Hume’s An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals [Hardcover ed.] 110842287X, 9781108422871

Citation preview

Cambridge University Press 978-1-108-42287-1 — Hume's An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals Edited by Esther Engels Kroeker , Willem Lemmens Frontmatter More Information

HUME ’ S A N E N Q U I R Y C O N C E R N I N G TH E PRINCIPLES OF MORALS

Hume considered his Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals to be one of his best works. In it he offers his most elegant and approachable account of the origins and scope of morality. With the hope of reaching a broad audience, he argues that morality is neither rigid nor austere, but is rather a product of sentiments that all human beings share, and which they are naturally inclined to recognize and act upon. In this Critical Guide, a team of distinguished scholars discuss each section of the Enquiry, its place in Hume’s philosophy as a whole, and its historical context; their topics include the nature of morals, talents and moral virtues, benevolence, sympathy, politics, and the sources of moral disagreement. The volume will be valuable for scholars and advanced students working on Hume. esther engels kroeker is a research fellow in philosophy at the University of Antwerp. She is coeditor of Love, Reason and Morality (with Katrien Schaubroeck, 2017) and has published several articles on the moral philosophy and philosophy of religion of David Hume and Thomas Reid. willem lemmens is Professor of Early Modern Philosophy and Ethics at the University of Antwerp. He is coeditor of a translation into Dutch of Hume’s Natural History of Religion (with Walter van Herck, 1999/2011) and has written many articles on the moral philosophy and philosophy of religion of David Hume.

© in this web service Cambridge University Press

www.cambridge.org

Cambridge University Press 978-1-108-42287-1 — Hume's An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals Edited by Esther Engels Kroeker , Willem Lemmens Frontmatter More Information

cambridge critical guides Titles published in this series: Hobbes’s On the Citizen edited by robin douglass and ohan olsthoorn Hegel’s Philosophy of Spirit edited by marina f. bykova Kant’s Lectures on Metaphysics edited by courtney d. fugate Spinoza’s Political Treatise edited by yitzhak y. melamed and hasana sharp Aquinas’s Summa Theologiae edited by jeffrey hause Aristotle’s Generation of Animals edited by andrea falcon and david lefebvre Hegel’s Elements of the Philosophy of Right edited by david james Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason edited by james r. o’shea Spinoza’s Ethics edited by yitzhak y. melamed Plato’s Symposium edited by pierre destre´ e and zina giannopoulou Fichte’s Foundations of Natural Right edited by gabriel gottlieb Aquinas’s Disputed Questions on Evil edited by m. v. dougherty Aristotle’s Politics edited by thornton lockwood and thanassis samaras Aristotle’s Physics edited by mariska leunissen Kant’s Lectures on Ethics edited by lara denis and oliver sensen Kierkegaard’s Fear and Trembling edited by daniel conway Kant’s Lectures on Anthropology edited by alix cohen Kant’s Religion within the Boundaries of Mere Reason edited by gordon michalson Descartes’ Meditations edited by karen detlefsen Augustine’s City of God edited by james wetzel Kant’s Observations and Remarks edited by richard velkley and susan shell Nietzsche’s On the Genealogy of Morality edited by simon may

Continued after the Index

© in this web service Cambridge University Press

www.cambridge.org

Cambridge University Press 978-1-108-42287-1 — Hume's An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals Edited by Esther Engels Kroeker , Willem Lemmens Frontmatter More Information

HUME’S AN ENQUIRY CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS A Critical Guide

edited by ESTHER ENGELS KROEKER University of Antwerp

WILLEM LEMMENS University of Antwerp

© in this web service Cambridge University Press

www.cambridge.org

Cambridge University Press 978-1-108-42287-1 — Hume's An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals Edited by Esther Engels Kroeker , Willem Lemmens Frontmatter More Information

University Printing House, Cambridge cb2 8bs, United Kingdom One Liberty Plaza, 20th Floor, New York, ny 10006, USA 477 Williamstown Road, Port Melbourne, vic 3207, Australia 314–321, 3rd Floor, Plot 3, Splendor Forum, Jasola District Centre, New Delhi – 110025, India 79 Anson Road, #06–04/06, Singapore 079906 Cambridge University Press is part of the University of Cambridge. It furthers the University’s mission by disseminating knowledge in the pursuit of education, learning, and research at the highest international levels of excellence. www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9781108422871 doi: 10.1017/9781108525497 © Cambridge University Press 2021 This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press. First published 2021 A catalogue record for this publication is available from the British Library. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data names: Kroeker, Esther Engels, editor. | Lemmens, Willem, 1963– editor. title: Hume’s An enquiry concerning the principles of morals : a critical guide / edited by Esther Engels Kroeker, University of Antwerp; Willem Lemmens, University of Antwerp. description: Cambridge, United Kingdom ; New York, NY : Cambridge University Press, 2021. | Series: Cambridge critical guides | Includes bibliographical references and index. identifiers: lccn 2020035175 (print) | lccn 2020035176 (ebook) | isbn 9781108422871 (hardback) | isbn 9781108437080 (paperback) | isbn 9781108525497 (ebook) subjects: lcsh: Hume, David, 1711–1776. Enquiry concerning the principles of morals. | Ethics. classification: lcc b1469 .h86 2021 (print) | lcc b1469 (ebook) | ddc 171/.2–dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020035175 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020035176 isbn 978-1-108-42287-1 Hardback Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

© in this web service Cambridge University Press

www.cambridge.org

Cambridge University Press 978-1-108-42287-1 — Hume's An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals Edited by Esther Engels Kroeker , Willem Lemmens Frontmatter More Information

Contents

page vii ix x

Contributors Acknowledgments List of Abbreviations Introduction

1

Esther Engels Kroeker and Willem Lemmens

1 The Nature of Morals Founded on the Human Fabric

13

Elizabeth S. Radcliffe

2 The Pride of Pericles: Hume on Self-Love, Benevolence, and the Enjoyment of Our Humanity

33

Willem Lemmens

3 Justice and Politics in the Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals

53

Ryan Patrick Hanley

4 History, Context, and the Conventions of Political Society

72

Marc Hanvelt

5 “Why Utility Pleases”: A Surprising Source of Discord

93

Emily Kelahan

6 Hume on Talents and Moral Virtues

113

James Fieser

7 Virtues Suspect and Sublime

134

Margaret Watkins

8 Sympathy and the Sources of Moral Sentiment

154

Jacqueline Taylor

v

© in this web service Cambridge University Press

www.cambridge.org

Cambridge University Press 978-1-108-42287-1 — Hume's An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals Edited by Esther Engels Kroeker , Willem Lemmens Frontmatter More Information

vi

Contents

9 Virtue and Moral Psychology in the Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals

172

Lorraine L. Besser

10 Hume, Cicero, and the Ancients

192

Aaron Garrett

11 Hume on Religion in the Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals

219

Esther Engels Kroeker

12 Moral Disagreement

238

Lorne Falkenstein

Bibliography Index

© in this web service Cambridge University Press

257 269

www.cambridge.org

Cambridge University Press 978-1-108-42287-1 — Hume's An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals Edited by Esther Engels Kroeker , Willem Lemmens Frontmatter More Information

Contributors

lorraine l. besser is Professor of Philosophy at Middlebury College, Vermont. She has written extensively on moral psychology considered from both contemporary and historical vantage points. lorne falkenstein is Emeritus Professor of Philosophy at Western University, Ontario. He has published numerous pieces on topics and figures in early modern philosophy with a focus on Hume and Humean themes. james fieser is Professor of Philosophy at the University of Tennessee at Martin. He is the founder and general editor of the Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy, and editor of the ten-volume Early Responses to Hume (2004). aaron garrett is Associate Professor of Philosophy at Boston University. He is the editor of the Routledge Companion to Eighteenth Century Philosophy (2014), and coeditor with James Harris of Scottish Philosophy in the Eighteenth Century (2015). ryan patrick hanley is Professor of Political Science at Boston College. He is the author, most recently, of Our Great Purpose: Adam Smith on Living a Better Life (2019) and The Political Philosophy of Fénelon (2020). marc hanvelt is Associate Professor of Political Science at Carleton University, Ottawa. He is the author of The Politics of Eloquence: David Hume’s Polite Rhetoric (2012), as well as essays and book chapters on different aspects of Hume’s historical and political thought. emily kelahan is Associate Professor of Philosophy at Illinois Wesleyan University. Her recent publications include a number of journal articles on Hume. vii

© in this web service Cambridge University Press

www.cambridge.org

Cambridge University Press 978-1-108-42287-1 — Hume's An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals Edited by Esther Engels Kroeker , Willem Lemmens Frontmatter More Information

viii

Contributors

esther engels kroeker is a postdoctoral research fellow at the University of Antwerp. She is the author of articles on Reid and Hume in journals including the Pacific Philosophical Quarterly, the Canadian Journal of Philosophy, and the Journal of Scottish Philosophy. willem lemmens is Professor of Early Modern Philosophy and Ethics at the University of Antwerp (Belgium). He has published several articles and book chapters on Hume’s moral philosophy and his philosophy of religion, and is coeditor of the translation into Dutch of Hume’s Natural History of Religion (2011). elizabeth s. radcliffe is Professor of Philosophy at William & Mary in Williamsburg, Virginia. She is the author of Hume, Passion, and Action (2018), editor of A Companion to Hume (2008), and author of many articles and chapters on Hume’s moral psychology. jacqueline taylor is Professor of Philosophy at the University of San Francisco. She is the author of Reflecting Subjects: Passion, Sympathy, and Society in Hume’s Philosophy (2015), coeditor, with David Fate Norton, of The Cambridge Companion to Hume (2009), and editor of Reading Hume on the Principles of Morals (2020). margaret watkins is Dean of the School of Arts, Humanities, and Social Sciences and Professor of Philosophy at Saint Vincent College in Latrobe, Pennsylvania. She is the author of The Philosophical Progress of Hume’s Essays (2019) and articles on Hume’s ethics and aesthetics in journals including Hume Studies, Inquiry, and History of Philosophy Quarterly.

© in this web service Cambridge University Press

www.cambridge.org

Cambridge University Press 978-1-108-42287-1 — Hume's An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals Edited by Esther Engels Kroeker , Willem Lemmens Frontmatter More Information

Acknowledgments

It has been a delight to bring together the group of scholars who have contributed to this volume. Our first expression of gratitude is for the colleagues who each wrote an excellent chapter for this Critical Guide and gave us the opportunity to learn about and dive deeper into Hume’s thoughts as expressed in An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals (EPM). We are also deeply grateful to the Fund for Scientific Research of Flanders (FWO-Vlaanderen) for funding the project (G040818 N) that made work on this book possible, and to the University of Antwerp, which offered a splendid research environment. Our thanks extend further to Hannah Lingier, and to our many students whose questions and comments have motivated us to pursue work on this book. We are also grateful to Rachel Cohon, for her helpful comments and suggestions, as well as to William & Mary in Virginia and Elizabeth Radcliffe for hosting a workshop that brought together several contributors of this volume. We thank each participant, including Richard McCarty, for the valuable and enjoyable discussions and exchange of ideas. We also thank Hal Churchman and Hilary Gaskin for editorial assistance with this volume. And finally, we thank our respective families, who are a blessing to each of us, and whose love and support are invaluable.

ix

© in this web service Cambridge University Press

www.cambridge.org

Cambridge University Press 978-1-108-42287-1 — Hume's An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals Edited by Esther Engels Kroeker , Willem Lemmens Frontmatter More Information

Abbreviations

D DNR DP DT E EHU EPM H L MOL NHR ST T

“A Dialogue” in An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion A Dissertation on the Passions “Of the Delicacy of Taste and Passion” Essays, Moral, Political and Literary An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals History of England Letters of David Hume My Own Life Natural History of Religion “Of the Standard of Taste” A Treatise of Human Nature

x

© in this web service Cambridge University Press

www.cambridge.org

Introduction Esther Engels Kroeker and Willem Lemmens

In 1751 David Hume published An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals (EPM), in his own words “of all my writings, historical, philosophical or literary, incomparably the best” (E, xxxvi). With this favorite of his philosophical performances Hume “casted anew” the main ideas of Book 3 of his Treatise of Human Nature, “Of Morals,” which a decade earlier did not receive the reception he had hoped for.1 In an attempt to reach the intellectual and cultural elite of his days, in EPM Hume polished his philosophical style and assimilated his method of investigation, while remaining faithful to the core ideas of the Treatise. Hume’s EPM is a pivotal contribution to eighteenth-century British moral philosophy and one of the hallmarks of the Scottish Enlightenment overall. And yet, despite the flourishing of Hume scholarship in the twentieth century, for a long time readers were drawn predominantly toward Book 3 of the Treatise when trying to reconstruct and understand the gist of Hume’s moral philosophy. It is only in recent years that the second Enquiry, as EPM is usually called, has started to receive among philosophers and historians of ideas the attention it deserves. This Critical Guide joins this evolution. It offers a series of in-depth reflections on the several parts of the book, in an attempt to better understand its guiding ideas and assess its lasting intellectual heritage. There are three reasons for which Hume was right, we think, to be proud of his performance which deserves, consequently, the attention of this Critical Guide. First of all, EPM is exemplary of Hume’s attempt to develop an open and eloquent style of philosophical reflection that meets a certain change in view on the best way of doing moral philosophy. As James Harris 1

In a letter of November 1755 to Abbé Le Blanc, Hume calls his Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals “my favorite Performance” (L I, 227). In “My Own Life,” he remarks, referring to the Treatise, EPM is “another part of my treatise that I cast anew” (E, xxxvi).

1

2

esther engels kroeker and willem lemmens

recently argued, with the abandonment of the project of the Treatise, Hume did not give up his ambition as a philosopher but rather became skeptical about the attempt to construct a grand philosophical system or a foundational new “science of human nature” (2015, p. 13). Philosophical analysis, so Hume realized after the rather modest reception of his Treatise, should be adapted to the subject treated: topical reflections on politics or economics do not ask for the same approach as anthropologically minded analyses of aesthetic taste, the passions, morality, or religion (to name but a few of the philosophical topics of interest to the more mature Hume). EPM, written in a period of great inspiration and energy, exemplifies exactly the sort of approach that fitted best, in Hume’s eyes, a search for the “origins” of human morality.2 While distancing himself from the psychologizing anatomy of morals in the Treatise, with EPM Hume offers both a descriptive and explanatory analysis of human morality as a social reality, embedded in practices, language use, history, and common experience. In this spirit, the book addresses the refined reader and intellectual of eighteenth-century Scotland and Europe, steering a sort of middle course between philosophical explanation and literary evocation. Here then is Hume’s answer to Francis Hutcheson, who had criticized his Book 3 of the Treatise for its lack of “warmth in the cause of virtue” (L I, 32). While Hume first thought that the philosophical “anatomist” could not easily be reconciled with the “painter” of morality, his EPM definitely exemplifies exactly an attempt at this reconciliation. In a sense, Hume tries to remain faithful to the core ideas and underlying principles of his naturalist philosophy developed in the Treatise. However, as several of the contributions in this Critical Guide explain, EPM also contains some remarkable and significant changes in comparison to Book 3 of the Treatise. There is, first of all, the famous substitution of the principle of sympathy by that of humanity, but also Hume’s more nuanced account of the respective roles of sentiment and reason in moral evaluation, next to his somewhat different approach to the role of convention in the establishment of justice and political society. The distinction between artificial and natural virtues, central in the Treatise, remains absent in EPM. And, last but not least, EPM also offers, through the well-known denigration of the “monkish virtues,” a straightforward and head-on attack on a religiously inspired account of human morality which in the Treatise is to be found only implicitly. 2

For a recent account of the biographical context of EPM: Harris (2015), pp. 250–65.

Introduction

3

Here lies a second reason for which EPM deserves special attention and further study in this twenty-first century. Hume’s moral tract is definitely an Enlightenment product, with a provocative and unorthodox agenda that was not misunderstood by his contemporaries. Critical voices like James Balfour, James Beattie, Alexander Gerard, and Bishop Robert Clayton were worried about its alleged relativism and hedonism, its disentanglement of religion and morality, its wide conception of the virtues, and its conventionalist theory of justice and political allegiance. Hume clearly wanted his EPM to be seen as radically innovative and challenging on all these points, as several contributions in this Guide highlight: the work marks a break with an austere ethics of self-denial and religious devotion or submission and offers a broadly humanistic, secularizing view on human morality. Without developing a truly normative ethics as such, with EPM Hume clearly propagates a view on human nature and sociability which exemplifies a typical Enlightenment confidence in the progress of society and a largely optimistic view of the moral capacities of human nature. In this perspective, Hume forms an unorthodox voice within the Scottish Enlightenment, where figures like Francis Hutcheson, Joseph Butler, Thomas Reid, and even Adam Smith remained closer to a religiously inspired account of morality, while nonetheless defending a progressist and moderately optimistic view on human nature and sociability.3 This brings us to a third motive underlying this Critical Guide. In contemporary moral philosophy, Hume is without doubt a master voice, recognized as the most important eighteenth-century philosopher writing in English. This influence stems, obviously, from his broadly naturalistic approach to human nature and at the same time from his secularizing and humanistic views on morals, politics, and the history of humankind. EPM mirrors this approach and thus reminds contemporary moral philosophy of its own philosophical and historical roots: the book offers a rich tableau of topics and philosophical puzzles that nowadays still dominate different debates in various branches of ethics. However, given its subtle and nuanced dialogue with the moral discourse of ancients like Cicero, Tacitus, and Plutarch, and his digressions on Hobbes and contemporaries like Montesquieu, in EPM Hume clearly develops a discourse that belongs to a divergent cultural context from the one we are living and thinking in. In this sense, a careful and critical reading of EPM might help us to appreciate why Hume, while being in a certain sense “one of us,” is also 3

For a synopsis of the most important first reactions, see the introduction to the Clarendon edition of EPM by Tom L. Beauchamp (1998), pp. lxiv–lxxx.

4

esther engels kroeker and willem lemmens

a thinker of another era. As this Critical Guide hopes to show, we might still learn from this unique moral philosophical discourse and perhaps find inspiration in it to see some unexplored perspectives from which contemporary debates in different branches of ethics may profit. This Critical Guide is composed along the broad argumentative lines and structure given by Hume to his second Enquiry. Several chapters of this volume consist of straightforward discussions of one or two sections of the book, while others cover more general topics discussed in several sections. Overall, the general topics and specific focus of each chapter reflect Hume’s own sequence of topics. In Chapter 1 Elizabeth S. Radcliffe examines how Hume manages, in Section 1 and Appendix 1 of EPM, to argue that the origin of morality is found in sentiment and at the same time that moral principles are universal and objective. She also wonders how Hume can reconcile his view that moral deliverances are truth-evaluable with his claim that morality is motivating. According to Radcliffe, universality is found in the source of moral distinctions, humanity, which yields consistent approvals and disapprovals, and not in self-interest. She also appeals to Hume’s discussion of aesthetic evaluations in his two essays on taste to explain how he upholds his sentimentalism. She concludes that for Hume there are general principles of approbation and blame which are universal and objective in the sense that humans not perverted by extreme situations all approve of mental qualities that are useful or agreeable to themselves or to others. Radcliffe then turns to an examination of how Hume’s theory of motivation is compatible with his internalism, sentimentalism, and cognitivism. According to Hume, she argues, we form ideas of good, wrongness, etc., and since ideas are representations or cognitions, Hume’s view is cognitivist. The source of motivation, Radcliffe writes, is not the representation, but the sentiment by which we form the representation. She ends by defending the claim that the sentiment of humanity is a nonmoral motive. She argues that despite what Hume explicitly writes, it should not be regarded as a virtue, but rather as a nonmoral good; a general instinct for human welfare, which motivates us to be sensitive to the interests of others, and which is the source of normative distinctions. In Chapter 2, Willem Lemmens examines Hume’s account of the relation between self-love and benevolence in Section 2 and Appendix 2 of EPM. In these sections Hume delivers an ingenious critique of the socalled selfish theories, exemplified by authors like Hobbes and Mandeville, and argues against these that the origin of morals derives from benevolence or an unselfish concern for others. Hume thus agrees with predecessors like

Introduction

5

Shaftesbury, Hutcheson, and Butler that people’s spontaneous sociability forms the origin of morals. However, Lemmens shows that Hume also distances himself from these predecessors, whose views on human nature and morality, in sharp contrast with Hume’s naturalism, still relied on a religiously inspired metaphysics. In so doing, Hume develops his own account of the role of self-love and benevolence in moral life, which brings him closer to the selfish theories than is sometimes recognized. In the first part of the chapter, Lemmens elucidates Hume’s definition of the concepts of benevolence and self-love and explains the difference between the sentiments of benevolence and humanity. He highlights how, in Hume’s view, the virtue of benevolence belongs to a class of social virtues distinct from justice. In the second part, focusing on the example of Pericles on his deathbed, Lemmens shows how this case is illustrative of Hume’s positive account of benevolence, but could also be interpreted as an instance of a reductionist suspicion concerning benevolence and the social virtues, in line with the selfish theories. In the third part, Lemmens reconstructs how Hume, by debunking the selfish theories, gives further evidence that benevolence forms an irreducible feature of human nature. The chapter concludes with some reflections on the unorthodox character of Hume’s moral theory and his appraisal of a modified self-love as constitutive of the flourishing of the sense of humanity. In Chapter 3 Ryan Patrick Hanley turns to the theory of justice Hume presents in Section 3 and Appendix 3 of EPM to explain how Hume shifts away from his earlier characterization of justice as an artificial virtue. His more mature account is still premised on the idea that human nature lacks an original motive to justice, but he now moves the focus to the issue of how justice may be most effectively realized in actual political conditions. Hanley first examines Hume’s foundational account of the origins of justice based on public utility. Hume frames his argument in terms of counterfactual situations in which justice is useless, and Hanley points out that although this approach entails important challenges, it allows Hume to present a positive account of the place of justice in actual society and political life. The approach to justice in EPM is thus much more contextual than in the Treatise. Hanley shows in the following sections that this allows Hume to remind his readers of the role of wise legislators and positive law in the establishment of a well-ordered political society and equally to demonstrate the shortcoming of political idealism or fanaticism. In the last part of his chapter Hanley highlights how the EPM account of justice reflects, next to a Treatise-inspired account of convention, an interesting reference to the influence of education and acquired habits in

6

esther engels kroeker and willem lemmens

the establishment of justice as a social virtue. As Hanley argues, with this reference to the role of education Hume clearly abandons a noncognitive understanding of justice: a reason-based sense of duty is developed through education, which even reflects, Hanley contends, a recognition of the need for an impartial concern for humanity in the establishment of justice. In Chapter 4 Marc Hanvelt also argues that Hume’s discussion of political society in Section 4 of EPM changes in important ways from the Treatise account. The arguments for the foundation of the duty of allegiance change little from the Treatise to EPM, yet, Hanvelt argues, Hume’s change in style offers important developments. Drawing on Hume’s political and historical writings, Hanvelt argues that Hume notably drops the conjectural history employed in the Treatise in order to bring to light the fact that English political history is shaped by accidents of history and unintended consequences. By appealing to context and history, Hanvelt writes, Hume poses challenges for both social contract theory and republican political thought. Hanvelt argues that a survey of different forms of rule reveals that political authority is founded on public opinion concerning interest and rights, on the prevalent practice of the age, and on wherever people look for authoritative decision-making. Political contexts may change significantly in short periods of time, and according to Hanvelt Hume thinks that different contexts required different kinds of politics and methods of rule, and hence that the study of politics required a careful study of history. In the final sections of his chapter Hanvelt shows how changes in political contexts give rise to new rules that are useful in their own specific settings, and hence how the perception of the utility of virtues necessary for life in society is shaped by context. Hanvelt concludes by arguing that Hume also advocates virtues such as moderation and politeness because he thinks reasonable people may disagree without being unreasonable. In Chapter 5, Emily Kelahan examines how Hume, in EPM 5, presents utility as the pivotal principle underlying moral evaluation. In Part I of this section, Kelahan points out that Hume skillfully applies his experimental method to illustrate how a sense of public utility, and not self-interest, explains why humans approve of the social virtues. Hume stresses the irreducible role of positive fellow-feelings, even toward strangers, and the negative feelings of disinterested resentment of the plight of others, and then further explains how we come to have other-regarding moral sentiments. In contrast with the Treatise, where Hume argues that moral sentiments arise through the sympathy of the moral evaluator within the agent’s narrow circle, EPM introduces a more general benevolence and

Introduction

7

humanity to account for the impartial view from which moral sentiments emerge. Kelahan argues that the EPM account of moral evaluation is an improvement on Hume’s earlier one, and that it is better understood as a descriptive rather than normative moral theory. Kelahan continues by showing that to think of Hume as a utilitarian or the parent of utilitarianism is a distorting lens for Hume understanding. Contrary to utilitarian views, Hume does not think we have an obligation to consider everyone’s interests and he does not hold that anyone is required to be included in the social sphere. Moreover, Kelahan points out that for Hume utility is not the single criterion of morality, as utilitarianism requires. Kelahan ends her chapter by defending Hume against Adam’s Smith’s criticism of “Why Utility Pleases” – the focus of his Theory of Moral Sentiments. James Fieser, in Chapter 6, adopts a more critical stance toward Hume’s account of natural talents and moral virtues, as he examines Sections 6, 7, and 8 and Appendix 1 of EPM, arguing that Hume does not make a convincing case for the conclusion that natural talents are genuine virtues. After showing how Hume draws from Cicero’s classification of virtues, Fieser discusses Hume’s method of first observing what we call “virtues” before identifying the features these qualities have in common. Hume, Fieser subsequently explains, argues that there is no clear separation between virtues and talents in modern languages, and that the possible criteria for distinguishing them are defective. After presenting what he calls “Hume’s four-pronged test for virtue” (mental qualities are virtues if they are either useful or agreeable to the possessor of the qualities or to others), Fieser examines the moral psychology behind Hume’s principle, and shows how each motivated action that is agreeable or useful involves an actor, a receiver of the actor’s action, and a spectator that sympathetically experiences the pleasure of the actor or the receiver. Fieser then considers the views of some of Hume’s earlier critics, siding with those who held that Hume failed to adequately separate assessments that are relevant to morality from those that are not. He ends by showing how the virtues that are immediately agreeable to the actor or to others could be grouped among those that are useful, and he suggests that Hume, with little alteration to EPM, could dispense with immediate agreeableness as a criterion of moral assessment. In Chapter 7 Margaret Watkins sheds light on the many puzzles found in EPM 7’s list of virtues immediately agreeable to self. She points out that Hume’s treatment of some of these virtues, such as poetic talent, does not clearly explain why they are immediately agreeable to self. Moreover,

8

esther engels kroeker and willem lemmens

Watkins notices that Hume spends less time discussing qualities for which he expresses unbounded admiration, such as delicacy of taste, philosophical tranquility, benevolence, poetic genius, and cheerfulness, than for those she calls “suspect virtues” such as greatness of mind and courage. According to Watkins, Hume, in discussing these last virtues, takes the stance of a journalistic photographer who seeks to reveal the oftenconcealed side of these qualities, and how they might give rise to both admiration and disapproval. Watkins continues by explaining that Hume categorizes courage as immediately agreeable to self, despite its notable utility, because utility, for Hume, is not the primary reason that we approve of courage. Rather, it is a virtue that generates the particular kind of pleasure he characterizes as “sublime.” These virtues tend to be blinding and include less reasoning than is involved in considerations of utility. Watkins then explains how these virtues involve an elevation of sentiment that expands the spirit of their possessors and produces awe in the observer. Watkins ends her chapter by showing that although we might correct suspect virtues by the social virtues, Hume also holds that their correction comes from careful attention to the cultivation of delicacy of taste – a virtue also agreeable to self that is important for all moral judgments. Offering a careful overview of EPM 2, 3, 5, 7, and 9, Jacqueline Taylor, in Chapter 8, reconstructs Hume’s arguments that seek to establish, she argues, that humanity has the force and authority to provide the foundation of morals and to counter self-love. She argues that utility and humanity as the source of praise of utility is for Hume the most important part of morality. Taylor begins by showing that utility is part of the merit of the social virtues of benevolence, for Hume, because the benevolent person tends to promote the interests of others. Moreover, she presents the set of circumstances about human nature that show that utility is the sole foundation of justice and that justice is necessary for the support of society. But why does utility have a great command over our esteem, Taylor then wonders? The answer, she argues, is found in the force of humanity. Humanity is the more reflective form of social sympathy – the type of sympathy that is a general or broad capacity for communicating passions and for concern for the happiness and misery of others. Taylor brings to light various passages from EPM that show that, for Hume, this humanity as a reason-informed source of our praise of utility is in fact the chief part of morals. That the sentiments of humanity are the moral sentiments, Taylor argues, establishes that for Hume humanity rather than self-love is the foundation of

Introduction

9

morality. She continues by showing how the sentiments deriving from utility and humanity require the use of reason, and hence differ from the unreflective sentiments that arise in response to immediately agreeable qualities. Lorraine L. Besser, in Chapter 9, closely examines Hume’s account of sympathy in EPM and shows how it diverges from the Treatise account. She argues that Hume’s analysis of virtue in EPM depends upon features of his moral psychology, and in particular on the Treatise view of sympathy. Besser draws on many passages from EPM, but predominantly from EPM 5–9 and Appendixes 1 and 2. In the Treatise, Besser argues, Hume’s view is that the motivational state of the virtuous person is best understood as a form of self-love or pride in one’s character. Sympathy, she writes, shapes our passions and, according to the Treatise account, explains why we approve of traits that are useful and agreeable to ourselves and others, and how we develop pride in virtue without appealing to benevolence or humanity. Such a robust principle of sympathy, as what connects people and shapes agency, and communicates feelings of pleasure but also of pain, seems to be mostly absent from EPM, Besser writes. Rather, the attention is now on benevolence and humanity, which, together with all social virtues, proceed from tender sympathy with others. Sympathy now essentially responds to the happiness of others. She argues that the EPM view of sympathy lacks the regulating normative effect described in the Treatise. In EPM sympathy stimulates other-regarding concern for the happiness of others, revealing Hume’s effort to distance himself from the selfish schools. Nevertheless, Besser argues that Hume needs the more robust account of the Treatise to explain our approval of immediately agreeable qualities and how virtuous persons keep alive sentiments of right and wrong. In EPM, Hume appeals to Cicero, Aaron Garrett argues in Chapter 10, to get his contemporaries to reconsider the breadth of what count as virtues. Garrett examines Appendix 4, and he argues that Hume, in line with Cicero, wishes greater tolerance from his audience of challenging philosophical positions. Garrett writes that this open-minded attitude was threatened by strong religious positions. Contrary to such positions, Hume embraces moral diversity in EPM while showing that the system of utility and agreeableness unites diverse moral practices. According to Garrett, the goal to undermine the distinction between natural endowments and moral virtues persists from the Treatise, but in EPM Hume appeals to the ancients to back up his claim. Garrett seeks to understand this shift, and he argues that Hume appeals to Cicero and the

10

esther engels kroeker and willem lemmens

ancients to draw his readers to his own position while trying to move them away from religiously informed dogmatic morality, which supports what Hume considers to be the blameworthy qualities of humility and abasement. In the last part of his chapter, Garrett shows how Hume utilizes Cicero’s open-minded attitude with regards to morality as part of his theory of rights. Garrett points out that rights, for Hume, are social conventions that exist to serve stability and utility. A remarkable addition to Hume’s theory of rights in EPM, Garrett points out, is that Hume now suggests that regard to justice enlarges when those who see themselves as subject to justice consider it useful to include others whom they had not previously included. For Hume, Garrett points out, confederacy with all human beings is useful. And as European men put aside prejudices concerning who should be included, reflecting a Ciceronian attitude, they thereby enlarge their regard to justice. Hume’s rejection of religiously informed morality is also a theme Esther Engels Kroeker discusses in Chapter 11. In Section 9 of EPM, Kroeker points out, Hume argues that false religious systems have perverted the understanding and have kept his own system from being recognized. She argues that Hume explicitly mentions superstition and enthusiasm as those corrupt systems, but his main target is nonetheless the religious philosophers and Protestants who would reject both superstition and enthusiasm. Hume’s criticism of modern philosophers and men of letters who have mixed philosophy with theology is made evident in Appendix 4. She argues that this aim is also revealed when we examine some of the central claims of two dominant Protestant texts of Hume’s time – The Whole Duty of Man and the Westminster Confession of Faith. Kroeker shows that Hume rejects The Whole Duty of Man’s narrow list of virtues, which restricts them to the voluntary ones and fails to include natural tempers. And, in response to the Westminster Confession of Faith, Kroeker observes, Hume replaces thoughts about the whole purpose of man with reflections about the sole purpose of virtue, which is man’s cheerfulness and happiness in this life, and he also rejects its depiction of man as totally depraved. Most importantly, however, Kroeker shows how Hume mimics the literary style of these religious texts, and even adopts some of their language and ideas. Hume’s religiously styled EPM, according to Kroeker, is evidence of his target, but also of his aim to reach a larger audience and to replace the Protestant texts and their influence in public life with his own moral philosophy.

Introduction

11

In the last chapter of this volume, Chapter 12, Lorne Falkenstein shows how Hume situates his account between two extremes: moral absolutism and moral skepticism. The project of EPM, according to Falkenstein, is to determine why we make the moral judgments we do, not to determine what those judgments should be. In the first part of his chapter Falkenstein reviews the results of Hume’s empirical investigation of human moral attitudes. Hume concludes that humans possess an instinctive concern for the well-being of other human beings. This concern depends on sentiments that could have been otherwise and that have no absolute foundation. Nevertheless, evidence shows we are all similarly disposed. To this extent, we all agree on moral judgments. In the next sections of his chapter, Falkenstein turns to “A Dialogue,” an essay Hume published as an addendum to EPM. In “A Dialogue” Hume explores how far a commitment to universal human moral sentiments can be reconciled with the evidence of disagreement in moral judgments. Hume attempts to argue that the fundamental principles of moral judgment are always the same. Variations only arise because different circumstances call for different measures to be employed to achieve the same laudable ends. But the details of his investigation forces Hume to recognize variations in ends that are set by taste, tradition, and culture rather than by commonly shared sentiments. Falkenstein argues that the latter cases are not confined to more trivial cases, where parties to a dispute can agree to tolerate one another’s differing moral convictions. Instead, Hume’s moral psychology entails that we will be incapable of tolerating the judgments of others, not because there is some external standard of right and wrong, but because we cannot escape our own standpoints. Falkenstein therefore concludes that even given our shared human nature, irreconcilable moral disagreement is still possible for Hume. Each chapter, therefore, brings to light specific aspects of a work that Hume wished to be concise, nuanced, and elegant. Hume hoped his conclusions would be based on what he considered to be the most accurate method of observation and experiment, while at the same time presenting virtue in all its warmth and charm, and in a manner that would be pleasing to a wide audience. Hume was highly satisfied with this work, writing in a letter to Sir David Dalrymple: “I am extremely anxious to obtain some degree of correctness in all my attempts; I must confess, that I have a partiality for that work, & esteem it the most tolerable of anything I have composed” (L I, 174–75). And to Abbé Le Blanc Hume explains that in comparison with his philosophical essays, “My Enquiry concerning

12

esther engels kroeker and willem lemmens

the Principles of Morals would probably be more popular; and indeed, it is my favorite performance, tho’ the other has made more noise” (L I, 227). Hume’s brief biography of his own life, completed a few months before his death in 1776, reveals what he considered to be his ruling passion: his “love of literary fame” (MOL, xxxiii). To see his literary reputation breaking out with luster was one of Hume’s long-lasting aspirations. He felt that this aspiration was often frustrated during his life, but after the reception of EPM he was finally ready to write that the rigors and difficulties had been worth the effort. These difficulties, Hume wrote, “we must bear with patience. The public is the most capricious mistress we can court; and we authors, who write for fame, must not be repulsed by some rigors, which are always temporary, when they are unjust” (L I, 222). As editors, it is our hope that this volume will contribute to Hume’s ambition to see EPM receive the attention and study he thought it deserved.

chapter 1

The Nature of Morals Founded on the Human Fabric Elizabeth S. Radcliffe

In Section 1 of An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals (EPM), Hume claims that those who deny the reality of morals are disingenuous. He also notes that philosophy has had a history of disagreements about whether morals originate in reason or in sentiment. So, Hume describes a method whereby he intends “to reach the foundation of ethics, and find those universal principles, from which all censure or approbation is ultimately derived” (EPM 1.10). This method, Hume says, is an experimental one, starting from instances, rather than reasoning from a generally established abstract principle. The former better suits the “imperfection of human nature.” He applies this method throughout the Enquiry. Then, in Appendix 1, Hume attempts to answer the original question concerning moral foundations, arguing for the origin of morality in sentiment, a product of the human fabric. He writes: Thus the distinct boundaries and offices of reason and of taste are easily ascertained. The former conveys the knowledge of truth and falsehood: The latter gives the sentiment of beauty and deformity, vice and virtue. The one discovers objects, as they really stand in nature, without addition or diminution: The other has a productive faculty, and gilding or staining all natural objects with the colours, borrowed from internal sentiment, raises, in a manner, a new creation. (EPM App. 1.21)

How can the quest for universal principles find a satisfactory answer in taste, a “productive” faculty? How is the notion that morality is a “new creation” consistent with an insistence on the reality of moral distinctions? Are the deliverances of taste also judgments that can be evaluated as true or false? If they are truth-evaluable, then can they serve as conations, motives to action? This essay presents an interpretation of Hume’s moral epistemology and metaethics in the second Enquiry, addressing these questions. My discussion here focuses on the first section and the first Appendix of EPM, where Hume asks about and answers queries regarding the role 13

14

elizabeth s. radcliffe

of sentiment and reason in formulating our distinctions between virtue and vice. Obviously, it also draws on other texts. This essay has four sections. In Section 1.1, I investigate the details of Hume’s argument in Appendix 1 for the existence of a passion that is the source of our moral determinations, the sentiment of humanity. There I invoke theses found in earlier sections of EPM to analyze his argument. In Section 1.2, I address questions about the objectivity and reality of our moral distinctions, given their origin in sentiment. I appeal to Hume’s two essays on taste to explain how our moral distinctions are created from the human fabric, not representative of properties in the world, but are nonetheless real. Section 1.3 turns to concerns related to the intrinsically motivating effect of morality, given Hume’s other metaethical commitments in EPM. There I employ some of the contemporary categories philosophers use in discussions of moral motivation to shed light on Hume’s views, asking whether his EPM characterization allows that morality is both “cognitivist” and motivationally “internalist.” I also offer an unconventional suggestion concerning the status of humanity in Hume’s theory. Section 1.4 concludes.

1.1

The Requirements of Morality and the Sentiment of Humanity

In the opening section of EPM, called “Of the General Principles of Morals,” Hume is irked by those who deny the reality of moral distinctions; he finds them the most insincere of those who engage in disputes in moral philosophy. “Let a man’s insensibility be ever so great, he must often be touched with the images of RIGHT and WRONG” (EPM 1.2). He recounts the debate between rationalists and empiricists on the source of morality and concludes that, while both reason and sentiment contribute to our knowledge of morality, it is probable that sentiment makes the final determination. His discussion affirms that our feelings are partly constitutive of morality; they also impact our motivation and make virtue crucial to our happiness and vice to our misery (EPM 1.9).1 Hume’s project in EPM is to discover the foundation of ethics. To accomplish this goal, he puts forth an experimental method: we are to examine the mental qualities persons can possess and look within ourselves 1

“The final sentence, it is probable, which pronounces characters and actions amiable or odious, praise-worthy or blameable; that which stamps on them the mark of honour or infamy, approbation or censure; that which renders morality an active principle, and constitutes virtue our happiness, and vice our misery: It is probable, I say, that this final sentence depends on some internal sense or feeling, which nature has made universal in the whole species.”

Nature of Morals Founded on the Human Fabric

15

to ask whether or not we desire to have a particular quality ascribed to us, “and whether such or such an imputation would proceed from a friend or an enemy” (EPM 1.10). He then continues, “The very nature of language guides us almost infallibly in forming a judgment of this nature.” After we have classified such traits, we are then to ask what the qualities in each group have in common in order to “find those universal principles, from which all censure or approbation is ultimately derived” (1.10). Any attempt to discover ethics by inference from abstract principles is wrongheaded. So, in the main text of EPM, Hume implements this method, examining the qualities we consider virtues. Then, in Appendix 1, he returns to his question about the foundations of morality and the extent to which reason and sentiment participate in its determination. His investigations have yielded the conclusion that usefulness or utility is a feature common to those traits we esteem. This holds for both benevolence and justice, even though, in the latter case, not every act of justice appears immediately advantageous, and various interests are at stake and require negotiation. So, reason is necessary to ascertain the utility of a quality, which is an especially delicate matter in the case of justice (EPM App. 1.2).2 Then, the argument for the existence of a distinct moral sentiment, the sentiment of humanity, goes this way: Utility is only a tendency to a certain end; and were the end totally indifferent to us, we should feel the same indifference towards the means. It is requisite a sentiment should here display itself, in order to give a preference to the useful above the pernicious tendencies. This sentiment can be no other than a feeling for the happiness of mankind, and a resentment of their misery; since these are the different ends which virtue and vice have a tendency to promote. Here, therefore, reason instructs us in the several tendencies of actions, and humanity makes a distinction in favour of those which are useful and beneficial. (EPM App. 1.3)

Hume’s argument, in outline, is: (1) A tendency to an end is utility relative to that end. (2) If an end is indifferent to us, then so is the means. (3) Thus, in order to prefer or approve of utility, the tendency to an end, one must prefer that end. (4) To prefer or approve requires a sentiment. (5) We approve of the qualities we identify as virtues and disapprove of those we identify as vices. 2

On justice in the second Enquiry, see Taylor (2015a).

16

elizabeth s. radcliffe

(6) The qualities we identify as virtues have a tendency, a utility, to the happiness of humankind and those we identify as vices have the opposite tendency, a disutility to such happiness. (7) Therefore, we must possess a sentiment for the happiness of humankind and a resentment of their misery, which is the sentiment of humanity.3 Premise (6) indicates that serving human happiness is in some way connected with virtue; yet Hume cannot define virtue in terms of the results that acting on a trait brings about and maintain his sentimentalism. Rather, his argument must be that because we possess certain sentiments or passions that give us an interest in certain ends, serving those ends has a significance (in this case, a moral significance). In other words, sentimentalism requires that feelings define the value of ends and of the traits that promote those ends. So, on Hume’s account, we approve of certain qualities and call them virtues because we possess humanity – that is, because we care in a general way about the welfare of others and about the long-term interest of agents (including ourselves). We therefore approve the qualities that promote human well-being.4 However, Hume’s argument may not look convincing at first glance. We care about other things besides the general good, and often more intensely. We love those close to us and we care about our narrow selfinterest. We might even feel more strongly about our own dogs and cats than we feel about strangers on the other side of the globe. Hume acknowledges that we have sentiments for narrowly focused selfinterested goals, and we surely also take pleasure in seeing those goals served. This prompts the question why such self-interested sentiments are not indicative of morality, while human-centered sentiments are. Hume needs to explain what makes the approvals that stem from a broad interest in human good, rather than from a narrower interest in the welfare of those close to us or in short-term personal happiness, the source of our normative distinctions. The answer cannot be that the former has the proper (morally desirable) end, or else Hume must offer an account of value that is independent of our feelings. 3 4

This argument has already been offered in a slightly different form at EPM 5.4 and 5.17. The virtues, for Hume, divide into four classes: qualities useful to others (e.g., generosity and gratitude), qualities useful to the self (e.g., industry and frugality), qualities immediately agreeable to others (e.g., wit and decency), and qualities immediately agreeable to the self (e.g., tranquility and delicacy of taste). Some traits fall under more than one class. For Hume, traits in all four classes have a tendency to the happiness of humankind. Hence, even those that are useful or agreeable to the self are not exclusively self-interested and are virtues because of the sentiment of humanity.

Nature of Morals Founded on the Human Fabric

17

Hume has provided some considerations earlier in the second Enquiry that offer a rationale for his view. First, he defends the point that our approvals do extend beyond self-interest. The usefulness of which we approve in the case of the social virtues “must, therefore, be the interest of those, who are served by the character or action approved of; and these we may conclude, however remote, are not totally indifferent to us. By opening up this principle, we shall discover one great source of moral distinctions” (EPM 5.15). Second, observation of the circumstances under which we experience approval reveals that self-interest is not the source, even though many philosophers have tried to argue otherwise. We admire brave actions of our adversaries (EPM 5.8, 5.11) and we praise virtuous actions performed in distant ages and remote countries where no one of the keenest imagination could think that self-interest is served (5.7).5 Presumably, he would say the same about the interests of persons to whom we are closely connected: they are not at stake in these cases under consideration. But so far, none of these points explain why we should consider the sentiment of humanity as the source of our moral distinctions. The main argument for this thesis occurs at EPM 9.5. There Hume claims that passions, such as avarice and vanity, are excluded from consideration as the source of morals “not because they are too weak, but because they have not a proper direction, for that purpose.” He alleges that two features are necessary to morality’s origin. First, the very concept of “morals” implies that its source recommends the same objects to each person’s approbation, so that we agree in our evaluations. Second, the notion of morals implies a sentiment “so universal and comprehensive as to extend to all mankind, and render the actions and conduct, even of the persons the most remote, an object of applause or censure, according as they agree or disagree with that rule of right which is established” (EPM 9.5). In sum, Hume’s chief argument that the sentiment of humanity is the source of our moral determinations proceeds from the way we generally conceive of morality itself, which contains two features: moral distinctions (1) recommend the same objects (character traits) to the approbation of all, and (2) are applied universally. He rules out other passions that produce strong sentiments of desire and aversion because our approvals and disapprovals based on them do not always concur, and they therefore cannot be the foundation of 5

To those who suggest that we imagine our interests are served in these cases, Hume replies that an imaginary interest can hardly produce a genuine sentiment, especially when our real interest is kept before the mind and is sometimes contrary to the imagined interest (5.13).

18

elizabeth s. radcliffe

a system of moral distinctions. Now, surely narrow, self-interested concern is also universal and so meets condition (2), but it does not recommend the same objects, since we do not always find the same things serving our individual desires. Only a sentiment that points in “the proper direction,” to human welfare in general, can meet condition (1). There might be some room for dispute about whether Hume is correct about our moral scheme. One might argue that as long as social or cultural groups establish a system of normative concepts that allow communication and cooperative assessments of actions within those groups, then “morality” has been established. This seems to be the implication of Hume’s discussion of morality in his Treatise of Human Nature.6 However, Hume insists in the second Enquiry that morality is a consistent, universally accessible system, and the sentiment of humanity is the only universal sentiment whose approvals and disapprovals yield consistent verdicts. If Hume is right about this, it is crucial for him to eliminate reason as the source of our moral system, given that it could also be a source of consistent judgments. He does so in Appendix 1.

1.2 Objectivity, Real Morality, and Taste Hume confidently affirms the reality of morality and its universal recognition, while arguing, contrary to many of his predecessors and contemporaries, that it is not discovered by reason. In Appendix 1, he considers five circumstances in favor of the view that reason cannot on its own discover or elicit our moral distinctions. Reason can draw conclusions concerning the useful tendencies of qualities and actions, but it cannot infer moral assessments. I want to focus on the third of these considerations in this section. For the sake of completeness, I briefly note the others. The first consideration is that regardless of whether the application of reason is characterized as a method of discovering facts or as the way to deduce necessary relations, in neither function will we find the vice of a crime like ingratitude.7 The second consideration is that when we aim to determine the morality of an action or the character it demonstrates, reason must do its work prior to the moral judgment to discover all of the relevant 6

7

If persons who occupy a shared point of view and sympathize with those affected by an agent reflect the biases or idiosyncrasies of that circle around the agent, then moral judgments seem to be relative to groups or cultures. Whether this is so depends on how broad Hume’s general or shared point of view, from which moral approvals or disapprovals in the Treatise come, can be. See Cohon (2008), chapter 9, for a discussion of this issue. See also T 3.1.1.

Nature of Morals Founded on the Human Fabric

19

circumstances. Then reason’s practical work is done. “The approbation or blame, which then ensues, cannot be the work of the judgment, but of the heart” (EPM App. 1.11). Hume’s fourth consideration consists in his argument that if morality consisted in rational relations, we would have to blame inanimate objects that stand in the same relations to each other as those of people.8 So, a tree that overtops and kills its parent is as blamable as Nero, who killed his mother, Agrippina. And this is absurd. Hume’s fifth point is that ultimate ends can never be accounted for by reason; when we explain our desires by reference to other desires, we reach an ultimate end, which must be desirable on its own account and appeals to a sentiment or affection in our nature.9 He says that virtue is like this: it is an end, “desirable on its own account, without fee or reward”; hence, it must touch a sentiment or an internal taste (EPM App. 1.20).10 Now, to the third consideration. Hume contends that the comparison between moral and natural beauty will confirm the conclusion that morality is ultimately dependent on sentiment. It is on the proportion, relation, and position of parts, that all natural beauty depends; but it would be absurd thence to infer, that the perception of beauty, like that of truth in geometrical problems, consists wholly in the perception of relations, and was performed entirely by the understanding or intellectual faculties . . .. [I]n all decisions of taste or external beauty, all the relations are before-hand obvious to the eye; and we thence proceed to feel a sentiment of complacency or disgust, according to the nature of the object, and disposition of our organs. (EPM App. 1.13)

When Euclid describes the geometrical qualities of a circle, he does not include its beauty. When Cicero describes the crimes of Cataline, referencing the rage Cataline exhibits, say, in the killing of his brother-in-law and his subsequent exhibiting of the severed head, we likewise do not find vice among the descriptors. Hume claims that we cannot determine when the vice began to exist by examining Cataline’s psychological or physical features. He argues that this is so because the beauty and the immorality are not particular facts or relations. They arise from the unavoidable 8 9

10

See also T 3.1.1.21. “Ask a man, why he uses exercise; he will answer, because he desires to keep his health. If you then enquire, why he desires health, he will readily reply, because sickness is painful. If you push your enquiries farther, and desire a reason, why he hates pain, it is impossible he can ever give any. This is an ultimate end” (EPM 1.18). Hume means that virtues can be desirable both for their utility and in themselves. (See the example of courage at EPM 7.11.) Regardless of whether a virtue is useful as a means to an end we care about, or simply presents a pleasant visage to a spectator, its value depends upon our common human reactions to it.

20

elizabeth s. radcliffe

feelings people experience at the contemplation of the circle or of Cataline’s character traits exhibited in such actions (EPM App. 1.14, 1.16). When Hume indicates that beauty and virtue are not found among the qualities predicated of objects and people, he means that appeal to the external senses and the understanding is not sufficient to generate our attributions of beauty and virtue, in the way it is for other property attributions. However, dependence on the “creative faculty” of taste does not mean that our moral and aesthetic judgments are unsystematic, even though internal perceptions, or feelings, seem to be at variance and less consistent between persons than the deliverances of reason. Since Hume features taste prominently in his discussion of morality in EPM (much more than in the Treatise), I think it is justified to draw from his essays on taste to amplify his perspective in EPM. In his essay, “Of the Delicacy of Taste and Passion,” Hume discusses how those who are extremely sensitive in passion have unusually intense and unpleasant perceptions during various experiences, and then writes, Whatever connexion there may be originally between these two species of delicacy [taste and passion], I am persuaded, that nothing is so proper to cure us of this delicacy of passion, as the cultivating of that higher and more refined taste, which enables us to judge of the characters of men, of compositions of genius, and of the productions of the nobler arts. (DT E, 5–6)11

Tastes can be cultivated to improve discernment of the relevant qualitative differences. Hume emphasizes that both environment and the emotional state of the perceiver can influence perceptions of taste: Those finer emotions of the mind are of a very tender and delicate nature, and require the concurrence of many favourable circumstances to make them play with facility and exactness, according to their general and established principles. The least exterior hindrance to such small springs, or the least internal disorder, disturbs their motion, and confounds the operation of the whole machine . . .. A perfect serenity of mind, a recollection of thought, a due attention to the object; if any of these circumstances be wanting, our experiment will be fallacious, and we shall be unable to judge of the catholic and universal beauty. (ST E, 232)12

Consequently, Hume’s insistence on a universal evaluative sentiment does not imply that every person’s responses are indicative of proper moral 11

12

References to “Of the Delicacy of Taste and Passion” are abbreviated “DT,” followed by abbreviation E (for Essays, Moral, Political and Literary), page number (see Bibliography for full references to E). References to “Of the Standard of Taste” are abbreviated “ST,” followed by abbreviation E (for Essays, Moral, Political and Literary), page number (see Bibliography for full references to E).

Nature of Morals Founded on the Human Fabric

21

and aesthetic judgments. Two issues are crucial to the plausibility of Hume’s sentimentalism, which seeks to defend universality and objective standards. For one, it must be reasonable to think that having a moral and aesthetic sensibility, even though it cannot live up to its full potential in many circumstances, is integral to human nature. For another, Hume needs to offer a convincing account of how we discover what the standards are and from whose sentiments the norms of morality and beauty derive. 1.2.1

Moral Sensibility as Fundamental to Human Nature

One of Hume’s explanations in “Of the Standard of Taste” why not everyone always discerns the proper forms as beautiful is that some people may suffer from an “apparent defect or imperfection in the organ” in the way that a person who is ill is not a good judge of aroma or taste (ST E, 234). Of course, his view is not that an organ of aesthetic and moral discernment malfunctions, but rather that the psychological and environmental conditions are not conducive to our responding optimally to the features of people and objects around us. It may appear as though some persons simply lack humanity – the sensitivity that would make them aware of the needs of others or that would have them care about addressing the needs of others if they were aware of them. However, psychological studies can bolster the case that human nature includes the capacity to respond to the situation of others by highlighting explanations why that capacity can be undermined, even for a lifetime, in some individuals. For instance, investigators have shown that infants’ and children’s exposure to violence in the home or in the community leads to psychopathologies that dull sensitivities to others. “The dread of violence might disrupt psychosocial development more than the event itself; the ways children cope with this persistent fear might lead to locked-in patterns of coping in their adult lives” (McCloskey, Figueredo, and Koss, 1995, p. 66). Repeated experience of extreme suffering and death can numb one to the horrors of the situation. When asked about the torturous conditions in a political prisoners’ camp in North Korea, one survivor reflected: “Because we saw so many people die, we became so used to it. I’m sorry to say that we became so used to it that we didn’t feel anything” (Nelson, 2014). In relaying a story from Herodotus about the Scythians, Hume writes: “after scalping their enemies, [they] dressed the skin like leather, and used it as a towel; and whoever had the most of those towels was most esteemed among them. So much had martial bravery . . . destroyed the sentiments of humanity; a virtue surely much more useful and engaging

22

elizabeth s. radcliffe

[than martial bravery]” (EPM 7.14). Hume’s example in fact shows that the sentiment of humanity can in extreme circumstances be replaced by a perverted sense of the admirable and the moral. Educator Stephen Sherblom, citing Rogers (1961) and the advice of the Dalai Lama (2002), concurs with Hume about psychological factors that affect persons’ moral sensibility and attributes: When we, as . . . organism[s], are under stress, we operate less than optimally, sometimes considerably less. When we are distracted, whether because we are tired, feeling ill, angry, needy, disappointed, emotionally overwrought, lonely, fearful, anxious, self-absorbed or for some other reason, it affects how we operate in-the-moment. When a person is distracted they are less sensitive to social cues, to other’s feelings, and to social dynamics generally. When self-absorbed, people are less empathic, less compassionate, less caring, less concerned with fairness and justice and, in those senses, less involved in the moral domain generally. One’s level of alertness, awake-ness, calmness, centeredness and peace will affect that person’s experience and performance in-the-moment, including morally relevant experience and performance. (Sherblom, 2012, p. 137)

Such evidence and analyses make it plausible to think that all humans have a native capacity for moral and aesthetic discernment whose development can be affected by many social and psychological conditions. It can be cultivated and refined in an environment supportive to human flourishing or deadened, squelched, or even perverted by extreme inhumane conditions. 1.2.2

Deriving an Objective Standard?

Hume claims that certain forms and configurations of characters, natural objects, and artifacts are suited to our sentiments of approval. For those whose psychological states are in disorder, he says, “The relation, which nature has placed between the form and the sentiment, will at least be more obscure; and it will require greater accuracy to trace and discern it” (ST E, 233). And later: “Some particular forms or qualities, from the original structure of the internal fabric, are calculated to please, and others to displease” (ST E, 233). This is curious talk for a sentimentalist. Hume cannot mean that we can know by studying the configurations themselves that they would please us. This would, of course, allow that we could by reason infer moral and aesthetic qualities of persons and objects, which would preclude an essential role for sentiment in creating beauty and morality. Yet, when we make value judgments, we are reacting to something in the character of persons, the qualities in nature, or

Nature of Morals Founded on the Human Fabric

23

the configurations of artifacts, which causes us to feel pleasure or pain at the thought or perception of the objects.13 Still, we cannot infer beauty and morality from an analysis of the objects together with an analysis of our psychology, either. This is the sort of inference that is ruled out in the first Enquiry (4.6–10), when Hume argues that we cannot a priori infer how objects will affect us or each other – for instance, that fire would consume matter or that bread would nourish humans but not lions. Rather, we need to make our inferences from and generalize upon experience and, in the case at hand, the reactions of perceivers; but the crucial question is: Which perceivers and under what conditions? Answering this question is difficult. In “Of the Standard of Taste,” Hume cautions that we must attend to trends, fashions, and variations, in order to weed out from among people’s reactions those that are influenced by passing conditions and fleeting emotions. Of beauty, he writes, “We shall be able to ascertain its influence not so much from the operation of each particular beauty, as from the durable admiration, which attends those works, that have survived all the caprices of mode and fashion, all the mistakes of ignorance and envy” (ST E, 233). What we find appealing is influenced by what we become accustomed to, as is evident in persons’ tastes in clothing and hair styles, color schemes, home design, and other such things. There are, however, designs, paintings, natural scenes, classic works of literature, architectural masterpieces, and so on toward which appreciation has endured through time. This admiration comes from those in a settled state of mind who have wide and varied experiences with such objects. Tastes can be cultivated and develop with time under the right conditions. These paradigms of aesthetic appeal can then give focus to our search for principles of beauty. If we take seriously the analogy between taste and moral assessment, then a similar method can be applied to the pursuit of moral principles. Hume’s second Enquiry offers numerous examples of positive enduring character assessments, among them: Pericles, the great Athenian statesman (EPM 2.2); Greek statesman Epaminondas and Roman military leader Pompey (EPM 6.26); Socrates (EPM 7.17, 8.10); and Iphicrates, the Athenian general (EPM 8.10). Moreover, the Enquiry is packed with descriptions of generally admirable qualities. In addition to justice and benevolence, Hume mentions, among others: honesty, fidelity, discretion, industry, 13

This point is illustrated in the story Hume relates from Don Quixote of the two kinsmen who came from a line of fine tasters and who tasted a wine reputed to be excellent. One of them found it to have a slight taste of leather and the other a slight taste of iron, to the amusement of all present. After emptying the hogshead of wine, the party found an iron key with a leather thong tied to it (ST E, 234–35).

24

elizabeth s. radcliffe

frugality, cheerfulness, courage, tranquility, politeness, ingenuity, eloquence, wit, modesty, decency, and cleanliness. He realizes that the definition of these qualities is not absolute (e.g., EPM 8.8) and that in some contexts, some of these traits are more virtuous than in others (e.g., EPM 8.4). But as Hume says at ST 12: “It appears then, that . . . there are certain general principles of approbation or blame, whose influence a careful eye may trace in all operations of the mind.” He claims to find these principles in the case of morality when he concludes that “PERSONAL MERIT consists altogether in the possession of mental qualities, useful or agreeable to the person himself or to others.” He adds that this principle would have occurred without any debate “even to the first rude, unpractised enquirers concerning morals” (EPM 9.1). If “objectivity” in morality means that moral features exist apart from perceivers’ minds, then morality for Hume is not objective. It consists of judgments that we apply to persons in virtue of the way their traits as exhibited in action strike our sensibilities. But if “objectivity” indicates that we can extract standards of morality from our sentiments, ones that are not relative to individuals, groups, time, or place, then I think it is proper to call Hume’s morality in EPM objective (at least, this is what Hume thinks we can do). Morality is also “real” in this sense, but there is more to be said about its reality. Among the formal features of its reality are consistency and coherence; among its practical features are its influence on behavior, including on communication and our use of language. This is exactly what Hume emphasizes in his argument for humanity as the source of morality. Most of the world is indifferent to what serves my ambition, but every person is affected to some extent by what serves humanity. So, our language, Hume says, “must be moulded upon it” and we invent a category of terms to express these universal approvals and disapprovals. “VIRTUE and VICE become then known: Morals are recognized: Certain general ideas are framed of human conduct and behaviour: Such measures are expected from men, in such situations” (EPM 9.8). And thus our system of morality is created by our feelings, but it is as real as any other phenomena we can consistently track and that affect our conduct. I say more about its influence on action in the next section.

1.3

Moral Internalism and Moral Cognitivism in the Second Enquiry

Hume appears to treat the sentiment of humanity as identical to a type of benevolence. He is not precise about this, however; he sometimes uses such phrases as “[t]he social virtues of humanity and benevolence”

Nature of Morals Founded on the Human Fabric

25

(EPM 3.2) (as though they are two). On the other hand, at EPM 5.43, he writes that the merit we attribute to social virtues “arises chiefly from that regard, which the natural sentiment of benevolence engages us to pay to the interests of mankind and society” (as though benevolence and humanity are one). Hume draws a distinction between general and particular benevolence in a footnote. The first involves no certain emotional connection with the person, but “only a general sympathy with him or a compassion for his pains, and a congratulation with his pleasures.” The other “is founded on an opinion of virtue, on services done us, or on some particular connexions” (EPM App. 1.5 n.1). Then he goes on to say that the former sentiment, “to wit, that of general benevolence, or humanity, or sympathy,” will be treated in his enquiry. Thus, he seems to identify humanity with general, but not particular, benevolence, and with sympathy.14 However, there are reasons, derived from Hume’s own theory but which he does not recognize fully, to regard benevolence, humanity, and sympathy as distinct principles. I say more about this shortly. Hume portrays humanity as a motive and as the source of our moral distinctions. Yet, Hume’s arguments for sentimentalism in EPM do not depend on claims about the motivating effect of “morals,” or our sense of morals, in the way that they do in the Treatise. In the Treatise, Hume’s central argument for moral sentimentalism says that because morals influence actions and affections, and reason by itself does not, morals cannot be derived from reason alone (T 3.1.1.6). Much discussion has centered on how to understand Hume’s claim that morals influence actions and affections, especially over whether this claim commits Hume to internalism.15 Internalism, although not a view that Hume strictly recognized, is the thesis that a moral judgment, or the making of one, has as an intrinsic feature that it is a motive or generates one. In other words, an assessment does not qualify as a moral judgment if it does not impart to the judge a motive to act in accord with it.16 I want to bear in mind here three points. First, to 14

15 16

One issue commentators raise is whether Hume has, in EPM, dispensed with sympathy as the source of our moral distinctions, in contrast to the Treatise. Among those who argue that Hume has in some way dropped out his sympathy-based account are Selby-Bigge (1894/1975), Laird (1932), Capaldi (1975), and Penelhum (1992). Among those who argue that sympathy is somehow present in Hume’s account of humanity are Abramson (2001), Vitz (2004), Debes (2007a, 2007b), and Taylor (2015b). Thus, there appears to be a generational split. The terms “internalism” and “externalism” were first introduced by W. D. Falk (1947–8), pp. 492–510. Stephen Darwall draws a distinction between judgment (or appraiser) internalism and existence (or agent) internalism. The former is the view that if a person is convinced that she should A, then she

26

elizabeth s. radcliffe

have a motive is not necessarily to be caused to act by it, since we have competing motives, and some are obviously stronger than others. Second, we surely sometimes do make moral assessments of others’ characters that do not involve motivation, but this fact is not necessarily inconsistent with internalism. The key idea in internalism is that when I judge that certain features are virtues and others vices (or certain actions right and others wrong), I feel some incentive to do actions that stem from virtue (or are right) and to avoid those that come from vice (or are wrong). Of course, there are times when my approvals and censures of others do make a difference to my behavior toward them: Hume notes that “a delicacy of taste is favourable to love and friendship, by confining our choice to few people, and making us indifferent to the company and conversation of the greater part of men” (DT E, 7). Third, philosophers sometimes suggest that one difference between aesthetic and moral judgment is that the former does not influence action, while the latter does. I doubt that Hume wants to distinguish them on these grounds. Rather, motivation in aesthetics is exemplified by persons with delicate taste who want to surround themselves with people of upstanding character and objects of beauty. Motivation in such cases, however, is not relevant to internalism, which has us motivated by our judging that we need to cultivate virtue or undertake right action. The question whether a theory is committed to internalism has a bearing on other metaethical issues. Philosophers, notably Michael Smith (1994), have recognized the difficulty in making internalism compatible with moral cognitivism, given a sentimentalist model of motivation.17 Cognitivists say that moral judgments are truth-bearing, but if motivation is initiated by sentiment (passion), then it is hard to see how moral judgments, as claims to fact, could be motivating. Another way to put the issue is that evaluation of the truth or falsity of knowledge claims is done by reason, and on the sentimentalist account of motivation, motives do not originate from reasoning. So, it looks as though morality for sentimentalists is either not intrinsically motivating or not cognitive. While Hume’s explicit arguments for humanity as the source of morality do not appeal to the intrinsically motivating character of humanity or morality, his characterization of humanity implies an internalist view, I think. Annette Baier claims that humanity in EPM

17

would under the appropriate conditions have some motivation to A. Existence internalism is the view that it is necessary for some person’s having an obligation to A that that person would, under appropriate conditions, have a motive to A (Darwall, 1995a, p. 10). Smith famously calls this “The Moral Problem.”

Nature of Morals Founded on the Human Fabric

27

is a sympathetic concern for all humans and need not lead to intentions or actions (except for expressions of its findings) (2008, p. 309). However, Hume does treat humanity as a motive in EPM: “And if the principles of humanity are capable, in many instances, of influencing our actions, they must, at all times, have some authority over our sentiments” (EPM 5.39). At the same time, he also characterizes moral principles as objective in the sense I have already discussed, which allows that they are truth-evaluable rather than expressions of feelings. So, the question of compatibility between his moral internalism, his moral cognitivism, and his theory of motivation needs to be addressed. These views are compatible, I believe, on a proper understanding of the point of Hume’s argument against moral rationalism. In Section 1 of EPM, in the context of offering an overview of the debate about the origin of morality, Hume relays an argument on the sentimentalist side analogous to one he offers in the Treatise. He does not identify himself with this argument in EPM, but I see no reason to think he changes his mind about it. He writes, The end of all moral speculations is to teach us our duty; and, by proper representations of the deformity of vice and beauty of virtue, beget correspondent habits, and engage us to avoid the one, and embrace the other. But is this ever to be expected from inferences and conclusions of the understanding, which of themselves have no hold of the affections, or set in motion the active powers of men? They discover truths: But where the truths which they discover are indifferent, and beget no desire or aversion, they can have no influence on conduct and behavior. (EPM 1.7)

The argument in outline is: (1) Representations of morality (what is fair, noble, generous, etc.) animate (motivate, influence) us to embrace and maintain what they represent. (2) Conclusions of the understanding, about what is probable, true, etc., do not animate us. (Implicit conclusion) Representations of morality are not conclusions of the understanding. They derive from sentiment. I think that Hume’s concern in this argument (and similar renditions of it that occur in the Treatise) is with the origin of our ideas of morality.18 Our ideas of virtue, vice, rightness, wrongness, moral good, moral evil, and so on are abstract because they concern general categories. While we do not 18

See Radcliffe (2018), pp. 137–42.

28

elizabeth s. radcliffe

possess abstract representations, on Hume’s view, instances that fall under these general categories are recalled when we use abstract or general terms. So “virtue” brings to mind ideas of particular occurrences of virtue; “right” provokes thoughts of occurrences of right actions; and so on.19 The conclusion of Hume’s argument is that our representations of instances of morality and immorality originate with impressions (of reflection) instead of with reason or by reasoning. This interpretation of Hume as concerned with the production of our abstract ideas of morality is confirmed by EPM 9.8, already noted above, where Hume refers to the development of moral language modeled on our universal sentiments: “language must soon be moulded upon it, and must invent a peculiar set of terms, in order to express those universal sentiments of censure or approbation, which arise from humanity.” Thus, we recognize the difference between virtue and vice and develop general ideas that represent evaluations of human behavior. Since beliefs are simply lively ideas, and ideas are representations or cognitions, it is plausible to think that Hume surely means to hold a cognitivist view of morality. Also, because we can understand Hume’s moral sentimentalism as concerned with the origination of our normative concepts, his sentimentalism is compatible with the notion that, after we have acquired those concepts or categories, we can infer moral conclusions by reason. Yet, Hume’s internalism stays intact. When he says that representations of morality animate us, he can be read as saying that the discerning of virtue, vice, right, wrong, and so forth, which is perceptual, imparts a psychological push or an attraction under the right circumstances. The representation is not the source of the motivation, but the sentiment by which we form the representation is.20 Thus, Hume’s internalism and cognitivism together reinforce the notions that morality is real, in the same way anything we can systematize is real to us, and that it affects our motivations. With affirmation that our moral sensibility can also be the source of a motive to action, I return to the question whether it also makes sense to call moral sensibility a virtue. In Hume’s Treatise, we can be animated by the sense of morality to do the actions a virtuous person would do, when we lack a virtuous motive like generosity, kindness, or benevolence. So, to act out of moral sensibility there is to act properly, but not from virtue. Virtuous persons have no need to act from “a sense of morality or duty” (T 19 20

See Garrett (1997), pp. 96–104. I cannot argue in depth for this view here, but see also Radcliffe (2018), pp. 138–42.

Nature of Morals Founded on the Human Fabric

29

3.2.1.8). However, in EPM, the sentiment of humanity, a natural motive, is the source of our normative distinctions (because it determines what we take pleasure in), and it is also a virtue.21 This implies that when we act from moral sensibility, we act from virtue. Jacqueline Taylor suggests that cultivated humanity – not mere humanity – is a virtue (2015b, p. 160). But what makes it a virtue? The social traits, such as gratitude, generosity, and friendliness, are virtues because they are everywhere approved by us because of our humanity. Each is a different trait from humanity itself. To the question what makes refined humanity a virtue, Hume’s answer cannot be that it prompts us to serve the general good. As we have seen, serving the general good is a morally worthy goal only because we have humanity, which makes us care about long-term well-being and others’ welfare. What makes cultivated humanity morally good would have to be approval by cultivated humanity, but this leaves us with a circular account of the source of its normativity. It is not incoherent to have as an object of a sentiment that kind of sentiment; I can, for instance, disdain my disdain and approve my approval. However, when the second-order sentiment also serves as a norm for evaluating first-order sentiments, we have a problem. Just as it makes no sense to measure the standard meter bar in Paris by itself to determine whether it is a meter long, so too it makes no sense to evaluate the source of moral norms, humanity, by humanity. What can its approvals of itself mean? Philosophers generally agree that if God’s commands directly determine moral norms, it makes no sense to ask whether God is morally good. Likewise, if the sentiment of humanity is the source of moral value, it makes no sense to ask whether the sentiment of humanity is morally good. My unorthodox suggestion in reading Hume here is to say that humanity can be treated as a motive, but it should be treated as a nonmoral one, separate from the virtues, and as the source of our moral distinctions at the same time. I think humanity is best characterized as a general instinct for human good, as a general principle of human nature (analogous to Hume’s characterization of sympathy in the Treatise). It is that inborn feature that gives us an interest in the welfare of our fellow human beings and generates 21

Utility is “the source of a considerable part of the merit ascribed to humanity, benevolence, friendship, public spirit, and other social virtues of that stamp” (EPM 3.48). And: “[Utility] is inseparable from all the other social virtues, humanity, generosity, charity, affability, lenity, mercy, and moderation” (EPM 5.44). “Why is it more doubtful, that the enlarged virtues of humanity, generosity, beneficence, are desirable with a view to happiness and self-interest, than the limited endowments of ingenuity and politeness?” (EPM 9.19). “The social virtues of humanity and benevolence exert their influence immediately, by a direct tendency or instinct” (EPM App. 3.2).

30

elizabeth s. radcliffe

an array of other-interested virtues and agent-interested virtues. In the first class, for instance, are leniency, tenderness, friendship (EPM 2.1), beneficence, gratitude, and public spirit (EPM 2.5). In the second class, for instance, are discretion, industry, and a reasoned frugality (EPM 6.8–12). Objectors to my revision of Hume’s view will point out that the possession of a developed humanity and being motivated by it are good things, and that Hume himself calls the exercise of humanity virtuous. My reply is that these are good things, but they should be regarded as natural goods, rather than moral ones. That Hume treats humanity itself as a virtue I cannot dispute, but my point is that his views on the origin of virtue leave no way to understand it that way. If humanity is a nonmoral motive, Hume’s internalism is preserved. In that case, being motivated by “morality” or humanity is to be nudged by our sensibility toward others’ pleasures and sufferings to respond to their situation, even when we lack sufficient other-interested motives. When humanity is characterized as a natural instinct that leads us to approve of particular traits and to develop a moral conceptual scheme, then specific virtues can be distinguished, defined, and spotlighted as distinct features of our characters. Of course, given Hume’s purported identity between humanity and general benevolence, my revision implies either that general benevolence is different from humanity or that general benevolence is not a virtue. Taylor has argued that humanity and benevolence are separate principles (2015b, p. 126). Perhaps they are, but I tend to the second alternative. As I have noted, Hume describes general benevolence as “a general sympathy with another or a compassion for his pains, and a congratulation with his pleasures,” a description suggesting a trait that is not implausibly treated as a neutral disposition. However, what can I make of the following passage, where Hume seems to suggest that our ability to recognize morality, even if not to be moved toward its ends, is due to weak virtue? It is sufficient for our present purpose, if it be allowed . . . that there is some benevolence, however small, infused into our bosom; some spark of friendship for human kind; some particle of the dove, kneaded into our frame, along with the elements of the wolf and serpent. Let these generous sentiments be supposed ever so weak; let them be insufficient to move even a hand or finger of our body; they must still direct the determinations of our mind, and where every thing else is equal, produce a cool preference of what is useful and serviceable to mankind, above what is pernicious and dangerous. A moral distinction, therefore, immediately arises; a general sentiment

Nature of Morals Founded on the Human Fabric

31

of blame and approbation; a tendency, however faint, to the objects of the one, and a proportionable aversion to those of the other. (EPM 9.4)

Hume alleges that (general) benevolence is massaged to some degree into all of us, allowing at minimum the experience of a “cool preference” for what is conducive to human welfare. As it stands, this excerpt treats the mere ability to discern morality and the possession of virtue that moves an agent to act in another’s interest as on a continuum, with the latter being a stronger version of the former. My proposal to treat humanity or general benevolence as different from virtue can accommodate this passage with a slight modification. Hume can allow, on my proposal, that each person has the ability to experience a calm approval of the useful, even if not enough to move them to do anything about it. At the same time, the mere experience of this “cool” feeling is enough to say that the agent has a motive (even if too weak to move a finger) to behave in accord with the morality that they recognize.22 Those who feel moved to action by their humanity are determined, I would argue, by a motive to do what a person with a particular virtue like generosity or magnanimity would do. If one instead possesses the virtue of, say, generosity or magnanimity, then one need not be moved by humanity.

