Rejoice
with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that
weep.
Every
man is to be considered in two capacities, the private and public; as designed
to pursue his own interest and likewise to contribute to the good of others.
Whoever will consider, may see, that in general there is no contrariety between
these; but that, from the original constitution of man, and the circumstances he
is placed in, they perfectly coincide, and mutually carry on each other. But,
amongst the great variety of affections or principles of action in our nature,
some in their primary intention and design seem to belong to the single or
private, others to the public or social capacity. The affections required in the text are
of the latter sort. When we rejoice in the prosperity of others, and
compassionate their distresses, we, as it were, substitute them for ourselves,
their interest for our own; and have the same kind of pleasure in their
prosperity, and sorrow in their distress, as we have from reflection upon our
own. Now, there is nothing strange, or unaccountable, in our
being
thus
carried out, and affected towards the interests of others. For if there be any appetite, or any
inward principle besides self-love; why may there not be an affection to the
good of our fellow creatures, and delight from that affection being gratified,
and uneasiness from things going contrary to it (1)
?
Of
these two, delight in the prosperity of others and compassion for their
distresses, the last is felt much more generally than the former. Though men do
not universally rejoice with all whom they see rejoice, yet, accidental
obstacles removed, they naturally compassionate all in some degree whom they see
in distress; so far as they have any real perception or sense of that distress:
Insomuch that words expressing this latter, pity, compassion, frequently occur
whereas we have scarce any single one, by which the former is distinctly
expressed. Congratulation, indeed, answers condolence: but both these words are
intended to signify certain forms of civility, rather than any inward,
sensation, or feeling. This difference, or inequality, is so remarkable, that we
plainly consider compassion as itself an original, distinct, particular
affection in human nature; whereas to rejoice in the good of others, is only a
consequence, of the general affection of love and good will to them. The reason
and account of which matter is this: When a man has obtained any particular
advantage or felicity; his end is gained; and he does not in that particular
want the assistance of another: There was, therefore, no need of a distinct
affection towards the felicity of another already obtained; neither would such
affection directly carry him on to do good to that person: Whereas, men in
distress want assistance; and compassion leads us directly to assist them. The
object of the former is the present felicity of another; the object of the
latter is the present misery of another. It is easy to see, that the latter
wants a particular affection for its relief, and that the former does not want
one, because it does not want assistance.
And, on supposition of a distinct affection in both cases, the one must
rest in the exercise of itself, having nothing further to gain; the other does
not rest in itself, but carries us on to assist the
distressed.
But, supposing these affections natural to the mind, particularly the
last, "Has not each man troubles enough of his own? must he indulge an affection
which appropriates to himself those of others? which leads him to contract the
least desirable of all friendships, friendships with the unfortunate? Must we
invert the known rule of prudence, and choose to associate ourselves with the
distressed? Or, allowing that we ought, so far as it is in our power, to relieve
them, yet is it not better to do this from reason and duly? Does not passion and
affection of every kind perpetually mislead us? Nay, is not passion and affection itself
a weakness, and what a perfect being must be entirely free from? Perhaps so: but it is mankind I am
speaking of; imperfect creatures, and who naturally, and from the condition we
are placed in, necessarily depend upon each other. With respect to such
creatures, it would be found of as bad consequence to eradicate all natural
affections, as to be entirely governed by them. This would almost sink us to the
condition of brutes; and that would leave us without a sufficient principle of
action. Reason alone, whatever anyone may wish, is not, in reality, a sufficient
motive of virtue in such a creature as man; but this reason, joined with those
affections which God has impressed upon his heart. And when these are allowed scope to
exercise themselves, but under strict government and direction of reason; then
it is we act suitably to our nature, and to the circumstances God has placed us
in. Neither is affection itself at all a weakness; nor does it argue defect, any
otherwise than as our senses and appetites do; they belong to our condition of
nature, and are what we cannot be without. God Almighty is, to be sure, unmoved
by passion or appetite, unchanged by affection; but then it is to be added, that
