A philosophical enquiry into the origin of our ideas of the sublime and beautiful:

A Philosophical Enquiry INTO THE ORIGIN of our IDEAS OF THE SUBLIME and BEAUTIFUL. PART. II.

SECT. I. Of the passion caused by the SUBLIME.

THE passion caused by the great and sublime in nature, when those causes operate most powerfully, is Asto∣nishment; and astonishment is that state of the soul, in which all its motions are suspend∣ed, with some degree of horror. * 1.1 In this case the mind is so entirely filled with its object, that it cannot entertain any other, nor by consequence reason on that object which em∣ploys

it. Hence arises the great power of the sublime, that far from being produced by them, it anticipates our reasonings, and hurries us on by an irresistible force. Astonishment, as I have said, is the effect of the sublime in its high∣est degree; the inferior effects are admiration, reverence and respect.

SECT. II. TERROR.

NO passion so effectually robs the mind of all its powers of acting and reason∣ing as fear. § 1.2 For fear being an apprehen∣sion of pain or death, it operates in a man∣ner that resembles actual pain. Whatever therefore is terrible, with regard to sight, is sublime too, whether this cause of ter∣ror, be endued with greatness of dimensions or not; for it is impossible to look on any thing as trifling, or contemptible, that may be dangerous. There are many animals, who though far from being large, are yet ca∣pable of raising ideas of the sublime, because they are considered as objects of terror. As serpents and poisonous animals of almost all

kinds. Even to things of great dimensions, if we annex any adventitious idea of terror, they become without comparison greater. An even plain of a vast extent on land, is cer∣tainly no mean idea; the prospect of such a plain may be as extensive as a prospect of the ocean; but can it ever fill the mind with any thing so great as the ocean itself? this is ow∣ing to several causes, but it is owing to none more than to this, that the ocean is an object of no small terror.

SECT. III. OBSCURITY.

TO make any thing very terrible, obscu∣rity † 1.3 seems in general to be necessary. When we know the full extent of any danger, when we can accustom our eyes to it, a great deal of the apprehension vanishes. Every one will be sensible of this, who considers how greatly night adds to our dread, in all cases of danger, and how much the notions of ghosts and goblins, of which none can form clear ideas, affect minds, which give credit to the popular tales concerning such sorts of beings.

Those despotic governments, which are found∣ed on the passions of men, and principally upon the passion of fear, keep their chief as much as may be from the public eye. The policy has been the same in many cases of re∣ligion. Almost all the heathen temples were dark. Even in the barbarous temples of the Americans at this day, they keep their idol in a dark part of the hut, which is conse∣crated to his worship. For this purpose too the druids performed all their ceremonies in the bosom of the darkest woods, and in the shade of the oldest and most spreading oaks. No person seems to have understood the secret of heightening, or of setting terrible things, if I may use the expression, in their strongest light by the force of a judicious obscurity, than Milton. His description of Death in the se∣cond book is admirably studied; it is astonish∣ing with what a gloomy pomp, with what a significant and expressive uncertainty of strokes and colouring he has finished the portrait of the king of terrors.

The other shape, If shape it might be called that shape had none Distinguishable, in member, joint, or limb; Or substance might be called that shadow seemed,

For each seemed either; black he stood as night; Fierce as ten furies; terrible as hell; And shook a deadly dart. What seemed his head The likeness of a kingly crown had on.

In this description all is dark, uncertain, confused, terrible, and sublime to the last degree.

SECT. IV. Of the difference betwen CLEARNESS and OBSCURITY with regard to the passions.

IT is one thing to make an idea clear, and another to make it affecting to the imagi∣nation. If I make a drawing of a palace or a temple, or a landscape, I present a very clear idea of those objects; but then (allowing for the effect of imitation which is something) my picture can at most affect only as the palace, temple, or landscape would have affected in the reality. On the other hand, the most lively and spirited verbal description I can give, raises a very obscure and imperfect idea of such objects; but then it is in my power to raise a stronger emotion by the description than I could do by the best painting. This experience constantly evinces. The proper manner of conveying the

affections of the mind from one to another, is by words; there is a great insufficiency in all other methods of communication; nay so far is a clearness of imagery from being absolutely necessary to an influence upon the passions, that they may be considerably operated upon without presenting any image at all, by certain sounds adapted to that purpose; of which we have a sufficient proof in the acknowledged and pow∣erful effects of instrumental music. In reali∣ty a great clearness helps but little towards affecting the passions, as it is in some sort an enemy to all enthusiasms whatsoever.

