Chapter 5 Part Two Of the Different Desirable Degrees of Passion Introduction

It is evident that the propriety, that is, the intensity with which the spectator can approve, of every passion excited by objects with which we are peculiarly connected, must lie within some moderate degree.If the passions are too strong, or too low, the spectators will not forgive them.For example, grief and resentment over personal misfortune or injury can easily become overdone, and do so for most people.Also, they can be too low, although this happens less often.We call such excesses of passions weakness and rage, and those of excesses dullness, insensitivity, and insensitivity.We cannot excuse anything but surprise and bewilderment at the sight of them.

The degree of moderation to which this implicit view of propriety varies, however, from passion to passion. It is strong in some passions and low in others.There are some feelings which are not to be manifested with great intensity, even where it is admitted that we cannot avoid feeling them with great intensity.There are also passions which are manifested with the greatest intensity, which, perhaps, even though they are not themselves necessarily so intense, are in many cases quite justified.The former passion, for one reason, receives little or no sympathy; the latter, for another, the greatest sympathy.If we examine all the passions of human nature, we shall find that men regard them as proper or improper, in perfect proportion to the sympathy with which they wish to sympathize, more or less.

CHAPTER I. OF THE PASSIONS OF THE BODY 1. It is inappropriate to make any strong expression of the passions arising from a certain situation or disposition of the body, because the companions do not share the same dispositions. , they cannot be expected to sympathize with these passions.A strong appetite, for example, though not only natural but inevitable on many occasions, is always inappropriate; gluttony is generally regarded as a bad habit.Yet there is even a degree of sympathy with appetite.It is pleasurable to see companions eating with good appetite, while all expressions of disgust are irritating.The bodily dispositions to which a healthy man is accustomed make it easy for his appetite—if I may be allowed to express it so crudely—to be in accord with one and not with another.

When we read, in a diary of a siege, or of a voyage, a description of extreme hunger, we sympathize with the pain it causes.We imagine ourselves in the milieu of victims, and we easily imagine the sorrow, fear, and horror that must have caused them pain.We ourselves feel these passions to a certain extent, and therefore sympathize; but even on this occasion, as we read such descriptions without being really hungry, we cannot properly be said to express their hunger. pity. So it is with the Creator's passion which unites the sexes.Though it is the most ardent passion of nature, it is not proper that it should be manifested strongly on any occasion, even between two persons, where all the laws of man and of God hold that indulgence is absolutely innocent.Yet there also seems to be a certain degree of sympathy for this passion.It is inappropriate to talk to women as to men; it is hoped that our association with them will make us happier, more pleasant, and more courteous; and indifference to women makes one somewhat contemptible , even for men.

Such is our aversion to the desires of the flesh; all strong expressions of them are repulsive and repulsive.According to some ancient philosophers, these are passions which we share with wild beasts, and which detract from human dignity because they are not connected with the peculiar qualities of human nature.But there are many other passions which we share with the beast, such as resentment, natural affection, even gratitude, which do not appear so distressing for this reason.The real reason we feel so peculiarly disgusted when we see other people's carnal desires is that we cannot forgive them.As for the man who feels these desires himself, once they have been gratified, he no longer agrees with the object which arouses them, and even its presence often annoys him; The charm that also made him ecstatic, he might now be as unsympathetic to his passions as anyone else.When we have eaten, we order the utensils to be removed; and we do the same with the objects that excite the most ardent and vigorous desires, if they are the objects of those desires produced by the body.

The virtue which is justly called temperance consists in the control of those carnal desires.It is the duty of prudence to keep these desires within limits prescribed by health and property.But it is the function of temperance to confine them to the bounds required by reason, courtesy, thoughtfulness, and humility. 2. It is for the same reason that however unbearable physical pain may be, it always seems unmanly and unseemly to shout.Yet even physical pain evokes deep compassion.As mentioned earlier, when I see someone about to punch another person's leg or arm, I naturally crouch and retract my leg or arm; to the blow, and to be wounded by it like a victim.But my injury was undoubtedly so slight that, if he yelled, I must have looked down on him, as I could not understand him.This is the case with all passions arising from the body: either they fail to excite sympathy at all, or they excite such a degree of sympathy that it is quite out of proportion to the intensity felt by the sufferer.

