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 THE 
 
 WILLIAM R. PERKINS 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 DUKE UNIVERSITY 
 
 Rare Books 
 
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PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY 
 
 INTO THE 
 
 ORIGIN OF OUR IDEAS 
 
 OF THE 
 
 SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 WITH AN 
 
 INTRODUCTORY DISCOURSE 
 
 CONCERNING 
 
 TASTE, 
 
 AND SEVERAL OTHER ADDITIONS. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 PRINTED FOR D. JOHNSON, PORTLAND, 
 BY J. WATTS. 
 
 1806. 
 
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KWtqh*- 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Introduction, on Taste 1 
 
 PART L 
 
 SECT. I. Novelty 33 
 
 SECT. II. Pain and Pleasure 35 
 
 SECT. III. The difference between the removal of 
 Pain and positive Pleasure 38 
 
 SECT. IV. Of Delight and Pleasure, as opposed to 
 each other 41 
 
 SECT. V. Joy and Grief 44 
 
 SECT. VI. Of the Passions which belong to Self- 
 preservation 46 
 
 SECT. VII. Of the Sublime 47 
 
 SECT. VIII. Of the Passions which belong to So- 
 ciety 49 
 
 SECT. IX. The final cause of the difference between 
 the passions belonging to Self-preservation, and those 
 which regard the Society of the Sexes 51 
 
 SECT. X. Of Beauty 53 
 
 SECT. XI. Society and Solitude 55 
 
 SECT. XII. Sympathy, Imitation, and Ambition 56 
 SECT. XIII. Sympathy 57 
 
 SECT. XIV. The effects of Sympathy in the dis- 
 tresses of others 58 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 SECT. XV. Of the effects of Tragedy 61 
 
 SECT. XVI. Imitation 64 
 
 SECT. XVII. Ambition 66 
 
 SECT. XVIII. The Recapitulation 68 
 
 SECT. XIX. The Conclusion 70 
 
 PART II. 
 
 SECT. I. Of the passion caused by the Sublime 77 
 SECT. II. Terror 78 
 SECT. III. Obscurity 80 
 SECT. IV. Of the difference between Clearness and 
 Obscurity with regard to the Passions 82 
 SECT. [IV.] The same subject continued 83 
 SECT. V. Power 89 
 SECT. VI. Privation 100 
 SECT. VII. Vastness 102 
 SECT. VIII. Infinity. 104 
 SECT. IX. Succession and Uniformity 106 
 SECT. X. Magnitude in Building 109 
 SECT. XI. Infinity in pleasing Objects 110 
 SECT. XII. Difficulty 111 
 SECT. XIII. Magnificence 112 
 SECT. XIV. Light 115 
 SECT. XV. Light in Building 117 
 SECT. XVI. Colour considered as productive of the 
 Sublime 118 
 SECT. XVII. Sound and Loudness 120 
 SECT. XVIII. Suddenness 121 
 SECT. XIX. Intermitting 122 
 SECT. XX. The Cries of Animals 123 
 SECT. XXI. Smell and Taste. Bitters and Sten- 
 ches 124 
 SECT. XXII. Feeling. Pain. 127 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PART III. 
 SECT. I. Of Beauty 12 9 
 
 SECT. II. Proportion not the cause of Beauty in 
 Vegetables 131 
 
 SECT. III. Proportion not the cause of Beauty in 
 Animals 137 
 
 SE CT. IV. Proportion not the cause of Beauty in the 
 human species 139 
 
 SECT. V. Proportion further considered 149 
 
 SECT. VI. Fitness not the cause of Beauly 153 
 
 SECT. VII. The real effects of Fitness 158 
 
 SECT. VIII. The Recapitulation 162 
 
 SECT. IX. Perfection not the cause of Beauty 163 
 SECT. X. How far the idea of Beauty may be ap- 
 plied to the qualities of the mind 164 
 SECT. XI. How far the idea of Beauty may be ap- 
 plied to virtue 1 66 
 SECT. XII. The real cause of Beauty 167 
 SECT. XIII. Beautiful objects small 168 
 SECT. XIV. Smoothness 1^0 
 SECT. XV. Gradual Variation 171 
 SECT. XVI. Delicacy 1~4 
 SECT. XVII. Beauty in Colour 175 
 SECT. XVIII. Recapitulation I77 
 SECT. XIX. The Physiognomy 178 
 SECT. XX. The Eye 1 78 
 SECT. XXI. Ugliness Igg 
 SECT. XXII. Grace 1 80 
 SECT. XXIII. Elegance and Speciousness 181 
 SECT. XXIV The Beautiful in Feeling i8 9 
 SECT. XXV. The Beautiful in Sounds 185 
 SECT. XXVI. Taste and Smell 1 88 
 SECT. XXVII. The Sublime and Beautiful com- 
 pared 189 
 
SECT. 
 
 I. « 
 
 Beautiful 
 
 SECT. 
 
 II. 
 
 SECT. 
 
 III. 
 
 SECT. 
 
 IV. 
 
 SECT. 
 
 V. 
 
 SECT. 
 
 VI. 
 
 SECT. 
 
 VII. 
 
 gans 
 
 
 SECT. 
 
 VII 
 
 CONTENTS, 
 
 PART IV. 
 Of the efficient cause of the Sublime and 
 
 193 
 Association 196 
 
 Cause of Pain and fear 197 
 
 Continued 200 
 
 How the Sublime is produced 202 
 
 How pain can be a cause of delight 203 
 Exercise necessary for the finer Or- 
 
 205 
 I. Why thing's not dangerous sometimes 
 produce a passion like Terror 206 
 
 SECT. IX. Why visual objects of great dimensions 
 are Sublime 207 
 
 SECT. X. Unity, why requisite to vastness 209 
 
 SECT. XL The artificial Infinite 211 
 
 SECT. XII. The vibrations must be similar 213 
 SECT. XIII. The effects of succession in visual objects 
 explained 214 
 
 SECT. XIV. Locke's opinion concerning Darkness 
 considered 218 
 
 SECT. XV. Darkness terrible in its own nature 220 
 SECT. XVI. Why darkness is terrible 222 
 
 SECT. XVII. The effects of Blackness 224 
 
 SECT. XVIII. The effects of Blackness modera- 
 ted 227 
 SECT. XIX. The physical cause of Love 229 
 SECT. XX. Why Smoothness is beautiful 231 
 SECT. XXI. Sweetness, its nature 233 
 SECT. XXII. Sweetness relaxing 237 
 SECT. XXIII. Variation why beautiful 239 
 SECT. XXIV. Concerning Smallness 241 
 SECT. XXV. Of Colour 246 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PART V. 
 
 SECT. I. Of Words 24S 
 
 SECT. II. The common effect of Poetry, not by 
 
 raising- ideas of Things 250 
 
 SECT. III. General words before ideas 253 
 
 SECT. IV. The effects of Words 256 
 
 SECT. V. Examples that words may affect without 
 
 raising- images. 258 
 
 SECT. VI. Poetry not strictly an imitative art 266 
 SECT. VII. How Words influence the Passions 267 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ON 
 
 TASTE. 
 
 ON a superficial view, we may seem to differ 
 very widely from each other in our reason- 
 ings, and no less in our pleasures : but, not- 
 withstanding this difference, which I think to 
 be rather apparent than real, it is probable 
 that the standard both of Reason and Taste is 
 the same in all human creatures ; for, if there 
 were not some principles of judgment as well 
 as of sentiment common to all mankind, no 
 hold could possibly be taken either on their 
 reason or their passions, sufficient to maintain 
 the ordinary correspondence of life. It ap- 
 
 A 2 
 
2 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 pears, indeed, to be generally acknowledged, 
 that with regard to truth and falsehood there 
 is something fixed. We find people in their 
 disputes continually appealing to certain tests 
 and standards, which are allowed on all sides, 
 and are supposed to be established in our com- 
 mon nature. But there is not the same ob- 
 vious concurrence in any uniform or settled 
 principles which relate to Taste. It is even 
 commonly supposed that this delicate and 
 aerial faculty, which seems too volatile to en- 
 dure even the chains of a definition, cannot be 
 properly tried by any test, nor regulated by 
 any standard. There is so continual a call 
 for the exercise of the reasoning faculty, and 
 it is so much strengthened by perpetual con- 
 tention, that certain maxims of right reason 
 seem to be tacitly settled amongst the most 
 ignorant. The learned have improved on this 
 rude science, and reduced those maxims into 
 a system. If Taste has not been so happily 
 cultivated, it was not that the subject was bar- 
 ren, but that the labourers were few or negli- 
 gent ; for, to say the truth, there are not the 
 same interesting motives to impel us to fix the 
 one, which urge us to ascertain the other. 
 And, after all, if men differ in their opinion 
 
ON TASTE. 3 
 
 concerning such matters, their difference is 
 not attended with the same important conse- 
 quences ; else I make no doubt but that the 
 logic of Taste, if I may be allowed the ex- 
 pression, might very possibly be as well di- 
 gested, and we might come to discuss matters 
 of this nature with as much certainty, as those 
 which seem more immediatelj within the pro- 
 vince of mere reason. And indeed it is very 
 necessary, at the entrance into such an in- 
 quiry as our present, to make this point as 
 clear as possible ; for if Taste has no fixed 
 principles, if the imagination is not affected 
 according to some invariable and certain laws, 
 our labour is like to be employed to very lit- 
 tle purpose; as it must be judged an useless, 
 if not an absurd, undertaking, to lay down 
 rules for caprice, and to set up for a legis- 
 lator of whims and fancies. 
 
 The term Taste, like all other figurative 
 terms, is not extremely accurate: the thing 
 which we understand by it is far from a sim- 
 ple and determinate idea in the minds of most 
 men, and it is therefore liable to uncertainty 
 and confusion. I have no great opinion of a 
 definition, the celebrated remedy for the cure 
 
4 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 of this disorder. For, when we define, we 
 seem in danger of circumscribing nature 
 within the bounds of our own notions, which 
 we often take up by hazard, or embrace on 
 trust, or form out of a limited and partial con- 
 sideration of the object before us, instead of 
 extending our ideas to take in all that nature 
 comprehends, according to her manner of 
 combining. We are limited in our inquiry 
 by the strict laws to which we have submitted 
 at our setting out. 
 
 Circa vilem patulumque morabimnr orbem, 
 Unde pudor proferre pedem vetat aut operis lex. 
 
 A definition may be very exact, and yet go 
 but a very little way towards informing us of 
 the nature of the thing defined ; but let the 
 virtue of a definition be what it will, in the 
 order of things, it seems rather to follow than 
 to precede our inquiry, of which it ought to 
 be considered as the result. It must be ac- 
 knowledged, that the methods of disquisition 
 and teaching may be sometimes different, and 
 on very good reason undoubtedly ; but, for 
 my p^rt, I am convinced that the method of 
 teaching which approaches most nearly to the 
 method of investigation is incomparably the 
 
ON TASTE. 5 
 
 best; since, not content with serving up a 
 few barren and lifeless truths, it leads to the 
 stock on which they grew ; it tends to set the 
 reader himself in the track of invention, and 
 to direct him into those paths in which the 
 author has made his own discoveries, if he 
 should be so happy as to have made any that 
 are valuable. 
 
 But, to cut off all pretence for cavilling, I 
 mean by the word Taste no more than that fa- 
 culty or those faculties of the mind which are 
 affected with, or which form a judgment of, 
 the works of imagination and the elegant arts. 
 This is, I think, the most general idea of that 
 word, and what is the least connected with 
 any particular theory. And my point, in this 
 inquiry, is to find whether there are any 
 principles, on which the imagination is affect- 
 ed, so common to all, so grounded and cer- 
 tain, as to supply the means of reasoning sa- 
 tisfactorily about them. And such principles 
 of Taste I fancy there are, however paradox- 
 ical it may seem to those who, on a superfi- 
 cial view, imagine that there is so great a di- 
 versity of Tastes, both in kind and degree, 
 that nothing can be more indeterminate. 
 
6 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 All the natural powers in man, which I 
 know, that are conversant about external ob- 
 jects, are the senses, the imagination, and the 
 judgment. And, first, with regard to the 
 Senses. We do, and we must, suppose, that, 
 as the conformation of their organs are nearly 
 or altogether the same in all men, so the man- 
 ner of perceiving external objects is in all 
 men the same, or with little difference. We 
 are satisfied that what appears to be light to 
 one eye appears light to another; that what 
 seems sweet to one palate, is sweet to another; 
 that what is dark and bitter to this man, is 
 likewise dark and bitter to that: and we con- 
 clude in the same manner of great and little, 
 hard and soft, hot and cold, rough and 
 smooth, and indeed of all the natural quali- 
 ties and affections of bodies. If we suffer 
 ourselves to imagine that their senses present 
 to different men different images of things, 
 this sceptical proceeding will make every 
 sort of reasoning, on every subject, vain and 
 frivolous, even that sceptical reasoning itself 
 which had persuaded us to entertain a doubt 
 concerning the agreement of our perceptions. 
 But, as there will be little doubt that bodies 
 present similar images to the whole species, 
 
ON TASTE. 7 
 
 it must necessarily be allowed, that the plea- 
 sures and the pains which every object ex- 
 cites in one man, it must raise in all mankind, 
 whilst it operates naturally, simply, and by 
 its proper powers only • for, if we deny this, 
 we must imagine that the same cause, operat- 
 ing in the same manner, and on subjects of 
 the same kind, will produce different effects, 
 which would be highly absurd. Let us first 
 consider this point in the sense of Taste, and 
 the rather as the faculty in question has taken 
 its name from that sense. All men are agreed 
 to call vinegar sour, honey sweet, and aloes 
 bitter : and as they are all agreed in finding 
 these qualities in those objects, they do not in 
 the least differ concerning their effects with 
 regard to pleasure and pain. They all con- 
 cur in calling sweetness pleasant, and sourness 
 and bitterness unpleasant. Here there is no 
 diversity in their sentiments ; and that there 
 is not, appears fully from the consent of all 
 men in the metaphors which are taken from 
 the sense of Taste. A sour temper, bitter 
 expressions, bitter curses, a bitter fate, are 
 terms well and strongly understood by all. 
 And we are altogether as well understood 
 when we say, a sweet disposition, a sweet 
 
8 INTRODUCTION 
 
 person, a sweet condition, and the like. It 
 is confessed, that custom, and some oJier 
 causes, have made many deviations from the 
 natural pleasures or pains which belong to 
 these several Tastes ; but then the power of 
 distinguishing between the natural and the 
 acquired relish remains to the very last. A 
 man frequently comes to prefer the taste of 
 tobacco to that of sugar, and the flavour of 
 vinegar to that of milk; but this makes no 
 confusion in Tastes, whilst he is sensible that 
 the tobacco and vinegar are not sweet, and 
 whilst he knows that habit alone has recon- 
 ciled his palate to these alien pleasures. Even 
 with such a person we may speak, and with 
 sufficient precision, concerning Tastes. But 
 should any man be found, who declares that 
 to him tobacco has a Taste like sugar, and 
 that he cannot distinguish between milk and 
 vinegar ; or that tobacco and vinegar are 
 sweet, milk bitter, and sugar sour; we imme- 
 diately conclude that the organs of this man 
 are out of order, and that his palate is utterly 
 vitiated. We are as far from conferring 
 with such a person upon Tastes, as from rea- 
 soning concerning the relations of quantity 
 with one who should deny that all the parts 
 
ON TASTE. 9 
 
 together were equal to the whole. We do 
 not call a man of this kind wrong in his no- 
 tions, but absolutely mad. Exceptions of this 
 sort, in either way, do not at all impeach our 
 general rule, nor make us conclude that men 
 have various principles concerning the rela- 
 tions of quantity, or the Taste of things. So 
 that when it is said, Taste cannot be dis- 
 puted, it can only mean, that no one can strictly 
 answer what pleasure or pain some particular 
 man may find from the Taste of some par- 
 ticular thing. This, indeed, cannot be dis- 
 puted; but we may dispute, and with suf- 
 ficient clearness too, concerning the things 
 which are naturally pleasing or disagreeable 
 to the sense. But when we talk of any pecu- 
 liar or acquired relish, then we must know 
 the habits, the prejudices, or the distempers 
 of this particular man, and we must draw our 
 conclusion from those. 
 
 This agreement of mankind is not confined 
 to the Taste solely. The principle of plea- 
 sure derived from sight is the same in all. 
 Light is more pleasing than darkness. Sum- 
 mer, when the earth is clad in green, when 
 the heavens are serene and bright, is more 
 B 
 
10 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 agreeable than winter, when every thing makes 
 a different appearance. I never remember 
 that any thing beautiful, whether a man, a 
 beast, a bird, or a plant, was ever shown, 
 though it w T ere to an hundred people, that 
 they did not all immediately agree that it was 
 beautiful, though some might have thought 
 that it fell short of their expectation, or that 
 other things were still finer. I believe no man 
 thinks a goos*. to be more beautiful than a 
 swan, or imagines that what they call a Friez- 
 land hen excels a peacock. It must be ob- 
 served too, that the pleasures of the sight are 
 not near so complicated, and confused, and 
 altered by unnatural habits and associations, 
 as the pleasures of the Taste are; because 
 the pleasures of the sight more commonly 
 acquiesce in themselves, and are not so often 
 altered by considerations which are independ- 
 ent of the sight itself. But things do not 
 spontaneously present themselves to the pa- 
 late as they do to the sight: they are gene- 
 rally applied to it, either as food or as me- 
 dicine; and, from the qualities which they 
 possess for nutritive or medicinal purposes, 
 they often form the palate by degrees, and by 
 force of these associations. Thus, opium is 
 
ON TASTE. 11 
 
 pleasing to Turks, on account of the agree- 
 able delirium it produces. Tobacco is the 
 delight of Dutchmen; as it diffuses a torpor 
 and pleasing stupefaction. Fermented spirits 
 please our common people, because they ba- 
 nish care, and all considerations of future or 
 present evils. All of these would lie abso- 
 lutely neglected, if their properties had origi- 
 nally gone no further than the Taste ; but all 
 these, together with tea and coffee, and some 
 other things, have passed from the apothe- 
 cary's shop to our tables, and were taken for 
 health long before they were thought of for 
 pleasure. The effect of the drug has made 
 us use it frequently; and frequent use, com- 
 bined with the agreeable effect, has made the 
 Taste itself at last agreeable. But this does 
 not in the least perplex our reasoning; be- 
 cause we distinguish to the last the acquired 
 from the natural relish. In describing the 
 Taste of an unknown fruit, you would scarce- 
 ly say that it had a sweet and pleasant flavour 
 like tobacco, opium, or garlic, although you 
 spoke to those who were in the constant use 
 of these drugs, and had great pleasure in 
 them. There is in all men a sufficient re- 
 membrance of the original natural causes of 
 
12 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 pleasure, to enable them to bring all things 
 offered to their senses to that standard, and 
 to regulate their feelings and opinions by it. 
 Suppose one, who had so vitiated his palate as 
 to take more pleasure in the Taste of opium 
 than in that of butter or honey, to be present- 
 ed with a bolus of squills ; there is hardly 
 any doubt but that he would prefer the butter 
 or honey to this nauseous morsel, or to any 
 other bitter drug to which he had not been 
 accustomed ; which proves that his palate was 
 naturally like that of other men in all things, 
 that it is still like the palate of other men 
 in many things, and only vitiated in some 
 particular points. For, in judging of any new 
 thing, even of a Taste similar to that which 
 he has been formed by habit to like, he finds 
 his palate affected in the natural manner, and 
 on the common principles. Thus the plea- 
 sure of all the senses, of the sight, and even 
 of the Taste, that most ambiguous of the 
 senses, is the same in all, high and low, learn- 
 ed and unlearned. 
 
 Besides the ideas, with their annexed pains 
 and pleasures, which are presented by the 
 sense, the mind of man possesses a sort of 
 
ON TASTE. 13 
 
 creative power of its own; either in repre- 
 senting at pleasure the images of things in the 
 order and manner in which they were receiv- 
 ed bv the senses, or in combining those images 
 in a new manner, and according to a different 
 order. This power is called Imagination : 
 and to this belongs whatever is called wit, 
 fancy, invention, and the like. But it must be 
 observed, that the power of the imagination 
 is incapable of producing any thing absolutely 
 new : it can only vary the disposition of those 
 ideas which it has received from the senses. 
 Now, the imagination is the most extensive 
 province of pleasure and pain, as it is the re- 
 gion of our fears and our hopes, and of all 
 our passions that are connected with them ; 
 and whatever is calculated to affect the imagi- 
 nation with these commanding ideas, by force 
 of any original natural impression, must have 
 the same power, pretty equally, over all men. 
 For, since the imagination is only the repre- 
 sentation of the senses, it can only be pleased 
 or displeased with the images, from the same 
 principle on which the senses are pleased or 
 displeased with the realities ; and consequently 
 there must be just as close an agreement in 
 the imaginations as in the senses of men. A 
 
14 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 little attention will convince us that this must 
 of necessity be the case. 
 
 But, in the imagination, besides the pain or 
 pleasure arising from the properties of the 
 natural object, a pleasure is perceived from 
 the resemblance which the imitation has to 
 the original: the imagination, I conceive, can 
 have no pleasure but what results from one 
 or other of these causes. And these causes 
 operate pretty uniformly upon all men, be- 
 cause they operate by principles in nature, and 
 which are not derived from any particular 
 habits or advantage. Mr. Locke very justly 
 <ind finely observes of wit, that it is chiefly 
 conversant in tracing resemblances: he re- 
 marks, at the same time, that the business of 
 judgment is rather in finding differences. It 
 may, perhaps, appear, on this supposition, that 
 there is no material distinction between the 
 wit and the judgment, as they both seem to 
 result from different operations of the same 
 faculty of comparing. But, in reality, whe- 
 ther they are or are not dependent on the 
 same power of the mind, they differ so very 
 materially in many respects, that a perfect 
 union of wit and judgment is one of the 
 
ON TASTE. 15 
 
 rarest things in the world. When two distinct 
 objects are unlike to each other, it is only 
 what we expect ; things are in their common 
 way ; and therefore they make no impression 
 on the imagination: but when two distinct 
 objects have a resemblance, we are struck, we 
 attend to them, and we are pleased. The 
 mind of man has naturally a far greater ala- 
 crity and satisfaction in tracing resemblances 
 than in searching for differences : because, by 
 making resemblances we produce new images; 
 we unite, we create, we enlarge our stock : 
 but in making distinctions we offer no food 
 at all to the imagination; the task itself is 
 more severe and irksome, and what pleasure 
 we derive from it is something of a negative 
 and indirect nature. A piece of news is told 
 me in the morning; this, merely as a piece 
 of news, as a fact added to my stock, gives 
 me some pleasure. In the evening, I find there 
 was nothing in it. What do I gain by this, but 
 the dissatisfaction to find that I had been im- 
 posed upon ? Hence it is that men are much 
 more naturally inclined to belief than to in- 
 credulity. And it is upon this principle that 
 the most ignorant and barbarous nations have 
 frequently excelled in similitude, comparisons, 
 
16 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 metaphors, and allegories, who have been 
 weak and backward in distinguishing and 
 sorting their ideas. And it is for a reason of 
 this kind that Homer and the Oriental writers, 
 though very fond of similitudes, and though 
 they often strike out such as are truly admir- 
 able, they seldom take care to have them ex- 
 act; that is, they are taken with the general 
 resemblance, they paint it strongly, and they 
 take no notice of the difference which may be 
 found between the things compared. 
 
 Now, as the pleasure of resemblance is 
 that which principally flatters the imagina- 
 tion, all men are nearly equal in this point, 
 as far as their knowledge of the things repre- 
 sented or compared extends. The principle 
 of this knowledge is very much accidental ; as 
 it depends upon experience and observation, 
 and not on the strength or weakness of any 
 natural faculty ; and it is from this difference 
 in knowledge that what we commonly, though 
 with no great exactness, call a difference in 
 Taste, proceeds. A man to whom sculpture is 
 new, sees a barber's block, or some ordinary 
 piece of statuary: he is immediately struck 
 and pleased, because he sees something like 
 
t)N TASTE. 17 
 
 an human figure ; and, entirely taken up with 
 this likeness, he does not at all attend to its 
 defects. No person, I believe, at the first time 
 of seeing a piece of imitation, ever did. Some 
 time after, we suppose that this novice lights 
 upon a more artificial work of the same na- 
 ture ; he now begins to look with contempt on 
 what he admired at first : not that he admired 
 it even then for its unlikeness to a man ; but 
 for that general, though inaccurate, resem- 
 blance which it bore to the human figure. 
 What he admired, at different times, in these 
 so different figures, is strictly the same ; and, 
 though his knowledge is improved, his Taste 
 is not altered. Hitherto his mistake was from 
 a want of knowledge in art, and this arose 
 from his inexperience ; but he may be still 
 deficient from a want of knowledge in nature. 
 For it is possible that the man in question 
 may stop here, and that the master-piece of 
 a great hand may please him no more than the 
 middling performance of a vulgar artist ; and 
 this not for want of better or higher relish, 
 but because all men do not observe with suffi- 
 cient accuracy on the human figure, to enable 
 them to judge properly of an imitation of it. 
 And that the critical Taste does not depend 
 
18 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 upon a superior principle in men, but upon 
 superior knowledge, may appear from several 
 instances. The story of the ancient painter and 
 the shoemaker is very well known. The shoe- 
 maker set the painter right, with regard to 
 some mistakes he had made in the shoe of one 
 of his figures, and which the painter, who had 
 not made such accurate observations on shoes, 
 and was content with a general resemblance, 
 had never observed. But this was no im- 
 peachment to the Taste of the painter : it only 
 shewed some want of knowledge in the art of 
 making shoes. Let us imagine that an ana- 
 tomist had come into the painter's working- 
 room : his piece is in general well done ; the 
 figure in question in a good attitude, and the 
 parts well adjusted to their various move- 
 ments : yet, the anatomist, critical in his art, 
 may observe the swell of some muscle not 
 quite just in the peculiar action of the figure. 
 Here the anatomist observes what the painter 
 had not observed ; and he passes by what the 
 shoemaker had remarked. But a want of the 
 last critical knowledge in anatomy no more 
 reflected on the natural good Taste of the 
 painter, or of any common observer of his 
 piece, than the want of an exact knowledge 
 
ON TASTE. 19 
 
 in the formation of a shoe. A fine piece of a 
 decollated head of St. John the Baptist was 
 shown to a Turkish emperor : he praised 
 many things ; but he observed one defect : he 
 observed that the skin did not shrink from the 
 wounded part of the neck. The sultan on this 
 occasion, though his observation was very just, 
 discovered no more natural Taste than the 
 painter who executed this piece, or than a 
 thousand European connoisseurs, who pro- 
 bably never would have made the same obser- 
 vation. His Turkish majesty had, indeed, 
 been well acquainted with that terrible spec- 
 tacle, which the others could only have re- 
 presented in their imagination. On the subject 
 of their dislike there is a difference between 
 all these people, arising from the different 
 kinds and degrees of their knowledge ; but 
 there is something in common to the painter, 
 the shoemaker, the anatomist, and the Turk- 
 ish emperor : the pleasure arising from a na- 
 tural object, so far as each perceives it just- 
 ly imitated ; the satisfaction in seeing an a- 
 greeable figure ; the sympathy proceeding 
 from a striking and affecting incident. So 
 far as Taste is natural, it is nearly common 
 to all. 
 
20 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 In poetry, and other pieces of imagination, 
 the same parity may be observed. It is true 
 that one man is charmed with Don Bellianis, 
 and reads Virgil coldly ; whilst another is 
 transported with the iEneid, and leaves Don 
 Bellianis to children. These two men seem 
 to have a Taste very different from each 
 other ; but, in fact, they differ very little. In 
 both these pieces, which inspire such opposite 
 sentiments, a tale exciting admiration is told ; 
 both are full of action, both are passionate ; 
 in both are voyages, battles, triumphs, and 
 continual changes of fortune. The admirer of 
 Don Bellianis, perhaps, does not understand 
 the refined language of the iEneid, who, if it 
 was degraded into the style of the Pilgrim's 
 Progress, might feel it in all its energy, on 
 the same principle which made him an ad- 
 mirer of Don Bellianis. 
 
 In his favourite author he is not shocked 
 with the continual breaches of probability, the 
 confusion of times, the offences against man- 
 ners, the trampling upon geography ; for he 
 knows nothing of geography and chronology, 
 and he has never examined the grounds of pro- 
 bability. He, perhaps, reads of a shipwreck 
 
ON TASTE. 21 
 
 on the coast of Bohemia: wholly taken up 
 with so interesting an event, and only so- 
 licitous for the fate of his hero, he is not in 
 the least troubled at this extravagant blunder. 
 For why should he be shocked at a shipwreck 
 on the coast of Bohemia, who does not know 
 but that Bohemia may be an island in the At- 
 lantic ocean ? And, after all, what reflection 
 is this on the natural good Taste of the per- 
 son here supposed ? 
 
 So far, then, as Taste belongs to the ima- 
 gination, its principle is the same in all men : 
 there is no difference in the manner of their 
 being affected, nor in the causes of the affec- 
 tion ; but in the degree there is a difference, 
 which arises from two causes principally : 
 either from a greater degree of natural sensi- 
 bility, or from a closer and longer attention 
 to the object. To illustrate this by the pro- 
 cedure of the senses, in which the same differ- 
 ence is found, let us suppose a very smooth 
 marble table to be set before two men : they 
 both perceive it to be smooth, and they are 
 both pleased with it because of this quality. 
 So far they agree. But suppose another, and 
 
22 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 after that another, table, the latter still smooth- 
 er than the former, to be set before them. It 
 is now very probable that these men, who are 
 so agreed upon what is smooth, and in the 
 pleasure from thence, will disagree when 
 they come to settle which table has the ad- 
 vantage in point of polish. Here is, indeed, 
 the great difference between Tastes, when 
 men come to compare the excess or diminu- 
 tion of things which are judged by de- 
 gree and not by measure. Nor is it easy, 
 when such a difference arises, to settle the 
 point, if the excess or diminution be not glar- 
 ing. If we differ in opinion about two quan- 
 tities, we can have recourse to a common 
 measure, which may decide the question 
 with the utmost exactness j and this, I take 
 it, is what gives mathematical knowledge 
 a greater certainty than any other. But, 
 in things whose excess is not judged by 
 greater or smaller, as smoothness and rough- 
 ness, hardness and softness, darkness and 
 light, the shades of colours, all these are very 
 easily distinguished when the difference is any 
 way considerable, but not when it is minute, 
 for want of some common measures, which, 
 
ON TASTE. 23 
 
 perhaps, may never come to be discovered. 
 In these nice cases, supposing the acuteness 
 of the sense equal, the greater attention and 
 habit in such things will have the advantage. 
 In the question about the tables, the marble- 
 polisher will unquestionably determine the 
 most accurately. But, notwithstanding this 
 want of a common measure for settling many 
 disputes relative to the senses and their repre- 
 sentative the imagination, we find that the 
 principles are the same in all, and that there 
 is no disagreement until we come to examine 
 into the pre-eminence or difference of things, 
 which brings us within the province of the 
 judgment. 
 
 So long as we are conversant with the sen- 
 sible qualities of things, hardly any more 
 than the imagination seems concerned : little 
 more also than the imagination seems con- 
 cerned when the passions are represented, be- 
 cause, by the force of natural sympathy, they 
 are felt in all men without any recourse to 
 reasoning, and their justness recognized in 
 every breast. Love, grief, fear, anger, joy, 
 all these passions have in their turns affected 
 every mind ; and they do not affect it in an 
 
24 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 arbitrary or casual manner, but upon certain, 
 natural, and uniform principles. But, as 
 many of the works of imagination are not 
 confined to the representation of sensible ob- 
 jects, nor to efforts upon the passions, but 
 extend themselves to the manners, the cha- 
 racters, the actions, and designs, of men, their 
 relations, their virtues and vices, they come 
 within the province of the judgment, which 
 is improved by attention and by the habit of 
 reasoning. All these make a very consider- 
 able part of what are considered as the objects 
 of Taste ; and Horace sends us to the schools 
 of philosophy and the world for our instruc- 
 tion of them. Whatever certainty is to be 
 acquired in morality and the science of life, 
 just the same degree of certainty have we in 
 what relates to them in works of imitation. 
 Indeed, it is for the most part in our skill in 
 manners, and in the observances of time and 
 place, and of decency in general, which is 
 only to be learned in those schools to which 
 Horace recommends us, that what is called 
 Taste, by way of distinction, consists; and 
 which is in reality no other than a more re- 
 fined judgment. On the whole, it appears to 
 me that what is called Taste, in its most ge- 
 
ON TASTE. 25 
 
 neral acceptation, is not a simple idea, but is 
 partly made up of a perception of the pri- 
 mary pleasures of sense, of the secondary 
 pleasures of the imagination, and of the con- 
 clusions of the reasoning faculty, concerning 
 the various relations of these, and concerning 
 the human passions, manners, and actions. 
 All this is requisite to form Taste ; and the 
 ground-work of all these is the same in the 
 human mind : for, as the senses are the great 
 originals of all our ideas, and consequently 
 of all our pleasures, if they are not uncertain 
 and arbitrary, the whole ground-work of 
 Taste is common to all, and therefore there 
 is a sufficient foundation for a conclusive rea- 
 soning on these matters. 
 
 Whilst we consider Taste merely accord- 
 ing to its nature and species, we shall find its 
 principles entirely uniform; but the degree 
 in which these principles prevail, in the seve- 
 ral individuals of mankind, is altogether as 
 different as the principles themselves are simi- 
 lar. For sensibility and judgment, which are 
 the qualities that compose what we commonly 
 call a Taste, vary exceedingly in various peo- 
 ple. From a defect in the former of these 
 C 2 
 
26 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 qualities arises a want of Taste ; a weakness 
 in the latter constitutes a wrong or a bad one. 
 There are some men formed with feelings so 
 blunt, with tempers so cold and phlegmatic, 
 that they can hardly be said to be awake dur- 
 ing the whole course of their lives. Upon 
 such persons, the most striking objects make 
 but a faint and obscure impression. There 
 are others so continually in the agitation of 
 gross and merely sensual pleasures, or so oc- 
 cupied in the low drudgery of avarice, or so 
 heated in the chace of honours and distinc- 
 tion, that their minds, which had been used 
 continually to the storms of these violent and 
 tempestuous passions, can hardly be put in 
 motion by the delicate and refined play of the 
 imagination. These men, though from a dif- 
 ferent cause, become as stupid and insensible 
 as the former ; but, whenever either of these 
 happen to be struck with any natural elegance 
 or greatness, or with these qualities in any 
 work of art, they are moved upon the same 
 principle. 
 
 The cause of a wrong Taste is a defect of 
 judgment. And this may arise from a na- 
 tural weakness of understanding, in whatever 
 
ON TASTE. 27 
 
 the strength of that faculty may consist ; or, 
 which is much more commonly the case, it 
 may arise from a want of proper and well- 
 directed exercise, which alone can make it 
 strong and ready. Besides, that ignorance, 
 inattention, prejudice, rashness, levity, obsti- 
 nacy, in short, all those passions, and all 
 those vices, which pervert the judgment in 
 other matters, prejudice it no less in this its 
 more refined and elegant province. These 
 causes produce different opinions upon every 
 thing which is an object of the understand- 
 ing, without inducing us to suppose that there 
 are no settled principles of reason. And in- 
 deed, on the whole, one may observe, that 
 there is rather less difference upon matters of 
 Taste among mankind, than upon most of 
 those which depend upon the naked reason ; 
 and that men are far better agreed on the ex- 
 cellence of a description in Virgil than on 
 the truth or falsehood of a theory of Aris- 
 totle. 
 
