Section V. of the Theory of Moral Sentiments. Section III. Of the effects of prosperity and adversity upon the judgment of mankind, with regard to the propriety of action, and why it is more easy to obtain their approbation in the one state than in the other. Chapter I. That though our sympathy with sorrow is generally a more lively sensation than our sympathy with joy, it commonly falls much more short of the violence of what is naturally felt by the person principally concerned. Our sympathy with sorrow, though not more real, has been more taken notice of than our sympathy with joy. The word sympathy, in its most proper and primitive signification, denotes our fellow feelings with the sufferings, not that with the enjoyments of others. A late ingenious and subtle philosopher thought it necessary to prove, by arguments, that we had a real sympathy with joy, and that congratulation was a principle of human nature. Nobody, I believe, ever thought it necessary to prove that compassion was such. First of all, our sympathy with sorrow is, in some sense, more universal than that with joy. Though sorrow is excessive, we may still have some fellow feeling with it. What we feel does not, indeed, in this case, amount to that complete sympathy, to that perfect harmony and correspondence of sentiments which constitutes approbation. We do not weep and exclaim and lament with the sufferer. We are sensible, on the contrary, of his weakness and of the extravagance of his passion, and yet often feel a very sensible concern upon his account. But if we do not entirely enter into, and go along with, the joy of another, we have no sort of regard or fellow feeling for it. The man who skips and dances about with that intemperate and senseless joy which we cannot accompany him in is the object of our contempt and indignation. Pain besides, whether of mind or body, is a more pungent sensation than pleasure, and our sympathy with pain, though it falls greatly short of what is naturally felt by the sufferer, is generally a more lively and distinct perception than our sympathy with pleasure, though this last often approaches more nearly, as I shall show immediately, to the natural vivacity of the original passion. Over and above all this we often struggle to keep down our sympathy with the sorrow of others. Whenever we are not under the observation of the sufferer, we endeavor, for our own sake, to suppress it as much as we can, and we are not always successful. The opposition which we make to it, and the reluctance with which we yield to it, necessarily oblige us to take more particular notice of it. We never have occasion to make this opposition to our sympathy with joy. If there is any envy in the case, we never feel the least propensity towards it, and if there is none, we give way to it without any reluctance. On the contrary, as we are always ashamed of our own envy, we often pretend, and sometimes really wish to sympathize with the joy of others, when by that disagreeable sentiment we are disqualified from doing so. We are glad, we say on account of our neighbor's good fortune, when in our hearts perhaps we are really sorry. We often feel a sympathy with sorrow when we would wish to be rid of it, and we often miss that with joy when we would be glad to have it. The obvious observation, therefore, which it naturally falls in our way to make, is that our propensity to sympathize with sorrow must be very strong, and our inclination to sympathize with joy very weak. Notwithstanding this prejudice, however, I will venture to affirm that, when there is no envy in the case, our propensity to sympathize with joy is much stronger than our propensity to sympathize with sorrow, and that our fellow feeling for the agreeable emotion approaches much more nearly to the vivacity of what is naturally felt by the person's principally concerned, than that which we conceive for the painful one. We have some indulgence for that excessive grief which we cannot entirely go along with. We know what a prodigious effort is requisite before the sufferer can bring down his emotions to complete harmony and concord with those of the spectator. Though he fails, therefore, we easily pardon him. But we have no such indulgence for the intemperance of joy, because we are not conscious that any such vast effort is requisite to bring it down to what we can entirely enter into. The man who, under the greatest calamities, can command his sorrow seems worthy of the highest admiration. But he who, in the fullness of prosperity, can in the same manner master his joy, seems hardly to deserve any praise. We are sensible that there is a much wider interval in the one case than in the other, between what is naturally felt by the person principally concerned and what the spectator can entirely go along with. What can be added to the happiness of the man who is in health, who is out of debt, and has a clear conscience? To one in this situation, all accessions of fortune may properly be said to be superfluous, and if he is much elevated upon account of them, it must be the effect of the most frivolous levity. This situation, however, may very well be called the natural and ordinary state of mankind. Notwithstanding the present misery and depravity of the world, so justly lamented, this really is the state of the greater part of men. The greater part of men, therefore, cannot find any great difficulty in elevating themselves to all the joy which any accession to this situation can well excite in their companion. But though little can be added to this state, much may be taken from it, though between this condition and the highest pitch of human prosperity the interval is but a trifle between it and the lowest depth of misery the distance is immense and prodigious. Adversity on this account necessarily depresses the mind of the sufferer much more below its natural state than prosperity can elevate him above it. The spectator, therefore, must find it much more difficult to sympathize entirely and keep perfect time with his sorrow than thoroughly to enter into his joy and must depart much further from his own natural and ordinary temper of mind in the one case than in the other. It is on this account that though our sympathy with sorrow is often a more pungent sensation than our sympathy with joy, it always falls much more short of the violence of what is naturally felt by the person principally concerned. It is agreeable to sympathize with joy, and wherever envy does not oppose it, our heart abandons itself with satisfaction to the highest transports of that delightful sentiment. But it is painful to go along with grief, and we always enter into it with reluctance. When we attend to the representation of a tragedy, we struggle against that sympathetic sorrow which the entertainment inspires as long as we can, and we give way to it at last only when we can no longer avoid it. We even then endeavor to cover our concern from the company. If we shed any tears, we carefully conceal them, and are afraid, lest the spectators not entering into the success of tenderness should regard it as a feminacy and weakness. The wretch whose misfortunes call upon our compassion feels with what reluctance we are likely to enter into his sorrow, and therefore proposes his grief to us with fear and hesitation. He even smothers the half of it, and is ashamed upon account of this hard-heartedness of mankind to give vent to the fullness of his affliction. It is otherwise with the man who riots in joy and success. Wherever Envy does not interest us against him, he expects our complete sympathy. He does not fear, therefore, to announce himself with shouts of exultation in full confidence that we are heartily disposed to go along with him. Why should we be more ashamed to weep than to laugh before company? We may often have as real occasion to do the one as to do the other, but we always feel that the spectators are more likely to go along with us in the agreeable than in the painful emotion. It is always miserable to complain, even when we are oppressed by the most dreadful calamities. But the triumph of victory is not always ungraceful. Prudence indeed would often advise us to bear our prosperity with more moderation, because prudence would teach us to avoid that envy which this very triumph is, more than anything, apt to excite. How hardy are the acclamations of the mob, who never bear any envy to their superiors, at a triumph or a public entry? And how sedate and moderate is commonly their grief at an execution? Our sorrow at a funeral generally amounts to no more than an affected gravity, but our mirth at a christening or a marriage is always from the heart, and without any affectation. Upon these, and all such joyous occasions, our satisfaction, though not so durable, is often as lively as that of the persons principally concerned. Whenever we cordially congratulate our friends, which, however, to the disgrace of human nature we do but seldom, their joy literally becomes our joy. We are, for the moment, as happy as they are. Our heart swells and overflows with real pleasure. Joy and complacency sparkle from our eyes and animate every feature of our countenance and every gesture of our body. But, on the contrary, when we condole with our friends in their afflictions, how little do we feel in comparison of what they feel. We sit down by them, we look at them, and while they relate to us the circumstances of their misfortune, we listen to them with gravity and attention. But while their narration is every moment interrupted by those natural bursts of passion, which often seem almost to choke them in the midst of it, how far are the languid emotions of our hearts from keeping time to the transports of theirs. We may be sensible at the same time that their passion is natural, and no greater than what we ourselves might feel upon the like occasion. We may even inwardly reproach ourselves with our own want of sensibility, and perhaps, on that account, work ourselves up into an artificial sympathy which, however, when it is raised, is always the slightest and most transitory imaginable, and generally, as soon as we have left the room, vanishes and is gone forever. Nature, it seems, when she loaded us with our own sorrows, thought that they were enough, and therefore did not command us to take any further share in those of others, than what was necessary to prompt us to relieve them. It is, on account of this dull sensibility to the afflictions of others, that magnanimity amidst great distress always appears so divinely graceful. His behavior is genteel and agreeable, who can maintain his cheerfulness amidst a number of frivolous disasters. But he appears to be more than mortal, who can support in the same manner the most dreadful calamities. We feel what an immense effort is requisite to silence those violent emotions which naturally agitate and distract those in his situation. We are amazed to find that he can command himself so entirely. His firmness, at the same time, perfectly coincides with our insensibility. He makes no demand upon us for that more exquisite degree of sensibility which we find, in which we are mortified to find, that we do not possess. There is the most perfect correspondence between his sentiments and ours, and, on that account, the most perfect propriety in his behavior. It is a propriety, too, which, from our experience of the usual weakness of human nature, we could not reasonably have expected he should be able to maintain. We wonder with surprise and astonishment at that strength of mine which is capable of so noble and generous an effort. The sentiment of complete sympathy and approbation, mixed and animated with wonder and surprise, constitutes what is properly called admiration, as has already been more than once taken notice of. Cato, surrounded on all sides by his enemies, unable to resist them, disdaining to submit to them, and reduced by the proud maxims of that age to the necessity of destroying himself, yet never shrinking from his misfortunes, never supplicating with the lamentable voice of wretchedness those miserable sympathetic tears which we are always so unwilling to give. But on the contrary, arming himself with manly fortitude, and the moment before he executes his fatal resolution, giving with his usual tranquility, all necessary orders for the safety of his friends, appears to Seneca, that great preacher of insensibility, a spectacle which even the gods themselves might behold, with pleasure and admiration. Whenever we meet, in common