It is quite another case with those feelings which arise from the imagination.My body was only slightly affected by the changes that took place in my companions; but my imagination adapted easily, if I may so to speak, to put myself in the place of the various imaginations of the people with whom I was acquainted. For this reason a broken love or an unrewarded ambition can arouse more sympathy than the greatest physical misfortune.Those passions are all born of imagination.The man who has lost his fortune, if he is healthy, will feel no physical pain.The pain he feels is only a product of his imagination, which describes to him the loss of dignity, the neglect of friends, the contempt of enemies, the dependence, deprivation, and misery that soon come; He produces a stronger sympathy, because our imagination is perhaps more easily affected by the other's imagination than our bodies are likely to be affected by the other's physical misfortune.

The loss of a leg is generally considered a more real catastrophe than the loss of a lover.But a tragedy that ends with a loss of one kind is absurd.This latter misfortune, however insignificant it may appear, has constituted many fine tragedies. Few things are quickly forgotten like pain.As soon as it is gone, all suffering goes with it, and even the thought of it no longer gives us any discomfort.In this way, we cannot understand the worries and pains we previously harbored.A casual word from a friend can make us uncomfortable for a long time.The resulting pain is by no means lost by the end of the sentence.It is not the objects of the senses that disturb us first, but the concepts of the imagination.As it is the concept which causes us to be uncomfortable, the imaginings which arise from the thought of it will continue to vex and worry us till time and other accidents have somehow blotted it out of our memory.

Pain can never arouse the most intense sympathy if it is not dangerous.Although we do not sympathize with the suffering of the victim, we do sympathize with his fear.Fear, however, is a passion wholly born of the imagination, which presents in a capricious and elusive way what we do not really feel, but which we may hereafter experience, in a way that increases our apprehension.Gout or toothache, though painful, command little sympathy; dangerous diseases, though painless, command the deepest sympathy. Some people feel dizzy and nauseated at the sight of surgery; Pain seems to excite the strongest sympathy among them.We imagine pain arising from external causes.Much more vivid and definite than we imagine pain from internal psychosomatic disorders.I can scarcely form an idea of ​​the sufferings of my neighbor when he is afflicted with gout or gall-stones; but I know very well what he must suffer from a laparotomy, a wound, or a broken bone.However, the main reason why these objects have such a strong influence on us is our sense of novelty about them.A man who has witnessed a dozen dissections and an equal number of amputations later sees such operations with indifference, often with indifference.Had we read or seen no less than five hundred tragedies, we would not have diminished to such a degree our sense of the objects which they reveal to us.

Some Greek tragedies attempted to arouse sympathy by representing great physical pain.Philoctetes cried out and fainted from his agony, and both Hippolytus and Hercules appear to us on the verge of death under the worst torment, which seems to The resolute Hercules was also unbearable.In all these cases, however, it is not pain but other facts that attract us.What fits the imagination is not the aching feet of Philoctetes, but the solitude that infects us and permeates us with bewitching tragedy, the romantic wilderness.The anguish of Hercules and Hippolytus is attractive only because we foresee death as their end.If those heroes were resurrected, we would consider their suffering to be absurd.What kind of tragedy is a tragedy whose subject is the pain of a colic!The pain is not made worse by it.This attempt to elicit sympathy by the representation of physical pain may be seen as a grave violation of the propriety which the Greek drama had exemplified.Our lack of sympathy for physical pain is the basis of the propriety of stoicism and patient restraint in enduring it.The man who is so severely tormented, who shows no sign of weakness, who utters no groans, who gives vent to passions which we are utterly incomprehensible to, commands our high admiration.His firmness harmonizes with our indifference and indifference.

