No More Learning

great love for our grandfathers, in whom this au thority is removed a degree from us, and where the weakness of age mellows it into something of a fem inine partiality.
SECTION XI.
HOW FAR THE IDEA OF BEAUTY MAY BE APPLIED TO VIRTUE.
FROM what has been said in the foregoing section, we may easily see how far the application of beauty to virtue may be made with propriety. The general application of this quality to virtue has a strong ten dency to confound our ideas of things, and it has given rise to an infinite deal of whimsical theory; as the affixing the name of beauty to proportion, con gruity, and perfection, as well as to qualities of things yet more remote from our natural ideas of
and from one another, has tended to confound om' ideas of beauty, and left us no standard or rule to judge by, that was not even more uncertain and fal
lacious than our own fancies. This loose and inac. curate manner of speaking has therefore misled us both in the theory of taste and of morals; and in duced us to remove the science of our duties from their proper basis (our reason, our relations, and our necessities), to rest upon foundations alto gether visionary and unsubstantial.
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SECTION XIL THE REAL causs or BEAUTY.
HAVING endeavored to show what beauty is not, it remains that we should examine, at least with equal attention, in what it really consists. Beauty is a thing much too affecting not to depend upon some positive qualities. And since it is no creature of our reason, since it strikes us without any reference to use, and even where no use at all can be discerned, since the order and method of nature is generally very different from our measures and proportions, we must conclude that beauty for the greater part, some quality in bodies acting mechanically upon the hu
man mind by the intervention of the senses. We ought, therefore, to consider attentively in what man ner those sensible qualities are disposed, in such things as by experience we find beautiful, or which excite in us the passion of love, or some correspondent affec tion.
SE CTION XIII. BEAUTIFUL OBJECTS SMALL.
THE most obvious point that presents itself to us in examining any object its extent or quantity. And what degree of extent prevails in bodies that are held beautiful, may be gathered from the usual manner of expression concerning it. am told that, in most
languages, the objects of love are spoken of under dirninutive epithets. It so in all the languages of which have any knowledge. In Greek the mu and other diminutive terms are almost always the terms
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of affection and tenderness. These diminutives were commonly added by the Greeks to the names of per sons with whom they conversed on terms of friend ship and familiarity. Though the Romans were a people of less quick and delicate feelings, yet they naturally slid into the lessening termination upon the same occasions. Anciently, in the English language, the diminishing ling was added to the names of per sons and things that were the objects of love. Some we retain still, as darling (or little dear), and a few others. But to this day, in ordinary conversation, it is usual to add the endearing name of little to every thing we love ; the French and Italians make use of these affectionate diminutives even more than we. In the animal creation, out of our own species, it is the small we are inclined to be fond of; little birds, and some of the smaller kinds of beasts. A great beautiful thing is a manner of expression scarcely ever used; but that of a great ugly thing is very common. There is a wide difference between admi ration and love. The sublime, which is the cause of the former, always dwells on great objects, and terri blc; the latter on small ones, and pleasing ; we sub mit to what we admire, but we love what submits to us; in one case we are forced, in the other we are flattered, into compliance. In short, the ideas of the sublime and the beautiful stand on fo1mdations so different, that it is hard, I had almost said impossible, to think of reconciling them in the same subject, without considerably lessening the effect of the one or the other upon the passions. So that, attending to their quantity, beautiful objects are comparatively small.
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SECTION XIV. suoornnnss.
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THE next property constantly observable in such objects is smoothness ; * a quality so essential to beau ty, that I do not now recollect anything beautiful that is not smooth. In trees and flowers, smooth leaves are beautiful; smooth slopes of earth in gar dens; smooth streams in the landscape; smooth coats of birds and beasts in animal beauties; in
fine women, smooth skins; and in several sorts of ornamental furniture, smooth and polished surfaces. A very considerable part of the effect of beauty is owing to this quality ; indeed the most considerable. For, take any beautiful object, and give it a broken and rugged surface; and, however well formed it may be in other respects, it pleases no longer. Whereas, let it want ever so many of the other constituents, if it wants not this, it becomes more pleasing than almost all the others without it. This seems to me so evident, that I am a good deal sur prised that none who have handled the subject have
made any mention of the quality of smoothness in the enumeration of those that go to the forming of beauty. For, indeed, any ruggedness, any sudden projection, any sharp angle, is in the highest degree contrary to that idea
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1' Part IV. sect. 20.
