Cosmopolitanism and Hume’s general point of view

1. Introduction

Hume was a cosmopolitan by temperament. “I am a Citizen of the World”, he says in a letter, and his diverse friendships and correspondences show that he considered himself part of a European-wide republic of letters. ¹ But I propose to argue that cosmopolitanism also plays an important role in his philosophy. Hume’s Treatise of Human Nature outlines an original and important theory of how humans make moral judgements, by means of what Hume calls the general point of view – a neutral, disinterested perspective that (ideally) eliminates the natural biases to which our natural moral sentiments are subject. But I shall suggest that Hume’s theory also, apparently inadvertently, points to a limitation to our capacity for moral judgement. His account implies that, while it corrects for certain kinds of biases, the general point of view imports others. Specifically, it brings with it an inherent tendency to parochialism. It is only by looking at the works Hume wrote after the Treatise, works dealing with politics and society, that we can find his solution to this problem. In these works, he makes the case that certain sorts of societies allow their inhabitants to transcend the risk of parochialism that is built into human nature: specifically, those societies that are open and commercial and that (not accidentally) possess particular kinds of legal and political institutions. These societies foster what I call “engaged cosmopolitanism”, a way of living that allows us to make less parochial, and more disinterested, moral judgements more easily.

By elucidating the connection between a person’s capacity for moral judgement and the sort of society in which she lives, we can better understand why Hume turned from what we would now call properly philosophical writing to the writing of history and literary essays. These latter works make it one of their central concerns to defend modern commercial societies and determine the preconditions for their development. We can also, I believe, better understand Hume’s importance in the history of moral and political thought. He defends commerce and “luxury” from Christian and republican writers, who argue that making people more self-interested is inevitably detrimental to morality and should therefore be controlled. But his arguments equally provide a response to Mandeville, who argues that morality must be set aside if we seek material prosperity. Hume tries to show instead that prosperity and virtue are positively correlated.

I do not want to claim that my notion of “engaged cosmopolitanism” presents us with a new, original form of cosmopolitan philosophy. ² Hume is not directly concerned with issues of international politics or world peace – the issues Kant addresses in his writings on cosmopolitanism. ³ Rather, consistent with his overall interest in establishing a new science of human nature, he is interested in the basic psychological mechanisms that can, at least ideally, motivate us to see ourselves as “citizens of the world”. Acquiring such motivation does not solve on its own the philosophical problems raised by cosmopolitanism. But it is a necessary first step. This question of motivation has arguably been under-emphasised by modern defenders of cosmopolitanism and as a result, Hume’s account provides us with a potentially useful resource in thinking about these issues. ⁴

2. The general point of view

Hume explains in the Treatise of Human Nature that moral judgements involve a sentiment of approval or disapproval towards certain traits of character – specifically those that produce actions that tend to be useful or agreeable either to their possessor or to those affected by her actions. Take a case where an agent acts in such a way as to benefit another person. As a spectator, we view certain “effects, and … external signs” on the beneficiary of the action, and based on this we infer that the beneficiary feels a certain passion as a result of the action. ⁵ Through the mechanism of sympathy, which is innate in all of us, this passion is communicated to us as observers and gives rise to a pleasant or unpleasant sentiment. This sentiment is then associated with one of the so-called conative passions, love or hatred, which move us to approve or disapprove of the trait of character within the agent that we think has given rise to the action. ⁶ As the mechanism by which passion is communicated from the beneficiary of the action to us as observers, sympathy is both powerful and unreliable. It can be general and extensive, but it can also be partial and limited. It can, for instance, lead us to privilege qualities in others that are not morally salient, such as proximity or resemblance to ourselves. Hume thinks that to compensate for these natural partialities, we learn to govern these reactions in such a way that they accord with those of a competent and detached observer reflecting coolly on the situation. He calls this perspective the general point of view. In order, Hume says, to “arrive at a more stable judgment of things, we fix on some steady and general points of view; and always, in our thoughts, place ourselves in them, whatever may be our present situation”. ⁷

