present to the mind but impressions and ideas, this principle must necessarily lie in the impressions. Now, it has been observed, that impressions or passions are connected only by their resemblance, and that where any two passions place the mind in the same or in similar dispositions, it very naturally passes from the one to the other: as on the contrary, a repugnance in the dispositions produces a difficulty in the transition of the passions. But, 'tis observable, that this repugnance may arise from a difference of degree as well as of kind; nor do we experience a greater difficulty in passing suddenly from a small degree of love to a small degree of hatred, than from a small to a great degree of either of these affections. A man, when calm or only moderately agitated, is so different, in every respect, from himself, when disturbed with a violent passion, that no two persons can be more unlike; nor is it easy to pass from the one extreme to the other, without a considerable interval betwixt them.
The difficulty is not less, if it be not rather greater in passing from the strong passion to the weak, than in passing from the weak to the strong, provided the one passion upon its appearance destroys the other, and they do not both of them exist at once. But the case is entirely altered, when the passions unite together, and actuate the mind at the same time. A weak passion, when added to a strong, makes not so considerable change in the disposition, as a strong when added to a weak; for which reason there is a closer connexion betwixt the great degree and the small, than betwixt the small degree and the great.
The degree of any passion depends upon the nature of its object; and an affection directed to a person, who is considerable in our eyes, fills and possesses the mind much more than one, which has for its object a person we esteem of less consequence. Here then, the contradiction betwixt the propensities of the imagination and passion displays itself. When we turn our thought to a great and a small object, the imagination finds more facility in passing from the small to the great, than from the great to the small; but the affections find a greater difficulty: and, as the affections are a more powerful principle than the imagination, no wonder they prevail over it, and draw the mind to their side. In spite of the difficulty of passing from the idea of great to that of little, a passion directed to the former produces always a similar passion towards the latter, when the great and little are related together. The idea of the servant conveys our thought most readily to the master; but the hatred or love of the master produces with greater facility anger or good will to the servant. The strongest passion in this case takes the precedence; and the addition of the weaker making no considerable change on the disposition, the passage is by that means rendered more easy and natural betwixt them.
As, in the foregoing experiment, we found that a relation of ideas, which, by any particular circumstance, ceases to produce its usual effect of facilitating the transition of ideas, ceases likewise to operate on the passions; so, in the present experiment, we find the same property of the impressions. Two different degrees of the same passion are surely related together; but if the smaller be first present, it has little or no tendency to introduce the greater; and that because the addition of the great to the little produces a more sensible alteration on the temper than the addition of the little to the great. These phenomena, when duly weighed, will be found convincing proofs of this hypothesis.
And these proofs will be confirmed, if we consider the manner in which the mind here reconciles the contradiction I have observed betwixt the passions and the imagination. The fancy passes with more facility from the less to the greater, than from the greater to the less. But, on the contrary, a violent passion produces more easily a feeble than that does a violent. In this opposition, the passion in the end prevails over the imagination: but 'tis commonly by complying with it, and by seeking another quality, which may counterbalance that principle from whence the opposition arises. When we love the father or master of a family, we think of his children or servants. But when these are present with us, or when it lies any ways in our power to serve them, the nearness and contiguity in this case increases their magnitude, or at least removes that opposition which the fancy makes to the transition of the affections. If the imagination finds a difficulty in passing from greater to less, it finds an equal facility in passing from remote to contiguous, which brings the matter to an equality, and leaves the way open from the one passion to the other.
_Eighth experiment_. I have observed, that the transition from love or hatred to pride or humility, is more easy than from pride or humility to love or hatred; and that the difficulty which the imagination finds in passing from contiguous to remote, is the cause why we scarce have any instance of the latter transition of the affections. I must, however, make one exception, viz. when the very cause of the pride and humility is placed in some other person. For, in that case, the imagination is necessitated to consider the person, nor can it possibly confine its view to ourselves. Thus, nothing more readily produces kindness and affection to any person than his approbation of our conduct and character; as, on the other hand, nothing inspires us with a stronger hatred than his blame or contempt. Here, 'tis evident, that the original passion is pride or humility, whose object is self; and that this passion is transfused into love or hatred, whose object is some other person, notwithstanding the rule I have already established, _that the imagination passes with difficulty from contiguous to remote_. But the transition in this case is not made merely on account of the relation betwixt ourselves and the person; but because that very person is the real cause of our first passion, and, of consequence, is intimately connected with it. 'Tis his approbation that produces pride, and disapprobation humility. No wonder, then, the imagination returns back again attended with the related passions of love and hatred. This is not a contradiction, but an exception to the rule; and an exception that arises from the same reason with the rule itself.
