2.1.2. Chap. II
Of the proper objects of gratitude and resentment
To be the proper and approved object either of gratitude or
resentment, can mean nothing but to be the object of that
gratitude, and of that resentment, which naturally seems proper,
and is approved of.
But these, as well as all the other passions of human nature,
seem proper and are approved of, when the heart of every
impartial spectator entirely sympathizes with them, when every
indifferent by-stander entirely enters into, and goes along with
them.
He, therefore, appears to deserve reward, who, to some person
or persons, is the natural object of a gratitude which every
human heart is disposed to beat time to, and thereby applaud: and
he, on the other hand, appears to deserve punishment, who in the
same manner is to some person or persons the natural object of a
resentment which the breast of every reasonable man is ready to
adopt and sympathize with. To us, surely, that action must appear
to deserve reward, which every body who knows of it would wish to
reward, and therefore delights to see rewarded: and that action
must as surely appear to deserve punishment, which every body who
hears of it is angry with, and upon that account rejoices to see
punished.
1. As we sympathize with the joy of our companions when in
prosperity, so we join with them in the complacency and
satisfaction with which they naturally regard whatever is the
cause of their good fortune. We enter into the love and affection
which they conceive for it, and begin to love it too. We should
be sorry for their sakes if it was destroyed, or even if it was
placed at too great a distance from them, and out of the reach of
their care and protection, though they should lose nothing by its
absence except the pleasure of seeing it. If it is man who has
thus been the fortunate instrument of the happiness of his
brethren, this is still more peculiarly the case. When we see one
man assisted, protected, relieved by another, our sympathy with
the joy of the person who receives the benefit serves only to
animate our fellow-feeling with his gratitude towards him who
bestows it. When we look upon the person who is the cause of his
pleasure with the eyes with which we imagine he must look upon
him, his benefactor seems to stand before us in the most engaging
and amiable light. We readily therefore sympathize with the
grateful affection which he conceives for a person to whom he has
been so much obliged; and consequently applaud the returns which
he is disposed to make for the good offices conferred upon him.
As we entirely enter into the affection from which these returns
proceed, they necessarily seem every way proper and suitable to
their object.
2. In the same manner, as we sympathize with the sorrow of
our fellow-creature whenever we see his distress, so we likewise
enter into his abhorrence and aversion for whatever has given
occasion to it. Our heart, as it adopts and beats time to his
grief, so is it likewise animated with that spirit by which he
endeavours to drive away or destroy the cause of it. The indolent
and passive fellow-feeling, by which we accompany him in his
sufferings, readily gives way to that more vigorous and active
sentiment by which we go along with him in the effort he makes,
either to repel them, or to gratify his aversion to what has
given occasion to them. This is still more peculiarly the case,
when it is man who has caused them. When we see one man oppressed
or injured by another, the sympathy which we feel with the
distress of the sufferer seems to serve only to animate our
fellow-feeling with his resentment against the offender. We are
rejoiced to see him attack his adversary in his turn, and are
eager and ready to assist him whenever he exerts himself for
defence, or even for vengeance within a certain degree. If the
injured should perish in the quarrel, we not only sympathize with
the real resentment of his friends and relations, but with the
imaginary resentment which in fancy we lend to the dead, who is
no longer capable of feeling that or any other human sentiment.
But as we put ourselves in his situation, as we enter, as it
were, into his body, and in our imaginations, in some measure,
animate anew the deformed and mangled carcass of the slain, when
we bring home in this manner his case to our own bosoms, we feel
upon this, as upon many other occasions, an emotion which the
person principally concerned is incapable of feeling, and which
yet we feel by an illusive sympathy with him. The sympathetic
tears which we shed for that immense and irretrievable loss,
which in our fancy he appears to have sustained, seem to be but a
small part of the duty which we owe him. The injury which he has
suffered demands, we think, a principal part of our attention. We
feel that resentment which we imagine he ought to feel, and which
he would feel, if in his cold and lifeless body there remained
any consciousness of what passes upon earth. His blood, we think,
calls aloud for vengeance. The very ashes of the dead seem to be
disturbed at the thought that his injuries are to pass
unrevenged. The horrors which are supposed to haunt the bed of
the murderer, the ghosts which, superstition imagines, rise from
their graves to demand vengeance upon those who brought them to
an untimely end, all take their origin from this natural sympathy
with the imaginary resentment of the slain. And with regard, at
least, to this most dreadful of all crimes, Nature, antecedent to
all reflections upon the utility of punishment, has in this
manner stamped upon the human heart, in the strongest and most
indelible characters, an immediate and instinctive approbation of
the sacred and necessary law of retaliation.