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.
Edmund Burke
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.
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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
? ? ? 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
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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,
'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
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? 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
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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.
or rm: PASSIONS wrncn snrono ro SOCIETY.
THE other head under which class our passions, is that of society, which may be divided into two sorts. 1. The society of the sexes, which answers the pur pose of propagation; and next, that more general society, which we have with men and with other animals, and which we may in some sort be said to have even with the inanimate world. The passions
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belonging to the preservation of the individual turn wholly on pain and danger: those which belong to generation have their origin in gratifications and pleas ures ; the pleasure most directly belonging to this pur pose is of a lively character, rapturous and violent, and confessedly the highest pleasure of sense; yet the absence of this so great an enjoyment scarce amounts to an uneasiness; and, except at particular times, I do not think it aifects at all. When men describe in what manner they are affected by pain and danger, they do not dwell on the pleasure of health and the comfort of security, and then lament the loss of these satisfactions: the whole turns upon the actual pains and horrors which they endure. But if you listen to the complaints of a forsaken lover, you observe that he insists largely on the pleasures which he enjoyed, or hoped to enjoy, and on the perfection of the ob
ject of his desires; it is the loss which is always up permost in his mind. The violent effects produced by love, which has sometimes been even wrought up to madness, is no objection to the rule which we seek to establish. When men have suffered their imagi nations to be long affected with any idea, it so wholly engrosses them as to shut out by degrees almost every other, and to break down every partition of the mind which would confine it. Any idea is sufficient for the purpose, as is evident from the infinite variety of causes, which give rise to madness: but this at most can only prove, that the passion of love is capa ble of producing very extraordinary effects, not that
its extraordinary emotions have any connection with "
positive pain.
? ? ? ? on THE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL. 113
SECTION IX.
THE FINAL CAUSE OF THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE PASSIONS BELONGING TO SELF-PRESERVATION, AND THOSE WHICH REGARD THE SOCIETY OF THE BEXES.
THE final cause of the difference in character be tween the passions which regard self-preservation, and those which are directed to the multiplication of the species, will illustrate the foregoing remarks yet further; and it imagine, worthy of observation even upon its own account. As the performance of our duties of every kind depends upon life, and the performing them with vigor and efficacy depends upon health, we are very strongly affected with whatever threatens the destruction of either: but as we were not made to acquiesce in life and health, the simple enjoyment of them not attended with any real pleasure, lest, satisfied with that, we should give our selves over to indolencc and inaction. On the other hand, the generation of mankind great purpose, and requisite that men should be animated to
the pursuit of by some great incentive. It there fore attended with very high pleasure; but as
by no means designed to be our constant business,
not fit that the absence of this pleasure should be attended with any considerable pain. The difference between men and brutes, in this point, seems to be remarkable. Men are at all times pretty equally dis posed to the pleasures of love, because they are to be guided by reason in the time and manner of indulg
ing them. Had any great pain arisen from the want
of this satisfaction, reason, am afraid, would find
great difficulties in the performance of its office. But vor. . 1.
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brutes that obey laws, in the execution of which their own reason has but little share, have their stated seasons; at such times it is not improbable that the sensation from the want is very troublesome, because the end must be then answered, or be missed in many, perhaps forever ; as the inclination returns only with
its season.
SECTION X. or BEAUTY.
THE passion which belongs to generation, merely as such, is lust only. This is evident in brutes, whose passions are more unmixed, and which pursue their purposes more directly than ours. The only distinction they observe with regard to their mates, is that of sex. It is true, that they stick severally to their own species in preference to all others. But this preference, I imagine, does not arise from any sense of beauty which they find in their species, as Mr. Addison supposes, but from a law of some other kind, to which they are subject; and this we may fairly conclude, from their apparent want of choice amongst those objects to which the barriers of their
species have confined them. But man, who is a crea ture adapted to a greater variety and intricacy of relation, connects with the general passion the idea of some social qualities, which direct and heighten the appetite which he has in common with all other animals; and as he is not designed like them to live at large, it is fit that he should have some thing to create a preference, and fix his choice ; and this in general should be some sensible quality; as no other can so quickly, so powerfully, or so surely
? ? ? ? on THE susumn AND BEAUTIFUL. 115
produce its effect. The object therefore of this mixed passion, which we call love, is the beauty of the sex. Men are carried to the sex in general, as it is the sex, and by the common law of nature ; but they are attached to particulars by personal beauty. I call beauty a social quality; for where women and men, and not only they, but when other animals give us a sense of joy and pleasure in beholding them
(and there are many that do so), they inspire us with sen
timents of tenderness and affection towards their persons ; we like to have them near us, and we enter willingly into a kind of relation with them, unless we should have strong reasons to the contrary. But to what end, in many cases, this was designed, I am unable to discover; for I see no greater reason for a connection between man and several animals who are attired in so engaging a manner, than between him and some others who entirely want this attraction, or possess it in a far weaker degree. But it is probable that Providence did not make even this distinction, but with a view to some great end ; though we can not perceive distinctly what it as his wisdom
not our wisdom, nor our ways his ways.
