SECT. I. Of the GENERAL SUBJECT.

QUALITIES of objects, so far as they relate to beauty, are either such as most clearly excite perception or life in the senses; or they are composed of these, and somewhat expressive of life or sen­sibility.

[Page 10]As the natural love of life, or the consciousness of existence, is the foun­dation of all animal-pleasure; so the first and simplest of our sensations, and of which our primary ideas are chiefly compounded, are light, sound, and motion. Their opposites, dark­ness, silence, and rest, are conse­quently expressive of horror, on ac­count of their similarity to the pri­vation of sight and of hearing, or to the extinction of those perceptions which principally constitute the sim­ple idea of animation.

SECT. II. Of LIGHT.

ALL the powers of sense may be referred to that of feeling; all the perceptible qualities of bodies may be resolved into motion. Sight is the feeling of the eye; its percep­tions depend on the vibrations of some finer medium, which produce the sensation of light. The greatest beauty of light, as confined to sense, seems to be the opposition of its three principal modifications, red, blue, and yellow; or their various changes and gentle gradations, as they are ex­hibited in the feathers of a peacock, [Page 12] the prism, or the rainbow: a species of which we also perceive in flowers, and to which they are much beholden for their tender effect.

Colours are beautiful or pleasing as their various contrasts yield a livelier sensation of light, and heighten per­ception; the colder tints, and those that approach to darkness, improving the lighter, and such as are expres­sive of warmth and of life.

So far as the effects of light or darkness apply to the expression of human character, we may observe, that, in the turbulent agitations of the mind, the features accumulate a greater degree of shade; the counte­nance [Page 13] assumes a dark and cloudy appearance. Gloomy, livid, and black, are complexions suitable to horror, despair, and death.

Our ideas of light, and of heat, are originally and closely connected. That etherial fire which is the life, is also the light, of the world. The mellow and amber-coloured light, such as is sometimes seen in a serene evening-sky, while it is most delicious to sight, is, of all colours, most expressive of the wholesome de­gree of warmth congenial to life, or to the kindly and delicious of pas­sion; especially when contrasted by its opposite, black, or deep violet. [Page 14] The bluish pale of the human coun­tenance, proper to expressions of fear, conveys an idea of coldness; and is that of chilly winter, or of shaded snow. An appearance of violent heat, is expressive of the violence of passion. Anger is denoted by a deep and fiery red. The thunder is thrown by the red right-hand of JOVE.

Mellow and gentle tones of colour associate with, and dispose to, the gentle and delicate of internal feel­ing; harsh and sharp ones, with [Page 15] rude and disagreeable emotions. Faint, pale, and bluish tints, are fitted to express fearfulness, and a dimi­nution of the powers of life: strong and fiery ones, to signify passions of a strong and contrary nature; the violent of the senses ever associating with, and disposing to, the violent or disagreeable of internal sensation.

This analogy might also be traced in the operations of the other senses, smelling, tasting, and feeling. Things that are insipid to taste, that dull the palate, or act on it with violence, are ever ungrateful. That certain degree of softness and smoothness, that gen­tle resistance, by means of which we [Page 16] best perceive, will ever be most agree­able to feeling. Smells also may be ranged under the volatile or lively, and the dull. Beside the sleep­causing quality of the poppy when taken into the stomach, the smell is heavy and deleterious; all such smells, therefore, will associate with silence, rest, darkness, and vacuity. Bitter or sour things that violently astringe the palate, things harsh to the touch, or that are too strong for smelling, affect the hostile or discordant of pas­sion. But as ideas of beauty chiefly refer to perceptions of sight and of hearing, we shall confine our reflec­tions particularly to those senses.

[Page 17]It is remarkable, there is a close analogy between the principal signs of life, and the simple or primary ob­jects of sense; the chief characteristics of life being heat, voice, and motion: so that, strictly speaking, whatever objects suggest the sensations similar to the qualities we perceive in our­selves, are the actual and principal causes of pleasure even in the senses.

It is light alone by which the eye enjoys its pleasures of perception; it is light, again, reflected from the eye, to which it owes its superior vivacity and expression. A gentle, yet clear, variation of colour or form, is plea­sing to sight, as that of sound is to [Page 18] hearing; and it is by means of such variations that we communicate our sentiments of pleasure.

SECT. III. Of SOUND.

WE have already observed, that sound is one of the first or simple sensations; and that an idea of perfect silence is accompanied with horror, especially when con­joined with darkness and universal rest, as these are analogous to the ne­gation of sense: we shall therefore pass to the consideration of sympho­ny, [Page 19] or the variations of sound as they are exemplified in musical ex­pression.

Of sounds, the mellow, soft, and gentle, are most pleasing to sense, and best adapted to express the gentle of sentiment. Deep tones associate with deepness of shade, and with slowness of motion. The loud, the sharp, and the shrill, rank with the other ruder causes of perception.

The most refined melody is that which accords with gracefulness of sentiment: it is chiefly employed in quieting the turbulent, and soothing the gentler, emotions. The coarser passions are excited by something [Page 20] that deserves the name of noise or discord, rather than of music. As the violent emotions increase, sensibi­lity is diminished; as the gentler ones increase, sentiment is improved.

In common discourse, which treats of indifferent subjects, and consists mostly of narrative, the voice natu­rally inclines to a settled monotony, or at best rises to a sort of recitative: as conversation becomes more ani­mated, the variations of voice are proportionally increased. Artificial music is an imitation of these natural variations, as they are more or less expressive of passion, or of all those tender depressions and rapturous ele­vations [Page 21] of the soul, when the pours herself forth in generous ecstasy: those notes and combinations which please the ear, being adapted to the pleasing of passion; the sad and dis­cordant, as in the passions themselves, to set off the more melodious and cheerful: for our joys are continually mingled with abatement or with sor­row, and are best perceived by a cer­tain degree of contrast; gravity of sound being an approach to silence, as shade to darkness, and as slowness of motion is a drawing nearer to rest. We cannot judge of any thing but by relation, and it is in the changes of things that we perceive them.

