The rude hearer is affected by the
principles
which operate in these arts even in their rudest condition ; and he is not skilful enough to perceive the defects.
Edmund Burke
And we are altogether as well understood when we say, a sweet disposition, a sweet person, a sweet con dition and the like.
It is confessed, that custom and some other causes have made many deviations
from the natural pleasures or pains which belong to these several tastes ; but then the power of distinguish ing between the natural and the acquired relish re mains to the very last. A man frequently comes to prefer the taste of tobacco to that of sugar, and the flavor of vinegar to that of milk; but this makes no confusion in tastes, whilst he is sensible that the to bacco and vinegar are not sweet, and whilst he knows that habit alone has reconciled his palate to these alien pleasures. Even with such a person we may speak, and with sufficient precision, concerning tastes. But
? ? ? ? 84 INTRODUCTION.
should any man be found who declares, that to him tobacco has a taste like sugar, and that he cannot distinguish between milk and vinegar; or that to bacco and vinegar are sweet, milk bitter, and sugar sour; we immediately conclude that the organs of this man are out of order, and that his palate is ut terly vitiated. We are as far from conferring with such a person upon tastes, as from reasoning concern ing the relations of quantity with one who should deny that all the parts together were equal to the whole. We do not call a man of this kind wrong in his notions, but absolutely mad. Exceptions of this sort, in either way, do not at all impeach our general rule, nor make us conclude that men have various principles concerning the relations of quantity or the taste of things. So that when it is said, taste cannot
be disputed, it can only mean, that no one can strict ly answer what pleasure or pain some particular man may find from the taste of some particular thing. This indeed cannot be disputed; but we may dispute, and with sufficient clearness too, concerning the things which are naturally pleasing or disagreeable to the sense. But when we talk of any peculiar or acquired relish, then we must know the habits, the prejudices, or the distempers of this particular man, and we must draw our conclusion from those.
This agreement of mankind is not confined to the
taste solely. _ The principle of pleasure derived from sight is the same in all. Light is more pleasing than darkness. Summer, when the earth is clad in green, when the heavens are serene and bright, is more agreeable than winter, when everything makes a different appearance. I never remember that any thing beautiful, whether a man, a beast, a bird, or a
? ? ? ? '
0N rAs'rR.
85
plant, was ever shown, though it were to a hundred people, that they did not all immediately agree that it was beautiful, though some might have thought that it fell short of their expectation, or that other things were still finer. I believe no man thinks a goose to be more beautiful than a swan, or imagines
that what they call a Friesland hen excels a pea cock. It must be observed too, that the pleasures of the sight are not near so complicated, and confused, and altered by unnatural habits and associations, as the pleasures of the taste are ; because the pleasures of the sight more commonly acquiesce in themselves; and are not so often altered by considerations which are independent of the sight itself. But things do not spontaneously present themselves to the palate as
they do to the sight; they are generally applied to either as food or as medicine and from the qualities which they possess for nutritive or medicinal purposes they often form the palate by degrees, and by force of these associations. Thus opium pleasing to Turks, on account of the agreeable delirium pro duces. Tobacco the delight of Dutchmen, as diffuses torpor and pleasing stupefaction. Fer mented spirits please our common people, because they banish care, and all consideration of future or present evils. All of these would lie absolutely neg
lected their properties had originally gone no further than the taste; but all these, together with tea and coffee, and some other things, have passed from the apothecary's shop to our tables, and were taken for health long before they were thought of for
The effect of the drug has made us use and frequent use, combined with the effect, has made the taste itself at last
? pleasure. frequently; agreeable
? ? it
it
it,
if
is
a
it
is
;
? 86 INTRODUCTION.
agreeable. But this does not in the least perplex our reasoning; because we distinguish to the last the acquired from the natural relish. In describing the taste of an unknown fruit, you would scarcely say that it had a sweet and pleasant flavor like tobacco, opium, or garlic, although you spoke to those who were in the constant use of these drugs, and had great pleasure in them. There is in all men a sufficient re membrance of the original natural causes of pleasure, to enable them to bring all things offered to their senses to that standard, and to regulate their feelings and opinions by it. Suppose one who had so vitiated his palate as to take more. pleasure in the taste of opium than in that of butter or honey, to be presented with a bolus of squills; there is hardly any doubt but that he would prefer the butter or honey to this nau seous morsel, or to any other bitter drug to which he
had not been accustomed ; which proves that his pal ate was naturally like that of other men in all things, that it is still like the palate of other men in many things, and only vitiated in some particular points. For in judging of any new thing, even of a taste similar to that which he has been formed by habit to like, he finds his palate affected in the natural man ner, and on the common principles. Thus the pleas ure of all the senses, of the sight, and even of the taste, that most ambiguous of the senses, is the same in all, high and low, learned and unlearned.
Besides _the ideas, with their annexed pains and pleasures, which are presented by the sense ; the mind of man possesses a sort of creative power of its own; either in representing at pleasure the im ages of things in the order and manner in which they were received by the senses, or in combining those
? ? ? ? on rasrn. 87
images in a new manner, and according to a different order. This power is called imagination ; and to this belongs whatever is called wit, fancy, invention, and the like. But it must be observed, that this power of the imagination is incapable of producing anything absolutely new; it can only vary the disposition of those ideas which it has received from the senses. Now the imagination is the most extensive province of pleasure and pain, as it is the region of our fears and our hopes, and of all our passions that are con nected with them; and whatever is calculated to af fect the imagination with these commanding ideas, by force of any original natural impression, must have the same power pretty equally over all men. For since the imagination is only the representation of the senses, it can only be pleased or displeased with the images, from the same principle on which the sense is
pleased or displeased with the realities; and conse quently there must be just as close an agreement in the imaginations as in the senses of men. A little at tention will convince us that this must of necessity be the case.
But in the imagination, besides the pain or pleasure arising from the properties of the natural object, a pleasure is perceived from the resemblance which the imitation has to the original : the imagination, I con ceive, can have no pleasure but what results from one or other of these causes. And these causes operate
pretty uniformly upon all men, because they operate
by principles in nature, and which are not derived
from any particular habits or advantages. Mr. Locke very justly and finely observes of wit, that it is chiefly conversant in tracing resemblances; he remarks, at the same time, that the business of judgment is rather in
? ? ? ? 88
INTRODUCTION.
'
finding differences. It may perhaps appear, on this supposition, that there is no material distinction be
tween the wit and the judgment, as they both seem to result from different operations of the same faculty of comparing. But in reality, whether they are or are not dependent on the same power of the mind, they diifer so very materially in many respects, that a per fect union of wit and judgment is one of the rarest things in the world. When two distinct objects are unlike to each other, it is only what we expect; things are in their common way; and therefore they make no impression on the imagination: but when two dis tinct objects have a resemblance, we are struck, we attend to them, and we are pleased. The mind of man has naturally a far greater alacrity and satisfac tion in tracing resemblances than in searching for dif ferences: because by making resemblances we produce new images ; we unite, we create, we enlarge our stock; but in making distinctions we offer no food at all to the imagination; the task itself is more severe and irk some, and what pleasure we derive from it is some
thing of a negative and indirect nature. A piece of news is told me in the morning; this, merely as a piece of news, as a fact added to my stock, gives me some pleasure. In the evening I find there was noth ing in it. What do I gain by this, but the dissatisfac tion to find that I had been imposed upon ? Hence it is that men are much more naturally inclined to belief than to incredulity. And it is upon this principle, that the most ignorant and barbarous nations have frequent ly excelled in similitudes, comparisons, metaphors, and allegories, who have been weak and backward in dis
? and sorting their ideas. And it is for a reason of this kind, that Homer and the oriental writ
tinguishing
? ? ? ON TASTE.
89
ers, though very fond of similitudes, and though they often strike out such as are truly admirable, seldom take care to have them exact; that they are taken with the general resemblance, they paint strongly, and they take no notice of the difference which may be found between the things compared.
Now as the pleasure of resemblance that which principally flatters the imagination, all men are near equal in this point, as far as their knowledge of the
things represented or compared extends. The prin ciple of this knowledge very much accidental, as depends upon experience and observation, and not on the strength or weakness of any natural faculty and
from this difference in knowledge, that what we commonly, though with no great exactness, call dif ference in taste proceeds. man to whom sculpture
new, sees barber's block, or some ordinary piece of statuary; he immediately struck and pleased, because he sees something like human figure and, entirely taken up with this likeness, he does not at all attend to its defects. No person, believe, at the first time of seeing piece of imitation ever did. Some time after, we suppose that this novice lights upon a more artificial work of the same nature; he now begins to look with contempt on what he ad mired at first; not that he admired even then for its unlikeness to man, but for that general though inaccurate resemblance which bore to the human figure. What he admired at different times in these so different figures, strictly the same and though his knowledge improved, his taste not altered. Hitherto his mistake was from want of knowledge in art, and this arose from his inexperience but he may be still deficient from want of knowledge nature.
? ? ? a
is
a
it
it
A a
is ; in
is
it
;
is
is
a
is a
I
;
is,
is
it is
ly
a
;
a
it
? 90 INTRODUCTION.
