
Though  it  be  not  easy  to  determine  the  exact  period 
of  the  occurrences  of  his  life,  from  his  establishment 
in  London  to  his  acceptance  of  political  office,  the 
beginning  of  Henry  VHL's  reign  may  be  considered 
as  the  time  of  his  highest  eminence  at  the  bar.  About 
this  time  a  ship  belonging  to  the  Pope,  or  claimed  by 
his  Holiness  on  behalf  of  some  of  his  subjects,  happened 
to  come  to  Southampton,  where  she  was  seized  as  a 
forfeiture,  —  probably  as  what  is  called  a  droit  of  the 
crown,  or  a  droit  of  the  admiralty, — though  under 
what  circumstances,  or  on  what  grounds  we  know  not. 
The  papal  minister  made  suit  to  the  King  that  the 
case  might  be  argued  for  the  Pope  by  learned  counsel 
in  a  public  place,  and  in  presence  of  the  minister  him- 
self, who  was  a  distinguished  civilian.  None  was 
found  so  well  qualified  to  be  of  counsel  for  him  as 
More,  who  could  report  in  Latin  all  the  arguments  to 
his  client,  and  who  argued  so  learnedly  on  the  Pope's 
side,  that  he  succeeded  in  obtaining  an  order  for  the 
restitution  of  the  vessel  detained. 

It  has  been  already  intimated,  that  about  the  same 
time  he  had  been  appointed  to  a  judicial  office  in  the 
city  of  London,  which  is  described  by  his  son-in-law 
as  "  that  of  one  of  the  under-sheriffs."  Roper,  who 
was  himself  for  many  years  an  officer  of  the  court  of 
King's  Bench,  gives  the  name  of  the  office  correctly ; 
but  does  not  describe  its  nature  and  importance  so 
truly  as  Erasmus,  who  tells  his  correspondent  that 
More  passed  several  years  in  the  city  of  London  as  a 
judge  in  civil  causes.  " This  office,"  he  says,  "though 
not  laborious,  for  the  court  sits  only  on  the  forenoon 
of  every  Thursday,  is  accounted  very  honourable. 
No  judge  of  that  court  ever  went  through  more  causes; 


LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE.  411 

none  decided  them  more  uprightly ;  often  remitting 
the  fees  to  which  he  was  entitled  from  the  suitors. 
His  deportment  in  this  capacity  endeared  him  ex- 
tremely to  his  fellow-citizens."*     The  under-sheriff 
was  then  apparently  judge  of  the  sheriff's  court,  which, 
being   tlie   county  court  for  London   and  Middlesex, 
was,  at  that  time,  a  station  of  honour  and  advantage.f 
For  the  county  courts  in  general,  and  indeed  all  the 
ancient  subordinate  jurisdictions  of  the  common  law, 
had  not  yet  been  superseded  by  that  concentration  of 
authority  in  the  hands  of  the  superior  courts  at  West- 
minster, which  contributed  indeed  to  the  purity  and 
dignity  of  the  judicial  character,  as  well  as   to  the 
uniformity  and  the  improvement  of  the  administration 
of  law,  —  but  which  cannot  be  said  to  have  served  in 
the  same  degree  to  promote  a  speedy  and  cheap  redress 
of  the  wrongs  suffered  by  those  suitors  to  wliom  cost 
and  delay  are  most  grievous.     More's  office,  in  that 
state  of  the  jurisdiction,  might  therefore  have  possessed 
the  importance  which  his  contemporaries  ascribed  to 
it ;  ahhough  the  denomination  of  it  would  not  make 
such  an  impression  on  modern  ears.     It  is  apparent, 
that  either  as  a  considerable  source  of  his  income,  or 
as  an  honourable  token  of  public  confidence,  this  office 
was  valued  by  More  ;  since  he  informs  Erasmus,  in 
1516,  that  he  had  declined  a  handsome  pension  offered 
to  him  by  the  king  on  his  return  from  Flanders,  and 
that  he  believed  he  should  always  decline  it ;  because 
either  it  would  oblige  him  to  resign  his  office  in  the 
city,  which  he  preferred  to  a  better,  or  if  he  retained 
it,  in  case  of  a  controversy  of  the  city  with  the  king 
for  their  privileges,  he  might  be  deemed  by  his  fellow- 
citizens  to  be  disabled  by  dependence  on   the  crown 
from  sincerely  and  faithfully  maintaining  their  rights.if 
This  last  reasoning  is  also  interesting,  as  the  first  in- 


*  Erasmus,  Op.  vol.  ill.  p.  476. 

t  "  In  urbe  sua  pro  shvrevo  dixit." — Epitaph. 

j  Erasmus,  Op.  rol.  iii.  p.  220. 


412  LIFE    OF    SIR   THOIMAS   MORE; 

timation  of  the  necessity  of  a  city  law-officer  being 
independent  of  the  crown,  and  of  the  legal  resistance 
of  the  corporation  of  London  to  a  Tudor  king.  It 
paved  the  way  for  those  happier  times  in  which  the 
great  city  had  the  honour  to  number  the  Holts  and 
the  Denmans  among  her  legal  advisers.* 

More  is  the  first  person  in  our  history  distinguished 
by  the  faculty  of  public  speaking.  A  remarkable 
occasion  on  which  it  w^as  successfully  employed  in 
parliament  against  a  lavish  grant  of  money  to  the 
crown  is  thus  recorded  by  his  son-in-law  as  follows  :  — 
"  In  the  latter  time  of  king  Henry  VII.  he  was  made 
a  burgess  of  the  parliament,  wherein  was  demanded 
by  the  king  about  three -fifteenths  for  the  marriage  of 
his  eldest  daughter,  that  then  should  be  the  Scottish 
queen.  At  the  last  debating  whereof  he  made  such 
arguments  and  reasons  there  against,  that  the  king's 
demands  were  thereby  clean  overthrown  ;  so  that  one 
of  the  king's  privy  chamber,  named  maister  Tyler, 
being  present  thereat,  brought  word  to  the  king  out 
of  the  parliament  house,  that  a  beardless  boy  had  dis- 
appointed all  his  purpose.  Whereupon  the  king,  con- 
ceiving great  indignation  towards  him,  could  not  be 
satisfied  until  he  had  some  way  revenged  it.  And 
forasmuch  as  he,  nothing  having,  could  nothing  lose, 

*  From  communications  obtained  for  me  from  the  records  of 
the  City,  I  am  enabled  to  ascertain  some  particulars  of  the  nature 
of  More's  appointment,  which  have  occasioned  a  difference  of 
opinion.  On  the  8th  of  May,  1514,  it  was  agreed  by  the  com- 
mon council,  "  that,  Thomas  More,  gentleman,  one  of  the  under- 
sheriffs  of  London,  should  occupy  his  office  and  chamber  by  a 
sufficient  deputy,  during  his  absence  as  the  king's  ambassador 
in  Flanders."  It  appears  from  several  entries  in  the  same  re- 
cords, from  1496  to  1502  inclusive,  that  the  under-sheriff  was 
annually  elected,  or  rather  confirmed ;  for  the  practice  was  not 
to  remove  him  without  his  own  application  or  some  serious  fault. 
For  six  years  of  Henry's  reign,  Edward  Dudley  was  one  of  the 
under-sheriffs ;  a  circumstance  which  renders  the  superior  im- 
portance of  the  office  at  that  time  probable.  Thomas  Marowe, 
the  author  of  works  on  law  esteemed  in  his  time,  though  not 
pubHshed,  appears  also  in  the  above  records  as  under-sheriff. 


J 


LIFE    OF    SIR    THOMAS    MORE.  413 

his  grace  devised  a  causeless  quarrel  against  his 
father ;  keeping  him  in  the  Tower  till  he  had  made 
him  to  pay  100/.  fine,"  (probably  on  a  charge  of  having 
infringed  some  obsolete  penal  law).  "  Shortly  after, 
it  fortuned  that  Sir  T.  More,  coming  in  a  suit  to 
Dr.  Fox,  bishop  of  Winchester,  one  of  the  king's 
privy  council,  the  bishop  called  him  aside,  and,  pre- 
tending great  favour  towards  him,  promised  that  if 
he  would  be  ruled  by  him  he  would  not  fail  into  the 
king's  favour  again  to  restore  him  ;  meaning,  as  it 
was  afterwards  conjectured,  to  cause  him  thereby  to 
confess  his  offences  against  the  king,  whereby  his 
highness  might,  with  the  better  colour,  have  occasion 
to  revenge  his  displeasure  against  him.  But  when  he 
came  from  the  bishop  he  fell  into  communication  with 
one  maister  Whitforde,  his  familiar  friend,  then  chap- 
lain to  that  bishop,  and  showed  him  what  the  bishop 
had  said,  praying  for  his  advice.  Whitforde  prayed 
him  by  the  passion  of  God  not  to  follow  the  counsel ; 
for  my  lord,  to  serve  the  king's  turn,  will  not  stick  to 
asrree  to  his  own  father's  death.  So  Sir  Thomas  More 
returned  to  the  bishop  no  more ;  and  had  not  the  king 
died  soon  after,  he  was  determined  to  have  gone  over 
sea."  *  That  the  advice  of  Whitforde  was  wise,  ap- 
peared from  a  circumstance  which  occurred  nearly 
ten  years  after,  which  exhibits  a  new  feature  in  the 
character  of  the  King  and  of  his  bishops.  When 
Dudley  was  sacrificed  to  popular  resentment,  under 
Henry  VIII.,  and  when  he  was  on  his  way  to  execu- 
tion, he  met  Sir  Thomas,  to  whom  he  said,  —  "Oh 
More,  More !  God  was  your  good  friend,  that  you  did 
not  ask  the  king  forgiveness,  as  manie  would  have  had 
you  do ;  for  if  you  had  done  so,  perhaps  you  should 
have  been  in  the  like  case  with  us  nowT  \ 

*  Roper,  p.  7.  There  seems  to  be  some  forgctfulness  of  dates 
in  the  latter  part  of  this  passage,  whicli  has  been  copied  by  suc- 
ceeding writers.  Margaret,  it  is  well  known,  was  married  in 
1503;  the  debate  was  not,  therefore,  later  than  that  year:  but 
Henry  VII.  lived  till  1509. 

\  More,  p.  38. 


414  LIFE   OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE. 

It  was  natural  that  the  restorer  of  political  elo- 
quence, which  had  slumbered  for  a  long  series  of 
ages  * ,  should  also  be  the  earliest  of  the  parliamentary 
champions  of  liberty.  But  it  is  lamentable  that  we  have 
so  little  information  respecting  the  oratorical  powers 
which  alone  could  have  armed  him  for  the  noble 
conflict.  He  may  be  said  to  hold  the  same  station 
among  us,  which  is  assigned  by  Cicero,  in  his  dialogue 
On  the  Celebrated  Orators  of  Rome,  to  Cato  the  cen- 
sor, whose  consulship  was  only  about  ninety  years  prior 
to  his  own.  His  answer,  as  Speaker  of  the  House  of 
Commons,  to  Wolsey,  of  which  more  will  be  said  pre- 
sently, is  admirable  for  its  promptitude,  quickness, 
seasonableness,  and  caution,  combined  with  dignity 
and  spirit.  It  unites  presence  of  mind  and  adaptation 
to  the  person  and  circumstances,  with  address  and 
management  seldom  surpassed.  If  the  tone  be  more 
submissive  than  suits  modern  ears,  it  is  yet  remark- 
able for  that  ingenious  refinement  which  for  an  instant 
shows  a  glimpse  of  the  sword  generally  hidden  under 
robes  of  state.  "  His  eloquent  tongue,"  says  Erasmus, 
"  so  well  seconds  his  fertile  invention,  that  no  one 
speaks  better  when  suddenly  called  forth.  His  atten- 
tion never  languishes ;  his  mind  is  always  before  his 
words;  his  memory  has  all  its  stock  so  turned  into 
ready  money,  that  without  hesitation  or  delay,  it 
gives  out  whatever  the  time  and  the  case  may  require. 
His  acuteness  in  dispute  is  unrivalled,  and  he  often 
perplexes  the  most  renowned  theologians  when  he 
enters  their  province."  f  Though  much  of  this  en- 
comium may  be  applicable  rather  to  private  con- 
versation than  to  public  debate,  and  though  this 
presence  of  mind  may  refer  altogether  to  promptitude 
of  repartee,  and  comparatively  little  to  that  readiness 
of  reply,  of  which   his  experience   must   have  been 

*  "  Postquam  pugnatum  est  apud  Actium,  magna  ilia  ingenia 
cessere," — Tacitus,  Hist.  lib.  i.  cap.  1. 
f  Erasmus,  Op.  vol.  iii.  p.  476. 


LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS    MORE.  415 

limited;  it  is  still  obvious  that  the  great  critic  has 
ascribed  to  his  friend  the  higher  part  of  those  mental 
qualities,  which,  when  justly  balanced  and  perfectly- 
trained,  constitute  a  great  orator. 

As  if  it  had  been  the  lot  of  More  to  open  all  the 
paths  through  the  wilds  of  our  old  English  speech,  he 
is  to  be  considered  also  as  our  earliest  prose  writer, 
and  as  the  first  Englishman  who  wrote  the  history  of 
his  country  in  its  present  language.  The  historical 
fragment*  commands  belief  by  simplicity,  and  by 
abstinence  from  too  confident  affirmation.  It  betrays 
some  negligence  about  minute  particulars,  which  is 
not  displeasing  as  a  symptom  of  the  absence  of  eager- 
ness to  enforce  a  narrative.  The  composition  has  an 
ease  and  a  rotundity  (which  gratify  the  ear  without 
awakening  the  suspicion  of  art)  of  which  there  was 
no  model  in  any  preceding  writer  of  Enslish  prose. 

In  comparing  the  prose  of  More  with  the  modern 
style,  we  must  distinguish  the  words  from  the  compo- 
sition. A  very  small  part  of  his  vocabulary  has  been 
superannuated;  the  number  of  terms  which  require 
any  explanation  is  inconsiderable :  and  in  that  respect 
the  stability  of  the  language  is  remarkable.  He  is, 
indeed,  in  his  words,  more  English  than  the  great 
writers  of  a  century  after  him,  who  loaded  their 
native  tongue  with  expressions  of  Greek  or  Latin  de- 
rivation. Cicero,  speaking  of  "old  Cato,"  seems  almost 
to  describe  More.  "  His  style  is  rather  antiquated  ; 
he  has  some  words  displeasing  to  our  ears,  but  which 
were  then  in  familiar  use.  Change  those  terms,  which 
he  could  not,  you  will  then  prefer  no  speaker  to  Cato."f 

But  in  the  combination  and  arrangement  of  words, 
in  ordinary  phraseology  and  common  habits  of  com- 
position, he  differs  more  widely  from  the  style  that  has 
now  been  prevalent  among  us  for  nearly  two  centuries. 
His  diction  seems  a  continued  experiment  to  discover 
the   forms   into  which  the  language  naturally  runs. 

•  History-  of  Richard  III.  t  Dc  Clar.  Orat.  cap.  17. 


416  LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS    MORE. 

In  that  attempt  he  has  frequently  foiled.  Fortunate 
accident,  or  more  varied  experiment  in  aftertimes,  led 
to  the  adoption  of  other  combinations,  which  could 
scarcely  have  succeeded,  if  they  had  not  been  more 
consonant  to  the  spirit  of  the  language,  and  more 
agreeable  to  the  ear  and  the  feelings  of  the  people. 
The  structure  of  his  sentences  is  frequently  not  that 
which  the  English  language  has  finally  adopted :  the 
language  of  his  countrymen  has  decided,  without  ap- 
peal, against  the  composition  of  the  father  of  English 
prose. 

The  speeches  contained  in  his  fragment,  like  many 
of  those  in  the  ancient  historians,  were  probably  sub- 
stantially real,  but  brightened  by  ornament,  and  im- 
proved in  composition.  It  could,  indeed,  scarcely  be 
otherwise:  for  the  history  was  written  in  1513*,  and 
the  death  of  Edward  IV.,  with  which  it  opens,  oc- 
curred in  1483;  while  Cardinal  Morton,  who  became 
prime  minister  two  years  after  that  event,  appears  to 
have  taken  young  More  into  his  household  about  the 
year  1493.  There  is,  therefore,  little  scope,  in  so  short 
a  time,  for  much  falsification,  by  tradition,  of  the  argu- 
ments and  topics  really  employed.  These  speeches  have 
the  merit  of  being  accommodated  to  the  circumstances, 
and  of  being  of  a  tendency  to  dispose  those  to  whom 
they  were  addressed  to  promote  the  object  of  the 
speaker  ;  and  this  merit,  rare  in  similar  compositions, 
shows  that  More  had  been  taught,  by  the  practice  of 
speaking  in  contests  where  objects  the  most  important 
are  the  prize  of  the  victor,  that  eloquence  is  the  art  of 
persuasion,  and  that  the  end  of  the  orator  is  not  the  dis- 

*  Holinshed,  vol.  iii.  p.  360.  Holinshed  called  More's  work 
"  unfinished."  That  it  was  meant  to  extend  to  the  death  of 
Richard  III.  seems  probable  from  the  following  sentence :  — 
"  But,  forasmuch  as  tliis  duke's  (the  Duke  of  Gloucester)  de- 
meanour ministereth  in  effect  all  the  whole  matter  whereof  this 
book  shall  entreat,  it  is  therefore  convenient  to  show  you,  as  we 
farther  go,  what  manner  of  man  this  was  that  could  find  in  his 
heart  such  mischief  to  conceive." — p.  361. 


LIFE    OF    SIR   TH03IAS   MORE.  417 

play  of  his  talents,  but  dominion  over  the  minds  of  his 
hearers.  The  dying  speech,  in  which  Edward  exhorts 
the  two  parties  of  his  friends  to  harmony,  is  a  grave 
appeal  to  their  prudence,  as  well  as  an  affecting  ad- 
dress from  a  father  and  a  king  to  their  public  feelings. 
The  surmises  thrown  out  by  Richard  against  the 
Widvilles  are  short,  dark,  and  well  adapted  to  awaken 
suspicion  and  alarm.  The  insinuations  against  the 
Queen,  and  the  threats  of  danger  to  the  lords  them- 
selves  from  leaving  the  person  of  the  Duke  of  York  in 
the  hands  of  that  princess,  in  Richard's  speech  to  the 
Privy  Council,  before  the  Archbishop  of  York  was 
sent  to  Westminster  to  demand  the  surrender  of  tlie 
boy,  are  admirable  specimens  of  the  address  and  art 
of  crafty  ambition.  Generally  speaking,  the  speeclies 
have  little  of  the  vague  common-place  of  rhetoricians 
and  declaimers ;  and  time  is  not  wasted  in  parade. 
In  the  case,  indeed,  of  the  dispute  between  the  Arcli- 
bishop  and  the  Queen,  about  taking  the  Duke  of  York 
out  of  his  mother's  care,  and  from  the  Sanctuary  at 
Westminster,  there  is  more  ingenious  argument  than 
the  scene  allows ;  and  the  mind  rejects  logical  refine- 
ments, of  which  the  use,  on  such  an  occasion,  is  quite 
irreconcileable  to  dramatic  verisimilitude.  The  Duke 
of  Buckingham  alleged  in  council,  that  sanctuary  could 
be  claimed  only  against  danger;  and  that  the  royal  in- 
fant had  neither  wisdom  to  desire  sanctuary,  nor  the  ma- 
licious intention  in  his  acts  without  which  he  could  not 
require  it.  To  this  notable  paradox,  which  amounted 
to  an  affirmation  that  no  certainly  innocent  person 
could  ever  claim  protection  from  a  sanctuary,  when 
it  was  carried  to  the  Queen,  she  answered  readily,  that 
if  she  could  be  in  sanctuary,  it  followed  that  her  child, 
who  was  her  ward,  was  included  in  her  protection,  as 
much  as  her  servants,  who  were,  without  contradic- 
tion, allowed  to  be. 

The  Latin  epigrams  of  More,  a  small  volume  which 
it  required  two  years  to  carry  through  the  press  at 
Basle,  are  mostly  translations   from  the  Anthologia, 

VOL.  I.  E  E 


418  LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE. 

which  were  rather  made  known  to  Europe  by  the  fame 
of  the  writer,  than  calculated  to  increase  it.  They 
contain,  howe«7er,  some  decisive  proofs  that  he  always 
entertained  the  opinions  respecting  the  dependence 
of  all  government  on  the  consent  of  the  people,  to 
which  he  professed  his  adherence  almost  in  his  dying 
moments.  Latin  versification  was  not  in  that  early 
period  successfully  attempted  in  any  Transalpine 
country.  The  rules  of  prosody,  or  at  least  the  laws  of 
metrical  composition,  were  not  yet  sufficiently  studied 
for  such  attempts.  His  Latinity  was  of  the  same 
school  with  that  of  his  friend  Erasmus ;  which  was, 
indeed,  common  to  the  first  generation  of  scholars  after 
the  revival  of  classical  study.  Finding  Latin  a  sort 
of  general  language  employed  by  men  of  letters  in 
their  conversation  and  correspondence,  they  continued 
the  use  of  it  in  the  mixed  and  corrupted  state  to  which 
such  an  application  had  necessarily  reduced  it :  they 
began,  indeed,  to  purify  it  from  some  grosser  cor- 
ruptions; but  they  built  their  style  upon  the  found- 
ation of  this  colloquial  dialect,  with  no  rigorous  obser- 
vation of  the  good  usage  of  the  Roman  language. 
Writings  of  business,  of  pleasantry,  of  familiar  inter- 
course, could  never  have  been  composed  in  pure 
Latinity  ;  which  was  still  more  inconsistent  with  new 
manners,  institutions,  and  opinions,  and  with  dis- 
coveries and  inventions  added  to  those  which  were 
transmitted  by  antiquity.  Erasmus,  who  is  the  master 
and  model  of  this  system  of  composition,  admirably 
shows  how  much  had  been  gained  by  loosening  the 
fetters  of  a  dead  speech,  and  acquiring  in  its  stead  the 
nature,  ease,  variety,  and  vivacity  of  a  spoken  and 
living  tongue.  The  course  of  circumstances,  however, 
determined  that  this  language  should  not  subsist,  or  at 
least  flourish,  for  much  more  than  a  century.  It  was 
assailed  on  one  side  by  the  purely  classical,  whom 
Erasmus,  in  derision,  calls  "  Ciceronians ; "  and  when 
it  was  sufficiently  emasculated  by  dread  of  their  cen- 
sure, it  was  finally  overwhelmed  by  the  rise  of  a 
national  literature  in  every  European  language. 


LIFE    OF    Sm    THOilAS    MORE. 


419 


More  exemplified  the  abundance  and  flexibility  of 
the  Erasmian  Latinitj  in  Utopia,  with  which  this  short 
view  of  all  his  writings,  except  those  of  controversy, 
may  be  fitly  concluded.  The  idea  of  the  work  had 
been  suggested  by  some  of  the  dialogues  of  Plato,  who 
speaks  of  vast  territories,  formerly  cultivated  and 
peopled,  but  afterwards,  by  some  convulsion  of  nature, 
covered  by  the  Atlantic  Ocean.  These  Egyptian  tra- 
ditions, or  legends,  harmonised  admirably  with  that 
discovery  of  a  new  continent  by  Columbus,  which  had 
roused  the  admiration  of  Europe  about  twenty  years 
before  the  composition  of  Utopia.  This  was  the  name 
of  an  island  feigned  to  have  been  discovered  by  a  sup- 
posed companion  of  Amerigo  Vespucci,  who  is  made 
to  tell  the  wondrous  tale  of  its  condition  to  More,  at 
Antwerp,  in  1514  :  and  in  it  was  the  seat  of  the  Pla- 
tonic conception  of  an  imaginary  commonwealth.  All 
the  names  which  he  invented  for  men  or  places*  were 
intimations  of  their  being  unreal,  and  were,  perhaps, 
by  treating  with  raillery  his  own  notions,  intended  to 
silence  gainsayers.  The  first  book,  which  is  pre- 
liminary, is  naturally  and  ingeniously  opened  by  a 
conversation,  in  which  Raphael  Hythloday,  the  Utopian 
traveller,  describes  his  visit  to  England ;  where,  as 
much  as  in  other  countries,  he  found  all  proposals  for 
improvement  encountered  by  the  remark,  that, — "Such 

*  The  following  specimen  of  Utopian  etymologies  may  amuse 
some  readers :  — 


Utopia 

OUTC^TTOS 

-  nowhere. 

Achorians  - 

a-xH^poi 

-  of  no  country. 

Ademians  - 

a-5riiJ.os 

-  of  no  people. 

Tlie  invisible 

Anydcr  (a  river) 

a-vSwp 

-  waterless. 

city   is  on 

Amaurot  (a  city) 

a-fxavpos    - 

-  dark. 

the      river 
waterless. 

Hythloday 

Sai(i)-vd\os 

-  a  learner  o 

r  trifles,  &c. 

Some  are  intentionally  unmeaning,  and  others  are  taken  from 
little  known  language  in  order  to  perplex  pedants.  Josc])h  Sca- 
liger  represents  Utopia  as  a  word  not  formed  according  to  the 
analogy  which  regulates  the  formation  of  Greek  words. 

£  £   2 


420  LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE. 

things  pleased  our  ancestors,  and  it  were  well  for  us  if 
we  could  but  match  them ;  as  if  it  were  a  great  mis- 
chief that  any  should  be  found  wiser  than  his  ances- 
tors." "I  met,"  he  goes  on  to  say,  "these  proud, 
morose,  and  absurd  judgments,  particularly  once  when 
dining  with  Cardinal  Morton  at  London."  "There 
happened  to  be  at  table  an  English  lawyer,  who  run 
out  into  high  commendation  of  the  severe  execution 
of  justice  upon  thieves,  who  were  then  hanged  so  fast 
that  there  were  sometimes  twenty  hanging  upon  one 
gibbet,  and  added,  '  that  he  could  not  wonder  enough 
how  it  came  to  pass  that  there  were  so  many  thieves 
left  robbing  in  all  places.'"  Raphael  answered,  "that 
it  was  because  the  punishment  of  death  was  neither 
just  in  itself,  nor  good  for  the  public ;  for  as  the 
severity  was  too  great,  so  the  remedy  was  not  effectual. 
You,  as  well  as  other  nations,  like  bad  schoolmasters, 
chastise  their  scholars  because  they  have  not  the  skill 
to  teach  them."  Raphael  afterwards  more  specially 
ascribed  the  gangs  of  banditti  who,  after  the  sup- 
pression of  Perkin  Warbeck's  Cornish  revolt,  infested 
England,  to  two  causes  ;  of  which  the  first  was  the 
frequent  disbanding  of  the  idle  and  armed  retainers 
of  the  nobles,  who,  when  from  necessity  let  loose  from 
their  masters,  were  too  proud  for  industry,  and  had  no 
resource  but  rapine  ;  and  the  second  was  the  con- 
version of  much  corn  field  into  pasture  for  sheep, 
because  the  latter  had  become  more  profitable, — by 
which  base  motives  many  landholders  were  tempted 
to  expel  their  tenants  and  destroy  the  food  of  man. 
Raphael  suggested  the  substitution  of  hard  labour  for 
death ;  for  which  he  quoted  the  example  of  the  Ro- 
mans, and  of  an  imaginary  community  in  Persia. 
"  The  lawyer  answered,  '  that  it  could  never  be  so 
settled  in  England,  without  endangering  the  whole 
nation  by  it :'  he  shook  his  head,  and  made  some  gri- 
maces, and  then  held  his  peace,  and  all  the  company 
seemed  to  be  of  his  mind.  But  the  cardinal  said,  '  It 
is  not  easy  to  say  whether  this  plan  would  succeed  or 


LIFE    OF    SIR    THO^LIS    MORE.  421 

not,  since  no  trial  lias  been  made  of  it ;  but  it  mipfht 
be  tried  on  thieves  condemned  to  death,  and  adopted 
if  found  to  answer ;  and  vagabonds  might  be  treated 
in  the  same  way.'  When  the  cardinal  had  said  this, 
they  all  fell  to  commend  the  motion,  though  they  had 
despised  it  when  it  came  from  me.  They  more  par- 
ticularly commended  that  concerning  the  ragabonds, 
because  it  had  been  added  by  him."* 

From  some  parts  of  the  above  extracts  it  is  appa- 
rent that  More,  instead  of  having  anticipated  the  eco- 
nomical doctrines  of  Adam  Smith,  as  some  modern 
writers  have  fancied,  was  thoroughly  imbued  with  the 
prejudices  of  his  contemporaries  against  the  inclosure 
of  commons,  and  the  extension  of  pasture.  It  is, 
however,  observable,  that  he  is  perfectly  consistent 
with  himself,  and  follows  his  principles  through  all 
their  legitimate  consequences,  though  they  may  end 
in  doctrines  of  very  startling  sound.  Considering 
separate  property  as  always  productive  of  unequal 
distribution  of  the  fruits  of  labour,  and  regarding  that 
inequality  of  fortune  as  the  source  of  bodily  suffering 
to  those  who  labour,  and  of  mental  depravation  to 
those  who  are  not  compelled  to  toil  for  subsistence, 
Hythloday  is  made  to  say,  that  "  as  long  as  there  is 
any  property,  and  while  money  is  the  standard  of  all 
other  things,  he  cannot  expect  tliat  a  nation  can  be 
governed  either  justly  or  happily." f  More  himself 
objects  to  Hythloday :  "  It  seems  to  me  that  men 
cannot  live  conveniently  where  all  things  arc  common. 
How  can  there  bo  any  plenty  where  every  man  will 
excuse  himself  from  labouring  ?  for  as  the  hope  of  gain 
doth  not  excite  him,  so  the  confidence  that  he  has  in 
other  men's  industry  may  make  him  slothful.  And  if 
people  come  to  be  pinched  with  want,  and  yet  cannot 
dispose  of  any  thing  as  their  own,  what  can  follow  but 

•  Burnet's  translation,  p.  13.,  et  seq. 

•f  Ibid.  p.  57.  Happening  to  write  where  I  have  no  access  to 
the  original,  I  use  Burnet's  translation.  There  can  be  no  doubt 
of  Burnet's  learning  or  fidelity. 

£  E   3 


422  LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE. 

perpetual  sedition  and  bloodshed ;  especially  when  the 
reverence  and  authority  due  to  magistrates  fall  to  the 
ground ;  for  I  cannot  imagine  how  they  can  be  kept 
up  among  those  that  are  in  all  things  equal  to  one 
another."  These  remarks  do  in  reality  contain  the 
germs  of  unanswerable  objections  to  all  those  projects 
of  a  community  of  goods,  which  suppose  the  moral 
character  of  the  majority  of  mankind  to  continue,  at 
the  moment  of  their  adoption,  such  as  it  has  been 
heretofore  in  the  most  favourable  instances.  If,  in- 
deed, it  be  proposed  only  on  the  supposition,  that  by 
the  influence  of  laws,  or  by  the  agency  of  any  other 
cause,  mankind  in  general  are  rendered  more  honest, 
more  benevolent,  more  disinterested  than  they  have 
hitherto  been,  it  is  evident  that  they  will,  in  the  same 
proportion,  approach  to  a  practice  more  near  the  prin- 
ciple of  an  equality  and  a  community  of  all  advan- 
tages. The  hints  of  an  answer  to  Plato,  thrown  out 
by  More,  are  so  decisive,  that  it  is  not  easy  to  see  how 
he  left  this  speck  on  his  romance,  unless  we  may  be 
allowed  to  suspect  that  the  speculation  was  in  part 
suggested  as  a  convenient  cover  for  that  biting  satire 
on  the  sordid  and  rapacious  government  of  Henry 
VIL,  which  occupies  a  considerable  portion  of  Plyth- 
loday's  first  discourse.  It  may  also  be  supposed  that 
More,  not  anxious  to  save  visionary  reformers  from  a 
few  light  blows  in  an  attack  aimed  at  corrupt  and 
tyrannical  statesmen,  thinks  it  suitable  to  his  imagin- 
ary personage,  and  conducive  to  the  liveliness  of  his 
fiction,  to  represent  the  traveller  in  Utopia  as  touched 
by  one  of  the  most  alluring  and  delusive  of  political 
chimeras. 

In  Utopia,  farm-houses  were  built  over  the  whole 
country,  to  which  inhabitants  were  sent  in  rotation 
from  the  fifty-four  cities.  Every  family  had  forty 
men  and  women,  besides  two  slaves ;  a  master  and 
mistress  preside  over  every  family ;  and  over  thirty 
families  a  magistrate.  Every  year  twenty  of  the 
family  return  to  town,  being  two  years  in  the  coun- 


LIFE    OF    Sm   THOMAS   MORE.  423 

try ;  so  that  all  acquire  some  knowledge  of  agricul- 
ture, and  the  land  is  never  left  in  the  hands  of  persons 
quite  unacquainted  with  country  labours.  When  they 
want  any  thing  in  the  country  which  it  doth  not  pro- 
duce, they  fetch  it  from  the  city  without  carrying  any 
thing  in  exchange:  the  magistrates  take  care  to  see  it 
given  to  them.  The  people  of  the  towns  carry  their 
commodities  to  the  market  place,  Avhere  they  are  taken 
away  by  those  who  need  them.  The  chief  business  of 
the  magistrates  is  to  take  care  that  no  man  may  live 
idle,  and  that  every  one  should  labour  in  his  trade  for 
six  hours  of  every  twenty-four ;  —  a  portion  of  time, 
which,  according  to  Hythloday,  Avas  sufficient  for  an 
abundant  supply  of  all  the  necessaries  and  moderate 
accommodations  of  the  community  ;  and  which  is  not 
inadequate  where  all  labour,  and  none  apply  extreme 
labour  to  the  production  of  superfluities  to  gratify  a 
few,  —  where  there  are  no  idle  priests  or  idle  rich 
men,  —  and  where  women  of  all  sorts  perform  their 
light  allotment  of  labour.  To  women  all  domestic 
offices  which  did  not  degrade  or  displease  were  as- 
signed. Unhappily,  however,  the  iniquitous  and  un- 
righteous expedient  was  devised,  of  releasing  the  better 
order  of  females  from  offiensive  and  noisome  occupa- 
tions, by  throwing  them  upon  slaves.  Their  citizens 
were  forbidden  to  be  butchers,  "  because  they  think 
that  pity  and  good  nature,  which  are  among  the  best 
of  those  affi^ctions  that  are  born  within  us,  are  much 
impaired  by  the  butchering  of  animals;"  —  a  striking 
representation,  indeed,  of  the  depraving  eflects  of 
cruelty  to  animals,  but  abused  for  the  iniquitous  and 
cruel  purpose  of  training  inferiors  to  barbarous  habits, 
in  order  to  preserve  for  their  masters  the  exclusive 
benefit  of  a  discipline  of  humanity.  Slaves,  too,  were 
employed  in  hunting,  which  was  deemed  too  frivolous 
and  barbarous  an  amusement  for  citizens.  "  They 
look  upon  hunting  as  one  of  the  basest  parts  of  a 
butcher's  business,  for  they  account  it  more  decent  to 
kill   beasts  for    the  sustenance  of  mankind,   than  to 

£  £  4 


424  LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE. 

take  pleasure  in  seeing  a  weak,  harmless,  and  fearful 
hare  torn  in  pieces  by  a  strong,  fierce,  and  cruel  dog." 
An  excess  of  population  was  remedied  by  planting 
colonies  ;  a  defect,  by  the  recall  of  the  necessary  num- 
ber of  former  colonists ;  irregularities  of  distribution, 
by  transferring  the  superfluous  members  of  one  town- 
ship to  supply  the  vacancies  in  another.  They  did 
not  enslave  their  prisoners,  nor  the  children  of  their 
own  slaves.  In  those  maladies  where  there  is  no 
hope  of  cure  or  alleviation,  it  was  customary  for  the 
Utopian  priests  to  advise  the  patient  voluntarily  to 
shorten  his  useless  and  burthensome  life  by  opium  or 
some  equally  easy  means.  In  cases  of  suicide,  with- 
out permission  of  the  priests  and  the  senate,  the  party 
is  excluded  from  the  honours  of  a  decent  funeral. 
They  allow  divorce  in  cases  of  adultery,  and  incorri- 
gible perverseness.  Slavery  is  the  general  punish- 
ment of  the  highest  crime.  They  have  few  laws,  and 
no  lawyers.  "  Utopus,  the  founder  of  the  state,  made 
a  law  that  every  man  might  be  of  what  religion  he 
pleased,  and  might  endeavour  to  draw  others  to  it  by 
force  of  argument  and  by  amicable  and  modest  ways ; 
but  those  who  used  reproaches  or  violence  in  their  at- 
tempts were  to  be  condemned  to  banishment  or  sla- 
very." The  following  passage  is  so  remarkable,  and 
has  hitherto  been  so  little  considered  in  the  history  of 
toleration,  that  I  shall  insert  it  at  length :  —  "  This 
law  was  made  by  Utopus,  not  only  for  preserving  the 
public  peace,  which,  he  said,  suffered  much  by  daily 
contentions  and  irreconcileable  heat  in  these  matters, 
but  because  he  thought  the  interest  of  religion  itself 
required  it.  As  for  those  who  so  far  depart  from 
the  dignity  of  human  nature  as  to  think  that  our  souls 
died  with  our  bodies,  or  that  the  world  was  governed 
by  chance  without  a  wise  and  over-ruling  Providence, 
the  Utopians  never  raise  them  to  honours  or  offices, 
nor  employ  them  in  any  public  trust,  but  despise 
them  as  men  of  base  and  sordid  minds ;  yet  they  do 
not  punish  such  men,  because  they  lay  it  down  as  a 


LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE.  425 

ground,  that  a  man  cannot  make  himself  believe  any 
thing  he  pleases :  nor  do  they  drive  any  to  dissemble 
their  thoughts ;  so  that  men  are  not  tempted  to  lie  or 
disguise  their  opinions  among  them,  which  being  a 
sort  of  fraud,  is  abhorred  by  the  Utopians  : "  —  a  beau- 
tiful and  conclusive  reason,  Avhich,  when  it  was  used 
for  the  first  time,  as  it  probably  was  in  Utopia,  must 
have  been  drawn  from  so  deep  a  sense  of  the  value  of 
sincerity  as  of  itself  to  prove  that  he  who  thus  em- 
ployed it  was  sincere.  "  These  unbelievers  are  not 
allowed  to  argue  before  the  common  people  ;  but  they 
are  suffered  and  even  encouraged  to  dispute  in  private 
■Nvith  their  priests  and  other  grave  men,  being  confi- 
dent that  they  will  be  cured  of  these  mad  opinions  by 
having  reason  laid  before  them." 

It  may  be  doubted  whether  some  extravagancies  in 
other  parts  of  Utopia  were  not  introduced  to  cover 
such  passages  as  the  above,  by  enabling  the  writer  to 
call  the  whole  a  mere  sport  of  wit,  and  thus  exempt 
him  from  the  perilous  responsibility  of  having  main- 
tained such  doctrines  seriously.  In  other  cases,  he 
seems  diffidently  to  propose  opinions  to  which  he  was 
in  some  measure  inclined,  but  in  the  course  of  his 
statement  to  have  warmed  himself  into  an  indignation 
against  the  vices  and  corruptions  of  Europe,  which 
vents  itself  in  eloquent  invectives  not  unworthy  of 
Gulliver.  He  makes  Hythloday  at  last  declare,  — 
"  As  I  hope  for  mercy,  I  can  have  no  other  notion  of 
all  the  other  governments  that  I  see  or  know,  but 
that  they  are  a  conspiracy  of  tlie  richer  sort,  who,  on 
pretence  of  managing  the  public,  do  only  pursue  their 
private  ends,"  The  true  notion  of  Utopia  is,  however, 
that  it  intimates  a  variety  of  doctrines,  and  exhibits 
a  multiplicity  of  projects,  which  the  writer  regards 
witli  almost  every  possible  degree  of  approbation  and 
shade  of  assent ;  from  the  frontiers  of  serious  and 
entire  belief,  through  gradations  of  descending  plausi- 
bility, where  the  lowest  are  scarcely  more  than  the 
exercises  of  ingenuity,  and  to  which  some  wild  para- 


426  LIFE   OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE. 

doxes  are  appended,  either  as  a  veliicle,  or  as  an  easy 
means  (if  necessary)  of  disavowing  the  serious  inten- 
tion of  the  whole  of  this  Platonic  fiction. 

It  must  be  owned,  that  though  one  class  of  More's 
successors  was  more  susceptible  of  judicious  admira- 
tion of  the  beauties  of  Plato  and  Cicero  than  his  less 
perfectly  formed  taste  could  be,  and  though  another 
division  of  them  had  acquired  a  knowledge  of  the 
words  of  the  Greek  language,  and  perception  of  their 
force  and  distinctions,  for  the  attainment  of  which 
More  came  too  early  into  the  world,  yet  none  would 
have  been  so  heartily  welcomed  by  the  masters  of  the 
Lyceum  and  the  Academy,  as  qualified  to  take  a  part 
in  the  discussion  of  those  grave  and  lofty  themes 
which  were  freely  agitated  in  these  early  nurseries  of 
human  reason. 

The  date  of  the  publication  of  Utopia  would  mark, 
probably,  also  the  happiest  periods  of  its  author's  life. 
He  had  now  acquired  an  income  equivalent  to  four  or 
five  thousand  pounds  sterling  of  our  present  money, 
by  his  own  independent  industry  and  well-earned 
character.  He  had  leisure  for  the  cultivation  of  litera- 
ture, for  correspondence  with  his  friend  Erasmus,  for 
keeping  up  an  intercourse  with  European  men  of 
letters,  who  had  already  placed  him  in  their  first  class, 
and  for  the  composition  of  works,  from  which,  un- 
aware of  the  rapid  changes  which  were  to  ensue,  he 
probably  promised  himself  more  fame,  or  at  least  more 
popularity,  than  they  have  procured  for  him.  His 
affections  and  his  temper  continued  to  ensure  the 
happiness  of  his  home,  even  when  his  son  with  a  wife, 
three  daughters  with  their  husbands,  and  a  propor- 
tionable number  of  grandchildren,  dwelt  under  his 
patriarchal  roof. 

At  the  same  period  the  general  progress  of  Euro- 
pean literature,  and  the  cheerful  prospects  of  im- 
proved education  and  diff"used  knowledge,  had  filled 
the  minds  of  More  and  Erasmus  with  delight.  The 
expectation  of  an  age  of  pacific  improvement  seems 


i 


LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE.  427 

to  have  prevailed  among  studious  men  in  the  twenty 
years  which  elapsed  between  the  migration  of  classical 
learning  across  the  Alps,  and  the  rise  of  the  religious 
dissensions  stirred  up  by  the  preaching  of  Luther. 
"  I  foresee,"  says  Bishop  Tunstall,  writing  to  Erasmus, 
"  that  our  posterity  will  rival  the  ancients  in  every 
sort  of  study  :  and  if  they  be  not  ungrateful,  they  will 
pay  the  greatest  thanks  to  those  who  have  revived 
these  studies.  Go  on,  and  deserve  well  of  posterity, 
who  will  never  suiFer  the  name  of  Erasmus  to  perish."  * 
Erasmus  himself,  two  years  after,  expresses  the  same 
hopes,  which,  with  unwonted  courtesy,  he  chooses  to 
found  on  the  literary  character  of  the  conversation  in 
the  palace  of  Henry  VIII.  :  —  "  The  world  is  recover- 
ing the  use  of  its  senses,  like  one  awakened  from  the 
deepest  sleep  ;  and  yet  there  are  some  who  cling  to 
their  old  ignorance  with  their  hands  and  feet,  and 
wnll  not  suffer  themselves  to  be  torn  from  it."!  To 
"VYolsey  he  speaks  in  still  more  sanguine  language, 
mixed  with  the  like  personal  compliment: — "I  see 
another  golden  age  arising,  if  other  rulers  be  animated 
by  your  spirit.  Nor  will  posterity  be  ungrateful.  This 
new  felicity,  obtained  for  the  world  by  you,  will  be  com- 
memorated in  immortal  monuments  by  Grecian  and 
Roman  eloquence."!  Though  the  judgment  of  posterity 
in  favour  of  kings  and  cardinals  is  thus  confidently 
foretold,  the  writers  do  not  the  less  betray  their  hope 
of  a  better  age,  which  will  bestow  the  highest  honours 
on  the  promoters  of  knowledge.  A  better  age  was,  in 
truth,  to  come  ;  but  the  time  and  circumstances  of  its 
appearance  did  not  correspond  to  their  sanguine  hopes. 
An  age  of  iron  was  to  precede,  in  which  the  turbulence 
of  reformation  and  the  obstinacy  of  establishment  were 
to  meet  in  long  and  bloody  contest. 

When  the  storm  seemed  ready  to  break  out,  Eras- 

•  Erasmi  Opera,  vol.  iii.  p.  267.  t  Ibid.  p.  321. 

X  Ibid.  p.  591.  To  this  theory  neither  of  the  parties  about  to 
contend  couhl  have  assented ;  but  it  is  not  on  that  account  the 
less  likely  to  be  in  a  great  measure  true. 


428  LIFE   OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE. 

mus  thought  it  his  duty  to  incur  the  obloquy  which 
always  attends  mediatorial  counsels.  "  You  know  the 
character  of  the  Germans,  who  are  more  easily  led 
than  driven.  Great  danger  may  arise,  if  the  native 
ferocity  of  that  people  be  exasperated  by  untimely 
severities.  We  see  the  pertinacity  of  Bohemia  and 
the  neighbouring  provinces.  A  bloody  policy  has 
been  tried  without  success.  Other  remedies  must  be 
employed.  The  hatred  of  Rome  is  fixed  in  the  minds 
of  many  nations,  chiefly  from  the  rumours  believed 
of  the  dissolute  manners  of  that  city,  and  from  the 
immoralities  of  the  representatives  of  the  supreme 
pontiff  abroad."  The  uncharitableness,  the  turbulence, 
the  hatred,  the  bloodshed,  which  followed  the  preach- 
ing of  Luther,  closed  the  bright  visions  of  the  two 
illustrious  friends,  who  agreed  in  an  ardent  love  of 
peace,  though  not  without  a  difference  in  the  shades 
and  modifications  of  their  pacific  temper,  arising  from 
some  dissimilarity  of  original  character.  The  tender 
heart  of  More  clung  more  strongly  to  the  religion  of 
his  youth  ;  while  Erasmus  more  anxiously  apprehended 
the  disturbance  of  his  tastes  and  pursuits.  The  last 
betrays  in  some  of  his  writings  a  temper,  which  might 
lead  us  to  doubt,  whether  he  considered  the  portion 
of  truth  which  was  within  reach  of  his  friend  as  equi- 
valent to  the  evils  attendant  on  the  search. 

The  public  life  of  More  may  be  said  to  have  begun 
in  the  summer  of  1514*,  with  a  mission  to  Bruges,  in 
which  Tunstall,  then  Master  of  the  Rolls,  and  after- 
wards Bishop  of  Durham,  was  his  colleague,  and  of 
which  the  object  was  to  settle  some  particulars  re- 
lating to  the  commercial  intercourse  of  England  with 
the  Netherlands.  He  was  consoled  for  a  detention, 
unexpectedly  long,  by  the  company  of  Tunstall,  whom 
he  describes  f  as  one  not  only  fraught  with  all  learn- 
ing, and  severe  in  his  life  and  morals,  but  inferior  to 

*  Eecords  of  the  Common  Council  of  London, 
f  In  a  letter  to  Erasmus,  30tli  April,  1516. 


LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE.  429 

no  man  as  a  delightful  companion.  On  this  mission 
he  became  acquainted  with  several  of  the  friends  of 
Erasmus  in  Flanders,  where  he  evidently  saw  a  pro- 
gress in  the  accommodations  and  ornaments  of  life, 
to  which  he  had  been  hitherto  a  stranger.  With  Peter 
Giles  of  Antwerp,  to  whom  he  intrusted  the  publica- 
tion of  Utopia  by  a  prefatory  dedication,  he  continued 
to  be  closely  connected  during  the  lives  of  both.  In 
the  year  following,  he  was  again  sent  to  the  Nether- 
lands on  the  like  mission  ;  —  the  intricate  relations  of 
traffic  between  the  two  countries  havinir  jriven  rise 
to  a  succession  of  disputes,  in  which  the  determination 
of  one  case  generally  produced  new  complaints. 

In  the  beginning  of  1516  More  was  made  a  privy- 
councillor  ;  and  from  that  time  may  be  dated  the 
final  surrender  of  his  own  tastes  for  domestic  life, 
and  his  predilections  for  studious  leisure,  to  the  flat- 
tering importunities  of  Henry  VIII.  "  He  had  re- 
solved," says  Erasmus,  "  to  be  content  with  his  pri- 
vate station ;  but  having  gone  on  more  than  one 
mission  abroad,  the  King,  not  discouraged  by  the 
unusual  refusal  of  a  pension,  did  not  rest  till  he  had 
drawn  More  into  the  palace.  For  why  should  I  not 
say  ^  drawn ^  since  no  man  ever  laboured  with  more 
industry  for  admission  to  a  court,  than  More  to  avoid 
it  ?  The  King  would  scarcely  ever  suflTer  tlie  philo- 
sopher to  quit  him.  For  if  serious  affairs  were  to  be 
considered,  who  could  give  more  prudent  counsel  ?  or 
if  the  King's  mind  was  to  be  relaxed  by  cheerful  con- 
versation, where  could  there  be  a  more  facetious 
companion?"*  Roper,  who  was  an  eye-witness  of 
these  circumstances,  relates  them  with  an  agreeable 
simplicity.  "  So  from  time  to  time  was  he  by  the 
King  advanced,  continuing  in  his  singular  favour  and 
trusty  service  for  twenty  years.  A  good  part  thereof 
used  the  King,  upon  liolidays,  when  he  had  done  his 
own  devotion,  to  send  for  him ;  and  there,  sometimes 

*  Erasmus,  Op.  vol.  iii.  p.  47 G. 


430  LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE. 

in  matters  of  astronomy,  geometry,  divinity,  and 
such  other  faculties,  and  sometimes  on  his  worldly 
affairs,  to  converse  with  him.  And  other  whiles  in 
the  night  would  he  have  him  up  into  the  leads,  there 
to  consider  with  him  the  diversities,  courses,  motions, 
and  operations  of  the  stars  and  planets.  And  because 
he  was  of  a  pleasant  disposition,  it  pleased  the  King 
and  Queen  after  the  council  had  supped  at  the  time  of 
their  own  (i.  e.  the  royal)  supper,  to  call  for  him  to  be 
merry  with  them."  What  Roper  adds  could  not  have 
been  discovered  by  a  less  near  observer,  and  would 
scarcely  be  credited  upon  less  authority :  "  When 
them  he  perceived  so  much  in  his  talk  to  delight,  that 
he  could  not  once  in  a  month  get  leave  to  go  home  to 
his  wife  and  children  (whose  company  he  most  de- 
sired), he,  much  misliking  this  restraint  on  his  liberty, 
began  thereupon  somewhat  to  dissemble  his  nature, 
and  so  by  little  and  little  from  his  former  mirth  to 
disuse  himself,  that  he  was  of  them  from  thenceforth, 
at  such  seasons,  no  more  so  ordinarily  sent  for."*  To 
his  retirement  at  Chelsea,  however,  the  King  followed 
him.  "  He  used  of  a  particular  love  to  come  of  a 
sudden  to  Chelsea,  and  leaning  on  his  shoulder,  to  talk 
with  him  of  secret  counsel  in  his  garden,  yea,  and  to 
dine  with  him  upon  no  inviting."!  "^^^  taste  for 
More's  conversation,  and  the  eagerness  for  his  com- 
pany thus  displayed,  would  be  creditable  to  the  King, 
if  his  behaviour  in  after  time  had  not  converted  them 
into  the  strongest  proofs  of  utter  depravity.  Even  in 
Henry's  favour  there  was  somewhat  tyrannical ;  and 
his  very  friendship  was  dictatorial  and  self-willed. 
It  was  reserved  for  him  afterwards  to  exhibit  the 
singular,  and  perhaps  solitary,  example  of  a  man 
unsoftened  by  the  recollection  of  a  communion  of 
counsels,  of  studies,  of  amusements,  of  social  plea- 
sures with  such  a  companion.  In  the  moments  of 
Henry's  partiality,  the  sagacity  of  More  was  not  so 

*  Roper,  p.  12.  f  More,  p.  49. 


LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE.  431 

utterly  blinded  by  his  good-nature,  that  he  did  not 
in  some  degree  penetrate  into  the  true  character  of 
these  caresses  from  a  beast  of  prey.  "  When  I  saw 
the  King,"  says  his  son-in-law,  "  walking  with  him  for 
an  hour,  holding  his  arm  about  his  neck,  I  rejoiced, 
and  said  to  Sir  Thomas,  how  happy  he  was  whom  the 
King  had  so  familiarly  entertained,  as  I  had  never  seen 
him  to  do  to  any  one  before,  except  Cardinal  Wolsey. 
'  I  thank  our  Lord,  son,'  said  he,  '  I  find  his  grace  my 
very  good  lord  indeed,  and  I  believe  he  doth  as  sin- 
gularly favour  me  as  any  other  subject  within  this 
realm  :  liowbeit,  son  Roper,  I  may  tell  thee,  I  have  no 
cause  to  be  proud  thereof ;  for  if  my  head  would  win 
him  a  castle  in  France,  when  there  was  war  between 
us,  it  should  not  fail  to  go.'"* 

An  edition  of  Utopia  had  been  printed  incorrectly, 
perhaps  clandestinely,  at  Paris;  but,  in  1518,  Eras- 
mus's friend  and  printer,  Froben,  brought  out  a  cor- 
rect one  at  Basle,  the  publication  of  which  had  been 
retarded  by  the  expectation  of  a  preface  from  Budceus, 
the  restorer  of  Greek  learning  in  France,  and  pro- 
bably the  most  critical  scholar  in  that  province  of 
literature  on  the  north  of  the  Alps.  The  book  was 
received  with  loud  applause  by  the  scholars  of  France 
and  Germany.  Erasmus  in  confidence  observed  to  an 
intimate  friend,  that  the  second  book  having  been 
written  before  the  first,  had  occasioned  some  disorder 
and  inequality  of  style;  but  he  particularly  praised  its 
novelty  and  originality,  and  its  keen  satire  on  the 
vices  and  absurdities  of  Europe. 

So  important  was  the  office  of  under-sheriff  then 
held  to  be,  that  More  did  not  resign  it  till  the  23d  of 
July,  lol9f,  though  he  had  in  the  intermediate  time 
served  the  public  in  stations  of  trust  and  honour.     In 

*  Koper,  pp.  21,  22.  Compare  this  insight  into  Henry's  cha- 
racter with  a  dechiration  post  of  an  opposite  nature,  though  bor- 
rowed also  from  castles  and  to^\•ns,  made  hy  Charles  V.  when 
he  heard  of  More's  murder. 

f  Records  of  the  City  of  London. 


432  LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS    MORE. 

1521  he  was  knighted,  and  raised  to  the  affice  of 
treasurer  of  the  exchequer*,  a  station  in  some  re- 
spects the  same  with  that  of  chancellor  of  the  exche- 
quer, who  at  present  is  on  his  appointment  designated 
by  the  additional  name  of  under-treasurer.  It  is  a 
minute,  but  somewhat  remarkable,  stroke  in  the  pic- 
ture of  manners,  that  the  honour  of  knighthood  should 
be  spoken  of  by  Erasmus,  if  not  as  of  superior  dignity 
to  so  important  an  office,  at  least  as  observably  adding 
to  its  consequence. 

From  1517  to  1522,  More  was  employed  at  various 
times  at  Bruges,  in  missions  like  his  first  to  the 
Flemish  government,  or  at  Calais  in  watching  and 
conciliating  Francis  I,  with  whom  Henry  and  Wolsey 
long  thought  it  convenient  to  keep  up  friendly  appear- 
ances. To  trace  the  date  of  More's  reluctant  journeys 
in  the  course  of  the  uninteresting  attempts  of  poli- 
ticians on  both  sides  to  gain  or  dupe  each  other,  would 
be  vain,  without  some  outline  of  the  negotiations  in 
which  he  was  employed,  and  repulsive  to  most 
readers,  even  if  the  enquiry  promised  a  better  chance 
of  a  successful  result.  Wolsey  appears  to  have  occa- 
sionally appointed  commissioners  to  conduct  his  own 
aiFairs,  as  well  as  those  of  his  master,  at  Calais.  At 
this  place  they  could  receive  instructions  from  Lon- 
don with  the  greatest  rapidity,  and  it  was  easy  to 
manage  negotiations,  and  to  shift  them  speedily,  with 

*  Est  quod  Moro  gratuleris  ;  nam  Rex  hunc  nee  amhientem 
nee  Jlagitantem  munere  magnifico  honestavit,  addito  salario  ne- 
quaquam  penitendo :  est  enim  principi  suo  a  thesanris.  .  .  Nee 
hoc  contcntus,  equitis  aurati  dignitatem  adjecit.  —  Erasmus,  Op. 
vol.  iii.  p.  378. 

"  Then  died  Master  Weston,  treasurer  of  the  exchequer,  whose 
office  the  King  of  his  own  accord,  without  any  asking,  freely  gave 
unto  Sir  Thomas  More."  — Roper,  13. 