T N XI. SOCIETY AND SOLITUDE.
THE second branch of the social passions that which administers to society in general. With regard to this, observe, that society, merely as society,
without any" particular heightenings, gives us no pos itive pleasure in the enjoyment; but absolute and entire solitude, that the total and perpetual exclu
? ? ? is,
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? 116 ON THE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL.
sion from all society, is as great a positive pain as can almost be conceived. Therefore in the balance be tween the pleasure of general society, and the pain of absolute solitude, pain is the predominant idea. But the pleasure of any particular social enjoyment out weighs very considerably the uneasiness caused by the want of that particular enjoyment; so that the strongest sensations relative to the habitudes ofpar ticular society are sensations of pleasure. Good com pany, lively conversations, and the endearments of friendship, fill the mind with great pleasure ; a tem porary solitude, on the other hand, is itself agreeable. This may perhaps prove that we are creatures de signed for contemplation as well as action; since solitude as well as society has its pleasures; as from the former observation we may discern, that an entire life of solitude contradicts the purposes of our being, since death itself is scarcely an idea of more terror.
'
UNDER this denomination of society, the passions are of a complicated kind, and branch out into a vari ety of forms, agreeably to that variety of ends they are to serve in the great chain of society. The three principal links in this chain are sympathy, imitation, and ambition.
? SECTION XII. SYMPATHY, IMITATION, AND A'MIBITION
? ? ? on THE SUBLIME Ann BEAUTIFUL.
SECTION XIII. BYMPATHY.
117
IT is by the first of these passions that we enter into the concerns of others; that we are moved as they are moved, and are never suffered to be indif ferent spectators of almost anything which men can do or suffer. For sympathy must be considered as a sort of substitution, by which we are put into the place of another man, and affected in many respects as he is affected : so that this passion may either par take of the nature of those which regard self-preser vation, and turning upon pain may be a source of the sublime; or it may turn upon ideas of
and then whatever has been said of the social affec tions, whether they regard society in general, or only
some particular modes of may be applicable here. by this principle chiefly that poetry, painting,
and other affecting arts, transfuse their passions from one breast to another, and are often capable of graft ing delight on wretchedness, misery, and death itself. It common observation, that objects which in the reality would shock, are in tragical, and such like representations, the source of very high species of
? This, taken as fact, has been the cause of much reasoning. The satisfaction has been com monly attributed, first, to the comfort we receive in
considering that so melancholy story no more than fiction and, next, to the contemplation of our own freedom from the evils which we see represented.
am afraid practice much too common in in quiries of this nature, to attribute the cause of feel ings which merely arise from the mechanical struc
pleasure.
pleasure;
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? ON THE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL.
ture of our bodies, or from the natural frame and constitution of our minds, to certain conclusions of the reasoning faculty on the objects presented to us; for I should imagine, that the influence of reason in producing our passions is nothing near so extensive as it is commonly believed.
'
SECTION XIV.
