Philosophy Assignment

David Hume From A Treatise of Human Nature

2.3.iii. Of the Influencing Motives of the Will Nothing is more usual in philosophy, and even in common life, than to talk of the combat of

passion and reason, to give the preference to reason, and assert that men are only so far virtuous

as they conform themselves to its dictates. Every rational creature, it is said, is obliged to regulate

his actions by reason; and if any other motive or principle challenge the direction of his conduct,

he ought to oppose it, till it be entirely subdued, or at least brought to a conformity with that

superior principle. On this method of thinking the greatest part of moral philosophy, ancient and

modern, seems to be founded; nor is there an ampler field, as well for metaphysical arguments, as

popular declamations, than this supposed pre-eminence of reason above passion. The eternity,

invariableness, and divine origin of the former have been displayed to the best advantage: The

blindness, unconstancy, and deceitfulness of the latter have been as strongly insisted on. In order

to shew the fallacy of all this philosophy, I shall endeavour to prove first, that reason alone can

never be a motive to any action of the will; and secondly, that it can never oppose passion in the

direction of the will.

The understanding exerts itself after two different ways, as it judges from demonstration or

probability; as it regards the abstract relations of our ideas, or those relations of objects, of which

experience only gives us information. I believe it scarce will be asserted, that the first species of

reasoning alone is ever the cause of any action. As its proper province is the world of ideas, and as

the will always places us in that of realities, demonstration and volition seem, upon that account,

to be totally removed, from each other. Mathematics, indeed, are useful in all mechanical

operations, and arithmetic in almost every art and profession: But it is not of themselves they

have any influence: Mechanics are the art of regulating the motions of bodies to some designed

end or purpose; and the reason why we employ arithmetic in fixing the proportions of numbers, is

only that we may discover the proportions of their influence and operation. A merchant is

desirous of knowing the sum total of his accounts with any person: Why? but that he may learn

what sum will have the same effects in paying his debt, and going to market, as all the particular

articles taken together. Abstract or demonstrative reasoning, therefore, never influences any of

our actions, but only as it directs our judgment concerning causes and effects; which leads us to

the second operation of the understanding.

It is obvious, that when we have the prospect of pain or pleasure from any object, we feel a

consequent emotion of aversion or propensity, and are carryed to avoid or embrace what will give

us this uneasines or satisfaction. It is also obvious, that this emotion rests not here, but making us

cast our view on every side, comprehends whatever objects are connected with its original one by

the relation of cause and effect. Here then reasoning takes place to discover this relation; and

according as our reasoning varies, our actions receive a subsequent variation. But it is evident in

this case that the impulse arises not from reason, but is only directed by it. It is from the prospect

of pain or pleasure that the aversion or propensity arises towards any object: And these emotions

extend themselves to the causes and effects of that object, as they are pointed out to us by reason

and experience. It can never in the least concern us to know, that such objects are causes, and

such others effects, if both the causes and effects be indifferent to us. Where the objects

themselves do not affect us, their connexion can never give them any influence; and it is plain,

that as reason is nothing but the discovery of this connexion, it cannot be by its means that the

objects are able to affect us.

Since reason alone can never produce any action, or give rise to volition, I infer, that the

same faculty is as incapable of preventing volition, or of disputing the preference with any passion

or emotion. This consequence is necessary. It is impossible reason could have the latter effect of

preventing volition, but by giving an impulse in a contrary direction to our passion; and that

impulse, had it operated alone, would have been able to produce volition. Nothing can oppose or

retard the impulse of passion, but a contrary impulse; and if this contrary impulse ever arises

from reason, that latter faculty must have an original influence on the will, and must be able to

cause, as well as hinder any act of volition. But if reason has no original influence, it is impossible

it can withstand any principle, which has such an efficacy, or ever keep the mind in suspence a

moment. Thus it appears, that the principle, which opposes our passion, cannot be the same with

reason, and is only called so in an improper sense. We speak not strictly and philosophically when

we talk of the combat of passion and of reason. Reason is, and ought only to be the slave of the

passions, and can never pretend to any other office than to serve and obey them. As this opinion

may appear somewhat extraordinary, it may not be improper to confirm it by some other

considerations.

