THe five senses agree in the following particular, that nothing external is perceived till it first make an impression upon the organ of sense; the impression, for example, made upon the hand by a stone, upon the palate by sugar, and upon the nostrils by a rose. But there is a difference as to our consciousness of that impression. In touching, tasting, and smelling, we are conscious of the impression. Not so in seeing and hearing. When I behold a tree, I am not sensible of the impression made upon my eye; nor of the impression made upon my ear, when I listen to a song[1]. This difference in the manner of perception, distinguishes remarkably hearing and seeing from the other senses; and distinguishes still more remarkably the feelings of the former from those of the latter. A feeling pleasant or painful cannot exist but in the mind; and yet because in tasting, touching, and smelling, we are conscious of the impression made upon the organ, we naturally place there also, the pleasant or painful feeling caused by that impression. And because such feelings seem to be placed externally at the organ of sense, we, for that reason, conceive them to be merely corporeal. We have a different apprehension of the pleasant and painful feelings derived from seeing and hearing. Being insensible here of the organic impression, we are not misled to assign a wrong place to these feelings; and therefore we naturally place them in the mind, where they really exist. Upon that account, they are conceived to be more refined and spiritual, than what are derived from tasting, touching, and smelling.

The pleasures of the eye and ear being thus elevated above those of the other external senses, acquire so much dignity as to make them a laudable entertainment. They are not, however, set upon a level with those that are purely intellectual; being not less inferior in dignity to intellectual pleasures, than superior to the organic or corporeal. They indeed resemble the latter, being like them produced by external objects: but they also resemble the former, being like them produced without any sensible organic impression. Their mixt nature and middle place betwixt organic and intellectual pleasures, qualify them to associate with either. Beauty heightens all the organic feelings, as well as those that are intellectual. Harmony, though it aspires to inflame devotion, disdains not to improve the relish of a banquet.

The pleasures of the eye and ear have other valuable properties beside those of dignity and elevation. Being sweet and moderately exhilerating, they are in their tone equally distant from the turbulence of passion, and languor of inaction; and by that tone are perfectly well qualified, not only to revive the spirits when sunk by sensual gratification, but also to relax them when overstrained in any violent pursuit. Here is a remedy provided for many distresses. And to be convinced of its salutary effects, it will be sufficient to run over the following particulars. Organic pleasures have naturally a short duration: when continued too long, or indulged to excess, they lose their relish, and beget satiety and disgust. To relieve us from that uneasiness, nothing can be more happily contrived than the exhilerating pleasures of the eye and ear, which take place imperceptibly, without much varying the tone of mind. On the other hand, any intense exercise of the intellectual powers, becomes painful by overstraining the mind. Cessation from such exercise gives not instant relief: it is necessary that the void be filled with some amusement, gently relaxing the spirits [2]. Organic pleasure, which hath no relish but while we are in vigour, is ill qualified for that office: but the finer pleasures of sense, which occupy without exhausting the mind, are excellently well qualified to restore its usual tone after severe application to study or business, as well as after satiety from sensual gratification.

Our first perceptions are of external objects, and our first attachments are to them. Organic pleasures take the lead. But the mind, gradually ripening, relisheth more and more the pleasures of the eye and ear; which approach the purely mental, without exhausting the spirits; and exceed the purely sensual, without danger of satiety. The pleasures of the eye and ear have accordingly a natural aptitude to attract us from the immoderate gratification of sensual appetite. For the mind, once accustomed to enjoy a variety of external objects without being conscious of the organic impression, is prepared for enjoying internal objects where there cannot be an organic impression. Thus the author of nature, by qualifying the human mind for a succession of enjoyments from the lowest to the highest, leads it by gentle steps from the most groveling corporeal pleasures, for which solely it is fitted in the beginning of life, to those refined and sublime pleasures which are suited to its maturity.

This succession, however, is not governed by unavoidable necessity. The God of nature offers it to us, in order to advance our happiness; and it is sufficient, that he hath enabled us to complete the succession. Nor has he made our task disagreeable or difficult. On the contrary, the transition is sweet and easy, from corporeal pleasures to the more refined pleasures of sense; and not less so, from these to the exalted pleasures of morality and religion. We stand therefore engaged in honour, as well as interest, to second the purposes of nature, by cultivating the pleasures of the eye and ear, those especially that require extraordinary culture[3], such as are inspired by poetry, painting, sculpture, music, gardening, and architecture. This chiefly is the duty of the opulent, who have leisure to improve their minds and their feelings. The fine arts are contrived to give pleasure to the eye and the ear, disregarding the inferior senses. A taste for these arts is a plant that grows naturally in many soils; but, without culture, scarce to perfection in any soil. It is susceptible of much refinement; and is, by proper care, greatly improved. In this respect, a taste in the fine arts goes hand in hand with the moral sense, to which indeed it is nearly allied. Both of them discover what is right and what is wrong. Fashion, temper, and education, have an influence upon both, to vitiate them, or to preserve them pure and untainted. Neither of them are arbitrary or local. They are rooted in human nature, and are governed by principles common to all men. The principles of morality belong not to the present undertaking. But as to the principles of the fine arts, they are evolved, by studying the sensitive part of human nature, and by learning what objects are naturally agreeable, and what are naturally disagreeable. The man who aspires to be a critic in these arts, must pierce still deeper. He must clearly perceive what objects are lofty, what low, what are proper or improper, what are manly, and what are mean or trivial. Hence a foundation for judging of taste, and for reasoning upon it. Where it is conformable to principles, we can pronounce with certainty, that it is correct; otherwise, that it is incorrect, and perhaps whimsical. Thus the fine arts, like morals, become a rational science; and, like morals, may be cultivated to a high degree of refinement.