THE EFFECTS OF SYMPATHY IN THE DISTRESSES OF OTHERS
T0 examine this point concerning the effect of tragedy in a proper manner, we must previously con sider 11ow we are affected by the feelings of our fel low-creatures in circumstances of real distress. I am convinced we have a degree of delight, and that no small one, in the real misfortunes and pains of others; for let the affection be what it will in ap pearance, if it does not make us shun such objects, if on the contrary it induces us to approach them, if it makes us dwell upon them, in this case I conceive we must have a delight or pleasure of some species or other in contemplating objects of this kind. Do we not read the authentic histories of scenes of this nature with as much pleasure as romances or poems, where the incidents are fictitious? The prosperity of no empire, nor the grandeur of no king, can so agreeably affect in the reading, as the ruin of the state of Macedon, and the distress of its unhappy prince. Such a catastrophe touches us in history as much as the destruction of Troy does in fable. Our
delight, in cases of this kind, is very greatly height ened, if the sufferer be some excellent person who
? ? ? ? ON THE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL. 119
sinks under an unworthy fortune. Scipio and Cato are both virtuous characters ; but we are more deeply affected by the violent death of the one, and the ruin of the great cause he adhered to, than with the de served triumphs and uninterrupted prosperity of the other : for terror is a passion which always produces delight when it does not press too closely; and pity is a passion accompanied with pleasure, because it arises from love and social affection. Whenever we are formed by nature to any active purpose, the pas sion which animates us to it is attended with delight, or a pleasure of some kind, let the subject-matter be what it will; and as our Creator has designed that we shouldbe united by the bond of sympathy, he has
? that bond by a proportionable delight; and there most where our sympathy is most wanted,
-_---in the distresses of others. If this passion was
simply painful, we would shun with the greatest care all persons and places that could excite such a pas sion; as some, who are so far gone in indolence as not to endure any strong impression, actually do. But the case is widely different with the greater part of mankind ; there is no spectacle we so eagerly pur sue, as that of some uncommon and grievous calam ity ; so that whether the misfortune is before our eyes, or whether they are turned back to it in history,
it always touches with delight. This is not an un mixed delight, but blended with no small uneasiness. The delight we have in such things hinders us from shunning scenes of misery ; and the pain we feel prompts us to relieve ourselves in relieving those who suffer; and all this antecedent to any reasoning,
by an instinct that works us to its own purposes with out our concurrence.
strengthened
? ? ? _120
o_N THE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL.
SECTION XV.
OF THE EFFECTS OF TRAGEDY
IT is thus in real calamities. In imitated dis tresses the only difference is the pleasure resulting from the effects of imitation; for it is never so per fect, but we can perceive it is imitation, and on that principle are somewhat pleased with it. And indeed in some cases we derive as much or more pleasure from that source than from the thing itself. But then I imagine we shall be much mistaken if we attribute any considerable part of our satisfaction in tragedy to the consideration that tragedy is a deceit, and its representations no realities. The nearer it approaches the reality, and the further it removes us from all idea of fiction, the more perfect is its
? But be its power of what kind it will, it never
power.
approaches to what it represents. Choose a day on which to represent the most sublime and affecting tragedy 'we have; appoint the most favorite actors; spare no cost upon the scenes and decorations; unite the greatest efforts of poetry, painting, and music; and when you have collected your audience, just at the moment when their minds are erect with expec tation, let it be reported that a state criminal of high rank is on the point of being executed in the adjoin ing square; in a moment the emptiness of the thea tre would demonstrate the comparative weakness of the imitative arts, and proclaim the triumph of the real sympathy. I believe that this notion of our having a simple pain in the reality, yet a delight in the representation, arises from hence, that we do not sufficiently distinguish what we would by no means
? ? ? ON THE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL.
121
choose to do, from what we should be eager enough to see if it was once done. We delight in seeing things, which so far from doing, our heartiest wishes would be to see redressed. This noble capital, the pride of England and of Europe, I believe no man is so strangely wicked as to desire to see destroyed by a conflagration or an earthquake, though he should be
removed himself to the greatest distance from the danger. But suppose such a fatal accident to have happened, what numbers from all parts would crowd to behold the ruins, and amongst them many who
would have been content never to have seen London in its glory! Nor is either in real or fictitious distresses, our immunity from them which produces our delight; in my own mind can discover nothing like it. apprehend that this mistake owing to sort of sophism, by which we are frequently imposed upon arises from our not distinguishing between what indeed necessary condition to our doing or suffering anything in general, and what the cause of some particular act. If man kills me with sword, necessary condition to this that we should have been both of us alive before the fact; and yet would be absurd to say that our being both living creatures was the cause of his crime and of my death. So certain that absolutely necessary my life should be out of any imminent hazard, before
can take delight in the sulferings of others, real or imaginary, or indeed in anything else from any cause whatsoever. But then sophism to argue from thence that this immunity the cause of my delight either on these or on any occasions. No one can distinguish such cause of satisfaction in his own mind,I believe nay, when we do not suffer any very
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acute pain, nor are exposed to any imminent danger of our lives, we can feel for others, whilst we suffer ourselves ; and often then most when we are softened by affliction ; we see with pity even distresses which we would accept in the place of our own.