For it is possible that the man in question may stop here, and that the masterpiece of a great hand may please him no more than the middling performance of a vulgar artist ; and this not for want of better or higher relish, but because all men do not observe with sufficient accuracy on the human figure to enable them to judge properly of an imitation of it. And that the critical taste does not depend upon a superior princi ple in men, but upon superior knowledge, may appear from several instances. The story of the ancient paint er and the shoemaker is very well known. The shoe maker set the painter right with regard to some mistakes he had made in the shoe of one of his fig ures, which the painter, who had not made such ac curate observations on shoes, and was content with a general resemblance, had never observed. But this was no impeachment to the taste of the painter; it only showed some want of knowledge in the art of
making shoes. Let us imagine, that an anatomist had come into the painter's working-room. His piece
is in general well done, the figure in question in a good attitude, and the parts well adjusted to their various movements; yet the anatomist, critical in his art, may observe the swell of some muscle not quite just in the peculiar action of the figure. Here the anat omist. observes what the painter had not observed; and he passes by what the shoemaker had remarked. But a want of the last critical knowledge in anatomy no more reflected on the natural good taste of the painter, or of any common observer of his piece, than the want of an exact knowledge in the formation of a shoe. A fine piece of a decollated head of St. John the Baptist was shown to a Turkish emperor: he praised many things, but he observed one defect:
? ? ? ? on usrs. 91
he observed that the skin did not shrink from the wounded part of the neck. The sultan on this occasion, though his observation was very just, dis covered no more natural taste than the painter who executed this piece, or than a thousand European connoisseurs, who probably never would have made the same observation. His Turkish majesty had indeed been well acquainted with that terrible spec tacle, which the others could only have represented in their imagination. On the subject of their dislike there is a difference between all these people, aris ing from the different kinds and degrees of their
? but there is something in common to the painter, the shoemaker, the anatomist, and the Turkish emperor, the pleasure arising from a nat ural object, so far as each perceives it justly imitated; the satisfaction in seeing an agreeable figure; the sympathy proceeding from a striking and affecting incident. So far as taste is natural, it is nearly common to all.
In poetry, and other pieces of imagination, the same parity may be observed. It is true, that one man is charmed with Don Bellianis, and reads Virgil coldly; whilst another is transported with the jEneid, and leaves Don Bellianis to children. These two men seem to have a taste very different from each other; but in fact they differ very little. In both these pieces, which inspire such opposite sentiments, a tale exciting admiration is told; both are full of action, both are passionate; in both are voyages, battles,
knowledge;
and continual changes of fortune. The admirer of Don Bellianis perhaps does not under stand the refined language of the 1Eneid, who, if it was degraded into the style of the " Pilgrim's Pro
triumphs,
? ? ? 92 INTRODUCTION.
gress," might feel it in all its energy, on the same principle which made him an admirer of Don Bel lianis.
In his favorite author he is not shocked with the continual breaches of probability, the confusion of times, the offences against manners, the trampling upon geography; for he knows nothing of geography and chronology, and he has never examined the grounds of probability. He perhaps reads of a ship wreck on the coast of Bohemia: wholly taken with so interesting an event, and only solicitous for the fate of his hero, he is not in the least troubled at this extravagant blunder. For why should he be shocked at a shipwreck on the coast of Bohemia, who does not know but that Bohemia may be an island in the Atlantic ocean? and after all, what reflection is this on the natural good taste of the person here supposed ?
So far then as taste belongs to the imagination, its principle is the same in all men; there is no differ ence in the manner of their being affected, nor in the causes of the affection ; but in the degree there is a difference, which arises from two causes principally; either from a greater degree of natural sensibility, or from a closer and longer attention to the object. To illustrate this by the procedure of the senses, in which the same diiference is'found, let us suppose a very smooth marble table to be set before two men; they both perceive it to be smooth, and they are both pleased with it because of this quality. So far they agree. But suppose another, and after that another table, the latter still smoother than the former, to be set before them. It is now very probable that these men, who are so agreed upon what is smooth, and
up
? ? ? ? ON zmsm. 93
in the pleasure from thence, will disagree when they come to settle which table has the advantage in point of polish. Here is indeed the great difference between tastes, when men come to compare the excess or diminution of things which are judged by degree and not by measure. Nor is it easy, when such a diiference arises, to settle the point, if the excess or diminution be not glaring. Ifwe differ in opinion about two quantities, we can have recourse to a com mon measure, which may decide the question with the utmost exactness; and this, I take it, is what
mathematical knowledge a greater certainty than any other. But in things whose excess is not judged by greater or smaller, as smoothness and roughness, hardness and softness, darkness and light, the shades of colors, all these are very easi ly distinguished when the difference is any way con siderable, but not when it is minute, for want of some common measures, which perhaps may never come to be discovered. In these nice cases, suppos ing the acuteness of the sense equal, the greater attention and habit in such things will have the
In the question about the tables, the marble-polisher will unquestionably determine the most accurately. But notwithstanding this want of a common measure for settling many disputes relative to the senses, and their representative the imagination, we find that the principles are the same in all, and that there is no disagreement until we come to examine into the pre-eminence or diiference of things, which brings us within the province of the
judgment.
So long as we are conversant with the sensible
qualities of things, hardly any more than the imagi
gives
? advantage.
? ? ? 94 INTRODUCTION.
nation seems concerned; little more also than the imagination seems concerned when the passions are
because by the force of natural sym pathy they are felt in all men without any recourse to reasoning, and their justness recognized in every breast. Love, grief, fear, anger, joy, all these pas sions have, in their turns, affected every mind; and they do not affect it in an arbitrary or casual man ner, but upon certain, natural, and uniform princi ples. But as many of the works of imagination are not confined to the representation of sensible objects, nor to efforts upon the passions, but extend them selves to the manners, the characters, the actions, and designs of men, their relations, their virtues and vices, they come within the province of the judg ment, which is improved by attention, and by the habit of reasoning. All these make a very consider able part of what are considered as the objects of taste; and Horace sends us to the schools of phi losophy and the world for our instruction in them. Whatever certainty is to be acquired in morality and the science of life; just the same degree of cer tainty have we in what relates to them in works of imitation. Indeed it is for the most part in our skill in manners, and in the observances of time and place, and of decency in general, which is only to be learned in those schools to which Horace recom mends us, that what is called taste, by way of dis tinction, consists: and which is in reality no other than a more refined judgment. On the whole, it appears to me, that what is called taste, in its most
general acceptation, is not a simple idea, but is partly made up of a perception of the primary pleasures of sense, of the secondary pleasures of the imagination,
represented,
? ? ? ? 0N TASTE. 95
and of the conclusions of the reasoning faculty, con cerning the various relations of these, and concern ing the human passions, manners, and actions. All this is requisite to form taste, and the groundwork of all these is the same in the human mind; for as the senses are the great originals of all our ideas, and consequently of all our pleasures, if they are not 1mcertain and arbitrary, the whole groundwork of taste is common to all, and therefore there is a suffi cient foundation for a conclusive reasoning on these matters.
Whilst we consider taste merely according to its
nature and species, we shall find its principles entirely uniform; but the degree in which these principles prevail, in the several individuals of mankind, is al together as different as the principles themselves are similar. For sensibility and judgment, which are the qualities that compose what we commonly call a taste, vary exceedingly in various people. From a defect in the former of these qualities arises a want of taste ; a weakness in the latter constitutes a wrong or a bad one. There are some men formed with feelings so blunt, with tempers so cold and phlegmatic, that they can hardly be said to be awake during the whole course of their lives. Upon such persons the most striking objects make but a faint and obscure impres sion. There are others so continually in the agitation of gross and merely sensual pleasures, or so occupied in the low drudgery of avarice, or so heated in the chase of honors and distinction, that their minds, which had been used continually to the storms of these violent and tempestuous passions, can hardly be put in motion by the delicate and refined play of the imagination. These men, though from a different
? ? ? ? 96 INTRODUCTION.
cause, become as stupid and insensible as the former; but whenever either of these happen to be struck with
any natural elegance or greatness, or with these qual ities in any work of art, they are moved upon the same principle.
The cause of a wrong taste is a defect of judgment. And this may arise from a natural weakness of un derstanding (in whatever the strength of that faculty may consist), or, which is much more commonly the case, it may arise from a want of a proper and well directed exercise, which alone can make it strong and ready. Besides, that ignorance, inattention, prejudice, rashness, levity, obstiuacy, in short, all those passions, and all those vices, which pervert the judgment in other matters, prejudice it no less in this its more re fined and elegant province. These causes produce different opinions upon everything which is an object of the understanding, without inducing us to suppose that there are no settled principles of reason. And indeed, on the whole, one may observe, that there is rather less difference upon matters of taste among mankind, than upon most of those which depend upon the naked reason; and that men are far better agreed on the excellence of a description in Virgil, than on the truth or falsehood of a theory of Aristotle.
