She ended, and the whole romantic scene 660Immediate vanish'd; rocks, and woods, and rills,The mantling tent, and each mysterious formFlew like the pictures of a morning dream,When sunshine fills the bed. Awhile I stoodPerplex'd and giddy; till the radiant powerWho bade the visionary landscape rise,As up to him I turn'd, with gentlest looksPreventing my inquiry, thus began:—
'There let thy soul acknowledge its complaintHow blind, how impious! There behold the ways 670Of Heaven's eternal destiny to man,For ever just, benevolent, and wise:That Virtue's awful steps, howe'er pursuedBy vexing fortune and intrusive pain,Should never be divided from her chaste,Her fair attendant, Pleasure. Need I urgeThy tardy thought through all the various roundOf this existence, that thy softening soulAt length may learn what energy the handOf virtue mingles in the bitter tide 680Of passion swelling with distress and pain,To mitigate the sharp with gracious dropsOf cordial pleasure? Ask the faithful youth,Why the cold urn of her whom long he lovedSo often fills his arms; so often drawsHis lonely footsteps at the silent hour,To pay the mournful tribute of his tears?Oh! he will tell thee, that the wealth of worldsShould ne'er seduce his bosom to foregoThat sacred hour, when, stealing from the noise 690Of care and envy, sweet remembrance soothesWith virtue's kindest looks his aching breast,And turns his tears to rapture.—Ask the crowdWhich flies impatient from the village walkTo climb the neighbouring cliffs, when far belowThe cruel winds have hurl'd upon the coastSome helpless bark; while sacred Pity meltsThe general eye, or Terror's icy handSmites their distorted limbs and horrent hair;While every mother closer to her breast 700Catches her child, and pointing where the wavesFoam through the shatter'd vessel, shrieks aloudAs one poor wretch that spreads his piteous armsFor succour, swallow'd by the roaring surge,As now another, dash'd against the rock,Drops lifeless down: Oh! deemest thou indeedNo kind endearment here by Nature givenTo mutual terror and compassion's tears?No sweetly melting softness which attracts,O'er all that edge of pain, the social powers 710To this their proper action and their end?—Ask thy own heart, when, at the midnight hour,Slow through that studious gloom thy pausing eye,Led by the glimmering taper, moves aroundThe sacred volumes of the dead, the songsOf Grecian bards, and records writ by FameFor Grecian heroes, where the present powerOf heaven and earth surveys the immortal page,Even as a father blessing, while he readsThe praises of his son. If then thy soul, 720Spurning the yoke of these inglorious days,Mix in their deeds, and kindle with their flame,Say, when the prospect blackens on thy view,When, rooted from the base, heroic statesMourn in the dust, and tremble at the frownOf cursed ambition; when the pious bandOf youths who fought for freedom and their sires,Lie side by side in gore; when ruffian prideUsurps the throne of Justice, turns the pompOf public power, the majesty of rule, 730The sword, the laurel, and the purple robe,To slavish empty pageants, to adornA tyrant's walk, and glitter in the eyesOf such as bow the knee; when honour'd urnsOf patriots and of chiefs, the awful bustAnd storied arch, to glut the coward rageOf regal envy, strew the public wayWith hallow'd ruins; when the Muse's haunt,The marble porch where Wisdom wont to talkWith Socrates or Tully, hears no more, 740Save the hoarse jargon of contentious monks,Or female Superstition's midnight prayer;When ruthless Rapine from the hand of TimeTears the destroying scythe, with surer blowTo sweep the works of glory from their base;Till Desolation o'er the grass-grown streetExpands his raven wings, and up the wall,Where senates once the price of monarchs doom'd,Hisses the gliding snake through hoary weedsThat clasp the mouldering column; thus defaced, 750Thus widely mournful when the prospect thrillsThy beating bosom, when the patriot's tearStarts from thine eye, and thy extended armIn fancy hurls the thunderbolt of JoveTo fire the impious wreath on Philip's [Endnote W] brow,Or dash Octavius from the trophied car;Say, does thy secret soul repine to tasteThe big distress? Or wouldst thou then exchangeThose heart-ennobling sorrows for the lotOf him who sits amid the gaudy herd 760Of mute barbarians bending to his nod,And bears aloft his gold-invested front,And says within himself, I am a king,And wherefore should the clamorous voice of woeIntrude upon mine ear?—The baleful dregsOf these late ages, this inglorious draughtOf servitude and folly, have not yet,Bless'd be the eternal Ruler of the world!Defiled to such a depth of sordid shameThe native honours of the human soul, 770Nor so effaced the image of its Sire.'
Pleasure in observing the tempers and manners of men, even where vicious or absurd. The origin of Vice, from false representations of the fancy, producing false opinions concerning good and evil. Inquiry into ridicule. The general sources of ridicule in the minds and characters of men, enumerated. Final cause of the sense of ridicule. The resemblance of certain aspects of inanimate things to the sensations and properties of the mind. The operations of the mind in the production of the works of Imagination, described. The secondary pleasure from Imitation. The benevolent order of the world illustrated in the arbitrary connexion of these pleasures with the objects which excite them. The nature and conduct of taste. Concluding with an account of the natural and moral advantages resulting from a sensible and well formed imagination.
What wonder therefore, since the endearing tiesOf passion link the universal kindOf man so close, what wonder if to searchThis common nature through the various changeOf sex, and age, and fortune, and the frameOf each peculiar, draw the busy mindWith unresisted charms? The spacious west,And all the teeming regions of the south,Hold not a quarry, to the curious flightOf Knowledge, half so tempting or so fair, 10As man to man. Nor only where the smilesOf Love invite; nor only where the applauseOf cordial Honour turns the attentive eyeOn Virtue's graceful deeds. For, since the courseOf things external acts in different waysOn human apprehensions, as the handOf Nature temper'd to a different framePeculiar minds; so haply where the powersOf Fancy [Endnote X] neither lessen nor enlargeThe images of things, but paint in all 20Their genuine hues, the features which they woreIn Nature; there Opinion will be true,And Action right. For Action treads the pathIn which Opinion says he follows good,Or flies from evil; and Opinion givesReport of good or evil, as the sceneWas drawn by Fancy, lovely or deform'd:Thus her report can never there be trueWhere Fancy cheats the intellectual eye,With glaring colours and distorted lines. 30Is there a man, who, at the sound of death,Sees ghastly shapes of terror conjured up,And black before him; nought but death-bed groansAnd fearful prayers, and plunging from the brinkOf light and being, down the gloomy air,An unknown depth? Alas! in such a mind,If no bright forms of excellence attendThe image of his country; nor the pompOf sacred senates, nor the guardian voiceOf Justice on her throne, nor aught that wakes 40The conscious bosom with a patriot's flame;Will not Opinion tell him, that to die,Or stand the hazard, is a greater illThan to betray his country? And in actWill he not choose to be a wretch and live?Here vice begins then. From the enchanting cupWhich Fancy holds to all, the unwary thirstOf youth oft swallows a Circaean draught,That sheds a baleful tincture o'er the eyeOf Reason, till no longer he discerns, 50And only guides to err. Then revel forthA furious band that spurn him from the throne,And all is uproar. Thus Ambition graspsThe empire of the soul; thus pale RevengeUnsheaths her murderous dagger; and the handsOf Lust and Rapine, with unholy arts,Watch to o'erturn the barrier of the lawsThat keeps them from their prey; thus all the plaguesThe wicked bear, or o'er the trembling sconeThe tragic Muse discloses, under shapes 60Of honour, safety, pleasure, ease, or pomp,Stole first into the mind. Yet not by allThose lying forms, which Fancy in the brainEngenders, are the kindling passions drivenTo guilty deeds; nor Reason bound in chains,That Vice alone may lord it: oft adorn'dWith solemn pageants, Folly mounts the throne,And plays her idiot antics, like a queen.A thousand garbs she wears; a thousand waysShe wheels her giddy empire.—Lo! thus far 70With bold adventure, to the Mantuan lyreI sing of Nature's charms, and touch well pleasedA stricter note: now haply must my songUnbend her serious measure, and revealIn lighter strains, how Folly's awkward arts [Endnote Y]Excite impetuous Laughter's gay rebuke;The sportive province of the comic Muse.