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.
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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
? ? ? 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
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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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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
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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/,
'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.
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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.
or rm: PASSIONS wrncn snrono ro SOCIETY.
THE other head under which class our passions, is that of society, which may be divided into two sorts. 1. The society of the sexes, which answers the pur pose of propagation; and next, that more general society, which we have with men and with other animals, and which we may in some sort be said to have even with the inanimate world. The passions
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belonging to the preservation of the individual turn wholly on pain and danger: those which belong to generation have their origin in gratifications and pleas ures ; the pleasure most directly belonging to this pur pose is of a lively character, rapturous and violent, and confessedly the highest pleasure of sense; yet the absence of this so great an enjoyment scarce amounts to an uneasiness; and, except at particular times, I do not think it aifects at all. When men describe in what manner they are affected by pain and danger, they do not dwell on the pleasure of health and the comfort of security, and then lament the loss of these satisfactions: the whole turns upon the actual pains and horrors which they endure. But if you listen to the complaints of a forsaken lover, you observe that he insists largely on the pleasures which he enjoyed, or hoped to enjoy, and on the perfection of the ob
ject of his desires; it is the loss which is always up permost in his mind. The violent effects produced by love, which has sometimes been even wrought up to madness, is no objection to the rule which we seek to establish. When men have suffered their imagi nations to be long affected with any idea, it so wholly engrosses them as to shut out by degrees almost every other, and to break down every partition of the mind which would confine it. Any idea is sufficient for the purpose, as is evident from the infinite variety of causes, which give rise to madness: but this at most can only prove, that the passion of love is capa ble of producing very extraordinary effects, not that
its extraordinary emotions have any connection with "
positive pain.
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SECTION IX.
THE FINAL CAUSE OF THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE PASSIONS BELONGING TO SELF-PRESERVATION, AND THOSE WHICH REGARD THE SOCIETY OF THE BEXES.
THE final cause of the difference in character be tween the passions which regard self-preservation, and those which are directed to the multiplication of the species, will illustrate the foregoing remarks yet further; and it imagine, worthy of observation even upon its own account. As the performance of our duties of every kind depends upon life, and the performing them with vigor and efficacy depends upon health, we are very strongly affected with whatever threatens the destruction of either: but as we were not made to acquiesce in life and health, the simple enjoyment of them not attended with any real pleasure, lest, satisfied with that, we should give our selves over to indolencc and inaction. On the other hand, the generation of mankind great purpose, and requisite that men should be animated to
the pursuit of by some great incentive. It there fore attended with very high pleasure; but as
by no means designed to be our constant business,
not fit that the absence of this pleasure should be attended with any considerable pain. The difference between men and brutes, in this point, seems to be remarkable. Men are at all times pretty equally dis posed to the pleasures of love, because they are to be guided by reason in the time and manner of indulg
ing them. Had any great pain arisen from the want
of this satisfaction, reason, am afraid, would find
great difficulties in the performance of its office. But vor. . 1.
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brutes that obey laws, in the execution of which their own reason has but little share, have their stated seasons; at such times it is not improbable that the sensation from the want is very troublesome, because the end must be then answered, or be missed in many, perhaps forever ; as the inclination returns only with
its season.
SECTION X. or BEAUTY.
THE passion which belongs to generation, merely as such, is lust only. This is evident in brutes, whose passions are more unmixed, and which pursue their purposes more directly than ours. The only distinction they observe with regard to their mates, is that of sex. It is true, that they stick severally to their own species in preference to all others. But this preference, I imagine, does not arise from any sense of beauty which they find in their species, as Mr. Addison supposes, but from a law of some other kind, to which they are subject; and this we may fairly conclude, from their apparent want of choice amongst those objects to which the barriers of their
species have confined them. But man, who is a crea ture adapted to a greater variety and intricacy of relation, connects with the general passion the idea of some social qualities, which direct and heighten the appetite which he has in common with all other animals; and as he is not designed like them to live at large, it is fit that he should have some thing to create a preference, and fix his choice ; and this in general should be some sensible quality; as no other can so quickly, so powerfully, or so surely
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produce its effect. The object therefore of this mixed passion, which we call love, is the beauty of the sex. Men are carried to the sex in general, as it is the sex, and by the common law of nature ; but they are attached to particulars by personal beauty. I call beauty a social quality; for where women and men, and not only they, but when other animals give us a sense of joy and pleasure in beholding them
(and there are many that do so), they inspire us with sen
timents of tenderness and affection towards their persons ; we like to have them near us, and we enter willingly into a kind of relation with them, unless we should have strong reasons to the contrary. But to what end, in many cases, this was designed, I am unable to discover; for I see no greater reason for a connection between man and several animals who are attired in so engaging a manner, than between him and some others who entirely want this attraction, or possess it in a far weaker degree. But it is probable that Providence did not make even this distinction, but with a view to some great end ; though we can not perceive distinctly what it as his wisdom
not our wisdom, nor our ways his ways.