SECT. IV. Of MOTION.

CIRCULAR and changing shapes are semblative of motion, as mo­tion is of life. The poets, to distin­guish clear running water from that which is at rest, emphatically attri­bute life to the former:

An ellipsis or parabola may not im­properly be defined, A line whose di­rection is continually changing; tho' the figure be really permanent, and [Page 23] it is evidently the eye which chan­ges. Milton, to express the winding shape of the honeysuckle, calls it the flaunting honeysuckle. Thus, beauty of figure becomes a kind of substi­tute for elegance of motion.

To the most delicate sentiments there are certain kindred forms, sounds, and motions, which natural­ly associate with, and are best calcu­lated to express, such tenderness of sentiment. As it is, in some sense, alike whether the eye or the ob­ject moves, and it is plain that quick turnings in animals indicate a more sudden exertion of the living power than slow ones, it will likewise [Page 24] follow, that wherever the eye over­takes lines running abruptly into contrary directions, such lines will convey an idea of the sudden changes of passion; though it is not they that move, but the fight which moves along them; since every appearance we have experienced to hold an al­liance with life, transferring the emotion to the cause, we are apt to conceive is inspired with passion: thus we say, light is cheerful, mo­tion is sprightly, or sounds are pa­thetic.

Bodies apparently massy and opake are understood to be heavy, to affect rest, and consequently silence. The [Page 25] too much is as incomprehensible as the too little, and a certain degree of greatness strikes us much in the same manner as vacuity: thus the ideas of vast magnitude, obscurity, gravity, and stillness, will ever naturally in­cline to associate.

The determination of bodies up­wards is accompanied with a senti­ment of liberty and sprightliness. The rising foliage of the Corinthian capital makes the column seem to bear its superstructure, not only with ease, but with cheerfulness. Symp­toms of elevated passion are, the head thrown up, the arms raised above the head, like those Bacchanalian fi­gures [Page 26] we see so often represented in the antique. Humility and depres­sion of spirit are expressed by mo­tions of a contrary and listless kind, or rather by languor and suspension of action.

The coarser and more violent pas­sions are to be expressed by rudeness and extravagance of motion, abrupt changes of form and of colour. Sud­den turnings and contortions are ef­fects of pain, or belong to the extra­vagance of passion. An action ener­getic, yet gentle, is appropriated to emotions of the highest pleasure.

Music has also its counterpart in action: dancing is the music of mo­tion. [Page 27] Music and dancing express the same thing, only in different ways: the art of dancing teaches to regulate the various movements and gestures of the body to the humour of the music, both answering to the sentiment by which they are mu­tually inspired.

And in this way even inanimate matter, either by being put in mo­tion, or so ordered as to invite the eye to move, is made to engage the attention, and to affect the passions, agreeable to the signs of such passions in ourselves; whence all our ideas of form originate, and whither also they return by reflection.

SECT. V. Of ASSIMILATION.

THOUGH we have no percep­tions but what originate from our senses, yet still it is life which pleases, whether enjoyed by the strong and clear images of sense, or whether the impressions of these, mingling into sentimental harmony, are at­tended with the more refined plea­sures of imagination; our ideas, by assimilation and contrast, improving in strength, mutually assisting each other, and increasing affection, till at length we attain the highest ex­cellence of moral perception.

[Page 29]What is generally understood by harmony, relates properly to hear­ing; but there is in nature, or ra­ther in the human mind, a system of universal symphony carried on by means of assimilation and contrast, since there is an attractive as well as a repelling power in every thing that concerns our sentiments and sensa­tions.

The theory of association may be divided into the agreement of ob­jects or qualities respecting any single sense; among various senses; of those of sense with characters of expres­sion; and among various characters, animated or expressive.—Thus, as an [Page 30] instance of the first kind, gentleness of form, of colour, and of motion, incline to associate.

Things that accord with respect to different senses, are such as excite an equal degree of perception, or a like degree of animation; every thing that is delicate to touch, accompa­nied with that particular shape, co­louring, and modulation of sound, which agree to form an assemblage that is gently engaging. The sweet, soft notes of the aeolian harp admi­rably agree with the still softness of moon-light. The agreeable of co­lour, figure, smell, and touch, are united by nature in flowers; which [Page 31] is the reason they are so delicately pleasing.

When more of the senses than one are employed at the same time, they naturally act in unison; and their dif­ferent powers are to be considered as tending to excite unity of sentiment: to set them in opposition, therefore, would be to destroy the uniformity and energy of their effect.

Things of different kinds associate by some particular and striking simi­litude; things of like general dispo­sition, by some peculiar difference or contrast. Human characters being included in this last kind, associate by their diversity of expression. [Page 32] Trees, shrubs, and plants, are to be considered as a distinct species of less perfect characters; and there is an agreement between a proper as­semblage of these and human cha­racters, or their particular virtues or passions personified: every thing of the clear or animated kind seem­ing to attract that which is expres­sive, in any degree, of a like dispo­sition; and to form a whole, that, by means of its variety or internal con­trasts, yields the clearest and most perfect object of perception.