For Hume, our moral sentiments are, like all our feelings, involuntary. From the perspective of the scientific observer, they appear as a brute, unexplainable fact. As Russell Hardin points out in his book David Hume, Moral and Political Theorist, benevolence is a preference like a “desire to enjoy a hike in the hills [or] … an opera”. ⁸ We might think that our tendency to assume a general point of view is equally a brute fact about our nature, not subject to further analysis. But Hume says something different about it. He claims that “reason requires such impartial conduct”. ⁹ It is, to say the least, curious to see Hume suggesting that reason somehow imposes an obligation on our passions, given that he has told us elsewhere in the Treatise, that it is a mere slave to these passions. This is an important theme running through the Treatise – that reason serves only to help guide us towards the ends that are the result of our passionate impulses. Yet, here we have him saying explicitly that the general point of view is the result of that “reason which is able to oppose our passion”. ¹⁰ He does concede the passions often win this contest. He says that in trying to take the general point of view “it is seldom we can bring ourselves to it, [as] our passions do not readily follow the determination of our judgment”. ¹¹ But clearly we do succeed at least some of the time in making considered moral judgements. So apparently we must conclude that when we do make such judgements, they are the result of some kind of imperative of reason, acting in opposition to our natural sentiments. Hume here seems to take a disturbingly un-Humean, and even proto-Kantian, position.

To rescue Hume from this apparent inconsistency, we need to look more closely at his use of the term “reason”. ¹² He uses the word in a number of different ways over the course of the Treatise and his other works. But here he tells us explicitly how he intends it to be understood. He calls it “nothing but a general calm determination of the passions, founded on some distant view or reflection”. ¹³ At first sight, this is not especially helpful, since it comes close to being circular. Hume seems to be saying that reason requires us to assume the general point of view because reason is that faculty that naturally causes us to assume the general point of view. We can escape this circle, however, if we see that by “reason” Hume here means the sort of prudential, practical deliberation that allows us to discern our long-term, considered goals in cases where these conflict with our momentary and ill-considered impulses. Reason requires the general point of view because its assumption is in the service of these long-term goals. The “distant view or reflection” of which Hume speaks is not just the perspective of some neutral observer. It is also the perspective of a self-interested actor giving due consideration to her interests over the long term. ¹⁴

The natural correspondence of disinterested judgements with those in our long-term interest gives Hume a convenient way of solving the problem, but the equation is far from obvious. It needs justification. The close link between self-interest and the general point of view is indicated by a phrase Hume repeatedly uses in discussing moral judgement: “society and conversation”. “The intercourse of sentiments … in society and conversation”, he says, “makes us form some general inalterable standard by which we may approve or disapprove of characters and manners”. ¹⁵ Similarly, and more expansively, he says, “When we form our judgments of persons merely from the tendency of their characters to our own benefit, or to that of our friends, we find so many contradictions to our sentiments in society and conversation, and such an uncertainty from the incessant changes of our situation, that we seek some other standard of merit and demerit, which may not admit of so great variation”. ¹⁶ This explains how the general point of view could be both natural and indeed inevitable to self-interested actors such as ourselves. It is part of the process by which we make our way in the world, by trying to resolve the apparent contradictions between our sentiments and those of others, the same way we correct our perceptions of the physical world. “Experience soon teaches us this method of correcting our sentiments”, he says, “or at least of correcting our language, where the sentiments are more stubborn and inalterable … Such corrections are common with regard to all the senses; and indeed it were impossible we could ever make use of language, or communicate our sentiments to one another, did we not correct the momentary appearances of things, and overlook our present situation”. ¹⁷

Because our moral sentiments are natural and inevitable, moral language is bound to be an integral part of any social vocabulary. Yet, because these sentiments are also subjective, they are potentially a barrier to communication and interaction. By correcting them by means of the general point of view, the latter serves as an essential technique by which we integrate ourselves, volatile and impartial creatures that we are, into the larger society in which we live. The obligation to take the general point of view, which reason imposes, is therefore neither mysterious nor Kantian. We are motivated to assume it for the same reason we adhere to the artificial virtues: because we want to reap the rewards of being part of society, as a means to achieving our own interests. We are not as strongly motivated to assume the general point of view as we are to adhere to the artificial virtues – we know that society itself is not at stake in such mundane moral questions. But the same explanatory account applies. ¹⁸