life, with any examples of such heroic magnanimity, we are always extremely affected. We are more apt to weep and shed tears for such as, in this manner, seem to feel nothing for themselves, than for those who give way to all the weakness of sorrow. And in this particular case, the sympathetic grief of the spectator appears to go beyond the original passion in the person principally concerned. The friends of Socrates all wept when he drank the last potion, while he himself expressed the gayest and most cheerful tranquility. Upon all such occasions the spectator makes no effort, and has no occasion to make any, in order to conquer his sympathetic sorrow. He is under no fear that it will transport him to anything that is extravagant and improper. He is rather pleased with the sensibility of his own heart, and gives way to it with complacence and self-approbation. He gladly indulges, therefore, the most melancholy views which can naturally occur to him concerning the calamity of his friend, for whom perhaps he never felt so exquisitely before the tender and tearful passion of love. But it is quite otherwise with the person principally concerned. He is obliged, as much as possible, to turn away his eyes from whatever is either naturally terrible or disagreeable in his situation. Too serious an attention to these circumstances, he fears, might make so violent an impression upon him that he could no longer keep within the bounds of moderation, or render himself the object of the complete sympathy and approbation of the spectators. He fixes his thoughts, therefore, upon those only which are agreeable, the applause and admiration which he is about to deserve by the heroic magnanimity of his behavior, to feel that he is capable of so noble and generous an effort, to feel that in this dreadful situation he can still act as he would desire to act, animates and transports him with joy, and enables him to support that triumphant gaiety which seems to exalt in the victory he thus gains over his misfortunes. On the contrary, he always appears, in some measure, mean and despicable who is sunk in sorrow and dejection upon account of any calamity of his own. We cannot bring ourselves to feel for him what he feels for himself and what, perhaps, we should feel for ourselves if in his situation. We therefore despise him, unjustly, perhaps, if any sentiment could be regarded as unjust, to which we are by nature irresistibly determined. The weakness of sorrow never appears in any respect agreeable except when it arises from what we feel for others more than from what we feel for ourselves. A son, upon the death of an indulgent and respectable father, may give way to it without much blame. His sorrow is chiefly founded upon a sort of sympathy with his departed parent, and we readily enter into this humane emotion. But if he should indulge the same weakness upon account of any misfortune which affected himself only, he would no longer meet with any such indulgence. If he should be reduced to beggary and ruin, if he should be exposed to the most dreadful dangers, if he should even be led out to a public execution, and there shed one single tear upon the scaffold, he would disgrace himself forever in the opinion of all the gallant and generous part of mankind. Their compassion for him, however, would be very strong and very sincere. But as it would still fall short of this excessive weakness, they would have no pardon for the man who could thus expose himself in the eyes of the world. His behavior would affect them with shame rather than with sorrow, and the dishonor which he had thus brought upon himself would appear to them the most lamentable circumstance in his misfortune. How did it disgrace the memory of the intrepid Duke of Biron, who had so often braved death in the field, that he wept upon the scaffold when he beheld the state to which he was fallen, and remembered the favor and the glory from which his own rashness had so unfortunately thrown him? CHAPTER II OF THE ORIGIN OF AMBITION AND OF THE DISTINGTION OF RANKS It is because mankind are disposed to sympathize more entirely with our joy than with our sorrow that we make parade of our riches and conceal our poverty. Nothing is so mortifying as to be obliged to expose our distress to the view of the public, and to feel that though our situation is open to the eyes of all mankind, no mortal conceives for us half of what we suffer. Nay, it is chiefly from this regard to the sentiments of mankind that we pursue riches and avoid poverty, for to what purpose is all the toil and bustle of this world? What is the end of avarice and ambition, of the pursuit of wealth, of power, and preeminence? Is it to supply the necessities of nature? The wages of the meanest laborer can supply them. We see that they afford him food and clothing, the comfort of a house and of a family. If we examine his economy with rigor, we should find that he spends a great part of them upon conveniences, which may regard it as superfalties, and that upon extraordinary occasions he can give something even to vanity and distinction. What then is the cause of our aversion to his situation? And why should those who have been educated in the higher ranks of life regarded as worse than death to be reduced to live, even without labor, upon the simple fare with him, to dwell under the same lowly roof, and to be clothed in the same humble attire? Do they imagine that their stomach is better, or that their sleep sounder in a palace than in a cottage? The contrary has been so often observed, and indeed is so very obvious, though it had never been observed, that there is nobody ignorant of it. From whence, then, arises that emulation which runs through all the different ranks of men, and what are the advantages which we propose by that great purpose of human life which we call bettering our condition? To be observed, to be attended to, to be taken notice of with sympathy, complacency, and approbation, all are the advantages which we can propose to derive from it. It is the vanity, not the ease, or the pleasure which interests us. The vanity is always founded upon the belief of our being the object of attention and approbation. The rich man glories in his riches, because he feels that they naturally draw upon him the attention of the world, and that mankind are disposed to go along with him in all those agreeable emotions in which the advantages of his situation so readily inspire him. At the thought of this, his heart seems to swell and dilate itself within him, and he is the fonder of his wealth upon this account than for all the other advantages it procures him. The poor man, on the contrary, is ashamed of his poverty. He feels that it either places him out of the sight of mankind, or that if they take any notice of him, they have however scarce any fellow feeling with misery and distress which he suffers. He is mortified upon both accounts. Although to be overlooked and to be disapproved of are things entirely different, yet his obscurity covers us from the daylight of honor and approbation, to feel that we are taken no notice of necessarily damps the most agreeable hope and disappoints the most ardent desire of human nature.  They turn their eyes from him, or if the extremity of his distress forces them to look at him, it is only to spurn so disagreeable an object from among them. The fortunate and the proud wonder at the insolence of human wretchedness that it should dare to present itself before them, and with the loathsome aspect of its misery presume to disturb the serenity of their happiness. The man of rank and distinction, on the contrary, is observed by all the world. Everybody is eager to look at him, and to conceive, at least by sympathy, that joy and exultation with which his circumstances naturally inspire him. His actions are the object of the public care. Scarce a word, scarce a gesture can fall from him that is altogether neglected. In a great assembly he is the person upon whom all direct their eyes. It is upon him that their passions seem to wait with expectation. It is upon him that their passions seem all to wait with expectation, in order to receive that movement and direction which he shall impress upon them. And if his behavior is not altogether absurd, he has every moment an opportunity of interesting mankind, and of rendering himself the object of the observation and fellow feeling of everybody about him. It is this which, notwithstanding the restraint it imposes, not withstanding the loss of liberty with which it is attended, renders greatness the object of envy, and compensates, in the opinion of all those mortifications which must mankind, all that toil, all that anxiety be undergone in the pursuit of it, and what is of yet more consequence all that leisure, all that ease, all that careless security which are forfeited forever by the acquisition. When we consider the condition of the great in those delusive colors in which the imagination is apt to paint it, it seems to be almost the abstract idea of a perfect and happy state. It is the very state which, in all our waking dreams and idle reveries, we had sketched out to find ourselves as the final object of all our desires. We feel, therefore, peculiar sympathy with the satisfaction of those who are in it. We favor all their inclinations and forward all their wishes. What pity, we think, that anything should spoil and corrupt so agreeable a situation. We should even wish them immortal. And it seems hard to us that death should at last put an end to such perfect enjoyment. It is cruel, we think, in nature to compel them from their exalted stations to that humble but hospitable home which she has provided for all her children. Great King, live forever! It is the compliment which, after the manner of eastern adulation, we would readily make them if experience did not teach us its absurdity. Every calamity that befalls them, every injury that has done them, excites in the breast of the theatre's ten times more compassion and resentment than he would have felt had the same things happen to other men. It is the misfortunes of kings only which afford the proper subjects for tragedy. They resemble, in this respect, the misfortunes of lovers. Those two situations are the chief which interest us upon the theatre, because in spite of all the reason and experience can tell us to the contrary the prejudices of the imagination attached to these two states a happiness superior to any other. To disturb or to put an end to such a perfect enjoyment seems to be the most atrocious of all injuries. The traitor who conspires against the life of his monarch is thought a greater monster than any other murderer. All the innocent blood that was shed in the civil wars provoked less indignation than the death of Charles I. A stranger to human nature who saw the indifference of them. A stranger to human nature who saw the indifference of men about the misery of their inferiors and the regretting indignation which they feel for the misfortunes and suffering of those above them would be apt to imagine that pain must be more agonizing and the convulsions of death more terrible to persons of higher rank than to those of meaner stations. Upon this disposition of mankind to go along with all the passions of the rich and powerful is founded the distinction of ranks and the order of society. Our obsequiousness to our superiors more frequently arises from our admiration for the advantages of their situation than from any private expectations of benefit from their goodwill. Their benefits can extend but to a few but their fortunes interest almost everybody. We are eager to assist them in completing a system of happiness that approaches so near to perfection and we desire to serve them for their own sake without any other recompense but the vanity or the honor of obliging them. Neither is our deference to their inclinations founded chiefly or altogether upon a regard to the utility of such submission into the order of society which is best supported by it. Even when the order of society seems to require that we should oppose them we can hardly bring ourselves to do it. That kings are the servants of the people to be obeyed, resisted, deposed or punished as the public convenience he may require is the doctrine of reason and philosophy but it is not the doctrine of nature.  