upon it.

That fact, in itself a quite undoubted one, is the possession by man of
a certain special and important feeling, which, viewed from its passive
side, we call sympathy, and from its active side, benevolence. It exists
in various degrees in different people, but to some degree or other it
probably exists in all. Most people, for instance, if they hear an
amusing story, at once itch to tell it to an appreciative friend; for
they find that the amusement, if shared, is doubled. Two epicures
together, for the same reason, will enjoy a dinner better than if they
each dined singly. In such cases the enjoyment of another plays the part
of a reflector, which throws one's own enjoyment back on one. Nor is
this all. It is not only true that we often desire others to be pleased
with us; we often desire others to be pleased instead of us. For
instance, if there be but one easy chair in a room, one man will often
give it up to another, and prefer himself to stand, or perhaps sit on
the table. To contemplate discomfort is often more annoying than to
suffer it.

This is the fact in human nature on which the positive school rely for
their practical motive power. It is this sympathy and benevolence that
is the secret of the social union; and it is by these that the rules of
social morality are to be absorbed and attracted into ourselves, and
made the directors of all our other impulses.

The feelings, however, that are thus relied on will be found, on
consideration, to be altogether inadequate. They are undoubted facts, it
is true, and are ours by the very constitution of our nature; but they
do not possess the importance that is assigned to them, and their limits
are soon reached. They are unequal in their distribution; they are