The  minute  verbal  coincidences  which  often  occur  between 
Erasmus  and  Roper,  cannot  be  explained  otherwise  than  by  the 
probable  supposition,  that  copies  or  originals  of  the  correspond- 
ence between  More  and  Erasmus  were  preserved  by  Roper  after 
the  death  of  the  former. 


LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS    MORE.  433 

Brussels  and  Paris  ;  with  the  additional  advantage, 
that  it  might  be  somewhat  easier  to  conceal  from  each 
one  in  turn  of  those  jealous  courts  the  secret  dealings 
of  his  employers  with  the  other,  than  if  the  despatches 
had  been  sent  directly  from  London  to  the  place  of 
their  destination.  Of  this  commission  More  was  once 
at  least  an  unwilling  member.  Erasmus,  in  a  letter  to 
Peter  Giles  on  the  loth  of  November,  1518,  says, 
*'  More  is  still  at  Calais,  of  which  he  is  heartily  tired. 
He  lives  with  great  expense,  and  is  engaged  in  busi- 
ness most  odious  to  him.  Such  are  the  rewards  re- 
served by  kings  for  their  favourites."*  Two  years 
afterwards.  More  writes  more  bitterly  to  Erasmus,  of 
his  own  residence  and  occupations.  "  I  approve  your 
determination  never  to  be  involved  in  the  busy  trifling 
of  princes  ;  from  which,  as  you  love  me,  you  must 
wish  that  I  were  extricated.  You  cannot  imagine 
how  painfully  I  feel  myself  plunged  in  them,  for 
nothing;  can  be  more  odious  to  me  than  this  legation. 
I  am  here  banished  to  a  petty  sea-port,  of  which  the 
air  and  the  earth  are  equally  disagreeable  to  me. 
Abhorrent  as  I  am  by  nature  from  strife,  even  when 
it  is  profitable,  as  at  home,  you  may  judge  how  weari- 
some it  is  here  where  it  is  attended  by  loss."  f  On 
one  of  his  missions,  —  that  of  the  summer  1519,  More 
had  harboured  hopes  of  being  consoled,  by  seeing 
Erasmus  at  Calais,  for  all  the  tiresome  pageantry, 
selfish  scuffles,  and  paltry  frauds,  which  he  was  to 
witness  at  the  congress  of  kings ;{:,  where  he  could 
find  little  to  alter  those  splenetic  views  of  courts, 
which  his  disappointed  benevolence  breathed  in  Utopia. 
Wolsey  twice  visited  Calais  during  the  residence  of 
More,  who  appears  to  have  then  had  a  weight  in 
council,  and  a  place  in  the  royal  favour,  second  only 
to  those  of  the  cardinal. 


*  Op  vol.  iii.  p.  357.  t  Ibid.  p.  5S9. 

J  Iltid.     From  the  dates  of  the  following  letters  of  Erusn.us, 
it  appears  that  tlio  hopes  of  More  were  disappointed. 
VOL.  I.  F  F 


434  LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE. 

In  1523*,  a  parliament  was  held  in  the  middle  of 
April,  at  Westminster,  in  which  More  took  a  part  so 
honourable  to  his  memory,  that  though  it  has  been 
already  mentioned  when  touching  on  his  eloquence,  it 
cannot  be  so  shortly  passed  over  here,  because  it  was 
one  of  those  signal  acts  of  his  life  which  bears  on  it 
the  stamp  of  his  character.  Sir  John,  his  father,  in 
spite  of  very  advanced  age,  had  been  named  at  the 
beginning  of  this  parliament  one  of  "  the  triers  of  pe- 
titions from  Gascony," — an  office  of  which  the  duties 
had  become  nominal,  but  which  still  retained  its  an- 
cient dignity ;  while  of  the  House  of  Commons,  Sir 
Thomas  himself  was  chosen  to  be  the  speaker.  He 
excused  himself,  as  usual,  on  the  ground  of  alleged 
disability ;  but  his  excuse  was  justly  pronounced  to  be 
inadmissible.  The  Journals  of  Parliament  are  lost,  or 
at  least  have  not  been  printed ;  and  the  Rolls  exhibit 
only  a  short  account  of  what  occurred,  which  is  ne- 
cessarily an  unsatisfactory  substitute  for  the  deficient 
Journals.  But  as  the  matter  personally  concerns  Sir 
Thomas  More,  and  as  the  account  of  it  given  by  his 
son-in-law,  then  an  inmate  in  his  house,  agrees  with 
the  abridgment  of  the  Rolls,  as  far  as  the  latter  goes, 
it  has  been  thought  proper  in  this  place  to  insert  the 
very  words  of  Roper's  narrative.  It  may  be  reason- 
ably conjectured  that  the  speeches  of  More  were  copied 
from  his  manuscript  by  his  pious  son-in-law. f — "  Sith 
I  perceive,  most  redoubted  sovereign,  that  it  standeth 
not  with  your  pleasure  to  reform  this  election,  and 
cause  it  to  be  changed,  but  have,  by  the  mouth  of  the 
most  reverend  father  in  God  the  legate,  your  high- 

*  14  Hen.  VIII. 

f  This  conjecture  is  almost  raised  above  that  name  by  what 
precedes.  "  Sir  Thomas  More  made  an  oration,  not  now  extant, 
to  the  king's  highness,  for  his  discharge  from  the  speal?:ership, 
whereunto  when  the  King  would  not  consent,  the  speaker  spoke 
to  his  grace  in  form  following."  —  It  cannot  be  doubted,  without 
injustice  to  the  honest  and  amiable  biographer,  that  he  would 
have  his  readers  to  understand  that  the  original  of  the  speeches, 
Avhich  actually  follow,  were  extant  in  his  hands. 


LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE.  435 

ness's  chancellor,  thereunto  given  your  most  royal 
assent,  and  have  of  your  benignity  determined  far 
above  that  I  may  bear  for  this  office  to  repute  me  meet, 
rather  than  that  you  should  seem  to  impute  unto  your 
commons  that  they  had  unmeetly  chosen,  I  am  ready 
obediently  to  conform  myself  to  the  accomplishment 
of  your  highness's  pleasure  and  commandment.  In 
most  humble  wise  I  beseech  your  majesty,  that  I  may 
make  to  you  two  lowly  petitions;  —  the  one  privately 
concerning  myself,  the  other  the  whole  assembly  of 
your  commons'  house.  For  myself,  most  gracious 
sovereign,  that  if  it  mishap  me  in  any  thing  hereafter, 
that  is,  on  the  behalf  of  your  commons  in  your  high 
presence  to  be  declared,  to  mistake  my  message,  and 
in  lack  of  good  utterance  by  my  misrehearsal,  to  pre- 
vent or  impair  their  prudent  instructions,  that  it  may 
then  like  your  most  noble  majesty  to  give  me  leave  to 
repair  again  unto  the  commons'  house,  and  to  confer 
with  them  and  take  their  advice  what  things  I  shall 
on  their  behalf  utter  and  speak  before  your  royal 
grace. 

"  Mine  other  humble  request,  most  excellent  prince, 
is  this :  forasmuch  as  there  be  of  your  commons  here 
by  your  high  commandment  assembled  for  your  parlia- 
ment, a  great  number  which  are  after  the  accustomed 
manner  appointed  in  the  commons'  house  to  heal  and 
advise  of  the  common  affairs  among  themselves  apart ; 
and  albeit,  most  dear  liege  lord,  that  according  to 
your  most  prudent  advice^  by  your  honourable  writs 
every  where  declared,  there  hath  been  as  due  diligence 
used  in  sending  up  to  your  highness's  court  of  parlia- 
ment the  most  discreet  persons  out  of  every  quarter, 
that  men  could  esteem  meet  thereunto  ;  whereby  it  is 
not  to  be  doubted  but  that  there  is  a  very  substantial 
assembly  of  right  wise,  meet,  and  politi([ue  persons  : 
yet,  most  victorious  prince,  sith  among  so  many  wise 
men,  neither  is  every  man  wise  alike,  nor  among  so 
many  alike  well  witted,  every  man  well  spoken  ;  and 
it  often  happeth  that  as  much  folly  is  uttered  with 

r  F  2 


436  LIFE    OF    SIR   THOIMAS   MORE. 

painted  polisliecl  speech,  so  many  boisterous  and  rude 
"in  language  give  right  substantial  counsel ;  and  sith 
also  in  matters  of  great  importance,  the  mind  is  often 
so  occupied  in  the  matter,  that  a  man  rather  studieth 
what  to  say  than  how ;  by  reason  whereof  the  wisest 
man  and  best  spoken  in  a  whole  country  fortuneth, 
when  his  mind  is  fervent  in  the  matter,  somewhat  to 
speak  in  such  wise  as  he  would  afterwards  wish  to 
have  been  uttered  otherwise,  and  yet  no  worse  will 
had  when  he  spake  it  than  he  had  when  he  would  so 
gladly  change  it ;  therefore,  most  gracious  sovereign, 
considering  that  in  your  high  court  of  parliament  is 
nothing  treated  but  matter  of  weight  and  importance 
concerning  your  realm,  and  your  own  royal  estate,  it 
Could  not  fail  to  put  to  silence  from  the  giving  of  their 
advice  and  counsel  many  of  your  discreet  commons, 
to  the  great  hindrance  of  your  common  affairs,  unless 
every  one  of  your  commons  were  utterly  discharged 
from  all  doubt  and  fear  how  any  thing  that  it  should 
happen  them  to  speak,  should  happen  of  your  highness 
to  be  taken.  And  in  this  point,  though  your  well- 
known  and  proved  benignity  putteth  every  man  in 
good  hope  ;  yet  such  is  the  weight  of  the  matter,  such 
is  the  reverend  dread  that  the  timorous  hearts  of  your 
natural  subjects  conceive  towards  your  highness,  our 
most  redoubted  king  and  undoubted  sovereign,  that 
they  cannot  in  this  point  find  themselves  satisfied,  ex- 
cept your  gracious  bounty  therein  declared  put  away 
the  scruple  of  their  timorous  minds,  and  put  them  out 
of  doubt.  It  may  therefore  like  your  most  abundant 
grace  to  give  to  all  your  commons  here  assembled 
your  most  gracious  licence  and  pardon  freely,  without 
doubt  of  your  dreadful  displeasure,  every  man  to  dis- 
charge his  conscience,  and  boldly  in  every  thing  inci- 
dent among  us  to  declare  his  advice  ;  and  whatsoever 
happeneth  any  man  to  say,  that  it  may  like  your 
noble  majesty,  of  your  inestimable  goodness,  to  take  all 
in  good  part,  interpreting  every  man's  words,  how 
uncunningly  soev^  they  may  be  couched,  to  proceed 


LIFE   OF    Sm    TH0:ilA3   MORE.  437 

jet  of  good  zeal  towards  the  profit  of  your  realm,  and 
honour  of  your  royal  person ;  and  the  prosperous  es- 
tate and  preservation  whereof,  most  excellent  sovereign, 
is  the  thing  which  we  all,  your  majesty's  humble 
loving  subjects,  according  to  the  most  bounden  duty 
of  our  natural  allegiance,  most  highly  desire  and  pray 
for." 

This  speech,  the  substance  of  which  is  in  the  Rolls 
denominated  "  the  protest,"  is  conformable  to  former 
usage,  and  the  model  of  speeches  made  since  that  time 
in  the  like  circumstances.  Wliat  follows  is  more 
singular,  and  not  easily  reconciled  with  the  intimate 
connection  then  subsisting  between  the  speaker  and 
the  government,  especially  with  the  cardinal :  — 

"  At  this  parliament  Cardinal  Wolsey  found  himself 
much  aggrieved  with  the  burgesses  thereof;  for  that 
nothing  was  so  soon  done  or  spoken  therein,  but  that 
it  was  immediately  blown  abroad  in  every  alehouse.  It 
fortuned  at  that  parliament  a  very  great  subsidy  to  be 
demanded,  which  the  cardinal,  fearing  would  not  pass 
the  commons'  house,  determined,  for  the  furtherance 
thereof,  to  be  there  present  himself.  Before  where 
coming,  after  long  debating  there,  whether  it  was 
better  but  with  a  few  of  his  lords,  as  the  most  opinion 
of  the  house  was,  or  with  his  whole  train  royally  to 
receive  him;  'Masters,'  quoth  sir  Thomas  More,  'for- 
asmuch as  my  lord  cardinal  lately,  ye  wot  well,  laid  to 
our  charge  the  lightness  of  our  tongues  lor  things 
uttered  out  of  this  house,  it  shall  not  in  ray  mind  be 
amiss  to  receive  him  with  all  his  pomp,  with  his  maces, 
his  pillars,  his  poll-axes,  his  hat,  and  great  seal  too ; 
to  the  intent,  that  if  he  find  the  like  fault  with  us 
hereafter,  we  may  be  the  bolder  from  ourselves  to  lay 
the  blame  on  those  whom  his  grace  bringeth  here  with 
him.'  ^\^lereunto  the  house  wholly  agreeing,  he  was 
received  accordingly.  Where  after  he  had  by  a  solemn 
oration,  by  many  reasons,  proved  how  necessary  it  was 
the  demand  then  moved  to  be  granted,  and  farther 
showed  that  less  would  not  serve   to   maintain   the 

rr  3 


438  LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE. 

prince's  purpose ;  he  seeing  the  company  sitting  still 
silent,  and  thereunto  nothing  answering,  and,  contrary 
to  his  expectation,  showing  in  themselves  towards  his 
request  no  towardness  of  inclination,  said  to  them, 
'  Masters,  you  have  many  wise  and  learned  men 
amongst  you,  and  sith  I  am  from  the  king's  own  per- 
son sent  hitherto  unto  you,  to  the  preservation  of  your- 
selves and  of  all  the  realm,  I  think  it  meet  you  give 
me  some  reasonable  answer.'  Whereat  every  man 
holding  his  peace,  then  began  to  speak  to  one  Master 
Marney,  afterwards  Lord  Marney ;  '  How  say  you,' 
quoth  he,  '  Master  Marney  ? '  who  making  him  no 
answer  neither,  he  severally  asked  the  same  question 
of  divers  others,  accounted  the  wisest  of  the  com- 
pany ;  to  whom,  when  none  of  them  all  would  give 
so  much  as  one  word,  being  agreed  before,  as  the 
custom  was,  to  give  answer  by  their  speaker ;  '  Mas- 
ters,' quoth  the  cardinal,  '  unless  it  be  the  manner  of 
your  house,  as  of  likelihood  it  is,  by  the  mouth  of 
your  speaker,  whom  you  have  chosen  for  trusty  and 
wise  (as  indeed  he  is),  in  such  cases  to  utter  your 
minds,  here  is,  without  doubt,  a  marvellously  obstinate 
silence  : '  and  thereupon  he  required  answer  of  Mr. 
Speaker ;  who  first  reverently  on  his  knees,  excusing 
the  silence  of  the  house,  abashed  at  the  presence  of  so 
noble  a  personage,  able  to  amaze  the  wisest  and  best 
learned  in  a  realm,  and  then,  by  many  probable  argu- 
ments, proving  that  for  them  to  make  answer  was 
neither  expedient  nor  agreeable  with  the  ancient 
liberty  of  the  house,  in  conclusion  for  himself,  showed, 
that  though  they  had  all  with  their  voices  trusted  him, 
yet  except  every  one  of  them  could  put  into  his  own 
head  their  several  wits,  he  alone  in  so  weighty  a  matter 
was  unmeet  to  make  his  grace  answer.  Whereupon 
the  cardinal,  displeased  with  Sir  Thomas  More,  that 
had  not  in  this  parliament  in  all  things  satisfied  his 
desire,  suddenly  arose  and  departed."* 

*  Koper,  pp.  13—21. 


LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE.  439 

This  passage  deserves  attention  as  a  specimen  of 
the  mild  independence  and  quiet  steadiness  of  Ivlore's 
character,  and  also  as  a  proof  how  he  perceived  the 
strength  which  the  commons  had  gained  by  the  power 
of  the  purse,  which  was  daily  and  silently  growing, 
and  which  could  be  disturbed  only  by  such  an  unsea- 
sonable show  of  an  immature  authority  as  might  too 
soon  have  roused  the  crown  to  resistance.  It  is  one 
among  many  instances  of  the  progress  of  the  influence 
of  parliaments  in  the  midst  of  their  apparently  indis- 
criminate submission,  and  it  affords  a  pregnant  proof 
that  we  must  not  estimate  the  spirit  of  our  forefathers 
by  the  humility  of  their  demeanour. 

The  reader  will  observe  how  nearly  the  example  of 
More  was  followed  by  a  succeeding  speaker,  compara- 
tively of  no  distinction,  but  in  circumstances  far  more 
memorable,  in  the  answer  of  Lenthall  to  Charles  I., 
when  that  unfortunate  prince  came  to  the  House  of 
Commons  to  arrest  the  five  members  of  that  assembly, 
who  had  incurred  his  displeasure. 

There  is  another  point  from  which  these  early 
reports  of  parliamentary  speeches  may  be  viewed,  and 
from  which  it  is  curious  to  consider  them.  They 
belong  to  that  critical  moment  in  the  history  of  our 
language  when  it  was  forming  a  prose  style,  —  a  writ- 
ten diction  adapted  to  grave  and  important  occasions. 
In  the  passage  just  quoted,  there  are  about  twenty 
words  and  phrases  (some  of  them,  it  is  true,  used 
more  than  once)  which  would  not  now  be  employed. 
Some  of  them  are  shades,  such  as  "  lowly,"  where  we 
say  "  humble  ; "  "  company,"  for  "  a  house  of  parlia- 
ment ; "  "  simpleness,"  for  "  simplicity,"  with  a  deeper 
tinge  of  folly  than  the  single  word  now  ever  has ; 
*'  right,"  then  used  as  a  general  sign  of  the  superlative, 
where  we  say  "  very,"  or  "  most ;  "  "  reverend,"  for 
"  reverent,"  or  "  reverential."  "  K  it  mishap  me,"  if 
it  should  so  happen,  "  to  mishap  in  me,"  "  it  often 
happeth,"  are  instances  of  the  employment  of  the  vei  b 
"  hap"  for  happen,  or  of  a  conjugation  of  the  former, 

F  F  4 


440  LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS    MQttE. 

which  has  fallen  into  irrecoverable  disuse.  A  phrase 
was  then  so  frequent  as  to  become,  indeed,  the  estab7 
lished  mode  of  commencing  an  address  to  a  superior, 
in  which  the  old  usage  was,  "  It  may  like,"  or  "  It  may 
please  your  Majesty,"  where  modern  language  abso- 
lutely requires  us  to  say,  "  May  it  please,"  by  a  slight 
inversion  of  the  words  retained,  but  with  the  exclu- 
sion of  the  word  "  like  "  in  that  combination.  "Let" 
is  used  for  "  hinder,"  as  is  still  the  case  in  some  public 
forms,  and  in  the  excellent  version  of  the  Scriptures. 
"  Well  witted  "  is  a  happy  phrase  lost  to  the  language 
except  on  familiar  occasions  with  a  smile,  or  by  a 
master  in  the  art  of  combining  words.  Perhaps  "  en- 
able me,"  for  "  give  me  by  your  countenance  the 
ability  which  I  have  not,"  is  the  only  phrase  which 
savours  of  awkwardness  or  of  harsh  effect  in  the  ex- 
cellent speaker.  The  whole  passage  is  a  remarkable 
example  of  the  almost  imperceptible  differences  which 
•mark  various  stages  in  the  progress  of  a  language. 
In  several  of  the  above  instances  we  see  a  sort  of 
contest  for  admission  into  the  language  between  two 
phrases  extremely  similar,  and  yet  a  victory  which 
excluded  one  of  them  as  rigidly  as  if  the  distinction 
had  been  very  wide.  Every  case  where  subsequent 
usage  has  altered  or  rejected  words  and  phrases  must 
be  regarded  as  a  sort  of  national  verdict,  which  is 
necessarily  followed  by  their  disfranchisement.  They 
have  no  longer  any  claim  on  the  English  language, 
other  than  that  which  may  be  possessed  by  all  alien 
suppliants  for  naturalisation.  Such  examples  should 
warn  a  writer,  desirous  to  be  lastingly  read,  of  the 
danger  which  attends  new  words,  or  very  new  accep- 
tations of  those  which  are  established,  or  even  of 
attempts  to  revive  those  which  are  altogether  super- 
annuated. They  show  in  the  clearest  light  that  the 
learned  and  the  vulgar  parts  of  language,  being  those 
which  are  most  liable  to  change,  are  unfit  materials 
for  a  durable  style  ;  and  they  teach  us  to  look  to  those 
words  which  form  the  far  larger  portion  of  ancient  as 


LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE.  441 

well  as  of  modern  language,  —  that  "well  of  English 
undefiled,"  which  has  been  happily  resorted  to  from 
More  to  Cowper,  as  being  proved  by  the  unimpeach- 
able evidence  of  that  long  usage  to  fit  the  rest  of  our 
speech  more  perfectly,  and  to  flow  more  easily,  clearly, 
and  sweetly,  in  our  composition. 

Erasmus  tells  us  that  Wolsey  rather  feared  than 
liked  More.  AVlien  the  short  session  of  parliament 
was  closed,  Wolsey,  in  his  gallery  of  Whitehall,  said 
to  More,  "I  wish  to  God  you  had  been  at  Rome, 
Mr.  More,  when  I  made  you  speaker."  —  "  Your  Grace 
not  offended,  so  would  I  too,  my  lord,"  replied  Sir 
Thomas ;  "  for  then  should  I  have  seen  the  place  I 
long  have  desired  to  visit."  *  More  turned  the  con- 
versation by  saying  that  he  liked  this  gallery  better 
than  the  cardinal's  at  Hampton  Court.  But  the  latter 
secretly  brooded  over  his  revenge,  Avhich  he  after- 
wards tried  to  gratify  by  banishing  More,  under  the 
name  of  an  ambassador  to  Spain.  He  tried  to  effect 
his  purpose  by  magnifying  the  learning  and  wisdom  of 
More,  his  peculiar  fitness  for  a  conciliatory  adjust- 
ment of  the  difficult  matters  which  were  at  issue  be- 
tween the  King  and  his  kinsman  the  Emperor.  The 
King  suggested  this  proposal  to  More,  who,  consider- 
ing the  unsuitableness  of  the  Spanish  climate  to  his 
constitution,  and  perhaps  suspecting  Wolsey  of  sinister 
purposes,  earnestly  besought  Henry  not  to  send  his 
faithful  servant  to  his  grave.  The  King,  who  also 
suspected  Wolsey  of  being  actuated  by  jealousy, 
answered,  "  It  is  not  our  meaning,  Mr.  More,  to  do 
you  any  hurt ;  but  to  do  you  good  we  should  be  glad  ; 
we  shall  therefore  employ  you  otherwise."!  More 
could  boast  that  he  had  never  asked  the  King  the 
value  of  a  penny  for  himself,  when  on  the  2oth  of 
December,  1525  1,  the  king  appointed  him  chancellor 

*  Roper,  p.  20.  f  More,  p.  53.  with  a  small  variation. 

J  Such  is  the  information  which  I  have  received  from  the  re- 
cords in  the  Tower.  The  accurate  writer  of  the  article  on  More, 
in  the  Biographia  Britauuica,  is  perplexed  by  tiudiug  Sir  Thomas 


442  LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS    MORE. 

of  the  duchy  of  Lancaster,  as  successor  of  Sir  Anthony 
Wingfield  —  an  office  of  dignity  and  profit,  which  he 
continued  to  hold  for  nearly  three  years. 

In  the  summer  of  1527,  Wolsey  went  on  his  mag- 
nificent embassy  to  France,  in  which  More  and  other 
officers  of  state  were  joined  with  him.  On  this 
occasion  the  main,  though  secret  object  of  Henry  was 
to  pave  the  way  for  a  divorce  from  Queen  Catharine, 
with  a  view  to  a  marriage  with  Anne  Boleyn,  a 
young  beauty  who  had  been  bred  at  the  French 
court,  where  her  father.  Sir  Thomas  Boleyn,  created 
Earl  of  Wiltshire,  had  been  repeatedly  ambassador. 

On  their  journey  to  the  coast,  Wolsey  sounded 
Archbishop  Wareham  and  Bishop  Fisher  on  the  im- 
portant secret  with  which  he  was  intrusted.  Ware- 
ham,  an  estimable  and  amiable  prelate,  appears  to 
have  intimated  that  his  opinion  was  favourable  to 
Henry's  pursuit  of  a  divorce.*  Fisher,  Bishop  of 
Rochester,  an  aged  and  upright  man,  promised  Wol- 
sey that  he  would  do  or  say  nothing  in  the  matter, 
nor  in  any  way  counsel  the  Queen,  except  what  stood 
with  Henry's  pleasure  ;  "  for,"  said  he,  "  though  she 
be  queen  of  this  realm,  yet  he  acknowledgeth  you  to 
be  his  sovereign  lordf:"  as  if  the  rank  or  authority 
of  the   parties   had   any   concern   with  the   duty  of 

More,  chancellor  of  the  duchy,  as  one  of  the  negotiators  of  a 
treaty  in  August,  1526,  which  seems  to  the  writer  in  the  Biogra- 
phia  to  bring  down  the  death  of  Wingfield  to  near  that  time  ;  he 
being  on  all  sides  acknowledged  to  be  More's  immediate  prede- 
cessor. But  there  is  no  difficulty,  unless  we  needlessly  assume 
that  the  negotiation  with  which  Wingfield  was  concerned  related 
to  the  same  treaty  which  More  concluded.  On  the  contrary,  the 
first  appears  to  have  been  a  treaty  with  Spain  ;  the  last  a  treaty 
with  France. 

*  State  Papers,  Hen.  VIII.  vol.  i.  p.  196.  Wolsey's  words 
are, — "  He  expressly  affirmed,  that  however  displeasantly  the 
queen  took  this  matter,  yet  the  truth  and  judgment  of  the  laAV 
must  take  place.  I  have  instructed  him  how  he  shall  order  him- 
self if  the  queen  shall  demand  his  counsel,  which  he  promises  me 
to  follow." 

t  State  Papers,  Hen.  VHI.  vol.  f.  p.  168. 


LIFE    OF    SIR    TH05L\S    MORE.  443 

honestly  giving  counsel  where  it  is  given  at  all.  The 
overbearing  deportment  of  Wolsey  probably  over- 
awed both  these  good  prelates:  he  understood  them 
in  the  manner  most  suitable  to  his  purpose :  and 
confident  that  he  should  by  some  means  finally  gain 
them,  he  probably  coloured  very  highly  their  language 
in  his  communication  to  Henry,  whom  he  had  himself 
just  before  displeased  by  unexpected  scruples. 

It  was  generally  believed  by  their  contemporaries 
that  More  and  Fisher  had  corrected  the  manuscript 
of  Henry's  answer  to  Luther ;  while  it  is  certain  that 
the  propensity  of  the  king  to  theological  discussions 
constituted  one  of  the  links  of  his  intimacy  with  the 
former.  As  More's  writings  against  the  Lutherans 
were  of  great  note  in  his  own  time,  and  as  they  were 
probably  those  of  his  works  on  which  he  exerted  the 
most  acuteness,  and  employed  most  knowledge,  it 
would  be  wrong  to  omit  all  mention  of  them  in  an 
estimate  of  his  mind,  or  as  proofs  of  his  disposition. 
They  contain  many  anecdotes  which  throw  consider- 
able light  on  our  ecclesiastical  history  during  the  first 
prosecution  of  the  Protestants,  or,  as  they  Avcre  then 
called,  Lutherans,  under  the  old  statutes  against 
Lollards,  during  the  period  which  extended  from 
1520  to  1532  ;  and  they  do  not  seem  to  have  been 
enough  examined  with  that  view  by  the  historians  of 
the  Church. 

Legal  responsibility,  in  a  well-constituted  common- 
wealth, reaches  to  all  the  avowed  advisers  of  the 
government,  and  to  all  those  whose  concurrence  is 
necessary  to  the  validity  of  its  commands  :  but  moral 
responsibility  is  usually  or  chiefly  confined  to  the 
actual  authors  of  each  particular  measure.  It  is  true, 
that  when  a  government  has  attained  a  state  of  more 
than  usual  regularity,  the  feelings  of  mankind  be- 
come so  well  adapted  to  it,  that  men  are  held  to  be 
even  morally  responsible  for  sanctioning,  by  a  base 
continuance  in  office,  the  bad  policy  which  may  be 
known  not  to  originate  with  themselves.     These  re- 


444  LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE. 

finements  were,  however,  unknown  in  the  reign  of 
Henry  YIII.  The  administration  was  then  carried 
on  under  the  personal  direction  of  the  monarch,  who 
generally  admitted  one  confidential  servant  only  into 
his  most  secret  counsels ;  and  all  the  other  ministers, 
whatever  their  rank  might  be,  commonly  confined 
their  attention  to  the  business  of  their  own  ofiices,  or 
to  the  execution  of  special  commands  intrusted  to 
them.  This  system  was  probably  carried  to  its  ut- 
most height  under  so  self-willed  a  prince  as  Henry, 
and  by  so  domineering  a  minister  as  Wolsey.  Although 
there  can  be  no  doubt  that  More,  as  a  privy-councillor, 
attended  and  co-operated  at  the  examination  of  the 
unfortunate  Lutherans,  his  conduct  in  that  respect 
was  regarded  by  his  contemporaries  as  little  more 
than  the  enforcement  of  orders  which  he  could  not 
lawfully  decline  to  obey.  The  opinion  that  a  minister 
who  disapproves  measures  which  he  cannot  control  is 
bound  to  resign  his  office,  is  of  very  modern  origin, 
and  still  not  universally  entertained,  especially  if 
fidelity  to  a  party  be  not  called  in  to  its  aid.  In  the 
time  of  Henry,  he  was  not  thought  even  entitled  to 
resign.  The  fact  of  More's  attendance,  indeed,  ap- 
pears in  his  controversial  writings,  especially  by  his 
answer  to  Tyndal.  It  is  not  equitable  to  treat  him  as 
effectively  and  morally,  as  well  as  legally,  answerable 
for  measures  of  state  till  the  removal  of  Wolsey,  and 
the  delivery  of  the  great  seal  into  his  own  hands. 
The  injustice  of  considering  these  transactions  in  any 
other  light  appears  from  the  circumstance,  that  though 
he  was  joined  with  Wolsey  in  the  splendid  embassy  to 
France  in  1527,  there  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that 
More  was  intrusted  with  the  secret  and  main  purpose 
of  the  embassy,  —  that  of  facilitating  a  divorce  and  a 
second  marriage.  His  responsibility,  in  its  most  im- 
portant and  only  practical  part,  must  be  contracted  to 
the  short  time  \yrhich  extends  from  the  25th  of  October, 
1529,  when  he  was  appointed  chancellor,  to  the  16th 
of  May,  1532,.  when  he  was  removed  from  his  office. 


LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE.  445 

not  much  more  than  two  years  and  a  half.*  Even 
after  confining  it  to  these  narrow  limits,  it  must  be 
remembered,  that  he  found  the  system  of  persecution 
established,  and  its  machinery  in  a  state  of  activity. 
The  prelates,  like  most  other  prelates  in  Europe,  did 
their  part  in  convicting  the  Protestants  of  Lollardy 
in  the  spiritual  courts,  which  were  the  competent  tri- 
bunals for  trying  that  offence.  Our  means  of  deter- 
mining what  executions  for  Lollardy  (if  any)  took 
place  when  More  had  a  decisive  ascendant  in  the  royal 
councils,  are  very  imperfect.  If  it  were  certain  that 
he  was  the  adviser  of  such  executions,  it  would  only 
follow  that  he  executed  one  part  of  the  criminal  law, 
without  approving  it,  as  succeeding  judges  have  cer- 
tainly done  in  cases  of  fraud  and  theft ;  —  where  they 
no  more  approved  the  punishment  of  death  than  the 
author  of  Utopia  might  have  done  in  its  application 
to  heresy.  If  the  progress  of  civilisation  be  not 
checked,  we  seem  not  far  from  the  period  when  such 
capital  punishments  will  appear  as  little  consistent 
with  humanity,  and  indeed  with  justice,  as  the  burn- 
ing of  heretics  now  appears  to  us.  More  himself 
deprecates  an  appeal  to  his  writings  and  those  of  his 
friend  Erasmus,  innocently  intended  by  themselves, 
but  abused  by  incendiaries  to  inflame  the  fury  of  the 
ignorant  multitude.f  "  Men,"  says  he  (alluding  evi- 
dently to  Utopia),  "  cannot  almost  now  speak  of  such 
things  insomuch  as  in  play,  but  that  such  evil  hearers 
were  a  great  deal  the  worse."  "  I  would  not  now  trans- 
late the  Moria  of  Erasmus,  —  even  some  works  that 
I  myself  have  written  ere  this,  into  English,  albeit 
there  be  none  harm  therein."  It  is  evident  that  the 
two  philosophers  deeply  felt  the  injustice  of  citing 
against  them,  as  a  proof  of  inconsistency,  that  they 
departed  from  the  pleasantries,  the  gay  dreams,  —  at 
most  the  fond  speculations,  of  their  early  days,  when 

*  Records  in  the  Tower. 

t  More's  Ans-vver  to  Tyudal,  part  i.  p.  128.    (Printed  bv  John 
liastell,  1532.) 


446  LIFE    OF    SIR    THOMAS    MORE. 

they  saw  these  harmless  visions  turned  into  weapons 
of  destruction  in  the  blood-stained  hands  of  the  boors 
of  Saxony,  and  of  the  ferocious  fanatics  of  Munster. 
The  virtuous  love  of  peace  might  be  more  prevalent 
in  More ;  the  epicurean  desire  of  personal  ease  pre- 
dominated more  in  Erasmus  :  but  both  were,  doubt- 
less, from  commendable  or  excusable  causes,  incensed 
against  those  odious  disciples,  who  now,  "with  no 
friendly  voice,"  invoked  their  authority  against  them- 
selves. 

If,  however,  we  examine  the  question  on  the  grounds 
of  positive  testimony,  it  is  impossible  to  appeal  to  a 
witness  of  more  weight  than  Erasmus.  "  It  is,"  said 
he,  "  a  sufficient  proof  of  liis  clemency,  that  while  he 
was  chancellor,  no  man  was  put  to  death  for  these 
pestilent  dogmas,  while  so  many  have  suffered  capital 
punishment  for  them  in  France,  in  Germany,  and  in 
the  Netherlands."*  The  only  charges  against  him 
on  this  subject,  which  are  adverted  to  by  himself, 
relate  to  minor  severities :  but  as  these  may  be  marks 
of  more  cruelty  than  the  infliction  of  death,  let  us 
listen  on  this  subject  to  the  words  of  the  merciful 
and  righteous  man  | :  "  Divers  of  them  have  said  that 
of  such  as  were  in  my  house  when  I  was  chancellor, 
I  used  to  examine  them  with  torments,  causing  them 
to  be  bound  to  a  tree  in  my  garden,  and  there  piteously 
beaten.  Except  their  sure  keeping,  I  never  did  else 
cause  any  such  thing  to  be  done  unto  any  of  the 
heretics  in  all  my  life,  except  only  twain :  one  was  a 
child  and  a  servant  of  mine  in  mine  own  house,  whom 
his  father,  ere  he  came  to  me,  had  nursed  up  in  such 
matters,  and  set  him  to  attend  upon  George  Jay. 
This  Jay  did  teach  the  child  his  ungracious  heresy 
against  the  blessed  sacrament  of  the  altar;  which 
heresy  this  child  in  my  house  began  to  teach  another 
child.  And  upon  that  point  I  caused  a  servant  of 
mine  to  strip  him  like  a  child  before  mine  household, 

*  Op.  vol.  iii.  p.  1811.  t  Move's  Apology,  cliap.  36. 


LIFE    OF   SIR    THOMAS   MORE.  447 

for  amendment  of  himself  and  ensample  of  others." 
"  Another  was  one  who,  after  he  had  fallen  into  these 
frantic  heresies,  soon  fell  into  plain  open  frensy : 
albeit  that  he  had  been  in  Bedlam,  and  afterwards  by 
beating  and  correction  gathered  his  remembrance  *  ; 
being  therefore  set  at  liberty,  his  old  frensies  fell  again 
into  his  head.  Being  informed  of  his  relapse,  I  caused 
him  to  be  taken  by  the  constables  and  bounden  to  a 
tree  in  the  street  before  the  whole  town,  and  there 
striped  him  till  he  waxed  weary.  Verily,  God  be 
thanked,  I  hear  no  harm  of  him  now.  And  of  all  who 
ever  came  in  my  hand  for  heresy^  as  help  me  God, 
else  had  never  any  of  them  any  stripe  or  stroke  given 
them,  so  much  as  ajillip  in  the  forehead^  ^ 

This  sta,tement,  so  minute,  so  capable  of  easy  con- 
futation, if  in  any  part  false,  was  made  public  after 
his  fall  from  power,  when  he  was  surrounded  by 
enemies,  and  could  have  no  friends  but  the  generous. 
It  relates  circumstances  of  public  notoriety,  or  at 
least  so  known  to  all  his  own  household  (from  which 
it  appears  that  Protestant  servants  were  not  excluded), 
Avhich  it  would  have  been  rather  a  proof  of  insanity 
than  of  imprudence  to  have  alleged  in  his  defence,  if 
they  had  not  been  indisputably  and  coniessedly  true. 
Wherever  he  touches  this  subject  there  is  a  quietness, 
and  a  circumstantiality,  which  are  among  the  least 
equivocal  marks  of  a  man  who  adheres  to  the  temper 
most  favourable  to  the  truth,  because  he  is  conscious 
that  the  truth  is  favourable  to  him.J    Without  rely- 

*  Such  was  then  the  mode  of  curing  insanity  ! 

t  Apology,  chap.  36. 

X  There  is  a  remarkable  instance  of  tliis  observation  in  More's 
Dialogue,  book  iii.  chap,  xvi.,  where  he  tells,  with  some  prolixity, 
the  story  of  Richard  Dunn,  who  was  found  dead,  and  hanging 
in  the  Lollard's  Tower.  The  only  ]iart  taken  by  More  in  this 
aftair  was  his  share  as  a  privy  councillor  in  the  inquiry,  whether 
Dunn  hanged  himself,  or  was  murdered  and  then  hanged  up  by 
the  Bishop  of  London's  chancellor.  Tlie  evidence  to  i)rove  that 
the  death  could  not  be  suicide,  was  as  absurd  as  the  story  of  ihe 
bishop's  chancellor  was  improbable.     He  was  aftenvards,  how- 


448  LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE. 

ing,  therefore,  on  the  character  of  More  for  probity  ■ 
and  veracity  (which  it  is  derogatory  to  him  to  employ 
for  such  a  purpose),  the  evidence  of  his  humanity 
having  prevailed  over  his  opinion  decisively  outweighs 
the  little  positive  testimony  produced  against  him. 
The  charge  against  More  rests  originally  on  Fox 
alone,  from  whom  it  is  copied  by  Burnet,  and  with 
considerable  hesitation  by  Strype.  But  the  honest 
martyrologist  writes  too  inaccurately  to  be  a  weighty 
witness  in  this  case ;  for  he  tells  us  that  Firth  was  put 
to  death  in  June  1533,  and  yet  imputes  it  to  More, 
who  had  resigned  his  office  a  year  before.  In  the 
case  of  James  Baynham,  he  only  says  that  the  accused 
was  chained  to  two  posts  for  two  nights  in  More's 
house,  at  some  unspecified  distance  of  time  before  his 
execution. 

Burnet,  in  mentioning  the  extreme  toleration  taught 
in  Utopia,  truly  observes,  that  if  More  had  died  at 
the  time  of  its  publication,  "  he  would  have  been 
reckoned  among  those  who  only  wanted  a  fit  oppor- 
tunity of  declaring  themselves  openly  for  a  reforma- 
tion."* The  same  sincere  and  upright  writer  was 
too  zealous  for  an  historian,  when  he  added:  — 
"  When  More  was  raised  to  the  chief  post  in  the 
ministry,  he  became  a  persecutor  even  to  blood,  and 
defiled  those  hands  which  were  never  polluted  with 
bribes."  In  excuse  for  the  total  silence  of  the  honest 
bishop  respecting  the  opposite  testimony  of  More 
himself  (of  whom  Burnet  speaks  even  then  with  re- 
verence), the  reader  must  be  reminded  that  the  third 
volume  of  the  History  of  the  Reformation  was  written 
in  the  old  age  of  the  Bishop  of  Salisbury,  thirty  years 
after  those  more  laborious  researches,  which  attended 
the  composition  of  the  two  former  volumes,  and  under 
the  influence  of  those  animosities  against  the  Roman 

ever,  convicted  by  a  jury,  but  pardoned,  it  should  seem  rightly, 
by  the  King. 

*  History  of  the   Reformation  (Lond.  1820),  vol.  iii.  part  i. 

p.  45. 


LIFE    OF    SIR    THOMAS   MORE.  449 

Catholic  Church,  which  the  conspiracy  of  Queen 
Anne's  last  ministers  against  the  Revolution  had  re- 
vived with  more  than  their  youthful  vigour.  It  must 
be  owned  that  he  from  the  commencement  acquiesced 
too  lightly  in  the  allegations  of  Fox ;  and  it  is  certain, 
that  if  the  fact,  however  deplorable,  had  been  better 
proved,  yet  in  that  age  it  would  not  have  warranted 
such  asperity  of  condemnation.  * 

The  date  of  the  work  in  which  More  denies  the 
charge,  and  challenges  his  accusers  to  produce  their 
proofs,  would  have  roused  the  attention  of  Burnet  if 
he  had  read  it.  This  book,  entitled  "  The  Apology  of 
Sir  Thomas  More,"  was  written  in  1533,  "  after  he  had 
given  over  the  office  of  lord  chancellor,"  and  when  he 
was  in  daily  expectation  of  being  committed  to  the 
Tower.  Defenceless  and  obnoxious  as  he  then  was, 
no  man  was  hardy  enough  to  dispute  his  truth.  Fox 
was  the  first  Avho,  thirty  years  afterwards,  ventured 
to  oppose  it  in  a  vague  statement,  which  we  know  to 
be  in  some  respects  inaccurate ;  and  on  this  slender 
authority  alone  has  rested  sucli  an  imputation  on  the 
veracity  of  the  most  sincere  of  men.  Wlioever  reads 
the  Apology  will  perceive,  from  the  melancholy  inge- 
nuousness wnth  which  he  speaks  of  the  growing  un- 
popularity of  his  religion  in  the  court  and  country, 
that  he  could  not  have  hoped  to  escape  exposure,  if  it 
had  been  then  possible  to  question  his  declaration.f 

*  The  change  of  opinion  in  Erasmus,  and  the  less  remarkable 
change  of  More  in  the  same  respect,  is  somewliat  excused  by  the 
excesses  and  disorders  which  followed  the  Reformation.  "  To 
believe,"  says  Bayle,  "  that  the  church  required  reformation,  and 
to  approve  a  particular  manner  of  reforming  it,  are  two  very  dif- 
ferent things.  To  blame  the  opponents  of  reformation,  and  to 
disapprove  the  conduct  of  the  refonners,  are  tsvo  things  A-ery 
compatible.  A  man  may  then  imitate  Erasmus,  without  being 
an  aj>ostate  or  a  traitor."  —  Dictionar}-,  art.  Csistellan.  Thc!<e 
are  i)Ositions  too  reasonable  to  be  practically  believed,  at  the 
time  when  their  adoption  would  be  most  useful. 

■f  In  the  Apology,  More  states  that  four-tenths  of  the  people 
VOL.  L  G  G 


4o0  LIFE    OF    SIR    THOMAS    MORE. 

On  the  whole,  then,  More  must  not  only  be  ab- 
solved ;  but  when  we  consider  that  his  administration 
occurred  during  a  hot  paroxysm  of  persecution,  —  that 
intolerance  was  the  creed  of  his  age, —  that  he  himself, 
in  his  days  of  compliance  and  ambition,  had  been 
drawn  over  to  it  as  a  theory,  —  that  he  was  filled  with 
alarm  and  horror  by  the  excesses  of  the  heretical  in- 
surgents in  Germany,  we  must  pronounce  him,  by 
his  abstinence  from  any  practical  share  in  it,  to  have 
given  stronger  proofs  than  any  other  man,  of  a  repug- 
nance to  that  execrable  practice,  founded  on  the  un- 
shaken basis  of  his  natural  humanity. 

The  fourth  book  of  the  Dialogue*^  exhibits  a  lively 
picture  of  the  horror  with  which  the  excesses  of  the 
Reformers  had  filled  the  mind  of  this  good  man,  whose 
justice  and  even  humanity  were  disturbed,  so  far  at 
least  as  to  betray  him  into  a  bitterness  of  language 
and  harshness  of  opinion  foreign  from  his  general 
temper.  The  events  themselves  are,  it  must  be  owned, 
sufficient  to  provoke  the  meekest,  —  to  appal  the 
firmest  of  men.  "  The  temporal  lords,"  he  tells  us, 
"  were  glad  to  hear  the  cry  against  the  clergy ;  the 
people  were  glad  to  hear  it  against  the  clergy  and  the 
lords  too.  They  rebelled  first  against  an  abbot,  and 
after  against  a  bishop,  wherewith  the  temporal  lords 
had  good  game  and  sport,  and  dissembled  the  matter, 
gaping  after  the  lands  of  the  spirituality,  till  they  had 
almost  played,  as  ^sop  telleth  of  the  dog,  which,  to 
snatch  at  the  shadow  of  the  cheese  in  the  water,  let 
fall  and  lost  the  cheese  which  he  bare  in  his  mouth. 
The  uplandish  Lutherans  set  upon  the  temporal  lords : 
they  slew  70,000  Lutherans  in  one  summer,  and  sub- 
dued the  remnant  in  that  part  of  Almayne  into  a  right 

were  unable  to  read  ;  —  probably  an  overrated  estimate  of  the 
number  of  readers. 

*  Dialogue  of  Sir  Thomas  More,  touching  the  pestilent  sect  of 
Luther,  composed  and  published  when  he  was  chancellor  of  the 
duchy  of  Lancaster,  "  but  newly  oversene  by  the  said  Sir  T.  More, 
chancellor  of  England,"  1530. 


LIFE    OF    SIR    THOMAS    MORE.  451 

miserable  servitude.  Of  this  sect  was  the  great  part* 
of  those  ungracious  people  which  of  late  entered  Rome 
with  the  Duke  of  Bourbon."  The  description  of  the 
horrible  crimes  perpetrated  on  that  occasion  is  so  dis- 
gusting in  some  of  its  particulars,  as  to  be  unfit  for 
the  decency  of  historical  narrative.  One  specimen  will 
suffice,  which,  considering  the  constant  intercourse 
between  England  and  Rome,  is  not  unlikely  to  have 
been  related  to  More  by  an  eye-witness :  — "  Some 
took  children  and  bound  them  to  torches,  and  broujrht 
them  gradually  nearer  to  the  fire  to  be  roasted,  while 
the  fathers  and  mothers  were  looking  on,  and  then 
began  to  speak  of  a  price  for  the  sparing  of  the  child- 
ren asking  first  100  ducats,  then  fifty,  then  forty, 
then  at  last  offered  to  take  twain :  after  they  had 
taken  the  last  ducat  from  the  father,  then  would  they 
let  the  child  roast  to  death."  This  wickedness  (More 
contended)  was  the  fruit  of  Luther's  doctrine  of  pre- 
destination ;  "  for  what  good  deed  can  a  man  study  or 
labour  to  do.  who  believeth  Luther,  tliat  he  hath  no 
free  will  of  his  own."  f  '•  If  the  world  were  not  near 
an  end,  and  the  fervour  of  devotion  almost  quenched, 
it  could  never  have  come  to  pass  that  so  many  people 
should  fall  to  the  following  of  so  beastly  a  sect."  He 
urges  at  very  great  length,  and  with  great  ability,  the 
tendency  of  belief  in  destiny  to  overthrow  morality  ; 
and  represents  it  as  an  opinion  of  which,  on  account 
of  its  incompatibility  with  the  order  of  society,  the 
civil  magistrate  may  lawfully  punish  the  promulga- 
tion ;  little  aware  how  decisively  experience  was  about 
to  confute  such  reasoning,  however  specious,  by  the 
examples  of  nations,  who,  though  their  whole  religion 
was  founded  on  predestination,  were,  nevertheless,  the 
most  moral  portion  of  mankind.^  "  The  fear,"  says 
More,  "  of  outrages  and  mischiefs  to  follow  upon  such 


*  A  violent  exaggeration.  f  Dialogue,  book  iv.  chap.  8. 

X  SwitZL-rland,  I luUantl,  Scotland,  English  Puritans,  New  Eng- 
land, French  Huguenots,  &c. 

G  G  2 


452  LIFE   OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE. 

heresies,  with  the  proof  that  men  have  had  in  some 
countries  thereof,  have  been  the  cause  that  princes 
and  people  have  been  constrained  to  punish  heresies 
by  a  terrible  death  ;  whereas  else  more  easy  ways  had 
been  taken  with  them.  If  the  heretics  had  never 
begun  with  violence,  good  Christian  people  had  per- 
adventure  used  less  violence  against  them :  while  they 
forbare  violence,  there  was  little  violence  done  unto 
them.  '  By  my  soul,'  quoth  your  friend  *  '  I  would  all 
the  world  were  agreed  to  take  violence  and  compulsion 
away.'  '  And  sooth,'  said  I,  '  if  it  were  so,  yet  would 
God  be  too  strong  for  his  enemies.'"  In  answer,  he 
faintly  attempts  to  distinguish  the  case  of  Pagans, 
who  may  be  tolerated,  in  order  to  induce  them  to 
tolerate  Christians,  from  that  of  heretics,  from  which 
no  such  advantage  was  to  be  obtained  in  exchange  ;  — 
a  distinction,  however,  which  disappeared  as  soon  as 
the  supposed  heretics  acquired  supreme  power.  At 
last,  however,  he  concludes  with  a  sentence  which 
sufficiently  intimates  the  inclination  of  his  judgment, 
and  shows  that  his  ancient  opinions  still  prevailed  in 
the  midst  of  fear  and  abhorrence.  "  And  yet,  as  I 
said  in  the  beginning,  never  were  they  by  any  temporal 
punishment  of  their  bodies  any  thing  sharply  handled 
till  they  began  to  be  violent  themselves."  It  is  evident 
that  his  mind  misgave  him  when  he  appeared  to  assent 
to  intolerance  as  a  principle  ;  for  otherwise  there  was 
no  reason  for  repeatedly  relying  on  the  defence  of 
society  against  aggression  as  its  justification.  His 
silence,  however,  respecting  the  notorious  fact,  that 
Luther  strained  every  nerve  to  suppress  the  German 
insurgents,  can  never  be  excused  by  the  sophistry 
which  ascribes  to  all  reformers  the  evil  done  by  those 
who  abuse  their  names.  It  was  too  much  to  say  that 
Luther  should  not  have  uttered  what  he  believed  to 
be  sacred  and  necessary  truth,  because  evil-doers  took 

*  This  wish  is  put  into  the  mouth  of  the  adverse  speaker  in 
the  Dialogue. 


LIFE    OF    SIR   TH03IAS    MORE.  453 

occasion  from  it  to  screen  their  bad  deeds.  This  con- 
troversial artifice,  however  grossly  unjust,  is  yet  so 
jDlausible  and  popular,  that  perhaps  no  polemic  ever 
had  virtue  enough  to  resist  the  temptation  of  employ- 
ing it.  What  other  controversialist  can  be  named, 
who,  having  the  power  to  crush  antagonists  whom  he 
viewed  as  the  disturbers  of  the  quiet  of  his  own  de- 
clining age,  —  the  destroyers  of  all  the  hopes  which 
he  had  cherished  for  mankind,  contented  himself  with 
severity  of  language  (for  which  he  humbly  excuses 
himself  in  his  Apology  —  in  some  measure  a  dying 
work),  and  with  one  instance  of  unfair  inference 
against  opponents  who  were  too  zealous  to  be  mer- 
ciful. 

In  the  autumn  of  1529  More,  on  his  return  from 
Cambray,  where  he  had  been  once  more  joined  in 
commission  with  his  friend  Tunstall  as  ambassador  to 
the  emperor,  paid  a  visit  to  the  court,  then  at  Wood- 
stock. A  letter  written  from  thence  to  his  wife,  on 
occasion  of  a  mishap  at  home,  is  here  inserted  as 
affording  a  little  glimpse  into  the  management  of  his 
most  homely  concerns,  and  especially  as  a  specimei)  of 
his  regard  for  a  deserving  woman,  who  was,  probably, 
too  "  coarsely  kind  "  even  to  have  inspired  him  with 
tenderness.  * 

"  jMistress  Alyce,  in  my  most  harty  will,  I  recomend 
me  to  you.  And  whereas  I  am  enfourmed  by  my  son 
Heron  of  the  loss  of  our  barnes  and  our  neighbours 
also,  w*  all  the  corne  that  was  therein,  albeit  (saving 
God's  pleasure)  it  is  gret  pitie  of  so  much  good  corne 
lost,  yet  sith  it  hath  liked  hym  to  send  us  such  a 
chance,  we  must  saie  bounden,  not  only  to  be  content, 
but  also  to  be  glad  of  his  visitation.  He  sent  us  all 
that  we  have  lost :  and  sith  he  hath  by  such  a  chance 

*  In  Morc's  metrical  inscription  for  his  own  monu  uent,  wc 
find  a  just,  but  long  and  somewhat  laboured,  commendation  of 
iUice,  which  in  tenderness  is  outweighed  by  one  word  applied 
to  the  long-dei)arted  companion  of  his  youth. 

"  Chara  Thomas  jacet  hie  Joanna  uxorcula  Mori." 
G  G  3 


4o4  LIFE    OF    SIR    THOMAS    MORE. 

taken  it  away  againe,  his  pleasure  be  fulfilled.  Let 
us  never  grudge  thereat,  but  take  it  in  good  worth, 
and  hartely  thank  him,  as  well  for  adversitie,  as  for 
prosperitie.  And  par  adventure  we  have  more  cause 
to  thank  him  for  our  losse,  than  for  our  winning :  for 
his  wisedom  better  seeth  what  is  good  for  us  then  we 
do  ourselves.  Therefore  I  pray  you  be  of  good  cheere, 
and  take  all  the  howsold  with  you  to  church,  and 
there  thank  God  both  for  that  he  hath  given  us,  and 
for  that  he  has  left  us,  which  if  it  please  hym,  he  can 
increase  when  he  will.  And  if  it  please  him  to  leave 
us  yet  lesse,  at  hys  pleasure  be  it.  I  praye  you  to 
make  some  good  ensearche  what  my  poor  neighbours 
have  loste,  and  bidde  them  take  no  thought  therefore, 
and  if  I  shold  not  leave  myself  a  spone,  there  shall  no 
poore  neighbour  of  mine  bere  no  losse  by  any  chance 
happened  in  my  house.  I  pray  you  be  with  my  chil- 
dren and  household  mery  in  God.  And  devise  some- 
what with  your  friends,  what  way  wer  best  to  take, 
for  provision  to  be  made  for  corne  for  our  household 
and  for  sede  thys  yere  coming,  if  ye  thinke  it  good  that 
we  keepe  the  ground  still  in  our  handes.  And  whether 
ye  think  it  good  y*  we  so  shall  do  or  not,  yet  I  think 
it  were  not  best  sodenlye  thus  to  leave  it  all  up,  and 
to  put  away  our  folk  of  our  farme,  till  we  have  some- 
what advised  us  thereon.  Howbeit  if  we  have  more 
nowe  than  ye  shall  neede,  and  which  can  get  the  other 
maisters,  ye  may  then  discharge  us  of  them.  But  I 
would  not  that  any  man  wer  sodenly  sent  away  he 
wote  nere  wether.  At  my  coming  hither,  I  perceived 
none  other,  but  that  I  shold  tary  still  with  the  kinges 
grace.  But  now  I  shall  (I  think),  because  of  this 
chance,  get  leave  this  next  weke  to  come  home  and 
se  you ;  and  then  shall  we  further  devise  together 
uppon  all  thinges,  what  order  shall  be  best  to  take : 
and  thus  as  hartely  fare  you  well  with  all  our  children 
as  you  can  wishe.  At  Woodstok  the  thirde  daye  of 
Septembre,  by  the  hand  of 

"  Your  loving  husband, 

"  Thomas  More.  Kniarht." 