Manifold are the advantages of criticism, when thus studied as a rational science. In the first place, a thorough acquaintance with the principles of the fine arts, redoubles the entertainment these arts afford. To the man who resigns himself entirely to sentiment or feeling, without interposing any sort of judgment, poetry, music, painting, are mere pastime. In the prime of life, indeed, they are delightful, being supported by the force of novelty, and the heat of imagination. But they lose their relish gradually with their novelty; and are generally neglected in the maturity of life, which disposes to more serious and more important occupations. To those who deal in criticism as a regular science, governed by just principles, and giving scope to judgment as well as to fancy, the fine arts are a favourite entertainment; and in old age maintain that relish which they produce in the morning of life[4].

In the next place, a philosophic inquiry into the principles of the fine arts, inures the reflecting mind to the most enticing sort of logic. Reasoning upon subjects so agreeable tends to a habit; and a habit, strengthening the reasoning faculties, prepares the mind for entering into subjects more difficult and abstract. To have, in this respect, a just conception of the importance of criticism, we need but reflect upon the common method of education; which, after some years spent in acquiring languages, hurries us, without the least preparatory discipline, into the most profound philosophy. A more effectual method to alienate the tender mind from abstract science, is beyond the reach of invention. With respect to such speculations, the bulk of our youth contrast a sort of hobgoblin terror, which is seldom, if ever, subdued. Those who apply to the arts, are trained in a very different manner. They are led, step by step, from the easier parts of the operation, to what are more difficult; and are not permitted to make a new motion, till they be perfected in those which regularly precede it. The science of criticism appears then to be an intermediate link, finely qualified for connecting the different parts of education into a regular chain. This science furnisheth an inviting opportunity to exercise the judgement: we delight to reason upon subjects that are equally pleasant and familiar: we proceed gradually from the simpler to the more involved cases: and in a due course of discipline, custom, which improves all our faculties, bestows acuteness upon those of reason, sufficient to unravel all the intricacies of philosophy.

Nor ought it to be overlooked, that the reasonings employed upon the fine arts are of the same kind with those which regulate our conduct. Mathematical and metaphysical reasonings have no tendency to improve social intercourse: nor are they applicable to the common affairs of life. But a just taste in the fine arts, derived from rational principles, is a fine preparation for acting in the social state with dignity and propriety.

The science of criticism tends to improve the heart not less than the understanding. I observe, in the first place, that it hath a fine effect in moderating the selfish affections. A just taste in the fine arts, by sweetening and harmonizing the temper, is a strong antidote to the turbulence of passion and violence of pursuit. Elegance of taste procures to a man so much enjoyment at home, or easily within reach, that in order to be occupied, he is, in youth, under no temptation to precipitate into hunting, gaming, drinking; nor, in middle age, to deliver himself over to ambition; nor, in old age, to avarice. Pride, a disgustful selfish passion, exerts itself without control, when accompanied with a bad taste. A man of this stamp, upon whom the most striking beauty makes but a faint impression, feels no joy but in gratifying his ruling passion by the discovery of errors and blemishes. Pride, on the other hand, finds in the constitution no enemy more formidable than a delicate and discerning taste. The man upon whom nature and culture have bestowed this blessing, feels great delight in the virtuous dispositions and actions of others. He loves to cherish them, and to publish them to the world. Faults and failings, it is true, are to him not less obvious: but these he avoids, or removes out of sight, because they give him pain. In a word, there may be other passions, which, for a season, disturb the peace of society more than pride: but no other passion is so unwearied an antagonist to the sweets of social intercourse. Pride, tending assiduously to its gratification, puts a man perpetually in opposition to others; and disposes him more to relish bad than good qualities, even in a bosom friend. How different that disposition of mind, where every virtue in a companion or neighbour, is, by refinement of taste, set in its strongest light; and defects or blemishes, natural to all, are suppressed, or kept out of view?

In the next place, delicacy of taste tends not less to invigorate the social affections, than to moderate those that are selfish. To be convinced of this tendency, we need only reflect, that delicacy of taste necessarily heightens our sensibility of pain and pleasure, and of course our sympathy, which is the capital branch of every social passion. Sympathy in particular invites a communication of joys and sorrows, hopes and fears. Such exercise, soothing and satisfactory in itself, is productive necessarily of mutual good-will and affection.

