No More Learning

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SECTION XII.
THE VIBRATIONS MUST BE SIMILAR.
BUT if the vibration be not similar at every impres sion, it can never be carried beyond the number of actual impressions; for, move any body as a pendu lum, in one way, and it will continue to oscillate in an arch of the same circle, until the known causes
make it rest; but after first putting
one direction, you push into another,
reassume the first direction; because
move itself, and consequently can have but the effect of that last motion; whereas, in the same direction you act upon several times, will de scribe greater arch. and move longer time.
SECTION XIII.
THE EFFECTS or SUCCESSION IN VISUAL owners
IF we can comprehend clearly how things operate upon one of our senses, there can be very little difli culty in conceiving in what manner they affect the rest. To say great deal therefore upon the corres ponding affections of every sense, would tend rather to fatigue us by an useless repetition, than to throw any new light upon the subject by that ample and diffuse manner of treating it; but as in this discourse we chiefly attach ourselves to the sublime, as
fects the eye, we shall consider particularly why successive disposition of uniform parts in the same right line should be sublime,* and upon what prin
" Part II. sect. 10.
in motion can never
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ciple this disposition is enabled to make a compara tively small quantity of matter produce a grander effect, than a much larger quantity disposed in an other manner. To avoid the perplexity of general notions; let us set before our eyes a colonnade of uniform pillars planted in a right line; let us take our 'stand in such a manner, that the eye may shoot along this colonnade, for it has its best effect in this view. In our present situation it is plain, that the rays from the first round pillar will cause in the eye a vibration of that species; an image of the pillar
itself. The pillar immediately succeeding increases it; that which follows renews and enforces the im pression; each in its order as it succeeds, repeats impulse after impulse, and 'stroke after stroke, until the eye, long exercised in one particular way, cannot lose that object immediately, and, being violently roused by this continued agitation, it presents the mind with a grand or sublime conception. But in stead of viewing a rank of uniform pillars, let us suppose that they succeed each other, a round and a square one alternately. In this case the vibration
caused by the first round pillar perishes as soon as it is formed; and one of quite another sort (the square) directly occupies its place; which however it resigns as quickly to the round one; and thus the eye proceeds, alternately, taking up one image, and laying down another, as long as the building contin ues. From whence it is obvious that, at the last pil lar, the impression_ is as far from continuing as it was at the very first; because, in fact, the sensory can receive no distinct impression but from the last ;
and it can never of itself resume a dissimilar impres sion: besides every variation of the object is a rest
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and relaxation to the organs of sight; and these re
liefs prevent that powerful emotion so necessary to produce the sublime. To produce therefore a per
fect grandeur in such things as we have been men tioning, there should be a perfect simplicity, an absolute uniformity in disposition, shape, and color
ing. Upon this principle of succession and uni formity it may be asked, why a long bare wall should
not be a more sublime object than a colonnade ; since
the succession is no way interrupted; since the eye meets no check ; since nothing more uniform can be conceived? A long bare wall is certainly not so grand an object as a colonnade of the same length
and height. It is not altogether difficult to accoimt
for this difference. When we look at a naked wall, from the evenness of the object, the eye runs along
its whole space, and arrives quickly at its termina
tion ; the eye meets nothing which may interrupt its progress; but then it meets nothing which may de
tain it a proper time to produce a very great and lasting effect. The view of a bare wall, if it be of a great height and length, is undoubtedly grand; but
this is only one idea, and not a repetition of similar ideas: it is therefore great, not so much upon the principle of infinity, as upon that of vastness. But we
are not so powerfully affected with any one impulse, unless it be one of a prodigious force indeed, as we
are with a succession of similar impulses; because
the nerves of the sensory do not (if I may use the expression) acquire a habit of repeating the same feeling in such a manner as to continue it longer than
its cause is in action; besides, all the effects whicJhl have attributed to expectation and surprise in Sect.
? 11, can have no place in a bare wall.
? ? ? ON THE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL. 225
SECTION XIV.
LocxE's orm1ou Concmsmo nanxnsss CONSIDERED.
