The Pursuit of Certainty. Shirley Robin Letwin

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 as signs or indications of certain principles in the mind and temper. The external performance has no merit.”¹

      What the moral sentiment approves may vary enormously. And Hume shows us that we have tacitly recognized as much. We admire the Athenians, who permitted their best citizens to marry their sisters, murder their children, and forsake their wives in order to court young men. Brutus, whom we call a hero, conspired to assassinate his best friend. The French, commonly thought to be the most civilized of modern nations, praised adultery, took pride in their subjection to an absolute ruler, honoured men who killed to avenge lighthearted raillery, and applauded parents who sent off their children to be mistreated in holy jails. Indeed, wherever we look, if we judge by what is approved, morality seems to be a mass of contradictions: Fénelon’s standards are not Homer’s; the Koran is revered by Mohammedans for its sublime moral teachings but to Englishmen it seems to teach treachery, cruelty, and inhumanity; the luxuries valued in England and France for their benefits to art and industry are regarded in Switzerland as wanton and vicious.²

      But in fact the disagreements are unimportant; they arise not from differences in morality, but in circumstances. The moral sentiment operating at different times and places dictates quite different conclusions. It is with morality as with rivers: “The Rhine flows north, the Rhone south; yet both spring from the same mountain, and are also actuated, in their opposite directions, by the same principle of gravity. The different inclinations of the ground, on which they run cause all the difference of their courses.”³ In almost everything he wrote, Hume emphasized that there was no reason for all men, even all creatures, to live in the same way:

      What seems the most delicious food to one animal, appears loathsome to another; what affects the feeling of one with delight, procures uneasiness in another. This is confessedly the case with regard to all bodily senses: But if we examine the matter more accurately, we shall find, that the same observation holds even where the mind concurs with the body, and mingles its sentiment with the exterior appetite.¹

      It is always difficult to understand that another man might enjoy what we are indifferent to. And depending on our inclinations, our temperament, mood, and circumstances, we ourselves will judge the same things differently: “Man is a very variable being, and susceptible of many different opinions, principles, and rules of conduct. What may be true while he adheres to one way of thinking, will be found false, when he has embraced an opposite set of manners and opinions.”² We need neither admire nor condemn another man’s preferences. It is foolish to stand staring at one another like the Capucin monk and the Ambassador from Tunisia who had never seen the like of each other before, and could not be persuaded that “the turban of the African is just as good or bad a fashion as the cowl of the European.”³

      Whereas other philosophers had taken great pains to draw the best or highest sort of man, to decide whether the practical man or the contemplative man was superior, Hume denied precedence to any sort. He said only that human happiness seems to consist of three ingredients, action, pleasure, and indolence, “and tho’ these ingredients ought to be mixed in different proportions, according to the particular disposition of the person, yet no one ingredient can be entirely wanting without destroying in some measure, the relish of the whole composition.”⁴ It seems to be true, he thought, that action and employment make men less vulnerable to the stings of fortune, moderate the affections, and provide entertaining thoughts. But not all men are fit for such pursuits; indeed men have very different aptitudes for happiness. They are governed СКАЧАТЬ