Thomas
Hobbes’s Leviathan
Chapter vi (Partial)
Of the Interior Beginnings of Voluntary Motions,
Commonly Called the Passions; and the Speeches by which They are Expressed
THERE be in animals two sorts of motions peculiar to
them: One called vital, begun in generation, and continued without
interruption through their whole life; such as are the course of the blood, the
pulse, the breathing, the concoction, nutrition, excretion, etc.; to which
motions there needs no help of imagination: the other is animal motion,
otherwise called voluntary motion; as to go, to speak, to move any of
our limbs, in such manner as is first fancied in our minds. That sense is
motion in the organs and interior parts of man's body, caused by the action of
the things we see, hear, etc., and that fancy is but the relics of the same
motion, remaining after sense, has been already said in the first and second
chapters. And because going, speaking, and the like voluntary motions depend
always upon a precedent thought of whither, which way, and what, it is evident
that the imagination is the first internal beginning of all voluntary motion.
And although unstudied men do not conceive any motion at all to be there, where
the thing moved is invisible, or the space it is moved in is, for the shortness
of it, insensible; yet that doth not hinder but that such motions are. For let
a space be never so little, that which is moved over a greater space, whereof
that little one is part, must first be moved over that. These small beginnings
of motion within the body of man, before they appear in walking, speaking,
striking, and other visible actions, are commonly called endeavour.
This endeavour, when it is toward something which causes it, is called appetite,
or desire, the latter being the general name, and the other oftentimes
restrained to signify the desire of food, namely hunger and thirst. And when
the endeavour is from ward
something, it is generally called aversion. These words appetite and
aversion we have from the Latins; and they both of them signify the motions,
one of approaching, the other of retiring. So also do the Greek words for the
same, which are orme and aphorme. For Nature itself does often
press upon men those truths which afterwards, when they look for somewhat
beyond Nature, they stumble at. For the Schools find in mere appetite to go, or
move, no actual motion at all; but because some motion they must acknowledge,
they call it metaphorical motion, which is but an absurd speech; for though
words may be called metaphorical, bodies and motions cannot.
That which men desire they are said
to love, and to hate those things for which they have aversion. So that desire and
love are the same thing; save that by desire, we signify the absence of the
object; by love, most commonly the presence of the same. So also by aversion,
we signify the absence; and by hate, the presence of the object.
Of appetites and aversions,
some are born with men; as appetite of food, appetite of excretion, and
exoneration (which may also and more properly be called aversions, from
somewhat they feel in their bodies), and some other appetites, not many. The
rest, which are appetites of particular things, proceed from experience and
trial of their effects upon themselves or other men. For of things we know not
at all, or believe not to be, we can have no further desire than to taste and
try. But aversion we have for things, not only which we know have hurt us, but
also that we do not know whether they will hurt us, or not.
Those things which we neither
desire nor hate, we are said to contemn:
contempt being nothing else but an
immobility or contumacy of the heart in resisting the action of certain things;
and proceeding from that the heart is already moved otherwise, by other more
potent objects, or from want of experience of them.
And because the constitution of a
man's body is in continual mutation, it is impossible that all the same things
should always cause in him the same appetites and aversions: much less can all
men consent in the desire of almost any one and the same object.
But whatsoever is the object of any
man's appetite or desire, that is it which he for his part calleth good;
and the object of his hate and aversion, evil; and of his contempt, vile
and inconsiderable. For these words of good, evil, and contemptible are ever
used with relation to the person that useth them: there being nothing simply
and absolutely so; nor any common rule of good and evil to be taken from the
nature of the objects themselves; but from the person of the man, where there
is no Commonwealth; or, in a Commonwealth, from the person that representeth
it; or from an arbitrator or judge, whom men disagreeing shall by consent set
up and make his sentence the rule thereof.
* * *
When in the mind of man appetites and aversions, hopes and
fears, concerning one and the same thing, arise alternately; and diverse good
and evil consequences of the doing or omitting the thing propounded come
successively into our thoughts; so that sometimes we have an appetite to it,
sometimes an aversion from it; sometimes hope to be able to do it, sometimes
despair, or fear to attempt it; the whole sum of desires, aversions, hopes and
fears, continued till the thing be either done, or thought impossible, is that
we call deliberation.