IT is Mr. Locke's opinion, that darkness is not nat urally an idea of terror; and that, though an exces sive light is painful to the sense, the greatest excess of darkness is no ways troublesome. He observes in deed in another place, that a nurse or an old woman having once associated the ideas of ghosts and gob lins with that of darkness, night, ever after, becomes painful and horrible to the imagination. The author ity of this great man is doubtless as great as that of any man can be, and it seems to stand in the way of our general principle. * We have considered dark ness as a cause of the sublime ; and we have all along considered the sublime as depending on some modifi cation of pain or terror: so that if darkness be no way painful or terrible to any, who have not had
their minds early tainted with superstitions, it can be no source of the sublime to them. But, with all def erence to such an authority, it seems to me, that an association of a more general nature, an association which takes in all mankind, may make darkness ter rible; for in utter darkness it is impossible to know in what degree of safety we stand; we are ignorant of the objects that surround us; we may every mo ment strike against some dangerous obstruction; we may fall down a precipice the first step we take ; and if an enemy approach, we know not in what quarter to defend ourselves; in such a case strength is no sure protection; wisdom can only act by guess; the boldest are staggered, and he who would pray for
? voL. I. 15
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nothing else towards his defence is forced to pray light.
Zefi mirep, d)\)\? '1 0'1';fifiaat in. r' 1';e'pos vlas 'Axatr'Iw' Hoiqoov aidpqv, ct. d? 9a)\;toI? nI/ l8s'a'5a'
'Eu Oi ? Iist Kai dhsovov. . .
As to the association of ghosts and goblins surely more' natural to think that darkness, being ori ginally an idea of terror, was chosen as fit scene for such terrible representations, than that such rep
resentations have made darkness terrible. The mind of man very easily slides into an error of the former sort; but very hard to imagine, that the effect of an idea so universally terrible in all times, and all countries, as darkness, could possibly have been owing to set of idle stories, or to any cause of na ture so trivial, and of an operation so precarious.
N XV.
DARKNESS TERRIBLE IN ITs own NATURE.
PERHAPS may appear on inquiry, that blackness and darkness are in some degree painful by their nat ural operation, independent of any associations what soever. must observe, that the ideas of darkness and blackness are much the same; and they differ only in this, that blackness more confined idea. Mr. Cheselden has given us very curious story
boy who had been born blind, and continued so until he was thirteen or fourteen years old; he was then couched for cataract, by which operation he received his sight. Among many remarkable particulars that attended his first perceptions _and judgments on visual objects, Cheselden tells us, that the first time the b0)'
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saw a black object, it gave him great uneasiness; and that some time after, upon accidentally seeing a negro woman, he was struck with great horror at the sight. The horror, in this case, can scarcely be supposed to arise from any association. The boy appears by the
account to have been particularly observing and sen sible for one of his age; and therefore it is probable, if the great uneasiness he felt at the first sight of black had arisen from its connection with any other disagreeable ideas, he would have observed and men tioned it. For an idea, disagreeable only by associa tion, has the cause of its ill effect on the passions evident enough at the first impression; in ordinary cases, it is indeed frequently lost; but this is because the original association was made very early, and the consequent impression repeated often. In our in stance, there was no time for such a habit; and there is no reason to think that the ill eifects of black on his imagination were more owing to its connection with any disagreeable ideas, than that the good ef fects of more cheerful colors were derived from their connection with pleasing ones. They had both prob
ably their eifects from their natural operation.
SECTION XVI. WHY DARKNESS IS TERRIBLE.
IT may be worth while to examine how darkness can operate in such a manner as to cause pain. It is
observable, that still as we recede from the light, na ture has so contrived that the pupil enlarged by the retiring of the iris, in proportion to our recess.
Now, instead of declining from but little, suppose
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that we withdraw entirely from the light; it is rea sonable to think that the contraction of the radial fibres of the iris is proportionably greater; and that this part may by great darkness come to be so con tracted, as to strain the nerves that compose it beyond their natural tone; and by this Ineans to produce a painful sensation. Such a tension it seems there certainly whilst we are involved in darkness; for
in such state, whilst the eye remains open, there continual nisus to receive light; this manifest
from the flashes and luminous appearances which often seem in these circumstances to play before it; and which can be nothing but the effect of spasms, produced by its own efforts in pursuit of its object: several other strong impulses will produce the idea of light in the eye, besides the substance of light itself, as we experience on many occasions. Some, who allow darkness to be cause of the sublime, would infer, from the dilatation of the pupil, that relaxation may be productive of the sublime as well as a convulsion: but they do not, believe, consider, that although the circular ring of the iris be in some sense sphincter, which may possibly be dilated simple relaxation, yet in one respect differs from most of the other sphincters of the body, that furnished with antagonist muscles, which are the radial fibres of the iris: no sooner does the circular muscle begin to relax, than these fibres, wanting their counterpoise, are forcibly drawn back, and open the pupil to considerable wideness. But though we were not apprised of this, believe any one will find, he opens his eyes and makes an effort to see in dark place, that very perceivable pain ensues. And have heard some ladies remark, that after hav
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ing worked a long time upon a ground of black, their eyes were so pained and\weakened, they could hardly see. It may perhaps be objected to this theory of the mechanical effect of darkness, that the ill effects of darkness or blackness seem rather mental than corpo real: and I own it is true that they do so; and so do all those that depend on the affections of the finer parts of our system. The ill effects of bad weather
appear often no otherwise than in a melancholy and dejection of spirits; though without doubt, in this case, the bodily organs suffer first, and the mind through these organs.
