Of self, every one has a direct perception; of other things we nave no knowledge but by means of their attributes: and hence it is, that of self the perception is more lively than of any other thing. Self is an agreeable object: and for the reason now given, must be more agreeable than any other object. Is this sufficient to account for the prevalence of self-love? In the foregoing part of this chapter it is suggested, that some circumstances make beings or things fit objects for desire, others not. This hint ought to be pursued. It is a truth ascertained by universal experience, that a thing which in our apprehension is beyond reach, never is the object of desire. No man in his right senses desires to walk on the clouds, or to descend to the centre of the earth we may amuse ourselves in a reverie, with building castles in the air, and wishing for what can never happen: but such things never move desire. And indeed a desire to do what we are sensible is beyond our power, would be altogether absurd. In the next place, though the difficulty of attainment, with respect to things within reach, often inflames desire; yet, where the prospect of attain ment is faint, and the event extremely uncertain, the object, however agreeable, seldom raises any strong desire. Thus beauty, or any other good quality, in a woman of rank, seldom raises love in a man greatly her inferior. In the third place, different objects, equally within reach, raise emotions in different degrees; and when desire accompanies any of these emotions, its strength, as is natural, is proportioned to that of its cause. Hence the remarkable difference among desires, directed to beings inanimate, animate, and rational. The emotion caused by a rational being, is out of measure stronger than any caused by an animal without reason; and an emotion raised by such an animal, is stronger than what is caused by any thing inanimate. There is a separate reason why desire of which a rational being is the object, should be the strongest: our desires swell by partial gratification; and the means we have of gratifying desire, by benefiting or harming a rational being, are without end. Desire directed to an inanimate being, susceptible neither of pleasure nor pain, is not capable of a higher gratification than that of acquiring the property. Hence it is, that though every emotion accompanied with desire, is strictly speaking a passion; yet commonly none of these are denominated passions, but where a sensible being, capable of pleasure and pain, is the object. SECTION II. Speech the most powerful means by which one being can display himself to another-Music may be rendered the means of promoting effeminacy and luxury; but its refined pleasures humanize and polish the mind-The effect of music on the Arcadians, an example-The pernicious effect of English comedy. UPON a review I find the foregoing section almost wholly employed upon emotions and passions raised by objects of sight, though doing good to others? And admitting a principle of benevolence, why may not be a motive to action, as well as selfishness is, or any other principle? they are also raised by objects of hearing. As this happened without intention, merely because such objects are more familiar than others, I find it proper to add a short section upon the power of sounds to raise emotions and passions. I begin with comparing sounds and visible objects with respect to their influence upon the mind. It has already been observed that of ail external objects, rational beings, especially of our own species, have the most powerful influence in raising emotions and passions; and, as speech is the most powerful of all the means by which one human being can display itself to another, the objects of the eye must so far yield preference to those of the ear. With respect to inanimate objects of sight, sounds may be so contrived as to raise both terror and mirth beyond what can be done by any such object. Music has a commanding influence over the mind, especially in conjunction with words. Objects of sight may indeed contribute to the same end, but more faintly; as where a love poem is rehearsed in a shady grove, or on the bank of a purling stream. But sounds, which are vastly more ductile and various, readily accompany all the social affections expressed in a poem, especially emotions of love and pity. Music having at command a great variety of emotions, may, like any objects of sight, be made to promote luxury and effeminacy; of which we have instances without number, especially in vocal music. But, with respect to its pure and refined pleasures, music goes hand in hand with gardening and architecture, her sister-arts, in humanizing and polishing the mind;* of which none can doubt who have felt the charms of music. But, if authority be required, the following passage from a grave historian, eminent for solidity of judgment, must have the greatest weight. Polybius, speaking of the people of Cynætha, an Arcadian tribe, has the following train of reflections." As the Arcadians have always been celebrated for their