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Part II, Section II, Chapter I
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Section II: Of justice and beneficence.
Comparison of those two virtues.
Actions of a beneficent tendency, which proceed from proper motives, seem alone to require reward; because such alone are the approved objects of gratitude, or excite the sympathetic gratitude of the spectator.
Actions of a hurtful tendency, which proceed from improper motives, seem alone to deserve punishment; because such alone are the approved objects of resentment, or excite the sympathetic resentment of the spectator.
Beneficence is always free, it cannot be extorted by force, the mere want of it exposes to no punishment; because the mere want of beneficence tends to do no real positive evil. It may disappoint of the good which might reasonably have been expected, and upon that account it may justly excite dislike and disapprobation: it cannot, however, provoke any resentment which mankind will go along with. The man who does not recompense his benefactor, when he has it in his power, and when his benefactor needs his assistance, is, no doubt, guilty of the blackest ingratitude. The heart of every impartial spectator rejects all fellow-feeling with the selfishness of his motives, and he is the proper object of the highest disapprobation. But still he does no positive hurt to any body. He only does not do that good which in propriety he ought to have done. He is the object of hatred, a passion which is naturally excited by impropriety of sentiment and behaviour; not of resentment, a passion which is never properly called forth but by actions which tend to do real and positive hurt to some particular persons. His want of gratitude, therefore, cannot be punished. To oblige him by force to perform what in gratitude he ought to perform, and what every impartial spectator would approve of him for performing, would if possible, be still more improper than his neglecting to perform it. His benefactor would dishonour himself if he attempted by violence to constrain him to gratitude, and it would be impertinent for any third person, who was not the superior of either, to intermeddle. But of all the duties of beneficence, those which gratitude recommends to us approach nearest to what is called a perfect and complete obligation. What friendship, what generosity, what charity, would prompt us to do with universal approbation, is still more free, and can still less be extorted by force than the duties of gratitude. We talk of the debt of gratitude, not of charity, or generosity, nor even of friendship, when friendship is mere esteem, and has not been enhanced and complicated with gratitude for good offices.
Resentment seems to have been given us by nature for defence, and for defence only. It is the safeguard of justice and the security of innocence. It prompts us to beat off the mischief which is attempted to be done to us, and to retaliate that which is already done; that the offender may be made to repent of his injustice, and that others, through fear of the like punishment, may be terrified from being guilty of the like offence. It must be reserved therefore for these purposes, nor can the spectator ever go along with it when it is exerted for any other. But the mere want of the beneficent virtues, though it may disappoint us of the good which might reasonably be expected, neither does, nor attempts to do, any mischief from which we can have occasion to defend ourselves.
There is however another virtue, of which the observance is not left to the freedom of our own wills, which may be extorted by force, and of which the violation exposes to resentment, and consequently to punishment. This virtue is justice: the violation of justice is injury: it does real and positive hurt to some particular persons, from motives which are naturally disapproved of. It is, therefore, the proper object of resentment, and of punishment, which is the natural consequence of resentment. As mankind go along with, and approve of, the violence employed to avenge the hurt which is done by injustice, so they much more go along with, and approve of, that which is employed to prevent and beat off the injury, and to restrain the offender from hurting his neighbours. The person himself who meditates an injustice is sensible of this, and feels that force may, with the utmost propriety, be made use of, both by the person whom he is about to injure, and by others, either to obstruct the execution of his crime, or to punish him when he has executed it. And upon this is founded that remarkable distinction between justice and all the other social virtues, which has of late been particularly insisted upon by an author of very great and original genius, that we feel ourselves to be under a stricter obligation to act according to justice, than agreeably to friendship, charity, or generosity; that the practice of these last mentioned virtues seems to be left in some measure to our own choice, but that, somehow or other, we feel ourselves to be in a peculiar manner tied, bound, and obliged to the observation of justice. We feel, that is to say, that force may, with the utmost propriety and with the approbation of all mankind, be made use of to constrain us to observe the rules of the one, but not to follow the precepts of the other.