We admire and fully share his noble efforts to this end.We applaud his conduct... and wonder, from our experience of the common weakness in human nature, how he can act in such a way as to command men's admiration.The admiration which is mixed and inspired by wonder and admiration constitutes the emotion which is rightly called admiration, which, as has been said, is the natural expression of admiration. Chapter II. Of those passions arising from some peculiar inclination or habit of the imagination, and even passions arising from the imagination, that is, passions arising from a particular tendency or habit of imagination, which, though they may be regarded as perfectly natural, are not Almost no sympathy.It is impossible for the human imagination to apprehend them without a special inclination; and such passions, though almost inevitable in parts of life, are always somewhat ridiculous.This is the case with that intense attachment which naturally arises between the sexes after a long period of affection.Our imagination did not follow the lover's train of thought, so we cannot appreciate his eagerness.If our friend has been hurt, we tend to sympathize with his resentment and feel angry at the very person he is angry with.If he receives some kind of favor, we are apt to enter into his gratitude, and fully appreciate the merit of his benefactor.But if he falls in love, though we may regard his passion as just as any, we never think that we must have it, nor have it for him. the same person who did it.To every one except the man who feels it, it seems to be quite out of proportion to the value of the objective object; love, though excusable at a certain age, because we know it to be natural, is always dismissed. People make fun of it because we can't empathize with it.All expressions of sincere and strong love appear ridiculous to a third person, and though a man may be a wonderful companion to his mistress, he is not to others.He was often aware of it himself; and so long as he continued to be conscious of it, he endeavored to treat his passions with mockery and scorn.It's the only way we want to hear this passion stated, because that's the only way we want to talk about it ourselves. We have grown to hate the serious, pedantic, long-winded love poems of Cowley and Petrarch, with their endless exaggerations of strong attachments; but Ovid's lightness, Horace's boldness, are always pleasing. But though we have no real sympathy for this attachment, and though we have never been able to imagine any passion for the lover, yet as we have or are about to conceive of this same passion, We are apt to sympathize with the great hope of happiness that springs from its joy, and the anguish of fear of loss.It attracts us not as a passion, but as a situation that produces other passions that attract us—hope, fear, pain of every kind; Not hunger, but the pain that hunger causes.Although we do not properly appreciate the lover's attachment, we are apt to agree with him in the expectation of romantic happiness which arises from it.We feel, under certain circumstances, how natural this expectation is to a mind slackened by indolence, fatigued by strong desires, yearning for peace and tranquility, hoping to find peace after the satisfaction of that disturbing passion. and tranquility, and imagined a quiet, cloistered pastoral life, such as the refined, gentle, and passionate Tibulus described with gusto; , a life of friendship, freedom, and tranquility; free from work, care, and all the disturbing passions that follow.Even when the picture is portrayed as desired rather than enjoyed, it has great fascination for us.That passion of the flesh, mingled with the basis of love, which may be the basis of love, disappears when its satisfaction is out of reach or at a distance; feel disgusted.The passions of happiness, therefore, are much less attractive to us than the passions of worry and melancholy.We apprehend that this hope, however natural and pleasing, may fail; and we therefore enter into all the