 A rectitude of judgment in the arts, which 
 may be called a good Taste, does in a great 
 measure depend upon sensibility ; because, if 
 the mind has no bent to the pleasures of the 
 
28 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 imagination, it will never apply itself suffi- 
 ciently to works of that species to acquire a 
 competent knowledge in them. But, though 
 a degree of sensibility is requisite to form a 
 good judgment, yet a good judgment does not 
 necessarily arise from a quick sensibility of 
 pleasure : it frequently happens that a very 
 poor judge, merely by force of a greater com- 
 plexional sensibility, is more affected by a 
 very poor piece than the best judge by the 
 most perfect ; for, as every thing new, extra- 
 ordinary, grand, or passionate, is well calcu- 
 lated to affect such a person, and that the 
 faults do not affect him, his pleasure is more 
 pure and unmixed ; and, as it is merely a 
 pleasure of the imagination, it is much higher 
 than any which is derived from a rectitude of 
 the judgment : the judgment is for the greater 
 part employed in throwing stumbling-blocks 
 in the way of the imagination, in dissipating 
 the scenes of its enchantment, and in tying 
 us down to the disagreeable yoke of our rea- 
 son; for almost the only pleasure that men 
 have in judging better than others consists in 
 a sort of conscious pride and superiority, 
 which arises from thinking rightly ; but then 
 this is an indirect pleasure ; a pleasure which 
 
ON TASTE. 29 
 
 does not immediately result from the object 
 which is under contemplation. In the morn- 
 ing of our days, when the senses are unworn 
 and tender, when the whole man is awake in 
 every part, and the gloss of novelty fresh 
 upon all the objects that surround us, how 
 lively at that time are our sensations, but how 
 false and inaccurate the judgments we form of 
 things ! I despair of ever receiving the same 
 degree of pleasure, from the most excellent 
 performances of genius, which I felt at that 
 age, from pieces which my present judgment 
 regards as trifling and contemptible. Every 
 trivial cause of pleasure is apt to affect the 
 man of too sanguine a complexion : his appe- 
 tite is too keen to suffer his Taste to be deli- 
 cate ; and he is, in all respects, what Ovid 
 says of himself, in love : 
 
 Molle meum levibus cor est violabile telis, 
 Et semper causa est, cur ego semper amem. 
 
 One of this character can never be a refined 
 judge ; never what the comic poet calls ek- 
 gans formarum spectator. The excellence 
 and force of a composition must always be 
 imperfectly estimated from its effect on the 
 minds of any, except we know the temper 
 
30 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 and character of those minds. The most 
 powerful effects of poetry and music have 
 been displayed, and perhaps are still display- 
 ed, where these arts are but in a very low and 
 imperfect state. The rude hearer is affected 
 by the principles which operate in these arts, 
 even in their rudest condition ; and he is not 
 skilful enough to perceive the defects. But, 
 as arts advance towards their perfection, the 
 science of criticism advances with equal pace, 
 and the pleasure of judges is frequently inter- 
 rupted by the faults which are discovered in 
 the most finished compositions. 
 
 Before I leave this subject, I cannot help 
 taking notice of an opinion which many per- 
 sons entertain, as if the Taste were a separate 
 faculty of the mind, and distinct from the 
 judgment and imagination ; a species of in- 
 stinct, by which we are struck naturally, and 
 at the first glance, without any previous rea- 
 soning, with the excellencies or the defects 
 of a composition. So far as the imagination 
 and the passions are concerned, I believe it 
 true, that the reason is little consulted ; but 
 where disposition, where decorum, where con- 
 gruity are concerned, in short, wherever the 
 
ON TASTE. 31 
 
 best Taste differs from the worst, I am con- 
 vinced that the understanding operates, and 
 nothing else; and its operation is in reality 
 far from being always sudden, or, when it is 
 sudden, it is often far from being right. Men 
 of the best Taste by consideration come fre- 
 quently to change these early and precipitate 
 judgments, which the mind, from its aversion 
 to neutrality and doubt, loves to form on the 
 spot. It is known that the Taste (whatever it 
 is) is improved exactly as we improve our 
 judgment, by extending our knowledge, by 
 a steady attention to our object, and by fre- 
 quent exercise. They who have not taken 
 these methods, if their Taste decides quickly, 
 it is always uncertainly; and their quickness' 
 is owing to their presumption and rashness, 
 and not any hidden irradiation, that in a mo- 
 ment dispels all darkness from their minds. 
 But they who have cultivated that species of 
 knowledge which makes the object of Taste, 
 by degrees and habitually attain not only a 
 soundness, but a readiness of judgment, as 
 men do by the same methods on all other oc- 
 casions. At first they are obliged to spell; 
 but at last they read with ease and with cele- 
 rity ; but this celerity of its operation is no 
 
3:2 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 proof that the Taste is a distinct faculty. No- 
 body, I believe, has attended the course of a 
 discussion which turned upon matters within 
 the sphere of mere naked reason, but must 
 have observed the extreme readiness with 
 which the whole process of the argument is 
 carried on, the grounds discovered, the ob- 
 jections raised and answered, and the conclu- 
 sions drawn from premises, with a quickness 
 altogether as great as the Taste can be sup- 
 posed to work with, and yet where nothing 
 but plain reason either is or can be suspected 
 to operate. To multiply principles for every 
 different appearance is useless, and unphilo- 
 sophical too, in a high degree. 
 
 This matter might be pursued much far- 
 ther; but it is not the extent of the subject 
 which must prescribe our bounds ; for what 
 subject does not branch out to infinity? it is 
 the nature of our particular scheme, and the 
 single point of view in which we consider it, 
 which ought to put a stop to our researches. 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY 
 
 INTO THE 
 
 ORIGIN OF OUR IDEAS 
 
 OF THE 
 
 SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL. 
 PART I. SECTION I. 
 
 NOVELTY. 
 
 1 HE first and the simplest emotion which 
 we discover in the human mind is, Curiosity, 
 By curiosity I mean whatever desire we have 
 for, or whatever pleasure we take in, novelty. 
 We see children perpetually running from 
 place to place, to hunt out something new : 
 they catch with great eagerness, and with 
 very little choice, at whatever comes before 
 them: their attention is engaged by every 
 thing, because every thing has, in that stage 
 of life, the charm of novelty to recommend 
 
 D 
 
34 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 it. But, as those things, which engage us 
 merely by their novelty, cannot attach us for 
 any length of time, curiosity is the most su- 
 perficial of all the affections ; it changes its 
 object perpetually; it has an appetite which 
 is very sharp, but very easily satisfied ; and 
 it has always an appearance of giddiness, rest- 
 lessness, and anxiety. Curiosity, from its 
 nature, is a very active principle ; it quickly 
 runs over the greatest part of its objects, and 
 soon exhausts the variety which is commonly 
 to be met with in nature ; the same things 
 make frequent returns, and they return with 
 less and less of any agreeable effect. — In 
 short, the occurrences of life, by the time we 
 come to know it a little, would be incapable 
 of affecting the mind with any other sensa- 
 tions than those of loathing and weariness, if 
 many things were not adapted to affect the 
 mind by means of other powers besides no- 
 velty in them, and of other passions besides 
 curiosity in ourselves. These powers and 
 passions shall be considered in their place. 
 But whatever these powers are, or upon what 
 principle soever they affect the mind, it is 
 absolutely necessary that they should not be 
 exerted in those things which a daily vulgar 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 35 
 
 use have brought into a stale unaffecting fa- 
 miliarity. Some degree of novelty must be 
 one of the materials in every instrument 
 which works upon the mind; and curiosity 
 blends itself more or less with all our pas- 
 sions. 
 
 SECT. IL 
 
 PAIN AND PLEASURE. 
 
 IT seems then necessary towards moving the 
 passions of people advanced in life to any 
 considerable degree, that the objects designed 
 for that purpose, besides their being in some 
 measure new, should be capable of exciting 
 pain or pleasure from other causes. Pain 
 and pleasure are simple ideas, incapable of 
 definition. People are not liable to be mis- 
 taken in their feelings, but they are very fre- 
 quently wrong in the names they give them, 
 and in their reasonings about them. Many 
 are of opinion, that pain arises necessarily 
 from the removal of some pleasure j as they 
 think pleasure does from the ceasing or dimi- 
 nution of some pain. For my part, I am 
 rather inclined to imagine, that pain and 
 
36 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 pleasure, in their most simple and natural 
 manner of affecting, are each of a positive 
 nature, and by no means necessarily depend- 
 ent on each other for their existence. The 
 human mind is often, and I think it is for the 
 most part, in a state neither of pain nor plea- 
 sure, which I call a state of indifference. 
 When I am carried from this state into a 
 state of actual pleasure, it does not appear ne- 
 cessary that I should pass through the me- 
 dium of any sort of pain. If in such a state 
 of indifference, or ease, or tranquillity, or 
 call it what you please, you were to be sud- 
 denly entertained with a concert of music; 
 or suppose some object of a fine shape, and 
 bright lively colours, to be represented be- 
 fore you; or imagine your smell is gratified 
 with the fragrance of a rose ; or if without 
 any previous thirst you were to drink of some 
 pleasant kind of wine, or to taste of some 
 sweatmeat without being hungry ; — in all the 
 several senses, of hearing, smelling, and tast- 
 ing, you undoubtedly find a pleasure : yet, if 
 I inquire into the state of your mind previous 
 to these gratifications, you will hardly tell 
 me that they found you in any kind of pain ; 
 or, having satisfied these several senses with 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 37 
 
 their several pleasures, will you say that any 
 pain has succeeded, though the pleasure is 
 absolutely over ? Suppose, on the other hand, 
 a man in the same state of indifference to re- 
 ceive a violent blow, or to drink of some 
 bitter potion, or to have his ears wounded 
 with some harsh and grating sound ; here is 
 no removal of pleasure ; and yet here is felt, 
 in every sense which is affected, a pain very 
 distinguishable. It may be said, perhaps, 
 that the pain in these cases had its rise from 
 the removal of the pleasure which the man 
 enjoyed before, though that pleasure was of 
 so low a degree as to be perceived only by 
 the removal. But this seems to me a subtilty 
 that is not discoverable in nature. For if, 
 previous to the pain, I do not feel any actual 
 pleasure, I have no reason to judge that any 
 such thing exists ; since pleasure is only 
 pleasure as it is felt. The same may be said 
 of pain, and with equal reason. I can never 
 persuade myself that pleasure and pain are 
 mere relations, which can only exist as they 
 are contrasted ; but I think I can discern 
 clearly, that there are positive pains and plea- 
 sures, which do not at all depend upon each 
 other. Nothing is more certain to my own 
 
38 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 feelings than this. There is nothing which 
 I can distinguish in my mind with more 
 clearness than the three states of indifference, 
 of pleasure, and of pain. Every one of these 
 I can perceive without any sort of idea of its 
 relation to any thing else. Caius is afflicted 
 with a fit of the cholic ; this man is actually 
 in pain: stretch Caius upon the rack, he will 
 feel a much greater pain : but does this pain 
 of the rack arise from the removal of any 
 pleasure ? or is the fit of the cholic a pleasure 
 or a pain just as we are pleased to consider it? 
 
 SECT. III. 
 
 THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE REMOVAL OF 
 PAIN AND POSITIVE PLEASURE. 
 
 W E shall carry this proposition yet a step 
 farther. We shall venture to propose, that 
 pain and pleasure are not only not necessa- 
 rily dependent for their existence on their 
 mutual diminution or removal, but that, in 
 reality, the diminution or ceasing of pleasure 
 does not operate like positive pain ; and that 
 the removal or diminution of pain, in its ef- 
 fect, has very little resemblance to positive 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 39 
 
 pleasure. * The former of these proposi- 
 tions will, I believe, be much more readily 
 allowed than the latter; because it is very 
 evident that pleasure, when it has run its ca- 
 reer, sets us down very nearly where it found 
 us. Pleasure of every kind quickly satis- 
 fies; and, when it is over, we relapse into 
 indifference, or rather we fall into a soft tran- 
 quillity, which is tinged with the agreeable 
 colour of the former sensation. I own it is 
 not at first view so apparent, that the removal 
 of a great pain does not resemble positive 
 pleasure; but let us recollect in what state 
 we have found our minds upon escaping 
 some imminent danger, or on being released 
 from the severity of some cruel pain. We 
 have on such occasions found, if I am not 
 much mistaken, the temper of our minds in 
 a tenor very remote from that which attends 
 the presence of positive pleasure ; we have 
 found them in a state of much sobriety, im- 
 pressed with a sense of awe, in a sort of tran- 
 
 * Mr. Locke [Essay on Human Understanding-, 1. ii, 
 c. 20, sect. 16.] thinks that the removal or lessening of 
 a pain is considered and operates as a pleasure, and 
 the loss or diminishing' of pleasure is a pain. It is this 
 opinion which we consider here. 
 
40 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 quillity shadowed with horror. The fashion 
 of the countenance, and the gesture of the 
 body, on such occasions, is so correspondent 
 to this state of the mind, that any person, a 
 stranger to the cause of the appearance, 
 would rather judge us under some conster- 
 nation, than in the enjoyment of any thing 
 like positive pleasure. 
 
 *£2? /' orstv otvSe; *™ trvKivii XoLGriy or' hi vrdLrp* 
 
 'AvJgoj is dQvttx, SctpGos $ t^u il<rogcanvTA(. 
 
 Hom. Iliad, xxiv. 
 
 As when a wretch, who, conscious of his crime, 
 Pursu'd for murder from his native clime, 
 Just gains some frontier, breathless, pale, amaz'd ; 
 All gaze, all wonder ! 
 
 This striking appearance of the man whom 
 Homer supposes to have just escaped an im- 
 minent danger, the sort of mixt passion of 
 terror and surprise, with which he affects the 
 spectators, paints very strongly the manner in 
 which we find ourselves affected upon occa- 
 sions any way similar. For when we have 
 suffered from any violent emotion, the mind 
 naturally continues in something like the 
 same condition, after the cause which first 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 41 
 
 produced it has ceased to operate. The toss- 
 ing of the sea remains after the storm ; and 
 when this remain of horror has entirely sub- 
 sided, all the passion, which the accident 
 raised, subsides along with it ; and the mind 
 returns to its usual state of indifference. In 
 short, pleasure (I mean any thing either in 
 the inward sensation, or in the outward ap- 
 pearance, like pleasure from a positive cause) 
 has never, I imagine, its origin from the re- 
 moval of pain or danger. 
 
 SECT. IV. 
 
 OF DELIGHT AND PLEASURE, AS OPPOSED 
 TO EACH OTHER. 
 
 XjUT shall we therefore say, that the re- 
 moval of pain, or its diminution, is always 
 simply painful ? or affirm that the cessation or 
 the lessening of pleasure is always attended 
 itself with the pleasure ? By no means. What I 
 advance is no more than this : first, that there 
 are pleasures and pains of a positive and in- 
 dependent nature ; and, secondly, that the 
 feeling which results from the ceasing or di- 
 minution of pain does not bear a sufficient re- 
 
42 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 semblance to positive pleasure, to have it 
 considered as of the same nature, or to entitle 
 it to be known by the same name ; and, 
 thirdly, that, upon the same principle, the re- 
 moval or qualification of pleasure has no re- 
 semblance to positive pain. It is certain that 
 the former feeling (the removal or moderation 
 of pain) has something in it far from distress- 
 ing or disagreeable in its nature. This feel- 
 ing, in many cases so agreeable, but in all so 
 different from positive pleasure, has no name 
 which I know ; but that hinders not its being 
 a very real one, and very different from all 
 others. It is most certain that every species 
 of satisfaction or pleasure, how different so- 
 ever in its manner of affecting, is of a posi- 
 tive nature in the mind of him who feels 
 it. The affection is undoubtedly positive ; 
 but the cause may be, as in this case it cer- 
 tainly is, a sort of Privation. And it is very 
 reasonable that we should distinguish, by some 
 term, two things so distinct in nature, as a 
 pleasure that is such simply, and without any 
 relation, from that pleasure which cannot ex- 
 ist without a relation, and that too a relation 
 to pain. Very extraordinary it would be, if 
 these affections, so distinguishable in their 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 43 
 
 causes, so different in their effects, should be 
 confounded with each other, because vulgar 
 use has ranged them under the same general 
 title. Whenever I have occasion to speak 
 of this species of relative pleasure, I call it 
 Delight: and I shall take the best care I can 
 to use that word in no other sense. I am sa- 
 tisfied the word is not commonly used in this 
 appropriated signification ; but I thought it 
 better to take up a word already known, and 
 to limit its signification, than to introduce a 
 new one, which would not perhaps incorpo- 
 rate so well with the language. I should ne- 
 ver have presumed the least alteration in our 
 words, if the nature of the language, framed 
 for the purposes of business rather than those 
 of philosophy, and the nature of my subject, 
 that leads me out of the common track of dis- 
 course, did not in a manner necessitate me to 
 it. I shall make use of this liberty with all 
 possible caution. As I make use of the word 
 Delight, to express the sensation which ac- 
 companies the removal of pain or danger ; 
 so, when I speak of positive pleasure, I shall 
 for the most part call it simply, Pleasure. 
 
44 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 SECT. V. 
 
 JOY AND GRIEF. 
 
 IT must be observed, that the cessation of 
 pleasure affects the mind three ways. If it 
 simply ceases, after having continued a pro- 
 per time, the effect is indifference; if it be 
 abruptly broken off, there ensues an uneasy 
 sense called disappointment ; if the object be 
 so totally lost that there is no chance of en- 
 joying it again, a passion arises in the mind 
 which is called grief. Now, there is none of 
 these, not even grief, which is the most vio- 
 lent, that I think has any resemblance to po- 
 sitive pain. The person who grieves, suf- 
 fers his passion to grow upon him; he in- 
 dulges it, he loves it : but this never happens 
 in the case of actual pain, which no man ever 
 willingly endured for any considerable time. 
 That grief should be willingly endured, though 
 far from a simply pleasing sensation, is not so 
 difficult to be understood. It is the nature of 
 grief to keep its object perpetually in its eye, 
 to present it in its most pleasurable views, to 
 repeat all the circumstances that attend it, 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 45 
 
 «ven to the last minuteness ; to go back to 
 every particular enjoyment, to dwell upon 
 each, and to find a thousand new perfections 
 in all, that were not sufficiendy understood 
 before: in grief, the pleasure is still upper- 
 most ; and the affliction we suffer has no re- 
 semblance to absolute pain, which is always 
 odious, and which we endeavour to shake off 
 as soon as possible. The Odyssey of Ho- 
 mer, which abounds with so many natural 
 tmd affecting images, has none more striking 
 than those which Menelaus raises of the cala- 
 mitous fate of his friends, and his own man- 
 ner of feeling it. He owns, indeed, that he 
 often gives himself some intermission from 
 such melancholy reflections ; but he observes 
 too, that, melancholy as they are, they give 
 him pleasure. 
 
 JloxKeLxtc \i fittyafciTt xat-S-jy/sv:? trfxerepsrar, 
 Tltzvoucti ai-yj-coj Si uopq( xfus&uo -yion. 
 
 Still in short intervals of pleasing voe, 
 Reg-ardful of the friendly clues I o^.ve, 
 I to the glorious dead, for ever dear, 
 Indulge the tribute of a grate/id tear. 
 
 Hom. Od. iv 
 
46 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 On the other hand, when we recover our 
 health, when we escape an imminent danger, 
 is it with joy that we are affected? The sense 
 on these occasions is far from that smooth and 
 voluptuous satisfaction which the assured pro- 
 spect of pleasure bestows. The delight which 
 arises from the modifications of pain confesses 
 the stock from whence it sprung, in its solid, 
 strong, and severe nature. 
 
 SECT. VI. 
 
 OF THE PASSIONS WHICH BELONG TO SELF- 
 PRESERVATION. 
 
 jViOST of the ideas which are capable of 
 making a powerful impression on the mind, 
 whether simply of Pain or Pleasure, or of the 
 modifications of those, may be reduced very 
 nearly to these two heads, self-preservation 
 and society; to the ends of one or the other of 
 which all our passions are calculated to an- 
 swer. The passions which concern self-pre- 
 servation turn mostly on pain or danger. 
 The ideas oi pain, sickness, and death, fill the 
 mind with strong emotions of horror : but life 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 47 
 
 and health, though they put us in a capacity 
 of being affected with pleasure, they make no 
 such impression by the simple enjoyment. 
 The passions, therefore, which are convers- 
 ant about the preservation of the individual, 
 turn chiefly on pain and danger, and they are 
 the most powerful of all the passions. 
 
 SECT. VII. 
 
 OF THE SUBLIME. 
 
 WHATEVER is fitted in any sort to ex- 
 cite the ideas of pain and danger; that is to 
 say, whatever is in any sort terrible, or is con- 
 versant about terrible objects, or operates in a 
 manner analogous to terror, is a source of the 
 sublime; that is, it is productive of the strong- 
 est emotion which the mind is capable of feel- 
 ing. I say the strongest emotion, because 
 I am satisfied the ideas of pain are much more 
 powerful than those which enter on the part 
 of pleasure. Without all doubt, the torments 
 which we may be made to suffer are much 
 greater in their effect on the body and mind, 
 than any pleasures which the most learned 
 voluptuary could suggest, or than the live- 
 
48 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 liest imagination, and the most sound and ex- 
 quisitely sensible body, could enjoy. Nay, I 
 am in great doubt whether any man could be 
 found who would earn a life of the most per- 
 fect satisfaction, at the price of ending it in 
 the torments which justice inflicted in a few 
 hours on the late unfortunate regicide in 
 France. But, as pain is stronger in its opera- 
 tion than pleasure, so death is in general a 
 much more affecting idea than pain ; because 
 there are very few pains, however exquisite, 
 which are not preferred to death; nay, what 
 generally makes pain itself, if I may say so, 
 more painful, is, that it is considered as an 
 emissary of this king of terrors. When dan- 
 ger or pain press too nearly, they are inca- 
 pable of giving any delight, and are simply 
 terrible ; but at certain distances, and with 
 certain modifications, they may be, and they 
 are, delightful, as we every day experience. 
 The cause of this I shall endeavour to inves- 
 tigate hereafter. 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 49 
 
 SECT. VIII. 
 
 OF THE PASSIONS WHICH BELONG TO 
 SOCIETY. 
 
 1 HE other head, under which I class our 
 passions, is that of society ; which may be di- 
 vided into two sorts. 1. The society of the 
 sexes, which answers the purposes of propa- 
 gation ; and, next, that more general society, 
 which we have with men and with other ani- 
 mals, and which we may in some sort be said 
 to have even with the inanimate world. The 
 passions belonging to the preservation of the 
 individual turn wholly on pain and danger: 
 those which belong to generation have their 
 origin in gratifications and pleasures: the 
 pleasure most directly belonging to this pur- 
 pose is of a lively character, rapturous and 
 violent, and confessedly the highest pleasure 
 of sense ; yet the absence of this so great an 
 enjoyment scarce amounts to an uneasiness, 
 and, except at particular times, I do not think 
 it affects at all. When men describe in what 
 manner they are affected by pain and danger, 
 they do not dwell on the pleasure of health 
 E 2 
 
50 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 and the comfort of security, and then lament 
 the loss of these satisfactions : the whole turns 
 upon the actual pains and horrors which they 
 endure. But, if you listen to the complaints 
 of a forsaken lover, you observe that he in- 
 sists largely on the pleasures which he en- 
 joyed or hoped to enjoy, and on the perfec- 
 tion of the object of his desires : it is the loss 
 which is always uppermost in his mind. The 
 violent effects produced by love, which has 
 sometimes been even wrought up to madness, 
 is no objection to the rule which we seek to 
 establish. When men have suffered their 
 imaginations to be long affected with any idea, 
 it so wholly engrosses them as to shut out by 
 degrees almost every other, and to break down 
 every partition of the mind which would con- 
 fine it. Any idea is sufficient for the pur- 
 pose, as is evident from the infinite variety of 
 causes which give rise to madness j but this 
 at most can only prove that the passion of 
 love is capable of producing very extraordi- 
 nary effects ; not that its extraordinary emo- 
 tions have any connection with positive pain. 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 51 
 
 SECT. IX. 
 
 THE FINAL CAUSE OF THE DIFFERENCE BE- 
 TWEEN THE PASSIONS BELONGING TO SELF- 
 PRESERVATION, AND THOSE WHICH REGARD 
 THE SOCIETY OF THE SEXES. 
 
 I HE final cause of the difference in charac- 
 ter between the passions which regard self- 
 preservation, and those which are directed to 
 the multiplication of the species, will illus- 
 trate the foregoing remarks yet further ; and 
 it is, I imagine, worthy of observation, even 
 upon its own account. As the performance 
 of our duties of every kind depends upon 
 life, and the performing them with vigour 
 and efficacy depends upon health, we are 
 very strongly affected with whatever threat- 
 ens the destruction of either: but, as we were 
 not made to acquiesce in life and health, the 
 simple enjoyment of them is not attended 
 with any real pleasure, lest, satisfied with 
 that, we should give ourselves over to indo- 
 lence and inaction. On the other hand, the 
 generation of mankind is a great purpose, and 
 it is requisite that men should be animated to 
 the pursuit of it by some great incentive. It 
 
52 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 is therefore attended with a very high plea- 
 sure : but, as it is by no means designed to be 
 our constant business, it is not fit that the ab- 
 sence of this pleasure should be attended with 
 any considerable pain. The difference be- 
 tween men and brutes, in this point, seems to 
 be remarkable. Men are at all times pretty 
 equally disposed to the pleasures of love, be- 
 cause they are to be guided by reason in the 
 time and manner of indulging them. Had 
 any great pain arisen from the want of this 
 satisfaction, reason, I am afraid, would find 
 great difficulties in the performance of its of- 
 fice. But brutes, who obey laws, in the exe- 
 cution of which their own reason has but 
 little share, have their stated seasons : at such 
 times it is not improbable that the sensation 
 from the want is very troublesome, because 
 the end must be then answered, or be missed 
 in many, perhaps for ever ; as the inclination 
 returns only with its season. 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 53 
 
 SECT. X. 
 
 OF BEAUTY. 
 
 1 HE passion which belongs to generation, 
 merely as such, is lust only. This is evident 
 in brutes, whose passions are more unmixed, 
 and which pursue their purposes more di- 
 rectly than ours. The only distinction they 
 observe, with regard to their mates, is that of 
 sex. It is true, that they stick severally to 
 their own species, in preference to all others. 
 But this preference, I imagine, does not arise 
 from any sense of beauty w^hich they find in 
 their species, as Mr. Addison supposes, but 
 from a law of some other kind, to which they 
 are subject ; and this we may fairly conclude 
 from their apparent want of choice amongst 
 those objects to which the barriers of their 
 species have confined them. But man, who 
 is a creature adapted to a greater variety and 
 intricacy of relation, connects with the gene- 
 ral passion the idea of some social qualities, 
 which direct and heighten the appetite which 
 he has in common with all other animals : and 
 as he is not designed, like them, to live at 
 
54 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 large, it is fit that he should have something 
 to create a preference, and fix his choice ; and 
 this in general should be some sensible quali- 
 ty; as no other can so quickly, so power- 
 fully, or so surely, produce its effect. The 
 object, therefore, of this mixed passion, 
 which we call love, is the beauty af the sex. 
 Men are carried to the sex in general, as it is 
 the sex, and by the common law of nature ; 
 but they are attached to particulars by per- 
 sonal beauty. I call beauty a social quality : 
 for where men and women, and not only 
 they, but when other animals give us a sense 
 of joy and pleasure in beholding them (and 
 there are many that do so), they inspire us 
 with sentiments of tenderness and affection 
 towards their persons ; we like to have them 
 near us, and we enter willingly into a kind of 
 relation with them, unless we should have 
 strong reasons to the contrary. But to what 
 end, in many cases, this was designed, I am 
 unable to discover; for I see no greater rea- 
 son for a connection between man and seve- 
 ral animals who are attired in so engaging a 
 manner, than between him and some others 
 who entirely want this attraction, or possess 
 it in a far weaker degree. But it is probable 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 55 
 
 that Providence did not make even this dis- 
 tinction, but with a view to some great end, 
 though we cannot perceive distinctly what it 
 is, as his wisdom is not our wisdom, nor our 
 ways his ways. 
 
 SECT. XL 
 
 SOCIETY AND SOLITUDE. 
 
 1 HE second branch of the social passions is 
 that which administers to society in general. 
 With regard to this, I observe, that society, 
 merely as society, without any particular 
 heightenings, gives us no positive pleasure in 
 the enjoyment; but absolute and entire soli- 
 tude, that is, the total and perpetual exclusion 
 from all society, is as great a positive pain as 
 can almost be conceived. Therefore, in the 
 balance between the pleasure of general society 
 and the pain of absolute solitude, pain is the 
 predominant idea. But the pleasure of any 
 particular social enjoyment outweighs very 
 considerably the uneasiness caused by the 
 want of that particular enjoyment ; so that 
 the strongest sensations, relative to the habi- 
 tudes of particular society, are sensations of 
 
56 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 pleasure. Good company, lively conversa- 
 tions, and the endearments of friendship, fill 
 the mind with great pleasure ; a temporary 
 solitude, on the other hand, is itself agreeable. 
 This may perhaps prove that we are creatures 
 designed for contemplation as well as, action ; 
 since solitude as well as society has its plea- 
 sures ; as, from the former observation, we 
 may discern that an entire life of solitude 
 contradicts the purposes of our being, since 
 death itself is scarcely an idea of more terror. 
 
 SECT. XII. 
 
 SYMPATHY, IMITATION, AND AMBITION. 
 
 UNDER this denomination of society the 
 passions are of a complicated kind, and branch 
 out into a variety of forms agreeable to that 
 variety of ends they are to serve in the great 
 chain of society. The three principal links 
 in this chain are sympathy, imitation, and 
 ambition. 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 57 
 
 SECT. XIII. 
 
 SYMPATHY. 
 
 IT is by the first of these passions that we 
 enter into the concerns of others ; that we 
 are moved as they are moved, and are never 
 suffered to be indifferent spectators of almost 
 any thing which men can do or suffer. For 
 sympathy must be considered as a sort of sub- 
 stitution, by which we are put into the place 
 of another man, and affected in many respects 
 as he is affected: so that this passion may 
 either partake of the nature of those which re- 
 gard self-preservation, and, turning upon pain, 
 may be a source of the sublime ; or it may 
 turn upon ideas of pleasure — and then, what- 
 ever has been said of the social affections, whe- 
 ther they regard society in general, or only 
 some particular modes of it, may be applica- 
 ble here. It is by this principle chiefly that 
 poetry, painting, and other affecting arts, 
 transfuse their passions from one breast to 
 another, and are often capable of grafting a 
 delight on wretchedness, miser)-, and death 
 itself. It is a common observation, that ob- 
 jects, which in the reality would shock, are 
 
58 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 in tragical, and such like representations, the 
 source of a very high species of pleasure. 
 This, taken as a fact, has been the cause of 
 much reasoning. The satisfaction has been 
 commonly attributed, first to the comfort we 
 receive in considering that so melancholy a 
 story is no more than a fiction ; and next, to 
 the contemplation of our own freedom from 
 the evils which we see represented. I am 
 afraid it is a practice much too common in 
 inquiries of this nature, to attribute the cause 
 of feelings which merely arise from the me- 
 chanical structure of our bodies, or from the 
 natural frame and constitution of our minds, 
 to certain conclusions of the reasoning fa- 
 culty on the objects presented to us ; for I 
 should imagine, that the influence of reason, 
 in producing our passions, is nothing near so 
 extensive as it is commonly believed. 
 
 SECT. XIV. 
 
 THE EFFECTS OF SYMPATHY IN THE DIS- 
 TRESSES OF OTHERS. 
 
 TO examine this point concerning the effect 
 of Tragedy in a proper manner, we must pre- 
 viously consider how we are affected by the 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 59 
 
 feelings of our fellow-creatures in circum- 
 stances of real distress. * J am convinced we 
 have a degree of delight, and that no small 
 one, in the real misfortunes and pains of 
 others : for, let the affection be what it will 
 in appearance, if it does not make us shun 
 some objects, if on the contrary it induces us 
 to approach them, if it makes us dwell upon 
 them, in this case I conceive we must have a 
 delight or pleasure of some species or other in 
 contemplating objects of this kind. Do we 
 not read the authentic histories of scenes of 
 this nature with as much pleasure as romances 
 or poems, where the incidents are fictitious ? 
 The prosperity of no empire, nor the gran- 
 deur of no king, can so agreeably affect in 
 the reading, as the ruin of the state of Mace- 
 don, and the distress of its unhappy prince. 
 Such a catastrophe touches us in history as 
 much as the destruction of Troy does in 
 fable. Our delight, in cases of this kind, is 
 very gready heightened, if the sufferer be 
 some excellent person who sinks under an 
 unworthy fortune. Scipio and Cato are both 
 virtuous characters ; but we are more deeply 
 affected by the violent death of the one, and 
 the ruin of the great cause he adhered to, 
 
60 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 than with the deserved triumphs and uninter- 
 rupted prosperity of the other ; for terror is a 
 passion which always produces delight when 
 it does not press too close ; and pity is a pas- 
 sion accompanied with pleasure, because it 
 arises from love and social affection. When- 
 ever we are formed by nature to any active 
 purpose, the passion which animates us to it 
 is attended with delight, or a pleasure of 
 some kind, let the subject-matter be what it 
 will: and as our Creator has designed we 
 should be united by the bond of sympathy, 
 he has strengthened that bond by a propor- 
 tionable delight ; and there most where our 
 sympathy is most wanted, in the distresses of 
 others. If this passion was simply painful, 
 we would shun with the greatest care all per- 
 sons and places that could excite such a 
 passion ; as some, who are so far gone in 
 indolence as not to endure any strong impres- 
 sion, actually do. But the case is widely dif- 
 ferent with the greater part of mankind ; there 
 is no spectacle we so eagerly pursue as that 
 of some uncommon and grievous calamity j 
 so that whether the misfortune is before our 
 eyes, or whether they are turned back to it in 
 history, it always touches with delight. This 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 61 
 
 is not an unmixed delight, but blended with 
 no small uneasiness. The delight we have in 
 such things hinders us from shunning scenes 
 of misery ; and the pain we feel prompts us 
 to relieve ourselves in relieving those who 
 suffer ; and all this antecedent to any reason- 
 ing, by an instinct that works us to its own 
 purposes without our concurrence. 
 
 SECT. XV. 
 
 OF THE EFFECTS OF TRAGEDY. 
 
 IT is thus in real calamities. In imitated dis- 
 tresses, the only difference is the pleasure re- 
 sulting from the effects of imitation : for it is 
 never so perfect but we can perceive it is 
 imitation, and on that principle are somewhat 
 pleased with it. And indeed in some cases 
 we derive as much or more pleasure from 
 that source than from the thing itself. But 
 then, I imagine, we shall be much mistaken if 
 we attribute any considerable part of our sa- 
 tisfaction in tragedy to the consideration that 
 tragedy is a deceit, and its representations no 
 realities. The nearer it approaches the real- 
 ity, and the further it removes us from all 
 
 f 2 
 
62 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 idea of fiction, the more perfect is its power. 
 But be its power of what kind it will, it never 
 approaches to what it represents. Choose a 
 day on which to represent the most sublime 
 and affecting tragedy we have ; appoint the 
 most favourite actors ; spare no cost upon the 
 scenes and decorations ; unite the greatest 
 efforts of poetry, painting, and music ; and 
 when you have collected your audience, just 
 at the moment when their minds are erect 
 with expectation, let it be reported that a state 
 criminal of high rank is on the point of being 
 executed in the adjoining square ; in a mo- 
 ment the emptiness of the theatre would de- 
 monstrate the comparative weakness of the 
 imitative arts, and proclaim the triumph of 
 the real sympathy. I believe that this notion 
 of our having a simple pain in the reality, yet 
 a delight in the representation, arises from 
 hence, that we do not sufficiently distinguish 
 what we would by no means choose to do, 
 from what we would be eager enough to see 
 if it was once done. We delight in seeing 
 things which, so far from doing, our heartiest 
 wishes would be to see redressed. This noble 
 capital, the pride of England and of Europe, 
 I believe no man is so strangely wicked as to 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 63 
 
 desire to see destroyed by a conflagration or 
 an earthquake, though he should be removed 
 himself to the greatest distance from the dan- 
 ger. But suppose such a fatal accident to 
 have happened, what numbers from all parts 
 would crowd to behold the ruins, and amongst 
 them many who would have been content ne- 
 ver to have seen London in its glory ! Nor is 
 it, either in real or fictitious distresses, our 
 immunity from them which produces our de- 
 light ; in my own mind I can discover no- 
 thing like it. I apprehend that this mistake 
 is owing to a sort of sophism, by which we 
 are frequently imposed upon ; it arises from 
 our not distinguishing between what is indeed 
 a necessary condition to our doing or suffer- 
 ing any thing in general, and what is the 
 cause of some particular act. If a man kills 
 me with a sword, it is a necessary condition 
 to this that we should have been both of us 
 alive before the fact ; and yet it would be ab- 
 surd to say, that our being both living crea- 
 tures was the cause of his crime and of my 
 death. So it is certain, that it is absolutely 
 necessary my life should be out of any immi- 
 nent hazard before I can take a delight in the 
 sufferings of others, real or imaginary, or in- 
 
64 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 deed in any thing else, from any cause what- 
 soever. But then it is a sophism to argue 
 from thence, that this immunity is the cause 
 of my delight either on these or on any occa- 
 sions. No one can distinguish such a cause 
 of satisfaction in his own mind, I believe ; 
 nay, when we do not suffer any very acute 
 pain, nor are exposed to any imminent dan- 
 ger of our lives, we can feel for others, 
 whilst we suffer ourselves ; and often then 
 most when we are softened by affliction, we 
 see with pity even distresses which we would 
 accept in the place of our own. 
 
