OF THE INFLUENCE OF BELIEF.
But though education be disclaimed by philosophy, as a fallacious
ground of assent to any opinion, it prevails nevertheless in the world,
and is the cause why all systems are apt to be rejected at first as
new and unusual. This, perhaps, will be the fate of what I have here
advanced concerning _belief_; and though the proofs I have produced
appear to me perfectly conclusive, I expect not to make many proselytes
to my opinion. Men will scarce ever be persuaded, that effects of
such consequence can flow from principles which are seemingly so
inconsiderable, and that the far greatest part of our reasonings, with
all our actions and passions, can be derived from nothing but custom
and habit. To obviate this objection, I shall here anticipate a little
what would more properly fall under our consideration afterwards, when
we come to treat of the Passions and the Sense of Beauty.
There is implanted in the human mind a perception of pain and pleasure,
as the chief spring and moving principle of all its actions. But pain
and pleasure have two ways of making their appearance in the mind;
of which the one has effects very different from the other. They may
either appear an impression to the actual feeling, or only in idea, as
at present when I mention them. 'Tis evident the influence of these
upon our actions is far from being equal. Impressions always actuate
the soul, and that in the highest degree; but 'tis not every idea which
has the same effect. Nature has proceeded with caution in this case,
and seems to have carefully avoided the inconveniences of two extremes.
Did impressions alone influence the will, we should every moment of
our lives be subject to the greatest calamities; because, though we
foresaw their approach, we should not be provided by nature with any
principle of action, which might impel us to avoid them. On the other
hand, did every idea influence our actions, our condition would not be
much mended. For such is the unsteadiness and activity of thought, that
the images of every thing, especially of goods and evils, are always
wandering in the mind; and were it moved by every idle conception of
this kind, it would never enjoy a moment's peace and tranquillity.
Nature has therefore chosen a medium, and has neither bestowed on
every idea of good and evil the power of actuating the will, nor
yet has entirely excluded them from this influence. Though an idle
fiction has no efficacy, yet we find by experience, that the ideas
of those objects, which we believe either are or will be existent,
produce in a lesser degree the same effect with those impressions,
which are immediately present to the senses and perception. The effect
then of belief is to raise up a simple idea to an equality with our
impressions, and bestow on it a like influence on the passions. This
effect it can only have by making an idea approach an impression in
force and vivacity. For as the different degrees of force make all
the original difference betwixt an impression and an idea, they must
of consequence be the source of all the differences in the effects
of these perceptions, and their removal, in whole or in part, the
cause of every new resemblance they acquire. Wherever we can make
an idea approach the impressions in force and vivacity, it will
likewise imitate them in its influence on the mind; and _vice versa_,
where it imitates them in that influence, as in the present case,
this must proceed from its approaching them in force and vivacity.
Belief, therefore, since it causes an idea to imitate the effects of
the impressions, must make it resemble them in these qualities, and
is nothing but _a more vivid and intense conception of any idea_.
This then may both serve as an additional argument for the present
system, and may give us a notion after what manner our reasonings from
causation are able to operate on the will and passions.
As belief is almost absolutely requisite to the exciting our passions,
so the passions, in their turn, are very favourable to belief; and
not only such facts as convey agreeable emotions, but very often such
as give pain, do upon that account become more readily the objects of
faith and opinion. A coward, whose fears are easily awakened, readily
assents to every account of danger he meets with; as a person of a
sorrowful and melancholy disposition is very credulous of every thing
that nourishes his prevailing passion. When any affecting object is
presented, it gives the alarm, and excites immediately a degree of
its proper passion; especially in persons who are naturally inclined
to that passion. This emotion passes by an easy transition to the
imagination; and, diffusing itself over our idea of the affecting
object, makes us form that idea with greater force and vivacity,
and consequently assent to it, according to the precedent system.
Admiration and surprise have the same effect as the other passions;
and accordingly we may observe, that among the vulgar, quacks
and projectors meet with a more easy faith upon account of their
magnificent pretensions, than if they kept themselves within the
bounds of moderation. The first astonishment, which naturally attends
their miraculous relations, spreads itself over the whole soul, and so
vivifies and enlivens the idea, that it resembles the inferences we
draw from experience. This is a mystery, with which we may be already a
little acquainted, and which we shall have further occasion to be let
into in the progress of this Treatise.