anxieties, concerns, and pains of the lover. It is therefore in some modern tragedies and love stories that this passion shows its most startling attraction.It is not so much the love of Castalier and Meunier that is gripping in tragedy, but the pain that love causes.The author who introduces the two lovers by bluntly stating their mutual love in a very safe scene invites laughter rather than sympathy.Although it is always more or less inappropriate for such a scene to be included in a tragedy, the audience endures it, not because of any sympathy for the love represented in the play, but because they are concerned with what they foresee. The dangers and twists and turns that may come with the fulfillment of love. The abstinence imposed on women by the laws of society makes love all the more painful to them, and for this reason it is all the more poignant.We are infatuated with the love of Phaedra just as it is in the French tragedy of the same name, despite all the excesses and sins that follow.It may be said, in part, that it is those indulgences and sins that make love so popular with us.Her fear, her shyness, her remorse, her hatred, and her disappointment all become more natural and moving because of this.All these secondary emotions (if I may be allowed to call them so) evoked by the love scene must become more violent; it is only these secondary emotions that we sympathize with. Of all the passions, however, which are most disproportionate to the value of the objective object, love is the only one which appears both graceful and agreeable, even to the very weak.In the first place, love itself, ludicrous though it may appear, is not naturally disagreeable; and though its results are often unfortunate and dire, its purpose is not harmful.Secondly, While the passion itself has little propriety, there is much propriety in those that accompany love.There is a great deal of humanity, tolerance, kindness, friendship, and respect mingled in love; and with all these other passions we have a strong sympathy, even if we realize that they are a little too much.The reason for this is as follows.The sympathy we feel for them makes the passion of love that follows it not but pleasant.And though many evils follow, they are bearable in our imagination; and though the passion of love must necessarily lead to ultimate ruin and disrepute on the one side, but not fatal damage on the other, What follows almost always is incompetence at work, neglect of duty, contempt for honor, even common fame.Nevertheless, it is thought that together with the passion of love The degree of sensitivity and tolerance it produces still makes it an object of vanity for many; and, if they really feel the passion of love, it is disgraceful to show that they can think of what to do. It is for the same reason that we must speak of our friends, of our studies, of our occupations, with a certain amount of moderation.All these are objects which we cannot expect to attract to them in the same degree as our own fellows.And it is precisely because of this lack of temperance that this half of the human race finds it difficult to associate with the other half.A philosopher can keep company with only one philosopher; a member of a club can keep company only with his own little group. CHAPTER THREE OF THE UNFRIENDLY PASSIONS There is another class of passions, which, though born of the imagination, must always be greatly reduced to the point that savage humanity might produce them, before we can understand them, or think them reasonable or proper. Degree.Such are the various forms of hatred and resentment.Our sympathy with all such passions is shared by those who feel them and who are their objects.The interests of the two are directly opposed.Our sympathy for those who feel these passions may arouse our hopes, our sympathy for the latter may lead us to fear.As they are both human beings, we express concern for both; and the fear that the one may suffer, tempers the anger that the other has suffered. Our sympathy with the provoked