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In many instances one emotion is productive of another. The same of passions.

IN the first chapter it is observed, that the relations by which things are mutually connected, have a remarkable influence in regulating the train of our ideas. I here add, that they have an influence not less remarkable, in generating emotions and passions. Beginning with the former, it holds in fact, that an agreeable object makes every thing connected with it appear agreeable. The mind gliding sweetly and easily through related objects, carries along the beauty of objects that made a figure, and blends that beauty with the idea of the present object, which thereby appears more agreeable than when considered apart[19]. This reason may appear obscure and metaphysical, but it must be relished when we attend to the following examples, which establish the fact beyond all dispute. No relation is more intimate than that betwixt a being and its qualities; and accordingly, the affection I bear a man expands itself readily upon all his qualities, which by that means make a greater figure in my mind than more substantial qualities in others. The talent of speaking in a friend, is more regarded than that of acting in a person with whom I have no connection; and graceful motion in a mistress, gives more delight than consummate prudence in any other woman. Affection sometimes rises so high, as to convert defects into properties. The wry neck of Alexander was imitated by his courtiers as a real beauty, without intention to flatter. Thus Lady Piercy, speaking of her husband Hotspur,

———————— By his light

Did all the chivalry of England move,

To do brave acts. He was indeed the glass,

Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves.

He had no legs that practis’d not his gait:

And speaking thick, which Nature made his blemish,

Became the accents of the valiant:

For those who could speak low and tardily,

Would turn their own perfection to abuse,

To seem like him.

Second part, Henry IV. act 2. sc. 6.

When the passion of love has ended its course, its object becomes quite a different creature.——Nothing left of that genteel motion, that gaiety, that sprightly conversation, those numberless graces, that formerly, in the lover’s opinion, charmed all hearts.

The same communication of passion obtains in the relation of principal and accessory. Pride, of which self is the object, expands itself upon a house, a garden, servants, equipage, and every thing of that nature. A lover addresseth his mistress’s glove in the following terms:

Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine.

A temple is in a proper sense an accessory of the deity to which it is dedicated. Diana is chaste, and not only her temple, but the very isicle which hangs on it, must partake of that property:

The noble sister of Poplicola,

The moon of Rome; chasle as the isicle

That’s curdled by the frost from purest snow,

And hangs on Dian’s temple.

Coriolanus, act 5. sc. 3.

Thus it is, that the respect and esteem, which the great, the powerful, the opulent naturally command, are in some measure communicated to their dress, to their manners, and to all their connections. It is this principle, which in matters left to our own choice prevails over the natural taste of beauty and propriety, and gives currency to what is called the fashion.

By means of the same easiness of transition, the bad qualities of an object are carried along, and grafted upon related objects. Every good quality in a person is extinguished by hatred; and every bad quality is spread upon all his connections. A relation more slight and transitory than that of hatred, may have the same effect. Thus the bearer of bad tidings becomes an object of aversion:

Fellow begone, I cannot brook thy sight,

This news hath made thee a most ugly man.

King John, act 3. sc. 1.

Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news

Hath but a losing office: and his tongue

Sounds ever after, as a sullen bell

Remember’d, tolling a departing friend.

Second part, Henry IV. act 1. sc. 3.

This disposition of the mind to communicate the properties of one object to another, is not always proportioned to the intimacy of their connection. The order of the transition from object to object, hath also an influence. The sense of order operates not less powerfully in this case, than in the succession of ideas[20]. If a thing be agreeable in itself, all its accessories appear agreeable. But the agreeableness of an accessory, extends not itself so readily to the principal. Any dress upon a fine woman is becoming; but the most elegant ornaments upon one that is homely, have scarce any effect to mend her appearance. The reason will be obvious, from what is said in the chapter above cited. The mind passes more easily from the principal to its accessories, than in the opposite direction.

The emotions produced as above may properly be termed secondary, being occasioned either by antecedent emotions or antecedent passions, which in this respect may be termed primary. And to complete the present theory, I must now remark a difference betwixt a primary emotion and a primary passion in the production of secondary emotions. A secondary emotion cannot but be more faint than the primary; and therefore, if the chief or principal object have not the power to raise a passion, the accessory object will have still less power. But if a passion be raised by the principal object, the secondary emotion may readily swell into a passion for the accessory, provided the accessory be a proper object for desire. And thus it happens that one passion is often productive of another. Examples are without number: the sole difficulty is a proper choice. I begin with self-love, and the power it hath to generate other passions. The love which parents bear their children, is an illustrious example of the foregoing doctrine. Every man, beside making part of a greater system, like a comet, a planet, or satellite only; hath a less system of his own, in the centre of which he represents the sun dispersing his fire and heat all around. The connection between a man and his children, fundamentally that of cause and effect, becomes, by the addition of other circumstances, the completest that can be among individuals; and therefore, self-love, the most vigorous of all passions, is readily expanded upon children. The secondary emotion they at first produce by means of their connection, is, generally speaking, sufficiently strong to move desire even from the beginning; and the new passion swells by degrees, till it rival in some measure self-love, the primary passion. The following case will demonstrate the truth of this theory. Remorse for betraying a friend, or murdering an enemy in cold blood, makes a man even hate himself. In this state, it is a matter of experience, that he is scarce conscious of any affection to his children, but rather of disgust or ill-will. What cause can be assigned for this change, other than the hatred which beginning at himself, is expanded upon his children? And if so, may we not with equal reason derive from self-love the affection a man for ordinary has to them?

