Elements of Criticism, Volume III.

In the third place, by its situation it serves only for a waiting-room, and a passage to the principal apartments. And yet undoubtedly, the room of the greatest size ought to be reserved for company. A great room, which enlarges the mind and gives a certain elevation to the spirits, is destined by nature for conversation. Rejecting therefore this form, I take a hint from the climax in writing for another form that appears more suitable. My plan is, first a handsome portico, proportioned to the size and fashion of the front: this portico leads into a waiting-room of a larger size; and this again to the great room, all by a progression from small to great. If the house be very large, there may be space for the following suit of rooms; first, a portico; second, a passage within the house bounded by rows of columns on each side connected by arcades; third, an octagon room, or of any other figure, about the centre of the building; and, lastly, the great room.

Of all the emotions that can be raised by architecture, grandeur is that which has the greatest influence on the mind. It ought therefore to be the chief study of the artist, to raise this emotion in great buildings. But it seems unhappy for architecture, that it is necessarily governed by certain principles opposite to grandeur: the direct effect of regularity and proportion, is to make a building appear less than it is in reality. Any invention to reconcile these with grandeur, would be a capital improvement in architecture.

Next of ornaments, which contribute greatly to give buildings a peculiar expression. It has been a doubt with me, whether a building can regularly admit any ornament but what is useful, or at least appears to be useful. But considering the double aim of architecture, a fine as well as an useful art, there is no good reason why ornaments may not be added to please the eye without any relation to use. This liberty is allowed in poetry, painting, and gardening, and why not in architecture considered as a fine art? A private dwelling-house, it is true, and other edifices where use is the chief aim, admit not regularly any ornament but what has the appearance, at least, of use: but temples, triumphal arches, and other buildings intended chiefly or solely for show, may be highly ornamented.

This suggests a division of ornaments into three kinds, viz. ornaments that are beautiful without relation to use, such as statues in niches, vases, basso or alto relievo: next, things in themselves not beautiful, but possessing the beauty of utility by imposing on the spectator, and appearing to be of use, blind windows for example: the third kind is, where the thing is in itself beautiful, and also takes on the appearance of use; the case of a pilaster. With respect to the second, it is an egregious blunder, to contrive the ornament so as to make it appear useless. If a blind window therefore be necessary for regularity, it ought to be so disguised, as not to be distinguished from the real windows. If it appear to be a blind window, it is disgustful, as a vain attempt to supply the want of invention. It shows the irregularity in a stronger light; by signifying that a window ought to be there in point of regularity, but that the architect had not skill sufficient to connect external regularity with internal convenience.

From ornaments in general, we descend to a pillar, the chief ornament in great buildings. The destination of a pillar is to support, really or in appearance, another part termed the architrave. With respect to the form of this ornament, I observe, that a circle is a more agreeable figure than a square, a globe than a cube, and a cylinder than a parallelopipedon. This last, in the language of architecture, is saying, that a column is a more agreeable figure than a pilaster. For that reason, it ought to be preferred, all other circumstances being equal. Another reason concurs, that a column annexed to a wall, which is a plain surface, makes a greater variety than a pilaster. There is an additional reason for rejecting pilasters in the external front of a building, arising from a principle unfolded above[91], viz. a remarkable tendency in the mind of man, to advance every thing to its perfection as well as to its final issue. If I see a thing obscurely in a dim light, and by disjointed parts, my curiosity is roused, and prompts me, out of the disjointed parts to compose an entire whole. I suppose it to be, for example, a horse. My eye-sight being obedient to this conjecture, I immediately perceive a horse, almost as distinctly as in day-light. This principle is applicable to the case in hand. The most superb front, at a great distance, appears a plain surface: approaching gradually, we begin to perceive inequalities: these inequalities, advancing a few steps more, take on the appearance of pillars; but whether round or square, we are uncertain: our curiosity anticipating our progress, cannot rest in suspense: we naturally suppose the most complete pillar, or that which is the most agreeable to the eye; and we immediately perceive, or seem to perceive, a number of columns: if upon a near approach we find pilasters only, the disappointment makes these pilasters appear disagreeable; when abstracted from that circumstance, they would only have appeared somewhat less agreeable. But as this deception cannot happen in the inner front inclosing a court, I see no reason for excluding pilasters there, when there is any reason for preferring them before columns.

With respect now to the parts of a column, a bare uniform cylinder without base or capital, appears naked and scarce agreeable: it ought therefore to have some finishing at the top and at the bottom. Hence the three chief parts of a column, the shaft, the base, and the capital. Nature undoubtedly requires a certain proportion among these parts, but not limited within precise bounds. I suspect that the proportions in use have been influenced in some degree by the human figure; the capital being conceived as the head, the base as the feet. With respect to the base indeed, the principle of utility interposes to vary it from the human figure: the base must be so proportioned to the whole, as to give the column the appearance of stability.

In architecture as well as in gardening, contradictory expressions ought to be avoided. Firmness and solidity are the proper expressions of a pedestal: carved work, on the contrary, ought to be light and delicate. A pedestal therefore, whether of a column or of a statue, ought to be sparingly ornamented: the ancients never ventured any bolder ornament than the basso-relievo.

