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IT is a law in our nature, that we never act but by the impulse of desire; which in other words is saying, that it is passion, by the desire included in it, which determines the will. Hence in the conduct of life, it is of the utmost importance, that our passions be directed upon proper objects, tend to just and rational ends, and with relation to each other be duly balanced. The beauty of contrivance, so conspicuous in the human frame, is not confined to the rational part of our nature, but is visible over the whole. Concerning the passions in particular, however irregular, headstrong, and perverse, in an overly view, they may appear, I propose to show, that they are by nature adjusted and tempered with admirable wisdom, for the good of society as well as for private good. This subject is extensive: but as the nature of the present undertaking will not admit a complete discussion, it shall suffice to give a few observations in general upon the sensitive part of our nature, without regarding that strange irregularity of passion discovered in some individuals. Such topical irregularities, if I may use the term, cannot fairly be held an objection to the present theory. We are frequently, it is true, misled by inordinate passion: but we are also, and perhaps not less frequently, misled by wrong judgement.

In order to a distinct apprehension of the present subject, it must be premised, that an agreeable object produceth always a pleasant emotion, and a disagreeable object one that is painful. This is a general law of nature, which admits not a single exception. Agreeableness in the object or cause is indeed so essentially connected with pleasure in the emotion its effect, that an agreeable object cannot be better defined, than by its power of producing a pleasant emotion. Disagreeableness in the object or cause, has the same necessary connection with pain in the emotion produced by it.

From this preliminary it appears, that to inquire for what end an emotion is made pleasant or painful, resolves into an inquiry for what end its cause is made agreeable or disagreeable. And from the most accurate induction it will be discovered, that no cause of an emotion is made agreeable or disagreeable arbitrarily; but that these qualities are so distributed as to answer wise and good purposes. It is an invincible proof of the benignity of the Deity, that we are surrounded with things generally agreeable, which contribute remarkably to our entertainment and to our happiness. Some things are made disagreeable, such as a rotten carcass, because they are noxious. Others, a dirty marsh, for example, or a barren heath, are made disagreeable in order to excite our industry. And with respect to the few things that are neither agreeable nor disagreeable; it will be made evident, that their being left indifferent is not a work of chance but of wisdom. Of such I shall have occasion to give several instances.

Having attempted to assign the final causes of emotions and passions considered as pleasant or painful, we proceed to the final causes of the desires involved in them. This seems a work of some difficulty; for the desires that accompany different passions have very different aims, and seldom or never demand precisely the same gratification. One passion moves us to cling to its object, one to fly from it; one passion impels to action for our own good, and one for the good of others; one passion prompts us to do good to ourselves or others, and one to do mischief, frequently to others, and sometimes even to ourselves. Deliberating upon this intricate subject, and finding an intimate correspondence betwixt our desires and their objects, it is natural to think that the former must be regulated in some measure by the latter. In this view, I begin with desire directed upon an inanimate object.

Any pleasure we have in an agreeable object of this kind, is enjoyed by the continuance of the pleasant impression it makes upon us; and accordingly the desire involved in the pleasant emotion tends to that end, and is gratified by dwelling upon the agreeable object. Hence such an object may be properly termed attractive. Thus a flowing river, a towering hill, a fine garden, are attractive objects. They fix the attention of the spectator, by inspiring pleasant emotions, which are gratified by adhering to these objects and enjoying them. On the other hand, a disagreeable object of the same kind, raises in us a painful emotion including a desire to turn from the object, which relieves us of course from the pain; and hence such an object may be properly termed repulsive. A monstrous birth, for example, a rotten carcass, a confusion of jarring sounds, are repulsive. They repel the mind, by inspiring painful or unpleasant emotions, which are gratified by flying from such objects. Thus in general, with regard to inanimate objects, the desire included in every pleasant passion tends to prolong the pleasure, and the desire included in every painful passion tends to put an end to the pain. Here the final cause is evident. Our desires, so far, are modelled in such a manner as to correspond precisely to the sensitive part of our nature, prone to happiness and averse to misery. These operations of adhering to an agreeable inanimate object, and flying from one that is disagreeable, are performed in the beginning of life by means of desire impelling us, without the intervention of reason or reflection. Reason and reflection directing self-love, become afterward motives that unite their force with desire; because experience informs us, that the adhering to agreeable objects and the flying from those that are disagreeable, contribute to our happiness.