A rectitude of judgment in the arts, which may be
called a good taste, does in a great measure
upon sensibility ; because if the mind has no bent. to the pleasures of the imagination, it will never apply itself sufficiently to works of that species to acquire a competent knowledge in them. But though a de gree of sensibility is requisite to form a good judg ment, yet a good judgment does not necessarily arise from a quick sensibility of pleasure; it frequently
? depend
? ? ? on msrn. 97
happens that a very poor judge, merely by force of a greater complexional sensibility, is more affected by a very poor piece, than the best judge by the most perfect; for as everything new, extraordinary, grand, or passionate, is well calculated to affect such a per son, and that the faults do not affect him, his pleas ure is more pure and unmixed; and as it is merely a pleasure of the imagination, it is much higher than any which is derived from a rectitude of the judg ment; the judgment is for the greater part employed in throwing stumbling-blocks in the way of the im agination, in dissipating the scenes of its enchant ment, and in tying us down to the disagreeable yoke of our reason: for almost the only pleasure that men have in judging better than others, consists in a sort of conscious pride and superiority, which arises from thinking rightly; but then this is an indirect pleasure, a pleasure which does not immediately re sult from the object which is under contemplation. In the morning of our days, when the senses are un worn and tender, when the whole man is awake in every part, and the gloss of novelty fresh upon all the objects that surround us, how lively at that time are our sensations, but how false and inaccurate the
? I despair of ever re ceiving the same degree of pleasure from the most excellent performances of genius, which I felt at that
age from pieces which my present judgment regards as trifling and contemptible. Every trivial cause of pleasure is apt to affect the man of too sanguine a complexion: his appetite is too keen to suffer his taste to be delicate; and he is in all respects what Ovid says of himself in love,
Molle meum levibus cor est violabile tclis,
Et semper causa est, cur ego semper amem. VOL. 1. 7
judgments we form of things 1
? ? ? 98 INTRODUCTION.
One of this character can never be a refined judge; never what the comic poet calls elegans formarum spectator. The excellence and force of a composition must always be imperfectly estimated from its effect on the minds of any, except we know the temper and character of those minds. The most powerful effects of poetry and music have been displayed, and per haps are still displayed, where these arts are but in a very low and imperfect state.
The rude hearer is affected by the principles which operate in these arts even in their rudest condition ; and he is not skilful enough to perceive the defects. But as the arts advance towards their perfection, the science of criti cism advances with equal pace, and the pleasure of judges is frequently interrupted by the faults which are discovered in the most finished compositions.
Before I leave this subject, I cannot help taking notice of an opinion which many persons entertain, as if the taste were a separate faculty of the mind, and distinct from the judgment and imagination; a species of instinct, by which we are struck naturally, and at the first glance, without any previous reasoning, with the excellences or the defects of a composition. So far as the imagination and the passions are con cerned, I believe it true, that the reason is little con sulted ; but where disposition, where decorum, where congruity are concerned, in short, wherever the best taste differs from the worst, I am convinced that the understanding operates, and nothing else; and its operation is in reality far from being always sudden, or, when it is sudden, it is often far from being right. Men of the best taste by consideration come frequently to change these early and precipitate judg ments, which the mind, from its aversion to neu trality and doubt, loves to form on the spot. It is
? ? ? ? on rasrn. 99
known that the taste (whatever it is) is improved exactly as we improve our judgment, by extending our knowledge, by a steady attention to our object, and by frequent exercise. They who have not taken these methods, if their taste decides quickly, it is always uncertainly; and their quickness is owing to
their presumption and rashness, and not to any sud den irradiation, that in a moment dispels all darkness from their minds. But they who have cultivated that species of knowledge which makes the object of taste, by degrees and habitually attain not only a soundness but a readiness of judgment, as men do by the same methods on all other occasions. At first they are obliged to spell, but at last they read with ease and with celerity; but this celerity of its operation is no proof that the taste is a distinct fac ulty. Nobody, I believe, has attended the course of a discussion which turned upon matters within the sphere of mere naked reason, but must have observed the extreme readiness with which the whole process of the argument is carried on, the grounds dis covered, the objections raised and answered, and the
conclusions drawn from premises, with a quickness altogether as great as the taste can be supposed to work with; and yet where nothing but plain reason either is or can be suspected to operate. To multi ply principles for every different appearance is use less, and unphilosophical too in a high degree.
This matter might be pursued much farther; but it is not the extent of the subject which must pre scribe our bounds, for what subject does not branch out to infinity? It is the nature of our particular scheme, and the single point of view in which we consider which ought to put stop to our re
searches.
? ? ? it,
a
". --q
? ? ? ? l
? A
PHILOSOPHICALINQUIRY mro THE ORIGIN or OUR IDEAS or
THE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL.
PART I.
SECTION I. NOVELTY.
first and the simplest emotion which we dis THEcover in the human mind is curiosity. By curi osity I mean whatever desire we have for, or what ever pleasure we take in, novelty. We see children perpetually running from place to place, to hunt out something new: they catch with great eagerness, and with very little choice, at whatever comes before them; their attention is engaged by everything, because everything has, in that stage of life, the charm of novelty to recommend it. But as those things, which engage us merely by their novelty, can not attach us for any length of time, curiosity is the most superficial of all the affections; it changes its object perpetually; it has an appetite which is very sharp, but very easily satisfied; and it has always an
? of giddiness, restlessness, and anxiety. Curiosity, from its nature, is a very active principle ; it quickly runs over the greatest part of its objects, and soon exhausts the variety which is commonly to
be met with in nature ; the same things make frequent returns, and they return with less and less of any
appearance
? ? ? 102 ON THE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL.
agreeable effect. In short, the occurrences of life, by the time we come to know it a little, would be inca pable of affecting the mind with any other sensations than those of loathing and weariness, if many things were not adapted to affect the mind by means of other powers besides novelty in them, and of other passions besides curiosity in ourselves. These pow ers and passions shall be considered in their place. But, whatever these powers are, or upon what princi ple soever they affect the mind, it is absolutely neces sary that they should not be exerted in those things which a daily and vulgar use have brought into a stale unaffecting familiarity. Some degree of nov elty must be one of the materials in every instru ment which works upon the mind; and curiosity blends itself more or less with all our passions.
SECTION II. PAIN AND PLEASURE.
IT seems, then, necessary towards moving the pas sions of people advanced in life to any consider able degree, that the objects designed for that pur pose, besides their being in some measure new, should be capable of exciting pain or pleasure from other causes. Pain and pleasure are simple ideas, incapable of definition. People are not liable to be mistaken in their feelings, but they are very fre quently wrong in the names they give them, and in their reasonings about them. Many are of opinion,
that pain arises necessarily from the removal of some pleasure; as they think pleasure does from the ceas ing or diminution of some pain. For my part, I am
? ? ? ? on wnn sunmmn AND BEAUTIFUL. 103
rather inclined to imagine, that pain and pleasure, in their most simple and natural manner of affecting, are each of a positive nature, and by no means neces sarily dependent on each other for their existence. The human mind is often, and I think it is for the most part, in a state neither of pain nor pleasure, which I call a state of indifference. When I am car ried from this state into a state of actual pleasure, it does not appear necessary that I should pass through the medium of any sort of pain. If in such a state of indifference, or ease, or tranquillity, or call it what you please, you were to be suddenly entertained with a concert of music; or suppose some object of a fine shape, and bright, lively colors, to be presented be fore you; or imagine your smell is gratified with the fragrance of a rose; or without any previous thirst, you were to drink of some pleasant kind of wine, or to taste of some sweetmeat without being hungry; in all the several senses, of hearing, smell ing, and tasting, you undoubtedly find pleasure; yet, inquire into the state of your mind previous to these gratifications, you will hardly tell me that they found you in any kind of pain; or, having satis fied these several senses with their several pleasures, will you say that any pain has succeeded, though the pleasure
absolutely over? Suppose, on the other man in the same state of indifference to
hand,
receive
tion, or to have his ears wounded with some harsh and grating sound; here no removal of pleasure; and yethere felt, in every sense which alfected, a pain very distinguishable. It may be said, perhaps, that the pain in these eases had its rise from the removal of the pleasure which the man enjoyed
violent blow, or to drink of some bitter po
\
? ? ? is
is
a
is
if aI
a
is
if,
? ON THE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL.
before, though that pleasure was of so low a degree as to be perceived only by the removal. But this seems to me a subtilty that is not discoverable in nature. For previous to the pain, do not feel any actual pleasure, have no reason to judge that any such thing exists; since pleasure only pleasure as
felt. The same may be said of pain, and with equal
reason. can never persuade myself that pleasure and pain are mere relations, which can only exist as they are contrasted but think can discern clearly that there are positive pains and pleasures, which do not at all depend upon each other. Nothing more certain to my own feelings than this. There noth ing which can distinguish in my mind with more clearness than the three states, of indifference, of pleasure, and of pain. Every one of these can per ceive without any sort of idea of its relation to any thing else. Oaius afflicted with fit of the colic; this man actually in pain stretch Oaius upon the rack, he will feel much greater pain: but does this pain of the rack arise from the removal of any pleas ure? or the fit of the colic pleasure or pain
iust as we are pleased to consider it?
SECTION III.
THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE REMOVAL OF PAIN AND POSITIVE PLEASURE.
WE shall carry this proposition yet step further. We shall venture to propose, that pain and pleasure are not only not necessarily dependent for their existence on their mutual diminution or removal, but that, in reality, the diminution or ceasing of pleasure does not
? "
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; a
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;
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it is
? pleasure,
on THE susumn AND BEAUTIFUL.
105
operate like positive pain; and that the removal or diminution of pain, in its effect, has very little re semblance to positive pleasure! ' The former of these propositions will, I believe, be much more readily al lowed than the latter ; because it is very evident that
when it has run its career, sets us down very nearly where it found us. Pleasure of every kind quickly satisfies; and, when it is over, we re lapse into indiife_rence, or, rather, we fall into a soft tranquillity which is tinged with the agreeable color of the former sensation. I own it is not at first view so apparent that the removal of a great pain does not resemble positive pleasure : but let us recollect in what state we have found our minds upon escaping some im minent danger, or on being released from the severity of some cruel pain. _ We have on such occasions found, if I am not much mistaken, the temper of our minds in a tenor very remote from that which attends the pres ence of positive pleasure; we have found them in a state of much sobriety, impressed with a sense of awe, in a sort of tranquillity shadowed with horror. The fashion of the countenance and the gesture of the body on such occasions is so correspondent to this state of mind, that any person, a stranger to the cause of the appearance, would rather judge us under some consternation, than in the enjoyment of anything like positive pleasure.
'09 3' draw dvSp' tin; vrvxn/1'; )\e? B_r;, 50'1" ivl mirpy <I>(Ivra Karaxrsivas', ('1')\)\mv fgfxero dfipov,
'Av8pbs' Es ? i? vs101_}, Hdpfios' 5' Z"xeL sieropdwwas.
Iliad. S2. 480.
* Mr. Locke [Essay on Human Understanding, l. ii. c. 20, sect. 16,] thinks that the removal or lessening of a pain is considered and oper ates as a pleasure, and the loss or diminishing of pleasure as a pain It is this opinion which we consider here.
? ? ? ? 106 0N THE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL.
" As when a wretch, who, conscious of his crime, Pursued for murder from his native clime,
Just gains some frontier, breathless, pale, amazed; All gaze, all wonder ! "
This striking appearance of the man whom Homer supposes to have just escaped an imminent danger, the sort of mixed passion of terror and surprise, with which he affects the spectators, paints very strongly the manner in which we find ourselves affected upon occasions any way similar. For when we have suf fered from any violent emotion, the mind naturally continues in something like the same condition, after the cause which first produced it has ceased to oper ate. The tossing of the sea remains after the storm; and when this remain of horror has entirely subsided, all the passion which the accident raised subsides along with it; and the mind returns to its usual state of indifference. In short, pleasure (I mean anything either in the inward sensation, or in the outward appearance, like pleasure from a positive cause) has never, I imagine, its origin from the re
moval of pain or danger.
SECTION IV.
OF DELIGHT AND PLEASURE, AS OPPOSED TO EACH OTHER.
BUT shall we therefore say, that the removal of pain or its diminution is always simply painful? or affirm that the cessation or the lessening of pleasure is always attended itself with a pleasure? By no means. What I advance is no more than this ; first, that there are pleasures and pains of a positive and
? ? ? ? on THE susunn AND BEAUTIFUL.
107
independent nature; and, secondly, that the feeling which results from the ceasing or diminution of pain does not bear a sufficient resemblance to positive pleasure, to have it considered as of the same nature,
or to entitle it to be known by the same name ; and thirdly, that upon the same principle the removal or qualification of pleasure has no resemblance to posi tive pain. It is certain that the former feeling (the removal or moderation of pain) has something in it far from distressing, or disagreeable in its nature. This feeling, in many cases so agreeable, but in all so different from positive pleasure, has no name which I know; but that hinders not its being a very real one, and very different from all others. It is most cer tain, that every species of satisfaction or pleasure, how different soever in its manner of affecting, is of a positive nature in the mind of him who feels it. The affection is undoubtedly positive ; but the cause may be, as in this case it certainly sort of priva tion. And very reasonable that we should dis tinguish by some term two things so distinct in nature, as pleasure that such simply, and with out any relation, from that pleasure which cannot exist without relation, and that, too, relation to
pain. Very extraordinary would be, these affec tions, so distinguishable in their causes, so different in their effects, should be confounded with each other, because vulgar use has ranged them under the same general title. Whenever have occasion to speak of this species of relative pleasure, call delight and
shall take the best care can to use that word in no other sense. am satisfied the word not commonly used in this 'appropriated signification; but thought better to take up word already
? ? ? I I
it
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it is
a
it is ;
is, a
II it is I
if a
? 108 0N THE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL.
known, and to limit its signification, than to intro duce a new one, which would not perhaps incorpo rate so well with the language. I should never have presumed the least alteration in our words, if the nature of the language, framed for the purposes of business rather than those of philosophy, and the nature of my subject, that leads me out of the common track of discourse, did not in a manner necessitate me to it. I shall make use of this liberty with all possible caution. As I make use of the
word delight to express the sensation which accompa nies the removal of pain or danger, so, when I speak of positive pleasure, I shall for the most part call it simply pleasure.
SECTION V. JOY AND onmr.
IT must be observed, that the cessation of pleas ure affects the mind three ways. If it simply ceases after having continued a proper time, the effect is indiflerence ; if it be abruptly broken off, there ensues an uneasy sense called disappointment; if the object be so totally lost that there is no chance of enjoying it again, a passion arises in the mind which is called grief. Now there is none of these, not even grief, which is the most violent, that I think has any resemblance to positive pain. The person who grieves suffers his passion to grow upon him; he indulges he loves it: but this never happens in the case of actual pain, which no man ever willingly endured for any considerable time. That
grief should be willingly endured, though far from simply pleasing sensation, not so difficult to be
? ? ? a
is
it,
? ON THE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL.
understood. It is the nature of grief to keep its object perpetually in its eye, to present it in its most
pleasurable views, to repeat all the circumstances that attend even to the last minuteness; to go back to every particular enjoyment, to dwell upon each, and to find thousand new perfections in all, that were not sufficiently understood before; in grief, the pleasure still uppermost; and the affliction we
suffer has no resemblance to absolute pain, which always odious, and which we endeavor to shake off as soon as possible. The Odyssey of Homer, which abounds with so many natural and affecting images, has none more striking than those which Menelaus raises of the ealamitous fate of his friends, and his Own manner of feeling it. He owns, indeed, that he
often gives himself some intermission from such mel ancholy reflections; but he observes, to_o, that, mel ancholy as they are, they give him pleasure.
'AX7\' Pp. 1rr;: 1r:. ivras pi>> ddvpe? pcvos xal dxulaw, Hohhcixls ('ll peyripolzrc xafirjun/or ? ],uer? 'poun1/,
'A)\)\o're ]. te'v re . yo'cp ? pe'va 'rs'p1ropaI. , /|')\)\o1'c afirc
Ha150p. aL' aid/qpoc 6% xe? pos xpvepoio ydoco.
Hom. Od. A. I00.
" Still in short intervals of pleasing woe, Regardful of the friendly dues owe, to the glorious dead, forever dear, Indulge the tribute of a graze;/id tear. "
On the other hand, when we recover our health, when we escape an imminent danger, with joy that we are affected? The sense on these occasions
far from that smooth and voluptuous satisfaction which the assured prospect of pleasure bestows. The delight which arises from the modifications of pain confesses the stock from whence sprung, in its solid, strong, and severe nature.
? ? ? it
it
I
is
is
I
is
a
it,
8'
is
? 110
ON THE susmmn AND BEAUTIFUL.
SECTION VI.
or THE PASSIONS WHICH BELONG T0 SELF-PRESERVATION.
Mosr of the ideas which are capable of making a powerful impression on the mind, whether simply of pain or pleasure, or of the modifications of those, may be reduced very nearly to these two heads, seZ_f-pres ervation, and society ; to the ends of one or the other of which all our passions are calculated to answer. The passions which concern self-preservation, turn mostly on pain or danger. The ideas of pain, sick ness, and death, fill the mind with strong emotions of horror ; but life and health, though they put us in a capacity of being affected with pleasure, make no such impression by the simple enjoyment. The pas sions therefore which are conversant about the pres ervation of the individual turn chiefly on pain and danger, and they are the most powerful of all the
? passions.
SECTION VII.
OF THE SUBLIME.