To succeed in allegorical or emblematic ornaments, is no slight effort of genius; for it is extremely difficult to dispose them so in a building as to produce any good effect. The mixing them with realities, makes a miserable jumble of truth and fiction[92]. In a basso-relievo on Antonin’s pillar, rain obtained by the prayers of a Christian legion, is expressed by joining to the group of soldiers a rainy Jupiter, with water in abundance running from his head and beard. De Piles, fond of the conceit, carefully informs his reader, that he must not take this for a real Jupiter, but for a symbol which among the Pagans signified rain: an emblem ought not to make a part of the group representing real objects or real events, but be detached from it, so as even at first view to appear an emblem. But this is not all, nor the chief point. Every emblem ought to be rejected that is not clearly expressive of its meaning: if it be in any degree obscure, it never can be relished. The temples of Ancient and Modern Virtue in the gardens of Stow, appear not at first view emblematical; and when we are informed that they are so, it is not easy to gather their meaning. The spectator sees one temple in full repair, another in ruins: but without an explanatory inscription, he may guess, but cannot be certain, that the former being dedicated to Ancient Virtue, the latter to Modern Virtue, are intended a satire upon the present times. On the other hand, a trite emblem, like a trite simile, is disgustful[93]. Nor ought an emblem more than a simile to be founded on low or familiar objects; for if the objects be not agreeable, as well as their meaning, the emblem upon the whole will not be relished. A room in a dwelling-house containing a monument to a deceased friend, is dedicated to Melancholy. Its furniture is a clock that strikes every minute to signify how swiftly time passes: upon the monument, weeping figures and other hackney’d ornaments commonly found upon tomb-stones, with a stuff’d raven in a corner: verses on death, and other serious subjects, inscribed all around. The objects are too familiar, and the artifice too apparent, to produce the intended effect.

The statue of Moses striking a rock from which water actually issues, is also in a false taste; for it is mixing reality with representation: Moses himself may bring water out of the rock, but this miracle is too much for his statue. The same objection lies against a cascade where we see the statue of a water-god pouring out of his urn real water.

It is observed above of gardening, that it contributes to rectitude of manners, by inspiring gaiety and benevolence. I add another observation, That both gardening and architecture contribute to the same end, by inspiring neatness and elegance. It is observed in Scotland, that even a turnpike-road has some influence of this kind upon the low people in the neighbourhood. They acquire a taste for regularity and neatness; which is display’d first upon their yards and little inclosures, and next within doors. A taste for regularity and neatness thus gathering strength, comes insensibly to be extended to dress, and even to behaviour and manners.

CHAP. XXV.

“THat there is no disputing about taste”, meaning taste in its most extensive sense, is a saying so generally received as to have become a proverb. One thing indeed is evident, that if the proverb hold true with respect to any one external sense, it must hold true with respect to all. If the pleasures of the palate disdain a comparative trial and reject all criticism, the pleasures of touch, of smell, of sound, and even of sight, must be equally privileged. At this rate, a man is not within the reach of censure, even where, insensible to beauty, grandeur, or elegance, he prefers the Saracen’s head upon a sign-post before the best tablature of Raphael, or a rude Gothic tower before the finest Grecian building: nor where he prefers the smell of a rotten carcass before that of the most odoriferous flower: nor jarring discords before the most exquisite harmony.

But we must not stop here. If the pleasures of external sense be exempted from criticism, why not every one of our pleasures, from whatever source derived? If taste in the proper sense of the word cannot be disputed, there is as little room for disputing it in its figurative sense. The proverb accordingly comprehends both; and in that large sense may be resolved into the following general proposition, That with respect to the sensitive part of our nature, by which some objects are agreeable, some disagreeable, there is not such a thing as good or bad, a right or wrong; that every man’s taste is to himself an ultimate standard without appeal; and consequently that there is no ground of censure against any one, if such a one there be, who prefers Blackmore before Homer, selfishness before benevolence, or cowardice before magnanimity.

The proverb in the foregoing instances, is indeed carried very far. It seems difficult, however, to sap its foundation, or with success to attack it from any quarter. For in comparing the various tastes of individuals, it is not obvious what standard must be appealed to. Is not every man equally a judge of what is agreeable or disagreeable to himself? Doth it not seem odd, and perhaps absurd, that a man ought not to be pleased when he is, or that he ought to be pleased when he is not?

This reasoning may perplex, but, in contradiction to sense and feeling, will never afford conviction. A man of taste must necessarily feel the reasoning to be false, however unqualified to detect the fallacy. At the same time, though no man of taste will subscribe to the proverb as holding true in every case, no man will venture to affirm that it holds true in no case. Subjects there are undoubtedly, that we may like or dislike indifferently, without any imputation upon our taste. Were a philosopher to make a scale for human pleasures with many divisions, in order that the value of each pleasure may be denoted by the place it occupies, he would not think of making divisions without end, but would rank together many pleasures arising perhaps from different objects, either as being equally valuable, or differing so imperceptibly as to make a separation unnecessary. Nature hath taken this course, so far as appears to the generality of mankind. There may be subdivisions without end; but we are only sensible of the grosser divisions, comprehending each of them many pleasures of various kinds. To these the proverb is applicable in the strictest sense; for with respect to pleasures of the same rank, what ground can there be for preferring one before another? If a preference in fact be given by any individual, it cannot be taste, but custom, imitation, or some peculiarity of mind.