 SECT. XVI. 
 
 IMITATIOX. 
 
 1 HE second passion belonging to society is 
 imitation, or, if you will, a desire of imitat- 
 ing, and consequently a pleasure in it. This 
 passion arises from much the same cause with 
 sympathy ; for, as sympathy makes us take a 
 concern in whatever men feel, so this affec- 
 tion prompts us to copy whatever they do ; 
 and consequently we have a pleasure in imi- 
 tating, and in whatever belongs to imitation, 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 65 
 
 merely as it is such, without any intervention 
 of the reasoning faculty, but solely from our 
 natural constitution, which Providence has 
 framed in such a manner as to find either 
 pleasure or delight, according to the nature of 
 the object, in whatever regards the purposes 
 of our being. It is by imitation, far more 
 than by precept, that we learn every thing ; 
 and what we learn thus, we acquire not only 
 more effectually, but more pleasantly. This 
 forms our manners, our opinions, our lives. 
 It is one of the strongest links of society ; it 
 is a species of mutual compliance, which all 
 men yield to each other, without constraint to 
 themselves, and which is extremely flattering 
 to all. Herein it is that painting, and many 
 other agreeable arts, have laid one of the prin- 
 cipal foundations of their power. And since, 
 by its influence on our manners and our pas- 
 sions, it is of such great consequence, I shall 
 here venture to lay down a rule, which may 
 inform us, with a good degree of certainty, 
 when we are to attribute the power of the 
 arts to imitation, or to our pleasure in the skill 
 of the imitator merely, and when to sympa- 
 thy, or some other cause in conjunction with 
 it. When the object represented in poetry 
 
66 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 or painting is such as we could have no desire 
 of seeing in the reality, then I may be sure 
 that its power in poetry or painting is owing 
 to the power of imitation, and to no cause 
 operating in the thing itself. So it is with 
 most of the pieces which the painters call 
 still-life. In these a cottage, a dunghill, the 
 meanest and most ordinary utensils of the 
 kitchen, are capable of giving us pleasure. 
 But when the object of the painting or poem 
 is such as we should run to see if real, let it 
 affect us with what odd sort of sense it will, 
 we may rely upon it, that the power of the 
 poem or picture is more owing to the nature 
 of the thing itself, than to the mere effect of 
 imitation, or to a consideration of the skill of 
 the imitator, however excellent. Aristotle 
 has spoken so much and so solidly upon the 
 force of imitation in his Poetics, that it makes 
 any further discourse upon this subject the 
 less necessary. 
 
 SECT. XVII. 
 
 AMBITION. 
 
 ALTHOUGH imitation is one of the great in- 
 struments used by Providence in bringing our 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 67 
 
 nature towards its perfection, yet if men gave 
 themselves up to imitation entirely, and each 
 followed the other, and so on in an eternal cir- 
 cle, it is easy to see that there never could be 
 any improvement amongst them. Men must 
 remain as brutes do, the same at the end that 
 they are at this da}' , and that they were in the 
 beginning of the world. To prevent this, 
 God has planted in man a sense of ambition, 
 and a satisfaction arising from the contempla- 
 tion of his excelling his fellows in something 
 deemed valuable amongst them. It is this 
 passion that drives men to all the ways we see 
 in use of signalizing themselves, and that tends 
 to make whatever excites in a man the idea of 
 this distinction so very pleasant. It has been 
 so strong as to make very miserable men take 
 comfort that they were supreme in misery ; and 
 certain it is, that where we cannot distinguish 
 ourselves by something excellent, we begin 
 to take a complacency in some singular infir- 
 mities, follies, or defects of one kind or other. 
 It is on this principle that flattery is so preva- 
 lent ; for flattery is no more than what raises 
 in a man's mind an idea of a preference which 
 he has not. Now, whatever, either on good 
 or upon bad grounds, tends to raise a man in 
 
68 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 his own opinion, produces a sort of swelling 
 and triumph that is extremely grateful to the 
 human mind ; and this swelling is never more 
 perceived, nor operates with more force, than 
 when without danger we are conversant with 
 terrible objects, the mind always claiming to 
 itself some part of the dignity and importance 
 of the things which it contemplates. Hence 
 proceeds what Longinus has observed of that 
 glorying and sense of inward greatness, that 
 always fills the reader of such passages in 
 poets and orators as are sublime ; it is what 
 every man must have felt in himself upon 
 such occasions. 
 
 SECT. XVIII. 
 
 THE RECAPITULATION. 
 
 TO draw the whole of what has been said 
 into a few distinct points : — The passions 
 which belong to self-preservation turn on 
 pain and danger ; they are simply painful 
 when their causes immediately affect us ; they 
 are delightful when we have an idea of pain 
 and danger, without being actually in such 
 circumstances ; this delight I have not called 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 69 
 
 pleasure, because it turns on pain, and because 
 it is different enough from any idea of positive 
 pleasure. Whatever excites this delight, I 
 call sublime. The passions belonging to self- 
 preservation are the strongest of all the pas- 
 sions. 
 
 The second head to which the passions are 
 referred, with relation to their final cause, is 
 society. There are two sorts of societies. 
 The first is, the society of sex. The passion 
 belonging to this is called love, and it con- 
 tains a mixture of lust; its object is the 
 beauty of women. The other is the great 
 society with man and all other animals. The 
 passion subservient to this is called likewise 
 love ; but it has no mixture of lust, and its 
 object is beauty ; which is a name I shall ap- 
 ply to all such qualities in things as induce in 
 us a sense of affection and tenderness, or some 
 other passion the most nearly resembling these. 
 The passion of love has its rise in positive 
 pleasure ; it is, like all things which grow out 
 of pleasure, capable of being mixed with a 
 mode of uneasiness, that is, when an idea of 
 its object is excited in the mind, with an idea 
 at the same time of having irretrievably lost 
 
 G 
 
70 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 it. This mixed sense of pleasure I have not 
 called pain, because it turns upon actual plea- 
 sure, and because it is, both in its cause and 
 in most of its effects, of a nature altogether 
 different. 
 
 Next to the general passion we have for so- 
 ciety, to a choice in which we are directed by 
 the pleasure we have in the object, the parti- 
 cular passion under this head, called sympa- 
 thy, has the greatest extent. The nature of 
 this passion is, to put us in the place of an- 
 other in whatever circumstance he is in, and 
 to affect us in a like manner ; so that this pas- 
 sion may, as the occasion requires, turn either 
 on pain or pleasure ; but with the modifications 
 mentioned in some cases in sect, xi. As to 
 imitation and preference, nothing more need 
 be said. 
 
 SECT. XIX. 
 
 THE CONCLUSION. 
 
 I BELIEVE that an attempt to range and 
 methodize some of our most leading passions 
 would be a good preparative to such an in- 
 quiry as we are going to make in the ensuing 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 71 
 
 discourse. The passions I have mentioned 
 are almost the only ones which it can be ne- 
 cessary to consider in our present design ; 
 though the variety of the passions is great, 
 and worthy, in every branch of that variety, of 
 an attentive investigation. The more accu- 
 rately we search into the human mind, the 
 stronger traces we every where find of his 
 wisdom who made it. If a discourse on the 
 use of the parts of the body maybe considered 
 as an hymn to the Creator, the use of the pas- 
 sions, which are the organs of the mind, con- 
 not be barren of praise to him, nor unproduc- 
 tive to ourselves of that noble and uncommon 
 union of science and admiration, which a con- 
 templation of the works of infinite wisdom 
 alone can afford to a rational mind ; whilst, 
 referring to him whatever we find of right, or 
 good, or fair in ourselves, discovering his 
 strength and wisdom even in our own weak- 
 ness and imperfection, honouring them where 
 we discover them clearly, and adoring their 
 profundity where we are lost in our search, 
 we may be inquisitive without impertinence, 
 and elevated without pride ; we may be ad. 
 mitted, if I may dare to say so, into the coun- 
 sels of the Almighty by a consideration of his 
 
72 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 works. The elevation of the mind ought to 
 be the principal end of all our studies, which 
 if they do not in some measure effect, they 
 are of very little service to us. But, besides 
 this great purpose, a consideration of the ra- 
 tionale of our passions seems to me very ne- 
 cessary for all who would affect them upon 
 solid and sure principles. It is not enough to 
 know them in general: to affect them after a 
 delicate manner, or to judge properly of any 
 work designed to affect them, we should know 
 the exact boundaries of their several jurisdic- 
 tions; we should pursue them through all 
 their variety of operations, and pierce into 
 the inmost, and what might appear inacces- 
 sible parts of our nature, 
 
 Quod latet arcana non enarrabile fibra. 
 
 Without all this it is possible for a man, after 
 a confused manner, sometimes to satisfy his 
 own mind of the truth of his work; but he 
 can never have a certain determinate rule to 
 go by, nor can he ever make his propositions 
 sufficiently clear to others. Poets, and ora- 
 tors, and painters, and those who cultivate 
 other branches of the liberal arts, have, with- 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 73 
 
 out this critical knowledge, succeeded well in 
 their several provinces, and will succeed ; as 
 among artificers there are many machines 
 made, and even invented, without any exact 
 knowledge of the principles they are govern- 
 ed by. It is, I own, not uncommon to be 
 wrong in theory, and right in practice ; and 
 we are happy that it is so. Men often act 
 right from their feelings, who afterwards rea- 
 son but ill on them from principle ; but, as it 
 is impossible to avoid an attempt at such rea- 
 soning, and equally impossible to prevent its 
 having some influence on our practice, surely 
 it is worth taking some pains to have it just, 
 and founded on the basis of sure experience. 
 We might expect that the artists themselves 
 would have been our surest guides ; but the 
 artists have been too much occupied in the 
 practice : the philosophers have done little ; 
 and what they have done was mostly with a 
 view to their own schemes and systems : and 
 as for those called critics, they have generally 
 sought the rule of the arts in the wrong place : 
 they sought it among poems, pictures, en- 
 gravings, statues, and buildings : but art can 
 never give the rules that make an art. This 
 is, I believe, the reason why artists in gene- 
 
74 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 ral, and poets principally, have been confined 
 in so narrow a circle ; they have been rather 
 imitators of one another, than of nature ; and 
 this with so faithful an uniformity, and to so 
 remote an antiquity, that it is hard to say who 
 gave the first model. Critics follow them, 
 and therefore can do little as guides. I can 
 judge but poorly of any thing, whilst I mea- 
 sure it by no other standard than itself. The 
 true standard of the arts is in every man's 
 power ; and an easy observation of the most 
 common, sometimes of the meanest things in 
 nature, will give the truest lights, where the 
 greatest sagacity and industry that slights such 
 observation must leave us in the dark, or, 
 what is worse, amuse and mislead us by false 
 lights. In an inquiry, it is almost every thing 
 to be once in a right road. I am satisfied I 
 have done but little by these observations con- 
 sidered in themselves ; and I never should 
 have taken the pains to digest them, much less 
 should I have ever ventured to publish them, 
 if I was not convinced that nothing tends 
 more to the corruption of science than to suf- 
 fer it to stagnate. These waters must be 
 troubled before they can exert their virtues. 
 A man who works beyond the surface of 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 75 
 
 things, though he may be wrong himself, yet 
 he clears the way for others, and may chance 
 to make even his errors subservient to the 
 cause of truth. In the following parts I shall 
 inquire what things they are that cause in us 
 the affections of the sublime and beautiful, as 
 in this I have considered the affections them- 
 selves. I only desire one favour, that no part 
 of this discourse may be judged of by itself, 
 and independently of the rest ; for I am sen- 
 sible I have not disposed my materials to abide 
 the test of a captious controversy, but of a 
 sober and even forgiving examination ; that 
 they are not armed at all points for battle, but 
 dressed to visit those who are willing to give 
 a peaceful entrance to truth. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST PART. 
 
A 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY 
 
 INTO THE 
 
 ORIGIN OF OUR IDEAS 
 
 SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 PART II. SECTION I. 
 
 OF THE PASSION CAUSED BY THE SUBLIME. 
 
 THE passion caused by the great and sub- 
 lime in nature, when those causes operate most 
 powerfully, is astonishment ; and astonish- 
 ment is that state of the soul in which all its 
 motions are suspended with some degree of 
 horror.* In this case the mind is so entirely 
 filled with its object, that it cannot entertain 
 any other, nor by consequence reason on that 
 object which employs it. Hence arises the 
 
 * Part I. sect. 3, 4, 7. 
 
78 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 great power of the sublime, that, far from be- 
 ing produced by them, it anticipates our rea- 
 sonings, and hurries us on by an irresistible 
 force. Astonishment, as I have said, is the 
 effect of the sublime in its highest degree ; 
 the inferior effects are admiration, reverence, 
 and respect. 
 
 SECT. II. 
 
 TERROR. 
 
 iSI O passion so effectually robs the mind of 
 all its powers of acting and reasoning as 
 fear ; * for fear being an apprehension of pain 
 or death, it operates in a manner that resem- 
 bles actual pain. Whatever therefore is ter- 
 rible, with regard to sight, is sublime too, 
 whether this cause of terror be endued with 
 greatness of dimensions or not; for it is im- 
 possible to look on any thing as trifling or 
 contemptible that may be dangerous. There 
 are many animals, who, though far from be- 
 ing large, are yet capable of raising ideas of 
 the sublime, because they are considered as 
 objects of terror; as serpents and poisonous 
 animals of almost all kinds. And to things 
 
 * Part IV. sect. 3, 4, 5, 6. 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 79 
 
 of great dimensions, if we annex an adventi- 
 tious idea of terror, they become without 
 comparison greater. A level plain of a vast 
 extent on land is certainly no mean idea; the 
 prospect of such a plain may be as extensive 
 as a prospect of the ocean: but can it ever fill 
 the mind with any thing so great as the ocean 
 itself? This is owing to several causes; but 
 it is owing to none more than this, that this 
 ocean is an object of no small terror. Indeed 
 terror is, in all cases whatsoever, either more 
 openly or latently the ruling principle of the 
 sublime. Several languages bear a strong tes- 
 timony to the affinity of these ideas. They 
 frequently use the same word to signify in- 
 differently the modes of astonishment or ad- 
 miration, and those of terror. e*//*W is, in 
 Greek, either fear or wonder; fwoe is ter- 
 rible or respectable ; euSw, to reverence or 
 to fear. Vereor in Latin is what >nha> is in 
 Greek. The Romans used the verb stupeo, a 
 term which strongly marks the state of an 
 astonished mind, to express the effect either 
 of simple fear or of astonishment ; the word 
 attonitus (thunder-struck) is equally expres- 
 sive of the alliance of these ideas : and do not 
 the French etonnement, and the English asto- 
 
80 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 mshment and amazement, point out as clearly 
 the kindred emotions which attend fear and 
 wonder? They who have a more general 
 knowledge of languages could produce, I 
 make no doubt, many other and equally strik- 
 ing examples. 
 
 SECT. III. 
 
 OBSCURITY. 
 
 1 O make any thing very terrible, obscurity* 
 seems in general to be necessary. When we 
 know the full extent of any danger, when we 
 can accustom our eyes to it, a great deal of 
 the apprehension vanishes. Every one will 
 be sensible of this, who considers how greatly 
 night adds to our dread in all cases of danger, 
 and how much the notions of ghosts and gob- 
 lins, of which none can form clear ideas, af- 
 fect minds which give credit to the popular 
 tales concerning such sorts of beings. Those 
 despotic governments, which are founded on 
 the passions of men, and principally upon 
 the passion of fear, keep their chief as much 
 as may be from the public eye. The policy 
 has been the same in many cases of religion. 
 
 * Part IV. sect. 14, 15, 16. 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 81 
 
 Almost all the heathen temples were dark. 
 Even in the barbarous temples of the Ameri- 
 cans, at this day, they keep their idol in a 
 dark part of the hut which is consecrated to 
 his worship. For this purpose too the Druids 
 performed all their ceremonies in the boson 
 of the darkest woods, and in the shade of the 
 oldest and most spreading oaks. No person 
 seems better to have understood the secret of 
 heightening, or of setting terrible things, if I 
 may use the expression, in their strongest 
 light, by the force of a judicious obscurity, 
 than Milton. His description of Death, in 
 the second book, is admirably studied : it is 
 astonishing with what a gloomy pomp, with 
 what a significant and expressive uncertainty 
 of strokes and colouring, he has finished the 
 portrait of the king of terrors : 
 
 Tiie other shape, 
 If shape it might be call'd that shape had none 
 Distinguishable, in member, joint, or limb ; 
 Or substance might be call'd that shadow seem'd, 
 For each seem'd either ; black he stood as night ; 
 Fierce as ten furies ; terrible as hell ; 
 And shook a deadly dart. What seem'd his head 
 The likeness of a kingly crown had on. 
 
 H 
 
82 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 In this description all is dark, uncertain, con- 
 fused, terrible, and sublime to the last de- 
 gree. 
 
 SECT. IV. 
 
 OF THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN CLEARNESS 
 AND OBSCURITY WITH REGARD TO THE 
 PASSIONS. 
 
 IT is one thing to make an idea clear, and 
 another to make it affecting to the imagination. 
 If I make a drawing of a palace, or a temple, 
 or a landscape, I present a very clear idea of 
 those objects ; but then (allowing for the ef- 
 fect of imitation, which is something) my 
 picture can at most affect only as the palace, 
 temple, or landscape, would have affected in 
 the reality. On the other hand, the most 
 lively and spirited verbal description I can 
 give, raises a very obscure and imperfect idea 
 of such objects ; but then it is in my power to 
 raise a stronger emotion by the description, 
 than I could do by the best painting. This, 
 experience constantly evinces. The proper 
 manner of conveying the affections of the 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 83 
 
 mind from one to another, is by words : there 
 is a great insufficiency in all other methods of 
 communication ; and so far is a clearness of 
 imagery from being absolutely necessary to 
 an influence upon the passions, that they may 
 be considerably operated upon, without pre- 
 senting any image at all, by certain sounds 
 adapted to that purpose; of which we have a 
 sufficient proof in the acknowledged and 
 powerful effects of instrumental music. In 
 reality, a great clearness helps but little to- 
 wards affecting the passions, as it is in some 
 sort an enemy to all enthusiasms whatsoever. 
 
 SECT. [IV.] 
 
 THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED. 
 
 1 HERE are two verses in Horace's Art of 
 Poetry that seem to contradict this opinion ; 
 for which reason I shall take a little more 
 pains in clearing it up. The verses are : 
 
 Segnius irritant animos demissa per aures, 
 Quam quae sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus. 
 
 On this the Abbe du Bos founds a criticism, 
 wherein he gives painting the preference to 
 
84 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 poetry, in the article of moving the passions ; 
 principally on account of the greater clearness 
 of the ideas it represents. I believe this ex- 
 cellent judge was led into this mistake (if it 
 be a mistake) by his system, to which he 
 found it more conformable than I imagine it 
 will be found by experience. I know several 
 who admire and love painting, and yet who 
 regard the objects of their admiration in that 
 art with coolness enough in comparison of that 
 warmth with which they are animated by af- 
 fecting pieces of poetry or rhetoric. Among 
 the common sort of people, I never could per- 
 ceive that painting had much influence on 
 their passions. It is true, that the best sorts 
 of painting, as well as the best sorts of poetry, 
 are not much understood in that sphere. But 
 it is most certain, that their passions are very 
 strongly roused by a fanatic preacher, or by 
 the ballads of Chevy-chase, or the Children in 
 the Wood, and by other little popular poems 
 and tales that are current in that rank of life. I 
 do not know of any paintings, bad or good, that 
 produce the same effect. So that poetry, with 
 all its obsurity, has a more general, as well as 
 a more powerful dominion over the passions 
 than the other art. And I think there are rea- 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 85 
 
 sons in nature, why the obscure idea, when 
 properly conveyed, should be more affecting 
 than the clear. It is our ignorance of things 
 that causes all our admiration, and chiefly ex- 
 cites our passions. Knowledge and acquaint- 
 ance make the most striking causes affect but 
 little. It is thus with the vulgar ; and all men 
 are as the vulgar in what they do not under- 
 stand. The ideas of eternity, and infinity, 
 are among the most affecting we have ; and 
 perhaps there is nothing of which we really un- 
 derstand so little, as of infinity, and eternity. 
 We do not any where meet a more sublime 
 description than this justly celebrated one of 
 Milton, wherein he gives the portrait of Satan 
 with a dignity so suitable to the subject : 
 
 He above the rest 
 In shape and gesture proudly eminent 
 Stood like a tower ; his form had yet not lost 
 All her original brightness, nor appear'd 
 Less than archangel ruin'd, and th' excess 
 Of glory obscur'd : as when the son new ris'n 
 Looks through the horizontal misty air 
 Shorn of his beams ; or from behind the moon 
 In dim eclipse disastrous twilight sheds 
 On half the nations ; and with fear of change 
 Perplexes monarchs. 
 
 Here is a very noble picture ; and in what 
 
 h2 
 
86 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 does this poetical picture consist? in images 
 of a tower, an archangel, the sun rising 
 through mists, or in an eclipse, the ruin of mo- 
 narchs, and the revolutions of kingdoms. The 
 mind is hurried out of itself, by a crowd of 
 great and confused images ; which affect be- 
 cause they are crowded and confused. For se- 
 parate them, and you lose much of the great- 
 ness ; and join them, and you infallibly lose 
 the clearness. The images raised by poetry 
 are always of this obsure kind ; though in ge- 
 neral the effects of poetry are by no means to 
 be attributed to the images it raises ; which 
 point we shall examine more at large hereaf- 
 ter.* But painting, when we have allowed 
 for the pleasure of imitation, can only affect 
 simply by the images it presents ; and even in 
 painting, a judicious obscurity in some things 
 contributes to the effect of the picture ; be- 
 cause the images in painting are exactly simi- 
 lar to those in nature ; and in nature dark, con- 
 fused, uncertain images have a greater power 
 on the fancy to form the grander passions, than 
 those have which are more clear and determi- 
 nate. But where and when this observation 
 
 * PartV. 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 87 
 
 may be applied to practice, and how far it 
 shall be extended, will be better deduced 
 from the nature of the subject, and from the 
 occasion, than from any rules that can be 
 given. 
 
 I am sensible that this idea has met with 
 opposition, and is likely still to be rejected by 
 several. But let it be considered, that hardly 
 any thing can strike the mind with its great- 
 ness which does not make some sort of ap- 
 proach towards infinity ; which nothing can 
 do whilst we are able to perceive its bounds : 
 but to see an object distinctly, and to perceive 
 its bounds, is one and the same thing. A clear 
 idea is therefore another name for a little idea. 
 There is a passage in the book of Job amaz- 
 ingly sublime ; and this sublimity is princi- 
 pally due to the terrible uncertainty of the 
 thing described: In thoughts from the visions 
 of the night, when deep sleep falleth upon men, 
 fear came upon me and trembling, which made 
 all my bones to shake. Then a spirit passed 
 before my face. The hair of my fesh stood up. 
 It stood still, but I could not discern the form 
 thereof ; an image was before mine eyes ; there 
 xvas silence; and I heard a voice, Shall mor- 
 
88 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 tal man be more just than God? We are first 
 prepared with the utmost solemnity for the 
 vision ; we are first terrified before we are let 
 even into the obscure cause of our emotion : 
 but when this grand cause of terror makes its 
 appearance, what is it ? is it not wrapt up in 
 the shades of its own incomprehensible dark- 
 ness, more awful, more striking, more ter- 
 rible than the liveliest description, than the 
 clearest painting, could possibly represent it ? 
 When painters have attempted to give us 
 clear representations of these very fanciful 
 and terrible ideas, they have, I think, almost 
 always failed ; insomuch that I have been at 
 a loss, in all the pictures I have seen of hell, 
 whether the painter did not intend something 
 ludicrous. Several painters have handled a 
 subject of this kind with a view of assembling 
 as many horrid phantoms as their imagina- 
 tions could suggest ; but all the designs I 
 have chanced to meet of the temptations of 
 St. Anthony, were rather a sort of odd wild 
 grotesques, than any thing capable of pro- 
 ducing a serious passion. In all these sub- 
 jects poetry is very happy. Its apparitions, 
 its chimeras, its harpies, its allegorical figures, 
 are grand and affecting j and though Virgil's 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 89 
 
 Fame and Homer's Discord are obscure, they 
 are magnificent figures. These figures in 
 painting would be clear enough, but I fear 
 they might become ridiculous. 
 
 SECT. V. 
 
 POWER. 
 
 13 E SIDES those things which directly sug- 
 gest the idea of danger, and those which pro- 
 duce a similar effect from a mechanical cause, 
 I know of nothing sublime which is not some 
 modification of power. And this branch rises, 
 as naturally as the other two branches, from 
 terror, the common stock of every thing that 
 is sublime. The idea of power, at first view, 
 seems of the class of these indifferent ones, 
 which may equally belong to pain or to plea- 
 sure. But, in reality, the affection arising 
 from the idea of vast power is extremely re- 
 mote from that neutral character. For, first, 
 we must remember,* that the idea of pain, in 
 its highest degree, is much stronger than the 
 highest degree of pleasure ; and that it pre- 
 serves the same superiority through all the 
 
 Part 1. sect. 7. 
 
90 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 subordinate gradations. From hence it is, 
 that where the chances for equal degrees of 
 suffering or enjoyment are in any sort equal^ 
 the idea of the suffering must always be pre- 
 valent. And indeed the ideas of pain, and, 
 above all, of death, are so very affecting, that 
 whilst we remain in the presence of whatever 
 is supposed to have the power of inflicting 
 either, it is impossible to be perfectly free 
 from terror. Again, we know by experience, 
 that, for the enjoyment of pleasure, no great 
 efforts of power are at all necessary ; nay, we 
 know that such efforts would go a great way 
 towards destroying our satisfaction ; for plea- 
 sure must be stolen, and not forced upon us : 
 pleasure follows the will ; and therefore we 
 are generally affected with it by many things 
 of a force greatly inferior to our own. But 
 pain is always inflicted by a power in some 
 way superior, because we never submit to 
 pain willingly. So that strength, violence, 
 pain and terror are ideas that rush in upon 
 the mind together. Look at a man, or any 
 other animal of prodigious strength, and what 
 is your idea before reflection ? Is it that this 
 strength will be subservient to you, to your 
 ease, to your pleasure, to your interest in any 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 91 
 
 sense ? No : the emotion you feel is, lest this 
 enormous strength should be employed to the 
 purposes of * rapine and destruction. That 
 power derives all its sublimity from the terror 
 with which it is generally accompanied, will 
 appear evidently from its effect in the very 
 few cases in which it may be possible to strip 
 a considerable degree of strength of its ability 
 to hurt. When you do this, you spoil it of 
 every thing sublime, and it immediately be- 
 comes contemptible. An ox is a creature of 
 vast strength : but he is an innocent creature, 
 extremely serviceable, and not at all danger- 
 ous ; for which reason the idea of an ox is by 
 no means grand. A bull is strong too ; but 
 his strength is of another kind ; often very 
 destructive, seldom (at least amongst us) of 
 any use in our business : the idea of a bull is 
 therefore great, and it has frequently a place 
 in sublime descriptions and elevating compa- 
 risons. Let us look at another strong animal 
 in the two distinct lights in which we may 
 consider him. The horse, in the light of an 
 useful beast, fit for the plough, the road, the 
 draught, in every social useful light the horse 
 has nothing of the sublime : but is it thus that 
 * Vide Part III. sect. 21. 
 
92 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 we are affected with him, zvhose neck is clothed 
 with thunder , the glory of whose nostrils is ter- 
 rible, who swalloweth the ground with fierce- 
 ness and rage, neither believeth that it is the 
 sound of the trumpet f In this description the 
 useful character of the horse entirely disap- 
 pears, and the terrible and sublime blaze out 
 together. We have continually about us ani- 
 mals, of a strength that is considerable, but not 
 pernicious. Amongst these we never look 
 for the sublime j it comes upon us in the 
 gloomy forest, and in the howling wilderness, 
 in the form of the lion, the tiger, the panther, 
 or rhinoceros. Whenever strength is only 
 useful, and employed for our benefit or our 
 pleasure, then it is never sublime ; for no- 
 thing can act agreeably to us that does not act 
 in conformity to our will ; but, to act agree- 
 ably to our will, it must be subject to us, and 
 therefore can never be the cause of a grand 
 and commanding conception. The descrip- 
 tion of the wild ass, in Job, is worked up into 
 no small sublimity, merely by insisting on 
 his freedom, and his setting mankind at de- 
 fiance ; otherwise the description of such an 
 animal could have had nothing noble in it. 
 Who hath loosed (says he) the bands of the 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 93 
 
 wild ass, xvhose house I have made the "wil- 
 derness, and the barren land his dwellings P 
 He scorneth the multitude of the city, neither 
 regardeth he the voice of the driver. The 
 range of the mountains is his pasture. The 
 magnificent description of the unicorn, and of 
 leviathan, in the same book, is full of the 
 same heightening circumstances : Will the 
 unicorn bexvilling to serve thee? canst thou bind 
 the unicorn ruith his band in the furrow f wilt 
 thou trust him because his strength is great P 
 — Canst thou draw out leviathan with an hook P 
 xvill he make a covenant xvith thee P wilt thou 
 take him for a servant for ever P shall not one 
 be cast down even at the sight of him P In 
 short, wheresoever we find strength, and in 
 what light soever we look upon power, we 
 shall all along observe the sublime the conco- 
 mitant of terror, and contempt the attendant 
 on a strength that is subservient and in- 
 noxious. The race of dogs, in many of their 
 kinds, have generally a competent degree of 
 strength and swiftness ; and they exert these 
 and other valuable qualities which they pos- 
 sess, greatly to our convenience and pleasure. 
 Dogs are indeed the most social, affectionate, 
 and amiable animals of the whole brute crea- 
 
 i 
 
94 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 tion ; but love approaches much nearer to 
 contempt than is commonly imagined ; and 
 accordingly, though we caress dogs, we bor- 
 row from them an appellation of the most de- 
 spicable kind, when we employ terms of re- 
 proach ; and this appellation is the common 
 mark of the last vileness and contempt in 
 every language. Wolves have not more 
 strength than several species of dogs ; but, on 
 account of their unmanageable fierceness, the 
 idea of a wolf is not despicable ; it is not ex- 
 cluded from grand descriptions and simili. 
 tudes. Thus we are affected by strength, 
 which is natural power. The power which 
 arises from institution in kings and command- 
 ers has the same connection with terror. So- 
 vereigns are frequently addressed with the 
 title of dread majesty. And it may be ob- 
 served, that young persons little acquainted 
 with the world, and who have not been used 
 to approach men in power, are commonly 
 struck with an awe which takes away the free 
 use of their faculties. When I prepared my 
 seat in the street (says Job), the young men saw 
 me and hid themselves. Indeed, so natural is 
 this timidity with regard to power, and so 
 strongly does it inhere in our constitution, that 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 95 
 
 very few are able to conquer it, but by mix- 
 ing much in the business of the great world, 
 or by using so small violence to their natural 
 dispositions. I know some people are of opi- 
 nion, that no awe, no degree of terror, accom- 
 panies the idea of power : and have hazarded 
 to affirm, that we can contemplate the idea of 
 God himself without any such emotion. I 
 purposely avoided, when I first considered 
 this subject, to introduce the idea of that great 
 and tremendous Being, as an example in an 
 argument so light as this ; though it frequently 
 occurred to me, not as an objection to, but as 
 a strong confirmation of my notions in this 
 matter. I hope, in what I am going to say? 
 I shall avoid presumption, where it is almost 
 impossible for any mortal to speak with strict 
 propriety. I say, then, that whilst we consi- 
 der the Godhead merely as he is an object of 
 the understanding, which forms a complex 
 idea of power, wisdom, justice, goodness, all 
 stretched to a degree far exceeding the bounds 
 of our comprehension ; whilst we consider 
 the Divinity in this refined and abstracted 
 light, the imagination and passions are little 
 or nothing affected. But because we are 
 bound, by the condition of our nature, to 
 
96 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 ascend to these pure and intellectual ideas 
 through the medium of sensible images, and 
 to judge of these divine qualities by their evi- 
 dent acts and exertions, it becomes extremely 
 hard to disentangle our idea of the cause from 
 the effect by which we are led to know it. 
 Thus, when we contemplate the Deity, his 
 attributes and their operations coming united 
 on the mind, form a sort of sensible image, 
 and, as such, are capable of affecting the ima- 
 gination. Now, though, in a just idea of the 
 Deity, perhaps none of his attributes are pre- 
 dominant, yet, to our imagination, his power 
 is by far the most striking. Some reflection, 
 some comparing, is necessary to satisfy us of 
 his wisdom, his justice, and his goodness. To 
 be struck with his power, it is only necessary 
 that we should open our eyes. But whilst 
 we contemplate so vast an object, under the 
 arm, as it were, of almighty power, and in- 
 vested upon every side with omnipresence, 
 we shrink into the minuteness of our own 
 nature, and are, in a manner, annihilated be- 
 fore him. And though a consideration of his 
 other attributes may relieve in some measure 
 our apprehensions, yet no conviction of the 
 justice with which it is exercised, nor the 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 97 
 
 mercy with which it is tempered, can wholly 
 remove the terror that naturally arises from a 
 force which nothing can withstand. If we 
 rejoice, we rejoice with trembling ; and even 
 whilst we are receiving benefits, we cannot 
 but shudder at a power which can confer be- 
 nefits of such mighty importance. When 
 the prophet David contemplated the wonders 
 of wisdom and power which are displayed in 
 the economy of man, he seems to be struck 
 with a sort of divine horror, and cries out, 
 Fearfully and wonderfully am I made! An 
 heathen poet has a sentiment of a similar na- 
 ture ; Horace looks upon it as the last effort 
 of philosophical fortitude, to behold, without 
 terror and amazement, this immense and glo- 
 rious fabric of the universe : 
 
 Hunc solem, et Stellas, et decedentia certis 
 Tempora momentis, sunt qui formidine nulla 
 Imbuti spectant. 
 
 Lucretius is a poet not to be suspected of giv- 
 ing way to superstitious terrors ; yet, when he 
 supposes the whole mechanism of nature laid 
 open by the master of his philosophy, his 
 transport on this magnificent view, which he 
 has represented in the colours of such bold 
 
 12 
 
98 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 and lively poetry, is overcast with a shade of 
 secret dread and horror : 
 
 His tibi me rebus quxdam divina voluptas 
 Percipit, atque horror, quod sic Natura tua vi 
 Tarn manifesta patet ex omni parte retecta. 
 