3. The parochial point of view

By connecting the general point of view with our prudential investment in society, Hume accomplishes his stated “anatomical” purpose in the Treatise: to explain the observed facts about human behaviour without recourse either to the supernatural or to “reason” defined as some sort of mysterious, autonomous faculty. Hume’s other writings, however, reveal a concern about the effectiveness of this basic tendency in guaranteeing the kind of true universality that morality seems to require. In the essay “Of the Standard of Taste”, he worries about the way in which apparent agreement over moral terms, the desire for which (as we have seen) motivates the assumption of the general point of view, may in fact conceal profound differences of opinion. It is noteworthy that in this essay he does not mention the general point of view, which is a subjective phenomenon, talking instead of a more objective entity, the moral (and aesthetic) standard. The problem is that the analogy asserted in the Treatise, between moral terms and those describing material features of the world, is imperfect. The latter tend to have fairly obvious objective referents. This is why in matters of science, Hume says, “an explanation of terms commonly ends the controversy”. ¹⁹ But the referents for moral language are more elusive. A term such as “good” in itself indicates no more than “whatever is to be praised,” and so an apparent consensus – around the fact that good things are worthy of praise – often conceals deep disagreement about the actual referents for such terms. Thus, Hume tells us, when we probe the meaning of moral language, “the difference among men is really greater than at first sight appears”. ²⁰ He uses the example of the Koran, where we find the Arabic equivalents of such terms as equity, justice and charity, which we all seem to understand. However, these words are actually given entirely different meanings and “every action is blamed or praised, so far only as it is beneficial to the believers”. ²¹

Disagreement over the meaning of such terms could of course merely be the result of an individual somehow failing to make the right sort of moral judgement – that is, of failing to use terms in a way that corresponds to our common experience. Early in the Treatise, Hume takes note of our tendency towards prejudice, which is a rule of inference “derived from general rules, which we rashly form to ourselves”. Though he intends the point to be taken more broadly, to encompass all sorts of judgements, his examples of prejudice are drawn specifically from the moral realm. “An Irishman cannot have wit”, he says, giving examples of common prejudices, “and a Frenchman cannot have solidity; for which reason, though the conversation of the former in any instance be visibly very agreeable, and of the latter very judicious, we have entertained such a prejudice against them that they must be dunces or fops in spite of sense and reason. Human nature is very subject to errors of this kind”. ²² In the “Standard of Taste” essay, he notes how fragile our faculty of judgement is. “Those finer emotions of the mind are of a very tender and delicate nature”, he says, “and require the concurrence of many favourable circumstances to make them play with facility and exactness, according to their general and established principles. The least exterior hindrance to such small springs, or the least internal disorder, disturbs their motion, and confounds the operation of the whole machine”. ²³ In this essay, Hume tells us that we can improve our aesthetic judgements through practice. “But though there be naturally a wide difference in point of delicacy between one person and another”, he says,

nothing tends further to encrease and improve this talent, than practice in a particular art, and the frequent survey or contemplation of a particular species of beauty. When objects of any kind are first presented to the eye or imagination, the sentiment, which attends them, is obscure and confused; and the mind is, in a great measure, incapable of pronouncing concerning their merits or defects … But allow him to acquire experience in those objects, his feeling becomes more exact and nice: He not only perceives the beauties and defects of each part, but marks the distinguishing species of each quality, and assigns it suitable praise or blame. ²⁴

On its own, however, this process, of correcting our judgements through our interactions with others, is not sufficient to dispel the concern raised by Hume’s example of the Koran. I take it from the context that he is worried not just about how the book itself distorts moral language, but about the way it has created a closed community of believers who all speak this same distorted language and whose judgements are, as a result, systematically biased. Specifically in this case, and Hume presumably chose it because he saw it as an extreme case of a more general problem, they differentiate between in-group members and out-group members. There is no individual failing here – an individual Muslim would, in following the Koran, be using the terms in just the way the faith prescribes. And long-term prudential reasoning will not lead her to challenge the in-group/out-group dichotomy. The social world of the faithful is large enough to offer Muslims the rewards for which society evolves in the first place: security, companionship, the gains from cooperative enterprise, et cetera. And membership in that society depends in fact on them orienting their judgements around the in-group/out-group distinction. If they fail to do so, they risk incurring the costs of social exclusion. Increased sociability would thus intensify rather than dispel our commitment to these distorted meanings. Far from being a failure of moral judgement, such parochialism thus seems a natural consequence of the general point of view as laid out in the Treatise, and perfectly consonant with its prudential motivation.