he neither sees, nor hears, nor perceives things by any senses like ours, but in
a manner infinitely more perfect. Now, as it is an absurdity almost too gross to
be mentioned, for a man to endeavor to get rid of his senses, because the
Supreme Being discerns things more perfectly without them; it is as real, though
not so obvious an absurdity, to endeavor to eradicate the passions he has given
us, because He is without them. For, since our passions are as really a part of
our constitution as our senses; since the former as really belong to our
condition, of nature as the latter; to get rid of either, is equally a violation
of, and breaking in upon, that nature and constitution he has given us. Both our senses and our passions are a
supply to the imperfection of our nature: thus they show, that we are such sort
of creatures, as to stand in need of those helps which higher orders of
creatures do not. But it is not the supply, but the deficiency; as it is not a
remedy, but a disease which is the imperfection. However, our appetites, passions,
senses, no way imply disease; nor, indeed, do they imply deficiency or
imperfection of any sort; but only this, that the constitution of nature,
according to which God has made us, is such as to require them. And it is so far
from being true, that a wise man must entirely suppress compassion, and all
fellow-feeling for others, as a weakness, and trust to reason alone to teach and
enforce upon him, the practice of the several charities we owe to our kind;
that, on the contrary, even the bare exercise of such affections would itself be
for the good and happiness of the world; and the imperfection of the higher
principles of reason and religion . I in man, the little influence they have
upon our practice, and the strength and prevalency of contrary ones, plainly
require these affections to be a restraint upon these latter, and a supply to
the deficiencies of the former.
First,
The very exercise itself of these affections, in a just and reasonable manner
and degree, would, upon the whole, increase the satisfactions, and lessen the
miseries of life.
It
is the tendency and business of virtue and religion to procure, as much as may
be, universal good-will: trust, and friendship, amongst mankind. If this could
be brought to obtain; and each man enjoyed the happiness of others, as everyone
does that of a friend; and looked upon the success and prosperity of his
neighbor, as every one does upon that of his children and family; it is too
manifest to be insisted upon, how much the enjoyments of life would be
increased. There would be so much happiness introduced into the world, without
any deduction or inconvenience from it, in proportion as the precept of
rejoicing with those who rejoice, was universally obeyed. Our Saviour has
owned this good affection as belonging to our nature, in the parable of the
lost sheep; and does not think it to the disadvantage of a perfect state,
to represent its happiness as capab1e of increase, from reflection upon that of
others.
But
since, in such a creature as man, compassion, or sorrow, for the distress of
others, seems so far necessarily connected with joy in their prosperity, as that
whoever rejoices in one must unavoidably compassionate the other; there cannot
be that delight or satisfaction, which appears to be so considerable, without
the inconveniences, whatever they are, of compassion.
However,
without considering this connexion, there is no doubt but that more good than
evil, more delight than sorrow, arises from compassion itself; there being so
many things which balance the sorrow of it. There is, first, the relief which
the distressed feel from this affection in others towards them. There is
likewise the additional misery which they would feel, from the reflection that
no one commiserated their case. It is indeed true, that any disposition;
prevailing beyond a certain degree, becomes somewhat wrong; and we have ways of
speaking, which, though they do not directly express that excess, yet always
lead our thoughts to it, and give us the notion of it. Thus, when mention is
made of delight in being pitied, this always conveys to our
mind
the
notion of somewhat which is really a weakness: the manner of speaking, I say,
implies a certain weakness and feebleness of mind, which is and ought to be
disapproved. But men of the greatest fortitude would in distress feel uneasiness
from knowing, that no person in the world had any sort of compassion or real
concern for them; and in some cases, especially when the temper is, enfeebled by
sickness, or any long and great distress, doubtless would feel a kind of relief
even, from the helpless good-will and ineffectual assistances of those about
them. Over against the sorrow of compassion is likewise to be set a peculiar
calm kind of satisfaction, which accompanies it, unless in cases where the
distress of another is by some means brought home to ourselves, as to become in
a manner our own; or when from weakness of mind the affection rises too high,
which ought to be corrupted. This
tranquillity, or, calm satisfaction, proceeds partly from consciousness of a
right affection and temper of mind, and partly from a sense of our own freedom
from the misery we compassionate.