SECTION XVII. '1-Hn EFFl<ICTS or BLACKNESS
BLACKNESS is but a partial darkness ; and therefore it derives some of its powers from being mixed and surrounded with colored bodies. In its own nature, it cannot be considered as a color. Black bodies, re flecting none, or but a few rays, with regard to sight, are but as so many vacant spaces, dispersed among the objects we view. When the eye lights on one of
these vacuities, after having been kept in some degree of tension by the play of the adjacent colors upon suddenly falls into relaxation; out of which as suddenly recovers convulsive spring. To illus
trate this: let us consider that when we intend to sit on a. chair, and find much lower than was expected, the shock very violent; much more violent than could be thought from so slight fall as the difference
between one chair and another can possibly make. If, after descending flight of stairs, we attempt inad
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vertently to take another step in the manner of the former ones, the shock is extremely rude and disa greeable : and by no art can we cause such a shock by the same means when we expect and prepare for When say that this owing to having the change made contrary to expectation do not mean solely, when the mind expects. mean likewise, that when any organ of sense for some time affected in some one manner, be suddenly affected otherwise, there ensues convulsive motion such convulsion as caused when anything happens against the expectance of the mind. And though may appear strange that such change as produces relaxation should imme diately produce sudden convulsion; yet most certainly so, and so in all the senses. Every one knows that sleep relaxation and that silence, where noth ing keeps the organs of hearing in action, in gen
eral fittest to bring on this relaxation; yet when sort of murmuring sounds dispose man to sleep, let these sounds cease suddenly, and the person immedi ately awakes; that is, the parts are braced up sud denly, and he awakes. This have often experienced myself, and have heard the same from observing
In like manner, person in broad day light were falling asleep, to introduce sudden dark ness would prevent his sleep for that time, though silence and darkness in themselves, and not suddenly introduced, are very favorable to it. This knew only by conjecture on the analogy of the senses when
first digested these observations; but have since
experienced it. And have often experienced, and so have thousand others, that on the first inclining towards sleep, we have been suddenly awakened with
most violent start; and that this start was gener
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ally preceded by a sort of dream of our falling down a precipice: whence does this strange motion arise, but from the too sudden relaxation of the body, which by some mechanism in nature restores itself by as quick and vigorous an exertion of the contracting power of the muscles? The dream itself is caused by this relaxation; and it is of too uniform a na ture to be attributed to any other cause. The parts relax too suddenly, which is in the nature of fall
ing; and this accident of the body induces this im age in the mind. When we are in a confirmed state of health and vigor, as all changes are then less sudden, and less on the extreme, we can seldom com plain of this disagreeable sensation.
SECTION XVIII.
THE EFFECTS 0F BLACKNESS MODERATED.
THOUGH the effects of black be painful originally, we must not think they always continue so. Custom reconciles us to everything. After we have been used to the sight of black objects, the terror abates, and the smoothness and glossiness, or some agreeable accident of bodies so colored, softens in some meas ure the horror and sternness of their original nature ; yet the nature of the original impression still contin ues. Black will always have something melancholy
in because the sensory will always find the change to from other colors too violent or occupy the whole compass of the sight, will then be darkness and what was said of darkness will be applicable here. do not purpose to go into all that might be said to illustrate this theory of the effects of light and
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darkness; neither will I examine all the different effects produced by the various modifications and mixtures of these two causes. If the foregoing ob servations have any foundation in nature, I conceive them very sufficient to account for all the phenom ena that can arise from all the combinations of black with other colors. To enter into every particular, or to answer every objection, would be an endless labor. We have only followed the most leading roads ; and we shall observe the same conduct in our inquiry
into the cause of beauty.