1.4 Conclusion Hume’s metaethics, then, in the second Enquiry crosses traditional boundaries. His metaethics is subjectivist in a sense and objectivist in another sense; realist in a sense, but sentimentalist as well; and both cognitivist and internalist. Morality is dependent on the human fabric in that our capacity to make moral distinctions, which depends on an instinctual affinity for the good of others, enters into the construction of our moral system. Thus, virtues are useful traits, but many are also 22

In the Treatise, Hume clearly distinguishes “moral sense” approval from the passion of benevolence, and moral sense disapproval from the passion of malice. Hume’s distinction allows him to argue that benevolence and other motives are virtues because we approve of them (through sympathy regulated by a general viewpoint). I believe that he also holds that morality provides motives on its own: that one can be moved to do what a virtuous person would do, in the absence of the relevant virtue (honesty, benevolence, gratitude, etc.), by perceiving that one is lacking a trait one ought to have. Some authors have argued that humanity in the Enquiry is not actually different from regulated sympathy, with the reflective, general point of view built into it. I think this characterization is misleading, both because Hume does not treat sympathy, regulated or unregulated, as a virtue in the Treatise, and because humanity does not necessarily have us experience feelings analogous to those who are affected by the traits under consideration. See Hanley (2011), pp. 222–23 on this latter point.

32

elizabeth s. radcliffe

simply congenial, to selves or to others. Hume’s arguments for the sentimentalist origin of real and universal moral principles are persuasive ones, given the implications of investigations into human psychological development. Hume’s account embodies an influential metaethics that accounts for the reality of morals and its influence on our behavior, while allowing that both human reason and feeling are crucial to the foundations of morality.23 23

For discussion, I am grateful to the participants in the October 2018 workshop held at William & Mary that featured some papers from this volume. Thanks to Willem Lemmens and Esther Kroeker for the support of that workshop. I especially thank Lorraine Besser and Esther Kroeker for very helpful written comments.

chapter 2

The Pride of Pericles Hume on Self-Love, Benevolence, and the Enjoyment of Our Humanity Willem Lemmens

2.1

Introduction

In this chapter, I examine Hume’s account of the relation between self-love and benevolence in Section 2 and Appendix 2 of An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals (EPM). In these sections Hume delivers an ingenious critique of the so-called selfish theories, exemplified by authors like Hobbes and Mandeville, and contends that the origin of morals derives from benevolence or an unselfish concern for others. Hume thus agrees with many other philosophers of the Scottish Enlightenment that man’s innate sociability forms the origin of morals.1 However, for Hume self-love is equally a crucial feature of human nature and becomes, if modified, a constitutive force in moral life. This was also recognized by predecessors like Shaftesbury, Hutcheson, and Butler (Maurer, 2019). However, through his critique of the selfish theories, Hume distances himself considerably from these benevolence-minded predecessors, whose views on human nature and the origin of morals, in sharp contrast with Hume’s naturalism, still relied on a religiously inspired metaphysics. In so doing, Hume develops his own account of the role of self-love and benevolence in moral life, which brings him closer to the selfish theories than is sometimes recognized.2 This chapter consists of four sections after this introduction. In Section 2.2, I elucidate Hume’s definition of the concepts of benevolence 1 2

Cf. Gill (2000), p. 90; Maurer (2019), pp. 171–80. For the influence of Mandeville and Hobbes on Hume’s moral theory cf. Moore (1994); Gill (2006), ch. 18; Harris (2015), pp. 126–27; Robertson (2005), ch. 6. Some contend that in his Treatise Hume defends a psychological egoism and only moved to an unequivocal defense of an altruist tendency in human nature with EPM; others think there is more continuity between the two works. For the first position cf. Merivale (2019), pp. 52–58. For a more nuanced view cf. Darwall (1993), p. 423; Cohon (2008), pp. 31–35. Some deny any shift between the two works: Garrett (2015), p. 114; Gill (2000), p. 90.

33

34

willem lemmens

and self-love and explain the difference between the sentiments of benevolence and humanity. I also highlight how, in Hume’s view, the virtue of benevolence belongs to a class of social virtues distinct from justice. In Section 2.3, focusing on the example of Pericles on his deathbed in Section 2, I point out how this example is illustrative of Hume’s positive account of benevolence, but could also be interpreted as an instance of a reductionist suspicion concerning benevolence and the social virtues, in line with the selfish theories. In Section 2.4, I reconstruct how Hume, by his debunking of the selfish theories, gives further evidence that benevolence forms an irreducible feature of human nature, thus disproving this interpretation. In Section 2.5, I give some concluding reflections emphasizing Hume’s avowal of the unorthodox character of his own benevolence-based moral theory.

2.2 Benevolence, Humanity, and Self-Love Hume’s apparent predilection for benevolence shines through from the opening sentence of Section 2 of EPM. Relying on the sensibility of his readers, he assumes it a “superfluous task” to prove that the “benevolent or softer affections” engage universally the “approbation, and good-will of mankind” (EPM 2.1). At the end of the section he concludes that “nothing can bestow more merit on any human creature than the sentiment of benevolence . . . and that a part, at least, of its merit arises from its tendency to promote the interest of our species, and bestow happiness on human society” (EPM 2.22). The meaning of the concept of “benevolence” shifts here in a few pages: a soft affection at the beginning of the section, closely related to other affections, it becomes toward the end a sentiment, as well as a general category, referring to a wide realm of social virtues. Moreover, throughout EPM, benevolence is sometimes identified with the sentiment of humanity, while in the concluding Section 9, the sentiment of humanity receives a separate status. This asks for some clarification. 2.2.1 Benevolence and the Soft Affections The reference to the “benevolent and softer affections” reflects Hume’s contention that there exist specific natural passions and inclinations that exhibit a not further reducible other-directed propensity in human nature. Hume’s use of the concept “affection” is not systematically explained in EPM, but usually he appears to consider affections a species of what in the

The Pride of Pericles

35

Treatise are called the “calm passions.”3 In Book 2 of the Treatise, Hume defines benevolence as a direct passion or “a desire of the happiness of the person belov’d, and aversion to his misery” (T 2.2.9.3). He specifies that benevolence is a species of a calm, instinctive passion that is more known by its effect than by its immediate feeling or sensation. The effect of benevolence is obvious: it increases the happiness of other human beings. In the Treatise Hume defines benevolence as a desire for the happiness of a beloved person (T 2.2.6.3). Benevolence and love are thus both passions that have as their natural object another person or thinking being (T 2.2.6.4).4 They differ insofar as benevolence in principle leads to action, while love does not. The presence of a relation of love to the object of benevolence is important: it determines the degree of action readiness of benevolence, which varies according to the significance or closeness of the relation between the benefactor and whoever is the object of concern. From the Treatise we further learn that benevolence is related to passions or affections like “resentment, the love of life, and kindness to children” and the “desire of punishment to our enemies and of happiness to our friends” (T 2.3.3.8). These passions exemplify an immediate unselfish concern for the pleasures and pains of others. This conception of benevolence is preserved in EPM, though Hume nowhere gives a detailed account of it in terms of a “calm passion.” However, as is testified not only by the reference to the “softer affections,” but also by Hume’s digressions on specific other-interested reactive emotions and attitudes such as pity and good-will, compassion, resentment, or parental affection and friendship, the existence of a fundamental otherregarding propensity in human nature is equally highlighted in EPM.5 In an important footnote in Appendix 2, Hume distinguishes particular from general benevolence.6 Particular benevolence is the generous sentiment we feel toward a person close to us or someone we have a specific relation with, which inclines us to do good toward them on the basis of “an opinion of virtue, on services done us, or on some particular connexions.” General 3 4 5

6

There are nineteen references to “the affections” in EPM, all pointing at either the sphere of moral evaluation or the spontaneous sociability of people. EPM does not systematically treat the relation between benevolence and love. For the reference to pity and good-will cf. EPM 6.33 n.34; for resentment cf. 3.18, 3.40, 5.16, 5.27, 5.39, 5.40, App. 1.3; for compassion cf. 3.14, 3.18, 5.18, 5.33, App. 1.16, App. 2.6, App. 2.5 n.60, App. 4.9, App. 4.14; for friendship, there are thirty-one references throughout EPM, with eight in the second Appendix. Cf. also 2.1, 2.5, 2.6, 3.6, 3.7, 3.48, 5.43, 6.30, 7.2, 7.19, 7.20, 7.22, 7.26, 9.4, 9.21, 9.8 n.57, D 28, 34. For parental affection, family-life, sexual love, and marriage cf. 3.16, 3.21, 5.20, 6.35, 8.11, 9.2, App. 2.19, and D. The distinction between general and particular benevolence is absent in the Treatise. Cf. Vitz (2002).

36

willem lemmens

benevolence, in contrast, casts its net much wider. As a sympathizing sentiment, it makes one feel compassion or joy for the pains and pleasures of another human being with whom one has no direct relation (EPM App. 2.5 n.60). The distinction between benevolence as a “passion” or “soft affection” and “sentiment” is nowhere explained in EPM. However, Hume defines in Appendix 2 the “sentiment of benevolence” as a “disposition” and specifies its close relation with affections such as love, friendship, compassion, and gratitude (EPM App. 2.6). The notion “sentiment of benevolence” thus receives a twofold meaning: first of all, in calling benevolence a sentiment, Hume refers to the durable character trait or disposition to act benevolently, while, secondly, he also hints at the capacity, contained in this disposition, to discern the pains and pleasures of other human beings, thus identifying benevolence as a spontaneous, quasi-instinctive fellow-feeling. The sentiment of benevolence can be particular as well as more general, depending on the specific relation to its object. The definition of particular benevolence echoes the remark in the Treatise that a close or significant relation between benefactor and subject is required to invigorate the desire to do good. This need not be a love relation but might be any relation experienced as significant. However, Hume also remarks in the Treatise “that the generosity of men is very limited, and . . . seldom extends beyond their friends and family, or at most, beyond their native country” (T 3.3.3.2). In EPM, Hume confirms that nature has “wisely ordained” that more private connections should prevail over universal concerns: without this confined focus, benevolent “affections and actions would be dissipated and lost, for want of a proper limited object” (EPM 5.42 n.25). Hume again notices that a specific relation or a meaningful context is required for particular benevolence to yield its generous effects. Significantly, as a sentiment benevolence, so Hume suggests, is closely related to or even identical with the sentiment of humanity and sympathy. General benevolence might take the form, as Juvenal observes, of “a generous concern for our kind and species” (EPM 2.5). This general sympathy or benevolence does not issue directly in action, because it might lack any specific relation with the other for whom one feels concern. In the Treatise we find the example of the view of a city in ashes: observers might feel “benevolent sentiments” at the contemplation of the adversity of its inhabitants, not being inclined to help them or at a loss to do anything (T 2.2.9.17).

The Pride of Pericles

37

2.2.2 Fellow-Feeling and the Sentiment of Humanity As just mentioned, Hume identifies general benevolence with a sentiment akin to the sentiment of humanity and some form of sympathy. The passion of benevolence not only makes us feel others’ pains and pleasures, but also makes us aware of their humanity, even if we have no specific connection or relation to them.8 In EPM, Hume sees this benevolent sensitivity as a basic fact of human nature. He does not conduct any further anatomizing analysis of it, as in the Treatise, where he relies on the mechanism of sympathy to explain how exactly we become concerned about the pains and pleasures of others.9 Hume notes: “It is needless to push our research so far as to ask, why we have humanity or a fellow-feeling with others. It is sufficient that this is experienced to be a principle in human nature” (EPM 5.1 n.19). The recognition of “fellow-feeling” as an irreducible feature of human nature is a core insight of EPM: it leads to Hume’s inauguration of the sentiment of humanity as the grounding principle of morals. Throughout EPM humanity is sometimes identified as a social virtue, but especially in the crucial Sections 5 and 9 Hume welcomes it as, to quote Annette Baier, a “virtue-recognizing moral sentiment,” to be distinguished from merely general benevolence (2008, p. 307).10 The sentiment of humanity has four crucial features: it makes one abstract from one’s own self-interest and particular concerns and seek some common point of view from which to judge the moral merit of characters and actions; it invigorates, given specific circumstances, other sentiments and passions; it establishes, through social conversation and other forms of discourse, a standard of virtue and vice for the evaluation of moral merit; and, crucially, it draws on reflection and reason to develop and exert its influence in action (EPM 5.43, 9.4–9). Hume observes that this shared humanity arises because “the benevolent concern for others is diffused, in a greater or less degree, over all men, and is the same for all” (EPM 9.9): this mutual quasiinstinctive sensitivity to each other’s benevolence, so Hume suggests, is through reflection and experience enlarged to a more conscious recognition of all other humans as particular beings capable of pains and pleasures, happiness and misery. In David Wiggins’ reading of 7 8 9

For more on the concept of “humanity” in EPM cf. Debes (2007a). I abstract from the question concerning the compatibility of the Treatise account of sympathy with EPM. For more on this cf. Chapters 1, 8, and 9 of this volume. I here follow Elizabeth Radcliffe; cf. Chapter 1 of this volume.

38

willem lemmens

EPM this enlargement of the sentiment of humanity implies an ascent “from the level of primitive sentiment to the level of plenary moral thought” (Wiggins, 2006, p. 50). The common point we seek through reflection and social conversation creates thus, within specific circumstances, what Hume calls a “standard of morals” – and this standard functions as a sort of interpretive grid to evaluate in common life each other’s characters and actions. This standard in turn influences the formation of moral beliefs and sentiments of praise and blame and the recognition of the principles of agreeableness and utility on which the evaluation of characters and actions relies. Hume stresses that the sentiment of humanity, though as such weak, can become contagious through the reflection and palavers on which it thrives (EPM 9.8). Moreover, the sentiment has a universal character: “the humanity of one man is the humanity of every one; and the same object touches this passion in all human creatures” (EPM 9.8); under ideal conditions it should therefore yield a surprising uniformity of views and opinions on the catalog of the virtues. However, Hume also acknowledges that in reality the sentiment of humanity is not only weak but, as we learn from A Dialogue, also varies from culture to culture and through history. The reflective capacity on which the sentiment of humanity depends may also be distorted by ignorance, prejudices, or credulity: religious enthusiasm and superstition in particular have a mighty negative influence here. Equally, in common life more selfish concerns and passions regularly overrule our shared humanity. 2.2.3

Benevolence and the Soft Social Virtues

Benevolence, together with qualities like humanity, generosity, charity, mercy, and moderation, is conceived of throughout EPM as a soft and amiable social virtue, to be distinguished from social virtues like justice and fidelity, political allegiance and chastity (EPM 1.11, 3.48, 5.44, 6.22, 9.12). The soft and amiable social virtues are in common life immediately experienced as pleasurable, because their beneficial effect exerts itself in every kind and generous act. As such, the soft social virtues might be elicited by different modifications of the nonselfish passions and affections, from parental care to friendship or a generous concern for someone in distress (EPM App. 3.2–3). In contrast, the social virtues related to justice, so we learn from Sections 3 and 4 of EPM, all depend on conventions to

The Pride of Pericles

39

arise and rely on a political order to thrive and fulfill their specific role. As such, they do not directly derive from benevolence and the soft affections.11 Moreover, justice and its kindred virtues are praised for contributing to moral merit exclusively because of their utility. Benevolence and the soft or amiable social virtues, on the other hand, while deriving the largest part of their moral merit from their utility, depend in a substantial way on other conditions and principles to arise and exert their specific beneficial effect (EPM 2.8, 2.22, 5.44, 9.12). Significantly, Hume stresses in Section 7 of EPM that benevolence, when praised as a source of moral merit, is not only recognized as useful for others, but also experienced by its possessor as agreeable. The very softness and tenderness of the sentiment is delightful in itself and recognized by every spectator (EPM 7.19). The approbation that benevolence and its kindred virtues usually receive in common life is warm and gentle and their possessor is recognized as deserving special moral merit, as is testified in all languages, by the amiable and tender epithets used to praise their mental qualities (EPM 2.1). However, Hume notes that the benevolent virtues, welcomed as beneficial and useful, at the same time derive their moral merit “from more than one cause or principle” (EPM 7.26). A crucial condition for their flourishing as virtues is self-love, as we will see with reference to the example of Pericles (cf. Section 2.3 of this chapter). 2.2.4

Self-Love, Pride, and Vanity

Benevolence is obviously opposed to self-love. In the Treatise we find only five references to self-love, while the concept is mentioned twenty-three times in EPM. Hume’s use of the concept of self-love is pluriform. In general, it refers to concerns of self-preservation, personal advantage, and a narrow focus on the satisfaction of self-regarding appetites. In Book 2 of his Treatise Hume remarks that the concept of self-love is somehow improper, for love connotes a directedness to an object external to the self (T 2.2.5.9). In Book 3 of the Treatise, considering the circumstances of justice, Hume firmly states that “self-love, when it acts at its liberty, instead of engaging us to honest actions, is the source of all injustice and violence.” He adds that humans can correct these vices by “restraining the natural movements of that appetite” (T 3.2.1.10). Hume thus distinguishes two modifications of selflove: mere selfishness and a corrected self-love or self-interest. For Hume, the 10

Cf. Chapters 3 and 4 of this volume.

40

willem lemmens

rules of justice exemplify this self-corrective capacity of self-love: by contemplating their “true” interests, human beings adapt their self-love to the public interest. As the Treatise highlights, corrected self-love derives from the reflective capacity of the human mind, causing a more refined, enlightened self-love to arise as a corrective for an untamed selfishness. In the Treatise Hume conceives of pride as the core self-regarding passion. Here Hume also distinguishes pride from self-love, while in EPM he rather follows the eighteenth-century idiom and conceives of pride as closely related to self-love.12 Remarkably, in EPM Hume hardly mentions pride and prefers to speak of vanity.13 The deceiving nature of vanity is noticed, but overall in EPM Hume does not give such a detailed account of the difference between vanity and pride as in the Treatise. In EPM, pride or vanity thus becomes a third modification of self-love, insofar as it also points to a specific interest of persons in their own pleasures and pains. Pride or vanity is a form of self-affection with an intrinsic social dimension because it essentially depends on a desire for praise and approval by others (EPM 8.11, App. 2.2). Hume’s other references to self-love in EPM are in line with the account he gives in the Treatise. Self-love is defined as “a regard to private interest” (EPM 5.6) or a “concern for our own individual happiness” (EPM 5.10). Referring to its “extensive energy” (EPM 5.16), Hume notices the considerable influence of self-love on human action, but also stresses its narrow concern for immediate pleasures and its close connection with rudeness, malice, and violence (EPM 9.8 n.57). In fact, the self-regarding vices of “avarice, ambition, vanity” are improperly identified as species of self-love: Hume again points to the existence of an enlightened self-love, to be distinguished from a vicious self-love (EPM 9.5). As in the Treatise, Hume further contends that the rules of morals need to control and limit self-love (EPM 9.8). He repeats that in social life uncontrolled selflove leads to “mutual shocks,” which can be overcome only through the institution of justice and the rule of law (EPM 8.1). In short, self-love can be both detrimental and beneficial.

2.3

The Pride of Pericles

We can now have a closer look at Hume’s praise of benevolence and the social virtues in Section 2 of EPM. In fact, the mental geography sketched 11 12

For the moral significance of pride cf. Taylor (2015b), Chapter 5. For references to vanity cf. EPM 3.25, 6.28, 8.8, 9.5–7, 9.18, App. 2.7, App. 4.4.

The Pride of Pericles

41

in the previous paragraph reveals that in Hume’s view the development of a due sense of self-love and pride forms a crucial additional condition for these virtues to flourish. Hume illustrates this with the example of Pericles on his deathbed. Immediately after a brief praise of benevolence and the “soft affections,” Hume observes: When Pericles, the great Athenian statesman and general, was on his deathbed, his surrounding friends, deeming him now insensible, began to indulge their sorrow for their expiring patron, by enumerating his great qualities and successes, his conquests and victories, the unusual length of his administration, and his nine trophies erected over the enemies of the republic. You forget, cries the dying hero, who had heard all, you forget the most eminent of my praises, while you dwell so much on those vulgar advantages, in which fortune had a principal share. You have not observed, that no citizen has ever yet worne mourning on my account. (EPM 2.2, italics mine)

This passage, borrowed from Plutarch’s Lives, draws attention to Hume’s quite revisionary vision of benevolence. Calling Pericles a moral “hero” excelling in humanity and benevolence must have at least surprised his orthodox Christian contemporaries, who might have expected rather a selfsacrificing saint or philanthropist to fulfill that role.14 The benevolence of Pericles is certainly no instance of Christian charity. Pericles hopes he excelled in actions and measures to avoid the suffering and “mourning” of the Athenians: he cared about the prosperity of his people, while also being a warlord. Exerting his benevolence in accordance with the offices imposed on him as a governor and through his dutiful care for the establishment of good laws, he promoted the public good of his state, not that of other nations. Of course, Hume builds his case not only on Pericles, but on a much wider panoply of examples, taken from literary sources as well as common experience, such as: the beneficent man who exemplifies an unselfish concern for his parents, children, and friends (EPM 2.6); the mother who we spontaneously praise when she sacrifices health and life for her child (EPM App. 2.9); the practice of giving alms to beggars (EPM 2.18); and the man who grieves for the loss of a valuable friend that needed his care and protection (EPM App. 2.7). Hume further reminds his readers, citing Juvenal, that someone who “affords shelter to inferiors” is praised as

13

As the famous letter to Hutcheson testifies, early on Hume drew from his conception of human morality from Cicero’s De Officiis, not The Whole Duty of Man, the Protestant moral guide of Hume’s youth (L I, 13). For more on this cf. Chapters 10 and 11 of this volume.

42

willem lemmens

an eminent moral character and refers to the fact that humans do regularly care for the public good (EPM 5.45, 9.8). As these examples testify, benevolence takes on different forms, depending on the practices and offices through which it manifests itself as a virtue. Moreover, as Hume suggests with his numerous examples from ancient literature, the appreciation of benevolence and the social virtues might vary because of custom and manners (EPM 6.20). Christian charity, based on a belief that God created us to live up to an ideal of extensive benevolence for all other humans, as Butler and Hutcheson maintained, has no place in Hume’s catalog of the virtues.15 Part of the underlying intention of Hume’s second Enquiry is precisely to distance himself from the Christian ethics of these forebears, but also from the neo-stoic model of love for the public good defended by Shaftesbury. Hume proposes a more urbane and realistic view on human sociability and morals (Baier, 2008; Harris, 2015). Furthermore, the example of Pericles, as well as the other illustrations in Section 2, reveal that benevolence and its kindred virtues might achieve their beneficial workings through a wide variety of unselfish affections and passions. Motherly love is, after all, a different incentive for care than compassion for a poor beggar or vulnerable stranger, while friendship differs from the love of one’s country or resentment for injuries done to strangers. The instinctive “fellow-feeling” with which we are all born forms, indeed, a complex pattern of affections and emotions, once it unfolds itself in common life and adapts itself to various circumstances and social roles. Hume’s examples further illustrate that our benevolent affections need some “particular object” to which the benefactor has a close or significant relation to exert their beneficial effect and lead to concrete actions. Pericles cares for the Athenians, with whom he is connected as a governor; the caring friend feels connected with his lifelong companion more than with a befriended colleague; the social activist feels connected with her vulnerable and socially disadvantaged clients. Notice, however, that “closeness” of a social relation need not be physical to be significant, and the significance of a relation or social role might bridge physical distance. To give a not very Humean example: the Flemish priest Father Damian sacrificed his health, and in the end his life, for the lepers of Molokai at the other end of the globe. 14

I abstract from the differences between Hutcheson’s and Butler’s views on benevolence. For divine providence and benevolence cf. Hutcheson (2002), pp. 195–98; for the idea of providence in general cf. Butler (2006), p. xxxi. Hume praises charity as a social virtue with some reservations (EPM 2.18, 5.44).

The Pride of Pericles

43

His extreme benevolence might be incomprehensible for an outsider but receives its significance from his Christian ideal of charity.16 This example, as well as Hume’s reference to Pericles, reminds us of the fact that in common life the sentiment of humanity is less universalistic and uniform than Hume at first sight suggests. Pericles’ benevolence and generosity are praiseworthy for the Athenians, but reflect a moral standard that differs considerably from that of the Protestant culture of Hume’s age. Education and cultural habit play a decisive role in the impact and scope of the sentiment of humanity (EPM 1.2, 3.47, 5.3; D 24). Obviously, predecessors like Shaftesbury, Hutcheson, and Butler, in comparison with orthodox Christians more sympathetic to ancient culture, could appreciate the reference to Pericles as a person of exemplary personal merit: and Hume himself undoubtedly hoped with his EPM to enlarge the sentiment of humanity of his contemporaries and make the moral standard of his culture more pluralist. The Pericles example calls attention to two further observations. First of all, benevolence is only one of many virtues in Hume’s broader catalog. When his friends praise the merit of Pericles’ illustrious achievements, they focus on the austere qualities of character and mind that enabled the great statesman to realize his goals, such as the “selfish” or “private virtues” of discretion, prudence, assiduity, enterprise, and industry (EPM 6.21), but also strength of mind, self-command, and courage. These self-regarding virtues, so Hume contends, are in the first place useful for their possessor, but in proper balance with the social virtues they contribute substantially to the public interest (EPM 6.14–15, App. 4.2 and 5, 7.13). The virtue of courage deserves special mention here. Courage, according to Hume, incarnates the sublimity and equanimity, but also extraordinary self-command and strength of mind, typical for the martial form of personal merit held in high esteem in ancient times. It thus adds a “peculiar lustre” to the character (EPM 7.11–13, App. 4.2).17 Without courage and other self-regarding virtues, Pericles’ humanity and benevolence would never have become so significant and effective: his personal merit in the eyes of his friends and the citizens of Athens derives clearly from the fact that he integrates in his character both selfish and other-regarding virtues and excellencies. This brings us to a further observation concerning Pericles’ deathbed wish. The dying statesman, in calling attention to his humanity, appears 15 16

Hume reserves the ideal of self-sacrificing love for motherly care; cf. EPM 2.9. “The martial temper of the Romans, inflamed by continual wars, had raised their esteem of courage so high, that, in their language, it was called virtue, by way of excellence and of distinction from all other moral qualities” (EPM 7.13).

44

willem lemmens

motivated by a desire for praise. This is not surprising since Hume remarks in A Dialogue that the ancients highly esteemed pride and considered it a sign of the magnanimity in a man of rank and high achievements. Pericles is such a man who out of a “noble pride and spirit” and sense of self-value desires to be praised for his generosity and concern for the public good (EPM 7.14, 10). Hume himself does not mention the pride of Pericles but would without doubt acknowledge its role. However, with this reference to pride, we also touch upon a possible skepticism concerning Hume’s example. Is not Pericles’ desire for praise an instance of vanity and self-love? And would this not throw a profound suspicion on the unselfish and genuine character of his benevolence and humanity, which Hume so eagerly highlights? In this regard, it is significant that Section 6 of EPM refers to some discussions of late years “in this kingdom” (EPM 6.21). Hume calls attention to how an overdone bragging about the social virtues and public spirit in public conversation might have made eighteenth-century “men of the world,” but supposedly also philosophers and writers, suspicious of the sincerity of man’s alleged benevolent nature. From that perspective, so Hume suggests, philosophers might have been inclined to develop purely reductionist accounts of moral motivation and behavior. Hume mentions no names of contemporary writers or philosophers exhibiting such a too enthusiast view on benevolence and public spirit. He refers with a certain sympathy to Lucian, who talked about “virtue” regularly with “spleen and irony,” apparently mocking the Stoics and Cynics who saw a selfdenying public-spiritedness as the gist of moral merit. Probably Hume had similar feelings about Shaftesbury, Hutcheson, and Butler, despite his agreement with their critique on the reductionist intentions of the selfish theories.18 He also does not mention contemporary philosophers who were rather along the line of Lucian’s practical skepticism. But this allusion to a cynical attitude concerning benevolence and human sociability must have been understood by Hume’s readers as a hint at the “selfish theories” of Hobbes and Mandeville. It is no coincidence that this allusion resonates in Appendix 2, where Hume shows why the reductionism of the selfish theories is untenable.

2.4 Debunking the “Selfish Theories” Appendix 2 opens with a sneer at the “corrupted heart” of those who pretend that “benevolence is mere hypocrisy, friendship a cheat, public spirit a farce” 17

I thank Aaron Garrett for pressing me on this.

The Pride of Pericles

45

(EPM App. 2.1). Hume points at inconsistencies in two versions of the selfish theories before he turns to two arguments in favor of his own position. A first version of the selfish theories is presented as follows: There is a principle, supposed to prevail among many, which is utterly incompatible with all virtue or moral sentiment, and as it can proceed from nothing but the most depraved disposition, so in its turn it tends still further to encourage that depravity. This principle is that benevolence is mere hypocrisy, friendship a cheat, public spirit a farce, fidelity a snare to procure trust and confidence; and that, while all of us, at bottom, pursue only our private interest, we wear these fair disguises, in order to put others off their guard, and expose them the more to our wiles and machinations. (EPM App. 2.1)

This passage, echoing Hutcheson, clearly forms an implicit reference to Bernard Mandeville, the bête noire of many in eighteenth-century moral philosophy.19 In his satire Fable of the Bees (1714/1723), Mandeville denies that humans have a natural disposition to unselfish behavior. Benevolence can never be what it seems to be and variants of it are nothing but “disguises” to cover up self-interest. Humans desire to do good for another because they seek personal advantage or hope to strengthen their position. On this hypothesis Mandeville builds his constructivist conception of morality and manners. In his eyes, the sense of virtue is nothing but a coverup for an insatiable self-love: a real altruist motive does not exist. Indoctrinated by “skilful politicians,” humans are educated to dissimulate their selfish passions and learn to cooperate to benefit themselves and their beloved ones (Mandeville, 1988b, p. 47). Codes of honor and good manners are equally conventions invented by citizens in a shared posture of pretended conviviality: they allow civil society to flourish but are marked by hypocrisy and self-deceit. In a first part of his Fable, Mandeville thinks a calculating egoism forms the core of the selfish tendency: in Part II of his Fable he gives a highly original account of self-liking or amour-propre, a subtle variant of the instinct of self-preservation, to explain away the illusions of genuine benevolence (Maurer, 2019, pp. 58–85). Self-liking, in Mandeville’s view, makes humans consider themselves better than their neighbors. At the same time, fearful of being overruled or humiliated by them, they develop a desire for praise. Overt generous behavior hides in fact the selfish concern for applause and social approbation.20 18 19

Hutcheson (2002), pp. 3–4. Maurer (2019), p. 62. See also Mandeville (1988a), pp. 54–55; (1988b), p. 130; (2012), p. 4. For an extensive study of Hume and Mandeville cf. Tolonen (2013).

46

willem lemmens

Under such a reading, it is impossible to distinguish whether Pericles is motivated by vanity, when he desires to be praised for his social virtues, or a genuine form of self-value or due pride.21 His humanity, if Mandeville is right, covers up other motives: ambition, cunning, desire to excel. Even on his deathbed Pericles is driven by a desire for praise which exhibits his insatiable self-liking and a manipulative attitude (“wiles and machinations”) toward his friends. For Hume, this is superficial thinking. From a hasty generalization, philosophers such as Mandeville end up with an overly reductive and depraved vision of human nature and morality (EPM App. 2.1), which effaces all differences between a noble man and mere pretenders. In fact, Hume suggests that Pericles’ benevolence as well as his hope to be praised for his social virtues might well be sincere. After this first argument, Hume moves to a second, less provocative version of the selfish theories. According to Epicurus or moderns such as Hobbes and Locke, so Hume explains, every form of concern for another human being is nothing but a “modification of self-love.” An Epicurean or Hobbesian will recognize that social life exemplifies nice instances of friendship and benevolence but at the same time he contends that “at bottom, the most generous patriot and most niggardly miser, the bravest hero and most abject coward, have, in every action, an equal regard to their own happiness and welfare” (EPM App. 2.2). This version of psychological egoism recognizes that one’s altruism might be sincere and the praise one receives for it well deserved. But by “a philosophical chymistry” Hobbes and Locke equally reduce benevolent and unselfish motives to the more fundamental motive of self-love.22 Their account goes as follows: we sincerely believe that our friendship, the love for our children, our patriotism, and even the concern for the “liberty and happiness of mankind” is genuine and makes a difference (EPM App. 2.2). And in a way, such passions or attitudes and the desires they yield do sometimes lead to behavior that differs from mere selfish behavior. But in the end, according to Hobbes and Locke, even the satisfaction of the desires yielded by these passions and attitudes is guided by the all-determining concern for my pains and pleasures and my desire to seek their satisfaction.23 Thus, in the end, all human action derives from a concern for one’s own pleasures and pains, which is clearly an instance of self-love. 20 21 22

Hume mentions the importance of a due pride or self-value at EPM 7.10. I abstract from the question whether or not Hume’s interpretation of Locke and Hobbes is accurate. Cf. for Hobbes: Mackie (1980), chapter 2; for Locke: Merivale (2019), pp. 30–33. Locke (1979), II.20 § 2–3. Locke seems influenced by Hobbes; see his Leviathan (1994), p. 35.

The Pride of Pericles

47

Hume agrees that we are sometimes not the best judges of our own motives: selfish motives might back up what is at first sight purely unselfish behavior (EPM App. 2.7). Paying tribute to Locke and Hobbes, he observes that this need not be so problematic. In fact, self-love might support the apparently benevolent affections: “I esteem the man, whose self-love, by whatever means, is so directed as to give him a concern for others, and render him serviceable to society: as I hate or despise him, who has no regard to anything beyond his own gratifications and enjoyments” (EPM App. 2.4). But notice, so Hume points out, that there exists also for Locke and Hobbes a difference between mere narrow selfishness or a concern for the direct gratification of all sorts of inclinations and passions and a more enlightened self-love. This echoes an earlier reference in EPM to Polybius, who apparently in a similar way considered rational selfinterest as the origin of morals (EPM 5.6). Hume agrees with the judicious ancient philosopher that often “generous, humane action contributes to our particular interests” (EPM 5.9). We might consciously cultivate a concern for society and learn to feel resentment toward injuries done to others: public and private interest here coincide (EPM 5.16). The selfish theories are right on that. But from this perspective, the reduction of every unselfish or altruist tendency in human nature to a modification of selflove becomes almost trivial. And thus, Hume turns in Appendix 2 to two arguments in favor of his nonreductionist account of the benevolent affections. To begin with, the selfish theories are empirically weak. Reducing all unselfish behavior to a more fundamental egoist and self-centered concern goes “against the appearance of things” (EPM App. 2.6). Alluding to his Newtonian experimentalism, Hume points out that for the explanation of human behavior another explanatory device is required than in physics, where a variety of phenomena should be explained by as few principles as possible. But the selfish theories, out of an understandable but misleading “love of simplicity,” are too reductive: they violate the rule that in the explanation of our passions, the “simplest and most obvious cause” is “probably the true one” (EPM App. 2.7). Hume illustrates this again with some telling observations. We know from experience that animals bear a self-forgetting kindness to their own species and even ours: shall we admit then that “the inferior species” knows a disinterested benevolence, and humans not? Love between the sexes, Hume continues, bears on complacency and goodwill beyond calculating egoism, as does motherly love (EPM App. 2.8–9). We desire the welfare of our friend, even beyond our own death,

48

willem lemmens

as well as a man may mourn for a friend who needed his care and protection, irrespective of any reciprocal advantage (EPM App. 2.10, App. 2.7). Earlier in EPM, Hume mentions that we praise qualities and virtues that are in the first place agreeable and useful for their possessor, and may even praise, like Demosthenes, the generosity of an enemy (EPM 5.11): where is the self-interest here (EPM 6.3, 7.29)? Until we find a better hypothesis, Hume concludes, we should acknowledge that “these and a thousand other instances are marks of a general benevolence in human nature, where no real interest binds us to the object” (EPM App. 2.11). For a second argument against the selfish theories, Hume finds inspiration in Joseph Butler’s Sermons, published a decade or two before EPM, but also in the writings of Shaftesbury and Hutcheson (Maurer, 2019, p. 177).24 Distinguishing between, on the one hand, primary or original appetites, mental passions and propensities and, on the other, secondary passions and principles, Hume recalibrates the idea, defended by Hobbes and Locke, that human behavior is solely determined by the concern for one’s own pleasures and pains. How secondary propensities and passions receive this separate status is not explained, but Hume apparently alludes here to the reflective capacity of the human mind. Secondary are those propensities and passions that are evaluative and rely on understanding and judgment to arise. As such they are instances, as Hume famously observes in his Treatise, of calm passions, which are often confused with reason (T 2.3.3.8).25 EPM refers also to this reflective and passion-correcting capacity of the human mind when Hume analyzes the “strength of mind” and mentions the “decisions” that might result from “our calm passions and propensities” when we act following “certain rules of conduct” (EPM 6.15). Reflecting on its direct propensities and passions, the mind causes calm passions to arise or initially violent passions to become more moderate, thus influencing the primary passions and invigorating other passions and sentiments.26 With this clarification, we may interpret Hume’s critique of Hobbes and Locke as follows. 23 24

25

I abstract from the question whether Hume’s reading of his predecessors is accurate or on which sources he might rely. For Butler, see also Garrett (2018). Mentioning the calm passions like benevolence and resentment, the love of life, and “kindness to children,” Hume remarks in the Treatise: “When any of these passions are calm, and cause no disorder in the soul, they are very readily taken for the determinations of reason” (T 2.3.3.8). This does not imply that reason is a modification of these calm passions (or that it alters them), but that it is easy for us to mistake our calm passions for the determinations of our reasoning. I owe this nuance to an anonymous referee of my chapter. Wiggins discerns in Hume’s account of moral reflection a notion of “ratiocinative desire” in the line of Aristotle (2006, p. 50).

The Pride of Pericles

49

Of course, when we act out of friendship or humanity, we pursue some good the satisfaction of which causes pleasure and makes us happy. But this requires that, in order to feel pleasure (or pain) as a consequence of this generous act, we need to be motivated by “a passion which points immediately to the object and constitutes it our good or happiness” (EPM App. 2.12). This object is the good of another person, whose pain we want to relieve and pleasure we desire to enhance. If we are so motivated, we feel pleasure when our concern, helping the other, is fulfilled, and pain when we are powerless to relieve their suffering: but we do not seek the fulfillment of this benevolent concern to feel pleasure, or to get rid of our pain. So, our pains and pleasures, caused by the satisfaction or frustration of our benevolent desire to do good to another, are triggered by an altruistic concern. The intentional object of our benevolence is the relief of the pain of another, or the satisfaction of their pleasure, and not our own consequential pain or pleasure. From this perspective, we understand how in Hume’s view a modified self-love might foster benevolence and the other-regarding affections. Discerning a reflective self-love as a secondary propensity, to be distinguished from a stubborn egoism, Hume observes: “were there no appetite of any kind antecedent to self-love, the propensity could scarcely ever exert itself; because we should, in that case, have felt few and slender pains or pleasures, and have little misery or happiness to avoid or pursue” (EPM App. 2.12). But reflective self-love, as a secondary principle, might be mobilized by the impulses of pains and pleasures of more primary passions and propensities and the aversions or desires these imply. Someone might decide out of selflove to take care of another. But this care, invigorated by the primary desire to do good for another, need first have affected them as worthwhile to pursue. Interestingly, Hume stresses that not only “the desire of another’s happiness or good” falls under the category of primary propensity, but also more basic self-related instincts like thirst and hunger, or sensual drives, next to the desire for fame, power, or vengeance (EPM App. 2.13). Just like whatever primary instinct or lower self-regarding passion might shape our pains and pleasures by offering us a direct motive to act, so might friendship and benevolence. The satisfaction of other-directed desires thus becomes in a way our own good, which is “afterwards pursued from the combined motives of benevolence and selfenjoyment” (EPM App. 2.13).

50

willem lemmens

2.5

Behind the “Dismal Dress”: The Enjoyment of Our Humanity

At first sight, the critique of the selfish theories is merely a side theme in the whole of EPM and is therefore placed among its appendixes, the “workrooms” of Hume’s enquiry (Baier, 2008, p. 293). However, in all but the last editions of EPM, the second Appendix formed the first part of Section 2 and thus preceded Hume’s praise of benevolence and the social virtues.27 The critique of self-love and the positive account of benevolence can thus be read as the two sides of Hume’s integrated view on the role of our selfand other-regarding passions and affections in moral life. Therefore, as I have tried to elucidate, this account forms a crucial subtext throughout EPM, the importance of which should not be underestimated. Throughout EPM, Hume argues that the interest humans have in the achievement and ascription of moral merit derives from a nonselfish, other-regarding propensity of human nature, exhibited by the benevolent and soft affections. This propensity not only grounds the prominent role of the social virtues in common life but also lies at the roots of the capacity to develop the sentiment of humanity, on which the whole system of moral evaluation is based. Hume sounds enthusiastic about his positive moral theory when he exclaims in the concluding Section 9: “But what philosophical truths can be more advantageous to society, than those here delivered, which represent virtue in all her genuine and most engaging charms, and make us approach her with ease, familiarity, and affection? The dismal dress falls off, with which many divines, and some philosophers have covered her; and nothing appears but gentleness, humanity, beneficence, affability” (EPM 9.15). Opposing the austere and rigorous ethics of orthodox Calvinism, Hume takes the side of his more optimistic, benevolence-minded predecessors Shaftesbury, Hutcheson, and Butler: with them, he presents an image of human nature that makes the enjoyment of virtue and a common humanity the core of moral life. However, distancing himself from these predecessors, Hume at the same time firmly opposes the religiously inspired metaphysics underlying their moral systems. After all, Shaftesbury, Hutcheson, and Butler not only understand benevolence as a feature of human nature that promotes human happiness and sociability, but they also integrate their praise of the social virtues in an ethics centering on individual perfection and divine redemption. For Shaftesbury, who 26

Cf. Hume’s letter to his editor William Strahan: L II, 329–30.

The Pride of Pericles

51

defended a stoic, enlightened, and pagan conception of divine providence, the perfection of benevolence and the public affections formed a sort of natural telos of moral life, a good in itself. Butler and Hutcheson, on the other hand, propagating a liberal but unwavering Christian apologetics, think that humans, by living up to the moral duties related to benevolence, strive at becoming worthy of God’s love and ultimate salvation. Hume’s EPM guide to morals breaks radically with this religiously inspired teleological metaphysics and logic of redemption. His account of sociability and praise of benevolence and the social virtues is entirely secular. For Hume, man’s moral interests derive from merely this-worldly concerns and passions, and the reward of virtue is nothing but the pleasurable enjoyment of our common humanity. His is a wholly a-religious, Epicurean moral ideal. In this sense, Hume’s conception of human nature and his appreciation of the function of morality in common life closely resemble the moral anthropologies of Hobbes and Mandeville, but without their cynicism and reductionism.28 In this sense, it is certainly no coincidence that the ratification of the sentiment of humanity in the concluding Section 9 of EPM forms part of a larger reflection on the dispute concerning the degrees of self-love and benevolence to be found in human nature (EPM 9.4). Hume calls this dispute “vulgar” and indecisive, because of the intrinsic opacity of human motivation and action, but also because of the inclination, also to be found among philosophers, to be prejudiced in favor of either a “selfish” or a “benevolent” reading of the anthropological evidence. For my theory, Hume remarks, it suffices to accept that “there is some benevolence, however small, infused into our bosom; some spark of friendship for human kind; some particle of the dove, kneaded into our frame, along with the elements of the wolf and the serpent” (EPM 9.4). This sounds meager as the concluding remark of an enquiry that so explicitly praises benevolence and the warm and tender social virtues. A few paragraphs later Hume returns to another register, noticing enthusiastically that the moral sentiments, firmly based on the sentiment of humanity, symbolize nothing less than “the party of human kind against vice and disorder, its common enemy” (EPM 9.9, italics original). But immediately, Hume reminds us of the fragile nature of this shared sentiment. Somewhat ambiguously, he notices: “Other passions, though perhaps originally 27

In private correspondence Ryan Hanley accurately remarked that Hume’s ethics exemplifies “a secularism without cynicism.”

52

willem lemmens

stronger, yet being selfish and private, are often overpowered by its force, and yield the dominion of our breast to those social and public principles” (EPM 9.9). For Hume, to become a force that exerts its beneficial role and make a case in favor of the party of humankind, our benevolence and humanity depend crucially on additional conditions and circumstances. One of these is self-love. In the last paragraphs of EPM Hume observes that from this perspective there need not be any opposition between the selfish and social sentiments or dispositions (EPM 9.20): fostering the social virtues not only leads to the happiness of others, but also forms the source of a deep personal enjoyment, which will “keep us in humour with ourselves as well as with others; while we retain the agreeable reflection of having done our part towards mankind and society” (EPM 9.21). This is a conclusion with which Shaftesbury, Hutcheson, and Butler would agree, but they would stress that, to become morally significant, this selfenjoyment requires a self-transcending wisdom and love of God or the Deity. For Hume, the pleasure of virtue is just a function of our thisworldly sociability and personal striving for happiness. The promotion of this insight forms a key purpose of the whole EPM. From this perspective, so Hume is convinced, the cultivation of the social virtues and the sentiment of humanity is indeed in our self-interest. In the concluding Section 9, Hume significantly refers to the love of fame as “another spring of our constitution that brings a great addition of force to the moral sentiment.” The love of fame invigorates a “habit of surveying ourselves” and fosters a self-evaluative pride, which “keeps alive all the sentiments of right and wrong and begets, in noble natures, a certain reverence for themselves as well as others” (EPM 9.10). This self-valuing might even lead to the recognition that we have an “interested obligation” to cultivate the social virtues and the sentiment of humanity (EPM 9.14). The pride of Pericles reflects this conscious recognition of an obligation to cultivate his humanity and benevolence: aware, in the hour of death, of having fulfilled his duty toward his people, his moral merit is also the source of personal happiness.29 28

I would like to thank all the participants in the October 2018 workshop at William & Mary that featured some papers from this volume. Thanks also to Elizabeth Radcliffe for organizing this event. I am especially grateful to Esther Kroeker, Hannah Lingier, Aaron Garrett, Ryan Hanley, and an anonymous referee for their inspiring comments and suggestions for improvement of an earlier version of this essay.

chapter 3

Justice and Politics in the Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals Ryan Patrick Hanley

Hume’s signature contribution to our understanding of justice has long been taken to consist in his redefinition of justice as an artificial virtue. This is of course the main aim of his account of justice in Book 3 of the Treatise: namely, to demonstrate “that the sense of justice and injustice is not deriv’d from nature, but arises artificially, tho’ necessarily from education, and human conventions” (T 3.2.1.17). This is a striking claim, as Hume of course intended it to be. As such it has not failed to attract the attention of both theorists of justice and Hume specialists.1 There is a problem with focusing on this claim, however. Hume’s representation of his theory of justice in the Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals (EPM) – the book that he, in his autobiography, notoriously proclaimed “incomparably” his best – makes no mention of or reference whatsoever to justice as an artificial virtue.2 And this can hardly be written off as a shift of attention away from justice. For Hume in fact gives justice careful attention in the second Enquiry, devoting the longest of the work’s nine sections to it and also returning to consider justice again in its third Appendix. 1

2

In the Hume literature see Woozley (1978); Cottle (1979); King (1981); Haakonssen (1981), pp. 4–44; Harrison (1981); and Baier (2010). In the justice literature see MacIntyre (1988), pp. 300–25; and Barry (1989), pp. 145–78. See esp. James Harris, who rightly notes that in the second Enquiry “the argument given for the artificiality of justice in Treatise 3.2.1 disappears without a trace” (2018, p. 3); see also Harris (2015), pp. 255–56. Baier similarly notes that in the second Enquiry Hume “dropped the sharp distinction between nature and artifice” (2010, p. 33, though see also p. 230). See also in this context Harrison (1981), p. 289; Hardin (2008), p. 48; and Frazer (2010), p. 67.

53

54

ryan patrick hanley

Given this obvious and fundamental difference between the account of justice in the Treatise and the account of justice in the second Enquiry, readers of Hume are compelled to confront the challenge of explaining what exactly changed in Hume’s shift from one sort of account to another, as well as the challenge of explaining what, if anything, is significant in Hume’s mature theory of justice once the idea of justice’s artificiality has been taken off the table. Questions of this sort have long been familiar to Hume scholars, who have often compared the treatments of discrete concepts in the Treatise and the second Enquiry to ask what exactly has changed.3 What follows extends this line of inquiry to the specific concept of justice in an effort to track the differences between the two accounts in a way that might be useful to specialists. But in so doing I also hope to call attention to certain ways in which Hume’s mature theory of justice not only differs from but goes beyond the Treatise account, and establishes the second Enquiry account as an important contribution to debates in political philosophy concerning the nature of justice and its place in political life. At the very least, I hope to establish that dismissing the second Enquiry account of justice as uninteresting or merely repetitive, as has sometimes been done, is to miss its point.4 What follows focuses on two specific sections of the second Enquiry: Section 3 (“Of Justice”) and Appendix 3 (“Some Farther Considerations with Regard to Justice”). In so doing it argues for two claims. First, in shifting away from the debate over whether justice is natural or artificial, the second Enquiry focuses instead on how political actors and political orders enable natural justice to be operationalized in practical life. In so doing, Hume redefines the task of politics in such a way as to argue that the fundamental task of the statesman is to discover how the ideals of justice can be most effectively realized or approximated in actual political conditions. In this sense, the second Enquiry account of justice has certain normative implications. In addition, this shift aligns with Hume’s well-appreciated commitments to both political realism and political moderation, but also made it possible for Hume, in a manner befitting a political moderate, to sidestep the extremism on both sides of the debate over whether justice is best understood as natural or artificial.5 3

4

5

On the differences between the Treatise and the second Enquiry see esp. Taylor (2009) and Debes (2007b). Students of Hume’s later moral philosophy have paid particular attention to the evolution of his concept of sympathy; see for example Abramson (2001); Debes (2007a); and Hanley (2011). For an especially forthright statement of this position, see Woozley (1978), p. 81; see also Harrison (1981), esp. pp. 281, 289. My own view, as will be clear, is closer to Baier’s, which regards the second Enquiry account of justice as “more theoretically complete” (Baier, 2010, p. 228). For a recent reading of Hume’s political theory that emphasizes its realist orientation, see Sagar (2018), esp. pp. 217–18; see also in this vein Hardin (2008), pp. 139–41. Neil McArthur helpfully calls attention to Hume’s “life-long project of seeking moderation in politics” (2016, p. 493).

Justice and Politics

55

Second, Hume’s account of justice in the second Enquiry reveals a crucial albeit underemphasized aspect of his moral epistemology, namely the role reason plays in moral motivation and evaluation. Hume has long been famous (at least to nonspecialists) for urging that reason is and ought to be the slave of the passions. But the second Enquiry offers a very different account of the role reason plays in both motivating and evaluating just behavior – one that specifically calls into question a reductive sentimentalist reading of his moral psychology. What follows develops these claims in three sections. First I provide an overview of the main outlines of Hume’s theory of justice as developed in Part I of Section 3 of the second Enquiry. The next section of the chapter turns to Part II of Section 3, in which Hume presents his political conception of justice, and specifically develops his claims regarding the role of political actors in helping to realize justice in practice. The final section gathers together Hume’s insights into the moral psychology of justice in Section 3 and Appendix 3 to call attention to the roles played by reason and reflection in motivating and evaluating just behavior.

3.1

Justice: The Foundational Argument

In the first paragraph of Section 3 of EPM, Hume lays out his fundamental claim on justice: That justice is useful to society, and consequently that part of its merit, at least, must arise from that consideration, it would be a superfluous undertaking to prove. That public utility is the sole origin of justice, and that reflections on the beneficial consequences of this virtue are the sole foundations of its merit; this proposition, being more curious and important, will better deserve our examination and enquiry. (EPM 3.1, italics original; see also EPM 3.48)

The primary question on the table with regard to justice is not its definition or its function, but its origin and the origin of our conception of its merit. This is important for several reasons. First, Hume’s account, for all the detail into which it goes regarding the question of origins, turns out to be relatively thin when it comes to defining justice; as commentators have often noted, Hume never provides an explicit definition of justice, and simply seems to associate justice with the protection of property rights.6 This focus on origins is also important for a second reason, perhaps even 6

See for example Cottle (1979), pp. 458–59; King (1981), p. 35; Barry (1989), p. 152; MacIntyre (1988), p. 307; and Baier (2010), p. vii; cf. Moore (1976), esp. pp. 112–17. Harris and Baier have both noted

56

ryan patrick hanley

more central to the main themes of our present inquiry. Hume’s specific claim is that, properly understood, the origin of justice lies wholly in public utility. By this he means two things: first, that justice came to be only as a result of certain circumstances that rendered it “useful to society”; and second, that justice is admired only for its capacity to advance public utility through its “beneficial consequences.” In framing his inquiry into justice in this manner, Hume subtly shifts the grounds of the discussion from the way in which he had presented them in the Treatise. There too the main question was that of justice’s origins. But by framing the debate over the origins of justice in terms of “natural” and “artificial,” Hume invited a controversy over his fidelity to Epicureanism and Hobbesianism.7 It is precisely this controversy that he seems to have aimed to sidestep by the way in which he presents the fundamental question in the second Enquiry. The second Enquiry’s framing of the essential issue preserves the point in which Hume was most invested in the Treatise: that human beings have no natural instinct or motive to justice, and that justice must thus come to us from external, “artificial” sources.8 But by framing the issue now as a matter of public utility rather than one of “naturalness” and “artificiality,” the second Enquiry allows Hume’s key point about the origins of justice in artifice to stand without courting the controversy invited by the focus on artificiality in the Treatise.9 Further, this shift from the natural/artificial dichotomy to a focus on matters of public utility also shifts the question in a decidedly political direction. That is, whereas in the Treatise the question at issue is primarily one about human nature and the place (or absence) of motives to justice in it, in the second Enquiry the question at issue is primarily one about politics and the realization of justice – a shift that both enabled Hume to distance himself from certain associations and positioned the second Enquiry to intervene in a debate more congenial to his key concerns as a political philosopher.

7

8 9

that Hume expands this definition of justice in the second Enquiry to include concerns relating to contracts and promises and their performance; see Harris (2018), p. 1; and Baier (2010), pp. 31, 251. Contemporary readers of Hume’s insistence on the artificiality of justice regularly took it as evidence of his Epicureanism and/or Hobbesianism; see for example William Wishart and Thomas Reid, as reprinted in Fieser (2004), vol. 1, pp. 176–78, 187–88, 194, 196; and vol. 3, pp. 101–03. On the conditions that make an artificial virtue artificial, see esp. Sayre-McCord (2016), pp. 442–43. This is nicely captured by Harris, who writes that “the goal was certainly not to water down his moral philosophy to the point where it would become anodyne enough to be generally acceptable because wholly uncontroversial. It was, rather, to pare down his moral philosophy to its most essential elements, and to find a way of presenting it that would ensure that its radicalism did not prevent it from being rejected out of hand” (Harris, 2015, p. 254).

Justice and Politics

57

That said, Hume’s interventions in this political debate come largely in the second half of Section 3. For the remainder of the first half, Hume dedicates himself instead to justifying the fundamental claim quoted at the start of this section above. And his route to doing so is itself striking. In Part I of Section 3, rather than offering positive evidence in support of his claim that utility is the sole origin of justice and the sole foundation of its merit, Hume asks his readers instead to imagine four hypothetical counterfactual conditions that would each obviate the need for justice by either removing or otherwise ameliorating the conditions that render justice necessary and useful to human beings in our actual state. Hume’s first counterfactual concerns a hypothetical superabundance of goods. Here he imagines a world in which nature has obviated scarcity, having “bestowed on the human race such profuse abundance of all external conveniences” that now “every individual finds himself fully provided with whatever his most voracious appetites can want, or luxurious imagination wish or desire” (EPM 3.2). Under such conditions, Hume insists, “the cautious, jealous virtue of justice would never once have been dreamed of,” as superabundance would render “totally useless” the protection of property rights (EPM 3.3). Hume then turns to a second counterfactual condition of superabundance that would similarly obviate the need for justice. But here the superabundance concerns the virtue of benevolence rather than material goods. In this imagined world – where “the mind is so enlarged, and so replete with friendship and generosity, that every man has the utmost tenderness for every man, and feels no more concern for his own interest than for that of his fellows” – “extensive benevolence” replaces “the use of justice.” Here everyone would be “a second self to another” and the “whole human race would form only one family,” with the result that all goods “would lie in common,” and charity would render unnecessary all divisions of private property and need for its protection (EPM 3.6). Next Hume asks his reader to imagine two further counterfactual conditions that would similarly obviate the need for justice. But this second set of counterfactuals involves conditions of absolute scarcity rather than conditions of superabundance. In this vein, Hume argues that just as superabundance of material goods renders justice superfluous, so too would an absolute scarcity of material goods. Thus in times of famine or disaster “where the society is ready to perish from extreme necessity,” conventions of justice regarding property are suspended “and every man may now provide for himself by all the means, which prudence can dictate, or humanity permit” (EPM 3.8). And just as an absolute scarcity of material

58

ryan patrick hanley

goods obviates justice, so too does an absolute scarcity of moral virtue. In this vein Hume’s fourth counterfactual asks us to imagine a virtuous man having fallen into a “society of ruffians” governed by “desperate rapaciousness” and “disregard to equity” and “contempt of order.” Here too conventions of property are suspended, and the virtuous man has the right to anything that benefits his “defense and security” and may “consult the dictates of self-preservation alone, without concern for those who no longer merit his care and attention” (EPM 3.9). Hume then draws his lesson from these four imagined counterfactuals: Thus, the rules of equity or justice depend entirely on the particular state and condition, in which men are placed, and owe their origin and existence to that utility, which results to the public from their strict and regular observance. Reverse, in any considerable circumstance, the condition of men: Produce extreme abundance or extreme necessity: Implant in the human breast perfect moderation and humanity, or perfect rapaciousness and malice: By rendering justice totally useless, you thereby totally destroy its essence, and suspend its obligation upon mankind. (EPM 3.12, italics original)

Hume’s claim is simple enough: both scarcity and superabundance of either material goods or moral virtue render justice useless; we, however, who live in a middle state between the extremes of both scarcity and superabundance in material goods and moral virtue will find justice useful and even indispensable. All of this of course stands in close and clear accord with Hume’s foundational claim that public utility is the sole origin of justice, and with the core claims of the Treatise (see esp. T 3.2.2.18), and its own discussion of some of these counterfactuals (see T 3.2.2.14–17). At the same time, his method of establishing this claim through his four counterfactuals is striking. First, some may wonder how effective Hume’s argument from counterfactuals is, given that it is never supplemented by any positive evidence of the origin of justice in utility. Hume’s claim, at least in the form in which it is presented here, is a negation of a hypothetical rather than an effort to provide positive evidence. Second, and more importantly, Hume’s counterfactual approach seems to stand in tension with certain of his basic substantive and methodological principles. On the substantive front, one of the most striking elements of Hume’s argument for the utility of justice given people’s actual condition is its presumption of the primacy of motives of self-preservation and even what Hume himself calls selfishness. His main claim with regard to society as it actually exists is that we do not live in conditions of either superabundance or scarcity in either goods or virtue: “the common situation of

Justice and Politics

59

society is a medium amidst all these extremes” (EPM 3.13). This view of actual society as existing in a middle condition is important and will do significant work later in his account of justice. At the same time, we need to take care to ensure that Hume’s description of actual society as a “medium amidst extremes” does not lead us to overlook the less moderate elements of his views on self-preservation and selfishness and their relationship to justice. This relationship is especially evident in the Treatise. There Hume makes much of the fact that human beings are not simply creatures desirous of self-preservation, but beings that are, he says, “naturally selfish, or endow’d with only a confin’d generosity” (T 3.2.5.8; cf. T 3.2.1.10, T 3.2.2.5–6, T 3.2.2.8). This understanding of human nature is itself what grounds his strikingly forthright conclusion with regard to the origins of justice in the Treatise: “’tis only from the selfishness and confined generosity of men, along with the scanty provision that nature has made for his wants, that justice derives its origin” (T 3.2.2.18, italics original; cf. T 3.2.2.16). The second Enquiry is not nearly so explicit on the role of selfishness; a key goal of this text is of course to distance its theory from “the selfish system of morals” (EPM App. 2.2–3). Yet for all this, at the core of the second Enquiry’s account of the utility of justice seems to be a similar presumption of the motivational primacy of what Hume even here calls “selfishness.” Thus the second Enquiry not only calls attention to “returning or disguised selfishness of men” (EPM 3.7), but also grounds one of its hypotheticals on the counterfactual condition in which it is supposed “that every man has the utmost tenderness for every man, and feels no more concern for his own interest than for that of his fellows” (EPM 3.6). Further, in what follows Hume says that without restraint, human beings will naturally and necessarily give way to “the stronger motives of necessity and self-preservation” (EPM 3.8) and “consult the dictates of selfpreservation alone” (EPM 3.9). Thus even as the second Enquiry aims to distance itself from the explicit and fraught language of “selfishness,” the motivational primacy of a form of self-preference that goes beyond mere self-preservation remains prominent. On the latter, more methodological front, it is striking to see Hume arguing for so fundamental a point as the exclusive origin of justice in utility on the basis of hypothetical counterfactuals. Even in these passages, Hume hints at his skepticism toward the “poetical fiction of the golden age” and the “philosophical fiction of the state of nature” (EPM 3.15). Hume’s own rejection of the contract tradition is itself famously premised on his rejection of its dependence on a hypothetical

60

ryan patrick hanley

counterfactual that is not true to life. Given this, it is hardly obvious why Hume thought his counterfactual argument about the origins of justice immune to his own critique of contractarianism as “not justified by history or experience, in any age or country of the world” (E 471). Hume’s shift toward an argument about justice framed in terms of counterfactuals seems to draw, even amidst his characteristic commitments to political realism, on methods of analysis that bring him within the ambit of modern “ideal theory.” Hume’s use of counterfactuals also raises a final question. For in addition to the four hypothetical conditions to which he has already drawn our attention, Hume offers two concluding counterfactual conditions to support his argument about justice and public utility. But these counterfactuals are even more extreme than the earlier ones. In one of these he asks us to imagine an androgynous self-perpetuating solitary being – one who is “supposed to love himself alone,” and who “would, on every occasion, to the utmost of his power, challenge the preference above every other being, to none of which he is bound by any ties, either of nature or of interest” (EPM 3.20). This is striking enough. But more worrisome is the last hypothetical, in which Hume invites us to consider how human beings would be likely to treat a “species of creatures,” who, while “rational,” were yet “possessed of such inferior strength, both of body and mind, that they were incapable of all resistance.” His claim is that justice would have no utility here. But the route that he takes to establish this claim is dark. Under such conditions, Hume tells us, “the necessary consequence, I think, is that we should be bound, by the laws of humanity, to give gentle usage to these creatures, but should not, properly speaking, lie under any restraint of justice with regard to them.” Further, this condition of “absolute command on the one side, and servile obedience on the other,” he suggests, is justified on the grounds that such relations could not be properly construed as social relations, as society implies “a degree of equality.” All of this leads him to conclude that “as no inconvenience ever results from the exercise of a power, so firmly established in nature, the restraints of justice and property, being totally useless, would never have place in so unequal a confederacy” (EPM 3.18). It is not entirely clear what Hume means when he says “no inconvenience ever results from the exercise of a power, so firmly established in nature.” But however this is parsed, the implication seems dark.10 10

See Levy and Peart (2004), esp. pp. 341–42; and cf. Woozley (1978), pp. 90–91. Compare Hume’s argument here to Nietzsche (1989), p. 203.

Justice and Politics

61

3.2 Justice and Political Society In Section 3.1 we saw that Hume’s foundational account of justice’s origins in public utility is premised on conclusions drawn from imagined counterfactual conditions distinct from the conditions of actual human society. This has certain challenges, as we have seen. At the same time, framing the issue in this way positions Hume to develop a set of fruitful insights when he turns to consider the place of justice in actual social and political life. With this in mind, this section looks at Part II of Section 3. For here Hume turns to the place of justice in actual political society, and in so doing reveals the advantages of his approach. Part II of Section 3 begins in a way that signals a new stage in the argument: If we examine the particular laws, by which justice is directed, and property determined; we shall still be presented with the same conclusion. The good of mankind is the only object of all of these laws and regulations. Not only it is requisite, for the peace and interest of society, that men’s possessions should be separated, but the rules, which we follow, in making the separation, are such as can best be contrived to serve farther the interests of society. (EPM 3.22, italics original)

Hume’s framing of his introduction to Part II indicates that he is selfconsciously making a new beginning of the argument, though one that will yet serve to further the basic argument about the origins of justice he has been developing up to this point. What Hume means to carry over from the earlier discussion in Part I is his foundational claim that justice has its origin in public utility (this is the “same conclusion” to which he here refers, and which the argument is meant to support). Yet Hume opens a new stage of this argument when he suggests his focus from here on out will be “the particular laws, by which justice is directed.” That is, where in Part I of the section, the focus was on general principles of justice, in Part II the focus will be on particular laws.11 This shift, clearly signaled here, prepares the reader for a similarly momentous and complementary shift that will also play out over the course of the section: namely, a shift from hypothetical counterfactual conditions to the actual conditions of real polities. In what immediately follows, Hume introduces us to various ways in which different political actors have navigated this transition from abstract 11

Harris helpfully calls attention to the degree to which the second Enquiry account “shows a new interest on Hume’s part in particular moral principles, laws and customs”; see Harris (2018), p. 12. Cf., in this regard, King (1981), p. 49 and n.18.

62

ryan patrick hanley

or general principles of justice to the instantiation of norms of justice in real politics. He begins by describing “a creature, possessed of reason, but unacquainted with human nature,” who “deliberates with himself what rules of justice or property would best promote public interest.” His intention here is to clarify how a certain type of political idealist might try to instantiate principles of justice in an effort to optimize public utility. And his suggestion is that the “most obvious thought” of a political idealist of this sort would be to distribute goods in proportion with merit and desert. Hume, it should be said, offers no evidence as to why we should think that this would be such a reformer’s “most obvious thought.” But his concern here is less to defend this claim than to show the perils involved in such an approach to promoting public utility in real polities. Thus Hume’s key claim here: the “uncertainty of merit” in real life is such that this sort of scheme could only work in “a perfect theocracy” in which an omnipotent being could be trusted to judge with accuracy who really deserves what. Short of that, “no determinate rule of conduct” could ever be drawn from such an approach in the real world; indeed “the total dissolution of society must be the immediate consequence” of attempting to implement such a rule in real polities. Speculation and legislation are thus two distinct acts that, in the case of justice, are often at cross-purposes; in his words, “a rule, which, in speculation, may seem the most advantageous to society, may yet be found, in practice, totally pernicious and destructive” (EPM 3.23). Hume’s aim here is to demonstrate the shortcomings of a certain type of idealism in matters of justice. Hume himself calls this idealism “fanatical.” Fanatics, he explains, come in different kinds. Some are “dangerous enthusiasts” or “religious fanatics” (EPM 3.24), and later in the section Hume will ridicule various “vulgar superstitions” in matters of religious practice (EPM 3.36–38). But the key target here is not religious superstition but fanaticism in all its stripes – hence his explicit references to “political fanatics” alongside “religious fanatics.” Hume of course had long been associated with the critique of religious fanaticism. But “Of Justice” suggests that it is in fact political fanatics who are especially dangerous, as they often don “a more plausible appearance, of being practicable in themselves, as well as useful to human society” (EPM 3.24), even as their efforts tend to compromise public order and political stability. The main problem with the idealism that animates the political fanatics is that, like the idealism of the religious fanatics, it seeks ideal results in a world limited by circumstances. This is especially evident, Hume argues, in the attempt to guarantee “an equal distribution of property” proposed by the Levellers, who here serve as Hume’s main example of political

Justice and Politics

63

fanaticism. The Levellers were a group of English Puritans committed to “radical political objectives” that included, among others, demands for equal political representation and equal property distribution.12 Theirs, he explains, was a project doomed to failure: Historians, and even common sense, may inform us, that, however specious these ideas of perfect equality may seem, they are really, at bottom, impracticable; and were they not so, would be extremely pernicious to human society. Render possessions ever so equal, men’s different degrees of art, care, and industry will immediately break that equality. Or if you check these virtues, you reduce society to the most extreme indigence; and instead of preventing want and beggary in a few, render it unavoidable to the whole community. (EPM 3.26, italics original)

At first glance, Hume’s argument seems like an early salvo in what has since come to be understood as the critique of socialism; like many other political economists before and since, Hume argues that schemes of perfect equality are thwarted both by human nature’s self-interested tendencies and by the fact that attempts to create equality via distribution of possessions often have the unintended consequence of creating equality by reifying the conditions of poverty. Yet there is also something more at work here. Hume is not simply a political economist arguing against some proto-socialist doctrine, but a political theorist concerned to argue against political idealism in matters of justice. The claim at issue then is less an economic claim about efficiency than a political claim about perfectionism and its limits in actual practice. Hume’s critique of the aspiration to political perfection continues in what follows, in which it becomes clear that the Levellers are not his only target. The Levellers’ chief shortcoming, in Hume’s eyes, was their failure to recognize that the limits of practical political life resist any imposition of a priori ideals. But this same sort of a priori reasoning Hume finds in some of the “writers on the laws of nature” (EPM 3.29). Hume does not here explicitly name which theorists of natural jurisprudence he has in mind. And it is clear he does not think they suffer from the same misguided normative ambitions as the Levellers. But Hume yet notes that “the reasonings of lawyers” sometimes “depend on very slight connexions of the imagination” (EPM 3.31). In the next section we will see that there is a specific way in which these legal reasonings represent a sort of sophisticated cognition that Hume to some degree finds impressive. But his 12

The quoted phrase and the description of the Levellers are drawn from the editorial note to EPM at p. 137.

64

ryan patrick hanley

formulation here suggests that we may wish to be wary of legal reasoning when appreciation of fact and sensitivity to conditions gives way to reasoned or imagined constructions of perfection. The important point is that Hume is committed to the idea that justice promotes public utility and skeptical of the idea that the actual conditions of practical life allow for perfect or ideal political schemes. But what alternative approach does he propose? In what follows he begins to lay this alternative out: We may conclude, therefore, that, in order to establish laws for the regulation of property, we must be acquainted with the nature and situation of man; must reject appearances, which may be false, though specious; and must search for those rules, which are, on the whole, most useful and beneficial. Vulgar sense and slight experience are sufficient for this purpose; where men give not way to too selfish avidity, or too extensive enthusiasm. (EPM 3.27, italics original)

Hume’s intention here is quite obviously to temper the propensities of idealists, caught up in “specious” appearances and “extensive enthusiasm” for their ideas of perfection, to run roughshod over the limits to action dictated by the “nature and situation of man.” It is of course the classic appeal of the political realist and the political moderate in the face of calls for extreme measures. But with this in view, we can begin to see part of the significance of Hume’s decision to recast his presentation of his theory of justice in the second Enquiry. As we have seen, Hume’s aim as a theorist of justice in this particular text, alongside demonstrating justice’s origin in public utility, was to call attention to the dangers of idealistic immoderation and the benefits of political moderation. But this represents an evolution of the account of justice from the Treatise. In insisting on the artificiality rather than the naturalness of justice, the Treatise set forth an account that could easily be – indeed was – read as immoderate and philosophically radical.13 But the second Enquiry, in dropping the insistence on the artificiality of justice and emphasizing both the dangers of political fanaticism and the benefits of political moderation, brings Hume’s mature theory of justice into much closer accord with the moderation characteristic of his political philosophy more generally. The second Enquiry’s account of justice, far from being merely a popular reworking or attenuated version of the Treatise’s account, thus can be read as an effort on Hume’s part to align his theory of justice with his broader 13

On the reception of Hume’s justice theory, see Harris (2012), pp. 210–30; see also Hardin (2008), pp. 46–47.

Justice and Politics

65

commitments as a political philosopher. But this raises a question: just what led Hume to rethink matters in this way? What happened between the Treatise and the second Enquiry that led him to rethink his presentation on this front? Hume himself gives us the answer in the passage in which he most explicitly states his central conclusion on this matter: In general, we may observe, that all questions of property are subordinate to the authority of civil laws, which extend, restrain, modify, and alter the rules of natural justice, according to the particular convenience of each community. The laws have, or ought to have, a constant reference to the constitution of government, the manners, the climate, the religion, the commerce, the situation of each society. A late author of genius, as well as learning, has prosecuted this subject at large, and has established, from these principles, a system of political knowledge, which abounds in ingenious and brilliant thoughts, and is not wanting in solidity. (EPM 3.34, italics original)

Here Hume lays out his main claim in a way that not only summarizes his most important conclusion, but also signals how and why his account in the second Enquiry differs from the Treatise account. The main claim concerns the fundamental task of the legislator: the lawgiver’s entire art, we are here told, consists in developing and enacting “civil laws” that “extend, restrain, modify, and alter the rules of natural justice” in a way that fits the laws of natural justice to the convenience of the community and the basic conditions of its constitution. Thus where the political fanatic seeks to impose an ideal scheme of justice on actual communities to maximize public utility, Hume’s legislator is engaged in a more moderate project: translating “natural justice” in its pure form to fit the conditions of the actual polity.14 Hume’s explicit invocation here of “natural justice” makes clear how far his account has come from the Treatise; far from denying the existence of natural justice – as the Treatise account was taken, fairly or unfairly, by many to have done in its emphasis on the artificiality of justice – the second Enquiry account makes it clear that the justice that politics aims to realize is neither a simple imposition of natural justice on political life nor an entirely artificial and positivistic construction. Resisting both the penchant for perfectionism characteristic of the political fanatic and the penchant for reductionism characteristic of positivists such as Hobbes, Hume instead suggests that the legislative art lies in navigating the transition from natural justice to artificial justice, and specifically in using civil law to bring to real politics the ideals of natural 14

Frazer (2010), pp. 72–73 also calls helpful attention to this passage; though cf. Harrison (1981), pp. 282–84.

66

ryan patrick hanley

justice. And finally, Hume here clearly signals how and why he came to see matters this way: thus his note to Montesquieu’s famous Spirit of the Laws, the book of that “late author of genius” published in 1749 and cited by Hume in the note to the paragraph just quoted – the book that more than any other Enlightenment text impressed upon Hume (and many others) the need for laws to have “constant reference” to the customs and habits of a given people.15

3.3

Justice and Motivation: Reason and the Progress of Sentiments

Our inquiry to this point has focused on Hume’s answer to a question regarding the origins of justice. His answer, we have seen, is premised on the idea that human nature lacks an original motive to justice, and thus we need to turn to artificial or “political” mechanisms to supplement this lack. But this is only one of two questions that Hume’s account of justice is intended to address. For alongside this question about justice’s origins, Hume also seeks to explain our approbation of justice. In the course of so doing he gives particular attention to the role of education and the role of reason in the approbation of justice, and indeed it is here that the second Enquiry makes some of its most interesting contributions on justice. The relevant sections of the text for this part of the argument are the second half of Part II of Section 3 of the second Enquiry, and the third Appendix. Here Hume returns to a particular side of his fundamental claim about justice. As we saw in Section 3.2, the key claim of the Treatise with regard to the origin of justice is that “the sense of justice and injustice is not deriv’d from nature, but arises artificially, tho’ necessarily from education, and human conventions” (T 3.2.1.17). Commentators have tended to focus on the second of these two sources. Rightly so: conventions play the more prominent role in Hume’s argument, especially in the Treatise account, and the sorts of conventions that he describes – most famously, the tacit agreement of the two oarsmen pulling together to row, but also the emergence of conventions regarding both money and language (EPM App. 3.8; cf. T 3.2.2.10) – have been the focus of many studies that have called attention to Hume’s contributions as a theorist of spontaneous social cooperation and mutual coordination.16 But what has been less well 15 16

On the significance of Hume’s encounter with Montesquieu see esp. Harris (2018), pp. 14–15, 20, 23, and (2015), pp. 250–52, 257–58. See for example Moore (1976), pp. 108–09; and esp. Spector (2014).