This last may possibly appear to some at first sight faulty; but it
really is not so. It is the same
with that positive enjoyment, which sudden ease from pain for the present
affords, arising from a real sense of misery, joined with a sense of our freedom
from it; which in all cases must afford some degree of
satisfaction.
To
these things must be added the observation, which respects both the affections
we are considering, that they who have got over all fellow feeling for others,
have withal contracted a certain callousness of heart, which renders them
insensible to most other satisfactions, but
those
of the grossest kind.
Secondly,
Without the exercise of these affections, men would certainly be much more
wanting in the offices of charity they owe to each other, and likewise more
cruel and injurious, than they are at present.
The
private interest of the individual would not be sufficiently provided for by
reasonable and cool self-love alone: therefore the appetites and passions are
placed within, as a guard and further security, without which it would not be
taken due care of. It is manifest
our life would be neglected, were it not for the calls of hunger and thirst, and
weariness; not withstanding that without them reason would assure us, that the
recruits of food and sleep are the necessary means of our preservation. It is therefore absurd to imagine,
that, without affection, the same reason alone would be more effectual to engage
us to perform the duties we owe to our fellow-creatures. One of this make would be as defective,
as much wanting, considered with respect to society, as one of the former make
would be defective, or wanting, considered as an individual; or in his private
capacity. Is it possible any
can in earnest think, that a public spirit, i. e. a settled reasonable
principle of benevolence to mankind, is so prevalent and strong in the species,
as that we may venture to throw off the under affections, which are its
assistants, carry it forward, and mark out particular courses for it; family,
friends, neighborhood; the distressed, our country? The common joys and the
common sorrows, which belong to these relations and circumstances, are as
plainly useful to society, as the pain and pleasure: belonging to hunger,
thirst, and weariness, are of service to the individual. In defect of that
higher principle of reason, compassion is often the only way by which the
indigent can have access to us: and therefore to eradicate this though it is not
indeed formally to deny that assistance which is their due; yet it is to cut
them off from that which is too frequently their only way of obtaining it. And
as for those who have shut up this door against the complaints of the miserable,
and conquered this affection in
themselves; even these persons will be under great restraints from the same
affection in others. Thus, a man who has himself no sense of injustice, cruelty,
oppression, will be kept from running the utmost lengths of wickedness, by fear
of that detestation, and even resentment of inhumanity; in many particular
instances of it, which compassion for the object towards whom such inhumanity is
exercised, excites in the bulk of mankind.
And this is frequently the chief danger, and the chief restraint, which
tyrants and the great oppressors of the world feel.
In general, experience will show, that as
want of natural appetite to food, supposes and proceeds from some bodily
disease; so the apathy the Stoics talk of, as much supposes, or is accompanied
with somewhat amiss in the moral character, in that which is the health of the
mind. Those who formerly aimed at this upon the foot of philosophy, appear to
have had better success
in
eradicating the affections of tenderness and compassion, than they had with the
passions of envy, pride, and resentment; these latter, at best, were but
concealed, and that imperfectly too. How far this observation may be extended to
such as endeavor to suppress the natural impulses of their affections, in order
to form themselves for business and the world, I shall not determine. But, there does not appear any capacity
or relation to be named in which men ought to be entirely deaf to the calls of
affection, unless the judicial one is to be excepted.