We must always, however, carefully distinguish what is only blamable, or the proper object of disapprobation, from what force may be employed either to punish or to prevent. That seems blamable which falls short of that ordinary degree of proper beneficence which experience teaches us to expect of every body; and on the contrary, that seems praise-worthy which goes beyond it. The ordinary degree itself, seems neither blamable nor praise-worthy. A father, a son, a brother, who behaves to the correspondent relation, neither better nor worse than the greater part of men commonly do, seems properly to deserve neither praise nor blame. He who surprises us by extraordinary and unexpected, though still proper and suitable kindness, or on the contrary, by extraordinary and unexpected, as well as unsuitable unkindness, seems praise-worthy in the one case, and blamable in the other.
Even the most ordinary degree of kindness or beneficence, however, cannot, among equals, be extorted by force. Among equals each individual is naturally, and antecedent to the institution of civil government, regarded as having a right both to defend himself from injuries, and to exact a certain degree of punishment for those which have been done to him. Every generous spectator not only approves of his conduct when he does this, but enters so far into his sentiments as often to be willing to assist him. When one man attacks, or robs, or attempts to murder another, all the neighbours take the alarm, and think that they do right when they run, either to revenge the person who has been injured, or to defend him who is in danger of being so. But when a father fails in the ordinary degree of parental affection towards a son, when a son seems to want that filial reverence which might be expected to his father; when brothers are without the usual degree of brotherly affection; when a man shuts his breast against compassion, and refuses to relieve the misery of his fellow-creatures, when he can with the greatest ease; in all these cases, though every body blames the conduct, nobody imagines that those who might have reason, perhaps, to expect more kindness, have any right to extort it by force. The sufferer can only complain, and the spectator can intermeddle no other way than by advice and persuasion. Upon all such occasions, for equals to use force against one another, would be thought the highest degree of insolence and presumption.
A superior may, indeed, sometimes, with universal approbation, oblige those under his jurisdiction to behave, in this respect, with a certain degree of propriety to one another. The laws of all civilized nations oblige parents to maintain their children, and children to maintain their parents, and impose upon men many other duties of beneficence. The civil magistrate is entrusted with the power not only of preserving the public peace by retraining injustice, but of promoting the prosperity of the commonwealth, by establishing good discipline, and by discouraging every sort of vice and impropriety; he may prescribe rules, therefore, which not only prohibit mutual injuries among fellow-citizens, but command mutual good offices to a certain degree. When the sovereign commands what is merely indifferent, and what, antecedent to his orders, might have been omitted without any blame, it becomes not only blamable but punishable to disobey him. When he commands, therefore, what, antecedent to any such order, could not have been omitted without the greatest blame, it surely becomes much more punishable to be wanting in obedience. Of all the duties of a law-giver, however, this, perhaps, is that which it requires the greatest delicacy and reserve to execute with propriety and judgment. To neglect it altogether exposes the commonwealth to many gross disorders and shocking enormities, and to push it too far is destructive of all liberty, security, and justice.
Though the mere want of beneficence seems to merit no punishment from equals, the greater exertions of that virtue appear to deserve the highest reward. By being productive of the greatest good, they are the natural and approved objects of the liveliest gratitude. Though the breach of justice, on the contrary, exposes to punishment, the observance of the rules of that virtue seems scarce to deserve any reward. There is, no doubt, a propriety in the practice of justice, and it merits, upon that account, all the approbation which is due to propriety. But as it does no real positive good, it is entitled to very little gratitude. Mere justice is, upon most occasions, but a negative virtue, and only hinders us from hurting our neighbour. The man who barely abstains from violating either the person, or the estate, or the reputation of his neighbours, has surely very little positive merit. He fulfils, however, all the rules of what is peculiarly called justice, and does everything which his equals can with propriety force him to do, or which they can punish him for not doing. We may often fulfil all the rules of justice by sitting still and doing nothing.
