The theory of moral sentiments: By Adam Smith, ...

CHAP. I. Of the passions which take their origin from the body.

1. IT is indecent to express any strong degree of those passions which arise from a certain situation or disposition of the body; because the company, not being in the same disposition, cannot be expected to sympathise with them. Violent hunger, for example, though upon many occasions not only natural, but unavoidable, is al|ways indecent, and to eat voraciously is universally regarded as a piece of ill man|ners. There is, however, some degree of sympathy, even with hunger. It is agree|able to see our companions eat with a good appetite, and all expressions of loath|ing are offensive. The disposition of body which is habitual to a man in health, makes his stomach easily keep time, if I may be allowed so coarse an expres|sion, with the one, and not with the other. We can sympathise with the distress which excessive hunger occasions, when we read the description of it in the journal of a

siege, or of a sea voyage. We imagine ourselves in the situation of the sufferers, and thence readily conceive the grief, the fear and consternation, which must necessarily distract them. We feel, our|selves, some degree of those passions, and therefore sympathise with them: but as we do not grow hungry by reading the description, we cannot properly, even in this case, be said to sympathise with their hunger.

It is the same case with the passion by which nature unites the two sexes. Though naturally the most furious of all the passions, all strong expressions of it are upon every occasion indecent, even between persons in whom its most com|pleat indulgence, is acknowledged by all laws, both human and divine, to be per|fectly innocent. There seems, however, to be some degree of sympathy even with this passion. To talk to a woman as we should to a man is improper: it is expected that their company should in|spire us with more gaiety, more plea|santry, and more attention; and an in|tire insensibility to the fair sex, renders a

man contemptible in some measure even to the men.

Such is our aversion for all the appe|tites which take their origin from the body: all strong expressions of them are loathsome and disagreeable. According to some antient philosophers, these are the passions which we share in common with the brutes, and which having no connec|tion with the characteristical qualities of human nature, are upon that account be|neath its dignity. But there are many other passions which we share in common with 〈◊〉〈◊〉 brutes, such as resentment, natural 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and even gratitude, which do not, upon that account, appear to be so brutal▪ The true cause of the peculiar 〈…〉〈…〉 we conceive for the 〈…〉〈…〉 body, when we see them 〈…〉〈…〉 men, is that we cannot enter into them. To the person himself who 〈◊〉〈◊〉 them, as soon as they are gratified, the object that excited them ceases to be agreeable: even its presence often be|comes offensive to him; he looks round to no purpose for the charm which trans|ported him the moment before, and he can now as little enter into his own

passion as another person. When we have dined, we order the covers to be re|moved; and we should treat in the same manner the objects of the most ardent and passionate desires, if they were the objects of no other passions but those which take their origin from the body.

In the command of those appetites of the body consists that virtue which is pro|perly called temperance. To restrain them within those bounds, which regard to health and fortune prescribes, is the part of prudence. But to confine them with|in those limits, which grace, which pro|priety, which delicacy, and modesty, re|quire, is the office of temperance.

2. It is for the same reason that to cry out with bodily pain, how intolerable so|ever, appears always unmanly and un|becoming. There is, however, a good deal of sympathy even with bodily pain. If, as has already been observed, I see a stroke aimed, and just ready to fall upon the leg, or arm, of another person, I naturally shrink and draw back my own leg, or my own arm; and when it does fall, I feel it in some measure, and am hurt by it as well as the sufferer. My

hurt, however, is, no doubt, excessively slight, and, upon that account, if he makes any violent out-cry, as I cannot go along with him, I never fail to despise him. And this is the case of all the passions which take their origin from the body; they excite either no sympathy at all, or such a degree of it, as is altoge|ther disproportioned to the violence of what is felt by the sufferer.

It is quite otherwise with those pas|sions which take their origin from the imagination. The frame of my body can be but little affected by the altera|tions which are brought about upon that of my companion: but my imagination is more ductile, and more readily as|sumes, if I may say so, the shape and configuration of the imaginations of those wi••h whom I am familiar. A disappoint|ment in love, or ambition, will, upon this account, call forth more sympathy than the greatest bodily evil. Those pas|sions arise altogether from the imagina|tion. The person who has lost his whole fortune, if he is in health, feels nothing in his body. What he suffers is from the imagination only, which represents to him

the loss of his dignity, neglect from his friends, contempt from his enemies, de|pendance, want, and misery, coming fast upon him; and we sympathise with him more strongly upon this account, because our imaginations can more readily mould themselves upon his imagination, than our bodies can mould themselves upon his body.

