Part 5

The beauty of the human figure, by a special recommendation of nature, appears to us supreme, amid the great variety of beauteous forms bestowed upon animals. The various degrees in which individuals enjoy this property, render it an object sometimes of a moderate sometimes of an intense passion. The moderate passion, admitting frequent reiteration without diminution, and occupying the mind without exhausting it, becomes gradually stronger till it settle in a habit. So true this is, that instances are not wanting, of an ugly face, at first disagreeable, afterward rendered indifferent by familiarity, and at the longrun agreeable. On the other hand, consummate beauty, at the very first view, fills the mind so as to admit no increase. Enjoyment in this case lessens the pleasure[29]; and if often repeated, ends commonly in satiety and disgust. Constant experience shows, that the emotions created by great beauty become weaker by familiarity. The impressions made successively by such an object, strong at first and lessening by degrees, constitute a series opposite to that of the weak and increasing emotions, which grow into a specific habit. But the mind, when accustomed to beauty, contracts a relish for it in general, though often repelled from particular objects by the pain of satiety. Thus a generic habit is formed, of which inconstancy in love is the necessary consequence. For a generic habit, comprehending every beautiful object, is an invincible obstruction to a specific habit, which is confined to one.

But a matter which is of great importance to the youth of both sexes, deserves more than a cursory view. Though the pleasant emotion of beauty differs widely from the corporeal appetite, yet both may concur upon the same object. When this is the case, they inflame the imagination; and produce a very strong complex passion[30], which is incapable of increase, because the mind as to pleasure is limited rather more than as to pain. Enjoyment in this case must be exquisite, and therefore more apt to produce satiety than in any other case whatever. This is a never-failing effect, where consummate beauty on the one side, meets with a warm imagination and great sensibility on the other. What I am here explaining, is the naked truth without exaggeration. They must be insensible upon whom this doctrine makes no impression; and it deserves well to be pondered by the young and the amorous, who in forming a society which is not dissolvable, are too often blindly impelled by the animal pleasure merely, inflamed by beauty. It may indeed happen after this pleasure is gone, and go it must with a swift pace, that a new connection is formed upon more dignified and more lasting principles. But this is a dangerous experiment. For even supposing good sense, good temper, and internal merit of every sort, which is a very favourable supposition, yet a new connection upon these qualifications is rarely formed. It generally or rather always happens, that such qualifications, the only solid foundation of an indissoluble connection, are rendered altogether invisible by satiety of enjoyment creating disgust.

One effect of custom, different from any that have been explained, must not be omitted, because it makes a great figure in human nature. Custom augments moderate pleasures, and diminishes those that are intense. It has a different effect with respect to pain; for it blunts the edge of every sort of pain and distress great and small. Uninterrupted misery therefore is attended with one good effect. If its torments be incessant, custom hardens us to bear them.

It is extremely curious, to remark the gradual changes that are made in forming habits. Moderate pleasures are augmented gradually by reiteration till they become habitual; and then are at their height. But they are not long stationary; for from that point they gradually decay till they vanish altogether. The pain occasioned by the want of gratification, runs a very different course. This pain increases uniformly; and at last becomes extreme, when the pleasure of gratification is reduced to nothing.

---- It so falls out That what we have we prize not to the worth, Whiles we enjoy it; but being lack’d and lost, Why then we rack the value; then we find The virtue that possession would not shew us Whilst it was ours. _Much ado about nothing, act 4. sc. 2._

The effect of custom with relation to a specific habit, is displayed through all its varieties in the use of tobacco. The taste of this plant is at first extremely unpleasant. Our disgust lessens gradually till it vanish altogether; at which period the plant is neither agreeable nor disagreeable. Continuing the use, we begin to relish it; and our relish increases by use till it come to its utmost extent. From this state it gradually decays, while the habit becomes stronger and stronger, and consequently the pain of want. The result is, that when the habit has acquired its greatest vigor, the pleasure of gratification is gone. And hence it is, that we often smoke and take snuff habitually, without so much as being conscious of the operation. We must except gratification after the pain of want; because gratification in that case is at the height when the habit is strongest. It is of the same kind with the joy one feels upon being delivered from the rack, the cause of which is explained above[31]. This pleasure however is but occasionally the effect of habit; and however exquisite, is guarded against as much as possible, by preventing want.