As every man doth, so shall it be done to him, and retaliation seems to be the great law which is dictated to us by Nature. Beneficence and generosity we think due to the generous and beneficent. Those whose hearts never open to the feelings of humanity, should, we think, be shut out in the same manner, from the affections of all their fellow-creatures, and be allowed to live in the midst of society, as in a great desert where there is nobody to care for them, or to inquire after them. The violator of the laws of justice ought to be made to feel himself that evil which he has done to another; and since no regard to the sufferings of his brethren are capable of restraining him, he ought to be over-awed by the fear of his own. The man who is barely innocent, who only observes the law of justice with regard to others, and merely abstains from hurting his neighbours, can merit only that his neighbours in their turn should respect his innocence, and that the same laws should be religiously observed with regard to him.
Musean translation
Mouseia’s complete machine-assisted Musean translation, made directly from the complete sixth-edition English text of all parts (the appended Dissertation on the Origin of Languages is not included) for fidelity, the author’s force and cadence, and modern clarity.
Section II: On justice and beneficence.
A comparison of these two virtues.
Actions that benefit others, when they spring from proper motives, alone seem to call for reward; for they alone are fitting objects of gratitude, and awaken sympathetic gratitude in the spectator.
Actions that harm others, when they spring from improper motives, alone seem to deserve punishment; for they alone are fitting objects of resentment, and awaken sympathetic resentment in the spectator.
Beneficence is always voluntary: it cannot be forced, and its mere absence incurs no punishment, because that absence does no actual, positive harm. It may deprive someone of a benefit he could reasonably have expected, and for that reason may rightly arouse dislike and disapproval; but it cannot arouse resentment with which mankind will sympathize. The man who fails to repay his benefactor when he can do so and when his benefactor needs his help is certainly guilty of the deepest ingratitude. Every impartial spectator recoils from sympathy with his selfish motives and regards him as deserving the strongest disapproval. Yet he has done no positive injury to anyone. He has merely failed to do the good that propriety required of him. He is an object of hatred, a passion naturally stirred by improper feeling and behavior, but not of resentment, a passion properly stirred only by actions tending to inflict actual, positive harm on particular people. His ingratitude, then, cannot be punished. To force him to do what gratitude requires, and what every impartial spectator would approve his doing, would, if it could be done, be even more improper than his failure to do it. His benefactor would disgrace himself by trying to compel gratitude through violence, and it would be presumptuous for any third person who was superior to neither of them to interfere. Yet among all the duties of beneficence, those commended by gratitude come closest to what is called a perfect and complete obligation. What friendship, generosity, or charity would lead us to do, with everyone's approval, is even more voluntary and still less subject to compulsion than the duties of gratitude. We speak of a debt of gratitude, not a debt of charity or generosity, or even of friendship when friendship is mere esteem and has not been strengthened and intertwined with gratitude for services rendered.
Nature seems to have given us resentment for defense, and for defense alone. It safeguards justice and secures innocence. It urges us to repel harm that is threatened and to retaliate for harm already done, so that the offender may repent of his injustice and others may be deterred by fear of a similar punishment from committing a similar offense. It must therefore be reserved for these purposes, and the spectator cannot sympathize with its use for any other. But the mere absence of beneficent virtues, though it may deprive us of a benefit we could reasonably expect, neither inflicts nor threatens any harm against which we need defend ourselves.