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SECTION XV. GRAD UAL VARIATION.
BUT as perfectly beautiful bodies are not composed of angular parts, so their parts never continue long in the same right line. * They vary their direction every moment, and they change under the eye by a deviation continually carrying on, but for whose be ginning or end you will find it difficult to ascertain a point. The view of a beautiful bird will illustrate this observation. Here we see the head increasing insensibly to the middle, from whence it lessens grad ually until it mixes with the neck; the neck loses itself in a larger swell, which continues to the middle of the body, when the whole decreases again to the tail ; the tail takes a new direction, but it soon varies its new course, it blends again with the other parts, and the line is perpetually changing, above, below, upon every side. In this description I have before me the idea of a dove ; it agrees very well with most of the conditions of beauty. It is smooth and downy; its parts are (to use that expression) melted into one another; you are presented with no sudden protu berance through the whole, and yet the whole is con tinually changing. Observe that part of a beautiful woman where she is perhaps the most beautiful, about the neck and breasts ; the smoothness, the soft ness, the easy and insensible swell ; the variety of the surface, which is never for the smallest space the same; the deceitful maze through which the un steady eye slides giddily, without knowing where to fix, or whither it is carried. Is not this a demonstra
* Part IV. sect. 23.
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tion of that change of surface, continual, and yet
at any point, which forms one of the great constituents of beauty? It gives me no
hardly perceptible
small pleasure to find that I can strengthen my the ory in this point by the opinion of the very ingenious Mr. Hogarth, whose idea of the line of beauty I take in general to be extremely just. But the idea of variation, without attending so accurately to the man
ner of the variation, has led him to consider angular figures as beautiful; these figures, it is true, vary greatly, yet they vary in a sudden and broken man ner, and I do not find any natural object which is angular, and at the same time beautiful. Indeed, few natural objects are entirely angular. But I think those which approach the most nearly to it are the
? I must add, too, that so far as I could ob serve of nature, though the varied line is that alone in which complete beauty is found, yet there is no particular line which is always found in the most completely beautiful, and which is therefore beautiful in preference to all other lines. At least I never could observe it.
ugliest.
SECTION XVI. nsuoacr.
AN air of robustness and strength is very prejudi
cial to beauty. An appearance of delicacy, and even of fragility, is almost essential to it. Whoever exam ines the vegetable or animal creation will find this observation to be founded in nature. It is not the oak, the ash, or the elm, or any of the robust trees of the forest which we consider as beautiful; they are
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awful and majestic, they inspire a sort of reverence. It is the delicate myrtle, it is the orange, it is the almond, it is the jasmine, it is the vine which we look on as vegetable beauties. It is the flowery spe cies, so remarkable for its weakness and momentary duration, that gives us the liveliest idea of beauty and elegance. Among animals, the greyhound is more beautiful than the mastiff, and the delicacy of a
jennet, a barb, or an Arabian horse, is much more amiable than the strength and stability of some horses of war or carriage. I need here say little of the fair sex, where I believe the point will be easily allowed me. The beauty of women is considerably owing to their weakness or delicacy, and is even enhanced by their timidity, a quality of mind analogous to it. I would not here be understood to say, that weakness betraying very bad health has any share in beauty; but the ill effect of this is not because it is weakness, but because the ill state of health, which produces such weakness, alters the other conditions of beauty; the parts in such a case collapse, the bright color, the lumen purpureum juventw is gone, and the fine varia tion is lost in wrinkles, sudden breaks, and right lines.
