Context

Part II of Book II begins with an account of the passions of love and hatred that parallels the account of pride and humility given in Part I. The object of love and hatred is another person or thinking being. The passion is a consequence of the “double relation” that holds between (1) the idea of the object of the passion and of its cause, and (2) the pleasurable or painful impression or sensation of the passion and the pleasurable or painful impression received from the cause of the passion. In the case of love and hatred, the causes are properties of the other person’s mind or body, as well as of things related to the person. Sections 4 and 5 develop accounts of blood-relations and of riches and power, respectively, as causes of love. Second 6 introduces a new consideration, the passions of benevolence and anger, which are closely connected to those of love and hatred, respectively. Benevolence is a desire for the happiness of the beloved, while anger is a desire for the unhappiness of the hated. In Sections 7 and 8, the author identifies two passions which are easily mistaken for benevolence and anger: compassion or pity with respect to benevolence, and malice and envy, with respect to anger. Like benevolence and anger, these two passions are desires for the happiness or unhappiness of others, but these desires are directed toward strangers. The present section considers the relation of pity and malice and the passions of love and hatred.

Background

The problems raised by the author in this Section arise from unique features of his system of the passions.

The Treatise

1. The section begins by seeking to reconcile an apparent “contradiction” within the author’s “system” for the explanation of the passions of pity (Section 7) and malice (Section 8). What is in common between the two opposed passions is that they each arise from the imagination, which places the objects of pity and malice in a “certain light,” i.e., which regards them in a certain way. There are two ways of regarding the condition of other people: directly, considering only their own condition, and indirectly, considering their condition in relation to our own. In the first case, the grief of the other engenders a grief on our own part, which is pity. But in the second case, the grief of the other causes joy on our own part, which is malice. These two sentiments are mixed with other sentiments: with pity is mixed love, tenderness, benevolence, and with malice is mixed hatred or anger. The problem for the author’s “system” is that because pity is an uneasiness, it should produce the uneasy passion of hatred rather than love, and because malice is a joy, it should produce the satisfying passion of love rather than hatred. “This contradiction I endeavour to reconcile, after the following manner” [in the next paragraph].

2. The author recalls his original explanation of the cause of the “transition of passions,” [from an impression of the cause of the passion to the impression that comprises the passion itself]. There is a “double relation”—one between impression and impression and another, parallel to it, between idea and idea. This double relation exists, according to the author, in the case of the passions of pride and humility. An idea (say of a beautiful house) produces an impression of pleasure. This impression is related to the pleasure one has when feeling proud. Further, the idea of the beautiful house is related to myself, the object of the passion—it is my house. The two relations—the house to myself and the impression of pleasure in viewing the house and the impression of pleasure in knowing it is mine—account for the sentiment of pride. In the case of love and hatred, the object is some other thinking person, whom I love or hate. An idea (say of virtue) produces in me a feeling of pleasure. Then the idea is related to another thinking person—that person is virtuous. This idea is related to an impression of pleasure with respect to that person, which is the sentiment of love. With this general framework in mind, we can turn to the case of pity, which induces pain yet produces the pleasurable passion of love. This would not be possible if we consider the “present sensation alone or momentary pain and pleasure, which determines the character of any passion.” (The passions of pride and humility are based on present sensations alone, which are “pure sensations, without any direction or tendency to action,” as noted in Section 6, paragraph 3.) It is, however, possible, if we take into account “the whole bent or tendency of it [the momentary pain and pleasure] from the beginning to the end.”

3. Taking into account the whole bent or tendency of the pain we have on observing the misery of others reveals a desire that the person become happy and not remain miserable. This desire is quite similar to the passion of benevolence, which is specifically the desire for the happiness, and the aversion to the misery, of someone who is loved. The only difference is that the object of pity is not any close acquaintance and may be a complete stranger. [See Section 7, first paragraph, for the initial account of pity.] The contrary to benevolence is anger, which accompanies hatred. Anger is the desire that the object of anger become miserable and the aversion to his happiness. Malice, the joy in the misery of others not closely connected to ourselves, carries with it a desire for that misery, and in this respect it is very much like anger. “Pity, then, is related to benevolence; and malice to anger.” These relations result in a “chain of passions” by which pity is linked to benevolence, which in turn is linked to love, and malice is linked to anger, which in turn is linked to hatred. [In Section 6, paragraph 3, the author states that the “passions of love and hatred are always follow’d by, or rather conjoin’d with, benevolence and anger.” The conjunction here is directional: love followed by benevolence and hatred by anger. However, in the present Section, the author moves in the opposite direction, from benevolence to love, and from anger to hatred.]

