A 715,451

ARTES
LIBRARY
1837
SCIENTIA
VERITAS
OF THE
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
PLURIBUS
VRUS
TCEBOR
SI QUERIS PENINSULAM-AMⱭNAM
CIRCUMSPICE
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PRETENSIONS
TO A
FINAL ANALYSIS
OF THE
NATURE AND ORIGIN
OF
SUBLIMITY, STYLE, BEAUTY,
GENIUS, AND TASTE;
WITH AN
APPENDIX,
EXPLAINING THE
CAUSES OF THE PLEASURE
WHICH IS DERIVED FROM
TRAGEDY.
BY THE REV. B. BARRETT.
LONDON:
FUBLISHED BY JOHN MURRAY, NO. 32, FLEET-STREET.
SOLD ALSO BY W. MINSHULL, GAZETTE OFFICE,
LANCASTER.
1812.
INTRODUCTION.
THE Belles Lettres are universally acknow-
ledged to be sources of the greatest refinement,
pleasure, and utility. This consideration na-
turally leads to an expectation, that every effort
to contribute to their improvement will be
welcomed with encouragement proportionate
to its extent.
If, therefore, an endeavour be made to ana-
lyse the first principles of them; the utmost
extent to which, in this province, it is possible
to aspire; it is hoped that it will be indulged
with the greatest latitude of allowance. To
attain this purport, is the design of the present
publication.
Numerous have been the systems to ascer-
tain the nature and origin of the first principles
of the Belles Lettres. Some authors have
undertaken the developement of one principle;
others of another. Longinus and Burke have
treated on Sublimity; St. Augustine, and Sir
Joshua Reynolds, on Beauty; Burke, again,
and other eminent authors, have left us dis-
sertations on Taste and Style. But their de-
B
2
cisions on these topics have not been generally
admitted.
If, therefore, I propose to supply what de-
ficiencies these authors may be thought to have
left in explaining or supporting their different
systems: if, where they have been unable to
form a system on any of these intricate sub-
jects, or, have invented one visibly erroneous,
I hazard a solution of the difficulty, I hope
that the attempt will not be destitute of indul-
gence. This task I have presumed to under-
take.
Wherever these authors seemed unsatisfac-
torily to maintain or explain their conceptions,
I have studied to compensate the imperfection.
Where they have been misunderstood, and
their ideas on this account rejected, I have
laboured to shew their accuracy: where they
have failed, or not exactly reached the object
in view, I have endeavoured to meet the dif-
ficulty, and propose an original, and what I
venture to hope that the reader will think, a
well-founded system. Thus on the points of
Style and Genius, on which no systems have
yet approached to exactitude, I have endea-
voured to give a complete explanation from
my own reflections.
The principal ground, on which I have
taken up each opinion, has been experience,
I have not maintained one, but what seemed
3
:
:
authorised by this criterion. This, indeed,
appeared to be the only test worthy of con-
sideration in attempts towards a production
solidly beneficial. So far from aspiring after,
I have disdained the praise of ingenuity; my
sole ambition has been for that of truth. This
I sought in all my investigations, and difficult,
abstruse, as they were, I never thought them
entitled to regard, till, by pursuing them to
their last extent, I had waded to this final
term. Experience, too, is the only standard
by which I wish their merit to be determined.
If I may be suspected of arrogance, in pre-
tending definitively to settle what so many
celebrated critics have not been able satisfac-
torily to ascertain, let it be recollected, that
such success is possible, without entitling its
author to extravagant pretensions to merit. It
frequently, happens that previous discussion,
without attaining its object, may be, so far, an
elucidation, as to render it, in consequence,
easily discernible. It, sometimes, also hap-
pens, that what has long perplexed men of
greater erudition, may occasionally, present
itself to a person possessed of less. It might,
therefore, easily, be that I put in my claim to
these discoveries, without extraordinary pre-
sumption, or even merit.
Lastly, if I may be thought to have been
very brief in these dissertations, I must state
}
that it appeared to me unnecessary to be other
wise. My plan has been to give a bare analysis
of the first principles of the Belles Lettres,
Sublimity, Style, Beauty, Genius, and Taste.
That completed, I thought it unnecessary to
look farther, knowing that every subordinate
point was so amply treated by critics, as to
preclude me all power of adding to their ob-
servations.
On abstruse subjects, too, the fewer the
words, and the clearer, the better. The sur-
vey of such subjects is, also, rendered less
painful, from the consideration that it is not of
too great a length for an ordinary mind to re-
collect; and this latter is no unimportant con-
sideration in intricate dissertations.
With an eye to these various grounds for in-
dulgence, it is to be trusted that the judicious
reader will commence the perusal of this short,
but difficult attempt.
:
SUBLIMITY.
CHAP. I.
The System of Longinus.
PREVIOUSLY to the exposition of a new
system on sublimity, a review of the systems,
which have hitherto been proposed, seemed
but a tribute due to the industry, which pro-
duced them. Not all, however, have been
selected for discussion, but, only three of the
most distinguished. To these, as they ap-
peared to comprise the merit of the rest, with
a display, at the same time, of much superior
subtilty and penetration, it was deemed suf-
ficiently satisfactory to confine the attention.
The authors of the systems alluded to are
Longinus, Burke, and Blair.
Longinus was the first author of eminence,
who started forth in this career of criticism.
He was endowed with every talent requisite for
the undertaking, a vigour of genius able to
comprehend a matter of so much intricacy,
6
and extraordinary correctness of judgment,
Dr. Hurd observes, that he was gifted with
talents capable of penetrating the very soul of
fine writing. Indeed, of all critics, who have
pretended to a theory on Sublimity, there,
perhaps, never arose one, who, for acuteness,
and peneration, could have been selected, in
preference, for so venturesome a task.
His system is divided into five heads; inde-
pendent elevation of thought, ardent feeling,
or, the power of moving the passions, tropes,
figures, and musical arrangement.
To one,
or other of these he traces every instance of
Sublimity.
To the generality of critics, this survey of
the subject appears too vague. To the two
first principles, indeed, independent elevation
of thought, and ardent feeling, they think
little, or no censure applicable; but, to the
three last they start serious opposition.
That they should agree in bestowing greater
indulgence on the former, appears very rational.
Certainly, Sublimity is no where to be dis-
covered, but under the influence of such
causes. All expressions of high honour, mag-
nanimity; all, that convey elevation of senti-
ment, that display the noblest powers of the
mind, are usually distinguished by this charac-
teristic. The great of every description is its
ordinary subject, is its sole foundation. But,
7
when they proceed to express so vehement an
aversion to the latter, they might, perhaps,
have admitted a greater share of moderation,
and pronounced a more temperate decision.
It
may be an error to term figures, tropes,
and musical arrangement, principles of the
Sublime. Language like this may not be suf-
ficiently discriminating. Probably, only, that
may be denominated a distinctive principle,
which is peculiar to whatever it is a principle
of; and the influence of these three qualities
being as great upon every other species of
composition, as the sublime, may not justly
pretend to a separate controul over the sub-
lime.
But, may not this defect of precision be
deemed excusable, if it can be evinced, that
they may, often, be essential towards the at-
tainment of sublimity? If it be proved, that,
in certain circumstances, Sublimity cannot
exist without them, and that, in every circum-
stance, they have a most powerful effect? An
effort towards this discovery will be made in a
later, and more suitable part of this little
undertaking. If it be crowned with success,
the discussion, whether they be termed sources
of sublimity, or conditions requisite to its at-
tainment, will be deemed a punctilio not
greatly to be regarded, and Longinus will be
looked upon as more easily justifiable.
8
The strongest arguments against his system,
will, if maturely considered, appear to be its
want of extent, and an injudicious distinction,
which he makes between the two first heads
of Sublimity, grandeur of thought, and ar-
dent feeling.
This latter defect will be discovered in a
very example, which he cites in his favour, to
the prejudice of one Cecilius, whose opinion
he was combating. It is this, out of Homer:
« Οσσαν επ Ουλύμπῳ μεμασαν θεμεν και αυταρ
αυταρ επ Οσση
σε Πηλιον εινοσ φύλλον ἐν ἔρανος αμβατος είη,
6 Και νυ κεν εξέλεσαν, &c.”
"To gain access to Heaven, they strove to
"lift Ossa upon Olympus, and Pelion with its
"forests upon Ossa, and they had wrought
"their intent." He asserts, that this instance
exhibits the most powerful energy of thought,
the most striking sublimity, and still is des-
titute of feeling, διχα παθες.
It is destitute of feeling, such as is conveyed
in a speech, such as is employed with a direct
view to excite the passions. But, is such a
view an absolute requisite for the demonstration
of feeling? Could feeling be more strongly
expressed than in the whole of the passage,
particularly, the words, " And they had
wrought their intent ?"
Besides, experience, which should be the
only admitted test, evinces, that there is no
2
sublime independent of feeling. The truth of
this assertion will be afterwards more amply
considered.
Longinus, therefore, would have been more.
accurate, if, instead of dividing his two first
principles, he had united them, by stating,
that the principles of Sublimity were, "Inde-
pendent elevation of thought, and ardent
feeling."
His misconception feems to have arisen from
the following cause.* Attending to the diffe-
rence which there is between composition
written with feeling, and composition written
for the direct purpose of expressing feeling,
he inferred, that composition, not written for
this direct purpose, contained no feeling; and
thence, proceeds to conclude, that there may
* I am of opinion, that feeling always accompanies
thought. By way of objection, it may be remarked, that
mathematicians think intensely, but do not feel. They
may not feel that emotion, which we denominate passion;
but they, certainly, are moved in as great a degree, by
such feeling, as is peculiar to their conceptions. Were
they not, I could hardly imagine that that study would
have so frequent an effect upon their sensory organs. 1
still conceive, therefore, that feeling and thought are con-
comitants. It may be asserted, that we often think, with-
out perceiving that we feel; this, however, may arise from
the inurement of habit. May it not, with equal reason,
be affirmed, that we as often think, without perceiving
that we do?
C
10
be a sublime in composition, without feeling.
This deduction may be drawn from his own
words, in which he informs us, that he con-
ceived the feeling, which he denominates malos,
to be distinct from feeling, generically con-
sidered.
The other serious objection opposed to the
system of Longinus was its deficiency in re-
gard of extent. Notwithstanding the possi-
bility of his having explained the true nature
of the Sublime, he has not given any informa-
tion how this property of composition is to be
attained. After this discovery he never made
an effort. This, however, was a serious omis-
sion in his critical attempt. For, of what
ultimate benefit is the mere definition of Subli-
mity, without information how it is to be
acquired? It is but tempting curiosity, with-
out consulting its gratification. This, there-
fore, appears to be another, rather obvious,
defect in the theory of Longinus.
Compounding for these imperfections, his
ideas on the subject may be looked upon as
radically just.
Sublimity is, undoubtedly, the echo of
High Sentiment, or, as he terms it, of
Meyaλopgorun. This is the precise temper of
Μεγαλοφροσυνη.
mind from which it issues; a position which
will be descanted upon more amply on a later
occasion.
11
..
But, even, were the remarks of Longinus
universally inaccurate, his work would ever
deserve perusal as a monument of genius and
taste. Under every point of view, whatever
may be his deficiency in enforcing the Sublime,
by precept; at least, he is not wanting in en-
forcing it by example. His whole composition
is a display of this great quality; and, to those
who are ambitious of attaining it, no one more
suitable can be selected for recommendation.
CHAP. II.
System of Mr. Burke.
MR. BURKE, apparently, conceiving that
Longinus had failed in his views of the
Sublime, by tracing it to too general a prin-
ciple, thought that success would be more
easily attainable, if he endeavoured to explain
it by some more particular criterion. That
such was his idea seems probable, from his
hinting it as his opinion, that Sublimity was
not reducible to any general test. This he has
done in the preface to his learned work,
wherein he observes, that "a theory founded
"on experiment, and not assumed, is always
12
good for so much as it explains. Our inability
"to push it INDEFINITELY is no argument
८
at all against it." How far he has succeeded
by this more contracted method of examining
the subject, will be determined by dis-
cussion.
If a general principle fail, for want of being
specially applicable, a particular principle is,
perhaps, more objectionable, for being too
confined. If one add no precision to science,
the other, at leaft, retrenches from it. Which,
therefore, of these two defects had better be
incurred, may be left to the decision of good
sense.
If Longinus have deserved the former sort of
blame; I fear, Mr. Burke has lost more repu-
putation by subjecting himself to the latter.
This, however, remains to be discovered.
Mr. Burke maintains that terror alone, or,
whatever operates in a manner analagous to
terror, is a source of the Sublime. Herein
consists the compass of his theory. To ascer-
tain whether this view of the subject be accu-
rate or not, it suffices to find out whether
there can be a sublime without any intermix-
ture of terror, or what is analagous to terror.
This accomplished, the point is adjusted.
Certainly, then, it must be asserted, that
there are many instances of Sublimity, to
which neither terror, nor any of its concomi-
13
tants, can have access. Dr. Blair singles out
one instance, in opposition to Mr. Burke, that
of the ſtarry firmament. This, instead of
being the instance of a sublime, distinguished
by terror, is rather to be reputed the instance
of a sublime, productive of joy.
In the following examples, not the least
feature of the terrific is discernible.
This first example is an extract from the
prophet Isaiah: "Thus saith the Lord, thy
"Redeemer, and he that formed thee from
"the womb: I am the Lord, that maketh all
66
things, that stretcheth forth the heavens
alone, that spreadeth abroad the earth by
"myself; that saith to the deep, Be dry, and
"I will dry up thy rivers; that saith of Cyrus,
He is my shepherd, and shall perform all
"my pleasure; even saying to Jerusalem,
"Thou shalt be built; and to the Temple,
Thy foundation shall be laid."
xx
This passage presents to view the Almighty
in the first attitudes of pre-eminence, as Sove-
reign Lord, as Redeemer, as Creator; as
Arbiter of the Universe, and of all its vicissi-
tudes; as Regulator of human transactions;
as passing a determination, and vouching for
its execution; and is, in the estimation of Dr.
Blair, highly sublime. Still, there is no pro-
perty in it of the terrible: the result of these
various representations of Almighty rule is
14
highly consoling. They are exhibited for the
express purpose of consolation; to comfort
the dejected Israelites. This instance, there-
fore, is no demonstration that the terrible
animates every effort of Sublimity.
Let us turn to another, and see whether it
be more accommodating to the plan of Mr.
Burke. "God," saith the Psalmist, "stilleth
"the noise of the seas, the noise of their
<<
waves, and the tumults of the people."
These expressions characterise great command:
they shew forth the full controul of authority:
and are universally deemed sublime: yet, there
is no particle in them, which has a tendency to
alarm; to suggest intimations of terror.
This last so well-known passage, which Lon-
ginus cites, "Be Light, and Light was," is
of no different character. Although, as that
great critic properly observed, it is after the
true model of Sublimity: although it denotes
one of the great exertions of Omnipotence;
it, nevertheless, leaves no impression which
excites fear, which conveys an idea of a ter-
rific nature. It merely manifests a wonderful
operation of divine infinity; which, if at-
tended with any peculiar effect, the effect is,
only, that of amazing. These examples, then,
rather derogate from the opinion of Mr. Burke.
A few more sublime passages may, perhaps,
not inappositely be added.
15
What language can be more sublimely sig
nificant of power, and yet teem with more
consoling suggestions, than the following, se-
lected from Isaiah? It describes the exertions
of God in favour of his servants. Is. cxli.
v. 10. "Fear not, for, I am with thee turn
"not aside, for, I am thy God: I have
strengthened thee, and have helped thee,
દુઃ
66
..
and the right hand of my Just One hath
upheld thee." Again, v. 12. "Thou shalt
"seek them, and shalt not find the men, that
"resist thee they shall be as nothing, and as
66
a thing consumed, the men, that war against
"thee: for, I am the Lord thy God, who
"take thee by the hand, and say to thee:
"Fear not, I have helped thee." What, in
the whole quotation more sublime than these
words, "For, I am the Lord thy God, who
"take thee by the hand, and say to thee,
"Fear not, I have helped thee?" At the
same time, what more consoling? Certainly,
no terror can obtrude itself here: it has no
opening in these passages. It appears, there-
fore, that Mr. Burke, so far from being ac-
curate in construing terror into the exclusive
source of Sublimity, might, with great pro
priety, have established some other principle
in its stead.
There are, indeed, numerous openings to
Sublimity, to which terror can have no access.
16
:
What, in all composition gives birth to greater
Sublimity than a demonstration of feelings
superior to terror of feelings, which, so far
from being disheartened by it, exult at its ap-
proach? What object more sublime than the
hero, who sets at defiance terror's every instru-
ment, and walks forward, with open breast, to
confront even Death? Can it be said, that
here, either terror, or, what is analogous to it,
causes the Sublime?
Besides, terror cannot, in any manner, inter-
fere in sublime expressions, which origi-
nate in pleasure. Now, that Sublimity may
exist in such expressions, I shall undertake to
demonstrate, because the establishment of this
position, directly refutes the system of Mr.
Burke. Of this circumstance himself was so
well aware, that, on the supposition of his
own accuracy, he has denounced such a de-
monstration impossible. These are his words
at the close of the 22d and last section of his
second part.
"Its strongest emotion" (viz.
Sublimity's)" is an emotion of distress, and
cr
no pleasure from a positive cause belongs to
"it." Is not joy a pleasure, or, pleasing
emotion arising from a positive cause? Still,
some passages expressive of joy, are ex-
tremely sublime. What more sublime than
the effusions of this sentiment manifested
by the Virgin Mary, in that noble canticle the
T
į
17
66
(6
Magnificat? My soul doth magnify the
"Lord, and my spirit hath rejoiced in God.
66 my Saviour; because he hath regarded the
"lowliness of his handmaid; for, behold,
"from henceforth, all generations shall call
me Blessed for, he, that is mighty, hath
"done great things to me, and Holy is his
66 name."
What more highly ecstatic than
these words:" And my spirit hath rejoiced
"in God my Saviour." Again, "for, he
"that is mighty, hath done great things to
"me, and Holy is his name." Yet: what
more sublime? Indeed, the whole canticle is
a series of sublimity.
•
Where, as another instance, is greater sub-
limity discernible than in those raptures of joy
expressed in the noted canticle of Moses, after
the passage of the Red Sea? Where is this
quality more conspicuous than in that noble
Psalm the 113th, so well known by the name
of the In exitu Israel ?
Many of the passages might be extracted 40
but any person of taste has but to peruse those
two distinguished fruits of inspiration, in order
to discern them.
It appears, therefore, in direct opposition to
Mr. Burke, that real pleasure may be a source
of the Sublime. Pleasure, assuredly, is not
so fruitful a parent of sublimity, as terror.
Experience attests, that it is much more dif-
D
18
ficult to communicate sublimity to emotions
of joy, than to emotions of terror. But, as
long as it may give birth to the Sublime, any
system, which would exclude it, must betray
its own deficiency.
Thus, have we seen the principal reasons,
which are hostile to the system of Mr. Burke.
We have seen terror, which was supposed by
him to be the ruling principle of the Sub-
lime, excluded by other principles (if they
may be so termed) equally independent, and
if not of equal, at least of considerable com-
prehension; by one principle too, of a nature
directly contradictory. A system so defective
cannot be the right criterion, which we are in
search of; and therefore cannot be adopted.
The composition of Mr. Burke is, notwith-
standing, a work of great utility. In tracing
the Sublime through a variety of appearances,
in disclosing a number of channels, through
which it is directly, or indirectly conveyed, if
he failed of following it to one primary source,
at least, he afforded a very complete view of
it in detail. He has left a chart, on which we
might discover the danger of such and such
inconsistencies from the establishment of a
general test of Sublimity, unless the most
comprehensive precaution were taken. He has
opened great resources, and provided plenteous
materials for those who would take an exten-
:
}
19
sive survey of the subject. For affording
these advantages he has a claim to no small
obligations.
CHAP. III.
System of Dr. Blair.
DR. BLAIR, after discussing the merits of
various opinions upon this topic, as well as
those of the two authors, whose theories have
just been examined, delivers it as his opinion,
that mighty force, or power, whether accom-
panied with terror, or not, has a better title
than any thing besides, to be the fundamental
quality of the Sublime. He makes this re-
mark, however, with the modesty not to insist
upon it, as sufficiently ascertained to become
the basis of a general theory, but, only, as a
source of elucidation.
The Doctor seems to have aimed at forming
a system by adding to the principle of Mr.
Burke. Deeming that author's adoption of
terror alone too defective in comprehension, he
would connect power with terror, in hope that
this accession to the subject might dispel the
difficulty. This combination, however, will
not, I fear, be successful.
20
In order to form proper notions on the sub-
ject, it will be necessary to enter into the
merits of power, and to analyse its title to so
ample an influence.
Instances were adduced in the last chapter,
which seemed to prove that power could claim
no more exclusive influence on Sublimity than
terror. Those instances were of joy. To
such a passion, neither of these principles can-
bear a relation. This consideration appears at
once to be an insuperable objection to power
in any shape. The Doctor, however, confines
himself to the power, as he denominates it, of
mighty force.
Now, that this species of power should not
possess the exclusive privilege of being the
fundamental basis of Sublimity, may, with
facility, be evinced.
Power of another sort, the power of elo-
quence, demands equal right of interference.
This will appear from the consideration,
that not the hero, who has the power of
force, is the only sublime object in the class of
his fellow-creatures; the great orator is a cha-
racter not less exalted. Hence, Longinus,
pointing out different general means of
attaining Sublimity, indicates no one as more
effectual than that of thinking, during the
course of a speech, or composition, how the
great Demosthenes, or any other superior
21
orator would have treated the same subject.
Indeed, do we not think as highly of a Pericles,
a Demosthenes, a Cicero, as of an Alexander,
or a Cæsar? Are they not characters of, even,
a higher rank? This restriction, then, of the
effects of power on Sublimity seems unneces-
sary. The theory of Dr. Blair seems, there-
fore, rather confined, as well as the theories of
those critics who have preceded him. With
all its combinations, with all its exertions, to
take in a wider compass than that of Mr.
Burke, it is still too contracted.
All other theories that have been started on
this important subject, are likewise of too nar-
row a circuit. They all endeavour to stint the
Sublime to one principle, or another, short of
its extent. They are ever usurping subordi-
nate causes, as the universal cause. Hence
arises the multiplicity of systems: for, on a
topic so vast, no satisfaction can be obtained,
till a compleat criterion be discovered. Re-
marks may be added to remarks, but till this
final success be secured, they never can be
ultimately availing.