SECTION BEAUTY IN OOLOR.
As to the colors usually found in beautiful bodies, it may be somewhat difficult to ascertain them, be cause, in the several parts 'of nature, there is an infi nite variety. However, even in this variety, we may mark out something on which to settle. First, the colors of beautiful bodies must not be dusky O1
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muddy, but clean and fair. Secondly, they must not be of the strongest kind. Those which seem most appropriated to beauty, are the milder of every sort; light greens; soft blues; weak whites ; pink reds; and violets. Thirdly, if the colors be strong and vivid, they are always diversified, and the object is never of one strong color; there are almost always
such a number of them (as in variegated flowers) that the strength and glare of each is considerably abated. In a fine complexion there is not only some variety in the coloring, but the colors: neither the red nor the white are strong and glaring. Besides, they are mixed in such a manner, and with such gra dations, that it is impossible to fix the bounds. On the same principle it is that the dubious color in the necks and tails of peacocks, and about the heads of drakes, is so very agreeable. In reality, the beauty both of shape and coloring are as nearly related as we can well suppose it possible for things of such dif ferent natures to be.
SECTION XVIII. RECAPITULATION.
ON the whole, the qualities of beauty, as they are merely sensible qualities, are the following: First, to be comparatively small. Secondly, to be smooth. Thirdly, to have a variety in the direction of the parts; but, fourthly, to have those parts not angular, but melted, as it were, into each other. Fifthly, to be of a delicate frame, without any remarkable ap pearance of strength. Sixthly, to have its colors clear and bright, but not very strong and glaring.
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Seventhly, or if it should have any glaring color, to have it diversified with others. These are, I believe, the properties on which beauty depends; properties that operate by nature, and are less liable to be al tered by caprice, or confounded by a diversity of tastes, than any other.
SEC'1'ION XIX. THE rnrsioenomr.
THE physiognomy has a considerable share in beauty, especially in that of our own species. The manners
a certain determination to the countenance; which, being observed to correspond pretty regularly with them, is capable of joining the effect of certain agreeable qualities of the mind to those of the body. So that to form a finished human beauty, and to give it its full influence, the. face must be expressive of such gentle and amiable qualities, as correspond with the softness, smoothness, and delicacy of the outward form.
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SECTION xx. THE EYE
I HAVE hitherto purposely omitted to speak of the eye, which has so great a share in the beauty of the animal creation, as it did not fall so easily under the foregoing heads, though in fact it is reducible to the same principles. I think, then, that the beauty of the eye consists, first, in its clearness; what colored eye shall please most, depends a good deal on particu lar fancies; but none are pleased with an eye whose
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water (to use that term) is dull and muddy? " We are pleased with the eye in this view, on the principle upon which we like diamonds, clear water, glass, and such like transparent substances. Secondly, the mo tion of the eye contributes to its beauty, by contin
ually shifting its direction; but a slow and languid motion is more beautiful than a brisk one; the latter is enlivening; the former lovely. Thirdly, with re gard to the union of the eye with the neighboring parts, it is to hold the same rule that is given of other beautiful ones; it is not to make a strong deviation
from the line of the neighboring parts; nor to verge into any exact geometrical figure. Besides all this, the eye affects, as it is expressive of some qualities of the mind, and its principal power generally arises from this ; so that what we have just said of the phys
? iognomy is applicable here.
_
SECTION XXI. U,sLInEss.
IT may perhaps appear like a sort of repetition of what we have before said, to insist here upon the na ture of ugliness; as I imagine it to be in all respects the opposite to those qualities which we have laid down for the constituents of beauty. But though ugliness be the opposite to beauty, it is not the oppo site to proportion and fitness. For it is possible that a thing may be very ugly with any proportions, and with a perfect fitness to any uses. Ugliness I ima gine likewise to be consistent enough with an idea of the sublime. But I would by no means insinuate
* Part IV. sect. 25.
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that ugliness of itself is a sublime idea, unless united with such qualities as excite a strong terror.