Such an exception as this is, therefore, rather a confirmation of the rule. And indeed, if we consider all the eight experiments I have explained, we shall find that the same principle appears in all of them, and that 'tis by means of a transition arising from a double relation of impressions and ideas, pride and humility, love and hatred are produced. An object without a relation,[1] or with but one,[2] never produces either of these passions; and 'tis found[3] that the passion always varies in conformity to the relation. Nay we may observe, that where the relation, by any particular circumstance, has not its usual effect of producing a transition either of ideas or of impressions,[4] it ceases to operate upon the passions, and gives rise neither to pride nor love, humility nor hatred. This rule we find still to hold good, even under the appearance of its contrary;[5] and as relation is frequently experienced to have no effect, which upon examination is found to proceed from some particular circumstance that prevents the transition; so, even in instances where that circumstance, though present, prevents not the transition, 'tis found to arise from some other circumstance which counterbalances it. Thus, not only the variations resolve themselves into the general principle, but even the variations of these variations.
[1] First experiment.
[2] Second and third experiments.
[3] Fourth experiment.
[4] Sixth experiment.
[5] Seventh and eighth experiments.
SECTION III.
DIFFICULTIES SOLVED.
After so many and such undeniable proofs drawn from daily experience and observation, it may seem superfluous to enter into a particular examination of all the causes of love and hatred. I shall therefore employ the sequel of this part, _first_, in removing some difficulties concerning particular causes of these passions; _secondly_, in examining the compound affections, which arise from the mixture of love and hatred with other emotions.
Nothing is more evident, than that any person acquires our kindness, or is exposed to our ill-will, in proportion to the pleasure or uneasiness we receive from him, and that the passions keep pace exactly with the sensations in all their changes and variations. Whoever can find the means, either by his services, his beauty, or his flattery, to render himself useful or agreeable to us, is sure of our affections; as, on the other hand, whoever harms or displeases us never fails to excite our anger or hatred. When our own nation is at war with any other, we detest them under the character of cruel, perfidious, unjust, and violent; but always esteem ourselves and allies equitable, moderate, and merciful. If the general of our enemies be successful, 'tis with difficulty we allow him the figure and character of a man. He is a sorcerer; he has a communication with demons, as is reported of Oliver Cromwell and the Duke of Luxembourg; he is bloody-minded, and takes a pleasure in death and destruction. But if the success be on our side, our commander has all the opposite good qualities, and is a pattern of virtue, as well as of courage and conduct. His treachery we call policy; his cruelty is an evil inseparable from war. In short, every one of his faults we either endeavour to extenuate, or dignify it with the name of that virtue which approaches it. 'Tis evident the same method of thinking rims through common life.
There are some who add another condition, and require not only that the pain and pleasure arise from the person, but likewise that it arise knowingly, and with a particular design and intention. A man who wounds and harms us by accident, becomes not our enemy upon that account; nor do we think ourselves bound, by any ties of gratitude, to one who does us any service after the same manner. By the intention we judge of the actions; and, according as that is good or bad, they become causes of love or hatred.
But here we must make a distinction. If that quality in another, which pleases or displeases, be constant and inherent in his person and character, it will cause love or hatred, independent of the intention: but otherwise a knowledge and design is requisite, in order to give rise to these passions. One that is disagreeable by his deformity or folly, is the object of our aversion, though nothing be more certain, than that he has not the least intention of displeasing us by these qualities. But if the uneasiness proceed not from a quality, but an action, which is produced and annihilated in a moment, 'tis necessary, in order to produce some relation, and connect this action sufficiently with the person, that it be derived from a particular forethought and design. 'Tis not enough that the action arise from the person, and have him for its immediate cause and author. This relation alone is too feeble and inconstant to be a foundation for these passions. It reaches not the sensible and thinking part, and neither proceeds from any thing _durable_ in him, nor leaves any thing behind it, but passes in a moment, and is as if it had never been. On the other hand, an intention shows certain qualities, which, remaining after the action is performed, connect it with the person, and facilitate the transition of ideas from one to the other. We can never think of him without reflecting on these qualities, unless repentance and a change of life have produced an alteration in that respect; in which case the passion is likewise altered. This, therefore, is one reason why an intention is requisite to excite either love or hatred.