The lectures of Dr. Blair on Sublimity, un-
successful as he, like the rest, may have been,
are, nevertheless, entitled to peculiar regard.
He has taken a candid survey of the subject;
he has collected together the most distinguished
theories; and, by arranging them in contrast,
•
22
has contributed much to expand the know-
ledge of it. He has, also, summed together
many new examples, many judicious reflec-
tions, which had escaped the discernment of
others; and which
and which greatly facilitate the
scrutiny of this difficult topic.
:
CHAP. IV.
Ideas of the Author.
IN giving an account of the Sublime, I
thought the most eligible method to be, first,
to describe the nature of Sublimity; then, to
attempt the more laborious task of explaining
how it is to be attained. In the first chapter,
in which I discussed the system of Longinus,
relatively to the former of these two heads, I
observed, that his ideas might in certain re-
spects be deemed accurate. His description of
the Sublime is thus expressed: "The mind
seems as if it were naturally exalted by real Sub-
limity, and in the height of its rapture exults,
and feels a sort of command, as if itself pro-
duced what it has been only hearing*."
* Dr. Blair, and Boileau have rendered the term
Mɛyaλavxia, by that of noble Pride. I have ventured
to denominate it by the expression a sort of command. I
!
23
And, in another passage, already quoted
(chap. 1) he terms this species of writing,
the Echo of Elevation of mind :" thus de-
nominating sublime, whatever expresses ele-
vation of mind, such as he has here described.
This description of Sublimity I venture to
think exact. Though it may appear vague, it
is far from being so; it is only amplified, to
be rendered more intelligible. However, to
remove this vague appearance, the description
may be circumscribed in the following defi-
nition: Sublimity in writing, is that quality,
which imparts to it an air of command.
This short exposure of the meaning of Lon-
ginus, may not, I hope, be deemed inaccu-
rate. On the contrary, it appears to express
both the feeling, which he assigns as giving
birth to Sublimity, and the character in which
this feeling displays itself; to exhibit the feel-
ing, by acquainting us with this character; for,
the character of every expression must punc-
tually represent the feeling, in which the expres-
sion originated; otherwise, expression would
not be, what it should be, the exact echo of the
believe, that the difference is but nominal. Meyaλavxix,
in the literal explication, means Boasting; but Longinus
evidently used it here to signify that emotion, by which
people are actuated when they boast. This I term the
feeling of Command, and this feeling I conceive to be
exhibited by the Air of Command.
A
24
mind. This character is, as I have already
observed, the air of command. The feeling,
from which it proceeds, will, therefore, be-
simply Command. This latter qualification
seems to faithfully mark the elevation of mind,
which Longinus determines to be the parent of
Sublimity; and to denote that rapture, and ex-
ultation, which he assures us, accompany the
Sublime. It may, therefore, be looked upon
as the criterion of his system.
If, however, the definition proposed is said
to be at variance with the sentiment of the
great critic, it is unnecessary to contend the
point. It only remains to maintain it upon its
own grounds, and to prove that experience
attests it to be just, and to extend to every
instance of the Sublime.
/
To prevent any difficulty arising from a mis-
conception of what I understand by the air of
command, the same signification is here meant
to be attached to it, which is taken to be im-
plied in the expressions, that "such a countenance
bears an air of command:" "such an attitude is
commanding." According to this exposition,
it follows that all composition, which is sub-
lime, becomes so in consequence of being dis-
tinguished by this air. It matters not whether
the composition express terror, power, or any
of those other sources of feeling, in which the
Sublime has, hitherto, been supposed to ori-
:
.
25
ginate. All that is requisite is, that it should
be distinguished by this character.
Example will best establish its propriety,
and I will produce a diversity of examples, in
order to discover if there is an instance, to
which it does not extend.
The principles, which have, hitherto, given
rise to as many individual systems on Sub-
limity, were, terror, power, and amplitude of
space. It has been already shewn, that under
all these principles, though each supposed by
their respective authors to be the exclusive
source of it, sublimity, nevertheless, exists.
This circumstance proved the falsity of their
suppositions: it remains, then, to shew whether
the principle, which I assign, will extend to
Sublimity under these different heads; and not
only this, but, whether it will extend, without
exception, to Sublimity under every known
and possible head. The collection of a variety
of examples, in proof that it possesses this
compass, will, I conceive, be sufficiently satis-
factory; on the other hand, I consent to re-
nounce the defence of it, provided a single
instance to its prejudice can be produced.
To begin with an example of the Sublime,
which
expresses terror, the following is selected
among others, by Mr. Burke: it is taken
from Milton's second book of Paradise Lost.
E
1
26
The poet is giving a description of Death,
with all its tremendous appendages:
"The other shape,
"If shape it might be called, that shape had none
Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb;
"Or substance might be called, which 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.”
A
{
This passage may be shewn to derive its
sublimity from the criterion assigned, and not
from that of terror solely. It is not by the
mere description of an object so terrific, and
surrounded by so many awful circumstances,
that it attains this quality. The same object
and circumstances might have been exactly
depicted in a style very distant from the Sub-
lime. They might have been equally exposed
by a simple narrative; it would have sufficed
for the reader's information barely to have been
told, that this shape (of Death) if it might
be called a shape; for, it seemed to have no
distinctive marks of one; or substance, though
it seemed a shadow, equally as a substance;
for, no discrimination could be observed be-
tween the one or the other; was black as
night, fierce as we may suppose ten furies to
be, terrible as we have a notion that hell is.
But where would, then, have appeared its
sublimity? Whence would have arisen the
?
27
emotion, which is excited by the poetry?
Still, we have the same terrible object, and
presented to us with the like circumstances.
It is not, therefore, merely the terrible which
is the basis of Sublimity: No; there is a cer-
tain distinctive principle of the Sublime, which
is no more confined to the terrific, than to any
other species of composition. This we dis-
cover in the manner; as is manifest from the
present instance; for, if it is not the mere
subject of the poet's description, that exalts to
the sublime, there can remain no other instru-
ment of this emotion than the manner.
From an examination, then, of the manner,
we shall observe, that the poet has, in these
verses, attained sublimity, solely, because his
manner is distinguished by that air, which I
have denoted as the characteristic of the Sub-
lime. He elevates himself, and assumes a
commanding tone. Not content with simply
informing us, that the terrific monster Death
was veiled in darkness like the night, that he
was ferocious as furies, and formidable as we
may conceive hell to be, he must express those
exalted sentiments, that noble elevation of
soul. Observe; "Black he stood as night."
How determined the attitude! Again, "Fierce
"as ten furies, terrible as hell." Not a word
redundant, not one that enfeebles; all vigour,
*28
all expressing elevation of mind, and the air
of command in its highest state.
66
In this other sublime passage out of the
Canticle of Moses, entitled, "Hear, ye Hea-
vens," which exhibits a tremendous display
of what was to be the effect of God's ven-
geance on his people, we may perceive, that
the Sublimity is owing to the same charac-
teristic. Deut. c. xxxii. v. 40. "I will lift
66
66
up," says Moses in the person of God,
my hand to heaven, and will say, I live
"for ever. If I shall whet my sword as the
"lightning, and my hand take hold on judg-
"ment, I will render vengeance to my ene-
66
mies, and repay them that hate me. I will
"make my arrows drunk with blood, and my
"sword shall devour flesh of the blood of the
"slain, and of the captivity of the bare head
"of the enemies." Had God here displayed
the effects of his vengeance, by the words of
his minister, with no more vigour than he has
displayed the same, or much greater in other
parts of the Scripture, the exposition of them
would not have been sublime. Thus, this
passage of St. Matt. c. xxvi. v. 46. And
"these shall go into everlasting punishment;
"but the just into life everlasting," in which
the Evangelist informs us, that the punish-
ment of the sinner will be eternal, expresses a
"
29
far severer punishment than what is denounced.
by these verses of Moses: yet, far from being
so sublime, it possesses no sublimity at all. It
is not, then, the tremendous nature of the
subject, which engenders the Sublime, but,
only the peculiar air, with which it is pre-
sented. Thus, a legislator may enact a most
sanguinary law, in a language at the same time
very distant from sublime. Let us, therefore,
examine if the air of this passage be, still,
that of command.
The Almighty, by saying only, that he lived
for ever, &c. would have declared his power,
and existence, with no peculiar energy; but,
rather in that calm, consoling language, in
which he has frequently chosen to express it.
We should have conceived the same idea, that
the verses before us suggest, and, yet, have
felt a very different emotion. But, when he
says, "I will lift my hand to heaven, and will
66 say, I live for ever;" then, we seem to see
his superiority as he displays it. Then he
makes us feel how he will prove his Godhead:
he shews who he is, when he undertakes to re-
quite his enemies: then, the exhibition of his
power becomes sublime. Now, what cha-
racter does it bear, when thus distin-
guished? By what peculiarity is it marked?
By what, but that exalted spirit, that high
erection of mind, which it shews forth?
30
Hence, it was to his assumption of that su
periority of language, through the whole of
the text, that the servant of God was indebted
for his sublimity. And, what is that supe-
riority, but the air of command? Evidently,
then, from these instances under the head of
terror, this characteristic appears, so far, to be
the mark, and criterion of sublime compo-
sition.
J
Nor will its influence be less discernible in
Sublimity, which arises from a display of
power. We will make the examination, in an
instance of the Sublime in this department,
produced by Longinus, that, in the beginning
of Genesis, respecting the creation of light.
In order to render its appearance more strik-
ing, I will take the literal translation*, in these
few words: "BE LIGHT, AND LIGHT WAS.
Here we have an account of the manner in
which the Almighty created light, but ex-
pressed in such language, that, whilst it pre-
sents itself to the understanding, it elevates,
and enraptures the feeling. We seem to see
* A great Hebrew scholar tells me this is the true
translation, and that, "Let there be light," is wrong.
He complained at the same time of the improper tran-
slation of Eloim, Eloim, lamma Sabacthani, which he
says is, "
My God, my God, do not desert me," and not
as translated, "My God, my God, why hast thou de-
"serted me ?"
31
the Almighty ordering light to issue forth, in
words, which display, at the same time, the
power of his order. We seem to hear him
speaking the high dictate of superiority. We
conceive somewhat of the rapidity, with which
he brought into existence this part of the cre-
ation. And the complexion of these appear-
ances, imparts to the passage a high degree of
sublimity. Is it not plain, then, from the
predominance of what principle it becomes
sublime? Is it not evident, that it is from the
one, which I have ventured to establish?
From the spirit of Command, which it
breathes?
The sublime arising from amplitude of
space, will appear to derive its source from
the same original. This we may remark in
the fine passage of Akenside, in his first book
on the "Pleasures of Imagination."
"Look then abroad thro' nature to the range
"Of planets, suns, and adamantine spheres,
Wheeling unshaken in the void immense."
Here, it is not the mere representation of
immense space, which constitutes the Sub-
limity. An insipid writer might, in that case,
always be sublime, when immense space was
his theme: No; it is the commanding manner
in which the representation is made. "Look,
"then, abroad through nature," &c. The
mind soars with the language, and surveys, as it
32
were, from an eminence, the amplitude of
that space, through which the poet would
convey it. This is the cause of the Sublimity;
here lies the principle of the emotion; not in
the scene independently considered.
I have now, I conceive, shewn, that this
common criterion extends to the Sublime,
arising from terror, power, and amplitude of
space, which were hitherto produced as so
many distinct and exclusive sources of Sub-
limity. But I shall adduce a few other in-
stances to prove that there is no variety of the
Sublime, but what originates in this principle.
Why is a rock in the midst of the waves
generally deemed a sublime object? Why
thought more sublime than many other objects
equal to it in bulk-than a range of moun-
tains? This latter is no obvious cause of Sub-
limity, and why should be the former? It is,
because the position, in which we conceive
the rock to be placed, gives it an air of de-
fiance, presents it under the attitude of com-
mand. It seems to stand unmoved amidst the
waves, and to look down upon them with the
disdain of conscious superiority. For the
same reason, a mountain, though not an object
sublime at first appearance, soon becomes so,
when we conceive it bearing unshaken the
brunt of every tempest. Hence, again, a
mighty monarch overwhelming his enemies,
33
and dictating to them, with the imperiousness.
of triumphant power, bears a sublime appear-
ance; as docs, also, a torrent, which has burst
its bounds, and is sweeping all before it with
resistless impetuosity. So evidently does the
air of command appear to be the prevalent
principle, to which all sublimity may be
traced.
One of the noblest examples of sublimity,
is the noted prayer of Ajax, quoted by Lon-
ginus, from the 17th book of the Iliad, in
which that hero, perceiving the greatest danger
threatening his countrymen, and a darkness
overspread, from which he saw no prospect of
deliverance, entreats Jupiter, since he seems
determined upon their destruction, to destroy
them at least in the face of day. His words.
are Zeυ TαTE, &c. v. 645. b. 17.
πατε
The great critic observes, that Ajax shows
in this passage his exalted mind. He might
have preferred his prayer in terms equally sig-
nificant, by simply proposing his distress.
But, then he never would have exposed the
feelings, under which he preferred it. Now
these the poet wished to express;a point, which
he thought himself unable to attain, otherwise
than by exalting his language to a correspon-
dent degree of emotion. This he has done as
we shall observe on perusing the words, by one
of the finest displays of sublimity in the whole
F
34
of his immortal poem.
hero,
66
"Give me," says the
"but to see, and then, if you choose,
deprive me of existence. Order my death,
"and welcome, but let me die like a hero."
Still, here again, we see the Sublime proceed-
ing from the same source.
It is not in the words destitute of feeling,
that we discover it, but rather in the feeling,
which accompanies them. Thus, the passage
marks, throughout, the highest spirit of in-
dependence, and vehemence. We see the in-
dignation of the hero at being unable, from
the depth of darkness, to contend with his
enemies; we behold his noble disdain of death,
and fear of infamy. Not one expression, but
bespeaks exalted sentiment, and is animated
with the air of command. Hence the subli-
mity.
Two more examples may suffice in cor-
roboration of my ideas: I have extracted them
from the celebrated Bossuet's funeral oration
on the great Condé; a piece almost uninter-
ruptedly sublime. That great orator is giving
a description of the two rival heroes, the
Prince of Condé, and the Spanish General,
the Count de Fontaines. After a few words.
in representation of the battle, he thus enters
upon the description of the Prince. Alors,
que ne vit on pas ? Le jeune prince parut un
"autre homme, touchée d'un si digne objet sa
66
66
35
"grande ame se déclara toute entière, son
(C
courage croissoit avec les pèrils, et ses lu-
"mières avec son ardeur." He continues in
a strain nearly similar, but, this is the part of
his description, which, on account of its sub-
limity, was thought fittest to be selected.
And what can be more exaltedly sublime;
what more than these words in particular,
“touchée d'un si digne objet sa grande ame
66 se déclara toute entière !" Here, the orator
displays all the magnanimity of the young
hero; we seem to behold his generous soul
putting forth its whole vigour. We seem to
have a sight of that superiority of talent, which
was aroused by the surrounding difficulty and
danger. The other expressions too in the sen-
tence mark the most eminent greatness of soul.
The orator does not merely inform us, that
the young prince signally displayed this qua-
lity, but, erecting himself into the highest ele-
vation of mind, he speaks from that feeling:
hence came forth those noble words," sa
66
grande ame se déclara toute entière," and in
this lies the cause of the sublimity; in this
we discern the air of command.
Nor, does this principle less manifestly con-
troul the sublime, in the other instance, the
description of the Count de Fontaines. That
veteran warrior, whose infirmities did not allow
him to take an active part in the engagement,
36
would still attend it, to encourage his troops:
for this purpose, he ordered himself to be con-
veyed about to them in a chair. The orator
thus describes him: "Trois fois le jeune vain-
queur (the Prince of Condé) s'efforça de
66
66
(C
rompre ces intrépides combattans, trois fois
"il fut répoussé par le valeureux Comte de
Fontaines, qu'on voyoit porté dans sa chaise,
et malgré ses infirmitès montrer qu'une ame
guerrière est maîtresse du corps qu'elle
"anime." Simple as is this exposition of the
manner, in which this venerable warrior di-
rected his troops: Yet, at the same time, with
what sublimity it is characterised! There is
hardly a passage which for this quality can rival
it. The representation of the aged general's
appearance in the field of battle, of his ardour
to inspire his troops, the expression of his de-
termination in spite of age and infirmity, to
emulate the diligence of a young opponent,
the display, too, in these words, "et montrer
"qu'une ame guerrière est maîtresse du corps
"qu'elle anime," that this very
determination
is the revival of his vigour, are circumstances
so described, as to be wrought into consum-
mate Sublimity. Still, there is here apparent
neither terror; for, to this the veteran bids
defiance; nor power; this was what he was
contending for; nor amplitude of space, the
heads, under which we have observed, that
37
the Sublime has, hitherto, been generally con-
ceived to exist in what then does its Sub-
limity originate? It exhibits elevation of soul,
it shews forth command, that Meyañauxia, as
Longinus well denominates it. This senti-
ment is here eminently conspicuous. The
noble warrior was filled with it, and it is cor-
respondently expressed. Thence sprang the
Sublimity.
Will the reader now be disposed to allow,
that the real cause, the fundamental principle
of the Sublime, is sufficiently apparent? Will
that cause be admitted to be the one, which I
have assigned? Does it possess due precision,
and that not too confined in its principle? It
attempts, indeed, to mark exactly the species of
composition, which it is employed to deter-
mine, and to characterise it in contradistinc-
tion to any other. On the other hand, I have
endeavoured to shew by the examples, which I
have produced, that it is not limited to a few
partial instances, but comprises the whole
range of its department; and, I hope, pos-
sesses that full extent, which is the only sup-
port of every just standard. Its pretensions to
accuracy will, therefore, I confide, be favoura-
bly received.
Note. It will, I imagine, be perceptible, that in all the
examples which I have adduced, there was no deficiency
of feeling, though many of them were not extracts from
38
speeches, or other sorts of composition, designed to effect
this impression. The observation of this truth seems to
me abundantly to refute what I mentioned respecting the
system of Longinus, as to the pathetic being a distinct
source of the Sublime, Indeed, as I have before observed,
I think it will ever be found, agreeably to the opinion of
his adversary Cecilius, that no instance whatever of Subli-
mity can be produced, but what includes feeling, and that
the most vehement. Hence, of all definitions of Subli-
mity, feeling, I conceive, should be the basis.
Other Note.-If any of the examples, which I have
adduced, be not deemed Sublime, I must, still, take the
liberty of asserting, that this circumstance cannot be
regarded as injurious to the system. An objection on this
ground would be as unreasonable as to maintain, that there
was no such endowment as eloquence, because those who are
acquainted with its nature, may, sometimes, be mistaken
respecting instances, which it is said to qualify. It was
upon this ground, nevertheless, that Dr. Blair was induced
to censure Longinus's theory. The Doctor, however,
himself, seems open to censure for some of the examples,
against which he has excepted. The justness of this re-
mark will be best determined by those who may peruse that
part of his lectures, in which he touches upon this point.
39
CHAP. V.
3
Sublimity in Objects.
THOUGH, by the generality of critics, Sub-
limity in the objects themselves may, not im-
probably, be deemed synonimous with their
sublimity in description, and, therefore, the
contents of the last chapter may be deemed
sufficiently satisfactory: nevertheless, as Dr.
Blair conceives these two sorts of sublimity in-
judiciously united, fearing lest his opinion
might be accurate, I have disconnected them,
and have here set apart a few reflections on
Sublimity in objects.
In asserting that no writing could be sub-
lime, but what was qualified by an air of Com-
mand, I did not mean to affirm, that writing,
whenever so qualified, was sublime. No a
proper object is still wanting; or an object,
which, if itself not proper, becomes so from
accidental circumstances. That every object
is not proper is evident. An ass, for example,
is not an instance, which would be conceived
fit for an air of Command; or can that
property be justly applicable to any insig-
nificant object; or to any which has a tendency
to excite contempt.
į
40
Only those objects, therefore, are proper to
be selected for this purpose, which are allied to
notions of Grandeur, of Elevation, of any qua-
lity which ennobles. This truth is evident from
the sole consideration of Sublimity. Sublimity
is the offspring of the highest emotion, to which
the human breast is capable of being elevated :
it calls forth the greatest exertion of the greatest
minds: it claims the activity of the whole soul.
Its being a quality, which demands such per-
fection of talent, is the reason why it is so
seldom attainable; and why, when attained, it
is with so much difficulty supported. The ob-
ject, then, which excites so high a feeling,
cannot be trivial; it cannot be other than im-
portant; it could not otherwise possess ability
to effect such vehemence of impression. The
sphere of sublimity must be, universally, the
great. In sensible objects, it claims every des-
cription of vast space; every exhibition of
nature in her grandest effects; all displays of
mighty power, terror, and whatever causes the
highest emotions. In what relates to sentiment,
to it belong all expressions of the finest feelings
of the human mind, magnanimity, high honour,
noble emulation, in a word, of every exalted
and vehement passion. The Sublime may,
indeed, be properly communicated to other
objects, besides these here mentioned; it is not
easy to define precisely to what number and
i
41
species of them it may extend. But its proper
and only province is the GREAT, from what-
ever source this great may arise. Wherever
this quality is discernible, the Sublime may
securely range.
If the object be not itself endued with suf-
ficient dignity to become sublime, it may, as I
have already observed, become thus qualified by
means of circumstances. If unable to obtain
this dignity by its own merit, it may arrive at it
by merit, which is adventitious. This will not
appear extraordinary, when we consider that
the circumstances, which have the capacity of
imparting this dignity, must be marked with
that very quality, without which the object
itself cannot be possessed of it. Thus, in
order to be sufficiently dignified to impart the
air of command to an object, otherwise unsus-
ceptible of it, they must have that qualification
of grandeur, without which no object itself
can attain that air.
In proof that circumstances thus endowed
can compass so great an effect, I cannot pro-
duce a better illustration, than what presents
itself in the ass. This object I proposed in
the beginning of the chapter, as one which
was likely to be universally esteemed unfit for
Sublimity. It will, therefore, be quite an ap-
posite example for the present purpose, if I can
shew that circumstances render it capable of
G
42
such a qualification. This I am enabled to do
by the assistance of Mr. Burke, who has, with
much judgment, already performed the office,
in remarks on a passage, relative to this animal,
extracted from the book of Job. After observ-
ing that a creature, commonly held so despica-
ble, is very unfit for the Sublime, he brings his
instance to shew how much it is altered to the
contrary by circumstances. The instance is
this: "Who hath loosed the bands of the wild
"ass? whose house I have made the wilder-
"ness, and the barren land his dwelling. He
"scorneth the multitude of the city, neither
"regardeth he the voice of the driver. The
66
66
range of the mountains is his pasture.