SECT. V. The same subject continued.

THERE are two verses in Horace's art of poetry that seem to contradict this opini∣on, for which reason I shall take a little more pains in clearing it up. The verses are,

Segnius irritant animos demissa per aures Quam quae sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus.

On this the abbe du Bos founds a criticism, wherein he gives painting the preference to poetry in the article of moving the passions;

and that on account principally of the greater clearness of the ideas it represents. I believe this excellent judge was led into this mistake, (if it be a mistake) by his system, to which he found it more conformable than I imagine it will be found to experience. I know several who admire and love painting, and yet who regard the objects of their admiration in that art, with coolness enough, in comparison of that warmth with which they are animated by affecting pieces of poetry or rhethoric. Among the com∣mon sort of people, I never could perceive that painting had much influence on their passions. It is true that the best sorts of painting, as well as the best sorts of poetry, are not much under∣stood in that sphere. But it is most certain, that their passions are very strongly roused by a fanatic preacher, or by the ballads of Chevy-chase, or the children in the wood, and by other little popular poems and tales that are current in that rank of life. I do not know of any paintings, bad or good, that produce the same effect. So that poetry with all its obscu∣rity, has a more general as well as a more powerful dominion over the passions than the other art. And I think there are reasons in nature why the obscure idea, when properly conveyed, should be more affecting than the clear. It is our ignorance of things that

causes all our admiration, and chiefly excites our passions. Knowledge and acquaintance make the most striking causes affect but little. It is thus with the vulgar, and all men are as the vulgar in what they do not understand. The ideas of eternity, and infinity, are among the most affecting we have, and yet perhaps there is nothing of which we really understand so little, as of infinity and eternity. We don't any where meet a more sublime description than this justly celebrated one of Milton, wherein he gives the portrait of Satan with a dignity so suitable to the subject.

He above the rest In shape and gesture proudly eminent Stood like a tower; his form had yet not lost All her original brightness, nor appeared Less than archangel ruin'd, and th' excess Of glory obscured: as when the sun new ris'n Looks through the horizontal misty air Shorn of his beams; or from behind the moon In dim eclipse disastrous twilight sheds On half the nations; and with fear of change Perplexes monarchs.

Here is a very noble picture; and in what does this poetical picture consist? in images of a tower, an archangel, the sun rising through

mists, or in an eclipse, the ruin of monarchs, and the revolutions of kingdoms. The mind is hurried out of itself, by a croud of great and confused images; which affect because they are crouded and confused. For separate them, and you lose much of the greatness, and join them, and you infallibly lose the clearness. The images raised by poetry are always of this obscure kind; though in gene∣ral the effects of poetry, are by no means to be attributed to the images it raises; which point we shall examine more at large hereafter. * 1.4 But painting, with only the superadded plea∣sure of imitation, can only affect simply by the images it presents; but even in painting a judicious obscurity in some things contributes to the effect of the picture; because the images in painting are exactly similar to those in nature; and in nature dark, confused, un∣certain images have a greater power on the fancy to form the grander passions than those which are more clear and determinate. But where and when this observation may be ap∣plied to practice, and how far it shall be ex∣tended, will be better deduced from the nature of the subject, and from the occasion, than from any rules that can be given.

SECT. VI. PRIVATION.

ALL general privations are great, because they are all terrible; Vacuity, Darkness, Solitude and Silence. With what a fire of ima∣gination, yet with what severity of judgment, has Virgil amassed all these circumstances where he knows that all the images of a tre∣mendous dignity ought to be united, at the mouth of hell! where before he unlocks the secrets of the great deep, he seems to be seized with a religious horror, and to retire astonish∣ed at the boldness of his own design.

