my of human affairs; the only clue, which can guide me through that pathless wilderness; and the only plan on which this world, as far as I am able to conceive, could possibly have been formed, or on which the history of man can be comprehended or explained.

Mortal existence, it is very clear, could never have been formed on a plan of happiness; because it is every where overspread with innumerable miseries; nor on a plan of misery, because it is every where interspersed with manifold enjoyments. It could not have been constituted for a scene of wisdom and virtue, because the history of mankind is little else than a detail of their follies and wickedness; nor for a scene of vice, because vice is inconsistent in its nature, and is in reality destructive of every existence, and consequently of its own. But on a system of free agency, all that we meet with may be easily accounted for; for this mixture of happiness and misery, of virtue and vice, necessarily results from a state of probation and education; as probation implies trials, sufferings, and a capacity of offending; and education supposes a chastisement for the commission of offences. *

Bolingbroke,

Jenyn's Int. Evid.

Bolingbroke, notwithstanding the unrestrained boldness of his assertions, very complacently indeed, acknowledges, there is such a thing as natural reason implanted in us by the author of our being; but, that reason itself would come too slowly to regulate the conduct of human life, if the all-wise Creator had not implanted in us another principle, that of self-love, which is the original spring of human actions, under the direction of instinct first, and of reason afterwards. Instinct and reason, says he, may be considered as distinct promulgations of the same law. Self-love directs necessarily to sociability. Instinct leads us to it by the sense of pleasure; and reason confirms us in it by a sense of happiness. Sociability is the foundation of human happiness. Society cannot be maintained with out benevolence, justice, and other social virtues. Those virtues, therefore, are the founda tion of society. And thus are we led from the instinctive to the rational law of nature. Selflove operates in all these stages. We love ourselves; we love our families; we love the particular societies to which we belong : and our benevolence extends at last to the whole race of mankind. Like so many different vortices, the centre of all is self-love;

and that which is most distant from us is the weakest.*

It is undeniable, that from the selfish and origi« nal passions of human nature, the loss or gain even of a very small interest of our own, appears to be of vastly more importance, excites a much more passionate joy or sorrow, a much more ardent desire or aversion, than the greatest concern of another, with whom we have no particular connexion. The interests of a stranger, as long as they are surveyed from this station, can never be put in the balance with our own; can never restrain us from doing whatever may tend to promote our own immediate welfare, how ruinous soever be his condition. Before we can make any proper comparison of these opposite interests, we must change our respective positions. We must view them, neither from our own place, nor from that of the opposite party; neither with our own eyes, nor yet with his; but from the place, and with the eyes of a third person, who has no particular connection with either, and who judges with impartiality between both. Let us suppose, for instance, the great empire of China, with all its myriads of inhabitants, to be suddenly swallowed up by an earthquake,

Bolingbroke.

quake; and let us consider how a man of humanity in Europe, who had no sort of connection with that part of the world, would be affected: upon receiving intelligence of this dreadful calamity. He would, first of all, I will believe, express very strongly his sorrow for the misfortunes of that unhappy people; he would make many reflections upon the precariousness of human life, and the vanity of all the labours of man, which could thus be annihilated in a moment. But all this philosophy over, all these humane sentiments fairly expressed, what would he next do? He would pursue his business or his pleasure; take his repose or his diversion; and all this with the same case and tranquillity, as if no such accident had happened.*

And happy for us it is so. But if our passive feelings be almost always so sordid and selfish, whence comes it, let me ask, that our active principles should often be so generous and noble? When we are always so much more deeply affected by whatever concerns ourselves than by whatever concerns other men, what is it, which prompts the generous upon all occasions, and the mean upon many, to sacrifice their own interests to the greater interests of others? It is not, surely, the softening power of humanity;

Adam Smith.

humanity; it is not that sentiment of benevo lence, which nature has lighted up in the hu man heart, which is thus capable of counteracting the strongest impulses of self-love. No. It is a stronger power; it is a more forcible motive, which exerts itself upon such occasions. It is reason, principle, conscience, the great judge and arbiter of our conduct, who, whenever we are about to act so as to affect the happiness of others, calls to us with a voice capable of humbling the most presumptuous of our passions, that we are but one of the multitude, in no respect better than any other; and that when we prefer ourselves so shamefully and so blindly to others, we do not what we ought to do. It is this which shows us the propriety of generosity, and the deformity of injustice; the propriety of resigning the greatest interests of our own, for the yet greater interests of others; and the deformity of doing the smallest injury to another, in order to obtain the greatest benefit to ourselves.*

This inmate of the breast, this abstract man, this representative of mankind, and substitute of the Deity, whom God has constituted the supreme and immediate judge of all our ac

Theory of Moral Sentiments.

tions,