The Theory of Moral Sentiments

he same subject continued.

We may judge of the propriety or impropriety

of the sentiments of another person by their correspondence

or disagreement with our own, upon two

different occasions; either, first, when the objects

which excite them are considered without any peculiar

relation, either to themselves or to the person

whose sentiments we judge of; or, secondly, when

they are considered as peculiarly affecting one or

other of us.

201. With regard to those objects which are considered

without any peculiar relation either to ourselves

or to the person whose sentiments we judge

of; wherever his sentiments intirely correspond

with our own, we ascribe to him the qualities of taste

and good judgment. The beauty of a plain, the

greatness of a mountain, the ornaments of a building,

the expression of a picture, the composition of

a discourse, the conduct of a third person, the proportions

of different quantities and numbers, the

various appearances which the great machine of the

universe is perpetually exhibiting, with the secret

wheels and springs which produce them; all the

general subjects of science and taste, are what we

and our companions regard, as having no peculiar

relation to either of us. We both look at them

from the same point of view, and we have no occasion

for sympathy, or for that imaginary change

of situations from which it arises, in order to produce,

with regard to these, the most perfect harmony

of sentiments and affections. If, notwithstanding,

we are often differently affected, it arises either from

the different degrees of attention, which our different

habits of life allow us to give easily to the several

parts of those complex objects, or from the different

degrees of natural acuteness in the faculty of the

mind to which they are addressed.

When the sentiments of our companion coincide

with our own in things of this kind, which are obvious

and easy, and in which, perhaps, we never

found a single person who differed from us, though

we, no doubt, must approve of them, yet he seems

to deserve no praise or admiration on account of

them. But when they not only coincide with our

21own, but lead and direct our own; when in forming

them he appears to have attended to many things

which we had overlooked, and to have adjusted

them to all the various circumstances of their objects;

we not only approve of them, but wonder and are

surprised at their uncommon and unexpected acuteness

and comprehensiveness, and he appears to

deserve a very high degree of admiration and applause.

For approbation heightened by wonder and

surprise, constitutes the sentiment which is properly

palled admiration, and of which applause is the natural

expression. The decision of the man who

judges that exquisite beauty is preferable to the

grossest deformity, or that twice two are equal to

four, must certainly be approved of by all the world,

but will not, surely, be much admired. It is the

acute and delicate discernment of the man of taste,

who distinguishes the minute, and scarce perceptible,

differences of beauty and deformity; it is the comprehensive

accuracy of the experienced mathematician,

who unravels, with ease, the most intricate

and perplexed proportions; it is the great leader in

science and taste, the man who directs and conducts

our own sentiments, the extent and superior justness

of whole talents astonish us with wonder and surprise,

who excites our admiration and seems to deserve

our applause: and upon this foundation is

grounded the greater part of the praise which is

bestowed upon what are called the intellectual

virtues.

The utility of those qualities, it may be thought,

is what first recommends them to us; and, no doubt,

the consideration of this, when we come to attend

to it, gives them a new value. Originally, however,

22we approve of another man’s judgment, not as something

useful, but as right, as accurate, as agreeable

to truth and reality: and it is evident we attribute

those qualities to it for no other reason but because

we find that it agrees with our own. Taste, in the

same manner, is originally approved of, not as useful,

but as just, as delicate, and as precisely suited to

its object. The idea of the utility of all qualities of

this kind, is plainly an after-thought, and not what

first recommended them to our approbation.

2. With regard to those objects, which affect in

a particular manner either ourselves or the person

whose sentiments we judge of, it is at once more

difficult to preserve this harmony and correspondence,

and at the same time, vastly more important.

My companion does not naturally look upon the

misfortune that has befallen me, or the injury that

has been done me, from the same point of view in

which I consider them. They affect me much

more nearly. We do not view them from the same

station, as we do a picture, or a poem, or a system

of philosophy, and are, therefore, apt to be very

differently affected by them. But I can much more

easily overlook the want of this correspondence of

sentiments with regard to such indifferent objects

as concern neither me nor my companion, than with

regard to what interests me so much as the misfortune

that has befallen me, or the injury that has been

done me. Though you despise that picture, or

that poem, or even that system of philosophy, which

I admire, there is little danger of our quarrelling

upon that account. Neither of us can reasonably

be much interested about them. They ought all

of them to be matters of great indifference to us

23both; so that, though our opinions may be opposite,

our affections may still be very nearly the same.

But it is quite otherwise with regard to those objects

by which either you or I are particularly affected.

Though your judgment in matters of speculation,

though your sentiments in matters of taste, are

quite opposite to mine, I can easily overlook this

opposition; and if I have any degree of temper, I

may still find some entertainment in your conversation,

even upon those very subjects. But if you

have either no fellow-feeling for the misfortunes I

have met with, or none that bears any proportion

to the grief which distracts me, or if you have either

no indignation at the injuries I have suffered, or

none that bears any proportion to the resentment

which transports me, we can no longer converse

upon these subjects. We become intolerable to one

another. I can neither support your company, nor

you mine. You are confounded at my violence

and passion, and I am enraged at your cold insensibility

and want of feeling.