LIFE    OF    Sm   THOMAS    3I0IIE.  45o 

A  new  scene  now  opened  on  More,  of  whose  private 
life  the  above  simple  letter  enables  us  to  form  no 
inadequate  or  unpleasing  estimate.  On  the  25th  of 
October  1529,  sixteen  days  after  the  commencement 
of  the  prosecution  against  Wolsej,  the  King,  by  de- 
livering the  great  seal  to  him  at  Greenwich,  con- 
stituted him  lord  chancellor,  —  the  highest  dignity  of 
the  state  and  of  the  law,  and  which  had  previously 
been  generally  held  by  ecclesiastics.*  A  very  sum- 
mary account  of  the  nature  of  this  high  office  may 
perhaps  prevent  some  confusion  respecting  it  among 
those  who  know  it  only  in  its  present  state.  The 
office  of  chancellor  was  known  to  all  the  European 
governments,  who  borrowed  it,  like  many  other  in- 
stitutions, from  the  usage  of  the  vanquished  Koraans. 
In  those  of  England  and  France,  which  most  re- 
sembled each  other,  and  whose  history  is  most  familiar 
and  most  interesting  to  us  f,  the  chancellor,  whose 
office  had  been  a  conspicuous  dignity  under  the  Lower 
Empire,  was  originally  a  secretary  who  derived  a 
great  part  of  his  consequence  from  the  trust  of  hold- 
ing the  king's  seal,  the  substitute  for  subscription  under 
illiterate  monarchs,  and  the  stamp  of  legal  authority 
in  more  cultivated  times.  From  his  constant  access 
to  the  king,  he  acquired  every  Avhere  some  autho- 
rity in  the  cases  which  were  the  frequent  subject 
of  complaint  to  the  crown.  In  France,  he  became  a 
minister  of  state  with  a  peculiar  superintendence  over 
courts  of  justice,  and  some  remains  of  a  special  juris- 
diction, which  continued  till  the  downfall  of  the 
French  monarchy.  In  the  English  chancellor  were 
gradually  united  the  characters  of  a  legal  magistrate 
and  a  political  adviser ;  and  since  that  time  the  office 
has  been  confined  to  lawyers  in  eminent  practice. 
He  has  been  presumed  to  have  a  due  reverence  for  the 

*  Thorpe,  in  1371,  and  Knivet,  in  1372,  seem  to  be  the  last 
exceptions. 

t  Ducanjre  and  Spelman,  voce  Cancellaiius,  who  give  us  the 
series  of  Chancellors  in  both  countries, 

G  G  4 


456  LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE. 

law,  as  well  as  a  familiar  acquaintance  with  it ;  and  his 
presence  and  weight  in  the  counsels  of  a  free  common- 
wealth have  been  regarded  as  links  which  bind  the 
state  to  the  law. 

One  of  the  earliest  branches  of  the  chancellor's 
duties  seems,  by  slow  degrees,  to  have  enlarged  his 
jurisdiction  to  the  extent  which  it  reached  in  mo- 
dern times.*  From  the  chancery  issued  those  writs 
which  first  put  the  machinery  of  law  in  motion  in 
every  case  where  legal  redress  existed.  In  that  court 
new  writs  were  framed,  when  it  was  fit  to  adapt  the 
proceedings  to  the  circumstances  of  a  new  case.  When 
a  case  arose  in  which  it  appeared  that  the  course  and 
order  of  the  common  law  could  hardly  be  adapted,  by 
any  variation  in  the  forms  of  procedure,  to  the  demands 
of  justice,  the  complaint  was  laid,  by  the  chancellor, 
before  the  king,  who  commanded  it  to  be  considered 
in  council,  —  a  practise  which,  by  degrees,  led  to 
a  reference  to  that  magistrate  by  himself  To  facili- 
tate an  equitable  determination  in  such  complaints, 
the  writ  was  devised  called  the  writ  of  ^^  subpcena,^^ 
commanding  the  person  complained  of  to  appear  be- 
fore the  chancellor,  and  to  answer  the  complaint.  The 
essential  words  of  a  petition  for  this  writ,  which  in 
process  of  time  has  become  of  so  great  importance, 
were  in  the  reign  of  Richard  III.  as  follows  :  "  Please 
it  therefore,  your  lordship,  —  considering  that  your 
orator  has  no  remedy  by  course  of  the  common  law,  — 
to  grant  a  writ  subpoena,  commanding  T.  Coke  to  ap- 
pear in  chancery,  at  a  certain  day,  and  upon  a  certain 
pain  to  be  limited  by  you,  and  then  to  do  what  by  this 
court  shall  be  thought  reasonable  and  according  to 
conscience."  The  form  had  not  been  materially  dif- 
ferent in  the  earliest  instances,  which  appear  to  have 
occurred  from  1380  to  1400.  It  would  seem  that 
this    device   was  not   first   employed,    as   has   been 

*  "  Non  facile  est  digito  monstrare  quibus  gradibus,  sed  con- 
jecturam  accipe."  —  Spehnan,  voce  Cancellarius. 


LIFE    OF    SIR   THOilAS    MORE.  457 

hitherto  supposed  *,  to  enforce  the  observance  of  the 
duties  of  trustees  who  held  lands,  but  for  cases  of  an 
extremely  different  nature,  where  the  failure  of  justice 
in  the  ordinary  courts  might  ensue,  not  from  any  de- 
fect in  the  common  law,  but  from  the  power  of  tur- 
bulent barons,  who  in  their  acts  of  outrage  and  lawless 
violence,  bade  defiance  to  all  ordinary  jurisdiction. 
In  some  of  the  earliest  cases  we  find  a  statement  of 
the  age  and  poverty  of  the  complainant,  and  of  the 
power,  and  even  learning,  of  the  supposed  wrong- 
doer ;  —  topics  addressed  to  compassion,  or  at  most  to 
equity  in  a  very  loose  and  popular  sense  of  the  word, 

which  throw  light  on  the  original  nature  of  this  high 
«...  ^  ^ 

jurisdiction.'!'     It  is  apparent,  from  the  earliest  cases 

in  the  reign  of  Richard  IL,  that  the  occasional  relief 
proceeding  frem  mixed  feelings  of  pity  and  of  regard 
to  substantial  justice,  not  effectually  aided  by  law,  or 
overpowered  by  tyrannical  violence,  had  then  grown 
into  a  regular  system,  and  was  subject  to  rules  re- 
sembling those  of  legal  jurisdiction.  At  first  sight  it 
may  appear  difficult  to  conceive  how  ecclesiastics 
could  have  moulded  into  a  regular  form  this  anoma- 
lous branch  of  jurisprudence.  But  many  of  the  eccle- 
siastical order,  —  originally  the  only  lawyers,  —  were 


*  Blackstone,  book  ill.  chap.  4. 

t  Calendars  of  rrocccdings  in  Chancery,  temp.  Eliz.  London, 
1827.  Often  of  these  suits  which  occurred  in  the  last  ten  years 
of  the  fourteenth  century,  one  complains  of  ouster  from  land  by 
violence ;  another,  of  exclusion  from  a  benefice,  by  a  writ  ob- 
tained  from  the  king  under  false  suggestions  ;  a  third,  for  the 
sei/.ure  of  a  freeman,  under  pretext  of  being  a  slave  (()r  nief) ;  a 
fourth,  for  being  disturbed  in  the  enjoyment  of  land  by  a  tres- 
passer, abetted  by  the  sheriff;  a  tifth,  for  imprisonment  on  a 
false  allegation  of  debt.  No  case  is  extant  prior  to  the  first  year 
of  Henry  V.,  which  relates  to  the  trust  of  lands,  which  eminent 
writers  have  represented  as  the  original  object  of  this  jurisdiction. 
In  the  reign  of  Henry  VI.  there  is  a  bill  against  certain  Wy- 
cliffites  for  outrages  done  to  the  plaintiff,  Robert  Burton,  chanter 
ot  the  cathedral  of  Lincoln,  on  account  of  his  zeal  as  an  inquisitor 
in  the  diocese  of  Lincoln,  to  convict  and  punish  heretics. 


458  LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE. 

eminently  skilled  in  the  civil  and  canon  law,  which  had 
attained  an  order  and  precision  unknown  to  the  digests 
of  barbarous  usages  then  attempted  in  France  and 
England.  The  ecclesiastical  chancellors  of  those 
countries  introduced  into  their  courts  a  course  of  pro- 
ceeding very  similar  to  that  adopted  by  other  Euro- 
pean nations,  who  all  owned  the  authority  of  the 
canon  law,  and  were  enlightened  by  the  wisdom  of  the 
Roman  code.  The  proceedings  in  chancery,  lately 
recovered  from  oblivion,  show  the  system  to  have 
been  in  regular  activity  about  a  century  and  a  half 
before  the  chancellorship  of  Sir  Thomas  More,  —  the 
first  common  lawyer  who  held  the  great  seal  since  the 
Chancellor  had  laid  any  foundations  (known  to  us)  of 
his  equitable  jurisdiction.  The  course  of  education, 
and  even  of  negotiation  in  that  age,  conferred  on 
More,  who  was  the  most  distinguished  of  the  practisers 
of  the  common  law,  the  learning  and  ability  of  a  civi- 
lian and  a  canonist. 

Of  his  administration,  from  the  2oth  of  October 
1529,  to  the  16th  of  May  1532,  four  hundred  bills 
and  answers  are  still  preserved,  which  afford  an  ave- 
rage of  about  a  hundred  and  sixty  suits  annually. 
Though  this  average  may  by  no  means  adequately 
represent  the  whole  occupations  of  a  court  which  had 
many  other  duties  to  perform,  it  supplies  us  with 
some  means  of  comparing  the  extent  of  its  business 
under  him  with  the  number  of  similar  proceedings  in 
succeeding  times.  The  whole  amount  of  bills  and 
answers  in  the  reign  of  James  I.  was  32,000.  How 
far  the  number  may  have  differed  at  different  parts  of 
that  reign,  the  unarranged  state  of  the  records  does 
not  yet  enable  us  to  ascertain.  But  supposing  it, 
by  a  rough  estimate,  to  have  continued  the  same, 
the  annual  average  of  bills  and  answers  during  the 
four  years  of  Lord  Bacon's  administration  was  1461, 
being  an  increase  of  nearly  ten-fold  in  somewhat  less 
than  a  century.  Though  causes  connected  with  the 
progress  of  the  jusisdiction  and  the  character  of  the 


LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE.  459 

chancellor  must  have  somewhat  contributed  to  this 
remarkable  increase,  yet  it  must  be  ascribed  princi- 
pally to  the  extraordinary  impulse  given  to  daring 
enterprise  and  national  wealth  by  the  splendid  admi- 
nistration of  Elizabeth,  which  multiplied  alike  the 
occasions  of  litigation  and  the  means  of  carrying  it 
on.*  In  a  century  and  a  half  after,  when  equitable 
jurisdiction  was  completed  in  its  foundations  and 
most  necessary  parts  by  Lord  Chancellor  Notting- 
ham, the  yearly  average  of  suits  was  during  his 
tenure  of  the  great  seal,  about  sixteen  hundred.f 
Under  Lord  Hardwicke,  the  chancellor  of  most  pro- 
fessional celebrity,  the  yearly  average  of  bills  and 
answers  appears  to  have  been  about  two  thousand ; 
probably  in  part  because  more  questions  had  been 
finally  determined,  and  partly  also  because  the  delays 
were  so  aggravated  by  the  multiplicity  of  business, 
that  parties  aggrieved  chose  rather  to  submit  to 
wrong  than  to  be  ruined  in  pursuit  of  right.  This 
last  mischief  arose  in  a  great  measure  from  the  variety 
of  affairs  added  to  the  original  duties  of  the  judge,  of 
which  the  principal  were  bankruptcy  and  parlia- 
mentary appeals.  Both  these  causes  continued  to  act 
with  increasing  force ;  so  that,  in  spite  of  a  vast 
increase  of  the  property  and  dealings  of  the  kingdom, 
the  average  number  of  bills  and  answers  was  consider- 
ably  less  from  1800  to  1802  than  it  had  been  from 
1745  to  17544 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  men  trained  in  any 
system  of  jurisprudence,  as  were   the   ecclesiastical 

*  From  a  letter  of  Lord  Bacon  (Lords'  Journals,  20th  March, 
1680),  it  appears  that  he  made  2000  decrees  and  orders  in  a 
year ;  so  that  in  his  time  the  bills  and  answers  amounted  to  about 
two-thirds  of  the  whole  business. 

f  The  numbers  have  been  obligingly  supplied  by  the  gentle- 
men of  the  Record  Office  in  the  Tower. 

X  Account  of  Proceedings  in  Parliament  relative  to  the  Court 
of  Chancery.  By  C.  P.  Cooper,  Esq.  (Ixind.  1828),  p.  102.,  &c. 
—  A  work  equally  remarkable  for  knowledge  and  acuteness. 


460  LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE. 

chancellors,  could  have  been  indifferent  to  the  incon- 
venience and  vexation  which  necessarily  harass  the 
holders  of  a  merely  arbitrary  power.  Not  having  a 
law,  they  were  a  law  unto  themselves ;  and  every 
chancellor  who  contributed  by  a  determination  to 
establish  a  principle,  became  instrumental  in  circum- 
scribing the  power  of  his  successor.  Selden  is,  indeed, 
represented  to  have  said,  "  that  equity  is  according  to 
the  conscience  of  him  who  is  chancellor,  which  is  as 
uncertain  as  if  we  made  the  chancellor's  foot  the 
standard  for  the  measure  which  we  call  a  foot."*  But 
this  was  spoken  in  the  looseness  of  table-talk,  and 
under  the  influence  of  the  prejudices  then  prevalent 
among  common  lawyers  against  equitable  jurisdiction. 
Still,  perhaps,  in  his  time,  what  he  said  might  be  true 
enough  for  a  smart  saying :  but  in  process  of  years  a 
system  of  rules  has  been  established,  which  has  con- 
stantly tended  to  limit  the  originally  discretionary 
powers  of  the  chancery.  Equity,  in  the  acceptation 
in  which  that  word  is  used  in  English  jurisprudence, 
is  no  longer  to  be  confounded  with  that  moral  equity 
which  generally  corrects  the  unjust  operation  of  law, 
and  with  which  it  seems  to  have  been  synonymous  in 
the  days  of  Selden  and  Bacon.  It  is  a  part  of  law 
formed  from  usages  and  determinations  which  some- 
times differ  from  Avhat  is  called  "  common  law  "  in  its 
subjects,  but  chiefly  varies  from  it  in  its  modes  of 
proof,  of  trial,  and  of  relief;  it  is  a  jurisdiction  so 
irregularly  formed,  and  often  so  little  dependent  on 
general  principles,  that  it  can  hardly  be  defined  or 
made  intelligible  otherwise  than  by  a  minute  enume- 
ration of  the  matters  cognisable  by  it.f 

It  will  be  seen  from  the  above  that  Sir  Thomas 
More's  duties  differed  very  widely  from  the  various 
exertions  of  labour  and  intellect  required  from  a  mo- 

*  Table  Talk  (Edinb.  1809),  p.  55. 

f  Blackstone,  book  iii.  chap.  27.  Lord  Hardwicke's  Letter  to 
Lord  Karnes,  30th  June,  1757.  —  Lord  Woodhouselee's  Life  of 
Lord  Karnes,  vol.  i.  p.  237. 


LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE.  461 

dern  chancellor.  At  the  utmost  he  did  not  hear  more 
than  two  hundred  cases  and  arguments  yearly,  in- 
cluding those  of  every  description.  No  authentic 
account  of  any  case  tried  before  him,  if  any  such  be 
extant,  has  been  yet  brought  to  light.  No  law  book 
alludes  to  any  part  of  his  judgments  or  reasonings. 
Nothing  of  this  higher  part  of  his  judicial  life  is  pre- 
served, which  can  warrant  us  in  believing  more  than 
that  it  must  have  displayed  his  never-failing  integrity, 
reason,  learning,  and  eloquence. 

The  particulars  of  his  instalment  are  not  unworthy 
of  being  specified  as  a  proof  of  the  reverence  for  his 
endowments  and  excellences  professed  by  the  King 
and  entertained  by  the  public,  to  whose  judgment  the 
ministers  of  Henry  seemed  virtually  to  appeal,  with 
an  assurance  that  the  King's  appointment  would  be 
ratified  by  the  general  voice.  "  He  was  led  between 
the  Dukes  of  Norfolk  and  Suffolk  up  Westminster 
Hall  to  the  Stone  Chamber,  and  there  they  honour- 
ably placed  him  in  the  high  judgment-seat  of  chan- 
cellor*;" (for  the  chancellor  was,  by  his  office,  the 
president  of  that  terrible  tribunal).  "  The  Duke  of 
Norfolk,  premier  peer  and  lord  high  treasurer  of  Eng- 
land," continues  the  biographer,  "  by  the  command  of 
the  king,  spoke  thus  unto  the  people  there  ivith  great 
applause  and  joy  gathered  together  :  — 

"'The  King's  majesty  (which,  I  pray  God,  may 
prove  happie  and  fortunate  to  the  whole  realme  of 
England)  hath  raised  to  the  most  high  dignitie  of 
chancellourship  Sir  Thomas  More,  a  man  for  his  ex- 
traordinarie  worth  and  sufiiciencie  well  knowne  to 
himself  and  the  whole  realme,  for  no  other  cause  or 
earthlie  respect,  but  for  that  he  hath  plainely  perceaved 
all  the  gifts  of  nature  and  grace  to  be  heaped  upon 
him,  which  either  the  people  could  desire,  or  himself 
wish,  for  the  discharge  of  so  great  an  office.  For  the 
admirable  wisedome,  integritie,  and  innocencie,  joyned 

♦  More,  pp.  156.  163. 


462  LIFE    OF    Sm   THOMAS   MORE. 

with  most  pleasant  facilitie  of  witt,  that  this  man  is 
endowed  withall,  have  been  sufficiently  knowen  to  all 
Englishmen  from  his  youth,  and  for  these  manie  yeares 
also  to  the  King's  majestie  himself.  This  hath  the 
King  abundantly  found  in  manie  and  weightie  affayres, 
which  he  hath  happily  dispatched  both  at  home  and 
abroad,  in  divers  offices  which  he  hath  born,  in  most 
honourable  embassages  which  he  hath  undergone,  and 
in  his  daily  counsell  and  advises  upon  all  other  occa- 
sions. He  hath  perceaved  no  man  in  his  realme  to  be 
more  wise  in  deliberating,  more  sincere  in  opening  to 
him  what  he  thought,  nor  more  eloquent  to  adorne 
the  matter  which  he  uttered.  Wherefore,  because  he 
saw  in  him  such  excellent  endowments,  and  that  of 
his  especiall  care  he  hath  a  particular  desire  that  his 
kingdome  and  people  might  be  governed  with  all 
equitie  and  justice,  integritie  and  wisedome,  he  of  his 
owne  most  gracious  disposition  hath  created  this  sin- 
gular man  lord  chancellor ;  that,  by  his  laudable  per- 
formance of  this  office,  his  people  may  enjoy  peace 
and  justice  ;  and  honour  also  and  fame  may  redounde 
to  the  whole  kingdome.  It  may  perhaps  seem  to 
manie  a  strange  and  unusuall  matter,  that  this  dignitie 
should  be  bestowed  upon  a  layman,  none  of  the  nobi- 
litie,  and  one  that  hath  wife  and  children ;  because 
heretofore  none  but  singular  learned  prelates,  or  men 
of  greatest  nobilitie,  have  possessed  this  place ;  but 
what  is  wanting  in  these  respects,  the  admirable  ver- 
tues,  the  matchless  guifts  of  witt  and  wisedome  of  this 
man,  doth  most  plentifully  recompence  the  same.  For 
the  King's  majestie  hath  not  regarded  how  great,  but 
what  a  man  he  was  ;  he  hath  not  cast  his  eyes  upon 
the  nobilitie  of  his  bloud,  but  on  the  worth  of  his 
person  ;  he  hath  respected  his  sufficiencie,  not  his  pro- 
fession ;  finally,  he  would  show  by  this  his  choyce, 
that  he  hath  some  rare  subjects  amongst  the  rowe  of 
gentlemen  and  laymen,  who  deserve  to  manage  the 
Jiighest  offices  of  the  realme,  which  bishops  and  noble- 
men think  they  only  can  deserve.    The  rarer  therefore 


LIFE    OF    SIR    THOMAS    MOKE.  463 

it  vras,  so  much  both  himself  held  it  to  be  the  more 
excellent,  and  to  his  people  he  thought  it  would  be 
the  more  gratefuU.  Wherefore,  receave  this  your 
chanceilour  with  joyful  acclamations,  at  Avhose  bauds 
you  may  expect  all  happinesse  and  content.' 

"  Sir  Thomas  More,  according  to  his  wonted  mo- 
destie,  was  somewhat  abashed  at  this  the  duke's  speech, 
in  that  it  sounded  so  much  to  his  praise,  but  recol- 
lecting himself  as  that  place  and  time  would  give  him 
leave,  he  answered  in  this  sorte  :  — '  Although,  most 
noble  duke,  and  you  right  honourable  lords,  and  wor- 
shipfull  gentlemen,  I  knowe  all  these  things,  which 
the  King's  majestic,  it  seemeth,  hath  bene  pleased 
should  be  spoken  of  me  at  this  time  and  place,  and 
your  grace  hath  with  most  eloquent  wordes  thus  am- 
plifyed,  are  as  far  from  me,  as  I  could  wish  with  all 
my  hart  they  were  in  me  for  the  better  performance 
of  so  great  a  charge  ;  and  although  this  your  speach 
hath  caused  in  me  greater  feare  than  I  can  well  ex- 
press in  words :  yet  this  incomparable  favour  of  my 
dread  soueraigne,  by  which  he  showeth  how  well,  yea 
how  highly  he  conceaveth  of  my  weakenesse,  having 
commanded  that  my  meanesse  should  be  so  greatly 
commended,  cannot  be  but  most  acceptable  unto  me ; 
and  I  cannot  choose  but  give  your  most  noble  grace 
exceeding  thankes,  that  what  his  majestic  hath  willed 
you  briefly  to  utter,  you,  of  the  abundance  of  your 
love  unto  me,  have  in  a  large  and  eloquent  oration 
dilated.  As  for  myself,  I  can  take  it  no  otherwise, 
but  that  his  majestie's  incomparable  favour  towards 
me,  the  good  will  and  incredible  propension  of  his 
royall  minde  (wherewith  he  has  these  manie  yeares 
favoured  me  continually)  hath  alone  without  anie  de- 
sert of  mine  at  all,  caused  both  this  my  new  honour, 
and  these  your  undeserved  commendations  of  me. 
For  who  am  I,  or  what  is  the  house  of  my  father,  that 
the  King's  highnesse  should  heapc  upon  me  by  such 
a  perj)etuall  streame  of  affection,  these  so  high  ho- 
nours ?     I  am  farre  lesse  then  anie  the  meanest  of  his 


464  LIFE   OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE. 

benefitts  bestowed  on  me ;  how  can  I  then  thinke 
myself  worthie  or  fitt  for  this  so  peerlesse  dignitie  ? 
I  have  bene  drawen  by  force,  as  the  King's  majestic 
often  professeth,  to  his  highnesse's  service,  to  be  a 
courtier ;  but  to  take  this  dignitie  upon  me,  is  most  of 
all  against  my  will ;  yet  such  is  his  highnesse's  be- 
nignitie,  such  is  his  bountie,  that  he  highly  esteemeth 
the  small  dutiefulnesse  of  his  meanest  subjects,  and 
seeketh  still  magnificently  to  recompence  his  servants ; 
not  only  such  as  deserve  well,  but  even  such  as  have 
but  a  desire  to  deserve  well  at  his  hands,  in  which 
number  I  have  alwaies  wished  myself  to  be  reckoned, 
because  I  cannot  challenge  myself  to  be  one  of  the 
former ;  which  being  so,  you  may  all  perceave  with 
me  how  great  a  burden  is  layde  upon  my  backe,  in 
that  I  must  strive  in  some  sorte  with  my  diligence  and 
dutie  to  corresponde  with  his  royall  benevolence,  and 
to  be  answerable  to  that  great  expectation,  which  he 
and  you  seeme  to  have  of  me ;  wherefore  those  so 
high  praises  are  by  me  so  much  more  grievous  unto 
me,  by  how  much  more  I  know  the  greater  charge  I 
have  to  render  myself  worthie  of,  and  the  fewer  means 
I  have  to  make  them  goode.  This  weight  is  hardly 
suitable  to  my  weake  shoulders ;  this  honour  is  not 
correspondent  to  my  poore  desert ;  it  is  a  burden,  not 
a  glorie ;  a  care,  not  a  dignitie ;  the  one  therefore  I 
must  beare  as  manfully  as  I  can,  and  discharge  the 
other  with  as  much  dexteritie  as  I  shall  be  able.  The 
earnest  desire  which  I  have  alwaies  had  and  doe  now 
acknowledge  myself  to  have,  to  satisfye  by  all  meanes 
I  can  possible,  the  most  ample  benefitts  of  his  high- 
nesse,  will  greatly  excite  and  ayde  me  to  the  diligent 
performance  of  all,  which  I  trust  also  I  shall  be  more 
able  to  doe,  if  I  finde  all  your  good  wills  and  wishes 
both  favourable  unto  me,  and  conformable  to  his  royall 
munificence :  because  my  serious  endeavours  to  doe 
well,  joyned  with  your  favourable  acceptance,  will 
easily  procure  that  whatsoever  is  performed  by  me, 
though  it  be  in  itself  but  small,  yet  it  will  seeme  great 


LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS    MORE.  465 

and  praisewortllie ;  for  those  things  are  alwaies 
atchieved  happily  which  are  accepted  willingly ;  and 
those  succeede  fortunately,  which  are  receaved  by 
others  courteously.  As  you  therefore  doe  hope  for 
great  matters,  and  the  best  at  my  hands,  so  though  I 
dare  not  promise  anie  such,  yet  do  I  promise  truly  and 
affectionately  to  performe  the  best  I  shall  be  able.' 

"  When  Sir  Thomas  More  had  spoken  these  wordes, 
turning  his  face  to  the  high  judgment  seate  of  the 
chancerie,  he  proceeded  in  this  manner:  — '  But  when 
I  looke  upon  this  seate,  when  I  thinke  how  greate 
and  what  kinde  of  personages  have  possessed  this  place 
before  me,  when  I  call  to  minde  who  he  was  that  sate 
in  it  last  of  all — a  man  of  what  singular  wisdome,  of 
what  notable  experience,  what  a  prosperous  and  ftivour- 
able  fortune  he  had  for  a  great  space,  and  how  at  the 
last  he  had  a  most  grevious  fall,  and  dyed  inglorious  — 
I  have  cause  enough  by  my  predecessor's  example  to 
think  honour  but  slipperie,  and  this  dignitio  not  so 
grateful  to  me  as  it  may  seeme  to  others ;  for  both  is 
it  a  hard  matter  to  follow  with  like  paces  or  praises,  a 
man  of  such  admirable  witt,  prudence,  authoritie,  and 
splendour,  to  whome  I  may  seeme  but  as  the  lighting 
of  a  candle,  when  the  sun  is  downe;  and  also  the  sudden 
and  unexpected  fall  of  so  groat  a  man  as  he  was  doth 
terribly  putt  me  in  minde  that  this  honour  ought  not 
to  please  me  too  much,  nor  the  lustre  of  this  glister- 
ing seate  dazel  mine  eyes.  Wherefore  I  ascende  this 
seate  as  a  place  full  of  labour  and  danger,  voyde  of  all 
solide  and  true  honour;  the  which  by  how  much  the 
higher  it  is,  by  so  much  greater  fall  1  am  to  fearc,  as 
well  in  respect  of  the  verie  nature  of  the  thing  it  selfe, 
as  because  I  am  warned  by  this  late  fearful!  example. 
And  truly  I  might  even  now  at  this  verie  just  entrance 
stumble,  yea  faynte,  but  that  his  majestie's  most  singu- 
lar f\ivour  towardes  me,  and  all  your  good  wills,  which 
your  joyfull  countenance  doth  testifye  in  this  most 
honorable  assemblie,  doth  somewhat  recreate  and  re- 
fresh me  ;    otherwise  this  seate  would  be   no   more 

VOL.  L  u  u  « 


466  LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE. 

pleasing  to  me,  than  that  sword  was  to  Damocles, 
which  hung  over  his  head,  tjed  only  by  a  hayre  of  a 
horse's  tale,  when  he  had  store  of  delicate  fare  before 
him,  seated  in  the  chair  of  state  of  Denis  the  tirant  of 
Sicilie ;  this  therefore  shall  be  always  fresh  in  my 
minde,  this  will  I  have  still  before  mine  eies,  that  this 
seate  will  be  honorable,  famous,  and  full  of  glorie  unto 
me,  if  I  shall  with  care  and  diligence,  fidelitie  and  wise- 
dome,  endeavour  to  doe  my  dutie,  and  shall  persuade 
myself,  that  the  enjoying  thereof  may  be  but  short  and 
uncertaine :  the  one  whereof  my  labour  ought  to  per- 
forme ;  the  other  my  predecessor's  example  may  easily 
teach  me.  All  which  being  so,  you  may  easily  perceave 
what  great  pleasure  I  take  in  this  high  dignitie,  or  in 
this  most  noble  duke's  praising  of  me.' 

"All  the  world  took  notice  now  of  sir  Thomas's 
dignitie,  whereof  Erasmus  writeth  to  John  Fabius, 
Bishop  of  Vienna,  thus: — 'Concerning  the  new  in- 
crease of  honour  lately  happened  to  Thomas  More,  I 
should  easily  make  you  believe  it,  if  I  should  shew 
you  the  letters  of  many  famous  men,  rejoicing  with 
much  alacritie,  and  congratulating  the  King,  the 
realme,  himself,  and  also  me,  for  More's  honor,  in 
being  made  lord  chancellour  of  England.'  " 

At  the  period  of  the  son's  promotion.  Sir  John 
More,  who  was  nearly  of  the  age  of  ninety,  was  the 
most  ancient  judge  of  the  King's  Bench.  "What  a 
grateful  spectacle  was  it,"  says  their  descendant,  "  to 
see  the  son  ask  the  blessing  of  the  father  every  day 
upon  his  knees  before  he  sat  upon  his  own  seat  ? "  * 
Even  in  a  more  unceremonious  age,  the  simple  cha- 
racter of  More  would  have  protected  these  daily  rites 
of  filial  reverence  from  that  suspicion  of  aiFectation, 
which  could  alone  destroy  their  charm.  But  at  that 
time  it  must  have  borrowed  its  chief  power  from  the 
conspicuous  excellence  of  the  father  and  son.  For  if 
inward  worth  had  then  borne  any  proportion  to  the 
grave  and  reverend  ceremonial  of  the  age,  we  might 

*  More,  p.  163. 


LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS    MORE.  467 

be  well  warranted  in  regarding  our  forefathers  as  a 
race  of  superior  beings. 

The  contrast  which  the  humble  and  affable  More 
afforded  to  the  haughty  cardinal,  astonished  and  de- 
lighted the  suitors.  No  application  could  be  made  to 
Wolsej,  which  did  not  pass  through  many  hands; 
and  no  man  could  apply,  whose  fingers  were  not  tip- 
ped with  gold:  but  More  sat  daily  in  an  open  hall, 
that  he  might  receive  in  person  the  petitions  of  the 
poor.  If  any  reader  should  blame  his  conduct  in  this 
respect,  as  a  breach  of  an  ancient  and  venerable  pre- 
cept,—  "Ye  shall  do  no  unrighteousness  in  judgment ; 
thou  shalt  not  respect  the  person  of  the  poor,  nor 
honour  the  person  of  the  mighty  ;  but  in  righteousness 
shalt  thou  judge  thy  neighbour  *,"  let  it  be  remem- 
bered, that  there  still  clung  to  the  equitable  jurisdic- 
tion some  remains  of  that  precarious  and  eleemosynary 
nature  from  which  it  originally  sprung ;  which,  in  the 
eyes  of  the  compassionate  chancellor,  might  warrant 
more  preference  for  the  helpless  poor  than  could  be 
justified  in  proceedings  more  rigorously  legal. 

Courts  of  law  were  jealous  then,  as  since,  of  the 
power  assumed  by  chancellors  to  issue  injunctions\o\)iiT- 
ties  to  desist  from  doing  certain  acts  which  they  were 
by  law  entitled  to  do,  until  the  court  of  chancery  should 
determine  whether  the  exercise  of  the  legal  right  would 
not  work  injustice.  There  are  many  instances  in 
which  irreparable  wrong  may  be  committed,  before  a 
right  can  be  ascertained,  in  the  ordinary  course  of 
proceedings.  In  such  cases  it  is  the  province  of  the 
Chancellor  to  take  care  that  affairs  shall  continue  in 
their  actual  condition  until  the  questions  in  dispute 
be  determined.  A  considerable  outcry  against  this 
necessary,  though  invidious  authority,  was  raised  at 
the  commencement  of  Morc's  chancellorship.  He 
silenced  this  clamour  with  his  wonted  prudence  and 
meekness.     Having  caused  one  of  the  six  clerks  to 


*  Leviticus,  chap.  xLx.  v.  15. 
H  u  2 


468  LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE. 

make  out  a  list  of  the  injunctions  issued  by  him,  or 
pending  before  him,  he  invited  all  the  judges  to  din- 
ner. He  laid  the  list  before  them ;  and  explained 
the  circumstances  of  each  case  so  satisfactorily,  that 
they  all  confessed  that  in  the  like  case  they  would 
have  done  no  less.  Nay,  he  offered  to  desist  from 
the  jurisdiction,  if  they  would  undertake  to  contain 
the  law  within  the  boundaries  of  righteousness,  which 
he  thought  they  ought  in  conscience  to  do.  The 
judges  declined  to  make  the  attempt;  on  which  he 
observed  privately  to  Koper,  that  he  saw  they  trusted 
to  their  influence  for  obtaining  verdicts  which  would 
shift  the  responsibility  from  them  to  the  juries. 
"Wherefore,"  said  he,  "I  am  constrained  to  abide 
the  adventure  of  their  blame." 

Dauncey,  one  of  his  sons-in-law,  alleged  that  under 
Wolsey  "  even  the  door-keepers  got  great  gains,"  and 
was  so  perverted  by  the  venality  there  practised  that 
he  expostulated  with  More  for  his  churlish  integrity. 
The  chancellor  said,  that  if  "  his  father,  whom  he  re- 
verenced dearly,  were  on  the  one  side,  and  the  devil, 
whom  he  hated  with  all  his  might,  on  the  other,  the 
devil  should  have  his  right."  He  is  represented  by 
his  descendant,  as  softening  his  answer  by  promising 
minor  advantages,  such  as  priority  of  hearing,  and 
recommendation  of  arbitration,  where  the  case  of  a 
friend  was  bad.  The  biographer,  however,  not  being 
a  lawyer,  might  have  misunderstood  the  conversation, 
which  had  to  pass  through  more  than  one  generation 
before  the  tradition  reached  him  ;  or  the  words  may 
have  been  a  hasty  effusion  of  good  nature,  uttered 
only  to  qualify  the  roughness  of  his  honesty.  If  he 
had  been  called  on  to  perform  these  promises,  his  head 
and  heart  would  have  recoiled  alike  from  breaches  of 
equality  which  he  would  have  felt  to  be  altogether 
dishonest.  When  Heron,  another  of  his  sons-in-law, 
relied  on  the  bad  practices  of  the  times,  so  far  as  to 
entreat  a  favourable  judgment  in  a  cause  of  his  own, 
More,  though  the  most  affectionate  of  fathers,  imme- 


LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE.  469 

diately  undeceived  him  bj  an  adverse  decree.  This 
act  of  common  justice  is  made  an  object  of  panegyric 
by  the  biographer,  as  if  it  were  then  deemed  an  extra- 
ordinary instance  of  virtue  ;  a  deplorable  symptom  of 
that  corrupt  state  of  general  opinion,  which,  half  a 
century  later,  contributed  to  betray  into  ignominious 
vices  the  wisest  of  men,  and  the  most  illustrious  of 
chancellors,  —  if  the  latter  distinction  be  not  rather 
due  to  the  virtue  of  a  More  or  a  Somers. 

He  is  said  to  have  despatched  the  causes  before  him 
so  speedily,  that,  on  asking  for  the  next,  he  was  told 
that  none  remained ;  which  is  boastfully  contrasted 
by  Mr.  More,  his  descendant,  with  the  arrear  of  a 
thousand  in  the  time  of  that  gentleman,  who  lived  in 
the  reign  of  Charles  I. ;  though  we  have  already  seen 
that  this  difference  may  be  referred  to  other  causes, 
and  therefore  that  the  fact,  if  true,  proves  no  more 
than  his  exemplary  diligence  and  merited  reputation. 

The  scrupulous  and  delicate  integrity  of  More  (for 
so  it  must  be  called  in  speaking  of  that  age)  was  more 
clearly  shown  after  his  resignation,  than  it  could  have 
been  durino:  his  continuance  in  office.  One  Parnell 
complained  of  him  for  a  decree  obtained  by  his  adver- 
sary Vaughan,  whose  wife  had  bribed  the  cliancellor 
by  a  gilt  cup.  More  surprised  the  counsel  at  first,  by 
owning  that  he  received  the  cup  as  a  new  year's  gift. 
Lord  Wiltshire,  a  zealous  Protestant,  indecently,  but 
prematurely  exulted :  "  Did  I  not  tell  you,  my  lords," 
said  he,  "that  you  would  find  this  matter  true  ?"  "But, 
my  lords,"  replied  More,  "  hear  the  other  part  of  my 
tale."  He  then  told  them  that,  "having  drank  to  her 
of  wine  with  which  his  butler  had  filled  the  cup,  and 
she  having  pledged  him,  he  restored  it  to  her,  and 
would  listen  to  no  refusal."  Wlicn  Mrs.  Croker,  for 
whom  he  had  made  a  decree  against  Lord  Arundel, 
came  to  him  to  request  his  acceptance  of  a  pair  of 
gloves,  in  which  were  contained  40/.  in  angels,  he  told 
her,  with  a  smile,  that  it  were  ill  manners  to  refuse  a 
lady's  present :  but  though  he  should  keep  the  gloves, 

H  il    3 


470  LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE. 

he  must  return  the  gold,  which  he  enforced  her  to 
receive.  Gresham,  a  suitor,  sent  him  a  present  of  a 
gilt  cup,  of  which  the  fashion  pleased  him :  More 
accepted  it ;  but  would  not  do  so  till  Gresham  re- 
ceived from  him  another  cup  of  greater  value,  but  of 
which  the  form  and  workmanship  were  less  suitable 
to  the  Chancellor.  It  would  be  an  indignity  to  the 
memory  of  such  a  man  to  quote  these  facts  as  proofs 
of  his  probity ;  but  they  may  be  mentioned  as  speci- 
mens of  the  simple  and  unforced  honesty  of  one  who 
rejected  improper  offers  with  all  the  ease  and  plea- 
santry of  common  courtesy. 

Henry,  in  bestowing  the  great  seal  on  More,  hoped 
to  dispose  his  chancellor  to  lend  his  authority  to  the 
projects  of  divorce  and  second  marriage,  which  were 
now  agitating  the  King's  mind,  and  were  the  main 
objects  of  his  policy.*  Arthur,  the  eldest  son  of 
Henry  VII.,  having  married  Catharine,  the  daughter 
of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  sovereigns  of  Castile  and 
Arragon,  and  dying  very  shortly  after  his  nuptials, 
Plenry  had  obtained  a  dispensation  from  Pope  Julius 
II.  to  enable  the  princess  to  marry  her  brother-in-law, 
afterwards  Henry  YIH. ;  and  in  this  last-mentioned 
union,  of  which  the  Princess  Mary  was  the  only  re- 
maining fruit,  the  parties  had  lived  sixteen  years  in 
apparent  harmony.  But  in  the  year  1527,  arose  a 
concurrence  of  events,  which  tried  and  established 
the  virtue  of  More,  and  revealed  to  the  world  the 
depravity  of  his  master.  Henry  had  been  touched  by 
the  charms  of  Anne  Boleyn,  a  beautiful  young  lady, 
in  her  twenty-second  year,  the  daughter  of  Sir  Thomas 
Boleyn,  Earl  of  Wiltshire,  who  had  lately  returned 
from  the  court  of  France,  where  her  youth  had  been 
spent.  At  the  same  moment  it  became  the  policy  of 
Francis  I.  to  loosen  all  the  ties  which  joined  the  King 


*  "  Thomas  Morus,  doctrina  et  probitate  spectabilis  vir,  can- 
cellarius  in  WolsEei  locum  constituitur.  Neutiqnam  Regis  causa 
cp.quior." — Thuanus,  Historia  sui  Temporis,  lib.  ii.  c.  16. 


LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS    MORE.  471 

of  England  to  the  Emperor.  Wlien  the  Bishop  of 
Tarbes,  his  ambassador  in  Enghind,  found,  on  his 
arrival  in  London,  the  growing  distaste  of  Henry  for 
his  inoffensive  and  exemplary  wife,  he  promoted  the 
King's  inclination  towards  divorce,  and  suggested  a 
marriage  with  Margaret,  Duchess  of  Alen^on,  the 
beautiful  and  graceful  sister  of  Francis  I.* 

At  this  period  Henry,  for  the  first  time,  professed 
to  harbour  conscientious  doubts  whether  the  dispen- 
sation of  Julius  11.  could  suspend  the  obligation  of  the 
divine  prohibition  pronounced  against  such  a  mar- 
riage as  his  in  theLevitical  law.f  The  court  of  Rome 
did  not  dare  to  contend  that  the  dispensation  could 
reach  the  case  if  the  prohibition  were  part  of  the 
universal  law  of  God.  Henry,  on  the  other  side,  could 
not  consistently  question  its  validity,  if  he  considered 
the  precept  as  belonging  to  merely  positive  law.  To 
this  question,  therefore,  the  dispute  was  confined, 
though  both  parties  shrunk  from  an  explicit  and  pre- 
cise avowal  of  their  main  ground.  The  most  reason- 
able solution,  that  it  was  a  local  and  temporary  law, 
forming  a  part  of  the  Hebrew  code,  might  seem  at 
first  sight  to  destroy  its  authority  altogether.  But  if 
either  party  had  been  candid,  this  prohibition,  adopted 
by  all  Christendom,  might  be  justified  by  that  general 

*  "  Margarita,  Francisci  soror,  spcctata^  forma;  ct  vcnustatis 
foemina,  Carolo  Alencmio  ducc  marito  paulo  ante  mortuo,  vidua 
pcrmanscrat,  Ea  destinata  uxor  Henrico :  missi(jue  Wol>a;us  ct 
Bigerronum  Praisul  qui  dc  dissolvendo  matrimonio  cum  Gallo 
agcrent.  Ut  Caletum  appulit,  Wolsajus  mandatum  a  rcgc  con- 
trarium  accipit,  rescivitque  per  amicos  Henricum  non  tarn  Galli 
adfinitatem  quam  insanum  amorem,  quo  Annam  Bolciiam  pro- 
sequcbatur,  explere  vclle."  —  Ibid.  No  trace  of  the  latter  part 
api)ears  in  tlic  State  Papers  just  (1831)  published. 

t  Leviticus,  chap.  xx.  v.  22.  But  see  iX-utcronomy,  chap.  xxv. 
V.  5.  The  latter  text,  which  allows  an  exception  in  the  case  of 
a  brother's  wife  being  left  childless,  may  be  thought  to  strengthen 
the  prohibition  in  all  cases  not  excepted.  It  may  seem  apj)li- 
cable  to  the  precise  case  of  Henry.  But  the  ai)i)lication  of  that 
text  is  impossible ;  for  it  contains  an  injunction,  of  which  the 
breach  is  chastised  by  a  disgiaceful  punishment. 

11  H  4 


472  LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE. 

usage,  in  a  case  where  it  was  not  remarkably  at  vari- 
ance with  reason  or  the  public  welfare.  But  such  a 
doctrine  would  have  lowered  the  ground  of  the  Papal 
authority  too  much  to  be  acceptable  to  Rome,  and  yet, 
on  the  other  hand,  rested  it  on  too  unexceptionable  a 
foundation  to  suit  the  case  of  Henry.  False  allega- 
tions of  facts  in  the  preamble  of  the  bull  were  alleged 
on  the  same  side ;  but  they  were  inconclusive.  The 
principal  arguments  in  the  King's  favour  were,  that 
no  precedents  of  such  a  dispensation  seem  to  have 
been  produced ;  and  that  if  the  Levitical  prohibitions 
do  not  continue  in  force  under  the  Gospel,  there  is 
no  prohibition  against  incestuous  marriages  in  the 
system  of  the  New  Testament.  It  was  a  disadvantage 
to  the  Church  of  Rome  in  the  controversy,  that  being 
driven  from  the  low  ground  by  its  supposed  tendency 
to  degrade  the  subject,  and  deterred  from  the  high 
ground  by  the  fear  of  the  reproach  of  daring  usurpa- 
tion, the  inevitable  consequence  was  confusion  and 
fluctuation  respecting  the  first  principles  on  which  the 
question  was  to  be  determined. 

To  pursue  this  subject  through  the  long  negotia- 
tions and  discussions  which  it  occasioned  during  six 
years,  would  be  to  lead  us  far  from  our  subject. 
Clement  VII.  {Medici)  had  been  originally  inclined  to 
favour  the  suit*  of  Henry,  according  to  the  usual  policy 
of  the  Roman  court,  which  sought  plausible  pretexts  for 
facilitating  the  divorce  of  kings,  whose  matrimonial 
connections  might  be  represented  as  involving  the 
quiet  of  nations.  The  sack  of  Rome,  however,  and  his 
own  captivity  left  him  full  of  fear  of  the  Emperor's 
power  and  displeasure ;  it  is  even  said  that  Charles  V., 
who  had  discovered  the  secret  designs  of  the  English 
court,  had  extorted  from  the  Pope,  before  his  release, 
a  promise  that  no  attempt  would  be  made  to  dis- 
honour an  Austrian  princess  by  acceding  to  the  di- 
vorce.*    The  Pope,  unwilling  to  provoke  Henry,  his 

*  Pallavicino,  lib.  ii.  c.  15.  f  Ibid. 


LIFE   OF    Sm   THOMAS   MORE.  473 

powerful  and  generous  protector,  instructed  Cam- 
peggio  to  attempt,  first  a  reconciliation  between  the 
King  and  Queen  ;  secondly,  if  that  failed,  to  endeavour 
to  persuade  her  that  she  ought  to  acquiesce  in 
her  husband's  desires,  by  entering  into  a  cloister  (a 
proposition  which  seems  to  show  a  readiness  in  the 
Roman  court  to  waive  their  theological  difficulties) ; 
and  thirdly,  if  neither  of  these  attempts  were  success- 
ful, to  spin  out  the  negotiation  to  the  greatest  length, 
in  order  to  profit  by  the  favourable  incidents  which 
time  might  bring  forth.  The  impatience  of  the  King 
and  the  honest  indignation  of  the  Queen  defeated  these 
arts  of  Italian  policy ;  while  the  resistance  of  Anne 
Boleyn  to  the  irregular  gratification  of  the  King's 
desires, — without  the  belief  of  which  it  is  impossible 
to  conceive  the  motives  for  his  perseverance  in  the 
pursuit  of  an  unequal  marriage,  — opposed  another 
impediment  to  the  counsels  and  contrivances  of  Cle- 
ment, which  must  have  surprised  and  perplexed  a 
Florentine  pontiff.  The  proceedings,  however,  termi- 
nated in  the  sentence  pronounced  by  Cranmer  annul- 
ling the  marriage,  the  espousal  of  Anne  Boleyn  by 
the  King,  and  the  rejection  of  the  Papal  jurisdiction 
by  the  kingdom,  which  still,  however,  adhered  to  the 
doctrines  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church. 

The  situation  of  More  during  a  great  part  of  these 
memorable  events  was  embarrassing.  The  great  offices 
to  which  he  had  been  raised  by  the  King,  the  personal 
favour  hitherto  constantly  shown  to  him,  and  the 
natural  tendency  of  his  gentle  and  quiet  disposition, 
combined  to  disincline  him  to  resistance  against  the 
wishes  of  his  friendly  master.  On  the  other  hand, 
his  growing  dread  and  horror  of  heresy,  with  its 
train  of  disorders;  his  belief  that  universal  anarchy 
would  be  the  inevitable  result  of  religious  dissension, 
and  the  operation  of  seven  years'  controversy  on 
behalf  of  the  Catholic  Church,  in  heating  his  mind 
on  all  subjects  involving  the  extent  of  her  authority 
made   him   recoil  from   designs   which   were  visibly 


474  LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS    MORE. 

tending  towards  disunion  with  the  Roman  pontiff, — 
the  centre  of  Catholic  union,  and  the  supreme  magis- 
trate of  the  ecclesiastical  commonwealth.  Though 
his  opinions  relating  to  the  Papal  authority  were  of  a 
moderate  and  liberal  nature,  he  at  least  respected  it 
as  an  ancient  and  venerable  control  on  licentious 
opinions,  of  which  the  prevailing  heresies  attested 
the  value  and  the  necessity.  Though  he  might  have 
been  better  pleased  with  another  determination  by 
the  supreme  pontiff,  it  did  not  follow  that  he  should 
contribute  to  weaken  the  holy  see,  assailed  as  it  was 
on  every  side,  by  taking  an  active  part  in  resistance 
to  the  final  decision  of  a  lawful  authority.  Obedience 
to  the  supreme  head  of  the  Church  in  a  case  which 
ultimately  related  only  to  discipline,  appeared  pecu- 
liarly incumbent  on  all  professed  Catholics.  But,  how- 
ever sincere  the  zeal  of  More  for  the  Catholic  religion 
and  his  support  of  the  legitimate  supremacy  of  the 
Roman  see  undoubtedly  were,  he  was  surely  influ- 
enced at  the  same  time  by  the  humane  feelings  of  his 
just  and  generous  nature,  which  engaged  his  heart  to 
espouse  the  cause  of  a  blameless  and  wronged  prin- 
cess, driven  from  the  throne  and  the  bed  of  a  tyran- 
nical husband.  Though  he  reasoned  the  case  as  a 
divine  and  a  canonist,  he  must  have  felt  it  as  a  man ; 
and  honest  feeling  must  have  glowed  beneath  the 
subtleties  and  formalities  of  doubtful  and  sometimes 
frivolous  disputations.  It  was  probably  often  the 
chief  cause  of  conduct  for  which  other  reasons  might 
be  sincerely  alleged. 

In  steering  his  course  through  the  intrigues  and 
passions  of  the  court,  it  is  very  observable  that  More 
most  warily  retired  from  every  opposition  but  that 
which  Conscience  absolutely  required :  he  shunned 
unnecessary  disobedience  as  much  as  unconscientious 
compliance.  If  he  had  been  influenced  solely  by 
prudential  considerations,  he  could  not  have  more 
cautiously  shunned  every  needless  opposition  ;  but  in 


LIFE    OF    SIR   TII0:MAS   MORE.  47o 

that  case  he  ■would  not  have  gone  so  far.  He  dis- 
played, at  the  time  of  which  we  now  speak,  that  very- 
peculiar  excellence  of  his  character,  which,  as  it 
showed  his  submission  to  be  the  fruit  of  sense  of 
duty,  gave  dignity  to  that  which  in  others  is  apt  to 
seem,  and  to  be  slavish.  His  anxiety  had  increased 
with  the  approach  to  maturity  of  the  King's  projects 
of  divorce  and  second  marriage.  Some  anecdotes  of 
this  period  are  preserved  by  the  affectionate  and  de- 
scriptive pen  of  Margaret  Eoper's  husband,  which,  as 
he  evidently  reports  in  the  chancellor's  language,  it 
would  be  unpardonable  to  relate  in  any  other  words 
than  those  of  the  venerable  man  himself.  Eoper,  in- 
deed, like  another  Plutarch,  consults  the  unrestrained 
freedom  of  his  story  by  a  disregard  of  dates,  which, 
however  agreeable  to  a  general  reader,  is  sometimes 
unsatisfactory  to  a  searcher  after  accuracy.  Yet  his 
otiice  in  a  court  of  law,  where  there  is  the  strongest 
inducement  to  ascertain  truth,  and  the  largest  expe- 
rience of  the  means  most  effectual  for  that  purpose, 
might  have  taught  him  the  extreme  importance  of 
time  as  well  as  place  in  estimating  the  bearing  and 
weight  of  testimony. 

"  On  a  time,  walking  ^vith  me  along  the  Thames' 
side  at  Chelsea,  he  said  unto  me,  '  Now  would  to  our 
Lord,  son  Roper,  upon  .condition  that  three  things 
were  well  established  in  Christendom,  I  were  put 
into  a  sack,  and  were  presently  cast  into  the  Thames.' 
—  'AMiat  great  things  be  those,  sir?'  quoth  I,  'that 
should  move  you  so  to  wish.'  —  'In  faith,  son,  they 
be  these,'  said  he.  'The^r^^  is,  that  whereas  the 
most  part  of  Christian  princes  be  at  mortal  war,  they 
were  all  at  universal  peace.  The  second,  that  where 
the  Church  of  Christ  is  at  present  sore  afflicted  with 
many  errors  and  heresies,  it  were  well  settled  in  per- 
fect uniformity  of  religion.  The  third,  that  as  the 
matter  of  the  King's  marriage  is  now  come  in  question, 
it  were,  to  the  glory  of  God  and  quietness  of  all  par- 


476  LIFE   OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE. 

ties,  brought  to  a  good  conclusion.'"*  On  another 
occasion f,  "before  the  matrimony  was  brought  in 
question,  when  I,  in  talk  with  Sir  Thomas  More  (of  a 
certain  joy),  commended  unto  him  the  happy  estate 
of  this  realm,  that  had  so  catholic  a  prince,  so  grave 
and  sound  a  nobility,  and  so  loving,  obedient  sub- 
jects, agreeing  in  one  faith.  *  Truth  it  is,  indeed,  son 
Roper ;  and  yet  I  pray  God,  as  high  as  we  sit  upon 
the  mountains,  treading  heretics  under  our  feet  like 
ants,  live  not  the  day  that  we  gladly  would  wish 
to  be  at  league  and  composition  with  them,  to  let 
them  have  their  churches,  so  that  they  would  be 
contented  to  let  us  have  ours  quietly.'  I  answered, 
*By  my  troth,  it  is  very  desperately  spoken.'  He, 
perceiving  me  to  be  in  ^fume,  said  merrily,  — '  Well, 
well,  son  Roper,  it  shall  not  be  so.'  Whom,"  con- 
cludes Roper,  "in  sixteen  years  and  more,  being  in 
his  house,  conversant  with  him,  I  never  could  per- 
ceive him  as  much  as  once  in  a  fume."  Doubtless 
More  was  somewhat  disquieted  by  the  reflection,  that 
some  of  those  who  now  appealed  to  the  freedom  of 
his  youthful  philosophy  against  himself  would  speedily 
begin  to  abuse  such  doctrines  by  turning  them  against 
the  peace  which  he  loved, — that  some  of  the  spoilers 
of  Rome  might  exhibit  the  like  scenes  of  rapine  and 
blood  in  the  city  which  was  his  birth-place  and  his 
dwelling-place :  yet,  even  then,  the  placid  mien,  which 
had  stood  the  test  of  every  petty  annoyance  for  six- 
teen years,  was  unruffled  by  alarms  for  the  impending 
fate  of  his  country  and  of  his  religion. 

Henry  used  every  means  of  procuring  an  opinion 
favourable  to  his  wishes  from  his  chancellor,  who, 
however,  excused  himself  as  unmeet  for  such  matters, 
having  never  professed  the  study  of  divinity.     But 

*  The  description  of  the  period  appears  to  suit  the  year  1529, 
before  the  peace  of  Cambray  and  the  recall  of  the  legate  Cam- 
peggio. 

f  Probably  in  the  beginning  of  1527,  after  the  promotion  of 
More  to  be  chancellor  of  the  duchy  of  Lancaster. 


LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE.  477 

the  King  "  sorely  "  pressed  him  *,  and  never  ceased 
urging  him  until  he  had  promised  to  give  his  consent, 
at  least,  to  examine  the  question,  conjointly  with  his 
friend  Tunstall  and  other  learned  divines.  This  ex- 
amination over,  More,  with  his  wonted  ingenuity  and 
gentleness,  conveyed  the  result  to  his  master.  "  To 
be  plain  with  your  grace,  neither  your  bishops,  wise 
and  virtuous  though  they  be,  nor  myself,  nor  any 
other  of  your  council,  by  reason  of  your  manifold 
benefits  bestowed  on  us,  are  meet  counsellors  for  your 
grace  herein.  If  you  mind  to  understand  the  truth, 
consult  St.  Jerome,  St.  Augustin,  and  other  holy  doc- 
tors of  the  Greek  and  Latin  churches,  who  will  not 
be  inclined  to  deceive  you  by  respect  of  their  own 
worldly  commodity,  or  by  fear  of  your  princely  dis- 
pleasure." f  Though  the  King  did  not  like  what 
"  was  disagreeable  to  his  desires,  yet  the  language  of 
More  was  so  wisely  tempered,  that  for  the  present  he 
took  it  in  good  part,  and  oftentimes  had  conferences 
with  the  chancellor  thereon."  The  native  meekness 
of  More  was  probably  more  effectual  than  all  the  arts 
by  which  courtiers  ingratiate  themselves,  or  insinuate 
unpalatable  counsel. 

