A PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO THE SOURCE OF THE PLEASURES DERIVED FROM TRAGIC REPRESENTATIONS FROM WHICH 13 DEDUCED THE SECRET OF GIVING Dramatic 3tattrt£t ro TRAGEDIES INTENDED FOR THE STAGE. PRECEDED BY A CRITICAL EXAMINATION VARIOUS THEORIES ADOPTED ON THE SUBJECT BY THE ENGLISH, FRENCH, AND GERMAJl^ PHILOSOPHERS. By M. M'DERMOT,V v i AUTHOR OF " \ CRITICAL DISSERTATION ON THE N ■*. '. AND PRINCIPLES OF TASTE," &C. Stint tovrymat rerum, et mentem mortalia tangunt.—\ ibgil Hontion : PRINTED FOR SHERWOOD, JONES, AND CO PATERNOSTER- ROW. 1824. 1 ii srit 9*/fid I toidw D. Sidney & Co. Printers, Northumberland Street, Strand. pa/; TO MISS F. H. KELLY. A Madam, The object of the Work, to which I have the honour of prefix- ing your name, is to ascertain the source of the Pleasures derived from Tragic Representations, that branch of the drama in which you so eminently excel. Other names, it is true, enjoy a more fixed and established reputation than your's, that reputation which, when once established, critics dare not venture to molest ; but this reputation awaits you, and in the estimation of those who judge for themselves, and who need not the slow but certain decisions of time to confirm their judgment, you have obtained it already. Were I to inscribe this Work to any of those names, I could not pretend to exercise any judgment in doing so ; I should only travel in the footsteps of the public, and re-echo the praises which they have already abundantly enjoyed. By inscribing it to you, I exercise a judgment which I am certain will soon be confirm- ed by the universal suffrages of the public, and discharge, at the same time, that duty which Pope justly imposes upon all writers and critics : — Be thou the first true merit to befriend, His praise is lost who waits till all commend. Cold, indeed, must be that public, and indurated to all the finer influences, and corresponding feelings of humanity, which cannot perceive, that, in the character of Juliet, you appear Juliet herself, in all her alternations of passion and vicissitudes of fortune, not her cold and formal representative. But of your delineation of that character I have fully expressed my opinion in the concluding part of this work, and shall, there- fore, only add, that if I neglected to avail myself of this oppor- tunity of confirming the judgments which I there advanced, and of testifying the high opinion which I entertain of your dramatic powers, particularly in that branch of the drama which is the subject of the following pages, I should feel that I had neglected also my duty to the public. MARTIN M'DERMOT. I ii& ■ PREFACE. The title page of this Work expresses, as clearly as the author could express, and, he believes, as clearly as can be expressed, its nature and object. What more then has he to say in a preface ? The subject wants not to be recommended to those who delight in the softer sympathies and affections, — the melting strains, and soul-subduing influence of the Tragic Muse, — while those to whom nature has not deigned to impart those finer feelings and susceptibilities of the heart, would look upon all I could advance in its favour, as the specious elo- quence of an interested author. To such indurated stoics I choose not to address mvself : let them enjoy, if they are capable of enjoyment, the cold approbation of that frozen judgment which smiles at all that is humane and sympathetic in our nature, and who view them as evidences, not of our virtues and benevolence, but of our frailties and imbecility. I shall not, therefore, endeavour to convince my readers, that the subject of the follow- ing pages possesses any intrinsic merit in itself, it being useless to recommend it to one class of VI PREFACE. readers, and unnecessary to recommend it to the other. But even those to whom the subject is naturally interesting may wish to know the merits of its execution before they undergo the toil of perusing it. If so, I must confess I see no way of enabling them to form a correct judg- ment. Were I to maintain, that it possesses very great merits, they would only be the more strong- ly inclined to suspect it had none ; and were I to admit it weak and imperfect, they would readily give me credit for the assertion, and come to the same conclusion. I can therefore only say, that so far as regards my own conviction, the Source of the Pleasures, derived from Tragic Represen- tations, the means of producing Tragic Interest, and the causes that have led to the general failure of our modern Tragedies, are more satisfactorily accounted for in the following pages than in any other work ancient or modern. Whether the public, however, shall think as I think, or imagine, that in forming this opinion, my judgment has been warped by that self-love of which authors in particular have so much difficulty of divesting themselves, I dare not venture to prophesy. J¥« - tttwS. sdl ol li bnsmmoosi o& ^JseaSoscifru bn& *ai9b,69i 8i togjxfue sdJ niodw ol szodl asv9 Jufl ,-i9riJd CONTENTS. 9dJ ogisbau ypd: ftittdxa 8ii 1o Birrem CHAPTER lF ld * I 919W JiPage. Difficulty of the Problem proposed to be resolved. ^ je*™,^ chap II ^ Ug °* t>9aifodi yi yfibjcs-i blfj . 4 L ji robs Impossibility of forming an obscure conception of a Primary Cause until it be perfectly discovered. Obscure Ideas have no existence. . . . . . . > $fl!f>39 901IfC>8 9lft r fi aB*S£ft 08 CHAP. III. Examination of SchlegeVs Theory, and of the various hypo< -? fifara wAicA fo has quoted on the Source of Tragic Pleasures. 1 9 JiJJIIJJI ^ 9jr f£ Jjff^ CHAP. IV. fvhelher table operate on our Passions, by representing its events as passing in our sight, and by deluding us into a conviction of reality f And whether this delusion, sup- posing it real, accounts for the Pleasures arising from Tragic Representations. . . . . ..37 tadJ £W fI99(j CHAP. V. Whether Tragic Pleasures may be traced to the Vices and Inhumanity, or to the Virtues and Sympathies of Human Nature. . . .'„ . . . . 45 CHAP. VI. Examination of Mr. Burke and Mr. Knight's Theories. 1 1 1 Vlll CONTENTS. CHAP. VII. Whether Imaginary, produce, at any time, a more powerful Impression, than Real, Distress ? and t if so, under what cir- cumstances can such an Effect take place ? . . . . 13G CHAP. VIII. All strong Sensations pleasing to those by whom they are felt, three instances only excepted. .. .. ..149 CHAP. IX. Emotions and Passions, whatever be their Nature and Cha- racter, universally pleasing to those by ivhom they are felt : Objections answered. .. .. . . ..249 CHAP. X. The true Source of the Pleasures derived from Tragic Repre- sentations deduced from the two preceding Chapters. The secret of giving Dramatic Interest to Tragedies intended for Representation. . . . . . . . . 280 - A PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY [NTO THE SOURCE OF THE PLEASURES DERIVED FROM TRAGIC REPRESENTATIONS. CHAP. I. Difficulty of the Problem proposed to be resolved, WHY Tragic Representations should produce pleasing emotions in the human breast, or, to state the question in other words, why we should delight in any thing painful, such as pictures and images of distress, is a question that has been proposed and investigated by many eminent writers and critics ; but their number hardly exceed the diversity of opinions which they have advanced on the subject. It is certain, however, that there can be only one proper answer ; for when any particular object, re- presentation, or circumstance, invariably produces an impression of a pleasing character, this impres- sion must obviously arise from some fixed principle B 2 PlMhOS&P.miCAJLj INQUIRY INTO in our nature called into action by the agency of this object, representation, or circumstance. When, therefore, different causes or principles of ac- tion are assigned, they must be all founded in error except one. When I except one, I do not mean to say, that one must be right, for it is possible that all may be wrong ; and it is also possible, that the true cause may never be discovered. I mean, therefore, merely to say, that there can be only one true cause, whether discovered or not ; and that all other causes must necessarily be erroneous. It is easy to give an ingenious solution of a difficult problem ; but though a thousand different solutions may appear plausible and specious, it is still not so easy to satisfy the mind, that the question is resolved, even by the most satisfactory of them, if it be mingled with the slightest error. Whatever is partly false will generally be found to leave the mind more or less unsatisfied, more or less doubtful : it may even have many reasons to believe what it is told ; — it may perceive none for entertaining a different opinion ; but still, from not perceiving its way clearly, it feels not that complete gratification which results from the discovery and clear percep- tion of truth ; for whenever truth bursts through the mists of error, it flashes instantaneous conviction upon us, and we not only perceive but feel its evidence, even though it should admit of no de- monstrative certainty. THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 3 Before I investigate, however, the theories which have been adopted by my predecessors on the present subject, or offer a new one of my own, may it not be asked, whether any real pleasure arises from Tragic Representations? Some rigid theologians, whom I should be sorry to confound with divines of expanded minds, and rational virtue, tell us, that ^ is a pleasure arising from the de pravity of our o wn natur e, a nd maintain, {hat , whilp fh e heart is imbu ed with the redeeming spirit of sanctity and religion, the emotions produced by theatrical re- presentation of every description are loathsome and offensive to us^ To this argument I reply, that it rests altogether on an appeal to the feelings of a particular class of people ; whereas pleasure and pain, being modifications of feeling founded in the general nature of man, it is only by con- sulting the commonfeeling of mankind that we can unequivocally ascertain what is pleasing or dis- pleasing to this general nature ; for, with regard to individuals, general laws have no application. Every deviation from the general nature of man is determined by a particular law of its own ; and it accords neither with religion, philosophy, nor common sense, to bring forward particular laws in accounting for general effects. It will be found hereafter, however, that tragic emotions, or tragic pleasures, are more nearly allied to virtue than moralists are aware of, or, at least, than they seem b2 ■ When the pious band Of youths that fought for freedom, and their sires, Lie side by side in gore ; — when ruffian pride Usurps the throne of justice ; — turns the pomp Of public power, the majesty of rule, The sword, the laurel, and the purple robe, To slavish, empty pageants, to adorn 58 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO A tyrant's walk, and glitter in the eyes Of such as bow the knee ; — when honoured urns Of patriots and of chiefs, the awful bust, And storied arch, to glut the coward age Of regal envy, strew the public way With hallowed ruins ! When the patriot's tear Starts from thine eye, and thy extended arm, In fancy hurls the thunderbolt of Jove, To fire the impious wreath on Philip's brow, Or dash Octavius from the trophied car 5 — Say does thy secret soul repine to taste The big distress ; — or would'st thou then exchange Those heart-ennobling sorrows for the lot Of him who sits among the gaudy herd Of mute barbarians bending to his nod And bears aloft his gold invested front, And says within himself, " I am a king, And wherefore should the clamorous voice of woe Intrude upon mine ear r" This theory, which makes Tragic pleasure arise from the influence of virtuous impressions, is not only more general, and more philosophic than all the theories which we have yet noticed, but it is also the most pleasing which human imagination can conceive, as it is the only one which vindicates the original dignity and immortal destination of man. Nor is it less pleasing to find that we are indebted for this theory to the inspirations of the muse. It has poets chiefly for its advocates, and these, too, of no inferior order. Pope and Young have philosophically and poetically breathed the THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 59 same sentiments, and maintained the same doc- trine. Before I examine its sufficiency to account for the origin of Tragic Pleasure, I shall quote a few lines on the subject from each of these poets ; and first from Young. Though various are the tempers of mankind, Pleasure's gay family holds all in chains. Some most affect the black, and some the fair j Whatever the motive, pleasure is the mark : For her the black assassin draws the sword ; For her dark statesmen trim the midnight lamp, To which no single sacrifice may fall. The stoic proud, for pleasure, pleasure scorned j For her Affliction's daughters grief indulge And find) or hope a luxury in tears. Patron of pleasure ! I thy rival am j — Pleasure the purpose of my gloomy song t Pleasure is nought but virtues gayer name ;—- I wrong her still, I rate her worth too low : Virtue the root, and pleasure is the flower. ****** For what are virtues, (formidable name !) What but the fountain or defence of joy ? The following is from Pope. Know then this truth, (enough for man to know,) Virtue alone is happiness below. The only point where human bliss stands still, And tastes the good without the fall to ill. The broadest mirth, unfeeling folly wears, Less pleasing far than virtue s very tears. See the sole bliss heaven could on man bestow, Which who but feels can taste, but thinks can know ; 60 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO Yet, poor with fortune, and with learning blind, The bad must miss, the good, untaught, will find. That every virtuous impression is pleasing to the soul, however it may be accompanied by pains and sorrows, is a truth which no sophistry can disprove, and to which every virtuous mind can afford instant testimony. To call upon others to confirm the fact would be absurd, because no man can feel a virtuous impression but the virtuous man himself; and, consequently, no other can tell whether it be pleasing or otherwise. We can reason only from what we know, and he who never felt a virtuous impression, knows, consequently, nothing about it. The ill-boding sceptic who denies the original goodness of human nature, and who aknowledges that he has no more idea of " a moral sense than of a moral castle," is, conse- quently, a stranger to virtuous emotions, and un- qualified to reason about them, or tell whether they are agreeable or disagreeable, because plea- sure is known only by being felt. So far then as regards virtuous impressions, no question can remain of their being all pleasing to the soul, whether they arise from Tragic Repre- sentations or not ; but there still remain unan- swerable objections to the theory which resolves all our pleasures, or even those arising from Tragic Representations, into a sense of virtue. In the first place, there are many sensations and emotions THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 61 which are always pleasing, though they have not the remotest alliance with virtue, — -such as the pleasure derived from comic scenes, and, conse- quently, virtue cannot be the general law of pleasure. We cannot therefore maintain, that Tragic emo- tions are pleasing because they are virtuous ; for if some pleasing emotions be not virtuous, it may happen that Tragic emotions may be among the number. Now it happens, that there are an infinity of pleasing emotions besides those of comedy, which have not the most distant connexion with virtuous affections ; and it also happens, that some portion of the pleasure arising from Tragic Representations can be clearly traced to this class of pleasing emotions. All good imita- tions are pleasing to us whether they represent real objects or real circumstances and events. To imitate the realities of life correctly and naturally, requires great ingenuity, and a peculiar appropria- tion of the mental powers ; but genius and energy of mind have no original connexion with virtue. The greatest poet is not the greatest saint ; nor is the greatest saint the most intelligent of the human race. Men of the greatest genius have been found to deny every principle of morality, and, conse- quently, every principle of religion on which virtue can rest ; but yet it is genius, and genius only, whether it be sanctified or reprobate, that can ever 62 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO succeed in giving a correct imitation of nature. When we are pleased with this imitation, there- fore, it is not the virtue but the genius of the artist that communicates the pleasure. A paint- ing or a poem badly executed is despised, how- ever we may venerate the virtues of the person who produced it ; so that I may safely venture to assert, that the pleasure resulting from imitation, as imitation, has not the remotest alliance with vir- tuous impressions of any kind, and, consequently, cannot be placed among the pleasures resulting from virtue. Now it cannot be denied that a part of the pleasures arising from Tragic Representations, is owing to pure imitation alone, or, in other words, to the power, felicity, and skill with which the actors imitate the real scenes, circumstances, events, passions, emotions, and catastrophes which they represent on the stage. The deepest tragedy will but lightly affect the audience if it be bung- lingly represented ; yet the distress is the same whether it be represented by a good or a bad actor. It matters little whether a man be put to death clown-like, or soldier-like, whether poison be drank awkwardly or gracefully : the distress, in all cases, is the same. As the pleasure, then, is far from be- ing the same, or, rather, as there is little or no pleasure in witnessing the best tragedy when bad- ly performed, it follows, that a portion, at least, of the pleasure resulting from Tragic Represen- THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 63 tations, arises from the skill and dramatic genius of the performers. If this were not the case, Kean's Richard would not impart more pleasure than the lateMr.Kemble's,nor Mrs.Siddons' Belvidera than Miss O'Neils. This part of the pleasure cannot, consequently, be traced to the power or influence of virtue over the heart ; for I have already shewn, that the pleasure we find in imitation has no al- liance with virtue, because the pleasure is the same whether the imitation be executed by a moral and religious, or by an abandoned unprincipled artiste While, therefore, it cannot be denied that all vir- tuous emotions are pleasing, it is obvious that the entire of the emotions arising from Tragedy can- not be traced to a sense of virtue ; and that, con- sequently, the aggregate of Tragic Pleasure must be traced to some more general law of human nature. We come now to the theory which ascribes Tragic Pleasure to sympathy. This is the most popular theory on the subject, having not only the bulk of mankind for its supporters, but also some philosophers and eminent writers : at least, that they were of this opinion may be easily collected from their works. It is usual, however, with philosophers, as with the rest of mankind, to mistake effects for causes, of which we have an instance in the theory which we are now going to examine. Sympathy cannot 64 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO be the cause of any pleasure, for instead of being a cause, it is an effect : instead of producing plea- sure, it is itself the very pleasure which it is said to produce, and of the origin of which we are at present in pursuit. Whenever we see an innocent person placed in any situation, which, in our opinion, renders him more unhappy than we are ourselves, we feel sensible of an immediate, instinctive emo- tion which prompts us to solace and alleviate his sufferings ; and, even if we cannot effect his re- lief, we still place ourselves in his situation, and indulge, in a certain degree, the same wishes of seeing him released that he does himself. It is a curious fact, however, that we cannot feel this sanctified emotion in the misfortunes of others, if we are ourselves more unfortunate than they are. It is true, indeed, that if we are only equal to them in distress, we cannot refuse them our sympathy. We share in their afflictions, because they assimilate with our own ; but, however un- fortunate they are, we resist the sympathetic im- pulse, if we be still more unfortunate ourselves. This, at least, is the general law of our nature ; but, like all general laws, it has its exceptions. We sympathize, for instance,, in the sufferings of a dear friend, or a near relation, even when they are less than our own, because, the law which at- taches us to them, is more powerful than the law which prevents us from sympathizing with lighter THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 65 evils than those which we ourselves endure. This general law will easily explain, why adversity in- durates all the finer susceptibilities of our nature, and leaves us almost without a particle of com- miseration for the distresses of others. When- ever we sympathize, however, in the misfortunes of any individual, it is clear that the sympathetic emotion is caused by the circumstances in which he is placed. It is, therefore, an effect, and not a cause ; and so are all the emotions and passions that ever agitated the human breast. They are never felt until some circumstance occurs which is calculated to excite them. We know from expe- rience, that the emotion which we call sympathy, is a pleasing emotion, which is saying, in other words, that sympathy is a pleasure. It cannot be a pleasure, however, according to the theory which we are now examining, as it makes sympathy the cause by which the pleasure is produced. The pleasures which we ascribe to sympathy, therefore, should be more properly ascribed to the various circumstances and situations by which various modifications of sympathy are excited within us. No two circumstances will produce the same mo- dification, for the sympathetic emotion will vary in its degree and character, according to the diver- sity of the circumstances by which it is excited. We sympathize in the distress of a parent who has lost his only son ; we sympathize also in the F 66 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO distress of a parent who lost one son out of twelve. In these cases, the sympathetic emotion differs only in degree ; but when we sympathize in the fate of two unfortunate lovers, the emotion which we experience differs from the former, not only in degree, but likewise in character. In all these instances, however, the emotion which we feel is pleasing to us, so that whatever produces a sym- pathetic emotion, necessarily produces a pleasing one, for both emotions are but one and the same impression. We cannot separate the pleasing from the sympathetic emotion, even in idea; so that it is perfectly confounding cause and effect to ascribe the pleasure resulting from Tragic Scenes to sym- pathy, because sympathy, so far from being the cause of pleasure, is, Itself, the pleasure which is said to proceed from some sympathy. According to Adam Smith's theory of sym- pathy, comedy should be much more pleasing to us than tragedy. " We often struggle," he says, " to keep down our sympathy with the sor- row of others. Whenever we are not under the observation of the sufferer we endeavour, for our own sake, to suppress it as much as we can ; but we never have occasion to make this opposition to our sympathy with joy. When there is no envy in the case, our propensity to sympathize with joy is much stronger than our propensity to sympa- thize with sorrow. Adversity depresses the mind THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 67 of the sufferer much more below its natural state than prosperity can elevate him above it. The spec tator must, therefore, find it much more difficult to sympathize entirely, and keep perfect time with his sorrow ; than thoroughly to enter into his joy, and must depart much further from his own natural and ordinary temper of mind in the one case than in the other. It is on this account that, though our sympathy with sorrow is often a more pungent sensation than our sympathy with joy, it always falls much more short of the violence of what is naturally felt by the person principally concerned. When we attend to the representation of a tragedy, we struggle against that sympathetic sorrow which the entertainment inspires, as long as we can, and we give way to it at last only when we can no longer avoid it. We even then endea- vour to cover our concern from the company. If we shed any tears we carefully conceal them, and are afraid lest the spectators, not entering into this excessive tenderness, should regard it as effeminacy and weakness." This theory of sympathy would appear to have been written by a person who drew his observa- tions from his own feelings, but who, unhap- pily, had no sympathetic feeling to consult. If our propensity to sympathize with joy be much stronger than our propensity to sympathize with sorrow, why do we prefer tragedies to comedies ? f2 68 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO why do the former bring fuller houses ? and why are the deepest tragedies the most interesting of all others ? However we may reason on the subject, there- fore, experience proves, that the pleasure which w r e derive from sympathizing with the misfortunes of others, imparts a delight which we would not exchange for all the unprized, and undignified plea- sure that can be extracted from the most rapturous bursts of merriment. The fact is, that the more extravagantly we perceive a person indulge his joyful sensations, the less we are inclined to sym- pathize with him ; whereas our sympathy always increases with the deepening depth of affliction. We resist the sympathetic emotions, in the one case, and we feel pleased with ourselves for doing so ; or, if we indulge it in the extreme, so far from claiming credit for our sympathy, we blush to reflect upon it ; while, in the other, we give free indulgence to all the luxury of grief. The reason of this approbation and disapprobation is obvious, however difficult it may be to account for the pleasure that accom- panies our grief. Immoderate joy is the pleasure not only of weak but of little minds. No sensation should be stronger than the agency of the cause by which it is excited, and the causes that pro- duce joy can never act with such intensity on the risible part of our nature, as the causes that are productive of grief and torment. The most heart- THE SOURCE OP TRAGIC PLEASURE. 