Therefore of things past there is
no deliberation, because manifestly impossible to be changed; nor of things
known to be impossible, or thought so; because men know or think such
deliberation vain. But of things impossible, which we think possible, we may
deliberate, not knowing it is in vain. And it is called deliberation; because
it is a putting an end to the liberty we had of doing, or omitting, according
to our own appetite, or aversion.
This alternate succession of
appetites, aversions, hopes and fears is no less in other living creatures than
in man; and therefore beasts also deliberate.
Every deliberation is then said to
end when that whereof they deliberate is either done or thought impossible;
because till then we retain the liberty of doing, or omitting, according to our
appetite, or aversion.
In deliberation, the last appetite,
or aversion, immediately adhering to the action, or to the omission thereof, is
that we call the will; the act, not the faculty, of willing. And beasts that
have deliberation must necessarily also have will. The definition of the will,
given commonly by the Schools, that it is a rational appetite, is not good. For
if it were, then could there be no voluntary act against reason. For a
voluntary act is that which proceedeth from the will, and no other. But if
instead of a rational appetite, we shall say an appetite resulting from a
precedent deliberation, then the definition is the same that I have given here.
Will, therefore, is the last appetite in deliberating. And though we say in
common discourse, a man had a will once to do a thing, that nevertheless he
forbore to do; yet that is properly but an inclination, which makes no action
voluntary; because the action depends not of it, but of the last inclination,
or appetite. For if the intervenient appetites make any action voluntary, then
by the same reason all intervenient aversions should make the same action
involuntary; and so one and the same action should be both voluntary and
involuntary.
By this it is manifest that, not
only actions that have their beginning from covetousness, ambition, lust, or
other appetites to the thing propounded, but also those that have their
beginning from aversion, or fear of those consequences that follow the omission,
are voluntary actions.
The forms of speech by which the
passions are expressed are partly the same and partly different from those by
which we express our thoughts. And first generally all passions may be
expressed indicatively; as, I love, I fear, I joy, I deliberate, I will, I
command: but some of them have particular expressions by themselves, which
nevertheless are not affirmations, unless it be when they serve to make other
inferences besides that of the passion they proceed from. Deliberation is
expressed subjunctively; which is a speech proper to signify suppositions, with
their consequences; as, If this be done, then this will follow; and differs not
from the language of reasoning, save that reasoning is in general words, but
deliberation for the most part is of particulars. The language of desire, and
aversion, is imperative; as, Do this, forbear that; which when the party is
obliged to do, or forbear, is command; otherwise prayer; or else counsel. The
language of vainglory, of indignation, pity and revengefulness, optative: but
of the desire to know, there is a peculiar expression called interrogative; as,
What is it, when shall it, how is it done, and why so? Other language of the
passions I find none: for cursing, swearing, reviling, and the like do not
signify as speech, but as the actions of a tongue accustomed.
These forms of speech, I say, are
expressions or voluntary significations of our passions: but certain signs they
be not; because they may be used arbitrarily, whether they that use them have
such passions or not. The best signs of passions present are either in the
countenance, motions of the body, actions, and ends, or aims, which we
otherwise know the man to have.
And because in deliberation the
appetites and aversions are raised by foresight of the good and evil
consequences, and sequels of the action whereof we deliberate, the good or evil
effect thereof dependeth on the foresight of a long chain of consequences, of
which very seldom any man is able to see to the end. But for so far as a man
seeth, if the good in those consequences be greater than the evil, the whole
chain is that which writers call apparent or seeming good. And contrarily, when
the evil exceedeth the good, the whole is apparent or seeming evil: so that he
who hath by experience, or reason, the greatest and surest prospect of
consequences, deliberates best himself; and is able, when he will, to give the
best counsel unto others.