Let us call this sort of systematically-biased moral judgement the parochial point of view: a cool, disinterested perspective we are motivated to take by our desire to be part of society but which, due to the prejudices built into that society’s moral language, causes us to fail to give equal consideration to all human beings. In the Treatise, Hume seems little concerned about parochialism, as he is generally concerned about the sources of moral disagreement. He says, “There is such an uniformity in the general sentiments of mankind, as to render such questions [as that of a right or a wrong taste in morals, eloquence, or beauty] of but small importance”. ²⁵ I think that it is possible to see Hume’s turn in his later works towards history and sociology as motivated at least in part by his desire to examine further the process by which we make (or fail to make) more general, and less parochial, moral judgements. Such biographical speculation is impossible to prove or disprove. However, to look at the matter in purely philosophical terms, I believe that a Humean analysis of moral judgement, based on a prudential account of individual motivation, provides an attractive explanation of the way in which we make moral judgements, but that it cannot explain when and how we do or do not fall victim to the parochial point of view. If we are to determine who will escape the parochial point of view and make more general, impartial moral judgments, and under what circumstances, we have to look not just to the basic mechanisms of human nature or to the logic of self-interest, but also to the empirical facts about an individual’s experience and the broader context of the society in which she lives.

4. Universality in morals

We might think that the “problem” of how to provide a foundation for universal moral judgements is not a problem for Hume at all – it is merely a consequence of his philosophy. On this reading, if we agree that morality is based on our socially conditioned endorsement of certain behaviours from the general point of view, there can be no such foundation. Many people interpret Hume as an emotivist when it comes to morality and if he is so interpreted, one might think that the prospect of widespread and irresolvable disagreement must simply be accepted as one of the entailments of his brand of emotivism. Depending on one’s own philosophical preferences, we might then see the parochial point of view as proof of Hume’s genius, since he exposes the relativity of all values to the society in which we live; or alternately, we could see it as a kind of reductio of his entire moral project, to base virtue on sentiment, a reductio that clearly demonstrates why this project is misguided. I do not wish to discuss the merits and demerits of emotivism here. ²⁶ Instead, I want to show that Hume did not himself welcome the prospect of permanent moral disagreement or difference, and that he wanted to determine how such disagreement could be resolved.

In passages to which scholars often appeal in arguing that Hume was a moral non-cognitivist, he compares moral judgements to our judgements of “taste”. In the Treatise, he says:

Vice and virtue … may be compar’d to sounds, colours, heat and cold, which according to modern philosophy, are not qualities in objects, but perceptions in the mind … To have the sense of virtue, is nothing but to feel a satisfaction of a particular kind from the contemplation of a character. The very feeling constitutes our praise or admiration. We do not infer a character to be virtuous, because it pleases: But in feeling that it leases after such a particular manner, we in effect feel that it is virtuous. The case is the same as in our judgments concerning all kinds of beauty, and tastes, and sensations. ²⁷

The principles of morality are (ideally) universal, or at least completely general, in two senses: they are the same for all moral agents, and they are oriented towards all human beings. It is revealing that in the Enquiry, Hume gives new prominence to a term that is given less emphasis in the Treatise: “humanity”. In this later work, he equates “humanity” with “general benevolence” and indeed with sympathy itself. Properly functioning, our sympathetic judgements are directed towards human beings per se and are thus general in their orientation. Parochial judgements simply do not deliver what we want from morality. As Hume says, the very “notion of morals” implies a sentiment “so universal and comprehensive as to extend to all mankind”. ³⁴ We cannot rest content within the parochial point of view, then, because it violates our basic understanding of what morality is and the purpose it serves.