man, therefore, must fall short of the passions which he naturally arouses, not only because of the general causes which make all sympathetic passions inferior to their original passions, but because of that peculiar special cause , our opposite sympathy for another.Resentment, therefore, must be lowered, in order to be justified and agreeable, to a degree lower than that which almost all other passions naturally attain. At the same time, humans have a very strong capacity for feeling hurt by others.We feel as much outrage at the villains of tragedy or romance as we feel sympathy and affection for their heroes.We hate Iago as much as we respect Othello.We are as happy at Iago's punishment as we are sad at Othello's misfortune.But although human beings feel such great sympathy for the injuries suffered by their brothers, their anger at the injuries is often no greater than that expressed by the victims.In the vast majority of cases, the more patient, gentle, and humane the victim is, the greater will be the outrage against the one who hurt him, provided the victim does not appear to lack courage, or if his restraint is not motivated by fear. .Feelings of cruelty are exacerbated by the victim's tenderness and amiability. However, these passions are seen as an integral part of human nature.A man who meekly endures and submits to insults, with neither resistance nor revenge, is looked down upon.We cannot enter into his indifference and dullness, call his conduct listless, and are as genuinely irritated by it as by the insults of his adversaries.Even the general public can be outraged when they see someone willingly put up with insults and abuse.They want to see resentment at the insult, they want to see resentment at the victim.They shouted at him to defend himself or to take revenge on each other.If his wrath was finally mobilized, they cheered him enthusiastically and expressed sympathy for it.His wrath arouses their wrath against his enemies, they rejoice in seeing the victim turn against his enemies, and if the vengeance is not excessive, they do it as truly as they themselves have been hurt. The victim's revenge rejoices. But though it is admitted that the action of those passions upon the individual is dangerous to humiliation and self-injury; There is still something unpleasant about the passions themselves, which makes their expression in others the natural object of our aversion.Showing anger at anyone beyond the level of abuse we feel is seen as an insult not only to that person, but to all fellow human beings.Respect for our fellows should restrain us from being swayed by a violent and tiresome emotion.Such is the indirect effect of these agreeable passions; the direct effect is the injury to the one against whom they are directed.But to (people's) imagination, It is direct effects, not indirect effects, that make various objects pleasant or unpleasant.A prison is certainly more useful to the public than a palace, and its founder is generally guided by a more correct patriotism than the founder of a palace.But the immediate effects of a prison—the confinement of the unfortunate—are unpleasant; and the imagination either does not expend energy in exploring the indirect effects, or considers them too remote to be affected by them.A prison will therefore always be an object of displeasure; the more it fits the intended purpose, the more so.A palace, on the contrary, is always pleasant; but its indirect effects may often be against the public.It may promote extravagant luxury and set an example of a decadent lifestyle. Yet. Its immediate effects—the comforts, gaieties, and splendor enjoyed by those who dwell in them—are pleasant, and give rise to innumerable beautiful thoughts, on which that imagination is usually based, The longer-term consequences of a palace are thus seldom delved into.Souvenirs such as musical instruments or agricultural implements imitated in paint or plaster became a common and pleasing addition to our halls and restaurants.The same souvenir consisting of