Dii quibus imperium est animarum, umbrae{que} silentes! Et Chaos, et Phlegeton! loca nocte silentia late? Sit mihi fas audita loqui! sit numine vestro Pandere res alta terra et caligine mersas! Ibant obscuri, sola sub nocte, per umbram, Perque domos dites vacuas, et inania regna.

Ye subterraneous gods! whose awful sway The gliding ghosts, and silent shades obey; O Chaos hoar! and Phlegethon profound! Whose solemn empire stretches wide around;

Give me, ye great tremendous powers, to tell Of scenes and wonders in the depths of hell; Give me your mighty secrets to display From those black realms of darkness to the day. PITT.

Obscure they went through dreary shades that led Along the waste dominions of the dead. DRYDEN.

SECT. VII. VASTNESS.

GREATNESS † 1.5 of dimension, is a pow∣erful cause of the sublime. This is too evident, and the observation too common, to need any illustration; but it is not so com∣mon, to consider in what ways greatness of dimension, vastness of extent, or quan∣tity, has the most striking effect. For cer∣tainly, there are ways, and modes, where∣in the same quantity of extension shall pro∣duce greater effects than it is found to do in others. Extension is either in length, height, or depth. Of these the length strikes least; an hundred yards of even ground will never work such an effect as a tower an hun∣dred yards high, or a rock or mountain of

that altitude. I am apt to imagine likewise, that height is less grand than depth; and that we are more struck at looking down from a precipice, than at looking up at an object of equal height; but of that I am not very posi∣tive. A perpendicular has more force in form∣ing the sublime, than an inclined plane; and the effects of a rugged and broken surface seem stronger than where it is smooth and polished. It would carry us out of our way to enter into the cause of these appearances here; but certain it is they afford a large and fruitful field of speculation.

SECT. VIII. INFINITY.

ANOTHER source of the sublime, is in∣finity; if it does not rather in some sort belong to the last. Infinity has a ten∣dency to fill the mind with that sort of de∣lightful horror, which is the most genuine ef∣fect, and truest test of the sublime. There are scarce any things which can become the ob∣jects of our senses that are really, and in their own nature infinite. But the eye not being able to perceive the bounds of many things, they seem to be infinite, and they produce the

same effects as if they were really so. We are deceived in the like manner, if the parts of some large object, are so continued to any indefinite number, that the imagination meets no check which may hinder its extending them at pleasure.

SECT. IX. The same.

WHENEVER we repeat any idea fre∣quently, the mind by a sort of mecha∣nism repeats it long after the first cause has ceased to operate * 1.6. After whirling about; when we sit down, the objects about us still seem to whirl. After a long succession of noises, as the fall of waters, or the beating of forge hammers, the hammers beat and the water roars in the imagination long after the first sounds have ceased to affect it; and they die away at last by gradations which are scarcely perceptible. If you hold up a strait pole, with your eye to one end, it will seem extended to an almost an incredible length. Place a num∣ber of uniform and equidistant marks on this pole, they will cause the same deception, and

seem multiplied without end. The senses strongly affected in some one manner, cannot quickly change their tenor, or adapt them∣selves to other things; but they continue in their old channel until the strength of the first mover decays. This is the reason of an ap∣pearance very frequent in madmen; that they remain whole days and nights, sometimes whole years, in the constant repetition of some re∣mark, some complaint, or song; which having struck powerfully on their disordered imagina∣tion, in the beginning of their phrensy, every repetition reinforces it with new strength; and the hurry of their spirits unrestrained, the curb of reason continues it to the end of their lives.

SECT. X. SUCCESSION and UNIFORMITY.

