is a sort of magnetism awakened
in us by the contemplation of a being similar to ourselves, but which
never goes beyond the person who feels it; it may be reciprocated, but
not communicated. Love, benevolence, pity, sympathy, call it what you
will, there is nothing in it which deserves esteem,--nothing which lifts
man above the beast.

The second degree of sociability is justice, which may be defined as the
RECOGNITION OF THE EQUALITY BETWEEN ANOTHER'S PERSONALITY AND OUR OWN.
The sentiment of justice we share with the animals; we alone can form
an exact idea of it; but our idea, as has been said already, does not
change its nature. We shall soon see how man rises to a third degree
of sociability which the animals are incapable of reaching. But I must
first prove by metaphysics that SOCIETY, JUSTICE, and EQUALITY,
are three equivalent terms,--three expressions meaning the same
thing,--whose mutual conversion is always allowable.

If, amid the confusion of a shipwreck, having escaped in a boat with
some provisions, I see a man struggling with the waves, am I bound to
go to his assistance? Yes, I am bound under penalty of being adjudged
guilty of murder and treason against society.

But am I also bound to share with him my provisions?

To settle this question, we must change the phraseology. If society is
binding on the boat, is it also binding on the provisions? Undoubtedly.
The duty of an associate is absolute. Man's occupancy succeeds his
social nature, and is subordinate to it; possession can become exclusive
only when permission to occupy is granted to all alike. That which
in this instance obscures our duty is our power of foresight, which,
causing us to fear an eventual danger, impels us to usurpation, and
makes us robbers and murderers. Animals do not calculate the duty of
instinct any more than the disadvantages resulting to those who exercise
it; it would be strange if the intellect of man--the most sociable of
animals--should lead him to disobey the law.

He betrays society who attempts to use it only for his own advantage;
better that God should deprive us of prudence, if it is to serve as the
tool of our selfishness.

"What!" you will say, "must I share my bread, the bread which I have
earned and which belongs to me, with the stranger whom I do not know;
whom I may never see again, and who, perhaps, will reward me with
ingratitude? If we had earned this bread together, if this man had
done something to