SECTION XIX.
_ THE PHYSICAL CAUsE OF LovE.
WHEN we have before us such objects as excite love and complacency, the body is affected, so far as I could observe, much in the following manner: the head reclines somethingon one side ; the eyelids are more closed than usual, and the eyes roll gently with an inclination to the object; the mouth is a little opened, and the breath drawn slowly, with now and then a low sigh; the whole body is composed, and the hands fall idly to the sides. All this is accompa nied with an inward sense of melting and languor. These appearances are always proportioned to the degree of beauty in the object, and of sensibility in the observer. And this gradation from the highest pitch of beauty and sensibility, even to the lowest of mediocrity and indifference, and their correspondent effects, ought to be kept in view, else this description
will seem exaggerated, which it certainly is not. But from this description it is almost impossible not
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ON THE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL.
233
to conclude that beauty acts by relaxing the solids of the whole system. There are all the appearances of such a relaxation ; and a relaxation somewhat below the natural tone seems to me to be the cause of all
Who is a stranger to that manner of expression so common in all times and in all coim tries, of being softened, relaxed, enervated, dissolved,
melted away by pleasure? The universal voice of mankind, faithful to their feelings, concurs in affirm ing this uniform and general effect: and although some "odd and particular instance may perhaps be found, wherein there appears a considerable degree of positive pleasure, without all the characters of relaxation, we must not therefore reject the conclu sion we had drawn from a concurrence of many ex periments ; but we must still retain subjoining the exceptions which may occur according to the judi cious rule laid down by Sir Isaac Newton in the third book of his Optics. Our position will, conceive, appear confirmed beyond any reasonable doubt, we can show that such things as we have already ob served to be the genuine constituents of beauty have each of them, separately taken, natural tendency to relax the fibres. And must be allowed us,
that the appearance of the human body, when all these constituents are united together before the sen sory, further favors this opinion, we may venture, believe, to conclude that the passion called love produced by this relaxation. By the same method of reasoning which we have used in the inquiry into the causes of the sublime, we may likewise conclude, that as beautiful object presented to the sense, by causing relaxation of the body, produces the pas sion of love in the mind; so by any means the pas
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sion should first have its origin in the mind, a relaxa>> tion of the outward organs will as certainly ensue in a degree proportioned to the cause.
SECTION XX.
WHY smoornmcss IS BEAUTIFUL.
IT is to explain the true cause of visual beauty that I call in the assistance of the other senses. If it ap pears that smoothness is a principal cause of pleasure to the touch, taste, smell, and hearing, it will be easily admitted a constituent of visual beauty; espe cially as we have before shown, that this quality is found almost without exception in all bodies that are by general consent held beautiful. There can be no doubt that bodies which are rough and angular, rouse and vellicate the organs of feeling, causing a sense of pain, whichconsists in the violent tension or contraction of the muscular fibres. On the contrary, the application of smooth bodies relaxes; gentle stroking with a smooth hand allays violent pains and cramps, and relaxes the suffering parts from their unnatural tension; and it has therefore very often no mean effect in removing swellings and obstruc tions. The sense of feeling is highly gratified with smooth bodies. A bed smoothly laid, and soft, that
where the resistance every way inconsiderable, great luxury, disposing to an universal relaxa tion, and inducing beyond anything else that species
of called sleep.
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SECTIO N XXI. BWEETNESS, 1Ts NATURE.
Non is it only in the touch that smooth bodies cause positive pleasure by relaxation. In the smell and taste, we find all things agreeable to them, and which are commonly called sweet, to be of a smooth nature, and that they all evidently tend to relax their respec tive sensories. Let us first consider the taste. Since it is most easy to inquire into the property of liquids, and since all things seem to want a fluid vehicle to make them tasted at all, I intend rather to consider
the liquid than the solid parts of our food. The ve hicles of all tastes are water and oil. And what deter mines the taste is some salt, which affects variously according to its nature, or its manner of being com bined with other things.
