be ſaid to have even with the inanimate world. The paſſions belonging to the preſervation of the individual, turn wholly on pain and danger; thoſe which belong to generation, have their origin in grati- fications aud pleaſures; the pleaſure moſt directly belonging to this purpoſe is of a lively character, rapturous and violent, ſenſe; yet the abſence of this ſo great an neſs; and except at particular times, I do not think it affects at all. When men by pain and danger; they do not dwell on the pleaſure of health anch the comfort of ſecurity, and then lamend the ft of the actual pains and horrors which they endure. But if you liſten to the com- plaints of a forſaken lover, you obſerve, that he inſiſts largely on the pleaſures which he enjoyed, or hoped to enjoy, and on n the 2 of the object of his de- a +I 41 fires; 62 on the SUBLIME ſires; it is the 4% which is always up- permoſt in his mind. The violent ef- fefts produced by love, which has ſome- times been even wrought up to madneſs, is no objection to the rule which we ſeck io eſtabliſn. When men have ſuffered their imaginations to be long affected with us 10 ſhut dut by degrees almoſt every ather, and to breakdown every partition idea is ſuſſicient for the purpoſe, as is evident from the infinite variety of cauſes hwhich: give riſe to madneſs: but this at - inoſt can: only ꝓrove, that the paſſion uf love is capable of producing very extraordinary effects, not that its extraordinary mee..
SIRI, and BEAUTIFUL.
my 2 0 T.. tte The Gal an as difference a the paſſions belonging to SELF-PRE>+ vie * SERVATION, and thoſe which re- Wm the £ TT of the SEXES.
N E inal 8 of he 3 1 in character between: the paſſions of the ſpecies, will illuſtrate the forego ing remarks-yet further; and it is, Lm of our duties Ke tern: on life, and the performing them wih vigour and efficacy depends up health, we are very ſtrongly affected with whatever threatens the deſtruction f either; but as we were net i made to ac quieſce in life and health; we ſimple en- joyment of them is not attended with any e 64 On the 8 UBLIME real. pleaſure, leſt ſatisfied with that, we ſhould give ourſelves over to indolence and inaction. On the other hand, the ge- and it is requiſite; that men ſhould be animated to the purſuit of it by ſome great incentive...It is therefore attended with a very high pleaſure; but as it is by no means deſigned to be our conſtant _ +bulineſs,” it is not fit that the abſence of this pleaſure ſhonld be attended with any conſiderable Apain. Then difference he- tween: mem: and brutes in this point, ſeems to be lremarkable. Men axe at all tires pretty cgually diſpoſed to the ple ſures: of love, becauſe they are to be guided by reaſon in the time and man- mer of indulging them. Had any great pain ariſen from the want of this ſatisfag- tion, reaſon, I am afraid, would find great difficukies cin the performance of its; offiee«c:But: brutes who obey laws, in the execution of which their own rea- —— — have their ſtated Jaw ſeaſons; and BEAUTIFUL. 4 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 for ever; as the inclination re- turns only with its ſeaſon.
r. Of BEAUTY.
H E paſſion which belongs to ge- neration, 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 6 F | ether 66 On the SUBLIME 66 On the SUBLIME 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 creature adapted to a greater variety and intricacy of relation, connects. with the general paſſion, the idea of ſome ſocial qualities, which di- rect 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 ſomething to create a preference; and fix his choice; and this in general ſhould be ſome ſenſible quality; as no other can fo.
quickly, ſo powerfully, or ſo ſurely produce it's 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; forand BEAUTIFUL. 67 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 fo) they inſpire us with ſentiments of ten- derneſs and affection towards their per- ſons; 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, - - +4 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 di- ſtinction, but with a view to ſome great end, though we cannot perceive diſtinctly what it is, as his wiſdom is not our wil- dom, nor our ways his ways.
F 2 S KR r 68 On the SUBLIME SOCIETY, and. SOLITUDE.
