Remember that, as soon as selfishness has developed, the self in its relations to others is always with us, and the youth never observes others without coming back to himself and comparing himself with them.  From the way young men are taught to study history I see that they are transformed, so to speak, into the people they behold, that you strive to make a Cicero, a Trajan, or an Alexander of them, to discourage them when they are themselves again, to make every one regret that he is merely himself.  There are certain advantages in this plan which I do not deny; but, so far as Emile is concerned, should it happen at any time when he is making these comparisons that he wishes to be any one but himself—­were it Socrates or Cato—­I have failed entirely; he who begins to regard himself as a stranger will soon forget himself altogether.

It is not philosophers who know most about men; they only view them through the preconceived ideas of philosophy, and I know no one so prejudiced as philosophers.  A savage would judge us more sanely.  The philosopher is aware of his own vices, he is indignant at ours, and he says to himself, “We are all bad alike;” the savage beholds us unmoved and says, “You are mad.”  He is right, for no one does evil for evil’s sake.  My pupil is that savage, with this difference:  Emile has thought more, he has compared ideas, seen our errors at close quarters, he is more on his guard against himself, and only judges of what he knows.

It is our own passions that excite us against the passions of others; it is our self-interest which makes us hate the wicked; if they did us no harm we should pity rather than hate them.  We should readily forgive their vices if we could perceive how their own heart punishes those vices.  We are aware of the offence, but we do not see the punishment; the advantages are plain, the penalty is hidden.  The man who thinks he is enjoying the fruits of his vices is no less tormented by them than if they had not been successful; the object is different, the anxiety is the same; in vain he displays his good fortune and hides his heart; in spite of himself his conduct betrays him; but to discern this, our own heart must be utterly unlike his.

We are led astray by those passions which we share; we are disgusted by those that militate against our own interests; and with a want of logic due to these very passions, we blame in others what we fain would imitate.  Aversion and self-deception are inevitable when we are forced to endure at another’s hands what we ourselves would do in his place.