surgical instruments, scalpels, amputation knives, osteotomy saws, drilling instruments, etc., may be absurd and shocking.Surgical instruments, however, are always more polished than agricultural implements, and are generally better suited for their intended purpose than agricultural implements.Their indirect effects--the health of the sick--are also pleasant; but as their immediate effects are pain and suffering, the sight of them always displeases us.Weapons are delightful, though their immediate effects seem to be equally painful and suffering.Yet this is the pain and suffering of our enemies, for which we have no sympathy.For us, weapons are directly associated with pleasurable ideas of bravery, victory, and glory.They were thus conceived in themselves as the most essential part of a garment, and their imitations as the most opulent part of the ornament of a building.The same is true of the quality of human thought.Believers in ancient Stoic philosophy believed that: Since the world is ruled by an omniscient, omnipotent and good-hearted God, every single thing should be regarded as a necessary part of the cosmic arrangement and has contributes to the general order and happiness of the whole; and therefore the vice and folly of men are as much a necessary part of this arrangement as their wisdom or virtue, and by that eternal artifice of eliciting good from evil, Make it likewise contribute to the prosperity and perfection of the great natural system.Yet, however pervasive such speculations may be, they cannot counteract our natural hatred of evil whose immediate effects are so pernicious and whose indirect effects are too remote to be captured by the imagination. Come explore. The same is true of these passions that we are studying.Their immediate effect is so unpleasant that, when they are most legitimately evoked, they still strike us as a bit of a nuisance.It is, therefore, as has been said, the very manifestations of these passions which make us neither willing nor inclined to sympathize with them until we know the cause which arouses them.When we hear a cry of pain in the distance, we do not allow ourselves to be indifferent to the person who made it.As soon as this voice reaches our ears, we are concerned for his fate, and if it continues, we are almost involuntarily running to help him.Similarly, seeing a smiling face, people's mood will even change from melancholy to joyful and buoyant, so that people are willing to express sympathy and share the joy they show; Between suddenly enlightened and excited.But the situation is quite different when it comes to the manifestations of hatred and resentment.When we hear shrill, furious, chaotic rage in the distance, we feel both fear and disgust.We do not run to this sound as we run to one who cries out of pain and suffering.Women and nervous men tremble with fear even though they know they are not the object of their anger.But their fear comes from imagining themselves in their shoes.Even the strong-willed are troubled; indeed, not enough to make them afraid, but enough to make them angry;The same is true when it comes to hatred.The mere expression of resentment only serves to resent the person who expresses it.Both are passions with which we are born to abhor.The unpalatable and violent signs which they display can never arouse, can never lead to Our sympathy, on the contrary, often prevents us from expressing sympathy.Sorrow does not attract us more powerfully than these passions to the man in whom we see them, and if we were ignorant of their cause we would loathe and turn away from him.Those very rough and unfriendly emotions that separate people from one another are hard to catch and are seldom transmitted, as if by providence. When music imitates sad or happy notes, it either actually excites these passions in us, or at least puts us in a mood in which we are happy to imagine them.But when the music mimics angry tones, it scares us.Joy, sorrow, love, admiration, devotion, etc. are all passions that are naturally musical.Their