= HE ſecond branch of the ſocial it 18 paſſions, i is that which adminiſters this, I obſerve, that ſociety, merely as ſociety, without any particular heighten- ings, gives us no | politive pleaſure in the enjoyment 3 but abſolute and entire Heli "OY tude, that is, the total and perpetual e cluſion from all ſociety,; is as great af * O- ſitive pain as can almoſt be conceived; 4 Therefore in the balance between = | pleaſure of general /aczety, and the pain of abſolute ſolitude, pain is the predomi- nant idea. But the pleaſure of any particu lar ſocial enjoyment. outweighs,yery conſ- derably the uneaſineſs cauſed. by, the want | to ſociety in general. Wich regard to of that particular enjoyment;: {0 that-the ſtrongeſt ſenſations; relative to the habi- tudes of particular ſociety, are | ſenſations * pleaſure. Good * lively converſations, and BEAUTIFUL. 6g verſations, and the endearments of friend- - ſhip, fill the'mind with great pleaſure; a temporary ſolitude on the other hand, is itſelf agreeable. This may perhaps prove, that we are creatures deſigned for con- templation as well as action; ſince ſoli- tude 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 2 more terror.
SYMPATHY, IMITATION, and THR COIN W IAIN = NDER: this denomination of 05 ciety, the paſſions are of a compli- cated kind, and branch out into a variety of forms agreeable 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.
70 On the SUBLIME 8 EO. XUE. SYMPATHY.
I is by the firſt Auel paſſions that wie enter into the concerns of others; that we are moved as > Sa are. moved, and are never ſuffered to be indifferent ſpectators of almoſt any thing which men can do or ſuffer. For ſympathy muſt be confidered as a ſort of ſubſtitution, by * which we are put into the place of another man, and affected in many re- 2 as he 1 is affected; fo * this paſ- {£0 5 thoſe which _. and turning upon pain may be a ſource of San; min turn upon dens frid of the lacial abfe&tions, whether they regard ſociety in general, or only ſome particular modes of it, may be applicable here. 1. is is by het chiefly that FO and BEAUTIFUL, 71 poetry, painting, and other affecting arts, transfuſe their paſſions from one breaſt to another, and are often capable of grafting a delight on wretchedneſs, mi- fery, and death itſelf. It is a common obſervation, that objects which in the reality would ſhock, are in tragical, and ſuch like repreſentations, the ſource of a very high ſpecies of pleaſure. This taken as à fact, has been the cauſe of much reaſoning. The ſatisfaction has been * commonly attributed, firſt, to the com- fort we receive in conſidering that fo melancholy a ſtory is no more than a fic- tion; and next, to the contemplation of our on freedom from the evils which we ſee repreſented. I am afraid it is a prac- tice much too common in inquiries of this nature, to attribute the cauſe of feel- ings which merely ariſe from the mecha- nical ſtructure of our bodies, or from the natural frame and conſtitution of our minds, to certain concluſions of the rea- OY faculty on the objects preſented to F 4 us; 72 On the SUBLIME us; for I ſhould imagine, that the influence of reaſon in producing our paſſions is nothing near ſo „ it is com- 1 2 2 believed. 26 Hr Irre q — * n ry oi apy TO 25 PG 1 bit 8B 0 T. Av. Pit NOOR 45 „ett Idee 5 Jag Sas of SYMPATHY on 5 the. r e 0 examine this ine concrming manner, we mat: previouſſy con, oY how we are affected bythe feelings. our fellow creatures in circumſtances of! real diſtreſs. I am convinced we have a 5 degree of delight, and that no ſmall one, ' in the real misfortunes, and pains of ö others; for let the affection be what it will in appearance; if it does not make us ſnun ſuch, objeQts, if on the contrary it induces us to approach them, if it makes us dwell upon them, in this caſe A conceive we — have a delight or — pleaſure and BEAUTIFUL. 73 pleaſure of ſome ſpecies or other in con- templating 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 em- pire, nor the grandeur of no king. can ſo agreeably affect in the reading, | ruin of the ſtate of Macedon, and 185 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 heightened, if tlie ſufferer be ſome excellent perſon who ſinks under an unworthy: fortune. Scipio and Cato are both virtuous characters; but we are more deeply affected by the violent death N of the one, and tlie ruin of the great cauſe he adhered to, than with the de- ſerved triumphs and vninterrupted proſ- perity of the other; for terror is a paſ- fion which always produces delight when it 74 | On' the 8 U BLI ME it does not preſs too. cloſe, and pity is paſſion accompanied with pleaſure, il cauſe; it. ariſes from love and ſocial affec- tion. Whenever we are formed by na- ture to any active purpoſe, the paſſion which animates us 0 it, is attended with delight, or à pleaſure of ſome kind, let the ſubject matter be what it will; and 25, our. Creator has deſigned we ſhould be vnited by the bond of. Gmpathy, he has ſtrengthened⸗ that bond by a proportion- able delight; and there moſt, where our ſympathy is moſt wanted, in the diſtreſſes of others, If thi paſſion, Was fimply pain- ful, we would hun with the greateſt care all perſons and places thatcould excite ſuch a paſſion; 3 aß, ſome who arc ſo far gone in indolence as not to endure any ſtrong im- preſſion actual do. But the caſe 1s widely different with the greater part of mankind; there is no ſpectacle we fo eagerly purſue, as that of ſome uncommon N en, calamity;; fo that whether and BEAUTIFUL. 575 whether the misſortune is before our eyes, or whether they are turned back to it in hiſtory, it always touches with delight.
