Regard to general rules is what Smith calls the sense of duty, the principle by which most men actually live. Many decent persons never feel the sentiments others praise in them; the cold beneficiary still visits, respects, and repays his patron from reverence for gratitude's rule, and the wife without tender affection may still act faithfully from conjugal duty, without hypocrisy. Such persons miss delicate proprieties, yet avoid essential blame. Without this habitual reverence, conduct cannot be depended on; the man of principle preserves one even tenour, while the worthless fellow follows humour and interest. Even the man of finest sensibility might insult a visiting friend if mood alone governed him. Politeness, justice, truth, chastity, and fidelity would collapse if general rules lacked authority.
Nature and philosophy unite in treating these rules as divine laws. Pagan religion first clothed gods with human resentment and approval, as Jupiter witnessed injury; philosophy later confirmed that moral faculties, unlike appetite, judge all other principles and carry badges of supreme authority. General moral rules resemble sovereign laws more than laws of motion: they direct free action, promise inward reward and punishment, and align with God's purpose of happiness. By obeying them we cooperate with Providence; by violating them we obstruct the scheme of nature. Virtue usually meets its natural reward here, though accident may wrong the innocent like an earthquake wrongs the cautious; habitual knavery is almost always known, while established innocence often absolves a single fault.
Yet our sentiments demand virtues and vices receive esteem and odium out of proportion to fortune's distribution. We wish magnanimity crowned with wealth earned by prudence, and loathe seeing the industrious knave reap the harvest while the indolent good man starves; human law therefore forfeits the traitor's estate and sometimes rewards public spirit in the improvident. Man thus corrects Nature's distribution, yet cannot fully succeed; when violence triumphs, we appeal to Heaven, and the Bishop of Clermont's protest against a God who would behold disorder without justice leads to belief in a future life. Religion, when it subordinates ceremony to morality, doubles trust in the man who acts as before an all-seeing Judge.
Coming Up in Chapter 28
Having established why moral rules matter, Smith will next examine when duty alone should guide us versus when it's healthy to let other motivations join in. When is following rules enough, and when do we need something more?