The Pursuit of Certainty. Shirley Robin Letwin

suicide, we may be doing society a service; and certainly no man would have recourse to such a remedy frivolously.

      In much the same spirit, Hume insisted that pride is not a vice but a virtue. All heroic virtue, he pointed out, all that we admire as greatness of mind—courage, intrepidity, ambition, love of glory, magnanimity—“is either nothing but a steady and well establish’d pride and self-esteem or partakes largely of that passion.”² The pagans never decried pride, and those who are anxious to improve life in this world invariably esteem it. They believe that “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, and that there is no quality of the mind, which is more indispensably requisite to procure the esteem and approbation of mankind.”³ Only the “religious declaimers” make pride a vice; they denounce it as “purely pagan and natural and represent to us the excellency of the Christian religion, which places humility in the rank of virtues and corrects the judgement of the world, and even of philosophers who so generally admire all the efforts of pride and ambition….”⁴ But humility, beyond what good breeding and decency require of us, is merely one of that “whole train of monkish virtues” which men of sense reject because they “neither advance a man’s fortune in the world, nor render him a valuable member of society; neither qualify him for the entertainment of company nor increase his power of self-enjoyment. ”.”⁵

      Nevertheless, in some other ways Hume insisted on an obligation to depart from nature, and submit to reason. For he found in reason the source of general rules without which social relations were impossible. Even good breeding depended, he pointed out, on neglecting natural sentiments in favour of certain established forms. The rule that we must never praise ourselves but should rather underrate our true qualities, for instance, had become established because men tend to be conceited and cannot judge when they have given too free expression to their exaggerated self-esteem. As such conceit annoys others and destroys easy relations, it seems best to observe a general rule forbidding any self-praise, for thus we are assured that neither our own conceit, nor that of others, will disrupt conversation and conviviality.

      The rules of justice are of the same character. Without them, each case would be decided on its own merits, as each man judged them. We would grant a friend the property he claimed from our enemy; the tall boy who had only a short coat would appropriate the long coat from the short boy. We would conduct ourselves entirely by particular judgements that considered only the characters and circumstances of the moment. However much this might accord with our natural sentiments, Hume reminds us, “ ’tis easy to observe that this would produce an infinite convulsion in human society, and that the avidity and partiality of men would quickly bring disorder into the world. …”¹ In order to bring peace and stability into social life, men set up general and inflexible rules, which ensure that they will always view certain issues from the same standpoint, regardless of the particular situation. They agree to judge some matters not as the different circumstances surrounding each dictate, but from a common standpoint accepted by all.

      The rules of justice are as a result both natural and artificial. They are natural because the need for them is inseparable from the nature of the human species; they do not arise from humour and caprice, and could not one day be dispensed with as if they were a mere matter of fashion:

      The interest on which justice is founded is the greatest imaginable, and extends to all times and places. It cannot possibly be serv’d by any other invention. It is obvious and discovers itself on the very formation of society. All these causes render the rules of justice stedfast and immutable; at least as immutable as human nature.²

      They might even Hume said, be called “Laws of Nature.”¹ Yet at the same time, the rules of justice are artificial. For they engage men to act contrary to their natural sentiments. They extend what is felt in one set of circumstances to cover many others. They are “contrary to the common principles of human nature, which accommodate themselves to circumstances and have no stated invariable method of operation.”²

      The distinction between natural judgements and artificial rules was all important for Hume. It not only explains the origin of justice, but is at the heart of his moral attitude and defines his disagreement with conventional views of morality. It determines as well his attitude to politics. It arises from his sensitivity to the contrast between impersonal and personal judgements, between abstract, general, unyielding rules and particular judgements conforming to the conditions and needs of the moment. What is generally regarded as Hume’s defence of nature may be better described as a defence of the personal against the impersonal, the concrete against the abstract.

      Hume stressed the deficiencies of impersonal judgements as no other philosopher had. Virtue and vice, indeed all natural qualities, he reminds us, “run insensibly into each other”; they approach one another “by such insensible degrees” that it is exceedingly difficult, “if not absolutely impossible to determine when the one ends and the other begins.”³ But general rules make exact definitions, and admit of no degree. They treat cases similar in some respects as if they were similar in all without considering what tangle of circumstances and motives may excuse one but not another.⁴ Even when rules admit of exceptions, it is only according to a rule. The false distinctions imposed by a general rule give it an air of clarity, but in reality it is much more obscure than a particular judgement. It covers many particulars, and as any one of them may be thought to represent it, a general rule usually means different things to different people.

      Besides, a general rule never allows us to dispense with judgement and experience. No matter how perfect in itself, it still needs to be applied properly. One must recognize first of all which general rule is relevant. Then one must know how to take account of the special circumstances in which the rule is being applied. Neither reasoning nor knowledge is enough; prudence is essential:

      In every situation or incident there are many particular and seemingly minute circumstances, which the man of greatest talents is, at first, apt to overlook though on them the justness of his conclusions, and consequently the prudence of his conduct entirely depend. Not to mention, that, to a young beginner, the general observations and maxims occur not always on the proper occasions, nor can be immediately applied with due calmness and distinction.¹

      However good the laws of a society, they cannot then be perfectly just. As a general idea is a bundle of particular ones, so a general law covers a wide range of particulars, but necessarily singles out some for attention. What the law commands is therefore inevitably more suitable for some cases than for others equally under its jurisdiction. It cannot allow for the character, situation, or connections of every person affected. It may deprive a good industrious man of all possessions just because his tide is not in perfect order, only “to bestow them on a selfish miser who has already heaped up immense stores of superfluous riches.”² It makes distinctions where none exist, and judges, who are obliged to decide for one side or the other, are forced “to proceed on the most frivolous reasons in the world” or “to take half arguments for whole ones to terminate the affair one way or another.”³ No law can escape these defects: “Even the general laws of the universe, though planned by infinite wisdom, cannot exclude evil or inconvenience in every particular operation.”⁴

      Nevertheless, Hume was equally anxious to point out that general rules and impartial laws are indispensable. Whatever their inconveniences, they are outweighed by the evil of allowing “full discretionary powers” to any magistrate.⁵ But as general rules have no intrinsic merit, wherever they are not essential, it is better to leave the natural variety of human life unhindered. One ought never to forget the necessity for general rules, while remembering that as they are after all artificial, it is best to limit their dominion. The style of Hume’s thinking about moral and social questions is perhaps nowhere better illustrated than in his insistence on both the drawbacks of laws and the necessity for enduring them.

      He insisted at least as much that following rules was not to be confused with morality. Whether a man is virtuous depends on his inner experience, not his outward actions, on why he decides, not what he decides: “ ’Tis evident, that when we praise any actions, we regard only the motives that produced them, and consider the actions