The loss of a leg may generally be regarded as a more real calamity than the loss of a mistress. It would be a ridicu|lous tragedy, however, of which the ca|tastrophe was to turn upon a loss of that kind. A misfortune of the other kind, how frivolous soever it may appear to be, has given occasion to many a fine one.

Nothing is so soon forgot as pain. The moment it is gone the whole agony of it is over, and the thought of it can no longer give us any sort of disturbance. We ourselves cannot then enter into the anxiety and anguish which we had before conceived. An unguarded word from a friend will occasion a more durable unea|siness. The agony which this creates is by no means over with the word. What at first disturbs us is not the object of

the senses, but the idea of the imagina|tion. As it is an idea, therefore, which occasions our uneasiness, till time and other accidents have in some measure ef|faced it from our memory, the imagina|tion continues to fret and rankle within, from the thought of it.

Pain never calls forth any very lively sym|pathy unless it is accompanied with danger. We sympathise with the fear, though not with the agony of the sufferer. Fear, how|ever, is a passion derived altogether from the imagination, which represents, with an uncertainty and fluctuation that in|creases our anxiety, not what we really feel, but what we may hereafter possibly suffer. The gout, or the tooth-ach, tho' exquisitely painful, excite very little sympa|thy; more dangerous diseases, tho' accom|panied with very little pain, excite the highest.

Some people faint and grow sick at the sight of a chirurgical operation, and that bodily pain which is occasioned by tearing the flesh, seems, in them, to excite the most excessive sympathy. We conceive in a much more lively and distinct man|ner, the pain which proceeds from an ex|ternal

cause, than we do that which arises from an internal disorder. I can scarce form an idea of the agonies of my neigh|bour when he is tortured with the gout, or the stone; but I have the clearest con|ception of what he must suffer from an incision, a wound, or a fracture. The chief cause, however, why such objects produce such violent effects upon us, is their novelty. One who has been witness to a dozen dissections, and as many am|putations, sees, ever after, all operations of this kind with great indifference, and often with perfect insensibility. Though we have read or seen represented more than five hundred tragedies, we shall seldom feel so entire an abatement of our sensibility to the objects which they represent to us.

In some of the Greek tragedies there is an attempt to excite compassion, by the representation of the agonies of bodily pain. Philoctetes cries out and faints from the extremity of his sufferings. Hippoly|tus and Hercules are both introduced as expiring under the severest tortures, which, it seems, even the fortitude of Hercules was incapable of supporting. In all these cases, however, it is not the pain which

interests us, but some other circumstance. It is not the sore foot, but the solitude, of Philoctetes which affects us, and dif|fuses over that charming tragedy, that ro|mantic wildness, which is so agreeable to the imagination. The agonies of Hercules and Hippolytus are interesting only be|cause we forsee that death is to be the conse|quence. If those heroes were to recover, we should think the representation of their sufferings perfectly ridiculous. What a tra|gedy would that be of which the distress con|sisted in a cholic. Yet no pain is more exquisite. These attempts to excite com|passion by the representation of bodily pain, may be regarded as among the greatest breaches of decorum of which the Greek theatre has set the example.

The little sympathy which we feel with bodily pain is the foundation of the pro|priety of constancy and patience in endur|ing it. The man, who under the seve|rest tortures allows no weakness to escape him, vents no groan, gives way to no passion which we do not entirely enter in|to, commands our highest admiration. His firmness enables him to keep time with our indifference and insensibility.

We admire and intirely go along with the magnanimous effort which he makes for this purpose. We approve of his be|haviour, and from our experience of the common weakness of human nature, we are surprised, and wonder how he should be able to act so as to deserve approbation. Approbation, mixed and animated by won|der and surprize, constitutes the sentiment which is properly called admiration, of which, applause is the natural expression, as has already been observed.