SUCCESSION and uniformity of parts, are what constitute the artificial infinite. 1. Succession; which is requisite that the parts may be continued so long, and in such a di∣rection, as by their frequent impulses on the sense to impress the imagination with an idea of their progress beyond their actual limits.§ 1.7

2. Uniformity; because if the figure of the parts should be changed, the imagination at every change finds a check; you are presented at every alteration with the termination of one idea, and the beginning of another; by which means it becomes impossible to continue that uninterrupted progression, which alone can stamp on bounded objects the character of infinity. ‡ 1.8 It is in this kind of artificial infinity, I believe, we ought to look for the cause why a rotund has such a noble effect. For in a rotund, whether it be a building or a plantation, you can no where fix a bound∣ary; turn which way you will, the same ob∣ject still seems to continue, and the imagina∣tion has no rest. But the parts must be uni∣form as well as circularly disposed, to give this figure its full force; because any differ∣ence, whether it be in the disposition, or in the figure, or even in the colour of the parts, is highly prejudicial to the idea of infinity, which every change must check and interrupt, at every alteration commencing a new series.

SECT. XI. The effect of succession and uniformity in BUILDING.

ON the same principles of succession and uniformity, the grand appearance of the ancient heathen temples, which were generally oblong forms, with a range of uni∣form pillars on every side, will be easily ac∣counted for. From the same cause may be derived the grand effect of the isles in many of our own old cathedrals. The form of a cross used in some churches seems to me not so eligible, as the parallelogram of the ancients; at least I imagine it is not so proper for the outside. For, supposing the arms of the cross every way equal, if you stand in a direction parallel to any of the side walls, or colonnades, instead of a deception that makes the building more extended than it is, you are cut off from a considerable part (two thirds) of its actual length; and to prevent all possibility of progression, the arm of the cross taking a new direction, makes a right angle with the beam, and thereby wholly turns the imagination from the repetition of the former idea. Or suppose the spectator placed where he may take a direct

view of such a building; what will be the consequence? the necessary consequence must be, that a good part of the basis of each angle, formed by the intersection of the arms of the cross, must be inevitably lost; the whole must of course assume a broken unconnected figure; the lights must be unequal, here strong, and there weak; without that noble gradation, which the perspective always effects on parts disposed uninterruptedly in a right line. Some or all of these objections, will lie against every figure of a cross, in whatever view you take it. I exemplified them in the Greek cross in which these faults appear the most strongly; but they appear in some degree in all sorts of crosses. Indeed there is nothing more preju∣dicial to the grandeur of buildings, than to abound in angles; a fault obvious in very many; and owing to an inordinate thirst for variety, which, whenever it prevails, is sure to leave very little true taste.

SECT. XII. Magnitude in BUILDING.

TO the sublime in building, greatness of di∣mension seems requisite; for on a few parts, and those small, the imagination can∣not rise to any idea of infinity. No great∣ness in the manner can effectually compensate for the want of proper dimensions. There is no danger of drawing men into extravagant designs by this rule; it carries its own caution along with it. Because too great▪ a length in building destroys the purpose of great∣ness, which it was intended to promote, as the perspective will lessen it in height as it gains in length, and will bring it at last to a point; turning the whole figure into a sort of triangle, the poorest in its effect of almost any figure, that can be presented to the eye. I have ever observed, that colonnades and avenues of trees of a moderate length, were without comparison far grander, than when they were suffered to run to immense distances. A true artist should put a generous deceit on the spectators, and effect the noblest designs by easy methods. Designs that are vast only by their dimensions, are always the sign of a

common and low imagination. No work of art can be great, but as it deceives; to be otherwise is the prerogative of nature only. A good eye will fix the medium betwixt an ex∣cessive length, or height, (for the same ob∣jection lies against both), and a short or broken quantity; and perhaps it might be ascertained to a tolerable degree of exactness, if it was my purpose to descend far into the particulars of any art.

SECT. XIII. INFINITY in pleasing OBJECTS.

INFINITY, though of another kind, causes much of our pleasure in agreeable, as well as of our delight in sublime images. The spring is the pleasantest of the seasons; and the young of most animals, though far from being compleatly fashioned, afford a more agreeable sensation than the full grown; be∣cause the imagination is entertained with the promise of something more, and does not ac∣quiesce in the present object of the sense. In unfinished sketches of drawing, I have seen something which pleased me beyond the best finishing; and this I believe proceeds from the cause I have just now assigned.