There is, however, another virtue whose observance is not left to our free choice, which may be enforced, and whose violation provokes resentment and therefore punishment. This virtue is justice. To violate justice is to inflict injury: real, positive harm on particular people, from motives that naturally meet with disapproval. Such a violation is therefore the proper object of resentment and of punishment, the natural consequence of resentment. People sympathize with and approve the force used to avenge injuries caused by injustice; still more do they sympathize with and approve force used to prevent or repel an injury and restrain an offender from harming his neighbors. The person contemplating an injustice knows this himself. He feels that the person he is about to injure, or anyone else, may quite properly use force either to prevent the crime or to punish him once he has committed it. On this rests the remarkable distinction between justice and all the other social virtues, recently emphasized by a writer of extraordinary and original genius: we feel a stricter obligation to act justly than to act with friendship, charity, or generosity. The practice of those latter virtues seems to be left in some degree to our choice, whereas we feel ourselves peculiarly tied, bound, and obliged to observe justice. That is, we feel that force may, with perfect propriety and the approval of all mankind, be used to compel us to obey the rules of justice, but not to compel us to follow the precepts of the other virtues.
We must, however, always take care to distinguish what deserves blame or disapproval from what force may properly punish or prevent. Conduct that falls below the ordinary degree of proper beneficence experience teaches us to expect from everyone seems blameworthy; conduct that exceeds it seems praiseworthy. The ordinary degree itself seems to deserve neither blame nor praise. A father, son, or brother who treats the corresponding family member no better and no worse than most people generally do deserves neither praise nor blame. Someone who surprises us with extraordinary and unexpected kindness, though it remains proper and fitting, seems praiseworthy; someone who surprises us with extraordinary and unexpected unkindness, which is also unfitting, seems blameworthy.
Even the most ordinary degree of kindness or beneficence cannot, among equals, be compelled by force. Among equals, each person is naturally regarded, even before civil government is established, as entitled both to defend himself against injury and to exact some punishment for injury already done to him. Every generous spectator not only approves when he acts this way but enters so deeply into his feelings as often to be ready to help him. When one man attacks, robs, or attempts to murder another, all the neighbors are alarmed and think it right to rush either to avenge the victim or to defend the person in danger. But when a father lacks the ordinary affection for his son, when a son lacks the reverence one might expect toward his father, when brothers lack the usual brotherly affection, or when a man closes his heart to compassion and refuses, though he could easily do so, to relieve another's distress, everyone blames the conduct, but nobody thinks that those who might reasonably have expected greater kindness have a right to demand it by force. The sufferer can only complain, and the spectator can intervene only through counsel and persuasion. For equals to use force against each other on any such occasion would be considered the height of insolence and presumption.
A superior can indeed sometimes, with universal approval, require those under his authority to treat one another with a certain degree of propriety in these matters. The laws of all civilized nations require parents to support their children and children to support their parents, and impose many other duties of beneficence. The civil magistrate is entrusted not only with maintaining public peace by restraining injustice, but also with advancing the commonwealth's prosperity by establishing good discipline and discouraging every kind of vice and impropriety. He may therefore make rules that not only prohibit fellow citizens from harming one another but also require them to render one another some assistance. When a sovereign commands something otherwise indifferent, which could have been omitted without blame before his order, disobedience becomes not only blameworthy but punishable. When he commands something whose omission was gravely blameworthy even before his order, failure to obey must surely be more punishable still. Yet perhaps no duty of a lawgiver requires more delicacy and restraint if it is to be carried out with propriety and judgment. To neglect it entirely leaves the commonwealth exposed to gross disorder and shocking abuses; to press it too far destroys all liberty, security, and justice.
Though a mere lack of beneficence seems to deserve no punishment from equals, its greater exertions seem worthy of the highest reward. Because they produce the greatest good, they are naturally and properly met with the keenest gratitude. By contrast, though violating justice incurs punishment, merely observing its rules seems scarcely deserving of reward. There is certainly propriety in acting justly, and on that account it deserves all the approval owed to propriety. But because it does no actual, positive good, it is entitled to very little gratitude. On most occasions, simple justice is a negative virtue: it merely keeps us from harming our neighbor. A man who simply refrains from violating the person, property, or reputation of his neighbors has very little positive merit. Nevertheless, he fulfills every rule of what is specifically called justice and does everything his equals may properly force him to do, or punish him for failing to do. We can often fulfill every rule of justice simply by sitting still and doing nothing.