Shortly  after,  the  King  again  moved  him  to  weigh 
and  consider  the  great  matter :  the  chancellor  fell 
down  on  his  knees,  and  reminding  Henry  of  his  own 
words  on  delivering  the  great  seal,  which  were, — 
"First  look  upon  God,  and  after  God  upon  me," 
added,  that  nothing  had  ever  so  pained  him  as  that 
he  was  not  able  to  serve  him  in  that  matter,  without 
a  breach  of  that  original  injunction.  The  King  said 
he  was  content  to  continue  his  favour,  and  never  with 
that  matter  molest  his  conscience  afterwards ;  but 
when  the  progress  towards  the  marriage  was  so  far 
advanced  that  the  chancellor  saw  how  soon  his  active 
co-operation  must  be  required,  he  made  suit  to  his 
"  singular  dear  friend,"  the  Duke  of  Norfolk,  to  pro- 

*  Roper,  p.  32.  t  Ropcr,  p.  48. 


478  LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   3I0RE. 

cure  his  discharge  from  office.  The  duke,  often  soli- 
cited by  More,  then  obtained,  by  importunate  suit,  a 
clear  discharge  for  the  chancellor ;  and  upon  the  re- 
pairing to  the  King,  to  resign  the  great  seal  into  his 
hands,  Henry  received  him  with  thanks  and  praise  for 
his  worthy  service,  and  assured  him,  that  in  any  suit 
that  should  either  concern  his  honour  or  appertain 
unto  his  profit,  he  would  show  himself  a  good  and 
gracious  master  to  his  faithful  servant.  He  then 
further  directed  Norfolk,  when  he  installed  his  suc- 
cessor, to  declare  publicly,  "  that  his  majesty  had  with 
pain  yielded  to  the  prayers  of  Sir  Thomas  More,  by 
the  removal  of  such  a  magistrate."  * 

At  the  time  of  his  resignation  More  asserted,  and 
circumstances,  without  reference  to  his  character,  de- 
monstrate the  truth  of  his  assertion,  that  his  whole 
income,  independent  of  grants  from  the  crown,  did 
not  amount  to  more  than  50/.  yearly.  This  was  not 
more  than  an  eighth  part  of  his  gains  at  the  bar  and 
his  judicial  salary  from  the  city  of  London  taken 
together  ;  —  so  great  was  the  proportion  in  which  his 
fortune  had  declined  during  eighteen  years  of  employ- 
ment in  ofiSces  of  such  trust,  advantage,  and  honour,  f 
In  this  situation  the  clergy  voted,  as  a  testimonial  of 
their  gratitude  to  him,  the  sum  of  5000/.,  which,  ac- 
cording to  the  rate  of  interest  at  that  time,  would 
have  yielded  him  500/.  a  year,  being  ten  times  the 
yearly  sum  which  he  could  then  call  his  own.  But 
good  and  honourable  as  he  knew  their  messengers,  of 
whom  Tunstall  was  one,  to  be,  he  declared,  "  that  he 
would  rather  cast  their  money  into  the  sea  than  take 
it ; "  —  not  speaking  from  a  boastful  pride,  most  foreign 
from  his  nature,  but  shrinking  with  a  sort  of  instinc- 
tive delicacy  from  the  touch  of  money,  even  before  he 
considered  how  much  the  acceptance  of  the  gift  might 
impair  his  usefulness. 

*  "  Honorifice  jussit  rex  de  me  testatum  reddere  quod  segr^ 

ad  preces  meas  me  demiserit."  —  More  to  Erasmus. 
f  Apology,  chap.  x. 


LIFE    OF    SIR   THO^IAS    MO.IE.  479 

His  resources  were  of  a  nobler  nature.  The  sim- 
plicity of  his  tastes  and  the  moderation  of  his  indul- 
gences rendered  retrenchment  a  task  so  easy  to  him- 
self, as  to  be  scarcely  perceptible  in  his  personal 
habits.  His  fool  or  jester,  then  a  necessary  part  of  a 
great  man's  establishment,  he  gave  to  the  lord  mayor 
for  the  time  being.  His  first  care  was  to  provide  for 
his  attendants,  by  placing  his  gentlemen  and  yeomen 
with  peers  and  prelates,  and  his  eight  watermen  in 
the  service  of  his  successor  Sir  T.  Audley,  to  whom 
he  gave  his  great  barge,  —  one  of  the  most  indis- 
pensable appendages  of  his  ofiice  in  an  age  when  car- 
riages were  unknown.  His  sorrows  were  for  separa- 
tion from  those  whom  he  loved.  He  called  together 
his  children  and  grandchildren,  who  had  hitherto 
lived  in  peace  and  love  under  his  patriarchal  roof, 
and,  lamenting  that  he  could  not,  as  he  was  wont,  and 
as  he  gladly  would,  bear  out  the  whole  charges  of 
them  all  himself,  continue  living  together  as  they 
were  wont,  he  prayed  them  to  give  him  their  counsel 
on  this  trying  occasion.  When  he  saw  them  silent, 
and  unwilling  to  risk  their  opinion,  he  gave  them  his, 
seasoned  with  his  natural  gaiety,  and  containing  some 
strokes  illustrative  of  the  state  of  society  at  that  time  : 
—  '•!  have  been  brought  up,"  quoth  he,  "at  Oxford, 
at  an  inn  of  chancery,  at  Lincoln's  Inn,  and  also  in 
the  king's  court,  from  the  lowest  degree  to  the  highest, 
and  yet  I  have  at  present  left  me  little  above  100/.  a 
year"  (including  the  king's  grants);  "so  that  now  if 
we  like  to  live  together  we  must  be  content  to  be  con- 
tributaries  together ;  but  we  must  not  fall  to  tlic 
lowest  fare  first:  —  we  will  begin  with  Lincoln's  Inn 
diet,  where  many  right  worshipful  and  of  good  years 
do  live  full  well;  which,  if  we  find  not  ourselves  the 
first  year  able  to  maintain,  then  will  we  the  next  year 
go  one  step  to  New  Inn  fare :  if  that  year  exceed  our 
ability,  we  will  the  next  year  descend  to  Oxford  faro, 
where  many  grave,  learned,  and  ancient  fathers  are 
continually  conversant.     If  our  ability  stretch  not  to 


480  LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE. 

maintain  either,  then  may  we  yet  with  bags  and 
wallets  go  a  begging  together,  and  hoping  for  charity 
at  every  man's  door,  to  sing  Salve  regina ;  and  so  still 
keep  company  and  be  merry  together."*  On  the 
Sunday  following  his  resignation,  he  stood  at  the  door 
of  his  wife's  pew  in  the  church,  where  one  of  his 
dismissed  gentlemen  had  been  used  to  stand,  and 
making  a  low  obedience  to  Alice  as  she  entered, 
said  to  her  with  perfect  gravity,  —  "  Madam,  my  lord 
is  gone."  He  who  for  seventeen  years  had  not  raised 
his  voice  in  displeasure,  could  not  be  expected  to 
sacrifice  the  gratification  of  his  innocent  merriment  to 
the  heaviest  blows  of  fortune. 

Nor  did  he  at  fit  times  fail  to  prepare  his  beloved 
children  for  those  more  cruel  strokes  which  he  began 
to  foresee.  Discoursing  with  them,  he  enlarged  on 
the  happiness  of  suffering,  for  the  love  of  God,  the 
loss  of  goods,  of  liberty,  of  lands,  of  life.  He  would 
further  say  unto  them,  "  that  if  he  might  perceive  his 
wife  and  children  would  encourage  him  to  die  in  a 
good  cause,  it  should  so  comfort  him,  that  for  very 
joy,  it  would  make  him  run  merrily  to  death." 

It  must  be  owned  that  Henry  felt  the  weight  of 
this  great  man's  opinion,  and  tried  every  possible 
means  to  obtain  at  least  the  appearance  of  his  spon- 
taneous approbation.  Tunstall  and  other  prelates  were 
commanded  to  desire  his  attendance  at  the  coronation 
of  Anne  at  Westminster.  They  wrote  a  letter  to  per- 
suade him  to  comply,  and  accompanied  it  with  the 
needful  present  of  20Z.  to  buy  a  court  dress.  Such 
overtures  he  had  foreseen ;  for  he  said  some  time  be- 
fore to  Roper,  when  he  first  heard  of  that  marriage, 
"  God  grant,  son  Roper,  that  these  matters  within  a 
while  be  not  confirmed  with  oaths ! "  He  accordingly 
answered  his  friends  the  bishops  well: — "Take  heed, 
my  lords  :  by  procuring  your  lordships  to  be  present 
at  the  coronation,  they  will  next  ask  you  to  preach 

*  Roper,  pp.  51,  52. 


LIFE    OF    SIR    THO^ilAS    MORE.  481 

for  the  setting   forth  thereof;    and  finally  to  -write 
books  to  all  the  world  in  defence  thereof." 

Another  opportunity  soon  presented  itself  for  try- 
ing to  subdue  the  obstinacy  of  jMore,  -whom  a  man  of 
violent  nature  might  believe  to  be  fearful,  because  he 
was  peaceful.  Elizabeth  Barton,  called  "the  holy 
maid  of  Kent,"  who  had  been,  for  a  considerable 
number  of  years,  afflicted  by  convulsive  maladies, 
felt  her  morbid  susceptibility  so  excited  by  Henry's 
profane  defiance  of  the  Catholic  Church,  and  his 
cruel  desertion  of  Catharine,  his  faithful  wife,  that  her 
pious  and  humane  feelings  led  her  to  represent,  and 
probably  to  believe,  herself,  to  be  visited  by  a  divine 
revelation  of  those  punishments  which  the  King  was 
about  to  draw  down  on  himself  and  on  the  kingdom. 
In  the  universal  opinion  of  the  sixteenth  century,  such 
interpositions  were  considered  as  still  occurring.  The 
neighbours  and  visiters  of  the  unfortunate  young 
woman  believed  her  ravings  to  be  prophesies,  and 
the  contortions  of  her  body  to  be  those  of  a  frame 
heavin":  and  struggling  under  the  awful  agitations  of 
divine  inspiration,  and  confirmed  that  conviction  of  a 
mission  from  God,  for  which  she  was  predisposed  by 
her  own  pious  benevolence,  combined  with  the  general 
error  of  the  age.  Both  Fisher  and  iSIore  appear  not 
to  have  altogether  disbelieved  her  pretensions  :  More 
expressly  declared  that  he  durst  not  and  would  not  be 
bold  in  judging  her  miracles.*  In  the  beginning  of 
her  prophecies,  the  latter  had  been  commanded  by  the 
King  to  enquire  into  her  case ;  and  he  made  a  report 
to  Henry,  who  agreed  with  him  in  considering  the 
whole  of  her  miraculous  pretensions  as  frivolous,  and 
deserving  no  farther  regard.  But,  in  1532,  several 
monks f  so  magnified  her  performances  to  More,  that 
he  was  prevailed  on  to  see  her ;  but  refused  to  hear 
her  speak  about  the  King,  saying  to  her,  in  general 

•  Letter  to  Cromwell,  probably  ^vritten  in  the  end  of  1 532. 
f  Of  whom  some  were  afterwards  executed. 
VOL.  L  II 


482  LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE. 

terms,  that  he  had  no  desire  to  pry  into  the  con- 
cerns of  others.  Pursuant,  as  it  is  said,  to  a  sentence 
by  or  in  the  Star  Chamber,  she  stood  in  the  pillory  at 
Paul's  Cross,  acknowledging  herself  to  be  guilty  of 
the  imposture  of  claiming  inspiration,  and  saying  that 
she  was  tempted  to  this  fraud  by  the  instigation  of  the 
devil.  Considering  the  circumstances  of  the  case,  and 
the  character  of  the  parties,  it  is  far  more  probable 
that  the  ministers  should  have  obtained  a  false  con- 
fession from  her  hopes  of  saving  her  life,  than  that 
a  simple  woman  should  have  contrived  and  carried  on, 
for  many  years,  a  system  of  complicated  and  elaborate 
imposture.  It  would  not  be  inconsistent  with  this 
acquittal,  to  allow  that,  in  the  course  of  her  self- 
delusion,  she  should  have  been  induced,  by  some 
ecclesiastics  of  the  tottering  Church,  to  take  an  active 
part  in  these  pious  frauds,  which  there  is  too  much 
reason  to  believe  that  persons  of  unfeigned  religion 
have  been  often  so  far  misguided  by  enthusiastic  zeal, 
as  to  perpetrate  or  to  patronise.  But  whatever  were 
the  motives  or  the  extent  of  the  "  holy  maid's "  con- 
fession, it  availed  her  nothing ;  for  in  the  session  of 
parliament,  which  met  in  January,  1534,  she  and  her 
ecclesiastical  prompters  were  attainted  of  high  trea- 
son, and  adjudged  to  suffer  death  as  traitors.  Fisher, 
Bishop  of  Rochester,  and  others,  were  attainted  of 
misprision,  or  concealment  of  treason,  for  which  they 
were  adjudged  to  forfeiture  and  imprisonment  during 
the  King's  pleasure.*  The  "holy  maid,"  with  her 
spiritual  guides,  suffered  death  at  Tyburn  on  the  21st 
of  April ;  she  confirming  her  former  confession,  but 
laying  her  crime  to  the  charge  of  her  companions,  if 
we  may  implicitly  believe  the  historians  of  the  vic- 
torious party.  | 

Fisher  and  his  supposed  accomplices  in  misprision 
remained  in  prison  according  to  their  attainder.  Of 
More  the  statute  makes  no  mention  ;  but  it  contains 

*  25  H.  8.  c.  12.  t  Such  as  Hall  and  Kolinshed. 


LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE.  483 

a  provision  which,  "when  it  is  combined  with  other 
circumstances  to  be  presently  related,  appears  to  have 
been  added  to  the  bill  for  the  purpose  of  providing  for 
his  safety.  By  this  provision,  the  King's  majesty,  at 
the  humble  suit  of  his  well  beloved  wife  Queen  Anne, 
pardons  all  persons  not  expressly  by  name  attainted 
by  the  statute,  for  all  misprision  and  concealments  re- 
lating to  the  fiilse  and  feigned  miracles  and  prophecies 
of  Elizabeth  Barton,  on  or  before  the  20th  day  of 
October,  1533.  Now  we  are  told  by  Roper*  "that 
Sir  Thomas  ]More's  name  was  originally  inserted  in 
the  bill,"  the  King  supposing  that  this  bill  would  "  to 
Sir  Thomas  More  be  so  troublous  and  terrible,  that 
it  would  force  him  to  relent  and  condescend  to  his  re- 
quest ;  wherein  his  gra<je  was  much  deceived."  More 
was  personally  to  have  been  received  to  make  answer 
in  his  own  defence :  but  the  King,  not  liking  that, 
sent  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  the  Chancellor, 
the  Duke  of  Norfolk,  and  Cromwell,  to  attempt  his 
conversion.  Audley  reminded  More  of  the  King's 
special  favour  and  many  benefits:  More  admitted 
them  ;  but  modestly  added,  that  his  highness  had  most 
graciously  declared  that  on  this  matter  he  should  be 
molested  no  more.  When  in  the  end  they  saw  that  no 
persuasion  could  move  him,  they  then  said,  "  that  the 
King's  highness  had  given  them  in  commandment,  if 
they  could  by  no  gentleness  win  him,  in  the  King's 
name  with  ingratitude  to  charge  him,  that  never  was 
servant  to  his  master  so  villainous  f,  nor  subject  to  his 
prince  so  traitorous  as  he."  They  even  reproached 
him  for  bavins  either  written  in   the  name  of  his 


*  P.  62. 

t  Like  a  slave  or  a  villain.  The  word  in  the  mouth  of  these 
tjentlcnien  appears  to  have  been  in  a  state  of  transition,  about 
the  middle  point  between  the  orifrinal  sense  of  "  like  a  shive," 
and  its  modern  acceptation  of  mean  or  malijrnant  offenders. 
What  proof  is  not  supjilicd  by  this  single  fact  in  the  history  of 
the  lanj^uage  of  the  masters,  of  their  conviction,  that  the  slavery 
maintained  by  them  doomed  the  slaves  to  depravity ! 

II  2 


484  LIFE    OF    SIR   THOaiAS   MORE. 

master,  or  betrayed  liis  sovereign  into  writing,  the 
book  against  Luther,  which  had  so  deeply  pledged 
Henry  to  the  support  of  Papal  pretensions.  To  these 
upbraidings  he  calmly  answered :  —  "  The  terrors  are 
arguments  for  children,  and  not  for  me.  As  to  the 
fact,  the  king  knoweth,  that  after  the  book  was 
finished  by  his  highness's  appointment,  or  the  consent 
of  the  maker,  I  was  only  a  sorter  out  and  placer  of 
the  principal  matters  therein  contained."  He  added, 
that  he  had  warned  the  King  of  the  prudence  of 
'•touching  the  pope's  authority  more  slenderly,  and 
that  he  had  reminded  Henry  of  the  statutes  of  pre- 
munire,^^  whereby  "  a  good  part  of  the  pope's  pastoral 
care  was  pared  away;"  and  that  impetuous  monarch 
nad  answered,  "We  are  so  much  bounden  unto  the 
see  of  Rome,  that  we  cannot  do  too  much  honour  unto 
it."  On  More's  return  to  Chelsea  from  his  interview 
with  these  lords,  Roper  said  to  him :  —  "I  hope  all  is 
well,  since  you  are  so  merry?"  —  "It  is  so,  indeed," 
said  More,  "I  thank  God."  —  "Are  you,  then,  out  of 
the  parliament  bill  ?  "  said  Roper. —  "  By  my  troth,  I 
never  remembered  it ;  but,"  said  More,  "  I  will  tell 
thee  why  I  was  so  merry ;  because  I  had  given  the 
devil  a  foul  fall,  and  that  with  those  lords  I  had  gone 
so  far,  as  without  great  shame  I  can  never  go  back 
again."  This  frank  avowal  of  the  power  of  tempta- 
tion, and  this  simple  joy  at  having  at  the  hazard  of 
life  escaped  from  the  farther  seductions  of  the  court, 
bestows  a  greatness  on  these  few  and  familiar  words 
which  scarcely  belongs  to  any  other  of  the  sayings  of 
man. 

Henry,  incensed  at  the  failure  of  wheedling  and 
threatening  messages,  broke  out  into  violent  declara- 
tions of  his  resolution  to  include  More  in  the  attainder, 
and  said  that  he  should  be  personally  present  to  en- 
sure the  passing  of  the  bill.  Lord  Audley  and  his 
colleasrues  on  their  knees  besouorht  their  master  to 
forbear,  lest  by  an  overthrow  in  his  own  presence, 
he  might  be  contemned  by  his  own  subjects,  and  dis- 


LIFE    OF    SIR    THOMAS   MORE.  485 

honoured  throughout  Christendom  for  ever  ;  —  adding, 
that  they  doubted  not  that  they  should  find  a  more 
meet  occasion  "to  serve  his  turn  ;"  for  that  in  this  case 
of  the  nun  he  was  so  clearly  innocent,  that  men  deemed 
him  far  worthier  of  praise  than  of  reproof.  Ilenrj 
was  compelled  to  yield.*  Such  was  the  power  of  de- 
fenceless virtue  over  the  slender  remains  of  independ- 
ence among  slavish  peers,  and  over  the  lingering 
remnants  of  common  humanity  which  might  still  be 
mingled  with  a  cooler  policy  in  the  bosoms  of  subser- 
vient politicians.  One  of  the  worst  of  that  race, 
Thomas  Cromwell,  on  meeting  Roper  in  the  Parliament 
House  next  day  after  the  King  assented  to  the  prayer 
of  his  ministers,  told  him  to  tell  More  that  he  was  put 
out  of  the  bill.  Koper  sent  a  messenger  to  Margaret 
Roper,  who  hastened  to  her  beloved  father  \yith  the 
tidinjxs.  More  answered  her,  with  his  usual  naiety 
and  fondness,  "  In  faith,  INIegg,  what  is  put  oft'  is  not 
given  up."  f  Soon  after,  the  Duke  of  Norfolk  said  to 
him,  — "  By  the  mass !  Master  More,  it  is  perilous 
striving  with  princes ;  the  anger  of  a  prince  brings 
death."  —  "  Is  that  all,  my  lord  ?  then  the  difterence 
between  you  and  me  is  but  this, — that  I  shall  die  to-day^ 
and  rjoit  to-morrow."  No  life  in  Plutarch  is  more  full 
of  happy  sayings  and  striking  retorts  than  that  of 
More  ;  but  the  terseness  and  liveliness  of  his  are  justly 
overlooked  in  the  contemplation  of  that  union  of  per- 
fect simplicity  Avith  moral  grandeur,  which,  perhaps, 
no  other  human  being  has  so  uniformly  reached. 
By  a  tyrannical  edict,   miscalled   "  a  law,"  in  the 

*  The  House  of  Lords  addressed  the  King,  praying  him  to 
declare  whether  it  would  be  agreeable  to  his  pleasure  that  Sir 
Thomas  More  and  others  slwuld  not  be  heard  in  their  own  de- 
fence before  "  the  lords  in  the  royal  senate  called  the  Stere 
Chamber."  Nothing  more  appears  on  the  Journals  relating  to 
this  matter.  Lords'  Journals,  6th  March,  1533.  The  Journals 
prove  the  nan-ative  of  Roper,  from  which  the  text  is  composed, 
to  be  as  accurate  as  it  is  beautiful. 

f  lie  spoke  to  her  in  his  conversational  Latin,  — "  Quod  dif- 
fcrtur  nan  auf-rtur." 

I  I  3 


486  LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS    MORE. 

same  session  of  1533-4,  it  was  made  high  treason, 
after  the  1st  of  May,  1534,  by  writing,  print,  deed,  or 
act,  to  do  or  to  procure,  or  cause  to  be  done  or  pro- 
cured, any  thing  to  the  prejudice,  slander,  disturbance, 
or  derogation  of  the  King's  lawful  matrimony  with 
Queen  Anne.  If  the  same  offences  should  be  com- 
mitted by  words,  they  were  to  be  only  misprision.  The 
same  act  enjoined  all  persons  to  take  an  oath  to  main- 
tain its  whole  contents ;  and  an  obstinate  refusal  to 
make  such  oath  was  subjected  to  the  penalties  of  mis- 
prision. No  form  of  the  oath  was  enacted,  but  on  the 
30th  of  March*,  1534,  which  was  the  day  of  closing 
the  session,  the  Chancellor  Audley,  when  the  commons 
were  at  the  bar,  but  when  they  could  neither  deHbe- 
rate  nor  assent,  read  the  King's  letters  patent,  contain- 
ing one,  and  appointing  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury, 
the  Chancellor,  the  Dukes  of  Norfolk  and  Suffolk,  to 
be  commissioners  for  administering  it. 

More  was  summoned  to  appear  before  these  com- 
missioners at  Lambeth,  on  Monday  the  13th  of  April. 
On  other  occasions  he  had  used,  at  his  departure 
from  his  wife  and  children,  whom  he  tenderly  loved, 
to  have  them  brought  to  his  boat,  and  there  to  kiss 
them,  and  bid  them  all  farewell.  At  this  time  he 
would  suffer  none  of  them  to  follow  him  forth  of  the 
gate,  but  pulled  the  wicket  after  him,  and  shut  them 
all  from  him,  and  with  Roper  and  four  servants  took 
boat  towards  Lambeth.  He  sat  for  a  while ;  but  at 
last,  his  mind  being  lightened  and  relieved  by  those 
high  principles  to  which  with  him  every  low  consider- 
ation yielded,  whispered  :  —  "  Son  Roper  !  I  thank  our 
Lord,  the  field  is  won."  —  "As  I  conjectured,"  says 
Roper,  "  it  was  for  that  his  love  to  God  conquered  his 
carnal  affections."  What  follows  is  from  an  account 
of  his  conduct  during  the  subsequent  examination 
at  Lambeth  sent  to  his  darling  child,  Margaret 
Roper.     After  having  read  the  statute  and  the  form 

*  Lords'  Journals,  vol.  i.  p.  82. 


LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS    MORE.  487 

of  the  oath,  he  declared  his  readiness  to  swear  that  he 
would  maintain  and  defend  the  order  of  succession  to 
the  cro^vn  as  established  by  parliament.  He  dis- 
claimed all  censure  of  those  who  had  imposed,  or  on 
those  who  had  taken,  the  oath,  but  declared  it  to 
be  impossible  that  he  could  swear  to  the  whole  con- 
tents of  it,  without  offending  against  his  own  con- 
science ;  adding,  that  if  they  doubted  whether  his 
refusal  proceeded  from  pure  scruple  of  conscience  or 
from  his  own  phantasies,  he  was  willing  to  satisfy 
their  doubts  by  oath.  The  commissioners  urged  that 
he  was  the  first  who  refused  it ;  they  showed  him  the 
subscriptions  of  all  the  lords  and  commons  who  had 
sworn ;  and  they  held  out  the  King's  sure  displeasure 
against  him  should  he  be  the  single  recusant.  When 
he  was  called  on  a  second  time,  they  charged  him 
with  obstinacy  for  not  mentioning  any  special  part  of 
the  oath  which  wounded  his  conscience.  He  answered, 
that  if  he  were  to  open  his  reasons  for  refusal  farther, 
he  should  exa^erate  the  King  still  more :  he  offered, 
however,  to  assign  them  if  the  lords  would  procure 
the  King's  assurance  that  the  avowal  of  the  grounds 
of  his  defence  should  not  be  considered  as  offensive  to 
the  King,  nor  prove  dangerous  to  himself.  The  com- 
missioners answered  that  such  assurances  would  be  no 
defence  against  a  legal  charge :  he  offered,  however,  to 
trust  himself  to  the  King's  honour.  Cranmer  took 
some  advantage  of  More's  candour,  urging  that,  as  he 
had  disclaimed  all  blame  of  those  who  had  sworn,  it 
was  evident  that  he  thought  it  only  doubtful  whether 
the  oath  was  unlawful ;  and  desired  him  to  consider 
whether  the  obligation  to  obey  the  King  was  not  abso- 
lutely certain.  More  was  struck  with  the  subtilty  of 
this  reasoning,  which  took  him  by  surprise.  —  but  not 
convinced  of  its  solidity  :  notwithstanding  his  surprise, 
he  seems  to  have  almost  touched  upon  the  true  answer, 
that  as  the  oath  contained  a  profession  of  opinion,  — 
such,  for  example,  as  the  lawfulness  of  the  King's 
marriage,  on  which  men  might  differ,  —  it  might  be 

I  I  4 


488  LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE. 

declined  by  some  and  taken  by  others  with  equal 
honesty.  Cromwell,  whom  More  believed  to  favour 
him,  loudly  swore  that  he  would  rather  see  his  only 
son  had  lost  his  head  than  that  More  had  thus  refused 
the  oath ;  he  it  was  who  bore  the  answer  to  the  King, 
the  Chancellor  Audley  distinctly  enjoining  him  to 
state  very  clearly  More's  willingness  to  swear  to  the 
succession.  "  Surely,"  said  More,  "  as  to  swearing  to 
the  succession,  I  see  no  peril."  Cromwell  was  not  a 
good  man ;  but  the  gentle  virtue  of  More  subdued 
even  the  bad.  To  his  own  house  More  never  more 
returned,  being  on  the  same  day  committed  to  the  cus- 
tody of  the  Abbot  of  Westminster,  in  which  he  con- 
tinued four  days;  and  at  the  end  of  that  time,  on 
Friday  the  17th,  he  was  conveyed  to  the  Tower.* 

Soon  after  the  commencement  of  the  session,  which 
began  on  the  3d  of  November  following^,  an  act  was 
passed  which  ratified,  and  professed  to  recite,  the  form 
of  oath  promulgated  on  the  day  of  the  prorogation  ; 
and  enacted  that  the  oath  therein  recited  should  be 
reputed  to  be  the  very  oath  intended  by  the  former 
act  %  ;  though  there  were,  in  fact,  some  substantial  and 
important  interpolations  in  the  latter  act ;  —  such  as 
the  words  "most  dear  and  entirely  beloved,  lawful 
wife.  Queen  Anne,"  which  tended  to  render  that  form 
still  less  acceptable  than  before,  to  the  scrupulous  con- 
sciences of  More  and  Fisher.  Before  the  end  of  the 
same    session   two   statutes  §  were   passed,  attainting 

*  Roper  tells  us  that  the  King,  who  had  intended  to  desist 
from  his  importunities,  was  exasperated  by  Queen  Anne's  cla- 
mour to  tender  the  oath  at  Lambeth ;  but  he  detested  that  un- 
happy lady,  whose  marriage  was  the  occasion  of  More's  ruin  : 
and  though  Roper  was  an  unimpeachable  witness  relating  to  Sir 
Thomas's  con  versation,  he  is  of  less  weight  as  to  what  passed  in 
the  interior  of  the  palace.  The  ministers  might  have  told  such 
a  story  to  excuse  themselves  to  Roper:  Anne  could  have  had 
no  opportunity  of  contradiction. 

t  26  H.  VIII.  c.  2. 

X  25  Id.  c.  22.  §  9.     Comdare  Lords'Journals,  vol.  i.  p.  82. 

§  26  H.  Vin.  c.  22,  23. 


LIFE    OF    SIK   TCOMAS    MORE.  489 

More  and  Fisher  of  misprision  of  treason,  and  specify- 
ing the  punishment  to  be  imprisonment  of  body  and 
loss  of  goods.  By  that  which  relates  to  More,  the 
King's  grants  of  land  to  him  in  1523  and  1525  are 
resumed  ;  it  is  also  therein  recited  that  he  refused  the 
oath  since  the  1st  of  May  of  1534,  with  an  intent  to 
sow  sedition ;  and  he  is  reproached  for  having  de- 
meaned himself  in  other  respects  ungratefully  and 
unkindly  to  the  King,  his  benefactor. 

That  this  statement  of  the  legislative  measures 
which  preceded  it  is  necessary  to  a  consideration  of 
the  legality  of  More's  trial,  which  must  be  owned  to 
be  a  part  of  its  justice,  will  appear  in  its  proper  place. 
In  the  mean  time,  the  few  preparatory  incidents  which 
occurred  during  thirteen  months'  imprisonment,  must 
be  briefly  related.  His  wife  Alice,  though  an  excel- 
lent housewife,  yet  in  her  visits  to  the  Tower  handled 
his  misfortunes  and  his  scruples  too  roughly.  "  Like 
an  ignorant,  and  somewhat  worldly,  woman,  she  bluntly 
said  to  him, —  'How  can  a  man  taken  for  wise,  like 
you,  play  the  fool  in  this  close  filthy  prison,  when  you 
might  be  abroad  at  your  liberty,  if  you  would  but  do 
as  the  bishops  have  done?'"  Sh»  enhirged  on  his  fair 
house  at  Chelsea  —  "his  library,  gallery,  garden,  and 
orchard,  together  with  tlie  company  of  his  wife  and 
children."  He  bore  with  kindness  in  its  most  unpleas- 
ing  form,  and  answered  her  cheerfully  after  his  manner, 
which  was  to  blend  religious  feelings  with  quaintness 
and  liveliness:  —  "Is  not  this  house  as  nigh  heaven  as 
mine  own  ?  "  She  answered  liim  in  what  then  appears 
to  have  been  a  homely  exclamation  of  contempt*, 
"  Tilly  valle,  tilly  valh:']  He  treated  her  harsh 
language  as  a  wholesome  exercise  for  his  patience, 
and  replied  with  equal  mildness,  though  with  more 
gravity,  "Why  should  I  joy  in  my  gay  house,  when, 
if  I  should  rise  from  the  grave  in  seven  years,  I 
should  not  fail  to  find  some  one  there  who  would  bid 

*  Roper,  p.  78.  f  Narcs's  Glossan',  London,  1822, 


490  LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   3I0RE. 

me  to  go  out  of  doors,  for  it  was  none  of  mine  ?  "  It 
was  not  thus  that  his  Margaret  Roper  conversed  or 
corresponded  with  him  during  his  confinement.  A 
short  note  written  to  her  a  little  while  after  his  com- 
mitment, with  a  coal  (his  only  pen  and  ink)  begins, 
"Mine  own  good  daughter,"  and  is  closed  in  the  fol- 
lowing fond  and  pious  words:  —  "Written  with  a  coal, 
by  your  tender  loving  father,  who  in  his  poor  prayers 
forgetteth  none  of  you,  nor  your  babes,  nor  your 
good  husband,  nor  your  father's  shrewd  wife  neither." 
Shortly  after,  mistaking  the  sense  of  a  letter  from  her 
which  he  thought  advised  him  to  compliance,  he  wrote 
a  rebuke  of  her  supposed  purpose,  with  the  utmost 
vehemence  of  aifection,  and  the  deepest  regard  to  her 
judgment!  —  "I  hear  many  terrible  things  towards 
me ;  but  they  all  never  touched  me,  never  so  near,  nor 
were  they  so  grievous  unto  me  as  to  see  you,  my  well 
beloved  child,  in  such  a  piteous  and  vehement  manner, 
labour  to  persuade  me  to  a  thing  whereof  I  have  of 
pure  necessity,  for  respect  unto  myne  own  soul,  so 
often  given  you  so  precise  an  answer  before.  The 
matters  that  move  my  conscience  I  have  sundry  times 
shown  you,  that  I  will  disclose  them  to  no  one."* 
Margaret's  reply  was  worthy  of  herself :  she  acquiesces 
in  his  "  faithful  and  delectable  letter,  the  faithful  mes- 
senger of  his  virtuous  mind,"  and  almost  rejoices  in 
his  victory  over  all  earthborn  cares ; — concluding  thus : 
— "  Your  own  most  loving  obedient  daughter  and 
bedeswomanf ,  Margaret  Roper,  who  desireth  above  all 
worldly  things  to  be  in  John  Wood's  J  stede  to  do  you 
some  service."  After  some  time  pity  prevailed  so  far 
that  she  obtained  the  King's  licence  to  resort  to  her 
father  in  the  Tower.  On  her  first  visit,  after  gratefully 
performing  their  accustomed  devotions,  his  first  care 
was  to  soothe  her  afflicted  heart  by  the  assurance  that 

*  English  Works,  vol.  i.  p.  1430. 

f  His  waiting-man,  Ibid.  p.  1431,  Bedesman — one  who  prays 
for  another. 
J  Roper,  p.  72. 


LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE.  491 

he  saw  no  cause  to  reckon  himself  in  worse  case  there 
than  in  his  own  house.  On  another  occasion  he  asked 
her  how  Queen  Anne  did  ?  "  In  faith,  father,"  said 
she,  "  never  better."  —  "  Never  better,  Megg !  "  quoth 
he ;  "  aLas !  Megg,  it  pitieth  me  to  remember  into 
what  misery,  poor  soul,  she  shall  shortly  come."  Va- 
rious attempts  continued  still  to  be  made  to  cajole 
him ;  partly,  perhaps,  with  the  hope  that  his  inter- 
course with  the  beloved  Margaret  might  have  softened 
him.  Cromwell  told  him  that  the  Kinjr  was  still  his 
good  master,  and  did  not  wish  to  press  his  conscience. 
The  lords  commissioners  went  twice  to  the  Tower  to 
tender  the  oath  to  him :  but  neither  he  nor  Fisher 
would  advance  farther  than  their  original  declaration 
of  perfect  willingness  to  maintain  the  settlement  of 
the  crowTi,  which,  being  a  matter  purely  political,  was 
within  the  undisputed  competence  of  parliament. 
They  refused  to  include  in  their  oath  any  other  matter 
on  account  of  scruples  of  conscience,  which  they  for- 
bore to  particularise,  lest  they  might  thereby  furnish 
their  enemies  with  a  pretext  for  representing  their 
defence  as  a  new  crime.  A  statement  of  their  real 
ground  of  objection, — that  it  would  be  insincere  in 
them  to  declare  upon  oath,  that  they  believed  the 
King's  marriage  with  Anne  to  be  lawful,  —  might,  in 
defending  themselves  against  a  charge  of  misprision  ot 
treason,  have  exposed  them  to  the  penalties  of  high 
treason. 

Two  difficulties  occurred  in  reconciling  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  victim  with  any  form  or  colour  of  law. 
The  first  of  them  consisted  in  the  circumstance  that 
the  naked  act  of  refusing  the  oath  was,  even  by  the 
late  statute,  punishable  only  as  a  misprision ;  and 
though  concealment  of  trea.-on  was  never  expressly 
declared  to  be  only  a  misprision  till  the  statute  to  that 
effect  was  passed  under  Philip  and  ^lary*, — chiefly 
perhaps   occasioned   by   the  case   of  oMore,  —  yet   it 

*  1  &  2  PhiL  and  Mar.  c.  10. 


492  LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE. 

seemed  strange  thus  to  prosecute  him  for  the  refusal, 
as  an  act  of  treason,  after  it  had  been  positively  made 
punishable  as  a  misprision  by  a  general  statute  and 
after  a  special  act  of  attainder  for  misprision  had  been 
passed  against  him.  Both  these  enactments  were,  on 
the  supposition  of  the  refusal  being  indictable  for 
treason,  absolutely  useless,  and  such  as  tended  to 
make  More  believe  that  he  was  safe  as  long  as  he 
remained  silent.  The  second  has  been  already  in- 
timated, that  he  had  yet  said  nothing  which  could  be 
tortured  into  a  semblance  of  those  acts  derogatory 
to  the  King's  marriage,  which  had  been  made 
treason.  To  conquer  this  last  difficulty,  Sir  Robin 
Rich,  the  solicitor-general,  undertook  the  infamous 
task  of  betraying  More  into  some  declaration,  in  a  con- 
fidential conversation,  and  under  pretext  of  familiar 
friendship,  which  might  be  pretended  to  be  treason- 
able. What  the  success  of  this  flagitious  attempt 
was,  the  reader  will  see  in  the  account  of  More's  trial. 
It  appears  from  a  letter  of  Margaret  Roper,  apparently 
written  sometime  in  the  winter,  that  his  persecutors 
now  tried  another  expedient  for  vanquishing  his  con- 
stancy, by  restraining  him  from  attending  church ; 
and  she  adds,  "  from  the  company  of  my  good  mother 
and  his  poor  children."  *  More,  in  his  answer,  ex- 
presses his  wonted  affection  in  very  familiar,  but  in 
most  significant,  language :  —  "  If  I  were  to  declare  in 
writing  how  much  pleasure  your  daughterly  loving 
letters  gave  me,  a  peck  of  coals  would  not  suffice  to 
make  the  pens."  So  confident  was  he  of  his  inno- 
cence, and  so  safe  did  he  deem  himself  on  the  side  of 
law,  that  "he  believed  some  new  causeless  suspicion, 
founded  upon  some  secret  sinister  information,"  had 
risen  up  against  him.*!* 

On  the  2d  or  3d  of  May,  1535,  More  informed  his 
dear  daughter  of  a  visit  from  Cromwell,  attended  by 
the  attorney  and  solicitor-general,  and  certain  civi- 

*  English  Works,  vol.  i.  p.  1446.  f  Ibid.  p.  1447. 


LIFE    OF    SIR    THOJIAS    MORE.  493 

lians,  at  wliich  Cromwell  had  urged  to  him  the  statute 
Tvhich  made  the  King  head  of  the  Church,  and  re- 
quired an  answer  on  that  subject ;  and  that  he  liad 
replied:  —  "I  am  the  King's  true  faithful  subject,  and 
daily  bedesman  :  I  say  no  harm ;  and  do  no  harm  ; 
and  if  this  be  not  enough  to  keep  a  man  alive,  in  good 
faith  I  long  not  to  live."  This  ineffectual  attempt  was 
followed  by  a  another  visit  from  Cranmer,  the  Chan- 
cellor, the  Duke  of  Suffolk,  the  Earl  of  Wiltshire, 
and  Cromwell,  who,  after  much  argument,  tendered 
an  oath,  by  which  he  was  to  promise  to  make  an- 
swers to  questions  which  they  might  put*  ;  and  on  his 
decisive  refusal,  Cromwell  gave  him  to  understand 
that,  agreeably  to  the  language  at  the  former  confer- 
ence, "  his  grace  would  follow  the  course  of  his  laws 
towards  such  as  he  should  find  obstinate."  Cranmer, 
who  too  generally  complied  with  evil  counsels,  but 
nearly  always  laboured  to  prevent  their  execution, 
wrote  a  persuasive  letter  to  Cromwell,  earnestly  pray- 
ing the  King  to  be  content  with  More  and  Fisher's 
proffered  engagement  to  maintain  the  succession, 
which  would  render  the  whole  nation  unanimous  on 
the  practical  part  of  that  great  subject. 

On  the  6th  of  the  same  month,  almost  immediately 
after  the  defeat  of  every  attempt  to  practise  on  his 
firmness.  More  was  brought  to  trial  at  Westminster ; 
and  it  will  scarcely  be  doubted,  that  no  such  culprit 
stood  at  any  European  bar  for  a  thousand  years.  It 
is  rather  from  caution  than  from  necessity  that  the 
ages  of  Roman  domination  are  excluded  from  the 
comparison.  It  does  not  seem  that  in  any  moral  re- 
spect Socrates  himself  could  claim  a  superiority.  It 
is  lamentable  that  the  records  of  the  proceedings 
against  such  a  man  should  be  scanty.  We  do  not 
certainly  know  the  specific  offence  of  which  he  was 
convicted.  There  does  not  seem,  however,  to  be  much 
doubt  that  the  prosecution  was  under  the  act  "  for  the 

♦  Ibid.  p.  1452. 


494  I-IFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE. 

establishment  of  the  king's  succession,"  passed  in  the 
session  1533-4*,  whicli  made  it  high  treason  "to  do 
any  thing  to  the  prejudice,  slander,  disturbance,  or 
derogation  of  the  lawful  marriage"  between  Henry 
and  Anne.  Almost  any  act,  done  or  declined,  might 
be  forced  within  the  undefined  limits  of  such  vague 
terms.  In  this  case  the  prosecutors  probably  repre- 
sented his  refusal  to  answer  certain  questions  which, 
according  to  them,  must  have  related  to  the  marriage, 
his  observations  at  his  last  examination,  and  especially 
his  conversation  with  Rich,  as  overt  acts  of  that  trea- 
son, inasmuch  as  it  must  have  been  known  by  him 
that  his  conduct  on  these  occasions  tended  to  create  a 
general  doubt  of  the  legitimacy  of  the  marriage. 

To  the  first  alleged  instance  of  his  resistance  to  the 
King,  which  consisted  in  his  original  judgment  against 
the  marriage,  he  answered  in  a  manner  which  rendered 
reply  impossible  ;  —  "  that  it  could  never  be  treason  for 
one  of  the  King's  advisers  to  give  him  honest  advice." 
On  the  like  refusal  respecting  the  King's  headship  of 
the  Church,  he  answered  that  "no  man  could  be  pu- 
nished for  silence."  The  attorney-general  said,  that 
the  prisoner's  silence  was  "malicious:"  More  justly 
answered,  that  "  he  had  a  right  to  be  silent  where  his 
language  was  likely  to  be  injuriously  misconstrued." 
Respecting  his  letters  to  Bishop  Fisher,  they  were 
burnt,  and  no  evidence  was  oifered  of  their  contents, 
which  he  solemnly  declared  to  have  no  relation  to  the 
charges.  And  as  to  the  last  charge,  that  he  had  called 
fhe  Act  of  Settlement  "  a  two-edged  sword,  which 
would  destroy  his  soul  if  he  complied  with  it,  and  his 
body  if  he  refused,"  it  was  answered  by  him,  that  "  he 
supposed  the  reason  of  his  refusal  to  be  equally  good, 
whether  the  question  led  to  an  offence  against  his  con- 
science, or  to  the  necessity  of  criminating  himself." 

Cromwell  had  before  told  him,  that  though  he  was 
suffering  perpetual  imprisonment  for  the  misprision, 

*  25  H.  VIII.  c.  22. 


LIFE    OF    Sm   TH03IAS   MORE.  495 

that  punishment  did  not  release  him  from  his  allegi- 
ance, and  that  he  was  amenable  to  the  law  for  treason  ; 
—  overlookincr  the  essential  circumstances,  that  the 
facts  laid  as  treason  were  the  same  on  which  the 
attainder  for  misprision  was  founded.  Even  if  this 
were  not  a  strictly  maintainable  objection  in  technical 
law,  it  certainly  showed  the  flagrant  injustice  of  the 
whole  proceeding. 

The  evidence,  however,  of  any  such  strong  circum- 
stances attendant  on  the  refusal  as  could  raise  it  into 
an  act  of  treason  must  have  seemed  defective  ;  for  the 
prosecutors  were  reduced  to  the  necessity  of  examin- 
ing Rich,  one  of  their  own  number,  to  prove  circum- 
stances of  which  he  could  have  had  no  knowledge, 
without  the  foulest  treachery  on  his  part.  He  said, 
that  he  had  gone  to  More  as  a  friend,  and  had  asked 
him,  if  an  act  of  parliament  had  made  him.  Rich,  king, 
would  not  he.  More,  acknowledge  him.  More  had 
said,  "Yes,  sir,  that  I  would."  —  "If  they  declared 
me  pope,  would  you  acknowledge  me  ? "  —  "  In  the 
first  case,  I  have  no  doubt  about  temporal  govern- 
ments ;  but  suppose  the  parliament  should  make  a  law 
that  God  should  not  be  God,  would  you  then,  Mr. 
Rich,  say  that  God  should  not  be  God  ?  "  —  "  No,"  says 
Rich,  "  no  parliament  could  make  such  a  law."  Rich 
went  on  to  swear,  that  More  had  added,  "  No  more 
could  the  parliament  make  the  King  supreme  head  of 
the  Church."  More  denied  the  latter  part  of  Rich's 
evidence  altogether  ;  which  is,  indeed,  inconsistent 
with  the  whole  tenour  of  his  language  :  he  was  then 
compelled  to  expose  the  profligacy  of  Rich's  character. 
"  I  am,"  he  said,  "  more  sorry  for  your  perjury,  than 
for  mine  own  peril.  Neither  I,  nor  any  man,  ever 
took  you  to  be  a  person  of  such  credit  as  I  could  com- 
municate with  on  such  matters.  We  dwelt  near  in 
one  parish,  and  you  were  always  esteemed  very  light 
of  your  tongue,  and  not  of  any  commendable  fame. 
Can  it  be  likely  to  your  lordships  that  I  should  so  un- 
advisedly overshoot  myself,  as  to  trust  Mr.  Rich  with 


496  LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE. 

what  I  have  concealed  from  the  King,  or  any  of  his 
noble  and  grave  counsellors  ? "  The  credit  of  Rich 
was  so  deeply  wounded,  that  he  was  compelled  to  call 
Sir  Richard  Southwell  and  Mr.  Palmer,  who  were 
present  at  the  conversation,  to  prop  his  tottering  evi- 
dence. They  made  a  paltry  excuse,  by  alleging  that 
they  were  so  occupied  in  removing  More's  books,  that 
they  did  not  listen  to  the  words  of  this  extraordinary 
conversation. 

The  jury*,  in  spite  of  all  these  circumstances,  re- 
turned a  verdict  of  "  guilty."  Chancellor  Audley,  who 
was  at  the  head  of  the  commission,  of  which  Spelman 
and  Fitzherbert,  eminent  lawyers,  were  members,  was 
about  to  pronounce  judgment,  when  he  was  inter- 
rupted by  More,  who  claimed  the  usual  privilege  of 
being  heard  to  show  that  judgment  should  not  be 
passed.  More  urged,  that  he  had  so  much  ground 
for  his  scruples  as  at  least  to  exempt  his  refusal  from 
the  imputation  of  disaffection,  or  of  what  the  law 
deems  to  be  malice.  The  chancellor  asked  him  once 
more  how  his  scruples  could  balance  the  weight  of  the 
parliament,  people,  and  Church  of  England? — a  topic 
which  had  been  used  against  him  at  every  interview 
and  conference  since  he  was  brought  prisoner  to 
Lambeth.  The  appeal  to  weight  of  authority  in- 
fluencing Conscience  was,  however,  singularly  un- 
fortunate. More  answered,  as  he  had  always  done, 
"  Nine  out  of  ten  of  Christians  now  in  the  world  think 
with  me  ;  nearly  all  the  learned  doctors  and  holy 
fathers  who  are  already  dead,  agree  with  me ;  and 
therefore  I  think  myself  not  bound  to  conform  my 
conscience  to  the  councell  of  one  realm  against  the 
general  consent  of  all  Christendom."  Chief  Justice 
Fitzjames  concurred  in  the  sufficiency  of  the  indict- 


*  Sir  T.  Palmer,  Sir  T.  Bent,  G.  Lovell,  esquire,  Thomas  Bur- 
bagc,  esquire,  and  G.  Chamber,  Edward  Stockmore,  William 
Brown,  Jasper  Leake,  Thomas  Belli ngton,  John  Parnell,  Richard 
Bellamy,  and  G.  Stoakes,  gentlemen,  were  the  jury. 


LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS    MORE.  497 

ment ;  which,  after  the  verdict  of  the  jury,  was  the 
only  matter  before  the  court. 

The  chancellor  then  pronounced  the  savage  sen- 
tence which  the  law  then  directed  in  cases  of  treason. 
More,  having  no  longer  any  measures  to  keep,  openly 
declared,  that  after  seven  years'  study,  "  he  could  find 
no  colour  for  holding  that  a  layman  could  be  head  of 
the  Church."  The  commissioners  once  more  offered 
him  a  favourable  audience  for  any  matter  which  he 
had  to  propose.  —  "  More  have  I  not  to  say,  my  lords," 
he  replied,  "  but  that  as  St.  Paul  held  the  clothes  of 
those  who  stoned  Stephen  to  death,  and  as  they  are 
both  now  saints  in  heaven,  and  shall  continue  there 
friends  for  ever ;  so,  I  verily  trust,  and  shall  therefore 
right  heartily  pray,  that  though  your  lordships  have 
now  here  on  earth  been  judges  to  my  condemnation, 
we  may,  nevertheless,  hereafter  cheerfully  meet  in 
heaven,  in  everlasting  salvation."  * 

Sir  W.  Kingston,  "  his  very  dear  friend,"  constable 
of  the  Tower,  as,  with  tears  running  down  his  cheeks, 
he  conducted  him  from  Westminster,  condoled  with 
his  prisoner,  who  endeavoured  to  assuage  the  sorrow 
of  his  friend  by  the  consolations  of  religion.  The 
same  gentleman  said  afterwards  to  Roper,  —  "I  was 
ashamed  of  myself  when  I  found  my  heart  so  feeble, 
and  his  so  strong."  Margaret  Roper,  his  good  angel, 
watched  for  his  landing  at  the  Tower  wharf.  "  After 
his  blessing  upon  her  knees  reverently  received,  with- 
out care  of  herself,  pressing  in  the  midst  of  the  throng, 
and  the  guards  that  were  about  him  with  lialberts 
and  bills,  she  hastily  ran  to  him,  and  openly,  in  sight 
of  them  all,  embraced  and  kissed  him.  He  gave  her 
again  his  fatherly  blessing.  After  separation  she,  all 
ravished  with  the  entire  love  of  her  dear  father,  sud- 
denly turned  back  acrain,  ran  to  him  as  before,  took 
him  about  the  neck,  and  divers  times  kissed  him  most 
lovingly,  —  a  sight  which  made  many  of  the  beholders 

•  Roper,  p.  90. 
VOL.  L  K  K  M 


498  LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS   MORE. 

weep  and  mourn."  *  Thus  tender  was  the  heart  of 
the  admirable  woman  who  had  at  the  same  time  the 
greatness  of  soul  to  strengthen  her  father's  fortitude, 
bj  disclaiming  the  advice  for  which  he,  having  mis- 
taken her  meaning,  had  meekly  rebuked  her,  —  to  prefer 
life  to  right. 

On  the  14th  of  June,  More  was  once  more  examined 
by  four  civilians  in  the  Tower.  "  He  was  asked,  first, 
whether  he  would  obey  the  King  as  supreme  head  of 
the  Church  of  England  on  earth  immediately  under 
Christ?  to  which  he  said  that  he  could  make  no 
answer :  secondly,  whether  he  would  consent  to  the 
King's  marriage  with  Queen  Anne,  and  affirm  the 
marriage  with  the  lady  Catharine  to  have  been  un- 
lawful ?  to  which  he  answered  that  he  did  never  speak 
nor  meddle  against  the  same :  and,  thirdly,  whether 
he  was  not  bound  to  answer  the  said  question,  and  to 
recognise  the  headship  as  aforesaid  ?  to  which  he  said, 
that  he  could  make  no  answer."  f  It  is  evident  that 
these  interrogatories,  into  which  some  terms  peculiarly 
objectionable  to  More  were  now  for  the  first  time  in- 
serted, were  contrived  for  the  sole  purpose  of  reducing 
the  illustrious  victim  to  the  option  of  uttering  a  lie, 
or  of  suffering  death.  The  conspirators  against  him 
might,  perhaps,  have  had  a  faint  idea  that  they  had 
at  length  broken  his  spirit ;  and  if  he  persisted,  they 
might  have  hoped  that  he  could  be  represented  as 
bringing  destruction  on  himself  by  his  own  obstinacy. 
Such,  however,  was  his  calm  and  well-ordered  mind, 
that  he  said  and  did  nothing  to  provoke  his  fate.  Had 
he  given  affirmative  answers,  he  would  have  sworn 
falsely :  he  was  the  martyr  of  veracity ;  he  perished 
only  because  he  was  sincere. 

On  Monday,  the  5th  of  July,  he  wrote  a  farewell 
letter  to  Margaret  Roper,  with  his  usual  materials  of 
coal.  It  contained  blessings  on  all  his  children  by 
name,  with  a  kind  remembrance  even  to  one  of  Mar- 
garet's maids.     Adverting  to  their  last  interview,  on 

*  Roper,  p.  90.  f  Ibid.  p.  92. 


1 


LIFE    OF    SIR    THOMAS    MORE.  499 

the  quay,  he  says, —  "I  never  liked  your  manner  to- 
wards me  better  than  when  you  kissed  me  last ;  for  I 
love  when  daughterly  love  and  dear  charity  have  no 
leisure  to  look  to  worldly  courtesy." 

Early  the  next  morning  Sir  Thomas  Pope,  "his 
singular  good  friend,"  came  to  him  with  a  message 
from  the  King  and  council,  to  say  that  he  should  die 
before  nine  o'clock  of  the  same  mornino-.  "  The  Kinjr's 
pleasure,"  said  Pope,  "  is  that  you  shall  not  use  many 
words." — " I  did  purpose,"  answered  More,  "to  have 
spoken  somewhat,  but  I  will  conform  myself  to  the 
King's  commandment,  and  I  beseech  you  to  obtain 
from  him  that  my  daughter  Margaret  may  be  present 
at  my  burial."  —  "The  King  is  already  content  that 
your  wife,  children,  and  other  friends  shall  be  present 
thereat."  The  lieutenant  brought  him  to  the  scaffold, 
which  was  so  weak  that  it  was  ready  to  fall :  on  which 
he  said,  merrily,  "  Master  lieutenant,  I  pray  you  see 
me  safe  up,  and  for  my  coming  down  let  me  shift  for 
myself."  When  he  laid  his  head  on  the  block,  he  de- 
sired the  executioner  to  wait  till  he  had  removed  his 
beard,  —  "for  that  had  never  offended  his  highness," — 
ere  the  axe  fell. 

He  has  been  censured  by  some  for  such  levities  at 
the  moment  of  death.  These  are  censorious  cavils, 
which  would  not  be  worthy  of  an  allusion  if  they  had 
not  occasioned  some  sentences  of  as  noble  reflection, 
and  beautiful  composition,  as  the  English  language 
contains.  "  The  innocent  mirth,  whicli  had  been  so 
conspicuous  in  his  life,  did  not  forsake  him  to  tlie  last. 
His  death  was  of  a  piece  with  his  life;  there  was 
nothing  in  it  new,  forced,  or  affected.  He  did  not  look 
upon  the  severing  his  head  from  his  body  as  a  circum- 
stance which  ought  to  produce  any  change  in  the  dis- 
position of  his  mind  ;  and  as  he  died  in  a  fixed  and 
settled  hope  of  immortality,  he  thought  any  unusual 
degree  of  sorrow  and  concern  imj)roper."* 

♦  Spectator,  No.  349, 

K  K    2 


500  LIFE    OF    SIR    THOMAS    MORE. 

According  to  the  barbarous  practice  of  laws  which 
vainly  struggle  to  carry  their  cruelty  beyond  the 
grave,  the  head  of  Sir  Thomas  More  was  placed  on 
London  bridge.  His  darling  daughter  Margaret,  had 
the  courage  to  procure  it  to  be  taken  down,  that  she 
might  exercise  her  affection  by  continuing  to  look  on 
a  relic  so  dear ;  and  carrying  her  love  beyond  the  grave, 
she  desired  that  it  might  be  buried  with  her,  when 
she  died.*  The  remains  of  this  precious  relic  are  said 
to  have  been  since  observed,  lying  on  what  had  once 
been  her  bosom.  The  male  descendants  of  this  ad- 
mirable woman  appear  to  have  been  soon  extinct :  her 
descendants  through  females  are  probably  numerous. f 
She  resembled  her  father  in  mind,  in  manner,  in  the 
features  and  expression  of  her  countenance,  and  in 
her  form  and  gait.  Her  learning  was  celebrated 
throughout  Christendom.  It  is  seldom  that  literature 
wears  a  more  agreeable  aspect  than  when  it  becomes 
a  bond  of  union  between  such  a  father  and  such  a 
daughter. 