With regard to the pain of want, I can discover no difference betwixt a generic and specific habit: the pain is the same in both. But these habits differ widely with respect to the positive pleasure. I have had occasion to observe, that the pleasure of a specific habit decays gradually till it become imperceptible. Not so the pleasure of a generic habit. So far as I can discover, this pleasure suffers little or no decay after it comes to its height. The variety of gratification preserves it entire. However it may be with other generic habits, the observation I am certain holds with respect to the pleasures of virtue and of knowledge. The pleasure of doing good has such an unbounded scope, and may be so variously gratified, that it can never decay. Science is equally unbounded; and our appetite for knowledge has an ample range of gratification, where discoveries are recommended by novelty, by variety, by utility, or by all of them.

Here is a large field of facts and experiments, and several phenomena unfolded, the causes of which have been occasionally suggested. The efficient cause of the power of custom over man, a fundamental point in the present chapter, has unhappily evaded my keenest search; and now I am reduced to hold it an original branch of the human constitution, though I have no better reason for my opinion, than that I cannot resolve it into any other principle. But with respect to the final cause, a point of still greater importance, I promise myself more success. It cannot indeed have escaped any thinking person, that the power of custom is a happy contrivance for our good. Exquisite pleasure produceth satiety: moderate pleasure becomes stronger by custom. Business is our province, and pleasure our relaxation only. Hence, satiety is necessary to check exquisite pleasures, which otherwise would ingross the mind, and unqualify us for business. On the other hand, habitual increase of moderate pleasure, and even conversion of pain into pleasure, are admirably contrived for disappointing the malice of Fortune, and for reconciling us to whatever course of life may be our lot:

How use doth breed a habit in a man! This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods, I better brook than flourishing peopled towns. Here I can sit alone, unseen of any, And to the nightingale’s complaining notes Tune my distresses, and record my woes. _Two Gentlemen of Verona, act 5. sc. 4._

The foregoing distinction betwixt intense and moderate, holds in pleasure only, not in pain, every degree of which is softened by time and custom. Custom is a catholicon for pain and distress of every sort; and of this regulation the final cause is so evident as to require no illustration.

Another final cause of custom will be highly relished by every person of humanity; and yet has in a great measure been overlooked. Custom hath a greater influence than any other known principle, to put the rich and poor upon a level. Weak pleasures, which fall to the share of the latter, become fortunately stronger by custom; while voluptuous pleasures, the lot of the former, are continually losing ground by satiety. Men of fortune, who possess palaces, sumptuous gardens, rich fields, enjoy them less than passengers do. The goods of Fortune are not unequally distributed: the opulent possess what others enjoy.

And indeed, if it be the effect of habit to produce the pain of want in a high degree while there is little pleasure in enjoyment, a voluptuous life is of all the least to be envied. Those who are accustomed to high feeding, easy vehicles, rich furniture, a crowd of valets, much deference and flattery, enjoy but a small share of happiness, while they are exposed to manifold distresses. To such a man, inslaved by ease and luxury, even the petty inconveniencies of a rough road, bad weather, or homely fare on a journey, are serious evils. He loses his tone of mind, becomes peevish, and would wreak his resentment even upon the common accidents of life. Better far to use the goods of Fortune with moderation. A man who by temperance and activity has acquired a hardy constitution, is, on the one hand, guarded against external accidents, and is, on the other, provided with great variety of enjoyment ever at command.

I shall close this chapter with the discussion of a question more delicate than abstruse, _viz._ What authority custom ought to have over our taste in the fine arts? It is proper to be premised, that we chearfully abandon to its authority every thing that nature leaves to our choice, and where the preference we bestow has no foundation other than whim or fancy. There appears no original difference betwixt the right and the left hand: custom however has established a difference, so as to make it aukward and disagreeable to use the left where the right is commonly used. The various colours, though they affect us differently, are all of them agreeable in their purity. But custom has regulated this matter in another manner: a black skin upon a human creature, is to us disagreeable; and a white skin probably not less so to a negro. Thus things originally indifferent, become agreeable or disagreeable by the force of custom. Nor ought this to be surprising after the discovery made above, that the original agreeableness or disagreeableness of an object, is, by the influence of custom, often converted into the opposite quality.

Concerning now those matters of taste where there is naturally a preference of one thing before another; it is certain, in the first place, that our faint and more delicate feelings are readily susceptible of a bias from custom; and therefore that it is no proof of a defective taste, to find these in some measure under the government of custom. Dress, and the modes of external behaviour, are justly regulated by custom in every country. The deep red or vermilion with which the ladies in France cover their cheeks, appears to them beautiful in spite of nature; and strangers cannot altogether be justified in condemning this practice, considering the lawful authority of custom, or of the _fashion_, as it is called. It is told of the people who inhabit the skirts of the Alps facing the north, that the swelling they universally have in the neck is to them agreeable. So far has custom power to change the nature of things, and to make an object originally disagreeable take on an opposite appearance.

