I. Hume on Happiness: An Overview

An understanding of Hume's conception of happiness is indispensable for a proper appreciation of his proofs that everyone's “true interest” lies in the practice of virtue. Although he never provided in his own name a single, rigorous, and comprehensive discussion of the nature of happiness, it is possible to reconstruct one in sufficient detail.

In simplest terms, Hume is a hedonist.Footnote ⁶ The human good is pleasure, and the things that are good for human beings are constituted as such by the fact that they are sources of or means to pleasure. Perhaps the most obvious evidence for this claim is the fact that, in the Treatise, Hume uses “pleasure and pain” as synonyms for “good and evil.”Footnote ⁷

Further evidence of Hume's hedonism can be found in his various discussions of what it takes for some object or activity to “constitute” part of our happiness—that is, how some object or activity becomes not merely a means to happiness but a substantive part of the happiness that we seek. In these discussions, he makes it clear that for something to “constitute” happiness means for it to cause pleasure. Hence, fame, power, and vengeance can all be objects of the passion of self-love because the human affections are such that we are capable of taking pleasure in them, and the fact that we are capable of taking pleasure in them “constitutes [them] our good or happiness” (see EPM App. 2.12; SBN 301). Similarly, the practice of virtue can become a part of our personal happiness because we possess an “internal sense or feeling” “which pronounces characters and actions amiable or odious, praise-worthy or blameable”; since the feeling of approbation is pleasant and the feeling of disapprobation is painful, our moral sense “constitutes virtue our happiness and vice our misery” (EPM 1.9; SBN 172–73; see also EPM App. 1.21; SBN 294).Footnote ⁸ In sum, an object or activity can “constitute” a part of our happiness insofar as it is a source of pleasure.

The strongest evidence for Hume's hedonism comes from his most explicit discussion of the nature of value, which he presents in his essay “The Sceptic” (162–66).Footnote ⁹ There, Hume asserts that no object possesses intrinsic value, and that all valuable objects derive their worth from the fact that they are capable of causing pleasure in a human being. As he says (in the mouth of the Sceptic), “If we can depend upon any principle, which we learn from philosophy, this, I think, may be considered as certain and undoubted, that there is nothing, in itself, valuable or despicable, desirable or hateful, beautiful or deformed; but that these attributes arise from the particular constitution and fabric of human sentiment and affection” (“Sceptic,” 162); rather, “beauty and worth are merely of a relative nature, and consist in an agreeable sentiment, produced by an object in a particular mind, according to the peculiar constitution of that mind” (“Sceptic,” 163; italics mine).Footnote ¹⁰ Thus, value of all kinds is relative to human nature. To be more precise, value is relative to human nature generally, and to the idiosyncratic and specific variations of individual temperament in particular.Footnote ¹¹ If an object or a pursuit is fit to please you, given your nature and temperament, then it possesses value or “worth.” Thus, Hume believes not only that every good thing is a (direct or indirect) source of pleasure, but also good things are accounted good because they are (direct or indirect) sources of pleasure. The good is founded on the pleasant.

In short, Hume is a hedonist. He is not, however, a hedonist in any crude sense of the term. He makes it clear that pursuing one's “true interest” does not consist merely in doing whatever feels good at any given time. This is evident, for example, from his claim that “the sole trouble, which [virtue] demands, is that of just calculation, and a steady preference of the greater happiness” (EPM 9.15; SBN 279). Virtue does demand some “trouble”—both of thinking and of self-control—but it does so because happiness itself requires some trouble. The most intelligent pursuit of happiness will require “just calculation” about the happiness available to us through the various courses of action open to us, and it will require a “steady preference of the greater happiness,” once that is determined—which means, in practice, being able to put up with the deprivations necessary and forgo the temptations opposed to that greater happiness.

Thus, it is in our “true interest” to pursue our “greater happiness,” and our “greater happiness” is constituted by the course of action or way of life that yields the greatest pleasure (and least pain) available to us over time.Footnote ¹² Further, given the fact noted above, that Hume claims that virtue wishes us to be happy, if possible, all the time, it should be understood that Hume does not believe that the life of virtue requires constant self-denial and delayed gratification; rather, our “greater happiness” must contain satisfactions along the way, even as it looks to securing more happiness in the future.

We are now equipped to turn to that defense of justice in the Enquiry.