Sir  Thomas  More's  eldest  son,  John,  married  Anne 
Cresacre,  the  heiress  of  an  estate,  still  held  by  his 
posterity  through  females,  at  Barnborough,  near  Don- 
caster^,  where  the  mansion  of  the  Mores  still  sub- 
sists. The  last  male  descendant  was  Thomas  More, 
a  Jesuit,  who  was  princi]3al  of  the  college  of  Jesuits 
at  Bruges,  and  died  at  Bath  in  1795,  having  survived 
his  famous  order,  and,  according  to  the  appearances 
of  that  time,  his  ancient  religion ;  —  as  if  the  family  of 
More  were  one  of  the  many  ties  which  may  be  traced, 
through  the  interval  of  two  centuries  and  a  half, 
between  the  revolutions  of  religion  and  those  of 
government. 

The  letters  and  narratives  of  Erasmus  diffused  the 

*  She  survived  her  father  about  nine  years. 

f  One  of  them,  Mr.  James  Hinton  Baverstock,  inserted  his 
noble  pedigree  from  Margaret,  in  1819,  in  a  copy  of  More's 
English  Works,  at  this  moment  before  me. 

J  Hunter's  South  Yorkshire,  vol.  i.  pp.  374,  375. 


LIFE    OF    SIR   THOMAS    MORE.  501 

story  of  his  friend's  fate  throughout  Europe.  Car- 
dinal Pole  bewailed  it  vrith  elegance  and  feeling.  It 
filled  Italy,  then  the  most  cultivated  portion  of  Europe, 
with  horror.  Paulo  Jovio  called  Henry  "  a  Phalaris," 
though  we  shall  in  vain  look  in  the  story  of  Phalaris, 
or  of  any  other  real  or  legendary  tyrant,  for  a  victim 
worthy  of  being  compared  to  More.  The  English 
ministers  throughout  Europe  were  regarded  with 
averted  eyes  as  the  agents  of  a  monster.  At  Venice, 
Henry,  after  this  deed,  was  deemed  capable  of  any 
crimes :  he  was  believed  there  to  have  murdered  Ca- 
tharine, and  to  be  about  to  murder  his  daughter  Mary.* 
The  Catholic  zeal  of  Spain,  and  the  resentment  of  the 
Spanish  people  against  the  oppression  of  Catharine, 
quickened  their  sympathy  with  More,  and  aggravated 
their  detestation  of  Henry.  Mason,  the  envoy  at  Val- 
ladolid,  thought  every  pure  Latin  phrase  too  weak  for 
More,  and  describes  him  by  one  as  contrary  to  the 
rules  of  that  language  as  "thrice  greatest"!  would 
be  to  those  of  ours.  When  intelligence  of  his  death 
was  brought  to  the  Emperor  Charles  V.,  he  sent  for 
Sir  T.  Elliot,  the  English  ambassador,  and  said  to 
him,  "  My  lord  embassador,  we  understand  tliat  the 
kins:  vour  master  has  put  his  wise  counsellor  Sir 
Thomas  More  to  death."  Elliot,  abashed,  made  an- 
swer that  he  understood  nothing  thereof  "Well," 
said  the  Emperor,  "  it  is  too  true  ;  and  this  we  will 
say,  that,  if  we  had  been  master  of  such  a  servant, 
we  should  rather  have  lost  the  best  city  in  our  do- 
minions than  have  lost  such  a  worthy  counsellor;" — 
"  which  matter,"  says  Roper,  in  the  concluding  words 
of  his  beautiful  narrative,  "was  by  Sir  T.  Elliot  told 
to  myself,  mt/  wife,  to  Mr.  Clement  and  his  wife,  and 
to  Mr.  Heywood  and  his  wife."  J 


*  Ellis's  Original  Letters,  2d  series,  Ictt.  cxvii. 
t  ri)i(l.  lett.  ex.     "  Ter  maximus  ille  Morns." 
X  Instead  of  Ileywood,  perhaps  we  ou^ht  to  read  "Heron  ?" 
In  that  case  the  three  daughters  of  Sir  Thomas  More  would  be 

K  K    3 


502  LIFE    OF    SIR    THOMAS    MORE. 

Of  all  men  nearly  perfect,  Sir  Thomas  More  had, 
perhaps,  the  clearest  marks  of  individual  character. 
His  peculiarities,  though  distinguishing  him  from  all 
others,  were  yet  withheld  from  growing  into  moral 
faults.  It  is  not  enough  to  say  of  him  that  he  was 
unaifected,  that  he  was  natural,  that  he  was  simple ; 
so  the  larger  part  of  truly  great  men  have  been.  But 
there  is  something  homespun  in  More  which  is  com- 
mon to  him  with  scarcely  any  other,  and  which  gives 
to  all  his  faculties  and  qualities  the  appearance  of 
being  the  native  growth  of  the  soil.  The  homeliness 
of  his  pleasantry  purifies  it  from  show.  He  walks  on 
the  scaffold  clad  only  in  his  household  goodness.  The 
unrefined  benignity  with  which  he  ruled  his  patriarchal 
dwelling  at  Chelsea  enabled  him  to  look  on  the  axe 
without  being  disturbed  by  feeling  hatred  for  the 
tyrant.  This  quality  bound  together  his  genius  and 
learning,  his  eloquence  and  fame,  with  his  homely  and 
daily  duties, — bestowing  a  genuineness  on  all  his  good 
qualities,  a  dignity  on  the  most  ordinary  offices  of  life, 
and  an  accessible  familiarity  on  the  virtues  of  a  hero 
and  a  martyr,  which  silences  every  suspicion  that  his 
excellencies  were  magnified.  He  thus  simply  per- 
formed great  acts,  and  uttered  great  thoughts,  because 
they  were  familiar  to  his  great  soul.  The  charm  of 
this  inborn  and  homebred  character  seems  as  if  it 
would  have  been  taken  off  by  polish.  It  is  this  house- 
hold character  which  relieves  our  notion  of  him  from 
vagueness,  and  divests  perfection  of  that  generality 
and  coldness  to  which  the  attempt  to  paint  a  perfect 
man  is  so  liable. 

It  will  naturally,  and  very  strongly  excite  the  re- 
gret of  the  good  in  every  age,  that  the  life  of  this  best 
of  men  should  have  been  in  the  power  of  one  who  has 
been  rarely  surpassed  in  wickedness.  But  the  exe- 
crable Henry  was  the  means  of  drawing  forth  the 

present:   Mrs.  Roper  was  the  eldest,  Mrs.  Clement  the  second, 
and  Cecilia  Heron  the  youngest. 


LIFE    OF    SIR    THOMAS    MORE.  503 

mafrnanimity,  the  fortitude,  and  the  meekness  of  More. 
Had  Henry  been  a  just  and  merciful  monarch,  we 
shoukl  not  have  known  the  degree  of  excellence  to 
which  human  nature  is  capable  of  ascending.  Catho- 
lics ought  to  see  in  More,  that  mildness  and  candour 
are  the  true  ornaments  of  all  modes  of  faith.  Pro- 
testants ought  to  be  taught  humility  and  charity  from 
this  instance  of  the  wisest  and  best  of  men  falling: 
into,  what  they  deem,  the  most  fatal  errors.  All  men, 
in  the  fierce  contests  of  contending  factions,  should, 
from  such  an  example,  learn  the  wisdom  to  fear  lest 
in  their  most  hated  antagonist  they  may  strike  down 
a  Sir  Thomas  More :  for  assuredly  virtue  is  not  so 
narrow  as  to  be  confined  to  any  party ;  and  we  have 
in  the  case  of  More  a  signal  example  that  the  nearest 
approach  to  perfect  excellence  does  not  exempt  men 
from  mistakes  which  we  may  justly  deem  mischievous. 
It  is  a  pregnant  proof,  that  we  should  beware  of  hating 
men  for  their  opinions,  or  of  adopting  their  doctrines 
because  we  love  and  venerate  their  virtues. 


K  K    I 


APPENDIX. 


A. 

Some  particulars  in  the  life  of  Sir  Thomas  More  I  am 
obliged  to  leave  to  more  fortunate  inquirers.  They  are, 
indeed,  very  minute  ;  but  they  may  appear  to  others  worthy 
of  being  ascertained,  as  they  appeared  to  me,  from  their 
connection  with  the  life  of  a  wise  and  good  man. 

The  records  of  the  Privy  Council  are  preserved  only  since 
1540,  so  that  we  do  not  exactly  know  the  date  of  his  ad- 
mission into  that  body.  The  time  when  he  was  knighted 
(then  a  matter  of  some  moment)  is  not  known.  As  the 
whole  of  his  life  passed  during  the  great  chasm  in  writs  for 
election,  and  returns  of  members  of  parliament,  from  1477 
to  1542,  the  places  for  which  he  sat,  and  the  year  of  his 
early  opposition  to  a  subsidy,  are  unascertained;  —  notwith- 
standing the  obliging  exertion  of  the  gentlemen  employed 
in  the  repositories  at  the  Tower,  and  in  the  Rolls'  chapel. 
We  know  that  he  was  Speaker  of  the  House  of  Commons  in 
1523  and  1524.*  Browne  Willis  owns  his  inability  to  fix  the 
place  which  he  represented f;  but  he  conjectured  it  to  have 
been  "  either  Middlesex,  where  he  resided,  or  Lancaster,  of 
which  duchy  he  was  chancellor."  But  that  laborious  and 
useful  writer  would  not  have  mentioned  the  latter  branch  of 
his  alternative,  nor  probably  the  former,  if  he  had  known 
that  More  was  not  Chancellor  of  the  Duchy  till  two  years 
after  his  Speakership. 

B. 

An  anecdote  in  More's  chancellorship  is  connectea  with 
an  English  phrase,  of  which  the  origin  is  not  quite  satisfac- 

*  Rolls  of  Parliament  in  Lords'  Journals,  vol.  i. 
f  Notitia  Parliamentaria,  vol.  iii.  p.  112. 


I 


APPEXDIX.  505 

torily  explained.  An  attorney  in  his  court,  named  Tubb, 
gave  an  account  in  court  of  a  cause  in  which  he  was  con- 
cerned, which  the  Chancellor  (who  with  all  his  gentleness 
loved  a  joke)  thought  so  rambling  and  incoherent,  that  he 
said  at  the  end  of  Tubb's  speech,  "  This  is  a  tale  of  a  tub ;" 
plainly  showing  that  the  phrase  was  then  familiarly  known. 
The  learned  Mr.  Douce  has  informed  a  friend  of  mine,  that 
in  Sebastian  Munster's  Cosmography,  there  is  a  cut  of  a 
ship  to  which  a  whale  was  coming  too  close  for  her  safety, 
and  of  the  sailors  throwing  a  tub  to  the  whale,  evidently  to 
play  with.  The  practice  of  throwing  a  tub  or  barrel  to  a 
large  fish,  to  divert  the  animal  from  gambols  dangerous  to  a 
vessel,  is  also  mentioned  in  an  old  prose  translation  of  The 
Ship  of  Fools.  These  passages  satisfactorily  explain  the 
common  phrase  of  throwing  a  tub  to  a  whale :  but  they  do 
not  account  for  leaving  out  the  whale,  and  introducing  the 
new  word  "  tale."  The  transition  from  the  first  phrase  to 
the  second  is  a  considerable  stride.  It  is  not,  at  least,  directly 
explained  by  Mr.  Douce's  citations ;  and  no  explanation  of 
it  has  hitherto  occurred  which  can  be  supported  by  proof. 
It  may  be  thought  probable  that,  in  process  of  time,  some 
nautical  wag  compared  a  rambling  story,  which  he  suspected 
of  beinjT  lenfTthened  and  confused,  in  order  to  turn  his 
thoughts  from  a  direction  not  convenient  to  the  story-teller, 
with  the  tub  which  he  and  his  shipmates  were  wont  to 
throw  out  to  divert  the  whale  from  strikhifj  the  bark,  and 
perhaps  said,  "  This  tale  is,  like  our  tub  to  the  whale."  The 
comparison  might  have  become  popular ;  and  it  might  gra- 
dually have  been  shortened  into  "  a  tale  of  a  tub." 

C. 

EXTRACTS  FR03I  THE  RECORDS  OF  THE  CITY  OF  LONDOX  RE- 
LATING TO  THE  APPOINTMENT  OF  SIR  THOMAS  3IORE  TO 
BE  UNDER-SHERIFF  OF  LONDON,  AND  SOME  APPOINTMENTS 
OF    HIS    IM3IEDIATE    PREDECESSORS    AND    OF    HIS    SUCCESSOR. 

(A.  D.  1496.     27th  September.) 

"  Commune  consilium  tentum  die  ^lartlj  Viceslmo 
Septimo  die  Septembr  Anno  Regni  Regis  Henr 
Septimi  duo  decimo. 

"  In  isto  Comun  Consilio  Thomas  Sail  et  Thomas  Marowe 
confirmati  sunt  in  Subvic  Civitati :  London  p  anno  sequent, 
&c." 


506  APPENDIX. 

(1497.) 

"  Comune  Consillu  tent  die   Lune  xxv*°  die  Sept 
anno  Regni  Regs  Henr  vii.  xiij°. 
"Isto  die  Thomas  Marowe  et  Ed^  Dudley  confirmat  sunt 
in  Sub  Vic  Sit^  London  p  anno  sequ." 

(1498  &  1501.) 

Similar  entries  of  the  confirmation  of  Thomas  Marowe 
and  Edward  Dudley  are  made  in  the  14th,  15th,  16th,  and 
17th  Henry  VII.,  and  at  a  court  of  aldermen,  held  on  the 

(1502.) 

17th   Nov.   18    Henry   7.    the    following  entry   ap- 
pears :  — 

"  Ad  hanc  Cur  Thomas  Marowe  uns  sub  vicecomitu  sponte 
resign  at  offiiu  suii." 

And  at  a  Common  Council  held  on  the  same  day, 
is  entered  — 

"In  isto  Communi  Consilio  Radiis  adye  Gentilman  elect 
est  in  unu  Subvic  Civitats  London  loco  Thome  Marwe 
Gentilman  qui  illud  officii!  sponte  resignavit,  capiend  feod 
consuet." 

"  Coe  Consiliii  tent  die  Martis  iij°  die  Septembris 
anno  Regni  Reg*  Henrici  Octavi  Secundo. 
"  Eodm  die  Thorns  More  Gent  elect  est  in  unii  Subvic 
Civitats  London  loc  Ric  Broke  Gent  qui  imp  elect  fuit  in 
Recordator  London." 

"  Martis  viij  die  Maii  6*^  Henry  8. 
"  Court  of  Aldermen. 

"  Yt  ys  agreed  that  Thomas  More  Gent  oon  of  Under- 
sheryfes  of  London  which  shall  go  ov  the  Kings  Ambasset 
in  to  fflaunders  shall  occupie  his  Rowme  and  office  by  his 
sufficient  Depute  untyll  his  cumyng  home  ageyn." 

"  Martis  xj  die  Marcii  7  Henry  VHP'' 
"  Court  of  Aldermen. 

"  Ye  shall  sweare  that  ye  shall  kepe  the  Secrets  of  this 
Courte  and  not  to  disclose  eny  thing  ther  spoken  for  the 
coen  welthe  of  this  citie  that  myght  hurt  eny  psone  or  bro- 
ther of  the  seyd  courte  onles  yt  be  spoken  to  his  brothr  or 


APPENDIX.  507 

to  other  which  in  his  conscience  and  discrecon  shall  thynk  yt 
to  be  for  the  coen  welthe  of  this  citie. 

So  help  you  God." 

"  Jovis  xiij  die  Marcii  7  Henry  8. 
"  Court  of  Aldermen. 
"  Itm  ad  ista  Cur  Thomas  More  and  "Wills  Shelley  Sub- 
vice*^*  Ci'^  London  jur  sunt  ad  articlm  supdcm  spect  xj  die 
marcii." 

"  Yeriis  23  July,  10  Henry  8. 
"  Court  of  Aldermen. 
"  Ad  istara  Cur  Thomas  More  Gent  un  Subvic  Ci**  in 
Comput  Pulletr  London  libe  et  sponte  Surr  et  resign  officm 
pdcm  in  manii  Maioris  et  Aldror." 

"Cole  Consiliu  tent  die  Venis  xxiij  die  Julii  anno 

re^ni  regis  Henrici  Octavi  decimo." 

"  Isto  die  Johes  Pakyngton  Gent  admissus  est  in  unii 

subvic  Civitats  London  loco  Thome  More  qui  spont  et  libe 

resignavit  Officii!  illud  in  Maii  Maioris  aldror  et  Cois  con- 

silii.     Et  jur  est  &c." 


A 

REFUTATION  OF  THE  CLAIM 


ON   BEHALF   OF 


KING    CHARLES    I. 


TO    THE    AUTHORSHIP    OF 


EIKHN    BASIAIKH.* 


A  SUCCESSION  of  problems  or  puzzles  in  the  literary 
and  political  history  of  modern  times  has  occasionally 
occupied  some  ingenious  writers,  and  amused  many 
idle  readers.  Those  who  think  nothing  useful  which 
does  not  yield  some  palpable  and  direct  advantage, 
have,  indeed,  scornfully  rejected  such  inquiries  as 
frivolous  and  useless.  But  their  disdain  has  not  re- 
pressed such  discussions  :  and  it  is  fortunate  that  it 
has  not  done  so.  Amusement  is  itself  an  advantage. 
The  vigour  which  the  understanding  derives  from 
exercise  on  every  subject  is  a  great  advantage.  If 
there  is  to  be  any  utility  in  history,  the  latter  must  be 
accurate,  —  which  it  never  will  be,  unless  there  be  a 
solicitude  to  ascertain  the  truth  even  of  its  minutest 
parts.  History  is  read  with  pleasure,  and  with  moral 
effect,  only  as  far  as  it  engages  our  feelings  in  the 

*  Contributed  to  the  Edinburgh  Eeview  (vol.  xliv.  p.  1.)  as  a 
review  of  "  Who  wrote  EIkwv  BaatAiKr}?"  by  Christopher  Words- 
worth, D.D.,  Master  of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge.  London, 
1824.— Ed. 


ICON   BASILIKE.  509 

merit  or  demerit,  in  the  fame  or  fortune,  of  historical 
personages.  The  breathless  anxiety  with  which  the 
obscure  and  conflicting  evidence  on  a  trial  at  law  is 
watched  by  the  bystander  is  but  a  variety  of  the  same 
feeling  which  prompts  the  reader  to  examine  the 
proofs  against  Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  with  as  deep  an 
interest  as  if  she  were  alive,  and  were  now  on  her 
trial.  And  it  is  wisely  ordered  that  it  should  be  so  : 
for  our  condition  would  not,  upon  the  whole,  be 
bettered  by  our  feeling  less  strongly  about  each  other's 
concerns. 

The  question  "  Who  wrote  Icon  Basilike  ?"  seemed 
more  than  once  to  be  finally  determined.  Before  the 
publication  of  the  private  letters  of  Bishop  Gauden, 
the  majority  of  historical  inquirers  had  pronounced  it 
spurious  ;  and  the  only  writers  of  great  acuteness  who 
maintained  its  genuineness — Warburton  and  Hume 
—  spoke  in  a  tone  which  rather  indicated  an  anxious 
desire  that  others  should  believe,  than  a  firm  belief  in 
their  own  minds.  It  is  perhaps  the  only  matter  on 
which  the  former  ever  expressed  himself  with  diffi- 
dence ;  and  the  case  must  indeed  have  seemed  doubt- 
ful, which  compelled  the  most  dogmatical  and  arrogant 
of  disputants  to  adopt  a  language  almost  sceptical. 
The  successive  publications  of  those  letters  in  Maty's 
Review,  in  the  third  volume  of  the  Clarendon  Papers, 
and  lastly,  but  most  decisively,  by  Mr.  Todd,  seemed 
to  have  closed  the  dispute. 

The  main  questions  on  which  the  whole  dispute 
hinges  are.  Whether  the  acts  and  words  of  Lord  Cla- 
rendon, of  Lord  Bristol,  of  Bishop  Morley,  of  Charles 
IL,  and  James  II.,  do  not  amount  to  a  distinct  acknow- 
ledgment of  Gauden's  authorship?  and.  Whether  an 
admission  of  that  claim  hy  these  persons  be  not  a  con- 
clusive evidence  of  its  truth  ?  If  these  questions  can 
be  answered  affirmatively,  the  other  parts  of  the  case 
will  not  require  very  long  consideration. 

The  Icon  Basilike  was  intended  to  produce  a 
favourable   effect   during   the   King's  trial ;    but   its 


510  ICON   BASILIKE. 

publication  was  retarded  till  some  days  after  his 
death,  by  the  jealous  and  rigorous  precautions  of 
the  ruling  powers.  The  impression  made  on  the 
public  by  a  work  which  purported  to  convey  the 
pious  and  eloquent  language  of  a  dying  King,  could 
not  fail  to  be  very  considerable  ;  and,  though  its 
genuineness  was  from  the  beginning  doubted  or 
disbelieved  by  some*,  it  would  have  been  wonderful 
and  unnatural,  if  unbounded  faith  in  it  had  not 
become  one  of  the  fundamental  articles  of  a  Royalist's 
creed.f  Though  much  stress,  therefore,  is  laid  by 
Dr.  Wordsworth  on  passages  in  anonymous  pam- 
phlets published  before  the  Restoration,  we  can  regard 
these  as  really  no  more  than  instances  of  the  belief 
which  must  then  have  only  prevailed  among  that 
great  majority  of  Royalists  who  had  no  peculiar 
reasons  for  doubt.  Opinion,  even  when  it  was  im- 
partial, of  the  genuineness  of  a  writing,  given  before 
its  authenticity  was  seriously  questioned,  and  when 
the  attention  of  those  who  gave  the  opinion  was  not 
strongly  drawn  to  the  subject,  must  be  classed  in  the 
lowest  species  of  historical  evidence.  One  witness 
who  bears  testimony  to  a  forgery,  when  the  edge  of 
his  discernment  is  sharpened  by  an  existing  dispute, 
outweighs  many  whose  language  only  indicates  a  pas- 
sive acquiescence  in  the  unexamined  sentiments  of 
their  own  party.  It  is  obvious,  indeed,  that  such 
testimonies  must  be  of  exceedingly  little  value  ;  for 
every  imposture,  in  any  degree  successful,  must  be 
able  to  appeal  to  them.  Without  them,  no  question 
on  such  a  subject  could  ever  be  raised;  since  it  would 
be  idle  to  expose  the  spuriousness  of  what  no  one 
appeared  to  think  authentic. 

Dr.  Gauden,  a  divine  of  considerable  talents,  but  of 
a  temporising  and  interested  character,  was,  at  the 

*  Milton,  Goodwyn,  Lilly,  &c. 

t  See  Wagstaffe's  Vindication  of  King  Charles,  pp.  77 — 79. 
London,  1711. 


ICON   BASILIKi.  511 

beginning  of  the  Civil  War,  chaplain  to  the  Earl  of 
Warwick,  a  Presbyterian  leader.  In  November  1640, 
after  the  close  imprisonment  of  Lord  Strafford,  he 
preached  a  sermon  before  the  House  of  Commons,  so 
agreeable  to  that  assembly,  that  it  is  said  they  pre- 
sented him  with  a  silver  tankard,  —  a  token  of  their 
esteem  which  (if  the  story  be  true)  may  seem  to  be 
the  stronger  for  its  singularity  and  unseemliness.* 
This  discourse  seems  to  have  contained  a  warm  in- 
vective against  the  ecclesiastical  policy  of  the  Court ; 
and  it  was  preached  not  only  at  a  most  critical  time, 
but  on  the  solemn  occasion  of  the  sacrament  bein^, 
first  taken  by  the  whole  House.  As  a  reward  for  so 
conspicuous  a  service  to  the  Parliamentary  cause,  he 
soon  after  received  the  valuable  living  of  Bocking  in 
Essex,  which  he  held  through  all  the  succeeding 
changes  of  government,  —  forbearing,  of  necessity,  to 
use  the  Liturgy,  and  complying  with  all  the  conditions 
which  the  law  then  required  from  the  beneficed  clergy. 
It  has  been  disputed  whether  he  took  the  Covenant, 
though  his  own  evasive  answers  imply  that  he  had : 
but  it  is  certain  that  he  published  a  Protest  f  against 
the  trial  of  the  King  in  1648,  though  that  never  could 
have  pretended  to  the  same  merit  with  the  solemn 
Declaration  of  the  whole  Presbyterian  clergy  of 
London  against  the  same  proceeding,  which,  however, 
did  not  save  them  at  the  Restoration. 

At  the  moment  of  the  Restoration  of  Charles  II., 
he  appears,  therefore,  to  have  had  as  little  public  claim 
on  the  favour  of  that  prince  as  any  clergyman  who 
had  conformed  to  the  ecclesiastical  principles  of  the 
Parliament  and  the  Protectorate ;    and  he  was,   ac- 

*  The  Journals  say  nothing  of  the  tankard,  which  was  pro- 
bably the  gift  of  some  zealous  members,  but  bear,  "  That  the 
thanks  of  this  house  be  given  to  Mr.  Gaudy  and  Mr.  Morley  for 
their  sermons  last  Sunday,  and  that  they  be  desired,  if  they 
please,  to  print  the  same."     Vol.  ii.  p.  40. 

f  The  Religious  and  Loyal  Protestation  of  John  Gauden,  &c. 
London,  1648. 


512  ICON  BASILIKE. 

cordinglj,  long  after  called  by  a  zealous  Royalist  "  the 
false  Apostate  !  "  *  Bishoprics  were  indeed  offered 
to  Baxter,  who  refused,  and  to  Reynolds,  who  ac- 
cepted, a  mitre ;  but  if  they  had  not  been,  as  they 
were,  men  venerable  for  every  virtue,  they  were  the 
acknowledged  leaders  of  the  Presbyterians,  whose 
example  might  have  much  effect  in  disposing  that 
powerful  body  to  conformity.  No  such  benefit  could 
be  hoped  from  the  preferment  of  Gauden :  and  that 
his  public  character  must  have  rendered  him  rather 
the  object  of  disfavour  than  of  patronage  to  the  Court 
at  this  critical  and  jealous  period,  will  be  obvious  to 
those  who  are  conversant  with  one  small,  but  not 
insignificant  circumstance.  The  Presbyterian  party 
is  well  known  to  have  predominated  in  the  Convention 
Parliament,  especially  when  it  first  assembled ;  and 
it  was  the  policy  of  the  whole  assembly  to  give  a 
Presbyterian,  or  moderate  and  mediatorial  colour,  to 
their  collective  proceedings.  On  the  2oth  April  1660, 
they  chose  Mr.  Calamy,  Dr.  Gauden,  and  Mr.  Baxter, 
to  preach  before  them,  on  the  fast  which  they  then 
appointed  to  be  held, — thus  placing  Gauden  between 
two  eminent  divines  of  the  Presbyterian  persuasion, 
on  an  occasion  when  they  appear  studiously  to  have 
avoided  the  appointment  of  an  Episcopalian.  It  is 
evident  that  Gauden  was  then  thought  nearer  in 
principle  to  Baxter  than  to  Juxon.  He  was  suffi- 
ciently a  Presbyterian  in  party  to  make  him  no 
favourite  with  the  Court :  yet  he  was  not  so  decided 
a  Presbyterian  in  opinion  as  to  have  the  influence 
among  his  brethren  which  could  make  him  worth  so 
high  a  price  as  a  mitre.  They  who  dispute  his  claim 
to  be  the  writer  of  the  Icon,  will  be  the  last  to  ascribe 
his  preferment  to  transcendent  abilities :  he  is  not 
mentioned  as  having  ever  shown  kindness  to  Royalists ; 
there  is  no  trace  of  his  correspondence  with  the  exiled 
Court ;   he  contributed  nothing  to  the  recall  of  the 

*  Kennet,  Register,  p.  773. 


ICON   BASILIKE.  513 

King ;  nor  indeed  had  lie  the  power  of  performing 
such  atoning  services. 

Let  the  reader  then  suppose  himself  to  be  ac- 
quainted only  with  the  above  circumstances,  and  let 
him  pause  to  consider  whether,  in  the  summer  of  1660, 
there  could  be  many  clergymen  of  the  Established 
Church  who  had  fewer  and  more  scanty  23retensions 
to  a  bishopric  than  Gauden :  yet  he  was  appointed 
Bishop  of  Exeter  on  the  3d  of  November  following. 
He  received,  in  a  few  months,  20,000/.  in  fines  for 
the  renewal  of  leases  *  ;  and  yet  he  had  scarcely  ar- 
rived at  his  episcopal  palace  when,  on  the  21st  of  De- 
cember, he  wrote  a  letter  to  the  Lord  Chancellor 
Clarendon  f,  bitterly  complaining  of  the  "  distress," 
*  infelicity,"  and  "  horror "  of  such  a  bishopric  !  — 
"  a  hard  fate  which"  (he  reminds  the  Chancellor)  "  he 

had  before  deprecated." "  I  make  this  complaint," 

he  adds,  "  to  your  Lordship,  because  you  chiefely  put 
me  on  this  adventure.  Your  Lordship  commanded 
mee  to  trust  in  your  favour  for  an  honourable  mainte- 
nance and  some  such  additional  support  as  might 
supply  the  defects  of  the  bishopric."  *  *  *  "  J^'^or 
am  I  so  unconscio7is  to  the  service  I  have  done  to  the 
Church  and  to  his  Majesty  s  family,  as  to  heare  with 
patience  such  a  mine  most  undeservedly  put  upon  mee. 
Are  these  the  effects  of  his  liberall  expressions,  who  told 
m,ee  I  might  have  what  I  would  desire'^  *  *  *  * 
Yf  your  Lordship  will  not  concern  yourselfe  in  my 
affaire,  I  must  make  my  last  complaint  to  the  King." 
Li  five  days  after  (26th  December  1660)  he  wrote 
another  long  letter,  less  angry  and  more  melancholy, 
to  the  same  great  person,  which  contains  the  following 
remarkable  sentence  :  —  "  Dr.  Morly  once  offered  mee 
my  option,  upon  account  of  some  service  which  he 
thought  I  had  done  extraordinary  for  the  Church  and 
the  Royall  Family,  of  which  he  told  mee  your  Lordship 

*  Biographia  Britannica,  article  "  Gauden." 
f  Wordsworth,  Documentary  Supplement,  p.  9. 
VOL.  I.  L  L 


514  ICON   BASILIKi:. 

was  informed.  This  made  mee  modestly  secure  cf 
your  Lordship's  favour  ;  though  I  found  your  Lordship 
would  never  owne  your  consciousnes  to  mee,  as  if  it 
would  have  given  mee  too  much  confidence  of  a  pro- 
portionable expectation.  -*  *  *  I  knew  your  Lord- 
ship knew  my  service  and  merit  to  be  no  way  inferior 
to  the  best  oi  your  friends,  or  enemy es^^ 

Li  these  two  letters,  —  more  covertly  in  the  first, 
more  openly  in  the  second,  —  Gauden  apprises  Lord 
Clarendon,  that  Dr.  Morley  (who  was  Clarendon's  most 
intimate  friend)  had  acknowledged  some  extraordinary 
service  done  by  Gauden  to  the  Royal  Family,  which 
had  been  made  known  to  the  Chancellor  ;  though  that 
nobleman  had  avoided  a  direct  acknowledgment  of  it 
to  the  bishop  before  he  left  London.  Gauden  appears 
soon  after  to  have  written  to  Sir  E.  Nicholas,  Secre^ 
tary  of  State,  a  letter  of  so  peculiar  a  character  as  to 
have  been  read  by  the  King  ;  for  an  answer  was  sent 
to  him  by  Nicholas,  dated  on  the  19th  January  1661, 
in  which  the  following  sentence  deserves  attention :  — 
"  As  for  your  owne  particular,  he  desires  you  not 
to  be  discouraged  at  the  poverty  of  your  bishoprick 
at  present ;  and  if  that  answer  not  the  expectation  of 
what  was  promised  you,  His  Majesty  will  take  you  so 
'particularly  into  his  care,  that  he  bids  me  assure  you 
that  you  shall  have  no  cause  to  remember  BochingT  \ 
These  remarkable  words  by  no  means  imply  that 
Gauden  did  not  then  believe  that  the  nature  of  his 
"  extraordinary  service"  had  been  before  known  to 
the  King.  They  evidently  show  his  letter  to  have 
consisted  of  a  complaint  of  the  poverty  of  his  bishop- 
ric, with  an  intelligible  allusion  to  this  service, 
probably  expressed  with  more  caution  and  reserve 
than  in  his  addresses  to  the  Chancellor.  What  was 
really  then  first  made  known  to  the  King  was  not  his 
merits,  but  his  poverty.     On  the  21st  January,  the 

*  Wordsworth,  Documentary  Supplement,  pp.  11 — 13. 
t  Ibid.  p.  14. 


ICON   BASILIKE.  515 

importunate  prelate  again  addressed  to  Clarendon  a 
letter,  explicitly  stating  the  nature  of  his  services, 
probably  rendered  necessary  in  his  opinion  by  the 
continued  silence  of  Clarendon,  Avho  did  not  ansTver 
his  applications  till  the  13th  March.  From  this  letter 
the  following  extract  is  inserted :  — 

"  All  I  desire  is  an  augment  of  500/.  per  annum,  y'  if  cannot 
bee  at  present  had  in  a  commendani;  yet  possible  the  King's 
favor  to  me  ysiW  not  grudg  mee  this  pension  out  of  the  first  fruits 
and  tenths  of  this  diocesse;  till  I  bee  removed  or  otherwajes  pro- 
vided for:  Nor  will  y  Lordship  startle  at  this  motion,  or  wave 
the  presenting  of  it  to  hys  Majesty,  yf  you  ]tlease  to  consider  the 
pretentions  I  may  have  beyond  any  of  my  calling,  not  as  to  merit, 
but  duty  performed  to  the  Royall  Family.  True,  I  once  prcsiuned 
y  Lordship  had  fully  known  that  arcanum,  for  soe  Dr.  Morley 
told  mee,  at  the  King's  first  coming ;  when  he  assured  mee  the 
greatnes  of  that  service  Avas  such,  that  I  might  have  any  prefer- 
ment I  desired.  This  consciousnes  of  your  Lordship  (as  I  sup- 
posed) and  Dr.  Morley,  made  mee  confident  my  afi^aires  would 
bee  carried  on  to  some  proportion  of  what  I  had  done,  and  he 
thought  deserved.  Hence  my  silence  of  it  to  your  Lordship:  as 
to  the  King  and  Duke  of  York,  whom  before  I  came  away  I 
acquainted  with  it,  when  I  saw  myself  not  so  much  considered 
in  my  present  disposition  as  I  did  hope  I  should  have  beene, 
what  trace  their  Koyall  goodnes  hath  of  it  is  best  expressed  by 
themselves  ;  nor  do  I  doubt  but  I  shall,  by  your  Lordship's  favor, 
find  the  fruits  as  to  somthing  extraordinary,  since  the  service 
was  soe :  not  as  to  what  was  known  to  the  icorld  under  my  name, 
in  order  to  vindicate  the  Crowne  and  the  Church,  but  what  goes 
under  the  late  blessed  King's  name,  '  the  fiKwu  or  portraiture  of 
hys  ^lajcsty  in  hys  solitudes  and  sufferings.'  This  book  and 
figure  was  wholy  and  only  my  invention,  making  and  designe; 
in  order  to  vindicate  the  King's  wisdomc,  honor  and  piety.  My 
wife  indeed  was  conscious  to  it,  and  had  an  hand  in  disguising 
the  letters  of  that  copy  which  I  sent  to  the  King  in  the  ile  of 
Wight,  by  favor  of  the  late  ^larquise  of  Hartford,  which  was 
delivered  to  the  King  by  the  now  Bishop  of  Winchester*:  hys 
ilajesty  graciously  accepted,  owned,  and  adopted  it  as  hys  sense 
and  genius;  not  only  with  gixat  approbation,  but  admiration. 
Hee  kept  it  with  hyra ;  and  though  hys  cruel  murthercrs  went 
on  to  perfect  hys  martyrdome,  yet  God  preserved  and  prospered 
this  book  to  revive  hys  honor,  and  redeeme  hys  Majesty's  name 
from  that  grave  of  contempt  and  abhorrence  or  infamy,  in  which 

*  Duppa. 
LL  2 


516  ICON    BASILIKE. 

they  aymed  to  bury  hym.  "When  it  came  out,  just  upon  the 
King's  death ;  Good  God !  what  shame,  rage,  and  despite,  filled 
hys  murtherers  !  What  comfort  hys  friends  !  How  many  ene- 
myes  did  it  convert !  How  many  hearts  did  it  mollify  and  melt ! 
What  devotions  it  raysed  to  hys  posterity,  as  children  of  such  a 
father  !  What  preparations  it  made  in  all  men's  minds  for  this 
happy  restauration,  and  which  I  hope  shall  not  prove  my  afflic- 
tion! In  a  word,  it  was  an  army,  and  did  vanquish  more  than 
any  sword  could.  My  Lord,  every  good  subject  conceived  hopes 
of  restauration ;  meditated  reveng  and  separation.  Your  Lord- 
ship and  all  good  subjects  with  hys  Majesty  enjoy  the  reall  and 
now  ripe  fruites  of  that  plant.  0  let  not  mee  wither  I  who  was 
the  author,  and  ventured  wife,  children,  estate,  hberty,  hfe,  and 
all  but  my  soule,  in  so  great  an  atchievement,  which  hath  filled 
England  and  all  the  world  with  the  glory  of  it.  I  did  lately 
present  my  fayth  in  it  to  the  Duke  of  York,  and  by  him  to  the 
lOng ;  both  of  them  were  pleased  to  give  mee  credit,  and  owne 
it  as  a  rare  service  in  those  horrors  of  times.  True,  I  played  this 
best  card  in  my  hand  somthing  too  late  ;  else  I  might  have  sped 
as  well  as  Dr.  Reynolds  and  some  others ;  but  I  did  not  lay  it 
as  a  ground  of  ambition,  nor  use  it  as  a  ladder.  Thinking  my- 
self e  secure  in  the  just  valew  of  Dr.  Morely,  who  I  was  sure  knew 
it,  and  told  mee  your  Lordship  did  soe  too  * ;  who,  I  believe,  in- 
tended mee  somthing  at  least  competent,  though  lesse  convenient, 
in  this  preferment.  All  that  I  desire  is,  that  your  Lordship 
would  make  that  good,  which  I  think  you  designed  ;  and  which 
I  am  confident  the  King  will  not  deny  mee,  agreable  to  hys 
royall  munificence,  which  promiseth  extraordinary  rewards  to 
extraordinary  services:  Certainly  this  service  is  such,  for  the 
matter,  manner,  timing  and  efficacy,  as  was  never  exceeded,  nor 
will  ever  be  equalled,  yf  I  may  credit  the  judgment  of  the  best 
and  wisest  men  that  have  read  it ;  and  I  know  your  Lordship,  who 
is  soe  great  a  master  of  wisdome  and  eloquence,  cannot  but 
esteeme  the  author  of  that  peice  ;  and  accordingly,  make  mee  to 
see  those  effects  Avhich  may  assure  mee  that  my  loyalty,  paines, 
care,  hazard  and  silence,  are  accepted  by  the  King  and  Royall 
Family,  to  which  your  Lordship's  is  now  grafted." 

The  Bishop  wrote  three  letters  more  to  Clarendon, — 
on  the  25th  January,  20th  February,  and  6th  of  March 
respectively,  to  which  on  the  13th  of  the  last  month 

*  It  is  not  to  be  inferred  from  this  and  the  like  passages,  that 
Gauden  doubted  the  previous  communication  of  Morley  to  Cla- 
rendon :  he  uses  such  language  as  a  reproach  to  the  Chancellor 
for  his  silence. 


ICON   BASILIKE.  517 

the  Chancellor  sent  a  reply  containing  the  following 
sentence  :  —  The  particular  which  you  often  renewed, . 
I  do  confesse  was  imparted  to  Twe*  under  secrecy,  and 
of  which  I  did  not  take  myself  to  he  at  liberty  to  take 
notice  ;  and  truly  when  it  ceases  to  be  a  secrett,  I  know 
nobody  ivill  be  gladd  of  it  but  Mr.  Milton ;  I  have 
very  often  wished  I  had  never  been  trusted  with  it. 

It  is  proper  here  to  remark,  that  all  the  letters  of 
Gauden  are  still  extant,  indorsed  by  Lord  Clarendon, 
or  by  his  eldest  son.  In  the  course  of  three  months, 
then,  it  appears  that  Gauden,  with  unusual  impor- 
tunity and  confidence,  with  complaints  which  were 
disguised  reproaches,  and  sometimes  with  an  approach 
to  menaces,  asserted  his  claim  to  be  richly  rewarded, 
as  the  author  of  the  Icon.  He  affirms  that  it  was 
sent  to  the  King  by  the  Duke  of  Somerset,  who  died 
about  a  month  before  his  first  letter,  and  delivered  to 
his  Majesty  by  Dr.  Duppa,  Bishop  of  Winchester,  who 
was  still  alive.  He  adds,  that  lie  had  acquainted 
Charles  11.  with  the  secret  through  the  Duke  of  York, 
that  Morley,  then  Bishop  of  Worcester,  had  informed 
Clarendon  of  it,  and  that  Morley  himself  had  declared 
the  value  of  the  service  to  be  such  as  to  entitle  Gauden 
to  choose  his  own  preferment.  Gauden  thus  enabled 
Clarendon  to  convict  him  of  falsehood, — if  his  tale 
was  untrue, — in  three  or  four  circumstances,  differing 
indeed  in  their  importance  as  to  the  main  question, 
but  equally  material  to  his  own  veracity.  A  single 
word  from  Duppa  would  have  overwhelmed  him  with 
infjimy.  How  easy  was  it  for  the  Chancellor  to  ascer- 
tain whether  the  information  had  been  given  to  the 
King  and  his  brother!  Morley  was  his  bosom-friend, 
and  the  spiritual  director  of  his  daughter,  Anne 
Duchess  of  York.  How  many  other  persons  might 
have  been  quietly  sounded  by  the  numerous  confi- 
dential agents  of  a  great  minister,  on  a  transaction 
which  had  occurred  only  twelve  years  before!     To 

*  Evidently  by  Morley. 

L  L  b 


518  ICON   BASILIKE. 

suppose  that  a  statesman,  then  at  the  zenith  of  his 
greatness,  could  not  discover  the  truth  on  this  subject, 
without  a  noise  like  that  of  a  judicial  inquiry,  would 
betray  a  singular  ignorance  of  affairs.  Did  Clarendon 
relinquish,  without  a  struggle,  his  belief  in  a  book, 
which  had  doubtless  touched  his  feelings  when  he 
read  it  as  the  work  of  his  Royal  Master?  Even 
curiosity  might  have  led  Charles  IL,  when  receiving 
the  blessing  of  Duppa  on  his  deathbed,  to  ask  him  a 
short  confidential  question.  To  how  many  chances  of 
detection  did  Gauden  expose  himself?  How  nearly 
impossible  is  it  that  the  King,  the  Duke,  the  Chan- 
cellor, and  Morley  should  have  abstained  from  the 
safest  means  of  inquiry,  and,  in  opposition  to  their 
former  opinions  and  prejudices,  yielded  at  once  to 
Gauden's  assertion. 

The  previous  belief  of  the  Royalist  party  in  the 
Icon  very  much  magnifies  the  improbability  of  such 
suppositions.  The  truth  might  have  been  discovered 
by  the  parties  appealed  to,  and  conveyed  to  the  auda- 
cious pretender,  without  any  scandal.  There  was  no 
need  of  any  public  exposure :  a  private  intimation  of 
the  falsehood  of  one  material  circumstance  must  have 
silenced  Gauden.  But  what,  on  the  contrary,  is  the 
answer  of  Lord  Clarendon  ?  Let  any  reader  consider 
the  above  cited  sentence  of  his  letter,  and  determine 
for  himself  whether  it  does  not  express  such  an  un- 
hesitating assent  to  the  claim  as  could  only  have  flowed 
from  inquiry  and  evidence.  By  confessing  that  the 
secret  was  imparted  to  him,  he  admits  the  other  ma- 
terial part  of  Gauden's  statement,  that  the  informa- 
tion came  through  Morley.  Gauden,  if  his  story  was 
true,  chose  the  persons  to  whom  he  imparted  it  both 
prudently  and  fairly.  He  dealt  with  it  as  a  secret  of 
which  the  disclosure  would  injure  the  Royal  cause  ; 
and  he  therefore  confined  his  communications  to  the 
King's  sons  and  the  Chancellor,  who  could  not  be  in- 
disposed to  his  cause  by  it,  and  whose  knowledge  of  it 
was  necessary  to  justify  his  own  legitimate  claims. 


ICOX   BASILIKE.  519 

Had  it  been  false,  no  choice  could  have  been  more  un- 
fortunate. He  appealed  to  those  who,  for  aught  he 
knew,  might  have  in  their  possession  the  means  of 
instantly  demonstrating  that  he  was  guilty  of  a  false- 
hood so  impudent  and  perilous,  that  nothing  parallel 
t(.  it  has  ever  been  hazarded  by  a  man  of  sound  mind. 
Hdw  could  Gauden  know  that  the  King  did  not  possess 
hi?  father's  MS.,  and  that  Royston  the  printer  was  not 
reidy  to  prove  that  he  had  received  it  from  Charles  L, 
tlrough  hands  totally  unconnected  with  Gauden? 
H(w  great  must  have  been  the  risk  if  we  suppose, 
wi:h  Dr.  Wordsworth,  and  Mr.  WagstafFe,  that  more 
th.n  one  copy  of  the  IMS.  existed,  and  that  parts  of 
it  lad  been  seen  by  many  !  It  is  without  any  reason 
th,t  Dr.  Wordsworth  and  others  represent  the  secrecy/ 
ofGauden's  communications  to  Clarendon  as  a  cir- 
cunstance  of  suspicion ;  for  he  was  surely  bound,  by 
th;t  sinister  honour  which  prevails  in  the  least  moral 
co-federacies,  to  make  no  needless  disclosures  on  this 
deicate  subject. 

Clarendon's  letter  is  a  declaration  that  he  was  con- 
veted  from  his  former  opinion  about  the  author  of  the 
Icn  :  that  of  Sir  E.  Nicholas  is  a  declaration  to  the 
saie  purport  on  his  own  part,  and  on  that  of  the 
Kag.  The  confession  of  Clarendon  is  more  important, 
frm  being  apparently  wrung  from  him,  after  the 
la^se  of  a  considerable  time ;  in  the  former  part  of 
wiich  he  evaded  acknowledgment  in  conversation, 
"VMile  in  the  latter  part  he  incurred  the  blame  of  in- 
crility,  by  delaying  to  answer  letters, — making  his 
amission  at  last  in  the  hurried  manner  of  an  un- 
■v\lling  witness.  The  decisive  words,  however,  were 
a  length  extorted  from  him,  "  When  it  ceases  to  be  a 
scret,  I  know  nohodif  will  he  glad  of  it,  hut  Mr.  Milton." 
^agstaffe  argues  this  question  as  if  Gauden's  letters 
•«re  to  be  considered  as  a  man's  assertions  in  his  own 
cuse ;  without  appearing  ever  to  have  observed  that 
tey  are  not  offered  as  proof  of  the  facts  which  they 

L  L   4 


520  ICON   BASILIKE. 

affirm,  but  as  a  claim  which  circumstances  show  to 
have  been  recognised  by  the  adverse  party. 

The  course  of  another  year  did  not  abate  the  soli- 
citations of  Gauden.  In  the  end  of  1661  and  begin- 
ning of  1662,  the  infirmities  of  Duppa  promised  a 
speedy  vacancy  in  the  great  bishopric  of  Winchester, 
to  which  Gauden  did  not  fail  to  urge  his  pretensioas 
with  undiminished  confidence,  in  a  letter  to  the  Chan- 
cellor (28th  December),  in  a  letter  to  the  Duke  of 
York  (17th  January),  and  in  a  memorial  to  the  Kilg, 
without  a  date,  but  written  on  the  same  occasion.  Tjhe 
two  letters  allude  to  the  particulars  of  former  con- 
munications.  The  memorial,  as  the  nature  of  sucl  a 
paper  required,  is  fuller  and  more  minute :  it  is  ex- 
pressly founded  on  "  a  private  service,"  for  the  realty 
of  which  it  again  appeals  to  the  declarations  of  Mir- 
ley,  to  the  evidence  of  Duppa  ("who,"  says  Gaudin, 
"encouraged  me  in  that  great  work"),  still  alive,  aid 
visited  on  his  sick-bed  by  the  King,  and  to  the  teii- 
mony  of  the  Duke  of  Somerset.*     It  also  shows  tlat 


*  Doc.  Sup.  p.  30.  We  have  no  positive  proof  that  these  fyo 
letters  were  sent,  or  the  memorial  delivered.  It  seems  (Ibidjp. 
27.)  that  there  are  marks  of  the  letters  having  been  sealed  ^d 
broken  open  ;  and  it  is  said  to  be  singular  that  such  letters  shoid 
be  found  among  the  papers  of  him  who  wrote  them.  But  as  tie 
early  history  of  these  papers  is  unknown,  it  is  impossible  to  e- 
pect  an  explanation  of  every  fact.  A  collector  might  have  fouid 
them  elsewhere,  and  added  them  to  the  Gauden  papers.  Jn 
anxious  writer  might  have  broken  open  two  important  letters,  n 
which  he  was  fearful  that  some  expression  was  indiscreet,  a)d 
afterwards  sent  corrected  duplicates,  without  material  variatic^. 
Gauden  might  have  received  information  respecting  the  dispoil 
of  Winchester  and  Worcester,  or  about  the  state  of  parties  t 
Court,  before  the  letters  were  dispatched,  which  would  rendr 
them  then  unseasonable.  What  is  evident  is,  that  they  weB 
written  with  an  intention  to  send  them, — that  they  coincide  wii 
his  previous  statements,  —  and  that  the  determination  not  to  sen 
them  was  not  occasioned  by  any  doubts  entertained  by  the  Chancelh 
of  his  veracity ;  for  such  doubts  would  have  prevented  his  prefei 
vient  to  the  bishopric  of  Worcester,  —  one  of  the  most  covetsl 
dignities  of  the  Church. 


ICON    BASILIKE.  521 

Gauden  had  applied  to  the  King  for  Winchester  as 
soon  as  it  should  become  vacant,  about  or  before  the 
time  of  his  appointment  to  Exeter. 

On  the  19 til  of  March,  1662,  Gauden  was  compli- 
mented at  Court  as  the  author  of  the  Icon,  by  George 
Digby,  second  Earl  of  Bristol,  a  nobleman  of  fine 
genius  and  brilliant  accomj^lishments,  but  remarkable 
for  his  inconstancy  in  political  and  religious  opinion. 
The  bond  of  connection  between  them  seems  to  have 
been  their  common  principles  of  toleration,  which 
Bristol  was  solicitous  to  obtain  for  the  Catholics,  whom 
he  had  secretly  joined,  and  which  Gauden  was  willing 
to  grant,  not  only  to  the  Old  Nonconformists,  but  to 
the  more  obnoxious  Quakers.  On  the  day  following 
Gauden  writes  a  letter,  in  which  it  is  suj^posed  that 
"the  Grand  Arcanum"  had  been  disclosed  to  Bristol 
"by  the  King  or  the  Royal  Duke."  In  six  days 
after  he  writes  again,  on  the  death  of  Duppa,  to  urge 
his  claim  to  Winchester.  This  third  letter  is  more 
important.  He  observes,  with  justice,  that  he  could 
not  expect  "  any  extraordinary  instance  of  his  Ma- 
jesty's favour  on  account  of  his  signal  service  only, 
because  that  might  put  the  world  on  a  dangerous 
curiosity,  if  he  had  been  in  other  respects  unconspi- 
cuous  ; "  but  he  adds,  in  effect,  that  his  public  services 
would  be  a  sufficient  reason  or  pretext  for  the  great 
preferment  to  which  he  aspired.  He  appeals  to  a  new 
witness  on  the  subject  of  the  Icon,  — Dr.  Sheldon,  then 
Bishop  of  London  ;  —  thus,  once  more,  if  his  story  were 
untrue,  almost  wantonly  adding  to  the  chance  of  easy, 
immediate,  and  private  detection.  His  danger  would 
have,  indeed,  been  already  enhanced  by  the  disclosure 
of  the  secret  to  Lord  Bristol,  who  was  very  intimately 
acquainted  with  Charles  I.,  and  among  whose  good 
qualities  discretion  and  circumspection  cannot  be  num- 
bered. The  belief  of  Bristol  must  also  be  considered 
as  a  proof  that  Gauden  continued  to  be  believed  by  the 
King  and  the  Duke,  from  whom  Bristol's  information 
proceeded.     A  friendly  correspondence,  between  the 


522  ICON   BASILIKE. 

Bishop  and  the  Earl,  continued  till  near  the  death  of 
the  former,  in  the  autumn  of  1662. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  Chancellor  gave  a  still  more 
decisive  proof  of  his  continued  conviction  of  the  jus- 
tice of  Gauden's  pretensions,  by  his  translation  in  May 
to  Worcester.  The  Chancellor's  personal  ascendant 
over  the  King  was  perhaps  already  somewhat  impaired ; 
but  his  power  was  still  unshaken  ;  and  he  was  assuredly 
the  effective  as  well  as  formal  adviser  of  the  Crown  on 
ecclesiastical  promotions.  It  would  be  the  grossest 
injustice  to  the  memory  of  Lord  Clarendon  to  believe, 
that  if,  after  two  years'  opportunity  for  inquiry,  any 
serious  doubts  of  Gauden's  veracity  had  remained  in 
his  mind,  he  would  have  still  farther  honoured  and 
exalted  the  contriver  of  a  falsehood,  devised  for  mer- 
cenary purposes,  to  rob  an  unhappy  and  beloved 
Sovereign  of  that  power  which,  by  his  writings,  he 
still  exercised  over  the  generous  feelings  of  men.  It 
cannot  be  doubted,  and  ought  not  to  be  forgotten,  that 
a  false  claim  to  the  Icon  is  a  crime  of  a  far  deeper  dye 
than  the  publication  of  it  under  the  false  appearance 
of  a  work  of  the  King.  To  publish  such  a  book  in 
order  to  save  the  King's  life,  was  an  offence,  attended 
by  circumstances  of  much  extenuation,  in  one  who 
believed,  or  perhaps  knew,  that  it  substantially  con- 
tained the  King's  sentiments,  and  who  deeply  depre- 
cated the  proceedings  of  the  army  and  of  the  remnant 
of  the  House  of  Commons  against  him.  But  to  usurp 
the  reputation  of  the  work  so  long  after  the  death  of 
the  Eoyal  Author,  for  sheer  lucre,  is  an  act  of  baseness 
perhaps  without  a  parallel.  That  Clarendon  should 
wish  to  leave  the  more  venial  deception  undisturbed, 
and  even  shrink  from  such  refusals  as  might  lead  to 
its  discovery,  is  not  far  beyond  the  limits  which  good 
men  may  overstep  in  very  difficult  situations  :  but  that 
he  should  have  rewarded  the  most  odious  of  impostors 
by  a  second  bishopric,  would  place  him  far  lower  than 
a  just  adversary  would  desire.  If  these  considerations 
seem  of  such  moment  at  this  distant  time,  what  must 


ICON   BASILIKE.  523 

have  been  tlieir  force  in  the  years  1660  and  1662,  in 
the  minds  of  Clarendon,  and  Somerset,  and  Diippa,  and 
Morley,  and  Sheldon !  It  would  have  been  easy  to  avoid 
the  elevation  of  Gauden  to  Worcester  ;  he  had  himself 
opened  the  way  for  offering  him  a  pension  ;  and  the 
Chancellor  might  have  answered  almost  in  Gauden's 
own  words,  that  farther  preferment  might  lead  to 
perilous  inquiry.  Clarendon,  in  1662,  must  either 
have  doubted  who  was  the  author  of  the  Icon,  or  be- 
lieved the  claim  of  Gauden,  or  adhered  to  his  original 
opinion.  If  he  believed  it  to  be  the  work  of  the  King, 
he  could  not  have  been  so  unfaithful  to  his  memory  as 
to  raise  such  an  impostor  to  a  second  bishopric  :  if  he 
believed  it  to  be  the  production  of  Gauden,  he  might 
have  thought  it  an  excusable  policy  to  recompense  a 
pious  fraud,  and  to  silence  the  possessor  of  a  dan- 
gerous secret:  if  he  had  doubts,  they  would  have 
prompted  him  to  investigation,  which,  conducted  by 
him,  and  relating  to  transactions  so  recent,  must  have 
terminated  in  certain  knowledge. 

