The Theory Of Moral Sentiments - Early Modern Texts

Smith on Moral SentimentsSympathyPart I: The Propriety of ActionSection 1: The Sense of ProprietyChapter 1: Sympathythen tremble and shudder at the thought of what he feels.Just as being in pain or distress of any kind arouses themost excessive sorrow, so conceiving or imagining being inpain or distress arouses some degree of the same emotion,the degree being large or small depending on how lively ordull the conception is. [Notice Smith’s talk of ‘bringing home to us’No matter how selfish you think man is, it’s obvious thatthere are some principles [here ‘drives’, ‘sources of energy’; seenote on page 164] in his nature that give him an interest in thewelfare of others, and make their happiness necessary tohim, even if he gets nothing from it but the pleasure of seeingit. That’s what is involved in pity or compassion, the emotionwe feel for the misery of others, when we see it or are madeto think about it in a vivid way. The sorrow of others oftenmakes us sad—that’s an obvious matter of fact that doesn’tneed to be argued for by giving examples. This sentiment,like all the other basic passions of human nature, is notconfined to virtuous and humane people, though they mayfeel it more intensely than others do. The greatest ruffian,the most hardened criminal, has something of it.someone’s emotional state; he often uses that turn of phrase to expressthe idea of imaginatively putting oneself in someone else’s position.]So my thesis is that our fellow-feeling for the misery ofothers comes from our imaginatively changing places withthe sufferer, thereby coming to conceive what he feels oreven to feel what he feels. If this doesn’t seem to youobvious enough, just as it stands, there is plenty of empiricalevidence for it. When we see someone poised to smash astick down on the leg or arm of another person, we naturallyshrink and pull back our own leg or arm; and when the stickconnects, we feel it in some measure, and are hurt by italong with the sufferer. When a crowd are gazing at a danceron a slack rope, they naturally writhe and twist and balancetheir own bodies, as they see him do, and as they feel theywould have to do if they were up on the rope where he is. . . .Men notice that when they look at sore eyes they often feelsoreness in their own eyes. . . .We have ·of course· no immediate experience of whatother men feel; so the only way we can get an idea of whatsomeone else is feeling is by thinking about what we wouldfeel if we were in his situation. . . . Our imagination comesinto this, but only by representing to us the feelings we wouldhave if etc. We see or think about a man being tortured on therack; we think of ourselves enduring all the same torments,entering into his body (so to speak) and becoming in a waythe same person as he is. In this manner we form some ideaof his sensations, and even feel something that somewhatresembles them, though it is less intense. When his agoniesare brought home to us in this way, when we have adoptedthem and made them our own, they start to affect us and weIt’s not only in situations of pain or sorrow that thisfellow-feeling of ours is evoked. When someone has anypassion about any object, the thought of his situation creates an analogous emotion in the breast of every attentivespectator. [In Smith’s day it was normal to use ‘the breast’ to meansomething like ‘the emotional part or aspect of the person’. It will be1

Smith on Moral SentimentsSympathyOur joyover the deliverance of the heroes of tragedy or romanceis as sincere as our grief for their distress. . . . We enterinto their gratitude towards the faithful friends who stayedwith them in their difficulties; and we heartily go along withtheir resentment against the perfidious traitors who injured,abandoned, or deceived them. [The phrase ‘go along with’, thoughthem, before we know what gave rise to them. The furiousbehaviour of an angry man is more likely to exasperate usagainst him than against his enemies. Because we don’tknow what provoked him, we can’t bring his case home toourselves, imaginatively putting ourselves in his position.But we can put ourselves in the position of those with whomhe is angry; we can see what violence they may be exposed tofrom such an enraged adversary. So we readily sympathizewith their fear or resentment, and are immediately inclinedto side with them against the man from whom they appearto be in so much danger.·There’s a very general point underlying the differencebetween our reaction to someone else’s grief or joy andour reaction to someone’s rage·. The mere appearancesof grief or joy inspire us with some level of a similar emotion,because they suggest to us the general idea of some goodor bad fortune that has come to the person in whom weobserve them; and with grief and joy this is sufficient tohave some little influence on us. Grief and joy don’t haveeffects that go beyond the person who has the grief or joy;expressions of those passions don’t suggest to us—in the waythat expressions of resentment do—the idea of some otherperson for whom we are concerned and whose interests areopposite to his. So the general idea of good or bad fortunecreates some concern for the person who has met with it,but the general idea of provocation arouses no sympathywith the anger of the man who has been provoked. It seemsthat nature teaches us to be more averse to entering intothis passion and to be inclined to take sides against it untilwe are informed of its cause.Even our sympathy with someone else’s grief or joy isincomplete until we know the cause of his state. Generallamentations that express nothing but the anguish of thesufferer don’t cause in us any actual strongly-felt sympathy;retained sometimes in this version, always with that meaning.]it sounds late modern, is Smith’s; he uses it about 30 times in this work.]In every passion of which the mind of man is capable, theemotions of the bystander always correspond to what heimagines must be the feelings of the sufferer, which he doesby bringing the case home to himself, ·i.e. imagining beinghimself in the sufferer’s situation·.‘Pity’ and ‘compassion’ are labels for our fellow-feelingwith the sorrow of others. ‘Sympathy’, though its meaningmay originally have been the same, can now fairly properly beused to denote our fellow-feeling with any passion whatever.[Since Smith’s time, ‘sympathy’ has moved back to what he says was itsoriginal meaning: we don’t say ‘She had great sympathy for his joy’. Inthe present version the word will be retained; his broadened meaning forit needs to be remembered.]We sometimes see sympathy arise merely from the view ofa certain emotion in another person: the passions sometimesseem to be passed from one man to another instantaneously,without the second man’s having any knowledge of whataroused them in the first man. When grief or joy, for example,are strongly expressed in someone’s look and gestures, theyimmediately affect the spectator with some degree of a similarpainful or agreeable emotion. A smiling face is a cheerfulobject to everyone who sees it, and a sorrowful face is amelancholy one.But this doesn’t hold for every passion. There are somepassions the expressions of which arouse no sort of sympathy; they serve rather to disgust and provoke us against2