4. The linkage of pity to love and malice to hatred is described as a “hypothesis” which is “founded on sufficient experience.” One point that needs no further confirmation is the linkage between love and hatred and the respective desires of benevolence and anger. That these connections are “original and primary” was argued in Section 6. [But note again, that the linkage established there was only from love to benevolence and from hatred to anger, and not vice-versa.] The second point is that the same desires may be based on different principles. Thus, the desire for the well-being of another may be based on love or on sympathy [as explained in Section 7], and so are derived from different principles. That this is not so surprising can be seen from an analogy. The same action may be based on different principles. When one has decided to carry out a specific action, one has an initial motive. But to reinforce the decision, one may invoke other motives, such as one’s interests, or honor, or duty. So just as the same action can be based on different principles that jointly favor it, “What wonder, then, that pity and benevolence, malice, and anger, being the same desires arising from different principles, shoul’d so totally mix together as to be indistinguishable?”

5. A second confirming observation will be elaborated upon in the next five paragraphs. The claim is that the desires of benevolence and anger, which are followed by love and hatred, respectively, “arise when our happiness or misery have any dependance on the happiness or misery of another person, without any further relation.” That is, if my happiness depends on yours, then I will desire for your happiness, which in turn will produce love. Similarly, if my happiness depends on your misery, then I will desire your misery, which will lead to hatred. The author remarks that “I doubt not but that this experiment will appear so singular as to excuse us for stopping a moment to consider it.”

6. The author now presents an example of hatred arising from a conflict of interest and of love arising from a coincidence of interests. In the first case, two people in the same field seek the same job that only one can get. In the second, two merchants have a deal whereby the success or failure of one results in the success or failure of the other. “Now ’tis evident, that in the first case, hatred always follows upon the contrariety of interests; as in the second, love arises from their union.” It remains to explain how the hatred and love arise.

7. The first point is that the hatred or love are independent of the actual outcomes—whether or not the rival gets the job or the partner flourishes. In the first case, if my rival is happy upon getting the job, I will be unhappy, but if I get the job, he will be happy and I will be unhappy. But regardless of what happens, I hate my rival. Similarly, I will be happy if my partner does well and unhappy if he does poorly, but I will love him in either case. Thus, “if we regard only the present sensation,” [that of present happiness or unhappiness,] we cannot account for the love and hatred. This means that the basic explanation of the passions in terms of the double relation of impressions and ideas cannot be invoked here. [The double relation is described most fully in Part I, Section 5, in the discussion of pride and humility. The author notes in Section 1 of Part II that the mechanism is the same in the case of love and hatred. Love is the product of an impression of, and only of, pleasure in the cause of the object, and hatred of pain, and only pain.]

8. Another way to try to explain the hatred and love is as being based on a relation of resemblance of one person to the other. In Section 4, the author had described how, for example, we most love our immediate family members, who resemble us the most, and may even have a bit of love for someone sharing the same name. He claims here that the hatred of the rival and love of the partner are not to be described in this way. Suppose it is claimed that I love the partner because of his resemblance to me in the context of our business relationship. But, the author claims, the rival has a very similar relationship to me, in which case I should love him, which I do not. One might object that the relationships are dissimilar: the partner’s pleasure causes my pleasure, and the rival’s pleasure causes my pain. The author notes that the first relationship is one of resemblance and the second of contrariety. However, the relationship of contrariety is in fact one of resemblance, which “leaves the matter pretty equal.” That is, the relation of the partner is on the same footing as that of the rival, so that they would invoke the same passion if resemblance is the cause of the passion. [The claim that contrariety is a form of resemblance is made in Book I, Part I, Section 5.]

9. So, neither the double relation of impressions and ideas, nor the close relation we have to another person is sufficient to explain the origin of our sentiments in the cases of rivalry and partnership. The only explanation remaining depends on “the principle of a parallel direction, above-mention’d.” This principle, stated in paragraph 2, is that “One impression may be related to another, . . . when their impulses and directions are similar and correspondent.” Consider the relation of my pleasure to the pleasure of my business partner. These are two impressions which are related by their “impulses and directions,” in the sense that my partner’s success, and hence the pleasure he has in it, leads to my own success and consequent pleasure. Similar remarks apply to the relation between my own and my partner’s pain. These relations, in turn, gives rise to the passion of benevolence, in that I desire the well-being of my partner. On the other hand, the relation between my rival’s pain and pleasure are inverse, and as I result I have the passion of anger, desiring his downfall. These two passions regarding a person with whom I am closely related result purely from my self-interest. We find the same parallel directions in the cases of sympathy and from comparison. In the case of sympathy, the pleasure or pain of a stranger induce a pleasure or pain in us, just as with self-interest applied to the partner. And with comparison (described in Section 8 as “pity revers’d”), the pleasure of a stranger painfully lowers our estimation of ourselves, resulting in our own pain, just as with self-interest applied to the rival. “Since, therefore, a parallel direction of the affections, proceeding from interest, can give rise to benevolence or anger, no wonder the same parallel direction, deriv’d from sympathy and from comparison, shoul’d have the same effect.”

