of view, to have something mysterious about them. Philosophers who talked not of concrete men, but of abstract human nature, assumed, or rather loudly asserted, to be the same in all times and places. They did not think of our instincts as slowly developed under the influence of a thousand modifying causes through long generations, but as suddenly springing into existence ready made. And to such observers it was natural that the conformity between our wants and our sentiments should appear to be the result of special contrivance, rather than of slow evolution. Smith, however, regards the moral sense described by Hutcheson as a superfluity, and as not properly explaining the phenomena. `Our judgments of different vices and virtues vary too widely to be explained as the dictates of one sense; and it would be strange if an instinct so important and so peculiar should have been discovered for the first time within a few years, and not even have received a name. For this and other reasons, he rejects the theory of a specific moral faculty, and substitutes a theory of his own, which, however, seems to have gained few adherents. 77. In the place of Butler's conscience and Hutcheson's moral sense, Smith erects an internal monitor, who is the object of much eloquence, and who is generally described as the 'man,' or 'the demigod within the breast-the great judge and arbiter of conduct.'2 What, then, is this demigod? Whence his authority, and what his origin? The general reply is that he is formed by sympathy. God has given us the gift, though not in such perfection as might be desired, to see ourselves as others see us. We invent, as it were, an impartial spectator, and approve or disapprove of our conduct as we feel that another man would or would not sympathise with our actions. Or, to use an appropriate metaphor, we form a mirror from the opinions of other men, by supposing ourselves the spectators of our own behaviour. This is the only lookingglass by which we can in some measure, with the eyes of other people, scrutinise the propriety of our own conduct.' The theory becomes complex as it is worked out. We have to 4 Ib. i. 226; part iii. ch. i, take into account not merely the primary but the secondary reflections; and, indeed, we must imagine two opposite mirrors, reflecting images in indefinite succession. We must consider A's sympathy for B, and then B's sympathy with A's sympathy, and then A's own sympathy with B's sympathy with A's sympathy for B, and we are finally rather puzzled to discover the ultimate basis of the sympathy. From some points the doctrine seems to resolve itself into a regard for public opinion as embodied in the hypothetical 'impartial spectators.' But which sympathies are right and which wrong? Where is the ultimate criterion? Impartiality is, doubtless, an essential condition for a sound moral judgment, but can it be the only condition? The standard of morality seems to be too fluctuating to serve any intelligible purpose. We can understand the process by which, according to Smith, the amiable virtues' are generated by the spectator's sympathy with the sufferer, and the 'respectable virtues' by the sufferer's sympathy with the spectator's sympathy, and consequent desire to restrain his emotions within moderate bounds. But how are these inconsistent demands to be regulated? How far should the spectator sympathise, and within what bounds should the sufferer restrain his demands for sympathy? The 'man within the breast' is not an incorruptible judge. He may be persuaded to make reports very different from what circumstances would authorise.2 Who, then, is to correct his judgments? Man, says Smith, has been constituted a judge of his brethren, and is thus the vicegerent upon earth' of his Creator. But he is only judge in the first instance. An appeal lies from him to the higher tribunal of conscience, or, what is identical, to that of the supposed well-informed and impartial spectator, to that of the 'man within the breast, the great judge and arbiter of their' (that is, mankind's) ‘conduct.' The jurisdiction of the 'man without' is founded in the desire of simple praise; that of the man within' in the desire of praiseworthiness. Does, then, the impartial spectator give a final judgment? No; for it seems that this demigod is 6 Adam Smith, i. 35; part i. sec. 1, ch. v. 2 Ib. i. 320; part iii. ch. iv. Ib. i. 264; part iii. ch. ii. kind of cant phrase with Smith. 127. The 'great judge and arbiter of conduct' is a partly of mortal, though partly of immortal extraction.1 His judgment is perverted by the clamour of the 'man without.' There lies, therefore, another appeal to a still higher tribunal -that of the 'all-seeing Judge of the world,' from whom perfect justice may be anticipated in another life, if not in this. 2 3 78. But how is the appeal to be made? Smith avoids all reference to supernatural revelation, and we must assume that the decisions of this final and absolute tribunal are to be sought in nature. But on what principle they are to be discovered is nowhere apparent. Smith asserts that, beyond the standard of conduct which is formed from the ordinary opinions of the world, there is a higher standard, slowly framed by the demigod,' and approximating indefinitely to the archetype of perfection' framed by the Divine artist 3— but we seek in vain for any definite account of its nature. The appeal is ultimately made to an inaccessible tribunal, or, in other words, the standard of absolute morality seems to be hopelessly uncertain. It is in heaven, not on earth, and heaven is shrouded in impenetrable mystery. Here, as elsewhere, Smith's copious and rather unctuous eloquence enables him to glide over the real difficulty, quite unconscious of its existence. His ultimate analysis of the sources of approbation is given in his concluding account of 'Systems of Moral Philosophy.' First, he says, we sympathise with the motives of the agent; secondly, with the gratitude of those he has benefited; 'thirdly, we observe that his conduct has been agreeable to the general rules by which those two sympathies generally act; and, last of all, when we consider such actions as making a part of a system of behaviour which tends to promote the happiness either of the individual or of the society, they appear to derive a beauty from this utility, not unlike that which we ascribe to any well-contrived machine.'4 And this he asserts to be a complete analysis of the sentiment. 