Sensible Beings considered as objects of passion, lead us into a more complex theory. A sensible being that is agreeable by its attributes, inspires us with a pleasant emotion; and the desire included in this emotion has evidently different means of gratification. A man regarding himself only, may be satisfied with viewing and contemplating this being, precisely as if it were inanimate; or he may desire the more generous gratification of making it happy. Were man altogether selfish, it would be conformable to his nature, that he should indulge the pleasant emotion without making any acknowledgement to the person who gives him pleasure, more than to a pure air or temperate clime when he enjoys these benefits. But as man is endued with a principle of benevolence as well as of selfishness, he is prompted by his nature to desire the good of every sensible being that gives him pleasure. And the final cause of desire so directed, is illustrious. It contributes to a man’s own happiness, by affording him more means of gratification than he can have when his desire terminates upon himself alone; and at the same time it tends eminently to improve the happiness of those with whom he is connected. The directing our desires in this manner, occasions a beautiful coalition of self-love with benevolence; for both are equally promoted by the same internal impulse, and by the same external conduct. And this consideration, by the way, ought to silence those minute philosophers, who, ignorant of human nature, teach a most disgustful doctrine. That to serve others unless with a view to our own good, is weakness and folly; as if self-love only contributed to happiness and not benevolence. The hand of God is too visible in the human frame, to permit us to think seriously, that there ever can be any jarring or inconsistency among natural principles, those especially of self-love and benevolence, which regulate the bulk of our actions.

Next in order come sensible Beings that are in affliction or pain. It is disagreeable to behold a person in distress; and therefore this object must raise in the spectator an uneasy emotion. Were man purely a selfish being, he would be prompted by his nature to turn from every object, animate or inanimate, that gives him uneasiness. But the principle of benevolence gives an opposite direction to his desire. It impels him to afford relief; and by relieving the person from distress, his desire is fully gratified. Our benevolence to a person in distress is inflamed into an emotion of sympathy, signifying in Greek the painful emotion that is raised in us by that person. Thus sympathy, though a painful emotion, is in its nature attractive. And with respect to its final cause, we can be at no loss. It not only tends to relieve a fellow-creature from pain, but in its gratification is greatly more pleasant than if it were repulsive.

We in the last place bring under consideration persons hateful by vice or wickedness. Imagine a wretch who has lately perpetrated some horrid crime. He is disagreeable to every spectator; and consequently raises in every spectator a painful emotion. What is the natural gratification of the desire that accompanies this painful emotion? I must here again observe, that supposing man to be entirely a selfish being, he would be prompted by his nature to relieve himself from the pain by averting his eye, and banishing the criminal from his thoughts. But man is not so constituted. He is composed of many principles, which, though seemingly contradictory, are perfectly concordant. The principle of benevolence influences his conduct, not less remarkably than that of selfishness. And in order to answer the foregoing question, I must introduce a third principle, not less remarkable in its influence than either of those mentioned. It is that principle common to all, which prompts us to punish those who do wrong. An envious, malicious, or cruel action, is disagreeable to me even where I have no connection with the sufferer, and raises in me the painful emotion of resentment. The gratification of this emotion, when accompanied with desire, is directed by the principle now unfolded. Being prompted by my nature to punish guilt as well as to reward virtue, my desire is not gratified but by inflicting punishment. I must chastise the wretch by indignation at least and hatred, if not more severely. Here the final cause is self-evident.