This is not an unmixed delight, but blended with no ſmall uneaſineſs. The delight we have in ſuch things, hinders us from ſhunning ſoenes 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 n Na Rue our nee, oe the eff of TRAGEDY.
1. is —. ling . tated diſtreſſes the only difference is the pleaſure reſulting from the effects of imitation z. for. it is never ſo perfect, but we can perceive it is an imitation, and on that principle are ſomewhat: pleaſed with it. And indeed in ſome caſes we derive ap 56 On" t& SUBLIME as much or more pleaſure from that ſource than from the thing "itſelf. But then I imagine we ſhalt” be much miſtaken if we: attribute any conſiderable part of our ſatisfaction in tragedy to a conſideration that tragedy'is a deceit, and its repreſen- tations no realities.” The nearer it ap- proaches the reality, and the further it removes us from all idea of fiction, the more perfect is its power. But be its power of what kind it will, it never ap- proaches to what it repreſents. Chuſe a day on which to repreſent the moſt ſub- lime and affecting tragedy we have; appoint the moſt favourite actors; ſpare no coſt upon the ſcenes and decora- tions; 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 erpectation, let it be reported that a ſtate of high rank: is on the point of being executed in the adjoining ſquare; in a moment the emptineſs of the theatre would and BEAUTIEUL 577 would demonſtrate thecomparative weak - neſs of the imitative datts, 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 i ſufficiently: diſtinguiſh what we would by no means chuſe 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 re- dreſſed. This noble capital, the pride of England and of Europe, I believe no man is ſo ſtrangely. wicked as to deſite to ſee een by a hem or an dent to have happened, what numbers from all parts would croud' to behold the ruins, and amongſt them many who would have been content never to have ſeen London in its glory? Nor is it either in real the cauſe of my delight either on theſe 78 On the SUBLIME real or fictitious diſtreſſes, our immunity from them which produces our delight; in my own mind I can diſcover nothing like it. I apprehend that this miſtake is owing to a ſort of ſophiſm, by which we are frequently impoſed upon; it ariſes from our not diſtinguiſhing between what is indeed a neceſſaty condition to our do- ing or ſuffering any thing in general, and what is the cauſe of fome particular act. If a man kills me with a ſword, it is a neceflary condition to this that we ſhould have been both of us alive before the fact; and yet it would be abſurd to fay, that our being both Hving creatures was the cauſe of his crime and of my death. So it is certain, that ĩt is abſolutely neceſſary my life thould be out of any imminent hazard before I can#ake'a delight in the whatſoever. But then it is a ſophiſm to argue from thence, that this immunity is or and BEAUTIFUL. 79 or on any occaſions. No one can diſtin- guiſh ſuch a cauſe of ſatisfaction in his ovn mind I believe; nay when we do not ſuffer any very acute pain, nor are ex- poſed 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 fee with pity even diſtrefſes which we would accept in the place of our own.