Continual success in obtaining
those things which a man from time to time desireth, that is to say, continual
prospering, is that men call felicity;
I mean the felicity of this life. For there is no such thing as perpetual
tranquility of mind, while we live here; because life itself is but motion, and
can never be without desire, nor without fear, no more than without sense. What
kind of felicity God hath ordained to them that devoutly honour him, a man
shall no sooner know than enjoy; being joys that now are as incomprehensible as
the word of Schoolmen, beatifical vision, is unintelligible.
The form of speech whereby men
signify their opinion of the goodness of anything is praise. That whereby they
signify the power and greatness of anything is magnifying. And that whereby
they signify the opinion they have of a man's felicity is by the Greeks called makarismos, for which we have no name in
our tongue. And thus much is sufficient for the present purpose to have been
said of the passions.
Chapter xiii (Complete)
Of the Natural Condition of Mankind as Concerning
Their Felicity and Misery
NATURE hath made men so equal in the faculties of body and mind as
that, though there be found one man sometimes manifestly stronger in body or of
quicker mind than another, yet when all is reckoned together the difference
between man and man is not so considerable as that one man can thereupon claim
to himself any benefit to which another may not pretend as well as he. For as
to the strength of body, the weakest has strength enough to kill the strongest,
either by secret machination or by confederacy with others that are in the same
danger with himself.
And as to the faculties of
the mind, setting aside the arts grounded upon words, and especially that skill
of proceeding upon general and infallible rules, called science, which very few
have and but in few things, as being not a native faculty born with us, nor
attained, as prudence, while we look after somewhat else, I find yet a greater
equality amongst men than that of strength. For prudence is but experience,
which equal time equally bestows on all men in those things they equally apply
themselves unto. That which may perhaps make such equality incredible is but a
vain conceit of one's own wisdom, which almost all men think they have in a
greater degree than the vulgar; that is, than all men but themselves, and a few
others, whom by fame, or for concurring with themselves, they approve. For such
is the nature of men that howsoever they may acknowledge many others to be more
witty, or more eloquent or more learned, yet they will hardly believe there be
many so wise as themselves; for they see their own wit at hand, and other men's
at a distance. But this proveth rather that men are
in that point equal, than unequal. For there is not ordinarily a greater sign
of the equal distribution of anything than that every man is contented with his
share.
From this equality of
ability ariseth equality of hope in the attaining of
our ends. And therefore if any two men desire the same thing, which
nevertheless they cannot both enjoy, they become enemies; and in the way to their
end (which is principally their own conservation, and sometimes their
delectation only) endeavour to destroy or subdue one another. And from hence it
comes to pass that where an invader hath no more to fear than another man's
single power, if one plant, sow, build, or possess a convenient seat, others
may probably be expected to come prepared with forces united to dispossess and
deprive him, not only of the fruit of his labour, but
also of his life or liberty. And the invader again is in the like danger of
another.
And from this diffidence of
one another, there is no way for any man to secure himself so reasonable as
anticipation; that is, by force, or wiles, to master the persons of all men he
can so long till he see no other power great enough to endanger him: and this
is no more than his own conservation requireth, and
is generally allowed. Also, because there be some that, taking pleasure in
contemplating their own power in the acts of conquest, which they pursue
farther than their security requires, if others, that otherwise would be glad
to be at ease within modest bounds, should not by invasion increase their
power, they would not be able, long time, by standing only on their defence, to subsist. And by consequence, such augmentation
of dominion over men being necessary to a man's conservation, it ought to be
allowed him.
Again, men have no
pleasure (but on the contrary a great deal of grief) in keeping company where
there is no power able to overawe them all. For every man looketh that his companion should value him at the same
rate he sets upon himself, and upon all signs of contempt or undervaluing
naturally endeavours, as far as he dares (which
amongst them that have no common power to keep them in quiet is far enough to
make them destroy each other), to extort a greater value from his contemners,
by damage; and from others, by the example.
So that in the nature of man,
we find three principal causes of quarrel. First, competition; secondly,
diffidence; thirdly, glory.
The first maketh men invade for gain; the second, for safety; and the
third, for reputation. The first use violence, to make themselves masters of
other men's persons, wives, children, and cattle; the second, to defend them;
the third, for trifles, as a word, a smile, a different opinion, and any other
sign of undervalue, either direct in their persons or by reflection in their
kindred, their friends, their nation, their profession, or their name.