69 felt joy bears no proportion to the most agonizing pain ; not only, because there is no proportion be- tween the intensity of these opposite sensations, at the moment, but because the reflection with which each of them is attended, serves to abate the one in the same proportion that it increases the other. However elevated or enraptured we may be by the excitement of the moment, we know, that this excitement will be of short duration, even though the cause which produces it should continue through life ; for we are so constituted by nature, that the strongest excitement soon loses its effect upon us, and the more powerfully it is suffered to act, the greater is the depression by which it is followed. A consciousness, therefore, of the short-lived nature of excessive joy serves to moderate its indulgence in all rational minds ; and, consequently, we refuse to sympathize with him who places no restraint upon it, because if he choose to forget, we, who are mere spectators, cannot forget, that this paroxysm will soon be at an end ; and, therefore, it moderates our joy, at least, if it does not moderate his. The reflection that accompanies grief or pain serves, on the contrary, not only to increase it, but to in- crease our sympathy for its unhappy victim. No man can properly be said to be in grief, who has a certainty, that the cause of his uneasiness is only to continue a few days or hours. The man who is thrown into prison for life, and confined in 70 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO a cold, dark, and cheerless dungeon, not only feels the physical pain of the moment, but increases it by reflecting, that death only can put an end to his sufferings. The lover who weeps over the grave of her whose presence was his heaven, whose image was his paradise, but whom even the madden- ing dreams of delusive hope can no longer restore to his ardent wishes, feels not only all the pains and grief of separation, but all those deeper and indescribable torments suggested by the reflection that this separation must last for ever. Immode- rate joy can arise only from physical impulses, for mental pleasures are of a more chastened and re- fined nature ; but grief has not only to contend with the physical pains of the moment, but with those eternally mingled and multiplied associations w T hich force themselves upon the imagination, or which this busy and inventive faculty cannot re- frain from creating, even when they plunge it in all the gloom and horrors of despair. When Mr. Smith says, that ''adversity depresses the mind of the sufferer much more below its natural state than prosperity can elevate him above it," he evidently confounds the person who suffers with him who sympathizes in his sufferings, when he infers from this depression our unwillingness to indulge in sympathy with sorrow. He should have recollected, however, that in treating of sympathy, we should rest our principles, not upon him who THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 71 suffers, or who endures this adversity, but upon him who sympathizes in his calamity. The suffer- ing man feels no sympathy himself, for it is a fact, supported by experience, that he who suffers pain is incapable of sympathizing in the pains of others, unless they are still greater than his own. Hence it is, that adversity blunts all the finer feelings and sensibilities of the heart, and makes us strangers to that sympathetic and tender commiseration which glows in the bosoms of those who are them- selves strangers to the pangs of adversity. To say that the pains of such sympathy "depresses the mind," is to say what is the very reverse of the fact ; for we never feel ourselves more ennobled, we are never so pleased and gratified with ourselves as when we feel ourselves yielding to the divine and hallowed impulse of sympathy or commiseration with the sufferings of others. In fact, it is only great and noble minds that are capable of this feeling, and so far from regretting the pains and humiliation which, Mr. Smith says, accompanies it ; there is no reflection to which they recur with more pride and pleasure, than that which reminds them of it. It proves not only a guardian angel that warns them against the seductions of vice, but which eternally prompts them to pursue that un- sullied course of life which is the parent of great and generous emotions ; of those emotions which not only impart all the felicity that can be enjoyed 72 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO in this life, but which realize by their secret im- pulses, and indescribable communications, a por- tion of that inheritance which we anticipate in the next. The slightest inclination to levity, the slight- est temptation to stray from the paths of virtue and honour, is instantly extinguished, the moment we reflect on those emotions by which we felt our- selves ennobled when we sympathized with virtue in distress ; for to say that we can sympathize with vice, that we can identify ourselves with the pains and sufferings of him who leads a life of iniquity, who has spent his life in studying to promote his own interests, at the expense of others, is to say, that we are ourselves, if I may use a vulgar expres- sion, a chip of the same block. Congenial natures ouly can sympathize with each other; and, there- fore, however we may pity, we cannot sympathize with him whose principles of conduct have been at variance with those which we ourselves hold sacred. However afflicted we perceive any indi- vidual to be, we repress, as much as we can, our sympathetic emotions, or, at least, those incipient impulses that prompt us to sympathize with hirn, if he be a stranger, until we discover whether he has brought this affliction upon himself by aban- donment of principle, or profligacy of character ; and if we discover that he has, the small degree of sympathy which we could not entirely suppress while we remained in doubt, becomes instantly THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 73 extinct. We may still, perhaps, continue to pity, but we cannot sympathize. Our sympathies can only be elicited by those in whom we perceive no quality or disposition of mind which we ourselves would blush to avow. " Sympathy," to use the words of a French writer, " is that reciprocity of affection and of inclination, that quick communi- cation of one heart with another, which is imparted and felt with an inexplicable rapidity ; it is that conformity of natural qualities, ideas, humours and tempers, by which two kindred spirits seek each other, love each other, become attached to each other, and melt into one."* Whatever draws the heart to any object, the sensation or passion by which it is drawn is a sympathetic emotion, and therefore love is the strongest of all sympathies, and hatred the strongest of all antipathies. In proportion as any two natures resemble each other, will they approach to each other; and in proportion as they differ from each other, will they recoil. As sympathy, then, is the opposite to antipathy, it can exist only between kindred * Cette convenance d'affection et d'inclination, cette intelli- gence des cceurs communiqule rtfpendue, sentie avec une rapidite inexplicable j cette conformity des qualit^s naturelles, d'id^es, d'humeurs, et de temperamens par laquelle deux ames assorties, se cherclient, s'aiment, s'attachent l'une a l'autre se confondent ensemble, c'est ce qu'on nomine Sympathie.— Encyclopedic. At- tide, Sympathie. 74 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO natures, or, at least, its degree will always depend on the degree of affinity that exists between them. It is this affinity that causes affection, and this affection is only another name for sympathy. I cannot, therefore, agree with Mr. Smith, that "we often struggle to keep down our sympathy with the sorrows of others," and " suppress it as much as we can, whenever we are not under their observa- tion." In fact, the person who sympathizes with his suffering friend only while he is in his presence, and seeks to suppress his sympathy the moment he departs, is only he who works himself into a false sympathy, and assumes a virtue which he does not feel, in order to impose on his friend. Such a man is a hypocrite, and if he believe that that emotion which he endeavours to suppress, after departing from his friend, was real sympathy, it only proves, that sympathy is a virtue, of which he who never felt it, wishes to believe himself pos- sessed. Such is the power of virtue over the human mind, that the most hardened villain endeavours to reconcile himself with his conscience, and ascribes his evil actions either to temptation or necessity, so that his system of reasoning, as well as his self- love, makes him believe, that he has many good qualities, and that he is, at bottom, as good as others. It is so with sympathy: so sweet and humanizing are its charms, and so peculiarly does it mark out those who are most susceptible of its THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 75 sacred impulse, as the peculiar favourites of heaven, that even the man whose stubborn and intractable nature has never suffered him to feel the pleasing luxury of woe, cannot endure to be thought inca- pable of sympathetic emotions. He therefore en- deavours to work himself into a false sympathy, while he is in the presence of his suffering friend, but the moment he departs, he seeks to work him- self out of it. He finds it is not natural to him ; he is of too gross and earthly a mould to cherish so ennobling and divine a sensation. He therefore shakes it off, and returns to his natural insensibi- lity. We are always uneasy while we are out of our natural element. Naturam expellas, furca tamen usque rccurret. Or, as Juvenal expresses it, Custode et cura natura potentlor omnl. We do not, then, as Mr. Smith affirms " strug- gle to keep down our sympathies with the sorrows of others, whenever we are not under their obser- vation," but we endeavour to suppress that mock sympathy which we attempted to impose upon them for genuine. Real sympathy, so far from depress- ing, ennobles the mind ; so far from seeking to suppress, we cherish it as the most sacred pledge of our humanity, the most pleasing, because the most virtuous, impulse of which we ever felt con- scious. 76 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO ,...,» Ask the faithful youth, Why the cold urn of her whom long he lov'd So often nils his arms, — so often draws His lonely foot-steps, at the silent hour, To pay the mournful tribute of his tears ? Oh ! he will tell thee that the wealth of worlds Should ne er seduce his bosom to forget That sacred hour, when stealing from the noise Of care and envy, sweet remembrance soothes, With virtue's kindest look, his aching breast, And turns his tears to rapture. Sympathy, then, so far from depressing, not only ennobles us, as I have just observed, but turns our very "tears to rapture;" — so far from struggling to suppress it, " the wealth of worlds cannot seduce us to forego it." Mr. Smith has, therefore, taken a most erroneous view of the nature of sympathy, when he says, that we " find it much more difficult to sympathize entirely, and keep perfect time with sorrow, than thoroughly to enter into joy ;" for if we have the least difficulty in the former case, it is impossible, by any effort of nature, to make us sympathize at all. We may pity, — we may com- miserate, — a cold sense of duty may make us per- form all the kind offices to the sufferer, which the virtue of charity inculcates ; but still we may not feel a particle of sympathy ; for all this may be done where the object of our pity is the most depraved and abandoned of human beings ; but sympathy cannot be created or excited within us by any effort THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 77 of our own ; it must come of its own accord, or not come at all ; it must come upon us like a thief, and,, in general, its approaches are secret and im- perceptible. We cannot, by any effort of our own, create any unmixed feeling, such as sympathy, joy, hatred, &c. They can result only from the opera- tion of some external influence, and our suscepti- bility of yielding to the influence exercised over us. Neither of these causes can, of itself, produce any unmixed feeling within us ; it always requires the co-operation of both. No agency can, of itself, excite sympathy, joy, or hatred, if our natures are averse to their indulgence ; that is, if we be so or- ganized as to have a natural antipathy for hatred, joy, or sympathy ; nor can any disposition of our natures to the indulgence of these feelings, enable us to excite them by any effort of our own, without the co-operation of some external influence. No man ever fell into a fit, or paroxysm of joy, but could tell what caused it. He can always point out something that excited this extraordinary burst of merriment. It is so with hatred : no man, how- ever formed by nature with a disposition for hatred, can feel this passion, until some object or quality, repulsive to his feelings, awaken it in his breast. Sympathy, in like manner, cannot be felt by the kindest and the most humane of mortals, until some object fitted to excite it presents itself to his view. When Mr. Smith therefore savs, " it is more 78 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO difficult to sympathize entirely, and keep perfect time with sorrow, than thoroughly to enter into joy," he evidently imagines, that we can create feelings of ourselves, without any assistance from external agency. He does not perceive, that where such an agency is exercised over us, there can be no difficulty in yielding to it, if we are susceptible of the feeling which it is calculated to excite, and that if we are not, no effort can enable us to feel its influence. Hence it requires no greater effort on our part to enter into, and become possessed of the most powerful passions, those passions that carry us far- thest from our " own natural and ordinary temper of mind," than to yield to the slightest modes of feel- ing, simply because it requires no effort whatever in either case. The slightest sensation which we feel cannot be produced without a cause or agency : the strongest sensation, emotion, or passion, re- quires an agency proportionately strong. Where such agencies are exercised, the one produces its effect with the same ease as, and with neither more nor less difficulty than, the other. If Thomas be four times stronger than James, he lifts four hun- dred weight with as much ease as, and with neither more nor less difficulty than, James can lift one hundred. This law holds good throughout the immense, and perhaps the illimitable, creation, which is subject to the dominion of cause and effect. Thus it is, that Lear found no greater difficulty in THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 79 departing from his "own natural, and ordinary tem- per of mind/' and becoming an irreclaimable, im- medicable, incurable madman, than the drunkard feels in passing from a state of sobriety to that of intoxication. Neither Lear became mad, nor Anacreon drunk, without a cause sufficient to pro- duce the effect ; and where such a cause exists, it is contrary to the laws of Nature, if the effect does not follow it. There is no difficulty, therefore, in departing from our " natural and ordinary temper of mind," where there is a sufficient impulse to force us from it : the great difficulty consists, not in yielding to the impulse, but in resisting it. I must, at the same time, confess myself entirely ignorant of what Mr. Smith means by "Sympa- thizing entirely, and keeping perfect time with sor- row ;" for if he mean that we do not sympathize entirely as much as the person who is the object of our sympathy, I reply, that we sympathize infinitely more if we sympathize at all ; simply, because he who is wrestling in the pangs of affliction, cannot, as I have already observed, sympathize in the least. It is only he who is free from all pain and affliction himself, that can properly sympathize in the woes of others. " The happy man," as Helvetius ob- serves, "is humane: he is the couching lion." The unhappy man retires within himself: he has no sympathy to impart ; all external influences lose their effect upon him ; he is dark, gloomy, and 80 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO irresponsive; and therefore, however much we may lament his misfortunes, however much we may sympathize in his griefs, however willing we may be to excuse his insensibility, which we should always do, if it arise from the circumstances in which he is placed, and not from the natural inflex- ibility or insensibility of his disposition, we must not expect, that all these indulgences, nor all the marks of attention, kindness, and regret which we can express towards him, can make him sympa- thize with us as strongly as we sympathize with him, until he is first placed in the enjoyment of equal happiness with ourselves. He feels grati- tude, it is true, but gratitude is not sympathy. Mr. Smith, then, either means nothing, or means what is wrong, when he says, that we cannot " sympa- thize entirely with his sorrow ;" for if he mean by entirely, that we do not sympathize as much as he does, it is evident from the preceding observa- tions, that we sympathize infinitely more; for as the smallest particle of matter is infinitely greater than nothing, in consequence of its divisibility ad infi- nitum, so must his total want of sympathy be infinitely less than the degree of sympathy which we feel, however slight it may be in itself. If he mean by sympathizing " entirely" that our sym- pathy is not sufficiently strong, I reply, that the entirety of sympathy does not depend on the degree in which it is felt. Though all modes of feeling are THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURES. 8i not equally strong, yet they are all equally whole and entire, as the particular degree in which any mode is felt can have no relation to the property that constitutes its essence or entirety. Feeling*, like the soul, of which it is a mere affection, is incapable of being divided into parts, and what- ever is incapable of parts is equally incapable of being made more or less entire than it is already. If not, no degree of sympathy would be entire, as a higher degree would be more entire, an ex- pression which is neither sense nor grammar. It is not, therefore, so difficult as Mr. Smith imagines, to sympathize entirely with sorrow; and he himself, in a few lines after, gives a clear proof of it. " When we attend," he says, " to the representation of a tragedy, we struggle against that sympathetic sor- row which the entertainment inspires, as long as we can, and we give way to it at last only when we can no longer avoid it. We even then endea- vour to cover our concern from the company. If we shed any tears, we carefully conceal them, and are afraid lest the spectators, not entering into this excessive tenderness, should regard it as effeminacy and weakness." How Mr. Smith could suppose that these observations, admitting them to be true, and, with regard to the majority of cultivated society, they undoubtedly are so, is a proof that sympathy with sorrow is not so natural and pleas- ing to us as sympathy with joy, I am at a loss to G 82 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO determine. To me it appears, that stronger argu- ments cannot be adduced, to prove that the former sympathy is, beyond all comparison, the most natural and congenial to our feelings. When we struggle against that sympathetic sorrow which tragedy inspires, is it not evident that we struggle against our own nature ; that we are endeavouring to suppress its natural operations, and the sympa- thetic affections to which it wishes us to resign our- selves? Our struggling against them by no means proves, that they are unnatural and displeasing to us ; for if so, it follows, that whatever the fashion- able world profess to be displeased with, must be naturally displeasing, antecedent to fashion and to its influence over the mind. This, we know, is not the fact : natural pleasures, and natural manners, are pleasing to all men, and the fashionable man professes to despise them only because he has suffered himself to become a slave to principles which have no foundation in nature. It is so in the case before us : when we struggle against the sympathetic emotions of sorrow, we connect our- selves with the fashionable world ; for if we acted according to the laws of our nature, we should, so far from struggling, yield instinctively to this de- lightful emotion. It is not the emotion, then, that is unnatural, but the act by which we endeavour to suppress it. Should it be objected, that we would not endeavour to suppress it, if it were not natural THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 83 for us to do so, I reply, that no man would endea- vour to suppress it, if he were alone, and unobserv- ed. We repress it only because each of us is, unhap- pily, vain enough to suppose, that his countenance is watched by those around him ; and, as it is not sanc- tioned by the rules of fashionable life to appear ex- ternally affected by internal emotions, we endeavour to suppress, I must say unnaturally, those affec- tions and passions by which we are agitated, and which nature only could have originally inspired. It is idle, then, to suppose, that when we " endea- vour to cover our concern from the company," we do so because it is unnatural to feel affected at the time. In such cases, we are always determined, not by our own feelings, but by what we suppose to be the opinion of others. We throw aside the im- mutable standard of nature, and are blindly guided by the capricious standard of fashion. The truth of these observations will be placed beyond all doubt, if we look to the manners of natural society, where we find no restraint placed on the external signs of passion. Pleasure and pain, love and hatred, hope and fear, are no sooner felt, than they are ex- pressed in the countenance, without being in the least tempered or modified by any unnatural strug- gle to suppress them, or to silence that natural language, in which theyso eloquently express them- selves. If, as Cicero says, Omnis motus animi, suum quendam a natura habet vultum et sonum, et gestum, g2 84 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO surely it must be admitted, that such external signs of internal emotions, are natural and agreeable to us, and, if so, the struggles of those who endeavour to suppress them, are consequently unnatural. " Excessive joy," says Lord Kaimes, " is expressed by leaping, dancing, or some elevation of the body: excessive grief, by sinking or depressing it." Which is it, then, more philosophical to conclude, that these are natural signs of natural passions, or to main- tain with Mr. Smith, that, because some people struggle to suppress them, which is evidently done from an apprehension of appearing vulgar, they are neither natural nor agreeable to us. That they are natural, I believe no one will deny, but that they are agreeable, may not, perhaps, be so impli- citly and universally admitted. It requires, how- ever, only a little reflection to perceive, that what- ever is natural