See! in what crowds the uncouth forms advance:Each would outstrip the other, each preventOur careful search, and offer to your gaze, 80Unask'd, his motley features. Wait awhile,My curious friends! and let us first arrangeIn proper order your promiscuous throng.
Behold the foremost band; [Endnote Z] of slender thought,And easy faith; whom flattering Fancy soothesWith lying spectres, in themselves to viewIllustrious forms of excellence and good,That scorn the mansion. With exulting heartsThey spread their spurious treasures to the sun,And bid the world admire! But chief the glance 90Of wishful Envy draws their joy-bright eyes,And lifts with self-applause each lordly brow.In number boundless as the blooms of Spring,Behold their glaring idols, empty shadesBy Fancy gilded o'er, and then set upFor adoration. Some in Learning's garb,With formal band, and sable-cinctured gown,And rags of mouldy volumes. Some elateWith martial splendour, steely pikes and swordsOf costly frame, and gay Phoenician robes 100Inwrought with flowery gold, assume the portOf stately Valour: listening by his sideThere stands a female form; to her, with looksOf earnest import, pregnant with amaze,He talks of deadly deeds, of breaches, storms,And sulphurous mines, and ambush: then at onceBreaks off, and smiles to see her look so pale,And asks some wondering question of her fears.Others of graver mien; behold, adorn'dWith holy ensigns, how sublime they move, 110And bending oft their sanctimonious eyesTake homage of the simple-minded throng;Ambassadors of Heaven! Nor much unlikeIs he, whose visage in the lazy mistThat mantles every feature, hides a broodOf politic conceits, of whispers, nods,And hints deep omen'd with unwieldy schemes,And dark portents of state. Ten thousand more,Prodigious habits and tumultuous tongues,Pour dauntless in and swell the boastful band. 120
Then comes the second order; [Endnote AA] all who seekThe debt of praise, where watchful UnbeliefDarts through the thin pretence her squinting eyeOn some retired appearance which beliesThe boasted virtue, or annuls the applauseThat Justice else would pay. Here side by sideI see two leaders of the solemn trainApproaching: one a female old and gray,With eyes demure, and wrinkle-furrow'd brow,Pale as the cheeks of death; yet still she stuns 130The sickening audience with a nauseous tale,How many youths her myrtle chains have worn,How many virgins at her triumphs pined!Yet how resolved she guards her cautious heart;Such is her terror at the risks of love,And man's seducing tongue! The other seemsA bearded sage, ungentle in his mien,And sordid all his habit; peevish WantGrins at his heels, while down the gazing throngHe stalks, resounding in magnific praise 140The vanity of riches, the contemptOf pomp and power. Be prudent in your zeal,Ye grave associates! let the silent graceOf her who blushes at the fond regardHer charms inspire, more eloquent unfoldThe praise of spotless honour: let the man,Whose eye regards not his illustrious pompAnd ample store, but as indulgent streamsTo cheer the barren soil and spread the fruitsOf joy, let him by juster measures fix 150The price of riches and the end of power.
Another tribe succeeds; [Endnote BB] deluded longBy Fancy's dazzling optics, these beholdThe images of some peculiar thingsWith brighter hues resplendent, and portray'dWith features nobler far than e'er adorn'dTheir genuine objects. Hence the fever'd heartPants with delirious hope for tinsel charms;Hence oft obtrusive on the eye of scorn,Untimely zeal her witless pride betrays! 160And serious manhood from the towering aimOf wisdom, stoops to emulate the boastOf childish toil. Behold yon mystic formBedeck'd with feathers, insects, weeds, and shells!Not with intenser view the Samian sageBent his fix'd eye on heaven's intenser fires,When first the order of that radiant sceneSwell'd his exulting thought, than this surveysA muckworm's entrails, or a spider's fang.Next him a youth, with flowers and myrtles crown'd, 170Attends that virgin form, and blushing kneels,With fondest gesture and a suppliant's tongue,To win her coy regard: adieu, for him,The dull engagements of the bustling world!Adieu the sick impertinence of praise!And hope, and action! for with her alone,By streams and shades, to steal these sighing hours,Is all he asks, and all that fate can give!Thee too, facetious Momion, wandering here,Thee, dreaded censor, oft have I beheld 180Bewilder'd unawares: alas! too longFlush'd with thy comic triumphs and the spoilsOf sly derision! till on every sideHurling thy random bolts, offended TruthAssign'd thee here thy station with the slavesOf Folly. Thy once formidable nameShall grace her humble records, and be heardIn scoffs and mockery bandied from the lipsOf all the vengeful brotherhood around,So oft the patient victims of thy scorn. 190
But now, ye gay! [Endnote CC] to whom indulgent fate,Of all the Muse's empire hath assign'dThe fields of folly, hither each advanceYour sickles; here the teeming soil affordsIts richest growth. A favourite brood appears,In whom the demon, with a mother's joy,Views all her charms reflected, all her caresAt full repaid. Ye most illustrious band!Who, scorning Reason's tame, pedantic rules,And Order's vulgar bondage, never meant 200For souls sublime as yours, with generous zealPay Vice the reverence Virtue long usurp'd,And yield Deformity the fond applauseWhich Beauty wont to claim, forgive my song,That for the blushing diffidence of youth,It shuns the unequal province of your praise.