SECTION XXII. GRACE.
GBAoEFULNEss is an idea not very different from beauty; it consists in much the same things. Grace fulness is an idea belonging to posture and motion. In both these, to be graceful, it is requisite that there be no appearance of difficulty ; there is required a small inflection of the body ; and a composure of the parts in such a manner, as not to incumber each other, not to appear divided by sharp and sudden angles. In this case, this roundness, this delicacy of attitude and motion, it is that all the magic of grace consists, and what is called its je ne spat' quoi ; as will be obvious to any observer, who considers attentively the Venus de Medicis, the Antinous or any statue generally allowed to be graceful in a high degree.
SECTION XXIII. ELEGANCE AND SPECIOUSNESS.
WHEN any body is composed of parts smooth and polished, without pressing upon each other, without
? or confusion, and at the same time affecting some regular shape, I call it ele gant. It is closely allied to the beautiful, differing
from it only in this regularity ; which, however, as it makes a very material difference in the affection pro duced, may very well constitute another species. Un
showing any ruggedness
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201
der this head I rank those delicate and regular works of art, that imitate no determinate object in nature, as elegant buildings, and pieces of furniture. When any object partakes of the above-mentioned qualities, or of those of beautiful bodies, and is withal of great dimensions, it is full as remote from the idea of mere
I call it
SECTION XXIV. THE BEAUTIFUL m FEELING.
THE foregoing description of beauty, so far as it is taken in by the eye, may be greatly illustrated by de scribing the nature of objects, which produce a similar effect through the touch. This I call the beautiful in
It corresponds wonderfully with what causes the same species of pleasure to the sight. There is a chain in all our sensations ; they are all but different sorts of feelings calculated to be affected by various sorts of objects, but all to be affected after the same manner. All bodies that are pleasant to the touch, are so by the slightness of the resistance they make. Re sistance is either to motion along the surface, or to the pressure of the parts on one another: if the former be slight,we call the body smooth; if the latter, soft. The chief pleasure we receive by feeling, is in the one or the other of these qualities ; and if there be a com bination of both, our pleasure is greatly increased. This is so plain, that it is rather more fit to illustrate other things, than to be illustrated itself by an example. The next source of pleasure in this sense, as in every other, is the continually presenting somewhat new; and we find that bodies which continually vary their
? feeling.
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surface, are much the most pleasant or beautiful to the feeling, as any one that pleases may experience. The third property in such objects that though the sur face continually varies its direction, never varies suddenly. The application of anything sudden, even though the impression itself have little or nothing violence, disagreeable. The quick application finger little warmer or colder than usual, without no tice, makes us start slight tap on the shoulder, not expected, has the same effect. Hence that angu lar bodies, bodies that suddenly vary the direction the outline, afford so little pleasure to the feeling. Every such change sort of climbing or falling in miniature so that squares, triangles, and other angu lar figures are neither beautiful to the sight nor feeling. Whoever compares his state of mind, on feeling soft,
? smooth,variated, unangular bodies, with that in which he finds himself, on the view of beautiful object, will perceive very striking analogy in the effects of both; and which may go
good way towards discovering Feeling and sight, in this re
their common cause.
spect, differ in but
the pleasure of softness, which not primarily aII ob
few points. The touch takes in
ject of sight; the sight, on the other hand, compre hends color, which can hardly be made perceptible to the touch: the touch, again, has the advantage in new idea of pleasure resulting from moderate degree of warmth; but the eye triumphs in the infinite extent and multiplicity of its objects. But there such similitude in the pleasures of these senses, that am apt to fancy, were possible that one might discern color by feeling (as said some blind men have done) that the same colors, and the same disposition of coloring, which are found beautiful to the sight,
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would be found likewise most grateful to the touch. But, setting aside conjectures, let us pass to the other
sense; of hearing.
SECTION XXV. THE BEAUTIFUL IN sounns.