That great critic's observation is, that "the
description is worked up into no small
"sublimity, merely by insisting on his freedom,
"and his setting mankind at defiance; other-
"wise the description of such an animal could
"have had nothing noble in it." Evidently,
therefore, circumstances may give sublimity to
an object, which otherwise would not have pos-
sessed it. Many other instances might be pro-
duced in verification of this assertion; but I
will content myself with producing only another
out of the same author. He observes that the
horse, in every social, useful light, presents no
character of the Sublime. Yet, he says, how
different is that animal rendered, when we qua-
43
Į
lify him with grand and noble circumstances!
How much we alter his nature! How capable
he then is of being characterised by the Sub-
lime! He proves his observation by another
quotation out of the same book of the Old
Testament. "Whose neck is cloathed with
"thunder; the glory of whose nostrils is terri-
"ble; who swalloweth the ground with fierce-
"ness and rage; neither believeth that it is the
"sound of the trumpet." Here, he remarks,
what a different object this animal becomes!
With what Sublimity is he not cloathed !
It appears, then, obviously, that circum-
stances may impart dignity to objects, sufficient
to render them justly susceptible of Sublimity,
when they would, otherwise, have been incom-
petent to the character.
From these reflections it may be inferred,
that the ground-work of Sublimity is, univer-
sally, natural or acquired dignity of object.
Without the intervention of this aid, Sublimity
cannot exist. A view to this consideration,
should, therefore, seriously engage the atten-
tion of all who aspire to sublime composition.
i
44
CHAP. VI.
Sublimity occasioned by Figures, &c.
HAVING treated of Sublimity relatively to
thought, relatively to its main character; I
shall now consider how it is affected by Figures,
Tropes, and Musical Arrangement. I shall
examine whether these, if not principles of
this great quality, may not be deemed con-.
ditions requisite to its attainment. It will be
proper first to explain the distinction between
tropes and figures.
Figures are employed to denote a modifica-
tion of thought; tropes, a modification of
words. Every departure from the plain ex-
pression of a thought is termed a figure: thus:
all exclamations, apostrophies, interrogations,
and comparisons, are denominated figures.
Every alteration of a word from its original
meaning is denominated a trope: thus, in this
sentence out of Scripture, produced by Dr.
Blair: "
"Light ariseth out of Darkness ;", the
words "Light" and "Darkness," are named
tropes, because they are not meant to be under-
stood according to their original signification,
but according to the substituted one of Com-
fort and Adversity.
I attempt then to shew that tropes, figures,
and musical arrangement, if improperly termed
45
principles of Sublimity, lend considerable assis-
tance towards acquiring it. If they can be
proved to possess this influence, Dr. Blair's
severe censure upon that part of Longinus's
system, which relates to these points, will be
deemed deserving of mitigation.
The objection to their admittance in this ex-
tensive capacity, is that being common to
every other species of conception equally with
the Sublime, no just reason can be assigned why
they should specially affect the Sublime.
Might it not as well be maintained, that the
state of the mind should have no effect upon the
conception, because a state of mind is common.
to all conception? That, therefore, every
species of conception will be alike?
Figures, tropes, and musical arrangement,
may, however, be of distinctive service, to
distinct sorts of conception. Are they not
expressions of the mind? If the conceptions.
of the mind vary, must not they also vary ?
Why, then, cannot they be of distinct benefit
to distinct sorts of conception? If so, why
not to the conception denominated Sublime?
It may be said, that language is always sub-
sequent to thought; consequently, that figures,
tropes, and musical arrangement, being so
many distinct properties of language, can claim
no influence over thought, and cannot, there-
46
fore affect the Sublime, which is one of the
species of thought.
This objection is more plausible than sub-
stantial: a distinction of time between the pro-
duction of thought and language, is more nomi-
nal than real. The thoughts and the words, the
least reflection upon the operations of the mind
will shew to be equivalently contemporary.
Besides, in composition, the thought, with all
its modifications, is collected from the lan-
guage. If, then, the language does not ex-
actly represent it, will it force its way indepen-
dently? Therefore, if the thought be sublime,
and the language not such, will the Sublimity
discover itself? No: does it not hence appear,
that language, even though it were, in the order
of time, perhaps, subsequent to conception,
contributes essentially to Sublimity? conse-
quently, that supposing it may not be a prin-
ciple of it, still it may contribute essentially to
its production. These properties of language,
may, consequently, claim some title to be
considered as, occasionally, necessary to the
attainment of the Sublime.
The influence of figures first presents itself
for consideration. Their particular necessity
to the Sublime appears from the very nature of
this species of composition. To him, who
thinks with high feeling, it seldom happens
47
that plain language will suffice. It will not
even become him. That is the reason why
those,, who are elevated with the warmth of
passion, or with the consideration of some great
object, naturally break forth into figurative
expressions. How then can Sublimity, which
proceeds from the most exalted of feelings, be
preserved without the use of figures? But,
example will best shew how little plain lan-
guage will suit upon these occasions. There is
an instance very apposite, produced by Lon-
ginus. It is a passage from Demosthenes'
noble oration on the Crown; that noted pas-
sage, in which, by swearing by the manes of
his countrymen, who fell at Marathon, he
vindicates himself for being the author of that
war with Philip, which terminated in the disas-
trous battle of Charonea.-Longinus well ob-
serves, that, had the orator, upon this occasion,
merely stated to his fellow-citizens, the example
of their forefathers, the apology would have
been equally reasonable--would have been
intrinsically the same as it was after its embel-
lishment; yet, he marks, how distant it would
then have been from sublime. It would have
been no more than cold, insipid reasoning.
But, how different he shews it to be, when in-
vigorated by the orator's noble apostrophe!
How changed the impression which it makes!
What Sublimity it immediately attains!
Dor M
48
"No:" says the orator," it is not possible, my
"countrymen, that you should have erred in
"what you did. No: I swear it by the manes
"of those, who fought before you, in the same
"cause at Marathon," &c. We, ourselves, see
what an alteration here arises from the introduc-
tion of this noble figure; how the passage ani-
mates; how, from common, it becomes sub-
blime. It possesses, indeed, a Sublimity
hardly to be rivaled. Is it not plain, then,
that figures, if not a principle of Sublimity,
are, at least, conditions occasionally necessary
to its existence ? Numberless are the instances
which might be produced in confirmation of
this point, nevertheless, as it suffices that the
nature of it be understood; as each one, also,
may, by his own experience, convince himself
of its truth, it is needless to produce beyond
one or two more,
The last instance was that of an apostrophe:
I will now produce a different figure, in order
to greater evidence, by variety of exemplifi-
cation. It often happens that, when the sen-
tence would, otherwise, have been, not only
destitute of sublimity, but even flat and lifeless,
an interrogation imparts to it the sublime in a
high degree. It has that effect in the follow-
ing passage, out of the prophet Isaiah. The
King of Assyria sent messengers to Ezechias,
King of Jerusalem, to induce him, as if
49
resistance were impossible, to surrender him-
self and his city. The argument, which he
employed thus to intimidate him, was this
utter inability of opposition on the part of all
the nations, which the Assyrian arms had,
hitherto, invaded. Had he simply stated these
particulars, the impression would, obviously,
not have exceeded the bare sense of the words:
but see what a different air it assumes in the
interrogation ascribed to him by the prophet.
See to what sublimity it is elevated.
"Have
"the gods of the nations delivered them,
"whom my fathers have destroyed, Gozam,
"and Haram, and Reseph, and the children of
"Eden that were in Thalassar? Where is the
King of Emath, and the King of Arphad,
"and the King of the city of Sepharvaim, and
"the King of Ana, and of Ava?" If the rest
of the passage is sublime, in this last sentence,
"Where is the King of Emath," &c. there
is peculiar sublimity.
The figure of exclamation is no less sub-
servient to sublimity. It has given birth to
one of the sublimest passages of ancient elo-
quence. The example alluded to is contained
in Cicero's last oration against Verres. Verres
had been guilty of the most enormous cruelties,
in a province of which he had been governor,
and Cicero was petitioned by the natives of
the province to be their patron in bringing
H
Uorm
50
him to justice. The orator complied with
their request, and exerted all his eloquence
for success. After a pathetic detail of the
torments inflicted by this savage governor on
an individual, upon whom their infliction was
more tyrannical, because totally contrary to
law; he draws up this noble conclusion:
"O nomen dulce libertatis! O jus eximium
"nostræ civitatis! O lex Portia, legesque
Sempronia! Huccine omnia tandem reci-
"derunt, ut civis Romanus, in provincia po-
puli Romani, in oppido fœderatorum, ab eo,
66
qui beneficio populi Romani fasces, et se-
"cures haberet, deligatus, in foro, virgis cæ-
"deretur !" What language can be more
strictly impressive, what more sublime than
this? Still we see that the Sublimity is owing
to the exclamation, particularly in that latter
"Huccine omnia tandem recide-
sentence,
" runt !"
It may now, therefore, be judged apparent,
that figures are, sometimes, essential to the
existence of the Sublime. It is not asserted,
that this quality of writing cannot exist with-
out them; it very often can. But the ex-
amples which I have alledged, are adduced to
prove, and, I conceive, do prove, that Sub-
limity, so far from being independent of them,
is, at times, absolutely indebted to them for
its appearance. Longinus, therefore, very
51
----
justly assigned them, though, perhaps, in
terms not sufficiently precise, as having pe-
culiar influence on this property of writing.
On the other side, the censure passed on this
great critic by Dr. Blair and others, seems to
have been too severe. We will proceed to
consider what influence tropes possess.
CHAP. VII.
Sublimity occasioned by Tropes.
TROPES, I observed in the last chapter,
were, in language, a property which altered
words from their original meaning. Like
figures, they are the offspring of feeling. Ex-
perience attests, that when the mind is wound
up to an elevated pitch, plain words will no
more suffice to furnish it with expression, than
plain phrases: it flies to metaphors, to com-
parisons, and other like resources, which are
so many tropes. If tropes are at all times a
necessary part of language, they are still more
necessary to the Sublime, because this species
of language is the produce of the highest
emotion. Consequently they must greatly
affect it. This point being evident, only one
or two instances will be needed to enforce it.
52
I have omitted all remark on the general choice
of words, because its necessity must attract uni-
versal notice.
The following is an instance of what in-
fluence tropes have upon Sublimity. It is ex-
tracted from the Canticle of Moses,
66
"Let us
sing to the Lord," and contains a descrip-
tion, by that great man, respecting the effect of
God's wrath upon the enemies of his country-
men. The words are, "Thou hast sent thy
66
wrath, which has devoured them like stub-
"ble." The trope lies in the word devoured:
we at once perceive what an effect it has upon
the sublimity what vigour it imparts to the
sentence. But, for greater conviction, let us
alter that word; let us substitute one that is
plain, the word destroyed, and judge what
effect this change produces. The expression.
immediately becomes enfeebled, and the Sub-
limity proportionally decreased. Nor, does
this consequence less result from the same ex-
"With
periment on the following instance:
"the blast of thy anger, the waters were ga-
"thered together." Instead of the blast of
thy anger, express the sentence plainly, em-
ploy the simple phrase, which ordinary pro-
priety demands, "the blast caused by thy
(6
anger," and note what a difference is in-
stantly discernible: the language is quite ener-
vated, it degenerates into perfect insipidity,
53
No trace of the sublimity remains; it was in
the trope, therefore, that it originated.
These examples are sufficient, the point is
so exposed to observation. I shall, therefore,
proceed to make a few remarks on Musical Ar-
rangement.
CHAP. VIII.
On Musical Arrangement.
MUSICAL Arrangement is the last point of
discussion, with which Longinus terminates his
Treatise on the Sublime, and is what he re-
gards as the last head of that quality. He
calls it the epitome of all that he had pre-
yiously delivered on that subject.
The necessity of this property to sublimity
is very conspicuous. Sublime composition is
not only the result of sublime conceptions,
animated with due feeling, and occasionally
modified by figures, and tropes, but is the
comprehension of the conceptions attended
with all these accompaniments, in language
constructed with proper harmony. The proper
harmony for sublime composition is attained
by a temperate degree of conciseness. Ex-
perience attests, that according as it is at-
tended with this quality, Sublimity is retained
54
or relaxed. Never suffering itself to be swol-
len into circumlocution, it no sooner exceeds.
a certain limit, than it is weakened according
to the degree of excess. For which reason all
bombast, all excessive diffuseness, all depar-
ture from simplicity, are perceived to injure it
extremely.
A judicious exemplification of the prejudice,
which circumlocution, and affected magnifi-
cence, occasion to the Sublime, is made by Dr.
Blair, and is worthy of being produced. It
relates to the words already so often quoted :
"Be Light, and Light was." He observes,
that if, instead of these words, words of
similar import, but splendid and affected, had
been employed, the Sublimity would never
have been produced. Thus, he says, had the
passage been expressed thus,
"The Sovereign
"Arbiter of Nature, by the potent energy
of
"a single word, commanded the light to exist,"
the style would have been raised, but the
thought would have fallen. This consequence
is apparent; for it is obviously perceptible, that
this language no longer retains that striking
vigour and animation-no longer gives that
strong exhibition of God's power, which arose
from the words as they stood in the original
passage.
Nor does reason less than experience evince.
the necessity of conciseness to the Sublime.
55
It is, doubtless, natural to conceive, that this
species of emotion, proceeding from a glowing
imagination, and to be caught, rather than at-
tained by labour, ought to be delivered in
words strong and compact, as it presented
itself. Its vigour and vehemence are lost as
soon as the language answers not their impetu-
osity. Too long a suspence immediately inter-
venes between the thought and the expression;
the fervour of the thought suffers in conse-
quence a very prejudicial abatement. Sub-
limity appears, therefore, to be greatly depen-
dant upon the just length of every member, I
may say, of every syllable in each sentence;
in other words, upon its musical arrangement.
Besides, if harmony of some species has,
what it is allowed to have, so much influence
upon each individual sort of composition, how
much will not its peculiar harmony possess on
the noblest of compositions? If this property
commands common emotion, what power will it
not have over the highest? If, then, the Sub-
lime is, which it is granted to be, the most dig-
nified of all compositions, and the most distin-
guished by strength of emotion, what share
should not harmony have in regulating its con-
struction ?
The ancients demanded so exact an attention
to this quality in every variety of composition,
that they have not hesitated to subject it to rule
56
and metre.-Cicero, Quintilian, Dionysius of
Haticarnassus, and others, abound with regu-
gulations for ascertaining the perfection of
musical arrangement. As Longinus has
brought a particular example to instance its
necessity to the species of composition of which
we are now treating, we will just give it a short
consideration. The reader may examine the
instance more minutely, on consulting that
critic's immortal work. It is extracted from
that noble repository of almost every species of
great examples, Demosthenes' celebrated ora-
tion on the Crown, and is thus expressed:
σε όλο το ψήφισμα 1ον 1]ε τη πολει περισίαντα κινδυνον
46 παρελθειν εποίησεν ωσπερ νεφος :” the meaning of
which words is, "This decree dispelled, like a
"cloud, the danger, which overhung the city."
This passage, Longinus observes, is so much
indebted to musical arrangement for its subli-
mity, that the change of one syllable, by add-
ing, or retrenching, would, in some degree,
deprive it of this character. He gives a long
explanation in proof of his assertion, as well
as a particular analysis of the passage itself, and
this is the conclusion which he draws. Even
then, from the testimony of the ancients, its
proper harmony was necessary to every compo-
sition; and from the testimony of Longinus
here adduced, peculiarly necessary to the Sub-
lime. How evidently, therefore, does it not
57
appear, that a just harmony is an essential
finish of Sublime Writing? Nor is the opinion
of the moderns different in this particular.
The opinion of one of their number has been
already cited (that of the judicious Dr. Blair)
and the works of all the others who have writ-
ten on this subject will be found to concur with
him in sentiment. It is needless, therefore, to
extract instances. Besides, the point is so
plain, that it requires no further ascertain-
ment each one's reason has but to pass a de-
termination.
It may now be supposed, that musical
arrangement is well entitled to the rank assigned
to it-of a condition requisite to the existence
of Sublimity. It is, perhaps, no less apparent,
that it may also justly be termed, with Longi-
hus, the comprehension of whatever relates to
the Sublime; since it is the last polish added
to those properties, which constitute the sub-
stance of that quality.
Having, at last, completed every endeavour
to survey and define the nature of Sublimity;
having exposed the different circumstances,
which contribute to its existence, we will at-
tempt to describe from what emotion it arises,
and how it is to be attained.
I
58
CHAP. IX.
On High Sentiment.
THE emotion from which the Sublime pro-
ceeds, seems to be well determined by Longi-
nus. He terms it High Sentiment, or Eleva-
tion of Soul; and says, very happily, that
Sublimity is the echo of this temper of mind.
A short enquiry will enable us to ascertain the
truth of this assertion.
The readiest means of making the investi-
gation, will be, it would seem, to turn to ac-
knowledged instances of the Sublime; to con-
sult, as far as we are able, the opinion of
writers; and to attend to the character of the
Sublime itself.
In regard of instances; a re-examination of
those of the number already produced, which
are universally confessed to be sublime, will
evince that they owed this quality to the pre-
dominance of high sentiment. Their whole
character attests, that they were the offspring
of minds big with elevated conception, and
animated with exalted feeling. But, not to
fatigue by referring to the past, I will propose
two or three instances more, to establish the
point. The following instance seemed deserv-
ing of selection, as being particularly striking;
it shews that sublimity is exactly pro-
59
portioned to high sentiment; that when the
occasion of high sentiment is greatest, the
Sublime ascends to its highest pitch; and, con-
sequently, appears to be a direct proof that this
property of composition can be the result of
no other emotion. The instance is the cele-
brated paragraph in Demosthenes' Oration on
the Crown, in which he describes the conster-
nation caused among his fellow-citizens by the
surrender of Elatea to the King of Macedon.
Great occasions of high sentiment here pre-
sented themselves; the recollection of his
country in her greatest distress, of her total loss,
for want of a counsellor, of the patriotism,
which he had felt awakened in himself in those
circumstances, of the manner in which he had
stood forth to advise them, and they brought
forth correspondent Sublimity. They gave
birth to that highest effusion of it, which begins
66
Εσπερα γαρ ην,” and is too well known to need
further reference. We see, then, how deser-
vedly high sentiment is to be termed the parent
emotion of the Sublime.
Indeed, when does the great Demosthenes
ascend at other times to the highest sublimity,
but when the subject of some important de-
bate, or the urgent necessities of his country,
summon his noblest feelings? When does
sublimity more readily start forth, than at the
call of magnanimity, high honour, disdain,
60
.....
haughtiness, and other similar branches of high
sentiment? And, when, but at the call of
these alone?
Another instance, to shew that Sublimity is
a derivation from the same ruling principle, is
this; in which we shall see that it entirely
takes its rise in that origin. Porus, a powerful
King of India, had been taken prisoner by
Alexander the Great. Being asked by his
conqueror, how he would be treated? He re-
plied with the magnanimity of a mind truly
royal, "Like a King." This expression is
allowed by all critics to be eminently sublime.
But from what feeling is this quality derived?
From what, save the Prince's generous spirit;
his heroic elevation of soul? Manifestly, then,
this example is another proof of the predomi-
nance of the same emotion upon Sublimity.
Nor is this extent of its influence less appa-
rent in the following example, extracted from
Corneille. Horatius, the father of the three
Horatii, was informed, that two of his sons.
having been killed by their opponents, the
three Curiatii, the third had betaken himself to
flight, from conscious inability, singly, to con-
tend with them. At this circumstance he ex-
pressed great anguish. He was, immediately,
asked, what other conduct he could have ex-
pected from his son in such a circumstance?
"To have died," he replies. This answer is
61
deemed eminently sublime. As the words are
but few, the sublimity may easily be traced.
Now, from what other cause does it evidently
proceed, than from indignation at his son's de-
ficiency even in an extreme of fortitude? And
of what passion is this the offspring, but of
high sentiment? Here, then, we again discern
Sublimity arising from the same operation of
the mind. Thus, as far as. examples extend,
we discover that high sentiment is its distinc-
tive principle.
7
All writers also, both ancient and modern,
if we may judge from what remains of their
ideas on this subject, concur in maintaining
this opinion. The moderns may differ in
modes of expression, but their sentiments are
equivalently coincident. If some denote this
emotion by one term, others by another, they
all, nevertheless, agree in rendering it, by some
appellation, amounting to synonymous. Thus,
one requires elevation of soul, as the original
of Sublimity; another, the highest emotion of
the mind; this demands simplicity, by which
he means intense condensation of thought;
that, another quality; all which we find, upon
examination, to be fundamentally alike. It is
unnecessary, therefore, to prolong the subject,
by any extracts from their works.
Among the ancient critics, there are none,
besides Longinus, with whose treatises of Sub-
62
limity we are acquainted. His opinion, on the
present particular, is the same which I have
adopted. But, though their ideas upon this sub-
ject have not been directly transmitted to us, we
may, notwithstanding, indirectly, form some
notions from parts of their works still extant.
They, always, maintained, that the highest ex-
ertions of eloquence, were the offspring of the
noblest sentiments. Hence, their discussions.
respecting the necessity of a republican form of
government, for the nurture of eloquence in
its highest perfection: a species of constitu-
tion, which they deemed the only one capable
of calling forth, into compleat action, magnani-
mous feeling, and vigorous talent. If, then,
their opinion was, that eloquence so essentially
depended upon sentiment; what was this, but an
implicit declaration that Sublimity, which ranks
highest in the department of eloquence, can be
no other than the result of high sentiment,
which is the highest of emotions? We
We may,
therefore, reasonably infer, that it was their
persuasion, as well as it is that of the moderns,
that Sublimity was the echo of this temper of
mind.
If Longinus dissented from the other ancient,
critics, respecting the necessity of a peculiar
form of government, for bringing forth Sub-
limity, it was not because he did not trace.