WHATEVER is fitted in any sort to excite the ideas of pain and danger, that is to say, whatever is in any sort terrible, or is conversant about terrible objects, or operates in a manner analogous to terror, is a source of the sublime ; that productive of the strongest emotion which the mind capable of feel ing. say the strongest emotion, because am sat isfied the ideas of pain are much more powerful than those which enter on the part of pleasure. Without all doubt, the torments which we may be made to
? ? I
I
is is
is, it
? on run susLmn AND BEAUTIFUL. 111
suffer are much greater in their effect on the body and mind, than any pleasures which the most learned voluptuary could suggest, or than_the liveliest imagi nation, and the most sound and exquisitely sensible body, could enjoy. Nay, I am in great doubt whether any man could be found, who would earn a life of the most perfect satisfaction at the price of ending it in the torments, which justice inflicted in a few hours on the late unfortunate regicide in France. But as pain is stronger in its operation than pleasure, so death is in general a much more affecting idea than pain ; because there are very few pains, however ex quisite, which are not preferred to death : nay, what generally makes pain itself, if I may say so, more painful, that considered as an emissary of this king of terrors. When danger or pain press too near ly, they are incapable of giving any delight, and are simply terrible; but at certain distances, and with certain modifications, they may be, and they are, de lightful, as we every day experience. The cause of this shall endeavor to investigate hereafter.
SECTION VIII.
from the natural pleasures or pains which belong to these several tastes ; but then the power of distinguish ing between the natural and the acquired relish re mains to the very last. A man frequently comes to prefer the taste of tobacco to that of sugar, and the flavor of vinegar to that of milk; but this makes no confusion in tastes, whilst he is sensible that the to bacco and vinegar are not sweet, and whilst he knows that habit alone has reconciled his palate to these alien pleasures. Even with such a person we may speak, and with sufficient precision, concerning tastes. But
? ? ? ? 84 INTRODUCTION.
should any man be found who declares, that to him tobacco has a taste like sugar, and that he cannot distinguish between milk and vinegar; or that to bacco and vinegar are sweet, milk bitter, and sugar sour; we immediately conclude that the organs of this man are out of order, and that his palate is ut terly vitiated. We are as far from conferring with such a person upon tastes, as from reasoning concern ing the relations of quantity with one who should deny that all the parts together were equal to the whole. We do not call a man of this kind wrong in his notions, but absolutely mad. Exceptions of this sort, in either way, do not at all impeach our general rule, nor make us conclude that men have various principles concerning the relations of quantity or the taste of things. So that when it is said, taste cannot
be disputed, it can only mean, that no one can strict ly answer what pleasure or pain some particular man may find from the taste of some particular thing. This indeed cannot be disputed; but we may dispute, and with sufficient clearness too, concerning the things which are naturally pleasing or disagreeable to the sense. But when we talk of any peculiar or acquired relish, then we must know the habits, the prejudices, or the distempers of this particular man, and we must draw our conclusion from those.
This agreement of mankind is not confined to the
taste solely. _ The principle of pleasure derived from sight is the same in all. Light is more pleasing than darkness. Summer, when the earth is clad in green, when the heavens are serene and bright, is more agreeable than winter, when everything makes a different appearance. I never remember that any thing beautiful, whether a man, a beast, a bird, or a
? ? ? ? '
0N rAs'rR.
85
plant, was ever shown, though it were to a hundred people, that they did not all immediately agree that it was beautiful, though some might have thought that it fell short of their expectation, or that other things were still finer. I believe no man thinks a goose to be more beautiful than a swan, or imagines
that what they call a Friesland hen excels a pea cock. It must be observed too, that the pleasures of the sight are not near so complicated, and confused, and altered by unnatural habits and associations, as the pleasures of the taste are ; because the pleasures of the sight more commonly acquiesce in themselves; and are not so often altered by considerations which are independent of the sight itself. But things do not spontaneously present themselves to the palate as
they do to the sight; they are generally applied to either as food or as medicine and from the qualities which they possess for nutritive or medicinal purposes they often form the palate by degrees, and by force of these associations. Thus opium pleasing to Turks, on account of the agreeable delirium pro duces. Tobacco the delight of Dutchmen, as diffuses torpor and pleasing stupefaction. Fer mented spirits please our common people, because they banish care, and all consideration of future or present evils. All of these would lie absolutely neg
lected their properties had originally gone no further than the taste; but all these, together with tea and coffee, and some other things, have passed from the apothecary's shop to our tables, and were taken for health long before they were thought of for
The effect of the drug has made us use and frequent use, combined with the effect, has made the taste itself at last
? pleasure. frequently; agreeable
? ? it
it
it,
if
is
a
it
is
;
? 86 INTRODUCTION.
agreeable. But this does not in the least perplex our reasoning; because we distinguish to the last the acquired from the natural relish. In describing the taste of an unknown fruit, you would scarcely say that it had a sweet and pleasant flavor like tobacco, opium, or garlic, although you spoke to those who were in the constant use of these drugs, and had great pleasure in them. There is in all men a sufficient re membrance of the original natural causes of pleasure, to enable them to bring all things offered to their senses to that standard, and to regulate their feelings and opinions by it. Suppose one who had so vitiated his palate as to take more. pleasure in the taste of opium than in that of butter or honey, to be presented with a bolus of squills; there is hardly any doubt but that he would prefer the butter or honey to this nau seous morsel, or to any other bitter drug to which he
had not been accustomed ; which proves that his pal ate was naturally like that of other men in all things, that it is still like the palate of other men in many things, and only vitiated in some particular points. For in judging of any new thing, even of a taste similar to that which he has been formed by habit to like, he finds his palate affected in the natural man ner, and on the common principles. Thus the pleas ure of all the senses, of the sight, and even of the taste, that most ambiguous of the senses, is the same in all, high and low, learned and unlearned.
Besides _the ideas, with their annexed pains and pleasures, which are presented by the sense ; the mind of man possesses a sort of creative power of its own; either in representing at pleasure the im ages of things in the order and manner in which they were received by the senses, or in combining those
? ? ? ? on rasrn. 87
images in a new manner, and according to a different order. This power is called imagination ; and to this belongs whatever is called wit, fancy, invention, and the like. But it must be observed, that this power of the imagination is incapable of producing anything absolutely new; it can only vary the disposition of those ideas which it has received from the senses. Now the imagination is the most extensive province of pleasure and pain, as it is the region of our fears and our hopes, and of all our passions that are con nected with them; and whatever is calculated to af fect the imagination with these commanding ideas, by force of any original natural impression, must have the same power pretty equally over all men. For since the imagination is only the representation of the senses, it can only be pleased or displeased with the images, from the same principle on which the sense is
pleased or displeased with the realities; and conse quently there must be just as close an agreement in the imaginations as in the senses of men. A little at tention will convince us that this must of necessity be the case.
But in the imagination, besides the pain or pleasure arising from the properties of the natural object, a pleasure is perceived from the resemblance which the imitation has to the original : the imagination, I con ceive, can have no pleasure but what results from one or other of these causes. And these causes operate
pretty uniformly upon all men, because they operate
by principles in nature, and which are not derived
from any particular habits or advantages. Mr. Locke very justly and finely observes of wit, that it is chiefly conversant in tracing resemblances; he remarks, at the same time, that the business of judgment is rather in
? ? ? ? 88
INTRODUCTION.
'
finding differences. It may perhaps appear, on this supposition, that there is no material distinction be
tween the wit and the judgment, as they both seem to result from different operations of the same faculty of comparing. But in reality, whether they are or are not dependent on the same power of the mind, they diifer so very materially in many respects, that a per fect union of wit and judgment is one of the rarest things in the world. When two distinct objects are unlike to each other, it is only what we expect; things are in their common way; and therefore they make no impression on the imagination: but when two dis tinct objects have a resemblance, we are struck, we attend to them, and we are pleased. The mind of man has naturally a far greater alacrity and satisfac tion in tracing resemblances than in searching for dif ferences: because by making resemblances we produce new images ; we unite, we create, we enlarge our stock; but in making distinctions we offer no food at all to the imagination; the task itself is more severe and irk some, and what pleasure we derive from it is some
thing of a negative and indirect nature. A piece of news is told me in the morning; this, merely as a piece of news, as a fact added to my stock, gives me some pleasure. In the evening I find there was noth ing in it. What do I gain by this, but the dissatisfac tion to find that I had been imposed upon ? Hence it is that men are much more naturally inclined to belief than to incredulity. And it is upon this principle, that the most ignorant and barbarous nations have frequent ly excelled in similitudes, comparisons, metaphors, and allegories, who have been weak and backward in dis
? and sorting their ideas. And it is for a reason of this kind, that Homer and the oriental writ
tinguishing
? ? ? ON TASTE.
89
ers, though very fond of similitudes, and though they often strike out such as are truly admirable, seldom take care to have them exact; that they are taken with the general resemblance, they paint strongly, and they take no notice of the difference which may be found between the things compared.
Now as the pleasure of resemblance that which principally flatters the imagination, all men are near equal in this point, as far as their knowledge of the
things represented or compared extends. The prin ciple of this knowledge very much accidental, as depends upon experience and observation, and not on the strength or weakness of any natural faculty and
from this difference in knowledge, that what we commonly, though with no great exactness, call dif ference in taste proceeds. man to whom sculpture
new, sees barber's block, or some ordinary piece of statuary; he immediately struck and pleased, because he sees something like human figure and, entirely taken up with this likeness, he does not at all attend to its defects. No person, believe, at the first time of seeing piece of imitation ever did. Some time after, we suppose that this novice lights upon a more artificial work of the same nature; he now begins to look with contempt on what he ad mired at first; not that he admired even then for its unlikeness to man, but for that general though inaccurate resemblance which bore to the human figure. What he admired at different times in these so different figures, strictly the same and though his knowledge improved, his taste not altered. Hitherto his mistake was from want of knowledge in art, and this arose from his inexperience but he may be still deficient from want of knowledge nature.