When we see the mechanism by which parochial judgements are produced, we can better understand one of the key concepts in Hume’s political writings: the notion of faction. The process by which factions are formed is a complex one, and Hume identifies numerous factors that play a role. Factions may be the result of legitimate (if self-interested) interests different groups have. ³⁵ They may also be the result of affection people have for a particular leader. ³⁶ Relevant to our purposes, however, are factions or parties based on principle. Hume does not dismiss out of hand the commitments people have to certain abstract principles that are the foundations of factional division. He concedes, for instance, that liberty and authority are legitimate, competing constitutional principles. But he deplores the way in which an excessive commitment to a single principle can breed rebellion and disorder, particularly, as with religious principles, when the principle in question is entirely speculative and thus immune to refutation or debate.

Factions of principle are clear cases of parochial thinking at work. However, Hume’s analysis shows them to be not just an illustration of the basic problem, but also indicative of a solution. Intriguingly, he says that the problem with factions of principle comes not from the parochial nature of the principles per se but rather from the desire we have to see them recognised universally. Hume says that the mind naturally seeks “an unanimity of sentiments” and is “shocked and disturbed by any contrariety”. He calls this desire for unanimity “the origin of all religious wars and divisions”. ³⁷ Hume’s analysis of factions of principle confirms an insight from his essay “Of the Standard of Taste”: that “it is natural for us to seek … a rule, by which the various sentiments of men may be reconciled”. ³⁸

Hume concedes that, due not only to “the different humours of particular men” but also “the particular manners and opinions of our age and country”, there will be cases where “a certain degree of diversity in judgment is unavoidable, and we seek in vain for a standard”. ³⁹ A realm of irresolvable diversity should not, however, lead us to a broader scepticism about universal moral standards. We should pause here to examine the “Dialogue” that Hume appended to his Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals. The Dialogue provides an extended meditation on the question of moral relativism, cast as a discussion between the narrator and a friend of his, Palamedes, whom he describes as “as great a rambler in his principles as in his person”. ⁴⁰ Palamedes amuses the narrator with tales of supposed distant lands where the moral codes are radically different from those of Britain. In fact, as Palamedes later admits, the tales are of the Greeks and Romans, who seemed to combine great learning and sophistication with a free acceptance of numerous behaviours Hume’s contemporaries would consider vicious. Palamedes argues that his examples are sufficient to establish “the uncertainty of all these judgments concerning characters; and to convince you, that fashion, vogue, custom, and law, were the chief foundation of all moral determinations”. ⁴¹

The narrator, however, resists this conclusion. He insists we have only to trace matters “a little higher, and [examine] the first principles, which each nation establishes, of blame or censure”. The ultimate first principle is utility: the ability of a particular behaviour or trait of character to bring pain or pleasure to our fellow human beings. As Hume tells us earlier in the Enquiry: “there never was any quality recommended by any one, as a virtue or moral excellence, but on account of its being useful, or agreeable to a man himself, or to others”. ⁴² Because different contexts create different needs, there will be situations where utility differs from society to society sufficiently to affect the nature of our moral judgements. Hume tells us that “sometimes … the peculiar circumstances of things render one moral quality more useful than others”. ⁴³ He uses the example of martial, violent traits of character, which can disrupt a society at peace while being the salvation to one at war. Reflecting on what Hume thinks are the qualities that makes a trait of character virtuous or vicious – usefulness and agreeableness – he says that we cannot always maximise both simultaneously and so must decide to which we should give priority. Here, local customs may “produce a superior propensity” in favour of one of these over the other. For instance, he says, examining differences in how societies regulate commerce between the sexes, “we must sacrifice somewhat of the useful, if we be very anxious to obtain all the agreeable qualities; and cannot pretend to reach alike every kind of advantage”. ⁴⁴

We may thus delineate what we might call a realm of legitimate difference, where usefulness and agreeableness cannot both be maximised and where we are thus free to allow local custom to operate on the decision. The cases of irresolvable diversity that result will not be “sufficient … to confound all the boundaries of beauty and deformity” or of good and evil and thus need not threaten the universality of morality itself. ⁴⁵ Such cases do, however, raise an epistemological problem, of how we identify the exact scope of such legitimate disagreement and how we distinguish such cases from those that result from the pernicious influence of the parochial point of view. Let us pause a moment and review the challenge Hume has (if my reading of him is correct) created for himself. As moral actors, we desire that our moral sentiments accord not just with the perspective of a neutral observer but with those of neutral observers outside of our own community. Because moral judgements are based on qualities of objects or actions “fitted by nature” to produce pleasure or pain in the people we observe, this desire can in principle be fulfilled: there is a large and important class of moral judgements on which all neutral observers could in fact agree. We thus need to know both which are those cases where consensus can in principle be achieved and how this can be done. ⁴⁶