Sublimity to the same original, otherwise he
63
would have contradicted himself; nor, be-
cause he conceived the Republics of Greece,
and Rome, had not, by the nature of their
constitution, engendered the sublimest possible
pieces of eloquence; for, experience manifestly
contradicted this conception; it having been
observable, that, with the decline of those Re-
publics, a very inferior species of eloquence
had begun to predominate: No; his only rea-
son for this dissent, was an idea, that high
sentiment could grow out of occasions, equally
productive, as a form of government; that it
could be as well rooted in virtue, and natural
generosity of spirit. He imagined, that, if
noble feelings could be the offspring of political
circumstances, they might, certainly, as readily
be produced by the power of nature, and of
virtue. This was all that he maintained. In
other respects he entirely concurs in opinion
with the rest of the critics. It may, therefore,
it seems, be admitted, as an universally ac-
knowledged point, that the Sublime is the re-
sult of high sentiment.
The character of sublime composition is ano-
ther proof in favour of this tenet. This cha-
racter, I have observed, is the air of command.
Now, as this air cannot be otherwise impressed,
than as a derivation of the mind; it must, ne-
cessarily, indicate the state of mind, in
which it originated. But, from what dispo-
64
sition of mind can the air of command arise,
except from high sentiment? When do
people, in their deportment, assume an air of
command, but under the influence of this dis-
position? Manifestly, therefore, no other,
than this state of mind, can be the primary
cause of Sublimity; no other can pour forth a
language stamped with such a character.
Thus, does it seem, in every point of view,
from the consideration of examples, from the
general opinion of writers, from the very na-
ture of Sublimity, that high sentiment is its
mental principle.
:
;
CHAP. X.
The Method of attaining Sublimity.
HAVING observed that Sublimity is the off-
spring of high sentiment: having observed,
too, that this high sentiment is marked with
the greatest strength of feeling; what remains
to be determined, is, how the mind is to be
wrought into such a temper. For this purpose,
it will be necessary to ascertain, whether, in
order to produce this effect with greater fa-
cility, there be any peculiar mode of consider-
ing an object.
65
We have seen that sublimity may be com-
imunicated to objects of the greatest variety of
complexions; that, independently of those
which are terrific, it may extend to others of a
very different, to some, even of a directly oppo-
site nature. It may animate the raptures of joy,
as well as aggravate the impressions of terror.
There is no object, in a word, sufficiently dig-
nified to become susceptible of the air of com-
mand, but sublimity may controul. Since,
then, this great quality possesses so ample and
diversified a range; since it is communicable
to objects so contrary; is there a common qua-
lity by which these objects can arrive at such a
character? Is there a special manner of sur-
veying them, in order to render them sublime?
This is the question: a difficulty, which I,
here, undertake to solve.
One or two general precautions to be ob-
served, for the attainment of Sublimity, should
previously be considered.
The first is, attention. All authors agree,
that Sublimity is an effect of the highest emo-
tion; that it demands the greatest strength both
of feeling, and conception; the objects should,
for these reasons, be considered with intense at-
tention. Feeble, inanimate reflection, can,
certainly, never excite any vehement impres-
sion it never can exalt the soul, and elevate it
so much above its usual temper, as it needs
must do, to dispose it for sublime conception.
K
66
For the production of such an effect, all the
powers of the mind, all the faculties of sensi-
bility, should be roused. Hence, Longinus,
among his five heads of Sublimity, ranks, first,
the " Το αρεπηβολον περι τας νοησεις.
" Energy
of thought."
It may be objected, that the mind often
drops upon the sublime, without expecting it;
that it is wrapt into that temper of mind, as it
were, by a sudden impulse: and how can atten-
tion here exist? Thus, people in the height of
passion break out, instantaneously, and without
the least premeditation, into sublime expression.
This we even find people do, in other respects
the most illiterate but, what preparation can
these latter, at least, be supposed to have been
making for the attainment of Sublimity? Such
a purport never entered their minds.
:
To this objection it may be replied, that,
though they had not, formally, applied that
attention, which application is incumbent on
him, who, designedly, meditates sublime com-
position; they, virtually, bestowed it. For,
how could the object, which roused their
passion, as it is supposed, into sublime expres-
sion, have produced this effect, had it not so
occupied their minds, that it seemed to possess
them? And, how could it have had this in-
fluence, but by means of the attention? The
attention is the only medium, through which
impressions are made upon the mind. Only
67
attention, therefore, could have opened their
minds to impressions so vehement.
Another precaution to be observed for faci-
litating the acquisition of Sublimity, which
those, who aspire to so high an attainment,
never should neglect, is this. Sublimity being
the echo of high sentiment, no method can be
more productive, than that of nourishing, and
invigorating this noble feeling. This is an
advice, upon which Longinus particularly in-
sists. To attain this purpose, a variety of
means may be adopted; but there is no mean
more subservient to it, than that of acquiring
a fund of knowledge. This, above all other
attainments, fills and enlarges the capacity of
the mind, gives it a self confidence, and renders
it pregnant with vast conception. If Horace
very justly observes, that "Scribendi rectè,
"sapere est, et principium, et fons," certainly
to no species of composition can this rule be
more appositely applied, than to the one under
our present consideration; a species of com-
position, which is allowed to require strength
of mind in its greatest intenseness. It is from
a well-supplied store that the expression issues
forth in full dignity, and vigour, marking the
strong features of its original, and distinguished
by that energy of thought, which characterises.
the sublime. A fund of knowledge must,
then, be regarded as highly essential towards
facilitating the attainment of sublimity. Hence,
68
as Sir Joshua Reynolds observes, Homer, the
sublimest of writers, is supposed to have been
master of all the knowledge of his age.
These, and a few others, which a well-in-
formed judgment will readily suggest, are the
general prescriptions for preparing the mind for
this important acquisition. I shall now venture
to prescribe a special method for making this
attainment; and, for its better illustration, I shall
first explain the manner, in which I conceive
that I had discovered it.
Judging that the best means of discovering
how the mind acquired sublime conception,
was to examine and analyse its operation during
its endeavour after that acquisition, I accord-
ingly pursued this method. My motive for
entertaining the idea, was a persuasion that, if
there be a principle, which has an influence
over the mind, on one occasion, that same
principle should bring it to the same temper on
another. Consequently, I conceived that, if
I could discover in one instance, what it was
that exalted the mind to the Sublime, I should
be enabled to learn, what might, always, pro-
duce the same effect in future. This principle,
I knew, had never been ascertained, because,
as I have shewn, of the principles, already
delivered, there was not one, but failed in
comprehension, but was unable to account for
the sublime, in some particular instance. I,
accordingly, made this examination, and the
UN
69
fruit of it was the discovery that the air of
command was the cause of sublime emotion;
that it was by viewing objects under this cha-
racter, that the mind was elevated to that state.
I will illustrate my meaning by a parity
drawn from the passion of anger. In order to
discover what it is, that causes this emotion in
the mind, I study what caused it on some spe-
cial occasion, and find that it was the air of
provocation, and this solely. In proof, we
have only to consider what excites this passion:
we find that it is not the importance of the ob-
ject, otherwise, anger would not so often origi-
nate in what, to an impartial judge, would
seem a mere trifle it arises, then, simply from
the air of provocation. Knowing that this is
the source of anger, we have a general prin-
ciple, which we can, always, practically apply.
To provoke, we have but to do what has the
air of provoking. Just such is the case with
the sublime. I perceived that the air of com-
mand gave birth to it on one occasion, I need
only its aid to create it on another.
:
I was not, however, content with prying
into one instance, only, to determine the
justness of my observation; I consulted a va-
riety of instances; when I found all equally
concurring to its establishment; then, and not
till then, I ventured to form a system.
I will now explain how this process for attain-
ing sublimity is to be applied. With this
70
view, I have selected the instance of Porus's
noted reply to Alexander. Suppose I wished to
impute to that Prince an answer, sublime as
the one which he delivered, my whole endea-
vour would be to consider him as replying with
an air of command. Could I preserve this cha-
racter to the words, which I gave him to de-
liver, I should conceive that I had rendered
his reply sublime. The better to secure this
success, I should turn my thoughts to every
circumstance, which might place that Prince
under this character; such as, a high sense of
his own dignity, a consciousness that he was
nowise degraded by adversity, that he was
superior to whatever distresses his conqueror
could inflict, that he still could face him with
the same fortitude. Such is the method which
I should employ, and the more impressively,
and feelingly, I could represent the Indian
Monarch in a commanding attitude, the greater
sublimity I should expect to attain.
On the other hand, the more I failed in this
endeavour, the more should I expect that this
quality would be relaxed. Thus, had I con-
tented myself with giving Porus to say,
66 I
wish to experience the treatment which you
"would show to a Prince," this address would
have displayed a noble spirit, but, assuredly,
would not have been deemed sublime.
might have been great, it might have exhibited
a generous mind; evidently, however, it would
It
71
not have borne the cast of Sublimity. This
it could not have attained, without acquiring
the character which I have described.
In like manner, were I representing, in de-
scription, a rock in the midst of the sea, and
wished to communicate sublimity to the repre-
sentation, I should adopt the same method. I
should consider the rock as the object to which
I purposed to impart this quality. In order to
succeed in my attempt, I should be well aware
that it would be impossible for me to attain
my purport, unless I considered my object in
that special point of view, which is apt to ex-
cite the emotion of Sublimity. This point of
view I know to be the appearance of the air of
Command. I should, therefore, regard the
rock as standing in the midst of the waves,
with that air of command, that commanding
attitude, which bids defiance to their assaults.
If I could copy this air feelingly, or transmit
the full impression of it to the description,
the description might be expected to be sub-
lime.
By the same process alone is sublimity to be
in every instance attained.
instance attained. The object in view
is to be contemplated as appearing under an
air of command, to be considered, till we
compleatly catch this impression, and tran-
scribe it in the composition. Nor, is this rule
confined to the sublime of eloquence it
L
72
equally extends to the Sublime of every des
scription; to the Sublime of Painting; the Sub-
lime of Music; in a word, to the Sublime,
wherever it may exist. This is a truth, which,
without further discussion, there needs but an
appeal to experience to demonstrate.
It must not be considered any disparagement
to what I have here said respecting the method
of attaining Sublimity, that Sublimity is often
attained without consulting this method. Al-
though such a deliberate plan of making this
acquisition be not sensibly adopted, still, it is
always recurred to, imperceptibly. Condillac,
in his Logic, makes a similar observation re-
specting reasoning. He observes, that people,
who reason properly, always infer what they
do not know, from what they do know, though,
very often, they form their train of argumen-
tation without an explicit attention to this
process.
This, then, is the course by which Sub-
limity is attained, and this, I will venture to
affirm, is the only one, by which it is at-
tainable*.
I have now endeavoured to consider the
Sublime in each material point of view, and to
treat it with due comprehension. I have de-
fined its nature, I have pointed out what ob-
* See Appendix, Note A.
73
jects were most apt to excite it, and how they
were to be viewed, in order to produce this ef-
fect. This was the whole of what appeared
essential to the discussion of this subject. I
shall, therefore, pursue the next theme of in-
vestigation.

75
STYLE.
CHAP. I.
HAVING endeavoured to ascertain the na-
ture and origin of sublime writing, or, to ex-
press myself more critically, of sublime com-
position, I thought that it would not be unsea-
sonable to take this opportunity of passing a
few reflections upon Style. I shall attempt to
give a just definition of this term, and to ex-
plain in what source the difference of Styles
originates.
I have never yet chanced to meet with a
precise delineation of the nature of Style. Dr.
Blair professes that the task is not easy to
undertake; and, as if he doubted whether he
had succeeded, informs us, that the definition,
which he had given of this critical point, was
the best that he could attain. Indeed, his
definition is much too general. He denomi-
mates Style the peculiar manner in which a man
expresses his conceptions, by means of language,
76
and proceeds afterwards to say, that it is ex-
tremely difficult to separate Style from Senti-
ment thus, apparently acknowledging that
he did not know whether sentiment was or was
not essential to it. I shall attempt, therefore,
to present a more complete idea of this part of
criticism, and to circumscribe it within its
exact limits.
Before I proceed, I must not omit to notice,
that Style is different from language, though
often confounded with it. Language is only
the fund of words, from which Style borrows,
the body, which Style animates.
This presupposéd Style, it appears to me,
may be accurately termed "The feeling ex-
"pression of thought." Sentiment is essential
to its constitution. How a person can speak
without feeling what he speaks, is not easily
comprehensible; as difficult would it be to
philosophers to conceive how a person could
form an idea of what he speaks, without suf-
fering an excitement of his sensibility. No one
can speak without an intention to speak; if
he does speak, he must speak from the feeling
which induced him to give utterance to his
thought. Consequently, this feeling will ac-
company and animate his thought. Hence,
speech, independent of feeling, would be in-
coherent jargon, not unlike the wisdom of
language uttered by people asleep.
Besides, it is obvious, that no thought can
enter the mind, without making, at the same
time, an impression on the feeling. A thought
not felt could never be noticed, it would skim,
if I may so express myself, over the surface of
the mind, rather it would be no thought at all.
If then no thought can exist without feel-
ing, style, which is the expression of thought,
must necessarily be qualified with feeling.
Style, therefore, may in appearance justly be
subjected to the definition of it, which I have
ventured to assign.
This point being ascertained, it may easily
be determined in what consists the perfection
of Style of any description; and whence arises
the variety of Styles.
Style, therefore, being the feeling expression
of thought, will be the more perfect in its
sphere, the greater sensibility it retains in ex-
pressing the thought. Thus, the sublime, the
vehement, the elegant, the neat style, will be
nearer perfection the more exact representation
it gives of the temper of mind in which it
originates. The feeling and language must
operate in exact correspondence. In proof of
the necessity of this observation, with how
ridiculous an air would a person appear, who,
intending to speak elegantly, failed in the at-
tempt; who exposed the thought, but left
behind the just accompaniment of feeling!
78
In like manner, how betraying to a writer is
not an endeavour after the Sublime, which is
high in words, but low in sensibility! The
same remark is applicable to a deficiency of
feeling, in any other species of Style. A per-
fect Style, therefore, of any description, must,
with just expression, combine the exact degree
of feeling, which corresponds to the temper of
mind, from which the language is uttered.
The reason, I conceive, why it was sup-
posed that sentiment might be excluded from
style, was, because the sentiment might, some-
times, as well as the thought, be of so much
insignificance, that it was hardly perceptible.
Thus, where is sentiment obviously perceptible
in these common salutations: "This is a fine
day; this is a fine morning?” Still, in
these expressions, there is sentiment, for the
reasons already alledged; though it is not
peculiarly striking.
66
'I observed, that by the definition adopted,
not only the perfection of each various style
might be determined; but, likewise, an expla-
nation be given whence originated this variety
of styles. By entering more minutely into this
latter topic, we shall afford complete eluci-
dation to the former; since by describing how
various styles are attained, we easily may
discern in what should consist their perfec-
tion.
79
:
Style, being the feeling expression of thought;
and language itself being uniform, a tree being
always expressed by the word tree; a lion, by
the word lion; the variety of style must origi-
nate in the feeling, with which this language is
qualified. The style will vary with the temper
of mind the man of vehement sensibility,
will, if he indulge his vein of character, de-
liver himself with vehemence; the melancholy
man, if he speak from feeling, will mark his
language with melancholy; the gay, with
gaiety; the elegant, with elegance; the man
of strong sense, with suitable compactness.
Thus will every writer, and every speaker, stoop
to the temper under which they deliver them-
selves.
It may, perhaps, be conceived, that the in-
dividual of deep sense, and strong understand-
ing, will always express himself in a style com-
pact, close, and appropriate, to this character.
But, let me observe, that a person of that de-
scription is, generally, capable of assuming
whatever style he pleases: he may deliver him-
self with simple perspicuity, with elegance,
with vehemence, with whatever expression he
chooses. His strength of mind imparts to him
this controul. Thus it is observed, by the
judicious Fenelon, that Cicero excelled in
whatever style he thought proper to adopt. At
one time, he could speak with the ardent vehe-
M
80
mence of Demosthenes; at another, with the
neat and acute eloquence of Æschines; now,
with the elegance of an Isocrates; then, again,
with the full swell of language peculiar to him-
self.
Pope, also, in his Essay on Criticism, pre-
scribes to poets that the harmony of the verse
should vary with the demands of the subject.
In the following verses he has most accu-
Tately exemplified the precept:
Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows,
And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows;
But, when loud surges lash the sounding shore,
The hoarse rough verse should like the torrent roar.
When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw,
The line too labours, and the words move slow:
Not so, when swift Camilla scours the plain,
Flies o'er th' unbending corn, and skims along the
main, &c.
Suppose, then, a writer to affect only bare
perspicuity. The properties of this species of
style are, in a mere placid manner, to express
the thoughts, as they suggest themselves. The
writer aims at no ornament, seeks no figures of
speech, attempts no elevation of language, as-
pires at no peculiarity; his sole view is, to
state his ideas as they have arisen. He will,
naturally, therefore, express himself from the
influence of this temper of mind: he will ex-
press himself with ease and calm sensibility.
His style will be equable and placid.
81
If he pursue elegance; the qualities of this
property are, besides simple perspicuity, to in-
vest the language with graceful embellishment,
to soften it with harmonious arrangement, to
render it agreeable by a happy selection of
words, in short, to cast over it an air of gentle
insinuation. The writer who studies this
attainment, will, therefore, endeavour to place
himself in that peculiar state of feeling, to as-
sume that exact mental attitude, that distinc-
tive air, which will enable him to enter into this
particular species of composition. As a person
who is desirous of displaying the elegance of
politeness, will modify himself into the specific
composure suitable to that purpose, as he will
affect that gracefulness of gesture, that sweet-
ness of countenance, that softness of ex-
pression, that captivating air, which become
this character: so, he, who directs his view to
the acquirement of an elegant style, will form
himself into a similar habit of mind, will
communicate to his enunciation a similar com-
plexion.
The individual, who proposes to adopt the
vehement style, will first ascertain its charac-
ter, then, use his efforts to place himself in the
temper of mind, from which that style derives
its origin.
The qualities of this species of style, are a
singular ardour and glow, a neglect of inferior
82
graces, rapidity and vigour, in a word, a re-
sistless and unabated impetuosity. Dr. Blair
remarks, that the orations of Demosthenes pre-
sent a complete model of this particular style.
These qualities ascertained, the writer or
speaker will endeavour to work up his mind,
to rouse his sensibility, to the transcription of
them he will transform himself into the pre-
cise state of passion, which they require. Issu-
ing his language from the influence of this pos-
ture of thought, he will stamp it with the cha-
racteristic, which he affects: he will render it
vehement to his desire.
The same process, varied according to the
nature of each style, will open access to each.
I have not descanted upon the qualities of every
particular one such an undertaking would be
impracticable; since there may be as many
different styles, as different tempers of mind.
Besides, my object was not to make a catalogue
of them, or to mark out their respective boun-
daries my sole scope was to shew, in a general
manner, in what the perfection of each con-
sisted, and in what principle their variety ori-
ginated.
:
To what source their variety is to be traced,
has been, with sufficient perspicuity, explained.
This variety entirely depends upon the temper
of mind, the peculiar sensibility, under which
they are employed.
83
The person in warmth, will deliver himself
with warmth; in melancholy, with melan-
choly; in an attempt at elegance, with ele-
gance.
The perfection of the styles of these diffe-
rent characters, will, obviously, consist in
blending, with exact grammatical expression,
the true copy of these distinctive tempers*.
Style, therefore, considered in its two proper-
ties of perfection and variety, seems to answer
the description of it, which I ventured to un-
dertake. This being the whole comprehension
of the subject, as far as was necessary for a ge-
neral survey, as far as was requisite to afford a
compleat critical idea of it, to determine the
nature of style, its origin, the source of its alte-
rations, and every circumstance, which could
expose it to open view, it is unnecessary to pro-
ceed to further detail. Precise descriptions of
most of the ordinary species of styles, as like-
wise, other particulars relating to them, of
most desired importance, may be found in the
critics, in Quinctilian, in Blair, and in other
celebrated authors.
Respecting what might be the most perfect style, ab-
stractedly considered, I take the liberty of referring to a
note at the end of the different treatises, relating to the
comparative merits of Sublimity, and Beauty. That note
will compleatly answer the purpose of a separate discussion
here.
85
BEAUTY.
CHAP. I.
A Definition of Beauty.
BEAUTY has been a theme of as much variety
of opinion, and discussion, as the Sublime,
but apparently with very different success; as
some of the definitions of it seem to have as-
certained its nature, and to differ only in terms.
Abstracting from this variance, they appear to
be just, and to agree, universally, with what
they define*.
I shall single out four of them from very
celebrated authors. It must previously be ob-
* Various have been the disputes respecting the extent
due to the signification of the term Beauty. A very well-
judged extent seems to be assigned, when it is said to
regulate both visible forms and sentiment. Granting the
latitude, which common acceptation imparts to it, my
definition will equally apply; therefore, about these dis
putes I have little or no solicitude.
86
served, that these authors speak only of com-
plex beauty, probably from an idea, that, by
taking beauty in its widest extent, they compre-
hend all its subordinate degrees. By complex
beauty is meant such beauty as takes in more
than one object, with one or more accessaries
of quality, parts, or of any distinguishable cha-
A horse is a specimen of this species
of beauty, because what beauty it possesses, is
made up of a variety of component parts.
racter.
By simple beauty, is meant the beauty of
any object, individually taken, as, of some
colour, of a circle; in fhort, of any thing
considered without relation.
The celebrated authors, whose definitions I
have selected, are Hutchinson, Diderot, St.
Augustine, and Sir Joshua Reynolds. I have
preferred the opinion of St. Augustine, with
which I shall endeavour to make it evident,
that the definitions of the other three coincide.
Hutchinson defines beauty to consist in uni-
formity, and variety; and asserts, that it is in
a compound ratio of both. Diderot, in his
excellent essay Sur Le Beau, in the Dictionnaire
de Grammaire, et de Literature, determines it,
if I am not mistaken, to consist in the relation,
which parts bear to the whole, and censures St.
Auguftine's definition, as more appropriate to
perfection, than to beauty. St. Augustine's
definition, to which I subscribe, is this, "Omnis
87
Sir
quippe pulchritudinis forma unitas est.”*
Joshua judges beauty to lie in the central
form, or in an object, comprehending, in a just
degree, every quality which belongs to it.
-This definition will, without discussion, ap-
pear, upon explanation, to be exactly St. Au-
gustine's.
The definitions of the other two authors,
Hutchinson and Diderot, may seem to be more
at variance; but will, ultimately, I will ven-
ture to affirm, easily be reduced to the same
standard. I will first explain the meaning of
St. Augustine's term, unitas, upon which the
whole of his opinion rests. It may, I think,
be equivalently rendered by the word "Sim-
plicity," supposing that, by simplicity, be meant
the possession of what brings any object nearest
to perfection in its own nature. That this is
the signification which he intended it to bear,
he himself has more explicitly defined in Lib.