II. The Argument for Justice and Virtue in the Enquiry

According to Hume, for a character trait to be accounted a virtue, it must be a quality that is either pleasant or useful either to its possessor or to others.Footnote ¹³ Justice, according to Hume, is the virtue (or habit) of refraining from the possessions of others.Footnote ¹⁴ Thus, justice properly belongs within the class of virtues useful to others. Further, in the parlance of the Treatise, justice is an “artificial” rather than a “natural” virtue.Footnote ¹⁵ There is no natural motive in human beings to refrain impartially from the possessions of every other human being; nor is there any natural right to property. Rather, the virtue of justice originates in a reciprocal agreement (a convention or “artifice”), rooted in the self-interest of the agreeing parties.Footnote ¹⁶ Feeling the danger and insecurity of life under conditions of mutual depredation, people (or families) gradually come to agree, for the sake of peace, security, and prosperity, to refrain from taking others' external goods. The habit of respecting each other's possessions is, we can see, originally dictated by self-interested prudence. As this habit becomes engrained in society and expectations form around it, the natural tendencies of human psychology gradually lead people to consider this habit a virtue, praiseworthy in its own right, and morally obligatory.Footnote ¹⁷ This natural psychological tendency is further reinforced “by the artifice of politicians, who, in order to govern men more easily, and preserve peace in human society, have endeavour'd to produce an esteem for justice, and an abhorrence of injustice” (T 3.2.2.25; SBN 500). In addition to the “publick praise and blame” originating in the politicians, parents further reinforce the esteem for justice in their children. Seeing that “a man is the more useful, both to himself and others, the greater degree of probity and honour he is endow'd with,” they “inculcate on their children, from their earliest infancy, the principles of probity, and teach them to regard the observance of those rules, by which society is maintain'd, as worthy and honourable, and their violation as base and infamous” (3.2.2.26; SBN 500–1). Once honor has been attached to justice and dishonor to injustice through the mechanisms of psychology, the artifice of politicians, and the solicitude of parents, an “interest of our reputation” causes us to “fix an inviolable law to [ourselves], never, by any temptation, to be induc'd to violate those principles, which are essential to a man of probity and honour” (T 3.2.2.27; SBN 501). Thus are the principles of justice internalized, and what originates as a prudential calculation regarding the most secure means to our personal interest becomes an “inviolable law” to which our self-interest must submit.Footnote ¹⁸ Finally, as mentioned in the introduction, Hume argues that government is invented to provide greater force to the laws of justice by trying and punishing those who break them (T 3.2.7; SBN 534–39).

Despite its moral luster, however, it is easy to see why someone might doubt that being just is always necessary for personal well-being. It is undoubtedly true that it is personally beneficial to be treated justly by others and, more generally, to be a member of a society where treating each other justly is expected and enforced by sanctions; but is it always personally beneficial to treat others justly? Justice is, after all, originally only a means to the end of personal material security and prosperity. In those cases where injustice might be an even better means to the same end, why should one still refrain from injustice? As Hume puts it,

The challenge of this “sensible knave”—the person resolved to take advantage of opportunities for undetected injustice and who has the skill to pursue this policy successfully—is the greatest challenge to Hume's argument that happiness is best secured by complete virtue. Given the imperfection of human justice, why be just when we can avoid it?

Hume's response to the sensible knave comes in three parts, the first two of which (EPM 9.23–24; SBN 283) are as follows. First, he denies that most human beings could be happy living the knave's life.

In other words, most human beings would find it psychologically intolerable to live the knave's duplicitous life. One could call this the psychological response. It may be factually true, but it does nothing to decide the issue. What holds for most human beings does not necessarily hold for all human beings; yet Hume has made a universal claim (namely, that the practice of virtue is in everyone's “true interest”). Hence, Hume must find a way to prove that even those who do not find a life of knavery psychologically intolerable would nonetheless still be happier if they developed a virtuous disposition.Footnote ¹⁹

Hume next responds to the knave's challenge by observing that, in the long run, the “honest man” is usually better off than the knave because knaves almost inevitably end up overreaching, making mistakes, and being found out and punished (EPM 9.24; SBN 283). One could call this the pragmatic response. Although it no doubt holds for a great number of criminals, this argument is not decisive either. Certainly, a life of successful knavery calls for rare talent (and some luck), but that proves only that fearful, lazy, or mediocre people are better off to aim low in the pursuit of happiness and follow the safe road of law-abidingness. But Hume is not attempting to prove that justice is in the interest of fearful, lazy, and mediocre people. Such an argument fails to prove that the virtue of justice deserves genuine respect, much less that extraordinarily talented and daring people ought to be just. But aren't they the real test case, the experimentum crucis?Footnote ²⁰

Hence, Hume still has to prove his contention that being just is always in our own best interest. He implicitly admits this fact because he addresses his third response explicitly to the case of a perfectly secret and successful knave—namely, the knave who is untroubled by conscience and who successfully escapes all detection and, hence, all punishments, and who, thus, is not subject to the previous two responses. At first glance, however, Hume's argument seems little more than a repetition of the psychological response.Footnote ²¹ Let me quote the response at length, since we will subsequently see that this impression is incorrect.