SECT. XIV. DIFFICULTY.

* 1.9ANOTHER source of greatness is Diffi∣culty. When any work seems to have required immense force and labour to effect it, the idea is grand. Stonehenge, neither for disposition nor ornament, has any thing ad∣mirable; but those huge rude masses of stone, set on end, and piled each on other, turn the mind on the immense force necessary for such a work. Nay the rudeness of the work in∣creases this cause of grandeur, as it excludes the idea of art, and contrivance; for dexterity produces another sort of effect which is diffe∣rent enough from this.

SECT. XV. MAGNIFICENCE.

MAgnificence is likewise a scource of the sublime. A great profusion of any things which are splendid or valuable in themselves, is magnificent. The starry heaven, though it occurs

so very frequently to our view, never fails to excite an idea of grandeur. This cannot be owing to any thing in the stars themselves, separately considered. The number is certainly the cause. The apparent disorder augments it, for the appearance of care is highly contrary to our ideas of magnificence. Besides, the stars lye in such apparent confusion, as make it impossi∣ble on ordinary occasions to reckon them. This gives them the advantage of a sort of infinity. In works of art, this kind of grandeur, which consists in multitude, is to be very cautiously admitted; because, first, a profusion of ex∣cellent things is not to be attained, or with too great difficulty; secondly, because in many cases it would destroy all use, which should be attended to in most of the works of art with the greatest care; and with regard to disorder in the disposition, it is to be considered, that unless you can produce an appearance of infinity by your disorder, you will have dis∣order only without magnificence. There are, however, a sort of fireworks, and some other things, that in this way succeed well, and are truly grand.

SECT. XVI. LIGHT.

HAVING considered extension, so far as it is capable of raising ideas of great∣ness; colour comes next under consideration. All colours depend on light. Light therefore ought previously to be examined, and with it, its opposite, darkness. With regard to light; to make it a cause capable of producing the sublime, it must be attended with some circum∣stances, besides its bare faculty of shewing other objects. Mere light is too common a thing to make a strong impression on the mind, and without a strong impression nothing can be sublime. But such a light as that of the sun, immediately exerted on the eye, as it over∣powers the sense, is a very great idea. Light of an inferior strength to this, if it moves with great celerity, has the same power; for lightning is certainly productive of grandeur, which it owes chiefly to the extreme velocity of its motion. A quick transition from light to darkness, or from darkness to light, has yet a greater effect. But darkness is more productive of sublime ideas than light, as has been suggested in the second section of this part.

SECT XVII. Light in BUILDING.

AS the management of light is a matter of importance in architecture, it is worth enquiring, how far this remark is appli∣cable to that purpose. I think then, that all edifices calculated to produce an idea of the sublime, ought rather to be dark and gloomy, and this for two reasons; the first is, that darkness itself on other occasions is known by experience to have a greater effect on the passions than light. The second is, that to make an object very striking, we should make it as different as possible from the objects with which we have been immediately conversant; when therefore you enter a building, you can∣not pass into a greater light than you had in the open air; to go into one some few degrees less, can make only a trifling change; but to make the transition thoroughly striking, you ought to pass from the greatest light, to as much darkness as is consistent with the uses of architecture. At night the contrary rule will hold, but for the very same reason; and the more highly a room is then illuminated, the grander will the passion be.

SECT. XVIII. COLOUR considered as productive of the SUBLIME.

AMONG colours, such as are soft, or cheerful, (except perhaps a strong red which is cheerful) are unfit to produce grand images. An immense mountain covered with a shining green turf, is nothing in this respect, to one dark and gloomy; the cloudy sky is more grand than the blue; and night more sublime and solemn than day. Therefore in historical painting, a gay or gaudy drapery, can never have a happy effect: and in build∣ings, when the highest degree of the sublime is intended, the materials and ornaments ought neither to be white, nor green, nor yellow, nor blue, nor of a pale red, nor violet, nor spotted, but of sad and fuscous colours, as black, or brown, or deep purple, and the like. Much of gilding, mosaics, painting or statues, contribute but little to the sublime. This rule need not be put in practice, except where an uniform degree of the most striking sublimity is to be produced, and that in every particular; for it ought to be observed, that this melan∣choly kind of greatness, though it be certainly

the highest, ought not to be studied in all sorts of edifices, where yet grandeur must be studi∣ed; in such cases the sublimity must be drawn from the other sources; with a strict caution however against any thing light and riant; as nothing so effectually deadens the whole taste of the sublime.