4. Conf.
According to this criterion, that circle will
be most beautiful, which is most exactly
round; exact roundness being the quality
which a circle must possess, in order to be most
compleat in its own nature. Those colours,
too, are most beautiful, according to their re-
spective sorts, which a just taste conceives to
* See Appendix, Note B.
N
88
bé most themselves; as, for instance, the most
beautiful red, the most beautiful white, &c.
These objects possess only simple beauty.
According to the same rule, those objects
must possess the most complex beauty, which
are compleat in their own nature, supposing
this nature to comprehend the greatest variety
of accessaries, all contributing full effect*.
Thus, an octagon excels a square, and a
66
66
square, a figure of unequal sides: but carry
"variety to an extreme, and it loses its effect.
"For instance, multiply the number of angles,
"till the mind loses the uniformity of parts,
૬.
66
and the figure is less pleasing, or, as it ap-
proaches nearer to a round, it may be said to
"to be robbed of its variety."
Such I conceive to be the meaning of St.
Augustine's definition. I trust that the system,
which it contains, will prove consonant to ex-
perience. It was a persuasion that it possessed
this merit, which was my sole inducement to
adopt it. For the same reason, I have not at-
tempted to vindicate it by discussion, knowing
that experience alone would soon expose its
justness or inaccuracy.
Let us now examine, first, whether Hut-
chinson's definition of beauty may not be ren-
dered synonimous with this of St. Augustine's.
* Shenstone.
89
Hutchinson requires uniformity, blended with
variety; or, in other words, exacts as great a
variety in any object, as is consistent with uni-
formity; to be clearer, as great a variety, as
an object may possess, without injury to its
nature. For this reason, he prefers an octagon
to a square, because it possesses greater variety
of figure, without the variety's losing its effect.
But, why should he, therefore, make variety
a part of his definition of beauty, and not be
content with uniformity alone? When he re-
quires variety, what does he but assert, that
beauty is greater, the more its sphere is en-
larged? Or, in other words, that, if the
beauty of an object may consist in this object's
having one part agreeing with itself; or, in its
retaining its uniformity under the relation of
one part, this beauty must increase, if the object
be susceptible of retaining the same uniformity
under the relation of a variety of parts. What
then hinders his definition from being resolved
into St. Augustine's, who makes all beauty con-
sist in simplicity, as I rendered his term, and
who, of course, must allow this simplicity to
be more perfect, the more enlarged its com-
prehension ?
Let us, also, proceed to ascertain, whether
Diderot's explanation of beauty may not be
rendered equally accommodating. According
to this latter author, beauty consists in the re
90
lation, which parts bear to the whole, or, to
one another. Will he assert, that parts, which
agree in neither of these relations, are beautiful?
No. What else, then, is he equivalently as-
serting, than that simplicity constitutes beauty?
For, by simplicity, is meant only that pro-
perty, which connects together all relations, or,
gives to every part its due tendency to the
whole. This being the case, in what does this
definition of beauty differ from St. Augustine's?
We may, therefore, it seems, safely abide by
the definition of that great man.
One objection may be started to this defi-
nition of Diderot, which seems rather forci-
ble. By making beauty a combination of
relations, he banishes all simple beauty. But,
certainly, as has been remarked, simple beauty
is entitled to its existence as well as complex.
CHAP. II.
The Method of attaining Beauty.
IN the last chapter I ventured to state, that I
acceded to St. Augustine's definition of beauty.
Nothing more of that celebrated philosopher's
upon this subject remaining, since his two
books, which he entitled "De pulchro et
91
st apto," are lost, only this relict of his system
could be retained. The definition, however,
of Sir Joshua Reynolds being exactly of the
same complexion, in pursuing the subject I
shall take occasional advantage of this latter
author's elucidations.
I observed, that, according to St. Augustine,
simplicity was the constituent of beauty; that
this simplicity consisted in its comprehending,
in a due degree, every quality belonging to
the subject, in which it was inherent. In other
words, to use Sir Joshua's term, I determined
it to be the central form of every object. By
this criterion we may easily learn how this
quality is to be attained.
If the acquisition of simple beauty, or
beauty without relation, be the object in view,
the principal point to be determined is, where
lies the simplicity, or central form of that ob-
ject, to which it is in contemplation to com-
municate this species of beauty? This dis-
covery made, the only difficulty to be sur-
mounted is to impart this simplicity. Thus,
if a beautiful white, an object which apper-
tains to simple beauty, be the end of pursuit ;
the principal toil is to discover, in what the
simplicity of this white consists, to ascertain
its exact remove from defect. This impedi-
ment surmounted, the sole task left is to
92
make the white accordingly. The success will
correspond with the industry exerted.
This simplicity is not, however, easily dis-
coverable in any object, be its beauty ever so
single. It is not to be discerned without great
labour and attention. The only access to the
discovery is by the discernment of a just taste.
The acquirement of this simplicity is, indeed,
greatly facilitated by a circumstance, which Sir
Joshua Reynolds notices, that, though few ob-
jects in nature possess this quality (or central
form, according to his term) exactly, all, in
general, approach to it, rather than depart from
it. But, after all, it is of very difficult attain-
ment. This any person will easily perceive, who
knows the nature of the pains requisite for at-
taining even mediocrity of taste.
To return to my subject, and to exemplify
it by another instance of simple beauty. Sup-
pose a sculptor wished to form a statue repre-
senting strength; he would endeavour to com-
municate to it what was established by acknow-
ledged judges, to be the precise comprehen-
sion of that quality; such as neither degene-
rated into clumsiness, or dwindled into delicacy.
In like manner, suppose an author aimed, in
composition, at the bare qualification of per-
spicuity, he would attain his purpose by im-
parting to it what he knew precisely to cha-
93
racterise this quality, and no more. Such is
the manner by which simple beauty is to be
communicated to objects.
Nor is a different method to be observed,
in regard to complex beauty. Thus, were a
person desirous of drawing a beautiful octagon;
to preserve its simplicity, he should compre-
hend all the parts or qualities proper to that
figure; and would perceive, that it, more or
less, subsisted, as it comprehended those qua-
lities, more or less, in their due degree. Hence
(without particularising further) knowing that,
of the qualities of an octagon, two were the
length, and thickness of its eight constituent
lines, he would determine that he had imparted
greater or less simplicity to this figure, accord-
ing to the excess or defect of these two qua-
lities. If one line were longer than another,
he would acknowledge, that the simplicity was
diminished in proportion to that length: he
would say the same, on the other side, were
the case reversed. Again, if one line exceeded,
or was defective in thickness, for the space
which the lines encompassed, he would allow,
that the simplicity of the octagon was more or
less imperfect, according to the extent of that
excess or defect. And it would be by attaining
the just mean in the formation of his figure,
that he would be enabled to render it compleat.
94
Beauty of composition follows the same
principle, as every other species of beauty. It
is equally simplicity varied in its extent, ac-
cording to the different natures of the com-
position. If the composition be of a more di-
versified complexion, if it comprise a greater
number of subordinate qualifications, the sim-
plicity only has more to comprehend, and to
combine. It still has but to unite into one
body, or form, according to their mean pro-
portion, all the parts, to which it extends. It
regards not the number : it controuls a greater
number, as well as a smaller.
Thus, supposing the composition be a tra-
gedy, a kind of composition which Aristotle
deems of all the most complicated; its beauty
is proportioned to the exactness, with which it
retains a just unity, under a full display of
the characters, passions, and incidents, which
it exhibits. If any of these parts be deficient.
in due extent, so far will the beauty be injured.
If they each possess their due extent, but are
not subordinate to the general unity, in the
same proportion, will the beauty be again af
fected. So essentially does its beauty depend
upon simplicity; and so necessary is it, that
this simplicity should not only pervade each
part, but so preponderate, as to combine all
the parts into a whole.
་
95
Suppose, again, an author undertook to
write a beautiful history; he knows from dis-
cerning and correct critics, that the merit of
this branch of composition consists in its unity,
its depth of information, its clearness, dignity,
and power of interesting. Therefore, to im-
part beauty to this subject, he must be careful
to combine all these qualities, and, at the same
time, allow to each of them its due extent.
He must retain unity amidst all the impedi-
ments of variety, depth of information, in op-
position to superficiality, or excessive refine-
ment, clearness without tediousness, dignity
without affectation, and the power of interest-
ing, without redundancy, or extreme concise-
ness. All these qualities must associate in their
due proportion, and yet make each subservient
to the whole. When the simplicity of any
of these parts, or that of the whole, is want-
ing, by so much is the beauty diminished.*
he
Sir Joshua Reynolds's explanation on this
subject, in remarks subordinate to his own art,
will be more satisfactory. He informs us, that
if the simplicity of the piece, or its central
form be not retained, as well in regard of the
piece itself, as its subordinate parts, the beauty
will sustain a proportional diminution. Thus,
he observes, that, if any of the inferior parts
* See Appendix, Note C.
96
have too great a preponderance; if they en-
croach upon the superior; if they do not con-
fine themselves within their due sphere; so
much of the simplicity, or central form will
be lost. He has, in consequence, given this
caution, that, “though to the principal group
66
(in a picture) a second or third be added,
"and a second or third mass of light, care
"must be yet taken, that these subordinate
"actions, and lights, neither each in par-
ઃઃ
66
ticular, nor all together, come into any de-
gree of competition with the principal; they
"should make a part of that whole, which
"would be imperfect without them." He has
produced many instances to exemplify these
ideas they may be seen in his invaluable dis-
courses to the Royal Academy; but this eluci-
dation of his upon this matter, seems very clear.
Now, if for the acquisition of beauty, in
general, attention to the due proportion of
each quality, consistently with the full effect,
be, at all times, necessary; it is much more
so, when contraries are to be intermingled in the
same composition. Thus, in a tragedy, v. g.
into which joy and sorrow are to be admitted,
how cautiously should they be disposed, and
modified, to produce their proper effect.
Were they intermingled, without the most
discreet qualification, they would not be tole-
rated; they would be incoherent; yet, by
97
being duly combined, and kept in just sub-
servience to the simplicity of the piece, they
bestow the highest beauty.
By the same artificial disposition, discords
in music may be so disposed, as to contribute
greatly to its perfection. Simplicity so smooth-
ens and tempers their natural harshness, that it
blends them into a proper mean. The in-
dustry, therefore, of the composer, in these
more difficult undertakings, should be more
particularly intent on the simplicity, both of
the piece, and its subordinate parts.
Perhaps, the most enlarged department of
beauty is the beauty of man. I shall, there-
fore, end with this, as the last object of con-
sideration, and shew how entirely it is subject.
to the same criterion as all the instances, which
have already been produced. I have not con-
sidered abstract beauty, because it cannot exist
in this sublunary state, and, as Sir Joshua Rey-
nolds well observes, and, as I shall endeavour
to prove in the ensuing chapter, is to be dis-
cerned no where in creation. It exists, only,
in God, who is simplicity itself, and has no
one perfection inferior to another.
What gives the beauty of man so great an
extent is, the variety of his qualifications,
such as, delicacy, gradual variation, size, pro-
portion, &c. To make a compleat human
form, is requisite a comprehension, and that
98
too, in a just degree, of these and all other
qualities, of which this form is susceptible;
otherwise, the species is neither properly dis-
tinguished, nor attains its just perfection.
Some of these qualities are not so perfect as
others; therefore, if the more perfect are too
powerfully exhibited, those, which are inferior,
will be lost; if strength be too predominant,
a due degree of softness will be overbalanced;
if too great length be communicated to one
part, the proportion of another will be en-
feebled; if too great a prominence arise in
one member, the just swell of another will be
diminished: if, in a word, the weaker quali-
fications prevail against the stronger, the
stronger against the weaker; one strong one
against another, one weak one against its op-
posite, the beauty will be, so far, diminished.
Thus, as Sir Joshua observes, "It is not in
"the Hercules, nor in the Gladiator, nor in
"the Apollo, but in that form, which is taken
"from all," that the beauty of the species exists.
"For perfect beauty," he adds, "in any spe-
cies, must combine all the characters, which
66
66
are beautiful in that species. It cannot con-
"sist in any one to the exclusion of the rest;
no one, therefore, must be predominant, that
"no one may be deficient."*
* See Appendix, Note D.
99
Now, from what proceeds this principle of
comprehension? What does it imply, but a
mere recurrence to the guidance of Simplicity?
This is the central point, which connects toge-
ther, with due propriety, all relations and de-
pendencies.
Thus, as I have endeavoured to shew, does
Simplicity seem the sole path to the acquisition
of Beauty. The properties of the object to be
rendered beautiful are first to be ascertained,
and then the only remaining office is to leave
the disposition of them to the discretion of this
principle.
CHAP. III.
The Classification of Beauty.
I INTIMATED in the last chapter, that my re-
mark would not be extended farther than to the
beauty of what I deemed the most complicated
species; from a conviction that abstract beauty
was not to be found in nature. In proof of
this idea, I may appeal to the decision of Sir
Joshua Reynolds, who observes, that, if any
peculiar abstract qualities are assigned as the
fundamental constituents of beauty, they will
turn out to be at variance with it in instances,
100
which are constantly occurring. Thus, if
figure be fixed upon, what can be more oppo-
site, he says, in this respect, than a swan, and
a pigeon yet, at the same time, what more
strikingly graceful than the long neck of the
one, and the short, but beautiful particoloured
neck of the other? If smoothness be adopted,
as it has been by Mr. Burke, it cannot be de-
nied that, in architecture, the smooth Corin-
thian pillar derives a great accession of orna-
ment from the rough decorations of its capital.
And, is not, also, the roughness of the eyebrow
a considerable improvement to the remaining
smoothness of the face? If gradual variation
be preferred, where is this quality discoverable
in a parallelogram? Yet, the shape of that
figure is, generally, deemed beautiful. Finally,
if proportion be considered as a necessary con-
stituent of beauty, to what restriction in its
extent would not beauty, then, be subjected?
Indeed, were this latter test admitted, all beauty
must be compleatly extinguished: for, whence
arises beauty of proportion, but from a combi-
nation of qualities, which were beautiful in
themselves before they were combined? What
is proportion, but the result of comparison?
And where can comparison exist, but in combi-
nation? What, then, would become of beauty,
individually taken ? It appears, therefore,
without recurring to further exemplification,
101
that abstract beauty is to be found no where in
nature. Consequently, we must be content
with the beauty of species. And, since no
beauty of this sort can be deemed a criterion
for universal beauty, we must consult a more
general criterion; for, the adherence to one
general principle is the only method of acquir-
ing comprehensive notions upon any subject
whatever. "I am convinced," says well Sir
Joshua," that this is the only means of advanc-
❝ing science; of clearing the mind from a con-
"fused heap of contradictory observations, that
"do but perplex and puzzle the student, when
"he compares them, or misguide him, if he
"gives himself up to their authority; but,
4.
86
bringing them under one general head, can,
"alone, give rest and satisfaction to an inquisi-
"tive mind."
That simplicity possesses the merit of being
a general principle of this nature, it appears
that I have already proved. This, then, being
the proper test of beauty, we will now endea-
vour to shew how, by its assistance, we can
analyse beauty, from its highest to its lowest
state, and thus clear away a number of opinions,
which have been, only, sources of perplexity,
and needless discussion. I shall endeavour to
apply Sir Joshua's rule of making a general
head the cause of universal elucidation.
102
I observed, that the beauty of species was
the widest department of beauty, that it con-
sisted in the due comprehension of every
beautiful quality belonging to itself; I equally
noted, that, every species comprising so many
different qualities, each character, individually
taken, might equally become a subject of
beauty. These qualities may be termed classes
subordinate to their species.
All, therefore, that we have to do, in order
to ascertain the beauty of any particular object;
is, by the test of simplicity; to examine its
beauty, as it belongs either to a species, or a
class. By this method, we may trace beauty to
its last extreme.
Sir Joshua traced it in this
manner.
Example will afford the truest explanation.
Under the species of the human form,
strength being a distinct quality, may be said
to form one class, and would be represented in
a statue of Hercules; manly beauty, such as
would become an Apollo, would form another;
activity, such as would be expressive of a gla-
diator, might constitute a third; and so of the
rest. If, then, I wished to describe the human
form compleatly, I should employ simplicity,
to comprehend these, and all its different cha-
racters, into one form. If I wished to exhibit
one of these classes separately, I should em-
103
ploy simplicity to give to it alone its due ex-
pression. "For," in the words, again, of Sir
Joshua," as there is one general form, which
"belongs to the human kind at large, so, in
" each of these classes, there is one common
"idea, and central form, which is the abstract
"of the individual forms belonging to that
❝class.
Thus," as he continues, "though
"the forms of childhood and age differ ex-
ceedingly, there is a conimon form in child-
"hood, and a common form in age.
66
This is the method, by which we have it in
our power to describe not only the human form
in its perfection, but each of its subordinate
qualities. Thus, could we impart to it beauty
in its widest or its most confined extent.
Since, therefore, beauty comprehends the
general, as well as the particular, the general
in the species, the particular in the class, why
circumscribe this range of the beautiful, by
subordinate definitions? Why, because an in-
dividual in the species has not the beauty of
the species itself, maintain that it possesses no
beauty at all, and give it, accordingly, a de-
nomination, which seems exclusive of beauty?
Why, in a word, withdraw the picturesque, the
pretty, &c. from the controul of beauty, be-
cause they possess not beauty in its utmost ex-
tent? This is creating that confusion, which
Sir Joshua so strenuously reprehends. This is
P
104
looking for beauty compleatly perfect, where
no such beauty was ever designed. This is
totally detracting from every degree of beauty.
I shall particularly regard the picturesque, and
endeavour to shew its subordination to beauty,
because Mr. Price has written an elegant trea-
tise to subtract it from such subordination.
To exemplify Mr. Price's tenet, it will
suffice to select two of the comparative in-
stances, which he has employed in its vindi-
cation. He observes, that a horse, well pro-
portioned, sleek, and in high condition, is a
beautiful animal; but where, he says, is beauty
in a shaggy animal of that species? He re-
marks, that there is great beauty in a genteel
mansion; but where, he repeats, is this quality
discernible in a rustic hut? If he looks for the
beauty of the hunter, in the shag of a miller's
horse; or, for the splendour of a palace, in
the aboriginal architecture of a cottage; I
should not conceive that his expectation would
be gratified. They possess beauty, notwith-
standing; and Gilpin, in order to express the
class of beauty, to which they belong, has,
properly, I conceive, in opposition to his
opinion, adopted the term of picturesque
beauty.
With respect to the cottage; this kind
of building is expected not to be totally void
of proportion, and shape; and yet, not to ap-
105
proach too near to a certain degree of neatness.
If it be too much distinguished by this latter
quality, it becomes a mongrel structure of no
denomination, an
"Unfinished thing, one knows not what to call."
It does not deserve the appellation of a neat
building, because we suppose it still to partake
of the rusticity of the cottage.
On the other side, if it be destitute of all
shape, and proportion, it is entitled to no dis-
tinctive name whatever; it is a mere heap of
confusion. Its propriety will consist in its
possessing a due mean between either of these
excesses; and that simplicity, which by pre-
serving to it a certain shape, and proportion,
gives it, at the same time, a degree of distant
neatness, places it, exactly, in its true cha-
racter. Now, thus characterised, the cottage
is manifestly a class of beauty: it is a sub-
ordinate department in the beauty of architec-
ture: it possesses, indeed, nearly the lowest
possible degree in that species of the beautiful,
proceeding little farther than to the merest
shape, and proportion; yet, by possessing this
little, it is intitled to the denomination of a
class. It is, clearly, not the first class; that
it was never designed to be in that may be
comprised only the noblest buildings. It is
not the second to that belong, perhaps, ele-
gant or splendid mansions. It is not the third:
:
t
106
under that may be ranked neat edifices: but,
it may be the fourth; and in this it seems to
me not improperly placed. Why, then, de-
nominate it picturesque to the exclusion of
beauty, as if the picturesque was not, as it
appears to be, but a class of the beautiful ?
To disunite the picturesque from its principle,
seems, therefore, to have been a breach of
critical accuracy; and Mr. Price would have
been more exact, had he, with Mr. Gilpin,
made it but a qualification of the beautiful,
and denominated the class, to which it be-
longed, by the term of picturesque beauty.
The same may be said of the pretty. A
small flower, the colours of which are pleasing
and well contrasted, and the shape in just pro-
portion, is termed pretty. Yet, whence arises.
this prettiness, but from the combination of
all these qualifications into one just form?
Whence, again, this combination, but from
the intervention of simplicity? What are they,
in reality, but beautiful? The only reason,
why they receive the denomination of pretty is,
because they are comprised in that distinctive
class of beauty.
The same explanation may be given to many
other distinctions, which are made, and yet are
all subordinate to the beautiful.
It appears, therefore, that beauty is sim-
plicity, no less in the particular class, than in
107
the species, in which this class is included.
This principle extends to the whole range of
objects, which beauty can characterise. If it
is imprinted upon some, in a greater, or less
extent, and they, in consequence, are dis-
tinguished by different names, as, the pic-
turesque, the pretty, the handsome, &c. this
circumstance is no derogation from its con-
troul. They are but features of the same
original.*
We, now, see the source of the great con-
fusion of systems, which have arisen. They
have been occasioned by considering the beauty
of each species in its most perfect state only;
and, because some objects, which were never
designed to be equal to others in beauty, have
not possessed that equality, they have been set
down as destitute of all beauty whatever. Had
this principle of beauty, or, as Sir Joshua de-
fines it, the central form, been adopted, all
these errors would have been rectified, and
seeming contradictions reconciled. As being
the only just one in comprehension, it has,
therefore, due pretensions to be adopted.
*See Appendix, Note E.
108
CHAP. IV.
The Advantages of a Test of Beauty.
IT is frequently objected, that, be there or not
an established test of beauty, there will be the
same disagreement about what comes under its
comprehension. There will, still, be the same
variance of opinion about what is, and what is
not, beautiful. One will maintain that such a
scene is beautiful; which another will pro-
nounce to be picturesque. Of what use, then,
it may be asked, is a standard of beauty
Does it not often happen that the possession
of evidence is contested? Is it not contested
by those who possess only apparent evidence,
against those who are possessed of real? Does
this circumstance make evidence less a benefit
to the possessor? Should, then, a standard of
beauty be a less real benefit, because frequently
appealed to by a side, which obeys not its di-
rection? Should it not, still, be an advantage
to him, who takes it for a guide? A test of
beauty is therefore beneficial.