What pleases any one sense, comes as it were recommended to the rest. What is beautiful, we are disposed [Page 33] to think is good; what is good, beau­tiful. Though here we must pro­perly distinguish between the good, and the beautiful; between notions of wholesomeness or utility, and that which produces an immediate sensa­tion of pleasure. Respecting the latter, we appeal more directly to the innate and original powers of sense: for the former, to experience; which teaches us, that what is most beautiful is not ever the best, nor that which is less beholden to fa­vour always the most useless or per­nicious. The perpendicular wall of a house is good, because it implies stability; but it is not therefore [Page 34] beautiful: on the contrary, the or­namental part strikes us not as be­ing any otherwise useful than that it immediately pleases. The wither­ed leaves of plants frequently exhi­bit a colouring more agreeable to the eye, than when they are fresh and blooming. The smoke issuing from the chimney of a country cot­tage cannot, surely, be understood to possess any great appearance of beauty; but the object pleases, be­cause it conveys a lively idea of the snug happiness and warmth of the people within. Other objects, tho' really good or useful, have nothing in them very pleasing to sense, nei­ther [Page 35] do they bear any external marks of sensibility, and therefore cannot be said to partake of beauty. Even with regard to the human character, we do not find that virtue ever ac­companies the fairest form.

Things that are associated, by ha­bit, with pleasing objects, though in themselves not agreeable, become, by such habitual association, plea­sing, provided the balance be on the agreeable side; but. the lineal and speckled beauty of the serpent will not easily command our attention, so long as the horror continues with which that animal strikes us.

With a lively sentiment, lively [Page 36] images of sense will naturally asso­ciate; with the agreeable of the lat­ter, what is agreeable of the former: pleasing associations in the mind be­ing no other than images and senti­ments so disposed as to heighten in­ternal perception.

Far-off sounds, or distant pro­spects, associate with, and bring to remembrance, past circumstances and actions; because these too are become more subtile in imagination, and rendered, as it were, remote by time.

A farewell is more affecting at the end of summer, and at sun-setting, than at any other time or season. [Page 37] Tempest and darkness are suitable to acts of horror:

The elemental storm in Shake­spear's Lear, finely assimilates the storm in the mind of the distres­sed king. Why are lovers fond of moon-light, but because, like soft music, it suits the tender melancholy of their souls? There is a fine as­semblage of languid motion, sadness, and obscurity, in the following de­scription of old Laërtes in his rural retirement:

Thus, to human action and inci­dent, a counterpart or harmony is carried on by means of proper ac­cessories or scenery.

SECT. VI. Of CONTRAST.

WITHOUT motion, light, and sound, all our perceptions of sight and hearing must be at an end: [Page 39] but it is necessary, to render sight visible, that there be darkness; as it is requisite, to render sound audible, that there be silence; and that there be rest, to show that there is mo­tion.

There is clearly a relation between time and space; and it has much the same effect, whether a great dark­ness be opposed to a small light, or a long-continued darkness to a light of short duration. Every thing seems to suffer an alteration from the chan­ges of time and place; that is, ac­cording to the comparison of succes­sive incidents, or by the opposition [Page 40] of present circumstances by which qualities are compared.

The precise effect of any object to the eye, depends either on its imme­diate opposition to other objects, or on the more remote relation it bears to such as are retained by memory. This may be further explained by harmony and melody, in music; the first being an effect produced by the immediate opposition of different notes; whereas, in melody, we com­pare the present sounds with the im­pression of those that are past.

Colours are properly opposed to colours, and lines to lines; but we must not attempt to set in opposi­tion [Page 41] the effect of objects which be­long to different senses, neither is it necessary that there should always be an immediate contrast, since the mind, retaining former impressions, will associate such of them with the present as composes the melody most grateful to itself. For we can sup­pose no absolute and single beauty, without supposing a mind totally di­vested of all other ideas. If memory retain perceptions of other objects, it is impossible to preclude compa­rison.

Counterpoint, in music, is the ac­companiment which contrasts the general effect of the melody, as [Page 42] shade supports light in painting; not respecting any part singly, but sustaining and heightening each particular melody in the relative effect and proportion it bears to the whole.

Uniformity is the contrast to va­riety, and minuteness the relative measure of magnitude. The in­flected sharpnesses of visible objects, set off to advantage their protube­rant roundings; the former lead to an idea of non-entity, the latter to a notion of plenitude and existence. Roundness, softness, and smooth­ness, are pleasing, but not by them­selves: it is the rough and the sharp [Page 43] which give energy to composition; a general idea of beauty being con­sequent to an assemblage of every quality of matter, where the predo­minant signs of materiality and of gentle feeling are still set off by the obscure foil of their respective con­traries or privations. An idea of light arises, as it were, out of dark­ness. Sound seems to originate from silence, and motion from rest. Even matter itself seems to emerge from the empty abyss of space; imagina­tion, in all its conjunctions, like a skilful musician, still proceeding by the rule of contraries.

When any object, however com­plete [Page 44] in its own nature, enters into composition, it then becomes a part of a greater whole, respecting which it must appear to hold a like relation as its own parts one to another; though even contrast itself must be in a manner contrasted. Thus small oppositions, uniting in effect, are formed into wholes, which, in their collective capacity, produce greater and more striking oppositions.

SECT. VII. Of PERSONIFICATION.

BUT though the simple ideas of horror be immediately bor­rowed from the privations of sense, it is otherwise when its images are personified. In this case, violent motion, and loud noise, succeed to rest and silence. Animated terror lightens through the gloom of dark­ness.

The negative terrors of privation as­sume the form of positive destruc­tion. Every thing that assails the senses violently, is personified; and life, clad in the armour of the foe, is apparently turned against itself. In­deed, wherever the elements are thrown into violent commotion and uproar, it amounts to a kind of per­sonification: the metaphorical terms used on such occasions are always taken from ideas of real life; the wind roars, the sea rages, the heavens look angry, and the thunder appears [Page 47] to threaten destruction to the uni­verse. And these seem to be the chief materials of what may be call­ed the sentimental sublime, amount­ing only to the animation of those very causes which produced the sub­lime or terrible of the senses. Thus, by the powers of imagination, even death itself is animated and personi­sied.—Man is an image admiring his own likeness: and such is his incli­nation to admire every thing that has life, that what is wanting in nature he frequently supplies from fancy; and when disposed to admiration, he enlivens every thing, that he may still find more occasion to admire.

