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of constituent parts, till the thing be first surveyed as a whole. It need scarcely be added, that our ideas are governed by the same principle; and that, in thinking or reflecting upon a number of objects, we naturally follow the same order as when we actually
The principle of order is conspicuous with respect to natural operations; for it always directs our ideas in the order of nature. Thinking upon a body in motion, we follow its natural course: the mind falls with a heavy body, descends with a river, and ascends with flame and smoke. In tracing out a family, we incline to begin at the founder, and to descend gradually to his latest posterity: on the contrary, musing on a lofty oak, we begin at the trunk, and mount from it to the branches. As to historical facts, we love to proceed in the order of time; or, which is the same thing, to proceed along the chain of causes and effects,
But though, in following out an historical chain, our bent is to proceed orderly from causes to their effects, we find not the same bent in matters of science. There we seem rather disposed to proceed from effects to their causes, and from particular propositions to those which are more general. Why this difference in matters that appear so nearly related ? I answer, that the cases are similar in appearance only, not in reality. In an historical chain, every event is particular, the effect of some former event, and the cause of others that follow : in such a chain, there is nothing to bias the mind from the order of nature. Widely different is science, when we endeavor to trace out causes and their effects. Many experiments are commonly reduced under one cause; and again, many of these causes under one still more general and comprehensive. progress from particular effects to general causes, and from particular propositions to the more comprehensive, we feel a gradual dilatation or expansion of mind, like what is felt in an ascending series, which is extremely pleasing. The pleasure here exceeds that which arises from following the course of nature; and it is that pleasure which regulates our train of thought in the case now mentioned, and in others that are similar. These observations, by the way, furnish materials for instituting a comparison between the synthetic and analytic methods of reasoning: The synthetic method, descending regularly from principles to their consequences, is more agreeable to the strictness of order ; but in following the opposite course in the analytic method, we have a sensible pleasure, like mounting upward, which is not felt in the other. The analytic method is more agreeable to the imagination ; the other method will be preferred by those only, who, with rigidity, adhere to order, and give no indulgence to natural emotions. *
It, now appears that we are framed by nature to relish order and connection. When an object is introduced by a proper connection, we are conscious of a certain pleasure arising from that circumstance, Among objects of equal rank, the pleasure is proportioned
A train of perceptions or ideas, with respect to its uniformity and variety, is handled afterwards, chap. 9.1:*
to the degree of connection; but among unequal objects, where we require a certain order, the pleasure arises ehiefly from an orderly arrangement; of which one is sensible, in tracing objects contrary to the course of nature, or contrary to our sense of order. The mind proceeds with alacrity down a flowing river, and with the same alacrity from a whole to its parts, or from a principal to its accessories; but in the contrary direction, it is sensible of a sort of retrograde motion, which is unpleasant. And here may be remarked the great influence of order upon the mind of man. Grandeur, which makes a deep impression, inclines us, in running over any series, to proceed from small to great, rather than from great 10 small; but order prevails over that tendency, and affords pleasure as well as facility in passing from a whole to its parts, and from a subject to its ornaments, which are not felt in the opposite course. Elevation touches the mind no less than grandeur; and in raising the mind to elevated objects, there is a sensible pleasure. The course of nature, however, has still a greater influence than elevation: and therefore, the pleasure of falling with rain, and descending gradually with a river, prevails over that of mounting upward. But where the course of nature is joined with elevation, the effect must be delightful; and hence the singular beauty of smoke ascending in a calm morning.
