Part II, Section II, Chapter III, 1

On the usefulness of this arrangement of nature.

In this way nature fitted mankind, who can survive only in society, for the condition in which they were meant to live. Every member of human society needs the help of others and is also vulnerable to injury from them. When people give one another the help they need out of love, gratitude, friendship, and esteem, society flourishes and is happy. Its many members are joined by the welcome bonds of love and affection and drawn, as it were, toward a common center of mutual service.

Yet even if the necessary help does not come from such generous and disinterested motives, even if society's members feel no mutual love or affection, society, though less happy and agreeable, will not necessarily fall apart. Society may persist among people as it does among merchants: they recognize its usefulness without loving or caring for one another. Even if no one owes anyone else an obligation or a debt of gratitude, society can still be sustained through the commercial exchange of services at agreed values.

Society cannot, however, survive among people who are always ready to harm one another. The moment injury begins and mutual resentment and hostility take hold, all its bonds are torn apart. Its members are, as it were, scattered by the violence and conflict of their clashing passions. If robbers and murderers form any society at all, then, as the familiar observation goes, even they must refrain from robbing and murdering each other. Beneficence is thus less essential to society's existence than justice. Society can survive, though in a less comfortable condition, without beneficence; widespread injustice must destroy it altogether.

Nature therefore encourages beneficent acts through the pleasing consciousness of deserving reward, but has not found it necessary to enforce them through the terror of deserved punishment when they are neglected. Beneficence is the ornament that adorns the building, not the foundation that supports it; it was enough to recommend it, not necessary to impose it. Justice, by contrast, is the principal pillar holding the whole structure up. Remove it, and the vast, immense fabric of human society—a fabric whose creation and support seem to have been, if I may put it this way, nature's particular and cherished concern in this world—must instantly crumble to dust. To enforce justice, therefore, nature has planted in the human heart a consciousness of deserving condemnation, and the fear of deserved punishment that follows its violation. These are great safeguards of human society, protecting the weak, restraining the violent, and chastising the guilty. Though people naturally feel sympathy, they feel so little for a stranger compared with what they feel for themselves; the misery of someone who is merely a fellow human being matters so little to them beside even a minor convenience of their own; and they have so much power to hurt that person, and so many possible temptations to do so, that if this principle did not rise up within them to defend him and overawe them into respecting his innocence, they would always be ready to attack him like wild beasts. A man would enter a gathering of people as he enters a den of lions.

Throughout the universe we see means fitted with exquisite skill to the ends they are designed to achieve. In the structure of a plant or an animal body we admire how everything serves nature's two great purposes: sustaining the individual and propagating the species. Yet in these and all similar cases we distinguish the efficient cause of the various movements and structures from their final cause. Digestion, blood circulation, and the secretion of the various fluids drawn from food are all necessary to the great purposes of animal life. But we never explain them by treating those purposes as their efficient causes; we do not imagine that blood circulates or food digests of its own accord, intending thereby to achieve the purposes of circulation or digestion. The wheels of a watch are wonderfully fitted to its purpose of showing the hour. Their various movements work together with exquisite precision to produce that result. Even if they wanted and intended to produce it, they could do no better. Yet we attribute no such desire or intention to the wheels, but to the watchmaker; we know that a spring moves them, and the spring intends the result no more than the wheels do. When explaining how bodies work, then, we consistently distinguish efficient causes from final causes. But when explaining the workings of the mind, we are very liable to confuse the two. When natural principles lead us to further ends that refined and enlightened reason would recommend, we are likely to credit that reason, as though it were the efficient cause, with the feelings and actions that further those ends. We imagine that what is actually the wisdom of God is the wisdom of man. At first glance, this cause seems adequate to explain the effects attributed to it; and the account of human nature seems simpler and more satisfying when all its diverse workings are traced to a single principle.

Because society cannot survive unless the laws of justice are observed in full, and people cannot deal with one another unless they generally refrain from mutual injury, some have held that our approval of enforcing justice through punishment rests on our awareness of its necessity. Man, they say, naturally loves society and wants the union of mankind preserved for its own sake, even if he himself gains nothing by it. An orderly, flourishing society pleases him, and he delights in contemplating it. Disorder and confusion, on the other hand, repel him, and he is distressed by anything tending to bring them about. He knows, too, that his own interest is bound up with society's prosperity and that his happiness, perhaps even his survival, depends upon its survival. For all these reasons he abhors whatever might destroy society and is willing to use any means to prevent so hateful and dreadful a prospect. Injustice necessarily tends toward its destruction. Every sign of injustice therefore alarms him, and he rushes, so to speak, to halt the advance of what, if allowed to proceed, would soon destroy everything dear to him. If he cannot restrain it by mild and equitable means, he must crush it by force and violence; one way or another he must prevent its spread. That, they say, is why he often approves of enforcing the laws of justice even by executing those who break them. The disturber of the public peace is thereby removed from the world, and his fate frightens others away from following his example.