[Page 48]Passion, or sentiment, being origi­nally the effect of external sense, can­not be conceived to exist in absence of the material images or impressions of substance; since we cannot con­ceive the passion of love to be any other than a quality belonging to some being or person who loves, or is capable of loving. Neither can we suppose passion to be impassioned, or affection itself to be affected. In or­der to extend our powers of affec­tion, therefore, we materialize and personify the very affections them­selves. It is impossible, otherwise, to render the abstract ideas of good­ness distinct or engaging.

[Page 49]And here we may observe the force of the first images, even in the highest moral sense. Every amiable virtue is arrayed in white or light: Innocence, Simplicity, Truth herself, still retaining what was at first grate­ful to sight; every thing that is good, every thing that is pleasing, borrow­ing a metaphor from light, is called fair, bright, or beautiful. VIRTUE, or GOODNESS, is the LIGHT and the LIFE; the evil or immoral is the ob­scure of human action; because that, too, implies the privation of life or of happiness. What is pain, but death positive? what happiness, but life and pleasing sensibility?

SECT. VIII. Of CHARACTER and EXPRESSION.

CHARACTER is that which di­stinguishes one object from an­other. Whatever most resembles the symptoms of sensibility in our­selves, we discern to have the greatest share of expression. That particu­lar object is most agreeably distin­guished, which either affects the sen­ses by exciting the liveliest percep­tions; or which, by means of what is delightful to sense, expresses the clearest sense of internal percep­tion.

The same power by which the [Page 51] nerves of the human body are in­ternally agitated, affects their extre­mities, and induces an alteration in the external form. The pleasures of sensation are again reflected out­wards, and again are perceived by the senses, communicating a new and social happiness. It is not till goodness be thus expressed, that it assumes the nature of beauty.

All pleasure, whether proceeding from simple or complex causes, may be distinguished as follows: first, the pleasure of perceiving the qua­lities of objects by means of sense, by which we know that we exist; secondly, the social satisfaction of [Page 52] perceiving an expression of this plea­sure in others, by which we know that they live or exist; thirdly, the pleasure of perceiving the social or communicative principle, and that this is mutually perceived in our­selves, including all the former plea­sures, and to which they are to be considered only as assisting and sub­servient.

Some of our perceptions of plea­sure proceed from powers original and innate; others are derived from experience and custom, such as that which renders things, disagreeable in themselves, pleasing when we are accustomed to find them associated [Page 53] with circumstances and objects that are in themselves agreeable. Many are the characters already established by nature; and even artificial cha­racters derive a kind of propriety from custom, which is rightly term­ed a second nature. Is it the cha­racter of the eye to be lucid, and of the cheek to be red? a bright eye, and a rosy cheek, are, of their kind, the most beautiful; each part being beautiful, either according to the de­gree of gentle expression it possesses in itself, or as it is habitually associ­ated with parts that are more gently expressive. Yet, we may observe, that this very expression depends, [Page 54] for its effect, on being properly dis­posed and contrasted, otherwise it could not properly be perceived.—One constituent of beauty, is colour; another, shape or proportion: but a variety of gaudy colours would de­stroy the effect of beautiful form. It is necessary, therefore, in order to produce an agreeable effect, that there be a union and subordination in the means of expression, and that none of the less essential qualities confound the greater; as it is requi­site, in order to render any more complicated character or composi­tion perfect, that there be a chief or principal part, which is most striking [Page 55] or expressive: the countenance be­ing the most remarkable part of the human body; as, in the countenance, the eye is the principal feature. Even one part of the same body owes its beauty to the affinity it bears to the rest, as the beauty of the whole de­pends on its opposition to other bo­dies. The neck of a statue, were it ever so well shaped, would not ap­pear beautiful when separated from the head and shoulders; the seeming softness and smoothness of the bo­som would cease to please, did the head and shoulders seem to be equal­ly soft and smooth. Complete cha­racters or wholes, to render their [Page 56] qualities striking or perceptible, must likewise be properly contrasted. And it is as necessary that man be distin­guished from man, as man from other creatures: for this cause, in the composition of a truly beautiful human character, it is required, that there be a certain turn or singularity of form and of feature, as well as an air or expression on the whole, to establish an identity, difference, and superiority, respecting all other cha­racters, to render it peculiarly per­ceptible and engaging.

SECT. IX. Of GRACEFULNESS.

IN speaking of expression, we must distinguish between an expression of the benevolent kind, and of the irascible or malignant. Animals of coarser natures are fully as suscep­tible of anger, hatred, revenge, or any of the hostile passions, as men; and the basest of the human race are ever most subject to such passions: but they know little of pity, love, esteem, or any of the gentler ones. The malignant passions disqualify the mind for every pleasing and in­genious sensation. Anger is the [Page 58] painful or stupifying passion, as love is the delicious and enlivening one. It would therefore be highly impro­per to apply the idea of gracefulness to one in a fit of rage or jealousy; what pleases most in appearance, be­ing evidently an expression of plea­sure.

He who seeks to know the origin of gracefulness, must look for it in his own mind; whatever is graceful there, must be so in expression. It is a quality analogous to the most exquisite tenderness of affection; that sweet enthusiasm of action which goes hand in hand with beauty; or, if we may be allowed the phrase, it [Page 59] is the soul of beauty, or the emphasis of pleasing expression.