Nature in her scale of pleasures, has been sparing of divisions: she hath wisely and benevolently filled every division with many pleasures; in order that individuals may be contented with their own lot, without envying the happiness of others: many hands must be employ’d to procure us the conveniencies of life; and it is necessary that the different branches of business, whether more or less agreeable, be filled with hands. A taste too nice and delicate, would obstruct this plan; for it would crowd some employments, leaving others, not less useful, totally neglected. In our present condition, happy it is, that the plurality are not delicate in their choice. They fall in readily with the occupations, pleasures, food, and company, that fortune throws in their way; and if at first there be any displeasing circumstance, custom soon makes it easy.

The proverb will be admitted so far as it regards the particulars now explained. But when apply’d in general to every subject of taste, the difficulties to be encountered are insuperable. What shall we say, in particular, as to the difficulty that arises from human nature itself? Do we not talk of a good and a bad taste? of a right and a wrong taste? and upon that supposition, do we not, with great confidence, censure writers, painters, architects, and every one who deals in the fine arts? Are such criticisms absurd and void of foundation? Have the foregoing expressions, familiar in all languages and among all people, no sort of meaning? This can hardly be: what is universal must have a foundation in nature. If we can reach this foundation, the standard of taste will no longer be a secret.

All living creatures are by nature distributed into classes; the individuals of each, however diversified by slighter differences, having a wonderful uniformity in their capital parts internal and external. Each class is distinguishable from others by an external form; and not less distinguishable by an internal constitution, manifested by certain powers, feelings, desires, and actions, peculiar to the individuals of each class. Thus each class may be conceived to have a common nature, which, in framing the individuals belonging to the class, is taken for a model or standard.

Independent altogether of experience, men have a sense or conviction of a common nature or standard, not only in their own species, but in every species of animals. And hence it is a matter of wonder, to find any individual deviating from the common nature of the species, whether in its internal or external construction: a child born with an aversion to its mother’s milk, is a matter of wonder, not less than if born without a mouth, or with more than one[94].

With respect to this common nature or standard, we are so constituted as to conceive it to be perfect or right; and consequently that individuals ought to be made conformable to it. Every remarkable deviation accordingly from the standard, makes an impression upon us of imperfection, irregularity, or disorder: it is disagreeable and raises in us a painful emotion: monstrous births, exciting the curiosity of a philosopher, fail not at the same time to excite aversion in a high degree.

Lastly, we have a conviction, that the common nature of man is invariable not less than universal: we conceive that it hath no relation to time nor to place; but that it will be the same hereafter as at present, and as it was in time past; the same among all nations and in all corners of the earth. Nor are we deceived: giving allowance for the difference of culture and gradual refinement of manners, the fact corresponds to our conviction.

This conviction of a common nature or standard, and of its perfection, is the foundation of morality; and accounts clearly for that remarkable conception we have, of a right and a wrong taste in morals. It accounts not less clearly for the conception we have of a right and a wrong taste in the fine arts. A person who rejects objects generally agreeable, and delights in objects generally disagreeable, is condemned as a monster: we disapprove his taste as bad or wrong; and we have a clear conception that he deviates from the common standard. If man were so framed as not to have any notion of a common standard, the proverb mentioned in the beginning would hold universally, not only in the fine arts but in morals: upon that supposition, the taste of every man, with respect to both, would to himself be an ultimate standard. But the conviction of a common standard being made a part of our nature, we intuitively conceive a taste to be right or good if conformable to the common standard, and wrong or bad if disconformable.

No particular concerning human nature is more universal, than the uneasiness a man feels when in matters of importance his opinions are rejected by others. Why should difference in opinion create uneasiness, more than difference in stature, in countenance, or in dress? The sense of a common standard is the only principle that can explain this mystery. Every man, generally speaking, taking it for granted that his opinions agree with the common sense of mankind, is therefore disgusted with those of a contrary opinion, not as differing from him, but as differing from the common standard. Hence in all disputes, we find the parties, each of them equally, appealing constantly to the common sense of mankind as the ultimate rule or standard. Were it not for this standard, of which the conviction is universal, I cannot discover the slightest foundation for rancor or animosity when persons differ in essential points more than in points purely indifferent. With respect to the latter, which are not supposed to be regulated by any standard, individuals are permitted to think for themselves with impunity. The same liberty is not indulged with respect to the former: for what reason, other than that the standard by which these are regulated, ought, as we judge, to produce an uniformity of opinion in all men? In a word, to this sense of a common standard must be wholly attributed the pleasure we take in those who espouse the same principles and opinions with ourselves, as well as the aversion we have at those who differ from us. In matters left indifferent by the standard, we find nothing of the same pleasure or pain. A bookish man, unless sway’d by convenience, relisheth not the contemplative more than the active part of mankind: his friends and companions are chosen indifferently out of either class. A painter consorts with a poet or musician, as readily as with those of his own art; and one is not the more agreeable to me for loving beef, as I do, nor the less agreeable for preferring mutton.

I have said, that my disgust is raised, not by differing from me, but by differing from what I judge to be the common standard. This point, being of importance, ought to be firmly established. Men, it is true, are prone to flatter themselves, by taking it for granted, that their opinions and their taste are in all respects agreeable to the common standard. But there may be exceptions, and experience shows there are some. There are instances without number, of persons who cling to the grosser amusements of gaming, eating, drinking, without having any relish for more elegant pleasures, such, for example, as are afforded by the fine arts. Yet these very persons, talking the same language with the rest of mankind, pronounce in favour of the more elegant pleasures: they invariably approve those who have a more refined taste, and are ashamed of their own as low and sensual. It is in vain to think of giving a reason for this singular impartiality against self, other than the authority of the common standard. Every individual of the human species, the most groveling not excepted, hath a natural sense of the dignity of human nature[95]. Hence every man is esteemed and respected in proportion to the dignity of his character, sentiments, and actions. And from the instances now given we discover, that the sense of the dignity of human nature is so vigorous, as even to prevail over self-partiality, and to make us despise our own taste compared with the more elevated taste of others.