Water and oil, simply con sidered, are capable of giving some pleasure to the taste. Water, when simple, is insipid, inodorous, col orless, and smooth; it is found, when not cold, to be a great resolver of spasms, and lubricator of the fibres ;
this power it probably owes to its smoothness. For as fluidity depends, according to the most general opinion, on the roundness, smoothness, and weak co hesion of the component parts of any body, and as water acts merely as a simple fluid, it follows that the cause of its fluidity. is likewise the cause of its relaxing quality, namely, the smoothness and slippery texture of its parts. The other fluid vehicle of tastes is oil. This too, when simple, is insipid, inodorous, colorless, and smooth to the touch and taste. It is smoother than water, and in many cases yet more relaxing. Oil is in some degree pleasant to the eye,
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the touch, and the taste, insipid as it is. Water is not so grateful ; which I do not know on what prin ciple to account for, other than that water is not so soft and smooth. Suppose that to this oil or water were added a certain quantity of a specific salt, which had a power of putting the nervous papillae of the tongue into a gentle vibratory motion; as suppose sugar dissolved in it. The smoothness of the oil and the vibratory power of the salt cause the sense we call sweetness. In all sweet bodies, sugar, or a sub stance very little different from sugar, is constantly found. Every species of salt, examined by the mi croscope, has its own distinct, regular, invariable form. That of nitre is a pointed oblong; that of sea salt an exact cube; that of sugar a perfect globe. If you have tried how smooth globular bodies, as the marbles with which boys amuse themselves, have af fected the touch when they are rolled backward and forward and over one another, you will easily con ceive how sweetness, which consists in a salt of such nature, affects the taste; for a single globe (though somewhat pleasant to the feeling), yet by the regu larity of its form, and the somewhat too sudden devi ation of its parts from a right line, is nothing near so pleasant to the touch as several globes, where the hand gently rises to one and falls to another; and this pleasure is greatly increased if the globes are in motion, and sliding over one_another; for this soft variety prevents that weariness, which the uniform disposition of the several globes would otherwise pro duce. Thus in sweet liquors, the parts of the fluid vehicle, though most probably round, are yet so mi nute, as to conceal the figure of their component
parts from the nicest inquisition of the microscope;
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and consequently, being so excessively minute, they have a sort of flat simplicity to the taste, resembling the effects of plain smooth bodies to the touch; for if a body be composed of round parts excessively small, and packed pretty closely together, the sur face will be both to the sight and touch as if it were nearly plain and smooth. It is clear from their un veiling their figure to the microscope, that the parti cles of sugar are considerably larger than those of water or oil, and consequently that their effects from their roundness will be more distinct and palpable to the nervous papillm of that nice organ the tongue; they will induce that sense called sweetness, which in a weak manner we discover in oil, and in a yet weaker in water; for, insipid as they are, water and oil are in some degree sweet; and it may be observed, that insipid things of all kinds approach more nearly to the nature of sweetness than to that of any other
taste.
SECTION XXII. SWEETNESS RELAXING.
IN the other senses we have remarked, that smooth
things are relaxing. Now it ought to appear that sweet things, which are the smooth of taste, are re laxing too. It is remarkable, that in some languages soft and sweet ha"/e but one name. Doux in French signifies soft as well as sweet. The Latin duleis, and
the Italian dolce, have in many cases the same double signification. That sweet things are generally relax ing, is evident; because all such, especially those which are most oily, taken frequently, or in a large quantity, very much enfeeble the tone of the stom
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ach. Sweet smells, which bear a great affinity to sweet tastes, relax very remarkably. The smell of flowers disposes people to drowsiness; and this re laxing effect is further apparent from the prejudice which people of weak nerves receive from their use. It were worth while to examine, whether tastes of this kind, sweet ones, tastes that are caused by smooth oils and a relaxing salt, are not the originally_ pleas ant tastes. For many, which use has rendered such, were not at all agreeable at first. The way to exam ine this to try what nature has originally provided for us, which she has undoubtedly made originally pleasant; and to analyze this provision. ]VIz'lk the first support of our childhood. The component parts of this are water, oil, and sort of very sweet salt, called the sugar of milk. All these when blend
ed have great smoothness to the taste, and relax ing quality to the skin. The next thing children covet fruit, and of fruits those principally which are sweet; and every one knows that the sweetness of fruit caused by subtle oil, and such salt as that mentioned in the last section. Afterwards cus tom, habit, the desire of novelty, and thousand other causes, confound, adulterate, and change our
so that we can no longer reason with any satisfaction about them. Before we quit this article, we must observe, that as smooth things are, as such, agreeable to the taste, and are found of relaxing quality; so on the other hand, things which are found by experience to be of strengthening qual ity, and fit to brace the fibres, are almost univer sally rough and pungent to the taste, and in many cases rough even to the touch. We often apply the quality of sweetness, metaphorically, to visual objects.