I am extremely sensible of the disgust men generally bave to abstract speculation; and I would avoid it altogether, if it could be done in a work that professes to draw the rules of criticism from human nature, their true source. We have but a single choice, which is, to continue a little longer in the same train, or to abandon the undertaking altogether. Candor obliges me to intimate this to my readers, that such of them as have an invincible aversion to abstract speculation, may stop short here; for till principles be unfolded, I can promise no entertainment to those who shun thinking. But I flatter myself with a different bent in the generality of readers : some few, I imagine, will relish the abstract part for its own sake;
for the useful purposes to which it may be applied. For encouraging the latter to proceed with alacrity, I assure them beforehand, that the foregoing speculation leads to many important rules of criticism, which shall be unfolded in the course of this work. In the meantime, for instant satisfaction in part, they will be pleased to accept the following specimen.
work of art that is conformable to the natural course of our ideas, is so far agreeable; and every work of art that reverses that course, is so far disagreeable. Hence it is required in every
such work, that, like an organic system, its parts be orderly arranged and mutually connected, bearing each of them a relation to the whole, some more intimate, some less, according to their destinațion. When due regard is had to these particulars, we have a sense of just composition, and so far are pleased with the performance. Homer is defective in order and connection; and Pindar is more remarkably
Regularity, order, and connection, are painful restraints on a bold and fertile imagination; and are patiently submitted to, only
after much culture and disciplines In Horace there is no fault more eminent than want of connection : instances are without number. In the first fourteen lines of ode 7. lib. i. he mentions several towns and districts, more to the taste of some than of others: in the remainder of the ode, Plancus is exhorted to drown his cares in wine. Having narrowly escaped death by the fall of a tree, this poet* takes occasion to observe justly, that while we guard against some dangers, we are exposed to others we cannot foresee: he ends with displaying the power of music. The parts of ode 16. lib. 2. are so loosely connected as to disfigure a poem otherwise extremely beautiful. The 1st, 2d, 3d, 4th, 11th, 24th, 27th odes of the 3d book, all lie open
to the same censure. The first satire, book I. is so deformed by want of connection, as upon the whole to be scarcely agreeable. It conimences with the important question, how it happens that people, though much satisfied with themselves, are seldom so with their rank or condition. After illustrating the observation in a sprightly manner by several examples, the author, forgetting his subject
, enters upon a declamation against avarice, which he pursues till the 108th line. There he makes an apology for wandering, and promises to return to his subject; but avarice having got possession of his mind, he follows out that theme to the end, and never returns to the ques. tion proposed in the beginning.
of Virgil's Georgics, though esteemed the most complete work of that author, the parts are ill connected, and the transitions far from being sweet and easy. In the first bookt he deviates from his subject to give a description of the five zones. The want of connection here, as well as in the description of the prodigies that accompanied the death of Cæsar, are scarcely pardonable. A digression on the praises of Italy in the second book, is not more happily introduced : and in the midst of a declamation upon the pleasures of husbandry; which makes part of the same book, the author introduces himseif into the poem without the slightest connection. In the Lutrin, the Goddess of Discord is introduced without any connection. She is of consequence
poem; and acts no part except that of lavish. ing praise upon Louis XIV. The two prefaces of Sallust look as if by some blunder they had been prefixed to his two histories: they will suit any other history as well, or any subject as well as history. Even the members of these prefaces are but loosely connected: they look more like a number of maxims or observations than a connected discourse.
An episode, in a narrative poem, being in effect an accessory, demands not that strict union with the principal subject, which is requisite between a whole and its constituent parts: it demands, however, a degree of union, such as ought to subsist between a principal and accessory; and therefore will not be graceful if it be loosely connected with the principal subject: I give, for an example, the descent of Æneas into hell, which employs the sixth book of the Eneid.
The reader is not prepared for that' important event: no cause is assigned that can make it appear necessary, or even natural, to sus
* Lib. ii. ode 13. + Lin. 231. + Lin. 136. & Lin. 475.
pend, for so long a time, the principal action in its most interesting period: the poet can find no pretext for an adventure so extraordinary, but the hero's longing to visit the ghost of his father, recently dead: in the mean time the story is interrupted, and the reader loses his ardor. Pity it is that an episode so extremely beautiful, were not more happily introduced. I must observe, at the same time, that full justice is done to this incident, by considering it to be an episode; for if it be a constituent part of the principal action, the connection ought to be still more intimate. The same objection lies against that elaborate description of Fame in the Æneid:* any other book of that heroic poem, or of any heroic poem, has as good a title to that description as the book where it is placed.