In our sense of a common standard and in the pleasure individuals give us by their conformity to it, a curious final cause is discovered. An uniformity of taste and sentiment in matters of importance, forms an intimate connection among individuals, and is a great blessing in the social state. With respect to morals in particular, unhappy it would be for mankind did not this uniformity prevail: it is necessary that the actions of all men be uniform with respect to right and wrong; and in order to uniformity of action, it is necessary that all men think the same way in these particulars: if they differ through any irregular bias, the common sense of mankind is appealed to as the rule; and it is the province of judges, in matters especially of equity, to apply that rule. The same uniformity, it is yielded, is not so strictly necessary in other matters of taste: men, though connected in general as members of the same state, are, by birth, office, or occupation, separated and distinguished into different classes; and are thereby qualified for different amusements: variety of taste, so far, is no obstruction to the general connection. But with respect to the more capital pleasures, such as are best enjoy’d in common, uniformity of taste is necessary for two great ends, first to connect individuals the more intimately in the social life, and next to advance these pleasures to their highest perfection. With respect to the first, if instead of a common taste, every man had a taste peculiar to himself, leading him to place his happiness upon things indifferent or perhaps disagreeable to others, these capital pleasures could not be enjoy’d in common: every man would pursue his own happiness by flying from others; and instead of a natural tendency to union, remarkable in the human species, union would be our aversion: man would not be a consistent being: his interest would lead him to society, and his taste would draw him from it. The other end will be best explained by entering upon particulars. Uniformity of taste gives opportunity for sumptuous and elegant buildings, for fine gardens, and extensive embellishments, which please universally. Works of this nature could never have reached any degree of perfection, had every man a taste peculiar to himself: there could not be any suitable reward, either of profit or honour, to encourage men of genius to labour in such works. The same uniformity of taste is equally necessary to perfect the arts of music, sculpture, and painting; and to support the expence they require after they are brought to perfection. Nature is in every particular consistent with herself. We are formed by nature to have a high relish for the fine arts, which are a great source of happiness, and extremely friendly to virtue. We are, at the same time, formed with an uniformity of taste, to furnish proper objects for this high relish: if uniformity of taste did not prevail, the fine arts could never have made any figure.

Thus, upon a sense common to the species, is erected a standard of taste, which without hesitation is apply’d to the taste of every individual. This standard, ascertaining what actions are right what wrong, what proper what improper, hath enabled moralists to establish rules for our conduct from which no person is allowed to swerve. We have the same standard for ascertaining in all the fine arts, what is beautiful or ugly, high or low, proper or improper, proportioned or disproportioned. And here, as in morals, we justly condemn every taste that swerves from what is thus ascertained by the common standard.

The discovery of a rule or standard for trying the taste of individuals in the fine arts as well as in morals, is a considerable advance, but completes not our journey. We have a great way yet to travel. It is made out that there is a standard: but it is not made out, by what means we shall prevent mistaking a false standard for that of nature. If from opinion and practice we endeavour to ascertain the standard of nature, we are betray’d into endless perplexities. Viewing this matter historically, nothing appears more various and more wavering than taste in the fine arts. If we judge by numbers, the Gothic taste of architecture will be preferred before that of Greece; and the Chinese taste probably before both. It would be endless, to recount the various tastes of gardening that have prevailed in different ages, and still prevail in different countries. Despising the modest colouring of nature, women of fashion in France daub their cheeks with a red powder. Nay, the unnatural swelling in the neck, a disease peculiar to the inhabitants of the Alps, is relished by that people. But we ought not to be discouraged by such untoward instances. For do we not find the like contradictions with respect to morals? was it not once held lawful, for a man to expose his infant children, and, when grown up, to sell them for slaves? was it not held equally lawful, to punish children for the crime of their parents? was not the murder of an enemy in cold blood an universal practice? what stronger instance can be given, than the abominable practice of human sacrifices, not less impious than immoral? Such aberrations from the rules of morality, prove only, that men, originally savage and brutish, acquire not rationality or any delicacy of taste, till they be long disciplined in society. To ascertain the rules of morality, we appeal not to the common sense of savages, but of men in their more perfect state: and we make the same appeal, in forming the rules that ought to govern the fine arts. In neither can we safely rely on a local or transitory taste; but on what is the most universal and the most lasting among polite nations.

In this very manner, a standard for morals has been established with a good deal of accuracy; and so well fitted for practice, that in the hand of able judges it is daily apply’d with general satisfaction. The standard of taste in the fine arts, is not yet brought to such perfection. And there is an obvious reason for its slower progress. The sense of a right and a wrong in action, is conspicuous in the breast of every individual, almost without exception. The sense of a right and a wrong in the fine arts, is more faint and wavering: it is by nature a tender plant, requiring much culture to bring it to maturity: in a barren soil it cannot live; and in any soil, without cultivation, it is weak and sickly. I talk chiefly with relation to its more refined objects: for some objects make such lively impressions of beauty, grandeur, and proportion, as without exception to command the general taste. There appears to me great contrivance, in distinguishing thus the moral sense from a taste in the fine arts. The former, as a rule of conduct and as a law we ought to obey, must be clear and authoritative. The latter is not intitled to the same authority, since it contributes to our pleasure and amusement only. Were it more strong and lively, it would usurp upon our duty, and call off the attention from matters of greater moment. Were it more clear and authoritative, it would banish all difference of taste: a refined taste would not form a character, nor be intitled to esteem. This would put an end to rivalship, and consequently to all improvement.