Thus far triumphant [Endnote DD] in the pleasing guileOf bland Imagination, Folly's trainHave dared our search: but now a dastard kindAdvance reluctant, and with faltering feet 210Shrink from the gazer's eye: enfeebled heartsWhom Fancy chills with visionary fears,Or bends to servile tameness with conceitsOf shame, of evil, or of base defect,Fantastic and delusive. Here the slaveWho droops abash'd when sullen Pomp surveysHis humbler habit; here the trembling wretchUnnerved and struck with Terror's icy bolts,Spent in weak wailings, drown'd in shameful tears,At every dream of danger: here, subdued 220By frontless laughter and the hardy scornOf old, unfeeling vice, the abject soul,Who, blushing, half resigns the candid praiseOf Temperance and Honour; half disownsA freeman's hatred of tyrannic pride;And hears with sickly smiles the venal mouthWith foulest licence mock the patriot's name.
Last of the motley bands [Endnote EE] on whom the powerOf gay Derision bends her hostile aim,Is that where shameful Ignorance presides. 230Beneath her sordid banners, lo! they marchLike blind and lame. Whate'er their doubtful handsAttempt, Confusion straight appears behind,And troubles all the work. Through many a maze,Perplex'd they struggle, changing every path,O'erturning every purpose; then at lastSit down dismay'd, and leave the entangled sceneFor Scorn to sport with. Such then is the abodeOf Folly in the mind; and such the shapesIn which she governs her obsequious train. 240
Through every scene of ridicule in thingsTo lead the tenor of my devious lay;Through every swift occasion, which the handOf Laughter points at, when the mirthful stingDistends her sallying nerves and chokes her tongue;What were it but to count each crystal dropWhich Morning's dewy fingers on the bloomsOf May distil? Suffice it to have said, [Endnote FF]Where'er the power of Ridicule displaysHer quaint-eyed visage, some incongruous form, 250Some stubborn dissonance of things combined,Strikes on the quick observer: whether Pomp,Or Praise, or Beauty, mix their partial claimWhere sordid fashions, where ignoble deeds,Where foul Deformity are wont to dwell;Or whether these with violation loathed,Invade resplendent Pomp's imperious mien,The charms of Beauty, or the boast of Praise.
Ask we for what fair end, [Endnote GG] the Almighty SireIn mortal bosoms wakes this gay contempt, 260These grateful stings of laughter, from disgustEducing pleasure? Wherefore, but to aidThe tardy steps of Reason, and at onceBy this prompt impulse urge us to depressThe giddy aims of Folly? Though the lightOf Truth slow dawning on the inquiring mind,At length unfolds, through many a subtile tie,How these uncouth disorders end at lastIn public evil! yet benignant Heaven,Conscious how dim the dawn of truth appears 270To thousands; conscious what a scanty pauseFrom labours and from care, the wider lotOf humble life affords for studious thoughtTo scan the maze of Nature; therefore stamp'dThe glaring scenes with characters of scorn,As broad, as obvious, to the passing clown,As to the letter'd sage's curious eye.
Such are the various aspects of the mind—Some heavenly genius, whose unclouded thoughtsAttain that secret harmony which blends 280The etherial spirit with its mould of clay,Oh! teach me to reveal the grateful charmThat searchless Nature o'er the sense of manDiffuses, to behold, in lifeless things,The inexpressive semblance [Endnote HH] of himself,Of thought and passion. Mark the sable woodsThat shade sublime yon mountain's nodding brow:With what religious awe the solemn sceneCommands your steps! as if the reverend formOf Minos or of Numa should forsake 290The Elysian seats, and down the embowering gladeMove to your pausing eye! Behold the expanseOf yon gay landscape, where the silver cloudsFlit o'er the heavens before the sprightly breeze:Now their gray cincture skirts the doubtful sun;Now streams of splendour, through their opening veilEffulgent, sweep from off the gilded lawnThe aërial shadows, on the curling brook,And on the shady margin's quivering leavesWith quickest lustre glancing; while you view 300The prospect, say, within your cheerful breastPlays not the lively sense of winning mirthWith clouds and sunshine chequer'd, while the roundOf social converse, to the inspiring tongueOf some gay nymph amid her subject train,Moves all obsequious? Whence is this effect,This kindred power of such discordant things?Or flows their semblance from that mystic toneTo which the new-born mind's harmonious powersAt first were strung? Or rather from the links 310Which artful custom twines around her frame?
For when the different images of things,By chance combined, have struck the attentive soulWith deeper impulse, or, connected long,Have drawn her frequent eye; howe'er distinctThe external scenes, yet oft the ideas gainFrom that conjunction an eternal tie,And sympathy unbroken. Let the mindRecall one partner of the various league,Immediate, lo! the firm confederates rise, 320And each his former station straight resumes:One movement governs the consenting throng,And all at once with rosy pleasure shine,Or all are sadden'd with the glooms of care.'Twas thus, if ancient fame the truth unfold,Two faithful needles, [Endnote II] from the informing touchOf the same parent stone, together drewIts mystic virtue, and at first conspiredWith fatal impulse quivering to the pole:Then, though disjoin'd by kingdoms, though the main 330Roll'd its broad surge betwixt, and different starsBeheld their wakeful motions, yet preservedThe former friendship, and remember'd stillThe alliance of their birth: whate'er the lineWhich one possess'd, nor pause, nor quiet knewThe sure associate, ere with trembling speedHe found its path and fix'd unerring there.Such is the secret union, when we feelA song, a flower, a name, at once restoreThose long-connected scenes where first they moved 340The attention, backward through her mazy walksGuiding the wanton fancy to her scope,To temples, courts, or fields, with all the bandOf painted forms, of passions and designsAttendant; whence, if pleasing in itself,The prospect from that sweet accession gainsRedoubled influence o'er the listening mind.