is always more agreeable than that which is opposed to it. He who manifests his joy by dancing and leaping, is certainly happier than he who endeavours to suppress these signs of his passion ; and the spectator who approves of, and sympathizes in his enjoyment, is also happier in indulging this sympathy, than the cold disciple of fashion, who affects to smile at his want of taste. It is so with grief: the person who yields to it with- out resistance is happier than he whose stubborn nature will not suffer him to bend to it. Hence, tears prove always the greatest relief to theafflicted, THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 85 while he who is incapable of shedding them, is a prey to the most agonizing' and tormenting pain. The remainder of Mr. Smith's theory of sympa- thy is, as may reasonably be expected, equally erroneous ; for he who mistakes his way at the commencement, can afterwards go right only by chance. While we detect error, however, we are not justified in condemning it, or, more properly speaking, we are not justified in attributing it to the absence of intellectual power. Error reposes under the shade of the highest authorities, for who has been able to avoid its snares. The retreats of certainty are frequently concealed from us in impe- netrable darkness, so that inspiration alone, or the secret guidance of instinct, can sometimes lead us to the wizard and unfrequented haunts in which it has fixed its abode. It escapes, when it lists, all the acumen and penetration of genius, and all the ana- lyzing discrimination and researches of philosophy. But while the contracted bounds of human intel- lection oblige us to excuse error, we cannot so easily forgive inconsistency. One fundamental error leads to a thousand more ; but inconsistency is always the offspring of immediate inattention, or confusion of ideas. While, therefore, we excuse the continuity of error which marks the remainder of Mr. Smith's Theory, we cannot so easily pass over its palpable inconsistencies. " When we con- dole, 5 ' he says, "with our friends in their afflictions, 86 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO how little do we feel in comparison to what they feel. We sit down by them, we look at them ; and while they relate to us the circumstances of their misfortunes, we listen to them with gravity and attention. But while their narration is every moment interrupted by those natural bursts of passion, which often seem almost to choke them in the midst of it, how far are the languid emo- tions of our hearts from keeping tune to the trans- ports of theirs. We may be sensible, at the same time, that their passion is natural, and no greater than what we ourselves might feel upon the like occasion. We may even inwardly reproach our- selves with our want of sensibility, and, perhaps, on that account, work ourselves up into an artificial sympathy, which, however, when it is raised, is always the slightest and most transitory imagi- nable, and, generally, when we have left the room, vanishes, and is gone for ever." From the first sentence in this passage Mr. Smith wishes to infer, that as we do not feel the afflictions of another as much as he feels himself, we are more inclined to sympathize with joy than with sorrow. This inference was certainly never de- duced from the philosophy of human nature, or the common feelings of mankind ; for, however deeply we may feel for the misfortunes of a friend, it is obvious that our feelings must be entirely of a different character from his. The character THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 87 of every feeling is determined by the cause or cir- cumstances by which it is produced. There can be no affinity or similarity of feeling' between Henry, who is so passionately enamoured of Eliza that he would sacrifice his life to preserve her's, and James, who bears her such mortal hatred that he would instantly suffer death if it could only lead to her destruction. Both feelings are equally intense ; but as the one proceeds from love, the other from hatred, no comparison can be instituted between them. While ever the causes of feeling are dif- ferent, the feelings themselves must be equally so. It is therefore impossible, that he who suffers under any affliction, and he who sympathizes in his suf- ferings, can ever feel alike. The feelings of the former are caused by the situation in which he is placed, or the bodily pains by which he is afflicted, but those of the latter cannot arise from either of these causes, as he is neither placed in the same situation, nor tormented by the same pains. He has no feelings on the occasion but what are entirely of a mental character, as they arise, not from any physical causes or circumstances affect- ing himself. All his feelings, at the moment, are excited, by reflecting on the situation of his friend, and his distressed state of mind. His feelings are therefore caused by reflection, which is a mental act, whereas those of his friend are produced by real, sensible causes, namely, the situation in which 88 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO he is placed, or the physical pains which he is ac- tually enduring. He, therefore, who sympathizes can never feel like the person with whom he sym- pathizes, unless he be placed in the same situation, or afflicted by the same pains, in which case his sympathy, is at an end, and he only feels for him- self. It is therefore perfectly inconsistent to in- stitute any comparison between the feelings of him who suffers, and him who sympathizes in his suffer- ngs, as they can never be of the same character, unless the latter can fancy himself in the situation of the former, that is, unless he can part with his senses, in which case, his feelings are not those of sympathy but of actual suffering. If, however, it should be said, that Mr. Smith does not allude to any similarity of feeling between them, and only means to express the small degree of sympathy which we are apt to feel for our suf- fering friends ; he is, even in this case, as inconsis- tent as in the former. If he spoke from his own experience, he rested his assertion on the most fal- lacious and uncertain ground, as the degree of sympathy which he usually felt for his suffering friends could by no means determine the degree in which it is felt by others. Cold, phlegmatic dispositions (and philosophers not unfrequently are found among this class) feel little or no sympathy for distress of any kind ; but even among men of more sanguine temperaments, the degrees of sym- THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 89 pathy are as different as the different degrees of susceptibility imparted to them by nature. In fact, we can never pretend to say whether an individual will feel a " little/' or a great degree of sympathy, unless we are very intimately acquainted with hirn, and have sufficient opportunities of ascertaining his natural susceptibility of feeling. Nor can even this knowledge enable us to decide, if the person with whose distress he sympathizes be not a total stranger to him ; for, with regard to our friends, our sympathy depends as much on accidental biases, and peculiar relations, as on our natural suscepti- bility of impressions. Hence, he who has several unfortunate friends, cannot sympathize alike with any two of them, because the degree of sympathy which he feels for each of them, will depend on the degree of affliction endured, and the degree of at- tachment which he had previously felt for him who endures it. Mr. Smith, therefore, manifests no very extensive knowledge of human nature, when he says, that while our friends " relate to us the cir- cumstances of their misfortunes, we listen to them with gravity and attention," for if some of us do so, there are many among us who listen to them with very different feelings, and whose tears bear testi- mony to the sensibility of their hearts. Theirs is not that " artificial sympathy which generally va- nishes when we have left the room, and is gone for ever ;" and I cannot help repeating, that Mr. Smith 90 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO would seem to have taken his theory of sympathy, and particularly his idea of artificial sympathy, from observations made on the state of his own feelings, whenever his sympathy was called for. A little philosophy, however, would have taught him, that in this, as in all other cases, the feelings of one man can never determine the feelings of another. What follows is still worse ; " It is on account of this dull insensibility to the afflictions of others, that magnaminity amidst great distress appears always so divinely graceful. We feel what an im- mense effort is requisite to silence those violent emotions which naturally agitate and distract those in his situation. We are amazed to find that he can command himself so entirely. His firmness, at the same time, perfectly coincides with our in- sensibility. He makes no demand upon us for that more exquisite degree of sensibility which we find, and which we are mortified to find, that we do not possess. There is the most perfect correspondence between his sentiments and ours ; and, on that ac- count, the most perfect propriety in his behaviour. " Whenever we meet in common life with any examples of such heroic magnanimity, we are al- ways extremely affected. We are more apt to weep and shed tears for such as, in this manner, seem to feel nothing for themselves, than those who give way to all the the weakness of sorrow. And in this particular case, the sympathetic grief of the THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 91 spectator appears to go beyond the original passion in the person principally concerned. The friends of Socrates all wept when he drank the last potion, while he himself expressed the gayest and most cheerful tranquillity. Upon all such occasions, the spectator makes no effort, and has no occasion to make any, in order to conquer his sympathetic sorrow. He is under no fear that it will transport him to any thing that is extravagant and improper; he is rather pleased with the sensibility of his own heart, and gives way to it with complacence and self-ap- probation. He gladly indulges, therefore, the most melancholy views which can naturally occur to him, concerning the calamity of his friend, for whom, perhaps, he never felt so exquisitely before the tender and tearful passion of love. But it is quite otherwise with the person principally concerned. He is obliged, as much as possible, to turn away his eyes from whatever is either naturally terrible or disagreeable in his situation. Too serious an atten- tion to those circumstances he fears might make so violent an impression upon him, that he could no longer keep within the bounds of moderation, or render himself the object of the complete sympathy and approbation of the spectators. He fixes his thoughts, therefore, upon those only which are agree- able, the applause and admiration which he is about to deserve by the heroic magnanimity of his behavi- our. To feel that he is capable of so noble and ge- nerous an effort, to feel that lie can act in this 92 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO dreadful situation, as he would desire to act, ani- mates and transports him with joy, and enables him to support that triumphant gaiety which seems to exult in the victory he thus gains over his mis- fortunes." The " dull insensibility" here spoken of can be- long only to minds which are naturally insensible; and with regard to them the laws of sympathy can have no reference. The conclusions which Mr. Smith draws from this dulness are, therefore, erro- neous ; nor is that " magnanimity amidst great distress, so divinely graceful" as he imagines. He who makes " an immense effort to silence those violent emotions which naturally agitate and dis- tract those in his situation," is not the person most calculated to excite our sympathy ; and though I agree with Mr. Smith, that " we are amazed to find that he can command himself so entirely ;*' I deny the conclusion which he draws from it, namely, that " we are more apt to weep and shed tears for such as in this manner feel nothing for themselves." On the contrary, our amazement, so far from exciting our sympathy, or making us shed tears, suppresses the one, and dries up the other. Admiration is destructive of all those softer feelings which associate with sympathy and love. The frailties and weaknesses of minds naturally virtu- ous, are the true inspirers of sympathy. We cannot sympathize with him whom we admire,, because we can admire only those who rank above THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 93 ourselves either in mental or personal accomplish- ments. Such accomplishments, however, instead of sympathy and affection, excite pride and jealousy. " It is the soft green of the soul," as Mr. Burke says, " on which we rest our eyes that are fatigued with beholding more glaring objects." I have already ob- served, that only kindred natures can sympathize with each other ; but there are certain qualities which are pleasing to all men, and with which, consequently, all men sympathize. The most re- markable of these is weakness. We admire strength and greatness of mind, but we are conscious of no impulse that prompts us to approach and sympa- thize with it. Rivalry or emulation is the only pas- sion which it can excite, and if we want this ambi- tion, we retire from its glare to commune with weaknesses and frailties congenial with our own. With him who claims not our assistance, who has within himself all the resources of which he stands in need, and who is too proud and unbending to be indebted to others, we cannot sympathize. He has no quality that we can love. His unsocial, un- bending, uninviting disposition has no claim to attract us, none of that yielding amiability of man- ners that win the soul, and melt into sympathy the most stubborn and inflexible natures. But if we really " weep and shed tears for him who feels nothing for himself," how can we be told that his firmness perfectly coincides with our in- sensibility. 94 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO Besides, whatever is unnatural is, from the very constitution of our nature, both offensive and re- pulsive to us. When, therefore, we behold a person in misfortune endure it with stoic apathy, when we perceive that he affects to be unaffected by it, we feel instinctively that his inflexibility arises from pride, or real insensibility and doggishness of cha- racter. With neither of these can we sympathize: to pride we have a natural antipathy, and with a man of a hardened and indurated mind, we cannot enter into that communion of feeling which is the soul of sympathy, because we know that he is him- self incapable of sympathizingin the woes of others. Such a man, however, is more worthy, if not of our sympathy, at least of our pity, than he whose feign- ed insensibility arises from pride, and the desire of gaining iC the applause and admiration" of others ; for he adds hypocrisy to pride : he feels pain, but he affects not to feel it; he is in torment, but he will not acknowledge it. If this be not hypocrisy, I know not what is. Are we then to sympathize with a hypocrite, to weep and shed tears with him? when we refuse it to those who openly impart to us the torments and anxieties that distract their mind ? Such an avowal is a compliment to our humanity, for no person acknowledges his suffer- ings to him whom he knows incapable of sympa- thizing in them. Hence it is, that we are communi- cative only to those who are communicative them- THE SOURCE OP TRAGIC PLEASURE. 95 selves, who acknowledge to us all the secrets of their heart, all the fears, anxieties, weaknesses, and frailties to which they are subject. From such people we conceal nothing, and our sympathy for them, under affliction, extends even to their faults. On the contrary, however much we may respect and confide in the honour of an individual who seeks not our sympathy, who despises the balm of human consolation, and seeks for comfort only in communing with his own mind, we cannot prevail upon ourselves to communicate to him either our hopes or fears, our enjoyments or privations, our pains or pleasures. From such a man we recede by a sort of instinctive impulse, which we can neither account for nor controul. Mr. Smith and many other writers have, no doubt, taken this erroneous theory of sympathy from Aristotle, who reproves those tragic writers that put whining, exaggerated complaints into the mouths of their characters.* Perceiving the pro- priety of Aristotle's reproof, they have gone into the opposite extreme, and maintained, that he who does not complain at all, is he who is most apt to excite our sympathy. Here, however, as in all other cases, extremes meet ; and the one extreme is as barren of sympathy as the other. No one can excite our sympathy who does not appear to * Poetic S. xxviii. % PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO stand in need of it ; and therefore a perfect cha- racter has no business on the stage, because he can never acknowledge himself in need of our assis- tance. Such an acknowledgement is a confession of weakness, and a confession of weakness is virtually a confession of imperfection. Perfection wants nothing, seeks for nothing, and, therefore, neither claims, nor is entitled to sympathy. Hence we find, that a perfect character has never succeed- ed on the stage, because he has never excited either sympathy or interest. It is only he who is subject to all the turmoils and impetuosity of the passions, to all the weaknesses and imperfections of human nature, that can ever create our sympa- thy, or interest us in his fate.i The most interesting character, it is true, is a man endowed by nature with a virtuous disposition, but carried away, at the same time, by ungovernable passions ; but let him only trample upon these passions and return to his original virtuous disposition, and we take no further interest in him ; — we find he is no object of that sympathy, which, to the credit of human nature be it spoken, we are unwilling to bestow where it is not wanted. But, though such a man, while he yielded to his passions, was more interesting than an evil- disposed man, actuated by the same passions, the most abandoned character would be more inte- resting than him, after his return to virtue, pro- vided that, with all his abandonment of prin- THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE, 97 ciple, he was subject to passion. There is that in the nature of passion, which leads us to believe, (and our belief is well founded) that whoever yields to it acts blindly at the moment, whether he be naturally a good or an evil man. Virtue and vice have no affinity whatever with passion, the former consisting- in an inclination to what is good, the latter in a propensity to what is evil, Passion, however, is neither good nor evil, virtuous nor vicious, in itself, though yielding to it is sometimes a vice, and resisting it sometimes a virtue. It is the act of volition which we exer- cise, in consenting to the gratification of cer- tain passions that constitutes vice, for the im- pulse that prompts us to it can have nothing of evil in it, though it prompts to evil. If the im- pulse itself were evil, God would be the author of evil, because we are so constituted as to be subject to these impulses. The virtuous and the vicious are, therefore, equally subject to the dominion of passion, and when it proves too powerful for them, it leads them blindly along, and extinguishes the light of reason at the moment. Hence it is, that we have some pity even for the evil-minded man, when we see him obeying, not the dictates of his natural and habitual villainy, but those passions to which we are ourselves subject, and to which, perhaps, we would have equally yielded, had we been in his situation. In fact, passion, so far from 98 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO making a villain appear more detestable, makes him appear infinitely more amiable* It shews us, that, with all his abandonment of principle, he is still one of ourselves, subject to the same weak- nesses, governed by the same impulses. Passion, therefore, humanizes him, makes him approach nearer to us, and gives him so strong a claim upon our sympathy, that we cannot totally with- hold it from him. There can, therefore, be no sympathy where there is no passion to excite it : deprive this evil-minded man of all his passions, teach him to act the villain coolly and deliberately, let him always be governed by selfish and interested motives, but never yield, in the slightest degree, to the influence of passion, and we instantly spurn him from our presence: — he is no longer the object of our commiseration or pity. Neither virtue nor vice, then, can excite our sympathy without passion, though we continue to respect the one, and to detest the other; but, wherever passion appears, no degree of vice can prevent it from softening our nature, and exciting our commiseration or pity ; whereas, in its ab- sence, no degree of virtue can affect or move us. Hence it is, that the evil characters in the Paradise Lost, are more interesting than the good characters. Throughout the Paradise Lost, says Mr. Payne Knight, " the infernal excite more interest than the celestial personages, because their THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 99 passions and affections are more violent and ener- getic."* How then can it be maintained, that, for him who makes ' ff no demand upon us for that more exquisite degree of sensibility which we find, and which we are mortified to find that we do not possess,-^ we are more apt to weep and shed tears," — for him who thus appears to be placed totally above the influence of passion, — than for the man whose passions and frailties give him the strongest claim to our sympathy? It is surprising, at the same time, that Mr. Smith should say, " his firmness perfectly corresponds with our insensibi- lity," with that want of "sensibility which we find, and which we are sorry to find that we do not possess," and say, a few lines after, that, " we are more apt to weep and shed tears," for him, " than for those who give way to all the weaknesses of sorrow." If we are insensible to his suffering, — if we find, to our mortification, that we possess no sensibility, how is it we happen " to weep and shed tears ?" Is not this weeping, and are not * Analytical Inquiry into the Principles of Taste.