 But the Scripture alone can supply ideas an- 
 swerable to the majesty of this subject. In 
 the Scripture, wherever God is represented 
 as appearing or speaking, every thing terrible 
 in nature is called up to heighten the awe 
 and solemnity of the divine presence. The 
 psalms, and the prophetical books, are crowd- 
 ed with instances of this kind. The earth 
 shook (says the psalmist,) the heavens also drop- 
 ped at the presence of the Lord. And, what 
 is remarkable, the painting preserves the same 
 character, not only when he is supposed de- 
 scending to take vengeance upon the wicked, 
 but even when he exerts the like plenitude of 
 power in acts of beneficence to mankind. 
 Tremble, thou earth I at the presence of the 
 Lord; at the presence of the God of Jacob; 
 which turned the rock into standing water, the 
 flint into a fountain of waters I It were end- 
 less to enumerate all the passages, both in the 
 sacred and profane writers, which establish 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 99 
 
 the general sentiment of mankind concerning 
 the inseparable union of a sacred and reve- 
 rential awe, with our ideas of the Divinity. 
 Hence the common maxim, Primos in orbe 
 deos fecit timor. This maxim may be, as I 
 believe it is, false with regard to the origin of 
 religion. The maker of the maxim saw how 
 inseparable these ideas were, without consi- 
 dering that the notion of some great power 
 must be always precedent to our dread of it. 
 But this dread must necessarily follow the 
 idea of such a power when it is once excited 
 in the mind. It is on this principle that true 
 religion has, and must have, so large a mix- 
 ture of salutary fear ; and that false religions 
 have generally nothing else but fear to sup- 
 port them. Before the Christian religion had, 
 as it were, humanized the idea of the Divini- 
 ty, and brought it somewhat nearer to us, 
 there was very little said of the love of God. 
 The followers of Plato have something of it, 
 and only something ; the other writers of 
 Pagan antiquity, whether poets or philoso- 
 phers, nothing at all. And they who consider 
 with what infinite attention, by what a disre- 
 gard of every perishable object, through what 
 long habits of piety and contemplation it is, 
 
100 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 any man is able to attain an entire love and 
 devotion to the Deity, will easily perceive 
 that it is not the first, the most natural, and 
 the most striking effect, which proceeds from 
 that idea. Thus we have traced power 
 through its several gradations unto the high- 
 est of all, where our imagination is finally 
 lost ; and we find terror, quite throughout 
 the progress, its inseparable companion, and 
 growing along with it, as far as we can possi- 
 bly trace them. Now, as power is undoubt- 
 edly a capital source of the sublime, this will 
 point out evidently from whence its energy 
 is derived, and to what class of ideas we 
 ought to unite it. 
 
 SECT. VI. 
 
 PRIVATION. 
 
 ALL general privations are great, because 
 they are all terrible ; Vacuity , Darkness, Soli- 
 tude, and Silence. With what a fire of ima- 
 gination, yet with what severity of judgment, 
 has Virgil amassed all these circumstances, 
 where he knows that all the images of a tre- 
 mendous dignity ought to be united, at the 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 101 
 
 mouth of hell! where, before he unlocks the 
 secrets of the great deep, he seems to be seiz- 
 ed with a religious horror, and to retire asto- 
 nished at the boldness of his own design : 
 
 Dl qulbus imperiumest animarum, umbrseque silentes/ 
 Et Chaos, et Phlegethon ! loca node silentia late ! 
 Sit mibi fas audita loqui ! sit numine vestro 
 Pandere res alta terra et caligine mersas ! 
 Ibant obscuri, sola sub nocte, per umbram, 
 Perque domos Ditis vacuas, et inania regna. 
 
 Ye subterraneous gods ! whose awful sway 
 The gliding ghosts and silent shades obey : 
 O Chaos, hear ! and Phlegethon profound ! 
 Whose solemn empire stretches wide around ! 
 Give me, ye great tremendous powers, to tell 
 Of scenes and wonders in the depth of hell : 
 Give me your mighty secrets to display 
 From those black realms of darkness to the day. 
 
 Pitt. 
 
 Obscure they went through dreary shades that led 
 Along the waste dominions of the dead. 
 
 Dryden. 
 
102 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 SECT. VII. 
 
 VASTNESS. 
 
 CrREATNESS * of dimension is a power- 
 ful cause of the sublime. This is too evident, 
 and the observation too common, to need any 
 illustration j it is not so common to consider 
 in what ways greatness of dimension, vastness 
 of extent, or quantity, has the most striking 
 effect : for certainly there are ways and modes 
 wherein the same quantity of extension shall 
 produce greater effects than it is found to do 
 in others. Extension is either in length, 
 height, or depth. Of these the length strikes 
 least ; an hundred yards of even ground will 
 never work such an effect as a tower an hun- 
 dred yards high, or a rock or mountain of that 
 altitude. I am apt to imagine likewise, that 
 height is less grand than depth j and that we 
 are more struck at looking down from a pre- 
 cipice, than looking up at an object of equal 
 height: but of that I am not very positive. 
 A perpendicular has more force in forming 
 the sublime, than an inclined plane ; and the 
 
 * Part IV. sect. 9. 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 103 
 
 effects of a rugged and broken surface seem 
 stronger than where it is smooth and polished. 
 It would carry us out of our way to enter in 
 this place into the cause of these appearances ; 
 but certain it is they afford a large and fruit- 
 ful field of speculation. However, it may 
 not be amiss to add to these remarks upon 
 magnitude, that as the great extreme of di- 
 mension is sublime, so the last extreme of 
 littleness is in some measure sublime like- 
 wise ; when we attend to the infinite divisibi- 
 lity of matter, when we pursue animal life 
 into these excessively small, and yet organ- 
 ized beings, that escape the nicest inquisition 
 of the sense ; when we push our discoveries 
 yet downward, and consider those creatures 
 so many degrees yet smaller, and the still di- 
 minishing scales of existence, in tracing which 
 the imagination is lost as well as the sense, 
 we become amazed and confounded at the 
 wonders of minuteness ; nor can we distin- 
 guish in its effect this extreme of littleness 
 from the vast itself; for division must be in- 
 finite, as well as addition ; because the idea of 
 a perfect unity can no more be arrived at than 
 that of a complete whole, to which nothing 
 may be added. 
 
104 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 SECT. VIII. 
 
 INFINITY. 
 
 ANOTHER source of the sublime is Inf. 
 nity ; if it does not rather belong to the last. 
 Infinity has a tendency to fill the mind with 
 that sort of delightful horror which is the most 
 genuine effect and truest test of the sublime. 
 There are scarce any things which can be- 
 come the objects of our senses, that are really 
 and in their own nature infinite : but the eye 
 not being able to perceive the bounds of many 
 things, they seem to be infinite, and they 
 produce the same effects as if they were really 
 so. We are deceived in the like manner, if 
 the parts of some large object are so continued 
 to any indefinite number, that the inagination 
 meets no check which may hinder its extend- 
 ing them at pleasure. 
 
 Whenever we repeat any idea frequently, 
 the mind, by a sort of mechanism, repeats it 
 long after the first cause has ceased to ope- 
 rate.* After whirling about, when we sit 
 
 * Part IV. sect. 12. 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 105 
 
 down, the objects about us still seem to whirl. 
 After a long succession of noises, as the fall 
 of waters, or the beating of forge-hammers, 
 the hammers beat and the water roars in the 
 imagination long after the first sounds have 
 ceased to affect it ; and they die away at last 
 by gradations which are scarcely perceptible. 
 If you hold up a straight pole, with your eye 
 to one end, it will seem extended to a length 
 almost incredible.* Place a number of uni- 
 form and equidistant marks on this pole, they 
 will cause the same deception, and seem mul- 
 tiplied without end. The senses, strongly 
 affected in some one manner, cannot quickly 
 change their tenor, or adapt themselves to 
 other things ; but they continue in their old 
 channel until the strength of the first mover 
 decays. This is the reason of an appearance 
 very frequent in madmen, that they remain 
 whole days and nights, sometimes whole 
 years, in the constant repetition of some re- 
 mark, some complaint, or song ; which hav- 
 ing struck powerfully on their disordered 
 imagination in the beginning of their phren- 
 zy, every repetition reinforces it with new 
 
 * Part IV. sect. 14. 
 K 
 
/ 
 
 106 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 strength ; and the hurry of their spirits, un- 
 restrained by the curb of reason, continues it 
 to the end of their lives. 
 
 SECT. IX. 
 
 SUCCESSION AND UNIFORMITY. 
 
 oUCCESSION and uniformity of parts are 
 what constitute the artificial infinite. 1. Succes- 
 sion; which is requisite, that the parts may be 
 continued so long and in such a direction as, 
 by their frequent impulses on the sense, to 
 impress the imagination with an idea of their 
 progress beyond their actual limits. 2. Uni- 
 formity ; because, if the figures of the parts 
 should be changed, the imagination at every 
 change finds a check ; you are presented, at 
 every alteration, with the termination of one 
 idea and the begining of another ; by which 
 means it becomes impossible to continue that 
 uninteiTupted progression which alone can 
 stamp on bounded objects the character of in- 
 finity.* It is in this kind of artificial infini- 
 
 * Mr. Addison, in the Spectators concerning" the 
 pleasures of the imagination, thinks it is, because, in the 
 rotund, at one glance, you see half the building*. This 
 do not imagine to be the real cause. 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 107 
 
 ty, I believe, we ought to look for the cause 
 why a rotund has such a noble effect j for, in 
 a rotund, whether it be a building or a planta- 
 tion, you can no where fix a boundary ; turn 
 which way you will, the same object still 
 seems to continue, and the imagination has no 
 rest. But the parts must be uniform, as well 
 as circularly disposed, to give this figure its 
 full force ; because any difference, whether 
 it be in the disposition or in the figure, or 
 even in the colour of the parts, is highly pre- 
 judicial to the idea of infinity, which every 
 change must check and interrupt at every al- 
 teration commencing a new series. On the 
 same principles of succession and uniformity, 
 the grand appearance of the ancient heathen 
 temples, which were generally oblong forms, 
 with a range of uniform pillars on every side, 
 will be easily accounted for. From the same 
 cause also may be derived the grand effect of 
 our aisles in many of our own old cathedrals. 
 The form of a cross used in some churches 
 seems to me not so eligible as the parallelo- 
 gram of the ancients j at least, I imagine it 
 is not so proper for the outside ; for, suppos- 
 ing the arms of the cross every way equal, if 
 you stand in a direction parallel to any of the 
 
108 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 side-walls, or colonnades, instead of a decep. 
 tion that makes the building more extended 
 than it is, you are Cut off from a considerable 
 part (two thirds) of its actual length ; and, to 
 prevent all possibility of progression, the 
 arms of the cross, taking a new direction, 
 make a right angle with the beam, and thereby 
 wholly turn the imagination from the repeti- 
 tion of the former idea. Or suppose the spec- 
 tator placed where he may take a direct view 
 of such a building, what will be the conse- 
 quence ? the necessary consequence will be, 
 that a good part of the basis of each angle, 
 formed by the intersection of the arms of the 
 cross, must be inevitably lost; the whole 
 must of course assume a broken unconnected 
 figure; the lights must be unequal, here 
 strong, and there weak ; without that noble 
 gradation which the perspective always effects 
 on parts disposed uninterruptedly in a right 
 line. Some or all of these objections will lie 
 against every figure of a cross, in whatever 
 view you take it. I exemplified them in the 
 Greek cross, in which these faults appear the 
 most strongly ; but they appear in some de- 
 gree in all sorts of crosses. Indeed, there is 
 nothing more prejudicial to the grandeur of 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 109 
 
 buildings, than to abound in angles — a fault 
 obvious in many, and owing to an inordinate 
 thirst for variety, which, whenever it pre- 
 vails, is sure to leave very little true taste. 
 
 SECT. X. 
 
 MAGNITUDE IN BUILDING. 
 
 To the sublime in building, greatness of di- 
 mension seems requisite ; for, on a few parts, 
 and those small, the imagination cannot rise 
 to any idea of infinity. No greatness in the 
 manner can effectually compensate for the 
 want of proper dimensions. There is no dan- 
 ger of drawing men into extravagant designs 
 by this rule ; it carries its own caution along 
 with it ; because too great a length in build- 
 ings destroys the purpose of greatness, which 
 it was intended to promote : the perspective 
 will lessen it in height as it gains in length, 
 and will bring it at last to a point, turning the 
 whole figure into a sort of triangle, the poor- 
 est in its effect of almost any figure that can 
 be presented to the eye. I have ever observ- 
 ed, that colonnades, and avenues of trees of a 
 moderate length, were, without comparison, far 
 
 k2 
 
110 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 grander than when they were suffered to run 
 to immense distances. A true artist should 
 put a generous deceit on the spectators, and 
 effect the noblest designs by easy methods. 
 Designs that are vast only by their dimen- 
 sions are always the sign of a common and 
 low imagination. No work of art can be 
 great, but as it deceives ; to be otherwise, is 
 the prerogative of nature only. A good eye 
 will fix the medium betwixt an excessive 
 length or height (for the same objection lies 
 against both) and a short or broken quantity : 
 and perhaps it might be ascertained to a tole- 
 rable degree of exactness, if it was my pur- 
 pose to descend far into the particulars of any 
 art. 
 
 SECT. XI. 
 
 INFINITY IN PLEASING OBJECTS. 
 
 INFINITY, though of another kind, causes 
 much of our pleasure in agreeable, as well as 
 of our delight in sublime images. The spring 
 is the pleasantest of the seasons; and the 
 young of most animals, though far from being 
 completely fashioned, afford a more agreeable 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. Ill 
 
 sensation than the full grown, because the 
 imagination is entertained with the promise of 
 something more, and does not acquiesce in 
 the present object of the sense. In unfinished 
 sketches of drawing, I have often seen some 
 things which pleased me beyond the best fi- 
 nishing; and this, I believe, proceeds from 
 the cause I have just now assigned. 
 
 SECT. XII. 
 
 DIFFICULTY. 
 
 ANOTHER source of greatness is Difficul- 
 ty.* When any work seems to have requir- 
 ed immense force and labour to effect it, the 
 idea is grand. Stonehenge, neither for dispo- 
 sition nor ornament, has any thing admirable ; 
 but those huge rude masses of stone, set on 
 end and piled on each other, turn the mind on 
 the immense force necessary for such a work : 
 nay, the rudeness of the work increases this 
 cause of grandeur, as it excludes the idea of 
 art and contrivance ; for dexterity produces 
 another sort of effect, which is different 
 enough from this. 
 
 Part IV. sect. 4, 5, 6. 
 
112 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 SECT. XIII. 
 
 MAGNIFICENCE. 
 
 Magnificence is likewise a source of 
 
 the sublime. A great profusion of things, 
 which are splendid or valuable in themselves, 
 is magnificent. The stany heaven, though it 
 occurs so very frequently to our view, never 
 fails to excite an idea of grandeur. This 
 cannot be owing to any thing in the stars 
 themselves, separately considered. The num- 
 ber is certainly the cause. The apparent dis- 
 order augments the grandeur ; for the appear- 
 ance of care is highly contrary to our ideas of 
 magnificence. Besides, the stars lie in such 
 apparent confusion as makes it impossible, on 
 ordinary occasions, to reckon them. This 
 gives them the advantage of a sort of infinity. 
 In works of art, this kind of grandeur, which 
 consists in multitude, is to be very cautiously 
 admitted ; because a profusion of excellent 
 things is not to be attained, or with too much 
 difficulty ; and because in many cases this 
 splendid confusion would destroy all use, 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. H3 
 
 which should be attended to, in most of the 
 works of art, with the greatest care : besides, 
 it is to be considered, that unless you can 
 produce an appearance of infinity by your 
 disorder, you will have disorder only, with- 
 out magnificence. There are, however, a 
 sort of fire-works, and some other things, that 
 in this way succeed well, and are truly grand. 
 There are also many descriptions in the poets 
 and orators which owe their sublimity to a 
 richness and profusion of images, in which 
 the mind is so dazzled as to make it impossi- 
 ble to attend to that exact coherence and 
 agreement of the allusions which we should 
 require on every other occasion. I do not 
 now remember a more striking example of 
 this than the description which is given of the 
 king's army in the play of Henry the Fourth : 
 
 All furnish'd, all in arms, 
 All plum'd like ostriches that with the wind 
 Baited like eagles having lately bathed: 
 As full of spirit as the month of May, 
 And gorgeous as the sun in midsummer, 
 Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls. 
 I saw young Harry with his beaver on 
 Rise from the ground like feather'd Mercury, 
 And vaulted with such ease into his seat 
 As if an angel dropped from the clouds 
 To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus. 
 
114 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 In that excellent book, so remarkable for 
 the vivacity of its descriptions, as well as the 
 solidity and penetration of its sentences, the 
 Wisdom of the Son of Sirach, there is a noble 
 panegyric on the high-priest, Simon the son 
 of Onias ; and it is a very f.ne example of 
 the point before us : 
 
 How was he honoured in the midst of the 
 people, in his coming out of the sanctuary ! 
 He zvas as the morning star in the midst of a 
 cloud, and as the moon at the full; as the sun 
 shining upon the temple of the Most High, 
 and as the rainbozv giving light in the bright 
 clouds: and as the fozver of roses in the spring 
 of the year, as lilies by the rivers of zvaters, 
 and as the frankincense-tree in summer ; as 
 fire and incense in the censer, and as a vessel 
 of gold set zvith precious stones ; as a fair 
 olive-tree budding forth fruit, and as a cypress 
 which groweth up to the clouds. When he put 
 on the robe of honour, and zvas cloathed with 
 the perfection of glory, when he went up to the 
 holy altar, he made the garment of holiness 
 honourable. He himself stood by the hearth of 
 the altar, compassed with his brethren round 
 about ; as a young cedar in Libanus, and as. 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 115 
 
 palm-trees compassed they him about. So zvere 
 all the sons of Aaron in their glory, and the 
 oblations of the Lord in their hands, &?c. 
 
 SECT. XIV. 
 
 LIGHT. 
 
 HAVING considered extension, so far as it 
 is capable of raising ideas of greatness, colour 
 comes next under consideration. All colours 
 depend on light. Light, therefore, ought 
 previously to be examined ; and with it its 
 opposite, darkness. With regard to light, to 
 make it a cause capable of producing the 
 sublime, it must be attended with some cir- 
 cumstances besides its bare faculty of shewing 
 other objects. Mere light is too common a 
 thing to make a strong impression on the 
 mind; and without a strong impression no- 
 thing can be sublime. But such a light as 
 that of the sun, immediately exerted on the 
 eye, as it overpowers the sense, is a very 
 great idea. Light of an inferior strength to 
 this, if it moves with great celerity, has the 
 same power; for lightning is certainly pro- 
 ductive of grandeur, which it owes chiefly to 
 
116 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 the extreme velocity of its motion. A quick 
 transition from light to darkness, or from 
 darkness to light, has yet a greater effect. 
 But darkness is more productive of sublime 
 ideas than light. Our great poet was con- 
 vinced of this ; and indeed so full was he of 
 this idea, so entirely possessed with the power 
 of a well-managed darkness, that in describ- 
 ing the appearance of the Deity, amidst that 
 profusion of magnificent images which the 
 grandeur of his subject provokes him to pour 
 out upon every side, he is far from forgetting 
 the obscurity which surrounds the most in- 
 comprehensible of all beings, but 
 
 With the majesty of darkness round 
 Circles his throne. 
 
 And, what is no less remarkable, our author 
 had the secret of preserving this idea, even 
 when he seemed to depart the farthest from 
 it, when he describes the light and glory which 
 flows from the divine presence ; a light which, 
 by its very excess, is converted into a species 
 of darkness: 
 
 Dark with excessive light thy skirts appear. 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL, 117 
 
 Here is an idea not only poetical in an high 
 degree, but strictly and philosophically just. 
 Extreme light, by overcoming the organs of 
 sight, obliterates all objects, so as in its effect 
 exactly to resemble darkness. After looking 
 for some time at the sun, two black spots, the 
 impression which it leaves, seem to dance be- 
 fore our eyes. Thus are two ideas, as oppo- 
 site as can be imagined, reconciled in the ex- 
 tremes of both ; and both, in spite of their op- 
 posite nature, brought to concur in producing 
 the sublime. And this it not the only instance 
 wherein the opposite extremes operate equal- 
 ly in favour of the sublime, which in all things 
 abhors mediocrity. 
 
 SECT. XV. 
 
 LIGHT IN BUILDING. 
 
 AS the management of light is a matter of 
 importance in architecture, it is worth inquir- 
 ing how far this remark is applicable to build- 
 ing. I think, then, that all edifices calcu- 
 lated to produce an idea of the sublime ought 
 rather to be dark and gloomy ; and this for 
 two reasons : the first is that darkness itself, 
 
 L 
 
118 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 on other occasions, is known by experience 
 to have a greater effect on the passions than 
 light. The second is, that, to make an object 
 very striking, we should make it as different 
 as possible from the objects with which we 
 have been immediately conversant; when, 
 therefore, you enter a building, you cannot 
 pass into a greater light than you had in the 
 open air : to go into one some few degrees 
 less luminous, can make only a trifling 
 change ; but, to make the transition tho- 
 roughly striking, you ought to pass from the 
 greatest light to as much darkness as is con- 
 sistent with the uses of architecture. At night 
 the contrary rule will hold, but for the very 
 same reason ; and the more highly a room is 
 then illuminated, the grander will the passi- 
 on be. 
 
 SECT. XVI. 
 
 COLOUR CONSIDERED AS PRODUCTIVE OF THE 
 SUBLIME. 
 
 AMONG colours, such as are soft and 
 cheerful (except, perhaps, a strong red which 
 is cheerful) are unfit to produce grand images. 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 119 
 
 An immense mountain, covered with a shin- 
 ing green turf, is nothing, in this respect, to 
 one dark and gloomy ; the cloudy sky is more 
 grand than the blue, and night more sublime 
 and solemn than day. Therefore, in histori- 
 cal painting, a gay or gaudy drapery can ne- 
 ver have a happy effect : and in buildings, 
 when the highest degree of the sublime is in- 
 tended, the materials and ornaments ought 
 neither to be white, nor green, nor yellow, 
 nor blue, nor of a pale red, nor violet, nor 
 spotted, but of sad and fuscous colours, as 
 black, or brown, or deep purple, and the like. 
 Much of guilding, mosaics, painting, or sta- 
 tues, contribute but little to the sublime. 
 This rule need not be put in practice, except 
 where an uniform degree of the most striking 
 sublimity is to be produced, and that in every 
 particular ; for it ought to be observed, that 
 this melancholy kind of greatness, though it 
 be certainly the highest, ought not to be stu- 
 died in all sorts of edifices, where yet gran- 
 deur must be studied ; in such cases the sub- 
 limity must be drawn from the other sources, 
 with a strict caution, however, against any 
 thing light and riant ; as nothing so effectually 
 deadens the whole taste of the sublime. 
 
120 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 SECT. XVII. 
 
 SOUND AND LOUDNESS. 
 
 1 HE eye is not the only organ of sensation 
 by which a sublime passion may be produced. 
 Sounds have a great power in these as in 
 most other passions. I do not mean words, 
 because words do not affect simply by their 
 sounds, but by means altogether different. 
 Excessive loudness alone is sufficient to over- 
 power the soul, to suspend its action, and to 
 fill it with terror. The noise of vast cataracts, 
 raging storms, thunder, or artillery, awakes a 
 great and awful sensation in the mind, though 
 we can observe no nicety or artifice in those 
 sorts of music. The shouting of multitudes 
 has a similar effect ; and, by the sole strength 
 of the sound, so amazes and confounds the 
 imagination, that, in this staggering and hurry 
 of the mind, the best-established tempers can 
 scarcely forbear being borne down, and join- 
 ing in the common cry and common resolu- 
 tion of the crowd. 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 121 
 
 SECT. XVIII. 
 
 SUDDENNESS. 
 
 A SUDDEN beginning, or sudden cessation 
 of sound of any considerable force, has the 
 same power. The attention is roused by this ; 
 and the faculties driven forward, as it were, on 
 their guard. Whatever, either in sights or 
 sounds, makes the transition from one ex- 
 treme to the other easy, causes no terror, and 
 consequently can be no cause of greatness. 
 In every thing sudden and unexpected, we 
 are apt to start ; that is, we have a percep- 
 tion of danger, and our nature rouses us to 
 guard against it. It may be observed, that a 
 single sound of some strength, though but of 
 short duration, if repeated after intervals, has 
 a grand effect. Few things are more awful 
 than the striking of a great clock, when the 
 silence of the night prevents the attention 
 from being too much dissipated. The same 
 may be said of a single stroke of a drum, re- 
 peated with pauses ; and of the successive 
 firing of cannon at a distance. All the eifects 
 
 L 2 
 
122 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 mentioned in this section have causes very 
 nearly alike. 
 
 SECT. XIX. 
 
 INTERMITTING. 
 
 A LOW, tremulous, intermitting sound, 
 though it seems, in some respects, opposite to 
 that just mentioned, is productive of the sub- 
 lime. It is worth while to examine this a lit- 
 tle. The fact itself must be determined by 
 every man's own experience and reflection. 
 I have already observed,* that night increases 
 our terror more, perhaps, than any thing else : 
 it is our nature, when we do not know what 
 may happen to us, to fear the worst that can 
 happen ; and hence it is that uncertainty is so 
 terrible, that we often seek to be rid of it at 
 the hazard of a certain mischief. Now, some 
 low, confused, uncertain sounds leave us in 
 the same fearful anxiety concerning their 
 causes, that no light, or an uncertain light, 
 does concerning the objects that surround us : 
 
 Quale per incertam lunam sub luce maligna 
 Est iter in sylvis. 
 
 * Sect. 3. 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 123 
 
 ■ ' ■ A faint shadow of uncertain light, 
 Like as a lamp, whose life doth fade away ; 
 Or as the moon, clothed with cloudy night, 
 Doth shew to him who walks in fear and great affright. 
 
 Spenser. 
 
 But a light now appearing, and now leaving 
 us, and so off and on, is even more terrible 
 than total darkness : and a sort of uncertain 
 sounds are, when the necessary dispositions 
 concur, more alarming than a total silence. 
 
 SECT. XX. 
 
 THE CRIES OF ANIMALS. 
 
 OUCH sounds as imitate the natural inarti- 
 culate voices of men, or any animals in pain 
 or danger, are capable of conveying great 
 ideas, unless it be the well-known voice of 
 some creature on which we are used to look 
 with contempt. The angry tones of wild 
 beasts are equally capable of causing a great 
 and awful sensation. 
 
 Hinc exaudiri gemitus, irseque leonum 
 Vincla recusantum, et sera sub nocte rudentum ; 
 Setigerique sues, atque in praesepibus ursi 
 Saevire ; et formse magnorum ululare luporum. 
 
124 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 It might seem that these modulations of sound 
 carry some connection with the nature of the 
 things they represent, and are not merely ar- 
 bitrary ; because the natural cries of all ani- 
 mals, even of those animals with whom we 
 have not been acquainted, never fail to make 
 themselves sufficiently understood : this can- 
 not be said of language. The modifications 
 of sound, which may be productive of the 
 sublime, are almost infinite. Those I have 
 mentioned are only a few instances, to shew 
 on what principle they are all built. 
 
 SECT. XXI. 
 
 SMELL AND TASTE, BITTERS AND STENCHES. 
 
 SMELLS and TASTE have some share 
 too in ideas of greatness ; but it is a small one, 
 weak in its nature, and confined in its opera- 
 tions. I shall only observe, that no smells or 
 tastes can produce a grand sensation, except 
 excessive bitters and intolerable stenches. It 
 is true that these affections of the smell and 
 taste, when they are in their full force, and lean 
 directly upon the sensory, are simply painful, 
 and accompanied with no sort of delight ; but 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 125 
 
 when they are moderated, as in a description 
 or narrative, they become sources of the sub- 
 lime, as genuine as any other, and upon the 
 very same principle of a moderated pain. 
 " A cup of bitterness" — - u to drain the bitter 
 " cup of fortune" — u the bitter apples of So- 
 " dom j" these are all ideas suitable to a sub- 
 lime description. Nor is this passage of Virgil 
 without sublimity, where the stench of the 
 vapour in Albunea conspires so happily with 
 the sacred horror and gloominess of that pro- 
 phetic forest : 
 
 Et rex solicitus monstris oracula Fauni 
 Fatidici genitoris adit, lucosque sub alta 
 Consulit Albunea, nemorum quae maxima sacro 
 Fonte sonat ; sxvamque exhalat opaca Mephitim* 
 
 In the sixth book, and in a very sublime de- 
 scription, the poisonous exhalation of Ache- 
 ron is not forgot ; nor does it at all disagree 
 with the other images amongst which it is in- 
 troduced : 
 
 Spelunca alta fuit, vastoque immanis hiatu 
 Scrupea, tuta lacu nigro> nemorumque tenebris, 
 Quam super haud ullse poterant impune volantes 
 Tendere iter pennis, talis sese halitus atris 
 Faucibus effundens supera ad convexajerebat. 
 
126 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 I have added these examples, because some 
 friends, for whose judgment I have great de- 
 ference, were of opinion, that, if the sentiment 
 stood nakedly by itself, it would be subject, 
 at first view, to burlesque and ridicule ; but 
 this, I imagine, would principally arise from 
 considering the bitterness and stench in com- 
 pany with mean and contemptible ideas, with 
 which, it must, be owned, they are often uni- 
 ted ; such an union degrades the sublime in 
 all other instances as well as in those. But 
 it is one of the tests by which the sublimity 
 of an image is to be tried, not whether it be- 
 comes mean when associated with mean 
 ideas ; but whether, when united with images 
 of an allowed grandeur, the whole composi- 
 tion is supported with dignity. Things which 
 are terrible are always great ; but when things 
 possess disagreeable qualities, or such as 
 have indeed some degree of danger, but of a 
 danger easily overcome, they are merely 
 odious, as toads and spiders. 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 127 
 
 SECT. XXII. 
 
 FEELING. PAIN. 
 
 OF Feeling, little more can be said than 
 that the idea of bodily pain, in all the modes 
 and degrees of labour, pain, anguish, torment, 
 is productive of the sublime ; and nothing 
 else, in this sense, can produce it. I need not 
 give here any fresh instances, as those given 
 in the former sections abundantly illustrate a 
 remark, that in reality wants only an atten- 
 tion to nature to be made by every body. 
 
 HAVING thus run through the causes of 
 the sublime with reference to all the senses, 
 my first observation (sect. 7.) will be found 
 very nearly true ; that the sublime is an idea 
 belonging to self-preservation ; that it is there- 
 fore one of the most affecting we have ; that 
 its strongest emotion is an emotion of distress ; 
 and that no pleasure * from a positive cause 
 
 * Vide Part 1. sect. 6, 
 
128 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 belongs to it. Numberless examples, besides 
 those mentioned, might be brought in sup- 
 port of these truths, and many, perhaps, use- 
 ful consequences drawn from them — 
 
 Sed fug-it interea, fug-it irrevocabile tempus, 
 Singula dum capti ciscumvectamur amore. 
 
 SND OF THE SE60NB PAXT. 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY 
 
 INTO THE 
 
 ORIGIN OF OUR IDEAS 
 
 SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 PART III. SECTION I. 
 
 OF BEAUTY. 
 
 IT is my design to consider beauty as distin- 
 guished from the sublime ; and, in the course 
 of the inquiry, to examine how far it is con- 
 sistent with it. But, previous to this, we 
 must take a short review of the opinions al- 
 ready entertained of this quality ; which I 
 think are hardly to be reduced to any fixed 
 principles ; because men are used to talk of 
 beauty in a figurative manner, that is to say, 
 in a manner extremely uncertain and inde- 
 
 M 
 
130 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 terminate. By beauty, I mean that quality, 
 or those qualities in bodies by which they 
 cause love, or some passion similar to it. I 
 confine this definition to the merely sensible 
 qualities of things, for the sake of preserving 
 the utmost simplicity in a subject which must 
 always distract us, whenever we take in those 
 various causes of sympathy which attach us 
 to any persons or things from secondary con- 
 siderations, and not from the direct force 
 which they have merely on being viewed. I 
 likewise distinguish love, by which I mean 
 that satisfaction which arises to the mind upon 
 contemplating any thing beautiful, of what- 
 soever nature it may be, from desire or lust, 
 which is an energy of the mind that hurries 
 us on to the possession of certain objects that 
 do not affect us as they are beautiful, but by 
 means altogether different. We shall have a 
 strong desire for a woman of no remarkable 
 beauty, whilst the greatest beauty in men, 
 or in other animals, though it causes love, 
 yet it excites nothing at all of desire ; which 
 shews that beauty, and the passion caused by 
 beauty, which I call love, is different from 
 desire, though desire may sometimes operate 
 along with it ; but it is to this latter that we 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 131 
 
 must attribute those violent and tempestuous 
 passions, and the consequent emotions of the 
 body which attend what is called love in 
 some of its ordinary acceptations, and not to 
 the effects of beauty merely as it is such. 
 
 SECT. II. 
 
 PROPORTION NOT THE CAUSE OF BEAUTY 
 IN VEGETABLES. 
 