This is the usual explanation of our approval of the punishment of injustice. It is certainly true to this extent: we often reinforce our natural sense that punishment is proper and fitting by reflecting on how necessary it is to preserve social order. When the guilty person is about to suffer the just retaliation that humanity's natural indignation tells us his crimes deserve; when the arrogance of his injustice has been broken and humbled by fear of his approaching punishment; when he ceases to inspire fear, he begins to inspire pity in the generous and humane. The thought of what he is about to suffer extinguishes their resentment over the suffering he has caused others. They become inclined to pardon and forgive him, sparing him the punishment they had judged, in calmer moments, to be the due return for his crimes. At this point they need to summon the consideration of society's general interest. Against the impulse of this weak and partial humanity they set the demands of a more generous and far-reaching humanity. They reflect that mercy toward the guilty is cruelty toward the innocent, and oppose their compassion for a particular person with a wider compassion for mankind.

Sometimes, too, we need to defend the propriety of observing the general rules of justice by considering how necessary those rules are to sustain society. We often hear young and dissolute people mock the most sacred rules of morality and profess the most abhorrent principles of conduct, sometimes from corruption of heart but more often from vanity. Our indignation rises, and we are eager to refute and expose such detestable principles. Yet although their inherent hatefulness first arouses our anger, we hesitate to give this as our sole reason for condemning them, or to say that we condemn them simply because we hate and detest them. Such a reason, we think, would not be conclusive. Yet why should it not be, if we hate and detest them because they are naturally and properly objects of hatred and detestation? When someone asks why we should not behave in a particular way, however, the question itself seems to imply that such behavior does not strike the questioner as inherently a proper object of those feelings. We must therefore show that it should be condemned for the sake of something else. So we search for other arguments, and the first that occurs to us is the social disorder and confusion that would follow if such practices became universal. We rarely fail to press that point.

On the usefulness of this arrangement of human nature.

In this way nature fitted human beings, who can survive only in society, for the life they were meant to lead. All members of a society need one another's help. They can also hurt one another. When they give one another the help they need out of love, gratitude, friendship, and esteem, society thrives and its members are happy. Bonds of love and affection unite them, drawing them all toward a shared center of mutual help.

But society does not necessarily fall apart when people fail to help one another for such generous, unselfish reasons. It may continue even if its members have no love or affection for one another, though it will be less happy and pleasant. People can maintain a society, much as merchants can do business together, because they find it useful, without any mutual love or affection. Even if no one owes anyone else a favor or feels bound by gratitude, people can keep society going by trading services for an agreed price.

Society cannot, however, survive among people who are always ready to hurt one another. As soon as injury begins and mutual resentment and hostility take hold, all its bonds break. Its members are driven apart and scattered by their conflicting feelings. Even robbers and murderers, as the familiar saying goes, must at least refrain from robbing and murdering one another if they are to form a society. Beneficence is therefore less essential to society's existence than justice. Society can exist without beneficence, though it will not be a very comfortable place. Widespread injustice, however, must destroy it completely.

Nature encourages people to act with beneficence through the pleasant awareness of deserving a reward. But nature has not found it necessary to ensure that they do so by threatening deserved punishment when they fail. Beneficence is an ornament that makes the building beautiful, not the foundation that keeps it standing. It was enough to recommend it; there was no need to require it. Justice, by contrast, is the main pillar supporting the whole building. Remove it and the vast structure of human society must instantly fall into pieces. Raising and sustaining that structure seems to have been one of nature's special and dearest concerns in this world, if I may put it that way. To ensure that people act justly, nature has therefore planted in us an awareness of deserving blame and a fear of the deserved punishment that follows injustice. These feelings protect human society, defend the weak, restrain the violent, and punish the guilty. People naturally feel sympathy. Yet they feel so much less for someone they have no special connection with than for themselves. The suffering of a person who is merely another human being matters so little to them compared with even a small convenience of their own. They can hurt him so easily and may be tempted to do so in so many ways. Without this inner principle defending him and making them respect his innocence, they would always be ready to attack him like wild animals. A man would enter a gathering of people as he enters a den of lions.