Justice and Politics

67

examined is the role of the other source: “education.” This no doubt in part owes to the fact that moral education is not a major focus of Hume’s theory, as has been noted.17 But the few comments that he does make on education, especially in the second Enquiry, are revealing and play an important preparatory role for Hume’s more developed claims about the role of reason. What then is the “education” Hume has in mind with regard to justice, and how does it contribute to the task of those “conventions” alongside which it operates? The account in the Treatise tends to emphasize that the “progress of sentiments” owes as much or more to “the artifice of politicians” than to education, explaining that certain politicians, “in order to govern men more easily, and preserve peace in human society, have endeavour’d to produce an esteem for justice, and an abhorrence of injustice” (T 3.2.2.25; cf. T 3.2.2.26, T 3.2.5.12, T 3.2.6.11). Hume’s formulation is of course reminiscent of Mandeville’s cynical account of political artifice. The second Enquiry, however, takes a different approach – one that distances itself from Mandeville by dropping all references to “artifice of politicians” (though cf. EPM 4.3–4), and places greater emphasis on education of a different sort.18 This comes out in a variety of ways. It first emerges in Hume’s suggestion that the human being is naturally educable: that “we are naturally partial to ourselves, and to our friends; but are capable of learning the advantage of a more equitable conduct” (EPM 3.13). The second Enquiry, unlike the Treatise, also shows us a moral educator (other than parents) at work. Thus the story from Xenophon that Hume presents in the third Appendix: Cyrus, young and inexperienced, considered only the individual case before him, and reflected on a limited fitness and convenience, when he assigned the long coat to the tall boy, and the short coat to the other of smaller size. His governor instructed him better; while he pointed out more enlarged views and consequences, and informed his pupil of the general, inflexible rules, necessary to support general peace and order in society. (EPM App. 3.4)

Here we see education – and indeed an educator – transforming its subjects by teaching them how to transcend those original sentiments endemic to an exclusively first-person perspective and adopt instead “more enlarged views and consequences” that serve better to promote peace and social order. 17 18

Baier, in noting Hume’s “silence on moral education” in the second Enquiry, suggests, however, that “a little is said in the History”; see Baier (2010), p. 3. On Hume’s proximity to Mandeville in the Treatise and his attempts to distance himself from Mandeville in the second Enquiry, see Harris (2015), pp. 126, 132, 254.

68

ryan patrick hanley

Hume does not elaborate further on education’s role, and indeed his other explicit references to education in the second Enquiry tend to emphasize its corrupting rather than its edifying effects (e.g., EPM 3.36, 9.18).19 Yet the idea at the heart of his conception of the role of education in justice – the idea that the human being, through the maturation of its natural capacities, can come to transcend innate but limited forms of selfpreference – is taken up at length in the more developed account of moral psychology in Section 3 and Appendix 3. And it is here that the most significant differences in the accounts of the Treatise and the second Enquiry lie. This difference begins to manifest itself in the way Hume sets up the story of Cyrus and his governor. Hume introduces this story in the course of his effort to distinguish “the social virtues of humanity and benevolence” from “the social virtues of justice and fidelity” (EPM App. 3.2–3). His language here is significant; whereas in the Treatise, benevolence was a “natural virtue” and justice an “artificial virtue,” in the second Enquiry both virtues are simply “social virtues.” But more significant for our purposes is that in the second Enquiry, these two types of “social virtues” are distinguished by both their motives and the ways in which they come to be approved. The social virtues of benevolence and humanity, we are told, “exert their influence immediately”: that is, they both motivate their possessors and are admired by their spectators via “a direct tendency or instinct” that is capable of “moving the affections,” indeed one that moves the affections “without any reflection on farther consequences, and without any more enlarged views of the concurrence or imitation of the other members of society” or the “scheme or system” of society itself (EPM App. 3.2). But the social virtue of justice is different: The case is not the same with the social virtues of justice and fidelity. They are highly useful, or indeed absolutely necessary to the well-being of mankind: But the benefit, resulting from them, is not the consequence of every individual single act; but arises from the whole scheme or system, concurred in by the whole, or the greater part of society. (EPM App. 3.3)

Thus the difference between benevolence and justice. Benevolence is one of those “social passions” that are meant to be felt. Specifically, it is a sentiment that particular benevolent individuals feel for others, and that particular spectators feel when they see its operation in particular cases. But justice, even if it is a “social virtue,” is not a “social passion.” 19

Several of Hume’s contemporaries did, however, attend closely to the role of education in justice; see Hanley (2018).

Justice and Politics

69

Justice, that is, is not a sentiment that is felt but a social virtue that can only be appreciated through a particular type of cognition. Specifically, insofar as its benefits are to be found not in each discrete act but rather throughout “the whole scheme or system,” a commitment to justice requires the cognitive capacity to apprehend this enlarged scheme or system and not be led astray by the sentiments prompted by observing individual cases. This is of course precisely what the education provided by Cyrus’ governor sought to cure him of, for when he “considered only the individual case before him,” he allowed “a particular regard to the particular right of one individual” to obscure and trump a commitment to more general principles of justice (EPM App. 3.3–4).20 The second Enquiry’s claim that justice requires certain cognitive capacities marks an important break with the assumptions of the Treatise’s account. The account of justice in the Treatise is strikingly noncognitive.21 There Hume forthrightly insists “that the sense of justice is not founded on reason, or on the discovery of certain connexions and relations of ideas, which are eternal, immutable, and universally obligatory.” Rephrasing this in the language of Hume’s epistemology, the Treatise goes on to insist that “the sense of justice, therefore, is not founded on our ideas, but on our impressions and sentiments” (T 3.2.2.20; though cf. T 3.2.2.9). In particular, our motivations to act justly simply cannot be grounded in ideas of remote social consequences or even the “public interest” more generally: “that is a motive too remote and too sublime to affect the generality of mankind” (T 3.2.1.11). Yet matters are very different in the second Enquiry.22 So far from insisting that reason cannot be the foundation of justice, the second Enquiry tells us that in fact it would be very strange if nature were to “create a rational creature, without trusting anything to the operation of his reason” (EPM 3.42). The second Enquiry then goes on explicitly to say that it is precisely “the influence of reason and custom” (EPM 3.44) that 20

21

22

I am grateful to a reviewer for calling my attention to the way in which Hume’s invocation of this story replicates Hutcheson’s concerns with regard to enforcement of “external rights” in a “particular instance”; see Hutcheson (2008), pp. 183–86. MacIntyre’s account is especially sensitive to this; see MacIntyre (1988), pp. 301, 307, though cf. 314. See also Haakonssen (1981), p. 19. It would be wrong, however, to suggest that the Treatise account is entirely noncognitive, as passages such as T 3.2.2.22 make clear. For a useful account of the role of reflection in the Treatise, see Taylor (1998), esp. pp. 9–10, 16–17. Sharon Krause has similarly called attention to the ways in which “cognitive and affective elements are thoroughly interwoven” in Hume’s account; see Krause (2004), p. 632; see also p. 648. See esp. Baier’s account of the way in which Hume rethinks the ostensible “impotence” of reason to the point that reason has “acquired considerable potency” in the second Enquiry (Baier, 2010, pp. 218–19).

70

ryan patrick hanley

allows us to pass beyond our natural sentiments and enforce the rules of justice. But it is important to be clear about what exactly is new here. The second Enquiry carries over from the Treatise the denial that justice could be derived “from a simple original instinct in the human breast, which nature has implanted.” But what is new here is the idea that what fills the hole left by nature and provides us with the motivation to act justly is precisely “our reflecting” on public utility (EPM 3.40) – a formulation that suggests the role of “reason and reflection” in this process (EPM 3.45). The upshot is that the second Enquiry differs from the Treatise in insisting that justice and property “suppose reason, forethought, design” among men, and indeed that “society among human creatures, had been impossible, without reason, and forethought” (EPM App. 3 n.64).23 The second Enquiry’s insistence on the indispensability of reason and reflection to justice reaches its climax in a key passage in the third Appendix: If by convention be meant a sense of common interest; which sense each man feels in his own breast, which he remarks in his fellows, and which carries him, in concurrence with others, into a general plan or system of actions, which tends to public utility; it must be owned, that, in this sense, justice arises from human conventions. For if it be allowed (what is, indeed, evident) that the particular consequences of a particular act of justice may be hurtful to the public as well as to individuals; it follows, that every man, in embracing that virtue, must have an eye to the whole plan or system, and must expect the concurrence of his fellows in the same conduct and behaviour. Did all his views terminate in the consequences of each act of his own, his benevolence and humanity, as well as his self-love, might often prescribe to him measures of conduct very different from those, which are agreeable to the strict rules of right and justice. (EPM App. 3.7, italics original)

Hume’s key claim is that an appreciation of the way justice promotes the utility of “the whole plan or system” is necessary to ensure that we are not misled by those sentiments that we feel in particular instances. And interestingly, these misleading sentiments include not only the selfdirected sentiments of “self-love” but also the other-directed sentiments of “benevolence and humanity,” both of which can lead us to act in ways contrary to the “strict rules of right and justice” – the former via a selfpreference that leads us to try to exempt ourselves from the equal rule of 23

See also Haakonssen, who in citing the passage quoted above describes it as “perhaps the most rationalistic-sounding passage” in the whole of Hume’s account of justice, but then, noting that it seems “rather difficult to square” this emphasis on reason with the account of justice elsewhere, dismisses these passages as simply “the result of carelessness” on Hume’s part (Haakonssen, 1981, pp. 26–27).

Justice and Politics

71

law, and the latter by sympathetic feelings that lead us to commiserate with the pains that the guilty suffer under just punishment. And with this we come to what is perhaps the most striking element of the account of justice in the second Enquiry. Hume so far has argued that justice requires a capacity for “enlarged views” of the “whole scheme or system” – views fostered by reason and reflection and in certain instances compromised by sentiment. But his mature theory goes even further, asking, “what stronger foundation can be desired or conceived for any duty, than to observe, that human society, or even human nature could not subsist without the establishment of it; and will still arrive at greater degrees of happiness and perfection, the more inviolable the regard is, which is paid to that duty?” (EPM 3.39). Hume’s insistence on the “inviolability” of a “duty” to perform those acts without which society could not subsist cannot help but bring Kant to mind. It is an association that only grows stronger with Hume’s conclusion: What alone will beget a doubt concerning the theory, on which I insist, is the influence of education and acquired habits, by which we are so accustomed to blame injustice, that we are not, in every instance, conscious of any immediate reflection on the pernicious consequences of it. The views the most familiar to us are apt, for that very reason, to escape us, and what we have very frequently performed from certain motives, we are apt likewise to continue mechanically, without recalling, on every occasion, the reflections, which first determined us. The convenience, or rather necessity, which leads to justice, is so universal, and every where points so much to the same rules, that the habit takes place in all societies; and it is not without some scrutiny, that we are able to ascertain its true origin. The matter, however, is not so obscure, but that, even in common life, we have, every moment, recourse to the principle of public utility, and ask, What must become of the world, if such practices prevail? How could society subsist under such disorders? (EPM 3.47, italics original)

At first glance, Hume here simply reaffirms his well-known commitments to the primacy of the habits of common life. But he also wants to go further. For beneath those habits that common life has rendered so familiar to us, and behind those acts that we have been led by habit to perform “mechanically,” are a certain set of “reflections, which first determined us.” And chief among these reflections is the one that stands as the “true origin” of justice and our foundational commitment to it: namely, our reasoned reflection on “what must become of the world, if such practices prevail?” It is a striking formulation, one that suggests the degree to which Hume’s mature theory of justice relies on certain cognitive capacities in ways that the earlier noncognitive theory of the Treatise did not.

chapter 4

History, Context, and the Conventions of Political Society Marc Hanvelt

4.1

Introduction

Hume’s discussion in the fourth section of An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals (EPM) is as remarkable for its wide scope as for its brevity. In a short but dense section of only a few pages, Hume completed a trilogy of chapters devoted to the virtues necessary for social life. Following sections on benevolence and justice, Section 4 of EPM is titled simply “Political Society,” and treats an eclectic collection of subjects ranging from political allegiance to the laws of nations to chastity, fidelity, and good manners. How can we explain the subjects that Hume chose to include? How does this section relate to Hume’s political thought more generally? An important key to answering these questions lies in Hume’s understanding of the relationship between history, context, and politics. One of the most significant changes that Hume made when he recast his presentation of the political virtues for EPM was to drop the conjectural history that had figured prominently in the Treatise. This change coincided with other instances of Hume employing different genres of historical writing to particular effect. It reflected his sense of the importance of history and context in the development of conventions of political society and sharpened his critique of social contract theory and of republican political thought. On Hume’s account, all the virtues necessary for life in society are valued for their utility. However, though humans share a need for rules to govern their interactions, Hume recognized that the specific rules that emerge in particular contexts are rarely objectively necessary. The conventions of political society are not the products of rational calculation. They often arise from historical accidents and develop through a process of habituation. For this reason, the conventions of any society, even those conventions that promote universal interests, can only be fully understood contextually. Hume’s account of allegiance is aptly illustrative. 72

History, Context, and Political Society

4.2

73

Hume on Allegiance: The Essentials

Hume opens Section 4 of EPM with a brief discussion of political allegiance. A glance over this single paragraph suggests that the essential features of his account of allegiance did not change significantly between 1740 and 1751. From his early discussion in the Treatise, through to EPM, Hume argued that we approve of allegiance to established political authorities because we recognize its social utility. In Book 3 of the Treatise, he wrote, “we blame all disloyalty to magistrates; because we perceive, that the execution of justice, in the stability of possession, its translation by consent, and the performance of promises, is impossible, without submission to government” (T 3.2.8.7). We value justice, Hume argued, because “the convention for the distinction of property, and for the stability of possession, is of all circumstances the most necessary to the establishment of human society” (T 3.2.2.12). In his essay “Of the Origin of Government,” first published in 1741, Hume repeated that individuals are “engaged to establish political society, in order to administer justice; without which there can be no peace among them, nor safety, nor mutual intercourse. We are, therefore, to look upon all the vast apparatus of our government, as having ultimately no other object or purpose but the distribution of justice” (“Of the Origin of Government,” E, 37). He repeated the essentials for a third time in EPM. There, Hume argued, “human nature cannot, by any means, subsist, without the association of individuals; and that association never could have place, were no regard paid to the laws of equity and justice” (EPM 4.3). Therefore, “the SOLE foundation of the duty of ALLEGIANCE is the advantage, which it procures to society, by preserving peace and order among mankind” (EPM 4.1). Allegiance is necessary to sustain political authority. Authority is necessary to enforce the rules of justice. Enforced rules of justice are necessary for the endurance of human societies. Human beings cannot subsist without society. That the theory of allegiance in EPM appears unchanged from the account that Hume developed in the Treatise is little surprise given his claim that his “want of success in publishing the Treatise of Human Nature had proceeded more from the manner than the matter” (“My Own Life,” xxxv), and that in composing EPM, he had corrected “some negligences in his former reasoning and more in the expression” (EHU Ad 1777, 1).1 1

This advertisement appeared in the 1777 two-volume edition of Essays and Treatises on Several Subjects, which included Essays, Moral, Political, and Literary, An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals, An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding, “A Dissertation on the Passions,” and “The Natural History of Religion.”

74

marc hanvelt

However, the matter of an argument is not always so easily divorced from the manner of its presentation. Hume certainly knew this to be true.2 What is more, correcting negligences of expression can include adding new arguments or replacing one argument with another, provided the conclusion remains the same. In a notable change to the manner of his presentation in EPM, Hume dropped the conjectural history that he had employed in the Treatise to develop his accounts of property, justice, and allegiance. This change in the manner of his discussion affected its matter also. A conjectural history is a “rational or naturalistic account of the origins and development of institutions, beliefs or practices not based on documents or copies of documents or other artifacts contemporary (or thought to be contemporary) with the subjects studied” (Emerson, 1984, p. 65). Conjectural history was widely employed by Scottish philosophers in the eighteenth century. A Scot, Dugald Stewart, first coined the term. Conjectural history figured prominently in the accounts of justice and property that Hume developed in the Treatise and set up the account of allegiance to government that followed:3 when men have observ’d, that tho’ the rules of justice be sufficient to maintain any society, yet ’tis impossible for them, of themselves, to observe those rules, in large and polish’d societies; they establish government, as a new invention to attain their ends, and preserve the old, or procure new advantages, by a more strict execution of justice. (T 3.2.8.5)

To make sense of Hume’s choice to drop conjectural history from his discussion of political subjects in EPM, we must consider a wider view of his historical and political writings.

4.3 Accidental Causes in History James Harris has described the period from April 1749 to July or August 1751 – the period during which Hume composed EPM while living with his brother and sister at their family home of Ninewells – as one “of extraordinary literary productivity” (Harris, 2015, p. 249). At roughly the same time that he was composing EPM, Hume likely also composed “The Natural History of Religion,” which he would publish in 1757 in Four Dissertations. He also read in preparation for writing the History of England, published between 1754 and 1762.4 In these latter two works, Hume accentuated the distinction between politics and religion by writing 2

See Hanvelt (2012).

3

See T 3.2.2.

4

See Harris (2015), pp. 249, 289, and 325.

History, Context, and Political Society

75

a narrative history of England and a conjectural history of religion. From the late 1740s onward, a pattern emerged in his selective adoption of different genres of historical writing: Hume’s literary choice in EPM reflected his wider decision to shift away from treating political subjects, such as allegiance and authority, through conjectural history. The question is: Why? In 1753, Hume wrote to his friend John Clephane, “there is no post of honour in the English Parnassus more vacant than that of History. Style, judgement, impartiality, care – everything is wanting to our historians” (L I, 170). As an historian, Hume aimed at what he termed “impartiality” in his writings. Scholars of his work have interpreted this aim as limited to Hume’s stated intent to write a history of England that was free of party prejudice.5 However, Hume’s understanding of impartiality was broader. Certainly, he sought to undermine party appeals to history. However, as a philosophical historian, he aimed to undermine all attempts to make the data of history fit into predetermined political or philosophical narratives. For example, by detaching religious from political history, Hume undermined the view that the Glorious Revolution of 1688 was divinely ordained, as was suggested by the “biblically based discourse . . . which presented William as a providential ruler who had a divine commission to protect the protestant church in England, and to return the nation to its pristine faith, piety, and virtue” (Claydon, 1996, p. 4). Hume rejected any notion that the history of Britain was providential.6 This rejection set him against theologians, Court propagandists, and even against his friend William Robertson who, though usually considered a similarly enlightened historian, nevertheless maintained an “abiding belief in providence and the progress of Christianity” (Phillipson, 1997, p. 68). Hume thought religious explanations were not properly historical because, he argued, religion “contains in it something supernatural and unaccountable; and that, in its operations upon society, effects correspond less to their known causes than is found in any other circumstance of government” (H 5.67). Where religion does figure prominently in Hume’s account of English history – for example, in his presentation of the English civil wars as the outcome of “an unhappy concurrence of circumstances,” and “the turbulent spirit of the age” (“Parties of Great Britain,” E, 69) – it

5 6

See, for example, Stewart (1963); Forbes (1975); Harris (2015). For an argument that challenges the effectiveness of this move in Hume’s historical writings, see Herdt (2013), pp. 37–59.

76

marc hanvelt

does so as part of his broader narrative, in which accidents of history figure as the most significant causal factors. According to Hume, understanding how accidental causes shape the course of history is essential for understanding political authority and allegiance. If his British readers took only one lesson from his History, Hume hoped it would be that an acquaintance with the ancient periods of their government is chiefly useful by instructing them to cherish their present constitution, from a comparison or contrast with the condition of those distant times. And it is also curious, by shewing them the remote, and commonly faint and disfigured originals of the most finished and most noble institutions, and by instructing them in the great mixture of accident, which commonly concurs with a small ingredient of wisdom and foresight, in erecting the complicated fabric of the most perfect government. (H 2.525)

The prominence of historical accident and unintended consequences in English history does not accord with the rational progression of a conjectural history. In fact, it calls the utility of conjectural history into question. As Mark G. Spencer has written, Hume thought that understanding an event or person in history “meant looking forward and backward, in an effort to situate the event and its agents in a layered historical context. It meant looking at things and people from highly contextualized and even shifting points of view” (Spencer, 2019, p. 294). These requirements greatly complicated several questions about political authority and allegiance: (1) How should Britons understand the limits of their duty of allegiance and to whom they owe that duty at any moment of history? and (2) If accidents of history figured so prominently in British politics, how is constitutional design related to lawful government? Hume offered answers to these questions that foreground the importance of context and history and, in so doing, pose fundamental challenges to both social contract theory and republican political thought.

4.4 The Duty of Allegiance and Its Limits The social contract tradition, of which John Locke had been the most notable defender, was a prominent element of eighteenth-century British political discourse. Eighteenth-century Whigs, for example, defended submission to the Crown by appealing to contract theory to defend the legitimacy of the Glorious Revolution and to cast William and Mary’s regal authority and, by extension, the authority of the monarchs that

History, Context, and Political Society

77

followed them as founded upon the consent of the British people. Hume was not convinced. He rejected the argument that political order could only be lawful if based on the rational consent of the people. It did not hold up historically. On the contrary, he wrote, “almost all the governments, which exist at present, or of which there remains any record in story, have been founded originally, either on usurpation or conquest, or both, without any pretence of a fair consent, or voluntary subjection of the people” (“Original Contract,” E, 471). Contract theory fails as an explanation of political history. However, more generally, it poses what Hume took to be the wrong questions about political authority and allegiance. Early in the Second Treatise of Government, Locke defined political power as “a right to make laws” (Second Treatise, §3). By defining political power as a right, he steered the discussion of authority and allegiance toward a particular set of questions: What gives someone the right to be obeyed? Or, when do individuals have a duty of allegiance? Locke’s definition of political power made the legitimacy of political authority the primary subject of analysis. On his account, governments that seek to extend their authority beyond the bounds of the contract (“exercise force without right,” Second Treatise, §19) dissolve their own authority and absolve their population of any further duty of allegiance. Hume began his analysis of authority and allegiance upon a different footing. He observed that “FORCE is always on the side of the governed” (“First Principles of Government,” E, 32). No matter the regime type, no matter the character of individual political leaders, no matter even how repressive political authorities might be, the people always have the demographic weight to overthrow their governors. Given this reality, he thought, the question of why or under what conditions individuals ought to obey their governors offered less insight into political life than the question of why, despite the variety of regimes that exist in the world, individuals acknowledge a duty of allegiance. Understanding this phenomenon requires not a conjectural history, but a properly historical analysis that takes account of individual political and historical contexts. In EPM, in lieu of positing a hypothetical state of nature as his reference point, as Locke and Hobbes had done, Hume began with an historical counterfactual: Had every man sufficient sagacity to perceive, at all times, the strong interest, which binds him to the observance of justice and equity, and strength of mind sufficient to persevere in a steady adherence to a general and a distant interest, in opposition to the allurements of present pleasure and advantage; there had never, in that case, been any such thing as government or political

78

marc hanvelt society, but each man, following his natural liberty, had lived in entire peace and harmony with all others. (EPM 4.1)

Had human beings not always been as they are now, the foundations of political authority and allegiance would be different. Human beings require government, not because of what they were in some original or natural condition, but because their limited moral and intellectual capacities require it. This opening salvo echoed the approach to critiquing social contract theory that Hume had developed in his essay “Of the Original Contract.” There, he wrote, “were all men possessed of so perfect an understanding, as always to know their own interests, no form of government had ever been submitted to, but what was established on consent, and was fully canvassed by every member of the society: But this state of perfection is likewise much superior to human nature” (“Original Contract,” E, 474). An important thread that runs throughout Hume’s political writings is his view that normative arguments must reflect a properly scientific understanding of politics and human behavior. As with the science of man, the science of politics requires that we glean “up our experiments . . . from a cautious observation of human life, and take them as they appear in the common course of the world, by men’s behaviour in company, in affairs, and in their pleasures” (T Intro. 10). “Establish’d truths,” he wrote, are “founded on history and experience” (T App. 2). State-of-nature theories are founded upon neither. Hume used English political history to unmask the problems with contract theory. Britons who challenged the authority of the king on the ground that they had been rendered less free than in some fictional original state of nature were invoking a meaningless comparison. The relevant comparison was not with an invented ideal, but rather with the earlier history of England. In his 1758 essay “Of the Coalition of Parties,” he wrote: The former controul over the kings was not placed in the commons, but in the barons . . .. If we must return to the ancient barbarous and feudal constitution; let those gentlemen, who now behave themselves with so much insolence to their sovereign, set the first example. Let them make court to be admitted as retainers to a neighbouring baron; and by submitting to slavery under him, acquire some protection to themselves; together with the power of exercising rapine and oppression over their inferior slaves and villains. This was the condition of the commons among their remote ancestors. (“Coalition of Parties,” E, 497)

History, Context, and Political Society

79

By undermining the appeal to an original constitution as the foundation of lawful political authority, Hume raised a serious objection to champions of parliamentary forces during the English civil wars. They had claimed that James I and Charles I had instituted uniquely arbitrary violations of ancient English liberties. On Hume’s account, the reigns of James I and Charles I continued established patterns of rule. “The House of TUDOR,” he wrote, “and after them that of STUART, exercised no prerogatives, but what had been claimed and exercised by the PLANTAGENETS” (“Coalition of Parties,” E, 497). Many English monarchs had exercised absolute rule. Even the much-lionized Elizabeth was comparable to a Turkish despot (H 4.360). Despite the prevalence of absolute monarchy in English history, the population had nevertheless recognized the authority of even their most severe rulers. How was it possible that styles of rule could vary so greatly while perceptions of the duty of allegiance remained, essentially unchanged? And, if it is the case that the duty of allegiance is not tied to specific styles of political rule, are there no limits to it at all? Do people owe a duty of allegiance, even to the vilest of tyrants? For Hume, the answer was clearly, “No.” But, he saw no need to ground lawful authority upon consent to justify resistance to tyranny. In the Treatise, Hume wrote, “’tis certain, therefore, that in all our notions of morals we never entertain such an absurdity as that of passive obedience, but make allowances for resistance in the more flagrant instances of tyranny and oppression” (T 3.2.9.4). What determines when a case of tyranny or oppression is sufficiently flagrant to absolve individuals of their duty of allegiance? With all questions of morals, Hume wrote that his reader “needs only enter into his own breast for a moment, and consider whether or not he should desire to have this or that quality ascribed to him, and whether such or such an imputation would proceed from a friend or an enemy. The very nature of language guides us almost infallibly in forming a judgment of this nature” (EPM 1.10). The view into our own heart is a view into a particular context. Though Hume thought the terms virtue and vice mark distinctions that are universal, based on what is useful or agreeable to our self or to others, our judgment of the utility of continued allegiance to a particular political authority is always shaped by contextual factors. Richard Dees has argued, “Hume [thought] contexts are important to any account of justified rebellion, because he [thought] any attempt to systematize such an account will be wrecked on our efforts to account for all the relevant factors” (1992, p. 221). Therefore, Hume thought, principled defenses of rebellion offer no

80

marc hanvelt

insights into the question of how far the duty of allegiance extends. History does, only it offers answers that anyone who insists upon universal standards will find unsatisfactory.

4.5

Understanding the Significance of Regime Types

Though he thought no universal defense of rebellion was possible, a survey of different forms of rule led Hume to observe that “tyrannical government enervates the courage of men, and renders them indifferent towards the fortunes of their sovereign.” Therefore, he wrote, “in every respect, a gentle government is preferable, and gives the greatest security to the sovereign as well as to the subject” (“Politics May Be Reduced to a Science,” E, 24). When he claimed that “gentle government” is in the best interests of both ruler and ruled, Hume was responding to the writings of Niccolo Machiavelli. In particular, he was correcting Machiavelli’s argument against a view that Cicero had defended in De Officiis, the book that Hume claimed had influenced all his reasonings (L I, 34). Cicero’s advice to statesmen was the following: “there is nothing at all more suited to protecting and retaining influence than to be loved, and nothing less suited than to be feared” (2013, pp. 70–71). Machiavelli argued the opposite: “one would want to be one and the other; but because it is difficult to put them together, it is much safer to be feared than loved” (1998, p. 66). This view followed directly from his understanding of government: A government is nothing other than holding subjects in such a mode that they cannot or ought not offend you. This is done either by securing oneself against them altogether, taking from them every way of hurting you, or by benefiting them in such a mode that it would not be reasonable for them to desire to change Fortune. (Machiavelli, 1996, II.23.2)

However, Machiavelli argued, “since men love at their convenience and fear at the convenience of the prince, a wise prince should found himself on what is his, not on what is someone else’s; he should only contrive to avoid hatred” (1998, p. 68). From Hume’s perspective, Machiavelli’s account of government failed because it misidentified the foundations of political authority. In one of his early political essays, Hume described the three foundations that Machiavelli identified – fear, love, and self-interest – as principles “to be esteemed the secondary, not the original principles of government.” While those three principles can, Hume argued, “add force to . . . determine, limit, or alter” political authority, they “can have no influence alone, but

History, Context, and Political Society

81

suppose the antecedent influence of those opinions” that form the true foundations of political authority. Hume corrected Machiavelli by identifying opinion – specifically, opinion “of public interest, of right to power, and of right to property” – as the true foundation of government (“First Principles of Government,” E, 34). By public interest, Hume meant the population’s long-term interest in having stable government to enforce the rules of justice. In virtually every circumstance, he thought, any government will be better for the populace than no government. The form a government takes is far less important than the purpose it serves. Allegiance, he argued, is tied to that purpose, not to any specific form of government. This conclusion held true, Hume noted, even within a single country. Reflecting on the different periods of English history, he wrote, “in each of these successive alterations, the only rule of government, which is intelligible or carries any authority with it, is the established practice of the age, and the maxims of administration, which are at that time prevalent, and universally assented to” (H 2.525). This observation led Hume to conclude that we recognize a duty of allegiance to whomever it is that is effectively exercising political authority and enforcing the rules of justice. “In the particular exertions of power,” he wrote, “the question ought never to be forgotten, What is best? But in the general distribution of power among the several members of a constitution, there can seldom be admitted any other question, than What is established?” (H 4.354). Authority resides, in times of stability, wherever the people habitually look for authoritative political decision-making and, in times of crisis, wherever they happen to look for it. Though seemingly simple, Hume recognized that his account had wideranging implications for how we think about different political regimes. The “consent of the people,” he argued, is “one just foundation of government where it has place. It is surely the best and most sacred of any. I only pretend, that it has very seldom had place in any degree, and never almost in its full extent. And that therefore some other foundation of government must also be admitted” (“Original Contract,” E, 474). In different political contexts, Hume argued, public opinion can support very different regimes. Willem Lemmens summarizes Hume’s position artfully: What the best political order is, under which shelter we should prefer to live, is an empirical matter, contingent in this sense. But it is also a normative matter, insofar as every constitution hinges on the active identification of the citizens with their political regime, a loyalty that can take many forms but is, in the end, never merely based on reason. (2015, pp. 67–68)

82

marc hanvelt

In fact, Hume argued, different types of regime can serve equally well at supplying public goods and enforcing rules of justice. Writing on the effects of commerce in the eighteenth century, for example, he argued, “it may now be affirmed of civilized monarchies, what was formerly said of republics alone, that they are a government of Laws, not of Men” (“Civil Liberty,” E, 94). He even speculated that the effects of commerce would “bring these species of civil polity still nearer in equality” (“Civil Liberty,” E, 95). The notion that no regime type is inherently superior was anathema to many eighteenth-century political thinkers. Republican thinkers were adamant that a mixed constitution was the only form of government worth defending. This position was influenced by Machiavelli who had argued that in every city “two diverse humors are found, which arise from this: that the people desire neither to be commanded nor oppressed by the great, and the great desire to command and oppress the people” (1998, p. 39). This observation led Machiavelli to conclude, “all the laws that are made in favor of freedom arise from their disunion” (1996, I.4.1). To ensure that competing interests are balanced, Machiavelli recommended attention to the design of republican constitutions. Correspondingly, he warned against the dangers of corruption, and argued that “healthy” republics require regular renewal by a prince who brings them “back toward their beginnings” (1996, III.1.1). During the factious 1720s and 1730s in Britain, under the ministry of Robert Walpole, the opposition, led by Henry St. John, First Viscount Bolingbroke, drew on this Machiavellian republican understanding of regimes to accuse Walpole of undermining the ancient constitution of Britain by using the financial resources of the Crown to corrupt parliament. Bolingbroke argued that, under Britain’s mixed constitution, an independent parliament was the necessary counterweight to the power of the Crown. To undermine the independence of parliament would be to tilt the balance of power toward the Crown and, ultimately, to precipitate the collapse of the British constitution into absolute monarchy. Against Bolingbroke, Hume invoked English history. In “Of the Origin of Government,” Hume argued that “in all governments, there is a perpetual intestine struggle, open or secret, between AUTHORITY and LIBERTY; and neither of them can ever absolutely prevail in the contest” (“Origin of Government,” E, 40). However, there is no ideal balance. In fact, Hume wrote, “the just balance between the republican and monarchical part of our constitution is really, in itself, so extremely delicate and uncertain, that, when joined to men’s passions and prejudices, it is impossible but different

History, Context, and Political Society

83

opinions must arise concerning it, even among persons of the best understanding” (“Parties of Great Britain,” E, 64–65). From Hume’s perspective, to champion a specific constitutional design, irrespective of context, reflected a misunderstanding of how political conventions develop. Walpole’s use of royal patronage, what Bolingbroke viewed as corruption and a threat to the constitutional balance, was, according to Hume, simply a mechanism for correcting an emergent power imbalance. We may, therefore, give to this influence what name we please; we may call it by the invidious appellations of corruption and dependence; but some degree and some kind of it are inseparable from the very nature of the constitution and necessary to the preservation of our mixed government. (“Independency of Parliament,” E, 45)

Against the essentialist view that the constitution had an original design that was susceptible to corruption, Hume argued that a late-developed convention, even a “corrupt” practice, could become a constitutional essential. By 1759, Hume could write, “the plan of liberty is settled; its happy effects are proved by experience; a long tract of time has given it stability” (“Coalition of Parties,” E, 501). The British, he thought, lived under a constitution that enshrined “the most perfect and most accurate system of liberty that was ever found compatible with government” (H 2.525). But Hume recognized that this fortuitous circumstance was not the result of rational calculation. While the post-1688 British constitution was unparalleled – the only “instance in the whole history of mankind, that so many millions of people have, during such a space of time, been held together, in a manner so free, so rational, and so suitable to the dignity of human nature” (“Protestant Succession,” E, 508) – it rested on a particular balance of authority and liberty that had developed through “successive alterations,” was entirely modern, and was derived largely by chance (H 2.525). What is more, its continued stability was not at all guaranteed.7 Hume’s writings may read as a defense of the post-1688 constitutional order and the Hanoverian succession.8 He did not defend the established order because it conformed to any ideal or because he measured it against any original standard of legitimacy. The settlement was worth defending simply because it was working: authority was secure, the rules of justice were enforced, and Britons lived within a relatively free and peaceful 7 8

See Hume’s letter to Montesquieu, dated April 10, 1749 (L I, 138). See, for example, Forbes (1975) or Harris (2015).

84

marc hanvelt

society. On Hume’s account, history “teaches us to regard the controversies in politics as incapable of any decision in most cases, and as entirely subordinate to the interests of peace and liberty” (T 3.2.10.15).

4.6

Conventions: In and of Their Particular Contexts

Differences among political regimes are significant, Hume thought, in that they establish different contexts that can explain differences of individual conduct. For example, he wrote of “differences of moral sentiment, which naturally arise from a republican or a monarchical government” (EPM D 51). But whether a monarchy, or a republic, or some mixed regime emerged in any particular country was usually due to a series of historical accidents. On Hume’s account, conventions emerge when they serve a shared interest. In the cases of political allegiance and authority, the shared interest is the peace and liberty that Hume thought could only be secured through enforced rules of justice. A convention, he wrote, is that sense of common interest, “which sense each man feels in his own breast, which he remarks in his fellows, and which carries him, in concurrence with others, into a general plan or system of actions, which tends to public utility” (EPM App. 3.7). We can observe conventions of behavior in many facets of human life. For example, Hume wrote, users of roadways have a shared interest in establishing rules for passing oncoming traffic. Whether the convention is to pass on the right or to pass on the left is immaterial. In fact, the convention can differ from country to country. What matters is that all users of the roadway in any particular country observe the same convention and at the same time (EPM 4.19). In EPM, Hume did not elaborate the precise mechanisms through which conventions emerge. He only sought to establish that such conventions emerge through habituation, not through consent and rational design. Put two people in a boat together and hand them each an oar, Hume argued, and they will “pull the oars of a boat by common convention, for common interest, without any promise or contract” (EPM App. 3.8). But, though it might seem hardly to merit a mention, pulling on the oars in unison only serves the mutual interest of these individuals because they happen to find themselves in a boat. Were they to find themselves in a different context, say in a carriage or on horseback, a different convention would assuredly develop to serve the same shared interest. “The Rhine flows north, the Rhone south,” Hume wrote, “yet both spring from the same mountain, and are also actuated, in their opposite directions, by the same principle of gravity. The

History, Context, and Political Society

85

different inclinations of the ground, on which they run, cause all the difference in their courses” (EPM D 26). Casting differences of political regime in these terms undermines both social contract and republican conceptions of the relationship between political allegiance and specific regime types. Hume’s sensitivity to the effects of context in shaping different political and moral conventions is apparent in EPM. His decision to drop the conjectural history from his discussions of political topics in that text accentuated it. The brevity and density of the fourth section of EPM make it useful to turn to examples from the Essays and the History to illustrate how history and context affect allegiance and authority and to flesh out further consequences of Hume’s argument in EPM. The significance of context figures prominently in Hume’s discussions of Henry IV, Henry VII, and the Stuart kings. I will take his discussions of these monarchs in turn. In “Of the Original Contract,” Hume noted that, though confirmed by parliamentary election, both Henry IV and Henry VII feared that trumpeting this basis for their titles would weaken their authority (“Original Contract,” E, 473). The History explains this observation. It presents Henry IV as a king who had no good claim to the throne of England. Hume wrote, “the unanimous voice of lords and commons placed Henry on the throne: He became king, nobody could tell how or wherefore” (H 2.322). Why did Henry believe that celebrating his parliamentary election might weaken his authority? Hume wrote: the English had so long been familiarized to the hereditary succession of their monarchs, the instances of departure from it had always born such strong symptoms of injustice and violence, and so little of a national choice or election, and the returns to the true line had ever been deemed such fortunate incidents in their history, that Henry was afraid, lest, in resting his title on the consent of the people, he should build on a foundation, to which the people themselves were not accustomed, and whose solidity they would with difficulty be brought to recognize. (H 2.333)

Though Hume acknowledged that, in the abstract, consent is the best foundation for political authority, history teaches that conventions of political authority are merely conventional. They are engrained in habit, and rarely if ever grounded in a principled legitimacy. In his account of the reign of Henry VII, Hume told a similar story about royal title in the absence of clear bases of legitimacy. After defeating Richard III in the Battle of Bosworth Field, the earl of Richmond (soon to be Henry VII) found himself without a claim to the Crown that was “free

86

marc hanvelt

from great objections, if considered, with respect either to justice or policy” (H 3.4). He chose to establish his claim upon present possession, which, Hume wrote, “guarded by vigour and abilities, would be sufficient to secure perpetual possession of the throne . . .. Henry was determined to put himself in possession of regal authority; and to show all opponents, that nothing but force of arms and a successful war should be able to expel him” (H 3.6). When it came time to have parliament entail the Crown, Hume wrote, Henry did not insist, that it should contain a declaration or recognition of his preceding right; as on the other hand, he avoided the appearance of a new law or ordinance. He chose a middle course, which, as is generally unavoidable in such cases, was not entirely free from uncertainty and obscurity. It was voted, “That the inheritance of the crown should rest, remain, and abide in the king”; but whether as rightful heir, or only as present possessor, was not determined. (H 3.11)

For Hume, the reign of Henry VII teaches that a dubious claim to royal title does not necessarily render subsequent titles of monarchs in that line illegitimate. Henry’s significance as a monarch rests on his having consolidated his claim so successfully that, upon his death, Henry VIII asserted a claim that was essentially uncontested.9 An inescapable consequence of Hume’s understanding of political conventions is that political foundations and origins rarely carry normative weight or determine political allegiance in the present. History, he believed, shows us that “all political questions are infinitely complicated, and that there scarcely ever occurs, in any deliberation, a choice, which is either purely good, or purely ill. Consequences, mixed and varied, may be foreseen to flow from every measure: And many consequences, unforeseen, do always, in fact, result from every one” (“Protestant Succession,” E, 507). It is for this reason, he thought, that “the science of politics affords few rules, which will not admit of some exception, and which may not sometimes be controuled by fortune and accident” (“Original Contract,” E, 477). For example, the surprising yet salutary effect of the Hanoverian succession was to produce constitutional stability in eighteenth-century Britain by reversing the traditional relationship of the monarch and the people to the defenses of authority and liberty respectively. Under the Hanoverians, Hume wrote, “the people cherish monarchy, because protected by it: the monarch favours liberty, because created by it” (“Protestant Succession,” E, 506). But this circumstance was purely accidental. 9

For a good account of Henry’s significance as a monarch, see Sabl (2012), pp. 161–64.

History, Context, and Political Society

87

Understanding the significance of changing political and historical contexts is, according to Hume, a relatively rare mark of great political leadership. In his account of the Stuart kings, he illustrated the effects of its absence. In the seventeenth century, Hume argued, the Stuarts governed according to patterns of authority they had inherited from the Tudors. However, social and political conditions in seventeenth-century England differed markedly from those in the sixteenth century. The Stuarts ultimately failed as a regal dynasty because they misunderstood their times (“Passive Obedience,” E, 492). They failed to recognize how the increasing economic and political power of parliament and the evolving political expectations of the commons had transformed the political context in England. Consequently, the population became “indifferent towards the fortunes” of these monarchs. England was plunged into civil war in the 1640s and, in 1688, the Stuarts were forced from the throne for good (“Politics May Be Reduced to a Science,” E, 24). Political contexts can undergo significant changes in short periods of time. As Dees has observed, Hume thought the English political context in James II’s time “required a very different kind of politics and a different method of rule than it did in James I’s.” Dees writes, “because James was so out of touch with the practice of politics in Britain, Hume concludes that the revolution against him was justified” (1992, p. 236). Even Alfred the Great – the king Hume most celebrated in the entire History – was no model for monarchs in different historical contexts. Hume praised Alfred as the “Founder of the English monarchy” (H 1.74) and “as the greatest prince after Charlemagne that had appeared in Europe during several ages, and as one of the wisest and best that had ever adorned the annals of any nation” (H 1.81). However, though he did claim that Alfred was a king whose merit, “both in private and public life, may with advantage be set in opposition to that of any monarch or citizen, which the annals of any age or any nation can present to us” (H 1.74), Hume acknowledged that Alfred was a king from and of another time, a “barbarous age” (H 1.75). As Jeffrey Suderman has written, “Hume the historian remained ever cognizant that different circumstances required different kinds of rule; an effective medieval king must never be confused with a modern ruler” (2013, p. 136). Allegiance is the virtue that sustains political authority. Because he thought conventions of political authority are so dependent upon the context in which they develop, Hume determined that the study of politics requires a properly historical analysis. “All houses,” he wrote, “have a roof and walls, windows and chimneys” (EPM 3.45). However, “men, in different times and places, frame their houses differently” (EPM 3.44).

88

marc hanvelt

A conjectural history might account for the universal utility of political authority and our corresponding moral approval of political allegiance. But it is only by studying the particularities of “different times and places” that we can come to understand authority and allegiance in the real world of politics. The change to the manner of his presentation that Hume made by excising the conjectural history from his discussion of political subjects in EPM affected the matter of his argument also. It sharpened his critiques of social contract and republican theory by highlighting the importance of context in politics.

4.7 Changing Contexts Lead to Different Sets of Rules Behind Hume’s analysis of allegiance lies the observation that human beings require rules, “wherever [they] have any intercourse with one another” (EPM 4.18). In any particular context, he thought, “common interest and utility beget infallibly a standard of right and wrong among the parties concerned” (EPM 4.20). Whether the standard of right and wrong that emerges is necessary, or whether any number of other rules could serve equally well, and what form the particular rules that do emerge actually take, all depend on the context. Hume framed his discussion of allegiance in the context of a society in the singular (EPM 4.1). If we extend the context to the international arena, he wrote, “a new set of rules are immediately discovered to be useful in that particular situation; and accordingly take place under the title of LAWS of NATIONS” (EPM 4.2). Under this heading, he included “the sacredness of the person of ambassadors, abstaining from poisoned arms, quarter in war, with others of that kind, which are plainly calculated for the advantage of states and kingdoms, in their intercourse with each other” (EPM 4.2). Two points are worth noting here: First, Hume did not intend this list to be either exhaustive or prescriptive. It merely illustrated conventions that had arisen among nations to serve their mutual interests. Second, moving from the context of domestic to international politics establishes a new set of relevant shared interests – this time among nations – that revises the measure of utility. Among other things, Hume argued, this new measure of utility explained why “REASONS OF STATE may, in particular emergencies, dispense with the rules of justice” (EPM 4.3). Hume’s explanation was straightforward: rules of justice are not as essential among nations as they are among individuals because, whereas individuals cannot subsist without the society that justice makes possible, “nations can subsist without intercourse. They may even subsist, in some degree, under a general war” (EPM 4.3).

History, Context, and Political Society

89

When we narrow the context to interactions among small groups of individuals or married couples, new rules again emerge. Requirements of chastity emerge to ensure uncontested parentage.10 As Annette Baier has noted, “Hume’s account of the demand for female chastity depends upon his psychological premises that men will be unwilling to care for children not believed to be biologically their own, as well as on his epistemological and ‘anatomical’ premises concerning the natural uncertainty of paternity” (1979, pp. 7–8). As with allegiance and the laws of nations, Hume emphasized that laws of chastity emerge solely on account of their utility. Hume’s explanation of the utility of chastity once again draws his reader’s attention to the decisive importance of context in the development of conventions of political society. As Baier has noted, Hume’s entire discussion of the utility of chastity “depends upon an assumption made but not stated, namely that a society be both patriarchal, so that control of ‘expences’ is in male hands, and patrilineal, so that property passes through the male line. In a matriarchal and matrilineal society the question of true paternity would become as ‘trivial’ as the anatomical facts which make error there so easy” (1979, p. 8). In other words, though Hume may not have acknowledged the fact explicitly in this particular instance, his argument again shows how perceptions of utility are always shaped by context, and in the case of chastity, by the context of a particular type of society. Hume’s discussion of chastity also calls attention to the force of habituation in the development of conventions. An oddity of chastity, he noted, is that the “rules have all a reference to generation; and yet women past child-bearing are no more supposed to be exempted from them than those in the flower of their youth and beauty” (EPM 4.7). In other words, the utility of chastity, as Hume presented it, evaporates as soon as women can no longer bear children. Retroactively, he could hypothesize that, were the rules of chastity limited to women of child-bearing age, “the example of the old would be pernicious to the young” by causing them to “think more lightly of this whole duty, so requisite to society” (EPM 4.7). However, this conjecture did not explain the actual process through which the rules of chastity had been extended to all women. That process was not rational. Rather, Hume saw it as simply an example of a common trend: “general rules are often extended beyond the principle, whence they first arise” (EPM 4.7). This trend could be explained, as Hume had written in the Treatise, by a propensity of the human imagination, “when set into any 10

For further scholarship on Hume’s account of chastity see, for example, Baier (1979); Villanueva Gardner (2006); Levey (1997); Falkenstein (2015).

90

marc hanvelt

train of thinking . . . to continue, even when its object fails it, and like a galley put in motion by the oars, carr[y] on its course without any new impulse” (T 1.4.2.22). Central to Hume’s view of politics was the conclusion that “man, born in a family, is compelled to maintain society, from necessity, from natural inclination, and from habit” (“Origin of Government,” E, 37). The last is particularly important. As Nicholas Phillipson observed, notably absent from the list is “abstract reasoning” (2011, p. 56).

4.8 Good Manners and the Politics of Factionalism A common feature of the conventions that Hume discussed in Section 4 of EPM is their utility for mitigating or preempting conflict. This feature is evident in Hume’s discussion of good manners, rules he described as “a kind of lesser morality, calculated for the ease of company and conversation” (EPM 4.13). We know from experience that rules of civility can vary widely from context to context. Hume defined politeness as simply “the arts of conversation” (“Rise and Progress,” E, 127). Of his own context, he wrote, “among the arts of conversation, no one pleases more than mutual deference or civility, which leads us to resign our own inclinations to those of our companion, and to curb and conceal that presumption and arrogance, so natural to the human mind” (“Rise and Progress,” E, 126). Hume understood politeness as a “social lubricant”11 that enabled conversation, even between actors with very different interests, values, or beliefs. These rules are necessary, he thought, because human nature inclines us to be intolerant of contrary opinions. Such is the nature of the human mind, that it always lays hold on every mind that approaches it; and as it is wonderfully fortified by an unanimity of sentiment, so is it shocked and disturbed by any contrariety. Hence the eagerness, which most people discover in a dispute; and hence their impatience of opposition, even in the most speculative and indifferent opinions. (“Parties in General,” E, 60)

Hume thought this tendency was particularly forceful on questions of religion, politics, economics, and history: topics that could significantly reinforce or undermine the public opinion that sustains political authority. In this sense, then, his concern with politeness and good manners extended well beyond the walls of the clubs and the coffee houses. While seeking to 11

I am indebted to Spyridon Tegos for this description. See Tegos (2013).

History, Context, and Political Society

91

explain the virtues that please in company, Hume never lost sight of their relevance to the virtue of allegiance At the limit, he thought, impoliteness could threaten constitutional stability by undermining political authority. One of Hume’s primary political concerns was with the negative consequences of factionalism and fanaticism in politics. He argued that factionalism is an inescapable feature of political life under a mixed constitution, such as that of Britain, but concluded that only extreme factions that polarize the population are dangerous (“Coalition of Parties,” E, 493). In concluding his essay “That Politics May Be Reduced to a Science,” Hume issued a warning to his compatriots about the political dangers of polarization and uncompromising forms of discourse: “I would only persuade men not to contend, as if they were fighting pro aris & focis, and change a good constitution into a bad one, by the violence of their factions” (“Politics May Be Reduced to a Science,” E, 31). Instead, he advocated moderation and politeness. Writing to opposing parties in British politics, Hume sought “to persuade each that its antagonists may possibly be sometimes in the right, and to keep a balance in the praise and blame, which we bestow on either side” (“Coalition of Parties,” E, 494). On many political questions, Hume thought, reasonable people may disagree without being unreasonable. Though it might seem an innocuous claim, this conclusion ran directly against the inclination toward uncompromising defense of party and principle that Hume witnessed in the politics of his age and that he rooted in human nature. The conclusion that reasonable people may disagree without being unreasonable is inaccessible to groups of individuals who think of politics in terms of competing fixed abstract principles. It can only ring true to those who understand how significantly history and context shape the conventions of political society.

4.9

Conclusion

Throughout his literary career, Hume warned against invoking abstract speculative principles in politics precisely because they lack any grounding in historical and political contexts. When, in 1768, John Wilkes’ supporters rioted in the streets of London, Hume deemed their cries for liberty so abstract and ungrounded that he concluded the entire affair was “founded on nothing” (L II, 178). To fully appreciate the importance of history and context, Hume thought, is to understand why “it seems unreasonable to judge of the measures, embraced during one period, by the maxims, which prevail in another” (H 5.240).

92

marc hanvelt

By eliminating the conjectural history from his discussion of political topics in EPM, Hume accentuated the importance of history and context in shaping the conventions of political society. Understanding this influence is essential for making sense of Section 4 of EPM and for relating it to Hume’s political thought more generally. Hume presented each of the virtues necessary for life in society as valuable for its utility and as developed through processes of habituation and historical accident. In a sense, the fourth section of EPM is fascinating for how much Hume was able to say in just a few short pages. At the same time, the section is notable for just how few virtues necessary for society he was able to list. Allegiance, the laws of nations, chastity, fidelity, and good manners comprise, at the same time, both a wide-ranging and a rather limited set. Moreover, Hume was only able to write about good manners and political allegiance in general terms. He could not describe these virtues with greater specificity or expand his list further precisely because the conventions of political society are always so dependent upon history and context.12 12

I wish to acknowledge the editors for shepherding this volume to print, as well as Lorne Falkenstein and Mark G. Spencer for generously offering their time to read an earlier draft of this chapter and suggest valuable improvements. The Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada has provided financial support for my research.

chapter 5

“Why Utility Pleases” A Surprising Source of Discord Emily Kelahan

Section 5 of Hume’s An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals (EPM), “Why Utility Pleases,” is a remarkable text for a variety of reasons. First, there is no directly analogous section in the Treatise. The relationship between Book 3 of the Treatise and EPM is a topic of perennial interest, and this section, perhaps more than most, raises questions about whether Hume engaged in substantial revision of his previous thought or simply repackaged it in a more appealing manner.1 Second, “Why Utility Pleases,” especially Part II, feels like an interruption.2 Hume treats much of the rest of the text like a catalog of the virtues, identifying those traits we, in fact, find meritorious and offering empirical evidence to support his claims. Part II explores moral epistemology, even going so far as to border on normative ethics.3 Third, because Hume discusses the role of utility in a moral theory so extensively and favorably, this section has led many to wonder whether Hume is a utilitarian. Finally, “Why Utility Pleases” advances some of the relatively few positions that draw criticism from Adam Smith in his Theory of Moral Sentiments. In this chapter we will address each of these notable features. As “Why Utility Pleases” has received comparatively little focused attention, Section 5.1 lays out a detailed analysis of it, engaging with two of the interpretive questions above. First, does it advance any important changes from Book 3 of the Treatise? Second, does it supply any evidence of a normative moral theory? In response to the first question, I argue, following established scholarship, that there are important changes but none that involve 1 2

3

In addition to Taylor (2002, 2015b), I have found Abramson (2001), Baier (1991, 2008), Cohon (1997), and Debes (2007b) particularly helpful for understanding this topic. However, one can understand why Hume would ask why utility pleases at this particular juncture. It follows his arguments that benevolence is valued in part for its utility and that justice is valued entirely for its utility. Here I must disagree slightly with Baier (2008). She identifies the first Appendix as the place where moral epistemology receives the most attention, but Section 5 also includes important discussions.

93

94

emily kelahan

a rejection of the claims of the earlier work. In response to the second question, I argue that “Why Utility Pleases” is best interpreted as falling squarely within Hume’s descriptive moral psychology, thus answering in the negative. Section 5.2 discusses Hume’s alleged utilitarianism, arguing that the notion of Hume as a utilitarian is dubious, though his influence on utilitarianism is not. Finally, Section 5.3 explores the disagreement between Smith and Hume on utility.

5.1

A Textual Analysis of “Why Utility Pleases”

“Why Utility Pleases” is an understated title. Yes, Hume does tell us why utility pleases – it’s human nature to find utility pleasing – but that and how it manages to please in a range of social circumstances divorced from pure self-interest – much less obviously a part of human nature – is the main point of the section. Part I makes the case that utility plays a fundamental role in moral evaluation and extends beyond narrow self-interest. Part II reinforces Part I and explains how we come to feel other-regarding sentiments in relation to utility and to admire the useful traits of individuals who have no direct bearing on our lives. 5.1.1

Part I

Hume never defines utility as clearly as one might like. He describes utility as “only a tendency to a certain end” (EPM App. 1.3), where that end seems to be simply usefulness or beneficial consequences. He begins by observing that it is well confirmed by experience that utility pleases (EPM 5.1), but he concedes that it’s initially somewhat mysterious why we approve of utility. After noting that other moral philosophers seem reluctant to assign utility a role in their theories, he speculates that its absence might be explained by “the difficulty of accounting for these effects of usefulness” and responds that this “is no just reason for rejecting any principle, confirmed by experience, that we cannot give a satisfactory account of its origin, nor are able to resolve it into other more general principles” (EPM 5.2). Besides, he does think we can “deduce it from principles, the most known and avowed in human nature” (EPM 5.2).4 In response to influential “sceptics, both ancient and modern” who believe that moral 4

Hume claims that we can reduce our approval of utility to more general principles of human nature. This is not to say that he thinks we can reach some bedrock general principles. He readily concedes that we may reach a point “beyond which we cannot hope to find any principle more general” (EPM 5 n.19.1, 219–20, italics added).

“Why Utility Pleases”

95

distinctions are the exclusive product of education and socialization, he raises a “paradox”: “Had nature made no such distinction, founded on the original constitution of the mind,” moral education and political influence would have no effect on us (EPM 5.3, italics added). Hume anticipates that some will object that utility reduces morality to pure self-interest. Of course, we praise useful traits when we are the direct beneficiaries of them, but, Hume argues, it’s also possible that we find them pleasing as they affect humankind more generally: And as the public utility of these virtues is the chief circumstance, whence they derive their merit, it follows, that the end, which they have a tendency to promote, must be some way agreeable to us . . .. It must please, either from considerations of self-interest, or from more generous motives and regards. (EPM 5.4, italics added)

Hume recognizes that his detractors will try to link our generous-seeming motives to our dependency on social bonds and cooperation, reducing them to self-interest (EPM 5.5). We may praise an agent’s useful traits when they help someone else, but, they say, what we’re really doing is reinforcing the social order on which the quality of our own lives depends. However, Hume contends, “the voice of nature and experience seems plainly to oppose the selfish theory” (EPM 5.6).5 What Hume does next is a beautiful application of his “experimental method.” He offers evidence against the selfish theory drawn from careful observation of human life, focusing on roughly four facts about moral appraisal.6 First, we praise useful traits even in people far away or distant in time with no connection to our self-interest (EPM 5.7, 5.11). Second, we praise useful traits in our adversaries even though they might work against our self-interest (EPM 5.8, 5.11). Third, we can separate the sentiments associated with self-interest from those associated with general regard for virtuous character without diminishing the latter (EPM 5.9). Fourth, when one describes virtuous 5

6

This is an odd passage. After referencing Polybius as an authority who promoted the “selfish theory,” the full sentence of which a fragment appears above reads: “But though the solid, practical sense of that author, and his aversion to all vain subtilties, render his authority on the present subject very considerable; yet is not this an affair to be decided by authority, and the voice of nature and experience seems plainly to oppose the selfish theory” (EPM 5.6; SBN 215). As Phillip D. Cummins explores in his “A Puzzling Passage in ‘Why Utility Pleases’” (2000), the clause “is not this an affair to be decided by authority” would make more sense given the subsequent clause if it read “this is not an affair to be decided by authority.” Given the weight of the rest of the paragraph, section, and entire work, I will assume that Hume intended to condemn, rather than promote, appeal to authority. Taylor (2015b), especially chapter 1, “Experimenting with the Passions,” makes this point clearly and compellingly.

96

emily kelahan

character, people feel feelings of approbation without ever wondering how useful the person described is to them (EPM 5.10). Hume revisits the self-interest objection: perhaps in all of the cases above “we transport ourselves, by the force of imagination, into distant ages and countries, and consider the advantage, which we should have reaped from these characters” (EPM 5.13). The imagination is a powerful tool: “A man, brought to the brink of a precipice, cannot look down without trembling; and the sentiment of imaginary danger actuates him, in opposition to the opinion and belief of real safety” (EPM 5.14). However, Hume is not compelled by this suggestion, as “the imagination is here assisted by the presence of a striking object” (EPM 5.14); that is, extreme heights. Typically, the sentiments we feel when we personally encounter good character are much stronger than the sentiments produced through imagining ourselves in a different circumstance. Besides, even if imagination could do the work these objectors ascribe to it, as Hume has already argued, empirically speaking, it doesn’t. 5.1.2

Part II

Part I is of a piece with the rest of EPM. Hume uses his experimental method of careful observation of human behavior to support some general claims about what we find morally praiseworthy. Part II continues that work, but also explores the mechanics of how we come to have otherregarding sentiments and impartial moral judgments. The first three paragraphs of Part II bolster the empirical case for a moral theory that acknowledges the role of utility and continue Hume’s argument against the selfish interpretation of why utility pleases: But notwithstanding this frequent confusion of interests, it is easy to attain what natural philosophers, after lord Bacon, have affected to call the experimentum crucis, or that experiment, which points out the right way in any doubt or ambiguity. We have found instances, in which private interest was separate from public; in which it was even contrary: And yet we observed the moral sentiment to continue, notwithstanding this disjunction of interests. (EPM 5.17)

This line of thought is familiar if not duplicative, but it’s notable that Hume mentions Bacon in this passage, which lends support to interpretations that see Hume as pursuing the largely descriptive project in EPM of cataloging traits we find useful and agreeable. In fact, in a footnote to paragraph 17, he rather boldly asserts that he needn’t do more than that:

“Why Utility Pleases”

97

It is needless to push our researches so far as to ask, why we have humanity or a fellow-feeling with others. It is sufficient, that this is experienced to be a principle in human nature. We must stop somewhere in our examination of causes; and there are, in every science, some general principles, beyond which we cannot hope to find any principle more general. (EPM 5.17 n.19)

However, in the following paragraph Hume begins a subtle shift toward an explanation of our moral judgments, engaging more directly questions about the principles at work in our moral deliberations – for example, “the force of humanity and benevolence” (EPM 5.18) – but this is just a teaser. Hume spends another several paragraphs offering case studies before returning to this topic. Part I focuses almost exclusively on positive fellow-feelings, but Part II explores negative fellow-feelings, for instance indignation at another’s plight. For example, Hume details an imagined encounter with a kind and hospitable host in his pleasant dwelling where the host describes his struggles with a powerful neighbor who treated him poorly (EPM 5.19–22) and how we are “actuated by the strongest antipathy against” him (EPM 5.22), despite being personally unaffected by his vice. Hume also explores our sympathetic reactions to art, theatre, news, and history (EPM 5.23–35). So capacious is our sympathy with others that, “When a person stutters, and pronounces with difficulty, we even sympathize with this trivial uneasiness, and suffer for him” (EPM 5.37). Having belabored the point that we naturally sympathize with others when our own self-interest is not at stake, Hume considers an objection: what about really awful, selfish people? First, Hume has a strikingly optimistic view of human nature, more so than in the Treatise.7 He doubts that anyone could be “so entirely indifferent to the interest of their fellowcreatures, as to perceive no distinctions of moral good and evil,” and follows with a vivid example: Let us suppose such a person ever so selfish; let private interest have ingrossed ever so much his attention; yet in instances, where that is not concerned, he must unavoidably feel some propensity to the good of mankind, and make it an object of choice, if every thing else be equal. Would any man, who is walking along, tread as willingly on another’s gouty toes, whom he has no quarrel with, as on the hard flint and pavement? (EPM 5.39) 7

See, for example, “When experience has once given us a competent knowledge of human affairs, and has taught us the proportion they bear to human passion, we perceive, that the generosity of men is very limited, and that it seldom extends beyond their friends and family, or, at most, beyond their native country” (T 3.3.3.2).

98

emily kelahan

Hume admits that the degree to which we sympathize with others may vary from person to person, but even a very self-centered person, he thinks, will prefer not to inflict pain on others where it is easily avoidable. But perhaps there are people who would prefer to step on another’s gouty toes rather than walk on the pavement. To this prospect, Hume replies that such people are anomalies with “inverted” sentiments (EPM 5.40). 5.1.3

A Shift toward the Close of Part II?

Finally, Hume breaks from his cataloging and devotes himself to a discussion of the mechanics of sympathy (or the principles of benevolence and humanity) and moral judgment. In the previous paragraphs, Hume shows through several examples and case studies that we have a strong tendency to value social traits for their utility to ourselves and others. Compared to the Treatise, EPM places more emphasis on the empirical case for unselfish fellow-feeling as a part of human nature. Compared to EPM, on the other hand, the Treatise places more emphasis on the process by which we arrive at moral judgments. Though Hume has been resisting the suggestion that human nature leans toward self-interest for many paragraphs, he finally concedes, as he much more freely does in the Treatise, that our sentiments naturally favor those closer to us: A statesman or patriot, who serves our own country, in our own time, has always a more passionate regard paid to him, than one whose beneficial influence operated on distant ages or remote nations; where the good, resulting from his generous humanity, being less connected with us, seems more obscure, and affects us with a less lively sympathy. We may own the merit to be equally great, though our sentiments are not raised to an equal height, in both cases. (EPM 5.41)

He raises the same objection in the Treatise (T 3.3.1.14). Our sympathetic reactions to people vary in relation to our closeness to them, but “we give the same approbation to the same moral qualities in China as in England. They appear equally virtuous, and recommend themselves equally to the esteem of a judicious spectator” (T 3.3.1.14). This comes across as a problem with Hume’s account in the Treatise. He’s made the case that morality is rooted in the sentiments, not reason, but here it sounds like he’s claiming that moral judgment proceeds from something other than sympathy.8 The problematizing language disappears in EPM. Immediately after observing 8

Rachel Cohon (1997) argues convincingly that Hume has the resources to overcome the objection that moral judgment apparently doesn’t derive from sympathy and explains how moral judgment is

“Why Utility Pleases”

99

that our sentiments favor those closer to us, Hume claims, “The judgment here corrects the inequalities of our internal emotions and perceptions; in like manner, as it preserves us from error, in the several variations of images, presented to our external senses” (EPM 5.41). In the following paragraph, Hume is clear that moral judgment is ultimately a matter of sentiment: Sympathy, we shall allow, is much fainter than our concern for ourselves, and sympathy with persons remote from us, much fainter than that with persons near and contiguous; but for this very reason, it is necessary for us, in our calm judgments and discourse concerning the characters of men, to neglect all these differences, and render our sentiments more public and social. (EPM 5.42, italics added)

The faculty of judgment works against the variability of the sentiments by making them, the sentiments, less variable and not by replacing their role in moral judgments. In addition to the faculty of judgment, Hume discusses the role of social engagement in regulating our sentiments. Compared to the Treatise, what Hume has to say about socializing the sentiments to make them more impartial in EPM is strikingly expansive: The more we converse with mankind, and the greater social intercourse we maintain, the more shall we be familiarized to these general preferences and distinctions, without which our conversation and discourse could scarcely be rendered intelligible to each other. (EPM 5.42)

In the Treatise Hume explains the “correction” of sentimental inequalities using the notion of the “steady and general point of view” (T 3.3.1.15). First, we survey the character of the agent about whom we are forming a judgment from the perspective of her “narrow circle” (T 3.3.3.2) and sympathize with them. Second, we regulate sympathy by relying on general rules that allow us to understand the general effects of character traits. From that perspective, we correct our biases and generate calm passions that allow us to appreciate virtuous traits in distant people and facilitate impartial moral judgment. Compare this to what Hume claims in EPM 5.42. It’s basically the same story, but with one important difference. Instead of just the evaluated agent’s “narrow circle,” evaluators consider “mankind” when regulating their sentiments.

still ultimately rooted in the sentiments. The relevant passages from “Why Utility Pleases” certainly support her view.

100

emily kelahan

Jacqueline Taylor’s fine article on the differences between Hume’s accounts of how we correct our moral judgments in the Treatise and EPM argues that Hume’s reliance in the Treatise on the judgments of the “narrow circle” of the agent under moral evaluation is a major shortcoming, as Hume “assumes that the circle’s responses will be appropriate ones, and that sympathy with the agent’s circle is therefore sufficient to guide the approval or blame of those adopting the common point of view” (Taylor, 2002, p. 52). But, of course, the question remains whether the narrow circle’s judgment is corrupted by unchecked prejudice. Her analysis supports the view that EPM isn’t just a sleeker version of the Treatise. The social component of regulating our sentiments and making our judgments more impartial is different and, arguably, better. In her recent book, Taylor details the ways in which EPM expresses Hume’s “more mature and sophisticated moral outlook” with its “appeal to the sentiment or principle of humanity” and stress on “the importance of general conversation and good reasoning to establish a standard of virtue, rather than appealing to sympathy with the responses of an agent’s associates” (2015b, pp. 121–23). Is the EPM account a better account of our actual practice of making our moral judgments impartial, or is it thought to be a better moral theory because it succeeds in showing how we arrive at justified moral judgments? This is a perennial question in the study of Hume’s moral theory. Does Hume have a first-order ethical position? Is there a normative moral theory in Hume’s works or is his project in ethics primarily descriptive?9 One section of one work can hardly settle the matter, but “Why Utility Pleases” seems to point in the latter direction. When Hume shifts to moral epistemology in Part II, it’s unclear whether he’s using the same empirical method he used throughout EPM to describe more sophisticated moral phenomena or laying a foundation for a normative moral theory. If the former, we must understand Hume as explaining the uniformity of moral judgments. First, a laudable trait is a laudable trait, no matter how close we are to the possessor. We often judge two agents’ characters to be equally laudable though we feel more affection for one than the other. Second, we often arrive at the same judgments as other spectators even though our degrees of closeness to the agent judged vary. If, however, Hume is shifting gears from his descriptive project, we have to see him as making something like the first-order claim that we 9

There are many excellent resources on this debate, for example, Abramson (1999), Baier (1991) Darwall (1995), Flage (1985), Kemp Smith (1941), Mackie (1980), Sayre-McCord (1994), and Shaver (1995).

“Why Utility Pleases”

101

ought to judge all moral agents fairly or the metaethical claim that together judgment and socialization lead to justified moral judgments. To help us decide the question of whether “Why Utility Pleases” tips the scales in the debate about whether Hume’s moral philosophy has a normative component, let’s dissect the rest of EPM 5.42, a rich and lengthy paragraph: Sympathy, we shall allow, is much fainter than our concern for ourselves, and sympathy with persons remote from us, much fainter than that with persons near and contiguous; but for this very reason, it is necessary for us, in our calm judgments and discourse concerning the characters of men, to neglect all these differences, and render our sentiments more public and social. (EPM 5.42)

How should we understand “necessary” in this sentence? Hume has pointed out again that our feelings are stronger as their objects are nearer to us. This he takes to be an empirical fact. What he says next is less obviously a report of fact. Is he claiming that because this is true (“for this very reason”), we should work to make our moral judgments more impartial? Or is he trying to claim that we experience discomfort and unease as we detect natural partialities in our sentimental responses, itself a sentimental phenomenon, and, in order to alleviate that unease, it is psychologically “necessary” for us to “neglect all these differences” and socialize our sentiments? This would echo much of what he says about belief formation in the Natural History of Religion where he is quite clearly pursuing a descriptive project. There he frequently cites discomfort as necessitating the formation of certain beliefs (that is, “ignorance of causes” and anxiety about “future fortune” [NHR 3.2] necessitate belief in “invisible, intelligent power” [NHR 0.1]). He clearly isn’t endorsing these beliefs, but rather providing an explanation of their psychological necessity in the absence of good cognitive resources. Additionally, it is necessary for us to render our sentiments more public because we need common language about morality to be able to talk to one another. This consideration, too, fits with the descriptive interpretation. What Hume says next in EPM 5.42 leans closer to the normative interpretation: Besides, that we ourselves often change our situation in this particular, we every day meet with persons, who are in a situation different from us, and who could never converse with us, were we to remain constantly in that position and point of view, which is peculiar to ourselves. The intercourse of sentiments, therefore, in society and conversation, makes us form some

102

emily kelahan general unalterable standard, by which we may approve or disapprove of characters and manners. (EPM 5.42)

Hume refers to a “general unalterable standard,” which suggests a “correct” moral standard of judgment, but this could just be a description of how we arrive at what we take to be our moral standard. He writes “some general unalterable standard,” which suggests an explanation of how a community arrives at its standard as well as the possibility that this standard might be different in other communities or evolve within communities. What Hume says in the final sentences of this paragraph strongly indicates that he’s still firmly on descriptive ground: And though the heart takes not part entirely with those general notions, nor regulates all its love and hatred, by the universal, abstract differences of vice and virtue, without regard to self, or the persons with whom we are more intimately connected; yet have these moral differences a considerable influence, and being sufficient, at least, for discourse, serve all our purposes in company, in the pulpit, on the theatre, and in the schools. (EPM 5.42)

Hume observes that regulating our sentimental responses is difficult, but that the norms we construct through social engagement do have a significant influence on behavior in public contexts. The paragraph ends on an undeniably descriptive note, but a footnote casts some doubt. After noting again that it’s natural for “private connexions” to have more influence than “universal views and consideration” because it’s so much easier to have sentiments in relation to “a proper limited object,” Hume observes that even in cases where our emotions play out in this way, “still we know here, as in all the senses, to correct these inequalities by reflection, and retain a general standard of vice and virtue, founded chiefly on a general usefulness” (EPM 5 n.25). This last sentence is more difficult to understand as purely descriptive than anything claimed in the paragraph to which it is attached. To say that “we know . . . to correct these inequalities . . . and retain a general sense of virtue and vice” sounds more like “we know what to do to be good people” (normative) than “we notice that our natural sentiments sometimes result in social discomfort and, finding that discomfort unpleasant, we seek to eliminate it by bringing our sentiments in line with social standards” (descriptive). Given the balance of the texts, however, I think we have to see the use of the “we know what to do” locution in the footnote as referring to our capacity to learn how to alleviate psychological and social discomfort.

“Why Utility Pleases” 5.1.4

103

Section 5 of EPM and the Treatise

We’ve already discussed some important differences between EPM and the Treatise, but the entire section might be taken as an important difference, as it has no obvious analog in the Treatise. However, “utility,” or “public good,” is invoked throughout Book 3 of the Treatise where Hume discusses it contextually, rather than pausing to consider it in relative isolation. The influence of our natural regard for the public good comes up frequently in his discussions of justice, property, allegiance, fidelity, and obligation. He doesn’t devote nearly the same effort to making the case that our fellowfeelings are natural and capable of refinement through social engagement and good judgment – again, the sophistication of his account of how our sentiments are socialized and our judgments rendered less partial is a key difference between the two works – but those later refinements are implicit in the earlier work. Consider the conclusion to Book 3, where it is most clear that Hume already had something like his EPM Section 5 account in mind: Justice is certainly approv’d of for no other reason, than because it has a tendency to the public good: And the public good is indifferent to us, except so far as sympathy interests us in it. We may presume the like with regard to all the other virtues, which have a like tendency to the public good. (T 3.3.6.1, italics added)

He’s claiming, as he does in EPM, that we praise the social virtues for their utility (“public good”). He’s also acknowledging that sympathy does interest us in the public good. This is especially true when we disapprove of injustice, which Hume describes as “pernicious to every one that approaches the person guilty of it” (T 3.2.2.24). Though the case is perhaps somewhat understated in the Treatise, it turns out that sympathy (or the principles of benevolence and humanity) “interests us in [utility]” in an incredibly broad range of circumstances. Detailing those circumstances is one of the objectives of “Why Utility Pleases.”

5.2 Hume’s Utilitarianism On the one hand, the foregoing analysis of “Why Utility Pleases” would seem to leave us in doubt as to whether Hume advances anything that might properly be called a first-order ethical view, let alone one that is specifically utilitarian. On the other hand, one can hardly be blamed for thinking Hume is some sort of utilitarian on the basis of “Why Utility Pleases.” The opening paragraph of the section claims that utility so

104

emily kelahan

obviously explains why we find praiseworthy traits praiseworthy “that one would expect to meet with this principle every where in moral writers, as the chief foundation of their reasoning and enquiry” (EPM 5.1). Hume claims that utility is the foundation of morality, and that sounds awfully utilitarian, so perhaps Hume is some kind of parent of utilitarianism if not a utilitarian himself.10 If there is clear evidence for that conclusion, one might expect to find it in “Why Utility Pleases.” The debate about Hume’s utilitarianism seems to have begun in earnest in the 1970s, apparently sparked by recognition of the assumptions of intellectual historians and political philosophers by scholars of Hume’s moral philosophy. In one of the earliest texts on this debate, Aryeh Botwinick begins by observing that “IN MANY HISTORIES OF WESTERN THOUGHT – as well as in those devoted more specifically to the history of Western political thought – the designation of Hume as a utilitarian in his ethical and political theory is taken for granted” (1977, p. 432). When Hume is considered as one influence among many in shaping western thought, it is often assumed that he is a utilitarian. However, the balance of work on his thought specifically strongly suggests that it’s not helpful for understanding Hume to think of him as a utilitarian. In short, there is an asymmetrical relationship. It may be helpful for understanding utilitarianism to think of it as informed by Hume’s thought, but utilitarianism is a mostly distorting lens for Hume interpretation. Even work that is sympathetic to the utilitarian interpretation of Hume acknowledges that there is much more going on in Hume’s moral philosophy besides utilitarianism and that the type of utilitarianism we might justifiably ascribe to Hume is highly qualified, incomplete, and attenuated.11 Reviewing the dialectic, scholars of topics that include but don’t focus on Hume overstated Hume’s utilitarianism. In response, some scholars of Hume argued that this is not the right way to understand his philosophy. What happened next? I will focus on some of the highlights. In his “Hume and the Invention of Utilitarianism,” Stephen Darwall (1995b) advances a strong scholarly case for interpreting Hume as an important figure in the rise of utilitarianism. There is simply no doubt that Hume inspired Bentham. Bentham tells us himself that after reading some parts of Book 10

11

Moore (2002) doesn’t directly consider the question of Hume’s alleged utilitarianism, but argues that the role of utility in Hume’s moral theory is not foundational. According to Moore, utility is important to moral distinctions, but the foundation of morality is the sentiment of humanity. This is clearly at odds with utilitarianism. See, for example, Glossop (1976) or, more recently, Ashford (2005) and Crisp (2005).