After this account of the influence of belief on the passions, we shall
find less difficulty in explaining its effects on the imagination,
however extraordinary they may appear. 'Tis certain we cannot take
pleasure in any discourse, where our judgment gives no assent to those
images which are presented to our fancy. The conversation of those, who
have acquired a habit of lying, though in affairs of no moment, never
gives any satisfaction; and that because those ideas they present to
us, not being attended with belief, make no impression upon the mind.
Poets themselves, though liars by profession, always endeavour to give
an air of truth to their fictions; and where that is totally neglected,
their performances, however ingenious, will never be able to afford
much pleasure. In short, we may observe, that even when ideas have no
manner of influence on the will and passions, truth and reality are
still requisite, in order to make them entertaining to the imagination.
But if we compare together all the phenomena that occur on this head,
we shall find, that truth, however necessary it may seem in all works
of genius, has no other effect than to procure an easy reception for
the ideas, and to make the mind acquiesce in them with satisfaction,
or at least without reluctance. But as this is an effect, which may
easily be supposed to flow from that solidity and force, which,
according to my system, attend those ideas that are established by
reasonings from causation; it follows, that all the influence of
belief upon the fancy may be explained from that system. Accordingly
we may observe, that wherever that influence arises from any other
principles beside truth or reality, they supply its place, and give
an equal entertainment to the imagination. Poets have formed what
they call a poetical system of things, which, though it be believed
neither by themselves nor readers, is commonly esteemed a sufficient
foundation for any fiction. We have been so much accustomed to the
names of Mars, Jupiter, Venus, that in the same manner as education
infixes any opinion, the constant repetition of these ideas makes them
enter into the mind with facility, and prevail upon the fancy, without
influencing the judgment. In like manner tragedians always borrow their
fable, or at least the names of their principal actors, from some known
passage in history; and that not in order to deceive the spectators;
for they will frankly confess, that truth is not in any circumstance
inviolably observed, but in order to procure a more easy reception into
the imagination for those extraordinary events, which they represent.
But this is a precaution which is not required of comic poets, whose
personages and incidents, being of a more familiar kind, enter easily
into the conception, and are received without any such formality, even
though at first sight they be known to be fictitious, and the pure
offspring of the fancy.
This mixture of truth and falsehood in the fables of tragic poets not
only serves our present purpose, by showing that the imagination can
be satisfied without any absolute belief or assurance; but may in
another view be regarded as a very strong confirmation of this system.
'Tis evident, that poets make use of this artifice of borrowing the
names of their persons, and the chief events of their poems, from
history, in order to procure a more easy reception for the whole, and
cause it to make a deeper impression on the fancy and affections. The
several incidents of the piece acquire a kind of relation by being
united into one poem or representation; and if any of these incidents
be an object of belief, it bestows a force and vivacity on the others,
which are related to it. The vividness of the first conception diffuses
itself along the relations, and is conveyed, as by so many pipes or
canals, to every idea that has any communication with the primary one.
This indeed can never amount to a perfect assurance; and that because
the union among the ideas is in a manner accidental: but still it
approaches so near in its influence, as may convince us that they are
derived from the same origin. Belief must please the imagination by
means of the force and vivacity which attends it; since every idea,
which has force and vivacity, is found to be agreeable to that faculty.
To confirm this we may observe, that the assistance is mutual betwixt
the judgment and fancy, as well as betwixt the judgment and passion;
and that belief not only gives vigour to the imagination, but that a
vigorous and strong imagination is of all talents the most proper to
procure belief and authority. 'Tis difficult for us to withhold our
assent from what is painted out to us in all the colours of eloquence;
and the vivacity produced by the fancy is in many cases greater than
that which arises from custom and experience. We are hurried away by
the lively imagination of our author or companion; and even he himself
is often a victim to his own fire and genius.
