The Theory of Moral Sentiments

f the Pleasure of mutual Sympathy.

But whatever may be the cause of sympathy,

or however it may be excited, nothing pleases us

more than to observe in other men a fellow-feeling

with all the emotions of our own breast; nor are

we ever so much shocked as by the appearance of

the contrary. Those who are fond of deducing all

our sentiments from certain refinements of self-love,

10think themselves at no loss to account, according to

their own principles, both for this pleasure and this

pain. Man, say they, conscious of his own weakness

and of the need which he has for the assistance

of others, rejoices whenever he observes that they

adopt his own passions, because he is then assured

of that assistance; and grieves whenever he observes

the contrary, because he is then assured of

their opposition. But both the pleasure and the pain

are always felt so instantaneously, and often upon

such frivolous occasions, that it seems evident that

neither of them can be derived from any such self-interested

consideration. A man is mortified when,

after having endeavored to divert the company, he

looks round and sees that no body laughs at his jests

but himself. On the contrary, the mirth of the company

is highly agreeable to him, and he regards this

correspondence of their sentiments with his own as

the greatest applause.

Neither does his pleasure seem to arise altogether

from the additional vivacity which his mirth may

receive from sympathy with theirs, nor his pain

from the disappointment he meets with when he

misses this pleasure; though both the one and the

other, no doubt, do in some measure. When we

have read a book or poem so often that we can no

longer find any amusement in reading it by ourselves,

we can still take pleasure in reading it to a

companion. To him it has all the graces of novelty;

we enter into the surprise and admiration which

it naturally excites in him, but which it is no longer

capable of exciting in us; we consider all the ideas

which it presents rather in the light in which they

appear to him, than in that in which they appear

11to ourselves, and we are amused by sympathy

with his amusement which thus enlivens our

own. On the contrary, we should be vexed if he

did not seem to be entertained with it, and we could

no longer take any pleasure in reading it to him.

It is the same case here. The mirth of the company,

no doubt, enlivens our own mirth, and their silence,

no doubt, disappoints us. But though this may

contribute both to the pleasure which we derive

from the one, and to the pain which we feel from

the other, it is by no means the sole cause of either;

and this correspondence of the sentiments of others

with our own appears to be a cause of pleasure, and

the want of it a cause of pain, which cannot be accounted

for in this manner. The sympathy, which

my friends express with my joy, might, indeed, give

me pleasure by enlivening that joy: but that which

they express with my grief could give me none, if

it served only to enliven that grief. Sympathy,

however, enlivens joy and alleviates grief. It enlivens

joy by presenting another source of satisfaction;

and it alleviates grief by insinuating into the

heart almost the only agreeable sensation which

it is at that time capable of receiving.

It is to be observed accordingly, that we are

still more anxious to communicate to our friends

our disagreeable than our agreeable passions, that

we derive still more satisfaction from their sympathy

with the former than from that with the latter,

and that we are still more shocked by the want of it.

How are the unfortunate relieved when they

have sound out a person to whom they can communicate

the cause of their sorrow? Upon his sympathy

12they seem to disburthen themselves of a part

of their distress: he is not improperly said to share

it with them. He not only feels a sorrow of the

same kind with that which they feel, but as if he

had derived a part of it to himself, what he feels

seems to alleviate the weight of what they feel.

Yet by relating their misfortunes, they in some

measure renew their grief. They awaken in their

memory the remembrance of those circumstances

which occasion their affliction. Their tears accordingly

flow faster than before, and they are apt to

abandon themselves to all the weakness of sorrow.

They take pleasure, however, in all this, and, it is

evident, are sensibly relieved by it; because the

sweetness of his sympathy more than compensates

the bitterness of that sorrow, which, in order to

excite that sympathy, they had thus enlivened and

renewed. The cruelest insult, on the contrary,

which can be offered to the unfortunate, is to appear

to make light of their calamities. To seem

not to be affected with the joy of our companions

is but want of politeness; but not to wear a serious

countenance when they tell us their afflictions, is real

and gross inhumanity.

Love is an agreeable, resentment a disagreeable

passion; and accordingly we are not half so anxious

that our friends should adopt our friendships, as

that they should enter into our resentments. We

can forgive them though they seem to be little affected

with the favors which we may have received,

but lose all patience if they seem indifferent

about the injuries which may have been done to us:

nor are we half so angry with them for not entering

into our gratitude, as for not sympathizing with our

13resentment. They can easily avoid being friends

to our friends, but can hardly avoid being enemies

to those with whom we are at variance. We seldom

resent their being at enmity with the first,

though upon that account we may sometimes affect

to make an awkward quarrel with them; but we

quarrel with them in good earnest if they live in

friendship with the last. The agreeable passions of

love and joy can satisfy and support the heart without

any auxiliary pleasure. The bitter and painful

emotions of grief and resentment more strongly require

the healing consolation of sympathy.

As the person who is principally interested in any

event is pleased with our sympathy, and hurt by the

want of it, so we, too, seem to be pleased when we

are able to sympathize with him, and to be hurt

when we are unable to do so. We run not only to

congratulate the successful, but to condole with the

afflicted; and the pleasure which we find in the

conversation of one whom in all the passions of his

heart we can entirely sympathize with, seems to do

more than compensate the painfulness of that sorrow

with which the view of his situation affects us.

On the contrary, it is always disagreeable to feel

that we cannot sympathize with him, and instead of

being pleased with this exemption from sympathetic

pain, it hurts us to find that we cannot share his

uneasiness. If we hear a person loudly lamenting

his misfortunes, which, however, upon bringing

the case home to ourselves, we feel, can produce no

such violent effect upon us, we are shocked at his

grief; and, because we cannot enter into it, call

it pusillanimity and weakness. It gives us the

spleen, on the other hand, to see another too happy

14or too much elevated, as we call it, with any

little piece of good fortune. We are disobliged

even with his joy, and, because we cannot go along

with it, call it levity and folly. We are even put

out of humor if our companion laughs louder or

longer at a joke than we think it deserves; that

is, than we feel that we ourselves could laugh at

it.