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Part VI, Section II, Chapter IV, 1
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Of licentious systems.
All those systems, which I have hitherto given an account of, suppose that there is a real and essential distinction between vice and virtue, whatever these qualities may consist in. There is a real and essential difference between the propriety and impropriety of any affection, between benevolence and any other principle of action, between real prudence and short-sighted folly or precipitate rashness. In the main too all of them contribute to encourage the praise-worthy, and to discourage the blameable disposition.
It may be true perhaps, of some of them, that they tend, in some measure, to break the balance of the affections, and to give the mind a particular bias to some principles of action, beyond the proportion that is due to them. The ancient systems which place virtue in propriety, seem chiefly to recommend the great, the awful, and the respectable virtues, the virtues of self-government and self-command; fortitude, magnanimity, independency upon fortune, the contempt of all outward accidents, of pain, poverty, exile, and death. It is in these great exertions that the noblest propriety of conduct is displayed. The soft, the amiable, the gentle virtues, all the virtues of indulgent humanity are, in comparison, but little insisted upon, and seem, on the contrary, by the Stoics in particular, to have been often regarded as mere weaknesses which it behoved a wise man not to harbour in his breast.
The benevolent system, on the other hand, while it fosters and encourages all those milder virtues in the highest degree, seems entirely to neglect the more awful and respectable qualities of the mind. It even denies them the appellation of virtues. It calls them moral abilities, and treats them as qualities which do not deserve the same sort of esteem and approbation, that is due to what is properly denominated virtue. All those principles of action which aim only at our own interest, it treats, if that be possible, still worse. So far from having any merit of their own, they diminish, it pretends, the merit of benevolence, when they co-operate with it: and prudence, it is asserted, when employed only in promoting private interest, can never even be imagined a virtue.
That system, again, which makes virtue consist in prudence only, while it gives the highest encouragement to the habits of caution, vigilance, sobriety, and judicious moderation, seems to degrade equally both the amiable and respectable virtues, and to strip the former of all their beauty, and the latter of all their grandeur.
But notwithstanding these defects, the general tendency of each of those three systems is to encourage the best and most laudable habits of the human mind: and it were well for society, if, either mankind in general, or even those few who pretend to live according to any philosophical rule, were to regulate their conduct by the precepts of any one of them. We may learn from each of them something that is both valuable and peculiar. If it was possible, by precept and exhortation, to inspire the mind with fortitude and magnanimity, the ancient systems of propriety would seem sufficient to do this. Or if it was possible, by the same means, to soften it into humanity, and to awaken the affections of kindness and general love towards those we live with, some of the pictures with which the benevolent system presents us, might seem capable of producing this effect. We may learn from the system of Epicurus, though undoubtedly the worst of all the three, how much the practice of both the amiable and respectable virtues is conducive to our own interest, to our own ease and safety and quiet even in this life. As Epicurus placed happiness in the attainment of ease and security, he exerted himself in a particular manner to show that virtue was, not merely the best and the surest, but the only means of acquiring those invaluable possessions. The good effects of virtue, upon our inward tranquility and peace of mind, are what other philosophers have chiefly celebrated. Epicurus, without neglecting this topic, has chiefly insisted upon the influence of that amiable quality on our outward prosperity and safety. It was upon this account that his writings were so much studied in the ancient world by men of all different philosophical parties. It is from him that Cicero, the great enemy of the Epicurean system, borrows his most agreeable proofs that virtue alone is sufficient to secure happiness. Seneca, though a Stoic, the sect most opposite to that of Epicurus, yet quotes this philosopher more frequently than any other.