10. The author now turns to a general observation, which is that love seems to be generated by any act of doing good to another person, no matter how motivated, and that injurious actions not only make the injured party hate us, but even make us hate ourselves. The author notes that “these phænomena, indeed, may be accounted for by other principles.” [The author presumably means other than the principles of interest, sympathy, etc.]

11. The system presented thus far is subject to a “considerable objection,” which will have to be dealt with before any further progress can be made. The author first recounts his explanation from Section 5 of our love of those with riches and hatred of those with poverty. Mere observation of a rich or poor stranger does not by itself bring about pleasure or pain. There is in us, however, a “secondary sensation” of pleasure or pain brought about by our sympathy with the other person. It is this sympathetic pleasure or pain that gives rise to esteem and content, which are species of love or hatred. However,the present explanation of pity and malice relies on this principle from paragraph 2: “That ’tis not the present sensation or momentary pain or pleasure, which determines the character of any passion, but the general bent or tendency of it from the beginning to the end.” This principle is needed to explain how a painful sympathetic impression can result in pity and love, and how a painful such impression can result in malice and hatred. Given this principle, it seems that sympathy with another’s uneasiness should always produce love, because this sympathy gives us an interest in the good fortunes of that person. Yet as noted, poverty often breeds contempt, a kind of hatred. The author notes that it is not becoming of a philosopher to adhere to two conflicting principles to explain separate phenomena.

12. The solution is to be found in the fact that the system explains the passions in two different ways. The basic way is through the double relation of ideas and impressions. [In the case of love and hatred, the cause of an idea in me is related to the idea of another person, and the pleasurable or painful impression accompanying the cause is related to a pleasurable or painful impression directed at another person.] The secondary way is through the conformity in the tendency and direction of desires arising from different principles. [In the case of love and hatred, I desire the happiness of those whom I love. By sympathy, I desire the happiness of someone I do not love. Since these two desires have the same tendency and direction (toward the happiness of the other), the impressions we have upon the view of the beloved and the other are similar.] This distinction provides the basis for solving the problem. The impression made by sympathy may be stronger or weaker, depending on the circumstances. If it is relatively weak, the first mechanism is in play, and hatred is the result. If it is relatively strong, the second mechanism takes over, and love is the consequence. The author contends that “this is a principle founded on such evident arguments, that we ought to have establish’d it, even tho’ it were not necessary to the explication of any phænomenon.”

13. The author notes that sympathy is not confined to the present moment, but can be generated by imagining the future state of another. For example, if I see someone I do not know asleep in a field and about to be trampled by horses, I would immediately rush to his aid, even though he has no present pain. I anticipate his pain in my imagination. Since the nature of sympathy is nothing more than that of a lively idea that is converted into an impression [see Part I, Section 11], it is evidently possible to feel sympathy for a person’s future state, since I can have an idea of it that is made very vivid by the present circumstances. In this way, we can “be sensible of pains and pleasures, which neither belong to ourselves, nor at the present instant have any real existence.”

14. This extension of sympathy to a person’s future state requires quite special circumstances, because in the ordinary case, it would require a great effort of the imagination to produce an impression of another’s pleasure or pain. The circumstances that can produce this effect are those which are particularly striking to us. “When the present misery of another has any strong influence upon me, the vivacity of the conception is not confin’d merely to its immediate object, but diffuses its influence over all the related ideas, and gives me a lively notion of all the circumstances of that person, whether past, present or future, possible, probable or certain.” On the other hand, if that misery does not have a strong influence, this diffusion will not take place. The author makes an analogy with a fountain. The pipes supplying the fountain “can convey no more water than what arises at the fountain.” [So, if the pipes are narrow, the fountain will be low, and if the sympathy is not strong, it will not be diffused beyond the present.] “By this diminution I destroy the future prospect, which is necessary to interest me perfectly in the fortune of another.” So in the cases of weaker sympathy, I am affected by the passion of malice, but nothing beyond it. And without the more extensive sympathy, I am not affected by the passions of love which is associated with pity.