To treat them in any respect as men, to reason and dispute with them upon ordinary occasions requires such resolution that there are few men whose magnanimity can support them in it unless they are likewise assisted by familiarity and acquaintance. The strongest motives, the most furious passions, fear, hatred and resentment are scarce sufficient to balance this natural disposition to respect them and their conduct must either justly or unjustly have excited the highest degree of all those passions before the bulk of the people can be brought to oppose them with violence or to desire to see them either punished or deposed. Even when the people have been brought to this length they are apt to relent every moment and easily relapse into their habitual state of deference to those whom they have been accustomed to look upon as their natural superiors. They cannot stand the mortification of their monarch. Compassion soon takes the place of resentment, they forget all past provocations and their old principles of loyalty revive and they run to re-establish the ruined authority of their old masters with the same violence with which they had opposed it. The death of Charles I brought about the restoration of the royal family. Compassion for James II when he was seized by the populace and making his escape on ship-board had almost prevented the revolution and made it go on more heavily than before. Do the great seem insensible of the easy price at which they may acquire the public admiration or do they seem to imagine that to them as to other men it must be the purchase either of sweat or of blood? By what important accomplishments is the young nobleman instructed to support the dignity of his rank and to render himself worthy of that superiority over his fellow citizens to which the virtue of his ancestors had raised them? Is it by knowledge, by industry, by patience, by self-denial or by virtue of any kind? As all his words, as all his motions are attended to he learns in habitual regard to every circumstance of ordinary behavior and studies to perform all those small duties with the most exact propriety. As he is conscious of how much he has observed and how much mankind are disposed to favor all his inclinations, he acts upon the most indifferent occasions with the freedom and elevation which the thought of this naturally inspires. His air, his manner, his deportment, all mark of that elegant and graceful sense of his own superiority, which those who are born to inferior stations can hardly ever arrive at.  And in this he is seldom disappointed.  Louis XIV during the greater part of his reign was regarded not only in France but all over Europe as the most perfect model of a great prince. But what were the talents and virtues by which he acquired this great reputation? Was it by the scrupulous and inflexible justice of all his undertakings, by the immense dangers and difficulties with which they were attended, or by the unwearyed and unrelenting application with which he pursued them? Was it by his extensive knowledge, by his exquisite judgment, or by his heroic valor? It was by none of these qualities. But he was, first of all, the most powerful prince in Europe and consequently held the highest rank among kings. And then, says his historian, he surpassed all his courtiers in the gracefulness of his shape and the majestic beauty of his features. The sound of his voice noble and effecting gained those hearts which his presence intimidated. He had a step and a deportment which would suit only him and his rank and which would have been ridiculous in any other person. The embarrassment which he occasioned to those who spoke to him flattered that secret satisfaction with which he felt his own superiority. The old officer who was confounded and faltered in asking him a favor and not being able to conclude his discourse set to him. Sir, your majesty, I hope, will believe that I do not tremble this before your enemies had no difficulty to obtain what he demanded. These frivolous accomplishments, supported by his rank and no doubt to by a degree of other talents and virtues, which seems, however, not to have been much above mediocrity, established this prince in the esteem of his own age and have drawn, even from posterity, a good deal of respect for his memory. Compared with these in his own times and his in his own presence, no other virtue it seems appeared to have any merit. Knowledge, industry, valor, beneficence, trembled, were shamed and lost all dignity before them. But it is not by accomplishments of this kind that the man of inferior rank must hope to distinguish himself. Politeness is so much the virtue of the great that it will do little honor to anybody but themselves. The cocks come who imitates their manner and affects to be eminent by the superior propriety of his ordinary behavior, is rewarded with a double share of contempt for his folly and presumption. Why would the man who nobody thinks it's worthwhile to look at be very anxious about the manner in which he holds up his head or disposes of his arms while he walks through the room? He's occupied surely with a very superfluous attention and with an attention too that marks a sense of his own importance with no other mortal can go along with. The most perfect modesty in plainness, joined to as much negligence as is consistent with the respect due to the company, ought to be the chief characteristics of the behavior of a private man. If he ever hopes to distinguish himself, it must be by more important virtues. He must acquire dependence to balance the dependence of the greats and he has no other fun to pay them from but the labor of his body and the activity of his mind. He must cultivate these therefore. He must acquire superior knowledge in his profession and superior industry in the exercise of it. He must be patient in labor, resolute in danger and firm in distress. These talents he must bring into public view by the difficulty, importance, and at the same time good judgment of his undertakings and by the severe and unrelenting application with which he pursues them. Probity and prudence, generosity and frankness must characterize his behavior upon all ordinary occasions and he must at the same time be forward to engage in all those situations in which he requires the greatest talents and virtues to act with propriety but in which the greatest applause is to be acquired by those who can equip themselves with honor. With what impatience does a man of spirit and ambition who is depressed by his situation look round for some great opportunity to distinguish himself? No circumstances which can afford this appear to him undesirable. He even looks forward with satisfaction to the prospect of foreign war or civil dissension and with secret transport and delight seized through all the confusion and bloodshed which attend them to the probability of those wished for occasions presenting themselves in which he may draw upon himself the attention and admiration of mankind. The man of rank and distinction on the contrary whose whole glory consists in the propriety of his ordinary behavior who is contented with the humble renown which this can afford him and has no talents to acquire any other is unwilling to embarrass himself with what can be attended either with difficulty or distress. To figure out a ball is this great triumph and to succeed in an intrigue of gallantry his highest exploit. He has an aversion to all public confusions not from the love of mankind for the great never look upon their inferiors as their fellow creatures. Nor yet from one of courage for in that he is seldom defective but from a consciousness that he possesses none of the virtues which are required in such situations and that the public attention will certainly be drawn away from him by others. He may be willing to expose himself to some little danger and to make a campaign when it appears to be the fashion. But he shudders with horror the thought of any situation which demands the continual and long exertion of patience, industry, fortitude and application of thought. These virtues are hardly ever to be met with in men who are born to those high stations. In all governments accordingly, even in monarchies the highest offices are generally possessed and the whole detail of the administration conducted by men who were educated in the middle and inferior ranks of life who have been carried forward by their own industry and abilities though loaded with jealousy and opposed by the resentment of all those who were born their superiors and to whom the great, after having regarded them first with contempt and afterwards with envy are at last contented to truckle in the same abject meanness with which they desire that the rest of mankind should behave to themselves. It is the loss of this easy empire over the affections of mankind which renders the fall from greatness so insupportable. When the family of the king of Macedon was led in triumph by Paulus Amelius their misfortunes, it said, made them divide with their conqueror the attention of the Rome of people. The sight of the royal children whose tender age rendered them insensible of their situation struck the spectators amidst the public rejoicing and prosperity with the tenderest sorrow and compassion. The king appeared next in the procession and seemed like one confounded and astonished and bereft of all sentiment by the greatness of his calamities. His friends and ministers followed him. As they moved along they often cast their eyes upon the fallen sovereign and always burst into tears at the sight. Their whole behavior demonstrating that they thought not of their own misfortunes but were occupied entirely by the superior greatness of his. The generous Romans on the contrary beheld him with disdain and indignation and regarded as unworthy of all compassion the man who could be so mean-spirited as to bear to live under such calamities. Yet what did these calamities amount to? According to the greater part of historians he was to spend the remainder of his days under the protection of repower and humane people in a state which in itself would seem worthy of envy a state of plenty, ease, leisure, and security from which it was impossible for him even by his own folly to fall. He was no longer to be surrounded by the admiring mob of fools, flatters, and dependents who had formerly been accustomed to attend upon all his motions. He was no longer to be gazed upon by the multitudes nor to have it in his power to render in himself the object of their respect, their gratitude, their love, their admiration. The passions of nations were no longer to mold themselves upon his inclinations. This was that insupportable calamity which bereaved the king of all sentiment which made his friends forget their own misfortunes in which the Roman magnanimity could scarce conceive how any man could be so mean-spirited as to bear to survive. Love, says my Lord Roshfako, is commonly succeeded by ambition, but ambition is hardly ever succeeded by love. That passion, once it has got the entire possession of the breast, will admit neither a rival nor a successor to those who have been accustomed to the possession or even to the hope of public admiration, all other pleasures, sicken and the king. Of all the discarded statesmen who for their own ease have studied to get the better of ambition and to despise those honors which they could no longer arrive at, how few have been able to succeed. The greater part have spent their time in the most listless and insipid indolence chagrined at the thoughts of their own insignificancy incapable of being interested in the occupations of private life without enjoyment except when they talk to their former greatness and without satisfaction except when they were employed in some vain project to recover it. Are you in earnest resolved never to barter your liberty for the lordly servitude of a court but to live free, fearless and independent? There seems to be one way to continue in that virtuous resolution and perhaps but one. Never enter the place from which so few have been able to return. Never come within the circle of ambition nor ever bring yourself into comparison with those masters of the earth who have already engrossed the attention of half mankind before you. Of such mighty importance does it appear to be in the imaginations of men to stand in that situation which sets the most in the view of general sympathy and attention and thus place that great object which divides the wives of alderman is the end half of the labors of human life and is the cause of all tumult and bustle all the raping and injustice which avarice and ambition have introduced into this world. People of sense it