And
as to those who are commonly called
the men of pleasure, it is manifest that the reason they set up for
hardness of heart, is to avoid being interrupted in their course, by the ruin
and misery they are the authors of: neither are persons of this character always
the most free from the impotencies of envy and resentment. What may men at last
bring themselves to, by suppressing their passions and affections of one kind,
and leaving those of the other in their full strength? But surely it might be expected, that
persons who make pleasure their study and their business, if they understood what they profess,
would reflect, how many of the entertainments of life, how many of those kind of
amusements which seem peculiarly to belong to men of leisure and education, they
become insensible to by this acquired hardness of heart.
I shall close these reflections with barely mentioning the behaviour of
that divine Person, who was the example of all perfection in human nature, as
represented in the gospels mourning, and even, in a literal sense, weeping over
the distresses of his creatures.
The
observation already made, that, of the two affections mentioned in the text, the
latter exerts itself much more than the former; that; from the original
constitution of human nature, we
much more generally and sensibly compassionate the distressed, than
rejoice
with the prosperous, requires to be
particularly considered. This
observation, therefore, with the reflections which arise out of it, and which it
leads our thoughts to, shall be the subject of another
discourse.
For
the conclusion of this, let me just take notice of the danger of over great
refinements; of going besides or beyond the plain, obvious, first appearances of
things, upon the subject of morals and religion. The least observation will
show, how little the generality of men are capable of speculations. Therefore
morality and religion must be somewhat plain and easy to be understood: it must
appeal to what we call plain common sense, as distinguished from superior
capacity and improvement, because it appeals to mankind. Persons of superior capacity and
improvement have; often fallen into errors, which no one of mere common understanding could. Is it possible that one of this latter
character could ever of himself have thought, that here was absolutely no such
thing in mankind as affection to the good of others; suppose of parents, to
their children ? or that what he felt upon seeing a friend in distress, was only
fear for himself? or, upon supposition of the affections of kindness and
compassion, that it was the business of wisdom and virtue, to set him about
extirpating then as fast as he could?
And yet each of these manifest
contradictions to nature has
been laid down by men of speculation, as a discovery in moral philosophy; which
they, it seems, have found out through all the specious appearances to the
contrary. -
This
reflection may be extended further. The extravagancies of enthusiasm and
superstition do not at all lie in the road of common sense; and, therefore, so
far as they are original mistakes, must be owing to going beside or beyond it.
Now, since inquiry and examination can relate only to things so obscure and
uncertain as to stand in need of it, and to persons who are capable of it, the
proper advice to be given to plain honest men, to secure them from the extremes
both of superstition and irreligion is that of the son of Sirach: In every good
work trust thy soul; for this is the keeping of the commandment
(2).
1 There being manifestly this
appearance of men's substituting others for themselves, and being carried out
and affected towards them as towards themselves; some persons, who have a system
which excludes every affection of this sort, have taken a pleasant method to
solve it; and tell you, it is not another you are at all cconcerned about, but
your self only, when you feel the affection called compassion: i e. Here
is a plain matter of fact, which men cannot reconcile with the general account
they think fit to give of things; they, therefore, instead of that manifest
fact, substitute another, which is reconcileable to their own scheme.
For, does not every body by compassion mean, an affection the object of which is
another in distress? Instead of this, but designing to have it mistaken for
this, they speak of, an affection, or passion, the object of which is ourselves;
or danger to ourselves. Hobbs defines pity, imagination, or fiction, of future
calamity to ourselves, proceeding from the sense (he means sight, or knowledge)
of another man's calamity. Thus, fear and compassion would be the same idea, and
a fearful and a compassionate man the same character; which every one
immediately sees are totally different. Further, to those who give any scope to
their affections, there is no perception, or inward feeling, more universal than
this; that one who has been merciful and compassionate throughout the course of
his behaviour, should himself be treated with kindness, if he happens to fall
into circumstances of distress. Is fear, then, or cowardice, so great a
recommendation to the favor of the bulk of mankind? Or, is it not plain, that
mere fearlessness (and therefore, not the contrary) is one of the most popular
qualifications? This shows that mankind are not affected towards compassion as
fear, but as somewhat totally different.