One other advantage of criticism is reserved to the last place, being of all the most important, that it is a great support to morality. I insist on it with entire satisfaction, that no occupation attaches a man more to his duty than that of cultivating a taste in the fine arts. A just relish of what is beautiful, proper, elegant, and ornamental, in writing or painting, in architecture or gardening, is a fine preparation for discerning what is beautiful, just, elegant, or magnanimous, in character and behaviour. To the man who has acquired a taste so acute and accomplished, every action, wrong or improper, must be highly disgustful. If, in any instance, the overbearing power of passion sway him from his duty, he returns to it upon the first reflection, with redoubled resolution never to be swayed a second time. He has now an additional motive to virtue, a conviction derived from experience, that happiness depends on regularity and order, and that a disregard to justice or propriety never fails to be punished with shame and remorse[5].

Rude ages exhibit the triumph of authority over reason. Philosophers anciently were divided into sects: they were either Epicureans, Platonists, Stoics, Pythagoreans, or Sceptics. Men relied no farther upon their own judgement than to chuse a leader, whom they implicitly followed. In later times, happily, reason hath obtained the ascendant. Men now assert their native privilege of thinking for themselves, and disdain to be ranked in any sect, whatever be the science. I must except criticism, which, by what fatality I know not, continues to be not less slavish in its principles, nor less submissive to authority, than it was originally. Bossu, a celebrated French critic, gives many rules; but can discover no better foundation for any of them, than the practice merely of Homer and Virgil, supported by the authority of Aristotle. Strange, that in so long a work, the concordance or discordance of these rules with human nature, should never once have entered his thoughts! It could not surely be his opinion, that these poets, however eminent for genius, were intitled to give laws to mankind, and that nothing now remains but blind obedience to their arbitrary will. If in writing they followed no rule, why should they be imitated? If they studied nature, and were obsequious to rational principles, why should these be concealed from us?

With respect to the present undertaking, it is not the author’s intention to give a regular treatise upon each of the fine arts in particular; but only, in general, to apply to them some remarks and observations drawn from human nature, the true source of criticism. The fine arts are calculated for our entertainment, or for making agreeable impressions; and, by that circumstance, are distinguished from the useful arts. In order then to be a critic in the fine arts, it is necessary, as above hinted, to know what objects are naturally agreeable, and what naturally disagreeable. A complete treatise on that subject would be a field by far too extensive to be thoroughly cultivated by any one hand. The author pretends only to have entered upon the subject so far as necessary for supporting his critical remarks. And he assumes no merit from his performance, but that of evincing, perhaps more distinctly than hitherto has been done, that the genuine rules of criticism are all of them derived from the human heart. The sensitive part of our nature is a delightful speculation. What the author hath discovered or collected upon that subject, he chuses to impart in the gay and agreeable form of criticism; because he imagines, that this form will be more relished, and perhaps be not less instructive, than a regular and laboured disquisition. His plan is, to ascend gradually to principles, from facts and experiments, instead of beginning with the former, handled abstractly, and descending to the latter. But though criticism be thus his only declared aim, he will not disown, that all along he had it in view, to explain the nature of man, considered as a sensitive being, capable of pleasure and pain. And though he flatters himself with having made some progress in that important science, he is however too sensible of its extent and difficulty, to undertake it professedly, or to avow it as the chief purpose of the present work.

To censure works, not men, is the just prerogative of criticism; and accordingly all personal censure is here avoided, unless where necessary to illustrate some general proposition. No praise is claimed on that account; because censuring with a view merely to find fault, is an entertainment that humanity never relishes. Writers, one would imagine, should, above all others, be reserved upon that article, when they lie so open to retaliation. The author of this treatise, far from being confident of meriting no censure, entertains not even the slightest hope of such perfection. Amusement was at first the sole aim of his inquiries. Proceeding from one particular to another, the subject grew under his hand; and he was far advanced before the thought struck him, that his private meditations might be publicly useful. In public, however, he would not appear in a slovenly dress; and therefore he pretends not otherwise to apologise for his errors, than by observing, that, in a new subject, not less nice than extensive, errors are in some measure unavoidable. Neither pretends he to justify his taste in every particular. That point must be extremely clear, which admits not variety of opinion; and in some matters susceptible of great refinement, time is perhaps the only infallible touch-stone of taste. To this he appeals, and to this he chearfully submits.

N. B. The Elements of Criticism, meaning the whole, is a title too assuming for this work. A number of these elements or principles are here evolved: but as the author is far from imagining, that he has completed the list, a more humble title is proper, such as may express any undetermined number of parts less than the whole. This he thinks is signified by the title he has chosen, viz. Elements of Criticism.

ELEMENTS
OF
CRITICISM.