is said indeed despise place that is they despise sitting at the head of the table and are indifferent to who it is that is pointed out to the company by that frivolous circumstance which is smallest advantage is capable of overbalancing. But rank, distinction, preeminence, no man despises unless he is either raised very much above or sunk very much below the ordinary standard of human nature. Unless he is either so confirmed in wisdom and real philosophy as to be satisfied that while the propriety of his conduct renders him the just object of approbation it is of little consequence though he be neither attended to nor approved of or so habituated to the idea of its own meanness so sunk and slothful and sautish in difference as entirely to have forgot the desire and almost the very wish for superiority. As to become the natural object of the joyous congratulations and sympathetic attentions of mankind is in this manner the circumstance which gives to prosperity all its dazzling splendor so nothing darkens so much the gloom of adversity as to feel that our misfortunes are the objects not of the fellow feeling but of the contempt and aversion of our brethren. It is upon this account that the most dreadful calamities are not always those in which it is most difficult to support. It is often more mortifying to appear in public under small disasters than under great misfortunes. The first excite no sympathy but the second though they may excite none that approaches to the anguish of the sufferer call forth however a very lively compassion. The sentiments of the spectators are in the last case less wide of those of the sufferer and their imperfect fellow feeling lends him some assistance in supporting his misery. Before a gay assembly a gentleman would be more mortified to appear covered with filth and rags than with blood and wounds. This last situation would interest their pity the other would provoke their laughter. The judge who orders a criminal to be set in the pillory dishonors him more than if he had condemned him to the scaffold. The great prince who some years ago came the general officer at the head of his army disgraced him irrevocably. The punishment would have been much less had he shot him through the body but the laws of honor to strike with a cane dishonors to strike with a sword does not for an obvious reason. These slighter punishments when inflicted on a gentleman to whom dishonor is the greatest of all evils come to be regarded among a humane and generous people as the most dreadful of any. With regard to persons of that rank therefore they are universally laid aside and the law while it takes their life upon many occasions respects their honor upon almost all. Discards a person of quality or to set him in a pillory upon account of any crime whatever is a brutality which no European government except that of Russia is capable. A brave man is not rendered contemptible by being brought to the scaffold. He is by being set in the pillory. His behavior in the one situation may gain him universal esteem and admiration. No behavior in the other can render him agreeable. The sympathy of the spectator supports him in the one case and saves him from that shame, that consciousness that his misery is felt by himself only which is of all sentiments the most unsupportable. There is no sympathy in the other or if there is any it is not with his pain which is a trifle but with his consciousness of the want of sympathy with which this pain is attended. It is with his shame not with his sorrow. Those who pity him blush and hang down their heads for him. He droops in the same manner and he feels himself irrevocably degraded by the punishment. Though not by the crime. The man on the contrary who dies with resolution as he is naturally regarded with the erect aspect of esteem and approbation. So he wears himself the same undaunted countenance. And if the crime does not deprive him of the respect of others, the punishment never will. He has no suspicion that his situation of the object of contempt or derision to anybody. And he can with propriety assume the air not only of perfect serenity but of triumph and exultation. Great dangers as the Cardinal de Ritz have their charms because there is some glory to be got even when we miscarry. But moderate dangers have nothing but what is horrible because the loss of reputation always attends the want of success. His maxim has the same foundation with what we have been just now observing with regard to punishments. Human virtue is superior to pain, to poverty, to danger and to death nor does it even require its utmost efforts due to spies them. But to have its misery exposed to insult and derision, to be led in triumph, to be set up for the hand of scorn to point at is a situation in which its constancy is much more apt to fail. Compared with the contempt of mankind, all other external evils are easily supported. End of section six. Section seven of the theory of moral sentiments is the LibriVox reporting. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The theory of moral sentiments by Adam Smith. Part one, section three, chapter three, of the corruption of our moral sentiments, which is occasioned by this disposition to admire the rich and the great and to despise or neglect persons of poor and need condition. This disposition to admire and almost to worship the rich and the powerful and to despise or at least neglect persons of poor and need condition, though necessary both to establish and maintain the distinction of ranks in the order of society is at the same time the great and most universal cause of the corruption of our moral sentiments. That both and greatness are often regarded as the respect and admiration which are due only to wisdom and virtue and that the contempt, which I since follow are the only proper objects, is often most unjustly bestowed upon poverty and weakness, has been the complaint of moralists and all ages. We desire both to be respectable and to be respected. We dread both to be contemptible and to be contempted. But upon coming to the world, we soon find that the wisdom and virtue are by no means the sole object of respect nor vice and folly as contempt. We frequently see the respectful attentions of the world more strongly directed towards the rich and the great than towards the wise and the virtuous. We see frequently the vices and follies of the powerful much less despised than the poverty and weakness of the innocent deserve to acquire and to enjoy. The respect and admiration of mankind are the great objects of ambition and emulation. Two different roles are presented to us, equally leading to the attainment of this so much desired object. The one by the study of wisdom in the practice of virtue. The other by the acquisition of wealth and greatness. Two different characters are presented to our emulation. The one of proud ambition and ostentatious avidity. The other of humble, modesty and equitable justice. Two different models, two different pictures are held out to us according to which you may fashion our character and behavior. The one more guardian glittering in its coloring. The other more correct and more exquisitely beautiful in its outline. The one forcing itself upon the notice of every wandering eye. The other attracting the attention of scarce anybody but the most studious and careful observer.  A select, if not afraid, but a small party or the real and steady admirers of wisdom and virtue. The great model of mankind are the admirers and worshipers in what may seem more extraordinary, most frequently the disinterested admirers and worshipers of wealth and greatness. The respect which we feel for wisdom and virtue is no doubt different from that which we can see for wealth and greatness. And it requires no nice discernment to distinguish the difference but notwithstanding the difference of sentiments they are very considerable resemblance to one another. In some particular features they are no doubt different but in the general year of the countenance they seem to be so very nearly the same that an attentive observer they are very apt to mistake the one for the other. In equal degrees of merit their scarcity may have or does not respect more the rich and the great than the poor and the humble. With most men the presumption and vanity of the former are much more admired than the real and solid merit of the latter. It is scarce agreeable to good morals or even to good language perhaps to say that their wealth and greatness attracted from merit and virtue deserve our respect. You must acknowledge however that they almost constantly obtain it and that they may therefore be considered as in some respects the natural objects of it. Those exalted stations may no doubt be completely recreated by license folly but the license folly must be very great before they can operate this complete degradation. The proselytism of men of fashion is looked upon with much less contempt and aversion than that of a man of men of condition. In the latter a single transgression of the rules of temperance and propriety is commonly more resented than the constant and about contempt of them ever as in the former. In the middling and inferior stations of life throw to virtue and that's a fortune. Such fortune at least as men at such stations can reasonably expect to acquire are happily in most cases very nearly the same. In all the middling and inferior professions real and solid professional abilities joined to prudent just from a temperate conduct and very seldom fail of success. Abilities will even sometimes prevail where the conduct is by no means correct. Either habitual imprudence however or injustice or weakness or proficiency will always cloud and sometimes depress altogether the most splendid professional abilities. Men in the inferior and middle stations of life decides can never be great enough to be about the law which must generally overaw them into some sort of respect for at least the most important rules of justice. The success of such people too almost always depends upon the favor and good opinion of their neighbors and equals and without a tolerably regular conduct these can very seldom be obtained. The good old proverb therefore that honesty is the best policy holds in such situations almost always perfectly true in such situations therefore we generally expect a considerable degree of virtue and fortunately for the good morals of society these are the situations of by far that greater part of mankind. In the superior stations of life the cases unhappy not always the same. In the courts of princes in the drawing rooms of the great where success and fulfillment depend not upon the esteem of intelligent and low informed equals but upon the fanciful and foolish favor of ignorant presumptuous and proud superiors flattery and fossil to often prevail on their own abilities in such societies the abilities to please are more regarded than the abilities to serve in quiet and feasible times when the storm is at a distance the prince or great man wishes only to be abused and even apt to fancy that he has scarcely occasioned for the service of anybody or that those who amuse them are sufficient he will to serve them. The external graces, the fabulous accomplishments of that impertinent and foolish thing called the man of fashion are commonly more admired than the sought and masculine virtues of a warrior a statement of philosopher or legislator all the great and awful virtues all the virtues which can fit either for the council, the senate or the field are by the insolent and insignificant flatterers who commonly figure the most in such corrupt societies held in the utmost contempt and derision when the Duke of Salli was called upon Louis XIII to give his advice on some great emergency he observed the favorites and courtiers whispering to one another and smiling at his unfashionable appearance whenever your magistrate's father said the old warrior and statesman did me the honor to consult me he ordered the buffoons of the court to retire into the anti-chamber it is from our disposition to admire and consequently to imitate the rich and the great that they are unable to set or to leave what is called the fashion their dress is the fashionable dress the language of their conversation the fashionable style their air and deportment the fashionable behavior even their vices and follies are fashionable and the greater part of men are proud to imitate and resemble them in the very qualities which dishonor integrate them they men