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For the better carrying on this remarkable analogy _ of the senses, we may here call sweetness the beauti
ful of the taste.
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SECTION XXIII. VARIATION, WHY BEAUTIFUL.
ANOTHER principal property of beautiful objects is, that the line of their parts is continually varying its direction; but it varies it by a very insensible devia tion ; it never varies it so quickly as to surprise, or by the sharpness of its angle to cause any twitching or convulsion of the optic nerve. Nothing long contin
ued in the same manner, nothing very suddenly varied, can be beautiful; because both are opposite to that agreeable relaxation which is the characteris tic effect of beauty. It is thus in all the senses. A motion in a right line is that manner of moving, next to a very gentle descent, in which we meet the least resistance; yet it is not that manner of moving, which next to a descent, wearies us the least. Rest certainly tends to relax: yet there is a species of
motion which relaxes more than rest; a gentle oscil latory motion, a rising and falling. Rocking sets children to sleep better than absolute rest; there is indeed scarcely anything at that age, which gives more pleasure than to be gently lifted up and down;
the manner of playing which their nurses use with children, and the weighing and swinging used after wards by themselves as a favorite amusement, evince this very sufficiently. Most people must have ob served the sort of sense they have had on being swiftly drawn in an easy coach on a smooth turf, with
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gradual ascents and declivities. This will give a bet ter idea of the beautiful, and point out its probable cause better, than almost anything else. On the con trary, when one is hurried over a rough, rocky, broken road, the pain felt by these sudden inequali ties shows why similar sights, feelings, and sounds, are so contrary to beauty: and with regard to the feeling, it is exactly the same in its effect, or very nearly the same, whether, for instance, I move my hand along the surface of a body of a certain shape, or whether such a body is moved along my hand. But to bring this analogy of the senses home to the eye; if a body presented to that sense has such a waving surface, that the rays of light reflected from it are in a continual insensible deviation from the
to the weakest (which is always the case in a surface gradually unequal), it must be exactly sim ilar in its effects on the eye and touch ; upon the one of which it operates directly, on the other indirectly. And this body will be beautiful if the lines which compose its surface are not continued, even so varied, in a manner that may weary or dissipate the atten tion. _ The variation itself must be continually varied.
SE CTION XXIV. CONCERNING SMALLNESS.
To avoid a sameness which may arise from the too frequent repetition of the same reasonings, and of illustrations of the same nature, I will not enter very minutely into every particular that regards beauty, as it is founded on the disposition of its quantity, 01' its quantity itself. In speaking of the magnitude of
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bodies there is great uncertainty, because the ideas of great and small are terms almost entirely relative to the species of the objects, which are infinite. It is true, that having once fixed the species of any object, and the dimensions common in the individuals of that species, we may observe some that exceed, and some that fall short of, the ordinary standard: those which greatly exceed are, by that excess, provided the spe cies itself be not very small, rather great and terrible than beautiful; but as in the animal world, and in a good measure in the vegetable world likewise, the
qualities that constitute beauty may possibly be united
to things of greater dimensions; when they are so
? united, they constitute a species something different
both from the sublime and beautiful, which I have
before called fine; but this kind, I imagine, has not
such a power on the passions, either as vast bodies
have which are endued with the correspondent quali
tie's of the sublime ; or as the qualities of beauty have
when united in a small object. The affection pro
duced by large bodies adorned with the spoils of
beauty, is a tension continually relieved; which ap
proaches to the nature of mediocrity. But if I were
to say how I find myself affected upon such occasions,
I should say that the sublime suffers less by being
united to some of the qualities of beauty, than beauty
does by being joined to greatness of quantity, or any other properties of the sublime. There is some
thing so overruling in whatever inspires us with awe, in all things which belong ever so remotely to terror, that nothing else can stand in their presence. There lie the qualities of beauty either dead or unoperative ; or at most exerted to mollify the rigor and sternness
of the terror, which is the natural concomitant of VOL. I. 16
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greatness. Besides the extraordinary great in every species, the opposite to this, the dwarfish and diminu tive, ought to be considered. Littleness, merely as such, has nothing contrary to the idea of beauty. The humming-bird, both in shape and coloring, yields to none of the winged species, of which it is the least; and perhaps his beauty is enhanced by his smallness. But there are animals, which, when they are extreme ly small, are rarely (if ever) beautiful. There is a dwarfish size of men and women, which is almost constantly so gross and massive in comparison of their height, that they present us with a very disa
? But should a man be found not above two or three feet high, supposing such a person to have all the parts of his body of a delicacy suitable
to such a size, and otherwise endued with the com mon qualities of other beautiful bodies, I am pretty well convinced that a person of such a stature might be considered as beautiful; might be the object 'of love; might give us very pleasing ideas on viewing him. The only thing which could possibly interpose to check our pleasure that such creatures, however formed, are unusual, and are often therefore consid ered as something monstrous. The large and gigan tic, though very compatible with the sublime, contrary to the beautiful. It impossible to sup pose giant the object of love. When we let our imagination loose in romance, the ideas we naturally annex to that size are those of tyranny, cruelty, in
justice, and everything horrid and abominable. We paint the giant ravaging the country, plundering the innocent traveller, and afterwards gorged with his half-living flesh: such are Polyphemus, Cacus, and others, who make so great figure in romances and
greeable image.
