dialogue

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APPENDIX II. OF
SELF-LOVE.

THERE is a principle,
supposed to prevail among
many, which is utterly
incompatible with all virtue
or moral sentiment; and as
it can proceed from nothing
but the most depraved
disposition, so in its turn it
tends still further to
encourage that depravity.
This principle is, that all
BENEVOLENCE is mere
hypocrisy, friendship a
cheat, public spirit a farce,
fidelity a snare to procure
trust and confidence; and
that while all of us, at
bottom, pursue only our
private interest, we wear
these fair disguises, in
order to put others off their
guard, and expose them the
more to our wiles and
machinations. What heart
one must be possessed of
who possesses such
principles, and who feels
no internal sentiment that
belies so pernicious a
theory, it is easy to
imagine: and also what
degree of affection and
benevolence he can bear to
a species whom he
represents under such
odious colours, and
supposes so little
susceptible of gratitude or

any return of affection. Or
if we should not ascribe
these principles wholly to a
corrupted heart, we must at
least account for them from
the most careless and
precipitate examination.
Superficial reasoners,
indeed, observing many
false pretences among
mankind, and feeling,
perhaps, no very strong
restraint in their own
disposition, might draw a
general and a hasty
conclusion that all is
equally corrupted, and that
men, different from all
other animals, and indeed
from all other species of
existence, admit of no
degrees of good or bad, but
are, in every instance, the
same creatures under
different disguises and
appearances.

There is another principle,
somewhat resembling the
former; which has been
much insisted on by
philosophers, and has been
the foundation of many a
system; that, whatever
affection one may feel, or
imagine he feels for others,
no passion is, or can be
disinterested; that the most
generous friendship,
however sincere, is a
modification of self-love;

and that, even unknown to
ourselves, we seek only our
own gratification, while we
appear the most deeply
engaged in schemes for the
liberty and happiness of
mankind. By a turn of
imagination, by a
refinement of reflection, by
an enthusiasm of passion,
we seem to take part in the
interests of others, and
imagine ourselves divested
of all selfish
considerations: but, at
bottom, the most generous
patriot and most niggardly
miser, the bravest hero and
most abject coward, have,
in every action, an equal
regard to their own
happiness and welfare.

Whoever concludes from
the seeming tendency of
this opinion, that those,
who make profession of it,
cannot possibly feel the
true sentiments of
benevolence, or have any
regard for genuine virtue,
will often find himself, in
practice, very much
mistaken. Probity and
honour were no strangers to
Epicurus and his sect.
Atticus and Horace seem to
have enjoyed from nature,
and cultivated by
reflection, as generous and
friendly dispositions as any

disciple of the austerer
schools. And among the
modern, Hobbes and
Locke, who maintained the
selfish system of morals,
lived irreproachable lives;
though the former lay not
under any restraint of
religion which might
supply the defects of his
philosophy.

An epicurean or a Hobbist
readily allows, that there is
such a thing as a friendship
in the world, without
hypocrisy or disguise;
though he may attempt, by
a philosophical chymistry,
to resolve the elements of
this passion, if I may so
speak, into those of
another, and explain every
affection to be self-love,
twisted and moulded, by a
particular turn of
imagination, into a variety
of appearances. But as the
same turn of imagination
prevails not in every man,
nor gives the same
direction to the original
passion; this is sufficient
even according to the
selfish system to make the
widest difference in human
characters, and denominate
one man virtuous and
humane, another vicious
and meanly interested. I
esteem the man whose self-

love, by whatever means, is
so directed as to give him a
concern for others, and
render him serviceable to
society: as I hate or despise
him, who has no regard to
any thing beyond his own
gratifications and
enjoyments. In vain would
you suggest that these
characters, though
seemingly opposite, are at
bottom the same, and that a
very inconsiderable turn of
thought forms the whole
difference between them.
Each character,
notwithstanding these
inconsiderable differences,
appears to me, in practice,
pretty durable and
untransmutable. And I find
not in this more than in
other subjects, that the
natural sentiments arising
from the general
appearances of things are
easily destroyed by subtile
reflections concerning the
minute origin of these
appearances. Does not the
lively, cheerful colour of a
countenance inspire me
with complacency and
pleasure; even though I
learn from philosophy that
all difference of
complexion arises from the
most minute differences of
thickness, in the most
minute parts of the skin; by

means of which a
superficies is qualified to
reflect one of the original
colours of light, and absorb
the others?