But as to the emotions of propriety and impropriety, and in general as to all emotions involving the sense of right or wrong, custom has little authority, and ought to have none at all. Emotions of this kind, being qualified with the consciousness of duty, take naturally place of every other feeling; and it argues a shameful weakness or degeneracy of mind, to find them in any case so far subdued as to submit to custom.

These few hints may enable us to judge in some measure of foreign manners, whether exhibited by foreign writers or our own. A comparison betwixt the ancients and the moderns, was some time ago a favourite subject. Those who declared for the former, thought it a sufficient justification of ancient manners, that they were supported by the authority of custom. Their antagonists, on the other hand, refusing submission to custom as a standard of taste, condemned ancient manners in several instances as irrational. In this controversy, an appeal being made to different principles, without the slightest attempt on either side to establish a common standard, the dispute could have no end. The hints above given tend to establish a standard, for judging how far the lawful authority of custom may be extended, and within what limits it ought to be confined. For the sake of illustration, we shall apply this standard in a few instances.

Human sacrifices, the cruellest effect of blind and groveling superstition, wore gradually out of use by the prevalence of reason and humanity. In the days of Sophocles and Euripides, the traces of this savage practice were still recent; and the Athenians, through the prevalence of custom, could without disgust suffer human sacrifices to be represented in their theatre. The Iphigenia of Euripides is a proof of this fact. But a human sacrifice, being altogether inconsistent with modern manners, as producing horror instead of pity, cannot with any propriety be introduced upon a modern stage. I must therefore condemn the Iphigenia of Racine, which, instead of the tender and sympathetic passions, substitutes disgust and horror. But this is not all. Another objection occurs against every fable that deviates so remarkably from improved notions and sentiments. If it should even command our belief, by the authority of genuine history, its fictitious and unnatural appearance, however, would prevent its taking such hold of the mind as to produce a perception of reality[32]. A human sacrifice is so unnatural, and to us so improbable, that few will be affected with the representation of it more than with a fairy tale. The objection first mentioned strikes also against the _Phedra_ of this author. The queen’s passion for her stepson, being unnatural and beyond all bounds, creates aversion and horror rather than compassion. The author in his preface observes, that the queen’s passion, however unnatural, was the effect of destiny and the wrath of the gods; and he puts the same excuse in her own mouth. But what is the wrath of a heathen god to us Christians? We acknowledge no destiny in passion; and if love be unnatural, it never can be relished. A supposition, like what our author lays hold of, may possibly cover slight improprieties; but it will never engage our sympathy for what appears to us frantic or extravagant.

Neither can I relish the catastrophe of this tragedy. A man of taste may peruse, without disgust, a Grecian performance describing a sea-monster sent by Neptune to destroy Hippolytus. He considers, that such a story might agree with the religious creed of Greece; and, entering into ancient opinions, may be pleased with the story, as what probably had a strong effect upon a Grecian audience. But he cannot have the same indulgence for such a representation upon a modern stage; for no story which carries a violent air of fiction, can ever move us in any considerable degree.

In the _Coëphores_ of Eschylus[33], Orestes is made to say, that he was commanded by Apollo to avenge his father’s murder; and yet if he obeyed, that he was to be delivered to the furies, or be struck with some horrible malady. The tragedy accordingly concludes with a chorus, deploring the fate of Orestes, obliged to take vengeance against a mother, and involved thereby in a crime against his will. It is impossible for any man at present to accommodate his mind to opinions so irrational and absurd, which must disgust him in perusing even a Grecian story. Among the Greeks again, grossly superstitious, it was a common opinion, that the report of a man’s death was a presage of his death; and Orestes, in the first act of _Electra_, spreading a report of his own death in order to blind his mother and her adulterer, is even in this case affected with the presage. Such imbecility can never find grace with a modern audience. It may indeed produce some degree of compassion for a people afflicted to such a degree with absurd terrors, similar to what is felt in perusing a description of the Hottentotes: but manners of this kind will not interest our affections, nor excite any degree of social concern.

CHAP. XV.

External Signs of Emotions and Passions.