— P. 362. f It is highly unphilosophic to suppose, that the want of any thing can mortify us, which is not natural to us j and, considered in a moral point of view, the idea is unworthy the great Architect of Nature. The individual who regrets the want of any virtue, proves that the virtue is natural to his species, though not to himself. h2 100 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO these tears, some proof of sensibility ? If we " make no effort, and have no occasion to make any, in order to conquer our sympathetic sorrow," for this stoic personage which Mr. Smith describes, how can we be told, that " we often struggle to keep down our sympathy with the misfortunes of others ?" If we " are rather pleased with the sensibility of our own heart, and give way to it with compla- cence and self- approbation," how can it be affirmed, that " we give way to it only when we can no longer avoid it ?" In a word, how can we be re- proached with u our dull insensibility to the mis- fortunes of others," and of our " mortification" in discovering this insensibility ? Mr. Smith seems to have been led into all these inconsistencies from not distinguishing the conduct which a person in distress should pursue in pre- sence of those, with whose dispositions towards him he is already acquainted, from that which he should observe in the presence of strangers. In the presence of the latter, I agree with him, that we sympathize more with the man who makes an effort to silence those violent emotions which agi- tate and distract him, than with him who whines and laments, and claims our sympathy before we have an opportunity of knowing who he is, or what he is, or whether his misfortunes be merited, and the just reward of his villainy, or have resulted from the machinations of the crafty against un- guarded and unsuspecting innocence. It serves THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 101 no purpose, that he makes us acquainted with the sad history of his misfortunes : this knowledge, to have its proper effect upon us, must be derived from some other source. We know that, whether he tell us truth or falsehood, we cannot credit him without rendering ourselves liable to impo- sition, and this reflection destroys our sympathy. If he does not give himself a good character, we see no cause of sympathy : if he does, we instantly begin to suspect that the truth is not in him, be- cause merit is seldom eloquent in its own praise : so that, let him act or speak as he will, he has equally little chance of exciting our sympathy, though it is possible for him to excite our pity. His only chance, therefore, is to remain silent, like those beggars whom we sometimes meet in the streets, who address us only by their looks, but whose expression and cast of countenance have frequently more eloquence in them than the sus- pected representations and rejected addresses of those who give the most pitiful history of their misfortunes. But how erroneous is it to confound such peo- ple with those who address themselves to their friends and enemies. Such people, to act either consistently or naturally, must very evidently ex- press their feelings and sentiments to each of them, not only differently from what they would towards strangers, but differently from each other. He who has a hundred friends, finds himself placed 102 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO in a different relation to each of them. Some are above him, some are his equals, and some rank below him in society. To each of those who are his superiors, he must express his feelings, sentiments, and grievances in a very different manner, because the degree of rank which they hold above him, are not only different, but the relations by which he is connected with them, are different also. Add to this, the knowledge he possesses of their tempers, characters, and degrees of sympathies. If it be inconsistent to expect, that he would treat them all in the same manner, and pay no regard, either to their natural tempers, or the relations in which he stands towards them, how much more must it be to expect, that he would treat them all, without distinction, like strangers with whom he is con- nected by no tie, or relation whatever. Let us grant him, then, as much greatness and magna- nimity of mind as we will, he certainly acts con- trary to the laws of human nature, and to the influences exercised over us by the different rela- tions which connect us with different individuals, if he treat them all equally alike, if he hold him- self equally independent of them all, claim no share in their sympathy, and pay no regard to the degrees of friendship or attention which he ex- perienced from them, individually, from his first acquaintance with them to the present moment. If, to treat them all equally alike, and hold him- self equally independent of them all, equally re- THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 103 gardless of their commiseration and sympathy, be, what Mr. Smith calls "magnanimity," I can only say, either that he is mistaken in his use of the term, or, that magnanimity is the most worthless, and the most despicable acquirement of the mind. I call it an acquirement, because nature could have never generated such a monster: it is the sa- vage offspring of ingratitude and stoic apathy — that apathy which never felt the sweet communion of kindred feelings, which never sympathized in the woes of others. The same observations hold good with regard to our equals and inferiors, but particularly the former. To treat either of them like strangers, or to confound the relations by which we are connected with them, is to divest ourselves of all those influences and impressions which nature intended us to obey, and which we always do obey while we retain any vestige of the common nature of man. But if, to act naturally, we must act differently towards all our friends and acquaintances, it is evident that our conduct towards those who are our enemies, or, in any manner accessary to our misfortunes, must be equally so. Indeed, the dif- ference is here much greater than in the former case. It is only when the unfortunate man comes in contact with any of those who have been in- strumental in leading him into distress, that those "violent bursts of passion," of which Mr. Smith 104 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO speaks, can properly break forth. To be silent on such an occasion, to look upon the cause and author of our misfortunes with perfect sangfroid, to shew him that we neither claim his sympathy, nor feel sensible of the injuries which we have experienced at his hands, is not only contrary to the laws of our nature, but contrary to all those feelings and emotions that constitute true great- ness and magnanimity of mind. He who does not act like a man, may call himself magnani- mous if he will ; but his magnanimity is the mere insensibility of a stoic. Magnanimity cannot be opposed to the Jaws of human nature ; or, if it be, let it be no longer called a virtue. Every man should act according to the situation in which he is placed, and the influences which are exer- cised over him at the moment. " There is a time to laugh, and a time to cry," and he who can nei- ther laugh nor cry at any time, who is always the same, in whatever situation he is placed, who yields to no influence, and tramples upon every impulse and law of his nature, may seek, as much as he please, to gain " the applause and admira- tion which he is about to deserve by the heroic magnanimity of his behaviour;" or, rather, the unmerited applause which Mr. Smith is willing to bestow upon him; but he must never hope to rank with those who, while they gain the esteem and admiration of the world, feel, alternately, all the THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 105 passions, emotions, and sympathies, which the cir- cumstances and situations in which they are placed are calculated to excite. In fact, he whose actions differ most from the general nature of man, is, of all others, the most unfit to excite sympathy or commiseration of any kind. In refusing, however, such a man our sympathy, we act justly and naturally, because such a man is a misanthropist. He who possesses the social virtues will always adhere closely to the manners of the world. We cannot differ essentially in our conduct from those for whom we have any regard, and to whom we find ourselves connected by the laws of a common nature. It is only he who looks down upon man with contempt, and who either regrets that he is of the same species, or be- lieves himself possessed of some redeeming virtues that place him above them, that can divest him- self of the social principle, and disregard every natural impulse by which they are governed. Such a man may deem himself a sage, a saint, or a phi- losopher; but the tragic poet who would bring him forward on the stage, and hope to astonish us by the severity and inflexibility of his virtues, can have little hope of success, or, at least, if he in- dulge such a hope, he will find himself disappointed. Dr. Blair, in his Lecture on Tragedy, has the following just and sensible observations on this subject. 106 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIPvY INTO u Mixed characters, such as we meet with in the world, afford the most proper field for display- ing, without any bad effects on morals, the vicis- situdes of life, and they interest us the more deeply, as they display emotions or passions which we have all been conscious of. When such persons fall into distress through the vices of others, the subject may be very pathetic ; but it is always more instructive when a person has been himself the cause of his misfortune, and when his misfor- tune is occasioned by the violence of passion, or by some weakness incidental to human nature ; such subjects both dispose us to the deepest sym- pathy, and administer useful warnings to us for our own conduct." On the whole, what is real magnanimity of cha- racter in the presence of strangers, is perfect sto- icism and insensibility in the presence either of our friends or enemies. When Macduff hears that his wife and children are slaughtered in his absence, Shakspeare makes him express himself in all the bitterness of grief, and all the vindictive- ness of resentment ; but if Mr. Smith's theory of sympathy be well founded, he should have sup- ported this misfortune without a murmur, as it is only by this " heroic magnanimity of behaviour" he could " deserve the applause and admiration " of mankind. Whether Shakspeare or Mr. Smith was the best judge, and whether we should sym- THE SOURCE OF TRACIC PLEASURE. 107 pathise more with Macduff had he expressed nei- ther grief nor resentment on hearing of the de- struction of his wife and children, than we do at present, I leave the reader to determine. If the distinction which I have made between the conduct proper to be observed by the victims of distress towards friends, enemies, and strangers, be founded in truth, it applies particularly to the theatre. Here every character addresses himself, to some person who is immediately or remotely related to him, either by accident or design. The audience is not supposed to be present, or, at least, every character acts and speaks as if there were no audience. All the parties, accordingly, attend only to their own mutual affections or antipathies, friendships or enmities ; and, consequently, each of them should act or speak according to the in- fluence of the moment, the situation in which he is placed, or the person or persons to whom he ad- dresses himself. Mr. Smith's heroic magnanimity has, therefore, very seldom an opportunity of dis- playing itself on the theatre. The characters are composed of superiors, equals, or inferiors ; and they have all some object in addressing each other. To remain uninfluenced by such an object, — to express their feelings and sentiments as if they were stran- gers to each other, — to spurn the sympathy of friends, and feel unmoved by the treachery of enemies, would, so far from being magnanimity, be the most hardened insensibility. According to Mr. Smith's 108 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO theory, no person can sympathise with Lear. He gives full vent to his passions as they rise in his mind, and evinces, throughout, a total want of that magnanimity which is " so divinely graceful." He makes no effort to suppress his feelings, or to con- ceal his griefs ; and yet I am doubtful whether we should have sympathized more with him had he done so, than we do when we hear him unbosom himself in the following pathetic manner. Filial ingratitude Is it not as if this mouth should tear this hand For lifting food to't ? But I'll punish home 3 No, I will weep no more. In such a night, To shut me out! Pour on, I will endure. In such a night as this ! O Regan, Gonerill, Your own kind father, whose frank heart gave all. O ! that way madness lies ; let me shun that -, No more of that. Whoever could hear Lear thus express himself without being affected, must be " fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils." Yet there is not an expres- sion that escapes him but shews his weakness, his M'ant of fortitude to combat with the evils by which he was encompassed, his total want of that " mag- nanimity amidst great distress/' that " immense effort to silence those violent emotions which na- turally distract those in his situation ;" in a word, of that command over himself, which alone, ac- cording to Mr. Smith, makes the most powerful appeal to our sympathy. If we are more apt to THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 109 weep and shed tears for such as seem to feel no- thing for themselves than for those who give way to all the weakness of sorrow/ why do we so en- tirely and completely sympathize with the weak- ness of Lear ? Would our sympathy be greater if he had a more stubborn nature, a nature that ren- dered him insensible to the ingratitude of his chil- dren? I doubt it much, and so, I believe, would Mr. Smith, if the question had been put to him. In fact, if Lear had not so lively and acute a sense of his children's ingratitude, and if this sense had not taken such strong possession of his mind as to render him incapable of every manly effort to contend either with the passions by which he was distracted, or the difficulties by which he was sur- rounded, in a word, if he had not been the weakest of all men, and the best natured of all men, we would not sympathize with him as we do, more than with any other tragic character whatever. Lear is, perhaps, the greatest example of human weakness which stands upon record in the history of the stage. His good-nature was the effect of his weakness, or rather, perhaps, his weakness was the effect of his good-nature ; for it is certain, that good-nature is seldom found connected with the sterner and more austere virtues, particularly with that magnanimity which is so graceful in the eyes of Mr. Smith. Good-nature is chiefly to be found in those weak, tender, and sympathetic minds, 110 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO whose happiness seems to consist in the happiness of others. It is this weakness, however, this ten- derness, this good-nature, this " milk of human kindness," that appears, of all other virtues, the most amiable and the most interesting to us, and, consequently, we are less disposed to check our sympathies when we behold such virtue in dis- tress. Whoever is most apt to indulge in sympathy for the woes of others, is also most apt to excite it for his own. It is evident, then, that neither joy nor comedy imparts such heartfelt pleasure as we derive from Tragic representations, — from the luxury of sympa- thizing in sorrows not our own ; and it is equally evident, that the softer affections of the heart are more pleasing, more attractive, and more apt to excite our sympathies, than the sterner and severer virtues, however high they may stand in the esti- mation of the world, and however calculated to excite our admiration and surprise. The latter virtues are generally the result of education or early associations, and may, therefore, be more properly called virtues of the head than of the heart ; but the former are the offspring of nature alone, and cannot be eradicated from the heart of which they have once taken possession, though they may be considerably influenced and deter- mined in their operations by the influence of edu- cation, situations, and circumstances. THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. Ill CHAP. VI. Examination of Mr. Burke and Mr. Knight's Theories. Burke, in his " Sublime and Beautiful," has many just and profound observations on the source of Tragic Pleasure ; but, like all other theories on the subject, the one which he has adopted applies not to the remote, original, but to the immediate, or proximate cause, or rather causes, of this pleasure. When I say they apply to the immediate or proxi- mate causes, I do not mean that they unfold even these ; but that he seems to have confined himself to what he considered the immediate agency which produced the effect. In the first place, he very justly rejects the supposition which makes this pleasure arise from " the comfort which we re- ceive in considering, that so melancholy a story is no more than a fiction ;" and he equally rejects that which makes it arise from " the contempla- tion of our own freedom from the evils which we see represented." The reasons which he assigns for 112 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO rejecting these theories are worth quoting. " I am afraid," he says, u it is a practice much too common, in inquiries of this nature, to attribute the cause of feelings which merely arise from the mechanical construction 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 pas- sions, is nothing near so extensive as it is com- monly believed." It is curious to perceive so profound and meta- physical a writer venturing to acknowledge his suspicions, that " the influence of reason, in pro- ducing our passions, is nothing near so extensive as it is commonly believed." Had Burke ventured a step further, and said decidedly, that reason had no influence whatever in producing our passions, he would have asserted a fact which no weight of authority could disprove, however bold and scep- tical it might appear to those who have not learn- ed to distinguish between reason and feeling. In fact, the only influence which reason possesses over our feelings, is that of moderating, or supress- ing them altogether. Accordingly, a man who, while he witnesses a scene of distress, begins to reflect on his own happiness in being free from it, is infinitely less moved, and less interested in the fate of the suffering victim, than he who, while THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 113 he indulges in all those feelings which the scene before him is calculated to excite, makes no re- flection whatever, but what unconsciously arises from his sympathy with the distressed. Burke does not confine the pleasure derived from Tragic sources to the stage. Real distress, he thinks, is a source of still greater pleasure than the mere imitation of it ; and hence he infers, that the nearer the imitation approaches the reality, the more powerful is its effect. In no case, how- ever, does he admit imitative distress to produce equal pleasure with that which it represents. " Choose," he says, " a day to represent the most sublime and affecting tragedy we have ; and ap- point the most favourite actors, spare no cost upon the scenes and decorations ; unite the greatest ef- forts of poetry, painting, and music; and when you have collected your audience, just at the mo- ment when their minds are erect with expectation, let it be reported that a state criminal of high rank is to be executed in the adjoining square; in a moment the emptiness of the theatre would de- monstrate the comparative weakness of the imita- tive arts, and proclaim the triumph of real sym- pathy. "* Here, then, the sole pleasure we reeeive is attributed to sympathy; but, as I have already shewn, so far as our pleasure is of a sympathetic * Sublime and Beautiful, P. 1 . Sec. xv. I 114 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO character, this pleasure does not arise from a sympathetic emotion, but is the sympathetic emo- tion itself. But are we certain that this abandon- ment of the theatre is the effect of sympathy ? Indeed, there seems to be very strong reasons for thinking* otherwise ; the strongest of which per- haps is, that people of the most tender and sym- pathetic natures are not those who go most fre- quently to witness executions. I believe there are few people of exquisite feelings who can endure such spectacles, and yet, where are we to look for sympathy if not among them ? Besides, why is our propensity to behold executions so generally looked upon as a reproach to us, if it arise from sympathy ? Why are even those who delight in such spectacles unwilling to avow their propensity ? Why should we confide more in a person to whom such scenes are insupportable, than in him who goes to an ex- ecution with as keen an appetite as he does to his dinner? These, certainly, seem to be intuitive proofs, that we look upon such men as persons of no sympathy whatever. It is possible, however, as will hereafter appear, to possess sympathy, and yet feel inclined to witness executions ; but it is not possible to possess it in any very high degree. Mr. Knight ascribes the abandonment of the theatre, in the case supposed by Burke, to curiosity, not to sympathy. " Would not the sudden appearance/' lie says, " of any very renowned foreign chief or THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 115 potentate in the adjoining square, equally empty the benches of the theatre? I apprehend that it would, and cannot but suspect, that even a bottle conjurer, a flying witch, or any other miraculous phenomenon of the kind, being announced with sufficient confidence to obtain belief, would have the same effect." It is extremely difficult to meet with a writer who can avoid contradicting him- self; the moment he enters into the arena of pole- mics, simply, because in all our controversies, we are, in general, more desirous of victory, than of the elucidation of what is obscure, or the discovery of what is unknown. Mr. Knight takes every opportunity of opposing his own opinions to those of Burke, though it is difficult to conceive why he should have singled him out from all other writers on the subject of taste. He tells us himself, that his reason for exposing Burke's " philosophical absurdities" is, that they have " been since adopt- ed by others, and made to contribute so largely to the propagation of bad taste." It would be diffi- cult to point out any writer, whose philosophical principles are less calculated to promote " bad taste," than Burke's ; for, as Mr. Knight himself acknowledges, " his feelings were generally right, even where his judgment was most wrong." A man's judgment, however, can never be wrong, where his feelings are right, unless he depart from them, and suffer his judgment to be directed by i2 116 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO that of others. This was not the case with Burke: he always thought for himself, and never submitted to the bondage of authority, except where autho- rity and reason seemed to confirm each other. Burke, however, is frequently in error ; but if I may now venture an opinion, which I shall prove in another place, Mr. Knight is more frequently so ; and, what is worse, his errors are of a much more dangerous character, and more calculated iC to contribute to the propagation of bad taste." This truth I hope to make evident in my work on the " Sublime and Beautiful ;" not that I intend to advocate Burke's principles, nor yet, that I feel a desire to expose Mr. Knight's ; but that truth requires of me to point out the different influences which the adoption of their systems would have on the cultivation of taste. I admire Mr. Knight's in- tellectual powers and energy ; but he is always too rapid to be correct, and his feelings seem to be of too energetic a character to discriminate the lighter shades and more delicate affections of human na- ture, qualities which Burke possessed in a very emi- nent degree. In ascribing the abandonment of the theatre, in the present instance, to curiosity, Mr. Knight abandons the very first principle on which he founds Tragic pleasure. The fact is, that he sets out, like Burke, with ascribing the pleasure to sympathy ; but the moment he came in con- tact with the latter, he forgot that he had ever THE SOURCE OP TRAGIC PLEASURE. 