79. The general laws of morality, then, are merely formulæ expressive of the mode in which sympathy habitually acts, and are convenient standards of reference, but not the ultimate foundation of morality. strictly subordinate position. 1 Adam Smith, i. 266, ib. 2 Ib. i. 267, ib. Ib. ii. 128; part vi. sec. 3. Utility, again, occupies a Smith rejects Hume's explana Ib. ii. 304; part vii. sec. 4, ch. iii. See vol. i. p. 327; part iii. ch. iv. tion of our sentiments as founded upon it, because we praise a man for other reasons than those which lead us to praise ‘a chest of drawers;' and because the usefulness of any disposition is not the 'first ground of our approbation.'' Utility acts chiefly as facilitating sympathy. We readily fall in with the sentiments which dictate an action plainly useful to mankind, and in this indirect fashion, the utility stimulates, though it does not cause, approbation. Many an honest Englishman,' he says, would have been more grieved by the loss of a guinea than by the loss of Minorca; and yet, had it been in his power, would have sacrificed his life a thousand times to defend the fortress. It is because he naturally sympathises with the nation to whom Minorca was of importance, though the utility to him personally may be infinitesimal. Smith, as before, is arguing against the hypothesis that each man acts from calculations of private interest, and does not consider that loyalty and patriotism may have been generated by their obvious utility, though, when developed, their origin passes out of sight. 80. The name of Adam Smith should be mentioned with high respect; but I think that the respect is due chiefly to his economical labours. It may be fully admitted that he shows great ingenuity, and great fertility of illustration, and that he calls attention to a fact which must be taken into account by the moralist. But it is impossible to resist the impression, whilst we read his fluent rhetoric, and observe his easy acceptance of theological principles already exposed by his master Hume, that we are not listening to a thinker really grappling with a difficult problem, so much as to an ambitious professor who has found an excellent opportunity for displaying his command of language, and making brilliant lectures. The whole tone savours of that complacent optimism of the time which retained theological phrases to round a paragraph, and to save the trouble of genuine thought. Smith's main proposition was hardly original, though he has worked it out in detail, and it is rather calculated to lead us dexterously round difficult questions than to supply us with a genuine answer. Adam Smith, i. 395; part iv. ch. ii. 2 Ib. i. 403; part iv. ch. iii. 81. The moralists, whom I have thus considered, may be regarded as successively developing or modifying the theory originally expounded by Shaftesbury. There is, it is maintained by them all, a certain mysterious harmony or order in the universe which reveals itself to the divine faculty of conscience. With Shaftesbury the faculty is almost identified with the æsthetic perceptions, and is rather a sentiment than a power of intellectual intuition. By his followers the doctrine takes a more formal shape. The sense of harmony is made more definite as a perception of final causes. If we may use the old analogy of the watch, Butler holds that the hand of conscience always points to duty, and that its dictates justify themselves. Hutcheson says that, by a prearranged harmony, the hand of the moral sense points to the course productive of the greatest happiness. Hartley and Adam Smith endeavour to take the watch to pieces and describe the mechanism by which this result is attained. Yet they still hold that the perfection of the contrivance implies a divine artificer. The morality most naturally connects itself with that philosophical Deism which, though it had never much vital power, survived the deist controversy. Except Butler, these writers are all optimists, in regard both to human nature and the universe; they all lay stress upon final causes, and are forced to have recourse to a complex scheme of psychology to account for the assumed intuitions. These doctrines are a logical result from their fundamental conception. God is to them the informing and sustaining Spirit, manifested through the universe and recognised by the human soul. If the universe be thus the external veil of a divine power, everything, including the human mind which recognises it, must be naturally good. Evil is an illusion produced by our imperfect knowledge, or a result of the perverse exercise of that free-will which must be postulated to avoid a lapse into Pantheism. To maintain such a belief, it is necessary to avert one's eyes from the dark side of the world, from evil passions, from hopeless suffering, and to wrap oneself in a cloak of gentle complacency. It is dangerous to ask ultimate questions, or to pry too closely into human motives, in search of their more earthly elements. The origin of our instincts is best left shrouded in mystery, or they must be regarded as a mechanism which testifies to |