1. The general system of morals will now be illustrated by its application to particular cases of virtue of vice. It will be shown which of the four sources of merit or demerit applies to it. [See paragraph 16: “The distinction of vice and virtue arises from the four principles of the advantage and of the pleasure of the person himself, and of others.”] The first cases will be those of excess or deficiency in pride and humility. “An excessive pride or over-weaning conceit of ourselves is always deem’d vicious, and is universally hated; as modesty, or a just sense of our weakness, is esteem’d virtuous, and procures the good-will of every one.” The source of this is agreeableness or disagreeableness of a quality in others, “without any reflection on the tendency of that quality,” i.e., on any advantage it might confer.

2. This is proved by appeal to two principles, “which are very conspicuous in human nature,” that of sympathy, and that of comparison, which will be discussed in paragraph 4. We are naturally drawn into the opinions of others when they are nearby, and even if we don’t adopt them ourselves, our course of thought can be disturbed from its easy flow by the authority we give to the opinion of the other. The subject-matter is immaterial: whether it is another person, myself, or even himself, his opinion of that subject makes me consider it in the same light as he does.

3. The opinions of other people may inflame our own passions, even when ours are opposed to them. The fact that someone disagrees with me will cause a commotion, a passion turned against the person, that can only be explained by sympathy. If I did not feel sympathy, there would be no reason that my passion would be inflamed by his opposition. So here is a way that sympathy is so powerful that it even appears in the guise of its contrary. “The sentiments of others can never affect us, but by becoming, in some measure, or own; in which case they operate upon us, by opposing and encreasing our passions, in the very same manner, as if they had been originally deriv’d from our own temper and disposition.” But when the opinions of others are concealed, they have no effect on us. And if we only imagine someone else’s opinion, it still has no effect, since there is only “a mere idea, tho’ contrary to our sentiments and inclinations.”

4. Besides sympathy, the principle of comparison of objects comes into play. Comparison is the main way in which we judge objects--far more so than intrinsic merit. The most obvious comparison is with ourselves, “and hence it is that on all occasions it takes place, and mixes with most of our passions.” It was observed in Part 2, Section 7 on compassion and malice that comparison plays against sympathy. My sentiment of another person’s pain augments my feeling of pleasure in myself, and vice-versa.

5. What general rules can resolve these conflicts? The answer lies in the strength of the idea of the other. If it is faint, then comparison wins the day, while if it is very intense, sympathy (which is the conversion of an idea into an impression, and needs to gather force from somewhere) produces the stronger effect. The author gives as an example a mild pleasure he has from being safely on land, in comparison to someone at sea, endangered by a storm. The livelier he makes the idea, the better he feels about himself. But if he is on the shore and sees an endangered ship, the idea becomes livelier still, and his pleasure increases. Finally, if the ship is very nearby, and he can see the horror of the faces of the passengers, the idea is extremely vivid, and sympathy takes over: “No man has so savage a heart as to reap any pleasure from such a spectacle, or withstand the motions of the tenderest compassion and sympathy.”

6. This can be applied to the passions of pride and humility. When we are in the presence of a great person, or one of superior genius, we take on a passion of humility. There might be envy or hatred, but for most people, there is respect and esteem. Sympathy and comparison come into play. The author considers three cases. In the first, we think idly about a man of great merit, and this does not produce any comparison, because there is no sympathy involved. In the second, the man is nearby, and shows extraordinary conceit. Sympathy now plays a role, but comparison has the upper hand: our imagination is affected as if he really has the merit he lacks, and we are mortified in comparison. If we believe the person really to be worthy of his pride in himself, then due to the intensity that all beliefs have, we are more sympathetic with the person, and as we take on his pride, we feel better, rather than worse, about himself.

7. The result is that excessive pride is vicious, because it brings about a disagreeable effect, causing “uneasiness in all men” and presenting them “every moment with a disagreeable comparison.” The author refers to the ”trite” observation “in philosophy, and even in common life and conversation,” that we find pride disagreeable because of our own pride. This is so powerful a force that it contravenes the normal association of like with like, where people associate with those sharing their own temperaments, as with “the amorous and the amorous.” We are all proud to some degree, and pride is universally condemned because of the uneasiness it generates by comparison. If one’s pride has little basis in reality, the comparisons are made all the time, which is the only way they can support their pride: by finding someone more foolish.

8. On the other hand, valuing ourselves for our true merit is as laudable as can be. This “due degree of pride” gives us confidence in what we do. Without a just appreciation of our merits, we cannot use them. It is better to over-estimate our merit than to under-estimate it. “Fortune commonly favours the bold and enterprizing; and nothing inspires us with more boldness than a good opinion of ourselves.”

9. Pride is always agreeable to ourselves, and modesty is often disagreeable to the person who has it, though it pleases everyone else. And our own sensations, as well as those in others, determine what vice or virtue any quality has.