117 made sympathy the cause of the pleasure. He seems to have been under an impression, that Burke and he could never happen to think alike, or, rather, that whatever theory the former adopt- ed, it must necessarily be erroneous, and that he, of necessity, was bound to adopt a different one. Ac- cordingly, when he found Burke ascribing Tragic pleasure to sympathy, he contradicts him, and ascribes it to curiosity, forgetting, that he had, in the very preceding page, ascribed it to sympathy himself. I shall quote his own words. " When we see others suffer, we naturally suffer with them, though not in the same degree, nor even in the same modes ; for those sufferings which we should most dread personally to endure, we delight to see exhibited, or represented, though not actually endured by others ; and, nevertheless, this delight certainly arises from sympathy." Who could think, that, in the very next page, he should attribute as much of the effect to curiosity as to sympathy, simply because he wished to break a lance with Burke? Indeed, from the instances he has given of the " bottle conjurer," and " flying witch," he appears to refer the entire of the effect to curiosity alone. But what is this curiosity, to which Mr. Knight, and so many other writers, ascribe such wonderful effects? In my opinion, those who ascribe effects to curiosity, ascribe them to nothing at all ; and if 118 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO so, they must necessarily be wrong-, for ex nihilo nihil Jit. Curiosity is either a feeling, an idea, or an act of volition within us, or it is something without us which creates feelings, ideas, or voli- tions within us. It must be one or other of these, because these embrace every thing in nature, of which we have any knowledge. Let us see, then, which of these it is, and we shall be better able to perceive, whether it be as prolific in its effects as it is generally supposed. Curiosity cannot be volition, because we may will to do a good or an evil act, which we have done frequently before. This cannot be the effect of curiosity, because it has novelty always for its object. And even when we will to do something, or to see something, which we have never done or seen before, the propensity which impels us to it, is different from that act of mind which indulges the propensity, as this act may be exercised in opposition to, as well as in accordance with, the propensity. A man may will on the side of reason, as well as on the side of his propensities, when they happen to be at variance; so that he may will to do what he has no propensity or inclination to do ; and he may will not to do, what he has a strong propensity for doing. If curiosity, then, be any thing within us, it must be a feeling, or an idea. Now, all our feelings and ideas are pro- duced by something without us, for we cannot per- THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 119 ceive, unless there be something to be perceived ; and it is this something, consequently, that creates the perception, or idea, in us. Neither can we feel, unless there be something to make an impres- sion upon us, so that, whether curiosity be a feel- ing or an idea, it must, in either case, be an effect produced by something without us. The effects, therefore, that are said to result from curiosity, should be attributed, not to any principle or fa- culty of our nature, which we designate by that name, but to the external influence by which it is produced. All our feelings, like that of curiosity, are simple effects, or impressions made upon us ; and, consequently, the causes by which they are produced, are the real causes of the influences which they possess over us. According to the de- grees of energy with which these causes act upon us, we are, more or less powerfully prompted to action, so that the feeling which we call curiosity, is strong or weak according to the strength or weakness of the influence by which it is excited. This would not be the case, if curiosity were a principle or faculty in our nature which could act upon us, independently of any external influence. The fact is, that curiosity is the mere creature of chance : it is alive to day and dead to-morrow. Its existence depends on circumstances, and when these circumstances do not occur, curiosity is to- tally extinct. Why, then, do we attribute to curi- 120 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO osity, what we ought to attribute to the circum- stance by which it is immediately excited? for, if this circumstance did not exist, neither would the curiosity be felt. The truth of these observations will appear obvious from the case before us. Mr. Knight says, that the report of " any very re- nowned foreign chief, or potentate, appearing in the neighbouring square, would equally empty the benches." Now, if it be mere curiosity that emp- ties the benches, the report of any foreigner having just come over, and appearing in the square, would produce the same effect, because the one would be as novel an object as the other. Yet, no per- son would quit the theatre to go see a person of whom he never heard any thing before, though it is obvious that such a person would be a more novel object than he of whom we had some know- ledge by public report. The sight of a novel ob- ject has, therefore, little influence over us, so far as regards its mere novelty: it is some circum- stance connected with the object, and of which we have already some knowledge, that creates the interest, and it is to this circumstance, not to the mere curiosity which it excites, that we must at- tribute the effect, or, in other words, the impres- sion made upon us. The fact is, as will hereafter appear, that whatever produces a strong sensation in us, gives us pleasure, and therefore we feel no desire whatever of seeing a strange object, unless THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 121 we antecedently know, that this object is calcu- lated to produce a strong sensation. The pleasure which we derive from Tragic repre- sentations cannot, therefore, be attributed to curi- osity or sympathy, both of which are modifications of feeling, produced by external influences, but to a certain law in our nature, that strongly attaches us to all powerful sensations, where the pleasure is not impeded by three circumstances, which shall be hereafter mentioned. One of the instances produced by Burke him- self, clearly shews, that this pleasure does not arise from sympathy. " This noble capital," he says, " 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 happened, what numbers from all parts would crowd to see the ruins, and amongst them many who would have been content never to have seen London in its glory." Surely, we cannot suppose, that those who would not wish to see London in its glory, would feel any sympathy on the occasion ; but supposing they did, an alter- ation in the circumstance will prove, that they would run equally to see the ruins of London, where no sympathy could possibly excite them to it. Let us suppose, then, that the legislature 122 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO deemed it necessary to remove the seat of govern- ment to some other part of England, that they built another city, equal to it in extent and ac- commodation, that they removed all the inha- bitants of London to this new city, and gave them the same rights, privileges, and advantages which they enjoyed before; that after having thus completed their views, they found it conducive to the national prosperity of the country to destroy London, and, accordingly, committed it to the flames, having first removed from it every thing of value, either to the nation at large, or to the citizens in particular : I would ask, whether, after every thing having been thus arranged for the general good, the ruins of London would not still be a spectacle capable of attracting thousands of spec- tators, — whether those who came to see it, in the case supposed by Burke, would not now come to see it also, though there could be no motive for sympathy whatever, as in this case, there is not an individual with whom we could sympathize. Every citizen is as happy as before, and, therefore, we have nothing to sympathize with but mute walls, demolished houses, and public buildings in ruins, which, as they can neither feel pain, nor respond to our sympathies, cannot, consequently, excite them. The pleasure, then, resulting from the view of these ruins could not be the effect of sympathy, nor, as I have already shewn, could it THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 123 be the effect of curiosity, for those who spent their life in London, and were perfectly acquainted with every street in it, would be more powerfully im- pelled to contemplate its ruins, than the ruins of some insignificant village which they never saw, or heard of before, though the latter must neces- sarily be a matter of greater curiosity to them than the former. Neither curiosity nor sympathy, then, can be the cause or original source of Tragic pleasure. As Mr. Knight, however, forgetting that he had ever traced any part of this pleasure, either to sympathy or curiosity, adopts a new theory on the subject, it is but proper to enquire, whether, in ascending to a higher source, he has discovered that myste- rious fountain, of which we are in pursuit. After getting rid of sympathy and curiosity alto- gether, having, no doubt, forgot that he had attri- buted to them any portion of the pleasure arising from Tragic scenes, Mr. Knight adopts a theory, totally different from all his predecessors. His ideas on the subject seem to be perfectly original, at least I could discover no trace of them in any former writer. Originality has frequently some merit, even when it is unsupported by truth, for it requires not only considerable ingenuity, but a considerable exercise of mind to arrive at certain ideas, though they are ultimately found to be mere chimeras of the understanding. The ravings of a 124 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO man of genius are but little allied to mental im- becility. Mr. Knight's theory is ingenious, but this is its highest merit ; for the feelings of which Tragic pleasure is composed, emanate from a much more general cause than that to which he traces them. The cause he assigns will certainly account for some portion of this pleasure, and so will each particular cause assigned by each parti- cular writer on the subject ; but, until we disco- ver a cause that embraces all the causes by which it is produced, we can never discover the primary source of which we are in pursuit, and which alone will account for the aggregate of pleasures derived from Tragic representations, in the same manner as the general law of attraction, accounts for all the particular laws of motion. Before this general law was discovered, the theories of all the ancient philosophers, however ingenious, were unavoidably erroneous, and so must all theories be, whose bases are not as extensive as the superstructures which they uphold. Mr. Knight derives the pleasure of which we are in search from " the energies and violent ef- forts displayed in feats of strength, courage, and dexterity, or the calm energies of virtue, called forth by the exertions of passive fortitude." He tells us this is the delight which the Romans took in the fights of gladiators, that it is still the source of our delight in cock-fighting, bull-bait- THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 125 ing, bull-feasts, and boxing-matches ; and even traces to it our propensity to witness the execution of criminals. If particular instances of this kind could tend to confirm Mr. Knight's theory, he might adduce some hundreds more ; but thousands of instances would be quoted to no purpose, if it can be shewn, that a part, at least, of the pleasure which we enjoy, cannot, by any torture of argu- ment or of expression, be traced either to the active or passive energies of the mind. The fact, how- ever, is, that if even this could not be shewn, than which nothing is easier, it will still be found, that we never sympathize, in any one instance, with energy alone, abstracted from the motives by which these energies are called into action ; and that our sympathies are influenced by these mo- tives a hundred-fold more than by the energies themselves. If a daring, active, and intrepid villain attack three men, and succeed by mere personal strength and dexterity to rob them, after a short scuffle, do all our sympathies and feelings arise from, or owe their existence to, the superior energies exerted by this desperado, and do we feel more pleasure in seeing him successful, than we would in seeing him defeated? I doubt whether any one could enjoy such a triumph, except a chip of the same block. We sympathize, then, not with energies alone, but with motives also ; and the interest ex- 126 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO cited by the latter, is, beyond all comparison, greater than the former. This will appear still stronger, if we reverse the former case, and sup- pose three robbers to attack one honest man. If such an individual should prove successful against his adversaries, how strongly are our sympathies excited in his favour : we seem, by the force of sympathetic affection, to assist him in every exer- tion of strength which he puts forth : our very bodies are unconsciously put in motion ; we recede at every blow that is made at him, as if aimed at ourselves; we incline forward when his adversaries bend beneath his strokes, and seem to invigorate his arm by exerting all the energies of our own. Every motion in his body produces a similar one in ours, without being in the least conscious of the offensive and defensive attitudes which we invo- luntarily assume by the force of sympathetic affec- tion. The apparent cause of these strong sympa- thies, are the energies which he displays, but the least change in the circumstance convinces us, that they are not the real cause ; for all our sym- pathy for him would immediately vanish, if we knew him to be a murderer or highwayman. Every change, consequently, in the motives, produces a corresponding change in our feelings, so that our sympathies are but little influenced by energies or exertions, considered abstractedly by themselves. If we imagine, however, that we have now a THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 127 clue to the cause of our pleasure, and that all arises from the motives that call our energies into action, we will find ourselves mistaken, and that, as Lord Kaimes expresses it, on a different occasion, " the variety of nature is not so easily reached." The motives that engage men in action have not greater influence over us, than the circumstances in which they are placed; a fact which will immediately appear, if we only change the latter, without making any change in the former. If all our pleasure arise from the motives, it is obvious, that while they remain unchanged, no alteration of circumstances can disturb it ; but, as every change of circumstance increases or diminishes the impressions which we feel, though the motives remain unchanged, our sympathies cannot be solely referred either to the motives or to the cir- cumstances, but to the combined influence of both. If a robber attack three boys, how much stronger is the interest we take in their fate, than in that of three men who should happen to be placed in their situation, though the motive by which the robber was actuated in attacking both, was identically the same, namely, to strip them of whatever they possessed, and though the motives by which the boys would be actuated to defend themselves would be the same with the men, namely, the preservation of their lives and property. If, instead of boys, three aged men, or three helpless females, 128 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO were attacked, the impressions would assume a new character in each; and, in all these cases, the impressions made by the energies exerted, con- sidered without regard to the circumstances or motives, would be scarcely worth taking into con- sideration. I am also inclined to think, that Mr. Knight is mistaken in some of the instances which he has quoted in support of his theory, though, if they had been all correct, they would have proved no- thing, for the reasons I have just now assigned. He says, we delight in executions, only because we " all delight in beholding exertions of energy, and all feel curiosity to know in what modes or degrees those exertions can be displayed under the awful circumstances of impending death." The only energy that can be displayed by him who is entering upon eternity, is mental energy, or, what Mr. Knight calls " passive fortitude;" for physical energies are only exerted by him who hopes to de- rive some advantage from the exertion. But mere resignation has not the attraction of bringing thousands together; and it might be impossible to distinguish, in the human countenance, the for- titude or resignation of a man condemned to death, from that of a man who lost his entire pro- perty at law. If the resignation of both proceed from religious impressions, it would present the same calm and tranquil aspect in each ; yet no THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 129 one would go a hundred paces to witness the pas- sive fortitude of the one, while thousands would go miles to witness the final exit of the other. It is not, then, a display of mental fortitude that in- duces us to visit an execution, but the awful and powerful sensations produced by the circumstances in which the criminal is placed, and the terrific associations with which it is eternally connected. If the fortitude to which Mr. Knight alludes be a hardened contempt of death, I trust there are few who would sympathize with such blasphemous heroism. The energies of active and passive fortitude are so far from being sufficiently general to sup- port Mr. Knight's theory, that he is obliged to ex- tend the application of the term to quite an op- posite meaning, so that energy becomes, in his hands, something with which we are quite unac- quainted. " It matters not, indeed," he says, " whether these energies be displayed in suffering or acting :" accordingly, he makes tender love as energetic as the atrocious ambition of Lady Mac- beth. I suspect Mr. Knight is mistaken in consi- dering love to be an energy; or energy and suf- fering to be at all allied with each other. There can be no energy in yielding to an impression made upon us; for the impression is made, and the emotion which it produces felt, without our act or consent. The passion of love is excited in K 130 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO us, not by energies of our own, but by the pre- sence of the object which produces the impression ; and, so far is the passion from requiring any energy or effort on our part, that we are frequently unable to resist it. The only energy we can exert in a love affair, is that of resisting the passion ; for, in yielding to it, there can be none required : on the contrary, it frequently baffles all our energies to resist it ; and if that be called an energy which we cannot avoid, and which forces itself upon us, whether we will or will not, it is certainly an ener- gy not in us, but in that invisible power which not only triumphs over us, but enchains all the ener- gies which we are capable of exerting against it. I agree, indeed, with Mr. Knight in calling fortitude, in suffering, an energy ; but I cannot agree with him in calling it " passive fortitude," for to call any thing passive an energy, is a contradiction in terms. He has been led into this mistake from not distinguishing between misfortune, and its in- fluence on the mind. The man of fortitude yields to misfortune as well as the coward, when he can no longer resist it; but then he does not yield to its influence. The coward yields to both, and is, therefore, perfectly passive. But he who supports the same equanimity of mind in adversity as in prosperity, cannot be passive, because it requires the greatest energies of which human nature is capable to resist the influence of adversity so com- THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 131 pletely as to preserve the soul calm and unruffled amidst the severe trials to which it is exposed. The adoption of an erroneous theory generally leads a writer into inconsistencies and arguments that destroy each other: while he has his eye atten- tively fixed on the theory which he seeks to esta- blish, all his arguments quadrate with each other, and though they are erroneous, they are systema- tically so ; but in a treatise of any length, the mind cannot be so vigilant as to attend always to the main proposition or propositions, on which the whole theory rests ; and when this happens, it is apt to glide insensibly into truth and nature, not aware that this adoption of truth is either subver- sive of the doctrine which it seeks to establish, or at least, that it leads to conclusions which must necessarily expose the fallacy on which it rests. Mr. Knight, for whose correct taste and critical discrimination I profess the highest respect, over- turns the entire of his theory on the Source of Tragic Pleasures, by an admission which he un- warily made in commenting on a passage in Aris- totle. " In tragedy," he says, " it is not the actual distress, but the motives for which it is endured, the exertions which it calls forth, and the senti- ments of heroism, fortitude, constancy, or tender- ness, which it, in consequence, displays, that pro- duce the interest, and awaken all the exquisite and delightful thrills of sympathy." Here, then, we k2 132 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO find many other sources of Tragic Pleasure, be- sides the exertion or energy which distress calls forth ; and, what is completely subversive of all that he has written on the subject, these sources lead us to innumerable others, in which no trace of energy can be discovered. If, according to himself, sentiments of heroism, fortitude, con- stancy, and tenderness, be sources of Tragic Plea- sure, so must also sentiments of generosity, pity, resignation, mildness, sensibility, sympathy, subli- mity, fear, hope, joy, sorrow, and all the passions that ever agitated the human breast. Instead, then, of confining Tragic Pleasures to the display of strong energies, innumerable other sources are disclosed to us, from which this pleasure may pro- ceed, in many of which, the characteristic feature is absence of energy, as fear, mildness, sorrow, re- signation, and all the passive affections of the hu- man breast. Besides, if it be not the actual dis- tress that moves us, but the motives for which it is endured, what energy can there be in motives ? All motives have their existence independent of us. If I go and fight the enemies of my country, my mo- tive for doing so is to defend its rights and liberties against foreign usurpation ; but this motive has its existence independent of me, and would con- tinue to exist whether I fought or staid at home. I was not accessary to the attempt made on the liberties of my country: it was not brought about THE SOURCE OP TRAGIC PLEASURE. 133 by my contrivance ; and therefore I had no con- cern in it; but still it is the motive that leads me to action, and it would be a motive even though I neglected to perform the duty which it required at my hands. There can be no energy, then, in motives, because there is nothing in them in which we can claim a share, and, consequently, the inte- rest which they excite cannot be ascribed to ener- gy. Mr. Knight himself admits this truth after- wards, not reflecting, that it was in direct opposi- tion to what he here asserts. His theory, as we have already seen, consists in deriving all our Tra- gic Pleasures from the display of strong energies or exertions; andtodothis more effectually, he tells us, that the interest excited in many of the scenes in Shylock, does not arise from his hatred or ma- lignity, but the energies which resulted from them. The pleasure, then, does not arise from the cause, but from the effect ; though we are told'above, that it is not the effect, but the cause or motives that awaken our sympathies. A similar contradiction occurs where Mr. Knight traces the pleasure we derive from witnessing executions, not to the suf- ferings endured, in which, he says, " we take no delight, but to the heroism or gallantly of the per- son executed." How can we reconcile this to the assertion, that " it is not the actual distress, but the motives for which it is endured, that produce the interest." At one time we are told it is the 134 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO motive that affects us ; at another, that it is the heroism and energy elicited by the motive. Such are the inconsistencies that necessarily cling to all erroneous theories. I know of no theory that can account for the interest excited by Lear's madness. It is not, surely, the energy which it displays that produces this interest, for it was the result of weakness, not of energy. Had Lear more fortitude of mind to endure his misfortunes, he would not have yielded to lunacy, and, therefore the most strained reasoning cannot associate it with energy or he- roism of mind. Yet, it is infinitely more interest- ing than the heroism of Macbeth, and even in the latter, it is not his courage or heroism that affects us at all, but the strong agitation of mind to which he was constantly a victim. Is there any thing in all Macbeth that excites a deeper interest than the following celebrated passage ? Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle towards my hand ? Come let me clutch thee : I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight ? Or art thou but a A dagger of the mind ; a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain ? I see thee yet in form as palpable As this which now I draw. Thou marshallest me the way that I was going; And such an instrument I was to use. THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 135 * ,. • . I see thee still, And on thy blade and dudgeon, gouts of blood, Which was not so before. Here the whole interest is excited by the fears and terrors of Macbeth ; for how attribute energy to a man whose fears create images or instruments of destruction, that existed only in his own mind ? Yet these fears are more interesting to us than the boldest display of personal courage and mental energy, or the noblest descriptions of the " dignity of human nature." 