By these mysterious ties, [Endnote JJ] the busy powerOf Memory her ideal train preservesEntire; or when they would elude her watch, 350Reclaims their fleeting footsteps from the wasteOf dark oblivion; thus collecting allThe various forms of being to present,Before the curious aim of mimic art,Their largest choice; like Spring's unfolded bloomsExhaling sweetness, that the skilful beeMay taste at will, from their selected spoilsTo work her dulcet food. For not the expanseOf living lakes in Summer's noontide calm,Reflects the bordering shade, and sun-bright heavens, 360With fairer semblance; not the sculptured goldMore faithful keeps the graver's lively trace,Than he whose birth the sister powers of ArtPropitious view'd, and from his genial starShed influence to the seeds of fancy kind,Than his attemper'd bosom must preserveThe seal of Nature. There alone unchanged,Her form remains. The balmy walks of MayThere breathe perennial sweets; the trembling chordResounds for ever in the abstracted ear, 370Melodious; and the virgin's radiant eye,Superior to disease, to grief, and time,Shines with unbating lustre. Thus at lengthEndow'd with all that nature can bestow,The child of Fancy oft in silence bendsO'er these mix'd treasures of his pregnant breastWith conscious pride. From them he oft resolvesTo frame he knows not what excelling things,And win he knows not what sublime rewardOf praise and wonder. By degrees, the mind 380Feels her young nerves dilate: the plastic powersLabour for action: blind emotions heaveHis bosom; and with loveliest frenzy caught,From earth to heaven he rolls his daring eye,From heaven to earth. Anon ten thousand shapes,Like spectres trooping to the wizard's call,Flit swift before him. From the womb of earth,From ocean's bed they come: the eternal heavensDisclose their splendours, and the dark abyssPours out her births unknown. With fixed gaze 390He marks the rising phantoms. Now comparesTheir different forms; now blends them, now divides,Enlarges and extenuates by turns;Opposes, ranges in fantastic bands,And infinitely varies. Hither now,Now thither fluctuates his inconstant aim,With endless choice perplex'd. At length his planBegins to open. Lucid order dawns;And as from Chaos old the jarring seedsOf Nature at the voice divine repair'd 400Each to its place, till rosy earth unveil'dHer fragrant bosom, and the joyful sunSprung up the blue serene; by swift degreesThus disentangled, his entire designEmerges. Colours mingle, features join,And lines converge: the fainter parts retire;The fairer eminent in light advance;And every image on its neighbour smiles.Awhile he stands, and with a father's joyContemplates. Then with Promethéan art, 410Into its proper vehicle [Endnote KK] he breathesThe fair conception; which, embodied thus,And permanent, becomes to eyes or earsAn object ascertain'd: while thus inform'd,The various organs of his mimic skill,The consonance of sounds, the featured rock,The shadowy picture and impassion'd verse,Beyond their proper powers attract the soulBy that expressive semblance, while in sightOf Nature's great original we scan 420The lively child of Art; while line by line,And feature after feature we referTo that sublime exemplar whence it stoleThose animating charms. Thus Beauty's palmBetwixt them wavering hangs: applauding LoveDoubts where to choose; and mortal man aspiresTo tempt creative praise. As when a cloudOf gathering hail, with limpid crusts of iceEnclosed and obvious to the beaming sun,Collects his large effulgence; straight the heavens 430With equal flames present on either handThe radiant visage; Persia stands at gaze,Appall'd; and on the brink of Ganges doubtsThe snowy-vested seer, in Mithra's name,To which the fragrance of the south shall burn,To which his warbled orisons ascend.
Such various bliss the well-tuned heart enjoys,Favour'd of Heaven! while, plunged in sordid cares,The unfeeling vulgar mocks the boon divine;And harsh Austerity, from whose rebuke 440Young Love and smiling Wonder shrink awayAbash'd and chill of heart, with sager frownsCondemns the fair enchantment. On my strain,Perhaps even now, some cold, fastidious judgeCasts a disdainful eye; and calls my toil,And calls the love and beauty which I sing,The dream of folly. Thou, grave censor! say,Is Beauty then a dream, because the gloomsOf dulness hang too heavy on thy sense,To let her shine upon thee? So the man 450Whose eye ne'er open'd on the light of heaven,Might smile with scorn while raptured vision tellsOf the gay-colour'd radiance flushing brightO'er all creation. From the wise be farSuch gross unhallow'd pride; nor needs my songDescend so low; but rather now unfold,If human thought could reach, or words unfold,By what mysterious fabric of the mind,The deep-felt joys and harmony of soundResult from airy motion; and from shape 460The lovely phantoms of sublime and fair.By what fine ties hath God connected thingsWhen present in the mind, which in themselvesHave no connexion? Sure the rising sunO'er the cerulean convex of the sea,With equal brightness and with equal warmthMight roll his fiery orb, nor yet the soulThus feel her frame expanded, and her powersExulting in the splendour she beholds,Like a young conqueror moving through the pomp 470Of some triumphal day. When join'd at eve,Soft murmuring streams and gales of gentlest breathMelodious Philomela's wakeful strainAttemper, could not man's discerning earThrough all its tones the sympathy pursue,Nor yet this breath divine of nameless joySteal through his veins and fan the awaken'd heart,Mild as the breeze, yet rapturous as the song?
But were not Nature still endow'd at largeWith all that life requires, though unadorn'd 480With such enchantment? Wherefore then her formSo exquisitely fair? her breath perfumedWith such ethereal sweetness? whence her voiceInform'd at will to raise or to depressThe impassion'd soul? and whence the robes of lightWhich thus invest her with more lovely pompThan Fancy can describe? Whence but from Thee,O source divine of ever-flowing love!And Thy unmeasured goodness? Not contentWith every food of life to nourish man, 490By kind illusions of the wondering senseThou mak'st all Nature beauty to his eye,Or music to his ear; well pleased he scansThe goodly prospect, and with inward smilesTreads the gay verdure of the painted plain,Beholds the azure canopy of heaven,And living lamps that over-arch his headWith more than regal splendour; bends his earsTo the full choir of water, air, and earth;Nor heeds the pleasing error of his thought, 500Nor doubts the painted green or azure arch,Nor questions more the music's mingling sounds,Than space, or motion, or eternal time;So sweet he feels their influence to attractThe fixed soul, to brighten the dull gloomsOf care, and make the destined road of lifeDelightful to his feet. So fables tell,The adventurous hero, bound on hard exploits,Beholds with glad surprise, by secret spellsOf some kind sage, the patron of his toils, 510A visionary paradise disclosedAmid the dubious wild; with streams, and shades,And airy songs, the enchanted landscape smiles,Cheers his long labours and renews his frame.
What then is taste, but these internal powersActive, and strong, and feelingly aliveTo each fine impulse,—a discerning senseOf decent and sublime, with quick disgustFrom things deform'd, or disarranged, or grossIn species? This, nor gems, nor stores of gold, 520Nor purple state, nor culture can bestow;But God alone, when first His active handImprints the secret bias of the soul.He, mighty Parent! wise and just in all,Free as the vital breeze or light of heaven,Reveals the charms of Nature. Ask the swainWho journeys homeward from a summer day'sLong labour, why, forgetful of his toilsAnd due repose, he loiters to beholdThe sunshine gleaming as through amber clouds, 530O'er all the western sky; full soon, I ween,His rude expression and untutor'd airs,Beyond the power of language, will unfoldThe form of beauty, smiling at his heart,How lovely! how commanding! But though HeavenIn every breast hath sown these early seedsOf love and admiration, yet in vain,Without fair culture's kind parental aid,Without enlivening suns, and genial showers,And shelter from the blast, in vain we hope 540The tender plant should rear its blooming head,Or yield the harvest promised in its spring.Nor yet will every soul with equal storesRepay the tiller's labour, or attendHis will, obsequious, whether to produceThe olive or the laurel. Different mindsIncline to different objects; one pursuesThe vast alone, [Endnote LL] the wonderful, the wild;Another sighs for harmony, and grace,And gentlest beauty. Hence, when lightning fires 550The arch of heaven, and thunders rock the ground,When furious whirlwinds rend the howling air,And ocean, groaning from his lowest bed,Heaves his tempestuous billows to the sky;Amid the mighty uproar, while belowThe nations tremble, Shakspeare looks abroadProm some high cliff, superior, and enjoysThe elemental war. But Waller longs, [Endnote MM]All on the margin of some flowery streamTo spread his careless limbs amid the cool 560Of plantane shades, and to the listening deerThe tale of slighted vows and love's disdainResound soft-warbling all the livelong day;Consenting Zephyr sighs; the weeping rillJoins in his plaint, melodious; mute the groves;And hill and dale with all their echoes mourn.Such and so various are the tastes of men.