? ? ? a
is
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it
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is ; in
is
it
;
is
is
a
is a
I
;
is,
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it is
ly
a
;
a
it
? 90 INTRODUCTION.
For it is possible that the man in question may stop here, and that the masterpiece of a great hand may please him no more than the middling performance of a vulgar artist ; and this not for want of better or higher relish, but because all men do not observe with sufficient accuracy on the human figure to enable them to judge properly of an imitation of it. And that the critical taste does not depend upon a superior princi ple in men, but upon superior knowledge, may appear from several instances. The story of the ancient paint er and the shoemaker is very well known. The shoe maker set the painter right with regard to some mistakes he had made in the shoe of one of his fig ures, which the painter, who had not made such ac curate observations on shoes, and was content with a general resemblance, had never observed. But this was no impeachment to the taste of the painter; it only showed some want of knowledge in the art of
making shoes. Let us imagine, that an anatomist had come into the painter's working-room. His piece
is in general well done, the figure in question in a good attitude, and the parts well adjusted to their various movements; yet the anatomist, critical in his art, may observe the swell of some muscle not quite just in the peculiar action of the figure. Here the anat omist. observes what the painter had not observed; and he passes by what the shoemaker had remarked. But a want of the last critical knowledge in anatomy no more reflected on the natural good taste of the painter, or of any common observer of his piece, than the want of an exact knowledge in the formation of a shoe. A fine piece of a decollated head of St. John the Baptist was shown to a Turkish emperor: he praised many things, but he observed one defect:
? ? ? ? on usrs. 91
he observed that the skin did not shrink from the wounded part of the neck. The sultan on this occasion, though his observation was very just, dis covered no more natural taste than the painter who executed this piece, or than a thousand European connoisseurs, who probably never would have made the same observation. His Turkish majesty had indeed been well acquainted with that terrible spec tacle, which the others could only have represented in their imagination. On the subject of their dislike there is a difference between all these people, aris ing from the different kinds and degrees of their
? but there is something in common to the painter, the shoemaker, the anatomist, and the Turkish emperor, the pleasure arising from a nat ural object, so far as each perceives it justly imitated; the satisfaction in seeing an agreeable figure; the sympathy proceeding from a striking and affecting incident. So far as taste is natural, it is nearly common to all.
In poetry, and other pieces of imagination, the same parity may be observed. It is true, that one man is charmed with Don Bellianis, and reads Virgil coldly; whilst another is transported with the jEneid, and leaves Don Bellianis to children. These two men seem to have a taste very different from each other; but in fact they differ very little. In both these pieces, which inspire such opposite sentiments, a tale exciting admiration is told; both are full of action, both are passionate; in both are voyages, battles,
knowledge;
and continual changes of fortune. The admirer of Don Bellianis perhaps does not under stand the refined language of the 1Eneid, who, if it was degraded into the style of the " Pilgrim's Pro
triumphs,
? ? ? 92 INTRODUCTION.
gress," might feel it in all its energy, on the same principle which made him an admirer of Don Bel lianis.
In his favorite author he is not shocked with the continual breaches of probability, the confusion of times, the offences against manners, the trampling upon geography; for he knows nothing of geography and chronology, and he has never examined the grounds of probability. He perhaps reads of a ship wreck on the coast of Bohemia: wholly taken with so interesting an event, and only solicitous for the fate of his hero, he is not in the least troubled at this extravagant blunder. For why should he be shocked at a shipwreck on the coast of Bohemia, who does not know but that Bohemia may be an island in the Atlantic ocean? and after all, what reflection is this on the natural good taste of the person here supposed ?
So far then as taste belongs to the imagination, its principle is the same in all men; there is no differ ence in the manner of their being affected, nor in the causes of the affection ; but in the degree there is a difference, which arises from two causes principally; either from a greater degree of natural sensibility, or from a closer and longer attention to the object. To illustrate this by the procedure of the senses, in which the same diiference is'found, let us suppose a very smooth marble table to be set before two men; they both perceive it to be smooth, and they are both pleased with it because of this quality. So far they agree. But suppose another, and after that another table, the latter still smoother than the former, to be set before them. It is now very probable that these men, who are so agreed upon what is smooth, and
up
? ? ? ? ON zmsm. 93
in the pleasure from thence, will disagree when they come to settle which table has the advantage in point of polish. Here is indeed the great difference between tastes, when men come to compare the excess or diminution of things which are judged by degree and not by measure. Nor is it easy, when such a diiference arises, to settle the point, if the excess or diminution be not glaring. Ifwe differ in opinion about two quantities, we can have recourse to a com mon measure, which may decide the question with the utmost exactness; and this, I take it, is what
mathematical knowledge a greater certainty than any other. But in things whose excess is not judged by greater or smaller, as smoothness and roughness, hardness and softness, darkness and light, the shades of colors, all these are very easi ly distinguished when the difference is any way con siderable, but not when it is minute, for want of some common measures, which perhaps may never come to be discovered. In these nice cases, suppos ing the acuteness of the sense equal, the greater attention and habit in such things will have the
In the question about the tables, the marble-polisher will unquestionably determine the most accurately. But notwithstanding this want of a common measure for settling many disputes relative to the senses, and their representative the imagination, we find that the principles are the same in all, and that there is no disagreement until we come to examine into the pre-eminence or diiference of things, which brings us within the province of the
judgment.
So long as we are conversant with the sensible
qualities of things, hardly any more than the imagi
gives
? advantage.
? ? ? 94 INTRODUCTION.
nation seems concerned; little more also than the imagination seems concerned when the passions are
because by the force of natural sym pathy they are felt in all men without any recourse to reasoning, and their justness recognized in every breast. Love, grief, fear, anger, joy, all these pas sions have, in their turns, affected every mind; and they do not affect it in an arbitrary or casual man ner, but upon certain, natural, and uniform princi ples. But as many of the works of imagination are not confined to the representation of sensible objects, nor to efforts upon the passions, but extend them selves to the manners, the characters, the actions, and designs of men, their relations, their virtues and vices, they come within the province of the judg ment, which is improved by attention, and by the habit of reasoning. All these make a very consider able part of what are considered as the objects of taste; and Horace sends us to the schools of phi losophy and the world for our instruction in them. Whatever certainty is to be acquired in morality and the science of life; just the same degree of cer tainty have we in what relates to them in works of imitation. Indeed it is for the most part in our skill in manners, and in the observances of time and place, and of decency in general, which is only to be learned in those schools to which Horace recom mends us, that what is called taste, by way of dis tinction, consists: and which is in reality no other than a more refined judgment. On the whole, it appears to me, that what is called taste, in its most
general acceptation, is not a simple idea, but is partly made up of a perception of the primary pleasures of sense, of the secondary pleasures of the imagination,
represented,
? ? ? ? 0N TASTE. 95
and of the conclusions of the reasoning faculty, con cerning the various relations of these, and concern ing the human passions, manners, and actions. All this is requisite to form taste, and the groundwork of all these is the same in the human mind; for as the senses are the great originals of all our ideas, and consequently of all our pleasures, if they are not 1mcertain and arbitrary, the whole groundwork of taste is common to all, and therefore there is a suffi cient foundation for a conclusive reasoning on these matters.
Whilst we consider taste merely according to its
nature and species, we shall find its principles entirely uniform; but the degree in which these principles prevail, in the several individuals of mankind, is al together as different as the principles themselves are similar. For sensibility and judgment, which are the qualities that compose what we commonly call a taste, vary exceedingly in various people. From a defect in the former of these qualities arises a want of taste ; a weakness in the latter constitutes a wrong or a bad one. There are some men formed with feelings so blunt, with tempers so cold and phlegmatic, that they can hardly be said to be awake during the whole course of their lives. Upon such persons the most striking objects make but a faint and obscure impres sion. There are others so continually in the agitation of gross and merely sensual pleasures, or so occupied in the low drudgery of avarice, or so heated in the chase of honors and distinction, that their minds, which had been used continually to the storms of these violent and tempestuous passions, can hardly be put in motion by the delicate and refined play of the imagination. These men, though from a different
? ? ? ? 96 INTRODUCTION.
cause, become as stupid and insensible as the former; but whenever either of these happen to be struck with
any natural elegance or greatness, or with these qual ities in any work of art, they are moved upon the same principle.
The cause of a wrong taste is a defect of judgment. And this may arise from a natural weakness of un derstanding (in whatever the strength of that faculty may consist), or, which is much more commonly the case, it may arise from a want of a proper and well directed exercise, which alone can make it strong and ready. Besides, that ignorance, inattention, prejudice, rashness, levity, obstiuacy, in short, all those passions, and all those vices, which pervert the judgment in other matters, prejudice it no less in this its more re fined and elegant province. These causes produce different opinions upon everything which is an object of the understanding, without inducing us to suppose that there are no settled principles of reason. And indeed, on the whole, one may observe, that there is rather less difference upon matters of taste among mankind, than upon most of those which depend upon the naked reason; and that men are far better agreed on the excellence of a description in Virgil, than on the truth or falsehood of a theory of Aristotle.