“Why Utility Pleases”

105

3 of the Treatise, “I felt as if the scales had fallen from my eyes” (Bentham, 1776, p. 51). His praise for Hume is high, but his criticisms are harsh, so there is also no doubt that Hume was an inspiration and not a guide. Hume couldn’t be a guide, one might reasonably think, because he wasn’t any sort of utilitarian. Geoffrey Sayre-McCord deserves much of the credit for making this case. In his “Hume and the Bauhaus Theory of Ethics,” SayreMcCord argues compellingly that “no version of utilitarianism – neither act, nor rule, nor motive utilitarianism – sits comfortably as an interpretation of Hume” (1995, p. 280). Sayre-McCord goes on to detail the requirements of a utilitarian theory and show how awkwardly Hume satisfies them when he can be said to satisfy them at all. At best, he argues, Hume’s “Bauhaus” moral theory, as he calls it, has some “affinities” with some aspects of utilitarianism. A decade later, Hume as a utilitarian interpretation strikes back in a pair of 2005 papers. In “Utilitarianism with a Humean Face,” Elizabeth Ashford directly responds to the challenge implicit in Sayre-McCord’s paper – that of finding a version of utilitarianism that does sit comfortably as an interpretation of Hume. Sayre-McCord and Ashford agree that Hume is not committed to any kind of calculus or maximization of utility. They also agree on three other ways a view can fail to be utilitarian: (1) it can fail to see welfare promotion and suffering reduction as the ultimate point of morality (welfarism), (2) it can fail to consider utility for all who will be affected (impartiality), and (3) it can fail to see “utility as the underlying criterion by which to solve all moral questions” and to prioritize the utility of all instead of the utility of each (single-measurism). Contra Sayre-McCord, Ashford argues that Hume’s view doesn’t fail to be welfarist (though focused on the virtues, “the ultimate point of the virtues is to promote well-being” [Ashford, 2005, pp. 65–66]), doesn’t fail to be impartial (“no one’s interests are excluded from the scope of the moral sentiments that form the basis of the moral point of view” [Ashford, 2005, p. 70]), and doesn’t fail to be single-measurist (“Hume’s . . . sympathetic spectator suggests a conception of the moral point of view that does consist in concern for the interests of all rather than the interests of each . . . and . . . does take the general good to be a measure of interpersonal value” [Ashford, 2005, p. 89]). Her second argument directly concerns “Why Utility Pleases.” Following Taylor (2015b), I argued in the previous section that the account of how we render our moral judgments impartial in EPM is more sophisticated and capacious than what we find in the Treatise. Undoubtedly, Hume is committed to the belief that people get better at making impartial judgments the more and the more broadly they socialize,

106

emily kelahan

but this is not to say that he thinks we have an obligation to consider everyone’s interests. Ashford is right that no one is excluded from the social sphere we might engage in broadening our sentiments, but no one is required to be included. Roger Crisp’s excellent 2005 paper, the other member of the pair, is notable for explaining the possible upshot of exploring Hume as a utilitarian interpretation, an endeavor that is long overdue. To be clear, Crisp believes that “Hume is not, in the usual sense, a utilitarian of any kind” (2005, p. 16). Though I have been arguing that the interpretive relationship between Hume’s philosophy and utilitarianism is asymmetrical – Hume can help us understand utilitarianism, but it can’t help us understand him – Crisp reminds us of why it can be beneficial to read newer theories into older philosophy and how we can do so without anachronism. He writes from the perspective of a contemporary philosopher who doubts “the prevailing view . . . that virtue ethics is opposed to utilitarianism” and who is writing at a point in time when Hume didn’t receive the attention in virtue ethics circles that he now enjoys (2005, p. 159). Crisp thinks it’s possible for a view to fall squarely in virtue ethics and utilitarianism depending on its scope and the type of questions it answers. He looks to Hume because “his position combines both a form of common-sense morality which could plausibly be described as a kind of virtue ethics and a form of utilitarianism” (2005, pp. 159–60). The form of utilitarianism he ascribes to Hume is tenuous indeed – he sees the virtues as “justified, from the moral point of view, by their promoting overall utility” and “the institution of morality itself emerg[ing] only because of its utility value” – but I couldn’t agree more that Hume is an illuminating example of how a moral theorist can build a complex view that combines different schools of thought (2005, pp. 177–78). I think that this is fast becoming the accepted view, though disagreements linger about the extent to which Hume fits in any particular school. Where are we now? A 2016 paper by Massimo Reichlin, “Hume and Utilitarianism: Another Look at an Age-Old Question,” resurrects and augments many of the ideas presented by Darwall and Sayre-McCord. Like Sayre-McCord, Reichlin delineates four features of utilitarianism (a consequentialist theory of the right, a hedonist theory of the good, impartiality, and a prescriptive attitude) and argues that Hume’s moral theory doesn’t embody any of them. Like Darwall, he traces Hume’s influence on the rise of utilitarianism, agreeing that he was influential but by no means a blueprint. A thorough analysis of one of the texts that would seem to be most decisive in settling the question, “Why Utility Pleases,” is more

“Why Utility Pleases”

107

supportive of those interpretations that claim that utilitarianism is an anachronistic and misleading way of understanding Hume’s moral philosophy. In fact, Reichlin argues for just this conclusion, describing EPM 5.44 as “Hume’s single passage mostly nearing the utilitarian view according to which utility is the criterion of morality” (2016, p. 17): that the circumstance of utility, in all subjects, is a source of praise and approbation: That it is constantly appealed to in all moral decisions concerning the merit and demerit of actions: That it is the sole source of that high regard paid to justice, fidelity, honour, allegiance, and chastity: That it is inseparable from all the other social virtues, humanity, generosity, charity, affability, lenity, mercy, and moderation: And, in a word, that it is a foundation of the chief part of morals, which has a reference to mankind and our fellow-creatures. (EPM 5.44)

But he argues convincingly that “If properly read, this statement implies that utility is not the single criterion of morality” as utilitarianism requires (2016, p. 17). Utility is one source of praise for virtuous traits and “a foundation of a part of morals” (2016, p. 17). Reichlin seizes on two other passages from “Why Utility Pleases” in two footnotes – one we’ve already considered and one we will consider in Section 5.3 in relation to the dispute between Hume and Smith. The one we will consider in Section 5.3 maintains that “the tendencies of actions and characters, not their real accidental consequences, are alone regarded in our moral determinations or general judgments” (EPM 5 n.24). Reichlin notes that this passage is strong evidence of Hume’s non-consequentialism and therefore nonutilitarianism. When we considered the other footnote in Section 5.1, it stood out there, too, as possibly committing Hume to a normative view according to which we are obligated to render our judgments impartial: IT is wisely ordained by nature, that private connexions should commonly prevail over universal views and considerations . . .. But still we know here, as in all the senses, to correct these inequalities by reflection, and retain a general standard of vice and virtue, founded chiefly on a general usefulness. (EPM 5 n.25)

I argue then that we should understand “still know here” as referring to our capacity to learn how to alleviate psychological and social discomfort and not interpret this footnote as making a normative claim. Reichlin disagrees. He sees Hume as making a normative claim, but an anti-utilitarian one: “we should act mainly with a view to the interests of ourselves and our close friends, rather than of a distant commonwealth, but judge on the basis of a more general standard” (2016, p. 18). It would seem that at this point in

108

emily kelahan

time the prevailing view is that Hume is not a utilitarian, at least not “in the usual sense” (Crisp, 2005, p. 160). However, as Darwall observes, Hume can be credited with “open[ing] up a space for philosophical utilitarianism even if he himself did not occupy it” (Darwall, 1995b, p. 76). But not only did he not occupy it; it’s becoming less clear what we gain from trying to force him into it.

5.3

Hume and Smith’s Disagreement

Beyond its role in understanding how Hume’s views might have evolved from the Treatise to EPM and its influence on the development of utilitarianism, “Why Utility Pleases” is an important work for another reason. It captured Adam Smith’s attention and became a target of criticism in his Theory of Moral Sentiments (TMS).12 With the exception of some subtle remarks in his anonymous review of Smith’s TMS, Hume doesn’t directly reply to Smith, so readers are left to piece together replies on Hume’s behalf.13 The disagreement is rich and interesting, but has received comparatively little attention. Smith takes issue with three claims: 1 “Utility . . . is a source of praise and approbation” (EPM 5.44). 2 Our approval of utility “frequently extends farther [than self-interest]” (EPM 5.15) to “the interests of society” (EPM 5.46). 3 “usefulness is only a tendency to a certain end; and it is a contradiction in terms, that any thing pleases as a means to an end, where the end itself no wise affects us” (EPM 5.17). Smith’s objection against (3), that nothing pleases as a means alone, is arguably the least serious. His objections to (1) and (2), however, indicate more fundamental disagreements about key features of their moral theories, such as the nature of sentimentalism and moral judgment.14 Smith’s issue with (3) is a bit convoluted, but well worth our attention. First, he focuses on what Hume has to say about the utility of objects. This is an odd focus, as Hume is clear that he’s discussing objects only to bolster 12 13

14

I found Martin (1990) and Rasmussen (2017) extremely helpful in understanding this disagreement. See Raynor (1984) for a helpful discussion of Hume’s role in the development and popularization of Smith’s Theory of Moral Sentiments. Raynor explains how Hume delicately holds Smith accountable for oversimplifying his account of moral approbation by seeing it almost exclusively through the lens of utility to the neglect of agreeableness. These disagreements are rich and reach far beyond “Why Utility Pleases.” I recommend SayreMcCord (2013), “Hume and Smith on Sympathy, Approbation, and Moral Judgment,” as an excellent introduction to the subject.

“Why Utility Pleases”

109

the case for utility as the source of our approbation of the social virtues and concedes that the two ought to be treated differently: The sentiments, excited by utility, are, in the two cases, very different; and the one is mixed with affection, esteem, approbation, &c. and not the other . . .. For though there be a species of approbation attending even inanimate objects, when beneficial, yet this sentiment is so weak, and so different from that which is directed to beneficent magistrates or statesman; that they ought not to be ranked under the same class or appellation. (EPM 5 n.17)

Smith agrees with Hume that the utility, or “the fitness of any system or machine to produce the end for which it was intended,” of an object contributes to its beauty and merit (TMS IV.1.1). However, he disputes Hume’s claim that nothing pleases as a means where we aren’t affected by its end: But that this fitness, this happy contrivance of any production of art, should often be more valued, than the very end for which it was intended; and that the exact adjustment of the means for attaining any conveniency or pleasure, should frequently be more regarded, than that very conveniency or pleasure, in the attainment of which their whole merit would seem to consist, has not, so far as I know, been yet taken notice of by any body. (TMS IV.1.3)

Smith thinks we often do value the means more than the end for which the means was intended. He reinforces his claim with an example. A person walks into their living room to find the furniture in disarray and is unnerved by what they see. The presumptive reason they prefer array over disarray is convenience and utility. However, to attain the convenience and utility of a properly organized room, they have to go to a lot of trouble and inconvenience when they might have just plopped down (TMS IV.1.4). Smith takes the upshot to be that the end we value is the arrangement of furniture itself and not the convenience it is purported to afford. As Dennis Rasmussen puts it, we “confuse means for ends and attach greater importance to the ‘fitness’ of an object to produce pleasure – its appearance of convenience or efficiency – than we do to the pleasure it actually affords” (2017, p. 95). It’s difficult to see this as a genuine disagreement with Hume. Hume claimed that we don’t find means pleasing where we’re in no way affected by their ends. Smith has shown that a means (the arrangement) can please independently of the ends (convenience) in particular cases, but, arguably, Hume is concerned with the general effects of means. Hume doesn’t claim that the ends must always be pleasing; he claims that we must somehow be

110

emily kelahan

affected by the ends. This echoes what he says about moral approbation. When Hume describes the process by which we arrive at the general point of view in the Treatise, he notes that we come to understand the general effects of character traits. That is, we form an idea of the effects certain traits tend to bring about. This explains, for example, why we admire “virtue in rags” (T 3.3.1.19). He reaffirms this in EPM when he claims that the “tendencies of actions and characters” and “not their real accidental consequences, are alone regarded in our moral determinations or general judgments” (EPM 5 n.24). This positions Hume to respond to Smith by agreeing that on occasion we do value a particular means independently of its end, but generally, if types of means didn’t tend to bring about pleasing ends, we wouldn’t find those means pleasing. If tidy arrangements of furniture never made it easier to socialize or relax, we would value them less, if at all. Additionally, utility isn’t the only explanation of our approbation; agreeableness is also pleasing to us, and we might even decide to forgo convenience for the sake of agreeability. Imagine a case where a particular piece of furniture looks beautiful in a location that is uncomfortable for sitting because it is under a noisy, agitating vent. We may very well care more about the aesthetic features of the room than its comfort or utility, and leave the piece under the vent. Relatedly, Hume has another reply to Smith. Hume can distinguish between types of virtue and argue that what’s in question in “Why Utility Pleases” are judgments of moral virtue, while what’s in question in Smith’s case study are aesthetic judgments. Perhaps it’s not just the convenience of orderly furniture we value. The fact that a disorganized room is jarring to us may reveal that order itself is an end to be valued, and tidying a means to achieve it. Let’s move on to Smith’s objections to the other two claims. While Smith agrees that people approve of useful qualities and disapprove of harmful ones, he doesn’t agree that (1) “utility . . . is either the first or principal source of our approbation or disapprobation” (TMS IV.2.3, italics added). That is, he doesn’t think we approve of useful qualities because they are useful and he doesn’t think that considerations of utility motivate our approval, even though utility is praiseworthy. Why not? First, he thinks there must be a sentimental difference in our approval of a person and our approval of things (TMS IV.2.4). If the approval of both is based in utility, then it’s difficult to explain why we experience such different sentiments and are moved to do such different things in the two cases. Rasmussen notes that we might risk our lives for a person, but certainly not for a nice piece of furniture (2017, p. 97). Hume actually agrees, as we’ve

“Why Utility Pleases”

111

already noted. The sentiments we experience in relation to useful human traits and useful objects are different, but Hume doesn’t really explain why. Hume and Smith agree that the object of moral evaluation is the motives, and clearly a chest of drawers has no motives, but because Smith’s theory focuses on sympathy with the agent, and not just with the people who are benefited by the utility, Smith is better poised to explain the difference in our sentimental responses to people whose actions benefit us and things whose function we appreciate. Second, having distinguished between two types of moral sentiment, the sense of propriety and the sense of merit, Smith objects that when we make moral judgments of propriety, we rarely consider utility. Smith describes this as “a sense of propriety quite distinct from the perception of utility” (TMS IV.2.4). We do, however, consider utility when making moral judgments concerning merit – those judgments based on perceived benefit to others. Who is “we” in “when we make moral judgments of propriety”? Smith makes a distinction between ordinary people and philosophers and argues that ordinary people don’t consider the usefulness of a trait when they approve of it: When a philosopher goes to examine why humanity is approved of . . . he does not always form to himself, in a very clear and distinct manner, the conception of any one particular action either of cruelty or of humanity, but is commonly contented with the vague and indeterminate idea which the general names of those qualities suggest to him. But it is in particular instances only that the propriety and impropriety, the merit or demerit of actions is very discernible. (TMS IV.2.2)

Philosophers look at generalities in human behavior and explain phenomena in terms of abstract notions like utility, but ordinary people making specific judgments in daily life don’t stop and think about whether a trait they admire in the moment is useful; they just admire it. A more mature individual will make moral judgments by consulting their impartial spectator, but this process is not primarily one of considering whether the trait in question is useful. This line of thinking puts pressure on claim (2) as well as (1). If utility doesn’t explain why ordinary people, and even mature moral judges, approve of traits in specific circumstances, it certainly doesn’t explain why they approve of useful traits when they affect distant others, as this would be an even further removed and abstract maneuver. To some extent, Hume agrees. Several paragraphs of “Why Utility Pleases” are devoted to demonstrating how readily we approve of useful traits when they benefit other people. Hume observes that it doesn’t occur

112

emily kelahan

to us to ask “what is it to me?” when admiring another’s useful traits. If it doesn’t occur to us to wonder about that, how can utility explain our moral approbation? Hume could argue that abstract reasoning and the effect of custom and habit explain the immediacy (that is, the apparent lack of reflection) and generality (that is, the apparent unrelatedness to utility) of our moral approbation. We may not invoke utility explicitly in specific everyday judgments, but the general effects of useful traits internalized over the course of our lives could still explain them. Unfortunately, this particular disagreement is too rich and complicated to resolve here. On balance, “Why Utility Pleases” is an underappreciated text. Though not as widely read as many of Hume’s other works, it has generated some stimulating debates that have spanned generations of scholars. Though neglected as a standalone work, it beautifully showcases Hume’s experimental method and illuminatingly displays the evolution of Hume’s thought on moral evaluation and human nature.15 15

I am grateful to William & Mary for hosting a subset of the contributors to this volume for a workshop; to Lorraine Besser, Lorne Falkenstein, Ryan Hanley, Esther Kroeker, Willem Lemmens, Rick McCarty, Elizabeth Radcliffe, and Margaret Watkins for their helpful feedback at said workshop; to McGill University Rare Books and Special Collections for the support of the David Hume Research Grant; to Adeline Schultz for her editorial assistance; and to the editors and Jacqueline Taylor for their thoughtful comments.

chapter 6

Hume on Talents and Moral Virtues James Fieser

6.1

Introduction

Here’s a conversation that wouldn’t take place today, but might have if Hume had his way: Esther: I heard you’re sick so I brought you some soup. Willem: That’s very kind of you! Your benevolence says a lot about your moral character. To prevent a pandemic, when you leave, please exit through the decontamination chamber where the Center for Disease Control will keep you in quarantine for a few weeks. Esther: That’s very funny! Your wit says a lot about your moral character. Willem: That’s very kind of you, but I’m a little confused. Doesn’t morality have to do with virtues that benefit society, like benevolence? Wit seems very different; it has no social benefit. It ridicules everything sacred and teaches children that life is a joke. At best wit is entertaining. But moral? Quite the opposite. Esther: That’s very funny, but in this case the joke may be on you. Benevolence and wit fall into the same moral category. They both pick out mental qualities in people that spectators approve of, and that’s all that is needed for something to be moral. Ancient moral philosophers grouped benevolence and wit together, and we’d all feel the same way now if it wasn’t for the influence of somber philosophers and theologians. I have to go now, but I’ll bring more soup by tomorrow. Willem: That’s very kind of you. You’ve been a great audience and I’ll be here all week, eating the soup of the morally benevolent, and entertaining one and all with my moral wit.

The issue here involves what counts as a distinctively “moral” virtue, and whether benevolence and wit should be grouped together in the same category. In this exchange, Esther presents Hume’s view that benevolence and wit are indeed both genuine moral virtues. This is a strange thing to say. While we all would recognize benevolence as a moral virtue, we would instead classify wit as something like an admirable talent or skill, but not a moral virtue in the true sense of the word “moral.” Nevertheless, Hume unapologetically places wit among the moral virtues, as he does other 113

114

james fieser

talents like good memory, cheerfulness, good manners, inventiveness, cleanliness, “and a thousand more of the same kind” (An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals [EPM] 6.21). What led Hume to this view? Is he correct that genuine moral virtues are as broad as he claims? He defends his position in Sections 6, 7, and 8 and in Appendix 1 of his EPM, and here we will explore his reasoning and determine whether he was on the right track. Ultimately, we will see that he was not, and the source of the problem is his notion of “immediate agreeableness.” From the start, we might be suspicious about whether Hume truly believed that there was no real distinction between virtues and talents. He had a reputation for defending innovative and controversial positions as a way of drawing attention to himself. As an early critic of his writes, “The great object of Mr. Hume’s ambition, as we are informed by himself, was literary fame. And in order to excite public attention, he seems to have thought it necessary to be singular. Accordingly, we find an affectation of singularity of sentiment, very predominant in his writings.”1 While we can legitimately raise questions about the sincerity of what Hume says in many of his works, EPM is entirely different. In this he is on a mission to ground an optimistic view of morality solely upon the facts of human psychology, and the genuineness of this mission is transparent. His moral theory is optimistic in the sense that he advocates a set of virtues that include traditional ones, and he does not reduce moral conduct to mere selfinterest. He also maintains that major virtues like benevolence, charity, generosity, and moderation are natural to humans. We might ask, then: what motivated Hume to knowingly expand the catalog of virtues in a way that distanced himself from other moralists? The short answer is that he valued Cicero’s broader vision of the virtuous person over the narrower view taken by later Christian philosophers and theologians. When he devised his theory around 1739, he stated in a letter to Francis Hutcheson that Cicero’s book Offices was his principal inspiration for blending virtues with talents: “Whether natural Abilitys be Virtues is a Dispute of Words. I think I follow the common Use of Language . . .. Upon the whole, I desire to take my Catalogue of Virtues from Cicero’s Offices, not from the Whole Duty of Man. I had, indeed, the former Book in my Eye in all my Reasonings” (L I, 13). Hume is correct that, in Offices, Cicero 1

Joseph Towers, Observations on Mr. Hume’s History of England (1778). All quotations of Hume’s early critics in this chapter are taken from Fieser (2004).

Hume on Talents and Moral Virtues

115

has a very broad conception of the virtues. It is particularly in Cicero’s discussion of “decorum,” sometimes translated as “propriety” or “gracefulness,” that he pushes the boundaries of virtue, which probably most influenced Hume: The decorum to which I refer shows itself also in every deed, in every word, even in every movement and attitude of the body. In outward, visible decorum there are three elements: beauty, tact, and taste . . .. So, in standing or walking, in sitting or reclining, in our expression, our eyes, or the movements of our hands, let us preserve what we have called “decorum.” (Cicero, 2013, p. 35)

A key feature of decorum is speaking ability in both public oratory and private conversation. It is here that wit comes to play, and, as an example, Cicero describes how Julius Caesar outshined his rivals: But in wit and humor Caesar . . . surpassed them all: even at the bar he would with his conversational style defeat other advocates with their elaborate orations. If, therefore, we are aiming to secure decorum in every circumstance of life, we must master all these points. (Cicero, 2013, p. 37)

Hume not only valued Cicero’s philosophy, but in his youth he attempted to internalize the moral message of Cicero and similar classical Stoic moralists. Hume states in an early letter, “having read many Books of Morality, such as Cicero, Seneca & Plutarch, & being smit with their beautiful Representations of Virtue & Philosophy, I undertook the Improvement of my Temper & Will, along with my Reason & Understanding” (L I, 3). Hume was evidently inspired by the more aesthetic vision of morality that Cicero offered, as compared to the solemn and legalistic approach offered by Christian moralists. It didn’t matter to him that Cicero’s broad view of virtues conflicted with the Christian approach, and, because of Hume’s skeptical view of religion, this may even have motivated him all the more to defend Cicero’s view. The issue of moral virtues vs. nonmoral talents is central to Hume’s EPM, and everything he says about the scope of morality in this work is sandwiched between these two statements in the opening and concluding sections: • Section 1: “we shall endeavour to follow a very simple method: we shall analyse that complication of mental qualities, which form what, in common life, we call Personal Merit [i.e., virtue].”

116

james fieser

• Section 9: “It may justly appear surprising that any man in so late an age, should find it requisite to prove, by elaborate reasoning, that Personal Merit [i.e., virtue] consists altogether in the possession of mental qualities, useful or agreeable to the person himself or to others.” Note that in the above two quotes Hume uses the term “personal merit” rather than “virtue,” which I have supplied in brackets. In the first edition of EPM, though, he in fact prominently used the term “virtue” in both passages: • Section 1.10 (1751 edition): “We shall consider the Matter as an Object of Experience. We shall call every Quality or Action of the Mind, virtuous, which is attended with the general Approbation of Mankind: And we shall denominate vicious, every Quality, which is the Object of general Blame or Censure. These Qualities we shall endeavour to collect; and after examining, on both Sides, the several Circumstances, in which they agree, ’tis hop’d we may, at last, reach the Foundation of Ethics, and find those universal Principles, from which all moral Blame or Approbation is ultimately derived.” • Section 9.1 (1751 edition): “It may justly appear surprizing, that any Man, in so late an Age, should find it requisite to prove, by elaborate Reasonings, that virtue or personal merit consists altogether in the Possession of Qualities, useful or agreeable to the Person himself or to others.” He gives his rationale for the change in terminology here: “I avoided the terms virtue and vice; because some of those qualities, which I classed among the objects of praise, receive, in the English language, the appellation of talents, rather than of virtues; as some of the blameable or censurable qualities are often called defects, rather than vices” (EPM App. 4.1). His shift in terminology, then, is directly related to the question of virtues and talents that we are examining here. What is important about these passages from Sections 1 and 9 is that he is proposing that we first hunt for all the mental qualities that we call “virtues,” then identify the features that all these virtues have. The process itself, he says, is modeled after experimental science: “As this is a question of fact, not of abstract science, we can only expect success, by following the experimental method, and deducing general maxims from a comparison of particular instances” (EPM 1.10). His conclusion is that a person’s mental quality is a moral virtue if it is either useful or agreeable to the possessor or others. For simplicity, I will refer throughout to this as Hume’s four-pronged test for

Hume on Talents and Moral Virtues

117

virtue. For our purposes, what is important about this experimental process is that Hume is first identifying wit and other talents as genuine moral virtues, and only afterwards devising his test for virtue in such a way that it includes them. That is, Hume is not doing the reverse by beginning with his test and then concluding that wit is a moral virtue since it passes his test. His catalog of virtues, then, is the evidence for the test, which means that, up front, he must have some reason why wit qualifies as a moral virtue, rather than a mere nonmoral talent. What, then, are his reasons? We turn to this next.

6.2 Rejection of Common Reasons for Distinguishing Virtues from Talents Hume devotes an entire Appendix of his EPM to the issue of virtues and talents. His reason for why the two should be taken as a package is that there is no good reason to separate them. The fact that this discussion is in an Appendix does not mean that it is a minor part of his theory. In fact, in the 1751 first edition of EPM, a shorter version of this material appeared at the very beginning of Section 6. As in other areas of EPM where Hume moved discussions to the Appendix, he did so to facilitate ease of reading, relegating to the Appendixes the more philosophically technical discussions. His arguments in this Appendix are powerful and focus on these four points: • We do not find a clear separation between virtues and talents within modern languages. • We see no such separation between virtues and talents when we consider which types of mental qualities enhance our feeling of selfworth. • Within the writings of classical moralists, we find no clear separation between virtues and talents. • The modern separation between virtues and talents owes much to the influence of theologians who have attempted to link morality with law and punishment, and the presumed voluntariness that legal culpability requires. While each of these arguments warrants attention, we will here examine only the first. His first argument, concerning modern language, is itself multifaceted; he evaluates four possible criteria of distinction.2 Perhaps (1) virtues are voluntary but talents are involuntary, or (2) virtues are social and talents are private, or (3) virtues involve action and talents involve the intellect, or (4) 2

Hume’s discussion of this did not appear in the 1751 first edition but was only added in 1764.

118

james fieser

virtues are emotional and talents are nonemotional. The first of these possible criteria is especially interesting because of its long history. A critic of Hume might argue that genuine moral virtues like benevolence require a voluntary effort to acquire that mental habit, whereas nonmoral talents like wit are simply natural gifts that are beyond our capacity to choose. Interestingly, Cicero himself presents this distinction in De Finibus, a work with which Hume was very familiar:3 One class [of virtues of the intellect] consists of those excellences which are implanted by their own nature, and which are called non-volitional; and the other of those which, depending on our volition, are usually styled “virtues” in the more special sense; and the latter are the pre-eminent glory and distinction of the mind. To the former class belong quickness of learning [docilitas] and memory; and practically all the excellences of this class are included under one name of “talent,” and their possessors are spoken of as “talented.” The other class consists of the higher virtues properly so called, which we speak of as dependent on volition, for instance, wisdom, temperance, courage, justice, and the others of the same kind. (Cicero, 2015b, 5.36)

Here Cicero states that nonvoluntary talents include quickness of learning and memory, whereas voluntary moral virtues are the traditional cardinal virtues of Plato. It should be noted that Cicero himself may not have endorsed this voluntary–nonvoluntary distinction. In fact, this quotation from De Finibus even seems inconsistent with what we looked at earlier from the Offices, where Cicero combines talents with virtues. However, De Finibus is a dialogue and the above quote from it is presented by a character named “Piso” who is describing a hybrid moral theory of the Peripatetic and Academic philosophical schools. Cicero himself appears as a different character in the dialogue and does not identify with Piso’s position. Nevertheless, through the mouth of Piso, Cicero is drawing on a library of Hellenistic philosophical works that has been lost to time, and this reveals what may have then been a common theory of distinction between virtues and talents in the classical world. Hutcheson also believed that virtues and natural talents are distinct from each other, and, like Cicero, in the following he maintains that voluntariness and nonvoluntariness are what differentiate the two: Need we mention again some natural sense, different from the moral one, but not unlike it, by which we relish and value some powers of the mind and the body quite different from any of the voluntary virtues. To all the powers 3

Hume quotes from Cicero’s De Finibus in the Treatise’s Appendix, EHU 5.2, Essays (“Of the Rise and Progress of the Arts and Sciences”), and his letter to Hutcheson (L I, 13).

Hume on Talents and Moral Virtues

119

God has given us there’s conjoined some sort of sense or relish, recommending that exercise of them we call natural, which is also the most subservient to the general good. Hence we highly approve the pursuits of knowledge and the ingenious arts, a capacity of application, industry, and perseverance. (Hutcheson, 2007, 3.1)

Hutcheson states here that humans have something like a sixth moral sense that picks out and approves of voluntary virtues like benevolence. On top of that, he suggests, we have something like a seventh nonmoral sense that picks out and approves of natural abilities like industry and perseverance. Hume does not directly cite either Cicero or Hutcheson in his discussion, but they both may have been his targets. In any case, Hume rejects the view that voluntariness vs. nonvoluntariness is the criterion of distinction between moral virtues and nonmoral talents. His rationale is that many virtues, such as “courage, equanimity, patience, self-command . . . depend little or not at all on our choice” (EPM App. 4.2). That is, the criterion of voluntariness is too exclusive since it leaves out some important virtues. Although Hume doesn’t do this here, he could also argue from the opposite side that many talents, such as wit, eloquence, and cleanliness, do depend on choice and one’s willingness to acquire those skills through practice. That is, the criterion of voluntariness is too inclusive since it still contains some “talents.” Turning to the other three possible criteria for distinguishing moral virtues from nonmoral talents, Hume argues similarly that we can always find some talent that passes the criteria of a virtue, or some virtue that passes the criteria of a talent. He says this particularly regarding the action– intellect criterion and the emotion–nonemotion criterion. Regarding the criterion that virtues are social and talents are private, he concedes that we call some character traits “social virtues” (EPM App. 4.2). However, he says that this term in fact implies that “there are also virtues of another species” (EPM App. 4.2), namely private virtues that focus on the betterment of one’s personal character irrespective of its impact on others. With all four of these alleged criteria, Hume seems victorious, and that should come as no surprise. It is notoriously difficult to find a simple criterion that adequately defines any complex natural phenomenon, whether you are talking about the definition of a “planet,” or that of biological “life,” or that of a biological “species.” So too with any simple criterion that supposedly distinguishes all genuine moral virtues from all nonmoral talents. Let’s grant Hume’s point, then, that we will not find any simple criterion for distinguishing virtues from talents. Nevertheless, there does seem to be some fundamental difference between the two. If we have

120

james fieser

any hope of disputing Hume’s view of virtues and talents, then, we need to look at the details of his theory, which inclined him to clump virtues and talents together, and thereby construct an overreaching four-pronged test for virtue.

6.3

Roles of the Actor, Receiver, and Spectator in the Test for Virtue

Let’s temporarily set aside the problem of virtues and talents, and look into the moral psychology behind Hume’s four-pronged test for virtue. Everything he says about virtue rests on an assumption that there are three players in every moral judgment: (1) an actor who performs a motivated action, (2) a receiver who is either the beneficiary or victim of that action, and (3) a spectator who pronounces a judgment upon that actor’s motive. Take, for example, Esther bringing soup over to sickly Willem to make him feel better. Esther is the actor, Willem is the receiver, and you and I are the spectators who judge that her motive is morally good. The underlying moral psychology in this situation is that Esther’s act is useful to Willem and thus gives him pleasure. I, then, who hear about this event, sympathetically experience Willem’s pleasure, and my sympathetic pleasure constitutes my moral assessment that Esther’s motive is a virtue, and in this case the virtue of benevolence. Without the spectator’s sympathetic feelings, there is no moral assessment, and, in EPM Section 5 (“Why Utility Pleases”), Hume describes at length the critical role that sympathy plays. A useful analogy for understanding Hume’s notion of sympathy is a phenomenon in physics called the “sympathetic vibration of strings.” I take a guitar with two strings that are tuned to exactly the same pitch. I pluck the first string and, without even touching the second string, it too starts vibrating. That’s just how physics works. By analogy, when Esther brings soup to Willem, which gives him pleasure, I will then sympathetically experience that same pleasure when I hear about this event. For Hume, that’s just how human psychology works. The same psychological mechanism that allows me to sympathetically experience Willem’s pleasure also allows me to experience his pain if someone mistreats him. Suppose that Esther is Willem’s landlord, and, instead of bringing him soup, out of sheer meanness she brings him an eviction notice for late payment, knowing full well that he is ill. “What a horrible thing to do!” I say to myself. Esther’s action is disadvantageous to Willem, which causes him pain, which I too sympathetically experience.

Hume on Talents and Moral Virtues

121

Through my sympathetic pain I thereby pronounce that Esther’s motive is vicious, rather than virtuous, and in this case the vice of malevolence. With this understanding of the respective roles of the actor, receiver, and spectator, we are now able to clarify the four prongs of Hume’s test for virtue. The first prong is that an actor’s mental quality is a virtue if it is useful to the receiver. With our example of Esther and Willem, the full scheme is this: Useful to Others (public usefulness): (1) Esther (the actor) performs a motivated action of benevolence that is (2) useful to Willem (the receiver), which gives him pleasure, and (3) I (the spectator) sympathetically experience Willem’s pleasure, which is my assessment that Esther’s motive is a morally virtuous one.

In Sections 2–4 of EPM, Hume shows how this works with several publicly useful virtues, including benevolence, justice regarding property ownership, political allegiance, chastity, fidelity, and good manners. In all of these cases, the spectator deems these motives by the actor to be virtues because of the utility and resulting pleasure they give the receiver, with which the spectator sympathizes. Hume makes his case by emphasizing three things. First, it is obvious that benevolence and these other qualities of the actor are useful to various receivers in society (that is, useful to others). Second, it is obvious that spectators approve of actions that are useful to society. Third, it is obvious that spectators approve of such socially useful actions even when the spectator herself does not benefit from them. He concludes that at least part of what we consider to be virtuous is grounded on its usefulness to others.4 Consider next prong 2, “qualities that our useful to ourselves,” in Section 6 of EPM. In this he argues that the spectator morally approves of an actor’s mental abilities even when they are useful specifically to the actor herself, and not necessarily to society. Some principal ones are industry, frugality, prudence, and temperance. As an example, let’s look at Esther again, who we’ve seen is very industrious and enterprising. She’s an accomplished cook, she manages rental property, and she does this in her spare time apart from her day job. All this industry pays off for her: she has more income, she knows lots of people, and she’s a valued member of the community. Let’s ignore for the moment anyone else like Willem who might benefit from her industry. In this case, Esther is both the actor and 4

The remaining parts of what we consider virtuous are one or more of the other three prongs of his test for virtue, such as when benevolence is also agreeable to oneself.

122

james fieser

the sole receiver of her industry. Still, Hume says, the spectator will sympathetically experience the pleasure that Esther alone receives from the usefulness of her own industry. Here, then, is the second prong of Hume’s test for virtue: Useful to Oneself (private usefulness): (1) Esther (the actor) performs a motivated action of industry that is (2) useful to Esther herself (the receiver), which gives her pleasure, and (3) I (the spectator) sympathetically experience Esther’s pleasure, which is my assessment that Esther’s motive is a morally virtuous one.

Hume makes his case for prong 2 the same way he did for prong 1. That is, he argues that, first, these types of actions are obviously useful to the actor; second, that spectators obviously approve of these types of actions; and third, spectators do so even when the actor’s action does not advance the spectator’s self-interest. Regarding this third point, Hume says that private virtues like industry are even more difficult to reduce to self-love than public virtues like benevolence, for the simple reason that the spectator gains nothing whatsoever from the actor’s industry: But as qualities, which tend only to the utility of their possessor, without any reference to us, or to the community, are yet esteemed and valued; by what theory or system can we account for this sentiment from self-love, or deduce it from that favourite origin? (EMP 6.1)

Continuing with prong 3, Hume argues in Section 7 that spectators morally approve of an actor’s mental qualities that are simply agreeable to the actor herself. Examples here are cheerfulness, tranquility, and dignity of character. Esther, we’ve seen, is perpetually cheerful. Again, ignore for the moment any benefit that Willem or others in society might receive from her cheerfulness. What is at issue is how Esther’s cheerfulness makes her feel, and her alone. Ignore also for the moment any usefulness or benefit that Esther herself might receive from her cheerfulness, such as promotion to a leadership position. The fact remains that her cheerfulness gives her personal pleasure, or is “immediately agreeable,” using Hume’s terminology. So too if she has the tranquility of a Stoic and carries herself with the dignity of an accomplished professional. According to Hume, I as the spectator will sympathetically experience Esther’s own personal pleasure, which thus constitutes my moral approval of her virtues of cheerfulness, tranquility, and dignity of character. Again, this is all independent of any usefulness or benefit that these virtues might generate for her or others. Hume states this explicitly in his Treatise: “We also approve of one, who is

Hume on Talents and Moral Virtues

123

possess’d of qualities, that are immediately agreeable to himself; tho’ they be of no service to any mortal” (T 3.3.1). Here, then, is prong 3: Immediately Agreeable to Oneself (private agreeableness): (1) Esther (the actor) performs a motivated action of cheerfulness that (2) gives Esther herself (the receiver) immediate personal pleasure, irrespective of any usefulness to herself or others, and (3) I (the spectator) sympathetically experience Esther’s pleasure, which is my assessment that Esther’s motive is a morally virtuous one.

Finally, with prong 4, in Section 8 Hume argues that spectators morally approve of an actor’s mental qualities that are simply agreeable to others, and not necessarily to the actor herself. Examples here are good manners, wit, inventiveness, eloquence, modesty, decency, cleanliness, and genteelness. This is where Willem’s virtuous wit fits in: society gets pleasure from funny people. Suppose you told me that Willem was at a party where he was delivering one witty quip after another, and everyone at the party was laughing uncontrollably. Even if you didn’t repeat any of his jokes to me, I as a spectator would sympathize with the pleasure experienced by the people at the party, and my sympathetic pleasure would be my moral approval of Willem’s virtue of wittiness. Here, then, is prong 4: Immediately Agreeable to Others (public agreeableness): (1) Willem (the actor) performs a motivated action of wittiness, which (2) gives others (the receivers) an immediate personal pleasure, irrespective of any usefulness to Willem himself or others, or agreeableness to Willem himself, and (3) I (the spectator) sympathetically experience the partygoers’ pleasure, which is my assessment that Willem’s motive is a morally virtuous one.

With all four of these prongs, we see the same theme: (1) an actor performs a motivated action, which (2) pleasurably impacts some receiver, which in turn (3) produces a sympathetic feeling of pleasure in a disinterested spectator. It is the commonality of this theme, then, that opens the door to a broad range of virtues. At the same time, however, this does not open the door to include every source of sympathetic pleasure, such as those from inanimate objects. Hume uses the example of medicinal herbs where people sometimes refer to their curative properties as “virtues.” Suppose that, when Willem is sick, he takes a medicine that proves beneficial and thus pleases him. When I as a spectator see this, I then sympathetically experience Willem’s pleasure, which constitutes my approval of the medicine’s “virtue.” For Hume, though, this does not truly fit the above pattern since the targets are different: the target of a spectator’s moral approval must be a quality of the actor’s mind, which

124

james fieser

is obviously lacking within an inanimate object like some medicine. I as a spectator may sympathetically appreciate the curative properties of a medicine, but that feeling of appreciation is insufficient to constitute an assessment that those curative properties are “moral virtues” of the medicine. The result is that the spectator’s pleasure will be much stronger and more complex when targeting a human mind vs. inanimate objects. In Hume’s words, “the one is mixed with affection, esteem, approbation, &c., and not the other” (EPM 5.1 n.1). This is not merely an ad hoc attempt on Hume’s part to differentiate those two types of pleasures of the spectator. In Book 2 of the Treatise, he describes at length what he calls a “double relation” whereby a spectator’s sympathetic feelings of pleasure or pain will produce within the spectator additional feelings of love or hatred toward the human actor. These additional feelings of love or hatred cannot be triggered within the spectator’s mind by inanimate objects: the trigger needs to be a mental quality within some human actor’s mind. Ultimately, the spectator’s moral approval will be a composite of many feelings blended together, much like how different spices blend together to make the taste of a complex flavor like Indian curry or Chinese five spices. The larger point here is that Hume places clear limits on the types of sympathetic pleasures in the spectator that constitute morality, and their targets must be qualities within the minds of human spectators. Nevertheless, this psychological scheme still allows for a broad set of mental qualities within the actor to count as virtues, some of which seem more like nonmoral talents, particularly wit, eloquence, and cleanliness.

6.4 Early Criticisms of Hume’s View of Virtues and Talents There is no question about the originality of Hume’s four-pronged test for virtue and the psychological theory of the actor–receiver–spectator behind it. In modern terminology, he is offering a normative theory of moral virtue backed by a metaethical theory of moral psychology. While he was hoping for instant recognition for his discovery, he was disappointed that EPM “came unnoticed and unobserved into the world” (MOL xxx). That is not entirely true, and from the discussions that did appear we see that, on the whole, Hume’s critics were not happy with how he erased the line between virtues and talents. An exception is the first published reaction, a favorable twentypage review in the Monthly Review by William Rose, who stated that the work, “being free from that sceptical turn which appears in his

Hume on Talents and Moral Virtues

125

other pieces, will be more agreeable to the generality of Readers” (1752, p. 1). Rose summarizes the sections of EPM that concern us here, and appears to have no problem with Hume’s broad test for virtue. Rather, he says that Hume defends it “with great beauty and elegance” (p. 7). However, in 1753, two years after EPM’s appearance, two publications specifically took issue with Hume’s view of virtues and talents. The first is an anonymous pamphlet titled Some Late Opinions, which states the following: With how many heterogeneous things has he blended those moral distinctions, which mankind have hitherto held sacred? And does not his theory thereby tend to obscure and lessen the dignity of virtue? Our author, indeed, acknowledges the sentiment of approbation, which we give to some of those useful qualities, to be, perhaps, inferior, in degree, to that which we give to the virtues of justice and humanity: but he contends, however, that the sentiments are similar, and of the same kind. I absolutely deny that they are similar, or of the same kind. (Anon., 1753, n.p.)

Hume’s problem, according to the author, is that he mixes together different types of approval that should in fact be kept separate. Hume read this pamphlet, and stated in a letter to a friend that “the work was well wrote, but ill reasoned” (L I, 83). The other critic that year was James Balfour in his A Delineation of the Nature and Obligation of Morality (1753). Balfour charges that, in EPM, “The notion of useful and agreeable, adopted by our author, leads him to rank among the moral virtues not only the qualities of the mind, but the properties of the body, beauty, strength, and just proportion: nay, even external things, dress, riches, and indeed, by a necessary consequence, pleasures of every kind” (1753, section 4). The central problem, Balfour argues, is that Hume failed to distinguish between three different types of perception: With respect to the qualities themselves, he has not sufficiently limited their nature and extent: for example, with regard to the agreeable, he does not distinguish betwixt the moral sense, and the external senses, or perceptions of imagination, but he applies that quality to every sensible pleasure we are susceptible of. (1753, section 4)

Hume was impressed by Balfour’s book and, in a letter (L I, 81), reached out to him requesting that the two meet and converse sometime. We don’t know if this ever happened, but Balfour continued his attack on Hume in two subsequent publications.

126

james fieser

Three years later, in a 1756 Supplement to his View of the Principal Deistical Writers, John Leland wrote the following concerning Hume’s view of virtues and talents: [A person may] have wit, eloquence, a polite behaviour, a fine taste in arts, great bodily strength and resolution, and yet be really a bad man. And when these things are separated from good dispositions of the heart, from probity, benevolence, fidelity, integrity, gratitude, instead of rendering a man useful to the community, they qualify him for doing a great deal of mischief. These qualities therefore should be carefully distinguished from those which constitute a good moral character, and which ought to be principally recommended to the esteem and approbation of mankind, as having in themselves a real invariable worth and excellence, and as deriving a merit and value to every other quality. (1756, Supplement)

Leland argues that mere talents can be misused by bad people, and, to give such talents any type of merit, they must be grounded in a group of genuine moral virtues that have genuine and unchanging value.5 Hume read Leland’s Supplement, which contained other attacks on him, and wrote to a mutual friend, “My Compliments to Dr Leland, & tell him, that he has certainly mistaken my Character” (L III, 25). A final early criticism worth adding is that by Henry Home, which appeared in print only after Hume’s death in 1779. Home was a lifelong friend of Hume, although the two had a falling-out at some point. Home’s criticism is rhetorically harsh, and thus it was appropriate that it didn’t appear while Hume was alive. Home’s charge is that Hume’s very test of moral approval is so ill-defined that it permits nonmoral talents to count as moral virtues: The sense of right and wrong in voluntary actions, is what eminently distinguishes virtue from the many trifling qualities confounding with it by this author. He jumbles all of them into one mass by the test of approbation; and yet has not attempted to give any precise meaning to that term. (Home, 1751 [1779 edition], p. 90)

There is a valuable lesson that we can learn from these early critics. All four make a similar observation: Hume fails to adequately distinguish between the different types of assessments that a spectator can psychologically make, and thus separate those that are relevant to morality from those that are not. Even if we cannot articulate a simple criterion that presumably 5

Leland’s point is not new, and we find it, for example, in medieval philosopher Peter Abelard (1971, 1.1). Kant famously makes this same point in his criticism of virtue theory (Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals, 1785, chapter 1).

Hume on Talents and Moral Virtues

127

distinguishes moral virtues like benevolence from nonmoral talents like wit, as Hume correctly maintains, we can still attempt to psychologically differentiate the types of assessments we make. Thus, following the recommendations of Hume’s early critics, our next task is to single out the specific type of assessment by the spectator that is responsible for the problem of virtues vs. talents. We will see that the culprit is the spectator’s sympathetic response to the receiver’s feeling of immediate agreeableness.

6.5

The Problem with Immediate Agreeableness

We may begin with a list of the various virtues within each of the four prongs, which will help us locate the source of the problem: • Useful to others (publicly useful): benevolence, justice regarding property ownership, political allegiance, chastity, fidelity, good manners. • Useful to oneself (privately useful): discretion, caution, enterprise, industry, assiduity, frugality, economy, good sense, prudence, discernment, temperance, sobriety, patience, constancy, perseverance, forethought, considerateness, secrecy, order, insinuation, address, presence of mind, quickness of conception, facility of expression. • Agreeable to oneself (privately agreeable): cheerfulness, dignity of character, courage, tranquility, benevolence. • Agreeable to others (publicly agreeable): good manners, wit, inventiveness, eloquence, modesty, desire of fame, decency, cleanliness, genteelness. The first group of virtues, which are useful to others, are traditional ones and do not look like mere talents. On the contrary, of all four prongs, these are the ones that are most often associated with the core of morality. The second group of virtues, which are useful to oneself, are also traditional and do not include ones that look like mere talents. As Hume himself states, “That we owe a duty to ourselves is confessed even in the most vulgar system of morals” (EPM App. 4.22).6 One such “vulgar system” of morality was the influential Anglican devotional work The Whole Duty of Man (1658), with which Hume was familiar. Among the duties to oneself that it discusses are diligence, industry, chastity, and temperance, and these are consistent with Hume’s virtues of private 6

Hume is alluding to a common way of classifying virtues and duties during the modern period based on those that are (1) directed toward God, (2) directed toward oneself, or (3) directed toward others. Many philosophers adopted this scheme, most notably Samuel Pufendorf in his moral theory in De Officio Hominis (1673).

128

james fieser

usefulness. As Hume extends his list of privately useful virtues, some are very specialized, such as “secrecy, order, insinuation, address, presence of mind, quickness of conception, facility of expression” (EPM 6.21). These may be better viewed as secondary, or subsidiary to more foundational virtues such as prudence, but even these specialized ones are in the spirit of traditional moral duties to oneself. If there is a problem at all with virtues of private usefulness, it is because, by our standards today, they do not seem to be as central to morality as the first group involving public usefulness. But that’s not Hume’s fault, and the shift may owe to the greater value that we now place on autonomy and personal liberty. Whether that is a step in the right direction is another matter, but, at least within the context of Hume’s time, his list of virtues of private usefulness is unobjectionable. Accordingly, his first two groups of virtues taken together constitute a very traditional and complete set of virtues. The third group of virtues, which are agreeable to oneself, are also traditional, and none look like mere talents. His list of these in EPM Section 7 is short and includes only cheerfulness, dignity of character, courage, tranquility, and benevolence. On closer inspection, though, we see that each of these could easily be included among the second group of virtues that are useful to oneself. For example, if I have a cheerful disposition, then that will on the whole enable me to cope better with life’s problems and will put me in a better position to advance in society. Further, we see that this list of privately agreeable virtues includes benevolence, which is also a publicly useful virtue. The point is that there is nothing new in this third group of virtues, and, for all we know, their true moral value may rest with their usefulness, not their agreeableness. This then raises the question: what does “immediate agreeableness” add to our assessment of morality? To be more precise, consider again the example of private agreeableness that we used earlier. Esther is both the actor who behaves cheerfully and the receiver who immediately experiences pleasure from her cheerfulness. I, then, as a spectator sympathetically experience her pleasure, which constitutes my approval of it. It is important to bear in mind that I, as the sympathizing spectator, am not contagiously experiencing Esther’s cheerfulness itself. Similarly, I do not become proud when sympathetically spectating Esther’s pride, nor do I become tranquil when sympathetically spectating her tranquility. For Hume, the spectator is impartial, and will sympathetically experience Esther’s pleasure of immediate agreeableness when simply hearing about Esther’s cheerfulness, pride, or tranquility.

Hume on Talents and Moral Virtues

129

To the extent that virtues of private agreeableness such as cheerfulness overlap with those of private usefulness, then I as the spectator am supposedly making two distinct assessments of moral approval: (a) my sympathetic pleasure from the private agreeableness of Esther’s cheerfulness and (b) my sympathetic pleasure from the private usefulness of Esther’s cheerfulness. Again, we may ask, how do I know that (a) is a genuine moral assessment of Esther, rather than simply an added feeling of nonmoral admiration? Hume’s answer to this question is in the following from the Treatise, where he discusses the privately agreeable virtue of courage: an excessive courage and magnanimity, especially when it displays itself under the frowns of fortune, contributes, in a great measure, to the character of a hero, and will render a person the admiration of posterity; at the same time, that it ruins his affairs, and leads him into dangers and difficulties, with which otherwise he wou’d never have been acquainted. (T 3.3.2)

In this passage, a hero’s pride gets him into trouble (thus lacks private usefulness), yet we as spectators value that quality of pride in the hero. Contrary to Hume, though, this provides no clear evidence of an extra moral assessment from private agreeableness beyond its utility. A simpler explanation is that, as a rule, great courage works well for heroes, even though in some cases it doesn’t. If the overly courageous hero failed as a rule, we would not value it and instead think that the so-called hero was just an impulsive but lucky fool. We thus value the utility of great courage as a rule,7 and we have no need to bring in private agreeableness to account for the spectator’s moral approval of it. This is the same strategy that Hume himself used when explaining why we value chastity in older women who are beyond child-bearing age: chastity as a rule (even with the elderly) is useful as a universal guideline for the young. In the case of the hero, great courage as a rule among heroes is useful since they succeed more times than they fail. If, as a rule, there was no utility to great courage or chastity, we would not assess them to be virtues, and we would also not find them immediately agreeable. In short, utility is all that we need to account for the spectator’s moral approval of the overly courageous hero or the chaste grandmother. The spectator’s sympathetic feeling of private agreeableness may be nothing more than a nonmoral feeling of admiration.

7

There may be other admirable qualities that great heroes have, such as “a grandeur and force of sentiment, which astonishes our narrow souls” (EPM 7.18). But here too the private agreeableness of these qualities would depend on the utility of the hero’s conduct. If as a rule the hero was not successful, his “grandeur” would only appear to be delusional megalomania.

130

james fieser

In Book 2 of the Treatise, Hume in fact discusses how flexible the feeling of admiration is, and how it can apply to both moral and nonmoral situations. From the nonmoral side, he says that the sheer vastness of a mountain range or a forest contributes to our admiration of it. As to its moral applications, he continues, “If this be allowed with respect to extension and number [of mountains and forests], we can make no difficulty with respect to virtue and vice, wit and folly, riches and poverty, happiness and misery, and other objects of that kind, which are always attended with an evident emotion” (T 2.2.8.4). It seems, then, that admiration in itself is a morally neutral emotion, which can arise when spectating either moral or nonmoral things. This appears to be a better explanation of what is going on with privately agreeable virtues: their morality really rests on their utility, but they are also accompanied by a spectator’s morally neutral feeling of admiration. Hume thus presents a weak case for introducing a new category of privately agreeable virtues. However, since Hume’s specific list of those virtues is unobjectionable (i.e., cheerfulness, dignity of character, courage, etc.), we might not be inclined to question the matter so much. But that changes once we move on to the fourth group of publicly agreeable virtues. These include good manners, wit, inventiveness, eloquence, modesty, desire of fame, decency, cleanliness, and genteelness. None of these are bad qualities to have, and, once again, they all have either public or private usefulness. But it is this group of virtues that contain qualities that seem more like nonmoral talents than full-fledged moral virtues, especially wit, eloquence, and cleanliness. This is the group of virtues that Hume’s critics challenged. The moral psychology behind publicly agreeable virtues closely parallels what we have seen with privately agreeable ones. Consider again our earlier example of Willem’s wit: Willem displays his wit and receivers immediately experience pleasure from it. I, then, as a spectator sympathetically experience the pleasure of the receivers, which constitutes my approval of it.8 As with privately agreeable virtues, Hume is thus claiming that I as the spectator am making two separate assessments of moral approval: (a) my sympathetic pleasure from the public agreeableness of Willem’s wit and (b) my sympathetic pleasure from the either public or private usefulness of his wit.

8

Again, we must clarify that I, as the sympathizing spectator, am not sympathetically experiencing the receiver’s laughter from Willem’s wit itself. Rather, the spectator only sympathetically experiences the receiver’s immediate pleasure from being around a witty actor.

Hume on Talents and Moral Virtues

6.6

131

Solution to the Problem of Immediate Agreeableness

There are now two problems that plague the class of publicly agreeable virtues. First, as we’ve seen, Hume does not make a convincing case that my sympathetic pleasure from the public agreeableness of Willem’s wit is by itself a genuine moral assessment of Willem, rather than simply a feeling of nonmoral admiration. Second, this is the group of virtues that contains the controversial qualities of wit, eloquence, and cleanliness that really seem like nonmoral talents. We can thus solve both problems by simply dispensing with “immediate agreeableness” as a criterion of moral assessment. By doing so, we can differentiate genuine moral virtues from nonmoral talents in this way: • A character trait is a genuine moral virtue only if (a) it has a nontrivial amount of public or private usefulness, (b) irrespective of its immediate agreeableness. • A character trait is a nonmoral talent that is worthy of admiration only if (a) it has at most a trivial amount of public or private usefulness, and (b) at the same time has a nontrivial amount of immediate agreeableness. The rationale here is that, if the level of usefulness of a quality like wit is too insubstantial, then it is not a genuine moral virtue, but rather a nonmoral talent that still deserves admiration. The result of this is that Hume’s four-pronged test for virtue is reduced to a two-pronged test: public and private utility. Further, virtues in either of these groups can warrant admiration when accompanied by immediate agreeableness. This is a simpler explanation of virtues and talents, yet at the same time it is still Humean, since it retains the concepts of both usefulness and immediate agreeableness, though restricting the moral component to usefulness alone. That is, while the practical litmus test for moral virtue would change slightly, his sophisticated moral psychology would remain the same, with its heavy emphasis on the spectator’s emotions. What distinguishes Hume from so many of his predecessors and successors is his critique of so-called moral reasoning, and his advocacy of moral sentiment. If any proposed modification of his moral theory is to remain Humean, it must at its heart be grounded in emotion. The proposed twopronged test lives up to this expectation. Hume could have reduced his test for virtue to two prongs with less alteration to EPM than one might think. Sections 1–6, which deal solely with utility, could remain exactly as they are. Sections 7–8,

132

james fieser

which deal with immediate agreeableness, would shift focus to how we admire various character traits, whether publicly or privately directed, and how their status as a genuine “virtue” hinges on their degree of utility. Section 9 would only need to change the fourpronged test into a two-pronged test. Appendix 4 could be retained mostly as it is. It could still discuss the failure of simple criteria for differentiating virtues from talents, but stress that the true criterion is the character trait’s level of utility. He could also note how the level of utility changes in differing social contexts. For example, in Greek and Roman times the talents of military leaders and politicians seemed to have more social utility than they do now. Thus, it would have been relatively easy for Hume to have revised his theory in this way. Is there any reason to think that this modification would have been appealing to him? Maybe. By going this route, he would have been able to avoid his own skeptical reflection regarding the truth of his four-pronged test as he expresses it in EPM 9.13: “[I] suspect that an hypothesis, so obvious, had it been a true one, would, long ere now, have been received by the unanimous suffrage and consent of mankind.” That is, with only a two-pronged test, Hume might have seen that he was at least to some degree following in the longstanding Epicurean tradition of morality where the pleasing consequences of an action would be the sole criterion of its morality.9 Another bonus of such a revision is that, if Hume had reduced the fourpronged test to a two-pronged one, he would have become more clearly identifiable as the founder of classical utilitarianism, rather than just an early influence. Bentham directly credits Hume for inspiring him with the principle of utility in Book 3 of the Treatise: “I well remember, no sooner had I read that part of the work which touches on this subject, than I felt as if scales had fallen from my eyes.”10 However, Bentham continues by placing the following caveat on Hume’s theory: That the foundations of all virtue are laid in utility, is there demonstrated [in Treatise Book 3], after a few exceptions made, with the strongest force of evidence: but I see not, any more than Helvetius11 saw, what need there was for the exceptions. (1776, chapter 1, p. 29) 9

10 11

Since Hume’s two-pronged test would retain the criterion of public utility and the moral assessment of the impartial spectator, he would still be distancing himself from modern egoistic Epicureans such as Hobbes and Mandeville, and thus maintain his optimistic view of morality. Jeremy Bentham, A Fragment on Government (1776), 1.36, note. Helvétius (1810), 9.2.25. Helvetius’ point is that we should value our duties to our country more than our narrower duties to our friends and family.

Hume on Talents and Moral Virtues

133

Bentham’s wording is obscure, but his point is that Hume almost got it right by reducing all virtue to utility, but diluted it by making “a few exceptions.” Bentham does not say what those “few exceptions” are, but what obviously comes to mind is immediate agreeableness in prongs 3 and 4 of his test for virtue, which for Hume stand independently of utility. Thus, had Hume abandoned immediate agreeableness, not only could he have avoided the problem of virtues and talents, but his status in the history of utilitarianism would also have been elevated.

chapter 7

Virtues Suspect and Sublime Margaret Watkins

Myself, I say, and it is enough.

(Medea, EPM 7.7)

Ancient heroines and heroes populate Hume’s study of greatness of mind in the Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals (EPM). Among these is the disturbing figure of Medea, a sorceress who murders her own children for revenge. Readers not familiar with her story may find inspiring Hume’s example from Corneille’s Médée. When asked who will support and defend her, she answers, “myself, I say, and it is enough” (EPM 7.7). But the details of her story check our admiration: she is a woman scorned, criminal in her anger, betrayer of the parental love that Hume believes to be natural and universal.1 How can she be an exemplar of a virtue? EPM 7 is full of such puzzles. Why is courage here, among the virtues immediately agreeable to self, when it is useful to both self and others? Why do many of the virtues listed here seem like vices? And why does Hume linger on those virtues of which he seems the most suspicious? My attempt to answer these questions consists of three parts. The first is an exposition of Section 7, which outlines its structure and explains its oddities in more detail. These oddities reflect Hume’s ambivalence about some of the virtues immediately agreeable to self. The second argues for the importance of the aesthetic concept of the sublime for his treatment of these virtues. Appreciating this importance can illuminate some of the oddities. The third argues that, although Hume believes that our attraction to these virtues needs correction, this correction cannot consist merely in judging these virtues against the standard of useful virtues. Instead, the correction requires another virtue immediately agreeable to self – delicacy of taste.

1

See T 2.3.3.8, NHR Intro 1, and EPM 3.40.

134

Virtues Suspect and Sublime

7.1

135

The Complex Catalog of Virtues Agreeable to Self

Section 7 begins with a virtue of the salon. The shadows that grave, melancholy fellows cast over pleasant evenings show that “CHEERFULNESS carries great merit with it” (EPM 7.1). It sounds like an introduction to virtues that are agreeable to others. Like wit and ingenuity, cheerfulness seems endearing because it pleases others, regardless of its utility. This is the first section on immediately agreeable qualities, and in the earlier sections Hume discusses qualities that are useful to others before qualities that are useful to self. But in these later sections he inverts the order of presentation, beginning with qualities that please their possessors. Though our cheer does please others, the explanation of this pleasure gets pushed back a step. Unlike modesty or cleanliness, it does not conciliate by preventing pain in the spectator. It pleases, Hume says, because of sympathy: we “enter into the same humour, and catch the sentiment” that the cheerful person enjoys herself (EPM 7.2).2 From this humble setting the reader is yanked into magnificence. There is a brief discussion of Cassius,3 whom Hume condemns not for betraying and assassinating, but for insensitivity to the salon’s pleasures. Such people are dangerous, but they also fail to “contribute to social entertainment” (EPM 7.3). In placing this domestic vice in such a magnificent context, Hume smooths the transition between the virtues of the salon and the virtues of the great that follow. Most of what follows considers the virtues of the great. Signal among these virtues is courage. Hume introduces courage as a virtue in the second third of Section 7, acknowledging that it could fit elsewhere: “The utility of COURAGE, both to the public and to the person possessed of it, is an obvious foundation of merit.” Yet he chooses to treat it here, emphasizing its aesthetic appeal with descriptive adjectives and metaphors. Courage “has a peculiar lustre,” so that its “figure, drawn by painters and by poets, displays, in each feature, a sublimity and daring confidence” (EPM 7.11). The analogy with aesthetic beauty is not unusual 2

3

As Lorraine Besser argues in this volume, Hume’s use of “sympathy” shifts in EPM. Treatise sympathy is a mechanism for catching others’ sentiments; EPM sympathy is often concern for others. In some EPM passages, however, “sympathy” means the mechanism of catching others’ sentiments. Section 7 contains the least ambiguous of those passages. In addition to 7.2, see 7.11 and 7.21. Gaius Cassius Longinus was a leader of Caesar’s assassination; Hume quotes the Shakespearean Caesar’s description of Cassius, but not what is now the most famous part: “Yon Cassius has a lean and hungry look./He thinks too much. Such men are dangerous” (Julius Caesar, I.ii.195–96). This Cassius should not be confused with the later rhetorician to whom On the Sublime was traditionally attributed, Cassius Longinus; see Section 7.2 of this chapter.

136

margaret watkins

for Hume; he regularly describes virtues as beautiful and draws comparisons between the various kinds of beauty that we appreciate.4 But here he emphasizes the category of the sublime. I return in Section 7.2 to this term’s significance. For now, consider how odd the choice is to discuss courage here. This is no supplementary note, explaining a secondary aspect of courage. It is EPM’s primary treatment of courage – a characteristic long placed among the four cardinal virtues. When Aristotle moves in the Nicomachean Ethics from preliminary questions to treat specific virtues, the first virtue he treats is courage. Hume gives it no pride of place. This difference between Aristotle and Hume is more striking because they use the corresponding terms in similar ways. Aristotle defines courage as “a mean with respect to fear and confidence” (Aristotle, 2011, 1115a7–8). But in “the authoritative sense,” he says, “a courageous man could be said to be someone who is fearless when it comes to a noble death and to any situation that brings death suddenly to hand. What pertains to war is above all of this character” (1115a33–35). Aristotle’s courage is primarily a martial virtue. Hume does not explicitly define courage in this way, but at least in Section 7, courage shares this character. His first example is Demosthenes’ description of Philip, who endures horrendous wounds in battles for “empire and dominion” (EPM 7.12). Hume then notes that the Romans conflated courage with virtue because of their “martial temper” (EPM 7.13). The Scythians exhibited their bravery by collecting scalps as trophies, Charles XII of Sweden by assaulting neighboring countries (EPM 7.14, 24). For Hume, courage’s virtuous status seems precarious. The shadow of tyranny darkens Philip’s magnanimity. The Scythians’ love of martial bravery “destroyed the sentiments of humanity; a virtue surely much more useful and engaging” (EPM 7.14). Extreme admiration of courage goes along with what Hume considers the barbarism of “uncultivated nations,” though attraction to it “appears so natural in the mind of man” (EPM 7.15, 25). He does not mince words in warning against this attraction: there is “no comparison, in point of utility, between . . . peaceful and military honours,” and the partiality for the latter is “condemned by calm reason and reflection” (EPM 7.25).5 Hume’s portrayal of the related virtue of greatness of mind evinces similar ambivalence. He describes this quality as “Dignity of Character . . . elevation 4 5

See, for example, EPM 1.7, 1.9, 5.4, and 9.10. For a treatment of the virtues of greatness that emphasizes their contrast with humanity, see Taylor (2015b), pp. 148–52.

Virtues Suspect and Sublime

137

of sentiment, disdain of slavery, and . . . that noble pride and spirit, which arises from conscious virtue” (EPM 7.4). This sounds like Aristotelian magnanimity. But Aristotle’s treatment of magnanimity has long been criticized as praising arrogance and callousness, and Hume’s treatment seems to offer little redemption. Again, his examples are confounding: in addition to Medea, we have Ajax too indignant to speak in the face of defeat6 and Alexander scorning and taunting his advisors and soldiers. The “modest, the gentle PHOCION,” facing death with quiet dignity, provides some relief. Yet the example – an Athenian leader admonishing his fellow prisoner that he ought to glory in dying with Phocion – hardly provides a model for emulation for most of Hume’s readers. Instead, this story might remind them of another – Jesus’ comforting his fellow prisoner on the cross. The other prisoner recognizes Jesus’ innocence, asks for his help, and receives this promise: “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise” (Luke 23:43). Hume might not find this story more inspiring than Phocion’s, but he would know that many of his readers would. For those readers, the contrast between these two cases might weaken their esteem for Phocion’s nobility in death. It is as if Hume has chosen his example with the aim of dampening readers’ admiration of this virtue.7 Lest we conclude that this section should have been called “Of Vices Immediately Agreeable to Ourselves,” Hume expresses less or no ambivalence about several of the qualities discussed here. Cheerfulness is pleasing and harmless. In addition to “greatness of mind,” he considers another version of magnanimity: “that undisturbed philosophical TRANQUILLITY, superior to pain, sorrow, anxiety, and each assault of adverse fortune” (EPM 7.16). Hume’s treatment of this virtue does include criticism and qualification. He associates it too with ancient heroes, which might seem to imply that it is a virtue fit only for pre-civilized peoples. “Among the ancients,” he writes, “the heroes in philosophy, as well as those in war and patriotism, have a grandeur and force of sentiment, which astonishes our narrow souls” (EPM 7.18). He cites Socrates’ equanimity in the face of trials of every kind and Epictetus’ serene self-imposed poverty. His initial presentation of philosophical tranquility, moreover, suggests an unattainable, perhaps indefensible, ideal. In language reminiscent of Lucretius’ philosopher enjoying his freedom from 6 7

Longinus (1995) uses Ajax’s example in On the Sublime (p. 185). Hume appeals to Longinus’ reference to Alexander on the same page (EPM 7.5). Alternatively, Hume may have meant to provide an example of a magnanimous death that would be less likely to encourage religious enthusiasm. For an argument that EPM is an attempt to replace Protestant moral texts, see Chapter 11 in this volume.

138

margaret watkins

the toils of those dying on tempestuous waves,8 Hume notes the philosophers’ portrayal of the “sage” who “elevates himself above every accident of life; and securely placed in the temple of wisdom, looks down on inferior mortals, engaged in pursuit of honours, riches, reputation, and every frivolous enjoyment” (EPM 7.16). No one can attain this ideal, as Hume has already told us elsewhere and now reiterates. Compare his remark here with a parallel passage from the 1741 essay, “Of the Delicacy of Taste and Passion”: These pretensions, no doubt, when stretched to the utmost, are, by far, too magnificent for human nature. They carry, however, a grandeur with them, which seizes the spectator, and strikes him with admiration. And the nearer we can approach in practice, to this sublime tranquillity and indifference (for we must distinguish it from a stupid insensibility) the more secure enjoyment shall we attain within ourselves, and the more greatness of mind shall we discover to the world. (EPM 7.16) Philosophers have endeavoured to render happiness entirely independent of every thing external. That degree of perfection is impossible to be attained: But every wise man will endeavour to place his happiness on such objects chiefly as depend upon himself. (DT 5)

In both places, Hume is clear: no philosophy immunizes us from life’s maladies. Complete Stoic detachment is impossible. Yet in both places, he is also clear that it is wise to try to approximate the ideal. The position that Hume rejects is extreme: it recommends a life untouchable by misfortune, without concern for others’ admiration, and without the consolation of any pleasures. Such a life is not only impossible; it would not be worth pursuing if it were. It is not only that the detached sage seems callous.9 He seems inhuman and detached from the sensibilities that allow us to be virtuous in general. To be utterly careless of what others think of you is no Humean excellence. To infer that Hume therefore commits himself to the worthlessness of all attempts at philosophical tranquility, however, is to assume a false dichotomy that he explicitly rejects. We need not despair of all tranquility, although its most extreme form is beyond our reach (and undesirable). A similar point applies to Hume’s association of this virtue with the ancients. He can be very critical of the ancients, as in his censure of “barbaric” infatuation with martial excellence. But this criticism concerns 8 9

See Lucretius’ On the Nature of Things, Book II.1–15. In his essay, “The Stoic,” Hume’s Stoic adopts the Lucretian metaphor but adds that the sage looks down on others’ errors with “pleasure, mixed with compassion” (E, 151, italics added).

Virtues Suspect and Sublime

139

more the ancient ethos than ancient ethics: he believes that the circumstances of ancient polities, battle practices, and lack of experience with other forms of life encourage aggression that increases human suffering. He praises ancient moral philosophy, in contrast, as superior to most modern versions. The character who seems to be speaking for Hume in “A Dialogue” acknowledges modern progress in most sciences but excepts morals (EPM D 18). In his own voice, Hume refers to “the ancient moralists” as “the best models” in Appendix 4 (EPM App. 4.11). Mere association with the ancients, therefore, implies no necessary condemnation for Hume. Hume’s presentation of the modern reaction to philosophical tranquility, moreover, is revealing. He writes that ancient philosophical heroes astonish our narrow souls with their “grandeur and force of sentiment,” and that we therefore “rashly” reject this grandeur as “extravagant and supernatural” (EPM 7.18, italics added). To call modern souls “narrow” is to say that they lack magnanimity (greatness of soul). It strains credulity to think that Hume does not see widespread pusillanimity as a failing. The ancients may have overstated the possibilities for enlarged spirits, but Hume never suggests that it is good to have a contracted one. The paragraph then details the superiorities of modern societies – increased humanity, peaceableness, and orderly government. These are compensations, as Hume calls them, that more than make up for a loss of magnanimity. Their benefits affect a larger share of the population: magnanimity is a rare virtue, attainable by the few rather than the many. Moreover, the particular form of magnanimity under consideration – philosophical tranquility – is most useful in times of widespread suffering. We seek ataraxia when we recognize that fortune is beyond our control – a realization much easier to achieve when fortune is cruel. Since orderly government, international peace, and more humane behavior in general reduces the incidence of cruelties, philosophical tranquility may be less necessary in more humane ages. Nonetheless, the loss of magnanimity is real. No form of human life can block all forms of suffering, just as no person can detach from it entirely. About Section 7’s remaining virtues, Hume shows no ambivalence whatsoever. Having dedicated a full section to benevolence, he still has more to say. Benevolence, like courage, is a virtue whose approval stems from more than one principle. Section 2’s treatment of benevolence actually begins with greatness: when benevolent affections combine with “birth and power and eminent abilities, and display themselves in the good government or useful instruction of mankind, they seem even to raise the possessors of them above the rank of human nature, and make them

140

margaret watkins

approach in some measure to the divine” (EPM 2.1). Aristotle claims that the philosophical life allows us to approach divinity;10 Hume gives that honor to both the political and the philosophical life, if pursued with kindness and humanity. The exemplar is Pericles, who can say at his death “that no citizen has ever yet worne mourning on my account” (EPM 2.2). Section 7, on the other hand, focuses on benevolence through the lens of intimate relationships. In approving of benevolence as immediately agreeable to its possessor, we note “the very softness and tenderness of the sentiment, its engaging endearments, its fond expressions, its delicate attentions, and all that flow of mutual confidence and regard, which enters into a warm attachment of love and friendship” (EPM 7.19). Even in the Elysian fields, where circumstances render the social virtues useless, the pleasure of “a constant intercourse of love and friendship” remains (EPM 7.20). Our sympathy with these affections produces “the purest and most satisfactory enjoyment” (EPM 7.19). At the end of Section 7, Hume turns to another set of unquestionably admirable qualities. Having noted that poetic depictions of both sublime and tender sentiments are essential to “the great charm of poetry,” he adds poetic talent to his catalog of virtues (EPM 7.26). It is also a virtue of greatness: “being enhanced by its extreme rarity,” it “may exalt the person possessed of it, above every character of the age in which he lives” (EPM 7.27). His treatment of it is brief, however, and what he does say does not explain how it is immediately agreeable to self. He speaks of the pleasure that an audience receives from the dramatic presentation of sublime and tender passions and then states that the ability to produce this pleasure is an exalted virtue. It is not clear why poetic talent is not classed among virtues immediately agreeable to others. There is no such confusion about the last virtue of this section – delicacy of taste. Hume gives it only one sentence, but his praise is superlative: “The very sensibility to these beauties, or a DELICACY of taste, is itself a beauty in any character; as conveying the purest, the most durable, and most innocent of all enjoyments” (EPM 7.28).11 Hume begins his first volume of essays by recommending and praising this quality in “Of the Delicacy of Taste and Passion.” He there ties delicacy to philosophical tranquility. We should not infer that his quicker treatment of it in EPM implies any lessening of his admiration of it or of his sense of its significance. The final place is as much a position of honor as the first. And in a section that 10 11

See Nicomachean Ethics, 1177b27–1178a1. This language resembles Hume’s descriptions of our sentiments in response to benevolence. I take it that Hume is not saying that these two sentiments are the same, but that both are as pure as any enjoyment can be.