Oh! bless'd of Heaven, whom not the languid songsOf Luxury, the siren! not the bribesOf sordid Wealth, nor all the gaudy spoils 570Of pageant Honour, can seduce to leaveThose ever-blooming sweets, which from the storeOf Nature fair Imagination cullsTo charm the enliven'd soul! What though not allOf mortal offspring can attain the heightsOf envied life; though only few possessPatrician treasures or imperial state;Yet Nature's care, to all her children just,With richer treasures and an ampler state,Endows at large whatever happy man 580Will deign to use them. His the city's pomp,The rural honours his. Whate'er adornsThe princely dome, the column, and the arch,The breathing marbles and the sculptured gold,Beyond the proud possessor's narrow claim,His tuneful breast enjoys. For him, the SpringDistils her dews, and from the silken gemIts lucid leaves unfolds; for him, the handOf Autumn tinges every fertile branchWith blooming gold and blushes like the morn. 590Each passing Hour sheds tribute from her wings;And still new beauties meet his lonely walk,And loves unfelt attract him. Not a breeze [Endnote NN]Flies o'er the meadow, not a cloud imbibesThe setting sun's effulgence, not a strainFrom all the tenants of the warbling shadeAscends, but whence his bosom can partakeFresh pleasure, unreproved. Nor thence partakesFresh pleasure only; for the attentive mind,By this harmonious action on her powers 600Becomes herself harmonious; wont so oftIn outward things to meditate the charmOf sacred order, soon she seeks at homeTo find a kindred order, to exertWithin herself this elegance of love,This fair-inspired delight; her temper'd powersRefine at length, and every passion wearsA chaster, milder, more attractive mien.But if to ampler prospects, if to gazeOn Nature's form, where, negligent of all 610These lesser graces, she assumes the portOf that Eternal Majesty that weigh'dThe world's foundations, if to these the mindExalts her daring eye, then mightier farWill be the change, and nobler. Would the formsOf servile custom cramp her generous powers?Would sordid policies, the barbarous growthOf ignorance and rapine, bow her downTo tame pursuits, to indolence and fear?Lo! she appeals to Nature, to the winds 620And rolling waves, the sun's unwearied course,The elements and seasons; all declareFor what the Eternal Maker has ordain'dThe powers of man; we feel within ourselvesHis energy divine; he tells the heart,He meant, he made us to behold and loveWhat he beholds and loves, the general orbOf life and being; to be great like him,Beneficent and active. Thus the menWhom Nature's works can charm, with God himself 630Hold converse; grow familiar, day by day,With his conceptions, act upon his plan;And form to his, the relish of their souls.
* * * * *
'Say why was man', etc.—P.8.
In apologising for the frequent negligences of the sublimest authors of Greece, 'Those godlike geniuses,' says Longinus, 'were well assured, that Nature had not intended man for a low-spirited or ignoble being: but bringing us into life and the midst of this wide universe, as before a multitude assembled at some heroic solemnity, that we might be spectators of all her magnificence, and candidates high in emulation for the prize of glory; she has therefore implanted in our souls an inextinguishable love of everything great and exalted, of everything which appears divine beyond our comprehension. Whence it comes to pass, that even the whole world is not an object sufficient for the depth and rapidity of human imagination, which often sallies forth beyond the limits of all that surrounds us. Let any man cast his eye through the whole circle of our existence, and consider how especially it abounds in excellent and grand objects, he will soon acknowledge for what enjoyments and pursuits we were destined. Thus by the very propensity of nature we are led to admire, not little springs or shallow rivulets, however clear and delicious, but the Nile, the Rhine, the Danube, and, much more than all, the Ocean,' etc. —Dionys. Longin. de Sublim. ss. xxiv.
'The empyreal waste'.—P. 9.
'Ne se peut-il point qu'il y a un grand espace au-delà de la région des étoiles? Que ce soit le ciel empyrée, ou non, toujours cet espace immense quî environne toute cette region, pourra être rempli de bonheur et de gloire. Il pourra être conçu comme l'océan, òu se rendent les fleuves de toutes les créatures bienheureuses, quand elles seront venues à leur perfection dans le système des étoiles.' —Leibnitz dans la Theodicée, part i. par. 19.
'Whose unfading light', etc.—P. 9.
It was a notion of the great Mr. Huygens, that there may be fixed stars at such a distance from our solar system, as that their light should not have had time to reach us, even from the creation of the world to this day.
'The neglect Of all familiar prospects', etc.—P. 10.
It is here said, that in consequence of the love of novelty, objects which at first were highly delightful to the mind, lose that effect by repeated attention to them. But the instance of habit is opposed to this observation; for there, objects at first distasteful are in time rendered entirely agreeable by repeated attention.
The difficulty in this case will be removed if we consider, that, when objects at first agreeable, lose that influence by frequently recurring, the mind is wholly passive, and the perception involuntary; but habit, on the other hand, generally supposes choice and activity accompanying it: so that the pleasure arises here not from the object, but from the mind's conscious determination of its own activity; and consequently increases in proportion to the frequency of that determination.
It will still be urged perhaps, that a familiarity with disagreeable objects renders them at length acceptable, even when there is no room for the mind to resolve or act at all. In this case, the appearance must be accounted for one of these ways.
The pleasure from habit may be merely negative. The object at first gave uneasiness: this uneasiness gradually wears off as the object grows familiar: and the mind, finding it at last entirely removed, reckons its situation really pleasurable, compared with what it had experienced before.
The dislike conceived of the object at first, might be owing to prejudice or want of attention. Consequently the mind being necessitated to review it often, may at length perceive its own mistake, and be reconciled to what it had looked on with aversion. In which case, a sort of instinctive justice naturally leads it to make amends for the injury, by running toward the other extreme of fondness and attachment.
Or lastly, though the object itself should always continue disagreeable, yet circumstances of pleasure or good fortune may occur along with it. Thus an association may arise in the mind, and the object never be remembered without those pleasing circumstances attending it; by which means the disagreeable impression which it at first occasioned will in time be quite obliterated.
'This desire Of objects new and strange'.—P. 10.