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heroic poems. The event we attend to with the
satisfaction is their defeat and death. I do not remember, in all that multitude of deaths with which the Iliad is filled, that the fall of any man, remarkable for his great stature and strength, touches us with pity; nor does it appear that the author, so well read in human nature, ever intended it should. It is Simoisius, in the soft bloom of youth, torn from his parents, who tremble for a courage so ill suited to his strength; it is another hurried by war from the new embraces of his bride, young and fair, and a novice to the field, who melts us by his untimely fate. Achilles, in spite of the many qualities of beauty which Homer has bestowed on his outward form, and the many great virtues with which he has adorned his mind, can never make us love him. It may be ob served, that Homer has given the Trojans, whose fate he has designed to excite our compassion, infinitely more of the amiable, social virtues than he has dis tributed among his Greeks. With regard to the Tro jans, the passion he chooses to raise is pity; pity is a passion founded on love; and these lesser, and if I may say domestic virtues, are certainly the most ami able. But he has made the Greeks far their superi
ors in the politic and military virtues. The councils of Priam are weak; the arms of Hector comparatively feeble; his courage far below that of Achilles. Yet We love Priam more than Agamemnon, and Hector more than his conqueror Achilles. Admiration is
the passion which Homer would excite in favor of the Greeks, and he has done it by bestowing on them the virtues which have but little to do with love. This short digression is perhaps not wholly beside our purpose, where our business is to show that objects of
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great dimensions are incompatible with beauty, the more incompatible as they are greater; whereas the small, if ever they fail of beauty, this failure is not to be attributed to their size.
SECTION XXV. or COLOR.
WITH regard to color, the disquisition is almost in finite; but I conceive the principles laid down in the beginning of this part are sufficient to account for the effects of them all, as well as for the agreeable effects of transparent bodies, whether fluid or solid. Sup pose I look at a bottle of muddy liquor, of a blue or red color; the blue or red rays cannot pass clearly to the eye, but are suddenly and unequally stopped by the intervention of little opaque bodies, which with out preparation change the idea, and change it too into one disagreeable in its own nature, conformably to the principles laid down in Sect. 24. But when the ray passes without such opposition through the glass or liquor, when the glass or liquor is quite trans parent, the light is sometimes softened in the passage, which makes it more agreeable even as light; and the liquor reflecting all the rays of its proper color evenly, it has such an effect on the eye, as smooth opaque bodies have on the eye and touch. So that the pleasure here is compounded of the softness of the transmitted, and the evenness of the reflected light. This pleasure may be heightened by the com mon principles in other things, if the shape of the glass which holds the transparent liquor be so judi ciously varied, as to present the color gradually and
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interchangeably, weakened and strengthened with all the variety which judgment in affairs of this nature shall suggest. On a review of all that has been said
of the effects, as well as the causes of both, it will ap pear that the sublime and beautiful are built on prin ciples very different, and that their affections are as different: the great has terror for its basis, which, when it is modified, causes that emotion in the mind, which I have called astonishment; the beautiful is founded on mere positive pleasure, and excites in the soul that feeling which is called love. Their causes
have made the subject of this fourth part.
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PART V.
SECTION I. or woims.