 BEAUTY hath usually been said to consist 
 in certain proportions of parts. On consider- 
 ing the matter, I have great reason to doubt 
 whether beauty be at all an idea belonging to 
 proportion. Proportion relates almost wholly 
 "to convenience, as every idea of order seems 
 to do ; and it must therefore be considered as 
 a creature of the understanding, rather than a 
 primary cause acting on the senses and ima- 
 gination. It is not by the force of long at- 
 tention and inquiry that we find any object to 
 be beautiful : beauty demands no assistance 
 from our reasoning ; even the will is uncon- 
 cerned : the appearance of beauty as effec- 
 tually causes some degree of love in us, as 
 
,132 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 the application of ice or fire produces the 
 ideas of heat or cold. To gain something like 
 a satisfactory conclusion in this point, it were 
 well to examine what proportion is, since se- 
 veral who make use of that word do not al- 
 ways seem to understand very clearly the 
 force of the term, nor to have very distinct 
 ideas concerning the thing itself. Proportion 
 is the measure of relative quantity. Since all 
 quantity is divisible, it is evident that every 
 distinct part, into which any quantity is di- 
 vided, must bear some relation to the other 
 parts, or to the whole. These relations give 
 an origin to the idea of proportion. They 
 are discovered by mensuration ; and they are 
 the objects of mathematical inquiry. But 
 whether any part of any determinate quantity 
 be a fourth, or a fifth, or a sixth, or moiety 
 of the whole ; or whether it be of equal length 
 with any other part, or double its length, or 
 but one half, is a matter merely indifferent 
 to the mind ; it stands neuter in the question : 
 and it is from this absolute indifference and 
 tranquillity of the mind that mathematical 
 speculations derive some of their most consi- 
 derable advantages ; because there is nothing 
 to interest the imagination - 3 because the judg- 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 133 
 
 ment sits free and unbiassed to examine the 
 point. All proportions, every arrangement 
 of quantity, is alike to the understanding, 
 because the same truths result to it from 
 all ; from greater, from lesser, from equality 
 and inequality. But surely beauty is no 
 idea belonging to mensuration ; nor has it 
 any thing to do with calculation and geo- 
 metry. If it had, we might then point out 
 some certain measures which we could de- 
 monstrate to be beautiful, either as simply 
 considered, or as related to others ; and we 
 could call in those natural objects, for whose 
 beauty we have no voucher but the sense, to 
 this happy standard, and confirm the voice of 
 our passions by the determination of our rea- 
 son. But, since we have not this help, let 
 us see whether proportion can in any sense 
 be considered as the cause of beauty, as hath 
 been so generally, and by some so confident- 
 ly, affirmed. If proportion be one of the 
 constituents of beauty, it must derive that 
 power either from some natural properties 
 inherent in certain measures which operate 
 mechanically ; from the operation of custom ; 
 or from the fitness which some measures have 
 to answer some particular ends of conve- 
 
 m 2 
 
134 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 niency. Our business, therefore, is to in- 
 quire whether the parts of those objects, 
 which are found beautiful in the vegetable or 
 animal kingdoms, are constantly so formed 
 according to such certain measures, as may 
 serve to satisfy us that their beauty results 
 from those measures on the principle of a 
 natural mechanical cause ; or from custom ; 
 or, in fine, from their fitness for any deter- 
 minate purposes. I intend to examine this 
 point under each of these heads in their order. 
 But, before I proceed further, I hope it will 
 not be thought amiss if I lay down the rules 
 which governed me in this inquiry, and 
 which have misled me in it, if I have gone 
 astray. 1. If two bodies produce the same 
 or a similar effect on the mind, and on exa- 
 mination they are found to agree in some of 
 their properties, and to differ in others, the 
 common effect is to be attributed to the pro- 
 perties in which they agree, and not to those 
 in which they differ. 2. Not to account for 
 the effect of a natural object from the effect 
 of an artificial object. 3. Not to account for 
 the effect of any natural object from a con- 
 clusion of our reason concerning its uses, if 
 a natural cause may be assigned. 4. Not to 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 135 
 
 admit any determinate quantity, or any rela- 
 tion of quantity, as the cause of a certain ef- 
 fect, if the effect is produced by different or 
 opposite measures and relations ; or if these 
 measures and relations may exist, and yet the 
 effect may not be produced. These are the 
 rules which I have chiefly followed whilst I 
 examined into the power of proportion consi- 
 dered as a natural cause ; and these, if he 
 thinks them just, I request the reader to carry 
 with him throughout the following discussion, 
 whilst we inquire, in the first place, in what 
 things we find this quality of beauty ; next, 
 to see whether fi these we can find any as- . 
 signable proportions, in such a manner as 
 ought to convince us that our idea of beauty 
 results from them. We shall consider this 
 pleasing power as it appears in vegetables, in 
 the inferior animals, and in man. Turning 
 our eyes to the vegetable creation, we find 
 nothing there so beautiful as flowers ; but 
 flowers are almost of every sort of shape, and 
 of every sort of disposition ; they are turned 
 and fashioned into an infinite variety of 
 forms ; and, from these forms, botanists have 
 given them their names, which are almost as 
 various. What proportion do we discover 
 
136 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 between the stalks and the leaves of flowers, 
 or between the leaves and the pistils ? How 
 does the slender stalk of the rose agree with 
 the bulky head under which it bends ? But 
 the rose is a beautiful flower; and can we 
 undertake to say that it does not owe a great 
 deal of its beauty even to that disproportion ? 
 The rose is a large flower, yet it grows upon 
 a small shrub : the flower of the apple is very 
 small, and grows upon a large tree ; yet the 
 rose and the apple-blossom are both beautiful, 
 and the plants that bear them are most en- 
 gagingly attired, notwithstanding this dispro- 
 portion. What, by general consent, is al- 
 lowed to be a more beautiful object than an 
 orange-tree, flourishing at once with its 
 leaves, its blossoms, and its fruit ? But it is 
 in vain that we search here for any proportion 
 between the height, the breadth, or any thing 
 else concerning the dimensions of the whole, 
 or concerning the relation of the particular 
 parts to each other. I grant that we may ob- 
 serve in many flowers something of a regular 
 figure, and of a methodical disposition of the 
 leaves. The rose has such a figure and such 
 a disposition of its petals; but, in an oblique 
 view, when this figure is in a good measure 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. t 137 
 
 lost, and the order of the leaves confounded, 
 it yet retains its beauty; the rose is even 
 more beautiful before it is full blown; and 
 the bud, before this exact figure is formed : 
 and this is not the only instance wherein me- 
 thod and exactness, the soul of proportion, 
 are found rather prejudicial than serviceable 
 to the cause of beauty. 
 
 SECT. III. 
 
 PROPORTION NOT THE CAUSE OF BEAUTY 
 IN ANIMALS. 
 
 1 HAT proportion has but a small share in 
 the formation of beauty is full as evident 
 among animals. Here the greatest variety of 
 shapes, and disproportions of parts, are well 
 fitted to excite this idea. The swan, confess- 
 edly a beautiful bird, has a neck longer than 
 the rest of his body, and but a very short tail: 
 is this a beautiful proportion ? we must allow 
 that it is. But then, what shall we say to the 
 peacock, who has comparatively but a short 
 neck, with a tail longer than the neck and the 
 rest of the body taken together ? How many 
 
138 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 birds are there that vary infinitely from each 
 of these standards, and from every other 
 which you can fix, with proportions differ- 
 ent, and often directly opposite to each other ! 
 and yet many of these birds are extremely 
 beautiful ; when, upon considering them, we 
 find nothing in any one part that might deter- 
 mine us, a priori, to say what the others 
 ought to be, nor indeed to guess any thing 
 about them, but what experience might shew 
 to be full of disappointment and mistake. 
 And with regard to the colours either of birds 
 or flowers, for there is something similar in 
 the colouring of both, whether they are con- 
 sidered in their extension or gradation, there 
 is nothing of proportion to be observed. 
 Some are of but one single colour, others 
 have all the colours of the rainbow ; some 
 are of the primary colours, others are of the 
 mixt; in short, an attentive observer may 
 soon conclude that there is as little of propor- 
 tion in the colouring as in the shapes of these 
 objects. Turn next to beasts : examine the 
 head of a beautiful horse ; find what propor- 
 tion that bears to his body, and to his limbs, 
 and what relations these have to each other ; 
 and, when you have settled these proportions 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 139 
 
 as a standard of beauty, then take a dog or 
 cat, or any other animal, and examine how 
 far the same proportions between their heads 
 and their neck, between those and the body, 
 and so on, are found to hold ; I think we may 
 safely say, that they differ in every species ; 
 yet that there are individuals found in a great 
 many species so differing, that have a very 
 striking beauty. Now, if it be allowed that 
 very different, and even contrary, forms and 
 dispositions are consistent with beauty, it 
 amounts, I believe, to a concession, that no 
 certain measures, operating from a natural 
 principle, are necessary to produce it, at 
 least so far as the brute species is concerned. 
 
 SECT. IV. 
 
 PROPORTION NOT THE CAUSE OF BEAUTY 
 IN THE HUMAN SPECIES. 
 
 X HERE are some parts of the human body 
 that are observed to hold certain proportions 
 to each other ; but, before it can be proved 
 that the efficient cause of beauty lies in these, 
 it must be shewn that, wherever these arc 
 
140 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 found exact, the person to whom they belong 
 is beautiful : I mean in the effect produced 
 on the view, either of any member distinctly 
 considered, or of the whole body together. 
 It must be likewise shown that these parts 
 stand in such a relation to each other, that the 
 comparison between them may be easily made, 
 and that the affection of the mind may natu- 
 rally result from it. For my part, I have at 
 several times very carefully examined many 
 of those proportions, and found them hold 
 very nearly, or altogether alike, in many sub- 
 jects, which were not only very different 
 from one another, but where one has been 
 very beautiful, and the other veiy remote 
 from beauty. "With regard to the parts which 
 are found so proportioned, they are often so 
 remote from each other in situation, nature, 
 and office, that I cannot see how they admit 
 of any comparison, nor consequently how 
 any effect owing to proportion can result 
 from them. The neck, say they, in beautiful 
 bodies, should measure with the calf of the 
 leg ; it should likewise be twice the circum- 
 ference of the wrist. And an infinity of ob- 
 servations of this kind are to be found in the 
 writings and conversations of many. But 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 141 
 
 what relation has the calf of the leg to the 
 neck ; or either of these parts to the wrist ? 
 These proportions are certainly to be found in 
 handsome bodies. They are as certainly in 
 ugly ones ; as any who will take the pains to 
 try may find. Nay, I do not know but they 
 may be the least perfect in some of the most 
 beautiful. You may assign any proportions 
 you please to every part of the human body ; 
 and I undertake that a painter shall religious- 
 ly observe them all, and notwithstanding 
 produce, if he pleases, a very ugly figure. 
 The same painter shall considerably deviate 
 from these proportions, and produce a very 
 beautiful one. And indeed it may be obser- 
 ved in the master-pieces of the ancient and 
 modern statuary, that several of them differ 
 very widely from the proportions of others, 
 in parts very conspicuous, and of great con- 
 sideration ; and that they differ no less from 
 the proportions we find in living men, of 
 forms extremely striking and agreeable. And 
 after all, how are the partizans of proportional 
 beauty agreed amongst themselves about the 
 proportions of the human body ? some hold 
 it to be seven heads ; some make it eight ; 
 whilst others extend it even to ten ; a vast dif- 
 
142 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 ference in such a small number of divisions f 
 Others take other methods of estimating the 
 proportions, and all with equal success. But 
 are these proportions exactly the same in all 
 handsome men ? or are they at all the propor- 
 tions found in beautiful women ? no body will 
 say that they are ; yet both sexes are un- 
 doubtedly capable of beauty, and the female of 
 the greatest ; which advantage I believe will 
 hardly be attributed to the superior exactness 
 of proportion in the fair sex. Let us rest a 
 moment on this point; and consider how 
 much difference there is between the mea- 
 sures that prevail in many similar parts of 
 the body, in the two sexes of this single 
 species only. If you assign any determinate 
 proportions to the limbs of a man, and if 
 you limit human beauty to these proportions, 
 when you find a woman who differs in the 
 make and measures of almost every part, 
 you must conclude her not to be beautiful, in 
 spite of the suggestions of your imagination : 
 or, in obedience to your imagination, you 
 must renounce your rules ; you must lay by 
 the scale and compass, and look out for some 
 other cause of beauty; for, if beauty be 
 attached to certain measures, which operate 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 143 
 
 From a principle in nature, why should similar 
 parts, with different measures of propor- 
 tion, be found to have beauty, and this too 
 in the very same species I But, to open our 
 view a little, it is worth observing, that al- 
 most all animals have parts of very much 
 the same nature, and destined nearly to the 
 same purposes ; an head, neck, body, feet, 
 eyes, ears, nose, and mouth; yet Providence, 
 to provide in the best manner for their seve- 
 ral wants, and to display the riches of his 
 wisdom and goodness in his creation, has 
 worked out of these few and similar organs 
 and members a diversity hardly short of infi- 
 nite in their disposition, measures, and rela- 
 tion. But, as we have before observed, 
 amidst this infinite diversity, one particular 
 is common to many species ; several of the 
 individuals which compose them are capable 
 of affecting us with a sense of loveliness ; and 
 whilst they agree in producing this effect, 
 they differ extremely in the relative measures 
 of those parts which have produced it. These 
 considerations were sufficient to induce me to 
 reject the notion of any particular propor- 
 tions that operated by nature to produce a 
 pleasing effect ; but those who will agree 
 
 £^&*J 
 
 ' 
 
 
144 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 with me, with regard to a particular proper- 
 tion, are strongly prepossessed in favour of 
 one more indefinite. They imagine, that al- 
 though beauty in general is annexed to no 
 certain measures common to the several kinds 
 of pleasing plants and animals, yet that there 
 is a certain proportion in each species abso- 
 lutely essential to the beauty of that particular 
 kind. If we consider the animal world in 
 general, we find beauty confined to no cer- 
 tain, measures; but, as some peculiar measure 
 and relation of parts is what distinguishes each 
 peculiar class of animals, it must of necessity 
 be that the beautiful in each kind will be 
 found in the measures and proportions of that 
 kind ; for otherwise it would deviate from its 
 proper species, and become in some sort 
 monstrous : however, no species is so strictly 
 confined to any certain proportions that there 
 is not a considerable variation amongst the in- 
 dividuals ; and as it has been shown of the 
 human, so it may be shown of the brute 
 kinds, that beauty is found indifferently in 
 all the proportions which each kind can ad- 
 mit, without quitting its common form ,• and 
 it is this idea of common form that makes 
 the proportion of parts at all regarded, and 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 145 
 
 not the operation of any natural cause : in- 
 deed a little consideration will make it appear 
 that it is not measure but manner that creates 
 all the beauty which belongs to shape. What 
 light do we borrow from these boasted pro- 
 portions when we study ornamental design ? 
 It seems amazing to me that artists, if they 
 were as well convinced as they pretend to be, 
 that proportion is a principle cause of beauty, 
 have not by them at all times accurate mea- 
 surements of all sorts of beautiful animals, to 
 help them to proper proportions when they 
 would contrive any thing elegant, especially 
 as they frequently assert that it is from an ob- 
 servation of the beautiful in nature they direct 
 their practice. I know that it has been said 
 long since, and echoed backward and forward 
 from one writer to another a thousand times, 
 that the proportions of building have been 
 taken from those of the human body. To 
 make this forced analogy complete, they 
 represent a man with his arms raised and ex- 
 tended at full length, and then describe a sort 
 •of square, as it is formed by passing lines 
 along the extremities of this strange figure. 
 But it appears very clearly to me, that the 
 human figure never supplied the architect 
 
 n2 
 
146 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 with any of his ideas ; for, in the first place, 
 men are very rarely seen in this strained pos- 
 ture ; it is not natural to them, neither is it at 
 all becoming. Secondly, the view of the hu- 
 man figure so disposed does not naturally sug- 
 gest the idea of a square, but rather of a 
 cross ; as that large space between the arms 
 and the ground must be filled with something 
 before it can make any body think of a square. 
 Thirdly, several buildings are by no means of 
 the form of that particular square, which are, 
 notwithstanding, planned by the best architects, 
 and produce an effect altogether as good, and 
 perhaps a better. And certainly nothing 
 could be more unaccountably whimsical, than 
 for an architect to model his performance 
 by ths human figure, since no two things 
 can have less resemblance or analogy than a. 
 man and an house or temple : do we need 
 to observe that their purposes are entirely 
 different ? What I am apt to suspect is this, 
 that these analogies were devised to give 
 a credit to the works of art, by shewing a 
 conformity between them and the noblest 
 works in nature ; not that the latter served at 
 all to supply hints for the perfection of the 
 former. And I am the more fully convinced 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 147 
 
 that the patrons of proportion have transfer- 
 red their artificial ideas to nature, and not 
 borrowed from thence the proportions they 
 use in works of art ; because, in any discus- 
 sion of this subject, they always quit, as soon 
 as possible, the open field of natural beauties, 
 the animal and vegetable kingdoms, and forti- 
 fy themselves within the artificial lines and 
 angles of architecture ; for there is in man- 
 kind an unfortunate propensity to make them- 
 selves, their views, and their works, the mea- 
 sure of excellence in every thing whatsoever. 
 Therefore, having observed that their dwel- 
 lings were most commodious and firm when 
 they were thrown into regular figures, with 
 parts answerable to each other, they transfer- 
 red these ideas to their gardens ; they turned 
 their trees into pillars, pyramids, and obelisks ; 
 they formed their hedges into so many green 
 walls, and fashioned the walks into squares, 
 triangles, and other mathematical figures, with 
 exactness and symmetry ; and they thought, 
 if they were not imitating, they were at least 
 improving nature, and teaching her to know 
 her business. But nature has at last escaped 
 from their discipline and their letters ; and 
 our gardens, if nothing else, declare we begin 
 
148 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 to feel that mathematical ideas are not the true 
 measures of beauty. And surely they are 
 full as little so in the animal as the vegetable 
 world: for, is it not extraordinary, that, in 
 these fine descriptive pieces, these innumera- 
 ble odes and elegies, which are in the mouths 
 of all the world, and many of which have 
 been the entertainment of ages — that in these 
 pieces which describe love with such a pas- 
 sionate energy, and represent its objects in 
 such an infinite variety of lights, not one 
 word is said of proportion, if it be, what some 
 insist it is, the principal component of beau- 
 ty ; whilst, at the same time, several other 
 qualities are very frequently and warmly 
 mentioned? But, if proportion has not this 
 power, it may appear odd how men came ori- 
 ginally to be so prepossessed in its favour. It 
 arose, I imagine, from the fondness I have 
 just mentioned, which men bear so remark- 
 ably to their own works and notions ; it arose 
 from false reasonings on the effects of the cus- 
 tomary figure of animals ; it arose from the 
 Platonic theory of fitness and aptitude : for 
 which reason, in the next section, I shall con- 
 sider the effects of custom in the figure of ani- 
 mals j and, afterwards, the idea of fitness j 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 149 
 
 since, if proportion does not operate by a na- 
 tural power attending some measures, it must 
 be either by custom or the idea of utility ; 
 there is no other way. 
 
 SECT. V. 
 
 PROPORTION FURTHER CONSIDERED. 
 
 IF I am not mistaken, a great deal of the 
 prejudice in favour of proportion has arisen, 
 not so much from the observation of any cer- 
 tain measures found in beautiful bodies, as 
 from a wrong idea of the relation which defor- 
 mity bears to beauty, to which it has been 
 considered as the opposite : on this principle 
 it was concluded, that, where the causes of 
 deformity were removed, beauty must natu- 
 rally and necessarily be introduced. This, I be- 
 lieve, is a mistake ; for deformity is opposed 
 not to beauty, but to the complete common 
 form. If one of the legs of a man be found 
 shorter than the other, the man is deformed j 
 because there is something wanting to com- 
 plete the whole idea we form of a man : and 
 this has the same effect, in natural faults, as 
 maiming and mutilation produced from acci- 
 
150 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 dents. So, if the back be humped, the man 
 is deformed ; because his back has an unusual 
 figure, and what carries with it the idea of 
 some disease or misfortune : so, if a man's 
 neck be considerably longer or shorter than 
 usual, we say he is deformed in that part, be- 
 cause men are not commonly made in that 
 manner. But surely every hour's experience 
 may convince us, that a man may have his 
 legs of an equal length, and resembling each 
 other in all respects; and his neck of a just 
 size, and his back quite straight, without hav- 
 ing, at the same time, the least perceivable 
 beauty. Indeed, beauty is so far from be- 
 longing to the idea of custom, that, in reality, 
 what affects us in that manner is extremely 
 rare and uncommon. The beautiful strikes 
 us as much by its novelty as the deformed it- 
 self. It is thus in those species of animals 
 with which we are acquainted ; and, if one of 
 a new species were represented, we should by 
 no means wait until custom had settled an idea 
 of proportion before we decided concerning 
 its beauty or ugliness ; which shews that the 
 general idea of beauty can be no more owing 
 to customary than to natural proportion. De- 
 formity arises from the want of the common 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 151 
 
 proportions ; but the necessary result of their 
 existence in any object is not beauty. If we 
 suppose proportion in natural things to be re- 
 lative to custom and use, the nature of use 
 and custom will shew that beauty, which is a 
 positive and powerful quality, cannot result 
 from it. We are so wonderfully formed, 
 that, whilst we are creatures vehemently de- 
 sirous of novelty, we are as strongly attached 
 to habit and custom. But it is the nature of 
 things which hold us by custom, to affect us 
 very little whilst we are in possession of them, 
 but strongly when they are absent. I re- 
 member to have frequented a certain place 
 every day, for a long time together ; and I 
 may truly say, that, so far from finding plea- 
 sure in it, I was affected with a sort of wea- 
 riness and disgust; I came, I went, I return- 
 ed, without pleasure ; yet, if by any means I 
 passed by the usual time of my going thither, 
 I was remarkably uneasy, and was not quiet 
 till I had got into my old track. They who 
 use snuff take it almost without being sensible 
 that they take it ; and the acute sense of smell 
 is deadened so as to feel hardly any thing 
 from so sharp a stimulus ; yet, deprive the 
 snuff-taker of his box, and he is the most un- 
 
152 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 easy mortal in the world. Indeed, so far are 
 use and habit from being causes of pleasure, 
 merely as such, that the effect of constant use 
 is to make all things, of whatever kind, en- 
 tirely unaffecting : for, as use at last takes off 
 the painful effect of many things, it reduces 
 the pleasurable effect of others in the same 
 manner, and brings both to a sort of medio- 
 crity and indifference. Veiy justly is use 
 called a second nature ; and our natural and 
 common state is one of absolute indifference, 
 equally prepared for pain or pleasure. But 
 when we are thrown out of this state, or de- 
 prived of any thing requisite to maintain us 
 in it ; when this change does not happen by 
 pleasure from some mechanical cause, we are 
 always hurt. It is so with the second nature, 
 custom, in all things which relate to it. Thus, 
 the want of the usual proportions in men and 
 other animals is sure to disgust, though their 
 presence is by no means any cause of real 
 pleasure. It is true that the proportions laid 
 down as causes of beauty in the human body 
 are frequently found in beautiful ones, be- 
 cause they are generally found in all man- 
 kind ; but if it can be shown, too, that they 
 are found without beauty, and that beauty 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 153 
 
 frequently exists without them, and that this 
 beauty, where it exists, always can be as- 
 signed to other less equivocal causes, it will 
 naturally lead us to conclude that proportion 
 and beauty are not ideas of the same nature. 
 The true opposite to beauty is not dispropor- 
 tion or deformity, but ugliness ; and, as it pro- 
 ceeds from causes opposite to those of posi- 
 tive beauty, we cannot consider it until we 
 come to treat of that. Between beauty and 
 ugliness there is a sort of mediocrity, in which 
 the assigned proportions are most commonly 
 found ; but this has no effect upon the pas- 
 sions. 
 
 SECT. VI. 
 
 FITNESS NOT THE CAUSE OF BEAUTY. 
 
 IT is said that the idea of utility, or of a 
 part's being well adapted to answer its end, is 
 the cause of beauty, or indeed beauty itself. If 
 it were not for this opinion, it had been im- 
 possible for the doctrine of proportion to have 
 held its ground very long ; the world would 
 be soon weary of hearing of measures which 
 related to nothing either of a natural princi- 
 ple, or of a fitness to answer some end : the 
 
 o 
 
154 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 idea which mankind most commonly conceive 
 of proportion, is the suitableness of means to 
 certain ends, and where this is not the ques- 
 tion, very seldom trouble themselves about 
 the effect of different measures of things : 
 therefore it was necessary for this theory to 
 insist, that not only artificial, but natural ob- 
 jects took their beauty from the fitness of the 
 parts for their several purposes. But, in 
 framing this theory, I am apprehensive that 
 experience was not sufficiently consulted; 
 for, on that principle, the wedge-like snout 
 of a swine, with its tough cartilage at the end, 
 the little sunk eyes, and the whole make of 
 the head, so well adapted to its offices of dig- 
 ging and routing, would be extremely beauti- 
 ful. The great bag hanging to the bill of a 
 pelican, a thing highly useful to this animal, 
 would be likewise as beautiful in our eyes. 
 The hedgehog, so well secured against all 
 assaults by his prickly hide, and the porcu- 
 pine with his missile quills, would be then 
 considered as creatures of no small elegance. 
 There are few animals whose parts are better 
 contrived than those of a monkey : he has the 
 hands of a man, joined to the springy limbs 
 of a beast: he is admirably calculated for 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 155 
 
 running, leaping, grappling, and climbing ; 
 and yet there are few animals which seem to 
 have less beauty in the eyes of all mankind. 
 I need say little on the trunk of the elephant, 
 of such various usefulness, and which is so 
 far from contributing to his beauty. How 
 well fitted is the wolf for running and leap- 
 ing ! how admirably is the lion armed for 
 battle ! but will any one, therefore, call the 
 elephant, the wolf, and the lion, beautiful 
 animals ? I believe nobody will think the 
 form of a man's legs so well adapted to run- 
 ning as those of an horse, a dog, a deer, and 
 several other creatures ; at least they have 
 not that appearance : yet, I believe, a well 
 fashioned human leg will be allowed far to 
 exceed all these in beauty. If the fitness of 
 parts was what constituted the loveliness of 
 their form, the actual employment of them 
 would undoubtedly much augment it ; but 
 this, though it is sometimes so upon another 
 principle, is far from being always the case. 
 A bird on the wing is not so beautiful as 
 when it is perched ; nay, there are several of 
 the domestic fowls which are seldom seen to 
 fly, and which are nothing the less beautiful 
 on that account j yet birds are so extremely 
 
156 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 different in their form from the beast and hu- 
 man kinds, that you cannot, on the principle 
 of fitness, allow them any thing agreeable, 
 but in consideration of their parts being de- 
 signed for quite other purposes. I never in 
 my life chanced to see a peacock fly; and 
 yet before, very long before I considered any 
 aptitude in his form for the aerial life, I was 
 struck with the extreme beauty which raises 
 that bird above many of the best-flying fowls 
 in the world, though, for any thing I saw, his 
 way of living was much like that of the swine 
 which fed in the farm-yard along with him. 
 The same may be said of cocks, hens, and 
 the like ; they are of the flying kind in figure ; 
 in their manner of moving not very different 
 from men and beasts. To leave these foreign 
 examples : if beauty in our own species was 
 annexed to use, men would be much more 
 lovely than women ; and strength and agility 
 would be considered as the only beauties. 
 But to call strength by the name of beauty, 
 to have but one denomination for the qualities 
 of a Venus and Hercules, so totally diffe- 
 rent in almost all respects, is surely a strange 
 confusion of ideas, or abuse of words. 
 The cause of this confusion, I imagine, pro- 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 157 
 
 ceeds from our frequently perceiving the 
 parts of the human and other animal bodies 
 to be at once very beautiful, and very well 
 adapted to their purposes; and we are de- 
 ceived by a sophism, which makes us take 
 that for a cause which is only a concomitant : 
 this is the sophism of the fly, who imagined 
 he raised a great dust, because he stood upon 
 the chariot that really raised it. The sto- 
 mach, the lungs, the liver, as well as other 
 parts, are incomparably well adapted to their 
 purposes; yet they are far from having any 
 beauty. Again : many things are very beau- 
 tiful, in which it is impossible to discern any 
 idea of use. And I appeal to the first and 
 most natural feelings of mankind, whether, on 
 beholding a beautiful eye, or a well-fashioned 
 mouth, or a well-turned leg, any ideas of their 
 being well fitted for seeing, eating, or run- 
 ning, ever present themselves ? What idea 
 of use is it that flowers excite ; the most beau- 
 tiful part of the vegetable world ? It is true 
 that the infinitely wise and good Creator has 
 of his bounty, frequently joined beauty to 
 those things which he has made useful to us : 
 but this does not prove that an idea of use and 
 
 o 2 
 
 
 
 h£> 
 
158 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 beauty are the same thing, or that they are 
 any way dependent on each other. 
 
 SECT. VII. 
 
 THE REAL EFFECTS OF FITNESS. 
 
 W HEN I excluded proportion and fitness 
 from any share in beauty, I did not, by any 
 means, intend to say that they were of no 
 value, or that they ought to be disregarded in 
 works of art. Works of art are the proper 
 sphere of their power; and here it is that 
 they have their full effect. Whenever the 
 wisdom of our Creator intended that we 
 should be affected with any thing, he did not 
 confine the execution of his design to the 
 languid and precarious operation of our rea- 
 son ; but he endued it with powers and pro- 
 perties that prevent the understanding, and 
 even the will, which, seizing upon the senses 
 and imagination, captivate the soul before the 
 understanding is ready either to join with 
 them or to oppose them. It is by a long de- 
 duction and much study that we discover the 
 adorable wisdom of God in his works : when 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 159 
 
 we discover it, the effect is very different, not 
 only in the manner of acquiring it, but in its 
 own nature, from that which strikes us with- 
 out any preparation from the sublime or the 
 beautiful. How different is the satisfaction 
 of the anatomist, who discovers the use of 
 the muscles and of the skin, the excellent con- 
 trivance of the one for the various movements 
 of the body, and the wonderful texture of the 
 other, at once a general covering, and at once 
 a general outlet as well as inlet ; how differ- 
 ent is this from the affection which possesses 
 an ordinary man at the sight of a delicate 
 smooth skin, and all the other parts of beauty, 
 which require no investigation to be perceiv- 
 ed ! in the former case, whilst we look up 
 to the Maker with admiration and praise, the 
 object which causes it may be odious and dis- 
 tasteful ; the latter very often so touches us 
 by its power on the imagination, that we exa- 
 mine but little into the artifice of its contriv- 
 ance ; and we have need of a strong effort of 
 our reason to disentangle our minds from the 
 allurements of the object to a consideration of 
 that wisdom which invented so powerful a 
 machine. The effect of proportion and fit- 
 ness, at least so far as they proceed from a 
 
160 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 mere consideration of the work itself, produce 
 approbation, the acquiescence of the under- 
 standing, but not love, nor any passion of 
 that species. When we examine the struc- 
 ture of a watch, when we come to know tho- 
 roughly the use of every part of it, satisfied 
 as we are with the fitness of the whole, we 
 are far enough from perceiving any thing like 
 beauty in the watch- work itself; but let us 
 look on the case, the labour of some curious 
 artist in engraving, with little or no idea of 
 use, we shall have a much livelier idea of 
 beauty than we ever could have had from 
 the watch itself, though the master-piece of 
 Graham. In beauty, as I said, the effect is 
 previous to any knowledge of the use ; but, 
 to judge of proportion, we must know the 
 end for which any work is designed. Ac- 
 cording to the end, the proportion varies. 
 Thus, there is one proportion of a tower, an- 
 other of an house ; one proportion of a gal- 
 lery, another of an hall, another of a cham- 
 ber. To judge of the proportions of these, 
 you must be first acquainted with the pur- 
 poses for which they were designed. Good 
 sense and experience, acting together, find out 
 what is fit to be done in every work of art. 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 161 
 
 We are rational creatures, and in all our 
 works we ought to regard their end and pur- 
 pose ; the gratification of any passion, how 
 innocent soever, ought only to be of second- 
 ary consideration. Herein is placed the real 
 power of fitness and proportion ; they operate 
 on the understanding considering them, which 
 approves the work, and acquiesces in it. The 
 passions, and the imagination, which princi- 
 pally raises them, have here very little to do. 
 When a room appears in its original naked- 
 ness, bare walls and a plain ceiling, let its 
 proportion be ever so excellent, it pleases 
 very little ; a cold approbation is the utmost 
 we can reach : a much worse-proportioned 
 room, with elegant mouldings and fine fes- 
 toons, glasses, and other merely ornamental 
 furniture, will make the imagination revolt 
 against the reason ; it will please much more 
 than the naked proportion of the first room, 
 which the understanding has so much ap- 
 proved as admirably fitted for its purposes. 
 What I have here said, and before, concern- 
 ing proportion, is by no means to persuade 
 people absurdly to neglect the idea of use in 
 the works of art. It is only to shew, that 
 these excellent things, beauty and proportion, 
 
162 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 are not the same ; not that they should either 
 of them be disregarded. 
 
 SECT. VIII. 
 
 THE RECAPITULATION. 
 
 ON the whole : if such parts in human bo- 
 dies as are found proportioned, were likewise 
 constantly found beautiful, as they certainly 
 are not ; or if they were so situated as that a 
 pleasure might flow from the comparison, 
 which they seldom are ; or if any assignable 
 proportions were found, either in plants or 
 animals, which were always attended with 
 beauty, which never was the case ; or if, 
 where parts were well adapted to their pur- 
 poses, they were constantly beautiful, and, 
 when no use appeared, there was no beauty, 
 which is contrary to all experience, we might 
 conclude that beauty consisted in proportion 
 or utility. But since, in all respects, the case 
 is quite otherwise, we may be satisfied that 
 beauty does not depend on these, let it owe 
 its origin to what else it will. 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 163 
 
 SECT. IX. 
 
 PERFECTION NOT THE CAUSE OF BEAUTY. 
 
 1 HERE is another notion current, pretty 
 closely allied to the former, that Perfection 
 is the constituent cause of beauty. This opi- 
 nion has been made to extend much farther 
 than to sensible objects. But, in these, so 
 far is perfection considered as such, from be- 
 ing the cause of beauty, that this quality, 
 where it is highest, in the female sex, almost 
 always carries with it an idea of weakness and 
 imperfection. Women are very sensible of 
 this ; for which reason they learn to lisp, to 
 totter in their walk, to counterfeit weakness, 
 and even sickness. In all this they are guided 
 by nature. Beauty in distress is much the 
 most affecting beauty. Blushing has little 
 less power ; and modesty in general, which 
 is a tacit allowance of imperfection, is itself 
 considered as an amiable quality, and cer- 
 tainly heightens every other that is so. I 
 know it is in every body's mouth that we 
 ought to love perfection. This is to me a 
 sufficient proof that it is not the proper object 
 
164 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 of love. Who ever said we ought to love a 
 fine woman, or even any of those beautiful 
 animals which please us ? Here to be affected, 
 there is no need of the concurrence of our 
 will- 
 
 SECT. X. 
 
 HOW FAR THE IDEA OF BEAUTY MAY BE AP- 
 PLIED TO THE QUALITIES OF THE MIND. 
 
 -N OR is this remark, in general, less applica- 
 ble to the qualities of the mind. Those vir- 
 tues which cause admiration, and are of the 
 sublimer kind, produce terror rather than 
 love ; such as fortitude, justice, wisdom, and 
 the like. Never was any man amiable by 
 force of these qualities. Those which engage 
 our hearts, which impress us with a sense of 
 loveliness, are the softer virtues ; easiness of 
 temper, compassion, kindness, and liberality ; 
 though certainly those latter are of less imme- 
 diate and momentous concern to society, and 
 of less dignity. But it is for that reason that 
 they are so amiable. The great virtues turn 
 principally on dangers, punishments, and 
 troubles ; and are exercised rather in prevent- 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 165 
 
 ing the worst mischiefs, than in dispensing 
 favours ; and are therefore not lovely, though 
 highly venerable. The subordinate turn on 
 reliefs, gratifications, and indulgences ; and 
 are therefore more lovely, though inferior in 
 dignity. Those persons who creep into the 
 hearts of most people, who are chosen as the 
 companions of their softer hours, and their 
 reliefs from care and anxiety, are never per- 
 sons of shining qualities nor strong virtues. 
 It is rather the soft green of the soul on 
 which we rest our eyes, that are fatigued 
 with beholding more glaring objects. It is 
 worth observing how we feel ourselves affect- 
 ed in reading the characters of Csesar and Ca- 
 to, as they are so finely drawn and contrasted 
 in Sallust. In one the ignoscendo, largiundo ; 
 in the other, nil largiundo. In one the mise- 
 ris perfugium; in the other malis perniciem. 
 In the latter we have much to admire, much 
 to reverence, and perhaps something to fear ; 
 we respect him, but we respect him at a dis- 
 tance. The former makes us familiar with 
 him ; we love him, and he leads us whither 
 he pleases. To draw things closer to our 
 first and most natural feelings, I will add 
 a remark made upon reading this section by 
 
 p 
 
166 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 an ingenious friend. The authority of a 
 father, so useful to our well-being, and so 
 justly venerable upon all accounts, hinders us 
 from having that entire love for him that we 
 have for our mothers, where the paternal au- 
 thority is almost melted down into the mo- 
 ther's fondness and indulgence. But we ge- 
 nerally have a great love for our grandfathers, 
 in whom this authority is removed a degree 
 from us, and where the weakness of age mel- 
 lows it into something of a feminine par- 
 tiality. 
 
 SECT. XL 
 
 HOW FAR THE IDEA OF BEAUTY MAY BE 
 APPLIED TO VIRTUE. 
 
 FROM what has been said in the foregoing 
 section, we may easily see how far the appli- 
 cation of beauty to virtue may be made with 
 propriety. The general application of this 
 quality to virtue has a strong tendency to 
 confound our ideas of things; and it has 
 given rise to an infinite deal of whimsical 
 theory; as the affixing the name of beauty to 
 proportion, congruity, and perfection, as well 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 167 
 
 as to qualities of things yet more remote from 
 our natural ideas of it, and from one another, 
 has tended to confound our ideas of beauty, 
 and left us no standard or rule to judge by, 
 that was not even more uncertain and fallaci- 
 ous than our own fancies. This loose and 
 inaccurate manner of speaking has therefore 
 misled us both in the theory of taste and of 
 morals ; and induced us to remove the science 
 of our duties from their proper bases (our 
 reason, our relations, and our necessities) to 
 rest it upon foundations altogether visionary 
 and unsubstantial. 
 
 SECT. XII. 
 