Nothing
would more expose such accounts as these of the , affections which are favorable
and friendly to our fellow-creatures, than to substitute the definitions which
this author and others who follow his steps, give of such affections, instead of
the words by which they are commonly expressed. Hobbs, after having laid down,
that pity, or compassion, is only fear for ourselves, goes on to explain the
reason why we pity our friends in distress more, than others. Now, substitute
the definition instead of the word pity in this place, and the inquiry will be,
why we fear our friends? &c. which words (since he really does not mean why
we are afraid of them) make no question, or sentence at all. So that common language, the words to
compassionate, to pity, cannot be accommodated to his account of compassion. The
very joining of the words to pity our friends, is a direct contradiction
to his definition of pity: Because, those words, so joined, necessarily express,
that our friends are the objects of the passion; whereas his definition of it
asserts, that our selves (or danger to ourselves) are the only objects of it. He
might, indeed, have avoided this absurdity, by plainly saying what he is going
to account for; namely, why the sight of the innocent, or of our friends in
distress, raises greater fear for ourselves than the sight of other persons in
distress. But had he put the thing thus plainly, the fact itself would have been
doubted; that the sight of our friends in distress, raises in us greater fear
for ourselves, than the sight of others in distress. And, in the next place,
it would immediately have occurred to every one, that the fact now mentioned,
which, at least, is doubtful, whether true or false, was not the same
with this fact, which nobody ever doubted, that the sight of our friends in
distress raises in us greater compassion than the sight of others in
distress, every one, I say, would have seen that these are not the
same, but two different inquiries; and; consequently, that fear
and compassion are not the same. Suppose a person to be in real danger, and, by
some means or other, to have forgot it, any trifling
accident,
any sound might alarm him, recall the danger to his remembrance, and renew his
fear. But it is almost too grossly ridiculous (though it is to show an
absurdity) to speak of that sound, or accident, as an object of compassion; and
yet, according to Mr Hobbs, our greatest friend in distress is no more to us, no
more the object of compassion, or of any affection in our heart. Neither the one
nor the other raises any emotion in our mind, but only the thoughts of our
liableness to calamity, and the fear of it; and both equally do this. It is fit
such sorts of accounts of human nature should be shown to be what they really
are, because there is raised upon them a general scheme, which undermines the
whole foundation of common justice and honesty. See HOBBS of Hum. Nat. c.
9. sec. 10.
There
are often three distinct perceptions, or inward feelings, upon sight of persons
in distress: real sorrow and concern for the misery of our fellow creatures;
some degree of satisfaction, from a consciousness of our freedom from that
misery: and, as the mind passes on from one thing to another, it is not
unnatural, from such an occasion, to reflect upon our own liableness to the same
or other calamities. The two last frequently accompany the first, but it is the
first only which is properly compassion, of which the distressed are the
objects, and which directly carries us with calmness and thought to their
assistance. Anyone of these, from various and complicated reasons, may, in
particular cases, prevail over the other two; and there are, I suppose,
instances where the bare sight of distress, without our feeling any compassion
for it, may be the occasion of either or both of the two latter perceptions. One
might add, that if there be really any such thing as the fiction or imagination
of danger to ourselves, from sight of the miseries of others, which Hobbs speaks
of, and which he has absurdly mistaken for the whole of compassion; if there be
any thing of this sort common to mankind, distinct from the reflection of
reason, it would be a most remarkable instance of what was furthest from his
thoughts, namely, of a mutual sympathy between each particular of the species, a
fellow-feeling common to mankind. It would not, indeed; be an example of our
substituting others for ourselves, but it would be an example of our
substituting ourselves for others. And as it would not be an instance of
benevolence, so neither would it be any instance of self-love; for this phantom
of danger to ourselves, naturally rising to view upon sight of the distresses of
others, would be no more an instance of love to ourselves, than the pain of
hunger is.
2 Eccles.
xxxii.