136 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO CHAP. VIL Whether imaginary, produce, at any time, a more pow- erful impression than real, distress ? and, if so, under ivhat circumstances can such an effect take place f I have had several times occasion to observe, that the emotions produced by real objects, circum- stances, and situations, and consequently, by real distress, are more intense — more strongly felt — than those caused by objects or circumstances that owe their existence to the mind. In the foregoing- chapter, however, I called the universality of this assertion into doubt, and shewn, that it is not sympathy that induces us to abandon the theatre in order to witness an execution. It will, there- fore, be proper to examine this subject a little far- ther, and ascertain, whether imaginary distress produce, at any time, a more intense sensation than that which arises from real suffering. If so, it will be necessary to ascertain when, and under what particular circumstances, the copy makes a more powerful impression than the original. The THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 187 first part of our enquiry can be determined by experience alone, and admits of no reasoning* whatever. If we discover, from our own feelings, that imaginary distress produces, at any time, a more powerful sympathy than real suffering, no speciousness of reasoning can disprove the fact : if sympathy with the latter, be invariably felt the stronger, all arguments would be absurd, that would attempt to prove the contrary. Feeling, and feeling only, can decide in both cases. What, then, do our feelings tell us ? "A prince," says the author of Lettres sur V Ima- gination, " not less distinguished by the sweetness of his character, and the amiability of his mind, than by his passion for the fine arts, observed to me lately, without being able to accuse me, I believe, of being less sensible than others, " I am frequently dissatisfied with myself, in finding that I am more keenly affected by a beautiful Tragic scene, or fine piece of music, than I would have been by the very misfortune which this composition pic- tured to my mind, or of which it expressed the sentiments." The author of this little elegant work confesses to his friend, that he found him- self frequently affected in a similar manner; and so, I believe, will all people admit, who are in the habit of consulting, at the moment, or subsequently calling to mind their feelings upon such occasions. With what indifference, and absence of sym- 138 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO pathy, do we read in the public papers of general engagements, massacres, &c. The news of the battle of Waterloo was heard, in this country, with a great deal of interest ; but it was not an interest arising from sympathy with the sufferers. It produced a strong, public sensation, arising, partly from the glory which the nation acquired from it ; partly from the satisfaction which it cre- ated in reflecting on the public, and, consequently, the individual advantages which would arise from being rid of an expensive and perilous war; partly from the greatness and suddenness of the event ; partly from the important changes which it was expected to make in the political, commercial, and agricultural aspect of Europe ; partly from the particular modes of thinking of the different indi- viduals whom it affected, the changes which these great, public revolutions would produce in their particular situations, relations, and interests, — the increase or decrease of influence, wealth, and power, which was likely to result from it, to each of them individually ; and, in particular instances, partly from influences, associations, situations, and circumstances, which can be specified only by those who were placed in, or affected by, them. In all this co-operation of causes and circumstances, sympathy had no share. The deaths of so many brave men excited only a general feeling of regret, for sympathy can be excited only by mental in- THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 139 fluences, or, to explain myself more clearly, we sympathize not with sensible appearances where they are unconnected with mind. If I meet a person who lies beaten and wounded in a most cruel manner, on the road, I may pity, but I can- not sympathize in his sufferings, while there is nothing to excite my sympathy but mere wounds and bruises. I must first know something of the mans mind and disposition ; — I look in his face ; — I watch the expression of his countenance to see if I can recognize, from the manner in which he endures his sufferings, the character of his mind. This I can do, sometimes, from a single look ; but it must be the look of him who deserves my sym- pathy. There is an expression, — an eloquence in the countenance of a virtuous and well disposed mind, which the man who is imbued with no sense of virtue, no softness or amiability of feeling, can ever assume in such situations. In our great commerce with the world, we are frequently imposed upon by those who assume a character that does not belong to them ; but this they can do only while the mind is at ease, and not even then, until they are long practised in the art of assuming virtues which they do not feel. The mask falls off, however, and their mimic powers entirely fail them, when they are thrown into situ- ations that powerfully affect the mind, as distress, danger, persecution, &c. Nature, then, has its 140 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO way, in spite of them ; and the evil spirit which so long remained latent, makes its appearance, whether they consent to it or not. It is only while the mind is calm and collected, that the hypocrite can wear his mask, and conceal his true nature \ but, in the moment of passion, he be- trays himself, because, in these moments, no man has power over his own nature, and it will appear in all its native beauty or deformity. When I say native beauty, it may be thought, that the pas- sions of all men, the virtuous as well as the vi- cious, put on the same appearances, and are equally reprehensible. To think so, however, is not to think correctly. No passion can be reprehensible, if it be that which the influence, by which it was excited, was calculated to excite ; and, hence it is, that the same moral influences never excite the same passions in virtuous and vicious minds. An evil-disposed mind is stung with envy, when he beholds his neighbour advancing in the world by honest industry ; and, so far from promoting, he takes every opportunity of retarding his exertions ; but a well-disposed mind feels the very contrary passion to envy ; and, so far from retarding, he feels a real pleasure when any opportunity is of- fered him of promoting his views. The passion of envy, therefore, which is felt by the former, becomes reprehensible, from its not being that passion which the cause that produced it was cal- THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 141 ciliated to excite. The same moral influences, therefore, never excite the same passions in good and evil dispositions : the passions which they excite in the latter are always criminal, because, so far from being the natural effects of the causes by which they are produced, they are perfect mon- sters in the moral world ; while, the passions which they excite in the former, so far from being crimi- nal or reprehensible, from the mere circumstance of their being passions, are the most perfect fruits of virtue. In the moments of passion, therefore, we can always distinguish the good from the evil- minded man, if we can only ascertain the cause by which his passion is excited. It is true, that the virtuous and the vicious, the honest and the dishonest man, may be agitated by the same individual passion ; but we shall always find, that it is never produced in them by the same moral cause ; for, with regard to physical causes, they generally produce the very same pas- sions, sensations, and emotions, in all men — -the vir- tuous as well as the vicious. Place both on the summit of a lofty mountain, and they are struck with the same sublime and elevated emotions. When I say sa?ne, I do not mean same in the de- gree, but in the character, of the emotion ; for though the emotion felt by both is strictly sublime, it is always more sublime in a virtuous than in a vicious mind, provided he possesses, from nature 142 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO and education, the same expansion of intellect. Sublimity always carries a virtuous mind to the contemplation of a first cause, — a contemplation which has no charm to an ill-disposed mind, and from which, consequently, it loves to withdraw its attention. In all respects, however, except in the degree, physical causes produce the same emo- tions in all men, whatever be their passion for, or aversion from, virtue. Place these two men, not on a mountain, but on the sharp summit of a steep, tremendous precipice, and the sublime emotion is instantly fled. Both feel equally unconscious of it, and equally conscious of fear and terror, not that the situation is less sublime than the former, for it is infinitely more so, but that the sensation of fear being* the predominant sensation, totally seizes the mind and prevents it from attending to the emotion of sublimity. The weaker sensation is always lost in the stronger. Though the agency of physical causes, however, always produces the same commotions, emotions, and passions, in the minds of all men, the virtuous as well as the vicious, the agency of moral causes produces them totally different ; and, therefore, whenever we find a good and an evil man agitated by the same passion, we may feel confident that it does not proceed from the same moral cause in both. An honest man, if he be cheated of a farthing, falls instantly into a passion, notthat he regards the farthing, but that theslightest THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 143 appearance of dishonesty, produces an instinctive irritation in him which he cannot suppress, while the villain, who spends his life in defrauding others is angry, not when he is imposed upon, but when he fails in imposing- upon others, or when he loses his prey by some neglect on the part of his asso- ciates. He is not put into a passion by being cheated himself, though he will have satisfaction if he can ; but, as he has no virtuous feeling of his own, the abandonment of it in others, gives him no farther concern than that of guarding against it. If he succeed in cheating them first, he does not consider himself a greater rogue, but a cleverer man ; but, if success be on their side, he is vexed, not with them, but with himself, for not being more watchful. His anger, therefore, arises from an attachment to vice, the honest man s anger from an attachment to virtue ; so that, in this and in all other cases, where the upright and the unrighteous man are agitated by the same passion, arising from moral causes, we shall always find, that the causes producing it are different from each other. Anger, then, in the virtuous man, is a virtue, in the vici- ous man, it is a vice, which easily explains that command in the gospel, " be angry, but sin not'' This is generally understood to be a pardon, not a license for anger ; as if it said, be not angry if you can, but if you cannot controul your nature, at least, let not your passion induce you to sin. 144 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO To me, it appears a perfect command to yield, without the slightest resistance, to our anger, whenever it arises from an attachment to virtue, and an abhorrence of vice. Not to feel angry with the man who violates, in our presence, the most sacred principles of virtue, is, evidently, a proof that we have no particular zeal for it, and that it would not be difficult to make us act ourselves like those whose actions we can witness without indignation or passion. It is not, however, in their causes alone that the anger of a virtuous, differs from that of an unprincipled, mind. Their modes of operation are not less different than the causes in which they originate. Virtue possesses a secret power of making itself known, even in the height of passion; while vice, unconsciously, flings aside the veil which conceals its turpitude in its calmer moments. In distress and poverty, it is true, our pity tends very considerably to render us less observant of those external signs which disclose the real character of the mind, and, consequently, renders us more liable to be deceived ; but, whether we be de- ceived or not, we can never sympathize with, though we may pity, a distressed object, until we first perceive, or imagine we perceive, some quality of mind, or trait of character, or of feeling, which we either possess ourselves, or esteem in others. Where we have no opportunity of discovering any portion THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 145_ of the distressed object's character, of ascertain- ing- his natural propensities and affections, we find it impossible to sympathize. Hence, neither the reports of battles, general engagements, pillage, devastation, nor even the destruction of an entire nation, can excite sympathy in the most sym- pathetic mind. Terror, consternation, and pity, are the only feelings excited by such relations, sim- ply because the mind, character, disposition, vir- tues, and frailties of each individual sufferer, is entirely kept out of sight. It is with feelings only that we can sympathize ; and, therefore, when the sufferer's feelings are not made known to us, we are incapable of sympathy. If we know a person's general character, and the degreeof sensibility which he naturally possesses, we can sympathize in his suf- ferings the moment we hear of them, even though the person who relates them, merely describes the situation in which he is placed, because, from our previous knowledge, we easily guess how he feels affected in such a situation, and we enter, accordingly, into his feelings. Hence it is, that if the same misfortune happen to any two of our friends, who are equally dear to us, our sympathy for them will, by no means, be determined by our equal attachment to them. For the one we may not feel at all, while the other excites the most tender and heart-rending sympathy, though our attach- ment to both is the same. This will always be the L 146 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO case, where the one possesses a strong and un- bending mind, fitted, not only to endure, but to surmount misfortunes, and the other, a delicacy and tenderness of feeling that shrinks, like the sensitive plant, from the slightest touch. We know how much more unfortunate the one is than the other, and our sympathy always keeps pace with the uneasiness and anxiety of feeling which we believe him to endure. As it is with feelings, then, we sympathize, not with the situation of the sufferer, we can feel no sympathy until we ascer- tain, or be enabled to form some opinion of, the state of the sufferer's feelings. Our sympathy is never determined by what we think the sufferer ought to feel ; for, if it were, we should feel the same for all men placed in similar situations. Experience tells us we do not, and, that while we are quite insensible to the situation of one man, we are greatly affected by that of another, though the situation of both are exactly the same. We are so constituted by nature, that we cannot avoid sympathizing with any person whom we see greatly affected, even though we should ourselves be scarcely moved by the circum- stance that affects him. We know his feelings arise from weakness, — from possessing a nature easily moved ; but this weakness, so far from check- ing our sympathy, only increases it, so that we never take into consideration how much a person THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 147 ought to feel, but how much he does feel ; and, it is with this latter feeling we always sympathize. This is so true, that he who does not feel at all, who is perfectly unmoved by the situation in which he is placed, creates no sympathy in us whatever, though it is a situation that would greatly affect us, if a sensitive mind were placed in it. From these observations, it is obvious, that dis- tress and sufferings affect us, only in proportion as we are made acquainted with the feelings of the sufferer. It is true, we may be mistaken in the ideas which we form of his feelings ; but, it is equally true, that our sympathy for him is entirely determined by these ideas. If we imagine that he feels more affected than he really does, so also do we sympathize with him more than we ought. There can, therefore, be no sympathy with real distress, where no idea is conveyed of the state of mind or feelings which accompany it ; whereas, imaginary distress affects us exceedingly, where a tender and pathetic scene of feeling is described, the writer not confining himself to the mere situ- ation in which the sufferer is placed. Hence, then, whenever the writer of fiction describes the feel- ings produced by the situation in which his cha- racters are placed, or makes us so well acquainted with their tempers and dispositions, that we can always place ourselves in their situation, and ima- gine those feelings which the writer does not choose l2 148 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO to describe, he is sure of affecting us more strongly than he who, in describing real distress, confines him- self to circumstances, situations, and events, without noticing the complication of feelings and passions arising from them. It is only in this case that imaginary excites a stronger sympathy than real distress ; but where the description of the latter is accompanied by those delineations of feeling and passion, which give to fiction all its interest, the victim of real distress will always excite stronger sympathy than the victim of imaginary woes. The writer of fiction, however, has an advantage over him who relates only that of which he was himself a spectator. The latter describes only what is real ; if he describe more, it is fiction. Confined, therefore, to rigid truth, he cannot ren- der any situation, or state of feeling, more inte- resting or affecting than it really is, while the writer of fiction may make it as interesting and pathetic as he pleases. Hence, it seldom happens, (and it is even doubtful whether it can happen,) that we meet with a case of real distress as pathetic and interesting as that which the poet is capable of imagining ; but, if such a case were to occur, and delineated with the same happiness of descrip- tion, it would create an interest which no fiction of the imagination could ever excite. THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 149 CHAP. VIII. All strong sensations pleasing to those by whom they are f elt y three instances only excepted. Having shewn that every writer who has hitherto attempted to discover the source of the Pleasures arising- from Tragic Representations rests his theory on some erroneous principle, it now remains to be shewn, what the true source of these plea . sures are. In doing so, I must premise, that no man shall ever be able to tell, why pleasure should result from any source whatever. All the know- ledge we possess of emotions, is derived from our feelings. When we feel an emotion to be pleas- ing, we know it is so, simply because wejeel it is so, but antecedent to this feeling we know nothing. Philosophy will never enable us to tell, why a beau- tiful woman produces a pleasing, and a deformed woman, a disagreeable emotion. Our feelings inform us of it, and if they withheld the intelligence, we could derive it from no other source. There is 150 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO nothing, then, to instruct us on the subject but our feelings ; but they can only make us acquainted with the fact. They point out the cause or agency by which pleasure is produced, but they can never shew, by what act or faculty the cause or agency produces the effect. The philosophers, however, who have set about discovering why Tragic Repre- sentations produce pleasure, seem to have taken it for granted, that they know, already, why Comic Representations produce it. A moment's conside- ration would have convinced them, at the same time, that they can no more tell why the latter should produce pleasure than the former, or than Newton could why heavier bodies attract the lighter. It is absurd, then, to suppose, that he who cannot explain how Comedy is a source of pleasure, should succeed in explaining how Tra- gedy produces that effect. Philosophers have long laboured to discover in what beauty consists ; but without success ; and yet, it is certain, that if they even succeeded, they would still be at a loss to tell by what agency it imparted pleasure. We must, therefore, refer the laws of feeling, as New- ton did the laws of attraction, to the will of the Creator, by whom we are so constituted, that cer- tain external appearances, and the display of cer- tain mental affections in others, produce certain emotions in us. Why they do so, we cannot tell, without having recourse to this law, because we THE SOURCE OP TRAGIC PLEASURE. 151 cannot tell, why they should produce an emotion in us at all. This knowledge we derive from our own consciousness, not from the reasonings of phi- losophers ; for there is no reasoning on the sub- ject. That we are not in the least indebted to reason for the knowledge we possess of our feelings and emotions, appears sufficiently evident from this circumstance alone, that we cannot, by any process of reasoning, discover, why external influ- ences should produce emotions in us of any kind ; and, therefore, if we were to judge by reason, we should deny the existence of influences and emo- tions altogether. It would, consequently, be as difficult to tell, why music is pleasing, as why Tragic Representations are so. The only difference is, that we think one is self-evident, and the other mysterious ; but when we go more deeply into the subject, we find our mistake, and that one is as mysterious as the other. Hence it is evident, that those who ascribe the pleasures resulting from Tragic Representations to causes that are not tragic, would be as nonplussed to tell, why these causes should give pleasure, as why Tragic Repre- sentations themselves should produce that effect. The origin of our feelings, then, is not a proper subject for philosophical investigation : we can easily discover what things please us, but why they please, shall ever remain a mystery. All our ob- servations on the subject are mere notices of facts, 152 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO the causes of which exist in our own nature, but admit of no explanation. Until we know what the nature of soul or spirit is, we shall never know, why any external or material agency should be pleasing 1 to it. The reason is obvious : — matter is some- thing which weprofess to know, (whether we know it or not is a question that belongs not to our pre- sent subject), spirit, something which no man pre- tends to know : it is absurd, then, to attempt to explain, how the something which we do know, pro- duces a certain effect in the something which we do not know ; for, to be acquainted with the manner in which an effect takes place, we must be ac- quainted with the nature of the thing which acts, and of the thing which is acted upon. Reasoning from the progress which human inquiry has made in ascertaining the properties of immaterial being, we shall never become acquainted with the nature of spirit ; and, if not, we shall never succeed in discovering, why it is pleased with any external agency. But though we cannot perceive why any imme- diate or proximate cause should produce the effect that follows it, yet we know, that this immediate cause is not the real, original cause by which the effect is produced, and that it is itself a mere instru- ment in the hands of some higher cause. When we come to examine this higher cause, however > we tind it, again, set in action by something else^ THE SOURCE OP TRAGIC PLEASURE. 