as well as of astonishment that delights; but of disagreeable or painful admiration I think we seldom or never speak. It would be an agreeable surprise, if, on going to visit a friend whom we believed to be dangerously ill, we should find him in perfect health; and, in contrary circumstances, our surprise would be painful in the extreme. Delightful astonishment we receive from the contemplation of pure sublimity (see § 168); but the astonishment that seizes the young warrior, when the thunder of the battle begins, confounds at first and stupifies, though valour and a sense of duty soon get the better of it. This extreme and painful astonishment is sometimes, both in English and Latin, called consternation, as if it had a tendency to throw a man down. It is to be observed here, and while we treat of the passions it must not be forgotten, that as two or more passions really different may, in some respects, be similar, it is not strange, that the name of one should often be put figuratively for another. Instances might be given of the words admiration, surprise, astonishment, and wonder, used indiscriminately; but the philosopher must endeavour to distinguish as well as he can. From this licentious or indefinite use of language, disputes frequently arise where there is no real difference of opinion.

299. Admiration, says Plato, is the mother of wisdom; but, when excessive or misplaced, becomes folly. The young and inexperienced are

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most liable to it, and to them it is, unless directed to mean or improper objects, peculiarly beneficial : for curiosity prompts them to search for what is new, and admiration fixes their view upon it till it be imprinted on the memory. Our admiration of things great or good heightens the pleasure we take in them; and the astonishment that arises when any thing uncommonly evil attracts our notice, serves to quicken disgust and preserve us from contagion. Horace considers what the Greeks called auμaria, nil admirari, an exemption from admiration, as a security against those turbulent emotions that interrupt the happiness of life: but he is there speaking of that admiration which is bestowed upon unworthy objects. And in this view his doctrine is right: for whatever raises this passion is apt to kindle others of equal or superior violence, as love, hatred, or desire; and where these are improperly directed, the mind must be subject to perturbations incompatible with virtue, and consequently with happiness. So much for the first order of passions, whereof the object is, in general, uncommonness. See § 279.

300. A much more copious class are those of the second order; which take their rise from the view of what is, or appears to be, good or evil. That which is, or appears to be, good or agreeable, raises some modification of love: that which is, or appears to be, evil or disagreeable, excites one form or other of hatred. Now a thing may

seem to be good, either in itself simply, or both in itself and also with a reference to us and that which, with respect to us as well as in itself, appears to be good, may seem fit, or in a condition, either to do us good, or to receive good from us. In like manner, a thing may seem to be evil, in itself simply, or both in itself and also with a reference to us and that which, with respect to us as well as in itself, appears to be evil, may seem fit, either to do us evil, or to receive evil from us. From good and evil things thus arranged, rise three forms of love and of its opposite hatred: I shall call them esteem and contempt; benevolence and malevolence; complacency and dislike. Esteem, benevolence, and complacency, may be so blended as that one and the same being shall be the object of all the three; and this happens when that being appears good in itself, fit to do us good, and fit to receive good from us. In like manner, contempt, malevolence, and dislike, may unite so as to form one complex' passion; as when one and the same object appears at once evil in itself, fit to do us evil, and fit to receive evil from us. Thus the passions in question may coalesce; but it is to analyse, and consider them separately.

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301. That love, which we bear to a person whom we consider as a good character merely, without taking into the account his fitness either to do us good or to receive good from us, may be called esteem. We esteem strangers the moment

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we form a favourable opinion of their merit; and those good men, whom we never saw or can see, and of whom we know nothing but by report: and this emotion (for passion it can hardly be called) inclines us to speak of them with affection and praise, and endeavour to make others think of them as we do. If there be any thing great or uncommonly good in such persons, admiration will heighten our esteem into respect and reverence. Things, as well as persons, are sometimes said to be the objects of esteem; we say, of a good book or a good picture, that it is well esteemed: but this use of the word is figurative. To esteem, and to value, are different things. However much we may value a good horse, a convenient house, or a fine garden, we can hardly be said to esteem them.

302. Mind, therefore, and rationality seem necessary to draw forth the affection we speak of. Nor are these alone sufficient. An acute understanding employed in sophistry, a great genius exerting itself in pursuits either criminal or trifling, may raise our wonder, perhaps our astonishment, but has no more claim to our esteem than the juggler, rope-dancer, or dexterous player at cards. In short, esteem implies moral approbation; and probity, industry, and other moral virtues, are the objects of it. This being the case, it follows, that we ourselves, as moral beings, may either rise or sink in our own esteem. Self-esteem, kept within

due bounds, and warranted by the approbation of conscience, would be a rational as well as delightful emotion. But to keep it within due bounds is difficult and rare; for where is the man, who has a just sense, neither too high nor too low, of his own merit?

303. When we think too highly of ourselves, which we are very apt to do, self-esteem degenerates into the evil passions of vanity, pride, arrogance, and insolence. These, though nearly allied, are not the same. Pride and vanity may be distinguished. The proud man is sufficiently happy in the consciousness of his own supposed dignity; the vain man is not happy unless he believe that others admire him. Hence the former is reserved and sullen, the latter ostentatious and affable. Pride implies something, and generally not a little, of ill-nature; vanity is often officiously obliging. The vain man laughs, and is himself a ludicrous animal; the proud man is a hateful being, and unwilling even to smile; or if he smile, it is in 'such a sort, as if he scorn'd to smile at any thing.' It is generally true, that, in proportion as a man behaves proudly towards those whom he thinks beneath him, he is fawning and servile with respect to those whose superiority he feels himself constrained to acknowledge: Swift observes, that the posture of climbing is pretty much the same with that of crawling. Pride and vanity, though in some things inconsistent, have been

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