'
IN this sense we find an equal aptitude to be af fected in a soft and delicate manner; and how far sweet or beautiful sounds agree with our descriptions_ of beauty in other senses, the experience of every one must decide. Milton has described this species of music in one of his juvenile poems. * I need not say that Milton was perfectly well versed in that art ; and that no man had a finer ear, with a happier mann-er of expressing the affections of one sense by metaphors taken from another. The description is as follows:
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" And ever against eating cares, Lap me in soft Lydian airs ;
In notes with many a winding bout
Of linked sweetness long drawn out;
With wanton heed, and giddy cunning, The melting voice through mazes running; Untwisting all the chains that tie
The hidden soul of harmony. "
Let us parallel this with the softness, the winding surface, the unbroken continuance, the easy grada tion of the beautiful in other things; and all the di versities of the several senses, with all their several affections, will rather help to throw lights from one another to finish one clear, consistent idea of the whole, than to obscure it by their intricacy and vari etv.
i L' Allegro.
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To the above-mentioned description I shall add one or two remarks. The first is; that the beautiful in music will not bear that loudness and strength of sounds, which may be used to raise other passions; nor notes which are shrill, or harsh, or deep; it agrees best with such as are clear, even, smooth, and weak. The second is; that great variety, and quick transitions from one measure or tone to an
other, are contrary to the genius of the beautiful in music. Such* transitions often excite mirth, or other sudden or tumultuous passions; but not that sinking, that melting, that languor, which is the characteristical effect of the beautiful as it regards every sense. The passion excited by beauty is in fact nearer to a species of melancholy, than to jollity and mirth. I do not here mean to confine music to any one species of notes, or tones, neither is it an art in which I can say I have any great skill. My sole design in this remark is to settle a consistent idea of
The infinite variety of the affections of the soul will suggest to a good head, and skilful ear, a variety of such sounds as are fitted to raise them. It can be no prejudice to this, to clear and distinguish some few particulars that belong to the same class, and are consistent with each other, from the immense crowd of different and sometimes contradictory ideas, that rank vulgarly under the standard of beauty. And of these it is my intention to mark such only of the leading points as show the conformity of the sense of hearing with all the other senses, in the arti cle of their pleasures.
* " I ne'er am merry, when I hear sweet music. " SHAxEsPEARE.
1
? beauty.
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Tnis general agreement of the senses is yet more evident on minutely considering those of taste and smell. We metaphorically apply the idea of sweet ness to sights and sounds; but as the qualities of bodies by which they are fitted to excite either pleas ure or pain in these senses are not so obvious as they are in the others, we shall refer an explanation of their analogy, which is a very close one, to that part wherein we come to consider the common efficient cause of beauty, as it regards all the senses. _I do
not think anything better fitted to establish a clear and settled idea of visual beauty than this way of examining the similar pleasures of other senses ; for one part is sometimes clear in one of the senses that is more obscure in another; and where there is a clear concurrence of all, we may with more certainty speak of any one of them. By this means, they bear witness to each other; nature as were, scruti nized; and we report nothing of her but what we receive from her own information.
SECTION XXVII.
THE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL COMPARED.
ON closing this general view of beauty, naturally occurs that we should compare with the sublime and in this comparison there appears remarkable contrast. For sublime objects are vast in their di mensions, beautiful ones comparatively small; beauty
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SECTION XXVI. TASTE AND sIuE1. L.
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should be smooth and polished; the great, rugged and negligent: beauty should shun the right line, yet deviate from it insensibly; the great in many cases loves the right line; and when it deviates, it often makes a strong deviation: beauty should not be obscure ; the great ought to be dark and gloomy: beauty should be light and delicate ; the great ought to be solid, and even massive. They are indeed ideas of a very different nature, one being founded on pain, the other on pleasure; and, however they may vary afterwards from the direct nature of their causes, yet these causes keep up an eternal distinction between them, a distinction never to be forgotten by any whose business it is to affect the passions. In the infinite variety of natural combinations, we must expect "to find the qualities of things the most re mote imaginable from each other united in the same object. We must expect also to find combina tions of the same kind in the works of art. But when we consider the power of an object upon our
we must know that when anything is in tended to affect the mind by the force of some pre dominant property, the affection produced is like to be the more uniform and perfect, if all the other properties or qualities of the object be of the same nature, and tending to the same design as the prin cipal.
