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amongst them. Men must remain as brutes do, the same at the end that they are at this day, and that they were in the beginning of the world. To prevent this, God has planted in man a sense of ambition, and a satisfaction arising from the contemplation of his excelling his fellows in something deemed valuable amongst them. It is this passion that drives men to all the ways we see in use of signalizing themselves, and that tends to make whatever excites in a man the idea of this distinc. tion so very pleasant. It has been so strong as to make very miserable men take comfort that they were supreme in misery; and certain it is, that where we cannot distinguish ourselves by something excellent, we begin to take a complacency in some singular infirmities, follies, or defects of one kind or other. It is on this principle that flattery is so prevalent; for flattery is no more than what raises in a man's mind an idea of a preference which he has not. Now, whatever, either ongood or upon bad grounds, tends to raise a man in his own opinion, produces a sort of swelling and triumph that is extremely grateful to the human mind; and this swelling is never more perceived, nor operates with more force, than when without danger we are conversant with terrible objects, the mind always claiming to itself some part of the dignity and importance of the things which it contemplates. Hence proceeds what Longinus has observed of that glorying and sense of inward greatness that always fills the reader of such passages in poets and orators as are sublime; it is what every man must have felt in himself upon such occasions.

SECT. XVIII.---THE RECAPITULATION.

To draw the whole of what has been said into a few distinct points :-The passions which belong to self-preservation turn on pain and danger; they are simply painful when their causes immediately af. fect us; they are delightful when we have an idea of pain and danger, without being actually in such circumstances; this delight I have not called pleasure, because it turns on pain, and because it is different enough from any idea of positive pleasure. Whatever excites this delight I call sublime. The passions belonging to self-preservation are the strongest of all the passions.

The second head to which the passions are referred, with relation to their final cause, is society. There are two sorts of societies. The first is, the society of sex. The passion belonging to this is called love, and it contains a mixture of lust; its object is the beauty of women. The other is the great society with man and all other animals. The passion subservient to this is called likewise love; but it has no mixture of lust, and its object is beauty; which is a name I shall apply to all such qualities in things as induce in us a sense of affection and tenderness, or some other passion the most nearly resembling these. The passion of love has its rise in positive pleasure ; it is, like all things which grow out of pleasure, capable of being mixed with a mode of uneasiness, that is, when an idea of its object is excited in the mind with an idea at the same time of having irretrievably lost it. This mixed sense of pleasure I have not ealled pain, because it turns upon actual pleasure, and because it is, both in its 'cause, and in most of its effects, of a nature altogether different.

Next to the general passion we have for society, to a choice in which we are directed by the plea. sure we have in the object, the particular passion under this head, called sympathy, has the greatest extent. The nature of this passion is, to put us in the place of another in whatever circumstance he is in, and to affect us in a like manner; so that this passion may, as the occasion requires, turn either on pain or pleasure; but with the modifications mentioned in some cases in Sect. XI. As to imi. tation and preference, nothing more need be said.

SECT. XIX.-THE CONCLUSION. I BELIEVE that an attempt to range and methodize some of our most leading passions would be a good preparative to such an inquiry as we are going to make in the ensuing discourse. The passions I have mentioned are almost the only ones which it can be necessary to consider in our present design ; though the variety of the passions is great, and worthy, in every branch of that variety, of an attentive investigation. The more accurately we search into the human mind, the strongertraces we every where find of his wisdom who made it. If a discourse on the use of the parts of the body may be considered as a hymn to the Creator, the use of the passions, which are the organs of the mind, cannot be barren of praise to him, nor unproductive to ourselves of that noble and uncommon union of science and ad. miration which a contemplation of the works of in. finite wisdom alone can afford to a rational mind; whilst referring to him whatever we find of right or good or fair in ourselves, discovering his strength and wisdom even in our own weakness and imperfection, honouring them where we discover them clearly, and adoring their profundity where we

are lost in our search, we may be inquisitive without impertinence, and elevated without pride ; we may be admitted, if I may dare say so, into the counsels of the Almighty by a consideration of his works. The elevation of the mind ought to be the principal end of all our studies, which if they do not in some measure effect, they are of very little service to us. But, besides this great purpose, a consideration of the rationale of our passions seems to me very necessary for all who would affect them upon solid and sure principles. It is not enough to know them in general; to affect them after a delicate manner, or to judge properly of any works designed to affect them, we should know the exact boundaries of their several jurisdictions; we should peruse them through all their variety of operations, and pierce into the inmost, and what might appear in. accessible parts of our nature.

Quod latet arcanâ non enarrabile fibrû. Without all this it is possible for a man, after a confused manner, sometimes to satisfy his own mind of the truth of his work; but he can never have a certain determinate rule to go by, nor can he ever make his propositions sufficiently clear to others. Poets, and orators, and painters, and those who cultivate other branches of the liberal arts, have, without this critical knowledge, succeeded well in their several provinces, and will succeed; as among artificers there are many machines made, and even invented, without any exact knowledge of the principles they are governed by. It is, I own, not uncommon to be wrong in theory, and right in practice ; and we are happy that it is so. Men often act right from their feelings, who afterward reason but ill on them from principle; but as it is impossible to avoid an attempt at such reasoning,

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and equally impossible to prevent its having some, influence on our practice, surely it is worth taking some pains to have it just, and founded on the basis of sure experience. We might expect that the artists themselves would have been our surest guides; but the artists have been too much occu-, pied in the practice ; the philosophers have done little; and what they have done was mostly with a view to their own schemes and systems: and as for those called critics, they have generally sought the rule of the arts in the wrong place; they sought it among poems, pictures, engravings, statues, and. buildings. But art can never give the rules that make an art. This is, I believe, the reason why. artists in general, and poets principally, have been confined in so narrow a circle ; they have been rather imitators of oue another, than of nature ; and, this with so faithful a uniformity, and to so remote an antiquity, that it is hard to say who gave the first model. Critics follow them, and therefore can do little as guides. I can judge but poorly of any thing, whilst I measure it by no other standard than itself. The true standard of the arts is in every man's power; and an easy observation of the most com, mon, sometimes of the meanest things in nature, will give the truest lights, where the greatest sagacity and industry that slights such observation must leave us in the dark,or, what is worse, amuse and mislead us by false lights. In an inquiry, it is almost every thing to be once in a right road. I, am satisfied I have done but little by these obser, vations considered in themselves; and I never should have taken the pains to digest them, much less should I have ever ventured to publish them, if I was not convinced that nothing tends more to the corruption of science than to suffer it to staggate.

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