As each person acts, so it should be done to him: retaliation seems to be the great law Nature prescribes to us. We think beneficence and generosity are owed to the beneficent and generous. Those whose hearts never open to humane feeling should, we think, be similarly excluded from the affections of their fellow creatures and left to live amid society as though in a vast desert, with nobody to care for them or inquire after them. Whoever violates the laws of justice should himself be made to feel the harm he has done to another; since concern for his fellow humans' suffering cannot restrain him, fear for his own suffering should. The merely innocent man, who simply observes the law of justice toward others and refrains from harming his neighbors, can merit only that his neighbors likewise respect his innocence and scrupulously observe those same laws toward him.
Plain English translation
Mouseia’s complete Plain English edition, made independently and directly from the complete sixth-edition English text of all parts (the appended Dissertation on the Origin of Languages is not included).
Section II: On justice and beneficence.
A comparison of the two virtues.
Helpful actions done for proper reasons seem to be the only actions that call for a reward. Only these actions are fitting objects of gratitude and make a spectator share that gratitude.
Harmful actions done for improper reasons seem to be the only actions that deserve punishment. Only these actions are fitting objects of resentment and make a spectator share that resentment.
Beneficence must always be voluntary. It cannot be forced, and a person cannot be punished simply for failing to practice it. Simply withholding help does not directly harm anyone. It can deprive someone of a benefit they could reasonably expect, and for that reason it can rightly draw dislike and disapproval. But it cannot stir resentment that other people would share. A man who fails to repay his benefactor when he can do so and the benefactor needs his help is certainly guilty of terrible ingratitude. Every impartial spectator refuses to share his selfish motives and strongly disapproves of him. Yet he has not directly harmed anyone. He has merely failed to do the good that propriety required of him. He may be hated because his feelings and conduct are improper. But he is not a fitting object of resentment. Resentment is justified only by actions that cause, or threaten to cause, real harm to particular people. His lack of gratitude therefore cannot be punished. Forcing him to do what gratitude requires, and what every impartial spectator would approve of, would be even more improper than his failure to do it, if such force were possible. His benefactor would disgrace himself by trying to force gratitude from him through violence. A third party who had authority over neither of them would be out of place if they interfered. Still, of all duties of beneficence, those that gratitude calls for come closest to being strict obligations. Acts prompted by friendship, generosity, or charity may win everyone's approval, but they are even more voluntary and even less subject to force than acts of gratitude. We speak of a debt of gratitude, not a debt of charity or generosity. We do not even speak of a debt of friendship when friendship rests on esteem alone, rather than also on gratitude for favors received.
Nature seems to have given us resentment for self-defense and nothing else. It protects justice and keeps the innocent safe. It moves us to fend off a threatened injury and to respond to one already done. The offender may then regret the injustice, and fear of similar punishment may keep others from committing similar offenses. Resentment must be kept for those purposes. A spectator cannot share it when it serves any other purpose. A mere lack of beneficence may cost us a benefit we could reasonably expect. But it neither inflicts nor threatens any harm against which we need to defend ourselves.
There is, however, another virtue that we are not free to practice or neglect. It may be enforced, and violating it invites resentment and therefore punishment. That virtue is justice. Violating justice is an injury: it causes real harm to particular people for reasons we naturally disapprove of. It is therefore a fitting object of resentment and of the punishment that follows resentment. People approve of using force to avenge an injury done through injustice. They approve still more strongly of using force to prevent the injury, defend against it, and stop the offender from hurting his neighbors. A person planning an injustice knows this himself. He recognizes that the intended victim or other people may rightly use force to stop his crime or to punish him after he commits it. This is the basis of the important distinction between justice and all the other social virtues. An author of remarkable and original genius has recently stressed this point: we feel a stricter duty to act justly than to act from friendship, charity, or generosity. Practicing those other virtues seems, to some extent, a matter of choice. But we feel especially bound to obey the rules of justice. In other words, we feel that everyone may rightly approve of using force to make us follow the rules of justice, but not to make us follow the guidance of the other virtues.