T N XI. SOCIETY AND SOLITUDE.
THE second branch of the social passions that which administers to society in general. With regard to this, observe, that society, merely as society,
without any" particular heightenings, gives us no pos itive pleasure in the enjoyment; but absolute and entire solitude, that the total and perpetual exclu
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sion from all society, is as great a positive pain as can almost be conceived. Therefore in the balance be tween the pleasure of general society, and the pain of absolute solitude, pain is the predominant idea. But the pleasure of any particular social enjoyment out weighs very considerably the uneasiness caused by the want of that particular enjoyment; so that the strongest sensations relative to the habitudes ofpar ticular society are sensations of pleasure. Good com pany, lively conversations, and the endearments of friendship, fill the mind with great pleasure ; a tem porary solitude, on the other hand, is itself agreeable. This may perhaps prove that we are creatures de signed for contemplation as well as action; since solitude as well as society has its pleasures; as from the former observation we may discern, that an entire life of solitude contradicts the purposes of our being, since death itself is scarcely an idea of more terror.
'
UNDER this denomination of society, the passions are of a complicated kind, and branch out into a vari ety of forms, agreeably to that variety of ends they are to serve in the great chain of society. The three principal links in this chain are sympathy, imitation, and ambition.
? SECTION XII. SYMPATHY, IMITATION, AND A'MIBITION
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SECTION XIII. BYMPATHY.
117
IT is by the first of these passions that we enter into the concerns of others; that we are moved as they are moved, and are never suffered to be indif ferent spectators of almost anything which men can do or suffer. For sympathy must be considered as a sort of substitution, by which we are put into the place of another man, and affected in many respects as he is affected : so that this passion may either par take of the nature of those which regard self-preser vation, and turning upon pain may be a source of the sublime; or it may turn upon ideas of
and then whatever has been said of the social affec tions, whether they regard society in general, or only
some particular modes of may be applicable here. by this principle chiefly that poetry, painting,
and other affecting arts, transfuse their passions from one breast to another, and are often capable of graft ing delight on wretchedness, misery, and death itself. It common observation, that objects which in the reality would shock, are in tragical, and such like representations, the source of very high species of
? This, taken as fact, has been the cause of much reasoning. The satisfaction has been com monly attributed, first, to the comfort we receive in
considering that so melancholy story no more than fiction and, next, to the contemplation of our own freedom from the evils which we see represented.
am afraid practice much too common in in quiries of this nature, to attribute the cause of feel ings which merely arise from the mechanical struc
pleasure.
pleasure;
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ture of our bodies, or from the natural frame and constitution of our minds, to certain conclusions of the reasoning faculty on the objects presented to us; for I should imagine, that the influence of reason in producing our passions is nothing near so extensive as it is commonly believed.
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SECTION XIV.