natural tones are soft, clear, and melodious; they express themselves naturally in passages distinguished by regular pauses, and are easily reproduced and repeated with regularity. On the contrary, the sound of anger, and all sounds of passion like it, are harsh and dissonant.The passages expressing them are also irregular, sometimes very long, sometimes very short, and are distinguished by irregular pauses.Music, therefore, hardly imitates all these passions; and music which does imitate them is not very pleasant.The whole performance may consist without any incongruity in imitating the music of a kindly, agreeable passion.It would be an odd performance if it consisted entirely of music imitating hate and resentment. If those passions are unpleasant to the spectator, they are also unpleasant to the one who feels them.Hatred and anger are extremely harmful to a happy mood.It is in those passionate feelings that there is something sharp, provocative and shocking, something disturbing, which is altogether injurious to peace and tranquility of mind. —This peace and tranquility, which are essential to happiness, are greatly enhanced by the opposite passions of gratitude and love.What the magnanimous and merciful person deeply regrets is not loss due to the treachery and ingratitude of those with whom he lives.Whatever they may lose, they are usually very happy without it.What offends them most is the idea of ​​treachery and ingratitude towards themselves; and the dissonance and unpleasant passions it arouses constitute, it seems to them, a major part of their injuries. How many conditions are required in order to make the discharge of indignation perfectly agreeable, to make the spectator fully sympathize with our revenge?In the first place, what is exasperating must be serious enough to be despised if it does not show some degree of anger.It's always insulting.Smaller faults are better ignored; there is nothing so contemptible as a stubborn and fault-finding temper that rages over every trifle.We should resent according to ideas about the propriety of resentment, according to what human beings expect and require of us, and not because we feel that unpleasant violent passion.Of all the passions that the human heart can feel, we should most doubt the justice of resentment, consider carefully whether it may be indulged in accordance with our natural sense of propriety, or consider what the feelings of the calm and impartial spectator would be. .Magnanimity, or concern for the maintenance of one's social position and dignity, are the only motives which can ennoble the manifestations of this unpleasant passion.This motive necessarily characterizes all our manners and conduct.Such traits must be simplicity, frankness, and forthrightness; determination without headstrongness, majesty without disrespect; not only without insolence and vulgarity, but magnanimity, frankness, and consideration, even to those who offend us.In short, our whole demeanor--which requires no effort of affectation--must show that passion does not dehumanize us; and if we yield to the will of revenge, it is out of necessity, due to repeated serious provocations.Resentment may even be considered magnanimous and noble when so restrained and limited. CHAPTER IV Of the friendly passions In most cases, like the one inconsistent sympathy which we have just mentioned, which makes all passions so crude and disagreeable, there is also another opposite to it, To these passions a surge of sympathy almost always makes it especially agreeable and fitting.Generosity, humanity, kindness, pity, mutual friendship and respect, all friendly and benevolent feelings, when they appear in countenance or deed, Even when shown to those with whom we have no special relationship, it appeals to neutral spectators on almost all occasions.The spectator's sympathy for the man who feels those passions is exactly the same as his concern for the man who is the object of them.His interest in the happiness of the latter, as a human being, increases his sympathy with the affections of another who pours his affection upon the same object.We always have, therefore, the strongest sympathetic inclinations towards benevolent sentiments.They seem to please us in every way.