5. Beyond the parochial point of view (the way out)

Though the task may appear daunting, Hume is optimistic about our prospects. As we have seen, he tells us rather blithely that “erroneous conclusions can be corrected by sounder reasoning and larger experience”. ⁴⁷ The key, I think, is this notion of “larger experience”. We have already seen that Hume thinks we can improve our moral judgements through “practice”. But as we also saw, such practice can actually re-enforce the parochial point of view. We are seeking what Hume calls “extensive sympathy”. ⁴⁸ In order to escape the parochial point of view, we need “larger” experience. As I interpret this, Hume thinks we need practice in testing our moral judgements in comparison to those of people whose social world is different from our own. We therefore need to come into contact with people outside of our own narrow circle, ideally outside of our home nation, so that we can subject our moral judgements to on-going scrutiny and correction.

One way to do this is to read and to engage intellectually with different world views. Hume says that poetry and history [extend] our experience to all past ages and to the most distant nations, making them contribute as much to our improvement in wisdom as if they had actually lain under our observation”. ⁴⁹ Another obvious way is to travel more and thus to broaden our range of social contacts.

I am using the term “cosmopolitanism” to describe the broad-mindedness that brings us closest to a truly general point of view. Humean cosmopolitanism, however, is of a particular kind, quite different from that of Kant. It does not stem from an abstract conviction that all human beings form a single moral community. Rather, it is the product of the specific experiences we have, actually meeting and talking to people from cultures different from our own. I call this “engaged cosmopolitanism”. Engaged cosmopolitanism depends on a certain sort of political and institutional environment to make these sorts of experiences possible. So if sociability is the means by which we can correct individual prejudices, engaged cosmopolitanism is a particular kind of sociability. And it is the product of a particular sort of society.

Hume says at many points in his writing that some societies are more highly developed in their morality than others. I believe that this notion of engaged cosmopolitanism gives us a way to make sense of these passages. Two of the most frequently used concepts in his writing are those of “babarism” and “civilisation”, which are meant to mark such judgements. ⁵⁰ Hume told Horace Walpole: “I beg you … to consider the great difference in point of morals between uncultivated and civilized ages”. ⁵¹ He says in the History that “the vices of perfidy and cruelty” are “common among uncultivated nations”, and warns that “a civilized nation … ought to be cautious in appealing to the practice of their ancestors, or regarding the maxims of uncultivated ages as certain rules for their present conduct”. ⁵² In his essay “Of Refinement in the Arts”, he gives the example of the “refined GREEKS and ROMANS”, who “justly … presumed” that the inhabitants of the “uncivilized ages” that preceded them, like those of the “barbarous nations” that surrounded them, were “as much inferior to their posterity [i.e. the Greeks and Romans themselves] in honour and humanity, as in taste and science”. ⁵³ Hume uses “refinement” as a synonym for civilisation, and says outright that “the ages of refinement are both the happiest and most virtuous”. ⁵⁴

People in civilised ages are “better men” than those in barbarous ones because they are more “refined”, and this means they are superior not just “in taste and science” but also in “honour and humanity”. People of superior humanity are those who are most often moved by general benevolence. They feel the grip of self-interest more weakly, their sympathies are more liable to extend beyond their narrow social circles, and they suffer from fewer destructive prejudices. Such humanity is the product of a more open, sociable society. Hume gives us a memorable picture of the way in which “the refined arts” of taste and science create a society where people, rather than living in the “distant manner” of barbarous nations instead leave their homes and “flock into cities”, where they can encounter people outside their own narrow circle – a situation that inevitably brings greater humanity in its wake:

The more [the] refined arts advance, the more sociable men become: nor is it possible, that, when enriched with science, and possessed of a fund of conversation, they should be contented to remain in solitude, or live with their fellow-citizens in that distant manner, which is peculiar to ignorant and barbarous nations. They flock into cities; love to receive and communicate knowledge; to show their wit or their breeding; their taste in conversation or living, in clothes or furniture. Curiosity allures the wise; vanity the foolish; and pleasure both. Particular clubs and societies are everywhere formed: Both sexes meet in an easy and sociable manner; and the tempers of men, as well as their behaviour, refine apace. So that, beside the improvements which they receive from knowledge and the liberal arts, it is impossible but they must feel an encrease of humanity, from the very habit of conversing together, and contributing to each other’s pleasure and entertainment. Thus industry, knowledge, and humanity, are linked together by an indissoluble chain, and are found, from experience as well as reason, to be peculiar to the more polished, and, what are commonly denominated, the more luxurious ages. ⁵⁵

“Industry” is a key term for Hume. He thinks that it provides a crucial link between a society’s material and moral development. In the Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion, his mouthpiece Philo offers an impassioned – indeed utopian – tribute to the virtues of this trait of character:

In order to cure most of the ills of human life … I am contented to take an increase in one single power or faculty of his soul. Let him be endowed with a greater propensity to industry and labour; a more vigorous spring and activity of mind; a more constant bent to business and application. Let the whole species possess naturally an equal diligence with that which many individuals are able to attain by habit and reflection; and the most beneficial consequences, without any alloy of ill, is the immediate and necessary result of this endowment. Almost all the moral, as well as natural evils of human life, arise from idleness … ⁵⁹

This process promotes people’s sense of humanity and benevolence in several ways. First of all, it brings them into contact with one another. Hume did not live in a society where people could produce, buy and sell in solitude. Instead, as the dual meaning of “commerce” during this era indicates, to trade meant to interact. It entails sociability. This idea, that commerce improves people by increasing their contacts with one another, has been labelled by Albert O. Hirschman the “doux commerce” thesis. ⁶¹ Hirchsman quotes Samuel Ricard, who said in 1704: “Commerce has a special character which distinguishes it from all other professions. It affects the feelings of men so strongly that it makes him who was proud and haughty suddenly turn supple, bending and serviceable. Through commerce, man learns to deliberate, to be honest, to acquire manners, to be prudent and reserved in both talk and action”. ⁶² Given that, as we have seen, Hume thinks that people necessarily “feel an encrease of humanity, from the very habit of conversing together”, he can only agree that commerce must have such effects.

Second, commerce promotes what Hume calls “the refined arts”, in other words scholarly, artistic and cultural endeavours:

The same age, which produces great philosophers and politicians, renowned generals and poets, usually abounds with skilful weavers, and ship-carpenters. We cannot reasonably expect, that a piece of woollen cloth will be wrought to perfection in a nation, which is ignorant of astronomy, or where ethics are neglected. The spirit of the age affects all the arts; and the minds of men, being once roused from their lethargy, and put into fermentation, turn themselves on all sides, and carry improvements into every art and science. ⁶³

6. The role of government

Government has a crucial role to play in this process of symbiotic development between industry and civilization. Hume makes frequent references to “civilised government”, by which he means something specific. For Hume, civilised government is defined by its ability to implement a system of “general laws” – that is, ones that treat similar cases consistently, treat all citizens the same, restrict the discretionary powers of themselves and their magistrates and subject these magistrates themselves to the laws. ⁶⁶ This is what he means when he says that “the best civil constitution” is one “where every man is restrained by the most rigid laws”. ⁶⁷ Hume is concerned not just with the rulers themselves but with what he calls the “inferior magistrates”, who may exercise discretionary power at the local level. “Rigid” laws, which he elsewhere calls “inflexible”, leave no room for rulers or judges to be biased or unpredictable. A government ruled by “general and inflexible laws”, he says, “is obliged … to maintain a watchful jealousy over the magistrates [and] to remove all discretionary powers”. “Among all civilized nations”, he says in the second Enquiry, “it has been the constant endeavour to remove every thing arbitrary and partial from the decision of property, and to fix the sentence of judges by such general views and considerations, as may be equal to every member of the society”. ⁶⁸