A rectitude of judgment in the arts, which may be
called a good taste, does in a great measure
upon sensibility ; because if the mind has no bent. to the pleasures of the imagination, it will never apply itself sufficiently to works of that species to acquire a competent knowledge in them. But though a de gree of sensibility is requisite to form a good judg ment, yet a good judgment does not necessarily arise from a quick sensibility of pleasure; it frequently
? depend
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happens that a very poor judge, merely by force of a greater complexional sensibility, is more affected by a very poor piece, than the best judge by the most perfect; for as everything new, extraordinary, grand, or passionate, is well calculated to affect such a per son, and that the faults do not affect him, his pleas ure is more pure and unmixed; and as it is merely a pleasure of the imagination, it is much higher than any which is derived from a rectitude of the judg ment; the judgment is for the greater part employed in throwing stumbling-blocks in the way of the im agination, in dissipating the scenes of its enchant ment, and in tying us down to the disagreeable yoke of our reason: for almost the only pleasure that men have in judging better than others, consists in a sort of conscious pride and superiority, which arises from thinking rightly; but then this is an indirect pleasure, a pleasure which does not immediately re sult from the object which is under contemplation. In the morning of our days, when the senses are un worn and tender, when the whole man is awake in every part, and the gloss of novelty fresh upon all the objects that surround us, how lively at that time are our sensations, but how false and inaccurate the
? I despair of ever re ceiving the same degree of pleasure from the most excellent performances of genius, which I felt at that
age from pieces which my present judgment regards as trifling and contemptible. Every trivial cause of pleasure is apt to affect the man of too sanguine a complexion: his appetite is too keen to suffer his taste to be delicate; and he is in all respects what Ovid says of himself in love,
Molle meum levibus cor est violabile tclis,
Et semper causa est, cur ego semper amem. VOL. 1. 7
judgments we form of things 1
? ? ? 98 INTRODUCTION.
One of this character can never be a refined judge; never what the comic poet calls elegans formarum spectator. The excellence and force of a composition must always be imperfectly estimated from its effect on the minds of any, except we know the temper and character of those minds. The most powerful effects of poetry and music have been displayed, and per haps are still displayed, where these arts are but in a very low and imperfect state.
The rude hearer is affected by the principles which operate in these arts even in their rudest condition ; and he is not skilful enough to perceive the defects. But as the arts advance towards their perfection, the science of criti cism advances with equal pace, and the pleasure of judges is frequently interrupted by the faults which are discovered in the most finished compositions.
Before I leave this subject, I cannot help taking notice of an opinion which many persons entertain, as if the taste were a separate faculty of the mind, and distinct from the judgment and imagination; a species of instinct, by which we are struck naturally, and at the first glance, without any previous reasoning, with the excellences or the defects of a composition. So far as the imagination and the passions are con cerned, I believe it true, that the reason is little con sulted ; but where disposition, where decorum, where congruity are concerned, in short, wherever the best taste differs from the worst, I am convinced that the understanding operates, and nothing else; and its operation is in reality far from being always sudden, or, when it is sudden, it is often far from being right. Men of the best taste by consideration come frequently to change these early and precipitate judg ments, which the mind, from its aversion to neu trality and doubt, loves to form on the spot. It is
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known that the taste (whatever it is) is improved exactly as we improve our judgment, by extending our knowledge, by a steady attention to our object, and by frequent exercise. They who have not taken these methods, if their taste decides quickly, it is always uncertainly; and their quickness is owing to
their presumption and rashness, and not to any sud den irradiation, that in a moment dispels all darkness from their minds. But they who have cultivated that species of knowledge which makes the object of taste, by degrees and habitually attain not only a soundness but a readiness of judgment, as men do by the same methods on all other occasions. At first they are obliged to spell, but at last they read with ease and with celerity; but this celerity of its operation is no proof that the taste is a distinct fac ulty. Nobody, I believe, has attended the course of a discussion which turned upon matters within the sphere of mere naked reason, but must have observed the extreme readiness with which the whole process of the argument is carried on, the grounds dis covered, the objections raised and answered, and the
conclusions drawn from premises, with a quickness altogether as great as the taste can be supposed to work with; and yet where nothing but plain reason either is or can be suspected to operate. To multi ply principles for every different appearance is use less, and unphilosophical too in a high degree.
This matter might be pursued much farther; but it is not the extent of the subject which must pre scribe our bounds, for what subject does not branch out to infinity? It is the nature of our particular scheme, and the single point of view in which we consider which ought to put stop to our re
searches.
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PHILOSOPHICALINQUIRY mro THE ORIGIN or OUR IDEAS or
THE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL.
PART I.
SECTION I. NOVELTY.
first and the simplest emotion which we dis THEcover in the human mind is curiosity. By curi osity I mean whatever desire we have for, or what ever pleasure we take in, novelty. We see children perpetually running from place to place, to hunt out something new: they catch with great eagerness, and with very little choice, at whatever comes before them; their attention is engaged by everything, because everything has, in that stage of life, the charm of novelty to recommend it. But as those things, which engage us merely by their novelty, can not attach us for any length of time, curiosity is the most superficial of all the affections; it changes its object perpetually; it has an appetite which is very sharp, but very easily satisfied; and it has always an
? of giddiness, restlessness, and anxiety. Curiosity, from its nature, is a very active principle ; it quickly runs over the greatest part of its objects, and soon exhausts the variety which is commonly to
be met with in nature ; the same things make frequent returns, and they return with less and less of any
appearance
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agreeable effect. In short, the occurrences of life, by the time we come to know it a little, would be inca pable of affecting the mind with any other sensations than those of loathing and weariness, if many things were not adapted to affect the mind by means of other powers besides novelty in them, and of other passions besides curiosity in ourselves. These pow ers and passions shall be considered in their place. But, whatever these powers are, or upon what princi ple soever they affect the mind, it is absolutely neces sary that they should not be exerted in those things which a daily and vulgar use have brought into a stale unaffecting familiarity. Some degree of nov elty must be one of the materials in every instru ment which works upon the mind; and curiosity blends itself more or less with all our passions.
SECTION II. PAIN AND PLEASURE.
IT seems, then, necessary towards moving the pas sions of people advanced in life to any consider able degree, that the objects designed for that pur pose, besides their being in some measure new, should be capable of exciting pain or pleasure from other causes. Pain and pleasure are simple ideas, incapable of definition. People are not liable to be mistaken in their feelings, but they are very fre quently wrong in the names they give them, and in their reasonings about them. Many are of opinion,
that pain arises necessarily from the removal of some pleasure; as they think pleasure does from the ceas ing or diminution of some pain. For my part, I am
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rather inclined to imagine, that pain and pleasure, in their most simple and natural manner of affecting, are each of a positive nature, and by no means neces sarily dependent on each other for their existence. The human mind is often, and I think it is for the most part, in a state neither of pain nor pleasure, which I call a state of indifference. When I am car ried from this state into a state of actual pleasure, it does not appear necessary that I should pass through the medium of any sort of pain. If in such a state of indifference, or ease, or tranquillity, or call it what you please, you were to be suddenly entertained with a concert of music; or suppose some object of a fine shape, and bright, lively colors, to be presented be fore you; or imagine your smell is gratified with the fragrance of a rose; or without any previous thirst, you were to drink of some pleasant kind of wine, or to taste of some sweetmeat without being hungry; in all the several senses, of hearing, smell ing, and tasting, you undoubtedly find pleasure; yet, inquire into the state of your mind previous to these gratifications, you will hardly tell me that they found you in any kind of pain; or, having satis fied these several senses with their several pleasures, will you say that any pain has succeeded, though the pleasure
absolutely over? Suppose, on the other man in the same state of indifference to
hand,
receive
tion, or to have his ears wounded with some harsh and grating sound; here no removal of pleasure; and yethere felt, in every sense which alfected, a pain very distinguishable. It may be said, perhaps, that the pain in these eases had its rise from the removal of the pleasure which the man enjoyed
violent blow, or to drink of some bitter po
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before, though that pleasure was of so low a degree as to be perceived only by the removal. But this seems to me a subtilty that is not discoverable in nature. For previous to the pain, do not feel any actual pleasure, have no reason to judge that any such thing exists; since pleasure only pleasure as
felt. The same may be said of pain, and with equal
reason. can never persuade myself that pleasure and pain are mere relations, which can only exist as they are contrasted but think can discern clearly that there are positive pains and pleasures, which do not at all depend upon each other. Nothing more certain to my own feelings than this. There noth ing which can distinguish in my mind with more clearness than the three states, of indifference, of pleasure, and of pain. Every one of these can per ceive without any sort of idea of its relation to any thing else. Oaius afflicted with fit of the colic; this man actually in pain stretch Oaius upon the rack, he will feel much greater pain: but does this pain of the rack arise from the removal of any pleas ure? or the fit of the colic pleasure or pain
iust as we are pleased to consider it?