In the tenderest and most delight­ful moments of thought, the body is naturally thrown into attitudes which have the power of communi­cating a like softness to the minds of others; it is on account of this pleasing sympathy, that we bestow on such actions or expressions the appellation of graceful.—Much has been said about an appearance of ease peculiar to gracefulness; yet per­haps it will be impossible to find an example of any very graceful atti­tude that conveys not some degree of carefulness or anxiety. The sweet, [Page 60] reluctant amorous delay, the hopes, fears, and tender solicitudes of love, present us with images of the ut­most gracefulness. Even in circum­stances that have an appearance of distress, beauty oft assumes an air of the sublimest grace and dignity. There is indeed a certain elevation of mind, a happy consciousness of superior virtue, requisite to dignify every passion, and is essential to grace; for there is no grace without dignity. Grace is the sublimity of beauty; the modest pride of virtue; the gentle dignity of love. An at­titude expressive of the pensive and pleasing melancholy, a sentiment pe­culiar [Page 61] to the finest souls, is ever most graceful. The loveliest of the Graces has on her face a cast of sadness mixt with the sweetest joy. Gracefulness is an expression of pleasure; but pleasure is not ease, it is something more. In truth, the mind is far from being most happy when most at ease; this being at best a negative kind of happiness: in order to be really so, it must be employed in some pursuit wherein it is deeply concerned, and its affections fondly engaged: beset on all sides with dan­ger and fear, we embrace with rap­ture every occasion of hope, and become more interested and happy [Page 62] in the pursuit and accomplishment of our wishes, as the labour ap­pears more arduous of overtaking them.

Here we mean not to say, that graceful action may not be frequent­ly found without its peculiar energy in the mind: we only advance, that our prejudices in favour of graceful­ness are originally founded on this principle; and would thence infer, that any appearance of beauty which is consistent with perfect indolence or ease, can suggest nothing more than a predisposition to elegance of action, a seeming aptitude in the ex­ternal symptoms of affection. It is [Page 63] not till the passions have arrived at maturity, and are sweetened by the accession of love, that the person as­sumes a true air of delicate graceful­ness. If one who has no elegance of soul appear graceful, it is by accident, as a fool sometimes looks wise. In love, the soul is feelingly alive to every finer sense, and it is the finest expression of life which excites it; love personified being perfect beau­ty.

When we meet with a passage in any author that expresses a lively sentiment of compassion, joy, grief, for even the sorrow of sensible per­sons is frequently accompanied with [Page 64] pleasure, there is always presented to us along with it, an image of gracefulness. It is this delicious en­thusiasm which so conspicuously di­stinguishes the works of Raphaël and Correggio; it is this alone which raises above others the writings of the di­vinc Sappho. The great charm of poetry is that spirit or muse which inspires every thing with elegance and animation. The beautiful and the graceful of sentiment, are expres­sions of the highest degree of life or human feeling.

The Venus of Medicis is generally given as an example of female beau­ty, and indeed is probably the most [Page 65] graceful and perfect of all human productions; but this statue is highly imitative of modesty, that exquisite grace and ornament of every amiable virtue. Were an artist to attempt a painting of the like kind, how might he still heighten every grace by dif­fusing a sweet blush over the coun­tenance of his figure; a circumstance in which the marble is necessarily defective? And this is, no doubt, what is meant by that fine allegory of Venus attired by the Graces, that every thing which is graceful in out­ward appearance, is only as it were the trappings and ornaments of that heavenly love of the soul, by the an­cients [Page 66] ascribed to the Venus Urania, or celestial; in opposition to what is attributed to the other Venus, wor­shipped by them as the earthly and vulgar.

THUS have we briefly traced the progress of beauty from its begin­ning in the senses, to its second source of perfection in the mind, both centring in the consciousness of life or sensibility: and as we have before observed, that whatever cau­ses suggest the sensations similar to the qualities we perceive in ourselves, are the actual and principal pleasures of the senses; so it is still more wor­thy [Page 67] our notice, that nothing gives us so much satisfaction, as to con­template the symptoms of plea­sure or happiness in those whose merit and beauty entitle them to a share either in our love or estima­tion.

It is at this second period pleasure loses the name of sensual or selfish. He who possesses this more extensive animation, is consequently interested in the happiness of his fellow-crea­tures, as also in the study of every thing that is related to this finer ani­mation; and, as he perceives beauty in these things, he will interest him­self in their perfection, looking on [Page 68] them as in some measure related to himself, and as portions of that universal and social whole, of which he considers himself also as a part.

Hence we may conclude, that the relish mankind have for true beauty, is in proportion to the clearness of their moral perceptions; or, in other words, to their love of goodness: that even inanimate beauty is chiefly a secondary idea, or association, ari­sing from the external symptoms of natural affection, which is the beau­ty of the human soul: and that not only whatever tends to deprive us of life, but whatever obstructs the [Page 69] exercise of the finer powers, whereon depends the consciousness of life, provokes sorrow, fear, and horror; whatever has the contrary effect, promotes HOPE, LOVE, and JOY.

SECT. I. Of SENSIBILITY.

THE good qualities of the head and of the heart are rarely found together; their union composes a mind truly noble. The folly of ill-directed goodness too nearly resembles vice; the wis­dom [Page 80] of the unfeeling is worse than folly.

THE same principle which prompts a man to seek happiness, or to relieve himself in distress, disposes him to make others happy, or to alleviate their distresses. The less sensibility any man possesses, his affections are the more selfish; the more he is sensible of happiness himself, he is the more disposed to make others happy.