The affection a man bears to his blood-relations, depends on the same principle. Self-love is also expanded upon them; and the communicated passion, is more or less vigorous in proportion to the connection. Nor doth self-love rest here: it is, by the force of connection, communicated even to things inanimate. And hence the affection a man bears to his property, and to every thing he calls his own.

Friendship, less vigorous than self-love, is, for that reason, less apt to communicate itself to children or other relations. Instances however are not wanting, of such communicated passion arising from friendship when it is strong. Friendship may go higher in the matrimonial state than in any other condition: and Otway, in Venice preserv’d, shows a fine taste in taking advantage of that circumstance. In the scene where Belvidera sues to her father for pardon, she is represented as pleading her mother’s merit, and the resemblance she bore to her mother.

Priuli. My daughter!

Belvidera. Yes, your daughter, by a mother Virtuous and noble, faithful to your honour, Obedient to your will, kind to your wishes, Dear to your arms. By all the joys she gave you, When in her blooming years she was your treasure, Look kindly on me; in my face behold The lineaments of hers y’ have kiss’d so often, Pleading the cause of your poor cast-off child.

And again,

Belvidera. Lay me, I beg you, lay me By the dear ashes of my tender mother. She would have pitied me, had fate yet spar’d her. Act 5. sc. 1.

This explains why any meritorious action or any illustrious qualification in my son or my friend, is apt to make me overvalue myself. If I value my friend’s wife or his son upon account of their connection with him, it is still more natural that I should value myself upon account of my own connection with him.

Friendship, or any other social affection, may produce opposite effects. Pity, by interesting us strongly for the person in distress, must of consequence inflame our resentment against the author of the distress. For, in general, the affection we have for any man, generates in us good-will to his friends and ill-will to his enemies. Shakespear shows great art in the funeral oration pronounced by Antony over the body of Cæsar. He first endeavours to excite grief in the hearers, by dwelling upon the deplorable loss of so great a man. This passion raised to a pitch, interesting them strongly in Cæsar’s fate, could not fail to produce a lively sense of the treachery and cruelty of the conspirators; an infallible method to inflame the resentment of the multitude beyond all bounds.

Antony. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this mantle; I remember The first time ever Cæsar put it on, ’Twas on a summer’s evening in his tent, That day he overcame the Nervii—— Look! in this place ran Cassius’ dagger through;— See what a rent the envious Casca made.—— Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabb’d; And as he pluck’d his cursed steel away, Mark how the blood of Cæsar follow’d it! As rushing out of doors, to be resolv’d, If Brutus so unkindly knock’d, or no: For Brutus, as you know, was Cæsar’s angel. Judge, oh you gods! how dearly Cæsar lov’d him; This, this, was the unkindest cut of all; For when the noble Cæsar saw him stab, Ingratitude, more strong than traitors’ arms, Quite vanquish’d him; then burst his mighty heart: And, in his mantle muffling up his face, Which all the while ran blood, great Cæsar fell, Even at the base of Pompey’s statue. O what a fall was there, my countrymen! Then I and you, and all of us fell down, Whilst bloody treason flourish’d over us. O, now you weep; and I perceive you feel The dint of pity; these are gracious drops. Kind souls! what, weep you when you but behold Our Cæsar’s vesture wounded? look you here! Here is himself, marr’d, as you see, by traitors. Julius Cæsar, act 3. sc. 6.

Had Antony directed upon the conspirators the thoughts of his audience, without paving the way by raising their grief, his speech perhaps might have failed of success.

Hatred and other dissocial passions, produce effects directly opposite to those above mentioned. If I hate a man, his children, his relations, nay his property, become to me objects of aversion. His enemies, on the other hand, I am disposed to esteem.

The more slight and transitory connections, have generally no power to produce a communicated passion. Anger, when sudden and violent, is one exception; for if the person who did the injury be removed out of reach, this passion will vent itself upon any related object, however slight the relation be. Another exception makes a greater figure. A group of beings or things, becomes often the object of a communicated passion, even where the relation of the individuals to the principal object is but faint. Thus though I put no value upon a single man for living in the same town with myself; my townsmen however, considered in a body, are preferred before others. This is still more remarkable with respect to my countrymen in general. The grandeur of the complex object, swells the passion of self-love by the relation I have to my native country; and every passion, when it swells beyond its ordinary bounds, hath, in that circumstance, a peculiar tendency to expand itself along related objects. In fact, instances are not rare, of persons, who, upon all occasions, are willing to sacrifice their lives and fortunes for their country. Such influence upon the mind of man, hath a complex object, or, more properly speaking, a general term[21].