SECT. XVIII. SOUND and LOUDNESS.

THE eye is not the only organ of sensa∣tion, by which a sublime passion may be produced. Sounds have a great power in these as in most other passions. I do not mean words, because words do not affect simply by their sounds, but by means altogether diffe∣rent. Excessive loudness alone is sufficient to overpower the soul, to suspend its action, and to fill it with terror. The noise of vast ca∣taracts, raging storms, thunder, or artillery, awakes a great and awful sensation in the mind, though we can observe no nicety or artifice in those sorts of music. The shouting of multi∣tudes has a similar effect; and by the sole strength of the sound, so amazes and con∣founds the imagination, that in this stagger∣ing, and hurry of the mind, the best establish∣ed tempers can scarcely forbear being born

down, and joining in the common cry, and common resolution of the croud.

SECT. XIX. SUDDENNESS.

A Sudden beginning, or sudden cessation of sound of any considerable force, has the same power. The attention is roused by this; and the faculties driven forward, as it were, on their guard. Whatever either in sights or sounds makes the transition from one extreme to the other easy, causes no terror, and consequently can be no cause of greatness. In every thing sudden and unexpected, we are apt to start; that is, we have a perception of danger, and our nature rouses us to guard against it. It may be observed, that a single sound of some strength, though but of short duration, if repeated after intervals, has a grand effect. Few things are more awful than the striking of a great clock, when the silence of the night prevents the attention from being too much dissipated. The same may be said of a single stroke on a drum, repeated with pauses; and of the successive firing of cannon at a distance; all the effects mentioned in this section have causes very nearly alike.

SEET. XX. INTERMITTING.

A LOW, tremulous, intermitting sound, though it seems in some respects opposite to that just mentioned, is productive of the sub∣lime. It is worth while to examine this a little. The fact itself must be determined by every man's own experience, and reflection only. I have already observed, that † 1.10 night increases our terror more perhaps than any thing else; it is our nature, that, when we do not know what may happen to us, to fear the worst that can happen us; and hence it is, that uncertainty is so terrible, that we often seek to be rid of it, at the hazard of a certain mischief. Now some low, confused, uncertain sounds, leave us in the same fearful anxiety concerning their cau∣ses, that no light, or an uncertain light does concerning the objects that surround us.

Quale per incertam lunam sub luce maligna Est iter in silvis.—

— A faint shadow of uncertain light, Like as a lamp, whose life doth fade away;

Or as the moon cloathed with cloudy night Doth shew to him who walks in fear and great affright. SPENSER.

But a light now appearing, and now leaving us, and so off and on, is even more terrible than total darkness; and a sort of uncertain sounds are, when the necessary dispositions con∣cur, more alarming than a total silence.

SECT. XXI. The cries of ANIMALS.

SUCH sounds as imitate the natural inar∣ticulate voices of men, or any other ani∣mals in pain or danger, are capable of convey∣ing great ideas; unless it be the well known voice of some creature, on which we are used to look with contempt. The angry tones of wild beasts are equally capable of causing a great and awful sensation.

Hinc exaudiri gemitus, iraeque leonum Vincla recusantum, et sera sub nocte rudentum; Setigerique sues, atque in presepibus ursi Saevire; et formae magnorum ululare luporum.

It might seem that these modulations of sound carry some connexion with the nature of the

things they represent, and are not merely arbi∣trary; because the natural cries of all animals, even of those annimals with whom we have not been acquainted, never fail to make them∣selves sufficiently understood; this cannot be said of language. The modifications of sound, which may be productive of the sublime, are almost infinite. Those I have mentioned, are only a few instances to shew, on what princi∣ple they are all built.