But though the question
concerning the universal or
partial selfishness of man
be not so material as is
usually imagined to
morality and practice, it is
certainly of consequence in
the speculative science of
human nature, and is a
proper object of curiosity
and enquiry. It may not,
therefore, be unsuitable, in
this place, to bestow a few
reflections upon it.

[Footnote: Benevolence naturally
divides into two kinds, the
GENERAL and the PARTICULAR.
The first is, where we have no
friendship
or connexion or esteem for the
person, but feel only a general
sympathy
with him or a compassion for his
pains, and a congratulation with his
pleasures. The other species of
benevolence is founded on an opinion
of virtue, on services done us, or on
some particular connexions. Both
these sentiments must be allowed real
in human nature: but whether they
will resolve into some nice
considerations of self-love, is a
question
more curious than important. The
former sentiment, to wit, that of

general benevolence, or humanity, or
sympathy, we shall have occasion
frequently to treat of in the course of
this inquiry; and I assume it as
real, from general experience,
without any other proof.]

The most obvious
objection to the selfish
hypothesis is, that, as it is
contrary to common
feeling and our most
unprejudiced notions, there
is required the highest
stretch of philosophy to
establish so extraordinary a
paradox. To the most
careless observer there
appear to be such
dispositions as
benevolence and
generosity; such affections
as love, friendship,
compassion, gratitude.
These sentiments have
their causes, effects,
objects, and operations,
marked by common
language and observation,
and plainly distinguished
from those of the selfish
passions. And as this is the
obvious appearance of
things, it must be admitted,
till some hypothesis be
discovered, which by
penetrating deeper into
human nature, may prove
the former affections to be
nothing but modifications
of the latter. All attempts of

this kind have hitherto
proved fruitless, and seem
to have proceeded entirely
from that love of
SIMPLICITY which has
been the source of much
false reasoning in
philosophy. I shall not here
enter into any detail on the
present subject. Many able
philosophers have shown
the insufficiency of these
systems. And I shall take
for granted what, I believe,
the smallest reflection will
make evident to every
impartial enquirer.

But the nature of the
subject furnishes the
strongest presumption, that
no better system will ever,
for the future, be invented,
in order to account for the
origin of the benevolent
from the selfish affections,
and reduce all the various
emotions of the human
mind to a perfect
simplicity. The case is not
the same in this species of
philosophy as in physics.
Many an hypothesis in
nature, contrary to first
appearances, has been
found, on more accurate
scrutiny, solid and
satisfactory. Instances of
this kind are so frequent
that a judicious, as well as
witty philosopher,

[Footnote: Mons.
Fontenelle.] has ventured
to affirm, if there be more
than one way in which any
phenomenon may be
produced, that there is
general presumption for its
arising from the causes
which are the least obvious
and familiar. But the
presumption always lies on
the other side, in all
enquiries concerning the
origin of our passions, and
of the internal operations of
the human mind. The
simplest and most obvious
cause which can there be
assigned for any
phenomenon, is probably
the true one. When a
philosopher, in the
explication of his system, is
obliged to have recourse to
some very intricate and
refined reflections, and to
suppose them essential to
the production of any
passion or emotion, we
have reason to be
extremely on our guard
against so fallacious an
hypothesis. The affections
are not susceptible of any
impression from the
refinements of reason or
imagination; and it is
always found that a
vigorous exertion of the
latter faculties, necessarily,
from the narrow capacity of

the human mind, destroys
all activity in the former.
Our predominant motive or
intention is, indeed,
frequently concealed from
ourselves when it is
mingled and confounded
with other motives which
the mind, from vanity or
self-conceit, is desirous of
supposing more prevalent:
but there is no instance that
a concealment of this
nature has ever arisen from
the abstruseness and
intricacy of the motive. A
man that has lost a friend
and patron may flatter
himself that all his grief
arises from generous
sentiments, without any
mixture of narrow or
interested considerations:
but a man that grieves for a
valuable friend, who
needed his patronage and
protection; how can we
suppose, that his passionate
tenderness arises from
some metaphysical regards
to a self-interest, which has
no foundation or reality?
We may as well imagine
that minute wheels and
springs, like those of a
watch, give motion to a
loaded waggon, as account
for the origin of passion
from such abstruse
reflections.