Were such a test totally unserviceable, why
should all the world so constantly refer to it,
in the less refined degrees of beauty and de-
formity? All resort to it, to prove that shape
and proportion are natural beauties, and shape-
lessness and disproportion, as natural deformi-
109
ties; that some colours are essentially pretty,
whilst others are as essentially ugly. It causes
an universal agreement on these more obvious.
subjects of beauty. Why, then, should it not
be deemed equally beneficial, with regard to
beauty in its greater refinement? Because the
generality cannot take advantage of it, farther
than in common subjects, must it be supposed
that none can ? Is not the knowledge of
beauty greatly improvable? This there needs
no proof to evince. Yet, how is it improvable,
but by further insight under the same test, by
which all knowledge of it was originally ac-
quired?
It appears, therefore, that the benefits of a
standard of beauty are not confined to what is,
obviously, beautiful, but may extend to beauty
more perfect. And, since the perfection of
beauty is unlimited, so must be the benefits of
this standard.
The works which have been wrought by its
assistance, best enable us to appreciate its va-
lue. By what other aid were the poetry of a
Homer, and the oratory of a Demosthenes,
brought to such nicety of refinement? By
what help but this, was a Phidias enabled to
finish those beautiful forms, which history has
so much celebrated? That high polish, that
delicacy of execution, which these great men
imparted to their works, were not the effects of
110
chance: chance never can be so regular and uni-
form in its productions. In what then did these
accomplishments originate, but in a view to
this principle? Of Phidias, Cicero informs
us, that, when he described his figures, he did
not consult any special model, but followed an
ideal standard of his own creation. Nor, could
the works of a Homer, and a Demosthenes,
have attained their perfection by any other me
thod. It is to this, that they are indebted for
that wonderful justness of beauty, with which
they are characterised; for a due mean of that
quality, retaining its essence, and relinquishing
its peculiarities.
But, to clear away all objection to the utility
of a standard, we will examine that difficulty
started against it, which is drawn from the cir-
cumstance, that one will term what is beautiful
by one name, another, by another: that the
notions of different people are, in this particu-
lar, totally at variance. Thus, one will call
that picturesque, of which another will entertain
a much more favourable idea: one will deem
that splendid, which another will deem beauti-
ful. With the same view, we will, also, ex-
plain how it happens that notions of beauty
vary, and in whose favour the controversy is,
on these occasions, to be decided.
To the difficulty against the benefit of a
standard, founded upon an opposition of sen-
111
:
1
timents, and the difference of terms, Mr. Dide-
fot makes a very just reply. He contends
that, if some things are called noble, or, by
any other epithet, rather than beautiful; what
experience authorises as a just definition of
beauty, should not, on that account, be re-
jected that these different expressions are em-
ployed but to denote different sorts, and de-
grees of beauty. He proceeds to say, that, if
an objection like this were to be admitted, all
beauty might be banished, at least a great share
of it, because, what one country may denomi-
nate 'beautiful, another may distinguish by a
different epithet. Therefore, difficulties like
these, should have no weight in depreciating.
the advantage of this standard.
Again, by explaining how it happens that
the notions of beauty vary, and in whose
favour such controversies are to be determined,
the point will be totally cleared up. This dif
ference of opinions arises from ignorance.
This ignorance prevails, sometimes, on one,
sometimes, on both sides; and, as long as it
remains, such difference never can be termi-
nated. For, the reason why the ignorant de-
bate, is because they persuade themselves that
they know what they do not as long, there-
fore, as they refuse to surrender this persua-
sion, these debates cannot end. Hence, the
Q
112
'
source of all contentions about beauty, as about
every other point.
The same is the case with knowledge. In
the first principles of knowledge, most, who
have the benefit of common sense, agree: in
discussing more intricate points subordinate to
them, a disagreement, presently, ensues. But,
such disagreements are no disparagement to a
test of knowledge; why, then, should they be
so to a test of beauty?
Knowing, therefore, that ignorance is the
cause of all variances respecting beauty, it is
easy to ascertain, in favour of which side sen-
tence is to be given.
I observed, that all agree in allowing shape
to be beautiful, and shapelessness ugly: that the
same agreement prevailed respecting certain
colours. As soon as people advance; as soon
as they particularise, and refine, a dissension
arises. Here, who is to be supposed right?
He, who knows, and feels that he is: who is
conscious, from his own conviction, that he
has the knowledge, which his opponent has
not attained. This question is resolved by
evidence, equally with every other. As all,
by common sense, discern beauty in objects,
in which it is most apparent : so, each indi-
vidual, according to the extent of his capacity,
and the degree, in which he has improved it,
JAR
113
acquires an insight into beauty less discernible.
As one happens to be more refined than another,
so, he will be able to give a preferable decision
on beauty though the other may call in ques-
tion his decision. Thus, as people know when
they improve in knowledge, so, they know
when they advance in the perception of beauty.
And as, in the former case, the one can deter-
mine by his own conviction, against another;
so he can in the latter. Accuracy in this par-
ticular, depends, entirely, upon refinement of
taste: and, if a person could not judge whe-
ther his taste was improved, he never could
judge whether he had taste at all. For, if he
perceives that he has taste, he must be con-
scious how it is refined. It appears, therefore,
that an adherence to the standard of beauty is,
always, determined by evidence; that the
pretensions are, always in favour of the more.
polished. Consequently, such a standard re-
mains a benefit in spite of all differences re-
specting it and it is never lost, nor useless,
but to those, who have not capacity, or refine-
ment, to improve it to their advantage. A loss
of this sort is not greatly to be lamented.
The nature of this benefit, chiefly, consists
in enabling the mind to simplify proper notions
of beauty, to reduce them to one common
head, and to render them, by this compression,
universally applicable. It teaches it to com-
114
pare, to combine, to digest the acquisitions,
which it derives from every beautiful object of
its contemplation, to improve previous defi-
ciencies, and to be, always, adding to its stock.
It perfects its notions in this department, in
proportion to the field, which is open to its
observation it gives it a command of all
within its compass. Thus it was, that a Phi-
dias learned to select from the ideas, which he
had acquired, that special form, which seemed
to him best to determine the beauty of human
nature.
:
Having, now, considered Beauty in its most
essential relations; defined its nature, its par-
ticularities, shewn to what standard they were
reducible; and pointed out, in a general
manner, the advantages of this standard: it
seems, that I have given to this subject as com-
pleat a form as the just extent of it appeared
to admit. The reasons, why some objects are
deemed beautiful, and others, ugly, I thought
it unnecessary to investigate :* I shall, there-
fore, enter upon the topic, which next pre-
sents itself.
* See Appendix, Note F.
115
GENIU S.
CHAP. I.
An Explanation of the Nature and Origin
of Genius.
GENIUS is defined, by Dr. Blair, the power
of executing; as Taste is, according to the
same author, the power of judging. Sir Joshua
Reynolds explains it in terms not very different.
"Genius and Taste," he says, " in their com-
66
mon acceptation, appear to be very nearly
"related; the difference lies only in this, that
"Genius has superadded to it a habit, or power
"of execution. Or, we may say, that Taste,
"when this power is added, changes its name,
"and is called Genius." Sir Joshua's opinion
has one advantage over the Doctor's, it is more
explicit. He informs us, more minutely, in
what consists the difference between the two,
and gives us clearer ideas on the subject.
Neither of these authors, however, gives us the
116
precise idea of the nature of Genius. In tell-
ing us that it is the power of executing, they
do not at all inform us, in what this power
consists; and from what origin it is derived.
To do this, was a task of nicerundertaking.
:
We will endeavour, therefore, to suggest
something more precise. Genius seems to be-
long, solely, to the power of conceiving; and
to be the power of conceiving strongly I ven-
ture to be of opinion, that it would be justly
defined, were it, merely, denominated the
offspring of strong sensibility. It appears to
be that faculty, by which the mind is enabled
to conceive objects with due feeling to catch
the full impression, which they are naturally
calculated to communicate. Hence, the diffe-
rence between the temper of mind, with which
a person without genius, and one with genius,
contemplate an object, will depend upon the
disproportion in which the sensibility of each
is excited. The man of genius will feel what
he views; the man without genius will remain
cold at the sight: that will perceive his feeling
awakened, where this will be but a passive spec-
tator; the one will take a delight, where he will
often be welcomed, only with the derision of
the other in a word, he who possesses genius,
will survey nature with a sense of its beau-
ties; he who possesses it not, with the
sluggish indifference.
eye
of
117
From my censuring Dr. Blair, and Sir Jo-
shua, for want of precision in their definitions,
let it not, however, be imagined, that I judged
their definitions totally erroneous. On the con-
trary, they seem to have considerable merit.
These authors, in my humble conjecture, can
be considered as defective, only because they
considered Genius in its cultivated state, and
not as it is, universally considered. In its cul-
tivated state, it certainly may, in some sense,
be deemed an extension of taste; taste being
supposed, as I hope that I shall prove it to be, a
derivation from judgment, as well as from sensi-
bility. For, refined Genius is, doubtless, as
much under the influence of judgment, as of
sensibility. This we may observe in the careful-
ness with which those, who have attained that
accomplishment, restrain, in due limits, the
highest flights of their imagination; as, also,
in the known circumstance, that the noblest.
fruits of Genius are rectified by the most deli-
cate taste. Censure, therefore, can be passed
upon these authors only for want of a sufficiently
ample survey of the subject.
This observation I deemed it expedient to
make in their favour, because critics are, often,
very reprehensible for inflicting universal cen-
sure upon authors, when partial credit is
extensively their due. They, by this means,
excite a prepossession against them, and so de-
118
prive numbers of the benefit of what solid in-
formation these authors contain : moreover, by
throwing this information into oblivion, they
draw back so much from what would have
been a great assistance to any future investiga-
tion of the same subjects. It is obvious that
this conduct must greatly retard the
science.
progress of
At the same time, these authors having
been deficient in comprehension, this defect
should not be left unnoticed. In order not to
defraud merit, we are not reduced to palliate
omissions. The information of Dr. Blair, and
Sir Joshua, as far as it extends, is entitled to ap-
plause and gratitude; their deficiency lies in
not having carried it to a sufficient extent.
They make considerable advances, but have
not attained the destined term. They have
given a description of Genius, only, in its cul-
tivated state.
To return to the subject; I have ventured, ast
a more enlarged definition, the position that
Genius was the offspring, solely, of strong sen-
sibility. That such is its origin, and that, in-
stead of being superadded to taste, it is prior to
that attainment, I shall now undertake to de-
monstrate.
The truth of the latter of these assertions,
appears from the well-known fact, that Genius,
though at a time, when it is very strong and
119
vehement, wlien it is allowed to be greatly dis-
played, runs blindly into extravagancies, which
taste, most distant from being accompanied by
the same degree of Genius, would not have in-
curred. Hence, how often is not the man of
more contracted genius, a better critic, than
the man of greater? How often is it not re-
marked, that such a person has the greater
genius; such another, the greater taste? How
frequently is not the extraordinary merit of
genius admired, at the same time that pity is
expressed at its not having been more refined
by taste? It appears then, evident, that Genius
is not superadded to taste, but is rather the
principle, which taste improves and rectifies.
That this principle is the offspring of sensi-
bility, I will also attempt to evince.
The object of Genius is thought, from what-
ever source this thought is derived. Suppose,
then, two persons occupied about the same
thought; which will be deemed the proprietor
of Genius? The only difference, that can
exist between their manner of viewing it, must
lie in the proportionate strength, or liveliness,
with which each conceives it. Which then
will be pronounced to be possessed of genius?
He, whose sense of the thought, is dull and
inanimate; or, he who feels it strongly ? Cer-
tainly the latter. The former, we say, rather
gives proof of somewhat bordering upon stupi-
R
120
dity. In what, then, does genius originate,
but in strength of sensibility? It enables the
mind to feel what it contemplates; it gives it
an interest in what it surveys; it operates, in
proportion to the strikingness of the object,
and never suffers total insensibility.
In a wide sense, indeed, all capacity of
thinking might be termed genius, because
thought cannot but excite some degree of sensi-
bility. It cannot arise without some degree of
exertion: a total absence of sensibility would
leave such a torpor on the mind, that such ex-
ertion would be an impossibility. We find, in
consequence, that thought is enlarged, accord-
ing to delicacy of sensation; and that inca-
pacity of sensation, excludes all capacity of
thought.
But, this is not the latitude of sense, in
which Genius is usually taken; it is, only, ac-
cording to this common acceptation that I have
considered it, and as such it may, agreeably
to the observations, already made, be regarded
as the offspring of strong sensibility.
A little attention to its progress, will, best,
exemplify the justness of this assertion. For
this purpose, we will take a general survey of
Genius in its first exertions till its last refine-
ment, by the corrective industry of taste.
121
CHAP. II.
The Progress of Genius.
IN the first essays of Genius we perceive
great copiousness, strength, and originality of
thought; all animation; but, unfortunately,
at the same time, all wildness, and irregularity.
Genius, in this state, submits neither to direc-
tion, nor controul. It has no view, but of
indulging itself in all the extravagancies of a
luxuriantly teeming imagination. According
to the different departments, to which it is
confined, it spends itself in collecting what-
ever ideas it can comprehend, and storing with
them, as far as it is able, every subject, to
which it directs itself. In poetry, it ranges
the whole field of fancy, it culls from every
part; it is insatiable of acquiring; it accumu
lates its stock, without order, without con-
sideration it overlooks what it collects, in
search of further acquisition. In the other
arts, as well as in the sciences, the same ardour
animates its efforts: it is all grasp, and great
inaccuracy.
That such is the nature of infant genius,
its. progress, as it has displayed itself in any
one of these arts or sciences, uniformly de-
monstrates. In regard of poetry, we have the
race.
122
testimony of one of the most celebrated, who
ever honoured that noble art, the refined Ho-
He informs us, that the original Roman
poets displayed great fire, great copiousness,
an abundant fund of thought; but, that they
were irregular, and uncouth. He acknow-
ledges how much he is indebted to the copious-
ness of Lucilius, though he tells us, at the
same time, how tedious and defective were
that author's compositions. He bestows high
encomiums on his genius, but greatly repre-
hends its want of refinement.
In like manner, when he speaks of Ennius,
and his vigorous powers of imagination, he
acknowledges that poet's merit, and passes
upon him a singularly fine eulogium. He says,
that, were Lucilius's verses, or his own to be
transposed, no symptom of poetry would re-
main; but were a passage of Ennius equally
'dissected, we should find traces of poetry
still subsisting; as he has happily expressed it,
"Invenies etiam disjecti membra poetæ."
In other parts of his works, he lavishes great
praise on the energetic genius of that father of
the Roman poets; at the same time, he in-
forms us, from the authority of Lucilius, that
his verses wanted, notwithstanding, great cor-
rection. Now, he says, speaking of Lucilius's
opinion of Ennius's poetry, in 1 Sat. c. 10. v. 54.
"Non ridet versus Enni gravitate minores."
123
The same state of Genius we know to be
also exhibited in the first growth of oratory.
This information we may learn from Cicero, in
his remarks on the compositions of the first Ro-
man orators. He allows them to abound with
strong sense, vigorous expression, genuine ef-
fusions of fancy, and passion; but avers, never-
theless, that their productions were rude, and
Asperum, et horridum genus
uncultivated.
dicendi."
66
We find the like truth exemplified in the old
writers in every country. ·
So far, then, as it has hitherto been con-
sidered, Genius appears to be the sole offspring
of sensibility. This copiousness, this vigorous
animation, which we have seen to be its only
properties in its infant state, bespeak its entire
derivation from that principle.
As the culture of Genius advances, we find
it grow more correct. This Horace, again,
observes, in the professors of his art and takes
notice how soon all these most notorious defects
disappeared after an acquaintance with better
authors. His countrymen, he tells us, no
sooner became acquainted with the Grecian
models, than they banished the principal rem-
nants of their rudeness.
"Græcia capta ferum victorem cepit, et artes
"Intulit agresti Latio; sic horridus ille
"Defluxit numerus Saturnius, et grave virus
16
Munditiæ pepulere."
124
They afterwards advanced rapidly in refine-
ment. By seeing more, their genius became
better acquainted with its excesses, collected
systems for its regulation, improved them
daily, followed them attentively, till, at last,
it learned to retrench all redundancies, and
pruned itself into the compass of due precision.
This it attained in the period in which he flou-
rished, and himself was one of the best mo-
dels of the attainment. He knew, and ob-
served, the exact mean between negligence and
excess of refinement. Other poets, his con-
temporaries, give proofs of the same discern-
ment.
It was then, that Virgil polished his
celebrated Georgics; that Ovid gave the last
touches to some of his finished Metamorphoses;
in a word, that a refinement of genius was at-
tained, which, perhaps, was never before, and
has, never since, been equalled.
The same progress have we known in our
country, from Chaucer, down to Pope.
Happy, if we never emasculate, by excessive
delicacy, that due vigour, which we have at-
tained.
But, is the nature of Genius altered, by being
thus improved? Certainly not. Its last state
must, intrinsically, be the same as its first:
culture can make the only difference. Genius,
in the former state, is the offspring of sensi-
bility unrestrained in the latter, of sensibility
:
125
moderated. It must, equally, subsist in the
most ancient author, as, in the most modern.
It shews more vehement animation in the one :
more tempered animation in the other.
To its nature under the latter character, Mr.
Pope has well applied his comparison of the
horse, which, he observes,
"Shews most true mettle, when you check its course."
Genius, therefore, when refined, must take
its rise in the same origin, as when unculti-
vated. It must still be the offspring of sensi-
bility.
Thus, does Genius, surveyed in its whole
progress, display its derivation from this prin-
ciple. Its only variance proceeds from the mo-
dification of this source by the discretionary
controul of Taste. The definition of Genius,
which I have presumed to propose, seems,
therefore, to have pretensions to be just.
126
CHAP. III.
On Genius, relatively to its acquisition of
IT
Taste.
may be observed, that Genius is, according
to its extent, more or less susceptible of acquir-
ing Taste. Thus, the greater the genius, the
more refined taste can it attain. This truth,
experience demonstrates: for, we find in each
age, the greatest geniuses, the greatest models.
of taste: Homer in his style, Virgil in his,
and Pope in his.
Genius is, also, usually, later in acquiring its
full taste. This, too, the concurrent testimony
of all ages, almost universally, evinces. Ac-
cordingly, we see that the greater works are,
usually, the last brought to perfection. How it
happens that Genius is more susceptible of ac-
quiring Taste, and why it is later in acquiring
its full perfection of Taste, I shall now endea-
vour to explain.
Taste is, as I shall remark in the next trea-
tise, a compound of sensibility and judgment;
or, a faculty, the exertion of which results
from such a compound; and it is formed by
comparison. The reason is, therefore, obvious,
why Genius should, according to its extent, be
more capable of the acquisition of Taste. If
127
Genius be, as it has been described, and I hope,
proved, the offspring of strong sensibility, the
stronger its sensibility, the more it will notice,
and the greater fund will it acquire for the exer-
cise of comparison. For, it is impossible for
sensibility to exist, without proportionate obser-
vation: indeed, experience proves, that the most
delicate sensibility is the most quickly and
frequently excited.
If Genius soonest acquire a fund for com-
parison, and Taste consist in the making of that
comparison, Genius must, soonest, be enabled
to acquire Taste. Its only task is to survey this
fund, and begin comparing. Evidently, there-
fore, Genius must, according to its extent, be
more or less susceptible of acquiring Taste.
How happens it, then, that Genius the most
perfect, latest attains maturity of Taste? The
reason is this: Genius, being the offspring of
strong sensibility, is constantly intent on new
objects, is ever feeding its curiosity, making
new acquisitions; always restless; always insa-
tiable; stops not to digest what it has already
gained, but is ever looking forward in quest of
more. No wonder, then, that thus agitated,
though provided with every foundation for
comparison, it does not subside into the delibe-
rate temper, which this occupation requires:
no wonder that it scorns such confinement.
It forms its taste, later, when its ardour be-
S
128
gins to cool it cannot, sooner, endure to
form it.
Another reason, why Genius is later in ats
taining its maturity of taste, is the greater
quantity of knowledge, which it has to digest.
It has been filling its capacity with an immense
store of every description: a long time must
elapse before this be methodized, be sorted,
and its due value ascertained. For this pur-
pose, not only ought Genius to survey its ma-
terials, but to view them also in their various
relations, to reduce them all into their proper
sphere, and to give to each its just limits. The
more it has to regulate, the longer must it be
detained in the regulation. The varieties of
this task, independently of its difficulties, can-
not fail to render it a labour of considerable
duration. Success must be the result of deep
discernment and reflection.
If to the natural impediments attendant on
the work itself, be added the disadvantage
under which Genius labours from being un-
accustomed to it, the occupation becomes
longer, and more tedious. At his first en-
trance upon it, the man of Genius seems to be
in a new world: he feels himself totally unac-
quainted with the undertaking, which he is
beginning. He hears others discoursing on
the advantages of just symmetry and order,
and has no notion of these qualities. Suppose
129
a speech be the subject of discussion; he hears
those around him praising the style, the me-
thod, the precision, and its other qualities, to
which he experiences himself to be an utter
stranger. The reason is, he has never con-
sidered them. His whole employment has
been to collect, not to digest; hence, the
excess of ignorance, of which he is conscious,
when discretion is proposed to be his exercise
when his judgment is to be called into action.
;
It is not surprising, therefore, under all
these considerations, that Genius should be
backward in acquiring maturity of taste.
For
the same reason, it is not in the least extra-
ordinary, that many Geniuses must succeed
each other, before they bring a great work to
its just perfection: they require not only their
own discernment, but the improvement which
is to be obtained by the discernment of others.
Homer's own knowledge would never have suf-
ficed him, and Homer's own taste must have
been to him a late acquisition.
We see, therefore, that the greater the
genius, the later it makes the acquisition of
taste.
From the observations of this chapter it ap-
pears, that Genius is more susceptible of ac-
quiring taste, may acquire it sooner, though it
later acquires it in maturity, and is capable of
130
a more compleat attainment of that acqui-
sition.
Having now, as I conceive, considered
Genius in every essential point of view, relat-
ing to its origin, and nature, the first prin-
ciples of it, to which alone I undertook to
direct my attention; I shall offer a few cursory
remarks on Taste.

1
131
TASTE.
CHAP. I.
The Nature and Origin of Taste.
TASTE is, of all the subjects which I have
treated, the most important; because it alone
enables us to discern what is sublime, or beau-
tiful, and regulates the exertions of genius.