For reasons that will emerge later, I call this response the Epicurean response.Footnote ²²

Hume seems here to be saying merely that if you are an honest person, you will consider a good conscience so valuable that no mere material gains could make up for the loss of happiness that would follow from awareness of one's own injustice—and that the pleasures that accompany honesty are easier to come by anyway. If that is all he is saying, however, then he has again begged the question. What he says may be true—psychologically and affectively—for the inveterately honest person, but our question is whether the inveterately honest person really is happier than a vicious person—not whether an honest person would be less happy if he started to practice secret injustice. Since the passage quoted above concludes the main body of the Enquiry, we are left with the impression both that Hume has no more to say on the matter and that he apparently thinks he has succeeded. Surely there must be more to his response than meets the eye.

Scholars have divided over the nature and value of Hume's responses. Marcia Baron and David Gauthier, for example, argue that Hume knows but hides the fact that the knave has the better argument—that there is no good reason to be just when material self-interest dictates otherwise.Footnote ²³ Although every individual has an interest in maintaining the conventions of justice, it is not the case that every act of injustice serves to undermine those conventions. Thus, in those circumstances where an act of injustice (say, theft) can bring personal profit without undermining the conventions (a common situation in any large, complex society), we have no self-interested reason to adhere to justice. Since justice has its origin in enlightened self-interest, it follows that where that motive is lacking, we have no legitimate motive to be just.Footnote ²⁴ Hence, Hume's response to the knave is salutary but obfuscatory rhetoric.

The specific arguments of Baron and Gauthier have been challenged by Annette Baier and, especially, Jason Baldwin, both of whom argue that Baron's and Gauthier's accounts rely upon an overly narrow conception of self-interest (namely, material self-interest), and that they unnecessarily assume that there is only a single motive (namely, enlightened material self-interest) that is qualified to generate acts of justice in society. Baier and Baldwin contend, however, that Hume implies that there are several evolving facets of self-interest that serve to support the convention of justice. Baier claims that Hume shows the development of interests not only in personal security of property, but also for public goods such as a climate of law and order, and for immaterial personal goods such as a good reputation.Footnote ²⁵ Baldwin provides a list that partially overlaps with Baier's, but he adds concern for moral self-approval and fear of punishment.Footnote ²⁶ In both arguments, there is more than one interest that motivates a person to act justly, and the various interests are not confined solely to material concerns.

Even if we suppose that Baier and Baldwin manage to refute Baron and Gauthier, they nonetheless only half-vindicate Hume. Baier, for example, claims that Hume proves that both knaves and nonknaves are “equally sensible.”Footnote ²⁷ Since happiness and hence self-interest are relative to the psychological constitution of the person, it follows that it is sensible for a person with a conscience to act according to it, and it is sensible for a person without a conscience not to, when success is likely. Full stop. There is no universal point of view from which one could declare the interest of the knave or that of the nonknave to be “human interest” (or the human good) as such—because, again, what causes happiness is relative to a person's affective constitution.Footnote ²⁸ The knave and the nonknave pursue happiness differently, but, provided both act prudently in pursuit of their given ends, neither of them is wrong.Footnote ²⁹

Baier's conclusion might be true; it might, in fact, be the very most that Hume can prove on his own premises; nevertheless, it is not what Hume claims to be proving. Rather, to repeat, Hume is claiming that his moral philosophy is sufficient to prove that “every man, who has any regard to his own happiness and welfare, will … best find his account in the practice of every moral duty” (EPM 9.14; SBN 278; my italics). Hume, in other words, at least presents himself as believing that one can give a universally true account of what the “true interest of each individual” is (EPM 9.16; SBN 280). So is Hume lying? Exaggerating? Or is there more to his argument than Baier (and, a fortiori, Baron and Gauthier) admits? There is indeed more to it, but to recognize this fact, one must look outside the Enquiry and, specifically, to Hume's essay “The Sceptic.” Only once one discerns the similarities between Hume's third response to the knave and the argument of “The Sceptic” can the full force of his argument become clear.Footnote ³⁰

Before turning to “The Sceptic,” however, it is necessary to review Hume's Epicurean response to the knave and highlight its particular details. Doing so will make it easier to see its continuity with the discussion of happiness in “The Sceptic,” and it will show that there is more to be gleaned from Hume's response than previous scholarship has shown. Although the Epicurean response shares some elements of the psychological response (as scholars have noted), it is not merely a repetition of the latter. Both responses emphasize the importance of moral self-esteem for happiness: the psychological response emphasizes that a life of knavery could not bring satisfaction to an “honest man” because his conscience would constantly be biting him over his knavish behavior; the Epicurean response apparently claims that the pleasure of moral self-esteem is the highest or best pleasure available to human beings.Footnote ³¹