Hume thinks the presence or absence of general laws in a particular society will be closely tied to its form of government. ⁶⁹ Civilised government comes in two forms: republics and civilised monarchies. He defines a republican government as one “where the authority is distributed among several assemblies or senates”. In such a government, there exist “checks and controuls” that create a “balance or counterpoise” between different branches of state power. ⁷⁰ One of these branches may be a monarch, so long as his or her power is limited by the other branches. ⁷¹ A republican government is invariably a civilised one because Hume thinks the “checks and controuls” placed on the central authority will, over time, necessarily be extended to the lesser magistrates as well. “It may happen”, he says, “that a republic, in its infant state, may be supported by as few laws as a barbarous monarchy, and may entrust as unlimited an authority to its magistrates or judges. But … it is impossible, but, in time, the necessity of restraining the magistrates, in order to preserve liberty, must at last appear, and give rise to general laws and statutes”. ⁷² If a republic does not restrain its magistrates, it loses its liberty and thereby ceases to be a republic. The term “civilised republic”, which Hume never uses, would effectively be a redundancy for him, at least if we exclude those republics that are doomed and fleeting. “Though a republic should be barbarous”, he says, “it necessarily, by an infallible operation, gives rise to LAW … A republic without laws can never have any duration”. ⁷³

Hume thinks that it is possible to have an absolute monarchy that is also civilised – though he admits such governments are rare and generally limited to the modern era. What makes a monarchy civilised is nothing about the power of the prince himself, which may be entirely unrestrained. Rather, it is the limitations placed on the inferior magistrates:

In a civilized monarchy, the prince alone is unrestrained in the exercise of his authority, and possesses alone a power, which is not bounded by any thing but custom, example, and the sense of his own interest. Every minister or magistrate, however eminent, must submit to the general laws, which govern the whole society, and must exert the authority delegated to him after the manner, which is prescribed. ⁷⁴

6. Conclusion

Hume’s writings, taken as a whole, address a dazzlingly broad range of topics. I have tried to show that they do so as part of a coherent and interesting philosophical programme. I have argued that while Hume’s doctrine of the general point of view provides an attractive way of understanding the process of moral judgement, the threat of parochialism looms as an inescapable one if the doctrine is psychologically accurate. My examination of what I called the engaged cosmopolitanism found in his later works allows us to see that Hume provides himself with the resources to explain how we can, under certain circumstances, escape such parochialism. His explanation appeals not just to individual moral choices but also to the crucial role of society and its institutions. By viewing Hume’s theory as a whole, we can better understand both his originality and his importance to the development of modern thought.

Hume’s theory is, as I have said, a direct challenge not just to those Christian and republican writers who deplored the effects of luxury on people’s moral character, but also to Mandeville who insists that morality must be abandoned if we are to have prosperity. Like Mandeville, Hume rejects the suspicion of commerce and “luxury” that was prevalent during his time, insisting that people should be allowed to pursue their self-interested, avaricious desires for material goods. But the ultimate result will be not a society marked by ruthlessness and mendacity but rather one marked by sociability and benevolence. ⁸⁰ He thus provides supporters of commercial society with a justification that does not require us to abandon or radically revise our conception of morality. On the contrary, he makes commerce a precondition to a society’s moral development. And he further, as we have seen, links this development to a certain type of legal system, thus giving such a system a moral basis. I believe that his justification of commerce and the rule of law is innovative and important.

Cosmopolitanism has become a central topic of discussion for political philosophers. ⁸¹ In these discussions Kant’s influence is pervasive. Following Kant, cosmopolitan philosophers have sought to provide arguments for why a sense of moral obligation towards all human beings is rationally compelling and to show what this implies for questions of international relations and the global distribution of resources. While I do not want to suggest that such attempts are misguided – I believe that on the contrary they are valuable – I think that Hume provides us with another perspective on the issue of cosmopolitanism: one focused specifically on the question of motivation. He reminds us first of all that for such a sense of universal obligation to truly take hold, it must be rooted in our experiences learning about and encountering people different from ourselves. And secondly, he shows that institutions have a crucial role to play in creating an environment where such engaged cosmopolitanism can thrive. Whether he was justified in his confidence that an open, commercial society is invariably attended with greater levels of moral development remains a matter for dispute.