Charles  11.  is  well  known,  at  the  famous  conference 
between  the  Episcopalians  and  Presbyterians,  when 
the  Icon  was  quoted  as  his  father's,  to  have  said,  "  All 
that  is  in  that  book  is  not  gospel."  Knowing,  as  we 
now  do,  that  Gauden's  claim  was  preferred  to  him  in 
1660,  this  answer  must  be  understood  to  have  been  a 
familiar  way  of  expressing  his  scepticism  about  its 
authenticity.  In  this  view  of  it,  it  coincides  with  his 
declaration  to  Lord  Anglesea  twelve  years  after  ;  and 
it  is  natural  indeed  to  suppose,  that  his  opinion  was 
that  of  those  whom  he  then  most  trusted  on  such 
matters,  of  whom  Clarendon  was  certainly  one.  To 
suppose,  with  some  late  writers,  that  he  and  liis  bro- 
ther looked  with  favour  and  pleasure  on  an  attempt 
to  weaken  the  general  interest  in  the  character  of 
tlieir  father,  merely  because  the  Icon  is  friendly  to  the 
Church  of  England,  is  a  wanton  act  of  injustice  to 
them.  Charles  11.  was  neither  a  bigot,  nor  without 
regard  to  his  kindred ;  the  family  affections  of  James 


524  ICON   BASILIKE. 

were  his  best  qualities,  —  though,  by  a  peculiar  per- 
verseness  of  fortune,  they  proved  the  source  of  his 
sharpest  pangs. 

But  to  return  to  Lord  Clarendon,  who  survived 
Gauden  twelve  years,  and  who,  almost  to  the  last  day 
of  his  life,  was  employed  in  the  composition  of  an 
historical  work,  originally  undertaken  at  the  desire  of 
Charles  I.,  and  avowed,  with  honest  partiality,  to  be 
destined  for  the  vindication  of  his  character  and  cause. 
This  great  work,  not  intended  for  publication  in  the 
age  of  the  writer,  was  not  actually  published  till  thirty 
years  after  his  death,  and  even  then  not  without  the 
suppression  of  important  passages,  which  it  seems  the 
public  was  not  yet  likely  to  receive  in  a  proper  temper. 
Now,  neither  in  the  original  edition,  nor  in  any  of 
the  recently  restored  passages*,  is  there  any  allusion 
to  the  supposed  work  of  the  King.  No  reason  of 
temporary  policy  can  account  for  this  extraordinary 
silence.  However  the  statesman  might  be  excused 
for  the  momentary  sacrifice  of  truth  to  quiet,  the  his- 
torian could  have  no  temptation  to  make  the  sacrifice 
perpetual.  Had  he  believed  that  his  Royal  Master 
was  the  writer  of  the  only  book  ever  written  by  a 
dying  monarch  on  his  own  misfortunes,  it  would  have 
been  unjust  as  an  historian,  treacherous  as  a  friend, 
and  unfeeling  as  a  man,  to  have  passed  over  in  silence 
such  a  memorable  and  affecting  circumstance.  Merely 
as  a  fact,  his  narrative  was  defective  without  it.  But 
it  was  a  fact  of  a  very  touching  and  interesting  nature, 
on  which  his  genius  would  have  expatiated  with  af- 
fectionate delight.  No  later  historian  of  the  Royal 
party  has  failed  to  dwell  on  it.  How  should  he  then 
whom  it  must  have  most  affected  be  silent,  unless  his 
pen  had  been  stopped  by  the  knowledge  of  the  truth  ? 
He  had  even  personal  inducements  to  explain  it,  at 
least  in  those  more  private  memoirs  of  his  adminis- 
tration, which  form  part  of  what  is  called  his  "  Life." 

*  In  the  Oxford  Edition  of  1826. 


ICON   BASILIKE.  525 

Had  he  believed  in  the  genuineness  of  the  Icon,  it 
would  have  been  natural  for  him  in  these  memoirs  to 
have  reconciled  that  belief  with  the  successive  pre- 
ferments of  the  impostor.  He  had  good  reason  to 
believe  that  the  claims  of  Gauden  would  one  day  reach 
the  public;  he  had  himself,  in  his  remarkable  letter 
of  March  13th,  1661,  spoken  of  such  a  disclosure  as 
likely.  This  very  acknowledgment  contained  in  that 
letter,  which  he  knew  to  be  in  the  possession  of  Gau- 
den's  family,  increased  the  probability.  It  was  scarcely 
possible  that  such  papers  should  for  ever  elude  the 
search  of  curiosity,  of  historical  justice,  or  of  party 
spirit.  But  besides  these  probabilities.  Clarendon,  a 
few  months  before  his  death,  "  had  learned  that  ill 
people  endeavoured  to  persuade  the  King  that  his  father 
was  not  the  author  of  the  book  that  goes  bij  his  name^ 
This  information  was  conveyed  to  him  from  Bishop 
Morley  through  Lord  Cornbury,  who  went  to  visit  his 
father  in  France  in  May  1674.  On  hearing  these 
words,  Clarendon  exclaimed,  "  Good  God  I  I  thought 
the  Marquis  of  Hertford  had  satisfied  the  King  in  that 
matter P*  By  this  message  Clarendon  was  therefore 
warned,  that  the  claim  of  Gauden  was  on  its  way  to 
the  public, — that  it  was  already  assented  to  by  the 
Royal  Family  themselves,  and  was  likely  at  last  to 
appear  with  the  support  of  the  most  formidable  au- 
thorities. What  could  he  now  conclude  but  that,  if 
undetected  and  unrefuted,  or,  still  more,  if  uncontra- 
dicted in  a  history  destined  to  vindicate  the  King,  the 
claim  would  be  considered  by  posterity  as  established 
by  his  silence  ?  Clarendon's  language  on  this  occasion 
also  strengthens  very  much  another  part  of  the 
evidence ;  for  it  proves,  beyond  all  doubt,  that  the 
authorship  of  the  Icon  had  been  discussed  by  the  King 

*  Tlic  first  letter  of  the  second  Earl  of  Clarendon  to  "Wai;- 
stafTc  in  1694,  about  twenty  years  after  the  event,  has  not,  as  far 
as  we  know,  been  published.  "We  know  only  the  extracts  in 
■\Vaj;staffe.  The  second  letter  written  in  1699  is  printed  entire 
in  Wagstaffc's  Defence,  p.  37. 


526  ICON   BASILIIiE. 

with  the  Duke  of  Somerset  before  that  nobleman^ s  death 
in  October  1660,  —  a  fact  nearly  conclusive  of  the  whole 
question.  Had  the  Duke  assured  the  King  that  his 
father  was  the  author,  what  a  conclusive  answer  was 
ready  to  Gauden,  who  asserted  that  the  first  had  been 
the  bearer  of  the  manuscript  of  the  Icon  from  Gauden 
to  Charles  I.  !  As  there  had  been  such  a  communi- 
cation between  the  King  and  the  Duke  of  Somerset, 
it  is  altogether  incredible  that  Clarendon  should  not 
have  recurred  to  the  same  pure  source  of  information. 
The  only  admissible  meaning  of  Clarendon's  words  is, 
that  "  Lord  Hertford  (afterwards  Duke  of  Somerset) 
had  satisfied  the  King  "  of  the  impropriety  of  speak- 
ing on  the  subject.  We  must  otherwise  suppose 
that  the  King  and  Clarendon  had  been  "  satisfied," 
or  perfectly  convinced,  that  Charles  was  the  writer 
of  the  Icon ;  —  a  supposition  which  would  convert 
the  silence  of  the  Chancellor  and  the  levity  of  the 
Monarch  into  heinous  offences.  The  message  of 
Morley  to  Clarendon  demonstrates  that  they  had 
previous  conversation  on  the  subject.  The  answer 
shows  that  both  parties  knew  of  information  having 
been  given  by  Somerset  to  the  King,  before  Gauden's 
nomination  to  Exeter :  but  Gauden  had  at  that  time 
appealed,  in  his  letters,  both  to  Morley  and  Somerset 
as  his  witnesses.  That  Clarendon  therefore  knew  all 
that  Morley  and  Somerset  could  tell,  is  no  longer 
matter  of  inference,  but  is  established  by  the  positive 
testimony  of  the  two  survivors  in  1674.  Wagstaffe 
did  not  perceive  the  consequences  of  the  letter  Avhich 
he  published,  because  he  had  not  seen  the  whole  cor- 
respondence of  Gauden.  But  it  is  much  less  easy  to 
understand,  how  those  who  have  compared  the  letters 
of  Gauden,  with  the  messages  between  Clarendon  and 
Morley,  should  not  have  discovered  the  irresistible 
inference  which  arises  from  the  comparison. 

The  silence  of  Lord  Clarendon,  as  an  historian,  is 
the  strongest  moral  evidence  that  he  believed  the  pre- 


ICON   BASU^IKE.  527 

tensions  of  Bishop  Gauden:  and  his  opinion  on  the 
question  must  be  held  to  include  the  testimony  in 
point  of  fact,  and  the  judgment  in  point  of  opinion, 
of  all  those  whom  he  had  easy  opportunities  and 
strong  inducements  to  consult.  It  may  be  added, 
that  however  Henry  Earl  of  Clarendon  chose  to 
express  himself  (his  language  is  not  free  from  an  air 
of  mental  reservation),  neither  he  nor  his  brother  Lord 
Rochester,  when  they  published  their  father's  history 
in  1702,  thought  fit,  in  their  preface,  to  attempt  any 
explanation  of  his  silence  respecting  the  Icon,  though 
their  attention  must  have  been  called  to  that  subject 
by  the  controversy  respecting  it  which  had  been 
carried  on  a  few  years  before  with  great  zeal  and 
activity.  Their  silence  becomes  the  more  remarkable, 
from  the  strong  interest  taken  by  Lord  Clarendon  in 
the  controversy.  He  wrote  two  letters  on  it  to  Wag- 
staffe,  in  1694  and  1699  ;  he  was  one  of  the  few 
persons  present  at  the  select  consecration  of  Wagstaffe 
as  a  nonjuring  bishop,  in  1693:  yet  there  is  no  allu- 
sion to  the  Icon  in  the  preface  to  his  father's  history, 
published  in  1702. 

It  cannot  be  pretended  that  the  final  silence  of 
Clarendon  is  agreeable  to  the  rigorous  rules  of  his- 
torical morality :  it  is  no  doubt  an  infirmity  which 
impairs  his  credit  as  an  historian.  But  it  is  a  light 
and  venial  fjiult  compared  with  that  which  must  be 
laid  to  his  charge,  if  we  suppose,  that,  with  a  convic- 
tion of  the  genuineness  of  the  Icon,  and  with  such 
testimony  in  support  of  it  as  the  evidence  of  Somerset 
and  Morley,  —  to  say  nothing  of  others, —  he  should 
not  have  made  a  single  effort,  in  a  work  destined  for 
posterity,  to  guard  from  the  hands  of  the  impostor 
the  most  sacred  property  of  his  unfortunate  master. 
The  partiality  of  Clarendon  to  Charles  I.  has  never 
been  severely  blamed  ;  his  silence  in  his  history,  if  he 
believed  Gauden,  would  only  be  a  new  instance  of  that 
partiality :  but  the  same  silence,   if  he  believed  the 


528  ICON    BASILIKi:. 

King  to  be  the  author,  would  be  fatal  to  his  character 
as  an  historian  and  a  man. 

The  knowledge  of  Gauden's  secret  was  obtained  by 
Clarendon  as  a  minister  ;  and  he  might  deem  his  duty 
with  respect  to  secrets  of  state  still  to  be  so  far  in 
force,  as  at  least  to  excuse  him  for  not  disturbing  one 
of  the  favourite  opinions  of  his  party,  and  for  not 
disclosing  what  he  thought  could  gratify  none  but 
regicides  and  agitators.  Even  this  excuse,  on  the 
opposite  supposition,  he  wanted.  That  Charles  was 
the  author  of  the  Icon  (if  true)  was  no  state  secret, 
but  the  prevalent  and  public  opinion.  He  might  have 
collected  full  proofs  of  its  truth,  in  private  conversa- 
tion with  his  friends.  He  had  only  to  state  such 
proof,  and  to  lament  the  necessity  which  made  him 
once  act  as  if  the  truth  were  otherwise,  rather  than 
excite  a  controversy  with  an  unprincipled  enemy, 
dangerous  to  a  new  government,  and  injurious  to  the 
interests  of  monarchy.  His  mere  testimony  would 
have  done  infinitely  more  for  the  King's  authorship, 
than  all  the  volumes  which  have  been  written  to 
maintain  it: — even  that  testimony  is  withheld.  If 
the  Icon  be  Gauden's,  the  silence  of  Clarendon  is  a 
vice  to  which  he  had  strong  temptations  :  if  it  be  the 
King's,  it  is  a  crime  without  a  motive.  Those  who 
are  willing  to  ascribe  the  lesser  fault  to  the  historian, 
must  determine  against  the  authenticity  of  the  Icon. 

That  good  men,  of  whom  Lord  Clarendon  was  one, 
were,  at  the  period  of  the  Restoration,  ready  to  use 
expedients  of  very  dubious  morality  to  conceal  secrets 
dangerous  to  the  Royal  cause,  will  appear  from  a  fact, 
which  seems  to  have  escaped  the  notice  of  the  general 
historians  of  England.  It  is  uncertain,  and  not  worth 
inquiring,  when  Charles  II.  threw  over  his  doubts 
and  vices  that  slight  and  thin  vesture  of  Catholicism, 
which  he  drew  a  little  closer  round  him  at  the  sight 
of  death* :  but  we  know  with  certainty,  that,  in  the 

*  His  formal  reconciliation  probably  took  place  at  Cologne  in 


ICON    BASlLUvE.  529 

beginning  of  the  year  16-59,  the  Duke  of  Ormonde  ac- 
cidentally discovered  tlie  conversion,  by  finding  him  on 
his  knees  at  mass  in  a  church  at  Brussels.  Ormonde, 
after  it  was  more  satisfactorily  proved  to  him,  by 
communication  with  Henry  Bennett  and  Lord  Bristol*, 
imparted  the  secret  in  England  to  Clarendon  and 
Southampton,  who  agreed  with  him  in  the  necessity 
of  preventing  the  enemies  of  monarchy,  or  the  friends 
of  Popery,  from  promulgating  this  fatal  secret. 
Accordingly,  the  '^  Act  for  the  better  security  of  his 
Majesty's  person  and  governmcnt*^'\  provided,  that  to 
affirm  the  King  to  be  a  Papist,  should  be  punishable 
by  "  disability  to  hold  any  office  or  promotion,  civil, 
military,  or  ecclesiastical,  besides  being  liable  to  such 
other  punishments  as  by  common  or  statute  law  might 
be  inflicted." 

As  soon  as  we  take  our  stand  on  the  ground,  that 
the  acquiescence  of  all  the  Royalists  in  the  council 
and  court  of  Charles  IL,  and  the  final  silence  of  Cla- 
rendon in  his  history,  on  a  matter  so  much  within 
his  province,  and  so  interesting  to  his  feelings,  are  ir- 
reconcilable with  the  supposition,  that  they  believed 
the  Icon  to  be  the  work  of  the  King,  all  the  other 
circumstances  on  both  sides  not  only  dwindle  into  in- 
significance, but  assume  a  different  colour.  Thus,  the 
general  credit  of  the  book  among  Royalists  before  the 
Restoration  serves  to  show,  that  the  evidence  which 
changed  the  opinion  of  Clarendon  and  his  friends 
must  have  been  very  strong, — probably  far  stronger 
than  what  we  now  possess  ;  the  firmer  we  suppose  the 
previous  conviction  to  have  been,  the  more  probable 
it  becomes,  that  the  proofs  then  discovered  were  of  a 
more  direct  nature  than  those  which  remain.  Let  it 
be  very  specially  observed,  that  those  who  decided 
the  question  practically  in  1660  were  within  twelve 

1658,  under  the  direction  of  Dr.  Peter  Talbot,  Catholic  Arch- 
bishop of  Armagh. 

♦  Carte,  Lite  of  Ormonde,  vol.  iL  pp.  254 — 256. 

t  13  Car.  2.  st.  1. 

VOL.  I.  11  il 


530  ICON   BASILIKi:. 

years  of  the  fact ;  while  fifty  years  had  passed  before 
the  greater  part  of  the  traditional  and  hearsay  stories, 
ranged  on  the  opposite  side,  were  brought  together  by 
Wagstaffe. 

Let  us  consider,  for  example,  the  effect  of  the  pro- 
ceedings of  1660  upon  the  evidence  of  the  witnesses 
who  speak  of  the  Icon  as  having  been  actually  taken 
from  the  King  at  Naseby,  and  afterwards  restored  to 
him  by  the  conquerors.  Two  of  the  best  known  are 
the  Earl  of  Manchester  and  Mr.  Prynne.  Eales,  a 
physician  at  Welwyn  in  Hertfordshire,  certifies,  in 
1699,  that  some  years  before  the  Restoration  (i.  e. 
about  1656),  he  heard  Lord  Manchester  declare,  that 
the  MS.  of  the  Icon  was  taken  at  Naseby,  and  that 
he  had  seen  it  in  the  King's  own  hand.*  Jones,  at 
the  distance  of  fifty  years,  says  that  he  had  heard  from 
Colonel  Stroud  that  Stroud  had  heard  from  Prynne  in 
1649,  that  he,  by  order  of  Parliament,  had  read  the 
MS.  of  the  Icon  taken  at  Naseby.  f  Now  it  is  certain 
that  Manchester  was  taken  into  favour,  and  Prynne 
was  patronised  at  the  Restoration.  If  this  were  so, 
how  came  matters,  of  which  they  spoke  so  publicly, 
to  remain  unknown  to  Clarendon  and  Southampton  ? 
Had  the  MS.  Icon  been  intrusted  to  Prynne  by  Par- 
liament, or  even  by  a  committee,  its  existence  must 
have  been  known  to  a  body  much  too  large  to 
allow  the  supposition  of  secrecy.  The  application  of 
the  same  remark  disposes  of  the  mob  of  second-hand 
witnesses.  The  very  number  of  the  witnesses  in- 
creases the  incredibility  that  their  testimony  could 
have  escaped  notice  in  1660.  Huntingdon,  a  Major 
in  Cromwell's  regiment,  who  abandoned  the  Parlia- 
mentary cause,  is  a  more  direct  witness.  In  the  year 
1679,  he  informed  Dugdale  that  he  had  procured  the 
MS.  Icon  taken  at  Naseby  to  be  restored  to  the  King 
at  Hampton, — that  it  was  written  by  Sir  E.  Walker,  but 


*  "  Who  wrote,"  &c.  p.  93.     WagstafFe's  Vindication,  p. 
f  Ibid.  p.  80. 


19. 


ICON    BASILIKE.  531 

interlined  by  the  King,  who  wrote  all  the  Devotions. 
In  1681  Dugdale  published  The  Short  View,  in  which 
is  the  same  story,  with  the  variation,  "  that  it  was 
written  with  the  King's  own  hand;"  —  a  statement 
which,  in  the  summary  language  of  a  general  narrative, 
can  hardly  be  said  to  vary  materially  from  the  former. 
Xow,  Major  Huntingdon  had  particularly  attracted 
the  notice  of  Clarendon :  he  is  mentioned  in  the  His- 
tory with  commendation.*  He  tendered  his  services 
to  the  King  before  the  Restoration  f  ;  and,  what  is 
most  important  of  all  to  our  present  purpose,  his  testi- 
mony regarding  the  conduct  of  Berkeley  and  Ashburn- 
ham,  in  the  journey  from  Hampton  Court,  is  expressly 
mentioned  by  the  historian  as  being,  in  1660,  thought 
worthy  of  being  weighed  even  against  that  of  Somer- 
set and  Southampton.  ;j:  When  we  thus  trace  a  direct 
communication  between  him  and  the  minister,  and 
when  we  remember  that  it  took  place  at  the  very  time 
of  the  claim  of  Gauden,  and  that  it  related  to  events 
contemporary  with  the  supposed  recovery  of  the  Icon, 
it  is  scarcely  necessary  to  ask,  whether  Clarendon 
would  not  have  sounded  him  on  that  subject,  and 
whether  Huntingdon  would  not  then  have  boasted  of 
such  a  personal  service  to  the  late  King.  It  would  be 
contrary  to  common  sense  not  to  presume  that  some- 
thing then  passed  on  that  subject,  and  that,  if  Hunt- 
ingdon's account  at  that  time  coincided  with  his  sub- 
sequent story,  it  could  not  have  been  rejected,  unless 
it  was  outweighed  by  contrary  evidence.  §     He  must 


•  Vol.  V.  p.  484.  t  H^i^-  '^'ol-  "^ii*  P-  432. 

X  Ibid.  vol.  V.  p.  495. 

§  Dr.  Wordsworth  admits,  that  if  Clarendon  had  consulted 
Duppa,  Juxon,  Sheldon,  Morley,  Kendal,  Barwick,  Legge,  Her- 
bert, &c.  &c. ;  nay,  if  he  had  consulted  only  Morley  alone,  he 
must  have  been  satisfied,  —  (Dr.  Wordsworth,  of  course,  says  for 
the  King).  Now,  it  is  certain,  from  the  message  of  Morley  to 
Clareiidun  in  1674,  that  previous  discussion  had  taken  place  be- 
tween them.  Does  not  this  single  fact  decide  the  question  on 
Dr.  Wordsworth's  own  admission  ? 

M  M  2 


532  ICON   BASILIKE. 

have  been  thought  either  a  deceiver  or  deceived  :  for 
the  more  candid  of  these  suppositions  there  was  abun- 
dant scope.  It  is  known  that  one  MS.  (not  the  Icon) 
written  by  Sir  Edward  Walker  and  corrected  by  the 
King,  was  taken  with  the  King's  correspondence  at 
Naseby,  and  restored  to  him  by  Fairfax  through  an 
officer  at  Hampton  Court.*  This  was  an  account 
of  the  military  transactions  in  the  Civil  War,  written 
by  Walker,  and  published  in  his  Historical  Discourses 
long  after.  It  was  natural  that  the  King  should  be 
pleased  at  the  recovery  of  this  manuscript,  which  he 
soon  after  sent  from  Hampton  Court  to  Lord  Cla- 
rendon in  Jersey,  as  a  "contribution"  towards  his 
History.  How  easily  Huntingdon,  an  old  soldier 
little  versed  in  manuscripts,  might,  thirty  years  after- 
wards, have  confounded  these  memorials  with  the  Icon ! 
A  few  prayers  in  the  King's  handwriting  might  have 
formed  part  of  the  papers  restored.  So  slight  and 
probable  are  the  only  suppositions  necessary  to  save 
the  veracity  of  Huntingdon,  and  to  destroy  the  value 
of  his  evidence. 

Sir  Thomas  Herbert,  who  wrote  his  Memoirs  thirty 
years  after  the  event,  in  the  seventy-third  year  of  his 
age,  when,  as  he  told  Antony  Wood,  "  he  was  grown 
old,  and  not  in  such  a  capacity  as  he  could  wish  to 
publish  it,"  found  a  copy  of  the  Icon  among  the  books 
which  Charles  I.  left  to  him,  and  thought  "  the  hand- 
writing was  the  King's."  Sir  Philip  Warwick  states 
Herbert's  testimony  (probably  from  a  conversation 
more  full  than  the  Memoirs)  to  be,  that  "  he  saw  the 
MS.  in  the  King's  hand,  as  he  believes  ;  but  it  was  in 
a  running  character,  and  not  in  that  which  the  King 
usually  wroteP  \  Now,  more  than  one  copy  of  the  Icon 
might  have  been  sent  to  Charles  ;  they  might  have 
been  written  with  some  resemblances  to  his   hand- 

*  Clarendon,  vol.  v.  p.  476. ;  and  Warburton's  note. 

f  Memoirs,  p.  69.  How  much  this  coincides  with  Gauden's 
account,  that  his  wife  had  disguised  the  writing  of  the  copy  sent 
to  the  Isle  of  Wight  ! 


ICON    BASILIKE.  533 

■writing  ;  but  assuredly  the  original  MS.  would  not 
have  been  loosely  left  to  Herbert,  while  works  on 
general  subjects  were  bequeathed  to  the  King's  chil- 
dren. It  is  equally  certain  that  this  was  not  the  MS. 
from  which  the  Icon  was  published  a  few  days  after- 
wards ;  and,  above  all,  it  is  clear  that  information 
from  Herbert*  would  naturally  be  sought,  and  would 
have  been  easily  procured,  in  1660.  The  ministers 
of  that  time  perhaps  examined  the  MS. ;  or  if  it  could 
not  be  produced,  they  might  have  asked  why  it  was 
not  preserved,  —  a  question  to  which,  on  the  sup- 
position of  its  being  written  by  the  King,  it  seems 
now  impossible  to  imagine  a  satisfactory  answer.  The 
same  observations  are  applicable  to  the  story  of 
Levett,  a  page,  who  said  that  he  had  seen  the  King 
writing  the  Icon,  and  had  read  several  chapters  of  it, 
—  but  more  forcibly,  from  his  being  less  likely  to  be 
intrusted,  and  more  liable  to  confusion  and  misrecol- 
lection  ;  —  to  say  nothing  of  our  ignorance  of  his 
character  for  veracity,  and  of  the  interval  of  forty-two 
years  which  had  passed  before  his  attestation  on  this 
subject. 

The  Xaseby  copy  being  the  only  fragment  of  posi- 
tive evidence  in  support  of  the  King's  authorship,  one 
more  observation  on  it  may  be  excused.  If  the  Par- 
liamentary leaders  thought  the  Icon  so  dangerous  to 
their  cause,  and  so  likely  to  make  an  Impression 
favourable  to  the  King,  how  came  they  to  restore  it 
so  easily  to  its  author,  whom  they  had  deeply  injured 
by  the  publication  of  his  private  letters  ?  The  advo- 
cates of  the  King  charge  this  publication  on  them,  as 
an  act  of  gross  indelicacy,  and  at  the  same  time 
ascribe  to  them,  in  the  restoration  of  the  Icon,  a 
singular  instance  of  somewhat  wanton  generosity. 

It  may  be  a  question  whether  lawyers  are  justified 
in  altogether  rejecting  hearsay  evidence  ;  but  it  nerer 

*  He  was  made  a  baronet  at  the  Restoration,  for  his  personal 
services  to  Charles  L 

u  M  3 


534  ICON   BASILIKE. 

can  be  supposed,  in  its  best  state,  to  be  other  than 
secondary.  When  it  passes  through  many  hands,  — 
when  it  is  given  after  a  long  time,  —  when  it  is  to  be 
found  almost  solely  in  one  party,  —  when  it  relates  to 
a  subject  which  deeply  interests  their  feelings,  we 
may  confidently  place  it  at  the  very  bottom  of  the 
scale ;  and  without  being  able  either  to  disprove  many 
particular  stories,  or  to  ascertain  the  proportion  in 
which  each  of  them  is  influenced  by  unconscious 
exaggeration,  inflamed  zeal,  intentional  falsehood, 
inaccurate  observation,  confused  recollection,  or  eager 
credulity,  we  may  safely  treat  the  far  greater  part  as 
the  natural  produce  of  these  grand  causes  of  human 
delusion.  Among  the  evidence  first  collected  by 
Wagstaffe,  one  story  fortunately  refers  to  authorities 
still  in  our  possession.  Hearne,  a  servant  of  Sir 
Philip  Warwick,  declared  that  he  had  heard  his  master 
and  one  Oudart  often  say  that  they  had  transcribed 
the  Icon  from  a  copy  in  Charles's  handwriting.*  Sir 
Philip  Warwick  (who  is  thus  said  to  have  copied  the 
Icon  from  the  King's  MS.)  has  himself  positively  told 
us,  "  /  cannot  say  I  knoio  that  lie  wrote  the  Icon  ivhich 
goes  under  his  name "  | ;  and  Oudart  was  secretary  to 
Sir  Edward  Nicholas,  whose  letter  to  Gauden,  vir- 
tually acknowledging  his  claim,  has  been  already 
quoted ! 

Two  persons  appear  to  have  been  privy  to  the 
composition  of  the  Icon  by  Gauden,  —  his  wife,  and 
Walker,  his  curate.  Mrs.  Gauden,  immediately  after 
her  husband's  death,  applied  to  Lord  Bristol  for 
favour,  on  the  ground  of  her  knowledge  of  the  secret ; 
adding,  that  the  Bishop  was  prevented  only  by  death 
from  writing  to  him,  —  surely  to  the  same  efifect. 
Nine  years  afterwards  she  sent  to  one  of  her  sons  the 
papers  on  this  subject,  to  be  used  "if  there  be  a  good 
occasion  to  make  it  manifest,"  among  which  was  an 
epitome  "  drawn  out  by  the  hand  of  him  that  did  hope 

*  "  Who  wrote,"  &c.  p.  138.  f  Memoirs,  p.  68. 


ICON   BASILlK:fc.  535 

to  have  made  a  fortune  by  it."*  This  is  followed  by 
her  narrative  of  the  whole  transactions,  on  which  two 
short  remarks  will  suffice.  It  coincides  with  Gauden's 
letters,  in  the  most  material  particulars,  in  appeals  to 
the  same  eminent  persons  said  to  be  privy  to  tlie 
secret,  who  might  and  must  have  been  consulted  after 
such  appeal :  it  proves  also  her  firm  persuasion  that 
her  husband  had  been  ungratefully  requited,  and  that 
her  family  had  still  pretensions  founded  on  his  ser- 
vices, wiiich  these  papers  might  one  day  enable  them 
to  assert  with  more  effect. 

Walker,  the  curate,  tells  us  that  he  had  a  hand  in 
the  business  all  along.  He  wrote  his  book,  it  is  true, 
forty-five  years  after  the  events :  but  this  circum- 
stance, which  so  deeply  affects  the  testimony  of  men 
■who  speak  of  words  spoken  in  conversation,  and 
reaching  them  through  three  or  four  hands,  rather 
explains  the  inaccuracies,  than  lessens  the  substantial 
weight,  of  one  who  speaks  of  his  own  acts,  on  the 
most,  and  perhaps  only,  remarkable  occasion  of  his 
life.  There  are  two  facts  in  Walker's  account  which 
seem  to  be  decisive ;  —  namely,  that  Gauden  told 
him,  about  the  time  of  the  fabrication,  that  the  MS. 
was  sent  by  the  Duke  of  Somerset  to  the  King,  and 
that  two  chapters  of  it  were  added  by  Bishop  Duppa. 
To  both  these  witnesses  Gauden  appealed  at  the 
Restoration,  and  Mrs.  Gauden  after  his  death.  These 
communications  were  somewhat  indiscreet ;  but,  it' 
false,  what  temptation  had  Gauden  at  that  time  to 
invent  them,  and  to  communicate  them  to  his  curate  ? 
They  were  new  means  of  detecting  his  imposture. 
But  the  declaration  of  Gauden,  that  the  book  and 
figure  w^as  wholly  and  solely  my  "  invention,  making, 
and  design,"  is  quoted  with  premature  triumph,  as  if 
it  were  incompatible  with  the  composition  of  two 
chapters  by  Duppaf;  —  as  if  the  contribution  of  a 
few  pages  to  a  volume  could  affect  the  authorship  of 

*  Doc.  Sup.  pp.  42.  48.  t  "  Who  wrote,"  &c.  p.  156. 

M  M  4 


536  ICON   BASILIKE. 

the  man  who  had  planned  the  whole,  and  executed  all 
the  rest.  That  he  mentioned  the  particular  con- 
tribution of  Duppa  at  the  time  to  Walker,  and  only- 
appealed  in  general  to  the  same  prelate  in  his  applica- 
tions to  Clarendon  and  the  King,  is  a  variation,  but 
no  inconsistency. 

Walker  early  represented  the  coincidence  of  some 
peculiar  phrases  in  the  devotions  of  the  Icon  with 
Gauden's  phraseology,  as  an  important  fact  in  the 
case.  That  argument  has  recently  been  presented 
with  much  more  force  by  Mr.  Todd,  whose  catalogue 
of  coincidences  between  the  Icon  and  the  avowed 
writings  of  Gauden  is  certainly  entitled  to  serious 
consideration.*  They  are  not  all  of  equal  importance, 
but  some  of  the  phrases  are  certainly  very  peculiar. 
It  seems  very  unlikely  that  Charles  should  have  copied 
peculiar  phrases  from  the  not  very  conspicuous  writings 
of  Gauden's  early  life  ;  and  it  is  almost  equally  impro- 
bable that  Gauden,  in  his  later  writings,  when  he  is  said 
to  have  been  eager  to  reap  the  fruits  of  his  imposture, 
should  not  have  carefully  shunned  those  modes  of  ex- 
pression which  were  peculiar  to  the  Icon.  To  the 
list  of  Mr.  Todd,  a  very  curious  addition  has  been 
made  by  Mr.  Benjamin  Bright,  a  discerning  and  libe- 
ral collector,  from  a  manuscript  volume  of  prayers  by 
Gauden  j,  which  is  of  more  value  than  the  other  coin- 
cidences, inasmuch  as  it  corroborates  the  testimony  of 
Walker,  who  said  that  he  "  met  with  expressions  in 
the  devotional  parts  of  the  Icon  very  frequently  used 
by  Dr.  Gauden  in  his  prayers!"  Without  laying 
great  stress  on  these  resemblances,  they  are  certainly 
of  more  weight  than  the  general  arguments  founded 
either  on  the  inferiority  of  Gauden's  talents  (which 
Dr.  Wordsworth  candidly  abandons),  or  on  the  im- 
pure and  ostentatious  character  of  his  style,  which 
have   little  weight,  unless  we  suppose  him  to  have 

♦  Letter  to  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  pp.  51 — 76. 
f  Ibid.  Appendix,  No.  L 


ICON   BASLLIKE.  537 

had  no  power  of  varying  his  manner  when  speaking 
in  the  person  of  another  man. 

Conclusions  from  internal  evidence  have  so  often 
been  contradicted  by  experience,  that  prudent  in- 
quirers seldom  rely  on  them  when  there  are  any  other 
means  of  forming  a  judgment.  But  in  such  ca-ses  as 
the  present,  internal  evidence  does  not  so  much  depend 
on  the  discussion  of  words,  or  the  dissection  of  sen- 
tences, as  on  the  impression  made  by  the  whole  com- 
position, on  minds  long  accustomed  to  estimate  and 
compare  the  writings  of  different  men  in  various  cir- 
cumstances. A  single  individual  can  do  little  more 
than  describe  that  impression  ;  and  he  must  leave  it  to 
be  determined  by  experience,  how  far  it  agrees  with 
the  impressions  made  on  the  minds  of  the  majority  of 
other  men  of  similar  qualifications.  To  us  it  seems, 
as  it  did  to  Archbishop  Herring,  that  the  Icon  is 
greatly  more  like  the  work  of  a  priest  than  a  king. 
It  has  more  of  dissertation  than  effusion.  It  has  more 
regular  division  and  systematic  order  than  agree  with 
the  habits  of  the  King.  The  choice  and  arrangement 
of  words  show  a  degree  of  care  and  neatness  which 
are  seldom  attained  but  by  a  practised  writer.  The 
views  of  men  and  affairs,  too,  are  rather  those  of  a 
bystander  than  an  actor.  They  are  chiefly  reflections, 
sometimes  in  themselves  obvious,  but  often  ingeniously 
turned,  such  as  the  surface  of  events  would  suggest  to 
a  spectator  not  too  deeply  interested.  It  betrays  none 
of  those  strong  feelings  which  the  most  vigilant  regard 
to  gravity  and  dignity  could  not  have  uniformly  ba- 
nished from  the  composition  of  an  actor  and  a  sufferer. 
It  has  no  allusion  to  facts  not  accessible  to  any  mo- 
derately informed  man  ;  though  the  King  must  have 
(sometimes  rightly)  thought  that  his  superior  know- 
ledge of  affairs  would  enable  him  to  correct  vulgar 
mistakes.  If  it  be  really  the  private  effusion  of  a 
man's  thoughts  on  himself  and  his  own  affairs,  it 
would  be  the  only  writing  of  that  sort  in  the  world  in 
which  it  is  impossible  to  select  a  trace  of  peculiarities 


538  ICON   BASILIKE. 

and  weaknesses,  —  of  partialities  and  dislikes,  —  of 
secret  opinions,  —  of  favourite  idioms,  and  habitual 
familiarities  of  expression  :  every  thing  is  impersonal. 
The  book  consists  entirely  of  generalities ;  while  real 
writings  of  this  sort  never  fail  to  be  characterised  by 
those  minute  and  circumstantial  touches,  which  par- 
ties deeply  interested  cannot,  if  they  would,  avoid.  It 
is  also  very  observable,  that  the  Icon  dwells  little  on 
facts,  where  a  mistake  might  so  easily  betray  its  not 
being  the  King's,  and  expatiates  in  reasoning  and  re- 
flection, of  which  it  is  impossible  to  try  the  genuine- 
ness by  any  palpable  test.  The  absence  of  every 
allusion  to  those  secrets  of  which  it  would  be  very 
hard  for  the  King  himself  wholly  to  conceal  his  know- 
ledge, seems,  indeed,  to  indicate  the  hand  of  a  writer 
who  was  afraid  of  venturing  on  ground  where  his 
ignorance  might  expose  him  to  irretrievable  blunders. 
Perhaps  also  the  want  of  all  the  smaller  strokes  of 
character  betrays  a  timid  and  faltering  forger,  who, 
though  he  ventured  to  commit  a  pious  fraud,  shrunk 
from  an  irreverent  imitation  of  the  Royal  feelings,  and 
was  willing,  after  the  great  purpose  was  served,  so  to 
soften  the  imposture,  as  to  leave  his  retreat  open,  and 
to  retain  the  means,  in  case  of  positive  detection,  of 
representing  the  book  to  have  been  published  as  what 
might  be  put  into  the  King's  mouth,  rather  than  as 
what  was  actually  spoken  by  him. 

The  section  which  relates  to  the  civil  war  in  Ire- 
land not  only  exemplifies  the  above  remarks,  but 
closely  connects  the  question  respecting  the  Icon 
with  the  character  of  Charles  for  sincerity.  It  cer- 
tainly was  not  more  unlawful  for  him  to  seek  the 
aid  of  the  Irish  Catholics,  than  it  was  for  his  oppo- 
nents to  call  in  the  succour  of  the  Scotch  Presby- 
terians. The  Parliament  procured  the  assistance  of 
the  Scotch  army,  by  the  imposition  of  the  Covenant 
in  England ;  and  the  King  might,  on  the  like  prin- 
ciple, purchase  the  help  of  the  Irish,  by  promising 
to  tolerate,  and  even  establish,  the  Catholic  religion 


ICON    BASILIKE.  539 

in  Ireland.     Warburton  justly  observes,  that  the  King 
was  free  from  blame  in  his  negotiations  with  the  L'ish, 
"  as  a  politician,  and  king,  and  governor  of  his  people  ; 
but  the  necessity  of  his  affairs  obliging  him   at  the 
same  time  to  play  the  Protestant  saint  and  confessor, 
there  was  found  much  disagreement  between  his  pro- 
fessions and  declarations,  and  actions  in  this  matter."* 
As  long  as  the  disagreement  was  confined  to  official 
declarations  and  to  acts  of  state,  it  must  be  owned  that 
it  is  extenuated  by  the  practice  of  politicians,  and  by 
the  consideration,  that  the  concealment  of  negotiations, 
which  is  a  lawful  end,  can  very  often  be  obtained  by 
no  other  means  than  a  disavowal  of  them.     The  rigid 
moralist  may  regret  this  excuse,  though  it  be  founded 
on  that  high  public  convenience  to  which  Warburton 
gives  the  name  of  "  necessity."     But  all  mankind  will 
allow,  that  the  express  or  implied  denial  of  real  nego- 
tiations in  a  private  work,  —  a  picture  of  the  writer's 
mind,  professing  to  come  from  the  ]\Ian  and  not  from 
the   King,    mixed   with   solemn    appeals   and   fervid 
prayers  to  the  Deity,  is  a  far  blacker  and  more  aggra- 
vated instance  of  insincerity.     It  is  not,  therefore,  an 
act  of  judicious  regard  to  the  memory  of  Charles  to 
ascribe  to  him  the  composition  of  the  twelfth  section 
of  the  Icon.     The  impression  manifestly  aimed  at  in 
that  section  is,  that  the  imputation  of  a  private  con- 
nection with  the  Irish  revolters  was  a  mere  calumny ; 
and  in  the  only  paragraph  which  approaches  to  par- 
ticulars,   it   expressly  confines    his    intercourse  with 
them  to  the  negotiation  for  a  time  through  Ormonde, 
and  declares  that  his  only  object  was  to  save   "the 
poor  Protestants  of  Ireland  from  their  desperate  ene- 
mies."   In  the  section  which  relates  to  the  publication 
of  his   letters,  when    the   Parliament  had  explicitly 
charged  him  with  clandestine  negotiations,  nothing  is 
added  on  the  subject.     The  general  protestations  of 
innocence,  not  very  specifically  applied  even  to  the 

*  Clarendon,  vol.  vii.  p.  591. 


540  ICON   BASILIKE. 

first  instigation  of  the  revolt,  are  left  in  that  indefinite 
state  in  which  the  careless  reader  may  be  led  to  apply 
them  to  all  subsequent  transactions,  which  are  skil- 
fully,—  not  to  say  artfully, — passed  over  in  silence. 
Now  it  is  certain  that  the  Earl  of  Glamorgan,  a  Ca- 
tholic himself,  was  authorised  by  Charles  to  negotiate 
with  the  Catholics  in  1645,  independently  of  Ormonde, 
and  with  powers,  into  the  nature  of  which  the  Lord 
Lieutenant  thought  himself  bound  not  curiously  to 
pry.  It  is,  also,  certain  that,  in  the  spring  of  that 
year,  Glamorgan  concluded  a  secret  treaty  with 
the  Catholic  assembly  at  Kilkenny,  by  which, — be- 
sides the  repeal  of  penalties  or  disabilities, — all  the 
churches  and  Church  property  in  L:eland  occupied  by 
the  Catholics  since  the  revolt,  were  continued  and 
secured  to  them  *  ;  while  they,  on  their  parts,  engaged 
to  send  ten  thousand  troops  to  the  King's  assistance 
in  England.  Some  correspondence  on  this  subject 
was  captured  at  sea,  and  some  was  seized  in  Ireland ; 
both  portions  were  immediately  published  by  the  Par- 
liament, which  compelled  the  King  to  imprison  and 
disavow  Glamorgan,  f  It  is  clear  that  these  were 
measures  of  policy,  merely  intended  to  conceal  the 
truth ;}: :  and  the  King,  if  he  was  the  writer  of  the 
Icon,  must  have  deliberately  left  on  the  minds  of  the 
readers  of  that  book  an  opinion,  of  his  connection  with 

*  Birch,  Inquiry,  p.  68.  The  King's  warrant,  on  12th  March 
1645,  gives  Glamorgan  power  "  to  treat  with  the  Roman  Catholics 
upon  necessity,  wherein  our  Lieutenant  cannot  so  well  be  seen" 
p.  20. 

f  Harleian  Miscellany,  vol.  iv.  p.  494, 

%  See  a  curious  letter  published  by  Leland  (History  of  Ire- 
land, book  V.  chap.  7.),  which  clearly  proves  that  the  blindness 
of  Ormonde  Avas  voluntary,  and  that  he  was  either  trusted  with 
the  secret,  or  discovered  it ;  and  that  the  imprisonment  of  Gla- 
morgan was,  what  the  Parliament  called  it,  "  a  colourable  com- 
mitment" Leland  is  one  of  those  writers  who  deserve  more 
reputation  than  they  enjoy:  he  is  not  only  an  elegant  Avriter, 
but,  considering  his  lime  and  country,  singularly  candid,  unpre- 
judiced, and  independent. 


ICON    BASILIKE.  541 

the  Irish  Catholics,  which  he  knew  to  be  false.  On 
the  other  hand  it  is  to  be  observed,  that  Gauden  could 
not  have  known  the  secret  of  the  Irish  negotiations, 
and  that  he  would  naturally  avoid  a  subject  of  which 
he  was  ignorant,  and  confine  himself  to  a  general  dis- 
avowal of  the  instigation  of  the  revolt.  The  silence 
of  the  Icon  on  this  subject,  if  written  by  Gauden, 
would  be  neither  more  wonderful  nor  more  blameable 
than  that  of  Clarendon,  who,  though  he  was  of  neces- 
sity acquainted  with  the  negotiations  of  Glamorgan, 
does  not  suffer  an  allusion  to  the  true  state  of  them 
to  escape  him,  either  in  the  History,  or  in  that  apo- 
logy for  Ormonde's  administration,  which  he  calls 
"  A  Short  View  of  the  State  of  Ireland."  Let  it  not 
be  said,  either  by  Charles's  mistaken  friends,  or  by 
his  undistinguishing  enemies,  that  he  incurs  the  same 
blame  for  suffering  an  omission  calculated  to  deceive 
to  remain  in  the  Icon  of  Gauden,  as  if  he  had  himself 
written  the  book.  If  tlie  manuscript  was  sent  to  him 
by  Gauden  in  September  1648,  he  may  have  intended 
to  direct  an  explanation  of  the  Irish  negotiations  to  be 
inserted  in  it ; — he  may  not  have  finally  determined 
on  the  immediate  publication.  At  all  events,  it  would 
be  cruel  to  require  that  he  should  have  critically  ex- 
amined, and  deliberately  weighed,  every  part  of  a 
manuscript,  which  he  could  only  occasionally  snatch  a 
moment  to  read  in  secret  during  the  last  four  months 
of  his  life.  In  this  troubled  and  dark  period,  divided 
between  great  negotiations,  violent  removals,  and 
preparations  for  asserting  his  dignity,  —  if  he  could 
not  preserve  his  life, — justice,  as  much  as  generosity 
requires  that  we  should  not  hold  him  responsible  for  a 
negative  offence,  however  important,  in  a  manuscript 
which  he  had  then  only  read.  But  if  he  was  the 
author,  none  of  these  extenuations  have  any  place :  he 
must  then  have  composed  the  work  several  years  be- 
fore his  death  ;  he  was  likely  to  have  frequently  ex- 
amined it ;  he  doubtless  read  it  with  fresh  attention, 
after  it  was  restored  to  him  at  Hampton  Court ;  and 


542  ICON   BASILIKk 

he  afterwards  added  several  chapters  to  it.  On  that 
supposition,  the  fraudulent  omission  must  have  been  a 
contrivance  "  aforethought,"  carried  on  for  years,  per- 
sisted in  at  the  approach  of  death,  and  left,  as  the 
dying  declaration  of  a  pious  monarch,  in  a  state  cal- 
culated to  impose  a  falsehood  upon  posterity.* 

*  After  sketching  the  above,  we  have  been  convinced,  by  a 
reperusal  of  the  note  of  Mr.  Laing  on  this  subject  (History  of 
Scotland,  vol.  iii.  p.  565.),  that  if  he  had  employed  his  great 
abilities  as  much  in  unfolding  facts  as  in  ascertaining  them,  no- 
thing could  have  been  written  for  the  Icon,  or  ought  to  have 
been  written  against  it,  since  that  decisive  note.  His  merit,  as 
a  critical  inquirer  into  history,  an  enlightened  collector  of  mate- 
rials, and  a  sagacious  judge  of  evidence,  has  never  been  surpassed. 
If  any  man  believes  the  innocence  of  Queen  Mary,  after  an  im- 
partial and  dispassionate  perusal  of  Mr.  Laing's  examination  of 
her  case,  the  state  of  such  a  man's  mind  would  be  a  subject 
worthy  of  much  consideration  by  a  philosophical  observer  of 
human  nature.  In  spite  of  his  ardent  love  of  liberty,  no  man 
has  yet  presumed  to  charge  him  with  the  slightest  sacrifice 
of  historical  integrity  to  his  zeal.  That  he  never  perfectly  at- 
tained the  art  of  full,  clear,  and  easy  naiTative  was  owing  to  the 
peculiar  style  of  those  writers  who  were  popular  in  his  youth, 
and  may  be  mentioned  as  a  remarkable  instance  of  the  dispro- 
portion of  particular  talents  to  general  vigour  of  mind. 


MEMOIR 

OF  THE 

AFFAIRS    OF    HOLJ,AND. 

A.D.  1667—1686. 


The  Seven  United  Provinces  which  established  their 
independence  made  little  change  in  their  internal 
institutions.  The  revolt  against  Philip's  personal 
commands  was  long  carried  on  under  colour  of  his 
own  legal  authority,  conjointly  exercised  by  his  lieu- 
tenant, the  Prince  of  Orange,  and  by  the  States, — 
composed  of  the  nobility  and  of  the  deputies  of  towns, 
—  who  had  before  shared  a  great  portion  of  it. 
But,  being  bound  to  each  other  in  an  indissoluble 
confederacy,  established  at  Utrecht  in  1579,  the  care 
of  their  foreign  relations  and  of  all  their  common 
affairs  was  intrusted  to  delegates,  sent  from  each, 
who  gradually  assumed  that  name  of  "  States-General," 
which  had  been  originally  bestowed  only  on  the 
occasional  assemblies  of  the  whole  States  of  all 
the  Belgic  provinces.  These  arrangements,  hastily 
adopted  in  times  of  confusion,  drew  no  distinct  lines 
of  demarcation  between  the  provincial  and  federal 
authorities.  Hostilities  had  been  for  many  years 
carried  on  before  the  authority  of  Philip  was  finally 
abrogated ;  and  after  that  decisive  measure  the  States 
showed  considerable  disposition  to  the  revival  of  a 
monarchical  power  in  the  person  of  an  Austrian  or 
French  prince,  or  of  the  Queen  of  England.    William  L 


544         MEMOIR   OF    THE   AFFAIKS   OF    HOLLAND. 

seems  about  to  have  been  invested  with  the  ancient 
legal  character  of  Earl  of  Holland  at  the  moment  of 
his  murder.*  He  and  his  successors  were  Stadt- 
holders  of  the  greater  provinces,  and  sometimes  of  all : 
they  exercised  in  that  character  a  powerful  intluence 
on  the  election  of  the  magistrates  of  towns ;  they  com- 
manded the  forces  of  the  confederacy  by  sea  and 
land  ;  they  combined  the  prerogatives  of  their  ancient 
magistracy  with  the  new  powers,  the  assumption  of 
which  the  necessities  of  war  seemed  to  justify ;  and 
they  became  engaged  in  constant  disputes  with  the 
great  political  bodies,  whose  pretensions  to  an  un- 
divided sovereignty  were  as  recent  and  as  little 
defined  as  their  own  rights.  While  Holland  formed 
the  main  strength  of  the  confederacy,  the  city  of 
Amsterdam  predominated  in  the  councils  of  that 
province.  The  provincial  States  of  Holland,  and  the 
patricians  in  the  towns  from  whom  their  magistrates 
were  selected,  were  the  aristocratical  antagonists  of 
the  stadtholderian  power,  which  chiefly  rested  on 
official  patronage,  on  military  command,  on  the  favour 
of  the  populace,  and  on  the  influence  of  the  minor 
provinces  in  the  States-General. 

The  House  of  Nassau  stood  conspicuous,  at  the 
dawn  of  modern  history,  among  the  noblest  of  the 
rulino;  families  of  Germanv.  In  the  thirteenth  cen- 
tury,  Adolphus  of  Nassau  succeeded  Kodolph  of 
Hapsburg  in  the  imperial  crown,  —  the  highest  dig- 
nity of  the  Christian  world.  A  branch  of  this  ancient 
house  had  acquired  ample  possessions  in  the  Nether- 
lands, together  with  the  principality  of  Orange  in 
Provence ;  and  under  Charles  Y.,  AVilliam  of  Nassau 
was  the  most  potent  lord  of  the  Burgundian  pro- 
vinces. Educated  in  the  palace  and  almost  in  the 
chamber  of  the  Emperor,  he  was  nominated  in  the 
earliest  years  of  manhood  to  the  government  of  Hol- 

♦  Commentarii  de  Kcpublica  Bataviensi  (Lugd.  Bat.  1795), 
vol.  ii.  pp.  42,  43. 


MEMOIR   OF    THE   AFFAIRS   OF    HOLLAND.         545 

land  *,  and  to  the  command  of  the  imperial  army,  by 
that  sagacious  monarch,  who,  in  the  memorable 
solemnity  of  abdication,  leant  upon  his  shoulder  as 
the  first  of  his  Belgic  subjects.  The  same  eminent 
qualities  which  recommended  him  to  the  confidence 
of  Charles  awakened  the  jealousy  of  Philip,  whose 
anger,  breaking  through  all  the  restraints  of  his 
wonted  simulation,  burst  into  furious  reproaches 
against  the  Prince  of  Orange  as  the  fomenter  of  the 
resistance  of  the  Flemings  to  the  destruction  of  their 
privileges.  Among  the  three  rulers  who,  perhaps 
unconsciously,  were  stirred  up  at  the  same  moment 
to  preserve  the  civil  and  religious  liberties  of  man- 
kind, William  I.  must  be  owned  to  have  wanted  the 
brilliant  and  attractive  qualities  of  Henry  IV.,  and 
to  have  yielded  to  the  commanding  genius  of  Eliza- 
beth ;  but  his  principles  were  more  inflexible  than 
those  of  the  amiable  hero,  and  his  mind  was  undis- 
turbed by  the  infirmities  and  passions  which  lowered 
the  illustrious  queen.  Though  he  performed  great 
actions  with  weaker  means  than  theirs,  his  course 
was  more  unspotted.  Faithful  to  the  King  of  Spain 
as  long  as  the  preservation  of  the  commonwealth 
allowed,  he  counselled  the  Duchess  of  Parma  against 
all  the  iniquities  by  which  the  Netherlands  were  lost ; 
but  faithful  also  to  his  country,  in  his  dying  instruc- 
tions he  enjoined  his  son  to  beware  of  insidious  offers 
of  compromise  from  the  Spaniard,  to  adhere  to  his 
alliance  with  France  and  England,  to  observe  the 
privileges  of  the  provinces  and  towns,  and  to  conduct 
himself  in  all  things  as  became  the  chief  magistrate 
of  the  republic."!"  Advancing  a  century  beyond  his 
contemporaries  in  civil  wisdom,  he  braved  the  pre- 
judices of  the  Calvinistic  clergy,  by  contending  for 
the    toleration    of   Catholics,    the    chiefs    of   whom 

*  By  the  ancient  name  of  '•  Stadthouder  "  (lieutenant).  Kluit, 
Vetiis  Jns  Pub.  Bclfr.  p.  364. 

f  13'Estnides,  MSS.  in  the  hands  of  his  youngest  son. 
VOL.  I.  N  N 


546         MEMOIR   OF    THE   AFFAIRS   OF   HOLLAND. 

had  sworn  his  destruction.*  Thoughtful,  of  uncon- 
querable spirit,  persuasive  though  taciturn,  of  simple 
character,  yet  maintaining  due  dignity  and  becoming 
magnificence  in  his  public  character,  an  able  com- 
mander and  a  wise  statesman,  he  is  perhaps  the  purest 
of  those  who  have  risen  by  arms  from  private  station 
to  supreme  authority,  and  the  greatest  of  the  happy 
few  who  have  enjoyed  the  glorious  fortune  of  bestow- 
ing liberty  upon  a  people.f  The  whole  struggle  of 
this  illustrious  prince  was  against  foreign  oppression. 
His  posterity,  less  happy,  were  engaged  in  domestic 
broils,  in  part  arising  from  their  undefined  authority, 
and  from  the  very  complicated  constitution  of  the 
commonwealth. 

Maurice,  the  eldest  Protestant  son  of  William,  sur- 
passed his  father  in  military  genius,  but  fell  far  short 
of  him  in  that  moderation  of  temper  and  principle 
which  is  the  most  indispensable  virtue  of  the  leader 
of  a  free  state.  The  blood  of  Barneveldt  and  the 
duno-eon  of  Grrotius  have  left  an  indelible  stain  on 
his  memory ;  nor  is  it  without  apparent  reason  that 
the  aristocratical  party  have  charged  him  with  pro- 
jects of  usurpation, — natural  to  a  family  of  republican 
magistrates  allied  by  blood  to  all  the  kings  of  Europe, 
and  distinguished  by  many  approaches  and  preten- 
sions to  the  kingly  power.J  Henry  Frederick,  his 
successor,  was  the  son  of  William  I.  by  Louise  de 
Coligny,  —  a  woman  singular  in  her  character  as  well 
as  in  her  destiny,  who,  having  seen  her  father  and  the 
husband  of  her  youth  murdered  at  the  massacre  of 

*  Burnet,  History  of  His  Own  Time  (Oxford,  1823),  vol.  i.  p. 
547. 

t  Even  Strada  himself  bears  one  testimony  to  this  great  man, 
which  outweighs  all  his  vain  reproaches.  "  Nee  postea  mutavere 
(Hollandi)  qui  videbant  et  gloriabantur  ab  univs  hominis  conatu, 
coeptisque  illi  utcunque  infelicibus,  assurgere  in  dies  Hollandicum 
nomen  imperiumque."     Strada,  De  Bello  Belgico,  dec.  ii.  lib.  v. 

t  Du  Maurier,  Memoircs  de  la  Hollande,  p.  293.  Vander- 
vynkt,  Troubles  des  Pays  Bas,  vol.  iii.  p.  27. 