15. Having made a general distinction, the author now applies it to the specific passions at hand. A feature of benevolence, or the desire of the happiness of the beloved, is that it is based on sympathy with both his pleasures and his pains, and hence upon “double impressions”—pleasant and painful. A passion that is to “run parallel with benevolence” must be based on a double impression as well. If we only sympathize with the other person’s pain, the resulting passions are anger (desire for the other“ pain) and hatred or contempt, because this only makes us uneasy. Now, if the original sympathy with the pain of the other is weak, then no other impressions will arise, and the result is anger and hatred. However, if it is strong, then it triggers extensive sympathy, which takes into account all of the circumstances of the person, including his pleasures, no matter how painful the first impression. This is gives rise to a desire which has a similar direction toward the other as benevolence has to the beloved—a desire for the well-being of the other. “Benevolence, therefore, arises from a great degree of misery, or any degree strongly sympathiz’d with: Hatred or contempt from a small degree, or one weakly sympathiz’d with; which is the principle I intended to prove and explain.”

16. Experience, as well as our reasoning, confirms this principle. “A certain degree of poverty produces contempt; but a degree beyond that causes compassion and good-will.” A peasant or servant may, because of his lowly status, be under-valued, but a beggar who appears very impoverished will be sympathized with and give rise to some feelings of pity and benevolence. “The same object causes contrary passions according to its different degrees.” So, the passions depend on a principle [i.e., sympathy] that operates in different degrees. Both the increase in misery and that in sympathy have the effect of giving rise to the passions of pity and benevolence.

17. Another example is that of a country that is barren and desolate, producing an unpleasant sensation and therefore leading contempt for those who live there, as we feel their pain alone. On the other hand, if we view a city that has been burnt to the ground, our sympathy is more extensive and we take the interests of the inhabitants deeply to heart, so “as to wish for their prosperity, as well as feel their adversity.”

18. However, the principle that the degree of sympathy depends on the initial impression can be taken too far. If the present pain is too extreme, it may capture our attention entirely and preclude the “double sympathy” that results from taking the person’s potential pleasures, as well as current pain, into account. An example is the extensive sympathy felt by some women for criminals who might be handsome or otherwise pleasant to behold. Even they feel “no such tender emotions” when they witness the horrors of torture, but rather cannot turn their view away from the pain that is being afflicted.

19. The clearest case that supports the author’s hypothesis is one in which “by a change of objects we separate the double sympathy even from a middling degree of the passion.” Pity for one person will give rise to love and tenderness toward that person and hatred toward another. This happens in the case of a victim and the perpetrator of the victim’s misfortune. The more compassion we feel toward the victim, the greater the hatred we have of the perpetrator. How do we explain this differential effect of pity? The reason must be that we view the perpetrator only with respect to the suffering he causes, while we take a wider view of the victim, hoping for his prosperity as well as being attentive to his present pain.

20. The author concludes his explanation of the production of love from pity by extending it to the kindness we feel toward our relatives and friends. Because of their relation to us, and of custom as well, we feel extensive sympathy toward them, taking their interests to heart. Also because of relation and custom, their fortunes become vivid in our imaginations, as if they were our own. “We rejoice in their pleasures, and grieve for their sorrows, merely from the force of sympathy.” Because of the correspondence of their feelings with our own, which naturally attends love, the sentiment of love is produced readily.

Dissertation II: Of the Passions

Section III of the Dissertation greatly simplifies the exposition of the present Section. Compassion is defined as “an uneasiness in the suffering of others” (Section II, paragraph 4), while benevolence is a desire of the happiness and aversion to the misery of someone loved. Compassion and benevolence are related very closely because of their similar tendencies, as are envy and anger. The effect of this close relation is “an association of the passions” (Section III, paragraph 9). Compassion leads naturally to some degree of love. There is a “contradiction” between the claim that poverty, etc. produce contempt unless they are extreme or strike us strongly, in which case they produce compassion. The reason given is the same as that provided in the present Section.

The poverty and meanness of another, in their common appearance, gives us uneasiness, by a species of imperfect sympathy; and this uneasiness produces aversion or dislike, from the resemblance of sentiment. But when we enter more intimately into another’s concerns, and wish his happiness, as well as feel his misery, friendship or good-will arises, from the similar tendencies of his inclinations. (Section III, paragraph 11)

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