But to return to our subject. However languid and cloudy the common sense of mankind may be with respect to the fine arts, it is yet the only standard in these as well as in morals. And when the matter is attentively considered, this standard will be found less imperfect than it appears to be at first sight. In gathering the common sense of mankind upon morals, we may safely consult every individual. But with respect to the fine arts, our method must be different: a wary choice is necessary; for to collect votes indifferently, will certainly mislead us: those who depend for food on bodily labour, are totally void of taste; of such a taste at least as can be of use in the fine arts. This consideration bars the greater part of mankind; and of the remaining part, many have their taste corrupted to such a degree as to unqualify them altogether for voting. The common sense of mankind must then be confined to the few that fall not under these exceptions. But as such selection seems to throw matters again into uncertainty, we must be more explicit upon this branch of our subject.

Nothing tends more than voluptuousness to corrupt the whole internal frame, and to vitiate our taste, not only in the fine arts, but even in morals. It never fails, in course of time, to extinguish all the sympathetic affections, and to bring on a beastly selfishness which leaves nothing of man but the shape. About excluding persons of this stamp there will be no dispute. Let us next bring under trial, the opulent whose chief pleasure is expence. Riches, coveted by most men for the sake of superiority and to command respect, are generally bestow’d upon costly furniture, numerous attendants, a princely dwelling, every thing superb and gorgeous, to amaze and humble all beholders. Simplicity, elegance, propriety, and every thing natural, sweet, or amiable, are despised or neglected; for these are not at the command of riches, and make no figure in the public eye. In a word, nothing is relished, but what serves to gratify pride, by an imagined exaltation of the possessor above those he reckons the vulgar. Such a tenor of life contracts the heart and makes every principle give way to self-interest. Benevolence and public spirit, with all their refined emotions, are little felt and less regarded. And if these be excluded, there can be no place for the faint and delicate emotions of the fine arts.

The exclusion of classes so many and various, reduces within a narrow compass those who are qualified to be judges in the fine arts. Many circumstances are necessary to form a judge of this sort: there must be a good natural taste: this taste must be improved by education, reflection, and experience: it must be preserved alive, by a regular course of life, by using the goods of fortune with moderation, and by following the dictates of improved nature which gives welcome to every rational pleasure without deviating into excess. This is the tenor of life which of all contributes the most to refinement of taste; and the same tenor of life contributes the most to happiness in general.

If there appear much uncertainty in a standard that requires so painful and intricate a selection, we may possibly be reconciled to it by the following consideration, That, with respect to the fine arts, there is less difference of taste than is commonly imagined. Nature hath marked all her works with indelible characters of high or low, plain or elegant, strong or weak. These, if at all perceived, are seldom misapprehended by any taste; and the same marks are equally perceptible in works of art. A defective taste is incurable; and it hurts none but the possessor, because it carries no authority to impose upon others. I know not if there be such a thing as a taste naturally bad or wrong; a taste, for example, that prefers a groveling pleasure before one that is high and elegant. Groveling pleasures are never preferred: they are only made welcome by those who know no better. Differences about objects of taste, it is true, are endless: but they generally concern trifles, or possibly matters of equal rank where the preference may be given either way with impunity. If, on any occasion, the dispute go deeper and persons differ where they ought not, a depraved taste will readily be discovered on one or other side, occasioned by imitation, custom, or corrupted manners, such as are described above.

If, after all that is said, the standard of taste be thought not yet sufficiently ascertained, there is still one resource in which I put great confidence. What I have in view, are the principles that constitute the sensitive part of our nature. By means of these principles, common to all men, a wonderful uniformity is preserved among the emotions and feelings of different individuals; the same object making upon every person the same impression; the same in kind, at least, if not in degree. There have been aberrations, as above observed, from these principles; but soon or late they always prevail, by restoring the wanderers to the right track. The uniformity of taste here accounted for, is the very thing that in other words is termed the common sense of mankind. And this discovery leads us to means for ascertaining the common sense of mankind or the standard of taste, more unerringly than the selection above insisted on. Every doubt with relation to this standard, occasioned by the practice of different nations and different times, may be cleared by applying to the principles that ought to govern the taste of every individual. In a word, a thorough acquaintance with these principles will enable us to form the standard of taste; and to lay a foundation for this valuable branch of knowledge, is the declared purpose of the present undertaking.

APPENDIX.

3. But as self is an object, and the only one that cannot be termed either external or internal, the faculty by which I am conscious of myself, must be distinguished from both the internal and external senses.