SE CT. XVI. IMITATION: H E ſecond paſſion vill ts ſociety is imitation, of, if you will, a deſire of imitatihg, and conſe- quently a pleaſure in it. This paſſion ariſes from much the ſame 'cauſe with ſympathy. For as ſympathy makes us take a concern in whatever men feel, ſo this affection prompts us to copy hat- ever they do; and conſequently we have a plea- ' : . N N 90 On the SUBLIME a pleaſure in imitating, and in whatever _ belongs to imitation merely as it is ſuch, without any intervention of the reaſoning faculty, but ſolely from our natural conſtitution, which providence has fram- ed in ſuch a manner as to find either plea- ſure or delight according to the nature of the object, in whatever regards the purpoſes of our being. It is by imitation far more than by precept that we learn every thing; and what we learn thus we acquire not only more effectually, but more pleaſantly. This forms our man- ners, our opinions, our lives. It is one of the ſtrongeſt links of ſociety; it is a ſpecies of mutual compliance which all men yield to each other, without con- ſtraint to themſelves, and which is extremely flattering to all. Herein it is that painting and many other agreeable arts have laid one of the principal foun- .dations of their power. And ſince by i its influence on our manners and our paſ- N it Is of fach great. 1 8 BAS + +. ſhall P 5 4 f : mane noo or rn rn. - " wax ie | J 5 g wo "I CI dan. AS and BEAUTIFUL: 381 ſhall here venture to lay down a rule, which may inform us with a good de- gree of certainty when we are to attribute the power of the arts, to imitation, or to our pleaſure in the ſkill of the imi- tator merely, and when to ſympathy, or ſome other cauſe in conjunction with it.
When the object repreſented in poetry or painting is ſuch, as we could have no de- fire of ſeeing in the reality; then I may be ſure that its power in poetry or painting is owing to the power ot imitation, and to no cauſe operating in the thing itſelf. $0 it is with moſt of che pieces which the painters call {till life...In theſe a cottage, a dunghill, the meaneſt and moſt ordina- ry utenſils of the kitchen, are capable of giving us pleaſure. But when the object of the painting or poem is ſuch as wa ſhould run to ſee if real, let ĩt affect us with what odd ſort of ſenſe it will, we may rely upon it, that the power of the poem or picture is more owing to the nature of the thing itſelf than to the mere G effect * 84 On the SUBLIME effect of imitation, or to à conſideration of the {kill of the imitator however excel- lent. Ariſtotle has ſpoken ſo much and 00 ſolidly upon the force of imitation in hispontice, that it makes any further dif courſe upon this ſubject the leſs necefs eee Wenn ne mo 56 abe r. xvUl. 9 - ETHOUGH imitation A Ut of Ak: die — uſed by pro- vidence in bringing our nature towards 8 perfecti n, yet if men gave themſelves ap to imnitation entirely, and each fold.
ed the other, and ſo on in an eternal circle, Kg w ſee that there never could be any improvement amongſt them. Men muſt remain-as brutes do, the fame at the end that they are at this day, and that they were in the beginning of the world: To prevent this, God has planted in man e we a ſenſe.
and BEAUTIFUL: 83 a ſenſe. of ambition, and a ſatisfaction ariſing from the contemplation of his ex- celling his fellows in ſomething deemed valuable amongſt them. It is this paſ- ſion that drives men to all the ways we that tends to make whatever excites in a man the idea ef this diſtinction fo very pleaſant. It has been ſo ſtrong as to make very miſerable men take comfort that they were ſupreme in miſery; and certain it is, that where we cannot di- ſtinguiſh ourſelves by ſomething excel- lent, we begin to take a complacency in ſome ſingular infirmities, follies, or de- fects of one kind or other. It is on this principle that flattery is ſo preyalent; for flattery is no more than what raiſes in a man's mind an idea of a preference which he has not. Now whatever either on good or upon bad grounds tends to raiſe a man in his own opinion, produces A ſort of ſwelling and triumph that 1s extremely grateful, to the human 4. mind F ö * N On the SUBLIME mind; and this ſwelling is never more perceived,” nor operates with more force, than when without danger we are con- Verſant witli terrible objects, the mind always claifning to itſelf ſome part of tlie dignity and importance of the things which it contemplates. Hence proceeds What Longinus has oÞſerved * of tliat glorying and ſenſe of inward greatneſ, "that always fills the reader of ſuch pa- ages in poets and orators as are fiblime;; it is what every man muſt have felt in . oo Dini!
ft ne ee eee e.