A passion is an original existence, or, if you will, modification of existence, and contains not

any representative quality, which renders it a copy of any other existence or modification. When I

am angry, I am actually possessed with the passion, and in that emotion have no more a reference

to any other object, than when I am thirsty, or sick, or more than five foot high. It is impossible,

therefore, that this passion can be opposed by, or be contradictory to truth and reason; since this

contradiction consists in the disagreement of ideas, considered as copies, with those objects,

which they represent

What may at first occur on this head, is, that as nothing can be contrary to truth or reason,

except what has a reference to it, and as the judgments of our understanding only have this

reference, it must follow, that passions can be contrary to reason only so far as they are

accompanyed with some judgment or opinion. According to this principle, which is so obvious

and natural, it is only in two senses, that any affection can be called unreasonable. First, When a

passion, such as hope or fear, grief or joy, despair or security, is founded on the supposition or the

existence of objects, which really do not exist. Secondly, When in exerting any passion in action,

we chuse means insufficient for the designed end, and deceive ourselves in our judgment of

causes and effects. Where a passion is neither founded on false suppositions, nor chuses means

insufficient for the end, the understanding can neither justify nor condemn it. It is not contrary to

reason to prefer the destruction of the whole world to the scratching of my finger. It is not

contrary to reason for me to chuse my total ruin, to prevent the least uneasiness of an Indian or

person wholly unknown to me. It is as little contrary to reason to prefer even my own

acknowledged lesser good to my greater, and have a more ardent affection for the former than the

latter. A trivial good may, from certain circumstances, produce a desire superior to what arises

from the greatest and most valuable enjoyment; nor is there any thing more extraordinary in this,

than in mechanics to see one pound weight raise up a hundred by the advantage of its situation.

In short, a passion must be accompanyed with some false judgment in order to its being

unreasonable; and even then it is not the passion, properly speaking, which is unreasonable, but

the judgment.

The consequences are evident. Since a passion can never, in any sense, be called

unreasonable, but when founded on a false supposition, or when it chuses means insufficient for

the designed end, it is impossible, that reason and passion can ever oppose each other, or dispute

for the government of the will and actions. The moment we perceive the falsehood of any

supposition, or the insufficiency of any means our passions yield to our reason without any

opposition. I may desire any fruit as of an excellent relish; but whenever you convince me of my

mistake, my longing ceases. I may will the performance of certain actions as means of obtaining

any desired good; but as my willing of these actions is only secondary, and founded on the

supposition, that they are causes of the proposed effect; as soon as I discover the falsehood of that

supposition, they must become indifferent to me.

It is natural for one, that does not examine objects with a strict philosophic eye, to imagine,

that those actions of the mind are entirely the same, which produce not a different sensation, and

are not immediately distinguishable to the feeling and perception. Reason, for instance, exerts

itself without producing any sensible emotion; and except in the more sublime disquisitions of

philosophy, or in the frivolous subtilities of the school, scarce ever conveys any pleasure or

uneasiness. Hence it proceeds, that every action of the mind, which operates with the same

calmness and tranquillity, is confounded with reason by all those, who judge of things from the

first view and appearance. Now it is certain, there are certain calm desires and tendencies, which,

though they be real passions, produce little emotion in the mind, and are more known by their

effects than by the immediate feeling or sensation. These desires are of two kinds; either certain

instincts originally implanted in our natures, such as benevolence and resentment, the love of life,

and kindness to children; or the general appetite to good, and aversion to evil, considered merely

as such. When any of these passions are calm, and cause no disorder in the soul, they are very

readily taken for the determinations of reason, and are supposed to proceed from the same

faculty, with that, which judges of truth and falsehood. Their nature and principles have been

supposed the same, because their sensations are not evidently different.

Beside these calm passions, which often determine the will, there are certain violent

emotions of the same kind, which have likewise a great influence on that faculty. When I receive

any injury from another, I often feel a violent passion of resentment, which makes me desire his

evil and punishment, independent of all considerations of pleasure and advantage to myself.

When I am immediately threatened with any grievous ill, my fears, apprehensions, and aversions

rise to a great height, and produce a sensible emotion.