 THE REAL CAUSE OF BEAUTY. 
 
 rl AVING endeavoured to shew what beau- 
 ty is not, it remains that we should examine, 
 at least with equal attention, in what it really 
 consists. Beauty is a thing much too affect- 
 ing not to depend upon some positive quali- 
 ties. And, since it is no creature of our rea- 
 son, since it strikes us without any reference 
 to use, and even where no use at all can be 
 discerned, since the order and method of na- 
 
168 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 ture is generally very different from our mea- 
 sures and proportions, we must conclude that 
 beauty is, for the greater part, some quality 
 in bodies acting mechanically upon the hu- 
 man mind by the intervention of the senses. 
 We ought therefore to consider attentively 
 in what manner those sensible qualities are 
 disposed, in such things as, by experience, 
 we find beautiful, or which excite in us the 
 passion of love, or some correspondent affec- 
 tion. 
 
 SECT. XIII. 
 
 BEAUTIFUL OBJECTS SMALL. 
 
 X HE most obvious point that presents itself 
 to us in examining any object, is its extent or 
 quantity. And what degree of extent pre- 
 vails in bodies that are held beautiful may be 
 gathered from the usual manner of expression 
 concerning it. I am told that, in most lan- 
 guages, the objects of love are spoken of un- 
 der diminutive epithets. It is so in all the 
 languages of which I have any knowledge. 
 In Greek, the m and other diminutive terms 
 are almost always the terms of affection and 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 169 
 
 tenderness. These diminutives were com- 
 monly added by the Greeks to the names of 
 persons with whom they conversed on the 
 terms of friendship and familiarity. Though 
 the Romans were a people of less quick and 
 delicate feelings, yet they naturally slid into 
 the lessening termination upon the same occa- 
 sions. Anciently, in the English language, 
 the diminishing ling was added to the names 
 of persons and things that were the objects of 
 love. Some we retain still, as darling (or 
 little dear) and a few others. But to this 
 day, in ordinary conversation, it is usual to 
 add the endearing name of little to every thing 
 we love : the French and Italians make use 
 of these affectionate diminutives, even more 
 than we. In the animal creation, out of our 
 own species, it is the small we are inclined 
 to be fond of; little birds, and some of the 
 smaller kinds of beasts. A great beautiful 
 thing is a manner of expression scarcely ever 
 used; but that of a great ugly thing, is very 
 common. There is a wide difference between 
 admiration and love. The sublime, which is 
 the cause of the former, always dwells on 
 great objects, and terrible; the latter on small 
 ones, and pleasing: we submit to what we ad- 
 
 p 2 
 
170 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 mire, but we love what submits to us ; in one 
 case we are forced, in the other we are flatter- 
 ed, into compliance. In short, the ideas of 
 the sublime and the beautiful stand on foun- 
 dations so different, that it is hard, I had 
 almost said impossible, to think of reconciling 
 them in the same subject, without considera- 
 bly lessening the effect of the one or the 
 other upon the passions : so that, attending to 
 their quantity, beautiful objects are compara- 
 tively small. 
 
 SECT. XIV. 
 
 SMOOTHNESS. 
 
 I HE next property constantly observable in 
 such objects is Smoothness:* a quality so 
 essential to beauty, that I do not now recollect 
 any thing beautiful that is not smooth. In 
 trees and flowers, smooth leaves are beau- 
 tiful; smooth slopes of earth in gardens; 
 smooth streams in the landscape; smooth 
 coats of birds and beasts in animal beauties ; 
 in fine women, smooth skins ; and in several 
 sorts of ornamental furniture, smooth and po- 
 
 • Part IV, sect 21. 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 171 
 
 lished surfaces. A very considerable part of 
 the effect of beauty is owing to this quality ; 
 indeed the most considerable ; for, take any 
 beautiful object, and give it a broken and 
 rugged surface, and, however well-formed it 
 may be in other respects, it pleases no longer: 
 whereas, let it want ever so many of the 
 other constituents, if it wants not this, it be- 
 comes more pleasing than almost all the others 
 without it. This seems to me so evident, 
 that I am a good deal surprised that none who 
 have handled the subject have made any men- 
 tion of the quality of smoothness in the enu- 
 meration of those that go to the forming of 
 beauty ; for, indeed, any rugged, any sudden 
 projection, any sharp angle, is in the highest 
 degree contrary to that idea. .. 
 
 SECT. XV. 
 
 GRADUAL VARIATION. 
 
 JdUT, as perfectly beautiful bodies are not 
 composed of angular parts, so their parts ne- 
 ver continue long in the same right line.* 
 
 * Part V, sect, 23. 
 
172 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 They vary their direction every moment, and 
 they change under the eye by a deviation 
 continually carrying on, but for whose begin- 
 ning or end you will find it difficult to ascer- 
 tain a point. The view of a beautiful bird 
 will illustrate this observation. Here we see 
 the head increasing insensibly to the middle, 
 from whence it lessens gradually, until it 
 mixes with the neck ; the neck loses itself in 
 a larger swell, which continues to the middle 
 of the body, when the whole decreases again 
 to the tail: the tail takes a new direction ; but 
 it soon varies its new course : it blends again 
 with the other parts ; and the line is perpe- 
 tually changing, above, below, upon every 
 side. In this description, I have before me 
 the idea of a dove ; it agrees very well with 
 most of the conditions of beauty. It is 
 smooth and downy ; its parts are (to use that 
 expression) melted into one another: you 
 are presented with no sudden protuberance 
 through the whole, and yet the whole is con- 
 tinually changing. Observe that part of a 
 beautiful woman, where she is, perhaps, the 
 most beautiful, about the neck and breasts ; 
 the smoothness ; the softness ; the easy and 
 insensible swell; the variety of the surface, 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 173 
 
 which is never, for the smallest space, the 
 same ; the deceitful maze, through which the 
 unsteady eye slides gidily, without knowing 
 where to fix, or whither it is carried. Is not 
 this a demonstration of that change of surface, 
 continual, and yet hardly perceptible at any 
 point, which forms one of the great consti- 
 tuents of beauty? It gives me no small plea- 
 sure to find that I can strengthen my theory 
 in this point by the opinion of the very inge- 
 nious Mr. Hogarth, whose idea of the line of 
 beauty I take in general to be extremely just: 
 but the idea of variation, without attending so 
 accurately to the manner of the variation, has 
 led him to consider angular figures as beauti- 
 ful : these figures, it is true, vary greatly ; 
 yet they vary in a sudden and broken man- 
 ner; and I do not find any natural object 
 which is angular, and at the same time beau- 
 tiful. Indeed, few natural objects are intirely 
 angular: but I think those which approach 
 the most nearly to it are the ugliest, I must 
 add too, that, so far as I could observe of na- 
 ture, though the varied line, is that alone in 
 which complete beauty is found, yet there is 
 no particular line which is always found in 
 the most completely beautiful, and which is 
 
174 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 therefore beautiful in preference to all other 
 lines : at least I never could observe it. 
 
 SECT. XVI. 
 
 DELICACY. 
 
 AN air of robustness and strength is very 
 prejudicial to beauty. An appearance of de- 
 licacy, and even of fragility, is almost essen- 
 tial to it. Whoever examines the vegetable 
 or animal creation, will - n-j this observation 
 to be founded in nature. It is not the oak, 
 the ash, or the ehn, or any of the robust trees 
 of the forest, which we consider as beautiful ; 
 they are awful and majestic; they inspire a 
 sort of reverence. It is the delicate myrtle, 
 it is the orange, it is the almond, it is the jas- 
 mine, it is the vine, which we look on as 
 vegetable beauties. It is the flowery species, 
 so remarkable for its weakness and momentary 
 duration, that gives us the liveliest idea of 
 beauty and elegance. Among animals, the 
 greyhound is more beautiful then the mastiff; 
 and the delicacy of a gennet, a barb, or an 
 Arabian horse % is much more amiable than 
 the strength and stability of some horses of 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 175 
 
 war or carriage. I need here say little of the 
 fair sex, where I believe the point will be 
 easily allowed me. The beauty of women is 
 considerably owing to their weakness or deli- 
 cacy, and is even enhanced by their timidity, 
 a quality of mind analogous to it. I would 
 not here be understood to say, that weakness, 
 betraying very bad health, has any share in 
 beauty; but the ill effect of this is not be- 
 cause it is weakness, but because the ill state 
 of health, which produces such weakness, 
 alters the other conditions of beauty; the 
 parts in such a case collapse; the bright co- 
 lour, the lumen purpureum juventa^ is gone ; 
 and the fine variation is lost in wrinkles, sud- 
 den breaks, and right lines. 
 
 SECT. XVII. 
 
 BEAUTY IN COLOUR. 
 
 AS to the colours usually found in beautiful 
 bodies, it may be somewhat difficult to ascer- 
 tain them, because, in the several parts of na- 
 ture, there is an infinite variety. However 
 even in this variety we may mark out some- 
 thing on which to settle. First, the colours 
 
176 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 of beautiful bodies must not be dusky or 
 muddy, but clean and fair. Secondly, they 
 must not be of the strongest kind. Those 
 which seem most appropriated to beauty are 
 the milder of every sort ; light greens ; soft 
 blues ; weak whites ; pink reds, and violets. 
 Thirdly, if the colours be strong and vivid, 
 they are always diversified, and the object is 
 never of one strong colour ; there are almost 
 always such a number of them (as in variega- 
 ted flowers), that the strength and glare of 
 each is considerably abated. In a fine com- 
 plexion, there is not only some variety in 
 the colouring, but the colours: neither the 
 red nor the white are strong and glaring. 
 Besides, they are mixed in such a manner, 
 and with such gradations, that it is impossible 
 to fix the bounds. On the same principle it is, 
 that the dubious colour in the necks and tails 
 of peacocks, and about the heads of drakes, is 
 so very agreeable. In reality, the beauty, 
 both of shape and colouring, are as nearly re- 
 lated as we can well suppose it possible 
 for things of such different natures to be. - 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 177 
 
 SECT. XVIII. 
 
 RECAPITULATION. 
 
 ON the whole, the qualities of beauty, as 
 they are merely sensible qualities, are the fol- 
 lowing : First, to be comparatively small. 
 Secondly, to be smooth. Thirdly, to have a 
 variety in the direction of the parts : But, 
 fourthly, to have those parts not angular, but 
 melted, as it were, into each other. Fifthly, 
 to be of a delicate frame, without any remark- 
 able appearance of strength. Sixthly, to have 
 its colours clear and bright, but not very 
 strong and glaring. Seventhly, or if it should 
 have any glaring colour, to have it diversified 
 with others. These are, I believe, the pro- 
 perties on which beauty depends ; properties 
 that operate by nature, and are less liable to 
 be altered by caprice, or confounded by a di- 
 versity of tastes, than any other. 
 
178 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 SECT. XIX. 
 
 THE PHYSIOGNOMY. 
 
 1 HE Physiognomy has a considerable share 
 in beauty, especially in that of our own spe- 
 cies. The manners give a certain determina- 
 tion to the countenance ; which, being obser- 
 ved to correspond pretty regularly with them, 
 is capable of joining the effects of certain 
 agreeable qualities of the mind to those of the 
 body : so that, to form a finished human 
 beauty, and to give it its full influence, the 
 face must be expressive of such gentle and 
 amiable qualities as correspond with the soft- 
 ness, smoothness, and delicacy of the out- 
 ward form. 
 
 SECT. XX. 
 
 THE EYE. 
 
 I HAVE hitherto purposely omitted to speak 
 of the Eye, which has so great a share in the 
 beauty of the animal creation, as it did not 
 fall so easily under the foregoing heads, 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 179 
 
 though in fact it is reducible to the same prin- 
 ciples. I think, then, that the beauty of the 
 eye consists, first, in its clearness : what 
 coloured eye shall please most depends a good 
 deal on particular fancies ; but none are 
 pleased with any eye whose water (to use 
 that term) is dull and muddy.* We are 
 pleased with the eye in this view, on the 
 principle upon which we like diamonds, 
 clear water, glass, and such like transparent 
 substances. Secondly, the motion of the eye 
 contributes to its beauty, by continually shift- 
 ing its directions ; but a slow and languid mo- 
 tion is more beautiful than a brisk one : the 
 latter is enlivening ; the former lovely. Third- 
 ly, with regard to the union of the eye with 
 the neighbouring parts, it is to hold the 
 same rule that is given of other beautiful 
 ones ; it is not to make a strong deviation 
 from the line of the neighbouring parts ; nor 
 to verge into any exact geometrical figure. 
 Besides all this, the eye affects, as it is ex- 
 pressive of some qualities of the mind, and its 
 principal power generally arises from this ; 
 so that what we have just said of the physi- 
 ognomy is applicable here. 
 
 * Part IV. sect 25, 
 
18G ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 SECT. XXI. 
 
 UGLINESS. 
 
 IT may perhaps appear like a sort of" repeti- 
 tion of what we have before said, to insist here 
 upon the nature of Ugliness ; as I imagine it 
 to be in all respects the opposite to those qua- 
 lities which we have laid down for the consti- 
 tuents of beauty. But, though ugliness be the 
 opposite of beauty, it is not the opposite to 
 proportion and fitness ; for it is possible that 
 a thing may be very ugly with any propor- 
 tions, and with a perfect fitness to any uses* 
 Ugliness I imagine likewise to be consistent 
 enough with an idea of the sublime : but I 
 would by no means insinuate that ugliness, of 
 itself, is a sublime idea, unless united with 
 Jiuch qualities as excite a strong terror. 
 
 SECT. XXII. 
 
 GRACE. 
 
 GRACEFULNESS is an idea not very 
 ditfcreni from beauty ; it consists in much the 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 181 
 
 same things. Gracefulness is an idea belong- 
 ing to posture and motion* In both these, to 
 be graceful, it is requisite that there be no ap- 
 pearance of difficulty ; there is required a 
 small inflection of the body, and a composure 
 of the parts in such a manner as not to incum- 
 ber each other, nor to appear divided by 
 sharp and sudden angles. In this case, this 
 roundness, this delicacy of attitude and mo- 
 tion, it is that all the magic of grace consists, 
 and what is called its je ne sqai quoi; as will 
 be obvious to any observer, who considers at- 
 tentively the Venus de Medicis, the An- 
 tinous, or any statue generally allowed to be 
 graceful in a high degree. 
 
 SECT. XXIII. 
 
 ELEGANCE AND SPECIOUSXESS. 
 
 WHEN any body is composed of parts 
 
 smoothed and polished, without pressing upon 
 
 each other, without shewing any ruggedness 
 
 or confusion, and at the same time affecting 
 
 some regular shape, I call it elegant. It is 
 
 closely allied to the beautiful, differing from 
 
 it only in this regularity ; which, however, as 
 
 Q.2 
 
182 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 it makes a verv material difference in the af- 
 fection produced, may very well constitute 
 another species. Under this head I rank 
 those delicate and regular works of art that 
 imitate no determinate object in nature, as 
 elegant buildings and pieces of furniture. 
 When any object partakes of the above- 
 mentioned qualities, or of those of beautiful 
 bodies, and is withal of great dimensions, it 
 is full as remote from the idea ot mere beau- 
 ty, I call it Jine or specious. 
 
 SECT. XXIV. 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL IN FEELING. 
 
 1 HE foregoing description of beauty, so faf 
 as it is taken in by the eye, may be greatly 
 illustrated by describing the nature of objects 
 which produce a similar effect through the 
 touch. This I call the beautiful in Feeling. 
 It corresponds wonderfully with what causes* 
 the same species of pleasure to the sight. 
 There is a chain in all our sensations ; they 
 are all but different sorts of feelings, calcu- 
 lated to be affected by various sorts of ob- 
 jects, but all to be affected after the same. 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 183 
 
 manner. All bodies that are pleasant to the 
 touch are so by the slightness of the resist- 
 ance they make. Resistance is either to mo- 
 tion along the surface, or to the pressure of 
 the parts on one another : if the former be 
 slight, we call the body smooth ,- if the latter, 
 soft. The chief pleasure we receive by feel- 
 ing is in the one or the other of these quali- 
 ties i and, if there be a combination of both, 
 our pleasure is greatly increased. This is so 
 plain, that it is rather more fit to illustrate 
 other things than to be illustrated itself by 
 an example. The next source of pleasure in 
 this sense, as in every other, is the continu- 
 ally presenting somewhat new ; and we find 
 that bodies which continually vary their sur- 
 face are much the most pleasant or beautiful 
 to the feeling, as any one that pleases may 
 experience. The third property in such ob- 
 jects is, that though the surface continually 
 varies its direction, it never varies it sudden- 
 ly. The application of any thing sudden, 
 even though the impression itself have little 
 or nothing of violence, is disagreeable. The 
 quick application of a finger a little warmer 
 or colder than usual, without notice, makes 
 us start j a slight tap on the shoulder, not ex- 
 
184 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 pected, has the same effect. Hence it is that 
 angular bodies, bodies that suddenly vary 
 the direction of the outline, afford so little 
 pleasure to the feeling. Every such change is 
 a sort of climbing or falling in miniature ; so 
 that squares, triangles, and other angular 
 figures, are neither beautiful to the sight nor 
 feeling. Whoever compares his state of mind, 
 on feeling soft, smooth, variegated, unan- 
 gular bodies, with that in which he finds 
 himself, on the view of a beautiful object, 
 will perceive a very striking analogy in the 
 effects of both, and which may go a good way 
 towards discovering their common cause. 
 Feeling and sight, in this respect, differ in 
 but a few points. The touch takes in the 
 pleasure of softness, which is not primarily 
 an object of sight ; the sight, on the other 
 hand, comprehends colour, which can hardly 
 be made perceptible to the touch : the touch 
 again has the advantage in a new idea of plea- 
 sure resulting from a moderate degree of 
 warmth ; but the eye triumphs in the infinite 
 extent and multiplicity of its objects. But 
 there is such a similitude in the pleasures of 
 these senses, that I am apt to fancy, if it were 
 possible that one might discern colour by 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 185 
 
 feeling (as, it is said, some blind men have 
 done), that the same colours, and the same 
 disposition of colouring, which are found 
 beautiful to the sight, would be found like- 
 wise most graceful to the touch. But, setting 
 aside conjectures, let us pass to the other 
 sense — of Hearing. 
 
 SECT. XXV. 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL IN SOUNDS. 
 
 IN this sense we find an equal aptitude to be 
 affected in a soft and delicate manner ; and 
 how far sweet or beautiful sounds agree with 
 our descriptions of beauty in other senses, the 
 experience of every one must decide. Mil- 
 ton has described this species of music in one 
 of his juvenile poems.* I need noi say that 
 Milton was perfectly well versed in that art ; 
 and that no man had a finer ear, with a hap- 
 pier manner of expressing the affections of 
 one sense by metaphors taken from another. 
 The description is as follows : 
 m ■ ■ ■ ' 
 
 • L'Alie£r<£ 
 
186 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 -And ever against eating- cares, 
 
 Lap me in soft Lydian airs; 
 
 In notes with many a winding bout 
 
 Of linked sweetness long drawn out ; 
 
 With wanton head and giddy cunning, 
 
 The melting voice through mazes running ; 
 
 Untwisting all the chains that tie 
 
 The hidden soul of harmony. 
 
 Let us parallel this with the softness, the 
 winding surface, the unbroken continuance, 
 the easy gradation of the beautiful in other 
 things ; and all the diversities of the several 
 senses, with all their several affections, will 
 rather help to throw lights from one another, 
 to finish one clear consistent idea of the 
 whole, than to obscure it by their intricacy 
 and variety. 
 
 To the above-mentioned description I shall 
 add one or two remarks. The first is, that 
 the beautiful in music will not bear that loud- 
 ness and strength of sounds which may be 
 used to raise other passions ; nor notes, which 
 are shrill, or harsh, or deep : it agrees best 
 with such as are clear, even, sn ooth, and 
 weak. The second is, that great variety, and 
 quick transitions from one measure or tone to 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 187 
 
 another, are contrary to the genius of the 
 beautiful in music. Such transitions often 
 excite mirth, or other sudden and tumultuous 
 passions; but not that sinking, that melting, 
 that languor, which is the characteristical ef- 
 fect of the beautiful, as it regards every sense. 
 The passion excited by beauty is in fact 
 nearer to a species of melancholy than to 
 jollity and mirth.* I do not here mean to 
 confine music to any one species of notes or 
 tones, neither is it an art in which I can say I 
 have any great skill. My sole design in this 
 remark is to settle a consistent idea of beauty. 
 The infinite variety of the affections of the 
 soul will suggest to a good head and skilful 
 ear a variety of such sounds as are fitted to 
 raise them. It can be no prejudice to this, to 
 clear and distinguish some few particulars 
 that belong to the same class, and are consist- 
 ent with each other, from the immense crowd 
 of different, and sometimes contradictory, 
 ideas that rank vulgarly under the standard of 
 beauty. And of these it is my intention to 
 mark such only of the leading points as shew 
 the conformity of the sense of hearing with 
 
 * I ne'er am merry when I hear sweet music. 
 
 Shakespeax. 
 
188 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 all the other senses in the article of their 
 pleasures. 
 
 SECT. XXVI. 
 
 TASTE AND SMELL. 
 
 1 HIS general agreement of the senses is yet 
 more evident on minutely considering those 
 of taste and smell. We metaphorically apply 
 the idea of sweetness to sights and sounds; 
 but, as the qualities of bodies, by which they 
 are fitted to excite either pleasure or pain in 
 these senses, are not so obvious as they are in 
 the others, we shall refer an explanation of 
 their analogy, which is a very close one, to 
 that part wherein we come to consider the 
 common efficient cause of beauty as it regards 
 all the senses. I do not think any thing bet- 
 ter fitted to establish a clear and settled idea of 
 visual beauty than this way of examining the 
 similar pleasures of others senses ; for one part 
 is sometimes clear in one of these senses, that 
 is more obscure in another ; and, where there 
 is a clear concurrence of all, we may with 
 more certainty speak of any one of them. 
 By this means they bear witness to each 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 189 
 
 other; nature is, as it were, scrutinized; and 
 we report nothing of her but what we receive 
 from her own information. 
 
 SECT. XXVII. 
 
 THE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL COMPARED. 
 
 ON closing this general view of beauty, it 
 naturally occurs that we should compare it 
 with the sublime ; and, in this comparison, 
 there appears a remarkable contrast ; for sub- 
 lime objects are vast in their dimensions, 
 beautiful ones comparatively small: beauty 
 should be smooth and polished ; the great, 
 rugged and negligent : beauty should shun 
 the right line, yet deviate from it insensibly; 
 the great, in many cases, loves the right line ; 
 and, when it deviates, it often makes a strong 
 deviation : beauty should not be obscure ; the 
 great ought to be dark and gloomy : beauty 
 should be light and delicate : the great ought 
 to be solid, and even massive. They are, in- 
 deed, ideas of a very different nature, one 
 being founded on pain, the other on pleasure ; 
 and, however they may vary afterwards from 
 
 R 
 
190 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 the direct nature of their causes, yet these 
 causes keep up an eternal distinction between 
 them, a distinction never to be forgotten by 
 any whose business it is to affect the passions. 
 In the infinite variety of natural combinations 
 we must expect to find the qualities of things 
 the most remote imaginable from each other 
 united in the same object. We must expect 
 also to find combinations of the same kind in 
 the works of art. But when we consider the 
 power of an object upon our passions, we 
 must know that, when any thing is intended 
 to affect the mind by the force of some pre- 
 dominant property, the affection produced is 
 like to be the more uniform and perfect, if 
 all the other properties or qualities of the ob- 
 ject be of the same nature, and tending to the 
 same design as the principal: 
 
 If black and white blend, soften, and unite, 
 
 A thousand ways, are there no black and white ? 
 
 If the qualities of the sublime and beautiful 
 are sometimes found united, does this prove 
 that they are the same; does it prove that 
 they are any way allied ; does it prove even 
 that they are not . opposite and contradictory ? 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 191 
 
 Black and white may soften, may blend ; but 
 they are not therefore the same. Nor, when 
 they are so softened and blended with each 
 other, or with different colours, is the power 
 of black as black, or of white as white, so 
 strong as when each stands uniform and dis- 
 tinguished ? 
 
 END OF THE THIRD PART, 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY 
 
 INTO THE 
 
 ORIGIN OF OUR IDEAS 
 
 SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 PART IV. SECT. I. 
 
 OF THE EFFICIENT CAUSE OF THE SUBLIME 
 AND BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 WHEN I say I intend to inquire into the 
 efficient cause of sublimity and beauty, I 
 would not be understood to say that I can 
 come to the ultimate cause. I do not pretend 
 that I shall ever be able to explain why cer- 
 tain affections of the body produce such a 
 distinct emotion of mind, and no other, or 
 
 R2 
 
194 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 why the body is at all affected by the mind, 
 or the mind by the body. A little thought 
 will shew this to be impossible. But I con- 
 ceive, if we can discover what affections of 
 the mind produced certain emotions of the 
 body; and what distinct feelings and quali- 
 ties of body shall produce certain determinate 
 passions in the mind, and no others, I fancy 
 a great deal will be done ; something not un- 
 useful towards a distinct knowledge of our 
 passions, so far at least as we have them at 
 present under our, consideration. This is all, 
 I believe, we can do. If we could advance a 
 step farther, difficulties would still remain, as 
 we should be still equally distant from the 
 first cause. When Newton first discovered 
 the property of attraction, and settled its laws, 
 he found it served very well to explain seve- 
 ral of the most remarkable phenomena in na- 
 ture ; but yet, with reference to the general 
 system of things, he could consider attrac- 
 tion but as an effect, whose cause, at that 
 time, he did not. attempt to trace. But when, 
 he afterwards began to account for it by a 
 subtile elastic aether, this great man (if in so 
 great a man it be not impious to discover any 
 thing like a blemish), seemed to have quitted 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 195 
 
 » 
 his usual cautious manner of philosophising ; 
 
 since, perhaps, allowing all that has been ad- 
 vanced on this subject to be sufficiently- 
 proved, I think it leaves us with as many dif- 
 ficulties as it found us. That great chain of 
 causes, which, linking one to another, even 
 to the throne of God himself, can never be 
 unravelled by any industry of ours. When 
 we go but one step beyond the immediately 
 sensible qualities of things, we go out of our 
 depth. All we do after is but a faint struggle, 
 that shews we are in an element which does 
 not belong to us. So that, when I speak of 
 cause, and efficient cause, I only mean cer- 
 tain affections of the mind, that cause certain 
 changes in the body ; or certain powers and 
 properties in bodies that work a change in the 
 mind : as, if I were to explain the motion of 
 a body falling to the ground, I would say it 
 was caused by gravity ; and I would endea- 
 vour to shew after what manner this power 
 operated, without attempting to shew why it 
 operated in this manner : or if I were to ex- 
 plain the effects of bodies striking one another 
 by the common laws of percussion, I should 
 not endeavour to explain how motion itself 
 is communicated. 
 
196 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 SECT. II. 
 
 ASSOCIATION. 
 
 IT is no small bar in the way of our inquiry 
 into the cause of our passions, that the occa- 
 sion of many of them are given, and that their 
 governing motions are communicated at a 
 time when we have not capacity to reflect on 
 them ; at a time, of which all sort of memory 
 is worn out of our minds : for, besides such 
 things as affect us in various manners, accord- 
 ing to their natural powers, there are associa- 
 tions made at that early season which we find 
 [4tj very hard afterwards to distinguish from 
 natural effects. Not to mention the unac- 
 countable antipathies which we find in many 
 persons, we all find it impossible to remem- 
 ber when a steep became more terrible than a 
 plain ; or fire or water more dreadful than a 
 clod of earth ; though all these are very pro- 
 bably either conclusions from experience, or 
 arising from the premonitions of others ; and 
 some of them impressed, in all likelihood, 
 pretty late. But, as it must be allowed that 
 many things affect us after a certain manner, 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 197 
 
 not by any natural powers they have for that 
 purpose, but by association ; so it would be 
 absurd, on the other hand, to say that all 
 things affect us by association only ; since 
 some things must have been originally and 
 naturally agreeable or disagreeable, from which 
 the others derive their associated powers ; 
 and it would be, I fancy, to little purpose to 
 to look for the cause of our passions in asso- 
 ciation, until we fail of it in the natural pro- 
 perties of things. 
 
 SECT. III. 
 
 CAUSE OF PAIN AND FEAR. 
 
 X HAVE before observed,^ that whatever 
 is qualified to cause terror, is a foundation ca- 
 pable of the sublime ; to which I add, that not 
 only these, but many things from which we 
 cannot probably apprehend any danger, have 
 a similar effect, because they operate in a 
 similar manner. I observe, too, that what- 
 ever produces pleasure, positive and original 
 pleasure, is fit to have beauty engrafted on it.f 
 
 * Part I, sect 8. f Part l > sect 10. 
 
198 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 Therefore, to clear up the nature of these 
 qualities, it may be necessary to explain the 
 nature of pain and pleasure, on which they 
 depend. A man who suffers under violent 
 bodily pain (I suppose the most violent, be- 
 cause the effect may be the more obvious) ; 
 I say, a man in great pain has his teeth set, 
 his eye-brows are violently contracted, his 
 forehead is wrinkled, his eyes are dragged in- 
 wards, and rolled with great vehemence, his 
 hair stands an end, the voice is forced out in 
 short shrieks and groans, and the whole fabric 
 totters. Fear or terror, which is an appre- 
 hension of pain or death, exhibits exactly the 
 same effects, approaching in violence to those 
 just mentioned, in proportion to the nearness 
 of the cause and the weakness of the subject. 
 This is not only so in the human species : but 
 I have more than once observed in clogs, un- 
 der an apprehension of punishment, that they 
 have writhed their bodies, and yelped and 
 howled, as if they had actually felt the blows. 
 From whence I conclude, that pain and fear 
 act upon the same parts of the body, and in 
 the same manner, though somewhat differing 
 in degree : that pain and fear consists in an 
 unnatural tension of the nerves ; that this is 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 199 
 
 sometimes accompanied with an unnatural 
 strength, which sometimes suddenly changes 
 into an extraordinary weakness; that these 
 effects often come on alternately, and are 
 sometimes mixed with each other. This is 
 the nature of all convulsive agitations, espe- 
 cially in weaker subjects, which are the most 
 liable to the severest impressions of pain and 
 fear. The only difference between pain and 
 terror is, that things which cause pain operate 
 on the mind by the intervention of the body ; 
 whereas things that cause terror, generally 
 affect the bodily organs by the operation of 
 the mind suggesting the danger ; but, both 
 agreeing, either primarily or secondarily, in 
 producing a tension, contraction, or violent 
 emotion of the nerves,* they agree likewise 
 in every thing else ; for it appears very 
 clearly to me, from this, as well as from 
 many other examples, that when the body is 
 disposed, by any means whatsoever, to such 
 
 * I do not here enter into the question debated 
 among physiologists, whether pain be the effect of 
 a contraction or a tension of the nerves. Either will 
 serve my purpose ; for, by tension, I mean no more 
 than a violent pulling' of the fibres, which compose any 
 muscle or membrane, in whatever way this is done. 
 
200 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 emotions as it would acquire by the means of 
 a certain passion, it will of itself excite some- 
 thing very like that passion in the mind. 
 
 SECT. IV. 
 
 CONTINUED. 
 
 Xo this purpose Mr. Spon, in his Recher- 
 ches d'Antiquite, gives us a curious story of 
 the celebrated physiognomist Campanella. 
 This man, it seems, had not only made very 
 accurate observations on human faces, but 
 was very expert in mimicking such as were 
 any way remarkable. When he had a mind 
 to penetrate into the inclination of those he 
 had to deal with, he composed his face, his 
 gesture, and his whole body, as nearly as he 
 could, into the exact similitude of the person 
 he intended to examine ; and then carefully 
 observed what turn of mind he seemed to ac- 
 quire by this change : so that, says my author, 
 he was able to enter into the dispositions and 
 thoughts of people as effectually as if he had 
 been changed into the very men. I have 
 often observed, that, on mimicking the looks 
 and gestures of angry, or placid, or frighted, 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 201 
 
 or daring men, I have involuntarily found 
 my mind turned to that passion whose appear- 
 ance I endeavoured to imitate ; nay, I am 
 convinced it is hard to avoid it, though one 
 strove to separate the passion from its corre- 
 spondent gestures. Our minds and bodies 
 are so closely and intimately connected, that 
 one is incapable of pain or pleasure without 
 the other. Campanella, of whom we have 
 been speaking, could so abstract his attention 
 from any sufferings of his body, that he was 
 able to endure the rack itself without much 
 pain ; and, in lesser pains, every body must 
 have observed, that when we can employ our 
 attention on any thing else, the pain has been 
 for a time suspended : on the other hand, if, 
 by any means, the body is indisposed to per- 
 form such gestures, or to be stimulated into 
 such emotions as any passion usually pro- 
 duces in it, that passion itself never can arise, 
 though its cause should be never so strongly 
 in action ; though it should be merely mental, 
 and immediately affecting none of the senses. 
 As an opiate, or spirituous liquors, shall 
 suspend the operation of grief, or fear, or 
 anger, in spite of all our efforts to the contra- 
 ry ; and this by inducing in the body a dis- 
 
202 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 position contrary to that which it receives 
 from these passions. 
 
 SECT. V. 
 
 HOW THE SUBLIME IS PRODUCED. 
 
 .HAVING considered terror as producing 
 an unnatural tension and certain violent emo- 
 tions of the nerves, it easily follows, from what 
 we have just said, that whatever is fitted to 
 produce such a tension must be productive of 
 a passion similar to terror,* and consequently 
 must be a source of the sublime, though it 
 should have no idea of danger connected with 
 it : so that little remains towards shewing the 
 cause of the sublime, but to shew that the in- 
 stances we have given of it in the second 
 part relate to such things as are fitted by na- 
 ture to produce this sort of tension, either by 
 the primary operation of the mind or the 
 body. With regard to such things as affect 
 by the associated idea of danger, there can be 
 no doubt but that they produce terror, and act 
 by some modification of that passion ; and 
 that terror, when sufficiently violent, raises 
 
 • Part II, sect 2. 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 203 
 
 the emotions of the body just mentioned, can 
 as little be doubted. But, if the sublime is 
 built on terror, or some passion like it, which 
 has pain for its object, it is previously pro- 
 per to inquire how any species of delight can 
 be derived from a cause so apparently contra- 
 ry to it. I say delight, because, as I have 
 often remarked, it is very evidently different 
 in its cause, and in its own nature, from ac- 
 tual and positive pleasure. 
 
 SECT. VI. 
 
 HOW PAIN CAN BE A CAUSE OF DELIGHT. 
 
 PROVIDENCE has so ordered it, that 
 a state of rest and inaction, however it may 
 flatter our indolence, should be productive of 
 many inconveniences ; that it should generate 
 such disorders as may force us to have 
 recource to some labour, as a thing absolutely 
 requisite to make us pass our lives with tole- 
 rable satisfaction j for the nature of rest is to 
 suffer all the parts of our bodies to fall into a 
 relaxation, that not only disables the members 
 from performing their functions, but takes 
 away the vigorous tone of fibre which is requi- 
 
204 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 site for carrying on the natural and necessary 
 secretions. At the same time that, in this 
 languid inactive state, the nerves are more li- 
 able to the most horrid convulsions than when 
 they are sufficiently braced and strengthened. 
 Melancholy, dejection, despair, and often 
 self-murder, is the consequence of the gloomy 
 view we take cf things in this relaxed state 
 of body. The best remedy for all these evils 
 is exercise or labour ; and labour is a sur- 
 mounting of difficulties, an exertion of the 
 contracting power of the muscles ; and, as 
 such, resembles pain, which consists in ten- 
 sion or contraction, in every thing but de- 
 gree. Labour is not only requisite to pre- 
 serve the coarser organs in a state fit for their 
 functions ; but it is equally necessary to these 
 finer and more delicate organs, on which, and 
 by which, the imagination, and perhaps the 
 other mental powers, act. Since it is pro- 
 bable, that not only the inferior parts of the 
 soul, as the passions are called, but the under- 
 standing itself, makes use of some fine cor- 
 poreal instruments in its operation ; though 
 what they are, and where they are, may be 
 somewhat hard to settle : but that it does 
 make use of such, appears from hence, that a 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 205 
 
 long exercise of the mental powers induces a 
 remarkable lassitude of the whole body ; and, 
 on the other hand, that great bodily labour, or 
 pain, weakens, and sometimes actually de- 
 stroys, the mental faculties. Now, as a due 
 exercise is essential to the coarse muscular 
 parts of the constitution, and that, without 
 this rousing, they would become languid and 
 diseased, the very same rule holds with regard 
 to those finer parts we have mentioned ; to 
 have them in proper order, they must be 
 shaken and worked to a proper degree. 
 