These two ideas are oft confounded; though it is evident the mere novelty of an object makes it agreeable, even where the mind is not affected with the least degree of wonder: whereas wonder indeed always implies novelty, being never excited by common or well-known appearances. But the pleasure in both cases is explicable from the same final cause, the acquisition of knowledge and enlargement of our views of nature: on this account it is natural to treat of them together.
'Truth and Good are one, And Beauty dwells in them', etc.—P. 14.
'Do you imagine,' says Socrates to Aristippus, 'that what is good is not beautiful? Have you not observed that these appearances always coincide? Virtue, for instance, in the same respect as to which we call it good, is ever acknowledged to be beautiful also. In the characters of men we always [1] join the two denominations together. The beauty of human bodies corresponds, in like manner, with that economy of parts which constitutes them good; and in every circumstance of life, the same object is constantly accounted both beautiful and good, inasmuch as it answers the purposes for which it was designed.' —Xenophont. Memorab. Socrat. 1.iii.c.8.
This excellent observation has been illustrated and extended by the noble restorer of ancient philosophy. (See theCharacteristics, vol. ii., pp. 339 and 422, and vol. iii., p. 181.) And another ingenious author has particularly shewn, that it holds in the general laws of nature, in the works of art, and the conduct of the sciences (Inquiry into the Original of our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue, treat, i. Section 8). As to the connexion between beauty and truth, there are two opinions concerning it. Some philosophers assert an independent and invariable law in nature, in consequence of which all rational beings must alike perceive beauty in some certain proportions, and deformity in the contrary. And this necessity being supposed the same with that which commands the assent or dissent of the understanding, it follows, of course, that beauty is founded on the universal and unchangeable law of truth.
But others there are who believe beauty to be merely a relative and arbitrary thing; that, indeed, it was a benevolent provision in nature to annex so delightful a sensation to those objects which are best and most perfect in themselves, that so we might be engaged to the choice of them at once, and without staying to infer their usefulness from their structure and effects; but that it is not impossible, in a physical sense, that two beings, of equal capacities for truth, should perceive, one of them beauty, and the other deformity, in the same proportions. And upon this supposition, by that truth which is always connected with beauty, nothing more can be meant than the conformity of any object to those proportions upon which, after careful examination, the beauty of that species is found to depend. Polycletus, for instance, a famous ancient sculptor, from an accurate mensuration of the several parts of the most perfect human bodies, deduced a canon or system of proportions, which was the rule of all succeeding artists. Suppose a statue modelled according to this: a man of mere natural taste, upon looking at it, without entering into its proportions, confesses and admires its beauty; whereas a professor of the art applies his measures to the head, the neck, or the hand, and, without attending to its beauty, pronounces the workmanship to be just and true.
[Footnote 1: This the Athenians did in a peculiar manner, by the words [Greek: kalokagathus] and [Greek: kalokagathia].]
'As when Brutus rose,' etc.—P. 18.
Cicero himself describes this fact—'Cassare interfecto—statim cruentum alte extollens M. Brutus pugionem, Ciceronem nominatim exclamavit, atque ei recuperatam libertatem est gratulatus.' —Cic. Philipp. ii. 12.
'Where Virtue rising from the awful depth Of Truth's mysterious bosom,' etc.—P. 20.
According to the opinion of those who assert moral obligation to be founded on an immutable and universal law; and that which is usually called the moral sense, to be determined by the peculiar temper of the imagination and the earliest associations of ideas.
'Lycéum.'—P. 21.
The school of Aristotle.
'Academus.'—P. 21.
The school of Plato.
'Ilissus.'—P. 21.
One of the rivers on which Athens was situated. Plato, in some of his finest dialogues, lays the scene of the conversation with Socrates on its banks.
* * * * *
'At last the Muses rose,' etc.—P. 22.
About the age of Hugh Capet, founder of the third race of French kings, the poets of Provence were in high reputation; a sort of strolling bards or rhapsodists, who went about the courts of princes and noblemen, entertaining them at festivals with music and poetry. They attempted both the epic, ode, and satire; and abounded in a wild and fantastic vein of fable, partly allegorical, and partly founded on traditionary legends of the Saracen wars. These were the rudiments of Italian poetry. But their taste and composition must have been extremely barbarous, as we may judge by those who followed the turn of their fable in much politer times; such as Boiardo, Bernardo, Tasso, Ariosto, etc.
'Valclusa.'—P. 22.
The famous retreat of Francisco Petrarcha, the father of Italian poetry, and his mistress, Laura, a lady of Avignon.
'Arno.'—P. 22.
The river which runs by Florence, the birth-place of Dante andBoccaccio.
'Parthenopé.'—P. 23.
Or Naples, the birth-place of Sannazaro. The great Torquato Tasso was born at Sorrento in the kingdom of Naples.
'The rage Of dire ambition,' etc.—P. 23.
This relates to the cruel wars among the republics of Italy, and abominable politics of its little princes, about the fifteenth century. These, at last, in conjunction with the papal power, entirely extinguished the spirit of liberty in that country, and established that abuse of the fine arts which has been since propagated over all Europe.
'Thus from their guardians torn, the tender arts,' etc.—P. 23.
Nor were they only losers by the separation. For philosophy itself, to use the words of a noble philosopher, 'being thus severed from the sprightly arts and sciences, must consequently grow dronish, insipid, pedantic, useless, and directly opposite to the real knowledge and practice of the world.' Insomuch that 'a gentleman,' says another excellent writer, 'cannot easily bring himself to like so austere and ungainly a form: so greatly is it changed from what was once the delight of the finest gentlemen of antiquity, and their recreation after the hurry of public affairs! From this condition it cannot be recovered but by uniting it once more with the works of imagination; and we have had the pleasure of observing a very great progress made towards their union in England within these few years. It is hardly possible to conceive them at a greater distance from each other than at the Revolution, when Locke stood at the head of one party, and Dryden of the other. But the general spirit of liberty, which has ever since been growing, naturally invited our men of wit and genius to improve that influence which the arts of persuasion gave them with the people, by applying them to subjects of importance to society. Thus poetry and eloquence became considerable; and philosophy is now, of course, obliged to borrow of their embellishments, in order even to gain audience with the public.
'From passion's power alone,' etc.—P. 26.
This very mysterious kind of pleasure, which is often found in the exercise of passions generally counted painful, has been taken notice of by several authors. Lucretius resolves it into self-love:—
'Suave mari magno,' etc., lib. ii. 1.
As if a man was never pleased in being moved at the distress of a tragedy, without a cool reflection that though these fictitious personages were so unhappy, yet he himself was perfectly at ease and in safety. The ingenious author of theReflections Critiques sur la Poésie et sur la Peintureaccounts for it by the general delight which the mind takes in its own activity, and the abhorrence it feels of an indolent and inattentive state: and this, joined with the moral approbation of its own temper, which attends these emotions when natural and just, is certainly the true foundation of the pleasure, which, as it is the origin and basis of tragedy and epic, deserved a very particular consideration in this poem.