4. By sight we perceive the qualities of figure, colour, motion, &c.: by the ear we perceive the qualities high, low, loud, soft: by touch we perceive rough, smooth, hot, cold, &c.: by taste we perceive sweet, sour, bitter, &c.: by smell we perceive fragrant, stinking, &c. Qualities, from our very conception of them, are not capable of an independent existence; but must belong to something of which they are the qualities. A thing with respect to its qualities is termed a subject, or substratum; because its qualities rest, as it were, upon it, or are founded upon it. The subject or substratum of visible qualities, is termed substance, of audible qualities, sound; of tangible qualities, body. In like manner, taste is the substratum of qualities perceived by our sense of tasting; and smell is the substratum of qualities perceived by our sense of smelling.

5. Substance and sound are perceived existing in a certain place; often at a considerable distance from the organ. But smell, touch, and taste, are perceived at the organs of sense.

6. Objects of internal sense are conceived to be attributes: deliberation, reasoning, resolution, willing, consenting, are internal actions: passions and emotions are internal agitations. With regard to the former, I am conscious of being active; with regard to the latter, I am conscious of being passive.

7. Again, we are conscious of internal action as in the head; of passions and emotions as in the heart.

8. Many actions may be exerted internally and many effects produced, of which we are not conscious. When we investigate the ultimate cause of animal motions, it is the most probable opinion, that they proceed from some internal power: and if so, we are, in this particular, unconscious of our own operations. But consciousness being imply’d in the very conception of deliberating, reasoning, resolving, willing, consenting, these operations cannot go on without our knowledge. The same is the case of passions and emotions; for no internal agitation is denominated a passion or emotion, but what we are conscious of.

9. The mind is not always in the same state: it is at times chearful, melancholy, severe, peevish. These different states may not improperly be denominated tones. An object, by making an impression, produceth an emotion or passion, which again gives the mind a certain tone suited to it.

10. Perception and sensation are commonly reckoned synonymous terms, signifying the consciousness we have of objects; but, in accurate language, they are distinguished. The consciousness we have of external objects, is termed perception. Thus we are said to perceive a certain animal, a certain colour, sound, taste, smell, &c. The consciousness we have of pleasure or pain arising from external objects, is termed sensation. Thus we have a sensation of cold, of heat, of the pain of a wound, of the pleasure of a landscape, of music, of beauty, of propriety, of behaviour, &c. The consciousness we have of internal action, such as deliberation, resolution, choice, is never termed either a perception or a sensation.

11. Conception ought to be distinguished from perception. External things and their attributes are objects of perception: relations among things are objects of conception. I see two men, James and John: the consciousness I have of them is a perception: but the consciousness I have of their relation as father and son, is termed a conception. Again, perception relates to objects really existing: conception to fictitious objects, or to those framed by the imagination.

12. Feeling, beside denoting one of the external senses, has two different significations. Of these the most common includes not only sensation, but also that branch of consciousness which relates to passions and emotions: it is proper to say, I have a feeling of cold, of heat, or of pain; and it is not less proper to say, I have a feeling of love, of hatred, of anger, or of any other passion. But it is not applied to internal action: for it is not proper to say, that a man feels himself deliberating or resolving. In a sense less common, feeling is put for the thing that is felt; and in this sense it is a general term for every one of our passions and emotions.

13. That we cannot perceive an external object till an impression be made upon our body, is probable from reason, and is ascertained by experience. But it is not necessary that we be made sensible of the impression. It is true, that in touching, tasting, and smelling, we feel the impression made at the organ of sense: but in seeing and hearing, we feel no impression. We know indeed by experience, that before we perceive a visible object, its image is spread upon the retina tunica; and that before we perceive a sound, an impression is made upon the drum of the ear: and yet here, we are not conscious either of the organic image or the organic impression: nor are we conscious of any other operation preparatory to the act of perception. All we can say, is, that we see that river, or hear that trumpet[96].

14. Objects once perceived may be recalled to the mind by the power of memory. When I recall an object in this manner, it appears to me the same as in the original survey, only more faint and obscure. For example, I saw yesterday a spreading oak growing on the brink of a river. I endeavour to recall it to my mind. How is this operation performed? Do I endeavour to form in my mind a picture of it or representative image? Not so. I transport myself ideally to the place where I saw the tree yesterday; upon which I have a perception of the tree and river, similar in all respects to the perception I had of it when I viewed it with my eyes, only more obscure. And in this recollection, I am not conscious of a picture or representative image, more than in the original survey: the perception is of the tree itself, as at first. I confirm this by another experiment. After attentively surveying a fine statue, I close my eyes. What follows? The same object continues, without any difference but that it is less distinct than formerly. This indistinct secondary perception of an object, is termed an idea. And therefore the precise and accurate definition of an idea, in contradistinction to an original perception, is, “That perception or consciousness of a real object, which a person has by exercising the power of memory.” Every thing one is conscious of, whether internal or external, passions, emotions, thinking, resolving, willing, heat, cold, &c. as well as external objects, may be recalled as above by the power of memory[97].

15. The original perceptions of external objects, are either simple or complex. A sound may be so simple as not to be resolvable into parts: so may a taste and a smell. A perception of touch, is generally compounded of the more simple perceptions of hardness or softness, joined with smoothness or roughness, heat or cold, &c. But of all the perceptions of external sense, that of a visible object is the most complex; because the eye takes in more particulars than any other organ. A tree is composed of its trunk, branches, leaves: it has colour, figure, size: every one of these separately produceth a perception in the mind of the spectator, which are all combined into the complex perception of the tree.

16. The original perception of an object of sight, is more complete, lively, and distinct, than that of any other external sense: and for that reason, an idea or secondary perception of a visible object, is more distinct and lively than that of any other object. A fine passage in music, may, for a moment, be recalled to the mind with tolerable accuracy: but the idea of any other object, and also of sound after the shortest interval, is extremely obscure.