The common error of metaphysicians has lain in ascribing the direction of the will entirely

to one of these principles, and supposing the other to have no influence. Men often act knowingly

against their interest: For which reason the view of the greatest possible good does not always

influence them. Men often counter-act a violent passion in prosecution of their interests and

designs: It is not therefore the present uneasiness alone, which determines them. In general we

may observe, that both these principles operate on the will; and where they are contrary, that

either of them prevails, according to the general character or present disposition of the person.

What we call strength of mind, implies the prevalence of the calm passions above the violent;

though we may easily observe, there is no man so constantly possessed of this virtue, as never on

any occasion to yield to the sollicitations of passion and desire. From these variations of temper

proceeds the great difficulty of deciding concerning the actions and resolutions of men, where

there is any contrariety of motives and passions.

3.1.1 Moral Distinctions Not Derived from Reason

It would be tedious to repeat all the arguments, by which I have proved [Book II. Part III.

Sect 3.], that reason is perfectly inert, and can never either prevent or produce any action or

affection, it will be easy to recollect what has been said upon that subject. I shall only recall on this

occasion one of these arguments, which I shall endeavour to render still more conclusive, and

more applicable to the present subject.

Reason is the discovery of truth or falsehood. Truth or falsehood consists in an agreement or

disagreement either to the real relations of ideas, or to real existence and matter of fact.

Whatever, therefore, is not susceptible of this agreement or disagreement, is incapable of being

true or false, and can never be an object of our reason. Now it is evident our passions, volitions,

and actions, are not susceptible of any such agreement or disagreement; being original facts and

realities, complete in themselves, and implying no reference to other passions, volitions, and

actions. It is impossible, therefore, they can be pronounced either true or false, and be either

contrary or conformable to reason.

This argument is of double advantage to our present purpose. For it proves directly, that

actions do not derive their merit from a conformity to reason, nor their blame from a contrariety

to it; and it proves the same truth more indirectly, by shewing us, that as reason can never

immediately prevent or produce any action by contradicting or approving of it, it cannot be the

source of moral good and evil, which are found to have that influence. Actions may be laudable or

blameable; but they cannot be reasonable: Laudable or blameable, therefore, are not the same

with reasonable or unreasonable. The merit and demerit of actions frequently contradict, and

sometimes controul our natural propensities. But reason has no such influence. Moral

distinctions, therefore, are not the offspring of reason. Reason is wholly inactive, and can never be

the source of so active a principle as conscience, or a sense of morals.

Take any action allowed to be vicious: Wilful murder, for instance. Examine it in all lights,

and see if you can find that matter of fact, or real existence, which you call vice. In which-ever way

you take it, you find only certain passions, motives, volitions and thoughts. There is no other

matter of fact in the case. The vice entirely escapes you, as long as you consider the object. You

never can find it, till you turn your reflection into your own breast, and find a sentiment of

disapprobation, which arises in you, towards this action. Here is a matter of fact; but it is the

object of feeling, not of reason. It lies in yourself, not in the object. So that when you pronounce

any action or character to be vicious, you mean nothing, but that from the constitution of your

nature you have a feeling or sentiment of blame from the contemplation of it. Vice and virtue,

therefore, may be compared to sounds, colours, heat and cold, which, according to modern

philosophy, are not qualities in objects, but perceptions in the mind: And this discovery in morals,

like that other in physics, is to be regarded as a considerable advancement of the speculative

sciences; though, like that too, it has little or no influence on practice. Nothing can be more real,

or concern us more, than our own sentiments of pleasure and uneasiness; and if these be

favourable to virtue, and unfavourable to vice, no more can be requisite to the regulation of our

conduct and behaviour.