often give themselves the airs of a fashionable proficiency which in their hearts they do not approve of and of which perhaps they're not really guilty they desire to be praised for what they themselves do not think praiseworthy and are ashamed of unfashionable virtues which they sometimes practice in secret and for which they have secretly some degree of real veneration there are hypocrites of wealth and greatness as well as of religion and virtue and that they men is apt to pretend to be what he's not in the one way the cunning man is in the other assumes the Gipajna-spended way of living of his superiors without considering that whatever may be praiseworthy in any of these derives this whole marinate propriety from its suitableness to that situation and fortune which both required can easily support the expense many a poor man places his glory in being thought rich without considering the duties if one may call such follies by so venerable in need which that reputation imposes upon him must soon reduce him to beggary and render his situation so more unlike that of those whom he admires and imitates than it had been originally to attain to this ending situation the candidates for fortune to frequently abandon the path of virtue for unhappily the road which leads to the one and that which leads to the other lies sometimes in very opposite directions but the ambitious man flatters himself out in the splendid situation to which he advances he will have so many means of commanding the respect and admiration of mankind when they'll be enabled to act with such superior propriety and grace that the lustre of his future conduct will entirely cover or face the foulness of the steps by which he arrived at that elevation in many governments the candidates for the highest stations are above the law and if they can attain the object of their ambition they have no fear of being called to account for the means by which they acquired it they often endeavor therefore not only by fraud and falsehood the ordinary vulgar arts of intrigue and cabal but sometimes by the perpetration of the most enormous crimes by murder and assassination by rebellion and civil war self-landed destroy those who oppose or stand in the way of their greatness they more frequently miscarry than succeed and commonly gain nothing but the disgraceful punishment which is due to their crimes but though they should be so lucky as to attain that wish for greatness they're always most miserably disappointed in the happiness which they expect to enjoy it in it is not either a pleasure but always on our one kind or another though frequently in honor very understood that the ambitious man really pursues but the honor of his exalted station of heroes both in his own eyes and those of other people polluted and defiled by the basis of the means through which he rose to it though by the perfusion of every liberal expense though by excessive indulgence in every profligate pleasure they're rich in but usual resources and characters though by the hurry of public business or by proud or more dazzling tumult of war he being devoured to his faith both from his own memory and from that of other people the remembrance of what he has done that remembrance never fails to pursue him he invokes in vain the dark and dismal powers of forgetfulness and oblivion he remembers himself what he has done and that remembrance tells him that other people must likewise remember it amidst all the bloody pomp of the most ostentatious greatness amidst the venal and bio-agulation of the great and the blurred amidst the innocent no more foolish affirmations of the common people amidst all the pride of conquest and the triumph of successful war he still secretly pursued by the avenging fury of shame and remorse and while glory seems to surround him on all sides he himself in his own imagination sees black and foul infamy fast pursuing him in every moment ready to overtake him from behind even the great Caesar though he had the magnanimity to dismiss his guards would not dismiss his suspicions the remembrance of far salient still haunted and pursued him one of the requests of the senate he had the generosity to pardon Marshal's he told that assembly that he was not unaware of the designs which were carrying on against his life but that as he had lived long enough for both nature and for glory he was contented to die and therefore despised all conspiracies he had perhaps lived long enough for nature but the man who felt himself the object of such deadly resentment from those whose favor he wished to gain but when he still wished to consider as his friends had certainly lived too long for real glory or for all the happiness which he could ever hope to enjoy in the love and esteem of his equals end of section seven section eight of the theory of moral sentiments this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Meg Triton the theory of moral sentiments by Adam Smith part two section one part two of merit and demerit or of the objects of reward and punishment consisting of three parts section one of the sense of merit and demerit introduction there is another set of qualities ascribed to the actions and conduct of mankind distinct from their propriety or impropriety their decency or ungracefulness and which are the objects of a distinct species of approbation and disapprobation these are merit and demerit the qualities of deserving reward and of deserving punishment it has already been observed that the sentiment or affection of the heart from which any action proceeds and upon which its whole virtue or vice depends may be considered under two different aspects or in two different relations first in relation to the cause or object which excites it and secondly in relation to the end which it proposes or to the effect which it tends to produce that upon the suitableness or unsuitableness upon the proportion or disproportion which the affection seems to bear to the cause or object which excites it depends the propriety or impropriety the decency or ungracefulness of the consequent action and that upon the beneficial or hurtful effects which the affection proposes or tends to produce depends the merit or demerit the good or ill desert of the action to which it gives occasion wherein consists our sense of the propriety or impropriety of actions has been explained in the former part of this discourse we come now to consider wherein consists that of their good or ill desert chapter one that whatever appears to be the proper object of gratitude appears to deserve reward and that in the same manner whatever appears to be the proper object of resentment appears to deserve punishment to us therefore that action must appear to deserve reward which appears to be the proper and approved object of that sentiment which most immediately and directly prompts us to reward or to do good to another and in the same manner that action must appear to deserve punishment which appears to be the proper and approved object of that sentiment which most immediately and directly prompts us to punish, or to inflict evil upon another. The sentiment which most immediately and directly prompts us to reward is gratitude, that which most immediately and directly prompts us to punish is resentment. To us, therefore, that action must appear to deserve a reward which appears to be the proper and approved object of gratitude, as, on the other hand, that action must appear to deserve punishment, which appears to be the proper and approved object of resentment. To reward is to recompense, to remunerate, to return good for good received. To punish too is to recompense, to remunerate, though in a different manner. It is to return evil for evil that has been done. There are some other passions, besides gratitude and resentment, which interest us in the happiness or misery of others. But there are none which so directly excite us to be the instruments of either. The love and esteem which grow upon acquaintance and habitual approbation necessarily lead us to be pleased with the good fortune of the man who is the object of such agreeable emotions, and consequently to be willing to lend a hand to promote it. Our love, however, is fully satisfied, though his good fortune should be brought about without our assistance. All that this passion desires is to see him happy, without regarding who was the author of his prosperity. But gratitude is not to be satisfied in this manner. If the person to whom we owe many obligations is made happy without our assistance, though it pleases our love, it does not content our gratitude. Till we have recompensed him, till we ourselves have been instrumental in promoting his happiness, we feel ourselves still loaded with that debt which his past services have laid upon us. The hatred and dislike, in the same manner, which grow upon habitual disapprobation, would often lead us to take a malicious pleasure in the misfortune of the man whose conduct and character excite so painful a passion. But though dislike and hatred harden us against all sympathy, and sometimes dispose us even to rejoice at the distress of another, yet, if there is no resentment in the case, if neither we nor our friends have received any great personal provocation, these passions would not naturally lead us to wish to be instrumental in bringing it about. Though we could fear no punishment in consequence of our having had some hand in it, we would rather that it should happen by some other means. To one under the dominion of violent hatred it would be agreeable, perhaps, to hear that the person whom he abhorred and detested was killed by some accident. But if he had the least spark of justice, which, though this passion is not very favorable to virtue, he might still have, it would hurt him excessively to have been himself, even without design, the occasion of this misfortune. Much more would the very thought of voluntarily contributing to it shock him beyond all measure. He would reject with horror even the imagination of so excruble a design, and if he could imagine himself capable of such an enormity, he would begin to regard himself in the same odious light in which he had considered the person who was the object of his dislike. But it is quite otherwise with resentment. If the person who had done us some great injury, who had murdered our father or our brother, for example, should soon afterwards die of a fever, or even be brought to the scaffold upon account of some other crime, though it might soothe our hatred, it would not fully gratify our resentment.  Resentment cannot be fully gratified unless the offender is not only made to grieve in his turn, but to grieve for that particular wrong which we have suffered from him. He must be made to repent and be sorry for this very action, that others, through fear of the like punishment, may be terrified from being guilty of the like offense. The natural gratification of this passion tends, of its own accord, to produce all the political ends of punishment, the correction of the criminal, and the example to the public. Gratitude and resentment, therefore, are the sentiments which most immediately and directly prompt to reward and to punish. To us, therefore, he must appear to deserve reward, who appears to be the proper and approved object of gratitude, and he to deserve punishment, who appears to be that of resentment. CHAPTER II Of the proper objects of gratitude and resentment. To be the proper and approved object, either of gratitude or resentment, can mean nothing but to be the object of that gratitude and of that resentment, which naturally seems proper and is approved of. But these, as well as all the other passions of human nature, seem proper and are approved of when the heart of every impartial spectator entirely sympathizes with them, when every indifferent bystander entirely enters into and goes along with them. He, therefore, appears to deserve reward, who, to some person or persons, is the natural object of a gratitude which every human heart is disposed to beat time to, and thereby applaud. And he, on the other hand, appears to deserve punishment, who in the same manner is to some person or persons the natural object of a resentment which the breast of every reasonable man is ready to adopt and sympathize with. To us, surely, that action must appear to deserve reward which everybody who knows of it would wish to reward, and thereby delights to see rewarded, and that action must as surely appear to deserve punishment which everybody who hears of it is