There are, however, some other systems which seem to take away altogether the distinction between vice and virtue, and of which the tendency is, upon that account, wholly pernicious: I mean the systems of the duke of Rochefoucault and Dr. Mandeville. Though the notions of both these authors are in almost every respect erroneous, there are, however, some appearances in human nature which, when viewed in a certain manner, seem at first sight to favour them. These, first slightly sketched out with the elegance and delicate precision of the duke of Rochefoucault, and afterwards more fully represented with the lively and humorous, though coarse and rustic eloquence of Dr. Mandeville, have thrown upon their doctrines an air of truth and probability which is very apt to impose upon the unskilful.
Dr. Mandeville, the most methodical of those two authors, considers whatever is done from a sense of propriety, from a regard to what is commendable and praise-worthy, as being done from a love of praise and commendation, or as he calls it from vanity. Man, he observes, is naturally much more interested in his own happiness than in that of others, and it is impossible that in his heart he can ever really prefer their prosperity to his own. Whenever he appears to do so, we may be assured that he imposes upon us, and that he is then acting from the same selfish motives as at all other times. Among his other selfish passions, vanity is one of the strongest, and he is always easily flattered and greatly delighted with the applauses of those about him. When he appears to sacrifice his own interest to that of his companions, he knows that this conduct will be highly agreeable to their self-love, and that they will not fail to express their satisfaction by bellowing upon him the most extravagant praises. The pleasure which he expects from this, over-balances, in his opinion, the interest which he abandons in order to procure it. His conduct, therefore, upon this occasion, is in reality just as selfish, and arises from just as mean a motive as upon any other. He is flattered, however, and he flatters himself with the belief that it is entirely disinterested; since, unless this was supposed, it would not seem to merit any commendation either in his own eyes or in those of others. All public spirit, therefore, all preference of public to private interest, is, according to him a mere cheat and imposition upon mankind; and that human virtue which is so much boasted of, and which is the occasion of so much emulation among men, is the mere offspring of flattery begot upon pride.
Whether the most generous and public-spirited actions may not, in some sense, be regarded as proceeding from self-love, I shall not at present examine. The decision of this question is not, I apprehend, of any importance towards establishing the reality of virtue, since self-love may frequently be a virtuous motive of action. I shall only endeavour to show that the desire of doing what is honourable and noble, of rendering ourselves the proper objects of esteem and approbation, cannot with any propriety be called vanity. Even the love of well-grounded fame and reputation, the desire of acquiring esteem by what is really estimable, does not deserve that name. The first is the love of virtue, the noblest and the best passion of human nature. The second is the love of true glory, a passion inferior no doubt to the former, but which in dignity appears to come immediately after it. He is guilty of vanity who desires praise for qualities which are either not praise-worthy in any degree, or not in that degree which he expects to be praised for them; who sets his character upon the frivolous ornaments of dress and equipage, or the equally frivolous accomplishments of ordinary behaviour. He is guilty of vanity who desires praise for what indeed very well deserves it, but what he perfectly knows does not belong to him. The empty coxcomb who gives himself airs of importance which he has no title to, the silly liar who assumes the merit of adventures which never happened, the foolish plagiary who gives himself out for the author of what he has no pretensions to, are properly accused of this passion. He too is said to be guilty of vanity who is not contented with the silent sentiments of esteem and approbation, who seems to be fonder of their noisy expressions and acclamations than of the sentiments themselves, who is never satisfied but when his own praises are ringing in his ears, and who solicits with the most anxious importunity all external marks of respect, is fond of titles, of compliments, of being visited, of being attended, of being taken notice of in public places with the appearance of deference and attention. This frivolous passion is altogether different from either of the two former, and is the passion of the lowest, and the least of mankind, as they are of the noblest and the greatest.