Nevertheless, important as it is, I shall be very
brief in my observations upon it; because its
nature appears to have been already so well as-
certained by a variety of authors, and so co-
piously described, that what I might deliver on
the subject, would be, comparatively, of little
importance.
The criterion of taste, I am inclined to
think, is universally acknowledged. Some au-
thors, indeed, determine it to be sensibility;
and others, reason: yet, as Dr. Blair very ju-
diciously observes, this difference turns chiefly
on modes of expression; and both parties, in
different instances to which they allude, agree
}
•
132
that both sentiment and reason concur to its
formation.*
That it derives its origin from both these
principles, may be clearly determined.
In the first place, it may be said to originate
in sensibility.
It is impossible that an object should attract
the attention of the mind, without affecting it.
Every impression is attended with a proportion-
ate excitement of sensibility. The objects
which delight most, or excite most horror,
produce most violent effects. Thus, in pro-
portion to the notice which the mind bestows
on the subjects which suggest themselves to its
contemplation, is its degree of feeling awakened.
Such is the prelude to a consummate act of
taste. The mind in this posture may be termed
no more than a recipient of sensation. It pro-
ceeds no farther; and is actuated to a greater or
less extent, in proportion to the influence of
this prniciple.
It may be compared to a child, which, be-
fore its further progress, is under no other con-
troul than that of feeling; is captivated with
every new sight, every striking scene, and has
made no further advancement.
Taste is not yet formed: its foundation only
is laid. The scenery presents itself to the ima-
* See Dr. Blair's note on Taste. Lect. 2. p. 36. 9th
Ed. London.
133
gination, arrayed in its variety of charms; it
attracts and fascinates, but its distinctive mea-
sure of beauty is not ascertained. Another
essential step is to be taken. The merit of
whatever presents itself to view demands exa-
mination.
This is to be done by comparison. Sensi-
bility begins the work: comparison leads to its
completion. The mind yet untutored by the
acquisition of taste, may be supposed, as I have
already noticed, taken up with the novelties
which surround it. A landscape, with some
beauties, presents itself to view; it is welcomed
with delight. But, now, another succeeds, and
seems to possess pre-eminence over the one
which preceded it. They both excite sensi-
bility but the latter has some peculiarities,
which appear to entitle it to preference over the
former. The partiality to the one is, propor-
tionally, diminished, and absorpt, in what are
deemed the superior perfections of the other.
The boy, who is pleased, at first, with the
rudest essays in painting, no sooner becomes
better instructed, and has an opportunity of ex-
amining paintings, more successfully executed,
than he loses all relish for what he first saw,
and transfers it to these. Here begins the
change of sentiments; the difference has arisen
from the contrast; from the light imparted by
comparison. Here has lien the source of dis-
134
crimination hither may be traced the meta-
morphosis of ideas.
If comparison be the principle which leads
to this result, the whole transition is chargeable
upon the judgment. For, what is the judg-
ment, but the offspring of comparison? Thus,
sensibility begins the work of taste; judgment
compleats it. Judginent does but properly ma-
nage the ground, which sensibility has provided.
The one finds the materials; the other distri-
butes them into their proper places.
Taste formed, is, therefore, a compound of
sensibility and judgment.
This survey of the subject, Mr. Burke has
well exhibited in the Introduction on Taste,
which precedes his Essay on the Sublime and
Beautiful. Whoever peruses that Introduction,
may, almost, be satisfied that he possesses all
necessary information on this topic.
According to these principles, taste, in de-
ciding upon the merits of a piece of architec-
ture, will be the testimony of the mind rela-
tively to its justness, and supposes an ultimate
judgment founded upon sensibility, which takes
in, combines, and compares, all the parts,
which it deems the essential constituents of this
species of subject.
Taste, relatively to oratorical composition, is
a testimony of the mind, which determines
whether this species of composition expresses
135
its thoughts with proper precision and feeling.
To ascertain whether the just degree of feel-
ing be retained, sensibility is necessary to
discern whether due precision be observed, is
the province of judgment.
Taste, therefore, being a compound of sen-
sibility and judgment, we may learn from this
principle, what are the foundations of the most
correct taste.
:
As taste results from sensibility, he, who is
born with the strongest sensibility, will, as I
specified in the last chapter, respecting men of
genius, have the first, and most copious na-
tural source of taste. Further, as it proceeds
from judgment, his taste will be most accurate,
which is drawn from the widest sphere of com-
parison. Only those will have compleat taste
who have compared all that lies open to com-
parison to do which has never universally
fallen to the lot of any mortal. It may have
fallen to his lot in some department: thus,
history informs us, that one Polycletus ascer-
tained the exact point of human beauty, and
that he exemplified it so nicely in a statue, that
this statue was denominated the canon of beauty.
It was so compleat, that no one could detect in
it any imperfection. It was exposed to public
exhibition, and the view of people from all
quarters of the world, and never incurred re-
prehension.
T
136
It was upon this principle that perfect taste
is the fruit of universal comparison, that Sir
Joshua Reynolds, in his immortal lectures, in-
forms the students in his art, that, if they as-
pired at the perfection of this faculty, they
-must divest themselves of all prejudice, be su-
perior to local custom, take the range of the
universe, make the East and the West tributary
to their acquisitions, and learn to select the most
estimable in every department.
Temporary fashion was not to be regarded:
their eye was to be directed to the sole funda-
mental principles of nature. These, he adds,
were most easily discovered by surveying the
works of the greatest artists, because they had
made the greatest advancement in this species of
comprehension; still, he says, not even their
authority is to be blindly followed; the test of
nature was again to be examined, in order to
ascertain whether even their knowledge of it was
sufficiently comprehensive.
Such is the true method of refining taste ;
and such the only mean by which taste attains
maturity. It is then compleat, when it can de-
termine the degrees of perfection in each ob-
ject, by what experience evinces to be the
criterion of beauty.
Here, it will be objected, that, notwithstand-
ing what has been said on, taste, be it ever so
precise, the disputes will not be terminated,
137
which it is the province of taste to adjust.
Each one engaged in them will still maintain,
that only himself possesses a due proportion of
feeling and judgment; and will pretend to the
preference of his opinion. The only reply pos-
sible is, that experience alone must determine,
whether the definition, which has been given of
taste, be accurate; which I trust that it is. In
this case, what I have remarked in the course of
the short treatise on Beauty, must be repeated;
that who possesses taste, is to be determined.
only by the nature of each one's conviction.
This, indeed, as was there also observed,
is the sole standard, round which the learned
rally, in opposing the pretensions of ignorance;
and this is the last test of apparent and real
evidence.
For the consolation, however, of many, who
may be inferior in the accomplishment of taste,
to those with whom they imagine themselves to
be equally possessed of this accomplishment, it
must be recollected, that those who are superior
to them in refinement, will frequently, from
not feeling their refinement fully gratified, en-
tirely refuse their admiration to what may partly
deserve it. Hence, e. g. a person may deny
some particular tree to be beautiful, although
it may possess some beauties, because it does
not fully correspond with his ideas of beauty.
Thus, the opinion upon taste of this latter class
138
will often be less correct than that of the
former.
I
I have now, I am inclined to conceive, treated
these different subjects of Sublimity, Beauty,
Genius, and Taste, explicitly enough for those
who are conversant in them, and with a com-
prehension of all that appeared material.
trust, therefore, that I have given to each of
them the extent due to every just system, that of
comprising all that relates to them, either in
the language, in which they are expressed, or
in such inferences as that language will sanction.
Little room has been occupied with removing
difficulties, from a sense, that, if what has been
advanced be just, they must naturally vaniſh :
if, in any part, not just, in that it would be im-
proper to undertake its defence.
139
APPENDIX.
On the Cause of Pleasure excited by Tragic
Representation.
TRAGEDY, shocking as are the representa-
tions, which it exhibits, is a source of almost
universal pleasure. Numerous have been the
systems devised by modern critics, to explain
the origin of this pleasure: all deeming the
subject original to their age; and never to have
been discussed by any former writer. But, had
they been more inquisitive, they might have
spared themselves the labour, which they un-
dertook, without losing the benefit of anti-
quity they would have found the subject well
explained by an ancient philosopher, equal to
any one of them in subtility and penetration,
the great St. Augustine.
Mr. Burke, who was one of those who di-
rected his attention to this matter, has pro-
posed a system, which, as far as it extends, ex-
actly coincides with the opinion of this distin-
guished critic. As, however, it does not reach to
140
so comprehensive a compass, it did not seem so
proper to be taken as a guide; at the same time
it leaves an opportunity of paying due homage
to antiquity and profiting by advantages already
gained.
St. Augustine's opinion, then, is thus ex-
pressed in the second chapter of the third book
of his Confessions. Having been unnoticed,
or, perhaps, never perused by critics, who have
treated these subjects, it is, on that account,
matter of greater curiosity. After mentioning
that, in his youth, he felt a vehement passion
for theatrical entertainments, he proposes to
himself this question:* "How happens it that
* Quid est quod homo vult dolere, cum spectat luctuosa
atque tragica, quæ tamen pati ipse nollet? Et tamen pati
vult ex eis dolorem spectator, et dolor ipse est voluptas
ejus. Quid est nisi mirabilis insania. Nam eo magis his
movetur quisque, quo minus a talibus affectibus sanus est:
quanquam cum ipse patitur, miseria, cum aliis compatitur,
misericordia dici solet. Sed qualis tandem misericordia in
rebus fictis et scenicis? Non enim ad subveniendum pro-
vocatur auditor, sed tantum ad dolendum invitatur. Ec
actori carum imaginum amplius favet cum amplius dolet.
Et si calamitates illæ hominum vel antiquæ vel falsæ sic
agantur, ut qui spectat non doleat, abscedit inde fastidiens et
reprehendens. Si autem doleat, manet intentus et gaudens
lacrymatur. Lacrymæ ergo amantur et dolores? Certe
omnis homo gaudere vult. An cum miserum neminem
esse libeat, libet tamen esse misericordem? Quod quia non
sine dolore est, hac una causa amantur dolores. Et hoc de
illâ venâ amicitiæ est. Conf. 1. iii. c. 2.
141
66
66
people are desirous of feeling the pain aris-
ing from the representation of melancholy
"and tragical adventures, in which, neverthe-
less, themselves would object to be engaged?
"That they do desire to feel this pain is cer-
"tain; for, it is the main enjoyment which
66
they propose to themselves in these repre-
sentations. Now, what but madness can give
"birth to such a pleasure; every one being af-
"fected in proportion as he is subject to the
"like passions with those exhibited?
"To be in misery one's self, is called mis-
"fortune: to commiserate the distresses of
"others, is called pity. But what kind of pity
66
can be that, which can be excited only by
"fictitious and exhibited calamity? For, on
"these occasions, the audience is not solicited
to give assistance, but to weep. The only
66
66
66
66
object, then, of these representations, must
"must be to excite grief: hence, the more
powerfully the actors awaken this emotion,
"the more pleased is the spectator with their
"performance. If it chance, whatever be the
subject, whether feigned or historical, that
"they exhibit it in a cold, inanimate manner,
he immediately retires with contempt and
disgust but, if they excite his grief, he
"remains attentive, and feels pleasure while he
"sheds tears. Love we, then, grief and tears?
C3
Surely, every one prefers joy. Must not,
:
142
therefore, the cause of this pleasure be that,
"though no one loves to be miserable himself,
<<
yet he loves to feel pity for the misery of
"others; and this pity not being unmingled
6C
with grief, we may, on this account, be said
to like the sensation itself of grief. Our
"being thus affected, proceeds from a certain
degree of friendship, which we, naturally,
"bear one to another" (in other words,
from social love.)
66
He
Such is St. Augustine's account of the origin
of the pleasure which arises from tragical repre-
sentation; it is distinct, and well detailed.
not only refers this pleasure to social love; he
shews us, too, in what special manner this love
operates. He informs us, that it produces not
its effect by pity itself: for, where can be room
for pity, only in fictitious and exhibited cala-
mity? That it works it not by grief alone,
for, love we grief and tears? But, he gives us
to understand, that it operates by a feeling ex-
actly similar to pity: similar in the sensation
which it excites, different in its cause: similar
in the sensation which it excites, because it af-
fects in the same manner as real pity; different
in its cause, because it arises from represented,
and not real, distress. He explains, too, why
social love should thus operate. Because this
temper of mind, he adds, gives us an aversion
to see others miserable, and a pleasure in com-
43
passionating them, when they are so there-
fore, we like these fictitious exhibitions, for
artificially exciting this pleasure.
That it is not, if it still be doubted, the
grief, which gives pleasure, is certain; for, as
Mr. Burke proves by example, "Were," he
says, "this passion (pity) simply painful, we
"should shun, with the greatest care, all per-
66
sons, and places, that would excite such a
"passion: as, some, who are so far gone in
<<
indolence, as not to endure any strong im-
"pression, actually do." Indeed, ourselves
may know by experience, that, when this pain-
ful impression is extremely violent, as it oc-
casionally is in real scenes, vast numbers are
unable to endure it: thus, what numbers are
averse to executions, in which blood is spilt;
to see a criminal beheaded? Nature is apt to
revolt against such vehement sensations. It
cannot, therefore, be said, that the grief is
the cause of the pleasure, but, that the grief
is absorpt in a superior pleasure. The grief
gives pleasure, not in itself, but, as annexed to
another real source of pleasure, to social af-
fection. We do not, properly, take delight
in the grief, or through the grief; but in what
accompanies the grief, a source of pleasure so
overpowering, that even the grief itself cannot
prevent its impression.
U
144
Mr.
St. Augustine's system seems, then, in every
point of view, well authenticated and the
manner, in which he has expressed himself
upon this subject is, as it is in all his other dis-
quisitions, highly to the credit of his phi-
losophical accuracy, and penetration. Having,
from the authority of this great man, given an
exact elucidation of the general origin of plea-
sure, derived from tragedy, the utmost extent,
to which he advanced his investigation we
are naturally led on to an inquiry into the cause
of the pleasure, which arises from a subordinate
emotion, in tragedy, that of terror,
Burke maintains, that terror is itself a source
of delight this opinion I am inclined to con-
trovert. The mind, it appears to me, is never
pleased with what pains it; with respect to
terror, any more than has been shewn, with
respect to pity: but rather, with something,
as has also been shewn in regard to this latter
emotion, which accompanies, and prepon-
derates over its pain. Were it not for such
accompaniment, the mind, I conceive, would
never, on such occasions, feel pleasure. Thus,
in those tragedies, in which the objects repre-
sented are extremely terrible, such as some of
Shakespeare's, in which is exhibited the inter-
ference of supernatural agents: it is not, pre-
cisely, the terror, which delights; it is not that,
145
with which the spectators are so much cap-
tivated, upon which they hang with so much
attention. No: it is a something, that out-
weighs the terror. People are naturally dis-
posed to shun whatever they fear, to keep aloof
from its approach. What they court with so
much eagerness must, therefore, be a very dif-
ferent principle of emotion.
Mr. Burke, indeed, pretends to explain his
opinion, that there is a delight arising from ter-
ror, by the circumstance of its giving mode-
rate exercise to the mind, and, so, relieving it,
as moderate labour relieves the body.
“For,
"as a due exercise," he says, " is essential to
"the coarse muscular parts of the constitu-
"tion, and that, without rousing, they would
"become languid and diseased; the very same
"rule holds with regard to those finer parts,
"we have mentioned," (some corporeal
instruments, which he supposes necessary to
the operations of the mind.) This idea,
however, of Mr. Burke, and his proof of it,
seem both rather defective, and too remotely
sought.
If, as we really do, we naturally shun terror,
as much as grief, and he allows that grief, sim-
ply painful, never can give delight, why should
he suppose terror to be more successful? Why
should the mind be said, naturally, to be averse
to one, which it shuns, and to be captivated
146
with the other, which it shuns as much? This
does not seem consonant to reason.
Explanations so remotely taken, are, gene-
rally, contrary to the course of nature; are,
usually, discovered to be ill supported. The
most accurate explanation of this remarkable
affection, seems to be this: There is, in
terrifying objects, which attract and capti-
vate the mind, some incitement to curiosity.
They have qualities, which invite regard, in-
dependently of the terrible nature of their
appearance. They have some peculiarity,
either in size, in colour, in strength, in gran-
deur, if in no other respect, in novelty, in a
word, in some particular qualification, which
engages the mind, and brings it to a survey of
them. Even then, they engage curiosity no
farther than is compatible with a certain degree
of fear when this emotion is too strongly ex-
cited, the mind turns away from them alto-
gether; it becomes quite absorpt in self-preser-
vation.
Sometimes, indeed, curiosity prevails so far
that it gains too great an ascendant over this
fear, and occasions real danger. Thus, how
many will expose themselves to the sight of a
terrible object, even at the risk of their lives!
How many, from this unfortunate bias, being
attracted by the noble qualities of the lion, or
the no less terrific, and almost as attractive, ap-
1
147
pearance of the tiger, have approached them so
near, as to throw themselves into their grasp!
From this same influence, how many will place
themselves within the reach of other savage
animals! how many children are lost by this
excessive temerity!
The contrary, however, is the most prevalent
case. But, were terror the source of the de-
light, though Mr. Burke contends that it is,
only when in a moderate degree, it should be
so in a greater: for, what is itself, in a moderate
degree, a cause of pleasure, should, certainly,
in a greater, be the cause of greater pleasure.
This is the order of nature. Nevertheless, the
contrary we see happen: the pleasure arises,
only, when the terror is deemed moderate;
when deemed violent, the terrific object is en-
tirely shunned. What does this shew, but that
curiosity, instead of being attracted by the ter-
ror, feels this its only check: that it would fain
indulge itself, did not this obstacle interpose?
Terror, then certainly, cannot be called the
cause of the pleasure felt on these occasions;
that claim is due, rather, to some attractive of
curiosity in the object; an attractive so power-
ful, that it, sometimes, induces the subject,
whom it actuates, even to contend with his ap-
prehensions.
1
The more terrible the object, it generally,
indeed, excites the greater curiosity. But,
14&
why? Still, not for the terror, because, greater
precautions are then taken against it. Why,
then? Because an object, said to be extremely
terrible, is usually supposed to be marked by
stronger peculiarities; it is conceived to pos-
sess qualifications, which entitle it to greater
notice. Thus, when we hear of an animal,
which we have never before seen, that it is one
of the most formidable in creation, that it is of
a tremendous size, that it is armed with terrific
instruments of defence, that its powers are dis-
maying to the sight, it immediately awakens all
the eagerness of curiosity. It strikes as an ob-
ject particularly worth regard. This effect
does not suppose delight in fear; it is the con-
sequence of expectations of seeing some pecu-
liarly noble creature. It appears, then, that
in terrific objects, it is not the terror, which
they cause, that delights, but some distinctive
properties belonging to them, which, by flat-
tering expectation, excite greater curiosity.
We do not admire the fright, but the frightful
object. Curiosity, then, and not terror, is the
leading principle, the source of all satisfaction
arising from such scenes.* The sensation felt
in the gratification of this curiosity, may be
denominated awe: this term seeming to com-
prise all those other affections of astonishment,
* See Appendix, Note G.
149
admiration, reverence, and respect, which Mr.
Burke has so very judiciously assigned as the
sentiments with which the mind is impressed by
the survey of terrific objects.
:
Thus, have I endeavoured to delineate the
cause of the principal pleasure derived from tra-
gedy; that, which proceeds from social love
operating under the artificially excited emotion
of pity and of the less universal pleasure de-
rived from curiosity operating under the arti-
ficially excited emotion of awe. These seemed
to be the chief affections, which tragedy aims
at exciting by explaining them, I thought that
I gave sufficient opening into an analysis of any
of the inferior emotions; on this account, a fur-
ther pursuit of these inquiries was deemed un-
necessary.

151
NOTES.
Note A.
HAVING explained how we may excite the
feeling requisite for sublime composition, I have
taken this opportunity to describe how we may
excite the feeling suitable to any species of
composition. This we may do by directing
our view to the feeling required, as to our
sole purpose in undertaking the composition:
and by considering the objects, which occur
in the course of the composition, as bearing
the air or character most apt to excite this
feeling.
Thus, suppose I wish to distinguish the com-
position by the feeling of anger; I shall con-
sider anger as the feeling, for the sole end of
expressing which, I have entered upon the
composition; and, in order to express it, I
shall represent to myself each successive object
or thought as bearing the air or character most
apt to excite that feeling. This air or cha-
racter is that of provocation.
X
152
Note B.
"I used sometimes," remarks St. Augus-
tine (De Pulchro et Apto, Confess. Lib. iv.
cap. 13.) "to say to my friends, do all love
66
any thing but what appears to us beautiful?
"Now, what is beauty? What gives it the
66
66
power of attracting us? and what is the rea-
son that objects please and captivate our
"hearts For, unless we perceived something
"in them, that was pleasing, we should never
"feel an inclination to love them. For I
65
plainly perceived that in bodies, that was
"termed beauty which consisted in giving them
"the appearance of being one entire thing:
"that was termed fitness, which adapted them
"well to another thing; as a part is said to be
"well adapted to the whole, a shoe to sit well to
"the foot, which it is made to fit,"* &c. St.
Augustine, here, again, gives his precise idea
of beauty; he tells us, plainly, that it consists
in communicating to bodies the appearance of
being one thing: or, as I have employed the
* Dicebam amicis meis: num amamus aliquid nisi pul-
crum? Quid est ergo pulcrum? Et quid est pulcritudo ?
Quid est quod nos allicit et conciliat rebus quas amamus ?
Nisi enim esset in eis decus et species, nullo modo nos ad
se moverent. Etenim animadvertebam et videbam in ipsis
corporibus aliud esse quasi totum et ideo pulcrum aliud
autem quod ideo deceret, quoniam apte accommodaretur
alicui, sicut pars corporis ad universum suum, aut calcea
mentum ad pedem, &c. Conf. 1. iv. c. 13.
153
term, in their unity: so that whatever is an
impediment to this compactness of appearance,
if I may so express it, is so great a derogation
from their beauty.
He makes a distinction between fitness, and
beauty: this I have ventured to discard, as
thinking it included in beauty itself, as I shall
presently explain. St. Augustine is not, how-
ever, to be deemed inaccurate for making the
distinction; because, in the point of view in
which he considered the subject, such distinc-
tion is well grounded. He considered beauty
in two relations; as natural and artificial: as
natural, viewing it relatively to objects, which
naturally possessed it: as artificial, viewing it
as acceding to objects, to which it did not, be-
fore, belong. Taking this survey of the sub-
ject, he was certainly correct in asserting, that
the whole beauty of objects, which consisted in
their appearing to be one thing, was different
from the partial beauty of objects, which con-
sisted in the agreement or just accession of each
thing to its whole, or, to that, with which it
was judiciously associated: an accession, which
he denominated fitness. For, undoubtedly, the
mind can conceive a difference between the
whole itself, and the fitness of each part to the
whole; or, between the beauty, which an ob-
ject may itself be endued with, and the increase
154
of this beauty by the acquisition of a new pro-
perty.