THAT peevish weakness and sore­ness of nerve, which is apt to be alarmed at trifles, and to be displea­sed without sufficient cause, is to be classed with other distempers; it is [Page 81] false or diseased feeling. Some are rather irritable than sensible; their coarser natures are capable only of the malevolent and grosser pas­sions.

A PREDISPOSITION to the coarser passions can never proceed from de­licacy of sentiment, but argues a con­dition the very reverse: true sensibi­lity is ever inclined to overlook er­rors, and to forgive injuries; altho', on some occasions, reason teaches it to act with becoming dignity and spirit. Mens enjoyments or mis­fortunes are to be computed from their different degrees of feeling. What can they mean who speak of [Page 82] the happiness of the insensible? Can there be a greater absurdity, than to envy the enjoyments of such as want the power to enjoy?

SECT. II. TASTE and GENIUS.

AN original delicacy of taste is also the inseparable effect and symptom of the true sensibility; which includes not only a sense of love, pity, gratitude, or common du­ty, for of those even the rudest na­tures are seldom altogether destitute; but it is a certain elegance of soul, [Page 83] which renders kindness most kind, and pleasure most pleasing; it is genius and taste, the tenderness of friendship, the politeness of esteem, and the exquisite and refined endear­ments of love!

TASTE is the younger sister of Virtue; the offspring of Taste is Pleasure, that of Virtue is Happi­ness: it is the grace of sentiment: that which pleases such as are sus­ceptible of the highest pleasure; a subordinate, yet more amiable qua­lity, which depends on the nicer discernments of sensibility.

ON the clearness of moral percep­tion, or sentimental light, depends [Page 84] the power of choosing the good and refusing the evil. Whatever is pro­perly said to improve the mind, in­creases this faculty of accepting and refusing, by rendering the characters of good and evil more perspicuous and distinct.

ALL ignorance of beauty, or de­pravity of taste, is defective anima­tion; all improvement and perfec­tion of these, is increased sensibility; the powers of the mind, as well as of the body, being rendered more per­fect by a proper exercise of them. To question whether an improved taste be an advantage, is in some measure to doubt whether it is bet­ter [Page 85] to be or not to be, to live or not to live. One devoid of taste, is dead to all the finer feelings.

THERE is acquired as well as na­tural dulness; bad taste, or evil pre­judice, is stupidity acquired. To feel, is to be alive; every thing that heightens sentiment or perception, therefore, increases animation.

GENIUS is the power or capacity of clearly conceiving, and properly combining, images and sentiments, either as they relate to what is com­monly called utility, or to taste; it is the highest effect of sensibility and reason, the power of associating ideas harmoniously.—Poetry, painting, [Page 86] and music, are sciences peculiarly be­holden to genius: poetry is the lan­guage of elevated and refined pas­sion; painting is silent poetry; mu­sic is the accent of passionate expres­sion.

GENIUS is also used to denote a particular turn for any study or em­ployment; but one may have a turn for a study that requires, properly speaking, little or no genius.

SECT. III. POETRY, PAINTING; and MUSIC.

A GOOD poem is an effect of the highest effort of human ima­gination and judgment.

MERE imitation is beneath the dignity of poetry, painting, and mu­sic. An artist should represent ob­jects not always as they are; but as they tend to soothe some pleasing dis­position of the soul, or as they are heightened in imagination when it is predisposed to sentiment and to passion.

To be insensible of the musical powers, is to be so far ignorant of the [Page 88] language of the finer passions; but it is evident, one who never felt the refinements of pity, or of love, can­not conceive how music should ex­press them, or dispose to such gentle emotions.

MUSIC is the means of soothing and exciting the virtuous disposi­tions of the soul: so far as it answers this end, it is to be esteemed; other­wise it is fit only to tickle the ears of such as have no hearts, whose pre­sumption is ever proportioned to their ignorance and want of feel­ing.

IN all things the pleasing of sense associates with the pleasing of senti­ment, [Page 89] and disposes the mind to hap­piness and benevolence.

SECT. IV. LOVE and FRIENDSHIP.

AS two different notes founded at the same time beget harmo­ny, a quality which belongs to nei­ther of them apart; so desire and esteem, mutually improving each other, generate love; a passion diffe­rent from either, yet superior to both.

LOVE, in absence of reason, and hatred, have almost the same ends [Page 90] and wishes. Those only are capable of true friendship, who know what is kind and agreeable on every occa­sion to do or to say, and are sensibly pleased with what is well said and done. A fool can never enjoy the pleasures of love: he may indeed taste something of the mere animal part; but not the infinite endearments that heighten and protract pleasure, nor that sweet mixture of love and esteem which increases with enjoy­ment.

THEY are mistaken who suppose, that the most firm friendships subsist between persons of exactly similar qualities and dispositions: such si­milarity [Page 91] is more likely to produce rivalship than friendship. There should rather be on the one side a little more judgment, and on the other a little more sensibility; and the parties should be sensible of each other's perfections: this obser­vation holds peculiarly respecting the sexes.

A DELICACY of person and of mind, approaching to weakness, is becoming in a female; less softness, and more strength, are expected in the male: they ought to make up a complete character together, rather than two alike perfect and distinct ones; the dispositions of one sex be­ing [Page 92] qualified by the peculiar perfec­tions of the other. Nature, by di­stinguishing the characters of the sexes, has removed all rivalship be­tween them, which otherwise might have been a hindrance to the union of love and friendship.

WHATEVER peculiar difference marks the delicacy of the female character, renders the person of a woman most lovely, and this pro­priety holds also respecting her mind; it is that tenderness of passion, deli­cacy of taste, and retired modesty, naturally peculiar to the sex, which renders her most amiable in the esteem of a man of feeling.