" If black and white blend, soften, and unite
A thousand ways, are there no black and white '5"
If the qualities of the sublime and beautiful are some times found united, does this prove that they are the same; does it prove that they are any way allied; does it prove even that they are not opposite and contradictory? Black and white may soften, may
? passions,
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207
blend; but they are not therefore the same. Nor, when they are so softened and blended with each other, or with different colors, is the power of black as black, or of white as white, so strong as when each stands uniform and distinguished.
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ON THE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL.
PART IV.
SECTION I.
__'1
OF THE EFFICIENT CAUSE OF THE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL.
WHEN I say, I intend to inquire into the efficient cause of sublimity and beauty, I would not be under stood to say, that I can come to the ultimate cause. I do not pretend that I shall ever be able to explain why certain affections of the body produce such a dis tinct emotion of mind, and no other ; or why the body is at all affected by the mind, or the mind by the body. A little thought will show this to be impossible. But
I conceive, if we can discover what affections of the mind produce certain emotions of the body; and what distinct feelings and qualities of body shall produce certain determinate passions in the mind, and no others, I fancy a great deal will be done; something not unuseful towards a distinct knowledge of our pas sions, so far at least as we have them at present under our consideration. This is all, I believe, we can do. If we could advance a step farther, difficulties would still remain, as we should be still equally distant from the first cause. When Newton first discovered the property of attraction, and settled its laws, he found it served very well to explain several of the most remarkable phenomena in nature; but yet, with ref erence to the general system of things, he could con sider attraction but as an effect, whose cause at that time he did not attempt to trace. But when he af terwards began to account for it by a subtle elastic
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209
ether, this great man (if in so great a man it be not impious to discover anything like a blemish) seemed to have quitted his usual cautious manner of philoso phizing ; since, perhaps, allowing all that has been advanced on this subject to be sufficiently proved, I think it leaves us with as many difficulties as it found us. That great chain of causes, which, linking one to another, even to the throne of God himself, can
never be unravelled by any industry of ours. When we go but one step beyond the immediate sensible qualities of things, we go out of our depth. All we do after is but a faint struggle, that shows we are in an element which does not belong to us. So that when I speak of cause, and efficient cause, I only mean certain affections of the mind, that cause cer tain changes in the body; or certain powers and properties in bodies, that work a change in the mind. As, if I were to explain the motion of a body falling to the ground, I would say it was caused by gravity; and I would endeavor to show after what manner this power operated, without attempting to show why it operated in this manner: or, if I were to explain
the effects of bodies striking one another by the com mon laws of percussion, I should not endeavor to ex plain how motion itself is communicated.
SECTION II. assoc1ar1on.
IT is no small bar in the way of our inquiry into the cause of our passions, that the occasions of many of them are given, and that their governing motions are
cornmunicated at a time when we have not capacity
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to reflect on them; at a time of which all sort of memory is worn out of our minds. For besides such things as affect us in various manners, according to their natural powers, there are associations made at that early season, which we find it very hard after wards_ to distinguish from natural effects. Not to mention the unaccountable antipathies which we find in many persons, we all find it impossible to remem ber when a steep became more terrible than a plain; or fire or water more terrible than a clod of earth; though all these are very probably either conclusions from experience, or arising from the premonitions of others; and some of them impressed, in all likeli hood, pretty late. But as it must be allowed that many things affect us after a certain manner, not by any natural powers they have for that purpose, but by association; so it would be absurd, on the other hand, to say that all things affect us by association only; since some things must have been originally and naturally agreeable or disagreeable, from which the others derive their associated powers; and it would be, I fancy, to little purpose to look for the cause" of our passions in association, until we fail of it in the natural properties of things.