Virtues Suspect and Sublime

141

depends heavily on the concept of the sublime, Hume may be following the advice of one of the most influential modern theorists of the sublime, Nicolas Boileau-Despréaux. Boileau uses Corneille’s Médée to illustrate this point: “the sublime is sometimes found in the simplest manner of speaking” (1857, p. 372, my translation). Hume thus expresses unbounded admiration of some qualities immediately agreeable to self. But this admiration raises another puzzling feature of Section 7. He spends less time discussing each of these qualities than those that have problematic features – let us call them the “suspect virtues.” Section 7 is twenty-nine paragraphs long. Divisions in the text are not always neat, but by a fair count seven paragraphs are about greatness of mind and seven are about courage. His treatments of cheerfulness, philosophical tranquility, benevolence, poetic genius, and delicacy of taste are each much briefer – one to three paragraphs each. This lingering on the suspect virtues gives Section 7 a halting character. Hume insists that his task in this work is not to recommend the virtues, but to explain their foundation in principles of human nature. He does sometimes recommend them, most extensively in Section 9. But in Section 7, he seems sometimes to recommend against them. In truth, Hume cautions only against certain interpretations of the suspect virtues. Nonetheless, his stance toward these qualities is neither that of the coolly dissecting anatomist nor the flattering portrait-artist. It is more that of a journalistic photographer, recording images that reveal the oftenconcealed side of qualities that we hold dear. He spends extra time on the suspect virtues to capture these sides. The journalist has a mission because the problem is perennial. Partiality for martial virtues “appears so natural in the mind of man” because it keeps reappearing. Each generation must be taught otherwise to preserve a humane society. The “excessive bravery and resolute inflexibility of CHARLES the XIIth” [1697–1718] strikes us with admiration, he claims, even if we withhold our full approval (EPM 7.24). The History of England is full of Hume’s acknowledgments that barbarism persists into the modern era. He may be sanguine at times about the progress of a more humane sensibility. But at no time does he believe that the danger had been finally conquered. Our fondness for the excellences of violence may be “condemned by calm reason and reflection,” but calm reason and reflection are habits that themselves need cultivation, study, and practice.12 The required 12

Cf. Hume’s sceptic’s description of the difficulty of “a serious attention to the sciences and liberal arts” (“The Sceptic,” E, 170–71).

142

margaret watkins

time and strength of character are in short supply. If reflection triumphs over a critical mass of people for a time, calm reason and reflection would still forbid any complacency about this good fortune. Hume cannot expect that in his own society, everyone agrees with his cool praise of martial courage and his warm commendation of delicacy of taste. In this section, therefore, he seeks to persuade as well as analyze.

7.2 The Significance of the Sublime Let us return to courage’s placement: why categorize courage as immediately agreeable to self, given the salience of its utility? One possibility is that Hume is following his order of presentation in the Treatise. The distinction between artificial and natural virtues structures Book 3 of the Treatise’s discussion of individual virtues. The extended treatment of courage is in “Of the other virtues and vices.” After a preliminary section, explaining our approval of natural virtues, come three sections discussing particular virtues: “Of greatness of mind,” “Of goodness and benevolence,” and “Of natural abilities.” The distinction between virtues of the great and virtues of the good, then, is fundamental here.13 Courage appears among the virtues of the great, which are closely related to pride. The order of this part of Book 3 follows the presentation of the passions in Book 2, where pride and humility come before love and hatred. Hume almost characterizes the virtues in “Of greatness of mind” as varieties of pride: “whatever we call heroic virtue, and admire under the character of greatness and elevation of mind, is either nothing but a steady and well-establish’d pride and self-esteem, or partakes largely of that passion” (T 3.3.2.13). In EPM, pride recedes from this prominent place. Perhaps, then, the discussion of courage in Section 7, alongside other virtues more obviously related to pride, is just an artifact of a less-than-thoroughgoing revision. Having restructured his moral philosophy to de-emphasize this contentious term, he should have moved courage to a section on useful virtues but leaves it here as a remnant of his former ordering scheme. 13

The idea that “greatness,” variously conceived, came with special virtues had long precedent. In the Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle distinguishes magnificence from liberality and magnanimity from honor-loving, where the former qualities require great wealth or power. He also mentions a “heroic” form of virtue at the beginning of book 7, which would be possible only for god-like humans. Beginning with Augustine, “heroic” virtue is ascribed to Christian martyrs. Hume is not straightforwardly channeling either of these distinctions but develops his own categories related to concepts that his readers would have been familiar with.

Virtues Suspect and Sublime

143

The problem with this hypothesis is that it fails to appreciate the continuity in Hume’s thinking about courage. He has not decided between the composition of the Treatise and EPM that courage is more useful than he had initially suggested: his dim view of courage endures throughout his writings. The History acknowledges the importance of courage (and a reputation for it) in princes and their soldiers. But Hume still warns about its too-seductive gleam. “The unhappy prepossession,” he writes in Volume 5, “which men commonly entertain in favour of ambition, courage, enterprize, and other warlike virtues, engages generous natures, who always love fame, into such pursuits as destroy their own peace, and that of the rest of mankind” (H 5.51). In Volume 1, his criticism of the “profound barbarism and ignorance” of the Irish includes the claim that in Ireland “courage and force, though exercised in the commission of crimes, were more honoured than any pacific virtues” (H 1.339–40). He repeatedly reminds us that a slew of harmful effects mars the utility of courage. In light of these harms, Hume concludes that utility is not the primary reason we approve of courage.14 It belongs with the virtues that involve spirited pride. It is a “shining” virtue, whose glow strikes spectators and sometimes blinds them to reason. This reaction, I believe, provides the fundamental connection between the suspect virtues in Section 7. The second Enquiry continues to place courage alongside virtues that evince “noble pride and spirit.” But the dominant theme is now the immediacy of pleasure, not pride. All virtues please, according to Hume, but these please “without any utility or any tendency to farther good” (EPM 7.2). This intimate relation to pleasure means that our responses to these virtues necessarily include less reasoning.15 Before we can approve a quality for its utility, we must determine that the quality tends to produce benefits – an act of causal reasoning that can be more or less complex. Thus, in the first Appendix, Hume connects reason particularly to the useful virtues: One principal foundation of moral praise being supposed to lie in the usefulness of any quality or action; it is evident, that reason must enter for 14

15

I agree with Gill (2014, p. 30) that Baier goes too far in suggesting that Hume considers military bravery a vice that necessarily destroys the sentiments of humanity and must “be transferred from the battlefield to more peaceful fields . . . before it gets approved as a virtue (Baier, 1991, pp. 211–12). Hume recognizes that such courage is sometimes indispensable, hence his argument in “Of Refinement in the Arts” that improving mildness disciplines “martial spirit” and increases its effectiveness rather than destroying such spirit altogether (E, 274). Jacqueline Taylor, in her contribution to this volume (Chapter 8), argues that “the essential role of reason” for the useful virtues is the “key difference” between them and the immediately agreeable virtues.” See p. xx.

144

margaret watkins a considerable share in all decisions of this kind; since nothing but that faculty can instruct us in the tendency of qualities and actions, and point out their beneficial consequences to society and to their possessor. (EPM App. 1.2)

Such reasoning is not necessary for us to determine that a quality is immediately agreeable. Spectators, observing the cheerful person, need no inferences about the effects of cheer. They sympathize with the pleasure that their cheerful companion derives from her character trait, and this diffusion of pleasure generates approbation. But don’t we need reasoning to learn that cheerfulness produces such pleasure for its possessor? This thought is tempting, but it reflects a misunderstanding about the way that Hume conceives of virtuous qualities in EPM. These qualities are not independent elements in the mind that generate passions; they are rather at least partly constituted by passions.16 Qualifying his assertion that melancholy tempers fill us with “aversion and disgust,” Hume explains that the occasional experience of such feelings does not make someone vicious; “it is only when the disposition gives a propensity to any of these disagreeable passions that they disfigure the character” (EPM 7.2 n.35). We judge a propensity or disposition, but it is a propensity to a passion. Likewise, when we approve of benevolence as immediately agreeable, we are approving of its feeling: “these feelings, being delightful in themselves are necessarily communicated to the spectators, and melt them into the same fondness and delicacy” (EPM 7.19). What of courage, which seems to be a propensity to action or the ability to moderate the influence of certain passions? In fact, Hume repeatedly refers to courage as a passion (or affection). “Fear, anger, courage and other affections,” he writes in the Treatise, “are frequently communicated from one animal to another, without their knowledge of that cause, which produc’d the original passion” (T 2.2.12.6). The Dissertation on the Passions likewise retains the Treatise’s claim that “our temper, when elevated with joy, naturally throws itself into love, generosity, courage, pride, and other resembling affections” (DP 2.7).17 And in EPM 7 itself, Hume classes courage among “the sublime passions,” along with magnanimity and disdain of fortune (EPM 7.26).18 16 17 18

Understanding what character traits in general are for Hume is notoriously difficult. For helpful treatments, see Frykholm (2012), Ainslie (2007), and McIntyre (1990). See also T 2.1.4.3. Richard McCarty notices that Hume speaks of courage as a passion but sees this as Hume speaking loosely. McCarty argues that the difficulty of finding a suitable passion motivating courageous acts is

Virtues Suspect and Sublime

145

Therefore, when a spectator approves of a quality as immediately agreeable to its possessor, she begins by sympathizing with a passion that has a pleasurable affect. She need not reason that greatness of mind produces pleasure; she is observing someone experiencing a kind of pleasure. Careful moral judgment of these attributes does require some causal reasoning. Spectators need evidence that the person is not merely in a passing mood but tends to experience the relevant passion often and in different circumstances. In other words, they must infer that some significant part of this person is the cause of this passion, rather than some fleeting circumstance or insignificant tic.19 They do not, however, need to infer that this significant part produces pleasure; the part in question is a disposition to a kind of pleasure. Recognizing virtues agreeable to self therefore also requires less causal reasoning than virtues agreeable to others. Approval of virtues always requires repeated observations to infer that a significant part of that person’s character causes the expressions of the virtue. To approve of a quality as virtuous because it is immediately agreeable to others, however, spectators also must determine that the quality produces pleasure in the others affected by it. Approval of wit requires observing the repeated expressions of wit by the same person, to show that the person truly is witty. It also requires repeated observations of the conjunction of expressions of wit with expressions of pleasure from the witty person’s companions and the ensuing inference that these expressions cause pleasure. Approval of greatness of mind, on the other hand, requires observing repeated expressions of greatness of mind to determine that the person under observation truly has the relevant propensity. But it does not require, in addition, observing what effect these expressions have on others. Nor does the conclusion that the person has greatness of mind require inferring that an independent quality produces pleasure. It comes instead from inferring that this person possesses a disposition to pleasures of a certain kind.20

19 20

an aspect of serious problems Hume faces accounting for courage as a virtue (2012, pp. 270–71). But I think there may be a passion properly called “courage,” perhaps akin to Platonic thumos. For further discussion of this point, see Watkins (2018), pp. 19–21. This point is vital to maintaining Hume’s distinction between the two varieties of immediately agreeable virtues. That distinction is clear when we consider virtues like greatness of mind, the expression of which Hume thinks is pleasing to the possessor but displeasing in some degree to others. It is more difficult to see for those virtues, like cheerfulness, that are only pleasing. If Jack is cheerful, Jill will enjoy being around him because his cheerfulness is contagious. Hume believes that we would morally approve of these traits prescinding from any such effects on other people. We approve because we see that Jack’s temperament disposes him to experience cheerful pleasures. I am grateful to Elizabeth Radcliffe for pressing me on the question of whether or not the distinction between immediately agreeable virtues can be maintained.

146

margaret watkins

What kind? Virtues immediately agreeable to self produce “sublime passions” or “tender affections” (EPM 7.26). The subset of these that I am calling “suspect virtues” produce sublime passions. In using the term “sublime,” Hume in part captures how experiencing these passions feels to their possessor. Greatness of mind includes an “elevation of sentiment” (EPM 7.4). Courage is inseparable from its “noble elevation” (EPM 7.11). The mythical philosophical sage “elevates himself above every accident of life”; but we can hope only to approach this “sublime tranquility and indifference” (EPM 7.16). These passions expand the spirits, making us feel able to rise above difficulties and carry through our purposes. They give us a sense of our own capacity or power. But they also take us out of ourselves, as we feel impelled by their force and lose the anxious selfconsciousness that goes with smaller feelings. Spectators of those with these virtues share these feelings. Some of the spectator’s sublime passions come from sympathy: we “catch” them “by a contagion or natural sympathy” (EPM 7.2). But when making a moral judgment, we do not simply adopt the feelings of others. Our moral taste “gives the sentiment of beauty and deformity”; it “raises, in a manner, a new creation” by generating moral sentiments (EPM App. 1.21). Yet Hume notes that moral sentiments vary considerably in their affect, and this variance tracks the variance in the sympathetic passions. Sallust’s Caesar and Cato are both virtuous, but in different ways that generate different sentiments: “The one produces love; the other, esteem: The one is amiable; the other awful: We should wish to meet the one character in a friend; the other we should be ambitious of in ourselves” (EPM App. 4.6). Though love and esteem both arise from pleasing qualities, esteem is produced “where this pleasure is severe and serious; or where its object is great, and makes a strong impression; or where it produces any degree of humility and awe” (EPM App. 4.6 n.67). The moral response to the suspect virtues in Section 7 is an admiring awe. Magnanimity “excites our applause and admiration” (EPM 7.4); courage diffuses a “sublimity of sentiment over every spectator” (EPM 7.11); the noble aims of the philosophical sage “carry . . . a grandeur with them, which seizes the spectator, and strikes him with admiration” (EPM 7.16). In using the language of sublimity to describe this moral beauty, Hume appeals to aesthetic language that came into its own in eighteenthcentury English. Boileau’s translation of and reflections on “Longinus’”21 21

Scholars no longer accept that Cassius Longinus was the author of Peri Hypsous. Donald Russell provides a concise summary of the problems with this attribution in his introduction to the text (Longinus, 1995, pp. 145–48). For the sake of brevity, I refer to the author as Longinus.

Virtues Suspect and Sublime

147

Peri Hypsous (1674 and 1693) were enormously influential for the development of British theories of the sublime. John Hall published an English translation of Peri Hypsous in 1652, but under the title Of the Height of Eloquence. Boileau entitles his French translation Traité du Sublime, ou du Merveilleux dans le Discours. Hume quotes Longinus twice and Boileau’s Réflexions once in Section 7.22 Longinus says that the sublime “consists in a consummate excellence and distinction of language.” This excellence has a peculiar power, which is reminiscent of Hume’s description of the effect of the suspect virtues. The effect of genius is not to persuade the audience but rather to transport them out of themselves. Invariably what inspires wonder, with its power of amazing us, always prevails over what is merely convincing and pleasing. For our persuasions are usually under our own control, while these things exercise an irresistible power and mastery, and get the better of every listener . . .. A well-timed flash of sublimity shatters everything like a bolt of lightning and reveals the full power of the speaker at a single stroke. (Longinus, 1995, p. 163)

As the virtues of the great strike the spectator with their grandeur and diffuse sublime sentiments, sublime rhetoric or writing inspires awe that the hearer or reader may be incapable of resisting. This beauty too takes us out of ourselves, wholly capturing our attention from self-consciousness or the gradual operations of sifting evidence and reasoning. Boileau emphasizes these passionate effects of the sublime rather than its relation to rhetorical style: Longinus, he says, does not mean by the sublime “what the orators call sublime style, but the extraordinary and marvelous that strikes in speech, and that makes a work lift up, enrapture, transport” (Boileau, 1857, p. 318, my translation). As Timothy Costelloe puts it, Boileau thus transforms “sublime” from an adjective describing a style into a noun, “an essence or independent existence expressed in and through language rather than belonging to or of language” (Costelloe, 2012, p. 4). The sublime could thus be found not only in rhetorical compositions, but in other arts too and, for Hume, in human characters. To possess the sublime is to possess a quality that excites “particular emotions, powerful enough to evoke transcendence, shock, awe, and terror” (Costelloe, 2012, p. 2).23 22

23

Adam Potkay notes that “the eighteenth-century student of classical rhetoric . . . was, typically, a devotee of Longinus” (Potkay, 1984, p. 2). For a helpful discussion of how Boileau’s interpretation of Longinus influences later concepts of the sublime, see Costelloe (2012), pp. 4–7. Does the use of this aesthetic language imply that our judgment of, for example, courage is really an aesthetic rather than a moral response? My suspicion is that this question involves a false dichotomy,

148

margaret watkins

Given Hume’s description of the suspect virtues and the influence of Longinus through Boileau, it is fair to assume that Hume has something close to these ideas in mind when he describes the effects of those virtues in the language of sublimity. None of the virtues that are immediately agreeable require the same levels of causal reasoning for their approval as the useful virtues. But these sublime virtues have an extra level of distance from reason. Hume denies that there can be any conflict between reason and passion, if such a conflict requires that reason alone be an independent motivating force. But he does not deny that being in a highly passionate state might prevent one from reasoning; he recognizes that violent passions can blind us to pertinent facts and overtake our energy in ways that leave no space for reason. When “seized by” sublimity and struck with admiration, it is natural to judge without sifting through our experience or making inferences about the consequences of the behavior we are witnessing. Much reasoning might come before our experience of sublime passions. Fully appreciating the magnificence of the Oresteia may require working hard to understand the historical context, the nature of Aeschylus’ audience and how the drama was likely to affect that audience, and the relations between its three plays. Having done this work, however, one is rewarded with a transcendent pleasure that leaves little space for reasoning.24 Insofar as our admiration of virtues of the great partakes of the sublime, then, it leaves little energy for reflection.25 The Treatise’s strong claims about the virtues of the great being forms of or partaking of pride fade away in EPM. But in EPM, these virtues still share something significant in common – their ability to inspire sublime admiration. Such admiration is inspiring, elevating, and powerful. For precisely the same reasons, it can also be corrupting, misleading, and dangerous.

7.3 The Delicate Correction of Our Admiration for the Suspect Virtues Does this danger mean that Hume believes that we should transfer these qualities to the vice column after all? As I have indicated, I do not think

24

25

because the distinction between aesthetic and moral responses is vague for Hume. An explanation of this intriguing possibility is unfortunately beyond the scope of this chapter. Not all sublime pleasures require such antecedent reasoning, however. A small child might experience them in the face of a stunning vista. I am grateful to Emily Kelahan for pressing me on the relation between reasoning and the sublime. In her analysis of the “moral sublime” in Hume’s Treatise, Elizabeth Neill portrays the overpowering aspect of sublime moral responses more positively. The strength of our response to heroic virtue subdues our tendency to feel envy from comparison with superiors. We are thus able to admire “without envy the awe-inspiring qualities of another moral subject” (Neill, 1997, p. 256).

Virtues Suspect and Sublime

149

that the text supports this interpretation. Seeing the suspect virtues as united by their tendency to inspire sublime responses reveals more evidence against this interpretation. Recall that Hume names Socrates and Epictetus as heroic figures as well as Alexander and Medea. These philosophical figures too “have a grandeur and force of sentiment” that astonishes and strikes us with admiration. Though they are not reasonable objects of emulation, Hume admires their fortitude and self-control. And he recommends that we approach as near as we can to “this sublime tranquillity and indifference” (EPM 7.16). On the other hand, Hume does not certify the unthinking celebration of the suspect virtues, so characteristic of cruel societies and playground bullies. Excessive admiration of cheerfulness might cause some personal difficulty and distraction, but excessive admiration of courage causes domestic and political violence. “Calm reason and reflection” condemn our partiality for the virtues of war. His extensive discussion of these virtues looks like an attempt both to engage in and inspire such reflection. But how is such reasoning and reflection supposed to proceed, given the overwhelming reaction to the suspect virtues? One tempting possibility is that Hume believes that we should judge the virtues immediately agreeable to self by weighing them according to the standards of other virtues. Although we might have an immediate sublime sentiment observing a brave action, in succeeding moments we can pause and reflect on that sentiment itself. Perhaps we should admire agreeable virtues unless acting from them would cross a useful virtue. Hume does give priority to those virtues that are useful to others, asserting that “the qualities . . . which prompt us to act our part in society” (the “social virtues”) are “the most valuable qualities” (EPM App. 4.2). Something like this suggestion must be right. The suffering, destruction, and death left in the wake of Alexander’s greatness of mind should dampen our admiration. But correction of the suspect by the social virtues cannot be the whole story. First, note how limited the effects of such correction could be. It requires an already-cultivated set of social virtues that Hume believes to be the product of centuries, not moments. To make people less violent and more compassionate, we must rear children with more of a propensity to empathy and less of one to violence, cruelty, and desire for the glories of war. Remarking on the difference between the ancient and modern assessments of such qualities, Hume uses the self-correction trope to emphasize the influence of education: “Such is the compensation, which nature, or rather education, has made in the distribution of excellencies and virtues, in these different ages” (EPM 7.18). But a deliberate

150

margaret watkins

philosophical plan where we rationally condemn one set of alleged virtues on the basis of another cannot effect such progress. Readings of the Essays and the History show just how complex Hume’s understanding of progress is, and how many unpredictable and uncontrollable factors influence cultural change. Progress requires a slow, uncertain process of changing conceptions of the virtues and changing circumstances of human life. In ancient Athens, it is not at all clear that it would have been beneficial for a particular set of parents to attempt to inculcate humanity at the expense of bravery in their sons, at least not if the ancient Greek city-states were the violent and unstable polities that Hume portrays them to be.26 Hume takes himself to be living in an age that has an appreciation for humanity, benevolence, and clemency that would have seemed strange to ancient Athenians. Those with these social virtues would be more capable of using them to correct the others. Yet the capacity remains relatively weak. It requires the kind of causal reasoning that sublime affections make difficult, and the suspect virtues have perennial appeal. Such reflection probably would be most effective in two situations: (1) when thinking abstractly about the relations among various virtues or (2) when confronted directly with the negative consequences of dangerous versions of the suspect virtues. Inordinate admiration for martial courage, for example, might be tempered as parents reflect on how celebrating the trait creates bullies, or by a doctor walking through a battleground that has been the site of enormous loss of life. These same parents and this same doctor, however, may still cheer a modern Alexander leading troops to fight for a cause they believe in. Moreover, Hume does not think that the virtues of agreeableness should always yield to the virtues of utility.27 Although he downplays pride in EPM, he still uses positive language to describe the place of politely obscured pride among the virtues. “A certain degree of generous pride or self-value,” he says, “is so requisite that the absence of it in the 26

27

For Hume’s explanation of how ancient circumstances increased the violence and cruelty of war, thus encouraging aggression and cruelty in other aspects of life, see his essay “Of the Populousness of Ancient Nations” (E, 404–11). One obstacle to understanding Hume’s distinction between the useful and the immediately agreeable may be the utilitarian understanding of pleasure as a kind of utility. If utility and pleasure are one, then they could provide a single scale by which any action can be judged. See Baier’s discussion of the difference between Hume’s approach and that of Bentham, who “blunts Hume’s distinction between the useful and the agreeable, distorting the agreeable into cash utility” (Baier, 1991, pp. 204–05). Christine Swanton (2015) argues for the importance of keeping distinct Hume’s two criteria for a trait’s counting as a virtue, against interpretations like Roger Crisp’s. Crisp reads Hume as “merely distinguishing between qualities which produce pleasure indirectly, and those which do so directly, as soon as they are confronted” (2005, p. 170).

Virtues Suspect and Sublime

151

mind displeases, after the same manner as the want of a nose, eye, or any of the most material features of the face or members of the body” (EPM 7.10). Although he mentions members of the body as well as features of the face, I do not think it is an accident that his specific examples are facial features. Our self-assessment, expressed in myriad nuanced ways along the continuum of pride and humility, is the aspect through which we present our character to the world. This presentation affects others not only through their sympathy with our positive or negative feelings about ourselves, but also through the effects of those feelings on their own selfassessment. Pride is a virtue immediately agreeable to self; its proper concealment – modesty – is a virtue immediately agreeable to others. Modesty pleases “by flattering every man’s vanity” (EPM 8.8). If we were to judge immediately agreeable virtues by the standards of benevolence, we might infer that we should always err on the side of modesty, for the sake of pleasing others. Yet Hume makes it clear that in certain situations, this policy would be a real failing. Although in “ordinary characters, we approve of a bias towards modesty,” “a generous spirit and self-value, well founded, decently disguised, and courageously supported under distress and calumny, is a great excellency.” For less “ordinary characters,” such a bias could look ridiculous. For those in extreme distress, the opposite tendency can be crucial: Hume mentions Socrates again here and notes that “a noble pride and spirit . . . may openly display itself in its full extent, when one lies under calumny or oppression of any kind” (EPM 8.10).28 The proper boundaries of display for pride, and the “certain degree” of self-value that is required for moral beauty, are not determined by a rubric constructed from the other virtues. They are determined by our moral responses and consequent judgments. But some people are better moral judges than others. As Jacqueline Taylor has argued, the second Enquiry provides more resources than the Treatise for an account of the difference between good and bad moral judgment.29 “Of the Standard of Taste” supplements EPM in this regard by making explicit that a sentiment-based account of value need not assume parity of judgment across individuals30 and discussing the specific criteria that qualify a critic to make judgments of taste. These criteria are “strong sense, united to delicate sentiment, improved by practice, perfected by comparison, and cleared of all prejudice” (ST 28 29

For an extended argument against “prioritarian” interpretations of Hume’s ethics, see Gill (2014). See Taylor (2015b), pp. 120–25. 30 See E, 234.

152

margaret watkins

241). Only some of these qualities require the good operation of causal reasoning. Strong sense and freedom from prejudice, as Hume describes them, do. Delicate sentiment, practice, and comparison, however, are more perceptual. They concern the spectator’s ability to perceive relevant aspects of a work to which our sentiments of beauty naturally respond. A delicate critic perceives details, qualifications, flaws, and excellences that others overlook. Such delicacy may be innate, but we need not despair of its improvement if we find ourselves without it. Even those with such delicacy must engage in practice and comparison – across a range of different works and in repeated examination of a single work – to hone their craft and reach more accurate judgments. Engaging in such practice could also cultivate delicacy itself. To correct our responses to immediately agreeable virtues, these perceptive corrections of taste must step in where reasoning is absent or weak. Causal reasoning tells me that martial courage might defend the city but also endangers its more vulnerable citizens – and that at one time or another, we are all vulnerable. It also tells me that the greatest human effort cannot extirpate all human passions, so the pretensions of extreme philosophical tranquility are unattainable and therefore not worth pursuing. But it does not stop the feeling of exhilaration when I observe a satisfying act of vigilante justice, or the feeling of stupefying admiration when I see someone express supreme confidence in their own abilities. Because our moral sentiments are not the standard motivation for virtuous acts, these reactions may seem relatively harmless. Yet they matter insofar as they inform our encouragement of certain acts, passions, and traits in ourselves, our friends, and, most importantly, the children in our care. Fortunately, they too are subject to correction – not in the moment through causal reasoning, but through the careful attention to detail that cultivates delicacy of taste. To a person with such delicacy, the vigilante is more frightening than gratifying, and the braggart is disgusting rather than impressive. Her perceptions include the cruelty in the eyes and the sneer across the lips. Hume’s one-sentence penultimate paragraph in “Of Qualities Immediately Agreeable to Ourselves” may well contain a “marvelous” insight – that the virtue that we most need to correct our assessment of the suspect virtues agreeable to ourselves is itself a virtue agreeable to ourselves. Because taste enters into all our moral judgments, this virtue will actually be important for all our moral judgments. We have seen how Hume lingers in this section on the qualities that tend to be

Virtues Suspect and Sublime

153

dangerous or questionable. We can now see that the inverse is true as well: the virtue in this category that he treats most concisely may be the most important, as well as “conveying the purest, the most durable, and most innocent of all enjoyments” (EPM 7.28). It is enough.31 31

I am grateful to Esther Kroeker and Willem Lemmens for inviting me to contribute to this volume and for their helpful suggestions for improvement. I also benefited from conversation with the other contributors and Richard McCarty at a workshop at William & Mary in October 2018, and from the generous comments of Emily Kelahan on an earlier draft of this piece.

chapter 8

Sympathy and the Sources of Moral Sentiment Jacqueline Taylor

In a 1762 letter to Andrew Millar, Hume told Millar he would “make some considerable Alterations on some Parts” of the next edition of his Essays and Treatises (L I, 353; see also a 1763 letter to Millar, L I, 378). And indeed, the 1764 edition of Hume’s Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals (EPM) (in Volume II of Essays and Treatises on Several Subjects) does contain “some considerable Alterations,” including increased use of the term personal merit (now introduced in Section 1) and numerous deletions of the term virtue. There is also a new penultimate paragraph in Section 1, replacing the previous five-line paragraph included in the editions published between 1751 and 1760. The new paragraph outlines in detail the method Hume will employ in order “to discover the true origin of morals” and thereby to establish the respective roles of reason and sentiment. The “experimental method,” which arrives at “general maxims from a comparison of particular instances,” focuses squarely on analyzing “that complication of mental qualities, which form what, in common life, we call personal merit” (EPM 1.10).1 Hume’s new emphasis on personal merit, rather than virtue, and placing of the term in Section 1 in the 1764 and later editions, certainly underscores his confidence about presenting a morality that makes central the merit of persons, rather than our duties to God or society. His catalog, which includes talents and immediately agreeable qualities, represents “virtue in all her genuine and most engaging charms,” while doing away with “useless austerities and rigours” (EPM 9.15). Yet Hume’s main aim, in keeping with the title of the Enquiry, concerns establishing “the foundations of ethics” and discovering the “universal principles, from which all censure or approbation is ultimately derived” (EPM 1.10). The experimental method involves analyzing various mental 1

Prior to the 1764 edition, the first instance of personal merit occurred in what had been Part I of Section 6. Part I of Section 6 becomes Appendix 3 in 1764, and in the 1777 edition becomes Appendix 4.

154

Sympathy and the Sources of Moral Sentiment

155

qualities, habits, sentiments, or faculties that comprise a person’s merit or demerit, relying on the “thickness” of our moral language insofar as the terms we use to identify various qualities or traits typically convey some form of praise or blame.2 Hume’s systematic approach leads to the discovery of the common circumstances that make some qualities “estimable” or in some other way praiseworthy and others “blameable.” These common circumstances will point to “the true origin of morals,” positioning us to determine both “the general principles of morals” and the respective roles of sentiment and reason (EPM 1.10). In this chapter, I show that despite giving a less complicated account of sympathy as a principle of human nature, in comparison with the Treatise, Hume offers a more nuanced view of the moral sentiments that have their source in sympathy. In particular, I will set out and analyze the connections that Hume makes between utility as a source of merit, the principle of humanity as that which elicits our approval of useful mental qualities and blame for pernicious ones, and the role of reason, both in determining usefulness and in reaching just evaluations of merit or demerit. I will contrast this set of connections with sympathy as the source of another set of moral sentiments that have as their object the immediately agreeable or disagreeable qualities. I begin by showing how Hume’s method establishes utility as a “species of merit,” and as the common circumstance shared by the social virtues of benevolence and justice. Utility pleases us, Hume argues, from “a more social affection” than self-love, and that affection is the sentiment or principle of humanity. I reconstruct the argument meant to establish the principle of humanity as the foundation of morality, drawing on Sections 5, 6, and 9. Another aim is to show that the sentiment of humanity gains force through our collective participation in the common point of view from which we form a general standard of virtue, and that the force of humanity can counter the force of self-love. While the stated aim of Hume’s argument is that of settling a controversy about reason or sentiment as the foundation of morality, the selfish theory becomes a primary target. Throughout EPM we see how reason assists humanity – with reflection, argument and evidence, establishing facts, and so forth – in reaching the proper sentiment. The immediate agreeableness of mental qualities comprises the other source of moral merit. Both utility and immediate agreeableness elicit moral sentiments of approval because of 2

Hume clearly recognizes the ways in which historical or cultural context can vary both the descriptive content and evaluative valence of particular traits; see EPM 7 and “A Dialogue.” I have also discussed the implications of such variability; see Taylor (2002, 2015b).

156

jacqueline taylor

our capacity for sympathy, but Hume characterizes differently the sympathy-based sentiment that approves of utility and those sentiments arising from mental qualities that give immediate pleasure to their possessor or others. The key to the difference, or so I will argue, lies in the importance of humanity and reason working together in the judgments we make regarding useful mental qualities. As a reason-informed and reflective principle, humanity provides a firm foundation for our moral evaluations and our collectively establishing a general standard of virtue and vice.

8.1

The Merit of Utility and Its Command of Our Esteem

As noted at the start of this chapter, Hume’s method begins with an examination of the terms we use in identifying and evaluating various mental qualities in order, first, to discover the features shared by the estimable, and those common to the blameworthy ones, and then from a range of particular instances derive some “general maxims” about what both makes certain mental qualities comprise personal merit and explains our approval of them. He observes: “the only object of reasoning [as we employ this method] is to discover the circumstances on both sides, which are common to these qualities,” which will be matters of fact (EPM 1.10). He begins with the social virtues of benevolence and justice. Various virtues fall into the general category of benevolence, including compassion, generosity, and friendliness, and our observation shows us that this set of qualities typically earns our “good-will” and “favourable and affectionate sentiments” of approbation (EPM 2.1, 2.5). In his actions and attitudes, the benevolent person tends to promote the happiness of others, whether in his role as parent, partner, friend, or colleague, or in simply taking the time to better the lives of those who are worse off. Since these various social virtues tend toward the benefit of others, and aim directly at that, Hume concludes that the utility of “the social virtues, forms, at least, a part of their merit,” and elicits moral approbation (EPM 2.8). Just as we praise useful machines, clothing, homes, and generally anything that improves comfort, convenience, or happiness, while we feel an aversion to what tends to have a “baneful influence,” with morality too, “this circumstance of public utility is ever principally in view” (EPM 2.9–10, 17). When he turns to justice, rather than focusing on the various virtues of justice (which include fidelity, justice, veracity, and integrity) to ascertain why their “very names force an avowal of their merit,” Hume instead examines the circumstances that make justice both possible and necessary for us (EPM 3.48, 6.21). Why does Hume shift his focus to the circumstances of justice?

Sympathy and the Sources of Moral Sentiment

157

In beginning his examination of benevolence, Hume notes that it might be superfluous to show that we consider this set of social virtues estimable and worthy of our good-will and approbation. But it is not a superfluous task to establish that part of their merit lies in their usefulness, thus Hume sets out to persuade us that in promoting the well-being of others the benevolent qualities prove to be useful. Given the standing of justice as a social virtue and the evident benefit of the rules of justice, and by analogy with what has been established regarding the usefulness of benevolence, it is superfluous to show that justice is valued at least in part for its utility. The questions to ask regarding justice are whether “public utility is the sole origin of justice,” and whether our “reflections on the beneficial consequences of this virtue are the sole foundation of its merit” (EPM 3.1). Hume argues for an affirmative answer to both questions by setting out the unique circumstances of human beings that make justice not simply useful but entirely necessary to the support of society.3 The three sets of circumstances allow Hume to draw several conclusions regarding human nature. First, we lack abundant resources and an overly generous nature. Our limited benevolence prompts us to take up the good of some others, for example within marriage and families where goods are shared in common. But sharing resources on a wider scale and at one’s own expense is inconsistent with human nature. Hence, the rules of justice are necessary to facilitate coordination and cooperation in society. Second, in circumstances such as those of extreme scarcity, or a prevalent “desperate rapaciousness” among people – the kind of circumstances we might face in a state of violent lawlessness – considerations of self-preservation override those of justice. The rules of justice, Hume concludes, depend on our particular situation, and arise from the utility resulting to society “from their strict and regular observance” (EPM 3.12). We learn from and can reflect on the advantages of “more equitable conduct,” of combining our forces for security, and our “art, labor, and industry” to meet needs for material resources. In particular, providing incentives to art and industry makes property necessary. Taking these considerations together, we can conclude that “justice derives its usefulness to the public: And hence alone arises its merit and obligation” (EPM 3.13). The third set of circumstances emphasizes the fact of human interdependence. We are neither completely self-sufficient nor so dependent upon each other that we cannot, in principle, make felt the effects of resentment for what we perceive as unjust treatment. Although sociability remains limited, we accept the fact of our interdependence, as 3

For a detailed and helpful account, see Hope (2010).

158

jacqueline taylor

can be seen in intimate partnerships and the raising of children, and in our establishing rules for collective life in the family. As families join together, the rules of justice that help preserve peace, order, and security expand their scope; as society increases, so do the rules that make possible greater “convenience and advantage.” This “natural progress of human sentiments” includes “the gradual enlargement of our regards for justice, as we become acquainted with the extensive utility of that virtue” (EPM 3.21). Justice is absolutely necessary for the support of society, and Hume’s surveying of the circumstances of justice establishes its sole origin in its public utility. Hume points to the complexity of justice, including the laws regarding property, contract, and the various institutions of justice, to argue against our possessing any instinctive sentiment of justice. We teach the importance of a regard for justice (and perhaps in particular for such qualities as honesty or fidelity), and can reflect on the harmful consequences of rampant disorder and injustice. The sole source of the merit of justice derives from our reflections on its utility, and that utility suffices for our moral esteem for it and our blame of injustice. Two further points have relevance for Hume’s discussion of the utility of the social virtues in these sections of EPM. The first concerns the role of reasoning and reflection on experience, including history, in common life for establishing and assessing the utility of actions and practices. The second concerns Hume’s appeal to the energy and force of utility in commanding moral esteem. Regarding the first, we saw Hume assert in Section 2 that we often have in view public utility when we are determining the best course of moral action, including reflection on accepted practices regarding specific forms of benevolence such as charitable giving. The matter of establishing “the true interests of mankind” becomes crucial, particularly when people begin disputing the tendencies of some particular practice or policy. Acquiring greater experience of the tendencies of actions on society can help to reveal false appearances, allowing us to engage in “sounder reasoning” and gain “juster notions of human affairs” (EPM 2.17). Hume provides examples of practices such as giving alms and of persons such as liberal princes, where a continuing regard for particular actions as meritorious depends on background conditions such as opportunities for work or economic conditions across social strata. Direct charitable giving often relieves the burden of those who do not have much, but if they rely solely on charity and fall into “idleness and debauchery . . . we regard that species of charity rather as a weakness than a virtue” (EPM 2.18). Likewise, the liberality of leaders may result in admired magnificence, but when it benefits “prodigal” wastrels rather than hardworking men and women, we no longer praise such displays. In other examples,

Sympathy and the Sources of Moral Sentiment

159

private or public policies are revised in the light of reflection on history and experience. Tyrannicide, perhaps one of the few options in ancient times for getting rid of oppressive leaders, may be replaced in the modern age with more formal measures for deposing a bad leader. As societies become more prosperous, we find that the production and trade of luxury goods, in furthering arts and industry, encourage civil refinement, sociability, and increased opportunities for education and increasing the stock of knowledge. Thus reflection and reasoning lead us to “adjust anew the boundaries of moral good and evil,” and “regulate anew” our moral sentiments of praise or censure (EPM 2.17, 2.21). Hume presents these cases to illustrate how collective reasoning and reflection on experience or history can prompt us to adjust moral and political habits, along with our sentiments. While Hume no longer leans heavily on the principles of association, which he had introduced in the Treatise as “gentle forces” analogous to physical forces in nature, his experimental method in EPM still appeals to the notion of force. We can begin to see the significance of this by reviewing some of the points just made, and I will elaborate on them in light of the appeal to force or energy. At the conclusion of Section 2, in seeking to establish a common circumstance among the social virtues, Hume’s approach leads him to continue investigating the extent to which utility serves as a source of merit as he turns to the virtues of justice. He concludes “that nothing can bestow more merit” on someone than “an eminent degree” of benevolence, and that part of its merit derived from that virtue’s “beneficial tendencies” or usefulness (EPM 2.22). Hume takes his argument thus far to have shown that utility has “a command over our esteem and approbation” (EPM 2.23). In the concluding paragraph of Section 3, he has argued that utility comprises “a considerable part of the merit” of the virtues of benevolence, and is “the sole source of the merit” ascribed to the virtues of justice (EPM 3.48). He explicitly connects this circumstance of usefulness with force and energy. Reminding us of the disorder that would result from the absence of justice and hence of the necessity of public utility, he writes that we have attained a knowledge of the force of that principle here insisted on . . .. The necessity of justice to the support of society is the sole foundation of that virtue; and since no moral excellence is more highly esteemed, we may conclude, that this circumstance of usefulness has, in general, the strongest energy, and most entire command over our sentiments. (EPM 3.48)4 4

In the Treatise, Hume made clear that the virtues elicit sentiments of approbation that have qualitative differences (T 3.4.2). The terms we use for benevolent qualities – humane, friendly, generous, and so on – “universally express the highest merit, which human nature is capable of

160

jacqueline taylor

Hume’s appeal to the force and energy of utility is not simply a resort to figurative language. Rather, the force of utility in procuring our approval of the social virtues will also explain our approval of other useful mental qualities, namely those useful to oneself. This reasoning is consistent with the experimental method: “It is entirely agreeable to the rules of philosophy, and even of common reason; where any principle has been found to have a great force and energy in one instance, to ascribe to it a like energy in all similar instances. This indeed is Newton’s chief rule of philosophizing” (EPM 3.48). Hume can now turn to consider why utility has such a command over our esteem and approval.

8.2

Humanity and Our Praise of Utility

In addition to ascribing force to utility, as that aspect of mental qualities or virtues (namely, their beneficial tendencies) commanding our esteem, Hume also speaks of two principles of the mind, self-love and humanity, as having energy or force. In Section 5, which examines why utility pleases, the argument is, in part, about finding the source of our approval in sympathy and humanity rather than self-love (the argument has an echo in Section 9, where self-love may have force but lacks “a proper direction” required for the foundation of morals [EPM 9.5]). Hume begins by showing how in common life we praise the usefulness of various things, such as ships and buildings, as well as the social virtues. Yet philosophers seem reluctant to give utility a central role—perhaps, Hume hypothesizes, because, except for the skeptics and selfish theorists, they have found it difficult to account for the influence utility has. The public utility of the social virtues is a source of their merit, and given that the utility of these virtues lies in their promoting some beneficial end, for example others’ well-being or social order, that we find agreeable, the end “must please, either from considerations of self-interest, or from more generous motives and regards” (EPM 5.4). Regarding the case for self-love, Hume writes, “Self-love is a principle in human nature of such extensive energy, and the interest of each individual is, in general, so closely connected with that of the community,” that a number of philosophers “fancied, that all our concern for the public might be resolved into a concern for our own attaining.” They elicit not simply our approbation, but also “good-will” and “favourable and affectionate sentiments” (EPM 2.1, 2.5). Because of the “extensive utility” of justice and its absolute necessity, “no moral excellence is more highly esteemed” (EPM 3.21, 3.48). The amiability of the benevolent character engages our amiable sentiments, while we extend a more sober esteem to the regard for justice.

Sympathy and the Sources of Moral Sentiment

161

happiness and preservation” (EPM 5.16). His response to the selfish theory has two parts: first, both experience and reflection on our own judgments show that we approve of meritorious characters and actions, such as those in the past, that can have no bearing on our own interest or happiness; second, if the usefulness of the social virtues “be not always considered with a reference to self,” and we allow that we are not indifferent to the interests of others and society, then another, more social affection must account “in great part, for the origin of morality” (EPM 5.17). A significant part of Hume’s aim in EPM is to show that, despite the force of self-love, humanity is itself a principle with force, not only in exerting a powerful influence on our moral sentiments, but also, at least sometimes, in countering self-interest. I first consider the main features of the argument in Section 5, where Hume begins to connect the principle of humanity with morality. I will then review how Hume makes the case for humanity as the foundation of morality, and the case for the force of this principle. In EPM, Hume uses a number of terms in referring to what he called sympathy in the Treatise. These include the principle or sentiment of humanity, the benevolent principle, fellow-feeling, social sympathy, and sympathy. As in the Treatise, sympathy explains our interest in the emotions and situations of others, including historical and fictional persons, persons distant from us, and our capacity to communicate our emotions to one another, or as Hume sometimes puts it, to experience in ourselves correspondent movements with others’ pains or pleasures. Rather than appealing, as he did in the Treatise, to an idea or impression of the self that facilitates our sympathy with others by enlivening ideas of others’ emotions and converting them into our own felt response, Hume observes that there is no passion to which we are indifferent because we ourselves possess “the seeds and first principles” of all the passions (EPM 5.30). In Appendix 2, in a sentence reflecting that this discussion had previously been part of Section 2, Hume distinguishes between two kinds of benevolence: general and particular. Particular benevolence is founded on “some particular connexions” or relationships that we have with others, and pertains to how we are motivated by benevolence when we occupy the various roles surveyed in Section 2 such as that of partner, parent, friend, or leader. General benevolence, in contrast, is a “general sympathy” with others’ pains and pleasures. Hume writes that the sentiment of “general benevolence, or humanity, or sympathy, we shall have occasion frequently to treat of in the course of this enquiry,” thus marking a contrast between the various benevolent motives (see Section 8.1 in this chapter) that prompt us to act on others’ behalf and

162

jacqueline taylor

a general sympathetic concern (sometimes merely a “cool preference”) for the happiness or misery of others (EPM App. 2.5 n.60). Hume appeals to social sympathy to explain our approbation of the useful as well as immediately agreeable qualities, and I take it that social sympathy is the broader capacity for sympathy, considered as a capacity for communicating passions and sentiments. We should note, for example, that Hume finds “popular sedition, party zeal” among the “less laudable effects of this social sympathy in human nature” (EPM 5.35; see also 9.9 on “shared” passions as in factions or panics). In contrast, I shall argue that the principle of humanity is a particular form of that sympathy (when the moral sentiments with their source in humanity are “just,” we might say humanity is a more discerning or reflective form of sympathy). As I read Sections 5, 6, and 9 of EPM, Hume gives a specific sense to the principle or sentiment of humanity. When he introduces the term at 5.17 n.19 and 5.18 he equates it with sympathy or fellow-feeling as the capacity for communicating emotions. But as his argument proceeds, Hume uses the term humanity to refer to a particular reason-informed and reflective form of sympathy that informs our praise and blame of those mental qualities that have useful or pernicious tendencies. That is, we do not find reference to the principle or sentiment of humanity, as a source of approval or esteem, in connection with the immediately agreeable mental qualities or various personal advantages, such as wealth or strength (Section 6, Part II). In the final part of Section 5 (5.39–47), Hume sets out an argument that begins to establish humanity as the foundation of morality. We have already surveyed the evidence for sympathy as part of our nature, and established that sympathy and humanity give us an interest in our fellow human beings (EPM 5.18–38). A person who lacks sympathy because of “a cold insensibility, or narrow selfishness of temper” will also be “equally indifferent” to virtue or vice (except insofar as these qualities affect him) given that the social virtues and vices are those with beneficial or harmful tendencies, respectively. In contrast, another’s “warm concern for the interests of our species is attended with a delicate feeling of all moral distinctions; a strong resentment of injury done to men; a lively approbation of their welfare.” Most of us will lie somewhere on a continuum between cold indifference and warm concern.5 Hume suggests that those at the warmer end will show “a great superiority” in perceiving “distinctions of moral good and evil,” although most of us “unavoidably feel some propensity to the good of mankind, and make it an object of choice, if 5

Hanley (2011) stresses the significance of humanity and a “cool preference.”

Sympathy and the Sources of Moral Sentiment

163

every thing else be equal.” Hume indicates that the principles of humanity have a role in our deliberation, choice, and action, but if they do not have an influence there, “they must, at all times, have some authority over our sentiments, and give us a general approbation of what is useful to society, and blame of what is dangerous or pernicious.”6 Thus, the “reality” of the existence of the moral sentiments “must be admitted, in every theory or system” (EPM 5.39). While those who are naturally cold or selfish may be indifferent to moral distinctions, an absolutely malicious person “must be worse than indifferent” and prefer that we be vicious and harmful to one another. Hume insightfully suggests that “unprovoked, disinterested malice” does not exist in human nature, but rather malice and cruelty stem from other passions such as fear or resentment (EPM 5.40). As in the Treatise, Hume acknowledges that in cases involving our own interests, our sentiments will be more strongly felt. This is not necessarily because self-interest has greater force, but rather because it is natural to feel gratitude, good-will, or love, for example, as well as moral approbation toward someone who benefits us or takes our side when we declaim against another’s injustice toward us. Despite this complex of feelings and sentiment, judgment “corrects the inequalities of our sentiments” so that we attend to the merit or demerit, just as it focuses our moral attention on “the tendencies of actions and characters, not their real accidental consequences” (EPM 5.41, 5.41 n.24). Hume mentions in the Treatise our moral conversations and social intercourse. In EPM, these conversations allow us to gain familiarity with the “general preferences and distinctions” that “arise from the general interests of the community,” and from this more general and shared perspective we employ a moral discourse that contrasts with “the language of self-love” and allows us to make ourselves “intelligible” to one another (EPM 5.42, 9.6). In a significant departure from the argument of the Treatise, it is this communication of our sentiments from a shared point of view, rather than sympathy with those affected by someone’s character, that “makes us form some general unalterable standard, by which we may approve or disapprove of characters and manners,” a standard “founded chiefly on general usefulness” (EPM 5.42, 5.42 n.25).7 Hume offers two final arguments in this section – one he characterizes as a priori and the other as a posteriori. If we take what we know from 6

7

Hume’s use of the plural “principles” likely includes both benevolent motives and what we saw referred to in the previous paragraph as general benevolence or the principle of humanity. On moral deliberation and humanity see EPM App. 1.11–12. See T 3.3.1.18 and 3.3.1.30 for details of how our sympathy with those affected by the tendencies of character traits establishes the standard of virtue.

164

jacqueline taylor

experience and observation about the principles of human nature, which includes the principle of humanity (or the “benevolent principle”), we can a priori conclude that we cannot be absolutely indifferent to the happiness or misery of humankind, and must think of beneficial tendencies as good, and harmful ones as evil “without any farther regard or consideration.” We thus find here “the faint rudiments, at least, or outlines, of a general distinction between actions”; moreover, a concern for others increases depending on the strength of someone’s humanity, her connection with those involved, or her nearness to the case in time or place, and can convert a “cool approbation . . . into the warmest sentiments of friendship and regard” (EPM 5.43). Our capacity to sympathize with the beneficial tendencies someone’s character has for others is sufficient for our finding that character praiseworthy without recourse to some fact of an independent goodness or conformity to a rule of right. In the a posteriori case, we “reverse these views and reasonings” and consider that the merit of the social virtues derives from the sentiments grounded in humanity. Observation and experience show us that utility “is a source of praise and approbation; That it is constantly appealed to in all moral decisions concerning the merit and demerit of actions”; is the sole source of our approbation of justice and “inseparable from” the social virtues of benevolence; and so “is a foundation of the chief part of morals, which has a reference to mankind and our fellow-creatures” (EPM 5.44). Our “general approbation” of the social virtues cannot derive from self-interest, “but has an influence much more universal and extensive”; these virtues affect our “benevolent principles” and elicit our approbation, and indeed, “humanity and sympathy enter so deeply into all our sentiments, and have so powerful an influence, as may enable them to excite the strongest censure and applause.” “The present theory,” Hume concludes, “is the result of all these inferences,” each founded on our shared experience and observation (EPM 5.45). Hume has not yet concluded that humanity is the foundation of morality. He has stated that utility is a foundation of the chief part of morals, and I take him to mean here that utility is a merit-conferring feature of the social virtues, which through our humanity we find praiseworthy.8 (In my conclusion [Section 8.5] I will return to the question of what Hume means by “the chief part of morals.”) In Section 6, Hume turns to examine those qualities that are either beneficial or prejudicial to the person who possesses them. The case against 8

Utility is the sole merit-conferring feature of justice; the benevolent virtues also convey an immediate agreeableness. Hume’s phrasing regarding utility and merit was not lost on early critics who read him as making utility the foundation of morality; see Fieser (1999).

Sympathy and the Sources of Moral Sentiment

165

the selfish theory has greater purchase here, since experience shows that we approve of useful qualities beneficial to the agent herself. Connecting her happiness or well-being with her character diffuses “over our minds a pleasing sentiment of sympathy and humanity” (EPM 6.3). If there were beings with no concern for their fellow-creatures, they would be completely indifferent to either others’ happiness or their misery. But with a human being, There is to him a plain foundation of preference, where every thing else is equal; and however cool his choice may be, if his heart be selfish, or if the persons interested be remote from him; there must still be a choice or distinction between what is useful, and what is pernicious. Now this distinction is the same in all its parts, with the moral distinction, whose foundation has been so often, and so much in vain enquired after. The same endowments of the mind, in every circumstance, are agreeable to the sentiment of morals and to that of humanity; the same temper is susceptible of high degrees of the one sentiment and of the other; and the same alteration in the objects, by their nearer approach or connexions, enlivens the one and the other. By all the rules of philosophy, therefore, we must conclude, that these sentiments are originally the same; since, in each particular, even the most minute, they are governed by the same laws, and are moved by the same objects. (EPM 6.5)

That the sentiments of humanity are the moral sentiments establishes humanity as the foundation of morality. The appeal to the rules of philosophy leads Hume to draw an analogy with natural philosophy: the scientist draws the inference that the same force of gravity keeps the moon in its orbit and makes bodies fall to earth “because these effects are, upon computation, found similar and equal.” Since useful mental qualities have the same effects on the sentiments of humanity and morality, the moral argument that they are the same principle must “bring as strong conviction, in moral as in natural disquisitions” (EPM 6.6). The argument in the first part of Section 9 affirms humanity as the “foundation of morals,”9 drawing a contrast between humanity and self-love, and emphasizing the force that humanity and the moral sentiments have. Morality is possible for us because we possess this principle or sentiment of humanity, and its favoring of general usefulness and disfavoring of general harmfulness gives us a clear distinction between humanity and self-love. This distinction shows up in the different vocabularies of the language of self-love and that 9

Hume adds here “or of any general system of morals,” and his appeal to a general system reminds us that our praise of the immediately agreeable qualities arises from a more immediate sympathy rather than from humanity.

166

jacqueline taylor

of morality, with only the latter giving us the terms that “express those universal sentiments of censure or approbation” (EPM 9.8).10

8.3

The Force of Humanity

Over the course of Sections 5, 6, and 9, Hume also builds the case for the force of humanity. This is important for two reasons: humanity’s force gives authority to our moral sentiments; and that same force can also control selflove in our evaluation and deliberation. It is helpful to survey the various statements about the force of humanity and sympathy, since they both show the importance of this notion of force or energy for Hume’s argument, and help us understand the implications of the argument for the authority of humanity, as I have interpreted Hume’s use of the term. The first reference to the force of humanity occurs when Hume introduces sympathy and humanity (EPM 5.18). He asks, “Have we any difficulty to comprehend the force of humanity and benevolence?” (EPM 5.18).11 Experience shows us the important role sympathy has in connecting us and making us responsive to others and their feelings and situations, engaging us with the characters of fiction, and with events and persons in the news and history. Its force connects us with one another on the level of emotion, sentiment, and opinion, giving meaning and depth to our feelings.12 Given that our sentiments and beliefs embody our values, sympathy gives us important sources of identification with one another; conversely, our antipathy when we find ourselves unable to sympathize with another’s values is a source of division.13 We saw in Section 8.2 that the principle of humanity always exerts some authority over our moral sentiments, with praise for the useful and blame for the pernicious. What makes the usefulness of the social virtues praiseworthy cannot derive from self-love, which naturally has a partial take on what or 10 11

12

13

On the importance of moral language in EPM, see King (1976). Here the force of humanity contrasts with the sense of force relevant to sympathy in the Treatise. In the earlier work, force was the work of imagination in converting an idea into an impression – that is, a passion – because of the lively idea of self. In EPM, in contrast, “It is needless to push our researches so far as to ask, why we have humanity or a fellow feeling with others. It is sufficient, that this is experienced to be a principle in human nature” (EPM 5.17 n.18). Its force engages our concern, and gives us a general preference for others’ happiness over their misery. As Hume put it in the Treatise: “Whatever other passions we may be actuated by; pride, ambition, avarice, curiosity, revenge or lust; the soul or animating principle of them all is sympathy; nor wou’d they have any force, were we to abstract entirely from the thoughts and sentiments of others” (T 2.2.5.15). Shared identity may not be a good thing, as Hume recognizes when he points out that sedition, zeal, and blind obedience comprise some of the “less laudable effects of this social sympathy” (EPM 5.35; see also EPM 9.9).

Sympathy and the Sources of Moral Sentiment

167

who is useful. Rather, the useful tendencies of character traits have “an influence much more universal and extensive,” appealing to and engaging the principle of humanity (EPM 5.45). To the skeptic who might suppose it doubtful that we have a principle of humanity or concern for others, Hume points to the numerous instances where we freely approve of what tends to the interest of society, pointing to “the force of the benevolent principle” since our approval signals our satisfaction with the end to which useful traits tend (EPM 5.46). Hume observes, “it appears, as an additional confirmation, that these principles of humanity and sympathy enter so deeply into all our sentiments, and have so powerful an influence, as may enable them to excite the strongest censure and applause” (EPM 5.45). We saw that Hume equates the sentiments of praise and blame arising from humanity with the moral distinctions of praiseworthy or blameworthy. Just as the natural philosopher infers that there is one force of gravity given the similar effects observed, we can infer from our praise and blame that humanity is the force that serves as a source of our moral sentiments. Because the shared moral point of view and moral language help us to articulate our expectations of one another, we find that the “universal principles” of morality can control and limit “the particular sentiments of self-love” (EPM 9.8). Hume draws a threefold distinction here regarding utility: our idea or view of utility can be private, regulated by self-love, or social but partial as we see in the case of factions, or social, public, and general and governed by humanity. Acknowledging that we are not always selfish, but often join in causes with others, removes another obstacle to accepting that the moral sentiments, “which may appear, at first sight, somewhat small and delicate,” are in fact “social and universal: They form, in a manner, the party of human kind against vice or disorder, its common enemy.” While selfish passions may be “originally stronger,” they can be “overpowered” by the force of “those social and public principles” (EPM 9.9). Finally, our love of fame is a part of our nature that gives “a great addition of force” to the moral sentiments. Our “earnest pursuit of a character, a name, a reputation in the world” requires us to regard ourselves as others do so that we cultivate a “constant habit of surveying ourselves, as it were, in reflection,” and apply the moral sentiments to our own character and conduct. The cultivation of the sense of right and wrong “begets, in noble natures, a certain reverence for themselves as well as others; which is the surest guardian of every virtue” (EPM 9.10). Hume’s morality thus emphasizes “the force of many sympathies” in forming the party of humankind, and the capacity of our own moral sentiments to correspond with those of others or elicit similar sentiments in them (EPM 9.11).

168

jacqueline taylor

8.4 Utility and Immediate Agreeableness: Commonality and Differences The moral sentiments deriving from the principle or sentiment of humanity notably contrast with the moral sentiments that arise from sympathy with immediately agreeable or disagreeable aspects of qualities, where Hume describes the operation of sympathy as a kind of contagion (EPM 7.2, 7.21). We are struck, for example, with the immediately agreeable aspects of someone’s greatness of mind, his “elevation of sentiment, disdain of slavery” and “noble pride and spirit,” in a way that “excites our applause and admiration” (EPM 7.4). While courage is useful, it also has for the courageous person a “peculiar lustre, which it derives wholly from itself, and from that noble elevation inseparable from it”; the artistic characterization of the sublimity of courage “diffuses, by sympathy, a like sublimity of sentiment over every spectator” (EPM 7.11). Philosophical tranquility, particularly among the ancients, has a “grandeur . . . which seizes the spectator, and strikes him with admiration” (EPM 7.16). At the conclusion of Section 7, Hume refers to “the several species of merit, that are valued for the immediate pleasure, which they communicate” to us, without regard to useful or beneficial tendencies. To be sure: “This sentiment of approbation” is “similar to that other sentiment, which arises from views of a public or private utility. The same social sympathy, we may observe, or fellow-feeling with human happiness or misery, gives rise to both; and this analogy, in all the parts of the present theory, may justly be regarded as a confirmation of it” (EPM 7.29).14 Immediate agreeableness for oneself or for others forms the other “species” of morality. The pleasures of the immediately agreeable qualities help to support our “interested obligation” to virtue (EPM 9.14). For the benevolent person, for example, “the immediate feeling” of her kindness is for her “sweet, smooth, tender, and agreeable,” while the recipients and observers of her beneficence, to whom these feelings are communicated, experience “the purest and most satisfactory enjoyment” (EPM 9.21, 7.19). Thus, our capacity for sympathy is the ultimate source of all the moral sentiments, as well as nonmoral sentiments such as the esteem paid to the wealthy or the admiration of physical strength or beauty (the poor or weak, Hume suggests, are not blamed but pitied or contemned). 14

In Part II of Section 6, Hume argues “that every kind of esteem” that we pay to one another “will have something similar in its origin” (EPM 6.23). That origin is our capacity for sympathy, and in making the case for our “regard for the rich and powerful,” Hume emphasizes that self-love is here “insufficient” (EPM 6.30). It is, rather, the wealthy person’s communicating his enjoyment to us that through our sympathy with him elicits our regard.

Sympathy and the Sources of Moral Sentiment

169

The key difference between the moral sentiments deriving from utility and humanity and those that arise in response to what has immediate agreeableness turns on the essential role of reason for the former.15 Let me emphasize this: for humanity to serve as the foundation of morality, it must be the principle of humanity assisted by reason; to see this is to appreciate Hume’s point “that reason and sentiment concur” with respect to this class of moral distinctions and determinations (EPM 1.9).16 Hume signals this early in Section 1 with an analogy between natural or artistic beauty and moral beauty. Some responses to beauty are immediate: “some species of beauty, especially the natural kinds, on their first appearance, command our affection and approbation”; here reason and argument typically fail to change our response from the one we naturally have. “But in many orders of beauty, particularly those of the finer arts, it is necessary to employ much reasoning to feel the proper sentiment; and a false relish may frequently be corrected by argument and reflection.” The agreeable mental qualities that immediately strike, dazzle, or charm us are like the natural beauties, whereas the useful qualities are a form of moral beauty the assessment of which “demands the assistance of our intellectual faculties, in order to give it a suitable influence on the human mind” (EPM 1.9). Social sympathy can arouse in us immediate emotional responses similar if not identical to those in the persons with whom we sympathize: in common cause or panics we kindle “in the common blaze” (EPM 9.9); we “melt . . . into the same fondness and delicacy” with the benevolent person (EPM 7.19); and as observers of the disagreeably irascible person, “we suffer by contagion and sympathy” (EPM 7.21). Hume cautions against an unreflective identification with some of the immediately agreeable qualities, such as heroic courage, and against blindly participating in the zeal of factions. With an immediate sympathy and admiration, we may fail to consider the future consequences of someone’s martial temper or the zeal of the collective cause. In martial societies, in particular, the need to maintain a warlike stance can extinguish humanity, suggesting that a shared sense of humanity is a collective moral achievement, and also a fragile human good. As I noted in Section 8.2, I take Hume to be using the term humanity when it indicates the principle or sentiment of humanity, rather than 15 16

See also Chapter 7 in this volume. In a recent article critical of my reading of Hume on humanity (in Taylor, 2013, 2015b), Pitson (2019) argues that the reliance of humanity on reasoning, and on the need for judgment to correct the inequalities of sentiment, implies that humanity cannot play the role of the foundation of morals. Pitson misses Hume’s point that humanity and reason must ally if humanity is to discern accurately and respond appropriately to its proper object.

170

jacqueline taylor

a benevolent motive, in a restricted sense. Despite a shared origin in social sympathy, humanity differs, both in its object and its operation, from the contagious and unreflective responses to the immediately agreeable or disagreeable (aspects of) mental qualities. As a response to the useful or harmful qualities of our characters that affect our own or others’ happiness or misery, we come to regard ourselves as having a stake in making accurate assessments about the tendencies of these qualities, hence Hume’s stress on the importance of conversation, of reasoning and feeling together, and of making ourselves intelligible to one another. Section 1 emphasizes this role for reasoning: the need for precise distinctions, accurate comparisons and analogies, the discerning and fixing of facts, and drawing “just conclusions.” This reasoning paves the way in order to give humanity “a proper discernment of its object” (EPM 1.9). Humanity and its sentiments of praise and blame are not unreflective feelings. Really to prefer happiness over harm requires that humanity is informed by reflection on experience and reasoning about which tendencies of qualities, and under which conditions, will produce happiness or harm and in what degree. We saw the role for this kind of reasoning even with respect to the virtues of benevolence, where we may need to adjust our conduct in order appropriately to benefit others. According to Hume, careful reasoning is particularly crucial in the case of justice.17 In addition to each person’s regard for it, a large part of justice consists in various conventions and institutions, including laws and courts, security and protection of police or military, and political leadership, and since the advantage of justice lies in its continued practice over time, an “accurate reason or judgment” about law or policy requires the reasoned debates of legal theorists, as well as “the precedents of history and public records” (EPM App. 1.2). Our moral judgments are not conclusions or inferences from some set of facts, but rather a response to those facts; our praise or blame consists in “an active feeling and sentiment” given the evidence reason has set before us (EPM App. 1.11). While “reason instructs us in the several tendencies of actions,” we need humanity to favor and prefer “those which are useful and beneficial” (EPM App. 1.3).

8.5

Conclusion: Utility, Humanity, and the “Chief Part of Morals”

In this chapter, I have reconstructed Hume’s argument to establish that humanity has the force and authority to provide the foundation of 17

See Chapter 3 in this volume.

Sympathy and the Sources of Moral Sentiment

171

morals.18 Humanity also has the force to counter self-love, and Hume’s argument on this score seeks to remove self-love as a contender for the source of our praise and blame. I contrasted the sentiments deriving from humanity with those that stem from sympathy immediately or less reflectively, and argued that the former moral sentiments require reasoning to discern and distinguish the useful tendencies from the harmful with respect to the qualities that comprise a person’s merit or demerit. I end with one suggestion regarding Hume’s claim in Section 5 that utility comprises the “chief part of morals.” According to the Oxford English Dictionary (online), the primary meaning of “chief,” when used as an adjective particularly during the time when Hume was writing, denotes “most important,” “influential,” or “active.” The OED cites Samuel Johnson’s 1752 assertion that “hope is the chief blessing of man,” and quotes Robert Boyle’s “not my chief design” (1661) and Lord Macaulay’s description of “the man who took the chief part in settling conditions.” “Chief” can refer to “main,” so that Hume may mean to indicate that useful mental qualities comprise the larger part of morals. But the OED’s prioritizing of chief as most important is suggestive for Hume’s argument about the importance of utility, and of humanity as a reason-informed source of our praise of utility. It is likewise suggestive about the importance of justice, for which utility is the sole origin and the sole foundation of that virtue’s merit. Our regard for justice, Hume argues in Section 3, becomes habitual, so that it takes reflection to recall the importance of justice for the support of society. That habit is rewarded, in the modern age, with the blessings of liberties, and the violation of it punished or decried if widespread and consonant with corruption. We might withstand a few parasites in the form of sensible knaves who simply wish to take advantage, but the rest of us do well to keep alive our sentiment of humanity and its role for us in the recognition of the importance of justice.19 18

19

Our moral language, which contrasts with that of self-love, reflects our recognition of our shared humanity. Insofar as moral language includes the terms we use for the immediately agreeable qualities, humanity serves as the foundation for all of morality despite the different species of merit and different kinds of moral sentiment. I thank Esther Kroeker for pressing me on this matter. I am grateful to Esther Kroeker and Margaret Watkins for very helpful comments.

chapter 9

Virtue and Moral Psychology in the Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals Lorraine L. Besser

9.1

Introduction

Hume’s Treatise is well known for its rich, detailed discussion of moral psychology, which precedes and informs its analysis of virtue. Within the Treatise, Hume examines how people engage with each other on a psychological level, and argues that virtue has its source in a subject’s sentimental reactions to the character traits she finds in others. While in the Treatise, Hume’s treatment of moral psychology is primary to his consideration of virtue, in the Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals (EPM), Hume’s focus shifts.1 Virtue takes centerstage within EPM, and discussion of moral psychology follows alongside discussion of virtue but not independent of it. Despite this shift in focus, the account of virtue Hume advances in EPM seems continuous with the account of virtue advanced in the Treatise. Hume thus seems to defend the same account of virtue between the two works, but if the Treatise account depends upon a moral psychology that seems to change between the two works, can the accounts really be the same? In this chapter, I examine the moral psychology of EPM in connection with Hume’s analysis of virtue. In particular, I consider whether the abbreviated discussions of moral psychology found within EPM can sustain its conception of virtue. I’ll argue that certain aspects of Hume’s analysis of virtue within EPM depend upon features of his moral psychology, and in particular the more robust form of sympathy, that are found within the Treatise. As we begin to reflect on Hume’s analysis of virtue, it will help to keep in mind that analyses of “virtue” involve both consideration of the discrete 1

Most notably, the structure of the Enquiries parallels the Treatise, with the significant omission of Part II of the Treatise in which Hume develops detailed analyses of the passions and the psychological mechanisms that support them prior to discussing virtue in Part III.

172

Virtue and Moral Psychology

173

character traits that we approve of as virtues (such as justice and generosity) and consideration of what, for Hume, it means to be a virtuous person on a more holistic level. A virtuous person, of course, has and exhibits virtues. But virtuous people also have a certain kind of regard toward virtue that comes to define their agency. They have a distinctive outlook on their relationships to others that is reflected within their character. Reflection on virtue thus involves reflection on how these components – character, agency, and virtues – work together within a virtuous person. This chapter proceeds as follows. In Section 9.2, I review the Treatise account of the virtuous person in an effort to understand what are, for Hume, the defining features of the virtuous person. In Section 9.3, I argue that this view of the virtuous person depends on the operations of sympathy and that the pressing question becomes whether or not Hume’s view of sympathy changes significantly between the Treatise and EPM. In Section 9.4, I explore the differences between the EPM and Treatise views of sympathy and then turn, in Section 9.5, to critically examine whether or not EPM’s account of sympathy can sustain this view. In Section 9.6, I argue that the account of sympathy developed in EPM cannot explain we approve of qualities that are immediately agreeable to ourselves and others, and Section 9.7 concludes with reflection on this limitation.

9.2 Virtue within the Treatise In the Treatise, Hume argues that the virtues are character traits that are useful/agreeable to oneself and others. He draws a distinction in the Treatise between the artificial virtues (including justice, fidelity, and chastity) and the natural virtues (including generosity and friendship) that gets somewhat complicated, but at their root, virtues are durable, stable traits that please us: “virtue is distinguished by the pleasure, and vice by the pain, that any action, sentiment or character gives us by the mere view and contemplation” when we reflect on those traits from a general point of view (T 3.1.2.11). He offers a four-fold framework for understanding how it is that virtues can please us; they please us in virtue of being useful or immediately agreeable to ourselves and others. We “reap a pleasure from the view of a character, which is naturally fitted to be useful to others, or to the person himself, or which is agreeable to others, and to the person himself” (T 3.3.1.30). Our approval of virtues arises as an immediate response to such traits, or through reflections on the usual effects those traits create.

174

lorraine l. besser

Because virtues are traits that others approve of, the virtues function to connect its possessor to others. A virtuous person is recognized by others who affirm and approve her possession of character traits that are useful or agreeable to herself and others. On Hume’s analysis, this begets a cyclical process in which the virtuous person begins to take pleasure in being recognized by others, and to take pride in her possession of virtue.2 This cycle helps to ensure she acts in ways that others approve of.3 In Besser (2010), I describe this cycle as creating a desire for pride-in-virtue that functions as a powerful motive for the virtuous person. Since possession of the virtues allows a person to take pride in and to enjoy her character, this pride amplifies her desire to be virtuous and serves as a sustaining motive to virtue. As an indirect passion, pride does not, and cannot, serve as the only motive toward virtue, but our desire for the pleasure of pride-in-virtue amplifies and supplements our overall motivation to be virtuous. Pride-in-virtue is a form of the extensive self-love Hume discusses in his analysis of the artificial virtues, and specifically in his discussion of justice. Here, he distinguishes between our original motives to the artificial virtues and our moral motives. He argues that the moral motive arises subsequent to the original motive and involves recognition of the overall importance of justice. In the context of this discussion he appeals to a form of extensive self-love that evolves through our interactions with others and increased recognition of the importance of the rules of justice to the maintenance of civil society and the well-being of its members. This suggests that the person who morally commits to the rules of justice does so because acting prosocially is itself part of her self-love. This is one instance of what Hume thinks to be true of the virtues in general, and of how the virtuous person sees the virtues: virtues generate the approval of others, and a virtuous person takes pleasure in being so approved; this pleasure generates a form of pride that motivates her to commit herself to the virtues. In the Treatise, the structure and status of the virtues thus makes it the case that the virtuous person takes pride in her character and experiences a form of enjoyment not available to those without virtue. This gives rise to 2

3

See, for example, T 2.2.2.9, T 2.1.7.7, T 3.1.2.5, T 3.3.1.2. There is such a tight connection between pride and virtue that Hume at one point suggests that virtue can be considered equivalent to the “power of producing love or pride,” for in every case, “we must judge of the one by the other; and may pronounce any quality of the mind virtuous, which causes love or pride” (T 3.3.1.3). Hume argues that “nothing can be more laudable, than to have a value for ourselves, where we really have qualities that are valuable. The utility and advantage of any quality to ourselves is a source of virtue, as well as its agreeableness to others; and ’tis certain, that nothing is more useful to us in the conduct of life, than a due degree of pride, which makes us sensible of our own merit and gives us a confidence and assurance in all our projects and enterprizes” (T 3.3.2.8).

Virtue and Moral Psychology

175

a picture of the motivational state of the virtuous person that is best understood as a form of extensive self-love. Through possession of virtuous traits, a virtuous person is able to take pride in her character; this is not her sole motive to virtue, for the virtues must all have natural springs, but her commitment to virtue is such that it can become a source of enjoyment for her.

9.3

Sympathy within the Treatise: Robust

The analysis in Section 9.2 highlights the important role the approval of others plays within the context of Hume’s theory of virtue; the approval of others not only defines which traits are virtuous, but also comes to play a larger and pivotal role in defining virtuous agency and the form of motivation distinctive to the virtuous person. Within the Treatise, sympathy plays an essential role in developing these connections. Let us now consider exactly how it does so. Hume describes sympathy within the Treatise as a principle of communication through which we come to experience the inclinations and sentiments of others (T 2.1.11.1). Throughout the Treatise, Hume emphasizes that the sympathetic communication of another’s passions shapes and enlivens how it is that we experience our own passions. Sympathy regulates our passions so as to bring them into harmony with others; sympathy thus has what we might helpfully understand as a normative effect. The operations of sympathy are straightforward. Through our interactions with others, we form an idea of their emotions. Sympathy then converts this idea into an impression, such that we feel the passion as if it were our own (T 2.1.11.3). The principles of association, and particularly resemblance, assist sympathy in its conversion: “The stronger the relation [of resemblance] is betwixt ourselves and any object, the more easily does the imagination make the transition, and convey to the related idea the vivacity of conception, with which we always form the idea of our own person” (T 2.1.11.5).4 Sympathy depends upon an initial resemblance that holds between all human minds, yet also builds upon this resemblance to both strengthen and reinforce it. 4

Notice that the resemblance in question appears to be resemblance between the idea we have of our self, and that we have of another, a point we see Hume emphasize again at T 2.1.11.8: “In sympathy there is an evident conversion of an idea into an impression. This conversion arises from the relation of objects to ourself. Ourself is always intimately present to us.” This dependence of sympathy on the possession of an idea of self leads Selby-Bigge to question whether or not sympathy is compatible with the “atomistic” psychology of EPM. See Selby-Bigge (1975); Vitz (2004) for discussion.