我们对感到这种仁慈感情的人和成为这种感情对象的人的满足之情都表示同情。就像成为仇恨和愤恨的对象比一个勇敢的人对敌人的全部暴行可能产生的害怕情绪更令人痛苦那样，在为人所爱的意识中存在的一种满足之情，对一个感觉细致灵敏的人来说，它对幸福比对他希望由此得到的全部好处更为重要。还有什么人比以在朋友之中挑拨离间，并把亲切的友爱转变成人类的仇恨为乐的人更为可恶呢？这种如此令人憎恨的伤害，其可恶之处又在什么地方呢？在于失去如果友谊尚存他们可望得到的微不足道的友爱相助吗？它的罪恶，在于使他们不能享受朋友之间的友谊，在于使他们丧失相互之间的感情，本来双方都由此感到极大的满足；它的罪恶。在于扰乱了他们内心的平静，并且中止了本来存在于他们之间的愉快交往。这些感情，这种平静，这种交往，不仅是和善和敏感的人，而且非常粗俗的平民也会感到对幸福比对可望由此得到的一切微小帮助更为重要。 爱的情感本身对于感受到它的人来说是合乎心意的，它抚慰心灵，似乎有利于维持生命的活动，并且促进人体的健康；它因意识到所爱的对象必然会产生的感激和满足心情而变得更加令人愉快。他们的相互关心使得彼此幸福，而对这种相互关心的同情，又使得他们同其他任何人保持一致。当我们看到一个家庭由于互相之间充满热爱和尊敬，那儿的父母和孩子彼此都是好伴侣，除了一方抱着尊重对方感情的心情，另一方抱着亲切的宽容态度进行的争论之外，没有任何其它的争论；那儿的坦率和溺爱、相互之间善意的玩笑和亲呢表明没有对立的利益使得兄弟不和，也没有任何争宠使得姐妹发生龃龉，那儿的一切都使我们产生平静、欢乐、和睦和满意的想法，这一切会给我们带来什么样的乐趣呢？相反，当我们进入一个冲突争论使得其中一半成员反对另一半成员的家庭；那儿，在不自然的温文尔雅和顺从殷勤之中，猜疑显而易见，而突然的感情发作会泄露出他们相互之间的炽烈的妒忌，这种妒忌每时每刻都会冲破朋友们在场时加在他们身上的一切拘束而突然爆发出来，当我们进入这样一个家庭时，又会如何局促不安呢？ 那些和蔼可亲的感情，即使人们认为过分，也决不使人感到厌恶。甚至在友善和仁慈的弱点中，也有一些令人愉快的东西。过分温柔的母亲和过分迁就的父亲，过分宽宏和痴情的朋友，有时人们可能由于他们天性软弱而以一种怜悯的心情去看待他们，然而，在怜悯之中混合着一种热爱，除了最不讲理和最卑劣的人之外，决不会带着憎恨和嫌恶的心情、甚至也不会带着轻视的心情去看待他们。 我们总是带着关心、同情和善意去责备他们过度依恋。在极端仁慈的人中间存在着一种比其他任何东西更能引起我们怜悯的孤弱无能。这种仁慈本身并不包含任何使其变得低级卑俗或令人不快的东西。我们仅仅为它和世人不相适应而感到惋惜，因为世人不配得到它，也因为它必然使具有这种特性的人作为牺牲品而受虚伪欺诈的背信弃义者和忘恩负义者的作弄，并遭受痛苦和不安的折磨，而在所有的人中间，他最不应该遭受、而且通常也最难忍受这种痛苦和不安。憎恶和愤恨则完全相反。那些可憎的激情的过分强烈的发泄会把人变成一个普遍叫人害怕和厌恶的客观对象，我们认为应把这种人像野兽那样驱逐出文明社会。 第五章论自私的激情除了那两种相反的激情——友好的和不友好的激情之外，还存在另一种介乎 两者之间的处于某种中间地位的激情；这种激情有时既不像前者那样优雅合度， 也不像后者那样令人讨厌。人们由于个人交好运或运气不好而抱有的高兴和悲伤情绪，构成了这第三种激情。甚至在它们过分的时候，也不像过分的愤恨那样令人不快，因为从来不会有相反的同情会使我们反对它们；在同它们的客观对象极其相称的时候，也从来不会像公正的人道和正义的善行那样令人愉快；因为从来不会有双倍的同情引起我们对它们的兴趣。然而，在悲伤和高兴之间存在着这样的区别———我们通常极易同情轻度的高兴和沉重的悲哀。一个人，由于命运中的一些突然变化，所有的一切一下子提高到远远超出他过去经历过的生活状态之中，可以确信，他最好的朋友们的祝贺并不都是真心实意的。一个骤然富贵的人， 即使具有超乎寻常的美德，一般也不令人愉快，而且一种嫉妒的情感通常也妨碍我们出自内心地同情他的高兴。如果他有判断力，他就会意识到这一点，不会因为自己交了好运而洋洋自得，而尽可能地努力掩饰自己的高兴，压抑自己在新的生活环境中自然激发的欣喜心情。他装模作样地穿着适合自己过去那种地位的朴素衣服，采取适合自己过去那种地位的谦虚态度。他加倍地关心自己的老朋友， 并努力做到比过去更谦逊，更勤勉，更殷勤。以他的处境来说，这是我们最为赞同的态度；因为我们似乎希望：他应该更加同情我们对他幸福的嫉妒和嫌恶之情， 而不是我们应该对他的幸福表示同情。他是很难在所有这些方面取得成功的。我们怀疑他的谦卑是否真心诚意，他自己对这种拘束也逐渐感到厌倦。因此，一般说来，不要多久他就会忘记所有的老朋友，除了一些最卑鄙的人之外，他们或许会堕落到做他的扈从；他也不会总是得到新的朋友；恰如他的老朋友由于他的地位变得比自己高而感到自己的尊严受到冒犯一样，他的新交发现他同自己地位相等也会感到自己的尊严受到了冒犯。只有坚持不懈地采取谦逊态度才能补偿对两者造成的屈辱。一般说来，他很快就感到厌倦，并为前者阴沉和充满疑虑的傲慢神气、后者无礼的轻视所激怒，因而对前者不予理睬，对后者动辄发怒，直到最后，他习以为常地傲慢无礼，因而再也不能得到任何人的尊敬。如果像我所认为的那样，人类幸福的主要部分来自被人所爱的意识，那么命运的突然改变就很难对幸福产生多大的作用。最幸福的是这样一种人：他逐渐提升到高贵的地位，此前很久公众就预料到他的每一步升迁，因此，高贵地位落到他的身上，不会使他产生过分的高兴，并且这合乎情理地既不会在他所超过的那些人中间引起任何对他的妒嫉，也不会在他所忘记的人中引起任何对他的猜忌。 然而，人们更乐意同情产生于较不重要原因的那些轻度快乐。在极大的成功之中做到谦逊是得体的；但是，在日常生活的所有小事中，在我们与之度过昨夜黄昏的同伴中，在我们看表演中，在过去说过和做过的事情中，在谈论的一切小事中，在所有那些消磨人生的无关紧要的琐事中，则无论多么喜形于色也不过分。 再也没有什么东西比经常保持愉快心情更为优雅合度，这种心情总是来自一种对日常发生的事情所给予的一切微小乐趣的特殊爱好。我们乐意对此表示同情；它使我们感到同样的快乐，并使每一件琐事以其向具有这种幸福心情的人显示的同样令人愉快的面貌出现在我们面前。因此，正是青春——欢乐的年华才如此容易使我们动情。那种快乐的倾向甚至似乎使青春更有生气，并闪烁于年青而又美丽的眼睛之中，即使在一个性别相同的人身上，甚至在老年人身上，它也会激发出一种异乎寻常的欢乐心情。他们暂时忘记了自己的衰弱，沉缅于那些早已生疏的令人愉快的思想和情绪之中，而且当眼前这么多的欢乐把这些思想和情绪召回他们的心中时，它们就像老相识一样地占据了他们的心，——他们为曾经离开这些老相识而感到遗憾，并因为长期分离而更加热情地同它们拥抱。 悲伤则与此完全不同。小小的苦恼激不起同情，而剧烈的痛苦却唤起极大的同情。那个被每一不愉快的小事搞得焦躁不安的人；那个为厨师和司膳最轻微的失职而苦恼的人；那个感到在无论是给自己还是给别人看的最重要的礼仪之中存在每一不足之处的人；那个为亲密的朋友在上午相遇时没有向他道早安，也为他的兄弟在自己讲故事的全部时间内哼小调而生气的人；那个由于在乡下时天气不好，在旅行中道路恶劣，住在镇上时缺少同伴和一切公共娱乐枯燥无味而情绪不佳的人；这样的人，我认为，虽然可能有某些理由，但很难得到大量的同情。高兴是一种令人愉快的情绪，只要有一点理由，我们也乐意沉缅于此。因此，不论何时，只要不因妒嫉而抱有偏见，我们就很容易同情他人的高兴。但是悲伤是一种痛苦的情绪，甚至我们自己不幸产生这种情绪，内心也自然而然地会抵制它和避开它。我们或者根本不会竭尽全力去想象它，或者一想到它就立即摆脱它。的确，当由于微不足道的事情而发生在我们自己身上时，对悲伤的嫌恶不会老是阻碍我们去想象它，而由于同样微不足道的事情发生在别人身上时，它却时常妨碍我们对此表示同情；因为我们同情的激情总是比自己原有的激情易于压制。此外， 人类还存在一种恶念，它不仅妨碍人们对轻微的不快表示同情，而且在一定程度上拿它们消愁解闷。因此，当同伴在各方面受到逼迫、催促和逗弄时，我们喜欢取笑并乐于见到同伴的小小的苦恼。具有极其普通的良好教养的人们，掩饰任何小事可能使他们受到的痛苦；而熟谙社会人情世故的那些人，则主动地把这种小事变成善意的嘲笑，因为他知道同伴们会这样做。生活在现实世界中的人对于别人会如何看待同自己相关的每一件事情已养成一个习惯，这习惯使他把那些轻微的灾难看成在别人看来是同样可笑的，他知道同伴们肯定会这么看。 相反，我们对深重痛苦的同情是非常强烈和真诚的。对此不必举例。我们甚至为一个悲剧的演出而流泪。因此，如果你因任何重大灾难而苦恼，如果你因某一异常的不幸而陷入贫困、疾病、耻辱和失望之中，那么，即使这也许部分地是自己的过失所造成的，一般说来，你还是可以信赖自己所有朋友的极其真诚的同情，并且在利益和荣誉许可的范围内，你也可以信赖他们极为厚道的帮助。但是， 如果你的不幸并不如此可怕，如果你只是在野心上小有挫折，如果你只是被一个情妇遗弃，或者只是受老婆管制，那么，你就等待你所有的熟人来嘲笑吧。