153 and that it is as much an instrument of this some thing", as the immediate cause by which the ulti- mate effect is produced. From a conviction that the instrument which produces any effect or change, or which sets another, or, perhaps, a thousand other instruments at work, is not still the real cause of all these effects and changes, and that this real cause must be that which makes use of this instrument, — which acts of itself, sets all the subordinate instruments in action, and is not itself acted upon by any thing, we naturally wish to travel beyond all these instrumental causes, to find out that primary cause by which all the effects are produced, and by which all the instrumental causes are put into motion. This primary cause, how- ever, eludes all our researches, and the most we can ever expect to discover, is the immediate instru- ment which it makes use of, and which produces the ultimate effect by subordinate instruments. This instrument we call a general law of nature, because we find, that all the subordinate instru- ments, or, as we usually call them, secondary causes, can be traced to this general law. We also call it the original cause, as we call gravita- tion the original cause of motion ; but in this we err, for gravitation, like all other original causes that have ever been discovered, is a mere instru- ment, by which some higher cause puts all the sub- ordinate principles of motion into action. Gravita 154 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO tion is a mere quality, or propensity of matter, by which certain effects are produced ; but this pro- pensity did not cause itself, and it is, therefore, to the agent which caused the propensity, we should attribute all the effects that result from it. The reader must, therefore, perceive, that in tracing the pleasure derived from Tragic Representations, to their original source, I do not mean, or pretend to discover, that real, original cause which I have now explained, but that immediate instrument which it makes use of, to set in action all the other instruments, by which the ultimate pleasure is pro- duced. In a word, I seek to discover that general law in our nature, to which all the subordinate causes of Tragic Pleasure can be traced, though this general law, or original cause, as it is called, will appear, when discovered, only the effect of some higher cause, to the knowledge of which the pre- tended perfectibility of the human reason can never attain. Instead of deploring this ignorance, how- ever, perhaps we have reason to exclaim with Pope, Oh ! blindness to the future ! kindly given, That each may fill the circle marked by heaven : Who sees with equal eye, as God of all, A hero perish, or a sparrow fall, Atoms and systems into ruin hurled, And now a bobble burst, and now a world. The pleasures derived from Tragic Representa- tions will appear, from the facts and reasonings stated in the following pages, to arise from a law THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 155 in human nature, that renders not only all emo- tions and passions, from whatever source they arise, or whatever be their character, but, also, all strong sensations that agitate and rouse the feelings, or exercise the imagination, pleasing to those by whom they are felt, except, first; sensations that are too long continued; secondly, sensations whose intensity produces actual pain ; and thirdly, sensa- tions that affect us, not as men in general, but as individuals, placed in particular situations, and, consequently, subject to influences not arising from the general laws of nature. If this attachment to strong sensations, emo- tions, and passions, be found an original law of our nature, it will follow, a priori, that Tragic Re- presentations must produce pleasure, because the object of Tragic writers is, invariably, to produce these powerful impressions in the human mind. The reader, however, will bear in mind, that when- ever I speak of strong sensations being pleasing, I mean strong sensations qualified as above. To commence, then, with the pleasures arising from strong emotions: I must observe, that all the faculties of the mind, life, and its endlessly diversi- fied enjoyments, consist in sensation, abstraction, and will; the former of which is a passive, and the two latter, active faculties of the soul. These are the only faculties of soul or mind with which we are acquainted ; for, however metaphysicians may 156 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO divide and sub-divide the intellectual powers, they are resolvable into these three. The will is wholly engaged in regulating the enjoyments and desires of the other faculties. These, again, are found at perpetual war with each other, and, in proportion as one ascends, the other descends in the scale of enjoyment. He who prefers the enjoyment of reflection, by which I mean all mental enjoyments, — all enjoyments which proceed from an exercise of the mind, as abstraction, contemplation, reasoning, comparing, analyzing, and every active operation of the percipient faculty ; — he who prefers these enjoyments to gratifications arising from sensibility and feeling, seldom listens to the solicitations of the senses, or the wanderings of imagination ; and, from seldom listening to them, from seldom grati- fying them, he so completely reduces them to sub- jection, that he may be said to annihilate them altogether. A man of a contemplative, philosophic mind, instead of yielding to an impression made upon him by the senses, instead of running after the enjoyment which it promises, begins imme- diately to ask himself how this impression hap- pened to be made upon him, by what agency it was produced, through what media it communi- cated itself to the soul, what the nature of that thinking and feeling thing is, on which the impres- sion is made, by what constitution of being it is capable*^ feeling the impression, and by what opera- THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 157 tion of being it is afterwards capable of reflecting on this feeling. These reflections lead to a train of others, so that, while the philosopher is buried in contemplation, the impression dies of itself, and the enjoyment after which it thirsted is forgot, or, if remembered, remembered without any desire of attaining it. The impression, and the anticipated enjoyment, are no longer feelings in his mind, but mere perceptions of feelings that once existed there. If the impression should, at some future time, be revived, and invite the philosopher to the same enjoyment, the philosophy which extinguished it before, will find it much easier now to re-produce the effect ; for, as every circle produced by a stone, thrown into the water, is weaker than that w T hich preceded it, so does a subdued appetite return with less and less violence, till, at length, it dies of itself, and leaves no trace behind. He who has brought himself to this stage of sensual denial, may be pronounced incapable of any enjoyments, but what are of a mental character ; so that, in proportion as the enjoyments of the intellect are exclusively indulged, in the same proportion are the enjoy- ments of the senses trampled upon and despised. I admit, then, in limine, that philosophers, meta- physicians, and all abstract reasoners, find no en- joyment in strong sensations, and that the only pleasures of which they are capable, are those which result from the satisfaction of discovering 158 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO something, hitherto unknown. So far, then, as regards them, the theory which ascribes the plea- sures arising from Tragic Representations to a propensity in human nature of being pleased with strong sensations, emotions, and passions, is not supported by experience ; but do not the rest of mankind derive their happiest moments from this source alone ? The question, then, is, whose plea- sures are the most natural, the philosopher's or the poet's ; the logician's or the clown's ; or, in other words, which are, the pleasures of reason, or the pleasures of sense, the most natural ? To me it appears obvious, that the latter are not only more natural, but that they are nature itself ; while the exclusive enjoyment of the pleasures of reason are neither natural nor desirable, except when they are impressed with the character of the senses and of imagination, their lineal offspring. They are not natural; because, he who has extinguished all the sensitive appetites, has also extinguished one of the three faculties of the soul, and confined the operation of another to half the range appointed for it by nature. The three faculties of the soul are, sensation, perception, and will ; the former of which he destroys, so far as regards the enjoy- ments which it imparts. It is true, no man can destroy the sensitive faculty, without destroying life ; but it is very possible to destroy its enjoy- ments ; that is, it is possible to destroy those strong THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 159 excitements by which it prompts us to happiness. When these excitements are once subdued or ex- tinguished, the sensations that remain, having lost that energy which " prompts, impels, inspires," can neither " devour its object," nor even " taste, the honey." In a word, all sensual enjoyment is at an end, and, therefore, the purposes for which the sensitive faculty was given, are completely frus- trated. To argue, that it is wise to frustrate them, — that it is wise to deny ourselves the pleasures which they afford, is to argue, in other words, that man is wiser than the Architect of Nature, who gave us a faculty which, according to this theory, we are better without ; and which must, therefore, have been given to no purpose. In destroying the energy of the sensitive faculty, and, consequently, of its enjoyments, we confine the operations of the will, as I have observed above, to half the range ap- pointed for them by nature ; for it cannot exercise itself in directing the operations of the sensitive faculty, such operations having no longer any exis- tence. It is in vain to will, or seek after any sen- sual gratification, after the sensitive faculty is once completely subdued, and brought to a state of per- fect self-denial, for the capability of enjoyment is then at an end, and the will, consequently, has no power of renewing it. The operations of the will being, therefore, confined to the perceptive or ab- stract faculty, half its power is destroyed. It is 160 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO evident, then, that he who has completely subdued the cravings and solicitations of the senses, is but half a man, and possesses only half the faculties which were originally granted him by nature. If it be asked, how are these cravings and excitements of the senses to be extinguished ? I reply, by the two extremes of self-denial, and unbounded grati- fication. He who indulges in every pleasure which the senses afford him, will soon have no sense ca- pable of enjoying pleasure ; and he who denies himself all these pleasures, becomes equally inca- pable of enjoyment, for the natural strength and energy of the senses perish of themselves, when the enjoyments, after which they thirst, are conti- nually denied to them. They become disgusted with their tyrant, and abandon him to that " stoic apathy," the virtue of which is " fixed as in a frost." It is in one or other of these extremes that men, as Bruyere says, " wish to love, but cannot suc- ceed ; they seek to be defeated, but they find they cannot, and, if the expression be allowable, they are constrained to remain free." The medium, then, between self-denial and unbounded gratification, is that golden medium where happiness has taken up her abode ; — That something still which prompts the eternal sigh, For which we bear to live, or dare to die ; — Which still so near us, yet beyond us lies, O'erlooked, seen double, by the fool and wise. Pope. THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 161 This is the very medium which Pope himself de- scribes in the following beautiful lines. Love, Hope, and Joy, fair Pleasure's smiling train ; Hate, Fear, and Grief, the family of Pain ; These mixed with art, and to due bounds confined, Make and maintain the balance of the mind 3— The lights and shades, whose well accorded strife, Gives all the strength and colour of our life. If this reasoning be well founded, it is obvious, that in tracing the origin of any pleasure arising from the senses, we must not draw our observa- tions from those who cultivate the pleasure of rea- son only, and who deny themselves every enjoy- ment arising from a sensitive source, because such men, properly speaking, are only half men, as they possess only half the faculties with which nature originally endowed them. From the habit of re- pelling their feelings and pleasurable sensations, they soon become insensible of their influence ; and, accordingly we find, that what raises an emo- tion of pleasure in others, have no charms for them. All the fine arts affect the mind through the medium of the senses, but who are worse judges of the fine arts than such philosophers and metaphysicians as give themselves up, exclusively, to mental and abstract contemplations ; and who, instead of yielding to any feeling of a pleasing character, are only solicitous to discover and ana- lyze the nature of the impression by which they M 162 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO find themselves affected. Locke was no judge of poetry, simply because he was insensible to its charms, because he was callous to those feel- ings which its beauties excite in every sensible mind, — every mind which, instead of resisting, yields, spontaneously, to the pleasing emotions which arise within it. Accordingly, he despised poetry and all its professors, except such of them as ad- dressed the understanding alone, and presented but few of those images by which the senses are delighted. Of this, we have a sufficient proof in his panegyric on one of Blackmore's Epics. Lon- guerue was a writer of profound knowledge : he read, and probably admired, poetry in his youth ; but from resigning himself afterwards to abstract studies, and resisting all the pleasing emotions of sense, he began, at length, to look on poetry with indifference. How insensible he was to its charms will appear from the following passage in his Lon- guerana. " There are two books in Homer which I prefer to Homer himself. , The first is the AntU quitates Homericce of Feithius, where he has ex- tracted every thing relative to the usages and cus- toms of the Greeks ; the other is Homeri Gnomo- logia per duportum, printed at Cambridge. In these two books is found every thing valuable in Homer, without being obliged to get through his childish stories ! routes d dormir de bout! If we were to trace the origin, not only of the THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 163 pleasures which are derived from public shews and spectacles, the fights of the ancient gladiators, bull feasts, &c, but even of poetry, painting, and all the fine arts, to observations drawn from the manner in which human nature operates in such metaphysical stoics as these, we should necessarily conclude, not only that they were mere delusions, but delusions, too, arising, not from the nature, but from the weakness of man. That such a conclu- sion would be naturally and logically drawn from such observations, is proved by the fact. The con- tempt which Locke, Longuerue, Selden, Le Clerc, and others entertained for poetry, if well founded, would render all the fine arts, and their produc- tions, equally contemptible, because they are all founded on the same basis, namely, that of im- parting pleasure through the medium of the senses. These philosophers prized only what imparts plea- sure through the faculty of perception, comparison, discussion, &c. ; and, consequently, they, and a great portion of the ancient philosophers, held, that so far as man yielded to the senses, so far he fell below the dignity of his nature, became the sport of appearances in which he should place no confidence, and the dupe of impressions to which he should never yield. That the promulgators of such a doctrine could derive little pleasure from public representations of any description, requires no argument to prove, as their theory, if it be good m 2 164 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO for any thing, proves, that the fine arts in general, as well as representations of every description, are founded not in the nature, but in the weakness of man. Their doctrine, however, confutes itself; for the heart could never feel a pleasing emotion through the medium of the senses, if it were not so con- stituted by nature. But it will be granted, no doubt, that the heart is so constituted, while it will still be denied, that we ought to yield to the appe- tite for pleasure. If we ought not, it naturally follows, that happier results must emanate from resisting than from yielding to sensible impressions. But will any person maintain this to be the fact, who considers, for a moment, that the bulk of mankind derive all their happiness from this for- bidden source alone, and that no other source lies open to them from which it can proceed. The pleasures acquired through the medium of pure intellect, and abstract contemplation, are placed only within the reach of a few, because na- ture has endowed few with those powers of mind, which enable us to contemplate things abstractedly from the senses, because, those who possess these powers must devote a great portion of their lives to arrive at this intellectual perfection,— because this portion of their lives must be spent, if not in misery, at least devoid of happiness, as happiness, according to this theory, can only emanate from an intellectual source, and, finally, because a still THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 165 greater portion, or, properly speaking, the great bulk of mankind, have not the means of acquiring this knowledge, and, consequently, must never hope to enjoy pure happiness, if happiness can pro- ceed only from spurning all sensible impressions, and prizing that pleasure only which proceeds from contemplation and abstract perception. We see, then, that the pleasures of sense are natural pleasures, and whatever is natural must be rational at the same time. The rationality of en- joying sensible pleasures arises from this, that by resisting them, we lead a life of misery, as they are the only source from which man can derive happiness in a state of nature. And if we were to enter more deeply into the question, it would be easy to prove, philosophically, what experience of itself abundantly teaches, that no man can be happy who denies himself the pleasures that emanate from this source. The senses are perpetually about us, presenting pleasure to us in a thousand shapes. Whether we gratify them or not, we cannot exist without them, for a moment ; and every time we refuse to gratify them, we necessarily and unavoid- ably inflict punishment on ourselves ; and even when we reduce them to a state of perfect subjec- tion, or, at least, subject them so far that their voice is scarcely heard, their excitements scarcely felt, their desires scarcely known, the only happi- ness we can boast of is, that we are incapable of 166 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO happiness, — an empty boast, however it may be dignified by the pride of stoic indifference, or in- tellectual greatness. Let it not be thought, that I would depreciate the happiness arising from the cultivation of reason, when united with the plea- sures of feeling and imagination ; for the felicity arising from this union of the mental powers, is the most exquisite that nature can impart : but reason should be considered the guide, not the creator of our pleasures. Mentor was wiser than Telemachus, but Telemachus was the happier man. Even when he yielded to the headlong impetuosity of his passions, when he ingloriously resigned him- self, as we are pleased to call it, to the strong infa- tuation of love, when Eucharis exercised a greater dominion over his mind, than either Jupiter or Mi- nerva, Ulysses, Penelope, or Mentor, even then, Te- lemachus was a happier man than his wise preceptor and angel guardian. The impetuous propensities of his nature rendered him not only incapable of pain, but enabled him to convert pain into plea- sure. All pleasures arise from the senses, or, more philosophically speaking, from the reciprocation of those external influences by which the senses are acted upon, and that susceptibility of feeling which responds to these influences. It is impos- sible to form a sublime conception, unless it be connected with some sensible image ; and the closer the connexion, the more sublime the idea. THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 167 The impression made upon us by the sensible image, not only lifts up the mind to the same elevation with itself, but heightens and gives zest to the pleasures resulting from that act of the mind by which it was originally conceived. Hence it is, that poets are the most, and meta- physicians the least, sublime of all writers, the creations and images of the former being all taken from the sensible, and those of the latter from the intellectual world. The metaphysician excels in separating, analyzing, and resolving the minuter shades and elements of things, while the poet ex- cels in vastness and comprehension ; in discovering resemblances, not differences ; concords, not dis- cords ; sympathies, not antipathies. The language of the poet, is, therefore, the language of love, and consequently the language of enjoyment, while the language of the metaphysician is, in every respect, the very opposite, and consequently affords no pleasure, but what arises from the pride or satis- faction of knowing what is concealed from others. This however is, in many respects, a negative plea- sure, and, as it arises from these two sources alone, it wants that infinite variety which poetry, the fine arts, and sensible gratifications of every description, are capable of affording. The pleasures acquired through the medium of the senses are therefore the most exquisite, the most palpably felt, the most sensibly, if I may use 168 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO the term, enjoyed ; the most positive and real, so far, at least, as regards our perceptions of reality, the most sublime and diversified in their objects, embracing as they do all the creations of imagina- tion ; for imagination can conceive nothing that does not bear the stamp of sensible existence ; in a word, as the pleasures of sense, are, properly speaking, the only pleasures we can be said to feel, pleasures of every description being only various modifications of sense, or feeling, we cannot be surprised, that man should be eagerly and power- fully attached to strong sensations. We find, accordingly, that with the exception of those who have brought the senses under a perfect subjection, to the principle of self-denial, or, in whom a life of abstract contemplation has weakened the energy and susceptibility of the senses, an effect which may also result from ill health, and other physical causes ; these, excepted, we find the rest of man- kind strongly attached to the enjoyments arising from this prolific source. We find them running after objects, and delighting in spectacles, the very recollection of which, or even the mention of which, strikes more tender minds with the most painful feelings. Are we to suppose, that any person who retains the nature of man ; who has a particle of humanity in his breast, would wish, for a moment, to see his fellow creature torn by the most excru- ciating pain which human ingenuity can devise, to THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 161) follow him to the scaffold, and behold him writhing in the agonies of the most insufferable torments ? The idea is revolting to human nature ; but this very nature which revolts at barbarity, delights, notwithstanding, in witnessing the infliction of all these torments. We find all strong sensations which are not absolutely painful through their in- tensity, agreeable to youth ; and so great is their attachment to these sensations, that they will fre- quently endure pain rather than be deprived of the pleasure by which it is accompanied. They have an eternal propensity to change the sensation of the moment for some other, whatever pain it may cost them, if this sensation has been felt for any length of time, because a continued sensation soon becomes no sensation at all. Ac- cordingly, we find them running into every mis- chief, and placing themselves in situations which are actually painful, because the pleasure of the strong sensation is greater than the accompa- nying pain. The pleasure of strong sensations is so great a feast to them, that even a sense of imminent danger will not prevent them from enjoy- ing it. They climb the steepest precipices, at the peril of their lives, — they traverse the deepest snows with greater luxury than they enjoy on beds of down ; they fly those softer scenes of insipid ease which tend not to put the soul and all its ener- 170 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO gies into action. — Restlessness, tumult, and agita- tion are almost the only pleasures which they prize. They have no delicacy in the selection of the objects or means by which their sensations are produced ; and care not what the sensation is, provided it be a strong one. The love of strong sensations is the universal law by which all their actions are deter- mined. Hence they cannot walk the streets with- out running into puddles and mire, unless they are punished for it by their parents. In fact, the greatest trouble which parents have with their chil- dren is to keep them quiet, that is, to prevent them from indulging in strong sensations, or placing themselves in the situations by which these sensa- tions are produced. It is youth alone that present us with a true portrait of the natural man; and that consequently, make us acquainted with the real and undisguised propensities of the human race, while these pro- pensities act according to their own nature, and receive no check from the counteraction of reason. Their indulgence beyond a certain degree, is termed vice ; but it should be recollected, that vice is vice only in him who knows it to be so, and, happily, youth know little about it, till they are made acquainted with it by circum- stances and the progress of reason. In youth, the empire of reason is unknown, and consequently THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 171 it gives us a better opportunity of becoming ac- quainted with the real and natural propensities of the heart. It is therefore properly described by a French poet, Cette agreable saison, Ou le coeur, a, son empire, Assujettit la raison. To say that these propensities are vicious, because they do not conform to the precepts of reason and religion, is saying nothing to the point ; because the question to be considered is, what are our real propensities, not what they are conformable to. These ardent propensities for strong