But though these three passions, the desire of rendering ourselves the proper objects of honour and esteem; or of becoming what is honourable and estimable; the desire of acquiring honour and esteem by really deserving those sentiments; and the frivolous desire of praise at any rate, are widely different; though the two former are always approved of, while the latter never fails to be despised; there is, however, a certain remote affinity among them, which, exaggerated by the humorous and diverting eloquence of this lively author, has enabled him to impose upon his readers. There is an affinity between vanity and the love of true glory, as both these passions aim at acquiring esteem and approbation. But they are different in this, that the one is a just, reasonable, and equitable passion, while the other is unjust, absurd, and ridiculous. The man who desires esteem for what is really estimable, desires nothing but what he is justly entitled to, and what cannot be refused him without some sort of injury. He, on the contrary, who desires it upon any other terms, demands what he has no just claim to. The first is easily satisfied, is not apt to be jealous or suspicious that we do not esteem him enough, and is seldom solicitous about receiving many external marks of our regard. The other, on the contrary, is never to be satisfied, is full of jealousy and suspicion that we do not esteem him so much as he desires, because he has some secret consciousness that he desires more than he deserves. The least neglect of ceremony, he considers as a mortal affront, and as an expression of the most determined contempt. He is restless and impatient, and perpetually afraid that we have lost all respect for him, and is upon this account always anxious to obtain new expressions of esteem, and cannot be kept in temper but by continual attendance and adulation.
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.
Of licentious systems.
All the systems I have described so far suppose a real and essential distinction between vice and virtue, whatever these qualities consist in. There is a real and essential difference between an affection's propriety and impropriety, between benevolence and any other principle of action, and between genuine prudence and shortsighted folly or headlong rashness. On the whole, too, they all tend to encourage praiseworthy dispositions and discourage blameworthy ones.
It may be true that some of them tend to upset the balance of our affections and give the mind a greater bias toward certain principles of action than those principles deserve. The ancient systems that place virtue in propriety seem chiefly to recommend the grand, imposing, respectable virtues: self-government and self-command, fortitude, magnanimity, independence from fortune, and contempt for outward events—for pain, poverty, exile, and death. Such great exertions display the noblest propriety of conduct. By comparison, the tender, amiable, gentle virtues, all the virtues of humane indulgence, receive little attention. The Stoics in particular even seem often to have regarded them as mere weaknesses that a wise person should not harbor in his heart.
The benevolent system, on the other hand, cultivates and encourages those gentler virtues to the utmost, while seeming entirely to neglect the mind's more imposing and respectable qualities. It even refuses to call them virtues. It calls them moral abilities, treating them as qualities unworthy of the same kind of esteem and approval owed to virtue properly so called. It treats every principle of action aimed solely at our own interests even worse, if possible. Far from having merit of their own, these principles supposedly diminish the merit of benevolence when they cooperate with it; and prudence employed solely for private interest, it asserts, cannot even be imagined a virtue.
The system that makes virtue consist in prudence alone gives the strongest encouragement to caution, vigilance, sobriety, and judicious moderation. Yet it seems equally to diminish the worth of both the amiable and the respectable virtues, stripping the former of all their beauty and the latter of all their grandeur.
Despite these defects, each of the three systems tends in general to encourage the best and most commendable habits of the human mind. Society would be fortunate if humanity at large—or even the few who profess to live by a philosophical rule—guided their conduct by any one of them. Each has something distinctive and valuable to teach. If instruction and encouragement could inspire a mind with fortitude and magnanimity, the ancient systems of propriety would seem sufficient for the task. If the same means could soften a mind into humanity and awaken kindness and a general love for those around us, some of the visions offered by the benevolent system might achieve this. From Epicurus's system, undoubtedly the worst of the three, we can learn how much practicing both the amiable and the respectable virtues advances our own interests, our ease, safety, and peace even in this life. Since Epicurus located happiness in ease and security, he made a special effort to show that virtue was not merely the best and surest means of obtaining those invaluable goods, but the only means. Other philosophers have chiefly celebrated virtue's beneficial effects on our inward tranquility and peace of mind. Epicurus did not neglect this theme, but dwelt chiefly on virtue's influence on our outward prosperity and safety. This is why his writings were so widely studied in the ancient world by people of every philosophical school. Cicero, the great opponent of Epicureanism, borrowed from him his most compelling proofs that virtue alone suffices for happiness. Seneca, though a Stoic and thus a member of the school most opposed to Epicurus's, quoted him more frequently than any other philosopher.