Hereby it is manifest that
during the time men live without a common power to keep them all in awe, they
are in that condition which is called war; and such a war as is of every man
against every man. For war consisteth not in battle
only, or the act of fighting, but in a tract of time, wherein the will to
contend by battle is sufficiently known: and therefore the notion of time is to
be considered in the nature of war, as it is in the nature of weather. For as the
nature of foul weather lieth not in a shower or two of rain, but in an
inclination thereto of many days together: so the nature of war consisteth not in actual fighting, but in the known
disposition thereto during all the time there is no assurance to the contrary.
All other time is peace.
Whatsoever therefore is
consequent to a time of war, where every man is enemy to every man, the same
consequent to the time wherein men live without other security than what their
own strength and their own invention shall furnish them withal. In such
condition there is no place for industry, because the fruit thereof is uncertain: and
consequently no culture of the earth; no navigation, nor use of the commodities
that may be imported by sea; no commodious building; no instruments of moving
and removing such things as require much force; no knowledge of the face of the
earth; no account of time; no arts; no letters; no society; and which is
worst of all, continual fear, and danger of violent death; and the life of man,
solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.
It may seem strange to some
man that has not well weighed these things that Nature should thus dissociate
and render men apt to invade and destroy one another: and he may therefore, not
trusting to this inference, made from the passions, desire perhaps to have the
same confirmed by experience. Let him therefore consider with himself: when
taking a journey, he arms himself and seeks to go well accompanied; when going
to sleep, he locks his doors; when even in his house he locks his chests; and
this when he knows there be laws and public officers, armed, to revenge all
injuries shall be done him; what opinion he has of his fellow subjects, when he
rides armed; of his fellow citizens, when he locks his doors; and of his
children, and servants, when he locks his chests. Does he not there as much
accuse mankind by his actions as I do by my words? But neither of us accuse
man's nature in it. The desires, and other passions of man, are in themselves
no sin. No more are the actions that proceed from those passions till they know
a law that forbids them; which till laws be made they cannot know, nor can any
law be made till they have agreed upon the person that shall make it.
It may peradventure be
thought there was never such a time nor condition of war as this; and I believe
it was never generally so, over all the world: but there are many places where
they live so now. For the savage people in many places of America, except the
government of small families, the concord whereof dependeth on natural lust,
have no government at all, and live at this day in that brutish manner, as I
said before. Howsoever, it may be perceived what manner of life there would be,
where there were no common power to fear, by the manner of life which men that
have formerly lived under a peaceful government use to degenerate into a civil
war.
But though there had never
been any time wherein particular men were in a condition of war one against
another, yet in all times kings and persons of sovereign authority, because of
their independency, are in continual jealousies, and in the state and posture
of gladiators, having their weapons pointing, and their eyes fixed on one
another; that is, their forts, garrisons, and guns upon the frontiers of their
kingdoms, and continual spies upon their neighbours,
which is a posture of war. But because they uphold thereby the industry of
their subjects, there does not follow from it that misery which accompanies the
liberty of particular men.
To this war of every man against
every man, this also is consequent; that nothing can be unjust. The notions of
right and wrong, justice and injustice, have there no place. Where there is no
common power, there is no law; where no law, no injustice. Force and fraud are
in war the two cardinal virtues. Justice and injustice are none of the
faculties neither of the body nor mind. If they were, they might be in a man
that were alone in the world, as well as his senses and passions. They are
qualities that relate to men in society, not in solitude. It is consequent also
to the same condition that there be no propriety, no dominion, no mine and
thine distinct; but only that to be every man's that he can get, and for so
long as he can keep it. And thus much for the ill condition which man by mere
nature is actually placed in; though with a possibility to come out of it,
consisting partly in the passions, partly in his reason.
The passions that incline men
to peace are: fear of death; desire of such things as are necessary to
commodious living; and a hope by their industry to obtain them. And reason suggesteth convenient articles of peace upon which men may
be drawn to agreement. These articles are they which otherwise are called the
laws of nature, whereof I shall speak more particularly in the two following
chapters.