17. As the range of an individual is commonly within narrow bounds of space, opportunities seldom offer of an enlarged acquaintance with external objects. Original perceptions therefore, and their corresponding ideas, are a provision too scanty for the purposes of life. Language is an admirable contrivance for supplying this deficiency; for by language, the original perceptions of each individual may be communicated to all; and the same may be done by painting and other imitative arts. It is natural to suppose, that the most lively ideas are the most susceptible of being communicated to others. This holds more especially when language is the vehicle of communication; for language hitherto has not arrived at any greater perfection than to express clear and lively ideas. Hence it is, that poets and orators, who are extremely successful in describing objects of sight, find objects of the other senses too faint and obscure for language. An idea thus acquired of an object at second hand, ought to be distinguished from an idea of memory; though their resemblance has occasioned the same term to be apply’d to both. This is to be regretted; for when knowledge is to be communicated by language, ambiguity in the signification of words is a great obstruction to accuracy of conception. Thus nature hath furnished the means of multiplying ideas without end, and of providing every individual with a sufficient stock to answer, not only the necessities, but even the elegancies of life.

18. Further, man is endued with a sort of creative power: he can fabricate images of things that have no existence. The materials employ’d in this operation, are ideas of sight, which may be taken to pieces and combined into new forms at pleasure: their complexity and vivacity make them fit materials. But a man has no such power over any of his other ideas, whether of the external or internal senses: he cannot, after the utmost effort, combine these into new forms: his ideas of such objects are too obscure for this operation. An image thus fabricated cannot be called a secondary perception, not being derived from an original perception: the poverty of language however, as in the case immediately above mentioned, has occasioned the same term idea to be apply’d to all. This singular power of fabricating images independent of real objects, is distinguished by the name imagination.

19. As ideas are the chief materials employ’d in thinking, reasoning, and reflecting, it is of consequence that their nature and differences be understood. It appears now, that ideas may be distinguished into three kinds; first, Ideas or secondary perceptions, properly termed ideas of memory; second, Ideas communicated by language or other signs; and, third, Ideas of imagination. These ideas differ from each other in many respects; but the chief foundation of the distinction is the difference of their causes. The first kind are derived from real existences that have been objects of our senses: language is the cause of the second, or any other sign that has the same power with language; and a man’s imagination is to himself the cause of the third. It is scarce necessary to add, that an idea, originally of imagination, being convey’d to others by language or any other vehicle, becomes in the mind of those to whom it is convey’d an idea of the second kind; and again, that an idea of this kind, being afterward recalled to the mind, becomes in that circumstance an idea of memory.

20. Human nature is not so constituted, as that its objects are perceived with indifferency: these, with very few exceptions, raise in us either pleasant or painful emotions. External objects, at the same time, appear in themselves agreeable or disagreeable; but with some difference betwixt those which produce organic impressions, and those which affect us from a distance. When we touch a soft and smooth body, we have a pleasant feeling as at the place of contact; and this feeling we distinguish not, at least not accurately, from the agreeableness of the body itself. The same holds in general with regard to all the organic impressions. It is otherwise in hearing and seeing. A sound is perceived as in itself agreeable; and, at the same time, raises in the hearer a pleasant emotion: an object of sight appears in itself agreeable; and, at the same time, raises in the seer a pleasant emotion. These are accurately distinguished. The pleasant emotion is felt as within the mind: the agreeableness of the object is placed upon the object, and is perceived as one of its qualities or properties. The agreeable appearance of an object of sight, is termed beauty; and the disagreeable appearance of such an object is termed ugliness.

21. But though beauty and ugliness, in their proper and genuine signification, are confined to objects of sight; yet in a more lax and figurative signification, they are apply’d to objects of the other senses. They are sometimes apply’d even to abstract terms; for it is not unusual to say, a beautiful theorem, a beautiful constitution of government. But I am inclined to think, that we are led to use such expression by conceiving the thing as delineated upon paper, and as in some sort an object of sight.

22. A line composed by a precise rule, is perceived and said to be regular. A straight line, a parabola, a hyperbola, the circumference of a circle, and of an ellipse, are all of them regular lines. A figure composed by a precise rule, is perceived and said to be regular. Thus a circle, a square, a hexagon, an equilateral triangle, are regular figures, being composed by a rule that determines the form of each. When the form of a line or of a figure is ascertained by a rule that leaves nothing arbitrary, the line and the figure are said to be perfectly regular: this is the case of the figures now mentioned; and it is the case of a straight line and of the circumference of a circle. A figure and a line are not perfectly regular where any part or circumstance is left arbitrary. A parallelogram and a rhomb are less regular than a square: the parallelogram is subjected to no rule as to the length of sides, other than that the opposite sides be equal: the rhomb is subjected to no rule as to its angles, other than that the opposite angles be equal. For the same reason, the circumference of an ellipse, the form of which is susceptible of much variety, is less regular than that of a circle.

23. Regularity, properly speaking, belongs, like beauty, to objects of sight: like beauty, it is also apply’d figuratively to other objects. Thus we say, a regular government, a regular composition of music, and, regular discipline.