 SECT. VII. 
 
 EXERCISE NECESSARY FOR THE FINER 
 ORGANS. 
 
 AS common labour, which is a mode of pain, 
 is the exercise of the grosser, a mode of ter- 
 ror is the exercise of the finer parts of the 
 system ; and, if a certain mode of pain be of 
 such a nature as to act upon the eye or the 
 ear, as they are the most delicate organs, the 
 affection approaches more nearly to that which 
 has a mental cause. In all these cases, if the 
 pain and terror are so modified as not to be 
 
 s2 
 
206 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 actually noxious ; if the pain is not carried to 
 violence, and the terror is not conversant 
 about the present destruction of the person, 
 as these emotions clear the parts, whether fine 
 or gross, of a dangerous and troublesome in- 
 cumbrance, they are capable of producing 
 delight ; not pleasure, but a sort of delightful 
 horror ; a sort of tranquillity tinged with ter- 
 ror; which, as it belongs to self-preserva- 
 tion, is one of the strongest of all the pas- 
 sions. Its object is the sublime.* Its high- 
 est degree I call astonishment ; the subordi- 
 nate degrees are awe, reverence and respect, 
 which, by the very etymology of the words, 
 shew from what source they are derived, and 
 how they stand distinguished from positive 
 pleasure. 
 
 SECT. VIII. 
 
 WHY THINGS NOT DANGEROUS PRODUCE A 
 PASSION LIKE TERROR. 
 
 A MODE of terror or pain is always the 
 cause of the sublime.^ For terror, or associa- 
 ted danger, the foregoing explanation is, I be- 
 
 * Part II, sect. 2. t Part I, sect. 7. Part II, sect. 2. 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 207 
 
 lieve, sufficient. It will require something 
 more trouble to shew, that such examples as 
 I have given of the sublime, in the second 
 part, are capable of producing a mode of 
 pain, and of being thus allied to terror, and 
 to be accounted for on the same principles. 
 And, first, of such objects as are great in their 
 dimensions : I speak of visual objects. 
 
 SECT. IX. 
 
 WHY VISUAL OBJECTS OF GREAT DIMEN- 
 SIONS ARE SUBLIME. 
 
 VISION is performed by having a picture 
 formed by the rays of light which are re- 
 flected from the object painted in one piece, 
 instantaneously, on the retina, or last nervous 
 part of the eye. Or, according to others, 
 there is but one point of any object painted 
 on the eye in such a manner as to be per- 
 ceived at once ; but, by moving the eye, we 
 gather up with great celerity the several parts 
 of the object, so as to form one uniform 
 piece. If the former opinion be allowed, it 
 will be considered,^" that, though all the 
 
 * Part II, sect. 7. 
 
208 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 light reflected from a large body should strike 
 the eye in one instant, yet we must suppose 
 that the body itself is formed of a vast num- 
 ber of distinct points, every one of which, or 
 the ray from every one, makes an impression 
 on the retina. So that, though the image of 
 one point should cause but a small tension of 
 this membrane, another, and another, and an- 
 other stroke, must in their progress cause a 
 very great one, until it arrives at last to the 
 highest degree ; and the whole capacity of 
 the eye, vibrating in all its parts, must ap- 
 proach near to the nature of what causes pain, 
 and consequently must produce an idea of 
 the sublime. Again : if we take it, that one 
 point only of an object is distinguishable at 
 once, the matter will amount nearly to the 
 same thing ; or rather, it will make the origin 
 of the sublime from greatness of dimension 
 yet clearer ; for, if but one point is observed 
 at once, the eye must traverse the vast space 
 of such bodies with great quickness, and con- 
 sequently the fine nerves and muscles destined 
 to the motion of that part must be very much 
 strained ; and their great sensibility must 
 make them highly affected by this straining. 
 Besides, it signifies just nothing to the effect 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 209 
 
 produced, whether a body has its parts con- 
 nected, and makes its impression at once ; 
 or, making but one impression of a point at a 
 time, it causes a succession of the same or 
 others so quickly as to make them seem unit- 
 ed ; as is evident from the common effect of 
 whirling about a lighted torch or piece of 
 wood, which, if done with celerity, seems a 
 circle of fire. 
 
 SECT. X. 
 
 UNITY WHY REQUISITE TO VASTNESS. 
 
 IT may be objected to this theory, that the 
 eye generally receives an equal number of 
 rays at all times, and that, therefore, a great 
 object cannot affect it by the number of rays, 
 more than that variety of objects which the 
 eye must always discern whilst it remains 
 open. But to this I answer, that, admitting 
 an equal number of rays, or an equal quantity 
 of luminous particles, to strike the eye at all 
 times, yet, if these rays frequently vary their 
 nature, now to bhie, now to red, and so on, 
 or their manner of termination, as to a num- 
 ber of petty squares, triangles, or the like, at 
 
210 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 every change, whether of colour or shape, 
 the organ has a sort of a relaxation or rest ; but 
 this relaxation and labour, so often interrupt- 
 ed, is by no means productive of ease ; nei- 
 ther has it the effect of vigorous and uniform 
 labour. Whoever has remarked the different 
 effects of some strong exercise, and some lit- 
 tle piddling action, will understand why a 
 teasing fretful employment, which at once 
 wearies and weakens the body, should have 
 nothing great ; these sorts of impulses, which 
 are rather teasing than painful, by continu- 
 ally and suddenly altering their tenor and di- 
 rection, prevent that full tension, that species 
 of uniform labour, which is allied to strong 
 pain, and causes the sublime. The sum total 
 of things of various kinds, though it should 
 equal the number of the uniform parts com- 
 posing some one entire object, is not equal in 
 its effect upon the organs of our bodies. Be- 
 sides the one already assigned, there is an- 
 other very strong reason for the difference. 
 The mind in reality hardly ever can attend 
 diligently to more than one thing at a time; 
 if this thing be little, the effect is little, and a 
 number of other little objects cannot engage 
 the attention; the mind is bounded by the 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 211 
 
 bounds of the object; and what is not at- 
 tended to, and what does not exist, are much 
 the same in the effect: but the eye, or the 
 mind (for in this case there is no difference), 
 in great uniform objects, does not readily ar- 
 rive at their bounds ; it has no rest, whilst it 
 contemplates them; the image is much the 
 same every where: so that every thing great 
 by its quantity must necessarily be one, sim- 
 ple and entire. 
 
 SECT. XL 
 
 THE ARTIFICIAL INFINITE. 
 
 W E have observed, that a species of great- 
 ness arises from the artificial infinite; and 
 that this infinite consists in an uniform suc- 
 cession of great parts : we observed, too, that 
 the same uniform succession had a like power 
 in sounds. But, because the effects of many 
 things are clearer in one of the senses than in 
 another, and that all the senses bear an ana- 
 logy to and illustrate one another, I shall be- 
 gin with this power in sounds, as the cause of 
 the sublimity from succession is rather more 
 obvious in the sense of hearing. And I shall 
 
212 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 here once for all observe, that an investiga- 
 tion of the natural and mechanical causes of 
 our passions, besides the curiosity of the sub- 
 ject, gives, if they are discovered, a double 
 strength and lustre to any rules we deliver on 
 such matters. When the ear receives any 
 simple sound, it is struck by a single pulse of 
 the air, which makes the ear-drum and the 
 other membranous parts vibrate according to 
 the nature and species of the stroke. If the 
 stroke be strong, the organ of hearing suffers 
 a considerable degree of tension. If the stroke 
 be repeated pretty soon after, the repetition 
 causes an expectation of another stroke. And 
 it must be observed, that expectation itself 
 causes a tension. This is apparent in many 
 animals, who, when they prepare for hearing 
 any sound, rouse themselves, and prick up 
 their ears: so that here the effect of the sounds 
 is considerably augmented by a new auxiliary, 
 the expectation. But though, after a number 
 of strokes, we expect still more, not being 
 able to ascertain the exact time of their arri-» 
 val, when they arrive, they produce a sort of 
 surprise, which increases this tension yet fur- 
 ther ; for I have observed, that when at any 
 time I have waited very earnestly for some 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 213 
 
 sound, that returned at intervals (as the 
 successive firing of cannon), though I fully 
 expected the return of the sound, when it 
 came it always made me start a little ; the ear- 
 drum suffered a convulsion, and the whole 
 body consented with it. The tension of the 
 part thus increasing at every blow, by the 
 united forces of the stroke itself, the expecta- 
 tion, and the surprise, it is worked up to such 
 a pitch as to be capable of the sublime ; it is 
 brought just to the verge of pain. Even when 
 the cause has ceased, the organs of hearing, 
 being often successively struck in a similar 
 manner, continue to vibrate in that manner for 
 some time longer ; this is an additional help 
 to the greatness of the effect. 
 
 SECT. XII. 
 
 THE VIBRATIONS MUST BE SIMILAR. 
 
 jDUT if the vibration be not similar at every 
 impression, it can never be earned beyond 
 the number of actual impressions ; for, move 
 any body as a pendulum, in one way, and it 
 will continue to oscillate in an arch of the 
 same circle, until the known causes make it 
 rest ; but if, after first putting it in motion in 
 
 T 
 
214 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 one direction, you push it into another, it 
 can never reassume the first direction, because 
 it can never move itself, and consequently it 
 can have but that effect of the last motion ; 
 whereas, if in the same direction you act upon 
 it several times, it will describe a greater 
 arch, and move a longer time. 
 
 SECT. XIII. 
 
 THE EFFECT OF SUCCESSION IN VISUAL 
 OBJECTS EXPLAINED. 
 
 IF we can comprehend clearly how things 
 operate upon one of our senses, there can be 
 very little difficulty in conceiving in what 
 manner they affect the rest. To say a great 
 deal, therefore, upon the corresponding af- 
 fections of every sense, would tend rather to 
 fatigue us, by an useless repetition, than to 
 throw any new light upon the subject, by that 
 ample and diffuse manner of treating it ; but 
 as, in this discourse, we chiefly attach our- 
 selves to the sublime, as it affects the eye, we 
 shall consider particularly why a successive 
 disposition of uniform parts in the same right 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL, 215 
 
 line should be sublime,* and upon what 
 principle this disposition is enabled to make 
 a comparatively small quantity of matter pro- 
 duce a grander effect than a much larger 
 quantity disposed in another manner. To 
 avoid the perplexity of general notions, let 
 us set before our eyes a colonnade of uniform 
 pillars planted in a right line ; let us take our 
 stand in such a manner that the eye may 
 shoot along this colonnade, for it has its best 
 effect in this view. In our present situation, 
 it is plain that the rays from the first round 
 pillar will cause in the eye a vibration of that 
 species ; an image of the pillar itself. The 
 pillar immediately succeeding increases it ; 
 that which follows, renews and enforces the 
 impression ; each in its order, as it succeeds, 
 repeats impulse after impulse, and stroke af- 
 ter stroke, until the eye, long exercised in one 
 particular way, cannot lose that object imme- 
 diately ; and, being violently roused by this 
 continued agitation, it presents the mind with 
 a grand or sublime conception. But, instead 
 of viewing a rank of uniform pillars, let us 
 suppose that they succeed each other, a round 
 and a square one alternately. In this case. 
 * Part II, Sect. 10. 
 
216 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 the vibration caused by the first round pillar 
 perishes as soon as it is formed ; and one of 
 quite another sort (the square) directly occu- 
 pies its place, which, however, it resigns as 
 quickly to the round one ; and thus the eye 
 proceeds, alternately, taking up one image 
 and laying down another, as long as the build- 
 ing continues : from whence it is obvious, 
 that, at the last pillar, the impression is as far 
 from continuing as it was at the very first ; 
 because, in fact, the sensory can receive no 
 distinct impression but from the last ; and it 
 can never of itself resume a dissimilar impres- 
 sion : besides, every variation of the object 
 is a rest and relaxation to the organs of sight ; 
 and these reliefs prevent that powerful emo- 
 tion so necessary to produce the sublime. 
 To produce, therefore, a perfect grandeur in 
 such things as we have been mentioning, there 
 should be a perfect simplicity, an absolute 
 uniformity in disposition, shape, and colour- 
 ing. Upon this principle of succession and 
 uniformity it may be asked, why a long bare 
 wall should not be a more sublime object than 
 a colonnade, since the succession is no way 
 interrupted, since the eye meets no check, 
 since nothing more uniform can be conceiv- 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 217 
 
 ed? A long bare wall is certainly not so 
 grand an object as a colonnade of the same 
 length and height. It is not altogether diffi- 
 cult to account for this difference. When we 
 look at a naked wall, from the evenness of 
 the object, the eye runs along its whole 
 space, and arrives quickly at its termination ; 
 the eye meets nothing which may interrupt its 
 progress ; but then it meets nothing which 
 may detain it a proper time to produce a very 
 great and lasting effect. The view of a bare 
 wall, if it be of a great height and length, is 
 undoubtedly grand : but this is only one idea, 
 and not a repetition of similar ideas ; it is 
 therefore great, not so much upon the prin- 
 ciple of infinity, as upon that of vastness. 
 But we are not so powerfully affected with 
 any one impulse, unless it be one of a prodi- 
 gious force indeed, as we are with a succes- 
 sion of similar impulses ; because the nerves 
 of the sensory do not (if I may use the ex- 
 pression) acquire a habit of repeating the 
 same feeling in such a manner as to continue 
 it longer than its cause is in action ; besides, 
 all the effects which I have attributed to ex- 
 pectation and surprise, in sect. 11, can have 
 no place in a bare wall. 
 
 t 2 
 
218 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 SECT. XIV. 
 
 Locke's opinion concerning darkness 
 considered. 
 
 IT is Mr. Locke's opinion, that darkness is 
 not naturally an idea of terror ; and that, 
 though an excessive light is painful to the 
 sense, that the greatest excess of darkness is 
 no way troublesome. He observes, indeed, 
 in another place, that a nurse, or an old wo- 
 man, having once associated the ideas of 
 ghosts and goblins with that of darkness, 
 night ever after becomes painful and horrible 
 to the imagination. The authority of this 
 great man is doubdess as great as that of any 
 man can be, and it seems to stand in the way 
 of our general principle.* We have consi- 
 dered darkness as a cause of the sublime ; 
 and we have all along considered the sublime 
 as depending on some modification of pain or 
 terror ; so that, if darkness be no way painful 
 or terrible to any who have not had their 
 minds early tainted with superstitions, it can 
 be no source of the sublime to them. But, 
 
 * Part II, sect. 3. 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 219 
 
 with all deference to such an authority, it 
 seems to me that an association of a more ge- 
 neral nature, an association which takes in all 
 mankind, may make darkness terrible : for, 
 in utter darkness, it is impossible to know in 
 what degree of safety we stand ; we are igno- 
 rant of the objects that surround us ; we may 
 every moment strike against some dangerous 
 obstruction ; we may fall down a precipice, 
 the first step we take ; and, if an enemy ap- 
 proach, we know not in what quarter to de- 
 fend ourselves : in such a case strength is no 
 sure protection ; wisdom can only act by 
 guess ; the boldest are staggered ; and he who 
 would pray for nothing else towards his de- 
 fence, is forced to pray for light : 
 
 Zvj Ts-ctlia-, axxol au pvo-du vtt tups viae A%euw 
 TIoiho-ov cf' «t/6g»y, efoc tT c^Bax/ulois-iv tJfe-Bar 
 
 As to the association of ghosts and goblins, 
 surely it is more natural to think that dark- 
 ness, being originally an idea of terror, was 
 chosen as a fit scene for such terrible repre- 
 sentations, than that such representations have 
 made darkness terrible. The mind of man 
 
220 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 very easily slides into an error of the former 
 sort ; but it is very hard to imagine, that the 
 effect of an idea so universally terrible in all 
 times, and in all countries, as darkness, could 
 possibly have been owing to a set of idle sto- 
 ries, or to any cause of a nature so trivial, 
 and of an operation so precarious. 
 
 SECT. XV. 
 
 DARKNESS TERRIBLE IN ITS OWN NATURE. 
 
 PERHAPS it may appear, on inquiry, that 
 blackness and darkness are in some degree 
 painful by their natural operation, indepen- 
 dent of any associations whatsoever. I must 
 observe, that the ideas of darkness and black- 
 ness are much the same ; and they differ only 
 in this, that blackness is a more confined idea. 
 Mr. Cheselden has given us a very curious 
 story of a boy who had been born blind, and 
 continued so until he was thirteen or four- 
 teen years old ; he was then couched for a 
 cataract, by which operation he received his 
 sight. Among many remarkable particulars 
 that attended his first perceptions and judg- 
 ments on visual objects, Cheselden tells us, 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 221 
 
 that the first time the boy saw a black object, 
 it gave him great uneasiness ; and that, some 
 time after, upon accidentally seing a negro 
 woman, he was struck with great horror at 
 the sight. The horror, in this case, can 
 scarcely be supposed to arise from any asso- 
 ciation. The boy appears, by the account, 
 to have been particularly observing and sen- 
 sible for one of his age ; and therefore it is 
 probable, if the great uneasiness he felt at the 
 first sight of black had arisen from its connec- 
 tion with any other disagreeable ideas, he 
 would have observed and mentioned it ; for 
 an idea, disagreeable only by association, has 
 the cause of its ill effect on the passions evi- 
 dent enough at the first impression : in ordi- 
 nary cases, it is indeed frequently lost ; but 
 this is because the original association was 
 made very early, and the consequent impres- 
 sion repeated often. In our instance, there 
 was no time for such an habit ; and there is 
 no reason to think that the ill effects of black 
 on his imagination were more owing to its 
 connection with any disagreeable ideas than 
 that the good effects of more cheerful colours 
 were derived from their connection with pleas- 
 
222 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 ing ones. They had both, probably, their 
 effects from their natural operation. 
 
 SECT. XVI. 
 
 WHY DARKNESS IS TERRIBLE. 
 
 IT maybe worth while to examine how dark- 
 ness can operate in such a manner as to cause 
 pain. It is observable, that, still as we recede 
 from the light, nature has so contrived it that 
 the pupil is enlarged by the retiring of the 
 iris, in proportion to our recess. Now, in- 
 stead of declining from it but a little, suppose 
 that we withdraw entirely from the light, it 
 is reasonable to think that the contraction of 
 the radial fibres of the iris is proportionably 
 greater; and that this part may, by great 
 darkness, come to be so contracted as to strain 
 the nerves that compose it beyond their na- 
 tural tone, and by this means to produce a 
 painful sensation. Such a tension, it seems, 
 there certainly is, whilst we are involved in 
 darkness ; for, in such a state, whilst the eye 
 remains open, there is a continual nisus to 
 receive light : this is manifest from the flashes 
 and luminous appearances which often seem, 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 223 
 
 in these circumstances, to play before it, and 
 which can be nothing but the effect of spasms 
 produced by its own efforts in pursuit of its 
 object: several other strong impulses will pro- 
 duce the idea of light in the eye, besides the 
 substance of light itself, as we experience on 
 many occasions. Some, who allow darkness 
 to be a cause of the sublime, would infer, 
 from the dilation of the pupil, that a relaxation 
 may be productive of the sublime as well as 
 a convulsion : but they do not, I believe, con- 
 sider that, although the circular ring of the 
 iris be in some sense a sphincter, which may 
 possibly be dilated by a simple relaxation, yet 
 in one respect it differs from most of the 
 other sphincters of the body j that it is furnish- 
 ed with antagonist muscles, which are the ra- 
 dial fibres of the iris : no sooner does the cir- 
 cular muscle begin to relax, than these fibres, 
 wanting their counterpoise, are forcibly drawn 
 back, and open the pupil to a considerable 
 wideness. But though we were not apprised 
 of this, I believe any one will find, if he opens 
 his eyes, and makes an effort to see in a dark 
 place, that a very perceivable pain ensues. 
 And I have heard some ladies remark, that, 
 after having worked a long time upon a 
 
224 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 ground of black, their eyes were so pained 
 and weakened, they could hardly see. It may, 
 perhaps, be objected to this theory of the me- 
 chanical effect of darkness, that the ill effects 
 of darkness or blackness seem rather mental 
 than corporeal : and I own it is true, that they 
 do so ; and so do all those that depend on the 
 affections of the finer parts of our system. 
 The ill effects of bad weather appear often no 
 otherwise than in a melancholy and dejection 
 of spirits ; though, without doubt, in this case, 
 the bodily organs suffer first, and the mind 
 through these organs. 
 
 SECT. XVII. 
 
 THE EFFECTS OF BLACKNESS. 
 
 .BLACKNESS is but a partial darkness ; and 
 therefore it derives some of its powers from 
 being mixed and surrounded with coloured 
 bodies. In its own nature it cannot be con- 
 sidered as a colour. Black bodies, reflecting 
 none, or but a few rays, with regard to sight, 
 are but as so many vacant spaces dispersed 
 among the objects we view. When the eye 
 lights on one of these vacuities, after having 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 225 
 
 been kept in some degree of tension by the 
 play of the adjacent colours upon it, it sud- 
 denly falls into a relaxation ; out of which it 
 as suddenly recovers by a compulsive spring. 
 To illustrate this, let us consider that when 
 we intend to sit in a chair, and find it much 
 lower than we expected, the shock is very 
 violent; much more violent than could be 
 thought from so slight a fall as the difference 
 between one chair and another can possibly 
 make. If, after descending a flight of stairs, 
 we attempt inadvertently to take another step 
 in the manner of the former ones, the shock 
 is extremely rude and disagreeable ; and by 
 no art can we cause such a shock by the same 
 means when we expect and prepare for it. 
 When I say that this is owing to having the 
 change made contrary to expectation, I do 
 not mean solely when the mind expects : I 
 mean likewise, that when any organ of sense 
 is for some time affected in some one manner 
 if it be suddenly affected otherwise, there en- 
 sues a convulsive motion ; such a convulsion 
 as is caused when any thing happens against 
 the expectance of the mind. And though it 
 may appear strange that such a change as 
 produces a relaxation should immediately 
 
226 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 produce a sudden convulsion, it is yet most 
 certainly so, and so in all the senses. Every 
 one knows that sleep is a relaxation ; and that 
 silence, where nothing keeps the organs of 
 hearing in action, is in general fittest to bring 
 on this relaxation : yet, when a sort of mur- 
 muring sounds dispose a man to sleep, let 
 these sounds cease suddenly, and the person 
 immediately awakes; that is, the parts are 
 braced up suddenly, and he awakes. This I 
 have often experienced myself; and I have 
 heard the same from observing persons. In 
 like manner, if a person in broad day-light 
 were falling asleep, to introduce a sudden 
 darkness would prevent his sleep for that 
 time, though silence and darkness in them- 
 selves, and not suddenly introduced, are veiy 
 favourable to it. This I knew only by con- 
 jecture on the analogy of the senses, when I 
 first digested these observations ; but I have 
 since experienced it. And I have often expe- 
 rienced, and so have a thousand others, that, 
 on the first inclining towards sleep, we have 
 been suddenly awakened with a most violent 
 start ; and that this start was generally pre- 
 ceded by a sort of dream of our falling down 
 a precipice. Whence does this strange motion 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 227 
 
 arise, but from the too sudden relaxation of 
 the body, which, by some mechanism in na- 
 ture, restores itself by as quick and vigorous 
 an exertion of the contracting power of the 
 muscles? The dream itself is caused by this 
 relaxation : and it is of too uniform a nature 
 to be attributed to any other cause. The 
 parts relax too suddenly, which is in the na- 
 ture of falling ; and this accident of the body 
 induces this image in the mind. When we 
 are in a confirmed state of health and vigour, 
 as all changes are then less sudden, and less 
 on the extreme, we can seldom complain of 
 this disagreeable sensation. 
 
 SECT. XVIII. 
 
 THE EFFECTS OF BLACKNESS MODERATED. 
 
 1 HOUGH the effects of black be painful ori- 
 ginally, we must not think they always con- 
 tinue so. Custom reconciles us to every 
 thing. After we have been used to the sight 
 of black objects, the terror abates, and the 
 smoothness and glossiness, or some agreeable 
 accident of bodies so coloured, softens in 
 some measure the horror and sternness of 
 
228 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 their original nature; yet the nature of the 
 original impression still continues. Black 
 will always have something melancholy in it, 
 because the sensory will always find the 
 change to it, from other colours, too violent; 
 or, if it occupy the whole compass of the 
 sight, it will then be darkness ; and what was 
 said of darkness will be applicable here. I 
 do not purpose to go into all that might be 
 said to illustrate this theory of the effects of 
 light and darkness; neither will I examine 
 all the different effects produced by the va- 
 rious modifications and mixtures of these two 
 causes. If the foregoing observations have 
 any foundation in nature, I conceive them 
 very sufficient to account for all the pheno- 
 mena that can arise from all the combinations 
 of black with other colours. To enter into 
 every particular, or to answer every objec- 
 tion, would be an endless labour. We have 
 only followed the most leading roads; and 
 we shall observe the same conduct in our 
 inquiry into the cause of beauty. 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 229 
 
 SECT. XIX. 
 
 THE PHYSICAL CAUSE OF LOVE. 
 
 WHEN we have before us such objects as 
 excite love and complacency, the body is 
 affected, so far as I could observe, much in 
 the following manner: The head reclines 
 something on one side ; the eye-lids are more 
 closed than usual, and the eyes roll gently 
 with an inclination to the object ; the mouth 
 is a little opened, and the breath drawn slow- 
 ly, with now and then a low sigh ; the whole 
 body is composed, and the hands fall idly to 
 the sides. All this is accompanied with an 
 inward sense of melting and languor. These 
 appearances are always proportioned to the 
 degree of beauty in the object, and of sensi- 
 bility in the observer. And this gradation 
 from the highest pitch of beauty and sensi- 
 bility, even to the lowest of mediocrity and in- 
 difference, and their correspondent effects, 
 ought to be kept in view, else this description 
 will seem exaggerated, which it ceitainly is 
 not. But, from this description, it is almost 
 impossible not to conclude, that beauty acts 
 
 u2 
 
230 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 by relaxing the solids of the whole system. 
 There are all the appearances of such a relax- 
 ation; and a relaxation somewhat below the 
 natural tone seems to me to be the cause of 
 all positive pleasure. Who is a stranger to 
 that manner of expression, so common in all 
 times and in all countries, of being softened, 
 relaxed, enervated, dissolved, melted awav by 
 pleasure? The universal voice of mankind, 
 faithful to their feelings, concurs in affirming 
 this uniform and general effect: and although 
 some odd and particular instance may perhaps 
 be found, wherein there appears a consider- 
 able degree of positive pleasure, without all 
 the characters of relaxation, we must not 
 therefore reject the conclusion we had drawn 
 from a concurrence of many experiments ; 
 bat we must still retain it, subjoining the ex- 
 ceptions which may occur according to the 
 judicious rule laid down by Sir Isaac Newton 
 in the third book of his Optics. Our position 
 will, I conceive, appear confirmed beyond 
 any reasonable doubt, if we can shew that 
 such things, as we have already observed to 
 be the genuine constituents of beauty, have 
 each of them, separately taken, a natural ten- 
 dency to relax the fibres. And if it must be 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL, 231 
 
 allowed us, that the appearance of the human 
 body, when all these constituents are united 
 together before the sensory, further favours 
 this opinion, we may venture, I believe, to 
 conclude, that the passion called love is pro- 
 duced by this relaxation. By the same me- 
 thod of reasoning which we have used in the 
 inquiry into the causes of the sublime, we 
 may likewise conclude, that as a beautiful ob- 
 ject presented to the sense, by causing a re- 
 laxation in the body, produces the passion of 
 love in the mind ; so, if by any means the 
 passion should first have its origin in the 
 mind, a relaxation of the outward organs will 
 as certainly ensue in a degree proportioned to 
 the cause. 
 
 SECT. XX. 
 
 WHY SMOOTHNESS IS BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 IT is to explain the true cause of visual 
 beauty that I call in the assistance of the 
 other senses. If it appears that smoothness is 
 a principal cause of pleasure to the touch, 
 taste, smell, and hearing, it will be easily ad- 
 mitted a constituent of visual beauty j espe- 
 
232 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 cially as we have before shewn that this qua- 
 lity is found, almost without exception, in all 
 bodies that are by general consent heid beau- 
 tiful. There can be no doubt that bodies, 
 which are rough and angular, rouse and vel- 
 licate the organs of feeling, causing a sense 
 of pain, which consists in the violent tension 
 or contraction of the muscular fibres. On 
 the contrary, the application of smooth bo- 
 dies relax; gentle stroking with a smooth 
 hand allays violent pains and cramps, and re- 
 laxes the suffering parts from their unnatural 
 tension ; and it has, therefore, very often no 
 mean effect in removing swellings and ob- 
 structions. The sense of feeling is highly 
 gratified with smooth bodies. A bed smooth- 
 ly laid, and soft, that is, where the resistance 
 is every way inconsiderable, is a great luxury, 
 disposing to an universal relaxation, and in- 
 ducing, beyond any thing else, that species 
 of it called sleep. 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 233 
 
 SECT. XXI. 
 
 SWEETNESS, ITS NATURE. 
 
 IN OR is it only in the touch that smooth bo- 
 dies cause positive pleasure by relaxation. In 
 the sm-ell and taste we find all things agree- 
 able to them, and which are commonly called 
 sweet, to be of a smooth nature, and that 
 they all evidently tend to relax their respec- 
 tive sensories. Let us first consider the taste. 
 Since it is most easy to inquire into the pro- 
 perty of liquids, and since all things seem to 
 want a fluid vehicle to make them tasted at 
 all, I intend rather to consider the liquid than 
 the solid parts of our food. The vehicles of 
 all tastes ?re water and oil. And what deter- 
 mines the taste is some salt, which affects va- 
 riously, according to its nature, or its manner 
 of being combined with other things. Water 
 and oil, simply considered, are capable of 
 giving some pleasure to the taste. Water, 
 when simple, is insipid, inodorous, colour- 
 less, and smooth ; it is found, when not cold, 
 to be a great resolver of spasms, and lubri- 
 
234 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 cator of the fibres : this power it probably 
 owes to its smoothness ; for as fluidity de- 
 pends, according to the most general opinion, 
 on the roundness, smoothness and weak co- 
 hesion of the component parts of any body, 
 and as water acts merely as a simple fluid, it 
 follows, that the cause of its fluidity is like- 
 wise the cause of its relaxing quality ; name- 
 ly, the smoothness and slippery texture of its 
 parts. The other fluid vehicle of tastes is oil. 
 This, too, when simple, is insipid, inodo- 
 rous, colourless, and smooth to the touch and 
 taste. It is smoother than water, and in ma- 
 ny cases yet more relaxing. Oil is in some 
 degree pleasant to the eye, the touch, and the 
 taste, insipid as it is. Water is not so grate- 
 ful ; which I do not know on what principle 
 to account for, other than that water is not 
 so soft and smooth. Suppose that to this oil 
 or water were added a certain quantity of a 
 specific salt, which had a power of putting 
 the nervous papillae of the tongue into a gen- 
 tle vibratory motion ; as suppose sugar dis- 
 solved in it : the smoothness of the oil, and 
 the vibratory power of the salt, cause the 
 sense we call sweetness. In all sweet bodies 
 sugar, or a substance very little different from 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 235 
 
 sugar, is constantly found : every species of 
 salt, examined by the microscope, has its own 
 distinct, regular, invariable form. That of 
 nitre is a pointed oblong ; that of sea-salt an 
 exact cube ; that of sugar a perfect globe. 
 If you have tried how smooth globular bo- 
 dies, as the marbles with which boys amuse 
 themselves have affected the touch when they 
 are rolled backward and forward, and over 
 one another, you w T iil easily conceive how 
 sweetness, which consists in a salt of such 
 nature, affects the taste ; for a single globe 
 (though somewhat pleasant to the feeling, 
 yet), by the regularity of its form, and the 
 somewhat too sudden deviation of its parts 
 from a right line, it is nothing near so pleasant 
 to the touch as several globes, where the hand 
 gently rises to one and falls to another : and 
 this pleasure is greatly increased if the globes 
 are in motion, and sliding over one another ; 
 for this soft variety prevents that weariness 
 which the uniform disposition of the several 
 globes would otherwise produce. Thus, in 
 sweet liquors, the parts of the fluid vehicle, 
 though most probably round, are yet so mi- 
 nute as to conceal the figure of their compo- 
 nent parts from the nicest inquisition of the 
 
236 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 microscope ; and consequently, being so ex- 
 cessively minute, they have a sort of flat sim- 
 plicity to the taste, resembling the effects of 
 plain smooth bodies to the touch ; for, if a 
 body be composed of round parts excessively 
 small, and packed pretty closely together, the 
 surface will be, both to the sight and touch, 
 as if it were nearly plain and smooth. It is 
 clear, from their unveiling their figure to the 
 microscope, that the panicles of sugar are 
 considerably larger than those of water or oil ; 
 and consequently, that their effects from their 
 roundness will be more distinct and palpable 
 to the nervous papillae of that nice organ the 
 tongue : they will induce that sense called 
 sweetness, which in a weak manner we dis- 
 cover in oil, and in a yet weaker in water ; 
 for, insipid as they are, water and oil are in 
 some degree sweet ; and it may be observed, 
 that insipid things of all kinds approach more 
 nearly to the nature of sweetness than to that 
 of any other taste. 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 237 
 
 SECT. XXII. 
 
 SWEETNESS RELAXING. 
 
 IN the other senses we have remarked that 
 smooth things are relaxing. Now it ought to 
 appear that sweet things, which are the smooth 
 of taste, are relaxing too. It is remarkable, 
 that, in some languages, soft and sweet have 
 but one name. Donx, in French, signifies 
 soft as well as sweet. The Latin didcis, and 
 the Italian didce, have in many cases the same 
 double signification. That sweet things are 
 generally relaxing, is evident; because all 
 such, especially those which are most oily, 
 taken frequently, or in a large quantity, very 
 much enfeeble the tone of the stomach. 
 Sweet smells, which bear a great affinity to 
 sweet tastes, relax very remarkably. The 
 smell of flowers disposes people to drowsi- 
 ness ; and this relaxing effect is further appa- 
 rent from the prejudice which people of weak 
 nerves receive from their use. It were worth 
 while to examine, w r hether tastes of this kind, 
 sweet ones, tastes that are caused by smooth 
 oils and a relaxing salt, are not the originally 
 
238 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 pleasant tastes ; for many, which use has ren- 
 dered such, were not at all agreeable at first. 
 The way to examine this is to try what na- 
 ture has originally provided for us, which she 
 has undoubtedly made originally pleasant, 
 and to analyse this provision. Milk is the 
 first support of our childhood. The compo- 
 nent parts of this are water, oil, and a sort of 
 a very sweet salt, called the sugar of milk. 
 All these, when blended, have a great smooth- 
 ness to the taste, and a relaxing quality to the 
 skin. The next thing children covet is 
 fruit, and of fruits those principally which 
 are sweet; and every one knows that the 
 sweetness of fruit is caused by a subtile oil, 
 and such a salt as that mentioned in the last 
 section. Afterwards, custom, habit, the de- 
 sire of novelty, and a thousand other causes, 
 confound, adulterate, and change our palates, 
 so that we can no longer reason with any sa- 
 tisfaction about them. Before we quit this 
 article, we must observe that as smooth 
 things are, as such, agreeable to the taste, 
 and are found of a relaxing quality ; so, on 
 the other hand, things which are found by 
 experience to be of a strengthening quality, 
 and fit to brace the fibres, are almost univer- 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 239 
 
 sally rough and pungent to the taste, and in 
 many cases rough even to the touch. We 
 often apply the quality of sweetness, meta- 
 phorically, to visual objects. For the better 
 carrying on this remarkable analogy of the 
 senses, we may here call sweetness the beau- 
 tiful of the taste. 
 