MEMOm  OF    THE   AFFAIRS   OF   HOLLAND.         547 

St.  Bartholomew,  was  doomed  to  witness  the  fall  of  a 
more  illustrious  husband  by  the  hand  of  an  assassin  of 
the  same  faction,  and  who  in  her  last  widowhood  won 
the  aifection  of  William's  children  by  former  wives, 
for  her  own  virtuous  son.  Having  maintained  the 
fame  of  his  family  in  war,  he  was  happier  than  his 
more  celebrated  brother  in  a  domestic  administration, 
which  was  moderate,  tolerant,  and  unsuspected.*  He 
lived  to  see  the  final  recognition  of  Dutch  independ- 
ence by  the  treaty  of  Munster,  and  was  succeeded  by 
his  son,  William  H.,  who,  after  a  short  and  turbulent 
rule,  died  in  1650,  leaving  his  widow,  the  Princess 
Royal  of  England,  pregnant. 

William  HI.,  born  on  the  14th  of  November,  1650, 
eight  days  after  the  death  of  his  father,  an  orphan,  of 
feeble  frame,  with  early  indications  of  disease,  seemed 
to  be  involved  in  the  cloud  of  misfortune  which  then 
covered  the  deposed  and  exiled  family  of  his  mother. 
The  patricians  of  the  commercial  cities,  who  had 
gathered  strength  with  their  rapidly  increasing  wealth, 
were  incensed  at  the  late  attack  of  William  11.  on 
Amsterdam ;  they  were  equally  emboldened  by  the 
establishment  of  a  republic  in  England,  and  pre- 
judiced, not  without  reason,  against  the  Stuart  family, 
whose  absurd  principle  of  the  divine  right  of  kings 
had  always  disposed  James  L  to  regard  the  Dutcli  as 
no  better  than  successful  rebels  f,  and  had  led  his  son, 
in  1631,  a  period  of  profound  peace  and  professed 
friendship,  to  conclude  a  secret  treaty  with  Spain  for 
the  partition  of  the  republic,  in  which  England  was 
to  be  rewarded  for  her  treachery  and  rapine  by  the 
sovereignty  of  Zealand.*  They  found  no  difficulty  in 
persuading  the  States  to  assume  all  the  autliority 
hitherto  exercised  by  the  stadtholder,  without  fixing 

*  D'Estrades,  Lettres  (Lond.  1743),  vol.  i.  p.  55. 

t  "  In  his  table  discourse  he  pronounced  the  Dutch  to  be 
rebels,  and  condemned  their  cause,  and  said  that  Ostcnd  belonged 
to  the  archduke."     Carte,  History  of  England,  vol.  iii.  p.  714. 

X  Clarendon,  State  Papers,  vol.  i.  p.  49.,  and  vol.  ii.  app.  xxvii 

N  N  2 


548         MEMOIR  OF    THE   AFFAIES   OF   HOLLAND. 

any  period  for  conferring  on  the  infant  prince  those 
dignities  which  had  been  enjoyed  by  three  generations 
of  his  family.  At  the  peace  of  1654,  the  states  of 
Holland  bound  themselves  by  a  secret  article,  yielded 
with  no  great  reluctance  to  the  demands  of  Cromwell, 
never  to  choose  the  Prince  of  Orange  to  be  their  stadt- 
holder,  nor  to  consent  to  his  being  appointed  captain- 
general  of  the  forces  of  the  confederacy ;  —  a  separate 
stipulation,  at  variance  with  the  spirit  of  the  union  of 
Utrecht,  and  disrespectful  to  the  judgment,  if  not  in- 
jurious to  the  rights,  of  the  weaker  confederates.* 
After  the  restoration  this  engagement  lost  its  power. 

But  when  the  Prince  of  Orange  had  nearly  reached 
years  of  discretion,  and  the  brilliant  operations  of  a 
military  campaign  against  England  had  given  new 
vigour  to  the  republican  administration,  John  de  Witt, 
who,  under  the  modest  title  of  "  Pensionary "  of 
Holland,  had  long  directed  the  affairs  of  the  confe- 
deracy with  a  success  and  reputation  due  to  his 
matchless  honesty  and  prudence,  prevailed  on  the 
States  of  that  province  to  pass  a  "  Perpetual  Edict 
for  the  Maintenance  of  Liberty."  By  this  law  they 
abolished  the  stadtholdership  in  their  own  province, 
and  ao^reed  to  take  effectual  means  to  obtain  from 
their  confederates  edicts  excluding  all  those  who 
might  be  captain-generals  from  the  stadtholdership  of 
any  of  the  provinces, — binding  themselves  and  their 
successors  by  oath  to  observe  these  provisions,  and  im- 
posing the  like  oath  on  all  who  might  be  appointed  to 
the  chief  command  by  land  or  sea.f  Guelderland, 
Utrecht,  and  Overyssell  acceded.    Friesland  and  Gro- 

*  Cromwell  was  prevailed  upon  to  content  himself  with  this 
separate  stipulation,  very  imperfect  in  form,  but  which  the  strength 
of  the  ruling  province  rendeixd  in  substance  sufficient.  White- 
lock,  Memorials,  12th  May,  1684. 

f  3d  August,  1667.  The  immediate  occasion  of  this  edict 
seems  to  have  been  a  conspiracy,  for  which  one  Buat,  a  spy  em- 
ployed by  Lord  Arlington,  was  executed.  Histoire  de  J.  D.  De 
Witt  (Utrecht,  1709),  liv.  ii.  chap.  2. 


MEMOIK   OF    THE   AFFAIRS   OF   HOLLAND.         549 

ningen,  then  governed  by  a  stadtholder  of  another 
branch  of  the  family  of  Nassau,  were  considered  as  not 
immediately  interested  in  the  question.  Zealand  alone, 
devoted  to  the  House  of  Orange,  resisted  the  separa- 
tion of  the  supreme  military  and  civil  offices.  On  this 
footing  De  Witt  professed  his  readiness  to  confer  the 
office  of  captain-general  on  the  prince,  as  soon  as  he 
should  be  of  fit  age.  He  was  allowed  meanwhile  to 
take  his  seat  in  the  Council  of  State,  and  took  an 
oath  to  observe  the  Perpetual  Edict.  His  opponents 
struggled  to  retard  his  military  appointment,  to  shorten 
its  duration,  and  to  limit  its  powers.  His  partisans, 
on  the  other  hand,  supported  by  England,  and  led  by 
Amelia  of  Solms,  the  widow  of  Prince  Henry,  —  a 
woman  of  extraordinary  ability,  who  had  trained  the 
young  prince  with  parental  tenderness,  —  seized  every 
opportunity  of  pressing  forward  his  nomination,  and 
of  preparing  the  way  for  the  enlargement  of  his 
authority. 

This  contest  might  have  been  longer  protracted,  if 
the  conspiracy  of  Louis  and  Charles,  and  the  occupa- 
tion of  the  greater  part  of  the  country  by  the  former, 
had  not  brought  undeserved  reproach  on  the  adminis- 
tration of  De  Witt.  Fear  and  distrust  became  univer- 
sal ;  every  man  suspected  his  neighbour ;  accusations 
were  heard  with  greedy  credulity ;  misfortunes  were 
imputed  to  treachery ;  and  the  multitude  cried  aloud 
for  victims.  The  corporate  officers  of  the  great  towns, 
originally  chosen  by  the  burghers,  had,  on  the  usual 
plea  of  avoiding  tumult,  obtained  the  right  of  filling 
up  all  vacancies  in  their  own  number.  They  tlius 
strengthened  their  power,  but  destroyed  their  security. 
No  longer  connected  with  the  people  by  election,  the 
aristocratical  families  received  no  fresh  infusion  of 
strength,  and  had  no  hold  on  the  attachment  of  the 
community ;  though  they  still  formed,  indeed,  the 
better  part  of  the  people.  They  had  raised  the  fisher- 
men of  a  few  marsliy  districts  to  be  one  of  the  greatest 
nations  of  Europe  ;  but  the  misfortunes  of  a  moment 

N  N  3 


550         MEMOIR   OP    THE   AFFAIRS    OF    HOLLAND. 

banished  the  remembrance  of  their  services.  Their 
grave  and  harsh  virtues  were  more  unpopular  than  so 
many  vices ;  w^hile  the  needs  and  disasters  of  war 
served  to  heighten  the  plebeian  clamour,  dnd  to 
strengthen  the  military  pov^^er,  which  together  formed 
the  combined  force  of  the  stadtholderian  party.  It 
was  then  in  vain  that  the  republicans  endeavoured  to 
satisfy  that  party,  and  to  gain  over  the  King  of 
England,  by  the  nomination  of  the  Prince  of  Orange 
to  be  captain-general ;  Charles  was  engaged  in  deeper 
designs.  The  progress  of  the  French  arms  still  farther 
exasperated  the  populace,  and  the  republicans  incurred 
the  reproach  of  treachery  by  a  disposition — perhaps 
carried  to  excess — to  negotiate  with  Louis  XIV.  at  a 
moment  when  all  negotiation  wore  the  appearance  of 
submission.  So  it  had  formerly  happened : — Barne- 
veldt  was  friendly  to  peace  with  Spain,  when  Maurice 
saw  no  safety  but  in  arms.  Men  equally  wise  and 
honest  may  differ  on  the  difficult  and  constantly 
varying  question,  whether  uncompromising  resistance, 
or  a  reservation  of  active  effort  for  a  more  favourable 
season,  be  the  best  mode  of  dealing  with  a  formidable 
conqueror.  Though  the  war  policy  of  Demosthenes 
terminated  in  the  destruction  of  Athens,  we  dare  not 
affirm  that  the  pacific  system  of  Phocion  would  have 
saved  it.  In  the  contest  of  Maurice  with  Barneveldt, 
and  of  De  Witt  with  the  adherents  of  the  House  of 
Orange,  both  parties  had  an  interest  distinct  from 
that  of  the  commonwealth  ;  for  the  influence  of  the 
States  grew  in  peace,  and  the  authority  of  the  captain- 
general  was  strengthened  by  war.  The  populace  now 
revolted  against  their  magistrates  in  all  the  towns, 
and  the  States  of  Holland  were  compelled  to  repeal 
the  Edict  which  they  called  "  Perpetual,"  to  release 
themselves  and  all  the  officers  from  the  oath  which 
they  had  taken  to  observe  it,  and  to  confer,  on  the  4th 
of  July  1672,  on  the  prince  the  office  of  stadtholder, — 
which,  then  only  elective  for  life,  was,  after  two  years 
more,  made  hereditary  to  his  descendants. 


MEMOIR   OF    THE    AFFAIRS   OF    HOLLAND.         551 

The  commotions  vrliich  accompanied  this  revolution 
Avere  stained  by  the  murder  of  John  and  Cornelius  De 
AVitt, — a  crime  perpetrated  with  such  brutal  ferocity, 
and  encountered  with  such  heroic  serenity,  that  it  may 
almost  seem  to  be  doubtful  whether  the  glory  of  having 
produced  such  pure  sufferers  may  not  in  some  degree 
console  a  country  for  having  given  birth  to  assassins 
so  atrocious.  These  excesses  are  singularly  at  vari- 
ance with  the  calm  and  orderly  character  of  the  Dutch, 
— than  whom  perhaps  no  free  state  has,  in  proportion 
to  its  magnitude,  contributed  more  amply  to  the 
amendment  of  mankind  by  examples  of  public  virtue. 
The  Prince  of  Orange,  thus  hurried  to  the  supreme 
authority  at  the  age  of  twenty-two,  was  ignorant  of 
these  crimes,  and  avowed  his  abhorrence  of  them. 
They  were  perpetrated  more  than  a  month  after  his 
highest  advancement,  when  they  could  produce  no 
effect  but  that  of  bringing  odium  upon  his  party.  But 
it  must  be  for  ever  deplored  that  the  extreme  danger 
of  his  position  should  have  prevented  him  from  punish- 
ing the  offences  of  his  partisans,  till  it  seemed  too  late 
to  violate  that  species  of  tacit  amnesty  which  time 
insensibly  establishes.  It  would  be  impossible  ever  to 
excuse  this  unhappy  impunity,  if  we  did  not  call  to 
mind  that  Louis  XIV.  was  at  Utrecht ;  that  it  was 
the  populace  of  the  Hague  that  had  imbrued  their 
hands  in  the  blood  of  the  De  Witts ;  and  that  the 
magistrates  of  Amsterdam  might  be  disposed  to  avenge 
on  their  country  the  cause  of  their  virtuous  chiefs. 
Henceforward  William  directed  the  counsels  and  arms 
of  Holland,  gradually  forming  and  leading  a  con- 
federacy to  set  bounds  to  the  ambition  of  Louis  XIV., 
and  became,  by  his  abilities  and  dispositions,  as  much 
as  by  his  position,  the  second  person  in  Europe. 

We  possess  unsuspected  descriptions  of  his  charac- 
ter from  observers  of  more  than  ordinary  sagacity,  who 
had  an  interest  in  watching  its  development  before  it 
was  surrounded  by  the  dazzling  illusions  of  power  and 
fame.     Among  the  most  valuable  of  these  witnesses 

N  N    4 


552         MEMOIR   OF    THE   AFFAIRS    OF    HOLLAND. 

were  some  of  the  subjects  and  servants  of  Louis  XIV. 
At  the  age  of  eighteen  the  Prince's  good  sense,  know- 
ledge of  affairs,  and  seasonable  concealment  of  his 
thoughts,  attracted  the  attention  of  Gourville,  a  man 
of  experience  and  discernment.  St.  Evremond,  though 
himself  distinguished  chiefly  by  vivacity  and  accom- 
plishments, saw  the  superiority  of  William's  powers 
through  his  silence  and  coldness.  After  long  intimacy 
Sir  William  Temple  describes  his  great  endowments  and 
excellent  qualities,  his  —  then  almost  singular — com- 
bination of  "  charity  and  religious  zeal,"  "  his  desire 
— rare  in  every  age — to  grow  great  rather  by  the 
service  than  the  servitude  of  his  country;" — lan- 
guage so  manifestly  considerate,  discriminating,  and 
unexaggerated,  as  to  bear  on  it  the  inimitable  stamp 
of  truth,  in  addition  to  the  weight  which  it  derives 
from  the  probity  of  the  writer.  But  there  is  no  tes- 
timony so  important  as  that  of  Charles  II.,  who,  in 
the  early  part  of  his  reign,  had  been  desirous  of  gain- 
ing an  ascendant  in  Holland  by  the  restoration  of  the 
House  of  Orange,  and  of  subverting  the  government 
of  De  Witt,  whom  he  never  forgave  for  his  share  in 
the  treaty  with  the  English  Republic.  Some  retro- 
spect is  necessary,  to  explain  the  experiment  by  which 
that  monarch  both  ascertained  and  made  known  the 
ruling  principles  of  his  nephew's  mind. 

The  mean  negotiations  about  the  sale  of  Dunkirk 
first  betrayed  to  Louis  XIV.  the  passion  of  Charles 
for  French  money.  The  latter  had,  at  the  same  time, 
offered  to  aid  Louis  in  the  conquest  of  Flanders,  on 
condition  of  receiving  French  succour  against  the 
revolt  of  his  own  subjects*,  and  had  strongly  ex- 
pressed his  desire  of  an  offensive  and  defensive  alli- 
ance to  Ruvigni,  one  of  the  most  estimable  of  that 
monarch's  agents.|  But  the  most  pernicious  of  Charles's 

*  D'Estrades,  vol.  v.  p.  450. 

f  Memoire  de  Ruvigni  au  Eoi.  Dalrymple,  Memoirs  of 
Great  Britain,  &c.  vol.  ii.  p.  11.  D'Estrades,  vol.  v.,  20th  Dec. 
1663.     18th  Dec.  1664. 


MEMOIR   OF    THE   AFFAIRS   OF    HOLLAND.         553 

vices,  never  bridled  by  any  virtue,  were  often  miti- 
gated by  the  minor  vices  of  indolence  and  irresolu- 
tion. Even  the  love  of  pleasure,  which  made  him 
needy  and  rapacious,  unfitted  him  for  undertakings 
full  of  toil  and  peril.  Projects  for  circumventing  each 
other  in  Holland,  which  Charles  aimed  at  influencing 
through  the  House  of  Orange,  and  Louis  hoped  to 
master  through  the  Republican  party,  retarded  their 
secret  advances  to  an  entire  union.  De  Witt  was 
compelled  to  consent  to  some  aggrandisement  of 
France,  rather  than  expose  his  country  to  a  war  with- 
out the  co-operation  of  the  King  of  England,  who 
was  ready  to  betray  a  hated  ally.  The  first  Dutch 
war  appears  to  have  arisen  from  the  passions  of  both 
nations,  and  their  pride  of  maritime  supremacy, — 
employed  as  instruments  by  Charles  wherewith  to 
obtain  booty  at  sea,  and  supply  from  his  parliament, — 
and  by  Louis  wherewith  to  seize  the  Spanish  Nether- 
lands. At  the  peace  of  Breda  (July  1667),  the  Court 
of  England  seemed  for  a  moment  to  have  changed  its 
policy,  by  the  conclusion  of  the  Triple  Alliance,  which 
prescribed  some  limits  to  the  ambition  of  France, — a 
system  which  De  Witt,  as  soon  as  he  met  so  honest  a 
negotiator  as  Sir  William  Temple,  joyfully  hastened 
to  embrace. 

Temple  was,  however,  duped  by  his  master.  It  is 
probable  that  the  Triple  Alliance  was  the  result  of  a 
fradulent  project,  suggested  originally  by  Gourville  to 
ruin  De  Witt,  by  embroiling  him  irreconcilably  with 
France.*  Charles  made  haste  to  disavow  the  inten- 
tions professed  in  itf;  and  a  negotiation  with  France 
was  immediately  opened,  partly  by  the  personal  inter- 
course of  Charles  with  the  French  ministers  at  his 
court,  but  chiefly  through  his  sister,  the  Duchess  of 

*  Mcraoires  de  Gourville  (Paris,  1724),  vol.  ii.  pp.  14 — 18. 
160. 

t  Charles  II.  to  the  Duchess  of  Orleans,  13th  Jan.  1G68.  Dal- 
rymplc,  vol.  ii.  p.  5.  [The  old  style  is  used  thioughout  these 
references. — Ed.] 


554         MEMOIR   OF    THE   AFFAIRS   OF   HOLLAND. 

Orleans, — an  amiable  princess,  probably  the  only  per- 
son whom  he  ever  loved.  This  correspondence,  which 
was  concealed  from  those  of  his  ministers  who  were 
not  either  Catholics  or  well  affected  to  the  Catholic 
religion,  lingered  on  till  May  1670,  when  (on  the 
22d)  a  secret  treaty  was  concluded  under  cover  of  a 
visit  made  by  the  duchess  to  her  brother.  * 

*  It  was  signed  by  Lords  Arlington  and  Arundel,  Sir  Thomas 
Clifford,  and  Sir  Eichard  Bealing,  on  the  part  of  England,  and 
by  Colbert  de  Croissy,  the  brother  of  the  celebrated  financier,  on 
the  part  of  France.  Rose,  Observations  on  Fox's  History,  p.  51. 
Summary  collated  with  the  original,  in  the  hands  of  the  present 
Lord  Clifford.  The  draft  of  the  same  treaty,  sent  to  Paris  by 
Arundel,  does  not  materially  differ.  Dalrymple,  vol.  i.  p.  44. 
"  The  Life  of  James  IL  (vol.  i.  pp.  440—450.)  agrees,  in  most 
circumstances,  with  these  copies  of  the  treaties,  and  with  the 
correspondence.  There  is  one  important  variation.  In  the 
treaty  it  is  stipulated  that  Charles's  measures  in  favour  of  the 
Catholic  religion  should  precede  the  war  against  Holland,  ac- 
cording to  the  plan  M^hich  he  had  always  supported.  '  The  Life  ' 
says,  that  the  resolution  was  taken  at  Dover  to  begin  with  the 
war  against  Holland,  and  the  despatch  of  Colbert  from  Dover, 
20th  May  (Dalrymple,  vol.  ii.  p.  57.),  almost  justifies  the  state- 
ment, which  may  refer  to  a  verbal  acquiescence  of  Charles,  pro- 
bably deemed  sufficient  in  these  clandestine  transactions,  where 
that  prince  desired  nothing  but  such  assurances  as  satisfy  gen- 
tlemen in  private  life.  It  is  true  that  the  narrative  of  the  Life 
is  not  here  supported  by  those  quotations  from  the  king's  original 
Memoirs  on  which  the  credit  of  the  compilation  essentially  de- 
pends. But  as  in  the  eighteen  years,  1660—1678,  Avhich  exhibit 
no  such  quotations,  there  are  internal  proofs  that  some  passages, 
at  least,  of  the  Life  are  taken  from  the  Memoirs,  the  absence  of 
quotation  does  not  derogate  so  much  from  the  credit  of  this  part 
of  the  work  as  it  would  from  that  of  any  other."  See  Edinburgh 
Review,  vol.  xxvi.  pp.  402 — 430.  This  treaty  has  been  laid  to 
the  charge  of  the  Cabinet  called  the  "  Cabal,"  unjustly ;  for, 
of  the  five  members  of  that  administration,  two  only,  Clifford  and 
Arlington,  were  privy  to  the  designs  of  the  king  and  the  Duke 
of  York.  Ashley  and  Lauderdale  were  too  zealous  Protestants 
to  be  trusted  with  it.  Buckingham  (whatever  might  be  his  in- 
difference in  religion)  had  too  much  levity  to  be  trusted  with 
such  secrets;  but  he  was  so  penetrating  that  it  was  thought  pru- 
dent to  divert  his  attention  from  the  real  negotiation,  by  engag- 
ing him  in  negotiating  a  simulated  treaty,  in  which  the  articles 


MEMOIR  OF    THE   AFFAIRS    OF    HOLLAND.         OOO 

The  essential  stipulations  of  this  unparalleled  com- 
pact were  three:  that  Louis  should  advance  money  to 
Charles,  to  enable  him  the  more  safely  to  execute 
what  is  called  "  a  declaration  of  his  adherence  to  the 
Catholic  religion,"  and  should  support  him  with  men 
and  money,  if  that  measure  should  be  resisted  by  his 
subjects  ;  that  both  powers  should  join  their  arms 
against  Holland,  the  islands  of  Walcheren  and  Cad- 
sand  being  allotted  to  England  as  her  share  of  the 
prey  (which  clearly  left  the  other  territories  of  the 
Republic  at  the  disposal  of  Louis) ;  and  that  England 
should  aid  Louis  in  any  new  pretensions  to  the  crown 
of  Spain,  or,  in  other  and  plainer  language,  enable  him, 
on  the  very  probable  event  of  Charles  JI.  of  Spain 
dying  without  issue*,  to  incorporate  with  a  monarchy, 
already  the  greatest  in  Europe,  the  long-coveted  in- 
heritance of  the  House  of  Burfrundv,  and  the  two  vast 
peninsulas  of  Italy  and  Spain.  The  strength  of  Louis 
would  thus  have  been  doubled  at  one  blow,  and  all 
limitations  to  his  farther  progress  on  the  Continent 
must  have  been  left  to  his  own  moderation.  It  is 
hard  to  imagine  what  should  have  hindered  him  from 
renderinof  his  monarchv  universal  over  the  civilised 
world.  The  port  of  Ostend,  the  island  of  Minorca, 
and  the  permission  to  conquer  Spanish  America,  with 
a  very  vague  promise  of  assistance  of  France,  were 
assigned  to  England  as  the  wages  of  her  share  of  this 
conspiracy  against  mankind.  The  fearful  stipulations 
for  rendering  the  King  of  England  independent  of 
Parliament  by  a  secret  supply  of  foreign  money,  and 
for  putting  into  his  hands  a  foreign  military  force,  to 
be  employed  against  his  subjects,  were,  indeed,  to  take 
effect,  only  in  .case  of  the  avowal  of  his  reconciliation 
with  the  Church  of  Rome.  But  as  he  himself  con- 
favourable  to  the  Catholic  reli£rion  were  left  out.  On  the  other 
hand,  Lord  Arundel  and  Sir  Richard  Bealing,  Catholics  not  of 
tlie  "  Cabal,"  were  negotiators. 

*  Cliarles  II.,  king  of  Spain,  was  then  a  feeble  and  diseased 
child  of  nine  years  old. 


556         MEMOIR   OF    THE   AFFAIRS    OF   HOLLAND. 

sidered  a  re -establishment  of  that  Church  as  essential 
to  the  consolidation  of  his  authority, — which  the 
mere  avowal  of  his  religion  would  rather  have  weak- 
ened, and  the  bare  toleration  of  it  could  little,  if  at 
all,  have  promoted ;  as  he  confessedly  meditated  mea- 
sures for  quieting  the  alarms  of  the  possessors  of 
Church  lands,  whom  the  simple  letter  of  the  treaty 
could  not  have  much  disturbed ;  as  he  proposed  a 
treaty  with  the  pope,  to  obtain  the  cup  for  the  laity, 
and  the  mass  in  English,  —  concessions  which  are 
scarcely  intelligible  without  the  supposition  that  the 
Church  of  Rome  was  to  be  established ;  as  he  con- 
cealed this  article  from  Shaftesbury,  who  must  have 
known  his  religion,  and  was  then  friendly  to  a  toler- 
ation of  it ;  and  as  other  articles  were  framed  for  the 
destruction  of  the  only  powerful  Protestant  state  on 
the  Continent,  there  cannot  be  the  slightest  doubt  that 
the  real  object  of  this  atrocious  compact,  however 
disguised  under  the  smooth  and  crafty  language  of 
diplomacy,  was  the  forcible  imposition  of  a  hated  re- 
ligion upon  the  British  nation,  and  that  the  con- 
spirators foresaw  a  national  resistance,  which  must  be 
stifled  or  quelled  by  a  foreign  army.*  It  was  evident 
that  the  most  tyrannical  measures  would  have  been 
necessary  for  the  accomplishment  of  such  purposes, 
and  that  the  transfer  of  all  civil,  military,  and  eccle- 
siastical power  to  the  members  of  a  communion  who 
had  no  barrier  against  public  hatred  but  the  throne, 
must  have  tended  to  render  the  power  of  Charles 
absolute,  and  must  have  afforded  him  the  most  pro- 
bable means  of  effectually  promoting  the  plans  of  his 
ally  for  the  subjugation  of  Europe.j  If  the  foreign 
and  domestic   objects   of  this  treaty  be   considered, 

*  Dalrymple,  vol.  ii.  p.  8  4. 

t  It  is  but  just  to  mention,  that  Burnet  calls  it  only  the  "  tole- 
ration of  popery,"  vol.  i.  p.  522.  He  had  seen  only  Primi's  his- 
tory, and  he  seems  to  speak  of  the  negotiation  carried  on  through 
Buckingham,  from  whom  we  know  that  the  full  extent  of  the 
plan  was  concealed. 


3IE3IOIR   OF    THE   AFFATRS   OF   HOLLAXD.         5o7 

together  with  the  means  by  which  they  were  to  have 
been  accomplished,  and  the  dire  consequences  which 
must  have  flowed  from  their  attainment,  it  seems  pro- 
bable that  so  much  falsehood,  treachery,  and  mercenary 
meanness  were  never  before  combined,  in  the  decent 
formalities  of  a  solemn  compact  between  sovereigns, 
^vith  such  premeditated  bloodshed  and  unbridled 
cruelty.  The  only  semblance  of  virtue  in  the  dark 
plot  was  the  anxiety  shown  to  conceal  it ;  which,  how- 
ever, arose  more  from  the  fears  than  the  shame  of  the 
conspirators.  In  spite  of  all  their  precautions  it 
transpired :  the  secret  was  extorted  from  Turenne,  in 
a  moment  of  weakness,  by  a  young  mistress.*  He 
also  disclosed  some  of  the  correspondence  to  PuiFen- 
dorf,  the  Swedish  minister  at  Paris,  to  detach  the 
Swedes  from  the  Triple  Alliance  f;  and  it  was  made 
known  by  that  minister,  as  well  as  by  De  Groot,  the 
Dutch  ambassador  at  Paris,  to  De  Witt,  who  had 
never  ceased  to  distrust  the  sincerity  of  the  Stuarts 
towards  Holland.^  The  suspicions  of  Temple  himself 
had  been  early  awakened ;  and  he  seems  to  have  in 
some  measure  played  the  part  of  a  willing  dupe,  in 
the  hope  of  entangling  his  master  in  honest  alliances. 
The  substance  of  the  secret  treaty  was  the  subject  of 
general  conversation  at  the  Court  of  England  at  the 
time  of  Puffendorf's  discovery.  §  A  pamphlet  pub- 
lished, or  at  least  printed,  in  1673,  intelligibly  hints 
at  its  existence  "  about  four  years  before."  ||  Not  long 
after,  Louis  XIV.,  in  a  moment  of  dissatisfaction  with 
Charles  11.,    permitted   or   commanded    the   Abbate 


*  Ramsay,  Histoire  dc  Turenne  (Paris,  1735),  vol.  i.  p.  429. 

t  Sir  W.  Temple  to  Sir  Orlando  Bridjrman,  24th  April,  1669. 

X  De  Witt  observed  to  Temple,  even  in  the  days  of  the  Triple 
Alliance,  —  "A  change  of  councils  in  England  would  be  our 
ruin.  Since  the  reign  of  P21izabeth  there  has  been  such  a  fluc- 
tuation in  the  English  councils,  that  it  has  been  impossible  to 
concert  measures  with  them  for  two  years." 

§  Pepys's  Memoirs,  vol.  ii.  ]>.  336/ 

II  England's  Appeal  from  the  Private  Cabal  at  Whitehall 


658         MEMOIR   OF    THE   AFFAIRS   OF    HOLLAND. 

Primi  to  print  a  History  of  the  Dutch  War  at  Paris, 
which  derived  credit  from  being  soon  suppressed  at 
the  instance  of  the  English  minister,  and  which  gave 
an  almost  verbally  exact  summary  of  the  secret 
treaty,  with  respect  to  three  of  its  objects,  —  the 
partition  of  Holland,  the  re-establishment  of  the  Ca- 
tholic religion  in  the  British  Islands,  and  the  absolute 
authority  of  the  king.*  The  project  for  the  dis- 
memberment of  Holland,  adopted  by  Charles  I.  in 
1631,  appears  to  have  been  entertained  by  his  eldest 
son  till  the  last  years  of  his  reign.f 

As  one  of  the  articles  of  the  secret  treaty  had  pro- 
vided a  petty  sovereignty  for  the  Prince  of  Orange 
out  of  the  ruins  of  his  country,  Charles  took  the 
opportunity  of  his  nephew's  visit  to  England,  in  Oc- 
tober 1670,  to  sound  him  on  a  project  which  was  thus 
baited  for  his  concurrence.  "  All  the  Protestants," 
said  the  King,  "  are  a  factious  body,  broken  among 
themselves  since  they  have  been  broken  from  the  main 
stock.  Look  into  these  things  better ;  do  not  be  misled 
by  your  Dutch  blockheads."  J  The  King  immediately 
imparted  the  failure  of  this  attempt  to  the  French  am- 
bassador :  "  I  am  satisfied  with  the  prince's  abilities, 
but  I  find  him  too  zealous  a  Dutchman  and  a  Protest- 
ant to  be  trusted  with  the  secret."  §  But  enough  had 
escaped  to  disclose  to  the  sagacious  youth  the  purposes 
of  his  uncle,  and  to  throw  a  strong  light  on  the  motives 
of  all  his  subsequent  measures.  The  inclination  of 
Charles  towards  the  Church  of  Rome  could  never  have 
rendered  a  man  so  regardless  of  religion  solicitous  for 
a  conversion,  if  he  had  not  considered  it  as  subservient 
to  projects  for  the  civil  establishment  of  that  Church, 
—  which,  as  it  could  subsist  only  by  his  favour,  must 
have  been  the  instrument  of  his  absolute  power.     As- 

*  State  Trials  in  the  reign  of  Wm.  III.  (Lond.  1705),  Introd. 
p.  10. 

f  Preston  Papers,  in  the  possession  of  Sir  James  Graham  of 
Netherby. 

J  Burnet,  vol.  i.  p.  475.  §  Dairy m pie,  vol.  ii.  p.  70. 


MEMOIR  OF    THE   AFFAIRS    OF    HOLLAND.         559 

tonished  as  William  was  by  the  discovery,  he  had  the 
fortitude,  during  the  life  of  Charles,  to  conceal  it  from 
all  but  one,  or,  at  most,  two  friends.  It  was  reserved 
for  later  times  to  discover  that  Charles  had  the  incon- 
ceivable baseness  to  propose  the  detention  of  his 
nephew  in  England,  where  the  temptation  of  a  sove- 
reignty, being  aided  by  the  prospect  of  the  recovery  of 
his  freedom,  might  act  more  powerfully  on  his  mind  ; 
and  that  this  proposal  was  refused  by  Louis,  either 
from  magnanimity,  or  from  regard  to  decency,  or,  per- 
haps, from  reluctance  to  trust  his  ally  with  the  sole 
disposal  of  so  important  a  prisoner. 

Though  —  to  return,  —  in  1672  the  French  army  had 
advanced  into  the  heart  of  Holland,  the  fortitude  of 
the  prince  was  unshaken.  Louis  offered  to  make  him 
sovereign  of  the  remains  of  the  country,  under  the 
protection  of  France  and  England*;  but  at  that  mo- 
ment of  extreme  peril,  he  answered  with  his  usual 
calmness,  "  I  never  will  betray  a  trust,  nor  sell  the 
liberties  of  my  country,  which  my  ancestors  have  so 
long  defended."  All  around  him  despaired.  One  of 
his  very  few  confidential  friends,  after  having  long  ex- 
postulated with  him  on  his  fruitless  obstinacy,  at 
lenofth  asked  him  if  he  had  considered  how  and  where 
he  should  live  after  Holland  was  lost  ?  "I  have 
thought  of  that,"  he  replied ;  "  I  am  resolved  to  live 
on  the  lands  I  have  left  in  Germany.  I  had  rather 
pass  my  life  in  hunting  there,  than  sell  my  country  or 
my  liberty  to  France  at  any  price."  f  Buckingham 
and  Ai'lington  were  sent  from  England  to  try  whether, 
beset  by  peril,  the  lure  of  sovereignty  might  not 
seduce  him.  The  former  often  said,  "  Do  you  not  see 
that  the  country  is  lost  ?  "  The  answer  of  the  prince 
to  the  profligate  buffoon  spoke  the  same  unmoved  reso- 
lution with  that  which  he  had  made  to  Zulestein  or 

*  Dalrymple,  vol.  ii.  p.  79. 

t  Temple,  Works  (Lond.  1721),  vol.  i.  p.  381.  This  friend 
wns  probably  his  uncle  Zulestein,  for  the  conversation  passed 
before  his  intimacy  with  Bcntinck. 


560         MEMOIR   OF    THE    AFFAIRS    OF   HOLLAND. 

Fagel ;  but  it  naturally  rose  a  few  degrees  towards 
animation ;  —  "I  see  it  is  in  great  danger,  but  there  is 
a  sure  way  of  never  seeing  it  lost ;  and  that  is,  to  die 
in  the  last  ditch."*  The  perfect  simplicity  of  these 
declarations  may  authorise  us  to  rank  them  among  the 
most  genuine  specimens  of  true  magnanimity.  Perhaps 
the  history  of  the  world  does  not  hold  out  a  better  ex- 
ample, how  high  above  the  reach  of  fortune  the  pure 
principle  of  obedience  to  the  dictates  of  conscience,  un- 
alloyed by  interest,  passion,  or  ostentation,  can  raise 
the  mind  of  a  virtuous  man.  To  set  such  an  example 
is  an  unspeakably  more  signal  service  to  mankind 
than  all  the  outward  benefits  which  flow  to  them 
from  the  most  successful  virtue.  It  is  a  principle  in- 
dependent of  events,  and  one  that  burns  most  brightly 
in  adversity,  —  the  only  agent,  perhaps,  of  sufficient 
power  to  call  forth  the  native  greatness  of  soul  which 
lay  hid  under  the  cold  and  unattractive  deportment  of 
the  Prince  of  Orange. 

His  present  situation  was  calculated  to  ascertain 
whether  his  actions  would  correspond  with  his  decla- 
rations. Beyond  the  important  country  extending 
from  Amsterdam  to  Rotterdam,  —  a  district  of  about 
forty  miles  in  length,  the  narrow  seat  of  the  govern- 
ment, wealth,  and  force  of  the  commonwealth,  which 
had  been  preserved  from  invasion  by  the  bold  expe- 
dient of  inundation,  and  out  of  which  the  cities  and 
fortresses  arose  like  islands,  —  little  remained  of  the 
republican  territory  except  the  fortress  of  Maestricht, 
the  marshy  islands  of  Zealand,  and  the  secluded  pro- 
vince of  Friesland.  A  French  army  of  a  hundred  and 
ten  thousand  men,  encouraged  by  the  presence  of 
Louis,  and  commanded  by  Conde  and  Turenne,  had 
their  head-quarters  at  Utrecht,  within  twenty  miles  of 
Amsterdam,  and  impatiently  looked  forward  to  the 
moment  when  the  ice  should  form  a  road  to  the  spoils 
of  that   capital   of  the   commercial   world.     On   the 

*  Burnet,  vol.  i.  p.  569. 


MEMOIR   OF    THE    AFFAIRS    OF    HOLLAND.         561 

other  side,  the  hostile  flag  of  England  was  seen  from 
the  coast.     The  Prince  of  Orange,  a  sickly  youth  of 
twenty-two,  without  fame  or  experience,  had  to  con- 
tend against  such  enemies  at  the  head  of  a  new  govern- 
ment, of  a  divided  people,    and  of  a   little  army  of 
twenty  thousand  men,  —  either  raw  recruits  or  foreign 
mercenaries, — whom  the  exclusively  maritime  policy 
of  the  late  administration  had  left  without  officers  of 
skill  or  name.    His  immortal  ancestor,  when  he  founded 
the  republic  about  a  century  before,  saw  at  the  lowest 
ebb  of  his  fortune  the  hope  of  aid  from  England  and 
France :  far  darker  were  the  prospects  of  William  IIL 
The  degenerate  successor  of  Elizabeth,  abusing  the  as- 
cendant of  a  parental  relation,  sought  to  tempt  him  to 
become  a  traitor  to  his  country  for  a  share  in  her 
spoils.     The  successor  of  Henry  IV.  offered  him  only 
the  choice   of  being   bribed  or  crushed.     Such  was 
their  fear  of  France,  that  the  Court  of  Spain  did  not 
dare  to  aid  him,  though  their  only  hope  was  from  his 
success.     The  German  branch  of  the  House  of  Austria 
was  then  entangled  in  a  secret  treaty  with  Louis,  by 
which  the  Low  Countries  were  ceded  to  him,  on  condi- 
tion of  his  guaranteeing  to  the  Emperor  the  reversion 
of  the  Spanish  monarchy  on  the  death  of  Charles  IL 
without  issue.     No  great  statesman,  no  illustrious  com- 
mander but  Montecucculi,  no  able  prince  but  the  great 
Elector  of  Brandenburgh,  was  to  be  found  among  the 
avowed  friends  or  even  secret  well-wishers  of  William. 
The  territories  of  Cologne  and  Liege,  which  presented 
all   the   means  of  military   intercourse   between   the 
French  and  Dutch  frontiers,  were  ruled  by  the  creatures 
of  Louis.  The  final  destruction  of  a  rebellious  and  here- 
tical confederacy  was  foretold  with  great,  but  not  ap- 
parently unreasonable,   confidence   by  the   zealots  of 
absolute  authority  in  Church  and  State  ;  and  the  in- 
habitants of  Holland  began  seriously  to  entertain  the 
heroic  project  of  abandoning  an  enslaved  country,  and 
transporting  the  commonwealth  to  their  dominions  in 
the  Indian  Islands. 

VOL.  I.  0  0 


562         MEMOIR   OF    THE    AFFAIRS   OF    HOLLAND. 

At  this  awful  moment  fortune  seemed  to  pause. 
The  unwieldy  magnificence  of  a  royal  retinue  encum- 
bered the  advance  of  the  French  army.  Though 
masters  of  Naerden,  which  was  esteemed  the  bulwark 
of  Amsterdam,  they  were  too  late  to  hinder  the  open- 
ing of  the  sluices  at  Murden,  which  drowned  the 
country  to  the  gates  of  that  city.  Louis,  more  in- 
toxicated with  triumph  than  intent  on  conquest,  lost 
in  surveying  the  honours  of  victory  the  time  which 
should  have  been  spent  in  seizing  its  fruits.  Impatient 
of  so  long  an  interruption  of  his  pleasures,  he  hastened 
to  display  at  Versailles  the  trophies  of  a  campaign  of 
two  months,  in  which  the  conquest  of  three  provinces, 
the  capture  of  fifty  fortified  places  and  of  24,000  pri- 
soners, were  ascribed  to  him  by  his  flatterers.  The 
cumbrous  and  tedious  formalities  of  the  Dutch  consti- 
tution enabled  the  stadtholder  to  gain  some  time 
without  suspicion.  Even  the  perfidious  embassy  of 
Buckingham  and  Arlington  contributed  somewhat  to 
prolong  negotiations.  He  amused  them  for  a  moment 
by  appearing  to  examine  the  treaties  they  had  brought 
from  London,  by  which  France  was  to  gain  all  the 
fortresses  which  commanded  the  country,  leaving 
Zealand  to  England,  and  the  rest  of  the  country  as  a 
principality  to  himself.*  Submission  seemed  inevitable 
and  speedy :  still  the  inundation  rendered  military 
movements  inconvenient  and  perhaps  hazardous ;  and 
the  prince  thus  obtained  a  little  leisure  for  the  execu- 
tion of  his  measures.  The  people,  unable  to  believe 
the  baseness  of  the  Court  of  London,  were  animated  by 
the  appearance  of  the  ministers  who  came  to  seal  their 
ruin  :  the  government,  surrounded  by  the  waters,  had 
time  to  negotiate  at  Madrid,  Vienna,  and  Berlin.    The 

*  The  official  despatches  of  these  ambassadors  are  contained 
in  a  MS.  volume,  probably  the  property  of  Sir  W.  Trumbull, 
now  in  the  hands  of  his  descendant,  the  Marquis  of  Downshire. 
These  despatches  show  that  the  worst  surmises  circulated  at  the 
time,  of  the  purposes  of  this  embassy,  were  scarcely  so  bad  as  :he 
truth. 


MEMOIR   OF    THE   AFFAIRS   OF    HOLLAND.         563 

Marquis  de  Monterey,  governor  of  the  Catholic 
Netherlands,  without  instructions  from  the  Escurial, 
had  the  boldness  to  throw  troops  into  the  important 
fortresses  of  Dutch  Brabant,  —  Breda,  Bergen-op- 
Zoom,  and  Bois-le-Duc,  —  under  pretence  of  a  virtual 
guarantee  of  that  territory  by  Spain. 

In  England,  the  continuance  of  prorogations  — 
relieving  the  king  from  parliamentary  opposition,  but 
depriving  him  of  sufficient  supply  —  had  driven  him 
to  resources  alike  inadequate  and  infamous*,  and  had 
foreboded  that  general  indignation  which,  after  the 
combined  fleets  of  England  and  France  had  been 
worsted  by  the  marine  of  Holland  |  alone,  at  the  very 
moment  when  the  remnant  of  the  Republic  seemed 
about  to  be  swallowed  up,  compelled  him  to  desist 
from  the  open  prosecution  of  the  odious  conspiracy 
against  her. J  The  Emperor  Leopold,  roused  to  a  just 
sense  of  the  imminent  danger  of  Europe,  also  con- 
cluded a  defensive  alliance  with  the  States-General  § ; 
as  did  the  Germanic  body  generally,  including  Fre- 
derick William  of  Brandenburgh,  called  the  "  Great 
Elector." 

Turenne  had  been  meanwhile  compelled  to  march 
from  the  Dutch  territory  to  observe,  and,  in  case  of 
need,  to  oppose,  the  Austrian  and  Brandenburgh 
troops  ;  and  the  young  prince  ceased  to  incur  the 
risk  and  to  enjoy  the  glory  of  being  opposed  to 
that  great  commander,  who  was  the  grandson  of 
William  1. 1|,  and  had  been  trained  to  arms  under 
Maurice.  The  winter  of  1672  was  unusually  late 
and  short.     As   soon  as   the  ice  seemed  sufficiently 

*  Shutting  up  of  the  Exchequer,  Jan.  2.  1672. 

t  Battle  of  ifouthwold  Bay,  28th  and  29th  May  1672.  In 
these  memorable  actions  even  the  biographer  of  James  II.  in 
eft'cct  acknowledges  that  De  Ruyter  had  the  advantage.  Life, 
vol.  i.  pp.  457 — 476. 

J  Peace  concluded  at  Westminster,  Feb.  19th,  1674. 

§  25th  July  1672. 

Ij  By  Elizabeth  of  Nassau,  duchess  of  Bouillon. 

o  O  2 


564         MEMOIR   OF    THE   AFFAIRS   OF    HOLLAND. 

solid,  Luxemburgh,  who  was  left  in  command  at 
Utrecht,  advanced,  in  the  hope  of  surprising  the 
Hague,  when  a  providential  thaw  obliged  him  to 
retire.  His  operations  were  limited  to  the  destruction 
of  two  petty  towns ;  and  it  seems  doubtful  whether 
he  did  not  owe  his  own  escape  to  the  irresolution  or 
treachery  of  a  Dutch  officer  intrusted  with  a  post 
which  commanded  tne  line  of  retreat.  At  the 
perilous  moment  of  Luxemburgh's  advance,  took 
place  William's  long  march  through  Brabant  to  the 
attack  of  Charleroi — undertaken  probably  more  with 
a  view  of  raising  the  drooping  spirits  of  his  troops 
than  in  the  hope  of  ultimate  success.  The  deliver- 
ance of  Holland  in  1672  was  the  most  signal  triumph 
of  a  free  people  over  mighty  invaders,  since  the 
defeat  of  Xerxes. 

In  the  ensuing  year,  William's  offensive  operations 
had  more  outward  and  lasting  consequences.  Having 
deceived  Luxemburgh,  he  recovered  Naerden,  and 
shortly  hazarding  another  considerable  march  beyond 
the  frontier,  he  captured  the  city  of  Bonn,  and  thus 
compelled  Turenne  to  provide  for  the  safety  of  his 
army  by  recrossing  the  Rhine.  The  Spanish  go- 
vernor of  the  Low  Countries  then  declared  war  against 
France,  and  Louis  was  compelled  to  recall  his  troops 
from  Holland.  Europe  now  rose  on  all  sides  against 
the  monarch  who  not  many  months  before  appeared  to 
be  her  undisputed  lord.  So  mighty  were  the  effects 
of  a  gallant  stand  by  a  small  people,  under  an  inex- 
perienced chief,  without  a  council  or  minister  but 
the  pensionary  Fagel  —  the  pupil  and  adherent  of  De 
Witt,  who,  actuated  by  the  true  spirit  of  his  great 
master,  continued  faithfully  to  serve  his  country,  in 
spite  of  the  saddest  examples  of  the  ingratitude  of  his 
countrymen.  In  the  six  years  of  war  which  followed, 
the  prince  commanded  in  three  battles  against  the 
greatest  generals  of  France.     At    Senef  *,   it  was  a 

*  nth  August  1674. 


MEMOIR   OF    THE   AFFAIRS    OF    HOLLAND.         565 

sufficient  honour  that  he  was  not  defeated  bj  Conde  ; 
and  that  the  veteran  dechired,  on  reviewing  the  events 
of  the  day,  —  "  The  young  prince  has  shown  all  the 
qualities  of  the  most  experienced  commander,  except 
that  he  exposed  his  own  person  too  much."  He  was 
defeated  without  dishonour  at  Cassel*,  by  Luxem- 
burfjh,  under  the  nominal  command  of  the  Duke  of 
Orleans.  He  gained  an  advantage  over  the  same 
great  general,  after  an  obstinate  and  bloody  action,  at 
St.  Denis,  near  Mons.  This  last  proceeding  was  of 
more  doubtful  morality  than  any  other  of  his  military 
life,  the  battle  being  fought  four  days  after  the  signa- 
ture of  a  separate  treaty  of  peace  by  the  Dutch  pleni- 
potentiaries at  Nimeguen.  f  It  was  not,  indeed,  a 
breach  of  faith,  for  there  was  no  armistice,  and  the 
ratifications  were  not  executed.  It  is  uncertain,  even 
whether  he  had  information  of  what  had  passed  at 
Nimeguen ;  the  official  despatches  from  the  States- 
General  reaching  him  only  the  next  morning.  The 
treaty  had  been  suddenly  and  unexpectedly  brought 
to  a  favourable  conclusion  by  the  French  ministers : 
and  the  prince,  who  condemned  it  as  alike  offensive 
to  good  faith  and  sound  policy,  had  reasonable  hopes 
of  obtaining  a  victory,  which,  if  gained  before  the  final 
signature,  might  have  determined  the  fluctuating 
counsels  of  the  States  to  the  side  of  vigour  and  lionour. 
The  morality  of  soldiers,  even  in  our  own  age,  is  not 
severe  in  requiring  proof  of  the  necessity  of  bloodslied, 
if  the  combat  be  fair,  the  event  brilliant,  and,  more 
particularly,  if  the  commander  freely  exposes  his  own 
life.  His  gallant  enemies  warmly  applauded  this  at- 
tack, distinguished,  as  it  seems  eminently  to  liave 
been,  for  the  daring  valour,  which  was  brightened  by 
the  gravity  and  modesty  of  his  character  ;  and  tliey 
declared  it  to  be  "  the  only  heroic  action  of  a  six  years' 
war  between  all  the  great  nations  of  Europe."    If  the 

♦  nth  April  1677.  t  ^^^^^  August  J67e. 

o  o  "* 


566         IMEMOIR   OF    THE   AFFAIRS    OF    HOLLAND. 

official  despatches  had  not  hindered  him  from  prose- 
cuting the  attack  on  the  next  day  with  the  English 
auxiliaries,  who  must  then  have  joined  him,  he  was 
likely  to  have  changed  the  fortune  of  the  war. 

The  object  of  the  prince  and  the  hope  of  his  con- 
federates had  been  to  restore  Europe  to  the  condition 
in  which  it  had  been  placed  by  the  treaty  of  the 
Pyrenees.*  The  result  of  the  negotiations  at  Nime- 
guen  was  to  add  the  province  of  Franche  Comte,  and 
the  most  important  fortresses  of  the  Flemish  frontier, 
to  the  cessions  which  Louis  at  Aix-la-Chapelle  f  had 
extorted  from  Spain.  The  Spanish  Netherlands  were 
thus  farther  stripped  of  their  defence,  the  barrier  of 
Holland  weakened,  and  the  way  opened  for  the  reduc- 
tion of  all  the  posts  which  face  the  most  defenceless 
parts  of  the  English  coast.  The  acquisition  of  Franche 
Comte  broke  the  military  connection  between  Lom- 
bardy  and  Flanders,  secured  the  ascendant  of  France 
in  Switzerland,  and,  together  with  the  usurpation  of 
Lorraine,  exposed  the  German  empire  to  new  aggres- 
sion. The  ambition  of  the  French  monarch  was  in- 
flamed, and  the  spirit  of  neighbouring  nations  broken, 
by  the  ineffectual  resistance  as  much  as  by  the  long 
submission  of  Europe. 

The  ten  years  which  followed  the  peace  of  Nime- 
guen  were  the  period  of  his  highest  elevation.  The 
first  exercise  of  his  power  was  the  erection  of  three 
courts,  composed  of  his  own  subjects,  and  sitting,  by 
his  authority,  at  Brissac,  Metz,  and  Besan^on,  to  de- 
termine whether  certain  territories  ought  not  to  be 
annexed  to  France,  which  he  claimed  as  fiefs  of  the 
provinces  ceded  to  him  by  the  Empire  by  the  treaty 
of  Westphalia.  These  courts,  called  "  Chambers  of 
Union,"  summoned  the  possessors  of  these  supposed 
fiefs  to  answer  the  King's  complaints.  The  justice  of 
the  claim  and  the  competence  of  the  tribunals  were  dis- 
puted with  equal  reason.     The  Chamber  at  Metz  de- 

*  7th  Nov.  1659.  f  2*1  May,  1668 


MEMOIR   OF    THE    AFFAmS    OF    HOLLAND.         o67 

creed  the  confiscation  of  eighty  fiefs,  for  default  of 
appearance  by  the  feudatories,  among  whom  were  tlie 
Kings  of  Spain  and  Sweden,  and  the  Elector  Palatine. 
Some  petty  spiritless  princes  actually  did  homage  to 
Louis  for  territories  said  to  have  been  anciently  fiefs 
of  the  see  of  Verdun*;  and,  under  colour  of  a  pre- 
tended judgment  of  the  Chamber  at  Brissacf,  the  city 
of  Strasburgh,  a  flourishing  Protestant  republic,  which 
commanded  an  important  pass  on  the  Rhine,  was  sur- 
rounded at  midnight,  in  a  time  of  profound  peace,  by 
a  body  of  French  soldiers,  who  compelled  those  magis- 
trates who  had  not  been  previously  corrupted  to  sur- 
render the  city  to  the  crown  of  France  |,  amidst  the 
consternation  and  affliction  of  the  people.  Almost  at 
the  same  hour,  a  body  of  troops  entered  Casal,  in  conse- 
quence of  a  secret  treaty  with  the  Duke  of  Mantua,  a 
dissolute  and  needy  youth,  who,  for  a  bribe  of  a  hun- 
dred thousand  pounds,  betrayed  into  the  hands  of 
Louis  that  fortress,  then  esteemed  the  bulwark  of 
Lombardy.§     Both   these   usurpations  were   in   con- 

*  Dumont,  Corps  Diplomatique,  vol.  vii.  part  ii.  p.  13. 

f  Flassan,  Histoire  de  la  Diplomatic  Fran9aisc,  vol.  iv.  pp.  59. 
63. 

J  CEu^Tes  de  Louis  XIV.,  vol.  iv.  p.  194.,  where  the  original 
correspondence  is  published.  The  pretended  capitulation  is 
dated  on  the  30th  September  1G81.  The  design  against  iStras- 
burgh  had  been  known  in  July.  ^IS.  letters  of  Sir  Henry  Saville 
(minister  at  Paris)  to  Sir  Leoline  Jenkins.     Downshire  Papers. 

§  (Euvres  de  Louis  XIV.,  voh  iv.  pp.  216,  217.  The  mutinous 
conscience  of  Catinat  astonished  and  displeased  the  haughty 
Louvois.  Casal  hud  been  ceded  in  1 678  by  Matthioli.  the  dtikes 
minister,  who,  either  moved  by  remorse  or  by  higher  bribes  from 
the  house  of  Austria,  advised  his  master  not  to  ratify  the  treaty  ; 
for  which  he  was  carried  prisoner  into  France,  and  detained 
there  in  close  and  harsh  custody.  He  was  the  famous  Man  with 
the  Iron  Mask,  who  died  in  the  Bastille.  The  barj^ain  for  Casal 
was  disguised  in  the  diplomatic  forms  of  a  con^'e'Jtion  between 
the  king  and  the  duke.  Dumont,  vol,  vii.  part  ii.  p.  14.  An 
army  of  15,000  men  was  collected  in  Dauphiny,  at  the  desire  of 
the  duke,  to  give  his  sale  the  appearance  of  necessity.  Letter  of 
Sir  Henry  Saville. 

o  o  4 


568         MEMOIR   OF    THE   AFFAIRS   OF    HOLLAND. 

tempt  of  a  notice  from  the  imperial  minister  at  Paris, 
against  the  occupation  of  Strasburgh,  an  Imperial 
city,  or  Casal,  the  capital  of  Montferrat,  a  fief  of  the 
Empire.* 

On  the  Belgic  frontier,  means  were  employed  more 
summary  and  open  than  pretended  judgments  or  clan- 
destine treaties.  Taking  it  upon  himself  to  determine 
the  extent  of  territory  ceded  to  him  at  Nimeguen, 
Louis  required  from  the  Court  of  Madrid  the  posses- 
sion of  such  districts  as  he  thought  fit.  Much  was  im- 
mediately yielded.  Some  hesitation  was  shown  in 
surrendering  the  town  and  district  of  Alost.  Louis 
sent  his  troops  into  the  Netherlands,  there  to  stay  till 
his  demands  were  absolutely  complied  with ;  and  he 
notified  to  the  governor,  that  the  slightest  resistance 
would  be  the  signal  of  war.  Hostilities  soon  broke 
out,  which,  after  having  made  him  master  of  Luxem- 
burgh,  one  of  the  strongest  fortresses  of  Europe,  were 
terminated  in  the  summer  of  1684,  by  a  truce  for 
twenty  years,  leaving  him  in  possession  of,  and  giving 
the  sanction  of  Europe  to,  his  usurpations. 

To  a  reader  of  the  nineteenth  century,  familiar  with 
the  present  divisions  of  territory  in  Christendom, 
and  accustomed  to  regard  the  greatness  of  France  as 
well  adapted  to  the  whole  state  of  the  European  sys- 
tem, the  conquests  of  Louis  XIV.  may  seem  to  have 
inspired  an  alarm  disproportioned  to  their  magnitude. 
Their  real  danger,  however,  will  be  speedily  perceived 
by  those  who  more  accurately  consider  the  state  of 
surrounding  countries,  and  the  subdivision  of  dominion 
in  that  age.  Two  monarchies  only  of  the  first  class 
existed  on  the  Continent,  as  the  appellation  of  "  the 
Two  Crowns,"  then  commonly  used  in  speaking  of 
France  and  Spain,  sufiiciently  indicate.  But  Spain, 
which,  under  the  last  Austrian  king,  had  perhaps 
reached  the  lowest  point  of  her  extraordinary  fall, 

*  Sir  Henry  Saville  to  Sir  Leoline  Jenkins.    Fontainbleau, 
12th  Sept.  1681. 