10. Self-satisfaction and vanity, therefore, may be required. Manners and good breeding, though, train us not to make a show of it directly. If we were to tout ourselves constantly, due to the good feeling (“wonderful partiality”) that we have for ourselves, “we shou’d mutually cause the greatest indignation in each other.” This is not only because we would be the immediate source of disagreeable comparisons, but also because our judgments about one another would be conflicting. Rules of good-breeding are thus established in the same way as laws of nature are established to secure property and prevent the destruction caused by self-interest. These rules “prevent the opposition of men’s pride, and render conversation agreeable and inoffensive.” Because we are bad at determining our own true merit, “Nothing is more disagreeable than a man’s over-weaning conceit of himself: Every one almost has a strong propensity to this vice.” Even “men of sense and merit” are not excepted from the resulting rules of good breeding. The ill-effects of the display of pride “has given us such a prejudice against self-applause, that we are apt to condemn it, by a general rule, wherever we meet with it.” We at least need to disguise it with the appearance of modesty and mutual deference. “We must, on every occasion, be ready to prefer others to ourselves; to treat them with a kind of deference, even tho’ they be our equals; to seem always the lowest and least in the company where we are not very much distinguish’d above them.” If we stick to these rules, then if people find out that we secretly think better of ourselves, they will not think ill of us.

11. The scope of the rule of good-breeding should be limited to the outside only. “A genuine and hearty pride, or self-esteem, if well conceal’d and well founded, is essential to the character of a man of honour.” This is the quality of mind most necessary to secure the esteem of mankind. The author notes that people are divided into ranks, and that custom requires deference on the part of those of the lower rank to those of the higher. If these are violated because of self-interest, the person is considered mean, and if because of ignorance, the person is considered simple. So we must know “our rank and station in the world, whether it be fix’d by our birth, fortune, employments, talents or reputation.” We should feel the appropriate degree of pride. Prudence alone will not be enough to regulate our actions in this regard, since it is directed toward what is useful, and it is the observance of these customs that is useful. The customs themselves, in which one man may affect superiority over another, could “ever have been establish’d and authoriz’d by custom, unless men were generally proud, and unless that passion were generally approv’d, when well-grounded.”

12. History gives the reasoning new force, as all admired actions “are founded on nothing but pride and self-esteem.” Alexander the Great, when facing mutiny, told his soldiers to tell their countrymen that they had left him while he was completing the conquest of the world. He could not believe that anyone who would refuse him, wherever he found himself. “Wherever he found men, he fancy’d he had found subjects.”

13. What is called heroic virtue or greatness of mind is only a steady and well-established self-esteem, or at least is largely that. Many virtues have a mixture of self-esteem: “courage, intrepidity, ambition, love of glory, magnanimity, and all the other shining virtues of that kind.” A great part of their merit is derived from self-esteem. The “religious declaimers” oppose the philosophers and common people in this regard, and extol the humility taught by the Christian religion. The author declines to comment on this, saying only that “the world naturally esteems a well-regulated pride, which secretly animates our conduct, without breaking out into such indecent expressions of vanity, as may offend the vanity of others.”

14. The merit of pride derives from its utility and agreeableness to ourselves, “by which it capacitates us for business, and, at the same time, gives us an immediate satisfaction.” It loses the advantage of utility, and even becomes disadvantageous, when it is taken beyond its just bounds. Nonetheless, it remains agreeable, and sympathy with the self-satisfaction of the proud person goes a long way toward diminishing our condemnation for its disutility. Excessive pride, especially in the face of misfortune, is found in the hero 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.”

15. Although most people worship heroism, “men of cool reflection are not so sanguine in their praises of it,” due to the great disorder heroes cause in the world: “the subversion of empires, the devastation of provinces, the sack of cities.” We tend to hate the hero when thinking of these things, but admire him when we think of his own person, as “there is something so dazzling in his character, the mere contemplation of it so elevates the mind, that we cannot refuse it our admiration.” The pain of disutility is overpowered by “a stronger and more immediate sympathy.”

16. These consideration show the strength of the system, which apportions merit along the two dimensions of advantage and pleasure of effects, and of self and others to whom the effects apply. Some “under-parts” of the hypothesis may also be supported by these considerations.

17. Actions due to ill-breeding shock our own pride, giving rise to unfavorable comparisons, causing a disagreeable passion of humility. We blame for this even people who have never shown over-weaning pride to us, and even to people of whom we know only through history. This is due to the influence of sympathy with others, “and the reflection, that such a character is highly displeasing and odious to every one, who converses or has any intercourse with the person possesst of it.” This can give rise to a double-rebound effect, as described in Book 2, Part 2, Section 5, Paragraph 21. We sympathize with others’ uneasiness. This produces an uneasiness in ourselves. Their sympathy with the proud person is part of what produces their uneasiness in them. And so, the original sympathy in that person is transmitted by our sympathy with them to produce an uneasiness in ourselves.

[ Previous Section | Next Section | Treatise contents | Text of the Treatise ]