 SECT. XXIII. 
 
 VARIATION, WHY BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 ANOTHER principal property of beautiful 
 objects is that the line of their parts is con- 
 tinually varying its direction ; but it varies it 
 by a very insensible deviation ; it never va- 
 ries it so quickly as to surprise, or by the 
 sharpness of its angle to cause any twitching 
 or convulsion of the optic nerve. Nothing 
 long continued in the same manner, nothing 
 very suddenly varied, can be beautiful ; be- 
 cause both are opposite to that agreeable re- 
 laxation, which is the characteristic effect of 
 beauty. It is thus in all the senses. A mo- 
 tion in a right line is that manner of moving 
 next to a very gentle descent, in which we 
 meet the least resistance: yet it is not that 
 
240 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 manner of moving, which, next to a descent, 
 wearies us the least. Rest certainly tends to 
 relax ; yet there is a species of motion which 
 relaxes more than rest; a gentle oscillatory 
 motion, a rising and falling. Rocking sets 
 children to sleep better than absolute rest: 
 there is indeed scarce any thing at that age 
 which gives more pleasure than to be gently 
 lifted up and down ; the manner of playing 
 which their nurses use with children, and the 
 weighing and swinging used afterwards by 
 themselves as a favorite amusement, evince 
 this very sufficiently. Most people must 
 have observed the sort of sense they have 
 had, on being swiftly drawn in an easy coach 
 on a smooth turf, with gradual ascents and 
 declivities. This will give a better idea of 
 the beautiful, and point out its probable cause 
 better than almost any thing else. On the 
 contrary, when one is hurried over a rough, 
 rocky, broken road, the pain felt by these 
 sudden inequalities shews why similar sights, 
 feelings, and sounds, are so contrary to beau- 
 ty ; and, with regard to the feeling, it is ex- 
 actly the same in its effect, or very nearly the 
 same, whether, for instance, I move my hand 
 along the surface of a body of a certain shape, 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 241 
 
 or whether such a body is moved along my 
 hand. But to bring this analogy of the senses 
 home to the eye ; if a body presented to that 
 sense has such a waving surface, that the rays 
 of light reflected from it are in a continual in- 
 sensible deviation from the strongest to the 
 weakest (which is always the case in a sur- 
 face gradually unequal), it must be exactly 
 similar in its effect on the eye and touch ; 
 upon the one of which it operates directly, on 
 the other indirectly: and this body will be 
 beautiful, if the lines which compose its sur- 
 face are not continued, even so varied, in a 
 manner that may weary or dissipate the atten- 
 tion. The variation itself must be continu- 
 ally varied. 
 
 SECT. XXIV. 
 
 CONCERNING SMALLNESS. 
 
 1 O avoid a sameness which may arise from 
 the too frequent repetition of the same reason- 
 ings, and of illustrations of the same nature, I 
 will not enter very minutely into every par- 
 ticular that regards beauty, as it is founded on 
 the disposition of its quantity, or its quantity 
 
 x 2 
 
242 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 itself. In speaking of the magnitude of bo- 
 dies there is great uncertainty, because the 
 ideas of great and small are terms almost en- 
 tirely relative to the species of the objects, 
 which are infinite. It is true, that, having 
 once fixed the species of any object, and the 
 dimensions common in the individuals of that 
 species, we may observe some that exceed, 
 and some that fall short of, the ordinary stand- 
 ard: these which greatly exceed are by that 
 excess, provided the species itself be not very 
 small, rather great and terrible than beauti- 
 ful; but as in the animal world, and, in a 
 good measure, in the vegetable world like- 
 wise, the qualities that constitute beauty may 
 possibly be united to things of greater dimen- 
 sions ; when they are so united, they consti- 
 tute a species something different both from 
 the sublime and beautiful, which I have be- 
 fore called Fine; but this kind, I imagine, 
 has not such a power on the passions, either 
 as vast bodies have which are endued with the 
 correspondent qualities of the sublime ; or as 
 the qualities of beauty have, when united in a 
 small object. The affection produced by 
 large bodies, adorned with the spoils of beau- 
 ty, is a tension continually relieved, which- 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 243 
 
 approaches to the nature of mediocrity. But 
 if I were to say how I find myself affected 
 upon such occasions, I should say that the 
 sublime suffers less by being united to some 
 of the qualities of beauty, than beauty does 
 by being joined to greatness of quantity, or 
 any other properties of the sublime. There 
 is something so over-ruling in whatever in- 
 spires us with awe, in all things which belong 
 ever so remotely to terror, that nothing else 
 can stand in their presence^ There lie the 
 qualities of beauty, either dead and unope- 
 rative, or, at most, exerted to mollify the ri- 
 gour and sternness of the terror which is the 
 natural concomitant of greatness. Besides 
 the extraordinary great in every species, the 
 opposite to this, the dwarfish and diminutive, 
 ought to be considered. Littleness, merely 
 as such, has nothing contrary to the idea of 
 beauty. The humming bird, both in shape 
 and colouring, yields to none of the winged 
 species, of which it is the least ; and perhaps 
 his beauty is enhanced by his smallness. But 
 there are animals which, when they are ex- 
 tremely small, are rarely (if ever) beautiful. 
 There is a dwarfish size of men and women, 
 which is. almost constantly so gross and mas- 
 
244 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 sive in comparison of their height, that they 
 present us with a very disagreeable image. 
 But should a man be found not above two or 
 three feet high, supposing such a person to 
 have all the parts of his body of a delicacy 
 suitable to such a size, and otherwise endued 
 with the common qualities of other beautiful 
 bodies, I am pretty well convinced that a 
 person of such a stature might be considered 
 as beautiful ; might be the object of love ; 
 might give us very pleasing ideas on viewing 
 him. The only thing which could possibly 
 interpose to check our pleasure is, that such 
 •creatures, however formed, are unusual, and 
 are often therefore considered as something 
 monstrous. The large and gigantic, though 
 very compatible with the sublime, is contrary 
 to the beautiful. It is impossible to suppose 
 a giant the object of love. When we let our 
 imagination loose in romance, the ideas we 
 naturally annex to that size are those of ty- 
 ranny, cruelty, injustice, and every thing 
 horrid and abominable. We paint the giant 
 ravaging the country, plundering the inno- 
 cent traveller, and afterwards gorged with his 
 half-living flesh: such are Polyphemus, Ca- 
 cus, and others, who make so great a figure in 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 245 
 
 romances and heroic poems. The event we 
 attend to, with the greatest satisfaction, is their 
 defeat and death. I do not remember, in all 
 that multitude of deaths with which the Iliad 
 is filled, that the fall of any man remarkable 
 for his great stature and strength touches us 
 with pity ; nor does it appear that the author, 
 so well read in human nature, ever intended 
 it should. It is Simoisius in the soft bloom 
 of youth, torn from his parents, who tremble 
 for a courage so ill suited to his strength ; it 
 is another hurried by war from the new em- 
 braces of his bride, young and fair, and a no- 
 vice to the field, who melts us by his untimely 
 fate. Achilles, in spite of the many qualities 
 of beauty which Homer has bestowed on his 
 outward form, and the many great virtues 
 with which he has adorned his mind, can ne- 
 ver make us love him. It may be observed, 
 that Homer has given the Trojans, whose fate 
 he has designed to excite our compassion, in- 
 finitely more of the amiable social virtues than 
 he has distributed among his Greeks. With 
 regard to the Trojans, the passion he chooses 
 to raise is pity ; pity is a passion founded on 
 love ; and these lesser, and if I may say do- 
 mestic virtues, are certainly the most amiable* 
 
246 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 But he has made the Greeks far their superi- 
 ors in politic and military virtues. The coun- 
 cils of Priam are weak ; the arms of Hector 
 comparatively feeble ; his courage far below 
 that of Achilles. Yet we love Priam more 
 than Agamemnon, and Hector more than his 
 conqueror Achilles. Admiration is the pas- 
 sion which Homer would excite in favour of 
 the Greeks, and he has done it by bestowing 
 on them the virtues which have but little to 
 do with love. This short digression is, per- 
 haps, not wholly beside our purpose, where 
 our business is to shew that objects of great 
 dimensions are incompatible with beauty, the 
 more incompatible as they are greater: 
 whereas the small, if ever they fail of beau- 
 ty, this failure is not to be attributed to their 
 size. 
 
 SECT. XXVI. 
 
 OF COLOUR. 
 
 WITH regard to colour, the disquisition 
 is almost infinite ; but, I conceive, the princi- 
 ples laid down in the beginning of this Part 
 are sufficient to account for the effects of them 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 247 
 
 all, as well as for the agreeable effects c»f 
 transparent bodies, whether fluid or solid. 
 Suppose I look at a bottle of muddy liquor, 
 of a blue or red colour : the blue or red ravs 
 cannot pass clearly to the eye, but are sud- 
 denly and unequally stopped by the interven- 
 tion of little opaque bodies, which, without 
 preparation, change the idea, and change it, 
 too, into one disagreeable in its own nature, 
 conformable to the principles laid down in 
 sect. 24. But when the ray passes without 
 such opposition through the glass or liquor, 
 when the glass or liquor is quite trans- 
 parent, the light is something softened in the 
 passage, which makes it more agreeable even 
 as light ; and the liquor reflecting all the ravs 
 of its proper colour evenly, it has such an 
 effect on the eye as smooth opaque bodies 
 have on the eye and touch ; so that the plea- 
 sure here is compounded of the softness of 
 the transmitted, and the evenness of the reflect- 
 ed light. This pleasure may be heightened by 
 the common principles in other things, if the 
 shape of the glass which holds the transparent 
 liquor be so judiciously varied as to pre- 
 sent the colour gradually and interchangeably 
 weakened and strengthened with all the va- 
 
248 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 riety which judgment, in affairs of this nature, 
 shall suggest. On a review of all that has 
 been said of the effects, as well as the causes 
 of both, it will appear that the sublime and 
 beautiful are built on principles very differ- 
 ent; and that their affections are as different: 
 the great has terror for its basis, which, when 
 it is modified, causes that emotion in the mind 
 which I have called astonishment : the beau- 
 tiful is founded on mere positive pleasure, and 
 excites in the soul that feeling which is called 
 love. Their causes have made the subject of 
 this Fourth Part. 
 
 EttD OF THE FOURTH PART. 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY 
 
 INTO THE 
 
 ORIGIN OF OUR IDEAS 
 
 SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 PART V. SECT. I. 
 
 OF WORDS. 
 
 NATURAL objects affect us by the laws of 
 
 that connection which Providence has esta- 
 blished between certain motions and confi- 
 gurations of bodies, and certain consequent 
 feelings in our minds. Painting affects in 
 the same manner, but with the superadded 
 pleasure of imitation. Architecture affects 
 by the laws of nature, and the law of reason ; 
 from which latter result the rules of propor- 
 
250 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 tion, which make a work to be praised or 
 censured, in the whole or in some part, when 
 the end for which it was designed is or is not 
 properly answered. But as to words, they 
 seem to me to affect us in a manner very dif- 
 ferent from that in which we are affected by 
 natural objects, or by painting or architec- 
 ture ; yet words have as considerable a share 
 in exciting ideas of beauty and of the sublime, 
 as any of those, and sometimes a much great- 
 er than any of them : therefore, an inquiry 
 into the manner by which they excite such 
 emotions is far from being unnecessary in a 
 discourse of this kind. 
 
 SECT. II. 
 
 THE COMMON EFFECT OF POETRY, NOT BY 
 RAISING IDEAS OF THINGS. 
 
 1 HE common notion of the power of poetry 
 and eloquence, as well as that of words in or- 
 dinary conversation, is, that they affect the 
 mind by raising in it ideas of those things for 
 which custom has appointed them to stand. 
 To examine the truth of this notion, it may 
 be requisite to observe, that words may be di- 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 251 
 
 vided into three sorts* The first are such as 
 represent many simple ideas, united by nature^ 
 to form some one determinate composition, 
 as man, horse, tree, castle, &c. These I call 
 aggregate zvords. The second are they that 
 stand for one simple idea of such composi- 
 tions, and no more ; as red, blue, round, 
 square and the like. These I call simple 
 abstract words. The third are those which 
 are formed by an union, an arbitrary union 
 of both the others, and of the various rela- 
 tions ,between them in greater or lesser de- 
 grees of complexity ; as virtue, honour, per- 
 suasion, magistrate, and the like. These I 
 call compound abstract words. Words, I am 
 sensible, are capable of being classed into 
 more curious distinctions ; but these seem to 
 be natural, and enough for our purpose ; and 
 they are disposed in that order which they 
 are commonly taught, and in which the mind 
 gets the ideas they are substituted for. I shall 
 begin with the third sort of words, compound 
 abstracts, such as virtue, honour, persuasion, 
 docility. Of these I am convinced that, 
 whatever power they may have on the pas- 
 sions, they do not derive it from any repre- 
 sentation raised in the mind of the things for 
 
252 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 which they stand. As compositions, they 
 are not real essences, and hardly cause, I 
 think, any real ideas. Nobody, I believe, 
 immediately on hearing the sounds, virtue, 
 liberty, or honour, conceives any precise 
 notions of the particular modes of action and 
 thinking, together with the mixed and simple 
 ideas, and the several relations of them, for 
 which these words are substituted; neither 
 has he any general idea compounded of them ; 
 for, if he had, then some of those particular 
 ones, though indistinct, perhaps, and con- 
 fused, might come soon to be perceived. But 
 this, I take it, is hardly ever the case ; for, 
 put yourself upon analysing one of these 
 words, and you must reduce it from one set 
 of general words to another, and then into 
 the simple abstracts and aggregates, in a much 
 longer series than may be at first imagined, 
 before any real idea emerges to light, before 
 you come to discover any thing like the first 
 principles of such compositions ; and, when 
 you have made such a discovery of the origi- 
 nal ideas, the effect of the composition is ut- 
 terly lost. A train of thinking of this sort is 
 much too long to be pursued in the ordinary 
 ways of conversation ; nor is it at all necessary 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 253 
 
 that it should. Such words are in reality but 
 mere sounds ; but they are sounds, which be- 
 ing used on particular occasions, wherein we 
 receive some good, or suffer some evil, or 
 see others affected with good or evil, or 
 which we hear applied to other interesting- 
 things or events ; and, being applied in such 
 a variety of cases that we know readily by 
 habit to what things they belong, they pro- 
 duce in the mind, whenever they are after- 
 wards mentioned, effects similar to those of 
 their occasions. The sounds being often 
 used without reference to any particular oc- 
 casion, and carrying still their first impressi- 
 ons, they at last utterly lose their connec- 
 tion with the particular occasions that gave 
 rise to them ; yet the sound, without any an- 
 nexed notion, continues to operate as before. 
 
 SECT. III. 
 
 GENERAL WORDS BEFORE IDEAS. 
 
 -lVLR. LOCKE has somewhere observed, 
 with his usual sagacity, that most general 
 words, those belonging to virtue and vice, 
 good and evil, especially, are taught before 
 
 y 2 
 
254 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 the particular modes of action to which they 
 belong are presented to the mind ; and, with 
 them, the love of the one and the abhorrence 
 of the other : for the minds of children are so 
 ductile, that a nurse, or any person about a 
 child, by seeming pleased or displeased with 
 any thing, or even any word, may give the 
 dispositions of the child a similar turn. When, 
 afterwards, the several occurrences in life 
 come to be applied to these words, and that 
 which is pleasant often appears under the 
 name of the evil, and what is disagreeable to 
 nature is called good and virtuous, a strange 
 confusion of ideas and affections arises in the 
 minds of many, and an appearance of no 
 small contradiction between their notions and 
 their actions. There are many who love vir- 
 tue and who detest vice, and this not from 
 hypocrisy or affectation, who, notwithstand- 
 ing, very frequently act ill and wickedly in 
 particulars without the least remorse ; because % 
 these particular occasions never came into 
 view when the passions on the side of virtue 
 were so warmly affected by certain words, 
 heated originally by the breath of others; 
 and, for this reason, it is hard to repeat cer- 
 tain sets of words, though owned by them- 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 255 
 
 selves unoperative, without being in some 
 degi-ee affected, especially if a warm and af- 
 fecting tone of voice accompanies them; as, 
 suppose, 
 
 Wise, valiant, generous, good and great. 
 
 These words, by having no application, ought 
 to be unoperative ; but when words, com- 
 monly sacred to great occasions, are used, we 
 are affected by them even without the occa- 
 sions. When words, which have been gene- 
 rally so applied, are put together without any 
 rational view, or in such a manner that they 
 do not rightly agree with each other, the style 
 is called bombast. And it requires, in seve- 
 ral cases, much good sense and experience to 
 be guarded against the force of such language ; 
 for, when propriety is neglected, a greater 
 number of these affecting words may be taken 
 into the service, and a greater variety may be 
 indulged in combining them. 
 
256 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 SECT. IV. 
 
 THE EFFECTS OF WORDS. 
 
 IF words have all their possible extent of 
 power, three effects arise in the mind of the 
 hearer. The first is, the sound: the second, 
 the picture, or representation of the thing sig- 
 nified by the sound ; the third is, the affection 
 of the soul produced by one or by both of the 
 foregoing. Compounded abstract words, of 
 which we have been speaking, (honour, jus- 
 tice, liberty, and the like), produce the first 
 and the last of these effects, but not the se- 
 cond. Simple abstracts are used to signify 
 some one simple idea, without much advert- 
 ing to others which may chance to attend it, 
 as blue, green, hot, cold, and the like ; these 
 are capable of affecting all three of the pur- 
 poses of words ; as the aggregate words, man, 
 castle, horse, &c. are in a yet higher degree. 
 But I am of opinion that the most general 
 effect, even of these words, does not arise 
 from their forming pictures of the several 
 things they would represent in the imagina- 
 tion; because, on a very diligent examina- 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 257 
 
 tion of my own mind, and getting others to 
 consider theirs, I do not find that once in 
 twenty times any such picture is formed : 
 and, when it is, there is most commonly a 
 particular effort of the imagination for that 
 purpose. But the aggregate words operate, 
 as I said of the compound abstracts, not by 
 presenting any image to the mind, but by 
 having, from use, the same effect on being 
 mentioned, that their original has when it is 
 seen. Suppose we were to read a passage to 
 this effect: " The river Danube rises in a 
 moist and mountainous soil in the heart of 
 Germany, where, winding to and fro, it wa- 
 ters several principalities, until, turning into 
 Austria, and leaving the walls of Vienna, it 
 passes into Hungary : there, with a vast flood, 
 augmented by the Saave and the Drave, it 
 quits Christendom ; and, rolling through the 
 barbarous countries which border on Tartary, 
 it enters by many mouths into the Black Sea." 
 In this description many things are mention- 
 ed, as mountains, rivers, cities, the sea, &c. 
 But let any body examine himself, and see 
 whether he has had impressed on his imagin- 
 ation any pictures of a river, mountain, wa- 
 tery soil, Germany, &c. Indeed it is im- 
 
258 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 possible, in the rapidity and quick succession 
 of words in conversation, to have ideas both 
 of the sound of the word and of the thing re- 
 presented; besides, some words, expressing 
 real essences, are so mixed with others of a 
 general and nominal import, that it is imprac- 
 ticable to jump from sense to thought, from 
 particulars to generals, from things to words, 
 in such a manner as to answer the purposes 
 of life ; nor is it necessary that we should 
 
 SECT. V. 
 
 EXAMPLES THAT WORDS MAY AFFECT WITH- 
 OUT RAISING IMAGES. 
 
 I FIND it very hard to persuade several, that 
 their passions are affected by words from 
 whence they have no ideas ; and yet harder 
 to convince them, that, in the ordinary course 
 of conversation, we are sufficiently under- 
 stood without raising any images of the things 
 concerning which we speak. It seems to be 
 an odd object of dispute with any man, whe- 
 ther he has ideas in his mind or not. Of this, 
 at first view, every man, in his own forum, 
 ought to judge without appeal. But, strange 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 259 
 
 as it may appear, we are often at a loss to 
 know what ideas we have of things, or whe- 
 ther we have any ideas at all upon some sub- 
 jects. It even requires a good deal of atten- 
 tion to be thoroughly satisfied on this head. 
 Since I wrote these papers I found two very 
 striking instances of the possibility there is 
 that a man may hear words without having 
 any idea of the things which they represent, 
 and yet afterwards be capable of returning 
 them to others, combined in a new way, and 
 with great propriety, energy, and instruction. 
 The first instance is that of Mr. Blacklock, a 
 poet blind from his birth. Few men blessed 
 with the most perfect sight can describe visual 
 objects with more spirit and justness than this 
 blind man; which cannot possibly be attri- 
 buted to his having a clearer conception of 
 the things he describes than is common to 
 other persons. Mr. Spence, in an elegant 
 preface which he has written to the works of 
 this poet, reasons very ingeniously, and I 
 imagine, for the most part, very rightly, upon 
 the cause of this extraordinary phenomenon ; 
 but I cannot altogether agree with him, that 
 some improprieties in language and thought, 
 which occur in these poems, have arisen from 
 
260 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 the blind poet's imperfect conception of vi- 
 sual objects : since such improprieties, and 
 much greater, may be found in writers even 
 of an higher class than Mr. Blacklock, and 
 who, notwithstanding, possessed the faculty 
 of seeing in its full perfection. Here is a 
 poet doubtless as much affected by his own 
 descriptions as any that reads them can be ; 
 and yet he is affected with this strong enthu- 
 siasm by things of which he neither has, nor 
 can possibly have, any idea, further than that 
 of a bare sound : and why may not those who 
 read his works be affected in the same manner 
 that he was, with as little of any real ideas of 
 the things described ? The second instance is 
 of Mr. Saunderson, professor of mathematics 
 in the university of Cambridge. This learned 
 man had acquired great knowledge in natu- 
 ral philosophy, in astronomy, and whatever 
 sciences depend upon mathematical skill. 
 What was the most extraordinary and the 
 most to my purpose, he gave excellent lec- 
 tures upon light and colours ; and this man 
 taught others the theory of those ideas which 
 they had, and which he himself undoubtedly 
 had not. But it is probable that the words 
 red, blue, green, answered to him as well as 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 261 
 
 the ideas of the colours themselves ; for the 
 ideas of greater or lesser degrees of refrangi- 
 bility being applied to these words, and the 
 blind man being instructed in what other re- 
 spects they were found to agree or to dis- 
 agree, it was as easy for him to reason upon 
 the words as if he had been fully master of 
 the ideas. Indeed, it must be owned he could 
 make no new discoveries in the way of expe- 
 riment. He did nothing but what we do 
 every day in common discourse. When I 
 wrote this last sentence, and used the words 
 every day and common discourse, I had no 
 images in my mind of any succession of 
 time; nor of men in conference with each 
 other ; nor do I imagine that the reader will 
 have any such ideas on reading it. Neither, 
 when I spoke of red or blue and green, as 
 well as refrangibility, had I these several co- 
 lours, or the rays of light passing into a dif- 
 ferent medium, and there diverted from their 
 course, painted before me in the way of 
 images. I know very well that the mind pos- 
 sesses a faculty of raising such images at plea- 
 sure; but then an act of the will is necessary 
 to this ; and, in ordinary conversation or read- 
 ing, it is very rarely that any image at all is 
 
 z 
 
262 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 excited in the mind. If I say " I shall go to 
 Italy next summer," I am well understood. 
 Yet, I believe, nobody has by this painted in 
 his imagination the exact figure of the speaker 
 passing by land or by water, or both ; some- 
 times on horseback, sometimes in a carriage ; 
 with all the particulars of the journey. Still 
 less has he any idea of Italy, the country to 
 which I proposed to go ; or of the greenness 
 of the fields, the ripening of the fruits, and 
 the warmth of the air, with the change to this 
 from a different season, which are the ideas 
 for which the word summer is substituted: 
 but least of all has he any image from the 
 word next ; for this word stands for the idea 
 of many summers, with the exclusion of all 
 but one : and surely the man who says next 
 summer has no images of such a succession 
 and such an exclusion. In short, it is not 
 only of those ideas which are commonly 
 called abstract, and of which no image at all 
 can be formed, but even of particular real 
 beings, that we converse without having any 
 idea of them excited in the imagination; as 
 will certainly appear on a diligent examina- 
 tion of our own minds. Indeed, so little does 
 poetry depend for its effect^ on the power of 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 263 
 
 raising sensible images, that I am convinced 
 it would lose a very considerable part of its 
 energy if this were the necessary result of all 
 description: because that union of affecting 
 words, which is the most powerful of all 
 poetical instruments, would frequently lose its 
 force, along with its propriety and consistency, 
 if the sensible images were always excited. 
 There is not, perhaps, in the whole iEneid, a 
 more grand and laboured passage than the de- 
 scription of Vulcan's cavern in iEtna, and the 
 works that are there carried on. Virgil dwells 
 particularly on the formation of the thunder, 
 which he describes unfinished under the ham- 
 mers of the Cyclop9. But what are the prin- 
 ciples of this extraordinary composition ? 
 
 Tres imbris torti radios, tres nubis aquosx 
 Addiderant ; rutili tres ignis et alitis austri ; 
 Fulgores nunc terrificos sonitumque, metumque 
 Miscebant operi, flammisque sequacibus iras. 
 
 This seems to me admirably sublime ; yet, if 
 we attend coolly to the kind of sensible 
 images which a combination of ideas of this 
 sort must form, the chimeras of madmen can- 
 not appear more wild and absurd than such a 
 
264 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 picture. a Three rays of twisted showers, 
 " three of watery clouds, three of fire, and 
 " three of the winged south wind; then mixed 
 " they in the work terrific lightnings, and 
 " sound, and fear, and anger, with pursu- 
 u * n g flames" This strange composition is 
 formed into a gross body ; it is hammered by 
 the Cyclops ; it is in part polished, and 
 partly continues rough. The truth is, if 
 poetry gives us a noble assemblage of words, 
 corresponding to many noble ideas, which are 
 connected by circumstances of time or place, 
 or related to each other as cause and effect, or 
 associated in any natural way, they may be 
 moulded together in any form, and perfectly 
 answer their end. The picturesque connec- 
 tion is not demanded, because no real picture 
 is formed ; nor is the effect of the description 
 at all the less upon this account. What is 
 said of Helen, by Priam and the old men of 
 his council, is generally thought to give us 
 the highest possible idea of that fatal beauty : 
 
 Ov n/ufs-n Tg«D3t? itcti ivKny.t£&s A^atfa?, 
 Aiyut f (tQ&VArixri 3-jmj u; U7ra. tiUiV. 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 265 
 
 They cry'd, No wonder such celestial charms 
 For nine long- years have set the world in arms: 
 What winning graces ! what majestic mien! 
 She moves a goddess, and she looks a queen. 
 
 Pope. 
 
 Here is not one word said of the particulars 
 of her Beauty; nothing which can in the 
 least help us to any precise idea of her per- 
 son : but yet we are much more touched by 
 this manner of mentioning her, than by those 
 long and laboured descriptions of Helen, whe- 
 ther handed down by tradition, or formed by 
 fancy, which are to be met with in some 
 authors. I am sure it affects me much more 
 than the minute description which Spencer 
 has given of Belphebe ; though I own that 
 there are parts in that description, as there are 
 in all the descriptions of that excellent writer, 
 extremely fine and poetical. The terrible 
 picture which Lucretius has drawn of Reli- 
 gion, in order to display the magnanimity of 
 his philosophical hero in opposing her, is 
 thought to be designed with great boldness 
 and spirit: 
 
 Humana ante oculos fcede cum vita jaceret, 
 In terris, oppressa gravi sub religione, 
 Quse caput e coeli regionibus ostendebat 
 Horribili desuper visu mortalibus instans ; 
 
 Z2 
 
266 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 Primus Graius homo mortales tollere contra 
 Est oculos ausus. 
 
 What idea do you derive from so excellent a 
 picture ? None at all, most certainly ; neither 
 has the poet said a single word which might 
 in the least serve to mark a single limb or fea- 
 ture of the phantom, which he intended to re- 
 present in all the horrors imagination can con- 
 ceive. In reality, poetry and rhetoric do not 
 succeed, in exact description, so well as paint- 
 ing does : their business is, to affect rather by 
 sympathy than imitation ; to display rather 
 the effect of things on the mind of the speaker, 
 or of others, than to present a clear idea of 
 the things themselves. This is their most ex- 
 tensive province, and that in which they suc- 
 ceed the best. 
 
 SECT. VI. 
 
 POETRY NOT STRICTLY AN IMITATIVE ART. 
 
 H.ENCE we may observe, that poetry, taken 
 in its most general sense, cannot with strict 
 propriety be called an art of imitation. It is 
 indeed an imitation, so far as it describes the 
 manners and passions of men, which their 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 267 
 
 words can express ; where animi motus effert 
 interprete lingua: there it is strictly imita- 
 tion ; and all merely dramatic poetry is of 
 this sort. But descriptive poetry operates 
 chiefly by substitution; by the means of 
 sounds, which by custom have the effect of 
 realities. Nothing is an imitation further 
 than as it resembles some other thing ; and 
 words undoubtedly have no sort of resem- 
 blance to the ideas for which they stand. 
 
 SECT. VII. 
 
 HOW WORDS INFLUENCE THE PASSIONS. 
 
 -N OW, as words affect, not by any original 
 power, but by representation, it might be 
 supposed that their influence over the passions 
 should be but light : yet it is quite otherwise ; 
 for we find by experience that eloquence and 
 poetry are as capable, nay indeed much more 
 capable, of making deep and lively impres- 
 sions, than any other arts, and even than nature 
 itself, in very many cases. And this arises 
 chiefly from these three causes : First, that 
 we take an extraordinary part in the passions 
 of others, and that we are easily affected and 
 
268 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 brought into sympathy by any tokens which 
 are shown of them ; and there are no tokens 
 which can express all the circumstances of 
 most passions so fully as words ; so that if a 
 person speaks upon any subject, he can not 
 only convey the subject to you, but likewise 
 the manner in which he is himself affected by 
 it. Certain it is, that the influence of most 
 things on our passions is not so much from 
 the things themselves, as from our opinions 
 concerning them ; and these again depend 
 very much on the opinions of other men, 
 conveyable, for the most part, by words only. 
 Secondly, there are many things of a very 
 affecting nature, which can seldom occur in 
 the reality ; but the words which represent 
 them often do ; and thus they have an oppor- 
 tunity of making a deep impression and tak- 
 ing root in the mind, whilst the idea of the 
 reality was transient j and to some, perhaps, 
 never really occurred in any shape, to whom 
 it is, notwithstanding, very affecting, as war, 
 death, famine, &c. Besides, many ideas 
 have never been at all presented to the senses 
 of any man but by words, as God, angels, 
 devils, heaven, and hell; all of which have, 
 however, a great influence over the passions* 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 269 
 
 Thirdly, by words we have it in our power 
 to make such combinations as we cannot pos- 
 sibly do otherwise. By this power of com- 
 bining, we are able, by the addition of well- 
 chosen circumstances, to give a new life and 
 force to the simple objects. In painting, we 
 may represent any fine figure we please ; but 
 we never can give it those enlivening touches 
 which it may receive from words. To re- 
 present an angel in a picture, you can only 
 draw a beautiful young man winged: but 
 what painting can furnish out any thing so 
 grand as the addition cf one word, " the angel 
 " of the Lord?" It is true, I have here no 
 clear idea j but these words affect the mind 
 more than the sensible image did ; which is 
 all I contend for. A picture of Priam drag- 
 ged to the altar's foot, and there murdered, if 
 it were well executed, would undoubtedly be 
 very moving ; but there are very aggravating 
 circumstances which it could never repre- 
 sent : 
 
 Sanguine foedantem quos ipse sacraverat ig-nes. 
 
 As a further instance, let us consider those 
 lines of Milton, where he describes the tra- 
 
270 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 vels of the fallen angels through their dismal 
 habitation : 
 
 O'er many a dark and dreary vale 
 
 They pass'd, and many a region dolorous; 
 
 O'er many a frozen, many a fiery Alp ; 
 
 Rocks, caves, lakes,fens,bog-s, dens,and shades of death* 
 
 A universe of death. 
 
 Here is displayed the force of union in 
 
 Rocks, caves, lakes, dens, bog's, fens, and shades ; 
 
 which yet would lose the greatest part of the 
 effect, if they were not the 
 
 Rocks, caves, lakes, dens, bogs, fens, and shades— of 
 Death. 
 
 The idea of this affection caused by a word, 
 which nothing but a word could annex to the 
 others, raises a very great degree of the sub- 
 lime ; and this sublime is raised yet higher by 
 what follows — a " universe of Death" Here 
 are again two ideas not presentable but by 
 language, and an union of them great and 
 amazing beyond conception; if they may 
 properly be called ideas, which present no 
 distinct image to the mind: but still it will 
 be difficult to conceive how words can move 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 271 
 
 the passions which belong to real objects, 
 without representing these objects clearly. 
 This is difficult to us, because we do not suffi- 
 ciently distinguish, in our observations upon 
 language, between a clear expression and a 
 strong expression. These are frequently con- 
 founded with each other, though they are in 
 reality extremely different. The former re- 
 gards the understanding ; the latter belongs 
 to the passions : the one describes a thing as 
 it is ; the other describes it as it is felt. Now, 
 as there is a moving tone of voice, an im- 
 passioned countenance, an agitated gesture, 
 which affect independently of the things about 
 which they are exerted ; so there are words, 
 and certain dispositions of words, which, be- 
 ing peculiarly devoted to passionate subjects, 
 and always used by those who are under the 
 influence of any passion, touch and move us 
 more than those which far more clearly and 
 distincdy express the subject matter. We 
 yield to sympathy, what we refuse to descrip- 
 tion. The truth is, all verbal description, 
 merely as naked description, though never so 
 exact, conveys so poor and insufficient an 
 idea of the thing described, that it could 
 scarcely have the smallest effect, if the 
 
272 ON THE SUBLIME 
 
 speaker did not call in to his aid those modes 
 of speech that mark a strong and lively feel- 
 ing in himself. Then, by the contagion of 
 our passions, we catch a fire, already kindled 
 in another, which probably might never have 
 been struck out by the object described. 
 Words, by strongly conveying the passions 
 by those means which we have already men- 
 tioned, fully compensate for their weakness 
 in other respects. It may be observed, that 
 very polished languages, and such as are 
 praised for their superior clearness and per- 
 spicuity, are generally deficient in strength. 
 The French language has that perfection and 
 that defect. "Whereas the Oriental tongues, 
 and in general the languages of most, unpo- 
 lished people, have a great force and energy 
 of expression ; and this is but natural. Un- 
 cultivated people are but ordinary observers of 
 things, and not critical in distinguishing them ; 
 but, for that reason, they admire more, and 
 are more affected with what they see, and 
 therefore express themselves in a warmer and 
 more passionate manner. If the affection be 
 well conveyed, it will work its effect without 
 any clear idea ; often without any idea at all of 
 the thing which has originally given rise to it. 
 
AND BEAUTIFUL. 273 
 
 It might be expected, from the fertility of 
 the subject, that I should consider poetry, as 
 it regards the sublime and beautiful, more at 
 large ; but it must be observed, that, in this 
 light, it has been often and well handled al- 
 ready. It was not my design to enter into 
 the criticism of the sublime and beautiful m 
 any art, but to attempt to lay down such prin- 
 ciples as may tend to ascertain, to distinguish, 
 and to form a sort of standard for them ; 
 which purposes I thought might be best ef- 
 fected by an inquiry into the properties or 
 such things in nature as raise love and asto- 
 nishment in us; and by shewing in what 
 manner they operated to produce these pas- 
 sions. Words were only so far to be consi- 
 dered, as to shew upon what principle they 
 were capable of being the representatives of 
 these natural things, and by what powers they 
 were able to affect us often as strongly as the 
 things they represent, and sometimes much 
 more strongly. 
 
 THE END.