SECTION III.
THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE REMOVAL OF PAIN AND POSITIVE PLEASURE.
WE shall carry this proposition yet step further. We shall venture to propose, that pain and pleasure are not only not necessarily dependent for their existence on their mutual diminution or removal, but that, in reality, the diminution or ceasing of pleasure does not
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operate like positive pain; and that the removal or diminution of pain, in its effect, has very little re semblance to positive pleasure! ' The former of these propositions will, I believe, be much more readily al lowed than the latter ; because it is very evident that
when it has run its career, sets us down very nearly where it found us. Pleasure of every kind quickly satisfies; and, when it is over, we re lapse into indiife_rence, or, rather, we fall into a soft tranquillity which is tinged with the agreeable color of the former sensation. I own it is not at first view so apparent that the removal of a great pain does not resemble positive pleasure : but let us recollect in what state we have found our minds upon escaping some im minent danger, or on being released from the severity of some cruel pain. _ We have on such occasions found, if I am not much mistaken, the temper of our minds in a tenor very remote from that which attends the pres ence of positive pleasure; we have found them in a state of much sobriety, impressed with a sense of awe, in a sort of tranquillity shadowed with horror. The fashion of the countenance and the gesture of the body on such occasions is so correspondent to this state of mind, that any person, a stranger to the cause of the appearance, would rather judge us under some consternation, than in the enjoyment of anything like positive pleasure.
'09 3' draw dvSp' tin; vrvxn/1'; )\e? B_r;, 50'1" ivl mirpy <I>(Ivra Karaxrsivas', ('1')\)\mv fgfxero dfipov,
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Iliad. S2. 480.
* Mr. Locke [Essay on Human Understanding, l. ii. c. 20, sect. 16,] thinks that the removal or lessening of a pain is considered and oper ates as a pleasure, and the loss or diminishing of pleasure as a pain It is this opinion which we consider here.
? ? ? ? 106 0N THE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL.
" As when a wretch, who, conscious of his crime, Pursued for murder from his native clime,
Just gains some frontier, breathless, pale, amazed; All gaze, all wonder ! "
This striking appearance of the man whom Homer supposes to have just escaped an imminent danger, the sort of mixed passion of terror and surprise, with which he affects the spectators, paints very strongly the manner in which we find ourselves affected upon occasions any way similar. For when we have suf fered from any violent emotion, the mind naturally continues in something like the same condition, after the cause which first produced it has ceased to oper ate. The tossing of the sea remains after the storm; and when this remain of horror has entirely subsided, all the passion which the accident raised subsides along with it; and the mind returns to its usual state of indifference. In short, pleasure (I mean anything either in the inward sensation, or in the outward appearance, like pleasure from a positive cause) has never, I imagine, its origin from the re
moval of pain or danger.
SECTION IV.
OF DELIGHT AND PLEASURE, AS OPPOSED TO EACH OTHER.
BUT shall we therefore say, that the removal of pain or its diminution is always simply painful? or affirm that the cessation or the lessening of pleasure is always attended itself with a pleasure? By no means. What I advance is no more than this ; first, that there are pleasures and pains of a positive and
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107
independent nature; and, secondly, that the feeling which results from the ceasing or diminution of pain does not bear a sufficient resemblance to positive pleasure, to have it considered as of the same nature,
or to entitle it to be known by the same name ; and thirdly, that upon the same principle the removal or qualification of pleasure has no resemblance to posi tive pain. It is certain that the former feeling (the removal or moderation of pain) has something in it far from distressing, or disagreeable in its nature. This feeling, in many cases so agreeable, but in all so different from positive pleasure, has no name which I know; but that hinders not its being a very real one, and very different from all others. It is most cer tain, that every species of satisfaction or pleasure, how different soever in its manner of affecting, is of a positive nature in the mind of him who feels it. The affection is undoubtedly positive ; but the cause may be, as in this case it certainly sort of priva tion. And very reasonable that we should dis tinguish by some term two things so distinct in nature, as pleasure that such simply, and with out any relation, from that pleasure which cannot exist without relation, and that, too, relation to
pain. Very extraordinary would be, these affec tions, so distinguishable in their causes, so different in their effects, should be confounded with each other, because vulgar use has ranged them under the same general title. Whenever have occasion to speak of this species of relative pleasure, call delight and
shall take the best care can to use that word in no other sense. am satisfied the word not commonly used in this 'appropriated signification; but thought better to take up word already
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known, and to limit its signification, than to intro duce a new one, which would not perhaps incorpo rate so well with the language. I should never have presumed the least alteration in our words, if the nature of the language, framed for the purposes of business rather than those of philosophy, and the nature of my subject, that leads me out of the common track of discourse, did not in a manner necessitate me to it. I shall make use of this liberty with all possible caution. As I make use of the
word delight to express the sensation which accompa nies the removal of pain or danger, so, when I speak of positive pleasure, I shall for the most part call it simply pleasure.
SECTION V. JOY AND onmr.
IT must be observed, that the cessation of pleas ure affects the mind three ways. If it simply ceases after having continued a proper time, the effect is indiflerence ; if it be abruptly broken off, there ensues an uneasy sense called disappointment; if the object be so totally lost that there is no chance of enjoying it again, a passion arises in the mind which is called grief. Now there is none of these, not even grief, which is the most violent, that I think has any resemblance to positive pain. The person who grieves suffers his passion to grow upon him; he indulges he loves it: but this never happens in the case of actual pain, which no man ever willingly endured for any considerable time. That
grief should be willingly endured, though far from simply pleasing sensation, not so difficult to be
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understood. It is the nature of grief to keep its object perpetually in its eye, to present it in its most
pleasurable views, to repeat all the circumstances that attend even to the last minuteness; to go back to every particular enjoyment, to dwell upon each, and to find thousand new perfections in all, that were not sufficiently understood before; in grief, the pleasure still uppermost; and the affliction we
suffer has no resemblance to absolute pain, which always odious, and which we endeavor to shake off as soon as possible. The Odyssey of Homer, which abounds with so many natural and affecting images, has none more striking than those which Menelaus raises of the ealamitous fate of his friends, and his Own manner of feeling it. He owns, indeed, that he
often gives himself some intermission from such mel ancholy reflections; but he observes, to_o, that, mel ancholy as they are, they give him pleasure.
'AX7\' Pp. 1rr;: 1r:. ivras pi>> ddvpe? pcvos xal dxulaw, Hohhcixls ('ll peyripolzrc xafirjun/or ? ],uer? 'poun1/,
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" Still in short intervals of pleasing woe, Regardful of the friendly dues owe, to the glorious dead, forever dear, Indulge the tribute of a graze;/id tear. "
On the other hand, when we recover our health, when we escape an imminent danger, with joy that we are affected? The sense on these occasions
far from that smooth and voluptuous satisfaction which the assured prospect of pleasure bestows. The delight which arises from the modifications of pain confesses the stock from whence sprung, in its solid, strong, and severe nature.
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ON THE susmmn AND BEAUTIFUL.
SECTION VI.
or THE PASSIONS WHICH BELONG T0 SELF-PRESERVATION.
Mosr of the ideas which are capable of making a powerful impression on the mind, whether simply of pain or pleasure, or of the modifications of those, may be reduced very nearly to these two heads, seZ_f-pres ervation, and society ; to the ends of one or the other of which all our passions are calculated to answer. The passions which concern self-preservation, turn mostly on pain or danger. The ideas of pain, sick ness, and death, fill the mind with strong emotions of horror ; but life and health, though they put us in a capacity of being affected with pleasure, make no such impression by the simple enjoyment. The pas sions therefore which are conversant about the pres ervation of the individual turn chiefly on pain and danger, and they are the most powerful of all the
? passions.
SECTION VII.
OF THE SUBLIME.
WHATEVER is fitted in any sort to excite the ideas of pain and danger, that is to say, whatever is in any sort terrible, or is conversant about terrible objects, or operates in a manner analogous to terror, is a source of the sublime ; that productive of the strongest emotion which the mind capable of feel ing. say the strongest emotion, because am sat isfied the ideas of pain are much more powerful than those which enter on the part of pleasure. Without all doubt, the torments which we may be made to
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suffer are much greater in their effect on the body and mind, than any pleasures which the most learned voluptuary could suggest, or than_the liveliest imagi nation, and the most sound and exquisitely sensible body, could enjoy. Nay, I am in great doubt whether any man could be found, who would earn a life of the most perfect satisfaction at the price of ending it in the torments, which justice inflicted in a few hours on the late unfortunate regicide in France. But as pain is stronger in its operation than pleasure, so death is in general a much more affecting idea than pain ; because there are very few pains, however ex quisite, which are not preferred to death : nay, what generally makes pain itself, if I may say so, more painful, that considered as an emissary of this king of terrors. When danger or pain press too near ly, they are incapable of giving any delight, and are simply terrible; but at certain distances, and with certain modifications, they may be, and they are, de lightful, as we every day experience. The cause of this shall endeavor to investigate hereafter.
SECTION VIII.