But we must farther consider, that an intention, besides its strengthening the relation of ideas, is often necessary to produce a relation of impressions, and give rise to pleasure and uneasiness. For 'tis observable, that the principal part of an injury is the contempt and hatred which it shows in the person that injures us; and without that, the mere harm gives us a less sensible uneasiness. In like manner, a good office is agreeable, chiefly because it flatters our vanity, and is a proof of the kindness and esteem of the person who performs it. The removal of the intention removes the mortification in the one case, and vanity in the other; and must of course cause a remarkable diminution in the passions of love and hatred.
I grant, that these effects of the removal of design, hatred, in diminishing the relations of impressions and ideas, are not entire, nor able to remove every degree of these relations. But then I ask, if the removal of design be able entirely to remove the passion of love and hatred? Experience, I am sure, informs us of the contrary, nor is there any thing more certain than that men often fall into a violent anger for injuries which they themselves must own to be entirely involuntary and accidental. This emotion, indeed, cannot be of long continuance, but still is sufficient to show, that there is a natural connexion betwixt uneasiness and anger, and that the relation of impressions will operate upon a very small relation of ideas. But when the violence of the impression is once a little abated, the defect of the relation begins to be better felt; and as the character of a person is no wise interested in such injuries as are casual and involuntary, it seldom happens that on their account we entertain a lasting enmity.
To illustrate this doctrine by a parallel instance, we may observe, that not only the uneasiness which proceeds from another by accident, has but little force to excite our passion, but also that which arises from an acknowledged necessity and duty. One that has a real design of harming us, proceeding not from hatred and ill will, but from justice and equity, draws not upon him our anger, if we be in any degree reasonable; notwithstanding he is both the cause, and the knowing cause, of our sufferings. Let us examine a little this phenomenon.
'Tis evident, in the first place, that this circumstance is not decisive; and though it may be able to diminish the passions, 'tis seldom it can entirely remove them. How few criminals are there who have no ill will to the person that accuses them, or to the judge that condemns them, even though they be conscious of their own deserts!
In like manner our antagonist in a lawsuit, and our competitor for any office, are commonly regarded as our enemies, though we must acknowledge, if we would but reflect a moment, that their motive is entirely as justifiable as our own.
Besides we may consider, that when we receive harm from any person, we are apt to imagine him criminal, and 'tis with extreme difficulty we allow of his justice and innocence. This is a clear proof that, independent of the opinion of iniquity, any harm or uneasiness has a natural tendency to excite our hatred, and that afterwards we seek for reasons upon which we may justify and establish the passion. Here the idea of injury produces not the passion, but arises from it.
Nor is it any wonder that passion should produce the opinion of injury; since otherwise it must suffer a considerable diminution, which all the passions avoid as much as possible. The removal of injury may remove the anger, without proving that the anger arises only from the injury.
The harm and the justice are two contrary objects, of which the one has a tendency to produce hatred, and the other love; and 'tis according to their different degrees, and our particular turn of thinking, that either of the objects prevails and excites its proper passion.
SECTION IV.
OF THE LOVE OF RELATIONS.
Having given a reason why several actions that cause a real pleasure or uneasiness excite not any degree, or but a small one, of the passion of love or hatred towards the actors, 'twill be necessary to show wherein consists the pleasure or uneasiness of many objects which we find by experience to produce these passions.
According to the preceding system, there is always required a double relation of impressions and ideas betwixt the cause and effect, in order to produce either love or hatred. But though this be universally true, 'tis remarkable that the passion of love may be excited by only one _relation_ of a different kind, viz. betwixt ourselves and the object; or, more properly speaking, that this relation is always attended with both the others. Whoever is united to us by any connexion is always sure of a share of our love, proportioned to the connexion, without inquiring into his other qualities. Thus, the relation of blood produces the strongest tie the mind is capable of in the love of parents to their children, and a lesser degree of the same affection as the relation lessens. Nor has consanguinity alone this effect, but any other relation without exception. We love our countrymen, our neighbours, those of the same trade, profession, and even name with ourselves. Every one of these relations is esteemed some tie, and gives a title to a share of our affection.