Smith on Moral SentimentsSympathywhat they do is to make us want to inquire into the person’ssituation, and to make us disposed to sympathize with him.The first question we ask is ‘What has happened?’ Until thisis answered, our fellow-feeling is not very considerable. Wedo feel unhappy, ·but that is from sources different fromsympathy; it is· because of the vague idea we have of hismisfortune, and still more from our torturing ourselves withguesses about what the source of his misery may be.So the main source of sympathy is not the view of theother person’s passion but rather the situation that arousesthe passion. Sometimes we feel for someone else a passion that he ·doesn’t have and· apparently isn’t capableof having; because that passion arises in our breast justfrom imagining ourselves as being in his situation, thoughit doesn’t arise in his breast from really being in thatsituation. When we blush for someone’s impudence andrudeness, though he seems to have no sense of how badlyhe is behaving, that is because we can’t help feeling howutterly embarrassed we would be if we had behaved in suchan absurd manner.Of all the calamities to which mankind can be subject,the loss of reason appears to be by far the most dreadful, inthe mind of anyone who has the least spark of humanity. Webehold that last stage of human wretchedness with deeperpity than any other. But the poor wretch who is in thatcondition may laugh and sing, having no sense of his ownmisery. The anguish that the rest of us feel at the sightof such a person can’t be a reflection of any sentimentthat he has. The spectator’s compassion must arise purelyfrom the thought of what he himself would feel if he werereduced to that same unhappy condition while also (this maywell be impossible) regarding it with his present reason andjudgment.What are the pangs of a mother when she hears themoanings of her infant who can’t express what it feels duringthe agony of disease? In her idea of what it suffers, shebrings together her child’s real helplessness, her own consciousness of that helplessness, and her own terrors for the unknown consequences of thechild’s illness,and out of all these she forms, for her own sorrow, themost complete image of misery and distress. [The phrase‘for her own sorrow’ is Smith’s, as is ‘for our own misery’ in the nextBut the infant feels only the unpleasantness ofthe present instant, which can never be great. With regardto the future, the infant is perfectly secure. Its lack ofthoughtfulness and of foresight gives it an antidote against fear and anxiety—those great tormentors of the humanbreast, from which reason and philosophy will in vain try todefend the child when it grows up to be a man.We sympathize even with the dead. Ignoring what is ofreal importance in their situation, namely the awe-inspiringquestion of what future is in store for them ·in the after-life·,we are mainly affected by factors that strike our senses butcan’t have any influence on their happiness. It is miserable,we think, to be deprived of the light of the sun; to be shut outfrom life and conversation; to be laid in the cold grave, a preyto corruption and worms; to be no more thought of in thisworld, but to be quite soon obliterated from the affections,and almost from the memory, of their dearest friends andrelatives. Surely, we imagine, we can never feel too much forthose who have suffered such dreadful calamity! The tributeof our fellow-feeling seems to be doubly due to them now,when they are in danger of being forgotten by everyone; andin paying vain honours to their memory we are trying, for ourown misery, artificially to keep alive our sad r

Smith on Moral Sentiments Part VII: Systems of moral philosophy 139 Section 1: The questions that ought to be examined in a theory of moral sentiments .