We must always distinguish carefully between conduct that deserves blame and conduct that may be punished or prevented by force. We blame a person who shows less kindness than experience teaches us to expect from everyone. We praise a person who shows more. The usual degree of kindness deserves neither blame nor praise. A father, son, or brother who treats his relative no better and no worse than most people do deserves neither. A person who surprises us with exceptional, unexpected kindness that is still appropriate deserves praise. A person who surprises us with exceptional, unexpected unkindness that is also inappropriate deserves blame.
Yet even an ordinary degree of kindness or beneficence cannot be forced from one equal by another. Before civil government existed, each person was naturally understood to have a right to defend himself against injury and to demand some punishment for injuries he had suffered. Every generous spectator approves when he does so. Spectators share his feelings so much that they are often willing to help him. If someone attacks, robs, or tries to murder another person, all the neighbors are alarmed. They think they are right to rush either to avenge the injured person or to defend the one in danger. Now consider a father who does not show his son the usual parental love, a son who fails to show his father the respect expected of a son, or brothers who lack ordinary brotherly affection. Consider also someone who shuts out compassion and refuses to relieve another person's suffering when he could easily do so. Everyone blames such conduct. But nobody thinks that those who might reasonably have expected more kindness have the right to force it out of him. The person who suffers may complain, and a spectator may offer advice or try to persuade him, but no more. If equals used force against one another in such cases, people would consider it extreme arrogance and presumption.
Someone in authority may, however, sometimes require those under that authority to treat one another with a certain degree of propriety, and everyone may approve. The laws of all civilized nations require parents to support their children and children to support their parents. They also require many other acts of beneficence. Civil authorities have the power not only to preserve public peace by restraining injustice but also to promote the community's prosperity. They can establish good discipline and discourage vice and improper conduct of every kind. They may therefore make rules that forbid citizens to hurt one another and require them, to some extent, to help one another. When the ruler commands an action that would otherwise make no moral difference and could have been omitted without blame, disobedience becomes both blameworthy and punishable. If the ruler commands an action whose omission was already deeply blameworthy, disobedience is surely even more punishable. But perhaps no duty of a lawgiver calls for more care and restraint in exercising sound judgment. Neglecting it entirely leaves the community open to serious disorder and shocking abuses. Taking it too far destroys liberty, security, and justice.
A mere failure to practice beneficence seems to deserve no punishment from one's equals. But the greatest acts of beneficence seem to deserve the highest reward. They produce the greatest good and naturally and rightly inspire the strongest gratitude. Violating justice, on the other hand, brings punishment, but following its rules hardly seems to deserve a reward. Acting justly is certainly proper and deserves the approval due to proper conduct. But it produces no direct benefit and earns very little gratitude. Ordinary justice is usually a negative virtue: it only stops us from harming our neighbors. Someone who simply refrains from attacking his neighbors, taking their property, or damaging their reputations has very little positive merit. Still, he follows all the rules of justice in the strict sense. He does everything his equals can rightly force him to do or punish him for failing to do. We can often follow every rule of justice by sitting still and doing nothing.
We think that people should be treated as they treat others. Retaliation seems to be a great law that nature teaches us. We think generous, helpful people deserve generosity and help. We also think that people whose hearts never open to compassion should be shut out from the affection of their fellow human beings. They should have to live in society as though it were a vast desert, with nobody to care about them or ask after them. Someone who breaks the laws of justice should be made to feel the harm he did to another. Since concern for others' suffering cannot restrain him, fear of his own suffering should. A person who is simply innocent, follows the laws of justice toward others, and refrains from hurting his neighbors can only claim that his neighbors should respect his innocence in turn and faithfully observe those same laws toward him.