'Inhabitant of earth,' etc.—P. 31.
The account of the economy of Providence here introduced, as the most proper to calm and satisfy the mind when under the compunction of private evils, seems to have come originally from the Pythagorean school: but of the ancient philosophers, Plato has most largely insisted upon it, has established it with all the strength of his capacious understanding, and ennobled it with all the magnificence of his divine imagination. He has one passage so full and clear on this head, that I am persuaded the reader will be pleased to see it here, though somewhat long. Addressing himself to such as are not satisfied concerning divine Providence: 'The Being who presides over the whole,' says he, 'has disposed and complicated all things for the happiness and virtue of the whole, every part of which, according to the extent of its influence, does and suffers what is fit and proper. One of these parts is yours, O unhappy man, which though in itself most inconsiderable and minute, yet being connected with the universe, ever seeks to co-operate with that supreme order. You in the meantime are ignorant of the very end for which all particular natures are brought into existence, that the all-comprehending nature of the whole may be perfect and happy; existing, as it does, not for your sake, but the cause and reason of your existence, which, as in the symmetry of every artificial work, must of necessity concur with the general design of the artist, and be subservient to the whole of which it is a part. Your complaint therefore is ignorant and groundless; since, according to the various energy of creation, and the common laws of nature, there is a constant provision of that which is best at the same time for you and for the whole.—For the governing intelligence clearly beholding all the actions of animated and self-moving creatures, and that mixture of good and evil which diversifies them, considered first of all by what disposition of things, and by what situation of each individual in the general system, vice might be depressed and subdued, and virtue made secure of victory and happiness with the greatest facility and in the highest degree possible. In this manner he ordered through the entire circle of being, the internal constitution of every mind, where should be its station in the universal fabric, and through what variety of circumstances it should proceed in the whole tenor of its existence.' He goes on in his sublime manner to assert a future state of retribution, 'as well for those who, by the exercise of good dispositions being harmonised and assimilated into the divine virtue, are consequently removed to a place of unblemished sanctity and happiness; as of those who by the most flagitious arts have risen from contemptible beginnings to the greatest affluence and power, and whom you therefore look upon as unanswerable instances of negligence in the gods, because you are ignorant of the purposes to which they are subservient, and in what manner they contribute to that supreme intention of good to the whole.' —Plato de Leg. x. 16.
This theory has been delivered of late, especially abroad, in a manner which subverts the freedom of human actions; whereas Plato appears very careful to preserve it, and has been in that respect imitated by the best of his followers.
'One might rise, One order,' etc.—P. 31.
See theMeditationsof Antoninus and theCharacteristics, passim.
'The best and fairest,' etc.—P. 32.
This opinion is so old, that Timaeus Locrus calls the Supreme Being [Greek: demiourgos tou beltionos], the artificer of that which is best; and represents him as resolving in the beginning to produce the most excellent work, and as copying the world most exactly from his own intelligible and essential idea; 'so that it yet remains, as it was at first, perfect in beauty, and will never stand in need of any correction or improvement.' There can be no room for a caution here, to understand the expressions, not of any particular circumstances of human life separately considered, but of the sum or universal system of life and being. See also the vision at the end of theTheodicéeof Leibnitz.
'As flame ascends,' etc.—P. 32.
This opinion, though not held by Plato nor any of the ancients, is yet a very natural consequence of his principles. But the disquisition is too complex and extensive to be entered upon here.
'Philip.'—P. 44.
The Macedonian.
'Where the powers Of Fancy,' etc.—P. 46.
The influence of the imagination on the conduct of life is one of the most important points in moral philosophy. It were easy, by an induction of facts, to prove that the imagination directs almost all the passions, and mixes with almost every circumstance of action or pleasure. Let any man, even of the coldest head and soberest industry, analyse the idea of what he calls his interest; he will find that it consists chiefly of certain degrees of decency, beauty, and order, variously combined into one system, the idol which he seeks to enjoy by labour, hazard, and self-denial. It is, on this account, of the last consequence to regulate these images by the standard of nature and the general good; otherwise the imagination, by heightening some objects beyond their real excellence and beauty, or by representing others in a more odions or terrible shape than they deserve, may, of course, engage us in pursuits utterly inconsistent with the moral order of things.
If it be objected that this account of things supposes the passions to be merely accidental, whereas there appears in some a natural and hereditary disposition to certain passions prior to all circumstances of education or fortune, it may be answered, that though no man is born ambitious or a miser, yet he may inherit from his parents a peculiar temper or complexion of mind, which shall render his imagination more liable to be struck with some particular objects, consequently dispose him to form opinions of good and ill, and entertain passions of a particular turn. Some men, for instance, by the original frame of their minds, are more delighted with the vast and magnificent, others, on the contrary, with the elegant and gentle aspects of nature. And it is very remarkable, that the disposition of the moral powers is always similar to this of the imagination; that those who are most inclined to admire prodigious and sublime objects in the physical world, are also most inclined to applaud examples of fortitude and heroic virtue in the moral. While those who are charmed rather with the delicacy and sweetness of colours, and forms, and sounds, never fail in like manner to yield the preference to the softer scenes of virtue and the sympathies of a domestic life. And this is sufficient to account for the objection.
Among the ancient philosophers, though we have several hints concerning this influence of the imagination upon morals among the remains of the Socratic school, yet the Stoics were the first who paid it a due attention. Zeno, their founder, thought it impossible to preserve any tolerable regularity in life, without frequently inspecting those pictures or appearances of things, which the imagination offers to the mind (Diog. Laërt. I. vii.) The meditations of M. Aurelius, and the discourses of Epictetus, are full of the same sentiment; insomuch that the latter makes the [Greek: Chresis oia dei, fantasion], or right management of the fancies, the only thing for which we are accountable to Providence, and without which a man is no other than stupid or frantic (Arrian. I. i. c. 12. and I. ii. c. 22). See also theCharacteristics, vol. i. from p. 313 to 321, where this Stoical doctrine is embellished with all the elegance and graces of Plato.
'How Folly's awkward arts,' etc.—P. 47.
Notwithstanding the general influence of ridicule on private and civil life, as well as on learning and the sciences, it has been almost constantly neglected or misrepresented, by divines especially. The manner of treating these subjects in the science of human nature, should be precisely the same as in natural philosophy; from particular facts to investigate the stated order in which they appear, and then apply the general law, thus discovered, to the explication of other appearances and the improvement of useful arts.
'Behold the foremost band,' etc.—P. 48.
The first and most general source of ridicule in the characters of men, is vanity or self-applause for some desirable quality or possession which evidently does not belong to those who assume it.
'Then comes the second order,' etc.—P, 49.
Ridicule from the same vanity, where, though the possession be real, yet no merit can arise from it, because of some particular circumstances, which, though obvious to the spectator, are yet overlooked by the ridiculous character.