"The "RECAPITULATION: S NY r OOO TION Of 21 * na. wry drr the whole of what has been aid into 4 Few "diſtinct points. The Halt ons which belong g to ſelf-prefer- vation, turn on pam and danger; "they are ſimply painful when their cauſes im- Heditely* affect us;; 1 are delightf il bac when Ne n n COT CIO PINA eee I o and BEAUTIED Ls 85 when we have an idea of pain and dans ger, without being actually in ſuch cir-. cumſtances; this delight I have not calle. ed pleaſure, becauſe it turns on pain, and becauſe it is different enough from any idea of poſitive pleaſure, Whatever expaſſions belonging to ſelf- preſervation are the ſtrongeſt of! all the paſſions. __ end.
The ſecond head to which the paſſions 4 referred with relation to their final cauſe, is ſociety. There are two ſorts of ſocieties. The firſt is, the ſociety. of ſex. The paſſion belonging to this is called love, and it contains a mixture of laſt; its ohject is the beauty f women, The other is the great ſociety with man and all other animals. The paſſion ſub⸗ ervient to this is called likewiſe love, but ir has-no-mixture of luſt, and its object is beauty; which is a name I ſhall apply to all ſuch qualities in things as induce in us a ſenſe of affection and tenderneſs, or ſame other paſſion the moſt nearly reſem- 24 8 3 bling Ong -.
$6 on the SUBLIME bling theſe. The paſſion « of love has its riſe in poſitive pleaſure; it is, like all things which grow. out of pleaſure, ca- pable of being mixed with a mode of uneaſineſs, that is, when an idea of its bbfect is excited in the mind with an idea at the fame time of having irretrievably loſt it. This mixed ſenſe of ' pleaſure J have not called Pain, becauſe it turns upon actual pleaſure, and becauſe it is both in its cauſe and in moſt of its effects of a nature altogether different. Next to the general paſſion we have for ſociety, to a choice in which we are di- rected by the e we have in the ob- ject, the par paſſion under this 2 called ſympathy has the greateſt ex- The nature of this paſſion is to put 1 of another in whatever circumſtance he is in, and to affect us in a like manner; fo that this paſſion may, as the occaſion requires, turn either on pain or pleaſure; but with the modifica- ths I in ſome e 11. 7 As and BEAUTIFUL. 37 As to imitation and Fee nothing more need be ſaid. i $ E Cc T. XIX. - The CONCLUSION.
A wat an attempt to range and & methodize ſome of our moſt leading paſſions, would be a good preparative to ſuch. an enquiry. as we are going to make in the enſuing diſcourſe. The paſſions ] have mentioned are almoſt the only ones which it can be neceflary to conſider in our. preſent, deſign; though the variety of the paſſions is great, and worthy in every branch of that variety of an attentive. inveſtigation, The more accurate - y we ſearch into the human mind, the ſtronger traces we every where find of on the uſe of. the parts of the body may be; conſidered as an hymn to the Creator; the uſe of the paſſions,; which»are the de the mind, cannot By. barren No G4 of * 88 On the SUBLIME of praiſe to him, nor unproductive to ourſelves of that noble and uncommon union of ſcience and admiration, which a contemplation of the works of infinite wiſdom alone can afford to a rational mind; whilſt referring to him whatever we find of right, or good, or fair in ourſelves, diſcovering his ſtrength and wit dom even in our own weakneſs and im- perfection, honouring them where we diſcover them clearly, and adoring their profundity where we are loſt in our ſearch, we may be inquiſitive without imperti- nence, and elevated without pride; we may be admitted, if I may dare to ſay ſo, into the counſels of the Almighty by a conſideration of his works. The elevation of the mind ought to be the principal end of, all our ſtudies, which if they do not in ſome meaſure effect, they are of very little ſervice to us. But beſides this great purpoſe, a conſideration of the rationale of our paſſions ſeems to me very neceſſary for all ho would affect them upon and BEAUTIFUL. 89 upon ſolid and ſure principles. It is not enough to know them in general; to affect them after a delicate manner, or to judge properly of any work de- ſigned to affect them, we ſhould know the exact boundaries of their ſeveral juriſdictions; e ſhould purſue them through all their variety of operations, and pierce into the inmoſt, and what 8 appear "inacceflible: "ne our Quad latet arcand non enarrabile fibrd..