angry with, and upon that account rejoices to see punished. As we sympathize with the joy of our companions when in prosperity, so we join with them in the complacency and satisfaction with which they naturally regard whatever is the cause of their good fortune, we enter into the love and affection which they conceive for it, and begin to love it too. We should be sorry for their sakes if it was destroyed, or even if it was placed at too great a distance from them, and out of the reach of their care and protection, though they should lose nothing by its absence except the pleasure of seeing it. If it is man who has thus been the fortunate instrument of the happiness of his brethren, this is still more peculiarly the case. When we see one man assisted, protected, relieved by another, our sympathy with the joy of the person who receives the benefit serves only to animate our fellow-feeling with his gratitude towards him who bestows it. When we look upon the person who is the cause of his pleasure with the eyes with which we imagine he must look upon him, his benefactor seems to stand before us in the most engaging and amiable light. We readily, therefore, sympathize with the grateful affection which he conceives for a person to whom he has been so much obliged, and consequently applaud the returns which he is disposed to make for the good offices conferred upon him. As we entirely enter into the affection from which these returns proceed, they necessarily seem every way proper and suitable to their object. In the same manner as we sympathize with the sorrow of our fellow-creature whenever we see his distress, so we likewise enter into his apporance in aversion for whatever has given occasion to it. Our heart, as it adopts and beats time to his grief, so is it likewise animated with that spirit by which he endeavors to drive away or destroy the cause of it. The indolent and passive fellow-feeling by which we accompany him in his sufferings readily gives way to that more vigorous and active sentiment by which we go along with him in the effort he makes, either to repel them or to gratify his aversion to what has given occasion to them. This is still more peculiarly the case when it is a man who has caused them. When we see one man oppressed or injured by another, the sympathy which we feel with the distress of the sufferer seems to serve only to animate our fellow-feeling with his resentment against the offender. We are rejoiced to see him attack his adversary in his turn and are eager and ready to assist him whenever he exerts himself for defense or even for vengeance within a certain degree. If the injured should perish in the quarrel, we not only sympathize with the real resentment of his friends and relations, but with the imaginary resentment which in fancy we lend to the dead who is no longer capable of feeling that or any other human sentiment. But as we put ourselves in his situation, as we enter as it were into his body and in our imaginations in some measure animate anew the deformed and mangled carcass of the slain, when we bring home in this manner his case to our own bosoms, we feel upon this as upon many other occasions an emotion which the person principally concerned is incapable of feeling and which yet we feel by an elusive sympathy with him. The sympathetic tears which we shed for that immense and irretrievable loss which in our fancy he appears to have sustained seem to be but a small part of the duty which we owe him. The injury which he has suffered demands, we think, a principal part of our attention. We feel that resentment which we imagine he ought to feel and which he would feel if in his cold and lifeless body there remained any consciousness of what passed upon earth. His blood, we think, calls aloud for vengeance. The very ashes of the dead seem to be disturbed at the thought that his injuries are to pass unrevenged. The horrors which are supposed to haunt the bed of the murderer, the ghosts which superstition imagines, rise from their graves to demand vengeance upon those who brought them to an untimely end, all take their origin from this natural sympathy with the imaginary resentment of the slain. And with regard at least to this most dreadful of all crimes, nature antecedent to all reflections upon the utility of punishment has in this manner stamped upon the human heart and the strongest and most indelible characters an immediate and instinctive approbation of the sacred and necessary law of retaliation. CHAPTER III. That where there is no approbation of the conduct of the person who confers the benefit there is little sympathy with the gratitude of him who receives it, and that on the contrary where there is no disapprobation of the motives of the person who does the mischief there is no sort of sympathy with the resentment of him who suffers it. It is to be observed, however, that how beneficial soever on the one hand or how hurtful soever on the other the actions or intentions of the person who acts may have been to the person who is, if I may say so, acted upon, yet if in the one case there appears to have been no propriety in the motives of the agent. If we cannot enter into the infections which influenced his conduct we have little sympathy with the gratitude of the person who receives the benefit, or if, in the other case, there appears to have been no impropriety in the motives of the agent, if, on the contrary, the affections which influenced his conduct are such as we must necessarily enter into, we can have no sort of sympathy with the resentment of the person who suffers. Little gratitude seems due in the one case and all sort of resentment seems unjust in the other. The one action seems to merit little reward, the other to deserve no punishment. First I say that wherever we cannot sympathize with the affections of the agent, wherever there seems to be no propriety in the motives which influenced his conduct, we are less disposed to enter into the gratitude of the person who received the benefit of his actions. A very small return seems due to that foolish and profuse generosity which confers the greatest benefits from the most trivial motives, and gives an estate to a man merely because his name and surname happen to be the same with those of the giver. Such services do not seem to demand any proportionable recompense. Our contempt for the folly of the agent hinders us from thoroughly entering into the gratitude of the person to whom the good office has been done. His benefactor seems unworthy of it. As when we place ourselves in the situation of the person obliged we feel that we could conceive no great reverence for such a benefactor, we easily absolve him from a great deal of that submissive veneration and esteem which we should think due to a more respectable character. And provided he always treats his weak friend with kindness and humanity, we are willing to excuse him from many attentions and regards which we should demand to a worthier patron. Those princes who have heaped with the greatest profusion wealth, power, and honors upon their favorites, have seldom excited that degree of attachment to their persons which is often been experienced by those who were more frugal of their favors. The well-natured but injudicious prodigality of James I of Great Britain seems to have attached nobody to his person. And that prince, notwithstanding his social and harmless disposition, appears to have lived and died without a friend. The whole gentry and nobility of England exposed their lives and fortunes in the cause of his more frugal and distinguishing son, notwithstanding the coldness and distance of erity of his ordinary deportment. Secondly, I say, that whenever the conduct of the agent appears to have been entirely directed by motives and affections which we thoroughly enter into an approve of, we can have no sort of sympathy with the resentment of the sufferer, how great so ever the mischief which may have been done to him. When two people quarrel, if we take part with, and entirely adopt the resentment of one of them, it is impossible that we should enter into that of the other. Our sympathy with the person whose motives we go along with, and whom therefore we look upon as in the right, cannot but harden us against all fellow feeling with the other whom we necessarily regard as in the wrong. Whatever this last therefore may have suffered, while it is no more than what we ourselves should have wished him to suffer, while it is no more than what our own sympathetic indignation would have prompted us to inflict upon him, it cannot either displease or provoke us. When an inhuman murderer is brought to the scaffold, though we have some compassion for his misery, we can have no sort of fellow feeling with his resentment if he should be so absurd as to express any against either his prosecutor or his judge. The natural tendency of their just indignation against so vile a criminal is indeed the most fatal and ruinous to him. But it is impossible that we should be displeased with the tendency of a sentiment which, when we bring the case home to ourselves, we feel that we cannot avoid adopting. CHAPTER IV. RECAPITULATION OF THE FORGOING CHAPTERS. We do not therefore thoroughly and heartily sympathize with the gratitude of one man towards another merely because this other has been the cause of his good fortune, unless he has been the cause of it from motives which we entirely go along with. Our heart must adopt the principles of the agent, and go along with all the affections which influenced his conduct before it can entirely sympathize with and beat time to the gratitude of the person who has been benefited by his actions. If in the conduct of the benefactor there appears to have been no propriety, how beneficial so ever its effects it does not seem to demand or necessarily to require any proportionable recompense. But when to the beneficent tendency of the action is joined the propriety of the affection from which it proceeds, when we entirely sympathize and go along with the motives of the agent, the love which we conceive for him upon his own account enhances and enlivens our fellow feeling with the gratitude of those who owe their prosperity to his good conduct. His actions seem then to demand, and if I may say so, to call aloud for a proportionable recompense. We then entirely enter into that gratitude which prompts to his dough it. The benefactor seems then to be the proper object of reward when we thus entirely sympathize with and approve of that sentiment which prompts to reward him. When we approve of and go along with the affection from which the action proceeds we must necessarily approve of the action and regard the person towards whom it is directed as its proper and suitable object. In the same manner we cannot at all sympathize with the resentment of one man against another merely because this other has been the cause of his misfortune, unless he has been the cause of it for motives which we cannot enter into. Before we can adopt the resentment of the sufferer we must disapprove of the motives of the agent and feel that our heart renounces all sympathy with the affections which influence his conduct. If there appears to have been no impropriety in these, how fatal so ever the tendency of the action which proceeds from them to those against whom it is directed it does not seem to deserve any punishment or to be the proper object of any resentment. But when to the hurtfulness of the action is joined the impropriety of the affection from whence it proceeds, when our heart rejects with apporance all fellow-feeling with the motives of the agent we then heartily and entirely sympathize with the resentment of the sufferer. Such actions seem then to deserve, and if I may say so, to call aloud for, a proportionable punishment, and we entirely enter into, and thereby approve of, that resentment which prompts to inflict it. The offender necessarily seems then to be the proper object of punishment when we thus entirely sympathize with, and thereby approve of, that sentiment which prompts to punish. In this case, too, when we approve and go along with the affection from which the action proceeds, we must necessarily approve of the action in regard the person against whom it is directed, as its proper and suitable object. CHAPTER V. THE ANALYSIS OF THE SENSE OF MERIT AND DEMERIT As our sense, therefore, of the propriety of conduct arises from what I shall call a direct sympathy with the affections and motives of the person who acts, so our sense