Nor will it be amiss to remark, that as a lively imagination very often
degenerates into madness or folly, and bears it a great resemblance in
its operations; so they influence the judgment after the same manner,
and produce belief from the very same principles. When the imagination,
from any extraordinary ferment of the blood and spirits, acquires such
a vivacity as disorders all its powers and faculties, there is no means
of distinguishing betwixt truth and falsehood; but every loose fiction
or idea, having the same influence as the impressions of the memory, or
the conclusions of the judgment, is received on the same footing, and
operates with equal force on the passions. A present impression and a
customary transition are now no longer necessary to enliven our ideas.
Every chimera of the brain is as vivid and intense as any of those
inferences, which we formerly dignified with the name of conclusions
concerning matters of fact, and sometimes as the present impressions of
the senses.
We may observe the same effect of poetry in a lesser degree; and
this is common both to poetry and madness, that the vivacity they
bestow on the ideas is not derived from the particular situations or
connexions of the objects of these ideas, but from the present temper
and disposition of the person. But how great soever the pitch may be
to which this vivacity rise, 'tis evident, that in poetry it never
has the same _feeling_ with that which arises in the mind, when we
reason, though even upon the lowest species of probability. The mind
can easily distinguish betwixt the one and the other; and whatever
emotion the poetical enthusiasm may give to the spirits, 'tis still
the mere phantom of belief or persuasion. The case is the same with the
idea as with the passion it occasions. There is no passion of the human
mind but what may arise from poetry; though, at the same time, the
_feelings_ of the passions are very different when excited by poetical
fictions, from what they are when they arise from belief and reality.
A passion which is disagreeable in real life, may afford the highest
entertainment in a tragedy or epic poem. In the latter case it lies
not with that weight upon us: it feels less firm and solid, and has no
other than the agreeable effect of exciting the spirits, and rousing
the attention. The difference in the passions is a clear proof of a
like difference in those ideas from which the passions are derived.
Where the vivacity arises from a customary conjunction with a present
impression, though the imagination may not, in appearance, be so much
moved, yet there is always something more forcible and real in its
actions than in the fervours of poetry and eloquence. The force of our
mental actions in this case, no more than in any other, is not to be
measured by the apparent agitation of the mind. A poetical description
may have a more sensible effect on the fancy than an historical
narration. It may collect more of those circumstances that form a
complete image or picture. It may seem to set the object before us in
more lively colours. But still the ideas it presents are different to
the _feeling_ from those which arise from the memory and the judgment.
There is something weak and imperfect amidst all that seeming vehemence
of thought and sentiment which attends the fictions of poetry.
We shall afterwards have occasion to remark both the resemblances and
differences betwixt a poetical enthusiasm and a serious conviction. In
the mean time, I cannot forbear observing, that the great difference in
their feeling proceeds, in some measure, from reflection and _general
rules_. We observe, that the vigour of conception which fictions
receive from poetry and eloquence, is a circumstance merely accidental,
of which every idea is equally susceptible; and that such fictions are
connected with nothing that is real. This observation makes us only
lend ourselves, so to speak, to the fiction, but causes the idea to
feel very different from the eternal established persuasions founded on
memory and custom. They are somewhat of the same kind; but the one is
much inferior to the other, both in its causes and effects.
A like reflection on _general rules_ keeps us from augmenting our
belief upon every increase of the force and vivacity of our ideas.
Where an opinion admits of no doubt, or opposite probability, we
attribute to it a full conviction; though the want of resemblance, or
contiguity, may render its force inferior to that of other opinions.
'Tis thus the understanding corrects the appearances of the senses, and
makes us imagine, that an object at twenty foot distance seems even to
the eye as large as one of the same dimensions at ten.
We may observe the same effect of poetry in a lesser degree; only with
this difference, that the least reflection dissipates the illusions
of poetry, and places the objects in their proper light. 'Tis however
certain, that in the warmth of a poetical enthusiasm, a poet has a
counterfeit belief, and even a kind of vision of his objects; and
if there be any shadow of argument to support this belief nothing
contributes more to his full conviction than a blaze of poetical
figures and images, which have their effect upon the poet himself, as
well as upon his readers.