176

lorraine l. besser

Observing your struggles and the pain you experience, my initial act of sympathy leads me to find some sort of resemblance between us – at the very least, I know what pain feels like.5 When sympathy works to convert the idea I have of your pain into an impression I experience, and so feel as (my own) pain, it solidifies this resemblance, making me feel more strongly connected to you. With this framework in mind, let us consider some examples of how sympathy shapes an individual’s experience of her own passions. • Elizabeth is chatting with the other parents at a toddler playgroup when her son gets bitten by another kid. She needs no more than to witness the chagrin on her son’s face to feel his pain deeply, as if it were her own. In fact, when she sees her son able to shake it off and resume playing, while she still sits there, blood boiling in shock and anger, she realizes she feels the pain more deeply than her son. • While riding the chairlift, Mohammed sees a skier fall on an icy headwall and skid a good 20 feet down. All too familiar with the skier’s terror, Mohammed jumps in his seat and tries to avert his eyes from the skier in order to avoid feeling the terror. Unsuccessful, Mohammed feels so panicky that he freezes on that same headwall, finding himself unable to ski it. • Julie opens up to Amy about her partner’s infidelity and the anger she is experiencing toward him. Amy has been through a similar experience, yet with much less anger. After her talk with Julie, Amy finds within herself a new anger toward her former partner. Hume’s analysis of sympathy shows itself easily in these examples. All are contingent to some degree of resemblance. Elizabeth sees her son as an extension of herself, and her sympathetic interaction with him reinforces this. For all he knows, Mohammed has little in common with the skier (he can’t even tell whether it is a male or female underneath the helmet, facemask, and bulky layers) except that he is engaged in the same activity. This sole point of resemblance is enough to activate a contagion-like sympathy even against Mohammed’s efforts to avoid it by looking away. And, while Julie and Amy have had a longstanding but casual friendship, the revelation of deeper similarity between them creates a stronger degree of resemblance than either thought existed beforehand. Examples like 5

The contingency of sympathy to this initial resemblance creates challenges for sympathy’s operations in generating moral sentiments, for it means that we will sympathize more with those we feel closer to than those far away. This is why we must learn to sympathize from a general point of view that controls for our partialities. See Sayre-McCord (1994) for discussion.

Virtue and Moral Psychology

177

these are what lead Hume to claim “’tis obvious, that nature has preserv’d a great resemblance among all human creatures, and that we never remark any passion or principle in others, of which, in some degree or other, we may not find a parallel in ourselves” (T 2.1.11.4). In each of these examples, sympathy plays an important function in shaping one’s emotional responses and in bringing one’s emotional responses into harmony with others. Sympathetic interactions shape one’s own experience of the passions, both generating further resemblances between the parties and allowing the sympathizer to experience her passions in a subtle new light. Elizabeth’s sympathy with her son teaches her the pleasures of being so closely connected to another being, but also generates within her an uneasy anticipation of further pain and trauma that she opens herself up to in virtue of seeing her son as an extension of herself. Mohammed’s sympathy with the flailing skier literally causes him to panic and so to create the same situation for himself that he experienced vicariously while on the chairlift. Amy’s sympathetic exchange with Julie teaches her the appropriate emotional reaction to her own experience of infidelity and allows her to feel the proper anger toward that experience. These effects are the kinds of things Hume has in mind when he writes that sympathy is the animating force of all of our passions, without which they would not have any force: Every pleasure languishes when enjoyed apart from company, and every pain becomes more cruel and intolerable. Whatever other passions we may be actuated by; pride, ambition, avarice, curiosity, revenge or lust; the soul or animating principle of them all is sympathy; nor would they have any force, were we to abstract entirely from the thoughts and sentiments of others. (T 2.2.5.15)

Taking Hume as true to his word, let’s turn to consider the full power of sympathy by exploring the potential sympathy has to shape not only our passions, but also how we conceive of ourselves, and of our connections to others. We see this most clearly in Hume’s detailed analysis of pride, in the context of which Hume first discusses sympathy. No quality of human nature is more remarkable, both in itself and in its consequences, than that propensity we have to sympathize with others, and to receive by communication their inclinations and sentiments, however different from, or even contrary to our own. This is not only conspicuous in children, who implicitly embrace every opinion propos’d to them; but also in men of the greatest judgment and understanding, who find it very

178

lorraine l. besser difficult to follow their own reason or inclination, in opposition to that of their friends and daily companions. To this principle we ought to ascribe the great uniformity we may observe in the humours and turn of thinking of those of the same nation; and ’tis much more probable, that this resemblance arises from sympathy, than from any influence of the soil and climate, which, tho’ they continue invariably the same, are not able to preserve the character of a nation the same for a century together. A goodnatur’d man finds himself in an instant of the same humour with his company; and even the proudest and most surly take a tincture from their countrymen and acquaintance. A cheerful countenance infuses a sensible complacency and serenity into my mind; as an angry or sorrowful one throws a sudden damp upon me. Hatred, resentment, esteem, love, courage, mirth and melancholy; all these passions I feel more from communication than from my own natural temper and disposition. So remarkable a phaenomenon merits our attention, and must be trac’d up to its first principles. (T 2.1.11.2)

As an indirect passion, pride develops through a double relation of ideas (both of the cause and the object of pride) and impressions (both of the pleasing quality associated with the cause and the passion it resembles and produces).6 To illustrate, consider Sebastian, a landscaper, who takes pride in his work – say, a perfectly straight row of coordinated flowers. The idea he has of the flowers gives rise to an impression of pleasure and leads him to think of himself and how he is connected to his work; Sebastian thus forms an idea of himself as the object of pride. Yet Hume is careful to emphasize that the feelings of pleasure involved in pride must be “seconded” by others in order for pride to be well formed. Just as important as the initial feelings of pleasure one feels in thinking about a potential cause of pride are the opinions of others, who Hume believes must “second” the pleasing quality of that cause (T 2.1.11.1). The opinions of others serve as a secondary cause to the original, and have “an equal influence on the affections” (T 2.1.11.1). That the opinions of others are vital to the development of pride coheres with how we normally think about pride: all kinds of things give us pleasure, but this on its own doesn’t mean they are praiseworthy; for Hume, whether or not something is praiseworthy depends on how others respond to it. Sebastian finds pleasure in his landscaping work, yet if others find it painful, his feelings of pleasure won’t be seconded, and so will inhibit him from taking pride in his work. Hume’s emphasis on seconding 6

“That cause, which excites the passion, is related to the object, which nature has attributed to the passion; the sensation, which the cause separately produces, is related to the sensation of the passion: From this double relation of ideas and impressions, the passion is derived” (T 2.1.5.5).

Virtue and Moral Psychology

179

serves as a regulating mechanism in which the opinions of others reinforce the prideworthy quality of the object.7 Sympathy is vital to Hume’s explanation of how this seconding works, for sympathy communicates the approval of others. If others reflect on my potential cause of pride and feel pleasure, their pleasure reverberates and strengthens the pleasure I feel, leading me to feel pride. Yet if others reflect on my potential cause of pride and feel pain rather than pleasure, their pain clashes with my pleasure and calls it into question, thereby interfering with the production of pride.8 Given this role of sympathy, pride is a socially dependent passion. I genuinely feel pride only from causes whose quality is pleasing to myself and to others. Pride serves as one clear example of social referencing in which our sympathetic exchanges with others help realize and shape the direction of our passions. One’s pleasure in one’s work becomes tainted when one feels the pain of others’ disapproval. And while Hume spends the most time making explicit this effect with respect to pride, by no means is the effect limited to pride. Remember: “whatever other passions we may be actuated by . . . the soul and animating force is sympathy” (T 2.2.5.15). We’ve seen that within the Treatise, Hume maintains both that passions require sympathetic exchanges in order to be fully realized and that those sympathetic exchanges shape the direction of our passions. These claims have an undeniable effect upon our agency and the ways in which we are motivated. At a minimum, it means that the passions and consequent motives that drive us are themselves socially informed. Taylor (2015b) builds on this implication to argue that sympathy contributes to our social identities. Sympathetic interactions, she argues, cultivate a “sociocultural transmission of meanings and values” (Taylor, 2015b, pp. 39–40); these shared values inform our sense of self. Sympathy’s role in shaping our passions explains why our sense of self reflects the kind of commonality Taylor emphasizes: when Sebastian feels pride because others take pleasure in his work, this motivates him to keep producing work that others will find pleasing; conversely, when one feels embarrassed that one finds pleasure in a habit that others view with disapproval, this motivates one to change the habit. Subsequent actions

7 8

For further discussion of how this works, see Besser (2010). Hume’s distinction between a well-grounded pride and an “ill-grounded conceit” is instructive here (e.g., T 3.3.2.10). On my reading, pride is well grounded when it stems from causes whose pleasing quality is seconded by others. Conversely, pride is ill-grounded when it stems from causes whose pleasing quality is not seconded by others.

180

lorraine l. besser

and decisions will be unavoidably informed by these sympathetic interactions and the passions they have shaped. By drawing on sympathy, Hume is able to explain and develop a view of agency that is deeply prosocial without appealing to separate motives such as benevolence or humanity to explain our interest in others. Rather, informed by sympathy, self-love can explain why our interactions with others are so important to us. Hume is thus able to sustain the view of virtue he subsequently develops. Sympathy explains why we approve of traits that are useful and agreeable to ourselves and others. Likewise, sympathy plays a pivotal role in the development of pride-in-virtue and subsequent enjoyment of character: pride depends upon the quality of its causes generating a pleasure that others second; given that others second the pleasing quality of virtue, pride-in-virtue becomes a reliable and consistent source of pride. Given sympathy, developing virtue becomes a form of self-love, broadly construed.

9.4 Sympathy in EPM: Social Within the Treatise, sympathy functions to lessen the divisions between individuals. It connects people to one another on a psychological level and generates psychological interdependence. Our sympathetic connections strengthen and direct our passions, shape our interests, and help define our sense of self; in this way sympathy prompts individuals to develop an extensive form of self-love that is inclusive of others. Given these influences, sympathy shapes our agency, leading us to make choices that reflect the social feedback we’ve internalized. While this internalization certainly has the potential to operate in ways that have negative effects upon an individual (such as through the internalization of oppressive stereotypes and values), Hume seems optimistic that the social influences generated by sympathy will be conducive to creating a strong sense of sociability and to sustaining virtue. Within EPM, however, Hume devotes less explicit attention to sympathy and to moral psychology more generally. While Hume spends plenty of time in the Treatise detailing the exact mechanisms through which sympathy operates, in EPM Hume refers to sympathy but rarely elaborates, and mentions sympathy more often in conjunction with benevolence and humanity than on its own, suggesting he envisions a more limited role for sympathy within EPM. We see this difference illustrated in the first uses of sympathy within the Treatise as compared to EPM. In the Treatise, as we have seen, Hume first discusses sympathy in the context of analyzing pride (T 2.1.11.2), where he describes the importance

Virtue and Moral Psychology

181

of qualities of pride being seconded by others and introduces sympathy with a mix of awe and drama. In EPM, Hume first discusses sympathy in the context of discussing benevolence and motivating the appeal of benevolence as something that engages us. But I forget, that it is not my present business to recommend generosity and benevolence, or to paint, in their true colours, all the genuine charms of the social virtues. These, indeed, sufficiently engage every heart, on the first apprehension of them; and it is difficult to abstain from some sally of panegyric, as often as they occur in discourse or reasoning. But our object here being more the speculative, than the practical part of morals, it will suffice to remark, (what will readily, I believe, be allowed) that no qualities are more entitled to the general good-will and approbation of mankind than beneficence and humanity, friendship and gratitude, natural affection and public spirit, or whatever proceeds from a tender sympathy with others, and a generous concern for our kind and species. These, wherever they appear, seem to transfuse themselves, in a manner, into each beholder, and to call forth, in their own behalf, the same favourable and affectionate sentiments, which they exert on all around. (EPM 2.5)

These initial invocations of “sympathy” set the tone for Hume’s treatment of them in the respective works. And the differences are clear. Sympathy within the Treatise is a principle of communication through which the subject comes to feel the sentiments and inclinations of others – even when, as the passage makes clear, those communicated feelings conflict with one’s own, or cause the subject to feel pain. But sympathy within EPM takes second place to the social virtues of benevolence and humanity, which themselves proceed from a “tender sympathy with others.” While it isn’t immediately obvious from this passage exactly what Hume means by a “tender sympathy with others,” from the start we can see the contrast between the sympathy of the Treatise, which is a cause of both painful and pleasurable feelings and generates a wide range of motivation, and the sympathy of EPM, which stimulates “tender” feelings and a desire for the happiness of others. This trend continues throughout EPM, where at least half of the twenty-two uses of “sympathy” occur in conjunction with social virtues such as compassion, benevolence, and humanity or in the context of one’s reaction to the happiness of others.9 At one point Hume describes this form of sympathy as “social sympathy” (EPM 5.35). Let us take “social sympathy” to refer to the form of sympathy that both responds to the happiness of others and operates in conjunction with 9

EPM 2.5, 3.14, 5.20, 5.29, 5.34, 5.35, 5.41, 5.45, 5.1 n.18, 6.3, 6.1 n.26, 7.29, 9.12, App. 2 n.60 (twice), App. 3.2.

182

lorraine l. besser

virtues directed toward the good of others (for example, benevolence and humanity). Social sympathy is illustrated in the following passages: • “Cordial affection, compassion, sympathy, were the only movements with which the mind was yet acquainted” (EPM 3.14). • “Bring this virtue nearer, by our acquaintance or connexion with the persons, or even by an eloquent recital of the case; our hearts are immediately caught, our sympathy enlivened, and our cool approbation converted into the warmest sentiments of friendship and regard” (EPM 5.43). • “The ideas of happiness, joy, triumph, prosperity, are connected with every circumstance of his character, and diffuse over our minds a pleasing sentiment of sympathy and humanity” (EPM 6.3). • “Others enter into the same humour, and catch the sentiment, by a contagion or natural sympathy: And as we cannot forbear loving whatever pleases, a kindly emotion arises towards the person, who communicates so much satisfaction” (EPM 7.2). Social sympathy bears a positive direction; it responds to the happiness of others, is directed toward the happiness of others, and brings its subject satisfaction in the form of warmth and pleasure. Social sympathy certainly looks a whole lot like benevolence and humanity, and we can see from these passages why others have maintained that, in EPM, sympathy collapses into benevolence and humanity. For example, in his introduction to EPM, Selby-Bigge claims that within EPM, “sympathy is another name for social feeling, humanity, benevolence, natural philanthropy, rather than the name of the process by which the social feeling has been constructed out of non-social or individual feeling” (1975, p. xxvi).10 On this view, the sympathy of EPM is something more like a social feeling, as opposed to a principle of communication. 10

Others have argued that this interpretation makes too big a break with the Treatise account of sympathy, and that social sympathy maintains the cognitive mechanisms of sympathy within the Treatise while tying this mechanism to the social virtues of benevolence and humanity. Baier (2010), for example, reads humanity within EPM as derivative of sympathy. On this interpretation humanity is a form of sympathetic concern for all human beings that carries an impartiality that corrects the limitations of natural sympathy and benevolence. Debes (2007a, b) likewise turns to humanity for evidence of sympathy, arguing that humanity “functionally requires sympathy as a representational mechanism,” insofar as the disposition of humanity is activated only upon being presented with an affective object (2007b, p. 320). And Vitz (2004) maintains that the mechanism of sympathy is essential to the EPM treatment of benevolence, insofar as sympathy causes benevolent motivation.

Virtue and Moral Psychology

183

Others who do find evidence for the existence of sympathy qua principle of communication within EPM find its scope to be limited. Vitz, for example, argues that the mechanism of sympathy is reproduced within EPM such that “the concept of sympathy is substantially unchanged from the Treatise” (2004, p. 263), but goes on to note that its scope is limited. Within the Treatise the “range of desires actuated by the principle of sympathy is wider” than it is in EPM, and sympathy is the cause of good or bad motives, whereas in EPM Hume discusses it primarily in conjunction with good motives (2004, pp. 271–72). However, Vitz maintains that “it does not follow from the absence of an account of sympathy as the cause of ill-will [in EPM] that Hume intends the principle of sympathy to be a psychological mechanism that is solely inclined to benevolent desires” (2004, p. 272). I worry that Vitz is mistaken in this conjecture, and that Hume’s emphasis on social sympathy within EPM may entail that there has been a shift, whether intentional or not, within EPM’s account of sympathy. Within the Treatise, sympathy allows us to enter into all sentiments of another, be it the painful emotions of distress or the pleasurable emotions of joy: “As in strings equally wound up, the motion of one communicates itself to the rest; so all the affections readily pass from one person to another and beget correspondent movements in every human creature” (T 3.3.1.7). Sympathy allows us to receive by communication the inclinations and sentiments of others, “however different from, or even contrary to our own” (T 2.1.11.2): A cheerful countenance infuses a sensible complacency and serenity into my mind; as an angry or sorrowful one throws a sudden damp upon me. Hatred, resentment, esteem, love, courage, mirth and melancholy; all these passions I feel more from communication than from my own natural temper. (T 2.1.11.2)

It is because sympathy enters into such a range of sentiments that we are so impacted by the praise and blame of others, and consequently shaped by the opinions of others: Nothing is more natural than for us to embrace the opinions of others in this particular; both from sympathy, which renders all their sentiments intimately present to us; and from reasoning, which makes us regard their judgment, as a kind or argument for what they affirm. (T 2.1.11.9)

To play this kind of role, sympathy must be activated whenever we are presented with the lively sentiments of others; however, Vitz’s analysis of

184

lorraine l. besser

the mechanism of sympathy within EPM shows it be limited to responding to impacts to a person’s distress and/or happiness, and causing benevolent motivations. Vitz’s argument is important insofar as it provides evidence for thinking that Hume’s use of “sympathy” in EPM tracks a principle of communication consistent with Hume’s use of “sympathy” in the Treatise. But the limited context in which sympathy operates in EPM prioritizes benevolent motivation as the driving factor in how one responds and relates to others. This stands in sharp contrast with the Treatise view in which it is one’s sympathetic communication with others that drives how one responds and relates to others. Let’s turn now to consider Debes’ effort to establish the existence of sympathy, as a principle of communication, within EPM. He argues that sympathy activates our disposition to be benevolent, which is the sense of humanity: Sympathy provides the means by which we represent the passions and interests of others, and by which our innate humanity is affected. The sentiment of humanity, then, which actually engages us in the interests of mankind and society, must be understood as arising from the original disposition of humanity, via sympathy. It is only when the happiness of others is represented to us by sympathy, that this natural disposition towards benevolence raises a desire for their happiness and approval for what promotes it. (Debes, 2007a, p. 35)

The role Debes attributes to sympathy in EPM is largely parallel to Vitz’s analysis: both maintain that sympathy plays an important role in stimulating our desire for the happiness of others. While this is an important role, because sympathy is stimulated only in response to the distress and/or happiness of others, more work needs to be done to show that the robust sympathy of the Treatise can be found in EPM. Debes is too quick to maintain that “this implies that sympathy’s highlighted ethical role in the Treatise can be understood to have undergone no essential change in the EPM” (2007b, p. 320).11 11

In a subsequent paper, Debes (2007b) focuses on whether the theory of association that is so pivotal to the Treatise view of sympathy is also found within EPM. The detailed Treatise account of sympathy holds that our ideas of another’s passion become converted into an impression that we ourselves feel upon being related to the idea we have of ourselves. While Debes admits there is “no silver bullet in this matter” and seeks to “confirm the presumption of consistency”(2007b, pp. 325–26) already defended in Debes (2007a), his focus on the associative mechanism intrinsic to sympathy helps to bring greater clarity to the question of whether the mechanism of sympathy (as opposed to one aspect of its functional role) is consistent between the two works.

Virtue and Moral Psychology

185

Based on Hume’s EPM analysis alone, sympathy is social and serves as the source of benevolent motivation. While there are points at which Hume alludes to the more robust sympathy of the Treatise (such as in his discussion of poetry),12 where sympathy is treated consistently and with purpose, it is social sympathy. That social sympathy plays an important motivational role is clear – and I’ll say more about this in Section 9.5 – but because its scope is limited, social sympathy lacks the normative effects of sympathy within the Treatise. Let us turn now to consider how this limitation impacts the EPM analysis of virtue.

9.5

EPM’s Account of the Virtuous Person

I’ve suggested that the primary difference between the accounts of sympathy is that the EPM view of social sympathy lacks the normative effects the sympathy of the Treatise has upon the virtuous person. Hume’s Treatise account of sympathy suggests that sympathy is activated often, and that it serves as a basic principle of communication between people, making it the case that, at a minimum, we know when we are emotionally in tune with others and when we stand at odds with others. This feedback prompts us to find common ground and so regulates and shapes our experience of the passions. But if the social sympathy of EPM is activated only in response to the happiness or misery of others, then it feasibly lacks this regulating effect. It does provide us with an account of prosocial motivation – which is a major goal of EPM – but of a very different form than we find within the Treatise. Within EPM, social sympathy stimulates what seems to be a pure, other-regarding concern for the happiness of others. Sympathy’s role in this context is simply to alert us to the misery or happiness of others and so to trigger our concern for them. We do feel pleasure when considering the happiness of another (EPM 5.43, 6.3, 7.2), but, in an effort to distance his view from one based in self-love, Hume defines this pleasure in terms of sympathy and humanity and maintains that this pleasure frames and supports the social virtues of benevolence and humanity, which themselves serve as the primary motives toward prosocial behavior. This delivers a promising account of what drives the virtuous person and is consistent with Hume’s commitment in EPM to distance himself 12

Here, Hume writes that “All kinds of passion, even the most disagreeable, such as grief and anger, are observed, when excited by poetry, to convey a satisfaction, from a mechanism of nature, not easy to be explained” (EPM 7.26).

186

lorraine l. besser

from the “selfish schools” and to establish the existence of pure forms of caring about others as evidenced in benevolence and humanity. But there is indeed a shift here between EPM and the Treatise: in EPM sympathy triggers our benevolence and humanity, which serve as the primary motives of prosocial interaction; in the Treatise, sympathy creates a level of psychological interdependence in which one’s very happiness depends upon one’s interactions with others, making it the case that extensive self-love serves as a primary motive toward prosocial behavior. This shift in motivational pictures seems to be a conscious one, which Hume intends and of which he is fully aware. Yet the change in his view of sympathy that underwrites the motivational shift impacts further features of his understanding of the virtuous person, and it isn’t clear that he has recognized the full implications of it. To develop this line of criticism, I first turn to his EPM analysis of the virtues, and then to an analysis of virtuous agency.

9.6 Virtues As within the Treatise, in EPM Hume maintains the four-fold analysis of the virtues: virtues are those traits that are useful/agreeable to ourselves and others. In fact, we see in EPM an even greater commitment to this four-fold analysis, for Hume chooses to devote particular sections to each category of virtues. Section 5, “Why Utility Pleases,” explores why we praise qualities that are useful to others; Section 6, “Of Qualities Useful to Ourselves,” explores why we approve of qualities useful to ourselves; and Section 7, “Of Qualities Immediately Agreeable to Others,” and Section 8, “Of Qualities Immediately Agreeable to Ourselves,” tackle why it is that we feel an immediate pleasure when we observe these qualities in ourselves and others. Uniting Hume’s analysis of why we approve of the virtues is an appeal to the sentiments of humanity and benevolence and an effort to denounce self-love as the source of the virtues. Thus, for example, in his discussion of qualities useful to ourselves, he argues that self-love can “never” prompt a spectator’s esteem and approbation of them and suggests that sympathy and humanity explain this esteem and approval, insofar as “the ideas of happiness, joy, triumph, prosperity, are connected with every circumstance of his character, and diffuse over our minds a pleasing sentiment of sympathy and humanity” (EPM 6.3).13 13

Notice that “sympathy” in this passage clearly refers to social sympathy, activated by the idea of happiness.

Virtue and Moral Psychology

187

Hume’s emphasis on humanity and benevolence as driving our esteem for the virtues explains nicely why we approve of those traits that are useful to ourselves and others. Because those traits hold a direct relation to the misery or happiness of ourselves and others, social sympathy becomes activated, stimulates the sentiments of humanity and benevolence, and so generates the pleasing sentiment we associate with moral approbation. But Hume maintains that this process explains our approval of all of the virtues. As I’ll now argue, it is not clear that it does; specifically, I will argue that this view faces challenges in explaining our approval of qualities that are immediately agreeable to ourselves and others. In Section 7, Hume tries to make his case by emphasizing the similarities between our approval of qualities useful to ourselves and others, and of those we find immediately agreeable to others: These are some instances of the several species of merit, that are valued for the immediate pleasure, which they communicate to the person possessed of them. No views of utility or of future beneficial consequences enter into this sentiment of approbation; yet it is of a kind similar to that other sentiment, which arises from views of a public or private utility. The same social sympathy, we may observe, or fellow-feeling with human happiness or misery, gives rise to both. (EPM 7.29)

Here Hume claims the process is the same, but doesn’t show how it works. In Section 8, he undergoes detailed analysis of qualities immediately agreeable to others. These are qualities that “conciliate affection, promote esteem, and extremely enhance the merit of the person” (EPM 8.1). Yet, in his analysis, Hume focuses more on showing this category of virtues to be distinct from ones that are approved of insofar as they are useful than on explaining the nature of our approval of them. Thus, for example, he argues that we approve of another, because of his wit, politeness, modesty, decency, or any agreeable quality which he possess; although he be not of our acquaintance, nor has ever given us any entertainment, by means of these accomplishments. The idea, which we form of their effect on his acquaintance, has an agreeable influence on our imagination, and gives us the sentiment of approbation. (EPM 8.15)

While Hume hedges off further analysis of this particular instance of approbation, it is safe to say he takes our sentiment of humanity to be fundamental to it. His general observations of virtue and vice take humanity to be their driving source. In describing humanity, for example, he contends that: “This sentiment can be no other than a feeling for the happiness of

188

lorraine l. besser

mankind, and a resentment of their misery; since these are the different ends, which virtue and vice have a tendency to promote” (EPM App. 1.3). It isn’t clear that social sympathy can support and explain our approbation of qualities immediately agreeable to ourselves or others. These qualities are meant to solicit approval immediately, “abstracted from any consideration of beneficial tendencies. Rather, they immediately enhance the merit of the person, who regulates his behavior by them” (EPM 8.1). While it is clear that sympathy of the Treatise can explain this approval, for it is activated in response to all passions we are presented with, if we are limited to social sympathy that is activated by the happiness and misery of others, it is challenging to see how these traits would stimulate approval immediately.14 To explain our approval of qualities that are “immediately agreeable,” it seems we need to invoke the sympathy of the Treatise. And while we do see Hume invoking hints of the sympathy of the Treatise as he tries to explain this category in EPM, he doesn’t expand on them. In Section 7, for example, Hume invokes the language of contagion frequently found within the Treatise. He writes that qualities immediately agreeable to ourselves have an “immediate sensation, to the person possessed of them, [that] is agreeable: others enter into the same humour, and catch the sentiment, by a contagion or natural sympathy. And as we cannot forbear loving whatever pleases, a kindly emotion arises towards the person, who communicates so much satisfaction” (EPM 7.2). It seems Hume needs a more robust form of sympathy to explain our approval of immediately agreeable qualities, yet we must acknowledge that this form of sympathy is absent from EPM. Where Hume analyzes and makes an effort to explain sympathy in EPM, it is social sympathy. It thus appears that Hume’s endorsement of the four-fold category of the virtues depends upon a view of sympathy that is carried over – perhaps unintentionally – from the Treatise.15 14

15

There is a story we can tell about how these traits do end up contributing to the happiness and misery of humankind, but Hume explicitly rejects appealing to this kind of story to explain their approbation, maintaining instead that these qualities share the distinctive feature of immediate agreeableness, a feature that cannot be explained by appeal to utility. A similar question arises regarding the nature of those traits that we do find immediately agreeable, especially to ourselves. Hume maintains that all such traits are virtues, and his expectation is that the traits that are immediately agreeable will be positive ones. He highlights cheerfulness, restrained pride, good manners, and wit among the immediately agreeable qualities. And while I don’t question whether these traits are immediately agreeable, it nonetheless seems that individuals can find lots of traits agreeable to themselves that would not be approved of from the perspective of humanity and benevolence. Rather, these are traits that require the kind of social referencing that plays such an important role in the Treatise, and that depend upon more than just social sympathy. Absent the

Virtue and Moral Psychology

189

Keeping this possibility in mind, let us turn now to explore the shape virtuous agency takes within EPM. We have seen that within the Treatise conception of the virtuous person, pride-in-virtue and the effects of the “enjoyment of character” serve as a form of motivation distinctive to the virtuous person. The potential for the virtuous person to experience pride in her character arises within the Treatise in light of her psychological interdependence. The robust nature of sympathy within the Treatise makes it the case that how we think of ourselves depends upon how others think of us: we cannot take pride in our characters unless those characters are approved of by others. Prima facie, we should recognize that if sympathy is limited to the social sympathy of EPM, which is prompted by the distress or happiness of others and gives rise to other-regarding motivation, then the degree of psychological interdependence between people diminishes significantly, if not completely. We can acknowledge that social sympathy allows one to experience pleasure in response to the social virtues. But it becomes difficult to see how a given person would feel the further effects of a concern for her reputation and the impact her reputation has upon her integrity and peace of mind if sympathy is limited to social sympathy. Nonetheless, Hume puts forward this view in EPM: By our continual and earnest pursuit of a character, a name, a reputation in the world, we bring our own deportment and conduct frequently in review, and consider how it is they appear to us, who approach and regard us. This constant habit of surveying ourselves, as it were, keeps alive all the sentiments of right and wrong, and begets in noble natures, a certain reverence for themselves as well as others, which is the surest guardian of every virtue. (EPM 9.10)

It isn’t at all clear he has the resources within EPM to sustain this view. This view depends upon a robust view of sympathy that generates psychological interdependence and makes it the case that a subject can feel pride only with respect to those qualities that others approve of. In his second Appendix, Hume tries to explain this phenomenon by appealing to an original desire for fame and suggests that this works in conjunction with the sentiments of humanity and benevolence. He writes that “there are mental passions, by which we are impelled immediately to seek particular objects, such as fame, or power, or vengeance, without any normative effect that arises from sympathy of the Treatise, it is rash to assume that the traits we find immediately agreeable (especially to ourselves) will be the ones that are also approvable from the perspective of humanity and benevolence.

190

lorraine l. besser

regard to interest; and when these objects are attained, a pleasing enjoyment ensues, as the consequence of our indulged affections” (EPM App. 2.12). He goes on to explain that a similar form of enjoyment derives from benevolence: “we may feel a desire of another’s happiness or good, which by means of that affection, becomes our own good, and is afterwards pursued, from the combined motives of benevolence and selfenjoyment” (EPM App. 2.13). That we are motivated by a concern for the happiness of others, and that we get something out of it, suggests a hybrid understanding of the virtues: social sympathy leads us to approve of the virtues insofar as they promote happiness, but because we have original instincts (such as fame), we also end up taking enjoyment out of so doing. Here we see Hume trying to acknowledge that self-love can support virtue, while nonetheless maintaining that self-love is secondary to humanity and benevolence. Perhaps this combination of views can support something like the enjoyment-of-character view found in the Treatise. But there are differences between this hybrid view that we can piece together and Hume’s explicit expression of the enjoyment-of-character view found in his response to the sensible knave just quoted (EPM 9.10). The sensible knave serves as a moral skeptic, questioning the point of consistently following the rules of justice as opposed to treating them only as rules of thumb. Hume responds to the knave by maintaining that, in failing to follow the rules consistently, the knave sacrifices the enjoyment of character. Enjoyment of character is something reserved for noble (that is, virtuous) characters, who continually bring their conduct under review, and consider how they look in the eyes of others. Can the hybrid view explain this claim? I do not think it can The hybrid view can explain why we can enjoy promoting another’s happiness or good; and the stipulation that we have an original instinct toward fame can explain why we seek out the opinions of others. But even taking these views together, we fall far short of explaining why our “constant habit of surveying ourselves” would in fact keep “alive all the sentiments of right and wrong” and beget in virtuous people a “certain reverence for themselves as well as others” (EPM 9.10). To explain all this, we need the robust form of sympathy within the Treatise.

9.7

Conclusion

We have seen that despite Hume’s shift in focus from the robust view of sympathy within the Treatise to the limited view of social sympathy within

Virtue and Moral Psychology

191

EPM, his analysis of virtue within EPM seems to depend upon the Treatise view of sympathy. His commitment to seeing qualities immediately agreeable to ourselves and others as virtues, as well as his endorsement of the enjoyment-of-character view, require more power of sympathy than Hume grants it within EPM. Whether or not Hume realized the impact of his differential treatment of sympathy within the Treatise and EPM, the views of virtue that carry over between the two works require the robust sympathy of the Treatise. This conclusion invites renewed reflection on the relationship between the Treatise and EPM. Abramson (2001) takes the definitive distinction between the Treatise and EPM to be that within EPM, Hume’s philosophical motivations shift from being the anatomist to the painter. On Abramson’s reading, sympathy itself doesn’t change between the works; it is just that many of the technical details of sympathy are bypassed within EPM in virtue of Hume’s new rhetorical goals. My analysis is compatible with this interpretation, yet also challenges whether or not Hume can pull off the switch so seamlessly. Without the technical details of sympathy found within the Treatise, the views of virtue within EPM are mysterious and, perhaps, unsustainable. I think this entails that EPM needs to be read in conjunction with the Treatise; however, this suggestion stands in tension with Hume’s ambition to distance himself from the reliance on self-love found within the Treatise.

chapter 10

Hume, Cicero, and the Ancients Aaron Garrett

10.1

Introduction

In Sections 10.2 and 10.3 of this chapter I will focus on a relatively narrow issue, the role of Cicero in Hume’s Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals (EPM), which I will argue reflects fundamental commitments of the work. In the concluding section (10.4) I will turn to a far broader issue, Hume’s discussion of rights, and through it return to two pivotal themes – human diversity and the ancients and the moderns – discussed in earlier sections of the chapter.

10.2 Auditorem non adiutorem Hume refers to Cicero by name just once in the Treatise, but fifteen times in EPM. These are by far the most explicit set of references to Cicero anywhere in his corpus. In fact, it is as far as I can tell the most references to any named author in any one of his philosophical works. So deep is this engagement with Cicero in EPM that James Moore has suggested (2002, p. 384) that the work is a virtual rewriting of De Officiis.1 Hume’s 1

Moore (2002) has argued for Hume’s drawing on Cicero’s De Officiis in EPM to speak to an audience enamored with Cicero. He has also argued that Hume’s engagement with Cicero bears on his relation with Hutcheson. Both of these points seem to me correct. Moore argues that Hume sought to present a new version of Cicero’s De Officiis in EPM in response to events connected with Hume’s being passed over for the Edinburgh moral philosophy chair and to accusations of Epicureanism made against him (Moore, 2002, p. 383). According to Moore, Hume’s conflicts with Hutcheson, both philosophical conflicts over fundamental issues in moral philosophy and practical conflicts over Hutcheson’s role in promoting William Cleghorn and not Hume to the Edinburgh chair, prompted Hume to suggest that the sense of humanity offered the best way of interpreting Cicero’s honestum such that it would justify the role of utility in our moral judgments. Consequently, the shared admiration of Hume and Hutcheson for Cicero led Hume to retheorize Cicero in a way that gave Hume the upper hand in their disagreements, in this case by preserving the integral role of utility in morality. Unfortunately, Hume only uses the word “honestum” once in EPM but not in the context of Cicero. It comes up in a Latin translation of a passage concerning the community of wives and children from Plato’s Republic (EPM 4 n.15). If this was his goal, it seems likely he would have mentioned the well-known term in a related context. Consequently, despite my agreement with

192

Hume, Cicero, and the Ancients

193

quotations from Cicero expand, though, far beyond De Officiis and even beyond Cicero’s philosophical works. I will try to make sense of this discrepancy between how often Hume refers to Cicero in EPM and in his other works through considering a problem that had become more pressing for Hume after the publication of the Treatise: How does one present a moral philosophy that reflects the breadth and diversity of virtues and vices to an audience who have restricted and stubborn beliefs about what count as virtues and vices? I will suggest that this problem demanded rethinking the form, and in connection with the form some content, of arguments he had made in the Treatise. Many of the philosophers and learned men and women in Hume’s audience greatly admired Cicero, and more generally Roman (and Greek) authors, as did Hume. Hume’s solution to the problem was to present the material of the Treatise in such a way that it would help his audience to adopt the openminded attitude toward it that they identified with Cicero and the idealized ancient world as presented to them through Cicero’s writings. It is important to distinguish between Cicero’s philosophical preferences – that is, for Stoicism or the New Academy – and his general attitude toward philosophical discussion. Hume’s and Cicero’s considered philosophical preferences diverged; for example, Hume had little admiration for the Stoics,2 and Cicero little admiration for the Epicureans, although they both admired Academic Skepticism. Moore argues that the defense of Academic Skepticism was at the core of Hume’s alliance with Cicero, both as against Hutcheson’s Stoicism and charges of Epicureanism by John Balguy and others (Moore, 2002, p. 383).3 But I wish to suggest that what Hume drew from Cicero was not a doctrinal test or commitment to a school.4 In fact, it was the opposite of a doctrinal test. It was an ideal of openness to divergent or opposed philosophical views as opposed to rejecting them out of hand because of being tethered to a particular system. This is perhaps best exemplified by the character Cicero’s statement as the argument begins in De Natura Deorum: “I said ‘Don’t think of me as Cotta’s assistant (adiutorem), but as a listener (auditorem), and indeed

2 3 4

much else, this central claim of Moore’s argument seems to me underdetermined by the evidence. Nothing in my argument, though, hangs on Moore being wrong about this goal of EPM. For an extended discussion of the importance of the sense of humanity in EPM, see Taylor (2015b). For an interpretation of Hume as a Ciceronian Eclectic Stoic, and an excellent discussion of Hume’s and Johnson’s relationship to Cicero, see Potkay (2000), Chapter 4. See also the extensive discussion in Stuart-Buttle (2019), Chapter 5. Although if it is allowed that Academic Skepticism or Eclecticism is a kind of “anti-school,” and the latter description certainly appears to be, then this is less of a problem.

194

aaron garrett

impartial, judging freely, under no arbitrary restrictions to uphold any particular position’” (Cicero, 2014, I.7[17]). Cicero is asking the reader to adopt the attitude of the character Cicero toward philosophical argument and toward the spokespersons for three philosophical schools. I will refer to this principle and standpoint as auditorem non adiutorem. Why was this principle so important to Hume in his representing of philosophical arguments from the Treatise, Book 3 in EPM? Hume’s motivation for this engagement with Cicero can be seen in the remarkable Section 11 of the Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding (EHU), “Of a Particular Providence and of a Future State.”5 Section 11 includes an extensive philosophical speech given by a modern skeptic on an epistemic issue concerning which many Christians have strong religious beliefs: our knowledge of providence and the future state. These strong religious beliefs lead them to disregard out of hand a position like Epicurus’, which ought to be evaluated philosophically, even if it is ultimately found lacking. The modern skeptic adopts the voice of Epicurus to exhibit the far greater tolerance of challenging philosophical positions in the ancient world than in the modern world and to draw the reader into this openminded attitude in thinking through the arguments. In other words, the modern world, and religious beliefs, are particularly threatening to auditorem non adiutorem in a way that the ancient philosophical schools were not. The rhetorical structure of EHU, Section 11, a modern philosopher putting on the toga in order to suggest a fundamental difference between the ancient and modern approaches to philosophy, is shared by “A Dialogue,” which concludes EPM. This form, a philosophical speech reported by a narrator, is also employed by Cicero in De Natura Deorum and in many of Cicero’s other philosophical writings.6 Cicero was critical 5 6

The original title of the section was “Of the Practical Consequences of Natural Religion” (Hume, 1999, p. 186). Hume cites two of Lucian’s dialogues in EHU, Section 11 – the Symposium and the Eunuch – so Lucian’s dialogues might appear to be a model. But Lucian’s dialogues are nothing like EHU, Section 11. They are written in dramatic form, do not contain extended philosophical speeches, and are comic satires (this last aspect may be a partial background model for “A Dialogue”). There is little evidence for Platonic dialogues as Hume’s model, although perhaps the Apology is in the background as well. This kind of structure can be found in two of Cicero’s works cited in EPM. De Oratore begins with a letter to Cicero’s brother, which provides a place-setting preface for the dialogue, which Cicero then relates as a discussion taking place in a prior, better time. De Natura Deorum is similarly structured. Cicero’s De Finibus and De Officiis are both letters, to his friend Brutus and to his son respectively. I do not mean to suggest that Hume might not also have drawn on other authors, in particular Shaftesbury, for a model. I am only suggesting that Cicero is likely an important model, and particularly in EPM given the quantity of references. For modern models see Box (1990), Chapter 4.

Hume, Cicero, and the Ancients

195

of Epicureans, so adopting the voice of Epicurus (as opposed to the voice of Cicero) might seem at odds with Cicero. This is a problem for Moore’s interpretation (2002, p. 380) insofar as Hume adopted the voice of Epicurus after being passed over for the Chair of Moral Philosophy at Edinburgh, which Moore argues prompted Hume’s engagement with Cicero in order to disassociate himself from Epicureanism. It is worth noting that Cicero’s criticism was as much of the dogmatic submission of Epicureans to Epicurus’ authority, and the dogmatic temper of Epicureans in general, as of Epicurean doctrine or Epicurus (although he criticized Epicurus extensively as well in his philosophical works). Dogmatism was of course antithetical to the kind of open discussion Cicero was trying to cultivate, independent of doctrinal differences.7 But as I have suggested, Hume’s point was that even Epicurus was tolerated in Athens and his philosophical positions taken seriously. In the ancient world, unlike the modern world, even Epicurus was applauded when his speeches were true. Hume himself exemplified this attitude when discussing EPM in a letter he wrote to James Balfour, who had succeeded William Cleghorn as the occupant of the Chair of Moral Philosophy that Hume had sought eight years previously (Sher, 1990, pp. 109–12). Balfour published an attack on EPM, A Delineation of the Nature and Obligation of Morality, which included copious references to Cicero (Balfour, 1753), that prompted Hume to send Balfour, whom he had never met, a letter that disputed a number of the characterizations of EPM. Hume wrote: “Our connection with each other, as men of letters, is greater than our difference as adhering to different sects or systems. Let us revive the happy times, when Atticus and Cassius the Epicureans, Cicero the Academic, and Brutus the Stoic, could, all of them, live in unreserved friendship together, and were insensible to all those distinctions, except so far as they furnished agreeable matter to discourse and conversation” (L I, 172–73). In addition to espousing the Ciceronian principle I have just been discussing, Hume is also offering Cicero’s cohort – De Natura Deorum and a number of other of Cicero’s works were dedicated to Brutus, and Cassius and Atticus were also two of his closest friends and correspondents – as the model for philosophical discussion.

10.3

The Goals of EPM

James Harris (2015, pp. 250–65) has suggested two important differences between the Treatise and EPM. First, there is a greater focus of purpose in 7

Thanks to Hannah Culik-Baird for clarifying this distinction for me.

196

aaron garrett

the later work. Many of the changes between the Treatise, Book 3 and EPM reflect this greater focus: the diminished role of sympathy8 and the receding of the distinction between artificial and natural that did so much work in the earlier piece. Harris also suggests that the problem of human diversity, spurred by Hume’s critical admiration of Montesquieu’s Spirit of the Laws, is front and center in EPM in a way it is not in the Treatise (although it is there as well). Does the variety of human beings and ethical practices undermine the unity of moral philosophy, and how do we account for this variety? And, once we recognize human diversity, what does this do for our moral picture? Hume’s answer – the system of utility and agreeableness that unites geographically, chronologically, and culturally diverse moral practices – gives much of the focus to EPM. The issue of moral diversity arose for Hume, like it did for Locke and Hutcheson, because of shared empiricist commitments.9 But there was a tension between the acknowledgment of diversity and arguments for moral unity in Locke and Hutcheson. Although Locke drew on travel writings throughout EHU and acknowledged the diversity of moral laws and norms in his famous discussion there of the three laws,10 he assumed that the moral core that united divergences in civil law and opinion or custom was natural religion, by which he understood demonstrative truths consistent with revealed Christian religion. Hutcheson’s moral philosophy drew extensively on Locke’s empiricist theory of knowledge, and Hutcheson was very aware of evidence of moral diversity, but he built his explanation around one moral property – benevolence – which was also the core of his natural religion (see particularly Hutcheson, 2008, p. 198; II.7.12) and ignored or inadequately dealt with those aspects of morality not explicable in terms of benevolence. Consequently, both Locke and Hutcheson “explained” the diversity of morality by restricting the content of true morality to what they thought to be consistent with Christian natural religion and chalking up the rest to deviant customs and practices. Hume, writing after Montesquieu’s exhibition and multicausal explanation of the great historical and geographical diversity of mores in Spirit of the Laws, could not just assume a unifying natural religion and explain 8 9

10

See Abramson (2001), Vitz (2004), and Debes (2007a) for different takes on this. See also Taylor (2015b). That is, the empiricist commitment to take note of and explain the evident fact of human geographical and historical differences. On Hutcheson, Locke, and diversity see Carey (2006). On the background see Garrett (2006). “Laws that Men generally refer their Actions to, to judge of their Rectitude, or Obliquity . . .. 1. The Divine Law. 2. The Civil Law. 3. The Law of Opinion or Reputation” (Locke, 1979, II.28 §7).

Hume, Cicero, and the Ancients

197

unwanted variance as deviance, even if he had been so inclined.11 He also could not do this because of his own understanding of the flaws of the foundations of natural religion, as argued for in the contemporaneous Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion. I will return to the issue of human diversity in the concluding section (10.4). I will suggest a third important difference between EPM and the Treatise that is closely connected with this response to diversity in Locke and Hutcheson. In EPM, and in other works written in the later 1740s, Hume has a pressing awareness of the stubbornness of prejudices about the content of morality and the consequent difficulty of revising the philosopher’s beliefs about what counted as virtues and vices. When confronted with diversity, philosophers whom Hume greatly admired, like Locke and Hutcheson, fell back on default but mostly unjustified beliefs about moral unity that drew on a further underlay of religious beliefs regarding what counted as moral in response. Hume was of course aware of this in the Treatise: a central theme of the work is the resistance of belief to correction, and Hume probably gives one of the most important accounts of the revision of belief of any philosopher. Furthermore, he still had a great deal of optimism about the relative openness of his fellow philosophers; for example, he wanted to publish the Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion in the same period, although he was dissuaded (see Harris, 2015, p. 409). But as aware as Hume was in principle, he seems to have realized that a new approach was warranted in practice, in particular in cases where morality overlapped with religion in ways wherein the substance of what counted as moral, and most importantly what unified what counted as moral, was in fact religious.12 The difference can be seen in the comparison of two passages from the Treatise and EPM. Hume wrote in the Treatise: There is a sentiment of esteem and approbation, which may be excited, in some degree, by any faculty of the mind, in its perfect state and condition; 11 12

On Hume as part of, and responding to, Locke’s and Hutcheson’s legacy of moral empiricism see Garrett and Heydt (2015). Perhaps the events of 1745 – Hume’s denial of an appointment at Edinburgh and the Jacobite rebellion – in conjunction with the lack of reception of the Treatise made him more aware that religious beliefs overlapped with philosophy and politics in both the philosophical and the vulgar in ways that could lead to unhappy outcomes or outright disaster (Moore, 2002). This would have been even more evident at his family home in the far more provincial milieu of Chirnside, where he wrote EPM, the Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion, and a number of pivotal essays and where he submerged himself in the rather different attitude toward philosophy he found in the ancient world. For a judicious discussion of the Edinburgh Affair see R. Emerson (1994). On Hume’s irritation, which resulted in the anonymously published Bellman’s Petition, see R. L. Emerson (1997). For a profound discussion of the importance of Cicero for Hume’s separating of morality and theology in all arenas see Stuart-Buttle (2019).

198

aaron garrett and to account for this sentiment is the business of Philosophers. It belongs to Grammarians to examine what qualities are entitled to the denomination of virtue; nor will they find, upon trial, that this is so easy a task, as at first sight they may be apt to imagine. (T 3.3.3.4)

Hume seems to mean by this that what belongs under “virtue” is a question of surveying our words for what is agreeable and useful. Hume does not say what the difficulty is, but it seems he has in mind the wide extension of the agreeable and the useful. Appendix 4 begins with a parallel sentence: “Nothing is more usual than for philosophers to encroach upon the province of grammarians; and to engage in disputes of words, while they imagine that they are handling controversies of the deepest importance and concern” (EPM 4.1). I will suggest, though, that Hume’s worry is subtly different in EPM. Philosophers have attempted to decide what terms ought to stand for virtues and vices and the difficulty – I will suggest – is due to the ways that religious systems govern the choice of terms for virtues and vices. Hume had also been aware of this tendency in the Treatise: “we find, that all moralists, whose judgment is not perverted by a strict adherence to a system, enter into the same way of thinking; and that the antient moralists in particular made no scruple of placing prudence at the head of the cardinal virtues” (T 3.3.4.4). But in the Treatise he presents himself as in good modern company – all modern moralists who are not perverted by system and agree with the ancients that prudence is a virtue – whereas in EPM the focus moves away from the moderns and to Cicero and the ancient moralists, suggesting that the modern tendency to pervert by system was deeper than he had thought. In EPM the passage from the Treatise becomes “the same Cicero, in imitation of all the ancient moralists, when he reasons as a philosopher, enlarges very much his ideas of virtue, and comprehends every laudable quality or endowment of the mind, under that honourable appellation” (EPM 4.11). In other words, Cicero is now our good company. Hume saw Cicero as offering the proper standpoint for good philosophical inquiry. And he saw the esteem Cicero was held in by a wide range of moral philosophers, even by those perverted by system (both Locke’s Essay and Hutcheson’s Inquiries have epigrams from Cicero on their title pages), as a means to get his contemporaries to reconsider the breadth of what counts as virtues and vices, and to consequently reconsider what they understood to unify and restrict moral theory.13 Although these are guiding questions in the main body of EPM, they are particularly important in 13

See Stuart-Buttle (2019) for a discussion of the breadth of the context of Cicero-interpretation, of which Locke and Hutcheson are only a part.

Hume, Cicero, and the Ancients

199

Appendix 4 (there are five explicit references to Cicero just in Appendix 4, which is five times the explicit references to Cicero in the Treatise) and “A Dialogue.”14 10.3.1

Classical Citations

Appendix 4 was the first part of Section 6, “Of Qualities Useful to Ourselves,” until 1764, when it was moved. Section 6 is the heart of the overarching argument of EPM. Consequently, what later became Appendix 4 was far more central to the main body of EPM in Hume’s original conception of EPM and in the 1753, 1758, and 1760 editions of his Essays and Treatises. It initiated the second half of EPM; that is, those parts of EPM that mostly drew on T 3.3. Having just shown that utility pleases in a manner that is not reducible to only self-love, and having discussed qualities useful to others in the previous three chapters, culminating in the claim that “it appears to be matter of fact, that the circumstance of utility, in all subjects, is a source of praise and approbation” (EPM 5.44),15 Hume then sets out the qualities useful and agreeable to ourselves and others in three successive chapters. These chapters conclude with Hume’s illustration through the example of Cleanthes that these qualities are sufficiently morally approved of such that if a stranger possesses them, we, the reader, will allow our daughter to enter into the artificial bond of marriage with him (EPM 9.1.2). This provides an answer to a fundamental question of Hume’s theory – how we are able to consistently move from the natural sentiments of the family into the conventions and customs of larger society in a way that is not just motivated by simple self-interest. In the section “Of Natural Abilities” in the Treatise (T 3.3.4) and in the section following it, “Some Farther Reflexions Concerning the Natural Virtues,” Hume argued that although “NO distinction is more usual in all systems of ethics, than that betwixt natural abilities and moral virtues; where the former are plac’d on the same footing with bodily endowments, and are suppos’d to have no merit or moral worth annex’d to them,” the 14

15

“A Dialogue” was published along with and after the main body of EPM from 1751 on. I take “A Dialogue” to be part of EPM in the sense that it was meant to be read along with, and after, the rest of the work, just as the Appendixes were. The quote continues: “That it is constantly appealed to in all moral decisions concerning the merit and demerit of actions: That it is the sole source of that high regard paid to justice, fidelity, honour, allegiance, and chastity: That it is inseparable from all the other social virtues, humanity, generosity, charity, affability, lenity, mercy, and moderation: And, in a word, that it is a foundation of the chief part of morals, which has a reference to mankind and our fellow-creatures.”

200

aaron garrett

distinction was poorly founded in human nature. The goal of the sections was to undermine the distinction made by many and notably by Hutcheson (2008, 3.10, p. 128). To do this Hume provided a genealogical explanation of the erroneous distinction (T 3.3.4.4), which he stressed persists despite being at odds with our common moral practices because “legislators, and divines, and moralists” seek to alter conduct and so focus on voluntary actions insofar as they can be controlled by sanctions. And he provided a positive explanation: that both natural abilities and moral virtues were moral insofar as both sorts of qualities could be explained in terms of usefulness and agreeableness to self and to others (T 3.3.4.5–14). Hume made three observations concerning the underlying commitment to moral virtue being distinctively voluntary, a commitment he held to buttress the erroneous assumption of a distinction in kind between moral virtues and natural abilities. First, “many of those qualities, which all moralists, especially the antients, comprehend under the title of moral virtues, are equally involuntary and necessary”; that is, the distinction seems spurious when one takes a sufficiently wide view. Second, there is no compelling reason why virtues and vices must be voluntary; and third, it doesn’t follow that what is voluntary is free, which seems an underlying premise of those who hold the distinction (T 3.3.4.3). The goal of undermining the distinction persisted in Section 6 (and Appendix 4) of EPM, as well as some of the exact wording from the Treatise.16 As in the Treatise, Hume tried to show that the qualities useful to ourselves were far more extensive and diverse than the moral qualities constrained by commonly held Christian duties (EPM App. 4.21). But, unlike in the parallel passages in the Treatise, Appendix 4 and “A Dialogue” (which has no analog in the Treatise) include many more references to ancient literature. These are both far more extensive and far more precise than the standard examples that a moderately learned person without extensive classical learning would know mentioned in the parallel sections of the Treatise. In fact, Appendix 4 is mostly a list of classical examples underscoring the main thesis of the chapter from which it was relocated.17 There is an 16 17

Beauchamp lists five passages from T 3.3.4 that appear verbatim or slightly altered in EPM (Hume, 1998, pp. lviii–lxii). This is the largest quantity of passages from any section of the Treatise in EPM. It became Appendix 3 in 1764 and Appendix 4 in 1777 when material from the main body of the text was made into Appendix 2, “Of Self Love.” Oddly, Beauchamp, in his excellent critical edition of EPM, does not see the 1764 edition of EPM as having given rise to anything other than “modest and relatively insignificant” changes, despite Hume’s correspondence suggesting that he intended to make notable changes (Hume, 1998, p. xxii). Beauchamp also asserts that Appendix 4 had previously been “Pt. I of Section 4 of EPM” (Hume, 1998, p. xlviii) when it was Part I of Section 6.

Hume, Cicero, and the Ancients

201

important reference to Sallust in the Treatise (3.3.3.4) which frames the amiable and awful virtues in terms of Caesar and Cato and reappears in Appendix 4.6. But in Appendix 4 there are at least eleven further examples from antiquity. Chapter 7, which originally followed what became Appendix 4, also has many classical examples. This is all the more striking insofar as these examples are packaged together with a number of nearly verbatim passages from the Treatise. Hume used the new examples to make the same point about there not being a difference in kind between moral virtues and natural abilities that he made in the Treatise. But in EPM Hume goes further and identifies the ancient moralists as his “best models” (EPM App. 4.11) for moral virtues and vices. Consequently, ancient literature, and the ancient moralists, have a central role in EPM in undermining the restrictions on bodily, mental, and other virtues by those who assume they are at odds with, irrelevant to, or insufficiently “moral” to suffice as moral virtues. Why? The proximate cause of the greater density of references to ancient philosophy in the works of the late 1740s and early 1750s was the massive reading project in classical literature Hume undertook between 1749 and 1751. Hume had improved his Greek a few years earlier and he read many Greek and Roman works during an extended retreat at the family home at Ninewells (Baumstark, 2010). The diversity and depth of his reading can be seen in the myriad erudite references and discussions in the lengthy essay “Of the Populousness of Nations” and in the greater range of classical quotes in Hume’s writings of the late 1740s and early 1750s. This was the same period in which Cicero became central in Hume’s work. As mentioned, Hume adopted the voice of Epicurus in EHU, Section 11 and he also took the voice of the Ciceronian Academic Skeptic in the concluding section of EHU. As also mentioned, Cicero’s De Natura Deorum provided a framework within which to present contentious religious arguments in the Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion which was, as noted before, written in the same period as EPM.18

18

Even the famous concluding sentence of the Dialogues is a paraphrase of the concluding sentence of its Ciceronian model.“Haec cum essent dicta, ita discessimus ut Velleio Cottae disputatio verior, mihi Balbi ad veritatis similitudinem videretur esse propensior” (Cicero, 2014, III.95); “Cleanthes and Philo pursued not this conversation much farther; and as nothing ever made greater impression on me, than all the reasonings of that day; so, I confess, that, upon a serious review of the whole, I cannot but think, that Philo’s principles are more probable than Demea’s; but that those of Cleanthes approach still nearer to the truth” (D 12.34). Much of the discussion of Cicero’s influence on Hume has focused on the Dialogues. See Battersby (1979); Fosl (1994); Holden (2010); Willis (2016). For the breadth of Cicero’s influence see Jones (1982), pp. 29–41 and Stuart-Buttle (2019).

202

aaron garrett

But Hume admired Cicero long before the mid-1740s. Hume cited Cicero approvingly in his earliest surviving letter, although at age sixteen he thought himself more likely to take Virgil as a model for life than Cicero because of his temper and the pastoral life at Ninewells. In the “Letter to a Physician,” he described the malaise that overtook him when he attempted to put the rigorous moral teachings he read in “Cicero, Seneca & Plutarch” into practice in his solitude without the balance of the sort of active life that Cicero recommended. Notably, in his first surviving letter to Francis Hutcheson of 1737, Hume pressed the breadth of virtues and duties against Hutcheson’s reduction of all moral virtue to benevolence via a pointed comparison between Cicero’s De Officiis and Richard Allestree’s Whole Duty of Man:19 Whether the natural Abilitys be Virtues is a Dispute of Words . . .. Were Benevolence the only Virtue no Characters cou’d be mixt, but wou’d depend entirely on their Degree of Benevolence. Upon the whole I desire to take my Catalogue of Virtues from Cicero’s Offices, not from the Whole Duty of Man. I had, indeed, the former Book in my Eye in all my Reasonings. (L I, 13)

Hume is suggesting that Hutcheson is much closer to Allestree, whom Hume thinks a clear object of disdain, than Cicero, whom Hutcheson greatly admired. The comment is all the more cutting because a quote from Cicero’s “Offices” (I.4) provides the epigram for Hutcheson’s Inquiry. Hume is asserting that he is the true Ciceronian in his refusal to reduce virtue to one master moral property. This letter reappeared, paraphrased without the explicit criticisms of Hutcheson, in a note to Appendix 4 – which he entitled “Of Some Verbal Disputes” (in an echo of the phrase “Dispute of Words” in the letter) – for the 1764 edition of EPM: “I suppose, if Cicero were now alive, it would be found difficult to fetter his moral sentiments by narrow systems; or persuade him, that no qualities were to be admitted as virtues, or acknowledged to be a part of personal merit, but what were recommended by The Whole Duty of Man” (EPM App. 4 n.72). Yet, despite the long standing of the sentiment expressed in the letter to Hutcheson, Hume’s one explicit reference to Cicero in the Treatise is a quote from De Finibus (T 1.3.8 n.21) that is repeated at EHU 5 n.9 and underscores the associative power of places. As mentioned at the outset of this chapter, Cicero is invoked by name fifteen times in EPM (once as 19

On Allestree see McIntyre (2014).

Hume, Cicero, and the Ancients

203

“Tully” in A Dialogue). Mention is not necessarily a mark of endorsement for Hume, but many of the references to Cicero in EPM are strongly approving.20 Why this shift? And why does the comment to Hutcheson finally appear in EPM? The answer to this is connected with the great quantity of quotations from ancient writings in EPM. The passage to which Hume appended the footnote with the paraphrase of the letter to Hutcheson includes the previously mentioned reference to the ancients as the “best models”: But the same Cicero, in imitation of all the ancient moralists, when he reasons as a philosopher, enlarges very much his ideas of virtue, and comprehends every laudable quality or endowment of the mind, under that honourable appellation. This leads to the third reflection, which we proposed to make, to wit, that the ancient moralists, the best models, made no material distinction among the different species of mental endowments and defects, but treated all alike under the appellation of virtues and vices, and made them indiscriminately the object of their moral reasonings. The prudence explained in Cicero’s Offices [71], is that sagacity, which leads to the discovery of truth, and preserves us from error and mistake. Magnanimity, temperance, decency, are there also at large discoursed of. And as that eloquent moralist followed the common received division of the four cardinal virtues, our social duties form but one head, in the general distribution of his subject [72]. (EPM App. 4.11)

Hume is clearly arguing that Cicero presented the moral virtues that his Christian audience admired as of the same kind as epistemic virtues and other mental endowments. The parallel passage in the Treatise concludes with the comparison between grammarians and philosophers discussed at the start of Section 10.3 and is followed by philosophical observations. The EPM passage is followed by supporting examples and quotes Aristotle, Epictetus, Psalms, Euripides, and then Plutarch – a comprehensive list of ancient authorities. The strategies are wholly different. Why? Henriette van der Blom has argued that in his philosophical works, Cicero presented himself as “the person who understands the doctrines of the various philosophical schools best,” as the ideal knowledgeable interlocutor. She concludes that he set “himself as a model for emulation – in a way not unlike his exemplary role as guide and interpreter of history – throughout his philosophical works, complementing the other aspects of Cicero’s exemplarity” (i.e., in politics, oratory, law, etc.) (van der Blom, 2010, pp. 307–08). In Appendix 4, Hume is doing precisely what van der 20

See also Beauchamp in the introduction to the EPM: Hume (1998), p. xxii.

204

aaron garrett

Blom describes in Cicero, by employing Cicero’s favored device of quoting past authors to exhibit that “all ancient moralists” shared this view and thus to present himself as the knowledgeable authority able to identify the proper extension of virtue. Cicero’s refusal “to fetter his moral sentiments by narrow systems” (EPM App. 4.16) is supported by the examples. And Cicero’s, and Hume’s position through Cicero, is presented as authoritative through guiding this survey in (what was until 1764) the first part of Chapter 6 of EPM and Chapter 7. Finally, through Cicero and the ancients Hume can speak to an audience enamored of Cicero, who might not have listened to Hume’s more direct arguments for his position. Hume was not the only person to use Cicero in this way; in fact, it was a relatively established genre. Bayle, Hume’s modern model for auditorem non adiutorem, used Cicero in a similar fashion. As Mara van der Lugt notes, Bayle used Cotta, Balbus, and Velleius – the discussants in De Natura Deorum – in a number of articles to stand for their respective schools, whereas Cicero stands in for Bayle’s own viewpoint (Van der Lugt, 2016, pp. 59–61). And Bayle presented himself as authoritative, like Hume and Cicero, through the massive quantity of classical learning in the Dictionnaire. Furthermore, Anthony Collins presented Cicero as an anti-religious “Free-Thinker” untethered to system in his Discourse of Free-Thinking (1713) (Rivers, 2005, 1, pp. 29–30). Collins saw himself as countering the many who cited Cicero the Stoic against free-thinking from “both the Pulpit and the Press” (Collins, 1713, p. 137). Collins drew on John Toland’s plan for an edition of Cicero (Toland, 1712), published the previous year, which stressed the dialogue-form as offering a series of positions for the reader to freely engage with, in opposition to identifying Cicero with Stoicism (and priestcraft (East, 2014). This led to widespread opposition to Collins from pulpit and press – Richard Bentley, Benjamin Hoadley, and Jonathan Swift included – which stretched all the way to 1770 and Hume’s most loathed critic, James Beattie (Rivers, 2005, 1, pp. 29–30). Hume may have read Collins on free-thinking (Russell, 2008, p. 79), or he may have taken the general strategy from Bayle. Peter Loptson has argued that Hume is for the most part disdainful of ancient philosophy, although to a lesser degree in his ethics and philosophy of religion than elsewhere. His admiration for Cicero, though, appears to be strong enough that it is a problem for Loptson’s argument. Loptson suggests that we ought to understand Hume’s admiration of Cicero to be restricted to painterly rhetoric as opposed to modern anatomical philosophy (Loptson, 2012, p. 768). This is underscored by a number of passages

Hume, Cicero, and the Ancients

205

from Hume, for example a letter to Kames where Hume comments on the looseness of Cicero’s Orations (although here Hume is not criticizing Cicero’s philosophy, and the criticisms are primarily factual). Loptson concludes that Hume’s affinity with Cicero was primarily one of presentation, not content. Cicero was the means to provide a painterly dress to anatomical observations. It should be clear that I view Hume as having a far more eclectic relation to philosophy in the 1740s, whether ancient or modern, in EPM, although I think this holds to some extent for all of his philosophical writings.21 Hume was both an Academic Skeptic and a Newtonian; what mattered was the truth of the positions, not whether they were ancient or modern. Loptson suggests that Hume’s positive references to Cicero and ancient philosophy ought to be understood as an attempt to make the anatomy of the Treatise more painterly. Painterly implies, for Loptson, that the changes are inessential and involve advocacy as opposed to description. What I am describing is different – an awareness of audience. Also, it is not clear Hume can maintain that presentation is distinct from content such that presentation might be mere window-dressing: Hume normally uses the distinction to describe two approaches to moral philosophy. That form or eloquence and content are not easily separable is consistent with core features of Hume’s epistemology (Cruz-Tleugabulova, 2012). In fact, Hume seems to be responding in the eloquence of EPM to a Ciceronian distinction. Cicero begins De Officiis with a distinction between forensic or legal oratory and “quieter debating” (Cicero, 2015a, p. 10) (by which he means philosophical discussion) in an invitation to his son Marcus to read his philosophical writings. The problem is how to gain a hearing to “quieter debating.” In The Ideal Orator – a work Hume quotes very approvingly in EPM (EPM 4.11 n.72) – Cicero argued that the ideal orator must have philosophical knowledge in order for their oratory to be effective. Philosophical knowledge is necessary for the orator to convince his audience, but it is insufficient. Appropriate eloquence is necessary as well, but eloquence grounded in and derived from true philosophy. Cicero worried that his audience assumed that Greeks were superior philosophers and Romans superior rhetoricians, making it difficult to gain a hearing for 21

Although Hume says negative things about ancient philosophy in the Treatise, he often uses this as a means to say critical things about modern philosophy. This is not to suggest that he is secretly advocating ancient metaphysics, but rather that Hume was perfectly happy to criticize both ancient and modern philosophy, as “A Treatise” I.4.3 and I.4.4 make clear. This dialectic is mostly absent from EHU along with critical remarks about ancient philosophy, with the important exception of EHU 12 n.35 – which is far too complex a passage to read as “ancients bad, moderns good.”

206

aaron garrett

his philosophy. For Hume, the problem concerned how to gain a hearing for his own philosophy from an audience who had basic assumptions about how moral philosophy and religion fit together. 10.3.2

Diversity and Artificial Lives

So far I have argued that in EPM Hume marshals Cicero and the Ciceronian presentation of ancient philosophy and literature to undermine the stubborn beliefs of his readers concerning virtues and vices and prevent them from trying to advocate for sects before giving a proper hearing: auditorem non adiutorem. Cicero is ideal because of the standing he was given by all sorts of Christian philosophers who believed his views to be in harmony with theirs. But what, really, is so bad about their views? In particular, what is so bad about marking a difference in kind between natural abilities and moral virtues, and why do they need correction? The difficulties come into focus in the comparison between two kinds of artificial lives in the final section of the final part of EPM, “A Dialogue.” “A Dialogue” is a very complicated piece. I will focus only on what Hume has to say about these two types of lives and how it bears on Cicero and the ancients, since “A Dialogue” is treated more fully elsewhere in this volume. The main speaker in the first section of “A Dialogue,” Palamades,22 notes that in “ancient times” philosophy regulated “men’s ordinary behaviour and deportment” and “being the sole principle, by which a man could elevate himself above his fellows, it acquired a mighty ascendant over many, and produced great singularities of maxims and of conduct” (EPM D 53). But “at present, when philosophy has lost the allurement of novelty, it has no such extensive influence; but seems to confine itself 22

Palamedes was a hero of the Trojan Wars, unmentioned in the Iliad and the Odyssey and reputed to have invented dice (and perhaps written language). When Odysseus tried to avoid the Trojan expedition by feigning madness, Palamedes tricked him into revealing he was sane. Odysseus eventually took revenge and murdered him (for more on Palamedes see Woodford, 1994). The tricking of Odysseus is mentioned in Cicero’s De Officiis and many other works accessible to Hume, including Pope’s Odyssey. In addition, in note EE to the article “Euripides,” Bayle discusses how Euripides’ lost tragedy “Palamedes” was taken to allude to the death of Socrates (Bayle argues that this can’t be true because of the chronology, and that Diogenes Laertius who reports it is wrong (Bayle, 1740, 2, p. 433)). Among the Scots, George Turnbull mentions “Palamedes, who places it in being able to call every thing into doubt, and to make either side of any question appear equally probable by his eloquence” (2003, p. 35). It is surprising, given that Hume seemed to want his audience to be taken in by his trick, that he had a reasonably widely known Greek character telling the tall tale. Even if Hume’s audience did not know who Palamedes was, they would probably think him to be Greek even if the other names in the story lacked Greek resonance. Perhaps he liked the idea of the ultimate Greek trickster, who tricked Odysseus, tricking his audience into questioning the actions of famous Greeks (and Romans).

Hume, Cicero, and the Ancients

207

mostly to speculations in the closet; in the same manner, as the ancient religion was limited to sacrifices in the temple.” The place of philosophy “is now supplied by the modern religion” (EPM D 53). In other words, Hume suggests that the motivationally inert role of ancient religion has now been supplanted by modern philosophy, which, like ancient religion, has no influence on common life. The morally active place of ancient philosophy has been supplanted by modern religion, which does influence common life. Modern religion fixes what counts as duties and virtues, how these duties and virtues are to be understood, and how they are fulfilled. This poses a problem, since the moral norms and goals that modern religion sets are comprehensive and exacting. And since they give rise to action, they are more powerful than inert moral philosophy. Modern religion “inspects our whole conduct, and prescribes an universal rule to our actions, to our words, to our very thoughts and inclinations; a rule so much the more austere, as it is guarded by infinite, though distant, rewards and punishments; and no infraction of it can ever be concealed or disguised” (EPM D 53). The results conflict with the virtues of common, sociable life. Hume explores this conflict via two examples – one ancient and one modern. Both Diogenes the Cynic and Pascal led what Hume calls artificial lives (EPM D 52) – lives governed by rigid norms that are partly or wholly at odds with the useful and agreeable qualities exemplified by the character of Cleanthes in the concluding chapter of the main body of EPM. Both were men “of parts and genius” and had inclinations that might have given rise to a natural life of sociable virtue (EPM 9.1–2). The moral qualities of character that these two artificial lives give rise to, though, are opposite. Diogenes endeavored “to render himself an independent being as much as possible, and to confine all his wants and desires and pleasures within himself and his own mind,” while Pascal sought “to keep a perpetual sense of his dependence before his eyes, and never to forget his numberless wants and infirmities.” The consequence was that the “ancient supported himself by magnanimity, ostentation, pride, and the idea of his own superiority above his fellow-creatures” whereas “the modern made constant profession of humility and abasement, of the contempt and hatred of himself; and endeavoured to attain these supposed virtues, as far as they are attainable.” In this passage (EPM D 52–57), Hume adroitly suggests opposed general tendencies of ancient and modern moral philosophy from these pathological cases. Ancient moral philosophy offers rules that claim to provide a degree of independence from the world via restricting desires and gives

208

aaron garrett

rise, even in this pathological artificial form, to qualities of character – magnanimity and pride – that are not entirely blameworthy and in fact are in nonpathological cases praiseworthy. Modern moral philosophy, insofar as it has religiously proscribed duties at its core that derive from dependence on an unsatisfiable superior power, gives rise to the blameworthy qualities of humility and abasement. The two moral pathologies also give rise to different ways of relating to others. Diogenes still “thought it his duty to love his friends” even if in order to “rail at them, and . . . scold them.” In other words, Diogenes’ regimen for independence did not manage to undermine the basic sociable sentiments and desires of common life. Pascal, on the other hand, “endeavoured to be absolutely indifferent towards his nearest relations, and to love and speak well of his enemies.” Lastly, Diogenes criticized superstition, albeit obnoxiously, whereas Pascal’s artificial life was directed by “the most ridiculous superstitions” (EPM D 55). The example just discussed makes clear that Pascal’s modern life is worse than Diogenes’ ancient life, both morally and prudentially. One life gives rise to only vices and antisocial behavior at odds with common life, which is not prudent, and the other to some virtues and a measure of social life. Indeed, I wish to suggest that it is worse in kind, not degree. This is not because of the content of modern philosophy and its role in the Pascalian life, but because of the centrality of religious beliefs in Pascal’s ethics: the distance of God, dependence and subordination, the idea that morality is between the individual and God, and fundamental human frailty. These are of course all features Pascal shared with Calvinists. Had Hume wished to play up the Catholic aspects of the example to his Protestant audience, he would have stressed ritual and superstition: the monkish virtues. But the description of the Jansenist Pascal sounds instead like something out of Weber’s Protestant Ethic. What is Hume suggesting? When a moral philosopher fails to enlarge their ideas of virtue, their explanations will respond to the wrong explanandum and their theory will be partial or false. As noted, Hume initially thought this problem to be a mere matter for grammarians but came to see that it was a deeply rooted prejudice reinforced by modern philosophers. This demanded novel tactics since it involves disabusing moral agents of their strong beliefs concerning the restrictive shape and appropriate contents of moral virtue. With the example of Pascal, Hume is showing just how disastrously this modern mistake can go off the rails, unlike ancient philosophy which can only compromise utility and agreeableness so far as it is still connected to the norms of sociable life.

Hume, Cicero, and the Ancients

209

This is the point of Hume’s underscoring Pascal’s obsession “to keep a perpetual sense of his dependence before his eyes, and never to forget his numberless wants and infirmities.” Pascal’s condition is the consequence of a moral system in which only voluntarily controllable “moral virtues” count at all (although this is not the sole reason they become so pathological.23 Pascal multiplied that which he should be able to control were he not so sinful and abject, resulting in a continual affirmation of his viciousness, and as a consequence pain and misery. The desire for moral control resulted in the rejection of sociability – he “endeavoured to be absolutely indifferent towards his nearest relations, and to love and speak well of his enemies” – in attempting to subordinate his ordinary (and morally praiseworthy from a Ciceronian perspective!) sociable passions, love of family and friends and hatred of enemies, to a false account of the virtues. Pascal is thus a warning as to the potential disaster of maintaining a distinction in kind between moral virtues and natural abilities where none is present in common life as reflected by the unanimous opinion of the ancient philosophers. I do not think that Hume was suggesting that Hutcheson or Samuel Clarke or any of the many others who restricted virtue to moral virtues were going to end up like Pascal. Benevolence as the sole principle of morality might rule out epistemic virtues as being virtues proper, as well as natural abilities, but it does not conflict with agreeableness, or in most cases with utility. Hume rather wished to suggest that there was a continuity between Pascal and far more amiable moralists, even those who thought of themselves as wholly onboard with the Ciceronian program. Because they got the explanandum of morality wrong, they were of the same kind as Pascal, which was a consequence of the modern perverting of moral philosophy by religion. Although ancient moral philosophers 23

Thomas Pink has pointed out to me that Pascal’s condition cannot be worse than Diogenes due to the fact that Pascal’s set of desirable virtues are voluntary because Diogenes’ account also restricts virtue to those virtues that involve self-control. It seems to have to do, instead, with the content of the virtues and how they are discharged. The Cynic believes that they should live a life according to nature, and consequently that it is good to control themself in such a way that they can walk around covered in mud. This is a pathological but satisfiable standard; Diogenes knows when he is virtuous and consequently he can take pride in it. But Pascal can never be sure of his possession of the virtues because the religious norms connected with the virtues he aspires to are such that there is no clear mark that he has satisfied them. In fact, believing one has satisfied them generates pride, which is the opposite of the humility that the virtue is supposed to generate. So they are unsatisfiable. Furthermore, because God is always watching, the pursuit of virtue invades the whole life – they are impossibly exacting. Finally, because the core virtues involve exclusive and personal dependence on God, they exclude relations with others, unlike the core virtues of the Cynics which allowed them to happily form sects. Thus Pascalian virtues are unsociable in their nature.