I cannot forbear adding to these reasonings an observation, which may, perhaps, be found of

some importance. In every system of morality, which I have hitherto met with, I have always

remarked, that the author proceeds for some time in the ordinary way of reasoning, and

establishes the being of a God, or makes observations concerning human affairs; when of a

sudden I am surprized to find, that instead of the usual copulations of propositions, is, and is not,

I meet with no proposition that is not connected with an ought, or an ought not. This change is

imperceptible; but is, however, of the last consequence. For as this ought, or ought not, expresses

some new relation or affirmation, it is necessary that it should be observed and explained; and at

the same time that a reason should be given, for what seems altogether inconceivable, how this

new relation can be a deduction from others, which are entirely different from it. But as authors

do not commonly use this precaution, I shall presume to recommend it to the readers; and am

persuaded, that this small attention would subvert all the vulgar systems of morality, and let us

see, that the distinction of vice and virtue is not founded merely on the relations of objects, nor is

perceived by reason.

From An Enquiry into The Principles of Morals, Section IV.

It has often been asserted, that, as every man has a strong connection with society, and

perceives the impossibility of his solitary subsistence, he becomes, on that account, favourable to

all those habits or principles, which promote order in society, and insure to him the quiet

possession of so inestimable a blessing. As much as we value our own happiness and welfare, as

much must we applaud the practice of justice and humanity, by which alone the social

confederacy can be maintained, and every man reap the fruits of mutual protection and

assistance.

This deduction of morals from self-love, or a regard to private interest, is an obvious

thought, and has not arisen wholly from the wanton sallies and sportive assaults of the sceptics.

To mention no others, Polybius, one of the gravest and most judicious, as well as most moral

writers of antiquity, has assigned this selfish origin to all our sentiments of virtue. 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.

We frequently bestow praise on virtuous actions, performed in very distant ages and remote

countries where the utmost subtilty of imagination would not discover any appearance of self-

interest, or find any connection of our present happiness and security with events so widely

separated from us.

A generous, a brave, a noble deed, performed by an adversary, commands our approbation;

while in its consequences it may be acknowledged prejudicial to our particular interest.

Where private advantage concurs with general affection for virtue, we readily perceive and

avow the mixture of these distinct sentiments, which have a very different feeling and influence

on the mind. We praise, perhaps, with more alacrity, where the generous humane action

contributes to our particular interest: But the topics of praise, which we insist on, are very wide of

this circumstance. And we may attempt to bring over others to our sentiments, without

endeavouring to convince them, that they reap any advantage from the actions which we

recommend to their approbation and applause.

Frame the model of a praiseworthy character, consisting of all the most amiable moral

virtues: Give instances, in which these display themselves after an eminent and extraordinary

manner: You readily engage the esteem and approbation of all in your audience, who never so

much as enquire in what age and country the person lived, who possessed these noble qualities: A

circumstance, however, of all others, the most material to self-love, or a concern for our own

individual happiness.

Once on a time, a statesman, in the shock and contest of parties, prevailed so far as to

procure, by his eloquence, the banishment of an able adversary; whom he secretly followed,

offering him money for his support during his exile, and soothing him with topics of consolation

in his misfortunes. Alas! cries the banished statesman, with what regret , must I leave my friends

in this city, where even enemies are so generous! Virtue, though in an enemy, here pleased him:

And we also give it the just tribute of praise and approbation; nor do we retract these sentiments,

when we hear, that the action passed at Athens, about two thousand years ago, and that the

persons' names were Eschines and Demosthenes.

What is that to me? There are few occasions, when this question is not pertinent: And had it

that universal, infallible influence supposed, it would turn into ridicule every composition, and

almost every conversation, which contain any praise or censure of men and manners.

It is but a weak subterfuge, when pressed by these facts and arguments, to say, that 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, had we been contemporaries, and

had any commerce with the persons. It is not conceivable, how a real sentiment or passion can

ever arise from a known imaginary interest; especially when our real interest is still kept in view,

and is often acknowledged to be entirely distinct from the imaginary, and even sometimes

opposite to it.

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.

But the imagination is here assisted by the presence of a striking object; and yet prevails not,

except it be also aided by novelty, and the unusual appearance of the object. Custom soon

reconciles us to heights and precipices, and wears off these false and delusive terrors. The reverse

is observable in the estimates which we form of characters and manners; and the more we

habituate ourselves to an accurate scrutiny of morals, the more delicate feeling do we acquire of

the most minute distinctions between vice and virtue. Such frequent occasion, indeed, have we, in

common life, to pronounce all kinds of moral determinations, that no object of this kind can be

new or unusual to us; nor could any false views or prepossessions maintain their ground against

an experience, so common and familiar. Experience being chiefly what forms the associations of

ideas, it is impossible that any association could establish and support itself, in direct opposition

to that principle.