SECTION III. cAUsE or PAIN AND FEAR.
I HAVE before observed,'* that whatever is qualified to cause terror is a foundation capable of the sub lime ; to which I add, that not only these, but many things from which we cannot probably apprehend
* Part I. sect. 7.
I
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any danger, have a similar effect, because they ope rate in a similar manner. I observed, too,* that what~ ever produces pleasure, positive and original pleas ure, is fit to have beauty engrafted on it. Therefore, to clear up the nature of these qualities, it may be
necessary to explain the nature of pain and pleasure on which they depend. A man who suffers under violent bodily pain, (I suppose the most violent, be cause the effect may be the more obvious,) I say a man in great pain has his teeth set, his eyebrows are violently contracted, his forehead is wrinkled, his eyes are dragged inwards, and rolled with great vehemence, his hair stands on end, the voice is forced out in short shrieks and groans, and the whole fabric totters. Fear or terror, which is an apprehension of pain or death, exhibits exactly the same effects, approaching in violence to those just mentioned, in proportion to the nearness of the cause, and the weakness of the subject. This is
not only so in the human species: but I have more than once observed in dogs, under an apprehension of punishment, that they have writhed their bodies, and yelped, and howled, as if they had actually felt the blows. From hence I conclude, that pain and fear
act upon the same parts of the body, and in the same manner, though somewhat differing in degree: that pain and fear consist in an unnatural tension of the nerves; that this is sometimes accompanied with
? an unnatural strength, which sometimes
changes into an extraordinary weakness; that these effects often come on alternately, and are sometimes
mixed with each other. This is the nature of all convulsive agitations, especially in weaker subjects,
* Part I. sect. 10.
suddenly
? ? ? 212 ON THE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL.
which are the most liable to the severest impressions of pain and fear. The only difference between pain and terror that things which cause pain operate on the mind by the intervention of the body where as things that cause terror generally affect the bod
ily organs by the operation of the mind suggesting the danger; but both agreeing, either primarily or secondarily, in producing tension, contraction, or violent emotion of the nerves,* they agree likewise in everything else. For appears very clearly me from this, as well as from many other examples, that when the body disposed, by any means what soever, to such emotions as would acquire the means of certain passion; will of itself excite something very like that passion in the mind.
N V. CONTINUED.
To this purpose Mr. Spon, in his " Re? cherches d'An tiquite? ," gives us curious story of the celebrated phys iognomist Campanella. This man, seems, had not only made very accurate observations on human faces, but was very expert in mimicking such as were any way remarkable. When he had mind to penetrate into the inclinations of those he had to deal with, he composed his face, his gesture, and his whole body, as nearly as he could into the exact similitude of the per
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? do not here enter into the question debated among physiolo gists, whether pain be the effect of contraction, or a tension of the nerves. Either will serve my purpose; for by tension, mean n0 more than violent pulling of the fibres which compose any 111u5019 or membrane, in whatever way this done.
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son he intended to examine; and then carefully ob served what turn of mind he seemed to acquire by this change. So that, says my author, he was able to en ter into the dispositions and thoughts of people as ef
fectually as if he had been changed into the very men. I have often observed, that on mimicking the looks and gestures of angry, or placid, or frighted, or daring men, I l1ave involuntarily found my mind turned to that pas sion, whose appearance I endeavored to imitate ; nay, I am convinced it is hard to avoid though one strove
separate the passion from its correspondent gestures. Our minds and bodies are so closely and intimately connected, that one incapable of pain or pleasure without the other. Campanella, of whom we have been speaking, could so abstract his attention from any sufferings of his body, that he was able to endure the rack itself without much pain; and in lesser pains
everybody must have observed that, when we can em ploy our attention on anything else, the pain has been for a time suspended: on the other hand, by any means the body indisposed to perform such gestures, or to be stimulated into such emotions as any passion
usually produces in that passion itself never can arise, though its cause should be never so strongly in action; though should be merely mental, and im mediately affecting none of the senses. As an opiate,
or spirituous liquors, shall suspend the operation of grief, or fear, or anger, in spite of all our efforts to the contrary and this by inducing in the body dis
position contrary to that which receives from these passions.