210

aaron garrett

often provided bad philosophical explanations of this explanandum, they did not tend toward this sort of antisociable and miserable fanaticism. The discussion of artificial lives in “A Dialogue” is thus a support to the Ciceronianism I have outlined in the main body of the work. This essay opened with the question: “How does one present a moral philosophy that reflects the breadth and diversity of virtues and vices to an audience who have restricted and stubborn beliefs about what count as virtues and vices?” EPM sought to draw readers in to Hume’s position through identification with those they admired – Cicero and the ancients – and pushed them away via what hopefully horrified them – Pascal. This is a central function of Hume’s new engagement with the ancients in EPM. And in a way, it is an eloquent and engaging attempt to gain proper hearing from his audience to the remark to Hutcheson about the Whole Duty of Man, which in EPM is now a footnote to a long list of supporting quotes from the ancients. I have not discussed the centerpiece of “A Dialogue”: Palamedes’ presentation of the bizarre moral practices of Fourli and then the revelation that these bizarre practices were the practices of the ancients whom the reader assumedly admired. What this example underlines is that despite the problem of moral diversity, which is not just a problem involving people we view as obviously different from us (as held by Locke and Hutcheson) but even a problem for those we view as our best company and the source of our moral philosophy and moral practices, the system of utility and agreeableness is a sufficient explanation of persistent uniformities that overcome this problem. This drives home what I take to be Hume’s considered eclectic position – in the Ciceronian sense. Just as Cicero claimed that the differences between the Greeks and Romans were overstated by those who wished to claim that only the Greeks excelled at philosophy, so too the differences between the ancients and the moderns were overstated by those who misguidedly believed their own positions were the true wisdom of the ancients but were in fact committed to beliefs that fundamentally conflicted with them. The ancients had idiosyncratic practices, and so do we. Brutus and Cassius were Cicero’s friends and correspondents as well as Caesar’s assassins. We have religious superstitions and make undermotivated distinctions of kind between natural abilities and moral virtues. Instead of taking sides with the ancients against the moderns or the moderns against the ancients, we should give good philosophical arguments a proper hearing where we find them untethered to system. The point, as in the example of Epicurus in EHU 11, is acknowledging valid arguments, whatever the

Hume, Cicero, and the Ancients

211

source – auditorem non adiutorem – and consequently the dichotomy of either ancients or moderns is rejected by an eclectic philosopher just as Cicero rejected Greeks or Romans.24 In EPM Hume drew out the consequences of his recognition of the centrality of the problem of modern religion for moral philosophy for the way in which he should present his arguments. This resulted in an even more central role in his arguments to the undermining of the distinction of kind between natural abilities and moral virtues and new arguments for the negative consequences of this distinction in “A Dialogue.” It also resulted in a new approach to presentation that marshaled Cicero and the ancients for the breaking down of sectarian philosophical borders that stopped his arguments from being properly listened to by his intended audience. In EPM he attempted to present in argument the sentiment he expressed to Balfour in the letter quoted in Section 10.2 – that philosophy should be an amiable enterprise between friends with divergent philosophical viewpoints and from different schools, and no viewpoint should be rejected out of hand or undermine such philosophical friendship: “auditorem non adiutorem.” In this, Cicero was his exemplar, his spokesman (in some cases), and a means to draw his audience to adopt this viewpoint. 10.3.3

Modern Rights

Natural law was one of the central ways of approaching moral and political philosophy in the early modern period, and through Grotius in particular, Cicero’s influence can be found everywhere (Straumann, 2015). Cicero’s De Officiis was viewed as a template for thinking about duties, rights, and obligations which provided a set of core commitments that could be mined and expanded by modern philosophers (Tuck, 1988). As James Moore, who I invoked at the beginning of this essay, has convincingly argued, the theory of rights is at the core of what Cicero meant for early modern British philosophers (Moore, 2002). Hume has relatively little to say about rights in the Treatise compared to Hobbes, Locke, Pufendorf, and many others. Cicero is not invoked in this context. But some of the problems he was responding to by utilizing Cicero’s persona to suggest auditorem non adiutorem – in particular moral diversity and the relation between religion and morality – are part

24

And, consequently, I think Loptson’s view (2012) that Hume is siding with moderns against the ancients is incomplete

212

aaron garrett

and parcel of the theory of rights. And what Hume does have to say is notable and important.25 Drawing on a longstanding distinction between perfect and imperfect duties, where perfect duties are those that can be compelled and imperfect duties are duties of humanity,26 Hume suggests that “property, and right, and obligation,” like a light switch which is either on or off, “admit not of degrees” (T 3.2.6.8). One either has them in full or not at all. Unlike Grotius and Pufendorf and like Hobbes (putting aside the complicated issue of Hobbesian natural right), Hume takes this to be a mark that rights are artificial, like justice, and deriving what existence they have from it. The mark of their artificiality is that natural virtue and vice admit of degrees. Hume concludes this discussion as follows: “If you assent, therefore, to this last proposition, and assert, that justice and injustice are not susceptible of degrees, you in effect assert, that they are not naturally either vicious or virtuous; since vice and virtue, moral good and evil, and indeed all natural qualities, run insensibly into each other, and are, on many occasions, undistinguishable” (T 3.2.6.7). Rights are, consequently, wholly artificial grants and guarantees, social conventions that exist solely to serve stability and utility. Hume does not define rights, but it is reasonable to assume that he understands them in these passages primarily as exclusive use of property and takes them to not admit of degrees because property does not admit of degrees. Unlike Hobbes, Hume also provides a diagnosis of why we think of rights as natural and not artificial that is connected to one of his central goals in the Treatise. Although half-rights make little sense conceptually, since rights, obligations, and property all have their origins in the imagination and are intertwined with the virtues and vices of common life, we cannot help but think of them in terms of degree when we apply them in practice. This intertwining of the circumstances of common life and the artifices of justice is central to Hume’s explanation of our motivation to perform and approve of artificial obligations and to recognize artificial rights. Hume also discusses the rights of princes both in the Treatise and EPM. Hume’s main point is that duties, rights, and obligations are more stringent in society than between princes since they are far more useful in the former than the latter. If a prince decides to take a territory even though another prince has a recognized right to it, the disaster will likely be far less 25 26

For a far more extensive discussion of the relation between the Treatise and EPM see Haakonssen (1981), ch. 1. The distinction is important in Grotius and, particularly, Pufendorf. See Seidler (2015), 3.5.

Hume, Cicero, and the Ancients

213

than if everyone in their principality decides to disregard recognized rights. Justice and regard to it is the necessary condition of society, and if disregarded, “disorder, confusion, the war of all against all” follow. “But nations can subsist without intercourse” with one another and consequently between princes. Consequently “the moral obligation holds proportion with the usefulness” (Hume, 1998, 4.3), and the obligation, though perfect within a state, is less so between states and princes. This suggests that the exceptionlessness of rights, that they do not come in degrees, is due not only to their artificial nature in connection with property but also to the paramount utility of their stringent observation. So far the discussion of rights in EPM is scanter than in the Treatise, as one would expect given the respective lengths of the two works, but consistent with it. There is a pivotal passage that has no parallel, though, and suggests a fundamental addition by Hume. EPM 3.1 ends with a remarkable discussion of rights – remarkable both in regard to its content and in relation to Hume’s corpus. Hume begins: Suppose, that several distinct societies maintain a kind of intercourse for mutual convenience and advantage, the boundaries of justice still grow larger, in proportion to the largeness of men’s views, and the force of their mutual connexions. History, experience, reason sufficiently instruct us in this natural progress of human sentiments, and in the gradual enlargement of our regards to justice, in proportion as we become acquainted with the extensive utility of that virtue. (EPM 3.21)

The word “progress” appears throughout the Treatise but it generally means change or regular movement from one to another. For example, the expression “progress of sentiments” describes how sentiments change in a lawlike way as detailed by the science of human nature. However, in the passage just quoted, the natural progress of human sentiments is connected with the historical enlargement of justice. Hume suggests that justice enlarges when those who view themselves as subject to justice come to see that it is also useful to include others as within the ken of justice who they have failed to so regard. He further suggests that this is the consequence of the progress of sentiments, in this case those served by utility. In Of the Rise and Progress of the Arts and Sciences, which appeared in 1742, Hume also uses the word “progress” in tandem with discussions of political, scientific, and artistic improvement. In a much-discussed footnote to “Of National Characters,” Hume argues that people of African descent are incapable of arts and sciences, which he seems to

214

aaron garrett

connect to the irregularity of their sentiments (Garrett and Sebastiani, 2017). Consequently, Hume seems to hold that those capable of regular and ordered sentiments can progress when driven by interest in a manner that results in improvement, and in the moral case an expansion of viewpoint as to who ought to be morally considered. The passage just quoted continues: Were there a species of creatures, intermingled with men, which, though rational, were possessed of such inferior strength, both of body and mind, that they were incapable of all resistance, and could never, upon the highest provocation, make us feel the effects of their resentment; the necessary consequence, I think, is, that we should be bound, by the laws of humanity, to give gentle usage to these creatures, but should not, properly speaking, lie under any restraint of justice with regard to them, nor could they possess any right or property, exclusive of such arbitrary lords. Our intercourse with them could not be called society, which supposes a degree of equality; but absolute command on the one side, and servile obedience on the other. Whatever we covet, they must instantly resign: Our permission is the only tenure, by which they hold their possessions: Our compassion and kindness the only check, by which they curb our lawless will: And as no inconvenience ever results from the exercise of a power, so firmly established in nature, the restraints of justice and property, being totally useless, would never have place in so unequal a confederacy. This is plainly the situation of men, with regard to animals; and how far these may be said to possess reason, I leave it to others to determine. (EPM 3.19)

Hume distinguishes our natural moral obligations to animals, that we are “bound by the laws of humanity,” from the artifices of rights in a way that makes clear the fundamental importance of the latter. In the language of natural law, we have only imperfect duties since there is no guarantee of our performance of our natural obligations beyond whatever morally motivates us in the absence of any sort of interested motives (Magri, 1996). In the case of justice and other perfect duties, sanctions attached to laws guarantee performance when a moral motivation is absent, as well as a wide array of social sanctions. But, in the absence of any utility to create and enforce sanctions, there are no actual rights. Consequently, animals have no exclusionary or exclusive rights – we can take what is theirs with impunity even if it is inhumane. They also have no actual rights against us giving rise to restraints of justice if we treat them inhumanely; all they have are our kind motivations. They have no means to make their resentments felt.

Hume, Cicero, and the Ancients

215

This passage is notable for at least two reasons. First, Hume places injury as a central arena governed by rights, whereas the discussion in the Treatise is almost exclusively in terms of property rights. In 1751 Hume’s friend Henry Home, better known as Lord Kames, published Essays on the Principles of Morality and Natural Religion, where he criticized Hume’s discussion of justice in the Treatise for being too focused on property and not recognizing the importance of moral injury. Kames also suggested that not just man but all creatures possessing the “hoarding quality, are endued with the sense or feeling of property,” and consequently that our sense of the injustice of violating a right to property was prior to the establishment of conventions for utility (Home, 1751, ch. 7). EPM was printed in July 1751. Hume noted to Michael Ramsey at the end of June that he had read “our friend Harry’s” criticisms (L I, 162) but EPM was no doubt sent to the publisher and complete by then. But, given Hume and Kames’ closeness in this period, it is likely that Hume was aware of these criticisms before he read them in print. If so, it is plausible to view this paragraph as Hume’s response – accepting injury but denying that rights to property or against injurers exist in any full-blooded sense in the absence of conventions because of the basic difference between our moral sense of right and wrong and rights, which corrects our moral irregularities in the service of utility. This is the second important point. Hume views rights as existing in a meaningful sense only when they can be guaranteed or enforced.27 When force lies entirely with one party then only if the utility of their enforcement of granting rights to the powerless for the powerful is recognized will rights then be secured. Since the confederacy of humans and animals is useless to humans insofar as they can take what they want from animals whenever they wish, rights for animals are also useless to the humans who would enforce them and, if useless, nonexistent.28 A consequence of this difference in kind between humans and animals was that some humans thought, by analogy, this held between humans who might only differ in degree of present force. 27

28

In “Of Some Remarkable Customs,” which is contemporary with EPM, Hume notes concerning the pressing of seamen into service that “sailors, who are alone affected by it, find no body to support them, in claiming the rights and privileges, which the law grants, without distinction, to all English subjects” (E, 375). In other words, these rights are abrogated for the purpose of utility and cease to be backed. This was the default position, but not universally held. Both Frances Hutcheson and Thomas Reid thought community with domesticated animals to be useful and to warrant defeasible rights. See Garrett (2007).

216

aaron garrett The great superiority of civilized Europeans above barbarous Indians, tempted us to imagine ourselves on the same footing with regard to them, and made us throw off all restraints of justice, and even of humanity, in our treatment of them. In many nations, the female sex are reduced to like slavery, and are rendered incapable of all property, in opposition to their lordly masters. But though the males, when united, have, in all countries, bodily force sufficient to maintain this severe tyranny; yet such are the insinuation, address, and charms of their fair companions, that women are commonly able to break the confederacy, and share with the other sex in all the rights and privileges of society. (EPM 3.19)

Hume is here suggesting that unlike with animals, confederacy with all human beings, whether we recognize it or not, is utile. In other words, if the difference between humans results in inhumane conduct, that is both a violation of our moral obligations and of rights. But if neither “barbarous Indians” nor European women can extract rights from European men and make their resentment felt, how can this possibly be the case? Putting aside Hume’s questionable claim that women share “in all the rights and privileges of society,” Hume seems to suggest that Indians and women ought to have rights insofar as “the gradual enlargement of our regards to justice, in proportion as we become acquainted with the extensive utility of that virtue,” warrants the recognition of their utility. The “sense of humanity” is Hume’s way of presenting the force of this imperfect duty, which, as Moore suggested, has a strongly Ciceronian flavor. It is better to trade both goods and sympathetic feelings than to engage in war or domestic tyranny, a point also made by Montesquieu both in his condemnation of the seraglio in the Persian Letters and in the Spirit of the Laws.29 There are at least two directions in which this points.30 The first is to Bentham (Rosen, 2003, ch. 3), in his criticisms of natural rights as nonsense on stilts and his hardnosed arguments that rights only exist insofar as they are backed (Schofield, 2003). The second is to Adam Smith’s Kames-influenced spectatorial theory of rights developed in his Lectures on Jurisprudence – that rights involve the moral approval of impartial spectators (Haakonssen, 1981). Neither is clearly argued for in this passage. The most that can be said is that as European men enlarge their views, they come to see that there is utility in recognizing a far wider range of people as capable of a far wider range of virtues and vices than they presently do. 29 30

For an important alternative discussion stressing the motivation of partiality and a sense of common interest over self-interest in re justice, see Taylor (2015b), pp. 175–79. For the continuing contemporary engagement with Hume on these issues see Hope (2010).

Hume, Cicero, and the Ancients

10.4

217

Conclusion

This is, I suggest, connected with Hume’s answer to the problem of diversity and the quarrel between the ancients and moderns, and to the principle of auditorem non adiutorem. Regarding diversity in “A Dialogue,” Hume stresses that all human beings are unified by a few basic sentiments and interests. The greatest variation in moral sentiments is due to the restriction of commerce of men and women (EPM D 43). The ideal is free commerce without jealousy and gallantry (EPM D 48), which gives rise to the best customs (Roman and English), whereas separation, gallantry, and jealousy give rise to the worst (Italian and Spanish of the previous generation). Hume’s considered view seems to be that as the artifices – in the sense of artificial lives – propped up by useless conventions break down, the virtues and vices esteemed will be both more diverse and more agreed upon than in societies not so open. This is not an argument for the equality of men and women, or Europeans and barbarous Indians (and certainly not humans and animals). Instead Hume seems to hold that the idiosyncrasies that give rise to exclusive and useless beliefs both about the vices and virtues can be ultimately broken down by the enlargement of who and what is useful and whom one socializes with. Second, note that Hume’s juxtaposition is between present Englishmen and Romans, Italians, and Spanish of the prior generation. The changes Hume is describing are not the consequence of a larger motor of history, but rather can take place in different times and places. This does not exclude that there might be a larger progressive history; Hume is just not arguing for it. Instead Hume seems to be influenced by the kind of stadial history found in Kames, Smith, his friend John Millar, and Montesquieu, which stresses that stages can be found in any time and place and can be distinguished along a wide variety of axes. The distinction between the ancients and the moderns is one – but only one – way of periodizing human societies, conventions, and achievements. Finally, one can see the normative import of the Ciceronian auditorem non adiutorem principle in EPM (EPM 3.19). Hume stresses “the gradual enlargement of our regards to justice” and this happens both because of the agency of those who ought to be included – “women are commonly able to break the confederacy” through the “insinuation, address, and charms of their fair companions” – and the European men who are open to taking their virtues and utility seriously. In other words, the

218

aaron garrett

enlargement of regard to justice involves putting aside prejudices concerning who should be counted and who should be taken seriously (Taylor, 2015b, pp. 178–79), although unlike Cicero, the utile and the honestum are most harmonized when the latter follows and is undergirded by the former.31 31

Thanks to Hannah Culik-Baird, Peter Fosl, Ryan Hanley, James Harris, Esther Kroeker, Thomas Pink, Benjamin Straumann, and the participants in the Brown University History of Philosophy Roundtable for extremely helpful comments. Thanks to Tim Stuart-Buttle for sharing the manuscript of his forthcoming book with me, which is now the standard work on the importance of Cicero for early modern British philosophers in general, and Hume in particular.

chapter 11

Hume on Religion in the Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals Esther Engels Kroeker

Hume’s Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals (EPM) is first and foremost a work about morality, not about religion, and we find in this book no section title that mentions religion. It is evident, however, that Hume presents his thoughts about religion throughout this book. The topic of religion, in fact, is mentioned so often that it seems to be an important one for Hume, or at least one about which he wishes to make a point. In order to understand Hume’s claims concerning religion in EPM, we will try to discover whether Hume has anyone in mind when he is speaking about religion, as well as what forms of religion he is criticizing, and whose, and to draw out a more general conclusion about Hume’s aim in EPM. In the following, I suggest that Hume’s EPM is a plea to turn away from some forms of religion and of religious philosophy and to embrace his own moral and nonreligious philosophy. Hume writes in a way that, at first glance, does not have any implication for the views of his more moderate Protestant readers in England and Scotland. Indeed, the forms of religion Hume explicitly criticizes are those of the enthusiasts, fanatics, or superstitious people also scorned by Anglicans and Presbyterians. But despite appearances, I will argue that Hume also, and more importantly, targets the everyday Protestant person of his day as well as the moderate intellectual Protestant circles of England and Scotland, and he writes in a way that mimics prominent Protestant texts. Understanding this target will help us discover that Hume’s EPM is his attempt to replace dominant Protestant texts on duty and merit with his own moral philosophy. In fact, I show, EPM is Hume’s own secular – but religiously styled – credo on duty and virtue.

11.1

Superstition and Enthusiasm in EPM: An Explicit but Secondary Target

In EPM, Hume sets out to show that the qualities of mind that we approve of, and that are thus virtuous, are those that are found agreeable 219

220

esther engels kroeker

and useful, either to the person who displays the virtue or to others. This conclusion, Hume holds, follows from his method of analyzing the various mental qualities, habits, and sentiments that form personal merit, and that hence give rise to esteem and affection, or to hatred and contempt. Hume systematically offers examples and counter-examples of persons who are humane, beneficent, or virtuous in other ways in order to bring to light the traits that give rise to merit or demerit and the qualities such traits have in common, and to include his reader in his method of observation. What we find with regard to these examples is that from the earliest sections of EPM Hume describes religious persons and their practices as illustrations of what we do not esteem. The religious such and such is in fact Hume’s prime example of what is neither useful nor agreeable, but rather useless, disagreeable, frivolous, burdensome, or even pernicious. And the persons or groups of persons who fit the description of useless and disagreeable are most often taken from those that fall in the categories Hume calls “superstition” and “enthusiasm.” We find Hume’s most extensive comments on religion in Section 9, “Conclusion.” Here, Hume concludes EPM by writing that his system is evident, simple, and obvious. The reason why his theory, “so simple and obvious . . . has so long escaped the most elaborate examination,” he writes, is that some “systems and hypotheses have perverted our natural understanding” and kept us from seeing what is clearly evident from observation and experience (EPM 9.1). In everyday life, Hume points out, the conviction that what is virtuous is what is agreeable or useful is implicitly maintained and accepted in “every intercourse of business or pleasure, in every discourse and conversation . . . except in the schools.” Hence apart from what is taught in “the schools” and absent theories that have obscured what is evident from observation and experience, human beings all tend to approve of what is useful and agreeable, Hume concludes. We might wonder to whom Hume is referring when he speaks, in Section 9, of “systems and hypotheses” that have so perverted the understanding. His answer is quick to come. After painting the picture of Cleanthes, exemplifying the adorable moral character of the perfect sonin-law, Hume concludes in Section 9.3: And as every quality, which is useful or agreeable to ourselves or others, is, in common life, allowed to be a part of personal merit; so no other will ever be received, where men judge of things by their natural, unprejudiced reason, without the delusive glosses of superstition and false religion. (EPM 9.3)

Hume on Religion

221

The culprit, therefore, for corrupting our understanding and keeping us from recognizing the obviousness of his account is, according to him, superstition and false religion. Hume then goes on to describe the ideal virtues of superstition and false religion, which he calls the “monkish virtues.” He writes: Celibacy, fasting, penance, mortification, self-denial, humility, silence, solitude and the whole train of monkish virtues . . . are every where rejected by men of sense . . .. We observe . . . they . . . stupefy the understanding and harden the heart, obscure the fancy and sour the temper. We justly, therefore, transfer them to the opposite column, and place them in the catalogue of vices; nor has any superstition force sufficient, among men of the world, to pervert entirely these natural sentiments. A gloomy, hair-brained enthusiast, after his death, may have a place in the calendar, but will scarcely ever be admitted, when alive, into intimacy and society, expect by those who are as delirious and dismal as himself. (EPM 9.3)

The so-called virtues such as celibacy, fasting, penance, mortification, silence, and solitude are clearly those Hume associates with monks, priests, and devotees who place emphasis on the sacred character of rituals and on the great power of priests. These are the kind of virtues that are esteemed by superstitious persons, according to Hume. But he also includes in this passage the “hair-brained” or crazy enthusiast, who, he writes here, is delirious and dismal. Hence, Hume’s explicit target in EPM is superstition and enthusiasm, two types of what he calls “false religions” that are – at least at first glance – responsible for keeping his theory from being obvious. Hume’s disapproving comments on superstition and enthusiasm are not restricted to his conclusion. In Section 2, Hume already voices his disapproval of superstition when he points out that the “monk and inquisitor” is enraged “when we treat his order as useless or pernicious to mankind” (EPM 2.11). And in Section 3 Hume deplores the principles of the Levellers, who, he writes, were religious fanatics found in England during the civil wars and who promoted ideas of perfect equality of property (EPM 3.24). Despite their superficial appearance of plausibility, a little common sense shows, Hume argues, that their principles are impracticable and extremely pernicious to human society (EPM 3.26). Hume places the Levellers in the group of enthusiasts and he concludes that we must reject appearances and search for those rules that are, on the whole, most useful and beneficial, and that: Vulgar sense and slight experience are sufficient for this purpose; where men give not way to too selfish avidity, or too extensive enthusiasm. (EPM 3.27)

222

esther engels kroeker

For Hume, both superstition and enthusiasm pervert the understanding, harden the heart, render their adepts gloomy and sour, and are contrary to common sense and slight experience. The laws, he continues, that do not terminate in the interest and happiness of human society, such as those of the vulgar superstitious, are neither useful nor agreeable, and rather appear whimsical and unnatural (EPM 3.35). The practices of the superstitious vulgar who consider, for instance, certain foods as forbidden and others as sacred are irrational, Hume writes. That egg is permitted here but not there, or that a profane building may become holy by the murmur of certain words, are superstitious beliefs and behaviors, Hume writes, that are a folly (EPM 3.36–37). Superstitious rules, Hume therefore concludes, are frivolous, useless, and burdensome (EPM 3.38). Religious practices and principles are not only useless and hurtful, but, Hume points out in Section 5, they are also unnatural. He writes here that morality is grounded in human nature and natural sentiments of approval, and hence is not completely relative to one’s education. Still, education may have a great influence. Hume writes: this principle, indeed, of precept and education, must so far be owned to have a powerful influence, that it may frequently increase or diminish, beyond their natural standard, the sentiments of approbation or dislike; and may even, in particular instances, create, without any natural principle, a new sentiment of this kind; as is evident in all superstitious practices and observances. (EPM 5.3)

Hence, despite its influence, education, just as superstition, often creates new and unnatural sentiments that often turn out to be contrary to those natural sentiments of approval for what is useful and agreeable. In light of the passages just listed that reveal Hume’s criticism of enthusiasm and superstition, it may seem, at first glance, that these groups are Hume’s main target in EPM. However, several elements cast doubt on such a conclusion. First of all, Hume certainly associates the Levellers with the enthusiasts, but he mostly seems to think of them as a political rather than a religious group. He therefore goes on to describe them as “political fanatics” more than religious enthusiasts (EPM 3.24), revealing that he is addressing a political problem more than a religious one. Second, Hume’s description of enthusiasm in EPM is rather superficial, and in fact contradictory to his official views concerning this group. He describes them here as gloomy and hair-brained. In his other writings, however, although he believes that the enthusiasts get carried away into grand schemes and objectives (thinking they have God on their side), he

Hume on Religion

223

definitely does not think of them as gloomy. The enthusiast character, he writes in “Of Superstition and Enthusiasm,” arises from pride and confidence, and is found in bold and ambitious tempers (SE, E, 74). Third, apart from the Levellers, we have few indications in EPM of specific enthusiastic or superstitious persons Hume could have in mind. Dario Perinetti argues that Hume’s ideas in the Treatise and in his essay on superstition and enthusiasm were fueled by controversies and debates as well as by Hume’s own readings while he was in Rheims and La Flèche, the French Jesuit College, during the 1730s (Perinetti, 2018). The Treatise and the essay are, indeed, written with specific enthusiasts and superstitious persons in mind – groups Hume specifically mentions – but at the later time of the writing of EPM, however, apart from Hume’s careful discussion of the superstitious morality of Blaise Pascal (EPM D), Hume makes fewer explicit references to real-life superstitious and enthusiastic religious devotees than he does in some of his other writings. The many explicit references Hume offers in his essay “Of Superstition and Enthusiasm,” for instance, are to enthusiasts such as the Jansenists, and to superstitious persons such as the Jesuits (clearly reminiscent of his time in France). In the History of England Hume is also specific in a way that differs completely from EPM. Volume I of the History, for instance, is extremely precise in describing the superstition of the Germans, the Saxons, the Druids, the monks, and the various catholic precepts. Hume repeatedly shows here how the monks, priests, and sovereign pontiffs acted most often in vicious manners, in order to achieve their own power, instead of in light of virtue (see, for instance, H 1.8, 311). Therefore, we find fewer specific descriptions and criticisms of particular superstitious and enthusiast groups (as Hume understands them) in EPM than in his other works. Finally, it is not evident that Hume seeks primarily to criticize the superstitious and the enthusiasts at home or in France, since, in reality, it is very likely that his readers both on the continent and in England and Scotland were men of letters and philosophers who would have agreed with Hume about the dangers of superstition and enthusiasm.1 That superstition and enthusiasm is dangerous for human society, that it is contrary to true religion, and that it invents new species of virtue (as Hume also argues in his Natural History of Religion) is not a topic that is original to Hume’s writings. If we focus on the British context we notice, for instance, that 1

Voltaire, for example, criticizes superstition in his entry on this topic in his Dictionnaire Philosophique (Voltaire, 1965); he does not speak, however, of enthusiasm in the context of religion but rather of art.

224

esther engels kroeker

such ideas were part of well-known texts of Hume’s day and earlier.2 The English playwright and politician Sir Robert Howard, for instance, writes in his History of Religion of the grave dangers of the masters of superstition – the priests and the Church of Rome – who are responsible, in their quest for power, for the errors of the vulgar (Howard, 1694). And John Trenchard, a journalist and radical Whig, describes in his Natural History of Superstition (Trenchard, 1709) the excesses of enthusiasm and how they are based in natural psychological processes rather than in imagined supernatural interventions. The author of the Anglican devotional The Whole Duty of Man, to which we turn later in this chapter, also describes the dangers of those enthusiasts who think they are led by the Spirit to act outside of the church order (The Whole Duty of Man XIV.8).3 And the Westminster Confession of Faith, which we also examine in the following sections, is clear in its rejection of superstition and of monkish virtues, when it says, for instance, that “monastical vows of perpetual single life, professed poverty, and regular obedience, are so far from being degrees of higher perfection, that they are superstitious and sinful snares” (Westminster Confession of Faith XXII.7).4 In England and Scotland, at least, various intellectuals including Anglicans and Presbyterians hence openly rejected what they considered to be the excesses of enthusiasm as well as the idolatrous practices of superstition. It is a rather uncontroversial fact that most men of letters and educated families in England and Scotland – those most susceptible to reading Hume’s works – were associated in some way with Anglican and Presbyterian branches of the church. If most of Hume’s readers, therefore, would have agreed with Hume’s criticisms of superstition and enthusiasm in EPM, it would be legitimate to conclude that Hume’s remarks on religion are only useful to understand the generic enthusiast and superstitious person he already described in his other works, that his objections lack originality, that they lack precision, and that he is preaching to the choir. Perhaps this is the case. However, it is plausible, I believe, to recognize that Hume’s primary aim was not to denounce enthusiasm and superstition, but rather to denounce the view of most of his main readership in England and Scotland: philosophers, theologians, and both learned and common Protestants of his time. 2

3 4

Thomas Hobbes, Henry More, and John Locke, for instance, criticize enthusiasm as either hypocritical, as based in melancholy, or dubious for epistemological reasons (Shaftesbury, on the other hand, is more favorable to enthusiasm – see Knox [1950] for more information). All references to The Whole Duty of Man are to Allestree (1659). Reference to the Westminster Confession of Faith are to Westminster Assembly of Divines (1937).

Hume on Religion

225

Before turning to Hume’s more implicit but, I believe, primary target, we might wonder why Hume chose to reject enthusiasm and superstition in an explicit manner. Several such explanations may exist, but one likely reason is that Hume wanted to bring, perhaps among others, his Anglican and Presbyterian readers on board with him. Criticizing enthusiasm and superstition would be welcomed by many orthodox or moderate Christians of his day. As we will see, The Whole Duty of Man was one of the most-read texts in Anglican families, and all Presbyterians would learn passages of the Westminster Confession of Faith by heart. It is not far-fetched, therefore, to imagine that Hume’s readers in England and Scotland would be reassured by his criticisms of superstition and enthusiasm, and would be favorably inclined toward Hume’s account, while thereby allowing Hume to reach his primary target – which is to criticize them – in an indirect but no less forceful manner.

11.2 Hume’s Primary Target: Philosophers and Theologians Several passages from EPM suggest that Hume’s comments about religious systems and hypotheses are criticisms, primarily, and contrary to appearances, of intellectuals, philosophers, and men of letters who are religiously inclined, or who have included religious ethical theories in their philosophical accounts. Returning to Section 9, we find that after deploring the monkish virtues, Hume is puzzled once more by those who question his theory, by confessing that he cannot understand why it could be doubted that the qualities we esteem are inseparable from humanity and are approved in virtue of being agreeable or useful (EPM 9.13). And in Part II of Section 9 Hume once again returns to the topic of who is responsible for keeping a theory such as his from being universally recognized. His task here is to show not only that humans approve of virtue but also that the practice of every duty leads to happiness and welfare, and that he has advanced principles, which not only, it is hoped, will stand the test of reasoning and enquiry, but may contribute to the amendment of men’s lives, and their improvement in morality and social virtue. (EPM 9.14)

Hume admits that the truth of a philosophical proposition does not depend on its usefulness, but, still, if it is pernicious to society, no one will live according to it, and it will be detested. Hume claims that his own descriptions, on the other hand, reveal virtue in all her “genuine and most engaging charms, and make us approach her with ease, familiarity and affection”

226

esther engels kroeker

(EPM 9.15). And now Hume points out that those who have hidden and clothed virtue in a dismal dress are “many divines, and some philosophers” (EPM 9.15). Hume suggests that they have clothed virtue with “useless austerities and rigours, suffering and self-denial” (EPM 9.15). Contrary to the false virtue and duty of the divines and some philosophers, Hume concludes, true virtue (agreeable and useful traits) asks merely for “just calculation, and a steady preference of the greater happiness.” “If any austere pretenders approach her,” Hume writes, “she . . . rejects them as hypocrites and deceivers” or ranks them as her least favorite votaries (EPM 9.15). Hume’s target here is those divines and philosophers who embrace religious and philosophical systems that have clothed virtue in austerity and rigor. In Appendix 4 Hume is even clearer about the group he is criticizing: those philosophers and men of letters who have mixed philosophy with theology. Hume explains here why modern philosophers (overridingly, it seems) are so different in their moral enquiries from the ancients. Here is what he explains: In later times, philosophy of all kinds, especially ethics, have been more closely united with theology than ever they were observed to be among the Heathens; and as this latter science admits of no terms of composition, but bends every branch of knowledge to its own purpose, without much regard to the phaenomena of nature, or to the unbiassed sentiments of the mind, hence reasoning, and even language, have been warped from their natural course, and distinctions have been endeavoured to be established, where the difference of the objects was, in a manner, imperceptible. (EPM App. 4.21)

Hume goes on to argue that such philosophers, or rather “divines under that disguise,” tend to think of virtues as those qualities over which we have some voluntary control rather than qualities such as involuntary natural tempers. Hume even concludes EPM by pointing out that the “philosophical enthusiast” departs “from the maxims of common reason” and can give no reason for what pleases and displeases them (EPM D 57; italics added). Such philosophers, those who have united ethics too closely with theology, fail to recognize the evidence offered by observation and hence hide virtue under a garment of gloom, and warp the understanding by clouding our vision of what a little sense and observation will reveal about the nature and foundation of virtue. These religious philosophers, therefore, seem to be those most responsible in Hume’s estimation for keeping the account he presents from being widely recognized in intellectual circles. Therefore, despite appearances, several important passages in EPM would hit closer to home, and would touch those religious readers of

Hume on Religion

227

Hume’s circle and audience who think of themselves as religious but neither superstitious nor enthusiast: those philosophers, Hume writes, who have mixed philosophy with theology. This reproach would indeed have a great effect on most of Hume’s readers, and especially in England and Scotland. Hume, no doubt, expected much of his readership to be from the English-speaking world. After all, he wrote in English, his publisher was Scottish, and he expected his books to be distributed first in England and Scotland. Moreover, the Enlightenment period in Scotland was led by philosophers who were strongly influenced by theology. Most philosophers of his time in the British and Scottish context thought of philosophy in general, and moral theory or ethics in particular, as compatible with religious doctrines. Moreover, many readers (philosophers, theologians, or other men of letters) in Hume’s English and Scottish context were educators, either in schools or in the church. And Hume seems to include educators in the group he criticizes (EPM 5.3). Now, if Hume really has these readers – most of Hume’s philosophical connections in England and Scotland – in mind, and if these philosophers, for Hume, are those who misrepresent virtue and warp the understanding, then we have found Hume’s target, and his attack is not only innovative for his immediate context, but also rather vehement. What we must now consider is whether there is anything more specific about the theology – which, for Hume, has been mixed with ethics and philosophy – to which he reacts. In order to do so, it is useful to turn to two texts that are representative of Protestant theology in his day, which I already mentioned earlier: The Whole Duty of Man and the Westminster Confession of Faith. In the next section I will distill from these works some of their central claims, which reveal that Hume has these texts in mind when he is criticizing philosophers who have mixed philosophy with theology, as well as the theology of most of his English and Scottish readers. I am not arguing that such a group is Hume’s only target, since perhaps Hume also has in mind theologians and religiously inclined men of letters on the continent (such as Blaise Pascal), and he certainly has in mind nonreligious philosophers (such as Hobbes), but I want to offer evidence that Hume is writing with, among his primary aims, his English and Scottish religious audience in mind.

11.3

EPM and Dominant Protestant Texts

The two religious texts to which Hume seems to allude in EPM are, first, a devotional called The Practice of Christian Graces. Or The Whole Duty of Man Laid Down in a Plain and Familiar Way for the Use of All, but especially

228

esther engels kroeker

the Meanest Reader: Divided into XVII chapters, one whereof being read every lord’s day – to which we will refer as The Whole Duty of Man (WDM). This text was published anonymously in 1658 or 1659, but most likely written earlier, and is usually attributed to Richard Allestree. It was adopted as one of the central texts of Anglican devotional literature. This devotional, according to several scholars, was the “dominant book of religious instruction throughout the eighteenth century” (Stranks, 1961, p. 125 and Alblas, 1991, p. 92). The second text is the well-known Westminster Confession of Faith, which we will turn to later. We know Hume has WDM in mind when writing EPM because he mentions this book in one of the footnotes, where he writes: I suppose, if Cicero were now alive, it would be found difficult to fetter his moral sentiments by narrow systems; or persuade him, that no qualities were to be admitted as virtues, or acknowledged to be a part of personal merit, but what were recommended by The Whole Duty of Man. (EPM 4.11 n.72)

We learn here that Cicero, according to Hume, would have found the list of virtues of WDM too restrictive, and its system too narrow. Despite what Tom Beauchamp writes in the notes to his edition of EPM, WDM was not a Calvinist book (EPM Annotations to App. 4, p. 248) but was rather reflective of seventeenth-century Anglican theology.5 Since Hume explicitly mentions this book, it is therefore imperative to examine its theology. Moreover, it is important to consider this text because several philosophers have recently argued that it is the target of Hume’s Treatise. Anders Kraal, for instance, writes in 2013 that Hume’s target in the Treatise is not Scottish Calvinism, or Christian theology in general (as Paul Russell argues), but “rather, the theological system of the most formidable ecclesiastical power in Britain in Hume’s day: the Anglican Church” (Kraal, 2013, pp. 171–72), a system reflected in WDM. Similarly, Alison McIntyre argues that Hume is aiming at WDM when he seeks to undermine views he attributes to “the vulgar systems of ethicks” in the Treatise (McIntyre, 2014, p. 143). Our task, therefore, is to examine whether Hume might still be seeking to undermine the views of this devotional in EPM. The author of WDM writes in its preface that the book is to be a short and plain direction to the very meanest reader to behave themselves in this world, that they may be happy forever in the next. The point of the devotional is to show us, the meanest reader, the whole will of God, and 5

Anglican theology is generally tied to Arminian rather than to Calvinist theology.

Hume on Religion

229

to show every Christian the duties they owe to God, to themselves, and to others. Hume was familiar with this work, since we know from his deathbed interview by Boswell that he read it when he was young, and he confesses he had found it to be a strange book (Boswell, 1971, p. 11). The fact that he read it when he was a boy, however, means he probably did not have the details of the book in mind anymore when writing EPM. He might nonetheless have retained some general ideas about it, or impressions of its overall content. And the language borrowed from WDM in EPM does seem to suggest that the devotional had made a strong impression on Hume, and that some passages were still at the front of his mind. Moreover, it is likely he read over the list of duties mentioned in WDM as he was composing EPM since he writes that Cicero would have found this list too narrow. There is much to say about the parallels between WDM and EPM, and it is tempting to think that Hume considers the list of duties of WDM as austere and rigid at the time of writing EPM. After all, WDM mentions fasting, meekness, and humility, and these are part of what Hume calls the “monkish virtues.” To be honest, however, a closer look at Allestree’s description of each duty attenuates the real differences and opposition between his views and Hume’s views. A more complete analysis of Allestree’s understanding of these virtues would take us beyond the scope of this chapter, but I will simply state here that Hume would in fact agree with many of the details of WDM.6 Still, Hume does reject some of its central claims and methodology, and I will limit my account here to a pertinent aspect of WDM to which Hume clearly responds in EPM. Hume’s primary objection here is that WDM failed to include, in its list of duties and virtues, natural tempers and character traits such as those included by the ancients, including wit, good sense, and genius (EPM App. 4.6). We have evidence that Hume understood the list of duties and virtues from WDM as too limited from the footnote mentioned earlier (EPM 4.11 n.72), and he also makes this point explicit in the section to which this footnote refers, Appendix 4. As James Fieser and Aaron Garrett explain in their chapters, Hume, in Appendix 4, argues that those qualities that are the object of love or esteem are not only the social virtues of courage, patience, and self-command, but also include those qualities that in the 6

For a more detailed examination of these virtues and of those specific elements from WDM that Hume in fact endorses, see Kroeker (2020).

230

esther engels kroeker

English language we call “talents,” and over which we do not necessarily have much voluntary control, such as intellectual endowments including, for instance, prudence, penetration, discernment, and discretion (EPM App. 4.2). Similarly, Hume continues, foolishness, infirmities, and meanness are qualities we find odious, and qualities such as wit, eloquence, address, taste, and abilities are objects of vanity (EPM App. 4.3–5). Natural endowments, Hume concludes, are entitled “to the denomination of virtues” (EPM App. 4.6), and we should follow the example of Aristotle, Cicero, and “all ancient moralists” when they enlarge their ideas of virtue to include every laudable quality and endowment of the mind (EPM App. 4.11). It is in this context that Hume writes, in the footnote, that it would have been difficult for Cicero to limit his list of virtues to narrow systems and to lists of personal merit such as “what were recommended by The Whole Duty of Man” (EPM App. 4.11 n.72). The objection Hume raises against WDM in fact assumes a correct understanding of its characterization of virtue and duty. Contrary to the Westminster Confession of Faith, the theology of the Anglican devotional is more Arminian than Calvinist and hence places more importance on the person’s freedom, effort, and responsibility to perform various duties. Although we are often limited, and although some of our actions will depend on God’s help, we must “pay obedience” to God and voluntarily place ourselves in situations that will give us control over ourselves (WDM II.2). Even humility is, according to Allestree, a duty, whereby we submit our will to God’s will and wisdom by obedience or patience (WDM II.3–10). Moreover, the author of WDM writes that humans are often proud of the goods of nature, such as beauty, strength, wit, and the like, but, he continues, the being proud of any of these is a huge folly . . . [for] suppose we be not out in judging, yet what is there in any of these natural endowments, which is worth the being proud. There being scarce any of them, which some creature or other hath not in a greater degree than man. How much does the whiteness of the Lilly, and the redness of the Rose exceed the white, and red of the fairest face? what a multitude of creatures is there, that farr surpass man in strength and sweetness? . . .. It is therefore surely great unreasonableness for us to think highly of our selves, for such things as are common to us with beasts and plants . . .. [Moreover,] if they were as excellent as we fancy them, yet they are not at all durable, they are impaired and lost by sundry means; a phrensy will destroy the rarest wit, a sickness decay the freshest beauty, the greatest strength, or however old age will be sure to do all. And therefore to be proud of them is again a folly in this respect. But lastly, whatever they are, we gave them not to our selves. No man can think

Hume on Religion

231

he did any thing towards the procuring his natural beauty or wit, and so can with no reason value himself for them. (WDM VI.9)

The emphasis in WDM, overall, is on the agent’s act of will to obey and the agent’s ability to obey, and the list of duties and virtues one must perform or cultivate are within the domain of the voluntary. When Hume indicates that his account, contrary to the account of WDM, will be inclusive of natural tempers, his characterization of the views of the Christian devotional is therefore accurate. Let us now turn to the Westminster Confession of Faith (WCF). Kraal (2013) argues that the Treatise is an explicit criticism of WDM, but not of WCF. This might be true about Hume’s aims in the Treatise. However, his aim in EPM seems to be to criticize not only WDM but also central aspects of the Presbyterian confession. WCF was produced by the Westminster Assembly, called by the Long Parliament in 1643, as an attempt to unify the Church of England and the Presbyterian Church of Scotland, to pacify tensions between Charles I and his increasing Puritan Parliament, and to reform the Thirty-Nine Articles of the Church of England. After the civil wars and restoration of Charles II, WCF, which is an expression of classical Reformed, broadly Calvinistic theology, lost its official status in England, but remained influential both in England and Scotland, and was adopted as a representation of the faith, worship, and government of the national Scottish Presbyterian Church. Again, much could be said about the details of WCF, and about the many aspects Hume would reject, such as its emphasis on special revelation to know morality (chapter 1) and on morality as expressive of God’s will (WCF 19.VI). However, in line with Hume’s reaction to WDM, in EPM we find little discussion of the details of WCF, and EPM does not reveal a close attention to its theology. Specific passages of EPM, however, reveal that Hume reacts to some of its central claims. The first question of WCF’s Shorter Catechism is: “What is the chief end of man?” And the answer offered is the following: “Man’s chief end is to glorify God, and to enjoy him forever.” This line is a well-known one among Presbyterians from any time and place, and was a common expression in Hume’s day. So perhaps Hume has this well-known phrase in mind when he offers his most extended criticism of religion in EPM, and writes in Part II of Section 9 that virtue talks not of useless austerities and rigours, suffering and self-denial. She declares, that her sole purpose is, to make her votaries and all mankind, during every instant of their existence, if possible, cheerful and happy; nor

232

esther engels kroeker does she ever willingly part with any pleasure but in hopes of ample compensation in some other period of their lives. The sole trouble, which she demands, is that of just calculation, and a steady preference of the greater happiness. (EPM 9.15, italics added)

It is difficult not to notice that Hume speaks here of the “sole” purpose of virtue, and of the “sole” trouble it requires, reminding us of the Shorter Catechism’s first question about the chief purpose of man. The sole purpose of virtue, and of a correct system of morals, for Hume, is people’s cheerfulness and happiness, and not God’s glory. Hence virtue demands nothing too difficult or too demanding such as those duties that, WCF explains, are impossible to achieve without divine help. Indeed, WCF does place great emphasis on the need for God’s assistance, given the total depravity of human nature. Undeniably, WCF’s insistence on the total depravity of man, and on the necessity of God’s grace for the production of any good work, is central to its theology, and it is a claim that Hume rejects in EPM as well as in his other writings. According to WCF, “all the motions” of our corrupted nature “are truly and properly sin” (3.V). Without God’s help it is impossible to be virtuous or to obey God’s will. The Spirit, we read in WCF, effectually persuades the redeemed to believe and to obey (8.VIII, 13.I, and 16.I). Hume, in EPM, strongly reacts against the tendency of divines to see human beings as deprived and completely corrupt, and who think that duty is impossible without God’s help. Hume’s EPM is, to the contrary, a defense of the claim that we do know what is virtuous by our natural sentiments, and that virtue, if we take off the dismal dress with which the divines have clothed her, is cheerful, and accessible without supernatural intervention.7 Several pieces of evidence from Hume’s life and from his other writings also offer good reasons for thinking that WCF was never far from Hume’s thoughts. For one, Hume was brought up in the Church of Scotland. According to James Harris, Hume “would have known every chapter of The Confession of Faith” and he “would doubtless have had to learn by heart” passages of its Larger and Shorter Catechisms (2015, p. 48). Furthermore, we know Hume often had the first question of the catechisms in mind from a letter he wrote to Hutcheson in 1739, where he objects to the notion that all human beings are fitted for some end determined by God. The notion of a final cause of human nature is for 7

Such a view from EPM echoes what Hume says in NHR (p. 65), and in his essay “Of the Dignity and Meanness of Human Nature.”

Hume on Religion

233

Hume “pretty uncertain & unphilosophical.” He writes: “For pray, what is the end of man? Is he created for happiness or for virtue? For this life or the next? For himself or his maker?” (L I, 33; also quoted in Harris, 2015, p. 53). The allusion to WCF here concerning the end of man is hard to miss. Hume therefore clearly rejected this central aspect of WCF, and we have no good reason to think he changed his mind on this point by the time of EPM. In fact, EPM is a clear rejection of WCF’s view of human nature as completely corrupted and it also seeks to argue that the sole purpose of virtue liberated from austerity and the rigors of theology is people’s own happiness, not God’s, and to be happy in this life, regardless of the next.

11.4 The Religious Style of EPM The Anglican and Presbyterian of Hume’s day would be unperturbed by many criticisms Hume raises in EPM against false religion, superstition, and enthusiasm. After all, they would have a better knowledge of their own texts than Hume, and would be quick to point out that most of the duties listed in their texts are not as gloomy as Hume might think, and that many so-called monkish virtues are in fact missing from their favorite theological literature. Mortification, penance, and passive suffering are not ideals encouraged in mainline Protestant circles. Moreover, Hume’s explicit mention of superstition and enthusiasm would have the effect of bringing most Anglicans and Presbyterians on board with him. Indeed, both texts mentioned here deplore the attitudes and views of the superstitious, and also of the enthusiast who rejects the order of the church and thinks that he may act alone, with the help of the Spirit, and outside of the guidelines, order, and ordinances of the official church (WDM XIV.8; WCF XXII.7). And a quick reading of EPM might lead most of us to conclude that Hume, here, is mostly criticizing superstition and enthusiasm, without, admittedly, offering us anything new or important concerning their views. My suggestion, however, has been that the superstitious and the enthusiast are not Hume’s main target in EPM. His criticism, albeit implicit, is nonetheless forceful, and is rather aimed to crush the moral systems of his Anglican and Presbyterian readers. We have already observed that Hume is certainly thinking about the theological texts of these groups when writing EPM. But I want to present a last piece of evidence, which is more conclusive with regard both to the rejection of WDM and WCF, and which shows that Hume mimics the style of these religious texts.

234

esther engels kroeker

If Hume has in mind the Shorter Catechism, which is easier to read and remember than the whole WCF, and if he recalls not the details of the theological texts but their overall aim and purpose, then I believe Hume would keep in mind the literary style of these works. The authors of both religious works importantly write about the foundation of duty and the motivation to duty, and subsequently list a whole series of duties and virtues that one should follow, or that are expressive of God’s will. This is in fact the particular way Hume proceeds in his EPM. Hume’s style here is not that of the anatomist’s scalpel of the Treatise, taking apart and analyzing each psychological process involved in passions and in the formation of moral evaluations and beliefs. His style in EPM is also different from the form he adopts in the Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion, where, reminiscent of Cicero’s On the Nature of the Gods, he brings to life representatives of the main theological views he is interested in and states through the mouth of his characters positions he might favor or reject. And the presentation in EPM is not the genre of an anthropologist or a historian, which he adopts in his Natural History of Religion and his History of England. The style of EPM, I believe, is precisely the style of the religious texts of his time. Hume here is writing in the style of a confession, a devotional, or even a credo. In this sense, Hume’s style in EPM could be called “religious” if we think of “religious” as describing the writings of WDM and WCF. Hume’s style in EPM is strong evidence that both theological writings were part of his principal target. All three texts (EPM and the two Protestant texts) offer general comments about their system, methodology, and aims. But the bulk of the text involves discussion of particular duties. The catechisms offer a careful analysis of each of the ten commandments, illuminating key terms, the meaning of the rules, and the reason for which they were given. WDM goes over the list of duties, carefully explaining the source, meaning, and purpose of each duty. Similarly, in EPM Hume offers a general account of the foundation of morality together with a discussion of particular duties. The discussion of particular duties together with an account of the origin of merit is found in all sections, but the middle sections of EPM focus especially on the descriptions of particular virtues. It is interesting to notice that Hume offers little or no mention of religion while describing each virtue in the middle Sections 6, 7, and 8 of EPM. However, the fact that this section of the text is part of Hume’s main criticism is evident from the style, but also from the examples of virtues that Hume discusses here. We find in Section 6 already a list of virtues that is much more expansive

Hume on Religion

235

than those found in the religious texts: discretion, caution, enterprise, good sense, prudence, perseverance, forethought, and, Hume writes, “a thousand more of the same kind,” which points to the fact that the list is much more inclusive than the religious lists. And in Sections 7 and 8 the virtues Hume discusses such as cheerfulness, greatness of mind, philosophical tranquility, delicacy of taste, decency, and cleanliness are the kinds of virtues that are absent from the religious texts. On the whole, these virtues are involuntary – hence illustrations of Hume’s main criticism of WDM – and they are common life attitudes that show not the depravity of man but rather the natural virtue of man – contrary to WCF’s overall view of human nature. Hume need not mention religion in this section to make his point. His style and list of virtues is evidence enough: he adopts the way of writing of the religious texts zooming in on particular virtues, and he replaces the list of virtues and duties described in WCF and WDM with his own list. The fact that Hume mimics not only the style but also the aims of the religious texts is also evident from the way Hume describes the systems of religion that have clouded our understanding. He writes, in Section 9: What hopes can we ever have of engaging mankind to a practice, which we confess full of austerity and rigour? Or what theory of morals can ever serve any useful purpose, unless it can show, by a particular detail, that all the duties, which it recommends, are also the true interest of each individual? (EPM 9.16, italics added)

We have already noticed that it is highly plausible that Hume thinks of the morality of WCF as austere, and as covering morality with a dismal dress. But his reference to systems that recommend “all the duties” also gives us a strong hint that the system he rejects here is the system of WDM, which has attempted but failed to offer an overview of all the duties of man. Moreover, Hume reveals ambivalent sentiments toward WDM, openly criticizing it as too narrow, but also seemingly envious and approving of its contents by adopting and reappropriating some of its language. The author of WDM points out that living out the duties will make us happy in the next life, but he also repeatedly writes that performing all the duties mentioned in his book will “tend to making the soul Happy; which is the end of our Care” (Preface 30). Moreover, he writes, the benefits of Christ, which we receive by performing our whole duty, “will make the soul happy” in this life (I.1). Such duty, he continues, will bring us “to good

236

esther engels kroeker

lives” and to the “good things he hath promised” (I.23 and 24).8 Hume could not fail to approve of this end of our whole duty – good life and happiness – and he actually adopts this end in EPM, but offers his own secularized (nonreligious) means for reaching it. Furthermore, and importantly, the author of WDM writes explicitly that humans often sin even though “there is nothing either of pleasure, or profit to invite” them to such behavior (I.49). Humans, the author notices, sin even though they reap from it neither pleasure nor utility. In later passages, and in a similar vein, the author writes that duties, such as prayer, are “very pleasant” and that the nearer we draw to God, “the happier we are” (V.17). He also writes that Christian duties are important so that we “may live cheerfully and comfortably in this world” (XIV.25); they are “reasonable but also . . . pleasant [duties]” (XVI, on love of enemies); and “there is in the practice of Christian duties a great deal of present pleasure” (XVII.20) and hence “all I can add is to beseech and entreat the reader to put himself into this so pleasant and gainful course” (XVII.22, italics added). It is difficult, therefore, not to notice the insistence in WDM on the fact that virtue is both useful and agreeable, a fact it would be hard to imagine Hume forgot. Finally, Hume is not original in his usage of the clothing metaphor since it is one we find – at this point not surprisingly – in WDM as well. Allestree writes, for instance, that These and all other spiritual graces our Souls must be clothed with when we come to this Feast, for this is that wedding garment, without which whosoever comes, is like to have the entertainment, mentioned in the parable, of him who came to the marriage without a wedding garment, Mat. 22. 13. (III.20)

Hume therefore adopts not only WDM’s insistence on pleasure and usefulness, but also its language of seeing the virtues as garments. It is no wonder, therefore, that when he mentions the garment with which the divines have clothed virtue in Section 9 and that the divines have offered a list of all the duties, he thereafter concludes that there is no hope we will actually practice such duties. His point is that despite WDM’s insistence on interest and pleasure, a more inclusive and accurate account, such as his own, actually meets those ends. And the way he offers his own, in his eyes, true account is by borrowing the language and style of the religious texts he seeks to replace. His way of adopting the style and expressions of the 8

I also make this point in Kroeker (2020).

Hume on Religion

237

religious manuals might be semiconscious, or slight persiflage, of course, but Hume might also use it to render EPM more influential. By presenting his moral philosophy, which includes his own list of virtues, Hume’s aim is to persuade his readers to give up the theological texts that have offered a limited and pernicious list of duties, and to embrace Hume’s own text as the list of virtues that recognize her real foundation – human nature and natural human reactions – and her real use – human happiness and cheerfulness. We discover this aim when Hume deplores the primacy and influential role of the religious texts in the very last lines of EPM. He laments that in his day, philosophy has lost the allurement of novelty, it has not such extensive influence; but seems to confine itself mostly to speculations in the closet; in the same manner, as the ancient religion was limited to sacrifices in the temple. Its place is now supplied by the modern religion, which inspects our whole conduct, and prescribes an universal rule to our actions, to our words, to our very thoughts and inclinations; a rule so much the more austere, as it is guarded by infinite, though distant, rewards and punishments. (EPM D 53)

What Hume deplores, therefore, is the importance philosophers, theologians, and lay religious persons accorded to religious guides to duty. Contrary to the ancients, philosophers of Hume’s day relied on lists of duties and observations about the foundation and origins of morality, which, for Hume, were contrary to observation, to natural human sentiments, and hence to Hume’s own moral theory. What Hume aims to do in EPM, therefore, is to use the style of the religious texts – a popular and effective style – to push religion back into the closet and to bring philosophy, his philosophy, out into the open. Hume’s point is that philosophy and common sense are better guides to virtue than the Protestant texts of his time. Hence, even if Hume undoubtedly denounces enthusiasm and superstition, his primary target is to supplant the religious and influential texts of his day with his own philosophy, using their religious style – perhaps in hopes of being as influential as they were.9 9

I thank the participants in the October 2018 workshop held at William & Mary for helpful discussion, especially Ryan Hanley, Willem Lemmens, and Richard McCarty for more detailed comments and suggestions.

chapter 12

Moral Disagreement Lorne Falkenstein

Hume’s contemporary critic, James Balfour, charged that “in the dialogue subjoined to his [Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals (EPM), Hume] . . . represents virtue . . . as the casual and uncertain effect of the capricious humours, and customs of mankind” (Balfour, 1753, p. 127). Balfour wrote that Hume “would seem to deduce the following conclusion, p. 237, that fashion, vogue, custom, and law were the chief foundation of all moral determinations” (1753, pp. 127–28). According to this conclusion, “whatever any general set of men, or even any individual person, may think fit to do, however criminal in itself, must yet be deemed a virtue; because it is immediately agreeable to those who practice it” (1753, pp. 130–31). Even Hume could not live up to this consequence. “Our author himself, not very consistent in his opinions, would seem to make an exception of certain virtues, and to suppose them so founded in the nature of things, as all nations must agree to them. These . . . in p. 238” (1753, p. 132). Balfour neglected to point out that, on the purportedly inconsistent pages 237 and 238 (of the 1751 edition of EPM), different characters are speaking: Palamedes and the dialogue’s narrator. Hume took issue with this misrepresentation. I must only complain of you a little for ascribing to me the sentiments which I have put into the mouth of the Sceptic in the Dialogue. I have surely endeavoured to refute the Sceptic with all the force of which I am master; and my refutation must be allowed sincere, because drawn from the capital principles of my system. But you impute to me both the sentiments of the Sceptic and the sentiments of his antagonist, which I can never admit of. In every Dialogue, no more than one person can be supposed to represent the author. (L I, 81 [March 15, 1753], 173)

Balfour was unimpressed. His accusations are retained in the second edition of 1763 (pp. 149–55). The dialogue form can be used to insinuate 238

Moral Disagreement

239

opinions under a shield of plausible deniability, and Balfour had been careful to ground Palamedes’ tenets in one of the principles of Hume’s system: the principle that immediate agreeability is one of four alternative grounds of moral approval. But Hume’s protest must have been sincere. His letter was a private communication, and this is the only one of many criticisms he took issue with. In contemporary terms, Balfour charged Hume with moral relativism, and Hume denied that charge. But neither Hume nor Balfour used the term “relativism.” Hume described himself as endeavoring to refute a skeptic. Balfour later insisted that “moral relations are founded in the essential difference betwixt happiness and misery; as this is unalterable in the nature of things, so must these be also” (1763, p. 154). This leaves a gap between Palamedes and Balfour that can be filled by various ways of responding to Palamedes’ “skepticism” without accepting an unalterable foundation for moral judgments. This chapter situates Hume’s position on moral judgment between moral skepticism and moral absolutism. The label “relativism” is largely avoided in favor of identifying what moral disagreements Hume had to countenance.1 This chapter proceeds by steps from the extremes. The first section shows why Hume could not have accepted Balfour’s moral absolutism. The second shows why he did not accept Palamedes’ moral skepticism. The third considers how Hume integrated the fact of moral disagreement with his rejection of moral skepticism. The fourth concludes that Hume’s account of moral judgment cannot rule out moral disagreements that none of the parties to the dispute can agree to tolerate. The fifth closes the chapter.

12.1

Against Moral Absolutism

Hume opened EPM by making room for alternatives between moral skepticism and moral absolutism. He denied that any “human creature” could be a moral skeptic. No one can avoid considering human characters and actions to be good or bad, and anyone who claims otherwise cannot be 1

Most recent commentators deny that Hume was a relativist. Earlier commentators were divided on the question. See Abramson (1999); Cohen (2000), p. 118; Berry (2007); Costelloe (2007), pp. 87–94; Bohlin (2013); Collier (2013). For earlier commentators, see Abramson (1999, p. 184 n.1) and Berry (2007, n.2 and n.17). For some reservations see Cohon (2008, pp. 243–54). Work by more recent commentators oddly neglects M. F. Cohen, who argues that Hume wanted to deny relativism, but that his case for doing so is “hopeless” (1990, pp. 316, 334–37).

240

lorne falkenstein

taken seriously (EPM 1.2). It is a more serious question whether these considerations are judgments that must be “the same” for “every rational intelligent being” or whether they are “immediate feelings” founded on the constitution of “the human species” (EPM 1.3). Hume declared that the answer depends on what leads people to consider a person to have merit or virtue. We should determine what mental attributes, habits, sentiments, or capacities are admired or reviled. Then we should consider if there is anything these qualities share. Having arrived at definitions of virtue and vice at the end of this empirical inquiry, we will be able to say what roles reason and sentiment play in our moral judgments (EPM 1.10).2 Since reason is the same for every rational being, but sentiments can vary, a position on whether morals must be the same for all beings may arise from the investigation (EPM App. 1.21). EPM 2–8 is an empirical investigation of human moral attitudes, undertaken in the best way Hume knew: with appeals to introspection and common understanding, sometimes as codified in the ordinary meanings of words, and with evidence drawn from classical and recent histories, geographies, and other literary sources.3 Hume took the evidence to establish that human beings feel an instinctive concern for the welfare of other human beings. They accordingly approve of whatever qualities of character are useful for or agreeable to self or others.4 Appendix 1 opens with the declaration that if this “foregoing hypothesis” is received, it will be easy to resolve the original question of how far reason and sentiment enter into moral judgments (EPM App. 1.1). 2

3

4

EPM 1.10 was significantly revised in the fifth edition of 1764. Earlier editions stressed the importance of not beginning with exact definitions of virtue and vice. Later editions stressed that the empirical approach can be trusted to yield clear results because our sense of these matters is so quick and universal that anyone’s sentiments are a sure guide. M. F. Cohen, citing Locke’s comment that anyone who is “but moderately conversant in the History of Mankind, and has look’d abroad beyond the Smoak of their own Chimneys [will not believe there are innate practical principles]” (Locke 1979, I.1 § 2), objects that “the great diversity of human moral conviction” must have been obvious to Hume and was acknowledged by him in numerous contexts (1990, p. 333). Granting this, Hume wanted to see if there is anything common to all these diverse convictions. Berry (2007, pp. 537–39) writes that “Thanks to Hume’s non-contextualism, ‘man’ is a fit subject for a science because his behaviour necessarily exhibits certain uniformities.” However, the science has to be done first to determine whether there are any such uniformities. If there are, they are established as general rules based on induction, not necessities. In Hume’s earlier Treatise this conclusion was not drawn from a broad-ranging literary survey but instead from a speculative account of the workings of the mind involving sympathy. See Taylor (2015b) for objections to the longstanding view (e.g., MacIntyre, 1965, p. 15) that the Treatise adopts the better or more interesting approach. When the author of EPM spoke of some small degree of benevolence, he was not simply using other words for what the author of the Treatise had called “extensive sympathy” (cf. Abramson, 1999, p. 173). He was abandoning an attempt to derive the phenomenon from psychological principles, and instead appealing to observation.

Moral Disagreement

241

In somewhat more detail, EPM 2.1 observes that we all approve of benevolence, and asks why we hold it in high esteem. Hume presented inductive evidence to prove that “a part, at least of its merit” arises from its utility (EPM 2.8 and 22). We retract our approval for benevolent actions when convinced of their disutility, and approve of selfish actions when convinced of their utility (EPM 2.17–21). EPM 3 opens by asserting that utility is more than just a “part” of the reason why we approve of justice. “Reflections on the beneficial quality of this virtue are the sole foundation of its merit” (EPM 3.1). In circumstances where it would have no utility, such as those of total abundance or dire scarcity, just acts would not be approved of, and would not even be recognized as such. EPM 4 argues that national allegiance, chastity, secrecy, and constancy in friendships are also valued solely for their utility. But EPM 5 takes an abrupt turn. “But, useful?” Hume asked. “For what? For some body’s interest, surely. Whose interest then?” (EPM 5.15). Over a long course of argument and induction from cases, Hume established that the interest is that of human society in general, including human societies in remote ages and places. The evidence that our moral approval is based on what is useful for such an extensive community is coupled with an explanation of why it is so based: because we are naturally benevolent. While its utility may be “a part” of the reason why we value benevolence, benevolence is the main reason why we value utility. Our benevolence may not be strong enough to lead us to lift a finger to relieve the misery of someone in distress, but it is strong enough to make us give a cool preference to those who do (EPM 9.4, 5.39) and choose, for instance, to walk on the hard flint and pavement rather than tread on the gouty toes of someone with whom we have no quarrel (EPM 5.39). Natural benevolence is the foundational principle uncovered by Hume’s investigation of the causes of moral judgment. Granting that this much is evident from induction, any further inquiry need not detain us. ’Tis needless to push our researches so far as to ask, why we have humanity or a fellow-feeling with others. ’Tis sufficient, that this is experienced to be a principle in human nature. We must stop somewhere in our examination of causes; and there are, in every science, some general principles, beyond which we cannot hope to find any principle more general. (EPM 5.17 n)

Hume’s examination culminates by considering an a priori and an a posteriori line of inquiry (EPM 5.43–46). The a posteriori line uses human moral judgments as evidence for the conclusion that human beings feel a degree of benevolence or concern for the welfare of others. The

242

lorne falkenstein

a priori line takes this conclusion as a principle for predicting how human beings will make moral judgments and sees the predictions confirmed “in numberless instances.” There are exceptions: rage, self-interest, party loyalties, and other biases. Attaching the exceptions to the rule, people will not be indifferent to the fate of others, when the exceptional circumstances do not arise. They will agree that what promotes others’ well-being is good and what causes them misery is evil. Hume considered its foundation in the two lines of inquiry to be powerful evidence in favor of his principle. Having developed a theory concerning what leads us to consider a person to have virtue, Hume went on over EPM 6–8 to “bring a farther confirmation of the present theory, by showing the rise of other sentiments of esteem and regard from the same or like principles” (EPM 5.47). What ensues is like the search for a covering law: a higher-order regularity of which the given regularity is an instance. This confirms the proposed regularity by establishing that it is a species of what happens more generally. Hume claimed that we feel the same or similar approval for bodily endowments, like physical beauty (EPM 6.23–24), that we do for virtuous qualities of character, and the same or like approval for advantages that we have done nothing to cultivate, like wealth and nobility of birth (EPM 6.29–35), that we do for virtues we have worked to acquire. This makes them equally virtuous. In all editions of EPM, impotence and barrenness are declared to be vices (EPM 6.27), and in the first edition a footnote draws the corollary that being a “good woman’s man” must be a virtue. Even cleanliness makes the list of virtues (EPM 8.13), a choice that scandalized some of Hume’s contemporaries almost as much as what he said about good women’s men (Balfour, 1753, pp. 117–18). Hume’s first response was to declare the dispute to be merely verbal. He later relegated these observations to an appendix (EPM App. 4). At a more substantive level, EPM 6 provides evidence that we admire people for possessing any of a large catalog of advantages that have no social utility but are good for the individual themselves. Since these advantages in others are of little or no use to me, my approval of them cannot be grounded on self-interest. It must arise from a disinterested approval of whatever is good for another person. This confirms the theory that we do feel disinterested concern for the welfare of others. Further evidence is found in two other classes of phenomena, examined in EPM 7 and 8 respectively: our approval of qualities that have no utility but are merely agreeable, either to the person themselves or to those in their community. This confirms that utility is not the sole foundation of morals and that what is useful is so only because it is useful for the happiness of others. It

Moral Disagreement

243

further confirms that concern for the well-being of others must be what lies at the foundation of our approval. In sum, Hume declared that we are disposed to approve of whatever qualities are useful or agreeable either to other persons themselves or to society (EPM 9.1). The source of this four-fold criterion is the same: our humanity (EPM 9.8). This is a sentiment we are constituted to feel. We could have been made differently. Hume’s enterprise in almost all of EPM is descriptive, not prescriptive.5 Consistently with what was said in earlier editions of EPM 1.10, he did not begin “with exact definitions of virtue and vice” and seek to apply them to prescribe what activities are right or wrong. The bulk of EPM is devoted to a study of the moral judgments that people do make, and an induction to a theory that explains why they make them. The concluding section continues in the same vein. It opens with a response to the charge that such an obvious theory should have been offered before now (EPM 9.1–3: it has always been implicitly and commonly accepted, except by those whose natural understanding has been corrupted by systems and hypotheses). There follows an account of why our moral judgments are not tied to any other sentiment than humanity (EPM 9.4–13). The latter discussion gives two further reasons why we so highly approve of what gratifies this sentiment. First, no other feeling is so widely shared, and feelings of all sorts are amplified when shared by others (EPM 9.9). Second, one of our deepest needs, the need to be well thought of by others,6 drives us to bring not only our opinions but also our actions into line with what is approved of by others (EPM 9.10).7 Even these points are 5

6

7

In saying this I side with Mackie (1980), pp. 5–6, 76; Darwall (1995b), p. 61; Cohen (2000), p. 111; and Kelahan (in this volume) on the contentious issue of whether Hume was a moralist or only a moral psychologist. The opposed view, that Hume set out to do normative ethics as well as moral psychology, is endorsed by all the other Hume scholars mentioned in this chapter. For discussion, see Cohon (2008), pp. 239–41 and 243. In siding with the minority, I do not mean to deny that Hume made moral judgments or expressed moral preferences. His condemnation of moral skepticism at the outset of EPM makes it clear that he did not think that any human being could sincerely refrain from doing so. But he was not particularly interested in justifying his moral judgments. It is not that he considered that this is something that cannot be done or is not worth doing. It was just not his project. At DP 2.10 Hume expanded the account of pride he had given in the Treatise by noting we do not trust our own opinion of ourselves, knowing it to be partial. Our pride therefore drives us to seek the approval of others, and in most people obtaining this approval becomes one of the principal concerns in life. Cohon (2008, p. 240) cites the central portion of EPM 9.10–11 as evidence of Hume’s waffling “from mere psychological description to endorsement.” There is waffling. But it seems to be between accounting for what causes moral belief and accounting for what impels us to act in conformity with that belief. M. F. Cohen (1990, p. 318) charges that reducing moral judgment to “merely reporting, expressing, or projecting a feeling” is tantamount to maintaining that there is no such thing as moral obligation. Hume was sensitive to the distinction. EPM 9.10–11 attempts to explain how others’

244

lorne falkenstein

only made to explain why we approve of what we call “virtue.” It is only in the second part of EPM 9 that Hume turned to discuss what he tellingly called “our interested obligation” to be virtuous (EPM 9.14). Strikingly, after all the work he had done up to this point, he considered it an open question whether the moral opinions he had so painstakingly cataloged, compared, and sought to reduce to a common root are ones that “contribute to the amendment of men’s lives, and their improvement in morality and social virtue.” A scant eleven paragraphs are devoted to arguing that they are, for two reasons: because experience shows that following them is more likely to improve an individual’s circumstances in life than disobeying them, and because doing so is likely to make us feel better about ourselves, particularly given an original propensity to benevolence. A self-interested pragmatism is the only ultimate inducement (not reason, foundation, or justification) that EPM offers for morality. In large part, however, it is not interested in the question of why one should be moral. The moral psychology presented over EPM 2–8 is applied in EPM App. 1 to resolve the original question concerning the respective roles of reason and sentiment in moral judgment. The implications for the related question of whether moral laws have an absolute foundation are clear. One way to determine whether someone is a moral absolutist is to ask how they would answer the question of the Euthyphro: is the good good because it is loved by the gods, or do the gods love it because it is good?8 Are moral rules posited for human beings by Gods who stand above those rules, or is there an absolute standard of right and wrong that even the Gods acknowledge? Judging by his answer to this question, Hume was not a moral absolutist. Thus the distinct boundaries and offices of reason and of taste are easily ascertained. The former conveys the knowledge of truth and falsehood: The latter gives the sentiment of beauty and deformity, vice and virtue . . .. The standard of the one, being founded on the nature of things, is eternal and inflexible, even by the will of the supreme Being: The standard of the other, arising from the internal frame and constitution of animals, is ultimately derived from that supreme will, which bestowed on each being its peculiar nature, and arranged the several classes and orders of existence. (EPM App. 1.21)

Hume associated reason with the discovery of truths that would be recognized and acknowledged by any intelligent being, including a divine

8

expressions of their feelings can cause me to feel obliged to act accordingly. That project is further prosecuted in the second part of EPM 9. I do not mean to offer this as a correct translation of the question Socrates asked at Euthyphro 10a. I am using “question of the Euthyphro” as a label for a particularly telling question.

Moral Disagreement

245

being (EPM 1.3, App. 1.21). At the outset of EPM App. 1 he observed that because moral judgments depend in part on utility, reasoning about the relations and effects of objects and actions must have a role to play in moral judgment (EPM App. 1.2). Reasoning is declared to be particularly important where considerations of justice are concerned, as these are dependent on facts and consequences that can be difficult to discern (EPM App. 1.2). But a being for whom all things are equally easy to do, and who needs no tools to do them, could have no sense that one thing is more useful than any other. It could not even think that one way of doing things is faster or more efficient than another. It could at most think that limitations it has imposed on other beings make such things so for them. Moreover, a being that has no need to divide its labor with others to achieve its ends could have no use for institutions of property, fidelity to contracts, or rules of exchange. It would live in the conditions of superabundance that, for Hume, make the concept of justice meaningless (EPM 3.2–4 and 3.14). A supreme intelligence could appreciate that justice would facilitate the thriving of more limited beings, but it would not consider such policies to be of any relevance to itself. Sunt superis sua jura (NHR 13.7).9 More fundamentally, there can only be utility for a being that has ends, and there can only be ends where there are desires. According to EPM, human judgments of utility are based on our disinterested desire for the welfare of others. That we feel this desire is empirically obvious. But we can assign no further reason why we feel it. To resolve it into the will of our maker, who could just as well have made us otherwise, is to make the nature of virtue and vice depend on a divine decree. As this decree concerns the sentiments human beings are made to feel, it reflects nothing in the divine nature – except what divine nature decided to put into human beings to make them work in ways that, for whatever reason, it decided human beings would work. Even supposing we are better off for having been given those sentiments, they are of benefit only to creatures with a life like ours, not to beings who want nothing and can be perturbed by nothing. As Demea says at DNR 3.13 (p. 156), All the sentiments of the human mind, gratitude, resentment, love, friendship, approbation, blame, pity, emulation, envy, have a plain reference to the state and situation of man, and are calculated for preserving the existence, and promoting the activity of such a being in such circumstances. It seems, therefore, unreasonable to transfer such sentiments to a supreme existence, or to suppose him actuated by them. 9

They are above their own laws. Hume offered his own, less incendiary translation: The Gods have maxims peculiar to themselves.