Usefulness is agreeable, and engages our approbation. This is a matter of fact, confirmed by

daily observation. But, useful? For what? For somebody's interest, surely. Whose interest then?

Not our own only: For our approbation frequently extends farther. It 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…

The human countenance, says Horace, borrows smiles or tears from the human

countenance. Reduce a person to solitude, and he loses all enjoyment, except either of the sensual

or speculative kind; and that because the movements of his heart are not forwarded by

correspondent movements in his fellow creatures. The signs of sorrow and mourning, though

arbitrary, affect us with melancholy; but the natural symptoms, tears and cries and groans, never

fail to infuse compassion and uneasiness. And if the effects of misery touch us in so lively a

manner; can we be supposed altogether insensible or indifferent towards its causes; when a

malicious or treacherous character and behaviour are presented to us?

In general, it is certain, that, wherever we go, whatever we reflect on or converse about,

everything still presents us with the view of human happiness or misery, and excites in our breast

a sympathetic movement of pleasure or uneasiness. In our serious occupations, in our careless

amusements, this principle still exerts its active energy…

We surely take into consideration the happiness and misery of others, in weighing the

several motives of action, and incline to the former, where no private regards draw us to seek our

own promotion or advantage by the injury of our fellow-creatures. 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, and give us a general approbation of what is useful to society,

and blame of what is dangerous or pernicious. The degrees of these sentiments may be the subject

of controversy; but the reality of their existence, one should think, must be admitted in every

theory or system.

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 judgements and discourse concerning the

characters of men, to neglect all these differences, and render our sentiments more public and

social. 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 general

unalterable standard, by which we may approve or disapprove of characters and manners.

It is sufficient for our present purpose, if it be allowed, what surely, without the greatest absurdity

cannot be disputed, 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 everything 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 of blame and approbation; a

tendency, however faint, to the objects of the one, and a proportionable aversion to those of the

other. Nor will those reasoners, who so earnestly maintain the predominant selfishness of human

kind, be any wise scandalized at hearing of the weak sentiments of virtue implanted in our nature.

On the contrary, they are found as ready to maintain the one tenet as the other; and their spirit of

satire (for such it appears, rather than of corruption) naturally gives rise to both opinions; which

have, indeed, a great and almost an indissoluble connexion together.

Avarice, ambition, vanity, and all passions vulgarly, though improperly, comprised under the

denomination of self-love, are here excluded from our theory concerning the origin of morals, not

because they are too weak, but because they have not a proper direction for that purpose. The

notion of morals implies some sentiment common to all mankind, which recommends the same

object to general approbation, and makes every man, or most men, agree in the same opinion or

decision concerning it. It also implies some 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. These two requisite circumstances belong alone to the sentiment of humanity here

insisted on. The other passions produce in every breast, many strong sentiments of desire and

aversion, affection and hatred; but these neither are felt so much in common, nor are so

comprehensive, as to be the foundation of any general system and established theory of blame or

approbation.

When a man denominates another his enemy, his rival, his antagonist, his adversary, he is

understood to speak the language of self-love, and to express sentiments, peculiar to himself, and

arising from his particular circumstances and situation. But when he bestows on any man the

epithets of vicious or odious or depraved, he then speaks another language, and expresses

sentiments, in which he expects all his audience are to concur with him. He must here, therefore,

depart from his private and particular situation, and must choose a point of view, common to him

with others; he must move some universal principle of the human frame, and touch a string to

which all mankind have an accord and symphony. If he mean, therefore, to express that this man

possesses qualities, whose tendency is pernicious to society, he has chosen this common point of

view, and has touched the principle of humanity, in which every man, in some degree, concurs.

While the human heart is compounded of the same elements as at present, it will never be wholly

indifferent to public good, nor entirely unaffected with the tendency of characters and manners.

And though this affection of humanity may not generally be esteemed so strong as vanity or

ambition, yet, being common to all men, it can alone be the foundation of morals, or of any-

general system of blame or praise.