Animals are found
susceptible of kindness,
both to their own species
and to ours; nor is there, in
this case, the least
suspicion of disguise or
artifice. Shall we account
for all THEIR sentiments,
too, from refined
deductions of self-interest?
Or if we admit a
disinterested benevolence
in the inferior species, by
what rule of analogy can
we refuse it in the superior?

Love between the sexes
begets a complacency and
good-will, very distinct
from the gratification of an
appetite. Tenderness to
their offspring, in all
sensible beings, is
commonly able alone to
counter-balance the
strongest motives of self-
love, and has no manner of
dependance on that
affection. What interest can
a fond mother have in view,
who loses her health by
assiduous attendance on
her sick child, and
afterwards languishes and
dies of grief, when freed,
by its death, from the
slavery of that attendance?

Is gratitude no affection of
the human breast, or is that
a word merely, without any
meaning or reality? Have

we no satisfaction in one
man’s company above
another’s, and no desire of
the welfare of our friend,
even though absence or
death should prevent us
from all participation in it?
Or what is it commonly,
that gives us any
participation in it, even
while alive and present, but
our affection and regard to
him?

These and a thousand other
instances are marks of a
general benevolence in
human nature, where no
REAL interest binds us to
the object. And how an
IMAGINARY interest
known and avowed for
such, can be the origin of
any passion or emotion,
seems difficult to explain.
No satisfactory hypothesis
of this kind has yet been
discovered; nor is there the
smallest probability that
the future industry of men
will ever be attended with
more favourable success.

But farther, if we consider
rightly of the matter, we
shall find that the
hypothesis which allows of
a disinterested
benevolence, distinct from
self-love, has really more
SIMPLICITY in it, and is
more conformable to the

analogy of nature than that
which pretends to resolve
all friendship and humanity
into this latter principle.
There are bodily wants or
appetites acknowledged by
every one, which
necessarily precede all
sensual enjoyment, and
carry us directly to seek
possession of the object.
Thus, hunger and thirst
have eating and drinking
for their end; and from the
gratification of these
primary appetites arises a
pleasure, which may
become the object of
another species of desire or
inclination that is
secondary and interested.
In the same manner there
are mental passions by
which we are impelled
immediately to seek
particular objects, such as
fame or power, or
vengeance without any
regard to interest; and when
these objects are attained a
pleasing enjoyment ensues,
as the consequence of our
indulged affections. Nature
must, by the internal frame
and constitution of the
mind, give an original
propensity to fame, ere we
can reap any pleasure from
that acquisition, or pursue
it from motives of self-
love, and desire of

happiness. If I have no
vanity, I take no delight in
praise: if I be void of
ambition, power gives me
no enjoyment: if I be not
angry, the punishment of
an adversary is totally
indifferent to me. In all
these cases there is a
passion which points
immediately to the object,
and constitutes it our good
or happiness; as there are
other secondary passions
which afterwards arise, and
pursue it as a part of our
happiness, when once it is
constituted such by our
original affections. Were
there no appetite of any
kind antecedent to self-
love, that propensity could
scarcely ever exert itself;
because we should, in that
case, have felt few and
slender pains or pleasures,
and have little misery or
happiness to avoid or to
pursue.

Now where is the difficulty
in conceiving, that this may
likewise be the case with
benevolence and
friendship, and that, from
the original frame of our
temper, we may feel a
desire of another’s
happiness or good, which,
by means of that affection,
becomes our own good,

and is afterwards pursued,
from the combined motives
of benevolence and self-
enjoyments? Who sees not
that vengeance, from the
force alone of passion, may
be so eagerly pursued, as to
make us knowingly neglect
every consideration of
ease, interest, or safety;
and, like some vindictive
animals, infuse our very
souls into the wounds we
give an enemy; [Footnote:
Animasque in vulnere
ponunt. VIRG, Dum alteri
noceat, sui negligens says
Seneca of Anger. De Ira, I.
i.] and what a malignant
philosophy must it be, that
will not allow to humanity
and friendship the same
privileges which are
undisputably granted to the
darker passions of enmity
and resentment; such a
philosophy is more like a
satyr than a true delineation
or description of human
nature; and may be a good
foundation for paradoxical
wit and raillery, but is a
very bad one for any
serious argument or
reasoning.