Despite this common ground, however, the Epicurean response goes beyond the psychological one. Indeed, rather than comparing the psychology of a generic “knave” and a generic “honest man,” the Epicurean response supplies important details about the kinds of lives these two opposed types are supposed to live—and that means, the kinds of goods that “constitute” their respective forms of happiness. To recall, in the Epicurean response Hume compares the lives of the honest man and the sensible knave in terms of two criteria: the meeting of material necessity and pleasure. He asserts, first, that one can meet the necessities of life without need to resort to knavery, and, thus, from the perspective of necessity the knave has no advantage over the honest man. Then he lists a number of “unbought” pleasures available to the honest man and that afford greater satisfaction than the pleasures pursued by the knave—pleasures such as natural beauty, health, conversation, study, and moral self-esteem (EPM 9.25; SBN 283–84).

Thus, on the one hand, we get the knave, who is presented as using his knavery to amass material wealth and luxury goods (“worthless toys and gewgaws”) for purposes of ornamentation (or ostentation) and of engaging in unremitting sensual pleasures (“the feverish, empty amusements of luxury and expence”). Knavish injustice, after all, is aimed precisely at acquiring more material goods than one is legally entitled to have. Hume apparently assumes that the person who lives this way would do so in order subsequently to use the wealth to acquire luxury goods and greater sensual pleasures—rather than, say, simply to store up the wealth without using it. The pleasure is presented as predominantly sensual pleasure, presumably, because that is preeminently the kind of pleasure that money can buy. Hume's use of the term “feverish” would seem to suggest that the knave uses wealth to engage in immoderate sensual pleasure. Thus, the knave's goal in life is ostentation and sensual gratification, and the life of knavery is his means to getting as much gratification as possible as often as possible in lavish or luxurious surroundings.

By contrast, we get a sketch of the life of the honest man—or, rather, of the honest man who knows how to pursue pleasure in an enlightened manner or who knows how to live in a manner that will yield great satisfaction even if that satisfaction is not always his conscious goal.Footnote ³² In sketching the pleasures of the honest life, Hume first of all admits that the superiority of the honest man's life is not simply the product of honesty itself. That is to say, he does not argue that the possession of the virtue of justice is sufficient to render its possessor happy. Indeed, although this passage is the culmination of the argument that justice conduces more to happiness than injustice, nothing in the passage speaks specifically to the good brought to the honest man by his justice. Rather, to repeat, Hume sketches the pleasures of a virtuous life as a whole, part of which (it is assumed) consists of the practice of justice. Not only does the generality of the discussion show that Hume is not arguing that justice is sufficient for happiness, he does not assert even that virtue taken as a whole is sufficient for happiness. Rather, he begins the comparison between the knave and the honest man by remarking “how little is requisite to supply the necessities of nature” (EPM 9.25; SBN 283). At first glance, Hume is asserting here the general truth that, at least under civilized conditions, human beings rarely if ever need have recourse to injustice in order to meet their basic necessities, and, therefore, secret injustice as a matter of policy can rarely if ever be justified by material necessity under any circumstances where the convention of justice holds.Footnote ³³ However, another implication of Hume's statement is, of course, that happiness does depend on the possession of more than merely the virtues. In Aristotelian terms, virtue needs “equipment” in order to issue in happiness. That is hardly a novel observation, but it shows that happiness requires a proper mixture of moral and nonmoral goods. In the felicific economy of the honest man, however, as opposed to that of the knave, wealth is a means to moderate pleasures that require only moderate wealth (if any) to attain.

On the supposition that material necessities can be justly acquired, Hume moves to a consideration that is the true matter of dispute: namely, pleasure. Once necessities are met, the question of happiness resolves into the question of the greatest overall pleasure.Footnote ³⁴ Hume attributes the following pleasures to the honest man: “conversation, society, study, even health and the common beauties of nature, [and] above all the peaceful reflection on one's own conduct” (EPM 9.25; SBN 283–84). All of these pleasures, he notes, are “unbought”; that is to say, they do not require the expenditure (and therefore the acquisition) of money in order to enjoy. The practice of injustice does not increase their availability, nor does modesty of means inherently make them harder to come by. (Hume's account of the honest man's life obviously presupposes a certain amount of prudence and good luck to ensure that a person lives in circumstances that allow for this kind of flourishing.) They are “natural pleasures” that are “without price … because they are below all price in attainment.” They are also “without price” because they are “above it in their enjoyment” (ibid.). By the latter statement, Hume seems to mean that all of these pleasures are more enjoyable than any pleasures that money can buy—or at least that great wealth can buy. The honest man does need moderate wealth to secure his necessities and enjoyments.