Some other systems, however, seem to abolish altogether the distinction between vice and virtue, and their tendency is therefore wholly pernicious. I mean the systems of the duke of Rochefoucault and Dr. Mandeville. Though the ideas of both writers are mistaken in almost every respect, certain features of human nature, seen from a particular angle, seem at first to favor them. Sketched first with the duke of Rochefoucault's elegance and delicate precision, then depicted more fully with Dr. Mandeville's lively and humorous, if coarse and rustic, eloquence, these features have lent their doctrines an air of truth and plausibility that readily deceives the unwary.
Dr. Mandeville, the more systematic of the two, considers anything done from a sense of propriety or a regard for what deserves praise to be done from a love of praise and commendation—or, as he calls it, vanity. A person, he observes, is by nature much more concerned with his own happiness than with anyone else's; he can never truly prefer another's prosperity to his own. Whenever he appears to do so, we may be sure he is deceiving us and acting from the same selfish motives as ever. Of his selfish passions, vanity is among the strongest; he is easily flattered and takes great pleasure in the applause of those around him. When he seems to sacrifice his own interests for his companions', he knows his conduct will gratify their self-love and that they will express their satisfaction by showering him with the most extravagant praise. In his reckoning, the pleasure he expects from their praise outweighs the interest he gives up to obtain it. On that occasion, then, his conduct is really just as selfish and springs from just as low a motive as on any other. Yet others flatter him, and he flatters himself, with the belief that it is wholly disinterested: without that belief, it would seem worthy of no praise in his eyes or anyone else's. Thus, according to Mandeville, all public spirit and every preference for the public interest over private interest is mere fraud and deception practiced upon humanity; the human virtue so highly celebrated and so eagerly emulated is nothing but the offspring of flattery begotten on pride.
I will not now examine whether even the most generous and public-spirited actions might, in some sense, be said to spring from self-love. The answer, I think, matters little to establishing the reality of virtue, since self-love may often be a virtuous motive. I will seek only to show that the desire to do what is honorable and noble, to make ourselves proper objects of esteem and approval, cannot rightly be called vanity. Even the love of well-founded fame and reputation, the desire to earn esteem by what truly deserves it, does not merit that name. The former desire is the love of virtue, humanity's noblest and best passion. The latter is the love of true glory, inferior to the former, certainly, but apparently next to it in dignity. Vanity belongs to the person who seeks praise for qualities not praiseworthy at all, or not praiseworthy to the degree he expects; who stakes his standing on trivial ornaments of dress and carriage, or on equally trivial accomplishments of ordinary manners. It belongs to the person who seeks praise for something genuinely praiseworthy but knows perfectly well he has no claim to it. The empty fool who puts on airs of importance without warrant, the foolish liar who claims credit for adventures that never happened, and the witless plagiarist who passes off another's work as his own are rightly charged with this passion. It is also called vanity when a person is not content with others' quiet feelings of esteem and approval, but seems fonder of loud declarations and applause than of the feelings themselves; when he is satisfied only if his praises ring in his ears, and anxiously begs for every outward sign of respect—titles, compliments, visits, an entourage, and conspicuous displays of deference and attention in public. This frivolous passion is entirely different from either of the first two. As those belong to the noblest and greatest of humanity, so it belongs to the lowest and least.