In all such cases, that there may be some correspondence

of sentiments between the spectator and

the person principally concerned, the spectator

must, first of all, endeavour, as much as he can, to

put himself in the situation of the other, and to bring

home to himself every little circumstance of distress

which can possibly occur to the sufferer. He must

adopt the whole case of his companion with all its

minutest incidents; and strive to render as perfect

as possible, that imaginary change of situation upon

which his sympathy is founded.

After all this, however, the emotions of the spectator

will still be very apt to fall short of the violence

24of what is felt by the sufferer. Mankind, though

naturally sympathetic, never conceive, for what has

befallen another, that degree of passion which naturally

animates the person principally concerned.

That imaginary change of situation, upon which

their sympathy is founded, is but momentary.

The thought of their own safety, the thought that

they themselves are not really the sufferers, continually

intrudes itself upon them; and though it does

not hinder them from conceiving a passion somewhat

analogous to what is felt by the sufferer, hinders

them from conceiving any thing that approaches

to the same degree of violence. The person principally

concerned is sensible of this, and, at the same

time passionately desires a more complete sympathy.

He longs for that relief which nothing can afford

him but the entire concord of the affections of the

spectators with his own. To see the emotions of

their hearts, in every respect, beat time to his own,

in the violent and disagreeable passions, constitutes

his sole consolation. But he can only hope to obtain

this by lowering his passion to that pitch, in

which the spectators are capable of going along

with him. He must flatten, if I may be allowed

to say so, the sharpness of its natural tone, in order

to reduce it to harmony and concord with the emotions

of those who are about him. What they

feel, will, indeed, always be, in some respects, different

from what he feels, and compassion can never

be exactly the same with original sorrow; because

the secret consciousness that the change of situations,

from which the sympathetic sentiment arises, is but

imaginary, not only lowers it in degree, but in some

measure, varies it in kind, and gives it a quite different

25modification. These two sentiments, however,

may, it is evident, have such a correspondence

with one another, as is sufficient for the harmony of

society. Though they will never be unisons, they

may be concords, and this is all that is wanted or

required.

In order to produce this concord, as nature teaches

the spectators to assume the circumstances of the

person principally concerned, so she teaches this last

in some measure to assume those of the spectators.

As they are continually placing themselves in this

situation, and thence conceiving emotions similar to

what he feels; so he is as constantly placing himself

in theirs, and thence conceiving some degree of that

coolness about his own fortune, with which he is sensible

that they will view it. As they are constantly

considering what they themselves would feel, if they

actually were the sufferers, so he is as constantly led

to imagine in what manner he would be affected if

he was only one of the spectators of his own situation.

As their sympathy makes them look at it,

in some measure, with his eyes, so his sympathy

makes him look at it, in some measure, with theirs,

especially when in their presence and acting under

their observation: and as the reflected passion, which

he thus conceives, is much weaker than the original

one, it necessarily abates the violence of what he felt

before he came into their presence, before he began

to recollect in what manner they would be affected

by it, and to view his situation in this candid and

impartial light.

26The mind, therefore, is rarely so disturbed, but

that the company of a friend will restore it to some

degree of tranquillity and sedateness. The breast

is, in some measure, calmed and composed the moment

we come into his presence. We are immediately

put in mind of the light in which he will

view our situation, and we begin to view it ourselves

in the same light; for the effect of sympathy is instantaneous.

We expect less sympathy from a common

acquaintance than from a friend: we cannot

open to the former all those little circumstances

which we can unfold to the latter: we assume,

therefore, more tranquillity before him, and endeavour

to fix our thoughts upon those general outlines

of our situation which he is willing to consider.

We expect still less sympathy from an assembly of

strangers, and we assume, therefore, still more tranquillity

before them, and always endeavour to bring

down our passion to that pitch, which the particular

company we are in may be expected to go along

with. Nor is this only an assumed appearance:

for if we are at all masters of ourselves, the presence

of a mere acquaintance will really compose us, still

more than that of a friend; and that of an assembly

of strangers still more than that of an acquaintance.

Society and conversation, therefore, are the most

powerful remedies for restoring the mind to its

tranquillity, if, at any time, it has unfortunately lost

it; as well as the best preservatives of that equal

and happy temper, which is so necessary to self-satisfaction

and enjoyment. Men of retirement and

speculation, who are apt to sit brooding at home

27over either grief or resentment, though they may

often have more humanity, more generosity, and a

nicer sense of honour, yet seldom possess that equality

of temper which is so common among men of the

world.