In sum, then, Hume asserts that the highest human happiness is available to the honest man, and that knavery adds nothing to this happiness. Knavery, thus, is shown to be not only a waste of time and effort, but also as a wasting of oneself on lesser pleasures and as rendering oneself incapable of enjoying the greatest pleasure of all: “peaceful reflection on one's own conduct” (EPM 9.25; SBN 284)—or, in other words, the pleasure of moral self-esteem.

Even this amplified account of Hume's Epicurean response is subject to three objections. First, although Hume presents a general defense of the generally virtuous life (supplemented by moderate wealth and mental cultivation), we have already noted that Hume does not prove that the practice of justice makes a vital contribution to the pleasures of the virtuous life. Since justice is an artificial virtue whose natural basis is enlightened self-interest, it thus remains a question whether the practice of justice might be dispensable. Alternatively, one might ask whether the knave could be perfectly happy to be just toward a narrow circle of people on whom he depends and with whom he passes his time, while at the same time being ruthlessly calculating with everyone outside that narrow circle of concern. Need his happiness be spoiled by the knowledge that he has defrauded strangers? In other words, couldn't one argue that a sensible knave could enjoy a great deal of moral self-esteem without needing to be unfailingly just?

Second, and related, it is still not clear whether the Epicurean response escapes the objection to the psychological response—namely, that it presupposes rather than establishes the superior value of moral self-esteem. The Epicurean response not only refers to the pleasures of conscience but even emphasizes (“above all”) the central place pleasures of conscience occupy in the happiness of the honest man. The pleasures of good conscience (and, implicitly, the pains of bad conscience), thus, still appear to be the linchpin of Hume's argument, but we are no closer to understanding how or why. We may also ask whether the knave must have a bad conscience. After all, the psychological response suggests that a life of knavery is only truly open to people whose “heart[s] [do not] rebel … against such pernicious maxims” (EPM 9.23; SBN 283); but are these not precisely the people who will not suffer a bad conscience on account of their knavery? Alternatively, perhaps Hume is making the claim that the pleasures of conscience are so satisfying that anyone who enjoys them is necessarily happier than anyone who does not, so long as this “honest man” also enjoys modest material comfort along with companionship and a pleasing environment. If that is what Hume is saying, he will have to supply further proof, since the claim is not self-evident and, for many or most people, I doubt it is even plausible.

Finally, Hume appears to assume that the life the knave lives by virtue of his ill-gotten gains will be one of “feverish [and] empty amusements” (EPM 9.25; SBN 284); but is this a necessary assumption? Might not the knave live a life of taste, luxurious refinement, and cultivated leisure time? Might he not also make “just calculation” of his “greater happiness” and exercise a “steady preference” for that happiness through the practice of self-control? In fact, in order to be “secret and successful” would he not necessarily have to be uncommonly prudent and self-controlled? Need he be exhaustingly immoderate and dissipated? And which of the pleasures Hume attributes to the honest man are not available to the knave? He, too, can enjoy the pleasures of nature and health. He, too, one might think, could enjoy the pleasures of “conversation, society, [and] study.” Which of these pleasures is he incapacitated for? He certainly is no fool, nor need he be antisocial. Can he not be a good friend to those whom he chooses? What opportunity for these pleasures is not open to him? In fact, wouldn't his greater wealth enable him to enjoy those social and cultural pleasures more than the honest man can—or at least, more than any honest man of lesser means than himself? He could use his money to surround himself with high culture; he could acquire learning; he could meet and socialize with a variety of great minds and interesting people in a variety of places and environments. In short, is there any pleasure that Hume attributes to the honest man other than the pleasures of moral self-esteem that a sensible knave could not enjoy equally as well or even more so? For an answer to this question, we turn to “The Sceptic.”

III. The Response to the Knave in Light of “The Sceptic”

The general topic of “The Sceptic” is whether philosophy has anything effective to teach us about how to live in order to attain happiness. Hume's stance is, appropriately, skeptical about philosophy's unaided power to guide its practitioner to happiness. As he says, “mankind are almost entirely guided by constitution and temper”—that is, by taste and sentiment; and, since “the fabric and constitution of our mind no more depends on our choice, than that of our body,” it follows that philosophy's abstract reasonings and “general maxims” can have very little direct effect on our desires and behavior (“Sceptic,” 169, 168).Footnote ³⁵ Nonetheless, at the core of “The Sceptic” is a brief, adumbrated argument meant to prove that “the happiest disposition of the mind is the virtuous” one (“Sceptic,” 168). This account is a useful supplement to that found in the Enquiry both because it is more detailed and explicit, and because the defense of virtue in “The Sceptic” does not rely, as the response to the sensible knave seems to, on the dubitable claim that the pleasures of conscience are so great as to dwarf utterly all other available pleasures, such that the former are necessary for true happiness and no amount of other goods can make up for their lack. Thus, the argument in “The Sceptic” presents Hume's most adequate attempt to defend the superiority of the life of justice and virtue.