[Page 93]THE tenderness of love and friend­ship affects a narrow circle; the more intense the passion, it is the more liable to be confined. However, universal love and particular friend­ship are noways inconsistent; diffe­rent degrees of esteem are suitable to different degrees of merit, and friendship is contracted and con­firmed by habit and close acquaint­ance: one may be a well-wisher to all, but can have a friendship only for a few; a perfect love but for one.

AN extended principle of benevo­lence comprehends, a friend, a fa­mily, country, and all the world; [Page 94] and, according to the extent of this principle, our capacity for happiness is extended.

SECT. V. COURAGE and HONOUR.

WE must distinguish manly courage from beastly feroci­ty; it is absurd to suppose, that cou­rage can exist where there is no ap­prehension of danger: the mind that is capable of honour, cannot be in­sensible to fear; the former over­coming the latter, in a noble cause, is true bravery.

[Page 95]RANCOUR and revenge are too frequently taken for symptoms of a nice sense of honour, than which no qualities can be more opposite to a refined sensibility.

HONOUR relates to those parts of human conduct not particularly taken notice of by the laws. It teaches a man to preserve inviolate the secrets, and to support the inte­rest and reputation, of a friend; to be strictly just, where no public law obliges him to justice; to fulfill all equitable engagements; to hold most sacred all honest trust reposed in him. It is a conscious dignity of spirit, which teaches to commit no­thing [Page 96] that is mean or disgraceful; but which excites to generous and noble actions, proceeding from a pe­culiar delicacy of sentiment, assisted and tempered by the fortitude of reason.

SECT. VI. CONSCIENCE.

ALL right rules of conduct are drawn from the natural affec­tions, and from experience. The same affection which teaches us to love our fellow-creatures, reproaches us when we neglect or behave ill to [Page 97] them; and this last operation of af­fection is called remorse, or check of conscience: but by habit or educa­tion, an artificial conscience may be created, which may either serve to strengthen or to subvert the con­science of nature:—

THUS, a stronger remorse will fol­low a crime committed against na­tural affection, when confirmed by civil policy and habit, than could follow from either of these motives alone.

NATURE has established a com­mon and instinctive attachment between parent and child, as also among other relations; but the [Page 98] strongest of all affections is that which is conceived by those who love and esteem each other on ac­count of their superior endow­ments.

A MAN may love his children from the same principle that any animal loves its young; but if he also perceives that they are virtuous, there results from such a conjunc­tion a benevolence not to be expres­sed. This is natural affection, as highly confirmed and approved by reason.

THAT an innate sensibility leads to the consciousness of good and evil, is certain; but it is also certain, that [Page 99] this natural sense may be improved by reason, or perverted by prejudice; and that laws of conscience are frequently derived from custom, which rivets the chains of error. To overcome evil opinions, there­fore, the mind must get the better of all prejudices or perversions of conscience, and establish a consci­ousness of right on the solid foun­dation of just sentiment and rea­son.

SECT. VII. SINCERITY.

A LITTLE judgment, with less sensibility, makes a man cun­ning; a little more feeling, with even less reason, would make him sincere.

SOME have no more knowledge of humanity, than just serves them to put on an appearance of it, to an­swer their own base and selfish pur­poses.

HE who prefers cunning to sin­cerity, is insensible to the disgrace and suspicion which attend craft and deceit, and to the social satisfaction [Page 101] which the generous mind finds in honesty and plain-dealing.

MEN who know not the pleasures of sincerity, and who traffic in de­ceit, barter an image of kindness for a shadow of joy, and are deceived more than they deceive.

SECT. VIII. PASSION.

LET us suppose an end of pas­sion, there must be an end of all moral reasoning. Passion alone can correct passion. Thus we forego a present pleasure, in hopes that we [Page 102] shall afterwards enjoy a greater plea­sure, or of longer duration; or suf­fer a present pain, to escape a greater: and this is called an act of the judge­ment. He who gives way to the dictates of present passion, without consulting experience, listens to a partial evidence, and must of course determine wrongfully.

SOME, in order to pay a false com­pliment to sentimental pleasures, at­tempt altogether to depreciate the pleasures of sense: with as little ju­stice, though with like plausibility, have men endeavoured to decry the natural passions and affections, as in­consistent with human felicity. Not [Page 103] from our natural desires and passions do we suffer misery; for, without these, what pleasure can we be sup­posed to enjoy? but from false de­sires, or diseased appetites, acting without the aid of experience and understanding.

HE who commits an action which debases him in his own mind, be­sides its other evil consequences, lays up a store of future misery, which will haunt him as long as the me­mory of the deed remains.

ALONG with the present effects of any action, in order to judge of it aright, we must put in the balance also its future consequences, and [Page 104] consider, on one side, the satisfac­tion and honour; on the other, the evil and disgrace that may attend it.

MAGNANIMITY exercises itself in contempt of labours and pains, in order to avoid greater pains, or over­take greater pleasures.

SECT. IX. TEMPERANCE.

THE great rule of sensual plea­sures is, to use them so as they may not destroy themselves, or be divorced from the pleasures of senti­ment; [Page 105] but rather as they are assisted by, and mutually assisting to, the more refined and exalted sympathy of rational enjoyment.

MEN ever confine the meaning of the word pleasure to what pleases themselves: gluttons imagine, that by pleasure is meant gluttony. The only true epicures are such as enjoy the pleasures of temperance. Small pleasures seem great to such as know no greater. The virtuous man is he who has sense enough to enjoy the greatest pleasure.

SUPERFLUITY and parade among the vulgar-rich, pass for elegance and greatness. To the man of true taste, [Page 106] temperance is luxury, and simplicity grandeur.

WHATEVER pleasures are imme­diately derived from the senses, per­sons of fine internal feeling enjoy besides their other pleasures; while such as place their chief happiness in the former, can have no true taste for the delicious sensations of the soul.