of its merit arises from what I shall call an indirect sympathy with the gratitude of the person who is, if I may say so, acted upon. As we cannot, indeed, enter thoroughly into the gratitude of the person who receives the benefit, unless we beforehand approve of the motives of the benefactor, so upon this account the sense of merit seems to be a compounded sentiment, and to be made up of two distinct emotions, a direct sympathy with the sentiments of the agent, and an indirect sympathy with the gratitude of those who receive the benefit of his actions. We may, upon many different occasions, plainly distinguish those two different emotions, combining and uniting together in our sense of the good-desert of a particular character or action. When we read in history concerning actions of proper and beneficent greatness of mind, how eagerly do we enter into such designs? How much are we animated by that high-spirited generosity which directs them? How keen are we for their success? How grieved are their disappointment? In imagination we become the very person whose actions are represented to us. We transport ourselves in fancy to the scenes of those distant and forgotten adventures, and imagine ourselves acting the part of a Cypio or a Camillus, a Timoleon, or an Aristides. So far our sentiments are founded upon the direct sympathy with the person who acts, nor is the indirect sympathy with those who receive the benefit of such actions less sensibly felt. Here we place ourselves in the situation of these last. With what warm and affectionate fellow-feeling do we enter into their gratitude towards those who serve them so essentially? We embrace, as it were, their benefactor along with them. Our heart readily sympathizes with the highest transports of their grateful affection. No honors, no rewards, we think, can be too great for them to bestow upon him. When they make this proper return for his services, we heartily applaud go along with them. But are shocked beyond all measure if by their conduct they appear to have little sense of the obligations conferred upon them. Our whole sense, in short, of the merit and good dessert of such actions, of the propriety and fitness of recompensing them, and making the person who performed them rejoice in his turn, arises from the sympathetic emotions of gratitude and love, with which, when we bring home to our own breast the situation of those principally concerned, we feel ourselves naturally transported towards the man who could act with such proper and noble beneficence. In the same manner as our sense of the impropriety of conduct arises from a want of sympathy, or from a direct intipathy to the affections and motives of the agent, so our sense of its demerit arises from what I shall here to call an indirect sympathy with the resentment of the sufferer. As we cannot indeed enter into the resentment of the sufferer, unless our heart beforehand disapproves the motives of the agent, and renounces all fellow feeling with them, so upon this account the sense of demerit, as well as that of merit, seems to be a compounded sentiment, and to be made up of two distinct emotions, a direct intipathy to the sentiments of the agent, and an indirect sympathy with the resentment of the sufferer. We may here, too, upon many different occasions, plainly distinguish those two different emotions, combining and uniting together, in our sense of the ill-desert of the particular character or action. When we read in history concerning the perfidy and cruelty of a bourgeois or a neuro, our heart rises up against the detestable sentiments which influence their conduct, and renounces with horror and abomination all fellow feeling with such excruable motives. So far our sentiments are founded upon the direct intipathy to the affections of the agent, and the indirect sympathy with the resentment of the sufferers is still more sensibly felt. When we bring home to ourselves the situation of the persons whom these scourges of mankind insulted, murdered, or betrayed, what indignation do we not feel against such insolent and inhuman oppressors of the earth? Our sympathy with the unavoidable distress of the innocent sufferers is not more real nor more lively than our fellow feeling with their just and natural resentment. The former sentiment only heightens the latter, and the idea of their distress serves only to inflame and blow up our animosity against those who occasioned it. When we think of the anguish of the sufferers, we take part with them more earnestly against their oppressors. We enter with more eagerness into all their schemes of vengeance, and feel ourselves every moment reeking in imagination upon such violators of the laws of society that punishment which our sympathetic indignation tells us is due to their crimes. Our sense of the horror and dreadful atrocity of such conduct, the delight which we take in hearing that it was properly punished, the indignation which we feel when it escapes this due retaliation, our whole sense and feeling in short of its ill-desert, of the propriety and fitness of inflicting evil upon the person who is guilty of it, and of making him grieve in his turn arises from the sympathetic indignation which naturally boils up in the breast of the spectator whenever he thoroughly brings home to himself the case of the sufferer. CHAPTER I. of Merit and Demerit. Or of the objects of reward and punishment consisting of three parts. Section 2 of Justice and Beneficence. CHAPTER I. Comparison of those two virtues. Actions of a beneficent tendency which proceed from proper motives seem alone to require reward, because such alone are the approved objects of gratitude or excite the sympathetic gratitude of the spectator. Beneficence is always free. It cannot be extorted by force. The mere want of it exposes to no punishment, because the mere want of beneficence tends to do no real positive evil. CHAPTER I. Comparison of those two virtues. CHAPTER I. Comparison of those two virtues. It may disappoint of the good which might reasonably have been expected, and upon that account it may justly excite dislike and disapprobation. It cannot, however, provoke any resentment which mankind will go along with. The man who does not recompense his benefactor when he has had it in his power, and when his benefactor does not have it in his power, and when his benefactor needs his assistance, is no doubt guilty of the blackest in gratitude. The heart of every impartial spectator rejects all fellow feeling with the selfishness of his motives, and he is the proper object of the highest disapprobation. But still he does no positive hurt to anybody. He only does not do that good which impropriety he ought to have done. He is the object of hatred, a passion which is naturally excited by impropriety of sentiment and behavior, not of resentment, a passion which is never properly called forth by actions which tend to do real and positive hurt to some particular person. His want of gratitude, therefore, cannot be punished. To oblige him by force to perform what in gratitude he ought to perform, and what every impartial spectator would approve of him for performing, would, if possible, be still more improper than his neglecting to perform it. His benefactor would dishonor himself if he attempted by violence to constrain him to gratitude, and it would be impertinent for any third person who is not the superior of either to intermedal. But of all the duties of beneficence, those which gratitude recommends to us approach nearest to what is called a perfect and complete obligation. What friendship, what generosity, what charity would prompt us to do with universal approbation is still more free and can still less be extorted by force than the duties of gratitude. We talk of the debt of gratitude, not of charity or generosity, or even of friendship, when friendship is mere steam and has not been enhanced and complicated with gratitude for good offices. Resentment seems to have been given us by nature for defense, and for defense only. It is the safeguard of justice and the security of innocent. It prompts us to beat off the mischief which is attempted to be done to us and to retaliate that which is already done, that the offender may be made to repent of his injustice and that others through their fear of the like punishment may be terrified from being guilty of the like offense. It must be reserved therefore for these purposes, nor can the spectator ever go along with it when it is exerted for any other, but the mere want of the beneficent virtues, though it may disappoint us of the good which might reasonably be expected, neither does nor attempts to do any mischief from which we can have occasion to defend ourselves. There is however another virtue of which the observance is not left to the freedom of our own wills which may be extorted by force, and of which the violation exposes to resentment and consequently to punishment. This virtue is justice. The violation of justice is injury that does real and positive hurt to some particular persons for motives which are naturally disapproved of. It is therefore proper object of resentment and of punishment which is the natural consequence of resentment as mankind goes along with and approve of the violence employed to avenge the hurt which is done by injustice so they much more go along with and approve of that which is employed to prevent and beat off the injury and to restrain the offender from hurting his neighbors. The person himself who meditates an injustice is sensible of this and feels that force may with the utmost propriety be made use of both by the person who he is about to injure and by others either to obstruct the execution of his crime or to punish him when he has executed it. And upon this is founded that remarkable distinction between justice and all the other social virtues which has a blade been particularly insisted upon by an author of very great and original genius that we feel ourselves to be under stricter obligation to act according to justice and agreeably to friendship, charity or generosity that the practice of these last mentioned virtues seems to be left in some measure to our own choice but that somehow or other we feel ourselves to be in a peculiar manner tied, bound and obligated to the observation of justice. We feel that is to say that force may with the utmost propriety and with the approbation of all mankind be made use of to constrain us to observe the rules of the one but not to follow the precepts of the other. We most always however carefully distinguish what is only blamable or the proper object of his dis approbation from what force may be employed either to punish or to prevent. That seems blamable which falls short of that ordinary degree of proper beneficence which experience teaches us to expect of everybody and on the contrary that seems praise worthy which goes beyond it. The ordinary degree itself seems neither blamable nor praise worthy. A father, a son, a brother who behaves to the correspondent relation neither better nor worse than the greater part of men commonly do seems properly to deserve neither praise nor blame. He who surprises us by extraordinary and unexpected but still proper and suitable kindness or on the contrary extraordinary and unexpected as well as unsuitable unkindness seems praise worthy in the one case and blamable in the other. Even the most ordinary degree of kindness or beneficence however cannot among equals be extorted by force. Among equals each individual is naturally and antecedent to the institution of civil government regarded as having a right both to defend himself from injuries and to exact a certain degree of punishment for those which have been done to him. Every generous spectator not only approves of his conduct when he does this but enters so far into his sentiments as often to be willing to assist him. When one man attacks or robs or attempts to murder another all the neighbors take the alarm and think that they do right when they run either to revenge the person who's been injured or to defend him who is in danger of being so. But when a father fails in the ordinary degree of parental affection towards his son when a son seems to want that filial reverence which might be expected to his father when brothers are without the usual degree of brotherly affection. When a man shuts his breast against compassion and refuses to relieve the misery of his fellow preachers when he can with the greatest ease in all these cases that everybody blames the