The fundamental basis of the argument of “The Sceptic” is the conception of happiness discussed above: namely, that since the value of any given object or pursuit is ultimately constituted by the pleasure it affords, and since, therefore, value is relative to human nature and individual temperament (since these determine what can be a source of pleasure), and since, finally, happiness on this conception consists in the sustained preponderance of pleasure over pain, it follows that the question of how to be happy turns into the question of what kind of temperament, what kinds of passions or desires, seeking what kinds of objects, are most likely to yield a sustained preponderance of pleasure over pain.Footnote ³⁶ As Hume says, “it is not from the value or worth of the object, which any person pursues, that we can determine his enjoyment [that is, his happiness], but merely from the passion with which he pursues it, and the success which he meets with in his pursuit. Objects have absolutely no worth or value in themselves” (“Sceptic,” 166). To be happy, we need to have the right kind of desires, and we need to be reliably successful in satisfying them.

In light of these criteria, Hume's general advice concerning happiness is that one ought to cultivate passions and dispositions (1) that are intrinsically pleasurable to experience, (2) that are of the sort that can be sustained over the course of a life, and (3) that are aimed at objects or activities that are within one's power to attain and therefore as little as possible subject to external fortune. A truly fortunate life will also rest on “strength of mind” so as to remain resilient in the face of inevitable disappointments (see “Sceptic,” 167–68).

The grounds for these criteria are evident. According to Hume, nearly every passion has an intrinsic hedonic component: desire, pride, love, and their subspecies are pleasant; aversion, humility, hatred, and their subspecies are painful (see book 2 of the Treatise). Since passions are unavoidable in life, it makes sense to say that a person who wishes to enjoy as much happiness as possible ought to cultivate a temperament in which the pleasant passions predominate. The second criterion counsels that we cultivate ruling passions that can be sustained over the course of a life—that is to say, passions that are enduringly pleasant to have and to satisfy. The purpose of “The Sceptic” is to give guidance regarding the pursuit of what, in the Enquiry, Hume calls our “greater happiness”—namely, enduring satisfaction, not merely momentary pleasures. If the goal is to attain a fixed disposition that reliably leads to satisfaction, if one wishes to pursue happiness in a steady and sure manner, then one would not want to be flitting about from occupation to occupation, object to object, as one becomes boring and a new one is needed. Rather, it makes sense to aim from the beginning at objects that can continue to “constitute” one's happiness over the course of life. The final criterion hardly needs comment. A steady pursuit of happiness will not set its sights on impossible, unlikely, insecure, or fleeting objects. As much as possible, satisfaction ought to be within one's power to attain—if one is going to bother cultivating maxims for living at all. We now turn to Hume's discussion of the kinds of passions and objects that best meet these criteria and, thus, constitute the greatest possible happiness at which a human being can deliberately aim.

In conformity with the first requirement (that one's prevailing passions be intrinsically pleasant), Hume argues in the first place that one's character ought to be predominated by moderate rather than violent or lethargic passions; the “perpetual hurry and tumult” of the former would (one presumes) bring more discontent than satisfaction, while the latter cause the mind to sink into a “disagreeable indolence”—that is, a painful or insipid lack of enjoyment (“Sceptic,” 167). Hume further asserts that happiness requires a temperament in which sociable and benign (rather than fierce, angry, or resentful) passions predominate. Hume simply asserts that “rancour and animosity, envy and revenge” are less pleasant than their counterparts (“friendship, benignity, clemency, and gratitude”) (ibid.). Finally, happiness rests on cheerful and hopeful (rather than gloomy and despairing) passions. As he says, “A propensity to hope and joy is real riches: One to fear and sorrow, real poverty” (ibid.). Since joy, on Hume's understanding, is enjoyment of a present good, while hope is the pleasant expectation of a future good (see T 2.3.9.5–6; SBN 439), this last prescription seems self-evident.

In conformity with Hume's second criterion for the successful pursuit of happiness (that one cultivate pleasurable passions that are sustainable over time), Hume argues that one should therefore pursue a life that includes an element of business or an occupation of some sort, since activity is invigorating, while a life of mere pleasure seeking quickly grows insipid and no longer satisfying (“Sceptic,” 167).Footnote ³⁷ Life, it seems, can be pleasant only when pleasure is not one's constant goal; regular exertion keeps alive our taste for pleasures.

In conformity with the last requirement (that the objects one sets one's heart on be secure), Hume draws two conclusions. First, one should stake one's happiness not on external objects (including, of course, wealth and luxury), but rather on things that “depend on ourselves,” such as the cultivation of learning (and, one imagines, friendly conversation). Second, it is extraordinarily helpful to have the strength of mind that allows one to bear misfortune without giving up hope (“Sceptic,” 167–68).