24. When two figures are composed of similar parts, they are said to be uniform. Perfect uniformity is where the constituent parts of two figures are precisely similar to each other. Thus two cubes of the same dimensions are perfectly uniform in all their parts. An imperfect uniformity is, where the parts mutually correspond, but without being precisely similar. The uniformity is imperfect betwixt two squares or cubes of unequal dimensions; and still more so betwixt a square and a parallelogram.

25. Uniformity is also applicable to the constituent parts of the same figure. The constituent parts of a square are perfectly uniform: its sides are equal and its angles are equal. Wherein then differs regularity from uniformity? for a figure composed of similar or uniform parts must undoubtedly be regular. Regularity is predicated of a figure considered as a whole composed of resembling or uniform parts: uniformity again is predicated of these parts as related to each other by resemblance. We say, a square is a regular, not an uniform figure: but with respect to the constituent parts of a square, we say not that they are regular, but that they are uniform.

26. In things destined for the same use, as legs, arms, eyes, windows, spoons, we expect uniformity. Proportion ought to govern parts intended for different uses. We require a certain proportion betwixt a leg and an arm; in the base, the shaft, the capital, of a pillar; and in the length, the breadth, the height, of a room. Some proportion is also required in different things intimately connected, as betwixt a dwelling-house, the garden, and the stables. But we require no proportion among things slightly connected, as betwixt the table a man writes on and the dog that follows him. Proportion and uniformity never coincide: things perfectly similar are uniform; but proportion is never applied to them: the four sides and angles of a square are equal and perfectly uniform; but we say not that they are proportional. Thus, proportion always implies inequality or difference; but then it implies it to a certain degree only: the most agreeable proportion resembles a maximum in mathematics; a greater or less inequality or difference is less agreeable.

27. Order regards various particulars. First, in tracing or surveying objects, we are directed by a sense of order: we conceive it to be more orderly, that we should pass from a principle to its accessories and from a whole to its parts, than in the contrary direction. Next, with respect to the position of things, a sense of order directs us to place together things intimately connected. Thirdly, in placing things that have no natural connection, that order appears the most perfect, where the particulars are made to bear the strongest relation to each other that position can give them. Thus parallelism is the strongest relation that position can bestow upon straight lines. If they be so placed as by production to intersect each other, the relation is less perfect. A large body in the middle and two equal bodies of less size, one on each side, is an order that produces the strongest relation the bodies are susceptible of by position. The relation betwixt the two equal bodies would be stronger by juxtaposition; but they would not both have the same relation to the third.

28. The beauty or agreeableness of an object, as it enters into the original perception, enters also into the secondary perception or idea. An idea of imagination is also agreeable; though in a lower degree than an idea of memory, where the objects are of the same kind. But this defect in the ideas of imagination is abundantly supply’d by their greatness and variety. For the imagination acting without control, can fabricate ideas of finer visible objects, of more noble and heroic actions, of greater wickedness, of more surprising events, than ever in fact existed. And by communicating these ideas in words, painting, sculpture, &c. the influence of the imagination is not less extensive than great.

29. In the nature of every man, there is somewhat original, that serves to distinguish him from others, that tends to form a character, and, with the concurrence of external accidents, to make him meek or fiery, candid or deceitful, resolute or timorous, chearful or morose. This original bent is termed disposition. Which must be distinguished from a principle: no original bent obtains the latter appellation, but what belongs to the whole species. A principle makes part of the common nature of man: a disposition makes part of the nature of this or that man. A propensity comprehends both; for it signifies indifferently either a principle or a disposition.

30. Affection, signifying a settled bent of mind toward a particular being or thing, occupies a middle place betwixt propensity on the one hand, and passion on the other. A propensity being original, must exist before any opportunity be offered to exert it: affection can never be original; because, having a special relation to a particular object, it cannot exist till the object be presented. Again, passion depends on the presence of the object, in idea at least, if not in reality: when the idea vanishes, the passion vanishes with it. Affection, on the contrary, once settled on a person, is a lasting connection; and, like other connections, subsists even when we do not think of it. A familiar example will clear the whole. There may be in the mind a propensity to gratitude, which, through want of an object, happens never to be exerted, and which therefore is never discovered even by the person who has it. Another who has the same propensity, meets with a kindly office that makes him grateful to his benefactor: an intimate connection is formed betwixt them, termed affection; which, like other connections, has a permanent existence, though not always in view. The affection, for the most part, lies dormant, till an opportunity offer of exerting it: in this circumstance, it is converted into the passion of gratitude; and the opportunity is greedily seized for testifying gratitude in the most complete manner.

31. Aversion, I think, must be opposed to affection, and not to desire, as it commonly is. We have an affection for one person; we have an aversion to another: the former disposes us to do good to its object, the latter to do ill.

32. What is a sentiment? It is not a perception; for a perception signifies our consciousness of external objects. It is not consciousness of an internal action; such as thinking, suspending thought, inclining, resolving, willing, &c. Neither is it a conception of relation amongst objects or of their differences: a conception of this kind, is termed opinion. The term sentiment is appropriated to those thoughts that are suggested by a passion or emotion.

33. Attention is that state of mind which prepares a man to receive impressions. According to the degree of attention, objects make a stronger or weaker impression[98]. In an indolent state, or in a reverie, objects make but a slight impression; far from what they make when they command our attention. In a train of perceptions, no single object makes such a figure as it would do single and apart: for when the attention is divided among many objects, no single object is intitled to a large share. Hence the stillness of night contributes to terror, there being nothing to divert the attention.