There is another phenomenon which is parallel to this, viz. that _acquaintance_, without any kind of relation, gives rise to love and kindness. When we have contracted a habitude and intimacy with any person, though in frequenting his company we have not been able to discover any very valuable quality of which he is possessed; yet we cannot forbear preferring him to strangers of whose superior merit we are fully convinced. These two phenomena of the effects of relation and acquaintance will give mutual light to each other, and may be both explained from the same principle.
Those who take a pleasure in declaiming against human nature have observed, that man is altogether insufficient to support himself, and that, when you loosen all the holds which he has of external objects, he immediately drops down into the deepest melancholy and despair. From this, say they, proceeds that continual search after amusement in gaming, in hunting, in business, by which we endeavour to forget ourselves, and excite our spirits from the languid state into which they fall when not sustained by some brisk and lively emotion. To this method of thinking I so far agree, that I own the mind to be insufficient, of itself, to its own entertainment, and that it naturally seeks after foreign objects which may produce a lively sensation, and agitate the spirits. On the appearance of such an object it awakes, as it were, from a dream; the blood flows with a new tide; the heart is elevated; and the whole man acquires a vigour which he cannot command in his solitary and calm moments. Hence company is naturally so rejoicing, as presenting the liveliest of all objects, viz. a rational and thinking being like ourselves, who communicates to us all the actions of his mind, makes us privy to his inmost sentiments and affections, and lets us see, in the very instant of their production, all the emotions which are caused by any object.
Every lively idea is agreeable, but especially that of a passion, because such an idea becomes a kind of passion, and gives a more sensible agitation to the mind than any other image or conception.
This being once admitted, all the rest is easy. For as the company of strangers is agreeable to us for _a short time_, by enlivening our thought, so the company of our relations and acquaintance must be peculiarly agreeable, because it has this effect in a greater degree, and is of more _durable_ influence. Whatever is related to us is conceived in a lively manner by the easy transition from ourselves to the related object. Custom also, or acquaintance, facilitates the entrance, and strengthens the conception of any object. The first case is parallel to our reasonings from cause and effect; the second to education. And as reasoning and education concur only in producing a lively and strong idea of any object, so is this the only particular which is common to relation and acquaintance. This must therefore be the influencing quality by which they produce all their common effects; and love or kindness being one of these effects, it must be from the force and liveliness of conception that the passion is derived. Such a conception is peculiarly agreeable, and makes us have an affectionate regard for every thing that produces it, when the proper object of kindness and good will.
'Tis obvious that people associate together according to their particular tempers and dispositions, and that men of gay tempers naturally love the gay, as the serious bear an affection to the serious. This not only happens where they remark this resemblance betwixt themselves and others, but also by the natural course of the disposition, and by a certain sympathy which always arises betwixt similar characters. Where they remark the resemblance, it operates after the manner of a relation by producing a connexion of ideas. Where they do not remark it, it operates by some other principle; and if this latter principle be similar to the former, it must be received as a confirmation of the foregoing reasoning.
The idea of ourselves is always intimately present to us, and conveys a sensible degree of vivacity to the idea of any other object to which we are related. This lively idea changes by degrees into a real impression; these two kinds of perception being in a great measure the same, and differing only in their degrees of force and vivacity. But this change must be produced with the greater ease, that our natural temper gives us a propensity to the same impression which we observe in others, and makes it arise upon any slight occasion. In that case resemblance converts the idea into an impression, not only by means of the relation, and by transfusing the original vivacity into the related idea; but also by presenting such materials as take fire from the least spark. And as in both cases a love or affection from the resemblance, we may learn that a sympathy with others is agreeable only by giving an emotion to the spirits, since an easy sympathy and correspondent emotions are alone common to _relation, acquaintance_, and _resemblance_.
The great propensity men have to pride may be considered as another similar phenomenon. It often happens, that after we have lived a considerable time in any city, however at first it might be disagreeable to us, yet as we become familiar with the objects, and contract an acquaintance, though merely with the streets and buildings, the aversion diminishes by degrees, and at last changes into the opposite passion. The mind finds a satisfaction and ease in the view of objects to which it is accustomed, and naturally prefers them to others, which, though perhaps in themselves more valuable, are less known to it. By the same quality of the mind we are seduced into a good opinion of ourselves, and of all objects that belong to us. They appear in a stronger light, are more agreeable, and consequently fitter subjects of pride and vanity than any other.