So intimately connected are the soul and body, that there is not a single agitation in the former, but what produceth a visible effect upon the latter. There is, at the same time, a wonderful uniformity in this operation; each class of emotions being invariably attended with an external appearance peculiar to itself[34]. These external appearances or signs, may not improperly be considered as a natural language, expressing to all beholders the several emotions and passions as they arise in the heart. We perceive display’d externally, hope, fear, joy, grief: we can read the character of a man in his face; and beauty, which makes so strong an impression, is known to result, not so much from regular features and a fine complexion, as from good nature, good sense, sprightliness, sweetness, or other mental quality, expressed some way upon the countenance. Though perfect skill in this language be rare, yet so much knowledge of it is diffused through mankind, as to be sufficient for the ordinary events of life. But by what means we come to understand this language, is a point of some intricacy. It cannot be by sight merely; for upon the most attentive inspection of the human visage, all that can be discerned are figure, colour, and motion; and yet these, singly or combined, never can represent a passion or a sentiment. The external sign is indeed visible. But to understand its meaning, we must be able to connect it with the passion that causes it; an operation far beyond the reach of eye-sight. Where then is the instructor to be found, that can unvail this secret connection? If we apply to experience, it is yielded, that from long and diligent observation, we may gather in some measure in what manner those we are acquainted with express their passions externally. But with respect to strangers, of whom we have no experience, we are left in the dark. And yet we are not puzzled about the meaning of these external expressions in a stranger, more than in a bosom-companion[35]. Further, had we no other means but experience for understanding the external signs of passion, we could not expect any uniformity or any degree of skill in the bulk of individuals. But matters are ordered so differently, that the external expressions of passion form a language understood by all, by the young as well as the old, by the ignorant as well as the learned. I talk of the plain and legible characters of this language; for undoubtedly we are much indebted to experience in deciphering the dark and more delicate expressions. Where then shall we apply for a solution of this intricate problem, which seems to penetrate deep into human nature? In my mind it will be convenient to suspend the inquiry, till we be better acquainted with the nature of external signs and with their operations. These articles therefore shall be premised.

The external signs of passion are of two kinds, voluntary and involuntary. The voluntary signs are also of two kinds: some are arbitrary and some natural. Words are arbitrary signs, excepting a few simple sounds expressive of certain internal emotions; and these sounds, being the same in all languages, must be the work of nature. But though words are arbitrary, the manner of employing them is not altogether so; for each passion has by nature peculiar expressions and tones suited to it. Thus the unpremeditated tones of admiration, are the same in all men; as also of compassion, resentment, and despair. Dramatic writers ought to be well acquainted with this natural manner of expressing passion. The chief talent of a fine writer, is a ready command of the expressions that nature dictates to every man when any vivid emotion struggles for utterance; and the chief talent of a fine reader, is a ready command of the tones suited to these expressions.

The other kind of voluntary signs, comprehends certain attitudes and gestures that naturally accompany certain emotions with a surprising uniformity. Thus excessive joy is expressed by leaping, dancing, or some elevation of the body; and excessive grief by sinking or depressing it. Thus prostration and kneeling have been employ’d by all nations and in all ages to signify profound veneration. Another circumstance, still more than uniformity, demonstrates these gestures to be natural, _viz._ their remarkable conformity or resemblance to the passions that produce them[36]. Joy, which produceth a chearful elevation of mind, is expressed by an elevation of body. Pride, magnanimity, courage, and the whole tribe of elevating passions, are expressed by external gestures that are the same as to the circumstance of elevation, however distinguishable in other respects. Hence it comes, that an erect posture is a sign or expression of dignity:

Two of far nobler shape, erect and tall, Godlike erect, with native honour clad, In naked majesty, seem’d lords of all. _Paradise Lost, book 4._

Grief, on the other hand, as well as respect, which depress the mind, cannot for that reason be expressed more significantly than by a similar depression of the body. Hence, _to be cast down_, is a common phrase, signifying to be grieved or dispirited.

One would not imagine, who has not given peculiar attention, that the body is susceptible of such a variety of attitude and motion, as readily to accompany every different emotion with a corresponding gesture. Humility, for example, is expressed naturally by hanging the head; arrogance, by its elevation; and langour or despondence, by reclining it to one side. The expressions of the hands are manifold. By different attitudes and motions, the hands express desire, hope, fear: they assist us in promising, in inviting, in keeping one at a distance: they are made instruments of threatening, of supplication, of praise, and of horror: they are employ’d in approving, in refusing, in questioning; in showing our joy, our sorrow, our doubts, our regret, our admiration. These gestures, so obedient to passion, are extremely difficult to be imitated in a calm state. The ancients, sensible of the advantage as well as difficulty of having these expressions at command, bestowed much time and care, in collecting them from observation, and in digesting them into a practical art, which was taught in their schools as an important branch of education.