Without all this it is poſſible for a man after a confuſed manner ſometimes to fatisfy his own mind of the truth of his work; but he can never have a certain determinate rule to ge by, nor can he ever make his propoſitions. ſuf- ficiently clear to others. Poets, and orators, and painters, and thoſe who cultivate other branches of the liberal arts, have without this critical ' knows gs On'the SUBLIME ptovinces, and will ſucceed as among artificers there are many machines made and tven invented without any exact governed by. It is, L own, not un- comimon to be wrong in theory and right in practice Hand We are happy that it is ſo. Men often act right from. their feelings, Who afterwards reaſon but ill on them from principle; but as it is impoſſible to avoid an attempt at ſuch reaſoning, and equal- ly impoſſible to prevent its having ſome influence: on our practice, ſurely it is worth taking ſome pains to have it experience. We might expect that the artiſts: themſelves would have been our ſureſt guides; but the artiſts have been ton much occupied in the: practice 3 che phoſophers have done little, and hat ey have done, was moſtly with a viem 10 their own ſchemes and ſyſtems; evra! and E.
7 2 * yo {& FS and BEAUTIFUL. 97 and as for thoſe called critics, they have generally ſought the rule of the arts in the wrong place; they ſought it among poems, pictures, engravings, ſtatues and buildings. But art can never give the rules that make an art. This is, I believe, the reaſon why artiſts in general, and poets principally, have been confined in ſo narrow::'a circle; they have been: rather imita- tors of one another than of nature; and this with &-fiidhfol an mine ab.
to ſo remote an antiquity, that it is hard to ſay who gave the firſt model. Critics| follow them, and therefore can do little as guides, I can judge but poorly of any thing whilſt I meaſure it by no other ſtandard than itſelf. The true ſtandard of the arts is in every man's power; and an eaſy obſervation of the moſt common, ſometimes of the meaneſt things in nature, will give the trueſt lights, where the n ſagacity and induſtry that lights | ſuch gz On the SUBLTME fack' obſervation, muſt leave us in the dark, or what is worſe, amuſe and miſ- lead us by falſe lights. In an enquiry, it is almoſt every thing to be once in a Tight road. I am fatisfied I have done but little by theſe obſervations conſider- ed in themſelves; and I never ſhould : baue taken the pains to digeſt them, much leſs ſhould I have ever ventured to publifh them, if I was not convinced that nothing tends more to the corrup- tion of ſcience than to ſuffer it to ſtag- nate. Theſe waters muſt be troubled before they can exert their virtues. A man cho Works beyond the ſurface of things, though may be wrong himſelf, yet he clears the way for others, and may Lancs to. make even his errors ſub- ſervient to the Eauſe of truth. In tlie following parts 1 ſhall- enquire what things they are that cauſe in us the af- fections of the ſublime and beautiful, as in this I have conſidered the affections themes. - I only deſire one favour; that and BEAUTIFUL. 93 that no part of this diſcourſe may be judged of by itſelf and independently of the reſt; for I am ſenſible I have not diſpoſed my materials to abide the teſt of a captious controverſy, but of a ſober and even forgiving examination; that they are not armed at all points for battle; but dreſſed to viſit thoſe who are willing to give a peaceful entrance to truth, TO KT Ie The end of the Firſt Part.
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PA” n I. II.
ah — SE CT. 1 0 Of the paſion cauſed by the SUBLIME. aden enen nelle HE ae che and fiiblime in nature, when - 17” /. thoſe cauſes operate moſtpowers fully, i is Aſtoniſhment; and aſtoniſiu⸗ ment is that ſtate of the foul, in which all its motions are ſuſpended; with forms degree of horror. In this caſe the "= mind 96 On the SUBLIME mind is fo entirely filled with its object, that it cannot entertain any other, nor by conſequence 2 on that. object which employs it _ Hesse ariſes the great power 0 of. the ſublime, that far from being produced by Wk. it anticipates our reaſonings, and hurries us on by an irreſiſtible force. Aſtoniſhment, as I have ſaid, is tHe effect of the ſublime in its hi eſt the inferior effe n ee S 1 tion, reverence and reſpect.
1 SECT. II.
TERROR.
