Thus, if one man prefers cheese to lobsters, another lobsters to cheese, it is vain, say they, to apply judgment to determine which is right. In like manner, if one man prefers pleasure to virtue, another virtue to pleasure, this is a matter of taste, judgment has nothing to do in it. This seems to be the opinion of some philosophers.

I cannot help being of a contrary opinion. I think we may form a judgment both in the question about cheese and lobsters, and in the more important question about pleasure and virtue.

When one man feels a more agreeable relish in cheese, another in lobsters, this, I grant, requires no judgment; it depends only upon the constitution of the palate. But, if we would determine which of the two has the best taste, I think the question must be determined by judgment; and that, with a small share of this faculty, we may give a very certain determination, to wit, that the two tastes are equally good, and that both of the persons do equally well, in preferring what suits their palate and their stomach.

Nay, I apprehend, that the two persons who differ in their taste will, notwithstanding that difference, agree perfectly in their judgment, that both tastes are upon a footing of equality, and that neither has a just claim to preference.

Thus it appears, that, in this instance, the office of taste is very different from that of judgment ;^ and that men, who differ most in taste, may agree perfectly in their judgment, even with respect to the tastes wherein they differ.

To make the other case parallel with this, it must be supposed, that the man of pleasure and the man of virtue agree in their judgment, and that neither sees any reason to prefer the one course of life to the other.

If this be supposed, I shall grant, that neither of these persons has reason to condemn the other. Each

chooses according to his taste, in matters which his best judgment determines to be perfectly indifferent.

But it is to be observed, that this supposition cannot have place, when we speak of men, or indeed of moral agents. The man who is incapable of perceiving the obligation of virtue, when he uses his best judgment, is a man in name, but not in reality. He is incapable either of virtue or vice, and is not a moral agent.

Even the man of pleasure, when his judgment is unbiassed, sees, that there are certain things which a man ought not to do, though he should have a taste for them. If a thief breaks into his house and carries off

his goods, he is perfectly convinced that he did wrong and deserves punishment, although he had as strong a relish for the goods as he himself has for the pleasures he pursues.

It is evident, that mankind, in all ages, have conceived two parts in the human constitution that may have influence upon our voluntary actions. These we call by the general names of passion and reason; and we shall find, in all languages, names that are equivalent.

Under the former, we comprehend various principles of action, similar to those we observe in brute animals, and in men who have not the use of reason. Appetites, affections, passions, are the names by which they are denominated; and these names are not so accurately distinguished in common language, but that they are used somewhat promiscuously. This, however, is common to them all, that they draw a man toward a certain object, without any further view, by a kind of violence; a violence which indeed may be resisted if the man is master of himself, but cannot be resisted without a struggle.

Cicero's phrase for expressing their influence is, "Hominem huc et illuc rapiunt." Dr. Hutcheson uses a similar phrase, “ Quibus agitatur mens et bruto

66

quodam impetu fertur." There is no exercise of reason or judgment necessary in order to feel their influ

ence.

With regard to this part of the human constitution, I see no difference between the vulgar and philosophers. As to the other part of our constitution which is commonly called reason, as opposed to passion, there have been very subtile disputes among modern philosophers, whether it ought to be called reason, or be not rather some internal sense or taste.

Whether it ought to be called reason, or by what other name, I do not here inquire, but what kind of influence it has upon our voluntary actions.

As to this point, I think, all men must allow, that this s the manly part of our constitution, the other the brute part. This operates in a calm and dispassionate manner; a manner so like to judgment or reason, that even those who do not allow it to be called by that name, endeavour to account for its having always had the name; because, in the manner of its operation, it has a similitude to reason.

As the similitude between this principle and reason has led mankind to give it that name, so the dissimilitude between it and passion has led them to set the two in opposition. They have considered this cool principle, as having an influence upon our actions so different from passion, that what a man does coolly and deliberately, without passion, is imputed solely to the man, whether it have merit or demerit; whereas, what he does from passion is imputed in part to the passion. If the passion be conceived to be irresistible, the action is imputed solely to it, and not at all to the man. If he had power to resist, and ought to have resisted, we blame him for not doing his duty; but, in proportion to the violence of the passion, the fault is alleviated.

By this cool principle, we judge what ends are most worthy to be pursued, how far every appetite and passion may be indulged, and when it ought to be resisted.

It directs us, not only to resist the impulse of passion when it would lead us wrong, but to avoid the occasions of inflaming it; like Cyrus, who refused to see the beautiful captive princess. In this he acted the part both of a wise and a good man; firm in the love of virtue, and, at the same time, conscious of the weakness of human nature, and unwilling to put it to too severe a trial. In this case, the youth of Cyrus, the incomparable beauty of his captive, and every circumstance which tended to inflame his desire, exalts the merit of his conduct in resisting it.

It is in such actions that the superiority of human nature appears, and the specific difference between it and that of brutes. In them we may observe one passion combating another, and the strongest prevailing; but we perceive no calm principle in their constitution that is superior to every passion, and able to give law to it.

The difference between these two parts of our constitution may be further illustrated by an instance or two wherein passion prevails.

If a man, upon great provocation, strike another when he ought to keep the peace, he blames himself for what he did, and acknowledges that he ought not to have yielded to his passion. Every other person agrees with his sober judgment. They think he did wrong in yielding to his passion, when he might and ought to have resisted its impulse. If they thought it impossible to bear the provocation, they would not blame him at all; but believing that it was in his power, and was his duty, they impute to him some degree of blame, acknowledging, at the same time, that it is alleviated in proportion to the provocation; so

that the trespass is imputed, partly to the man, and partly to the passion. But, if a man deliberately conceives a design of mischief against his neighbour, contrives the means, and executes it, the action admits of no alleviation, it is perfectly voluntary, and he bears the whole guilt of the evil intended and done.

If a man, by the agony of the rack, is made to disclose a secret of importance, with which he is intrusted, we pity him more than we blame him. We consider, that such is the weakness of human nature, that the resolution, even of a good man, might be overcome by such a trial. But if he have strength of mind, which even the agony of the rack could not subdue, we admire his fortitude as truly heroical.

Thus, I think, it appears, that the common sense of men, which, in matters of common life, ought to have great authority, has led them to distinguish two parts in the human constitution, which have influence upon our voluntary determinations. There is an irrational part, common to us with brute animals, consisting of appetites, affections, and passions; and there is a cool and rational part. The first, in many cases, gives a strong impulse, but without judgment, and without authority. The second is always accompanied with authority. All wisdom and virtue consist in following its dictates; all vice and folly in disobeying them. We may resist the impulses of appetite and passion, not only without regret, but with self-applause and triumph; but the calls of reason and duty can never be resisted, without remorse and self-condemnation.

The ancient philosophers agreed with the vulgar, in making this distinction of the principles of action. The irrational part, the Greeks called 'pun. Cicero calls it appetitus, taking that word in an extensive sense, so as to include every propensity to action which is not grounded on judgment.