Virtue." He has shown beyond all contradiction that virtue is naturally the interest or happiness and vice the misery of such a creature as man, placed in the circumstances in which we are in this world. But suppose there are particular exceptions, a case which this author was unwilling to put, and yet surely it is to be put; or suppose a case which he has put and determined, that of a sceptic not convinced of this happy tendency of virtue, or being of a contrary opinion. His determination is, that it would be without remedy.1 One may say more explicitly, that, leaving out the authority of reflex approbation or disapprobation, such a one would be under an obligation to act viciously, since interest, one's own happiness, is a manifest obligation, and there is not supposed to be any other obligation in the case. "But does it much mend the matter to take in that natural authority of reflection? There indeed would be an obligation to virtue; but would not the obligation from supposed interest on the side of vice remain?" If it should, yet to be under two contrary obligations, i. e. under none at all, would not be exactly the same as to be under a formal obligation to be vicious, or to be in circumstances in which the constitution of man's nature plainly required that vice should be preferred. But the obligation on the side of interest really does not remain. For the natural authority of the principle of reflection is an obligation the most near and intimate, the most certain and known, whereas the

"Characteristics," vol. ii. p. 69.

contrary obligation can at the utmost appear no more than probable, since no man can be certain in any circumstances that vice is his interest in the present world, much less can he be certain against another; and thus the certain obligation would entirely supersede and destroy the uncertain one, which yet would have been of real force without the former.

In truth, the taking in this consideration totally changes the whole state of the case, and shows what this author does not seem to have been aware of, that the greatest degree of scepticism which he thought possible will still leave men under the strictest moral obligations, whatever their opinion be concerning the happiness of virtue. For that mankind upon reflection felt an approbation of what was good and disapprobation of the contrary, he thought a plain matter of fact, as it undoubtedly is, which none could deny, but from mere affectation. Take in then that authority and obligation, which is a constituent part of this reflex approbation, and it will undeniably follow, though a man should doubt of everything else, yet that he would still remain under the nearest and most certain obligation to the practice of virtue, an obligation implied in the very idea of virtue, in the very idea of reflex approbation.

And how little influence soever this obligation alone can be expected to have in fact upon mankind, yet one may appeal even to interest and self-love, and ask,—since from man's nature, condition, and the shortness of life, so little, so very little indeed, can possibly in any case be gained by vice-whether it be so prodigious a thing to sacrifice that little to

the most intimate of all obligations, and which a man cannot transgress without being self-condemned, and unless he has corrupted his nature, without real self-dislike; this question, I say, may be asked, even upon supposition that the prospect of a future life were ever so uncertain.

The observation that man is thus by his very nature a law to himself, pursued to its just consequences, is of the utmost importance; because, from it, it will follow, that though men should, through stupidity or speculative scepticism, be ignorant of, or disbelieve, any authority in the universe to punish the violation of this law, yet, if there should be such authority, they would be as really liable to punishment as though they had been beforehand convinced that such punishment would follow. For in whatever sense we understand justice, even supposing, what I think would be very presumptuous to assert, that the end of divine punishment is no other than that of civil punishment, namely, to prevent future mischief,- upon this bold supposition, ignorance or disbelief of the sanction would by no means exempt even from this justice; because it is not foreknowledge of the punishment which renders us obnoxious to it, but merely violating a known obligation.

And here it comes in one's way to take notice of a manifest error or mistake in the author now cited, unless perhaps he has incautiously expressed himself so as to be misunderstood; namely, that it is malice only, and not goodness, which can make us afraid.1 Whereas, in reality, goodness is the natural and just

1 "Characteristics,” vol. i. p. 39.

Malice

object of the greatest fear to an ill man. may be appeased or satiated, humour may change, but goodness is a fixed, steady, immoveable principle of action. If either of the former hold the sword of justice, there is plainly ground for the greatest of crimes to hope for impunity; but if it be goodness, there can be no possible hope, whilst the reasons of things or the ends of government call for punishment. Thus every one sees how much greater chance of impunity an ill man has in a partial administration than in a just and upright one. It is said that the interest or good of the whole must be the interest of the universal Being, and that he can have no other. Be it so. This author has proved that vice is naturally the misery of mankind in this world. Consequently it was for the good of the whole that it should be so. What shadow of reason, then, is there to assert that this may not be the case hereafter? Danger of future punishment (and if there be danger, there is ground of fear) no more supposes malice than the present feeling of punishment does.

The Sermon "Upon the Character of Balaam,” and that "Upon Self-Deceit," both relate to one subject. I am persuaded, that a very great part of the wickedness of the world is, one way or other, owing to the self-partiality, self-flattery, and selfdeceit, endeavoured there to be laid open and explained. It is to be observed amongst persons of the lowest rank, in proportion to their compass of thought, as much as amongst men of education and improvement. It seems that people are capable of

being thus artful with themselves in proportion as they are capable of being so with others. Those who have taken notice that there is really such a thing, namely, plain falseness and insincerity in men with regard to themselves, will readily see the drift and design of these Discourses; and nothing that I can add will explain the design of them to him who has not beforehand remarked at least somewhat of the character. And yet the admonitions they contain may be as much wanted by such a person as by others, for it is to be noted, that a man may be entirely possessed by this unfairness of mind, without having the least speculative notion what the thing is.

The account given of Resentment in the eighth Sermon is introductory to the following one "Upon Forgiveness of Injuries." It may possibly have appeared to some, at first sight, a strange assertion, that injury is the only natural object of settled resentment, or that men do not in fact resent deliberately anything but under this appearance of injury. But I must desire the reader not to take any assertion alone by itself, but to consider the whole of what is said upon it because this is necessary, not only in order to judge of the truth of it, but often, such is the nature of language, to see the very meaning of the assertion. Particularly as to this, injury and injustice is, in the Sermon itself, explained to mean, not only the more gross and shocking instances of wickedness, but also contempt, scorn, neglect, any sort of disagreeable behaviour towards a person, which he thinks other than what is due to him. And the general notion of injury or wrong