sensations, which evince themselves in our earliest years, con- tinue without intermission, while the physical powers retain all their vigour, and are more con- spicuous from the age of twenty to thirty, than at any former, or subsequent period. Un jeune homme toujours bouillant dans ses caprices, Est prompt a recevoir l'impression des vices, Est vain dans ses di scours, volage en ses desirs, R£tif a la censure, et fou dansles plaisirs. In fact, a young man, who enjoys good health and spirits, and without this enjoyment man is not himself, spurns every sensation that is not of a strong and powerful nature. He encounters dif- ficulties which are above his strength, and places himself in the most dangerous and trying situations, 172 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO that he may enjoy the pleasure resulting* from the strong sensations which they naturally produce; and so attached is he to these sensations, that he becomes blind to the perils that surround him on every side. He believes himself capable of every thing, despises actual and impending dangers, always runs into extremes, because the greater the extreme, the more powerful the sensation. What species of reading is more pleasing to youth, than fairy tales, and marvellous adventures, thickly sown with wizzards, witches, magicians, enchanted castles, and whatever else can produce the most powerful sensation ? Even in the present improved state of society in Europe, newspapers are more generally read than any other productions of the press, not because they make us more learned, but because they contain whatever is most wonderful and surprising, whatever is best calculated to pro- duce strong sensations. The newspapers, accordingly, are more read in time of war, than when peace has released the world from the dangers and apprehensions which follow in its train. It is only in time of peace, that we betake ourselves to poetry, and the delights of science ; but the moment war has sounded her brazen trumpet, we dismiss the gentler sensibilities of the muse, and fly to the stronger feelings, pro- duced by scenes of havoc and destruction. The stronger sensation always extinguishes the weaker, THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASU11 H. 173 which could never happen, if the former did not pro- duce the greater pleasure; for it is certain that we always prefer that which is the most pleasing- and agreeable to us. The strong sensation produced in this country by the trial of the lateQueenmade some some thousands neglect their business. It was the only subject of conversation in the higher, as well as the lower circles ; and things, which, at other times, would be interesting, were then totally pas- sed over, as things of no interest whatever. The stronger sensation, therefore, like the " master passion," swallows up the rest. Those influences which produce a keen and lively sensation of plea- sure, are totally disregarded, when a strong sensa- tion takes possession of us, or when we have an opportunity of placing ourselves in a situation which we know, antecedently, must produce, a strong sensation in us. Can it then be denied, that the stronger sensation is felt to be the stronger pleasure. If it should be said, that though a stronger, excites a more earnest attention, than a weaker sensation, yet this sensation is different from that feeling which we call pleasure, I would ask, what pleasure is, if not that which we like most, or which gratifies us most, — that sensation which we are most desirous of feeling, and which we should most regret, if we were denied the gra- tification which it imparts? In a word, what is pleasure but that which gives us the highest satis- 174 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO faction ? Now I would ask, what would have yielded higher satisfaction to the citizens of London, than to be present at the Queen's trial ? Would not the theatre, the ballroom, the masquerade, be equally deserted if this liberty were permitted ? At least, would not the great majority of the lower circles, and it is only among them we are to seek for human nature, derive more satisfaction from being permitted to witness the trial, than they would from beholding her invested with all the insignia of royalty, had the trial never occurred ? not that the people of England would delight in the misfortune, or peril of the Queen, or of any individual, but that all men like to enjoy the strong sensations excited by peril and misfortune, though they will not co-operate in producing them, though they feel more pleasure in preventing than in causing those catastrophes which they find such pleasure in beholding when brought about without any co-operation or instrumentality of their own. Granting, however, that something more attrac- tive drew off a great majority of the people from the trial, it will still be found, that this some- thing must produce a stronger sensation in those who were attracted by it, than the trial. A man in great distress, for instance, would find more pleasure in staying at home, if he were to receive a sovereign for so doing, whereas an affluent man would not be prevented by such an offer for a THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 175 moment. Whence, then, does this difference of conduct arise? Evidently from each of them lov- ing to pursue that which excites the strongest sen- sation in himself. What can produce a stronger sensation in a famishing man, than the receipt of a sovereign, except the receipt of two, three, &c. He therefore feels little interest in the trial, not only because a stronger sensation gives him higher sa- tisfaction at home, but because, independently of the motive which keeps him at home, the trial is incapable of producing that strong sensation in his mind which it would produce in others ; for, as I have already observed, in treating of sympathy^ he who is deeply afflicted himself can never sym- pathize in the woes of others. The affluent man acts differently; but he is strictly governed by the same law, and prefers, like the former, the stronger sensation to the weaker. The acquisition of a sovereign cannot pro- duce a strong sensation in him, or rather it pro- duces no sensation at all. He will not, therefore, accept of it on the condition of denying himself the pleasure which he anticipates from the strong sensation about to be produced by the trial. The highest pleasure is, therefore, always produced by the strongest sensation, no matter by what means this sensation is excited. Strong sensations affect us differently, according to the difference of the causes by which they are elicited ; but they all 176 PHILOSOPHICAL ENQUIRY INTO agree, without exception, in producing a modifica- tion of feeling which is always pleasing to us, and therefore, pleasure must not be considered as one simple mode of being affected, for the modes of pleasure are infinitely diversified, every sensation being a pleasure which gives us satisfaction, and which we are unwilling not to feel. It is, there- fore, erroneous to suppose, that strong sensations are agreeable or disagreeable according to the manner in which they affect us ; for let them affect us as they will, they are always pleasing, unless their intensity cause actual pain. Let imagination form to itself as great a diversity of circumstances or objects fitted to produce strong sensations as it can, and we shall find, that however endlessly dif- ferent they may be from each other, they will be all pleasing without exception. If a man were to walk in the air down the middle of Oxford Street, without any visible support, it would, no doubt, produce a strong sensation ; but yet a sensation very different from that produced by the Queen's trial. Would it therefore be the less pleasing? I am confident it would not, though the pleasure, in both instances, would be differently felt. The degree of pleasure, however, in each, would depend altogether on the degree of intensity with which it was felt ; so that however important the issue of the Queen's trial might be to the nation, yet, unless it produced a stronger sensation than that THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 177 produced by the aerial pedestrian, it would certain- ly not afford the same degree of pleasure. This would appear obvious enough, should the aerial spectacle take place, for all London would crowd to see it, and forget the interest produced by the trial. Let us suppose a case fitted to produce strongei sensations than either of these, and we shall find that the pleasure still increases with the sensation, till it reaches to actual pain. If it were demon- stratively proved, from the operation of the laws of nature, and the calculations of astronomy, that the moon was to be seen on a certain nighty and only in a certain province in France, quitting her usual course, and advancing towards the earth in a direct line, increasing in magnitude as she ap- proached, enlarging her dusky spots into vast regions of land, and her lucid tracts into immense oceans, that she was to continue approaching till the spectators had a distinct view of her hills, mountains, vales, woods, rivers, plains, houses, and even inhabitants; — that havingapproached thus far without producing any sensible inconvenience to them, she was to continue stationary for a month, I ask, whether every individual in Europe who could afford the expenses, would not be seen in this part of France within that short period? Now, as it is obvious that nothing could bring so many millions of people to this part of France, but some- thing that afforded them great pleasure ; it is equal- N 178 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO ly obvious, that the pleasure is always proportioned to the strength of the sensation, and, consequently, thegreater the sensation, the greater the pleasure. It is idle, then, to attribute the pleasure resulting from Tragic Representations to sympathy, for there can be no sympathy with the moon, and yet the spec- tacle which I have spoken of would give greater pleasure than all the Tragic Representations that were ever exhibited ; and that, evidently, because it would produce a stronger sensation. Had such a spectacle been presented to the eyes of Europe during the Queen's trial, the latter would scarcely be spoken of in England at the time, so slight would be the sensation it would produce ; for how- ever strong any sensation may be, it instantly perishes if a stronger be excited. Whatever, then, affects the mind through the medium of the senses, produces a pleasure always proportionate to the degree in which we are affect- ed, unless the cause by which the sensation is pro- duced acts so powerfully on the organs by which it is received, as to produce actual pain. The sen- sation cannot be too strong for the mind, if the organs which conveys it can endure the action of the exciting cause. Thus, if instead of the moon, the sun were seen descending from the heavens in all his meridian glory, increasing as he ap- proached in heat and magnitude, and throwing a world of splendour and insufferable radiance around THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 179 him, it is obvious that so grand a spectacle would produce a much stronger sensation than could be experienced by the approach of the moon, and that the pleasure of beholding it would be proportion- ably greater, while our sensitive organs could endure the increasing intensity of light and heat ; but the moment this intensity became intolerable, the pleasure would instantly perish, To what can we attribute the institution of pub- lic games and theatric representations among the ancient Greeks, if not to the love of strong sen- sations ? It is this propensity that gave rise to their foot, horse, and chariot races, wrestling, leaping, the disk, pugilism, &c. The fame of the Olympic, Isthmian, Nemean, and Pythian games, shall never be forgotten, nor the immense number of specta- tors which crowded to see them. They may be said, in a manner, to have been witnessed by all Greece. So great was the rage for these dangerous exercises, that they were considered sacred, and consecrated to religion. They served to honour the remains of departed heroes in Greece and Rome; witness the funeral games on the death of Patro- clus, in Homer, and those which were appointed by iEneas in honour of his father Anchises. In Rome public games were carried to an inconceiv- able pitch of grandeur and magnificence. They were placed under the immediate care of Roman kings, during the monarchy, and after its subver- n 2 180 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO sion the consuls and chief magistrates took charge of them. To increase them in number, they dedi- cated them, not only to the celestial, but to the infer- nal deities ; such were the games called Taurilia, Compitalia, and Terentini ludi. Every reader ac- quainted with Roman History knows how strongly the Romans were attached to these games. We meet with one of the most remarkable instances of this attachment in the Dictatorship of A. Post- humius, who, seeing the affairs of Rome in a most ruinous condition, made a solemn vow, that if the Roman arms should rescue the state from the perils to which it was exposed, he would institute magnificent games in honour of Castor and Pollux. The sensation produced by the expectation of wit- nessing these games, had such an effect on the Roman soldiery, that they became invincible in the field, and soon retrieved the fallen majesty of the senate, and the glory of the Roman arms. Post- humius fulfilled his promise, and the senate order- ed these games to be celebrated yearly, during a period of eight da} r s. But it will be said, that these games were not much relished or frequented by the Roman phi- losophers. Grant it : are Tragic Representa- tions, at the present day, much frequented by our own philosophers ? Mr. Campbell says of poetry, that " the progress of literature serves only to diminish its pleasures," and the same may be said THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 181 of the pleasures of the stage. The cause of this effect is the same in both cases : the more we reason, the more apt we are to view every subject through the cold, analyzing medium of the understanding, and to divest it of those smiling hues in which feeling and imagination love to encircle all their objects : and the less we reason, the more apt we are to view every thing through the medium of the feelings alone. Those who seldom consult their feelings, as I have already observed, extinguish them by degrees, and have soon no feelings left to con- sult ; so that the feelings of human nature must not be sought for in the abstract or metaphysical world, though a learned man may feel and act like the rest of mankind. Those whose studies are found- ed on the science of human nature, and who are consequently obliged to consult their own feelings, and the manner in which they are affected, when placed in particular situations, in order to become acquainted with the feelings of others, — as poets, painters, sculptors, connoisseurs, critics, and the lovers of the fine arts in general, — differ not in their feelings and pleasures from the rest of mankind ; or, if they do not enjoy their objects with as strong and greedy an appetite, at least they enjoy them with a keener and livelier relish. Du Bos admits that strong sensations are pleas- ing to us in a certain degree ; but so far from con- sidering them as productive of the highest pleasure, 182 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO he attributes the pleasure resulting from them, rather to the power they possess of removing the uneasi- ness which attends ennui, and want of occupation, than to any positive pleasure which they are fitted to impart. This sort of pleasure is, evidently, only that negative pleasure which arises from the re- moval of pain. It can have nothing positive in its nature, being produced by no sensible cause, and originating entirely from an act of the mind, which felicitates itself on its escape from the uneasiness which it had previously endured. Hume adopts this theory in part, and rejects it in part, adding to it whatever he thought necessary to render it perfect. " L'Abbe Du Bos," he says, " in his reflections on poetry and painting, asserts that nothing is, in general, so disagreeable to the mind as the languid listless state of indolence into which it falls, upon the removal of all passion and occupation. To get rid of this painful situation, it seeks every amusement and pursuit ; business, gaming, shews, executions, whatever will rouse the passions, and take its attention from itself. No matter what the passion is ; let it be disagreeable, melancholy, dis- ordered, it is still better than that insipid languor which arises from perfect tranquillity and repose." This is the theory of Du Bos, as stated by Hume, and that which approaches nearest to the one which I have adopted in this work, on the source THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 183 of Tragic Pleasure. It approaches to it, however, more in appearance than in reality ; for Du Bos, so far from making strong sensations a source of pleasure, maintains that they are always attended with inquietude, and produce lasting and acute pain. " U inquietude" he says, " que les affaires causent, ni les mouvemens qu'elles demandent, ne Sgaurolent plaire aux hommes, par eux memes. Mais les hommes craignent encore plus V ennui qui suit V inaction, et Us trouvent dans les mouvement des affairs, et dans Vyvresse des passions, une emotion qui les tient occupes. If we ask him, then, why are we pleased with strong sensations, he will not reply, because they give us unmingled pleasure, but because we prefer enduring the pain which they inflict, to the torment of that ennui which we experience in their absence. He says we know, antecedently, that strong passions are attended with painful consequences, suites fdcheuses, but that of two evils we choose the least, and prefer the pain to the ennui of inaction. The whole of the pleasure we derive from Tragic Representa- tions is, therefore, a mere escape from pain. It is consequently, in every respect, a negative pleasure, or, rather, it is a positive pain, rendered pleasant by the reflection, that it is not altogether so painful as that which it enables us to escape ; or, to express it in the words of Hume, " it is still better than 184 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO that insipid languor which arises from perfect tran- quillity and repose. If Du Bos be right, we go to a tragedy, not for the pleasure it imparts, but to avoid the pain ari- sing from the listlessness and stupidity of remain- ing at home. We need not go far in search of arguments to prove this theory erroneous, and to shew, that strong sensations impart real and posi- tive pleasure, and positive pleasure surely owes no part of its effect or intensity to the reflections which we make on the ennui and inquietude which it enables us to escape. We have only to consult our own feelings on the subject, and they will in- stantly inform us, that we go to see a tragedy, not to escape pain, but to enjoy real, actual, and posi- tive pleasure. There are cases, it is true, where people go to the theatre, to banish the idea of some immediate grievance ; but these cases are few, and if those who are influenced by them never went there, it would be still, in appearance, as much frequented as ever. How many go to the the- atre who could spend the evening happily at home ? how many are undetermined, whether to go there or not, because they do not know which to prefer, the pleasures which they may enjoy at home, or those which they anticipate by going to the theatre ? It is not, therefore, to avoid ennui or positive pain that we go in search of the enjoy- THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 185 ments which the theatre affords, but to enjoy a pleasure which is really and sensibly felt. Besides, it is a mistake to suppose, that tran- quillity and repose are, in themselves, absolutely painful. Some of the finest poems in every lan- guage are written on the pleasures of retirement, and the delights of solitude. Some have gone so far as to say, that it is only in solitude we can en- joy true pleasure and felicity ; but allowing this picture of solitude to be too highly coloured, yet it affords evidence enough that tranquillity and repose are not absolutely painful. Who would not fall in love with retirement, after perusing the following passage in Goldsmith's " Deserted Vil- lage." O blest retirement, friend to life's decline, Retreats from care, that never must be mine, How blest is he, who crowns, in shades like these, A youth of labour with an age of ease ; Who quits a world when strong temptations try, And since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly. For him no wretches, born to work and weep, Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep j No surly porter stands in guilty state, To spurn imploring famine from the gate j But on he moves to meet his latter end, Angel's around, befriending virtue's friend ; Sinks to the grave with unperceived decay, While resignation gently slopes the way ; And, all his prospects brightening to the last, His heaven commences ere the world be past. 186 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO Hume, however, agrees in the main with this theory of Du Bos, and thinks, with him, that the pleasure resulting from strong sensations, is a mere " relief to that apprehension under which men com- monly labour, when left entirely to their own thoughts and meditations." The real objections to this theory he passes over, and perceives only one reason for refusing to give it his unqualified assent. "There is, however," he says, u a difficulty in ap- plying to the present subject, in its full extent, this solution, however ingenious and satisfactory it may appear. It is certain, that the same object of dis- tress, which pleases in a tragedy, were it really set before us, would give the most unfeigned uneasi- ness, though it be then the most effectual cure to languor and indolence." This objection seems not to be so well founded as Hume imagines, nor is it so certain, that the same object of distress which pleases in a tragedy would give the most unfeigned uneasiness, were it really set before us ; for if this be the fact, why do we see people running in crowds to witness executions, fights, shipwrecks, &c. ? These are real objects of distress, and yet, so great is our delight in witnessing them, that, as Burke observes, we should quit the deepest and best performed tragedy to behold the execution of a state criminal. In all countries, and in all ages, this propensity for witnessing scenes of real distress has uniformly prevailed. It is many ages since Lucretius flou- THE SOURCE OF TRAGIC PLEASURE. 187 rished, and it was then as prevalent as at the pre- sent moment. He describes the pleasure result- ing from witnessing a shipwreck, an engagement, &c, in the following lines. Suave mari magno, turbantibus sequora ventis E terra alterius magnum spectare laborem : Suave etiam belli certamina magna tueri Per campos instructa tui sine parte pericli. Du Bos himself justly observes, that the more dangerous are the evolutions of a rope dancer, and the more he exposes his life, the more delight he affords us. So that, at the time of Du Bos, and of Lucretius, as well as at present, we find that the real perils to which others are exposed, afford a pleasure of the highest and deepest character. It is not, therefore, the mere ficti- tious distress we see represented on the stage that alone pleases us, for the real, actual distress to which our fellow creatures are exposed, as it produces a stronger sensation, produces also, except in the case already mentioned, a pleasure incom- parably greater than any gratification we can de- rive from its imitation on the stage. Hume's ob- jection to Du Bos's theory is, consequently, fri- volous, and founded on the assumption of a fact, which is absolutely erroneous, and disproved by the expeperience of mankind. Let us now see how he attempts to improve it by the assistance of Fon- tenelle. 188 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO " Monsieur Fontenelle," he says, seems to have been sensible of this difficulty, (the foregoing ob- jection to Du Bos's theory) and, accordingly, at- tempts another solution of the phenomenon, at least, makes some addition to the theory above mentioned. " Pleasure and pain," says he, U" 14 DAY USE RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED LOAN DEPT. This book is due on the last date stamped below, or on the date to which renewed. Renewals only: Tel. No. 642-3405 Renewals may be made 4 days prior to date due. Renewed books are subject to immediate recall. KEC'D LP m 1 72 -4 PM 6 4 FEB2 813?4 10 - - - _ . 'JAN 11980 6* CK. K^w LD21A-40m-8,'71 TT . Gen . eral }-£**& . (P6572sl0)476-A-32 Umvers g^2*g 1,foril,a J.C. BERKELEY LIBRARIES CD3532137M v *■