Following these maxims, Hume concludes that the virtuous life is most conducive to happiness because “it leads to action and employment, renders us sensible of the social passions, steels the heart against the assaults of fortune, reduces the affections to a just moderation, makes our own thoughts an entertainment to us [through, one imagines, liberal learning], and inclines us rather to the pleasures of society and conversation, than to those of the senses”—including, we might add, those pleasures for the sake of which the knave acquires his wealth (“Sceptic,” 168). Here, then, the life of virtue is defended because of its superior ability to deliver secure and reliable pleasures through sociability, moderation, self-sufficiency, and resilience. The pleasures of conscience are not the linchpin.

It should be clear on reflection that Hume's response to the knave envisions for the honest man the kind of life just described. In particular, Hume's response to the knave explicitly contrasts the “amusements” of the knave with the refined sociable pleasures of “conversation, society, [and] study” (EPM 9.25; SBN 283), and these refined sociable pleasures are precisely the ones that he associates in “The Sceptic” with the life of virtue. Thus, there is clear textual evidence for the claim that the life Hume holds up in the Enquiry as the virtuous alternative to knavery is the same life that Hume presents in “The Sceptic” as the happiest one on the whole.

Once it is granted that Hume is advocating the same way of life in both the Enquiry and “The Sceptic,” it becomes apparent that the defense of virtue in “The Sceptic” enhances the response to the knave in two significant ways. First, in “The Sceptic” (unlike in the Enquiry), Hume provides the actual criteria that lead him to conclude that the virtuous life is happiest, and those criteria are themselves grounded in an account of the nature of happiness. Thus, the defense of virtue in “The Sceptic” supplies the fundamental premises behind his very brief third response to the knave. Further, once one has seen these premises laid out, it should be clear why I labeled Hume's third response the Epicurean response. It is Epicurean insofar as it is a hedonistic defense of the life of moderation and virtue; it is only quasi-Epicurean, however, because, as noted above, Hume does not share Epicurus's physical or metaphysical premises, nor does he have precisely the same understanding of the nature of pleasure. Further, Hume's inclusion of “business” or “occupation” in the economy of the happy life shows that he favors a more “active” life than Epicurus, in his garden, would advocate. On the whole, however, Hume's defense of virtue resembles the Epicurean in several ways: its praises of friendship and cultivated leisure, its emphasis on moderation, and so forth. One could also add that it resembles the Epicurean response through its apolitical character: the best way of life is private.

The defense of virtue in “The Sceptic” enhances the response to the knave in a second, even stronger way: it does not presuppose that the value of the pleasures of conscience, nor, hence, that a good conscience, are an indispensable, integral part of personal happiness. Thus, unlike the psychological response, the Epicurean response can address the knave at his own level: enlightened self-interest. That one should live a life of virtue (and, hence, have a conscience) is, in “The Sceptic,” the conclusion of an argument whose stated goal is to find the plan of life that yields the greatest overall personal satisfaction and pleasure—which is exactly what the knave is after. The knave's answer to this question is, basically, that one ought to pursue as much as possible the sensual pleasure made possible by luxury.Footnote ³⁸ Hume's answer is the life of virtue, learning, and cultivated companionship. But this answer is emphatically not a moralizing answer—even if, as we might expect, the knave still would not be moved by it. Nonetheless, Hume seeks to give the impression that, whether the knave will acknowledge it or not, the virtuous man really does enjoy more overall satisfaction out of life (barring grave misfortune—which, of course, knaves are subject to as well)—even if the knave refuses to recognize this because he has rendered himself insensible to those satisfactions.

Hence, Hume's response to the sensible knave is not that every discrete act of justice directly contributes more to personal happiness than the corresponding act of (successful) injustice might. Rather, it is that the cultivation of the passions and habits most likely to lead to the greatest overall enduring satisfaction inevitably entails living a life of virtue and, hence, of regard for justice. Appreciation of the pleasures of conscience is, at most, a result of the kind of life Hume recommends, not its presupposition or motive.

IV. Evaluating Hume's Response

We have seen that Hume's defense of virtue in “The Sceptic” enhances his response to the knave in two chief ways: by clarifying the criteria that lead him to conclude that the virtuous life is happiest, and by avoiding the Enquiry's apparent presupposition that the pleasures of conscience are indispensable for happiness. Rather, the reasoning in “The Sceptic” presents an argument, grounded in enlightened self-interest, for the claim that the person who lives the most pleasant life is necessarily a person who is susceptible to the pleasures of conscience (by virtue of his cultivation of benign and sociable dispositions, primarily). We may, then, dispense with the second objection raised above: Hume's defense of virtue does not presuppose the superior value of the pleasures of conscience. Nonetheless, we will now see that even Hume's full understanding of the relation between virtue and happiness fails to answer two of the objections raised at the end of Section II.