MEMOIR   OF    THE    AFFAIRS   OF    HOLLAND.         569 

was  in  truth  no  longer  able  to  defend  herself.  The 
revenue  of  somewhat  more  than  two  millions  sterling 
was  inadequate  to  the  annual  expense.*  Ronquillo, 
the  minister  of  this  vast  empire  in  London,  was  re- 
duced to  the  necessity  of  dismissing  his  servants  with- 
out payment.f  An  invader  who  had  the  boldness  to 
encounter  the  shadow  of  a  great  name  had  little  to 
dread,  except  from  the  poverty  of  the  country,  which 
rendered  it  incapable  of  feeding  an  army.  Naples, 
Lombardy,  and  the  Catholic  Netherlands,  though  the 
finest  provinces  of  Europe,  were  a  drain  and  a  burden 
in  the  hands  of  a  government  sunk  into  imbecile 
dotage,  and  alike  incapable  of  ruling  and  of  maintain- 
ing these  envied  possessions.  While  Spain,  a  lifeless 
and  gigantic  body,  covered  the  south  of  Europe,  the 
manly  spirit  and  military  skill  of  Germany  were  ren- 
dered of  almost  as  little  avail  by  the  minute  subdi- 
visions of  its  territory.  From  the  Rhine  to  the 
Vistula,  a  hundred  princes,  jealous  of  each  other, 
fearful  of  offending  the  conqueror,  and  often  competi- 
tors for  his  disgraceful  bounty,  broke  into  fragments 
the  strength  of  the  Germanic  race.  The  houses  of 
Saxony  and  Bavaria,  Brandenburgh  and  Brunswick, 
Wurtemburg,  Baden,  and  Hesse,  though  among  the 
most  ancient  and  noble  of  the  ruling  families  of 
Europe,  were  but  secondary  states.  Even  the  genius 
of  the  late  Elector  of  Brandenburgh  did  not  exempt 
him  from  the  necessity  or  the  temptation  of  occasional 
compliance  with  Louis.  From  the  French  frontier  to 
the  Baltic,  no  one  firm  mass  stood  in  the  way  of  his 
arms.  Prussia  was  not  yet  a  monarchy,  nor  Russia  an 
European  state.  In  the  south-eastern  provinces  of 
Germany,  Avhere  Rodolph  of  Hapsburgli  had  laid  the 
foundations  of  his  family,  the  younger  branch   had, 

*  Memoires  de  Gourville,  vol.  ii.  p.  82.  An  account  appa- 
rently prepared  with  care.  I  adopt  the  proportion  of  thirteen 
livres  to  the  pound  sterling,  Avhich  is  the  rate  of  exchange  given 
by  Barillon,  in  1679. 

t  Ronouillo,  MS.  letter. 


570         MEMOIR   OF    THE    AFFAIRS   OF    HOLLAND. 

from  the  death  of  Charles  V.,  formed  a  monarchy 
which,  aided  by  the  Spanish  alliance,  the  imperial 
dignity,  and  a  military  position  on  the  central  frontier 
of  Christendom,  rendering  it  the  bulwark  of  the 
empire  against  the  irruptions  of  the  Turkish  bar- 
barians, rose  during  the  thirty  years'  war  to  such  a 
power,  that  it  was  prevented  only  by  Gustavus 
Adolphus  from  enslaving  the  whole  of  Germany. 
France,  which  under  Richelieu  had  excited  and  aided 
that  great  prince  and  his  followers,  was  for  that  reason 
regarded  for  a  time  as  the  protector  of  the  German 
States  against  the  Emperor.  Bavaria,  the  Palatinate, 
and  the  three  ecclesiastical  Electorates,  partly  from 
remaining  jealousy  of  Austria,  and  partly  from  grow- 
ing fear  of  Louis,  were  disposed  to  seek  his  protection, 
and  acquiesce  in  many  of  his  encroachments.*  This 
numerous,  weak,  timid,  and  mercenary  body  of  German 
princes  supplied  the  chief  materials  out  of  which  it 
was  possible  that  an  alliance  against  the  conqueror 
might  one  day  be  formed.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
military  power  of  the  Austrian  monarchy  was  crippled 
by  the  bigotry  and  tyranny  of  its  princes.  The  per- 
secution of  the  Protestants,  and  the  attempt  to  esta- 
blish an  absolute  government,  had  spread  disaffection 
through  Hungary  and  its  vast  dependencies.  In  a 
contest  between  one  tyrant  and  many,  where  the 
people  in  a  state  of  personal  slavery  are  equally  disre- 
garded by  both,  reason  and  humanity  might  be  neutral, 
if  reflection  did  not  remind  us,  that  even  the  contests 
and  factions  of  a  turbulent  aristocracy  call  forth  an 
energy,  and  magnanimity,  and  ability,  which  are  ex- 

*  The  Palatine,  together  with  Bavaria,  Mentz,  and  Cologne, 
promised  to  vote  for  Louis  XIV.  as  emperor  in  1658.  Pfeftel, 
Abrege  Chronologique,  &c.  (Paris,  1776),  vol.  ii.  p.  360.  A 
more  authentic  and  very  curious  account  of  this  extraordinary 
negotiation,  extracted  from  the  French  archives,  is  published  by 
Lemontey  (Monarchic  de  Louis  XIV.  Pieces  Justificatives,  No. 
2.),  by  which  it  appears  that  the  Elector  of  Mentz  betrayed  Ma- 
zarin,  who  had  distributed  immense  bribes  to  him  and  his  fellows. 


MEMOIR   OF    THE    AFF.AJRS   OF    HOLLAIs'D.         oTl 

tinguislied  under  the  quieter  and  more  fatally  lastinir 
domination  of  a  single  master.  The  Emperor  Leopold 
I.,  instigated  by  the  Jesuits,  of  which  order  he  was  a 
lay  member,  riyalled  and  anticipated  Louis  XIY.*  in 
his  cruel  persecution  of  the  Hungarian  Protestants, 
and  thereby  droye  the  nation  to  such  despair  that  they 
sought  refuge  in  the  aid  of  the  common  enemy  of  the 
Christian  name.  Encouraged  by  their  reyolt,  and 
stimulated  by  the  continued  intrigues  of  the  Court  of 
Versailles  f,  the  Turks  at  length  inyaded  Austria  with 
a  mighty  army,  and  would  haye  mastered  the  capital 
of  the  most  noble  of  Christian  soyereigns,  had  not  the 
siege  of  Vienna  been  raised,  after  a  duration  of  two 
months,  by  John  Sobieski,  King  of  Poland,  —  the 
heroic  chief  of  a  people  whom  in  less  than  a  century 
the  House  of  Austria  contributed  to  blot  out  of  the 
map  of  nations.  While  these  dangers  impended  over 
the  Austrian  monarchy,  Louis  had  been  preparing  to 
deprive  it  of  the  Imperial  sceptre,  which  in  his  own 
hands  would  have  proved  no  bauble.  By  secret 
treaties,  to  which  the  Elector  of  Bavaria  had  been 
tempted  to  agree,  in  1670,  by  the  prospect  of  matri- 
monial alliance  with  the  House  of  France,  and  which 
were  imposed  on  the  Electors  of  Brandenburgh  and 
Saxony  in  1679,  after  the  humiliation  of  Europe  at 
Nimeguen,  these  princes  had  agreed  to  vote  for  Louis 
in  case  of  the  death  of  the  Emperor  Leopold,  —  an 
event  which  his  infirm  health  had  given  frequent 
occasion  to  expect.     The  four  Rhenish  electors  espe- 


*  He  banished  the  Protestant  clergy,  of  whom  250,  originally 
condemned  to  be  stoned  or  burnt  to  death,  but  having,  under 
pretence  probably  of  humanity,  been  sold  to  the  Spaniards,  were 
redeemed  from  the  condition  of  galley  shives  by  the  illustrious 
De  Ruytcr,  after  his  victory  over  the  French,  on  the  coast  of 
Sicily.     Coxe,  House  of  Austria,  chap.  66. 

f  Sir  William  Trumbull,  ambassador  at  Constantinople  from 
August  1687  to  July  1691,  names  French  agents  employed  in 
fomenting  the  Hungarian  rebellion,  and  negotiating  T»ith  the 
vizier.     Downshire  MSS. 


572         MEMOIR  OF    THE   AFFAIRS   OF   HOLLAND. 

cially  after  the  usurpation  of  Strasburgh  and  Luxem- 
burgh,  were  already  in  his  net. 

At  home  the  vanquished  party,  whose  antipathy  to 
the  House  of  Orange  had  been  exasperated  by  the 
cruel  fate  of  De  Witt,  sacrificed  the  care  of  the  na- 
tional independence  to  jealousy  of  the  Stadtholderian 
princes,  and  carried  their  devotedness  to  France  to  an 
excess  which  there  was  nothing  in  the  example  of  their 
justly  revered  leader  to  warrant.*  They  had  obliged 
the  Prince  of  Orange  to  accede  to  the  unequal  condi- 
tions of  Nimeguen  ;  they  had  prevented  him  from 
making  military  preparations  absolutely  required  by 
safety ;  and  they  had  compelled  him  to  submit  to  that 
truce  for  twenty  years  which  left  the  entrances  of 
Flanders,  Germany,  and  Italy  in  the  hands  of  France. 
They  had  concerted  all  measures  of  domestic  opposi- 
tion with  the  French  minister  at  the  Hague  ;  and, 
though  there  is  no  reason  to  believe  that  the  opulent 
and  creditable  chiefs  of  the  party,  if  they  had  received 
French  money  at  all,  would  have  deigned  to  employ 
it  for  any  other  than  what  they  had  unhappily  been 
misled  to  regard  as  a  public  purpose,  there  is  the 
fullest  evidence  of  the  employment  of  bribes  to  make 
known  at  Versailles  the  most  secret  counsels  of  the 
commonwealth,  "j"  Amsterdam  had  raised  troops  for  her 
own  defence,  declaring  her  determination  not  to  con- 
tribute towards  the  hostilities  which  the  measures  of 
the  general  government  might  occasion,  and  had  en- 
tered   into    a    secret    correspondence   with    France. 


*  The  speed  and  joy  with  which  he  and  Temple  concluded 
the  Triple  Alliance  seem,  indeed,  to  prove  the  contrary.  That 
treaty,  so  quickly  concluded  by  two  wise,  accomplished,  and, 
above  all,  honest  men,  is  perhaps  unparalleled  in  diplomatic 
transactions.     "  Nulla  dies  unquani  meniori  vos  eximet  avo." 

f  D'Avaux,  Negociations  en  Hollande  (Paris,  1754),  vol.  i. 
pp.  13.  23.  25.  &c,,  —  examples  of  treachery,  in  some  of  which 
the  secret  was  known  only  to  three  persons.  Sometimes  copies 
of  orders  were  obtained  from  the  prince's  private  repositories : 
vol.  ii.  p.  53. 


MEMOIR   OF    THE   AFFAIRS   OF    HOLLAND.         573 

Friesland  and  Groningen  had  recalled  their  troops 
from  the  common  defence,  and  bound  themselves  by 
a  secret  convention  with  Amsterdam,  to  act  in  con- 
cert with  that  potent  and  mutinous  city.  The  pro- 
vinces of  Guelderland,  Overyssell,  Utrecht,  and  Zealand, 
adhered,  indeed,  to  the  prince,  and  he  still  preserved 
a  majority  in  the  States  of  Holland ;  but  this  majority 
consisted  only  of  the  order  of  nobles  and  of  the  de- 
puties of  inconsiderable  towns.  Fagel,  his  wise  and 
faithful  minister,  appeared  to  be  in  danger  of  destruc- 
tion at  the  hands  of  the  Republicans,  who  abhorred 
him  as  a  deserter.  But  Heinsius,  pensionary  of 
Delft,  probably  the  ablest  man  of  that  party,  having, 
on  a  mission  to  Versailles,  seen  the  effects  of  the  civil 
and  religious  policy  of  Louis  XIV.,  and  considering 
consistency  as  dependent,  not  on  names,  but  on  prin- 
ciples, thought  it  the  duty  of  a  friend  of  liberty  also 
to  join  the  party  most  opposed  to  that  monarch's 
designs.  So  trembling  was  the  ascendant  of  the 
prince  in  Holland,  that  the  accession  of  individuals 
was,  from  their  situation  or  ability,  of  great  importance 
to  him.  His  cousin,  the  Stadtholder  of  Friesland,  was 
gradually  gained  over  ;  and  Conrad  Van  Benningen, 
one  of  the  chiefs  of  Amsterdam,  an  able,  accomplished, 
and  disinterested  republican,  fickle  from  over-refine- 
ment, and  betrayed  into  French  counsels  by  jealousy 
of  the  House  of  Orange,  as  soon  as  he  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  abyss  into  which  his  country  was  about  to  fall, 
recoiled  from  the  brink.  Thus  did  the  very  country 
where  the  Prince  of  Orange  held  sway,  fluctuate 
between  him  and  Louis ;  insomuch,  indeed,  that  if 
that  monarch  had  observed  any  measure  in  his  cruelty 
towards  French  Protestants,  it  might  have  been  im- 
possible, till  it  was  too  late,  to  turn  the  force  of 
Holland  against  him. 

But  the  weakest  point  in  the  defences  of  European 
independence,  was  England.  It  was  not,  indeed,  like 
the  continental  states,  either  attacked  by  other  enemies, 
or  weakened  by  foreign  influence,  or  dwindling  from 


574         MEMOIR    OF    THE    AFFAIRS    OF    HOLLAND. 

inward  decay.  The  throne  was  filled  by  a  traitor ;  a 
creature  of  the  common  enemy  commanded  this  im- 
portant post :  for  a  quarter  of  a  century  Charles  had 
connived  at  the  conquests  of  Louis.  During  the  last 
ten  years  of  his  reign  he  received  a  secret  pension ; 
but  when  Louis  became  desirous  of  possessing  Luxem- 
burgh,  Charles  extorted  an  additional  bribe  for  con- 
nivance at  that  new  act  of  rapine.*  After  he  had 
sold  the  fortress,  he  proposed  himself  to  Spain  as 
arbitrator  in  the  dispute  regarding  itf;  and  so  no- 
torious was  his  perfidy,  that  the  Spanish  ministers  at 
Paris  did  not  scruple  to  justify  their  refusal  to  his 
ambassador,  by  telling  him,  "that  they  refused  because 
they  had  no  mind  to  part  with  Luxemburgh,  which 
they  knew  was  to  be  sacrificed  if  they  accepted  the 
offer."  J 

*  "  My  lord  Hyde  (Rochester)  ne  m'a  pas  cache  que  si  son 
avis  est  suivi  le  roi  s'en  entrera  dans  un  concert  secret  pour  avoir 
a  V.  M.  la  ville  de  Luxemburgh."  Barillon  to  Louis,  7th  Nov. 
168L 

t  The  same  to  the  same,  15th  Dec. 

j  Lord  Preston  to  Secretary  Jenkins,  Paris,  1 6th  Dec.  1 682. 
Admitted  within  the  domestic  differences  of  England,  Louis  had 
not  scrupled  to  make  advances  to  the  enemies  of  the  Court ;  and 
they,  desirous  of  detaching  their  own  sovereign  from  Prance, 
and  of  thus  depriving  him  of  the  most  effectual  ally  in  his  pro- 
ject for  rendering  himself  absolute,  had  reprehensibly  accepted 
the  aid  of  Louis  in  counteracting  a  policy  Avhich  they  had  good 
reason  to  dread.  They  considered  this  dangerous  understanding 
as  allowable  for  the  purpose  of  satisfying  their  party,  that  in 
opposing  Charles  they  would  not  have  to  apprehend  the  po^ver 
of  Louis,  and  disposing  the  King  of  Prance  to  spare  the  English 
constitution,  as  some  curb  on  the  irresolution  and  inconstancy 
of  his  royal  dependent  To  destroy  confidence  between  the 
Courts  seemed  to  be  an  object  so  important,  as  to  warrant  the 
use  of  ambiguous  means  :  and  the  usual  sophistry,  by  which 
men  who  are  not  depraved  excuse  to  themselves  great  breaches 
of  morality,  could  not  be  wanting.  They  could  easily  persuade 
themselves  that  they  could  stop  when  they  pleased,  and  that  the 
example  could  not  be  dangerous  in  a  case  where  the  danger  was 
too  great  not  to  be  of  very  rare  occurrence.  Some  of  them  are 
said  by  Barillon  to  have  so  far  copied  their  prince  as  to  have 


MEMOIR   OF    THE    AFFAIRS   OF    HOLLAND.         575 

William's  connection  -vvitli  the  House  of  Stuart 
was  sometimes  employed  by  France  to  strengthen 
the  jealous  antipathy  of  the  Republicans  against  him; 
while  on  other  occasions  he  was  himself  obliged  to 
profess  a  reliance  on  that  connection  which  he  did 
not  feel,  in  order  to  gain  an  appearance  of  strength. 
As  the  Dutch  Republicans  were  prompted  to  thwart 
his  measures  by  a  misapplied  zeal  for  liberty,  so  the 
English  Whigs  were  for  a  moment  compelled  to  enter 
into  a  correspondence  with  the  common  enemy  by 
the  like  motives.  But  in  his  peculiar  relations  with 
England  the  imprudent  violence  of  the  latter  party 
was  as  much  an  obstacle  in  his  way  as  their  alienation 
or  opposition.  The  interest  of  Europe  required  that 
he  should  never  relinquish  the  attempt  to  detach  the 
English  Government  from  the  conqueror.  The  same 
principle,  together  with  legitimate  ambition,  pre- 
scribed that  he  should  do  nothing,  either  by  exciting 
enemies  or  estranging  friends,  which  could  endanger 

received  French  money,  though  they  arc  not  charged  with  being, 
hke  him,  induced  by  it  to  adopt  any  measures  at  variance  with 
their  avowed  principles.  If  we  must  beHeve,  that  in  an  age  of 
little  pecuniary  delicacy,  when  large  presents  from  sovereigns 
were  scarcely  deemed  dishonourable,  and  when  many  princes,  and 
almost  all  ministers,  were  in  the  pay  of  Louis  XIV.,  the  statement 
may  be  true,  it  is  due  to  the  haughty  temper,  not  to  say  to  the 
high  principles  of  Sidney,  —  it  is  due,  though  in  a  very  inferior 
degree,  to  the  ample  fortunes  of  others  of  the  persons  named,  also 
to  believe,  that  the  polluted  gifts  were  applied  by  them  to  elections 
and  other  public  interests  of  the  popular  party,  which  there  might 
be  a  fantastic  gratification  in  promoting  by  treasures  diverted 
from  the  use  of  the  Court.  These  unhappy  transactions,  which 
in  their  full  extent  require  a  more  critical  scrutiny  of  the  orii^inal 
documents  than  that  to  which  they  have  been  subjected,  are  not 
pretended  to  originate  till  ten  years  after  the  concert  of  the  two 
Courts,  and  were  relinquished  as  soon  as  that  concert  was  re- 
sumed. Yet  the  reproach  brought  upon  the  cause  of  liberty  by 
the  infirmity  of  some  men  of  great  soul,  and  of  others  of  the 
purest  virtue,  is,  perhaps,  the  most  wholesome  admonition  pro- 
nounced by  the  warning  voice  of  history  against  the  employment 
of  sinister  and  equivocal  means  for  the  attainment  of  the  best 
ends. 


576         MEMOIR   OF    THE   AFFAIRS   OF   HOLLAND. 

his  own  and  the  princess's  right  of  succession  to  the 
crown.  It  was  his  obvious  policy,  therefore,  to  keep 
up  a  good  understanding  with  the  popular  party, 
on  whom  alone  he  could  permanently  rely ;  to  give 
a  cautious  countenance  to  their  measures  of  constitu- 
tional opposition,  and  especially  to  the  Bill  of  Exclu- 
sion*,—  a  more  effectual  mode  of  cutting  asunder 
the  chains  which  bound  England  to  the  car  of  Louis, 
than  the  proposed  limitations  on  a  Catholic  successor, 
which  might  permanently  weaken  the  defensive  force 
of  the  monarchy  | ;  and  to  discourage  and  stand  aloof 
from  all  violent  counsels, — likely  either  to  embroil 
the  country  in  such  lasting  confusion  as  would  alto- 
gether disable  it  for  aiding  the  sinking  fortunes  of 
Europe,  or,  by  their  immediate  suppression,  to  subject 
all  national  interests  and  feelings  to  Charles  and  his 
brother.  As  his  open  declaration  against  the  king 
or  the  popular  party  would  have  been  perhaps  equally 
dangerous  to  English  liberty  and  European  indepen- 
dence, he  was  averse  from  those  projects  which 
reduced  him  to  so  injurious  an  alternative.  Hence 
his  conduct  in  the  case  of  what  is  called  the  "Rye 
House  Plot,"  in  which  his  confidential  correspond- 
ence |  manifests  indifference  and  even  dislike  to 
those  who  were  charged  with  projects  of  revolt ;  all 

*  Burnet,  vol,  ii.  p.  245.  Temple,  vol.  i.  p.  355.  "  My  friend- 
ship with  the  prince  (says  Temple)  I  could  think  no  crime,  con- 
sidering how  little  he  had  ever  meddled,  to  my  knowledge,  in  our 
domestic  concerns  since  the  first  heats  in  parliament,  though 
sensible  of  their  influence  on  all  his  nearest  concerns  at  home ; 
the  preservation  of  Flanders  from  French  conquests,  and  thereby 
of  Holland  from  absolute  dependence  on  that  crown." 

f  Letters  of  the  Prince  to  Sir  Leoline  Jenkins,  July  1680  — 
February  1681.     Dalrymple,  Appendix  to  Keview. 

J  M!S.  letters  from  the  Prince  to  Mr.  Bentinck,  in  England, 
July  and  August  1683.  By  the  favour  of  the  Duke  of  Portland, 
I  possess  copies  of  the  whole  of  the  prince's  correspondence  with 
his  friend,  from  1677  to  1700  ;  written  with  the  unreserved  frank- 
ness of  warm  and  pure  friendship,  in  which  it  is  quite  manifest 
that  there  is  nothing  concealed. 


MEMOIR   OF    THE   AFrAIRS    OF    HOLLAND.         577 

which  might  seem  unnatural  if  we  did  not  bear  in 
mind  that  at  the  moment  of  the  siege  of  Vienna  he 
must  have  looked  at  England,  almost  solely,  as  the 
only  counterpoise  of  France.  His  abstinence  from 
English  intrigues  was  at  this  juncture  strengthened 
by  lingering  hopes  that  it  was  still  possible  to  lure 
Charles  into  those  unions  which  he  had  begun  to 
form  against  farther  encroachment,  under  the  modest 
and  inoifensive  name  of  "  Associations  to  maintain 
the  Treaty  of  Nimeguen,"  which  were  in  three  years 
afterwards  completed  by  the  League  of  Augsburgh, 
and  which,  in  1689,  brought  all  Europe  into  the  field 
to  check  the  career  of  Louis  XI^". 

The  death  of  Charles  IL  gave  William  some  hope 
of  an  advantageous  change  in  English  policy.  Many 
worse  men  and  more  tvrannical  kiuirs  than  that 
prince,  few  persons  of  more  agreeable  qualities  and 
brilliant  talents,  have  been  seated  on  a  throne.  But 
his  transactions  with  France  probably  afford  the  most 
remarkable  instance  of  a  king  with  no  sense  of  na- 
tional honour  or  of  regal  independence,  —  the  last 
vestiges  which  departing  virtue  might  be  expected  to 
leave  behind  in  a  royal  bosom.  More  jealousy  of 
dependence  on  a  foreign  prince  was  hoped  from  the 
sterner  temper  of  his  successor.  William  accordingly 
made  groat  efforts  and  sacrifices  to  obtain  the  acces- 
sion of  England  to  the  European  cause.  He  declared 
his  readiness  to  sacrifice  his  resentments,  and  even  his 
personal  interests,  and  to  cont'orni  his  conduct  to  the 
pleasure  of  the  king  in  all  things  compatible  with  his 
religion  and  with  his  duty  to  t'le  republic*;  —  limit- 
ations which  must  have  been  considered  as  pledges  of 
sincerity  by  him  to  whom  they  were  otherwise  unac- 
ceptable.    He  declared  his  regret  at  the  appearance  of 

*  D'Avaux,  13:li  —  26th  Feb.  1685.  The  last  contains  an  ac- 
count of  a  conversation  of  Wiliiuin  with  Fauci,  overheard  by  a 
person  who  reported  it  to  D'Avaux.  A  passage  in  which  D'Avatix 
bhows  his  belief  that  the  policy  of  the  prince  now  aimed  at  gaining 
James,  ig  suppressed  in  the  printed  coilectiuii. 

VOL.  L  P  P  ^ 


578         MEMOIR   OF    THE   AFFAIRS   OF   HOLLAND. 

opposition  to  both  his  uncles,  which  had  arisen  only 
from  the  necessity  of  resisting  Louis,  and  he  sent 
M.  D'Auverquerque  to  England  to  lay  his  submission 
before  the  king.  James  desired  that  he  should  re- 
linquish communication  with  the  Duke  of  Mon- 
mouth*, dismiss  the  malcontent  English  officers  in 

*  During  these  unexpected  advances  to  a  renewal  of  friendship, 
an  incident  occurred,  which  has  ever  since,  in  the  eyes  of  many, 
thrown  some  shade  orer  the  sincerity  of  William.  This  was  the 
landing  in  England  of  the  Duke  of  Monmouth,  with  a  small 
number  of  adherents  who  had  embarked  with  him  at  Amsterdam. 
He  had  taken  refuge  in  the  Spanish  Netherlands,  and  afterwards 
in  Holland,  during  the  preceding  year,  in  consequence  of  a  mis- 
understanding between  him  and  the  ministers  of  Charles  re- 
specting the  nature  and  extent  of  the  confession  concerning  the 
reality  of  the  Eye  House  Plot,  published  by  them  in  language 
Avhich  he  resented  as  conveying  unauthorised  imputations  on  hia 
friends.  The  Prince  and  Princess  of  Orange  received  him  with 
kindness,  from  personal  friendship,  from  compassion  for  his  suffer- 
ings, and  from  his  connection  with  the  popular  and  Protestant 
party  in  England.  The  transient  shadow  of  a  pretension  to  the 
crown  did  not  awaken  their  jealousy.  They  were  well  aware 
that,  whatever  complaints  might  be  made  by  his  ministers,  Charles 
himself  would  not  be  displeased  by  kindness  shown  towards  his 
favourite  son.  There  is,  indeed,  little  doubt  that  in  the  last  year 
of  his  life  Charles  had  been  prevailed  on  by  Halifax  to  consult 
his  ease,  as  well  as  his  inclination,  by  the  recall  of  his  son,  as  a 
counterpoise  to  the  Duke  of  York,  and  thus  to  produce  the  balance 
of  parties  at  court,  which  was  one  of  the  darling  refinements  of 
that  too  ingenious  statesman.  Reports  were  prevalent  that  Mon- 
mouth had  privately  visited  England,  and  that  he  was  well 
pleased  with  his  journey.  He  was  assured  by  confidential  letters, 
evidently  sanctioned  by  his  father,  that  he  should  be  recalled  in 
February.  It  appears  also  that  Charles  had  written  with  his  own 
hand  a  letter  to  the  Prince  of  Orange,  beseeching  him  to  treat 
Monmouth  kindly,  which  D'Auverquerque  was  directed  to  lay 
before  James  as  a  satisfactory  explanation  of  whatever  might 
seem  suspicious  in  the  imusual  honours  paid  to  him.  Before  he 
left  the  Hague  the  prince  and  princess  approved  the  draft  of  a 
submissive  letter  to  James,  which  he  had  laid  before  them  ;  and 
they  exacted  from  him  a  promise  that  he  would  engage  in  no 
violent  enterprises  inconsistent  with  this  submission.  Despairing 
of  clemency  from  his  uncle,  he  then  appears  to  have  entertained 
designs  of  retiring  into  Sweden,  or  of  serving  in  the  Imperial 
army  against  the  Turks  ;  and  he  listened  for  a  moment  to  the 
projects  of  some  French  Protestants,  who  proposed  that  he  should 


MEMOIR   OF    THE   AFFAIRS   OF    HOLLAND.         579 

the  Dutch  army,  and  adapt  his  policy  to  such  engage- 
ments as  the  king  should  see  fit  to  contract  with  his 

put  himself  at  the  head  of  their  unfortunate  brethren.  He  himself 
thought  the  difficuhies  of  an  enterprise  against  England  insuper- 
able ;  but  the  importunity  of  the  EngHsh  and  Scotch  refugees  in 
Holland  induced  him  to  return  privately  there  to  be  present  at 
their  consultations.  He  found  the  Scotch  exiles,  who  were  pro- 
portionately more  numerous  and  of  greater  distinction,  and  who 
felt  more  bitterly  from  the  bloody  tyranny  under  which  their 
countrymen  suffered,  impatiently  desirous  to  make  an  immediate 
attempt  for  the  delivery  of  their  country.  Ferguson,  the  Non- 
conformist preacher,  either  fi-om  treachery  or  from  rashness, 
seconded  the  impetuosity  of  his  countrymen.  Andrew  Fletcher, 
of  Saltoun,  a  man  of  heroic  spirit,  and  a  lover  of  liberty  even  to 
enthusiasm,  who  had  just  returned  from  serving  in  Hungary,  dis- 
suaded his  friends  from  an  enterprise  which  his  political  sagacity 
and  military  experience  taught  him  to  consider  as  hopeless.  In 
assemblies  of  suffering  and  angry  exiles  it  was  to  be  expected  that 
rash  counsels  should  prevail ;  yet  Monmouth  appears  to  have  re- 
sisted them  longer  than  could  have  been  hoped  from  his  judgment 
or  temper.  It  was  not  till  two  months  after  the  death  of  Charles  II. 
(9th  April  1685)  that  the  vigilant  D'Avaux  intimated  his  sus- 
picion of  a  design  to  land  in  England.  Nor  was  it  till  three  weeks 
after  that  he  was  able  to  transmit  to  his  court  the  particulars  of 
the  equipment.  It  was  only  then  that  Skelton,  the  minister  of 
James,  complained  of  these  petty  armaments  to  the  President  of 
the  States- General  and  the  magistrates  of  Amsterdam,  neither  of 
whom  had  any  authority  in  the  case.  They  referred  him  to  the 
Admiralty  of  Amsterdam,  the  competent  authority  in  such  cases, 
who,  as  soon  as  they  were  authorised  by  an  order  from  the  States- 
General  proceeded  to  arrest  the  vessels  freighted  by  Argyle. 
But  in  consequence  of  a  mistake  in  Skelton's  description  of  their 
station,  their  exertions  were  too  late  to  prevent  the  sailing  of  the 
unfortunate  expedition  on  the  5th  of  May.  The  natural  delays 
of  a  slow  and  formal  government,  the  jealousy  of  rival  authori- 
ties, exasperated  by  the  spirit  of  party,  and  the  licence  shown  in 
such  a  country  to  navigation  and  traffic,  are  suthcient  to  account 
for  this  short  delay.  If  there  was  in  this  case  a  more  than  usual 
indisposition  to  overstep  the  formalities  of  the  constitution,  or  to 
quicken  the  slow  pace  of  the  administration,  it  may  be  well  im- 
puted to  natural  compassion  towards  the  exiles,  and  to  the  strong 
fellow-feeling  which  arose  from  agreement  in  religious  opinion, 
especially  with  the  Scotch.  If  there  were  proof  even  of  absolute 
connivance,  it  must  be  ascribed  solely  to  the  magistrates  and 
inhabitants  of  Amsterdam, — the  ancient  enemies  of  the  House  of 

P  P  2 


580         MEMOIR   OF    THE   AFFAIRS   OF    HOLLAND. 

neighbours.  To  the  former  conditions  the  prmce 
submitted  without  reserve :  the  last,  couched  in 
strong  language  by  James  to  Barillon,  hid  under 
more  general  expressions  by  the  English  minister 
to  D'Avaux,  but  implying  in  its  mildest  form  an 
acquiescence  in  the  projects  of  the  conqueror,  was 
probably  conveyed  to  the  prince  himself  in  terms 
capable  of  being  understood  as  amounting  only  to  an 
engagement  to  avoid  an  interruption  of  the  general 
peace.  In  that  inoffensive  sense  it  seems  to  have 
been  accepted  by  the  prince ;  since  the  king  declared 
to  him  that  his  concessions,  which  could  have  reached 
no  farther,  were  perfectly  satisfactory.* 

Sidney   was    sent   to   Holland,  —  a   choice   which 
seemed   to   indicate  an  extraordinary  deference   for 
the  wishes  of  the  prince,  and  which  was  considered 
in  Holland  as  a  decisive  mark  of  good  understanding 
between  the  two  governments.     The  proud  and  hos- 
tile city  of  Amsterdam  presented  an  address  of  con- 
gratulation to  William  on  the  defeat  of  Monmouth ; 
and  the  republican  party  began  to  despair  of  effectual 
resistance  to  the  power  of  the  stadtholder,  now  about 
to   be   strengthened  by  the   alliance  with  England. 
The  Dutch  ambassadors  in  London,  in  spite  of  the 
remonstrances  of  Barillon,  succeeded  in  concluding 
a   treaty  for  the  rewewal  of  the  defensive  alliance 
between  England  and  Holland,  which,  though  repre- 
sented to  Louis  as  a  mere  formality,  was  certainly  a 
step  which  required  little  more  than  that  liberal  con- 
Orange, — who  might  look  with  favour  on  an  expedition  which 
might  prevent  the  stadtholder  from  being  strengthened  by  his  con- 
nection with  the  King  of  England,  and  who,  as  we  are  told  by 
D'Avaux  himself,  were  afterwards  filled  with  consternation  when 
they  learned  the  defeat  of  Monmouth.     We  know  little  with  cer- 
tainty of  the  particulars  of  his  intercourse  with  his  inexorable 
uncle,  from  his  capture  till  his  execution,  except  the  compassionate 
interference  of  the  queen  dowager  in  his  behalf ;  but  Avhatever  it 
was,  from  the  king's  conduct  immediately  after,  it  tended  rather 
to  strengthen  than  to  shake  his  confidence  in  the  prince, 

*  James  to  the  Prince  of  Orange,  6th,  16th,  and  17th  March. 
Dalryraple,  app.  to  part  L 


MEMOIR   OF    THE   AFFAIRS   OF    HOLLAND.         581 

struction  to  which  a  defensive  treaty  is  always  en- 
titled, to  convert  it  into  an  accession  by  England  to  the 
concert  of  the  other  states  of  Europe,  for  the  preser- 
vation of  their  rights  and  dominions.  The  connection 
between  the  Dutch  and  English  governments  answered 
alike  the  immediate  purposes  of  both  parties.  It  over- 
awed the  malcontents  of  Holland,  as  well  as  those  of 
England  ;  and  James  commanded  his  ministers  to  sig- 
nify to  the  magistrates  of  Amsterdam,  that  their  support 
of  the  stadtholder  would  be  acceptable  to  his  majesty. 
William,  who,  from  the  peace  of  Nimeguen,  had 
been  the  acknowledged  chief  of  the  confederacy  gra- 
dually forming  to  protect  the  remains  of  Europe,  had 
now  slowly  and  silently  removed  all  the  obstacles  to 
its  formation,  except  those  which  arose  from  the  un- 
happy jealousies  of  the  friends  of  liberty  at  home,  and 
the  fatal  progress  towards  absolute  monarchy  in  Eng- 
land. Good  sense,  which,  in  so  high  a  degree  as  his, 
is  one  of  the  rarest  of  human  endowments,  had  full 
scope  for  its  exercise  in  a  mind  seldom  invaded  by 
the  disturbing  passions  of  fear  and  anger.  With  all 
his  determined  firmness,  no  man  was  ever  more  soli- 
citous not  to  provoke  or  keep  up  needless  enmity.  It 
is  no  wonder  that  he  should  have  been  influenced  by 
this  principle  in  his  dealings  with  Charles  and  James, 
for  there  are  traces  of  it  even  in  his  rare  and  transient 
intercourse  with  Louis  XTV.  He  caused  it  to  be  in- 
timated to  him  "  that  he  was  ambitious  of  being  re- 
stored to  his  majesty's  favour*;"  to  which  it  was 
haughtily  answered,  "  that  when  such  a  disposition 
was  shown  in  his  conduct,  the  king  would  see  what 
was  to  be  done."  Yet  D'Avaux  believed  that  the 
prince  really  desired  to  avoid  the  enmity  of  Louis, 
as  far  as  was  compatible  with  his  duties  to  Holland 
and  his  interests  in  England.  In  a  conversation  with 
Gourville  f,  which  affords  one  of  the  most  character- 
istic specimens   of  intercourse   between  a   practised 

*  D'Avaux,  vol.  i.  p.  5.  t  Gourville,  vol.  ii.  p.  204. 


582         MEMOIR   OF    THE    AFFAIRS    OF    HOLLAND. 

courtier  and  a  man  of  plain  inoffensive  temper,  when 
the  mimister  had  spoken  to  him  in  more  soothing  lan- 
guage, he  professed  his  warm  wish  to  please  the  king, 
and  proved  his  sincerity  by  adding  that  he  never 
could  neglect  the  safety  of  Holland,  and  that  the 
decrees  of  re-union,  together  with  other  marks  of 
projects  of  universal  monarchy,  were  formidable  ob- 
stacles to  good  understanding.  It  was  probably  after 
one  of  these  attempts  that  he  made  the  remarkable 
declaration,  — "  Since  I  cannot  earn  his  majesty's 
favour,  I  must  endeavour  to  earn  his  esteem."  No- 
thing but  an  extraordinary  union  of  wariness  with 
perseverance  —  two  qualities  which  he  possessed  in 
a  higher  degree,  and  united  in  juster  proportions, 
perhaps,  than  any  other  man  —  could  have  fitted  him 
for  that  incessant,  unwearied,  noiseless  exertion  which 
alone  suited  his  difficult  situation.  His  mind,  na- 
turally dispassionate,  became,  by  degrees,  steadfastly 
and  intensely  fixed  upon  the  single  object  of  his  high 
calling.  Brilliant  only  on  the  field  of  battle ;  loved 
by  none  but  a  few  intimate  connections ;  considerate 
and  circumspect  in  council ;  in  the  execution  of  his 
designs  bold  even  to  rashness,  and  inflexible  to  the 
verge  of  obstinacy ;  he  held  his  onward  way  with  a 
quiet  and  even  course,  which  wore  down  opposition, 
outlasted  the  sallies  of  enthusiasm,  and  disappointed 
the  subtle  contrivances  of  a  refined  policy. 


END   OF    THE   FHIST   VOLUME. 


London: 
A.  and  G.  A.  Spottiswoode, 
New-street-Squarp. 


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INDEX. 


Acton's  Modem  Cookery  86 

Afternoon  of  Life  20 

Alcock's  Residence  in  Japan   21 

Alpine  Guide  (The)  22 

JournaUThe)  28 

Apjoh.v'ii  Manual  of  the  Metalloids II 

Abaoo's  Bioirraphies  of  Scientific  Men   5 

Popular  Astronomy '0 

Meteorological  Essay  a  10 

Arnold's  Manual  of  English  Literature 7 

Arnott's  Elements  of  Physics 11 

Atherstone  Priory 23 

Atkinso.-v's  Papinian ^ 

Autumn  Holidayof  a  Cocntrt  Parson 8 

Atrb's  Treasury  of  Bible  Knowledge 18 

Bacom's  Esuays,  by  Whatflt  5 

Life  and  Letters,  by  Spbdui NO 3 

Works,  by  J^llh    SrBiiLi.'«fi,  and 

Ukatb  6 

Baii«  on  the  Emotions  and  Will 9 

. on  the  Senses  and  Intellect 9 

Jt on  the  Study  of  Character 9 

Bainfs's  Explorations  in  S.  W.  Africa    21 

IIlll's  (iuide  to  the  Central  Alps   25 

-I Guide  to  the  Western  Alps 2-.' 

Batlikjn's  Rents  and  Tillages 17 

Bbrleps^b's  Life  and  Nature  in  the  Alps  ...  12 

Bi  ack's  Treatise  on  Brewing 26 

Blackikv  and  Frixolanubr's  German  and 

English  Dictionary    8 

Blaine's  Rural  Sports S4 

Blight's  Week  at  the  Land's  End 22 

Bournk's  Catechism  of  the  Steam  Encine. .  16 

Treatise  on  the  Steam  Engine...  16 

Bowdlir's  Faniily  Shak>peakr 24 

Bo>  d's  Manual  for  Naval  Cadets 26 

Bramliv-Moore's  Six  Sisters  of  the  Valleys  23 
Brandr's  Dictionary  of  Science,  Literature, 

and  Art 13 

Brat's  (.C.)  Education  of  the  Feelings 9 

Philosophy  of  Necessity 9 

(Mrs.)  British  Empire 10 

Brewbii's  Atlasof  History  and  Geography  27 

Brinton  on  Food  and  Digestion 26 

Bhistow's  Glossary  of  Mineralogy II 

Brodib's  (Sir  C.  B.)  Psychological  Inquiries  9 

Works 14 

Brown's   Demonstrations   of     Microscopic 

Anatomy 14 

Browne's  Exposition  of  the  39  Articles 17 

Pentateuch  and  Elohistic  Psalms  17 

Blcklb's  History  of  Civilization 2 

Bcll's  Hints  to  Mothers 17 

Maternal  Mauusemeut  of  Children.  27 


Bcnsbn's  Analecta  Ante-Nicaena 1I> 

Ancient  Egypt 3 

Hippolytus  and  his  Age  19 

Philosophy  of  Universal  History  19 

Bitntan's  Pilgrim's  Progress,  illustrated  by 

Bennett IS 

Bcrbe's  Vicissitudes  of  Familic*  4 

Bctleb's  Atlas  of  Ancient  Geography 2" 

Modem  Geography 28 

Cabinet  Lawyer  27 

Calvert's  Wife's  Manual 20 

Cats  and  Farlie's  Moral  Emblems 15 

Chorale  Book  for  England    21 

Colknso  (Bishop)  on  Pentateuch  and  Book 

of  Joshua 18 

Colly Ks  on  Stag-Hunting  in  Devon   and 

Somerset ii 

Commonplace  Philosopher  in   Town   and 

Country 8 

Companions  of  my  Solitude 8 

Comnuton's  Handbook  of  Chemical  Ana- 
lysis    13 

CoNTANSEAu's  Pocket  French  and  English 

Dictionary 7 

Practical  ditto 7 

CoNVHEARsand  Uowiox's  Life  and  Epistlcs 

of  St.  Paul 19 

Copland's  Dictionary  of  Practical  Medicine  14 

Abridgment  of  ditto    14 

Cotton's  Introduction  to  Confirmation 19 

Cox's  Tales  of  the  Great  Persian  War 2 

Tales  from  Greek  Mythology 33 

. Tales  of  the  Gods  and  Heroes    23 

Tales  of  Thebes  and  Argos  28 

Crest's  Encyclopadia  of  Civil  Engineering  16 

Crowe's  History  of  i" ranee    2 


D'AtnioNB's  History  of  the  Reformation  in 

the  time  of  Calvin 2 

Dead  Shot  (The),  by  Marksman    25 

De  la  Rive's  Treatise  on  Electricity II 

Denman's  Vine  and  its  Fruit  26 

De  Ti«<ji  eville's  Democracy  in  America..  z 

Diaries  of  a  Lady  of  Quality    4 

Disraeli's  Kevolutionury  Epick 24 

Dixon'j  Fasti  F.lj<iracejue* 4 

DoHsoN  on  the  Ox fi 

Dolmn<-.fr's   Introduction    to    History   of 

Christianity    If 

Dove's  Law  of  Storms 10 

Dotlb's  Chronicle  of  England 2 


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Edinburgh  Review  (The)  28 

Ellice,aTale 23 

Eli-icott's  Broad  and  Narrow  "Way  18 

Commentary  on  Ephesians 

Destiny  of  the  Creature 

Lectures  on  Life  ot  Christ 

Commentary  on  Galatians 

Pastoral  Epist... 

Philippians,  &c.. 

Thessalonians . . . 

Essays  and  Reviews  

Essays  on  Religion  and  Literature,  edited 

by  Manning  19 

Essays  written  in  the  Intervals  of  Business      8 


Fairbairn's    Application    of    Cast     and 

Wrought  Iron  to  Buildine 16 

Information  for  Engineers...  16 

. Treatise  on  Mills  &  Millwork  16 

First  Friendship  22 

FiTz  Roy's  Weather  Book  10 

Forster's  Life  of  Sir  John  Eliot 3 

Fowler's  Collieries  and  Colliers 17 

Eraser's  Magazine 28 

Freshfield's  Alpine  Byways  22 

Tour  in  the  Grisons 22 

Friends  in  Council 8 

From  Matter  to  Spirit 8 

Frodde's  History  of  England 1 


Garratt's    Marvels    and     Mysteries    of 

Instinct    12 

Geological  Magazine   11,28 

Gilbert  and  Churchill's  Dolomite  Moun- 
tains    22 

Goodkve's  Elements  of  Mechanism _. . .  16 

Gorle's  Questions  on  Browne's  Exposition 

of  the  39  Articles 17 

Gray's  Anatomy H 

Greenb's  Manual  of  Coelenterata 11 

Manual  ol  Protozoa 11 

Grove  on  Con  elation  of  Physical  Forces..  11 

Gry  11  Grange   22 

GwiLT  s  Encyclopaedia  of  Architecture  ....  15 


Handbook  of  Angling,  by  Ephemera 25 

Hartwio's  Sea  and  ita  Living  Wonders 12 

: Tropical  World   12 

Hass all's  Adu  1  terations  Detected 26 

British  Freshwater  Algae  12 

Hawker's  Insttuctions  to  Young  Sportsmen  25 

Heaton's  Notes  on  Rifle  Shooting 25 

Helps's  Spani-h  Conquest  in  America 2 

Hbrschel's   E^says   from   the    Edinburgh 

and  Quart*- rly  Reviews    13 

Outlines  of  Astronomy 9 

Hewitt  on  tlie  Diseases  of  Women    13 

Hinchlifp's  South  American  Sketches 21 

Hind's  Canadian  Exploring  Expeditions  ...  21 

Explorations  in  Labrador 21 

Hints  on  Etiquette 27 

Holland's  Chapters  on  Mental  Physiology  8 

Essays  on  Scentific  Subjects —  13 

Medical  Notes  and  Reflections. .  15 

Holmes's  System  of  Surgery 14 

Hooker    and     Walk«k-Arnoti's   British 

Flora 12 

Hooprr'^  Medic>l  Dictionary 15 

Hobnb's  Introduction  to  ihe  Scriptures  ....  18 

Compendium  of  ditto 18 

HosKTNs'  Talp. 17 

Howitt's  History  of  the  Supernatural 8 

Rural  Life  of  England 22 

Visits  to  Remarkable  Places 22 


Howson's  Hulsean  Lectures  on  St.  Paul....  1? 
Hughes's  (K.)  Atlas  of  Physical,  Political 

and  Commercial  Geography 2; 

(W.)  Geography  of  British  His- 
tory    1( 

Manual  of  Geography 1( 

Hullah's  History  of  Modem  Music I 

Hymns  from  Lyra  Germanica 2( 

Ingelow's  Poems 2' 

Jameson's  Legends  of  tlie  Saints  and  Mar- 
tyrs    II 

Legends  of  the  Madonna IJ 

Legends  of  the  Monastic  Orders  li 

Jameson    and  Easxlakb's  History  of  Our 

Lord  i; 

Johns's  Home  Walks  and  Holiday  Rambles  U 

Johnson's  Patentee's  Manual  16 

—  Practical  Draughtsman Ifc 

Johnston's  Gazetteer,  or  Geographical  Dic- 
tionary   10 

Jones's  Christianity  and  Common  Sense ....  9 


Kalisch's  Commentary  on  the  Old  Testa- 
ment    7 

Hebrew  Grammar 7 

Kemble's  Plays    24 

Kennedy's  Hymnologia Christiana 20 

KiRBv  and  Spenck's  Entomology  12 

Lady's  Tour  Round  Monte  Rosa 22 

Landon's  (L.E.  L.)  Poetical  Works 24 

LateLaureiK 22 

Latham  s  Comparative  Philology 6 

Entiljsh  Dictionary   6 

Handbook  of  the   English  Lan- 
guage   6 

Work  on  the  English  Language  6 

Le'sure  Hours  in  Town 8 

Lewes's  Biographical  History  of  Philosophy  2 

Lewis  on  vhe  Astronomy  of  the  Ancients  ...  6 

on  the  Credibility  of  Early  Roman 

History 6 

Dialogue  on  Government '5 

on  Egyptological  Method 6 

Essays  on  Administrations 6 

Fables  of  Bab«ius 6 

on  Foreign  Jurisdiction 6 

on  Irish  Disturbances 6 

on     Observation  and    Reasoning  in 

Politics 6 

on  Political  Terms  6 

on  the  Romance  Languages 6 

LiDDKLLand  ScoTr'sGreek-b-nglisli  Lexicon  7 

Abiidged  ditto 7 

LiNDLKY  and  Moure's  Treasury  of  Botany  12 

Lister's  Physico-Prophetical  Essays 19 

Ldngman's  Lectures  on  the  History  of  Eng- 
land     2 

Loudon's  Encyclopaedia  of  Agriculture....  17 

Cottage,  Farm, 

and  Villa  Architecture 17 

Gardening 17 

Plants 12 

Trees  &  Shrubs  12 

Lowndes's  Engineer's  Handbook  16 

Lyra  Domes  ica  21 

Eucliaristica 20 

Germ>inica 15,  20 

Messianica 20 

Mystica 20 

Sacra 20 


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Speeches    on     Parliamentary 

R  eform 6 

Macbraik's  Africans  at  Home 10 

MAci>-uoAi,L'g  Theory  of  War 16 

McL»"d's  Middle-Class  Atlas   of  General 

Geography • •••:••:•  ^ 

Physical  Atlas  of  Great  Britain 

and  Ireland   23 

McCli-i.och'3  Dictionary  of  Com-.nerce 26 

Geosraphical  Dictionary 10 

MAGCiRE'sLifeol  Father  Mathew 4 

Rome  and  its  Rulers 4 

MALtNo's  Indoor  Gardener 12 

Maps  from  Peaks,  Passes, and  Glaciers  ....  16 

Marshall's  History  of  Christian  Missions  .  3 

Masses 's  History  of  England  1 

Macindbr's  Biographical  Treasury 5 

GeosrHphicjil  Treasury 10 

Historical  Treasury 3 

Scientific  and  Literary  Treasury  13 

Treasury  of  Knowledge 27 

Treasury  of  >'atural  History  ..  12 

Maury's  Physical  Geojrraphy  10 

;M  A  y's  Constitutional  History  of  England. .  1 

Melville's  Digby  Grand 23 

General  Bounce 23 

Gladiat.rs  23 

Good  for  Nothing 23 

Holmby  House 23 

Interpreter 23 

Kate  Coventry  23 

Queen's  Maries 23 

Mk!«i>xlssohn's  Letters 4 

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Meritale's  CH. )  Colunisation  and  Colonies  10 

(C.)  Fall  of  the  Roman  Republic  2 

Romans  under  the  Empire  2 

Mertok's  History  of  Medicine 3 

Milks  on  Horse's  Foot 25 

On  Horses'  Teeth    25 

on  Horse  Shoeing 25 

on  Stables 25 

Mill   on  Liberty 5 

on  Hepresentative  Government 5 

on  Utilitarianism 5 

Mill's  Dissert^itions  and  Discussions 5 

Political  h  conomy  5 

System  of  Lo^ic   5 

M1LI.SR  s  Elements  of  Chemistry 13 

Moif sell's  Spiritual  Songs 20 

Momta8d'«    Experiments   in   Church   and 

State 18 

MoNTooMBRY'  ou  thc  Sigus  and  Symptoms 

of  Presrnancy 13 

Moore's  Irish  Melodies » 24 

Lai  la  Rook  h    24 

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dence   4 

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Morell's  Elements  of  Psychology 9 

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Morning  Clouds  20 

iloRTow's  Handbook  of  Dairy  Husbandiry. .  17 

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Prince  Consort's  Farms 17 

Mosheim's  Ecclesiastical  History 19 

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(K.   0.1    Literature   of    Ancient 

Greece  2 

MuRCHiso.t  on  Continued  Fevers 14 

MuRE't  Language  and  Literature  of  Greece  2 


New  Testament  illustrated  with  Wood  En- 

gravinzs  from  thc  Old  Masters 15 

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Odlino's  Course  of  Practical  Chemistry  ....  13 

Manual  of  Chemistry   13 

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Peaks,  Passes,  and  Glaciers.  2  Series 21 

Pkreiha's  Elements  of  Materia  Medica....  15 

Manual  of  Materia  Medica 15 

Perkins's  Tuscan  Sculptors  16 

Phillips's  Guide  to  Geology H 

Introduction  to  Mineralogy 11 

Piesse's  Art  of  Perfumery 17 

Chemical,   Natural,  and    Physical 

Magic 17 

Laboratory  of  Chemical  Wonders  17 

Playtime  with  the  Poets  n 

Practical  Mechanic's  Journal "  is 

rescott's  Scripture  Difficulties 18 

Problems  in  Human  Nature 20 

Pycropt's  Course  of  English  Reading 7 

CricketField   25 

Cricket  Tutor ^  34 


Recreations  of  a  Country  Parson,  6bconj> 

Series g 

Riddle's  Diamond  Latin-English  Dictionary  7 

Rivers's  Rose  Amateur's  (Vuide 12 

Rogers's  Correspondence  of  Greyson 9 

Eclipse  of  Faith g 

Defence  of  ditto 9 

Ess&ysfrom  the  Edinburgh  Jieview  9 

FuUeriana 9 

Reason  and  Faith 9 

Roget's  Thesaurus  of  English  Words  and 

Phrases 

Ronalds'i  Fly-Fisher's  Entomology  ..!!!!!  25 

Rowton's  Debater 7 


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Essays  on  Fiction 23 

Se well's  Amy  Herbert    23 

Ancient  History 2 

CleveHall 23 

Earl's  Daughter 23 

Experience  of  Life 23 

Gertrude 23 

Glimpse  of  the  World 23 

History  of  the  Early  Church 3 

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Katharine  Ashton  23 

Laneton  Parsonag:e 23 

Margaret  Percival 23 

Night  Lessons  from  Scripture   20 

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Preparation  for  Communion 20 

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Pole  3 

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graphy   0 

Lectures    on    the     History  of 

France 2 

Stonehengk  on  the  Dog 25 

on  the  Greyhound 25 

Strickland's  Queens  of  England 1 


Taylor's  (Jeremy)  Works,  edited  by  Eden  19 

Tennent's  Ceylon 12 

Natural  History  of  Ceylon 12 

Story  of  the  Guns 16 

Thalatta 22 


Theologia  Germanica 19 

Thirlwall's  History  of  Greece  2 

Thomson's  (Archbishop)  Laws  of  Thought  6 

(J.)  Tables  of  Interest 27 

Tillev's  Eastern  Europe  and  Western  Asia  21 
Todd's  Cyclopjedia  of  Anatomy  and  Phy- 
siology    14 

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siology of  Man, , '. ,  14 

Tr  ollope's  Barchester  Towers 23 

Warden 23 

TwTss's  Law  of  Nations 26 

Tyndall's  Lectures  on  Heat 11 

Mountaineering  in  1 861 22 

Ure's  Dictionary  of   Arts,  Manufactures, 

and  Mines 16 


Vander  Hoeven's  Handbook  of  Zoology..  11 
Vaughan's   (K.)   Revolutions    ia    English 

History 1 

(R.  a.)  Hours  with  the  Mystics  9 

Wardurton's  Life,  by  Watson 4 

Warter's  Last  of  the  Old  Squires 23 

Watson's  Principles  and  Practice  of  Physic  14 

Watts's  Dictionary  of  Chemistry 13 

Webb's  Celestial  Objects  for  Common  Tele- 
scopes    10 

Webster  &  Wilkinson's  Greek  Testament  18 

Weld's  Last  Winter  in  Rome 21 

Wellington's    Life,    by    Brialmont    and 

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hood  13 

Whately's  English  Synonymes 5 

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Remains 5 

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Whewell's  History  of  the  Inductive  Sci- 
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White  and  Riddle's  Latin-English    Dic- 
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Wilberforce  (W.)  Recollections    of,    by 

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Willich's  Popular  Tables 27 

Wilson's  Bryologia  Britannica 12 

Wood's  Homes  without  Hands II 

Wo(jpward'3  Historical  and  .Chronological 

Encyclopasdia  3 

Yong::'s  Engli.ih-Greek  Lexicon   7 

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