Nevertheless, upon taking a more compre-
hensive survey of the subject, this distinction
between beauty itself, and beauty of fitness, will
seem redundant, and will appear to be absorpt
in the simple definition, which I have given of
beauty that it will be sufficiently comprised
in the term, Unity.
Whence results the beauty in objects com-
posed of more ingredients than one; or, as I
have denominated them, in objects of complex
beauty? Whence, but from their compre-
hending their respective qualities, in such a just
proportion, as to give them unity? What,
therefore, does this sort of comprehension sup-
pose, but a just degree of fitness, in each pro-
perty that they embrace? What does this
unity imply, but this previous aptitude of each
part? Why, therefore make fitness a separate
discussion in beauty, and not leave it included
in the first definition, which confined itself to
Unity?
St. Augustine's explanation here is more de-
tailed, but the other simple exposure of the sub-
ject suits best the simplicity and comprehension
of a definition; that, I conceive, is the reason
why, in a different work, out of which I have
selected his definition, he contents himself with
155
denoting beauty, as I have made the quotation,
by the simple term Unitas.
Note C.
It
In describing the general principle of beauty,
I have not shewn how it is to be applied to dis-
tinct species of composition. My reason for this
omission was, my having already described the
nature of sublime composition. Whoever was
capable of discerning the nature of it, needed
no further assistance, I was persuaded, to dis-
cover, not only the nature, but the beauty, also,
of every other species of composition.
might have been more satisfactory to have as-
certained the respective classes of each different
species of composition, as well as determined
their beauty and the benefit to criticism, had
this attempt been executed, would have been
more explicit but time would not permit.
Let it, therefore, be satisfaction sufficient that
the principles of this knowledge, provided ex-
perience proves them just, have been clearly
ascertained.
By what I have here said, I do not, however,
mean to maintain, that sublimity includes, in a
higher degree, every other species of compo-
sition it may be thus comprehensive, or it
may not all that I venture to conceive is, that
he, who is acquainted with the highest compo-
sition, which is Sublimity, will easily discover
156
discover the nature and beauty of composition,
in all its other departments.
Note D.
It has been observed, that the sublime is in-
compatible with beauty. Longinus says, that
one stroke of the sublime is superior to a long
course of the beautiful. We now see the rea-
son of this. Sublimity is a quality, which
gives to whatever it characterises a superior vi-
gour, and a superior influence on the mind: it
is the full tension to its full extent of the lan-
guage, to which it is imparted. Beauty, I ob-
served, was the comprehension of every quality
in its mean extent. Were the sublime, then,
to be communicated to any of these qualities,
which is supposed to be under the influence of
beauty, it would give it a preponderance,
which would crush and annihilate the rest it
would, at once, absorb every appearance of the
beautiful. On this account, sublimity can
never characterise a piece, in which beauty
only is attempted.
Let it not hence be imagined, that, though
sublimity be incompatible with beauty, at-
tempted solely as beauty, there is no beauty in
sublimity. There is great beauty in sublimity :
it consists in the sublimity being properly exe-
cuted. If the sublime be carried to excess, if
it run into an extreme of vehemence, or dege-
157
nerate into bombast, it loses an equal propor-
tion of its due property. It deviates so far from
the perfection of its nature. Simplicity, or
beauty, recals it. It brings it into that just
temper, which is the completion of its form,
and restores it to itself. Beauty, then, may pre-
side over the sublime, as well as any other de-
partment of writing.
A very fine discrimination between beauty,
and sublimity, is exemplified by Sir Joshua
Reynolds, in one of his lectures, in which he
contrasts the styles of the two celebrated artists,
Raffaelle, and Michael Angelo.
Note E.
Speaking of the various classes of beauty, I
cannot forbear inserting a judicious note of Dr.
Hurd, which occurs in his Horace, respecting
the propriety of composing such a system, as
would enable the critic to refer every species of
composition to a separate class; and to carry
up each class to a single principle. I have put
this note at full length, to spare those readers,
who may have that valuable work, the trouble
of making the reference; and to give to them,
who have it not, an opportunity of perusing so
exquisite a piece of criticism. It does so much
credit to that respectable author, that no reader
will be dissatisfied at my having introduced it.
It runs thus, as a descant upon the verse "Ille
158
per extentum funem," &c. (See Hurd's Ho-
race, vol. ii. p. 107. 4th edit. Lond.)
"It is observable,” says that judicious au-
thor," that Horace, here, makes his own feel-
66
ing the test of poetical merit. Which is
"said with a philosophical exactness.
CC
<:
66
<<
For the
pathos in tragic, humour in comic, and the
same holds of the sublime in the narrative,
❝ and of every other species of excellence in
"universal poetry, is the object, not of rea-
son, but of sentiment; and can be estimated
&E only from its impression on the mind, not by
any speculative, or general rules. Rules
"themselves are indeed nothing else but an ap-
peal to experience; conclusions drawn from
"wide and general observation of the aptness
"and efficacy of certain means to produce
"those impressions. So that feeling or senti-
ment itself is not only the surest, but the
"sole ultimate arbiter of works of genius.
66
6C
66
Yet, though this be true, the invention of
"general rules is not without its merit, nor the
application of them without its use, as may
appear from the following considerations.
66
66
"It may be affirmed, universally, of all di-
"dactic writing, that it is employed in referring
"particular facts to general principles. Gene-
"ral principles themselves can often be referred
"to others more general; and these again car-
"ried still higher, till we come to a single
159
"principle, in which all the rest are involved,
"When this is done, science of every kind
"hath attained its highest perfection.
"The account, here given, might be illus-
"trated from various instances. But it will be
"sufficient to confine ourselves to the single
"one of criticism; by which I understand that
species of didactic writing, which refers to
#6
GC
66
general rules the virtues and faults of compo-
"sition. And the perfection of this art would
"consist in an ability to refer every beauty and
"blemish to a separate class, and every class,
by a gradual progression, to some one single
principle. But the art is, as yet, far short
"of perfection. For, many of these beauties
" and blemishes can be referred to no generat
" rule at all; and the rules, which have been
66
discovered, seem, many of them, uncon-
"nected, and not reducible to a common
"principle. It must be admitted, however,
"that such critics are employed in their proper
"office, as contribute to the confirmation of
"rules already established, or the invention of
46
new ones.
"Rules, already established, are then con-
"firmed, when more particulars are referred to
"them. The invention of new rules implies,
"1. A collection of various particulars, not
yet regulated. 2. A discovery of those cir-
હૃદ
66
cumstances of resemblance, or agreement,
160
66
66
whereby they become capable of being re-
gulated. And, 3. A subsequent regulation
"of them, or arrangement into one class, ac-
"cording to such circumstances of agreement.
"When this is done, the rule is completed.
"But, if the critic is not able to observe any
"common circumstance of resemblance in the
"several particulars, he hath collected, by
"which they may, all of them, be referred to
"one general class, he hath then made no ad-
"vancement in the art of criticism. Yet, the
"collection of his particular observations may
"be of use to other critics; just as collections
"of natural history, though no part of phi-
losophy, may yet assist philosophical in-
quirers.
CC
SC
"We see, then, from this general view of
"the matter, that the merit of inventing gene-
"ral rules, consists in reducing criticism to an
"art; and that the use of applying them, in
66
practice, when the art is thus formed, is, to
"direct the caprices of taste by the authority
"of rule, which we call reason.
"And, thus much being premised, we shall
"now be able to form a proper judgment of
"the method, which some of the most admired
" of the ancients, as well as moderns, have
“taken, in this work of criticising. The most
"eminent, at least, the most popular, are, per-
"haps, Longinus, of the Greeks; P. Bou-
161
«hours, of the French; and Mr. Addison,
"with us in England.
(6
"1. All the beautiful passages, which Lon-
ginus cites, are referred by him to five ge-
"neral classes. And, 2dly, These general
"classes belong all to the common principle of
"Sublimity. He does not say, this passage is
"excellent, but assigns the kind of excellence,
"viz. Sublimity. Neither does he content
"himself with the general notion of sublimity,
"but names the species, viz. Grandeur of sen-
"timent, power of moving the passions, &c.
His work, therefore, enables us to class our
"perceptions of excellence, and, conse-
"quently, is formed on the true plan of criti-
❝cism.
2. The same may be observed of P. Bou-
" hours. The passages, cited by him, are
"never mentioned in general terms, as good,
66
or bad but are instances of good or bad
"sentiment. This is the genus, in which all
"his instances are comprehended; but of this
genus he marks also the distinct species. He
"does not say, this sentiment is good; but it
"is sublime, or natural, or beautiful, or deli-
"cate: or, that another sentiment is bad; but
"that it is mean, or false, or deformed, or af-
"fected. To these several classes he refers his
particular instances; and these classes them-
selves are referred to the more comprehen-
EC
162
"sive principles of the excellence, or fault, of
$6
single sentiment, as opposed to the various
"other excellencies, and faults, which are ob-
"served in composition.
"3. Mr. Addison, in his criticism on Mil-
ton, proceeded in like manner. For, first,
"these remarks are evidently applicable to the
66
general observations on the poem; in which
66 every thing is referred to the common heads.
"of fable, morals, sentiments, and language;
66
and even the specific excellencies and faults
« considered under each head distinctly marked
"out. Secondly, the same is true concerning
"many of the observations on particular pas-
$6 sages. The reader is not only told, that a
passage has merit; but is informed, what me-
"rit belongs to it.
56
"Neither are the remaining observations.
"wholly without use. For, such particular
beauties and blemishes, as are barely col-
"lected, may yet serve as a foundation to fu-
6
ture inquirers for making further discoveries.
"They may be considered as so many single
facts, an attention to which is excited by the
"authority of the critic; and when these are
"considered jointly with such as others may
* have observed, those general principles of
similitude may at length be found, which
"shall enable us to constitute new classes of
poetical merit or blame.
66
163
66
i6
ઇઃ
56
"Thus far the candid reader may go in apo-
logising for the merits of these writers. But
as, in sound criticism, candour must not be
indulged at the expence of justice, I think
myself obliged to add an observation con-
"cerning their defects; and that on what I
"must think the just principles here delivered.
Though the method taken by these writers
"be scientifical, the real service they have
"done to criticism is not very considerable.
66
and the reason is, they dwell too much in
"generals; that is, not only the genus, to
" which they refer their species, is too large,
"but those very subordinate species themselves
are too comprehensive.
}
66
66
"Of the three critics, under consideration,
"the most instructive is, unquestionably, Lon-
"ginus. The genus itself, under which he
"ranks his several classes, is as particular as the
* species of the other two. Yet, even his classes
are much too general to convey any very
"distinct and useful information. It had been
"still better, if this fine critic had descended
to lower and more minute particularities as
"subordinate to each class. For, to observe
"of any sentiment, that it is grand, or pathe-
❝tic, and so of the other species of the sub-
"lime, is saying very little. Few readers
کا بیکا
66 want to be informed of this. It had been
66
sufficient, if any notice was to be taken at all
164
1
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of so general beauties, to have done it in the
But
way, which some of the best critics have
"taken, of merely pointing to them.
"could he have discovered, and produced to
"observation, those peculiar qualities in senti-
"ment, which occasion the impression of
66
<<
grandeur, pathos, &c. this had been ad-
"vancing the science of criticism very much,
as tending to lay open the more secret and
"hidden springs of that pleasure, which
"results from poetical composition.
"P. Bouhours, as I observed, is still more
"faulty. His very species are so large, as
"make his criticism almost wholly useless, and
"insignificant.
(6
"It gives one pain to refuse to such a writer
as Mr. Addison any kind of merit, which he
"appears to have valued himself upon, and
"which the generality of readers have seemed
"willing to allow him. Yet, it must not be
"dissembled, that criticism was, by no means,
"his talent. His taste was truly elegant; but
" he had neither that vigour of understanding,
"nor chastised, philosophical spirit, which are
"so essential to this character; and which we
"find in hardly any of the ancients, besides
"Aristotle, and but in a very few of the mo-
"derns. For what concerns his criticism on
"Milton in particular, there was this acciden-
"tal benefit arising from it, that it occasioned
૨૮
f
165
"an admirable poet to be read, and his excel-
"lencies to be observed. But for the merit of
"the work itself, if there be any thing just in
"the plan, it was, because Aristotle and Bossu
"had taken the same route before him. And
66
as to his own proper observations, they are,
"for the most part, so general and indetermi-
86 nate, as to afford but little instruction to the
"reader, and are, not unfrequently, altogether
"frivolous. They are of a kind with those,
" in which the French critics (for I had rather
"instance in the defects of foreign writers than
"of our own) so much abound; and which
<<
good judges agree to rank in the worst sort
"of criticism To give one example for all.
86
"Cardinal Perron, taking occasion to com-
"mend certain pieces of the poet Ronsard,
"chuses to deliver himself in the following
manner : < Prenez de lui quelque poëme que
” ce soit, il paye toujours son lecteur, ét
quand la verve le prend, il se guinde en
"haut, il vous porte jusques dans les nuës,
"il vous fait voir mille belles choses.
66 6
"Que ses saisons sont bien faites! Que la
C
description de la lyre à Bertaut est admira-
ble! Que le discours au ministre excellent!
"Tous ses hymnes sont beaux. Celui de
"l'éternité est admirable; ceux des saisons
"" merveilleux.' (Perroniana.)
66
166
CC
What, now, has the reader learned from
"this varied criticism, but that his Eminence
CC
was indeed very fond of his poet? and that'
"he esteemed these several pieces to be (what
"with less expence of words, he might, in one
"breath, have called them) well turned, beau-
"tiful, excellent, admirable, marvellous,
"poems? To have given us the true charac-
"ter of each, and to have marked the precise
degree, as well as kind, of merit, in these
"works, had been a task of another nature."
(6
Note F.
Were I inclined to make a reflection on the
efficient cause of beauty, and deformity, I
should not, with Mr. Burke, make them con-
sist in love, and fear. Rather than suppose that
these emotions excite in us the ideas of the
beautiful, or the deformed; I should be in-
clined to maintain, that they are subsequent to
such ideas.
It cannot well be conceived how we can fear
without having, first, a motive to fear; nor
love, without a prior motive likewise to this
emotion.
Something that excites love, and fear, must
previously exist. This being the case, these
emotions, instead of being causes of the beau-
tiful, and the deformed, will only be the ope-
167
rations of the mind, which are set in motion
by these two principles.
But, in reality, neither does deformity always
produce fear; nor beauty, love. Nature may,
perhaps, have made most objects, which are
frightful, ugly, for our safeguard; and most,
which are lovely, beautiful, for attraction: this
circumstance may make us conceive that ugli-
ness occasions fright, and beauty, love. This,
however, is not, universally, the fact; for, a
stone, by way of example, may often be met
with, ugly, and not frightful; and so may a
piece of wood: on the other side, these objects
may be beautiful, without being lovely.
Again, shew a child a pretty toy, such as it
has never before seen, it is immediately taken
with it, and pleased. Shew it, in the next
place, a bit of stick, without either shape or
colour, it throws it away, and exclaims, "How
ugly it is!" Still, it cannot, in either of these
cases, be said to love, or to fear. These terms
are too violent. The emotions, which are felt
on these occasions, are of a more temperate
complexion. They may be better expressed by
the milder terms of liking, and disliking.
Thus, the child may be said to dislike the stick,
to like the toy.
It seems, then, not always to happen that the
beautiful, and the ugly, produce absolute fear,
Z
168
and absolute love: they may be said, some-
times, to give birth to more tranquil sensations.
On these considerations, I am greatly induced
to think that what a noted French author, who
has written on the Beautiful, Père Andrè,
maintains, is more likely to be accurate, that
there is a beautiful of itself: that there is in
nature an independent and invariable principle,
which awakens the idea of beauty. This seems
most probable, and that some objects are apt to
excite in us sensations of beauty, and pleasure,
as much as what hurts is apt to excite pain, or
indignation. Beauty thus becomes a positive
quality.
This was also the opinion of St. Augustine :
he gives an intimation of it in these few words,
extracted from the 34th chapter of the 10th
book of his Confessions: "For my part, I
"find still another theme for thy praise, O my
"God, who art all my glory, in the circum-
<< stance that whatever in the works of men is
"beautiful (which becomes so by the power of
"the soul working in their hands) derives this
quality from that supreme beauty (God's) which
"is infinitely exalted above us, and after which
66
66
my soul languishes, day and night. Still,
notwithstanding, those, who execute and es-
"teem works of this sort, deduce the rules by
" which they compleat them, from this principle of
169
"all beauty; they do not, at the same time,
"draw from this principle directions for due
"moderation in the use of them."* Here St.
Augustine, plainly, attests that beauty is a po-
sitive quality inherent in God, and that this is
the source to which man is indebted for all his
notions of that quality.
That deformity is positive in its nature, I am
of opinion, should be denied: it seems to be
no more than a negation of beauty as false-
hood is a negation of truth. This I am the
more inclined to suppose, because we can trace
beauty to its lowest degree; at least, if not to
its lowest, to lower degrees; and we find, as it
degenerates, deformity creeps on. Were it,
then, traced to its very lowest stage, the next
step would lead us to absolute deformity.
Hence, deformity appears, manifestly, to be no
more than a negation of beauty.
Note G.
I just happened to discover, after I had
finished this discussion (respecting curiosity
* At ego, Deus meus et decus meum, etiam hinc dico
tibi hymnum et sacrifico laudem sanctificatori meo, quo-
niam pulcra trajecta per animas in manus artificiosas, ab
illa pulcritudine veniunt, quæ supra animas est, cui suspie
rat anima mea die ac nocte: Sed pulcritudinum exteri-
orum operatores et sectatores inde trahunt approbandi mo-
dum, non autem inde trahunt utendi modum. Confess. 1.
X. C. 34.
170
being the inducement, which engages us to de-
light in scenes of terror) that St. Augustine was
precisely of the same opinion. For this reason,
I have extracted what that great philosopher
delivers on the subject, in chapter 35th, of the
10th book of his Confessions. "Besides the
❝ lust of the flesh, which prompts us to gratify
"our senses with the enjoyment of every spe-
"cies of pleasure, there dwells, also, in the
"soul, another sort of concupiscence, to which
"the senses likewise minister, though its ob-
ject be not pleasure. This second sort of
"concupiscence is no other than what is
"termed Curiosity.
66
66
66
(6
"Now, whether our senses be in pursuit of
pleasure, or seek the gratification of curi-
osity, may thus be determined. Pleasure
prompts us to seek whatever is agreeable to
❝ them;
as beautiful scenery, melodious
"sounds, fragrant smells, delicious tastes, and
"what is pleasing to the touch: on the con-
66
trary, curiosity, sometimes, inclines us to
"seek what pains them; and this, not for the dis-
"agreeable sensation which such objects occasion,
"but, solely, to discover something new, or to ac-
66
quire more knowledge. For, what pleasure can
"there be in looking at a mangled corpse, which
"cannot be viewed without horror? Never-
"theless, if such an object may be seen, all
"the world flocks to see it; though a sight of
171
this nature can answer no other end, than to
"shock and wound the feeling. Nay, even
66
those, who have been present at it, are afraid
"of seeing it again during their sleep. But,
"who compelled them to go and see it? or
"who told them that it was something beauti-
ful, and pleasing to the eye?—The same
might be said of the curiosity of knowing
66
66
66
by the intervention of the other senses, as
"well as of the eyes; but the enumeration of
"these different objects would lead to too long
digression.
66
66
"To indulge this saine passion, is the reason
why in shows, and on the theatre, they exhi-
"bit to us all that is apt to excite wonder. It
"is curiosity, which inspires men with a wish
"to pry into the secrets of nature, which do
not regard us, the knowledge of which is of
66
66
no advantage, and in which we seek nothing
"but knowledge. It is curiosity, which en-
gages people to search after things unknown
by means of magic.
..
66
"It is curiosity which impels men, even un-
"der the influence of religion, to tempt God;
"when they request of him a display of signs,
"and miracles, from no other motive than a
66
८८
longing to see them, and without any pros-
pect of benefit."*
* Præter eam enim concupiscentiam carnis, quæ inest in
delectatione omnium sensuum et voluptatum, inest animac
172
St. Augustine, in these words, plainly shews
himself to be of the opinion which I have
stated; that curiosity is the principle of delight
in scenes of terror. The explanation, too,
which he gives of his opinion, is, in every re-
spect, highly satisfactory. It is detailed, and
exemplified. He takes a full survey of the ex-
tensive influence of curiosity, in prompting
man to resort to, and dwell upon, such objects:
and exemplifies his meaning by the particularly
apposite instance of a mangled corpse; and,
per eosdem sensus corporis quædam non se oblectandi in
carne, sed experiendi per carnem vana et curiosa cu-
piditas.
Et
Ex hoc autem evidentius discernitur quid voluptatis,
quid curiositatis agatur per sensus, quod voluptas pulcra,
canora, suavia, sapida, lenia sectatur : curiositas autem his
contraria tentandi causa, non ad subeundam molestiam, sed
experiendi noscendique libidinem. Quid enim voluptatis.
habet videre in laniato cadavere, quod exhorreas?
famen sicubi jaceat, concurrunt, ut contristentur, ut pal-
leant. Timent enim ne in somniis hoc videant, quasi quis.
quam eos vigilantes videre coegerit, aut pulchritudinis ulla
fama persuaserit. Ita et in ceteris sensibus quæ persequi
longum est. Et ex hoc morbo cupiditatis in spectaculis
exhibentur quæque miracula. Hinc ad perscrutanda na-
turæ secreta, quæ præter nos est operata, proceditur: quæ
scire nihil prodest, et nihil aliud quam scire homines cu-
piunt. Hinc etiam si quid eodem perversæ scientiæ fine,
per artes magicas quæritur. Hinc etiam in ipsa religione.
Deus tentatur cum signa et prodigia flagitantur, non ad
aliquam salutem, sed ad solam experientiam desiderata.
Confess. 1. x. c. 35.
173
what was still better adapted to the present pur-
pose, by the pains which are taken to rouse this
passion by scenes of this terrific nature in
theatrical representations.

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