These three passions are widely different: the desire to make ourselves proper objects of honor and esteem, or to become honorable and estimable; the desire to gain honor and esteem by genuinely deserving them; and the frivolous desire to be praised at any cost. The first two are always approved, while the last never fails to attract contempt. Nevertheless, a distant kinship among them, exaggerated by this lively writer's amusing and engaging eloquence, has enabled him to deceive his readers. Vanity and the love of true glory are related because both seek esteem and approval. Yet the latter is a just, reasonable, and fair passion, while vanity is unjust, absurd, and ridiculous. Whoever desires esteem for what truly deserves it seeks only what is rightfully his and cannot be withheld without some injustice. Whoever desires esteem on other terms demands something to which he has no rightful claim. The first is easily satisfied, is unlikely to grow jealous or suspect that we esteem him too little, and rarely insists on many outward signs of our regard. The other is never satisfied, always jealous and suspicious that we esteem him less than he wishes, because he secretly knows that he wants more than he deserves. The slightest neglect of ceremony seems to him a mortal insult and a sign of resolute contempt. Restless and impatient, he constantly fears that we have lost all respect for him; thus he is forever seeking new expressions of esteem, and only constant attention and flattery can keep him in good humor.
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).
Systems that deny the distinction between virtue and vice.
All the systems I have described so far assume there is a real and essential difference between virtue and vice, whatever those qualities consist of. There is a real difference between proper and improper feelings, between benevolence and other motives, and between real prudence and shortsighted folly or reckless haste. In general, each system encourages praiseworthy dispositions and discourages blameworthy ones.
Some of them may upset the balance among our feelings. They can favor certain motives more than those motives deserve. The ancient systems that place virtue in propriety chiefly recommend the grand, commanding, respectable virtues of self-control: fortitude, magnanimity, independence from fortune, and indifference to external events such as pain, poverty, exile, and death. The noblest propriety of conduct appears in these great acts. By comparison, they say little about the gentle, lovable virtues of kindness and forbearance. The Stoics in particular often seem to have regarded these softer virtues as mere weaknesses that a wise person should not allow to take root.
The benevolent system, on the other hand, encourages all the gentler virtues as much as possible but seems to neglect completely the more commanding and respectable qualities of mind. It even refuses to call them virtues. It calls them moral abilities, treating them as qualities that do not deserve the same esteem and approval as virtue properly understood. It treats motives aimed only at our own interests even worse, if that is possible. It claims that, far from having merit of their own, such motives reduce the merit of benevolence when they work alongside it. And it claims that prudence can never count as a virtue when it promotes only private interests.
A system that places virtue only in prudence strongly encourages caution, vigilance, sobriety, and sensible moderation. Yet it seems to lower both the lovable and the respectable virtues. It strips the former of all their beauty and the latter of all their greatness.
Despite these faults, all three systems generally encourage the best and most admirable habits of mind. Society would benefit if people in general, or even the few who claim to follow a philosophy, lived by the rules of any one of them. Each has something distinctive and valuable to teach. If teaching and encouragement could give people fortitude and magnanimity, the ancient systems of propriety would seem able to do it. If the same means could make people kinder and awaken their care and general love for those around them, some of the benevolent system's descriptions might do it. From Epicurus's system, though it is certainly the worst of the three, we can learn how practicing both the lovable and the respectable virtues serves our own interests, comfort, safety, and peace even in this life. Epicurus located happiness in ease and security. He therefore made a special effort to show that virtue was not merely the best and surest way to gain these invaluable things, but the only way. Other philosophers have chiefly praised virtue for its effects on our inner peace of mind. Epicurus did not ignore this point, but he mainly stressed how that appealing quality promotes our outward prosperity and safety. For this reason, people from every philosophical school in the ancient world studied his writings so much. Cicero, a great opponent of Epicureanism, borrowed from him his most appealing arguments that virtue alone can secure happiness. Seneca was a Stoic, and Stoicism was the school most opposed to Epicurus. Yet Seneca quotes Epicurus more often than any other philosopher.