THEY who divide profit and ho­nesty, mistake the nature either of the one or the other. We must make a difference between appear­ances and truths: the really profit­able and the good are the same.

FALSE appearances of profit are [Page 107] the greatest enemies to true interest. Future sorrows present themselves in the disguise of present pleasures, and short-sighted Folly eagerly em­braces the deceit.

EVERY species of vice originates either from insensibility, from want of judgment, or from both. No maxim can be more true, than that all vice is folly. For, either by vice we bring misery more immediately on ourselves, or we involve others in misery: if any one bring evil on himself, it is surely folly: if his pre­sent pleasure be to make others mi­serable, were he to escape every other punishment, he must suffer for it by [Page 108] remorse, or it is a certain proof he is deprived of that sense or sympa­thy which is the opposite of dulness; in either of which cases, it is evi­dent, that all vice is folly.

SECT. X. WISDOM.

WISDOM, or Virtue, is nothing more than the disposition to enjoy and to confer the greatest hap­piness, with the knowledge how to attain and to bestow it.

WISDOM has ever some benevo­lent [Page 109] end in her purposes and actions: on the contrary, Folly either mistakes evil for good; or, when she assumes the nature of vice, entertains a ma­levolent intention.

THE advantages and defects of nature should be considered as com­mon to society: the weak have a claim to the assistance of the strong, the strong derive a pleasure from as­sisting the weak, and the wise are so far happy as the well-disposed par­take of their wisdom.

THERE is no one virtue that in­cludes not, in a general sense, all the other virtues. Wisdom cannot sub­sist without justice, temperance, and [Page 110] fortitude; for wisdom is the sum of all these. It is impossible to be just without temperance, or temperate without fortitude; and so alternate­ly of the rest.

SECT. XI. POWER.

POWER is no good quality by itself; it is the power of doing good, alone, that is desirable to the wise. All vice is selfishness, and the meanest is that which is most con­tractedly selfish.

[Page 111]GREAT minds can reconcile sub­limity to good-humour; in weak ones, it is generally coupled with se­verity and moroseness.

SUBLIME qualities men admire; they love the gentler virtues. When Wisdom would engage a heart, she wooes it in a smile. What the au­stere man advises with his tongue, his frown forbids.

MENS ambition of wealth and of power seems to increase in pro­portion to their inability to enjoy any refined pleasure:

NO man has a natural right to hold a greater share of power than another, unless he possesses a higher [Page 112] degree of merit: if his servants are better than himself, he but usurps his place. Every one should fill that department for which he is fitted by nature, where he can be happiest himself, and where he can best contribute to the happiness of so­ciety.

THE vulgar-rich call the poor the vulgar: let us learn to call things by their proper names; the rude and ungentle are the vulgar, whe­ther, in fortune, they be poor or rich.

THE truly poor and worthless are those who have not sense to perceive [Page 113] the superiority of internal merit to all foreign or outward accomplish­ments.

SECT. XII. JUSTICE and MERCY.

IT is not so proper to say, that vir­tue leads to happiness, as to af­firm, that whatever leads to real hap­piness is virtue. The reason why certain actions are forbidden by law, is, that such actions are found by experience to be attended with evil effects.

[Page 114]BUT, because very few indeed are themselves capable of taking such an extended view of things as to enable them to judge of all the good or evil consequences of actions, laws are established for the direction of the weak, and to restrain the vicious from committing actions that, in their effects, are evil.

THE fear of legal punishment pre­sents the only hold that can be taken of those who have no feeling for others; by which they are taught, at least, to feel for themselves.

NO action is evil altogether be­cause it is contrary to law; but cer­tain actions are justly forbidden by [Page 115] law, because their effects are experi­enced to be evil.

LET us be careful to separate the idea of justice from that of revenge, which, like other malevolent pas­sions, is to be restrained by reason: the great end of human justice, is public or private security; but for­bearance and mercy often reclaim, when violence and severity would be attended with evil consequences: for this cause, it is sometimes pro­per to return good for evil, and to mitigate the rigour of laws with mercy.

WHATEVER severity justice may be obliged to inflict, it is still with a [Page 116] view to greater kindness. To restore the criminal himself to a sense of his duty, to set an example to others, or to rid society of a desperate mem­ber, are the three rational ends for which punishment or death is in­flicted: otherwise retribution of evil is malevolence or blind revenge, and not justice.

THERE are certain exceptions to general laws, wherein justice assumes the name of mercy: he who, in his conduct, observes these exceptions, is justly merciful.

IT is owing to the imperfection of human laws, which cannot pro­vide against all accidental circum­stances [Page 117] and exceptions, that an idea of mercy is opposed to that of ju­stice: these virtues, however, are not really repugnant; where mercy is proper, it were unjust not to be merciful.

THERE is hardly any such passion among the virtuous as hatred: the vicious hate the enemies of vice; the good pity the enemies of virtue. A generous mind wishes not to find men faultless, but is happy in find­ing occasions of forgiving their er­rors.

THE violent and hostile passions are never employed by the wise, but [Page 118] for the greater purposes of benevo­lence.

TO withhold our power, when we can prevent the ruin of a fellow­creature, even against his will, is to be guilty of his destruction. Where is the difference in effect, whether evils are brought on us by our follies, or by fate? Is a man the less to be pitied who falls, for that his weakness was the cause of his falling?

WHO, if he saw a child approach­ing the brink of a precipice, would withhold his assistance, on a pretence that the child was left to the freedom of its own will? Men are like chil­dren, [Page 119] that sometimes must be re­strained from the ways of error.

THUS it has been instanced, thro' the whole of this performance, that sensibility, as directed by reason, con­stitutes VIRTUE.