THE EFFECTS OF SYMPATHY IN THE DISTRESSES OF OTHERS
T0 examine this point concerning the effect of tragedy in a proper manner, we must previously con sider 11ow we are affected by the feelings of our fel low-creatures in circumstances of real distress. I am convinced we have a degree of delight, and that no small one, in the real misfortunes and pains of others; for let the affection be what it will in ap pearance, if it does not make us shun such objects, if on the contrary it induces us to approach them, if it makes us dwell upon them, in this case I conceive we must have a delight or pleasure of some species or other in contemplating objects of this kind. Do we not read the authentic histories of scenes of this nature with as much pleasure as romances or poems, where the incidents are fictitious? The prosperity of no empire, nor the grandeur of no king, can so agreeably affect in the reading, as the ruin of the state of Macedon, and the distress of its unhappy prince. Such a catastrophe touches us in history as much as the destruction of Troy does in fable. Our
delight, in cases of this kind, is very greatly height ened, if the sufferer be some excellent person who
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sinks under an unworthy fortune. Scipio and Cato are both virtuous characters ; but we are more deeply affected by the violent death of the one, and the ruin of the great cause he adhered to, than with the de served triumphs and uninterrupted prosperity of the other : for terror is a passion which always produces delight when it does not press too closely; and pity is a passion accompanied with pleasure, because it arises from love and social affection. Whenever we are formed by nature to any active purpose, the pas sion which animates us to it is attended with delight, or a pleasure of some kind, let the subject-matter be what it will; and as our Creator has designed that we shouldbe united by the bond of sympathy, he has
? that bond by a proportionable delight; and there most where our sympathy is most wanted,
-_---in the distresses of others. If this passion was
simply painful, we would shun with the greatest care all persons and places that could excite such a pas sion; as some, who are so far gone in indolence as not to endure any strong impression, actually do. But the case is widely different with the greater part of mankind ; there is no spectacle we so eagerly pur sue, as that of some uncommon and grievous calam ity ; so that whether the misfortune is before our eyes, or whether they are turned back to it in history,
it always touches with delight. This is not an un mixed delight, but blended with no small uneasiness. The delight we have in such things hinders us from shunning scenes of misery ; and the pain we feel prompts us to relieve ourselves in relieving those who suffer; and all this antecedent to any reasoning,
by an instinct that works us to its own purposes with out our concurrence.
strengthened
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SECTION XV.
OF THE EFFECTS OF TRAGEDY
IT is thus in real calamities. In imitated dis tresses the only difference is the pleasure resulting from the effects of imitation; for it is never so per fect, but we can perceive it is imitation, and on that principle are somewhat pleased with it. And indeed in some cases we derive as much or more pleasure from that source than from the thing itself. But then I imagine we shall be much mistaken if we attribute any considerable part of our satisfaction in tragedy to the consideration that tragedy is a deceit, and its representations no realities. The nearer it approaches the reality, and the further it removes us from all idea of fiction, the more perfect is its
? But be its power of what kind it will, it never
power.
approaches to what it represents. Choose a day on which to represent the most sublime and affecting tragedy 'we have; appoint the most favorite actors; spare no cost upon the scenes and decorations; unite the greatest efforts of poetry, painting, and music; and when you have collected your audience, just at the moment when their minds are erect with expec tation, let it be reported that a state criminal of high rank is on the point of being executed in the adjoin ing square; in a moment the emptiness of the thea tre would demonstrate the comparative weakness of the imitative arts, and proclaim the triumph of the real sympathy. I believe that this notion of our having a simple pain in the reality, yet a delight in the representation, arises from hence, that we do not sufficiently distinguish what we would by no means
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choose to do, from what we should be eager enough to see if it was once done. We delight in seeing things, which so far from doing, our heartiest wishes would be to see redressed. This noble capital, the pride of England and of Europe, I believe no man is so strangely wicked as to desire to see destroyed by a conflagration or an earthquake, though he should be
removed himself to the greatest distance from the danger. But suppose such a fatal accident to have happened, what numbers from all parts would crowd to behold the ruins, and amongst them many who
would have been content never to have seen London in its glory! Nor is either in real or fictitious distresses, our immunity from them which produces our delight; in my own mind can discover nothing like it. apprehend that this mistake owing to sort of sophism, by which we are frequently imposed upon arises from our not distinguishing between what indeed necessary condition to our doing or suffering anything in general, and what the cause of some particular act. If man kills me with sword, necessary condition to this that we should have been both of us alive before the fact; and yet would be absurd to say that our being both living creatures was the cause of his crime and of my death. So certain that absolutely necessary my life should be out of any imminent hazard, before
can take delight in the sulferings of others, real or imaginary, or indeed in anything else from any cause whatsoever. But then sophism to argue from thence that this immunity the cause of my delight either on these or on any occasions. No one can distinguish such cause of satisfaction in his own mind,I believe nay, when we do not suffer any very
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acute pain, nor are exposed to any imminent danger of our lives, we can feel for others, whilst we suffer ourselves ; and often then most when we are softened by affliction ; we see with pity even distresses which we would accept in the place of our own.