Other systems, however, seem to erase the distinction between virtue and vice entirely. That makes their tendency altogether harmful. I mean the systems of the duke of Rochefoucault and Dr. Mandeville. Almost all the views of both writers are mistaken. Still, certain features of human nature appear to favor them at first glance if seen from a particular angle. The duke of Rochefoucault first outlined these features with elegant and delicate precision. Dr. Mandeville then described them more fully in a lively, funny, but rough and unsophisticated style. This has given their doctrines an appearance of truth and plausibility that can easily mislead readers who do not know better.
Dr. Mandeville presented his views more systematically than the other writer. He regards anything done from a sense of propriety, or concern for what is commendable and praiseworthy, as really done out of love for praise and approval. He calls that love vanity. He says people naturally care much more about their own happiness than about anyone else's. In their hearts, they can never truly prefer another person's prosperity to their own. If someone seems to do so, we can be sure that person is deceiving us and acting from selfish motives as always. Vanity is among the strongest selfish passions. People are easily flattered and take great pleasure in the applause of those around them. When someone seems to sacrifice his interests for his companions, he knows that this will please their own self-love. They will respond by showering him with extravagant praise. He expects that pleasure to outweigh the interest he gives up to obtain it. So his conduct is just as selfish, and comes from just as low a motive, as any other conduct. But he is flattered, and he flatters himself into believing his action is completely unselfish. Otherwise, he knows, it would deserve no praise in his own eyes or those of other people. According to Mandeville, then, concern for the public and preference for its interests over one's own are mere tricks played on humanity. The human virtue that people praise so highly and strive so hard to match is simply the child born when flattery meets pride.
I will not now examine whether the most generous acts for the public good might, in some sense, arise from self-love. Settling that question is not necessary, I think, to show that virtue is real. Self-love can often be a virtuous motive. I will only try to show that wanting to do what is honorable and noble, and to make ourselves worthy of esteem and approval, cannot properly be called vanity. Even wanting a well-earned good name and reputation, or seeking esteem through truly admirable conduct, does not deserve that name. The first desire is love of virtue, the noblest and best human passion. The second is love of genuine glory. It is less noble than the first, but seems next in dignity. A vain person wants praise for qualities that do not deserve any, or do not deserve as much as the person expects. Such a person builds a reputation on trivial things: fine clothes and carriages or equally trivial social graces. Someone is also vain when seeking praise for an achievement that deserves praise but that they know perfectly well is not theirs. This applies to the empty show-off who pretends to importance without having earned it, the foolish liar who takes credit for adventures that never happened, and the foolish plagiarist who claims to have written someone else's work. We also call someone vain who is not content that others quietly esteem and approve of them. Such a person seems to love the loud applause more than the esteem itself. They are only satisfied when they hear their own praises repeated. They eagerly demand every outward sign of respect: titles, compliments, visits, attention from attendants, and public notice that appears to show deference and concern. This petty passion differs completely from the first two. It belongs to the lowest and smallest people, while those two belong to the noblest and greatest.
These three desires differ widely: wanting to become a person worthy of honor and esteem; wanting to gain honor and esteem by truly deserving them; and wanting praise at any cost. We always approve of the first two and despise the last. Still, they are distantly related. Mandeville's amusing and lively exaggeration of that relationship has allowed him to mislead his readers. Vanity and love of true glory are related because both aim to gain esteem and approval. But one is fair, reasonable, and just, while the other is unfair, absurd, and ridiculous. Someone who wants esteem for truly admirable qualities wants only what they deserve. Denying it to them would be a kind of injustice. Someone who wants esteem on other terms demands what they have no right to. The first person is easily satisfied, does not tend to suspect that we fail to esteem them enough, and seldom seeks many outward signs of our regard. The second is never satisfied. Secretly aware of wanting more esteem than they deserve, they are always jealous and suspicious that we do not esteem them as much as they want. They treat the slightest failure to observe a courtesy as a terrible insult and a sign of deliberate contempt. Restless and impatient, they constantly fear that we have lost all respect for them. They therefore keep seeking fresh signs of esteem, and only continual attention and flattery can keep them calm.