It may not be amiss, in treating of the affection we bear our acquaintance and relations, to observe some pretty curious phenomena which attend it. 'Tis easy to remark in common life, that children esteem their relation to their mother to be weakened, in a great measure, by her second marriage, and no longer regard her with the same eye as if she had continued in her state of widowhood. Nor does this happen only when they have felt any inconveniences from her second marriage, or when her husband is much her inferior; but even without any of these considerations, and merely because she has become part of another family. This also takes place with regard to the second marriage of a father, but in a much less degree; and 'tis certain the ties of blood are not so much loosened in the latter case as by the marriage of a mother. These two phenomena are remarkable in themselves, but much more so when compared.
In order to produce a perfect relation betwixt two objects, 'tis requisite, not only that the imagination be conveyed from one to the other, by resemblance, contiguity or causation, but also that it return back from the second to the first with the same ease and facility. At first sight this may seem a necessary and unavoidable consequence.
If one object resemble another, the latter object must necessarily resemble the former. If one object be the cause of another, the second object is effect to its cause. 'Tis the same with contiguity; and therefore the relation being always reciprocal, it may be thought, that the return of the imagination from the second to the first must also, in every case, be equally natural as its passage from the first to the second. But upon farther examination we shall easily discover our mistake. For supposing the second object, beside its reciprocal relation to the first, to have also a strong relation to a third object; in that case the thought, passing from the first object to the second, returns not back with the same facility, though the relation continues the same, but is readily carried on to the third object, by means of the new relation which presents itself, and gives a new impulse to the imagination. This new relation, therefore, weakens the tie betwixt the first and second objects. The fancy is, by its very nature, wavering and inconstant, and considers always two objects as more strongly related together, where it finds the passage equally easy both in going and returning, than where the transition is easy only in one of these motions. The double motion is a kind of a double tie, and binds the objects together in the closest and most intimate manner.
The second marriage of a mother breaks not the relation of child and parent; and that relation suffices to convey my imagination from myself to her with the greatest ease and facility. But after the imagination is arrived at this point of view, it finds its object to be surrounded with so many other relations which challenge its regard, that it knows not which to prefer, and is at a loss what new object to pitch upon.
The ties of interest and duty bind her to another family, and prevent that return of the fancy from her to myself which is necessary to support the union. The thought has no longer the vibration requisite to set it perfectly at ease, and indulge its inclination to change.
It goes with facility, but returns with difficulty; and by that interruption finds the relation much weakened from what it would be were the passage open and easy on both sides.
Now, to give a reason why this effect follows not in in the same degree upon the second marriage of a father; we may reflect on what has been proved already, that though the imagination goes easily from the view of a lesser object to that of a greater, yet it returns not with the same facility from the greater to the less. When my imagination goes from myself to my father, it passes not so readily from him to his second wife, nor considers him as entering into a different family, but as continuing the head of that family of which I am myself a part.
His superiority prevents the easy transition of the thought from him to his spouse, but keeps the passage still open for a return to myself along the same relation of child and parent. He is not sunk in the new relation he acquires; so that the double motion or vibration of thought is still easy and natural. By this indulgence of the fancy in its inconstancy, the tie of child and parent still preserves its full force and influence.
A mother thinks not her tie to a son weakened because 'tis shared with her husband; nor a son his with a parent, because 'tis shared with a brother. The third object is here related to the first as well as to the second: so that the imagination goes and comes along all of them with the greatest facility.
SECTION V.
OF OUR ESTEEM FOR THE RICH AND POWERFUL.
Nothing has a greater tendency to give us an esteem for any person than his power and riches, or a contempt, than his poverty and meanness: and as esteem and contempt are to be considered as species of love and hatred, 'twill be proper in this place to explain these phenomena.
Here it happens, most fortunately, that the greatest difficulty is, not to discover a principle capable of producing such an effect, but to chuse the chief and predominant among several that present themselves. The _satisfaction_ we take in the riches of others, and the _esteem_ we have for the possessors, may be ascribed to three different causes. _First_, to the objects they possess; such as houses, gardens, equipages, which, being agreeable in themselves, necessarily produce a sentiment of pleasure in every one that either considers or surveys them. _Secondly_, to the expectation of advantage from the rich and powerful by our sharing their possessions. _Thirdly_, to sympathy, which makes us partake of the satisfaction of every one that approaches us. All these principles may concur in producing the present phenomenon. The question is, to which of them we ought principally to ascribe it.