conduct nobody imagines that those who might have reason perhaps to expect more kindness have any right to extort it by force. The sufferer can only complain and the spectator can intramillable in no other way than by advice and persuasion upon all such occasions for equals to use force against one another would be thought the highest degree of insolence and presumption. A superior may indeed sometimes with universal approbation obliged those under his jurisdiction to behave in this respect a superior may indeed sometimes with universal approbation obliged those under his jurisdiction to behave in this respect with a certain degree of propriety to one another. The laws of all civilized nations obliged parents to maintain their children and children to maintain their parents and impose upon men many other duties of beneficence. The civil magistrate is entrusted with the power not only of preserving the public peace by restraining injustice but of promoting the prosperity of the commonwealth by establishing good discipline and by discouraging every sort of vice and impropriety. They prescribe rules therefore which not only prohibit mutual injuries among fellow citizens but command mutual good offices to a certain degree. When the sovereign commands what is merely indifferent and what antecedent to his orders might have been omitted without any blame it becomes not only blamable but punishable to disobey him when he commands therefore what antecedent to any such order could not have been omitted without the greatest blame it surely becomes much more punishable to be wanting an obedience of all the duties of a law giver however this perhaps is that which it requires the greatest delicacy and reserve to execute with propriety and judgment to neglect it all together exposes the commonwealth to many gross disorders and shocking enormity and to push it too far of all liberty, security and justice though the mere want of beneficence seems to merit no punishment from equals the greater exertions of that virtue appear to deserve the highest reward by being productive of the greatest good they are the natural and approved objects of the liveliest gravity though the breach of justice on the contrary exposes to punishment the observance of the rules of that virtue to deserve any reward there is no doubt a propriety in the practice of justice and it merits upon that account all the outpubation which is due to propriety but as it does no real positive good it is entitled to very little gravity near justice is upon most occasions but a negative virtue and only hinders us from hurting our neighbor the man who barely abstains from violating either the person or the estate or the reputation of his neighbors has surely very little positive merit he fulfills however all the rules of what is peculiarly called justice and does everything which equals can with propriety force him to do or which they can punish him for not doing we may often fulfill all the rules of justice we may fulfill and doing nothing as every man doth so shall it be done to him and retaliation seems to be the greatest law which is dictated to us by nature beneficence and generosity we thank due to the geners and beneficent those whose hearts never open to the feelings of humanity should be thanked be shut out in the same manner from the affections of all their fellow creatures and be allowed to live in the midst of society as in a great desert where there is nobody to care for them or to inquire after them the violator of the laws of justice ought to be made to feel himself that evil which he has done to another and since no regard to the sufferings of his brethren is capable of restraining him he ought to be overawed by the fear of his own the man who is barely innocent who only observes the laws of justice with regard to others and merely abstains from hurting his neighbors can merit only that his neighbors in their turn should respect his innocence and that the same laws should be religiously observed with regard to him end of chapter one chapter two of the sense of justice of remorse and of the consciousness of merit there can be no proper motive for hurting our neighbor there can be no incitement to do evil to another which mankind will go along with except just indignation for evil which the other has done to us to disturb his happiness merely because it stands in the way of our own to take from him what is of real use to him merely because it may be of equal or more use to us or to indulge in this manner at the expense of other people the natural preference which every man has for his own happiness above that of other people is what no impartial spectator can go along with every man is no doubt by nature first and principally recommended to his own care and he adds he is fitter to take care of himself than any other person that is fit and right that it should be so every man therefore is much more deeply interested in whatever immediately concerns himself than in what concerns an other man and to hear perhaps of the death of another person with whom we have no particular connection will give us less concern will spoil our stomach or break our rest much less than a very insignificant disaster which has befallen ourselves but though the ruin of our neighbor may affect us much less than a very small misfortune of our own we must not ruin him to prevent that small misfortune nor even to prevent our own ruin we must hear as in all other cases view ourselves not so much according to that light in which we may naturally appear to ourselves as according to that in which we naturally appear to others that every man may and according to the proverb be the whole world to himself to the rest of mankind he is the most insignificant part of it though his own happiness may be of more importance to him than that of all the world besides to every other person it is of no more consequence than that of any other man but may be true therefore that every individual in his own breast naturally prefers himself to all mankind yet he dares not look mankind in the face and avow that he acts according to his principle he feels that in this preference they can never go along with him and that how natural still ever it may be to him it must always appear excessive and extravagant to them when he views himself in the light in which he is conscious that others will view him he sees that to them one of the multitude in no respect better than any other if he would act so as that impartial spectator may enter into the principles of his conduct which is what of all things he has the greatest desire to do he must upon this as upon all other occasions humble the arrogance of his self-love and bring it down to something which other men can go along with they will indulge it so far as to allow him to be more anxious about and to pursue with more earnest acidity his own happiness than that of any other person thus far whenever they place themselves in his situation they will readily go along with him in the race for wealth and honors and propellments he may run as hard as he can and strain every nerve in order to outstrip all his competitors but if he should jassle or throw down any of them the indulgence of the spectators is entirely at an end it is a violation of fair play which they cannot admit of this man is to them in every respect as good as he they do not enter into that self-love by which he prefers himself so much to this other he will along with the motive from which he hurt him they readily therefore sympathize with the natural resentment of the injured the offender becomes the object of their hatred and indignation he is sensible that he becomes so and feels that those sentiments are ready to burst out from all sides against him as the greater and more irreparable evil that is done the resentment of the sufferer so does likewise the sympathetic indignation of the spectator as well as the sense of guilt in the agent death is the greatest evil which one man can inflict upon another and excites the highest degree of resentment in those who are immediately connected with the slain murder therefore is the most atrocious of all crimes which kept individuals only in the sight both of mankind and of the person who has committed it to be deprived of that which we are possessed of is a greater evil than to be disappointed of what we have only the expectation breach of property therefore theft and robbery which take from us which we are possessed of are greater crimes than breach of contract which only disappoints us of what we expected most sacred laws of justice therefore the violation seems to call loudest preventions and punishment are the laws which guard the life and person of our neighbor the next are those which guard his property and possessions and last of all from those which guard that are called his personal rights or what is due to him from the promises of others the violator of the more sacred laws of justice can never reflect on the sentiments which mankind adhere to him without feeling all the agonies of shame and horror and consternation when his passion is gratified and he begins coolly to reflect on his past conduct he can enter into none of the motives which influenced it they appear now as detestable to him as they did always to other people by sympathizing with the hatred and the porums of the most entertained for him he becomes in some measure the object of his own hatred and abhorrence the situation of the person who suffered by his injustice now calls upon his pity he is grieved at the thought of it regrets the unhappy effects of his own conduct and feels at the same time that they have rendered him the proper object of the resentment and indignation of mankind and of what is the natural consequence of resentment vengeance and punishment the thought of this perpetually haunts him and fills him with terror and amazement he dares no longer look society in the face but imagines himself as it were rejected and thrown out from the affections of all mankind he cannot hope for the consolation of sympathy this is greatest and most dreadful distress the remembrance of his crimes has shut out all fellow feeling with him from the hearts of his fellow creatures the sentiments which they entertain with regard to him are the very thing which he is most afraid of everything seems hostile and he would be glad to fly to some inhospitable desert where he might never more be hold the face of a human creature with more greed in the countenance of mankind the condemnation of his crimes but solitude is still more dreadful than society his own thoughts can present him with nothing but what is black, unfortunate and disastrous the melancholy foreboding of incomprehensible misery and ruin the horror of solitude drives him back into society and he comes again into the presence of mankind astonished to appear before them loaded with shame and distracted with fear in order to suffocate from little protection from the countenance of those very judges who he knows have already all unanimously condemned him such is the nature of that sentiment which is properly called remorse of all the sentiments which can enter the human breast the most dreadful it is made up of shame from the scent of the impropriety of past conduct of grief for the effects of it of pity for those who suffer by it and of the dread and terror of punishment from the consciousness of the justly provoked resentment of all rational creatures the opposite behavior naturally inspires the opposite sentiment the man who, not from frivolous fancy but from proper motives has performed a generous action when he looks forward to those whom he has served feels himself to be the natural object of their love and gratitude and by sympathy with them of the esteem and approbation of all mankind and when he looks backward to the motive from which he acted and surveys it in the light in which the indifferent spectator will survey it he still continues to enter into it and applaud himself by sympathy with the approbation of the supposed impartial judge in both these points of view his own conduct appears to him every way agreeable his mind of the thought of it is filled with cheerfulness serenity and composure he is in friendship and harmony with all mankind and looks upon his fellow creatures with confidence and benevolence satisfaction secure that he has rendered himself worthy of their most favorable regards in the combination of all these sentiments consists the consciousness of merit or of deserved reward end of section 9