INMIIAUe ech yd botggo non. © 2:1; 10 O paſſion fo effeQually robs the mind df all its; powers of acting a ons fear. & For fear being an apprehenfion of pain or death, it operates in a manner that reſembles actual pain. Whatever therefore is terrible, with re- gard to ſiglit, is ſublime too, whether this * 1 Sa FR 4.4 DD and BEAUTIEU I w this cauſe of terror, be endued with greatneſs of dimenſions or not; for it is impoſſible to look on any thing as trifling, or contemptible, that may be dangerous.
There are many animals, who though far from being large, are yet capable ot raiſing ideas of the ſublime, becauſe they are conſidered as objects of terror. As ſerpents and poiſonous animals of almoſt all kinds. And to things of great di- menſions, if we annex an adventitious idea of terror, they become without compariſon greater. A level plain of a vaſt extent on land, is certainly no mean idea; the proſpect of ſuch a plain may be as extenſive as a preſpect of the ocean; but can it ever fill the mind with any thing fo great as the 0:ean itſelf? This is owing to ſeveral cauſes, but it is owing to none more than this, that the ocean is an object of no ſmall terror. Indeed ter- ror is in all caſes whatſoever, either more openly or latently the ruling principle of the ſublime. Several languages bear FL I-34 IH a ſtrong 98 On the SUBLIME 2 ſtrong teſtimony to the affinity of theſe ideas. They frequently uſe the ſame word, to ſignify indifferently the modes of aſto- niſhment or admiration and thoſe of terror.
Ocfib os is in greek, either fear or wonder; Sees is terrible or reſpectable; ae, to reverence or to fear. Vereor in latin, is what aſc is in greek. The Romans uſed the verb fupeo, a term which ſtrong- ly marks the ſtate of an aſtoniſhed mind, to expreſs the effect either of fimple fear, or of aſtoniſhment; the word attonitus, (thunderſtruck) isequally expreſſive of the alliance of theſe ideas; and do not the french etonnement, and the engliſh gm ment and amazement, point out as clearly the kindred emotions which attend fear and wonder? They who'have a more gene- ral knowledge of languages, could produce, IJ make no doubt, many other and _— ſtriking N 5 wad C N HS. ** W ene, at At = eber; "SER Y ELM en ans nets ne bY Es Favs ** * and BEAUTIFUL. 94 s E Or. II. O BSC URI T T.
10 make any thing very terrible, obſcurity + ſeems in general to be neceſſary. When we know the full ex- tent of any danger, when we can accuſ- tom our eyes to it, a great deal of the apprehenſion vaniſhes. Every one will be ſenſible of this, who confiders how greatly night adds to our dread, in all caſes of danger, and how much the no- tions of ghoſts and goblins, of which none can form clear ideas, affect minds, which give credit to the popular tales concerning ſuch ſorts of beings. 'Thoſe deſpotic governments, which are founded on the paſſions of men, and principally upon the paſſion of fear, keep their chief as much as may be from the public eye. The policy has been the ſame in many H 2 | Caſes 760 On the SUBLIME caſes of religion. Almoſt all the heathen temples were dark. Even in the barba- rous temples of the Americans at this day, they keep their idol in a dark part of the hut, which is conſecrated to his worſhip. For this purpoſe too the druids performed all their ceremonies in the boſom of the darkeft woods, and in the ſhade of the oldeſt and moſt ſpreading oaks. No perſon feems better to have underſtood the ſecret of heightening, or of ſetting terrible things, if I may uſe the expreſſion, in their ſtrongeſt light by the force of a judicious obſcurity, than Mil- ton. His deſcription of Death in the ſe- cond book is admirably ſtudied; it is aſtoniſhing with what a gloomy pomp, with what a ſignificant and expreſſive uncertainty of ſtrokes and colouring he has finiſhed the portrait of the _ of terrors.
The other 40 ä If he it might be called ther Bier bat mane D:i/tinguiſhable, in member, joint, or limb; \ Or ry * l 7 i; 3 : * and BEAUTIFUL. 101 Or ſubſtance might be called that ſhadow ſeemed, For each ſeemed either; black he ſtood as night; Pierce as ten furies; terrible as bell; And ſhook a deadly dart. What ſeemed his head The likeneſs of a kingly crown had on.
In this deſcription all is dark, uncertain, confuſed, terrible, and ſublime to the laſt degree.
en v7 Of the difference between CLEARNESS and OBSCURITY with 8 to the paſſions.