'Tis certain that the first principle, viz. the reflection on agreeable objects, has a greater influence than what, at first sight, we may be apt to imagine. We seldom reflect on what is beautiful or ugly, agreeable or disagreeable, without an emotion of pleasure or uneasiness; and though these sensations appear not much, in our common indolent way of thinking, 'tis easy, either in reading or conversation, to discover them. Men of wit always turn the discourse on subjects that are entertaining to the imagination; and poets never present any objects but such as are of the same nature. Mr Philips has chosen _Cider_ for the subject of an excellent poem. Beer would not have been so proper, as being neither so agreeable to the taste nor eye. But he would certainly have preferred wine to either of them, could his native country have afforded him so agreeable a liquor. We may learn from thence, that every thing which is agreeable to the senses, is also, in some measure, agreeable to the fancy, and conveys to the thought an image of that satisfaction, which it gives by its real application to the bodily organs.
But, though these reasons may induce us to comprehend this delicacy of the imagination among the causes of the respect which we pay the rich and powerful, there are many other reasons that may keep us from regarding it as the sole or principal. For, as the ideas of pleasure can have an influence only by means of their vivacity, which makes them approach impressions, 'tis most natural those ideas should have that influence, which are favoured by most circumstances, and have a natural tendency to become strong and lively; such as our ideas of the passions and sensations of any human creature. Every human creature resembles ourselves, and, by that means, has an advantage above any other object in operating on the imagination.
Besides, if we consider the nature of that faculty, and the great influence which all relations have upon it, we shall easily be persuaded, that however the ideas of the pleasant wines, music, or gardens, which the rich man enjoys, may become lively and agreeable, the fancy will not confine itself to them, but will carry its view to the related objects, and, in particular, to the person who possesses them. And this is the more natural, that the pleasant idea, or image, produces here a passion towards the person by means of his relation to the object; so that 'tis unavoidable but he must enter into the original conception, since he makes the object of the derivative passion. But if he enters into the original conception, and is considered as enjoying these agreeable objects, 'tis _sympathy_ which is properly the cause of the affection; and the _third_ principle is more powerful and universal than the _first_.
Add to this, that riches and power alone, even though unemployed, naturally cause esteem and respect; and, consequently, these passions arise not from the idea of any beautiful or agreeable objects. 'Tis true money implies a kind of representation of such objects by the power it affords of obtaining them; and for that reason may still be esteemed proper to convey those agreeable images which may give rise to the passion. But as this prospect is very distant, 'tis more natural for us to take a contiguous object, viz. the satisfaction which this power affords the person who is possessed of it. And of this we shall be farther satisfied, if we consider that riches represent the goods of life only by means of the will which employs them; and therefore imply, in their very nature, an idea of the person, and cannot be considered without a kind of sympathy with his sensations and enjoyments.
This we may confirm by a reflection which to some will perhaps appear too subtile and refined. I have already observed that power, as distinguished from its exercise, has either no meaning at all, or is nothing but a possibility or probability of existence, by which any object approaches to reality, and has a sensible influence on the mind. I have also observed, that this approach, by an illusion of the fancy, appears much greater when we ourselves are possessed of the power than when it is enjoyed by another; and that, in the former case, the objects seem to touch upon the very verge of reality, and convey almost an equal satisfaction as if actually in our possession. Now I assert, that where we esteem a person upon account of his riches, we must enter into this sentiment of the proprietor, and that, without such a sympathy, the idea of the agreeable objects, which they give him the power to produce, would have but a feeble influence upon us. An avaricious man is respected for his money, though he scarce is possessed of a _power_; that is, there scarce is a _probability_ or even _possibility_ of his employing it in the acquisition of the pleasures and conveniences of life. To himself alone this power seems perfect and entire; and therefore we must receive his sentiments by sympathy, before we can have a strong intense idea of these enjoyments, or esteem him upon account of them.
Thus we have found, that the _first_ principle, viz. _the agreeable idea of those objects which riches afford the enjoyment of_, resolves itself in a great measure into the _third_, and becomes a _sympathy_ with the person we esteem or love. Let us now examine the _second_ principle, viz. _the agreeable expectation of advantage_, and see what force we may justly attribute to it.
'Tis obvious, that, though riches and authority undoubtedly give their owner a power of doing us service, yet this power is not to be considered as on the same footing with that which they afford him of pleasing himself, and satisfying his own appetites. Self-love approaches the power and exercise very near each other in the latter case; but in order to produce a similar effect in the former, we must