An injury done to myself, touching me more than when done to others, raises my resentment in a higher degree. The desire accordingly included in this passion, is not satisfied with so slight a punishment as indignation or hatred. It is not fully gratified without retaliation; and the author must by my hand suffer mischief, as great at least as he has done me. Neither can we be at any loss about the final cause of this higher degree of resentment. The whole vigor of this passion is required to secure individuals from the injustice and oppression of others[48].

A wicked or disgraceful action, is disagreeable not only to others, but even to the delinquent himself. It raises in him as well as in others a painful emotion including a desire of punishment. The painful emotion which the delinquent feels, is distinguished by the name of remorse; and in this case the desire he has to punish is directed against himself. There cannot be imagined a better contrivance to deter us from vice; for remorse is the severest of all punishments. This passion and the desire of self-punishment derived from it, are touched delicately by Terence.

Menedemus. Ubi comperi ex iis, qui ei fuere conscii, Domum revortor mœstus, atque animo fere Perturbato, atque incerto præ ægritudine: Adsido, adcurrunt servi, soccos detrahunt: Video alios festinare, lectos sternere, Cœnam adparare: pro se quisque sedulo Faciebat, quo illam mihi lenirent miseriam. Ubi video hæc, cœpi cogitare: Hem! tot mea Solius solliciti sint causa, ut me unum expleant? Ancillæ tot me vestiant? sumptus domi Tantos ego solus faciam? sed gnatum unicum, Quem pariter uti his decuit, aut etiam amplius, Quod illa ætas magis ad hæc utenda idonea ’st, Eum ego hinc ejeci miserum injustitia mea. Malo quidem me dignum quovis deputem, Si id faciam. nam usque dum ille vitam illam colet Inopem, carens patria ob meas injurias, Interea usque illi de me supplicium dabo: Laborans, quærens, parcens, illi serviens, Ita facio prorsus: nihil relinquo in ædibus, Nec vas, nec vestimentum: conrasi omnia, Ancillas, servos, nisi eos, qui opere rustico Faciundo facile sumptum exercerent suum: Omnes produxi ac vendidi: inscripsi ilico Ædeis mercede: quasi talenta ad quindecim Coëgi: agrum hunc mercatus sum: hic me exerceo. Decrevi tantisper me minus injuriæ, Chreme, meo gnato facere, dum fiam miser: Nec fas esse ulla me voluptate hic frui, Nisi ubi ille huc salvos redierit meus particeps. Heautontimerumenos, act 1. sc. 1.

Otway reaches the same sentiment:

Monimia. Let mischiefs multiply! let ev’ry hour Of my loath’d life yield me increase of horror! Oh let the sun to these unhappy eyes Ne’er shine again, but be eclips’d for ever! May every thing I look on seem a prodigy, To fill my soul with terror, till I quite Forget I ever had humanity, And grow a curser of the works of nature! Orphan, act 4.

The cases mentioned are, where benevolence alone or where desire of punishment alone, governs without a rival. And it was necessary to handle these cases separately, in order to elucidate a subject which by writers is left in great obscurity. But neither of these principles operates always without rivalship. Cases may be figured, and cases actually exist, where the same person is an object both of sympathy and of desire to punish. Thus the sight of a profligate in the venereal disease, over-run with botches and sores, actuates both principles. While his distress fixes my attention, sympathy exerts itself; but so soon as I think of his profligacy, hatred prevails, and a desire to punish. This in general is the case of distress occasioned by immoral actions that are not highly criminal. And if the distress and the immoral action be in any proportion, sympathy and hatred counterbalancing each other will not suffer me either to afford relief or to inflict punishment. What then will be the result of the whole? The principle of self-love solves the question. Abhorring an object so loathsome, I naturally avert my eye, and walk off as fast as I can, in order to be relieved from the pain.

The present subject gives birth to several other observations, for which I could not find room above, without relaxing more from the strictness of order and connection, than with safety could be indulged in discoursing upon a matter that with difficulty is made perspicuous, even with all the advantages of order and connection. These observations I shall throw out loosely as they occur, without giving myself any further trouble about method.