246

lorne falkenstein

Philo is even more emphatic at DNR 12.31 (p. 226): “It is an absurdity to believe that the Deity has human passions.” As Wright (2009, pp. 255–56) points out, there is no stretch in attributing these consequences to Hume himself. Already on March 16, 1740, when writing to Francis Hutcheson about the moral theory of the prepublication Book 3 of the Treatise, Hume had raised a “question of prudence.” I wish from my Heart, I could avoid concluding, that since Morality, according to your Opinion as well as mine, is determin’d merely by Sentiment, it regards only human Nature & human Life . . .. If Morality were determined by Reason, that is the same to all rational Beings: But nothing but Experience can assure us, that the Sentiments are the same. What Experience have we with regard to superior Beings? How can we ascribe to them any Sentiments at all? They have implanted those Sentiments in us for the Conduct of Life like our bodily Sensations, which they possess not themselves.10

Morality, depending as it does on sentiments that could have been otherwise, has no absolute foundation.

12.2 Against Moral Skepticism Granting that Hume was not a moral absolutist or a moral rationalist is not the same as granting that he was a moral skeptic. One can hold that nonhuman intelligences might not accept human moral principles, founded as they are on contingent human sentiments, while still maintaining that human beings naturally share the same moral sentiments, and so naturally concur in making the same moral judgments. The evidence that Hume thought along this line is considerable, though Balfour missed it. It includes direct declarations, such as the following: [T]he sentiments, which arise from humanity, are not only the same in all human creatures, and produce the same approbation or censure; but they also comprehend all human creatures; nor is there any one, whose conduct or character is not, by their means, an object, to every one, of censure or approbation. (EPM 9.7)11

It is also implied by systematic considerations. The principal project of EPM is to survey human moral judgments in all places and times and attempt to uncover “the great source of moral distinctions” (EPM 5.15). 10 11

L I, 39 (Letter 16). Cited by Wright (2009) and also by Cohen (1990, p. 327). EHU 8.7–16 is frequently cited as making the same point, though it concerns uniformity in human action rather than uniformity in feeling.

Moral Disagreement

247

The claim that we are motivated by humanity to approve of whatever is useful or agreeable either to self or others is the outcome of this investigation. Hume even offered a transcendental argument (EPM 5.42 and 9.5–8). If we are to communicate with one another, then we must use terms that others can understand. Crude cries and gestures are adequate to communicate our personal feelings. But when we mean to talk about objects other than ourselves, we must use terms that do not vary in meaning from time to time or place to place even while the objects remain the same, and the language of self-interested passions contains no such terms. As Hume put it, “When a man denominates another his enemy, his rival, his antagonist, his adversary, he is understood to speak the language of self-love, and express sentiments, peculiar to himself, and arising from his particular circumstances and situation” (EPM 9.6). These sentiments are inconstant and uncommon. “[W]e ourselves often change our situation in this particular,” “every man’s interest is peculiar to himself,” “the aversions and desires, which result from it, cannot be supposed to affect others in a like degree,” and “we every day meet with persons who are in a different situation from us.” Consequently, others “could never converse with us, were we to remain constantly in that position and point of view, which is peculiar to ourself.” What Hume called “the intercourse of sentiments” requires “some general unalterable standard, by which we may approve or disapprove of characters and manners” (EPM 5.42). Given that this approval or disapproval is based on sentiment, we must have recourse to some sentiment common to all, which recommends the same objects to all of us, and which extends beyond us and our intimates to those in the most remote ages and times. “These two requisite circumstances belong alone to the sentiment of humanity” (EPM 9.5).12 There is a caricatured view of emotivism on which moral language serves only to express one’s personal likes and dislikes (Broad, 1930, p. 260),13 echoing Balfour’s claim that, for Hume, whatever any individual thinks fit to do must be a virtue, because immediately agreeable to that person. But for Hume, my moral language only serves to express my disinterested likes and dislikes. Those disinterested likes and dislikes are based on general benevolence, which responds to facts about others’ circumstances and opportunities.14 This makes my feelings ones I rightly expect all other human beings to share with me. 12 14

For a fuller account see Cohon (2008), pp. 126–58. 13 Cited by Costelloe (2007), p. 84. M. F. Cohen’s critique of Hume’s transcendental argument stumbles over this point. Cohen writes: “In the [case of visual perception] we have recourse to a ‘steady and general point of view’ in order to state how things are rather than how they look from particular perspectives or distances. On Hume’s

248

lorne falkenstein

12.3

Differences in Moral Judgment

Hume recognized that this universalism is challenged by variation in human moral judgment. “A Dialogue,” appended to EPM, attempts to reconcile the two. The “Dialogue” is presented as taking place between Hume himself (“the Narrator”) and a friend, Palamedes, who claims to have spent a considerable part of his life in a land where morals and customs are so different that the “intercourse of sentiments” described at EPM 5.42 and 9.5–8 could not take place. Characterizations that Palamedes understood correctly and considered “highly advantageous” were taken as “mortal affronts.” Actions he considered emblematic of vicious or rude characters were highly applauded (EPM D 2–12). The Narrator’s initial reaction is to declare that beings with such sentiments could not be human (EPM D 12). Palamedes then reveals that he has been speaking of events and characters in ancient Greece and Rome (EPM D 13, 15–17). An Athenian of the highest merit in the eyes of the community might have had homosexual liaisons with minors;15 committed incest; exposed an infant; conspired in the assassination of a benefactor; lied under oath; endured beatings for the sake of personal gain; mocked friends to their faces; uttered blasphemies; and died by suicide – and been memorialized and admired on that account (EPM D 17). The Narrator, who admires the morals of the ancient writers, replies that Palamedes has rendered their “innocent and reasonable” manners odious by measuring them by a foreign standard, and employing a little art and eloquence to aggravate some circumstances and extenuate others (EPM D 18–19). This is a striking comment. Apparently, the Narrator believes that standards of moral evaluation vary from culture to culture. To drive this point home, the Narrator responds that were the manners and characters of the modern French, whom Palamedes admires above all other nations, measured by the standard employed by the ancient Greeks, they would also appear highly objectionable (EPM D 18–24).

15

view there is no room for this distinction in the [case of moral judgments] apart from the objectification or projection of one’s moral feeling” (1990, p. 335). But it is not my disinterested benevolence that is objectified or projected onto the other person. It is my perception of what is beneficial to the other person that causes my feeling of approval and that I expect to arouse a similar feeling in others. This is described as “something else too abominable to be named.” But the abomination, for Palamedes and Hume, arises from the homosexuality, not the pedophilia. This contrast between current and eighteenth-century attitudes adds an ironic force to Palamedes’ claim that moral judgments change with the times. For further discussion see Cohon (2008), pp. 250–52, following on pp. 244–45.

Moral Disagreement

249

Palamedes is unfazed and replies that this only goes to prove that “fashion, vogue, custom, and [positive] law” are “the chief foundation of all moral determinations.” In direct contradiction to EHU 8.7,16 he continues: The athenians surely, were a civilized, intelligent people, if ever there was one; and yet their man of merit might, in this age, be held in horror and execration. The french are also, without doubt, a very civilized, intelligent people; and yet their man of merit might, with the athenians, be an object of the highest contempt and ridicule, and even hatred. (EPM D 25)

The Narrator’s reply does not abandon the tenet that standards of merit vary from society to society. He only insists that they are not simply the product of “fashion, vogue, custom, and law.” Instead, “the first principles, which each nation establishes, of blame or censure” are the same (EPM D 260). These first principles are just those that were discovered by EPM 2–8. “It appears, that there never was any quality, recommended by any one, as a virtue or moral excellence; but on account of its being useful or agreeable, to a man himself, or to others” (EPM D 37). The Narrator offers two justifications. First, the ancients and the moderns would in fact agree in approving of the qualities of character identified over the course of EPM 2–8. The “intercourse of sentiments” described at EPM 5.42 and 9.5–8 would still take place in most cases (EPM D 27). Second, if one inquires into the remaining cases, one finds that they derive from the attempt to achieve more fundamental goals that all would agree are good: homosexual and adulterous promiscuity is an unintended effect of the desire to strengthen social bonds and facilitate sociability; infanticide is motivated by love of children facing a bleak life; assassination by love of liberty; and so on (EPM D 28–35). But if “the principles, upon which [people] reason in morals are always the same,” how can “the conclusions which they draw [be] often very different” (EPM D 36)? The Narrator offers numerous reasons. 1. Learning and ignorance. While we may share common principles, we do not always draw the correct inferences from them (EPM D 26). The ancients considered the assassination of tyrants to be the best and only way to preserve civil liberty, but the lessons of history have taught us otherwise. Had the ancients been made aware of this, they would have 16

“Would you know the sentiments, inclinations, and course of life of the greeks and romans? Study well the temper and actions of the french and english.”

250

lorne falkenstein

revised their opinion (EPM D 36, drawing on EPM 2.19). Similar situations arise wherever considerations of utility are involved, because it can be difficult to ascertain where the greatest utility lies without reasoning, which can go wrong, and experience, which can be insufficient (EPM App. 1.2). The same even holds for our assessments of the agreeable. “A false relish may frequently be corrected by argument and reflection . . . moral beauty . . . demands the assistance of our intellectual faculties, in order to give it a suitable influence on the human mind” (EPM 1.9, drawing on ST). 2. Circumstances of society. Inferences from the same principles can be varied by the circumstances in which those principles are applied (EPM D 26, taken up in more detail over 38–41). Judgments concerning the utility of character traits are particularly dependent on circumstances. Military virtues will be more celebrated than pacific ones in time of war (EPM D 39). Qualities that promote industry in wealthy societies can be disadvantageous in impoverished ones (EPM D 41). Most significantly for earlier episodes in the discussion, the degree to which a society is unified or split into competing factions can have a significant influence on judgments of the utility of characters. Magnanimity, greatness of mind, disdain of slavery, and other “heroic” virtues like contempt of death are better suited to ensure safety and advance prospects in a more factionalized society (EPM D 40). The greater need for these heroic virtues in the ancient world and the dangers of exploitation and enslavement attendant on the display of polite virtues, like deference, account for many of the differences Palamedes and the Narrator detect in the manners and customs of the ancient Greeks and modern French. 3. Custom, chance, and government. The Narrator acknowledges Palamedes’ quartet of fashion, vogue, custom, and law under the headings of custom, chance, and government, and concedes that each plays a role. These factors come into play when deciding between what is useful and what is agreeable, or what is useful for or agreeable to self and what is useful for or agreeable to others. Custom, “by giving an early biass to the mind, may produce a superior propensity, either to the useful or the agreeable qualities; to those which regard self, or those, which extend to society” (EPM D 42). Where this role is not played by custom, it may be played by government (EPM D 51). Hume had earlier written a substantial essay, “Arts and Sciences,” on the farreaching implications that republican and monarchical governments

Moral Disagreement

251

have on whether what is useful (the sciences) or what is agreeable (the arts) will be prized and cultivated in a society, and on the associated development of manners and standards of criticism. Because the production of agreeable objects diverts labor from necessities, the wealth of a society can also have an influence on these matters. Even in the absence of these factors, choices between the useful/agreeable and personal/social quadrants may be made for elusive reasons. “Chance has a great influence on national manners; and many events happen in society, which are not to be accounted for by general rules” (EPM D 50). 4. Age and gender. Variation in preference for the useful and the agreeable is also attendant on age. Young men, who are more reckless and more energetic and need to please others, aspire to the agreeable qualities. “[T]he merit of riper years is almost everywhere the same; and consists chiefly in . . . more solid and useful qualities” (EPM D 51). Customs regarding comportment between the sexes can also demand the exercise of virtues in one sex that are not demanded of the other. Some customs demand chastity and modesty in women; others impose restraints on the jealousy and gallantry of men. Depending on the extent to which agreeability in mixed company is important, “conversation, address, and humor” are judged differently (EPM D 49). 5. Corruptions of nature. A final cause of differences in moral judgment is brought up by Palamedes (EPM D 43–57): our moral judgments can be altered by philosophical and religious commitments. When this happens, those affected may embrace precepts that cannot be derived from the principles the Narrator has claimed are universal. Palamedes instances stoic and monkish “virtues,” noting that “both of them have met with general admiration in their different ages, and have been proposed as models of imitation” (EPM D 53–56). Yet these “virtues” are disagreeable and useless or pernicious to self and society. It is tempting to read Palamedes as raising the question of moral skepticism in a new way. What the Narrator considers a fundamental principle of moral judgment may not just be rejected by corrupt individuals like Diogenes, Nero, or Pascal, but also by large communities of followers. But this is not quite Palamedes’ point. Like all principles established by induction, Hume’s claim that moral judgments are based on assessments of what is useful or agreeable for self or others is drawn from observation and liable to exceptions. Newtonian methodology stipulates that the discovery of exceptions calls for the principle to be subsequently

252

lorne falkenstein

restated along with them, and Palamedes does so. Rather than contest the Narrator’s claims concerning human nature, he restates the rule along with the exceptions, describing them as “artifices” (like justice17), arising from philosophical and religious “extravagance” (EPM D 54).18 Palamedes could have taken the harder line, which would have posed a real problem for Hume, given that he thought that our nature is plastic.19 Dismissing the harder line means there must be a way of telling the “extravagances” apart from the natural state. Hume did maintain that there are some cases where this can be done.20 The extreme skepticism consequent on the study of Pyrrhonian arguments is one of them (EHU 12.23). It is a competing overlay on an original condition. The original nature remains with us and continues to influence us (DNR 12.13 [221]). That influence can be overcome, but only by violent enthusiasm, which can be difficult to sustain except in special circumstances, such as those of persecution (H 40, 123; E, 76–78). The Narrator’s reply to Palamedes is accordingly that “no-one can answer for what will please or displease [people who depart from the maxims of common reason]” (EPM D 57; cf. H 41, 221). There is no higher standard that can be invoked to expose the error of these systems of virtue and vice. If our natural instincts do not lead us to rebel against them, nothing can be said that will change us. Morality is relative to human nature, and where that is altered the dispute is irresolvable. This does not mean that there is any question about what is natural for us. Even had that not been revealed by induction, it would be proven by the difficulty of sustaining enthusiastic commitments in the absence of special circumstances inflaming passions. Speaking in his own voice in the Essays, Hume observed that toleration is especially important when dealing with enthusiasts (E, 76–78). Arousing anger, resentment, and other strong passions by attempting to suppress or oppose enthusiasm can only feed the flames. In the absence of aggravating factors, the force of nature will reassert itself; the enthusiasts will sink into 17 18

19 20

Justice is compared with them at EPM 3.36–38. Bohlin (2013, pp. 599–600, 602) claims that Hume’s defense of his position appeals to “a psychological theory of how moral sentiments develop.” Abramson (1999, p. 182) similarly appeals to the notion of “extensive sympathy” which, she maintains, plays “a central role in the dialogue” [p. 174]). But “A Dialogue” was not appended to the Treatise but to EPM, which contains no developmental psychological theory and which abandons the notion of extensive sympathy. Hume’s case in EPM is based on induction from the phenomena. E 202–03 (“Of National Characters,” 9); also T 3.2.2.4, 3.2.2.26, 3.2.12.7; EHU 8.11; and DNR 1.2 (130). In saying this I follow Berry (2007) in opposition to Cohen (2000, pp. 114, 115) and Bohlin (2013, p. 602).

Moral Disagreement

253

“remissness and coolness” over the application of their perverse principles, and will eventually return to more natural opinions.

12.4 Deep Moral Disagreements These points seem to leave no room for any deep moral disagreements. Either (i) reasoning and experience establish that the moral judgments of a culture are based on mistaken inferences from shared principles, in which case even natives to that culture should be persuaded to abandon them; or (ii) they establish that different circumstances (or ages or genders) call for the exercise of different qualities, in which case even foreigners should be persuaded to adopt the standards called for by the circumstances (EPM 3.9); or (iii) the dispute turns on balancing useful with agreeable or personal with social values, and as there is no obviously correct way to do this, all should agree to tolerate one another’s preferences on these matters; or (iv) the dispute is the product of enthusiasm, in which case there is nothing to be said to the enthusiast and the best thing to do is hope that, without the support of passions aroused by opposition, nature will reassert itself and bring the opponent to their senses. But while these may have been Hume’s intended conclusions in “A Dialogue,” there are three ways in which his account of moral judgment places roadblocks in the way of tolerating the different moral opinions of others. 1. Corruptions of nature. The situation Hume found himself in when considering monkish and stoic virtues parallels the situation he found himself in when pronouncing on Divine amorality. Just as a being who feels no sentiments can have no morality, as we understand it, so beings who feel very different sentiments can share no common basis for moral agreement. Hume’s claim that God chose to create us with the sentiments we have implies that there is no necessity to our constitution. The forces that created us could have given us varying or plastic sentimental constitutions. It is at best fortuitous if competing human moral convictions turn out to be corruptions of an abiding common nature that will reassert itself when not inflamed by enthusiasm. That fortuitous circumstance is not a reason for denouncing useless and disagreeable characters as vicious. When we do so, it is not because we are in the right or have nature on our side, but because we cannot escape our own moral psychology. 2. Conflicts between useful/agreeable and personal/social. Where conflicts between utilities, or the useful and the agreeable, or the personal and the social are concerned, our natures are plastic, and our sentiments the product

254

lorne falkenstein

of custom, chance, and government. The Narrator’s way of dealing with these conflicts is to treat them as matters of lesser morality, about which we should be able to agree to disagree. But the former is not true, and the latter is not possible. The Narrator discusses one case of a conflict between the useful and agreeable: that of relations between the sexes (EPM D 43–49, following on 32). Cloistering one sex is useful, presumably because it facilitates continued cooperation of parents in child-rearing (EPM 4.5), but it is disagreeable. Allowing open commerce between the sexes is agreeable, but it threatens family unity (EPM D 47). The Narrator declares that “These ends are both good, and are somewhat difficult to reconcile; nor need we be surprized, if the customs of nations incline too much, sometimes to the one side, sometimes to the other” (EPM D 32). But the suffering caused to individuals by these differing domestic arrangements are too severe for us to be tolerant of them. Hume himself deplored the brutalization attendant on the cloistering of women, and remarked on the dire consequences of turning the care of children over to those who are not their natural parents (E, 184, 188; E, 383–98, 400). Not all cultures have been similarly torn. But there is no higher standard that can be invoked to adjudicate between a culture that prizes utility above agreeableness and one that does the opposite. The Narrator allows that “this difference [in customs regarding comportment between the sexes] is the most material, which can happen in private life,” and so produces “the greatest variation in our moral sentiments” (EPM D 43), but strives to effect a reconciliation. “The customs of the Spaniards and of the Italians of an age ago,” which valorized both male promiscuity and female chastity, are described as “the worst of any,” but it is not clear whether this is because they frustrate more fundamental principles the Spanish and Italians accepted (as with the Greek and Roman approval of assassination), or whether the Narrator is giving vent to the moral sentiments his own culture enjoins. It is remarked that “some people” are “inclined to think, that the best way of . . . keeping the proper medium between the agreeable and the useful qualities” is to condemn male “gallantry” and male jealousy while (after La Fontaine) turning a blind eye to female infidelity (EPM D 47–48). But the Narrator’s recommendation is conditionalized: “We must sacrifice somewhat of the useful, if we be very anxious to obtain all the agreeable qualities” (EPM D 47, italics added). This presumes that we are “very anxious to obtain all the agreeable qualities,” or at least “keep a proper [?] medium.” We have nothing to say to a culture with other priorities. We are also unlikely to tolerate one another’s differing opinions and practices, especially if we believe that they come at a cost in human

Moral Disagreement

255

suffering. It is one thing to exercise toleration as a matter of policy, in the hope that it will lead others to recover from a fit of enthusiasm, or to exercise toleration on trivial matters. It is another to tolerate practices that we perceive to be both abiding and detrimental, as those involving domestic arrangements can very well be. Our perceptions of where the suffering lies can be expected to be different, and to lead to mutual condemnation. People can be expected to perceive that “Our opinions of all kinds are strongly affected by society and sympathy” (DP 10; cf. E, 202–03, T 3.2.12.7) and so to find the public expression of disapprobation for the practices of others to be essential to the defense of their own. 3. Nonculpable ignorance. Hume maintained that had the inconveniences of assassination been clearly demonstrated to the ancients, they would have reformed their belief in its utility (EPM D 31). But Brutus had no such knowledge when he participated in the assassination of Caesar. Do we say that, given what he knew, his action, motivated as it was by a disinterested love of liberty, displayed the highest merit? Or say that, as selfless and well intentioned as his act may have been, his time would have been better served by an individual with a stronger sense of gratitude and fidelity? The Humean answer to these questions would have been unequivocal. We cannot but judge Brutus based on the sentiments induced in us by our own knowledge of the effects of assassination. We might reflect that he could not have known any better, and say that nothing else could have been expected of him, but we will feel moral condemnation all the same. This does not mean that there is an external, ultimate standard of right and wrong that we have more clearly discerned. Even granting that the inconveniences attendant on assassination are in fact greater than those of enduring despotism, that fact is not what ultimately determines our moral assessment. Our sentimental constitution, which determines us to approve of social utility, is what does so. Someone who agrees with us about the facts but does not share our sentimental constitution could be at a loss what to say about this case. The real lesson is that we cannot escape our own standpoints, even to the extent of forgiving agents for nonculpable ignorance. Moral pluralism is not an option for us.21 21

For the opposing view, see Abramson (1999, pp. 179–80), Bohlin (2013, p. 596), and Collier (2013, p. 50). As noted in Section 12.4, Hume recognized that there is good reason to tolerate the opinions of others, but that is not the same thing as bringing ourselves to recognize those opinions as equally valid. In such cases, our tolerance is tolerance of what we consider vicious and it is exercised only because we appreciate that the alternative would be worse.

256

lorne falkenstein

12.5

Conclusion

Moral absolutism and skepticism and moral pluralism are positions on how we ought to respond to moral disagreements. This makes them positions that do not apply to EPM, which is focused on explaining why we make the moral judgments we do, not on determining what those judgments ought to be. Hume the moral subject occasionally made the moral judgments that Hume the moral psychologist predicted such a subject would make, as when condemning the monkish virtues (EPM 9.3) or preferring the mitigation of gallantry and jealousy to the promotion of chastity and modesty (EPM D 48). As the moral psychologist would have observed, the subject could not have done otherwise. The Narrator’s best efforts in “A Dialogue” notwithstanding, Hume’s moral psychology allows for the possibility of deep and irreconcilable moral disagreements. It also dictates that where there are such disagreements, it will not be possible for individuals to tolerate one another’s moral commitments – except insofar as they have been convinced that, as a matter of policy, intolerance would have consequences they themselves find even worse.22 22

Thanks to Elizabeth Radcliffe for helping me clarify the implications here, and to Esther Kroeker, James Fieser, and Rachel Cohon for numerous helpful comments.

Bibliography

Abelard, Peter (1971). Ethics, trans. David Luscombe, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Abramson, Kate (2001). “Sympathy and the Project of Hume’s Second Inquiry.” Archiv für Geschichte der Philosophie 83(1): 45–80. https://doi.org/10.1515/agph .83.1.45. Abramson, Kate (1999). “Hume on Cultural Conflicts of Values.” Philosophical Studies 94: 183–87. Ainslie, Donald (2007). “Character Traits and the Humean Approach to Ethics.” In Moral Psychology, edited by Sergio Tenenbaum, 79–110, New York: Rodopi. Alblas, Jacques B. H. (1991). “Richard Allestree’s ‘The Whole Duty of Man’ (1658) in Holland: The Denominational and Generic Transformation of an Anglican Classic.” Dutch Review of Church History 71(1): 91–104. Allestree, Richard (1659). The Whole Duty of Man¸ London: Printed for T. Garthwait; Ann Arbor: ProQuest EEBO Editions. Anon. (1753). Some Late Opinions Concerning the Foundations of Morality Examined, London: R. Dodsley. Aristotle (2011). Nicomachean Ethics, trans. Robert C. Bartlett and Susan D. Collins, Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Ashford, Elizabeth (2005). “Utilitarianism with a Humean Face.” Hume Studies 31 (1) (April): 63–92. Baier, Annette (2010). The Cautious Jealous Virtue: Hume on Justice, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Baier, Annette (2008). “Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals: Incomparably the Best?” In A Companion to Hume, edited by Elizabeth S. Radcliffe, 293–320, Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing. Baier, Annette (1991). A Progress of Sentiments: Reflections on Hume’s Treatise, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Baier, Annette (1979). “Good Men’s Women: Hume on Chastity and Trust.” Hume Studies 5(1) (April): 1–19. Balfour, James (1753). A Delineation of the Nature and Obligation of Morality. With Reflexions upon Mr Hume’s Book, intitled, An Inquiry concerning the Principles of Morals, 2nd ed., Edinburgh: Hamilton, Balfour, and Neill. Barry, Brian (1989). Theories of Justice, Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. 257

258

Bibliography

Battersby, C. (1979). “The Dialogues as Original Imitation: Cicero and the Nature of Hume’s Scepticism.” In McGill Hume Studies, edited by D. F. Norton, N. Capaldi, and W. L. Robison, 239–52, San Diego, CA: Austin Hill Press. Baumstark, Moritz (2010). “Hume’s Reading of the Classics at Ninewells, 1749–51.” Journal of Scottish Philosophy 8(1): 63–77. Bayle, Pierre (1740). Dictionaire Historique et Critique, 5th ed., 4 vols, Amsterdam et al.: Chez P. Brunel. Beauchamp, Tom L. (ed.) (1998). The Clarendon Edition of the Works of David Hume: An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Bentham, Jeremy (1776/1988). A Fragment on Government, edited by J. H. Burns and H. L. A. Hart, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Berry, Christopher (2007). “Hume’s Universalism.” British Journal for the History of Philosophy 15: 535–50. Besser-Jones, L. (2010). “Hume on Pride-in-Virtue: A Reliable Motive?” Hume Studies 36(2): 171–92. Blom, Henriette van der (2010). Cicero’s Role Models: The Political Strategy of a Newcomer, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Bohlin, Henrik (2013). “Universal Moral Standards and the Problem of Cultural Relativism in Hume’s ‘A Dialogue.’” Philosophy 88: 593–606. Boileau, Nicolas (1857). Oeuvres Complètes de Boileau-Despréaux, Paris: FirminDidot Frères. https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k54009284/f727.item.r =extraordinaire. Boswell, James (1971). Boswell in Extremes: 1776–1778. The Yale Edition of the Private Papers of James Boswell, London: Heinemann. Botwinick, Aryeh (1977). “A Case for Hume’s Nonutilitarianism.” Journal of the History of Philosophy 15(4) (October): 423–35. Project MUSE. Box, M. A. (1990). The Suasive Art of David Hume, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Broad, C. D. (1930). Five Types of Ethical Theory, London: Routledge. Butler, Joseph (1867/2006). Sixteen Sermons. In The Works of Joseph Butler, LL.D., London: William Teg. (Facsimile) Capaldi, Nicholas (1975). David Hume: The Newtonian Philosopher, Boston, MA: Twayne. Carey, Daniel (2006). Locke, Shaftesbury, and Hutcheson: Contesting Diversity in the Enlightenment and Beyond, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Cicero, Marcus Tullius (2015a). On Duties (De Officiis), edited by Miriam T. Griffin, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Cicero, Marcus Tullius (2015b). On Moral Ends (De Finibus), edited by Julia Annas, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Cicero, Marcus Tullius (2014). De Natura Deorum Academica, trans. H. Rackham, Loeb Classical Library, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Cicero, Marcus Tullius (2013). On Dutie (Offices), edited by M. T. Griffin and E. M. Atkins, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Bibliography

259

Claydon, Tony (1996). William III and the Godly Revolution, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Cohen, Alix (2000). “The Notion of Moral Progress in Hume’s Philosophy: Does Hume Have a Theory of Moral Progress?” Hume Studies 26: 109–27. Cohen, Mendel F. (1990). “Obligation and Human Nature in Hume’s Moral Philosophy.” Philosophical Quarterly 40: 316–41. Cohon, Rachel (2008). Hume’s Morality: Feeling and Fabrication, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Cohon, Rachel (1997). “The Common Point of View in Hume’s Ethics.” Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 57(4) (December): 827–50. www .jstor.org/stable/2953805. Collier, Mark (2013). “The Humean Approach to Moral Diversity.” Journal of Scottish Philosophy 11: 41–52. Collins, Anthony (1713). A Discourse of Free-Thinking, University of Oxford. Costelloe, Timothy (2012). “The Sublime: A Short Introduction to a Long History.” In The Sublime: From Antiquity to the Present, edited by Timothy M. Costelloe, 1–9, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Costelloe, Timothy (2007). Aesthetics and Morals in the Philosophy of David Hume, New York: Routledge. Cottle, Charles (1979). “Justice as Artificial Virtue in Hume’s Treatise.” Journal of the History of Ideas 40: 457–66. Crisp, Roger (2005). “Hume on Virtue, Utility, and Morality.” In Virtue Ethics, Old and New, edited by Stephen M. Gardiner, 159–78, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Cruz-Tleugabulova, Maité (2012). “Hume on Presentation and Philosophy.” Canadian Journal of Philosophy 42(S1): 67–81. Cummins, Phillip D. (2000). “A Puzzling Passage in ‘Why Utility Pleases.’” Hume Studies 26(1) (April): 179–81. Dalai Lama [Tenzin Gyatso] (2002). The Spirit of Peace: Teachings on Love, Compassion and Everyday Life, London: Thorsons/Harper-Collins. Darwall, Stephen (1995a). The British Moralists and the Internal “Ought”: 1640–1740, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Darwall, Stephen (1995b). “Hume and the Invention of Utilitarianism.” In Hume and Hume’s Connexions, edited by M. A. Stewart and John P. Wright, 58–82, University Park, PA: The Pennsylvania State University Press. Darwall, Stephen (1993). “Motive and Obligation in Hume’s Ethics.” Noûs 27(4): 415–48. Debes, Remy (2007a). “Humanity, Sympathy and the Puzzle of Hume’s Second Enquiry.” British Journal for the History of Philosophy 15(1): 27–57. Debes, Remy (2007b). “Has Anything Changed? Hume’s Theory of Association and Sympathy after the Treatise.” British Journal for the History of Philosophy 15 (2): 313–38. https://doi.org/10.1080/09608780701240040. Dees, Richard H. (1992). “Hume and the Contexts of Politics.” Journal of the History of Philosophy 30(2) (April): 219–42.

260

Bibliography

East, Katherine A. (2014). “Superstitionis Malleus: John Toland, Cicero, and the War on Priestcraft in Early Enlightenment England.” History of European Ideas 40(7): 965–83. Emerson, Roger L. (1997). “Hume and the Bellman, Zerobabel Macgilchrist.” Hume Studies 23(1): 9–28. Emerson, Roger L. (1994). “The ‘Affair’ at Edinburgh and the ‘Project’ at Glasgow: The Politics of Hume’s Attempts to Become a Professor.” In Hume and Hume’s Connexions, 1–22, Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Emerson, Roger L. (1984). “Conjectural History and Scottish Philosophers.” Historical Papers 19(1): 63–90. Falk, W. D. (1947–8). “‘Ought’ and Motivation.” Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society 48: 492–510. Reprinted in W. D. Falk (1986). Ought, Reasons, and Morality, 21–41, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Falkenstein, Lorne (2015). “Without Gallantry and Without Jealousy: The Development of Hume’s Account of Sexual Virtues and Vices.” Hume Studies 41(2) (November): 137–70. Fieser, James (2004). Early Responses to Hume’s Moral Theory and Essays, Volume 1, second edition, London: Continuum. Fieser, James (1999). Early Responses to Hume, Volume 1, Bristol: Thoemmes Press. Fieser, James (1998). “Hume’s Wide View of the Virtues.” Hume Studies 14: 295–312. Flage, Daniel E. (1985). “Hume’s Ethics.” Philosophical Topics 13(3) (Fall): 71–88. www.jstor.org/stable/43154629. Forbes, Duncan (1975). Hume’s Philosophical Politics, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Fosl, Peter S. (1994). “Doubt and Divinity: Cicero’s Influence on Hume’s Religious Skepticism.” Hume Studies 20(1): 103–20. Frazer, Michael. 2010. The Enlightenment of Sympathy: Justice and the Moral Sentiments in the Eighteenth Century and Today, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Frykholm, Erin (2012). “The Ontology of Character Traits in Hume.” Canadian Journal of Philosophy 42(S1): 82–97. Garrett, Aaron (2018). “Joseph Butler’s Moral Philosophy.” In Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, edited by Edward N. Zalta, Spring 2018, Metaphysics Research Lab, Stanford University. https://plato.stanford.edu/en tries/butler-moral. Garrett, Aaron (2007). “Francis Hutcheson and the Origin of Animal Rights.” Journal of the History of Philosophy 45(2): 243–65. Garrett, Aaron (2006). “Human Nature.” In The Cambridge History of EighteenthCentury Philosophy, edited by Knud Haakonssen, 160–233, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Garrett, Aaron, and Colin Heydt (2015). “Moral Philosophy: Practical and Speculative.” In Scottish Philosophy in the Eighteenth Century, Volume I: Morals, Politics, Art, Religion, edited by Aaron Garrett and James A. Harris, 77–130, Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Bibliography

261

Garrett, Aaron, and Silvia Sebastiani (2017). “David Hume on Race.” In The Oxford Handbook of Philosophy and Race, edited by Naomi Zack, 31–43, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Garrett, Don (2015). Hume, London and New York: Routledge. Garrett, Don (1997). Cognition and Commitment in Hume’s Philosophy, New York: Oxford University Press. Gill, Michael B. (2014). Humean Moral Pluralism, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Gill, Michael B. (2006). The British Moralists on Human Nature and the Birth of Secular Ethics, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Gill, Michael B. (2000). “Hume’s Progressive View on Human Nature.” Hume Studies 26(1): 87–108. Glossop, Ronald J. (1976). “Is Hume a ‘Classical Utilitarian’?” Hume Studies 2(1) (April): 1–16. Greig, J. Y. T. (2011). The Letters of David Hume: Volume I, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Haakonssen, Knud (1981). The Science of a Legislator: The Natural Jurisprudence of David Hume and Adam Smith, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hanley, Ryan Patrick (2018). “Rousseau, Smith, and Kant on Becoming Just.” In Justice, edited by Mark LeBar, 39–66, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hanley, Ryan Patrick (2011). “Hume and the Politics of Humanity.” Political Theory 39(2): 205–33. Hanvelt, Marc (2012). The Politics of Eloquence, Toronto: Toronto University Press. Hardin, Russell (2008). David Hume: Moral and Political Theorist, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Harris, James (2018). “Justice in Hume’s Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals.” (ms) Harris, James (2015). Hume: An Intellectual Biography, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Harris, James (2012). “The Early Reception of Hume’s Theory of Justice.” In Philosophy and Religion in Enlightenment Britain, edited by Ruth Savage, 210–30, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Harrison, Jonathan (1981). Hume’s Theory of Justice, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Helvétius, Claude Adrien (1810). Treatise on Man: His Intellectual Faculties and His Education, trans. W. Hooper, London: Albion Press. Herdt, Jennifer A. (2013). “Artificial Lives, Providential History, and the Apparent Limits of Sympathetic Understanding.” In David Hume: Historical Thinker, Historical Writer, edited by Mark G. Spencer, 37–60, University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press. Heydt, Colin (2017). Moral Philosophy in Eighteenth-Century Britain: God, Self, and Other, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hobbes, Thomas (1994). Leviathan, edited by Ian Shapiro, New Haven, CT and London: Yale University Press.

262

Bibliography

Holden, Thomas (2010). Spectres of False Divinity: Hume’s Moral Atheism, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Home, Henry (Lord Kames) (1779). Essays on the Principles of Morality and Natural Religion, Edinburgh: Printed by R. Fleming. Holy Bible (1984). New International Version, Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan Publishing House. Home, Henry (Lord Kames) (1751). Essays on the Principles of Morality and Natural Religion in Two Parts, Edinburgh: R. Fleming. Hope, Simon (2010). “The Circumstances of Justice.” Hume Studies 36(2): 125–48. Howard, Robert, Sir (1694). The History of Religion Written by a Person of Quality, Ann Arbor, MI and Oxford: Text Creation Partnership, 2005–12. https://quod .lib.umich.edu/e/eebo/A44651.0001.001?view=toc. Hume, David (2011). The Letters of David Hume, edited by J. Y. T. Greig, 2 vols, Oxford: Clarendon Press. Hume, David (1779/2007). Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion, edited by Dorothy Coleman, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hume, David (1778/1983a). The History of England from the Invasion of Julius Caesar to the Revolution in 1688, foreword by William B. Todd, 6 vols, rpt., Indianapolis, IN: Liberty Fund. Hume, David (1778/1983b). My Own Life: The Life of David Hume, Esq. Written by Himself. In The History of England from the Invasion of Julius Caesar to the Revolution in 1688, vol. 1, xxvii–xxxiv, Indianapolis, IN: Liberty Fund. Hume, David (1777/1987a). “My Own Life.” In Essays, Moral, Political, and Literary, edited by Eugene F. Miller, xxxi–xliii, Indianapolis, IN: Liberty Fund. Hume, David (1777/1987b). Essays, Moral, Political, and Literary, edited by Eugene F. Miller, rev. ed., Indianapolis, IN: Liberty Classics. Hume, David (1757/2007). A Dissertation on the Passions: The Natural History of Religion, edited by Tom L. Beauchamp, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hume, David (1751/1998). An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals, edited by Tom L. Beauchamp, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hume, David (1748/1999). An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding, edited by Tom L. Beauchamp, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hume, David (1748). A True Account of the Behaviour and Conduct of Archibald Stewart: Esq; Late Lord Provost of Edinburgh. In a Letter to a Friend. London. https://quod .lib.umich.edu/e/ecco/004866698.0001.000/1:3?rgn=div1;view=fulltext. Hume, David (1739–40/2007). A Treatise of Human Nature, edited by David Fate Norton and Mary J. Norton, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hutcheson, Francis (2008). An Inquiry into the Original of Our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue in Two Treatises, edited by Wolfgang Leidhold, Indianapolis, IN: Liberty Fund. Hutcheson, Francis (2007). A Short Introduction to Moral Philosophy, edited by Luigi Turco, Indianapolis, IN: Liberty Fund. Hutcheson, Francis (2002). An Essay on the Nature and Conduct of the Passions and Affections, with Illustrations on the Moral Sense, edited by Aaron Garrett, Indianapolis, IN: Liberty Fund.

Bibliography

263

Jones, Pete (1982). Hume’s Sentiments: Their Ciceronian and French Context, Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Kant, Immanuel (2012). Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals, 2nd ed., Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kant, Immanuel (1785/1964). Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals, edited by H. J. Paton, New York: Harper & Row. Kemp Smith (1941). The Philosophy of David Hume: A Critical Study of Its Origins and Central Doctrines, London: Palgrave-Macmillan. King, James T. (1981). “Hume’s Classical Theory of Justice.” Hume Studies 7: 32–54. King, James T. (1976). “The Place of the Language of Morals in Hume’s Second Enquiry.” In Hume: A Re-Evaluation, edited by Donald W. Livingston and James T. King, 343–61, New York: Fordham University Press. Knox, R. A. (1950). Enthusiasm, Oxford: Clarendon Press. Kraal, Anders (2013). “Anglicanism, Scottish Presbyterianism, and the Irreligious Aim of Hume’s Treatise.” Hume Studies 39(2): 169–96. Krause, Sharon (2004). “Hume and the (False) Luster of Justice.” Political Theory 32: 628–55. Kroeker, Esther Engels (2020). “Hume’s Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals and The Whole Duty of Man.” Journal of Scottish Philosophy 18(2): 117–32. Laird, John (1932). Hume’s Philosophy of Human Nature, London: Methuen. Leland, John (1756). A View of the Principal Deistical Writers, Supplement, London: B. Dod. Lemmens, Willem (2015). ““Sweden Is Still a Kingdom”: Convention and Political Authority in Hume’s History of England.” Hume Studies 41(1): 57–72. Levey, Ann (1997). “Under Constraint: Chastity and Modesty in Hume.” Hume Studies 23(2): 213–26. Levy, David M., and Sandra J. Peart (2004). “Sympathy and Approbation in Hume and Smith: A Solution to the Other Rational Species Problem.” Economics and Philosophy 20: 331–49. Locke, John (1980). Second Treatise of Government, Indianapolis, IN: Hackett. Locke, John (1979). An Essay Concerning Human Understanding, edited by P. H. Nidditch, The Clarendon Edition of the Works of John Locke, Oxford and New York: Clarendon Press; Oxford University Press. Longinus (1995). On the Sublime, trans. W. H. Fyfe and revised by Donald Russell. In Poetics, On the Sublime, On Style, 143–59, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Loptson, Peter (2012). “Hume and Ancient Philosophy.” British Journal for the History of Philosophy 20(4): 741–72. Lucretius, Titus Carus (1910). On the Nature of Things, Oxford: Clarendon Press, https:oll.libertyfund.org/titles/2242. Machiavelli, Niccolo (1998). The Prince, trans. Harvey C. Mansfield, Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

264

Bibliography

Machiavelli, Niccolo (1996). Discourses on Livy, trans. Harvey C. Mansfield and Nathan Tarcov, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. MacIntyre, Alasdair (1988). Whose Justice? Which Impartiality?, Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press. MacIntyre, Alasdair (1965). Hume’s Ethical Writings, New York: Collier. Mackie, John (1980). Hume’s Moral Theory, London: Routledge. Magri, Tito (1996). “Natural Obligation and Normative Motivation in Hume’s Treatise.” Hume Studies 22(2): 231–53. Mandeville, Bernard (2012). An Enquiry into the Origin of Honour and the Usefulness of Christianity in War, London: Forgotten Books. (Facsimile of the 1732 edition) Mandeville, Bernard (1988a). The Fable of the Bees, or Private Vices, Publick Benefits, edited by Frederick Kaye, Indianapolis, IN: Liberty Fund. Mandeville, Bernard (1988b). “An Inquiry into the Origin of Moral Virtue.” In The Fable of the Bees, or Private Vices, Publick Benefits, edited by Frederick Kaye, 41–57, Indianapolis, IN: Liberty Fund. Martin, Marie A. (1990). “Utility and Morality: Adam Smith’s Critique of Hume.” Hume Studies 16(2) (November): 107–20. Maurer, Christian (2019). Self-Love, Egoism and the Selfish Hypothesis: Ker Debates from Eighteenth-Century British Moral Philosophy, Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. McArthur, Neil (2016). “Hume’s Political Philosophy.” In The Oxford Handbook of Hume, edited by Paul Russell, 489–505, Oxford: Oxford University Press. McCarty, Richard (2012). “Humean Courage.” In David Hume and Contemporary Philosophy, edited by Ilya Kasavin, 266–77, Newcastle-upon-Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. McCloskey, Laura Ann, Aurelio Jose Figueredo, and Mary P. Koss (1995). “The Effects of Systemic Family Violence on Children’s Mental Health.” Child Development 66: 1239–61. McIntyre, Alison (2014). “Fruitless Remorses: Hume’s Critique of the Penitential Project of the Whole Duty of Man.” Hume Studies 40(2): 143–67. McIntyre, Jane (1990). “Character: A Humean Account.” History of Philosophy Quarterly 72: 193–206. Merivale, Amyras (2019). Hume on Art, Emotion, and Superstition: A Critical Study of the Four Dissertations, New York and London: Routledge. Moore, James (2002). “Utility and Humanity: The Quest for the Honestum in Cicero, Hutcheson, and Hume.” Utilitas 14(3): 365–86. Moore, James (1994). “Hume and Hutcheson.” In Hume and Hume’s Connexions, edited by M. A. Stewart and John P. Wright, 25–37, Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Moore, James (1976). “Hume’s Theory of Justice and Property.” Political Studies 24: 103–19. Nelson, Sara C. (2014). “North Korean Defector Sketches Show Torture, Starvation and Death in Dictatorship’s Prisons.” Huffington Post UK, 2/19/2014. www

Bibliography

265

.huffingtonpost.co.uk/2014/02/19/north-korean-defector-sketches-show-torturestarvation-death-dictatorships-prisons-pictures-_n_4813889.html. Neill, Elizabeth (1997). “Hume’s Moral Sublime.” British Journal of Aesthetics 37 (3): 246–58. Nietzsche, Friedrich (1886/1989). Beyond Good and Evil, trans. Walter Kaufmann, New York: Vintage. Oxford English Dictionary (n.d.). “Chief” entry. www.oed.com. Penelhum, Terence (1992). David Hume: An Introduction to His Philosophical System, West Lafayette, IN: Purdue University Press. Perinetti, Dario (2018). “Hume at La Flèche: Skepticism and the French Connection.” Journal of the History of Philosophy 56(1): 45–74. Phillipson, Nicholas (2011). David Hume: The Philosopher as Historian, London: Penguin Books. Phillipson, Nicholas (1997). “Providence and Progress: An Introduction to the Historical Thought of William Robertson.” In William Robertson and the Expansion of Empire, edited by Stewart J. Brown, 55–73, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Pitson, Tony (2019). “Hume and Humanity as ‘the Foundation of Morals.’” Journal of Scottish Philosophy 17(1): 39–59. Potkay, Adam (2000). The Passion for Happiness: Samuel Johnson and David Hume, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Potkay, Adam (1984). The Fate of Eloquence in the Age of Hume, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Pufendorf, Samuel von (2003). The Whole Duty of Man According to the Law of Nature, trans. Andrew Tooke, edited by Ian Hunter and David Saunders, Indianapolis, IN: Liberty Fund. Radcliffe, Elizabeth (2018). Hume, Passion, and Action, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Rasmussen, Dennis C. (2017). The Infidel and the Professor: David Hume, Adam Smith, and the Friendship That Shaped Modern Thought, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Raynor, David R. (1984). “Hume’s Abstract of Adam Smith’s Theory of Moral Sentiments.” Journal of the History of Philosophy 22(1) (January): 51–79. Project MUSE. Reichlin, Massimo (2016). “Hume and Utilitarianism: Another Look at an Age-Old Question.” The Journal of Scottish Philosophy 14(1) (March): 1–20. https://doi.org/10.3366/jsp.2016.0111. Rivers, Isabel (2005). Reason, Grace and Sentiment: Shaftesbury to Hume, a Study of the Language of Religion and Ethics in England, 1660 – 1780, Vol. 1. 2 vols, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Robertson, John (2005). The Case for the Enlightenment: Scotland and Naples 1680–1760, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Rogers, C. R. (1961). On Becoming a Person, Boston, MA: Houghton-Mifflin. Rose, William (1752). “Review of Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals.” Monthly Review 6 (January): 1–19.

266

Bibliography

Rosen, Frederick (2003). Classical Utilitarianism from Hume to Mill, London: Routledge. Russell, Paul (2008). The Riddle of Hume’s Treatise: Skepticism, Naturalism, and Irreligion, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Sabl, Andrew (2012). Hume’s Politics: Coordination and Crisis in the “History of England,” Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Sagar, Paul (2018). The Opinion of Mankind: Sociability and the Theory of the State from Hobbes to Smith, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Sayre-McCord, Geoffrey (2016). “Hume on the Artificial Virtues.” In The Oxford Handbook of Hume, edited by Paul Russell, 435–69, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Sayre-McCord, Geoffrey (2013). “Hume and Smith on Sympathy, Approbation, and Moral Judgment.” Social Philosophy and Policy 30(1–2) (January): 208–36. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0265052513000101. Sayre-McCord, Geoffrey (1995). “Hume and the Bauhaus Theory of Ethics.” Midwest Studies in Philosophy 20: 280–98. Sayre-McCord, Geoffrey (1994). “On Why Hume’s ‘General Point of View’ Isn’t Ideal – and Shouldn’t Be.” Social Philosophy and Policy 11(1): 202–28. Schofield, Philip (2003). “Jeremy Bentham’s ‘Nonsense Upon Stilts’.” Utilitas 15 (1): 1. Seidler, Michael (2015). “Pufendorf’s Moral and Political Philosophy.” In Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, edited by Edward N. Zalta, Winter 2015, Metaphysics Research Lab, Stanford University. https://plato.stanford.edu/arc hives/win2015/entries/pufendorf-moral. Selby-Bigge, L. A. (1894/1975). “Editor’s Introduction.” In David Hume, Enquiries Concerning Human Understanding and Concerning the Principles of Morals, 3rd ed., revised by P. H. Nidditch, vii–xxxi, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Shaver, Robert (1995). “Hume’s Moral Theory?” History of Philosophy Quarterly 12 (3) (July): 317–31. www.jstor.org/stable/27744669. Sher, Richard B. (1990). “Professors of Virtue: The Social History of the Edinburgh Moral Philosophy Chair in the Eighteenth Century.” In Studies in the Philosophy of the Scottish Enlightenment, edited by M. A. Stewart, 87–126, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Sherblom, Stephen A. (2012). “What Develops in Moral Development? A Model of Moral Sensibility.” Journal of Moral Education 41(1): 117–42, DOI:10.1080/ 03057240.2011.652603. Smith, Adam (2002). The Theory of Moral Sentiments, edited by Knud Haakonssen, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Smith, Michael (1994). The Moral Problem, Oxford: Blackwell. Spector, Horatio (2014). “Hume’s Theory of Justice.” Rationality, Markets, and Morals 5: 47–63. Spencer, Mark G. (2019). “Hume the Historian.” In The Humean Mind, edited by Angela M. Coventry and Alexander Sager, 287–99, New York: Routledge.

Bibliography

267

Stewart, John B. (1963). The Moral and Political Philosophy of David Hume, New York: Columbia University Press. Stranks, C. J. (1961). Anglican Devotion, London: SCM Press Ltd. Straumann, Benjamin (2015). Roman Law in the State of Nature: The Classical Foundations of Hugo Grotius’ Natural Law, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Stuart-Buttle, Tim (2019). From Moral Philosophy to Moral Theology: Visions of Humanity from Locke to Hume, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Suderman, Jeffrey M. (2013). “Medieval Kingship and the Making of Modern Civility: Hume’s Assessment of Governance.” In David Hume: Historical Thinker, Historical Writer, edited by Mark G. Spencer, 121–42, University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press. Swanton, Christine (2015). The Virtue Ethics of Hume and Nietzsche, Chichester: Wiley Blackwell. Taylor, Jacqueline (2015a). “Justice, Sympathy, and the Command of Our Esteem.” Diametros 44: 173–88, DOI:10.13153/diam.44.2015.769. Taylor, Jacqueline (2015b). Reflecting Subjects: Passion, Sympathy, and Society in Hume’s Philosophy, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Taylor, Jacqueline (2013). “Hume on the Importance of Humanity.” Revue International de Philosophie 263(1): 81–97. Taylor, Jacqueline (2009). “Hume’s Later Moral Philosophy.” In The Cambridge Companion to Hume, edited by David Fate Norton and Jacqueline Taylor, 2nd ed., 311–40, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Taylor, Jacqueline (2002). “Hume on the Standard of Virtue.” The Journal of Ethics 6(1) (March): 43–62. www.jstor.org/stable/25115714. Taylor, Jacqueline (1998). “Justice and the Foundations of Social Morality in Hume’s Treatise.” Hume Studies 24: 5–30. Tegos, Spyridon (2013). “Hume’s Case for French Politeness: The Status of Politeness in Monarchies and Republics” (unpublished), presented at the 40th International Hume Society Conference, July 21–28, Universidade Federal de Minas Gerais, Belo Horizonte, Brazil. Toland, John (1712). Cicero Illustratus, J. Whiston, S. Baker, and J. Robinson, London. Tolonen, Mikko (2013). Mandeville and Hume: Anatomist of Civil Society, Oxford: Voltaire Foundation. Trenchard, John (1709). The Natural History of Superstition, London: Bartholomew-Close. Tuck, Richard (1988). “Optics and Sceptics: The Philosophical Foundations of Hobbes’s Political Thought.” In Conscience and Casuistry in Early Modern Europe, edited by Edmund Leites, 235–63, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Turnbull, George (2003). Observations on Liberal Education, edited by Terence Moore, Indianapolis, IN: Liberty Fund. Van der Lugt, Mara (2016). Bayle, Jurieu, and the Dictionnaire Historique et Critique, Oxford: Oxford University Press.

268

Bibliography

Villanueva Gardner, Catherine (2006). “Chastity and the Practice of the World in Hume’s Treatise.” Hume Studies 32(2) (November): 331–45. Vitz, Rico (2004). “Sympathy and Benevolence in Hume’s Moral Psychology.” Journal of the History of Philosophy 42(3): 261–75. Vitz, Rico (2002). “Hume and the Limits of Benevolence.” Hume Studies 28(2): 271–96. Voltaire (1965). Dictionnaire Philosophique, edited by Raymond Naves and Julien Benda, Paris: Garnier. Wand, Bernard (1962). “Hume’s Non-Utilitarianism.” Ethics 72(3) (April): 193–96. www.jstor.org/stable/2379497. Watkins, Margaret (2018). “Beyond the ‘Disease of the Learned’: Hume on Passional Disorders.” In Hume’s Moral Philosophy and Contemporary Psychology, edited by Philip A. Reed and Rico Vitz, 9–39, New York: Routledge. Westminster Assembly of Divines (1646/1937). The Westminster Confession of Faith, edited by S. W. Carruthers, London, England: Publishing Office of the Presbyterian Church of England. Wiggins, David (2006). Ethics: Twelve Lectures on the Philosophy of Morality, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Willis, André (2016). Toward a Humean True Religion, University Park, PA: Penn State University Press. Woodford, Susan (1994). “Palamedes Seeks Revenge.” The Journal of Hellenic Studies 114: 164–69. The Society for the Promotion of Hellenic Studies. Woozley, A. D. (1978). “Hume on Justice.” Philosophical Studies 33: 81–99. Wright, John P. (2009). Hume’s “A Treatise of Human Nature,” Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Cambridge University Press 978-1-108-42287-1 — Hume's An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals Edited by Esther Engels Kroeker , Willem Lemmens Index More Information

Index

absurdity, 79, 246 affability, 50, 107 affections parental, 35 public, 51, 161 soft, 34, 35, 36, 41, 50 Alexander the Great, 137, 149, 150 Alfred the Great, 87 allegiance and authority, 73, 75, 76, 77, 81, 84 and conventions, 3, 72, 85, 86 and utility, 79, 88, 89, 107, 127, 241 as a virtue, 38, 87, 91, 92, 103, 121 context of, 85, 88 duty of, 73, 76, 77, 79, 80 foundations of, 78 political society, 72 theory of, 3, 73, 74, 77, 81, 88, 92 Allestree, Richard, 202, 228, 229, 230, 236 ambition, 2, 12, 24, 40, 46, 63, 114, 177, 191 Anglican/Anglicanism, 127, 219, 224, 225, 228, 230, 233 animals, 47, 214, 215, 216, 217, 244 Aristotle, 136, 137, 140, 203, 230 arrogance, 90, 137 assiduity, 43, 127 authority legitimacy of, 77, 79, 85 limits of, 79 avarice, 17, 40, 177 Baier, Annette, 26, 37, 42, 50, 89 Balfour, James, 3, 125, 195, 211, 238, 239, 242, 246, 247 Balguy, John, 193 beauty and geometrical qualities, 19 and morality, 21, 23, 135, 136 and motivation, 26 and taste, 13, 19, 140, 244 and the sublime, 147

© in this web service Cambridge University Press

and virtue, 20 moral, 27, 146, 151, 169, 250 natural, 19, 125, 168, 169, 230, 231, 242 of utility, 109 perception of, 19, 20, 23, 152 principles of, 23 benevolence as basis for refuting selfish theories, 42, 44–49 general, 25, 30, 31, 36, 161, 247 particular, 35, 36, 161 Bentham, Jeremy, 104, 132, 133, 216 Boileau-Despréaux, Nicolas, 141, 146, 147, 148 Bolingbroke, Henry St. John, First Viscount, 82, 83 bravery, 21, 136, 141, 150 Butler, Joseph, 33, 42, 44, 48, 50, 51, 52 Caesar, 146, 201 Caesar, Julius, 115, 210, 255 Calvinism, 50, 228, 230, 231 Calvinist. See Calvinism Cataline, 19, 20 character dignity of, 122, 127, 128, 130, 136 enjoyment of, 191 national, 213 traits, 17, 20, 36, 99, 110, 131, 132, 167, 229, 250 charity, 38, 41, 42, 43, 57, 107, 114, 158 Charles I, 79, 231 Charles II, 231 Charles XII of Sweden, 136, 141 chastity and society, 38, 92 context of, 251, 254 convention of, 89 foundation of, 89, 107, 121, 129 laws of, 89 rules of, 89 utility of, 89, 129

www.cambridge.org

Cambridge University Press 978-1-108-42287-1 — Hume's An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals Edited by Esther Engels Kroeker , Willem Lemmens Index More Information

270

Index

cheerfulness and happiness, 232, 237 as a moral virtue, 114, 122, 130, 137, 235 immediately agreeable to self, 122, 123, 127, 128, 135, 144 useful, 128, 129 Cicero and Christian moralists, 115, 206, 210 and natural talents, 118, 119, 230 as model, 192–95, 198–99, 203–6, 211 catalog of virtues, 114, 115, 201–3, 228, 229, 230 on gentle government, 80 on rights, 211 on Stoicism, 115 civil wars English, 75, 79, 221, 231 civility, 90 cleanliness, 24, 114, 119, 123, 127, 130, 135, 235, 242 cognitivism, 24, 26, 27, 28 Collins, Anthony, 204 commerce, 65, 82, 217, 254 common sense, 63, 221, 222, 237 compassion, 25, 30, 35, 36, 42, 156, 181, 214 complacency, 19, 47, 142, 178, 183 confederacy, 60, 214, 215, 216, 217 confidence, 3, 45, 135, 136, 140, 152, 223 consent, 73, 77, 78, 79, 81, 84, 85, 132 constitution feudal, 78 human, 52, 240, 253, 255 mixed, 82, 83, 91 of animals, 244 of Britain, 82, 83 of government, 65, 76 of the community, 65 of the mind, 95 original, 79 republican, 82 corruption, 82, 83, 171, 251 courage and pride, 142, 143 and utility, 143 approbation of, 139, 143 Aristotle on, 136 as a passion, 144 Cicero on, 118 harmful effects of, 136, 143, 149 heroic, 169 nonvoluntary, 119 sublimity of, 135, 146, 168 utility of, 128, 129, 135, 142, 168 crime, 18, 19, 143 cruelty, 111, 149, 152, 163 customs ancient, 217, 250

© in this web service Cambridge University Press

and laws. See habits, and laws and reason, 69, 112 and religion, 196 of humankind, 238 of society, 199, 248, 249, 254 role of, 250, 251, 254 Cyrus, 67, 68, 69 decency, 24, 123, 127, 130, 187, 203, 235 dignity, 83, 122, 125, 127, 128, 130, 136, 137 Diogenes, 207, 208, 251 discretion, 23, 30, 43, 127, 230, 235 disgust, 19, 144 divines, 50, 200, 226, 232, 236 dogmatism, 195 duty imperfect, 212, 214, 216 economy, 127 education and distribution of excellencies, 149 and humanity, 43 and justice, 53, 66, 67, 68, 71 and superstition, 222 in prosperous societies, 159 moral, 95, 222 egoism, 45, 46, 47, 49 Elizabeth I, 79 eloquence agreeable to others, 127, 130 and talents, 119, 124, 126, 130, 230 as admirable quality, 24, 123 of EPM, 205 of Palamedes, 248 emotivism, 247 enthusiasm, 38, 64, 220, 221, 222, 223, 224, 225, 233, 237, 252, 253 enthusiasts. See enthusiasm envy, 23, 245 Epicurus and Cicero, 195 and Hobbes, 46 and religion, 194 approval of, 195 in EHU, 201, 210 equality, 60, 63, 82, 214, 217, 221 equanimity, 43, 119, 137 equity, 58, 73, 77 ethics and theology, 42, 50, 226, 227 austere, 3, 50, 208 virtue ethics, 106 Euclid, 19 Euthyphro, 244

www.cambridge.org

Cambridge University Press 978-1-108-42287-1 — Hume's An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals Edited by Esther Engels Kroeker , Willem Lemmens Index More Information

Index evil, 27, 97, 159, 162, 164, 212, 242 experimental method, 13, 14, 15, 95, 96, 100, 112, 116, 154, 159, 160, 220 factionalism, 90–91, 162, 169, 250 fanatics/fanaticism, 62–63, 64, 65, 91, 210, 219, 221, 222 fidelity and context, 92, 255 and justice, 68, 103, 156, 158, 245 and utility, 107, 121, 127 folly, 130, 222, 230 friendship and benevolence, 36, 42, 44, 46, 57, 140 and humanity, 49, 164 and partiality, 26 and utility, 241, 245 other-directed attitude, 35, 38, 49 other-directed virtue, 30 philosophical, 195, 211 reducible to self-love, 46 spark of, 51 frugality, 24, 30, 121, 127 general point of view, 37, 71, 99, 100, 101, 105, 110, 155, 163, 167 generosity and friendship, 173 as a social trait, 29, 57 as a social virtue, 38, 107, 114, 156, 173, 181 as a virtuous motive, 28, 31 limited, 36, 59 of an enemy, 48 Pericles’, 43, 44 resulting from elevation of joy, 144 genius, 20, 65, 141, 147, 207, 229 gentleness, 50 Glorious Revolution, 75, 76 God, 29, 42, 51, 52, 119, 154, 208, 222, 228, 230, 231, 232, 233, 236, 253 good-will, 156, 157, 163 government allegiance to. See allegiance circumstances of, 75 constitution of. See constitution effects of, 74, 80, 81, 84, 139, 250 foundation of, 81 most perfect, 76, 83 origin of, 73, 77, 80, 82 submission to, 73 tyrannical, 80 grandeur, 137, 138, 139, 146, 147, 149, 168 gratitude, 29, 30, 36, 126, 163, 181, 245, 255 Grotius, Hugo, 211, 212

© in this web service Cambridge University Press

271

habits and education, 71 and laws, 66 and the understanding, 27, 71, 141, 159 happiness of human society, 34, 71, 222 of humankind, 15, 16, 46 personal, 40, 46, 52, 161 primary propensity, 49 virtue essential to, 14, 225 harmony, 78, 175, 177, 206 Harris, James, 1, 74, 195, 196, 232 Henry IV, 85 Henry VII, 85, 86 heroes, 129, 134, 137, 139 history accidents of, 76 conjectural, 72, 74, 75, 76, 77, 85, 88, 92 narrative, 75 progressive, 217 Hobbes, Thomas and Cicero, 3 and Epicurus, 46 and Locke, 46, 47, 48 and selfish theories, 33, 44 on justice, 65 on rights, 211, 212 secular morality, 51, 227 state of nature, 77 Home, Henry (Lord Kames), 126, 205, 215, 216, 217 honesty, 23, 158 honor/honour, 45, 75, 107, 136, 138, 140, 141 human fabric, 13, 14, 31 humanity and education. See education, and humanity and friendship. See friendship, and humanity cultivated, 29, 52 enjoyment of, 50–52 generous, 98 humility, 142, 146, 151, 207, 221, 229, 230 Hutcheson, Francis and religion, 3, 42, 50, 52, 202, 210, 232 and selfish theories, 44, 45, 48 and Stoicism, 193 on benevolence, 50, 51, 119, 202, 209 on moral diversity, 196, 197, 210 on reason and sentiment, 246 on self-love, 33 hypocrisy, 44, 45 ideas abstract, 28 general, 24, 28, 229, 230 lively, 28, 161

www.cambridge.org

Cambridge University Press 978-1-108-42287-1 — Hume's An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals Edited by Esther Engels Kroeker , Willem Lemmens Index More Information

272

Index

idleness, 158 ignorance, 23, 38, 101, 143, 249, 255 imagination, 17, 57, 63, 89, 96, 125, 175, 187, 212 impartiality and utility, 105, 106 impartial spectator, 111, 128, 216 of historians, 75 of moral judgments, 96, 99, 100, 101, 105, 107 of moral sentiments, 99, 105 philosophical, 75, 194 impoliteness, 91 industry and enterprise, 43 and equality, 63 and justice, 157 as a generally admirable quality, 23 as an agent-interested virtue, 30, 121, 127 effects of, 159, 250 for Hutcheson, 119 inequalities, 99, 102, 107, 163 ingenuity, 24, 135 ingratitude, 18 injury, 162, 215 injustice abhorrence of, 67 and violence, 39, 85 disapproval of, 71, 103, 158, 163 sense of, 53, 66, 215 susceptible of degrees, 212 insensibility, 14, 138, 162 instincts and benevolence, 36, 37, 42, 68 and human nature, 252 and humanity, 29, 30 as primary propensities, 49 instinctive concern for human welfare, 31, 35, 240 no instinct to justice, 56, 70, 158 of self-preservation, 45 integrity, 126, 156, 189 intentions, 27, 44 internalism, 24–31 James I, 79, 87 James II, 87 Jansenist, 208, 223 Jesuit, 223 Jesus, 137 jurisprudence, 63, 216 justice and fairness, 22 definition of, 55 distinct from benevolence, 34, 68 general principles of, 61, 62 ideals of, 54

© in this web service Cambridge University Press

institution of, 40, 158 rules of, 40, 58, 61, 62, 70, 73, 74, 81, 84, 88, 157, 158 theory of, 3, 53, 54, 55, 59, 64 Kant, Immanuel, 71 kindness, 28, 35, 47, 140, 168, 214 knave sensible, 171, 190 language aesthetic, 146, 147 as guide, 15, 39, 79, 155, 167, 247 common use of, 101, 114, 116, 230 conventions of, 66 figurative, 160 modern, 117 molded on moral distinctions, 24, 28 of contagion, 188 of natural law, 214 of selfishness, 59 of self-love, 163, 165, 247 religious, 226, 229, 235, 236 law natural, 211, 214 of justice. See justice, rules of of nations, 72, 88, 89, 92 of nature, 63 of property, 64, 158 positive, 249 rule of, 40, 71 legitimacy absence of, 85 of political authority. See authority, legitimacy of of the revolution, 76 standard of, 83 Leland, John, 126 Levellers, 62, 63, 221, 222, 223 liberty and happiness, 46 and peace, 84 civil, 82, 249 effects of, 83 love of, 249, 255 natural, 78 personal, 128 system of, 83 Locke, John and Cicero, 198 and empiricism, 196 and secondary passions, 48 and the selfish system, 46, 47, 48 and the social contract tradition, 76 and the state of nature, 77

www.cambridge.org

Cambridge University Press 978-1-108-42287-1 — Hume's An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals Edited by Esther Engels Kroeker , Willem Lemmens Index More Information

Index on moral diversity, 196, 197, 210 on political power, 77 on rights, 211 Longinus, 146, 147, 148 loyalty, 81 Lucian, 44 lust, 177 luxury, 159 Machiavelli, Niccolo, 80–81, 82 magnanimity, 31, 44, 129, 136, 137, 139, 144, 146, 203, 207, 208, 250 magnificence, 135, 148, 158 Mandeville, Bernard, 33, 44, 45–46, 51, 67 manners approval of, 102, 123, 163, 247, 251 good, 72, 90–91, 92, 114, 121, 127, 130 innocent, 248 national, 251 of each society, 65, 248, 250 vicious, 223 marriage, 157, 199, 236 Medea, 134, 137, 149 memory, 114, 118 mercy, 38, 107 metaphysics, 33, 50, 51 moderation, 38, 54, 58, 64, 91, 107, 114 modesty and chastity, 256 and pride, 151 as agreeable to others, 123, 127, 130 as generally admirable quality, 24, 187 different from qualities agreeable to self, 135 in women, 251 monarchy, 79, 82, 84, 86, 87 money, 66 monkish virtues, 2, 208, 221, 224, 225, 229, 233, 256 Montesquieu, Charles-Louis de, 3, 66, 196, 216, 217 moral internalism. See internalism motives altruist, 45 generous, 31, 95, 160 nonmoral, 30 of self-preservation, 58, 59 original, 29, 174 murder, 134 normative arguments, 78 concepts, 18, 28 distinctions, source of, 16, 29 effects of sympathy, 175, 185

© in this web service Cambridge University Press

273 ethics, 3, 93, 124 rather than descriptive, 81, 93, 100, 101–2

obedience, 60, 79, 87, 214, 224, 230 objectivity, 14, 18, 21, 24 Pascal, Blaise, 207, 208, 209, 223, 227, 251 passions calm, 35, 48, 99 disagreeable, 144 natural, 34, 163, 253 primary/secondary, 48, 49 selfish, 38, 45, 46, 47, 51, 167, 247 social, 51, 68, 209 sublime, 144, 146, 148 tender, 140 violent, 148, 152, 252 patience, 12, 119, 127, 229, 230 patriotism, 46, 137 peace, 22, 61, 67, 73, 78, 139, 143, 158, 189 Pericles, 23, 34, 39, 40–44, 46, 52, 140 perseverance, 119, 127, 235 physics, 47, 120 pity, 35, 245 poetry, 140, 185 poets, 135 politeness and good manners, 90 and moderation, 91 as a generally admirable quality, 24, 187 as art of conversation, 90 Polybius, 47 poverty, 63, 130, 137, 224 Presbyterian, 219, 224, 225, 231, 233 prescriptive, 88, 106, 243 pride a hero’s, 129 and courage. See courage, and pride and self-love, 40, 41 and the ancients, 44, 207 as a virtue, 151 as an affection, 144 in virtue, 174–75, 189 noble, 44, 137, 143, 150, 151, 168 or vanity, 40, 44 related to the virtues of the great, 142, 148 role of sympathy for, 128, 180–81 progress of a more humane sensibility, 141 of Christianity, 75 of history, 76, 217 of sentiments, 67, 158, 213, 214 of society, 3, 150 of the arts and sciences, 213 promises, 73, 84, 137

www.cambridge.org

Cambridge University Press 978-1-108-42287-1 — Hume's An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals Edited by Esther Engels Kroeker , Willem Lemmens Index More Information

274

Index

property and public interest, 62, 89, 103, 121, 127, 157 conventions regarding, 57 distribution of, 62, 221 Hume’s account of, 74, 245 laws regulating property. See law, of property particular laws determining, 61 private, 57 protection of, 55 restraints of, 60, 65 right to, 81, 212–16 supposes use of reason, 70 Protestant, 43, 75, 83, 208, 219, 224, 227, 233, 234, 237 providence, 51, 75, 194 Pufendorf, Samuel, 211, 212 punishment, 35, 71, 117, 207, 237 reasoning a priori, 63 about experience, 158, 164, 170 about utility, 104, 144, 171, 250 abstract, 13, 90, 112 causal, 143, 145, 148, 150, 152, 245 elaborate, 116 good, 100 legal reasonings, 63 moral, 131, 156, 159, 203 sound, 158, 170 rebellion, 79, 80 reflection impressions of, 28 philosophical, 1 regime mixed, 84 regime type, 77, 80–82 variety of regimes, 77, 85 relativism, 3, 239 religion ancient, 207, 237 Christian, 196 distinct from morality, 3, 211, 234 false, 220–21, 224, 233 Hume’s skeptical view of, 115, 220, 231 modern, 207, 211, 237 natural, 196, 215 philosophy of, 204 religious morality, 197, 206, 209, 235, 237 true, 223 reputation, 12, 114, 138, 143, 167, 189 resentment and sympathy, 178, 183, 216 effects of, 157, 214, 252 fear or, 163

© in this web service Cambridge University Press

for injuries, 42, 47, 162 of one’s misery, 15 of one’s misery, 16, 188 related to benevolence, 35 revenge, 134, 177 reward, 19, 51, 148, 171, 207, 237 Robertson, William, 75 Rose, William, 124 sacrifice, 41, 42, 190, 207, 237, 254 sagacity, 77, 203 sage, 138, 146 satire, 45 science abstract, 116 and causes, 97, 241 arts and sciences, 213, 251 experimental, 116 of human nature, 2, 213 of man, 78 of politics, 78, 86 of theology, 226 secrecy, 127–28, 241 sects, 195, 206 self-interest abstraction from, 37, 199 and human nature, 97, 163, 242 and the cultivation of virtues, 52 and the foundation of political authority, 80 and the selfish hypothesis, 45, 47, 96 narrow, 16, 18, 94 not the source of morality, 17, 95, 114, 122, 164, 242, 244 rather than public utility, 108, 160 selfish theory, 95, 155, 161, 165 self-love distinct from humanity, 155, 160, 161, 165, 166, 171 informed by sympathy, 180 self-preservation, 39, 45, 58–59, 157 sensibility, 21, 28, 30, 34, 140, 141 sentiment inverted, 98 original, 67, 165 skepticism, 44, 59, 193, 239, 246, 251, 252, 256 slavery, 78, 137, 168, 216, 250 Smith, Adam, 3, 93, 107, 108–11, 216, 217 social contract, 72, 76, 78, 85, 88 society actual, 59, 61 civil, 45, 174 matriarchal, 89 Socrates, 23, 137, 149, 151 solitude, 202, 221 soul, 137, 139, 177, 179, 235, 236

www.cambridge.org

Cambridge University Press 978-1-108-42287-1 — Hume's An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals Edited by Esther Engels Kroeker , Willem Lemmens Index More Information

Index state of nature, 59, 77 superstition, 38, 62, 208, 210, 219–25, 233, 237 talents involuntary, 117 nonmoral, 115, 118, 119, 124, 126, 130 taste aesthetic, 2 and beauty. See beauty, and taste as productive faculty, 13, 20 cultivation of, 20, 23 delicacy of, 20, 26, 134, 138, 140–42, 152, 235 Taylor, Jacqueline, 29, 30, 100, 105, 151, 179 temper ambitious, 223 dogmatic, 195 elevated with joy, 144 martial, 136, 169 melancholy, 144 monkish virtues sour the, 221 natural, 178, 183, 226, 229, 231 selfishness of, 162 temperance, 118, 121, 127, 203 tenderness, 30, 39, 57, 59, 140 terror, 147, 176 theocracy, 62 theology and morality, 226, 227 Anglican, 230 Calvinist, 231, 233 Christian, 228, 231 mixed with philosophy, 226, 227 tolerance, 194

© in this web service Cambridge University Press

275

toleration, 252, 255 tranquility philosophical, 137, 138, 139, 152, 168, 235 virtuous trait, 24, 122, 127, 128 trust, 45 truths, 27, 50, 78, 196, 244 tyranny, 79, 136, 216 tyrants, 79, 249 utilitarianism, 94, 103–8, 132 vanity and avarice, 17 and modesty, 151 and natural endowments, 230 and pride, 39, 44, 46 vengeance, 49, 189 veracity, 156 Walpole, Robert, 82, 83 well-being, 16, 29, 68, 105, 174, 242, 243 Wilkes, John, 91 wisdom, 52, 76, 118, 138, 210, 230 wit and benevolence, 113 and humor, 115, 123 and ingenuity, 135 and natural talents, 113, 116–18, 131 as immediately agreeable, 145 evident emotion, 130 utility of, 131

www.cambridge.org