'Another tribe succeeds,' etc.—P. 50.
Ridicule from a notion of excellence in particular objects disproportioned to their intrinsic value, and inconsistent with the order of nature.
'But now, ye gay,' etc.—P. 51.
Ridicule from a notion of excellence, when the object is absolutely odious or contemptible. This is the highest degree of the ridiculous; as in the affectation of diseases or vices.
'Thus far triumphant,' etc.—P. 51
Ridicule from false shame or groundless fear.
'Last of the motley bands,' etc.—P. 52.
Ridicule from the ignorance of such things as our circumstances require us to know.
'Suffice it to have said,' etc.—P. 52.
By comparing these general sources of ridicule with each other, and examining the ridiculous in other objects, we may obtain a general definition of it, equally applicable to every species. The most important circumstance of this definition is laid down in the lines referred to; but others more minute we shall subjoin here. Aristotle's account of the matter seems both imperfect and false. [Greek: To ghar geloion], says he, [Greek: estin hamartaema ti kai aischos]: 'The ridiculous is some certain fault or turpitude without pain, and not destructive to its subject' (Poet. c. 5). For allowing it to be true, as it is not, that the ridiculous is never accompanied with pain, yet we might produce many instances of such a fault or turpitude which cannot with any tolerable propriety be called ridiculous. So that the definition does not distinguish the thing designed. Nay, further, even when we perceive the turpitude tending to the destruction of its subject, we may still be sensible of a ridiculous appearance, till the ruin become imminent, and the keener sensations of pity or terror banish the ludicrous apprehension from our minds; for the sensation of ridicule is not a bare perception of the agreement or disagreement of ideas, but a passion or emotion of the mind consequential to that perception; so that the mind may perceive the agreement or disagreement, and yet not feel the ridiculous, because it is engrossed by a more violent emotion. Thus it happens that some men think those objects ridiculous, to which others cannot endure to apply the name, because in them they excite a much intenser and more important feeling. And this difference, among other causes, has brought a good deal of confusion into this question.
'That which makes objects ridiculous is some ground of admiration or esteem connected with other more general circumstances comparatively worthless or deformed; or it is some circumstance of turpitude or deformity connected with what is in general excellent or beautiful: the inconsistent properties existing either in the objects themselves, or in the apprehension of the person to whom they relate, belonging always to the same order or class of being, implying sentiment or design, and exciting no acute or vehement emotion of the heart.'
To prove the several parts of this definition: 'The appearance of excellence or beauty connected with a general condition comparatively sordid or deformed' is ridiculous; for instance, pompous pretensions of wisdom joined with ignorance or folly in the Socrates of Aristophanes, and the ostentations of military glory with cowardice and stupidity in the Thraso of Terence.
'The appearance of deformity or turpitude in conjunction with what is in general excellent or venerable,' is also ridiculous: for instance, the personal weaknesses of a magistrate appearing in the solemn and public functions of his station.
'The incongruous properties may either exist in the objects themselves, or in the apprehension of the person to whom they relate:' in the last—mentioned instance, they both exist in the objects; in the instances from Aristophanes and Terence, one of them is objective and real, the other only founded in the apprehension of the ridiculous character.
'The inconsistent properties must belong to the same order or class of being.' A coxcomb in fine clothes, bedaubed by accident in foul weather, is a ridiculous object, because his general apprehension of excellence and esteem is referred to the splendour and expense of his dress. A man of sense and merit, in the same circumstances, is not counted ridiculous, because the general ground of excellence and esteem in him is, both in fact and in his own apprehension, of a very different species.
'Every ridiculous object implies sentiment or design.' A column placed by an architect without a capital or base is laughed at: the same column in a ruin causes a very different sensation.
And lastly, 'the occurrence must excite no acute or vehement emotion of the heart,' such as terror, pity, or indignation; for in that case, as was observed above, the mind is not at leisure to contemplate the ridiculous. Whether any appearance not ridiculous be involved in this description, and whether it comprehend every species and form of the ridiculous, must be determined by repeated applications of it to particular instances.
'Ask we for what fair end', etc.—P. 53.
Since it is beyond all contradiction evident that we have a natural sense or feeling of the ridiculous, and since so good a reason may be assigned to justify the supreme Being for bestowing it, one cannot, without astonishment, reflect on the conduct of those men who imagine it is for the service of true religion to vilify and blacken it without distinction, and endeavour to persuade us that it is never applied but in a bad cause. Ridicule is not concerned with mere speculative truth or falsehood. It is not in abstract propositions or theorems, but in actions and passions, good and evil, beauty and deformity, that we find materials for it; and all these terms are relative, implying approbation or blame. To ask them whether ridicule be a test of truth, is, in other words, to ask whether that which is ridiculous can be morally true, can be just and becoming; or whether that which is just and becoming can be ridiculous?—a question that does not deserve a serious answer. For it is most evident, that, as in a metaphysical proposition offered to the understanding for its assent, the faculty of reason examines the terms of the proposition, and finding one idea, which was supposed equal to another, to be in fact unequal, of consequence rejects the proposition as a falsehood; so, in objects offered to the mind for its esteem or applause, the faculty of ridicule, finding an incongruity in the claim, urges the mind to reject it with laughter and contempt. When, therefore, we observe such a claim obtruded upon mankind, and the inconsistent circumstances carefully concealed from the eye of the public, it is our business, if the matter be of importance to society, to drag out those latent circumstances, and, by setting them in full view, to convince the world how ridiculous the claim is: and thus a double advantage is gained; for we both detect the moral falsehood sooner than in the way of speculative inquiry, and impress the minds of men with a stronger sense of the vanity and error of its authors. And this, and no more, is meant by the application of ridicule.
But it is said, the practice is dangerous, and may be inconsistent with the regard we owe to objects of real dignity and excellence. I answer, the practice fairly managed can never be dangerous; men may be dishonest in obtruding circumstances foreign to the object, and we may be inadvertent in allowing those circumstances to impose upon us: but the sense of ridicule always judges right. The Socrates of Aristophanes is as truly ridiculous a character as ever was drawn: —true; but it is not the character of Socrates, the divine moralist and father of ancient wisdom. What then? did the ridicule of the poet hinder the philosopher from detecting and disclaiming those foreign circumstances which he had falsely introduced into his character, and thus rendered the satirist doubly ridiculous in his turn? No; but it nevertheless had an ill influence on the minds of the people. And so has the reasoning of Spinoza made many atheists: he has founded it, indeed, on suppositions utterly false; but allow him these, and his conclusions are unavoidably true. And if we must reject the use of ridicule, because, by the imposition of false circumstances, things may be made to seem ridiculous, which are not so in themselves; why we ought not in the same manner to reject the use of reason, because, by proceeding on false principles, conclusions will appear true which are impossible in nature, let the vehement and obstinate declaimers against ridicule determine.