piety, humanity, and hospitality, we are naturally led to inquire, how it has happened that the Cynetheans are distinguished from the other Arcadians, by savage manners, wickedness, and cruelty. I can attribute this difference to no other cause, but a total neglect among the people of Cynetha, of an institution established mong the ancient Arcadians with a nice regard to their manners ind their climate: I mean the discipline and exercise of that genuine ind perfect music, which is useful in every state, but necessary to the Arcadians; whose manners, originally rigid and austere, made it of the greatest importance to incorporate this art into the very essence of their government. All men know that, in Arcadia, the children are early taught to perform hymns and songs composed in nonor of their gods and heroes; and that, when they have learned the music of Timotheus and Philoxenus, they assemble yearly in the public theatres, dancing with emulation to the sound of flutes, and acting in games adapted to their tender years. The Arcadians, even in their private feasts, never employ hirelings, but each man sings in his turn. They are also taught all the military steps and * See Chapter 24. motions to the sound of instruments, which they perform yearly in the theatres, at the public charge. To me it is evident, that these solemnities were introduced, not for idle pleasure, but to soften the rough and stubborn temper of the Arcadians, occasioned by the coldness of a high country. But the Cynætheans, neglecting these arts, have become so fierce and savage, that there is not another city in Greece so remarkable for frequent and great enormities. This consideration ought to engage the Arcadians never to relax, in any degree, their musical discipline; and it ought to open the eyes of the Cynætheans, and make them sensible of what importance it would be to restore music to their city, and every discipline that may soften their manners; for otherwise they can never hope to subdue their brutal ferocity." No one will be surprised to hear such influence attributed to music, when, with respect to another of the fine arts, he finds a living instance of an influence no less powerful. It is unhappily indeed the reverse of the former; for it has done more mischief by corrupting British manners, than music ever did good by purifying those of Arcadia. The licentious court of Charles II., among its many disorders, engendered a pest, the virulence of which subsists to this day. The English comedy, copying the manners of the court, became abominably licentious; and continues so with very little softening. It is there an established rule, to deck out the chief characters with every vice in fashion, however gross. But, as such characters viewed in a true light would be disgustful, care is taken to disguise their deformity under the embellishments of wit, sprightliness, and good humor, which in mixed company makes a capital figure. It requires not much thought to discover the poisonous influence of such plays A young man of figure, emancipated, at last, from the severity and restraint of a college education, repairs to the capital disposed to every sort of excess. The playhouse becomes his favorite amusement; and he is enchanted with the gayety and splendor of the chief personages. The disgust which vice gives him at first, soon wears off, to make way for new notions, more liberal in his opinion; by which a sovereign contempt of religion, and a declared war upon the chastity of wives, maids, and widows, are converted from being infamous vices to be fashionable virtues. The infection spreads gra dually through all ranks, and becomes universal. How gladly would I listen to any one who should undertake to prove, that what I have been describing is chimerical! but the dissoluteness of our young men of birth will not suffer me to doubt its reality. Sir Harry Wildair has completed many a rake; and in the Suspicious Husband, Ranger, the humble imitator of Sir Harry, has had no slight influence in spreading that character. What woman, tinctured with the playhouse morals, would not be the sprightly, the witty, though dissolute Lady Townly, rather than the cold, the sober, though virtuous Lady Grace? How odious ought writers to be, who thus employ the talents they have received from their Maker * Polybius, Lib. 4. cap. 3. most traitorously against himself, by endeavoring to corrupt and dis figure his creatures! If the comedies of Congreve did not rack him with remorse in his last moments, he must have been lost to all sense of virtue. Nor will it afford any excuse to such writers, that their comedies are entertaining; unless it could be maintained, that wit and sprightliness are better suited to a vicious than a virtuous character. It would grieve me to think so; and the direct contrary is exemplified in the Merry Wives of Windsor, where we are highly entertained with the conduct of two ladies, not more remarkable for mirth and spirit than for the strictest purity of manners. SECTION III. An emotion followed by desire termed a passion-The joy of