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ON THE sUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL.
SECTION V.
HOW THE SUBLIME IS PRODUCED.
HAVING considered terror as producing an unnatu ral tension and certain violent emotions of the nerves; it easily follows, from what we have just said, that whatever is fitted to produce such a tension must be productive of a passion similar to terror,* and conse quently must be a source of the sublime, though it should have no idea of danger connected with it. So that little remains towards showing the cause of the sublime, but to show that the instances we have given of it in the second part relate to such things, as are fitted by nature to produce this sort of tension, either by the primary operation of the mind or the body. With regard to such things as affect by the associated idea of danger, there can be no doubt but that they produce terror, and act by some modification of that
and that terror, when sufficiently violent, raises the emotions of the body just mentioned, can as little be doubted. But if the sublime is built on terror or some passion like which has pain for its object, previously proper to inquire how any spe cies of delight can be derived from cause so appa rently contrary to it. say delight, because, as have often remarked, very evidently different in its cause, and in its own nature, from actual and posi tive pleasure.
* Part H. sect. 2.
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SECTION VI.
HOW PAIN can BE A CAUSE OF DELIGHT.
PROVIDENCE has so ordered that state of rest and inaction, however may flatter our indolencc, should be productive of many inconveniences; that should generate such disorders, as may force us to
have recourse to some labor, as thing absolutely requisite to make us pass our lives with tolerable sat isfaction for the nature of rest to suffer all the parts of our bodies to fall into relaxation, that not only disables the members from performing their func tions, but takes away the vigorous tone of fibre which
requisite for carrying on the natural and necessary secretions. At the same time, that in this languid in active state, the nerves are more liable to the most horrid convulsions, than when they are sufficiently braced and strengthened. Melancholy, dejection, de spair, and often self-murder, the consequence of the gloomy view we take of things in this relaxed state of body. The best remedy for all these evils exer cise or labor and labor surmounting of difliculties, an exertion of the contracting power of the muscles; and as such resembles pain, which consists in tension
or contraction, in everything but degree. Labor not only requisite to preserve the coarser organs, in state fit for their functions; but equally neces sary to these finer and more delicate organs, on which, and by which, the imagination and perhaps the other
mental powers act. Since probable, that not only the inferior parts of the soul, as the passions are called, but the understanding itself makes use of
sonae fine corporeal instruments in its operation
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though what they are, and where theyare, maybe somewhat hard to settle: but that it does make use of such, appears from hence; that a long exercise of the mental powers induces a remarkable lassitude of the whole body; and on the other hand, that great bodily labor, or pain, weakens and sometimes actually destroys the mental faculties. Now, as a due exer cise is essential to the coarse muscular parts of the constitution, and that without this rousing they would become languid and diseased, the very same rule holds with regard to those finer parts we have mentioned; to have them in proper order, they must be shaken and worked to a proper degree.
SECTION VII.
EXERCISE NECESSARY FOR THE FINER ORGANS
_As common labor, which is a mode of pain, is the exercise of the grosser, a mode of terror is the exer cise of the finer parts of the system; and if a certain mode of pain be of such a nature as to act upon the eye or the ear, as they are the most delicate organs, the affection approaches more nearly to that which has a mental cause. In all these cases, if the pain and terror are so modified as not to be actually noxious; if the pain is not carried to violence, and the terror is not conversant about the present destruction of the person, as these emotions clear the parts, whether fine or gross, of a dangerous and troublesome incum brance, they are capable of producing delight; not pleasure, but a sort of delightful horror, a sort of tranquillity tinged with terror; which, as it belongs to self-preservation, is one of the strongest of all the
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