es and pains of others; for let the affection be what it
will in appearance, if it does not make us shun such objects, if on the
contrary it induces us to approach them, if it makes us dwell upon them,
in this case I conceive we must have a delight or pleasure of some
species or other in contemplating objects of this kind. Do we not read
the authentic histories of scenes of this nature with as much pleasure
as romances or poems, where the incidents are fictitious? The prosperity
of no empire, nor the grandeur of no king, can so agreeably affect in
the reading, as the ruin of the state of Macedon, and the distress of
its unhappy prince. Such a catastrophe touches us in history as much as
the destruction of Troy does in fable. Our delight, in cases of this
kind, is very greatly heightened, if the sufferer be some excellent
person who sinks under an unworthy fortune. Scipio and Cato are both
virtuous characters; but we are more deeply affected by the violent
death of the one, and the ruin of the great cause he adhered to, than
with the deserved triumphs and uninterrupted prosperity of the other:
for terror is a passion which always produces delight when it does not
press too closely; and pity is a passion accompanied with pleasure,
because it arises from love and social affection. Whenever we are formed
by nature to any active purpose, the passion which animates us to it is
attended with delight, or a pleasure of some kind, let the
subject-matter be what it will; and as our Creator has designed that we
should be united by the bond of sympathy, he has strengthened that bond
by a proportionable delight; and there most where our sympathy is most
wanted,--in the distresses of others. If this passion was simply
painful, we would shun with the greatest care all persons and places
that could excite such a passion; as some, who are so far gone in
indolence as not to endure any strong impression, actually do. But the
case is widely different with the greater part of mankind; there is no
spectacle we so eagerly pursue, as that of some uncommon and grievous
calamity; so that whether the misfortune is before our eyes, or whether
they are turned back to it in history, it always touches with delight.
This is not an unmixed delight, but blended with no small uneasiness.
The delight we have in such things hinders us from shunning scenes of
misery; and the pain we feel prompts us to relieve ourselves in
relieving those who suffer; and all th