SECT. XXIII. SMELL and TASTE. BITTERS and STENCHES.

SMELLS, and Tastes, have some share too, in ideas of greatness; but it is a small one, weak in its nature, and confined in its operations. I shall only observe, that no smells or tastes can produce a grand sensation, except excessive bitters, and intolerable stenches. It is true, that these affections of the smell and taste, when they are in their full force, and lean direct∣ly upon the sensory, are simply painful, and ac∣companied with no sort of delight; but when they are moderated, as in a description or narra∣tive, they become sources of the sublime as ge∣nuine as any other, and upon the very same prin∣ciple of a moderated pain.

"A cup of bitter∣ness;"

to drain the bitter cup of fortune;" "the bitter apples of Sodom."

These are all ideas suitable to a sublime description. Nor is this passage of Virgil without sublimity, where the stench of the vapour in Albunea conspires so happily with the sacred horror and gloominess of that prophetic forest.

At rex sollicitus monstrorum oracula fauni Fatidici genitoris adit, lucosque sub alta Consulit Albunea, nemorum quae maxima sacro Fonte sonat; saevam{que} exhalat opaca Mephitim.

In the sixth book, and in a very sublime de∣scription, the poisonous exhalation of Ache∣on is not forgot, nor does it at all disagree with the other images amongst which it is introduced.

Spelunca alta fuit, vastoque immanis hiatu Scrupea, tuta lacu nigro, nemorumque tenebris Quam super haud ullae poterant impune volantes Tendere iter pennis, talis sese halitus atris Faucibus effundens supera ad convexa ferebat.

I have added these examples, because some friends to whose judgment I defer were of opinion, that if the sentiment stood nakedly by itself, it would be subject at first view to burlesque and ridicule;

but this I imagine would principally arise from considering the bitterness and stench in com∣pany with mean and contemptible ideas, with which it must be owned they are often united; such an union degrades the sublime in all other instances as well as in those. But it is one of the tests by which the sublimity of an image is to be tried, not whether it becomes mean when associated with mean ideas; but whe∣ther, when united with images of an allowed grandeur, the whole composition is supported with dignity. Things which are terrible are always great; but when things possess disagree∣able qualities, or such as have indeed some de∣gree of danger, but of a danger easily over∣come, they are merely odious as toads and spiders.

SECT. XXIV. FEELING. PAIN.

OF Feeling little more can be said, than that the idea of bodily pain, in all the the modes and degrees of labour, pain, an∣guish, torment, is productive of the sublime; and nothing else in this sense can produce it. I need not give here any fresh instances, as those given in the former sections abundantly il∣lustrate

a remark, that in reality wants only an attention to nature, to be made by every body.

Having thus run through the causes of the sublime with reference to all the senses, my first observation, (sect. 7) will be found very nearly true; that the sublime is an idea be∣longing to self-preservation. That it is there∣fore one of the most affecting we have. That its strongest emotion is an emotion of distress, and that no † 1.11 positive or absolute pleasure be∣longs to it. Numberless examples besides those mentioned, might be brought in support of these truths, and many perhaps useful con∣sequences drawn from them.—

Sed fugit interea, fugit irrevocabile tempus, Singula dum capti circumvectamur amore.

Notes

• * 1.1

  Part 1. sect. 3, 4, 7.
• § 1.2

  Part 4. sect. 3, 4, 5, 6.
• † 1.3

  Part 4. sect. 14, 15, 16.
• * 1.4

  Part 5.
• † 1.5

  Part 4. sect. 9.
• * 1.6

  Part 4. sect. 12.
• § 1.7

  Part 4. sect. 14.
• ‡ 1.8

  Mr. Addison in the Spectators concerning the pleasures of the imagination, thinks it is because in the rotund at one glance you see half the build∣ing. This I do not imagine to be the real cause.
• * 1.9

  Part 4. sect. 4, 5, 6.
• † 1.10

  Sect. 3.
• † 1.11

  Vide sect. 6. part 1.