The sense of order hath, in the communication of passion, an influence not less remarkable than in the communication of emotions. It is a common observation, that a man’s affection to his parents is less vigorous than to his children. The order of nature in descending to children, aids the transition of the affection. The ascent to a parent, contrary to this order, makes the transition more difficult. Gratitude to a benefactor is readily extended to his children; but not so readily to his parents. The difference however betwixt the natural and inverted order, is not so considerable, but that it may be balanced by other circumstances. Pliny[22] gives an account of a woman of rank condemned to die for a crime; and, to avoid public shame, detained in prison to die of hunger. Her life being prolonged beyond expectation, it was discovered, that she was nourished by sucking milk from the breasts of her daughter. This instance of filial piety, which aided the transition and made ascent not less easy than descent is for ordinary, procured a pardon to the mother, and a pension to both. The story of Androcles and the lion[23] may be accounted for in the same manner. The admiration, of which the lion was the cause, for his kindness and gratitude to Androcles, produced good-will to Androcles, and pardon of his crime.

And this leads to other observations upon communicated passions. I love my daughter less after she is married, and my mother less after a second marriage. The marriage of my son or my father diminishes not my affection so remarkably. The same observation holds with respect to friendship, gratitude, and other passions. The love I bear my friend, is but faintly extended to his married daughter. The resentment I have against a man, is readily extended against children who make part of his family: not so readily against children who are forisfamiliated, especially by marriage. This difference is also more remarkable in daughters than in sons. These are curious facts; and to evolve the cause we must examine minutely, that operation of the mind by which a passion is extended to a related object. In considering two things as related, the mind is not stationary, but passeth and repasseth from the one to the other, viewing the relation from each of them perhaps oftener than once. This holds more especially in considering a relation betwixt things of unequal rank, as betwixt the cause and the effect, or betwixt a principal and an accessory. In contemplating the relation betwixt a building and its ornaments, the mind is not satisfied with a single transition from the former to the latter. It must also view the relation, beginning at the latter, and passing from it to the former. This vibration of the mind in passing and repassing betwixt things that are related, explains the facts above mentioned. The mind passeth easily from the father to the daughter; but where the daughter is married, this new relation attracts the mind, and obstructs, in some measure, the return from the daughter to the father. Any obstruction the mind meets with in passing and repassing betwixt its objects, occasions a like obstruction in the communication of passion. The marriage of a male obstructs less the easiness of transition; because a male is less sunk by the relation of marriage than a female.

The foregoing instances, are of passion communicated from one object to another. But one passion may be generated by another, without change of object. It may in general be observed, that a passion paves the way to others, similar in their tone, whether directed upon the same or upon a different object. For the mind heated by any passion, is, in that state, more susceptible of a new impression in a similar tone, than when cool and quiescent. It is a common observation, that pity generally produceth friendship for a person in distress. Pity interests us in its object, and recommends all its virtuous qualities. For this reason, female beauty shows best in distress; and is more apt to inspire love, than upon ordinary occasions. But it is chiefly to be remarked, that pity, warming and melting the spectator, prepares him for the reception of other tender affections; and pity is readily improved into love or friendship, by a certain tenderness and concern for the object, which is the tone of both passions. The aptitude of pity to produce love is beautifully illustrated by Shakespear.

Othello. Her father lov’d me, oft invited me; Still question’d me the story of my life, From year to year; the battles, sieges, fortunes, That I have past. I ran it through, e’en from my boyish days, To th’ very moment that he bad me tell it: Wherein I spoke of most disast’rous chances, Of moving accidents by flood and field; Of hair-breadth ’scapes in th’ imminent deadly breach; Of being taken by the insolent foe, And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence, And with it, all my travel’s history. —————— All these to hear Would Desdemona seriously incline; But still the house-affairs would draw her thence, Which ever as she could with haste dispatch, She’d come again, and with a greedy ear Devour up my discourse: which I observing, Took once a pliant hour, and found good means To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart, That I would all my pilgrimage dilate, Whereof by parcels she had something heard, But not distinctively. I did consent, And often did beguile her of her tears, When I did speak of some distressful stroke That my youth suffer’d. My story being done, She gave me for my pains a world of sighs: She swore, in faith, ’twas strange, ’twas passing strange— ’Twas pitiful, ’twas wondrous pitiful— She wish’d she had not heard it:—yet she wish’d, That heav’n had made her such a man:—she thank’d me, And bad me, if I had a friend that lov’d her, I should but teach him how to tell my story, And that would woo her. On this hint I spake, She lov’d me for the dangers I had past, And I lov’d her, that she did pity them: This only is the witchcraft I have us’d. Othello, act 1. sc. 8.

In this instance it will be observed that admiration concurred with pity to produce love.