gratification, an emotion-An event contrary to our desire, produces pain-An unexpected event, fortunate, or unfortunate, produces joy or sorrow—A sudden removal of great pain, the highest source of joy-Why this is the case-The difficulty of accounting for the extreme pleasure that follows a cessation of bodily painThe effect of the gradual diminution of pain. THIS subject was purposely reserved for a separate section, beLause it could not, with perspicuity, be handled under the general nead. An emotion accompanied with desire is termed a passion; and when the desire is fulfilled, the passion is said to be gratified. Now, the gratification of every passion must be pleasant; for nothing can be more natural than that the accomplishment of any wish or lesire should affect us with joy. I know of no exception but when a man, stung with remorse, desires to chastise and punish himself. The joy of gratification is properly called an emotion; because it makes us happy in our present situation, and is ultimate in its nature, not having a tendency to any thing beyond. On the other hand, sorrow must be the result of an event contrary to what we desire; for if the accomplishment of desire produce joy, it is equally natural that disappointment should produce sorrow. An event, fortunate or unfortunate, that falls out by accident, without being foreseen or thought of, and which, therefore, could not be the object of desire, raises an emotion of the same kind as that now mentioned: but the cause must be different; for there can be no gratification where there is no desire. We have not, however, far to seek for a cause it is involved in the nature of man, that he cannot be indifferent to an event that concerns him or any of his connections: if it be fortunate, it gives him joy; if unfortunate, it gives him sorrow. In no situation does joy rise to a greater height, than upon the removal of any violent distress of mind or body; and in no situation does sorrow rise to a greater height, than upon the removal of what makes us happy. The sensibility of our nature serves, in part, to account for these effects. Other causes concur. One is, that violent distress always raises an anxious desire to be free from it; and therefore its removal is a high gratification: nor can we be pos sessed of any thing that makes us happy without wishing its con tinuance; and therefore its removal, by crossing our wishes, must create sorrow. The principle of contrast is another cause: an emotion of joy arising upon the removal of pain, is increased by contrast when we reflect upon our former distress: an emotion of sorrow, upon being deprived of any good, is increased by contrast when we reflect upon our former happiness: Jaffier. There's not a wretch that lives on common charity, Whose blossom 'scap'd, yet's withered in the ripening. Venice Preserved, Act I. Sc. 1. It has always been reckoned difficult to account for the extreme pleasure that follows a cessation of bodily pain; as when one, for instance, is relieved from the rack. What is said explains this difficulty, in the easiest and simplest manner: cessation of bodily pain is not of itself a pleasure, for a non-ens or a negative can neither give pleasure nor pain; but man is so framed by nature as to rejoice when he is eased of pain, as well as to be sorrowful when deprived of any enjoyment. This branch of our constitution is chiefly the cause of the pleasure. The gratification of desire comes in as an accessory cause: and contrast joins its force, by increasing the sense of our present happiness. In the case of an acute pain, a peculiar circumstance contributes its part: the brisk circulation of the animal spirits occasioned by acute pain, continues after the pain is gone, and produces a very pleasant emotion. Sickness has not that effect, because it is always attended with a depression of spirits. Hence it is, that the gradual diminution of acute pain, occasions a mixt emotion, partly pleasant, partly painful: the partial diminution produces joy in proportion; but the remaining pain balances the joy. This mixt emotion, however, has no long endurance; for the joy that arises upon the diminution of pain, soon vanishes, and leaves in the undisturbed possession, that degree of pain which remains. What is above observed about bodily pain, is equally applicable to .he distresses of the mind; and, accordingly, it is a common artifice, to prepare us for the reception of good news by alarming our fears. SECT. IV. A feeling that can neither be called an emotion nor a passion-Instances of illustration-This feeling resembles the appetites-It is raised by virtuous actions only-The effect of it in promoting virtue. ONE feeling there is that merits a deliberate view, for its singularity as well as utility. Whether to call it an emotion or a passion, seems uncertain: the former it can scarcely be, because it involves desire; the latter it can scarcely be, because it has no object. But this feeling, and its nature, will be best understood from examples. A signal act of gratitude produces in the spectator or reader, not |