NATURAL objects affect us by the laws of that con nection which Providence has established between cer tain motions and configurations of bodies, and certain consequent feelings in our mind. Painting affects in the same manner, but with the superadded pleasure of imitation. Architecture affects by the laws of na ture and the law of reason ; from which latter result the rules of proportion, which make a work to be praised or censured, in the whole or in some part, when the end for which it was designed is or is not properly answered. But as to words; they seem to me to affect us in a manner very different from that in which we are affected by natural objects, or by painting or architecture ; yet words have as consider able a share in exciting ideas of beauty and of the sublime as many of those, and sometimes a much greater than any of them; therefore an inquiry into the manner by which they excite such emotions is far from being unnecessary in a discourse of this kind.
SECTION II.
THE COMMON EFFECTS OF POETRY, NOT BY RAISING IDEAS OF THINGS
THE common notion of the power of poetry and eloquence, as well as that of words in ordinary con
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versation, that they affect the mind by raising in ideas of those things _for which custom has ap
pointed them to stand. To examine the truth of this notion, may be requisite_to observe that words may be divided into three sorts. The first are such as represent many simple ideas united nature to form some one determinate composition, as man, horse, tree, castle, &c. These call aggregate words. The second are they that stand for one simple idea of
such compositions, and no more; as red, blue, round, square, and the like. These call simple abstract words. The third are those which are formed by an union, an arbitrary union of both the others, and of the various relations between them in greater or lesser degrees of complexity; as virtue, honor, persuasion, magistrate, and the like. These call compound abstract words. Words, am sensible, are capable of being classed into more curious distinc tions; but these seem to be natural, and enough for our purpose; and they are disposed in that order in
which they are commonly taught, and in which the mind gets the ideas they are substituted for. shall begin with the third sort of words; compound ab stracts, such as virtue, honor, persuasion, docility. Of these am convinced, that whatever power they may have on the passions, they do not derive from any representation raised in the mind of the things for which they stand. As compositions, they are not real essences, and hardly cause, think, any real ideas. Nobody, believe, immediately on hearing the sounds, virtue, liberty, or honor, conceives any precise notions of the particular modes of action and thinking, together with the mixed and simple ideas, and the several relations of them for which these
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words are substituted; neither has he any general idea compounded of them; for if he had, then some
of those particular ones, though indistinct
and confused, might come soon to be perceived. But this, I take hardly ever the case. For, put yourself upon analyzing one of these words, and you must reduce from one set of general words to an other, and then into the simple abstracts and aggre gates, in much longer series than may be at first imagined, before any real idea emerges to light, be fore you come to discover anything like the first prin ciples of such compositions; and when you have
made such discovery of the original ideas, the effect of the composition utterly lost. A train of think ing of this sort much too long to be pursued the ordinary ways of conversation; nor at all necessary that should. Such words are in reality but mere sounds; but they are sounds which being used on particular occasions, wherein we receive some good, or suffer some evil or see others affected with good or evil; or which we hear applied to other interesting things or events; and being applied in such variety of cases, that we know readily by
habit to what things they belong, they produce in the mind, whenever they are afterwards mentioned, effects similar to those of their occasions. The SOI1. IidS being often used without reference to any particular occasion, and carrying still their first impressions, they at last utterly lose their connection with the particu lar occasions that gave rise to them; yet the sound, without any annexed notion, continues to operate as before.
perhaps,
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SECTION III. GENERAL WORDS BEFORE IDEAS.
MR. LOCKE has somewhere observed, with his usual sagacity, that most general words, those belonging to virtue and vice, good and evil especially, are taught before the particular modes of action to which they belong are presented to the mind; and with them, the love of the one, and the abhorrence of the other; for the minds of children are so ductile, that a nurse,
or any person about a child, by seeming pleased or displeased with anything, or even any word, may give the disposition of the child a similar turn. When, afterwards, the several occurrences in life come to be applied to these words, and that which is pleasant of ten appears under the name of evil ; and what is dis
to nature is called good and virtuous; a strange confusion of ideas and affections arises in the minds of many ; and an appearance of no small con tradiction between their notions and their actions. There are many who love virtue and who detest vice, and this not from hypocrisy or affectation, who not withstanding very frequently act ill and wickedly in
agreeable
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? without the least remorse; because these particular occasions never came into view, when the passions on the side of virtue were so warmly affected by certain words heated originally by the breath of others; and for this reason, it is hard to repeat cer tain sets of words, though owned by themselves unop
erative, without being in some degree affected; espe cially if a warm and affecting tone of voice accompa nies them, as suppose,
Wise, valiant, generous, good, and great.
particulars
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