Everywhere in the universe we see means carefully suited to the ends they achieve. In a plant or an animal body, we admire the way every part works toward nature's two great purposes: keeping the individual alive and reproducing the species. Yet in these cases and others like them, we distinguish the cause that actually produces an operation from the purpose it ultimately serves. Digestion, the circulation of blood, and the production of the various bodily fluids from food are all necessary for animal life. But we do not say that the need to sustain life is what directly causes those operations. We do not imagine that blood circulates or food digests by itself with an intention to achieve the purposes served by circulation or digestion. The wheels of a watch are perfectly arranged to serve the purpose for which it was made: showing the hour. All their movements work together precisely to produce that result. They could do no better if they wanted and intended to produce it. Yet we do not attribute any such desire or intention to the wheels. We attribute it to the watchmaker. We know the wheels are moved by a spring that has no more intention of producing the result than they do. When we explain how bodies work, we always distinguish in this way between the immediate cause and the ultimate purpose. But when we explain how the mind works, we often confuse the two. Natural principles sometimes lead us to promote goals that careful, informed reasoning would recommend. We then tend to credit reason with producing the feelings and actions that advance those goals. We imagine we are seeing human wisdom when we are actually seeing the wisdom of God. At first glance, reason seems sufficient to explain those effects. And the workings of human nature seem simpler and more satisfying when we derive all of them from a single principle.

Society cannot survive unless the rules of justice are generally followed. People cannot have social dealings if they do not usually refrain from hurting one another. Some have therefore thought that awareness of this necessity is the reason we approve of punishing those who break the rules of justice. They say that people naturally love society and want human beings to remain united for its own sake, even if they personally gain nothing. They enjoy seeing an orderly, thriving society. Its disorder and confusion upset them, and they dislike anything that contributes to it. They also realize that their own interests are tied to society's prosperity. Their happiness, and perhaps their survival, depend on society's survival. For all these reasons, they hate anything that threatens to destroy society and will use any available means to prevent such a dreadful outcome. Injustice necessarily threatens it. So even the first sign of injustice alarms a person. He rushes, so to speak, to stop something that would soon destroy everything dear to him if allowed to spread. If he cannot stop it by gentle and fair means, he must put it down by force and violence. He must halt its spread at any cost. This, they say, is why he often approves of enforcing justice even by putting those who break its laws to death. The person disturbing the public peace is removed, and his fate frightens others away from following his example.

That is the usual explanation for why we approve of punishing injustice. It is certainly true to this extent: we often strengthen our natural sense that punishment is proper and fitting by thinking about how necessary it is to preserve social order. Consider a guilty person about to suffer the just retaliation that everyone naturally feels his crimes deserve. The fear of approaching punishment has broken his arrogance and brought him low. Once he is no longer frightening, generous and humane people begin to pity him. Thinking about what he is about to suffer puts out their resentment over the suffering he caused others. They feel inclined to pardon and forgive him and spare him the punishment that, in calmer moments, they considered fitting for such crimes. At this point they need to bring the general interest of society into the picture. They must set the guidance of a broader and more generous humanity against the impulse of their limited, one-sided compassion. They reflect that mercy to the guilty is cruelty to the innocent. They oppose the compassion they feel for this particular person with a wider compassion for humanity.

At other times, we need to defend obedience to the general rules of justice by pointing out how necessary those rules are for society's survival. We often hear young people and people who give in to their impulses mocking the most sacred rules of morality. They declare that they follow the most dreadful principles of conduct, sometimes because they are corrupt but more often because they want to show off. We become indignant and eager to refute and expose those hateful principles. We are first stirred against them because they are hateful in themselves. Yet we are reluctant to offer that as our only reason for condemning them. We do not want to say simply that we hate and detest them. That reason seems unlikely to convince anyone. But why shouldn't it, if they naturally and properly deserve hatred and disgust? When someone asks why they should not act in a certain way, however, their very question suggests that they do not see the action as naturally and properly deserving those feelings in its own right. So we must show them that it deserves condemnation for some other reason. We look for another argument, and the first one that comes to mind is the disorder and confusion that would result if everyone acted that way. We therefore almost always stress that point.