First, Hume has not proved that the knave cannot partake of moral esteem while at the same time being only selectively just (namely, to friends but not strangers or enemies). I had contended above that Hume never proves that the unfailing and universal practice of the artificial, impersonal, impartial virtue of justice is a prerequisite for enjoying moral self-esteem. “The Sceptic” does not supply any further evidence for the claim that justice is necessary for happiness built on moral self-esteem. We may conclude, then, that pleasures of conscience can be available to selectively unjust people. We may add, further, that even if the knave does feel occasional remorse, there is no reason to assume that that remorse will be so sharp or so lasting as to spoil his happiness decisively. That would be likely to be the case only if the knave had, through his injustice, harmed someone whom he genuinely cared about, but there is no reason why we must assume that the sensible knave must act treacherously toward those he cares about, nor is there reason to assume that a sensible knave must necessarily care about no one but himself. He could be perfectly capable of the “confin'd generosity” that Hume attributes to human nature in the Treatise (see T 3.2.2.18; SBN 495).

Second, Hume fails to prove that there is any good, decisive for great happiness, that is not as much available to the knave as to the honest man, if not more available. We have just seen that moral self-esteem is available to the knave (even if in a more limited way than is available to the inveterately and impartially virtuous person). Let us review the other goods that Hume has placed within the constitution of happiness: prudence and self-control (EPM 9.15; SBN 279); material necessities, the pleasures of the beauties of nature, the pleasures of health, conversation, society, and study (EPM 9.25; SBN 283–84); moderation, cheerfulness, confidence, periodic or regular exertion, the pursuit of objects within one's power to attain, and strength of mind (“Sceptic,” 167–68). I asked at the conclusion of Part II whether any of these goods are not at least as available to the knave as to the honest man, and whether they might not be more available to the knave than to an honest person of modest means. The consideration of happiness and virtue in “The Sceptic” does nothing to counter these objections. The knave can be moderate. He is self-controlled, after all. He can regularly enjoy a great number of pleasures in moderation. He can certainly be cheerful, and he must be confident. He may live a life of business and exertion. Successful knavery itself might make up a part of that. He can certainly be characterized by strength of mind.

The only criterion the knave might seem to fail to meet is that of setting his ruling passions on objects that are completely within his own power to attain. Knavery, after all, sets its sights on the material possessions of others. Those goods are subject to fortune. Two considerations show, however, that this objection to the knave's life is inconsequential. First, any knave with confidence and strength of mind would be able to bear up under occasional misfortunes. Second, and more decisively, we should recall that Hume prefaces his Epicurean response by granting the knave success. He had said, “were they [that is, sensible knaves] ever so secret and successful,” nonetheless the honest man will justly consider those knaves to be unhappy “dupes” (EPM 9.25; SBN 283). Thus, Hume explicitly attempts to defend honesty against a knave who at most suffers occasional misfortunes but never suffers a reversal of fortune. The greatest knave dies happy in his bed, so to speak. Thus, although the knave might take a risk in living a life dependent on material plenty, the talented knave who can pull it off never suffers for taking that risk. And it is precisely this talented knave that is the ultimate test case.

In sum, we are entitled to conclude that, on Hume's criteria, the secret, successful, prudent, self-controlled, wealthy, moderate, sociable, mentally cultivated knave is every bit as happy as a prudent, moderate, self-controlled, sociable, wealthy, mentally cultivated honest man, and that he is probably happier than an honest man of limited means. Hume's defense of justice is, therefore, a failure—at least with respect to the toughest but most important cases.

It is worth reiterating, however, that Hume's argument is probably sound and sensible with respect to most human beings. Most people probably would find living the life of a knave psychologically distressing to such a degree as to make the life not worth it. And, given the intrinsic difficulty of a lifelong pursuit of secret injustice, most human beings who attempt knavery probably do get caught in the end. Finally, many people probably would find cultivating appreciation for the “natural pleasures” a more secure way to augment their personal happiness than to attempt to live a life of secret injustice in pursuit of greater material wealth and luxurious refinement. Thus, although not everyone's “true interest” lies in the practice of “every moral duty,” Hume can plausibly say that most people's “true interest” lies along that path. Even here, though, we should remark that Hume has not proved that anyone's “true interest” lies in the practice of every moral duty. For a certain type of person, a single act of petty injustice might incapacitate them for happiness. For most people, however, acts of petty injustice do not haunt them much. Many otherwise honest people, for example, cheat on their taxes without remorse. Stated more generally, many otherwise honest people occasionally think that they “deserve” to bend the strict laws of property. Thus, Hume can at most claim that most people's true interest lies in the practice of almost every moral duty. That is sound advice, though it is not a resounding vindication of the life of virtue and justice.