In a natural landscape, we every day perceive a multitude of objects connected by contiguity solely; which is not unpleasant, because objects of sight make an impression so lively, that a relation even of the slightest kind is relished. This, however, ought not to be imitated in description. Words are so far short of the eye in liveliness of impression, that in a description connection ought to be carefully studied; for new objects introduced in description are made more or less welcome in proportion to the degree of their connection with the principal subject. In the following passage, different things are brought together without the slightest connection, if it be not what may be called verbal, i. e. taking the same word in different meanings.
Surgamus: solet esse gravis cantantibus umbra.
Virg. Buc. x. 75.
Away, my goats, away, for you have browzed your fill. The introduction of an object metaphorically or figuratively, will not justify the introduction of it in its natural appearance: a relation so slight can never be relished:
Distrust in lovers is too warm a sun;
Part 2. Conquest of Granada, Act III. The relations among objects have a considerable influence in the gratification of our passions, and even in their production. But that subject is reserved to be treated in the chapter of emotions and passions.t
There is not, perhaps, another instance of a building so great, erected upon a foundation so slight in appearance, as the relations of objects and their arrangement. Relations make no capital figure in the mind, the bulk of them being transitory, and some extremely trivial. They are, however, the links that, by uniting our perceptions into one connected chain, produce connection of action, because * Lib. iv. lin. 173.
+ Chap. 2. part I. sect. 4. 3
perception and action have an intimate correspondence. But it is not sufficient for the conduct of life, that our actions be linked together, however intimately: it is beside necessary that they proceed in a certain order; and this also is provided for by an original propensity. Thus order and connection, while they admit sufficient variety, introduce a method in the management of affairs: without them our conduct would be fluctuating and desultory; and we should be hurried from thought to thought, and from action to action, entirely at the mercy of chance
EMOTIONS AND PASSIONS.
The feelings excited by the eye and ear only, called emotions or passions--The
connection between the fine arts and emotions and passions, the design of this chapter-The principles of the fine arts open a direct avenue to the heart--A general or slight survey all that can be expected.
Of all the feelings raised in us by external objects, those only of the eye
and the ear are honored with the name of passion or emotion: the most pleasing feelings of taste, or touch, or smell
, aspire not to that honor. From this observation appears the connection of emotions and passions with the fine arts, which, as observed in the introduction, are all calculated to give pleasure to the eye or the ear; never once descending to gratify any of the inferior senses. The design, accordingly, of this chapter, is to delineate that connection, with the view chiefly to ascertain what power the fine arts have to raise emotions and passions. To those who would excel in the fine arts, that branch of knowledge is indispensable; for without it the critic, as well as the undertaker, ignorant of any rule, has nothing left but to abandon himself to chance. Destitute of that branch of knowledge, in vain will either pretend to foretell what effect his work will have upon the heart.
The principles of the fine arts, appear, in this view, to open a direct avenue to the heart of man. The inquisitive mind beginning with criticism, the most agreeable of all amusements, and finding no obstruction in its progress, advances far into the sensitive part of our nature; and gains imperceptibly a thorough knowledge of the human heart, of its desires, and of every motive to action—a science, which of all that can be reached by man, is to him of the greatest importance.
Upon a subject so comprehensive, all that can be expected in this chapter, is a general or slight survey; and to shorten that survey, I propose to handle separately some emotions more peculiarly connected with the fine arts. Even after that circumscription, so much matter comes under the present chapter, that, to avoid confusion, I find it necessary to divide it into many parts: and though the first of these is confined to such causes of emotion or passion as are the most common and the most general, yet upon examination I find this