No action good or bad is altogether indifferent even to a mere spectator. If good, it inspires esteem; and indignation, if wicked. But it is remarkable, that these emotions seldom are accompanied with desire. The abilities of man are limited, and he finds sufficient employment, in relieving the distressed, in requiting his benefactors, and in punishing those who wrong him, without moving out of his own sphere for the benefit or chastisement of those with whom he has no connection.

If the good qualities of others excite my benevolence, the same qualities in myself must produce a similar effect in a superior degree, upon account of the natural partiality every man hath for himself. This increases self-love. If these qualities be of a high rank, they produce a feeling of superiority, which naturally leads me to assume some sort of government over others. Mean qualities, on the other hand, produce in me a feeling of inferiority, which naturally leads me to submit to others. Unless such feelings were distributed among individuals in society by measure and proportion, there could be no natural subordination of some to others, which is the principal foundation of government.

No other branch of the human constitution shows more visibly our destination for society, nor tends more to our improvement, than appetite for fame or esteem. The whole conveniencies of life being derived from mutual aid and support in society, it ought to be a capital aim, to form connections with others so strict and so extensive as to produce a firm reliance on many for succour in time of need. Reason dictates this lesson. But reason solely is not relied on in a matter of such consequence. We are moved by a natural appetite, to be solicitous about esteem and respect as we are about food when hungry. This appetite, at the same time, is finely adjusted to the moral branch of our constitution, by promoting all the moral virtues. For what infallible means are there to attract love and esteem, other than a virtuous course of life? If a man be just and beneficent, if he be temperate modest and prudent, he will infallibly gain the esteem and love of all who know him.

The communication of passion to related objects, is an illustrious instance of the care of Providence, to extend social connections as far as the limited nature of man can admit. This communication of passion is so far unhappy as to spread the malevolent passions beyond their natural bounds. But let it be remarked, that this unhappy effect regards savages only, who give way to malevolent passions. Under the discipline of society, these passions are subdued, and in a good measure eradicated. In their place succeed the kindly affections, which, meeting with all encouragement, take possession of the mind and govern our whole actions. In this condition, the progress of passion along related objects, by spreading the kindly affections through a multitude of individuals, hath a glorious effect.

Nothing can be more entertaining to a rational mind, than the œconomy of the human passions, of which I have attempted to give some faint notion. It must however be confessed, that our passions, when they happen to swell beyond their proper limits, take on a less regular appearance. Reason may proclaim our duty, but the will influenced by passion, makes gratification always welcome. Hence the power of passion, which, when in excess, cannot be resisted but by the utmost fortitude of mind. It is bent upon gratification; and where proper objects are wanting, it clings to any object at hand without distinction. Thus joy inspired by a fortunate event, is diffused upon every person around by acts of benevolence; and resentment for an atrocious injury done by one out of reach, seizes the first object that occurs to vent itself upon. Those who believe in prophecies, even wish the accomplishment; and a weak mind is disposed voluntarily to fulfil a prophecy, in order to gratify its wish. Shakespear, whom no particle of human nature hath escaped, however remote from common observation, describes this weakness:

K. Henry. Doth any name particular belong Unto that lodging where I first did swoon?

Warwick. ’Tis call’d Jerusalem, my Noble Lord.

K. Henry. Laud be to God! even there my life must end. It hath been prophesy’d to me many years, I should not die but in Jerusalem, Which vainly I suppos’d the holy land. But bear me to that chamber, there I’ll lie: In that Jerusalem shall Henry die. Second part, Henry IV. act 4. sc. last.

I could not deny myself the amusement of the foregoing observation, though it doth not properly come under my plan. The irregularities of passion proceeding from peculiar weaknesses and biasses, I do not undertake to justify; and of these we have had many examples.[49] It is sufficient that passions common to all and as generally exerted, are made subservient to beneficial purposes. I shall only observe, that in a polished society instances of irregular passions are rare, and that their mischief doth not extend far.